"If life is only blood and hate,
Then what's there to left to demonstrate,
Why can't the evil all just die,
To leave us alone,
For peace to fly?"
The words of the song blared through the headphones in my helmet, bike a purring monster beneath me as I wove through traffic, gloved hands keeping a tight grip on the handle bars of my motorcycle. The music was by a local Japanese/American group, composed of both American GI's and Japanese youths. Pretty good, in my opinion.
I had just finished for an appointment with a dressmaker that was known for throwing things at picky customers. What I do for a custom outfit these days, I thought with a sigh, flipping off a Toyota that tried to merge into me. But to be able to conceal my weapons and shift shape from human to hanyu to yukoi with me, it would take a specially made dress. I'd had a lot of things thrown at me.
The one I'd commissioned fit those specifications nicely. The inner dress was a relatively simply blue sheath dress and could be worn alone if needed. Would have to change the weapons configurations for it though.
At first look it was a black velvet floor length, A-line with a corseted bodice that lead to a flared waist and poet sleeves. Then one saw the cut-away panels that revealed the separate blue sheath underneath. The bodice was tightly fitted with a built in bra and V-neck, the edges of the neck bearing the same repeated triangle pattern in deep blue silk embroidery that the hems of the sleeves and skirt portion did. The poet sleeves connected to the dress at the shoulders via an expandable blue velvet crease. The magic of my shape shift would trigger the expansion of the crease and its retraction. At elbow and wrist, more blue silk, in thin ropes this time, wove in and out of the fabric, acting as ties to bring the entire sleeve up to my shoulder or to cinch it tight. It is rather embarrassing to drag one's poet sleeves in one's soup. A cut away panel right beneath my breasts curved around to my back, partly bared by a deep V between my shoulders. More of the blue rope crossed the bare portions of my flesh, acting as support for the heavy sleeves. Right above my hips and extending down to my upper thighs were another set of cut away panels. The skirt of the dress flared out gracefully to skim over the ground, assuming I was wearing 3" heels or in hanyu form.
As lovely as the dress was, its practicality was what made it most appealing. The hem of the skirt was weighted to prevent it from flying up around my waist in the gusty Japanese autumn with specialized smoke bombs. Some were simple smoke, others tear gas and one was a yukoi-specific knock-out gas. The hip panels gave me access to a pair of fighting daggers on either hip and a set of throwing knives attached to the boning of the corset-top on the inside. Slender little silver knives, the throwing ones were but deadly and launchable with a mere flick of the wrist. A pair of small, very slim profile derringers, two shots each, were at the small of my back, accessible through the waist panel. The blue sheath I wore under the main overdress protected my skin from the assorted harnesses and knives hidden in the main dress itself.
I would also be wearing my Sphere of Humanity and my bracers, the bracers storing my assassin's outfit and even more weapons and gear. Never knew what one would run into at a gathering of the Yokuza big wigs.
All in all, a fine piece of work, even if the seamstress making it was a bit nuts. Of course, she was around three hundred years old, a yukoi of the fire clan, making me the dress as payment for saving the leader's son. Better then a monetary payment for an act I would have done for free any day.
The protection enchantments on the dress had been woven into the fabric, a gift from my mother to "make up for all those missed birthdays" or so she'd claimed. Whatever, it was magically enhanced fabric for a dress I knew would look great once it was finished.
Why such a fancy dress? Because there was to be a "Black and White Ball" for all the Japanese Yakuza headmen and their associates. This year it was being held in Tokyo, though I'd been told last year's ball in Osaka had been beautiful. For the event, I was to accompany Samu, acting like arm/eye candy for the night, which suited me perfectly since I was there to gather information, not chit-chat. I felt bad about using Samu this way but not bad enough to not do it. I needed information on who hated Danny, other then the yukoi, and who I could blame the hit on.
No way was I spending time in a Japanese jail, heck no. I shuddered despite the heavy jacket I wore. No, jail time in Japan, where manual labor was still a "good thing" was not on my list of things to do while I was visiting the country. And all that after the initial holding period. In Japan, one can be held by the police for 28 days without being charged with a crime. Quite the show stopper.
Of course, since Nicky would be at both the ball and the assassination, there was very little chance we'd be caught by the Japanese authorities. Magic couldn't solve everything but it made for excellent distractions while one escaped. Nicky would be at the party as part of a visiting group of American 'mobsters' from the West Coast, supposedly from his home town of San Francisco. He had a legit invitation and everything. We'd both be gathering information on the oft-warring factions of the Yakuza so we could place the blame for the hit on the most believable group. I would feel bad about transferring the blame if they weren't all guilty of killing in cold blood at some point. The unbloodied Yakuza ends up dead quickly.
The air around me grew colder as I made my way up the mountain roads to Samu's home. I slept there more then at my apartment, though it had occasionally caused a few awkward moments. Like Samu asking why I was in Japan if I wasn't working or going to school. Luckily Meele had burst in howling for dinner and I'd been saved but I knew it wouldn't be long before he cornered me and asked me again.
Things were getting more dangerous by the day, it seemed.
And yet, I shouldn't have worried that evening about Samu asking questions about me. No, his questions were about monsters and the yukoi.
I walked in the back door to the kitchen, windblown and chilled to the bone but happy to see Samu, back just this afternoon from the trip to Okinawa with Danny. That happiness evaporated at the look on his face, a mixture of fear and anger, loathing and terror. I had to ask, "Samu, what's wrong? Are you okay? What happened to you?"
"I'm okay," he said, voice oddly blank. "I just... I saw... Oh, God, Cara...."
I went to him and pulled him into my arms, asking again, "What happened?"
"Danny... he... he's made some kind of pact with demons," Samu said at length. "I saw him talking with one while we were in Okinawa... she, Cara, she was a woman but not and then she leapt off a cliff into the water and became a whale. I know this sounds crazy but its true!"
"Not as crazy as you might think," I said with a soft smile, my true thoughts running frantically in circles. How many whale yukoi could there be from Okinawa with the power to take human forms? I could only think of one- Kanoko, Third Council Chair holder. But I gave none of this away as I looked into Samu's eyes. "Look who I grew up with- Meele turns into a dragon for heaven's sake. Whales aren't that unbelievable to me, Samu."
"I forget that about you sometimes," he whispered into my hair as he held me close. "You seem so human, my love."
