This vampire business had occurred at the same time the phantom river brought those two men and two women to Demon City. And when the nightclub singer had spewed out water. The connection was obvious.
“The woman on the boat was a babe.”
Mephisto was dismissive. “Meaning the particular shape and arrangement of nose, eyes and mouth that together you call beauty? Who wants to see the you in you that isn’t you?”
“I’ll leave this girl to you and check up on those four. That makes you the client. When it comes to the fee, I’ll make all due allowances.”
Setsura coolly turned around. Behind him, Mephisto said, “The least effort yields the greatest reward.”
Setsura glanced over his shoulder. “Meaning?”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to detain you any longer.”
“Give it a break.”
“This girl still hasn’t completely turned into a vampire. The one thing vampires everywhere have in common is that it is never over till the fat lady sings. They will keep on coming until the prey is added to the brood.”
“You waiting?” Setsura turned his gaze to the woman sitting on the sheets. He said to Mephisto, “You okay with deliberately drawing the cause of this sickness in here?”
“In cases when a course of treatment cannot be settled upon, exceptions can be made. We’ll move her to the general admittance wing of the hospital.”
“My, my. What a fine man your doctor is.” Setsura shrugged. A grave expression rose on his face. “Assuming those four are at the heart of the matter, this would be the first time we’ve ever faced down Chinese vampires. I wonder whether comparisons with the Toyama clans are even useful. Can’t a clue or two more be gained from her?”
Their eyes met. The woman sat there silently.
“Various investigations are already underway. More precise data based on comparisons with the Toyama residents is coming to light.”
“How about that.”
“The quantity of blood loss is around 600 cc. Two-and-a-half cups. Twice the 330 cc that the typical Toyama vampire requires. This is only my opinion, but that is more than is necessary to sustain life, so simple starvation must be the cause.”
“In that case, why not drain them dead?” Setsura wondered. “It’d save the time and bother of going out every night to visit the victim. There are vamps like that in America.”
“The Konsheau incident in Chicago,” Mephisto answered at once. He was familiar with cases of the supernatural from around the world. Such was to be expected of the Demon Physician.
Setsura nodded.
Mephisto said, playing the part of the professor lecturing the student, “A Turkish immigrant going by the name of Ray Konsheau. His vampiric nature awakened out of the blue, and from February of 1962 to March of the next year he took the blood of five women. All of them were drained on the spot. Four were buried, but they were delayed in discovering a 37-year-old vagrant by the same of Suzanna Pardue, who turned into a vampire. She attacked four people on the street, until the Special Investigations Unit of the Chicago police drove a stake through her heart. The importance of Konsheau’s overnight conversion to a vampiric state was such that after being arrested by the SIU, he was confined to a secret medical facility. His buried victims were disinterred at noon and staked as well.”
“The same with Pardue’s victims, I assume.”
“They’d all been bitten but once. If they’d turned into vampires, that would have been their fate. But according to the SIU’s classified report, once Pardue was staked, her victims all returned to normal. The problem is, not knowing the cause, we do not know if what applied in the Konsheau case applies here. This is definitely out of the norm. The possibilities are not pleasant.”
A look of undisguised disgust flitted across an icy countenance that would cow anyone who looked upon it. There were reasons for this reaction. The absence of this obsession with the prey—what could be called the vampire’s “aesthetic”—was unforgivably déclassé.
Why did vampires risk exposure by visiting their victims over and over? Because having been human beings once, and then becoming attached to this dark world, they took pleasure in the watching.
As the shadowy secretions contaminated it, the blood maintaining the pink cheeks of the victims turned from red to gray. The skin turned waxy and transparent. In rare cases the blood vessels appeared like coral formations beneath clear water.
The lips lost that spark of life as night by night their incisors grew longer. Eyes became vacant holes gleaming with a devilish fire. The shadows painting their faces gradually darkened. Finally, the victim would die and be reborn in the world of the living dead.
In lengthy cases, when the transformation occurred over a span of several months, the rarity of the species and their relative isolation might explain the happiness they took from slowly digesting all of these tiny details.
But regardless of the age, sex and attractiveness of the victim who’d satisfied their hunger for blood, they approached each visit with the same passion that an artist had for the work of art created by his own hand. Hence the “aesthetic” of the vampire.
Setsura was familiar with this behavior. “Is it so obvious that art should win out over hunger? I think you’re talking about the typical vampire. If we sit down with the Toyama bosses, we might be able to come up with some countermeasures.”
“You really think so?”
“I do not.” Setsura answered at once. A formidable aspect of this handsome young man was emerging from the cocoon, one that brooked no fools or half-measures.
Mephisto permitted himself a small smile.
Setsura stared up at the ceiling. He narrowed his eyes and thought back. “That night, watching the ship sail past before my eyes, I swear the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Those four definitely do not belong here.”
He spoke in the same matter-of-fact voice that he always did. But the look on Mephisto’s face shifted, tinged with—delight. Even the girl on the bed turned her dumbfounded gaze upon him.
“I will understand once we meet,” the transformed Setsura continued. “Human language hides more truths than it reveals. But what we call Shinjuku is still part of this world. Demon City should not open its doors to them. Having let them in, they must be destroyed. By my name—”
A blazing countenance exceeding even that of Mephisto looked squarely into the eyes of the Demon City Doctor.
“—and by the name of the Demon City Doctor. Mephisto, you shall not move this girl to the general admittance wing of the hospital. Here is where you shall lie in wait for the enemy.”
“That is fine with me.”
“However, move the remaining patients. There is no telling what will happen next. No priority can exceed that of their extermination.”
“Understood,” Mephisto said with a deep bow.
“As you know, I do not share all the same traits as me. Things shall henceforth be taken care of with all due alacrity.”
✦ ✦ ✦
This much was undeniably true: Shinjuku’s No. 1 P.I. and Shinjuku’s Demon Physician had never before so desired the obliteration of a foe.
One summer night, two men and two women arrived on a river that did not exist. What roles would they play upon the stage of this city? What manner of grotesque battle would unfold within its precincts?
Exactly the kind of battle that should occur here. In Demon City Shinjuku.