“Coupla garlic bulbs in your pocket?” asked East.
“Nah. I don’t even like it on my pizza.”
“You don’t have any backup,” said North. “And you don’t got your gun.”
My blood pressure could have scalded paint off a battleship. I wiped sweat off my brow with my thumb.
“Okay, jokes over,” snapped Skye. “What’s the punch line here? Why aren’t you as scared as you should be?”
I smiled.
“I’ll show you.”
The first time it happened, way back when I was thirteen, it took almost half an hour. I screamed and cried and rolled around on the floor. First time’s always the hardest. Each time since, it was easier. My grandmother and her sister could do it in the time it took you to snap your fingers. My best time was during a foot chase back when I was with Minneapolis PD. I was running down the guy who’d beaten his wife with the extension cord. He saw me coming and ducked into his apartment. I kicked the door and he came out of the bedroom with a gun and opened up. I went through the change in the time it took me to leap through the doorway. Like the snap of my fingers. One minute me, next minute different me.
I tore the shit out of him. I lost my badge and pension and had to make up all sorts of excuses. On the plus side, I didn’t die, which would have happened if I hadn’t managed the change so fast. I’m only mortal when I look like one.
That night in Skye’s office wasn’t my best time. Maybe third or fourth best. Say, two, three seconds. It felt like an explosion. It hurts. Feels like my heart is bursting, like cherry bombs are detonating inside my muscles. It starts in the chest, then ripples out from there as muscle mass changes and is reassigned in new ways. Bones warp, crack and re-form. Nails tear through the flesh of my fingers and toes, my jaw shifts and the longer teeth spike through the gums. It’s bloody and it’s ugly and it hurts like a motherfucker.
But the end result is a stunner. A real kick-ass dramatic moment that wows the audience.
I think all four of the thugs screamed. They jerked back from me, looks of shock and horror on their faces. If I wasn’t so deeply into the moment, I would have smiled at the irony. Monsters being scared by a monster.
I crouched in the center of the room, hands flexing, claws streaked with blood, hot saliva dripping from my mouth onto my chest.
It would have been cool and dramatic to have said “Surprise!” to them, the way Skye had said it to me, but my mouth was no longer constructed for human speech. All I could do was roar.
I did.
And then I launched at them.
Vampires are strong. Four or five times stronger than an ordinary human.
Werewolves?
Hell, we’re a whole different class.
I slammed into West with both sets of front claws. He flew apart like he was made of paper and watery red glue. North and East tried to take me high and low, but they’d have done better to try and run. I brought my knee up into East’s jaw as he went for the low tackle and his head burst like a casaba melon. I caught North by the throat and squeezed. Red geysered up from the stump of his neck as his head fell away. South backed away, putting himself between me and Skye, arms spread, making a more heroic stand than I’d have thought. I tore the heart from his chest. Turns out, vampires need their hearts.
Skye had my gun in his hands. He racked the slide and buried the barrel against me as I leaped over the desk. He got off four shots. They hurt.
Like wasp stings.
Maybe a little less.
I don’t load my piece with silver bullets. I’m not an idiot.
He looked into my eyes and I would like to think that he saw the error of his ways. Don’t fuck with the innocent. Don’t fuck with my clients. My clients are mine, like members of my pack. Mess with them and the pack leader has to put you down. Has to.
So I did.
She saw me coming from across the street, her face concerned and confused. I was wearing a different pair of pants and different shoes. My own had been torn to rags during the change. Stuff I was wearing used to belong to the bartender. He didn’t need them anymore. He’d been on the same team as Skye and the four goons.
I opened the door and climbed in behind the wheel.
“Are you all right, Sam?” she asked, studying my face. “Are you hurt? Is that blood?”
I dabbed at a dot on my cheek. Missed a spot. I pulled a tissue out of my jacket pocket and wiped my cheek.
“Just ketchup,” I said.
“You stopped for food?” she demanded, eyes wide.
“It was on the house. I was hungry. No biggie.”
