“Not bad.” A leer pulled up his lips, revealing pointed canines. “Not bad at all. I wouldn’t pay a tayu’s fee for her, but—”
Yumei appeared behind the yokai so fast he might have teleported. He grabbed the daitengu by the hair and threw him out of the tent with enough force to send him skidding in the snow on his knees, all while Emi’s brain was still catching up to the fact that the yokai had compared her to a courtesan.
Yumei kicked the daitengu onto his face, then stepped on the back of his neck. Pressing down hard with his foot, he said, “You will not move from this spot, Zenki, until I return. Do not so much as breathe.”
His toneless voice was devoid of anger, but he rarely displayed emotion even when enraged. He glanced back into the tent where the rest of his dozen daitengu stood, unmoving. He said nothing, but the message was clear.
“Unruly,” Shiro repeated conversationally as he sauntered out of the tent.
Yumei grunted irritably and strode away from the camp, leaving Zenki lying with his face in the dirty snow in front of the tent entrance. Emi was still blinking at the downed daitengu, who made no attempt to rise, when Shiro prodded her into motion. Sandals slapping, she hurried alongside him as Yumei led them into what seemed like a completely random patch of foliage.
“Is everything ready?” Shiro asked.
“Obviously.”
“Is what ready?” Emi demanded, reminded that she had no idea why she was standing in the middle of the snowy woods in a sundress instead of preparing for the solstice. “Just what are you two up to?”
“If you are displeased,” Yumei said, turning to the thick oak tree beside him and placing his hand on its trunk, “blame him. It was his idea.”
“What was his—”
Red light erupted under Yumei’s hand and spiraled across the bark in twisting runes. The glow spread into the shape of a rough doorway, then flashed to impenetrable darkness—a doorway into Tsuchi.
She stepped back, looking between them. “Why are you—”
“All questions,” Shiro interrupted, hooking his arm around the small of her back and pulling her to his side, “will be answered momentarily.”
“But—”
Yumei stepped to her other side and put an arm around her shoulders. Together, the two yokai guided her toward the doorway into nothingness and Shiro stepped through first, pulling her after him. Cold darkness swept over her and the air condensed, blocking her from entering. Yumei pushed her into the thickening barrier while Shiro pulled her, and she wheezed, crushed between them.
The invisible barrier gave way all at once and Tsuchi spat her out the other end of the portal, almost throwing her free from Shiro and Yumei.
As she stumbled forward, balmy heat rushed over her and impossible sounds and scents besieged her senses—the cheerful trilling of songbirds, the rustle of a breeze through leaves, the aroma of loam and damp earth.
Green life flourished all around her. Trees reached for the blue sky, their branches laden with rich foliage, and ferns sprawled across the ground with wide, fan-like leaves. A tiny, clear stream trickled across smooth stones, and the uneven ground rose in ravine walls on either side, each rock ledge covered in soft moss and brimming with plant life.
The humid breeze, warm and welcoming, fluttered the hem of her sundress and a butterfly bobbed past her nose in drunken flight, its wings flashing with blue and yellow stripes.
“But …” she whispered. “How … where …?”
“An island about five hundred miles south of the mainland,” Shiro said. “The temperatures are tropical all year, though it’s a bit cooler in winter.”
She stared around, still speechless. Speckles of sunlight, so much warmer than in Shion, danced across her face through the canopy of leaves. On either side of her, Shiro and Yumei watched her with surprising attentiveness.
“I don’t understand,” she managed weakly.
Shiro glanced up, squinting into the sun. “You were sad that you wouldn’t get to see flowers or the summer sun again. This isn’t quite the same, but … just for today, you can have summer one more time.”
Her throat tightened painfully. “You—you arranged for me to have one more day of summer before … before the solstice?”
He nodded.
She looked at her sundress and sandals. “And Nanako and Katsuo helped you?”
He nodded again. “And Yumei. He picked this spot.”
