Tokyo Demons Book 3: Chapter 1

“We’re putting you in the safe house with Zayd.”

Ayase grunted her surprise and blearily tried to turn, but Emi twisted her to face forward again. Aisha pushed Ayase’s sweater farther up her back and continued gently probing the new wounds.

Aisha whispered something in Arabic. “Healing,” she said in Japanese. “Fast.”

Ayase could hear Emi whisper her own disbelief, but it seemed to come through a fog. She was still tired. She was so tired. She was no longer starving, after devouring the bento Emi had brought her, but the food in her belly dragged on her even more. She felt…drugged, almost. Drained.

Emi walked around the chair so she could squat and face Ayase. She clicked on a small flashlight.

“Can you follow the light, Ayase?”

Ayase’s eyes trailed after the light, but she had trouble keeping up. Emi dipped and waved the light so fast that it just left hazy contrails in Ayase’s blurred vision. Suddenly dizzy, Ayase shut her eyes.

“Hm.” Smooth hands took her own. “You need time to recuperate. Your new trick with…moving your injuries seemed to work, but I think your body is shutting down. It needs to focus all its energy on regenerating itself.”

“N-no,” Ayase mumbled, her tongue feeling strangely heavy. “T…Touya…”

“We still have no idea where he took the boys,” Emi said gently. “Shouri-san is going to investigate, but she needs time. Use it to heal.”

Aisha carefully pulled Ayase’s sweater down again. “I will go,” she said in her halting Japanese. “Zayd, Shouri, you. Shouri needs a doctor. You need a doctor, maybe.”

Ayase wanted to protest, but a lump rose in her throat. She heard the echo of Sachi’s voice in the back of her mind, saying her name over and over since the first day they’d met.

“Ayase…”

Tears filled her burning eyes.

Emi hummed a sympathetic noise. “You poor thing,” she murmured as she ran a hand over Ayase’s hair.

The touch unlocked something in Ayase’s heart. She remembered her surreal, adrenaline-fueled epiphany from the night before. Staring at her naked body in blue-tinted light.

You were right, she wanted to tell Emi, but didn’t know how to explain. It’s my body. I need to take care of it.

Too dizzy to form the words, Ayase just slumped over and wrapped her arms around Emi’s neck.

She felt the woman stiffen slightly, then puff out a nervous laugh. She hugged Ayase back and stroked her hair.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispered. “And so will they.”

The comforting warmth of friendly arms melted some of the anxiety in Ayase’s chest. She blinked her heavy eyelids as the world started to fade.

“I want to send someone else your age,” Emi said, her words a soft rumble. “To help you through this. Kiyoshi volunteered–he’s worried about you.”

Kiyoshi. Was that why this felt familiar? She remembered his arms around her like this, and all her sexual worries about it seemed distant and stupid. She buried her nose in Emi’s hair and let a Honda hold her.

Emi said something else, but Ayase didn’t hear it. She drifted into the black.

***

Jo ducked out of the taxi cab. He took a breath as he straightened his tie and tugged down his school jacket.

He tentatively looked up. The squat government building loomed over him, familiar and miserable through the gray tint of his sunglasses.

Fukuhashi High.

Acid churned in his stomach. He quickly lit a cigarette.

Ruka slapped him on the back of his head, causing him to jerk in surprise. “What are you just standing there for, dumbass?”

Keiko slammed the other cab door shut. “Did you pay the driver?”

Jo irritably took a drag, his injured jaw throbbing slightly with the action. “Yeah.” He nodded his thanks at the driver, and the taxi drove off.

The two Riot Girls flanked him on the sidewalk, watching him with weirdly expectant looks. Feeling put on the spot, he checked his watch.

“Uh…memorial service starts in half an hour. Where was it again?”

“The field. Gonna be outside as long as it doesn’t rain.” Keiko looked up at the sky. “Seems clear to me.”

“And school’s off today?”

