The pearl.
There’s always more to steal, he’d told me. But I hadn’t understood. He hadn’t meant that the pearl could be easily replaced. He’d meant that he could steal it back from Saiko.
I could save us all now. I could wish. If only I were holding the pearl.
Jinnai could throw it to me, but it was too risky. I might miss it. Someone else might grab it. It could be lost, rolling away under trampling feet, disappearing into a crack between floorboards, gone forever, until the day I died. And then an innocent hand would pick it up and an innocent heart would make a wish.
As long as the pearl was in Jinnai’s hand, I could not call on the services of the demon inside it. But he could—if I gave the pearl to him now.
Should I do that?
Could I trust him?
He’d been my partner. My pursuer. My betrayer—except that he had not betrayed me after all.
Did that mean I’d been wrong about him since the day I dragged him out of a bush in the forest? That he hadn’t been following me to steal my treasure for himself?
That he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d never lied to me?
I was in the middle of a battle. In the next second, I’d be seized—beaten—maybe killed. I had no time to sort through feelings, identify misjudgments, recalibrate my sense of trust. My spinning brain calculated the odds facing me and seized hold of two simple facts.
One, Jinnai was a thief.
Two, it was better for a thief to have the pearl than to risk it falling back into the hands of Kashihara Saiko.
“It’s yours now!” I shouted to Jinnai above the din. “I give it to you! Wish that we’re all safe! Do it now!”
Before I could think fully about the fact that I’d just asked Jinnai to risk his soul, another pair of hands closed around my throat and I was dragged backward, feet scrabbling across the floor. My knife made a wild slash through the air. Ichiro, leaping forward to help me, was forced to dodge back to avoid being gutted. The need to breathe rose up in me, crested like a giant wave, and crashed down. I had to breathe—right now, this second. I would kill anyone in this room for one simple, clear, clean gulp of air—
Then the pressure around my throat vanished, and I hit the floor. Sitting there, heaving in sweet breaths, I stared around the wineshop.
The samurai was gone. Master Ishikawa’s men were gone, and the master thief as well. There was no sign of Shiburo—had he been wished away by the pearl as well, or had he simply and wisely taken to his heels? The three dice players did remain, but not for long; they crashed through the door in panic and were gone.
Otani got to his knees, rubbing his shoulder, and gazed about him in wonder. Masako wiped blood from her nose as she knelt to assure herself that Ozu was unharmed. Yuki dropped the club she’d been holding and used both hands to smooth her hair back from her face. Ichiro, still holding his staff, swung to the window to face Jinnai.
I sprang up to peer at Jinnai’s hand as well, trying to see the pearl more clearly. Was the demon free? Had it taken Jinnai’s soul as its payment?
Jinnai’s hand was shaking, but I could see both white and gold between his fingers. Then the demon was still imprisoned, which meant we were not in danger of being devoured this moment.
My gaze went to Jinnai’s face.
Not that long ago, I’d looked into the face of a man whose soul had been eaten by a demon, glimpsed that foreign and hungry thing staring out of his eyes. Jinnai’s eyes did not look like that. They were full of astonishment, horror, fear—and humanity.
Jinnai shuddered. He held the pearl loosely, as if he didn’t want to grasp it firmly but didn’t dare drop it or fling it aside.
I knew what he was feeling, that rush of harsh cold, as if his heart were pumping tiny needles of ice through his veins. Could he hear the demon laugh? Did he know its delight at being one step closer to freedom?
“What is this?” Jinnai whispered hoarsely. He set wide eyes on me. “What does it do?”
“It’s dangerous,” I said, taking a step closer to him.
“It’s powerful.” Jinnai dropped his gaze to the pearl in his unsteady hand. “It’s—magic? It grants wishes?”
“At a cost,” I said, keeping my voice low, taking another step. I wanted his attention on me, his gaze nowhere else. “Too high a cost. Whatever you do, don’t make another wish.”
