City of Demons, page 12
part #2 of The Unseen Series
"Chromes," Danny said. "I get it."
"I suppose. They need to feed on blood to live. Their immune systems are so poor, they are allergic to most things. Even sunlight hurts their skin. The truth is they rarely live past the age of thirty, which is how the rumor started that they live forever- most people have never seen an old Unwanted." She clucked her tongue. "Such a terrible life."
Danny scoffed. "I wouldn't feel too bad for them. As you can see they're also born with fangs, which they very much enjoy using."
"No. Not born with. They file down their teeth."
"File them down?"
"Of course. To feed easier."
A shiver went up his back. "That's horrible."
"Their existence is horrible. They only band together because they have been shunned by both sides. They sleep together, hunt together, survive together as long as they can. It is the only family they know, being turned away by their own." She paused and added, "Every family has its secrets."
"Yeah, no kidding."
She pointed a finger at Danny. "You must be careful now. Once they get a taste of you, they can track you from much greater distances."
Danny looked across the hall at Karen. "Yaaaaay," he said, less-than-enthusiastically.
"Alright, enough with the fairy tales," Karen said. "It’s time for bed."
***
It didn’t seem possible, but Hana’s bedroom was even more cluttered than the store itself. The woman had stacks and stacks of old newspapers and magazines, some in Japanese, some in English. Calendars from years long gone adorned the walls. The small room glowed from a red chochin lamp hung from the ceiling, decorated with the Japanese symbol for ‘home.’
A pair of small, metal scissors sat on the shortest stack of newspapers. Karen picked them up, testing their weight by giving them a quick spin. They would work in a pinch if the need arose. She noticed the newspaper on top of the stack had been left open. The top page had been cut up, one square missing, sent to her days earlier in the mail. The date at the top of the page was one she would never forget.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck perked up. Whispering, soft and small, came from just behind her. Strange words in a strange tongue. She turned quickly, expecting to find someone leaned over her shoulder.
Miku sat at the center of Hana’s small bed, blankets pooled around her bare feet. She looked back at Karen, not saying a word. The voice had been hers, yet not hers. It hadn’t come from her lips but rather somewhere deep inside. The stark difference between the voice Karen had just heard and the small girl looking up at her was jarring.
More than that, Karen knew the expression on Miku’s face. She didn’t want to be looked at as a freak. It wasn’t just the spirit inside that bothered Miku, it was how people treated her because of it. The reaction she drew from those around her.
"You don’t need to be tucked in, do you?" Karen asked.
Miku shook her head. She laid down, pulling the blankets up to her waist. Karen sat on the edge of the bed. She wasn’t about to tell the girl any bedtime stories, but Miku looked too uneasy to fall asleep, and she needed her sleep. "How long have you known you were different?" she asked. Miku pursed her lips, pondering the question.
"The voice has always been there," she replied.
"Really? Always?"
Miku nodded. "It started out quiet, but then it grew. Each day it gets just a little bit louder. It’s always the worst after the bonsho rituals."
"I think that’s the point," Karen said. The girl nodded, then tilted her head.
"How long have you known?"
"What?"
"That you’re different?"
Karen shifted closer on the bed. "It was different for me. Not a voice, more a feeling. Something instinctual that told me I wasn’t like the other kids." Karen glanced toward the open door. "Hana was always trying to prepare me for the truth, but my parents wouldn’t let her. Especially my father. He didn’t approve of what me and my mother were. He never understood it."
"What was your mother like?"
Karen took a deep breath. "My mother. I guess you can say she was torn between worlds. She tried to make everyone happy, Hana and my father. The old world and the new. It was never going to work. A balancing act doomed to fail. She let Hana tell me stories of the Yokai and the Rakni and some of the others, but she hid my true bloodline from me. And then, I found out the hard way."
"The fencing competition?"
Karen nodded. "This…shift came over me. That's the best I can explain it. It was an understanding of what I could do, what I was capable of. Everything changed after that day. I’d seen the monster beneath the skin."
