Chapter 9: Deception

In the sewers below the city, Sasori and Mamushi guard the hunter. I approach them silently while maintaining awareness of everything around me. I am not convinced that they are ignorant of my arrival. It could be that this is all a ploy—a way to lure me in. They must know that as a member of the Kuroiwa clan, I was informed of this place. This was to be our rendevous point after a disaster. Many of the newer members of the clan thought the day would not arrive when we would be forced to retreat here. Those of us who had been displaced time and again knew better.

I feel the cold, grimy wetness of the stone wall as I lean against it. I try to think of some way to avoid the inevitable scene before me, but every contingency I conjure leads to the same end. I do not want to be responsible for further bloodshed, but Sasori and Mamushi stand between me and the hunter. They will forfeit their lives before they will permit the traitor to speak with her accomplice. My desire to talk to him will only cement my guilt in their minds. If there were any other way, I would leave the clan behind to whatever fate lies in store for it and cause no more harm. My path to Tomo starts with the hunter, though, and the longing inside me will not be denied. It may be that I do not survive the night. It may be that as soon as I confront Sasori and Mamushi, the other kyūketsuki will swarm and overpower me. I close my eyes for a moment as I lean against the wall. My fatigue is growing. My strength is failing. If I must confront two warriors of the Kuroiwa clan, I must do it now. I move slowly to the corner and peer around it, choosing my moment to move.

As soon as I am at the corner, I see Tatsu descending the stairs to my left. As always, she moves with absolute silence. When she reaches the first landing, she addresses Sasori and Mamushi.

“Does the hunter still live?”

Both kyūketsuki turn quickly to her. They know that Tatsu demands respect, and they will project nothing else.

“Hai,” responds Sasori, his head bowed.

“It is possible Mukade will return for him.” I can see Tatsu’s eyes dart over each kyūketsuki as she speaks. “You must be prepared.”

Though I could never be certain that I could consider Tatsu an ally, her apparent betrayal hurts me deeply. Of all the kyūketsuki, I felt some kinship with her, but I should have realized I was unlike any of them. As they often reminded me, I was not one of them. As Tatsu descends the final few steps to join Sasori and Mamushi, my hope fades. Even if I were at my best, I could not expect victory over Tatsu. With two other kyūketsuki to assist her and in my current state, I have no chance of reaching the hunter.

When Tatsu reaches the final step, she glances quickly over her shoulder and offers a quick nod that freezes me where I stand. Now, fleeing is not even an option. She knows I am here. Sasori and Mamushi approach Tatsu. My body tenses, and I reach back for my nodachi. Before I can curl my fingers around the handle, the hard metal beneath my gloved hand, Tatsu’s katana flashes in the dim light.

I can only imagine what Sasori must feel as the blade slices across his abdomen, trailing stolen blood. Mamushi staggers back, but she hesitates to reach for her own weapon. She is in the presence of Tatsu, favored assassin of Okāsan. It must be difficult for her to make sense of what is happening. I see the confusion in her eyes as Tatsu’s katana slides into her heart. The look remains for a moment as she collapses to the ground, but Tatsu doesn’t see, as she has already turned back to finish Sasori. I watch Mamushi’s continued puzzlement before she begins to fade and her body is wracked with the torment of the departing oni spirit. After seeing Koumori pass, it is too much for me, and I look away. When I finally look back, I see Tatsu stumble away from the lifeless kyūketsuki, her normally graceful body moving clumsily as she nearly falls to the ground. I move out of hiding toward her, but she addresses me before I can reach her side.

“Be thankful, Mukade.” She is breathing heavily, and her eyes are closed tightly. “Be thankful that you will never know the pain of killing a brother or a sister.

“Why have you done this, Tatsu? Why did you kill them?”

Tatsu will not turn to me. Her body sways slightly, and I begin to think she will collapse. She soon steadies herself, though, but her eyes remain closed and she will not face me.

“We are both fugitives now, Mukade. Okāsan will see us destroyed. She will be relentless.”

“Why damn yourself, then? How could you kill two of your own clan?” My tone is accusatory, but I cannot help it. When I killed Koumori, I had no other choice. I cannot understand how she could kill Sasori and Mamushi so easily . . . willingly.

Tatsu turns her head slightly, just enough to see me from the corner of her eye.

“I did this for you, Mukade. You were too exhausted to fight them.”

I step toward her, but she looks away from me to the hunter.

“You cannot waste time, now.”

I pause only a moment more, then I walk past Tatsu to the hunter. I have not seen him move since arriving, and at first, I fear that he is dead. On his neck are puncture wounds, and I know they have fed on him to keep him weak. I crouch down before him and reach out to touch him. I can feel that there is still life in his body.

