Werewolf Samurai: The Second Kelly Chan Novel

by Gary Jonas

  I pulled onto Ichiro Himura’s street at 6:20 in the morning. The news crews and police presence had moved on, though a single patrol car sat at the curb a few houses down. I couldn’t be certain they weren’t watching the house, but as they didn’t have a body, odds were they had better things to deal with, and that cop could be there on other business. I drove past the house, past the police car, and turned left on the next street. I wheeled to the curb, slipped from my truck and zipped my leather jacket against the slight chill.

  The sky was beginning to grow lighter, but the shadows were still strong. I darted silently into the darkness beneath a tree, vaulted a fence into a neighbor’s backyard and slowly made my way toward the Himura house, which was the fourth on this side of the street. Nobody noticed me as I moved from yard to yard, though I did encounter a sleeping pit bull. The dog snored on as I drifted by like a light breeze. When I dropped onto the Himura’s property, I kept myself silent and still in the shadow of a tree. A swing set stood in the center of the yard, and I imagined Cho swinging back and forth in happier times.

  The yard remained quiet and I didn’t sense anyone else around. I moved to the back door. The sunrise kept creeping closer, rays beginning to jut into the sky like spears. Dark spots stood out on the porch leading toward the grass. I knelt and stared at the splotches. Blood? Maybe.

  I tried the sliding glass door. It wasn’t locked, though police tape crisscrossed the entryway. I pulled the door open, slipped under the tape, and spotted droplets of blood leading to the door from the basement. Numbered cardboard markers stood next to each drop, so they were hard to miss.

  Once inside, I slowed my breathing and cocked my head to the side, focusing on my hearing. The house remained quiet.

  I darted down the stairs to the basement. Three walls were concrete, but one was drywall. Sections of the drywall were caved in and cracked. Yes, there had been a struggle. I’d seen part of it. Cut marks sliced into the wall. Based on the angle and the cleanliness, I guessed the cuts were made by a katana. The steel cage stood with mangled bars bent outward. The door to the cage hung at an odd angle with the top hinge broken. The syringe and bottle were gone, tucked away in evidence bags at the local precinct.

  The basement probably held other clues, but I’m not a detective, so I didn’t know what to look for. None of that mattered to me. A werewolf and a man fought in the basement, and neither of them left a corpse behind. Those were the pertinent facts.

  I crept back up the stairs. The house remained soundless even as I swept through it. I hesitated in Cho’s room, but shook away the emotion and returned to the living room where I leaned against the wall to wait.

  It was 7:00.

  Forty minutes later, the sun was out, and light streamed in through the windows. I heard a sound in the backyard and chanced a glance out the dining room window. A Japanese man in tattered pants pushed himself up from the grass, clutched his left arm close to his body and staggered toward the house. He had bare feet and no shirt, so he had to be freezing. He ran into the swing set, and the chains rattled. He gripped the metal frame and left a bloody handprint against the gray pole.

  I moved into the kitchen, which led right to the family room and the sliding door. I drew my sword and waited as Ichiro stumbled up to the door and yanked it open. He batted the police tape down with one hand and nearly fell into the house.

  “Welcome home,” I said as I pressed the point of my sword against his neck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ichiro froze. His eyes darted toward me and he bit his lips. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “That doesn’t matter right now, Ichiro.”

  “You know me, but I do not know you.” He didn’t use contractions when he spoke, and based on his accent, I suspected English was his second language.

  “And ever shall it remain,” I said with a grin. “What happened to your arm?”

  “I do not remember. I cut it somehow. Are you going to kill me?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “If you are going to kill me, please do so now. Otherwise, back away and allow me close the door. I am very cold.”

  “It’s October in Colorado, Ichiro. Not the best time to work on your moon tan.” I pulled the sword back so he could enter, but kept it close to him so he’d know he wasn’t out of danger.

  He closed the door, and dropped to his knees. He took a deep breath. “I need to sit,” he said and rolled into a sitting position. He scooted around so his back leaned against the glass door.

  I motioned toward the drops of blood marked by the forensics team. “Your blood or someone else’s?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know.”

  “What do you know?”

  Again, a shake of the head. “Who are you?”

  “A concerned citizen,” I said. “Give me a reason not to stab you in the heart.”

  He spread his right arm wide, but kept his injured left tucked to his side. “I do not have a reason so if you must kill me, do so and do not make me wait any longer.” His voice held a hint of anger. I realized that the anger had been there from the start and I’d assumed it was pain at first due to his injuries.

  “Tempting,” I said, keeping my sword on him. “Did you know you bit someone last night?”

  His eyes widened. “No!”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Wakumi?”

  “You mauled her, but I don’t think you bit her.”

  He covered his face with one hand. “Cho?”

  “Guess again.”

  “There was no one else here.”

  “Wrong. I was here.”

  He looked me over. “You do not appear to be bitten.”

  “You didn’t bite me. You bit a man clad all in black.”

  “I do not remember.”

  “Looked like a modern day samurai with an old fashioned helmet. Ring any bells?”

  He shook his head then stared hard at me, his eyes misty and eyebrows raised. “Are Wakumi and Cho all right?”

