Foxfire (An Other Novel) (2 page)

“They are.” I smirk. “But don’t worry, I bought you that phrase book.”

She sighs. “I can’t learn Japanese in three weeks.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised what you can pick up when forced to communicate like a Neanderthal.”

Or when you can’t communicate at all, and your growls and yips brand you a crazy boy.

We file out of the airport and head for the parking garage. Tsuyoshi takes a key fob from his pocket and clicks the button. A silver Audi sedan flashes its lights. I arch my eyebrows. Nice! And also pretty damn expensive. We all pile into the Audi and the engine starts with a tiger’s purr. Gwen glances at me and squeezes my hand.

“Buckle down,” Michiko says.

I think she means “buckle up,” but I fasten my seat belt anyway—and just in time. Tsuyoshi peels rubber as he whips the Audi into reverse, drifts sideways, then shifts into drive and zooms out of the parking garage. We hit the road, and Michiko rattles off something in Japanese. Tsuyoshi mutters back and I don’t catch any of it.

Gwen looks at me and mouths, “What did they say?”

I shrug and shake my head.

Frost ices the black trees along the highway, and the blank sky hints at snow. It’s the twenty-first of December: the first day of winter. I know it’s stupid, but I wish I could have returned to Japan in the summer. Winter feels unlucky. When I joked about this with my parents back home, Mom told me not to worry, and Dad said it was important to Tsuyoshi and Michiko that I was visiting them for
Shōgatsu—
New Year’s—which is a huge deal in Japan.

I guess they’re right.

The highway from Narita to Tokyo is lined by ugly concrete clone buildings and construction, but Gwen still presses her nose against the glass, soaking up every glimpse of Japan. The hum of tires on pavement starts to lull me asleep.

The car window reflects my spiky hair and the shadows under my eyes. In the corner of the glass, an eggshell-white oval drifts nearer. A face, but it has no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Faceless. Blank skin stretched tight over a hairless skull. When I blink, it’s gone, and the hairs on my arms are standing on end.

Either my brain is glitching, or I’m being haunted.

two

A
kasaka, Tokyo: a neighborhood in the Minato ward, in the heart of the metropolis. Tsuyoshi screeches to a halt in front of an imposing skyscraper—maybe his resum
é
includes stunt driver—and tosses a valet his keys. The rest of us climb out at a more reasonable pace, faintly carsick in my case. Gwen peers up at the glass-and-steel tower, squinting as the wind blows snowflakes into her eyes. I feel conspicuously shabby as we enter the polished granite lobby. Uniformed men and women bow smartly as we pass.

We take the elevator up to the thirty-eighth floor, near the top of the skyscraper. Michiko unlocks the door and I resist the urge to gawk. Outside, Tokyo glitters beyond vast windows. Inside, everything glistens in hardwood, eggshell white, and bits of glossy black. The condo looks as elegant and well-balanced as a calligraphy scroll.

I knew they were well-off, but I hadn’t actually seen it until now.

We all take off our shoes and step into house slippers. Tracking any dirt past the
genkan
, or entryway, would be an enormous no-no. I’m about to walk onto the raised floor of the living room when I freeze in mid-step, inches away from a faux pas. I’m
tebura,
empty-handed. I unzip my bag and pull out a collectible tin of Aplets and Cotlets. I bought the fruit candies at the airport in Seattle, after Gwen reminded me I didn’t have a gift for my hosts.

Holding the Aplets and Cotlets in both hands, I offer them to my grandparents with a slight bow. “
Tsumaranai mono desu ga, dōzo.
” My very rough translation: I’m afraid this isn’t much of a gift; please accept this boring thing.

Tsuyoshi and Michiko both incline their heads. “
Arigatō gozaimasu.
” Thank you.

“
Dōitashimashite.
” You’re welcome.

My face heats. I’m sure my Japanese sounds awful, or I’ve forgotten something vital about gift-giving and now look like an ungrateful idiot. But Michiko takes the tin from me with a small smile, then squirrels it away in the kitchen.

Tsuyoshi turns to me. “Leave your things here,” he says in Japanese.

I nod, the rusty language gears clicking in my brain. Michiko starts to lug my huge suitcase away, despite the fact that it’s almost taller than she is, and I say, “Please,” also in Japanese. “Let me help.”

“Oh, no, you should prepare for dinner.”

Frowning, Gwen taps me on the shoulder. “Tavian?” she whispers.

“Sorry,” I say to her. “We’re eating soon, so it’s time to get ready.”

