Spirits of the Noh

13

M r. Yamato sat in a rigid wooden chair, his back straight. As he listened to Kara and Sakura tell the story from the beginning, with Mai reinforcing their tale by relating again what Ume had told her and Ren showing his injuries and detailing the attack at the train station, the principal’s expression did not waver. So often stern, Kara thought his face must have settled comfortably into those grim lines over the years.

“And then we came here,” Kara told him. “Please, Yamato-sensei. You must believe us. I’m afraid for Miho, and for my father. More people will die if we don’t do something.”

The principal took a deep breath, but still his expression did not change. He shifted his gaze from student to student, studying each of them as though searching for a weak link in the story. Kara could not blame him if he thought they were all liars or lunatics, but she did not think that was the case at all. If he had, wouldn’t he have thrown them out of his house minutes after they’d begun their tale? Instead, he had listened to every word, asking only clarifications.

“Please, Yamato-sensei,” Mai said.

The principal’s eyes narrowed further as he focused on her. What had he expected when he had opened his door to find them there? Surely not this. He had invited them inside and they had removed their shoes and sat on mats and cushions on the floor of the living room. Mr. Yamato’s wife had offered them tea, but he had seen the urgency in their faces and politely asked her to let him speak to his students alone. He had apologized to them for sitting in the chair, explaining that he had trouble with his back. And then he had asked them to begin, turning to Kara as though sensing that the others also wished for her to speak first.

Now the principal shifted his gaze to Kara again.

“You lied to me that day, in my office.”

She flushed but did not avert her eyes. “Yes, sensei. I’m very sorry. At that point I still hoped Wakana and Daisuke really had run away together. And I was afraid if I told you that Mai was telling the truth, you wouldn’t believe any of us.”

Mr. Yamato nodded, glancing at Mai. “I see. And Mai told me only part of the truth, that day.”

“It was the truth as I knew it, sensei,” Mai said quickly. “As told to me by Ume.”

The man’s eyes darkened. “Ume, who may have been a murderer.”

Mai dropped her gaze.

“Tell me now, girl,” the principal commanded. “Were you one of those with Ume on the night Akane Murakami was killed?”

Kara glanced at Hachiro, Ren, and Sakura. All of them were staring at Mai, waiting for the answer. Sakura’s fists were clenched, but Kara couldn’t tell if the look on her face showed fury or a fresh wave of grief over the loss of her older sister.

Mai lifted her chin. “No, sensei. I swear I was not with them. Hana and Chouku were, but I know that only because Ume told me.”

“How convenient that they’re dead,” Sakura said bitterly. “You know who else was there.”

“I’d only be guessing,” Mai insisted.

“Enough!” Mr. Yamato said, slicing the air with his hand. He looked at Sakura, then turned back to Mai. “We will speak about this more tomorrow. First, we must contend with the story you have told me tonight.”

“Do you believe us?” Ren asked.

Mr. Yamato took a deep breath. It didn’t seem possible to Kara, but he actually sat up a bit straighter in his chair.

“As a younger man, I would have dismissed such stories without a moment’s thought. My grandmother loved to tell us tales of gods and demons, of spirits wearing the faces of men, and especially of tricksters who could appear to be animals. Kitsune was her favorite. I remember so many of those stories. I never believed them, but I knew my grandmother did. My father used to say the woman was crazy, and though I loved her stories, I agreed.

“As I have grown older, I have thought of my grandmother often. In my memories, she does not seem at all insane. In all other ways, she conducted her life normally-a sweet, doting woman who made fish soup better than any I’ve ever had, and always kept a bit of candy hidden for me in a drawer in her kitchen. The light of faith in her eyes was ordinary belief, not madness. Many old women still tell such stories as though they really happened. Who am I to say they did not?

“Even so, I would not believe you if not for the murders in April. Jiro and Chouku had their blood taken from their bodies. The police could not explain it. No one could explain it. They came up with their ridiculous stories, lies to tell the public, and I went along with them to protect our school. We could not afford to have people thinking the students were still in danger… and I truly thought the danger had passed. But I knew the police were mystified, and that made me wonder. And then Mai came to me with the tale of the ketsuki, and Kyuketsuki, and a curse.

“I tried to tell myself it was impossible. But every time I did, I remembered the spark of belief in my grandmother’s eyes. And now here you are, telling me a Hannya has come to Monju-no-Chie school, and I remember the story my grandmother told me of a girl named Kiyohime and the monk Anchin.”

