An Offering to Benzaiten
By Pattie Lawler
His eyes flicked to the clock yet again, though rationally he knew there was no point. The internal clock that was part of his makeup was more accurate than anything humankind had yet created, and it told him he had less than a minute to wait.
Drawing in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced his heart to relax. It was just another day; nothing new, nothing different. He would go down the seven flights of stairs—to collect his mail—and would be there when she placed her key in the lock. He would smile in greeting, hurry to her aid, as the front door had been broken for years, and while she pushed, he would pull and they would joke and comment on it yet again. He would offer to help her with her things, and she would politely refuse, saying she had carried it this far unaided, what was another eight flights?
Sometimes she carried her dinner, and the smell of local Chinese or Indian would sustain them during the climb. On nights when it was cold or raining, he longed to invite her into his apartment. On nights when she groused she didn’t know what to make for her supper, the offer to share his meal was always on his lips, but never uttered.
Such an invitation could spoil everything.
The image of her looking embarrassed would spring to mind, and he could hear the awkward silence interrupted only by the pounding of his heart.
No. Better to leave things as they stood.
Ask her how her day was, perhaps what performances were upcoming, and comment on her choice for dinner. Food was one of the safe topics. Food and music; always music.
It was her life. The treasures of her home came in the form of a cello, a viola, a violin and an electric piano. Every night the strains of music would echo throughout the building as she lavished hours upon their exercise. He knew she played cello for the Metropolitan Opera House, he had gone countless times just to be near her. Concertos, symphonies, caprices, and fugues poured from her fingers like Rumplestiltskin spinning flax into gold. The nightly concerts were dominated by the cello, but when she was between engagements the thrilling soprano of the violin, or the mezzo voice of the viola would become the solo performer.
Seldom did she falter; never did she hesitate.
She attacked each piece as if it was a gourmet meal and she a starving artist. Her virtuoso proficiency was the result of endless hours practicing, and in her tones could be heard the triumph of mastery. Mozart, Bach, and Paganini were hers to command.
When the weather was fine she would take her cello onto the roof and serenade the disinterested city. Then she would fly! Open to the wide world, no cares for whom she might be disturbing; her music an offering to Benzaiten.
Then, when Shen Yi retired in favor of Ji Nu, and local children were asleep, she would mute her strings—distancing the music as if she had retreated into the blanketing night.
And he loved her.
For three years they had been meeting by ‘chance,’ and while they were on a first name basis, there was little else.
It was time.
It’s just another day, like any other day, Yun thought as he reached for the deadbolt. The cool metal between his fingers helped calm his nerves. Inwardly he cursed the nervousness that shaped his life, but the feeling of insignificance was an integral part of his psyche, hammered into his brain from an early age.
He pulled the door closed and didn’t bother to lock it. With a measured stride he began down the ninety-one steps to the front door.
Immediately he felt that something was different. A rasping breathing filling the stairwell. Yun paused, listening...then straining to hear. Switching to his beast senses, the resulting assault on his sensitive ears was unmistakable. With a snarl, he threw himself forward. Below him he could hear the panting of a man who was fearful but carried away by the exhilaration of domination. The soft moaning of a woman was also audible. Yun’s blood ran cold with thoughts of Catherine.
The reality, as he slid to a stop on the fourth floor, was exactly what his panicking mind had envisioned. Catherine lay on the marble floor, bleeding from a head wound. A man in a ski mask knelt between her legs.
Yun didn’t hesitate to revert to his beast form.
Part Kirin, part Dragon, the Fire Ranking of Sigma was home to the Foo.
Humankind dubbed them Foo Dogs; their primary instinct was to guard anything and everything. Millions of temples and shrines throughout Asia relied upon the Sigma for protection, and it was a role the Foo took extremely seriously. Forever loyal and ruthless in their appointed task were the Sigma.
Zhao Yun filled the landing. Standing at pony height, his powerful body was the red of glowing embers and radiated the heat of a bonfire. His mane was gold wire; the countless coils covered his head, neck, chest, and trailed down his back to spread across his spatulate tail. Each massive paw was tipped by seven silver, lethal claws.
