Soul of the Night

by Barbara Sheridan

  Kiyoshi lashed out, backhanding the creature that had been his acquaintance since the days before the Tokugawa ruled Japan. “I’m not reckless.”

  The little ghoul picked himself up off the floor and wiped away the sickly green fluid seeping from his cut lip. “No, of course not, Kiyoshi-sama.”

  Kiyoshi glared at Gobei, but soon his tense stance eased and he sank back against the wall, his knees giving out until he crouched there, his face hidden by his hands. What was wrong with him? What had gotten into him since coming to this place?

  Gobei shuffled over to give Kiyoshi’s shoulder a cautious poke. “It’s his blood,” he whispered, jumping back when Kiyoshi looked up.

  “Please.” Gobei flinched as though he might be hit at any moment. “Listen. You’ve never given in to all your desires as a blood-drinker. You’ve always favored the mortal world. But this Dragon—there’s something about his blood that is making you crazy.”

  “No,” Kiyoshi protested, all the while realizing that his little friend was right. He wasn’t being himself at all. He was acting recklessly, viciously. He was behaving like a monster to everyone. Including Ryuhei.

  Gobei shook his head, cursing under his breath in Japanese as he pulled away from Kiyoshi. “You’re in a bad way, my friend. A bad way,” he bemoaned. The ghoul returned to the trapdoor and yanked it open once more. “But the worst of it is that someone knows,” Gobei added dismally. “He’s a persistent one—why, he was walking through the alleys this morning asking questions and more questions. When I saw he was heading for the theater, I sent a monk with a note to warn you and tell you to come here.”

  “What monk?” Kiyoshi inhaled sharply.

  Gobei let the trapdoor crash down as he flinched from the look in Kiyoshi’s eyes. “This morning you should have received my note. How else did you know to come?”

  “I never got it.” Kiyoshi pushed away from the wall. “The reporter was already at the theater by the time breakfast started.” The monk would’ve left the note with someone like the theater managers or Akira.

  Or Ryuhei.

  “I have to go back to the playhouse.”

  “No.” Gobei grabbed Kiyoshi’s sleeve. “Kiyoshi-sama, you’ll be discovered. What if they wish to hunt you? Your kind has never been loved by the mortal world.”

  Chapter Nine

  Kiyoshi-sama, please come to me at once! I am at the Tien Hau temple!

  —Gobei

  Ryuhei read the note again and again until his vision began to blur. So his suspicions had been right. Kiyoshi had taken a lover. A younger, more affluent lover no doubt. It had to have started back in Japan, because they hadn’t been here in America long enough for him to meet anyone and become serious. Well, if that was the way Kiyoshi wanted things, then that was the way he would have them.

  Crumpling the damning evidence, Ryuhei shoved it into the sleeve of his haori. He would find this Gobei and demand a full explanation before letting Kiyoshi know precisely what he thought of him and his philandering.

  Ryuhei stormed out of the theater, barking at anyone who got in his way. Even Hoshi gave him a wide berth as they crossed paths on the steps leading down to the street.

  “Where are you going?” Hoshi shouted. “We have a show to rehearse, and with Kiyoshi gone, we have no female lead.” Hoshi put a hand on his hip, glaring at the unresponsive Ryu.

  “Go fuck yourself, bitch,” Ryuhei spat, his patience shot.

  Hoshi stepped back, leaning against the iron railing. “I have Akira to do that for me,” he said with a sneer. He shouted down the steps again as Ryuhei huffed away from the playhouse. “You’ll have to work the streets tonight if you want some company, Ryu-san. Just don’t ask for too much and you might be lucky enough to get a blind beggar who won’t be too choosy with the cows he sticks his dick in.”

  Ryuhei turned the corner, trudging up the steep crest of one of this damned city’s plentiful hills. “Bitch,” he fumed. Did Kiyoshi laugh at those snide jokes too? Was Kiyoshi laughing now in the arms of this Gobei?

  His eyes stung with angry tears, but he refused to let them spill over his lashes. Ryuhei blinked them away and pressed forward, stopping only to ask directions from a flower vendor and a group of surprised-looking Chinese school children when he got too lost.

