Yuki Shiro: 0 Absolutes: The Night Parade Read online

  Fuck. Someone, either these children or whoever had sent them, was summoning forth a kyōka suigetsu, or something similar.

  The kyōka suigetsu was a mystical veil that clouded the senses of humans, allowing supernaturals to act without being noticed. It was similar to the Glamour of the Leanaí, or the magic that I’d heard some European shifters used within the boundaries of their claimed territories; for us Yōkai, we called it the “Flower Mirror, Water Moon,” a mirage, an illusion that could not be touched. Powerful mystics and witches could summon something similar, but the energy that permeated this veil I was now trapped in felt different than anything I was familiar with.

  And I do mean trapped.

  As I reached within me, calling forth my inner magic, I felt the veil trying to cut me off from the real world, trying to isolate me from my own magic as well as from escaping back out of the suigetsu. On the plus side, no humans would have to watch me fighting two children, so no calls to the police!

  But UGH, I hated child assassins.

  They were sent in primarily for that reason. Few people would attack a child, at least in public, if for no other reason than the backlash from others.

  On the bad side of the tally list, however, was the fact that when you’re drawn into someone’s suigetsu, one that you didn’t create, your powers were weakened if they didn’t draw on the same powers that formed the suigetsu. It basically became a psychic battle for supremacy, over whose will dominated and manipulated the magic.

  Thankfully, the suigetsu hadn’t fully clicked into place yet, so I “ghosted,” which in my case? I become a flurry of wind and dancing snowflakes, intangible and untouchable. In this form, I could slip out of the range of the suigetsu before it fully formed; or so I hoped.

  Gusting past the two creepy, expressionless children, I blew through the velvet curtain into the main room, heading for the exit. If I could get outside, no one and nothing could catch me, but here in an enclosed space? Yeah, not so uncatchable…

  Two tiny bodies pounced on me from behind, four little hands tearing me from my intangibility.

  The pain of being forced back into flesh ripped a scream from my throat, as sensation slammed into every screaming nerve like a thousand burning needles. I crashed face-first into the polished marble floor and went skidding across the smooth floor with inhumanly strong fingers digging into my biceps and calves, the two children pressing me against the floor with far more strength than their tiny bodies should possess.

  And very, very faintly, at the edge of hearing, I heard voices raised in adulation, a throaty chorus of Gregorian chanting that reminded me far too uncomfortably of the music heard in final boss battle from one of my favorite classic video games.

  Trust me, it was never a good sign when you hear epic Gregorian chanting. Never, ever.

  ❆❅❆

  “Mysterious Stalker” | Downtown, Denver, CO | December 6, 2017

  “Hm, now that’s strange,” I muttered as I leaned over the balustrade, squinting down through the branches toward where the cat-guy had been sitting, drinking a coffee or some such.

  Of course, that heralded the anticipated response from my little bro, “What is?”

  “It seems cat-guy has decided he’s had enough of the stalking,” I replied as I watched him hailing a cab.

  “Where do you think he’s heading? You should probably follow him,” he responded.

  With a shrug, I crooked a finger, and sent one of my little darlings along for the ride. “Got it covered,” I said, though I felt my attention tugged back toward La Petite Mort.

  I had reluctantly forgone sending in my eyes and instead contented myself with just keeping half an eye on cat-guy while my mind gleefully imagined the slender, petite Japanese beauty in some scandalous scraps of fabric.

  Trying to perch inconspicuously like a gargoyle on top of a roof in downtown Denver with a stiffie? Not so bloody easy!

  Bollocks, even just thinking about thinking about her like that had my cock thickening in anticipation. Again.

  This wasn’t like me. I liked sex as much as the next guy with a functioning cock, but no matter how pretty the lady, I never let it distract me from working; and having worked for the Sidhe for as long as I have? I’ve seen beauties that would make artists gouge out their eyes in despair over never being able to capture aught that would compare.

  Yet, something about this tiny scrap of a young woman had my interest from the first moment I was shown her file; her file that contained very little actual information, but had shown a few pictures of her from over the last few years.

