by Zoe Marriott
“Um … Remnant Street, I think.”
“No. From now on it will be Paradise Street. Heaven Road. Happiness Avenue.”
“You big cheese-ball…” I muttered, putting my arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.
“What?”
“Never mind!” I grumped, then sighed. “I wish we could stay on Happiness Avenue a bit longer…”
“But we can’t,” he finished. “It is all right. I promise we will come back whenever you want.”
CHAPTER 12
LOOKING FOR AVALON
Museum Street.
It was another narrow road, made narrower by the motorcycle rank that took up half of the tarmac. On the corner there was a cafe with its white awning still out, although the window and door were shuttered and the little metal tables and chairs you’d have expected to see outside were missing. A hairdresser’s and the Japanese restaurant on the other side of it were both obviously closed too. But next to the cafe, and to the right of the hairdresser’s, there was a shop with a dark blue-green façade. Its large display window was unshuttered and an OPEN sign hung on the door. The plate glass was painted with swirling golden lettering that declared:
AVALON BOOKS
OCCULT AND ANTIQUARIAN BOOKSELLERS
EST. 1977. PROPRIETOR: L. LEECH
I read the words aloud, then repeated, “Nineteen seventy-seven.”
“That must be incorrect. The king said this being has dwelled here for centuries.”
I waved that away. “I suppose he’d have to change his name and business every now and again, to stop people getting suspicious. It’s just … seventy-seven was the year my grandfather came here from Japan with my dad.”
Shinobu eyed the lettering with more interest. “Perhaps it is a message?”
“If it is, that means he’s been waiting. For me. Waiting since – since – before I was born. And…” I gulped and squared my shoulders, “the only way to find out is to go in there.”
I moved forward. Shinobu quickly stepped in front of me and pushed the door open, holding it for me while making sure that his body was between mine and the interior of the building. Bodyguarding me again, damn it.
Then we were both inside, and the door had snapped quietly shut behind us.
The first thing that struck me was how big the place was. Not exactly TARDIS-like, but a lot larger than I’d been expecting from the exterior. This row of buildings had three storeys, and the height of the ceiling in here seemed to suggest that someone had taken out the second floor to create a double-height space for the shop.
The ceiling was painted the same vivid blue-green as the outside. Some really talented artist had mixed the darker shade with subtle swirls of silver and pale greens and blues, until you felt like you were looking up into a deep ocean. The walls were hidden behind fitted, crammed-full bookshelves of sand-coloured wood that climbed to about seven feet, and the space between the tops of the shelves and the ceiling was filled with … fish tanks. They ran, uninterrupted, from corner to corner. The things must have been custom-made to fit the gap. I squinted at them, expecting to see bright exotic fish or something. Instead I realized that the clean, sparkling water was filled with… Were those jellyfish? All different kinds of jellyfish, ranging from tiny white blobs barely as big as a button, to one vivid red umbrella-sized one with trailing streamers as long as my leg. They drifted through the tanks with that peculiar halting motion, in apparent harmony with one another.
“This is … unusual,” Shinobu whispered.
More bookcases – these ones without aquariums on top – formed three wide corridors, dividing the space in the middle of the shop. Shinobu indicated the middle one to me with a questioning tilt of his head, and I nodded again. We moved forward into the aisle together.
The faint watery swishing from the tanks overhead blocked out the sounds of the outside world, making the room feel quiet in a way that was more oppressive than true silence. I shifted to put my back to the shelves, unzipping my hoodie. Shinobu unbuttoned his long coat and pushed it aside so that he could reach his swords. My fingers were trembling with the desire to grasp the hilt of the katana sword, but I refused to give in – for now.
