Foxfire (An Other Novel) (16 page)

“I guess we don’t care about clothes,” I say.

Yukimi shrugs. “Hand them to me, and I’ll hide them under that tree.”

I’m not too thrilled by the idea of stripping naked by the riverside when the air feels like it’s well below freezing, and when my kitsune mother is watching me, waiting.

I slip the anburojia from my pocket. “Let’s eat.”

Yukimi raises her anburojia to the sky as if making a toast, then bites the fruit. Red juice dribbles down her chin, and in the starlight, it looks like blood. She watches me, her eyes already fox-like. I hold her gaze as I eat the anburojia, every bit of fruit, then lick my fingers clean. She smiles, her teeth curving downward into fangs.

I take off my clothes mechanically, like I’m going to shower in the locker room at school. I bunch my things together and hand them to Yukimi, not looking at her face, noticing out of the corner of my eye that she’s already naked, already more fox than woman.

Ready, I stand over the river, looking down into my rippling reflection. My hair falls into my eyes, shadowing my face. I tilt my head to one side, and for a moment I look like Akira.

My mouth curls into a thin smile. “Here we go.”

I shut my eyes and clench my jaw and tense all my muscles—and it happens in one swift rush, human to fox. I yawn, my tongue curling, and stretch leisurely, like I’m warming up for a little jaunt. Yukimi yips behind me, impatient, and I face her.

She’s pacing at the top of the bank, her ears swiveled toward me.

I bound up to join her. She touches her nose to mine for a second, but I turn away, trying to make it look like it was an accident. I don’t want her to touch me, don’t want her to have power over me.

But the taste of anburojia still lingers in my mouth.

We trot along the river, weaving through the trees, dodging the puddles of light beneath street lamps. My nose twitches at the elixir of scents stirred by the night air—pines, rain, the slow-moving green wet smell of the river—and exhilaration dazzles my mind. My paws thud on the sodden grass, claws dig into the dirt, legs drive me onward.

Mice. There have to be some juicy little mice around here …

I trot farther from the river, lured by a promising scratching noise. There, between the roots of that tree. I cock my head, one paw raised. A whiskered nose peeks out from the hole. I pounce, my legs stiff, paws poised to trap the creature—but it darts underground.

Behind me, Yukimi makes a sniffing chirp. Laughing at me.

I turn to growl at her, and thinking about laughter—something so human—shakes my thoughts so they fall back into place. What the hell, Tavian? Mouse hunting? It’s time to run.

The fur along Yukimi’s spine spikes. She’s looking straight in my eyes.

Does she know?

I let my mouth hang open, my tongue lolling, and pad toward her with a loose gait. Nothing to worry about. I nudge her shoulder with my nose, then leap away playfully.

And she falls for my lie.

Yukimi relaxes, and I bound away. She runs after me like this is a race and she can beat me. I let her pull ahead of me, but I focus on the gray speckling her muzzle, the way her left hind leg moves stiffly, like she cut her tendon once and it healed imperfectly.

I’m faster than her. She just doesn’t know it.

I explode from a lope to a sprint. When I hurtle past her, I catch the look of surprise in her eyes. I’m leaving her behind, leaving the river behind, plunging into the dark maze of alleys. I skid to a halt in the middle of the street and glance back.

Three blocks behind, Yukimi runs after me, her breath steaming the air.

My chest tightens, and I don’t know if it’s from the exertion or from looking at her. I want to go back, to pretend like this was all a game, that I would never leave her … the way she left me.

She pauses, panting. She thinks I’m coming back.

I reveal nothing on my face as I turn away from her and keep running. My breath ragged, I push my burning muscles harder. I swerve between parked bikes, leap over hedges, squirm under fences. My legs quiver, their energy almost spent.

I duck under a parked car and look back.

She’s gone.

I don’t know which way I’m going, where I’m supposed to be. I point my nose in the direction I think is Akasaka, the direction I think is away from the Sisters—and most of all, Yukimi.

I’m free.

Then why does it feel like I’m wearing a straightjacket?

I need to breathe. I trot into an alley outside a bar, panting with my head down, my throat burning something fierce. Maybe I should change back, to hell with the nakedness, and find a pay phone—but I don’t have any money, of course. Maybe Yukimi was actually going to help me, after we spent some time running as foxes, together.

