Why hadn’t the people on the platform heard him? Why hadn’t they come over to see where his voice was coming from?
Ren froze. His left leg lay across one of the tracks and he could feel it begin to vibrate, thrumming with the tremor and weight of an oncoming train. Only then did he hear the low groan of the train approaching. The people on the platform hadn’t heard him over the rising rumble, and he could no longer hear them.
He twisted around to get onto his knees, and now he could see the lights coming around the long curve toward the station. Pain seized him, lancing into his back, but a rush of adrenaline got him up onto his feet. Cursing, frantic, Ren crossed the tracks to the platform’s edge.
Air blasted past him, pushed ahead of the incoming train. Ren cried out in fear as the train thundered into the station, its roar obliterating his voice. Seven or eight people were scattered on the platform. One little girl, holding her mother’s hand, turned and spotted him, pointed and said something to her mother, but her words, too, were stolen by the guttural snarl of the train.
Brakes squealed, echoing off the walls of the station.
Ren raised his hands, pain shooting through him, nearly making him falter, but then boosted himself up onto the platform, rolling out of the way with seconds to spare. The train lumbered to a hissing stop beside him. He lay on his back, still racked with throbbing pain, and stared at the ceiling of the station.
Two men in business suits bent over to look down at him. One of them asked if he was all right, but the other went off on a tirade about how stupid he’d been. Didn’t he know that he could have been killed?
Ren laughed at them for a few seconds, until the adrenaline began to subside and he felt the jolts of pain that the laughter cost him. The men shook their heads and boarded the train. Moments later, it began to move again, straining to roll along its tracks like a sled dog in its traces, picking up speed.
He lay there, catching his breath, heart pounding inside his chest, and as the fear and pain subsided, he remembered how he had gotten there in the first place.
“Miho! Oh, no.”
Ren reached into his pocket and plucked out his cell phone. Its face had been cracked in the fall, but the crystal display still showed a signal. Praying, he called Kara.
Kara ended the call with Ren and turned to stare at Hachiro, clutching her phone in her hand. Her eyes welled up but she bit her lip, not allowing the tears to fall. She didn’t have time to cry.
“What is it?” Hachiro said, his gaze urgent. “Talk to me, Kara. What did Ren say?”
They stood in the genkan, surrounded by cubbyholes filled with blue and pink slippers. The lights in the genkan were bright, but they only made the night outside the glass doors seem even darker. Kara reached up with her free hand and pushed her hair away from her face, fingers fluttering.
“You’re trembling,” Hachiro said.
Kara steadied herself and reached out to grip his shoulder, taking strength from him. “The Hannya came after Ren and Miho. It threw him onto the train tracks. He’s hurt, but not badly. But Miho …”
She faltered, her throat closing up, and then she couldn’t stop herself. Tears began to flow and she shook all over. Hachiro pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. For several seconds they stood like that, and then Kara became angry at her own indulgence. She pulled away, wiping at her tears and thrusting her phone into her pocket.
“Ren thinks he was unconscious for about twenty minutes. When he came around, Miho was gone. The Hannya took her.”
Hachiro nodded. “Then we’ll find her. We will find her.”
Kara shook her head. “Not alone we won’t. It’s time to tell someone. We should’ve done this before. I’ve been so stupid.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Hachiro said.
“Sure I can. But blame can wait.”
She turned and strode deeper into the school, took a right and broke into a run. Hachiro kept pace with her and when they reached the door to the basement stairs, Kara shoved it open and then they were pounding down the steps. They knew that three of the Noh club students they’d been keeping track of were still in the art room, storing away the masks and set pieces that had already been created for the play. Miss Aritomo would wait until they were all gone before locking up after them.
Kara and Hachiro rushed along the basement corridor to the art room, slowing as they approached the door. Just outside, they stopped. Kara caught her breath and glanced at Hachiro, afraid of what she was about to do, afraid that Miss Aritomo wouldn’t believe her, that her father would be humiliated, and worst of all, that it wouldn’t help Miho even if they did believe her.
