I stopped at the sidewalk, hesitating, all that desperation urging me to action. I needed a car. I needed to reach Marlin. I made a little jumpy circle as I turned one direction and then another.
My fists curled into themselves, my ragged-bitten nails cutting into my palms. Damn it! Hooper was out of town. Ed lived way up in Vancouver. Too far away. There was nobody, not one person I could call on to help me get back to PCC.
“I called a taxi,” said Ken from behind me. He stood inside the doorway with Dad draped over his left side. Dad’s eyes fluttered half-open and his sparse, gray hair stuck up in disarray.
“Dad,” I said, running back to support his other side. He sagged against me like a bag of bones. “What are you doing, Ken? Did he wake up? He can’t be out here.”
“We’ll take Herai-san to Kwaskwi. Then we can find Hayk.”
“I’m not entrusting Dad to a stranger!”
“You trusted him to me,” said Ken.
“You’re not a stranger…you’re…you’re—”
“Is there somebody else who can watch him?” said Ken.
I wiped stinging cardamom droplets from my eyes, pushing my wet bangs out of my face. The scent made me gag. Crap. Coffee cake would never appeal to me again.
A black Rose-City taxicab pulled over to the curb.
“Stay here with Dad. Please. I trust you.”
Ken shook his head. “I made a promise. You can’t go without me.” The cab driver gave an impatient beep.
Time was ticking. The longer I fought with Ken, the longer Hayk had Marlin to himself. Even stopping at the Salvation Army and arguing the draconian nurse in charge of adult day care into a last minute drop-in would take too much time—she only liked Marlin. I leaned over and pulled open the cab door. Together, we lugged Dad into the backseat between us, ignoring the questioning look of the driver peering out from under a mass of blonde dreadlocks.
“Kwaskwi better be trustworthy,” I whispered in Japanese.
“Mostly,” Ken replied in English.
The cab driver knocked his walkie talkie on the steering wheel. “Where to?”
“Hoyt Arboretum,” said Ken. The driver shrugged and pulled out onto the street, his meter ticking merrily.
Dad’s head rested on my shoulder. His long legs curled to the side. His eyes had closed again, and he looked vulnerable in a way that made me want to shake him.
In Japanese, Ken said, “Do you have any jewelry? Necklace? Earrings?”
I showed him my bare earlobes and neck. All I had was a pinkie ring Marlin had given me for my last birthday; just a plain band of gold with a stylized carp.
“It’ll have to do,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” I said, begrudging him even those words. I was so furious I didn’t want to speak.
“Kwaskwi can take it as a marker for now.”
“The hell he will.” I pictured each word ringed in flame. Did he not realize he was about to push me over the edge of reasonable?
“Trust me, you don’t want to come empty handed. He might just take your father as ‘payment’ instead.”
“You stay with Kwaskwi and Dad,” I said, switching to English.
“Because you can take on Hayk and Ullikemi all by yourself? That went so well this morning. I am not an oath breaker. I do what I say I will, Koi.”
I glared at him. If only Dad had bequeathed me useful powers, like laser eyes.
In a gentler tone, Ken went on, “Kwaskwi is tricky, but if we make a deal, he will be forced to protect Herai-san.”
“Fine. We get your pal Kwaskwi to babysit Dad, but then we are storming Hayk’s office.”
The cabbie gave me a startled look in the rearview mirror. Oops. I’d forgotten that last bit was in English. I tried to smile reassuringly at him, but it must have come across more as a grimace. The cabbie floored the accelerator, running a yellow light in the next intersection.
It took only ten minutes to reach Highway 5, but each minute felt like an eternity as I watched for each of Dad’s slow, laborious breaths, wanting to kick something or someone to release the tight, coiling spring of panic inside my belly.
As we rounded the forested curve just above the Willamette River, Mount Hood’s snow-covered peak emerged from cloud cover to lurk like a genial, eccentric uncle over Portland’s rain-shiny downtown. A tingling scatter of goose bumps raised my flesh down my back and across the backs of my arms. The usual heart-lifting effect Hood-sama had on me warped into a painful awareness of the two men beside me.
