Storm Chaser: A Novel of The Black Pages

by Danny Bell

  “Well,” I said thoughtfully. “We aren’t men.”

  “Quite right, nor are we in a room.” He nodded in agreement. “Though I fear it is possible that your lives may be too large for our little space.”

  “If I understood fancy talk, I’d probably guess that was pretty close to rude,” Ann chided. “Almost like you’re trying to kick us out.”

  The man raised his palms in a show of surrender. “Nothing so dramatic. There is, of course, something I’d like to show you in private. Given how discerning your artistic tastes are, I’m confident it will prove more edifying than anything you’ll find out here.” The words were a half step removed from anger and only held onto civil by a thread. After a tense moment where neither Ann nor I replied, he added, “Call it a room with a view. Please, I insist.”

  Ann looked at me expectantly now that our host had raised the stakes, but I was in the boat she was, so to speak, and I wasn’t sure how seaworthy the hotel was. Still, there was relative safety, surrounded as we were, assuming, of course, that a room full of socialites wouldn’t just turn on us. We had been more or less guaranteed our safety for the duration of the party, but maybe their way around that was in leading us away from the event. Honestly, that would be a pretty stupid way to die.

  “Fine, lead the way.” Ann rolled her eyes, staying in character for some reason, and helpfully making the decision for us.

  “Of course,” the man said, his tone lightening now that he was getting his way, and we were led out of the garden and past the buffet room. As we passed, I took note of the sushi and found myself suddenly quite hungry.

  “You know,” he said once we were away from the other guests. “I can’t help but notice that you haven’t asked who I am. Am I to assume you were informed?”

  “No,” I admitted evenly. “I just assumed it wasn’t important. Not sure that I’d accept an invitation to your birthday party.”

  “You have to excuse her,” Ann offered diplomatically. “She never learned how to talk to self-obsessed bad guys.”

  Our host grit his teeth now; he looked like he was teetering on the precipice of his last damned nerve. “I’m trying desperately to be hospitable,” he seethed.

  I offered a nod of acknowledgment. “You get an A for effort.”

  “Keep up the good work,” Ann added.

  “We’re all very proud of you.”

  Ann barely suppressed a smile. “If you believe it, you can achieve it.”

  I heard his knuckles pop as he stopped in front of the guards and deliberately turned his attention away from us. “We’re here.”

  A look was exchanged between them all, and the guards parted to allow us into a room marked by a plaque as the “Golden Ballroom,” only to close the door behind us.

  “My name,” the man declared almost indignantly and louder than needed. “Is Doctor Makoto Wada, senior adviser to the museum and director of special projects.”

  “Dude, there’s no way I’m going to remember that.” Ann sighed.

  “And I have something to show you,” Makoto said, walking the length of the room. It was a banquet hall, brightly lit, with tables set for dinner. On the opposite end of the room was a stage, a podium, a microphone, and three separate canvases that sat on easels draped in white cloth. Makoto continued speaking as he crossed the room, only to look visibly annoyed when he turned around to see that Ann and I had remained near the door.

  “Over here!” he shouted. “Over here, you…! You were meant to follow me!”

  The look of impatience on his face was threatening a boiling point, which, in truth, was what I’d been hoping for. Ann either picked up on my intention or was just being a jerk because she clearly thought it was funny and she was barely containing her laughter. Our casual pace grated on him and, it was clear by his flushed appearance, he was clinging onto his last strands of inner peace.

  “As I was saying,” he said in a huff, smoothing his hands over his blazer. “Our auction this evening is made possible by a generous donation from Ginshi.”

  “What’s a Ginshi?” I asked.

  “Ginshi is an artist,” Makoto corrected. “She is the last surviving student of Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita. Unlike her mentor, Ginshi sees magical realism and its detachment from its subjects as an excuse to avoid certain truths and seeks a revival of the impressionists.”

  “So, a painter?”

  “Yes.” Makoto acknowledged as if I were five. “A painter.”

  “What was Foujita known for?” I pressed, forgetting my character for a moment.

