He roared with laughter, rearing his head back and baring his Adam’s apple. Such an evil sound was rarely heard even in this accursed city.
But in the next breath he was quiet.
Kuranishi let go of Hitomi, lips and hands alike. Nevertheless, Hitomi did not retreat. Her arms resting on one of the horizontal bars of the cell, she twisted her body and looked back over her shoulder, her attention focused on a single point.
Kuranishi did the same.
Takako stood with her back against the wall, her face like white wax. The moment before she had appeared entranced, her features like a fog. Then before their eyes, a completely different expression welled up.
A hunger like that of a starving man at a buffet.
“This is not possible—” The old scientist coughed out the same words he had spoken before. “It is not possible. My wood would never surrender to the impulses of a vampire. It is simply impossible.”
What he did next was something only a man touched by madness would do. A sane man would take to his heels and run. But Kuranishi did not flee. A normal person would have taken steps to keep Takako locked up in the cell. Kuranishi reached into his pocket and took out a metal card and inserted it into the key slot.
The lock unlatched. The insane criminal pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“This girl has merely been bitten by a vampire and she makes a fool of me and my work? Like hell. You will show me the fruits of my labor. Weep for me. Wipe that haughty look off your face.”
Whether Takako heard him or not, she slowly walked forward, making Hitomi shriek. Covering the wound with her handkerchief, she sidled toward the open cell door. She was clearly the person Takako was aiming at.
Takako’s eyes smoldered and glowed red. Hitomi froze in her tracks. As if savoring her fear, Takako reached out with both hands as she came closer, like a zombie out for a leisurely stroll.
“Blood—”
Takako’s lips parted, revealing her white fangs. Hitomi couldn’t shut her eyes. Just as Takako’s hands reached for her throat, from the side Kuranishi seized her wrist with what was for him a surprising amount of force.
“She is not meant for you. You are meant for me,” he said, dragging her toward the door of the cell.
Takako cast at him little more than a dismissive glance. The ghostly fire in her eyes froze the mad scientist where he stood.
“Insolent man,” she said, her voice like a rumble from the earth, and waved her hand as if flicking away a fly.
Kuranishi flew away from her, striking the side of the cell so hard the iron bars sank into his back. He hung there momentarily two feet above the ground. The bars rattled. Kuranishi dropped to the floor with a thud. That he sprang to his feet at once was sure evidence that he had applied his science to his own body as well.
“Demon bitch! I won’t let you get away with this!”
With an enraged glare in his eyes that spoke no surrender, he darted to the paralyzed Hitomi and grabbed her by the hand and ducked out the door.
“Ah, that must sting. Your prey is mine now. If you want her, try and take her away from me.”
Rising to the challenge, Takako gripped the bars with both hands. “Blood—”
The steel in her deranged voice resonated with the iron of the bars. The bars and frame ripped free of the concrete. The bolts spun through the air, one grazing Hitomi’s cheek. Chunks of the stressed concrete ceiling rained down.
Takako appeared through this brutal torrent of white. The madman’s body shook with delight. “Unbelievable! No matter how immortal the Toyama bastards might be, here is a vampire who hasn’t completely turned, and her power puts them to shame! Tell me, Miss, who is your sire?”
Her answer was a bounding leap—not at Hitomi—but at Kuranishi.
It wasn’t a lust for blood, but retaliation against anyone who dared interfere with her quest for prey. Considering that the mad doctor’s tree branch was still at work inside her, this behavior was unusual in the extreme.
Princess’s blood demanded it.
Kuranishi dodged the sweeping, roundhouse blow, but not before the lightning-fast strike tore his lab coat and shirt asunder.
Beneath the fabric, the old man’s flesh gleamed dark gray. His body was studded with metal parts. From his steel-encrusted ribs came the faint whirring of gears and motors. The old man’s surgical skills had produced vintage work. He touched his right side.
“You broke a bolt in one of my hydraulic pistons. But no matter. A woman has challenged the product of my research. Bring it on. Let me introduce you to your true opponent.”
Meanwhile, Hitomi scurried to the door behind her unnoticed.
Takako didn’t need an invitation. Her eyes glittered with demonic malice and she pressed forward with her attack. Her hands had already seized his flesh. Her fingers pulsed torturously against his chest.
Kuranishi backed to the inner door. He pressed a switch on the wall. The sound of the taiko drum grew louder. The door opened slowly to reveal a room filled with white light.
From within that light came vaguely human shapes, wavering to and fro and up and down. With a whoosh, a rain of tapered rods of wood poured through the shower of light. In the next second, the thousands of them painted the inside of the door black.
The custom of using plants to symbolize the pleasures of sex was still found in parts of Africa and India. But even its practitioners were not likely to expect the “symbol” to behave like the real thing.
To say nothing of the wood that—burrowing its own way in—could well result in the victim dying not in pain, but from pleasure.
Kuranishi’s mad mind had come up with such a thing. His intent had been to scatter them about Shinjuku—for no particular reason. If compelled to come up with one, then to drive the women crazy and the men into the depths of despondency. And the results of that was something Kuranishi had given no thought to at all.
