A shadow appeared on his face, someone blocking the light from above. Another stinking demon-ninja come to finish the job. "Whatever, man," he said. "Just do it already. This staying alive shit is getting ridiculous."

  The shadow jumped into the concrete pit with him. He looked up to see Karen's face looking down at him, lying there with two bodies on top of him.

  "It's not what it looks like," he said.

  She helped to pull him free from the skewered corpses, lifting the bodies long enough for him to slip out the side before she let them slide back to the floor.

  Danny looked up to the ledge, then Karen. "Miku?"

  She shook her head.

  His shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry."

  "Not nearly as much as I am," she said.

  With her help Danny climbed the wall of the pit and out the unfinished building. Karen retrieved the Killing Stone from where it had fallen, finding the temperamental rock had returned to its original shape. Without another word they left the barren place behind. The site of their failure.

  As they disappeared up the dirt road, Sectu watched them from the doorway of the abandoned building that hid his world. He was silent a long time. Then: "You smell of the desert," he said to the shadows.

  Messenger stepped out from the darkness of the building's interior. "Does it make you homesick?"

  "I made my own home here."

  "Still, you must miss the old one."

  Sectu stroked his chin-pincers. "I stopped missing it when it stopped missing me," he replied.

  "The way you say it, it almost sounds true," Messenger said, joining Sectu by his side. "How is old Vyth doing? Still hungry as ever, I see."

  "Vyth does not hunger."

  "He made short work of the boy."

  "Yes, well, nothing changes. There is always someone willing to make a sacrifice for what they need."

  "The advantages of a seller's market."

  Sectu clicked out a small laugh. "And how is the Historical Society? Still made up of old fools with heads full of bad ideas?"

  "I guess nothing's changed up here, either," Messenger replied.

  "The Kimura girl. You know she is dangerous."

  "She doesn't have a clue who she is."

  "Yes," Sectu agreed. "That is exactly what makes her so dangerous."

  -14-

  After a quick stop in a public restroom so Danny could clean the blood off his face and flip his jacket inside-out, Karen and Danny walked the six miles to her apartment. There was no point in staying away. Yori had what he wanted and likely didn't care about her anymore. Danny protested at first, unsure a guy like Yori would forget anything so quickly, but he gave up the argument when he realized Karen wasn't listening.

  They pulled away police tape and walked through the dojo's broken door, glass crunching underfoot. The walls were cut to shreds, the mirrors shattered. Even the bokken were snapped in half. The damage was more than simple aftermath from the fight- Yori's men had come back and torn the place apart, ransacking it top to bottom until nothing was left.

  Miku. Her livelihood. Her home. All gone. She didn't have enough money saved up to fix the dojo, nor a way to make more.

  "They've taken everything," Karen said. Danny held up a piece of a mirror that had been pulled off the wall and stomped to pieces.

  "You have the stone," he said, trying to cheer her up.

  "A rock. That's what I have. A rock."

  He dropped the mirror in a pile of debris. "You ungrateful…" He stopped himself. "Did you already forget what I had to do to get that damn rock?"

  Karen looked back at him with tired, puffy eyes. The look on her face bothered him. She looked as if she had given up, an expression she didn't wear naturally. Not the way he did. "No. I haven't forgotten," she said.

  "So?"

  She thought back to what he'd said to her in the abandoned building. "I guess I'm not the thanking type," she said. Before he could say anything else, she left through the back door, walked upstairs and sat on her ripped-up mattress, looking around at what was left of her room.

  The burnt pages of the demon guide were scattered all over the floor. Karen was seven when her grandmother gave her the book, making Karen keep it a secret every time she came to her bedroom to read her a few entries.

  She picked up a page and looked at it- a bird's wing with a human hand was visible on the charred paper, above it a single word. She heard it in the voice of her grandmother, still clear in her mind after all those years.

  ***

  "Sutoku," the woman said softly, so no one in the next room could hear. "Terrible king of the Tengu."

