Prom Knight

by Ben Reeder

  “You both need better Google-fu,” Lucas said, leaning forward and drawing a series of dashes from near our place on the map to the airfield. He looked over his shoulder and pointed to a spot behind an old concrete slab. “About twenty yards from here, there’s an old road of some kind that runs out to the airfield. According to the satellite photos online, it’s still in pretty good shape. Probably concrete instead of asphalt, if it was one of the old Civil Defense projects from the sixties.”

  Ren flew off in the direction Lucas had pointed, then came back seconds later. “He’s right, there is a road. If you follow it, you’ll be there in ten minutes, less if you jog.”

  “Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s go for a jog. In the dark.”

  “Through the woods,” Lucas muttered. “To spy on people who scare drug cartels.”

  “C’mon!,” I said, heading for the spot he’d pointed at. “It’ll be fun.”

  “How did I end up in a horror movie plot again?” he asked as he fell in behind me. Once I found the road, the going was pretty smooth, and we jogged along in relative silence, our path barely lit by the stars and moonlight. Soon, we were crouched behind a pair of concrete berms, looking out over a darkened airfield. We heard the faint flutter of wings, then Ren appeared between us.

  “Okay, there are ten sentries. One is stationed at the road, one at each end of the runway, and three along either side of the runway. The tenth is on top of the tower there,” he pointed to an old metal frame with stairs around the sides that led up to a flat platform. “I did find a blind spot, though. Those two buildings block the view of most of the sentries when you get close enough, but then, I don’t think they know about this road.”

  “I found it using a regular search engine and map function on a laptop,” Lucas whispered. “What makes you think they don’t know about it?”

  “They don’t have a sentry on it,” Ren countered.

  “Okay, fair point,” Lucas said.

  “Any idea who they are?” I asked.

  Ren shook his head. “They had night vision gear and those ski mask kinds of things on, um, balaclavas? All their skin was covered.”

  “How heavily armed are they?” I asked.

  “Um, very,” Ren said. “They all had submachine guns, except the guy in the tower, he had a big rifle with a scope on it. And they all have pistols and knives. This crew came loaded for serious action.”

  “Did you scope any magick on them?”

  “Didn’t feel any, and I got up pretty close to them.”

  “You can tell if there’s magick on someone?” Lucas whispered incredulously.

  Ren pointed to the antennae that swept back over his head. “Everything has a vibe, and I can feel it. It’s like your Sight, except it’s always on.”

  “I don’t have that super-power,” Lucas said. “Not yet, anyway. But I’m working on it.”

  “I see,” Ren said, but his wings were glowing an uncertain purple. “So, I can turn invisible to most people. What are you two going to do?”

  I pulled a pair of amulets from my pack, both translucent and opalescent, and handed one to Lucas. “Apprentice mages have our own ways of turning invisible,” I said as I looped mine over my head. “We’re going to head to that hangar. That should give us plenty of cover, and we should have a good look at whoever gets off the plane. Ren, I need you to be overhead to get the best pics you can.”

  “You’re planning on going into the hangar?” Lucas hissed. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “It’s an illicit drop off, probably new players in town,” I said softly. “They’re probably going to land, get in a car and leave. It’s not like they’re going to go through customs or baggage claim. Just follow my footsteps and try not to make too much noise, okay?”

  Lucas rolled his eyes and threw his hands up, then nodded. “Occulto,” he muttered, and faded from view. I activated my amulet and took off, trying to move as quietly as possible. Stealth was one thing Dr. Corwin hadn’t taught me, but I’d learned my fair share of tricks on my own. The buzz of insects and the wind made enough noise to cancel out almost all of what little sound that my steps made. At one point, I could see one of the sentries as he looked right at us, but then his gaze swept on, and I hustled to get into the blind spot the hangar provided. From there, I slowed down again, and it wasn’t long before we were at the rear door. It only took a moment to spray a little WD-40 on the hinges and lock, and the door opened silently with a little help from my lockpicks.