The oni spirit that resides in each of the kyūketsuki grants us powers beyond our unnatural lives. As I reach out to the hunter, gently removing his blindfold, I begin to call upon my power, though I know it will weaken me further. I have no other choice, though. If I am to draw any information about Tomo from him, I must chance it.

Tomo. Merely the thought of him seems to call forth renewed strength. Excitement grows within me. I may be mere moments from discovering something of my Tomo. My hand slides to the hunter’s cheek, which I rub lightly. I close my eyes and concentrate on the oni spirit. I beckon it, plead for its help. I must have the power to deceive this hunter. When he awakens, he must not see Mukade.

I feel the spirit spreading through me, reaching into my veins, siphoning some of my borrowed blood. I welcome it, knowing that the spirit will not fail me.

The hunter’s eyes finally open to meet mine. He blinks at first, and then his eyes become transfixed on my own. I smile at him and begin to impose my will. I impress on him that he is safe. He no longer needs to worry about the the rope that binds his wrists or the destruction of his fellow hunters. Everything dissipates into shadow but my face before him. It is a face of kindness. It is a face of peace. It is a face he wants to trust.

To him, all traces of the kyūketsuki are gone. All that lingers is the young woman before him and the promise of salvation that accompanies her.

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Chapter 8: Convergence

Koumori is defeated, though he will not yet yield.

He glares at me as he kneels, blood trickling from numerous small cuts and a few larger gashes. I have only harmed him enough to slow him—to weaken him so that he may cease his attack and retreat to safety. I can see that he refuses to even consider such an outcome. His eyes project a hatred beyond reason. A fury consumes his mind. It is a fury bred of loathing for one he deems a traitor. It is a fury that is continually stoked by his pride, which has suffered a far worse injury from this defeat than his body. He is young, he is arrogant, and he is wrathful.

“It is over, Koumori. You have to accept that you are wrong. I am no traitor.  This will be proven.”

Koumori is unmoving. He is as a statue, frozen in a pose of subjugation, his dead, stone eyes fixed on me. I forsee the inevitable end of this struggle, no matter how much I yearn for it to be otherwise. Koumori perceives this fight too narrowly. In his mind, it must either be him or me. There is no draw. There are no concessions. Only one of us may remain at the conclusion. Sadly, I believe even Koumori realizes which of us that will be.

Koumori’s katana lies but a few feet from him on the pavement. I know his mind is trained on it, ready to retrieve it for one final assault. He is now too weakened for strategy and swordplay. His next attack will be a mad flurry driven by the hopes of catching me off guard.

“You must cease, Koumori. I do not want to harm you further.”

No response. Not even the faintest change in expression. He is too focused on me and my movements. He waits for an opening. I grow impatient, knowing the more time that passes, the more chance there is of being found out by other kyūketsuki. My concentration slips for an instant, and in that moment, Koumori once again has his katana in hand and springs toward me.

I step back, dip my body, and thrust upward with my nodachi. The sharp blade skewers Koumori, sliding easily through his chest and out of his back. His katana falls to the street as his strength fails him, its metal clang reverberating off the tall buildings that line the alley. I hold Koumori impaled for a few seconds before I allow him to slide to the ground. He gurgles and coughs as he attempts to speak, to curse me—the traitor—one final time. I sheathe my nodachi and kneel next to him. I touch his forehead with my gloved hand and look into his eyes. I offer what comfort I can, and I witness confusion in his gaze where there had only been hate.

The passing of one of the kyūketsuki comes with terrific agony. The oni spirit which grants our existence forfeits its hold on the body with extreme reluctance. When the spirit senses the body is failing, it clings savagely to the life that remains, long after the individual has ceased to struggle. It is like being ripped asunder from the inside until the spirit finally fades into oblivion. As I kneel by Koumori, I sense the torment, the pain. Though I am sure it is no great solace to him, I stay by his side until it is over.

I place Koumori’s katana atop him and cross his arms over it. Leaning forward, I whisper into his ear.

“Farewell, Koumori, cherished servant of Okāsan and brave warrior of the Kuroiwa clan. I hope you have found peace.”

Though the idea of leaving Koumori in the street does not please me, too much is pressing to do otherwise. I must see what I can discover of the vampire hunters quickly, before anyone else finds me. I stand, my mind on the hotel and what clues it may contain, but a voice from above stops me before I can move further.

“Koumori was destined to reach an early end. Okāsan knew it. I think Koumori may have even known.”

I glance up to see Tatsu sitting on the edge of a fire escape. She appears casual and unmoved by what has transpired.

“He could have been a great assassin, had he any control over his rage.”