There was a long wooden counter at the other end of the aisle. As we got closer, I saw an antique-looking metal till and ancient Bakelite dial-phone taking up one side. A tiny teacup – the kind made of bone china so thin that the light actually shines through it – sat in a saucer next to the till. The green liquid inside was steaming gently. The other end of the counter held a display of books piled into a geometric pyramid shape, with a yellowing human skull sitting on the apex. The top of the skull had been removed and a brass plant pot, holding some lush green plant with heart-shaped leaves, stuck out. OK, now that? Was officially Grade-A creepy.
Something stirred to Shinobu’s right.
The sheathed katana was out of its harness and in my hand before the first syllable of the words “Watch out!” formed in my mouth.
Shinobu was even quicker than me. He whirled and drew his short wakizashi blade in a single, flowing movement.
Then we all froze.
I stared, trying to make sense of the still scene that had resolved itself out of the flurry of motion.
A short, plump man, with a slightly hunched back, his scalp shining through sparse wisps of grey hair, stood in the gap between the last bookcase and the counter. He was leaning on a polished dark wood cane. The round silver top gleamed between fingers that were swollen and bent.
The man had heavily lined skin with the soft, silklike quality which only comes from extreme age. His eyes were dark, and his features were obviously east Asian. The most striking thing about him was the absolutely beatific smile on his face. It pulled his cheeks up into round little balls and made his eyes twinkle.
The tip of Shinobu’s short blade was about a millimetre from his throat.
“You know, it’s rude to point,” the old man said. His voice had a faint accent that I couldn’t place, and was as rich and fruity as Christmas pudding. “Or don’t they teach young people that any more?”
This man had none of the overwhelming, crushing presence of an immortal like the Harbinger or the King of the Kitsune. He didn’t make me feel sick or cold, like the Yomi creatures. And unlike every other ancient supernatural I’d met, he was making no effort to look young. My eyes and my spidey-senses both told me that I was looking at a harmless little old man. I quickly slid the katana and saya back into the harness on my back.
Shinobu lowered his own blade and resheathed it at his waist. “My apologies … Mr Leech?”
“Well, at least they taught you to apologize nicely. Were you two looking for something in particular today?” he asked, eyes twinkling.
Shinobu and I shared a helpless look. This was the right place. This had to be the right man. Being. Thing. And yet … he wasn’t playing his part. How were you supposed to just ask someone if they were an ancient immortal?
“Goodness, was it that difficult a question?” Mr Leech asked, letting loose a deep, boozy-sounding chuckle. “Don’t look so worried, my dears.” He limped away from us and took up a place behind the counter, leaning his walking stick against it so he could pick up his tea. He slurped it loudly, still looking at us with those calm, twinkly eyes.
“Um, I’m really sorry if we – we were rude,” I said hesitantly. “It’s just that there’s lots of weird stuff happening in the city lately. I don’t know if you’ve noticed?”
“Mysterious allergens in the air. Unsolved murders. Shady happenings. A storm brewing,” he said with relish. “I can check the BBC News website just like anyone else, you know, young lady.”
“Well, I was told that you … might be able to help.”
He chuckled again. “Really? And who told you that? Your tall acquaintance here?”
Would the king be OK with me bringing her name into this? Or should I make something up? Before I could think of a way to answer, Shinobu sucked in a
deep breath. “You saw me straight away,” he said in a tone of dawning discovery. “And you can still see me now.”
Crap. I can’t believe I missed that.
The old man grinned like a kid caught out playing a trick.
“You’re messing with us, aren’t you?” I said.
“I have been accused of having an unfortunate sense of humour. But when you reach my age, most of life becomes either unbearably funny or unbearably sad,” he confessed.
“What is your age, exactly?” Shinobu asked, moving smoothly towards the end of the counter.
“That would be telling,” the old man said, still smiling like a plump-cheeked little baby.
“I don’t care,” I said, finally out of patience. I took two swift steps forward and leaned over the till into the old man’s space, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I don’t care how old you are or who or what you are. I have questions that I need to ask. You have information that I think you want to share. So why don’t you give the games a rest and we can get on with it?”