  We slipped inside and crossed the concrete floor. Enough moonlight came in to let me see the office and maintenance space on our left, with a set of stairs that led to a second level above that. Small panes of glass were set about fifteen feet high on the wall facing the runway, which put them at the perfect height to look through from the second level. A few were missing, gaping black squares in the pattern. I took my chameleon charm off and headed for the stairs. A couple of seconds later, Lucas appeared beside me. Our footsteps were quiet, but I still cringed at how they sounded in the empty space of the hangar. We took the stairs slowly, testing each step as we went to avoid any creaks. Then, a quiet eternity later, we were at the windows, peering out at the runway. For half an hour, we watched over the two pale stretches that ran through the grass. Then, about ten minutes before the hour, a single red flare appeared at the west end of the runway. Moments later, a series of lights appeared on either side of one of the runways. A few minutes later, we heard the whine of engines and a white jet seemed to drop out of the darkness and alight on the concrete pad.

  It passed out of view, but the whine of engines and the thump of tires on the runway told us that the plane was slowing down. The pitch of the engines changed, and the jet came back into view.

  “Um, Chance,” Lucas said, pulling at my sleeve. “The bad guys are coming this way.”

  “So is the jet,” I told him. Two of the sentries from the nearer side of the runway were approaching the hangar. “We need to hide.”

  Lucas held up his amulet. “Why not just use these?”

  “Because they might be able to sense magick,” I said. “If they can, they’ll know we’re here, even if they can’t see us at first. Just like I was able to sense the Sentinel without seeing her.” As I spoke, I headed for a pile of empty shipping crates and crouched down behind them. The crisscrossing slats gave me a partial view of the floor but still obscured us well enough. Lucas crouched beside me a couple of heartbeats before the overhead lights clicked on. We watched the doors slide open while the room slowly grew brighter and brighter. Then the jet pulled into the hangar in a wash of exhaust. Seconds after the plane stopped, a sleek black limo pulled into the building and squeaked to a stop on the far side of the plane from us. Practically on its rear axle was a black Suburban.

  The jet’s engines subsided to a low hum, then I heard another sound, and I saw movement. White blonde hair and that supple walk, the way she held her shoulders, the way her right hand came up and then gestured…I knew all of these things about her, and I knew her. She turned, and I fell in love a little more. She wore a white silk blouse and matching pants, with flats that looked like ballet slippers.

  “Kim,” I whispered. She turned back toward me, and for a moment I thought she’d heard me. Then she gestured, and two other figures appeared, the first a guy with shoulder length jet black hair with two white streaks in the back, the other a girl with almost waist length brown hair that had several streaks of white in the back. The first one turned, and I cursed softly when I caught sight of a familiar narrow face. Hoshi was here. Did he have anything to do with all of this?

  “Aunt Kim, where are we?” Hoshi asked, raising his voice to be heard over the hum of the jet’s engines. Behind him, several men began transferring luggage from the plane into the Suburban.

  “As I said before,” Kim said, her voice patient and melodic. “It is better that I not tell you.”

  “Why? You know I’ll just figure it out.” He looked over his shoulder
as the girl got into the car.

  “You are not forbidden to discover it on your own,” Kim said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “It is just-”

  “Better that you not tell me, I know.” He shook his head. “You can’t tell me, can you?”

  “I am under orders not to,” Kim said. “Now, go. Quickly. I will join you soon.” She gestured toward the black limo, and Hoshi climbed in without another word of protest. The two vehicles pulled out of the hangar, Kim and the few remaining men moved to one side and the jet’s engines rose in pitch. It lurched into motion again, turning and heading out of the hangar. A couple of minutes later, it was roaring down the runway. No sooner than it left the hangar, a white panel van pulled in, followed by yet another limo. The back of the van opened up, and the men with Kim hustled forward to unload it. In a matter of minutes, they had set up a portable pavilion and laid out tatami mats on the floor, with a brazier set in the middle and a small table. Kim took an ornate wooden box from the truck and brought it to the mat. Then she went back to the truck and retrieved another box, this one smaller and lighter, which she took to the back of the hanger. As the men set up poles with long strips of paper that held calligraphy down its surface, Kim set her box down and unbuttoned her blouse. She turned toward the back of the hangar as she removed her top, and I was tempted to both stare and to look away at the same time. As soon as she dropped the blouse and I could see her back, staring won.