  “Cats and boobs. Just a whole mess of boobs. So many boobs,” Ann chimed in.

  Makoto stared at my friend as if she’d spontaneously grown an extra set of arms.

  Ann visibly blushed and sounded defensive. “What? I have to flex my liberal arts knowledge sometime.”

  Makoto cleared his throat and continued, “Blunt, but technically correct. His Book of Cats is considered a treasure and Foujita is said to have drawn more than three thousand nude portraits of women. However, we are here to discuss the work of Ginshi. Observe.”

  He pulled the cloth away to reveal three framed paintings under glass and stepped away with a sudden air of satisfaction. “Our first piece depicts the three treasures of Japan,” he began. “The sacred jewel, Yasakani no Magatama, our symbol of benevolence, which belonged to the luminous sun goddess Amaterasu. The mirror which cannot be owned, Yata no Kagami. It is, of course, our symbol of wisdom. I believe you are acquainted with it, are you not?”

  I said nothing.

  “And lastly, the heavenly sword Kusanagi no Tsurugi, our symbol of valor.”

  “Retrieved from the body of the Orochi, yes?” I asked. A twitch in his jaw. I pressed, “Or would you say stolen after the Orochi was murdered?”

  “Our next painting—” he said tightly, ignoring my question—“shows the creation of some of our most holy. After a valiant attempt by Izanagi to rescue his beloved Izanami, he needed to cleanse himself of the underworld and, thus, his children were brought to us. Amaterasu, the sun, came forth from his left eye, and Tsuki-Yomi, the moon, came from his right. Shinatsuhiko, the wind, was born of his breath, and Susano-o, the storm, was born of his nose. I’m told this is not precisely how it happened, but that the artist was close in her depiction. You can see here, Ginshi uses light to—”

  “Hold up a minute,” Ann interjected. “Born from his nose? Like a sneeze? Susano-o is a booger, is what you’re saying.”

  Makoto sharply inhaled through his nose and straightened himself. “You are becoming increasingly disrespectful, miss, and I would appreciate it greatly if you did not speak of Susano-o in such terms. Let us just move on to the final painting and wrap this up. The redemption and rebirth of Yamata no Orochi.”

  I studied the last painting; it was of a desolate field being soaked by a dark storm. In that storm, high above the ground, was a floating figure clad in elaborate robes, arms held high above his head with purpose, clutching a shining disc. On the ground were eight hideous figures, roiling and struggling to take shape. Not human, but something between human and snake, like a transformation that never quite held.

  “We owe ourselves to him and, in return, he has blessed us,” the man nearly hissed, his voice leaving civility behind. I turned to face him, and his eyes shone yellow, his face flashed briefly with something like scales. “You will fall, Elana Black, and we will rise and become whole. Your precious city will wash into the ocean if we do not get what we want. We are greater than the sum of our parts. We are Yamata no Orochi.”

  “I know,” I replied smoothly. “I’m not sure what you want out of us with that information. What reaction are you hoping for?”

  Ann decided against being as calm as I’d been. “Holy shit, what a goddamn waste of time! Jesus Christ, is that really your whole big damn reveal? Ooh, you’re not fully human after all, and then what? We run away like you’re a Scooby Doo villain? What the hell, man? You really thought we needed all of
this just to do your whole goofy eye thing? Shit’s sake, you’re not even the first one of you we’ve fought!”

  “The last one almost died,” I confirmed.

  “The last one almost effing died!” Ann shouted. “I don’t know, maybe he did die, good god buddy, what are you even doing here?”

  “Young Sora may have been perhaps hasty in his—” Makoto began uncomfortably.

  “The ice guy’s name is Sora?” Ann interrupted. “Like some Kingdom Hearts bullshit?”

  I nudged Ann with elbow. “There’s also these chubby little birds called Soras.”

  “I literally only just now remembered that we didn’t care about his stupid-ass name either!”

  “I genuinely hope he’s still injured,” I added. “But at least his song and dance were relatively short. I really think you took the long road with us on this, you know?”

