"Did you miss me?" Umeasked.
Mai laughed. The reactionstemmed from disbelief rather than amusement, but Ume was too shallow andself-serving to notice, for she stepped into the room and gave Mai aperfunctory hug and a kiss on the cheek.
"You managed to persuadeyour parents to let you take the car, I see," Mai said as she closed thedoor.
"It was not easy," Umereplied, glancing around the room. "But Mr. Yamato did not leave me muchchoice."
The girl — once queen ofthe soccer bitches and as imperious as ever — sat down on Wakana's bedand looked up expectantly.
"All right," Ume said,"here's what you're going to say."
"No," Mai said curtly.
Ume laughed, though she seemed abit unsure now. "I have not even told you, yet."
"You don't tell meanything. You don't go to this school anymore. I will not follow your lead andit shames me to know that I ever did. You were always cruel and small andpetty, but you are a murderer, as well. I have nothing but contempt for you."
Ume flinched. Her nostrilsflared and her eyes narrowed in fury.
"I didn't kill anyone,"she lied, rising from the bed. "And for someone who needs my help, youhave a strange way of showing it."
Ume started toward the door butMai blocked her way. Ume reached out as though to push her, and Mai slapped heracross the face. The sound echoed in the small room. Ume blinked in shock.
"My roommate. . myfriend, Wakana, is in the hospital. Sakura may not survive her injuries. Hachiroand Ren are missing. Sora is dead. Daisuke. . do you remember him? Probablynot, because he was quiet and not handsome and he was kind. Daisuke is dead,because of you. All of them, because of what you started. Jiro, who you claimto have loved, is dead because of you."
Ume's face reddened, and notonly where Mai had slapped her. Her gaze shifted around as though she soughtsome escape. Her lip quivered and she shook her head in adamant refusal of thetruth.
"That is ridiculous."
So Mai laid it all for her,everything that had happened, and what Kubo thought might be able to be done tobreak the curse.
"You may not have beencursed by Kyuketsuki," Mai said, "but you share the blame for all ofthis death. It's as if you planted some seed and evil grew from it. Youmurdered Akane Murakami, and you need to atone for that. You should confess,Ume. For the sake of your own soul.
"Everyone knows you'reguilty. I would wager that even your parents know, deep inside, that you killedAkane. You set it all in motion, and now it is time for you to do something — a very small thing — to help stop it."
Ume looked as though she mightcontinue to argue, but then she sagged backward, all the fight leaving her. Shetook several deep breaths, and then she stood a little straighter.
"I'll help. If it meansbreaking the curse and preventing others from dying, and this Master Kubo needsme at his ritual because I was there when Kyuketsuki was defeated, I will help.
"But I admit nothing."
Kara had expected Sakura to bein intensive care. Years of watching American television had prepared her forbreathing tubes and blinking machines, so she was surprised to find very littleof that apparatus when she entered Sakura's room.
"She's been like this sincelast night," Miho said, stepping up beside Kara.
They stood there a long moment,staring at their friend's unmoving form. An IV dripped fluid into Sakura's armand a single monitor beeped along with her heartbeat. Another — like asmall television screen — seemed to be measuring her body temperaturealong with her pulse. Her left arm was in a cast and where her pale bluehospital top had ridden up, bandages showed from underneath. The left side ofher face was bruised and swollen, but there were no stitches. Only the bruisesand bandages hinted at the trauma beneath. To someone who didn't know better,she looked as though she might wake up — in quite a bit of pain — anymoment. Kara wondered what her parents would do if she died. After Akane'smurder, Sakura had been all they had left and they had ignored her for a year. Noone should have to lose a child, but to have them both die. .
Miho took her hand and Kara heldon tight, squeezing.
"Kara?" Miss Aritomobegan. She knew the teacher was about to ask if she was okay, and she was verymuch not okay. But the time for thinking about herself had passed.
Kara stood up straighter,ignoring the aches and stiffness and the lingering chill in her bones. Shereached up with both hands — bandaged and not — and pushed her hairback out of her face. The hospital gown she wore gaped at the back and she wasgrateful for the robe, but she still felt exposed and vulnerable. She ignoredthe feeling, narrowing her focus down to only the tasks that were ahead ofthem.
