The Book of the Flame

by Carrie Asai

  Another mind-jarring thud and it was over. My head whipped backward and I was suddenly back in my own body, sick with the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber. I shook my head to clear away the haze. We had crunched to a stop.

  “Are you okay?” I gasped, grabbing Hiro’s shoulder.

  “Fine, fine. But you’re bleeding.” He wiped blood off my forehead.

  “I hit my head on the window,” I said. For some reason I felt totally calm, as though the crash had happened in a dream from which I still hadn’t woken up.

  “You sure did,” Hiro said, a look of concern flitting over his face. I followed his glance to the window on my side of the car—it was cracked from where my head had bashed it. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” Hiro snapped open my seat belt.

  “My door’s stuck,” I yelled. Mustache was collapsed in the twisted front seat, which was awash in blood. Pablo had gone through the windshield. One of his hands, the thick gold rings coated in gore, lay awkwardly on the dashboard next to his hip, nestled in a pile of broken glass. Something told me the hand wasn’t attached to his arm anymore. My stomach churned and I tore my eyes away. I didn’t want to get any closer to them than I had to. Hiro stretched out on the seat and kicked against his door. Nothing. I heard a whoosh, and the acrid smell of burning gasoline filled the air. Black smoke poured into the car through the destroyed windshield, oozing around Pablo’s body as if he had just bent over to take a quick peek into the fires of hell.

  The engine was on fire. “Hurry!” I screamed, still struggling with my own door. I coughed as the smoke slipped up my nose.

  Hiro smashed against the door again, but it wouldn’t budge. “Give me your sweatshirt.”

  I shucked it off, and Hiro rolled it around his fist. “Turn around.” I hid my face, taking the opportunity to rub my stinging eyes. Hiro punched through the window and tore out the leftover pieces of glass. He dragged me toward him and I scrambled through, ignoring the pinch of the remaining shards as they shredded the knees of my jeans. Hiro was right behind me, and we both dropped onto the pavement and stumbled away from the smoking wreck. A crowd had started to gather.

  “Keep away from the car!” Hiro shouted. “It’s going to blow!”

  A communal gasp went up and the crowd stepped back toward the other side of the street. I heard the sirens coming closer and looked around for the SUV. It lay on its side about forty feet away. The door popped open and two men tumbled out of the wreck. I blinked, not quite sure I was seeing what I thought I was—yes, it was them, all right. The same Yukemura henchmen who had been after me since the kidnapping-that-wasn’t.

  “They’re Yukemura men!” I grabbed Hiro’s arm. “So who the hell were those guys?” I gestured at the black sedan.

  “We’ll figure it out later—we’ve got to get out of here.”

  A blond woman pushed out of the crowd and ran toward us. “I’m a doctor. You need to sit down until the ambulance gets here.”

  “We’re fine,” Hiro said, “but those guys are pretty banged up.” The doctor looked skeptical. “Sit down here and don’t move,” she commanded, and then ran over to the Yukemura men, who tried to push past her. They started to argue.

  “What about Mustache?” I asked Hiro. “And Pablo?” I added with a shiver, picturing his disembodied hand again.

  Hiro’s face tightened. “I think they’re gone.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than an enormous, earth-shattering explosion ripped through the air—the sedan’s gas tank had finally blown. The crowd ducked in unison and people started screaming. A fire truck roared around the corner as three police cruisers screeched to the scene, adding to the madness. Thick black smoke billowed up into the sky.

  “Run. Now.” Hiro grabbed my hand and we bolted, flying across the intersection and into an alley. I heard what I presumed were police officers calling for us to stop, but I knew that if we got caught, we wouldn’t have a prayer of figuring out what was going on. And for all I knew, our Yukemura-clan friends from the SUV would kill us on the spot if they found us.

  “Dead end,” I gasped as we approached a chain-link fence. Hiro rattled it in frustration.

  “Dammit!” he shouted. I looked wildly around for another way out. A shabby door to our right looked promising, but it wouldn’t give when I tried it. I barreled against it, trying to use my shoulder to bust through. No dice. And it hurt like hell.

