Spirits of the Noh

8

K ara’s father picked her up in front of the dorm, shooting a stern look at Hachiro as the boy escorted her to the car. It was a total Dad look, and Kara wanted to shout at her father. What, did he think Hachiro had caused the fight they’d had earlier? That he had done something to upset her enough that she didn’t want to walk home? Stupid. She knew that all guys could be stupid sometimes, that they lost the ability to interpret what their eyes were showing them, but it still frustrated her hugely when her father turned out to be one of those men.

Yeah, Dad, she wanted to say, Hachiro is the problem.

Sigh.

Hachiro carried her guitar, put it into the backseat, and headed back into the dorm with about three minutes to spare before curfew. Kara sat in silence beside her father as he turned the car around and drove the almost absurdly short distance back to their house. She had figured he would assume her silence stemmed from their fight, and Kara let him go on thinking that. She wasn’t ready to explain.

“Look,” he said, reverting to English. That was getting to be a habit now, whenever things between them grew tense. “I should have talked to you more about what’s going on between Yuuka… I mean, Aritomo-sensei… and me. But, honey, you can’t pretend you didn’t see this coming. You were the only one who did. I wasn’t looking, and you know that. You know it. And you seemed to want something to happen with us-”

Kara heard the pain and confusion in his voice and knew she had caused it. Her heart gave a painful twist.

“I did,” she admitted, sticking to Japanese. “At first.”

“And now?” her father said, returning to Japanese as well, as if in reaction to her. It seemed safer, somehow, the foreign language putting distance between them.

He pulled the car in beside the house and killed the engine, then looked over at her expectantly. What did he want her to say?

Whatever it was, it would have been a lie.

“Now I need to sleep,” she said. “It’s been a weird night.”

She opened the door and he reached over to touch her arm. Kara glanced sidelong at him. The pleading look had left his face, and now he only seemed frustrated.

He went back to English. “I’m dealing with these feelings as they hit me, honey. Same way you do. I can’t consult you on them before I even know what I’m feeling.”

Kara forced herself to smile. “I know that,” she said, relenting by returning to English as well. “Come on, let’s go in.”

That seemed to satisfy him, but Kara had said it only to end the conversation. She needed time alone-time to think. The instant she was inside the house she made a beeline to her bedroom and shut her door. She’d left her guitar in the car, but no way would she be going out to get it before sunrise.

Miho lay in her bed, covers pulled tight around her, feeling vulnerable in just her T-shirt and underwear. A small fan buzzed at the end of her bed, where she had clipped it to the edge of her desk. The windows were shut tight and locked. Living on the third floor ought to have given her a sense of security, and once upon a time it had. No longer.

The small reading lamp on her desk remained lit. Sakura had known better than to protest. Especially after the whole thing with Ren. Miho had confronted them while they waited for Kara’s father, and told them of her humiliation in front of Ren. Both girls had been hugely apologetic. According to Kara, Miho had “gone so quiet” about her crush on Ren that they had thought she was over him. She had been so angry at them, but that had sprung from her own embarrassment. Her friends loved her and would never have knowingly put her in a position like that. Miho knew that.

It all seemed so foolish now. In comparison to whatever had chased her out there in the dark, and the sheer hunger she had felt emanating from it, a little humiliation was nothing. Someday, she might even find her fumbling flirtation with Ren funny. Not tonight, though. Tonight, nothing was funny.

Miho took a deep breath and shifted under the sheet. In the dim glow of that tiny light, she watched Sakura sleeping, grateful for her presence. She could never have stayed in the room by herself.

Mustering her courage, Miho closed her eyes and hated the darkness behind them. It took her back immediately to the hissing she’d heard in the shadow of the school, away from the moonlight, and the fear that had rushed into her heart returned. She’d been marching back to the dorm from Kara’s house. Had she heard something, noticed something in the shadows? Probably. All Miho knew was that her anger had slipped away and she found herself listening intently to the darkness coalescing around her.

