Neon Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 5) (7 page)

"What would be the point me speaking in Japanese? You wouldn't be able to understand a word. No, us sentient rocks, igneous by the way, we accommodate anyone that we talk to. I speak like this as that is how you perceive me. Don't see any rock lips moving, do you?"

This was too surreal for words. I wondered if I was asleep and dreaming but was pretty sure I wasn't. "Um, no. No moving lips."

"There you go, then," the rock said happily.

"Well, thank you for, um, being so perfect. I can't quite put my finger on it, but everything here is just so right. And you're in exactly the right place, at precisely the right angle. I can't figure it out."

"Oh, I know what you mean, young sir. It takes a very skilled person to discover such a fine specimen as myself, but that's just the beginning. Did you know it took three years of trial and error before the maker of this garden was happy with how I was positioned?"

"No, I didn't know that." There was an awkward silence then I said, "Guess I should get going. Nice to meet you."

"And you, Faz Pound, Black Spark. I hope you get what you came here for."

"So do I."

I wandered along the length of the garden one more time, then jumped up onto the wooden veranda that ran along the back of the house where sliding screens could be opened so you could sit and just admire the garden. I don't think I'd ever leave if I owned a home like this.

I was utterly relaxed as a screen slid aside and I slammed my fist into the nose of the fat man wearing an expensive shirt. He smacked his head into a wooden post, his forehead split open, and blood gushed out, streaming down his face, mingling with the blood from his nose and his tears.

As he screamed and slid down to the floor, I punched him twice in the kidneys then dragged him inside by his topknot as he moaned and shouted for help that wouldn't come, scrabbling to get away.

Taking my time, I closed the door behind us, hiding the garden.

I didn't want the rock to see any more violence, I'd already violated the garden's serene existence enough.

Calm, free of doubt or worry, I bent and lifted the battered face of the man and hissed, "I'd like a word with you."

He wasn't particularly happy to see me, especially after what I did next.

Finally, an Interrogation

My eyes faded to black slowly and without pain, almost as though they were opening after a lovely dream. Magic-infused sight replaced regular vision as I calmly knelt in front of the man. Saying nothing, I let magic consume me, funneling unknowable energy around my body via my tattoos, swirling languidly and gaining momentum and power as it hit my chakras.

This time I was taking no chances with a potential lead. No way would I let this guy commit seppuku before I had the chance to talk to him. I needed to find where Kimiko was, and it wasn't proving easy. She never stayed in one place for long, and although she had regular homes she moved between I had no idea where they were and neither did many other people. It's what made her so powerful, this secrecy, the changes to routine and her safe houses. It went beyond that, though—nobody could ever get to her, apparently, even when they knew where she was.

That wasn't my concern at the moment, just finding her was.

So as my ink wiggled under my clothes, numb because of my utter composure and detachment, and I felt the surge of power hit my diaphragm, I sucked deep and instantly felt the energy come from this Yakuza and into me. The magic was nasty, dirty and ruthless, and it made me gag. No way would I take this into me and keep even a hint of it. This man and what he stood for, he was a stain on society, a shameful creature that I came close to killing right there and then. But the Buddha-nature was still with me, and I held myself back.

As I took more of his magic from him, a rather unusual case of a wizard gone utterly rogue and heading up one of the most powerful gangs in the city—under Kimiko's control no doubt—I felt no pity for him as he physically shriveled before my eyes, flesh melting off him as he fought to keep what he'd worked so hard to gain.

His body went into overdrive trying to hold on to his magic, burning through reserves of fuel at an astonishing rate. I coughed and spluttered, losing momentum for a moment as his poisonous magic entered my system, but I got a grip and resumed. Soon his clothes were hanging from him, little but dessicated flesh and weakened, brittle bone remaining. Great flaps of skin hanging around his neck and making his arms look misshapen under his clothes.

He was weak now, unable to stop me, and if it wasn't for the garden I knew was the other side of the screen I think I would have continued until it was too late.

