Eternal Samurai (38 page)

His anxiety grew as he found no way out. He entered another room. His breath caught at the exquisite beauty of the tiny
shoin,
a room used to display spiritual heirlooms. An exquisite painting of a sakura tree in full bloom covered the entire far wall. A
butsudan
, a small wooden cabinet with small front doors held a clay bowl and scrolled paper
fuda.
He wondered who had written the prayer on the scroll. Still, he refrained from touching it.
Fudas
bore sacred words for the
kami
of the petitioner.

Sticks of incense smoldered in a bowl of sand in front of the
butsudan.
A group of three rocks sat before a statue of Buddha Amida. A fission of grief lanced Tatsu. The three stones, perfect in their symmetrical placement, reminded him of
Ojii-san’s
shrine so far away in time and place.

Behind the statue, a floor-to-ceiling rack held a dozen beautifully decorated
katana. Hai,
weapons! Tatsu seized one, slid it from its saya and froze. Impossible! This sword could not be authentic. Yet, the clear lines in the blade, the leather wrapping around the
tsuka
, the distinctive decoration of the guard, were unmistakably the design of the famous eighteenth century swordmaster Suishinshi Masahide. Tatsu had seen dozens of paintings of this sword in books. This particular
katana
was long-considered lost. How was it here, in this house? Overcome with reverence, he placed the ancient weapon back on the rack, checked each one. All were authentic, all were ancient. Despite his need, he felt utterly unworthy to take one. He closed the door on the precious treasure.

The building reminded him of the
shoin-zukuri
houses of the ancient samurai. However, unlike a traditional
shoinzukuri
that sits within a garden, this house surrounded the garden. And also unlike a
shoin-zukuri
this place had no windows.

He crossed the garden with care not to disturb the harmonious design in the sand. Stared for several moments at the wall covered with a magnificent triptych of the Byōdō-in Phoenix Hall, the Buddhist temple in Kyoto. As a boy, he had visited it several times. He tapped on the center panel, produced a hollow knock. There had to be a door behind it. Tatsu pushed and pulled on the panel. No luck. He smoothed his hands down each joint, but found no secret latch. More prodding over the frames of the two adjacent panels yielded no results.
Kuso
!

His increasing pain and frustration clouded his thinking. And he knew it. What kind of a paranoid idiot lived in a house with no windows or doors? His gut answered with a crawling suspicion.

Clutching his ribs, Tatsu shuffled to the opposite wall that featured a stunning, life-sized mural of a
torii
, a traditional gate constructed from two wooden pillars and ornate curved cross braces. Just beyond lay a small Shinto shrine. So realistic were the details of the shrine’s gate that Tatsu reached out to push it open. A gasp escaped him when his fingers found the edges of a real
shoji
.

A cold chill ran between his shoulder blades, dampening his excitement at the possibility of escape. He was surrounded by the icons of two religions. Shinto and Buddhist.

Kuso
, how could he be so
baka
? He knew what—or really who—lived in this house of no-fucking windows, a certain flame-haired vampire. Tatsu’s groin pulsed with a distracting, totally out-of-place rush of desire. Desire and danger.

He edged the door open a fraction. Muted moans of an animal in great pain came from behind it. His curiosity about the practitioner of two religions evaporated. Chills rippled over Tatsu’s skin at the sheer agony of those cries. He shoved the
shoji
aside and stared in horror, his throat closing on any outburst.

Saito Arisada stood trembling in the center of the steaming water of a modern jacuzzi. His back was to Tatsu. Head bowed, the vampire’s arms shook as he held himself up with hands pressed in desperation on the smooth tiles. The remnants of his glorious mane lay in short wet curls against the nape of his neck. Huge suppurating blisters covered his back from shoulders to his clenched buttocks. Nothing remained of that beautiful tattoo. Somehow, Tatsu knew the loss of that art caused the vampire far more anguish than any injury to his body.

With another agonized groan, Arisada lowered himself into the steaming water. He seemed oblivious of Tatsu standing frozen in the doorway.

A single memory burst into Tatsu’s mind: That long, beautiful hair, flaring like flames in the wind as Arisada fought to reach Tatsu’s side.

In that moment, looking at the
kyūketsuki
’s ruined back, Tatsu’s heart broke. Waves of insane, irrational emotion gripped him. The tsunami caught him, swept away all other feelings—except love, a powerful and undeniable love.