After another few, torturous minutes wasted negotiating the tourist rental car maze in the zoo parking lot, the cabbie pulled past the zoo with an audible sigh of relief. He veered left at the lower entrance of the Vietnam memorial spiral walk.
“Here you are,” he said.
Crap. Of course I’d rushed out of the house without my bag or money or anything useful whatsoever. Ken pulled out a wallet of battered, black leather and slipped two weirdly crisp twenties to the cabbie. We slid a limp Dad out of the seat, heavier than a man mostly skin and bones had any right to be.
This was so wrong.
But Marlin. I pictured her face as she’d looked today leaving the apartment. Nothing could happen to her.
Nothing.
Ken and I pushed and prodded Dad over to the oak shaded bench next to the arboretum map. His head propped in the crook of his elbow atop the bench’s armrest, Dad looked like he was dozing. Not that anyone would believe he’d fallen asleep in this afternoon drizzle.
His pulse and breathing were still steady. I fought an urge to curl up next to him on the bench and hide like I’d done so often in childhood. Moisture formed a drip at the tip of my nose, and I caught Ken staring at me with an odd, surprised expression.
“Okay,” I said, the urgency returning to unsettle my stomach, “where’s your pal?”
Ken pointed up the steep path—half wooden steps, half gravel—leading up the hillside away from the Vietnam Memorial’s manicured concrete. “Up there.”
“There’s no way we can drag Dad up there.”
“No,” said Ken, meaningfully. His eyes flicked between me and the bench.
“If you make me wait here, I’ll go crazy. Marlin could be…” I let the sentence trail off, unwilling to give voice to what I truly feared. Hayk wanted a sacrifice. Marlin was Dad’s daughter, too.
“You must trust me,” said Ken. He put a hand lightly on my arm, guiding me under the thickly clustered leaves of the oak tree. I couldn’t speak.
His other hand grasped my shoulder, and he gave me a little shake. “Marlin is okay. Ullikemi doesn’t really want her, he needs you. Hayk won’t do anything drastic until we show up. But I’m not going up to meet Kwaskwi until you swear you’ll stay here and not go off all vigilante.”
“I promise. Hurry up.” I took a seat next to Dad. His hand was hot and fever-dry, despite the rain. “Hurry,” I repeated.
Ken reached out and I dropped my pinkie ring into his hand. He turned without another word, taking the wooden steps two at a time, disappearing into the cherry tree varietals lining the path.
I shivered, nestling closer to Dad, feeling the fearless closeness in the press of my hand on his that I never felt with any other living person. Although, that wasn’t true, now. Ken, if he counted as human, also had joined that tiny club. I covered my eyes with the backs of my hands. What am I thinking? Dad isn’t human, either. And maybe not me.
The last headache flares settled into a dull buzz at the base of my skull.
Baku. Eater of dreams. It was crazy, and yet it made sense, and a part of me was glad. Glad I wasn’t just insane. Glad that the connection I’d always felt with Dad was a real thing, not just the self-delusion of a socially stilted adolescent.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. What the hell was wrong with me? I should be planning Marlin’s rescue. The thought of myself as a rescuer made me give a despairing laugh.
A minivan drove by, stuffed to the gills with tow-headed children on their way to the zoo. A fierce envy pierced me. What did it matter I wasn’t insane? I’d eaten Hayk’s dream and felt that energy fill me, the energy that had let me throw Ken across the room. How was that normal? It was evil. And I’d taken that evil into my very core.
I pressed my fists to my ribs, pushing hard as if I could make the ballooning worry inside my chest flatten to nothingness. It didn’t help. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes just as a young couple, probably high schoolers, ambled into view. They were so engrossed with each other, they didn’t even spare me a glance. Still, I turned away, feeling so raw and sensitive I would combust into smoke if their eyes touched me.
The high schoolers took the spiral path toward the marble-dotted landscape of the memorial. I touched Dad’s cheek again. How long did it take to talk anyway? When would Ken get back?
This sucks so bad.
A large bird landed on the wooden top of the arboretum map and bobbed there, fixing me with a beady, black eye. The bird was big, the size of one of the giant crows that ruled PCC’s dumpsters, but with feathers a vivid blue except where bars of black and white striped its wings. A blue jay.
