I pictured the ice hag with her hippie skirt inlaid with polished teeth, catching the light like mirrors. She’d tried to hurt me, but she was one of Kwaskwi’s people. He protected his own. The determination in his voice showed me here was the powerful protector I’d only seen back in Portland, willing to do violence in loyalty to his people. Kwaskwi tapped my chest. “I call in the debt you owe me. I charge you to return to Portland within two weeks.”
“You may not be able to make such promises. There’s so much here still to do,” said Midori.
“I promise,” I said simply. There was a pause; I was probably missing some gesture on his part. I sensed Kwaskwi moving away. “We Americans have to stick together. We will make sure the Portland Kind are safe,” I said loudly.
“Remember who you are, little carp. Remember who you are bound to,” the call came in reply.
Kwaskwi counted me as Portland Kind, as one of his. That felt right, I realized. Something in my chest that had chafed now settled into a warm, solid place.
From a short distance away, Kwaskwi spoke again. “Will you come, too?” His voice trembled in a way so uncharacteristic of my friend that my stomach plummeted. Whatever had happened to Dzunukwa, it was hitting Kwaskwi hard.
“Who’s he talking to?”
“Pon-suma,” Midori whispered back.
There was another long silence, Midori gasped.
“What?” I said. “What’s he doing?”
There was a muffled moan and then the sound of two people breathing raggedly.
“Ah,” said Midori.
“Are they…kissing?”
“Hmmm,” Midori said. “Quite.”
“Yes,” said Pon-suma suddenly and distinctly.
“Kwaskwi disappeared behind the cross. Now a blue jay is streaking up to the sky heading east toward the ocean,” said Midori.
Kwaskwi was gone. My eyes felt scratchy and hot, but I must have scraped the bottom of my tear well; no moisture remained.
Midori huffed. “Kawano-san insists on riding with your father.”
Guess Kawano thinks he’s still king of the roost around here. “No way. This limo is reserved for Baku only. Tell him I’m queasy and about to upchuck. Tell him I’m an unreasonable bitch. I don’t care. He’s not getting in here.”
The limo door shut. Midori spoke in a low tone to Kawano outside. Then the driver’s door opened and shut. I brushed Dad’s arm lightly. Blessed, blessed silence. Alone with Dad. I settled back against the seat.
The limo started and lurched into motion. After a few moments, a mechanical whirr marked the lowering of the limo partition between driver and passengers. Who was driving? Not the original driver who’d been on Tomoe’s rebellion team. I couldn’t even remember what he looked like. Maybe he got smooshed by the Black Pearl. I decided I didn’t care. I was too tired to keep track of everyone.
On the bumpy road back to the museum, my hazy understanding of what had just happened with the Black Pearl rattled round and round my empty-feeling brain like change in a dryer. I tallied up failures; Yukiko, gone. Dad in a blowback coma. Ken’s leg wounded. My forearm broken. My relationship with Ken broken. Making a mortal enemy of the Butcher of Nanjing.
On the plus side, the Black Pearl was free, her spirit swimming the Tsugaru Straits back to the Heilong Jiang and home. That felt right—a small warmth in the aching cold void of my middle.
I put a tentative palm on Dad’s head, softly stroking his bristly short hair. There was no moaning, no fever. He was breathing. Another thing to be grateful for.
“Is it afternoon? Any chance of dinner?” I said loudly.
“No, Herai-san. It is late evening,” said the male voice of the driver. Apparently I knew him after all. It was Kawano.
“God damn it.”
“Forgive Midori-san. I forced the issue. We need to talk without extraneous influences.”
He means without Tojo breathing bloody murder down my neck and Murase being insistent and reasonable and keeping me from big political blunders. Bring it, frog-man.
“Leave me alone. Leave my father alone. We’re not part of your Pacific Basin empire or whatever. We’ll just quietly go back to Portland and all this will be yours again.” I gestured at the empty back seat.
A long-suffering throaty sigh came from the front. The limo turned to the right, and then we were slowly crunching over gravel. “I think I underestimated your ability to influence the Council’s goals.”
I had nothing but smart aleck replies for that. I stayed silent.