Kara felt relief washing over her. Mr. Yamato believed her. He would help! But this was all taking too long. Where was Miss Aritomo now? With her father still? And where was Miho?

“Anchin is the name of the monk in Dojoji,” Sakura said. “Yasu was supposed to play that part.”

“But who was Kiyohime?” Hachiro asked, glancing at Kara. “Is that from the play, too?”

Mr. Yamato leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Kara could not help but lean in a bit herself. She saw the others doing the same. It had the feeling of a secret about to be shared, or a story told around the fireplace.

“The story has been told in many ways. The Noh play, Dojoji, is only one of them. It has been performed in Kabuki theater, written as folklore, and told in songs. But my grandmother told the story of Kiyohime as something true and real, as a warning to the young boy I was that I must never mislead a girl or take advantage of affection I did not feel in return.”

Hachiro and Ren shifted uncomfortably, while Mai looked confused. Sakura glanced at Kara, seeming to share her impatience, but Kara wanted to hear the rest.

“Please go on, sensei,” Kara said. “Anything you can tell us about the story might help.”

“Anchin lived in a temple on the banks of the Hidaka river. Once a year he visited a small village far away-I don’t remember the names now-and always stayed at the same inn during his travels. The innkeeper’s young daughter, Kiyohime, fussed over Anchin and during each visit he would bring her small gifts. He thought of her as a child, and never imagined that her fondness for him would turn to love. When, after several years, she confessed her passion to him, Anchin was shocked. He explained that he had taken vows of chastity and could never love her, and he returned to the temple.”

Kara thought back on the play she’d read and some of the reading she’d done. “That isn’t how the play goes.”

Mr. Yamato shook his head. “No. It’s not. Some versions of the tale claim that Anchin took advantage of the girl and then spurned her. But my grandmother’s story was always that Anchin was simply blind to her growing obsession, or enjoyed it but thought it innocent enough. Kiyohime pursued the monk, and her desire for him led her to make obscene propositions. Finally, resentment turned her love to hate. By then she had begun to seek to summon spirits to help force Anchin to be her lover. Demons. She became a Hannya-a blood-drinking, flesh-eating serpent woman-and snuck into the temple.”

The principal waved a hand. “The rest is much like what you’ve no doubt read.”

Hachiro, Ren, Mai, and Sakura all looked to Kara. She nodded.

“The monks hid Anchin inside a huge bronze bell in the temple. When she discovered him, the bell came loose and fell, trapping Anchin inside. The Hannya couldn’t move the bell to get to him, but it breathed fire, like a dragon, and wrapped itself around the bell, burning it with such heat that it melted the bell and Anchin inside, and incinerating itself in the process.”

“No,” Mr. Yamato said.

Kara looked up at him. “What?”

They were all staring at him now. The principal sat up again in his chair, fidgeting, his back obviously paining him.

“I was mistaken. If that is how the play ends, it isn’t the way my grandmother told the story. In her version, there was no fire from the Hannya. It wasn’t a dragon, after all. Fire makes no sense. Kiyohime tried to get to Anchin, who had hidden inside the bell. He began to beat on the iron-iron, not bronze-from within and the other monks brought out small bells hidden in their robes and began to ring them. Japanese legends are full of tales of evil being warded off by bells. The sound paralyzed Kiyohime long enough for them to burn her.”

“Do you think this Hannya is actually Kiyohime?” Mai asked. “Or a different one?”

Ren glanced at her. “Does it matter?”

Sakura rose up on her knees, staring at Kara. “Aritomo-sensei’s version of Dojoji has no bells. The monks chant…”

Kara’s mind raced. “That can’t be coincidence. The Hannya’s hiding inside her, we know that, but it’s obviously controlling her actions, too. At least some of the time.”

“Yes, but is it just influencing her,” Ren asked, “or does it take over in there? When we’re talking to Aritomo-sensei, is she answering, or is the Hannya?”

“That’s crazy,” Mai said.

“Also the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Hachiro said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“But how did it possess her in the first place, and why her?” Sakura asked.

“The story is about jealousy,” Mai said. “Who is Aritomo-sensei jealous of?”

Hachiro and Sakura looked at Kara, who immediately understood their suspicion. It made sense, in a bizarre sort of way. Miss Aritomo had taken an interest in her father, maybe wanted to get closer to him, but his first love and loyalty belonged to his daughter. It would be natural for the woman to be a little jealous of their closeness. Envious.

Would it have been enough to give the Hannya a way in? An invitation? Maybe. And they would probably never know.