The beats of the drum grew more and more agitated.
Half-hidden behind the door opposite, Hitomi screamed. White fruits were attached to the attacking branches. They swayed back and forth, each of them a skull. Along with the branches protruding from the mouth and eye sockets came the dry sound of hollow laughter.
“Get her!” Kuranishi shouted. “Her face and heart and sex—stab her through and through.”
Takako’s fingers closed around his windpipe, digging into the skin and muscle and cartilage. Blood spurted out. Takako pressed her lips to his spasming throat and drank.
In the next instant, she coughed and jerked her head away and vomited the blood onto the floor.
Excepting its color and principal components, Kuranishi’s blood was nothing like that of a normal human being. Oil and nourishment to sustain and supply his artificial heart and mechanical organs.
And obviously not agreeable with Takako’s palate.
But her fury was not his friend. The poisonous blood streaming from his neck, with one hand Takako tossed him at the advancing branches. Black wooden tips burst from the front of his white lab coat, from his stomach—a scene that was strangely arousing.
The drumming abruptly ceased, as if the one making the wood dance had become aware of his partner’s death.
The branches wormed their way though Kuranishi’s body, rending it apart. A long minute later, a smaller body appeared inside it—no more than a yard tall—carrying a cruel face atop its diminutive frame. The full lips in the middle of the black skin parted to reveal pure white teeth. He was wearing cutoff jeans. Hanging on his bare chest was a drum the size of a newborn child.
He fixed his narrow eyes on Takako as might an eagle focusing on a rabbit. He said, “You killed.” The statement was suffused with an emotion that masked the broken Japanese. “This man. My benefactor. He understood my drum. I swear. No matter how long. I will revenge.”
The next words seemed to change into music. A rhythmical sound came from the man’s chest. The branches rustled.
Hitomi felt t
he cold tendrils of a brand-new dread. The man who said to protect her was probably now sleeping peacefully in her home. The night would soon come again. The vampire sought out its servant and prey. It was said that no hiding place would frustrate the sire. She had to protect her until then.
That was the thought that stopped her from abandoning Takako’s frightening presence.
Hitomi ran up to her—standing ramrod straight—and wrapped her arms around her from the back. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
They made quickly for the door. The sound of the drum trailed behind them.
“I will not—kill you. Now,” said the little black man. “But. You cannot escape. Flee in fear. You will never—sleep well. This city—my allies—will track you down. Avenge and revenge. My revenge—never—slackens.”
“Hurry!”
Hitomi pulled Takako through the door and down the white hallway. The entranceway must be somewhere ahead of them. In the back of her mind, she was already working on the outlines of an article about the victim of a vampire, Doctor Kuranishi, and his strange and warped creations.
Part Twelve: Magic Murder Drum
Chapter One
The dream was dreaming a dream. The question was what dream Setsura Aki was dreaming right now.
The trees were visible behind him as he strode through the dense forest. He passed through any trees in his path as if they weren’t there.
The giant clam was dreaming in the middle of the earth—dreaming of the beautiful genie that was Setsura. Extrapolate his trajectory and it led inexorably to the entrance to Shinjuku’s Chuo Park.
Having changed into a dream, Setsura was being guided by the lingering instincts of his human self.
Nothing stood in his way. He wasn’t of this world. But the silver filaments spewing from his mouth tore asunder the trees and rocks that were of this world.
Five minutes later came the sound of flapping wings above his head.
Like a rush of wind, a single strand of the undulating wires reached upwards.
The winged man dodged it as he observed in academic tones, “Dreaming the dream of the clam, eh? I see. I heard that my father and grandfather dreamed indefatigably of the women they pined for. But this dream may spell the end of Princess’s world.”
Though he wasn’t quite as handsome as Setsura, his aristocratic bearing more than made up for it. This was Yakou, the young master of the Toyama clans. And now reduced to Princess’s servant.
He was powerful enough that Setsura had not been able to defeat him outright. Kikiou had not employed him as an assassin because Princess’s objectives had all along included winning Setsura over to their side. That made Yakou an enemy to Kikiou’s goals.
Setsura’s offensive had continued out of his sight. And now beyond the manor house, Yakou had finally caught up with him again.
From his lair, he noted the freakish Setsura leaving the mausoleum and understood at once that he had been absorbed into the dream of the clam. He followed him using his powers of flight, and had picked up his trail again.
“You’re being a naughty boy, Kikiou. Princess is going to take you to the woodshed when she gets back. I’ll settle for just enjoying your comeuppance.”
His clear eyes focused on a particular point on Setsura’s person. The breast of his black slicker. The wings stopped beating and folded along his back. He dropped like a rock. Toward the tip of Setsura’s nose.
The deadly wires reached out to grasp him. But closed around empty space. Yakou had already reached out in a flash and soared up into the sky.
The wings calmly stroked the air and he more closely examined the object he’d plucked from Setsura’s pocket. A small golden flute.