“You could have said that in English,” she mutters, her cheeks red.

In the bathroom, I’m confronted by a ridiculously high-tech toilet that looks like it might either start self-replicating or eat my butt. I try a button, and I get a flushing noise but nothing more. One of those modesty sound effects for those embarrassed by certain—ahem—noises. After some fiddling, I flush the stupid thing.

Bathroom conquered, I discover Gwen lingering in the hallway. She glances back and forth between the doorways of the two guest bedrooms, each furnished with a tiny bed and a tiny window that looks out onto falling snow.

“Did you call dibs on a bedroom yet?” I say.

She shrugs. “They’re more like closets. I’m not sure I’ll fit.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll take the right-hand one.”

I toss my jacket onto my bed, but it looks too sloppy in the pristine black-and-white aesthetic of the room, so I fold it neatly.

Gwen arches her eyebrows. “You okay?” she says in a low voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you don’t normally fold clothes. Your bedroom floor at home doesn’t have a square inch of visible carpet.”

I try to laugh, but it sounds fake.

Gwen furrows her brow. “No, seriously. You look sick.”

“I’m exhausted,” I say. “Aren’t you?”

“Hopefully you didn’t catch some germs from that nasty recycled air on the plane.”

Of course, the plane wasn’t the problem. I can’t stop thinking about the car ride here and what I saw in the window. I
am
exhausted. Maybe I’m hallucinating.

I meet Gwen’s eyes. “This is going to sound really dumb.”

“Tavian. Just tell me.”

“I can’t tell you, exactly.” I blow out my breath. “I don’t know what it was. When we were in the car, I saw this sort of white oval reflected in the window, like a face, only it didn’t have any face on it. No eyes, no nose, no mouth, no anything.”

“A faceless face? Isn’t that impossible?” There’s still more snark than worry in her voice.

“I swear, that’s what it looked like. Blank skin stretched over bone. Smooth as an egg.”

Gwen shivers. “You really saw
this?”

I nod.

“Are there any Others here like that?”

I hesitate. “I didn’t think of that. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Was that what you were dreaming about on the plane?”

“No.” I swallow, trying to wet my parched mouth. “That was about my mother.”

“Oh.” Gwen starts to say something more, then stops herself.

There’s a little cough. I glance back. Michiko stands in the doorway, wearing a blue dress patterned with either cloudy flowers or flowery clouds.

“Dinnertime,” she says.

Tsuyoshi and Michiko have a fairly traditional dining room, with a low table and pillows for kneeling. Dinner itself is delicious, a stew simmering in a hotpot on the table: beef, tofu, thick
udon
noodles, and tender
shītake
mushrooms. The hot
miso
broth slides down my throat and settles in my belly, filling me with a warm, dozy feeling.

For dessert, Michiko makes a big show out of opening the tin of Aplets and Cotlets, exclaiming over each sugar-powdered candy as if it’s precious. I can’t stop smiling, and for the first time today, Japan feels a little like home.

After dinner, Gwen calls her parents and I guiltily snatch up my cell phone, remembering I promised to tell Mom and Dad whether I’d crashed into the Pacific or not.

I stand by the window and dial. “Hey, this is Tavian—”

“Tavian?” Mom says. “Wait a second, let me get your father.” Without waiting for me to reply, I hear some muffled movement. “
Kazuki
! It’s Tavian!”

My dad joins on the other line. “Was your flight delayed?” is the first thing out his mouth.

“No,” I say. “Sorry, I meant to call sooner—”

“I knew he would be okay,” Mom says.

Dad grunts.

“How are Ojīsan and Obāsan?” Mom talks rapid-fire, like she’s afraid Dad will butt in. “I hope you’ve been nothing but polite to them.”

“Yes, Mom. It’s great to finally meet them.”

“And your Japanese?” Dad says.

I frown and slide one finger down the cool glass of the window. “Not too horrific.”

“Your grandparents don’t like English,” Dad says, for the eight hundred billionth time. “You should respect them by speaking their language.”

I clench my jaw. “I’m trying.”

“Octavian.” Dad sounds like he’s getting pissed.

“Kazuki,” Mom says. “I’m sure Tavian is doing just fine. And I’m sure your parents are more than
understanding
.” I can imagine her glaring at Dad while she says that.

They know my Japanese is childish at best. I spent the first six years of my life mostly as a fox. At the orphanage, they taught me how to behave like a good little boy, and I learned fast to avoid the sting of a textbook to the head. But Mom and Dad took me to America when I was seven, and Japanese was no longer a necessity.