Kara threw up her hands. “Look, there’s no point in debating this. How it got inside her isn’t nearly as important as finding a way to get it out.”

“Agreed,” Ren said.

Hachiro reached out and touched Kara’s shoulder. She turned to see a gleam of epiphany in his eyes.

“Bells,” he said.

Kara got it instantly. There were bells everywhere in the school and the dorm. Japanese culture was full of them. Students hung them on backpacks and key chains and doorknobs, though most were tiny, what they called pocket bells.

“I don’t know if little ones would be enough,” Sakura said.

But Kara had begun to nod. She felt the smile before it touched her lips. “Kaneda-sensei looks after the old Shinto shrine beside the school. In June she did that re-creation of an old prayer ritual, remember?”

“She does it every year,” Ren said.

“And the bells she uses… they’re on a shelf in her classroom,” Kara went on. “Aren’t they, Hachiro?”

Hachiro clapped his hands together. “Yes. I’ve dusted them a dozen times in o-soji.”

“Wait!” Mai said. “If you’re right about the bells… and maybe you are, since she didn’t include them in the play… We can’t just burn our art teacher!”

They’d almost forgotten Mr. Yamato was there. Now he slapped a hand on the arm of his chair, the sound snapping them all to attention.

“You will do nothing,” he said, frowning deeply.

Kara stared at him. “But you said-”

“Yes, I believe you,” he interrupted. “But if all you surmise is correct, Kara, your father is in no danger. He is not one of the cursed, nor is he a part of the play Aritomo-sensei wanted to stage. No, you will all stay here with me. I will phone the police. When they arrive, you will relate everything to them, just as you have to me, and I will support you.”

“What?” Hachiro said, standing. “Sensei, they won’t believe a word of it.”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Yamato said. “But the men I have dealt with know that they have not been able to unravel the mysteries that have plagued us this year. This explanation is only slightly less plausible than the wild bear story they told the newspapers in the spring. If they don’t want me to make my own calls to the newspapers, they will listen to you, and then they will go to Aritomo-sensei and question her, and search her home. It may be that the missing students are there, if they are still alive-”

“Miho,” Sakura said softly.

“But the police must be the ones to deal with this. I cannot allow any of you to put yourselves in further danger.”

For several seconds, no one spoke. Hachiro shifted awkwardly on his feet. Sakura whispered Kara’s name, a question, and then all of them were looking at her.

Kara stood, shaking her head. “No. I’m sorry, Yamato-sensei. That will take too long. We’ll go to her house ourselves. If the others are there, we’ll rescue them. And if Aritomo-sensei is there… we’ll have the answers we’re looking for. I only hope you’re right about my father.”

She and Hachiro turned to leave and the others started to rise to follow them. Kara’s thoughts were already running ahead, wondering how quickly they could gather the bells they would need, and thinking also about the story of Dojoji, about the monks, and the role that masks played in Noh theater.

“Stop!” Mr. Yamato barked. “I forbid you to leave. You will wait for the police.”

Kara held the door open for the others. As they filed out, she turned to the principal. “I’m sorry, sensei. This is ancient evil. We don’t have time to wait for the modern world to believe in it.”

Miss Aritomo lived a mile or so from the Harpers, in a house that had been built long before World War II. Once upon a time it had been one of a handful of larger homes beyond the outskirts of the city, but Miyazu had grown over the years and sprawled outward around it. There were offices nearby, as well as a handful of shops, a sushi bar, and a laundry, but the neighborhood had gone downhill of late. The doctor’s office next door had been abandoned, a realtor’s sign in the window.

“It must have been beautiful once,” Mai said, studying the front of the house.

Sakura frowned. As far as she was concerned, the art teacher’s house had not lost any of its beauty. If anything, the ugliness of its surroundings only enhanced its elegance, though she understood why some people wouldn’t see it that way.

She and Mai stood in a small alley beside the laundry. Its windows were dark and the building silent, but the streetlights were bright and they did not want to be seen if anyone should look out the window of Miss Aritomo’s house.

Kara, Ren, and Hachiro had gone to the school. It would be locked up, but they had passed the point where locks would stop them. The police would be on their way to Mr. Yamato’s house by now, but by the time the principal explained to them what he thought was going on-or some version of the truth, at least-it might be hours before they did anything about it. Sakura thought Hachiro and Ren might balk at breaking a window to get into the school, but she knew Kara wouldn’t hesitate. Not now. But she knew that if they did that, alarms would go off, summoning the police, and those explanations would also take too long.

