Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The rain didn’t let up towards evening. The streaks of silver only seemed to multiply.

Even in this corner of Takada no Baba Ichome near Waseda University, where the damage from the Devil Quake was comparably light, were remarkable patches of destruction. Here and there among the heaps of rubble were rows of prefab houses and shotgun shacks.

From a distance and at a glance, it appeared as a street of stores and houses immediately following reconstruction.

But those who took one step down that street without a clear purpose or resolve were likely to furrow the brows and pinch the nose. And realizing the true nature of their surroundings, frown and return the way they came, muffling their steps so as to not arouse the attention of those who lived there.

The tails of his black Inverness topcoat flapping like a pair of folded wings, Gento Roran visited the street that evening, shortly before those five yakuza showed up at Mephisto Hospital.

The gnarled gas street lamps cast curious shadows where his black leather boots tread the worn cobblestones.

The shades were closed in the windows of the houses lining the street. The light leaking out from the cracks in the curtains at times turned blue or multicolored, like the sidelong glance of a seductress, revealing a glimpse of the mysterious experiments being conducted inside.

In front of Gento, a team of six horses drawing a carriage appeared out of the darkness. Their hooves tread silently on the cobblestones. The wheels raised nary a creak of sound. And yet it drew closer and passed by with a rush of wind, the falling rain splashing off the horses and carriage.

The coachman waved his whip. Through the windows of the carriage could be seen what appeared to be four children, all wrapped in a phosphorescent glow.

A rich scent wafted on the disturbed air.

“Ah,” Gento murmured with a keen sense of satisfaction. Aurum Potabile, philosopher’s tincture, quintessence of bat liver, pickled lung of tarantula—the glories of Prague surely thrived here.

All would be found in any witch’s medicine cabinet, the stock and trade of alchemy.

Speaking of which, etched into the doors of these prefab dwellings were fire-breathing basilisks and unicorns. The weather vanes spinning on the roofs sported creepy-looking lizards instead of roosters. From parts unknown came the muttering of spells spoken in Latin.

This was Magic Town.

Not only criminals and outlaws came to Shinjuku after the Devil Quake. Headlong iconoclasts, parlor revolutionaries and practitioners of the dark arts mingled together there, along with a considerable number of witches and warlocks from every corner of the globe.

They needed a place where true magical research could be conducted, where the equipment and the tools and the funding could be brought together, a place drenched in the psychic elements. There wasn’t a better place than Demon City Shinjuku.

And so men and women wrapped in black cloaks filled the main street, the corners and the back alleys. Day and night came the heavy smell of sulfur and the whispering of strange spells, turning this little corner of the city dark as a caldron.

Gento came to a halt in front of a ramshackle building. Water as thick as paint poured into the ditch from a drainage pipe. There was a clay tablet next to the wooden door in the shape of a circular astrological chart. He pressed on the center. A metallic gong rang out on the other side of the door.

Next to the jamb, a vertical line of light emerged and grew wider. Bathed in a brilliant flood of light, as if the whole house itself was incandescent, was a girl of seven or eight with golden hair and blue eyes. Her face showed her Slavic features. Her skin was an almost transparent white.

Perhaps in keeping with the neighborhood, she was wearing a black satin dress. In fluent Japanese she said, “How may I help you?”

“My name is Gento Roran. Would your grandmother happen to be in?”

“She is in, but she is not. You have twenty-six ribs.”

“I do.”

The door opened wider and he was shown in.

The living room was graced by old-style furniture. The fixtures in the cupboard, the coat hooks on the wall were all made of brass. The air was pleasantly cool, though there was nothing like an air conditioner in the house. Despite the light pouring forth, no oily flame burned in the glowing brass lamp in the ceiling.

“This way.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the girl showed Gento to the door in the back. Gento stepped into the square dark space. As soon as the girl closed the door behind her, a blue flame flickered to life in front of them.

The burning blue candle sat on the round black table. The girl stood on the other side. The pale ring of light revealed a room filled with a potpourri of bizarre objects.

“Please sit down,” said the girl.

Gento took note of the chair behind him and sat down. A wooden chair with a firm cushion.

“I apologize for the age of the furnishings,” she said. “The seat must be hard.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Where has your grandmother gone off to?” Gento asked, becoming aware of a strange essence suffusing the air.

“There was something she needed to get done. But I will listen to whatever our curious visitor has to say, this man without an astrological sign.”

She spoke in the manner of a presumptuous child, sounding oddly beyond her apparent years.

