Soul of the Night

by Barbara Sheridan

  If things were different, Ryuhei wouldn’t have been able to stop from laughing at Gavin’s discomfort. But the man’s persistence could mean any kind of danger to Kiyoshi-kun. “Leave us in peace.” Ryuhei sighed heavily. “The most unusual thing you might find about Kiyoshi is that he continues to stay with me as my lover when anyone else would have left me long ago.”

  “He stays to take advantage of you and to use you…” The reporter’s voice trailed off as Ryuhei stiffened, both hands clenched into fists. “I-I didn’t mean no offense, Mr. Nakamura. I mean, you’re a fine figure of a man. No, I don’t mean it like that.” He exhaled a long breath and ran his hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Wait. Here. Read this.” He dug into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded booklet. “You’ll see that I’m right.”

  Ryuhei waved it away. “I do not read the language very well, Gavin-san. I’m sorry.”

  “Please. I can get Mr. Nishikawa to read it to you.”

  “No.” Ryuhei folded his arms inside the wide sleeves of his haori. “Now I must ask you to stop this foolish pursuit of yours. If you do not stop these wild accusations about Ishibe-san, then I will have no other option than to inform your employers and the police. Good night.”

  Nakamura turned on his heel and swept out of the restaurant. Carl stared after him, flabbergasted. He became aware of the other patrons’ glares and decided to salvage as much of his pride as he could.

  Dropping a few coins on the table to cover the actor’s tea, Carl scooped up the magazine and his hat and made a fair dash for the exit. Outside, he caught a glimpse of Nakamura rounding the corner at the end of the street, holding his head up high as he walked through the light drizzle.

  “Dammit, Mr. Nakamura.” Carl sighed. The actor had done a fine job of embarrassing the daylights out of him, but Carl couldn’t deny the sincerity behind the man’s words. Ryuhei fancied he loved that little monster and wanted to protect him any way he could. But that misguided affection could prove fatal. It was a concern to Gavin now that the next body he discovered might be Nakamura’s.

  “That was quite a ruckus in there.”

  Carl put on his hat to shield his already wet head from getting more soaked with rainwater. He tucked the magazine away into his coat and turned to face the stranger who’d addressed him. It was the same old man he’d encountered in the back alleys after witnessing the red-eyed devil feasting on human flesh.

  “You don’t know enough to mind your own affairs?” The old man raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “I guess I’m stubborn that way.” Gavin sighed again.

  “What do you hope to accomplish here?”

  “There’s something amiss here in Chinatown.” Gavin clenched his jaw. “And I’m going to put a stop to it.”

  “Bah,” the old man said, flinging his long gray queue behind his shoulder. “You can’t stop what’s been around since before any of us. The only ones to stop it are the Gods. If they choose to listen.”

  Carl’s hopes shot up. “You know all about this, don’t you?” He pointed down the gloomy, dark street. “Back in the alley that evening, you knew exactly what it was I’d seen. This isn’t a surprise or shock to you at all.”

  The old man frowned. “Take my advice and just leave things be.”

  “In good conscience, I can’t. Neither can you, sir,” Carl insisted. “I won’t ask for much help at all, only that you tell me how to capture these things.” The creature he’d seen in the alley was not Ishibe, though they were connected.

  * * *

  Oh, Gods. The man knew about Kiyo-kun. He knew, damn him, and he was a threat Ryuhei didn’t know how to eliminate. Perhaps he should try and hire one of those tong men to dispose of Gavin. That would be the easiest solution, but could he do it? Yes. Yes, he could if it meant keeping his Kiyoshi safe and by his side.

  A wagon clattered down the street and Ryuhei paused before the large window of a closed shop. He stared at his reflection, a nagging voice within his head telling him all the things he didn’t want to hear.

  But will he stay by your side? Can he control that urge of his to find that assassin? And even if he does, how much longer will he stay? Look at yourself. He’s so young and always has been. Look at you. Old fool.

  Ryuhei forced himself to press on with heavy footsteps. By the time he returned to the temple, the rainwater had worked its way into every silk fiber of his clothing. The cold crept right into his bones and he shivered something terrible as he passed through the tall red gate. Ryuhei stepped in through the front door which had been left unlocked.

