Foxfire (An Other Novel) (9 page)

Maybe I underestimated this girl. Her illusions are spot-on.

I let myself smile a little. “That was impressive.”

A blush blooms in her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“The origami koi illusion. How much do they cost?”

“They are not for sale,” she murmurs, in hesitating English.

Right. Even though the student just made a “donation” in return for her illusory good luck charm.

I decide to switch to English, since she’s speaking it, and it will give my brain cells a rest. “I’m Tavian Kimura.”

She dips her head in a brief bow. “My name is Junko. Come with me.”

Junko hurries away from the shrine, her sandals scuffing on the stones, her red skirt trailing behind her. She unlatches the gate to the path fringed with bamboo trees, lets me slip through, then locks it behind her.

My arm accidentally knocks against hers. “Sorry.”

Her ears redden and she walks faster, looking anywhere but at me. “Shizuka is waiting for you.”

“Do you happen to know why?” I give her a smile, as if that will help pry some information out of her.

“No.”

I follow Junko down the bamboo path, through a doorway I don’t recognize, and into a labyrinth of hallways. The shrine complex has a tight, winding feel, like a fox den. Well, a very elegant, aboveground den.

“Did she say anything about me?”

“No.” She hesitates. “Just that you were the American kitsune.”

I detect curiosity in her voice. “I’m from Klikamuks, Washington.”

Junko perks up. “By the White House?”

“No.” I can’t help but laugh. “Not Washington D.C., Washington State. In the west?”

She stares at me.

“North of California? Seattle is the nearest city to Klikamuks.”

Her voice falls to a mumble. “I have never heard of Klikamuks. But I am a poor student of geography.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “Most people haven’t heard of Klikamuks.”

Junko’s voice gets even more mumbly. “Are you … were you born there?” She glances coyly at me.

“No, I was born here. In Hokkaido, not Tokyo. But I was adopted.”

She nods, with a quiet “mmm.”

We stop outside a door with Shizuka’s name on it.

“I would like to hear your story,” Junko murmurs, looking at me with a sudden spark in her eyes.

I scratch behind my ear, not sure we’ll meet again. “Sure!” Might as well play the part of friendly American.

“Arigatō,” Junko whispers, shy again. She raps on Shizuka’s door, bows her goodbye, and leaves me alone.

The door sweeps open. Shizuka stands, tall and graceful, in a red kimono decorated with golden koi brocade. I wish for an irrational second that I could paint her portrait. Then I see her white tail peeking through her kimono and I come to my senses.

“I thought you might arrive at this time,” she says. “Please, sit.”

Her office is a study in white and black, with splashes of color here and there: a scroll of a kitsune wedding procession, an arrangement of red twigs in a vase, an apricot in a wooden bowl.

Shizuka pours us each a cup of jasmine tea. The steam rising to my nose carries the fragrance of night-blooming flowers and yōkai magic. I sip it too quickly and burn my mouth.

“So,” I say, “why did you call me back here?”

Shizuka looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “I know of your mother.”

She says it so softly I’m not sure I heard her right. “Yukimi?”

“Her name is spoken quite often in certain circles.”

“Which circles?”

Shizuka sips her tea, then swallows, her slender throat moving gracefully. “
Mizu shōbai
. The water trade.”

I set my teacup down. “You mean—?”

“Yes.”

The water trade is a euphemism for the business of the underworld—what goes on in the grimy underbelly of Tokyo. Under all the glitter and lights, there are bodies for sale, deaths that go unnoticed, illegal trades made in the shadows.

My guts tighten as if clenched in an invisible fist. Has my mother resorted to prostitution?

Shizuka seems to read my eyes, because she leans forward in her chair. “Yukimi would not have earned such a reputation as one of
those
women. She is one of the Sisters.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

Shizuka crosses her ankles. “That is unsurprising. They are secretive, and an American would certainly not know of them. But they are kitsune, and so the myobu are aware of their dealings. We would not like to be adversely affected.”

“What do you mean by ‘adversely affected’?”

“The Sisters are a gang of nogitsune who operate in the underworld. They engage in practices and behaviors that tarnish the reputation of kitsune as a whole.” She says this very primly, then sits with her lips pursed as if her tea is sour.

I pick up my cup again, so that my hands have something to do. My fingers are shaking slightly. “The Sisters are yakuza?”

Shizuka laughs without humor. “No. Yakuza do not allow women among their ranks. They consider females only good for childbearing and for pleasure. The Sisters, however, make themselves out to be champions of downtrodden women. Unsurprisingly, the two factions have been bitter enemies for decades now.”