  "What are Tengu?" young Karen asked, inching forward on her bed.

  "Half man, half bird. But not the pretty kind. Not the swallows and starlings you love so much. These are ugly, war-mongering birds who prey on the decent. And Sutoku," she tapped a finger on the picture, "he's the worst of them all."

  "Why?"

  "Because he was once a man, an emperor, in fact, who fell from grace. Banished from his people. In death he rose as Yokai and became an Ootengu- greater Tengu."

  Young Karen stared at the emperor's picture. "When I die, will I come back as Yokai?"

  "No. You will never be one of them," her grandmother reassured her.

  "But how do you know?"

  The old woman smiled. "With some people you can see their destiny ahead, just waiting for them to catch up."

  ***

  Danny knocked lightly on Karen's open apartment door. She looked up at him from her bed without saying anything, so he stepped forward, awkwardly joining her in the messed-up room.

  "I, uh, found this," he said, and placed the necklace in her hand.

  She looked down at the hourglass resting in the center of her palm, but she didn't say anything. It reminded Danny of the markings found on the backs of black widow spiders, but that's not what he was thinking about. He was wondering how much it would have gotten him in a pawn shop, and how, just a few weeks earlier, that was exactly where he'd be if he'd found a piece that expensive-looking- whether he knew the owner or not.

  "It's my fault," Karen said quietly.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I let my guard down for one minute. Just one minute. You spend your whole life preparing, but the moment you relax is the moment you lose the fight." She tossed the necklace onto the torn mattress.

  "What bullshit," Danny said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "This. Feeling sorry for yourself. It’s bullshit. So you failed. So what? I fail every day. You know what I do? I get back up, and I fail again."

  "That's a poor argument."

  "So I'm failing at this, too, but at least I'm trying. You can't let that Yori guy win. You have to try, if not for you then for Miku. And look, I don't even really like the girl, but that doesn't mean I think she should end up in his hands as his evil-god-weapon or whatever."

  "That's exactly what happened."

  "So that's it then? Goodbye, Miku? You know, maybe she's better off with Yori instead of putting her hopes in you."

  "Watch it," Karen said.

  "What are you gonna do, kick my ass? At least you'd have to get up off your ass to do it."

  She glared at him. "What do you care, Danny? You've made it pretty obvious you only care about yourself, so what does it matter if I've chosen defeat?"

  Danny felt like he’d been slapped in the face. "Is that really what you think of me?" he asked, half-chuckling. "You know, everyone in this city- hell, everyone everywhere, has either kicked me to the curb or tried to push me down into it. You took me in and gave me a job. You protected my neck when no one else did. So you tell me- where else should I be?"

  Karen shrugged. "Try the unemployment line," she said.

  Danny shook his head. "Some warrior you are. One kick to the ribs and you fold like paper. But then you’re probably good at Origami."

  "I think you’d better leave," Karen warned.

  "You’re right. I’m just wasting my time here."

  Danny left, first the room, then the building, walking out into the cold air of a broken city. He didn't know where he was going, but anywhere was better than watching the strongest person he'd ever met wallow in self-pity. As he stepped into the crosswalk, a man heading the other way bumped into his shoulder hard enough to spin him around.

  "Watch it," Danny said.

  "Running away?"

  Danny looked at the man standing in the middle of the crosswalk. He was bald, with a goatee on his chin and a scar on his forehead. Danny remembered him from the dojo, the man who'd asked to speak to Karen. "You're that guy from the other day," he said.

  "Messenger. At least my face is memorable."

  "Yeah. You could say that."

  The bald man nodded to the dojo. "So did you quit, or is this one of those fake cries for attention like when teenagers break up?"

  Danny squinted at the guy wising off to him. "Do I know you? Like personally?"

  Messenger shook his head.

  "Then mind your business."

  "Actually, you are my business," Messenger replied.

  "What? Whatever. Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ve had a long day. In fact today took an entire year to get through. So why don’t you keep on walking, and let my tired ass do the same?"

