Part 1

The Imperial Army had an old rule it would tell its soldiers.

“Do not live to bear the shame of captivity. Die, so that you do not leave behind a name stained by dishonor.”

The military code found in the Senjinkun was clear about capture. A soldier was expected to die rather than accept the dishonor of surrender. What it never explained was what happened when you were the bastard who forced that dishonor onto someone else.

The elevator shook as it descended below a Ministry of Agriculture office. Officially, there was no basement. I glanced at the woman standing beside me and had a feeling the answer involved a lifetime of headaches.

Hecate managed to finally shut the hell up, an achievement for the fairer sex. She stood with her arms folded, wearing what remained of a black dress. She looked annoyed that humans hadn't mastered teleportation as she stared at the doors. The trip back from Tateyama had left me with a broken arm and enough internal trauma that I knew the rest of my vacation time would be wasted recovering. Hecate, despite having been buried under part of an underground bunker, looked irritatingly close to perfect.

The damned bitch even made mangled clothing work.

One sleeve of her dress was gone entirely, yet the rip looked deliberate. Another tear ran up the side of her leg, exposing more than intended, while a split near her chest had turned the elegant design into an outfit a spy would wear when meeting a dignitary.

Most men would have stared. The narrow metal band clasped around her throat probably gave the look an entirely different implication. Unfortunately, the thing was the legendary artifact I'd been ordered to recover. Nearly two thousand years and it still held a dull amber sheen, with a clear hexagram etched into its face.

Solomon's Ring.

That's what the stories told. Supposedly bestowed upon King Solomon by the Archangel Michael, lost for centuries, then recovered by the Ahnenerbe. The Nazis passed it to their Japanese allies before the end of the war. After the surrender, records disappeared, officers lied, and valuable things found new owners.

Turned out it was never a ring. Guess Michael understood that mortals would want to clasp a leash and drag around their slaves. Before the Americans knew enough to ask questions, the Cold War had given them better things to worry about. Solomon's Band went back to being a ring and returned to myth.

Hecate's hand rose toward it and the hexagram engraving started to glow red. “You will remove this.”

“We've had that discussion already.”

“You spoke,” she said, “and I threatened you.”

“Fine then. I've been thoroughly threatened.”

“If you understand, remove it.”

I shook my head. “No.” The headache was getting worse. I was starting to suspect the concussion wasn't entirely responsible.

Hecate finally looked over at me. Saying no was probably a mistake. I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn't done making mistakes before sunrise. Her eyes lowered slowly from my face to the sling around my arm. “You understand that it prevents me from killing you.”

“That seems to be the best part.”

“Tch. It does not prevent me from killing everyone else.”

“Good thing it came with a safe word.”

Even furious, she looked impeccable. The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Five armed men were waiting for us with weapons raised. Apparently they'd ignored my earlier advice to leave the HK416s behind and bring something a little more explosive.

Hecate looked at them and for the first time since leaving Tateyama, she smiled.

“Shimizu,” Morita said from behind the security desk. “Step away from her.”

I sighed. The evening's fun wasn't over. “Lower the weapons.”

Morita looked at me as though I had forgotten the old army teachings. “Shimizu, I don't know what happened out there, but you need to step away from her and let us handle this.”

“How exactly do you plan to do that?”

“You brought an unknown hostile entity into a secure facility.”

Hecate's smile turned into something more dangerous. “Unknown?” She repeated.

“Whatever she is, she needs to be placed in containment,” Morita said.

I stood there with blood still dripping down my arm. Morita exhaled slowly through his nose. “Kazuma.”

“This one's above our pay grade, Morita.”

“You've brought back a woman wearing the artifact you were ordered to recover.”

Hecate clicked her tongue. “You make it sound as though I accompanied him willingly.”

“You weren't exactly in a position to object,” I said.

Her nostrils flared and the hexagram around her throat glowed red. Every gun rose another inch and grips tightened. “Tell them to lower those.”

Morita almost laughed. “She's giving you orders now?”

“No. She's giving you a warning.”

“I don't need warnings from—”

“Morita.” Watanabe's voice came from behind the security station before Morita could finish.

Akira Watanabe stepped through carrying a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a folder tucked beneath the other arm. He looked exactly the same as when he sent me to Chiba that morning. I took solace in knowing he, at least, didn't get to sleep either. Watanabe ignored the blood, sling and the obvious signs of a life or death struggle on my suit and put his attention on Hecate. His gaze lingered on the amber band around her neck. “Kazuma. You found it.”

“I've had more successful retrievals, sir.”

His eyes moved back to Hecate. “And who exactly is she?”

“Hecate.”

Watanabe paused. “The Greek Hecate?”

Hecate frowned. “There is no other.”

“Princess of the Dead,” I added.

“I can introduce myself,” she snapped.

Morita lowered his pistol slightly. “I was about to send for Containment, sir.”

Watanabe took a slow drink of coffee. “Keep this corridor empty.”

“Yes sir. And her?” Morita asked.

I wiped away some of the dried blood beneath my nose. “She, unfortunately, comes with me.”

“I go nowhere with you.”

I shook my head and took a step forward. Her hand immediately yanked the back of my suit jacket. “Don’t you dare ignore me.”

“I assume there's an explanation for this,” Watanabe said.

“It is most likely going to make your night worse, sir.”

He gulped down the rest of his coffee. “Interview room.”

We entered the windowless concrete box elegantly named “Interview Room Four.” I sat on one side of the table while Watanabe took the other. Someone had handed off a first-aid kit which now sat on the floor next to me. I might have said thanks, but most of the damage was well past anything adhesive tape and naproxen could fix.

Hecate refused the chair because it was suggested. She stood near the one way mirrored wall instead, arms folded, still wearing the expression of a princess forced to wait for her dinner to be served.

Watanabe opened the folder. “Before we begin, I need to settle one immediate issue. Containment will take custody until we understand what happened.”

Hecate laughed. “You intend to contain me?”

“You will be in government care. We have procedures for this.”

She pushed away from the wall and walked toward the table. Even barefoot and dressed in half a ruined evening gown, she somehow managed to make the short walk feel like a red carpet event rather than a prisoner approaching an interrogation.

She stopped next to me. “Tell him.”

I let out a long sigh. “I already tried, sir.”

Watanabe's brow tightened. “Tried what?”

“Handing her over, sir. I followed standard procedure but… she is anything but standard.”

“That would have been useful to mention.”

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the coffee with bad conversation, sir.”

“Shimizu, I've got a wife at home who will be asking why I have come home so late for the fourth time this week. Details…”

Hecate joyfully took over. “I informed them that he was the only person present I was forbidden from killing.”

“So the Band prevents you from killing Kazuma,” Watanabe said.

Hecate looked disgusted. “It prevents me from finishing the act.”

Watanabe looked at me. “The two stationed near the service entrance have been hospitalized,” I said. “I stopped her before she was able to continue. PR is already working on a cover story for the gunshots.”

Watanabe pulled the mission report from beneath several photographs and set it on the table. “You were sent to recover one stolen relic from a handful of amateur occultists.”

“It has been retrieved, sir,” I said.

“Mission failed, Shimizu,” he said. “Twenty three people are dead and Solomon's Band is around the neck of Hecate. Start from the beginning.” He picked up his pen.

“The beginning is boring, sir.”

“Kazuma.”

I sighed. “Fine. I knew something had gone wrong when I heard a rooster.”

His pen hit the table and he crossed his arms. “A rooster?”

Hecate closed her eyes. “Do not remind me of that fucking bird.”