Dream of Crimson – Part VI

By Vikki

Disclaimer: You all know the routine … I don't feel like repeating it. It's too painful. ::sob::

Flame Policy: I'll EAT you! ::smirk::

Pre-author's notes: Sorry this took so long to post! Life is much calmer now, though … thanks for all your reviews!

*   *   *

                The next day at noon, Aya showed us his focus.

                "Your katana … is your focus?"  Youji sounded incredulous and was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

                Aya glared holes into him.  "Do you have a problem with it?"

                Youji snickered, swallowed, and managed, "No … I'm just thinking about the connotations …"

                "Youji-kun!" Omi scolded, blushing.  I could feel the heat in my cheeks, too.

                "What? Just think about it for a second," Youji shrugged, turning his palms toward the sky.

                "I am, Youji-kun, and it's not that funny," came the reply as Omi's ears began to take on a color similar to the one in his cheeks.

                We were sitting around the table in the back of the flower shop – actually, Omi and Aya were sitting at the table while I leaned against the counter and Youji perched on a stool.  Aya's katana rested on the table.  Youji's bruises were fading quickly, although he still winced when he moved very quickly.  My shoulders, head, and chest still ached, but my nose was almost completely yellow (as opposed to black) and my black eye was fading almost as fast.

                Aya looked murderous – not that this was incredibly unusual, but it made me begin to worry that he would change his mind about helping us.  I doubted it would perturb him much that we might get killed if he didn't help.  "Er, let's get started, okay?"

                Youji sobered and Omi's color slowly returned to normal as Aya stared at me.  "Since we have no trace of the vampires, we need a memory.  The blood acts as a memory because it carries your entire life in it."  He looked significantly at me.  "You're the one who has seen the vampires and remembers them.  To find them, there will be a blood price exacted."

                I frowned slightly and crossed my arms.  "Are you telling me you need my blood?"

Aya just looked at me meaningfully, which was the closest I would get to a 'yes' out of him. I took a deep breath.  "Are you sure?" I asked, trying very hard not to wince.  Aya just continued to look at me.  I sighed and stepped forward, holding out my bare forearm.  "Okay.  Okay.  Just cut it quickly."  Oh, god, why me, why me?  Was what I was really thinking, but I had too much pride to show that I was scared.  Sure, I had been cut up during missions, but I never did it intentionally, nor had I ever been slashed along a vein that was so … well, vital.  Tapping into the lifestream sucked.

Aya picked up his katana off the table and laid it against the inside of my wrist.

Suddenly Omi jerked out of his seat.  "Wait a minute!"

Youji gave Omi a look that was combined sympathy and annoyance.  "Now is a bad time to get cold feet, Omicchi."

"Yeah," I chimed in, laughing nervously.  "Really, this isn't that bad compared to being, uh, completely drained of blood by a vampire or something, right?"

Omi turned a little white, but said, "No, that's not it.  We just need the First Aid kit so we can mop Ken up afterwards …" he looked as if he was steeling himself.  "I'll be right back."  He disappeared out the door, and we could hear him clattering downstairs to the room where we met Manx.  I took the opportunity to take deep breaths and practice not trembling.

Omi returned, First Aid kit in hand; Aya looked at me.  "Ready?"

I took a deep breath and held it, nodding.

Aya cut my wrist so quickly I didn't quite feel the pain until after the cut was made.  Blood welled up almost immediately and dripped over my fist and onto the table; Aya then promptly cut his own thumb and pressed the wound into my blood.  He shut his eyes and began to mutter in a language I didn't recognize.  I wasn't paying much attention; I was concentrating on my blood, which was strangely fascinating.

It wasn't long until my vision began to get fuzzy, along with my hearing.  I was vaguely aware of Omi and Youji supporting me by the elbows while my blood just kept pouring on the table and Aya rubbed his fingers in it and his sword glowed a faint purple sheen.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Aya looked up at me and said, "All right."  It was all the encouragement Omi and Youji needed; Omi pressed a wet towel against my wrist and directed Youji to apply pressure to my arm just above my wrist.  I watched, still fascinated, as my blood slowly soaked the towel, before I passed out.

*   *   *

I woke up on the floor, my arm throbbing.  Omi was at my side, wrapping gauze around my wrist.  Aya was sitting on the stool now.  Youji was sitting on a chair; he looked to be in a little pain, and I slowly realized that I was clutching his fingers with a death grip.  I unwound my fingers and let my arm fall to my side.  "Uh …" I began intelligently.

