by Jenn Stark
“Here,” the geisha said, somehow managing to look elegant even as she slid into the car. I piled in after her, decidedly less graceful, my gun still in my hand.
I took the opposite seat from the geisha as the limo pulled away from the curb.
“What’s going on here?” I snapped. “How’d I piss off the military?”
“They sought to question you privately. When it became clear that General Asaki was not going to grant them access, they arranged to take you.”
Question me. Right. “Those guys weren’t Japanese.”
“No.” She shook her head. “A precaution in case they failed. There will be no ties between those men and anyone inside this country, by careful design.” She inclined her head. “My name is Yori,” she said. “We are in your debt.”
I scowled at her. “You people tried to kill me.”
“Merely to stop you. We didn’t know what you were.”
“I get that a lot.”
“I am sure you do.” Yori remained perched on the edge of her limo seat. Unlike the women on the emperor’s yacht, she was not heavily made up or dressed in traditional garb, but her everyday kimono screamed inviolable traditions and ancient rules. Before I could speak she nodded again. “You spoke with the kara’pei.”
My fingers spasmed on the gun in my lap. I didn’t remember much of my dance with the sky kraken. After Ren’s people had fished me out of the water, burned to a crisp, I’d remained helpfully delirious as the Imperial Guard had pulled anchor and raced the traumatized guests to shore. It was only later that I’d gotten the story from the good general, in between bursts of morphine.
According to Ren, the thunderous gale had stopped within sixty seconds of me throwing myself off the boat and into what he kept referring to as “a thicket of tentacles,” which never failed to make me giggle. In that one minute where I’d clutched my own private limb of death, he’d seen me light up with the same yellow miasma that had coated the screens in the monitoring room, and he’d heard me scream in a language he didn’t know. Then the tentacles had shot up into the sky, I’d fallen into the ocean, and the storm had abruptly abated.
But I knew the name kara’pei, now that Yori said it. It’d been one of the words burned into my brain as I’d try to shoo the sky kraken away, pleading with it that we didn’t come to steal but to restore, we didn’t seek to destroy but to understand.
My impassioned speech had made little impact: Yes, the thing had uprooted its tentacle farm, but it’d left behind a disaster under the calm surface of the sea. The Yonaguni monument had imploded. The twin slabs we’d targeted were presently buried under a pile of crumbled rock nearly two meters thick.
“That’s its name? Kara’pei?” I tried the word on for size. I wasn’t impressed. “He was kind of quick on the trigger.”
“No one else had ever come close to finding the sunken artifacts buried at Yonaguni,” Yori said. “The Imperial Guard had long shown interest in the arcane, but discreetly, almost as an afterthought, or so we believed. Then we learned of this boat, the closing of the monument to outside crafts, and we tracked the ebb and flow of power between the emperor’s and prime minister’s bases. When we realized there was a credible threat to the monument, we acted.” She lifted one delicate shoulder, as if summoning a sky kraken had been a reasonable call to action for a summer afternoon. “The dance of swords was part of the ritual but would have come to nothing if you had not truly found the location of the artifact.”
“So you’re saying that thing was my fault?”
“Not your fault. Your strength. We have not had contact from the kara’pei since the twelfth century, when it manifested as a great wind to defeat the Mongols’ fleets.”
“Then you’re welcome. I’m not eager to see it again.” I winced, reliving the electrical shocks from the creature. “The artifact the emperor was searching for has lain dormant for three thousand years. Why did it suddenly flip its switch?”
Yori folded her hands in her lap. “The Dākumeiji.”
The Japanese word meant nothing to me, and my blank stare was clearly a tip-off. “Dark mages,” she said quietly. “You call them the dark practitioners. They have been amplifying their efforts for the past several months. This was the first of the artifacts they have activated with their spells, but it will not be the last. The emperor’s dreams were triggered by those same spells, but the artifact was not made for modern hands. None of them are. Their power is too strong.”
