Tokyo Demons Book 2: Chapter 7, Part 2

Ayase was already shooting through the hallway when Jo screamed at her. She was already diving down below eye level, zipping into the girls’ room, and plunging into the darkness below the plank in the closet.

She’d barely touched the leather surface when a giant hand brushed past her. She zipped lower, deeper, watching the looming block of the briefcase rush past her as someone lifted it from the space. She clung to the edge of the case with her spindly legs.

“What the hell is this?” someone blurted. The case jerked suddenly as it was dropped on the floor. Ayase’s view was locked by black leather, a giant knee, the dark room around her; she felt movement and heard the scraping of metal on metal. She heard the screeching sproing of a broken spring and watched the top of the case open toward the ceiling.

Another voice cursed quietly. “That looks like Pitch!”

“These foreigners had Pitch?!”

“Close the case, you fucking idiot!”

The case slammed shut. Ayase and her perch were lifted into the air.

“Don’t tell anyone we found this,” one of the men hissed. “Just hide it. We’ll figure out what to do with it tomorrow.”

The briefcase jostled Ayase in the dark until she felt a rush of cool air on her wings. The men’s shoes stopped thunking on wood and instead slapped against pavement; she heard the scrape of a key, a car trunk cover groaning on its hinges. She felt a rush of weightless force and quickly buzzed off the briefcase before it could squash her when it landed. She zipped down in a panic, clinging to the leather just as it slid against upholstery.

She tilted her insect head up as the trunk slammed down over her. She sat in silence, in the dark, and strained her antennae.

A car engine revved up under her. She settled down on the leather, her legs clinging protectively to the case.

She finally opened her human eyes.

Sachi stared at her, miserable anticipation pulling at the creases around his eyes. He gripped her sweaty hand.

“They…got it,” she murmured weakly. “I left my bug on it to track it.”

“NO!”

Kadoyuki’s scream tore through the air, echoing off the sterile walls of the room. He curled into a ball and grabbed his head, his fingers scraping through the matted hair on the back of his scalp.

“W-was this Touya?” Sachi asked weakly. “Did he order the attack on the church?”

Kadoyuki frantically shook his head, his gasps turning into ragged sobs. “I thought he still needed you!” he wailed. “I thought he believed me! I thought he…!”

Ayase swallowed hard. “Kadoyuki–”

“NO!” he shrieked again, the sound piercing Ayase’s ears. “The briefcase was all I had! It was the last thing that could save us! Without it, he’ll just…!”

Sachi slid a hand onto Kadoyuki’s shoulder. “Talk to us, Kado.”

Kadoyuki pulled from Sachi’s hold and jerked the blanket over his head. When Sachi tried to peel back the fabric, Kadoyuki screeched like a dying animal.

“Please!” he begged. “Just get away from me!”

“You know I…can’t, Kado.”

“Sachi, PLEASE!”

A nurse burst through the door. “What’s going on here?” she demanded. “Why is he screaming?”

Ayase pulled back from the bed the same moment Sachi did, her hands flying up in a no-weapons defense. “He, um…”

Kadoyuki wailed again. The woman ran over to Kadoyuki, her dark eyes flicking to Sachi and Ayase.

“Get out,” she ordered. “I don’t care who you are to him.”

Dammit.

Ayase grabbed Sachi’s arm and ushered him out of the room. She could feel him trembling under her touch.

“Ayase,” he breathed. “What are we gonna do? What if…”

Ayase could feel panic and misery surging in her chest. She wanted to lie, but knew he would feel it.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I just don’t know anymore.”

***

It was barely nine o’clock by the time they arrived in Ikebukuro. Jo secretly cursed Core for attacking them so early. It meant a long, miserable night of reflection awaited him.

The varying, erratic thumbs of multiple bass lines bled through the walls of the karaoke club, punctuating the shrill music and wailing voices. Jo sighed in the dim light of the private bathroom. He squeaked the faucet off, looked for toilet paper or paper towels, found nothing. He wiped his wet hands on his dirty pants.

He wasn’t sure what was worse–Blue Light, or this. At least Blue Light was closed to the public; Byakko’s karaoke club, recently purchased by Zayd, still had half of its rooms open to serve as a front. One particularly bad rendition of a familiar pop song leaked in like the mold Jo saw crawling up the walls.

“Blackest nights lit up too bright; siren’s pull of neon light! Curled up bodies in the park. Breeeathing sounds inside the dark…!”

Jo fished a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it, took a drag, and closed his eyes. He listened to the sounds of muffled laughter as nicotine laced through his veins.

bzzt

He tilted his head down. His phone buzzed again, alerting him to a text message.

He released a cloud of smoke and dug out his phone. When he flipped it open, Nakajima’s number lit up the screen.

Are you secure?

Jo swallowed acid. He slowly punched out his reply.

Yeah. Hidden with Byakko.

No chance of being compromised?

New hideout and this area is behind locked doors. Always has been. He paused. Debriefed everyone else. They’re trying to make a plan, but it’s hard when we don’t know where Zayd is.

The next reply took longer. Jo sucked on the cigarette, wishing it would ease the pain in chest, but the smoke only scraped across the inside of his tender throat. He coughed.

The prince might contact you.

