Fox Hunt
(Chapter 10)

     Evan closed his right hand into a fist and swallowed back his trepidation. "I've had it up to here with you guys," he said, holding his left hand at shoulder height. "You see the guy behind me? He's FBI. You guys attacked Federal Agents. I don't care who you guys think you are under those masks. You're not above the law. So guess what? You guys are going to jail."

"Kid, get out of there!" Michener shouted then pulled the driver door shut.

One of the mercenaries pulled back the slide on a Fabrique Nationale Project-90 submachine gun. "You're the little shit from the Haight-Ashbury we've been looking for!"

Evan flinched at the sharp curse then grit his teeth together. "I guess that old dude was right… I let your buddies live. The real question is, would you guys extend me the same courtesy?"

"KILL HIM!" the man shouted. They opened fire with sound-suppressed submachine guns. The rounds turned to glass, nearing Evan, and pelted him. He threw his arms up to cover his eyes.

Evan clenched his hands then raised his fists up, using his forearms to protect his face. A wall of glass rose up between them. "Hey! FBI! What's the FN P90 shoot?" When he didn't hear an answer, he asked again, louder.

The agent rolled down the window slightly and shouted back, "Five point seven by twenty-eight! What did you just do?!"

"Just need to know how thick to make this pane," Evan replied in a normal voice. He flinched a few times, watching as the glass became a spider web of its former self. Evan placed his hand on the panel. The large square sheet of glass appeared to heal itself, in a manner of speaking. The cracks faded.

He backed up a few paces then shouldered the pane hard. The large panel tilted forward then came down on two of the gunman, knocking them to the ground with its immense weight. "Aw man, you guys weren't supposed to scatter! That was supposed to flatten all of you guys!" Evan turned away from them.

The bullets turned to glass and pelted him on his back. He kept his hands up to protect his ears and the back of his neck.

Without warning, an immense sound cracked in the sky like a cannon. The sheer volume of the thunder stole Evan's equilibrium. He stumbled into the Chevy Suburban and brought his hands to his ears.

Evan turned back to the mercenaries and their silver van… only to blink, seeing Nathanial Carrington standing in front of the remaining gunmen with his arms folded.

"Whoa… You again." Evan blinked twice, shocked at how heroic the old man looked, standing there, stoic.

Nathan casually lifted his left hand. A glowing energy field appeared, like a wall. It absorbed the rapid gunfire volley that came next, once the mercenaries began their attack again. "You did good, kid. Just like a real hero. I'm proud of you, Evan. Check on Johann Foster – that guy in the passenger seat. He's the one whose number I gave you. Make sure he's okay."

Evan turned back to the SUV and came around to the passenger side. He opened the door and looked Johann over then lifted his eyes to Michener. "Where's the first aid kit? What do we do? Do we wrap it or…?"

The agent glanced back out the window towards the old man with the energy field. "Who is that old guy? Who the hell are you, for that matter?"

"Uh… Me? Superhero in training. The old man is the genuine article. Where is the first aid kit and what do I do next?"

"In the hatch." Philip opened the driver door and stepped from the vehicle with his handgun. "I… I don't know how you're holding them off but if you need…"

Nathanial glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his gaze. "Get your ass back in that truck and be ready to pull out of here at a moment's notice. Where the hell is your backup, agent? What kind of Mickey Mouse rookie shithole operation are you running here?"

"No one is answering!" he exclaimed, offended. "Those guys must be jamming the radio transmission or…" He frowned and swallowed then shook his head. "Bill could hear it in his earpiece before he was killed. They're not jamming it. I have to assume my backup has been dispatched or they're in on this attack."

Nathan groaned. "Jesus. Check your cell for reception and get a call out. If that's down, get a distress flair going. I don't want to have to kill these idiots, because they'll have information. You need to be ready to get those kids out of here when I tell you to hit the gas. Now get ready."

"But what about you?"

"Do you see how old I am?! Now quit arguing and start the engine and be ready for my signal!"