  “You’re just going to hurt yourself,” Hiro said, seeing me grimace. “Come on—we have to go over.” I ran to the fence and started climbing, Hiro right behind me. We launched ourselves over the top just as the policemen spun into the alley.

  “There they are!”

  We sprinted down the alley and out into the maze of San Diego. I’d never been here, and I had no idea if Hiro had either—there was no time to ask. The city was a blur as we flew down the residential streets. I remembered again the night I’d escaped from my own wedding. It had been Halloween then—not even six months had passed, but since that night I’d lived enough for a whole lifetime.

  This time is different, I told myself. You have Hiro now, and it’s day, not night. But it was cold comfort. I felt like the intervening months had slipped away and I was right back where I’d started—still running for safety. Was I any better off than I had been back then? I still had no idea who’d killed my brother, and I’d managed to leave a trail of broken lives in my path as I searched for the answer. But at least you’re not the same girl you were then, droned a voice in my head.

  It was true. No matter what, I’d never go back to being the scared, spoiled, clueless little girl I’d been when I arrived in L.A. for the wedding. I was Samurai Girl now—even if I still managed to screw up on a regular basis.

  “Hiro!” I breathed as a cramp ripped through my side. “I’m cramping.” I slowed to a trot. “Please—we’ve been running forever.”

  Hiro slowed down, sweat dripping from his forehead. “I know, but it’s not safe here.”

  “Where is?” I gasped, suddenly filled with despair. “We don’t know anyone here. Look at us—no matter how far we run, people are still going to be suspicious. Hell, I’d call the cops if I saw you sprinting past me! We need to get cleaned up.”

  Hiro stopped, breathing hard, and looked me up and down. “You’re right,” he said, bending over to stretch. “We’re not going to get very far looking like this.”

  “Thank you,” I said, overjoyed that we’d actually stopped moving. I wanted to hurl myself onto the nearest lawn, where a sprinkler was tick-ticking a delicious spray out over the green, green grass. It was early afternoon, and the day had grown terribly hot. I stepped closer to the sprinkler, hoping to catch a few stray drops. “We need to go to a gas station or something. If we try to check into a motel, we’ll get busted for sure.”

  Hiro nodded. “Okay. Let’s find someplace to clean up, and then we can figure out our next move.”

  I hobbled after Hiro as he strode down the block. No matter how much he fought or how much energy he exerted, he always seemed to have just a little extra reserve from which to draw. He was a machine. I, on the other hand, felt like I had been run over by a truck.

  “Go around to the side. I’ll follow with the keys. I don’t want to draw more suspicion than we have to.” I ducked around the side of the squat convenience store building as Hiro went in. After a few minutes he came out carrying a shopping bag.

  “Please tell me you bought some water,” I said.

  Hiro pulled a bottle of water from the bag, and I gulped it so fast, it ran down my chin and neck. Hiro chugged from his own bottle. When I finally came up for air, Hiro took the bottle back.

  “That’s enough for now. You’ll make yourself sick.” Hiro pulled some stuff out of the bag, then handed it to me. “Here—go clean up. I’ll be next door.”

  I went into the ladies’ bathroom, relieved to find that it wasn’t quite as disgusting as I’d expected. Someone had even tried to cheer up the dank little
cell by posting a picture of some kittens frolicking in a flower patch on one of the grayish walls. Cute. I opened the bag and took out a bar of soap, a package of those synthetic towels like you wash your dishes or windshield with, a comb, and a black tank top that said SAN DIEGO on it in garish pink neon letters. I gingerly peeled off my filthy T-shirt. The mirror was merciless.

  I was covered in bruises. The ones from the fight back in Tijuana had blossomed into an ominous purple-black shade, while the fresh ones from the crash were still that faded blue color. The worst was the combination bruise–fabric burn that tore across my collarbone and all the way down my chest—a perfect impression of the seat belt. It throbbed, but it was a small price to pay—I could have ended up like Pablo.