Fortunately, they wouldn’t have to break any windows. Sakura spent some time every day in the shadowy recessed doorway on the east side of the school. It was her quiet spot-her smoking spot. She contemplated life during those cigarette breaks, thought about the past and about the future, about her sister and their hollow, loveless parents, and the hopes and dreams she never dared discuss in detail, even with her closest friends.

She also worked to pry the lock open on the door.

It had been forgotten, that door. Locked for years, it had been painted over and ignored, an emergency exit from a time before the renovations to the school created new ones at the rear of the school and out through the gym. In fiddling with it one day, Sakura had found out that the school’s present alarm system was not wired to that door, that any wires were antiquated, and connected to nothing. All they’d need to get in was a fork or knife, anything to pry the lock.

That was the easy part.

“How long do you think it will take them?” Mai asked.

Sakura glanced at her, biting back a snippy retort. “I don’t know. If they get lucky, they’ll find enough bells right away. If not…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mai sighed and nodded, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“I can’t stand just waiting here,” Mai said.

“Patience has never been one of my virtues,” Sakura replied. “But what other choice do we have? If we have any hope of stopping the Hannya-or even just getting our friends back-we need some kind of advantage.”

Mai scowled. “And you think bells will give us that advantage?”

Sakura shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. But so far, the old stories have proven to have truth in them. We can only hope that this is one of the true parts. And besides, you said yourself it didn’t seem like coincidence that Aritomo-sensei left the bells out of the play.”

They fell grimly silent after that, no trace of friendship or even camaraderie between them. Sakura had given her the benefit of the doubt a few times, but despite Mai’s denials, she would never be able to shake the feeling that the girl knew more about Akane’s murder than she admitted-that she might actually have been there that night. At the very least, she had known more than she told the police. If she had told the truth, Ume might be in prison now.

Sakura frowned and glanced sidelong at her, there in the dark alley beyond the golden glow thrown by the streetlights. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Could she make Mai talk to the police now, after all these months? Given what the girl had said in front of Mr. Yamato, she probably could.

The thought made her happy, and for several minutes she stood and stared at the dark facade of Miss Aritomo’s house, fantasizing about what would happen if the police arrested Ume. Sakura had been forced to let go of much of her grief and anger in order to defeat the ketsuki in April, but that did not mean that her heart had healed. She still wanted justice.

They waited on. Cars and scooters flew by, and people on bicycles, but there were not very many, and no one seemed to notice the two girls in the alley. The house remained dark and silent. Sakura tapped her front left pocket, where she kept her cell phone, and then her right pocket, where her cigarettes were nestled away.

“I would love a cigarette right now,” she whispered, becoming jittery. “I need a smoke.”

Mai shot her a dubious look. “Why don’t you have one, then?”

Sakura sniffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re not very sneaky, are you? If there’s anyone in the house, they might see the match, never mind the cigarette burning.”

Affronted, Mai raised her chin, half-turned away. “You say I’m not sneaky as though it’s an accusation. Is being sneaky an admirable trait?”

“That was me being polite,” Sakura replied. “By ‘sneaky,’ I mean clever. Which you’re not.”

That ended any further discussion, and Sakura was glad. She fidgeted, both with impatience and with a craving for nicotine. Thirty or forty minutes went by without her exchanging another word with Mai. Fewer cars passed. After a while, all Sakura could think about was how idiotic she had been to take up smoking, and how she really needed to quit the habit.

In a way, that was good. The less she thought about the house across the street, the better. Whenever she let herself focus too much on Miss Aritomo’s lovely old place, she wondered if Miho might be inside, and if she would still be alive when they went in after her. Those thoughts made her want to scream.

Craving a cigarette helped keep the fear bottled up.

Mai stiffened beside her. “Did you hear that?”

Sakura frowned, edgier than ever. “What? I didn’t hear anything.”

They both stood frozen in the alley, necks craned, concentrating on the sounds of the night around them. There were no cars driving by now, and no distant roar of motorcycle engines or rumble of a passing train. In that moment, the neighborhood was probably as quiet as it ever got.

Sakura cocked her head. Had she heard a muffled cry in the distance?

“There it is again,” Mai said, turning to stare at her, eyes wide with hope and terror. “You heard that.”

Sakura bit her lower lip, thinking for a moment before replying. “I heard something.”

Anger flickered in Mai’s eyes. “That was a voice. Someone’s screaming for help inside that house.”