"There's nothing we can dofor her here," she said, and let go of Miho's hand.
"But — " Mihobegan.
Kara turned to her. "She'sin the doctor's hands. The only thing we can do for is get Hachiro and Renback, get Ume here, and make sure Kubo lifts the curse, so when Sakura wakes upshe can have a normal life again."
Miho fixed her with a hard look.She wasn't ready to leave.
"I talked to her, lastnight," Miho said. "And this morning. And I talked to you as well."
Kara frowned. "What do youmean? I don't remember — "
"I wasn't sure if you weregoing to wake up," Miho said, her voice firm, despite the sorrow in hereyes. "The doctor said you would be all right, but I couldn't be sure. SoI talked to you. And to her."
Miho nodded at Sakura. Karalooked at the unconscious figure on the bed, saw her chest rising and falling witheach breath, and for a moment all of her defenses were stripped away. She hadbarely acknowledged that this was Sakura, a girl who had become more than afriend to her, almost a sister. The harsh cut of her hair had been softened bydisarray. All of her rebelliousness, her spirit, was gone.
She could die. Kara took thatin, brought it close to her heart as though holding it in her fists. Her motherhad died and the loss remained with her, hurting her every single day. Thehardest part of dealing with such loss was in looking to the future and knowingthat she would never see her mother again, never hear her voice or herinfectious laugh, never have another hug or do a weird, goofy little dance inthe kitchen the way they often had when some silly television commercial jinglegot stuck in their heads.
Sakura could be gone.
Kara did not dare sit on theedge of the bed, unsure how delicate her friend's condition might be. She knelton the floor and took Sakura's hand in hers.
"It's me, Kara," shesaid, voice softly, feeling faintly ridiculous and grateful that only Mihocould hear her. "I just. . I want you to know. ."
She hesitated. In an apparenteffort to give Kara privacy, Miho walked across the room and stood looking outthe window.
"I love you, Sakura,"Kara whispered. And then she said it louder. "You and Miho are the bestfriends I've ever had. I could not bear to lose you. And I won't. We won't. Ipromise you that we are going to fix this. . all of it. . and there willbe no more curses, no more demons, no more — "
"Ghosts," Miho said.
Kara started to nod inagreement, but then she frowned. Something was odd about the way Miho had saidthat. It hadn't sounded like she was being helpful, but more like she wasmaking an observation.
"Come over here," Mihosaid, her voice small.
As Kara stood, she watched Mihobend close to the window, peering out and squinting as though trying to makeout something at a great distance.
"Ghosts?" Kara echoed."Do you mean more than one?"
Miho stood back and gestured forher to look. The view showed the street in front of the hospital, a busy MiyazuCity avenue with cars, people on bicycles and on foot, and a man selling fruitfrom a small cart in front of a boarded up, abandoned shop across the road.
She saw Daisuke's ghost first,standing by the fruit seller, but he wasn't alone. There were at least a dozenothers, most of whom Kara did not recognize. Sora stood in the middle of theroad, and a little electric car carrying the implements of a street sweeperbuzzed right through him. The ghost did not
even seem to notice.
"I see Jiro," Mihowhispered. "And Hana."
Kara had not known Jiro, but shesaw Hana as well, along with Chouku, another girl who had been a victim of theketsuki, the monster that Kyuketsuki had set loose upon the school.
"No one else sees them,"Miho said.
Kara nodded. She had noticedthat as well. People strolling or riding or driving by did not seem to registerthe presence of the ghosts. It confirmed what she had previously suspected,that only those already touched by the supernatural could see the ghosts.
"What do you think theywant?" Miho asked.
"I have no idea," Karasaid.
And that much was true. Butwhatever the ghosts did want, she thought it must be important for them all togather like this. She hoped that Kubo would have an answer, because she fearedthat if they could not figure it out, very soon they would all beghosts.
