The Book of the Flame Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Simon Pulse edition January 2004

  Text copyright © 2004 by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

  Interior illustrations copyright © 2003 by Renato Alarcao

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

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  Produced by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

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  New York, NY 10001

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  For information address 17th Street Productions, 151 West 26th Street, New York, NY 10001.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2003108406

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-0368-2

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-0368-4

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  Tokyo

  Daily

  News

  February 26, 2004

  At 12:03 A.M. last night, per police logs, a burglary was reported by staff at the exclusive Kazashi Clinic in Mizuho. Go Watanebe, the clinic’s director, declined comment, but an anonymous source told the Daily News that around 11 P.M., a nurse discovered that the clinic’s drug supplies had been plundered. “They knew what they were doing,” the source said, “because they took a bunch of morphine and Valium and other drugs with a high street-market value.” Police refused to answer questions about a possible link between the drug theft and Konishi Kogo (currently the clinic’s most well known patient), who was flown back to Japan two months ago after an attack by an unknown assailant in Los Angeles. Okichi Ono, head nurse at the clinic, stated that Kogo is in stable condition but remains comatose. Kogo’s adopted daughter, Heaven Kogo, has been missing since her wedding day four months ago, when a masked intruder (some sources have said a ninja) disrupted the ceremony and murdered her brother, Ohiko Kogo.

  Las Vegas Sun

  February 28, 2004

  Police are searching for a man who they believe may have information about Heaven Kogo, a Japanese national currently on the California State Police’s missing persons list. The man was recently seen in several Strip locales, including the Hard Rock Hotel and Mandalay Bay, in the company of a woman fitting the description of Heaven Kogo. Sources describe the man as a “high roller” who frequents VIP rooms at casinos and clubs on the Strip and who sometimes travels with an entourage. Anyone with information about the above individual is asked to call 1-800-TIPS4US.

  1

  “Shut up. And tell your boyfriend to shut up, too,” Pablo snapped.

  I clamped my mouth shut and looked over at Hiro, who sat next to me in the backseat of the black sedan. An ugly-looking bruise was spreading across Hiro’s left cheek (those beautiful cheekbones!) and blood trickled down his forehead. His lower lip was swollen, and his jeans were covered in dirt and more blood. And if the pain that racked my body was any sign, I didn’t look much better myself. We’d just crossed the Mexican border into California (thanks to the handful of cash I’d seen Pablo cram into the customs officer’s pocket), and I had no idea where we were headed.

  Hiro shook his head at me slowly.

  “Do what he says,” he mouthed, and I nodded, trying to stop the swell of tears I felt stinging my eyes. It was unbearable to think that I might be leading Hiro to his death. This was my fight, my battle, and these thugs, whoever they were, wanted me, not him. Now, for the first time since my long journey had begun, I couldn’t see a way out. We were going almost a hundred miles an hour through the California desert. My hands were tightly bound behind my back, with a rope connecting them to my ankles, which were also bound. I felt like a cow being led to the slaughter, helpless and doomed.

  I was propped up awkwardly against Hiro, unable to sit up straight. After a few minutes I felt him writhing against me. “Are you hurt?” I whispered. Hiro shook his head but kept squirming. I looked nervously toward the front seat, where Pablo sat puffing a huge cigar and driving way too fast. It was hard to believe that when Teddy had introduced me to Pablo back in Vegas, I hadn’t immediately sensed what a dangerous guy he was—as if the blingy jewelry and greased-back hair weren’t enough, he had a mouthful of gold teeth. I prayed he and his cohort wouldn’t turn around.

  I glanced back at Hiro. The veins on his neck stuck out from the effort he was making not to move as he worked at the cord around his wrists. I held my breath right along with him, willing Pablo and Co. not to look. I wasn’t sure if “escape artist” was on Hiro’s list of abilities, but I hoped so.

  Hiro gave a tight-lipped smile. I looked down. The ropes holding him had gone slack. He’d wriggled his way out.

  My heart leapt. Maybe this wasn’t the end. Hiro motioned with his eyes that I should maneuver into a position where he could work on the knots that bound me without being seen. I scooted around in the seat, focused all the time on Pablo and his buddy, who both seemed to be intent on celebrating with their nasty-smelling cigars. In between puffs they growled at each other in Spanish, and the unknown thug, who had a bristling mustache that couldn’t hide the ugly scar slashing across his lip and down his jaw-line, kept gesturing with his gun for emphasis.

  In a few moments I was free. I resisted the urge to stretch my arms and legs—or to hurl myself into Hiro’s arms, to hug him and tell him I was sorry for this, for all of this. As if in answer to my thoughts, the car jolted without warning, throwing Hiro against me.

  “Your mission is to achieve heightened perception,” he whispered in my ear. “You must be aware of everything around you. That’s the only way you’re going to make it.”

  “What’s going on back there? Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Mustache (as I’d come to think of him) turned around and waved his gun at us. My heart pounded as I cringed back against the seat. Having a gun shoved in your face in real life is freaking scary. Any bravery you might have on top just oozes right out of you. And I was terrified he’d notice that we were no longer tied up.

  “I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” Hiro said, his voice calm.

