He went inside to check things out, and was greeted by a red and gold interior, reminiscent of a tacky soapland, with gambling tables so close together - and so crowded - there was barely room to move between them. The scantily clad waitresses were mostly demon (although the vampire ones looked terribly Human), although he spotted a Stansin that looked a lot like Helga, only with longer hair, streaked with gold paint. She headed his way, and he was obscurely glad, as he was accustomed to Stansins (or so he thought, at any rate). They were randy, but usually honest.

“Heya, gaijin,” she said, chewing gum noisily. “Don’t know if you know, but Humans take their own risks coming in here - the management refuses responsibility for any “accidents”.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But I’m here to see Mr. Fujimori.”

She cocked her head and studied him suspiciously. She looked barely legal, but how did you tell with demons? “I don’t believe he has any appointments.”

“I think he’ll want to talk to me anyways.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“I know where Raifu-Kisei is - and Lady Blood. And I’m willing to sell them both, if the price is right.”

Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him, tail flicking impatiently behind her, and he wondered if she now disliked him for being such a traitorous scumbag. “Wait here - I’ll see if he’s in.” She sashayed through the crowd, towards the back rooms, which were only barely hidden by a rice paper screen.

Logan stood where he was, waiting patiently, and subtly eyeing the crowd. The muscle was easy to pick out, even the ones who were “incognito” - he could smell gun oil, bad aftershave (why did rent-a-cops always prefer bad cologne?), and saw bulges that revealed unfortunate holster choices (or oddly placed genitalia - but he really didn’t want to think about that).

The muscle started to circulate in the crowd closer to him - news must have gotten out - but he remained where he was, trying to seem bored and disinterested with the salary men - Human and demon alike - losing their checks to crooked blackjack and roulette games.

He was kept waiting for a long time, but he wasn’t surprised. It was a psych test - if he was a liar, or up to something, he should start getting increasingly nervous and anxious, sure he had been discovered. Suited muscle started edging closer to him, another part of the test. But Logan knew it too well, expected it, and didn’t fall for it. He was a bit tired of standing around like a doorman, though.

Finally, the Stansin reappeared, a hard and wary look on her green face. “Okay, you can have five minutes.”

“Thanks, that’s all I need,” he said, and followed her back behind the screen. A huge Ressik fell into step behind him, and Logan couldn’t help but smirk. Was he going to pull his gun now, or wait until they were in Fujimori’s “office”?

The Stansin opened the bland white door, but didn’t enter, simply stood off to one side as he went in, followed by his Ressik shadow.

Logan almost walked into a drawn gun.

Actually, he was surrounded by them. There were five bodyguards in the office, all with drawn weapons dead centered on his head, and since it was such a tiny cubicle, he was impressed they could all squeeze in here. It was wall to wall muscle, but it didn’t intimidate him like it was meant to - all it did was show him that these guys had no room to move if it went to fisticuffs.

And it was going to fisticuffs. They just didn’t know it yet.

As far as the office of some would be gangster kingpin went, it was pretty lame. Just a cubicle style office, white with highlights of blue, and Logan wondered if this was what they meant by the banality of evil.

“How stupid do you think I am, Human?” The man who must have been Fujimori asked. “I know who you are. And whatever lame ass plan you and Lady Blood have planned, I assure you it won’t work. The outer perimeter security is hunting her right now.”

Logan looked past the barrel in his face, and scrutinized the man with a clinical eye. “You’re it?” He said, scoffing in disdain. He was just a Japanese guy in a plush desk chair behind a cheap Ikea sort of desk, more practical than built for long use. But while he looked like a Yakuza with his slicked back hair and sharp silver suit, his almond shaped eyes were a bright, unnatural blue - Belial. Fujimori was a fucking Belial. How typical.

Fujimori scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean? ”I’m it”? Did she say I was a Berserker or something?”

“No. I just figured - bein’ reasonably competent for a wannabe gangster, you’d be something other than a pissant, fuck up Belial.” One of the Ressiks coughed to cover a laugh.

