Neon Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 5) (18 page)

"Where?" I was dumbfounded. All this time and he was acting out a carefully constructed persona, hiding his true identity so he could what, just have an easy life? That didn't figure. It was no easy ride being the right-hand man of the Head, so what was his life usually like if that was taking it easy?

"To the last house, of course. She isn't here, it's just a place to come for her to unwind, soak up the power within the swords. Let's get this over with and go home. There are things to do, Spark, the times they are a changing."

"Right, okay." This was so bizarre. The veil of the rather annoying Dancer was dropped, and in its place was a very self-assured and very powerful man that kind of oozed a quiet self-control and mastery of his surroundings. "Why now? Why the change now? Dropping the act?"

"Because, Black Spark, Rikka is gone and my time as his assistant is over. The old Dancer is gone, and I am back. All things come to an end, and now he's dead, well, what's the point in hiding? Plus, you need me. Kimiko is more dangerous than you could possibly imagine, and I aim to put her down."

"No. I do that, not you."

"Fair enough. How did your last meeting with her go?"

"Hey, give me a break."

"Okay, that was mean, but I'm here if you need me." Dancer put the sword back respectfully, I did the same, and we left the room then the building.

One more stop. Let's hope Kimiko was home.

The Hidden World

I'd got used to things not being as they seemed by an early age. Knowing that magic, real magic, exists means you take it for granted. I soon understood that Hidden appeared to be something entirely different when looked at by Regulars, and grew to realize that people pretended to be something they were not to both Regulars and Hidden alike.

With the ability to use magic as a human comes the opportunity for crime, and the reality is that much of this path I tread is fraught with Hidden holes waiting to trip you up. The criminal element is rampant, and many are not nice people. Murder, betrayal, double-crossing and outright nastiness are rife, so not much surprises me after so many years living this, I admit, rather unconventional existence. Jaded, that's what you could call me.

But nothing had prepared me for Rikka's betrayal, even though I'd seen people turn on each other, on all they believed in, over the years. I really thought I knew him.

And now Dancer.

Who was he really? How much was an act and how much was just him being him? As we walked the streets of Tokyo, neither of us in the mood for public transport, I kept snatching glances at this stranger, trying to figure him out. Was his look one of design, or preference? Were his magic skills limited to mostly necromancy and other arcane arts, or was there a lot more to him? Had he really just worked for Rikka to have some down time, or was it for another reason entirely?

I had to know everything. There had been more than enough surprises of late and if I couldn't trust him totally then he would have to leave. I doubted myself, questioned my own judgment, and it was understandable. I couldn't face another betrayal, not now, not from him. Not ever. He had been entrusted with Kate and Grandma, and I had to be absolutely certain he would always keep them safe, not use and discard them when he decided it was time to move on or grew bored.

I suggested we stop for a drink. It was still early and the daylight stretched out for hours ahead of us, and besides, I really could do with a rest. Again, understandable given what had happened since I'd set foot in Tokyo, never mind what went on before.

After we'd ordered our coffees, we sat outside watching the people for a while, just sipping and relaxing as best we could, knowing what faced us. But I couldn't stand the silence any longer, so asked him outright.

"I need to hear the truth, Dancer. No more games, no more pretending, no more making me nuts with all these secrets."

He looked into my eyes and said, "Because of Rikka, right?"

"Of course! I cannot, I will not, deal with that kind of lie ever again. I want to know who you are, what this is all about, and whether I can call you my friend?"

"We are friends, I promise you."

"Good. So, you are nine hundred years old, a gypsy, and you ended up working for Rikka? No nonsense, I want the truth. Who are you and why are you in my life?"

Dancer sighed, and then he spilled it all. "Look, I know you make fun of how I dress, the funeral director look, but this is me, how I feel comfortable. I'm the person you think you know. This honestly is me. I act how I truly am as there's no hiding your own nature... Well, apart from Rikka, but I'm just older and have more of a history than I've shared. And anyway, you never asked."