The doll girl had entrusted it to Setsura. The only thing that would wake the clam from its dream. At the height of their deadly duel, this scion of a powerful vampire lord had seen it poking out of his pocket and now grasped its qualities and power.
He twirled it around in his fingers. “General Bey’s flute. If I blow on it, Setsura should return to his senses. But that might make things more chancy than they already are. I might hope to keep you closed up in this world until Princess returns. Though leave you to your own devices and the dream might well end up destroying the dream. What a quandary.”
Yakou frowned and pondered. Then a smile lit up his face. Despite being Princess’s prisoner, this was a bright and energized smile.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” His boyish expression grew sober again. “The half-dream, half-reality jujitsu my father taught me. This flute was a necessary component. I predict what will happen if it fails. Well, I’ll only find out by trying.”
Such leaping into action was so unlike his previous prudence that it must be a reflection of his sire’s personality.
Yakou looked behind Setsura. “Kikiou, you bastard, you’re late. Did your tête-à-tête with Setsura go wrong somewhere along the line? Princess will have your hide for that as well.”
He put the flute to his lips and lowered his head and briefly blew.
Setsura stopped in his tracks. Purpose welled up in his blank expression. The whistle of the flute from above had awakened his consciousness from the dream. But through his sturdy but graceful frame, the stands of trees swayed in the summer breeze. Through his arms bloomed fragrant flowers.
This was a dream to which his real consciousness had returned. And yet still perfectly suited for Setsura Aki.
“Can you hear me?” came Yakou’s voice, from an unknown quarter.
“Yakou? Where are you?”
“If I tell you, I fear your filaments will follow. Your consciousness has returned, but your body is still dreaming. It regards all as its enemy and attacks without regard. I’d like to avoid any unnecessary bother.”
“Oh. So you blew on that whistle.”
“But not exactly the same way. I doubt there are five people in this world who know the difference.”
“In that case, how about giving it a good hard puff? Otherwise, hand it back.”
“In either case, will you take your leave, or stay and fight? Sorry, but I find both options unsatisfactory.”
“Traitor,” Setsura said cheerfully. The words took on a silver hue and sliced the nearby trees to kindling.
“Do you know what a frightening presence you are right now? Your dreaming body in your dream state holds only the instinct for preservation. Everything that comes close to you dies by a thousand cuts.”
“And what do you propose we do about that?” he asked in an utterly unflustered manner.
“You have to promise first.”
“Promise what?”
“That you will not leave here until Princess returns. And additionally, you won’t try to destroy everything in the meantime.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Enough with the bad jokes.”
Setsura shrugged. Promises were made to be broken. “Okay,” he said in a serious voice. “I swear.”
“That will do,” Yakou agreed.
“There’s something I’d like to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you familiar with a plant called the moon lily?”
“Ah.”
“Never heard of it myself. Can you find it around here?”
“The back garden of the manor house. As the name suggests, it is a lily that blooms only on moonlit nights. It went extinct long ago in the human world.”
“Thanks.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“No comment.”
“The way you are right now, you’re not exactly in flower-picking condition.”
“Well, I did swear. How about you make me normal again?”
Yakou fell silent. He had to wonder if this guy was for real. “One more thing.”
A pause long enough for two breaths.
“Yes?” said Setsura, cocking his ears.
“Princess contacted me a short while ago. It seems she’d gotten hold of Takako Ka
nan.”
“So she and General Bey duked it out?”
“I can’t speak to the specifics.”
“Hey, if anything’s left of the old you, don’t go yanking my chain.”
“You are hardly one to talk.”
“You’ve got a point there.”
“But it is as I say. Do not forget that the life of a young woman depends on your actions.”
Setsura listened passively to these icy words from a man who had once pledged with all his might, mind and skill to protect Takako.
“Hold up your hand.” His voice was a bit harder than usual.
Setsura wasn’t ready at this point to place his trust in Yakou, but when it came to her, if she was fighting General Bey for Takako, the odds were she’d come out on top. Even Nuvenberg would have a difficult time of it in a situation like this.
“So how should we proceed?”
“Blow the whistle and get me back to normal. Then boogie on back to the manor house, keep out of sight of Kikiou, and hide out until Princess returns.”
“Agreed,” he nodded.
Yakou raised his head. The golden, glittering flute sang out again.
Hitomi hailed a taxi and got in with Takako.
Dr. Kuranishi’s hideout was in a broken-down building not far from the Toyama district. The street was crowded with emergency vehicles and cops. They were working to undo the traffic jam, but as always, were causing as much inconvenience as they were alleviating.
The driver grumbled, “Looks like it’s time to take a detour.”
“What in the world is going on?” Hitomi asked.
Takako sat in the back seat of the cab, her empty eyes focusing on a point in space. After the confrontation, perhaps as the result of tasting Kuranishi’s blood, her outward vampiric nature had retreated and she had returned to her “normal” demure self.
“Word is, somebody lit off a suitcase nuke in the Toyoma Housing Project.”
“What?”
“Well, that’s just the scuttlebutt. Haven’t you been watching the news?”
“We’ve been—busy.”
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