Foxfire (Nine Tails, 1)

by Yuki Edo

“No.” The way the spot had felt earlier, it amazed Hiro the man’s touch didn’t hurt.

  Toyohiko withdrew a pin from a small bag, which Hiro had not noticed until then, and held it up. “Just a small prick, to test. Not deep.” He stuck Hiro with the pin and withdrew quickly. A few drops of black liquid came from the spot, and Toyohiko dapped at them with a white cloth he pulled from his little bag.

  “Have you offended anyone, my friend?” the doctor asked, looking up at Masaki.

  “Not that I know of,” Masaki said.

  “Someone means you both harm. A spell.” He felt Hiro’s forehead and cheeks. “Have you spurned advances? The smell of sex is still in the air. Jealousy could be the root.”

  “No. I’ve had no lover but Inari for decades.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Masaki sat up taller. “Our kami would never hurt another out of jealousy. You know this well.”

  Toyohiko gave another dismissive wave. “I’m thinking. Lady Inari will be just as angry one you love has been hurt.” He rummaged in his bag. “Incense. We must light it and keep watch. Where is our lady?”

  “I am here.”

  Hiro looked up, seeing Inari in female form again, her face concerned and compassionate. She came to stand by Masaki, a hand on his shoulder. “The yokai came to me. What can I do?”

  “Can you lift it?” the doctor asked.

  Inari touched the spot, closing her eyes. “No. It’s not a simple spell. It’s personal.”

  “Personal?” Hiro asked, truly growing afraid now. What chance did he have if a kami could not help him?

  “Blood or hair has been used,” Masaki explained, his gaze on Hiro’s face. He scowled, then rubbed his hand down his face, sighing. “My lady, I have offended no one. Not knowingly.”

  “I believe you. You wouldn’t let him suffer to hide any shame.” A chair appeared behind Inari, and she sat, smoothing her blue silk kimono. “I shall stay.”

  Hiro pulled the blankets up, his head aching as he trembled from the cold. “Could I have done something wrong?”

  Masaki shook his head. “No. You didn’t bring this on yourself. It’s the work of another.”

  Hiro’s mind clouded. Something hovered there, something he should tell them, but it slipped away. He burrowed into the covers, wishing he was still out in the clearing in Masaki’s arms. Resentment filled him. This strange illness was ruining everything. A kind, handsome man had just made love to him, but then the happy moment had been shattered. He didn’t understand why this was happening, and soon a fitful sleep took him as the voices in the room lulled him into slumber. He reached for Masaki before losing consciousness, clutching the hand of the man who made him feel worthy of the kind of love he wanted.

  Chapter Five

  Masaki lay stretched out on top of the blankets on Hiro’s bed. The smell of burning sage filled the room. Hiro held one of Masaki’s hands to his chest in a tight grip, and Masaki refused to disturb him. He’d been sleeping for nearly twelve hours now, his skin cold to the touch and his heart beating at a slow but steady rhythm. Inari moved about the room quietly, occasionally disappearing briefly to consult with spirits she had sent out. Though she appeared calm, Masaki knew his kami was upset about Hiro and even angry with herself for not having the power to help. She came over and gently touched his shoulder.

  “Masaki, I want you to get up. Eat something. Transform and run in the garden. Anything.”

  Masaki shook his head. “He reached for me in his sleep, said my name. I have to be here if he wakes. I promised to stay with him.”

  She ran her fingers through Masaki’s hair. While her touch gave comfort, it could not quiet his worrying thoughts. He could not believe any being would wish harm on Hiro, so it had to be an enemy of him or Inari. But they had none. Inari did nothing but good with her blessings, and the price for her favor was always fair. Masaki could think of nothing he had done to anyone—he kept to himself and only did his kami’s bidding.

  “Your heart will be with him. I can feel it, Masaki. You’re in love. You gave more than your body last night.” She pulled away and sat close to him.

  “I know I did, and that means it will only hurt more if we can’t save him.”

  “I won’t let that happen. If he begins to slip away, I will take him to my temple and place him beneath the first shrine ever built to me. He’ll rest there until we find a way to bring him back. I won’t let his soul depart.”

  “Keeping him between the worlds would not be fair.”

