Scribbler's Note: The first new episode in a long while. A dozen books consulted for this one, plus I visited Tokyo myself, but it's still 20% fact and 80% B.S.

There is no "Southern Temple" in Shiba Park, and I rather doubt the statuary from Sanju Sangendo (all National Treasures) would be found in such a place.

There is a grave in the shadow of Victoria Peak. It is the only vacant plot in a very crowded little graveyard. The spot has good feng shui. That is not just important to the living, but it is important to the dead as well. And is it not the duty of a child to see to his parent's happiness -- no matter which side of the earth they might lie on?

There were ashes left from the burning of paper money, paper clothing, paper automobiles, paper washing machines and paper 24" DVD-ready color televisions. One needed the creature comforts in the afterlife, after all. There was incense, and there were people well paid to keep that incense burning.

overcrowded and overpriced Hong Kong, where even land that was upland of the dragon and downwind of the harbor still commanded insane prices. It was a vacant plot.

In far-off Japan the body of a rich old man was being lowered into foreign ground.

THE SEARCH FOR THE MOON PRINCESS

Episode Twelve : Fearless Vampire Hunters

Summer was almost here and Tokyo warmed quickly in the morning. "Grandpa" Ryo Hino was doing his constitutional behind the honden, on a bare stretch of earth near the garden shed. The old bones were stiffer than he liked. It would only get worse, of course. Recently, he'd had to cut his exercise back to a couple of hours each morning.

"Hey! Yo!"

A Buddhist monk -- under an enormous straw hat, violently shaking the bells on his staff -- came striding around the corner.

"Oh," Grandpa said sourly. "It's you."

"My my my," the monk shook his head. "What a dump this is getting to be." He was about Grandpa's age, but tall and thin as a string bean.

Grandpa stopped his exercising and plopped down on the edge of a cart in relief. "What's new, you old bonze?" he addressed the man. "Still overcharging the bereaved?"

"Still sticking straw in your hair and dancing around trees?" the monk shot back.

"We still own our building, thank you very much," Grandpa retorted.

"We've collected enough to replace that rotting roof." The monk squatted, himself, putting his straw hat aside.

This was unprecedented. Grandpa skipped the next witticism and cocked a bushy eyebrow at his old friend.

"There had been a man."

"Ah." Grandpa wasn't running that slow, not this early in the day. He knew that funerals and all other arrangements to do with the dead were left by tradition to the Buddhists. He also knew quite well that in both their doctrines it could be bad luck to attract a recently dead and thus unsettled spirit's attention.

Thus the indirection. But whatever had happened, it was important enough for his old friend to lay off the banter and get right to the point. Grandpa put his hands in his sleeves, and waited.

"Mistakes were made. Procedures were not followed. Someone was made angry."

"Ah." Grandpa puffed his cheeks. "The family?"

"No."

At that single word Grandpa Hino's bushy white brows shot straight up. "The angry one is where, now?" he asked.

"Missing." Then in what seemed a complete change of subject, the monk asked, "I hear your daughter is doing quite well at her studies."

It didn't take too long to match those tiles. "I will send her over to the temple after she comes back from school," he said. Then he added, proudly, "She is doing very well at her studies. Very well indeed."

Molly looked at the vacant spot on the low stone wall and drummed her fingers on the lunch table. Amy hadn't come to school and that wasn't like her friend, not at all. Perhaps she had gotten sick. Molly thought, wryly, that Amy would have to be sick indeed to miss a day of school.

Molly understood, and deeper than she let on. Few people noticed how high her own scores were; she often placed higher than Melvin, the acknowledged class nerd. Part of the problem was her accent. She had come to Tokyo from Osaka, and she still had the strong Kansai accent, the remains of a dialect that had been spoken when Japan had been ruled from rather further south. To the people of Tokyo, she knew, she sounded a bit like a country bumpkin.

Lately, though, she was beginning to get a little tired of people underestimating her. No, that wasn't quite it, Molly thought honestly. Something simpler and stronger was bothering her.

His name was Maxfield Stanton. It was ridiculous! Molly tossed her head, trying to shake the thoughts out of it. She had no right even thinking about someone who probably didn't even remember they had spoken. And she wasn't ready for a relationship yet. Oh, no.

