Calamity Rising (Deathwalker Book 1)

by Z. V. Hunter

  I sat at the table, finished the last of the sandwiches, and wished I had a drink stronger than tea.

  7

  "YOU'RE PROVING HER right for the hundredth time. The fact that she still looks at you is amazing," Lux said as I slipped out of the Shrine right after dawn.

  "She didn't expect me to stay. You heard her."

  "Oh. Yeah. That doesn't mean she didn't want you to stay. How do you get anything done when you're so dim most of the time?"

  The rain cleared any sign of my flight through the woods. The Spirit Trees, all ancient cedars, towered black and dripping on either side of the gravel walkway. Tied around their trunks were great lengths of rope as thick as a person's thigh. The trees hummed with power, the Calamities inside them passive, but they didn't switch into their Kodama forms. Shadows still clung to them, but the pale light of dawn chased away the worst of it.

  Any sign of the malevolence had gone.

  My boots crunched across the gravel. Aki had washed and dried my clothes, but I'd change when I got home anyway.

  "And you didn't tell her everything. You didn't tell her what that Calamity said before she blasted it."

  "So? I don't understand what it meant."

  The outbreak of Longneck Women weighed on my mind more than the words of a random Calamity, no matter how powerful or dangerous. But investigating that wouldn't get me a paycheck considering the ghosts had already been dealt with.

  I'd left the stuffed dog in the Shrine's kitchen with a note. Aki would keep it safe in one of the storehouses—safer than I could keep it.

  "It said it wanted him. Aki is a him, isn't he? Sometimes it's hard to tell with you humans. Like you, Yuki. With your hair like that, I'd think you were an old woman and not a prepubescent boy."

  "With your mouth, I'd think you were more than a pathetic Calamity trapped in a rock," I said.

  "Trapped? I'm not trapped. Maybe I like this rock. It's comfy in here. And I have a stupid human to do all my bidding. Ever think of that?"

  "No."

  Lux grumbled.

  It wasn't hard to believe that Calamities didn't see gender. Hell, some of them were nothing more than spiritually infused inanimate objects. Still, I doubted it was looking for Aki when it came to my door. I didn't have anything else to go on. How many 'hims' were in Neo-Tokyo? Half the damn city, I'd bet.

  First, I needed sleep. I worked in a few hours, then I went to my office to see if I had anything pending on my schedule, but my casebook was empty.

  Probably because Monks with Calamity mirrors and Kuro Abe took all the proper cases that I should be handling. Maybe I should've advertised Ghostbusters-style. Only problem was I didn't own a hearse.

  The five mon I'd gotten from the landlady was all the money I had.

  That familiar worry seized my gut. I'd be able to pay the rent, but I needed more cases. Needed to make this work. I couldn't go crawling back to Chief Akita and beg for my old job back. Not after what I'd shown them I was capable of. They'd never trust me again—hadn't since it happened. I didn't blame them.

  I didn't have long to worry about it. Over my second cup of coffee, the door to my office dinged. That was a normal bell everyone could here, though there was a ward around the doorway to keep out certain types of Calamities. It didn't work on Lux, unfortunately. And it wasn't strong enough to stop that malevolence from the night before either.

  I glanced up and frowned.

  A familiar face peered at me.

  Ken Miyamaya.

  My old partner.

  "This loser? Ugh. I thought we wouldn't have to deal with him again."

  I squeezed my coffee cup and took a long sip. It burnt my tongue, but it gave me a moment to wrap my brain around Ken standing there. Was someone playing a joke on me? Forcing me to interact with people I'd avoided for nearly a year?

  I hadn't seen him since the day I cleared out my desk. Ken hadn't been happy about it, but he also hadn't tried to get me to stay. Nor did he understand the reasons I had to go. Not entirely.

  "Are you sure you want to show your face around here? Chief Akita won't like it."