"You used my hand as your stress ball when Omi started stitching up the cut," Youji explained.  "You bleed a lot.  That's the last time we cut open your wrist."  He smirked slightly.

"You fainted for about 20 minutes, Ken-kun," Omi added.  "And Aya says he knows where the vampires are."

I looked at Aya.  Aya shrugged.  I was about to press the issue, but Omi interrupted, "Let's go to the vampires now, when the sun is hottest."

I sat up slowly and shook my head when I experienced a wave of dizziness.  "That's as intelligent a time to track them down as any I heard.  Youji?"

"Ready as always."  Youji grinned at me.  "I elect Siberian as mission leader this time.  Bombay?"

Omi grinned.  "A good idea, Balinese."

I was embarrassed.  "Thanks – I think," I corrected myself.  "Uh … well, let's get to wherever they are and take it from there, okay?"

Youji produced a cigarette from nowhere (as he often did) and lit it, grinning at me as he let out a breath of smoky air and rose to his feet again.  "As you wish, Kenken."

"Geez, stop calling me that!  I'm going to start calling you Yo-tan!" I threatened ineffectually as I shakily returned to my feet.

Youji just laughed as he left the shop to change into his assassin gear.

*   *   *

                Aya said that he couldn't simply give us the directions to the vampire safehouse – he had to lead us there.  Apparently this location spell was more of a homing beacon than a real set of directions in Aya's head.

                The day wasn't too warm, which was good because even though I hadn't put on my claw yet, and Omi hadn't assembled his crossbow, and Youji – well, okay, so Youji's weapon was always inconspicuous – we still looked pretty funny; we were wearing long sleeves and gloves and other strange things, being four men dressed to kill, quite literally.  Only Aya looked really dangerous though, for he gripped his katana's handle as if ready to whip out the sword and kill someone at any instant.  He only glared at Omi when the seventeen-year-old tried to get him to stop looking so fierce.  Youji observed that Aya probably was incapable of looking any less fierce than he did right then, and he and Aya nearly engaged in an all-out fistfight before Omi succeeded in convincing Aya to keep concentrating on finding the vampires.

                Tensions were running very high; our not-so-tight knit fabric that made us Weiss was tearing, badly – mostly because Aya obviously had a potentially dangerous secret involving Bethany and the rest of the Underworld, but also because Youji, Omi, and I were all pretty sure that we were walking towards death, or at least a lot of suffering.

                We didn't know how right we were.

                Aya pointed out the house to us when we were a block away.  We passed Aya to poke our heads around the corner and examine it.  It was a run-down building, abandoned for years by the look of it.  A muscular man loitered nearby, his greasy brown locks streaked with green dye and a long gold earring dangling from his ear, not unlike Aya's.

                "Werewolf," I forewarned both Omi and Youji as I watched the man flick cigarette ash from the glowing butt.

                Even as I spoke, the werewolf looked straight at us.

                Immediately Youji straightened, ran his fingers through his hair, and nonchalantly began to stroll away, muttering, "Meet at the opposite corner in ten."  Omi, ever the professional, acted similarly.  I think I gaped at the werewolf for a second or two before managing to speed-walk around the corner as if I had somewhere else to be, and quickly.

                I should have known that it wouldn't really work.

                I passed the spot where Youji, Omi, and I had passed Aya and noticed immediately that Aya was not where he had been only a minute before; he had disappeared completely, leaving not even a trace of his non-human feeling for me to detect.  Bastard, I thought angrily.  I had the sinking feeling that somehow Aya's alternating openness and willingness to help followed by sudden, apparent betrayal had to do with Bethany and their strange connection.  Which brought something else to mind: Bethany had shown me this connection, knowing full well that I had a good chance of putting two and two together eventually.  What was she planning?  However she wanted me to act, I was determined to surprise and disappoint her.  It was almost a more consuming issue than killing this vampire coven—

                My sixth sense alerted me suddenly that a non-human, not friendly, was very near, just before said non-human introduced himself by leaping out of apparently nowhere to drop on my shoulders from above.  I crumpled under the sudden weight, my ankle twisting under me, and hit the pavement hard, cracking the back of my skull against the sidewalk in the exact place Stacey had pounded my head into a brick wall.  My vision exploded in bright lights and white pain and I couldn't see for an excruciating second or two before my sight cleared enough for me to see the thing on top of me.  It was, predictably, the werewolf guarding the vampire safehouse, only now he had his fangs bared and he drooled just a little and pinned me as if his most natural position was on all fours like a dog.  "What business do you have here?" he demanded, his horrid, cigarette-smelling breath choking me.

