Plagued: Book 1 (49 page)

I tried to get him to talk about how he met Julian. For once sounding perfectly serious, he said that was up to Julian to explain. I thanked him then, somewhat belatedly, for all the flowers and Blaze's company.

“I thought Julian would show up, not with flowers, of course. It's just he's so all about protecting me and danger.” I put imaginary quotation marks around the last word, as though I didn't really care. Somehow I did.

Albert glanced at me, an odd expression on his face. “What do you mean? He was there every night without fail. You must have seen him.”

I shook my head.

“Every night,” Albert said firmly. “Gave you his potions with an eye dropper to get your strength back. Like you were a baby bird. Blaze told me. He's quite an amazing alchemist, you know. Julian, not Blaze. Does a lot with synthesizing blood from supernaturals and processes like that. Quite the only reason you are out of that hospital and walking around. You were pretty doped up those first days, he told me. Or maybe he was in shadow mode. Night nurses and all. Stayed outside mostly to keep watch for the nasties and give good old Blaze a hunting break. Ah, here's our exit.” We roared off the highway, through the tollbooth, and into an area of Tokyo I didn't know.

Blood? He'd taken all those vials of Savan's blood that night. Said it was very powerful. The image of the red liquid in the crystal containers he always used popped into my head. The first time he made me his super-powered energy drink I thought the scarlet potion he added looked very much like blood. Should I be appalled or grateful? And just whose blood was I drinking? If it was his, that could explain the connection. The link to his emotions. I tried to figure out how I felt about both the potions and Julian sneaking into the hospital to sit by my bed. That was
way
too “Twilight” for my comfort zone.

We eventually pulled up outside an ancient looking little house. It was built in traditional, boxy Japanese-style, all squares and vertical lines with the triangular tiled roof perched on top. The property was closed in by a low, ragged hedge that once must have been leafy and green. A
long,
long
time ago. It had a covered entry gate topped with the same slate gray tiles as the house. The sliding wooden doors of the gate stood open and somewhat askew.

Standing half-in and half-out, was Julian. I immediately looked at his eyes. They seemed the clearest gauge of his moods. They were cloudy today, difficult to read. I shied away from trying to tune in to his emotions. Bond or no bond, the searing wave of anger that washed over me the night of the party after he questioned Savan made me wary of contact.

Blaze momentarily flared into sight, jumping up to put his massive front paws on the door. Giving me a wet kiss, I hugged his neck.

“Hey, steady on mate! Mind the paint job with those claws.”

The hound gave his master a
chuffle
deep in his throat and licked me again.

Albert hopped out of his side in a very smooth, James Bond-ish sort of move and, pushing Blaze away, opened my door. “I have delivered my precious cargo safe and sound Julian,” he said over his shoulder. “And what a pleasure it was.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek and once more the wonderful scent of him washed over me. Human men did not smell like that, did they? With a start I realized I wouldn't know. Both the men I kissed were supernatural. Dad kisses didn't count. And Dad always smelled like Old Spice.

Julian stepped forward with the lithe agility that characterized all his movements. “I appreciate this, Albert. She would never have spoken to me without your family's intervention. I owe you.”

I guessed they weren't talking about picking me up at school. Something else was going on.

“Don't be stupid, Julian. We're friends, you don't owe me anything. Besides, what's the point of making loads of money if you can't spend some of it recklessly?” He gave me a broad wink, then reached into a leather messenger bag tucked in the narrow space behind the driver's seat to pull out a thick, white envelope. Julian took the envelope, tucking it into the inside pocket of his leather coat.

Jumping back in the car, Albert waited as Blaze climbed in, too. The hound somehow squeezed into the front seat with the singer as he faded to shadow mode. Albert gave us a wave as he gunned the motor and roared off. Nothing but a blue blur, the car zipped down the narrow street, forcing a bicyclist and several pedestrians to scramble for their lives.