  Ken Miyamaya was Japanese in every way imaginable. He was polite to a fault—I'd been raised the same, but spent several years in L.A. after my mother died, so it wore off—his hair was slick and black and cut regulation short. He wore a presentable but not overtly fashionable navy suit, with a matching tie and a long black trench, much like my own. His shoes were shiny black Oxfords that had never seen a scuff. The only thing that gave away his power was the blue in his eyes. It told those who knew what it meant that he was a proficient Water Mage. However, he wore a pair of black framed glasses which made them less noticeable.

  Those eyes blinked at me, and his fist tightened on a folder in his hand.

  "It's been a while. How are you, Yuki?" he asked and scanned the room.

  A lot of magic users end up in law enforcement since it's the only way to deal with certain things without having a huge underground secret society that's more of a pain in the ass than it's worth. I feel kind of bad for all the normal humans who try to go into law enforcement and end up with a desk job. But it makes it easier to pair those with magic together when we share hiding the same secret from the rest of the world. When I joined, I used my mother's surname. I've no doubt they hired me based on her reputation.

  After I disgraced my mother's memory by not taking over the Shrine, I eventually found myself there to make amends for what I'd done along the way.

  Ken and I worked in the same police box for three years. We didn't have to do more than give directions to lost kids and tourists while helping with the occasional traffic accident—and even more occasional theft or fight. Human crime is low, but spiritual incidents are the exact opposite. He always came across as good-natured and as unassuming as a puppy. He was too trusting and too reliant on following orders—especially the orders of those who hated me. Still, he was a good cop, and he'd been a better partner. Maybe even close to a friend, and I'd, once again, run away from it.

  At least I had a good reason. I didn't want to spend my life in a profession that shunned me. No matter who my mother was or how good I'd be as a detective, those in charge saw me as a liability.

  My powers were a liability.

  And they were right.

  Ken looked like he'd prospered without me weighing him down.

  The interior of my office wasn't anything fancy. I had a few chairs and a desk I got at a thrift shop. There were no holes in the upholstery, so I called it good. I'd hung a few posters on the wall, just for kicks. Doraemon for the kids, some Batman—a taste I acquired in America—and a few from old kaiju movies. Godzilla was always popular. Might as well play it up. Never mind that I'd seen a Calamity like that giant nuclear lizard before. Thankfully, it had been in the Spirit World and hadn’t slipped over the boundary. Yet.

  The only reason I even rented the office was because it came with the apartment above it. The entire place had been a tiny udon shop before, and the smell pervaded the air. My stomach rumbled thinking about it.

  "I'm good. Just finished a case last night. You look like you got promotion. Detective?"

  The manila file crinkled under his fingers.

  Ken had the best poker face in the world. I can't tell you how much money I lost to him over the years. Money he promptly returned since gambling was technically illegal.

  He nodded and stood stiff in the doorway. "Yes. After you left, I got a new partner—a Shaman—but she asked to be reassigned after we got this case."

  I licked a drop of coffee from my lips. I wasn't sure what that meant or why he was here. But if discomfort had a physical form it'd have been Ken. I took pity on him and stood up. Threw him my best grin. I'd put on a simple gray dress and hot pink leggings after I crawled out of bed, so I looked as respectable as anyone. At least I wasn't in my Keroppi pajamas. "Well, I think we have some catching up to do, and you look like a man who wants to treat his old partner to ramen. There's a
place right down the street I think you'll like."

  He gave a tight nod, but his eyes flashed and his mouth quirked. "You want extra noodles, don't you?"

  "I wouldn't say 'no' to them."

  No matter what the Americans did to help rebuild this city after the War, they didn't mess with the numerous noodle shops. They're a fundamental part of the culture. Dark and closed in with a bar instead of proper tables, but that doesn't matter when you're digging into a fat slice of pork and slurping down the best ramen you've ever tasted.

  Ken worked out of Chiyoda, and Shibuya was far enough away that I didn't expect anyone from his office to see us.

  Still, we sat at the far end of the bar, draped in shadows, and slurped our meal in silence. The manila file set on the counter between us and drew my eye. Whatever the reason he came, that file had something to do with it.