                Sometimes I really think God has it in for me.

                "It's not with you," I managed, coughing.  "I'm just going to the Tokyo University—"

                "Liar!" the werewolf snarled.  "You are a Hunter, are you not?  You will find that you are not immune to me as you are to vampires!"  Abruptly he lowered his nose to my neck, sniffing.  I shuddered and began to struggle.  The werewolf drew away and half-sneered, half bared his teeth at me.  "You are the one who killed Dante!"

                That must have been the vampire that Youji and I killed.  Vaguely I was sickened to think that any scent from the vampire remained on me, but I decided that the longer I could delay the werewolf's wrath from being acted upon, the better chance I had of Youji or Omi coming to the rescue.  So I groped my mind for smart-alecky things that Youji might say in such a situation.  "Oh, what that the vampire's name?  Pretty clumsy, falling to a rookie like me.  And where were you, anyway?  Aren't you supposed to be their guardian?"

                I could feel his unnaturally sharp fingernails driving against my leather jacket and digging painfully into my arms as he lowered his face so close to mine I couldn't see anything but his deep brown eyes.  "I am no failure.  You are a fool.  I will rip your beating heart from your chest and watch the life drain from your body, then lap up your blood."

                That was a pretty big threat, and I had no doubt he could do it.  I realized that much to my dismay I was trembling.  I determined to put out that I was braver than I felt and dared something that I wasn't even sure would have any effect on the non-human.  I kneed him in the groin.

                The werewolf got a funny expression on his face as he went white and froze, his grip loosening.  I scrambled out from underneath him and went for the .44 Smith & Wesson inside my jacket pocket, but my twisted ankle refused to support my weight, causing me to stagger.

                That moment was all that the werewolf needed to recover.  He launched himself at me, hands going to my gun and his jaws closing on my throat, like some sort of intelligent dog.  He weighed a lot more than I did and I stumbled backwards and fell on my elbows from the momentum of his body smashing into mine.  His fangs pierced my neck and his fingers crushed my hands against my gun, which I was suddenly and terrifyingly aware was pointed at my own groin.  Learning from past mistakes, the werewolf rendered my legs useless by hooking them in his own.  I was effectively pinned; terrified, I did what as a general rule I avoided: I screamed.  "Balinese!  Bombay! Get over here and help me!"

                The werewolf growled and tightened his teeth on my throat, cutting off my air.  I shut my eyes and struggled helplessly against his far superior strength.  I felt one of his hands rise up my chest as he pressed it against my breast, over my thudding heart.

                He's really going to do it!

                With a sudden rush of terror-sustained adrenaline, I wrenched my arms and one leg from his grip and placed them squarely on his torso.  Power coursed through my limbs as I shoved against him, and much to my surprise, despite his weight and strength, he very nearly flew off of me, slamming his back into the brick wall opposite us.  He groaned, stunned, as I staggered to my feet and mindlessly grabbed my gun off the ground.

                I emptied six shots into his chest, watching as his body jerked against the wall with the impact of each bullet and finally slid down to the pavement, leaving a red smear of blood down the bricks.  Still shaking from exertion and fear, I kept my gun trained on him, half-expecting the werewolf to stand and fling himself at me again.

                I had seen crazier things.

                Finally I decided that he wasn't going to rise from the dead and put away my gun slowly, just as Youji appeared running around the corner, closely followed by Omi.

                "Heard the shots," Youji said breathlessly.  I supposed that meant he hadn't heard my scream, so I didn't ask.  He turned his head and peered at the body.  "You killed him?"

                "Let's hope," I answered in a trembling voice.  I took a deep breath.  "Radios go on now.  Who knows where the other werewolf is lurking, and if the vampires are waking up -"

                "Point," Youji agreed, tapping his ear.

                Omi grabbed my jacket and hauled me to one knee so he could glare critically at my neck.  "Did he bite you, Siberian?"