Meanwhile, Evan eased into the rear passenger door. He grimaced at the two bodies draped over the driver-side rear seat. Evan reached into the hatch and touched each of the windows, turning them to ballistic-resistant panels. He doubled over the backrest and rummaged through a gear box until he found the first aid kit. He turned about and pulled out a roll of gauze then handed it up to Johann. "Wrap that until we get to a hospital. You, uh, you want to minimize blood loss. If you feel lightheaded, we'll find you something to eat. I've… never done all this stuff before. Just… bear with me, okay?"

Several rounds went wide from weapon's spray. They narrowly avoided Nathan's energy field and struck the hatch glass, creating a spiderweb design. More rounds thumped against the rear quarter panels.

Johann trembled while wrapping his arm. "They're going to shoot out our tires then…"

Michener started the engine and pulled his door shut. "Run-flat tires, kid. Unless they absolutely shred the back wheel, we'll be okay. How is that old man doing that out there?"

"Not to sound facetious, mister Agent guy, but… I just told you we're superheroes. Well… I am. He doesn't see it as heroics. He sees it as some sort of obligation."

"We need to get one of those men to be able to interrogate them," Philip said with a sigh of aggravation. "They know everything about what's going on." He reached over to the glove box and pulled out a tazer. Michener opened his window again and said, "HEY! I can taze one of those idiots. We need information and they're our best source."

Nathanial groaned. "Look, I hate to tell you how to do your job, pal, but you're not allowed to build an investigation against these morons, because you're not supposed to know that people, like me, really exist. Okay? It's kinda' like that. You don't have the clearance. And these guys will kill you to keep you quiet. And I'm not talking about today. I'm talkin' about them pulling your service records, finding out where you live, and showing up in the middle of the night. Are you married, kid? If you wanna live long enough to try it, I suggest you shut up and get ready to floor it."

Philip opened his mouth to rebut but, instead, he pulled his seatbelt over his chest and clicked it into place. He turned the key but the engine was already running. The ignition switch squealed in protest. Michener put his hands on the wheel and his foot on the brake pedal then shifted the vehicle into gear.

Nathanial brought his hands together. A blinding white bolt of energy emanated from his body and struck the silver van.

The blast caused the van to skid sideways, several feet, then it tipped onto its side. Nathan shouted back at the SUV, "GO!"

The FBI agent floored the accelerator and pulled out of the corner section of the parking garage, then moved across the concrete deck and headed away from the corner.

Nathan approached one of the mercenaries, lying on their side, and stood over him. He started to lower to one knee then decided not to do it, due to the aching in his hip. He reached for his cellphone and withdrew a complicated looking device then opened the screen and made a call. It rang twice then a voice answered on the other end. The old man smirked at the tone and said, "Was that enough proof? These guys are attacking Federal Agents in daylight. So. Show yourself." He disconnected the call and pocketed the phone.

A moment later, a man stepped from the staircase a little ways down the parking deck. He looked to be almost middle-aged, somewhere in his upper thirties or lower forties, and extremely average in every possible way.

Nathan pointed to the men on the ground. "Check to see if they're alive. Arthritis doesn't want me to kneel today."

"Nathanial Carrington. You were right. You've proved your point old timer." The man looked around at the carnage then shook his head. "Did you have to cause so much destruction?"

"It's one overturned van, dickhead. In your after-action report, just write that they came around the corner too fast. Say… how're things going for your agency, now that the supernaturals are rumored to be dead, huh?"

"They're going to dismantle the staff. They'll keep a director and two or three investigators and a team leader. If more people manifest over the next few years… then maybe the department will make a return. But for right now, almost all of us are going to be laid off."

"Come here." Nathan took the man by his forearm and led him away from the mercenaries strewn about the concrete deck. "Agent Gregory Watson, I'd like you to meet…" Nathan opened his left hand and formed a glowing electric scythe. He cut a hole in the roof of the van then stepped back. The metal dropped to the ground. The old man reached in and pulled the mask from the driver's head. "Your coworker, USPRI Agent Maxwell Birmingham. Driver, logistical strike coordinator, and all-round swell guy. Clean record, never disobeyed an order, never argued with an Esoteric person during an investigation. Psych file shows that he's got a good head on his shoulders, and has never experienced a traumatic situation. He's got two accommodations. He's never broken the law. Also, one speeding ticket from when he was sixteen years old. Just one."

