He shook hands with them, wrinkled hands that contained a surprising strength and vigor. “Welcome, welcome. This is as welcome a surprise as the night coming on. Basking in the honored presence of Mister Setsura Aki and Doctor Mephisto reminds me that no matter how old they may grow, human beings never grow too old.”
Setsura looked a bit embarrassed. It was a true enough statement if anybody else had said it, but this old man—
“If Doctor Mephisto felt it necessary to reach out to us, there must be fires in this city that need putting out.” The Elder motioned them to the sofa. “If there is anything we can do, we will spare no effort, though I do not think this is a problem that will be disposed of easily. It was enough to wake me from my sleep.”
“Enough to—” Mephisto began. Setsura stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. Mephisto finished his thought. “Enough to wake you up?”
Not answering Mephisto’s question, the Elder pointed to the young man in a pale blue suit standing next to the sofa. “Let me introduce my grandson, Yakou. This is Shinjuku’s best private detective, Setsura Aki, and Shinjuku’s most talented physician, Doctor Mephisto.”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you both,” Yakou said, with an elegant but unpretentious bow. More than simple good manners, his etiquette had been acquired over many lifetimes.
“I didn’t know you had a grandson,” said Mephisto, admiring Yakou’s razor-sharp good looks.
“He’s been educated in London since soon after he was born. He returned home only six months ago. He’s said to resemble myself even more than my own son.”
“How about that,” said Setsura. This P.I. knew more about the residents of Shinjuku than even Mephisto, and perhaps had a clue or two about what it meant for this old man to so resemble his grandson.
The Elder offered them chairs, and sat back down on the sofa. “The two of you can probably imagine why I invited my grandson to this get-together. The same reason Doctor Mephisto visited the other day and why I willingly woke from my rest. Namely, those foreign vampires—apart from our clans—that have come to Shinjuku.”
The old man chattered on like the host of an afternoon tea. In a flash, the room fell into a pensive silence.
“Excuse me, Elder,” said Mephisto. “But what manner of nightmare did you dream?”
“Why do you think it was a nightmare?”
“If all we dreamed were pleasant fantasies, we would never wake up. Eight hours in bed would not be enough.”
“I have lived for over a thousand years,” said the Elder, the emotions rising in his voice. “And yet you easily articulate the truth I have acquired as a result. Exactly how old would you be?”
For a change, it was Setsura casting an intrigued glance at Mephisto. Mephisto didn’t answer the question. “As for today’s agenda—” he began.
The senior citizen good-naturedly bowed deeply. “I only saw a nightmare, but Yakou had a very different kind of encounter with the real thing. I think you should see for yourselves.”
“As you wish,” the young man replied crisply.
He went to a door at the back of the room and snapped his fingers, a small but pleasant sound. The door opened. Two middle-aged men appeared wheeling a gurney between them. On top of the gurney was a long, rectangular box. A casket. It shook slightly.
The two men parked the casket in front of the four of them, and left through the same door. Yakou put his hands on the plain, bare cover and effortlessly lifted it open.
“Holy—” Setsura exclaimed, his eyes widening. The strong stench assailed his nose.
The man laid out in the box had both hands pressing outwards against the air, the fingers bent into claws, as if he was about to pounce on somebody. But Setsura and Mephisto’s eyes were drawn in particular to the man’s police uniform.
“According to our investigation, his name is Michio Hyuuga. He works out of the Waseda station in Shinjuku, and is assigned as a patrol officer to the number two police box in Nakai.”
The Elder glanced at his grandson, then refocused his narrow eyes on the gray chest of the dead-looking man. “Before putting him in this coffin, we tried to cross his arms over his chest. This is done in order to contain within the soul any remaining particles of good until the dead cross over the River Styx. But his hands kept returning to this form, his fingers bending like hooks. An animal hungering for blood. The demon my grandson battled last night is unlike any of us. You called shortly thereafter.”
