"He's down!" said the leader. He went to replace Ponytail where the boy had been holding the girl against the bricks. "Take his head!"

Nunchaku and Ponytail were on him in moments. Nunchaku wound his chain around Alek's neck while Ponytail drew a black shirasaya embossed with golden b.u.t.terflies. The rod clicked apart to reveal a well cared for antique blade that looked sharp enough to split a hair--or a slayer. Alek didn't wait to discover if that was true, so he put out his hand and felt the katana skreek across the broken concrete and into his palm. He gripped it securely and jammed the handle into Nunchaku's mouth. Nunchaku grunted bloodily and the chain of the nunchaku lost its tension a moment before Ponytail's blade would have found a home in his throat. Alek flattened himself against the concrete and felt the swish of the blade overhead, then dived at Ponytail's middle, knocking him into the wall.

Beloved--behind you!

k.o.c.k! Nunchaku's weapon landed hard on Alek's forearm, numbing his arm up and down.

Nunchaku grinned his blood-slimed, broken-mouthed grin.

That was enough from this one. Alek turned with a feral snarl, sending Nunchaku back a step with a single look. The boy's indecision was all he needed. Reaching out, he grabbed the weapon by the chain and forcefully yanked both boy and weapon into the wall behind him to join his companion in a pile.

Now all that was left was the leader. Alek climbed to his feet. He suddenly felt tired and very cranky. Slayers, punks...all he wanted were a warm bed, a mug of cappuccino with cream and an old book. This was not his definition of a good Friday night. He touched his face, felt the blood there from the shurikens that had found their mark.

He licked his fingers before he was even aware of what he was doing.

And the taste of the blood--dark and bittersweet and hot as cinnamon on his tongue--made the thing within him, that thing that he feared more than any slayer, uncurl and stretch and put its claws into his belly.

Pain. A low groan--more of an animal whine than anything human-- caught in his throat like a knife. He dropped down on the cement with nearly spasmodic speed, fingers snagged in the b.l.o.o.d.y cracks, seeking.

He licked at the blood on the floor of the alley, sponging it up like a cat.

And something in his eyes must have gotten to the leader, because all at one the hood released his hold on the girl and turned to face Alek with his guard completely up.

The leader had no weapons. He was a street fighter, then. An animal.

An animal...

Like me, Alek thought when he realized just what he was doing, how degrading and whorish it all was. He sat back on his heels. Jesus. What the f.u.c.k was wrong with him? Where the h.e.l.l was his training? His discipline? He thought about what he must look like, crouched here amidst the blood, his posture like that of wolves and other large predators, guarding...what? The girl? The f.u.c.king blood that had spilt during the battle? Even now the stink of it made him crave like some kind of stupid beast... Whimpering, he slammed his fists against the spattering of blood on the cement in front of him, breaking his knuckles, breaking the cement.

But the pain was good...the pain made the craving lessen.

"f.u.c.king stupid banpaia," the leader said, afraid.

Alek eyed the youth and waited for him to go in for a hit; instead, he shifted uncertainly. His smell changed from the deep musky man-odor of battle to one of raw, primal animal fear. He met Alek's eyes evenly, but whatever he saw there was instigating a flight, not a fight, response.

As if disgusted by his own cowardice, the youth spat on the concrete.

"You want the b.i.t.c.h? She's yours."

Alek watched the boy edge around him. Only when he had cleared Alek's circ.u.mference completely did he go to shake his companions awake. Neither of them looked terribly wounded. A little groggy but otherwise all right. The leader barked some orders to them both in j.a.panese, something about them getting their lazy a.s.ses in the car.

After that, as the three hoods started back toward the entrance of the alleyway, the leader turned to face Alek one last time.

Alek stood up. He didn't expect another a.s.sault, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Instead of attacking him, the leader only gave him a slit-eyed, sidelong look that said, We'll have it out another time, s.h.i.thead, don't worry. Then all three of them piled into the Caddy, slammed their doors and screeched out of the alley, the car lumbering into traffic like a charging elephant, the leader blaring his horn at a taxi with the right of way.

Alek waited until he was sure they were gone, and then he waited some more and shivered and felt the last of the craving leave him like a fever burning off. Only then, feeling tired and shaky and very old, did he turn back to the semiconscious woman crouched small against the wall.

The young one. The one who had solicited him earlier.

He watched her a moment, waiting until she came around. And he wondered if this was a portent of some kind and what it might mean to him.

6.

Charlie Wing was smart enough to let things be when he had to. It didn't happen often. Usually, he could handle anything that came his way, which was the reason Mr. Ashikawa had him in charge of Rich and Xav. They were great fun, the two of them, but they had maybe half a brain between them. On the other hand, Charlie was smart, a survivalist. Not like his father who had been nothing, a big Nothing that drove a garbage truck back in Osaka. He wasn't his father. He was a warrior. Mr. Ashikawa said so. Now all that was left was to convince Mr.