She stared at me and then looked at the club across the street. The snow was getting heavier, the ground was white and it was starting to coat the street.
“What happened in there?”
I put the key into the ignition.
“I had a long talk with your ex. I told him that you were feeling threatened and uncomfortable with his actions, and I asked him to back off.”
“What did he say?”
“He won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“Just like that? He agreed to leave me alone just like that?” She snapped her fingers.
“More or less. I told him that I had some friends on the force and in L-and-I. Guess I made it clear that I could make his life more uncomfortable than he was making yours. He didn’t like it, but . . . ” I let the rest hang.
“And he agreed?”
“Take my word for it. He’s out of your life.”
She continued to study me for several long seconds. I waited her out and I saw the moment when she shifted from doubt and fear to belief and acceptance. She closed her eyes, sagged back against the seat, put her face in her hands, and began to cry.
I gripped the wheel and looked out at the falling snow, hiding the smile that kept trying to creep onto my mouth. I was digging the P.I. business. Fewer rules than when I was a cop. It allowed me to be closer to the street, to go hunting deeper into the forest.
Even so—and despite what I’d said to Skye—I was pretty rattled that he’d been a vampire. I mean, being who and what I am, I always suspected other things were out there in the dark, but until now I’d never met them. Now I knew. How many vampires were there? Where were they? Would they be coming for me?
I didn’t have any of those answers. Not yet.
I also wondered what else was out there. I could feel the excitement racing through me. I wanted to find out. Good or bad.
I reached out a hand and patted Mrs. Skye’s trembling shoulder. It felt good to know that one of the pack was safe now. It felt right. It made me feel powerful and satisfied on a lot of different levels. I knew that I was going to want to feel this way again. And again.
The snow swirled inside the thickening shadows.
Inside my head the wolf howled.
Jonathan Maberry is a Bram Stoker Award-winning author, writing teacher, and motivational speaker. Among his novels are Ghost Road Blues, Dead Man’s Song, Bad Moon Rising, Patient Zero. His most recent novel for adults, Extinction Machine, fifth in the Joe Ledger series, was published earlier this year. Maberry’s nonfiction works include Vampire Universe, The Cryptopedia, Zombie CSU: The Forensics of the Living Dead, and They Bite! His work for Marvel Comics includes The Punisher, Wolverine, DoomWar, Marvel Zombie Return, and Black Panther.
The Case: Lord Abe no Yasuna’s wife, Lady Kuzunoha, and their son, Doshi, are missing.
The Investigator: Yamada no Goji, an impoveivished nobleman of Japan’s Heian era, who—for a price—will do what needs to be done, especially if the solution to the problem isn’t as simple as using a sword.
FOX TAILS
Richard Parks
I was just outside of Kyoto, close on the trail of a fox spirit, when the ghost appeared. It manifested as a giant red lantern with a small mouth and one large eye, and blocked access to a bridge I needed to cross. While it was true that ghosts made the best informants, their sense of timing could be som
ewhat lacking.
“I have information, Yamada-san,” it said.
“I’m not looking for information. I’m looking for a fox.” I started to brush past it.
“A silver fox with two tails? Sometimes appears as a human female named Kuzunoha?”
The lantern suddenly had my full attention. “I’m listening.”
“You’re chasing a youkai pretending to be Lady Kuzunoha. You really do not want to catch it, if you get my meaning.”
I did. As monsters went, youkai ran the gamut from “mildly annoying” to “slurp your intestines like hot noodles.” By the time you knew which sort you were dealing with, it was usually too late.
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
The lantern looked disgusted. “The other rei said you were smart, Yamada-san. How? You can follow that illusion until it gets tired of the game and eats you. Or we can reach an agreement. That is up to you.” The lantern pretended to look away, unconcerned, but having only the one eye made it very difficult to glance at someone sideways without him knowing it.
“You’re saying you know where Lady Kuzunoha is? What do you want in exchange?”
