He blinked as he again tugged at his punctured kosode, as though unable to believe what he saw. “What did I say?”
He didn’t remember? Just like when he’d talked about the Tengu’s past, he seemed to have forgotten his briefly reclaimed memories. He’d forgotten his name again without realizing he’d remembered it. If only he’d told her before the kodama arrived!
But did that really matter? He was alive. He was awake.
“Are you going to fill me in or what?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “Or do I have to ask all those annoying questions about what happened and where we—”
He broke off as she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. A shudder ran through her body to feel his warmth, to hear the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She clutched him as tightly as she could, as though she could squeeze away all the pain and suffering of the night.
“Emi …” he mumbled.
“You can indulge in a reunion later,” Yumei said impatiently. “If Izanami has entered the forest, then we must retreat immediately.”
Blushing at her own forwardness, Emi quickly stepped back. She couldn’t quite look at Shiro as she turned away from him. He hadn’t returned her embrace. Her cheeks burned hotter and a painful, sick feeling twisted quietly inside her.
“Can you teleport us, Yumei?” she asked. “The Wasurenagusa hot springs aren’t anywhere near here.”
As he nodded and began to shift forms, she glanced at Shiro. He was studying the crystalline pool, his eyes distant. She wrapped her arms around herself. He hadn’t returned her embrace, but she should have known better. What had led her to believe that he felt affection for her? Attraction, yes, but affection?
It didn’t matter. He was alive. He was awake. And as soon as she could, she would remove the onenju and free his memories, even if that meant the Shiro she knew would be lost forever.
The Wasurenagusa hot springs were rightfully famous. Ranging from large interconnected pools to tiny, near-boiling holes in the rock, they spanned a large portion of the mountain. In the chill air, it seemed almost as though the forest were on fire as steam rose through the trees high up the summit.
Emi sat beside Shiro on a log, rubbing her hands together for warmth while they waited for Yumei to return. The temperature was the coldest it had been all season, and her fingers were white and numb from the chill. She shivered in her coat and scrunched her frozen, aching toes in her boots.
Beside her, Shiro stared vaguely in the direction of the springs, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. He seemed unaware of her discomfort and she didn’t want to ask him to create a kitsunebi to warm her. She’d filled him in on everything that had happened since he was bitten by the tsuchigumo, from Yumei killing Jorogumo to Uzume’s information and their new mission. But his reaction hadn’t been quite right, almost as though he didn’t care—or he was too distracted by something else to give it proper consideration.
She shouldn’t have hugged him. What had possessed her to do that? She’d just been so relieved, so overwhelmed with emotion that he was awake. She’d thought he was gone forever. And really, was a simple embrace that shocking when he had already kissed her? When he had pinned her to the floor and almost kissed her a second time?
Perhaps his desire for closeness was purely physical. Her embrace had been too emotional. And yet, after rescuing her from the tsuchigumo’s web, he’d seemed so frantic …
She pushed the thought away and concentrated on waiting instead. Yumei should be back soon. After recovering from the effort of transporting them to Wasurenagusa, he had taken off to scout the area. The sun had disappeared behind thickening clouds as the afternoon waned, and the temperature continued to drop.
An errant wind tugged erratically at her clothing and loosened her hair in its bun. What had Uzume meant when she’d said that Amaterasu commanded the wind, but Emi had let it run wild? And Yumei had said he didn’t want the wind as his foe. They’d both spoken as though the wind was sentient, or at least semi-aware and capable of independent action.
When the wind had helped her fight Jorogumo, Emi hadn’t given much thought to whether she was in control. The wind had answered her will, acting in whatever way she needed, so she’d assumed it was Amaterasu’s doing, but now she wasn’t sure. Within Uzume’s and Yumei’s words, she sensed a warning. She wished she could talk to Amaterasu and find out what was happening to her.