  “But he wants to be with you.”

  “Yes, he wanted me last night, but love takes time, especially for humans. We’re different from them, despite our similarities. He felt lust. There was emotion and tenderness with the desire, but it was only the start of love. He may feel different if he recovers, given the fate I’ve led him to.”

  “Don’t become discouraged. A spell that can be placed can be lifted.”

  Masaki sighed. “He feels so cold, my lady.”

  Inari stood. “I’m going to seek more help. I should’ve gone myself right away instead of sending spirits.” She leaned over and kissed them both. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  Masaki nodded, and she vanished. He moved closer and took Hiro into his arms, trying to warm him but not succeeding.

  * * * *

  Hiro heard voices and opened his eyes, but then the sounds faded. He saw nothing but mist, and he sat up to look around. His head ached as he moved, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision. The air felt fresh and moist, the way it did early in the morning, but he saw little beyond the mist and the shadows of some trees. It was far too quiet. He knew this had to be a dream, but in a way, that frightened him more.

  “Masaki?” Would the kitsune hear him? Could Masaki help him wake up? Hiro reached up to touch his medallion, but it wasn’t hanging around his neck. That worried him even more.

  A giggle caught his ear, and he turned his head. He saw a simple wooden pavilion, which had not been there a few moments ago. A table and stool sat inside it, the table laden with food. Hiro stood and walked over to it. The scent of rice and vegetables wafted to him, and he saw a pot of tea as well, but he didn’t enter. Something felt wrong. He’d read the myth of Persephone as a child, so eating seemed like a very bad idea, given what was happening to him. Even in a dream, something might be exercising power over him, and he wouldn’t let himself be trapped. He moved beyond the pavilion and looked around. Offerings of food were often used to trick people in lots of legends, but who would want to trick him?

  “Masaki?” It might not do any good, but if he could reach the fox spirit, maybe he could wake up. He felt groggy, as if he’d been sleeping for hours. More giggling drifted to him, and he saw a shadow move behind the pavilion. He tried to follow the sound, and in the distance, he caught a glimpse of a dilapidated red torii gate. Moss and dirt covered it, but Hiro still took a step forward. He didn’t know where else to go. Passing through a torii represented moving from the profane to the sacred, so it seemed the best place to go. Yet as he moved, he didn’t feel safer. Something shifted in the mist beyond the gate, and he stopped before crossing through it.

  Hiro backed away and moved to a nearby tree, sitting on one of its thick roots. If this was only a harmless dream, he had nothing to fear. But if something was wrong, he would wait for Masaki to help him. Despite the strange sensations that had crept in as they made love, Hiro had still felt a powerful connection to the other man. He’d felt the love being offered, and the feeling had both honored and humbled him. Masaki would not abandon him, no matter what had to be done.

  * * * *

  Masaki caressed Hiro’s face as the young man said his name again. His entire body ached, but that had stopped bothering him hours ago. He sat up, however, when someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?”

  “Daisuke. May I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  Daisuke opened the door quietly and slipped in, closing the door with equal care. He gazed at Hiro a
nd then at Masaki. “I expected to be put to work with more heavy lifting, but I arrive downstairs and find Toyohiko here going through his books. What’s happened to Hiro?” he said quietly.

  “We don’t know. A spell causing him physical pain. Itching, burning, extreme chills and now unconsciousness. Inari could not lift it.”

  “Who could it’ve been? Did you see anyone who wasn’t human at the museum?”

  “Not that I remember. I introduced Hiro to Chiasa, and he met the artist of the sculpture I bought. And she was a young, shy girl. Nothing else happened.”

  “But he had symptoms in Tokyo? Or not until later?”

  Masaki sighed. “He began to itch in Tokyo.” He pulled the covers back briefly to show Daisuke the inflamed skin.

  His brother nodded, his brow furrowed with concern as Masaki tucked the blankets back into place. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have bought that sculpture.”

  Masaki frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Daisuke pulled a chair out from the desk and sat. “The metal may be tainted. Something about that thing feels off to me. Artists scavenge sometimes. If she took metal from a shrine or temple, even an old abandoned one, she might’ve angered someone. Did you buy it because Hiro liked it?”

