A Winter of Ghosts (The Waking Series)

by Christopher Golden, Thomas Randall

  Then she made silly faces and Wakana laughed.

  "Come on!" Mai pleaded.

  Wakana thrust out a hip, shifting into a dance pose. Mai clapped her hands in glee, and seconds later, they were dancing side by side. Wakana strung a few moves together by sheer instinct — for a shy girl, she knew how to move — and Mai mimicked her. They shimmied up and down against each other in mockery of boys' obsession with girls who kissed other girls — though none of the boys they knew would likely have noticed the irony — and then collapsed together in fits of embarrassed giggles. Mai pulled Wakana out of view of the camera just as the song came to a close.

  They fell onto their beds, flush with exertion, and only then did they hear the banging on the door.

  The two girls cast anxious glances at each other.

  "Who is it?" Mai called, as the next song began.

  Wakana jumped up and spun the volume down as Mai closed the laptop and started for the door. As she reached for the knob she remembered what she looked like. It would take too long to do anything about her hair, but she darted back across the room and grabbed a pink robe, tugging it on even as Wakana handed her a tissue, with which she wiped her lips.

  There was another round of banging on the door, but now Mai had grown irritated. She stormed to the door and unlocked it.

  "What is the crisis?" she demanded as she pulled it open.

  The sight of the school principal standing grim-faced in the corridor actually made her flinch and back up a step.

  "Yamato-sensei?" she asked. "What are you . . . what's wrong?"

  Mai had barely taken note of the presence of Miss Aritomo and Mr. Harper, but now she noticed the two teachers in the corridor behind the principal. Despite the tight, angry expression on Mr. Yamato's face, she knew that he had not come to discipline her. She and Wakana were not in trouble. This combination of Monju-no-Chie's teachers could have only one purpose for visiting them.

  Mr. Yamato arched a disapproving eyebrow at her pigtails and what she could only assume was a smear of sparkly lipstick left on her mouth.

  "Your music was very loud," he said.

  Mai gave him a tiny nod of apology. "I am sorry. I did not realize —"

  "May we come in?" Miss Aritomo interrupted.

  Mai stepped back to clear the way, thinking that it would be cramped with all five of them in the small room, and wondering what could be so important as to prompt them to visit her and Wakana here in the middle of a snowy afternoon. With the loud banging on the door, the other girls at this end of the hall would already be gossiping about how much trouble she must be in; they'd never assume Wakana was the one in trouble. The rest of the students would assume that Mr. Yamato had brought the other teachers as witnesses or something.

  As Mr. Yamato and Mr. Harper entered the room, Miss Aritomo hung back in the hall a moment. She shot a sidelong glance at someone else, one of Mai and Wakana's nosy neighbors presumably.

  "Go back into your room. This doesn't concern you," the art teacher said, as sharply as Mai had ever heard her speak to anyone.

  Then Miss Aritomo entered and closed the door behind them.

  Wakana looked like she wished she could climb under her bedsheets and hide.

  "This will take only a moment," Mr. Yamato said, shifting his gaze from Mai to Wakana and back again. He lowered his voice before continuing. "There may be a way to break the curse of Kyuketsuki."

  "Why would we —" Mai began, then cut herself off. "My apologies again, Yamato-sensei."

  "You can ask the question," Mr. Harper said. "Why would you care? Is that what you were going to say? You don't like my daughter and her friends, Maiko. I understand that —"

  "Harper-san." Mr. Yamato gave the American teacher a grave look.

  "Mai," Miss Aritomo said, "many people have died because of the curse of Kyuketsuki, some of them your friends." She glanced meaningfully at Wakana and then looked at Mai again. "Do you mean to tell us that you are not willing to help prevent more of your friends from dying?"

  Mai swallowed. Her embarrassment and discomfort at their sudden arrival fled. She had carefully crafted a persona of arrogance and confidence around other students, and she had great ambitions for her future that she thought that persona would serve. But when she was alone with Wakana, she always let that mask slip to reveal her true self. Now she discarded it willingly.

