by Jasmine Walt
I sighed, pushing away the treacherously seductive picture his words painted. The sincere concern in his tone made it hard for me to be angry with him, but I couldn’t give in. “You know my mother will never sell this place to you.” I’d already discussed it with her in the past, and she’d dug in her heels. Over my dead body, she’d said.
I had a feeling she meant that literally.
“How about lunch, then?” Shota countered. “Real lunch,” he added when I opened my mouth to make a smartass comment. “As much as I enjoy wowing you with my superior culinary talent”—he gestured to the black box on the table—“it might be a nice change of pace for us to go some place neither of us own. Neutral ground, if you will.”
I snorted. “Are you asking me out on a date or a negotiation?”
“It can’t be both?”
Typical. “I don’t have time for your games,” I said, shooing him out of the way so I could help the customers who had just walked in. “Come back when you’re serious.”
“I am serious.” Shota’s gaze bored into mine as he shifted, blocking my view of the front door. He covered my hand with his own, and a tingle shot up my arm. “I know you’re interested, Aika. You can try to hide it, but I can see it in your eyes.” His thumb skimmed over my skin, sending a tendril of heat through me. My breath hitched in my throat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice remarkably even considering I couldn’t breathe.
“Sure you do.” His eyes twinkled as he pulled away, leaving me feeling strangely bereft. “But there’s no rush. You know where to find me when you’re ready. Enjoy the food.”
He walked away, leaving me to stare after him. It took me a second to realize my eyes were glued to his tight ass—did he really have to wear such well-fitted jeans?—while the couple who had just walked in was still waiting. My face flamed, and I quickly apologized, then took care of them. God, what was wrong with me? Was I really that hard up for some action? Sure, it had been over a year since I’d last taken a man to bed, but I’d been so wrapped up with work and school it hadn’t occurred to me that I was missing anything.
My gaze fell on the black box, and my stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. Giving in, I flipped open the lid, then groaned at the sight of the sushi spread within. Shrimp, salmon, tuna, roe, eel, yellowtail—
“You’ve got to stop encouraging him, Aika,” Janet said, appearing at my elbow as if by magic. “Every time you eat his food instead of sending him away with it, you’re sending a message that you want more.”
“You’re one to talk!” I exclaimed as Janet snatched up three sushi rolls. She shoved them into her mouth before I could grab her wrist. “I don’t understand how you can eat so much at once,” I muttered as I watched her swallow them down. Janet had a voracious appetite and was eating constantly. She claimed she had a crazy-fast metabolism and that if she didn’t eat every hour she’d get dizzy and weak. Considering how trim her figure was, I was inclined to believe her about the metabolism part. I’d have to roll myself down the stairs every morning if I ate like she did.
“Practice,” she said, reaching for another sushi roll. I smacked her hand away, but she simply used her other one, snatching up an eel roll. “I’m going to take my break now,” she said around a mouthful of fish and rice. “Cover me for a minute, would you?”
“Sure, no problem,” I said sarcastically to her retreating back. It wasn’t as if I was the boss or anything, right? Shaking my head, I picked up one of the shrimp rolls and popped it into my mouth. My eyes nearly rolled back into my head as the flavors burst onto my tongue. As usual. So. Freaking. Good.
If Shota’s that good at making sushi, what else can he do with those hands?
Pushing that dirty thought out of my head, I grabbed the notepad Janet had left on the counter and quickly reviewed it to make sure there weren’t any outstanding orders. All of her tables looked to be taken care of, but as I glanced around the room, I noticed there was a man sitting in the corner by the circular window who hadn’t been served. Hell, he didn’t even have any water or anything. Weird. Janet was usually on top of her customers.
Hating to keep a customer waiting, I went over to help him, but as I approached, alarm bells began to go off in my head. The guy had long silver-gray hair that he pulled back into a high ponytail, and instead of normal clothing, he wore a black and silver haori and hakama—a kind of Japanese-style coat and pants. I half-expected him to be carrying a katana, but instead he held a sketchpad and paper, and his wizened old eyes were trained out the window, as if he was sketching the view.