“Two bowls, plus prayers for my soul at the temple of your choice.”
“One bowl, and I haven’t been inside a temple since I was seven. I’m not going to start on your account.”
I knew it would all come down to just how hungry the ghost was, but I wasn’t worried—I’d already spotted the drool. It was staining the lantern’s paper. The thing grumbled something about miserly bastards, but gave in.
“Very well, but do it properly.”
“Always,” I said. “Now tell me where I can find Lady Kuzunoha.”
The ghost knew I was good for it. Information was the lifeblood of any nobleman’s proxy, and only a fool would cheat an informant once a deal was agreed. I wasn’t a fool . . . most of the time.
“Lady Kuzunoha is in Shinoda Forest.”
I sighed deeply. “I don’t appreciate you wasting my time, rei. My patron already had the place searched! She’s not there.”
“If the idiot hadn’t sent his army he might have found her. She had more of a romantic rendezvous in mind, yes? If you’re really looking for her, that’s where she is. Go there yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“All right, but remember—I may not be intimate with temples but I do have contacts. If you’re lying to me, I’ll come back with a tinderbox and a priest who specializes. Do you understand me?”
“She’s there, I tell you. Now honor our bargain.”
I reached inside my robe and pulled out a bag of uncooked rice already measured out. I took a pair of wooden chopsticks and shoved them point first through the opening of the bag and held the offering in the palms of my hands before the lantern.
“For the good of my friend . . . uh, what’s your name?”
“Seita.”
“—Seita-san.”
The bag floated out of my hands and shriveled like a dead leaf in a winter’s wind. In a moment the pitiful remnants of the offering drifted to the ground in front of the bridge and the lantern let out a deep sigh of contentment.
“Quality stuff,” it said. “I hope we can do business again.”
“Maybe, if your story proves true and Lady Kuzunoha doesn’t send any more youkai after me.”
“But Lady Kuzunoha didn’t . . . ahh, please forget I said that.”
For a moment I thought the lantern was just looking for another offering, but that wasn’t it. The thing was actually scared, and there aren’t many things short of an exorcist that will scare a ghost.
“If she didn’t send it, who did?”
Just before it winked out like a snuffed candle, the lantern whispered, “Yamada-san, there isn’t that much rice in Kyoto.”
The servant who had come to my home the day before claimed to be from Lord Abe no Yasuna. At first I didn’t believe him, but I wasn’t so prosperous that I could chance turning down work. I also couldn’t risk the potential insult to Lord Abe if the servant was telling the truth—even the Emperor would think twice before courting the Abe family’s displeasure.
Like most members of the Court, the Abe family’s ancestral lands were elsewhere, but they kept a palatial residence within the city to be close to the seat of power. Courtiers and supplicants waited two deep within the walled courtyard, but the servant ushered me right through. I didn’t miss the raised eyebrows and muttering that followed in our wake. It didn’t bother me; I was used to it.
Technically I was of noble birth since the minor lord who was my father lowered himself to acknowledge me. Yet he had met with misfortune and I had no inheritance, no regular patron, and no political connections, so the main difference between someone such as myself and your typical peasant farmer was that the farmer knew where his next meal was coming from. Yet, if it hadn’t been for that accident of birth, people like Abe no Yasuna wouldn’t deal with me in the first place, so I guess I should count my blessings. One of these days I’ll get around to it.
I was ushered in to the Abe family reception hall. “Throne room” would have been a better description, and not too far from the truth. The Abe family counted more than a few actual royalty in their family tree, including the occasional emperor. The man himself was there, waiting for me. He was tall and imposing, probably no more than forty. Handsome, I would say. There was a peppering of gray in his black hair, but no more than that. He seemed distracted. Kneeling at a discreet distance was an older lady. At first glance I assumed she was a servant, but then I got a better look at her kimono, not to mention her face, and saw the family resemblance. It was unusual for a noblewoman to greet male guests save behind a screen, but perhaps the circumstances were unusual. I suspected they might be.
