“You will refrain from touching my daughter,” said Dad.
Kawano put a hand on Tojo’s chest, effectively stopping him from barreling into us like a two hundred pound bowling ball.
“You need us,” I said, baring teeth in a snarl. I wiped at my throbbing mouth and my fingers came away streaked with blood. “But Tojo will have to pound me into a pulp before I’d help you.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Kawano. Pursing his lips, he cocked his head to the side. “The Black Pearl is extremely restless and you’ve deprived us of our means of keeping her calm.”
The canvas sides of the truck bulged for a moment right on cue, and then metal squealed at an eardrum-bursting pitch as the entire truck shook. Car doors slammed. Black suits jumped out of the sedans, pulled long-handled hooks and nets from trunks and rushed to the truck.
Tojo pivoted and in a flash was in the midst of the black suits, barking orders and ripping off the canvas cover.
“I have a deal for you, Kawano-sama,” said Tomoe. She sauntered over to our little tableau as if a giant dragon wasn’t about to burst from the truck and flatten us like pancakes.
“It is offensive that you would seek to capitalize on the current upheaval to push forward your agenda,” said Kawano, flicking a derisive glance at Tomoe and then maintaining a steady gaze on Dad. Sexist pig.
“Herai-san will not help you without my word,” Tomoe stated simply. She waved a lazy hand at the mad scramble behind Kawano. The Black Pearl’s tail swiped a black suit’s midsection, sending him flying. More black suits converged with their hooks, but the Black Pearl’s head swung wildly, thumping others left and right. Tojo was turning red with exertion.
Kawano swung back around stiffly. Dad straightened up to his full height. “It’s time to bend a little, old friend.”
Tomoe must have been encouraged by Kawano’s silence, although it felt like a pot about to boil over rather than resignation. “Make me a full Council member, promise that we will bring the Black Pearl’s release up for public discussion, and Herai-san will help Tojo return her to the cave.”
Kawano folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. “You have a deal.”
I blinked. Really? So easily? Just like that Kawano gave up his iron-clad determination to keep the ambient magic leaked by the Black Pearl or whatever it was helping with Kind birth rates?
“That’s not enough,” Tomoe said. Across the grass, Tojo gave an inarticulate roar as the Black Pearl smashed yet another black suit into the dirt. He made a flying leap onto the Black Pearl’s rounded neck, a length of chain stretched long between two fists. “If you want the Black Pearl alive,” Tomoe said quickly, “you’ll have to—”
Dad fidgeted from foot to foot, raising his hands as if to break in, but Kawano beat him to it. With an unnatural loose-jointed shift, as if he sported way more vertebrae than the average human, Kawano rippled himself in front of Tomoe’s nose.
“My word is not enough?” His menacing tone was barely audible under Tojo’s shouts as four black suits converged with their hooks on the Black Pearl’s lowered head. Mouth open wide in a silent scream, the Black Pearl’s giant coils grew slack. Tojo twisted his chain tighter around that enormous neck.
That made two of us Tojo had roughed up. He’ll get his, I promised the dragon.
I had to give Tomoe props, though, she stood her ground against Kawano despite her face going pallid. “The Eight Span Mirror’s entire mission is to include more Kind in decision-making. Shouldn’t we include Tojo or other witnesses in any Council decision?”
“More Kind? You mean Hafu.” Kawano’s disdain was palpable, like konbu broth bitterness on the tongue, but Tomoe didn’t avert her gaze. If she had, she might have noticed something small and blue streaking over the Black Pearl’s prone body and the black limo pulling into the parking lot. Doors opened and all The Eight Span Mirror Kitsune plus Pon-suma jumped out.
At last the gang’s all here. I shifted closer to Dad.
“I love being a witness,” said Kwaswki, doing his usual melodramatic entrance thing by stepping out from behind Jesus’s cross. He settled on his heels with arms crossed next to Tomoe in blatant mimicry of Kawano. “Sorry I missed most of the fun,” he said, flashing me his wonderful big-toothed grin. “I’ve been rounding up stragglers. What am I witnessing?”
