by Thomas Green
She smirked, formed a pattern and pushed her aether into the water.
The room behind me burned. But through a window behind her, I saw the sea of Newark Bay. Perfect. I finally maneuvered her into a position where there wasn’t a house full of innocent people in her direction.
I formed a globe of aether in my palm, made it spin and compress, and let go. My strength slipped and I accidentally put a lot more aether into the spell than I intended to.
The world exploded in front of my hand. She swapped her position with a table by the other side of the room. The blast caught her, anyway. Furniture shattered to splinters, concrete walls crumbled to dust and she flew out of the house in the torrent of energy.
Fuck. I didn’t want to make it this strong. Hearing fire crackling behind me, I ran out through where the wall once was.
She flew across the street and above the bay, where the man on rolling blades caught her. He glided above water, his aether forming a surface on which he ran. Gray mist cloaked him, hiding him from mundane sight. He held a man over his shoulder and had a statuette hanging by his belt.
The statuette was one-foot-tall, oozed black-purple aether and had the shape of a praying monkey holding a gem in its arms, raising it up as a sacrifice.
With loud rumbling, the house behind me collapsed. I pushed my aether into my hand, forming a globe in my palm. With my three targets in front of me, all I had to do was produce a blast large enough so they wouldn’t be able to dodge.
A car pulled in on the road. A black Lexus with darkened windows. That snapped me back to reality and I realized the marsh park to my left was full of people staring at the burning house. Not to mention the ships filling the bay, some of which I’d sink.
Fuck. I couldn’t use a spell now. I let the aether sphere fizzle, lowered the baseball cap into my face and turned right to go around the house.
“Mr. Johnson?” a man shouted from the Lexus as he opened the door.
I turned and recognized the PSIA investigator, Sora Yamato. What a coincidence. “Fancy meeting you here,” I said, eyes narrowed. His azure aether was formed into a defensive pattern.
“Have you seen where they went?” he asked with perfect pronunciation.
I glanced at the bay. They had disappeared among the ships flowing in and out of Port Newark. Why couldn’t I have magic that would let me run across water being invisible? I stepped toward him. “Not really. They disappeared.”
“I know where they’re going,” he said. “They have a hideout in Port Newark container depot. I almost caught them there yesterday.”
I glared at him. I couldn’t detect a lie in his speech, not even tension. Yes, if he was truly a PSIA investigator, he would have been following the suspects and could had found their other hideout. “How did you find it?” I asked as I approached.
All his clothes were black, suit, polished shoes, with a white shirt, and a thin, red tie. He wore a silver ring, had his short hair barely combed and his hazel eyes carried a glint of suspicion. “One of the suspects got caught on the plane’s internal camera. I matched the face to a Honuzawa Industries’ employee and used his name to find he has rented a container lot in Port Newark.”
A likely story. That this murder was a Yakuza inside job, an internal struggle for power, made sense. But from what Amaterasu told me, this was also a rebellion against the system. Then again, the Yakuza likely represented the system they fought in Japan. For me, the face of the Hand of God was Lucielle, the Devil herself and my best paying employer. But for them it was Musashi, about whom I knew nothing. Plus, Yakuza didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation.
As I remained silent, sunken deep in my thought, Sora said, “We are chasing the same people for the same reasons, so perhaps we could cooperate. And you look like you need a ride.” He extended this hand.
Fair enough. I accepted the handshake and got into his car. First, I made him go around the block so I could pick up my backpack. My shoulder sent stabbing pain through my spine when I took off the sports jacket. Some of the jacket’s fabric, together with my shirt’s, melted into my skin. I had to get that cleaned later.
But I could do that after I caught the rogue demigods. We stopped by a pharmacy where I bought wide-spectrum antibiotics to prevent infection and we headed to Port Newark.
Chapter 7
SORA DROVE AT THE SPEED LIMIT, careful not to give police a reason to stop us. At least, for the first three minutes because then we got stuck in a traffic jam on Goethals Bridge. Someone managed to flip a van and block one lane.
I pulled down my window, breathing in a fresh sea breeze mixed with car fumes. “Have you been in New York for long?” I asked.
“Three months. Got sent here to keep an eye on the Honuzawa Yakuza when they expanded into these lands.”
That made sense. “So, what does the Yakuza actually do?”
“Mostly sex trafficking, illegal organ trade, and drug smuggling.” A darker tone played on his voice. He was angry like a smoldering volcano. He controlled himself well though. “Like the sex trafficking gang you broke yesterday. That was the tip of the iceberg of the operations they have started here in New York.”
How did he know that? “I didn’t see any Japanese around there.”
“Because that would lead you to them.” He snorted. “That’s how Yakuza operates on foreign soil. They don’t do the dirty work in person, but rather use local criminal groups.”
And I helped them secure their vault… one more reason to feel good about myself. “By the way, I don’t remember telling you my name.”
“Neither have I told you mine and you haven’t yet felt the need to ask for it,” he pointed out. “Your name was listed in the NYPD report from yesterday. The PSIA has a cooperation agreement signed with local agencies for when the Yakuza is involved.”