Ashikawa that he'd done the right thing in walking away from a fight. He chewed his tongue and drove the Caddy down Lincoln Avenue with Rich and Xav. Rich was in the pa.s.senger seat beside him, Xav in the backseat. f.u.c.k but Rich should have been busy trying to stanch the flow of blood running like a b.i.t.c.h from his nose and Xav should have been working on repairing his busted nunchaku. Instead the two of them just sat there like r.e.t.a.r.ded kindergarten kids, watching him.

Waiting for him to say something. Jesus, but they knew about the banpaia, even if they had never actually seen one in action before. What did they expect him to do?

"I'k neva seen anyfing like tha," Rich muttered through his mush- mouth.

"Wipe your f.u.c.king blood up, you're getting it everywhere!" Charlie barked.

Rich sniffed. "Awkay...Sheezus...what the h.e.l.l was that?" He found some fast food paper napkins lurking under the seat and used them to mop up some of the spillage. He did it mechanically, as if he were still in shock from the fight.

Yeah, some fight.

"I don't know what the f.u.c.k that was," Xav admitted meekly from the back seat.

Charlie thumped his hands against the steering wheel. "It was f.u.c.king the Easter Bunny. Didja see the pointy ears?" Christ, he so wanted to haul out and bang Rich in the face, except that would make him bleed more over his good leather interior.

"Yeah, he had pointy ears all right," Xav said. "Pointy teeth too."

"And a great big pointy sword I'm gonna shove up your a.s.ses if you don't shut the h.e.l.l up!"

They were his soldiers. They shut up. But the driving-silence made everything worse, because now, as Charlie glided up the white gravel driveway of the Ryuujuu, the House of the Dragon Lord, he had to think about what he would say to Mr. Ashikawa. He played out a half dozen scenarios in his head--h.e.l.l, his crew would back up anything he said-- but what was the point when they were arriving empty-handed? Mr.

Ashikawa just wouldn't buy it, whatever he said. He wouldn't care. He would only see that they had failed. They had gotten into it, almost gotten the b.i.t.c.h, and then got the s.h.i.t beat out of them by a stranger from out of f.u.c.king nowhere! By a G.o.dd.a.m.n banpaia, no less! s.h.i.t, he knew plenty were out there--Mr. Ashikawa had warned him of that and Charlie had been around Kage long enough for it not to bother him too much--but what was the chance of him and the troops running into one of the motherf.u.c.kers in that blind alley?

The suits that worked for Mr. Ashikawa took the Caddy from them and left Charlie and his crew to creep into the mansion like criminals.

He couldn't tell if the suits were pa.s.sing looks between themselves--too many pairs of shades stared back at him--but he could imagine. Dark suits, pressed shirts and ties, shined shoes, and combed hair. Like good little choirboys, all of them, except they all moved liked natural-born killers. In the foyer, his boys gave him a look like a farewell--or maybe the look you give a dead relative during a wake-just before he detached himself from the safety of their numbers and went to pay the proverbial piper.

Charlie chewed his tongue until he tasted blood. It wasn't a good day all around, his fung-shui totally blown to h.e.l.l, and he knew it the moment he ran into Kage in the hallway outside Mr. Ashikawa's office.

Christ, but he hated these banpaia.

It was like being in the alley again with the other one, except Kage was vastly different--and yet, not. He was much smaller than most other men, but that wasn't something you noticed. Instead of disappearing in a room like a lot of small men do, Kage seemed to fill it. Right now he was doing his usual Kage-thing, which was doing nothing at all--just standing there outside the door of Mr. Ashikawa's office. A human being would look sloppy and bored. Not Kage. Kage didn't wear human that well. Instead he stood at complete attention, his hands in the pockets of his long leather coat and his head canted to one side, eyes seemingly trained on the pattern of the red and gold wallpaper. He too wore dark shades, but for a much better reason. It was said if you looked into the eyes of the banpaia Kage you would fall into the black sleep and never again be awakened. It was ridiculous, stupid j.a.panese legend s.h.i.t.

Charlie only wished he would convince himself of that fact one of these days.

Kage made no indication that he was aware of Charlie's approach, yet he said in a low, whispery voice that rode Charlie's hackles like an electrical storm: "The Ryuujin is taking a meeting."

"Yeah...okay, fine..." Yeah, he could come back tomorrow. That was not a problem.

Kage looked at him. Kage looked through him. "Do you have the woman?"

"Had the woman. Lost her." Charlie was about to say more, to start the process of weaving together the story that might or might not save his a.s.s, but a single look from Kage silenced him.

"The Ryuujin will not be pleased."

No s.h.i.t.

The fear, the tension in the air, the banpaia, and the fact that things existed that had no right existing--all these things suddenly seemed too much and Charlie had to make a conscious effort right then and there not to bolt for the nearest door. "Hey, man," he said, raising his hands in a kind of hopeless defense, "No one f.u.c.king warned me about tall, dark and dangerous."

Kage's eyebrows bobbed up. He looked generally interested--a first for him. He looked about to ask something more of Charlie but opted to knock politely on the door of the office instead.

"Come," Mr. Ashikawa called in j.a.panese.

