Tokyo's Last Vampire: Division 12: The Berkhano Vampire Collection

by Tiffany Wayne

  And I would have kept drinking were it not for a small voice that somehow found its way through my fervor to feed. “V, where’s Mom?” asked Kol, his hands outstretched to help me.

  I thrust out my arms to ward him off. I could hear the blood coursing through his heart, strong, steady and delicious. Oh, how I craved it.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  “No. Stay away. Stay away from me. I…I might hurt you.” I closed my eyes and turned away from him. I was covered in blood. My face. My hands. I didn’t want him to see me like this, acting like some feral animal. I was a beast.

  “Run,” I yelled. “Run.”

  Chapter 3

  Sometime later I woke to find myself on the floor, the sword removed. Kol was shaking me, begging me not die.

  “You came back,” I said, eyes blinking open. Sun streamed through the library windows, making me wince and sending throbbing pain streaking through my head. “I told you to run. Don’t you ever listen?”

  Kol whacked me in the arm. “I did run. All the way to the docks. But then I got tired…and hungry. I was crazy scared and knew I needed to help you, so you could help me find my mom. Lucky for me, you were passed out cold, just hanging up there on the wall when I got back.

  I cringed at the ghoulish mental image. “Don’t sugarcoat it, kid. What time is it?”

  “Almost eight. What do we do now? What’s the next step? Are you hungry? Your stomach has healed, but you look blue, like an alien.” Kol lay down beside me on the floor.

  I thought he needed a hug since his mom had been kidnapped and all, so I threw an arm over his shoulders, trying to ignore the fact I was covered in dried blood and hungry as hell. “We’ll find her,” I soothed.

  “No. Stupid.” He pushed away only to come close again, arching his neck. “I don’t need a hug. Eat,” he commanded.

  I pushed him off and lurched to standing. “Are you crazy? I don’t drink the blood of children, and I never feed off anyone directly. I might lose control.”

  Kol rolled his eyes. “I need you to help me get my mom back. We don’t have time for pleasantries.”

  I grabbed Kol by the shirt and hauled him to standing. “Never do that again,” I yelled. “No matter what. You don’t think we have time for pleasantries, but we do.” I shook him to drive home my words. “We can slow down so I won’t rip your throat out and suck you dry. There is always time for me not to do that. Do you understand?”

  Kol nodded, his chin quivering, as I set him back down. “You’re a mess. Go get changed. I’ll do the same. Meet back here in ten.”

  He backed away, clearly scared, which was fine with me. The farther away he was, the safer he was.

  I retreated to my quarters at the back of the library and slammed the door. The room was my sanctuary with its walls covered in pre-Rift postcards, family Polaroids, shelves full of books, and worthless trinkets from my scavenging forays. I grabbed a half-full bottle of sake off a shelf and downed it, hoping to diminish my thirst. Feeding had become necessity, and soon. I pulled up my shirt to check out the place on my torso where I’d been driven through and stared at the reflection in the mirror. Kol hadn’t lied. My skin was blue, and I appeared as some sort of savage, red she-devil, covered in blood, hair flying free of its braids. The wound had healed. No scar, nothing to account for all the blood that painted my skin.

  Always considerate, Midori had filled my wash basin while I was out. She’d even left a cloth. I peeled off my clothes and started to wash. The water quickly became a deep crimson. As much as it disgusted me, I knew I would drink the basin dry after I was finished with the cleaning process. Such was my need. The sake had taken the edge off, but it wouldn’t be enough…not if I was to go out and walk among the masses during the light of day. So many heartbeats would call to me, so many bare necks beckoning.

  Clean, I pulled on a pair of black pants and a shirt and took out my winter cloak, securing it around my neck. Glancing in the mirror, I cursed my garish red hair, as I undid the old braids to begin weaving them anew. My fingers shook with nerves. Daylight. I was to go out in daylight. It couldn’t be avoided if I were ever to get Midori back.

  I liked the dark.

  Darkness was safe.

  My physical body could withstand sun, but in all honesty, there wasn’t much I wanted to see in the brightness of day. The night was far better at hiding squalor and decay.