It didn't do any good telling herself these things. She kept thinking about him. About the warmth in his eyes. About the troubled look on his face. She sensed he was in trouble, perhaps in danger. That he had done and was still doing things he wasn't proud of. But that he had a good soul.

Oh, right. If it wasn't all so sad she would laugh.

Molly picked at her food. It didn't interest her. She wished Serena was there. Or Amy, or even the new friend they'd made, that hot-tempered priestess at the Hikawa Shrine. She needed someone to laugh with, and share tears with. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She had a hollow inside her and she felt as if she was going to explode, all at the same time.

"Molly?"

Sara looked around, then sat down by her. "We haven't seen each other much lately."

Actually, Molly thought, she's been avoiding Serena. Sara was rather a different breed. She talked fast, was always a little on edge. She played hard, and studied hard when it suited her to do so. She dressed older than she was, and as daring as she could get away with. It was possible she even smoked.

"You have plans for Friday night?" Sara asked.

Molly looked up at her. She was tired of being a child, and she ready for a change, any change. "Where are we going?" she asked.

Raye Hino was prepared. Tamagushi, check -- it was the one she had used last shichi-go-san, waving it over the heads of visiting children to purify them. Spirit bow, check; newly cleaned and waxed and ready for use. She was wearing her official miko outfit; the white under-kimono clean and pressed, the split hibakama trousers tied neatly, the chihaya with a subtle pattern of cherry branches over that, and sturdy zori sandals over her white tabi.

Working kit, check. Divining mirror, charms and herbs, check. Cute sidekick, check.

Okay, it hadn't been her intention to take Serena along on this investigation. It was just very, very hard to turn the blond girl down once she had decided to be in on something. Serena had arrived at the shrine just as she was getting back from school. And more proof of Grandpa's increasing senility; he had talked to Raye right in front of her.

They took the subway from the Azabu-Juuban station, transferred to the Toei Mita line, and got off at the corner of Shiba Park. Minami-ji, the "Southern Temple," hid here in the shadow of the Tokyo Tower, isolated from the bustle of central Tokyo by park and city land on all sides.

The pagoda was small and un-memorable, but the kondo rivaled the hall at Nara where the giant golden Buddha, the daibutsu, was kept. It was closed to the public at present, with tarps covering parts of the roof, pallets of fresh tiles stacked about the bare ground, bamboo scaffolding and painter's drops climbing the northern and western walls.

Serena went running ahead. Raye's expression softened as she watched her young friend. Serena was such a dear once you got used to her. She was only a year younger than Raye, but already they were falling into an elder sister/younger sister relationship.

Not that there weren't a few arguments. At quiet moments like this, though, Raye could honestly admit her own temper was partly to blame.

"Serena!" she called. "No tickets; we're guests." Her voice lingered in her own ears for a moment. Do I really sound that sharp...that mean? Raye wondered. At least Serena didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did but doesn't care. Perhaps...perhaps I'm not as nice as I should be towards her.

A young assistant met them at the gate. If he was a monk, he'd chosen to keep his hair. He wasn't wearing robes, either. He escorted them through the grand gate, all intricate wood and steel-gray tile, and across the grounds. The workers had not been in this day. The kondo was empty, and quiet as a grave.

Appropriately, as there was a small graveyard behind. The pagoda-like stones stood shoulder-to-shoulder, sifted with moss and the marks of age in a way that would make photographers whip out a camera but at the moment, just looked dismal.

Makeishura, who in India had been Shiva, met them just inside the door with a scowl on his face and his staff upraised. Raye nodded in approval. It was a good deity to stand at the Southeast corner. Kannon Bodhisattva was further within, and his/her platform held four unlit candles and a single stick of incense. Even during construction, even with many of his fellow deities under protective wraps or shipped out for restoration by the wood-carvers of Kamakura, Kannon received his due respect.

The two girls and their guide held their shoes in one hand as they moved, softly on stocking feet, deeper within the temple.

It was so peaceful. No direct light splashed the deep-polished wood of the floor, but only filtered slowly through the shapes of the roof beams in patterns of soft brown and dust mote-filled rays. It was warm, and very still, and it smelled of wood and incense.