"It was an accident," Miku said, but Karen shook her head.
"It was no accident. I tried to kill that girl, Miku. It was like I suddenly understood my power over her, how much weaker she was. I felt better than her, and I felt this intense need to show her. To show everyone in the world, with one flick of my sword." She swallowed. "The part of me that’s human, it held me back, made me pull back at the last moment. If it hadn’t, that girl would be dead."
The small room was quiet a moment, glowing under the red light of the paper lantern. "Why don’t you like Miss Hana?" Miku asked.
"That’s a much longer story, and harder to explain."
Miku shrugged. "She’s nice."
"She means well. But good intentions don’t always stop us from hurting others."
Miku frowned, very much hoping that wasn’t true. "How do you know mamachichi’s people won’t come here after we go?"
"I don’t. But by then she’ll have forgotten all about us, and Yori most likely won’t care about her if he thinks I don’t, either."
The girl chewed her lip. "In our old neighborhood we lived next to a man named Mister Gordon. He forgot things, too. One day he forgot to wear pants and Mother said not to look at him. Then they took him away and we didn't see him anymore." Karen chuckled softly. "Is Miss Hana like that?"
"In a way. But somehow I think she chose to forget."
"Why would she do that?"
"I wouldn’t know," Karen said, "and at this point, neither does she."
Miku settled into the bed, eventually closing her eyes. When Karen was sure the girl was asleep, she quietly left the small bedroom, padding barefoot into the darkened store.
The rest of the night she spent doing kata drills, watching the front windows closely.
***
Early the next morning, before the sun had risen, Danny was woken up by a weight pressing down on his chest. He expected to open his eyes to the sight of either a demon ninja or Blair the Alpha Male with their foot on him, holding him down. But his heavy eyelids peeled open to find a white cat sitting on his chest. It stared at him with emerald green eyes, unmoving, mere inches from his face.
"Ummm…hi," Danny said.
The cat looked like it was going to take a swipe at him with its sharp, uncut claws. Danny had gone from feeling like a dog to a mouse in a matter of seconds.
"Hana vouched for me," he attempted.
Speak of the old devil, Hana appeared at the walk-in closet’s doorway. She regarded the scene, amused by the look on Danny’s face. "Are you scaring the boy, Neko?" she asked. The cat continued to stare into Danny’s eyes.
"Can you please call off your pet serial killer?" he asked Hana.
"She is not my pet. She is my friend."
"I think your friend wants to eat my soul."
Hana giggled. "She may be pale like the Yuki-onna, but she does not take souls like one."
"That’s nice. By the time you’re done with this little folklore lesson I won’t have any eyes left."
Hana shook her head. "Come, Neko," she said, and with that the cat jumped off of Danny and followed the little old lady into the store.
Danny sat up and took a breath. He was very much awake. The threat of having one’s face clawed made for a great wake-up call, like an alarm clock and morning coffee rolled into one.
He jumped when he realized Hana had returned, her gray head peeking around the doorway. "Take whatever clothes you need from the store," she said. "Yours are smelly."
"Thanks," he replied.
After he’d navigated the unique experience that was Hana Kimura’s bathroom, in which not a single item was a name brand or had so much as a label, Danny joined Karen and Miku in the store for some impromptu clothes shopping. Karen found a pair of boots that fit her well. Miku took a scarf and a mostly finished set of gloves. Danny traded in his shirt for one with far less blood stains on it.
Hana admired the way Miku looked in her new winter accessories. "You look like you’re ready to brave Mount Fuji," she remarked, "though we both know you need no help staying warm. The fire burns strong within you."
Miku smiled, though it was tinged with guilt. The burden of what she carried.
"That’s called hellfire," Danny added.
"Knock it off, Danny," Karen warned. Just as he was about to ignore her warning, a young Japanese woman with braids in her hair entered the store. She approached the counter with a receipt in hand, looking to pick up a pair of pants. Danny hadn’t even seen Hana unlock the front door.