  Messenger shrugged.

  "Good," Danny said, then turned and walked away.

  "One more thing," Messenger called out. Danny sighed, not ready for another pointless conversation. He turned back anyway, only to find the man was holding up Danny's wallet. "You're probably going to need this," Messenger said.

  Danny instinctively felt his pocket, finding it empty. He'd always laughed at how people did that, as if the wallet would magically still be there. Now he knew what it felt like from the other side. It wasn't nearly as much fun. He stomped back to the guy and snatched the wallet from his hand.

  "You don’t look tired to me," Messenger said, "you look scared."

  Danny laughed. He couldn’t believe the nerve on the guy. First the wallet, then fatherly lectures on things he couldn't possibly know about. "Yeah?" Danny said. "Well you look like someone put a cigar out on your face." He turned and walked away, pulling his hood up over his head.

  Messenger watched the kid curse and scowl his way up the street, nearly knocking over a garbage can with his wild ranting. "I think I like him," he said to the air.

  -15-

  Yori Tower bristled with excitement. With the return of Miku, preparations had begun for the coming ritual. Employees moved about like worker ants, each one responsible for some tiny part of a greater future.

  The interrogation room once again played host to a prisoner, albeit a much smaller one. Curled up on the floor, Miku fought to keep her eyes straight. The drugs in her blood made her feel like a dandelion on the wind. Strange tastes danced on her tongue.

  The door opened, and a familiar face stepped into blurry view, studying her from above. "Where is she?" Miku asked.

  "Your mother is confined to her room until I decide what to do with her," Mister Yori said.

  "Don't…don't hurt her."

  She heard a small beep as he checked his phone. "This corporation, the one that puts food in your mouth and clothes on your body, is one of the top import-export companies in the world. Do you know what that means?"

  Miku shook her heavy head.

  "It means we create nothing. We only see the potential of what other's have created, and we build on it. That is my gift, Miku, that is what I do. I see the pieces like no one else can, and I move them across the board to where they need to be. You and your mother were no different. I searched for a commodity, I found that commodity, and I acquired it."

  "Miss Kimura-"

  "Is no longer a concern," he finished. He suddenly smiled at her. "I don't want us to fight, Miku. This is such an exciting time for me. For us. We’re ushering in a new age for not just one but two worlds."

  He nodded to the door, where the young assistant Peters held two needles. The first was empty, that is until Peters stuck it in Miku's arm and filled it with her blood. With the second he gave her another shot of tranquilizer. It was warm as it moved up her arm and into her body.

  "Setsubun is approaching," Yori said, "and when it's over, you will forget about all of this. Then we can start over- as allies."

  Peters and Yori exchanged a few words, something about filtering the tranquilizers out of the blood, but Miku could barely make out a word of it. Her brain flapped in her skull like a fish trapped in a net. After Peters exited with the needles, Yori turned back to Miku and looked her over once more.

  "What beautiful gifts come in such poor packaging," she heard him say from a thousand miles away. The rest was like footsteps in the clouds.

  ***

  Just down the hallway from the interrogation room, Officer Vicario waited to speak to Mister Yori. He glanced at Officer Zavala by his side and went over the introduction in his head. It was the first time he was attempting to recruit someone for Mister Yori’s organization, and he wasn’t hiding his nerves well.

  Zavala gave him a look. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Just let me do the talking," Vicario said.

  "Of course. Whatever you say."

  Yori emerged from the room, making his way toward them. "Hey, Mister Yori," Vicario called out. "Congrats on getting the girl back. I knew you would."

  "Yes. Your help in the matter won't go unnoticed." Yori turned to the new face at Vicario’s side, waiting for an explanation.

  "Right. This is Zavala. Adrien Zavala. He's really interested in, you know, joining the organization."

  "Is that right?" Yori asked.

  Zavala glanced at Vicario, not sure if he should speak. "Uh, yes, sir. Absolutely. I think I'd make a great addition to what you have going on here," he said.

