Pandora's Box: Book 3 of the Crystal Raven Series

Aiko left the brownstone with the doctored documents knowing Angel and his team were following her. An hour earlier, the first team had set out to make a rescue attempt as soon as the Hand left for their rendezvous. She paused on the rooftop, looking out over the city towards the harbour. Somewhere out there, the Hand waited. She doubted they would have Alvaro with them, precisely why the first team had headed out towards the warehouse. Aiko hated that she would not know the results of that raid until it was all over, because more than anything she wanted to sink her teeth into their necks and drain them until the dust took them.

There was something dishonourable about leaving your enemies alive to carry false information home with them, but at the moment, she could not put her finger on it. Deception and illusion were always a part of the ninjas’ repertoire, and in his Art of War Sun Tzu had written something about confusing your enemies – through tactics and strategy, not forgery and trickery. Although her own Hand often used disguise and guile, becoming who and what they needed to be to achieve a goal, tonight’s mission sat in her stomach like a lump of stale bread. And she hated mortal food.

Alone with her thoughts, she set out at a slow lope. Causing her to feel this way made Aiko want to kill them all the more, made her want to pull their limbs off like a cruel child torturing a fly. She had been alone most of her life, the feral child raised by animal eaters who did not fit in with polite society – not even with the Hand. And now she finally felt like she had someone she belonged to, someone who was family. She wanted to kill these interlopers, and not only because they had no honour, but because they had taken something from her. They had threatened something she had never had and never known she had wanted. The Black Lotus was in love.

Love did not gentle her at all. She was still the feral child, a black-hearted killer, only with a slightly vicious edge. She hissed in frustration. The plan called for her to let them live, and oh, how she hated it. While Aiko would obey orders, she did not have to like it.

Aiko amused herself by imagining she was rending their flesh from their bones in even more painful ways, most of which involved her fangs. With dawn only a few short hours away, she knew the Hand would be sweating the delay, and relished their discomfort. She no longer feared the sun thanks to the gift from the Angel of Death, but she well remembered the day terrors that had shaped so much of her life. A chill smile lit her face. By now, the sweat was running down the back of their spines, chills chasing each drop up and down their backs. In another hour, they would not be able to contain their terror, and their thoughts would be wild and unfocused. Exactly the way Aiko wanted them.

She could no longer delay. It was time to face the music, no matter how much she hated to dance. Her frown was mostly fang. The rooftop she had chosen for the meet was a forest of old brick chimneys and shadows. It was the perfect place for an ambush, and therefore an ideal place to hold a clandestine meeting. Unwanted eyes, mortal or otherwise, would see nothing.

Jiro, the leader of this Hand, was not Japanese. No-one knew where he was from, only that he had lived with the Japanese vampyres since the thirteen hundreds. His swarthy skin and black hair spoke of an Oriental heritage, and yet there was something in his eyes that named him a gaijin to any observer. Gaijin, and perhaps something else. There had always been rumours – rumours of mixed blood – of vampyre and demons, perhaps even dragons. Japan was a place of legends, and sometimes those legends did not stay in the storybooks.

As this man stepped out of the shadows to confront her, Aiko remembered these rumours. She had killed demons and a master of a Hand. She felt a compulsion to taste dragon blood.

“Where is Alvaro?” She hissed.

“Have you brought the plan?” He countered.

“I carry my honour,” Aiko spat. It was a deadly insult, but she did not care if this night ended in bloodshed. “I keep my word.”

“First, I will inspect the documents,” Jiro replied calmly, refusing to be baited, “and then I will lead you to your pet.”

Aiko hesitated, considering. Nodding, she removed the parchment from her satchel and handed it to the vampyre. The parchment was five hundred years old and would withstand any carbon dating process. The ink was new, made with the same ingredients from that period, and aged with an untraceable chemical process. It was a masterpiece of forgery, and its contents would give any sane vampyre nightmares.

“How much of this weapon do they have?” Jiro demanded.

“That I do not know,” Aiko replied levelly. “They do not trust me in all things. In another two days, I might be able to find out.”

The attack came before he could reply. A cross-bolt skittered on the rooftop between them. Both spun, bracing for an assault. Further back, Angel and the Wandering Jew leapt out of the shadows and onto the two other vampyres. While Aiko was expecting the attack, no one was expecting what happened next. A maelstrom of light, sound, dimensions and time swallowed Aiko. The Australian Dream Time ancestor rose in the spot where she had stood, a cloud of smoke and colour. In a display of primitive power, Wandjina slowly grew larger, his lopsided grin filling the rooftop.

Jiro turned and fled. Whether any of his companions survived, he could not say. It did not matter. He had only one concern, carrying the papers back to his people. And at the moment, it did not look like he would. That thing the Brotherhood had found in the Australian Outback was hot on his heels. At one point, it split into seven perfected copies of itself, harrying him from all sides. All he could do is run with no thought but for his next hiding space. And if he paused, even for a second, it would catch him and end this before it even started.

Aiko was lost. She did not know where or when she was. Great cities rose and fell before her eyes, the dust becoming dirt and then rock between breaths. Animals from a dozen eras, some improbable, lumbered, ran and hopped on every side. A passing Tyrannosaurus Rex took a nip at her, disappearing before she could feel and taste its fetid breath. Armies formed, marched and clashed, their struggles falling into the distance as she or time or the landscape moved. It was difficult to tell in this place where time and space had no form or boundaries.

