by ZV Hunter
I couldn't.
Not like that.
I'd known that all along, and yet I couldn't face it until now.
I wasn't Priestess material. I'd only mess up again—get more innocent people killed. All the rumors about me being dangerous—unfit to take over—I'd proven them right instead of the other way around.
"Actually, I think you'd make a better Priestess than I would, Aki. You can control Ame power and I can't. I failed to make a Calamity Weapon, and I'm not willing to try again."
Aki pulled her hands into fists, grasping her skirt, and shook her head. "What do you mean? You have to take over. It's what your mother wanted. What else are you going to do?"
For the first time in my life, I had no idea. Well, I had the inkling of an idea. It was probably stupid. But it'd get me away from here. Away from the people who my powers would hurt. People like Aki and Rika.
I'd never let what I'd done to Mimi happen again.
"My mother also wanted me to go to school in America, remember? I can't fulfill everything she wanted me to do, but if I go to university there and clear my head, maybe when I get back—"
Aki's eyes burned for a moment, then softened almost as quickly. "I understand. I just hope you follow through with it. When you come back, the position will be waiting for you."
The way she said it, I knew she understood the truth. I wouldn't be taking over my mother's Shrine. My powers were different—darker, and they led me in another direction.
Down a path of shadows instead of one of light.
After Aki left, I leaned back in the hospital bed and stared at the stormy sky outside. Rain pelted the window. I brought my hand to the stone around my neck and stroked it. Strange they hadn't tried to remove it at some point.
"You're still here," I said and lifted it over my head. Or, I tried to, but no matter how many times I made an attempt, the stone slipped from my hand and the chain hung stubbornly around my neck.
The Calamity inside chuckled. "Oh yes. I guess I forgot that bit. See, when you put my stone on, we were bound together. That means you can't remove me unless you do the one thing you don't want to: put me in a weapon."
"Great. And no. I said I'm not trying that again, and I meant it."
"Pity. You'd be more powerful than that little Priestess if you did. You'd be more powerful than a lot of people."
I shook my head and twisted my clean hair around my fingers. "I don't want to be powerful I want to—I don't know what I want to do. Help people. Make up for what I've done."
"Boring. I thought you'd be different, considering. But I suppose that's the problem with humans."
I had to get stuck with a chatty asshole of a Calamity, didn't I?
I glared at the off-white wall. "You never told me your name."
"I've gone by many different names in my time. Too many to share them all. But you can call me Radiant One. Although, I suppose Reflective One is more accurate, but it doesn't have as nice a ring to it."
"I'm not calling you a Radiant One. But your stone glows, so how about Lux?"
After a moment of silence, the stone hummed. "That's tolerable. But if I am the light then what are you?"
I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched down the pain. I knew before I even opened my mouth. Before he asked me. I had a long road to travel to get there, but I'd do it. I had a path I never expected, but at least I picked it for myself.
"I'm Yukine Nox, and I hunt Calamities. Well, I will someday soon. After college."
He chuckled again. "An exorcist? Well, doesn't that sound like an adventure."
I let myself smile.
It really did.
COMING IN JANUARY 2016
Calamity Rising
Deathwalker Series #1
Dead bodies don’t scare me. They can’t curse me, lunge at me or do anything but rot and stink. It’s their spirits that are the problem.
I’m Yukine Nox: necromancer, exorcist, dark mage, and the girl who’s gonna save your ass when spirits come knocking. I see between the veil that separates the world of the living from the Spirit World—a place full of ghosts and supernatural monsters called Calamities.
On the surface, Neo-Tokyo sparkles like an ultramodern jewel, but its roots run deep and dark, tangled in magic. When a powerful Calamity snatches young girls and leaves a trail of angry ghosts in its wake, I take the case. But the more I dig, the more dangers pop-up including: a vengeful spirit trapped in a death house, a possessed bartender after my head, and the constant barrage of annoying insults from the Calamity trapped in a stone around my neck. Not to mention my reacquaintance with Kuro Abe, a Conjurer with a suspicious past who won’t stop flirting with me—or following me around.
Worst of all, if I don't stop this creature soon, it’ll drape Neo-Tokyo in a veil of death.
Read the first chapter of Calamity Rising:
HALF PAST MIDNIGHT on a Friday and instead of relaxing at an izakaya (that's a pub for everyone who doesn't live in Neo-Tokyo), I was stuck climbing the stairs of a shitty old apartment building and minutes away from coming face-to-face with a pissed off ghost.
Welcome to my life.
Yukine Nox.
Exorcist. Detective. Dark Mage. Sometimes I'm even a Necromancer, if you pay me enough.
The building itself was only three stories tall, and a huge flock of crows perched on the roof squawking. That alone told me this place harbored something.
Like most old apartments in the city it didn't have an elevator. The stairs wound up the exterior, and they creaked with every step. Of course, the ghost had to be on the top floor. Not that I minded the climb. I was used to it, but rain fell in steady sheets, the stairs weren't covered, and I left my umbrella at the last train station.
You guessed it—my luck sucked.
None of the lights from the other apartments were on. Either everyone went to bed early, or they decided to clear out before I came. Wise choice.
