Raiju: A Kaiju Hunter Novel (The Kaiju Hunter) (26 page)

I listened to his footsteps receding down the hall. I felt a pang. I thought about going downstairs, talking to him. Telling him. But tell him what? Mr. Serizawa was right. The less my dad knew, the better. The safer he was. I ran my hands over my face and hair, brushing it out of my eyes. I loved my dad, but I knew there was no easy, fairytale fix to our story. This was real, this was really happening to me, and, ultimately, I was alone.

I slipped on my riding jacket and fixed my glasses and brushed the wiry long hair off my shoulders. It was longer than it had been six months ago, and was still completely unmanageable, but no one made fun of me at school anymore. My crew wouldn’t let them.

I started down the stairs, running into Mr. Serizawa along the way. “You look most handsome tonight,
Mago
,” he said.

“
Do you mean that?” I said. It didn’t bother me so much, the things Mr. Serizawa said. There were a lot bigger things on my mind these days.

“
Very much a…how do they say it in this country? A heartbreaker.”

I grinned at that.

He looked at me. He looked through me, the way Raiju could. He said, rather suddenly, “But are you well,
Mago
?”

“
I’m fine,” I said with some hesitation. “I mean, it doesn’t show, does it? The, uh, Keeper thing?”

He nodded approvingly. “You look quite normal.”

“
Thanks.”

His look turned keen. “But are you all right? Are you well?”

“
Well enough.”

“
And the other. How is
she
?”

I felt a stir within. I fingered the glasses. I didn’t know what to say; I barely understood what
she
was. “Sleeping,” I said. “She’s asleep.”

“
But she wakes in your dreams, yes?”

I thought of the red-haired woman, flames like flocks of birds on her kimono. Laughing at me. Smiling at me almost every night in my dreams, because in the end, I had done her will, despite being her Master. A deep worry had begun nibbling at me of late. Mr. Serizawa had said that some of the Kami were good and tame, and others evil and destructive, and that the good ones and evil ones would seek each other out to battle for control of earth. But Aimi’s Kami had been a good Kami, once, before he had been tainted by Dr. Mura. So what did that make Raiju?

I clenched my fists at my sides, determined not to think about it. “She won’t wake again in this world, Mr. Serizawa,” I told him. “I won’t allow it. I promise.”

“
I hope,” said Mr. Serizawa, “that the great Kami sleeps in peace from this day forward. And that you are able to keep your promise forever,
Mago
.”

I told the truth. “Me too, Mr. Serizawa. Me too.”

2

As I rode toward the club, I thought about how much New York had changed.

It didn’t look like New York anymore. Maybe someplace in a war-torn part of the Middle East, or some other planet. Homeless caravans lined the streets, and relief aid stations were set up on every corner. Buildings were little more than blackened holes in the ground, their steel skeletons pointing crookedly at the heavens. The whole lay of the land had changed. And that was just property damage. Human tragedy had left an even bigger impact on the city. There wasn’t a block that didn’t have a dozen homeless people loitering around trashcan fires or soup kitchens, and massive carnival-size tents had been erected in every vacant lot in the city to house hundreds of homeless families as reconstruction carried on endlessly in the inner city. Hospitals and morgues were overflowing.

But we had been lucky. Japantown had been spared much of the damage. The Red Panda was one of the few remaining restaurants in this part of the city and business had picked up considerably—so much so that Dad had reconsidered the move. That was a good thing. It meant that, at least, I wouldn’t wake up in the morning surrounded by polar bears and penguins.

It was true. My life was starting to look up.

Qilin was dead, and the concert was being held as much in celebration of that as anything else. Everyone at school seemed to be at the club tonight, the parking lot so overfilled it was hard to find a parking space. Then I noticed Michelle and Rex standing next to Snowman’s van, waving me over, the space between the van and the chainlink fence just wide enough for me to squeeze Jennie in.

“
Kevin, man!” Rex cried, waving frantically to me and doing that weird little Tweedle Dee dance. “You’re late!”

“
Do you know what traffic is like in this town?” I said as I pulled in. “Especially now?”

“
Snow was all over me. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.” He adjusted the tuxedo jacket he was wearing over his geektacious I PUT THE STUD IN STUDY T-shirt. “Damn, man, I think he was crying.”

Groan. I like Snowman. A lot. But he’s still a pain in the ass. And if he ever pulls that kissing shit on me again, I
will
kill him.

I looked over at Michelle, who shrugged and rolled her eyes all at once. Despite it all, I was feeling very lucky in that moment. I had two great friends who were alive, who had made it, when so many others in this city had not.

Michelle looked hot. She had traded in her tomboy clothes for a red swing dress with little pink skulls embroidered along the hem, which was a major improvement on her former wardrobe, in my opinion. In fact, she had a hell of a figure when she chose to show it off. Her hair was tied up in a high Bobby-Sox-style ponytail, and her makeup was minimal but perfect, bringing out the amber specks in her brown eyes. She thumbed the back entrance. “You better go console the crybaby, hero.”

“
Ugh,” I whined, bowing my head over the handlebars of the bike. “Do I hafta?”

“
Yes, Kevin,” she answered sternly. “You hafta.”

3

Inside the club, techno beats were emanating frenetically from the opening act—twin girls, dressed in matching black diving suits, with cellophane dresses overtop. Kids were raving like crazy, and there were free exotic juice drinks at the bar to celebrate opening night.

I slipped between all the sweating, gyrating bodies, making my way backstage where the brand new dressing rooms were set up. I rapped on the door, sighing and thinking about how Snowman was going to pound my face when he found out I was late for his big gig. The door opened a crack and Morta peeked out, her spiraling red Raggedy Anne hair full of black ribbons and plastic black butterflies. “Hey, Kevin,” she said. “You’re late.”