“Konnichiwa,” I greeted him, defaulting to Japanese. “Would you like to see a menu?”
The man started, then twisted around in his seat to face me, faster than I would have expected for someone his age. “You can see me?” he asked, astonishment filling his voice as he looked me up and down.
“Umm. Yes. Why wouldn’t I?” Now that the man was facing me, I was struck by the odd color of his eyes. He was Japanese, like me, and normally we weren’t very creative in the eye color department. But instead of dark or light brown, his eyes were a brilliant vermillion—the exact same shade that we always painted the torii gates outside our shrines and temples.
The man beamed at me, and a curious sensation enveloped my body as I stared into them. It was almost as if his smile had parted the clouds, and the sun was shining directly onto my body. Except that didn’t make sense, because I was inside.
“You are the one I’ve been searching for.” He set his pad and pencil down, then leaned back in his booth as though he’d just eaten a very satisfying meal. “I can return to the Heavens now, knowing my duties are done.”
“What are you talking ab—” I began, but the man was already out of his chair and across the room. How the hell had he moved so fast? I was about to shrug it off, but then I noticed he’d left his pad and pencil behind. Snatching them up, I raced out of the café as fast as I could, hoping I could catch up with him in time.
“Mister!” I shouted as I burst through the door, whipping my head left and right. I caught sight of him halfway across the street and rushed to the corner. “Mister! You forgot your stuff!”
He turned toward the sound of my voice, and that was when the bus plowed straight into him.
2
“Mister!” I screamed as I watched the bus plow into the man. Holy crap, the driver hadn’t so much as tapped on his brakes! My heart in my throat, I leapt forward, fully intending on using my petite frame to stop traffic. Someone had to make sure he was okay—
Except there was no body in the street. The old man was gone.
“Guh…” I sputtered, trying to process what I’d just seen. How was that possible? The old man had been standing right there. He’d turned his head to look at me right before he’d been run over.
And yet there was no body on the asphalt. Not so much as a single finger. It was as if he’d never been there.
As traffic continued on like nothing had happened, I became vaguely aware that I was clutching something in my hand. Frowning, I looked down to see that I was still holding the man’s art supplies. Ha! Proof! He was totally real. The pencil in my left hand was solid, and the sketchpad in my right…
“What the…” I mumbled, my eyes going wide as I stared at it. I brought the cream paper closer to my face, certain that the light was playing a trick on me. But no.
The sketch was of a Japanese woman in an elaborate kimono embroidered with large sakura blossoms, her hair done up in an elaborate style that even a geisha would be envious of. That wouldn’t have been weird, except her face was a carbon copy of mine—my long-lashed, almond-shaped eyes, my small, slightly rounded nose, my wide cheekbones and square-shaped face.
Hell, even the tiny beauty mark at the corner of her left eye was identical to mine. Had this man been sketching me the whole time? But then why had he been looking out the window?
“Aika!” Janet’s high voice startl
ed me out of my state of muddled confusion, and I turned to see her hurrying down the front steps of the café toward me. Her face was the picture of concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I…” A glib response sprang to my lips, but it died instantly as Janet’s form flickered before my eyes. Instead of a young woman in her twenties, I was looking at a creature with sunken lips and eyes, leathery skin that looked like it belonged on a mummy, and an enormous distended belly that threatened to burst her orange uniform dress open. My mouth dropped open, and the image flickered away, replaced by Janet’s normal, pretty face.
“What are you staring at?” Her eyes narrowed, and a chill ran down my spine. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was looking at me with suspicion.
“Nothing.” I pressed a hand against my stomach as nausea roiled in my gut. Why was I hallucinating? “I… I guess I don’t feel well.”
Janet’s expression softened. “Of course. You’ve been super stressed. Go home and spend some time with your mom,” she said, and her face changed again, back to the leathery mummy. I choked down a scream as she reached out with an impossibly long, narrow arm and patted my shoulder with a stubby, four-fingered hand. “Make sure to get plenty of rest. We need you back tomorrow!”