Something had slithered in the grass. Soft hissing began, mixed with hitching breaths that might have been quiet laughter. She’d frozen and turned, her eyes struggling to adjust to the night. Against the wall of the school she could barely make out a patch of darkness deeper than night. At first she thought it was a person, a woman maybe, from the hair, but then it moved ever so slowly, inching nearer, and turned its head, and she saw the monstrous silhouette of its face, ridged and smooth, jaws opening wide, the tiniest glint of moonlight catching on the wet, black spikes of its teeth. It wanted her. She felt that very keenly.

The hissing noise issued from its open mouth, and Miho screamed. Letting out a stream of swears and pleas, she had run, careening out of control along the side of the school, just above the parking lot, and then emerged into the golden glow of the moon and collided into Hachiro.

And what if he hadn’t been there? she thought now, alone in bed. What if Kara and Hachiro had not been around? Where would you be now?

Her eyes opened and she stared over at Sakura, who slept so soundly in her bed. Miho clenched her jaw tight, unwilling to say her roommate’s name, though she longed for company, for someone to talk to. It confused and frustrated her that she felt so grateful to her friends, when the curse that nearly claimed her tonight had been Sakura’s fault to begin with. If not for her…

That’s not fair, she thought, stopping herself, biting her lip, fighting tears. She turned her back on Sakura’s sleeping form. Miho loved Kara, and Sakura was her best friend in the world. It had been friendship and loyalty that led to her being cursed-to the curse upon them all-and how could she blame Sakura, when it had really all begun with Akane’s murder?

With a sigh, Miho shifted her legs, trying to find a comfortable position, and closed her eyes again. She wished for her mother, and the very wishing filled her with a deep melancholy. In the spring, she had faced evil. Real, true evil. But she had been with her friends at the time, and they had survived. Never during that experience had she wished for her mother. But tonight she had been alone out there, and the thing had been chasing her.

Not that her mother would bother coming to visit. Miho hated to complain about her parents, since Sakura’s were so much worse. They actively disliked her, and didn’t want anything to do with her. The Murakamis had sent Akane and Sakura off to boarding school to be rid of them, and cared so little that when Akane had been murdered, they had left Sakura there. Miho knew that her own parents didn’t hate her, or want to be rid of her, necessarily. They hadn’t put that much thought into it.

No, her mother wouldn’t be coming. Until morning, at least, the only thing keeping her safe was Sakura’s presence and the little light burning at the end of her bed. As these thoughts settled deeply into her mind, Miho wondered what might have happened to her, and where Daisuke and Wakana were now. They had all discussed it-she and Sakura, Kara and Hachiro-and they all hoped the two had really run away like young lovers in some teen romance manga story.

But the connections were there.

Daisuke and Wakana were part of the Noh club. They had been involved in the upcoming production of Dojoji, and so was Miho. Whatever had been out there in the dark, it had chosen the Noh club as its prey. But what the hell was it? Kyuketsuki had laid the curse upon them with carefully chosen words, summoning whatever remained of the supernatural in Japan to plague them. It could be anything, but then why focus on the Noh club?

Again she closed her eyes, and the hissing remained with her, like a snake.

With a sharp intake of breath, she opened her eyes. Her fingers could still remember the shape of each of the masks she had been working on for Dojoji, including the demon spirit who took such horrid vengeance on several of the major characters.

The serpent-woman, Hannya.

In the glow of that small light, Miho prayed.

The Hannya, Kara thought, standing in the kitchen with a glass of pineapple juice in her hand. The small window over the sink gave her a view into the street and she stared out at the house across from theirs. A quiet night. All of Miyazu City would be sleeping perfectly well tonight, except for Daisuke’s parents, Kara and her father, and Miho, of course.

By now, Miho would have figured it out.

She took a sip of juice, relishing its sweetness, and listened to the darkened kitchen for sounds that didn’t belong there. The hum of electricity. The creak of old wood, shifting in the wind. Nothing out of place at all. But Kara felt like a jolt of electricity had shot through her and was racing around inside her veins on some endless loop.

