Stephen shook his head. “Your cat is a moron.”
“He’s not my cat. And why would you say that?”
“You’ll see.” Stephen would say no more on the subject, instead digging into his cheeseburger.
After several more minutes, they heard the padding of small feet and turned to see Shitoro returning to join them. He’d earlier changed back into his tiger form so as to attract as little attention as possible, although Stephen had argued there wasn’t much point since he kept talking.
Kisaki noted that his fur was wet.
“Ah, much better. So refreshing after being ignobly tossed into refuse.” He climbed up onto the seat next to Kisaki and began pawing at a plate of chicken that had been left for him. “I simply do not understand why you gave me such grief in there, human. My hygiene is no concern of yours.”
“It’s because that was a urinal, not a shower stall, idiot.”
Kisaki didn’t know what a urinal was, but Tamiko immediately broke down into laughter. “He did not!”
“Oh yeah. He did,” Stephen confirmed. “You can’t make this shit up.”
Kisaki looked down at the youkai. “Shitoro?”
“I, for one, do not see what the fuss is about,” he replied. “It was perfectly sized for me and, though it cannot compare to the opulent baths of the celestial palace, the cascade of water upon my fur was quite enjoyable, as was the pleasant smelling cylindrical object at the bottom. Tell me, was that some sort of bath oil?”
“Not quite,” Stephen replied, barely holding in his own laughter.
Tamiko, for her part, had lost it. Tears streamed down her face.
Kisaki looked at the two of them. “Is there something here I don’t understand?”
“Don’t ask,” Stephen said. Then, after a moment, added, “I’ll tell you all about men’s rooms later.”
“Oh, that should be fun,” Tamiko replied, still snickering. “Until then, you might want to avoid petting him.”
“I am not a cat,” Shitoro snapped, spearing another piece of chicken with a claw. “I require no petting, grooming, or scratching beneath my chin ... although that latter can be enjoyable under the correct circumstances.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Once Stephen and Tamiko got themselves back under control, the discussion turned to the battle they’d just fought and its consequences.
“What do you think they’ll do with Crag?”
“Depends who gets him,” Stephen said. “If it’s scientists, they’ll dissect him. If it’s rednecks, they’ll throw him in a freezer and charge people ten bucks to look at him.”
“A most inglorious fate for a dishonorable foe,” Shitoro replied bitterly. “However, there is potential for complications.”
“How so?” Tamiko asked.
“The world has changed considerably, and not just in the years since the edict against travel here was laid down,” Shitoro explained. “The last time the daimao were active in the world of man was approximately three hundred of your years ago. At that point, the world was just beginning to change, although we did not suspect how much. Youkai and humans still lived side by side, though. It was not uncommon for them to encounter one another.”
Tamiko nodded. “My father used to read me stories about feudal Japan when I was a little girl. It seemed like running into demons was about as common as walking to the local noodle shop.”
“An oversimplification, but not entirely incorrect,” Shitoro replied. “I’m willing to speculate that those stories are probably based more on fact than you know. But that changed. While the daimao slept, the world evolved even more, far more so than those of us tending to the day-to-day matters of the celestial palace realized.”
“But before the edict, weren’t you free to travel to Earth as you pleased?” Kisaki asked.
“Yes, but that did not mean many of us did. Earth has always been a savage place. Some of demonkind revel in that, but many of us want nothing more than a quiet existence. Not all of us are warriors, nor do we aspire to be. You tell me. If given the choice between safety, fine food, and a comfortable life versus willingly stepping foot onto a world where you could be hunted by anything – human or not – which would you choose?”
“Makes sense,” Stephen said after a beat.
“I should say it does.”
“But this Crag guy was a warrior, right?”
“A butcher is a better term for it, but yes. A beast such as him was born for the chaos of a world such as this. He was built to thrive in adversity.”
“He was built, all right.” Stephen blew out a whistle. “When I drove that police cruiser into him, it was like hitting a brick wall.”
“Agreed,” Tamiko said. “He barely budged.”
Stephen looked over at Kisaki. “Which makes it all the more impressive that you threw him like a ragdoll. I still have no idea how you pulled that one off.”
“I’m only beginning to understand it myself,” Kisaki said. “But that particular move, I learned from my father.”
The rest of the table became quiet as her words sank in and she realized what she had just admitted.
“How so?” Tamiko asked. “I thought you never met him?”
Kisaki realized there was nothing to gain by remaining silent, especially to friends loyal enough to stand by her side against a beast such as Crag. “I have not, but just before the battle began...”
“Go on,” Shitoro prodded.
“Just as the fighting started, I had another of those visions I had mentioned, except this one was much clearer as to who and what they were about. The first clue was that man in my father’s photos, the smiling one. He was there.”
“You saw him in your vision?” Stephen asked.
“Yes. At first, I wasn’t sure if he was a friend or enemy. The truth is, I am still not certain. But I did realize one thing from this last vision.”
“What?”
“That I was seeing it all from behind my father’s eyes.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“How do you know this?” Shitoro asked, the food in front of him seemingly forgotten.