  "Of course not," she said. "If there's a way that I can help you break the curse —"

  "We," Wakana said. "If we can help."

  Mai nodded. "We'll do whatever you need."

  Mr. Yamato nodded with satisfaction and approval. "Excellent. You are still in contact with Ume Chosokabe?"

  An icy knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "Yes."

  "Can you reach her by telephone?"

  "I'm not sure," Mai said. "If not, she is usually online at night. I could e-mail her, or instant message her later. But Ume's been gone since last spring. What could any of this have to do with her?"

  The moment she asked the question, she felt like a fool. She knew the answer. Everything that had happened — the curse, all of it — stemmed from the murder of Akane Murakami.

  But Miss Aritomo surprised her.

  "The ritual that could break the curse requires the participation of all of those present at the time of Kyuketsuki's defeat," the art teacher said.

  "You've got to get Ume to come back to Miyazu City immediately," Mr. Yamato said.

  Wakana shook her head. "With respect, sir, wasn't she expelled?"

  "She could come to visit the friends she left behind," Mr. Harper said.

  "But she's in school," Mai argued. "Wouldn't it be better to contact her parents? She would need their permission."

  Mr. Yamato sighed, shaking his head. "Mai, listen to me. I cannot contact her parents. How would I explain a request for Ume to return to Monju-no-Chie school, and in such a hurry? Tell her that she is needed here, that she must come immediately."

  "But how will she explain, sensei?" Wakana asked.

  Miss Aritomo knitted her brows. Pretty as she was, the expression made her look anything but. "Ume has already proven her cunning by managing to get away with murder. She'll have to figure something out."

  Mai blinked in astonishment at the teacher's uncharacteristic directness. Adults so often talked around things that were awkward or unpleasant that the words had shocked her.

  "What if she doesn't want to come?"

  "If she doesn't want to prevent people from dying?" Mr. Yamato said. "Then tell her a member of the Miyazu City police will be happy to go and retrieve her, and she can explain that to her parents."

  The dormitory at Monju-no-Chie school was separated by a wide stairwell that divided it evenly into two sides, with the girls on one side and the boys on the other. Each floor had a common area near the stairs, but the one on the first floor was the largest, with the exception of the cafeteria. All of that common space was meant as consolation to the students for the strict rules governing gender relations in their dormitory rooms. Boys were not allowed in girls' rooms with the door closed, and vice versa. After nine p.m., they weren't even allowed in the opposite wings.

  As Kara strode along the second floor corridor toward Ren's room with Miho and Sakura in tow, she thought about the absurdity of the rule, especially when it came to Ren. He was gay. Though he claimed not to be interested in any of the boys on his floor — most of them didn't know about his sexual orientation — she was still sure he was more than content to be trapped after dark with a few dozen other guys.

  Or not. That's a pretty ignorant thought, she realized. As long as she'd known him, Ren had always seemed to get along much better with girls than other guys, Hachiro being the lone exception.

  A sickly feeling rippled through her gut as she passed the door to Hachiro's room. No light shone beneath the door. It felt still and empty, as though it had been abandoned and waited for a new resident to give it life again. Even just a quick glance at the door made her
want to shout with frustration and anticipatory grief. But she refused to give up on Hachiro yet.

  Ren's room was three doors down on the left. She rapped several times in quick succession, her knuckles stinging.

  "What if his parents are still here?" Miho whispered.

  "Then we tell them," Sakura said. "We're running out of time to do this quietly."

  "Hachiro's running out of time," Kara corrected.

  The door remained closed, but here there was light underneath the door. Kara could practically feel the presence of someone inside. She knocked again, harder this time.

  "Ren, it's us," she called. "Kara, and Sakura, and Miho."

  "We need to talk to you," Sakura added.

  Still nothing. Kara felt her anger ramping up. She made fists of her hands and rocked on the balls of her feet, needing to let out the maelstrom of emotions that were storming around inside of her.