I bowed low. “You sent for me, lord?”
He studied me intently for several seconds before speaking. “Yamada no Goji. Your reputation for effectiveness . . . and discretion, precedes you. I trust it is deserved.”
It was all I could do to keep from smiling. A delicate matter. Good—delicate matters paid the best. “I am at my lord’s service.”
Lord Abe turned to the kneeling woman. “Mother, I need to speak with Yamada-san alone. Boring business.”
“Family business,” said the old woman dryly as she rose, “but do as you will. It seems you must, these days.”
Mother. Now I understood. I had heard of Abe no Akiko by reputation, as had nearly everyone in Kyoto. She had been a famous beauty in her day and, judging from what I could see of her now, that day was not long past. She also had a reputation for being a fierce advocate of her family’s position at court and was rumored to have put more than one rival out of the game permanently. Still, that wasn’t an unusual rumor for any courtier who’d lasted more than a few seasons. More to the point, she wasn’t the one who had summoned me
Lord Abe was silent for a few moments, either collecting his thoughts or making sure his mother was out of earshot; I couldn’t tell which.
“Have you ever been married, Yamada-san?” he said finally.
“I have not, lord.”
“I was, for a while, to a lovely woman named Kuzunoha. I rather enjoyed it, but love and happiness are illusions, as the scriptures say.”
I was beginning to get the drift. “Pardon my impertinence, but when did she leave?”
Lord Abe looked grim. “Two days ago.”
“And you wish for me to find her?”
Lord Abe hesitated. “The matter is a bit more complicated than that, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed. Please follow me.”
Despite Lord Abe’s confidence I hadn’t guessed much about the situation at all, beyond the obvious. Wives left husbands for numerous reasons, and vice versa, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’d been sent after one or the other. Lord Abe’s position was such that he had apparently been able to keep the matter quiet; I’d certainly heard nothing of it. Still, the situation was unfortunate but not a real sca
ndal. I followed as Lord Abe led through a small partition leading to a tiny room behind the dais where Lord Abe had received me. We came to another screen that opened onto another courtyard, and beyond that was the roofed wall that surrounded the entire residence complex. There was another gate visible.
Lord Abe stopped at the screen. It took me a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t looking beyond it but at it. Someone had written a message on the shoji screen in flowing script. It was a poem of farewell, but, despite its obvious beauty, that was not what got my attention. It was Lady Kuzunoha’s confession, clearly stated, that she was not a woman at all but a fox spirit he had once rescued on the grounds of the Inari Shrine and that she could no longer remain with Lord Abe as his wife. The poem ended: “If you would love me again, find me in Shinoda Forest.” The poem was signed “Reluctant Kuzunoha.”
“My lord, are you certain this is your wife’s script?”
“Without question. She always had the most beautiful calligraphy. She could copy any text of the sutras exactly, but when writing as herself her own style is distinctive.”
That his wife had left him was one thing. That his wife was a fox was quite another. Pretending to be a human woman was a fox spirit’s favorite trick, and Lord Abe wouldn’t be the first man to be fooled by one. At the least, that could be somewhat embarrassing, and, in the rarified circles of court where favor and banishment were never separated by more than a sword’s edge, “somewhat” could be enough to tip the scale.
“She knew I didn’t allow servants in here, so none have seen this but my mother and myself. I will destroy the door,” Lord Abe said, “for obvious reasons, but I did want you to see it first. I have already sealed the document granting you authority to act on my behalf in this matter.” He pulled the scroll out of a fold of his robe and handed it to me.
I took the scroll but couldn’t resist the question. “What matter, Lord Abe? Pardon my saying so, but if this confession is true, then you are well rid of her. Fox spirits are dangerous creatures.”
That was an understatement if there ever was. One Chinese emperor had barely avoided being murdered by a fox masquerading as a concubine, and one poor farmer spent a hundred years watching a pair of fox-women playing Go for what he thought was an afternoon. They were tricksters at the best of times and often far worse.
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