Stunned, Tatsu slid the door closed, and staggered back to the sanctuary of his room. He fell onto the bed. Exhaustion claimed him. Tomorrow things would make sense, tomorrow—

Loud thumping woke Tatsu. Not the pounding of the migraine that had plagued him the day before, but a rhythmic beat of reggae. What the hell, Reggae? His nose caught the rich aroma of fresh coffee, distracting him from the music.

His bandages were gone. Puzzled, he sat on the edge of the bed, and pressed on his ribs and leg, felt only a twinge of pain. Creamy healthy skin replaced the raw burns of only a few hours ago. He couldn’t have been hurt that much. He sniffed.
Jigoku
, he stank. Shower, like right now.

Resisting the heady lure of coffee or the mystery of the Jamaican rhythms, he stood for a long time under the bliss of steaming water. The scent of the sandalwood soap—masculine, sexy—called to mind Arisada. He pulled a fresh
yukata
over his still-damp body and slipped his feet into a pair of soft slippers.

Dammit, he had to reach the Major, but first, some answers. No, first find that coffee, then answers. Tatsu followed the tantalizing smell across the garden. He slid open the door to the dining room and stared at the exquisite
chashitsu,
a low table set for two.

Arisada turned to greet him from the tiny kitchen alcove beyond. “
Konbawa, watashi no ie ni youkos,”
the vampire welcomed Tatsu to his home.

“Arigatō gozaimasu.”

“Tatsu-san, it is good to see you’re up, so to speak.” Arisada smiled at his double entendre. He held up a glass coffee pot. “I have just made it fresh. Would you like some?”

The absurdity of seeing a vampire playing host hit Tatsu. He laughed. It made his ribs hurt like hell but he couldn’t stop. “
Sumimasen
,” he apologized. “I sure didn’t expect to see you making coffee.”

“Why not? I enjoy the taste,” Arisada smiled as he handed Tatsu a steaming mug. “I hope you take it black.”

Tatsu took a long, appreciative drink, lifted the mug in a salute. “This is good.” He stifled a laugh. “And reggae?”

Arisada shrugged as if to say, “why not?” then turned off the music. He lifted a plate of adzuki buns from the counter and waved toward the adjoining
chashitsu.
“Sit. No doubt you have many questions.”

Tatsu knelt on the comfortable
zabutons,
the low table between them. “
Hai.
What the hell happened? How did I get here? How long? Where are my weapons? My cell? Where’s Bana?”

“Bana is dead.”

The bluntness of Arisada’s statement rocketed through Tatsu. No, not Bana, it couldn’t be. He recalled the glitter of humanity in Bana’s blood-colored eyes, Bana’s rich Irish profanity as he fought side-by-side with him.

Arisada held up one slim, elegant hand. With a deep show of reluctance, the vampire described the explosion. “The second before Bana fired, I grabbed you and flung you to safety. Bana’s bullets ignite the methane tank. The entire plant exploded.”

“Bana’s dead?” Tatsu could not believe it. That Bana, while a vampire, had died trying to save humans was a horrible injustice. That it happened six days ago made the death unreal.

“
Sumimasen
, Tatsu-san. I am so deeply sorry. The explosion destroyed the plant. I doubt any survived.”

“No way, you are wrong.” Tatsu’s voice grated with suppressed grief. His skin turned cold. Freezing. He blinked rapidly, his eyes gritty as if full of dust. Then details of that night flooded back—the theft, chasing a white van, the shock of Arisada’s arrival, the attack, the dying screams of the thieves. Then the fatal blasts of Bana’s automatics.

The vampire reached out to steady the youth but drew back at his glare. “Why were you there?”

“I was summoned by my Daimyō. I knew nothing of the theft. Imagine my dismay when I saw you. The one you call Bana was fighting at your side, killing
kyūketsuki
. When he fired at me, his bullets punctured the tank. I had mere seconds to save you. No time to help any others.”

Tatsu reared back with the sick realization that Arisada had taken the full force of the explosion. If not for that single act, he would be dead. Gratitude, fear, resentment, anger—a range of unwanted emotions rocked him.

“Why didn’t you take me to the Colony? Why here?”

“Every
kyūketsuki
under Ukita’s command is hunting for you. The Daimyō may discover the whereabouts of the Leper Colony. My home is safer.”

“I have to report in. My team … they think I’m dead.”