Chapter Thirteen
Sakura knew she was dreaming,but only in that distant way which never seems to make the dream feel any lessreal. Standing on the shore of Miyazu Bay, she gazed across the bay at theblack pines that grew thick on Ama-no-Hashidate and at the horizon beyond. Theair shimmered with a dim gold light that made it feel like twilight, or likethat moment just before a storm broke, when the air grew thick with static andmoisture and the promise of rain, and thunder would roll in from the distance,like a stampede of horses about to come over the rise.
But there were no horseshere. No thunder. Just the quiet lap of water against the shore.
She wore her school uniform,and yet not hers. Sakura personalized hers as much as possible with pins andbadges, and it had never really fit her well. But what she wore now waspristine and crisp, brand new and a perfect fit. Perfect. That was her. Theperfect student. The perfect child. The perfect sister.
But, of course, she had neverbeen any of those things. That had always been Akane.
"Where are you?" she asked, her voice echoing over the water.
But Akane did not answer. Thetrees whispered back in her stead, and as happened so often in dreams, Sakurarealized that she had not noticed them until now. She stepped back from thewater and turned to study the trees. They were so close that their branchesseemed to be reaching for her, but it wasn't the trees that frightened her.
The ground sloped up from thebay and at the top of that slope stood the silhouette of Monju-no-Chie school. Yetwhen she glanced at the school she frowned, narrowing her gaze. Somethingseemed off and it took her a moment to realize that the building seemed to haveshrunk.
No. It's not smaller. Justfurther away.
Of course. So far. Toofar. When the killers came for her, there would be no safety to be found therefor the girl who would die on the muddy slope.
Muddy? she thought, glancingdown. And then it was. She could smell fresh rain, as though a storm had justpassed, and the ground was soft and spongy underfoot. The grass on the slopewas slicked down. In places — where it had been worn away by generationsof students making a path down to the bay — the soil had turned dark andmalleable. Mud.
Fear rippled through Sakuraand her breath came too fast, matching her racing heart. This was all wrong. Sheglanced at the bay again, then spun toward the trees, wondering if that waswhere the attack would originate. Who had killed her? Who would killher?
Not you. They killed Akane.
And then the memories swarmedin. She looked out at the water where they had drowned her sister, but it hadnot started in the bay. It had begun here, on this muddy ground. They hadbeaten her savagely, kicking her nearly to death even before they got her tothe water.
But Akane was still here. Somehowshe knew that.
Grief rolled in like thestorm she had felt before had finally arrived. She wanted to shout at thenight, to cry to the heavens, to tear her hair and scream. Out of the corner ofher eye she saw something white flutter in the darkness and she spun to seewhat it had been. A length of black hair flew behind as the figure darted intothe tree;, branches swayed, and it was gone. But Sakura knew the girl wouldn'tstay hidden for very long and she did not want to see her. . the killer. Perhapsthey were all there, the faceless, merciless girls who had murdered her sister.
She found herself walkingtoward the trees.
Maybe they've come for me thistime, she thought. Immediately the idea took root and grew. She stoodstaring into the trees, breathing hard, something rising up inside of her, ascream, a plea, a certainty she had never put into words before. And, at last,turning toward the water, she let it out.
"Why did you leave mebehind?" she screamed.
I did not leave you, a voicewhispered in her ear — Akane's voice. I'm still here.
Slowly, Sakura turned, andshe saw Akane standing on the muddy slope, a red bow in her hair, her smileironic and teasing all at the same time. Sakura rushed to her sister, crushedAkane in her embrace, thinking of all of the times that they had fought andsaid cruel things to each other, times she wanted to take back. The scent ofripe plums filled her nose, Akane's favorite perfume, and Sakura laughed outloud.
"It really is you!" she said.
"Yes," Akaneagreed.
But Sakura felt her joyshatter, felt the darkness flooding into her heart, and she stepped back fromAkane, shaking her head. After all, she knew. The school was too small, theworld too quiet, the light too surreal.
"You're only a dream,"Sakura said, and even asleep, she began to dread waking. Grief wracked her withsorrow.
Akane reached out and heldSakura's face in her hands, held her tightly so that they were eye to eye, andshe shook her head.
