by Al K. Line
The grounds were extensive. Ordered, immaculate, and deserted. The house was something out of an ancient manuscript, all faded wood, wraparound veranda, topped with a huge, overhanging and very ornate roof. There wasn't a soul to be seen.
As I leaned on the gate, peering between my hands, it creaked and I almost fell flat on my face when it opened inward.
Look, what would you do? Yeah, I went in, what did you expect?
Magic Spidey-sense tingling, looking out for talkative rocks, unsure if the bushes were just bushes or contained some malevolent spirit, eyeing the pond nervously and the carp suspiciously, I was as jittery as a gremlin at an 80's reunion where microwaves were in abundance as I crunched across the gravel drive and studiously avoided making eye contact with any of the oni statues—it would be just my luck they'd begin to attack.
Up the wooden steps, I found myself on the porch and rattled a thick cord attached to a bell. As the sound rang out I waited, half of me hoping nobody was home, the other half expecting just about anything to happen. Nothing did. I rang again, but it was as silent as a roomful of foreigners five minutes after being in the presence of the Tongue Stealer of Okinawa, so I tried the handle on the front door and wasn't surprised to find it open.
Inside, the place was spartan but opulent with its furnishing. Statues of demons stood as silent sentinels in rooms that contained little more than tatami mats and low tables. Other rooms were completely devoid of anything but the paper and wood shōji divides and the heavy, black oak floors. After checking the side rooms, I went back to the main hallway that bisected the house and headed to the large central room that dominated the structure.
It was a type of central living space used in old times for cooking and congregating, the heart of the home. In the main sunken area a large expanse of bare earth floor was home to a ring of stones where a fire was burning low, embers flickering with unnatural colors, casting strange shadows across the walls, reflecting greens and purples on the dark interior. A huge cauldron hung from a wrought iron stand, bubbling away and smelling foul, even dominating the cloying stink of smoke.
Sat cross-legged to the right of the fire was the oldest person I have ever seen in my life. She was squat, short limbs looking wasted but still powerful in an old lady kind of way. Her hair was pure white and trailed down her back and across the floor behind her. I swear I saw it move as I entered the room, unlike the woman—she remained sat with her back perfectly straight, utterly composed.
She had a blunt nose, skin so wrinkled it was almost like that of a rhino. Dark and weather-worn, or maybe slightly crispy from sitting so close to the fire. It was hard to tell in the low light as dusk came to Tokyo and things began to stir, getting ready for the night.
She turned to me, her eyes as white as her hair, eyebrows thick and bushy, hanging low halfway down sunken cheeks. She was blind, no iris or pupil whatsoever. I stepped closer, noticing her hands in her lap, relaxed and utterly unafraid of the uninvited guest that stood before her.
"Black Spark," she said in a strong accent, "the enforcer from the other side of the world come to try to seek revenge for something that happened when he was but a poor boy."
"What business is it of yours? Sorry to come in uninvited but the door was open. And who might you be?" I moved closer, studying her, ready for anything and knowing it would probably be nasty. She was a sentinel, a house sitter of the worst kind.
"It is my business because everything that goes on in this house is my business. It is mine, after all. And who I am is none of your concern, but I know you, and I know you are on a fool's errand."
"We'll see."
"So we shall." Her bones creaked as she uncrossed her legs, feet clad in traditional wooden geta—an uncomfortable looking platform sandal—her clothing little more than rags. She reached out to her right and brought a plain wooden staff in front of her then planted it and used it to rise.
I got a very bad feeling about her.
I was right, because the next thing I knew she was across the room and smacking me across the head with the staff. The force was astonishing, and I flew backward, spun in the air, hit a thick pillar with my nose then slid down into the dust.
I think I got a splinter. Then I sneezed. Which hurt, a lot.
Old but Dangerous
The woman did the vampire shimmer and was beside me faster than a goblin to an open wallet, and twice as keen. She snapped at me as I righted myself and dodged just in time, her teeth biting down on the wooden pillar, sticking fast. Damn, she had a serious set of gnashers on her and I bet they were still all her own.