When I’d first handled the pearl, the ring of gold around it had been the width of my thumb. Now it was no thicker than the stem of a slender leaf.
The cut over Jinnai’s eyebrow, where I’d hit him earlier, had reopened, and a line of blood was snaking down the side of his face. Slowly, taking care not to startle him, I reached out to touch the red trickle with my fingers.
Then I lowered my hand to his. My bloody fingers brushed the pearl.
“Give it back to me,” I told him, my voice so low only the two of us could hear it. I could feel Ichiro’s presence close behind me; of all the other people in this room, only he truly knew what was at stake.
Could I count on him to help, if things went wrong? If Jinnai refused to give me the pearl—if he tried to make a second wish—would Ichiro help me kill him?
If the two of us were wise, we’d kill the young thief now, before he understood just what he held. The thought filled me with revulsion. I hadn’t wanted to kill Jinnai two days earlier, when I’d tied him to a tree. I didn’t want to do so now.
But if he were mad and reckless enough to try for another wish, I might have to.
If he were mad and reckless enough to try for another wish, I might not be able to.
And he was that mad, wasn’t he? He was certainly mad and reckless enough to claim that he loved me.
“It’ll take your soul,” I warned Jinnai. It seemed as if I should be able to feel the power of the pearl between our two hands, as if the thing should burn like a living coal. But it only felt cool and smooth and hard, smeared with both our blood. “Give it back to me, Jinnai. Say the words,” I whispered. “Please.”
Jinnai smiled.
As if it were a matter of no great importance, he pulled his hand away and let the pearl drop into my palm. It was so small, so light, I had to look at it to be sure it was there.
“It’s yours,” Jinnai said easily. “I stole it back for you. I always meant to. I told you, there’s nothing I can’t steal.”
I could not tell if the shudder that swept from my scalp all the way down my back was shock, or relief, or fear.
Jinnai seemed about to laugh. I didn’t know what expression, beyond surprise, was on my face, but apparently he found it amusing.
“Kata,” Ichiro said from behind me, a warning in his voice. “I think we should leave.”
I turned to look at him, and he nodded at the window behind Jinnai.
Jinnai turned to look as well. He gave a strangled yelp and, in a complicated movement, twitched sideways and jumped backward at the same time.
On every square of rice paper, even those that hung torn and tattered in their frames, an eye had appeared, as if drawn with ink by the most skillful hand and with the finest brush. But these eyes were made of more than ink. They blinked and opened wide to study us. Each iris and pupil turned and shifted, tracking our every movement.
Ozu choked back a frightened squeak and plastered herself against Masako’s side.
“Moku-moku ren,” Ichiro said quietly. “They won’t hurt us, but they might be a sign. Other things could be stirring now that a wish has been made.”
“Other things?” Otani asked from across the room. “What other things, exactly? I’d like to know what I’m fighting.”
“You’re not fighting anything,” I said as I pocketed the pearl. I turned on my heel and made for the door of the wineshop, reaching out a hand to slide it open.
It was time to do what I’d decided. Time to complete my mission alone.
But my hand jerked back when I saw that the door’s screen, too, was covered with curious eyes, watc
hing me eagerly, as if impatient to know what I would do next.
“Don’t be absurd, Kata. You’re not going anywhere by yourself.” Masako was at my side, Ozu clinging to her hand.
Ichiro moved quickly as well. “I laid this burden on you, Kata. Do you think I’d abandon you now?”
Jinnai, too, stepped forward. “Haven’t I shown you how difficult I am to leave behind?”
Yuki only shook her head.
Otani, having sheathed his sword, stood silent, his arms crossed over his chest, frowning as if he were thinking hard. He didn’t seem to have anything to add.
“No,” I said shortly. I reached for the screen again, and every eye upon it swiveled to watch my hand.
Once I got outside, I could take to the rooftops. Even Jinnai would not be able to keep up with me. All I had to do was slide the door open.
If only it weren’t looking at me like that.