I didn’t see any flaw in this story, at least not one I could easily verify. He parked outside the port and we proceeded on foot. The now-dried blood glued my coat to my shoulder, which hurt with every move. Not as much as my calf through. I needed to get fireproof clothes. As we exited the car, Sora put a loose coat on and grabbed a sheathed katana. He tied it high by his waist and closed the coat to hide the weapon.
I tied my holsters to my thighs and arranged my leather coat to cover them. Ironic, how our methods were the same. Then again, there were only so many ways to stealthily carry weapons in public. The cross from Katherine felt cold on my chest, bumping against the muscles as I walked.
Sora was silent on his feet, keeping perfect balance with each step. The sea breeze had a much fresher feel here and the flying seagulls made a nice contrast with the concrete-built port.
We spent over half an hour crossing the port, mostly because I wasn’t too quick on my feet. The container depot section was essentially a maze of lots filled with steel containers and massive cranes looming above them. Shadows covered the narrow paths between the container stacks, air cold.
Good. Lower temperature was good for burnt skin and swelling. Sora suddenly raised his hand to stop me. I aimed at him a raised eyebrow. He motioned to a container lot where a massive stack of the steel containers towered against the sun. We climbed up. Since we had a stack of containers shielding us from behind, and more from the sides, there weren’t any angles through which we could be seen. That helped because climbing a container stack wasn’t exactly unnoticeable. The movement of catching the top of a container, pulling myself up, securing my legs in the gap between them and repeating the process, hurt.
I was halfway when Sora reached the top. My wounded leg and shoulder screamed with pain at every move. My entire body throbbed when I reached the summit.
The container stack was the highest one around, so we had an excellent view. Sora motioned me to crawl and so we did, crossing the container. I wished all the seagull shit that covered it were dried. Then again, crawling let my calf rest, so that was a plus.
We reached the edge and looked ahead. Diagonally from us was a lot that c
ontained only a dozen containers. Groups of four men patrolled around them, looking like workers, but their overalls had bumps clearly caused by weapons.
I counted six groups, so that was twenty-four armed men. A trace of the misty gray aether led inside the top container in the middle of the lot. Okay, that was my target.
“We may need some reinforcements,” Sora whispered.
No kidding. “What’s going on here that the place is so heavily guarded?” There was no way they could keep that many men here constantly.
“A shipment is likely coming today.”
I nodded and withdrew my phone. And no, I wasn’t about to drag Katherine into this. One crossbow bolt was enough on my conscience. I called Agent Miller.
He picked up after two beeps. “Frederick Miller.”
“Lucas Johnson here. I’ve got something for you, Agent.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve remembered something about the nightmare plague?” he asked, his voice rising in excitement.
“Not exactly. But the local Yakuza is about to ship in cocaine and they have aether wielders defending the container lot.”
Ten seconds of awkward silence passed before he spoke. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” I smiled. “They have twenty-four armed men stationed here in Port Newark and probably more as lookouts.”
“I’ll get a strike force ready. Do you know how soon we need to be there?”
I glanced at the sky. “I doubt they’ll do it in daylight, so you’ve got at least three hours. I’m on top of a nearby stack of containers and will stay there for now.”
“Alright, thanks. I’ll be on time.” He hung up.
During the entire discussion, Sora didn’t seem disturbed for the tiniest fraction of a second. Maybe we were indeed on the same side, at least in the spiritual meaning.
We crawled from the edge to not risk being seen. Lying on the container wasn’t the most entertaining activity I had ever done. But getting some rest wouldn’t hurt me either and my leather coat did a great job guarding me from the chill wind.
I chatted with Sora from time to time, but that was mostly a formality. From what he said, he was a studied detective who first worked on the Tokyo police force before being promoted to the PSIA. He had been working on Yakuza-related cases for the past six years, from day one of joining the agency. He had a history of arrests, but all were small fish, nothing that would truly disrupt Yakuza’s operations.
The problem arose when he started asking me the same questions. I wasn’t in the sharing mood, so we soon ended up not talking.
The sun lowered above the horizon and the activity around the Yakuza container lot intensified. Four vans came, each bringing eight more people.
Miller better bring a tank division for this. Also, what the hell were they smuggling to need this much security? This wasn’t cocaine, was it?
I eyed Sora. He wasn’t surprised. Did he know something was going to happen, that he couldn’t stop it himself, and thus tried using me for local contacts? That would’ve made sense… but it would also require incredible clairvoyance from him.
In my mind, I marked him down as seriously dangerous. Since a battle was approaching, I started flexing my muscles. I couldn’t do much to not make too much noise, but I used every possible muscle to pour blood into them. My left shoulder was a problem. While it withstood the blast back in the Yakuza safe without serious damage, adding burns to it didn’t help. I wasn’t sure I could shoot precisely with my left anymore.
My phone buzzed. I saw message from Miller. ‘I’m here. Can we meet?’
I sent him direction to the container stack where we were. Ten minutes later, the containers clanged behind us as he came up, crawling to join us, covered with sweat. The natural flow with which he crawled in the black suit suggested military training.
He exchanged a glance with Sora and stopped at my other side. “Who’s our new friend?” Miller asked.
