Page 40 of Curses & Kitsune

I blow out a breath, shoulders slumping. “Raiden was scared back in the warehouse.”

Ren nods, hands tightening around the wheel. “That warehouse holds a lot of bad memories for him. Namikawa would take him there as punishment.”

A memory tugs at me, luring me back to the day I found Raiden sitting on the floor of his shower, hands bloodied and a finger missing. I swallow hard as a lump forms in my throat. “Namikawa’s gone.”

In the mirror, Ren’s brows furrow, eyes glistening. “But I think his ghost still haunts Raiden. For so long, Raiden was under his control, and now, he’s the one in charge. It must be a heady feeling, having that much power after years of taking orders. If I were him, I’d find it all so addictive.”

That… actually makes sense when she puts it that way. The way he’d wailed on Ishida had seemed desperate. Like he was trying to assert himself over his own ghosts. When Namikawa was alive, Raiden would tell me how powerless he felt. How he’d never had a choice in joining the yakuza or serving Namikawa.

As he’d beaten Ishida, a shudder had rattled down my spine, but now, his savage grin makes more sense. He must have liked it. Not necessarily hurting Ishida but being the one doing the hurting rather than being hurt. Finally, he has the power and control that was denied to him.

“So why would he want to give up all that power to be with me?” Heartache makes my eyes sting. Raiden told me many times he disliked being yakuza, but that was back when he still served Namikawa. Now, he’s the boss, a king on his throne. What do I have to offer that could possibly compare to that?

“Jinta,” Ren whispers, voice sympathetic.

Sniffling. I wipe my eyes. “No, it’s okay. Just keep driving.” If I even try to think about Raiden choosing between me and the yakuza, I’ll break down, and I don’t know how I’ll piece myself back together.

Kabukicho’s iconic gate glows red as Ren and I walk the densely packed and narrow alleys. The only time I ever come here is when my colleagues and I go out for drinks with our boss. It’s too busy for me, and I’ve gotten scammed at a bar or two before, which turned me off from the place.

Ren points to a bar with English flags waving above the windows. “That’s Charlie’s place, right there.”

I can’t deny I’m excited. I’m going to meet my first-ever wizard! Mage? Magician? Is he a warlock? I played too many RPGs during college. “What kind of magic does he do?” I ask, hardly able to contain my excitement. “Can he levitate things? Light things on fire? Oh! Is he a necromancer?”

Ren chuckles. “None of those. He’s a hemomancer.”

“A… what?”

“His spells are powered by blood.”

I lurch to a stop. “Blood?” My excitement turns to disgust. “But isn’t that dangerous?”

“Mostly to the wielder, honestly. They have to use their own blood to cast certain spells or rituals. Don’t worry. Charlie’s a nice guy.”

The pub inside looks normal enough. People drink beers or eat European-inspired dishes. There’s a soccer match on the television above the bar, as well. A foreign woman works the bar, pouring foamy beers and chatting with customers. Her curly hair is tied back with a bandana. She smacks her gum and grins. “How can I help you?” she asks in Japanese, though there’s a hint of an English accent in her words.

“We’re here to see Charlie,” Ren says.

The woman jerks her shoulder toward the door behind the bar. “Downstairs and to the right, through the office.”

Ren and I head down into the basement and stop outside an office door. Ren knocks.

A voice calls something in English, his European accent thick, but I don’t understand a word. Ren looks just as puzzled. Clearing her throat, she says, “It’s Ren.”

The man says in Japanese, “Come on in!”

What lies beyond the door? Vials of potions? Shelves full of leather-bound books that can fly or curse you if you open them? An alchemy table? Heart racing, I step in after Ren.

It’s a normal office. My shoulders slump. Man. That could have been so cool. There’s a computer and keyboard. A desk stacked with boring paperwork. A screen full of security footage. Basic stuff. There’s a man tapping away at the keyboard. He’s got a shock of ginger hair beneath a green beanie, a smattering of freckles, a patchy beard, and piercings through his ears. He looks normal, too.

“Just a moment…” He hums, clicking the mouse. “And done!” He spins his chair around toward us. “How may I help—oh!” His arm smacks into a tower of papers, which wobbles before scattering all over the floor. “I’m so sorry, just a—damn it! I need to get this place cleaned up!” he mutters, dropping to his knees.

“Do you need help?” Ren asks.

“Oh, no! Don’t trouble yourself!” Charlie crawls under the desk and grabs fistfuls of papers. “Just let me—ow!” he cracks his head on the underside of the desk. I wince. “You know what, let’s save this for later.” He rises and flashes a smile. “Sorry about that. How may I help you?” His cheeks are bright red, almost the same shade as his hair.

Since Ren’s too busy trying not to laugh, I say, “We’re trying to locate someone.”

“Someone you know?” Charlie asks.

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