Beautiful Death (26 page)
They stared at each other for the longest five seconds of Tristan’s life. He looked away first and never bothered to look back again, watching the world pass by outside the window. The rest of the ride was in silence. Neither one of them bothered to turn on the radio and that was okay with Tristan. The quiet let him concentrate. To think about those he was leaving behind. In the end, it was only two friends. Two friends who were currently pissed at him and didn’t even know he was in Japan. Guess he wasn’t that good of a friend to start with. And there was no other family, none that cared. No one would know he was gone. No one.
He was alone.
The car had been stopped for an almost a minute before he noticed. Tristan blinked out of his daze and looked around. They were in the middle of nowhere, gone up into the mountains. Ash was quietly staring at him, waiting patiently. Guess she wasn’t ready to rush off to death either. Tristan got out of the car and gave a quick glance around, slipping out of his jacket. There wasn’t anything out here. Not a single street light, home, pay phone—nothing. Nothing but a man, a vampire and a dark road. God, that sounded like the beginning of a really bad joke.
“We walk from here,” Ash said.
“Wait. What? He knows we are coming. Why try and be all ninja assassin?”
She turned away. “I will take any advantage I can.”
She was walking away from him. She would leave him behind if she had to, he just knew. And he also knew that if this was their last night together, you know alive, that he didn’t want to die with the tension hanging between them. He jogged after her. When he caught up, he grabbed her wrist and spun her to face him, pulling her against the front of his body roughly, her sword jabbing him in the side.
Surprised, Ash let out a small shocked yelp and blinked wide eyes up at him. “Tristan, wh—”
He never gave her the opportunity to finish as he grabbed her face and bent down, covering her mouth with his. If he was going to die tonight—fully expecting to, really—he was going to get that kiss he wanted. Ash relented and allowed the contact, but wouldn’t part her lips. She still held a small spark of hope for their victory. Small, but there none the less. She wouldn’t be responsible for Tristan’s first death.
Tristan pulled away first, licking his lips to get just a taste of her. Ash placed a hand on his chest to steady herself and asked in a breathy whisper, “What was that for?”
“Just,” he swallowed past his suddenly dry mouth, smoothing fingers across her cheeks. God, she was so soft. “Just in case things go wrong. I don’t want you to remember me as being angry with you. I really do respect you. And I like you, Ash.” He smiled warmly. “I like you very much.” He pushed a strand of hair fallen from her braid behind her ear. “I just, I want someone to remember me and I can’t think of anyone better.”
Ash stared at him a moment and then cracked the tiniest of smiles. “You are far from forgettable, Tristan.”
Tristan gave her a weak smile in return and a small kiss on the cheek, figuring he’d pushed his luck already with the mouth to mouth contact. “Okay,” he said to lighten the mood and distract himself from the sick feeling starting in his stomach—and it was not his Uruwashi senses confusing him. Or the still tender wound. “Let’s go murder us an insane vampire.”
Her eyes lit up and she gave him a halfway decent smile. “Yes. Let us turn that monster to dust.”
“Good answer,” he said smiling big only to hold in an outburst of fear.
The road was steeper than it looked, winding up the side of a sheer cliff. It was no longer paved and gave way to a long gravel drive that stopped at a dark building, a sprawling single story wood structure with light beige soil plaster walls. The roof was dark red-brown rounded ceramic tile. A beaten shop sign sat out front done in heavy black kanji writing. Tristan had no idea what it said, but he knew what the establishment looked like.
“A hot spring?” he asked, skepticism heavy in his voice. What the hell were they doing in a spa?
Ash nodded. “It was once a working
onsen
. And fairly recently.”
Tristan wondered if the previous owners gave it up or if the vampires moved in and killed them all.
“Knowing Malik,” Ash said softly, “most likely the latter.”
“Yeah, he really is a fucking asshole.”
Ash chuckled softly and started forward, keeping low to the shadows of the building. Tristan realized the reason his breathing, his careful steps sounded so damn loud was that they were the only things out there making noise. There wasn’t a single frog, cricket, rustle of leaves. Nothing. Little bugs probably ran off when the vampires moved in. Tristan wondered if it was too late to join them, the smart little bugs.
Ash stopped suddenly, crouching to the ground, clutching her sword hilt. Not paying attention, Tristan almost tripped on her before kneeling next to her. He gave her a look to say sorry, but she didn’t even seem to notice as she scowled at the door they stopped in front of. It was only a shoji screen and simple enough to open, but something about it bothered her. She reached out and stopped short of touching the door frame, jerking her hand back.
“What's wrong?” he whispered.
She looked up, a deep frown pulling at her mouth. “There is a barrier here.”