It had been some days since I'd seen Julian. Not since the very bad night of the party. He had, however, spent
a lot
of time with me, according to Albert. We stood staring at each other for a few awkward moments. Julian seemed about to say something. I waited, hoping he was going to bring up the awkward subject of his dusty dead ex-girlfriend. Instead, he abruptly turned away, reaching down to pick up two shopping bags by his feet. He stepped through the gate.

Not knowing what else to do, I followed him to the front door of the little house.

“We are going to meet Mrs. Sato.” He kept his face turned away from me as he spoke. I thought he seemed cooler than usual, even for Julian. Positively frosty.

“And she is?”

“Someone who knows more about the supernatural world than any one probably should.”

Chapter 31

Raisin d'Etre

“
This
is Mrs. Sato?” There was no way I could keep the surprise out of my voice.

The frosted glass-slatted door clattered open, sliding back on a trestle, just like the gate and only barely less broken. The open door revealed a tiny, wrinkled raisin of a woman. She did not look like my idea of a supernatural sleuth. In fact she looked like she'd been dressed by the high school drama department to fit the role 'Wacky Witch.' Her gray hair surged out in all directions as if trying to make a break for it and escape her head completely. A black velvet cape came to her knees. A real cape covered in appliqued shooting stars, planets, moons and, I looked more closely, a large Hello Kitty patch. Underneath the cape, a threadbare gray dress hung shapelessly over her thin frame. In her arms, a plump tabby cat,
also
wearing a cape, stared unblinking at us. The old woman pushed a pair of rimless glasses up onto her forehead and gave us the same sort of unblinking stare as the cat.

“Yes, I am Mrs. Sato,” she snapped in perfect English. “Who are you!”

Julian gave a low bow. “I am Julian Lake and this is Alexandra Carpenter. As I said on the phone, I,
we
, are hoping you can help us.”

After a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Sato bowed back, though not as low, indicating her superior status. I gave myself little gold stars for paying attention to the lectures on Japanese etiquette. The cat meowed and the raisin lady gave me a very appraising stare. “They hex'd you good little girl.” She wheezed out a cackly laugh. The cat meowed again. After staring from Julian to me a little longer, she waved us in.

“If there's a broomstick in there,” I whispered as we stepped over the threshold, “I'm out of here.”

“
Shush!
”

In the entryway, I knew, everyone would be expected to take off their shoes as was the custom, before stepping up onto the raised floor and going into the living room beyond yet another set of sliding doors. Mrs. Sato stood there, black wool socks sagging around her thin ankles. She was wearing a pair of Snoopy slippers that had seen better days. The little woman was still not tall enough to look Julian in the eye, even on the raised floor of the house interior.

“Thank you for taking the time from your busy schedule to see us.” Julian bowed again.

Wriggling out of its mistress' arms, the cat minced over to stand in front of us, tail held at a jaunty angle, the little cape falling neatly along its back. The cat gave a conversational series of meows.

“Yes, and thank you as well.” He bowed to the cat. Tugging my sleeve, he indicated I should bow, too. I stared. He tugged again, harder, and shot me a piercing glance from under his lashes. I knew that glare. Giving a mental shrug, I bowed. Julian reached down and the animal butted its head against his palm as if acknowledging the greeting.

We continued to stand in the entryway.

Clearing his throat, Julian spoke in a very formal tone. “Please accept these insignificant gifts.” From one of the shopping bags he took a beautiful pink-scaled fish, twice the size of a man's hand, wrapped in what looked like dried kelp. I'm from Santa Monica, I know my sea plants. It sat atop a little wooden tray. The whole thing was covered tightly in cling wrap.

I wasn't sure if the fish was for the woman or the cat. The cat, however, danced up on its hind legs, whiskers quivering, while the woman did not. Maybe for the cat then.

The woman took the fish quite formally with both hands, bowing again to Julian. She disappeared through the sliding doors followed closely by the cat.

“Sea Bream is pronounced 'tai' in Japanese,” Julian explained as we waited for her return. “It sounds like the 'tai' in the word '
omedetai
' which means 'congratulations' and is linked to good fortune. Bringing a tai fish is considered a polite gesture of respect. Albert told me.”