  An old monk was praying quietly by candlelight at the end of the main hall. Two sticks of incense burned in the brass holder before the monk, filling the temple with the fragrant scent of sandalwood. Ryuhei paused to take a few calming breaths, but nothing seemed to ease the trouble in his heart. Giving up, he continued down the hall and knelt in front of the trapdoor.

  “Kiyoshi, I’ve come back,” he said, almost listlessly, and knocked on the wooden surface. Another chill worked its way up his spine and he sneezed.

  Gobei the flesh-eater opened the door and Kiyoshi rushed forward. “Ryu.” He pulled Ryuhei to his feet and swept him inside as effortlessly as if he were a child. “You’re soaked through. Come here.”

  Kiyoshi ushered him to a small brazier across the room and began peeling away the sodden layers of clothing. Ryuhei shivered and continued to do so even after Kiyoshi placed a thick blanket around his shoulders.

  “You should have gone back to the theater. It was so much closer, now you’ll catch your death,” Kiyoshi said, taking a cloth and drying the ends of Ryuhei’s dripping hair. “Gobei, please get more wood for the fire and ask Denghui for some hot tea.”

  “Kiyoshi-sama—”

  “I know,” Kiyoshi snapped. “Tell him we’ll leave as soon as the rain stops. I won’t have Ryu-san getting ill. Surely he can understand that.”

  Grumbling all the way, the ghoul trudged up the steps and disappeared through the door. Kiyoshi continued drying the ends of Ryuhei’s hair. “Some hot tea is all you need and you’ll be fine.” He kissed the top of his head and reached down to make sure the blanket was bundled tightly around Ryuhei.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ryu burst out. There were no tears in his eyes, at least. The cold had left him too numb for those. “Maybe I should just catch my death and be done with it. You can take Gobei back to Japan with you and be safe.” Ryuhei felt so small, so insignificant next to Kiyoshi. He would never be able to keep his Kiyo-kun safe from the reporter or the Dragon, nor would he be able to keep his promise to love Kiyoshi forever.

  “Don’t talk like that, Ryu-san,” Kiyoshi implored as he lovingly stroked his fingers through Ryuhei’s hair.

  “I’m going to die anyway,” Ryuhei whispered. Even if he could make Kiyoshi stay at his side, which was another empty hope. Ryuhei turned sad eyes to Kiyoshi. “Promise me one thing, Kiyoshi-kun. One last thing…”

  “What, Ryu?”

  “When I go…just make sure Gobei doesn’t eat me. I don’t want to leave an ugly, half-chewed-up body behind.”

  The actor slumped forward with a drawn-out sigh and Kiyoshi had to blink back a tear of laughter. He knelt and gathered Ryuhei into his arms, cradling him lovingly. “Oh, Ryu, you have many years to live and I’ll be right there with you, I promise. And no, Gobei will not…he won’t. I promise.”

  “This is a serious matter and you’re laughing,” Ryuhei accused with a pout. “No, no—save your embrace for someone you aren’t teasing horribly.” But he leaned back into Kiyoshi’s arms for all his bluster, turning just a bit to the side and wrapping one blanketed arm around Kiyoshi’s waist.

  “That man was so unpleasant, the old bastard,” Ryuhei mumbled into Kiyoshi’s chest. “Gavin-san has nothing else better to do with his time than harass us. He needs a lover—or at least a good substitute for one—to keep him busy. Ha! Akira must have one of those wooden cocks he bought before we left Tokyo. Let’s see
what that reporter says if I present him with one of those.”

  “Oh, Ryu,” Kiyoshi said, tilting Ryuhei’s face up towards his. He dipped his head, capturing his lover’s lips with his own and drawing in the calming influence of Ryuhei’s love and concern for him. They were still locked in an embrace when Gobei returned, making certain to enter loudly enough to draw their attention away from one another.

  “Denghui says we have until midnight, then we must go.”

  Kiyoshi nodded, his left hand continuing to brush through Ryuhei’s wet hair. He pulled back to take the teapot and poured Ryu a cup.

  “The monks said they need to perform a purifying ritual tonight,” Kiyoshi explained. “They feel the need to cleanse this place and cast a protective spell over it in an effort to repel any unnatural forces. I can’t be here after that and neither can Gobei. Please let him come to the theater with us. I promise you he’ll stay in the cellars and won’t be a problem.” He cast a stern look to the ghoul who paced the far corner of the room and grumbled to himself.