He mirrored her frown. That was what he was feeling—the tightness in his head, the knot in this throat that felt like the beginning of a nasty sneeze?
She gave a small start, flinching back. “You can feel it?”
“Yeah,” he drawled out, sounding unsure. Was he not supposed to?
“Hmm, it seems you are more vampire than suspected.”
He frowned harder. He was either human or vampire, not both. We wasn’t comfortable with being both. Hell, truth? He wasn’t comfortable with being vampire either, but you didn’t always good choices in life.
“Do not make such a face. And never tell Yukihime about this.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek before reaching behind her and coming back with two small glass bottles. Where she was hiding those, he couldn’t imagine. Between the leather, guns, knives and shuriken, there wasn’t much space left for something like that.
“This barrier tastes of Lilith, but is so weak that even a null could have cast it.” She glanced at him. “You could have made it. They are toying with us.” Seeing the look on his face she sighed softly. “Everything will be fine. I will not let you die.”
He wasn't sure if she meant the him-as-a-vampire issue, or the fight they were about to face against vampires that knew they were coming. Either way, he was feeling nervous. Ash tossed the contents of one bottle onto the door. Nothing happened. Visible anyway. That need-to-sneeze feeling Tristan had suddenly went away though, like a popped bubble. He let out a long breath, relieved to have the pressure gone. Ash handed the other bottle to him.
“Cyanide?” he asked, only half joking.
“A pain potion. You will need it.”
“Right,” he breathed and drank the small vial down. At least this one tasted a little better than the last. Gritty, like apple flavored chalk and sand, but better.
“Stay close,” Ash said, her pale eyes serious.
Tristan nodded, snapping back the slide on a gun to chamber a bullet. He had three knives and four guns—two of which were a tight squeeze for his big hands. Even with all of the weapons, he felt naked. Ash had even less. It was almost like they weren’t even trying. But that wasn’t it, not really. Tristan would go down with a fight, a nasty one. But that was just it, he was going to go down. One human—
ish
—and one vampire against four or more Master vampires and their jikininki. He knew the odds of coming out alive were not high. But still, that wasn’t going to stop him from going into that onsen.
Ash gave him one last small smile. She met his eyes and held them, put a hand to his cheek. “Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying…”
Tristan let out a long breath, whispering, “Nothing.”
THE former owners of the little onsen never stood a chance. The door was nothing more than thin wood wrapped in grass paper. Wet grass paper now from the liquid Ash tossed on it. Katana drawn, and with no more (depressing) parting words, she stepped inside.
Silence. Pure, delicious silence.
Tristan let out the breath he was holding and gave the outside world one last glance. The moon was waxing, more than a third full, but clouds hung heavy and ominous, hiding its precious light.
It was dark inside. Too dark. If the vamps could see in the dark like he suspected they could… well, he was already at a disadvantage, wasn’t he? Gun at the ready, he followed after Ash, struggling to see her in the darkness. She was dressed for sleuth. If it weren’t for the occasional glint off a knife or the katana, he’d never of seen her at all.
Ash had only reached the middle of the room when she sensed them. All of them. There were three Masters and their accompanying jikininki sidekicks. While the other masters only wielded one each, Malik had four jikininki. The only plus was that it would make her old Master slower, more manageable. And then there was those other five, the vanilla, dime-a-dozen weak vampires with no powers. Pawns. She could feel where they all were too—two of the Masters and one of the vanilla were with Malik and his four walking dead deeper inside. But the rest were all in the room with them. Right next to—Ash spun to warn Tristan, but then one of the Masters shot out and took her off her feet.
Tristan stopped at hearing the yelp, turning to look that way. “Ash?” He spun towards a growl, but then then realized the sound was all around him. He was surrounded. And couldn’t see a goddamned thing. “Ash?” he said again, louder this time, but there was no answer. “Fuck.”
Determined to keep moving, he took in a deep breath and started forward again having no idea what was right in front of him. Or behind. The toe of his boot slid across worn flooring for the first step, but he never got to lift, never gained air for that step. Ten strong fingers wrapped around his ankles and yanked. Tristan let out is own surprised yelp, toppling over and landed flat on his back, his head barely missing the ground. Having the wind knocked out of him, he gasped trying to get a breath in and caught a scent. He’d of cursed aloud if he could.
Jikininki
.
Someone laughed off to the far side of the room and lights clicked on. But it wasn’t the bright glow of harsh fluorescents to illuminate every corner of the room. Instead someone had rigged up low emitting black lights hung in little skeletons, the bulb as their heads. Tristan had a brief,
very
brief, thought that those lights would have been perfect at that club Ash picked him up at.
