Chapter 11 Cocktails for the Claws
Chapter eleven
Cocktails for the Claws
Nyomi
“Okay.” A lump formed in my throat, raw and aching, but I swallowed it down.
I put my thoughts on Kaede and thought of last night.
He was a goodlooking guy, although eerily calm, with his platinum-blond hair tied in a low knot at the nape of his neck.
He’d also been wearing leather gloves that he kept adjusting when it seemed like he was annoyed.
I tapped the page with my pencil. "So, about Kaede."
Hiro nodded, apparently satisfied with our heart-to-heart. He leaned back in his chair. “Yes. Back to Kaede.”
I picked up my pencil. "Tell me how he kills."
"Like he's dancing."
I widened my eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Like his body is hearing something the rest of us can't and he's just... moving to it. Smooth. Beautiful. Absolutely lethal."
"Graceful?"
"Elegant. Effortless. He makes death look like art."
"So his drink should be. . .something beautiful that could also kill you?"
“Is there a drink that would do that?”
I tapped my pencil against the sketchpad, thinking. "Maybe. . .I’m thinking. . .Japanese gin. That's the base.”
“He’ll like that.”
“You know what? Dry sake. It'll act like a silk vermouth—smoothing the edges, making everything flow together."
Hiro nodded. “This is sounding good.”
"Yuzu juice for brightness and honey syrup to soften it so it doesn't hit too sharp on the first sip."
"So it seduces you before it strikes."
"Exactly, but we need the dangerous part.”
He eyed me. “What do you think?”
"Absinthe.”
Hiro smiled.
"Just a rinse. I'll coat the glass with it. You won't taste it at first, it hides beneath everything else. But then. . .it rises. Kisses your mouth.” I touched my lips. “And suddenly you realize you've been cut."
"I’m liking this."
"Then, we add some performance."
“Like what?”
“Hold the peel over the glass and have a flash of flame”
Hiro actually rubbed his hands together. “Kaede will enjoy this a lot.”
“Good.”
“And what will be the name?”
“Ember Waltz.”
“That title came quick.”
“I’m a writer.” I began drawing the drink. “Now who’s next?”
"Daisuke."
I did my best to quickly finish Ember Waltz. Once I was done, I brought up the vision of Daisuke. It was a bit hard. All I could remember was that he had a stylish black mohawk and appeared highly loyal to Hiro and Kenji. "How does Daisuke kill?”
"Like smoke. The person never sees him coming. One second the room is empty, the next second he's behind you with a knife at your throat."
“Wow.” I flipped the page and worked on a crystal glass. “How does someone learn how to kill that way?”
"Daisuke’s mother sold him to a factory when he was five.”
I stopped drawing and looked up at him. “What kind of factory?”
“Illegal textile operation. Kids working sixteen-hour days and sleeping on the floor.
He escaped when he was eight by learning to disappear.
To move through spaces without being seen.
To exist in the cracks where no one looked.
" Hiro paused for a second and then shook his head.
"By the time I met him, he'd been surviving on the streets for years. A ghost. No one even knew he existed."
"That's. . ." I didn't have words. I just started drawing again and adding shadows to the new glass and putting darkness swirling in the liquid. “Alright. . .so. . .what if there's smoke? Like, actual smoke. A smoke bubble on top that releases when you break it?"
Hiro quirked his brows. “What?”
“Alright. Follow me on this one. First of all, what sort of liquor does Daisuke like?”
"Anything dark."
"Okay, so. . .maybe. . .a mezcal and bourbon base. That gives it smokiness. Honey-ginger syrup for warmth. And activated charcoal to make it dark—like, really dark. Almost black."
"With the smoke bubble on top?" Hiro added, looking so damned pleased I began to grin.
“Yes, the smoke bubble on top. You look at it and you think it's just a dark drink. Then you break the bubble and smoke pours out." I flexed my drawing hand because my fingers were already starting to cramp. "You don't see it coming until it hits."
“But, Nyomi, how do you put a smoke bubble in a drink?”
“Easy peasy. Once the cocktail is finished, then you use this little cocktail bubble gun. It blows a bubble that sits right on top.”
“A bubble gun?”
“Yeah. But the bubble isn’t air. It’s smoke. We’ll call the drink, Hinoki Veil.”
Hiro’s mouth twitched. “How do you get smoke inside a bubble?”
“You hook the bubble gun to a smoker. Hinoki wood if we want it Japanese-clean, or cedar if we want it darker. You fill the bubble with smoke, settle it over the rim like a glass lid, and it just. . .waits there.”
“And then?”
“And then the guest pops it.” I mimed a soft tap with an invisible spoon. “And the smoke spills out over the drink like it was hiding. Like it was never there—until it is.”