There was something about the phrasing–the lack of a question signifier, maybe–that made Jo think she knew something about that. Kiri bullshit, he thought darkly. Great.

Wanted to tell you something else. Bring it to the others.

Jo waited.

Double-checked the records. Touya Kamishita turns eighteen tomorrow, trust fund will open up.

Jo rolled his weak eyes to the ceiling. What else? he thought miserably. Do I have cancer? Is Mitsuko an undercover cop?

The phone buzzed again. Jo looked down.

Be careful.

Jo grimaced. He snapped the phone shut.

He puffed the end of his cigarette, then dropped it in the toilet. When he pushed open the door, he was surprised to see Mitsuko waiting.

“Hey,” she said coolly. “How are you holding up?”

Jo closed the door behind him. “I’m alive,” he murmured. “And not pissing blood. I guess that’s something.”

“Your mixed friend…Shouri-san, is it?” Mitsuko tucked hair behind her ear. “She’s pretty sick. We got her set up in the best bed.”

“Yeah. Th…thanks.”

“But the Arabic doctor lady has a few vials of Pitch on her, y’know.”

Jo looked up from the floor. His hopelessness ebbed ever so slightly.

“Really?” he asked. “How many?”

“Three. It’s hard to understand her, but I guess she had a kit that was supposed to last through the detox, so she only needed three at this point? She wanted me to tell you that they didn’t need the briefcase for that, at least.”

Jo let out a long breath. He ran his hands over his face.

Mitsuko tilted her head at him. Jo half-expected her to say something, but she didn’t.

“Did I hear your phone go off?” she finally asked.

“Yeah. I have something to bring to Daniel.”

Mitsuko jerked her thumb at the hallway behind her. “Want a bath first?”

Jo coughed out the last vestiges of his smoke. “Badly,” he croaked.

She smiled and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She led him through the thin corridor, where the groggy music and bad singing waxed and waned as they passed through. When the music finally dulled to a dim annoyance behind them, she turned a tight corner and opened a door.

A damp, comforting warmth wafted from the bath chamber. The bath was a little old, but big and clean–and still damp from its last use. Jo choked down a groan at the scent of shampoo.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Yes.”

“You act like you haven’t bathed in weeks.”

“I haven’t. That church was Western, so I was stuck with a shower.” He lovingly nudged the bathing stool with his foot. “Daniel has no sense of Japanese romance.”

Mitsuko smiled. She reached over to turn on the faucet; water streamed into the tub with an echoing chooo. Steam wafted from the bath as she closed the door, locking them both inside.

Jo was about to ask, but Mitsuko just pulled off her sweatshirt. She draped it over a hook and started unbuttoning the fashionable blouse underneath.

“Uh…”

Mitsuko whistled and tugged at his hoodie. “Off,” she ordered. “We’ve got a lot of people here and only so much hot water. We’re doubling up.”

Jo hesitated.

She seemed to notice. “We’re not fucking,” she told him, the word sour and sweet in her mouth. “And keep on your boxers. We might as well wash our underwear while it’s on us, since laundry’s down the block and annoying as hell.” She peeked down at his waist. “Unless you’re commando under there.”

Jo couldn’t decide if he was happy or disappointed that he wasn’t.

He finally took a breath; the warm steam rolled up his nose. The death grip of misery loosened its hold on his aching heart. As Mitsuko shed the stockings under her short skirt, Jo unbuckled his belt.

In the wan light of the bathroom, he saw the scrapes and blackening bruises across her skin. A trail of dried blood streaked her leg, leading uphill to an oozing slash that still glimmered wetly on her thigh. He suddenly noticed that she leaned to one side a bit–favoring her right leg.

And as she unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the peek of a lace bra and the swell of her breasts, he saw the old scars. A white slash cut diagonally across the peach of her stomach, under her breasts and over the ragged edge of a torn navel. A thin cord of knotted flesh, like a deranged kiss, disturbingly near her heart.

Jo looked up into her eyes, then realized she’d caught him staring. He cleared his throat.

She flashed a crooked smile. “It’s okay,” she drawled. “You can look all you want.”

He drew off his belt. “Can I touch?” he asked carefully.

“How else are you gonna wash my back?” She chuckled and undid his fly. “Move it along or the water’s gonna get cold.”

He kissed her. She pulled her lips away, distracted, and pushed his jeans down his hips. He nipped her earlobe and breathed into her ear.

“Mitsuko.”

Her fingers stopped moving, her eyes locked on his waist. Her forehead creased oddly as she ran her fingers along the waistband of his boxers.

Jo’s hips flexed back unconsciously, burning from the touch. He glanced down and saw the long, oozing scrape he hadn’t noticed along his pelvis.

Her fingers dragged to the stitched knife wound in his side. As she ran her fingertips along the healing, faintly aching flesh above his hip, she parted her lips. Jo twitched slightly at the discomfort before plunging his tongue into her mouth.

“Mm…”

Her moan sent the blood rushing out of his head. Jo wrapped an arm around her hips and drew her up against his body, his other hand flying up to her perfect breasts.

But as he kissed her, the warm steam of the room flooding his senses, he just ran two fingers along the scar above her heart.

Proceed to Chapter 7, Part 2, page 5–>