Mrs. Sato shuffled back into the room in her Snoopy slippers, without the cat, wiping her hands on her cape. “That was very nice, Mr. Lake. Very appropriate.”

“And for you, I have brought these.” He gave yet another low bow, handing over a shiny shopping bag in black and white with a logo I knew and lusted after.

The wrinkles crinkled up and she looked even more like a raisin. “Oh, what could it be?”

Julian presented the bag carefully with both hand. “I know it is not polite to open gifts in front of guests in Japan, however, please, do not stand on ceremony with us.”

She hesitated and Julian pressed her again with another bow. His handle on this Japanese etiquette thing was pretty impressive.

“Oh alright, if you insist.”

Inside the bag were several other carefully wrapped packages. Instead of fish, one held a gift box of three red nail polishes, another a lipstick, and the last a head scarf that had to be silk, all by Chanel, the interlocked “C's” of the black and white logo unmistakable. Also inside were several pairs of textured black stockings with a rhinestone design down one side. I looked from Julian to the little raisin lady. Obviously, I was missing something.

She smiled and made appreciative noises. Pulling open the lipstick, she immediately applied a coating to her thin lips, giving Julian a shiny, scarlet smile.

Finally, he took out the thick envelope Albert gave him. “For your time.”

She bowed back and slipping the shopping bag over her arm, took the envelope, also with both hands.

Standing to one side, she indicated we could enter at last.

Removing our shoes, we followed her into a cramped space with no other furniture except a large, low table in the center. She waved one hand in the direction of some floor cushions scattered around it and scooted off into another room.

“Please forgive me for requesting such an appointment so urgently,” Julian called after her. “I know you are very busy.”

I looked around. The cobwebs had cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and these had extended, Haunted Mansion-style, to cover the yellowing plastic fluorescent light dangling on a brown cord very close to our heads. On the floor, the straw matting was threadbare and worn. Books piled into columns as high as my shoulder lined every wall. Most of the cushions were covered in files and papers. To clear a space, I had to shift several deep lacquer boxes that appeared to be full of ash. A little puff of dust fluffed out from the faded cushion as I folded my legs under me and sat down. Whatever she was busy with, it sure wasn't housework.

“Mistress Sato is an Archivist of the supernatural. She has contacts throughout the world and tracks a great many unusual things for a great many unusual people.” He gave me a significant look as if this should mean something to me. “Albert has introduced us and kindly provided the money for her services. Her fees are very high.”

“I thought you said your family was rolling in cash?”

“True. Yet most of mine is tied up in a trust until I am twenty-five. My monthly allowance from the trustees is generous, however Mrs. Sato,” he rolled his eyes. “At first, despite Albert's introduction and promise of payment, she refused to see us. I pledged her anything I could think of: artifacts, talismans, things I didn't have but would get somehow. Then I mentioned Vanessa's name and her attitude made an abrupt turn in our favor.”

I could practically feel the mold spores taking root in my lungs with every breath. “What does she use the money for? Imported cobwebs?”

He hushed me as the lady in question tottered into the room carrying a little tray with tea pot and cups, barely balanced on top of several oversized leather-bound books. I jumped up, raising another cloud of dust, and grabbed the tray. Julian scooped the books out of the woman's arms. Setting down the tray, I nudged the lacquer boxes with my knee, nearly knocking the one on top over.

“Do be careful will you? Corpse powder. Very valuable in the right circles.”

I couldn't help flashing on Isobel and how she would be so much better at adjusting to what was happening here than me. She was the one who loved scary movies, the paranormal, supernatural lore and magical legends. She probably even knew what corpse powder was used for. The complete opposite of me.
The Wizard of Oz
was about as scary as I could handle. And even then, those flying monkeys...I shivered. Scooting my cushion, I attempted to put as much space as possible between my body and the box of powder. It couldn't really involve corpses, could it?

“So, Vanessa!” Mrs. Sato poured green tea into mismatched, handle-less cups. She handed me one with bunnies on it. “That woman has done me a disservice in the past. I would like to return the favor.”

