Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The rain stopped, but the pedestrian traffic hadn’t increased. Nor were any buses running. The silver platter of the moon almost made Hamada want to kneel and worship like the ancients.

What in the world was this city turning into? Something frenzied and mad was growing about its foundations. Some unnoticed thing deep within the earth had awakened. This world may simply have been the dream that thing dreamed.

“Twenty more minutes. C’mon, hurry it up.”

He was speaking of the night shift bus. At this time of day, buses came around once an hour. They’d gotten to the bus stop five minutes before, so it wasn’t likely that it’d already come and gone. For the night shift workers, punctuality was a matter of life and death, so the mass transit system in Shinjuku did its level best to run on time.

Even if he kept on going past the bus stop, a taxi wasn’t likely to pick him up. The cabbie would take one look at Hamada and speed up. They had no choice but to wait.

“Fucking A!” Hamada kicked the asphalt. Then, sensing something behind him on his right, he turned around.

Through the damp, dark air came a crowd of shadows. At least fifty people, a hundred yards away. But he couldn’t relax. Their presence did anything but reassure him. Reacting instinctually to the black curtain of fear unfolding around him, he turned the other way.

And felt a cold stab down his spine like a knife against the skin. More were coming from that direction too. The faint possibility remained that they were only there to catch the bus. But why did their eyes flash like brake lights? What was with the ones in front, holding out their arms and crooked hands in front of them? They looked like wild beasts readying to spring on their prey.

“What the hell—we’re out of here.” He started to cross the street and stopped in his tracks. They were coming from the right and the left, inexorably. For the first time he noticed that he heard no footsteps.

A cold sense of isolation wrapped around the transvestite gangbanger. His teeth chattered. But then—his countenance glowed. An inexplicable change was born in his mind. Without conscious thought or reason, he embraced death. At the same time, the fear transformed to heroism.

The comely young man on his back—he would die for him. This was the heart of a valiant knight pledged to protect the beautiful princess against the legions of her enemies.

The rain washed away the eyeliner and face powder and now his countenance shone with a fresh vigor. He turned his head and looked at Setsura, leaning against his shoulder. “Sorry. If nobody else, I had every intent of protecting you, but it looks like a botched job at best. Allow me to at least lead the way.”

That sense grew of being surrounded on all sides. Fifty yards now separated them from the strange crowds. Hamada cocked his head to the side and stared at the roadway. An elated look came to his face as the sound of the big bus engine rumbled down the street.

“It’s coming! Aki-chan. It’s coming!” He literally danced for joy, vigorously shaking Setsura and the grocery bag in his hand.

A wave of discord rippled through the crowd. Several jumped into the street. The headlights of the bus glared down at them like the eyes of a stalking beast. They spread their arms wide, their silhouettes briefly carving vivid shadows in the ring of light, and then a sharp report as they were thrown out of the way.

“Hurry!”

The herd stomped against the ground and stampeded toward Hamada. He settled into a fighting stance. The pounding of the feet became a dull roar. The bulky blue-gray frame glided up beside him, accompanied by the loud squeal of brakes.

With the hiss of pressurized air, the doors opened. Grabbing the railing with the same hand holding the bag, Hamada raced up the stairs. “Get out of here!” he shouted at the driver.

The door closed with a heavy thump, followed by a series of heavy thuds from outside the bus.

“They ain’t passengers! Get going!”

“Don’t have it say it twice,” the driver smiled.

The bus rabbited away as quickly as a vehicle that size could. Hamada just managed to catch himself from falling over. Holding onto the strap, he peered out the windows. The mad herd disappeared into the distance.

He breathed a sigh of relief and glanced around the bus. These night shift buses usually had people standing in the aisles, but tonight there were several empty seats. Half the passengers he would have otherwise expected. And most of them were slumped back in their seats, eyes closed.

Well, not that surprising. This wasn’t exactly a tour bus, and in the dead of night there wasn’t anything to look at anyway. But what was that smell?

The odor of blood.

“He’s not feeling well?” an older man called from the back of the bus. “You can sit down here.”

A perfectly normal offer made in perfectly normal tones. Hamada felt the tension draining out of him. “Um—”

“It’s all right. I’m a doctor.

“Great! Just what we’re looking for!”

He hurried down the aisle and laid Setsura on the bench seat beneath the rear window. The man who identified himself as a doctor sat to his left. He was wearing long gray robes. His white beard nearly reached the floor. He was holding a gnarled wooden cane.

“Hoh, a fine-looking man.”

This honest exclamation reassured Hamada. “He is, isn’t he? Shinjuku’s most handsome. Some say that honor belongs to the doctor who works at Mephisto Hospital, but they’re idiots. They can’t see the real beauty inside. If you don’t mind me saying so, old man, but—”

“Call me Kikiou.”

