That proved easily done. The presence of both the seal and Lady Kuzunoha herself was more than enough to send one of the shrine priests scurrying ahead of us to a small outbuilding near a koi pond. There we found Doshi in the care of a rather frightened wet nurse. Lady Kuzunoha paid off the poor woman generously, thanked her for her solicitude, and sent her on her way. The baby looked up, lifting its little arms and gurgling happily, as Lady Kuzunoha smiled down at him.
“Probably time you were weaned, my son.” She turned to me. “Please take him, Yamada-san. You’ll need to get him back to his father quickly; he’ll have to make his own arrangements for Doshi’s care. I will give you some writing to take to my husband before you leave.”
I hesitated. “Don’t . . . don’t you wish to hold your son? This may well be your last chance.”
She smiled a sad smile. “Thank you for that offer, but I can only echo the words of my lord in this, Yamada-san: if I held him again, what makes you think I could let him go?”
I had no answer to that, but I did have one last question. “One thing still bothers me: you were unable to maintain the deception of being human, but Lady Akiko had been in the family much longer than you. How did she manage?”
Lady Kuzunoha laughed softly. “Yamada-san, as I told you before: the mask will slip, and we cannot control when or how. For me, my right hand would turn into a paw without warning. For Lady Akiko, it was her scent.”
I blinked. “Scent?”
She nodded. “Her true scent, as a fox. But the human nose is a poor tool at best. Those close to her would either miss the scent entirely or at worst mistake it for . . . something else,” she finished, delicately. “Lady Akiko was simply luckier than I was.”
That may have been so, but Lady Akiko’s luck had finally run out. I was afraid that mine was about to do the same.
Lord Abe received me in his private chambers after I placed his infant son back in the care of his servants.
“Yamada-san, I am in your debt,” he said. “I-I trust Lady Kuzunoha was not . . . difficult?”
From my kneeling position, I touched my forehead to the floor. “That relates to a matter I need to speak of. Lady Kuzunoha was quite reluctant, as you can imagine, but I was impertinent enough to acquire the assistance of Lady Akiko in this. They spoke, mother to mother, and Lady Akiko persuaded her.”
“I see.”
I could tell that he didn’t see at all, but the die was already cast. I produced the scroll Lady Kuzunoha had supplied. “Lady Akiko told me of the . . . differences, between your wife and herself. That her intense desire to protect the family’s name had perhaps blinded her to Lady Kuzunoha’s virtues. To atone for this—and other burdens—she has decided to renounce the world and join a temple as a nun. She also sent a personal message to you.”
Lord Abe was a Gentleman of the Court, whatever else he might be. He concealed his shock and surprise very well. He took the scroll I offered and unrolled it in silence. He remained intent on what was written there for several moments longer than would have been required to actually read the words. I tried not to hold my breath.
“My mother’s script,” he said, almost to himself. “Perfect.” He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. “I don’t suppose my mother revealed to you which temple she had chosen to join?”
I bowed again. “She did not so confide in me, my lord, though I had the impression it was quite far from here. She seemed to feel that was for the best. She hoped you would understand.”
He grunted. “Perhaps she is right about both. Well, then, Yamada-san. I’ve lost both my wife and my mother, but I have not yet lost all. It seems I must be content with that.”
I breathed a little easier once I’d been paid and was safely off the grounds. I wasn’t sure how much of my story Lord Abe really believed, but if he didn’t realize full well that Lady Kuzunoha had written that message, I’m no judge of men. Perhaps that was another choice he made. As for myself, I chose to be elsewhere for a good long time. Hokkaido sounded best; I’d heard that it’s very sparsely populated and only a little frozen at this time of the year. But first I went to meet Kenji by the Demon Gate, since I’d given my word and now I owed him a drink.
I owed myself several more.
Richard Parks has been writing and publishing science fiction and fantasy longer than he cares to remember. His work has appeared in (among many others) Asimov’s, Realms of Fantasy, Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, and several “year’s best” anthologies. A Yamada novel, To Break the Demon Gate, is scheduled for release this year. A collection of Yamada stories, Yamada Monogatari: Demon Hunter was published earlier this year. He blogs at “Den of Ego and Iniquity Annex #3” (www.richard-parks.com).
The Case: A voluntary human “blood donor” is found murdered in the kitchen of a vampire mansion during festivities celebrating the ascension of a new vampire leader.
The Investigators: Dahlia Lynley-Chivers—a savvy, sexy, centuries-old vampire—and Matsudo Katamori, vampire and former police officer.
DEATH BY DAHLIA
Charlaine Harris
Dahlia Lynley-Chivers had been a woman of average height in her day. Her day had been over for centuries, and in modern America she was considered a very short woman indeed. Since Dahlia was a vampire, and was reputed to be a vicious fighter even among her own kind, she was usually treated with respect despite her lack of inches and her dainty build.
“You got a face like a rose,” said her prospective blood donor, a handsome, husky, human in his twenties. “Here, little lady, let me squat down so you can reach me! You want me to get you a stool to stand on?” He laughed, definitely in the hardy-har-har mode.
If he hadn’t preceded his “amusing” comment on Dahlia’s height with a compliment, she would have broken his ribs and drained him dry; but Dahlia was fond of compliments. He did have to bear some consequence for the condescension, though.
Dahlia gave the young man a look of such ferocity that he blanched almost as white as Dahlia herself. Then she stepped pointedly to her left to approach the next unoccupied donor, a blond suburbanite not too much taller than Dahlia. The woman opened her arms to embrace the vampire, as if this were an assignation rather than a feeding. Dahlia would have sighed if she’d been a breather.
However, Dahlia was hungry, and she’d already been picky enough. This woman’s neck was at the right height, and she was absolutely willing, since she’d registered with the donor agency. Dahlia bit. The woman jerked as Dahlia’s fangs went in, so Dahlia considerately licked a little on the wound to anesthetize the area. She sucked hard, and the woman jerked in an entirely different way. Dahlia was a polite feeder, for the most part.
The blonde’s arms squeezed Dahlia with surprising force, and she gripped a handful of Dahlia’s thick, wavy, dark hair, which fell in a cascade reaching almost to Dahlia’s waist. The blonde pulled Dahlia’s hair a little, but she wasn’t trying to pull Dahlia off . . . not at all.
At Dahlia’s age, she didn’t need to drink much at a sitting (or perhaps at a biting would be a more appropriate term). After a few pleasurable gulps, the vampire had had enough. Dahlia didn’t want to be greedy, and she’d taken such a small amount that it would be safe for the woman to donate again on the spot.
Dahlia gave a final lick, and when the air hit the licked puncture marks, her natural coagulant set to work almost instantly. The blond woman seemed disappointed that the encounter was over and actually tried to hold on to Dahlia. With a stiff smile, Dahlia removed herself with a little more decision. The donor turned to the next vampire in line, who was Cedric. She would have to be stopped after that; most people who enjoyed being bitten enough to be listed with the donor agency simply weren’t smart about when to stop.