Chapter 34

Alone in my bedroom, I sit on my bed, my back against the wall, and stare out the window at the city. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. Maybe it will go straight to voicemail, and I won’t have to—

“Hello? Do you have news about Tavian?”

It’s Mom.

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow hard. “It’s me, Mom.”

“Tavian! Are you all right? Where are you? Let me get your father, he was just heading out to work…”

It must be early morning there. I shut my eyes and try to imagine my dad chugging down coffee and blundering into things while reading a book with breakfast, and my mom opening all the blinds to let the gray overcast light of morning inside.

There’s a click and scuffling sound. “Tavian?” It’s Dad.

“I’m here,” I say. “I’m back with Tsuyoshi and Michiko. I’m safe.”

“What happened to you?” Dad says. “Where did you run off to?”

“I didn’t run off,” I say. “I found Yukimi.”

Dead silence. I use this opportunity to tell them everything I told my grandparents. It’s bizarre describing my biological mother to Mom or telling Dad that my biological father was yakuza. I hear a little intake of breath from both of my parents when I tell them that Zenjiro Matsuzawa has been hounding me.

“I don’t know what Zenjiro wants.” I laugh bleakly. “To adopt me?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mom says.

“I mean, I’m his grandson,” I say. “His only grandson. But I’m also the son of a nogitsune they’ve been hunting for years. Yukimi told me that Zenjiro might find me ‘useful.’”

“That’s how yakuza operate,” Dad says, his tone thick with cynicism. “I don’t know much about Zenjiro in particular, but he likely wants to use you as leverage against Yukimi and kitsune in general.”

Mom exhales in a hiss. “I don’t care who Zenjiro thinks he is,” she says, getting all fierce. “I have an attorney friend or two who can sue him into submission. Hell, I’ll even do it myself.”

“Mom!” I groan. “Don’t sue anybody.”

“Zenjiro can’t be trusted,” Dad says.

“Obviously,” I say.

Dad clears his throat. “Even if he’s your grandfather by blood.”

I grimace. “I know.”

“It’s too dangerous there,” Mom says. “Tavian, you’re coming home. Don’t worry, we can change your ticket so you can fly home before New Year’s; you’ll be safer back in the U.S.”

A flock of anxieties flutters through my stomach. “I can’t. Not without the naming ceremony. I need Yukimi’s blood, and her true name. And since I can’t have the blood of Akira, I need one of his bones.”

“So a little bit of DNA and some mumbo-jumbo is going to cure you?” Dad says, not even bothering to disguise the skepticism in his voice. “Sounds like modern medicine to me.”

I grit my teeth. “Maybe I’m a mumbo-jumbo kind of person.”

“Tavian, ignore your father,” Mom says. “Could you explain the naming ceremony again, for me?”

“Well, Shizuka would perform a ritual, and grant me my true name. With my true name, I should be able to control my kitsune magic and stop it from killing me. I know, it sounds frustratingly mystical. Shizuka didn’t exactly give away any trade secrets.”

“Okay,” Mom says.

“I know you’re not totally convinced,” I say. “I’m not, either. But this is my only shot.”

“We don’t know that,” Dad says. “We’ve been in touch with a doctor—”

“Dad!” I fight the urge to shout. “Let me try this.”

Another long silence.

“I promise I’ll keep in touch,” I say. “And I’ll try not to drop off the face of the earth. But I need to do this.”

“Kazuki,” Mom says, “he’s old enough to make his own decisions.”

Dad grumbles something that sounds like a tectonic plate moving.

“Please?” I say.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dad says.

I lower my head and sigh. “I won’t. Thank you.”

“Text me,” Mom says. “Oh, your phone is broken, I remember. Well, buy a new phone and text me.”

“I’ll try to keep this one intact,” I say dryly.

“We’d better go,” Mom says. “We’re going to be late to work soon. Good night, Tavian.”

“Good night,” I say. “Or rather, good morning.”

Mom laughs a tired little laugh. “Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Dad grunts, his version of love you.

I hang up, then drop the phone. Exhaustion overtakes me, turning my bones to lead and my muscles to mush. I fall back onto my bed, spread-eagle, and exhale in a rush.

“Tavian?” Gwen whispers.

I pry open my eyes a crack. She’s standing over me in her pajamas, wearing a blanket like a poncho.

“I heard some of that,” she says. “You were talking kind of loud.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m done now. You can sleep.”

“It’s too cold.” With that as her excuse, Gwen crawls into bed next to me. “Let me steal some of your warmth.”

I wriggle out of my jeans and toss them over the edge of the bed. The two of us snuggle together under the blankets and I tug her closer, feeling the length of her body against mine.

