by Al K. Line
"It's the jet lag and the fact you were in prison a few days ago. Think what you've been through since you got out. All that fighting, all the magic. The giant. Rikka. It's a wonder you're able to stand."
She was right. I was fighting it all, forcing myself to keep going, but I was dog-tired and my body was exhausted. I couldn't sleep, though, was past the point of being weary. My soul ached. My heart felt like it was smashed to pieces.
Rikka's deception was too big for me to even think about coherently. I pushed it away, so it festered and gnawed at my insides. I simply didn't know how to handle it, how to cope with the fact he'd done what he did. A man I loved and he turned out to be so cruel, callous and cold. He'd made me, I was a thing he'd steered in one direction for his own purpose.
He knew the death of my family would spark a deep anger and a quest for violence inside of me. Rikka saw the potential in me and he helped it grow and mature so he'd have what, a simpering goon? That's all I'd been to him, a goon to do his bidding. And for half a century he'd had a backup plan in case he needed to put me in my place. If I got too powerful and out-of-control he could pull the plug on me, play his games and carry on like nothing had happened.
It was too much of a betrayal to believe, that all this time I'd been duped. I couldn't process it. I needed a rest, a long one, time away from it all. All of that would have to wait, though, as I had one last thing to do and it didn't look like it would be easy. Mere days ago I'd died at the hands of a giant after using more magic than I was capable of controlling and it did nothing to help me.
That wasn't it, however, not why I felt so lost and ill-at-ease with my own mind and body. It was everything. I wanted peace, I wanted it to all be over. No more hurt, no more killing, no more death or betrayal. No more magic.
I'd had enough of it all.
"Faz? Faz!" Kate shook me and I came out of my funk. I don't know how long she'd been talking but I was lost to my thoughts, the world and her fading away as I brooded. Hell, a few minutes ago I'd had bloody tusks. I wanted it all to go away—this magic brought me nothing but pain.
I smiled at the love of my life, knowing I was just on a downer. Who was I kidding? Look what magic had brought me. It gave me Kate, and Grandma, even Dancer. It gave me Intus, it gave me so many weird and wonderful things.
I was an addict and I'd never give it up. It defined me, and whatever happened in my life I would always return to its painful, cruel, utterly blissful embrace.
"I'm okay, just feeling sorry for myself. Look, everyone else is off out, how about we try the jacuzzi?" I nodded toward the oversized bathroom with the gaudy gold taps and the inviting tub.
Kate smiled. "I'll lock the door. We don't want Grandma barging in on us."
We spent an amazing hour enjoying each other's company. Just us, the water, and the love.
It was the last peace I would have in Japan.
To the Council
Grandma came to the suite not long after we were dressed and respectable, as though she had some kind of sex radar and knew when the coast was clear—which she probably did. She gave us both a wink and I swear she would have nudged us if I hadn't got straight down to business.
"Okay, you need to go see the Council to tell them about the zombies. You can get the address from Mitsu."
"I don't like those people," moaned Grandma.
"Don't be so racist," I said, surprised.
"You idiot boy. I meant people on the Council, not Japanese. Faz, I have lived for centuries in countries you have never even heard of, I've got nothing against any race. Well, apart from the French. Nobody likes the French."
"Fair enough. How come you've never talked about the places you've lived? You never tell me anything much about your past." Grandma has always been rather tight-lipped about her life, just giving tantalizing hints and then changing the subject. For me she is just a lovely, adorable, old lady witch, but a hundred years out of thousands means there's a long back story I know nothing about.
"I'll tell you when you're grown up."
"I am grown up," I protested.
"Not to me you aren't. Nobody grown up wears shoes like that." Grandma scowled at my winklepickers. I kept quiet; it was an argument I couldn't win.
"So will you go see the Council? Just tell them about the zombies. We can't have them locked up like that, it's inhumane."
"Fine," said Grandma, "but don't expect me to like it."
"I don't."
I think she was feeling a little out of sorts as well. She was being more argumentative than normal but it was understandable. "I'll deal with her, don't worry." I gave Grandma a big hug and felt her relax in my arms.
She was tense, and even her morning shopping expedition hadn't helped much. My Grandma had one thing on her mind the same as I did, and there would be no rest for either of us until Kimiko was dead. I also knew she was itching to get out into the city and wreak havoc of her own special kind, only her promise to let me deal with it stopping her from making the local Hidden wish they'd never set eyes on the gray-haired menace from across the ocean.
"Okay, let's get serious for a moment." We all sat down and I said what I had to. "I want you both to go home. Today if possible. It's too dangerous here and I can't have you getting caught up in whatever happens. I've got a bad feeling about this, if I'm being truthful. It's not safe."
"No way, Faz," said Kate.
"Fat chance," said Grandma. "What if you need us?"
"I'm not kidding. This is going to be messy and I can't be worrying about you two all the time while I'm out there trying to get this woman. You heard what Mitsu said, she's a bloody gangster and a witch, not to mention being an ancient vampire with a damn library full of magical books. Who knows what she's capable of? I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to either of you, so I want you to go home so I can focus on getting this thing done."
They both shook their heads, the two women I loved most in the world as stubborn as each other. As stubborn as me, I guess.
