Index
Chapter 1: Midnight
Chapter 2: Chapter 1: Charcoal
Shades of Night
PG-13 for violence and language.
Summary: An immortal meets a reincarnating mortal from his past, and destiny takes a turn down rocky road.
Prologue: Midnight
He watched. For the most part, he simply watched. And waited.
It was cool up here, on the rooftops. Dark and cool, with the stars were his canopy, and the waxing cresent moon too low and dim on the horizon to cast its light across him. Peaceful, in its isolation from the world.
And below him, a kid sped desperately through the streets, running for dear life.
*
Shiming knew the back alleys and side lanes of downtown Chou’An better than he knew the back of his hands. He had grown up here, born on the sidewalk, rumor had it, by a mother who’d then died or walked away, abandoning him to world.
He didn’t know how he’d survived the first few years. He couldn’t recall anything other than a life that revolved around living off scraps and other people’s charity. And occasionally, when the going got tough, taking a little surplus off those who could spare it.
He cursed as he misjudged and clipped a wall upon taking a corner too quickly. His sandals slipping on the dirt, scuffing and costing him precious seconds as he scrambled for his footing and launched himself forward again.
"Shit," he spat, cursing luck and fortune and whatever deity that had landed him in this predicament. It wasn’t as if he took very much. Just napped the bracelet off that rich twat’s wife, and she didn’t need it anyway, with all the rest of the jewelry dripping off her…
There were hired goons following her around. He hadn’t seen them, or he wouldn’t have picked on her.
He’d even dropped the stupid bracelet a few streets back. That hadn’t stopped them. One had probably paused to retrieve it, but the other three were still hot on his trail. And all the tricks in his book hadn’t managed to get them off it.
The breath was starting to burn in his lungs. Sure, he was as fit as they came, but there were limits to this. There had to be limits to this.
…Tell that to the pursuers who were currently gaining on him.
They were inhuman. They had to be. No one could keep up with him on his own turf. No one.
He rounded another corner and plunged to a stop. They were right in front of him.
*
The watcher rested his chin on one hand as he watched the kid back up two steps, and turn to flee… only to skid to a halt again as more dark shapes emerged from behind him. Effectively cut off, and soon to be in deep trouble.
The watcher snorted quietly. There had been a time when that kid would have been able to tell that his ill-chosen target was human only in semblance. There was a time when that same kid would have stared down the creatures currently approaching him, and rained death down upon them.
In another lifetime.
"Oh how the mighty have fallen," the watcher sighed, unheard.
The stars against his back were briefly blotted out by dark silhouettes. Then the shadows vanished once more, leaving the rising moon to shine down on an empty rooftop.
*
He’d heard of them. Who hadn’t? The rumors were carried on the wings of whispers, from mouth to mouth, from house to house to darkened sidewalks under flickering streetlamps. He’d laughed them off, dismissed them with a youth’s arrogance and a youth’s sense of invulnerability. But in the dark, under eaves still dripping with the afternoon’s rain, in a narrow alley, those rumors coalesced once more into solid forms that closed in from both sides.
Youkai, the combined voice of a thousand rumors whispered into his heart. In the gloom, their eyes glowed.
Pure, unadulterated terror was choking him. Instinct made him search desperately for a way out. His vision skated over grimy walls with their peeling paint, hopelessly solid as they closed in on him.
"What do you want?" he shouted. "I gave you back the stupid thing! Leave me alone!"
There was no reply save the heavy breathing of the creatures.
They were insane, the rumors said. With a liking for human flesh. They wore magical artifacts that hide their true form, making them seem human in appearance.
…Surely the bracelet hadn’t been a limiter. Surely.
"I’ll fight you!" he tried, hating the way his voice — still the high pitched squeak of a boy — quavered.
Water slopped off the roof to splash against the ground, and he jumped. The creatures emitted low gurgle that might have been a laugh.
Unnerved, he took a step back. There was a crunch.
The creatures charged.
*
He landed lightly in front of the kid, wrapping an arm around skinny shoulders to sweep the boy out of danger. His booted foot caught the lead youkai across the stomach, sending him flying backwards into his minions. He spared a moment to glance down at his charge as the youkai regrouped hesistantly. White-rimmed eyes, wide in shock and fear, stared up at him beneath wind tousled hair that shone dully. Under better light, those eyes would be purple, and that hair — once the kid got a good bath — would be a rich shade of gold.
"Have you no survival instincts at all?" the watcher asked, as he whisked both of them out of range of another youkai strike.
"I do!" the kid retorted, young and angry. At least some things didn’t change.
"Well, then look after yourself for a moment." So saying, he dropped his hand from the boy’s shoulders, and lifted his knee into a youkai’s crotch.
"Bastard!" the youkai snarled. "Who are you?"
"You don’t even have the Minus Wave as an excuse now," he replied. "Desist and withdraw."
