Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 2 (22 page)

The face severed from its body and traced a slippery arc through the air. Right up until the moment it was sucked back into the water, the smile never left its face. Setsura ducked and wove around the writhing torso of the snake and plunged into the tunnel.

He thought he could hear a bird singing somewhere overhead. The darkness deepened. Even with the moonlight lost, Setsura could see as clearly as at midday. He stopped. A black puddle stained the concrete. Fresh blood. The blood of that police detective.

Though Setsura's devil wire had sliced into his back, thanks to the demonic power of the vampire he had staunched the flow sufficiently to make it this far. He must have paused here to collect his wits before proceeding to whatever passed for his crypt.

Setsura had wounded the man in order to drive him directly to his hideout, wrapping only a single strand of his wire around him.

Before beginning his pursuit, Setsura called the mayor from Totsuka Station and asked him to commence a search for those who had interfered with his directives. The assumption was not easily proven, but it'd become clear that vampire blood was spreading among the upper ranks of the ward's movers and shakers.

The mayor was already planning an aggressive, Shinjuku-wide sweep. Before that happened, Setsura wanted to get all his ducks in a row. But circumstances were getting too out of control to allow that luxury.

“The underground water treatment facility?” Setsura mused to himself. “A vampire hunter could get way in over his head in a place like this.” Too many of the pros bought too heavily into the folklore—like vampires not being able to cross running water. Setsura wouldn't make the mistake of believing
that
canard.

After continuing on for some ways, the canal suddenly widened considerably. At the same time, a strange sound reached his ears. The echo of hard, metallic objects brushing against each other. Another two hundred yards or so and the source of the sound became clear.

The sewer water originally collected there to be treated. The canal broadened to form a small lake. Breaking the black surface here and there were half-submerged box-like containers. The kind of steel lockers and cabinets that every office had in abundance.

Despite the treatment facilities being long defunct, creatures like the mutated water snake still disturbed the water. Caught up in the ripples, the numerous steel boxes ground together, raising that small, scratching sound.

The scattered splotches of blood changed direction, reached the end of the walkway, and stopped.

Setsura was in their lair. His right hand twitched almost imperceptibly as he moved without hesitation toward the bobbing shapes—darker than the surrounding darkness—and toward the owner of those bloodstains.

He stepped into the water. The sole of the shoe surely would have hit the water's surface, but no ripples spread out from the point of contact. With steps no different than if he was on land, Setsura nimbly crossed the water to the clump of lockers.

To the vampire's habitat, the casket.

He was supported by two strands of devil wire skimming the surface. The end of one wire was wrapped around the handle of one of the lockers. And yet Setsura was confident he'd contributed no movements other than that of the casket bobbing naturally in the water.

Drawing closer to the locker, he gently waved his hand. The handle turned. The door of the locker opened with the whispering silence of the wires themselves.

It was empty. As was the one next to it, and the one after that.

“Still out on the town, huh.”

He'd seen this coming. The behavior of the vampire was ruled by the night. This night as well, all of the residents of these lockers were willfully—or under orders of one sort or another—indulging their bloodlusts.

Setsura listened closely. He didn't have to listen hard. He heard groaning directly opposite from where he was standing. By uncovering their hiding places, he'd accomplished his primary goal. The problem was exactly who was in this nest of vampires.

He could wait here until they returned. But when he thought about what they were likely to be up to, he couldn't turn his back on their nighttime activities.

Setsura lashed a strand of wire around a piece of construction material jutting from the ceiling. He rose into the air. Swinging like a pendulum over the bobbing lockers, he stopped about a yard over the one emitting the groans. He didn't look like he was hanging there. His arm was perfectly relaxed.

“There's something I'd like to ask you,” he said softly, floating in the air.

The moans ceased. The door of the locker flung open. The police detective from before sat up. His evil eyes scanned the air above him, finally focusing on Setsura.

Blank surprise filled his face. “Who the fuck are you?” It took him a bit of effort to get the words out.

“Oh, didn't the Chief tell you?” Setsura replied nonchalantly. His attitude wasn't so much on purpose this time as it was the product of Shuuran's doll sucking his blood and getting blasted by Ryuuki's
qi
. “I own a
senbei
shop in West Shinjuku. Would the Chief happen to be around?”

“What do you think?” the cop retorted, with a blood-red look in his eyes that communicated a private understanding. He planted his hands on either side of the locker. “He told me to kill you. But just looking at you, I can tell that would be a waste. Become one of us. Taste the pleasures this world can't offer.”

“What a sweet-talker you are.” Suspended in the air, Setsura smiled. A trance came across the cop's face. Their night visions were equally effective. “But first I'd like an answer to my question. Where's the Chief? And what other big shots are involved?”

“You think I'm a fucking idiot?” the cop roared. He reached out, a Remington M870 pump-action shotgun in his right hand, his left on the pump. Locked and loaded. An immortal vampire didn't have much to fear from a gun going off accidentally.

The barrel swung around. The split second before the gun roared and the fire split the darkness, Setsura vaulted over the man's head and landed on a locker a half-dozen feet away. The cop spun around and leveled the barrel—and realized that his hands weren't there anymore.

He looked down. The gun lay across his lap, his hands still attached to it. Blood erupted from his severed limbs.

“
Bastard—!
” The shout was cut off by a sharp stabbing pain cutting into the back of his neck.