Mr Leech stared at me consideringly, and I stared back. I could see it now: the only flaw in his disguise. Close up his eyes were more than just the twinkling eyes of a funny old man. Behind the ordinary brown, there was light. A soft brilliance that seemed to come from a long, long way away. Those eyes were like a gap in a cloudy night sky that lets the distant glow of the stars shine through.
“You are exactly like her, aren’t you?” he said quietly.
I frowned suspiciously. “Like who?”
In the corner of my vision Shinobu made a sharp, jerking movement. I flicked my gaze to him for one second. His face was expressionless, but his fists were clenched.
“Never mind,” the old man said. “I think you’ll do. You’ll do very well indeed.”
“Do for what?” Shinobu asked.
I interrupted. “Don’t. He can probably keep talking in riddles all day. Mr Leech, are you going to help us or not?”
The old man snapped his cane up in a deft movement that his swollen fingers ought to have made impossible and turned away from me towards a door behind the counter marked STAFF ONLY. “Follow me upstairs. I think we’re going to want a little privacy. Come along now, what are you waiting for?”
Taken aback, I looked around blankly. “But – what about the shop?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. People don’t notice it unless I want them to, you know.”
Just like I’d never noticed it before.
Sidestepping Shinobu’s attempt to go first, I followed the old man out of the shop and into a tiny, dingy lobby, crammed with piled cardboard boxes and old newspapers, and up a flight of shaky, rusty, iron stairs. At the top, we waited a couple of steps down from Mr Leech as he unlocked a peeling plywood door.
“What kind of tea do you prefer?” he called as he disappeared into the room beyond.
“Um … PG Tips?” I moved cautiously into the space and looked around as Shinobu shut the door behind us. He kept his hand on the handle.
The place was tiny and looked as if it hadn’t been redecorated since about 1900. A vivid pink floral carpet was almost hidden beneath heavy, dark furniture that was way too big for the room – a massive, peeling red leather sofa and two wing chairs, a Welsh dresser taking up most of one wall, a sideboard and about three sets of those little nesting tables. Every available surface was covered in what Jack would have called “Old Lady Bling”: china figurines, commemorative plates, glass paperweights, silver candlesticks. The two tiny windows were veiled by blindingly white net curtains.
“Would you like a soft drink, perhaps?” Mr Leech’s voice floated out of an alcove to the left, where I could just see the edge of what looked like a kitchen cabinet. There was a clattering noise, as if he was searching through cupboards.
“Don’t go to any—” I began.
The old man stepped out of the alcove with a sword in his hands.
It was sheathed, and he held it flat between his palms as if he intended to offer it up, rather than draw it. I could see, even in the dimness of the flat, that the sword was old, and well used. The plain black lacquer saya was scratched and chipped in places, and the black silk wrappings worn and frayed. It was a wakizashi: a short blade like the one that Shinobu liked to fight with. There was a click as the old man caught the edge of the saya with one thumb and slid an inch of gleaming steel free, his bright, youthful eyes fixed on me.
My katana throbbed. The hot energy burst through my back, making my muscles judder so badly that I squeaked. Shinobu let out a strange, choked gasp.
Then he crumpled to the ground at my feet.
“Shinobu!”
I dropped next to him, grabbing his shoulders. He had doubled up over his knees and was clutching at his chest with one hand. His other hand clawed at the flowery carpet. His skin was waxy pale and his eyes had gone black, opaque. I called his name again; he didn’t respond.
A scarlet droplet oozed between his fingers and trickled across the back of his hand.
“Take the blade,” Mr Leech rasped out. I looked up to see him standing exactly as before. “Take it,” he repeated.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “What is that? What are you doing to him?”
“He doesn’t matter,” the old man said impatiently. “The wakizashi has been hidden for half a millennium. Now that it is out even the nexus’s energy cannot conceal it any longer. Your enemy will know it is here. He will come for it. You must take it and unsheathe it.”