Ichiro edged past me. He put his hands together and bowed to the eyes on the screen. “Pardon us. We have to get by,” he said, and the eyes turned to him and blinked and watched as he slid the screen gingerly open and stepped through.
“Bow,” he told us from the entranceway beyond. “They’re mostly harmless, but—”
“Mostly?” Otani inquired.
“It doesn’t hurt to be polite,” Ichiro said simply. “Even to bakemono.”
Especially, I thought, and bowed humbly to the eyes on the screen as I slipped past. Behind me, Otani edged sideways through the doorway, determined not to touch the frame. The others, equally cautious, came after him.
Once safely out of the door, we crossed the narrow plank bridge over the ditch that ran alongside the wineshop. Something hissed and splashed in the murky water below, barely visible in the light from a single paper lantern hanging from the side of the building.
My eyes were on the rooftops, scanning them for the easiest way up, when Ichiro spoke. “Things are stirring already,” he said grimly.
“Yes. They are.”
The new voice seemed to arrive out of the air, and its owner with it. Where had she come from? Out of an alley? From behind a fence? In that filthy little street, her snow-white kimono was spotless. An ornament as delicate as frozen leaves shimmered in her silky hair.
Otani’s sword rose, but I shook my head to keep him from attacking. The woman who was now standing beside me merely smiled. The smile was the only thing about her that wasn’t lovely. It was too wide, had too many teeth. And somehow it always looked … hungry.
“You’ll need to hurry,” she said, speaking only to me, without even a glance for the others. Her voice was low and slightly rough, and it made me think of deep burrows, warm fur, something brown and soft and rich. “Your instincts were correct before. Get it off the island. It’s too powerful now, too close to freedom. It will call to every bakemono it can awaken and try to use them. If they can force you to make one last wish, the demon in the pearl will be released.”
I nodded.
“I cannot help you much once you leave the shore, but there may be others who can,” she said. And then she changed. A storm of fur and silk, skin and hide, swirled in the darkness, and a white fox darted down the street, away into the night.
“Ah.” Jinnai shook his head, as though he were trying to rattle his brains into better working order. “Did that just—did she actually—did I really see …?”
“A woman turn into a fox? I’m relieved to hear I’m not the only one doubting my own eyes.” Otani looked from Jinnai, to the street where the fox spirit had disappeared, to me. “Well, Flower, I always did have the feeling that you were on a mission you told no one about. I didn’t know it was for the gods.”
Ichiro was nodding. “It makes sense, what she said, Kata. All demons have their territories, the places where they are the most powerful. But the demon in the pearl—I think its territory may be this entire island. Out at sea, its power should die down. We have to get you safely to the harbor.”
“We?” Otani lifted an eyebrow.
I shook my head. “Not all of you.” I turned to face Masako.
I didn’t quite know how I would get rid of my followers, but at least I could make sure that my oldest friend would not be a part of what we were about to face. “Get her to safety,” I said, pointing to Ozu. Masako opened her mouth to protest. “Don’t argue,” I growled.
Masako didn’t. She merely reached out to embrace me, her cheek wet and cool against mine.
We had no time for farewells, no time for tears, but my hands tightened on her arms until I could feel the strength of the bones beneath her smooth muscles.
“This debt can never be repaid,” she said softly, in my ear. Then she let me go, seized Ozu’s hand, and pulled her away, running down the street, rounding a curve of the river, lost to the night in moments. Trust a girl trained by Madame Chiyome to understand what needed to be done and to waste no words where words could do no good.
Two gone. I turned to the rest.
“Don’t argue,” Ichiro said. “We’re taking you to the harbor.”
Jinnai nodded. Yuki simply looked stubborn. And how could I argue with a girl who would not argue?
Otani, though—he was another matter.
“This isn’t your fight,” I told the bandit, before the other three could interfere. “This is—something different. Unnatural.”
“You’d leave me out, would you?” he said, with an expression I could not read.
“You’re a warrior,” I told him. “But this is not what you’ve been trained for. The things out there—you won’t know how to fight them. But they can still kill you.”