                Abruptly I remembered that Yumi had said that a werewolf bite could turn me into a werewolf.  Like I needed one more thing to worry about!  I thought angrily.  Oh, well.  Silly to worry about something you can't stop, and I don't even know if I'll be effected anyway.  "Well, yeah, but he's a werewolf, so I guess it's to be expected -"

                "That's gross," Omi cut me off and expressed his disgust.  "Wash that out tonight."

                Assuming we get that far, I didn't say.  I just stared at the body for a moment.  The werewolf was really huge, at least as tall as Youji and twice as large.  How had I flung him off of me so easily?

                Yumi's words came back to me - perhaps a bit of inhuman strength if you're lucky.  "A bit of inhuman strength my ass," I muttered.  Unless maybe I was a werewolf and the creature had imparted his strength to me.  I shuddered.

                "What was that, Siberian?"

                "Nothing, Bombay.  Let's go."

*   *   *

                "Okay.  We think the vampires are sleeping, right?"  Youji and Omi nodded.  "Then the question is, do we split up to cover the ground faster, or do we stay together and take longer, but feel safer?"

                "The sooner we're out of this hellhole, the better," Youji cast his vote.  "Besides, the radios should keep us in contact."

                Omi shook his head.  "If even one of the vampires is awake, we could be killed before we could get out a warning," he cautioned.

                It looked like I had to cast the deciding vote.  I took a moment before replying, "I say we split up.  Supposing the vampires are asleep for the moment, we don't know how much longer that will be the case.  The sooner they're found and killed in their sleep, the better."

                Omi nodded a little shakily, a determined look in his face.  Before I could think of anything to say, Youji's hand fell on Omi's shoulder.  "You'll be fine, Omicchi," Youji observed in a whisper.  "You're too cute to kill, you know."

                Omi smiled wanly.  "I think we're ready, Siberian."

                "All right.  I'll take the basement.  You and Youji can decide how to split up the other two floors."

                We crept silently up to the house and went our separate ways at the door.

*   *   *

                The basement was dark and creepy, just like in the all the horror films where a ghost pops out from around the corner to make the hero or heroine scream.  I was more than just a little jumpy; I held my gun as if it were life itself (which was accurate enough), feeling the sweat against the rubber grip in my fingers.  My ankle throbbed slightly, but I was so nervous I barely noticed it.

                Most of the room I was in was full of wine bottles in racks - old vintage wine from France and California and the like.  It made an effective maze, and every time I heard a sound, I froze, listening carefully.  But there were no fabled coffins or even sleeping bodies, only a vague sense of something non-human in the vicinity, without direction and without number.  It left me paranoid and frustrated with the alarm system my sixth sense seemed to have set up.

                It was in this state that I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I jumped skyward, barely stifling a yell and whipping around my gun to shoot my attacker regardless of identity when it whispered, "Cool it, Siberian!  It's me.  Bombay's coming, too."

                I put up my gun and drew a shuddering breath, recognizing the shadowy figure next to me as Youji.  "Someday you're going to get shot doing that," I snarled without much bite.  "Why didn't you radio?"

                "I turned it off.  Couldn't hear with that thing crackling, even a little, in my ear.  This place just exudes 'haunted', doesn't it?"

                Now that I thought about it, that sense of power, much like the one I felt around Bethany except less repressive, hung over this tiny Tokyo townhouse.  "Yeah, it does …"

                "Siberian, Balinese!"  My radio, which I had not turned off, crackled, causing me to jump in surprise again.  It was Omi's voice.  "I've found something on the first floor, under the stairs.  Come here!"

                "Hai," I responded automatically.  Youji looked at me quizzically, and I relayed the information to him as we jogged up the stairs while I winced every step.

                Omi waited for us calmly, and as soon as I saw him, I felt a profound relief.  I abruptly thought that maybe it had been a mistake to split up in the first place; it was far less stressful to stay together.  Omi smiled slightly at us then beckoned us to the base of the stairs.  "Look.  A hidden door," he pointed.  "The cracks around its perimeter are pretty clean, so it's been used recently."

                I had to peer at the ornate woodwork closely to see the small crack in the design, forming a rectangle that I could step through if I hunched over.  I straightened and let Youji look, turning to Omi.  "Great job, Bombay."

                Omi smiled slightly again just as Youji nodded to Omi as well.  "So, how do we open this up?"

                Omi shrugged slightly.  "I'm not entirely sure.  It has to swing inward, though, to hide the hinges."

