Two to Tengu (Secret Magent Book 2) Read online

  TWO TO TENGU

  (Book Two of the Secret Magent series)

  by F. A. Bentley

  Kindle Edition / Copyright May 2017 F. A. Bentley

  Cover Art by Yoly Cortez

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork is prohibited without the express written consent of the author.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents occurring herein are solely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed solely for the reader’s personal enjoyment. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the place it was purchased from and buy your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of F. A.Bentley and other e-authors everywhere.

  Exotic locations, beautiful women, and rogue Supernaturals are all part of a day's work for Charles Locke, sorcerous secret agent. But when his latest mission lands him in Japan, he gets more than he bargained for. Caught between two hostile factions, Charles (along with a certain she- devil) must uncover the truth before the deadly dance turns into all out war.

  This is the second volume in the Secret Magent series; a novel.

  Contents

  TWO TO TENGU

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Danger?” I asked.

  “Yeah, something like that. I wouldn’t be careless if I were you Mister Nine Towers Agent. There’s some pretty bad guys around here,” replied the voice on the other end of the call.

  It’s always something, isn’t it? If there were three people left alive on the face of the planet, I’d still be having this same conversation.

  “I’m incapable of carelessness Taro,” I replied. “Give me the coordinates for the meet and let me worry about whoever is dumb enough to try and make a move.”

  “Uh, how about that old Christian church a little bit North of Haneda?” spoke the dull voice anew.

  He meant Haneda International Airport. “Fine. Ten minutes. Be there.”

  “Sure, sure. See you. Oh, and welcome to Japan.”

  I cut the call and stuffed my cell back into my pocket as I caught my briefcase in the airport return terminal. Straightening the tie on my smooth business getup and checking my Rolex for time, I promptly walked into the airport with a Rambo movie worth of illegal weaponry in my baggage.

  Please remember that I am a good guy. Despite my medium caliber pistol, my sidearm, my dagger and my sorcerous wand. Honestly.

  My turn at the border admittance guard came up. I walked up to the well proportioned woman in charge and offered her both a wry smile and my passport.

  “Konichiwa, Daniel Hunter,” she greeted. “What do you do for a living?”

  Charles Locke, warlock extraordinaire, I almost corrected. Dabbler of black magics. Vassal to a capital A Adversary. Supernatural attack dog belonging to Nine Towers.

  “I’m independently wealthy. I own and collect interest on a number of properties around the world,” I fibbed.

  “What is the purpose of your visit?”

  To wipe away the stain of my sins. To get a good night’s rest for once in my life. To do Nine Tower’s bidding and straighten out whatever issue the local Supernaturals had. By force if needed.

  “Recreation,” I said. A misdirection. “I plan on spending two weeks here enjoying the countryside and attractions.”

  “Any of the following illegal contraband in your luggage?” she asked anew, presenting me with a small card with pictures on it.

  It looked just like my ‘to bring with’ list.

  Guns. Knives. Forged passport; thank you very much NT. That sexually explicit magazine that Jacobs from HQ thought would ‘keep me company’. Not a drug on me though!

  “Nothing,” I lied through my teeth.

  The border control woman gave me a sly grin, stamped my Daniel Hunter passport and waved me through. It’s amazing what a smile and a polite word here and there can let you get away with.

  Fifteen minutes til I had to meet my contact. I caught sight of my pre-reserved chauffeur and got into the stark black car. It looked like it belonged on a highway speeding at 120 kilometers. Just like I like them.

  I told the well dressed woman the address to the church and we sped out of the airport with a healthy ‘vroom’.

  The immense concrete labyrinth of cutting edge tech and flashing lights hovered into view. I wasn’t born and raised in a barn, but even so I had to take notice of Tokyo’s splendor. Tightly packed as it was, it had a level of no nonsense beauty that I’d hardly seen anywhere else.

  Of course, looks could be deceiving. The proof was self evident. Nine Towers would use nice safe sanctioned sorcerers for comfy jobs that involved talking or reading or organizing. If I’d been sent somewhere, it was because differences needed to be settled in a less than civilized fashion. That’s what it means to be a warlock, after all.

  We pulled into the church’s abandoned parking lot and I paid the fancy taxi an arm and a leg. Retrieving my case of very illegal weaponry from the back, I made my way into the austere interior of the church.

  New Christian style. Catholic. Relatively rare in these parts. The tall arches and gilded hall did nothing to lessen my sense of reverence. Or ease my anxiousness.

  Me and churches didn’t really get along very well. Not that I was liable to burst into flames at any point, it’s just that they made me antsy.

  My contact was nowhere to be found. I didn’t even know what he looked like, though I thought it would be easy finding him in a derelict church like this. Scanning the chapel, my eyes locked onto the confessional at the back. I sighed.