  I willed the image out of my head. Think kittens, I told myself, staring at the poster. So cute, cuddly, and healthy…

  With my remaining elastic I piled my hair on top of my head, wet one of the cloths, and soaped myself as gently as I could. At least my face didn’t look too bad. I was ready to get to work on my hair, which was caked with blood and muck, when I heard a soft knock at the door. I pulled the tank top on.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.”

  I opened the door and Hiro slid inside.

  “Did anyone see you?” I whispered.

  “I don’t think so.” A smile flitted across Hiro’s now clean but still battered face. Even the swelling couldn’t hide his good looks. My heart melted a little just looking at him. Way to be serious about the situation, I told myself. How about giving your hormones a rest for a minute or three?

  “What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious.

  “Nice shirt.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, you picked it out.” I plucked at the fabric. “It’s a little tight. What size is it?”

  “Small.”

  “Hiro! I’m five-nine! And—thanks to you—on my way to muscle-bound. Small is for tiny girls!”

  “You would look beautiful in a paper bag, Heaven,” Hiro said, his voice softening. “It looks hot.” He put his arms around my waist and pulled me gently toward him. Our lips met, and Hiro flinched.

  “What is it?” I pulled back, looking into his black eyes.

  “Sorry—it stings.” I gently ran my fingers over Hiro’s swollen lip, then kissed him as lightly as I could. He warmed to the kiss and soon we were engaged in full lip lock. The bathroom disappeared and I was far away.

  Too soon, Hiro broke the kiss. I gulped, resting my head on his shoulder. The kittens stared back at me from the wall, and I winked at them, just because I wanted to. I still felt shy about our romantic interactions. After all, I wasn’t exactly experienced. In fact, I was totally, completely in experienced.

  “We’d better get going. But the question is, where?” Hiro’s voice assumed a businesslike tone. The moment had passed. I untangled myself from his arms and leaned back against the sink. I’d been contemplating just that question while I was tending to my battered body.

  “I can’t run anymore, Hiro.” I sighed.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Hiro asked, looking concerned.

  “It means I’m not getting anywhere with all this…this mystery. It seems pretty clear at this point that there’s more than one group of people after us—there was Marcus and his gang of thugs. And you know that had something to do with Mieko….”

  “We don’t know what your stepmother’s role in this whole thing is yet,” Hiro said, crossing his arms. “And it doesn’t change the fact that most signs point to the Yukemuras.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed, “we have no idea. But don’t you see that’s why I—we—have to stop running? We need to look for the answers ourselves, not wait for them to come to us. And that’s why I want to go back to L.A. and talk to Yoji Yukemura.”

  “Are you serious?” Hiro asked skeptically.

  “Totally. Look—you said it before: It always comes back to the Yukemuras. Even those guys who kidnapped us back in Tijuana had something to do with Teddy, and do we really know how deep Teddy’s drug deals went? Maybe he was still into some of his father’s yakuza stuff.”

  “Well, you’d know more than I….”

  Was that jealousy I heard in Hiro’s voice? He’d been none too happy about having Teddy around and even less psyched when he realized that I’d agreed to marry him. Of course, that had been before Hiro finally showed up (late) and everything became clear. I’d explained to Hiro that the engagement had just been part of my plan to get out of Vegas, and I was almost positive he believed me. But that didn’t stop him from being irritated.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t,” I snapped. “It’s not like we spent that much time chatting.” It seemed ridiculous to be talking about this right now—especially since Teddy was dead.

  Hiro raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  This was a side of Hiro I’d never suspected existed. I blundered on. “Teddy’s father has got to have some answers. And if I know what he knows, then maybe I can end this thing for good.” I rubbed my eyes. “We just can’t go on like this.”

  “Heaven,” Hiro said, his voice softening. “Do you really think Yoji’s going to be in a good mood when he hears that his son is dead and you were there when it happened? He’s going to be furious. Who knows what he might do?”

  “He needs me alive,” I said. That I was sure about. “He always has. Yoji needs the Kogo money to fix his business. It’s crumbling. You know that’s why the wedding was arranged in the first place and why Teddy tried so hard to get to me after I ran away. If he kills me—boom!” I slapped my hands together for emphasis. “That’s it. He’s not going to see a penny of it. But if he wants answers about what happened to Teddy, then I can help him. We can help him get the revenge he wants.”