Nathanial handed the unconscious driver's mask to Greg. "All yours." A smirk crept across the old man's face. "Seriously. All yours. He was on your team two years ago before taking a promotion, am I right?"

Watson eyed the old man for a moment then, in a soft voice, asked, "How do you know all this?"

"Because I performed my own private investigation. USPRI, as a whole, is not tasked with training people how to hunt and kill supernaturals. But quite a few agents were approached by high-ranking Government officials and asked to train men for this work. That gives you, your director, and the President complete plausible deniability. Now… are you ready to listen to me?"

"I am."

"Good. Check for pulses."

Watson frowned then reached in to check the driver's neck. He walked back around to the group of mercenaries splayed out across the ground and checked each one of them. He opened the back doors of the van, climbed in and checked the last man, slumped up against the side. The agent climbed back out and, with a sigh, he turned to Nathan, arms folded. "Well. I'm impressed. They all have a pulse. Why did you let them live?"

"You saw the black kid? Did the glass thing?"

"Yes?"

"He's new on the scene. Got a code of honor thing going. I know what he's capable of, so I respect the kid. He doesn't want people getting killed. He says we have to take responsibility for our powers – maybe he's a Spiderman fan, I don't know, but the fact remains… we should imprison these guys, not kill them."

Watson sighed. "The Government will simply release them. Then they'll have proof you people are still alive and strong enough to resist. We have to silence them."

"Yeah? I have a better idea." Nathan grinned. "The name of the game is subterfuge. Now listen carefully."

"You know we're on the same team, here."

Nathan laughed. "Yeah. I'm the one who helped you score that job as a triple agent, now shut up and listen to the plan. I'm going to play dead. It won't be very hard, because I don't have much longer. I'm getting too old for this bullshit after all. You're going to continue to liaise with your old pals, the CIA. In fact, let's start telling people you are CIA. That should be your cover."

"Should I write this down?"

The old man rolled his eyes. "Hush up, kid. Now… you need to hide that power core you have. August of 2011, remember? Don't talk, just nod." Nathan waited for Watson to nod, then continued. "Good. Don't let it get too far away from you. If you leave the country, it goes with you. If Falcon finds out you have it… he'll send someone to kill you. Also, you're going to need to start working with a friend of mine. Her name is Karla Howard. She's a real-deal sex demon. Just… tell her you're gay and she won't waste her time trying to charm you."

"What about them," asked Watson, gesturing to the unconscious squad at their feet.

"This is the beautiful part: Cover ups. The FBI is going to cover up the deaths of their agents. From what I understand, they're not allowed to investigate this because they're not allowed to know about supernatural people. That's your department. I'm going to leave in Evan's BMW. Follow me so far?"

"You can drive normal combustion engine cars?"

Nathanial furrowed his brows. "Not when I was younger, but I've practiced for decades. Yes, I can control my crap. I'm three-and-a-half times your age, numbskull. Now… when I'm gone, you're going to wake up that driver guy, Maxwell. He'll recognize you, and you'll say it's okay. That you've come to help. You were looking into these shootings only to find out that you agree with them… or something. Bullshit a little, okay? Then you're going to tell him that you planted a bug on Evan's car. Tell them that you've got a stealth Op in play. Pretend you got a text message, and tell them that the FBI, the old man, and the two kids were all killed in the blast. I don't care what you tell them, so long as it's not the truth. Are we good?"

"I have a confession to make, Nathan."

"What, that you're trying to romance that pregnant rich chick behind her husband's back?"

Watson blinked then nodded sullenly, as if expecting to upset the old man. "It's complicated. I haven't felt this way about anyone since my fiancée died, August 24th, 2011."

Nathan sighed and walked back towards the old gray BMW. The keys were still in the ignition. "Why did these attacks even happen? I mean, I understand it's some top-secret order. They somehow claimed that the Esoteric community wanted to go to war with them. But what was the catalyst?"