  "What I have going on here," Yori echoed.

  Zavala cleared his throat. "I really admire what you've built, and to be honest I could use the money. I got so many bills I don't know where to keep 'em anymore." The man awkwardly chuckled.

  Yori blinked at him. "Officer Zavala, is it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do you know what it is we do?"

  The young cop looked at Vicario for help. "I, uh, well Vicario filled me in on the basics. That's all I need."

  Yori smiled. He turned to Vicario. "Officer Vicario, it's nearly midnight- do you know what that means?"

  Vicario searched his memory. "Not really, sir."

  "It means you have excellent timing. Show your friend here to room one-eighteen. I think we can put him to good use."

  Vicario hesitated. "One-eighteen?"

  "Everyone plays their part, officer. There are no small jobs. Don't you agree?"

  After a long moment he said, "Of course, Mister Yori"

  Zavala took Yori's hand in his and shook it. "Thank you, Mister Yori, you won't regret it."

  Yori pulled his hand from the clammy embrace. "I never regret anything," he said. Then he continued on his way, heading for his office.

  Vicario and Zavala walked to the elevator and Vicario pressed the button for the ground floor. They waited silently, then got in.

  "Great guy," Zavala said as they descended.

  "Who?"

  He motioned up with his thumb.

  "Oh. Yori is sharp, that’s for sure."

  Zavala chuckled. "Yeah, I’ll say. At this point he's just about running Little Tokyo. Won't be long before he takes the rest of the city from the Germans." They were quiet again. "Hey, thanks for bringing me in. You have no idea how much I need this."

  "No problem."

  "I haven't told anybody yet, but Florina and I are expecting our second baby. Having one is hard enough, but with another on the way I had no idea how I was going to afford it. Florina, she can't work due to her back."

  Vicario shifted from foot-to-foot. "You didn't tell her about this, did you?"

  "What, you think I'm crazy? One thing about my wife, she complains about not having money, but she complains even louder about how I make it. Stubborn as a mule. I warned her about having another baby, how it'll hurt her, but she insisted. Once these women get an idea in their heads there's no shaking them from it."

  Vicario scratched at his neck, looking uncomfortable in his clothes.

  "Ahh, but it’s worth it, you know? I can bitch all I want, but when they hand me that kid I'll turn to mush." He turned to Vicario. "You got any kids?"

  "No kids."

  "I'll tell you right now, you think you don't want them, same as I did, but the first time I looked at my son, it changed me. Like that." Zavala snapped his fingers and it echoed in the elevator. "Those big eyes lookin' up at you."

  "No offense, but do you think you can stop talking about your kids," Vicario said a little too loud.

  "Hey, no problem, I get it." Zavala raised his hands. "Just shop talk. Don't worry about it."

  The elevator reached the ground floor, the doors opening. Vicario exhaled and said, "C'mon."

  The two men walked to room one-eighteen. The door was taller than the other doors in the building, custom-made. Under the room number was an old kanji without meaning for either of them. "I guess you have to get used to all the Japanese stuff, huh?" Zavala chuckled.

  "You never get used to it." Vicario turned the handle and the two men entered.

  Zavala was surprised to find the room looked like it came straight out of an old martial arts flick, the kind where they fought through a temple or some other ancient place. The room was large, with a floor of loose rocks, and it was filled with enough plant-life to make the air steamy. Ferns grew from broken pots. Vines climbed the wall patterns. At the center of the room was a small, rocky pond, over which stretched a moss-covered stone bridge.

  "What the hell do they want me to do here," Zavala asked, "feed the fish?"

  "Something like that." Vicario nodded to the bridge at the center of the room and said, "It's over there."

  Confused, Zavala left Vicario's side and approached the stone bridge. At the foot of the bridge was a small pillar, about chest-high, and on it what appeared to be an offering bowl next to a small, bronze bell. He peeked inside the bowl and found a ring lying inside, thick and silver, with a red stone at the center. He imagined the finger it fit could only belong to a gorilla.

 

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