“Even a vampire will die if he loses his head,” Setsura explained in his drowsy tones. The disinterested expression on his face only compounded the threat. “In any case, your little Dracula lair will be dust before sunrise. You might want to give some thought to what fate awaits you after that. Where's the Chief?”

“H-He's—not—here—”

“Then where?”

“K-Keio—Plaza—Hotel—”

“Well, the man certainly has taste,” Setsura said enviously. “I think I'll crash at his place instead. Sorry, but I'll be going by myself. Who else is there?”

“The—d-deputy—mayor.”

Setsura shook his head knowingly. “No wonder the mayor's directives didn't get through. Kikiou's plan for subjugating Shinjuku seems to be proceeding right on schedule. Where else might your colleagues be?”

“I—don't—know—”

“I understand. Sleep well.”

Setsura's countenance briefly darkened with grief. The next moment, the detective's head flipped into the air. The body collapsed into the locker. The head thumped onto its chest.

Setsura's devil wire slit open the sheet metal. The locker slid beneath the surface of the black, bubbling water.

“Disposing of the casket might not be enough,” Setsura Aki observed, sounding tired and bitter. “A place sunlight never reaches—this calls for some thinking outside the box.”

Whether day or night, whether the wind was blowing or not, a sound like rustling leaves drifted beyond the tall white fence. Hearing that sound, pedestrians on the street outside the fence couldn't help imagining some
thing
leaping over the barrier and dragging them in there.

Nobody who entered ever left. That was a fact of life. Anybody who claimed otherwise was lying.

Nobody knew what it was actually like inside the fence. There were maps available from the early days. Nobody could vouch for their reliability. The originals were all stored in a vault in a sub-basement of the Ministry of Defense. It was said that not even the Prime Minister could lay his hands on them without following a prescribed set of procedures.

The original maps had been surveyed by a team from the Self-Defense Forces, armed and equipped with the latest and greatest. Needless to say, none of them had made it out alive.

So nobody really knew what the place was like these days. The only sources of information were rumors and guesswork. They built a wall to keep whatever was
in
from getting
out
. And prayed for the best.

No lovers strolled hand-in-hand down the paths on spring evenings. No students pored over their notes at the library in the early afternoons. All gone away. This was Chuo Park in West Shinjuku. The infamous “DMZ.” The most dangerous place in the city.

Nine o'clock at night. A jet-black limousine cruised down the vacant streets. It came to a halt at the entrance to the park, directly behind the Park Hyatt Tokyo.

Three figures emerged, all wearing dark suits. Two middle-aged men and one younger. Even beyond the glow of the street lights, their skin still had a blue-white cast to it. The casual way their sharp eyes scanned the stark surroundings said everything.

The younger man spoke to the driver. The car sped off.

“What was that about, Yakou-sama?” asked Yuen, referring to the limousine. He appeared to be at least ten years older than Yakou.

“If we make it back here,” answered Yakou, “then walking home will be an afterthought. Otherwise, having him wait around won't accomplish anything.”

“That's for certain,” agreed Yuen.

“It's about twenty feet,” estimated Zhang, the other of the two men accompanying him. “No gate. There's no way in but over.”

“Hold on tight,” said Yakou.

He held his hands against their sides, elbows out. The two men took a firm hold. Yakou sank down slightly and leaned forward as if he were about to perform a standing high jump over the twenty foot wall with no running approach.

His suit coat unfolded to the right and left. It didn't tear. Rather, it seemed designed to open along the spine.

In a whirl of wind, the three of them soared into the air. Then, in an unhurried fashion, they fell back to earth behind the wall. Though it might be better to say they alit upon the ground.

Vampires weren't immune to the laws of gravity. Supporting their weight—until they settled back on solid ground—and buffeting the earth with strong downdrafts of wind was an ominous pair of wings that had sprouted from Yakou's back. Only one species of vampire had these large, black bat wings.

The hot air billowed up from their feet. The two men shivered, chilled down to their bones. Such was the unkind welcome that this strange hot air inflicted upon these residents of the Toyama housing project.

The peculiar panorama filled their view. Gently curved, stone-lined sidewalks, well-maintained trees and lawns, water fountains – dry but unmarred and appearing to be in perfect working order. Except for the absence of people, a perfectly ordinary park bathed in gentle moonlight.

It'd be hard to imagine anything odder than this.

“We seem to have come to the wrong place,” Yuen quipped with a straight face.

Zhang said nothing. They were Toyama's elite, both hand-picked by Yakou himself. Even welcome at Mephisto Hospital.

“Shall we go?”

Yakou set off. Behind him, Zhang asked, “Does anybody know where we're going?”

He wasn't expressing any second thoughts. He was considering a worst case scenario where nobody ended up knowing the enemy's location. Under Yakou's master expropriation, the intoxicated vagrant had indicated Chuo Park as the place where those four demons had located their safe house.

“I left a note at Mephisto Hospital.” The two subordinates exchanged glances and nodded. “However,” Yakou added with a backwards glance, “I am not convinced telling Doctor Mephisto was the right thing to do.” There was a hard edge to his voice.

“And by that you mean—”

“Why?”

“I don't know. It is only a feeling. Thinking about it does no good. That doctor is a very dangerous person under normal circumstances. I suspect we do not see eye to eye on many things.”

“Coming from you, Yakou-sama—” Yuen mumbled.

“I have high hopes for Aki-san,” said Yakou, changing the subject.

The men proceeded wordlessly beneath the moonlight like silhouettes on a movie screen. They could feel the very real surface of the road through the soles of their shoes. The warm July breezes played with their hair.