Chapter 35

Shortly turns out to be about twenty minutes. I spend that time hunched over in bed, wracked by another coughing fit, and try not to panic at the blood-speckled tissues in my hand. Gwen sits beside me, handing me tissues, her mouth set in a grim line.

Shizuka appears in the doorway to the bedroom. She’s dressed in a storm-gray kimono—not a twelve-layered one, though—and has snowflakes in her tightly-pinned hair. Her eyes glint amber as she looks at me, so like Yukimi’s that my heartbeat stutters. Then again, my heartbeat has been stuttering on its own lately.

“What can you do to help him?” Michiko says.

“Let me determine that.” Shizuka’s voice sounds as silky as ever. “Please, some privacy.”

Michiko and Tsuyoshi bow—too low, if you ask me—and exit the room.

As Gwen walks past Shizuka, she looks at the woman with guarded fascination. But of course Gwen’s never seen a myobu before, and she’s always fascinated by new Others.

No matter how untrustworthy they might be.

As soon as we’re alone, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up—a little too quickly. Darkness constricts my vision. I fight it, refusing to show any weakness on my face.

“You have worsened quicker than I expected,” she says.

“Shizuka,” I say, “I already know what’s wrong. I ate some anburojia and shapeshifted when I shouldn’t have.”

“Anburojia?” Shizuka arches a delicate eyebrow.

“You know, the golden fruit that tastes bitter to humans but sweet to people like us and enhances our magic.”

“Supposedly,” she says. “I believe the substance should be illegal.”

“Illegal? Well, that’s not really a surprise.”

“Anburojia acts as a powerful stimulant to the mind,” Shizuka says, “and possesses the ability to numb the body. In your case, it would merely mask the negative effects of your condition. Did Yukimi explain this to you before giving you the anburojia?”

“No.” My face heats. “She said it would help me.”

“And did she explain to you the nature of foxfire?”

“Foxfire? No.” I pause. “And you never really did, either.”

A thin smile touches Shizuka’s lips. “True.”

A cough claws its way up my throat, and I hurriedly swallow another glass of water. “I remember”—I gulp some air—“that you said foxfire was the same as a kitsune’s magic.”

“Yes. Or rather, foxfire is the expression of a kitsune’s magic. Just as intelligence is the expression of your mind, and strength the expression of your muscles. All kitsune possess this talent, to varying degrees. But for a half-kitsune such as yourself, the physical limitations of your weaker body obstruct the expression of foxfire.”

I frown. “Wouldn’t that stop me from doing any magic?”

“You aren’t human enough for that.” Shizuka’s eyes soften, until she’s looking at me with something revoltingly similar to pity. “Your body is being eroded by the foxfire, like a rock too soft to channel the flow of a river. The river slows as its path becomes more and more winding, but it never stops until the rock has completely worn away.”

“Okay.” My stomach plummets. “So the anburojia was helping with… the eroding. Making me worse.”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

I inhale deeply, ignoring how my ribs ache. “I still don’t have anything for the ritual.”

Shizuka takes a pouch of evening blue silk from her kimono. “Yukimi would not tell you her true name? Or give you her blood?” She tugs on the drawstrings of the pouch and pulls out a vial of black liquid.

I rub the bridge of my nose. “I need to find her again.”

“The ritual requires it.”

“I know. I’m working on it.” My stomach tightens into a knot. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure I want you naming me.”

Shizuka holds the vial of black liquid to her eyes and shakes it. “Oh?”

“I want to name myself.”

She meets my gaze. “That’s unconventional.”

“Is it impossible?”

Shizuka’s eyes look like embers. “Do you know yourself?”

“Yes? Yes. I’m Octavian Kimura. I’m half-human, half-kitsune, and I’m going to die unless I can get my shit together.”

“True,” she says, “but not the whole truth.”

“That’s evasive.”

“There is more to you than Octavian Kimura.” Shizuka takes the empty glass from my bed stand. “Please wait while I fill this with water.”

I squint at the vial of black liquid. “To dilute that?”

“It has a rather disagreeable flavor,” she says. “The water will help.”

I nod, and she slips from the room in a rustle of silk. She left the vial on my bed stand. I pinch it between my two trembling fingers and stare at it. The liquid inside looks like honey the color of midnight. I’m tempted to twist off the cap, but I return the vial.

Shizuka reappears with the glass of water. “A drop to help you sleep.”

“I’m curious,” I say. “A drop of what?”

“Medicine,” she says.

I glance into her eyes, but I can’t see a trace of a lie. “Were you there? At the temple when I was born?”

Shizuka’s gaze flickers to my face. “Yukimi told you?”

“No,” I say. “Zenjiro did.”

“Ah.” Her face tightens, ever so slightly. “I was no more than a miko then, and you a newborn. Of course we would not recognize each other, now, but it is remarkable that we are reunited.”

“Did you talk to Yukimi? Do you remember if she said anything?”

“No,” Shizuka murmurs. “She was in a great deal of pain, and it was a long time ago.”

I realize how overeager I sound, and I clench my jaw. She twists the cap from the vial, then presses the open vial into my palm. Her slender fingers feel cool against mine.

“It will help you sleep a dreamless sleep,” she says.

Dreamless. The word sounds like a whispered promise. I can lie back and let the pain disappear.

I curl my fingers around the vial. “How much?”

“One drop,” she says. “Anymore, and it will be difficult to wake.”

I open my mouth, tilt back my head, and shake a single drop onto my tongue. It tastes like burnt rose petals and the way rain smells on sizzling pavement in the middle of summer. It ripples down my throat and sets my head spinning, dizzying me.

“Rest,” Shizuka says, “before you chase Yukimi again.”

“Sure thing,” I mumble, and my voice sounds slurred.

One moment, Shizuka is there, and the next, gone. Gwen takes her place. She looks down at me, her face blurry, rippling like the reflection of the moon in a black pond.

“You’re pretty,” I say.

“Thanks,” she says. “Shizuka didn’t skimp on the medicine, did she?”

I shake my head, my thoughts sloshing around in my skull. “I’m sleepy.”

Gwen sighs. “You’re not uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans?”

I close my eyes. She crawls into bed beside me, and I feel the warmth of her body mingling with mine. She says something, but I’m already too far away. Emptiness laps at the edge of my consciousness. If this is what death feels like, maybe death isn’t so bad.

When I wake, it’s a lighter sort of darkness. Evening, not night.

I drift in a pleasant daze as I stare out the window, admiring the fading gleam of the sun on the skyscrapers of Tokyo. Lights glimmer in the darkness like thousands of fireflies. A white veil of cloud drifts past the window, blocking my view. I frown. Hopefully the wind will pick up speed. But the cloud lingers, shifting as it hangs.

A face appears from the mist. Not Akira, but Yukimi.

Her lips move, and I hear her voice in my head. Tavian.

I sit bolt upright, black out, and almost fall back down again. My vision returns, and I see the translucent image of Yukimi hanging like a ghost outside the window. Like a ghost. Is she…?

I will wait for you to come to me, she whispers soundlessly.