"I know, sorry. Let's start with your name. What is it, and why are you called Dancer?"

"Aha, my name. Gosh, I haven't used it for a long time, and that is part of the reason why I ended up in Cardiff. I am called Sorin Chisca-Marandici, but a long time ago I became Dancer to my friends. Although it was Dansator, the Romanian word for it," he added.

"Sorin. I like it. Suits you."

"It's not to be used, Spark. Not now, not at any point in the future. This is something you are never to tell another soul. Nobody, you understand?"

"Sure, whatever you say. And the rest?"

"Something happened many years ago. You know how it is in our world, our line of work. I've never exactly been the type of person to be on the right side of the law, just like you, and let's just say the people I was mixed up with decided I was no longer welcome because of what I did. I decided it was time to move, start again. Lie low and wait it out until it was safe."

"And is it?"

"Oh, yes, a long time ago. One of the benefits of living an extended life is that sooner or later your enemies die, and mine have. All gone now, over and done with. They were bad people, but they crossed a line and I killed someone that deserved it. It had repercussions, terrible ones. There was a lot of death and a lot of heartache, so I stepped away from that world, came to the UK and remained. That was all in the past, before you were born, and I like it there, so stayed. That's it." Dancer finished his coffee and sat back, waiting for my questions.

"Do I need to know the details? Will it end up bringing trouble to us?"

"Never say never," he said. "But it's ancient history, from different times, and they are dead now."

"Okay, thanks. But there's more, yeah?"

"There's always more, but you don't need to know everything. What I can tell you is that you can trust me, and we are friends. I will always look out for Kate and Grandma, no matter what happens to you. I'm sorry for the deceit, but I am the same man, truly I am. Just a little older than you'd thought."

"A little older! Understatement of the year, dude. I can't even begin to imagine what that must be like, living all that time. Crazy!"

"It definitely gives you a different perspective on things, that's for sure. But I'm nothing special, just a man like you. And if you don't get yourself killed then you will live a long time, too."

"If I don't get myself killed."

"Exactly. You do have a habit of getting into trouble. You should be more careful."

"Hey, I try my best," I protested. "It's not my fault... Most of the time, anyway."

"Haha. Come on, let's go finish this and then go home. I want a proper cup of tea, and I want my own bed. All this traveling, it's exhausting."

"Thanks, Dancer, I appreciate it."

"We're friends, we stick together."

I believed him, and we were. Two Hidden about to go get revenge for a crime committed a hundred years ago. We don't forget in our world, and whatever Dancer said, I would put money on whatever business he was running from being far from over.

We have long lives and even longer memories. Hell, I knew some beefs that went back thousands of years and the current families involved had no idea why they hated the other, but that didn't stop them bashing heads. We do like to fight.

Maybe it's the extended lifespans, or maybe it's that magic attracts those that thrive on uncertainty and the edgier side of existence.

That, or we're all corrupted because of the magic.

Dirty Bathroom

It was only early morning, but already the day felt like it had gone on too long. I was tempted to go back to my hotel and sleep for another week, but knew that wasn't possible. This was it, the day to finally settle the score. Not wishing to battle with the subway and not fancying sitting in traffic either, we decided to continue our walk to the last address on my list.

We were only going for about ten minutes, making slow progress through the chaos, when Dancer said he needed to use the bathroom.

"Why didn't you go when we got our coffee?" I asked, exasperated.

"Didn't need to go then. You wait until you're my age, you'll see."

I gave Dancer the daggers but he smiled, almost making it look normal and not forced—it was still weird seeing him doing that—but he didn't get it quite right, and I guessed that was the best he'd ever managed.

The first place we came to looked rather run down and gloomy inside, but I ordered another coffee for me, nothing for Dancer, and while I sat on a wobbly chair at a grubby table he disappeared to the back to use the facilities. It was unusual to have such a dirty place in Tokyo. Normally the establishments are spotless, but it was an old, family-run place, clearly from a different time. And besides, it was busy so they must have been doing something right.