Fujimori gave him an acrid look that could have stripped flesh off his bones. “You know nothing about me or my kind, Human.”

“Not true. See, I know this Belial with a big, crazy ass family, almost as nutty as him. They lie like rugs, are as snarky as hell, and generally have more money than sense. But they also have a lot of power - I mean, “We can end the world” kinda power. The weirdest thing about them is they don’t abuse the power; not really. It’s not very Human, and it’s not very Belial of ‘em, which is how I know they aren’t really what they claim to be. And you know why? ‘Cause Humans and true Belials are very much alike. And I know that little pricks like you - Human or not - with precious little power, like to pretend they have a lot and throw it around. It’s a danger of our mutual breed. Pity.”

Fujimori flushed a color of blue akin to toilet water. “Are you comparing me to a Human?”

Oh, was that the sore spot, was it? It must have been hard for a demon who didn’t look much like one trying to control all these other demons. “If the Prada suit fits, bub.”

More coughing from the Ressik in the corner. He was probably going to lose his jobs-assuming he lived. A big if.

Fujimori struggled to control his rage, compress it into something cold and hard behind his eyes. “And you claim I’m full of shit?”

Logan shrugged. “Whatever. You know, if you really do know who I am, ya know bullets won’t do you any good.”

“These are special rounds, my ugly mutant friend. They explode on impact. So even if you can take a lot of damage - and you do seem capable of that - you’ll definitely be slowed down. Are you good with pain?”

“Used to it.”

“Being used to something doesn’t mean you’re good with it.”

“Whatever. Are you guys gonna shoot me or what? I have an early flight out.”

Fujimori was apparently trying to glare him to death, but as far as Logan knew, that never worked. “What is Lady Blood planning? Were you supposed to come here and kill me? Has she sunk to a new level of lameness?”

He wondered if enough time had passed, and figured it had. “Naw. This was my idea actually. I figured you being such a cocky piece of shit, you’d put most of your security on me as soon as I showed my face. That would give her a chance to get into position.”

“And what position would that be?”

“It’s over your head.” He thought he heard a little scuttling on the roof, as quite as mouse feet. Yeah, right on time.

“Pardon me? Are you compounding your idiocy by suggesting I’m the moron, gene trash?”

“No, asshole, I’m bein’ literal.” He pointed up towards the ceiling, a gesture that made several fingers tense on the trigger. “Over your fuckin’ head.”

It was then that Yasha set off the shaped charges, and the ceiling exploded, raining debris down on all of them.

The shock of it made the Ressiks start shooting, but Logan had already popped his claws and taken the gun hands off two of them, kicking a third in the stomach and sending him reeling back into the largest chunk of ceiling panel, which cracked over his big, lizardy head like a concrete beam.

Yasha landed feet first on the desk, and Fujimori shot out of his seat, bringing up what looked like a small aerosol can, but Logan snatched it out of his hand before he could use it. He’d made short work of the security - a few slashes and they were done - and amazingly he didn’t get shot. He did get some nasty knocks from the falling bits of ceiling, though; one chunk had opened up his scalp and dribbled blood in his eye before it healed up.

Fujimori moved to take the can back, but when he saw his bloody claws, he changed his mind.

“Mace on a vampire?” Logan asked incredulously. “And you called me stupid? What is it, garlic flavored?”

“It’s probably holy water,” Yasha told him, bringing up Life/Death and putting the tip an inch away from Fujimori’s startled face. “Isn’t it?”

Outside the office, Logan could still hear faint screaming and sounds of panicked fleeing. They were probably afraid the entire building was under attack.

Yasha had sketched out the probable dimensions of his office, and they had decided on the most economical way of blowing a hole in the roof. The point hadn’t been to destroy the office, or even to scare away the rest of the security (although that was a nice side benefit); the point had been to give Yasha a way in.

Fujimori’s eyes widened as he realized what the sword in his face actually was. “Is - is that Raifu-Kisei?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I thought you’d like to see it before I rammed it through your skull.”

Fujimori was too enraptured by the appearance of the sword - his Holy Grail - to pay any attention to the death threat. “You freed Otasuki, and he told you where it was.”