"Or you’ll do what?" another youkai laughed. "One skinny human against six of us? You obviously know about the Minus Wave so you can’t be completely dumb, but you’re still a fool to think that–"
"Avoid being verbose," he replied, as he removed his elbow from the youkai’s mouth, along with several teeth. "Now will you leave peaceably, or will we have to settle this in an uncivilized manner?"
*
There was warmth around him, tugging him away from the cold gust as claws bissected the air where he had been standing. A man in a long black coat, light hair the color of which he couldn’t tell in the dark. A calm voice, speaking in his ear. He voiced a protest and suddenly he was standing on his own, and those creatures were talking–
There was a flash of movement as the stranger attacked, almost casually but with inhuman speed. But he looked human enough, with rounded ears and an absence of claws. Unless…
…Shiming’s eyes were drawn to the golden amulet that hung around the man’s neck, just visible beneath the collar of his coat.
"You’re one of them!" he hissed.
"Not exactly," the stranger replied, wincing slightly as one of the youkai caught him with a blow across the back of his hand that tore his gloves and stained them red with blood. With a move, he broke the youkai’s arm.
"But–"
"Boy, stand back."
"I–"
The stranger was abruptly at his side, shoving him backwards and out of way.
"I do hate doing this," the man sighed, and pulled off his coat.
Abruptly, the alley was filled with flying feathers.
*
He pulled in the wings with an effort, pulling his coat over to ward off the chill in the air. This shirt was definitely ruined.
All for you.
He stared at the fallen youkai, waiting for a moment to see if they were properly paralyzed, before turning.
"You’re… you’re… a youkai," the boy stammered.
He smiled, sadly. "Those are youkai. I… am just an anomaly."
The boy was silent, staring wide-eyed at him. Finally, he crossed his arms and stuck his chin out. "So, you going to attack me now or what?"
He turned, and began walking away. "I would leave before those youkai recover from the effects of the poison. It isn’t permanent."
Puddles splashed beneath his boots. The first few times, confronting the hostility and lack of recognition in those eyes, he might have felt the grief more keenly. The eyes never changed, from one lifetime to a next. But it seemed that everything else did.
But you were never mine to save.
"Wait!" a voice echoed down behind him.
He paused in mid-step but did not turn.
"Who are you?"
Chapter 1: Charcoal
"You gotta be around here somewhere…"
Shiming was perplexed. Winged foreigners shouldn’t be allowed to disappear into thin air, yet that fellow had. It had been almost a year — he had lost track of time, knew only that summer was ending again and there was a chill in the air reminiscent of that night… it had been almost a year and he hadn’t been able to find a trace of the man. No one, absolutely no one, had any recollection of any light haired foreigners wearing huge funny amulets. And Aunty Chen surely knew everyone.
Not that Shiming had a lot of time to scout around these days. It had been a strange coincidence, finding that discarded ten yuan note just outside a small, roadside restaurant… and when he’d rushed in to buy the cheapest thing on the menu, the owner had hired him.
Old, frail Uncle Yang really needed an assistant, anyway, Shiming reflected, as he trotted down the street towards the market, revelling in the pre-dawn quiet. Uncle Yang was half blind, could hardly hear. It seemed like a miracle that the business kept going. Yet his customers knew him and loved him, and to his credit, Uncle Yang could still cook a mean Char Siew mien.
It wasn’t a bad job at all. Run the old man’s errands, help out at the restaurant with the dishes and the orders, in exchange for free food and a place to crash. And Uncle Yang had promised that one day, he would teach him his secret recipe… It was perfect.
Almost perfect. There was one glaring exception.
Youkai.
They had never troubled him after that day — indeed, they had disappeared off the map as thoroughly as Monster guy had. But there were nights where Shiming would feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and the shadows would seem just a shade deeper and darker. Those nights, he would run all the way home, sticking to the most brightly lit routes.
And yet no one had seen anything out of the ordinary. Not even where it came to feathers or bloodstains or anything. Ah Ren hadn’t picked up a trace, and he was the one who had taught Shiming everything he knew about the Street. The Cai brothers, normally the first to detect any sign of trouble or change, had looked at him funny for even asking. Sometimes, Shiming wondered if it had all been an elaborate nightmare.
Shiming paused in mid-step, conscious of a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. Furtively, he glanced around. Surely there couldn’t be anything. It was almost six, and the sun would be rising soon. The empty road beside him would be transformed into a busy motorway filled with cars and bicycles. No one would be stupid enough to try–
--he started running the moment he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him. Instincts said to flee, and he had learnt never, ever to ignore his instincts.
Don’t run in a straight line, those instincts advised him now, so he broke down the nearest alley he could find, forcing cold muscles to work. Faster. Faster. Surely he was still as fit as he had been a year back.