All around me people were chatting noisily, others sipping on tea or coffee, eating simple dishes the old couple that ran the place must have specialized in—whatever it was it looked like it was about the only thing on the menu. Although I was hungry again I knew I couldn't eat. The excitement was building, the anticipation of the battle to come. Of finally getting what I'd sought all these long, sometimes lonely years.

Would I then be able to rest, put it all behind me and start a new chapter afresh? I damn well hoped so. My coffee was meh, and I drained it in a gulp just to be polite and for the much needed caffeine kick. Where was Dancer? He was taking his time and I needed to be on the move.

I got up just to feel like I was doing something, and I caught him moving fast out of the bathroom, glancing behind nervously. As he rushed to my side he said, "Let's get out of here," and hurried off out the front door.

I saw nothing to be concerned about but followed him, wondering what on earth could be stressing him out.

Dancer was so pale as he came out of the bathroom I thought he'd actually died or something, and he looked even worse outside in the strong morning light. His normally pale skin was ashen and as he put a hand out against the wall to steady himself he pulled nervously at his shirt collar.

"I want to go home," he stammered.

"What the hell's wrong with you? How bad can the bathroom be?" We'd both been alive a long time and seen our share of less than sanitary restrooms, and heck, he dug up bodies and re-animated them for a living, a messy washbasin should be something he could handle.

Dancer took deep breaths to calm himself then wiped his forehead with his jacket sleeve. "There was a..." He glanced back into the building, shaking his head as if to get rid of a terrible memory.

"What? Come on, we've got things to do."

"There's a... a thing in there. A bloody big, ugly red thing. A demon or something. Ugh. It was licking the urinal and the floor. I saw it as I was washing my hands. Then it crawled over and began licking the basin. Hell, this country is insane. Let's go home."

"We aren't going anywhere yet, we've got business to take care of. And that's just an akaname, it's what they do." I'd never seen one but I'd heard about them. The Japanese do have a lot of very strange preternatural creatures for such a small island. Maybe it's their over-active imaginations, but a lot of Hidden have popped into existence over the centuries as the Japanese collective consciousness forces them into being by the power of their belief.

"What do you mean it's what they do? That gross red thing was licking the bathroom. So disgusting."

"Dancer, it's just another yōkai, get used to it. I thought you were an ancient man? You should be used to weird stuff by now. They like meeting foreigners, it's interesting for them. And besides, it's kind of cool, don't you think, meeting different creatures? Broadens your horizons and all that."

Dancer scowled at me. "No, I do not think it's cool. I want to take a leak without a misshapen beast licking the floor of the bathroom. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

"I think it might be. Haha. Come on, let's go. I hope you washed your hands properly." I didn't say anything but I really needed a pee, too. It would have to wait.

Dancer calmed once we put some distance between us and the akaname, and we talked a little as we walked. He wasn't used to the strange Hidden in Japan, and as much as he'd traveled it was clear he'd spent the majority of his time surrounded by Hidden of a more familiar nature. He talked about where he'd resided over the years, and although he'd been all over the world it was Europe that he thought of as home.

So much to come to terms with, to try to understand and accept. Right now his revelations were the last thing I needed. I didn't want any more surprises or for people to turn out to be something other than I believed, but I also found myself somehow feeling more at peace with the world for his honesty. As if I could relax now I knew the truth. It was only at that moment I understood that I'd always been somewhat cautious around him because I had believed there was something just a little off about the man—I was right.

Now I knew who he really was I felt like I could trust him properly, even if there was a lot of his past he clearly wished to keep from me for the time being.

We walked for an hour, moving from chaos to mere madness, and then to residential areas. We were close and I couldn't help feeling we were being watched. Maybe we were. It wouldn't be a surprise—Kimiko had eyes and ears everywhere in the city, and we hadn't exactly gone out of our way to keep a low profile.