                I touched the door, running my fingers along its edges.  A cool breeze seemed to waft from the crack.  "I'll bet it leads to a cellar or something," I observed.  "The air is cool."

                "That still doesn't tell us how to open it," Youji pointed out.  He gently pushed me out of the way and began to fiddle with the door himself.  I turned back to Omi.

                "Did you try pushing it?" I asked.

                Omi nodded and replied, "All around the perimeter.  There must be some sort of secret catch, or a spot to press, or a key -"

                "Oi, Bombay, give me one of your shuriken," Youji suddenly interrupted.

                Omi blinked, but he complied.  "Why do you …?"

                He trailed off as Youji took the shuriken from Omi and began to work the blade through the cracks all around the door.  Suddenly he frowned then shoved the blade upwards; I heard metal grating, and then the door abruptly swung inward, letting out a breath of cool air from the set of concrete stairs it opened to.

                Youji grinned triumphantly and handed the shuriken back to Omi.  "Inside catch - just a matter of breaking it or lifting it off the hatch."  Omi and I must have looked surprised, because Youji smirked openly and ruffled Omi's hair, causing the boy to pull away indignantly.  Youji sobered then and looked down the stairs, saying, "But for the catch to be set, someone has to be inside."

                "They must be down there, then," I muttered, my stomach twisting itself into a little knot.  I heard Omi swallow next to me.  Stubbornly I determined to be brave.  "All right, then.  Let's go.  Ready?"

                "As I'll ever be," Youji replied, showing for the first time his own nervousness.  Omi just nodded, not taking his eyes from the narrow stairway.

                I sucked in my breath and stepped through the small door, trying not to make a noise on the cool concrete.  "Then let's go."

*   *   *

                At the bottom of the stairs was another, normal door.  Omi motioned me to stillness when I grabbed the knob and pointed at the exposed hinges; this door would swing out on us.  Omi freed a small greasy rag from somewhere in his several layers of assassin gear and began to rub the hinges so they wouldn't squeak.  After a few moments of this, he stepped back again, pulled out three shuriken for each hand, and nodded to me.  Youji released the safety from his gun.  I cocked my own gun, wished I could have concealed the Beretta and taken it along, and opened the door.

                Nothing happened.

                Blinking, I peered in the door, letting my eyes adjust fully to the dim light.  The room was concrete and bare; three steps down from the door we stood in led into the room.  The only things inside the room were coffins – six coffins lined up neatly, in a row.

                "Damn.  We've found it," Youji observed from over my shoulder.  Then, much to my surprise, he lit a cigarette!

                "You – Balinese!" I hissed.  "What – why –"

                "Hey, I can have a last smoke, can't I?"  Youji smirked, then pointed into a corner of the room.  "I smell gasoline."

                I sniffed the air and peered at the dark corner Youji had indicated.  Indeed, an almost too-convenient stand of gasoline cans rested there, and I understood what the cigarette was for.  Sometimes, just when luck seemed to be swinging against us, it swung back.  "Burn them out instead of shoot them in their sleep?" I asked.

                "It's not as loud," Youji observed, "And it eliminates cleanup, too."

                Omi, meanwhile, was pushing the coffin lids off of the caskets.  I gazed at him questioningly, and Omi whispered, "Making sure they're all here.  You killed one, right?  There should be five –"

                Seeing the wisdom of this, Youji and I nodded to each other and began to pull lids off with some effort and as little noise as possible.

                Three empty coffins – no sign of Miki or Stacey.

                "This isn't good," I observed quietly, looking at one of the three resting bodies.  It really did appear as if the vampire inside was dead – she wasn't even breathing, her arms crossed over her chest and her back ramrod straight.  It wasn't a natural sleeping position at all.  Yumi had been right about 'sleeping the sleep of the dead'.

                Youji was already dragging out a drum of gasoline; it made a horrible scraping noise that made us all cringe and look at the exposed vampires for any response.  When nothing happened, we relaxed marginally and Youji said, "Let's get this over with before they wake up or Miki and Stacey come home, then!"

                There was no quiet way to do this, but it seemed that the vampires would not wake up to any noise (I would have sworn that the scraping drum was fit to wake the dead, but I was obviously wrong).  Omi and I dragged out a second drum while Youji tipped his own drum on its side and pulled out the cork.  He proceeded to roll it noisily around the coffins, spilling gasoline as he went.  "Fast as we can," I called over the noise, tipping our own drum.  With each minute I felt an increasing dread that the vampires would awaken.  We worked swiftly and as silently as possible, therefore, for what seemed an eternity as I warily watched the bodies.  "We should have just shot them," I muttered.  "Much faster."