“You did nothing useful,” Yumei told him, “except badger us until you got what you wanted.”
As she looked across the lush rainforest, a sight she had never seen before, her heart swelled until she thought it might explode. Emotion stormed through her, too much at once, and unexpected tears pooled in her eyes. She couldn’t even look at Shiro, afraid she would lose all control. Instead, she threw her arms around Yumei.
He staggered back a step, holding his hands away from her as though he had no idea how an embrace worked. She pressed her face against his shoulder, tears streaking her cheeks.
“Thank you, Yumei,” she choked.
“She’s crying,” he growled at Shiro.
“Try returning her embrace,” Shiro said with a snicker. “That might help.”
With obvious reluctance, Yumei closed his arms around her. She stifled a watery giggle and held him, knowing it was the only hug she was likely to ever get from the stoic Tengu. How many long hours had he spent crafting a portal spanning over a thousand miles? How much power—strength he should have been conserving for the battle on the solstice—had he expended on a spell to give her a single day in the summer sun?
Sniffing, she released him and stepped back. He regarded her warily, as though she might ambush him for a second emotional display, then shot Shiro a glare as though blaming him for her reaction.
“I will return at sunset,” he said and turned back to the dark doorway in the large, leafy tree she had no name for. “Do not be late.”
Without waiting for a confirmation, he entered the darkness. The doorway dissolved in a flash of red light, and Emi was alone with Shiro in the ancient forest.
Chapter 22
Emi drew the sweet, warm air into her lungs and turned to Shiro, tears standing in her eyes.
A small wrinkle formed between his brows. “Are you unhappy with me?”
She pressed her fingertips to her lips and shook her head. “No. I—I don’t even know what to say …”
“It had to be a surprise.” He sounded a little defensive. “If I’d told you ahead of time, you would have refused to go so you didn’t miss any of your kamigakari stuff.”
“Am I missing kamigakari stuff?” she asked in alarm, then suspicion dawned on her. “Does Guji Ishida know about this?”
“Umm.” His ears flicked back. “Not precisely. But don’t worry. Nanako and Katsuo are handling that.”
“But—”
He grinned. “Come on. This isn’t even the best part.”
“It’s not?”
She wondered what more there could be beyond this beautiful rainforest as he led her along the bottom of the ravine, the stream trickling beside them. The still heat of the forest surrounded them and dappled shadows danced across the ground. As soft fern leaves brushed her legs, the scent of green plant life filled her nose.
The sides of the ravine narrowed until she and Shiro were walking between steep, mossy walls of rock that twisted sharply, obstructing her view of what lay ahead.
Shiro paused, then turned to her. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She huffed. “Haven’t I had enough surprises?”
“Just one more.”
Giving in, she closed her eyes. His hands touched her shoulders, guiding her forward. Her pulse quickened, her attention disproportionately focused on his hands, the thin layer of her sweater far less of a barrier than she was accustomed to.
He steered her at least two dozen paces and a steady breeze rushed over them, car
rying a familiar scent.
“Now,” he murmured, his voice unexpectedly close to her ear. “Open your eyes.”
She obeyed. At the sight before her, the weight of her body vanished and she felt like she was floating inside, held to the earth only by her skin.
Stretching ahead of her toes was pristine white sand. Beyond, waves gently rolled onto the curving beach. Turquoise water sparkled in the sunlight, as vibrant as the sky, streaked with wispy clouds, that extended endlessly toward the horizon. The beach formed a sheltered cove, and tiny islands overflowing with green ferns and windblown trees dotted the ocean waters.
She stared, her lungs locked, her heart bursting from the overwhelming beauty before her.
Shiro gently squeezed her shoulders. “Breathe, Emi.”
She pulled in a quivering inhalation. “Shiro, it’s … it’s …”
He stepped to her side and held out his hand. She entwined their fingers tightly, and together they walked into the bright, hot sun. Wind gusted from the ocean toward land, playfully tugging at her hair and carrying the scent of salt water. The sand shifted underfoot, coating her sandals.
