Pure × Isaac Lahey

69.

x x

       Ken Yukimura stood behind his desk, prepping for the coming week of classes. His hands were dusted in chalk, the board behind him covered in history of the presidents of the 1800s.

       A fly buzzed by, catching the teacher's attention as it landed on the corner of his desk.

       Mr. Yukimura's brows furrowed softly, carefully picking up his closest textbook and dropping it onto the insect.

       But he knew what it meant.

       "Coming in on a Saturday. That's dedication."

       Stiles appeared at the back of the classroom, still wearing his pajama-like clothes from Eichen but donning a hoodie and sneakers El had so willingly provided.

       "Where is she hiding them?" he asked, walking into the room and passing a WWII poster. Bags remained persistent under his eyes, skin sickly white.

       "I'm sorry," Mr. Yukimura replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

       "It's not kind to lie, Ken." Elora leaned against the doorframe at the front of the class, folding her arms over her chest. She grinned, offering a sadistic wave to the once Columbia professor.

       At the back, Stiles began to pull books from the well stocked shelf, letting them tumble to the floor. "Her little knives, Ken. Daggers." He looked back to the teacher, pulling another book out. "I know what they are." He leafed through a green book absently. "Physical representations of her tails." Tossing the book to the side, he said, "However the hell that works."

       "Maybe you'd like to do some reading on it," offered Ken as the figment of Stiles began to walk between the aisles of chairs. "I can direct you to the section on Japanese myth in the library."

       "No," he said with a light grin, "no I'd like to talk to you." His fingers danced along the desks as he walked toward the front of the classroom. "The older the tail, the stronger the Oni. Am I right? I know there's one left. I know it's the strongest."

       "Unfortunately," Ken replied, "I don't know what you're referring to."

      Stiles gave a light tsk, shaking his head. "You'll talk."

      Elora clamped a hand on Mr. Yukimura's shoulder as Stiles lifted the textbook Ken had dropped, the fly darting into his mouth.

      Ken began to choke, El letting go as the teacher fell to his knees, a hand clutching his throat.

      "They always talk," Stiles said, both he and Elora watching Ken struggle to breathe.

      "If not, maybe Kira will." El produced an ancient sheathed sword and an aged photo, both taken from the hole in Eichen's basement. "Bring up all those great family questions she never even knew she had. Astounding stuff, truly. Noshiko looked just like Kira in the 1940s."

       The sword and photo vanished from sight, finding a resting place on Scott's neatly made bed halfway across town.

       Elora glanced over her shoulder, "She's coming."

       "Let's go," Stiles flatly said, Ken still choking at their feet.

       The two joined hands only a foot away from Mr. Yukimura as his face grew to a shade of violet, Yakunan's puppets vanishing the moment Noshiko's car reached campus.

       They hadn't caused enough hell to be caught quite yet.

x x

       Deputy Parrish, present at work despite a minor concussion, examined a highly volatile weapon, looking up to the man who'd been arrested with it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Argent, but I can't let you walk out with this. It's way above the legal voltage limit."