  How cliche. That’s where he was hiding. I was sure of it. I set my pack aside, opened the confessional door, and sat down in the ‘sinner booth’ as I liked to call it.

  “Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” I said melodramatically.

  My heart tightened when I heard a response.

  “We all make mistakes, child,” the voice began soft and endearing, before erupting in righteous anger, “but you’re abusing the privilege! You’re sentenced to an eternity of torture and damnation. Repent sinner!”

  My jaw hung slack as recognition pierced through me like a spear. I leaped out of the booth, went
over to the priest’s door, and almost tore it off its hinges.

  I groaned as my sight confirmed a terrible truth.

  “Lisistrathiel.”

  “Couldn’t help myself,” the she-devil said, sipping on an ornate cup filled with wine.

  It’s my fault, really. If I’d only been wiser when I was young. If I’d only mixed with better people. Maybe then I wouldn’t be indirectly responsible for the sacrilege I saw before me right now.

  Lisistrathiel was a female Devil of the biblical variety. She was nearly as tall as me at six feet high and her hair had been dyed black in the blighted womb of my worst nightmare. She had long, sharp fingernails, a figure to kill for, and eyes of molten yellow.

  She was rocking a smooth pair of jeans with sharp leather boots, a no nonsense top, and a pair of glasses dangling from the tip of her blouse to accentuate her cleavage.

  Lis took her irony and her blasphemy very seriously. The ensemble screamed Sunday school teacher.

  “All right fine, no need to glare Charlie. Let me give you a serious response: Three hail Marys and show your face in church once in a while, you heathen.” she said, wagging a finger at me before offering me the cup. “Blood of Christ?”

  “I’m surprised you’re not melting into a puddle. I thought churches were like kryptonite to Devils,” I muttered. “I have a meeting with an informant to get some specifics. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all, but you’re too late. He already left. Looked real uncomfortable in here for some reason.”

  “Again, coming from y-- What?”

  “Left a message sitting in the confessional. Voila Monsieur Locke,” she said in a perfect French accent, offering me a folded bit of paper.

  I grabbed the note from her outstretched fingers. Written in thick vertical lines were Japanese characters that looked like they were drawn with a brush, not a pen. I glowered at Lis.

  “What’s wrong? Need help translating or something?” she asked innocently.

  I handed her the note with a sigh, and she fetched her pair of glasses, donning them with a diabolical smile.

  It was hard not to notice how her Sunday school chic clung to her frame. Every last inch of her hidden behind a tight, thin layer of cloth and nothing else.

  “Charles Locke,” Lis translated. “The area has been compromised. Will set up a different location shortly. Be warned. I was tailed.”

  “Tailed?” I asked.

  I turned to look out to the church’s doorway in time to see a quartet of rough men entering with semi automatic rifles poised and murder in their eyes.

  You know it’s a bad day when you don’t have enough time to swear before people start shooting at you.

  Chapter 2

  Guns don’t kill people. Bad positioning in shootouts kill people. Doesn’t matter how much Kevlar or full plate mail you’re wearing. If you stand up from behind cover mid bullet storm you’re going to be filled with enough rounds to make your funeral closed casket.

  I was caught completely in the open. My eyes widened as I saw them coming, but without cover to throw myself behind and a moment to think, I was a sitting duck. Just as the triggers were pulled, I felt a mighty force grab me by my tie and pull me behind the confessional booth just as the bullets ripped into it.

  Wood chips, fluff and other formerly sacred bits of detritus flew far and wide. My eyes were wide with surprise and confusion must have marred my face. Not because of the gunfire.

  Because Lis had inadvertently lengthened my lifespan. A quicker thinker than I, the infernal power had pulled me to safety. It was unprecedented. Unthinkable. I stared at Lis in awe and befuddlement, searching for an answer. No answer was found.

  I snapped back to cold hard reality as the gunfire ebbed and a harsh voice spat out a few commands I couldn’t quite understand. My eyes narrowed. I opened my case and retrieved my pistols and my wand. Lis shot me an inscrutable smirk.

  Go time.

  I broke out from behind the confessional, gun blazing. They must not have expected me to be armed and dangerous, because three of them almost leaped out of their skin and dove for cover. The fourth guy hit the dirt too, but in a more permanent sense.

  You won’t need the Kevlar vest, Charles. It’s not like there’s people gunning for your life every minute of every day or anything. No one would think to have a shootout in a church. That would be sacrilege.

  Gunfire pelted the corner I hid behind, pockmarks budding with each fresh round shot into it. I had to think fast. Drawing my wand close, I muttered a few syllables of magic, formed a tiny ball of light, and tossed it. When it got halfway out to the gunmen, I snapped my fingers, and the tiny dot of light, barely noticeable even if you were magically competent, exploded like expensive, illegal fireworks.