  "The yakitori stall last night looked so much better than this. What do you think is in the file? Calamity stirring up trouble? No wonder he came to you for help. This guy couldn't solve a case if he saw the crime happen right in front of his eyes."

  Lux was tucked into my shirt, and I didn't respond to any of his jibes. Ken didn't know about him. He didn't know a lot of things about me, and the less he knew, the safer he'd be.

  After I finished the last of my gloriously salty broth, I poked the file. "Why'd you come to see me of all people?"

  Ken let out a breath. He did that when he was frustrated with me. It happened a lot in the past. "I came to you because of this case. Chief Akita doesn't think anything out of the ordinary is going on, but I do."

  A flare of excitement lit in my chest. "What's the case?"

  Ken glanced around, like any of the people in the ramen shop cared what we were doing.

  "That woman behind the bar is a Calamity," Lux said. I hadn't realized because she looked like a normal human. The only Calamity I'd picked out was the cat with three eyes that wound around the legs of an unsuspecting guy at the other end of the bar.

  It was a Bakeneko—a demon cat. They usually only harmed people when they cursed or ate them. This one looked friendly enough.

  Ken flipped open the file. It contained police reports—not the most exciting thing in the world, but something Ken shouldn't have shown me, especially for an ongoing case. That went against regulations. Meant he felt strongly enough to risk it.

  I glanced at the files. Missing persons reports. All girls. All aged between six and eleven. There was at least a dozen of them. Each report came with a picture of the missing girl. They all smiled at the camera—school photos—some gap-toothed, some not. They ranged in nationality from Japanese to mixed to completely foreign.

  The last girl's name struck a chord. Tomoko Jones. Adachi-ku. That's where I'd been the night before. A quick glance at the address told me everything I needed to know—Apartment 13. I'd sealed that little girl's mother the night before.

  "The plot thickens. But what does it mean?" Lux said like a voiceover on an old mystery TV show.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached for my glass of water.

  "Have you seen her?" Ken asked, and I realized I'd been staring at the photo for who knows how long.

  "No, but I saw her mother last night. As a ghost," I admitted and pretended a chill didn't rush up my spine. It was one thing to deal with the dead and quite another to see them before they got that way. The former was more comfortable.

  "Yes. I heard she committed suicide. That wasn't my case, but I found several of them in other wards around the city, and I think they're connected. The MO is always the same. The age of the victim. The gender. And, worst of all, none of them are ever found."

  "Dead or alive?"

  Ken shook his head. He wore that poker face again.

  "Do you think it's a serial kidnapper or something worse? Is that why your Shaman split?"

  Ken shrugged. "She didn't say. I never saw her work."

  Shamans can communicate with the dead, but they do it via trances and drugs and rituals that I have no reason to understand. They can't see Calamities. Nowadays, most Shamans are Healers or Seers more than anything, and they usually work at Shrines instead of with the police.

  "Why show me this?" I asked and watched to see if his poker mask slipped.

  Cracked.

  It didn't.

  Ken sighed again. "Why do you think? The Chief doesn't want me investigating it, but—"

  "I can. Does that mean you're hiring me?" I tried to keep the smirk off my lips and failed. Miserably.

  Ken nodded, as formal as ever, and I was afraid he was about to bow and beg if I didn't agree right away. "Please. I need your help. These missing girls do too. And we both know you should've made detective."

  After the night I'd had, that felt good.

  "He's just saying that to butter you up, and you fell for it. Pathetic!"

  And Lux ruined it.

  Still, if he wanted to hire me, I wasn't about to turn him down.

  "I'll have to charge you my going rate, which could change if I meet any unfavorables out there." That could mean both Calamity and otherwise.

  "Of course," Ken said and dug into his wallet.

  "But I'll give you a discount, since. . ." The words died in my throat, but he seemed to understand.

  His eyes lit up. "When do I pay you?"