Two pairs of eyes turned with intense interest to Yakou. He nodded, and spent the next ten minutes going over the details of the previous night’s incident.
“So that’s what happened,” Setsura said. His conversation that morning with his new client—Takako Kanan—came together with Officer Hyuuga’s inexplicable assault on a woman he was supposedly helping. “And then consequently—”
“What of the woman?” Mephisto pressed, not giving Setsura time to finish the thought.
Mephisto’s defeat must still weigh heavily on his mind. Setsura did not want to see those chickens coming home to roost right now either, so he let the conversation head off on the tangent Mephisto preferred.
“I got her address and telephone number.” His tone of voice suggested that the two of them had parted ways without pressing the matter further. She was also a resident of Demon City.
Yakou had hauled the officer back here. Before waking him up to begin the questioning, the Elder rose from his slumber. After learning what had happened, he’d instructed Yakou to call Setsura and Mephisto before proceeding further.
“We have ways of making people talk. But when dealing with a mutant strain of vampire, things can get complicated if the initial efforts fail. We thought it wise to call in a couple of experts like yourselves.” The Elder grinned.
“We sealed him in this casket with a liberal dose of garlic to keep him under control. Before we proceed with the questioning, though, can you think of any other incidents that might be evidence of their handiwork?”
Setsura started to answer, but Mephisto spoke first. “None at all.” Any mention of Hisako Tokoyoda’s name would inevitably end up spilling the beans about the fiasco at the hospital.
The Elder nodded. “Fine, then. Let’s wake him up.”
“Still,” Setsura interjected, “it’s daytime, and present company excepted, vampires don’t go walking around in broad daylight.”
“Indeed they do not. Which is why this man should only wake up at night. As for now—” The Elder snapped his fingers.
As if the sun had taken note of the problem and eclipsed itself, the room fell into darkness. Setsura looked toward the windows, at the bright scenery outside. The clear blue sky and the green foliage and the sunlight brimming with life.
But like a landscape painted on a canvas, the light didn’t seem to penetrate more than a fraction of an inch into the room. At the same time, the pungent odor polluting the air vanished.
“Ahh—”
A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of a yawn came from the casket. Officer Hyuuga’s eyes flew open. Setsura and Mephisto didn’t doubt that true night had suddenly descended.
Another smell rose to Setsura’s nose and mouth. The corrupting smell of blood.
The officer grew aware of the four pairs of eyes looking down at him. He smiled. The smile of a carnivore when it encounters a flock of sheep unaware of its true nature. His mouth widened, the pair of tusk-like fangs extended. He gripped the edge of the coffin for support as he slowly sat up. The scars on his neck were gone.
“All right. So who invited me to the party?”
Part Four: Sumptuous Feast
Chapter One
Officer Hyuuga pressed his free hand against his stomach. He didn’t appear to be in pain.
“I’m hungry,” he said, looking at each of their faces.
The Elder stepped forward. He gestured to Yakou. “I presume that you remember my grandson.”
“Oh, yes. I remember very well.”
> He felt around his windpipe with his left hand. Every word seemed forced out of his lungs by the sheer pressure of the blood and bile within, like a geyser about to erupt.
“You really came to my rescue. Oh, I must thank you for that. Maybe a couple of days in my police box lockup will put the fire back in the belly? Some nightly handiwork with a straight razor. A little here, a little there. Lap up the blood and teach you a good and proper lesson. With guys, you know, the tip of that. With girls, it’s tits and nipples. Tiny slices. Like scratches. And she’s shaking all over. It’s the pain, you know, and not knowing what’s coming next. Lick it up real gentle-like. Suck at ’em like a baby. Drives ’em crazy. A guy like me sucking up the blood on those sensitive parts. Show ’em the razor again, all shiny and glittery. Maybe down to the arteries this time. Things going my way would really help, you know. Plant that thought in her mind and she’s lifting up her tits and sticking ’em in my mouth! ‘More! More! Please! Suck on me!’ ”
The man stared up in an ecstatic trance, searching the faces of the four for signs of sympathy and approval, drunk on his own erotic fantasies.