Serena breathed deeply, her step slowing. Her feet moved quietly on the smoothly polished floor. The shapes of the deities, hand-carved in wood, turned by great age to incredibly rich dark tones, sat in the space without over-filling it, and without being lost either. Their faces were full of life and passion, grace and serenity. They were faces that had lived life with a fullness few human beings could aspire to.

Serena saw a fierce man bulging with muscle, teeth bared in a grimace of rage, sword and mace upheld. But she knew, instinctively, this was no threat to her; his fierceness was directed outwards, towards evil. His anger was that of a protector who sees his charge being threatened.

Across a dais a lady stood with open palm upraised. In her face was serenity. Not a lack of passion, not at all. A look of understanding and compassion for the world that almost hurt to witness. In the shadows behind them a bird-man with an eagle's look in his sharp eyes held a flute to his mouth with long, musician's fingers.

In that quiet time, as they made their silent crossing of the hall of statuary, something in Serena changed forever.

There are people, she found herself thinking, who cared. People who believed deeply enough in what they were doing to carve these figures. And to build this temple, and hold it together through war, and through poverty. That kind of strength...there are people who have that kind of strength. Who can work miracles for what they believe in, and for the people they care for.

At that moment the comic books and the video games were as distant and ephemeral to her as last Autumn's fallen leaves. I want to be...I want to be that kind of person myself, Serena thought. Those monsters, that Negaverse, is trying to destroy everything I love, and nothing can be more important than fighting them.

I want to be like Raye. Like Amy. I want to be strong enough to fight them. I can't...I won't...be like some people and try and ignore this evil that is going on. I need to be strong, and I need to pay attention, and I want to do something to do some good. This, this thing, I vow.

The images were wood again. The moment of magic had ended. Serena bowed anyway, holding her palms together. "Thank you," she whispered. "Now I understand."

The caskets sat on trestles in a small, low-ceilinged room. Serena shivered even though they were all empty. Then she shivered again; the day before, all but one had been empty.

She watched as her friend inspected the room, the coffins, the air. She had some little mirror thing in her hand, and she said magical words, and she found something on the wall and asked smart questions about it.

Serena was proud to be seen with her. She thought Raye looked just so professional, so much like she knew exactly what she was doing. Serena noticed, though, that the guy from the temple was doing a lot of looking himself.

Serena's eyes narrowed. She didn't like the way the temple guy was ogling her friend. In fact, she didn't like the guy much at all. That's when she noticed him trying real casual-like to put his foot over a scrap of yellow paper.

"Hey, what's this?" Serena said innocently.

Raye stooped on it. Brought up a bit of flimsy paper with a bunch of old-fashioned writing on it. "An ofuda!" She shook the paper in the guy's face. "You knew there was trouble, then! You fools! You didn't even spell his name right; don't you know the charm won't work if you get the name wrong!"

She turned on her heel with a snap, took a closer look at the wooden casket. "Ink!' she spat. "You inked it, too. But you forgot to snap a line around the bottom, didn't you!"

"They messed up, Raye, didn't they," Serena said, pleased at her friend's success. "So where's the body?"

"Walking around," Raye said. "We've got a vampire on our hands."

"Vampire?" Serena said. "Vampire?! You mean like, 'I never drink...blood?'" The last was in a drop-dead perfect Bela Lugosi accent.

"What are you talking about now, Serena? Sometimes I can hardly understand what you are saying. Have you got something in your mouth?"

"Oh, we should have brought stuff! We need garlic, and stakes, and...I wish it was Christmas time; then we could get some Holly Water!"

"Serena, that stuff is just in the movies! Besides, this is a Chinese vampire. The dead guy was a Hong Kong businessman. Chinese vampires don't go around in black capes and changing into bats and stuff. They're different. You have to use charms, and sticky rice, and stuff like that on them."

"Oh...okay. So what do we do?"

"We wait until dark." Raye sat down on a casket. She gestured for Serena to sit as well. Then she pulled out her Grandmother's old Hanafuda deck. "Do you know how to play Old Maid?"

Nephrite, Dark General of the Negaverse, looked at his preparations and was pleased. Mysterious little stone idols, check. Torches, check. Bamboo mats, check. Coconut halves with fog coming out of them, check. He sipped at the Mai Tai, jotted another note. Two bartenders laid on for tonight, both established professionals. One was even Jamaican.