  As I was about to turn and head off after the cat-guy’s taxi, something else caught my eye, something odd even for the streets of Denver.

  A small group of black-clad Catholic nuns had gathered in front of La Petite Mort and lifting their voices, they began a sing-song chant. Eight voices sang in Latin and, while I’ll admit my knowledge of ancient languages was spotty, in another tongue that was not supposed to be known by humans.

  Firing up my commlink, I barked, “Cam, take a listen. Something funky is going on here. Do you recognize the language?”

  Yanking the headpiece out of my ear, I held it out toward the singing nuns for a few moments before I brought it back to my ear. “Well?”

  “Fuck, Kin! That's Enochian! They're setting up an Interdiction," Cam shouted over the headset, obviously more than a little flustered. I could hear his fingers flying over the keys of his computers, the rapid tapping like gunfire, loud and precise. Then he cursed again and again, releasing a string of colorful words I hadn't even been aware he knew.

  Wow, he was picking up my bad habits!

  I'd never been so proud. My little brother was growing up!

  "You need to get the fuck out of there before the Interdiction clicks into place." His voice was tense, laced with frustration.

  "Nah, it's not me they're after," I replied, though I was more focused on trying to see through the reflective windows of the boutique. "What's goin' on inside? I know you've got eyes in there." So did I, for that matter, but Cam's recon was a bit quicker than mine, and I didn't want to split my focus quite yet.

  Grumbling, muttering, and more rat-a-tat-tatting of the keyboard. "It looks like...fuck, Kink, there are two putti in there with the secondary target."

  Scratching my head, all I could say was, "Uh-hunh," like I knew what the fuck he was talking about.

  Sighing, I could see him rolling his eyes as he growled, "Putti, little golems that look like human children, but are really vicious little bastards." Man, another curse word; I felt myself tearing up a little with pride. "They're Enoch hunters. Fast, imbued with magic, look like human children but aren't really, they're just clay facsimiles, made to look..."

  Just like that, Cam stopped speaking. I paused, leaning precariously over the balustrade, about to leap down the five stories to the ground below, as I waited. Cam didn't stop talking when he was on a roll, and normally, I tuned him out, but him stopping on his own? That's just weird.

  "Um, Cam...?" I venture, my voice barely above a whisper. "Still there?"

  "Someone else is in the system," Cam breathed out slowly. "I almost didn't notice them...but I think they noticed me. Fuck! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! Kin, I gotta shut down, I can't let them trace me!"

  And like that, the earpiece went dead.

  Taking it out of my ear, I stared at it.

  Cam was a gremlin. His very nature made him an electronic and computer genius; and while there were other gremlins out in the world, Cam was "Cock of the Walk" even amongst them. For someone to get even a hint of him in the system?

  Bah, all that techy-geek stuff did my head in, but it meant that I had just lost my Cam-connection to what was happening, so I was just going to have to go have a look-see myself.

  Right?

  I mean, a lovely lass was in trouble with some putties, or whatever Cam had called them. It would be right gentlemanly of me to offer the lady some assistance.
r />   Right?

  Right!

  ❆ ❅ ❆

  Kurokō | Downtown, Denver, CO | December 6, 2017

  I felt an odd sort of reluctance as I got into the cab and left Yuki to her shopping. I would admit, even if only in the deepest, darkest part of my soul, that I yearned to follow her in and watch her model the lingerie she seemed intent on picking up. I also would admit that she probably realized I was tailing her, not that I made a big production out of trying to blend in; what could I say? There was a part of me that craved her to notice me; too bad nothing could come of it.

  I looked at my phone again, still clutched in my fist, and forced my fingers to relax.

  The phone call from Amaya had been short and to the point.

  "I need you to meet with someone tonight. I’ve emailed you the details."

  With a sigh, I leaned back in my seat and tucked my phone into the inner pocket of my jacket. Closing my eyes, I ruthlessly shoved thoughts of Yuki's delicate, beautiful body draped only in sheer, translucent silks from my mind; or I tried to, anyway.