“The visions. At first, I thought they acted like those crystals, that I had been sent elsewhere. Except they were different. There’s no sound at all and I have no control over my body. Each time it’s happened, I’ve found myself being attacked. The first was by the smiling man. The next was by soldiers, with the smiling man fighting alongside me. The last was again of the smiling man. I spied a mirror in that one and realized the face looking back at me was my father’s.”
“You were in your father’s body?” Tamiko asked.
“It’s hard to explain. Yes and no. It was like I was...”
“Reliving his memories,” Shitoro replied, his mouth hanging agape.
“Is that possible?” she asked, but the youkai appeared deep in thought.
Finally, he turned toward Stephen. “The man in the photos with your great-grandfather. You said he was his friend, yes?”
“Yeah, from what I understand. Grandpop used to talk about him all the time. His name was ... oh man, I actually don’t remember.”
“His name is not important,” Shitoro snapped. “What was his relationship to your father?”
“Oh. Um, well, I think they grew up together. They were friends before the war. They served together, then they worked together as partners for a while afterwards until his friend moved away.”
“Partners in what?”
“Everything, I think. From what I heard, my great-grandfather started off as a boxer. He worked the amateur circuit for a while before turning to wrestling. After a while, he and his friend earned enough to open their own gym together. This was just before the war started, if I recall correctly.”
Shitoro turned to Kisaki. “Your mother said your father had the spirit of a warrior.”
“Yeah, fighting was his thing,” Stephen continued. “He and his buddy picked up stuff
where they could from whoever would teach them. Before he died, we’d sometimes watch UFC matches on TV. He used to joke that he was ahead of his time with mixed martial arts. If he’d only been born fifty years later, he could have made a fortune.”
Shitoro sat back, his tail twitching. “I see.”
“What is it?” Kisaki asked.
“You only realized your own fighting potential after these visions started, yes?”
Kisaki nodded. “Before then, I had no idea I could even move like that. It was jarring to discover, but not in an entirely unpleasant manner. Do you know what’s happening?”
Shitoro shook his head. “I’m not certain.”
“But you just said...”
“Yes, yes, I know what I said. Allow me to explain. Blood contains memories. There are spells that can divine what another being has seen. Usually traumatic experiences, such as death, create the strongest imprints. Nevertheless, reading another’s blood is powerful magic, beyond me, but...”
“But what?” Kisaki asked.
“But I have never seen nor even heard of someone inheriting blood memories.”
“Maybe it’s like instinct,” Stephen offered. “I mean, dogs are born knowing certain behaviors. Same with ca...”
“Do not say it,” Shitoro warned, a flash of yellow power in his eyes. “But I know what you mean. However, this is completely different. A dog knowing to use scent to get around doesn’t equate to it remembering and recognizing its ancestors’ masters. Yet that is what Kisaki seems to be doing. Minus the master part, of course. If what she is saying is true, she is reliving portions of her father’s life through his eyes. More importantly, she is somehow remembering her father’s fighting skills. What he knew, she seems to know, at least when it comes to combat.”
“How?” she asked.
“Have you not been listening, child? I don’t know. This is unprecedented so far as I am aware. I can’t even begin to fathom how deep this connection runs.”
“What about her freaky strength?” Stephen asked.
“Kisaki is a hanyou. Her mother’s blood flows through her veins as well,” he replied dismissively, then fell silent.
“All things considered,” Tamiko said after a few moments, “I guess it’s a lot more useful than if your great-granddad had been a gardener instead.”
Stephen laughed. “Yeah. I doubt Crag would have settled for having his lawn mowed and tulips planted.”
Kisaki herself was lost in thought. She didn’t know how to trigger these visions, or if they would ever even happen again. But knowing what they were now did give her an unexpected measure of peace.
When she’d first learned who Stephen was, she’d despaired at the news that her father had died before she could meet him. But now, she realized, that wasn’t entirely true. Some of his essence lived on inside of her. She’d experienced a small portion of his life through his eyes. So, in a sense, she had met him, and in a way that ran much deeper than a simple handshake or hug.
But she also realized it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. What Shitoro said resonated within her. And she hoped that her connection to him indeed went further than combat. If so, then she could potentially meet him again and again, get to know the real him.
Such a thing wouldn’t bring him back, but it would answer so many questions and help fill the hole in her heart that, for seventy years, she didn’t even realize was there.
The question now was how to control it. His combat expertise was now hers, triggered by the onset of battle and kick-started again with every subsequent fight, seeming to become stronger each time. Perhaps a similar trigger was needed to activate other memories from his life. The only question was how?
Kisaki was about to ask Shitoro this but found him seemingly deep in his own thoughts. “Shitoro?”
“Hmm? Yes, mistress?”
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“Me? Oh yes. It’s just that ... I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“It’s probably not important. Just mulling something over in my head. Nothing to concern yourself with. Did you have need of me?”
Kisaki opened his mouth to answer but, before the words could form, the building rocked around them, sending her and the tiger youkai tumbling out of the booth.