                Omi laid a hand on my forearm.  "We'll be fine, Siberian."

                "I hope so," I grumbled.  "Think that's enough?"

                The coffins, the bodies, and the concrete floor were covered in gasoline.  Youji gave me a thumbs-up sign.  "I think so."

                "Then light the damn fire already!" I hissed, all patience gone.  Whether from paranoia or from my sixth sense standing on end in the presence of vampires, I was certain the vampires were going to wake up at any second.  I grabbed Omi's hand and pulled him to the door.  "Go!"

                There was a moan from inside one of the coffins.

                Youji jumped visibly.  I grabbed his sleeve and yanked him towards the door.  "Be good and light the fire!" I snarled once we stood in the doorway.

                A vampire with blond, short curls began to sit up.  I hustled Omi towards the stairs, but he would not by budged from the doorway as he stared at the awakening vampire with wide blue eyes. "Go, Balinese, dammit, just do it," I begged, but Youji just watched the vampire as if transfixed.

                She focused on us.  "Who …?" she began, eyes looking remarkably innocent for an instant before they narrowed at me, turning into flashing blue slits.  "Hunter!" she shrieked, beginning to rise further.  "How dare you enter our lair -!"

                "Now, Youji!" I gave up on code names and in desperation struck Youji's cheek.

                He woke up.  There was no other word for it; his eyes cleared and he blinked, shaking his head.  "Wha-?"  Then he apparently saw the vampire leaping at us because he suddenly took his cigarette from between his teeth and flung it at her.  "Not today, miss," he smirked, calm as ever.

                The vampire screeched to a halt as the cigarette sailed in a wide arc towards her and barely missed searing her skin.  Instead, the glowing butt landed in the gas at her feet.

                Instantly the room sprang into flames.

                The vampire screamed in agony; I shielded my face from the flames and tried to push Omi up the stairs, but he would not be budged.  Finally giving up, I picked up the smaller assassin and flung him over my shoulder.  "Come on, Youji!" I shouted over the roar of the fire and the shrieks of the dying vampire.

                Youji, returned to normal despite that strange, short interlude, was now automatically taking the lead.  He flung the door leading to the inferno shut and loped up the stairs on long legs.  Leaden with Omi's dead weight, my injured ankle took up its protest again and I stumbled after him.  Choking smoke leaked out from downstairs, and Youji shut the hidden door after me as well just as we heard the roar of spreading fire.  We hustled out the door and back onto the relatively quiet sidewalk.

                Smoke was beginning to float out the front windows of the townhouse when I shifted Omi to my back and looked up at the building.  "The whole thing is going to burn down," Youji observed breathlessly.  I just nodded, still catching my breath and watching our handiwork.

                Finally I was able to say, "Youji, you uh … did you know that you kinda, um, tranced out for a second there?"

                Youji blinked at me.  "I what?"

                "You were out of it.  Like when you met Miki.  And now Omi's out cold."  I jiggled him a little, but Omi just let his head loll, eyes still wide but body heavy as if he was slumbering.  "It's like you were rolled under without even looking into the vampire's eyes …"

                Youji looked uneasy.  "Strong vampire," he observed.

                Suddenly I wasn't so sure the one that had awoken was dead.  I peered at the house as if hoping it would give me answers.  A flame licked the window.

                "Hey you!"

                I started and twisted around to see an approaching policeman across the street.  I glanced back at the house and put two and two together.  "Oh, shit.  You think Persia'll bail us out of jail if we're charged with arson?"  I asked Youji.

                Youji shook his head, smirking a little.  "Not a chance."

                "That's what I thought.  Any ideas how to shake this guy?"

                "Split up – there's only one of him.  Meet you back at the Koneko in a bit."

                "Ja."

                We turned opposite directions, Omi still on my back, and ran off, much to the dismay of the police officer, who ran after Youji for a few moments, shouting, "Yamero!  Yamero!" before he decided that the long-legged assassin was too fast for him.  He turned towards me.