“
I know.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Is he pissed?”

“
Scared, more like.” Morta grinned, thinking it was very funny that I had to play nanny to His Gothic Highness. She stepped back to let me pass, lifting up the hem of her Bo Peep dress in its shimmering waves of black taffeta to keep it from dragging along the floor.

Inside the room Dust and Ashes, dressed in matching tuxedoes, were sitting on either end of the sofa, tuning the instruments. Morta ran back to them and started passing messages back and forth between the two brothers. Both guys refused to speak outright, even when called on in class; they would only whisper things into Morta’s ear, who then had to relay the messages. Mental roll of eyes. Musicians, you know?

Aimi was sitting on a stool near the makeup vanity, fixing a broken string on her cello. She was wearing a short black velvet corset dress, striped black and white stockings, and a Victorian top hat with a long black veil that trailed down her back almost to the floor. She looked up at once, her eyes dark and distant, mouth smirking but not smiling. Her makeup was absolutely perfect, as usual, Asian white, with blue lipstick and black vine-like henna scrawled around her eyes and down over her cheeks like tears.

The henna was real; that is, it was permanent, the result of all the slime that had leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Qilin had left his mark on her in so many ways, including the fact that while her father was recuperating in a hospital in Tokyo, she was now more or less responsible for his empire. At present, she was using every resource she had to monitor Qilin, should he ever return. It almost didn’t seem fair. So many people had died, so many kids, but Dr. Mura, who had started this whole mess, had managed to be rescued from his smashed car with only minimal injuries to his legs.

I set the thought aside and smiled at her, and she gave me a little wave back. It had become our routine. I would see her at school, in the music room, pass her in the halls, or spot her in the library, and give her a smile. She always smiled back or gave me a wave, but there was a wariness in her eyes when I approached her, and sometimes she shirked unexpectedly when I was standing to close to her, almost like she could sense my Kami and was afraid of it.

I thought about what she had had suffered, what she might suffer again, if Qilin ever re-surfaced. I wanted to believe that Qilin was gone forever, burned away in Raiju’s fire—but Qilin, like Raiju, was a god. Can a god ever really die?

Too many of the old Japanese folktales end badly. I want this one to end well. Maybe I’ll even get my wish....

“
You’re late, moron,” Snowman barked, throwing a tube of eyeliner at me. He was dressed in a white military suit, complete with standing collar, gold embroidery and epaulettes. He was running his hand through his hair, which was spiked into long white-gold quills that gave him a very distinct Goblin King look. I’m sure he had chosen it just to annoy me. “You’re too good to come out and see your crew play now?”

He was giving me dagger eyes, so I gave them right back to him. “I’m here now, dumbass.”

He turned away and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror to fix his red satin cravat. This was something new. Snowman
never
backed down, no matter how much grief I gave him.

“
You’re really scared?” I said, coming up behind him.

“
No,” he answered, but his hennaed eyes danced around the walls nervously.

Sigh. Ever since he had learned that reps from all the major music labels would be here tonight he had been pinging off walls in the worse possible ways. Fighting. Being a smartass. Running out of class so he could cry his little mascaraed eyes out in the sink of the washroom. Nightmare stuff. The idiot couldn’t seem to grasp that when you sing the way he does, and you do it on the number one news program in the United States, stuff like this was pretty much a given.

Sounds like a dream, right? Every kid’s fantasy to be a teen rock star. Yet, somehow or other, Snowman had gotten himself all wound up over it. He kept talking about art and using phrases like “famous for being famous.” Musicians. Their egos are waaay too fragile, as far as I’m concerned.

For just about the hundredth time he started talking about his music, how no one seemed to care about that, how nobody understood him, all kinds of hippie-type crap. So I walked up to him, turned him around, and clocked him in the jaw, trying not to mess up his makeup too badly in the process. I knocked him straight to the floor in his shimmering suit, which was pretty damned impressive, if you ask me.

Everyone in the room let out a collective sigh.

Speechless, he stared up at me like he had no idea he had had it coming.

I relaxed my fists at my side. Console the crybaby…check. Knock out the crybaby…okay, that wasn’t on the list, but I was improvising. “I didn’t get a chance to freak. I had to go out there and kick monster ass all on my own.
I
didn’t act like a moron!” I shouted back. “Now get up!”

Snowman climbed slowly to his feet, eyes seething in a familiar way. He started to snarl something at me, but the club owner chose that moment to stick his head into the room to inform us the band was on. Snowman gave the owner an innocent smile, telling him that they’d be right there, yadda, yadda, while rubbing his soon-to-be-a-bruised jaw. And the second the dressing room door closed he turned to face me, fists clenched, body shaking with rage.

“
Are you going to waste energy on me, Snow?” I asked. “Or are you gonna save it for the stage?”

He thought about that. He roared at me in frustration, then stomped off toward the door, his band in tow.

I watched them leave. They were all stifling giggles, even the twins.

Aimi was last to leave, carrying her cello in a coffin-case. She turned around in the doorway and just looked at me, but there was no amusement in her face.

“
Good luck with the gig. Break a leg, or whatever,” I told her.

I thought she would turn and race to join the others. But she set the case down and ran back to me, suddenly hugging me fiercely. We stayed that way for a long time, her head resting against my chest. Finally, I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She turned her head upward and said, softly, “Thank you, Kevin. For everything.”

In that perfect moment our mouths touched. I kissed her, really kissed her, as I had wanted to all along, as I had dreamed I would. I slid my hands up her arms to her shoulders and held her as she kissed my mouth and my face all over.

Then she started to squirm.

“
Kevin,” she mumbled between kisses, “hands.”