Sora flashed the badge he withdrew from his suit’s inner pocket. “Sora Yamato, officer of the Japanese PSIA. I’m operating in New York City under joint response agreement number 201385. Both the NYPD and the FBI are aware of my presence and operations.”
That seemed to have satisfied Miller as he switched the topic. “Anyway, what’re we looking at?”
“I’ve counted forty-eight armed men,” I said. “And expect one to four aether wielders.” With this many men around, one of the Yakuza’s mages were bound to be present. I had seen two at their CEO’s office, but there could’ve been more.
Miller’s jaw clenched and mouth turned into a thin line. “I suppose you two will want to participate. Likely for whatever ulterior motive you have for being here in the first place.”
“Spot on.” I smiled. “Though my ulterior motives would have been better served without calling you.” That wasn’t even a lie. The most effective way to catch the three rogue demigods and to get Lucielle the statuette would have been to wait for the Yakuza operation to finish. Afterward, catching them would be much easier.
“Then why did you call me?”
“Because this city’s my home and I don’t like what our new guests are doing here.”
Miller smiled, genuinely, with wrinkles around eyes and all. “I’ve brought four SWAT teams and a dozen people from FBSI. They all have Veil clearance and will strike upon my message with a fifteen-minute ETA.”
“It shouldn’t be long,” Sora whispered and pointed at the horizon. A massive freighter with a Japanese flag painted on the side arrived in the harbor. Almost an hour later, the ship stopped by the edge of the port and the crane started moving the containers onto the Yakuza’s lot.
The freighter was relatively small compared to others, and only half-loaded, carrying roughly a hundred containers. The crane spent a touch over a minute moving one container, so we had time.
But after the first fifteen minutes, a truck came to pick up the first container. Miller grabbed his phone, unlocked the screen, typing his pin, and sent a message.
I did another scan of the area with my aether-imbued sight. The tracks of gray aether lingered atop the highest container and I saw no more of them anywhere. My targets were still inside. I glimpsed another set of aether, blood-red, oozing from a man commanding people. I recognized him as the one with the chain-sickle I met in the Yakuza’s CEO office, named Akiyama.
All three of us atop the container filled our bodies with aether, forming combat patterns. A scowl took over my face. I needed to mostly stand this one out and not get any more injuries. Getting involved was already bad.
The harbor around us slowly emptied. Before the Yakuza filled the truck, I could see no one from the harbor staff other than the crane operator. The Yakuza men noticed too as they stiffened and started keeping their hands under their overalls, likely close to their weapons.
That they had almost clearly visible weapons helped a lot. Without that, Miller would have needed some proof their cargo was indeed what I said. But now, even if nothing was found, he could still arrest the Yakuza members for unlawfully carrying weapons.
A dozen black vans rolled into the harbor. I formed the offensive pattern and withdrew more aether. The intoxication of power made me almost scream with excitement. But I froze the next second. Aether oozed from most of the new Yakuza containers in a faint drip of colors.
The FBSI vans stopped nearby and agents swarmed out. Most wore full tactical gear with assault rifles and night vision goggles. Almost all of them had aether formed into a combat pattern in their bodies. Okay, the government was a lot better at recruiting aether-wielders than I expected.
One agent stepped toward the Yakuza men and Akiyama went to meet him.
“Put your hands above your head and step aside,” the agent shouted.
Akiyama started raising his hands. But then he shouted something in Japanese and whirled. In an incredibly fast move, he grabbed the chain sickle hanging by his belt and launched the weight at the agent’s head. The helmet bent in and a
wet splotch echoed through the air.
“Shit!” Miller cursed, drew his gun and rose to a crouch.
Gunfire roared into the night. The FBSI forces had the Yakuza surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned. But bullets bounced off Akiyama as if he was made of steel and he mowed down the agents, killing three more men within the next few seconds.
I gritted my teeth, sprung to my feet and bolted across the containers. Yeah, I should’ve contained my strength and remained focused on my target, I knew. But I refused to watch people die.
I leapt at the lower stack of containers, turning my fall into a somersault. My shoulder didn’t like that, giving a shot of pain in return. I rolled onto my feet, crossed the container and leapt down at Akiyama. Sure, it would have been safer to pepper him with any of the ranged spells I learned from the Japanese demigods. But I didn’t want Sora or the FBSI to see that. Especially not because they could run into the demigods later and could thus realize my magic revolved around me copying the spells of others.
The thing with mage duels was that whoever knew the capabilities of his opponent had a massive advantage. And so, I went for the melee plan.
As I was falling on him, Akiyama spun and flung the chain-sickle’s weight at my face. I bent to dodge and fell on him, feet first, hitting his chest. The impact threw him backward, but he shuffled his feet and stabilized, whirling to send another strike of the chain at me. I fell into the ground, slid by the swing and bolted at him. He met me with his sickle’s slash.
I ducked under the swing and grabbed his leg. The weight on the chain sprung backwards and hit my back. Pain blasted through me, air blew from my lungs and my grip weakened. Fuck.
He kicked his leg back to get out of my grip and launched his knee at my chest. My calf refused the impulse to dodge. I blocked with both arms. His strike almost broke them and threw me back.