“I can’t be the only one who felt that,” Stephen said as dust from the ceiling drifted down around them.
“Alas, even you are not that delusional, human.” Shitoro stood and transformed into his humanoid form, dusting himself off. “We should go out and see...”
The owner of the diner came racing out from the kitchen. “Holy Mary, Son of God. What in hell is going on? You kids stay put, while I...” The words died on his lips as he laid eyes upon Shitoro in his true form. “What in the name of the Holy Trinity is that?”
Before anyone could answer, the diner shook violently again. About half of the windows shattered from the force of whatever was going on.
That seemed to snap the owner back to reality, though his eyes were still transfixed on the little tiger demon. “All of you stay put while I see what’s going on. Your ... gremlin, too.”
The man trudged to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped out while Shitoro fumed. “Gremlin? What is it with you humans and your insults?”
“What we lack in magic we make up for in wit,” Stephen replied dryly before turning to the rest. “You two thinking what I am?”
“That there’s no way we’re sitting in here waiting?” Tamiko asked.
He nodded. “Let’s blow this pop stand.”
37
Kisaki had been wondering whether the youkai under Crag’s command would regroup and counterattack. It seemed unlikely after his defeat. None of them compared in power to him, even the ursines.
Now, she began to wonder if she’d been wrong. What else could have caused the building to violently shake like that?
Stepping outside, though, she realized it was far worse than she’d ever imagined. A furrow of destruction, perhaps fifteen meters wide, had been carved through the town, missing the diner by only two buildings. It had seemingly pulverized everything in its path down to three meters below the surface. Broken concrete, splintered wood, and shattered asphalt were all that remained.
But what could have caused it? Crag’s spell, as impressive as it had been, hadn’t come close to this. So what...
“Merciful elder gods save us,” Shitoro muttered.
“What are you...?” Kisaki turned to follow his gaze. At the far end of the blackened gouge in the Earth, floating perhaps ten meters off the ground, was a figure. It was clad in black armor covered in wicked spikey protrusions. In one hand, it held a blade seemingly made of black fire. Several stunted and disfigured horns sat atop a cruel visage, which appeared to gaze down upon the world beneath it with barely concealed contempt.
“Come out, little hanyou!” the figure said in a voice loud enough to be heard all over town. It echoed among the streets for several seconds.
“What did it say?” Tamiko asked, holding her hands over her ears.
At first, Kisaki didn’t understand why she would ask such a thing, but then she realized the creature was speaking neither English nor Japanese. It had asked its question in the divine tongue, the language of the celestial palace.
She narrowed her eyes. Another mazoku, perhaps? “Who is that?”
Shitoro grabbed her hand and looked up at her with panic clearly etched upon his face.
“Ichitiro.”
♦ ♦ ♦
A chill ran down Kisaki’s spine. They were facing a daimao, like her mother. No, not like her. Her mother was beautiful, a goddess inside and out. Beneath her cold sense of authority, there was kindness. She would never have done what this ugly beast had. Who knew how many he’d killed in one fell swoop?
What was he even doing here? The edict against traveling to Earth. Shitoro had been certain that none of the daimao would bre
ak it. Her own mother hadn’t even dared to come looking for her. Had it somehow been lifted?
“Are you sure it’s him?” Kisaki asked.
“As surely as I draw breath,” Shitoro replied. “And we most likely won’t be drawing it for long if he’s here looking for us.”
She could see the fear in her friend’s face. Sadly, that feeling did not seem to resonate to the other friends who also stood beside her.
“Whoa,” Tamiko said.
“Let’s kick his ass,” Stephen added. “Team Midnight Girl rides again.”
“Midnight Girl?”
“Long story,” he replied with a grin.
Kisaki regarded him incredulously. He had no idea what he was saying. Such a thing was impossible. Ichitiro was a daimao, one of the lords of the multiverse. One did not fight them. One could only run and hope to find shelter to weather the storm.
Sadly, it appeared that ignorant bravery was not uncommon among the humans. A few blocks away, she could see several of the news vans racing in Ichitiro’s direction.
Gunshots began to ring out. From where, she couldn’t tell, but she had little doubt as to their target.
If they were shooting at Ichitiro, though, he paid it no heed, continuing to hover in the air, looking around ... no doubt searching for them.
“I’ve had enough of freaks tearing my town apart,” Stephen said. “Let’s go get him.”
Kisaki felt heat bloom in her heart at his words. He’d indeed inherited some of her father’s warrior spirit. Perhaps not as she had, but it was there nevertheless. Sadly, that spirit would be snuffed out in an instant against a foe like this.
She wouldn’t allow that.
Kisaki reached into the pocket of her shorts. Please let it still be there.
It was. Her hand closed upon the last of the stolen crystals, the red one. She didn’t know who it belonged to, nor did she care. All she knew was what it could do for her friends.
“Your father,” she said, turning toward Tamiko.
“What?”
“Your father,” Kisaki repeated. “You love him, yes?”
“Of course I do.”
“And you miss him?”
“We’ve only been gone for a day and...”
Midnite's Daughter Page 27