  One of the little ones studied at the temple and was all too happy to point out the way. “It’s not very far” was all Ryuhei could make of the boy’s Mandarin, his own ability with the language being shamefully out of practice. The group led him the rest of the way, stopping across the street from the two-story building and pointing to where Ryuhei should go.

  This was where Kiyoshi went each night, Ryuhei felt sure of it as he stared up at the red-painted pillars marking the entryway. Inside, Kiyoshi was with his lover now, maybe they were even fucking in front of whatever Chinese deity was housed here. What if this Gobei was a monk? The man who’d delivered the note had been one.

  No, no. Kiyoshi with a holy man? Ryuhei couldn’t bear the thought. How could Kiyoshi have left him for someone who probably rarely—if ever!—indulged in sex.

  “Do you know someone from there named Gobei?” he asked the children. Their faces quickly lost any trace of smiles.

  “Well?” Ryuhei demanded. Perhaps this wealthy suitor had bribed even the students to keep silent of his affair. The children stared up in horror at Ryuhei and then took off as one cluster of dark blue tunics and soft-soled shoes down the street.

  Ryuhei’s heart sank even as his anger rose. There was a Gobei here for certain…and he must have been here a while for the children to be so loyal to him. Kiyo-kun had been with this secret lover for just as long a time, slowly tearing away at Ryuhei’s soul and not even caring.

  Stalking up to the temple doors, Ryuhei pushed them open and slipped inside. The entryway was dark—no light from any windows. A few lanterns offered some spotty red light here and there, but it took Ryuhei a few moments to adjust. There was a staircase straight ahead, a table to his right with a wooden bowl to collect monetary offerings and a number of carefully folded paper sacrifices for temple-goers to take and burn for the Gods.

  Ryuhei’s arms were crossed within the wide sleeves of his silk haori, his knuckles close to aching from the pressure with which he squeezed his arms to keep his composure in check. His mind filled with fabricated images of his Kiyo-kun engaged in all manner of depravity with this Gobei person.

  Why the wretch’s very name conjured up images of a sweaty-palmed, corpulent oaf who would paw at Kiyoshi’s beautiful slender body before grunting against him like some sweating pig. The images became even worse as Ryuhei imagined Kiyoshi laving over this Gobei’s massive belly, attempting to find his shriveled cock hidden somewhere within the greasy fleshy folds.

  “Oh Gods,” Ryuhei muttered as he felt his stomach churn. He was going to be ill. How humiliating.

  “Are you in need of help, sir?”

  Gasping for air to calm him, Ryuhei spun towards the sound of the voice. It was a monk dressed in simple red and orange robes, the top of his head cleanly shaven. “I’m looking for someone,” Ryuhei said before pulling the crumpled note from the sleeve of his haori. “I wish to see this Gobei immediately.”

  The monk paled and Ryuhei’s worst suspicion was confirmed. This Gobei was quite wealthy and influential. No wonder Kiyo-kun fell under his indecent spell. Of course Ryuhei couldn’t exactly blame him. It was the wisest choice to go for affluence and influence over a washed-up kabuki actor. Oh, the humiliation…

  “I-I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the monk stammered. “There’s no one by the name of Gobei in this temple. Perhaps you meant to go to a different temple. Let me see the note…” He reached out to take the wadded up piece of paper, but Ryuhei snatched it back and held it against his chest.

  “Don’t try to protect him,” Ryuhei gasped out, mortified. “For shame—a holy man compromising his honesty for a lowlife like this. How much is he paying you for your silence?
I should run straight to the American newspapers and have them tell the whole truth of things.”

  The old monk shook his head in ever-growing horror. “You mustn’t,” he implored, clutching his bent and knobby-jointed hands before him. “Please, I don’t know how you learned of Gobei, but it’s not as you seem to think. He helps us in many ways.”

  “Indeed—I can just imagine.” Ryuhei tilted his nose in the air. “And I’m sure he helps himself to a few benefits along the way.” One of them being Kiyoshi’s body, no doubt. A sad whimper worked its way out of Ryuhei’s throat.

  Another monk appeared and consulted with the first in hushed tones, glancing frequently back to Ryuhei.

  “Oh, stop trying to cover up for him. Take me to him at once or I’ll find him myself, even if I have to tear this place apart.”

  With defeated sighs, the monks conversed again, then nodded solemnly. “Come, I will take you to him.”