“Well, Kikiou-san. I am truly head over heels for him. The only man I could ever say that about.”

“And I’m sure he’d appreciate hearing that.”

“I wonder what’s wrong with him?”

“Oh, nothing serious. He was likely caught up in a dimensional vortex.”

“A what?”

“Wasn’t there was an earthquake this morning? It happened when two dimensions brushed against each other. He was in the vicinity at the time, and was dragged into the other world. He came here from my world.”

“Then who are you?” Hamada put his arms around Setsura and backed down the aisle.

“You can leave him here,” Kikiou said. “I will not only spare you, but generously reward you, even with eternal life.”

“Driver!” Hamada barked. “Stop the bus! We’re getting off!”

“Sorry, but we’re on a nonstop route today.” The cheerful young man glanced over his shoulder and winked at him.

“Nonstop? What’s that supposed to mean? Who are you?”

“I’m Yakou,” he said, flashing a smile.

“What are you doing here? Did you come here to kill Aki-san?

“Oh, no,” said Kikiou, shaking his head. “We wouldn’t do anything like that. That particular job belongs to somebody else.” He nodded his head at the back window. “Like him.”

The glass shattered. A bloated black mass hurled at him, a fist sweeping down from the ceiling. Hamada skittered backward several steps and once again hauled Setsura onto his back.

The assassin before him was wrapped in charred and tattered cloth. The bull-sized thing, like a grotesquely large bean bag—was in fact two people. The same as Hamada, the one was carrying the other—a long-haired woman—on his back.

Judging by his manner of entry, he’d either jumped onto the bus just before it left the stop or immediately afterwards. The only thing that could have slowed him down at that point was the woman he was carrying on his back.

Strangely enough, up to that point, Hamada hadn’t recognized the ringleader of this murderous band. Instead of fear, a fierce light glowed in his eyes. The killer instinct.

“You are after Aki-chan,” he said, his voice taking on that odd feminine touch. “Oh, I get it now. You took out my anniki too. Well, that is fine with me. With all of us here together, I’ll strike you all down in one fell swoop.”

“Now, now,” the driver—Yakou—remonstrated. “Don’t get in the way, Sir Kikiou. That’s their job. It’s not our place to obstruct or intervene. Let fate take us in whatever direction it wills. Like this—”

Yakou let go of the steering wheel and took the cap off his head. A red light lit up on the dashboard, the autopilot engaging. The night shift buses were all able to complete their runs even when the driver was indisposed.

“I wonder which one will finish Setsura off. Not that I’m taking sides. But where’s the fun in fighting a spaced-out opponent? How about you patch him up first, eh, Kikiou?”

“It would require a certain kind of psychic shock. Something that would elevate the emotions for a split-second. The effects of a dimensional vortex affect the mind far more than the body.”

A hard clicking sound came from the feet of the towering General Bey. A silver ball bearing. Hamada instantly recognized it as a pachinko ball. He said, “So my boss really let you have it, eh?”

The waterfall of balls flowed from General Bey’s mouth, jingling and jangling onto the floor. Accompanied by a rattling beat like a snare drum, his body shrunk as a ton of polished steel spilled out of him. The pachinko balls covered his feet. Hamada reflexively found himself lifting up his feet, as if out of a drift of snow.

The stream petered to a trickle and stopped. “Urp,” said the general, patting his stomach. He took a deep breath. His body returned to normal, though the hailstorm of ball bearings continued to roll down the aisle.

“The balls that other fellow spit at me,” he said, without looking at Kikiou. “Quite effective when used as intended. But not on me.”

“Setsura is right there,” Kikiou said with a jerk of his chin. A wily and treacherous smile creased the lips of the mighty warlock and alchemist. “Not you. Not you, Kazikli Bey. The girl on your back, put her down. It’s time for her to drink Setsura Aki’s blood.”

General Bey hesitated. His gut instincts resisted the instructions implanted by Mephisto. He was only allowed to act if Takako Kanan blundered in taking Setsura’s blood. And then only after destroying the blunderer.

“Not me, Demon Physician?” he groaned in pain, though it was more of a curse.

“That’s right,” answered Kikiou. “Your turn, Miss.”

Takako stood unsteadily in the aisle. Two glowing red points of light illuminated her pale face. Her eyes. Ah, what devilish command had Mephisto given her?

Takako took a deep breath and let it out. She opened her mouth, revealing her two fangs. Her breath was as cold as a winter rain. The image reflected in her crimson eyes was not Hamada but the beautiful young man on his back.

“Don’t come any closer!” Hamada said, swinging the grocery bag.

