Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 2 (19 page)

“As close to normal as can be expected. I am also aware of that incident. The victim was the wife of a Naitomachi teahouse owner. Even now, she eats half of what she used to. She gets chills during the day and cannot bear the sunlight for more than thirty minutes. Even when she is in the store, she stays at the far back with the lights turned off. Her friends and acquaintances have dwindled over the years.”

“And why would that be?”

“Whenever customers with healthy complexions showed up, those frightening eyes would peer at them from the gloom.”

“No surprise then.”

“The vampire who bit her ran off and was never heard from again. He probably didn't take a liking to her blood. Until that vampire is destroyed, she will remain as she is. She will likely live another thirty or so years longer than the normal person. Though if she drank blood, she could extend her lifespan far longer. As long as somebody else didn't stake her.”

“Have her symptoms worsened since then?”

“As far as I know, they have. Until she passes, there are bound to be people spreading rumors about.
We all know Grandma is a good person, but I'd swear neighborhood kids are showing up with scars on their necks
. But those rumors have only emerged after a half-dozen decades or so.”

“What becomes of children who are bitten?” Setsura couldn't help imagining an old lady basking on a balcony in the sun, rivulets of fresh blood spilling from her mouth.

“We are not talking about symptoms so obvious. She would become more susceptible to sunstroke. She would remain always a pseudo-vampire. And when she died, her body would return to its normal state.”

“Does that mean that after seven or eight years, I'll be lusting after the blood of young women?”

She touched her fingers to her attractive lips. “Just between you and me, but they'd be lined up around the block.”

“I suppose that's something to look forward to. However—”

The girl nodded. She pulled on one of the knobs and pushed down on a bulky lever. The top half of the cylinder began to spin. The cover popped open. She peered inside it.

Setsura heard a strange voice. The girl thrust her hand into the cylinder and withdrew it. She was holding a toad. A big one. Its legs splayed out from the palm of her hand, it struggled desperately to pull them back in, while flashing Setsura a contemptuous look.

“Hi there,” Setsura smiled with tired eyes.

“
Guu—
” croaked the toad.

“Perhaps you already know, but this knowledge can only be found today in legends passed down by the Ottoman sultans. The toad is said to be the most effective creature for revealing a vampire's true nature. Do you think that an outrageous idea?”

Setsura didn't have an opinion.

Vampire legends typically concerned their supernatural powers and terrifying aspects, as well as their weaknesses and ways of detecting them. For example, that when a casket was opened the skin of a vampire would be as vivacious as when it was truly alive. That caskets were buried filled with blood. That vampires feared running water. That they abhorred crucifixes.

These latter two were widely considered revealing vulnerabilities.

In Hungary, a vampire couldn't walk down a road lined with briars. In Bulgaria, the milk of a cow milked by a vampire turned red. It was something of a historical irony that among the countless legends arising in the countries of Eastern Europe conquered by the Ottomans, the one describing the toad as the most effective means of detection should find a place in the sultan's palaces.

Newly spawned toads were fed insects raised on sugar and copious amounts of pure water. After thirty days, the amphibious tissues grew particularly sensitive to the presence of vampires. Right now, the toad inside the cylinder's terrarium-like environment was quite different from the ordinary representative of the species.

“Look.”

The girl deposited the lumpy toad beneath a glass cone. Inside the cone were three colors of dots. Three different kinds of red, blue and white mosquitoes. The bugs sensed that something was wrong and flitted around inside the cone. The gray lump stared at them coldly, and then suddenly opened its mouth.

The pink tongue shot out and plucked an insect out of the air and drew back inside its mouth. All in a split second. The toad's eyelids closed. And sat there still as a rock.

“We have the results.” Her voice was a tad livelier than usual.

“What?”

“It ate the red mosquito. Each of them is engineered to give off the smell of blood, increasing in strength from red to blue and white. The toad chose the mosquito that carried your blood—the one with the weakest odor. That means the transformation is proceeding at a slow rate.”

“Meaning you don't have to worry about me pouncing on you.”

“That is a meaningless observation as far as I am concerned.”

“Sorry.”

“No reason to be.” She closed her eyes and soon opened them again. The gesture suggested processing the statement and then purging the thought.

“How should we proceed?”

“You have nothing to worry about. As long as you are not compelled to drink blood, the status quo should continue for thirty years or so.”

“Will I acquire the knowledge of the vampires?”

“Unfortunately, no. I should count myself lucky and abandon the idea.”

“Understood.” Setsura nodded his appreciation, and got to his feet. “Give my thanks to Miss Nuvenberg and the toad.”

“Um—” the girl said. “Could I have a kiss as thanks?”

“As thanks?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry. It slipped my mind.” Setsura leaned over and kissed the girl on her right cheek. The “skin” was hard and cool. Climbing the stairs, Setsura looked for the raven but couldn't see it anywhere.

“Too bad. Tell her next time I'll stick around for tea.”

After Setsura left, a voice called down to the girl, who was still standing there as if frozen in place. “So, made your day, huh?” The black wings came to a halt on the ceiling lamp.

Without answering, the girl raised her right hand. With a creak, a skylight opened that hadn't been there before. “Go,” she said.

“You're quite the slave driver,” the raven grumbled as it flew out the window.

The flapping of wings faded into the distance. The girl closed the skylight. She touched her right cheek. Her face softened into a smile, and then soon hardened again. She tried several more times, but gave up.

“I wasn't made to smile,” she said to herself, as if recognizing the fact for the first time.

She raised her left hand to her cheek and slowly massaged the surface, as if to return some human warmth and tenderness to the artificial flesh.

Setsura stopped at the first phone booth he spotted after leaving Magic Town. He made two calls in ten minutes. The third number he dialed was the direct line to the mayor's office.