Hands on his legs brought him back to reality and he looked down. Before the lights were on, he knew what had grabbed him. But what he hadn’t expected was there to be
two
of them. Both jikininki were nothing but bones with small patches of dried up skin—which was surprising considering the stink. They clutched to his leg like some oversexed dog, clawing their way for his torso. He silently thanked Ash for the leather pants, and hoped she was okay, whatever had happened to her. And he knew with that last thought they were both on their own.
“Stinky bastards,” he grumbled and lifted the gun. Both jikininki reached for the weapon at the same time. The lifeless boney fingers of one slipped off, unable to make those digits curl into a grip. But the other jikininki had a few tendrils of muscle still attached and managed to close its hand around Tristan’s wrist. He groaned as he fought with the surprisingly strong dead guy. Or girl. He couldn’t tell. At the moment, all he cared about was getting it off of him. And he realized in that moment how stupid he was. He’d never bothered to ask Ash the best way to kill these things. Guess he was going to learn the hard way.
The jikininki not holding his gun hand grabbed his crotch and Tristan flinched hard enough that his aim automatically moved towards that one and he squeezed off a shot. The hand on his groin let go as the jikininki let out a strangled cry and rolled off him. Tristan rotated the gun to the other, pulled the trigger again, but the shot went up into a rafter as a jikininki wrenched his arms around, slammed them to the mat.
The jikininki made an angry noise with what was left of its vocal cords and then suddenly there were hands under Tristan’s armpits, jerking him upright. The jikininki that had been wrestling for his gun slipped off and wrapped himself around Tristan’s leg, hanging on for dear re-life. Happy to have his gun hand back, Tristan lifted the weapon to fire at the closest jikininki.
The biggest fucking bear paw of a fist he’d ever seen reached out and grabbed the gun from him as if he were just handing it over. The other gun in the shoulder holster under his right arm was taken and tossed away with a stomach-dropping thud. He only had two left now.
“Shit,” he hissed. He knew he didn’t stand a chance. It was no surprise, but he had hoped to put up a bigger resistance. Just proved how underpowered he really was. And they didn’t even have guns.
Everyone froze for a moment, distracted by the sudden music and strobe lights. Tristan felt instantly dizzy from being manhandled and the lights. The music almost made him nauseous it was so loud. The beat, like something from a rave, didn’t help. All they needed was Wesley Snipes and a rain of blood to round out the effect.
God, he hoped they didn’t want to use his.
Behind him, under the shit your intestines out bass, Tristan thought he heard a cry. Then he realized it was Ash. Did she call his name? He tried to turn to see where she was, and to get away from the two stinking monsters clinging to him, but a not quite human warm arm slid across his neck, ratcheting his chin into the crook of a thick muscle. At the same moment, a hard fist found his side. All of the air was knocked from him and he doubled over as the stomach wound from days ago shot pain throughout his whole upper body and he felt stitches give.
So much for that pain spell.
The jikininki with no finger tendons thought it was a good time to bite Tristan right then. Even with half of them missing, those jagged teeth tore right into Tristan. The leather pants gave and the skin underneath was like butter. Tristan screamed as much as the arm at his throat would let him, making a ragged almost gagged, gurgling noise. His blood was hot and sticky down his leg, gathered in his boot. Something in him then just switched on and the pain dulled to a distant throb. He felt it, whatever it was, like a surge of warm vitality that made the inside of his skin tingle. Not even the disorientation of the flashing lights and bass so loud you couldn’t think could distract him from the sudden relief he felt.
Interesting little potion.
A satisfied smirk took over where the pain left and Tristan ran a hand down his right thigh, searching for the backup weapon he had there. The arm at his neck kept him upright, making his reach strained, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Sure, he still couldn’t breathe, but he could go without the air for a few seconds. Fingers found cool metal and he ripped the gun from the holster, shoved the barrel against bone and fired twice. The jikininki on his leg let go and gave a satisfying thud as it collapsed to the floor in a pile of useless bones.
Wasn’t so hard to kill it after all.
Without thinking it through, acting on instinct, he kicked the other jikininki, breaking its jaw free and sending it away from him while he raised the gun to shoot over his shoulder at the one at his back. The other thick muscled arm of the one holding him shot out and knocked the gun out of Tristan’s hand from below, sending it over their heads and behind them. Down to one gun and the knives.
Angry, he groaned deeply, struggling in his captor’s hold. “Get the fuck off me, you dead piece of shit!”