Pausing, she slipped her sandals off and then continued across the hot, gritty sand toward the crystalline water. She’d seen the ocean before, but not like this. Nothing even close. The color of the water, that vibrant aquamarine, was more stunning than she could have imagined.
Halfway down the beach, Shiro stopped to deposit Nanako’s bag and remove his own footwear, no doubt full of sand. She dropped her sandals beside the bag, and with the sun beaming down, she unbuttoned her sweater, slipped it off, and set it on the bag. Softened by the cool breeze blowing off the water, heat kissed her shoulders and upper back, left bare by the halter neckline of her dress.
Unable to wait, she went ahead. Where the waves met the beach, the wet sand squished beneath her feet. A low wave rolled in and she squealed at the touch of cold water. Grinning, she splashed deeper and the next wave rushed across her ankles. She held her hat in place with one hand and ran parallel to the waves, sand flying behind her.
As a wave caught her, splashing her legs, she gasped and whirled around with a laugh. Shiro watched her from a few paces away and she paused, uncertain and self-conscious. He crossed the sand to join her, and as she blinked up at him, he raised a hand, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.
“Don’t stop smiling,” he murmured.
Her breath caught and she smiled again. His lips curved up in response. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him with her up the beach until the sand gave way to rocks that jutted out of the water. She hopped onto a hot, flat boulder to gaze across the glittering waves, tipped with white in the distance.
Wide-eyed with wonder, she looked down at him. “We get to spend the whole day here?”
“Until sunset.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, as though she could keep her heart from swelling too large. “This is the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received.”
His eyes lit with pleasure and she melted inside. She wanted to fall into his arms, but instead she dropped down beside him. As the wind swept over her, blowing at her hair, she glanced at her sundress.
“There’s something I want to do,” she told him, “and you’re not allowed to laugh.”
“Oh?”
“Do you promise not to laugh?”
“I won’t laugh.”
Giving him a warning look, she stepped away to give herself space, raised her arms, and twirled. Her dress flared out, the lightweight fabric swirling elegantly. Delighted by the dancing skirt, she spun around and around until the world was spinning with her. She came to a stop, but the beach didn’t, and she stumbled sideways, losing her balance.
Shiro’s arms closed around her and pulled her back against him. She sagged, letting him support her weight as she waited for the world to steady. So much for not falling into his arms.
“I may have overdone it,” she said breathlessly.
“Maybe a little.”
“But you didn’t laugh.”
“Of course not. I promised, didn’t I?”
She let her head fall back so she could look at him upside down. His expression was overly funereal, but he couldn’t quite hide his amusement.
When she could walk in a straight line again, they started back. A tiny hermit crab waddled across their path, shell bobbing, and in the distance, gulls wheeled on the wind. Returning to their belongings, she simply stood in place, mesmerized by the ebb and flow of the waves.
Shiro sank onto the sand and lay back, folding his arms behind his head. “Why don’t you see what the cranky miko packed for you? She told me to remind you … something about your skin in the sun.”
Emi might have scolded him for speaking poorly of Nanako if not for his teasing tone. Kneeling beside the bag, she pulled it open to investigate its contents. A bottle of sunscreen sat on top, and she took a few minutes to apply it to her exposed skin, ignoring the way Shiro wrinkled his nose at the smell.
She then pulled out a thin blanket, laid it over the sand, and set a large boxed lunch in the middle. Shiro joined her on the blanket before she even had the box open. Every bite was delicious, the simple delicacies familiar from her time at Shirayuri—it was Nanako’s cooking. As Shiro packed up the box again, Emi sat on the blanket, facing the water, and buried her toes in the sand.
“It’s so beautiful here.” She glanced at him as he lay back again, closing his eyes. “You said Yumei picked this spot?”
“Mmm. He said he used to come here every few years.”
“For some reason, I can’t really picture him sunbathing on the beach.”