“You assume, of course, that it is because you are Hafu.” Kawano chuckled in a smarmy, self-deprecating way. “Would you be surprised to hear it was more because of your youth and American-ness? Never did I guess a girl raised in the self-absorbed U.S. would wreak such havoc on the Council.”
“You’re calling me self-absorbed?” The ridiculousness of that accusation still stung. “I didn’t imprison a sentient being in a dank cave.”
“The loss of Yukiko-sama by itself is no small thing—she was a grand deterrent to factions that would upset the delicate balance of power between Pacific Basin Kind. But you also took away the Bringer.”
“He was never yours to begin with.” Or mine.
The limo stopped abruptly. I had to put out a hand to stop myself from flying off the bench. Suddenly Kawano’s river-smell and raspy voice were right next to me. “He is not America’s either, Koi-chan. Or The Eight Span Mirror’s. He’s broken, now. Most likely useless to any faction.”
Broken, like me? Like Dad? Dad had given everything to release the Black Pearl, only Yukiko’s death kept him from the ultimate sacrifice.
“Let me out.”
“And then you stole our future.” For the first time I heard emotion creep into his voice. Kawano was truly shaken. And creepily close. My arm was throbbing like Midori’s magic pills weren’t doing their job.
“Your potential future children aren’t more important than the Black Pearl’s life. Than her misery.”
Silence. Only Dad’s even breathing was audible. My skin crawled, waiting for what Kawano would say next.
“You and Herai Akihito will stay here, in Japan. You owe it to the Council and to all the Kind of the Pacific Basin.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” I said wearily. “Where were you when I was growing up? Why didn’t the Council stop Ullikemi’s murdering human servant? Because it was in Portland?”
“We have become insulated in the last couple decades, a regrettable result of our dwindling numbers. You and Gozen Tomoe-san can change that. With The Eight Span Mirror’s cooperation, there are many wounds to heal.”
“I just want to go home.”
“I can’t allow that,” he said, sounding infuriatingly regretful. “You are needed here.”
Okay, time to pull out the American guns. “I am not staying in Japan,” I said slowly and clearly. I tugged out my phone. “Hey, Siri,” I said. “Text Kwaskwi. Kawano wants to hold me hostage. If I’m not on an airplane home in two days call the Shishin or whatever. Send.”
Kawano sighed. “That was an unfortunate choice. I wonder if you understand what the price will be.”
“Look, I can’t speak for Dad, maybe he will want to stay. But this is not my home. I have people waiting for me in Portland.”
Kawano didn’t need to know I only really had Marlin, and no way was I going to explain to frog-man about the sense that I might never figure out how to make the powerful, hungry Baku meld better with morbanoid Koi. In Japan, all they saw was Herai Akihito’s Baku daughter. Portland would give me the space I needed to explore stuff without people expecting miracles or breaking my arm.
“Koi AweoAweo Pierce,” he said firmly, my true name like a hook catching between the ribs, “you will come back to Tokyo every year, regardless of Herai Akihito’s condition. You owe the Kind that much.”
I didn’t want to fold, but it struck me that spending time with Ben, Pon-suma, and Midori and the rest of The Eight Span Mi
rror as we figured out what it meant to be Hafu without the Council’s monopoly on power and hoity-toityness could be helpful. If I could scrape up the money
“Maybe.”
“Three times a year.”
“One.” The limo door opened. I felt cool, evening air on my cheek.
“Everything okay in here?” said Midori’s voice.
“Yes,” I said quickly before Kawano could change his mind. “Can you help me with Dad?”
Muscled arms smelling strongly of pond scum, not Midori, took Dad from the car. Then Midori helped me out and took my arm. “This way, watch the curb.”
“Why are you guiding her like that?” said Kawano behind me.
“She’s blind.”
I tried to imagine what Kawano would make of that news and then shook my head. It didn’t matter. I was on to the next hurdle. Midori led me inside and through the hall to the bathroom.
“Here are towels,” she said, putting my hand on a fluffy cotton. “And soap. I couldn’t find your luggage. But next to the sink I left a trainer and matching pants. Do you need me to stay and help?”