No, she said, withoutspeaking. I am here. You are dying, but I am here with you.
"Like the other ghosts?"
Akane nodded, and now what floodedinto Sakura's mind were not words at all. They were images, moments, spillingout of her head and shifting the landscape around them. Sora's ghost on themountainside, in the falling snow. Daisuke on the train. She had not been thereto see Daisuke's ghost, but she could imagine it vividly. . or perhaps itwasn't imagination at all. Perhaps the image came from Akane.
"I don't understand,"Sakura said. "What does this have to do with Yuki-Onna?"
Akane smiled. "Winterghosts. She's a ghost herself, in a way, the spirit of the woman who died onthe mountain during the season's first snowfall. And when Yuki-Onna comes, andthe snow falls, the spirits who have not yet moved on can rise with her."
Sakura shook her head. "Butwhy haven't you moved on?"
"I wasn't ready to letgo," Akane said. "None of us were. It was too fast, too soon. We hadpeople here to look after."
The world shifted aroundSakura. Akane still stood in front of her, but now they were little girlsagain, no more than eight and nine, and they were in the bedroom they hadalways shared growing up. Music played, but as it happened so often in dreams,Sakura could not make out the tune. She inhaled the scent of ripe plums yetagain.
"I've been looking aftermyself," Sakura said.
A terrible sadness filledAkane's eyes. "Not very well."
Sakura felt cold. Her chesthurt with every breath. Pain swept in, lancing through her side and clutchingher skull in an iron grip, and slowly sounds began to filter into her bedroom. Pokemonlined shelves on the walls. Her little Catbus purse hung from the back of achair.
They had been so happy here.
"Am I really dying?" she asked, her voice so small inside her own head.
Akane smiled. "Nottoday. I told you, I am here to look after you. You need strength. You need toheal. You need life, and I can give you mine."
Sakura recoiled, shaking herhead. She didn't like the sound of that.
"No. What do you mean,life? Akane, what do you — "
The carpet became a muddyslope by the bay, the room vanished around them.
"You need to live,"Akane said.
She reached out to touch hersister's face, her hand passing right through flesh and bone, and. .
Sakura woke, inhaling sharply,pain clamped around her skull. Her eyes darted back
and forth but she couldbarely move. Machines beeped. She tried to speak but her voice failed her.
She closed her eyes tightly. Herthoughts were blurred but she wondered if this was what it felt like to die.
And then she opened her eyes tosee the ghost of her sister, Akane, standing over her bed. Sakura feltsomething break inside of her. For days, others had been seeing ghosts and allshe had wanted was to see a ghost of her own, to be in the presence of hersister one last time.
"I miss you," Sakurarasped weakly.
Akane did not speak, only shookher head with that smile.
Though she had put aside so muchof her rage and grief already, Sakura had been holding on to a small, burningshard of fury, hidden deep inside. Often she had hidden it even from herself,because this anger was not directed at Akane's murderer, but at Akane herself,for leaving. It made no sense and it was not fair, but Sakura had nursed thepain and anger for a year and a half, ever since Akane's death.
Now she felt it leave her, andfresh sadness filled her. She wanted to apologize somehow, but already herstrength was fading and the darkness swirled around the edges of her thoughtsagain, unconsciousness about to claim her once more.
Whatever toughness Sakura hadtried to nurture in her outward image, whatever rebelliousness might be in hernature, in that moment she felt her heart laid bare.
"I love you," shesaid, tears welling in her eyes.
Akane reached down to touch herface, bent to kiss her forehead, and even as Sakura's eyelids flickered and shebegan to drift off, she thought she saw Akane begin to vanish. It seemed almostas if the ghost were vanishing into Sakura, and as this thought occurredto her, a surge of new vitality flooded through her. The pain in her headabated dramatically, if not completely.
"Akane?" Sakurawhispered, touching a hand to her chest.
The ghost had disappeared, butSakura thought she knew where her sister had gone. She didn't know how, but sheknew why. Her sister loved her, and something had to be done about Yuki-Onna. Shecould feel the thoughts in her mind, although they did not feel like her own.
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