Instead, I retreated, slowed my breathing and sank onto the floor and coughed and spewed up his foulness, watching with gratitude as it returned to the Empty in crackling wisps of nastiness, corrupted ephemeral smoke shards that made me want to scream because of how his essence felt inside me as I took his magic.

Finally it was over, and as he wheezed and wiped at his head and nose, streaming faster now with blood as the skin stretched taut across his fractured skin, I brushed at my suit, straightened my tie, and said, "Now, let's talk."

He talked. Mitsu's lead paid off.

He wouldn't shut up. He babbled and he cried and he pleaded for mercy. I was stunned. I expected a tough guy Yakuza who would rather commit suicide like everyone else I'd tried to get information from, but this guy acted like a salaryman not a gangster. He told me all he knew of Kimiko's homes—I had to make notes on my phone, he gave me so much information.

He begged me to spare his life, to let him live, and I actually felt embarrassed for him. Where was his self-respect, his pride, his honor? He hung his head in shame at that. For a Yakuza to talk, to betray their boss, it was the worst thing they could possibly do. Yet he did it. A man that had lived twice as long as me, had seen so many people die, ordered hits, killed endless citizens that stood in his way, and he acted like this?

It goes to show there is nothing stranger than a human being. They always surprise you. He would do anything to stay alive and now the shoe was on the other foot and it was him taking punishment and facing death he was terrified.

He soiled himself, and at that point I'd had enough.

I left, and I made damn sure to close the screen behind me.

Goonageddon

It was late afternoon by now, and as I stepped out and walked to the front of the property I ignored the seven dead men sprawled out in various positions on the drive. The house and gardens were secluded so I wasn't worried about being discovered, I was more concerned with getting to Kimiko as soon as possible.

I'd taken them out silently, dispatching them with swift and deadly force using magic as my weapon of choice. These gangsters, they are so full of themselves they think they are untouchable. It makes them susceptible to sneak attacks like this. The higher up they are, the less they believe anyone would dare come for them. And mostly that's correct.

No other gangs would try to take such a highly positioned man because they understood the consequences. But for a gaijin enforcer who has no interest in their warped politics, well, I just blasted them with the dark arts while they were smoking and generally not looking out for the invisible man who crouched behind the expensive cars in the drive and killed them from a respectable distance.

I'd surprised myself with the ferocity and the swiftness of taking so many lives, but what shocked me the most was the lack of payback from the Empty. A slight feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach and a flaring up of my ink as the magic left, but little else. Maybe it was the fact they were such bad men, maybe it was because I was so single-minded, or maybe it was Japan itself. Welcoming someone who would scour the streets clean of the filth that preyed on the weak and the young, as all these men had done, forcing girls into the worst kind of hell for the pleasure of others like themselves.

I knew all about them and the business they specialized in, and knew they'd spend an eternity in a place neither of their choosing nor their liking for the disgusting things they'd done.

Their boss would be dead soon enough, I had no doubt about that, and before I got to the gates I heard a shot ring out, muffled by the house. He was gone, so he must have found some courage from somewhere.

Using a touch of magic, I unlocked the gate rather than jump the wall again, and was back out on the street. I walked for a while, just to get some distance in case anyone with magic happened to see me, until I was lost to growing crowds in the middle of a crazy market. It was chaos and I'm not used to it, don't like being jostled and pushed about, not aided by my utter forgetfulness and hardly being seen at all. I like my space and this confusion of people made Cardiff on a busy day look like a ghost town.

People were selling all kinds of things, from ripoff gear to high end, genuine tech. To live chickens, and more fruits and vegetables than you could make sense of. Everywhere were noodle stalls and people eagerly devouring all kinds of goodies. I managed to get myself a bowl of ramen, took a seat at a rough wooden bar, then tucked in with a spoon and a pathetic attempt at controlling my chopsticks—I'm sure they give foreigners ones imbued with a malevolent spirit or something, they never do what you want them to.