Rain didn't help with the deadly chill that permeated the whole structure. A smell of mold and disuse—lingering death—hung over everything.
All in all, not the best neighborhood in Neo-Tokyo, though that's a misnomer. See, unlike normal cities, Neo-Tokyo isn't just one sprawling metropolis like it looks on the surface. It's actually a series of smaller cities, called wards, that are joined together under the umbrella of Neo-Tokyo. This apartment was actually in Adachi-ku, a working class neighborhood toward the edge of said umbrella.
The whole neighborhood looked ready to be torn down. All the apartments were postwar. These were probably put up between the 1960s and the 1970s, which was considered ancient in this city. Especially when they weren't built to last more than ten years.
The streets that ran between the apartments and houses were little more than glorified alleys which gave the entire area a cramped and neglected feeling.
The steady rainfall from the walk over soaked my hair, and it dripped into my eyes and down the back of my neck. The black trench I wore over my violet tunic and gray leggings was similarly damp despite its claim to be waterproof. I'd have to have a certified Mage look into that. If I hadn't left my last job in such a hurry I could've called my old partner, Ken Miyamaya. But facing him after what happened—yeah.
Not easy.
To be honest, I wouldn't have been there if the landlady who called that morning didn't sound all kinds of desperate. She was a normal human, but she'd heard about me—about what I can do. Part of that had to do with the culture (all the Shrines and Temples) and another had to do with the power that churned under the ground. No one could ignore that, no matter how insensitive to magic they were.
The history of the land and people lingered here and merged with the power that surged under the earth. Calamities fed on that sort of thing. Ghosts are a different beast altogether, but I can handle both.
I'd been asleep when the phone rang and started awake in my office chair. Bad habit. I answered in Japanese and English. "Moshi moshi. Hello?"
A breat
h sucked in on the other end of the phone, then she cleared her throat and explained the situation: ghost in the upstairs apartment. Lots of upset tenants. Possibly dangerous according to the Buddhist Monk she'd had come by).
I couldn't let something like that go unanswered.
Plus, I needed the money.
It's not that my business was doing badly. Hell, I'd only been at if for a little under a year, and these things take time. Getting the word out about my particular services (exorcising ghosts and Calamities—which is just a category that includes everything from low ranking gods to demons) wasn't easy when I wanted to avoid the world (and the people) I'd grown up around. Even the ones I liked—the ones I missed.
I didn't have any desire to see that asshole Conjurer Kuro Abe again, but my old friends and my old home were too good. And I'd done something terrible the last time I was there. Something that left an innocent girl—a friend—dead. So asking them for help now wasn't possible.
I could do this on my own.
That brings us back to Friday night.
If I didn't take the job, I might not have a place to live next month.
I crept to the top floor and brushed the water from my face and hair. The haunted room loomed at the end of the hall.
Apartment 13.
That's not a great omen. Although thirteen doesn't have the same connotations in Japan that it does in America, I knew enough about Eastern numerology to get why that place harbored a ghost. See, one plus three is four.
And four is the number of death—shi.
Like Shinigami, the God of Death.
I took a deep breath and patted down my pockets for a few weapons. Fighting ghosts doesn't work in real life the way it does in the movies. There are no proton packs or any of that shit. A ghost won't explode into bits of ectoplasmic goo if you shoot it with a special science gun.
Instead, I had a trusty old wrought-iron short sword (samurai style) that I kept tucked under my trench coat. The blade wasn't sharp because it wasn't meant to hurt humans, though it could knock someone out with a swift bash to the back of the head.
I knew that from experience.
However, it was only meant to fight beings from the Spirit World (where ghosts and Calamities reside) since they hate iron, and wrought iron is nearly a hundred percent pure. But this one had seen a few battles recently and the iron rusted. Side effect of coming into contact with creatures from the Spirit World no matter how it repelled them.
"That's not gonna last the night, and you know it," a voice said. It emanated from the faintly glowing Spirit Stone around my neck. Not even the wards I wore kept the damn thing quiet. No one else I'd ever met could hear it but me—another part of my terrible luck.
"I'll make it work," I grumbled and straightened my shoulders. Shook off the rain that matted my hair to my head.
"You know how to make it stronger. Or are you afraid the same thing that happened last time will happen again?"
I gritted my teeth. "I could use you if you're so eager for me to strengthen it."
The Calamity trapped in the stone made a sound like a yawn. It didn't have a name, not one it ever shared, but with the pale white glow it gave off I called it Lux. I found it a long time ago when I was lost in the Spirit World, and it's been attached to me ever since—as in the necklace won't come off no matter what.
"Empty threat. We both know you won't do that because I'd welcome it. Oh, the chance to walk again and fight alongside a great Kami. Well, you're not a god. Not even close, but a boy can dream."
I ignored that.
I had several other weapons: smaller iron shuriken meant to pin a ghost down, my beads blessed by a Buddhist Monk for protection, and a few Spirit Seals. The ones I brought were simple paper strips with the words of containment scrawled in uneven kanji in black ink—strong enough to contain whatever ghost haunted this place.
