Red Winter (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 1)

  “Caw caw,” the crow called.

  “Emi, what—” Katsuo began.

  Focused on the crow in the distance, she held up a hand, quieting him.

  “Caw!”

  The bird’s cry was commanding—demanding even. She could almost hear the meaning within, the words it couldn’t speak. Come.

  Maybe the kitsune wasn’t the only animal-shaped yokai in the forest today.

  “Come on,” she said to Katsuo. “This way.”

  “What—”

  She rushed forward, not waiting to answer his question, and broke into a fast jog through the brush. Branches whipped at her face and snagged on her clothes, but she ran on, following the crow. As she approached it, the bird took flight once more, calling loudly. It flew through the trees and landed again to wait for her.

  Maybe it was just a crow. Was she chasing a random bird through the forest? No, she was sure. The crow had been there before. It had called the kitsune to her. It had warned them when the oni was approaching. She was certain. Not all yokai—or kami—were great and powerful beings. There were smaller, weaker yokai, spirit-touched animals with only a whisper of ki. The crow was a yokai and it was calling to her—though she couldn’t be sure why.

  The black bird flew from tree to tree as she ran. Then it swooped low and landed about ten feet from the ground on the branch of a leafless maple. This time, it didn’t fly off. She slowed to a stop, wary of getting too close.

  It turned its head and stared at her with one beady black eye. Then it looked down, pointing its beak at the ground.

  At the base of its perch, a fallen spruce had landed on a boulder. Its dying branches created a thick curtain that mostly hid the small hollow beneath it. Emi cautiously approached and reached for the branches.

  Katsuo stepped in front of her. Giving her a stern look, he drew his sword.

  “Caw caw caw!” the crow shrieked furiously, berating him for unsheathing his weapon.

  Katsuo ignored it and used the sword to push the boughs aside. In the tiny hollow, a furry white shape was curled up in a tight ball.

  “The kitsune!” Emi pushed in front of Katsuo. She dropped to her knees and leaned in closer. “Kitsune?”

  It didn’t move. Her heart plummeted. No. She was too late. It had died from its wounds. With tears forming in her eyes, she reached in and gently scooped the little creature up. As she pulled it out, a tiny pained sound escaped the fox.

  She gasped. She slid the kitsune out into the snow and it flopped limply, unconscious. Blood stained its beautiful white fur.

  “It’s alive?” Sheathing his sword and kneeling beside her, Katsuo gingerly parted the blood-soaked fur, searching for the wounds. “Damn. A slash on the foreleg here and a deeper one across the shoulder and chest.”

  “Do you think it will survive?” she asked, her voice quavering. The sight of all that blood made her lightheaded. How could such a small body still live after losing so much? The kitsune was, she supposed, a decent-sized fox but it was at most twice the weight of an average housecat.

  “Yokai don’t have mortal bodies like we do,” Katsuo said absently, still examining the kitsune’s injuries. “He won’t die unless his ki is entirely depleted, but with wounds like this, his chances aren’t great.”

  “He?” she mumbled.

  “Yes, a male. I think—”

  “Caw!”

  Emi looked up, annoyed at the interruption. “What?” she snapped at the crow.

  The bird opened its wings and beat the air. “Caw caw caw!”

  She recognized that urgent cry and went still, listening. All the birds had gone quiet, plunging the forest into silence. Slippery, shivering fear crept along the ground, brushing her ankles.

  “Katsuo,” she gasped. “The oni. It’s coming.”

  “What? I can’t sense—”

  “I can—and it’s coming now!”

  She yanked her haori off and spread it on the ground. Katsuo lifted the kitsune onto it and bundled up the fox. He scooped it into his arms as he rose. The crow let out another urgent cry and took off, whooshing so close over her head that she felt the wind from its wings. It flew into the trees in a different direction than they’d come.

  “Follow the crow, Katsuo.”

  “Emi, are you sure—”

  “Yes!”