The pianist was already here to help him interview the new singer. The rest of the house band was due at six with sound check at 6:30 prompt. A geeky guy at the rental house had tried to sell him a four-laser DMX-linkable space cannon but he had managed to scrounge a vintage mirror ball instead. Much more fitting to the decor.

"Mr. Stanton?" The singer was here, a slim little thing with dark hair in a cute bang cut.

"Maxfield." He stood. Smiled. "Call me Max." It was ready. It was good. Tonight, Tokyo would have a new Tiki Lounge.

Night came softly on little furry feet. Evening spread across the sky in the shifting colors of an oil painting turned liquid, then moved slowly through the hues; through dusky oranges, subdued reds, striking violets, then deep rich purples and midnight blues. The first stars began to glimmer, shimmering and sparkling but brighter with every passing minute. As the last light faded in the west, a new silvery light grew in the east. The edge of the moon appeared on the horizon, glowing silver-white and liming the edge of the old temple with pale silver. The vampire got out of his casket and went to the door.

"Huh?" said Serena.

He was short, portly of build although quite gaunt now, and he was dressed like a Chinese aristocrat of the last century in long blue robes, pom-pomed cap, and...

"EEEE!" Serena screamed. "Raye, he's here, he's here, the vampire, Raaaaye...!"

"Under our noses all day," Raye scowled. "What a waste of our time!" She wrenched the Spirit Bow from its case. And got her over-robe at the same time, and it tangled in the straps, and the whole thing wadded up with malevolent intelligence and spun out of her hands across the dirt floor.

"This isn't good," Raye said. Serena was still screaming. Raye leapt to her feet, an ofuda already in her hands. "Aku ryo tai san!" she yelled, and slapped the charm on the vampire's forehead.

"Rargh!' said the vampire. It grabbed the charm and wrenched it off. The girls had vanished. "Rr-arg!" the vampire said conversationally. It hopped off in pursuit.

It was happening again!

Darien had been at home, dressing for a night out. He felt the adrenaline rush, first; the sense of urgency and danger.

"NO!" he shouted.

It wasn't going to happen this time! He wouldn't let his life be stolen, his mind taken! "No..!" he cried hoarsely.

He fell to the floor. His fingers clawed in air. Fastened on a chair, tore at the cover then dragged it over with a clatter.

He could feel a pressure on his face. It felt as if a mask was forming there. Somehow, without knowing how he knew, he understood it was a simple white mask. And that a top hat and opera cape belonged with it.

The Princess! The Princess needed him! Her danger was like a stab in his heart. Darien knew her safety was the most important thing in the world to him. He was hers, and she his; irretrievably bound since time unknown.

"No...!" Darien said again. "That's...not real! I don't know any Princess! She's just...just a dream!"

He pushed away his new understanding, forced his mind from those paths even as his flailing hands managed to find a purchase. He pushed, arms trembling, lifting his body from the floor. It was worse than the last rep with a hundred-kilo barbell. Then -- it was a little easier this time -- he got first one leg then another under him. Finally, feeling as if there was a full bag of ready-mix concrete across his broad shoulders, he stood.

He could resist. He didn't have to lose his self to this walking curse, whatever it was. But the pull was still there in a deep ache like a drug, like hunger, like an unrequited crush.

Darien bent over, again. His face found his open hands and his sigh was more like a sob. It was going to be a long evening.

The vampire came around the corner. For a guy that could only move by hopping he was making excellent time. "Eeee!" Serena said, and ducked away.

Raye spun about, sliding across the ground in a spray of dust. "Serena!" she shouted. She dug in a toe, raced back towards her friend.

The vampire met her half-way. Raye body-blocked him and kept moving. She saw a crated statue just ahead and dove and slid behind it.

"Rargh!" The vampire spun about, long sleeves trailing. In the moonlight his face was a cold, washed-out blue. In his sunken eyes tiny laser-points of red shone with an evil light. He opened his mouth and his fangs were as long as the yellowed nails on his claw-like hands.

"Raye? Raye?" Serena whispered anxiously from behind a pallet of roof tiles.

"I'm okay!" Raye hissed even as the vampire swung about again. It moved unerringly towards the blond girl's hiding place. "Serena!" she shrieked. "Look out!"