Watson brought his hand back to the nape of his neck and began to rub his fingertips into the muscles at the top of his spine. "There's this new strain of virus. A handful of people are hospitalized. A few died. Doctors claim that it's different than any virus they've ever seen before. And they claimed the strain is older than any virus they've seen before. Falcon started working on a cure.
  "He told the Government that the virus is mutating. It's learning how to adapt as it goes from person to person. In it's current form, most people are immune to it. But that may not be the case for very long. Blood samples have shown that almost half of San Francisco is already carrying it but it doesn't affect them.
  "Falcon told his Government investors that he's going to try creating a cure and quietly test it in the illegal drug market. So even with the failed attempts, he is turning a profit. Well, his undercover endeavor has attracted the attention of the DEA, who are investigating a new drug that's starting to gain popularity in this city.
  "The ideal goal is to find a cure, test it in the drug scene, then hand it over to officials and look like a hero. Truth is, Falcon actually does want to stop it. He's a hero in his own mind for various reasons. But he's still somehow connected to this whole 'silent inquisition.'
  "In order to keep the government funding coming in, he's been quietly telling the bureaucrats that the virus came from supernatural people. And that they're all infected, and that it mutated to harm normal people, now. So all Esoteric beings are deemed as "dangerous" except a select few that Falcon claims are "naturally immune" – obviously, that label falls to anyone that is working with Falcon."

Nathan scratched his head. "What a load of bullshit. They actually believe Falcon? I mean, c'mon. This sounds like the plot of a cheesy 'B' flick. It's not true is it?"

"Uhm. From what I understand, the original strain of the virus was only deadly to people with abilities. Something in their genetics or whatever. The people who got sick don't have abilities. Guess it mutated. I don't know how that stuff works. Look, just get out of here before these guys wake up. I'll take care of everything."

The old man replied with a wan smile. "Good. Since I'm going to be playing dead, this will be the last time I see you for… well, maybe ever. Remember to call Isaac when you get the chance and report in." Nathan slid into the BMW. The old shocks creaked under his frail weight. "God that boy drove this thing into the ground. Don't know why kids have to be so hard on their cars."

"Steven Milford."

Nathan pulled the door shut and put the window down. "What about him?"

"You called him Isaac."

Nathan chuckled. "Second time I've done that today. Guess I really am getting old. Heh." He started the car then drove off.

X

X

An hour later…

Karla woke up with a start, eyes wide, in the window-seat of an airplane. "Christ," she said, heart pounding in the base of her throat.

The man adjacent to her whispered, "You okay? Bad dream?"

"Yeah. I was on a plane, in the cockpit with a Louis Vuitton Métis clutched to my chest, and no one was there, flying the plane. I looked down at a napkin with the numbers '185-1997' written in lipstick. And, for some reason, it terrifies me. Then… the plane dips down and I can't stop it, followed by... nothing. I woke up."

"Is this your first time on a plane by yourself?"

"I've flown plenty of times and it never bothered me until the last few trips." She shook her head then ran her fingers back through the canary strands that framed her face.

Karla licked her lips then glanced out of the airplane window with a sigh. She leaned back in the seat and shifted her weight uncomfortably. The man in the neighboring seat appeared to be working on a crossword puzzle.

He turned to his wife in the aisle-seat and asked, "What's a four letter word for a buck? I've tried deer and stag, but they don't work."

The woman two seats down said, "Uhm… maybe it's not an animal? Try coin?"

Karla cleared her throat and said, "Hart. It's old-English for a stag." She stood up and added, "Excuse me, I need to get by, please."

The man leaned back and tucked his feet beneath his seat so she could scoot past him. He penciled in the four letters then said, "Oh, hey! Thanks! It worked! You're a smart little girl."

The succubus offered a practiced smile, made her way into the aisle then scoffed as she walked away. "Little girl my ass," she mumbled. She stopped by the lavatory door then turned to a nearby stewardess and asked, "How much longer before we land?"

"Oh, uhm..." The lady glanced at her wristwatch then said, "Actually, the Captain should be putting up the seatbelt warning any minute. It won't be long, I promise. Is this your first time flying?"

"Ah, no. I used to love it. The last few times, though, have made me feel awkward. Not sure why."

"Oh, you're so young to fly so often."

Karla grinned impishly. "Yeah. I get that a lot. I'm a little older than I look, though. But I appreciate the compliment." With a flip of her blond locks, she eased into the bathroom and shut the door behind herself. The demoness approached a mirror above the sink and splashed water onto her face. "God," she whispered, "What the hell? I'm not afraid of dying – I could just teleport out of this thing. What the hell is my problem?"