Tatsu slides off the fire escape and lands lightly on the street. I step back instinctively, putting space between us. I do not know yet what her motivations might be, and I can allow her no advantage. If she were to attack now, while I am fatigued from my lack of rest and my duel with Koumori, I fear that she would vanquish me easily. She seems to take no notice of me, though, but instead stares at Koumori’s body.

“I warned Okāsan against changing him. She thirsted for his passion, though. She did not seem concerned with what might eventually come of him, as long as she could have him for a time. And so she changed him, adding a fierce warrior doomed to bring about his own ruin.”

Tatsu turns her attention to me and smiles. Her white teeth shine in the dim light.

“I do not blame you for Koumori’s death, Mukade. It was his decision to end his journey tonight, not yours.”

My fatigue seems to increase under Tatsu’s gaze, and I long to escape from it. She perceives my discomfort.

“You have nothing to worry from me, Mukade. Not at the moment. Look—I do not even wear my katana.”

I notice that her side is bare. For whatever reason, she is not armed.

“Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of the other kyūketsuki,” she continues. “Okāsan holds you responsible for what has happened tonight.”

“But . . . I did not know about any of it. I would never turn against the Kuroiwa clan.”

Tatsu regards me for a few moments. Her weight of her eyes on me becomes nearly unbearable.

“No, I do not think that you would. But it does not matter. Okāsan has passed judgment on you, and she will never forgive such betrayal. She will rebuild the clan, and then you can be assured that she will seek you out. The world has become a very dangerous place for you tonight, Mukade.”

“Will Okāsan not listen to reason?”

Tatsu laughs. “Okāsan listens to her own counsel. Nothing more.”

“Then I must leave.”

“She will continue to hunt you. One day, she will find you.”

I shake my head. “I am not concerned about that now.”

“She will make us enemies. I cannot deny her will, Mukade.”

I nod. “Then I hope to not see you again after tonight.”

I turn to walk away. I have wasted too much time. I know I must uncover what information I can and escape.

“At least you need not worry about the vampire hunters anymore, Mukade. Only one remains, and he is in Okāsan’s hands.”

I pause and look back at Tatsu.

“You have captured one of them?”

Tatsu nods. “Yes, we killed all but one. Okāsan wanted to interrogate him.”

“So, he could vindicate me?”

Tatsu shrugs. “It is possible. So far, he has told us little. Some information about other kyūketsuki the hunters have attacked.”

“Other kyūketsuki?”

Tomo’s picture flashes in my mind. Before Tatsu can respond, I am moving, running. I am racing back to the Kuroiwa clan. No concerns remain other than to speak to this hunter. Hope and longing for Tomo supersede any worries about returning to the clan.  I must know if Tomo is out there. I must reach this hunter while he still lives.

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Chapter 7: Betrayal

It is twilight, and I have not rested.

My thoughts throughout the day have been troubling, refusing to slow, to fade. The kyūketsuki long for sleep, perhaps more than mankind. For us, waking life is the nightmare. Each night, we are haunted by the demonic urge to drink the blood of humans. Each life taken separates us further and further from what we once were. At least in dreams, we may discover a trace of the humanity we once took for granted. There, we may feel the peace the night denies us.

But if I find Tomo . . . if I can find love again . . . .

To find Tomo, though, I realize I must go back. I must face the threat of the vampire hunters and the kyūketsuki. If I do not, I am afraid I will not be able to uncover the mystery around Tomo. I have to learn what the vampire hunters know of him. I have to learn why they have his picture from the winter carnival.

The thought that it may be too late continues to lurk in the periphery of my mind, and I battle to keep it at bay. I cannot accept that Tomo may have fallen victim to the vampire hunters, though it explains so easily why they would have his picture. I know that cannot have happened. I know that I would have felt the loss. But if they did not find him and destroy him . . . how and where did they take possession of the photograph?

It is what I have to know. It is why I have to return, possibly to my peril.

When the sun finally disappears, I dress once again in Mukade’s clothing. I take all of Ai’s possessions and stow them carefully away in the house. They must remain until I return. This will be a safe haven for Ai while Mukade completes her mission.

I exit the house and make my way back into the city. My eyes seek out dark windows and rooftops for danger. My sense for blood will warn me when a vampire hunter is close, but the kyūketsuki could be anywhere, waiting for me. They will not have me. I repeat it over and over in my mind. They will not have me.

I am now deep into the city, close to the hotel where I killed the hunter. Only a day has passed, yet I have relived a lifetime within it. I tell myself that it has been but a short time and I may still find a clue I missed earlier—some seemingly insignificant hint of where to seek next for Tomo.

I turn to enter the alley behind the hotel. Koumori stands there, as if he has expected me for some time. I had dared to hope I might complete this mission unseen, undetected, as if I had never returned. I know that is not to be, now. This night will not pass without bloodshed.

