Durarara!!, Vol. 4 (novel) (4 page)

“I believe you understand now. If you’ll excuse me.”

Horses are treated as light vehicles, just like bicycles, right?
she wondered, as she resumed waiting for the light to change.

Anyone who saw that footage on the news would assume the TV station had lost the distinction between news reporting and action blockbuster movies. Perhaps that was actually the reason that mainstream society refused to report on anything unknown or otherworldly.

The crosswalk signal began to blink, which meant the light would turn green in just a few seconds. Celty stashed the PDA and considered how to leave the scene with maximum dramatic impact.

But then—

“Hey.”

She felt a chill run down her back and through her heart.

“I’m talkin’ to you, monster,” said a familiar voice behind her. Celty’s body had no blood running in it, but she still felt her heart jackhammering like a frog undergoing vivisection in science class.

Don’t turn around.

Must turn around.

Instinct and reason sent conflicting warnings to Celty’s body.

It
was behind her.
Something
that could not be reasoned with.

The part of her that wanted to be sure and formulate a plan and the part of her that wanted to flee instantly faced off and sent tremendous turbulence through her mind.

She slowly, carefully turned her attention behind her, feeling her backbone creak.

It was a traffic patrol officer with a pleasant smile on his face, riding on a white police motorcycle. The very man who had once implanted fear into Celty’s heart, wearing a smile that was half pleasure and half anger. He squeezed the handlebars.

“Did you know that even in a light vehicle, riding without a headlight is subject to penalty?”

The light turned green.

At the same time, it brought an end to Celty’s brief era of peace—and launched a terrifying game of tag between monster and human.

Only in this case, the usual roles of predator and prey were reversed.

A fierce animal cry ripped through Ikebukuro as Shooter trampled his massive hooves.

Celty squeezed the reins that had once been handlebars, completely forgetting to change her ride back into a motorcycle.

Shooter was something like a witch’s familiar, a creature made by possessing and melding a dead horse and the wreckage of a carriage. When she came to Japan, she found a scrapyard and melded him with an old bike, which gave him a third form to use.

A simple headless horse.

The same headless horse pulling a carriage, if necessary.

And now, to fit in with modern society, a motorcycle without a headlight.

She didn’t have time for the carriage now. Celty left the matter in her partner’s powerful hooves—she was too busy trembling in fear of the patrol bike’s exhaust on her tail.

Ahead, she saw that the light had turned red again. The cars on the cross street proceeded into the intersection, so leaping forward would surely cause an accident—if not initiated by herself, then by the drivers startled to see a headless horse leaping into traffic. And Celty wasn’t so much of a monster that she’d allow that to happen.

Damn!

She checked that no one was on the crosswalk, then adeptly tugged at the reins, turning her steed around. As soon as their speed dropped, she felt a heavy, lurking pressure at her back, but there was no time to falter.

The Coiste Bodhar leaped forward and over the guardrail, its massive black form racing toward the side of the building.

The headless horse “landed” on the wall.

Shadows bloomed from each hoof, growing and fusing with the concrete surface. As if there was magic tape with powers beyond human understanding sticking the horse’s legs to the surface, Shooter raced vertically up the side of the building.

“Hah! You won’t get away from me that easily!” the officer shouted, not rattled in the least by this supernatural showing.

He spun the bike into a sudden 180-degree turn for an abrupt stop, watching Celty’s path closely. She, on the other hand, was desperately searching for a way out as she felt his searing gaze from the ground below.

Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. This is bad. This is uncontrollably, severely, uncontrollably, incredibly, uncontrollably bad.

Her mind was racing faster than she had words to express it. Her first step was to race all the way to the roof of the building. Once she got to the top of the small apartment complex, she paused and considered how to escape.

Oh, right. I can just…

She put a particular plan into motion.

Apartment building, Shinjuku

It was not a coincidence that Izaya Orihara was watching the TV at that exact moment.

Ikebukuro’s 100-Day Front.