  To the right of the mirror hung a drawing of a red-haired girl I’d found in an old leather-bound book during one of my scavenging trips. The drawing was the only mark inside the book. All other pages were blank, so I’d ripped it out and tacked it to the wall, keeping the rest of the book for use as a diary. Not that I’d ever written in it, but maybe someday. The woman in the drawing resembled me when no one else in my world did, and for some reason that gave me a small bit of pleasure. She even wore her hair in an elaborate assortment of braids like me. Or maybe I’d started wearing my hair that way after I’d found the drawing. Whatever the order, somewhere in some other Division, were my people with crimson hair and ghostly skin. Someone had drawn a picture that proved people like me must exist. I wasn’t a real anomaly, only one in Division 12. The girl in the drawing was fierce, a warrior, and I placed my thumb over her heart to draw strength from it. I could do daylight, no problem. No problem, whatsoever.

  Returning to the mirror, I pinned up the last of my braids. “Why take Midori?” I asked myself. Kidnappings weren’t uncommon, but Midori was only a librarian and mother. She wasn’t Yakuza or someone showing any latent witch powers, and as far as I knew wasn’t involved in any illegal activities. Witches rarely came down off the Mount. They were seen as Kami or gods by the people because of the magic they possessed. Their seclusion on the mountain only added to their godly mystery, securing the deference of the people. Yakuza paid a tithe to the witches and were left to rule Tokyo while the Kami and their priests on Mount Fuji did whatever gods do with their free time. Laze around, I guessed.

  I jumped when the door banged open and Kol entered. Dressed in fresh clothes, he held a glass of blood. “I forgot that Mom tapped a vein for you last night. This was in the kitchen,” he said, holding the glass out to me.

  I accepted the glass of sweet liquor and shoved Kol back out the door, securing the latch this time. I never let myself be watched while drinking. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” I called.

  “It’s already been fifteen minutes. You said ten,” answered Kol, fist punching the door. “What are we going to do? What’s our next step?”

  I ignored his questions and slid down onto the floor, folding into a pile, cup in hand. Kol had lied. This wasn’t Midori’s blood. It was his. Blood was like wine. Each person’s had their own individual bouquet and top notes. Kol’s smelled fruity.

  When I glanced at the wash basin full of old watered down blood and then at the glass of still warm blood in my hand, there was no question which I desired more, or which I needed more. I closed my eyes and downed the liquid in the glass, hating myself for drinking the blood of a child, hating myself for needing blood at all. Yet my self-loathing evaporated as the plasma snaked down my throat sending a euphoric warmth to every cell in my body. It felt as if I’d bathed in the fountain of youth.

  I even scraped at the insides of the glass with my finger, stealing every drop, then stood and gave myself a once-over in the mirror, wiping the corners of my mouth clean and pulling up my hood. At least my skin wasn’t blue anymore. “You can do this,” I said out loud to my reflection. “Midori is your family and you can do anything to protect family. Who knows, maybe the daylight isn’t as bad as you remember?” I nodded and moved into the Wonder Woman warrior stance my first mom had taught me. She’d read somewhere that five minutes in warrior stance could psychologically alter your mind and give you confidence. She had been all about such mumbo jumbo. “You are strong and powerful. You’re not the weak girl you used to be, the one who was preyed upon. Thanks to Juro, you
can protect yourself. You can protect your family.” I nodded one last time then marched over and opened the door. “Ready?”

  Kol blew out a long breath, sending his bangs flying skyward. “I’ve been ready for the last ten minutes. Where are we going?”

  “To have a chat with Mr. Tanaka.”

  Kol’s jaw dropped. “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “When you’ve got Yakuza problems, you go pray to the witches. If you’ve got witch problems, and I believe we do, you see the Yakuza. That reminds me…” I turned back and perused one particular shelf searching for something I’d scavenged when I first arrived in Tokyo. I’d hoped to keep it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Finding what I wanted, I grabbed a satchel and stuffed the treasure inside.

  Kol nodded to the katana in the corner of my room. “You bringing your sword?”

  “I don’t think it’s wise to visit the Yakuza armed. We wouldn’t want things to escalate.”

  “Really? The Yakuza have guns galore. It’s the only reason witches leave them alone.”