She finished taking a moment to compose herself, made her way back down the aisle and found her seat again.

A short time later, the airplane landed with practiced bravado and passengers disembarked. Karla waited until the aisle thinned out, then she stood up and opened the compartment above her head. Her eyes fell upon the forty-five hundred dollar Ralph Lauren Madison. With a smirk, she pulled out the classy handbag and sighed in content. "See? I knew it had to be a nightmare. No way I'd go anywhere with a purse that costs less than two grand."

She fell into step with the last couple of people leaving the plane then made her way out to the concourse. Karla followed the foot traffic out to the road where a line of taxicabs and cars ran parallel to one another.

An old BMW pulled up in front of her and the passenger window lowered. "Going my way, Trouble?"

Karla stooped a bit, looking in at Nathanial Carrington. "What on God's green earth are you doing with this old hoopdie?"

Nathan snorted. "No one uses that word anymore; get in. I was in the area and thought you might want a ride. It's a long story. I've got an errand to run in the Haight; can I drop you off somewhere?"

"Yeah. Actually. There's a warehouse that's getting renovated into a nightclub. It's still under construction. I need to go and pick my friend up from there."

Nathanial dead-panned. "Pages Lost?"

"I… I don't know. I don't even know if they've named it yet."

"Nevermind. I know the one you're talking about. Get in." Once the door was shut, Nathan eased into the accelerator. "I wonder if the state would take away my license if they knew how old I really was…? Anyway, I know what you're up to. You think you're going to find Fox Parker, right? Well, he's not there just yet. Trust me on this. You'd be better off looking up that Japanese broad again. We could use someone like that if things get nasty." Nathan drove out onto the main road and picked up his speed. "Take Donovan with you."

"How on earth do you know that I'm looking for Fox Parker, let alone that he isn't in that warehouse? I tracked him there; why wouldn't he be there?"

"Yeah, well, he was moved. But he'll be back eventually. You're just too early. And Karla, I'm a close friend with YiaYia. The oracle tells me things. Stop asking so many questions and trust me."

"I've known you for over a century. I suppose you've earned unquestionable trust from me by now. It's still weird. So where should I start looking for the Japanese demigod?"

"Kitsune," he said, pronouncing the word, 'kit-sue-nay'. "She's a very, very close friend of mine. I don't know where you should look. I just know she's looking for me. You've met her; do you remember what she looks like?"

"Yeah. Irish face, Irish hair, brown eyes, silk kimono, adorable boyfriend."

"Uh, yeah. Okay, you remember. Good for you. How about you start calling in your contacts and see what you can find. I'll drop you off at Donovan's jewelry store. It's not far from where I'm going."

X

 X

September 15th, 9:15pm PDT
Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco

Donovan Loupe locked the last display case then walked to the front door and pulled down the metal shutters. He turned and saw someone out of the corner of his eye and froze. "We're closed, obviously. So state thy business, trespasser."

He turned the rest of the way about and came face to face with Karla then sighed. "Oh. It's you."

"It's me!" Karla announced in a singsong tone. "Did'ja miss me, Donnie-boy?"

"Quite so. I counted every passing breath taken without you," he said softly, in a terse tone. "To what do I owe the honor of thy presence?"

"Oh babe… we really need to work on your wording. Archaic speech patterns are so not cool anymore." She paused, looked back at him and smiled brightly. "Oh, honey, am I vexing you?"

Donovan reached for his tie and adjusted the knot. "Verily."

"There's that sparkling repartee I missed so much!" Karla reached up and patted either side of his face in her palms. "Now! I need your help! It's time we go fox hunting."

"Pardon? The Parker boy?"

"Not quite. Have you ever met a kitsune?" Silence. Karla shrugged the said, "She's a Shinto messenger god who takes the form of a multi-tailed fox. She and her human boyfriend are totally adorbs; maximus cuteness. Nathanial is looking for her and has reason to believe she's looking for him as well. So! I need to find her. Can you help me?"

"Not to rain on your parade, and correct me if I'm wrong, but the Esoteric community has banned gods and demigods from this realm. Treaties are in place to keep them away. It's been nearly a thousand years since those treaties were put into place."