“You figured that out all by yourself?” Logan replied sarcastically, tossing the can of vamp-be-gone away.

But Fujimori ignored him too. He only had eyes for the sword. “How did you free him?”

“God blood.” Yasha said it casually, like you could pick it up in a 7-11, between the Hostess display and the Slurpee machine.

“Where the hell did you get god blood?”

“Found an avatar.”

“I thought you were just gonna kill him,” Logan interjected, bored already.

Fujimori paled, turning a robin’s egg blue. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh really?” Yasha replied, clearly amused. “And why not?”

Fujimori’s face set like stone. “I own this town, bitch. Even the Yakuza is afraid of me, and for damn good reason. By not accepting the generosity of the Vantha, you have condemned yourself to the same doom as the Human garbage. We are making this world our own, and you won’t have any part in it. Kill me, and you’ll never live to see the next sundown. You’ll die along with the rest of the Human scum.” Fujimori turned his frigid blue eyes on Logan. “Are you so whipped you’ll let her slaughter me for no reason?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. He loved the brazen gall of Belials (except when it annoyed the shit out of him). “No reason? There was this guy named Leyoshi that you had whacked, remember? And those same pricks impaled me to a wall. That’s a good fucking reason.”

That just earned him a disdainful sneer. “You shouldn’t have gotten in the way, mutant. You’re gonna die no matter what, shithead. Stick with her and it’ll be sooner.” His icy eyes scudded back to Yasha. “Tell me what it’s like to be hunted, Blood. By the entire demon populace of Tokyo, by the Vantha, by the demons of the whole fucking world. ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen when word gets out you killed me.”

“Why don’t I tell you?” Logan said, and punched his claws straight through Fujimori’s chest.

The Belial barely had time to stare at him with wide and startled eyes before he died. Logan retracted his claws, and the brand new corpse crumpled to the floor in an untidy heap.

After a thick moment of silence, Yasha asked, “Why did you do that?” She sounded more stunned than angry.

“If Reiko knew who I was, others will too. And they’ll know you’re not the one who killed him. Besides, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up.”

The look she gave him was so intensely curious, he was almost insulted. “You know what this means, don’t you? The demons will be coming for you. I could take the heat, you know.”

“Just ‘cause you can doesn’t mean you should.” He belatedly winced, aware he just quoted something Bob - and possibly Jean - had thrown at him in the past.

“This isn’t a macho thing with you, is it? You’re not worried at all.”

He sighed in frustration, and told her, “Look, you know what? You’re right - I’m old. I shudder to think how old I am. People have devoted their entire lives to killin’ me, and they have tried in every way you can imagine. I’ve even been strapped down to tables and had people vivisect me like a frog in high school biology class, conscious while they played around with my organs, but I’m still here, aren’t I? If those fucks have what it takes to put me down, then I deserve to be dead.”

She jumped off the desk, but never looked away from his eyes. “What a curious man you are.”

He didn’t know how to take that, so he decided to change the subject. “What the hell is the Vantha anyways?”

It was her turn to shrug. “I’m not really sure. From the way he talked about it, it sounded like some kind of demon mafia.”

Beyond the closed door, shuffling noises abounded, as some of t he security team that hadn’t died was finally coming back to see if they were still employed. He gestured to the massive hole where the ceiling used to be, and asked, “Should we fight ‘em, or just get out of here?”

“Do we have anything better to do?”

“Maybe.” It was funny how this idea just occurred to him fully formed, and felt perversely right, even though he knew it couldn’t be that simple. Was anything? But it was a shot. Maybe there was a way to salvage this situation: he couldn’t bring Mariko back, and he couldn’t save Jean, but maybe he could help Yasha if no one else.

“What?”

“Let’s get back to your place. I’ll tell you there.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, as the scuffling got closer outside. “More sex? I like you, but this is getting ridiculous.”

He rolled his eyes, and wondered if it was worth helping a sarcastic vampire. “What is it with smart ass cracks and the undead?”

“When you’re dead yet still alive, everything seems kinda ironic.”