Sakura stared at the house, listening intently. Mai fumed, but when she seemed about to speak, Sakura hushed her. Nearly a full minute passed before Sakura heard the sound again, and this time she could not deny that it sounded like a person calling out, though she could decipher no words and the voice seemed so distant.

Still, it might have been coming from the house.

“I don’t know. It could be some woman three streets away yelling at her kids.”

Mai threw up her hands. “You know that’s not what it is!” she snapped, taking a few steps out of the alley, into the pool of illumination thrown by the streetlight.

“What are you doing?” Sakura demanded.

Mai turned to stare at her with a how-stupid-are-you? look on her face. “I’m not just going to wait here. If our friends are still alive, that could be them calling for help. I’m not waiting another second.”

Sakura grabbed her wrist. “Don’t be stupid. Kara and the boys will be here soon-”

“And what if it’s not soon enough? It was one thing when we weren’t sure, but someone’s in there. In the dark.” She yanked her arm away. “I’m going in. Are you coming with me?”

“Not a chance,” Sakura replied. “Someone has to be here to explain why you’re either dead or a prisoner in that house. You don’t have a weapon, or anything else to distract the Hannya aside from your incredible stupidity.”

Mai shot her a furious, withering glance, spun on one heel, and raced across the road. Sakura receded once more into the shadows of the alley and watched Mai run up alongside Miss Aritomo’s house and then disappear around the back.

Guilt filled Sakura as she worried what might happen to Mai, or what the Hannya might do to Miho and the others when Mai broke in, if they really were imprisoned within those walls. But she stayed put. Without the bells, on her own, she’d be no help to anyone.

Only after the heavy potted plant left her hands did Mai fully consider the danger she might be in, but by then it was too late. The pot shattered the window with a terrible crash, followed by an almost musical noise as broken shards hit the floor inside. She backed up, glanced around, and hid behind a tree that grew in the stone and flower garden that Miss Aritomo must have spent all of her free time grooming.

Mai held her breath and waited, but no lights went on inside the house. Faintly, she thought she heard that voice from inside, but somehow it seemed even more muffled back there.

Her mouth had gone dry and her whole face seemed to throb with every beat of her skittish heart, but at last she bent to pick up a small, decorative stone and went to the window, where she used the stone to knock out the fragments of glass that jutted from the frame. Without hesitation-for she knew if she hesitated again she would never go in-she boosted herself up onto the window frame, swung one leg over, and stepped inside.

The glass crunched beneath the soles of her shoes as she crept through what appeared to be a sort of artist’s studio, complete with canvases stacked against the wall and a fresh one atop an easel, covered with a sheet. Tempted by the urge to unveil the painting, to see what a woman possessed by a demon might paint, she pressed on instead, wanting to search the house and be gone before Miss Aritomo came home. But with every step, she regretted not having looked at that painting, and knew she would always wonder what image the canvas might have revealed.

Though it was not a small house, it was sparsely furnished, and it took Mai only a few minutes to peek into every room on the first floor and make her way to the second. While she moved swiftly through the art teacher’s immaculately neat bedroom, she heard a thump above her head. And then another. Stopping to listen, Mai heard a voice again, and this time there was no mistaking it as anything other than a cry for help.

She raced to the end of the hall, where narrow back stairs led up to what could only be an attic. Mai’s own house had no such space-most modern homes did not-but they’d be more common in an old prewar building like this.

The narrow landing at the top of the steps was dark, and she wished she had searched for a switch before coming up. She tried the door, found it locked tight, and threw her weight against it. Again someone shouted from within. Was there a note of new hope in that voice?

“Wakana?” Mai cried, throwing herself against the door again. But that was getting her nowhere.

Carefully, she hurried back down the steps, hands searching for a light switch. When she found it, a dusty old fixture flickered to life up on the landing. Heart pounding, aware every second of the possibility of Miss Aritomo’s return, she hurtled up the stairs and stared at the door.

Two locks. One was simple enough, a deadbolt, which she threw back instantly. But the other required a key.

Mai sagged backward, racking her brain. The heavy lock would not be easily forced.

“Think, think,” she told herself. Frustrated, she slapped the wall.

Something jangled right next to her. She turned to see a hook, upon which there hung a key. Mai grinned at the luck. The old metal key might have hung there for years, even decades, with Miss Aritomo having little need of it.

Now she snatched it up, pushed it into the lock, twisted it and heard the tumbles fall. With a surge of hope, she shoved the door wide. The light from the old fixture on the landing spilled into the pitch-black attic.