“I made Tomoe-san a full Council member,” said Kawano. “She may take Yukiko-sama’s place. We will bring up the Black Pearl’s release for discussion within two months. I so swear. Now,” he told Dad, “put her back before Tojo-san kills her.”
“No,” I said, swallowing a lump of fear. Dad wasn’t in any condition to eat the Black Pearl’s dreaming, calm her, and get her into the cave, but they weren’t paying attention to me.
“Your unholy bargain with Tomoe-san is unworthy of Herai Akihito. Unworthy of a soldier.” Ken’s voice was a hushed rasp.
“I’m not a soldier anymore,” Dad answered. “Just a tired, old father. Tomoe-san needs a show of power. She needs to bring the Black Pearl back when Kawano-san couldn’t. I need her to protect Koi.”
“Tomoe on the Council won’t erase my childhood or Tojo’s anger; there’s no such beast as safe,” I said.
Dad ignored me, striding across the grass as Kawano and Tomoe sidled closer and looked on in a disturbingly similar way. Self-satisfied twins.
Just as Dad laid a hand on a tail coil, Midori and Pon-suma converged, grabbing my clothed upper arms and pushing me back on a makeshift stretcher held by Ben and Ken.
“No,” I repeated. But Midori blocked my view. She prodded my arm with gentle fingers. I hissed. “It’s broken,” she told Ken.
I couldn’t see his expression as he was holding the head-end of the stretcher, but his voice came out tight. “Can you give her something for the pain?”
“Yes, but she’s going to need the supplies I keep back at the museum. Here,” she said, pressing a chemical cold pack to my cheek. “Okay, on three. Lift her and we’ll get her back to the limo.”
“Wait,” I said. “Is Dad okay?”
Ken lifted his end of the stretcher high enough so I could see. Tomoe and Kawano flanked the open mound entrance to the cave, disturbingly chummy while Council black suits were dragging themselves off the gravel and sitting, dazed in the grass. Tojo stood over Dad, who had one hand on the Black Pearl’s neck and a familiar far-off glazed look on his face.
The sun beat down making sweat pool under my arms. The groaning of the black suits faded away as well as the upset breathing of Ken and Ben. The hum of the Black Pearl’s whalesong, the joyful adulation and supplication to her god, vibrated up from the ground.
By my blood and my heart I was bound to Dad. And by dreaming, not to mention my good old-fashioned human sense of decency, I was bound to the Black Pearl. The rest was a distraction. Including Ken’s secrets and lack of trust.
I swung my legs over the side of the stretcher to the sound of Midori’s gasp. “Help me over to Dad,” I said.
“Tojo and Kawano won’t let—” Ken sputtered. Ben and Midori both jumped in at the same time.
“—with a broken arm!”
“—not your fault this went sideways.”
“Everyone just stop!” I yelled.
Kwaskwi chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “Been waiting for her eruption.”
I continued shouting. “We did it The Eight Span Mirror way and that turned out just ducky. I’m not The Eight Span Mirror. I don’t care about your traditions and duties and who owes favors to who and all that crap. What I care about is releasing the Black Pearl, getting my Dad, and going home. Now I’m going to him,” I said in my best imitation of Marlin’s bossy voice. “And you can either help me get there—” I gave Ben and the boys the evil eye, summoning up my own powerful voice that was Koi the Baku. “—or you can get shoved.”
Ben and Kwaskwi helped me stand while Midori shook her head in disapproval, rummaging through a black knapsack. That left only one Hafu standing there
who could stop me. When I’d taken my “bound to” inventory, I’d intentionally skipped over one person who had their pesky dark espresso eyes pretty far embedded in my psyche despite how frustratingly dense he’d been since we set foot in Tokyo.
Make or break time. Ken could either get over his angsty guilt-ridden Bringer self and help me fix this giant mess or he could continue to be egotistical and self-absorbed trying to protect me from big, bad evil stuff. If he continued down this path, keeping his own secrets, shielding me from The Eight Span Mirror, the Japanese Kind, and his own wounded heart, I couldn’t bear it. “And you?” I said, knowing if I turned and locked gazes, my resolve would melt. “What are you going to do?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“I was going to kiss you,” whispered Ken, “but I am afraid you will punch me.”