  Miho must have seen it coming. She put a hand on Kara's shoulder. "No. Let me," she said. And then she stepped up to Ren's door and knocked much more softly than Kara had. "It's Miho. I know you're hurting. Maybe you're scared or embarrassed or mad, or maybe it's all of those things. I know you're afraid for Hachiro. But we're your friends and we need you."

  Sakura and Ren had a great camaraderie. They were buddies, fond of giving each other a hard time. But ever since Miho had revealed her feelings for Ren and discovered that he had no romantic interest in girls, the two of them had developed a gentle intimacy that had nothing to do with sex. If he would listen to anyone, it would be her.

  "Ren, please?" Miho added.

  Several seconds went by. Kara began to grow frantic. What would they do if they couldn't get Ren to talk to them? She glanced at Sakura, then Miho, and she thought about trying to kick the door in but knew she didn't dare. They'd have to get Mr. Yamato down here instead.

  Just as she was about to give up and go away, Ren spoke at last.

  "I don't remember anything," he said.

  They all looked at one another. Kara gestured for Miho to speak.

  "Please, Ren," Miho said. "We need to talk to you."

  A few more seconds passed as he contemplated that, and then at last he opened the door. Kara blinked in surprise and felt all the anger drain out of her. Normally, Ren was strikingly good-looking, with his long, spiky bronze hair and copper eyes and a mischievous smile that seemed to work on nearly everyone. So often she had thought how much he reminded her of a fox in appearance.

  That Ren had vanished and been replaced by a pale, thin, unsmiling creature. His hair was clean but hung straight and dull, and he wore a white shirt and tan pants that gave him an almost monastic look. Silhouetted against the early winter darkness outside his window, he might have been Kubo's sickly grandson.

  "Ren?" Miho said, putting all of her anguish at his appearance into that single syllable. She hurried into the room and embraced him, leaving Kara and Sakura to watch.

  Ren seemed awkward with the hug, and when Miho stepped back, neither of the other girls attempted the same greeting. As they had agreed before paying this visit, Sakura stayed at the door, halfway in and halfway out. They weren't supposed to close it, but they did not want to be troubled by the kind of gossip that eavesdroppers might inspire.

  Kara leaned against Ren's desk. "Your parents left?"

  "For now," Ren said. "They wanted me to go home with them, but I told them I would be all right."

  "Will you?" Miho asked, perching on the end of his bed. Behind her glasses, her eyes were wide with sympathy.

  Ren sank down beside her, seeming almost grateful not to have to stand. "I don't know."

  Kara glanced at Sakura and saw hesitation and regret in the other girl's eyes. She felt the same emotions creeping up on her and shoved them away. Hachiro's life hung in the balance; they couldn't afford any more hesitation.

  "You know why we're here," Kara said.

  Miho shot her an admonishing look. "Don't be so cold."

  "Ironic choice of words." Kara kept her focus on Ren. "Listen, I know you don't want to talk about this —"

  "I would if I could remember," Ren snapped, but he couldn't meet her gaze for more than a second, glancing down at the floor.

  Kara nodded, took a deep breath, and forged on. "Okay, I get that you don't remember exactly what happened. But I'm sorry, Ren. I just can't believe there isn't anything, not a single detail, lodged in your brain that would help us. Hachiro's been up there two nights now. This'll be the third. Unless you tell me he's dead —"

  "I don't know," Ren said, voice full of despair.

  " — then I have to believe he's alive. And that means we can find him. But you're the only person who can help us with that and you say you don't remember anything." She held up a hand to forestall any more arguments or denials. "There's more going on here than you know."

  As she told him what they thought they knew about Yuki-Onna, his eyes grew wide. She could see fear in them, but also hope, and she knew he wanted to talk to her.

  "What aren't you telling us, Ren?"

  Even Miho looked at him differently. She reached for his hand but he edged away from her on the bed.

  "Does that make you remember something? Did you see her?" Miho asked.

  Ren pressed his lips together like a child and shook his head. Kara truly cared for him — he was her friend — but she couldn't take it anymore.

  "Damn it, Ren!" she shouted in English.

  "Sssshhhh!" Sakura said from the door, frowning.