That caught my attention. “There are other artifacts out there tied to the, ah, kara’pei?”
“No. But to other beings of its time, yes. The dark mages are fearful, to be summoning up the gods of old. Power mixed with fear is dangerous.” She leaned forward. “Your work in the war has been noticed. It will be more difficult for you now.”
I set the gun on the seat beside me and shook my head. “I don’t fight wars, Yori. I find artifacts for people like your emperor.”
Yori’s expression remained beatific, but her eyes didn’t lose their intensity. “The Connected community is small. Open to anyone capable of seeing. And you have been seen.”
A chill ran up my spine. “What do you mean?” Of course I knew I wasn’t invisible to the community. It was kind of pointless to try to hide from a group of psychics. But I was small potatoes. I’d always been small potatoes. On the hierarchy of notable spuds, I ranked barely above a Tater Tot.
Yori continued. “We know of your work finding artifacts for the highest bidder. It is lucrative and frequent. But you dress simply, and do not appear to benefit from the money you earn. And you never reject an assignment. Further, in your negotiations with the emperor, you extracted a promise to protect the children of Japan. That is new.”
“Yeah, well. He’s the emperor. I figured I’d make the most of the opportunity.”
Yori merely smiled, gathering herself as the vehicle came to a stop. “I leave you here. There are clothes in the bag, and a flight booked to Las Vegas leaving from Narita International Airport. Should you wish to take it.”
“I definitely wish to take it.” I eyed the bag, unsurprised the geisha brigade knew my pants size. They probably knew my boots were held together with superglue.
“May your travels be blessed.” She inclined her head to me once more. “Should you have a need, we will protect you.”
I lifted my brows. “Yeah, no. Not necessary.”
“You are Keikai,” she said. “We will protect you when we must.”
I scowled, the word strange and foreign as it rattled around my mind, but Yori didn’t bother explaining it. I watched her slip out of the car and shut the door firmly behind her, and the car edged smoothly back into traffic.
I turned to the bag, unzipping it—then froze.
On top of the neatly folded hoodie was a white knife.
I knew the white blades and who wielded them. For a moment I reconsidered going back to the Imperial Palace and trying my luck. Instead, I picked up the weapon, weighing it in my hand.
Annika Soo, head of the Chinese branch of the arcane black market community, wasn’t my friend, by any stretch. She was definitely more my enemy. But when she talked, I tended to listen, especially when she spoke the language of really sharp knives. Despite my rapidly fading morphine haze and the fact that I was mostly covered in salve, I was pretty sure Soo had a job for me, and I was pretty sure she’d make it worth my while.
The intercom pinged to life over my head. “There is a charter flight waiting in a private airstrip to carry you to Shanghai, Miss Wilde,” a woman said, her voice soft and respectful. “I can take you there or to Narita International for your Las Vegas flight.”
I sighed, flopping back in my seat. How had the very Chinese Soo infiltrated the Japanese geisha ranks? Or had they been in collusion all along? I grimaced. It didn’t matter. This was a new job, and Yori wasn’t wrong: Regardless of my role in the war on magic, I didn’t turn work away. Granted, Soo could simply be inviting me to my death, but I h
ad a long history of questionable choices when it came to making money fast.
I shifted my gaze to the intercom box. “You already know what I’m going to say, I assume.”
There was no mistaking the smile in the woman’s voice. “Yes, Miss Wilde,” she murmured. “I’ll notify the pilots.”
It looked like I’d been officially Shanghaied.
Chapter Three
An all too brief flight and two limos later, I was waved through the fortified gates of the Waldorf Astoria Shanghai. I blinked, trying to make sense of the place. Entering the hotel hadn’t been this much of a production last time.
Then again, the last time I’d come here, it’d been with my mind, not my body.
The limo slid up to the covered entrance, and the door was opened almost before the vehicle came to a full stop. A liveried man helped me out, pivoting to escort me up the walk.