Serena popped up like a jackrabbit and ran for another crate. Her foot caught a loose stone and it flew like a shot to the left, pinging loudly against a bronze bell.

"Rarg?" The vampire was distracted for a moment. He took two violent hops towards where the girl had been. Stopped. Took two equally violent hops in another direction.

Then started sniffing.

Raye was only a few meters away. She crouched lower, until all she could see were vampire feet in blue Chinese slippers. The vampire snuffled and sniffed, testing the air. Moved closer to Raye. Still closer, the sniffing becoming more excited.

Then the feet were right by her. Raye bit her lip, suddenly unable to breathe.

"Ahrrr..." The vampire made a questioning sound. It jerked its head up, began sniffing in earnest. "Rrrgh?" It snuffled, then swung off towards the right.

Raye gasped in relief. Then bit off a yelp as the vampire turned around and dashed back towards her hiding place.

"Raye!" Serena screamed.

The vampire jumped up at that, and hopped towards the blond girl instead. Raye thanked the spirits he was easily distracted. "Serena!" she hissed loudly. "Don't move, don't breathe! He can sense the life in your breath!"

Then she clamped her lips shut. Almost immediately her face turned red, and she wished she hadn't said so much in one breath. But from a little ways off she heard Serena's "Huh?" and the vampire moved further towards that more obvious victim.

Raye came up, slowly. Then came around the crate that had failed to hide her.

The scene before her was chilling. Serena was backed up against the wall of the honden. The vampire loomed over the small blond girl, sharp fingernails centimeters from her wide frightened eyes. Serena's cheeks bulged, her chest heaved, and sweat trickled from her forehead in the effort not to breathe. In a moment she would gasp and it would have her.

"Hang on, Serena!" Raye yelled. The vampire was not to be distracted, though. He pushed his cadaverous face close to the girl's, sniffing hard for the scent of human breath.

In that moment of need the musoken, the "action without thought" that martial-arts teachings strove for, came upon her. In one glance Raye took in the working kit still slung about her shoulder, the moon-lit ground between her and the vampire, a broken piece of tile jutting from a half-opened pallet, and Serena's desperate face.

She ran. One hand dove into Grandmother's old working kit, came up with an ofuda and unrolled it with a snap. The other slashed across the broken tile as she passed. The stab of pain was nothing to Raye; it could not disturb this moment of total focus. Her hand slapped the ofuda, painting the charm with her own life-blood. Then, in a last flying leap, she pasted the charm in the small of the vampire's back.

He screamed. The ofuda immediately burst into flame. The vampire jumped up and away from the girl and went into a mad dance, trying to slap the burning charm off his back but unable to reach it.

"Serena! Serena, are you okay? He didn't touch you, did he?"

Serena looked up at her friend. Her eyes were filled with tears and her lip trembled, but she nodded stoutly. "I'm fine, Raye. You saved me!" She took a deep shuddering breath, then made a small smile. "Okay, we've got him on the run now! Let's get him!"

"Tall and tan and slim and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking, and when she passes, each one she passes goes 'Ah...!'"

It was good. The magic was there. The music lofted through the room as if riding on the faceted light rays spun out by the glittering mirror ball. The crystalline textures of hi-hat, the crisp rhythm of the clave driving everything, the soft bed of guitar and the lilting heartbeat of the acoustic bass wrapped her in a flowing robe of melody and rhythm.

With a perfect knowing of her place in the dance Kimiko lifted the microphone again and spun out the next phrase.

"When she walks she's like a samba, that swings so cool and sways so gentle, that when she passes each one she passes goes 'Ah...!'"

The smile suffused her face. They were hers. From the club owner at his private table where he could see and be seen, to the two schoolgirls with the fake ID's near the stage, they were hers. As long as the music lasted she was forever young and desirable. Still a girl to be cherished and loved.

Maxfield Stanton understood. With his knowing smile and his wry touch, he was one of those men who stood a little outside of the rest of humanity and saw more clearly, with more compassion, their little foibles.

He saw through her schoolgirl bang cut, and the stuffed tiger in her purse, to see the young woman who knew the music business only liked the really young. And who knew time running out; the time she could continue to wear sailor-suits and giggle and still hope for pop stardom.