  “It’s about time,” Ryuhei said with a haughty air even though his stomach churned once more.

  He followed the monk through a hidden door and down narrow darkened stairs until they reached a damp basement-like area. Setting his candle in a bracket just outside the door at the bottom of the stairs, the monk produced a key and unlocked the door, pushing it open quietly.

  Ryuhei gasped at the sight before him. Kiyoshi, his back towards the door, knelt on the floor, bent over a man lying on a small cot. Tears stung Ryuhei’s eyes at the memory of how Kiyoshi kissed his neck that way. “Oh, Kiyoshi-kun, how could you?”

  Kiyoshi’s head shot up and he turned, his mouth smeared with blood.

  All the air rushed out of Ryuhei, his lungs refusing to suck in any more. There was so much blood. The thick crimson fluid covered the front of Kiyoshi’s kimono, the skin on his neck and cheeks—his hands. The sight of Kiyoshi bathed in the fluid made Ryuhei feel faint.

  Had the young man been injured? Was the person he’d been kissing wounded somehow, or sick? So many thoughts raced through Ryuhei’s mind before the full horror of it sank in.

  Kiyoshi was licking his lips even as he stared at Ryuhei. He was savoring the taste of the blood. He was drinking it.

  “Gods!” Ryuhei gasped, the note slipping through his fingers as his hands started to tremble uncontrollably. He dropped to his knees, too shocked and afraid to make himself run from this place.

  “Kiyo-kun…what are you?” he whispered.

  “Ryu…” Kiyoshi’s voice was barely audible in the silent damp room. “I…I…”

  Ryuhei shivered. Oh Gods… Kiyoshi had bitten him countless times, nothing more than nips and he’d never really bled or had pain…he’d thought it was just an odd proclivity. It was sexually exciting and Ryuhei hadn’t considered complaining about it…but Gods…Kiyoshi had been drinking the blood…feeding from him…

  “He’s kyuuketsuki. A blood drinker.”

  Slowly, Ryuhei turned towards the raspy sound that was more like a rattle of weathered old bones than a voice. Ryuhei screamed and reared back when he caught sight of the hideous little man stepping out of the shadows. “What are you?”

  “I am Gobei, the flesh-eater.”

  Ryuhei gaped at this hideous demon with its short, disproportionate legs and claw-like nails on its hands. “Flesh-eater?” He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to suppress another scream as the ghoul passed in front of him.

  “We’ve been friends for a long time, Kiyoshi-sama and I.” Gobei snorted, shuffling to the still body lying on the cot. He poked at the arm with a satisfied nod and glanced back at Ryuhei. “Longer than you’ve known him, I would say.”

  “Known him?” Ryuhei choked out. He faced Kiyoshi, but found he couldn’t bear to hold his gaze. “I never knew anything about him, apparently.” A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.

  Kiyoshi could only stare and feel ashamed. He’d never wanted Ryuhei to know what a monster he was and now he’d found out in the worst possible way. Pulling a blanket up and over the now-dead man, Kiyoshi wiped the remainder of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. The monks had brought the man into the temple after he’d been stabbed in an altercation between rival tongs. The man had been injured fatally but the wound was such that he would linger in pain for hours until death could claim him.

  Kiyoshi had been only too glad to end the man’s suffering once he caught scent of the Poisoned Dragon upon him. It was his hand or the hand of someone very, very close to him who’d attacked the now-dead highbinder.

  Fool that he was, Kiyoshi had once again been drunk on the mere taste of the Poisoned Dragon and had to have more. If he hadn’t been so intent on tasting the Dragon’s essence, he would have sensed Ryuhei’s presence nearby and could have fled and spared his dear lover this horrid discovery. But no, he hadn’t done a damned thing. Not a thing.

  “I don’t even know myself anymore,” Kiyoshi whispered. “I’ve never been like this before. I swear to you, Ryu-san.”

  The whites of Kiyoshi’s eyes stood out like twin crescent moons in the night sky, the soft curves of his face lost in shadows as he stared down at his blood-covered hands. Ryuhei wrapped his arms around himself to see if he could stop his body from trembling. “You’re an oni—a demon,” he moaned.

  “No, I’m not.” Kiyoshi shook his head and clasped his hands together as though in prayer. “Please don’t say that.”