  For once, I was actually glad I had chosen to wear boxer briefs; they at least kept my rock-hard cock trapped against my stomach instead of bulging against my slacks.

  Chapter 12

  Yuki | La Petite Mort Boutique, Denver, CO | December 6, 2017

  I have come to an important realization.

  No, truly, it's important, just hear me out.

  I hate children.

  Now, I know I shouldn't admit that aloud, and I'll even go so far as to admit that I would probably feel different about my own children, particularly since I'm cursed with a biological imperative to procreate, thanks to my yuki-onna nature, but right now?

  With two creepy, cherubic brats pinning me to the floor as their sharp fingers clawed at my unprotected flesh?

  Yeah, fuck children. Maybe in a few centuries, if I survived that long.

  Every time I tried to disperse, their claws dug in deep and the distant chanting grew louder, driving proverbial nails through my head as an unfamiliar, unpleasant, and unrelenting fire raced through my veins, keeping me chained to flesh.

  Unlike a lot of supernatural creatures, I wasn’t much stronger than a human. I was sensitive to magic, preternatural senses, and I could feel temperatures and weather changes like few others, but a yuki-onna's true strength wasn't in raw, physical power.

  I wanted to bang my head against the floor at my own stupidity.

  What was I thinking?

  I had attempted to flee instead of fight, so it took a little longer than it should have for my fight instincts to kick in. My family would be disgusted.

  I was just thankful they weren’t here to witness my abject shame.

  Inhaling sharply, instead of dispersing, I focused on solidifying. My skin cooled, covering itself with a creeping layer of frost, sending the surrounding temperature plummeting as my breath misted out in tenuous vapors. My body became solid ice, and claws meant for rending flesh were torn free from vicious hands as they shattered from the absolute cold my body radiates.

  A sudden shrieking sounded from behind me, the weight lifting from my back suddenly. Instantly, I kip-up to my feet, spinning into a half-incorporeal state as I reoriented myself, rematerializing as I assumed a fighting stance.

  "Hunh," I muttered, bemused at the sight before me.

  The suigetsu was in full effect. Everything was bleached of color, looking like an old, washed-out photograph or movie. The faint chanting could still be heard, but it no longer soared toward a crescendo, instead retreating to a sullen muttering from a distance. I was still in full, glorious color, though my flesh had frosted over, revealing my more natural frozen-corpse coloration.

  None of that bemused me, however.

  Nope, it was the tussle going on between the two children.

  Well, they weren't really children anymore; or at least, not real-looking children.

  They looked like living statues, their flesh cracked and gray, their hollow eyes blank as their mouths gaped in silent screams, and they were covered with spiders, hundreds of thousands of the tiny little creatures crawling all over the struggling statues, covering them with thick, obsidian strands that the children couldn't seem to break out of.

  I was reminded of that show Miki had forced me to watch one night while we were having one of our drunken girls' nights in, where we all drank copious amounts of sake, talking and gossiping, and watching cheesy shows. It was some British series she was obsessed with, Doctor Whatsit or something, and there had been these monstrous angel statues that came to life.

  The spiders made quick work of the two little children—statues, whatever—cocooning them entirely within those strange black webs in the blink of an eye.

  Once again, my family would have mocked me out of the Clan if they could see me so caught up in the tableau playing out before me that I was ignoring everything around me. Especially when I gave a girlish shriek at the husky, amused voice that came from behind me.

  "Well, dove, ain't you a pretty sight."

  Instinctively, I ghosted, swirling around to face the new threat. I wouldn't have looked up if not for the low whistle of appreciation that came from above me, but there he was, standing on the ceiling, his hands crossed over his chest as he swayed from side-to-side, a cheeky grin on his face.