Super pleased, Hiro exhaled. “That’s Daisuke.”
“Good.”
“How the hell do you know this?”
“I dated a bartender in college. He worked for this Michelin star restaurant. He would always sneak me in the back at night and do different private presentations.”
“Interesting.”
“He has his own chain of high-end bars now. Three locations in New York. Doing really well for himself." I shrugged. "We're still cool. He actually sends me videos sometimes—new cocktails he's working on, breakdowns of his techniques, that kind of thing."
Hiro watched me. "You should tell him to stop."
I blinked. "Why? It's friendly. We dated many years ago."
"You wouldn’t want him to send a friendly video and then the Dragon visit him."
The words landed flat.
Final.
A shiver ran through me. “No. I wouldn’t want that.”
I made a mental note to text Jamison later. The Dragon would not be visiting anyone on my behalf.
Hiro moved on. “Next is Toma.”
“True.” I shoved my discomfort away and flipped the page. Next, I thought of Toma. Both sides of his head were shaved, leaving a single unruly strip of bright purple hair running down the center like a wild flame. “Hmm. My guess is that Toma kills in a loud way.”
“Correct. Why do you say that?"
"Everything about him is loud, right? The tattoos, the purple hair, the way he talks."
"You've met him once and you read him well."
“I was searching for spies last night when I was sizing the Claws up, but that reading came through easily for Toma. So why is he so loud?”
"He grew up in a house with eleven siblings. Somewhere in the middle—not the oldest, not the youngest, not the smartest, not the cutest. Just. . .there."
My chest ached. "So, he made himself impossible to ignore?"
"Yeah. Plus, his father used to lock the kids in the basement when he drank. No light. No food. Sometimes for days." Hiro's voice flattened. "Toma learned to scream louder than anyone. Learned that if he made enough noise, someone might come. Someone might hear."
I stopped drawing.
"When he kills, he wants you to hear him coming. Wants you to know exactly what's about to happen." Hiro made a crushing gesture with his fist. "No silence. No shadows. Just noise and destruction and the absolute certainty that Toma was there."
I sat with that for a moment.
The loud hair.
The louder personality.
All of it suddenly made brutal sense.
"His drink needs to perform. It has to announce itself." I began to draw a skull-shaped glass. "What if we do a drink that changes? Like, violently. In front of you."
"How?"
"Butterfly pea flower makes things purple.
But when you add citrus, it transforms. Goes from deep violet to bright magenta right before your eyes.
" I started writing ingredients. "So the bartender brings it out purple—dark, moody, like it's hiding something.
Then they squeeze lime into it at the table. "
"And it changes."
"Oh yeah. The color shifts. Then we light the surface on fire." I grinned. "Impossible to ignore."
Hiro nodded slowly. "That's Toma."
"Whiskey base because he seems like a whiskey guy.”
“He is.”
“We could do jalapeno syrup for heat, black salt rim. And we'll call it. . .Purple Riot."
“Mmmm. Tasty. The Fangs are going to be jealous.”
“They won’t be jealous because they’ll get to try the drinks too.”
“The cocktail party is only for the Claws.”
“Yes.”
“We’re being nice by letting the Dragon and Roar come.”
“That’s really nice of y’all.” I chuckled. “But still, we are letting the Fangs try the drinks during dinner and do not argue with me about this.”
“Fine.” Hiro pursed his lips.
“So now, it’s the twins right?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” I glanced at the window and realized the light had shifted—we'd been at this for over an hour. My shoulders ached from hunching over the sketchpad, but I didn't want to stop.
I thought about Aki and Yuki. Perfect mirrors in slim black suits. Slicked-back hair. And identical scars on their chins.
I looked at Hiro. "How do the twins kill?"
"Like one person in two bodies."
I stopped drawing. "What do you mean?"
"They don't communicate. They don't signal. They don't even look at each other. They just move. Together. Always together. Like they're sharing the same brain."
"That sounds amazing."
"It makes me think that. . .twins can feel each other's pain."
I tried to picture it.
"Aki is fire. Loud. Aggressive. In your face.
He makes you think he's the only threat—makes you focus everything on stopping him.
" Hiro's hands moved as he spoke. "And while you're dealing with the inferno in front of you, Yuki is smoke.
Circling. Patient. Waiting for the opening his brother creates.
You won't see him until his blade is already in your back. "
"So. . .Yuki is the real danger?"
"They're both blades. They just cut from different angles."
"That's terrifying."
"That's love too. They'd die for each other without hesitation. And they'd kill for each other even faster."
I sat with that for a moment. "What happens if they get separated in a battle?"
Hiro's expression darkened. "They don't.”
“Never?”