Neon Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 5) (15 page)

"Ah, right."

I guess I must have fallen asleep then, as the next thing I knew, Intus was shouting into my ear, tinnitus ringing like she was inside my head and banging away with a tambourine.

"Wake up, get up. Come on," she goaded.

"Eh, wassat? What's going on?" I heard the knock at the door and turned back to my friend only to see she was gone. A million thoughts rushed through my mind. Damn, I'd fallen asleep. I was meant to be packing and leaving quick smart before inevitably being picked up by Kimiko's goons.

Intus reappeared and said, "Oh, it's just your taxi," and was gone again.

"Coming," I shouted, and somehow managed to get up after a few tries and then opened the door. It was a bellboy to inform me my taxi had arrived. It was only after I'd closed the door I realized I was still naked. It says a lot about the Japanese culture that he didn't even flinch.

After a few minutes, I'd got dressed—painfully—gathered my things, made my way down to the lobby, found my driver and was whisked—okay, driven very slowly—to another hotel well away from the city center. I checked in to a simple, traditional room with clean sheets, a view over a garden, and air that felt so fresh I wanted to kiss it.

"Thank you, Intus," I whispered as I collapsed on the bed. "You are a true friend."

I think she may have appeared then and said, "Oyasuminasai," a polite goodnight, but I may have just been dreaming.

For five days I slept straight through, only waking as my bladder threatened to explode from my stomach.

A Reality Check

As I padded back into the bedroom, I saw my phone on the nightstand and checked it. Damn, there were a lot of messages, and the battery was almost out. I plugged it in using my travel adapter and went through the messages, only then realizing how long I'd slept for. I felt awful; they would be worried sick. They were.

The calls were either Kate, Dancer, or Grandma, all of them switching from angry, to concerned, to desperate, and back again. Why hadn't I called? Was I all right? Where was I? When was I coming home? Would I please just call? Please?

From what I could make out, it was only some outright lies from Dancer that had kept Kate and Grandma from coming back out to search for me. His last call was one that sent my enforcer senses tingling, an omen of things to come. He was Head material all right. He said he was pissed at me but knew I was okay. He'd been in touch with Mitsu, purely for business reasons—yeah, right—along with other contacts he had cultivated over the years as part of being Rikka's right-hand man, and there was no doubt I was alive. Maybe not well, but alive.

Dancer said he would tell Grandma and Kate I had been in contact and was coming home soon, and they were not to worry. That kind of thinking and action meant he was definitely on his way up the Hidden ladder, and the promise I'd made to him to get them out the country still held—if he was ever put in a position of power I was to work for him. The thought of it didn't sit well, but it was better than my nearest and dearest being skinned alive, so there was that.

I took a large drink of water and settled down for some serious ear chewing. First I called Kate, apologized many times, said I had slept, that I'd overdone it, and that I was too intent on what I had to do for them to stay, and it was dangerous. She argued, said she would come back out, but I said no, under no circumstance was she to do that.

She knew something was up, that was obvious. I am not a good liar, but I believed she would do as I asked. We finished the call all too soon, but I promised I'd let her know the moment I was done, and hopefully that wouldn't be too long at all.

Next was Grandma, who gave me hell, then Dancer, who moaned about having to deal with Grandma all the way back to Cardiff. Meaning, two flights, delays, stopovers, two train rides and more old lady time than he could handle.

I apologized, then before I knew what I was doing, or had the chance to change my mind, I told him what had happened. He listened, letting me pour it out, ranting and raving and bursting into tears a few times, and then he promised me he would take care of them both and that I was beholden to nothing.

He hadn't realized how bad things were, and would have gladly taken them away if he'd known what was happening. Dancer also told me I was an idiot for staying, and that I should be on the next available flight. I agreed, said thanks, and hung up.