“Are you carrying a weapon?” he asked in a genial voice.
I shrugged. “White dagger in my messenger bag. That’s it.”
“You may keep that.” Another attendant came up on my right, the usual bodyguard sandwich. It occurred to me that being so familiar with this routine was an unfortunate commentary on the company I kept.
The interior of the Waldorf Astoria was richer than I remembered, the great lobby a stunning combination of Old World elegance and New World sleek styling. To our right, a thoroughly modern private elevator stood open with two other guards manning it, and we entered the small chamber silently. The bodyguard used both a key and a pass card to access the top floor, and I played “count the visible weapons” as the elevator doors snicked shut.
Perhaps I would’ve been smarter to mentally project myself into the Waldorf Astoria for this visit to Soo as well, but it was too late for that now. Besides, kingpins were generally far quicker to give away their money in person. As I knew from personal experience.
The elevator opened out into a private foyer that was also attended by two beefy bodyguards, who at least had the grace to nod to us as we passed. Hospitality, Chinese syndicate style. Once past the ornate doors that marked the entrance to the private section of the suite of rooms, we paused for acknowledgment by Soo, who stood next to her desk, facing us as if she really was welcoming me for a job interview. The space was sumptuously elegant—flush with soft white drapes and lush cream carpeting and gleaming colonial antiques—in marked contrast to the woman who occupied it.
Annika Soo stood perhaps five foot four without the platform stilettos, her body draped in a black silk suit that ended below her chin. She was whipcord thin and appeared to be held together with muscle and fury. The last time I’d “seen” her, she’d stuck me with a white samurai sword. Now I pulled out the white dagger and offered it up.
She waved it away. “Keep it. If we are to work together, it is good that you have a sign of our relationship.”
“A sign that wouldn’t become obvious until someone searched me, in which case I’d already be in trouble. So not much good after all.” I set the knife on an ornate side table. “You can keep it. With my sincere thanks.”
Her graceful brows arched. “Your stubbornness does you no favors.”
“You’re not the first to tell me that.”
“Indeed.” Soo gestured to the chairs in front of her ornate desk. “We should sit.” With a glance, she dismissed her bodyguards, but my quick scan of the room confirmed three separate cameras trained on the space. Annika Soo might want to give the illusion that we were having a private chat, but I knew better. As head of the Chinese syndicate, she’d stayed alive because she was both smart and careful. She had mercenaries around the world ready to do her bidding, relationships she’d been cultivating since she’d taken charge of the syndicate fifteen years earlier. Even in the darkest corners of the arcane black market, Soo was a respected woman. Respected and feared.
But she’d been the one who’d invited me.
She strode to one of the wingback chairs and settled herself. I followed suit, unshouldering my bag and dropping into the chair next to hers. On the table between us sat a sleek remote control unit. Before us on the low coffee table rested a clay pot, steeping with what I presumed was tea. She didn’t reach for either item however. Instead, she leaned back.
“You know why you’re here.”
I shrugged. “I don’t, actually. It’s been a rough few days.”
“Ah, yes.” She smiled. “The Yonaguni sky serpent. The rumors flooding out of Okinawa of the creature in the storm clouds have been quite impressive. They have also been disavowed by both parliament and the Imperial Guard.” She crossed her legs at the ankles. “They are not the rumors I am most interested in, however.”
I waited, and she regarded me with her fathomless dark eyes. “The Magician of the Arcana Council is planning to open the portals of Hell, if he has not already done so,” she said. “That doesn’t happen every day.”
There wasn’t a lot of time for me to react to her statement, so I gave her my trademark shrug as I refocused. If Armaeus had been telling me the truth while I was trussed up in the emperor’s makeshift hospital, he’d already left Vegas for parts south. In any case, I’d lost mental contact with him. Normally, the Magician loved nothing better than to creep around my brain, waiting for an inopportune time to speak to me. Now he was completely gone.