Gento neither took affront nor regarded her with any doubt or suspicion. “I would like you to investigate a young woman. An entirely ordinary person, she would seem. Doctor Mephisto has detected nothing unusual about her. However—”

“You had Doctor Mephisto examine her—” Something akin to a grimace rose to the girl’s glassy doll-like face. “In that case, I’m afraid I have nothing more to add.”

“That is what everybody says. The witches and warlocks elsewhere as well. The only person who might examine a patient of Doctor Mephisto’s and come to a different conclusion is your mistress, Galeen Nuvenberg.”

“So what troubles this young woman?”

“I do not know.” Asked the same question Mayumi had asked Setsura at the hospital, Gento gave her the same answer. “But if the powers of your mistress are anything close to what the rumors say, I’m sure an explanation will be forthcoming.”

“We accept.” The girl nodded her head. Her hair spilled around her face like a wave of golden threads.

“Are you sure? You don’t want to discuss the matter with her first?”

“When Grandmother is not in, she leaves everything in my care. Her wishes are mine and mine are hers.”

“Understood.”

“But first—”

The girl got up and walked to the wall behind her, where the stuffed heads of a deer, bear, owl, anaconda, goat and bat were mounted. Also on the wall was a curved scimitar, six feet long and sans the scabbard.

The girl retrieved it and held it up to him with both hands, as though it wasn’t any heavier than a shaft of bamboo. Gento grasped the sword by the hilt. The wavering light of the candle stained the blade with blue foxfire.

“With a single stroke, cut off my head with this sword.”

Gento simply looked back at her.

“You cannot? You cannot do something as simple as cut off a child’s head, and yet you call upon my grandmother’s services—”

The rest of the sentence evaporated into a whish of air. Showing hardly any resistance, the head soared toward the dark ceiling. Holding the bloody sword in one hand, Gento Roran followed its trajectory with his eyes.

He arose and looked down at the body at his feet. Lying face down, her hands planted on the floor, the girl raised her torso. With a small smile, Gento slashed with the scimitar at the level of his eyes. The microscopic strings severed, the headless body slumped back down and didn’t move.

The doll-like girl with the ceramic skin was in fact—a doll.

“A man most befitting his horoscope,” came the girl’s voice from the door, accompanied by a flood of light.

Gento whirled around. The slight figure painted a silhouette against the shaft of light. A gentle draft wafted the golden threads like a halo around her face.

“You definitely accepted my commission. Let us cut to the chase and make our introductions.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot reach her.” The girl raised her hand to her mouth and smiled. “Hoh. Who do you think my mistress is? She is Galeen Nuvenberg.”

“I know,” said Gento, brushing past her and through the door. Crossing the living room he said, “How soon will your grandmother be done with her present business?”

“I cannot say. This business, not to mention our patrons, are a tad out of the ordinary.”

“Oh?”

“She is presently on her way to see Doctor Mephisto.”

Gento stopped in his tracks. Then, “Could you tell me on whose behalf?” he said, resuming his pace from before.

“Alas, but no.”

He could have pressed the matter, but doubted it would have any effect. Besides, he was on the girl’s home ground.

Gento went outside. The door closed behind him. A light rain was falling. Faint tendrils of smoke rose from the surrounding chimneys. The residents here were hard at work mixing elixirs and conducting alchemy.

All this concocting of murderous curses, illegal opiates and precious metals made Magic Town a frequent destination for the criminal element. And one of them had made it here ahead of Gento. Furthermore—

“With the same goal in mind? The number of my troubles has just increased by one more.”

As Gento strode off into the darkness, his eyes burned with the dark fires of a deep and dogged determination.

Mayumi slept quietly, Mephisto’s recommended meditations and medications having done their magic.

Setsura was pondering what to do next. The parlay for Azusa would take place tomorrow night. Thinking about it coolly, the exchange was hardly an equal one.

Mayumi was the “seal” who held the fate of not only this city, but perhaps the whole world in her hand. Azusa was nothing more than a whirlwind that blew in uninvited.

But that didn’t mean he could just leave her to die at the side of the road. Gento Roran had ended her brother’s life as well. They made for a pitiful pair.

On top of that, a new enemy had stepped onto the stage. When Baldy, the yakuza capo, met his end, that toad made its appearance. Setsura didn’t lose much sleep when it came to the syndicates. There were plenty of ways to skin those cats.

The problem was that toad.

The toad glared up at them with venomous eyes as Asai met his demise. Then the toad enlarged, expanded and blew up like a balloon.

There was no telling who made the first move, but a sickly green line shot between Setsura and Mephisto. Behind them, one of the nurses screamed, covered her face with her hands and fell to the floor. In a flash, her body turned into gray-white ectoplasm and dissolved away. This was strong poison.

Without a sound, Asai and the chair he was sitting on split apart.

“Whoa,” Mephisto said softly.