  He’d spoken the magic words. His concern felt genuine, and while it had taken him a long time to get there, I sheathed my sword. “Cho is fine. Wakumi, not so much, but she’s still alive or I’d have already taken your head.”

  “Perhaps you should kill me now while you can. Before I kill my wife and daughter. I do not wish any harm to come to them.”

  I smiled. “I do like killing.”

  “And yet I still breathe.”

  “For the past year, your wife and daughter have been spending time away from you on the three nights of the full moon. What happened yesterday?”

  “Wakumi packed and went to take Cho away, but someone slashed the tires on our car. When I went outside, to check on them, someone threw a shuriken at me. It stuck in my neck.” He tilted his head to show me the injury. “I could not allow my family to risk their lives, so I kept them inside. I told Wakumi to call the police, but they did not show up.”

  “I don’t think she called the police.”

  “I suffer from a rare affliction, and I get rather violent when the moon is full, so I had Wakumi lock me in the cage I keep in the basement in case of emergencies. We had never tried it before with my family still in the house. As I am not in that cage, I can deduce that it was not up to the task of holding me.”

  “Lycanthropy is the rare affliction?” I said.

  “So you do know. But I take injectable midazolam to keep myself sedated on the nights the curse flares up. Last night I did not take it.”

  “How did you get the curse? Were you bitten?”

  He lowered his gaze. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

  “Will it transfer to your victim?”

  “If the victim survived.”

  “So tonight he’ll change?”

  Ichiro shook his head. “Next month.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “All right. You go get cleaned up and change your clothes. We’ll find you a safe place to wolf out
tonight.”

  “If my cage is not functional, I do not know where to go.”

  “Tally’s,” I said.

  “Who is Tally?”

  “It’s not a who. It’s a place.”

  I helped him up. “Thank you,” he said. “For not killing me.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “It’s still early.”

  ***

  Tally’s was located in a bad part of town a block off East Colfax. On the ride over, Ichiro begged me to take him to see his wife and daughter, but I felt it was more important to make sure he had a safe place to transform. He had two more nights to get through, and if I could keep him off the street, it gave me a month to figure out a way to avoid killing him. I wasn’t fond of the man, but he was Cho’s father, and I didn’t want her to suffer the loss.

  A young woman with beady eyes sat behind the counter at Tally’s that morning. She had greasy black hair and wore her face in a permanent sneer. Her gray sweater hung loosely on her stout frame.

  “What do you want?” she said as if we were interrupting her nap. There was nobody else in the lobby. The front section of Tally’s is simply a room with a counter in front of two giant metal doors. Wards protected the doors. Word on the street was that a wizard once tried to get through the doors uninvited and when he pulled up magic, it turned on him and all that remained was a pile of ash. Urban legend? Maybe. But nobody else tried to get past those doors.

  “This guy,” I said gesturing to Ichiro, “is a werewolf.”

  “Good for him, but we already have three werewolves,” the woman said, bored.

  “I wasn’t looking to sell him,” I said.

  “So why should I give a shit?”

  “He needs a safe place to change tonight.”

  The woman sighed. “We’re booked up. Take him into the mountains and let him roam free for once.”

  “You have werewolves who stay here?”

  “Not here. We have a bunker, but there aren’t any vacancies.”

  “Is there a cure?” Ichiro asked. “I do not wish to continue this way.”

  “I can sell you a silver bullet, but you’ll have to do the deed yourself. I’m not supposed to kill clients without permission, and I’m not in the mood to do all the paperwork.”

  “He’s not here for a suicide solution,” I said. “Are there other cures besides death?”

  “You can’t afford it.”

  “I have money,” Ichiro said.

  “It’s not just money, honey. You’ll need to lease a piece of your soul too.” She took a monocle from her pocket, held it in front of her left eye and looked him up and down. “And your soul is in bad shape.”

  “You’re judging his soul?” I asked.

  She grinned at me as she checked me out. “Be thankful I’m not judging yours. You’ve done some serious shit.”

  “You must tell me of a cure,” Ichiro said.

  She dropped the monocle back in her pocket. “We don’t sell information, pal. Go read a book and get the hell outta here.”

  I placed a hand on Ichiro’s shoulder. “We’ll check with a friend about a possible cure, but don’t get your hopes up.” I turned back to the clerk. “I’ll take half a dozen silver bullets.”

  She smiled. “Caliber?”

  “What do you have?” I asked.

  “Oh, honey, I can get you damn near anything. You want a nine millimeter, I’ve got you covered. You want a twelve gauge shotgun shell, we’ve got those too. They’ll cost more, but they’re mighty effective since you just gotta hit center mass and let someone else clean up the mess.”

  “I’ve got a Colt 45 in my safe,” I said.

  “Six cartridges coming right up.” She pulled a shelf out from the counter and typed a bit. “Two hundred bucks. We prefer cash.”

  “Pay her,” I said.

  Ichiro looked at me with wide eyes. “I do not have two hundred dollars in cash.”

  “They take credit cards too,” I said.

  “Ten percent surcharge,” the clerk said.