As an information broker, he was not likely to gain anything particularly fresh or juicy from this program, but given that it was an experiment in live broadcasting, he tuned in out of sheer curiosity, just in case something unexpected happened.

Namie had already gone back to her own apartment, and Izaya was enjoying some homemade French toast and basking in the glow of a recently completed major transaction.

“…Wow. Even I didn’t see this coming.”

What started as a live broadcast featuring Ikebukuro at night and a simple motorcycle waiting at a traffic light without a headlight suddenly shifted into a horror movie, then a stunning action blockbuster.

Celty turned her motorcycle into a horse, and a police bike chased after her.

“Suppose that cop is this Kinnosuke Kuzuhara I keep hearing about? His timing’s either the best or the worst,” he exclaimed, eyes
narrowed, somewhere between laughter and exasperation. On the screen, the reporter was frantic.

“See that, folks? The mysterious figure riding what appeared to be a horse just used some strange means of climbing the wall to get onto the roof of the building! It seems the traffic patrol officer is calling for backup!”

“For better or for worse, Celty always managed to avoid my expectations for her,” said Izaya Orihara, an information agent who made his base in Shinjuku.

He’d known Celty for years, he was aware of her dullahan identity, and he possessed a secret about her that even she didn’t know.

That is, he possessed the head for which Celty had
formerly
been searching.

But for now, she didn’t seem to be as fixated on the head, so he was keeping it secret just in case he could use it to achieve a desired outcome in the future.

“Oh dear. The problem is, modern society has decided that things like Celty don’t exist. If she was the kind of alien you see in movies, the government and military would cover her existence up for her…but not in this case,” Izaya cackled at the TV, talking to no one in particular.

Then something on the screen changed.

“Oh?”

“The rider in black is still silent up on the roof…ah! What is that?! Can you make it out through the camera?! The stars have vanished overhead! It’s black! A large black curtain! Wh-whoa!”

The reporter’s breathless commentary was accompanied by an odd object on the screen.

Something like enormous black wings that dimly reflected the city’s lights leaped off the roof of the building and began a leisurely glide.

It was an enormous hang glider. In the center appeared to be a figure sitting atop a horse.

The problem was that the wings were far too huge for it. They spread at least as wide as the building itself and nearly as big as a fighter jet, blocking out the stars.

For its tremendous size, the glider held no hint of mass or underlying structure. It slid effortlessly through the air, like a gigantic paper airplane. The flat, sky-spanning shadow caught a breeze passing between the buildings and began a low-altitude flight with a perfect view of Ikebukuro below.

“Damn! What do…think…are, Lupi…Third? Give up…face…justice! Oh, look at that! The traffic officer is chasing after her, shouting something! W-we’re going to try to follow that flying object!”

The reporting team packed into their vehicle and roared their engine to follow the police bike. They didn’t get far before the officer wheeled around and stuck it to the driver of the van.

“Hey! You’re not an emergency vehicle, so you don’t get to break the speed limit.” “Oh? Y-yes, sir.” “And obey the traffic lights.” “Y-yes, sir!” “Uh, well, it looks like our driver is receiving instructions from the police officer, so let’s send it back to the studio for a moment!”

The next instant, the feed cut, returning the picture to the stunned faces of the newscasters in the studio. Once they realized they were on camera, they turned to one another and began to deliver their opinions on what they’d seen.

Izaya had no interest in their thoughts. He slowly retrieved his cell phone from the recharging holster on the table and brought up a particular number.

Several minutes earlier, apartment building, Ikebukuro

Two shadows writhed within the dark apartment room.

On the screen was the reality of Ikebukuro, happening right now.

The shadows huddled before the TV, conversing with bipolar intensities.

“…That’s weird.”

“It really is mysterious! Why, why, why? Why did the motorcycle turn into a horse? Why? That wasn’t CG, right? It can’t be! It’s too cool for that! Isn’t that crazy? It’s like super-invincible-superman crazy! It’s as crazy and mysterious as General Sherman or the titan arum!”