  A long, sinuous green dragon tattoo wound its way up from her right hip, across her back and over her shoulder, where its open mouth issued red flame that spiraled down her left arm to just below her elbow. Dr. Corwin had no memory of that tattoo, and he had seen every inch of her. She pulled a pale blue kimono out of the package in front of her and slipped it on before she took her pants off. The rest of the process of putting the kimono on was hidden by her body, but when she turned around, I could see that she looked exquisite. The pale blue was perfect for a summer ceremony, and her hair had been pulled up into something that was close enough to a traditional hairstyle. Fueled by memories that weren’t mine, my breath came in short little pants, and I felt my throat dry out.

  “Great,” I whispered. “I’m turning into Dr. C.” Kim looked toward the front of the hangar, and I heard another jet approaching.

  “There are worse things,” Lucas whispered back. “So, what’s going on?”

  “Looks like Kim’s getting ready to do a tea ceremony. Someone important must be arriving.” Down below, Kim and the men with her hustled to the front of the hangar, and someone unrolled a red carpet. The second jet rolled up to the hangar and stopped with the nose just inside. We heard the hatch open, and Kim came forward, greeting someone in Japanese. I heard the word “oyabun” somewhere in there, and “ane-san,” the Japanese word for older sister. My heart felt like it was in my feet as I listened. The dragon tattoo had been a clue, but hearing her talk to the men she was leading to the ceremonial area, it was pretty plain: Kim was Yakuza.

  Kim led the men into view. Three had white hair and wore conservatively cut suits, while the fourth man was dark haired and wore a patterned silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up. They followed her to the area she had set up and the older men took their shoes off before stepping onto the tatami mats. Following Kim’s cue, they took places on one side of the tea set. The older men watched as Kim went through the ritual of tea preparation, while the younger man sighed and looked at his phone. Watching her turn an ordinary thing like the making of tea into a ritual of grace made my heart ache, partly from the understanding Dr. Corwin’s memories gave me, and partly because of the betrayal of the whole situation. Every movement was precise, even down to folding a napkin or laying the water scoop down, her hands moving with a grace that mere ritual couldn’t teach.

  When she finished brewing the tea, all four of her guests took their cups and sipped slowly. The three older men spoke, each one complimenting her on the flavor of the brew, and on her technique. Each word they spoke sparked more of Dr. C’s memories of the language, and after a few tries, my brain started catching words almost as fast as they were spoken.

  “I wish we could understand what they were saying,” Lucas whispered.

  “We’re not missing much. Mostly just compliments on her tea ceremony and brewing skills.”

  “Wait, you speak Japanese now?”

  “No,” I whispered back. “Dr. C speaks Japanese, I’m just experiencing his memories of it. They’re making small talk, enjoying their tea. The oldest one is talking about his grandson’s grades, how proud he is. The next one is talking about his wife’s flower garden.”

  “This is the intel you were hoping to get?” Lucas said softly. “Really?”

  “This is a tea ceremony, they don’t talk business until it’s…” I let the sentence trail off as the youngest man spoke.

  “What?”

  “He’s talking business.”

  “What’s she saying?”

  “With respect, honored oyabun,” I translated, “the moment to speak of mundane things will come all too early…no, not early; too soon. We have excellent tea and most honorable and esteemed company to share this moment with. Let us speak of pleasant things equal, um worthy of them.” The sound of flesh against flesh caught me by surprise, and I peeked through the stacked crates to see Kim with her head turned our way. She put her hand to her right cheek and stood to face the youngest man.

  “You cling to tradition like a tick to a dog,” the man said. “I will talk about whatever I want, woman. And you will keep your mouth shut.”

  “She honors the traditions of the Dragon Clans,” one of the older men barked. “You will honor them in kind.”

  “Am I not the oyabun of Clan Ryu?” the younger man hissed. “Did our new patron appoint me the highest position? I am Clan Ryu! Your oath is not to tradition, not to ritual, but to me!”