Koumori is among the youngest of the kyūketsuki. He was one Okāsan chose to turn the last time we rebuilt the clan. She was attracted to his quick temper and lithe body. She was certain he would acclimate quickly to the ways of the kyūketsuki. She knew that he could become a skilled assassin. And, as always, Okāsan was correct.

Seconds pass before either Koumori or I act. We both realize the severity of this meeting. I can only attempt to convince him that I was not leaving the clan. I know that I will fail.

“Have you returned to us, Mukade?”

The words are not inviting. They are a judgment. I am already convicted of desertion. All that awaits is my sentence.

“I have returned, Koumori. I have spent the day worried over what the hunters might know. I thought it best to see if I might find any clue of how this one discovered us.”

Koumori smiles and shakes his head.

“No need to wonder, Mukade. Okāsan now knows how the hunter found us. She has uncovered everything.”

I sense a threat in his words. A promise of violence.

“What is it that she has uncovered?”

Koumori’s brows draw together. His face is crevassed by hatred.

“This day, Mukade, while we rested, the hunters invaded our home. Before we were alerted, five of us were killed. Two more died before we fled. If it were not for Okāsan and Tatsu waking us, there would be no more Kuroiwa clan.”

 Koumori pauses, his eyes fixed on mine, before he continues.

“You should have seen how we fought the hunters. They believed they could come and destroy us so easily. They did not realize the fury they would unleash. Okāsan . . . .”  He pauses again, looking down and smiling.  “She flashed about them, teeth bared, her blade streaming blood.  It was . . . beautiful.”

Koumori meets my eyes again.

“But you did not see any of this, did you, Mukade? You were not there.”

I feel my hand involutarily flex, begging to unsheathe my nodachi from my back.

“Be very careful with your words, Koumori. You risk an accusation.”

“No, I make that accusation!” Koumori bares his fangs. His eyes shine. “As she cut down hunter after hunter, the same words were repeated by Okāsan—’Where is Mukade? Why is she not here?’”

Koumori places his hand on the tsuka of his katana, but before he can begin to draw it, I have my nodachi in my hand. I rest it against my shoulder. I do not want this. Mukade has killed other kyūketsuki when commanded to do so by Okāsan. It was her duty as an assassin. She never dared do so against one of the Kuroiwa clan, though. She thought she would never have reason to.

“I should have been there, Koumori, but my absence does not make me a traitor. I have always been faithful to the Kuroiwa clan.”

“But you have never been of the Kuroiwa clan! You should have never been allowed among us!”

Koumori draws his katana. I raise my head, eyes open wide. Mukade rages inside of me. There is nothing left to reason. I run to meet my foe, teeth bared.

This night will not pass without bloodshed.

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Chapter 6: Reflection

It has been several hours since I left the cemetery. Several hours of running with no real direction. Several hours of panic and confusion. I try to focus on Tomo and the hope that I will find him again, but Tatsu’s words continue to interfere. I will not always be able to protect you. I wonder if she has returned to report to Okāsan. If so, I am certain Okāsan will have sent the other kyūketsuki to retrieve me. I cannot allow them to capture me. Even if they did not destroy me, I would be a prisoner among them. A servant. A slave. I would never be free again to seek out Tomo.

I finally decide I must stop. The fatigue of my escape is compounded by the coming morning. I must find a place to rest. Somewhere safe that will shelter me from the sun.

I find an old house with few windows. It appears to be abandoned. Though I can never be certain I will not be disturbed, I believe that I will be able to pass the day here. When night falls again, I will resume my flight.

Once inside the house, I unpack Ai’s possessions. I carefully lay out her dress from the winter carnival. That night was very special to Ai. It was on that night that Tomo finally asked her for her hand. I begin to disrobe, removing the garb of a kyūketsuki assassin. I replace it with the stained dress of Ai Ōnishi.

On the house’s second floor, I find a fogged, cracked mirror. I stand before it in Ai’s dress. I remember the joy she felt when her mother presented the dress to her. That was following the war. That was after they had been released from the internment camps to find their previous lives were lost. They were poor and struggling during that time, yet her mother had managed to procure a new dress for her daughter. A dress to wear to the winter carnival. A dress to wear for Tomo.

I search the mirror for a trace of Ai. It had seemed that her name was all that remained in my memory. She was like a passing acquaintance from years past. Someone I knew only superficially. Mukade had become preeminent after I became one of the Kuroiwa clan, and Ai found herself exiled to fleeting thoughts and occasional dreams.

But I can see her now. The traces are faint, but she stares back at me, young and hopeful. She has waited so long to return. So long to reunite with her Tomo.

I retrieve the picture of Ai and Tomo from my pack. As I look at it, blank spots in my memory seem to be rewritten. Lost feelings return. The fading black-and-white image begins to fill with color as I recall the night of the carnival.