Shiro snorted. “Me neither. He enjoys the ocean winds. On windy days, he said, it’s like floating rather than flying.”
Though she couldn’t imagine Yumei napping on a sunny beach, she could picture a great raven soaring on the wind above the rolling ocean waves. The shadowy spruce grove and snowdrifts she’d left behind seemed like a dream, the gathered yokai warriors a figment of her imagination.
“Did all of his daitengu join him?” she asked.
“Most of them. He couldn’t find four or five.”
“But the rest still came, even though he dismissed them seven centuries ago.” Amazement touched her voice.
“They’re very loyal. After all, he created them.”
Her brow furrowed. “Created them? What do you mean?”
“Many yokai are created rather than born,” he explained with a shrug, his face turned to the sun. “Most of Yumei’s karasu began their lives as ordinary crows. Living in his territory, exposed to his ki and Tsuchi’s influence, they absorbed a touch of his power and evolved into more than animals. With time, they developed their own ki and grew in strength until they became full yokai. It’s why he and his karasu can share power the way they do. He gifts strength to them and they gift theirs back when he needs it.”
“Wow,” she murmured, digging her fingers into the sand. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s usually a passive process. He doesn’t actively turn them into yokai.”
“Can the same thing happen to humans?”
“Humans becoming yokai? Generally not.”
“Generally?”
“Well …” His eyes opened and he grimaced. “Dead humans can become yokai. Their spirits, to be specific. It’s exceptionally rare, but under the right circumstances, they can become yokai after death instead of fading to Yomi. Do you remember those dream-weavers from the Ajisai inn? Kanashibari are spirits of deceased children.”
Emi shuddered at the reminder of the ghostly little girls.
“Anyway,” Shiro said, dismissing the topic and closing his eyes again. “Yumei’s daitengu are loyal to him, though difficult to control. They’re still testing him to see if he’s mellowed out. They want to know what they can get away with.”
She unburied a flat seashell and brushed the sand off it. “What about the three yokai Byakko brought with him? What exac
tly is a Shijin?”
“The Shijin are four yokai gods: Byakko of the Wind, Genbu of the Cold, Suzaku of the Fire, and Seiryu of the Rain. They’re a long step down from the Kunitsukami, but they’re independent of us and don’t serve any others. They’re very old and very lethal.”
She looked up from her seashell. “But I thought Yumei was more powerful than Byakko.”
“Byakko concedes to Yumei because Yumei is Sarutahiko’s second. Byakko is older, but he’s never commanded armies. I would say they’re evenly matched.”
After placing the seashell in their bag to take back with her, she scooped up a double handful of sand and let it slide through her fingers. “Did you know Yumei was Sarutahiko’s second before that meeting?”
His face scrunched. “I wasn’t surprised so I must have known, but I didn’t remember before that.”
“How are …” A sting of fear halted her words. She had diligently avoided asking about his memories, about his returning self. “Are your memories returning now that the onenju are off?”
He lifted one shoulder. “The last year or so before the onenju is clear now, but everything else is a big jumble. I seem to remember best when something triggers a memory.”
“Do you …” She trailed off uncertainly. He glanced questioningly at her, but she lost her nerve. Brushing the sand off her hands, she sprang up. “Let’s keep exploring!”
Together, they ventured to the other side of the beach. Where the rocks replaced the sand, Shiro hopped onto the porous stone and lifted her after him. They climbed across the ledge, following the curved arm of rock toward the horizon.
“Look,” he said, pointing toward the crystal-clear water.
Ten feet below the surface, sand was interspersed with rocky coral in shades of yellow and pink, and fish darted about in flashes of color.
Emi gasped and jumped onto the lowest rock. With Shiro crouched beside her, she watched the fish swim amongst the coral. A huge sea turtle glided just beneath the surface, drifting closer. It poked its head out of the water, its small dark eyes peering at them, then dove, large front flippers lazily waving. It swam toward the ocean floor and mingled with a small school of vivid yellow fish.