by Matt Doyle
“Of course you are. C’mon, Cassie, I can read you like an open book. Your face gives it away. The subtle way your eyes flick across the page, the slight on-off tightening at the corners of your mouth. You’re studying the picture for clues. What for, I don’t know, but you’re definitely doing it.”
I’d protest but, much to my chagrin, she’s right. I guess it’s because all I’ve had up until recently was work. Even when I didn’t have a case on, I was still trawling through the local news sites to see if I could get a head start on anything that may have been about to come my way. The problem is, PI work in New Hopeland has peaks and troughs, and it’s near impossible to predict when each will happen. As it is, the press I received when I solved Lori’s case the month before last has led to a near-constant influx of work. The same thing happened when I found Jonah Burrell’s daughter, and before that when I helped recover the arms that an upstart street gang had lifted from a visiting military team. Since there’s no real way to tell when it’s all gonna bottom out again, I’ve been taking on everything that comes my way, just in case I’m about to hit another dry spell. All of the focus on work has meant that, recently at least, my mind hasn’t been entirely here when I’ve been with Lori.
“Remind me never to play poker with you,” I groan. “So, how many are there in the troupe?”
“Just the one.”
“One? Didn’t you say they ?”
“Yup. In folklore, kitsune were shapeshifters and could take on any gender, so this kitsune does the same. They use voice changers and alter their body language depending on what they’re depicting, and they use neutral pronouns. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if, under all the gear, they identified outside the binary.”
“Huh. So what F do you think they are?”
“I couldn’t tell you. Is that what you were trying to figure out?”
I nod. “Given that it’s at the biggest show venue in the city, I figured they weren’t a secret third F. I remember you saying that pretty much all second Fs are petplayers too, so setting up a job linked to Tech Shifting would be counterproductive for that. You also said that most second Fs used a full animal suit and that it was the first Fs who went for the hybrid style, so I was thinking they’re probably a Furry.”
Lori lets out an exasperated sigh and throws her arms out in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. You’re not gonna let yourself shut down otherwise. First, I definitely agree about them not being a secret Freak. They’ve been around for a few years and Freaks tend to be a little too unstable to not get caught, even if they manage to control themselves long enough to make it through testing. As far as the Fetishist thing goes, most go full animal but not all . Also, you’re basing your thinking on the idea that the world they’re trying to escape is itself a job. My reasons are my own, and not everyone has the same stressors that I do. For all we know, they could have, I dunno, disabled relatives to care for, and this gives them a way to fund said responsibilities while removing themselves from it for a time. Or they could have been bullied as a kid. This could be a way for them to take a step back and be someone else, or, more importantly, someone that other people love rather than ridicule.
“Yes, the gear makes it more likely that they’re a Fur, but it doesn’t guarantee it. You haven’t actually met any TS Furs, have you?” I shake my head, and she continues, “The majority go for cute designs. That means straight up cartoony or quirky horror. This is traditional in style, which doesn’t really fit in with that. Of course, whether the design was made to fit in with the job, or the job evolved from the style, is anybody’s guess. Now, Miss Detective, can you guess what all that means?”
I roll my eyes. “That I’m overthinking something unimportant and that I’ll never know the answers anyway.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s an interesting concept,” I say, and Lori pounces on the opening.
“I thought so. The thing is, my boss got a couple of freebie tickets for tomorrow and the next day. It isn’t really his sort of thing, and they only need reporters to cover one of the nights. He thought that night two would be better as it’ll give Kitsune a chance to sort out any technical faults that pop up, so that left opening night going free and…well…I agreed to take them off his hands. So, what do you say? I could give you one ticket and pretend I got it because I can’t tell the difference between Chinese and Japanese folklore, and you can give me the other ticket and pretend that you think I’ll enjoy it because I’m a Tech Shifter and must, therefore, love all things Tech Shift related.”
“Seriously? You want us to pretend to be bigots for a night out?”