I let some tea slide down my throat. “What else can you tell me about Yukimi?”

“That she is considered one of the more dangerous Sisters.”

“And?”

“That is all.”

“Do you know where to find her?”

Shizuka’s eyes gleam amber. “No.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “But I need to find her.”

“Yes.” She refills her teacup. “You do.”

I narrow my eyes. “You know more than you’re telling me.”

“Tea?” Shizuka still holds the teapot aloft.

I shake my head.

She sighs and sets the teapot down. “Octavian, you may try your best to control your foxfire, but there is only so much that can be done while you are nameless. You need to be named. Only then can you save yourself.”

“How?” I rub my forehead, my head starting to ache. “I don’t know very much about it—nobody ever told me much, or wrote anything down—but I thought I needed my parents to name me. My biological parents, which is a long shot.”

Shizuka lowers her voice. “You need only their names, and their blood.”

I’m silent for a moment. “From both of my biological parents?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t know who my father is. Or was. He might not even be alive.”

“Ah,” she says, her voice even softer. “Without his blood, you may use his bones.”

A shiver crawls down my spine and my stomach feels icy despite all the tea I drank. “And then I will be named?”

“Yes.”

“By who?”

A shadow of a smile touches her lips. “Me.”

nine

I
take the metro home in a daze, Shizuka’s words swarming around my head. The Sisters. My true name. The blood of my mother, the blood—or bones—of my father. If I find Yukimi, she can tell me about my father. And then I can be named.

Only then can you save yourself.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Gwen:

Come home now.

That’s it.

Dread pulses through my veins. Why didn’t she call me?

At the stop for Akasaka, I wedge myself through the crowds on the platform and take the stairs two at a time. I jog down the street, slowing to a brisk walk when I reach my grandparents’ building. The doorman narrows his eyes when he sees me puffing, and I try not to skid on the marble floors in the lobby.

The elevator, predictably, takes several eternities to make it to the thirty-eighth floor. Finally, I burst out and sprint the last distance to the apartment. My hands sweaty, I fumble with the keys, then unlock the door and burst inside.

The living room is empty.

“Hello?” I kick off my shoes. “Is anybody home?”

Then, from the bathroom, I hear Gwen call, “Tavian?”

I force myself to walk at a normal pace and to keep my face somewhat calm, just in case I’m grossly overreacting. Gwen meets me in the doorway, her face pinched. There’s a little blood on her hands. My stomach ties itself into a tight knot.

“Come in here,” she says, “and talk to your grandmother.”

“It’s nothing to worry about!” Michiko says.

Gwen steps aside so I can see into the bathroom. Michiko is standing by the sink, the medicine cabinet open, her arm under the faucet. Red water swirls down the drain. She’s washing a wound on her arm, deep red holes in a crescent on her soft old skin—a bite mark, big enough to be a dog’s. Sourness rises in my throat.

“Inugami.” Gwen’s voice is husky, like she’s been screaming.

“What happened?” I say.

“A dog bit me,” Michiko says, matter-of-factly. “But I know how to bandage myself. My father was a doctor, and my mother was a nurse. There’s no need to go to the hospital.”

Gwen heaves a growling sigh. “It’s going to get infected. Tavian, don’t you agree?”

I ball my hands into fists. “What
happened
?”

“They attacked us.” Gwen’s eyes flash gold. “They must have started stalking us the moment we stepped out the door. On the way back from grocery shopping, on this little back street, we hear a dog’s nails clicking on the pavement. There’s nobody else around. We look back and Ushio’s charging at us. He knocks Michiko over, and—”

“A lot of perfectly good pickles wasted,” Michiko muses, daubing antiseptic on her arm. “Smashed all over the sidewalk.”

“Obāsan!” I say. “I don’t care about pickles. I care about you. You’re hurt. Gwen is right, you need to go to the doctor.”

Michiko actually rolls her eyes at me. “Unnecessary.”

Gwen sighs. “Do you want to know what happened or not?”

“Sorry,” I say.

“So Michiko is on the sidewalk,” Gwen says, “and Ushio is growling and slobbering in her face. I grab the inugami by his collar and try to yank him off her, but he’s too heavy. He snaps at me, then bites Michiko on the arm. Of course this makes me really angry, because he just won’t let go, no matter how much I hurt him.”

“He is a rather strong dog.”
Michiko unwraps a gauze bandage.

“Here,” I say, “let me help you with that.”

My grandmother glances at me. “Do you know how?”