The Hannya. Really, it made a weird kind of sense. Unintended ritual had summoned Kyuketsuki, beginning with the murder of Akane, followed by Sakura’s rage and grief and Ume’s guilt. Then the curse of Kyuketsuki had called out to the lingering remnants of ancient evil in Japan and focused its attention on her, Sakura, and Miho. The curse had made them a kind of magnet. The Hannya would likely come for her and Sakura eventually, but for the moment it seemed to be following its own instincts, which was to prey upon those who’d summoned it-the Noh club. Miho met both criteria, so she was doubly in danger.

Kara set her glass down on the counter, frowning. Those who’d summoned it. Miss Aritomo had chosen the play to begin with. She would be in danger as well.

Something had to be done. The trouble was that they had no proof of anything-no evidence that Daisuke and Wakana had not run away, or that the Hannya existed. The only reason that Kara even knew the story was because Miss Aritomo had chosen Dojoji for her first Noh production at the school. Even then, Kara probably never would have read the play itself except that she and Sakura had thought it would make a good manga and had started to do the research to prepare.

No one would believe them. But in Sakura and Miho’s room-with Hachiro watching for her father’s car down in the lobby-Kara and the girls had agreed on a course of action. Ever since, she had been trying to think of another plan, but they weren’t characters in a manga-schoolgirls turned demon hunters or something. The Hannya was real, and none of them wanted to meet it face-to-face.

Just do it, she thought. Follow the plan.

With a sigh, she rinsed her glass and left it in the sink, crossing the darkened kitchen and living room.

Step one.

As Kara entered his room, her father looked up from making notes on a pad. He seemed surprised to see her there, and that made her sad and frustrated with him all over again.

“What is it, honey?” he asked in Japanese.

“Something happened tonight,” she replied.

His eyes widened as he sat up, and she knew all sorts of unpleasant things must be rushing through his head. Had Hachiro done something to her? Had she and the girls gotten into trouble?

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Kara smiled. Whatever else she might be feeling toward her father, she knew he loved her.

“Home safe and sound, as you can see,” she said. Then she grew serious. “But Miho almost didn’t make it home. After she came here looking for me, someone followed her, Dad. Somebody chased her. If Hachiro and I hadn’t been out in front of the dorm, whoever it was might have gotten her.”

For several seconds, his expression was immobile. Granite. Then he slid out of bed, came over to her, kissed her forehead, and held her close. Kara wanted to pull away-the two of them still had things to work out-but now wasn’t the time.

“That’s why you needed a ride home?”

She nodded.

“Did Miho get a look at the person chasing her?”

“Not a good one,” Kara replied.

Her father took a deep breath and went to his window. From there he could see the pagoda shape of the school in the distance.

“Miho’s in the Noh club,” she went on. “So were Daisuke and Wakana.”

“You’re suggesting they didn’t run away.”

Kara stared at his back. “Do you think they did?”

“Not anymore.”

Even as he turned toward her, he picked up the phone and began to dial.

For three days in the middle of August, the spirits of the dead returned to Japanese households to spend time with their ancestors-at least, according to the Buddhist festival of Obon. Kara didn’t pretend to understand the significance of this, but she tried. Some Buddhists-mostly older people-seemed truly to believe that the spirits of their ancestors came to visit them, but for the most part Obon seemed to have taken on a more secular presence in local culture. In other words, to a lot of people, it was all about the pretty lights.

Not that she was making any judgments. The idea of ghosts hanging out in the house for a few days seemed creepy enough to her even before factoring in the family reunion element. Granted, she would have loved to believe that her mother’s spirit could be there with her, sharing space, watching over her. It warmed her heart to think of it. But her father’s mother had been a cranky, hateful old woman who complained all the time, bossed people around, and had clammy hands. She’d smelled weird, too. No way did Kara want her ghost hanging around.