Ai Ōnishi was a shy girl who wanted nothing more than to love and have that love returned. She was a girl who had been taken from her home and placed in Manzanar. She was a girl who found herself in an uncertain situation, scared and alone. But there, in Manzanar, she also found Tomo, and with him came the happiness she had sought during her young life.

Tomo was eight years her elder. He had worked at a university before being moved to Manzanar, and he believed he would return there one day. Ai wanted very much to return there with him, but instead, he followed her family back to Stockton. He told her that he had lost everything when they sent him to Manzanar, but there he had found the only thing he would cherish the rest of his life. He had found Ai, and he had found love.

On the night of the winter carnival, fake snow was sifted from above the dance floor onto the dancers below. All the trees had been strung with lights, and lanterns were hung around the floor. Numerous couples, thrilled that the war was finally at an end, enjoyed the peace of a slow dance in their lovers’ arms. To Ai, though, there was no one else there but Tomo.

I hold the picture close to my breast as I think of him. He was so handsome. So loving. He was all that Ai had ever hoped for.

As dawn comes, I remove Ai’s dress and carefully pack it away. I do not dress in my assassin’s clothes, though. Those are the clothes of Mukade, and this moment belongs to Ai. I walk to the window holding the picture. The sun is rising, its first rays staining the sky red. I stand naked and let the weak light fall upon me, enjoying my first sunrise since joining the kyūketsuki.

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Chapter 5: Disinterment

As a young girl, I loved to visit cemeteries. They always seemed beautiful, filled with flowers and trees. The grass was always trimmed and kept free of weeds. There were angels on pedestals, their pebbly wings spread out behind them. There were babies and lambs carved into thick granite markers. And there was peace. No one approached me in a cemetery. People walked about slowly, talking softly, perhaps offering a quick glance or a smile as they passed by.

My fascination with cemeteries did not wane as I aged. Each grave marked a lifetime of memories that were lost to the world. Underneath a few feet of dark soil, the bodies and experiences of countless generations were reabsorbed by the earth.

After I awakened from my brief death, when I transcended the boundaries of mortality and became one of the kyūketsuki, a longing for the grave began to grow in me. Ai Ōnishi belonged to sunlit days dreaming of her life with Tomo. She could not exist dwelling in the shadows, her memories of love slowly diminishing. I had to put Ai to rest, so I placed all that remained of her among the deceased. There was not much left at that time. A dress. Some jewelry. A few mementos. I buried them in a cemetery to decay alongside the others whose time had passed. Ai Ōnishi, daughter of Nobu and Megumi Ōnishi. Rest in peace.

But no matter how tried, I could not bear to leave her behind.

As I moved with the Kuroiwa clan, so did what remained of Ai. I always placed her belongings in a serene part of each cemetery—a place where she might finally rediscover the peace she once knew.  Most of the time, I would find a newly dug grave and sneak her into it, only to unearth her again when we were forced to relocate. When we moved last, I found her a small mausoleum of her own.  A mausoleum known only to me.  A mausoleum I visit tonight for the last time.

I pause briefly at the door to check the area. It is rare that I can come to pay my respects to Ai Ōnishi. Tonight will be the last night doing so, though. Tonight, I plan to exhume her one final time and return her to the world. Tonight, she becomes as Lazarus.

The feelings inside me—excitement, joy, love—are all mortal and hard to contain. I thrust open the doors. I have come to free Ai from her burial chamber. I have come to let her experience fresh air and open skies.  I have come so that she may love again.

Thoughts of regaining Tomo ravage my mind, and I find it hard to concentrate. My only concern is to slide back the lid of the vault and look upon Ai’s belongings once again. If I can touch them . . . see them . . . I think I can recapture what it was to truly be her . . . .

I catch myself as I begin to take my first step into the mausoleum. I am suddenly aware of someone close behind me. My racing thoughts cease and my mind becomes focused. The person has come much too close. I allowed myself to be careless for a moment, and in that moment, someone managed to evade my senses.

“Stop where you’re at!”

My first instinct is to alter myself to appear human. It is within my abilities. I am still strong from the feeding.  But it is too late now.  If I had sensed him sooner, I could have hidden that I am one of the kyūketsuki. I could have charmed him, convinced him I pose no danger. But I allowed him to get too close. I can hear Ai beckoning me, pleading with me. She wants me to ignore him, to let him live, and I want so much to give in. I know that I cannot, though. Traces of Mukade linger, and she abides no risks. I turn, ready to pounce.

But Tatsu is already upon him.

If he could scream, I am certain his voice would carry with it maddening fear and pain. Instead, the confusion, sorrow, and insanity can only be read in his face, his body paralyzed by Tatsu’s bite. I avert my eyes. Only hours before I had done the same, taking away the life of the vampire hunter. As I watch Tatsu drain the officer, the act seems abhorrent. Monstrous.