When she put it that way, he supposed she had a point.

29

Logan was half expecting some kind of demon ninja hit squad to be waiting for them back at Yasha’s place, but no, there was no way they were that organized. They wouldn’t show until … well, at least by noon. Still, it was almost disappointing to not have more Ressiks and Berserkers, or men wearing Hai Karate, to kill. Well, not now at any rate.

Once inside, she went to her lighting candles ritual, and he tossed the ornamental but perfectly useless sword on the futon. He told her of his plan before he regained his senses. “So the reason I don’t stay injured for long is ‘cause of my healing factor, my mutant “gift”.” There was just no way to hide the sarcasm.

“I guessed that,” she responded coolly. “Why are you telling me this?”

This was his proof he was insane, but he wasn’t sure he cared anymore. “The regenerative factor is in my blood, Yasha. A little of it once … cured this vamp I know of a drug that was makin’ him nuts. My immunity transferred to him.”

She paused to look at him, the reflections of the flames dancing in her dark eyes. “You were bitten by a vampire?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“I’m sayin’ … wanna be Human again? Bite me. Maybe enough of my blood could “heal” you, kill the demon and bring you back.”

“You’re insane.” Not an accusation, just a statement of fact.

“Probably. But it might work.”

“How much is enough blood, exactly?” She was trying to keep her voice and expression neutral, but as she came closer, he could see the hunger shining in her eyes. Yeah, she had wanted his blood all along, just as he suspected.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.”

Now her eyebrows raised in utter disbelief. “What? You’re leaving a judgment of how much blood is enough to a vampire?”

He rolled his shoulders in a very half-hearted shrug. It was weird how freeing this decision felt. Just cast his lot, and see what happened - whatever did, it was completely out of his hands, but this time he had made the decision that led to it. He was no longer at the mercy of blind circumstances; he was calling the final shot. “You’d be hard pressed to kill me, darlin’.”

She shook her head, but her eyes never broke away from his. “You really do want to die, don’t you?”

He scowled violently at her. “I’m offering you a chance to get your humanity back, Mei Li.” Just as he thought, the use of her real, long forgotten name seemed to have impact. “Do ya really just wanna stand there and insult me?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Logan. You don’t even know that it will work.”

“And you don’t know that it won’t. Is that really what‘s bothering you?”

She was close enough to reach out and touch, but once again her expression was inscrutable. She just stared at him until her gaze was as uncomfortable as staring into the sun. “Why?” She finally asked, her voice oddly quiet.

“Because I think you deserve a chance to live again.” ‘And because this can’t have been all for nothing,’ he thought, but didn’t say.

Her look became oddly sorrowful. “You are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“You ever gonna stop insulting me?”

“It wasn’t an insult.” She paused briefly, and admitted, “I want your blood, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that. I’m still a demon - I don’t know that I can stop myself.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He popped a claw, making her jump, but he pressed the tip against the side of his own throat. “Do you do the honors, or do I?”

She shook her head once more, torn somewhere between disgust and blood lust. “You needed more help than the sword ever could have given you.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pressed the tip gently into his own skin, drawing up a bead of blood that he could feel trickling down his throat. He could see the war behind her eyes - the oddly Human side of her that wanted to turn away, and the demon half that didn’t want to see a precious drop of blood wasted - as she visually tracked the blood trail until it soaked into the collar of his shirt. He didn’t think she’d be able to hold out much longer.

She didn’t. She vamped out at a frightening speed and all but lunged for him, grabbing his arms with surprising strength and sinking her fangs into his throat. It was a pinprick pain, much less than the pain of popping his claws, and withdrew his single claw, not even trying to fight her off. If he wanted to, he could have dusted her in an instant - but he didn’t want to do that.

The blood seemed to rush out of him as fast or even faster than the time he’d had his throat cut, and she let out an almost orgasmic moan as she greedily gulped it down. He could feel it leaving him, but there was an oddly sexual component to it, as his endorphins kicked in to fight the pain, and his adrenaline surged, to try and spur him into solving the problem, while his healing factor burned, trying to close a wound that wouldn’t quite shut. A curious surge of pleasure in response to a fatal pain.