“How are you feeling?” Gwen says.

I think for a moment. “Bad?”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

I sigh. “Like an impostor.”

Gwen props herself on one elbow to look at my face in the dim light. “What do you mean?”

“Like I shouldn’t be here, with Michiko and Tsuyoshi.”

“Why?”

I swallow back the bitterness. “I’m not really their grandson.”

“That’s not true. They adopted you.”

“It doesn’t matter who adopted me. I’m the son of a nogitsune and a yakuza. I might as well paint a big red target on my forehead and go stand out in the middle of the street.”

“Hey. No being melodramatic,” Gwen says.

“If I knew this was going to be such a melodrama, I don’t think I would have ever set foot in Japan again.”

“You aren’t glad you found Yukimi? Or learned about your father?”

I stare heavenward, my eyes tracing patterns in the darkness. “Not glad,” I say. “But I needed to know.”

Gwen snakes her arms around me and squeezes me. “You’re going to get your true name. And then we’re going to go home, and this will all be a story we can tell people together.”

My eyes sting, my throat burns. “I hope so,” I whisper.

Seconds slip into minutes. Gwen’s breathing deepens and her arms slide away from me, limp with sleep. I close my eyes and will my breathing to slow, but I can’t fall asleep.

I’m afraid of my own dreams.

~

I hunch over the bathroom sink and cough so hard my ribs ache. The taste of iron lingers on my tongue. I swish water in my mouth, then spit. Red swirls on the ivory porcelain.

I freeze, my hands gripping either side of the counter. Blood?

There’s a soft rap on the door. “Tavian?” It’s Gwen.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say.

I open my mouth wide to see if maybe I bit my tongue, but I can’t see any wounds. The tickle in my throat starts scratching again, and I gulp another cup of water to try to drown it.

“Are you okay?” Gwen says. “I heard you coughing.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

I wipe my mouth on a tissue and throw away the evidence, then open the door and try to look okay for Gwen’s benefit. She doesn’t seem convinced, her face pale enough to lose her freckles again.

“You don’t look okay,” she says.

There’s no point in lying, is there?

“It’s the anburojia,” I say. “You were right, it was masking the pain of shapeshifting.”

She comes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. “Tavian?”

“What?”

“How sick are you?”

My hands tremble as I fill my glass for another drink of water. I sip slowly, then start coughing halfway through, sputtering into the sink. Blood, unconcealable evidence of my body failing.

Gwen’s eyes grow huge. “That’s not good.”

I wipe my mouth off on another tissue. “You think I should wake up my grandparents? I don’t want to go back to that useless hospital. Those doctors didn’t know anything about kitsune.”

“I don’t know. Do you want to wake them up, or should I do it?”

“You? Please?”

She sighs, then stalks out of the bathroom.

When my grandparents arrive, I get the same huge eyes.

“Come on,” Michiko says. “Lie down in bed. Tsuyoshi, help him.”

I shake my head. I’m not about to lean on my elderly grandfather for support. I can hobble to the bedroom myself. My head feels like a balloon on a string, floating high above my body. I lie down on my bed and watch the room spin like a demented merry-go-round.

“What happened to him?” Tsuyoshi asks Gwen.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I woke up when he started coughing, and then I saw him coughing blood—”

“Coughing blood?” Michiko’s face looks ashy. “How much?”

“Not very much,” I say hoarsely. “And by the way, I can still talk. I’m not a total invalid, you know.”

Tsuyoshi glowers at me like too much sarcasm is bad for my health.

“We think it was the fruit,” Gwen says. “The anburojia.”

Michiko looks to Tsuyoshi. “We should call the myobu. See if Shizuka will come this early in the morning.”

Tsuyoshi glances at his watch. “It’s nearly dawn. She will come.”

With another hefty donation to the temple, of course she will.

“We trust Shizuka?” I say. “We know she’s working with Zenjiro.”

Tsuyoshi doesn’t even answer, just leaves the room.

Michiko sits beside me and pats my hand. “Sometimes,” she says gently, “the best way to fight the yakuza is to not fight them at all. Shizuka will be able to help you with your sickness.”

I stare at her. “So you’re saying if we give up, we win?”

“You misunderstand me,” Michiko says.

Clearly.

“The more you struggle,” she says, “the more it will hurt.”

I stare at her. “Are you saying that I should give myself up? Let the myobu hand me over to the yakuza? I don’t know what Zenjiro wants from me, but I don’t think it’s good.”

“If we believed Shizuka would betray you,” Michiko says, her eyes sharp, “we wouldn’t call her here.”

“For enough of a price, she will,” I point out.

Tsuyoshi returns, telephone in hand. “She will be here shortly.”