Lori laughs, and it’s one of her full-bodied laughs that makes her whole body shake in mirth. She grabs me into a hug and presses her face to my shoulder, tears rolling down her cheeks as she says, “Of course not. It makes more sense than questioning every little thing about a photo of someone dressed as an anthropomorphic fox spirit, though.”
“Okay, okay,” I reply, joining the laughter. “Point taken. It is pretty hard to switch off as of late.”
Lori steps back and looks up at me, wiping the tears away from her pale blue eyes. “Honestly, the whole thing sounds kinda hammy to me, but you never know. At worst, we’ll either get a surprisingly good show or something we can laugh about later.”
I tilt my head and let my eyes relax into a warm curiosity. “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”
Lori blinks and turns her face away, her cheeks reddening a little. “You are an incredible person, but you really don’t look after yourself sometimes. I have Ink, but you don’t really have many ways to wind down and get out of that work headspace.” She lifts her head back to mine, and her eyes are a beautiful mix of pleading and something else hidden just beneath the surface. For someone who spends part of her time as a large cat, she sure does puppy-dog eyes well. “Please, Cassie, let me take care of you with this.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “Okay, I’ll go. But for the record, there are nine-tailed fox stories in Chinese folklore too. We called them jiuweihu .”
“Good to know,” she says, and pulls me into another hug. “Thank you.”
Confidence. It was confidence lurking beneath the cuteness. She knew I couldn’t resist that look. I’d cry foul by way of manipulation, but I’m pretty sure she also knew that, deep down, I know she’s right. At the very least when I’m around her . I don’t know if I’m focusing on work because the relationship jitters make me so uncomfortable, or if there’s still part of me that doesn’t feel ready to be with someone, but something has to change. This could be just what I need.
Chapter Two
LOOKING AROUND ME , I’m glad that I opted for one of my few fancier suits. It’s not exactly in fashion, but the slightly looser fitting shirt, lack of tie, and almost flowy blazer and trousers mean that I don’t feel too underdressed among the upmarket crowd the show has drawn. Okay, so it is something that I used to wear at the jazz clubs when Charlie and I went out, but it still fits, and it’s probably the most classy-looking thing I own, so that’s okay, right? Charlie didn’t mention it when I ran it by her, so that’s a good sign that I’m not making some dating faux pas. Or I hope it is, anyway. I’m still far too out of practice with this stuff.
Lori laughed at the outfit being relatively similar to my work gear, but she complimented me too, so I’ll take that as a positive, even if it did make me blush like an embarrassed teenager. Her own silken blue dress is stunning and gives away that she knows how to dress for this sort of thing far better than I do. Who knew that someone with what is essentially a metal mohawk could look delicate? Or is it more that she normally has a harder look to her, and this is simply more feminine in comparison…? Night out, night out, night out. Stop the overthinking, relax, and do something about those sweaty palms.
I wipe my hands on my trouser legs, stealthily of course, and hunt for a conversation starter to distract myself with. I settle on, “I think this might be the first time I’ve been
inside the central theatre.”
“Really? That surprises me. It’s one of the bigger tourist grabbers in the city. I thought that most citizens had been to at least one show here, even if it was just to see what all the fuss was about.”
I shrug. “It never really appealed. I mean, the outside’s nice in that old style picturesque sorta way, but there weren’t any shows on that made me want to pay to come in. I’m kinda regretting it now, though. The hybrid architecture is incredible.”
Lori smiles and leads me to a staircase that winds up towards the main show floor in a classical mansion style. What sets it apart from the other traditional architecture I’ve seen is that the steps themselves are patterned with grass that actually bends underfoot. I think I heard a gentle crunch too. To add to the effect, the handrail is patterned like winding vines and branches, decorated with intermittent flowers. It looks real, and sounds real, but I can feel the actual shape of the thing is as flat as you’d expect.