God damn it. I squeeze my eyes shut, but of course foxes can’t cry.

A drunk staggers out of the bar and unzips his pants, then sees me. “Hey, kitsune! Give me a kiss!”

He can’t even tell I’m not a vixen? Well, male kitsune are rare—

The drunk lunges for me, stumbles on his loose pants, and almost falls on me. I leap nimbly out of the way. He swears loudly, then starts crying, big gulping sobs. Disgusted, I disappear into the shadows of the street. I could really screw that guy over if I wanted to. He should know better than to harass a fox. At least he wasn’t an inugami.

I’ve got to get out of here. It’s late; it isn’t safe.

Did that drunk have tattoos? I wasn’t looking, but there might have been something on his neck. I wonder which territory around here belongs to the Kuro Inu—and Zenjiro Matsuzawa.

And you are his only grandson.

I start moving again, trying to outrun that thought. I run along a main road, ignoring the way passersby stare and point, looking for some obvious landmark that will get me out of this maze.

There! That has to be a metro station. Which line?

I hover at the edge of the street, waiting for the traffic light. The light changes, and the wind shifts.

Bringing with it the unmistakable stink of dog.

sixteen

I
freeze at the edge of the street. People leave the crosswalk to point at me, one of them snapping a flash photo. Shit, I have to
move
. I’m out in the open like a plate of meat on the sidewalk. It’s almost hilarious, really, that the moment I leave Yukimi, bam, inugami.

Dread curdles my stomach.

The big gray mastiff, Ushio, is nosing around the corner of the street. Sniffing my trail. The brothers, Yuta and Katashi, follow him in human form, arguing with each other.

Illusions, illusions, think of something good, think—

Polished black shoes click on the pavement in front of me.

Akira? I look up.

The man wears a dark suit, his iron-gray hair sleek, his face every bit as wrinkled as Tsuyoshi’s.

“Stop running,” Zenjiro Matsuzawa says. “You look tired.”

If this is a dream, now would be a very good time to wake up.

“What the fuck?” Katashi jabs his finger in my direction. “He’s standing right in the fucking street!”

Ushio lunges, but Yuta yanks him back on his chain.

“I found him,” Zenjiro says. “No thanks to you dogs.”

Katashi shuts his mouth, but his face looks purple with fury. Yuta half-walks, half-slides toward me, dragged by Ushio. The mastiff growls and licks his chops, great ropes of drool swinging.

“Back,” Zenjiro says.

He speaks in a gentle old voice, but the inugami instantly do as he says. Ushio even sits like an obedient dog, his droopy eyes hopeful. Yeah, hopeful he can rip out my guts.

Zenjiro bends to my level. “Do you know who I am?”

I nod.

“Good.” He nods back. “Come with me.”

A black BMW idles on the street. The driver opens the door for Zenjiro—for me, too. Like I’m going to jump in there, still as a fox, or maybe after changing back into a naked human.

Like I’m that stupid.

I bare my teeth at Zenjiro. I don’t care if we’re related by blood; he’s unknown and untrustworthy. Toenails click on the sidewalk behind me, and I see Ushio fidgeting, itching to attack.

“I know who you are,” Zenjiro murmurs. “Octavian Kimura.”

Is that a threat?

My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I could attack him, fling an illusion at him that would make him scream. But the inugami would be on me in a second. Their teeth would drive past my pelt into my flesh. I don’t even know if Zenjiro would stop them.

I meet Zenjiro’s eyes, my face a mask. Then I walk past him toward the BMW, my head held low, my tail between my legs. He exhales in a puff of air. The driver’s gaze flicks down at me, and I see a glimmer of disgust in his eyes. I pause, look over my shoulder.

Zenjiro waits patiently, ready to climb in after me. A wind whips down the street, driving sleet into our faces. He brings his arm up to cover his eyes, and the inugami squint against the cold.

Go.

I lunge under the car, skidding to the other side, reappearing in the middle of the street. A taxi barrels toward me, headlights blinding my eyes. The driver’s eyes widen and he yanks the wheel. The taxi’s side mirror screeches along the black gloss of the BMW. I leap out of the taxi’s path, zigzag between bikes, cross the sidewalk.