A hand reached in from the side and grabbed his wrist. The grip was icy and strong, like a vise clamping down to the bone. For a moment, Hamada forgot everything else and twisted his body to the right—and looked into the face of a young businessman, his short hair conservatively parted to one side. But the eyes burned with a crimson light, as did the eyes of those seated around him.

“Having surveyed the lay of the land, we predicted that you would likely come to that particular bus stop. So we prepped the stage and assigned the players their parts before you arrived.” Sitting in the driver’s seat, now wearing a three-piece suit, Yakou cheerily described the unfolding scene. “Sir Kikiou thinks it all painfully overdone, but I enjoy a good production. When I lived in London, I so enjoyed the theatre life on Shaftesbury Avenue.”

“Let go.” Hamada tried to shake his arm free, but the hand holding his didn’t budge.

“Hurry up and take care of them. Our world resides only in a temporary state of stability. The task of moving it to more peaceful climes awaits us.”

Yakou smiled at Kikiou’s impatience. “Sad to say we are boarders only and not owners of our own abodes. The health and humor of the landlady always comes first. But he has a point. Chop chop.”

“Get back!”

To no avail. It surely seemed that his wrist was done for—when an unusual thumping sound resonated through the bus.

“Hoh!” said Yakou, his eyes narrowing to slits.

The onrushing vampires flew backwards, every one of them headless. They weren’t ripped off. As soon as they laid hands on Hamada, a strange warping motion arose in his body. A moment later, the heads of the vampires exploded from within.

Hamada’s forte wasn’t the fierce power aroused by that movement, but the ability to transmit and control it in a flash from the point of contact to the head of his opponent. No matter how powerful his enemies, as long as the source of the attack was close by, he was well-nigh invincible.

Looking over the rest of the passengers, now stopped in their tracks, Hamada declared with an overweening sense of self-confidence, “Do it nice and gentle-like, and I can make the most impotent man alive hard as a rock. Come one, come all, that’s what I say. And I’ll send you on to the next world as a reward. If not, stay where you are!”

Hamada moved decisively toward the driver. No matter how real the threats, he knew they wouldn’t be safe until they were off the bus.

“Looks like we’ll have to rely on General Bey, after all.”

Yakou’s words struck Kikiou forcefully. He wanted Takako dead and Hamada was the simplest means to those ends. Surely the man’s powers would kill her at once. Then the job of eliminating Setsura would fall to General Bey. That should prove the easiest solution to the problem.

This scheme Mephisto had dreamed up to kill Setsura was proving a time-wasting sideshow. As long as the problem was speedily dealt with, it didn’t matter if it was Takako or General Bey. Why go to such lengths to snare a comatose target? He had the feeling that Mephisto and even Yakou were playing him for a fool.

They’d only sent in Takako to start with because they had underestimated Hamada. Knowing what powers he wielded, they surely would have given the job to General Bey. Yakou’s interruption earlier had momentarily cowed him, and he could not allow the humiliation to go unanswered now.

He called out, “General, are you just going to stand there?” The big man started moving even before the words could have fully registered.

“No shit! You really want a piece of me?” Hamada braced himself and poured energy into his muscles and sinews.

A crisp note sang out in the air. The general’s head ballooned to almost twice its normal size.

“How nice—of you—to—” said Hamada, blood pouring from his mouth.

A black ring formed around the base of his bull-sized neck. It thickened in a flash and the blood flooded out. His strange words of gratitude—he had somehow grasped that the invisible knives severing his neck were the same as Setsura’s.

General Bey sunk to his knees. And then again rose tottering to his feet. Black blood spilled from his ears and mouth and nose.

The warp traveling back down the sub-micron thin devil wire could not pulverize his head, so the damage stopped with his cranium and gray matter. However, thanks to the incomprehensible might of Princess’s regenerative powers, the resumption of whatever thought and reason that could be called “normal” was already shining in General Bey’s eyes.

With a jerk of his right hand, Hamada’s head separated from his shoulders and fell to the floor. The rest of his body slumped to the aisle next to it, along with Setsura.

“I’m—sorry—Aki-chan—I gave it—my all—at least—”

The words dribbled from the bloody lips as he puckered a kiss in the direction of Setsura’s mouth. The blood washed around the interior of the bus.

“Go, Takako. Now even you can finish him off,” the general called in a hoarse voice.

“Thank you,” said the most beautiful voice in the world.

It didn’t belong to Takako. The black-clad figure rose from the floor like a shard of obsidian as Yakou and Kikiou and even General Bey stood there dumbstruck. In his right hand he held Hamada’s head. In his left, the brown paper grocery bag. Through the tears and oily spots peeked the head of Galeen Nuvenberg.

“This is the least I can do to thank you.” With that, he raised each head in turn and bestowed upon it a soft kiss. The beautiful genie, Setsura Aki. Like the gleaming statue of a beautiful angel lowered onto the grotesque stage.