Noticing my embarrassingly enthralled gaze, Lori says, “Pretty, isn’t it? They’ve got video projection equipment built in but covered in a solid touch-sensitive layer. That’s how it knows to animate the grass bending underfoot. If you look closely at the railings, any time your hand gets near a bug, it’ll scamper off.”
I glance down at my hand and see a ladybird speeding into a hole between two vines. “Wow…”
“Want to know something cooler?” I nod, and Lori continues, “This display is custom. Every time they do a show, they consult with the performers to build something suitable to link in with the act. It’s to help create a sense of immersion.”
“Come here often?” I ask and throw in an awkward wink at the jokey chat-up line.
“Nah,” Lori giggles. “This is only my…fifth time, I think.”
“So, you just take an interest in how it all works, eh?”
“Nope. I’ll let you in on a secret. I’ve performed here.”
“Really?” I ask, stopping in my tracks and giving Lori a quizzical look.
“Don’t get too excited,” she replies, beckoning me on. “I took drama back in high school, and part of the course meant that we had to put on a professional show. The school managed to get this place booked for the evening, and I got to see the production side in action. Watching the camera team was part of what sparked my interest in photography, actually.”
I shake my head sadly and sigh. “I have led such a boring life.”
“Of course you have, Miss Punches-The-Villains. It wasn’t a big deal, anyway. I was an extra. Background dancer number two, or something like that. My parents were proud, though, so that was something.”
We settle into our seats and I say, “I think that’s the first time you’ve mentioned your parents. Are they…?”
“Oh, they’re still with us. They retired to Australia way back. Can you guess which part?”
“Uh… Brisbane? Melbourne?”
“Hopeland, would you believe? It’s part of Queensland.”
“I never knew there was a Hopeland in Australia.”
“Neither did I until they moved there. It’s all nice and rural apparently, virtually untouched by all this modern stuff. My dad calls it Old Hopeland.”
“That’s a shame, in a way.”
“How so?”
“It means they miss out on the balance. I mean, look at this place. The building is structured like something from the late 1900s, but everything’s integrated. The metal security shutters are painted up to look like windows. The stairs are old in design but covered in tech that’s been set to mimic a nature scene, solely for this show. The seats are the old-style fold-down ones but with modern comfort specifications. The stage is a classic semi-circle with big curtains, but I bet that’s got modern features too, right?”
Lori tilts her head towards the stage, trying to remember. “Yeah, actually. The back wall is built the same as the stairs. It means you don’t need handmade sets unless you want to go old school.”
“See? Traditional look, traditional arts, but modern sensibilities. Past and future intertwined. When you think about it, this place is like a physical representation of what New Hopeland was supposed to be.”
“It’s scary, but I can’t figure out whether you love the city or are just very disappointed with it.”
“I love the potential of the place, I guess. It amazes me what can be achieved when humans put their mind to it. It’s also amazing to think that it tends to be artists who manage it. Not bad for a group that usually get described as either dreamers or layabouts, is it? It makes you wonder why most of the ever-so-sensible, not to mention highly paid, politicians can’t get the balance right. Sometimes, I wonder if we should give the city to the starving artists and demote the lawmakers to a purely advisory role.”
“I think that someone’s a secret anarchist.”
“Down with the establishment,” I chuckle, just as the lights begin to lower and the first sounds of a shamisen cue up over the speakers.
GIVEN MY OWN uncertainty over what to expect, I have to hand it to Kitsune. While I doubt that we were the only ones here who weren’t lifelong fans, the vast majority of the audience was buzzing by show time. And I can’t say I blame them. I was too by the end of it. Things started with the curtains sliding aside, accompanied by the sound of a shamisen playing over the speakers. From there, Kitsune danced delicately onto the stage, twisting and turning with the well-practised movements of a vaguely familiar traditional dance, while the back screen led us through the passing of the four seasons in a woodland. As the music drew to a close, Kitsune moved to the front of the stage and, using a silken, if slightly mechanical-tinged, female voice welcomed us to the show.