"Yup. But supernatural humans went bye-bye, dear. And we could use her help. She…" Karla's eyes lit up. She leaned in close and clapped her hands together. "…Controls fire. Fire! How rad is that shit, right?"

"Rad?" Donovan quirked a single brow. "Speaking of archaic words that haven't been spoken publicly since the 1980s…"

Karla grinned. "Touché. I loved the 80's. I'd just mastered teleportation; I was using it to get into all sorts of trouble where I couldn't normally go… Plus the fashion was really cute."

"Uh-huh."

"I remember being in the back of a night club, with my D.A.R.E. shirt and stockings, getting plowed in the back room by a bouncer hopped up on coke to the Purple Rain album…"

Donovan held his hands up. "Please. Just stop." He took a deep breath, then said, "Where should we start looking?"

"I was thinking of asking Methos. Or, well, Lance rather… Whatever. Then I could call in some favors and check out some Sushi restaurants. Red heads that speak perfect Japanese but wear handmade silk kimonos… a Sushi chef will remember someone like that. Someone is bound to have seen her."

"Very well. Let me finish closing the store down. Please step outside so I can set the alarm…" He glanced back over his shoulder but she was already gone. "Pray tell, what am I getting myself into?"

X

 X 

11:50pm PDT
Pier-80, San Francisco

     The empty lot would have been large enough for most large malls. Out near the water, there was a warehouse building on the right and enormous cranes on the left, facing the bay.

The large empty concrete lot had occasional light posts in a grid throughout. A cargo ship at the end of the large rectangular section of concrete appeared small by comparison to the strip of land, but the vessel was still large enough to be accompanied by a tugboat.

Sinopa Crevan rubbed a finger behind the red-furred triangle of her right ear. They perked up from her hair, positioned forward. Her pointed fox ears shifted to the sides. She listened for anyone or anything that might be in the vicinity. She approached an aging white shack with a gray roof at the center of the lot, about thirty-to-forty feet from the water. It appeared to be empty.

"Jules was right," she murmured, "I should not have come here alone." She adjusted the lay of her kimono then smoothed a fabric dune with her palm. She narrowed her gaze. The vertical slits of her pupils dilated somewhat in the low yellowish lighting of the lampposts. Their soft electronic hum caused her left ear to flicker listlessly in irritation.

Off to her left, a silver van came out from behind the warehouse at the far end of the enormous concrete dock. It drove over to the starboard side of the cargo ship, far enough away that its passengers didn't see her. The warehouse, alone, was almost eight hundred feet long. Yet the building was small in comparison to the concrete dock, which could have easily held all of Candlestick Park with room left over for parking.

To see the enormous concrete surface so empty felt strange. The van was far enough that it was the size of her thumb at arm's length. Sinopa headed towards it, staying away from the light posts to remain concealed in the gloom.

As the kitsune neared the van, she could see that a container was being offloaded from the ship. Workers opened the container and used pallet jacks to remove a wooden skid. The men were adorned in black paramilitary jackets, vests and pants, but they didn't have their masks pulled down over their faces.

She reached for the comforting handle of a katana strung to her hip and drew the blade. She took a small container of choji oil, then proceeded to oil, powder and polish the blade in a way that seemed almost ceremonial. She lifted the blade and gazed over the blunt edge, then turned it about and smiled inwardly, "Ah, the Soshu Kitae method makes for a fine shinsakuto."

In the reflection of the blade, a white-furred nine-tailed fox appeared, glinting in the light of the nearest lamppost. The white fox opened its maw and spoke. "Sinopa-san, konichiwa. You would battle without me? I would be highly disappointed. A fine sword you carry, considering its youth. I learned on the tachi style. I prefer the curvature of…"

"Sensei, I am preparing for the possibility of combat." She paused, not wanting to upset her superior. "If it would please you, I could use your aid. I have a katana for you as well, hand made in the traditional methods, of course."

Tamamo sighed then yawned. "I wield only the kogitsune-maru forged with love by Munechika. That is a proper sword. Very well. Find me a suitable female host."