A masculine laugh sounded in his ear and Tristan flung his bitten leg backwards, hoping to surprise the other enough to loosen his grip. While his leg was still in the air, Tristan’s captor jerked backwards a big step, pulling Tristan off his feet for just a moment. He gasped, though no noise came forth as the strain of the jerk on his larynx cut off his breath. The other laughed into his ear again, sending a needle of pain straight to his brain like a hot poker, only to be quelled seconds later by the pain spell. He was starting to find the power of the spell annoying, the ebb and swell of pain and relief. Guess it was better than the alternative, constant pain.
A small fisted hand flashed on and off as it emerged from the depths of the fucked up lighting and pow, smacked him right in the stomach. Even bracing for the pain, it took Tristan off guard as more stitches gave and he felt the warmth of his own blood spread down. Again. He slumped in his captor’s grip, coughing and gasping for air while he waited for the spell to kick in, but then that flashing on-and-off hand came for him again. He saw the face then, the one that was hitting him. God, he was only a kid.
Tristan cringed, bracing for the hit as it took him in the jaw. His head snapped back hard and smacked the shoulder of the one still holding him around the neck like some little girl carrying her dolly. Laughter in his ear again as his own blood filled his mouth and his head swam with sparks of bright light, illuminating the room temporarily with things that weren’t really there.
A shotgun went off in the room, but still that beating bass managed to drown out most of the sound. Under that, Tristan had to strain to hear, but he was sure there was a screech. He was happy that one of them was at least kicking ass and not just getting their ass kicked. There was that laugh in his ear again and the one holding him spoke. But it wasn’t to him and it certainly wasn’t English.
Tristan groped down his left leg, winced when his fingertips slipped into the raw holes where he’d been bitten. By the time the pain registered, it was gone again. He bent his leg, making the wounds gush, but had to get to that last gun because if he couldn’t, then... In a flash of alarm, he realized the gun was gone. He’d lost it somewhere. That left the three knives, assuming they hadn’t been lifted already too. Damn.
The arm around his neck tightened, choking him. Bracing for the pressure, Tristan held his breath and doubled over, pulling hard. In one quick movement, he grabbed the handle of the knife from his boot, gave a mental sigh that it was there, twisted it in his grip and jabbed it into the side of the one at his back. The other screamed again in that foreign language and released his unwelcome embrace.
Tristan crumpled to the floor, rolling away. He caught a glimpse of the room in those three disorientating seconds. Ash at the far end, two men fighting with her. A few on the floor, not moving. At least he thought they weren’t, the strobes made it so hard to tell. He never had problems with them before, but now, they were really starting to work on him. Make him sick. Or maybe it was the thought at the back of his mind that grew larger and larger with every weapon he exhausted and new wound he sustained. He was going to die.
“This is the true,” a deeply accented voice said and then hands grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted, pulling him to his feet again. His captor, the bear-pawed dude from before, grabbed him. He spun Tristan around and pulled his back against the front of a hard body, pinning Tristan’s arms at his sides. Goddammit, he’d dropped his knife. That left two. Hot breath caressed his cheek as the one as his back let out a deep growl and Tristan grimaced, trying to turn his face away from the stink of blood and death. He came face to face the young one again, the kid. Oh god, he was a Master, he had to be with that almost all-white hair.
“Fuck me,” Tristan mumbled.
The kid smirked and then dove at him, grabbing his neck. Tristan gagged, moments later the pain of those strong hands dissipated, but he still couldn’t breathe. There was no pain. There was no air. At least his passing would be… peaceful? Yeah, this was as peaceful as someone like him could expect, right? Die to a vampire, but with little to no pain. He’d take it. Over the boom of music, Ash screamed something he couldn’t make out and then something cold and metal skimmed across his cheek, opening a new wound. The vampire choking him let go, screaming obscenities as he clutched the side of his face.
“Holy shit, Ash” Tristan gasped when he got enough air, realizing the hot sharpness was a needle shuriken. “Watch where you throw those fucking things! About sliced my face off!”
What he didn’t see was that that little needle of metal did nearly just that to the vampire kid who had been choking on him. Ash’s aim was precise and the shuriken took the vamp right in the soft spot between his ear and jaw, boring right into his brain. The Master vampire wasn’t dead, but nearly just with more than half of his motor skills and higher thinking stripped from him by heated metal. He was nothing more than a zombie now. One that could still feel pain.
Ash answered with something that might have been a curse, but her words were lost to the din of the room. Feeling the other’s attention on Ash, Tristan burst into movement, kicking backwards hard enough to knock his captor off balance. Tristan hooked an ankle with his and jerked forward. The other gave a growl as Tristan rode him down and sent his elbow backwards, hoping to hit something besides the floor. A satisfying groan sounded under him and the arms holding him down opened.