  Knowing he’d go wherever she went anyway, she sprang ahead of him, running at full speed. The crow flew ahead, gliding from branch to branch, marking the easiest path with no obstacles that would stop the wingless humans. The sound of Katsuo’s footfalls told her he was close behind. She concentrated on running, grateful that her kamigakari requirements included good physical fitness; a frail or obese kamigakari wouldn’t be acceptable at all.

  But she couldn’t run forever. Already the cold air stabbed at her lungs. She didn’t slow—didn’t even consider it. Not when that creeping, crawling fear was rushing after her, growing stronger with each pounding step.

  A bellowing roar erupted somewhere behind them. Emi stumbled, almost falling. Katsuo grabbed her elbow, clutching the kitsune bundle in his other arm. His eyes were wide, almost fearful. His fear sent hers skyrocketing.

  The crow shrieked another urgent cry. Hurry.

  She ran harder, faster, with Katsuo right on her heels. The oni roared again, the sound booming even louder—and closer. Much closer.

  They burst out of the trees onto the trail. She skidded in the snow, arms flailing for balance, the grocery bag swinging on her shoulder. The crow called to her from down the trail, and as she turned, she spotted a glimpse of red. Far down the path, the torii was barely visible among the trees.

  Katsuo shoved the kitsune into her arms and drew his sword between one stride and the next. She sprinted toward the torii, Katsuo beside her. Behind them, branches snapped loudly. She risked a glance back just as the monstrous oni smashed through the brush onto the trail. It whirled toward them and charged, its long strides closing the gap too fast.

  Her muscles burned. She squeezed the kitsune against her chest, legs pumping, lungs straining. The torii was getting closer and closer. Fear coiled around her, sucking at her waning strength. Almost there.

  The crow shrieked in warning. The oni bellowed in triumph. She didn’t look back. So close!

  Katsuo stopped and spun, sword extended. She didn’t have the breath to scream at him not to stop. She looked back, her heart seizing in her chest as the oni barreled down on Katsuo, too fast to stop.

  He drew his sword back. The blade glowed blue.

  “Sotei no shinketsu!” he yelled.

  He sliced the sword through the air. A line of blue light swept out from the blade and slammed into the oni’s chest. The yokai stopped dead as though caught in a force field. Katsuo sprang backward, then turned and ran. So busy looking back, Emi almost tripped as she passed beneath the torii.

  The oni roared. She spun and watched as the band of glowing blue light around its chest burst apart, dissolving into glowing specks. It charged again, tearing after them, but Katsuo was almost to the torii. He dove through it and whirled around, sword raised and ready. The torii represented the boundary of the shrine grounds, but to her eyes, it was a wide-open trail—not something that could stop a monster from reaching them.

  The oni slowed as it approached the torii, stopping just on the other side. Its lips pulled back, baring its tusks and pointed teeth.

  “Miko,” it growled. “Give me Inari’s whelp and I will spare you the punishment of denying me twice again what is mine.”

  Katsuo lifted his sword, feet wide in a ready stance. “You won’t lay a hand on her, oni. Return to your mountain.”

  “I have allowed you to trespass on my mountains these past days, human, but no more. Defy me and I will visit death on any who set foot beyond your cowardly barrier.”

  Emi’s hands clenched around fistfuls of her haori bundle.

  “You dare threaten us?” she said loudly, not sure where the commanding words were coming from.
“You have no power here, yokai. Begone from my domain!”

  As the final words burst from her, the empty space in the center of the torii shimmered faintly and began to glow. It brightened and extended beyond the gate in either direction—the barrier that protected the shrine grounds suddenly visible when it had never been before.

  The oni flinched. It snarled and paced in front of the glowing torii before roaring and lurching away. It crashed into the trees and vanished into the shadows, the forest absorbing its thunderous footsteps.

  Silence fell and the blue light faded. Emi swayed, unexpectedly exhausted. Katsuo caught her elbow, steadying her, then jerked his hand back, remembering he wasn’t supposed to touch her.

  “What was that?” he asked, awestruck. “Did you do that? Make the torii glow?”

  “I—I don’t think so. I think … I think Amaterasu was helping us.”

  His eyes widened further.

  “Caw.”