She pressed her cold hand to her coat over her kamigakari mark. Whether because she had recovered enough of Amaterasu’s ki or because of the healing powers of the flower petal, she could once again feel a familiar, comforting warmth in the mark. Soon, she would be ready to attempt to remove another band of the onenju from Shiro.
She peeked at him again. He was still contemplating the mountainous horizon, his expression indecipherable.
“What’s wrong?” The words escaped her before she could stop them.
“Hmm?” He looked at her for the first time in nearly an hour.
She hunched her shoulders. “You seem distracted.”
He grinned crookedly. “Craving my attention, little miko?”
She almost gave up, but instead she studied him. It was nearly imperceptible, but his smile seemed hollow, devoid of the mischievous humor that usually accompanied it.
Her concern grew despite her best efforts to keep her emotions neutral. “What’s the matter, Shiro?”
Something flickered through his eyes. Dismay? Irritation? She wasn’t sure.
He huffed, his breath fogging the air. Propping one foot on the log, he rested his arm on his knee. “I remembered something from … before the onenju. A real memory.”
Her heart leaped with a painful mixture of hope and dread. “What do you remember?”
His gaze flicked away before returning to hers. “Dying.”
“You—you died?”
“I remember feeling enraged, consumed by fury … by betrayal.” He lifted his arm with the onenju, turning his wrist so the beads gleamed. “I had just been bound by the onenju, I think. I felt torn open and hollowed out, my power emptied from my soul.”
His hand closed around the front of his kosode. “Then I was … pierced. Run through from behind.”
“Someone bound you with the onenju and then stabbed you in the back?” she whispered, horrified.
“I had thought, all this time, that I had no memories because the onenju had sealed them away or destroyed them or … something. But now I wonder … perhaps the onenju didn’t have a direct effect on my memories. Perhaps I have no recollections because I died.”
“Yumei said that yokai’s memories return gradually after they revive.”
“That’s what I’ve heard too. It takes a few months, perhaps even longer depending on the yokai’s strength, for both ki and self to fully regenerate.”
“But if the onenju is blocking your ki,” she said slowly, “then it’s also blocking your memories from returning.”
He nodded. “We know where to find Susano and Sarutahiko, but if I alone hold the key to Inari’s disappearance in my memories … Even if you were to remove the onenju this moment, it could take months for me to remember everything.”
Sympathy welled in her at the worried crease between his brows.
“Don’t give up hope. Susano and Sarutahiko might know more.” Without thinking, she placed her hand on his. “Maybe Susano—”
He gasped, yanking his hand out from under hers. She snatched her hand back, her face warming with embarrassment at his rejection. Hurt flashed through her before she tamped it down.
“Your fingers are like ice.” His tone was a mixture of disbelief and complaint. She blinked in surprise as he frowned at her in clear disapproval. Before she could react, he scooped both her hands into his and pressed them between his wonderfully warm palms.
“Why didn’t you say you were cold?” he demanded.
“I …” She stared at her hands enveloped by his. “I just …”
�
��Just wanted to turn into a block of ice while I wasn’t paying attention? Do I have to watch you every minute?” Four kitsunebi burst to life and formed a circle around her. Heat washed over her, almost painful after sitting so long in the cold. “Is this some sort of female punishment because I almost died or something?”
“W-what?”
“Don’t ask me to explain how women’s minds work. Why else would you freeze to death without saying anything?”
“I wasn’t freezing to death,” she protested weakly. “I was just a little cold.”
“A little?” He squeezed her hands more tightly between his. “I can’t read your mind. If you need my help, just tell me.”
She ducked her head, wishing she could escape his uncompromising stare but unable to while he still held her hands.
“I didn’t think you wanted …” Her halfhearted mumble trailed off into silence.
“Didn’t want to what?”
She shook her head.
“Emi.”
“It’s nothing. Never mind.”
“Emi,” he growled and her belly swooped a little at the sound of him saying her name like that, even if he was annoyed with her.