  “You can’t help your little girlfriend anymore,” Mustache leered, his grin twisted and grotesque. “Just do as you’re told.”

  He turned around, and Hiro gave me a look that said, “Simmer down.” I stared out the window into the glaring heat.

  I had a lot of work to do. First I had to pull myself out of my body to try to forget about the pain and stiffness that always set in after a fight. Then I had to clear my head of the images—the gang of mystery men bursting into our hotel room, the thud and thunk of the bone-crushing kicks and punches, the sight of Teddy sliding down to the ground, his back covered in blood….

  I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that could help drive the images away. I’d seen Teddy slump to the floor, bloody and broken, and when Pablo and his gang finally had beaten us into submission and dragged us from the motel room, I’d noticed smears of blood on the low wall by the open window. Whether Teddy had jumped or been thrown, I didn’t know. But he had died alone. I’d looked for his body on our way out of the building, but it was already gone, probably dragged off by one of Pablo’s henchmen.

  There was no question in my mind that I was responsible. When I’d run into Teddy in Vegas, I’d been so happy to see someone I felt was on my side, who really knew my story, that I’d overlooked the dangers of us being seen together. Even though I believ
ed his family, the Yukemuras (who were yakuza—Japanese mafia, just like mine, as I’d recently discovered), were still after me, and even though I knew that Teddy was involved with Colombian drug runners…Not exactly the most savory set of circumstances.

  I’d tried not to think about it. But I’d agreed to flee Vegas with him because I thought Hiro had abandoned me. I’d used Teddy. He was no innocent, but his heart was certainly in the right place. And now he was gone. Just like that. I felt like such a stupid idiot. What had I planned to tell him when the three of us eventually made it to Europe, like we’d planned? “Thanks a bunch, Teddy! I know you loved me and saved my life, but I want to be with Hiro now! See ya!” Stupid.

  I tried to untangle the thoughts teeming in my head, but it seemed like as soon as I put one to rest, another jumped to fill its place—and my brain just kept digging deeper. The first images that floated to the surface were of my father, lying in a coma in Japan, and my dead brother, Ohiko—I was still no closer to finding out who wanted my family dead. I imagined my father lying in a crisp white hospital bed, my stepmother, Mieko, at his side. Then I wondered again about her involvement in all that had happened, and my mind lingered on the confrontation I’d had with Marcus and his gangbangers on a subway platform in L.A. “Your stepmother says hello,” he’d said.

  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and let my mind drift past that memory and on to the next. Cheryl, my only friend in L.A., popped up, pink-streaked hair and all. For all I knew, she was dead now, too, trapped in a fire that had been set for me. I’d hurt all the people who’d tried to help me, I realized. It hurt too much to think about…. I pushed the images away and let a picture of Hiro take their place. I thought of the moment I found out he felt the same way about me as I did about him—and how, in order to admit it, he’d had to break Karen’s heart.

  Guilt, fear, shame, love, pain—so many feelings clogging up the works. I tried every technique in the book, first visualizing bundling up my thoughts into a neat package and hurling them out the car window into the dusty desert, then imagining each one floating up out of the top of my head, leaving my mind a clean, empty slate. After what felt like forever, I managed to clear a tiny corner of my head. Think, Heaven, think, I told myself. What exists around you? What can you feel? Who are the people holding you prisoner? Is there anything in the car you can use as a weapon? And most important, how can you and Hiro get yourselves out of this?

  A gentle tap on my ankle brought me back to reality. Hiro gave me a meaningful look and nodded slightly out the rear window. A silver SUV was behind us. I watched the SUV follow our sedan into a passing lane, then move smoothly back behind us when we switched lanes again.

  We were being followed. I looked at Hiro and raised my eyebrows. So much for my powers of perception—I hadn’t even noticed.

  “We’re being followed,” Hiro said in a loud, clear voice.

  Mustache turned around, and the SUV simultaneously slipped back into the stream of traffic, hiding itself. “Don’t be a smartass,” Mustache rumbled.

  “Look for yourself,” Hiro said steadily.

  Mustache flipped around in his seat and I heard the click of his knife opening before I saw the flash of metal held to Hiro’s throat. I gasped. Hiro stared silently at Mustache without moving. I started to tremble and readied myself to intervene if Mustache went too far. Was he for real? Or was he just trying to scare us?

  “Que estas haciendo? Nos son inútiles si son muertos,” Pablo barked. Mustache looked irritated, but he clicked his knife shut and turned around.

  “You’re right,” he said in his thickly accented English. “They’re not worth anything dead. That comes later.” I couldn’t see his face, but something told me he was smiling.

  I caught my breath and concentrated on the SUV that was so clearly tailing us. If the thugs in the front seat were sent by the Yukemuras, as I’d thought when they first busted into the hotel room with Teddy in tow, then who the hell was following us? I watched Mustache stare into the rear-and side-view mirrors; then he and Pablo started arguing again. Suddenly Mustache flipped around and grabbed my ponytail, yanking my head back.