  Emi stepped around him to look into the trees. On the other side of the invisible barrier, the crow was perched on a branch, watching them.

  “Thank you,” she said, bowing low despite her kitsune bundle. “We’ll take care of him as best we can. He’ll be safe here.”

  The bird cocked its head, then bent forward in a distinct bow of its own. Spreading its wings, it took flight once more, gliding away into the trees.

  “Wow,” Katsuo whispered. “It really was a yokai. I admit I thought you’d lost your mind there for a bit. How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess,” she mumbled. She looked down at the bundle in her arms. She’d promised the crow yokai that she would keep the kitsune safe. That was easier said than done, considering she’d just smuggled a yokai into an Amatsukami shrine, one with a kannushi who was especially paranoid about yokai while his kamigakari was living there. “Now what?”

  Katsuo looked at the bundle too. “We’d better figure something out fast. I don’t know why that oni is so bent on killing the kitsune, but I think the less time we have any yokai here, the better.”

  She nodded, and together they started toward the stable. Katsuo offered to take the kitsune but she refused, keeping him tight in her arms. She’d saved him. She’d saved him from that oni, and now she just needed him to live.

  Chapter 9

  Emi paced the length of her room and back.

  After returning to the shrine, Katsuo took the kitsune to the storehouse. The yokai’s wounds were no longer bleeding, so all Katsuo could do was clean up the worst of the blood, wrap him in blankets, and leave food and water in case he woke during the night.

  Emi couldn’t help with anything. She’d had to return to her room and sit there uselessly, ready to appear obedient and contrite whenever Fujimoto and Nanako checked in on her—which they’d done multiple times before and after dinner. Noting Emi’s lack of entertainment, Nanako had dropped off an etiquette manual—a children’s book about manners and respectful behavior. It sat untouched on her desk.

  She paced the room again. Outside the window, the wind howled from the autumn storm—more of a winter storm, despite the actual season—that had rolled in shortly after dark. Snow whipped past, carried horizontally by violent gusts. She’d already pulled an electric heater from the closet and plugged it in, so her room was toasty warm, but an unpleasant chill emanated from the window.

  The storehouse, however, wasn’t heated. She shouldn’t worry. The kitsune had a fur coat, and he lived in the forest all winter without any problems. But he was injured. What if the cold was too much for him in his weakened condition? What if he died in the dark, freezing storehouse while she sat in her warm bedroom, assuming he was fine?

  She growled under her breath. She would never be able to sleep unless she checked in on the kitsune. Opening her closet, she donned her heaviest haori over her kimono. Briefly, she considered tying up her hair, which currently hung loose down her back in soft waves from her earlier braid. Deciding it wasn’t worth the delay, she tucked it all under her haori and slid her door open. The wind rattled the paneled walls enclosing the garden walkway. She peered cautiously toward the other end of the house. All was dark with no signs of life. Slipping around the corner, she padded toward the entryway.

  Icy wind blasted her face the moment she opened the front door. She rushed out and shut the door behind her before too much snow blew in. Shivering, she headed toward the shrine with one arm over her face. The snow pelted her and the angry wind tore her hair free, tangling it around her.

  The footbridge was coated in ice that was almost invisible in the darkness. After a brief hesitation, she gripped the railing tightly and minced across with careful steps. The lights of the shrine, which burned day and night, guided her into the courtyard. Clutching her haori shut, she circled the office and stepped into the ankle-deep snow behind the building. The storehouse loomed, a dark shape in the swirling, white wind.

  She shouldered the sliding door open, hurried inside, and shoved the door closed again. Just enough illumination from the shrine lights shone through the high windows, allowing her to find her way to the back. A bundle of blankets was piled in the far corner, and beside it was a bowl of water and the leftover fish she’d carried into the forest earlier.

  A white muzzle with a black nose protruded from beneath the blankets. Had Katsuo completely buried the kitsune, or had he burrowed into the blankets on his own?

  Kneeling, she whispered, “Kitsune?”

  The fox didn’t move. Cautiously, she lifted the edge of the blanket, uncovering the kitsune’s head. His eyes were closed and he didn’t stir. She moved the blanket aside. Katsuo’s idea of cleaning “the worst” of the blood was vastly different from hers. Half the fox was still stained red, his fur matted and dirty.