Midori handed Pon-suma two flat sticks. He approached me warily. “This will hurt.”
At least someone here isn’t pulling punches. Midori came at me from the other side, all business.
“I don’t have time for this, I—”
Ken scooted in from the front, cupped my head in his large, strong hands and brought his face close enough that I was in danger of falling into the solid, chocolate warmth of his eyes.
“Koi,” he said, mingling the stale coffee and sour milk of our breath. Then he pressed his lips to mine; gentle, insistent. My heart slowed in response to the feather brushes of his mouth, blood sluggish and molten in my veins.
Midori yanked my hand forward, and Pon-suma slapped his sticks along my broken forearm. I jerked away with a cry, pain stopping my lungs from expanding, the world going oddly bright and fuzzy around the edges. I blinked rapidly, biting my lower lip as Pon-suma wrapped my arm tightly with a bandage.
“Bastard,” I spat. Yukiko’s dream energy throbbed down my arms, fizzing at the tips of my fingers. So tempting to give Ken a shove and send him flying across the grass. “Don’t do that.”
“Kiss you?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Use my stupid attraction to make me fall in line.”
“Is that what you think this is?” Ken’s eyes narrowed. He spread his arms wide. “It couldn’t possibly be that I am drawn to you when you get all cranky and fiery?”
I glared.
“Kitsune were traditionally matriarchal,” observed Kwaskwi with a delighted grin. “Suckers for strong women.”
“Look,” said Pon-suma with an aggrieved sigh. He pointed to where my Dad was herding the Black Pearl.
A sharp pain bit my shoulder as Midori stuck me with another syringe. Soothing warmth coursed down my arm, allowing my ribcage to unknit itself and the whalesong—the Black Pearl’s despairing, weary plea to Abka Hehe—along with breath to enter my lungs. Dad closed his eyes and walked toward the mound, the Black Pearl’s double eyelids fluttered wildly, but she followed after, the rustle of her passage through the grass oddly loud.
Hold on, Dad, I’m coming for you. For the Black Pearl. Ken limped forward as I moved. I held up my good hand. “You won’t stop me.”
“Not trying to stop you,” said Ken. He raised his arms and then let them fall again. “I was an anchor for you with Ullikemi before, let me be again. I need this, Koi. Let me help.”
“Fine.” We reached the white picket fence surrounding Jesus’s mound at the same time as Dad and the Black Pearl.
Tojo had been bent over, resting elbows on his thighs and breathing heavily, his chain abandoned at his feet. Now he zoomed over followed by a bevy of black suits brandishing hooks.
“Can you keep all of them off me? That would be very helpful.”
Ken gave a slow smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ben!”
Ben came to stand at his back while Kwaskwi and Pon-suma both took places on each side. Pon-suma stood eerily still radiating a chill menace. Kwaskwi struck a flagrantly ridiculous karate pose. They formed a wall between Tojo and the Black Pearl.
“This is not the way,” Murase called out. He was holding Midori’s hand, or maybe she was holding his, keeping him back.
“You can’t fight change forever,” said Ken. It wasn’t clear if he was talking to Murase or Tojo. Maybe both. He’d gone feral Kitsune, cheeks cut from sharp planes, eyes narrow slits of glittering obsidian.
“I will crush you,” said Tojo.
“I am the Bringer,” said Ken with a low, obnoxious bow. Pon-suma licked his lips.
“You are a halfbreed,” said Tojo. “A tool for the Council to use and discard.” He lifted his chin. “You can’t stand against the Council’s might.”
Kawano and Tomoe had stopped their mutual congratulation party. “Hey,” Tomoe called out. “What’s going on now?”
“The Council’s might?” scoffed Ken. He flung out an arm to indicate the motionless black suits clumped behind Tojo. “Your kempeitai illusion? How many are real? How many Kitsune have you really convinced to follow the Butcher of Nanjing? I’m not afraid of your tricks.”
Tojo growled. “I am the Council’s might. And I will crush you.” He brought a fist up into the air. The black suits blurred, went oddly colorless, and then swirled away like small dust devils to reveal only six actual guys standing behind Tojo looking a bit surprised. They looked at each other and their surprise became worry.