Oh god, no. “I’ll manage,” I said. The last thing I wanted was Midori here when I peeled away my stinking and soiled clothes to reveal the impressive palette of bruises I’m sure covered my arms and legs. “But if you have more of those pain killers before you go…”
She clucked her tongue. “Of course.”
After swallowing down another round of chalky tablets, I spent a painful, awkward half-hour sponging myself down and confirming all my parts, albeit mangled, still were attached to my body. It was odd being abandoned with my own thoughts after so many days straight with Ken, Dad, and the others. Odd, and uncomfortable, with the added sour tang of guilt over Dad risking himself in the end because I’d failed to release the Black Pearl on my own. The blowback is taking a really, really long time to heal.
But then I realized I wasn’t alone. Whoever carried Dad was back.
“You just going to stand there like a stalker?” I said in English.
“That wasn’t my plan,” said Ken. He must have been hesitating in the doorway. “But when it comes to you, none of my plans quite work the way I think they will.”
“Maybe you should quit trying to manipulate me and things would work out better.”
“You’re not…I wasn’t…” Ken’s voice came closer. I backed up until cold metal met the skin on my back revealed by my crumpled shirt. “I wasn’t trying to, this wasn’t about how I see you, about us—”
“You suck at explaining,” I said, crossing my forearms over my belly. “Like the worst.”
“Ben’s the smooth talker, I’ve always found greater success through action,” the jerkface said, then he was near enough to warm my skin through my shirt and little prickles of expectation raced up and down my spine.
So close, the lingering pond on his skin gave a sour tang to the air between us, but he didn’t close the distance. Whether hesitant or teasing, I couldn’t know without seeing his dark eyes. I dug my ragged fingernails into my palms to keep them from running along his chest, his shoulders, his back to confirm he was there, he was alive, and not drowned as I’d feared. Even the traitorous muscles in my throat began twitching at the caress of his breath along my jaw, making me lean in, making me want to fold myself like a painted silk furoshiki cloth around the treasure of my bruised heart and give myself to him.
God damn it. He is doing it again. This was the same bathroom seduction nonsense he used in my own home after the Ullikemi showdown, when he convinced me the best way forward was to bring Dad to Japan. Now he was pulling the same shit again. Why? To make me stay? What could he still want from me? The Black Pearl was gone, the injustice righted. The Council was finished. Why was he still here with his stupid warmth and quiet wanting?
No no no no no. I pushed past him and fled out the door. Trailing a hand along the wall, I stumbled down the hall toward the clatter of plates and glasses and the cinnamon-garlic smell of Japanese curry. Just as I felt my way to the entrance of the tatami room, a shrill alarm split the air—every phone in the building ringing all at once.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I jumped out of my skin. “Koi-chan,” said Midori, tugging me over the tatami to a zabuton cushion. “Here, sit.”
“It’s Kwaskwi,” said Ben.
“Mine, too,” said Pon-suma and Murase simultaneously. Limping footsteps entered the room behind me. Ken. I wished I could see what was going on in the room as the phones were silenced, but it was a relief not to know what expression was in the dark eyes haunting me.
“Ms. Pierce,” said Kawano, “you are a wanted woman.” He was still here? And he wasn’t calling me Herai-san anymore, a concession? It was disconcerting not knowing who was in the room.
Midori touched the back of my hand. “Let me have your phone.” It was still ringing inside my pocket. I pressed my thumbprint over the home button and handed it over. Midori clucked her tongue.
“What’s going on?”
“Kwaskwi’s been trying to get a hold of you,” she said. “There are twenty messages and calls from him, and about a hundred from Marlin.”
Midori sucked in a startled breath. Ben swore.
“What? What is it?”
No one answered. The tense silence was probably full of meaningful looks and gestures I couldn’t see. It drove me crazy. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”
I expected Midori, but it was Pon-suma who spoke up, laying out devastating facts in his sparse way. “Kwaskwi needs you on a plane to Portland. The attacks on Kind in Portland escalated. Dzunukwa was murdered. Some blame your public altercation with Ullikemi. Attention turns to your sister.”