"Fine," I sighed. "Then stay in the hotel. Inform the Council then come back here and just wait. I'll be out late tonight, maybe all night, but please just stay here. Promise?"
"We promise," said Kate.
I turned to Grandma and, reluctantly, she nodded.
I didn't believe either of them.
With kisses all around and all of us promising to be careful, and with Kate saying she'd look after Dancer when he returned to make sure he rested while his leg healed, I did a final check in the mirror, pleased to see my face looked less gnawed on than it had earlier, and I headed out into the big bad world again.
Time to crack some heads. No, time to smash them, maybe more than once.
A Strange Garden
I've seen a lot of beautiful things in my time, been to many places, caught fleeting glimpses of the faery realm, terrifying netherworlds, and places where angels dwell, but I'd never seen anything as beautiful as the small garden I stood in, dumbfounded.
You know when something just seems right, like you look at it and it gives you a feeling? As if nothing could be changed to make it better, more perfect than it already is. Be it a work of art or a flower, a view from a hill, or the delight of witnessing a faery ear revealed as golden locks are brushed aside by tiny, perfect fingers. Well, I had that feeling.
I was an intruder on perfection, the only imperfect thing in the garden. I sullied it with my presence, debased it by my intrusion, my very existence.
The garden was an utter delight and I think I must have stood there for an hour, hardly moving, just admiring the idyllic environment. Soaking up a sense of peace, knowing that with such beauty and the timeless sense of wonder it evoked that all was not lost.
I gained something from that hour, an enduring stoicism that will remain until the day I die. This was a religious experience, a hint of the Buddha nature, the nirvana many holy men have spent a lifetime striving to experience. It brought me hope and it brought me peace of a kind, an understa
nding that whatever bad things happen there is always a balance. With good comes bad, with ugliness comes true beauty. Yin and yang, right and wrong, in the end all of it merely the treadmill of life.
Humbled, that's what I was. Put in my place and forced to realize that all my worries, all the stress, all the manic dashing about and trying to deal with whatever ridiculous situation arose—and they always do—it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Just a little blip on my personal radar, but less than nothing to the way the world turned or to the billions of lives that would carry on regardless of whether or not a dark magic enforcer with a grudge happened to get a satisfactory conclusion to his own personal problems.
Then a rock spoke to me.
"I say, would you mind awfully not staring at me like that, old bean? Rather off putting, don't you know."
To say I jumped is like saying trolls are hard. I stared at the rock, a beautiful thing, perfect in every way. It was just right somehow. The whole garden was little more than perfectly raked gravel, moss around the base of carefully located rocks, and a few miniature trees. It was harmonious; it worked. Each rock sat exactly where it was supposed to, each clump of moss a delight. Combined, they looked like miniature islands in a sea of gravel. Food for the soul and I was full.
Happy.
"Did you just speak?" I asked the rock, feeling a bit of a muppet if I'm honest.
"Don't see anyone else talking to you. You were staring. It was making me feel uncomfortable. I understand, it is very nice here, and I am a rather impressive specimen even if I do say so myself, but, well, it's rude to stare. Hey, you weren't about to sit on me, were you?" the rock asked in a panic.
"No, absolutely not! Um, how are you talking? And why have you got a posh British accent? You're Japanese." I wasn't sure that rocks had a nationality, but it's what you expect, right?
"What would be the point me speaking in Japanese? You wouldn't be able to understand a word. No, us sentient rocks, igneous by the way, we accommodate anyone that we talk to. I speak like this as that is how you perceive me. Don't see any rock lips moving, do you?"
This was too surreal for words. I wondered if I was asleep and dreaming but was pretty sure I wasn't. "Um, no. No moving lips."
"There you go, then," the rock said happily.
"Well, thank you for, um, being so perfect. I can't quite put my finger on it, but everything here is just so right. And you're in exactly the right place, at precisely the right angle. I can't figure it out."
"Oh, I know what you mean, young sir. It takes a very skilled person to discover such a fine specimen as myself, but that's just the beginning. Did you know it took three years of trial and error before the maker of this garden was happy with how I was positioned?"
"No, I didn't know that." There was an awkward silence then I said, "Guess I should get going. Nice to meet you."
"And you, Faz Pound, Black Spark. I hope you get what you came here for."
"So do I."
I wandered along the length of the garden one more time, then jumped up onto the wooden veranda that ran along the back of the house where sliding screens could be opened so you could sit and just admire the garden. I don't think I'd ever leave if I owned a home like this.
I was utterly relaxed as a screen slid aside and I slammed my fist into the nose of the fat man wearing an expensive shirt. He smacked his head into a wooden post, his forehead split open, and blood gushed out, streaming down his face, mingling with the blood from his nose and his tears.
As he screamed and slid down to the floor, I punched him twice in the kidneys then dragged him inside by his topknot as he moaned and shouted for help that wouldn't come, scrabbling to get away.
Taking my time, I closed the door behind us, hiding the garden.
I didn't want the rock to see any more violence, I'd already violated the garden's serene existence enough.
Calm, free of doubt or worry, I bent and lifted the battered face of the man and hissed, "I'd like a word with you."