“Y-yeah, sure,” I stammered. Janet turned around to go back in, and I swallowed at the sight of her long neck and bulbous head. Had I eaten something strange today? Had Shota put something weird in the sushi? A chill ran down my spine at the thought. What if he’d drugged me?
Don’t be ridiculous, I scolded myself. Shota wasn’t that kind of guy. Sure, we didn’t know each other that well, but I was a decent judge of character. Shota might want to buy my mom’s business, but that didn’t mean he’d resort to dirty tricks like this to get it. Besides, I hadn’t noticed anything off about the food he’d given me.
Shaking my head, I went back inside, grabbed my stuff from the closet behind the bar, and headed out. Maybe Janet was right, and the stress was finally getting to me. A cup of tea and a good night’s sleep were all I needed, I assured myself firmly as I hopped onto my bicycle.
But as I pedaled up the narrow streets toward the apartment I shared with my mother, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had happened to me this afternoon. And that the universe wasn’t quite done doling out surprises for me yet.
3
“This can’t be real,” I muttered as I stared at a cat-woman chatting on her cell phone across the street. No, not the Halle Berry Catwoman. That wouldn’t have been weird, not in SFO. This fine lady was dressed in a cardigan and jeans like a normal Jane, but she had the head of a calico cat and a matching tail waving behind her.
Did Halloween come early? I wondered. I supposed she could be wearing some kind of mask that covered her whole head, but I couldn’t figure out the waving tail thing. Was it animatronic?
Blue eyes with cat-like pupils met mine from across the street as we both waited for the light to change. I gave her a weak smile, but her eyes narrowed in suspicion, just like Janet’s had earlier. Swallowing, I looked away, my heart hammering in my chest. What was going on?
Oh crap, I thought as the light changed. You’re gonna have to pass her in the street.
Gripping my handlebars tight, I pedaled into the street and forced myself to look at the woman. I almost toppled off the bike as our gazes met again—her blue eyes were perfectly normal now, and there was no sign of a cat’s head or tail. My heart rate ratcheted up, and I pumped harder, wanting to get away before she changed back into a cat.
A block and a half later, I forced myself to a stop.
What is wrong with you? I scolded myself, leaning against a wall. My lungs burned like I’d run a marathon, even though I’d pedaled maybe three blocks total. My heart was trying to pummel its way out of my chest, my skin was clammy with sweat, and I felt faint.
You’re not feeling well, I told myself firmly. You’re obviously hallucinating. Maybe you’ve caught some kind of weird bug. Yeah. That was it. Cat people didn’t exist, and neither did goblins, or whatever I’d seen when I’d looked at Janet. I was gonna go home and sleep off whatever this was so I could resume my life tomorrow.
And if it turned out that Shota had given me a bad case of food poisoning, I was gonna rip him a new one the next time I saw him.
Decided, I resumed the rest of the journey on foot, walking my bike alongside me. If I really was hallucinating, I had no business steering any kind of vehicle.
“You don’t want to do this,” a low male voice said, and I froze. Something about it was familiar, tugging at my chest like a long-lost ghost from the past. Turning to my left, I saw a tall, athletically built guy standing in the alleyway. He was confronting a masked girl in a kimono, who was clutching a katana. For a moment I wondered if maybe she was a kabuki performer—Japanese theater performers were traditionally men, but times were changing—except that katana looked wicked sharp. The sliver of sunlight that managed to filter in through the alley glinted off the edge of the blade, making the folded steel shimmer.
That’s definitely not a production blade.
The woman let out a high-pitched giggle that caused the hair on my arms to rise. “Am I pretty?” she asked coyly in Japanese, canting her masked head to the side.
The man’s broad shoulders stiffened. “There’s no need to go down this route—”
“Am I pretty?” the girl asked again, her voice harsh this time. Her pale hand tightened around the hilt of the katana, and I gulped. Oh my God, she was gonna kill him!
