Based on the writing prompt “Write about a group of strangers — or people who know each other, but may as well be strangers — eating together” from Reedsy.com
Recommended reading: “The Witch’s Apprentice”
“I was unaware that Raelyn was…teaching again,” Sister Aoi said, speaking in English for the new arrival’s sake. She placed a bowl of broth on the table in front of him. It was little more than soup, cabbage, and carrots. She then took the seat apposite him, laying her hands upon her lap. She asked, trying her best to hide her desperation, “Are you sure that she cannot make it?”
“Something came up in Illinois,” answered the young man after slurping down a mouthful of soup. “But don’t worry, ma’am. We’ve got this.”
We? Sister Aoi thought, her lined frown deepening. She had felt guilty contacting Raelyn as it was. Though it is in character for her to send a child into danger. Her shoulders sagged. Risk one to save dozens. Father forgive me…
“This place is so cool,” said the young man, Iggy, suddenly. Sister Aoi looked him over. He had arrived with a camping backpack, which now rested on the floor beside him. He wore a black jacket over a navy hoodie, and faded jeans tucked into hiking boots. Everything was a tad too small for him, as if he’d gone through a growth spurt on his was to Nikkō. His tan face was still round with youth, and his curly brown hair stuck up in multiple directions. This, along with the heavy bruises under his eyes, made Iggy look like he had simply rolled out of bed and grabbed on whatever clothes were available. When he had first knocked on the church’s front doors, Sister Aoi had at first assumed him to be a lost tourist here to sightsee the temples. She never would have guessed him to be the old witch’s latest apprentice.
“Yes, the temples are very ‘cool,’” Sister Aoi told Iggy sadly. “Many considered it blasphemy when my father decided to build this church here. Said we were sullying sacred ground by praying to the western god. Because of that, it was not long before they came, offering Father protection.”
“They?” Iggy asked. He finished the last of the soup and set the bowl down.
“Yakuza,” Sister Aoi answered. “Not many. But enough to be dangerous. Father buckled under their threats and paid. But the more he paid…” She sighed and shook her head.
“The more they want,” Iggy finished. He sat back in his chair, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The chair squeaked in protest. Like everything in Sister Aoi’s office, and by extension the church, it had come second hand and was on the verge of collapse. Her father had managed to work miracles with his hands, but she could do little more than pray that the three-story building would not cave in on itself. The little money the church received in donation either went to feeding the children or keeping the gangsters at bay.
Sister Aoi shifted anxiously in her seat. “…I do not have much money to pay you with, I’m afraid.”
Iggy waved her off. “Don’t worry about that.” He shrugged. “The way I see it, I’m on vacation.”
Sister Aoi almost smiled. “First time overseas?”
“Nah. Just to Japan.” He smiled apologetically. “It’s cool, but I think I like Africa better. So much more there to catch.”
“Oh?” Sister Aoi said. “You are a hunter?”
“I guess you could say that.” The young man’s expression suddenly darkened. “So these Yakuza, they hurt any of the kids who live here?”
“No, no,” Sister Aoi answered, making the sign of the cross over her chest. “Though I have caught them staring at some of our girls. I’ve taken to hiding as many of our orphans down in the basement if I even suspect they’re on their way.”
“Do they keep to any certain schedule?” Iggy asked.
“They come to collect the payment near the first of the month.”
He nodded. “So tonight.”
“Yes. Though they come when either bored or drunk.”
“Have they hurt you?”
Sister Aoi simply looked away.
Iggy said nothing as he grabbed his pack and got to his feet. It wasn’t until he was halfway to the door that he stopped and looked at the Sister. “I’ll be right outside.”
“We have extra beds on the third story,” Sister Aoi told him, also standing up.
“No thanks. Ever since meeting Raelyn, nothing beats sleeping under a full moon.” Iggy walked through the door, only to suddenly double back and stick his head back into the room. “Quick question: are you or any of the kids here allergic to cats?”
“…Um, no.”
“Just checking,”
Sister Aoi stared after the strange boy, unsure whether to laugh or give up hope. So instead she chose a third option and prayed for a miracle.
#
The orphans, especially the young ones, stared at Iggy as he left Sister Aoi’s office and made his way the pews towards the front doors. The pews faced a podium. A crude cross hung on the wall behind it; little more than a plank of wood nailed to a second, longer piece. The walls and ceiling were pealing and covered in stains. Iggy made out voices and the sound of running coming from the floor above him. He was tempted to go up and investigate, yet he was anxious being indoors as it was. It wasn’t as bad as the plane ride over, but it still made him feel cut off from the rest of the world. A pair of boys were standing on pews positioned at opposite ends of the room and throwing a ball to each other. Iggy shot one of them a smile. The boy quickly looked away, an uneasy look on his face.