  “Forgive my boldness, then, oyabun,” Kim said with a deep bow. “Of course, we will speak of what you choose. Is there anything else you wish? Food? Liquor? Women?” As she spoke, her tone rose, until it sounded like she was addressing a spoiled child.

  “Mind your tongue, woman,” the oyabun said, bringing his arm back across his body. “Remember who you address.”

  “I do,” Kim said, her voice suddenly soft. “Can you say the same?”

  “I should have you killed for your impudence, woman.”

  “Then you would have to send your second-best assassin to do so,” Kim said. The younger guy drew his hand back again, but stopped when Kim spoke again. “If the oyabun thinks to strike me again, he would do well to give me the respect of a closed fist.”

  “If you wish to speak of business,” one of the older men interrupted, “then let us speak of business. This posturing wearies me.”

  “Of course, Hikaru-sama,” Kim said with a low bow that she held for a moment. “I apologize for wasting your time.”

  “You honor us with such delightful company and excellent tea, Kim-chan,” Hikaru said with a smile. The honorific said almost as much as the smile, since it was one usually used for women one felt affection for. “I’m sure that you can also understand Arata-san’s urgency. Events of great import are coming, and we must be ready.”

  “Our new allies will not tolerate failure,” Arata said with a glare at Kim. “We have promised them the Half-Caste Child in exchange for a place in the court of Mammon. While you waste my time with pointless ceremony, our rivals continue to search. They have many advantages. They hunt on familiar ground, and they know what they are looking for. You have no time to waste.”

  Kim nodded and offered serene smile before she knelt again and took up her cup. “If our rivals are still searching, then they do not have the advantage of us. Perhaps Arata-san would care to enjoy his tea.”

  Arata flung his cup at Kim, who leaned to one side and held up one hand to catch the porcelain missile. As she brought the cup down to the table, he drew a pistol from his belt and pointed it at her. By the tim
e he had it leveled, she had drawn something of her own: a thick sheaf of folded papers.

  “Woman,” Arata growled, “you have tested my patience for the last time.”

  “Have I? Others know small things about the Half-Caste Child, and you call this an advantage. I know who she is, and you threaten me.”

  “How can you already know this?” Arata growled. “None of Mammon’s other allies know more than what old divinations have told them. The prophecy surrounding her says very little. Yet you claim to know what no other can.”

  “Lower your weapon, Arata-san,” another oyabun ordered. In response, Arata swung the pistol toward the older man and pulled the trigger.

  Instead of the blood-spray I expected to see, the old man’s hand was simply in front of his face, and the bullet ricocheted away with a whine and a ping. Around him, the other three rose. They didn’t do anything else, but that alone seemed to be enough. Arata lowered the weapon.

  “Forgive me, brothers,” he said, bowing his head. “I was rash.”

  “You are quick to ask forgiveness for your own rash actions, Arata-san,” Hikaru said. He stepped forward and took the gun from the younger man’s hand. “But slow to offer it to a faithful servant. Your hands are faster than your thoughts. Even if you did somehow kill Morito-sama, what made you think you would have survived the wrath of any single member of this Council, much less our combined anger?”

  “The point is moot, Hikaru-san,” Arata said. “I am still the voice of our patrons, still the head of the clan. And I will not suffer insolence from a woman.”

  Hikaru laughed and turned to face Kim. “Kim-chan is not insolent,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She inclined her head for a second, then smiled. “She is confident. If she says we need not worry, and encourages us to enjoy our tea, then I will enjoy my tea. She honors us with the ceremony, and all her efforts.”

  “Forgive me if I do not share your faith in your pet kitsune. She has failed us once before.”

  Kim’s hand flashed into motion, holding out the sheaf of papers once more. “Before you were scraping before your new patrons, I saw this day coming, and took steps to ensure that the Dragon banner would fly when all others fell. It was I who secured the contract of Kyle Vortigern, and I alone who knew that it is his daughter who is the Half-Caste Chylde. It was I who guessed that Vortigern would seek to break his contract come the Rending, out of love for her. And I alone know who she was entrusted to.”