Marlin. In danger. I blindly reached for my phone, pulling it from Midori’s limp hand. “Siri, call Marlin.” The phone rang and rang. No answer.
“It’s probably four a.m. in Portland,” said Midori.
“Siri, redial,” I shook my head. “She always answers on the second round of ringing. She’s an insanely light sleeper.”
“Kwaskwi is calling in a favor owed,” said Ben. “This must be serious.”
“Take me to the airport.”
“Breathe, Koi-chan,” said Murase. “We will get you home, but we need to buy tickets and arrange for your father’s travel. No airline will accept him in a coma without a doctor’s permission.”
“We can buy tickets at the airport.” I missed Kwaskwi fiercely. He would have gotten things moving.
“At least have some katsu curry and let me make some calls,” said Midori, tugging on my hand again.
“There is nothing in this world more precious to me than my sister. How far is it to Narita from here? Let’s get driving.”
“We can get a connecting flight from Iwate-Hanamaki airport in the morning,” said Pon-suma.
“We?”
“I’m coming,” said Pon-suma, and I imagined the epic kiss Kwaskwi must have laid on the shrine boy and wondered if Horkew Kamuy blushed.
“So there’s time for dinner,” Midori said. I let her pull me onto a zabuton, my knees weak and watery. Dad made katsu curry for Marlin’s birthday every year, the thin, layered pork cutlets drenched in hot-sweet curry her favorite meal. My eyes felt hot. Not Marlin, not my bossy, artsy sister. I couldn’t bear anything happening to her.
I sat numbly, taking small bites of curry and rice from a bowl I held up close to my mouth so I wouldn’t spill as much. Midori, Murase, and Pon-suma made calls and talked.
The curry coated my stomach in an uneasy layer of grease. After a few bites, I set the spoon down on the table with a click. Sitting seiza was giving me an arthritic ache in my knees. I shifted my hips side-saddle. Midori closed my fingers around a glass and I drank it dutifully, not even tasting the toasted-earth mugi tea. After an eternity, Pon-suma came and knelt next to me. “There’s a six a.m. flight from Iwate-Hanamaki to Haneda airport. We can take the first flight to Portland that morning. I will buy three tickets?”
“Thank you, yes.” I tried a small smile, but the corners of my mouth felt oddly frozen.
“Four tickets, please,” said Ken. He was keeping so quiet, like he wanted me to forget he was there, lurking.
“No,” I said.
“You need a Kitsune to get your father on the plane without medical permission.”
“Tomoe can put on her stewardess disguise again,” I said.
“Gozen-san and Tojo-san have already left on Council business back to Tokyo,” said Kawano.
“Murase? Ben?” It was a lot to ask when they were obviously needed here to help with The Eight Span Mirror and the fallout from the Black Pearl’s release. I was desperate. Ego on my side and arrogance on Ken’s had built this wall, brick by brick, between us. Now it separated me from trusting him completely. His image evoked a prickly numbness like an unused limb falling asleep.
There was another tense silence.
“The Bringer’s presence in Portland again so soon may be taken by some as an aggressive Council act,” Murase observed.
“I’m not the Bringer,” said Ken harshly. “That life is over.”
“Yes,” agreed Kawano archly, “you are released from fealty to the Council.”
“And Tojo-san? Will he allow my retirement?”
“Yes,” said Kawano, quick and firm. “The new reality of the Council is being explained to him right now.” I wondered if that explaining was with words or fists. Kawano had accepted defeat in a seamless way that helped me see how he might have weathered centuries of life and survived the atomic devastation of World War II to craft the Council into a position of international power. Tojo was not, I suspected, as able to roll with the punches.
“Buy four tickets, Pon-suma,” said Ken.
“Look, Portland is my home. You have made it clear that your priorities lie with your family here. You can’t just leap right back into—”
“Koi! I don’t want to stay in Japan,” Ken said in English, emotion thickening his voice. “All reasons for being the Bringer are gone. There’s nothing here as precious to me as—” He swallowed audibly. “Look, I messed up in many ways. Please don’t make me stay away from Portland. Kwaskwi’s my friend, too, and this might be a chance.” Midori made a hum of distress. “A chance to make my life into something else.”
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