Here, in this club, he made his own rules. And he had told her she could sing, could hold that audience rapt and loving her every move, forever...

It was almost time. Nephrite smiled his secret smile. He had to admit he got a real kick out of playing human. He liked the challenge of playing by their rules, too, although he dropped them at once when ever they made him impatient.

Maxfield Stanton, millionaire playboy, was almost real. Sure, he'd taken over a few minds at the start. But all his later investments were honest. The term "insider trading" hardly covered reading minds, did it? He had real offices and flunkies running them and a whole commercial empire that pretty much ran itself with only the tiniest input of dark energy here and there.

The game was really so much fun. He got an extra kick out of making charitable contributions, mentoring a troubled teen, helping an injured man to the hospital (and paying all his bills when he got there). It bothered him not a whit that his Negaverse creatures were meanwhile wandering the streets at night sucking the life energy from their victims.

He glanced again at the young woman singing for him, and his lips twitched again at the promise he'd made. Certainly she'd live forever. Her audience was another matter. He glanced at the microphone in her hand, the microphone marked with a dark sigil only he knew. In a few more moments he'd activate it. Just a little, this first night. He wanted the audience to go home drained, but to come back again. With any luck they'd blame it on the mixed drinks.

He saw her turn to the lead sax. The man smiled, nodded. "In A, and one and two..." he would be murmuring to the bassist. The keyboard hit a ghostly pad to create some air, then let it die. Into the silence Kimiko brought up the intro in a soft voice;

"Let me let you lift me, beyond the old routine..." Her voice grew in passion, the bass kicked that first note, "Play it softly," guitar and keyboard swept in, "play it sweet, oh Jazz Man...!"

And the sax hit the opening solo of that old Carole King number with a brilliant gliss and a dead-on downbeat. The drummer was swaying, running a crisp kick-and-snare combo while the bass settled right into the hip-shaking, shoulder-twisting R&B groove. Nephrite could see the elbows of the keyboard as he hit that tight piano part in solid block chords.

Kimiko smiled broadly and took the mic with confidence. "When the jazz man is testifying, a faithless man believes. He can sing you into Paradise, or bring you to your knees..."

It touched him.

For this moment the music, and the magic of the night, cut though the objectivity of the Negaverse General. For a moment the game of humanity was more interesting then the game of helping Beryl conquer another world.

Nephrite scowled, trying to regain control of himself. He fumbled for the key that would activate the dark sigil on the Kimiko's mic. His gaze fell on the two schoolgirls at the front table. I know one of them, he thought. I helped her one day. He noticed she was looking at him, too, eyes nakedly open to the thoughts within.

Tough luck for her, Nephrite thought. He touched the key.

A light gleamed briefly on the singer's microphone. The mirror ball seemed to glow brighter. The textures of the music twisted higher and stranger, each tiny note touching the soul like an acupuncture needle. The singer seemed to glow, the room darkening about her as all eyes focused upon her. Only the Negaverse General could see the skeins of life-energy being drawn from each and every person in the room, pulled through the sound system and into the glowing storage ball.

Then a vampire crashed through the south wall, knocked Kimiko off the stage, and kept going.

A girl in a shrine priestess outfit ran on stage after it, shouted some charm in a piercing voice, then plunged after the vampire. A blond girl with pigtails longer than she was tall ran after her, babbling something about rice dumplings.

"Oh, that does it! That just does it!" Nephrite knocked his glass on to the floor. The microphone was buzzing and squawking, Kimiko was sitting on the floor crying and the patrons were all waking up. All the captured energy had been lost. "I'm beginning to have some sympathy for Jadeite after all!"

They were running down one of the side streets of the Ginza. Huge signs glowed neon, snatches of music and gorgeous clothes on display both beckoned. On the main avenue a mere block away squads of aunts shoved through the dyed-hair posers and the Theiry Mugler-adorned posettes with their Takashimaya shopping bags at port arms.

The vampire had a specific destination in mind. Every now and then it lifted it's face, sniffing loudly. It ignored the people nearby, taking at most a half-hearted swipe at someone getting too close.

Raye was closing, but it wasn't easy. Serena was not in the same shape she was, and the blond girl was puffing hard. Plus, Raye worried about what she was going to do when she caught up; the Spirit Bow was still back among the empty caskets at Minami-ji.