“…Be quiet.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry! This part is important! But I can’t stay quiet! Isn’t this happening, like, just down the street? Let’s go see it! C’mon! I don’t think I can take this anymore! Oh, geez! I haven’t been this excited since I saw the carnivorous giant cricket fight against the Goliath birdeater! I wanna see, I wanna see!”

The more excited shadow was cavorting around like a kid on a field trip bus ride, performing a rear naked choke hold on the other shadow. Even as the other shadow’s face was going purple with the force of the fatal attack, it calmly raised its arm and pointed a small spray bottle at the shadow behind it.

“…Settle down.”

The liquid within the bottle sprayed mercilessly on the other shadow’s face.

“…?! Aaaaack!! I’m sorry, Kuru! I’ll…I’ll calm down…coff! Koff, hakk… Gahk… Please, not the habanero spray!” The excitable shadow writhed, coughing madly.

Only after flopping around and eventually landing in a break-dance rotation on its head did the afflicted shadow calm down.

“Ahh, that was really rough. You’re so spartanical with your punishment, Kuru!” the shadow said, making up a word out of thin air. The girl she called Kuru ignored her and continued watching the TV.

“…Can’t wait.”

“Yeah, well, we only just started school! It’s super-exciting to know we’ll be spending the greatest moments of our youth in a city alongside something like
that
! Super-citing! Super-magic! Superbad!” she shouted inexplicably. Meanwhile, the immobile girl smiled as she watched the giant black wings on the screen.

While on the inside, her heart swirled with just as much desire as the other shadow.

At that moment, Jack-o’-Lantern Japan Talent Agency Office, Higashi-Nakano

“Wowza! What? I mean,
what
? Holy hell in a handbasket!”

The effect of the pristine, ultraclean room with the pure white polished floor was broken by a very uncouth voice.

“I’ll be damned if that ain’t the most powerful image I ever seen! Now that’s good stuff! In movie terms, that’s got
Jurassic Park
impact! Or should it be
Godzilla
?”

An odd man was jabbering excitedly to himself in front of a television screen, his speech an oddly accented foreign take on Japanese. He had white skin and slicked-back blond hair, dark sunglasses and facial stubble, a white suit and crocodile-skin bag, expensive rings and a thick cigar in his mouth—the Hollywood image of a fat-cat villain if there ever was one.

The screen in front of him was too big for most people to consider a “television.” It was a good one hundred inches in measurement, the kind of screen most people could only dream of affording.

The interior was a modern office building of the type one would expect to see in some American tech company, with each desk in its own fully screened cubicle that afforded the employee inside a small manner of personal office space.

But the space that housed this noisy man and his giant TV was placed separately, with a wide-open floor plan and several couches and tables, a kind of pseudo–conference room set up for viewing the massive screen in the back.

It was an odd office design that held many personal spaces and a lobby in the same large room. The man was excitedly fixed on the screen.

“Wish I could just zip on over to Ikebukuro right now! Hot damn, I do! Yeah! Hey, what’s Mr. Yuuhei doin’ today? He knows Ikebukuro—he can show us around the town! We’ll get a real good look at that Sleepy Hollow business as we enjoy some traditional flower viewing!” he chattered, his eyes sparkling like a child’s. Meanwhile, the more rational men seated around the TV exchanged concerned murmurs with each other.

“A stunt by Daioh?” “No, that’s not their demographic.” “Gotta call the producer…” “Anyone out on assignment in the area right now?” “I can call the manager in the studio…”

While the Japanese men took the abnormal situation on the screen with tense consternation, the white man shook his head and held up his hands in complaint.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! You ignoring
my
opinion?
The boss?
”

“Boss, we can’t see the screen.”

“Oh, whoops… Sorry about that. Wait, that ain’t the point! Why am I treated like the odd man out? Or is this a racist thing? You don’t wanna work for a foreigner! I thought Japan was a land that cherished harmony, huh? Are you givin’ your own country a bad name?”