“Yeah.” Ruka rolled her shoulders, her chunky kogal heels clicking on the concrete. “I guess Fukuhashi’s had a few closed days since we left, and the semester’s kinda screwed up. Too many students dropped out or wound up dead.”

Jo puffed on his cigarette. He hadn’t spared much thought for Fukuhashi since they’d left it, but if enough of their student population was in the gangs, it made sense that this war was affecting the school. Hell, it was shaking up a fair chunk of Tokyo.

It was surreal to be back at Fukuhashi, in his uniform, next to two classmates from his homeroom. He’d seen Ruka and Keiko in their uniforms more than not, but it was hard to switch back to that image after fighting next to them in Byakko raids. They had a few disguise additions this time around–Keiko wore a hoodie over her blouse, and Ruka had donned sunglasses and a boring wig over her perm. Her knapsack bulged with her ridiculous slingshot.

Jo took another drag and finally started down the sidewalk. Ruka and Keiko followed suit, flanking him; they took so much horizontal space that Keiko had to walk on the grass.

Jo felt a little weird walking between them, but said nothing. He puffed his cigarette until it was a stub he could grind out in his portable ashtray.

“I…don’t know if you two heard,” he said at last. “Mitsuko’s surgery went fine this morning. She’s awake and doing a lot better.”

“We know,” Ruka quipped.

“She called us,” Keiko added.

Jo waited, but they didn’t say anything else. He took a long breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For…not bringing her back after that last mission.”

Ruka shrugged. “Sounds like she needed the hospital, after all.”

Jo hesitated. “And I’m sorry,” he added, “for…getting her involved in the first place.”

Ruka blinked. She turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You’ve all been helping the Church,” Jo said quietly. “And we probably shouldn’t have been leaning you so much. Mitsuko was only there because she–”

He was cut off by Keiko’s sudden snort laughter. She rubbed her nose.

“Man, Ruka… Get a load of this guy.”

Ruka brushed the long hair of her wig over her shoulder. “Are you seriously trying to apologize for putting Mitsuko-senpai in danger?” she said shortly. “Who do you think you are? Drop the Knight in Shining Armor bullshit.”

Jo furrowed his brow. “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

“I hate to break it to you, Oda, but you’re not special–Mitsuko-senpai loves sticking her neck out on dangerous missions. She lives for that shit, and she’s really, really good at it.”

“Really good at it,” Keiko agreed.

“Mitsuko-senpai used this whole drug war to bring the Riot Girls back together. She’s not doing favors for the Church–she’s just trying to show off how useful she is.” Ruka waved a hand dismissively. “And it’s good when she gets a little hurt. Raises her street cred.”

Jo frowned, but said nothing.

Keiko smirked at him. She flipped up her heavy, weighted umbrella to rest on her shoulder.

“You like senpai, huh? I’ve seen you guys making out.”

Jo paused. “I do like her,” he agreed cautiously. “And I think she likes me.”

“Then don’t get weird and start swinging your dick around like Ban and his morons. She’s stronger than you. She wouldn’t blame you for anything, even if she got killed.” Ruka shifted her heavy knapsack. “Keiko and I have been Riot Girls since we were twelve. Mitsuko-senpai’s a way better leader than the girl before her.”

Jo balked slightly. Twelve?

He thought back to Mitsuko’s phone call that morning. Her tired but strangely cheerful chirp over the receiver.

Jo rubbed his aching jaw. He felt a nagging sensation in his gut–it was probably the same emotion that had driven Miki to suckerpunch him in the karaoke club. An unconscious, masculine urge to forsake the world and protect his new girlfriend.

He knew it was stupid, considering the circumstances…but he couldn’t shake it. Even if he had no desire to control her, he felt like he should be taking care of her or something. The fact that he’d been so pragmatic back in the garage made him feel a little slimy.

Miki wouldn’t have left her.