  “Yes, but I like it as well. It’s a nine-tailed fox.”

  Daisuke rolled his eyes but in an affectionate way. “Yes, I did notice that. They let me watch them seal it up so I would sign papers saying it was in perfect condition when it left. I’m just wondering. You can ask Toyohiko about it. I bought a medallion on the coast years ago, and wearing it made me feel sick, incredibly nauseated. I didn’t fully recover until I donated it to a shrine and told them to sell it to repair some storm damage.”

  “And you simply recovered?”

  “Yes. Toyohiko had predicted as much. He believed I’d come into contact with something sacred that had been stolen or misused. We narrowed it down to the necklace soon enough. I recovered within moments, and the symptoms never returned.”

  “But you only felt sick. Was it as serious as this?”

  “No, it was different, but couldn’t it be something similar?”

  “Maybe, though I think it would affect me as well.” Masaki looked back to Hiro. “I won’t leave him, but perhaps Inari could help. Unpack the sculpture, but not inside the house. Do it on the lawn. Call her back and see what she thinks.”

  Daisuke nodded. “All right.” He stood and gazed down at Hiro. “I’m sorry this has happened. Is there anything I can do for you? Have you eaten?”

  “Just help me find out what’s wrong. Nothing else matters.”

  “Okay. We’ll do all we can.” Daisuke turned and left the room as quietly as he’d entered it.

  Masaki watched Hiro sleeping. His skin looked paler, but he didn’t sweat and ran no fever. He kept growing colder, Masaki believed. Toyohiko was looking through all his books to find a similar case, and Inari was consulting other kami and spirits. Masaki pulled out his phone and dialed Chiasa’s number. She had spoken well of the young artist, yet Masaki wondered if Daisuke might be right. If she had stolen something, even without malice, she might be displaying symptoms as well.

  “Hello?” Chiasa answered.

  “It’s Masaki Kitamura. I was hoping to reach the artist who created the fox sculpture.”

  “Kira. Yes, of course. I can send her address to your email when I reach my office. I’m afraid she would never give us a number. She says she doesn’t use phones.”

  That seemed odd, but there was nothing to be done about it. “Thank you. I hope she got home safely. I believe you said she was flying out today.” Chiasa hadn’t said anything of the kind, but Masaki wanted to keep the conversation rolling. “She was talking to Hiro and excused herself, saying she was tired.”

  “I’m not sure what her plans were, actually. She’s very elusive and keeps to herself.”

  “Ah, I was mistaken then. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Until next time.”

  “Yes, goodbye.” He hung up without waiting for her to reply. Last night, he hadn’t gotten a very good look at the girl, and now he wondered about her. She had created a nine-tailed fox, so she must know something of folklore. He considered all the glass on the base of the sculpture. Some of the pieces had been odd colors, colors she might’ve had a hard time obtaining. Could they have come from the stained glass windows of a sacred building? With no way to contact the girl directly, Masaki couldn’t question her or find out if she were all right.

  “Masaki.”

  He turned at the whispered word and saw Hiro’s eyes fluttering. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

  Though his eyelids quivered, and he almost focused for a moment, Hiro never came fully awake. Masaki cursed under his breath, pulling the covers around Hiro more securely, as he knew of nothing else to do.

  * * * *

  Hiro could smell sage, but he didn’t understand why. He’d fallen asleep against the tree, which seemed odd. He knew that the strange place he was in had to be part of a dream. Nothing else made sense. After rubbing his eyes, he looked around. His body ached, and the smell of sage soon faded, replaced with the stench of decay. Many of the trees around him were dead, some of them rotting. The sky overheard remained as bleak and gray as it had been before.

  Strange animal cries filled the night. As Hiro looked around, a scene arrested his attention. He rose and walked over to the stones, the configuration striking him and jarring his memory in a way that nauseated him. Four jagged stones sat near a much larger one, and a pair of trees wound around each other just behind them. Even the colors were the same. Hiro swallowed, starting to panic. The landscape before him was exactly like a painting of Yomi he’d done in an art class many years ago. It still hung in the hallway outside Akira’s bedroom.