Dodging Setsura’s attack, the mottled dark green creature jumped—with the strength of a kangaroo—through the air.

Setsura’s right hand and Mephisto’s ring flashed together. This time the toad split in two while in midair and splattered to the floor, its guts flying out in a cloud of white steam. The same fate as the nurse. This creature was made of ectoplasm too.

“My, my, my. It’s been two hundred years since I last faced such a dreadful duo.”

The men in question whirled around to face the door. Until they heard the voice, they’d had no inkling that she was there. She was barely three feet tall, was wearing a black satin dress, and was almost as thin as her cane.

The blue eyes in her wrinkled face, looking like taffy drawn out and folded over, shone with an eerie light. The long silver hair falling to her waist shook with anger and laughter. Here was an old woman of an undeterminable age.

“Galeen Nuvenberg,” Setsura Aki said.

“Setsura Aki and Doctor Mephisto. Or rather, the best P.I. and the best physician in Shinjuku. The pleasure is all mine.”

The old woman smiled, flashing her yellow teeth. Though she was standing behind the thick glass door, her words rang out clearly.

“You think doing away with that underling wraps everything up in a nice bow? Let me pick up where he left off. Setsura Aki, if you don’t want the syndicates dogging your every move, it’s time to hand over Mayumi, that girl you saved. Leave her care and treatment to me.”

“Sorry, but she’s already got a primary care physician,” Setsura calmly replied. “From all the rumors I’ve heard about you, I figured our paths would cross eventually. I didn’t think you would so perfectly fit the stereotype though. How many men have met their maker at your hands?”

The old woman laughed without making a sound. “What are you trying to say, boy? I’ve heard plenty about you too, but I hardly imagined a man so wet behind the ears.”

“What would you do with the young woman once you got your hands on her?” Mephisto asked.

“The syndicates have got their blood up. To start with, they’re out for revenge on Setsura for busting up the Death Match. But then there’s the reason why he’d do such a thing in the first place. And the cause comes back to that girl. Knowing they’d be kicking that nest of hornets, Setsura Aki and Gento Roran went in to snatch her anyway. She must be hiding some pretty dark secrets. So one of their errand boys comes to see me. But I’d been looking into this Gento Roran chap already.”

“Then what will you do next?” Setsura asked.

Mephisto glanced at him, somewhat taken aback. The Demon Physician knew that this Setsura was no longer Setsura.

“Do you wish to settle things with me right now?”

“In which case,” Mephisto added, “I would have no choice but to back him up.”

The old woman froze for a second, before the smile returned to her face. “Let’s call it a day, shall we? A woman of my long years is hardly able to take on the two of you at the drop of a hat. I’ll settle for something else instead.”

She took a step backwards. And was swallowed up in the darkness.

Setsura touched his forehead. It was damp with sweat from the tension of the exchange.

“That’s a first,” Mephisto said, referring to Setsura’s sweaty brow, and touching his own with apparent alarm.

Setsura turned on his heel and headed for the elevators. Mephisto followed without asking where he was going.

It took them less than two minutes to reach Mayumi’s room. Everything was in its proper place—except for the patient. The sheets were still warm. She must have been there until only a few minutes before. A draft blew through the open window.

She hadn’t faded through the walls or dissolved into a mist. Mayumi had escaped the hospital from the window. On the seventh floor. The two of them had to believe that Mayumi was the “something else” the old woman, Galeen Nuvenberg, had “settled for.”

“Hmm,” mused Mephisto. “This leaves me all the more interested in that exchange planned for tomorrow.”

As per his usual, he hit that particular rhetorical nail right on the head.

Morning came soon enough, as did the inevitable night. During that time, Setsura’s investigations led him nowhere fast.

Galeen Nuvenberg, not to mention her employer, Tosuke Kokonori of the Shinjuku Restoration Society, were nowhere to be found. Their homes and offices were shuttered, with not a hint of life within. Proof of how fearsome an opponent Setsura could be.

Given enough time, he could ferret them out. But with only sixteen hours to work with, he was fighting a rising tide. He’d tracked down several of Kokonori’s underlings, but threats and intimidation notwithstanding, they didn’t know a thing either.

Nuvenberg’s incredible qi shielded her from even supernatural manhunting measures.

Yasukuni Avenue was as still as death. Nobody passed this way at night. The rain stopped. The moon came out. Though it too hardly seemed the same, the moonlight swirling around in a smoky specter. As if it was riding on the wind itself.

Which was entirely possible in Demon City.

As were the three mismatched figures standing next to the altar in front of the entrance to Hanazono Shrine, not far from the station.