Before she could come up with a response, a huge raven swept out of the sky and landed in the snow a few yards away. Black rippled over him and Yumei appeared from the wave of dark magic. To her relief, Shiro’s heavy scrutiny at last shifted to the new target.
“Find anything?” he asked Yumei, still holding her hands captive.
“Nothing immediately suspicious. A storm is building in the west and will be here in an hour. We will need shelter.”
“An outdoor shelter won’t be enough for a human. The miko is already a block of ice.”
Irritation skimmed Yumei’s eyes as it always did whenever her fragile humanity inconvenienced him. “You cannot keep her warm?”
A wicked smile curved Shiro’s lips. “Not with clothes on.”
Emi’s mouth fell open but she was struck speechless. She tried to yank her hands away from him but his grip was too tight.
Yumei tipped his head toward the plumes of steam rising from the distant, unseen hot springs. “Ajisai is not far.”
Shiro blinked. “You mean the inn? Is that a good idea?”
“What’s wrong with an inn?” she asked, finally finding her voice. She determinedly did not acknowledge Shiro’s comment about clothing.
“A yokai inn,” he clarified.
“Which would you prefer to risk?” Yumei asked. “The storm or the yokai?”
Shiro stood, pulling her with him. “Fair point.”
“Actually,” Emi began nervously, “we could go to a human inn instead and—”
“The human establishments are on the west side of the summit,” Yumei interrupted. “We will be lucky to reach Ajisai before the storm.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
Shiro pulled her closer to him. “Scared, little miko?”
“Won’t they want to eat me?”
“Probably,” he said, not sounding worried at all despite having already expressed concern. She sighed.
A ten-minute flight later, Emi huddled under Shiro’s arm as they trudged through deep snow. The howling wind drove icy pellets into their faces and the afternoon light had dimmed until an unpleasant gloom lay over the mountain. The clouds above roiled angrily, casting their fury down upon the land.
As Yumei led the way through the trees, she wondered how much farther the inn was—and how yokai could find it in the middle of nowhere. No roads or paths interrupted the untouched wilderness. The forest seemed empty of life.
At long last, Yumei stopped. She squinted through the snow. In front of him was a simple wooden post, waist high and unmarked. Yumei placed one finger on the front face and traced a complex symbol that briefly glowed red. The air before him shimmered strangely.
He stepped into the shimmer and disappeared.
Shiro led her toward it. When they reached the barrier, a cold even deeper than the wind brushed across her skin. Dark, alien magic slid over her, searching, tasting. The air thickened, pushing her back. With Shiro pulling her onward, she struggled to step forward as it forced her back with equal force.
Yumei reappeared beside her. He curled his arm around her back, just below Shiro’s arm, and together they drew her into the thick, icy wall of air. The magic seethed angrily across her skin, hissing imperceptibly in her ears. Shiro and Yumei dragged her forward, compressing her against the invisible, unyielding wall.
Then, with a shudder of magic, she was through. The pressure vanished and she stumbled, almost falling. Shiro caught her and pulled her upright.
Yumei released her. “Tsuchi does not like you.”
“Uzume said the same thing,” she muttered through chattering teeth.
The wind gusted again, whipping over them. She looked up to see what the shimmering barrier had been hiding.
A tall wall had appeared among the trees, interrupted by an entryway with a narrow, pitched roof. Peels of rotting wood and old paint marred the surface and a stone lantern post stained with green moss sat in front, the flame within flickering wildly in the wind. Beyond the opening, a boardwalk of old, uneven wooden planks curved through a sparse front garden, the empty flowerbeds dotted with spindly trees barren of leaves.
With Shiro at her side, she followed Yumei toward a low, sprawling abode with glowing lanterns hanging from the eaves to welcome visitors. The worn exterior inspired about as much confidence as the boardwalk and garden, but with her numb hands tucked under her arms and her face so cold it hurt, all she could think about was getting warm. As she ascended the steps, Yumei slid the door open, spilling light across the stoop, and passed through the threshold. Squinting, she stepped into a wave of warm air that smelled of cooking food. Shiro slid the door shut behind them with a thud.