Suddenly her surroundings resolved into a room in an abandoned warehouse. Alvaro was there, chained to a pipe and bantering with Gwen and Crystal. Ember stood to one side, looking pleased with herself and scolding one of her hounds for something it had swallowed. Probably the car, Aiko thought sardonically. The scene had an unreal feel to it, seeming sharper and insubstantial all in the same breath.

“Well, well, well,” Crystal teased as she crossed the room to Alvaro. “Wait until Aiko finds out you did not come home last night because you were tied up with some little Geisha girl.”

“Yes,” Aiko snapped, “tell me about this Geisha. Lie to me, man, and I will rip the tongue from your face.”

“I’d rather she heard my version of events,” Alvaro commented dryly.

“And that would involve?” Cantara prompted.

“Don’t encourage him,” Aiko scolded.

“Several Demon Lords,” Alvaro replied glibly, “and two or three scores of elder vampyres.”

“How blonde do you think I am,” Aiko scoffed. “Two imps and a cripple could take you out, old man.”

“I was chained to the wall, after all,” Alvaro suggested. “It took some time to fight all twenty off with only my toes.”

“Can’t even lie like a man,” Aiko scoffed as Gwen called him on it.

“A minute ago it was sixty vampyres and three demon lords,” Gwen teased.

“I believe I can carry it off if I bat my eyes just the right way.”

The scene dissolved, and she was pulled back into the maelstrom of time and space. Nameless shapes tumbled past. She found herself on a plain, somewhere hot and humid. An army of vampyres was battling a mixed bag of mortals and immortals, the air thick with blood and ichor. She dodged a sword and snapped the arm of its wielder without thinking. She had been there for an eye blink, had yet to digest her surroundings, and already she had made a kill. She was the Black Lotus. She was Death incarnate, and nothing could stop her. Nothing.

Alvaro was there as she had never seen him. Clad in plate and chain mail, wielding a bloody sword, blood dripping from his fangs. His eyes were red from bloodlust. Strong and powerful, he was leading one of the forces in this three-sided melee, cutting through demon and vampyres alike. At his side, a guardian angel ablaze with holy light wielded a great war hammer, and a fierce djinn warrior guarded his back. An unholy trio, they left a trail of blood and broken bodies that stretched back towards the far end of the field. Ahead lay masses of demons, men and vampyres locked in a death grip. This was battle at its fiercest, and Alvaro was in his element.

A small dark figure scuttled across the battlefield. Wherever she met serious opposition, she became a mist, drifting past the struggling creatures. She was Hand. Following her progress across the bloody field with her eyes, Aiko could see that her target was Alvaro – her Alvaro. Akio hissed her fury. If anyone was going to kill him, it would be her. The smell of so much blood had her battle lust up. The undeniable impulse of a feeding frenzy coloured her thoughts, making it difficult to retain rational thought.

He was hers! The scene started to shift. Aiko hissed in angry frustration. If she concentrated in the right way, the images around her solidified. With one corner of her mind focused on holding herself there, she began stalking the bitch who was threatening her man. All her pent up rage, all the frustration at not being able to strike back at those who had wronged her in that other world crystallized. Her favourite blades were suddenly in her hands – the hard Japanese steel, each folded over three thousand times while they were forged to never lose their edge. She was a battle queen here, the Black Lotus set loose. Nothing stood in her path. Eaters of the Dead, demons of a thousand shapes and sizes, and the eldest vampyres. Their blood covered her, their bodies littered her path. And always that she-wolf was one step ahead.

They came together in an opening near the three main figures who were for the focus of the battle. The other turned. She was looking in a mirror, facing herself. The confusion froze them. Only for a moment, for the bloodlust was upon them, and they were the Black Lotus – the ultimate killer. Death’s own assassin.

Twin blades came together in a series of quick strikes. A calmness settled over both her faces. Like two indestructible forces, they met in an explosion of steel, feet and fury. Who had the strength and speed to defeat herself? Each bore a dozen cuts, none deep. No killing blows had landed. They leapt apart, studying each other like cats before an alley fight. Blood dripped from their swords, some of it their own. Suddenly a balding, red-headed mortal stood between them. He smiled sadly at Aiko.

“This is not your place, ma petite,” he said in a gentle voice.

Some part of her knew that this mortal had died, knew he had given his life to save the demon Crystal.

“Alvaro is mine,” she hissed, red eyes looking through him. “No-one will take him from me.”

“This is not your place,” Jean-Claude returned. “In this time, you have not met. You stand on two sides of a conflict that has been waging since before we were born.”

“I care not,” Aiko hissed, frustrated. “He is mine always and forever. I will not let that creature kill him.”

Jean-Claude held out his hand. “Come, I will take you home to your Alvaro. He is waiting.”

She had fought a ghost before and thought she could kill this dead mortal. If the dead could be slain. He smiled at her, warm and sad and full of compassion. He kept his empty hand held out, and before that, her anger melted. Aiko sheathed her swords. She took his hand….

She fell from the ceiling and into Alvaro’s arms. She was in the brownstone, in the living room of the apartment she shared with Crystal and Cantara. All her friends were there, returned from their mission.

“Now, this is the kind of homecoming a man can get used to,” Alvaro announced.

“You failed to come home last night,” Aiko hissed. “We will talk.”

“Or not,” the Wandering Jew threw in.

Cantara glared at him.

“I think I’ll be shutting my mouth now,” the Wandering Jew added contritely.

Discretion was the better part of valour when every woman you knew carried a pair of sharp blades. ‘And bitches be crazy.’ Why was everyone laughing? Did he say that out loud? A dagger flashed towards his head.