Chapter 18

The moon peers at me through the window as I lie awake in bed. Sweat glues my skin together in places I’d rather not think about. My blanket feels like it’s roasting me alive. I toss it off, then pad across the room to turn down the thermostat, and frown at the snow outside.

Maybe I’m feverish. Maybe this is kitsune magic burning me to ashes.

Foxfire.

I’ve never summoned a ball of illusory white light. And I’d never known foxfire could be anything more than that. What didn’t Yukimi tell me? Where is she now? Can she save me?

I sprawl on my bed and shut my eyes.

Night air steeps in the scent of rain on hot asphalt. Cars hiss along the wet street. I open my eyes, bringing the world into sharp focus. I’m crouching in a dark alley, my nose held low, my whiskers damp in the steam rising from a manhole cover. A feral cat slouches past me, intent on a dish of day-old octopus outside a restaurant. The rich fried-batter smell of tempura saturates the breeze.

Instinctively, I know I’m waiting for something else. Someone else.

A woman’s heels click on the pavement. She’s wearing a cobwebby gray dress and black boots best suited for a nightclub or bar. She walks briskly, her eyes fixed on the street ahead, though she doesn’t carry herself like a woman afraid of the dark. She tosses a glance over her shoulder, her long black hair fanning, and I see her face.

High cheekbones, glittering amber eyes. It’s her.

“Yukimi!” calls a second woman, hurrying to join her. “Is she—?”

“Yes,” Yukimi says.

The second woman’s short-cropped hair reveals pointed fox ears. My ears prick. Another kitsune. I press myself low to the ground, hiding in the shadows, hoping they won’t catch my scent among the odors thick in the steamy night.

“Where are the others?” Yukimi asks.

“Late,” the other woman says. “We need to go, now.”

Yukimi nods and unsheathes two knives from her belt. “Aoi. Cover me.”

The woman—Aoi—nods, then moves her hands as if rubbing an invisible ball. The air between her fingers begins to glow white, coalescing into foxfire. My fur stands on end.

Yukimi strides down the alley, the knives held at her sides. I skulk along the wall, following in her shadow. She pauses outside a doorway and cocks her head. I can hear a woman sobbing, faintly. A man’s low voice rumbles, and the woman cries out. There’s a deep bark, followed by a rumbling snarl, and the woman quiets. Yukimi curls her lip, then marches up to the door and knocks.

My heartbeat races as the door sweeps open.

A bleached-blond man with tattooed arms bares his fangs in a grin. “You have no business with the Kuro Inu, bitch.”

Inugami. Recognition sweeps through me.

I’ve seen him before, but in the winter, not the summer, and I shouldn’t even be a fox—is this a dream? Everything around me shimmers and distorts like I’m walking in front of a movie projector, and I don’t belong in this movie.

This can’t be my dream.

“Move,” Yukimi says.

The blond man sniffs her, drool glistening down his chin. His gaze dips down her neckline. Yukimi snarls, and one of her knives flashes. The blond man yelps, his hand darting to his face. Blood trickles between his fingers.

“Bad dog,” Yukimi says.

A bark thunders from the blond man’s throat, and he lunges for her. In a blink, Yukimi twists, driving her other knife into his arm. He yanks out the blade, his face contorted, his limbs warping as he transforms into a dog. Aoi hurls her ball of foxfire at him and it shatters on his face, breaking into stinging centipedes. The inugami whines, flinging his head back and forth, scrabbling back.

Yukimi darts past him; inside the room, a naked woman hunches, bruised and battered, her arms tied to a chair. With her last knife, Yukimi cuts the woman loose and helps her to her feet.

A gunshot.

The naked woman screams, her arms flinching to cover her face.

Katashi walks into the room from a side door, a gun in his hand. He aims it directly between Yukimi’s eyes. “Let go of my wife,” he snarls, his voice guttural and growling.

Cornered by a man with a gun, Yukimi smiles. “Unlikely.”

She doesn’t see the two massive dogs creeping behind her, their muscles bunched and ready to spring. The woman in her arms whimpers.

This is Yukimi’s nightmare. Nothing more.

My body ripples into its human form, and I step forward. “Yukimi.”

Katashi bark-laughs. “The Sisters use little boys now?”

Yukimi cocks her head, a mixture of confusion and recognition in her eyes. She lowers her knife and walks toward me, her body held low, as if ready to dart away.

Aoi stands taut in the corner of the room. “Who is he?” she shouts.

Yukimi frowns. My vision fades in and out of focus, and I blink fast—she must be close to waking up.

“Fucking crazy foxes,” Katashi says, almost lazily.

The inugami sights down the barrel of his gun, his finger twitching on the trigger. Yukimi throws up her hand like she’s going to catch the bullet, stop it with her flesh—

Freeze.

The bullet hovers in front of Katashi’s twisted face; Aoi lingers in midair as she leaps closer; Katashi’s wife gasps, unblinking. It’s like Yukimi hit the pause button on her dream.

Yukimi lowers her hand and turns to me. “You ignored my letter.”

Do not look for me. I will come for you.

My throat tightens. “You’ve been following me. Why won’t you come out of the shadows and talk?”

Her face remains expressionless, doll-beautiful. “There may be a safe place for us to meet tonight.”

“Where?”

“The Sleepless Town.” Her lips twitch. “Kabukicho.”

I narrow my eyes. “The red-light district is safe?”

She shrugs.

“Where in Kabukicho?” I say, my voice rough.

“Near the south entrance,” she says, “a small yakisoba stand stays open all night. Wait there. If you hurry, you won’t miss the metro. The last train leaves Akasaka at midnight.”

“How will I get home?”

She says nothing.

I grit my teeth. Why is she so damn frustrating to talk to? Where is the woman behind that blank-faced mask?

“So we’re going to have a chat over some yakisoba. Great.”

She opens her mouth to respond, then sucks in her breath.

Footsteps echo in the hollow silence of the dream. A man in dark suit enters the room. He has no face.

Yukimi snarls, a feral sound in the back of her throat. “Get out.”

The noppera-bō turns to me. He stretches out his hands like he’s beckoning me into his arms.

I step toward him. “Who—”

Yukimi drives her knife into the noppera-bō’s back. He falls forward and tears into tatters of mist.

I stand with my hands useless at my sides. “Why did you do that?”

Yukimi wipes her blade on her sleeve. “He should not be here.”

“But who is he?”

“No one.”

“You’re lying.” I square my shoulders. “He’s in your dream, not just mine. He knows you. Knew you.”

She sheathes her blade without a word.

“Did you kill him?”

Flames blaze to life in her eyes. “Go.”

She flings her hand out at me like she’s throwing a piece of garbage away. I’m flung through the air. The world ripples and darkens around me as if I’ve plunged into a deep pool. Slowly, slowly, I rise to the surface—or am I sinking? My lungs burn, and panic builds inside my chest. I can’t breathe. I kick hard, thrashing against the tangling feeling of a mind trapped between sleeping and waking.

Finally, I stop trying to fight it and just let go.

I blink myself awake. I’m lying on my bed. It’s snowing outside, and I’m alone. I pinch the bridge of my nose, my head starting to throb. I’m not used to entering dreams.

The digital clock by my bed blinks to a new time: 11:46 p.m.

I have a train to catch.