“Maybe you should stop giving your
own
country a bad name, boss… Also, you’re the one disrupting the harmony. Especially when Yuuhei’s film is doing such good business,” said one of his employees. The company president shrugged and looked away.

The man’s name was Max Sandshelt.

He was the president of the Japanese branch of the American-based talent agency Jack-o’-Lantern. The agency was a big-time player with connections to the McDonnell Company, a major movie distributor, but in Japan they were mid-tier at best. Compared to the big boys, they had an unbalanced stable of talent, with a few top-class actors and a majority of unremarkable youngsters.

At a glance, he looked incompetent, but for whatever reason, his ability to produce talent, forge connections, and escape trouble at the last possible moment were nothing short of genius, which earned him enough regard to function as the company president.

Of course, the reason he needed to get out of trouble at the last possible moment was almost always his own fault.

“Dammit all, the only ones on my side are the sweet little things I helped turn into works of art. The only ones who will eternally understand my soul are the angels that bring happiness to the world,” he slurred sadly.

A prim secretarial woman respectfully said, “Please do your job, boss. Also, we just did our flower viewing last week, and Yuuhei Hanejima went back to his home in Ikebukuro after filming today. Also, why is your English so shaky, if you originally came from America?”

“Oh, brother, whatta buncha sticks-in-the-mud you are. See, the times demand real impact, somethin’ new and never before seen. That’s why I want a glimpse of that Headless Rider… Ah! Eureka!” the president jabbered, completely ignoring his secretary. He excitedly dialed a number, humming to himself.

Great, another harebrained scheme!

Every employee present grumbled restlessly at the sight of the boss’s sparkling gaze and resumed their conversations, only the content had entirely changed to complaints about their employer.

At that moment, Ikebukuro

As the police motorcycle’s engine roared off into the distance, Celty heard the sudden eruption of her phone from the spot where she was hidden.

It nearly scared her witless when it happened, but once she was satisfied that there were no police officers around, she hesitantly accepted the call and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Ah, finally got through… Hey, Celty. Sounds like you’re in trouble.”

Izaya!

She wondered what would cause the information dealer to call her at this particular time. And the way he opened the call suggested to her that he realized what was happening to her.

“Wondering how I know what’s happening to you right now? Don’t worry. I don’t have you bugged or anything. Besides, Shinra would spot something like that right away. He’s so desperate to hog you all to himself, he wouldn’t dare allow anyone to pry into your home privacy.”

I’m going to go sock this idiot a good one and thank Shinra later.

Celty kept the cell phone pressed to her helmet, imagining that a vein was bulging on her nonexistent head. She and Izaya usually discussed business through text messages, but there were times that he called her so that he could speak uninterrupted.

She decided to keep the line open, knowing that he wouldn’t just call for no good reason.

“That was a clever idea, I have to say, creating a
fake version
of yourself and your bike out of shadow to put on the glider.”

“…”

She felt a clenching at her heart.
Is he watching from somewhere after all?

Izaya was correct—she had instantly created black models of herself
and her trusty steed from that special solid shadow of hers, then sent the whole thing gliding through the air to distract her foes.

Was it actually really obvious?

Celty was still on top of the roof, waiting a few seconds for the cop and TV crew to chase after the decoy so she could slip away in the opposite direction. While she was shocked that Izaya had seen through this ruse, it also made her worry that the police officer could figure it out just as easily.

Izaya laughed as if he could read her mind and said, “Oh, don’t worry. They’d have to know you really well to see through that fake. But I didn’t see the colored helmet, and you know that there’s no escaping the motorcycle cop at the speed that thing’s gliding.”

Well, he’s perfectly correct, but hearing him explain it so confidently is kind of irritating. Did he call me just to brag about his deductions?

So much for her assumption that he wouldn’t call for frivolous reasons. Celty lowered the phone to stop the call. But through her heightened sense of hearing, she still heard his voice loud and clear.