  I had two mon in my pocket from the night before—and that's all the money I had to my name after I paid the rent. "When I'm done."

  Those other cases of Longneck Women would have to wait.

  I had a new job to do.

  8

  I STUDIED CRIMINAL justice in university both overseas and here in Japan—besides that brief foray into nude photography—so I knew how to investigate. I knew how to go through all the right channels. Gather evidence. Question witnesses. I even knew how to write up the proper paperwork and who to submit it to.

  Of course, all that went out the window when I became a private detective and Exorcist.

  For one thing, I didn't have any supervisors breathing down my neck for paperwork. The only reason I needed it were for clients and myself. I'm not big on paperwork, and I kept most of it on my computer or my phone. Another thing is I didn't have the same access as a normal police detective would, obviously.

  I did have copies of all the missing persons reports. That took some finagling out of Ken to get. But in the end, he relented and let me snap photos of them with my phone.

  Regulations be damned.

  However, I needed to protect his identity because if anyone knew he'd hired me, he'd get fired. With all the shit hanging on my shoulders, I didn't need that too.

  At least the job gave me a reason to avoid Calamities for once.

  Besides Lux, that is.

  He wasn't too happy about it.

  "This is so stupid. Why are you even bothering? We both know the truth. The kids probably ran off like kids do. They're all at Disneyland having a great time, and you're going to ruin it."

  I headed down the street to question the final set of parents about their missing kid. A few of the parents weren't around, and a bit of digging turned up they'd died.

  Suicide.

  Just like Tomoko Jones' mother.

  But the number was too small for there to be any connection. Out of twelve missing girls, only four of the parents killed themselves afterward. That number was high, but part of it could be guilt, if they knew what happened and couldn't stand it—I've run into ghosts like that. Or just plain old depression at losing a kid.

  It happens.

  And with the prospect of Calamities nudging at someone night and day, it's much easier to take the plunge. I didn't have any proof a parasitic Calamity attached itself to any of the dead parents, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

  The parents I did find weren't helpful. A few were still diligently looking for their missing daughter. Putting up posters and waiting by the phone for a word. One man said the police weren't doing enough, and I bit my tongue.

/>   I worked the beat looking for missing kids on a few occasions. It was an around the clock affair, and I'd seen the look in Ken's eyes—how this group of cases, even though most of them weren't his own, haunted him. I was sure the police were doing what they could, but resources and ability limited their reach.

  Me?

  I had two mon, well a little less since I refilled my subway card, bought lunch, and paid my power bill, burning a hole in my pocket and plenty of time.

  Not to mention, I could gather evidence the police couldn't touch.

  The advantages of my current situation far outweighed the disadvantages.

  And as far as Disneyland was concerned. . .

  "No, these kids aren't at Disneyland unless there's some kidnapping conspiracy to turn real-life children into puppets on It's a Small World."

  "Sounds likely. Those things are creepy."

  I ignored that and went on. "And it's too expensive. These girls are from poorer families with parents who work full time, even the single ones. That means they couldn't afford Disneyland."

  "Maybe they saved their allowances. You don't think poor people should go to Disneyland?"

  "Not what I said," I grumbled and ignored the look an old woman gave me. She obviously thought I was talking to myself.

  Great.

  "And if they're so poor, why are we in this neighborhood? It's not poor anymore. Not like it used to be."

  I frowned. Lux was right. Asakusa had always been one of the nicer wards in Neo-Tokyo. Not nearly as ritzy as places in Shinjuku, but it had the Sensoji Temple and Asakusa Shrine and was quieter and prettier than most of the city. Old Edo shone through in the ancient buildings and winding alleys. Concrete monstrosities hadn’t overwhelmed it like the rest of the city.

  I would've liked the place more if Calamities didn't flock to it like ants to candy.

  They bustled down the streets alongside the humans, who were all blissfully unaware of the things lurking beside them. The same history that drew tourists and locals pulled at the Calamities as well. The Temple, for one, was another of the most powerful in the city.