  “Who are they?” he yelled, his funky, stinking breath washing over my face. I shrank back against the hot leather seat, less to get away from the smell (although believe me, I wanted to) than to keep my hands and ankles hidden. I saw Hiro’s face grow tight. I knew he’d lash out if he could, but he couldn’t risk giving us away—our freedom was our one advantage, however small. I took a deep breath and tried to resist the pain and the urge to kick Mustache’s butt.

  “I don’t know,” I yelped, trying to sound deferential and clueless. “I really don’t!” Actually, it wasn’t hard—even though I wasn’t the best actress, I really hadn’t the slightest clue where all this was headed. But I knew it was nowhere good.

  The car lurched, and Mustache lost his hold on my hair. I took the opportunity to slink out from under his grip.

  “Shit!” yelled Mustache, dropping heavily back into the front seat.

  “Are they better than these guys or worse?” I asked Hiro in Japanese.

  “Callate!” Mustache roared. “How many times do I have to tell you to keep your mouths shut?” The engine groaned as Pablo floored the gas. Hiro and I were thrown back against our seats—full-on chase mode. The silver SUV had given up any attempt to hide itself, and soon it clung within inches of the sedan, tailgating us so close that eventually its front bumper was tapping against our back one. The sedan shuddered, and I went rigid.

  “Kangaete miru na,” Hiro said. “Don’t think about it. Just concentrate on what you see. Stay alert.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed. I held my breath as we weaved in and out of lanes, trying to lose the SUV. Green highway signs flipped by, and in just minutes we were on the outskirts of San Diego. My heart leapt into my throat as we veered into another lane, and a red Volkswagen Bug slammed on its horn and its brakes in an attempt to avoid us. We slipped by untouched, but the Bug wasn’t so lucky. A horrifying screech split the air, followed by the sound of metal crunching metal, and when I looked back, the Bug was lying on its side, sliding down the highway. Cars slowed behind the accident, but the SUV shot through like a silver dart. I almost covered my eyes before I remembered that my hands were supposedly tied.

  With a sudden wrench the sedan flew across four lanes in a flurry of honking, and we careened onto an exit ramp, kicking up a stream of orange utility cones in our wake. I screamed as we blew through a stoplight at the bottom of the ramp, narrowly missing a white convertible and leaving another fender-bender pileup behind us. Two teenagers in baggy pants jumped out of the way as we squealed around a corner, and we narrowly avoided crashing into a long median planted with palm trees. I was in the grip of a fear I had never known—death was staring us in the face, and there was nothing we could do about it. Our fate was out of our hands, which was so much worse than just being in a fight—at least then you could fight back. I looked down and saw that I had dug my nails into Hiro’s hand, leaving vivid red crescents on his tan skin. Was this how we were going to go? I prayed we wouldn’t take any innocent pedestrians down with us.

  With a sickening lurch the sedan hopped a curb and spun out onto a faded green lawn. Within seconds Pablo had whirled the car around and bashed into the SUV, which was trying to block us in on the dead-end street.

  “Pendejo!” Pablo yelled, twisting the steering wheel around as far as it would go. We screeched by the SUV and turned right.

  A one-way street. And we were going the wrong way.

  “Put on your seat belt!” I yelled to Hiro over the wind whistling in through the open windows and the approaching sounds of sirens. It was certainly not the time to worry about Mustache and friend finding out we were no longer tied. Horns blared as car after car came right at us before veering aside—the world’s deadliest game of chicken. I snapped my seat belt in place and looked at Hiro for the last time. We were doing eighty on a residential street. Hiro stared into my
eyes.

  “I love you, Heaven Kogo,” he said.

  I grabbed his hand. “Yes,” I answered, then looked away. I don’t know why I said it, why I ignored the voice in my head that chanted, I love you too, I love you, I love you. The words wouldn’t come. I was filled with a deep sadness at the prospect of our deaths. I felt an overwhelming tenderness for Hiro, for myself, for life. A red light loomed ahead. We weren’t slowing down. As we crossed the intersection, I saw a car heading straight for us.

  And then the car hit.

  2

  It’s true—your life really does flash before your eyes. The scream of tires ripped through the air just before the sonic boom of an impact so strong, it felt like my bones were trying to escape from my body. I screamed and braced myself against the seat, and my head crashed against the window as another blow rocked our spinning sedan. And then…

  Time stopped—the crunch and wail of two huge machines hitting each other at high speed, Hiro’s warm body next to me, the thugs up front, my own body strapped into the car, the heat and dust…it all vanished in a wash of red and orange, and I was suddenly out of time, trapped in some weird, floating tableau of my life, tumbling through scene after scene. The odd thing was that I was seeing some events that I couldn’t actually remember but that I knew had happened: my real mother, who I’d never known, boarding the ill-fated JAL flight to Los Angeles all those years ago…me again, only six months old, lying in a heap of wreckage, the only survivor of the downed plane…my father, Konishi, screaming at my brother, Ohiko, just before he left the compound forever…the night my father told me I was going to marry Teddy Yukemura. The images came faster now, speeding up…. Ohiko’s death at the hands of the ninja whose attack had stopped the wedding…my escape on foot into the dark L.A. night…finding Hiro and, later, him agreeing to train me…the first time he kissed me….