The mugger, interrupted by the sudden apparition of a mythical Chinese creature, rose and turned wide eyes on the Foo. Yun’s protruding, black eyes reflected the man back to himself, and he could only gape in confusion. "What the fuck?" he whispered, bringing up the lead pipe in his fist.
The Sigma didn’t even look at the object before the man cried out in agony and dropped the melting pipe. Clutching the scorched hand before him, his gaze fell to view the damage.
Yun too looked at the charred and bleeding flesh. "This is nothing," he said to the man whose sobbing was attracting the neighbors. "For what you have done, you will pay for the rest of your life."
One paw lifted and reached for the whimpering man. Immediately a glowing mist formed around the mugger's head. He began to gag. From his trembling lips a small pearl issued forth. Yun caught the drifting stone between two claws and murmured to it before blowing it back toward the man.
"I have changed your life," Yun rumbled as the pearl slipped home. He reverted to his human form as one of the doors below opened and a questioning voice called out. "Mrs. Helens!" Yun replied, "Call 911!" In response to this command, the door snapped closed. Yun had to trust his neighbor would do the right thing. His eyes, however, never left the wide eyes that stared at him. He smiled cruelly, leaning toward the man to whisper in his ear. "Thanks to me there isn’t a man who will be able to resist your charms. Your time in prison will be extremely memorable. Now! Sit!"
The man dropped like a stone.
Yun kicked what remained of the pipe under the old-fashioned radiator, slipped a shoe off Catherine and swung it as hard as he could at the man’s head. That done, he replaced the shoe and knelt beside her.
"Catherine," he whispered, gathering the moaning woman into his arms and cradling her to his chest. "Catherine, it’s Yun. You’re all right. It’s okay." He rose, carrying her with him as he stepped over the unconscious mugger and hurried down the last steps to Mrs. Helens’ apartment.
She jerked the door open as he approached. "The police will be here in a minute." Pointing him to the sofa in the living room, she paused only long enough to replace the locks on the door before disappearing into the kitchen. "I’ll get some ice."
Yun carefully lowered Catherine onto the couch and bent over her. "She was attacked," he explained. "She knocked the man out; he’s on the landing."
"How many times have we complained about that damn door?" Mrs. Helens spat, returning with a towel filled with ice. She held it out, but Yun rose, shaking his head.
"Please stay with her. I’ll wait for the police. If that guy comes to, I don’t want him getting away."
The older woman nodded, and bent to place the ice on Catherine’s still bleeding temple. "Poor thing," she purred as Yun began opening the fortifications on the apartment door.
"Lock yourself in behind me."
"But what if—"
"I’ll be fine," he cut her off and slipped into the hall. Standing by the door he heard the locks being thrown, and with a glance toward the still unconscious man, he ran for the front door.
The paramedics placed Catherine on a gurney and began strapping her in for her ride down the stairs. Yun explained to the police what he witnessed, gave them as much contact information as he could and stood within sight of Catherine the whole time. As she was wheeled past him, he unconsciously leaned in her wake.
The interviewing office cast a glance at Mrs. Helens. She silently expressed her agreement, and the policeman concluded by handing Yun his card. "We’ll call you if we need anything else. Feel free to call me if you have any questions, Mr...Zow..."
Yun nodded.
Mrs. Helens nodded as well and escorted the officer to the door. "We will," she promised and turned back to Yun. "He said they’re taking Catherine to St Vincent’s."
Yun nodded.
"You should go too," she ventured, scowling at the new, rust-colored stain on one of the throw pillows. "I’m sure you’re in shock and should be looked at."
Yun nodded.
She gave an exasperated sigh. "Yun! Listen to me. She wants you there. I know she does. Why else would she plan on arriving home, every day, just as you’re collecting your mail? She just about kills herself to be on time."
His head wiped back and he stared at his nodding neighbor.
"I can’t tell you how many meals she’s bought and never worked up the courage to ask you to join her."
Awe and disbelief suffused his features. "She’s told you?"
Mrs. Helens smiled, nodding again. "She wants you there, Yun. Just go."
Euphoria illuminated his being and he threw his arms around the old woman.
She chuckled, pushing him toward the door. "Just go!"