It’s a symptom of our kind, Raelyn had explained. On an instinctual level, children can feel that there is something off about us. That we dance with death. Seeing his crestfallen expression, she had ruffled his hair with a calloused but warm hand. Sorry, Iggy. But it’s not our job to be liked.
“Yeah, but it’d be nice,” Iggy sighed as he ventured through the streets directly surrounding the church. More than once he caught some of the townsfolk. Some of them murmured slurs under their breath as he passed, thinking he couldn’t understand.
“Why don’t you come say it to my face, cunt?” whispered a misty patch of air directly to his left. To the untrained eye it might have appeared to be a trick of the light.
“Play nice,” Iggy said under his breath. “Headcount?”
“Twenty-three kids,” the same voice yawned. “Ten girls. Thirteen boys. Most of the girls were hiding down in the basement. Sister Aoi went down to get them as soon as she was sure you’d left.” The voice hesitated and then said grumpily, “She doesn’t trust us.”
“It’s not our job to be liked, Pita,” Iggy replied tired, shifting the strap his bag higher on his shoulder. Its contents were heavy but bearable. Dry foods, soup, spare but cheap clothes. Easily replaced. The only other object in his possession was the small, black book he kept in one of his jacket’s inner pocket. It was also replaceable, but not easily.
When Pita offered no reply, Iggy listened in and just barely made out the sound of snoring. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It was incredibly taxing for phantoms to be consciousness during daytime. That she had managed to scout the entire church and report back to him was a testament to how powerful Iggy’s sister had become in the last decade. Or maybe just stubborn.
Iggy circled back to the church’s front steps and started unpacking. He laid a blanket and pillow out, popped a piece of jerky into his mouth, and plopped down. It was still a few hours until sunset. Might as well catch some sleep and hope the monsters didn’t show up until after dark.
#
“Who the fuck is this bitch?” Birdie sneered, staring down his hooked nose at the kid snoring in front of the church. His real name was Kose, but his abnormally large nose combined with his near-nonexistent chin, along with his stretched tallness gave him a very bird-like appearance. Sato had come up with the nickname and it had caught like wildfire, as nicknames tended to. No matter how many people Birdie had beat or killed, Birdie was Birdie, end of story. This did nothing to help his temper.
“Some Mexican?” Haru burped, massaging his belly. They had just “sampled” a curry shop a few blocks down. He tipped his head back, yawned, revealing several gold teeth, and declared sleepily, “I’ma go take a shit.”
“Chico, Chimon,” Birdie called over his shoulder at the twins. Except for the fact that Chico had died his hair bleach white and Chimon hadn’t, the brothers were identical. “Go with, fatso. Find the hag.”
“Sure thing, Birdie,” Chico laughed.
“Whatever,” Chimon grunted.
The three men marched up into the church. Birdie returned his attention to the kid. “What you think, Sato?” he called out. “You want first go?”
Sato pulled the cigarette from his lips and gestured wordlessly for Birdie go ahead. He hung back, leaning against the nearby lamppost. Unlike the other men, who wore expensive black suits, golden chains, rings, and the like, Sato dressed in a baggy shirt over shorts and sneakers. His muscular arms, legs, neck, and sides of his shaved head were heavily tattooed. He exhaled a mouthful of smoke and watched the whisps twist in on each other like tiny ghosts. THAT’S how bored he was having to babysit Birdie’s band of idiots.
Sneering hatefully, Birdie brought his foot up to bring it crashing down on the little Mexican’s stomach.
Only for the kid to suddenly wake up and scoot to the side, evading Birdie’s foot entirely. The kid blinked sleep out of his eyes before looking over at Birdie. “Hello there, sir,” he said in perfect Japanese. He held out his hand. “Friends call me Iggy-Whoa!”
Birdie aimed a roundhouse kick at Iggy’s head.
Iggy rolled forward, ducking under it. By the time he popped back up, Birdie was on him, swinging wildly. The man was taller than Iggy and his limbs were longer. Even so the kid managed to duck and weave. He kept his arms up by his face, yet he kept his hands open instead of balling them into fists.
“PUNK!!!” Birdie screeched. He lunged at Iggy, tried to wrap his arms around him.
Iggy fell back onto his hands and drove the sole of his right foot straight up. Birdie panicked and ducked back, yet he was still clipped in the chin by the sole of Iggy’s boot. Cursing and clutching at his face, the gangster fell to one knee. Meanwhile, Iggy pushed off of his hands and back onto his feet.
And bumped back into Sato’s chest.
The gangster flicked his cigarette away and peered down at the kid thoughtfully. “Not bad, kid,” he said. “Not bad.”
“You really think so?” Iggy laughed.
“Kill ‘im, Sato!” Birdie screeched.
Sato glowered at him, shutting Birdie up. Iggy looked between them, confused. Sato sighed. “Sorry, kid,” he said, popping his neck. “Boss’ kid. Orders are orders.” He raised his fists and gestured with on of them for Iggy to come at him.