“Those odds are a bit fairer,” said Ben. She cracked her knuckles and shook out her arms in a way that made me think of pro wrestlers while Murase and Midori continued to argue. Midori hung onto Murase’s arm for dear life.
Ken hopped forward on his bad leg and the nearest black suit flinched away.
“We had a deal,” Tomoe was saying to Dad. Wait, that’s my fight. Time to leave all the rest of this stupid mess to the ones who’d created it.
Dad didn’t open his eyes or release his hand from the Black Pearl’s slowly undulating coil, but he nodded once, still aware at some level of what was happening in the real world. The Black Pearl moved forward, flattening the fence posts, her whalesong quieting to the barest of murmurs.
I reached for Dad’s free, dangling hand. Kawano did that weird rippling thing, but I changed direction mid-grasp as he appeared in front of me, digging my fingers into the bare skin of his neck at the shoulder. His eyes went wide, twisting away before I could do anything but get an impression of the world on fire, my nose full of the charred pigskin smell of human flesh burning, and a great sorrow like a leaden cape across my shoulders.
World War II nightmares. No thank you.
Kawano ripped off his Patagonia jacket and swung it into the air, aiming for my face. I glimpsed Tomoe’s wide, startled eyes before it settled over my head.
“Don’t choose the losing team,” I said to Tomoe. Then I punched blindly straight ahead with my good hand, releasing pent up frustration and fear and Yukiko’s dream energy. My hand connected with something solid and meaty—Kawano.
I tugged the windbreaker off my head to find Kawano and Tomoe tangled together wrestling on the ground.
“You can’t do this,” I said to Dad. “I won’t let you make the same mistake again. This is not right.” I slipped my fingers through his dangling hand.
The world spun 360 degrees, colors and sensations blurring and then fracturing. My stomach seized. It was like riding a Tilt-a-Whirl hepped up on rocket fuel. The fractured colors fell away to reveal a plain, featureless landscape of gray. Dark blue shadows made long, curved shapes like sandstone contours in Bryce Canyon National Park. I fell to my knees and vomited, wincing in anticipation of pain from my jarred arm, but those drugs Midori had were good stuff. There was a faraway feeling of small tendon and bone bits shifting inside my arm, but then I was vomiting again and it didn’t matter. The puddle of puke threatening to soak my knees was dark blue.
A cool palm drew my hair back from my face. Dad. But the man standing beside me was not the father and sushi chef I’d known my whole life. It was the young officer from the Black Pearl’s dream-memories, with brutally short dark hair unblemished by gray, smooth skin, and shoulders that
filled out the cloth covering them. Instead of an army uniform, Dad wore a summer yukata dyed in traditional indigo starbursts and tall-soled wooden geta on his feet.
“Stand up, we’re going to be late.”
“Late?” I repeated, wiping my foul-tasting mouth with the sleeve of my own yukata. Stomach momentarily quiescent, I stood up realizing that I wasn’t in my own body as I’d thought at first, but some young girl with long black hair brushed into a shining fall down to the backs of my knees. Petite feet and slender hands with dirty, ragged fingernails greeted my downward glance.
“The Black Pearl is coming.”
“What? Where?”
Dad tugged my sleeve, urging me forward. I tripped over the unfamiliar square shape of the geta. Dad made an exasperated cluck. “We’ll miss it!”
“Miss what?” But he was off again, making for a large blue formation a couple of hundred feet ahead. This was so weird, unlike any dream I’d ever seen before. The landscape looked like a movie green screen before fantastic backgrounds and monsters were projected on it for only the movie audience to see. This young version of Dad wove around blue shadows and nodded at empty space like he was greeting people. I shuffled after as quickly as I could, the clack of my geta oddly hollow.
“Dad, wait!”
Dad stopped and turned around, eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Little Sister, what are you playing at?”
Sister? My mouth opened and then closed again without a sound. Dad had a sister? Why hadn’t he ever told us about her? Marlin would freak.
I caught up to him. “Where are we going?”
Black Pearl Dreaming Page 20