Although it really wasn't the time, I couldn't help wondering what would happen to a vampire if they lost their incisors where the vampire poison helped them subdue their prey. Would they still be able to feed? I suppose they'd just grow back in an instant. With my nose split, broken again—which was becoming a very bad habit of mine lately—my vision was blurred, but lack of sight didn't seem to hinder the crone and she jabbed me with the staff as she tried to get her face off the wood.
I stared around the room in a panic, unsure how to react. I didn't want to be responsible for killing ancient vampire crones but what choice did I have?
Like it mattered what I thought. She was free and spun, lightning fast, sweeping my feet from under me as my eyes snapped to reluctant black and power surged through my body like it was being sucked up a straw. I was alive and dangerous and nothing would stand in my way of revenge.
Who was she? A guard? A relative? A mother? Only one way to find out.
"Who are you?" I asked. See, it never hurts to ask before jumping to conclusions.
"This is my house and you are my enemy."
I sighed as she seemed to size me up with Hidden sight. Make that definitely. "Yes, but who are you? Why are you somewhere Kimiko comes for refuge?"
"Foolish child, is this how things happen in your country? You ask a question of your enemy and they stand around explaining? This is Japan, we do things differently here."
They sure did, because next she put her arms out wide and began chanting in Japanese. Before I could react, her hair was whipping around like it was sentient and it shot out at me with a loud snap, wrapping around my throat.
I stumbled back against the platform that ran around the room and clambered up, only to be yanked back down into the dust as the hair constricted around my throat. The woman cackled with a voice like she'd been smoking a pipe for a few millennia.
Magic surged in the ink on my upper chest, worming its way through my jugular and blasting fire from my neck. The hair singed and crackled—along with my shirt collar—the smell noxious, making me gag. At least I was free. Unsure about how best to go about dealing with something so strange, I backed away to the other side of the fire.
She stamped down with her staff and the flames erupted almost to the rafters, the room bright, revealing a row of strange birds that sat on a beam silently observing the scene below. Sparks flew in all direction as nameless hues and colors I was sure didn't even exist on the spectrum burst in tiny fragmented patterns across my vision, blinding me for an instant. The cauldron toppled sideways, spilling what looked like days old soup that only increased the ferocity of the flames—definitely no normal meal, then.
I wiped at my face to get the blood taste out of my mouth and to clear my eyes, wondering if the birds would attack. But they were motionless, and I realized they were carved, purely decorative.
The vampire sorceress, for I was sure that was what she was, howled and hobbled right through the magical flames and spun in a circle, calling up all manner of nasty beasties as she emerged, now close and wild with ancient magic. So I did what I had to do and as she came for me, untouched by the fire, I did something I hoped she wasn't expecting.
Rather than blast her and hope for the best, I sent something a little more subtle her way. As she lifted her staff to attack, I watched, pleased, as her arm wobbled and then the staff morphed into pure magical pain, a stati
c length of the hurt I'd shot into it, momentum growing as her own magic combined with what I willed to expand and BAM, it smashed into her, white lightning of destruction.
She was flung backward, only to land on the fire, her defenses down. Again the flames surged, a kaleidoscope of impossibility, but the fire wasn't spent and as sparks flew around her body she began to burn intensely, her true self revealed.
She was something otherworldly, not even truly there. I don't know what she was, but this was no mortal creature. Maybe a ghost, something else? Who knows? All I knew was that by forcing the magic into her staff I'd done something to her. It was part of the whole, and the magic flow was disrupted, taking away the essence of her.
As she screamed and howled, her body became translucent, the flames no longer affecting her, unable to manifest physically now. She spat, she hissed, she cursed in an ancient, forgotten tongue, and she clawed at the coals but she was ineffective, just a nasty piece of nothingness. I sank back and rested while she faded away into magic-heavy air.
There was silence, just my ragged breathing and then the moans as I relaxed and magic left me a little emptier than when I'd begun.