“Yes,” the man said tightly, and I wondered why the hell he wasn’t hightailing it out of there. Why was he even talking to this crazy woman? He should be calling the cops! I had reached for my cell phone to do just that when the woman slowly lifted her mask.
“Ahhhhh!” I screamed, stumbling back at the sight of her face. It was absolutely horrific—someone had slashed her mouth from ear to ear, exposing the bloody insides of her cheeks and her rows of back teeth. The loose skin flapped as she whipped her head around to face me, and bile rose in my throat as glowing blue eyes met mine.
A memory flickered in my mind of an old Japanese folktale, but before I could catch it, the gruesome woman raised her katana and charged me with a scream of pure rage.
“Dammit, no!” the man shouted, chasing after her. The crazy woman slashed at my face with her sword, but I somehow managed to duck. Unfortunately, grace and I aren’t exactly best buddies, and I landed on my ass on the sidewalk.
The woman raised her sword again to strike, but before she could bring the blade down, a glowing piece of paper smacked into the side of her face. Howling, she dropped the sword, clutching at the paper—an ofuda, I realized, staring at the Japanese characters scrolled across the vertical slip of paper. Shocked, I turned toward the man, who already had another one in his hand. I thought he was going to throw it at her, but instead, he grabbed my hand and hauled me to my feet.
“It won’t hold her for long,” he shouted. “Run!”
“My bike!” I cried as he pulled me down the street, but there was nothing for it. Looking back, I saw the monster-woman writhing in the street, clawing at the thing on her face. A chill shot down my spine, and somehow, I knew deep down that she would get it off soon enough, and then she’d be after us.
“Come on!” the man yelled impatiently, yanking on my hand. I could see him more clearly in the street now—he was Japanese, with tanned skin and long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Good-looking, and that strange something tugged in my chest again, making me want to slow down and study him some more. But there was no time, so I turned around and pumped my legs hard, running as fast as I could. Even so, I tripped and stumbled on cracks in the sidewalk—the man’s legs were much longer, and I couldn’t keep up with his breakneck pace.
A furious shriek echoed down the street, and I looked back to see the monster-woman running after us. Cursing, my…savior? Kidnapper? New best friend? Anyway, he knocked a food
cart over, scattering dango and onigiri across the sidewalk.
The vendor swore, shaking his fist at us, but my companion didn’t bother with so much as an apology. Instead, he knocked down two sandwich board signs and a table, then dragged me into an alley and shoved us through a metal door.
“What the hell is going on?” I yelled as we stumbled into the kitchen of a ramen shop. The heavenly smells of pork bone broth and boiling noodles would normally have made my mouth water, but at the moment my stomach was flip-flopping around in my abdomen like a dying fish. “Who was that woman?”
“I think the more important question,” the man growled, hauling me away from the gawking kitchen workers, “is who the hell are you?”
“Umm, excuse me,” the chef said, appearing at the man’s elbow, “but this isn’t really the place for—”
The man slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the metal counter. “Leave us alone.”
The chef scowled, but apparently fifty bucks was his price, because he slipped the money into his apron and slunk back off to his workstation.
“Do I get one of those too?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know, since I saved you from that psycho-lady?”
The man scowled. “You didn’t save me from anything,” he snapped. “I was working, and you screwed everything up by screaming like a little girl!”
“You would have screamed too if someone who had their face slashed open smiled at you!” I protested.
“Except I didn’t.” The man smirked. That stupid curve of his lips made my heart flutter, and a weird sense of déjà vu rippled through me. Slowly, I took him in, trying to figure out who I was dealing with.
A modern version of Sessue Hayakawa, I thought as I looked him up and down. He had the same intense stare, strong jaw, and sensual lips that had made Hayakawa one of the first male heartthrobs in Hollywood during the silent film era. But unlike Hayakawa, he had shoulder-length hair that he pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, he dressed in modern clothes, and his eyes were a bit larger.