"Hai." Sinopa returned the katana to its sheath and moved swiftly across the dock. She glanced about, counting the men working throughout the area. Her gaze fell upon a forklift driver – a woman of average weight and height with dirty-blond hair. She wore overalls and was sipping from the straw of a McDonalds cup.

Sinopa waited until the forklift came back towards the front of the docked ship, away from the van. She stepped out from behind a metal cargo container sitting on the dock, and made herself visible to the woman driving the machine.

The smell of propane exhaust caused Sinopa to scrunch her nose. She flagged the woman down. The forklift changed direction and moved alongside the container, one of several at the end of the dock. "Lady, how'd you get out here? You can't be here, you're not…" She stopped and looked at the way Sinopa was dressed then blinked. "Is there one of those, uh, 'Japanime' cartoon conventions in town or something?"

"Please accept my sincerest apology for what I am about to do. I do believe you expect me to say something akin to: I sorry." Sinopa drew her blade and touched the recently oiled reflective surface to the woman's throat. "Come down from your… machine."

The woman put her hands up, eyes wide and dropped the McDonalds cup on the pavement. The top came off, spilling half-melted ice cubes. She stepped down off the forklift and let Sinopa guide her behind the metallic cargo container. The kitsune came about and took the woman's hands together then touched the blade to the woman's fingertips.

A rush of misty white illumination came from the blade and entered the lady beneath her fingernails. Her cheeks appeared to sink inward, slightly, becoming narrower and more foxlike. Her stormy eyes turned to an amber brown, and her pupils became vertical, if only slightly.

The woman lifted her hands and gazed upon her palms then examined her clothing. Next, she took a deep breath, followed by another. "What… is that horrid stench?"

"It emanates from the back of the machine she drove," Sinopa mused. "She is the only female I could find on the dock. I'm sorry if she is not to your liking."

"Sinopa, this is the first time I've breathed air of the earth realm since… I know not exactly how the Western Calendar works."

"Hai, 1155, Tamamo-sama. How long can you hold this human in a state of kitsunetsuki?"

"As long as is necessary to help you." The possessed dockworker sniffed at the air again, as the breeze caused the smell of propane to change direction. "This girl needs her strength up – did you bring food?"

Sinopa nodded and opened a satchel on her other hip, opposite of her sword. "Tofu, aburagé, azukimeshi, bean curd sushi. I brought it for myself but… I will gladly share it with you." She eased a rectangular Tupperware container from the satchel using one hand, and returned her sword back to its sheath with her other. Sinopa then used her free hand to remove the plastic lid. "I have a flask of water as well. Must we do this now, though? This… picnic?"

Tamamo seized the container, delighted and hungry. "Little one, this will be your first major battle. I couldn't think to let you go into combat of this nature alone. However, if this body sustains a mortal blow… I'll be returned to the Celestial Realm. So I would prefer to eat now." She opened her left hand, holding an onion-shaped white ball, glowing with a soft orange core. She kissed the hoshi-no-tama then placed it into the chest pocket of the overalls that she wore.

"For now, Sinopa-san, we eat. Why are we attacking these soldiers of fortune?"

"Sensei, I have tracked down the artifact stolen from the Emperor. It will be on a shipment that is to be brought to Doctor Aris Falcon's possession. I believe this is the location of its arrival. Why did you need to possess a woman? I thought a tenko can possess any gender?"

"I can. But I am a woman. It is more comfortable. Although, I have considered possessing Shoko Asahara and making him scratch out his own eyes. Sadly, that terrorist scum refuses to touch the mirror in his cell, so…"

"Hai. Can we focus, sempai?"

"Sinopa-san. This body will most likely die tonight. Allow me to enjoy it while I am able." She reached for a portion of food and drew it into her fingers then brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply. "I've missed this simple luxury. The sensation of stuffing myself to satisfaction." She then pushed the bean curd sushi piece into her mouth shamelessly.

Sinopa, almost disgusted by the sight, relinquished the whole Tupperware container with a sigh. "Dine to your content, then, sensei. But please do it quickly before they move the artifact beyond our grasp. And please try not to let that innocent human body die. She does not deserve this; she is an innocent."

"Hai. I will only need but a moment, little one. And... I give you my word I will try to keep this host alive."

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