  Ryu grimaced, then sipped his tea. “If it’s what you want, Kiyoshi-kun, so be it. Perhaps he can help you. You need to stay away from the streets at night, especially with that reporter nosing around.”

  Kiyoshi rested his head upon Ryuhei’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so weak. I’m sorry I’m not normal.” He paused until the silence threatened to consume him. “I’m sorry I ever burdened you with a thing like me.”

  “Bah! Kiyo-kun, how can you say things like that?” Ryuhei scolded, placing his glass of tea on the bench beside him. He cupped Kiyoshi’s chin in his hands, his fingers as warm and soft as his voice. “If you were normal, you would’ve had better sense than to put up with me all these years. All the stories I’ve heard of kyuuketsuki always leave out the part about their extraordinary patience.”

  Gobei interrupted with a burst of dry, crackly laughter. “Is that not so.”

  Ryuhei shot the ghoul a dirty look before coaxing Kiyoshi down to sit beside him. “There’s always someone in the audience who just can’t keep quiet,” he snorted, indignant. But he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Kiyoshi’s brow.

  “Please don’t regret being with me.” Ryuhei frowned sadly. “You’ve given me so much happiness.” He looked away from Kiyoshi’s gaze. “I wish I’d given you at least a fraction of happiness in return.”

  “You have, Ryu. You have.”

  Their lips had barely touched when Gobei shrieked loud enough to rattle the teapot and cup. “Spare me your vile displays,” he cried, flailing his arms as he ran back and forth across the chamber.

  Ryuhei let out a groan of disgust. “Of all the—” His voice failed him when Kiyoshi gave a violent jerk in his arms and doubled over. “Kiyo-kun?”

  “We have to go. Gobei and I must get out of here. The monks have started their ritual. We’ll be all right once outside the temple boundary.”

  “Yes, right away,” Ryuhei said. Rubbing his hand across Kiyoshi’s back, his brow creased with worry. “You’ve become so pale.” He gasped. “Why are the monks doing this?”

  “Denghui had a vision tonight before you came.” Kiyoshi tried to stand, but his legs almost crumpled underneath him. Ryuhei was at his side right away, the blanket falling to the stone floor. Kiyoshi leaned against him gratefully. “He says the Gods are warning the temple of something, but what, he can’t say. Only that he needs to purify the grounds.”

  “But why hurt you in the process?” Ryuhei asked.

  “Ah, you know nothing. It’s not intentional.” Gobei grunted as his pacing grew more and more agitated. “Purified grounds or barriers are always dangerous—even deadly—to us oni.”

  Kiyoshi gave Ryuhei a weak, sad smile. “That’s the nature of all demons.”

  Ryuhei nodded. “Then it won’t be long before I start to feel the effects too, seeing as how I’ve been called a demon by quite a few pissed off stage managers.”

  Kiyoshi smiled and clung to his mortal love. “Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  The next weeks were difficult to say the least. The Poisoned Dragon’s business for the Wongs brought him into the area more and more frequently, so much so that even the patrons in the theater whispered amongst themselves of the living demon’s murderous exploits.

  No matter how softly the people whispered or how far away they sat, Kiyoshi heard their murmurings. On occasion, someone in the audience would bring with him a hint of the Dragon. Those nights it was especially hard for him to endure the length of the performance, his attention straying to the seats in search of the one who’d been in the Dragon’s presence. As soon as the show ended, Kiyoshi raced to the private quarters upstairs in full costume to lock himself away from the temptation.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Days crawled by with painful slowness. Kiyoshi’s heart became restless, his thirst insatiable. Yet he had no appetite for either food or blood.

  “You have to eat something, Kiyo-kun.” Ryuhei knelt by the futon one afternoon, gently rubbing Kiyoshi’s back. They were in their room, Kiyoshi curled up on their bed facing the wall. Even the sun had become intolerable.

  When he received no reply, Ryuhei made a worried noise somewhere between a choke and a sigh. “I saw Gobei downstairs before coming up to check on you. He told me he’d found…he found someone for you to drink from last night, but that you’d refused. When was the last time you’ve had anything at all in your belly?” The actor reached around Kiyoshi’s side to take his hand. “Your fingers are cold as ice, Kiyo-kun,” he fretted.

  “What did you expect from a monster, Ryuhei?”

