The pen drive felt like an ember scorching inside my jeans.
I needed to discover what was on it. Right now. This evening. Yet my apartment felt like a jail cell—no laptop, no phone, zilch. Tokyo's glowing neon signs were mocking me from, outside the window. Surely there was some device there I could access.
Following that I reflected on the bars in Tokyo. They continued to have desktop PCs available, for salarymen unable to return home intoxicated.
The closest option was 'Durarabian Knights Bar'. One condition: you couldn't enter wearing everyday clothes. You had to arrive as a fighter or not show up at all. I chuckled dryly to myself in the room. "Arabian knight garments. In Tokyo. Just great."
Lucifers voice echoed in my head relaxed and entertained. "You summoned me master?"
"Attire " I snapped. "Black. Silk. Mask. Entire outfit. Now."
He snarled, a growl resonating within me. "I'm the devil, not a tailor."
"Do it."
A sharp crack, as though the earth had fractured. The smooth silk caressed my skin. I wore a black thobe adorned with intricate gold embroidery and a face veil revealing just my eyes. The fragrance was a blend of oud and gunpowder. Flawless.
The Durabian Knights captivated me the instant I passed the curtain. The atmosphere was thick, with Hookah smoke. Arabic rap blended with the sounds of qanun strings. Masked men and women occupied every table feigning that the desert had accompanied them. I headed to the bar manager my voice softened by the fabric. "I require the computer. Five minutes."
He grinned, his gold tooth gleaming. "A dance is worth five minutes, knight. The girl, at the terminal—Yura Mikawa—is nearly finished. Please."
I rotated.
The blue glow from the screen cast light upon her. Pink silk clung, to her form. The coins adorning her hip scarf shimmered with each breath she took. When I cast my shadow over her she glanced up. Dark eyes. No fear. Just acknowledgment. I parted my lips. She spoke first. "Take it " she said, her voice soft and inviting. "I only wanted the speakers anyway."
She stood up. Slid the chair, towards me as though I were royalty her fingers gently grazing my sleeve.
She was projecting an aura to what I had been accustomed to before.
I took a seat. My fingers flew over the keyboard. Plugged in the pen drive. Password prompt—hurry up hurry up—
Lucifers voice appeared more yet this time it was softer and nearly hesitant. "That one isn't completely human, Akira. Something old is inhabiting her flesh this evening."
I kept my head down. I couldn't risk it. Suddenly the lights went out.
A lone amber beam pierced the gloom. She stood there already barefoot on the floor pink silk gleaming, like fresh blood.
The rhythm shifted—sluggish beats.
She lifted the microphone. "This is my time dancing here " she spoke, her voice carrying effortlessly. "I'm looking for a partner."
The audience erupted, intoxicated and excited.
Her eyes sliced through the throng. Settled on me.
She smiled gently saying, "You."
The black-clad knight behaving as if he wishes to stay unnoticed.
Every man standing among us quickly found another place to gaze. I ought to have refused. Men, like me avoid dancing. We vanish.
Despite everything she approached me her hips swaying with an allure that was both inviting and dangerous. Upon reaching my table she remained silent—simply extended her henna-adorned hand palm facing upward in anticipation.
I rose to my feet. The space, around us shrank until it was just the two of us remaining. She bent closer her lips almost brushing my ear through the mask. "I recognize you Akira."
When she addressed me by my name it felt like a sudden blast. Her hands laced with mine—steady, comforting. I let her pull me into the glow of light.
The melody shifted into an charming tune.
She initiated the motion—turning slowly her shoulders flowing like waves over blades. I trailed her as killers do: observing, adapting and asserting control. Yet she outpaced me. A step I retreated. She smiled brightly. Advanced once more. Repeatedly. Repeatedly. Until the distance, between us shrank to warmth, respiration and the scent of jasmine mixed with vice.
She leaned back into my chest. Without hesitation my hand rested on her waist fingers splaying across the exposed skin just above the coin belt. Her spine arched; my thumb traced the indentations like a path, to damnation.
She leaned her head back onto my shoulder her neck exposed, her heartbeat rapid, beneath silk skin. I might have bitten down taken her then and there. Yet I let the music sweep us away.
I twirled her around. Then pulled her back—forcefully. Her breath caught sincerely. Her nails scratched my forearms beneath the sleeves.
I wondered, "Who might she be?"
Again, face to face. Just inches apart. Her eyes—those eyes—were like purple clear crystal.
The final note remained.
Silence.
I refused to release. I was unable. My arm was secured around her waist drawing her near me. Coins clinked between us like cries.
Her mouth opened slightly.
I noticed her tremble run completely through her. It was clear that she was turning red.
The crowd erupted—shouts, applause, any and all.
It was irrelevant. I stayed until everyone exited the bar to discover, 'who she was.'
The pub lights began to glow, flickering, sharp and unpleasant.
Closing time.
She rose onto her toes arms encircling my neck lips, near my ear once more.
"I have been anticipating your arrival, Akira "
she murmured softly her breath heated tongue lightly grazing my skin.
I could sense another unfamiliar presence blocking my path.
'YURA MIKAWA'....