“Well, no, but I can still help.”

Behind Michiko’s head, Gwen mouths,
“Impossible.”

Michiko holds out her arm. “Wrap it tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not too tight or it will restrict circulation.” She speaks in a brisk, I-have-medical-savvy way.

As I follow her instructions, I glance at Gwen. I can see now that she’s wearing her shirt inside-out, which means she must have shapeshifted completely, but I’m still trying to figure out how she fought off the inugami single-handedly and protected my grandmother.

I cough. “So how did you beat Ushio?”

Gwen rubs the back of her neck. “I bit him.”

“As a snake,” Michiko adds.

“Not a venomous one,” Gwen says quickly. “Well, not very … ”

I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Tavian!” Gwen says. “It’s shapeshifting, not science. I don’t know exactly what kind of snake I was. I don’t always have a particular
species
in mind when I visualize the animal I want to become.”

“Ushio staggered away,” Michiko says. “He was alive when we left.”

“You’ve never turned into a snake before,” I say to Gwen.

“So?” she says, her eyes flashing.

“Fascinating.” Michiko says.

“Yeah, fascinating,” I say. “But Obāsan, you really should see a doctor. Just to be on the safe side.”

My grandmother scoffs. “Inugami aren’t like those werewolves you have in America. One little bite won’t change me into a dog-spirit. Your grandfather doesn’t need to worry.”

“You’re not going to tell him?” I say.

“I will tell him that a dog bit me, because a dog did bite me.” Michiko meets my eyes. “There is not much else we can do without provoking the inugami. We don’t need this in the news.”

I clench and unclench my fists. “So this was their way of humiliating us? To bite an elderly woman in the street?”

“I don’t think so,” Gwen says.

“Was it a crime of opportunity?” I say. “Why was Ushio alone?”

Gwen thins her lips, suspiciously quiet.

I narrow my eyes. “Tell me.”

“After I shapeshifted back,” she says, “I helped Michiko up and started getting dressed. Then we heard somebody laughing. Yuta and Katashi came down the street. Katashi looked furious, baring his fangs and snarling, but Yuta was laughing and holding him back. Ushio slunk up to them, whimpering, and Katashi kicked him. Yuta laughed harder and pointed to me. They were talking in Japanese; I couldn’t understand them.”

Michiko clears her throat. “Later, I translated for her. Katashi didn’t say very much that I would like to repeat—profanity, mostly. Yuta, however, was telling his brother that Gwen was an unusual specimen, despite being a girl, and they might find her useful.”

Gwen grimaces. “They let us walk away. Like it was all a test.”

I curse mentally, for Michiko’s sake. “Well, at least I know why they want
me
dead.”

“What, because you’re a kitsune?”

“Worse. Yukimi is one of the Sisters, a gang of nogitsune women. Bitter enemies with the yakuza. And apparently everybody knows I’m her son.”

Night falls like a cloth of black velvet dropped over the lights of Tokyo. I hide in my bedroom with Gwen, trying not to overhear my grandparents arguing. Michiko clatters around in the kitchen, supposedly cooking dinner, but I think she’s making too much noise for that. Tsuyoshi’s voice rumbles low, then rises to a shout until Michiko shushes him.

I lean back on my bed and sigh. “We’re doomed.”

“I’m sure your grandpa will cool down,” Gwen says. “Besides, it wasn’t your fault Michiko got bitten.”

“It wasn’t yours, either. And I was talking about the inugami.”

She chews on a hangnail. “Tavian, we’re not staying in Japan forever. I highly doubt Katashi is going to hop on the next flight to Seattle just to hunt us down. We can’t be that important to him and his drooling companions.”

“And until then?” I say. “Are we supposed to stay inside?”

Gwen glowers at me. “No. I don’t care if they consider all of Tokyo their territory. I’m not going to let some disgustingly stupid dog-spirits hurt any of us. Or their creepy yakuza boss. They can go screw themselves.”

I sigh. “You want to be a badass super ninja pooka, don’t you?”

This isn’t the first time I’ve called her that. Or the first time I’ve worried that she thinks shapeshifting makes her more indestructible than the average girl.

Gwen’s cheeks redden, but she smiles.

“I didn’t mean that as a compliment,” I mutter.

She hits me with a pillow. “I saved your butt. You owe me.”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t want to
have
to save your butt in return because you decide to tangle with the inugami again, on purpose, just because you feel like it.”

She sniffs. “I’m not stupid. I’m not asking for trouble.”

“Gwen, we’ve both had one too many near-death experiences. Let’s not collect the whole set.”