On the last day of Obon, tradition required that paper lanterns be lit and floated on water, usually down a river or stream. This was called toro nagashi. Similar rituals were performed at other times-in Hiroshima, for instance, on the anniversary of the day the United States dropped an atomic bomb on the city. But despite the ghosts that were involved, the lantern festival was usually not such a grim affair.

Miyazu City was widely acknowledged to have the greatest toro nagashi festival in the country, complete with spectacular fireworks. For the most part, it seemed like a big party to her. Ten thousand paper lanterns in varying colors would be set adrift in the bay, floating gently out to sea as the sun set. The lanterns represented the ghosts of dead ancestors, returning to the spirit world after their three-day visit. People gathered all up and down the beach on Ama-no-Hashidate to watch. Musicians played. Kids splashed in the water. Under normal circumstances, Kara would have been happy and excited. But after what she and her friends had been through, an undercurrent of unease flowed just beneath the surface of every moment.

Her father hated the idea of her being out after dark, but just for this night, he had made an exception. For the most part, she would be on the beach with thousands of other people, and on the way home, she’d be walking with her friends, and she’d promised to be home no later than ten p.m., and earlier if possible.

But all that was for later. Right now, she sat on a straw mat on the beach, drinking flavored water and listening to the thunderous boom of the five guys who had set up taiko drums and were performing kumi-daiko, drumming as an ensemble. The sound got deep into her brain, thundered off the inside of her chest, and it made her feel remarkably there, in the moment, swallowed by Japan. Kara loved the drums, but was glad they weren’t any closer. The kumi-daiko guys would have drummed her right off the beach, they were so loud.

Vendors sold sweet cakes, drinks, all kinds of noodles, fried squid, and octopus dumplings. The fried squid were a bit chewy, but the octopus dumplings were astonishingly tasty, like the best sushi.

“Maybe we should talk about the plan,” Hachiro suggested as he plopped a dumpling into his mouth. A bit of something stuck to his lip and he licked it off, looking lovably silly.

Kara smiled. “Let’s wait for the others. Talk to me.”

“About what?” he asked, chewing.

“Anything,” she said, frowning. You’re my boyfriend, she wanted to say. We’re supposed to be able to talk. But that would be unfair. She and Hachiro could talk about anything and nothing with equal enthusiasm, and she never felt awkward with him. Well, almost never-whenever questions arose about where their relationship would lead, things got uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s sort of hard to think about anything else right now. When your girlfriend has a curse hanging over her head, other things don’t mean very much.”

Kara felt a warm happiness blossom in her chest. “Well done. Most guys can’t come up with that kind of spin so quickly.”

“I mean it,” Hachiro protested.

“I know you do. I’m teasing. Seriously, though. Talk about baseball. How are the Red Sox doing?”

Hachiro stared at her. “You’re from Boston. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be telling me?”

It was Kara’s turn to shrug. “I don’t care about baseball. You do.”

He couldn’t deny it, especially not with the Boston Red Sox cap perched firmly on his head. Hachiro seemed to think it over a moment, but then he warmed to the subject.

“They’re in a slump, actually. But that happens every year after the All-Star break. People lose faith in them, and then they come back. If we’re lucky, they don’t let it all fall apart in the end.”

Kara laughed. “Choke,” she said in English.

“What?”

“In English, we would say we hope they don’t ‘choke.’” Then she repeated the word in Japanese.

Hachiro nodded. “Choke.”

“There you go,” she said, reverting to Japanese. “Now you’re ready to live in Boston.”

His smile vanished, confusing her a moment before she realized where her words had led his thoughts. Kara would go back to Boston eventually. Without him. That knowledge hung over them always.

Her cell phone jangled. Saved by the bell, she thought as she slid it open. Sakura was calling.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

Kara glanced around. “Exactly where we agreed. More or less.”