“What?” I demanded, the word exploding from me in a burst.
I made a shooing motion but the jay didn’t even flinch. “No crumbs here,” I said, feeling like an idiot.
Jays and crows creeped me out. They tore open garbage bags, and aggressively chased all the sparrows away from the bird feeders I hung every winter.
The jay extended his wings, vividly gleaming despite the gray drizzle, and swooped down to land at Dad’s feet. I held perfectly still, watching it scratch at the ground as if there were worms hiding in the concrete.
“Shoo,” I said again, my voice sounding solitary and soft in the blanket of rain-patter on leaves. Unease joined my other, urgent, feelings. The jay’s unwavering attention wasn’t natural. I slid Dad down the bench toward me. His head lolled on his neck like a broken doll. My chest ratcheted a niche tighter around my lungs.
“Now would be a great time for you to wake up,” I whispered in Japanese.
The jay cocked its head at my words. Without warning, it spread its banded wings and flew directly at Dad’s face. I twisted sideways, curving my torso over Dad with my face buried in his hair, my breathe coming in little pants.
A beat passed and I realized I felt no scratch of bird feet. I straightened and almost jumped right off the bench.
A young man was sitting on the bench on the other side of Dad.
He smiled at me, showing very white, very crooked teeth that were so large they dominated his face.
“Greetings,” said the man.
There was no sign of the jay. I wiped my palms on my damp pants, prickles traveling down my neck and the fine hairs on my arms as if I’d had a static shock.
“I’m sorry?”
The man continued smiling. He wore faded but pressed jeans and a plaid shirt buttoned to the neck. His hair was dark, and moussed into generous spikes at the crown of his head. Despite my raised hackles, he didn’t instantly creep me out like Hayk.
He held out his hand, but I shook my head, keeping my eyes on his face. I wasn’t about to touch him. There was the jay, and now there was this man, and I couldn’t help equating the two.
“I think we have an appointment,” he said. He withdrew his arm with a wink and placed his hands, palms down on his knees.
“Kwaskwi?” I squeaked.
“Guilty as charged.”
“But Ken just went up the hill to meet you.”
“Ken? Ah, the Kitsune. You have something you wish to ask me?” He leaned a bit forward, expectantly, his eyes gleaming black.
Dad still unconscious between us made me very uncomfortable, but if this was Kwaskwi, I had no time to lose. “I…yes, um well you see there’s this dragon Kind trapped in a stone at PCC and the professor that owns the stone has kidnapped my sister, and so I was hoping that you could—”
“Koi!” came a shout from above.
I broke off to see Ken hurling himself down the steps, rain plastering his hair to his forehead in a crazy tangle.
“Please continue,” said Kwaskwi. His voice warm and deep, drawing me in. Unease still tickled at the nape of my neck. His eyes did not reflect his voice’s warmth, their gleam was…avarice.
“We need you to watch Dad while—” I began again.
Ken yelled in Japanese from the landing at the top of the stairs right above us. “Don’t say anything!”
I blinked, my mouth still open. Kwaskwi stood up, his hand gripping Dad’s wrist.
“You come without token to make bargains with me. Tradition states I may name my own token. I name Herai Akihito.”
“What?” I said, jumping to my feet. My hand hovered over Kwaskwi’s forearm for a second until I settled for grabbing Dad’s other wrist. I’d rather grab a naked knife blade then touch this guy. I didn’t need to see the fragments lurking behind those black, black eyes and too-wide smile.
Ken came tumbling down the last bit of stairs and inserted himself between us.
“Don’t presume on her innocence,” he snarled.
I prodded at his side. Damn it. he was in the way! Ken grimaced at me over his shoulder, but shuffled a little to the side. Kwaskwi didn’t look at all put out.
“I do not presume. She came here under the guise of your truce, a Kind negotiation,” he said.
“We had a token!” I said. I reached over and grabbed Dad’s other arm right above where Kwaskwi held him. It was like surreal twister.
“You did not offer it before making your plea,” said Kwaskwi. He let go of Dad with a shrug.