Please, God, let her be all right.
She stepped into the art room with Hachiro right behind her. The three students were cleaning up after themselves, one boy sweeping, another moving chairs, and a girl sitting on a table. They looked up, expressions curious.
“Hi. Sorry. Isn’t Aritomo-sensei here?” Kara asked.
“She’s in her homeroom,” replied the sweeping boy. “She had work to do.”
Kara nodded and turned away, not giving them another thought. Hachiro led the way, but they found the doors to Miss Aritomo’s homeroom closed. Like those upstairs, they were the sliding doors so common in Japan. Kara knocked on the frame.
“Aritomo-sensei?” she ventured. “It’s me, Kara.”
They waited a few seconds. She grimaced and looked at Hachiro. He nodded toward the door.
“Try again,” he suggested.
But as Kara raised her fist to knock, she paused, frowning. From within the classroom she’d heard a sound, low and insinuating and hideously familiar. Now it came once more and there could be no doubt. This was no breeze, no voice, no rustle of pages being turned. The hiss brought her back to that night in the dark, when the Hannya had pursued Miho, and she knew that it was there right now, on the other side of the thin door.
It had come for Miss Aritomo.
Ice flooded her veins. She wanted to scream, to run, but instead she reached out a shaking hand for the door. Hachiro snatched her wrist, stopping her, and she turned to see her own fear reflected back from his eyes.
Firmly, she pulled her hand away. As quietly as possible, she reached for the door and slid it open just a crack. Kara pressed her right eye to the opening. At first she saw only the light above Miss Aritomo’s desk—the overhead lights were off. A dull glow of moonlight shone in the small box windows near the ceiling.
Then she saw a pale arm outstretched on the floor, beyond the reach of the desk lamp. The moment she noticed it, the rest of the dark silhouette on the floor came into sharp focus, and she saw the gentle, pretty features of Miss Aritomo. The teacher did not move, but in the gloom Kara could not see any sign of blood or injury, or even if she still drew breath.
Aritomo-sensei. The name was on her lips, but before Kara could speak, the hiss came again, now from the shadows at the back of the room. Kara had seen the masks hanging on the wall there so many times that she had barely noticed their baleful expressions back in the shadows.
Then one of them moved, and she realized that one was not a mask at all. Kara’s throat went dry. Rigid with terror, she could only watch as the Hannya emerged from the shadows and knelt beside Miss Aritomo. It reached slender, clawed hands toward the petite, helpless woman, and Kara wanted to scream but could not find the courage. Hachiro touched her arm but she barely recognized the contact.
The Hannya diminished even as she watched. In the space between eyeblinks, the horned face of the demon became that of a seductive woman, and the woman began to lie beside Miss Aritomo, only to alter her form further. Demon had become temptress, and now woman became serpent, a thing of red and green so dark as to appear almost black, with tiny horns that seemed more dragon than snake.
As it slithered onto Miss Aritomo’s body in a lithe, intimate coil, it shrank even further. The serpent’s head prodded at the sleeping teacher’s lips and Miss Aritomo’s mouth opened, her head falling
back.
The demon slid past her lips and down her throat, vanishing inside her.
Kara could not move. Could not breathe.
Then Miss Aritomo opened her eyes.
Kara jumped back from the door, shaking her head at the impossible. She twisted to look at Hachiro, who only looked mystified. His view blocked by her body, he had seen none of it. He opened his mouth to speak and, eyes wide with terror, she shook her head more firmly, grabbed his wrist, and together they ran.
Her mind whirled as she tried to make sense of what she had seen. All she knew was that Miho needed her. And then she thought of her father—her dad—who had fallen in love with the woman Kara had seen inside that classroom.
A woman with a demon inside her.