Jo glanced at Ruka from under his sunglasses. At Keiko, absently swinging her 10-kilo umbrella.

If Mitsuko’s closest Riot Girls weren’t mad at him, then he probably needed to stop second-guessing himself. They were a better barometer than Miki.

By the time they reached the field, a small crowd had already formed. There were at least a few hundred folding chairs lines up in neat rows, all facing one of those flimsy temporary stages with a standing microphone. A few official-looking people in black suits stood near the mic, discussing something amongst themselves.

The memorial display was at the foot of the stage. Over a dozen giant framed pictures stretched across the grass. Jo saw most of the visitors crowding around the oversized photos, offering prayers or flowers in the swirls of incense.

Jo couldn’t see the photos well through the huddle of bodies, but his eye caught on a streak of orange. He swallowed.

“Don’t go to the display,” he murmured. “Someone might recognize us.”

“Probably shouldn’t sit together, either.” Ruka turned and marched off in another direction. “Later.”

Keiko gave a half-salute and split off from Jo. Jo made his way to one of the rows of chairs closest to the back.

He lowered himself into a seat, the cheap metal of the chair creaking under him. He briefly debated another cigarette, but as the seats filled up around him, decided against it. He settled for nervously playing with the box in his pocket.

He recognized people in the crowd of black suits and school uniforms. Some were students he’d run into at school, others were teachers…some were Byakko members from the days of Kiseki who had never joined the gang war. His chest tightened when he saw a couple near the front, the woman pulling aside the wide sleeves of her kimono to wipe at her eyes.

Seiya’s parents. The last time he’d seen them, they’d been serving him soup over their kitchen table.

A few police officers in full uniform flanked the edges of the crowd. Jo figured they were symbolic, but they had billy clubs hanging from their belts. He also noticed a few current members of Byakko keeping a low profile among the mourners.

Jo rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses and sighed.

“Will everyone please take their seats?” a teacher said into the microphone. “We’d like to begin service.”

The crowd dissipated into the rows of chairs, releasing a wave of overlapping metal creaks. They were more chairs than people, so no one sat directly next to Jo; an older student sat a few spaces to his right, and some woman claimed the chair to his left at the end of the row. Jo’s eyes darted around to make sure no was staring at him.

Luckily, no one seemed to recognize him. As the first speaker began his speech, Jo settled back in his chair.

“…tragedy affects a community like this, the best we can do is band together for the survivors. We believe in the future of Fukuhashi’s youth, and we’ve dedicated ourselves to…”

Jo’s fingers scratched at the box of cigarettes in his pocket. Dammit. The one outside the cab hadn’t been enough. Silently cursing himself for not pre-loading with enough nicotine, he tried to listen to the generic speeches from the teachers and administrators.

…

He glanced at the woman at the end of his aisle again. There was something strangely familiar about her. Had he seen her at the hospital after Kiseki?

“…when a young life is ended before its time. We mourn with the loved ones of the deceased…”

Jo scratched at the box and tried to place her. She was extremely thin, although it was hard to tell in her long dress and lacy shrug. She had elaborate embellishments woven into her black dress–punctuated by silver chains and rings–and big, laced boots slid out from under her skirt when she crossed her legs. She was pale under her make-up; her dark red lipstick brought out the bags under her eyes.

Those sunken, bloodshot eyes. They didn’t seem familiar.

Shit. Did he know her or not?

The woman tossed her head back and rolled her shoulders, clearly bored. Her shrug shifted up her torso a few centimeters, revealing another wink of silver from something cylindrical strapped beneath the fabric.

The barrel of a gun.

Jo froze.

As the world slowed around him, the woman’s head swiveled in his direction. Her bloodshot eyes flicked down his body, up to his chin, and then paused for a second before meeting his wide gaze. Her painted mouth stretched into a smile.

Letting the sunlight glint off her fangs.

To be continued in Book 3: Chapter 2, Part 1.

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