                I observed all this from over my shoulder as I forced my aching ankle to support both Omi and myself at a jog into the nearest alleyway.  Tokyo is like one giant maze; if I found enough small alleyways to turn into, I could lose the policeman pretty easily.  Unfortunately, a chain-link fence blocked off this particular alleyway.  The fence wasn't particularly high – no more than six feet – but I couldn't scale it with Omi riding on my back.

                The policeman was still pursuing me.  He turned into the alley after me and slowed to a walk.  "Stay right there," he ordered sternly, wielding a nightstick threateningly.

                I looked at him for a moment, then back at the fence, my heart leaping into my throat.  I couldn't get caught, not right then, not with so much at stake and no hope of escaping sentence.  But if I could just find the strength that I had used when I pushed the werewolf off of me, then I could jump the fence.

                "Put the boy down," ordered the officer.  "Right now.  Put your hands in the air."

                My heart pounded against my chest and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to believe that I could jump that six-foot-high fence.  I looked up and coiled to jump.

                "Sir, right now –"

                The power coursed through my legs and I leapt skyward, sailing over the fence with two feet to spare.  And this with a dead weight on my back! I thought in amazement.  However, I landed hard, punishing my already injured ankle and badly twisting it under my weight.  I barely saved myself from a fall and quickly limped out of the alleyway, trying to run.  I only caught the barest of glimpses of the police officer when I turned out of the alley; his eyes were wide and his mouth hung open.

                Serves you right, I thought nastily.

*   *   *

                Two blocks of limp-running later, I was relatively sure I had completely lost the policeman.  Gently I lowered Omi to the pavement in one cool, dark alley and leaned him against the wall, and then I slid down to join him.  I poked my hurting ankle and received a burst of pain for my probe, so I proceeded to try and take my boot off.  After a few tugs, though, it occurred to me that my ankle was probably swollen so even if I did get the boot off, I wouldn't get it back on.  Wearily I realized it would have to wait until I got back to the shop.  I swayed to my feet and bent over to lift Omi again.

                Death!

                The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I sensed the non-humans and I began to turn towards the source of the feeling when something or someone pile-drove into my side and wrapped its limbs around my waist and arms, tackling me to the ground.  My right shoulder took the brunt of the fall and I miraculously avoided cracking my head on the pavement for the second time that day.  I grunted with the fall and struggled to look over my shoulder and see what held me.

                It was the first werewolf we had met – the one with blond, silky hair and blue eyes who looked like a muscle-builder.  He rose to his feet without releasing me from the bear hug, never even looking up at me.  "I got him, Miss Stacey," he said.

                Stacey!?  I looked around wildly for the familiar vampire and saw her in the darkest corner of the alleyway.  Her features were hard to make out in the lighting, but her eyes were as fierce and as frightening a gleam as ever.  I looked away quickly.

                "Good …" her voice was not the gentle, sexy thing I remembered.  It rasped horribly.  "Bring him out of the light."

                "What of the little one?"

                "I'll decide what to do with him later."

                I shuddered and tried to wrench my arms free of the horrendous grip.  My feet were a good foot off the ground, though, and I mostly just dangled helplessly as the werewolf easily carried me to Stacey, where he unceremoniously dropped me.  I scrambled to get away, crawling when my ankle gave out on me, but the werewolf yanked me back and forced me to my knees, holding my arms behind my back and, much to my surprise, snapping them into handcuffs.  He then moved his grip to my arms just below my shoulders, holding me just tightly enough to remind me that escape was unlikely.

                Stacey drew herself in front of me.  My eyes adjusted to the dimness and I finally saw Stacey fully.  Her features were blackened, charred; she looked starved, with sunken cheeks and a bony neck.  Her brown hair was crispy, for lack of a better way to put it; the curls were fragile and sparse.  I realized that she looked a lot like the victims of the vampire attacks that had begun this whole circus, and I sickened and looked away.

                "Look at me!" she rasped, grabbing my head in her hands and forcing me to gaze at her face.  "See what you and your friends did to me!  I should have died!"

                I swallowed hard and managed, "Yeah, you should have."  If she was trying to stir up sympathy in me, she was failing.  I couldn't reconcile this ugly, desperate creature with the composed and sexy vampire of a few days ago.  All I felt was disgust and fear.

                She slapped me across the face, and I let my head turn with the blow.  I tasted blood; obviously her supernatural strength hadn't been taken along with her beauty.  "Shut up!"  She stood still for a moment, breathing hard, then tried to compose herself.  She smiled cruelly making her blackened lips crack.  "That – that psi-vampire who saved you – he dared to take my blood!  Dared to drink of my preternatural strength!  Well, we'll see how he feels when I leave you a half-dead, shrunken creature – how you feel after I inflict pain after pain on you as he did on me -!"