  It saved a lot of money on flash bangs. Since I was the only one that averted my gaze, I was also the only one who could shoot worth a damn too. I dove behind the nearest pew, and mowed down the assassin on the other side.

  He went down with a pained scream, and when he did, the other two lost their courage. He must have been the guy in charge. Through half seeing eyes, the remaining two gunmen withdrew to the church door, spraying bullets haphazardly as they fled.

  Normally, it’s a decent tactic when you’re disoriented. The guy closest to me was just unlucky is all. Spraying in the opposite direction, he didn’t get more than a single grazing hit before I’d closed the distance with him.

  My wand thrummed with latent power and from the tip manifested a blade of hard arcana. With a slash, the hit man’s rifle was in pieces. His fighting spirit survived though. He drew a switchblade from his back pocket, slicing a neat line through my undershirt. And drawing a drop of blood. Ouch.

  A step back and I poised my wand-sword like a rapier and thrust it into the man’s gut, downing him too. Three out of four isn’t bad, but I’m not exactly an underachiever.

  Making my way out of the church, I was just in time to see the last thug hop into the getaway car and burn rubber down the street.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I shouted and emptied the rest of my pistol in the car’s direction.

  It’s not easy hitting a moving vehicle. Most of it was made of steel, and only the biggest caliber bullets stood a chance of messing something up internally. The best anyone could hope for with a pistol like mine is to get a lucky hit on the driver.

  Or hit a tire.

  My heart fell for a brief second as the car sped away. A breath later, the car wobbled madly at the first intersection it reached, slid on a flattened tire, and promptly wrapped itself around a fire hydrant. The last gunman pulled himself from the ruined remains, staggering drunkenly and nearly falling down. Just the guy I wanted to talk to.

  I broke into a dead run as the gunman’s eyes caught mine. With a look of terror, his gun forgotten in the car, he legged it like he was going for gold in the Olympics.

  Gaining on him slowly, I pursued him out into the open street, past a red light, and then down a narrow alley leading out to a desolate intersection. Past that he’d reach a packed street. Damn it, he’d be home free if he found a crowd to lose me in.

  The hit man must have figured that out too, because he went all out. He crossed the small intersection and passed the stop sign just as I got within arms reach of him. He cried out as I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and then?

  And then we suddenly flew up into the air, high,high up, before crashing down on cold hard pavement in front of a limousine. My brain, blurry, gradually pieced together the facts before heading out to lunch.

  Charles Locke, you’ve just been run over by a limo.

  I blacked out to merciful nothingness.

  Chapter 3

  My head ached. My eyes refused to open. When at last they did, I really wished I hadn’t opened them.

  I woke up in what was easily the strangest dungeon ever. There were shelves of bright colorful figures all around, posters of cute girls doing invariably cute things on the walls. I wouldn’t even
have called it a dungeon if I wasn’t forcibly held down by iron manacles. A little head craning and I caught sight of the gunman from earlier too. Chained up right next to me.

  He looked terrified.

  I tested my hands and then my feet. Whoever had caught me wasn’t an amateur, despite the rest of the room. I was bound tight. I could even feel the slight sap of antimagic enchantments woven into the manacles.

  Suddenly, the lights turned off. The gunman squealed. One by one, miniature searchlights in gaudy blue and pink and yellow came on, all pointing towards the door, and then with a heavy groan, the door cracked open.

  A short woman with stark white hair and a dramatic flair was unleashed upon the room. Hands on her hips, she wore gaudy, fashionable clothing almost every color in the rainbow and her slim figure did nothing to dissuade her hips from voluptuously rounding out.

  A very bottom heavy figure. When she spoke, her voice was uniquely raspy and brutally commanding.

  “Listen up, you lowlifes that shall never amount to anything!” she crowed. “You have committed a cardinal sin against me and mine, and as such you will be given exactly one chance to say your prayers and spill your guts before you shall be sent screaming to Nirvana. How quickly you comply will decide how painless your deaths will be when you are killed.”

  I couldn’t decide whether I should gulp or perk an eyebrow.

  Gracefully stepping towards the gunman, the white haired woman tore the duct tape off of his mouth. The man spoke rapidly and stiltedly, clearly overcome with fear. The girl stared at him utterly unperturbed, before suddenly holding up a hand.

  “I’ve heard enough. You Yakuza are all alike. Never know anything about who you’re working for. Yawn. I’ll just get your friend to talk after I make an example of you,” she said.

  As her eyes flashed, the girl drove a supple hand into the unlucky gunman’s chest. Another muffled scream, and then silence. The gunman lay perfectly still. His life force drained entirely from him.