The rumble of relaxed conversation permeated the air. As she blinked in the soft light of the candles and lamps scattered about the room, her heart beat faster and faster.
The interior of the inn was significantly less shabby than the outside, but it was far from a high-end establishment. The walls were dark wood, as was the vaulted ceiling, giving the entire space a gloomy air. Beyond the small entryway, wide double doors were open to the common room, where long, low tables and cushions had been laid out in preparation for dinner. Finer inns served their guests in their rooms, but small country inns—which this one resembled—served a single communal meal for guests to share. A square fire pit in the center of the room smoked faintly and a black iron kettle sat atop the coals.
Though dinner had yet to be laid out, various light foods had been left for hungry guests to graze on. And indeed, an assortment of visitors lounged in the large room, some at the table and some nearby.
On one of the threadbare cushions, two furred animals that looked like a cross between a monkey and a dog were curled up together. The creature sitting at a table with a cup of tea was definitely more monkey than anything else, if monkeys grew six feet tall and wore samurai-style armor. His furless face was bright pink and his dark eyes watched the three creatures on the other side of the table. His tablemates were as short as small children, with dark red skin, boldly pointed ears, and long raven hair. The three matching yokai were bent over something on the table, gesturing energetically.
A man reclined against the wall, separate from the others, with a bowl of food on the table beside him. He might have looked human except for the dark stripes across his skin and the tiger ears rising from his silver hair, tied back in a long tail that hung over one shoulder. His clothing was decidedly fine and a sheathed sword lay on the floor beside him.
Before she could get a good look at the handful of other yokai populating the room, Shiro grabbed her hand and pulled her into motion. Yumei had already reached the reception desk where a staff member was welcoming him—or she assumed the yokai was a staff member. He looked like a ten-year-old boy, except for the single large eye in the center of his fo
rehead.
As she stumbled after Shiro, the large monkey yokai glanced toward her and the three small, red-skinned creatures turned to see what he was looking at. Almost in unison, they grinned hungrily and her face went cold.
“A human?” one said loudly, its scratchy voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. “You insult the innkeeper by bringing your own dinner.”
The tiger-eared yokai looked over and the monkey-dogs raised their heads, ears perked forward. Two female yokai at the far end of the room broke off their conversation.
Shiro flicked a cutting glance over his shoulder at the speaker. “Jealous, moryo?”
“It’s also rude to indulge in fresh human blood without sharing,” the yokai added, displaying two rows of sharply pointed teeth in a horrific parody of a smile.
“Why would I share with a runt like you?”
“Maybe you won’t have a choice.”
Shiro stopped and turned halfway toward the moryo. His motion casually put him between Emi and the yokai. The markings on his face briefly flared red.
“Your ill manners are an affront to all the guests of this inn,” the tiger yokai cut in unexpectedly in slow, deep tones. “Mind yourself, moryo.”
“Can you not smell that human, Byakko?” the red-skinned yokai snapped. “You think it fair that the kitsune parade his prey in front of us?”
Unexpectedly, Yumei stepped between her and Shiro. His hands came down on top of their heads and he pushed down, bending their necks uncomfortably.
“These both belong to me,” he said into the suddenly silent room, his inflectionless voice echoing with a hint of dark caverns and icy winds. “Any who would challenge me for them, do it now.”
The moryo backed up a step and plopped down on his cushion again. Everyone but the tiger yokai conspicuously resumed their interrupted activities. Yumei met Byakko’s golden eyes and inclined his head slightly. Byakko returned the nod with a slightly deeper bow of his head, acknowledging that the Tengu outranked him.
Yumei released her and Shiro. She straightened, trying not to grimace. She was fairly certain she understood what Yumei had done—he’d demonstrated her and Shiro’s submissiveness to his will—but she didn’t like it.
Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2) Page 17