  Ryuhei pointed to the covered body lying on the cot. “You drink the blood of the living—look at that man. He’s dead now because of you.”

  The ghoul hovering over the corpse looked up and frowned at Ryuhei. “Ah, idiot. Kiyoshi-sama eased this one’s transition to the next life.”

  Pointing from the body to Gobei, Ryuhei burst into a fresh row of sobs. “And worst of all—you left me for that.”

  “What?” Gobei squeaked, his bug-like eyes wide with shock at the implication of Ryuhei’s words.

  Chapter Ten

  Despite his own confusion and fears, Kiyoshi found the corners of his mouth lifting. This was why he loved Ryuhei Nakamura with all his heart.

  Ryu was so very human, so full of stirring emotion that it made Kiyoshi feel almost human again too.

  A bucket of water rested in the corner near the head of the cot and Kiyoshi rinsed the blood from his hands and mouth. He went to Ryuhei, sinking down to his knees beside his mortal love. His heart ached when Ryuhei pulled back. “Please don’t fear me, Ryu. I would rather die than harm you in any way. I love you and only you.”

  Ryuhei stared into Kiyoshi’s eyes, not blinking or saying a word. His lower lip quivered, but the tears had stopped running down his cheeks at least. Sniffling softly, he reached out with one trembling hand to brush his fingertips over the side of Kiyoshi’s face.

  “You look and sound so much like my Kiyo-kun…even feel like him.” He frowned sadly.

  “Ryu-san…” The ache in Kiyoshi’s heart worsened.

  “How long have you been this way?” Ryuhei pulled his hand back to clutch at the edge of his kimono.

  “All the time I’ve known you.” Kiyoshi bit down on his lower lip. “Before the first time I saw you on stage, even.”

  Ryuhei stared at the ground. “I never noticed. Eight years sharing a bed and not once did anything seem too strange that I could see the truth. Why didn’t you ever tell me?” His shoulders slumped forward. “Did you always plan to leave me?”

  “I never planned to leave you, Ryuhei,” Kiyoshi said quickly, all the while trying to ignore the part of him that knew otherwise. He’d been all manner of fool for thinking he could live as a normal man, that he could love someone and be with him always.

  Always was quite the ominous word, wasn’t it? Always to him meant things never changing, but to Ryuhei it meant a slow decline into old age and death. The actor had traveled too many miles, performed too many shows, drunk far too much sake, and now it was taking its toll.

  Kiyoshi forced himself to observe all the little details he’d chosen to overlook t
hrough the years—the lines around Ryu’s eyes, the numerous gray strands mingled in with the black of his hair, the tiredness that crept into his almond-shaped eyes so easily these days.

  Feeling a tear slip down his cheek, Kiyoshi wiped it away and glanced down at his hands. The hands of an immortal killer. He looked up when Ryuhei spoke to him.

  “How long? How long have you been this way? How old are you really?”

  “I’d just passed my nineteenth summer when Nobunaga’s men came to our province. An injured samurai appeared at our door one night, Kuro was his name. My brother—my friend Liu—begged me to ignore him, but I couldn’t. I had to help him. I was such a fool. Nobunaga’s men were chasing him, not because he was with a rival clan but because he was a demon, a kyuuketsuki…”

  Bottled inside for so long, the details of those times poured out in a graphic recounting. Kiyoshi couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried.

  He told his story of passion and corruption, how Kuro seduced Liu into desiring this immortal life and Kiyoshi himself followed. Little had he known how much it would cost his happiness, his soul…or how much it cost him still…

  When Kiyoshi finished, the underground chamber fell into a silence as deep as the shadows creeping in the damp corners.

  “For three hundred years you’ve been alone?” Ryuhei whispered. Only sadness filled his eyes now where a few moments ago there had been horror and fear. “But what about others of your kind?”

  Kiyoshi shook his head. “I’ve only met a handful of others. None of them are too fond of a blood-drinker who tries not to take human lives very often.”

  “I found your kimono in our room. It was soaked in blood,” Ryuhei burst out. “Why have you been running away at night? Why have you been acting so strangely?”

  “I’m not even sure myself,” Kiyoshi said quietly.

  An odd little grumble from Gobei made Kiyoshi look up and frown before his sad gaze shifted back to Ryuhei.