A dark, sticky stain was dampening the fabric between Shinobu’s fingers. He fell sideways onto the carpet, his breath hacking harshly.
I surged to my feet and ripped the katana from its sheath in the fastest draw of my life. Ghostly white fire sputtered to life along the cutting edge as I stepped towards the old man. His eyes widened.
“You’re killing him!” I said.
“He is already dead!” He sounded almost pleading. “Take the blade now and this can all be over.”
I brought the tip of the katana up until it pierced the air directly in front of the old man’s chest. The blade’s flames flared between us. “Whatever you are doing to him, stop it right now. If you don’t, I swear on my grandfather’s grave, I will gut you.”
In that heartbeat, with the sword’s power flaring around me, I meant the threat absolutely.
Mr Leech stared at me for another split second. Then he closed his eyes in defeat, bowing his head over the wakizashi. His swollen, bent old hands slid together and snapped the saya back into place. As his fists met, there was a burst of blinding, rainbow white light. I jerked my head away, eyes squeezing shut. When I looked again, his hands were empty.
Shinobu sucked in a long, deep breath. It sounded more like wind howling down a long tunnel than any human noise. It stirred my hair and set the net curtains fluttering. I spun round in time to see him sit up. His hair fell in messy hanks around his face as he stared down at the dark red blood staining the palm of his hand. I shoved the katana hastily into the saya on my back, nearly tripping over my own feet in my rush to get to him, and grabbed at the hem of his sweater. I yanked the material up.
His chest was smooth, golden, and unmarked. Thick, almost black streaks of blood were drying on his skin. I laid my palm over his heart, nearly sick with relief as I felt the strong, steady beat thundering under his breastbone.
Not again. I can’t ever watch him die again.
I’ll never let go.
I turned on Mr Leech fiercely. “What did you do to Shinobu?”
“I was trying to help,” he said in an infuriatingly melancholy tone. His cane was back in his hand and he was leaning on it heavily.
“By magically punching a hole in him?”
My voice broke on the last word. Shinobu put his palm over mine where it still lay on his chest. I could feel the stickiness of his blood smearing against my skin.
“I did not know that would happen,” the old man said, shrugging a little. What’s a mortal inj
ury between friends? “How was I to guess that when you brought the sword to me, your friend would be walking beside you in this form? How was I to guess that you would already love him? All my plans in ruins…”
“What plans? I don’t understand anything that just came out of your mouth,” I told him bluntly. “Are you saying that you didn’t mean to hurt him?”
“I had no idea he could be hurt.” He turned a stern look on us. “I don’t think you realize that the being sitting beside you is not a person. He is a spirit. In a very real sense, he has been dead for five hundred years. For him to allow you to love him in this state … it is cruel. And he knows it.” His tone was condemning.
Shinobu’s jaw tightened, and I was infuriated to see his gaze drop from the old man’s. I turned my blood-smeared hand over and gripped his fingers hard.
“We didn’t come here for relationship counselling,” I said evenly. “Shikome are swarming on London. Hundreds of people are ill, including my best friend. And her sister was bitten by a Nekomata and is mutating. I was told that you could give us the information we need to banish the Foul Women. To use the sword for something good for once, to help all the people who’ve been hurt by this situation. I hoped you might tell me how to heal my bitten friend. But so far all you’ve done is double-talk and nearly kill Shinobu. So just tell me – can you help us?”
If anything, the old man’s face grew even sadder. The more depressed he got, the younger he seemed to look. His face was less lined now, and I could have sworn that he had more hair.
“That would depend,” he said.
“On what?” Shinobu asked apprehensively.
The old man gave me a look that drenched me in icy apprehension. “What are you willing to sacrifice?”
CHAPTER 13
INEVITABILITY
The old man’s words hung in the air for a long, tense moment. Then he seemed to shake himself. “What’s done is done. But we don’t have much time now, not after the amount of energy you and I just unleashed in these rooms. The one hunting you will sniff it out, probably in the next few minutes.”