The first was a naked woman, around five-foot seven. The second was a ten-foot-tall giant with an unnaturally small head. The third was a young man wearing an Inverness topcoat.

The woman’s right hand was secured to one of the columns. She wasn’t moving at all, secured there as if by some invisible power. Another naked woman lay at her feet. Her vacant eyes and incoherent mumblings identified her at a glance as a crazy person.

Fresh steel bound the woman’s wrists to the columns. Add to that the altar, the crazy woman—this all had the stench of some abominable black magic.

Not to mention the remaining two, Siegfried sporting Yamada’s head, and Gento Roran.

“He coming?” Siegfried asked. All the more surprising was his clear articulation. He had on a pair of jeans, but was naked from the waist up.

“Don’t know,” Gento said. “Perhaps tormenting this woman some more will make the time pass faster?”

The words had hardly left his mouth when Azusa writhed in wordless agony, the pain inflicted by the devil wires binding her. She groaned and arched her back, bending so far back as to expose the undersides of her arms, her breasts shaking.

The means invisible to the vacant eye, a crease dented the skin around her left nipple.

“Is Setsura going to show?” Gento said, not looking at her. “Yes?” Blood erupted around the nipple. “Or no?”

The nipple tore away and dropped to her feet. Crimson streaks lined her skin. Gento picked it up and pressed it against her mouth.

“This is yours. Good for nothing but a man’s pacifier. Suck on it yourself.”

Azusa clamped her mouth shut. But soon threw her head back, gasping for air. With a cruel and pitiless determination, Gento shoved in the severed nipple. His white fingers closed over her lips as she tried to spit it out. A trickle of red saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth.

This was Gento Roran. The same somehow sorrowful young man who had seized Azusa and laid her on the mound and told her to speak with the earth. Growing up for him meant becoming a merciless demon.

Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.

“Stop it,” came an unexpected voice from above him. Yamada’s head peered down, colored by unbridled disgust.

“Why should I?”

“Rather than tormenting the girl, consider why Setsura might not have arrived at this time. In five minutes, it will be eleven o’clock. And five or six minutes until it shows up. If Setsura doesn’t come, we will be in its sights.”

“Relax. Two servings should be enough.”

“You intend to leave her here?” asked the giant.

Gento glanced up at him with a puzzled expression.

“The woman is still good for something. Take her with you.”

“Hoh. So now you’re the one giving the orders?”

The two stared at each other. Ghastly currents flowed between them, ready to draw fresh blood at the slightest touch.

Gento whirled around. “He showed. I’m not the only naive one out tonight.”

Out of the darkness at the back of Yasukuni Avenue, reaching towards Kabuki-cho, the man casually strode through haunted moonlight, the black slicker as cool as a dream.

“How nice of you to show up,” Gento said, stepping away from Azusa.

Restrained by his accursed wires, the nipple remained in her mouth. Blood stained the underside of her left breast.

His field of vision taking in the entirety of the scene, the expressionless Setsura said, “Let the girl go.”

He was speaking as him.

“Out of the question. I can’t walk away empty-handed.”

“Mayumi-san took flight. From the seventh floor, no less.”

“How about that.”

“Do you think I am lying?”

“No. But if that is indeed the case, I can’t very well return her. A deal is a deal.”

Azusa screamed. The unearthly cry unleashed as her right nipple severed and the drizzle of blood again rained down onto the pavement.

“Move and it’ll be the eyes next. Or maybe even if you don’t. Just watch and don’t raise a fuss.”

“Stop it!” Azusa shouted in a near frenzy.

“Siegfried,” Gento said sharply. “Get to it.”

The giant moved. Toward Azusa. His hands traced a peculiar pattern in the air. Yamada’s Dimensional Blade severed the devil wires. Azusa collapsed to the ground.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Please. I am only doing what you want.”

The giant picked up Azusa and placed her on the altar. Setsura observed this unexpected turn of events without comment.

The giant slowly turned around. The wall of muscle, that enormous mass, swept towards him. A body like that imagined by the ancient Greek sculptors, marred by not a single scar.

The destructive power of the Dimensional Blade, that had twice pushed even Gento Roran to the limits, went without saying. This time, facing off against him and Gento might actually give Setsura the fight of his life.

But then—a shadow passed across the ground, a dark warp in the moonlight. Forgetting their mutual wager with life and death, they raised their heads and looked into the sky.

From somewhere far away a dog howled.

The moonlight swirled like a whirlpool. From within the outlines of the brilliant white orb arose the shape of a large bird, looming ever larger as it streaked toward the ground.

A pair of radiant red eyes, a hooked beak, the fierce beating of its wings reaching thirty feet across. A falcon.

For tonight was the night of the falcon.