Not that that had helped… Lengths of laundry stretched out overhead, cutting off any view of the sky. Line after line seemed to pressed down on him. Walls to close. Air too damp and heavy.
Fear clutched at his heart, and now he could hear the thundering sounds of pursuit behind him above the rasping of his breath.
Alley. Not good. Too easily cornered.
But this wasn’t that trap of yesteryear. This was the narrow back lane between Waikong Street 17 and 18, so there was a way out that pursuers couldn’t know about. Shiming spun at an intersection, cutting down the left lane, and there it was–
Grab at the sill, fling himself up, and squeeze through.
He wriggled through the window and tumbled into the dark of the room beyond. Spared a moment for a single gasp, then flung himself into the darkest corner. There was a sheet, an old sheet that he and Ah Ren would hide under when playing hide-and-seek with the Cai brothers. Once, this old abandoned house with its broken window had been the perfect hide out for them, although Shiming doubted if he would be able to fit through the window soon.
The sheet settled about him, almost as if he were still seven, and all of this was just a game. They wouldn’t find him here. That was the most important thing. No one had ever found him here. Pursuers always missed the turn, or ran past the house, because big guys always–
Peeking out through the tiny gap between the sheet and the floor, Shiming froze. Eyes had appeared at the window, their owner staring straight at him.
They can’t--! It was pitch dark. They couldn’t pick out the scuffing of the dust in this light. Even if they could, they shouldn’t have been able to see through the gloom into the corner where he was hiding. Or to make him out in his hiding place.
They weren’t looking at the marks in the dust, Shiming realized. They weren’t even scanning the room for him. They knew he was there, they could sense him…
…He broke cover and fled. Dashed through the abandoned kitchen, skidded on the dust in the living room, and flung himself out the front door.
Shiming glanced backwards, to the left, to the right, and tentatively dusted his shirt off. There was no sign of pursuit.
They had gone.
--x--
He didn’t come. Shiming dropped the marketing bags on the table as the realization struck home. He didn’t come and stop them.
He didn’t quite know why he felt vaguely betrayed. He was an idiot for even wanting someone else to help him out, because if it was one thing you learnt on the street, it was that you were always alone. If you depended on anyone, you were dead. It was that simple.
But he was disappointed. Sorely disappointed.
"Ho, ‘ming! Customers!" Uncle Yang yelled.
Shiming dumped the change beside the vegetables and headed out of the kitchen. I’m not afraid, he found himself chanting mentally. I’m not afraid of some stupid youkai. I can outrun them. Outsmart them. I did it today. I don’t need no one to rescue me. I look after myself.
"Seat yourself," he told the group standing the doorway. "Menu’s over on the wall."
"Thank you," the foremost one replied, and something in his tone made Shiming glance over to take a closer look.
He found his eye drawn to their dark suits and leather briefcases. Dark, well-pressed, expensive suits. "You’re not from around these parts, are you?" he found himself asking.
"No," the one who had spoken before said. "We’re just–"
"–passing through," another finished for him, with a low chuckle.
"Four bowls. Dry. With chilli," the third said.
Shiming forced himself not to stare. Business was business. If strange rich people were going to leave their posh restaurants to eat at this small joint, that was their problem. Rich people were strange like that.
"What’s your name, boy?" the first man asked, when he returned with the ordered noodles.
None of your business, he was tempted to reply, but Uncle Yang had always said to be polite to customers.
"Ru’er," he answered on impulse.
"Well then, Ru’er. Have you seen any strangers around these parts? Besides us, I mean."
"Strangers? We get lots of strangers," Shiming hazarded.
"Come now," the man raised a skeptical eyebrow. Then he chuckled. "I see. You need more incentive. One and the same, you street rats."
"…I don’t know what you’re talking about."
The last member of the group, the one that hadn’t spoken since they had come in, leaned forward. There was a brief rustle of paper as a hundred yuan note appeared in his hand and vanished once more. "Boy," he said, and his voice was low and smooth as silk. "Have you seen a foreigner? Silver haired. Blue-eyed. Wearing a long, black duster."
There was warmth around him, tugging him away from the cold gust as claws bisected the air where he had been standing. A man in a long black coat, light hair the color of which he couldn’t tell in the dark. A calm voice, speaking in his ear.
"Nope," Shiming replied. "But I can ask my pals–"
Suddenly, all four were standing, forming an imposing wall of black that towered over him.
"You lie," the man said. "But no matter. We know where you live. We know that he will seek you out soon. One way or another." Silver glinted as he lifted his briefcase, and Shiming became suddenly, painfully aware of the silver wristwatch that he wore. That all of them wore. Light glinted off second hands that did not tick.
"Have a care, Shiming," one of them said, as they swept out.
He stood there for a long while, staring at the four untouched bowls of noodles left arrayed on the table. In their midst was a single hundred yuan note.