He wasn't particularly happy to see me, especially after what I did next.
Finally, an Interrogation
My eyes faded to black slowly and without pain, almost as though they were opening after a lovely dream. Magic-infused sight replaced regular vision as I calmly knelt in front of the man. Saying nothing, I let magic consume me, funneling unknowable energy around my body via my tattoos, swirling languidly and gaining momentum and power as it hit my chakras.
This time I was taking no chances with a potential lead. No way would I let this guy commit seppuku before I had the chance to talk to him. I needed to find where Kimiko was, and it wasn't proving easy. She never stayed in one place for long, and although she had regular homes she moved between I had no idea where they were and neither did many other people. It's what made her so powerful, this secrecy, the changes to routine and her safe houses. It went beyond that, though—nobody could ever get to her, apparently, even when they knew where she was.
That wasn't my concern at the moment, just finding her was.
So as my ink wiggled under my clothes, numb because of my utter composure and detachment, and I felt the surge of power hit my diaphragm, I sucked deep and instantly felt the energy come from this Yakuza and into me. The magic was nasty, dirty and ruthless, and it made me gag. No way would I take this into me and keep even a hint of it. This man and what he stood for, he was a stain on society, a shameful creature that I came close to killing right there and then. But the Buddha-nature was still with me, and I held myself back.
As I took more of his magic from him, a rather unusual case of a wizard gone utterly rogue and heading up one of the most powerful gangs in the city—under Kimiko's control no doubt—I felt no pity for him as he physically shriveled before my eyes, flesh melting off him as he fought to keep what he'd worked so hard to gain.
His body went into overdrive trying to hold on to his magic, burning through reserves of fuel at an astonishing rate. I coughed and spluttered, losing momentum for a moment as his poisonous magic entered my system, but I got a grip and resumed. Soon his clothes were hanging from him, little but dessicated flesh and weakened, brittle bone remaining. Great flaps of skin hanging around his neck and making his arms look misshapen under his clothes.
He was weak now, unable to stop me, and if it wasn't for the garden I knew was the other side of the screen I think I would have continued until it was too late.
Instead, I retreated, slowed my breathing and sank onto the floor and coughed and spewed up his foulness, watching with gratitude as it returned to the Empty in crackling wisps of nastiness, corrupted ephemeral smoke shards that made me want to scream because of how his essence felt inside me as I took his magic.
Finally it was over, and as he wheezed and wiped at his head and nose, streaming faster now with blood as the skin stretched taut across his fractured skin, I brushed at my suit, straightened my tie, and said, "Now, let's talk."
He talked. Mitsu's lead paid off.
He wouldn't shut up. He babbled and he cried and he pleaded for mercy. I was stunned. I expected a tough guy Yakuza who would rather commit suicide like everyone else I'd tried to get information from, but this guy acted like a salaryman not a gangster. He told me all he knew of Kimiko's homes—I had to make notes on my phone, he gave me so much information.
He begged me to spare his life, to let him live, and I actually felt embarrassed for him. Where was his self-respect, his pride, his honor? He hung his head in shame at that. For a Yakuza to talk, to betray their boss, it was the worst thing they could possibly do. Yet he did it. A man that had lived twice as long as me, had seen so many people die, ordered hits, killed endless citizens that stood in his way, and he acted like this?
It goes to show there is nothing stranger than a human being. They always surprise you. He would do anything to stay alive and now the shoe was on the other foot and it was him taking punishment and facing death he was terrified.
He soiled himself, and at that
point I'd had enough.
I left, and I made damn sure to close the screen behind me.
Goonageddon
It was late afternoon by now, and as I stepped out and walked to the front of the property I ignored the seven dead men sprawled out in various positions on the drive. The house and gardens were secluded so I wasn't worried about being discovered, I was more concerned with getting to Kimiko as soon as possible.
I'd taken them out silently, dispatching them with swift and deadly force using magic as my weapon of choice. These gangsters, they are so full of themselves they think they are untouchable. It makes them susceptible to sneak attacks like this. The higher up they are, the less they believe anyone would dare come for them. And mostly that's correct.
No other gangs would try to take such a highly positioned man because they understood the consequences. But for a gaijin enforcer who has no interest in their warped politics, well, I just blasted them with the dark arts while they were smoking and generally not looking out for the invisible man who crouched behind the expensive cars in the drive and killed them from a respectable distance.
I'd surprised myself with the ferocity and the swiftness of taking so many lives, but what shocked me the most was the lack of payback from the Empty. A slight feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach and a flaring up of my ink as the magic left, but little else. Maybe it was the fact they were such bad men, maybe it was because I was so single-minded, or maybe it was Japan itself. Welcoming someone who would scour the streets clean of the filth that preyed on the weak and the young, as all these men had done, forcing girls into the worst kind of hell for the pleasure of others like themselves.
I knew all about them and the business they specialized in, and knew they'd spend an eternity in a place neither of their choosing nor their liking for the disgusting things they'd done.
Their boss would be dead soon enough, I had no doubt about that, and before I got to the gates I heard a shot ring out, muffled by the house. He was gone, so he must have found some courage from somewhere.