  Rematerializing, my hand dove into my pocket to wrap around Masa's medallion. I sent a pulse of energy through it, seeking the thread that bound her spirit, but it was tenuous, the suigetsu interfering, preventing me from yanking on Masa’s leash and drawing her toward me. In my other hand, I coalesced the water vapor I could pull from the dry mountainous air, creating a long, slender needle of ice that I held along my inner arm as I brought it across my chest, ready to defend or strike as required.

  Taking in my stance, the mysterious stranger, the same one I had felt stalking me earlier, held out his hands, palms spread apart and away from me as he called out, "Now, now, dove, I come in peace. I'm no' here to hurt ya, just wanted to make sure you were okay."

  Tilting my head, because it was really strange to talk to someone hanging upside down, I tried to get a good look at his face. "I've heard that line before," I said, narrowing my eyes at him in open suspicion.

  Tilting his own head to match mine, he gave me another grin, one far too wide for a human, and one that showed a lot of sharp, pointy teeth.

  "Now, dove, I'm gonna hop down so we can chat, so if you do no' mind not killin' me, or my wee darlings, I'd thank you most kindly," he said with that too-big grin, and his strange accent that sounded like a mish-mash of every British sitcom and drama Miki had ever made me suffer through.

  "Your wee darlings?" I couldn't help but ask, even though I knew it was a mistake the moment the words left my lips.

  As he dropped to the floor, the horde of spiders that had swarmed the two creatures skittered by me. Now, spiders made no discernable sound as they move, less than a phantom of a whisper, but when there were thousands of them scurrying passed you, it created a truly disturbing susurration. Even I, who had spent almost as much time in my sperm donor's home as I had amongst my own Clan, had to fight not to show any outward sign of that primal, all-too-human, reaction.

  My lack of outward reaction seemed to please him as he stood there, his arms spread out from his body, palms up and with that smirk twisting his striking features while the swarm of little obsidian spiders—apparently, his darlings were spiders—seemingly melted into his shadow until it was just he and I facing one another.

  While he was occupied dismissing his wee darlings, I took the opportunity to study him thoroughly, both physically and otherwise.

  He was tall, at least a foot taller than I was and maybe a bit more, with broad shoulders and an obscenely narrow waist, but he was built oddly. Lanky and slender, but like a tough leather whip, there was visible strength in his corded arms. The plain, white t-shirt he wore revealed that he was tattooed from his fingertips up to his neck, the thin
fabric showing hints that his muscular torso was likewise covered with intricate tattoos in a stunning variety of styles. He likewise wore a variety of rings, and he was heavily pierced, with multiple hoops in each ear, a thick septum piercing like a bull’s, at the edge of his left eyebrow, and two black hoops on the right side of his pouty, lower lip. As he continued to hold his hands out, his posture shifted just a bit, the tilt of his jaw and the smirk on his lips letting me know he was more than happy to be a model for me.

  His eyes were solid black and iridescent like polished obsidian, with those ridiculously long eyelashes that only certain men seemed to be naturally blessed with. His age was impossible to guess, and while the scruff along his jawline and the wind-tousled, dirty blond hair lent him that air of youthful insouciance, the sheer presence of his personality now that we were face-to-face made it abundantly clear that this was no boy, but a supernatural of many years.

  He didn’t have any visible weapons, and the skinny black jeans showcased his unnaturally long legs that were even more tightly muscled than his arms, but from the way he held himself, it was apparent that he was the only weapon he needed. Well, it probably didn’t hurt that he had his wee darlings either, because yikes!

  There was no way the man could be called handsome. His jaw was too narrow, his features too elongated, eyes too big, mouth too wide, and way too many sharp, pointy teeth, but he was magnetic. Like a bullet train blasting toward the poor, unsuspecting deer frozen on the tracks, and from the predatory look in those obsidian eyes, he was in the mood for some venison.

  Shaking my head, I asked directly, “Just who are you?”

  With a courtly, mocking grace, the stranger swept a deep, European-style bow, with one hand clasped over his heart while the other remained outstretched.

  “Just call me Kincaid, dove,” he rumbled, and while his spiders hadn’t elicited any shivers, that deep, husky voice of his certainly did; which, the bastard noticed.