“I brought it to the assigned meeting place,” said Ken, holding out my pinkie ring.
Kwaskwi gave a burst of laughter. “Please, even you, Bringer, can’t be foolish enough to insult me this way.” His smile stretched wider, but those teeth and his narrowed eyes made him look fierce. “The Council made it quite clear you have no authority here. You cannot break the rules without consequences.”
“This is a marker for our token,” said Ken carefully. He bowed his head a little. “Of course we shall bring you something more worthy of our regard for your people, Kwaskwi. There was a time constraint.”
Kwaskwi rolled back onto his heels. He laughed again, a guffaw like a horse. Tension drained visibly from Ken’s shoulders.
“You can’t blame me for trying. The Baku is valuable. Even to us.” He plucked the pinkie ring from Ken’s palm.
Ken nodded. I settled back down on the bench, curling my arm behind Dad’s shoulders. Apparently we had reached some kind of understanding, but I didn’t trust Kwaskwi.
“We need sanctuary for Herai-san. And anything you know about Mangasar Hayk and Ullikemi.”
Kwaskwi’s arched his eyebrows. “I agree to provide the Baku sanctuary. But I know nothing of Hayk.” He licked his lips, considering. “So the taste borne on the rain is not yours?”
Ken shook his head, bowing at the waist slightly. “I endeavor to fulfill the terms of my presence in your territory.”
I almost snorted at the ponderous tone he used. Were interactions among Kind always this full of crap? I mean, really, these two talked as if they sported lace cuffs and cravats in a ballroom somewhere surrounded by champagne-laden waiters.
I sniffed. Ken gave me a quelling look but I sniffed again, pouting. It was not my fault Kwaskwi found me first.
“Ullikemi is dragon-Kind, yes? We haven’t had dragons in the Northwest since St Helen’s erupted,” said Kwaskwi. “The seeking power in this rain is troublesome. Herai Akihito made a pact with us to keep his daughters ignorant of the Kind in return for excluding them from our…curiosity. All Kind in Multnomah lands, from Sauvie Island to the Tualatin plains abided by the pact for this girl’s lifetime. But it backfired, eh? She pays the penalty for her father’s self-imposed exile. Just the two of you up against a dragon Kind?�
�
Jerk. He came here knowing who I was, knowing I was vulnerable, to trick me.
“Not just a dragon Kind. Ullikemi is bound into a human myth, Middle Eastern. Don’t let Herai-san’s long retirement fool you into believing the Herai lineage is weak. Koi may not have her father’s knowledge, but she is Baku.”
Kwaskwi bowed his head at me in mimicry of Ken’s formal posture. He smiled broadly again and two spots of color appeared high on Ken’s cheeks. Ken had let slip too much info about me, info Kwaskwi was clearly able to use to manipulate things for his own gain. “I shall endeavor not to underestimate you, daughter-of-Herai.”
My hand itched to form a fist and plant it smack dab in the middle of those teeth.
“Dad’s sleeping off an episode. He needs shelter and rest. If he shows sign of fever or agitation here’s my cell number.” Ken pulled me up from the bench.
What was I doing? How could I leave Dad with Kwaskwi? “Do you have a car somewhere? It took both of us to get him here.” I glared at Ken, but he made a barely perceptible shake of his head.
“I gave my pledge to care for Herai Akihito as a guest in my home,” said Kwaskwi. “Cars really aren’t my style.”
Thunder rumbled far away and the sky above the hill cleared, a patch of blue in the gray. Portland’s trademark liquid sunshine; sun-streamed drizzle fell all around us.
Ken jerked his chin toward the sky, indicating a large object that filled the cloud break. It spiraled down with long, lazy strokes of wings extending the length of a man on either side of its gold and crimson-feathered body.
I stared, trying to get my tired brain to translate what I saw into something that made sense; like a painted plane or a lost kite or something. But my brain refused to cooperate. It kept telling me a giant bird, a gorgeous eagle, was coming to a landing on the first black marble block forming the Vietnam Memorial Walk’s wall of names. Giant talons gripped the stone as its magnificent wings tucked in around a body the size of a pony, golden eyes glowing like miniature suns.
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