I wasn’t enjoying the vacation as much as I expected.
“You do not need to confirm that he has done this,” Soo said, in the face of my obvious nonconfirmation. “The dark practitioners know it. I know it. I would suggest the kara’pei knew it as well.”
“If you tell me there’s a great disturbance in the Force, I’m leaving,” I said. I was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.
Soo tilted her head. “How much do you know about my history?”
No point in lying. “Not much. I know your grandmother was the syndicate’s head when you were a child, very well respected. Your mother was kidnapped while traveling, never to be seen again. You were enslaved, originally thought to have been killed by the same people who’d taken your mother. That story continued until your grandmother died. You returned to the syndicate the next night, before anyone knew of your grandmother’s death outside this hotel. You killed the man she’d designated as her successor, and took over the syndicate.” I lifted my brows. “How’d I do?”
“Close,” Soo said. “The man who claimed to be my grandmother’s successor was my uncle, and responsible for allowing my mother to be taken and killed in front of me. I was five years old at the time. Old enough to know what was happening, though I did not fully understand the why. It took me many years to recognize that the why did not matter. That is when I reclaimed much of my strength. Later, I reclaimed my position as well.”
Her gaze swung back to me. “My mother was killed by a master Móshù shī. A magician skilled in the dark arts who I knew only as Gamon.”
I frowned. I’d heard of Gamon, but… “I thought he was younger. If he was in power when you were a child…”
She grimaced. “It is rumored he is immortal, but I do not believe this. Merely long-lived. A state he maintains because of a cocktail of technoceuticals and dark arts, I am certain. That’s not why I need you, however. Gamon removed a pendant from around my mother’s neck, then consigned it to the flames of Hell in front of me. That pendant was the symbol of my grandmother’s power conferred to my mother, and had been in our family for generations. It was a great dishonor for it to be stolen.”
I’d stopped listening right about the time the phrase “flames of Hell” had come out of Soo’s mouth. I stared at her. “You can’t seriously be asking me what I think you are.”
“I am.” She nodded. “I want you to go into the bowels of Hell and recover my pendant. Immediately, before the portals are closed again.”
I kept my tone carefully neutral. “You want me to go to Hell for you. We barely know each other.”
Her gaze remained steady. “I was a child when Gamon kil
led my mother and stole the pendant. Where he sent it was immaterial, I thought, especially as I came to understand that multiple dimensions of power surrounded the Connected community. At the time, however, it appeared exactly the way I would have expected Hell to appear. Multicolored flames shooting in the dark, twisted artwork, decadent statuary.”
“Sounds like a rave.”
“Do not play the fool with me,” Soo retorted. “Two days ago, a ripple of panic went through every dark practitioner on earth.”
“I missed that.”
“You are not a dark mage.” She lifted a brow. “The practice involves more than the occasional spell.”
The woman’s attitude was seriously beginning to cheddar my cheese. “Is this where you show me the secret handshake? Because I’ve been dying to learn that.”
“This is what I need you to find,” Soo said. She lifted the remote from the side table. With a click of a button, one of the rococo paintings on the nearest wall lifted, revealing an enormous flat screen.
One thing about the Connected kingpins, they truly enjoyed their toys.
Soo clicked again, and the screen displayed a circular jade amulet with a curving, sinuous dragon stamped into it. “Once you return it to me, I will be able to restore the honor of this house.”
“That’s the amulet that Gamon stole from your mother?”
She nodded. “Whether or not it was thrown into actual Hell, my mother believed it was. I did as well. Gamon taunted us with the knowledge that he was placing it in a location of desecration and lust, where the lowest impulses of man are acted out. My mother died knowing that the thing of greatest beauty to our family would be defiled, corroded for all eternity.” She stared at me. “With the portal being triggered, I have sensed it again. It is there.”
“And you want me to go get it.”
“Your Magician has entered Hell. If he can do it, you can. It should not be difficult.”