When Tatsu finishes, she lets the body slump to the ground. The sound of the dead flesh collapsing to the walk breaks the silence of the attack. Tatsu drags the back of her gloved hand across her mouth, wiping away any excess blood.

“You have to be more careful from now on, Mukade. I will not always be able to protect you.”

Tatsu smiles, and once again I know not whether it bespeaks of friendship or malice.

“I think you are safe, for now,” she continues. “I must leave you with the task of cleaning, though. Okāsan will inquire after me if I am absent for long.”

Saying nothing more, Tatsu turns and walks away.

I do not move until she is out of sight. Then, I drag the officer’s body into the mausoleum. If I had not planned on releasing Ai previously, I would have to now. This place is no longer safe. I empty the vault of Ai’s possessions and replace them with the officer’s body, all the while thinking of Tatsu. The refrain of “I will not always be able to protect you” pervades my mind as I secure Ai’s possessions in my pack. The image of the officer being drained flashes in my mind. This time, I can hear him scream.

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Chapter 4: Okāsan

In the presence of Okāsan, I kneel and present my sword. It is the custom of Kuroiwa warriors when returning from a mission. If Okāsan believes my efforts to be adequate, I will be told to rise and secure my weapon. If she deems I was unsuccessful, the sword that failed to defeat our enemy will slay me instead.

I have been waiting for several minutes to be acknowledged by Okāsan. I know this delay in addressing me is intended to be a lesson. She is aware that I did not return promptly from my task, so she is prolonging my judgment. Behind me, Tatsu leans against the wall, appearing relaxed and ignorant of the severity of this ceremony. As a Kuroiwa warrior, though, she realizes its importance all too well.

Okāsan watches over our territory, seeking out invaders; precursors to danger. Those eyes have seen the beauty and tranquility of the Japanese countryside. They have observed the sun set over Mount Fuji, the sky red like the lava churning in its belly. They have witnessed the extravagant beauty of the Kinkaku-ji. Those eyes have also looked upon the comfort women and their disgrace. They have surveyed the devastation of a global war. They have beheld numerous battles, the story of which are told in the scars of her body.

But I know the eyes of Okāsan do more than perceive the world around her. When becoming one of the kyūketsuki, the previous life is lost. All the cares of the living are said to be drained from us when we are first bitten, and we replace those cares with the power of the kyūketsuki as we drink the blood of the one who transforms us. When I gaze into Okāsan’s eyes, though, they tell the story of all she has seen, and I know that she continues to claim the joy and the pain of her human life as her own. I long to tell her that I continue to feel, too. I feel the hope of finding a love and a life long lost. I know the way of the kyūketsuki too well, though. I have seen the consequences of expressing human sentiment.

“So, you have finally returned to report, Mukade.”

I continue to kneel, eyes cast downward.

“Yes, Okāsan.”

“And what is your report?”

I am certain she already knows I have been successful in my task. Her demeanor—calm, casual—informs me of that.

“The hunter has been taken care of.”

Okāsan does not respond for a moment. I feel her eyes on me, though I continue to bow my head.

“Rise, Mukade.”

I do as she demands, slinging my sword across my back once again. I stand, unmoving.

“Is that all you have to report?”

“Yes, Okāsan.”

“Did you search him?”

The fire inside me grows stronger, like the flickering flames in the barrel. Like the bubbling lava of Mount Fuji. I can feel the heat beneath my skin, spreading up my neck, through my ears.

“Yes, Okāsan.”

“What did you find?”

I wonder if I can cheat those eyes. If I attempt to mask the truth—to stow away the image of Tomo and my continued love—will I succeed? Does she perceive the fire that threatens to consume me as I stand before her? If I were one of her own, a kyūketsuki of her own making, her dominion over me would not allow such deceit. I am not one of her own, though. I am not a true member of the Kuroiwa clan. I am a guest intent on excusing herself before she overstays her welcome.

“He had nothing, Okāsan. No clues to tell if there are more like him or why he is here.”

Okāsan approaches me. If I dared look into those eyes now, what story would I read in them? I am too frightened of what it might be to risk a glance.

“So, you found nothing on him? Nothing at all?”

“No, Okāsan.”

I don’t know how much longer I can stand under that gaze. My muscles are turning to ash. Soon, I must collapse.

“You are dismissed, Mukade.”

I thank Okāsan, then turn to leave. I tell myself that I have enough strength left to walk out of the room without stumbling, without giving any indication of my lie. I know now that I must leave soon. I cannot trust my strength to endure more of Okāsan’s questioning if she becomes suspicious of me.