Instead, Iggy held up his hands. “Please, Mr. Sato,” he pleaded. “Don’t make me hurt you-!”
Sato popped his across the jaw before he could finish the sentence. Iggy stumbled back as blood trickled down his chin. He tried to jump away. Sato moved in and drove his knee sideways, into the base of the kid’s spine. Iggy toppled onto his knees, but the gangster wasn’t done. He grabbed one of Iggy’s arms, flipped the kid, and slammed him face first into the pavement. Sato then released his arm and stepped back, looking disappointed.
“Shit,” he groaned, turning away. “Tossed my cig away for nothing.”
All at once, all the power went out. Every building went dark.
“What the fuck?” Birdie suddenly exclaimed.
Sato turned.
The kid had gotten back onto his feet. Blood poured down his face as he stood, arms lying limp at his sides. Thanks to the power outage, the only light came from the full moon above. It shined down across the kid like a spotlight, illuminating his burning blue eyes. “Rhyhorn,” he whispered with bloodstained teeth, “take down.”
The church’s front doors were torn off their hinges and thrown into the air. Birdie and Sato spun around just in time to see Haru, Chico, and Chimon go splat across the street. Yet they were near instantly distracted by the sight of a semi-transparent, blue rhino barreling straight towards them. Riding atop it, a little, ghostly girl cackled, “YIPEE KI-YAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!”
Birdie panicked. Because of that, the rhino hit him head on.
Sato held his ground and sidestepped just in time, allowing him to watch in utter bewilderment as the boss’ son was carried away by rhino.
“Focus punch, focus punch,” declared a voice by Sato’s ear, “FOCUS PUNCH!”
Blue flames encircled Iggy’s fists as he punched the gangster once in the stomach, once in the chest, and once across the head. Sato was unconscious long before he hit the ground. Iggy stood over him, fists still aflame and face covered in a mask of blood.
Body still trembling with leftover adrenaline, he brought his fists together and exhaled. The fire left his hands, travelled up his body, and came together above his head. The flames then came together into the form of pale blue monkey that near immediately went to work on picking at Iggy’s hair for bugs.
“Good job, Mankey,” he called up with an exhausted smile. The sound of heavy footsteps made him turn. Pita and Rhyhorn were making their way back, the latter using his teeth to hold the bird-looking gangster by the jacket.
“So…what now?” Pita called out, her voice reverberating slightly as she spoke.
“Now?” Iggy’s stomach growled. “We soup.”
“Huh?”
#
The five gangsters all awoke on church’s floor, bowls of soup positioned by their heads. “The hell-Ah!” Birdie screeched as something smacked him in the back of the head. Eye watering, he turned and spotted a glowing toddler waving a ugly, wooden cross at him threateningly.
“No cursing in church,” she snarled at him. She started towards the nearby podium, but not before muttering under her breath, “Shit-breath.”
Sitting against the podium, Iggy rolled his eyes good-naturedly. There were still flecks of dried blood on his chin and cheeks and his lower lip was slightly swollen. “Hey, guys,” he called out to the confused and frightened men. He raised his bowl of soup as if in toast. “Eat up.”
Birdie stared at him, wide-eyed, before striking his own bowl away, making it shatter across the nearest pew. “STUPID BEANER!! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS?! HE’LL HAVE YOUR NUTS IN A SACK BY SUNRISE-!”
As the Birdie screeched, Iggy closed his eyes, reached into his jacket, and whispered, “Protect, protect, protect.”
The space behind the podium exploded into a small solar system of blue clouds and white stars. The shadows in the church all came together, bowing their head in dark worship for the boy and gigantic behemoth who called him master. The behemoth had blue-white fur marred with impossibly black stripes. The tiger phantasm drew back its lips, exposing its fangs, and released a booming howl that made Birdie shit himself and plop bac k onto his butt.
“This is Incineroar,” Iggy told the Yakuza members. “He’s gonna be living here now. But don’t worry. He won’t hurt you. As long as you follow the new rules.”
“What new rules?” Sato asked. Unlike the other four men who were shivering in terror, the gangster’s eyes were alight with unblinking amazement.
“You return all the money you took from Sister Aoi,” Iggy declared. “Once a month, you help her with repairs to the church. And you don’t tell anyone about what happened tonight.” His expression darkened and the tiger bared its teeth again, its eyes starved for violence. “If you hurt her or the kids, or,” Iggy pointedly looked at Birdie, “if you get someone else to hurt them, Incineroar will find you. He’ll kill you. And then he’ll play cat and mouse with your ghosts. Forever.”
He held up his bowl again.
The gangsters, minus the weeping Birdie, held up their own bowls.
“Cheers.”
“Ch-cheers!
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