12
Kara and Hachiro ran along a path away from Monju-no-Chie school, passing beneath the arch that always seemed to welcome students and visitors. The moment they stepped into the street, Kara felt safer, but only when she had crossed to the other side did she slow to a walk, glancing back the way they’d come. The school sat up on its slope, a monolithic silhouette against the indigo night sky. Several lights burned within, but so few and so dim as to make the building seem ghostly. Haunted.
“Are you all right?” Hachiro asked, catching his breath. No matter how much baseball he played, their flight from the school had been a hellish sprint that left them both winded.
Kara nodded. She had told him, as they ran, what she had seen in Miss Aritomo’s art room. His eyes were wide and anxious now, unnerved, and that frightened Kara more than anything. Hachiro always seemed bold and confident, ready for whatever came next. Tonight, he had lost that edge.
She thought she might be in love with him.
Now they alternated between a quick walk and a light jog. Kara pulled out her phone and called Sakura, who picked up in seconds.
“Where are you?” Sakura asked. “I just talked to Ren. He said he’s outside your house, waiting for you.”
Breathless and halting, searching for words to express what she had witnessed, Kara explained.
“Mai and I will come over,” Sakura said.
“No,” Kara snapped. “No. You just stay there. Watch out for the Hannya, or for Aritomo-sensei, or whatever. After I talk to my father, I’ll call you, and we’ll figure out what to do next.”
Reluctantly, Sakura agreed, and Kara ended the call. As she pushed her phone back into her pocket, she noticed a look of dread and sorrow on Hachiro’s face.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shot a glance back toward the school. “There were a few kids still in the school. With her. Noh club kids. What if …?”
Hachiro let the question trail off, but he didn’t need to finish it. Kara felt the blood drain from her face. She had never paused to consider the fate of the kids they had left back in the basement of the school with Miss Aritomo—with the Hannya. Fear and disgust had sent her and Hachiro running.
Guilt began to grip her, but she shook it off. “We’re doing the right thing,” she insisted. “What should we have done? Attacked the Hannya, just the two of us? We have to get help. That’s the best way to help those kids, and anyone else the demon might prey on.”
As they approached the house, a figure emerged from the shadows that separated Kara’s home from her neighbor’s. Ren stepped nearer, and the three of them met on the edge of a pool of light cast by a nearby streetlamp. In that ghastly glow, Ren looked awful. Blood stained the right shoulder of his shirt and dappled spots all over it. His right arm was scraped and he moved gingerly, as though protecting the ribs on that side.
“Oh my God,” Kara whispered in English. She quickly switched back to Japanese. “Are you all right?”
Ren did not smile. “I will be, once we find Miho. I should’ve been paying more attention. By the time I realized we weren’t alone …”
The words trailed off.
Hachiro stared at him grimly. “You cannot blame yourself. We were all trying to do our best to prevent anyone else getting hurt. No one is to blame except the Hannya.”
Kara felt a terrible weight forming in her gut, like a ball of cold iron. “That’s not true. We’re to blame. Me and Sakura and Miho. The curse is on us, not on any of you, or the school. If not for us—”
Ren stood up straight, wincing with the movement. He stared at her. “Don’t say that. We’ve been over this. Ume and the others who murdered Akane, they were the ones who started it. But even they are not responsible for the whims of demons.”
“I should have told my father sooner,” Kara said.
With a sigh, Ren nodded. “Probably. But it’s too late for that. We only have now.”
Kara let the truth of that sink in. Now was all anyone ever had. She glanced at the front door of the house she shared with her father—this neat, little Japanese dwelling that she had come to think of as home—and turned to the guys.
“Wait here,” she said.
“Kara,” Hachiro began warily.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “This is going to be hard enough for him to hear. Just wait for me. I won’t be long.”
Though she felt their eyes on her back, she didn’t turn again as she entered her house and closed the door behind her. A half-empty glass of water sat on the otherwise barren coffee table. The day had been hot and the wooden beams of the house ticked as they cooled. Otherwise, all was silent within, and for a moment she feared that her father had gone out.