Kage opened the door, waited as Charlie skirted past him without touching, and then proceeded to follow Charlie inside the office. Only when Charlie had found the courage to approach Mr. Ashikawa's desk--he was indeed in a meeting, albeit of the Net variety--did Kage close and discreetly lock the inner office, sealing everyone in like victims in a tomb. This time, unlike others, Kage did not wait outside but chose to listen to the flow of conversation between Charlie and the Ryuujin. That was odd.

Edward Ashikawa looked up from his laptop, took in Charlie's disheveled, battleworn appearance, and seemed to come to some instantaneous conclusion. He then looked past them to where his loyal pet banpaia stood near the door. Kage shook his head. Ashikawa nodded and looked again at Charlie.

"How did she escape?"

It was as if he somehow knew what had happened. On more than one occasion Charlie was sure things pa.s.sed between Mr. Ashikawa and Kage that he was unaware of. Odd things. Things not like talk but like feelings. He thought about Rich and Xav and wished he was with them, cruising in the Caddy and looking for a drugstore or deli to knock over or babes to pick up. He wished he were anywhere but here right now.

But because he was not, and because he knew he had to say something, he shrugged and said, "Seems there's more than one Kage out there."

Now Ashikawa looked generally interested.

Kage spoke up. "There was interference, Ryuujin. A slayer appeared to protect the woman."

How the h.e.l.l did Kage know it was a slayer?

"Oh. I see." Mr. Ashikawa took off his gla.s.ses and closed down his laptop.

Charlie felt his heart sink. But it wasn't fear; it was much worse than that. Mr. Ashikawa was his tether here in America, his f.u.c.king sensei.

And Mr. Ashikawa taught that when you fail your sensei you fail yourself. You have no honor. And a man with no honor is a man with no life.

"Tell me about this other banpaia," Mr. Ashikawa said.

Charlie chewed some more on his tongue. Now was not the time to fall apart. In solitude and silence, yes, but not here. "I have never seen him before, Ryuujin. He was tall and very lean. Black hair to his waist.

Dark eyes. He moved like an animal, Ryuujin. And he had an unusual sword."

"Tell me about the sword."

Charlie shivered at the memory. The banpaia lost in its personal rage...like a machine. "It was a katana with a white jade hilt like two asps."

Again Mr. Ashikawa looked past him. Again he sought something from Kage.

Kage nodded. "Two asps. The sword of the Slayer."

7"Tell me about the Slayer," The Ryuujin said when he had dismissed the boy.

Kage went to the wet bar in the office and poured the Ryuujin a scotch. After decades of service to the Dragon Lord of the Yakuza it was entirely unnecessary that the Ryuujin speak his needs verbally. Kage could read them. More, they were his own needs. It was like the scotch.

The desire for the drink was Kage's own, though logically it could not be.

Kage served the Ryuujin his drink on a silver serving dish.

It was similarly unnecessary that the Ryuujin ask about the Slayer.

Kage knew of his interest because the Ryuujin's interest was his own, though in reality the being whom the streets called the Slayer was of reluctant interest to Kage. The Ryuujin simply chose to verbalize many of his needs. As a human, such things were a comfort to him. As a comforting thing to the Ryuujin, such things became important to Kage.

They were bound, after all--in blood, in life, and possibly even in death.

"The Slayer," said Kage. They spoke English now, but they also spoke on a much deeper level of understanding. "His name is Alek Knight, and he was the first acolyte of Amadeus and heir to the seat of Covenmaster of New York City. Two years ago he suffered the sins of what he became and betrayed his Coven. He slew several prominent slayers, among them Robot, Aristotle and Takara. His master was his last victim."

"That is the basic a.n.a.lysis," the Ryuujin said as he sipped his scotch.

"What is your personal opinion?"

Kage thought about that a moment. "He is a twin, therefore he is dangerous and unpredictable."

The Ryuujin went to look through his great picture window at the deceptively serene night city lurking under the dark. "Tell me about this."

"His sister crossed over to the other side of the Web, yet she can speak to him still and direct his actions. Because of her death, he believes all slayers are his enemy."

"And all other banpaia?"

"He is not a banpaia, my Ryuujin, but something wholly new and different. He is...a dhampir."

The Ryuujin looked over his shoulder. "I am not familiar with that word."

"It is a rough Bulgarian word to describe a creature which is the result of a banpaia coupling with a human female."

"I did not know that was possible."

"Under the right circ.u.mstances...yes."

"Kage..."

"No, Ryuujin. I am of pure breeding."

The Ryuujin shook his head. "I find it odd we never spoke of this."

"It was...unnecessary information, until now." "I agree." The Ryuujin turned around, still cradling the untouched drink in the center of his palm. He was a small man, like Kage, but much more muscular. Well into his sixties and he had the face and body of a man in his early 50s. Many believed Kage to be the son, Ashikawa the young father, when in fact Kage had lived his master's life many times over. Some of the Ryuujin's seemingly endless vibrancy was due to the strict fitness regiment he kept, but most of it was the work of Kage's alien blood on his master's mortal cells. Still, even Kage's age-defying blood could not remove the worry and years from the Ryuujin's eyes.