“Do not be alarmed. Fornax informed your Major you were safe. He agreed that you should remain here until you healed.”

“The Major knows?” Tatsu felt a twinge of betrayal. The Major had decided to leave him with this vampire?

Arisada smiled thinly. “He gave his consent.”

“Fuck that. Give me the keys to your car,” Tatsu snapped as he pushed himself to his unsteady feet.

“I cannot, we are on an island several miles from Seattle. You are too weak to drive.”

“Then give me your cell. I must report in now.”

The vampire shook his head. “Gladly, but it won’t help. There is no signal. Dawn is too close but I promise, we will go tomorrow night.” He felt a raw desperation to have Tatsu to himself for a short time longer.

Tatsu’s legs shook with weakness. He dropped back onto his knees with resignation. “
Fakku.
”

Arisada smiled at the profanity. Adorable coming from that sweet bow of a mouth.

“
Wakatta
. Do you have anything to eat around here?” Tatsu cocked his head to one side, a quizzical gesture he had not used since his mother died. “I mean besides me?” He blushed then, deep pink creeping over those sharp cheekbones.

“Will miso soup and
oyako donburi
do?”

Tatsu’s stomach rumbled its hunger, his mouth watered at the thought of the rice dish. “
Arigatō.
”

At the boy’s acceptance, the vampire relaxed. He went into the kitchen and began preparing the meal. Tatsu studied that profile haloed by its shorn locks. Remembered hearing those hideous groans of agony, seeing that ravaged torso, those suppurating wounds. Remembered how Arisada received those injuries. He was overwhelmed with the need to offer some sort of comfort, no matter how inadequate.

“
Gomen.
I saw your back when you were in the hot tub.”

“I know.” Arisada kept his head down, preparing the food, his actions precise and elegant. Still, Tatsu saw the hesitancy in the vampire’s movements.

“Your beautiful tattoo was destroyed saving me. It seems inadequate, but
domo arigatō gozaimasu.
” He bobbed his head. “How bad was I hurt?”

“You fractured some ribs. Also, a severe concussion and multiple stab wounds that caused internal bleeding. Burns. For a time, the doctor did not think you would live. But you fought hard. I have never known a human to recover so quickly.”

“I always heal fast.” He recalled a Santa Fe emergency room doctor making remarks like “unnatural” and “inhuman” after Tatsu recovered from a severe beating at school. He remembered it was one more difference that added to his shame.

“Your combat clothes are truly remarkable. I have no doubt they saved your life, prevented you from being severely burned.”

No, you saved me from being burned,
the thought filled Tatsu with a rush of gratitude. He wrapped his arms around his chest and stared at the vampire’s implacable face.

“
Â, sō desu ka
, regardless of the reason, I thank the Buddha that you survived.” Arisada brought the soup to the table, returned to the kitchen for the food.

An unexpected tenderness filled Tatsu, quickly chased by an embarrassment that warmed the tips of his ears. He looked away, fighting the need to blurt out his feeling. “So this is your home? Don’t you think a traditional Japanese house would be a bit obvious?”

“Only the interior is Japanese. The exterior resembles a brick ranch, boarded up and long abandoned. It is quite safe.”

“Yeah, safe all right. How the hell do you get out of here? Fly through the roof?

Unexpected laughter spilled from Arisada’s beautiful mouth. “
Mochiron
. Of course, I am a vampire after all. Rest assured, the only entrances are very well hidden.”

“And you did this yourself?”

“I had help. The original home was designed around an indoor swimming pool. I simply rearranged everything with a little modification. The house is lightproof and impregnable.”

“Huh, some modification. How can you keep this place a secret from your own Master?”

“We are not all fanatical followers of the Daimyō’s path. There are a few trusted
kyūketsuki
who keep my secrets as I do theirs.” In fact, stirrings of rebellion rippled among the Tendai Clan. Many were tired of Sadomori’s pathological hatred, his sadistic torture of
kyūketsuki
and humans alike. A revolution threatened.

Arisada pushed those thoughts aside as he placed plates of steaming
oyako donburi
on the table. “Please, eat, you need the nourishment.”

Tatsu, overwhelmed by a strange comfort, dove into the meal. It was wonderful. He hadn’t eaten food like this since he left Japan. “I thought vampires didn’t eat real … er.… human food.”

“It won’t sustain us but old habits die hard. I like the ritual of the meal,
neh
?”