Chapter 28

The back room in Ozuru’s restaurant smells like decades of greasy cooking are baked into the walls. Cardboard boxes and crates stand in wobbly stacks. I hear a squeak and see a shadow that looks suspiciously like a rodent, but I say nothing.

“Still have rats?” Yukimi says.

“The little bastards have gotten smarter lately,” Ozuru says. “Don’t taste quite as good, either.”

I try not to think about what might be sizzling on the grill right now.

Ozuru kicks aside some cardboard and unearths a small wooden box. He sets the box on a table and pries off the lid. Anburojia lies inside, each pale gold fruit individually nestled in tissue paper. The oni’s huge fingers look like they would crush the anburojia, but he plucks one out with surprisingly delicacy and places it in Yukimi’s hands.

“Only four?” she says.

“My supplier in Okinawa says it’s been unusually cold.”

“Hmm.” Yukimi brings the fruit to her nose and inhales deeply. Her eyelids flutter shut. “I’ll take them.”

“Great.” Ozuru fidgets, his eyes on the door. “Same price as usual.”

Yukimi slips a wallet from her jacket pocket and peels away an obscenely large amount of cash. Ozuru flips through the bills, then nods and pushes the box of anburojia toward her.

“There’s enough in there to cover the cost of our food, too,” she says.

“Thanks. Good seeing you again, Yukimi.” Ozuru glances at me. “And your son.”

“Same to you,” I say.

I sound so calm about this black-market transaction.

We exit through the back door and Yukimi heads to her motorcycle. A trio of teen guys with cigarettes stand beside it, gawking—until their eyes slide over to Yukimi instead.

One of them whistles. “This your bike, lady? Hot.”

My god, I can’t believe my mother is getting catcalled. I seem to be invisible to these guys.

“Sure.” Yukimi opens up a saddlebag and starts tucking fruits inside.

“Start her up,” says a particularly delinquent-looking, zit-infested guy. “I’d love to see how fast you can go.”

Yukimi buckles up the saddlebag, her back to them.

I roll my eyes and pick up a handful of pebbles. Let’s see if I can pull this off. I bring the pebbles to my mouth and breathe on them, concentrating on a particular illusion. My heart beats faster but holds steady, and the pebbles start squirming in my hand.

“Hey!” I shout. “Look!”

All three glance my way, and I chuck the illusion in their faces. Black beetles cascade down on them, creeping into their hair, falling into their eyes, scuttling down their shirts.

Yukimi smiles as the guys shriek and swat at themselves. “Let’s go.”

We climb onto the motorcycle and zoom out of there, the engine purring like a big cat. Behind us, I hear the pebbles clatter on the ground as the illusion fades away.

“You should be careful doing that,” Yukimi says, over the wind.

“Why?” I say. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“For a small illusion, yes. But you still don’t have full control over your foxfire yet. Not without a name.”

“So when are we going to do this naming ceremony, anyway?” I say.

“Soon.”

She accelerates, and the sound of speed erases my words.

Back at the Lair, the sound of snores greets us. I peek into the living room and see Aoi sprawled on the couch, her mouth open, the TV remote dangling from her hand. On the soundless TV, game-show contestants race down a slip-and-slide. Yukimi crosses the room to turn off the TV, and I follow behind her. There’s a woman I don’t recognize snoozing in the easy chair, and a vixen curled by her feet.

More of the Sisters, I guess. How many are there?

Something crunches beneath my foot. I glance down and see I’ve stepped on the smashed guts of my phone. And then it occurs to me that I don’t need a phone to contact Gwen or my grandparents. All I need to do is enter their dreams while they’re sleeping. I glance at my watch: 10:40 a.m. They have to be awake right now. But later…

Yukimi walks upstairs with the anburojia, and I follow her to her room.

“When are we going to eat those?” I say.

She tugs open a dresser drawer and tucks the fruits among sweaters. “After dark. For now, we sleep.”

“But it’s the middle of the morning!”

“And we’ve been awake all night.” Yukimi arches an eyebrow at me. “Now isn’t a good time to be running as a fox.”

I stifle a yawn and try to pretend like I’m not swaying on my feet. “What, the inugami have a day shift? Wait, I already know the answer to that question.”

“Oh?” Yukimi says. “How many times have you run into them?”

I count off with my fingers. “Once in Harajuku. Again in Shinjuku Gyoen. And later, they attacked my grandmother and my girlfriend when they were coming home from shopping.”

Yukimi’s face darkens. “They know where your grandparents live?”

“I hope not, but probably—”

“Zenjiro won’t let an opportunity like this pass.”

I meet her eyes, keeping my voice calm. “If you think he’s going to hold them hostage, why won’t you let me call them? Then I can warn them and tell them that I’m okay.”

Yukimi tidies the anburojia, her gaze distant.

“Or would you not care,” I say, “if an elderly couple got caught in your fight with the inugami?”

She shuts the drawer with a thump. “I’m not completely heartless.”

Good to know.

“I was thinking of a pay phone,” I say. “Far enough from here that it wouldn’t give away the location of the Lair. We could take the metro so we’re less conspicuous.”

“We?” she says.

I smile. “Well, unless you want to let me go out there alone.”

Yukimi’s eyes flash. “Alone is bad.”

“That’s what I thought. So, when does the next metro leave?”

“Next metro? Nice try.” She sits on the edge of her bed and kicks off her boots. “We’ll do it tonight.”

The hopeful smile on my face collapses like a house of cards. “Sure.”

Yukimi slings off her jacket and falls flat on her bed, her hair fanning around her head like a dark halo. Shadows hide the fatigue on her face. She shuts her eyes.

“Go to sleep,” she says.

“Of course.” I try to sound upbeat. “Wouldn’t want to drop dead.”

She opens her eye a crack, then shoos me away.

I leave, shut the door behind me, and sigh. The sigh merges into a jaw-cracking yawn.

Damn it, I am tired.

I fill my cheeks with air and let it puff out slowly. My feet feel like anchors as I go downstairs. I head into the bedroom there and discover yet another strange woman sitting cross-legged on the blanket I’d had before. She’s polishing a dagger with a rag and some oil. She looks bony, her face and her elbows sharp.

“Who are you?” says the woman. “Yukimi’s?”

I hesitate in the doorway. “She told you?”

“Yeah.” She holds the dagger to the light, her reflection glinting in the blade. “How long are you going to be here?”

“Not long.”

The woman arches her eyebrows, then unfolds her too-thin legs and stands. She sheathes the dagger in her belt and slips past me, leaning against the doorway so we don’t touch.

“You don’t belong here,” she mutters as she passes.

“I already know that.”

I close the door behind her, cutting off that nasty glint in her eyes, then grab a new blanket, one that doesn’t have unknown fox fur on it. I spread the blanket in the cleanest corner and lie down, staring at the cracks and mildew on the ceiling, trying to find faces. As if the noppera-bō might actually return to me here. My father.

I shut my eyes.