After the calls, I gave myself a thorough inspection, pleased and confused by what I saw. My face was fine, as handsome and manly as ever. Okay, I looked like hell, I had big black bags under my eyes, the designer stubble had gone to wild meadow look, my teeth were as fuzzy as a gremlin after a blow dry, and my hair looked... I have to stop there, it was too awful to talk about. Haha, yeah, I know, flayed alive, munched on by hellhounds, and I can't talk about my hair being messy. But you didn't see it!

After showering, and brushing my teeth for about an hour, slapping my hair into submission as even wet it still had other ideas about gravity, and having a shave which made me appear more like a schoolboy than the early thirties look I've been stuck with since, er, my early thirties, I sat on the bed and took proper stock of my legs.

Oh boy!

Kick-ass tattoos or what! I'd thought they looked good as they came into their own when my skin had begun to heal, but now they were something else. But it hadn't stopped there. The new ink, a blue/black so dark it was like night had been poured carefully under my skin, was amazing. Patterns that screamed of ancient magic, of olden times when men were men and threw rocks at each other for fun, when magic dominated the earth and true Hidden roamed freely.

It crept up past the scene of my butchery and took over my original ink, weaving new routes and shifting slightly the patterns made so long ago, realigning them, making them utter perfection. Up my stomach, over my chest, crawling over my shoulders and down my arms, it all came together in a way it's hard to describe.

Looking at my body was like when I found myself standing in the garden admiring the simplicity and pure beauty. That's what my ink was now—magical perfection.

This was the gift from Reade, the new power I had inside of me now unleashed, or at least there ready for the calling in dire times. Maybe it had always been there, locked away, and I simply never understood, but I was reborn, from fire and earth and terror. I was the ash man.

Then I understood.

The ash of burned wood and fire and my skin, the three elements had combined, making me something different. When I'd smothered the ash all over myself, the magic had transmuted it and forced the pigments deep into my body, mixing with my magic and my tattoos, giving me new markings to make me more than whole.

Was it only possible because of where I was, the ancient mystery and magic that permeated every aspect of life in Japan? Or was it that because the need arose it delivered? I think it was all of this and more, but that's the point of magic, you can never know it no matter how hard you try.

My skin was as good as new although my legs looked like I'd had a very expensive wax job. With zero hair, and still red from the regeneration, they were way too reminiscent of Intus' baldy bonce.

She'd really helped me out this time, and no mistake. Chopping off tails, calling a taxi, if it hadn't been for her I would have been back in Kimiko's clutches by now, I was certain.

I went back to bed, and I slept for two more days.

*

I awoke with a start, sure something was terribly wrong. But I was alone and the night was still. Through the open window a gentle breeze blew muslin curtains, sweet smells of perfumed air tickling my nostrils and promising to lull me back to my dreams. Cicadas sang noisily, a sound now so familiar I wondered if I would ever sleep without it.

What was the problem, then?

Unfinished business, that's what. My body was my own, my mind had sorted through the terrors and finally allowed me to think coherently, and I had work to do. I also had eating to do. I had not touched a thing for seven days apart from water from the bathroom tap, the owner of the small hotel—more a large house on two floors with a few rooms for rent than anything else—had left me alone and had probably forgotten I was even residing in her home.

No way could I rest. I was wide awake and knew my time in the room had come to an end. Food beckoned, and I wasn't talking tofu or noodles. I needed steak, preferably just a cow run past a barbecue and landing on my plate, maybe grabbing some French fries as it came.

Dressed snappy, hair given another talking to, winklepickers laced, tie straightened, I headed out the door.

Steak, with a soft drink—I was off the booze—then murder.

I was a man with a plan.

And legs that refused to work properly, so instead of swaggering I was more like a penguin with emotional issues, but picture me looking handsome, well-dressed, and bit of a cocky sod. It was how I felt inside, along with a good dose of apprehension—I'd certainly never eat pork rind again, that was for sure.