“Kajiwara speaking.” The mayor answered the phone promptly and warmly.

“This is Aki.”

“Hey, what's up?” the mayor boomed genuinely. He must be doing well, avoiding any inconvenient cabinet coups and the odd assassination attempt.

“Oh, same-old, same-old,” Setsura lied. “I wanted to ask you the same thing. But first, I need to get in touch with Chief Kumagaki. Make it your top priority. If that's not possible, then you need to strip him of his authority and take steps to revoke any orders he's issued.”

“What, did they get to him?” The warmth disappeared from his voice.

“That's what it looks like,” Setsura calmly replied. “Mayor, when you were first attacked, your secretary was physically abducted. Why weren't we informed about this earlier?”

The mayor fumbled for a reply. “Well—ah—it must have slipped my mind at the time. I ordered the Chief to launch a search right away. I thought that should suffice.”

“Complacency is our greatest enemy. And by now we may only be shutting the barn doors. I contacted the police and the Chief's residence. No one knows where he's been the last two days. Or rather—and this is only a hypothesis—he set off for work the next day and also came home. But at night.”

The mayor mulled this over.

“At night, anybody who saw him wouldn't have thought there was anything amiss. Last night as well, he would have awoken after sunset, said he was going to the office, and left.”

“Then where is he now?”

“He hasn't returned home. He must have a retreat somewhere out of the bright light of day.”

“I find all this hard to believe. Do you have any other evidence?”

“Isn't what I just told you enough?”

“No—it's sufficient.”

“However, there's something else I need to ask you.”

“What's that?”

“Contact all the important players in the ward and find out who among them is sleeping during the day, and where.”

“So you suspect others?” the mayor asked coldly.

“I don't know. We must avoid harboring unnecessary expectations and unjustified suspicions. If worst comes to worst, they must be treated the same as the Chief. Any encountered while asleep should be wrapped in something opaque and taken to Mephisto Hospital without exposing their bodies to the sun. There are doctors there who know how to handle them.”

“Doctor Mephisto—surely no one else would know better.” The mayor let out a long sigh. “How do I get hold of you?”

“I'll be in touch.”

“Understood. What are you doing after this?”

“There are some things I need to take care of.”

“I understand. Aki—Setsura-kun—” Warmth returned to the mayor's voice.

“Yes.”

“I trust you. I know you'll have my back.”

“I'd appreciate it if you could have a dossier on your secretary—name and photo and personal details—sent over to my place.”

“Will do. It'll be there ASAP.”

Setsura said goodbye and hung up. From the telephone box he turned onto Waseda Boulevard. It was a relatively safe street, packed with people and cars. And more than anything else, the hustle and bustle of life filled with light.

Setsura stopped in his tracks, as if stunned by the sheer volume of light. Several seconds later, a shadow of discomfort passed across his comely face, gleaming there in the middle of the day. But then he set off down the street as if nothing was amiss.

During the day, this city was at rest. From a window somewhere came the cry of a bird.

He came to the end of the sidewalk and raised a hand, intending to take a taxi to Mephisto Hospital.

“Hey, you there,” said a hard voice behind him.

Setsura smiled—half grimaced—as he turned around. The bad vibe striking him on the back contained a strong element of fear.

Two uniformed police officers. They looked at him as they might a wanted outlaw. Their right hands rested on the grips of their guns. There wasn't a police box in sight. They must have chanced upon him during a beat patrol.

“What the problem, officers?” Setsura asked quietly. Things were coming to a boil.

“Are you Setsura Aki?” asked the fifty-something cop.

“Yeah.”

“You're under arrest. Come with us please.”

“Fine with me. But what's the charge?”

“You're on the wanted list. Don't know the reason.”

“And if I refuse?”

The faces of the two grew hard. Setsura didn't think he had that kind of a reputation. The all-points bulletin must have made him out to be a real bad guy. They pulled out their Magnum revolvers and flipped off the safeties. Their trigger fingers twitched. The trigger fingers of Shinjuku cops itched a lot more than those in the outside world.

These Magnums had a double-action trigger pull of seven pounds, with four pounds in single action. Like the cops who carried them, it didn't take much to send the bullets flying.

Running away would be simple enough. And in another five minutes or so, they'd get the mayor's orders to countermand the Chief of Police. More than that, though, Setsura was curious.

He held up his hands. “Don't worry. I'll come along quietly.”

The cops relaxed considerably. The younger of the two thumbed his mike and called for a patrol car. They didn't search him. Police procedures went differently in this city. Weapons could be hidden inside of bones and hair could turn into knives. Patting down a suspect was the height of stupidity. Claws and fangs might be bared, and clothes and skin could spout poison.

The citizens of Shinjuku streamed past, emotionless, without rubbernecking. On top of it being an everyday occurrence, there was the added wisdom of minding one's own business. Sightseers who stopped and gawked were caught up in the flow. And what they were staring at, of course, were Setsura's good looks.

The patrol car arrived in five minutes. It wasn't an ordinary street vehicle, but a mobile police armored personnel carrier. Flanked by two cops, Setsura sat down in the back.

As the vehicle raced down Waseda Boulevard, Setsura asked, “So what was in that APB?”

“No talking,” the young cop said in a brusque voice.

“Ah, give it a break,” interjected the commando cop next to him. “You won't make any friends in this town being such a hardass. If you don't lighten up, a greenie like you won't make it through the first weekend. Don't you think, Aki-san?”

The older man furrowed his brows. “You know each other?”

“I heard about him from my old squad leader. Found him this morning in Kabuki-cho, his head clean cut off. Even though he was decapitated at night, the medical examiner put the time of death at three hours later. It may have been some new species of monster, but he was still a colleague. I'm Endou. Kusama-san was the one who showed me the ropes. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”