The day they had gone to the beach together, they had sat on the seaside of Ama-no-Hashidate. Today, they needed to be on the bay side so they would be able to see the lanterns and the fireworks after it got dark, and they had decided to meet at a halfway point along the sandbar.

“No, you’re not. We’re here.”

Kara glanced around. “They’re here,” she said in response to Hachiro’s curious look, and he started to glance about as well. Both of them stood up, Kara turning in a circle, scanning the beach. A sea of faces looked back.

“I don’t see you,” she started. But then she caught a glimmer of bronze in the sun. “Oh, wait. Ren’s hair!”

Smiling, she waved, and a few seconds later, Miho, Sakura, and Ren weaved their way through the crowd and began to make camp with them. Towels and mats were spread out, Miho hid under the umbrella Hachiro had already set up, and Ren opened a greasy paper bag and pulled out a wooden stick skewered with a fried piece of unidentifiable fish. He grinned happily.

Sakura laid down on her belly, feet poking up, legs crossed at the ankles. Kara thought she looked beautiful, a modern, post-Goth version of the classic 1950s beach bunny. If only she would smile.

But there was little chance of that.

“Okay, we’re all here,” Sakura said, glancing at Miho. Then she focused on Kara. “What do we do now?”

Kara took a breath, preparing to speak. Why were they all looking at her? How had she become the one who made decisions like this? She didn’t know the answer, but it was obvious that they all needed a purpose-something to make them feel like they were doing something, instead of just waiting for the darkness to swallow them-and if she had to give them that purpose, she would.

“Step one went smoothly, as far as I can tell,” she said.

Miho nodded. “I think the police believed me.”

“Of course they believed you. It isn’t like you were pretending to be terrified,” Ren said.

Miho gave him a glance that was part grateful and part bemused. All of the awkwardness she had once displayed around him was gone now that she knew he was gay. But the moment Miho realized that the others were looking at her, she shot a blank look at Kara as if to urge her to continue.

“There isn’t much more to say about step one, really,” Kara said, shrugging one shoulder. “My father got Yamato-sensei worried enough to bring the police in. They’re not going to say it officially, but my dad tells me the police are taking the possibility of abduction more seriously in the cases of Daisuke and Wakana.”

“They talked to everyone from Noh club this morning,” Miho confirmed.

“Not just from the club,” Ren added, glancing at Sakura. “They talked to everyone who’s been volunteering, too.”

Kara nodded. She knew this already. Sakura had hated every minute of it. After the way they had handled her sister’s murder, she had thought them a bunch of idiots, but when they had interrogated her after Chouku and Jiro had died back in April, Sakura had come to despise the police.

Hachiro threw up his hands, smiling, apparently sensing the tension and wanting to move on. “So, step two?”

“Step two,” Kara agreed. “We turn into bodyguards.”

She studied her friends, normally so open and trusting and-the attitude Sakura adopted notwithstanding-happy, and she hated to see the shadow of Kyuketsuki’s curse hanging over them.

“It’s a big job,” Ren said.

“We can handle it,” Miho piped up from under the umbrella.

Kara smiled at her. “Yeah. We can. At least while everyone’s at school.”

“What do you mean?” Sakura asked.

“Well, it’s not as if we can follow anyone home, so after the commuters go home, we only have to worry about the members of the Noh club who live in the dorm,” Kara explained. “Miho can keep in touch with the others by e-mail.”

“We can’t protect them all,” Sakura said.

“We might not be able to protect them at all,” Hachiro replied. He reached out for Kara’s hand, lending her his strength and support. “But we’re the only ones who know what’s really going on. We have to do what we can.”

“Without getting ourselves killed,” Miho whispered.

Ren sighed. “That would be nice.”

The taiko drums began again, startling them all. Kara hadn’t even noticed that they had stopped. Her mind had been elsewhere.

“All right,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Enough of that for now. Food and fireworks today. Let’s ‘eat, drink, and be merry.’”

She didn’t bother to finish that old saying.

For tomorrow we may die.