Was that it? I'd expected more from her. Was it that I was just at my peak, or that this wasn't as effective a guardian as Kimiko had thought? Granted, the crone would have beaten most Hidden, however adept, but it was still a bit of an anti-climax. I'd pictured a soul-sapping, epic battle waging over hours, or at least lots of nasties released from the netherworlds. Then I realized one important thing—I was good at kicking ass.
Yeah, my modesty. I know I'm a good enforcer but I'm always cautious, never take skills for granted, and I'm fully aware there's always someone better, so never assume I will win a fight. My guess was that Kimiko knew anyone that came here would run a mile confronted with the old woman, and because of her reputation it wasn't likely anyone would have even tried. If gangsters came, bullets would have been utterly useless, and there weren't many that could use magic how I could.
I wasn't sure what was happening, was missing the bigger picture.
The only thing I was sure of was that Kimiko wasn't here.
I needed a beer.
Dark Alleys, Darker Thoughts
I decided the beer could wait. I was on a roll so why stop now? Plenty of reasons, my near exhaustion being only one of them. But I was frantic inside and the thought of stopping made me sick. I had to get Kimiko and leave this country. It was closing in on me, the strangeness, the feeling that unknowable creatures lurked in the shadows, waiting for me, driving the foreigner mad as this was not his world, it was theirs.
More public transport, more confusion, my head a jumbled mess. I kept obsessively checking my body, convinced I'd sprout another weird appendage at any moment. Somehow, I managed to deal with the subway and not get utterly lost, coming back to myself as I walked down an alley. My nose kept creaking, doing a rushed repair job I hadn't even thought to consciously consider activating.
Certain I must have gone the wrong way, I checked my phone to make sure I was in the right place. I was. The address led through this narrow alley, in the old quarter of Tokyo where there was no hustle and bustle of trendy youngsters or the affluent. This was old time Japan, full of tradition and houses that looked ready to tumble at any moment.
This was the underbelly of the city, where deals were made away from prying eyes and twitching ears, where people kept to themselves and expected you to stay out of their business. Through the alley and another turn, then more until I was completely confused and had lost my bearings, only knowing I was going the right way because of the map on my screen. A tiny beacon of hope where all around was despair. People watched behind half-shuttered windows in buildings that leaned across the alleys, almost touching, ancient and ready for demolition.
Cats hissed from behind pots of plants tenants would tend in the daytime to brighten up their surroundings, the buildings creaked and groaned, and I was resolute. People scurried past, keen to be off the streets. Gone were the smiling faces as neighbors gossiped, and the stores here were closed. Whereas a few streets away there were crowds of people and the endless noise of the city, here it was quiet, no place to loiter.
This was gangster territory. I could feel it seeping out of the crooked buildings—the deals, the arguments, the plots and the murders. This was where gangs came to talk in secret, where people were abused and tortured, where girls were locked away never to see their families again. Where Kimiko had a residence, probably for times when she had to deal with these people, or maybe when she wanted a taste of real, visceral and hands-on, old skool violence.
Men smoking cigarettes stood in doorways, hard faces lit up orange as they sucked down hard on Marlboro Reds, watching for a moment before dismissing me, forgetting me. Just as well, otherwise I would have never made it through this maze of madness, where everything was imbued with fear and the promise of violence and pain. Well, that was what I'd come for.
Night closed in as I turned into yet another alley and the city suddenly seemed to go dark. No streetlights here, no neon of stores or people shouting, just me and my magic.
Jumbles of overhead wires buzzed and crackled like they did all over the city—charged chaos. Thick cables criss-crossing back and forth, fat and thin, coiled and sagging, endlessly zig-zagging, snaking up and down, in and out of houses and across roofs, carrying the gift of electricity to those inside huddled in front of their TVs, maybe enjoying dinner, or possibly wondering how to get money to pay their landlord so they weren't left homeless and at the mercy of the city.