“A most interesting case,” mused Mephisto, staring coolly down at him.
The victim of a true vampire absorbed some of the personality of its sire. The trigger of bloodlust also bared the victim’s own animal nature. In that case, the vampire who’d sucked the blood of this police officer was a demon from the depths of perdition. Not a fragment of humanity remained.
“Before taking my grandson to task, there are a few questions I must ask you.” The Elder’s kindly face did not waver. “Who is your sire? Where is he hiding?”
“Sire?” Officer Hyuuga glared at the old man. “Nobody like that here. But while we’re at it, old man, after your grandkid, you’ll do fine. I’m not picky. I’ll show you a helluva time. Heaven on Earth.”
“If you do not answer the question promptly, I will show you Hell.”
Twin flames flickered in the darkness. In the officer’s eyes. He leapt from the casket. The black whirlwind in the shape of a human bellowed as it circled the Elder’s head.
A scream erupted. The cry spun like a revolving siren and crashed to the floor, writhing and tearing at the dark blue carpet. The Elder raised his right hand and clicked his fingers together. A crisp sound rang out. The darkness lifted and the day appeared.
The whirlwind spinning around on the floor gradually took on the shape and form of Officer Hyuuga. Exposed to the light of day, the freakish twisting of the officer’s limbs suddenly stopped. Not because the agony had lessened. But just the opposite. The redoubled agony shooting through his nerves brought every bodily function to a standstill.
The brightness from the windows diffused throughout the room, painting a white spot on the floor.
An inarticulate grunt. A groan. Made by the cop on the floor. The thing that looked like a cop. Rasping and gurgling. What happened next would now and then revisit Setsura in his dreams.
The sound of the mewling officer crawling along the floor. The flesh of his face growing slack and folding under its own weight, gathering wrinkles like skin that soaks too long in a hot bath. And then peeling away. Beneath the peeling skin, slashes like cuts of fresh salmon peeked out. Beads of blood welled up.
The legendary question of what became of a vampire exposed to the sun was being answered in living color.
“What think you? I would assume Mr. Setsura Aki and Doctor Mephisto are used to seeing such spectacles.”
Mephisto shook his head. “No, I’ve never witnessed it before. Haven’t had a vampire patient under my microscope. What about you?”
“Who in their right mind would ask me to look for a vampire?” Setsura countered. “I’ve heard from Shinjuku cops that they burn right up, leaving only the clothing behind. But maybe they’re just telling tales out of school. Hey, what’s this?”
Officer Hyuuga started to crawl away. This time not motivated by ordinary agony, but with a definite goal in mind—toward the gurney, where a rectangular shadow fell beneath the casket. Bracing his limbs, he moved forward like a climber attacking the vertical face of a mountain wall. Itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout—
Human face, hands and feet attached to a uniformed insect. But with every move he made, the surface of the skin rippled like waves and sloughed off. Where his fingers came into contact with the floor, the flesh crumbled like pastry. And when he exerted himself, dark red pus oozed out from the cracks.
Through it all, the muscles and tendons beneath remained intact. The oozing fluid and rust-red scabs created a grotesque layer of defense.
“It seems that sunlight only dissolves the dermis,” Mephisto observed, enormously intrigued. The kind of observation to be expected from a doctor.
“It is slightly different in our case,” the Elder said.
Setsura wondered aloud, “So distinctions can be made according to ethnic origins?”
The blood and gore-besmeared demon squirmed at his feet as the conversation continued. The average onlooker might well find their attitude and the dispassionate tones they conversed in even more frightening.
“Very true. Just as distinctions can be made according to blood type. Depending on the race and the life force of the individual, the negative reactions can differ wildly.”
“In other words, this one’s as tough as a long-lived vampire.”
Mephisto shot Setsura a glance. The Elder paid the remark no mind. He reached out and pulled the casket closer to him.