“Oh, come on.” She pretends to cuff me on the head. “You don’t have to worry about me, Tavian. And since when were you ever the voice of caution?”

“Now.” I keep a straight face. “We didn’t both survive a serial killer so we could get our asses handed to us by some dog-spirits. It’s not worth it.”

Her eyes glimmer. “What makes you think we’ll lose?”

I open my mouth to reply, but there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” I call.

Tsuyoshi sweeps open the door, his face shadowed. “We’re going to the hospital. You can come, or stay.”

“We’re coming,” I say.

We descend to the parking garage and climb into the silver Audi. Tsuyoshi hits the winding streets. Silence congeals the air until it’s hard to breathe normally. I glance at Tsuyoshi in the rear-view mirror. Beneath the sheen of passing streetlights, his eyes betray pain. Michiko looks out her window, cradling her bitten arm.

“What happened,” Tsuyoshi says, “with Shizuka?”

I swallow hard, but my mouth still feels dry. “Well, she had more to tell me. About my kitsune mother, Yukimi. She’s one of the Sisters.”

Silence returns.

“The Sisters are—”

“We know who they are.” Tsuyoshi’s voice is taut, strained. He’s driving a little too fast, passing other cars when he doesn’t need to. “Do your parents know about this?”

I glance at him in the rear-view mirror again, but he isn’t looking at me anymore. “Mom and Dad didn’t know anything about my birth parents when they adopted me.”

Tsuyoshi makes an impatient noise.
“Have you told them?”

“No.”

He eases up on the gas. “Things should remain that way.”

I clench my hands. “Are you asking me not to tell them?”

“Tavian.” Michiko twists back to look at me, her face softer. “The knowledge would be heartbreaking to them. They want to believe that they have raised a good son.”

My face flames. “So I’m a bad son? Because of Yukimi?”

Michiko purses her lips. “Many have overcome the misfortune of a shameful past.”

“I know you want me to keep this a secret,” I say, my eyes stinging, “but I’m not like Yukimi. She’s not my family. She’s just the woman who gave birth to me.”

Just. Can I really say that?

“There is no need to speak of this further.” Tsuyoshi brakes at an intersection and glowers at the pedestrians crossing the road. “Was that all Shizuka told you?”

“No.” I exhale. “She told me that with my true name, I’ll be able to control my kitsune magic and save myself. But I’m going to need the names and the blood of my parents first.”

“Well, that’s … good,” Tsuyoshi says, with a glance at Michiko.

“Yes,” Michiko says more confidently. “Our support is with you.”

Our support—to bury your past so deep no one will ever find it.

The hospital appears ahead, a smallish tower shadowed by its neighbors. We descend into the underground, and Tsuyoshi parks in a garage lit by sickly yellow halogen. Gwen catches my arm as she climbs out, and gives it a squeeze.

“Relax,” she whispers.

I realize I’m grinding my teeth, and I take a deep breath. The parking garage smells like stale, exhaust-laden air and mold-slicked concrete. I wrinkle my nose. There’s an animal smell down here, too, a vague furry aroma I can’t identify.

My shoulders stiffen. Would the inugami follow us here?

The Audi chirps as Tsuyoshi locks its doors, and I flinch at the noise. My grandfather escorts my grandmother to the elevator and I follow them, my hand in Gwen’s.

In the shadows, amber eyes glint. Watching me.

I swing my head toward the eyes, my legs tense. The eyes blink out of sight. I shudder and walk faster, passing between pools of halogen light. In the darkness, I glimpse a woman, silhouetted against a ramp leading deeper into the garage. Her mane of hair stirs slightly in a subterranean breeze. She looks at me, her eyes glowing.

“Yukimi?” I whisper.

Gwen tugs me onward. “Come on. What are you looking at?”

I look away for a second, then back—but of course the woman is gone. The fox inside me creeps to the forefront of my eyes, sharpening my night vision. When the doors to the elevator swish open, the light within blinds me. Eyes watering, I follow Tsuyoshi, Michiko, and Gwen, with a backward glance into the black.

The elevator ascends to the level of the hospital’s ER. Tsuyoshi ushers Michiko to the reception desk and starts speaking in rapid Japanese, too fast for me to catch much at all. Or maybe it’s because my head is muddled from the smell of the parking garage, or the whispers of Yukimi in my mind.

A nurse takes Michiko to a bed where they unwrap her homemade bandage and daub antiseptic on the glistening red punctures in her arm. The temperature in my face drops by several degrees and I have to look away.