They almost ran past as the vampire swerved. He'd picked an overly little trendy place with lots of glass and chrome. And skipped the door, going right for a window instead.

Raye went through the door even as the screaming started. The vampire was heading straight for a corner table and the plump young man in the spectacles there. One brave waiter and a diner who should have used more sense tackled the vampire and did absolutely nothing to him. There were more screams before the vampire picked up one of the men and threw him back through the window.

"Aku ryo tai san!" Raye shouted. The vampire was alert to her this time, though, and way too fast to let an ofuda be pinned on him. Raye felt the heavy arm in its draping of funeral garb slam into her waist and carry her into the air. A table broke her fall, and she rolled off it with ribs smarting.

"Rarghh!" The vampire declared. It gnashed its yellow fingernails then held them against the young man's throat.

"P..p..p..pop?" The young man stuttered like a motorboat.

"Pop?" Raye said.

"Rargh!" The vampire said, in a definite kind of way.

Serena! Raye worried. Where was Serena? Then she saw her young friend by the kitchen. "Oh, pulease!" Raye scowled. "This is no time to be thinking about food!"

The vampire turned back to his victim. His yellow nails began to close. The young man's eyes bulged. Raye grabbed a chair, swung it up over her head. Serena ran across the room with a measuring cup and threw it, contents and all.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" The vampire howled as the white specks hit him. He jumped up, landed on more of the stuff that had hit the floor, jumped up again like a man on a hot beach.

"Sticky rice!" Serena beamed. "It really does work!"

Raye made a complex mudra, her hands whipping through the motions. "In the name of Kannon Bodhisattva, by the power of Vishnu," she chanted, "by the grace of the Buddha I command thee to be still!"

The divining mirror blazed suddenly with light, and Raye quickly popped it on to the vampire's forehead. He froze in place and his eyes went as blank as a corpse's.

"Well, I'm glad that's over with," the young man said. He looked around the wrecked and all but empty restaurant, then at the damage to his expensive tailored jacket.

"Not so fast," Raye said. "Why did he want you? You called him 'Pop,' didn't you?"

"Um, sure." The man tried to sidle from his chair. "Look, if you want a donation to your shrine or something, I'm sure something can be..."

Raye lifted the edge of the mirror. The vampire's eyes glowed again, and his hand shot out unerringly, restoring it's grip on the young man's throat. Quickly, she replaced it again.

The man's eyes bulged. "You wouldn't!" he said hoarsely.

"Try me." The dark-haired girl's eyes were flashing.

"I...uh, yes, he is my father. We are both from Hong Kong. He meant to retire there if he could."

"Go on," Raye said encouragingly. Her fingers played with the mirror.

The man gulped. "He left instructions to be buried there. But do you know how much a prime plot costs these days?"

"I am beginning to understand," Raye said. "You went back on his will. You wanted to sell that plot. Don't you realize, his spirit was looking forward to resting there? That his spirit would try to walk the earth if it didn't find its expected home?"

Her eyes narrowed, then, and the little smile left her lips. "You did. Enough to warn the guys preparing the body. But they weren't serious about what they did. Their charms weren't careful, and they let him take form as a vampire."

"Well, look, I'm sorry!" The man made a wiping motion of his hands. "So now I have to pay for an exorcism, or something, to get rid of him?"

"Why do that," Raye said reasonably, "when the Narita airport is so close?"

"The what? The who?"

"You could be in Hong Kong by tomorrow morning. I'm sure your father will agree. Well-fed men aren't really the kind to become vampires, you know. They'd much rather lie down and be at peace."

"I guess..." And all of a sudden the young man's eyes misted. "I guess I do owe father that much. He was good to me. And now that I see how important this was to him..."

Raye pried the mirror off the father's forehead and put it back in its pouch.

"Rargh," he said quietly. "Rrrgh." He brushed at a few grains of sticky rice that had stuck to his clothing.

"Come on, dad." The young man took his arm. Gingerly at first, then with growing confidence. "I'm going to take you home."

Next -- What happened to Amy? What is wrong with Grandfather? Who is Zoicyte, and what is that black crystal in her hands? Be there for the stunning end of the "Raye saga" -- Temple of Doom!

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