  “You stop that right now. You stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Kiyoshi glanced back over his shoulder. “Feeling sorry?” He snorted his contempt and turned back to the wall.

  Ryuhei grabbed Kiyoshi’s shoulder, coaxed him onto his back and leaned down over him. “Yes. Feeling sorry for yourself. I’ve done it enough times to recognize it on sight.”

  Kiyoshi closed his eyes. “Leave me be. Leave me entirely. Please. For your own good.”

  “You are for my own good, Kiyoshi, don’t ever doubt that.” Ryuhei smoothed the hair back from his lover’s face with gentle swipes of his fingers. “I love you, Kiyoshi. I would have been dead long ago if you hadn’t given me something to live for.” He leaned in for a soft kiss and smiled. “Let me help you. Drink from me. You said that my blood calmed you. Let it help you now.”

  Gentle and loving, the warmth of Ryuhei’s touch helped push away the wicked lust churning within Kiyoshi. Some of the unease plaguing his soul faded.

  He shook his head from side to side on the futon. “I’m just not hungry,” Kiyoshi mumbled. Pressing a hand over his waist, Kiyoshi felt the annoyed flutters of his empty stomach. He sat up with an irritated groan.

  “Some fresh air will help.” Ryuhei gave a firm nod and stood to uncover the window over the futon.

  Gold and brilliant sunlight burst into the room. It hurt Kiyoshi’s eyes and the uncovered skin on his chest and back since he was naked from the waist up. Quickly, he wrapped himself in a blanket and went to the door.

  Ryuhei followed him through the doorway, down the corridor to the door that led to a narrow, creaking staircase to the rear of the stage area. “You do need something. Look at yourself, Kiyo-kun.”

  Kiyoshi paused at the bottom step and peeked out from under the blanket. Ryuhei came up beside him and grabbed his shoulders.

  “What?”

  “Locking yourself away in a room all day, shying away from sunlight.” Ryuhei frowned. “It’s not healthy.”

  Up ahead, in the shadowy corners where the stage props and curtains were kept between scenes, someone muttered a curse about there being too many live rats under the stage and not enough dead ones. Gobei, dressed in a borrowed costume from the play, shuffled between the props.

  “Gods,” Ryuhei gasped out and squeezed Kiyoshi’s shoulders. “You’re turning into him.”


  The little flesh-eater shot Ryuhei a menacing look, then barged his way outside though the rear stage entrance.

  “But I’ve always been like him—a demon, a feeder on mortals like you.”

  Ryuhei cupped Kiyoshi’s face. “No, not always. You weren’t always what you are now. You were a man once and you’re still very much human. An oni can’t love or be loved.”

  “I want to believe you,” Kiyoshi whispered.

  Ryuhei gazed into his eyes. “Hurting yourself is hurting me, kimi.” He tugged on the collar of his kimono, took hold of Kiyoshi’s hand and raised it to his neck. “Let me help you. Please.”

  “Ryuhei…” Kiyoshi moved on pure instinct, his fingertips found the vein on his lover’s neck. He stroked the pulsing skin and licked his lips, his mouth watering.

  “Go on,” Ryuhei breathed, tilting his head invitingly.

  Kiyoshi leaned in and gave a little gasp just before his lips touched Ryuhei’s flesh. Kisses replaced the soft strokes from his fingers on the vein, and in his mouth, the gums tickled as his fangs descended.

  “I shouldn’t do this.” Kiyoshi hurried away from the bottom of the stairs, loathing the hunger pangs gnawing at his belly. “What if I can’t stop?” With that assassin skewing his ability to reason… He stopped trying to run away and leaned against a storage crate, his shoulders slumping in despair.

  “So help me, Kiyo-kun—” Ryuhei appeared at Kiyoshi’s side again. “Drink from me before something happens.” His eyes were full of concern, his spirit troubled enough to make Kiyoshi’s heart ache. Ryuhei’s brow creased and he frowned. “You’re forcing me to do this.”

  His hand darted into the crate and pulled out an old knife still in its sheath. “If I cut myself you’ll have to drink, even if it’s just to heal me.” He slipped off the wooden cover and to Kiyoshi’s surprise, pressed the tip to his neck.

  “Fuck!” Ryuhei dropped the knife and rubbed at the tiny gash where he’d only broken the skin. “That hurt,” he whined.