For something stronger, I'd need a Spirit Jar or other Vessel that had been blessed by a Shinto Priestess or Priest.
How did I know this ghost was weak?
For one, the miasma it gave off barely leaked out of the door, though it did seep through the walls and beams of the whole structure. You see, a building with a malevolent haunting is like a body with a disease—it spreads—and how quickly it spreads (or how easily it's snuffed out) depends on the strength of the ghost. A stronger ghost could've infected the entire building by now.
This one hadn't.
"You're going in like that? Good luck. When the ghost curses you, make sure you chuck me over the wall so I don't end up burnt to a crisp with your body."
"If I go down, you're coming with me," I said.
Lux shut up, though I heard the faint rustle of his annoyance in the back of my mind.
The doorknob turned smoothly under my hand, and the icy metal stung through my black leather gloves. The landlady said she'd left it unlocked. It opened easily. No long black hair wrapped around the doorknob. Good. That's never welcome.
For a moment, I stood in the doorway and listened. Sucked in a shallow breath of foul air and studied the entrance. These kinds of apartments were common in every ward. Old and cheap and infested with rats and roaches. They went up like a pile of dry kindling in a fire. The only people who lived in them had to. They didn't have the money to move anywhere else.
The landlady hadn't done much to improve the place. The door needed a paint job—the green chipped in several places. The linoleum floor inside the kitchen didn't reach the walls. It curled at the edges, age-stained and brittle. The stench of mildew mingled with the miasma.
Most people think of glitz and glamour—the shining metropolis, jewel of the East—when they think about Neo-Tokyo. But the city has a dark side. Shadows infest its underbelly, and that's where I do my best work.
I stretched my senses into the darkness. A glass door opened to a balcony in the living and sleeping space, but the sliding doors on the other side of the kitchen blocked it from view. The layouts in most apartments like this are all the same. One long room with sliding doors to separate them—typical of the Shōwa period.
The kitchen seemed normal enough. An apartment-sized fridge sat tucked in the corner next to an empty pantry. The sink and stove were below the kitchen window, and beyond that was a door that opened to the bathroom. I didn't bother checking it since the ghost's presence loomed beyond the other closed door.
While a lot of humans, both magical and not, are what I'd call 'sensitive,' that means they can sense the presence of a ghost or another creature from the Spirit World. They can't see it. That's a special skill only a few people are cursed with.
I'm one of them.
It's not something you can learn like witchcraft. Or something you're born with like strong Spiritual Power.
No—it's much worse.
I took a moment and let my eyes adjust to the shadows.
Unfortunately, all ghosts don't glow, and I wasn't expecting a light show from this one. But a shadow hovered behind the sliding door. I saw it through the thin opaque paper.
"At least it's not hiding in the closet like that last one. You screamed like a dying puppy."
"I didn't," I said and tried to tune Lux out.
The thickness of the miasma clogged my throat and nose, like the scent of a dead body left to decay. Not pleasant, unless you're a crow. Or a Bakeneko—a demon cat.
I hadn't gotten much from the landlady that morning. She said no one would rent Apartment 13 for more than a week, and that the other occupants in the building complained of a foul odor.
They weren't kidding.
But she didn't tell me why this particular apartment might be haunted, beyond the obvious numerical association with death. That's not strong enough to draw out a ghost.
I cleared my throat, dry despite the ever-present damp in the air.
"Oh no. Are you gonna try to talk to this one? She's right there! Looking to rip your face off, Yuki. You can't be serious."
The presence in front of me shifted; it
s focus moving toward the closed door. I felt the heat of that glare—sorrowful hatred clogged the air.
"Shut it," I said under my breath before addressing the ghost. "Hey. What are you doing here?" I repeated that in Japanese in case it wasn't multilingual.
I found it best not to sneak up on ghosts. They aren't bound to the same laws of physics that humans are, and a surprised ghost is worse than an attentive one.
I waited.
Counted the seconds in my head.
No answer.
But the shadow behind the door shifted.
Stretched.
The legs and body elongated until they reached the ceiling, at least that's what it looked like through the door. In order to be sure, I had to open it.
Who said my job isn't fun?
The floor creaked under each footstep, and the closer I got the heavier the miasma grew. It surrounded me in a cloak and threatened to drag me down with it. To yank me into whatever grievous end this ghost met.
Not happening.
I'm no amateur. I've been fighting these kind of creatures since I was ten.
My fingers brushed the edge of the sliding door, and the ghost mumbled beyond it. At first, the words were indecipherable gibberish. Something muttered under its breath, repeated in an endless loop. It wasn't conscious of what it did. The ghost relived its death over and over again, stuck in this moment for all eternity. Or until someone like me came along.
I stood still—listened.
Slowly, the words made sense.
"Took her . . . from me. Have to . . . find her. Have to . . . find her . . . there."
As much sense as they can make.
The ghost lost something—a person—and it needed them back. Maybe some guy whose girlfriend left him for someone else. Not the most original thing in the world, but not every haunting was interesting.
"Find her . . . there."
The door scraped as I shoved it open, and the ghost's words faded into a sudden silence.