  Hiro ran his hand through his hair, and for a moment all I could hear was the drip of a leaky pipe and the distant sound of traffic from the street. I knew I was making the right decision. I prayed that Hiro would understand. “Revenge is not the samurai way,” Hiro finally said. “Justice, yes. But Teddy’s death isn’t ours to avenge.”

  “Oh, come on, Hiro,” I pleaded. “We’ve broken just about every tenet of the bushido so far. I mean, you and me—we’re together. And you’re my sensei.”

  “I know we haven’t exactly adhered to the samurai code,” Hiro said, “but these circumstances are unique. That doesn’t mean we can just throw everything we strive for out the window. If we do, then we’re just rogue samurai—ronin. Warriors for hire.”

  “I’m not proposing that we hire ourselves out to Yoji to avenge Teddy’s death,” I insisted. “I’m just saying we have some information that Yoji wants. Besides, what else can we do?”

  Hiro was silent. Fatigue washed over me, and my legs started trembling. I flipped the toilet cover down and sat on it. I hated myself for being able to talk so matter-of-factly about Teddy’s death, as if it were nothing more than one false move in a dangerous game we’d been playing. What was happening to me? Was this part of becoming a warrior? Or were the last bits of my compassion and humanity slipping away? I’d cared for Teddy—not in the way I cared about Hiro, but as a friend, and a close one at that. Teddy was a troubled soul, but he was good deep down, a sweetheart. In private, he was gentle. And he’d loved me.

  “Okay, Heaven,” Hiro said, pulling me gently to my feet. “You’re right. We need to confront Yoji. I just want you to be safe.”

  “I know you do,” I said, relieved, and put my arms around him. “Trust me.”

  Hiro tipped my face back and kissed me gently. “I do.” We embraced again, then he stepped away. “So, back to L.A.?” he asked.

  “Yep. What do you think? The bus?”

  Hiro shook his head. “Too risky. They’ll be staking out the bus and train stations. We’d better rent a car.” He paused. “So what happens when we get there? How are we going to find Yoji?”

  “I’ve got a plan,” I answered, smiling.

 
“Uh-oh,” Hiro joked. “I remember what happened the last time you said that.”

  “Ha ha,” I said, and tapped him lightly on the arm. “Come on—I’ve got to do something about this hair.” I looked in the mirror and sighed. The thought of getting all the gunk and tangles out of my hair with nothing but a bar of soap and a fifty-cent comb depressed me to no end.

  “Let me help. Here, sit down.”

  I bent my head over the sink as Hiro lathered the soap into my hair.

  “I think that’s the best we can do,” he said after a few minutes. He patted my mane down with one of the handi cloths, but more brown water just dripped out of it. I felt like a drowned dog.

  “I’m never going to get this untangled.” My eyes met Hiro’s in the mirror. “Should we cut it?” I asked impulsively.

  “It would probably be best, but…” Hiro’s voice trailed off, and he put his arm around my shoulders.

  “Do it,” I said, with more authority than I actually felt. “Besides—the added bonus is that it will make me look different. We can go undercover.” I scanned Hiro’s serious face. “Maybe we should do something about yours, too.”

  Hiro ran his hands through his hair again. “Dye?”

  “I always wondered what you’d look like as a bottle blond,” I joked softly.

  Hiro nodded. “I’ll go get the stuff.”

  I sat down and waited for Hiro to return. I knew I was making the right decisions. But sometimes the right decisions hurt.

  We do my hair first so that the bleach can set while I’m cutting Heaven’s. She is silent as the first dark strands fall to the ground. I can’t help thinking that I should be able to protect her from this sort of thing, that if I were a better man, she wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to be free of the evil that follows her. But at the same time—she’s grown so much! The Heaven who showed up on my doorstep in her wedding dress, shivering and covered in blood, would never have let me cut her hair. She was so young then, still trapped by the lavish lifestyle she’d led with her adoptive family. Now she is fierce—a strong, capable woman.