Places like this were few and far between in the vastness of Tokyo as much of the old had been decimated due to war, earthquake, and fire. The city always strives for modernity, yet there are hidden pockets where it's as it once was, where buildings are cramped, the old mixed in with the new, quiet and delightful to wander as a tourist in the daytime. But I was beyond the quaint quarter, in another place and time now. Where it was all about cash and misery, where the abusers planned their wholesale trade in anything that would earn money.
This was where the lowlifes conducted their dirty business, where nobody would ask questions and if they did it would be their last. As I got close to my destination, the gangsters increased in number. Many stood waiting outside blank doors for their bosses, and men hiding their faces stepped out with a nod after doing shameful things they would never admit to another living soul.
Then I arrived.
Two trolls stood outside a rather ugly, heavily carved building almost as narrow as their sense of humor. They were big, even by troll standards, meaning they were freakishly huge—two of the widest ones I'd ever seen. I'd heard she had a few in her employ, as they are always good for head bashing or for just standing around being menacing and blocking the doorways. Hidden would pay attention to her with them in toe, not to mention her vampire retinue and reputation. It was a shame, as if they were vampires I would have beaten them, but trolls, well, the whole immortal thing puts a dent in your plans. And there's the rock side of the equation.
I believe it was at about this point that I lost the plot a little. Or maybe I had long ago. No sleep, too much magic, too much fighting, a tail, soul stealing pigs, hellhounds, stress about my family, a betrayal by a man I'd loved for a hundred years, so much had happened. Too much for me to cope with in any sensible manner.
So I walked up to the hardheads, poked one in the belly, and insulted it by saying, "I bet you couldn't scare a group of seven-year-olds if they walked across a bridge. And your cave smells of wee." Okay look, it had been a long day so I had no great one-liners, but insulting a troll's cave, saying it couldn't even do a good scare, that's all it takes.
An arm like a tree shot out and missed grabbing and crushing my windpipe by a hair's breadth. I snorted in derision then poked my tongue out at the bewildered, and very annoyed guards. They both looked at each other, nodded, then came for me. So I ran away.
Again, I'd had a busy day, but
it had the desired effect and they lumbered after me, faster than you'd think was possible for creatures so bloody big.
Breathing ragged, I ran for all I was worth, losing my pursuers in the chaos, then waiting until they got close before heading off again, further away from the place they were tasked with guarding. After losing them good and proper in what felt like an infinite maze of streets and alleys, I finally made it back to the door, leaving them far behind and utterly confused and disorientated. They'd return soon enough, though, so I had to be relatively quick.
I pushed on the door and it creaked open, revealing a narrow flight of stairs lit by a single bare bulb hung up high on a small landing above. I could hear voices and it sounded like some kind of argument. Both were male, but it didn't mean she wasn't here.
My eyes were dark and painful in a moment, mind clearing as I focused on the Empty and took what I could, grateful. Taking the stairs two at a time, I was up them before I had chance to change my mind and head off to catch the next flight home. There were three doors off the cramped landing, the rooms would be tiny, the house so small. The floors and walls made me feel weird as they weren't level, the result of centuries of slow movement until the house settled in its final resting place. I just hoped it wouldn't be mine.
That was no way to think. Black Spark, a kick-ass enforcer was here for justice. Mind empty, in the Flow State, I smiled as magic swept around my body. I felt invincible, high as a kite on stolen power I'd use to destroy anything that stood in my path. I walked to the one open doorway where the voices could be heard, still arguing. Maybe they knew I was doing the rounds?
Nope, I wasn't on their radar, apparently. Other things were, and the piles of cash told me exactly what.
I stood in the doorway, unnoticed as two obviously mid-level Yakuza shouted at each other, one pointing to an envelope on the desk, maybe accusing the other of not bringing enough from their rounds. It was the most money I had ever seen in my life. The desk was filled with identical envelopes, thick wads of notes I knew were worth many thousands each. There was a machine for counting notes and along one wall were stacks and stacks of neatly aligned bundles of money, probably millions.