The officer grunted and growled. His resentment was clear in the inarticulate sounds. His fingers had only been inches away from reaching the shade.
“Aargh—” His tongue lolled. He gulped and gasped, “Help—me—”
His fingers scraped against the floor. The tips of his shoes skidded on the carpet. He barely moved forward an inch. His fingers touched the shadow. The gurney moved again, the same distance he’d covered. The cop had no more energy in him. He stretched out on the floor like an old torn towel.
“Stop—it—help—me—” His voice hissed out like a small puncture in a tire about to go flat forever.
“Even if he ceases to dissolve, the pain does not?”
The Elder nodded. “There are no further changes to the tissues, but the nerves do not stop responding.”
“And what if you threw him out in this condition?”
“He would probably go mad from the pain.”
“You don’t say,” Mephisto remarked in a curious voice. “That is something I would like to see.”
“In any case, we must get to the questioning. Please pardon the unpleasantness.” The Elder crouched down in front of the cop. “We don’t want to go through all this again, do we? But I will not ask a second time after this. Who is your sire and where may we find him?”
The officer contorted his indescribable face. The air escaping from his mouth grated like the breath of a patient on his deathbed. His lips trembled with every gasp. The scabs fell from his face like the petals of a dying flower.
“Can’t—tell—you—”
A slight flicker in the expression on Yakou’s face caught Setsura’s attention. Stubborn bastard, he was probably thinking.
The Elder rubbed his bald head. “We jumped right to the most effective method, but he is still holding out. Unavoidable measures must be taken.”
Setsura and Mephisto exchanged looks. Yakou’s reply clued them into what he was referring to. “Grandfather, we cannot expropriate his sire’s authority.”
“I said it was unavoidable.”
“Against such an opponent? The people living here are not without other recourses.”
“This is only my intuition, but seconds count.”
The room grew silent. Setsura Aki and Doctor Mephisto sensed an unspoken dread expanding far beyond the reach of the old man’s words.
The cold undercurrents reverberated in his good-natured voice. “He woke me from my sleep and defied a trial of sunlight. More than our
lives are at stake. No, in fact, depending on how this wheel of fate turns—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but his actions did. The Elder reached out and grabbed hold of the officer’s hair and wrenched his head back. The bones in his neck creaked ominously. More slabs of skin fell off.
“Whoa—wait a second—” Setsura hastily interrupted, realizing that the Elder’s attention was focused not on the officer’s face but on his ravaged neck.
What happened to prey who had already been turned into a vampire being bitten once more? Fear and comprehension played across the officer’s face as he realized what was coming.
The Elder’s lips touched the raw red flesh of his throat. The officer howled, the roar of a beast. Leaving half of his hair behind in the Elder’s fist, he transformed again into a whirlwind and blew through the room.
No one lifted a finger. Not because they didn’t understand what he was up to. But because his flailing about was utterly without reason. The tumbling, spinning, uniformed figure smashed into the wall opposite—and then—it could only be on purpose this time—moved to the left.
“Hey—!”
The officer glowed like a white flare in the direct sunlight from the window. A second later, he flew backwards with tremendous force.
The body lay still at their feet. “Good job,” said Yakou. He’d detected Setsura’s filaments coiled around the officer’s legs.
“What?” Setsura answered lightly, glancing down at the Elder and Mephisto, who were examining the officer’s eyes.
“He’s quite insane.”
“And that makes him quite useless. We should dispose of him.”
“Simple madness can be treated. Our only clue is this policeman.”
“This may sound cold, but more such clues will surely be forthcoming.” The implications in the Elder’s words sent a shiver down the back. “I don’t mean to offend the good doctor, but when one of us goes mad, raising the dead would be easier than finding a cure.”
The ring on the doctor’s left hand glittered. “I won’t insist, but how would you dispose of this police officer? Everybody is asleep in Toyama right now.”
Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 1 Page 9