Tatsu’s eyes on me as I leave are nearly as palpable as Okāsan’s. I do not betray that I am aware of her scrutiny. I continue on and out the door, shutting it securely behind me.

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Chapter 3: Sanctuary

In Japan, the Kuroiwa clan numbered nearly one-hundred, all of them changed by Okāsan. Those were the days in which the clan felt strong, invincible. Those were the days before the war, and the aftermath. And those were the days before mankind realized his fear and sought to destroy the kyūketsuki. By the time they arrived on American shores—after fleeing hastily from their homeland, desperate to survive—only eleven of the Kuroiwa clan remained.

Now, so many decades later, the clan has grown only twofold, still but a tiny tribe compared to what it once was. Okāsan states that we must remain small, mobile. We must not attract attention to ourselves. We must not face extinction.

Currently, we are hidden in an abandoned part of the city. We only exist in legend and the stories of drunken vagrants. And in the will of the hunters.

But for now, we are safe.

Okāsan expects prompt action. She will be standing alone, high above the streets, her eyes scanning the city, anticipating any danger. She expects to soon know whether our safety has been comprimised. She anxiously awaits Mukade’s return.

But I am now not Mukade. I am Ai Ōnishi, and I am feeling the pain of a lost love.

There are occasions when I separate myself from the other kyūketsuki, when I climb above the streets to sit alone. To reflect. They do not understand my need for isolation, but in many ways, they do not understand me. They attribute it to my being the only one among them not to be turned by Okāsan. In their eyes, I am but a guest of the Kuroiwa clan, and one day, I will overstay my welcome.

When I reach my sanctuary, the small piece of this disintegrating neighborhood I claim as my own, I pause. More than ever before, I yearn to be left with my thoughts. To have the wind and the stars be my only companions. To have the solace of quiet introspection. But my sanctuary has been invaded. I am not alone.

“I think I am beginning to understand why you spend so much time here, Mukade. It is peaceful, isn’t it?”

Tatsu speaks without turning, without regarding me. She continues to stare out at the ruined city that surrounds us.

“You know, Mukade, you would be a much more effective assassin if you did not insist on wearing those boots of yours. They are not made for stealth.”

Tatsu stands and approaches me. She is the favored of Okāsan and the deadliest assassin of the Kuroiwa clan. She fought alongside Okāsan during the genocide in Japan, when man sought to annihilate the kyūketsuki. She watched dozens of our kind dismembered, burned, and tortured. She fled her homeland and all traces of her human past. She helped rebuild the clan in America.

She found me, frightened and newly transformed, and offered me a home.

I bow my head to her. “If such a small impediment prevents me from slaying a lone hunter undetected, then I am unworthy of your training.”

“So you have taken care of the hunter?”

“Yes.”

Tatsu smiles. Occasionally, I read approval—even alliance—in that smile. Other times, I fear it presages my destruction.

“You are aware that Okāsan is waiting for your report.” She smiles again. “But I know you, Mukade, better than you are aware. Take your time alone. Just be careful you do not keep her waiting too long.”

Tatsu’s arm grazes mine as she walks past. Then she is gone, and I kneel on the metal grating and attempt to resume my earlier thoughts.

Above me looms a building with large, dark windows. Behind one of those panes of fogged, cracked glass stands Okāsan. Her eyes are on the city, seeking out danger. My thoughts are on Tomo, and the danger of my continued love for him.

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Chapter 2: Photograph

For my return home, I choose the darkest, most isolated alleys.

For the kyūketsuki, the shadows are among our closest allies. They cloak us from the eyes of the living, who fear what hides within them. They protect us from the awful sun, whose light weakens us. They aid us in the hunt for food, blinding those who walk during the day.

Tonight, they are my confidant, for there are none of my kind with whom I can share my thoughts.

As ordered by Okāsan, I removed the threat of the vampire hunter. My actions were swift, my aim perfect. I was upon him, draining him, before he could react. My bite paralyzed him, sapped his strength. When he was empty, I released him, and he fell slowly onto the cracked asphalt.

If he had been a normal man, I would have returned to the shadows as soon as the feeding concluded. This was a vampire hunter, though. This was someone who had come within days of finding us. Within days of forcing us to once again abandon our home. Because of the threat they pose, Okāsan demands that the bodies of hunters always be searched, to discover what they know. To uncover their secrets.

But this hunter had no secrets of his own to share. Instead, he carried one of mine.

I stop by a burning barrel. The street person who started this fire flees at my approach. He knows it is better to face the cold than one like me. I stare into the flames. They jump and twirl and grow and falter. They give light and warmth. I cross my arms over my chest and try to remember what it was like to be cold. What was it like to need the comfort of a warm fire?

What was it like to be human?