The group waited silently as Karen's grandmother spent five minutes searching for the item, only to tell the girl she didn't have it. The girl argued with the older woman, first in English, then in Japanese. Karen's grandmother shouted for the girl to get out of her shop- first in Japanese, then in English.
"Don't come back," she yelled at the swinging door. "Stay above Third Street!" She returned to her guests, apologizing for the distraction. "These fools are always wasting my time. Do you believe that? She claims I gave her dress away."
"I thought it was pants."
"Pants. Dress. In all my years I have never given away a single piece of clothing to someone it did not belong to."
They all looked at their new clothes, then each other, not saying a word. Hana clutched at her neck, looking pale from the argument. "This temperament will kill me. The need to fight is in our Rakni blood."
Danny said, "I'm sorry, but what is this Rakni thing?"
"Arachnid people, of course," the old woman said matter-of-factly.
Karen turned to Danny. "I probably should have told you I'm part spider."
Danny snorted. He looked from Karen to her grandmother, waiting for the punchline. "You’re serious? What do you mean part spider? What does that even mean?"
"The spider is not originally of this world," Hana explained. "That is why so many of you fear them. Deep down you know they do not belong. The spider as you know it descends from the Tsuchigumo, and Karen and I come from a line of humans who crossed with the Tsuchigumo a long, long time ago. We are known as Rakni."
Miku listened, fascinated. For the first time adults were discussing the truth about The Unseen in front of her.
"Crossed? You mean someone got down with a spider?" Danny asked.
"No one actually knows," Karen said.
"You'd think someone would write this stuff down."
Karen's grandmother crossed her hands in front of her. "The oldest known arachnid on Earth is four-hundred million years old, and the Tsuchigumo go back much, much further than that. You will have to forgive the lack of records."
"I guess I can let it go this time." Danny looked at Karen, no longer knowing what to make of his boss. Then he remembered the spider he’d killed the day before, swearing to himself to never speak of it.
***
Before the three of them left, Hana handed Karen a small, leather bag. Karen unbuttoned it to find a knitting kit tucked inside, with thread, yarn, pins, and needles of different sizes, including two long knitting needles made of steel.
"I don't have time for hobbies," she said, handing it back. Her grandmother pushed it away softly.
"It helps to keep the hands busy."
"They're busy enough."
"Then hold onto it for me, so I don't lose it. Believe it or not I've gotten forgetful in my old age."
"Hard to believe." Karen shoved the leather bag in her pocket, planning to throw it out the first chance she got.
Her grandmother smiled. "You should speak to your parents. They miss you very much."
Karen opened her mouth, then stopped herself. "Okay. I will."
"That's so good to hear." The smile slipped from her grandmother's face. "Kichona. You should know. Sectu, he never does anything for free. There is always a price for his help."
"Even if I wanted to pay him, I don't have any money."
"Not money. The price is…well, it is different for everyone. He will take something important from you. If you would not miss it terribly, he would not want it." The woman paused, her eyes full of something unsaid. And yet Karen heard it loud and clear.
"What was it?" she asked.
"What was what?"
"The price you paid."
The old woman didn't answer. "Enough about me," she said, shooing them out the door, "you need to get moving before the day starts. But please, come back. My door is always open for you." Karen thought of making a joke about her door being open because she forgot to lock it, but decided not to.
Before she left, Miku turned back to the old woman. "Thank you," she said, realizing Karen wasn’t going to say it.
"You are very welcome, little one," Hana smiled. "And good luck on your journey."
As they walked away from the store, Danny caught up with Karen. "So are you going to talk to your parents?"
"No," Karen said.
"That's cold, even for me. She seemed pretty happy about you talking to them. What did they do that was so bad you can't call them?"
Karen stopped walking. "They died," she said.
His face fell. "Oh. Hey, I'm sorry. You should probably tell her that, though." He motioned toward the shop.