Mrs. Sato and Julian stared over the rim of their tea cups at one another. Watching the interplay of expressions between them, I felt there was more going on, a second layer to the conversation, that I could not hear.

Blowing on the tea, I said to be polite, “Your English is very good.”

“I learned it during the occupation after World War II. Hello, Yankee!” She gave a cheerful wave. “Oh my, that was a very busy time supernaturally, wasn't it
just!
The current incarnation of the Club established its first foray into Japan at that time. Lots of lost souls then, lots of them. Easy pickings. They entered my books and my life as well.”

“Was Vanessa here?” I asked.

“Oh yes. In all her glory.”

“I thought she was my friend.”

“Of course you did. So did I. That is her power.” Mrs. Sato shrugged, “Even strong people have their weak points. They are easy to manipulate if you know the key.”

Nodding, I couldn't help thinking,
'Yep, that's me. Easily manipulated. Gullibility quotient way off the meter.'

Julian shifted his long legs, probably looking for a more comfortable position on the hard, thin cushions. “You believe you are weak willed.”

I gave a little shiver. This thought/emotion sharing thing was just getting creepy. Especially since he had much more control over it than me. And now there was the blood as well. I felt a little sick again at the thought I might be drinking blood.

“Alexandra, look at me.”

I raised my eyes to his. As always, it was a little difficult to meet his direct gaze. There was so much behind those bright eyes.

“They approached you at a vulnerable point in your life – as they always do. They were trying very hard. I defy anyone, even the supernaturally enhanced, to resist them.”

Gray tendrils waggling, Mrs. Sato nodded energetically. “Vanessa inspires people to trust her, to love her. Then she destroys them.”

“She didn't destroy you.”

“She came this close.” Mrs. Sato held her thumb and forefinger a scant quarter inch apart. “I have not forgiven, nor forgotten.”

“We know Vanessa holds a portion of Alexandra's soul. We must locate her, or at least find some of her haunts. She is far too much like me for our purposes. A shadow-shifter, not easy to track.”

Mrs. Sato adjusted her glasses and gave us a sly smile. “Ah, but now you have me working for you. Look here, you will be pleased. I am pleased,” and she cackled again. Opening one of the oversized books, she flipped pages covered in script of several very diverse languages, newspaper clippings seemingly from all over the world, photographs, and even small objects taped down. Lots of keys, from skeleton to modern card keys, I noticed. She finally pointed one little bony finger at a creased and faded map that took up one whole page. There were “x's” plainly inked here and there.

“She and the rest of the cell did not stay long in Tokyo or Japan. The
kami
and the Club
,
they do not get along. To put it mildly. And the
Oni
? Oh mercy!” She gave a wheezy laugh. “Frankly I am very surprised they came back. They must be after someone special.” She narrowed her eyes and gave me a significant look. “Vanessa, however, has come on her own from time to time. She picked up a lot of property for nothing after the war. That land has been developed into residences, warehouse space, office buildings. Each 'x' shows the location of one of Vanessa's holdings.”

Reaching under the table she pulled out a silver Apple laptop. Flipping it open, she began typing furiously, glancing back and forth from the map to the screen. “I have access to all the real estate databases. For a long time now she has preferred the same four agents. Very small, very discreet. Let us have a look.”

She navigated the keyboard like a pro. I thought I might have to reassess my judgement of the raisiny Mrs. Sato.

Julian peered over her shoulder. From where I was sitting, all I could see was the glowing Apple sign. She worked in silence for some minutes before giving a crow of triumph.

“Here, these two properties are vacant.” She pointed to the screen. “An apartment in Aoyama and two properties leased to the US Naval Base in Yokosuka. A dock and a warehouse. They've been leasing them since the Vietnam War!” Fingers flying, the old woman zipped through several other screens. “The Navy maintains the lease. However, currently neither property is in active use. I believe the Club has been taking advantage of the warehouse for,” she glanced at me, “ceremonies.” She gave us both a toothy smile. “Considering the SPI, that's Supernatural Probability Index, my own creation and very accurate, I would say that is where they will ask you to meet. You are pursuing the exchange, are you not?”