“Those in attendance have done my siblings and I a great favour, for it is those who come to visit that give us the means to live. The kitsune are known to be wily tricksters, but we are not without honour, and we always repay a favour given to us. Perhaps then we can repay that which you have bestowed upon us with some entertainment. Come, and we shall help you forget the troubles of the day, if only for a little while.”
And so began what turned out to be a wonderfully enjoyable variety show. Most of the evening was given over to storytelling, with Kitsune playing a variety of different fox spirits as they told their tales as first-person accounts, complete with a variety of scenic backdrops. Oh, and the delicately woven silk pattern on the kimono? I’m not sure how they did it, but each different sibling had their own design, and it changed in the blink of an eye, without the need for Kitsune to exit the stage. My best guess is that each design was created by a tech team with military precision on their projection aim.
As for the stories themselves, some of them were genuinely funny, such as the one where a carefree young fox stumbled upon a proud, boastful samurai and set about taking him down a peg or two through sheer trickery and guile. My favourite was a heartwarming story of a young child who found a kitsune that had been hurt by a local farmer and nursed it back to health. As a thank you, the kitsune followed the boy through his life and provided assistance at the times he needed it most. This culminated in the fox leading the then old man’s spirit away from a hungry demon and on to the afterlife.
Then there was the finale.
A full light and video show was given over to the story of the fox maiden who fell in love with a hardworking fisherman. The fox admired the man from afar and found herself drawn not only to the way that he diligently carried out his work but the kindness with which he treated others. Taking the form of a human woman, the fox orchestrated a meeting one evening and, after a whirlwind romance, they were married. Unfortunately, tragedy struck soon after. The fisherman, recounting his memories of the wedding day to a friend, described a sun shower, or rain falling from a clear sky. He spoke of the woodland animals that had come to watch from the outskirts of the ceremony, with foxes, in particular, outnumbering the human guests two-to-one. This, his friend had told him, sounded like a kitsune no yomeiri , or fox we
dding, that he had heard about in one of his grandmother’s tales. Though such an event usually only applied to the marriage of two kitsune, the resemblance in description was uncanny.
Concerned, and slightly drunk, the fisherman returned home and confronted his wife. Loving him so dearly, the kitsune revealed herself to him and, though he did not fear her, the fisherman was disgusted that she had lied to him for so long and demanded that she leave. He never remarried, and never knew that the fox maiden was pregnant when he kicked her out. “This,” Kitsune said, “was how we came to be. Our father is now long dead, but his blood lives on in each of us who have visited you tonight. And so, with this bittersweet tale and one final dance, our debt to you is repaid.”
Finally, Kitsune reeled across the stage, the ever-shrinking spotlight illuminating the different designs that appeared on their kimono. With each new image, the performer subtly changed their body language, allowing the audience one final glimpse of each character that had been featured. In the end, the Kitsune from the flyer appeared and, with a gracious bow, dimmed the spotlight to pitch black.
The standing ovation was well deserved.
AS WE’RE FILING out, Lori grips my hand, and I say, “You are absolutely terrible.”
“What did I do?” she giggles, knowing full well what I’m talking about.
“When the fisherman kicked his fox wife out. You waited until everyone went quiet, then leaned in and whispered, ‘It’s a good job you already know I’m a panther, isn’t it?’ You knew that I’d struggle not to laugh.”
Lori squeezes my hand again and gives me a cheeky grin. “What can I say? I saw an opportunity and I took it.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’ll have you know, I see things too. Like how you were welling up when he kicked her out. You so did that to stop yourself crying.”
Lori stops then, and I end up walking a few steps past her before realising. When I turn, the smile she has on is a sad one.
“You’re easily embarrassed, and you slip up sometimes, but not everyone is as accepting as you, Cassie. Try to remember that.”