All Through the Night

Tokyo doesn't rest for the night, it just goes from crazy to only slightly crazy. It's the perpetual city, never sleeping, always alive with light and laughter, the smell of exotic and not so exotic food. Full of color, drab salarymen unable to sleep due to stress, exotic stores and those that specialize in only a single item.

I went to a steakhouse, and I went large. After a few false starts, I ordered two Kobe beef steaks that cost a fortune and were to die for. I ate three portions of fries, a bowl of steamed mushrooms, a side of green beans, and washed it all down with sparkling water. I think along with a giant's magic I had his appetite, too, as I could have sat there all night if the staff hadn't begun to act weird, shaking their heads as they headed in my direction once again, not sure if they'd already served the forgettable gaijin or not.

When the bill arrived I felt awful. I'd been charged only for my first order, the rest forgotten, so I left a tip large enough to cover it all and then some. It's only money, right?

Knowing I couldn't face more lies and excuses, I sent text messages to everyone back home, promising I would be back in two days tops. I gave myself a deadline, mainly because I knew I would either succeed or fail in the next day. I had to stop myself from sounding morbid—final farewells were at the fore of my thoughts—but this wasn't the time for pessimism, it was the time for action.

The night passed me by as I wandered the streets, amazed at the density of the crowds whatever the time. Didn't anyone ever go home? I'd had my fill of sleep, seven days of utter rest, and although I knew it was nowhere near enough after what I'd been through it would have to suffice. But oh, what I wouldn't have given to be at home, snuggled up to Kate, warm and loved and safe.

I could picture her now, putting out milk for the hobs, locking up our house for the night, wandering about in the kitchen, probably feeling guilty for eating chocolate biscuits or ice-cream when she always said she'd save it for weekends.

Actually, what day was it? Like it mattered. Only one thing mattered and she was somewhere in the city, alive and very dangerous. Kimiko was an old vampire and I knew she was pretty much at the mercy of the sun. Only one ancient vampire I had ever met was able to be out and about in the day and that was the new Head back home. It was unusual, unheard of, and I knew that would present its own problems if I ever made it back.

But for now I had an advantage. As the day began she would need to rest, and that would be my best bet for dealing with her, wherever she was. For all her obvious intelligence, I was surprised that my phone had been overlooked. They'd left the maps on, presumably not even checking it, just disabling it, but I guess for the likes of her the modern age has come about rather unexpectedly and in a bit of a mad rush, a hiccup during a long life.

It meant I had the location of her two final usual haunts, and I would visit one after the other today if that was what it took, but hoping she would be at the first property. All this damn five elements stuff was stuck in my head now, and I didn't like it. I'm not a superstitious guy, but now it was in my mind I couldn't shake the feeling I was simply following a set pattern laid out for me by the very essence of the culture—if you want to play then it's by our ancient and unknowable rules.

So be it.

As the dawn came and the city transitioned from busy to insane, I drank coffee and watched the people go about their business. Traffic increased until the air was thick with fumes and the streets were crowded, and then I heaved off my chair and went to kill me a vampire.

Shiny, Shiny

I was in the most expensive part of the city, where property made central London look like a steal and only those with money to burn could even consider having an apartment. The majority would be part-time residences at the most, some used just a few days a year by rich businessmen and women making flying stops to grind another poor sap into the ground.

Swanky was the word for Kimiko's building, and I was impressed. Often, money equals gaudy and tacky, people splashing out on homes and decor that scream money but with no actual style or subtlety. That was not the case here at all. This was an exquisitely designed building with every possible care taken to make it beautiful, no expense spared, but in an understated and stylish manner.

Even the lobby had a simple elegance you would be hard pressed to replicate whatever the budget. Whoever the designer and architect were it was clear it was their vision come to life, and everywhere I looked was perfection. Even the damn door handles looked like works of art.

It was quiet in the lobby, no hustle and bustle of regular folk leaving for work, just as I'd expected. These weren't the kinds of people that did the daily commute, and I suspected most of the building would be empty, just glorified crash pads for the tycoons.