  Ann jabbed a finger in his direction. “I hope your magic is plant based so you can make some trees to replace the oxygen you keep wasting!”

  “You two are insufferable.” Makoto sighed. “I can’t wait to kill you.”

  “Bitch, you won’t!” Ann nearly shouted. “You can’t even attack us here! All this pageantry just to give a bad guy speech and what? Just to let us know you’re one of the bad guys that we already knew we’re fighting? Are you redundant or do you just say things people already know?”

  “Please, please get the hell away from me.” Makoto sighed again, with much less energy suddenly, vaguely gesturing to the doors. “Please go.”

  I gave a polite nod and said, “I hope you can enjoy the rest of the party.”

  As we walked away, Ann fumed in disbelief, shouting at him. “You suck so bad. You suck so goddamn bad! Of all the lame-ass plans to try and scare a person, just, holy shit. You’re absolutely worthless—totally worthless, would’ve scared us more if you literally said nothing, you piece of shit. Dollar Tree Junji Ito monster of the week. Bootleg for PlayStation one and two, Animorphs-looking asshole. I can’t even look cool fighting you, someone’s gonna call Steve Irwin’s kid on me. Just the absolute worst bad guy of all time. You suck, dude!”

  We left the room, not stopping to chat with the guards at the door. We didn’t stop moving until we were back at the party, and we ducked into the banquet hall. A small part of me was still thinking about that sushi, but I was mostly focused. Ann snatched a drink that was definitely not hers and shakily tossed it back, barely managing not to spill it on herself.

  “Dude! We almost had to fight a snake person again!” Ann hastily exhaled. “Look at me, I’m shaking!”

  “Really? I’m as calm as I’ve ever been.”

  My friend made an exaggerated gesture that conveyed what she thought of the comments. “Yeah, yeah, you got jokes. Do you think it was too much when I said, ‘bitch’? It felt like too much.”

  “It was borderline,” I admitted.

  Ann shrugged. “I was having a moment. Now can we get the hell out of here? We confirmed the snake monster hangs out at fancy-ass functions, let’s bounce.”

  I shook my head slightly at that, noticing a perplexed woman behind Ann looking for her drink and not finding it. “Not yet. We didn’t go through all this trouble just to get immediately scared out of the building at the first sign of danger. Our instincts were good, we found a connection here, but that doesn’t help us. We need to stay put and learn more. Maybe snack a little while we wait?”

  For the record, the sushi was incredible and probably would’ve been even if my brain hadn’t been broken at that moment. You couldn’t prove that I was eating it with my bare hands. I tried to listen in on conversations around us, but they were fruitless. Until they started the auction, that is, and I learned that for the first round of items, only a select few would be allowed inside. Have you ever tried telling rich people they can’t have something? That got more of a stir out of the guests than any eight-headed snake monster ever could.

  “What business did you have with my father?” The voice belonged to a woman I didn’t recognize, and it was soft and genuinely inquisitive.

  “Well, I, for one, absolutely did not hear you coming,” I admitted, turning to look at her.

  “If I could do a better Arnold voice, I’d ask who your daddy is and what does he do,” Ann replied. “But I don’t, so I won’t.”

  I got a good look at her then. She was undoubtedly younger than us, but she actually looked like she belonged in her dress the way she carried herself. Somewhere between my height and Ann’s, but she stood in front of us like she was seven feet tall. She had a quiet confidence that lent itself to the sort of maturity that probably kept her out of our types of shenanigans.

  “My name is Kaida Wada,” she replied patiently. “My father took you into the auction room earlier, something which was allowed for no one else, yet you stand here now while the VIP guests eagerly fill the room. I have to wonder who could be so important that my father would attend to them so.”

  “I think one of us is an heiress,” Ann muttered under her breath.

  “My name is Elana Black, I work and live in a bookstore, and your dad was trying to show us some paintings to scare us,” I said flatly.

  “Wow, just like that?” Ann asked me.

  I shrugged. “No point in hiding it at this point, right?”