  “So I must pay to get ammunition you plan to use to kill me?”

  “Let’s just say I’d rather have the bullets and not need them than need them and not have them. Pay the woman.”

  He looked sad, but he pulled a Visa from his billfold and slid it across the counter.

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

  As he watched the woman run his card, he mumbled, “I feel like I just paid for my own funeral.”

  “No, that would be much more expensive,” I said. “But we can take care of that later if you like.”

  “I do not think so.”

  The clerk handed Ichiro the card then rolled back in her chair. A small tray slid through one of the steel doors. She scooped a sandwich bag from the drawer and held it up so I could see the cartridges. She shoved the tray back into the door then slid over to the counter again.

  “Six silver bullets for a werewolf execution,” she said and dropped the bag on the Formica.

  I lifted the bag, gave her a nod.

  “I do not like this,” Ichiro said.

  “Nobody asked you,” I said and led him outside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Victor Pavlenco, an ancient vampire who looked like a rock star with rugged good looks, long brown hair, and piercing eyes that could enslave your soul, lived in Castle Pines, a nice area between Highlands Ranch and Castle Rock. He’d taken over the house abandoned by William Sinclair, a vampire I’d killed a few months back. Victor didn’t have a companion at the moment, though he claimed to still be considering a mutual acquaintance, Geoffrey Windsor, for the position. Geoffrey was in Europe on a quest to find out who he really was. Not in the literal sense, but in the spiritual sense. Whatever.

  It was still morning when I pulled into Pavlenco’s driveway. We’d made a pit stop at my dojo so I could get my gun. I’m not a fan of guns per se, but I didn’t trust the odds of being able to throw a bullet hard enough to penetrate a werewolf heart.

  “Where are we?” Ichiro asked.

  “A friend’s place.”

  I had a key to the house because, for some unknown reason, Victor was bending over backward trying to please me. Vampires have a way of compelling people to do their bidding, but I’d had Amanda prepare a spell to prevent their commands from working on me. She and I simply added a special powder to a glass of orange juice once a week and we were safe from supernatural commands. After what we’d gone through back in July, we swore we’d never be caught unprepared by vampires again.

  I slid the key into the lock and turned it, only to find the door already unlocked. That shouldn’t happen. It was morning. Victor was vulnerable.

  “Wait here,” I whispered and pushed Ichiro to the side of the door. He gave me a nod, and I slipped into the house.

  The entrance led to a circular staircase that swept up to the second floor. A living area stood to the right, with an office off the stairs, and a dining room to the left, which led to the kitchen and family room. All the shades were drawn, of course, so the house was nice and dark. The basement door was open. While the main bedrooms were upstairs, I knew Victor slept the days away in his theater room downstairs. But he always kept the door closed.

  My footsteps were silent as I approached the basement door. I stood to the side and glanced down the stairs. They were carpeted in gray plush. I heard voices. I couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly, but it didn’t sound like a movie, so I crept down the stairs, drawing my sword as I went. Victor didn’t know anyone in Denver outside a few vampires. Granted, they could travel through shadow to get here, but it seemed unlikely.

  As I neared the bottom steps, the finished basement came into view. Victor had redone the place. It had a fully stocked bar, as if he’d be entertaining down here, along with a poker table, and a pool table, which he probably called a billiards table. Farther back, there was the theater room with no lights on, and no movie playing. Two rows of leather theater chairs lined
the risers, where each could recline without invading the space of the seats behind them or the back wall. A large chest covered in emerald silk stood at the front of the chairs where people could set drinks and popcorn. I knew that chest was also a coffin.

  The red curtains that covered the entrance to the room were held open by gold ropes, and Victor stood with his back to me just inside. Someone else paced back and forth at the front of the room, but it was too dark to identify him.

  “Vera is freaking out,” the mystery man said. “We flat gotta do something before anyone else finds out.”

  “Calm down,” Victor said. “You’re overreacting.”

  “Ain’t no such thing as overreacting. There’s just reaction.”

  The mystery man’s voice sounded familiar.

  “Tell Lenora not to worry,” Victor said. “Nobody knows about Vera.”

  “Geoffrey knows, and I don’t trust that son of a bitch.”

  “How could Geoffrey possibly know?”

  “Because the stupid announcer at the ball announced me as her companion even though I was accompanying Lenora.”

  “They’re required to announce as accurately as possible, but nobody pays any attention to that so you’re fine.”

  “Not if Geoffrey says anything.”

  “He would have done so by now.”

  “For all we know, he already has.”

  “Even if that’s true, it won’t matter.”

  “Shit, man, you don’t get it. If they find out about Vera, they’re gonna come down on all of us.”

  TJ!

  Lenora’s companion. Or Vera’s companion, whoever she was. I didn’t care about any of that. I stepped out into the room.

  “Hey, Victor,” I said. “Hey, TJ.”

  Victor spun. “Kelly!”

  TJ shook his head and waved his hands. “Shit. I was never here,” he said and folded into shadow.

  Victor sighed.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said.

  “Quite all right,” Victor said. “We were simply rehashing an old conversation again and again and again. Tiresome.”