Chapter 25

“Tavian?” Yukimi looks back at me.

There must be something on my face, something betraying the terrible thoughts swarming in my head like a hive of wasps.

I shake my head. “I’m tired. Didn’t sleep.”

“Anburojia can do that to you,” Yukimi says. “You need to eat.”

She’s actually caring about whether I starve or not, actually going into the kitchen and opening cupboards. Being something like a mother to me. Like Okāsan.

I stand at the threshold of the kitchen, my shoulders rigid.

“Can you cook?” she says, pulling out a bag of rice.

“I’m learning,” I say.

Yukimi plugs in a rice cooker. “Come here, then. I’m not going to make breakfast for you.” Despite her gruff talk, she pulls a carton of eggs from the fridge.

I stand by the stove as she sets a skillet there. I take the oil from her and pour it onto the cold iron as it heats up, slowly, the oil starting to sizzle and pop.

What am I going to do? There has to be a way to say this right.

“Take the egg.” Yukimi nudges my hand with its cool shell.

I crack it against the edge of the skillet, much too hard, and it explodes everywhere.

Yukimi growls under her breath. “What a mess. You have—”

“Tell me who he is,” I say.

She grabs a roll of paper towels. “Who?”

“My father.”

Yukimi rips off a paper towel, starts to mop up the egg, then shoves the roll at me. “Here. You clean it up.”

I wipe the egg from the tile floor, but I keep my eyes on her.

I’m going to be the silent one now, to let the unspoken words blink into existence.

“Later,” she says. She dumps some water into the rice cooker without measuring it, then grabs the rice.

“Then tell me who the noppera-bō is.”

Yukimi stiffens, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Why?”

“Why not?” I straighten. “He’s haunting me, isn’t he?”

Yukimi closes the lid on the rice cooker and turns it on, still playing pretend. “You shouldn’t listen to anything the noppera-bō tells you. He was a liar, and still is.”

“So you knew him,” I say.

“I did.”

Finally, finally, she’s answering my questions. Well, answer this.

“Was he my father?”

Her face stays serene, though I know now it’s as fragile as eggshell. She opens the fridge again and pulls out a bundle of green onions, then takes a knife from a drawer, and a cutting board. She arranges them as delicately as if she’s performing a traditional tea ceremony. Like this is a show.

“Yukimi,” I say. “Tell me the truth.”

She starts chopping the onions, her movements slow, careful.

“Okāsan.”

Her hand speeds up, the onions springing off the counter.

“I know you keep his photo with you,” I say quietly, no matter how loud the pain feels inside me. “I know you must still think about him. How did he die?”

Yukimi drives the knife an inch deep into the cutting board. “What photo?”

I wait for a moment, my heart thudding so fast in my chest I’m afraid of what might happen if I speak too soon, if she unleashes the barely restrained fury in her voice.

“The one behind the mirror.”

Yukimi marches past me, aiming for the stairs. I follow her, but she breaks into a run and bounds up the steps. In her bedroom, she snatches the mirror from the dresser and yanks the glass out. The photo floats, seesawing, to the ground. I lunge for it, but Yukimi blocks me with her arm and a fierce look.

“You will never see this again,” she says.

And that’s how I know I was right, and this was my father.

She grabs a lighter from the dresser. I strain to reach the photo, but it’s too late. Fire crawls over the photo, shriveling the paper, devouring the man’s face. Reflected flames dance in Yukimi’s eyes as she drops it in a glass to burn.

“That will be forgotten,” she says.

I watch the photo crumble to ashes. “Like you forgot me.”

Yukimi looks at me, and her face twists, and I can tell she wants to tell me everything she doesn’t know how to say. She grabs my arm, her grip bruising, but I yank away.

“Tavian,” she says.

I walk out of the room.

~

My father is dead. My father is the noppera-bō.

The thoughts chase each other round and round my head until I’m dizzy, grabbing my hair in my fists. I stagger down the hallway and push open the door to a bathroom. I slam the door, twist the lock, and sit against the tub, pressing my spine against the cold porcelain, trying to borrow some of its solidity.

My father’s voice echoes in my head. You must learn my name.

I lift my head, my gaze caught by the gleam of the mirror above the sink. I climb to my feet and stand before the mirror. I think of the way Yukimi kept his photo in her mirror, his face behind her own. My throat tightens until it’s hard to breathe.

I lift my gaze to my reflection. Do I look like him?

My eyes blur and the mirror goes out of focus. I blink hard and lean with my hands on either side of the sink, breathing raggedly. I turn on the faucet and splash some water on my face. When I wipe the water droplets away, I can see again.

The noppera-bō steps beside me, inside the mirror.

The eggshell blankness of his skin melts, reforming into eyes, a nose, a mouth. He isn’t faceless anymore; he has the face from the burnt photo. His pale, bluish lips part.

“Father?” I sound croaky. “Is that who you are?”

“Yes.” He has a voice now, but it’s faint, so faint. “Can’t… her…”

I stare at him, unblinking, not even wanting to glance at myself in the mirror to see if we look the same.

“What does Yukimi know?” I say. “What is she—”

Footsteps rap down the hall. Yukimi pounds on the door so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Tavian?” she calls.

I double-check the lock. “Go away.”

“Tavian…” whispers my father. “Must…”

The reflected ghost melts into the silver sheen of the mirror. I press my palm flat against the glass, as if I can feel him, but there’s nothing but cold beneath my skin. I watch him fade away, leaving me with a fierce hollowness in my chest.

“You’re wrong.” Yukimi’s steely voice cuts right through the wall. “I never forgot you.”

I wrench open the door.

She slides one foot into the room, then freezes, her weight poised on her toes. Her nostrils flare and her eyes darken. “He was here. You spoke with him.”

I stare at her. “Why shouldn’t I speak with my own father?”

Yukimi exhales her breath in a hiss and steps closer to me. “He will lie to you, say anything to lure you away from me. He will drop you in the hands of the enemies.”

“My father is one of the enemies?”

She clenches her hands and lowers her gaze.

“Tell me,” I say. “Just tell me. Why do you want to keep him a secret from me?”

Yukimi’s eyelids flinch. “He’s dead now.”

I suck in a slow breath. “I didn’t even get to look at his picture for more than a second. And now I’m afraid I’m going to forget his face—” My voice cracks.

Yukimi drags me into a crushing embrace. Her grip knocks the breath out of me and I don’t know what to do with my arms—it’s awkward and it’s starting to hurt. I fight her, trying pry myself out of her grasp, but she’s an equal match.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

A hot tear slips from her cheek onto mine. The anger melts away inside me, and I let her hug me, because I don’t know what else I should do right now, even though I have a terrible feeling I don’t really know the woman I’m holding.

“I’m sorry,” Yukimi says, “but I can’t keep you safe.”