Behind me, I hear Katashi shouting, “Let me at him!”

The blaring of a horn overpowers Zenjiro’s reply.

I chance a backward glance and see traffic piling up, see Katashi ripping off his clothes and sprouting fur while Yuta grabs him by the shoulders and yells at Ushio, and Zenjiro …

He stands at the edge of the road, his head bowed.

I falter, and my paws skid on the icy road. No, I can’t stop. I swing my head forward and point my muzzle downwind, letting the wind carry my scent away from the inugami. I dodge the reach of artificial lights, melting into the black night that pools in the cracks of the city. Silence swallows the pursuit of the inugami. I keep running.

Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden.

I disappear into the shadows of the trees as snow falls thick and erases the world around me. Adrenaline spent, I trudge through the snow, my muscles quivering. I make it to a pine and let my legs collapse beneath me. My breath clouds the air.

This is inugami territory. I have to get out of here, and soon.

I can’t cover that much more ground as a fox; I should change back into a human and take the metro. Hopefully the slight change in my scent will confuse the inugami long enough for me to stay ahead. Hopefully the snow will bury my pawprints deep.

I drag myself to my feet and nudge my fox form, trying to push it out of the way, but it won’t budge. Come on. I need to change back to human. They don’t let foxes on the metro.

My rib cage creaks as it resists the transformation. Pain lances my heart, and I stagger. It feels like I never had a human form, like fox is all I’ve ever been and ever will be.

Shit. I force my eyes to stay open. The anburojia must be wearing off.

But this is the wrong body. Do I need to eat more anburojia before I’ll find the strength to change back?

Yukimi has some. We only ate two of the fruits …

No. Not her. I need to find Gwen, and my grandparents, and warn them. I glance at a pay phone and sigh. Even if I managed to reach the receiver and fake some coins, what am I going to do, yip? Right now I’m as good as speechless. Unless …

With the last bit of my strength, I start digging. I claw away a little den in the snow where no one will see me, and crawl inside. Curled in a ball, I can almost pretend I’m not cold.

I shut my eyes. Time to sleep. To dream.

The river lounges among the trees, its silver skin shimmering with reflected summer leaves. I float face-up in a backwater pool, my eyes open toward the sky. A fly buzzes lazily around my eyelashes, then lands on my cheek. I feel its tiny feet crawling down.

Nasty itchy little creature.

I lift my arm to swat the fly, but my arm doesn’t move. My fingers twitch in the pool, and they feel wrinkled, bloated, like I’ve been in the water for too long. The fly keeps crawling.

Footsteps crunch the gravel along the riverside.

Good. Maybe someone will come and swat this fly for me. I’m getting tired of drifting here alone.

The bushes rustle, and there’s a flash of copper hair. Gwen.

A thought nibbles at the back of my mind. I need to tell her something, but I can’t remember what. I’d frown if my face weren’t paralyzed. And damn it, this fly is annoying.

Gwen scans the riverside, and her gaze falls on me.

“Oh my god.” The color drains from her face, and even her freckles go invisible. “Zack! Come quick!”

Zack? Her ex-boyfriend? What’s he doing here?

Gwen presses her hand to her mouth, her eyes watering, picking up some of the water’s reflection. She inches her feet toward me until she’s close enough to touch me, but she looks disgusted. Finally, the fly buzzes away from my face, and she gags.

What’s wrong with her? What—

“Zack?” she calls. “Where are you?”

I try to open my mouth to talk to her, but my lips won’t move. And then I realize why.

I’m dead.

In Gwen’s dream, anyway. She told me about this: the first time she saw a dead body—two, actually—water sprites floating in a poisoned pool by the Stillaguamish River in Klikamuks. Back before I first met her, back at the beginning of the serial killings.

This is nothing more than a warped memory.

Gwen paces at the edge of the riverside. “Tavian,” she says. “Tavian, what happened to you?”

I clear my throat, and water gurgles in my windpipe.

Gwen’s eyes snap open wider. “Tavian?”