  Kara took a calming breath but it only succeeded in quieting her anger. Her eyes began to fill but she refused to cry, wiping the moisture away.

  "He's going to die!" she said, biting off each word as she returned to Japanese. "I love him. He's your friend. And he's going to die. You say you don't remember, well I think you're lying. I don't know why, but you are. And I'll tell you something else. Other people are going to die, too."

  Kara fingered the round stone that hung on a leather thong around her neck and noticed Miho doing the same. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.

  "We're protected for now, but Yuki-Onna is looking for us. Sora's dead. And she'll keep killing until the winter snows are gone, all because you won't tell us where Hachiro is. If he's dead, that's on you. And everyone else who dies . . . well, you'll have their blood on your hands, too."

  "Kara, that's not —" Miho began.

  "Stop it!" Ren shouted. "I can't!"

  "Can't what?" Kara demanded.

  Ren buried his face in his hands.

  "We can stop it, Ren, but we need Hachiro to do that. We need everyone who was there when Kyuketsuki put the curse on us. Mr. Yamato is getting Ume here, but all of it's for nothing if we can't find Hachiro, alive, and get him down off of that mountain."

  He looked up through spread fingers. "How? How can you stop it?"

  Miho spoke up, telling him about Kubo, the cloud wanderer, and the promises the monk had made to them.

  Ren looked sick. He shook his head.

  "Maybe he really doesn't know," Sakura said, though she didn't sound convinced.

  Kara stared at Ren. "He knows."

  As handsome — beautiful, really — as Ren was, at that moment he looked like a broken angel, tarnished with misery. He seemed about to speak and she saw the truth in his eyes, but it never made the journey to his lips. Slowly, he shook his head.

  "I'm sorry."

  The tragedy in his voice did her in. Kara raised a shaking hand to cover her mouth to stop her from screaming at him. Her eyes filled with tears that began to slide down her cheeks and she turned away, headed for the door, trying to find some way to accept the fact that Hachiro would die if he hadn't already, and that the curse on her and her friends would never be lifted.

  Sakura stopped her at the door, pulled Kara into her arms, and all Kara could do was try not to make any noise while she cried. A moment later Miho joined them without another word to Ren. They started to file out into the corridor.

>   Over the internal roar of her own despair, Kara barely heard Ren's voice.

  "She let me go," he said.

  Miho grabbed Kara's wrist and stopped her. It was a moment before it all registered, and Kara turned back into the room to face him. Ren sat on the bed, seeming to have shrunk in size. He wiped away tears.

  "She?" Kara said.

  "You mean Yuki-Onna?" Sakura asked in a hushed whisper of disbelief.

  When Ren nodded and stared, shamefaced, at the floor, Sakura reached out and closed the door. Miho opened her mouth to protest but Kara shook her head and the girl said nothing. This wasn't a time for rules.

  "Tell us, please," Kara said, swiping at her own tears with the back of her hand.

  Ren shuddered. "If I do, she'll . . ." He paused, and then a determined look came into his eyes and he looked up, meeting Kara's gaze fully for the first time. "The stories do not do her justice. She is awful. The cold isn't just in your skin or your bones, it's down inside you, in your thoughts.

  "She killed Sora right away. Hachiro and I saw it. But we had looked into her eyes and we couldn't move. Frozen, but not . . . not the way she froze Sora. Then she took us away in the storm, in the wind, tossed us in the air like we were puppets, and for a time I don't think we were anywhere except in the storm. It felt as if the storm wasn't even a part of this world."

  He held his hands up as if in surrender and gave a strained laugh.

  "I know how that sounds." His smile was something awful. "But it's true. She said Sora's life — his death, I mean — made her strong. It was as if somehow she had satisfied some hunger through killing him. But with us . . . it was like we were pets or . . . or toys. She said she would take us, too, eventually if she grew hungry enough or bored enough."

  His voice cracked on those last words and he took a deep breath, looking as though he might be sick.

  "I shouldn't be doing this," he said. "Shouldn't be talking about it."