“I died a long time ago,” he said, and before I could begin to understand what he meant by that, he smiled. “Still, this sounds like the kind of fight I wouldn’t want to miss. Oh, don’t bother, Flower. As far as I can tell, you don’t have time to waste arguing with us.”
I closed my mouth and set my teeth. He was right. If they wouldn’t leave willingly, I couldn’t fight them and every demon between here and the ocean.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t escape, however. For the moment, though, it was best to let them think they’d won.
“Then you do as I say,” I told all four. “At every turn.”
“Your loyal retainers, Commander Flower,” Otani said, his shorter sword already in his hand, his gaze moving purposefully up and down the street. It was empty now; even the latest revelers were snoring on their mats or in alleys, or perhaps frightened away by the chaos that had overtaken Shiburo’s wineshop.
“To the harbor, then?” Jinnai asked. “Follow me.”
Jinnai did not take us through streets or alleys, but set a quick pace along the riverbank. We crossed behind wineshops and warehouses and rows of cramped and shabby houses, climbed over heaps of trash, picked our way through gardens, and stepped carefully past encampments of sleepers huddled on the bare ground. Whenever someone woke to curse at us, Jinnai always knew his name and would call out a quick reassuring word that made the sleeper’s head sink down once more.
My back prickled and the skin along my neck tingled, alert to the danger in the darkness all around us. I caught Ichiro’s eye and knew he was thinking what I was.
Yuki had seen only a little of what the pearl could awaken. The other two, Otani and Jinnai, had probably heard fireside tales of ghosts and demons, but never met so much as a tengu flitting through a forest or a kappa lurking in a stream, disguised as a smooth, round stone.
They did not know, as Ichiro and I did, what it was to come face-to-face with bakemono.
There had been a time when I’d easily assumed that the world of bakemono could never be the world I lived in day to day. Back then, I’d believed that only a trick of the light could make a shadow, glimpsed from the corner of my eye, seem to pounce on its prey. I’d thought only moles or rats scuttled in the bushes at night, that a despairing cry echoing in the darkness could only be an owl’s call.
That was before I’d fought tiny
scuttling creatures swollen to the size of monsters, shadows that grew teeth and claws, scraps of mist that could grip like iron fetters. Before I’d encountered a pitiful, half-drowned child who wanted to drag me into the depths beside her, a generous hostess whose smiles and hair hid her true nature—and her true hunger.
A cat with two tails. A fox who could turn into a woman.
Bakemono were everywhere.
And at least three members of my inconvenient little army would have slim idea how to deal with them.
When we reached a bridge, Jinnai took us over the river, and we plunged into the pleasure district. Even here, most stores and wineshops and theaters were closed, and only a few windows still glowed. As we passed those lighted screens, flickers spread across the rice paper, and more painted eyes opened to watch us.
Jinnai ducked around a corner into a narrow alley between two silent buildings. The eaves of both roofs nearly met overhead, blocking out most of the moonlight. Abruptly the thief came to a stop.
“What? Are you lost?” Otani called out impatiently from behind me.
“No!” Jinnai announced indignantly. “Someone built a wall.”
Otani snorted. “He’s lost. Back the way we came.”
“I’m not lost. I’m never lost,” Jinnai was insisting when the darkness around us suddenly grew denser. Something had cut off the faint light remaining from the few glowing windows in the street behind us.
Yuki moved closer to me. Ichiro drew in his breath.
There came a stifled grunt from the mouth of the alley, as though Otani had walked into something. A moment later, he came blundering back.
“Someone … well, someone built a wall there, too,” he said, bewildered.
Something ran over my foot.
I stepped back, kicking the thing off. It flew through the air and hit the ground with a startled squeak. A rat.
“Nurikabe.” Ichiro’s voice came out of the darkness.
“What’s that?” I asked impatiently. Something was tickling at the edge of my hearing. It wasn’t quite a sound yet, but it would be so momentarily. If the others would stop talking, I might be able to figure out what it was.