Choking, I struggle to stand upright, my arms and legs leaden. She wades into the pool and lunges for me, her fingers gripping my wrist. Under her touch, all the warmth floods back into my body. Half-dragged, half-crawling, I make it to solid ground.

“Breathe!” Gwen commands.

I hack up some tepid water, and she whacks me on the back. I take a few experimental breaths, the air whistling in my windpipe. I’m shaking all over. I know you can’t die in dreams, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t just scared shitless of drowning.

“Tavian, are you okay?” she says. “Answer me!”

“I’m okay,” I rasp. I give her an approximation of a grin. “Don’t worry.”

The fear on her face warps into fury. “Don’t
worry
? I thought you were dead! Was this some sort of—”

“Gwen,” I say. “This is a dream. You’re dreaming.”

“A dream? But—” Her face twists. “Don’t tell me you’re actually dead.”

“No! I entered your dream so I could talk to you.”

Understanding dawns on her face. “Tavian, your grandparents have been looking for you—but the police haven’t been able to find anything, and we all thought … where
are
you?”

“In Shinjuku Gyoen.” I climb to my feet and take her shoulders in my hands. “Gwen, how fast can you get here?”

“It must be almost midnight, but I could catch the last metro and be there in maybe twenty minutes? Half an hour? I’m not sure.” She stares into my eyes. “Are you safe there?”

“I’m hidden. I dug a little den for myself in the snow.”

Her eyebrows descend. “You’re a fox? But you haven’t—”

“Long story.” I shake my head. “Let’s wake up and meet before the inugami catch up with me.”

She nods, then snatches a kiss from me. “I’ll be there.”

I kiss her back, then blink myself awake.

I wait in my snow-cocoon with only my nose poking into the icy air. The sounds of the world above me are muffled, the roar of traffic no more than a distant humming. My eyelids droop, and I drift in and out of consciousness. The snow creaks under footsteps.

“Tavian! Are you here?”

My eyes snap open. I wriggle out of the den, clawing away snow, and poke my head into the air.

Gwen stands with her back to me, searching the darkness. Her curls fly behind her head, tangling with snow-clotted wind. I leap from the den and run to her. Shocks of pain jolt up my stiff legs. I bark and nip at her ankle, and she whirls to face me.

“Tavian!” Gwen falls to her knees. “I found you!”

It’s all I can do not to bound into her arms like an excited kit-fox. I restrain myself and lick her hand. She dusts off the snow clumped on my pelt, her hands chapped and red.

“I took the last metro,” she says. “But I have money for a taxi.”

I nod and shake myself off, flinging her hand and the last of the snow away. I nudge her knee with my nose. Gwen slings a pack off her back and digs out some clothes. My clothes.

“Hurry and change back,” she says. “I’ll keep a look out.”

I shake my head.

“It’s not that cold. Come on, we need to hurry.” Gwen narrows her eyes. “Can you not change back?”

I nod.

She swears under her breath. “Well, we’re going anyway.”

I bound ahead of her in the snow, my legs sinking deep. I still feel wobbly and woozy, but at least I’m awake. Gwen marches alongside me, shoves through a hedge, and steps onto the street. I glance around with my sharp eyes and nose, making sure we’re safe.

Cars whoosh along the road, their tires spraying slush. A yellow taxi pulls around the corner, and I yip. Gwen darts to the edge of the road, jumping up and down and waving her arms. The taxi pulls up alongside us and the taxi driver stares at us.

“Akasaka,” she says.

The taxi driver keeps staring. “Where in Akasaka?” he says.

In Japanese, of course—most taxi drivers don’t speak English. But Gwen is prepared for this. She thrusts a piece of paper at the man, and I glimpse my grandparents’ address written in Japanese. The taxi driver grunts and the back door swings open automatically. Gwen climbs inside and I slink in after her, hiding at her feet.

The taxi driver glances at the address, then pulls into traffic.

“Almost there,” Gwen whispers to me.

The swerving and jolting of the taxi makes me carsick, so I close my eyes until the taxi stops again. I crane my neck to see out the windows. The skyscraper where my grandparents live towers above us. Gwen pays the driver and he lets us out on the street. When I hop out, his eyes bug, and he accelerates faster than he should.