“What are you planning to visit tomorrow?” Mom says, her voice falsely chipper. “Which district of Tokyo?”

“Not sure yet. I’m guessing Gwen will love Shibuya. Especially Harajuku.”

“Harajuku?” Dad grumbles. “Full of punks and hipsters.”

Dad grew up in Tokyo, unlike Mom, who’s second-generation Japanese-American. This doesn’t stop Mom from making an exaggerated sigh, like my dad is totally uncultured.

“Octavian, ignore your father.”

I swallow a yawn. “Anyway, it’s almost eleven here. It must be really early over there.”

“Nearly six a.m.,” Mom says.

“And your mother still hasn’t had her coffee yet,” Dad mutters. “She needs it.”

I laugh, imagining their joking bickering.

After saying goodbye, I tiptoe into Gwen’s guest bedroom. She’s still on the phone with her parents, talking in an excited murmur. She smiles when I blow her a kiss goodnight. I sneak back into my own bedroom before I’m caught.

I’m so tired I pass out the moment I hit my bed.

In my dreams, I’m no longer in Tokyo, but Hokkaido, the wild northernmost island. I’m walking naked through the snow, and for some reason I can’t turn into a fox, no matter how hard I strain for the transformation.

In the snow, there is only me, alone, lost. I don’t belong here.

Cold scrapes every bit of warmth from my skin. Above the howling wind, I hear a woman’s scream. The sound cuts straight to my bone. The wind shifts, and she screams again. Not a woman—a vixen’s cry. I run, stumbling, numb, until I trip sprawling in the snow. Flurries descend on me, burying me. My teeth chatter so hard they hurt.

Before me, a geisha-pale woman stands in the snow. Her hair flies like a ragged black banner flecked with snow. She wears a gleaming white kimono—the color of a bride, or of the dead. She lifts her arms to me, beckoning. Her red lips part, and she screams again. The call of a vixen who has lost her kit.

“
Okāsan,”
I say. Mother.

A tear slides down her cheek. “
Kogitsune
.” Little Fox.

“Why are you here?” I say.

“Come with me,” she says, her eyes as beautiful and hard as amber.

I climb to my feet, shivering, my skin icy. “Where?”

“Home.”

The snowy landscape shimmers, and for a second I see the deep green forests of Washington. The face of my mother blinks into Mom—the woman who raised me—then back into my mother.

Dread worms its way into my heart. “I can’t.”

“Kogitsune.” Okāsan sounds faraway. “Come with me before it is too late.”

I step toward her, to touch her, to know that she’s real.

But there’s a man standing before me, and he has no face. The snow doesn’t even touch his dark suit, just falls right through. He’s thin, like rice paper. Like a ghost.

The faceless man raises both of his hands to me, palms out, as if I’m a child about to fall from a high place and he’ll catch me. Okāsan’s face twists, her teeth sharpening into fangs, her ears pointing into black tips.

Her voice vibrates with a growl. “You’re dead.”

The faceless man reaches into his jacket and draws a gun.

Okāsan’s eyes narrow, and she laughs.

He pulls the trigger; the dream shatters. Red blooms on white, spattering the snow, soaking the kimono as she falls.

I wake with a gasp, a piercing pain radiating from the scar above my heart. With every heartbeat, fresh pain makes me double over in agony. I feel like I might vomit. I stagger to my feet and lurch to the bathroom.

In the hall, I nearly crash into Tsuyoshi, who’s standing there with a glass of water.

“Tavian!” he says.

I lean against the wall and try to stand up straight. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

“What is the matter?”

I shut my eyes. The pain is making me sweat. My mouth fills with saliva, and I swallow until the urge to retch fades. “I don’t know what my parents told you, but several months ago there were murders in my hometown … somebody was killing Others like me … I got shot, and … ”

Tsuyoshi points to my chest. “There?”

I nod. “Above my heart.”

“And it pains you?”

“Sometimes. I don’t know why. They took the bullet out.” Slowly, the throbbing starts to feel less raw. “It’s getting better now … I need to rest.”

Tsuyoshi frowns. “Do you need a doctor?”

Believe me, I’ve asked doctors, and put up with endless tests, but they can’t find anything wrong, physically. They told me it was predictable angina, which means I get chest pains periodically. They told me to take aspirin for it, but that hasn’t helped. Not that it’s ever been this bad before. This is pain in another league.