  “I mean, maybe there would’ve been,” Ann mused. “Whatever. Hi, I’m Ann Bancroft, not an heiress, and I’m technically unemployed. Might be an intern, haven’t really worked that out. Anyway, I’m not sure if you know, but your dad sort of super sucks, and we want nothing to do with him. Anything else we can help you with?”

  Kaida studied us with eyes that she was trying to keep from going wide. Maybe she just didn’t expect us to be that blunt.

  “I see,” she said slowly.

  I was expecting more, but she just sort of wandered off back toward the garden without another word. That worked for me, I was hoping she wouldn’t stick around.

  “Well, that seemed to have absolutely no strategic value,” Ann commented a little sourly. “What now?”

  “Come on.” I nudged my friend, leading her out into the hallway. When I felt we were close enough, some fifty feet away from the door and the guards, I shut my eyes and tried to concentrate. “Watch my back.”

  “What are you—?”

  I shushed Ann as gently as I could, trying to shut out every other sense as I focused on the room. Past the doors, ignoring the other guests, the rain, and the music; I just focused on him.

  It was working. I almost wasn’t there, I couldn’t feel my feet on the ground, there was no light on my eyelids, and I could make out Makoto, if only just barely. He was introducing Ginshi. Something about a gift, it sounded like he turned away from the microphone for a moment. The paintings were being introduced now, but the winners weren’t there for the art. Winning the auction was meant to prove loyalty. They were bidding on more than paintings, they’re—

  My eyes shot open with realization. “We have to go. Now!”

  The suddenness of it all took Ann by surprise. I hooked her arm in mine and pulled her into a walk. “Stay calm. I know what’s happening, and we have to get ahead of it.”

  I felt every eye on us as we made our way to the elevator, but no one stopped us as we went down into the lobby. It was as full as it had been earlier, the conversation still lively. One of the guards at the elevator said something to us, and I made a noncommittal gesture. I felt Ann squeeze my arm a little bit tighter and, calm or no, I was at least aware of the sudden danger.

  We entered the elevator to the garage as quickly as we could, thankful no one was standing watch there. The door shut, and I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding back.

  “They’re close,” I said as the elevator descended. “Makoto, Ginshi, Sora—that ice guy, and three more from the auction; that’s at least six of the eight. Logan’s dad doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.”

  “Six of the eight what?” Ann asked. “Sna
kes?”

  “Yes, exactly,” I replied as the doors opened, powerwalking into the fluorescent-lit parking garage toward the familiar parked limousine. “And we know what happens when they get to eight.”

  Something was off as we approached, and I didn’t notice it until we were almost on top of it. Blood on the driver’s seat. I broke off from Ann, closing the distance first. A sick feeling came over me, and I had an idea of what I’d see before I saw it. When we were close enough to look inside, I saw the body of our driver twisted unnaturally and sprawled across both front seats, neck slit open and unseeing eyes wide with surprise.

  I spun on my heels toward my friend. “It’s a trap, we have to—!”

  A sound of a rattle echoed across the garage and the sinister sound of a hiss, mixed with a low chuckle that could’ve come from anywhere, stopped me cold. A voice, hungry and mocking, addressed us with a tone of finality.

  “The party is over, girls.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Two people, at least what was left of them as people, stepped out from behind concrete pillars, blocking our way back to the elevator. A man and a woman, both smartly dressed, and both completely hideous. Ann yelped a little at the sight of them. My calm, on the other hand, was still there, but only by a thread. The man was unrecognizable; his skin covered with boils that looked like something the size of a robin’s egg had tried to bubble its way to the surface and then hardened, only repeated over every inch of him that I could see. It distorted his features and left his scalp a wild tangle of thin hair.

  The woman, however, I recognized from the news. Her name was Janet Suzuki and she was on the Los Angeles city council, though, I couldn’t tell you which district. It probably wasn’t immediately relevant. There was no question; it looked exactly like her, aside from the thick, sand-colored scales that covered her body and the prehensile tail that rose behind her with a rattle that ended in a razor-sharp tip. Apart from that, I was sure she was an elected civil servant.