  “If they want to kill me, they will. My katana will only delay the inevitable. You don’t bring a sword to a gun fight, and we don’t have any guns. You’ll be fine. The Yakuza don’t kill kids. Hell, maybe if I die, they’ll adopt you.” I pulled out the treasure from my satchel to show him. “Besides, I’ve got something they’ll want. Probably…at least I hope so. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 4

  “Is it always this bright?” I asked Kol as we wove through the streets. I made a mental note to look for sunglasses next time I scavenged.

  “Yes. When’s the last time you went out in the sun?” he asked.

  I pulled my hood farther forward. “It’s been a while.”

  “You should get out more. Vitamin D is good for you.”

  “I don’t think I need vitamin D, kiddo.”

  Merchants worked in booths everywhere, hawking their wares. The smell of fish and seaweed was almost overpowering. Before the Rift, the streets of Tokyo had been filled with the bold fabrics of fashionable clothes, flashy cars, and glowing neon. Now everything was muted and grey except the sky, which was a brilliant azure and made the decay nestled below it seem all the worse by comparison. It was mid-March so the sakura trees should have been loaded with pink cherry blossoms, but they rested leafless and craggy. I hoped they were merely dormant and waiting for better times and not dead like so much of the vegetation.

  Mr. Tanaka’s house was on the eastern edge of Tokyo. He lived in a traditional Japanese dwelling of bamboo and wood with a sloping tiled roof in the ancient style. No windows existed, only Shoji or sliding panels made of translucent paper. Two guards with machine guns flanked the entranceway.

  I squeezed Kol’s hand. “Ready or not here we come.”

  When I squared my shoulders, Kol gulped in a breath. “I don’t want to be adopted by the Yakuza,” he whispered.

  “And you’re not going to be. We’re going to get your mom back. I promise.”

  Hand-in-hand we marched to the door. “We’d like to see Mr. Tanaka, please.”

  One guard with a young babyface laughed. “And who might you be?”

  The taller sentry with a goatee, reached out to finger my hood. “Who’s hiding under there?”

  I knocked his hand away. “We’re from the library.” I opened my satchel, so the two men could see inside. “I believe we have something Mr. Tanaka would like to acquire.”

  “Is that real?” they asked in unison, hands reaching out to touch.

  I let the flap of the satchel fall back into place. “Of course, it’s real. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, now would I? Is Mr. Tanaka home or do we need to come back?”

  “And who should we say is calling?” asked the bigger of the two guards, opening the door.

  “You can tell him Valaria Valentin and Kol Takeyuchi are here.”

  Mr. Goatee ushered us inside to the genkan where we deposited our shoes. To wear shoes into someone’s home was akin to spitting on their floor. In our socks we padded silently across the tatami floors made of rice straw. The inside of Mr. Tanaka’s home was exquisite with beautiful artwork displayed on the walls along with gleaming swords. Because of Juro, I’d developed an appreciation for swords and often studied their history. I recognized several styles from around the world including a Carolingian Viking sword, a Scottish dirk and a German zweihänder. I also noticed several items I’d retrieved during my excursions and realized Mr. Tanaka was responsible for much of my income. Midori sold everything for me, so I hadn’t realized. This was good. Mr. Tanaka clearly appreciated antiques and Midori was a valuable supplier. Hopefully, he’d want to help us find her.

  We were led down several hallways to another entry with two guards stationed outside. One opened the door, and before I knew it Kol and I were standing in front of Mr. Tanaka’s giant desk as he peered at us with clear interest. “Sir, they have an item for purchase,” said Mr. Goatee.

  “It is very rude to shield one’s face when invited into someone’s home,” said Mr. Tanaka, his head cocked to the side, hands steepled atop the desk. His words weren’t uttered in an unkind manner. More curious.

  I brushed my hood back then pulled the treasure out of my satchel. “I brought—”

  One of the guards gasped. The one closest to Mr. Tanaka drew his gun. “It’s the red ghost,” said another.

  Red ghost? I glanced at Kol. He shrugged.

  “My name is Valaria Valentin. I work at the library with Midori Takeyuchi. She was taken last night by a witch, and we need your help.” With a bow, I laid my treasure upon his desk.