  She looked at the water bowl; iced skimmed the top. The wind beat at the walls and she shivered, her breath fogging the air. With a quick shake of her head, she rewrapped the kitsune and lifted him into her arms. It was just too cold out here. She would return the kitsune to the storehouse once the storm died down.

  She trekked back to her room through the freezing cold as fast as she could and deposited the kitsune on the floor before heading for the bathroom. Carrying a bowl of hot water and an armful of towels, she tiptoed back to her room and closed the door. Arranging a couple towels over her bed as padding, she laid the kitsune on his uninjured side. He looked so small and fragile. She lightly stroked the silky fur of his ear. A yokai. How strange. She’d thought of them as monsters for so long that a cute fox just didn’t fit with her perceptions.

  Dipping a washcloth in the water, she carefully cleaned him up. The blood left a pink stain on his white fur that didn’t want to come out. She worked carefully around the wound on his chest and shoulder and continued down his foreleg. Her hands paused, cloth poised above him.

  Wrapped several times around his leg, from just above his paw up to the elbow joint, was a string of onenju. The prayer beads, glossy red and the size of small marbles, blended into his bloodstained fur so well that she hadn’t noticed them before. She leaned in closer, eyebrows furrowed. Why would a yokai wear prayer beads? How had he gotten them on his leg? Someone must have put them on him.

  Not sure what to do with them, she gave a halfhearted attempt at wiping around the beads but they were very much in the way. With a mental shrug, she hooked two fingers through the bottom loop and pulled it over the kitsune’s paw.

  Her brain took a little too long to catch up with the sudden flare of heat that shot up her arm as soon as she touched the beads.

  Power exploded out of the onenju. Hurled backward, she skidded across the floor. Glass shattered as the vases fell off the small shrine in the corner. Her skin tingled all over from the shivery touch of powerful ki released by the beads—oddly familiar ki. Gasping, she shoved herself up and turned, terrified she would find the kitsune torn apart by the discharge of power.

  But the kitsune was gone, and something else entirely lay across her bed.

  For th
e longest moment, her shock was so complete that even her heartbeat froze. Then it launched back to life, hammering against her ribs. She pushed herself along the floor until her back hit the wall. She blinked, and blinked again, but the sight didn’t change.

  In the kitsune’s place, a human-shaped male was sprawled across her bed. A sleeveless white kosode covered his shoulders but left his muscular upper arms bare. Black material bound by red ties, the ends splayed across the floor like ribbons of blood, covered his forearms from his wrists to several inches above his elbows. A narrow black and red obi was wrapped around his waist above his black hakama, and his feet were bound in leather footwear. No weapons, but the red onenju gleamed around his right forearm.

  As she tried hard to breathe normally, the kitsune-turned-man didn’t move except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. He was still unconscious. She swallowed hard, a touch of coherency returning to her thoughts. In the stories, kitsune were shape-shifters, weren’t they? But this one hadn’t changed shapes on his own; he was as comatose in this form as he’d been as a fox. Her touching the onenju around his arm must have triggered his transformation.

  She took a few more deep breaths. The yokai was unconscious. He couldn’t hurt her—yet. She hadn’t been afraid of the kitsune, but this yokai was a whole different matter. Except he was unconscious. That was good.

  Trembling, she rose to her feet, shuffled a few cautious steps closer, and stared down at him. Snow-white hair, as soft-looking as the fox’s fur, brushed across his forehead in a tousled mess—and poking out of his hair was a pair of white fox ears. His body was otherwise human, but he’d kept the ears. His eyes were closed. His face, slack in unconsciousness, had an oddly ageless quality to it; he could have been her age or a decade older. She just couldn’t tell.

  She crept closer, unable to stop staring. A yokai lying on her bed. Somehow, it was a much bigger deal now than when he’d just been a fox. Maybe it was the increased mass, but his presence seemed to fill her bedroom. She sidled closer, watching his face. No change, not even a twitch.