Once I'd eaten and felt sure I was at no risk for a while, I checked the notes on my phone and put everything in order. I searched for the addresses and saved maps so I could see where they all were in relation to each other and the city. There were five main residences or hangouts she split her time between, the dead gangster saying that each was well-fortified with endless goons—all vampire—and all kick-ass serious. Five, an important number to many Japanese. The five elements, five colors, five senses, the list went on—I doubted it was coincidence.

Seems the ones that had set the zombies on us earlier were about the lowest of the low as I'd suspected, the keepers for the zombies and sent because they were closest and had a fairly easy way to deal with a wayward wizard and a necromancer. Kimiko probably thought little or nothing of my presence, dismissing it as just another in a long line of people coming after her for revenge and being put in their place easily.

She underestimated me, which was good. That would make it easier to kill her.

I checked in with Kate. She was just hanging out in the suite with Grandma and Dancer, who were both back safe and sound. Grandma moaned in the background about the Council and how snooty they were, but confirmed they'd said they would go deal with the zombies. Hopefully she warned them about the hellhounds, too.

With a promise to be careful, I hung up.

Right, five properties, five chances to find my nemesis. Time to get busy. Guess I'd start at number one and hope I got lucky.

It has to happen once in my life, right?

A Shock

I took the subway, about the best way to get around the megalopolis that is Tokyo, trying my best not to freak out and blast people for barging me. Underground in the city was like a different world, full of manic or severely depressed salarymen, crazed shoppers, and everyone was either talking away on their phones using earbuds or headphones, looking like they were having conversations with invisible people, tapping away on a screen, or reading manga.

I'd heard about the massive upsurge in hairstyles over the last few decades, but still wasn't prepared for the onslaught under such intimate conditions. It explained the insane number of hairdressers on every street in the city. Everywhere was color. Pinks and blues and reds right out of anime, an overwhelming and heady mixture of scents of innumerable products battling for my nasal attention, and for the locals it seemed it was entirely normal. I liked it, it made me feel like I belonged, but my bleached, now fading back to brown hair was tame and boring in comparison to the wonders I studied as I tried to distract myself from the press of bodies.

Nobody looked at anyone else. Eye-contact was a big no-no, same as it is in all major cities on public transport. I don't know why, but it's as if people think if they look you in the eye they'll get accosted. I never have that problem, perks of being the everyman.

It was all good, the less conspicuous the better as far as I was concerned.

Girls with crazy, pink hair, short skirts, and long, over-the-knee socks giggled as they pointed at their phones, half-dead salarymen sat in a stupor—probably dreading going to work the next day—and all manner of weird and wonderful characters came and went. Such a diverse and rich culture, it truly is a delight, but the pressure of the sheer volume of people in the city weighed down on me, making me feel antsy and uncomfortable, like I couldn't breathe.

I was relieved when it was my stop, and I got off and up to the surface as fast as my legs would carry me. Okay, it took half an hour as it's confusing as hell on the subway and most stations have so many exits to the surface you don't know where on earth to go. Shinjuku has sixty. It's nuts!

As I walked the few blocks to the first property, down a quiet residential street lined with a mish-mash of modern monstrosities and ancient wooden buildings, a mix that did not sit well with me or the landscape of large overhanging trees and beautiful gardens next to bare concrete yards of small apartment blocks, I got the strangest sensation.

There's no other way to put this. My bum itched something terrible. I scratched but it made no difference. It felt raw and tender, like the skin had been broken. I thought back over my day. Nope, I may have had my face and fingers gnawed half off but my backside had been fine. I'd have noticed the hole in my suit and the wind blowing at my nether regions if that had happened.

What then? I tried my best to ignore it and kept on walking, the streets changing as I got closer to my destination. It went from rather disorganized and cramped city planning, or lack of, to a wide, open street with expensive houses in traditional style, all thick tiled decorative roofs and large front lawns with high hedges. I was getting near, I was also getting damn uncomfortable in the posterior.