  I’m in the land of the dead? Or my own head? Does this mean I’m… He whirled around as the animal cries grew louder.

  “Masaki! Lady Inari! Can anyone hear me?” he cried, the animals going quiet. No one answered, and nothing stirred. Then he heard the giggle again, and he ran from the sound, not knowing what else to do.

  * * * *

  Masaki jerked up when he felt the blankets shift. He yanked them back, but Hiro no longer lay in the bed. Daisuke had not reported back to him, and he jumped up and ran outside. Inari stood by Daisuke, and a ring of blue flame surrounded the metal sculpture.

  “My lady, Hiro is gone! What has happened?”

  “He’s gone?” Inari said, moving to his side quickly. “Nothing’s happened here. I put the ring up as protection. The sculpture is radiating warmth, and I don’t like the feeling it gives me. It’s the work of a witch. We must find the one who made this.”

  “A witch?” Masaki asked. As he stared at the sculpture, he thought about the young girl who’d been speaking to Hiro. Who had touched Hiro. She’d been too short and thin to be the woman who came to mind, but spells for changing one’s appearance did exist. That cascade of wild hair was familiar, painfully so. “Kilana.”

  “Who?” Daisuke said.

  “Kilana. The kitsune-tsukai who tried to trap me years ago. Only Inari’s mark saved me.”

  Inari furrowed her brow, but then her face hardened as realization moved over it. “But you killed her when she said she would find a way to take all nine of you from me! I was there.”

  “She’s reaching out from the underworld. She threatened to do as much.”

  “But how? Possession? Rebirth?” Daisuke asked.

  “She told me when she first caught me that she’d traveled in and out of Yomi many times, that each journey made her stronger.”

  “Then I will go there and fight her. I’ll bring Hiro back if she’s holding him there,” Inari said, her kimono changing to armor. Blue dragon scales covered every inch of her body, and she drew a katana from the sheath on her back. “I’ve grown soft in recent years. No witch will harm those I protect.”

  Masaki shook his head. “No. I must make a d
eal with her to be free. Truly free. If she can return once, she’ll never give up and keep returning again and again.” With a thought, Masaki changed his clothes as well, banishing the linen kimono in favor of jeans, sturdy boots, and a thick Henley. “I remember how she tricked me. I’ll be in Yomi faster than you could take me there.”

  As he moved forward, Inari grabbed him. “What are you doing? This is no time for guessing!”

  “Please, my lady, trust me.” He gently pulled his arm free. “I touched the tree she was hiding in when we met. I remember how warm it was.” He rushed forward before they could stop him, reaching out to touch the sculpture. Passing through Inari’s ring of fire singed him, but he didn’t stop.

  Masaki felt himself falling the moment his hand touched the metal, and he could hear Inari calling his name. He landed on a bed of moss and rolled until he hit the trunk of a tree. As he stood and dusted himself off, he heard giggling. Pausing, he waited for the witch to appear, but she didn’t. The laughter faded, and nothing around him moved. He took a few steps and called Hiro’s name. His voice echoed, and he listened intently. He called again, thinking he might change to his fox form and try to scent Hiro, but before he could decide, a cry caught his ear.

  “Hiro!” he called, running toward the sound. The fog grew thicker, but he kept going. Something solid hit him and knocked the wind from his lungs, but then he heard Hiro’s voice.

  “I knew you’d come for me! I knew it!” Hiro said, squeezing Masaki and burying his face against Masaki’s neck.

  Hiro didn’t feel cold in his arms. The witch must have been slowly drawing Hiro into the land of the dead. Masaki held Hiro at arm’s length, noting that he was dressed all in white. As he wondered what that might mean, Masaki pulled his shirt aside to look at his chest.

  “Hiro, did the artist touch you here? Do you remember?” The mark was gone, but it had to have something to do with all of this.

  Hiro blinked, but then he nodded and touched the spot. “Yes. What’s happening? I don’t understand.”

  Masaki held Hiro’s face and kissed him lovingly. “A witch once tried to bind me into her service. Inari’s mark upon my soul made this impossible and protected me, and she vowed she’d make me hers one day. But it was decades ago.” He kissed Hiro again. “I’m so sorry. I never imagined she’d come after one of my lovers.”