“Dad?” she ventured, walking through the living room.
“In here.” His voice came from his small study.
Relieved, Kara hurried into the room. Her father sat behind his desk, face illuminated by the glow of his computer screen. Only a dim lamp in the corner provided additional light. His brow was furrowed as he gazed at the screen, wrapped up in work, or perhaps e-mails from home. But when she said nothing, he looked up and seemed to wake from a trance. Lines of concern appeared on his forehead.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing quickly.
It lent her a certain comfort to know he could read her that well, but when she tried to reply, she barely managed to make a sound when her lower lip began to quiver and she had to fight to keep her tears from returning.
“Kara, sweetie, what is it?” he asked, coming toward her, reaching out to cup her cheek in his wide hand.
“Miho,” she managed. “She’s gone missing, too. It … it took her.”
His expression contorted with horror. “Miho? Oh, my God. What … I mean, how did you hear this?”
“Ren was there. He’s pretty banged up, Dad. It could have killed him, like with Yasu. And it took Miho.”
She felt his hand pull away from her face. He almost seemed to shrink back from her. Hurt and confused, she looked up to meet his gaze and saw deep concern there—concern for her.
“Kara, what do you mean when you say ‘it’ took Miho?”
His tone alone told her how difficult the conversation was going to be. She hadn’t even begun to tell him the truth, and already he had decided that she’d gone a little crazy. But the Hannya had taken Miho, and if she was still alive—please, God, let her still be alive—Kara had no time to waste worrying about what her father would think.
“There are things I’ve been keeping from you,” she admitted. “And I hope you’ll forgive me for that. I just never thought you’d believe me, and—”
His eyes had narrowed. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”
Kara’s mouth had gone dry. She swallowed hard, went over and leaned on the edge of his desk, and started to talk. She began with Akane’s murder and the longer she spoke, the more pale he became. When he took his glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose, she thought he might be angry with her.
“So all of the things that girl, Mai, told Yamato-sensei—” he began.
“Yes,” Kara interrupted. “They’re all true. Or mostly. We didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. All we wanted was to stop the ketsuki, an
d now we have this …”
Her eyes welled up a little but again she fought back tears, and the emotion that tightened her throat.
“You really believe you’re cursed, don’t you?” he asked, somewhat amazed.
Kara blinked, anger flaring. “We are cursed. Do you think I’m making all of this up?”
That got him. Her father blew out a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what to think, honey. What I really don’t understand is why you never came to me about this before now. If even part of this is true—”
“It’s all true!”
He held up a hand to calm her, nodding. “Okay. Give me some time to process it, will you? And if it is true, I still don’t get why you never came to me before. I asked you before and after that meeting with Yamato-sensei, and you lied right to me, Kara. We just don’t do that. We promised, didn’t we? No lies.”
Frustrated, her jaw tight, she shook her head. “This is different.”
“Different how? If your life was in danger—”
“Stop it!” Kara shouted, pulse racing, fists clenched. “Damn it, Dad! Please, can’t this wait? Can’t you hold off telling me how stupid I was until we find Miho? Until I know if she’s even still alive?”
Her hands were shaking, her whole body quaking. In all her life, she didn’t remember being so furious with her father. Why couldn’t he just listen?
“Kara—”
“This is exactly why I never told you before!”
“All right!” he said, throwing his hands up. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We can argue later. We need to call the police, and Yamato-sensei. If the kids in the Noh club are all in danger—I can’t believe I’m going along with any of this—I’ll need to call Aritomo-sensei and try to explain it to—”
“No!” Kara snapped.
Her father flinched at the vehemence of her reaction. “Kara, come on. I know you’ve got issues with her, but now’s not the time. You said so yourself.”
“It’s not that,” Kara said, glancing away. “It’s something else.”
“What?” he demanded.
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