                I stopped listening as she continued to ramble about punishment and death like a madwoman, dropping my gaze from her parched mouth.  My mind whirled.  Psi-vampire?  Who … there's no way.  Is she talking about Aya!?

                Again Stacey's charred hand came across my face.  "Listen to me!" she snarled.  "Pierre, teach him a lesson in respect."

                I felt the werewolf's head move next to my own before his grip on my arms suddenly became crushing.  I stifled a cry and he twisted me around in his grip, shoving me on my back against the ground and crushing my hands beneath me.  He pressed a hand against my throat; he kneeled next to me and stamped one foot down on my bad ankle.  Tears sprang to my eyes and I drew my breath sharply, steeling myself to the pain.  He then began to repeatedly punch me in the stomach.

                The breath whooshed out of me on the very first blow, and the rest were an explosion of pain followed by a short interval of effort to not scream, not cry, and take a breath.  As it turned out, I couldn't stop the tears, which leaked from my squeezed-shut eyes and rolled down my temples to my hairline.  On the other hand, I never had enough breath to properly scream.  Something welled up in my throat after a short while; I finally choked on it and coughed hard, spitting it out, letting it trickle from the corners of my mouth.  It tasted metallic and salty; blood.

                "Stop, Pierre.  Humans can die from internal injuries, you know that," Stacey said.  Her voice was far away compared to the roaring in my ears.

                "As you wish."  The punches stopped and he let go of me completely.  I promptly rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, coughing up blood and wheezing as I tried to catch my breath.

                It took me a moment to notice when the heavy gun in my inner pocket slid out and clattered to the pavement.

                "What's that?" Stacey's voice.  "Pick it up, Pierre."

                I heard the werewolf come to my side, and I cracked my eyes open to see his big hand close on my .44.  I choked down a sob as my one and only comfort fell into the hands of my enemy.

                I assumed that Pierre had handed the gun to Stacey because she made appraising sounds.  I heard the safety click off. "So, boy, you were thinking you'd shoot us with this?"

                I gave no reply as another round of coughing gripped me.  The blood pool under my mouth was probably getting sizable.

                "Pierre!"

                The werewolf's hands clamped down on my shoulders and yanked me to my feet.  My ankle screamed for mercy; I tried to put my weight on the other foot.

                Stacey pointed the barrel of the gun at my head.  My vision was still a little fuzzy, but I could see that she was murderous.  "Answer me – you were going to shoot Pierre and me with this, weren't you?"

                I was pretty pain-addled.  I answered plainly and hoarsely, "Well, not you specifically … but since I ran into you, yeah, sure."  I began to cough up blood again.

                Her burned features twisted in rage.  "We'll see who shoots who—"

                Her fingers moved on the trigger.

                There was a popping noise like a car backfiring, and my left shoulder blossomed into pain and agony.  I'm sure I screamed, but I don't really remember anything except clouding pain that sent me to my knees crying.  My shoulder got wet; blood something said, but I didn't really notice.

                Pierre was supporting me.  My head lolled; it took too much effort to hold it up properly.  My shoulder hurt like a – hell, I didn't have any clue what it hurt like.  I'd never been shot before.  I barely heard Stacey saying, "All right, hold him steady; I'm going to drain him now.  Make sure I don't kill him."

                Teeth punctured my neck, and I knew no more.

*   *   *

Author's Notes:  Another 'new & improved' chapter!  ^^x  Huge thanks go out to Stephanie and Evan, who both pointed out that if Ken got bitten by a werewolf, he should be a werewolf, too.  ^^x;;;  If you want to know whether or not Ken is a werewolf, be sure you reread carefully!  Also thanks to Evan for pointing out that a 'clip' is not the same as a 'shot'.

Vikki: ::blushing still:: He didn't have to point it out so rudely!  He keeps laughing at me when he tells me these things.

Ken: O.o  I don't think he means any harm.

Vikki: ::glare:: I don't care.  Gonna go beat him up again.

Ken: ~_~ Am I the only one who sees Ranma/Akane parallels here?

Uh … yeah, keep reviewing, please!  ^^x  It gives me motivation.  ^^x

~~Vikki