  “I’ve heard tales of the red ghost,” said Mr. Tanaka, ignoring my offering, “the cloaked phantom who prowls the night hurting unsuspecting men.”

  I stared at him dumbfounded then had to fight my anger. Phantom? Prowls? Unsuspecting men? “Sir, I did not hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. Those men wished to take liberties. A woman should be able to walk the streets unmolested no matter the time of day.”

  Tanaka proffered a wicked grin. “We have a feminist among us, men. Do take care not to offend.” To the guard holding his gun at the ready, “Lower your weapon, Li. You see she is no ghost but a mortal woman.”

  “If not a ghost, then perhaps a demon, sir?” said the guard, gun still raised.

  “She is merely of another land. Europe or the Americas. It appears a few foreigners fell through the cracks during the cleansing. You’ll excuse my man, Ms. Valentin. It’s hard to find good help these days. Li, if you’re so afraid of this young woman, you may leave.”

  Li holstered his gun. “I…I am fine sir. I will protect you.”

  “Good then. Now let’s see what Valentin-san has brought me.” Tanaka reached for the frame and immediately smiled. It wasn’t wicked like his previous grin…more amused. “Hasta la vista, baby,” he growled, then laughed.

  “I am sorry, Tanaka-san, but I am confused?” I replied.

  He turned the frame around to show me Arnold Schwarzenegger, a.k.a. The Kindergarten Cop. I’d only lived in Japan for a couple weeks before the Rift, but I’d seen Arnold in many Japanese commercials. They loved him in Japan and his popularity hadn’t waned. A local playhouse had even been dedicated to his works.

  “The Terminator,” said Kol, with a grimace as if I was embarrassing him. “Do you live under a rock?”

  I glared back. “No, Kol. You know where I live, and it is not, in fact, under a rock. Don’t be rude.”

  “This is a possession to be much prized,” said Tanaka. “Are you sure you wish to part with it?”

  “It is yours with my compliments if you agree to help us locate our friend. She was taken by a witch last night, and you are the only one possessing enough experience when dealing with the Kami. Perhaps you could find who took her and negotiate for her release? I can secure more items of value to pay.”

  Tanaka frowned, his brow furrowing. “I’m afraid the lines of communication with the Kami are cur
rently broken. I do not—”

  Bile rose in my throat as my stomach twisted. “Broken? What’s happening? Have others been taken?”

  Tanaka waved my words away and plastered a not entirely believable grin on his face. “My, my you’re an anxious one. Aren’t you? This is normal. The Kami are mercurial on the best days.”

  “So you can’t help us?” I reached for the photo of Arnold.

  Tanaka slid it out of my grasp. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help. I only stated I didn’t have a direct line to the Kami. But seeing as you were kind enough to bring me this treasure—” Tanaka broke off to open a drawer and place the photograph inside. “I will lend you one of my best men to help you find the boy’s missing mother.” Tanaka stood and motioned for us to follow. “I’d hate to think of a lone woman getting herself into trouble out there on the streets. Even if she is the red ghost,” he said with a chuckle.

  “She isn’t alone,” Kol bit out, his chest puffing wide.

  Tanaka shot a glance over his shoulder at Kol, one eyebrow raised. “Feisty. I like it. Perhaps you will work for me one day Takeyuchi-san. I could use a brave man like you.”

  Nearing the end of a long hallway, we could hear grunts, groans, and thwacks, as if someone was being tortured. I pulled Kol close and prepared to cover his eyes if needed. “What’s going on in there?”

  Tanaka opened the door. “Jujutsu practice, of course. My men train every day.”

  Inside the room two men grappled, although the moves appeared almost fluid and balletic in their grace. Both were skilled, but I could easily tell which was the superior fighter. He was tall and lean with a blue dragon tattoo snaking up his back and over his shoulder. And sure enough, in an enviably elegant and nimble roll, the man pinned his opponent flat with legs over the neck and torso, then torqued the loser’s arm back in a beautiful arm bar, receiving a desperate tap out for his efforts.

  I found myself clapping in appreciation. Juro would have loved to see this man in action.