He fell backwards, onto the tatami, but he had no memory of it. He felt like he was still falling, through the floor, through the sea, through the earth, and into something he couldn’t imagine. He could barely feel her on top of him, still draining him dry; she could have been a wraith, a cool breeze in the dead of night.

Logan closed his eyes, and saw the pulsing of red behind his eyelids, as if his brain was trying to send out a final red alert. But he ignored it and passively let the cold embrace him, let it carry him away. And there was a strange relief that maybe this was finally over, although even then, Logan couldn’t admit to himself that he was thinking about his life.

***

There was a huge bang, a slam of metal against metal, and Logan jerked up instantly to a sitting position, all senses alert, his body braced for a fight.

Except instant disorientation threw him off his game. He was sitting in a room of white and stainless steel, that smelled of disinfectants and electrostatic charge, and he realized he was back in Jean’s lab under the mansion - and the back wall was on fire.

No, not exactly - it was made of fire. Fire that had no smell. And there was Jean standing in front of it, arms crossed over her chest, hip cocked, her lips curved down in an aggressively disapproving frown. In her rage, the fire had completely consumed her eyes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Logan?”

She must have been angry if she dropped the f-bomb on him. It took him a moment to remember what was going on in the real world. “I’m helping a friend.” It was odd, but he could feel the ghost of fangs in his neck. He glanced down to find himself shirtless and barefoot, clad only in loose black pants, just like he was when he first came to in her lab. He thought about making another joke about her liking his shirt off, but from the way the red flames were bleeding out of her eyes, he knew this was not the time.

“No you are not,” she raged, and a hint of something gravelly and inhuman crept in beneath her voice. “She is no friend - you barely know her. You are trying to commit suicide!”

Power was coming off her in waves like heat, and he’d been exposed to it enough to know it was god like power, something that could cut and burn and destroy and kill without an ounce of effort. And in spite of that, he didn’t bother to suppress the anger that suddenly bloomed inside his chest. “What the fuck are you, Jeannie - my mother? Butt the fuck out!”

“And let you die?”

He scoffed and jumped off the table, feet slapping the metal floor, and unconsciously he had been expecting it be hot (from the flames - but of course it was cold). “Die? I wish I could, but ya know damn well that ain’t happening.”

“No I don’t,” she replied, seemingly gaining control of her voice. “You can’t lose all your blood and survive, Logan.”

“I ain’t losin’ all of it.”

“Oh really? You expect a vampire to have self-control?”

It was just then, staring at her and her burning eyes, that he felt it all go out of him. Again, it was like a welcome release, a letting go of unnecessary baggage. “I don’t care,” he admitted, feeling strangely enervated. “I’m tired, Jean, don’t you get that? I’m so fucking tired of all this madness. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

As her anger started to fade, the flames in her eyes started to subside, retreat to their normal prison within her pupils. And maybe it was due to the blood loss in the real world, but he felt so weak he sat down cross legged on the floor, hanging his head in his hands. “Let go,” he said, trying not to make it a plea. “Jeannie, let me go.”

He didn’t even hear her approach. She was simply there, running one of her hot hands through his hair. “No,” she said simply. And it sounded as ominous as it felt.

He didn’t want to say it- he detested emotional blackmail - but he had to know if there was anything left of Jean in there. “If you ever loved me at all, you would do this for me.”

“It’s because I love you that I can’t let you throw your life away,” she claimed, her hand falling to the back of his neck. He could feel heat and power leeching into him, and it felt oddly familiar. Something about heat and power …

… his mind suddenly flashed on a memory, of the time he got his throat cut in Santo Marco by the anti-Jean. He dreamed he was in a tower, and an arm of flame reached out of a pond and grabbed him by the throat, its touch sending heat throughout his body …

Logan looked up at her with a gasp of shock. “That was you.” It seemed obvious now, but he hadn’t even remembered it until now. And as he felt her power surging through his veins, he suddenly realized something else. “Are you trying to transform me too?”