"I have. More than once." She looked back the way she’d come. "I don't have another one in me right now."
Karen walked on, Miku at her side, leaving Danny knocked for a loop. He quietly nodded to himself. Then suddenly he shouted, "Hey, am I the lemon?"
***
"Some people say Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear with a razor in a fit of depression. Others say he did it to impress a prostitute he was madly in love with."
A figure in black, a deeply tanned man known simply as Roman, turned a straight-razor over and over in his hand. He let the light play up and down the blade for the benefit of his audience of one.
Kasumi, Miku's mother, was hung like a damaged painting on the interrogation room wall. The magnetic bracelets kept her pinned as Roman gave his speech. She watched him with bruised eyes and bloodied lips.
"Others, they say his friend the French artist Paul Gauguin lopped it off with a fencing sword in a fight, a secret Van Gogh took to the grave. Yet none of those reasons compares to the one I believe. The truth I know in my heart."
Roman brought the razor to her cheek, sliding it along the flat part of its blade. She let out a tiny whimper. "You see Van Gogh was an artist. A true artist, a man who breathed life the way most breathe air. He wanted to feel things, to experience everything the world had to give before he was wiped from it. Do you know why I think he did it? Why he cut off that piece of himself?"
She shook her head barely enough to register, her eyes red from crying.
"Because he wanted to know what it felt like. That pain, he needed to be filled up with its intensity. Even if it maimed him, even if it killed him, he wanted to know its kiss for just a moment." Roman turned his head to show her what was left of his ear. Like the gnarled knot of an old elm tree, it twisted useless on the side of his skull.
He said, "I'm something of an artist myself."
Kasumi screamed as he lifted the blade into position. At that moment, the door opened. Roman turned to watch Yori calmly enter the room.
"Husband, please," Kasumi cried, "please stop this!"
Yori motioned for the man to come near. Roman went to Yori. Whispers were exchanged between the two men, their tone dour.
Kasumi composed herself. "Why did you marry me?" she asked. "Why bother if this is how you treat me?"
The two men continued to talk. The thin woman grew angry from being ignored. "Answer me!" she screamed.
"The girl never would have cooperated without you," Yori addressed her. "You were an investment, my dear, nothing more."
He excused Roman. The man exited, giving her a parting glance on the way out that sent a shiver up her back. She had no doubt he would finish the job of killing her if left to it. He was the kind of man her husband liked to employ- the kind who enjoyed his work far too much.
"You never loved me," Kasumi croaked.
"I thought that was obvious. Nothing about you is special. You gave birth to an empty vessel, a vessel lucky enough to collect a god."
"Miku is not empty."
"Please do not misunderstand me," Yori said. "The girl is incredibly important to the cause. The Yokai will speak her name for years to come, I assure you." Yori studied her cuts and bruises like a man appraising a car. "They tell me you don't know where she is."
Her face tightened. "Even if I knew, I would not tell you."
He lunged forward and grabbed her by the face. "Yes, you would. You are my puppet, woman. If I want you to talk, you talk."
"How did you become so cruel?" she asked, tears running down her cheeks.
He let go of her. "The greatest generals in history are often unloved in their time. Only looking back do we understand the brilliance of their actions. You will see- history will favor my memory."
She let out a wet laugh. "You think you're a general? You're just a man. A man trapped in the past."
"For now. Soon I will lead the Yokai into the future."
Kasumi's face softened. "Are you going to kill me now?" she asked.
Yori fixed his tie. "Relax, dear. Your life still has a sliver of value left." He touched her cheek, then turned and left her alone in the cold room.
-10-
The Crossroads Market had operated at the center of Santa Fausta for nearly a hundred years. Even in the rain, even in harsh winters such as the one the city was currently suffering, vendors could be found under awnings and umbrellas of all colors selling everything from foreign fruits and wind chimes to soaps and live birds. Always present was the crowd of shoppers- locals, lost souls and the occasional tourist, all seeking out the day's desire.