It is the question I dare not utter but to the consuming flames and the empty shadows. I am one of the kyūketsuki, and the ways of the living are no longer mine. When I chose this existence, I forfeited such concerns. To try to think as a human is to guarantee my undoing, either under the stroke of a hunter or by the will of my own kind. I no longer share the needs of humanity. There is no place for a warm fire among the kyūketsuki. It fends off the shadows that keep us safe.

Yet tonight, I feel at one with the fire. Inside, I am burning as well.

In the flickering light, I take out the one secret the hunter carried with him. It is an old photograph, worn with age.

How the hunter managed to obtain this picture, I cannot guess. I am equally unsure of what his plans for it may have been. All that I do know is that it is dangerous. This photograph could be the harbinger of my destruction.

How easy it would be to drop it into the barrel and be rid of the hazards it portends. But I know that will not extinguish the fire within me that seems to be expanding, racing along my veins, searing my flesh.

That would not erase the image of Tomo.

How long has it been since I imagined him this way? Young. Handsome. Loving. This photograph had worn the decades better than the image of Tomo in my own mind. He had become indistinct. A phantom.

After transforming me, Tomo disappeared. No one knew where or how. He was lost; therefore, I was lost. Not only was he my lover in life, but he was my master in death. And he was gone.

But he was not destroyed. As I stand in the light of the fire, the burning inside me rivaling that of the barrel, I know he still walks somewhere in the shadows. He is my master, and the tie between us tells me that.

This burning is not the strength of that tie, though. As I tuck the photograph away, keeping it safely close to me, I know this feeling to be human. This is the burning that a young Ai felt for her Tomo. This is the burning that caused her to drink Tomo’s infected blood.

I make a decision to allow the burning within me to continue. I will uphold a promise made decades ago, whatever doom may come.

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Chapter 1: The hunted

My name is Ai Ōnishi. In Japanese, my first name means “love,” and there was a time when I considered mine a story of love. I loved more deeply than conceived in my happiest childhood fantasies. More wholly than I had ever thought possible. At times, the love I felt shamed me, for who was I to be deserving of such a gift? My love was so unyielding that I was willing to forfeit my own life for the promise of eternity with my lover.

With Tomo.

But that was decades ago in a life long abandoned. Now I am known as Mukade, an assassin for the Kuroiwa clan. And I am also one of the kyūketsuki. A being without love. A being without promise. A parasite. A demon.

A vampire.

As I am forsaken by those whose blood still runs warm, I have forsaken that for which they live. I do not pine for sunlit days. I do not yearn for the company of friends and family. I do not long for the embrace of another. My thoughts are only of feeding and survival.

And that is why I am out tonight, perched atop a decaying hotel in a ruined neighborhood. To feed and to survive.

Inside this place rests a man who knows of our clan. It is fortunate that Okāsan discovered his presence early, before he can gather more of his kind. They are the vampire hunters, and they are of a single will—to annihilate the kyūketsuki. If they assemble, our clan might have to move once again. The Kuroiwa clan was driven from Japan years before they found me, and in my time among them, we have been forced to relocate six times. There is always the threat of being unable to find a new safe haven. If I can spare us that risk, I will.

The street below is vacant, for which I am thankful. Individually, men cannot harm me. They lack the speed, the reflexes, and the strength of the kyūketsuki. If a group of them attacks, though, I might be overwhelmed. Better to find them alone and unaware.

Finally, I perceive movement—the presence of life. The thirst begins to grow inside me as I sense the blood pulsating through the hunter’s veins. My tongue traces the points of my teeth. They have grown in anticipation. Faintly, I hear the sound of footsteps grow from inside.

My muscles tense as I prepare to pounce. Many times, I have slipped down in the night, one with the shadows, my teeth plunging into my prey and holding them as their life flows into me. Sometimes, I move so stealthily that they do not have time to realize what has happened to them. Others are not so lucky, and they regard me with terror as I drain them.

There was a time I was as horrified by my feeding as they. That was before I became Mukade.

The hunter has stopped on the stoop. I cannot see him, and my first thought is that I have somehow betrayed myself, and he is ready for me. But then I hear the click of the lighter and smell the lit tobacco. A part of me wants to let him finish this final cigarette before I strike. To give him one last pleasure before his life ends. I know that the two of us do not differ greatly. He hunts vampires for the safety of his kind. I must assassinate him for the survival of mine. My mind is clear again with the sound of his boot on the first step. Kyūketsuki are not allowed the luxury of being sentimental or merciful.

I time my leap so that I will land behind him. His death will come quickly, without fear. I know that he has killed my kind less humanely than this, but mine is not an act of vengeance. I am Mukade, assassin of the Kuroiwa clan, and I only act to survive . . . and to feed.

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