Something moved in there. Mai blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and recoiled at the horrid odors that wafted from the attic.

“Who is it?” said a weak, rasping voice.

“Wakana?” Mai said, crouching slightly to step into the dusty, low-ceilinged room.

Then she looked deeper into the attic, trying to make out the strange shape that had been revealed by the shaft of light from the open door. A dollhouse. And behind it, broken pieces of something that must once have been her friend.

Mai had to scream, needed desperately to release the shriek of horror that seemed to catch in her throat. She staggered backward and struck her head on the door frame. The impact jarred something loose within her, and then she did scream, loud and long.

Kara ran along the street, passing through illumination from a streetlight above. Her legs felt heavy, and the backs of her calves burned, reminding her that she hadn’t been getting enough exercise lately. She slowed to a walk, catching her breath, and glanced over her shoulder to see Hachiro and Ren hurrying after her. Ren had a small box clutched to his chest, while Hachiro carried a sack made of rough cloth over his shoulder.

They had run most of the way to the school from Mr. Yamato’s, but it had taken much too long to pry the lock on the side door and then locate the items they were searching for. The route from the school to Miss Aritomo’s house had started as a kind of mad dash, but all three of them had needed to slow down several times. Passing her own house, Kara had seen lights on inside. Her father’s little Honda remained parked in front, and Miss Aritomo’s bicycle was still locked to a lamppost nearby. Kara had been torn between relief that the Hannya had not gone home yet, and fear for her father, that he was still with her.

But if the Hannya was keeping Miho and the others in Miss Aritomo’s house-and Kara and her friends hadn’t been able to think of any other possible places-then this might be their one chance to find out. And if Miho and the others weren’t in the art teacher’s house, Kara feared they must be dead after all.

So she had kept running, and the guys had raced along behind her, each carrying his burden. Now they were almost there. Hachiro and Ren caught up to her, then they both slowed to a walk as well, out of breath. The street came to an intersection, where the main road jogged left and a narrow avenue ran off to the right, newish homes clustered all along it. They kept to the main road, bearing left beneath the gleaming dome of another streetlight.

Kara jumped a little at the sudden vibration in her pocket. With a soft, self-deprecating chuckle, she pulled out her cell phone, which she’d silenced when they had been breaking into the school. Sakura was calling.

“Hey,” Kara answered.

“Where are you?” Sakura demanded, her voice low.

“Almost there.”

“You’d better hurry. We heard something, maybe someone calling for help. Mai panicked. She went around the back and I think she’s breaking in.”

“Shit,” Kara muttered. “Be there in a minute.”

She hung up and as she slid the phone back into her pocket, she glanced up at Hachiro. “We’ve got to hurry.”

“What do you think we’ve been doing?” Ren asked, still trying to steady his breathing.

Hachiro took Kara’s hand and squeezed it. He gave her a quick kiss. “Let’s go.”

Ren held up a hand. “Wait, wait, please! Just give me a minute.”

Kara smiled and grabbed his hand, now locked between the two guys. “Sorry.”

Then they were off and running, the two of them dragging Ren along despite his wheezing protests. In moments they came in sight of Miss Aritomo’s house. Veering to the right, they hid as deeply in the shadows of the buildings as they could manage.

“Sakura!” Kara called in a rough whisper.

“Why are you being quiet?” Hachiro asked, frowning. “Aritomo-sensei is not home.”

Ren hit his arm. “Think. Just because Aritomo-sensei isn’t here, that doesn’t mean the Hannya is also gone.”

Kara shivered, remembering all too clearly the sight of the evil spirit transforming and then vanishing inside Miss Aritomo’s prone body.

When she called out a second time, Sakura emerged from beside the building on their right, a darkened laundry, and beckoned them to her. Kara, Ren, and Hachiro hurried over, and Kara felt vulnerable and exposed under the glow of yet another streetlamp. She exhaled as they stepped into a darkened alley beside the laundry, where Sakura had apparently been hiding.

“Did you get everything?” Sakura asked.

“We think so,” Ren told her, patting the box in his hands. “It’s just so strange to think that any of this will make a difference. We should have guns or knives or something.”

Hachiro nodded. “A baseball bat.”

Kara looked at him.

“What? It worked before.”

“The baseball bat helped, but it wasn’t what got rid of the ketsuki, or kept Kyuketsuki from coming into the world. The rules of things like this are very peculiar, and sometimes don’t make any sense, but the secrets are all in the stories themselves. If the monks destroyed the Hannya with the sound of bells, and Aritomo-sensei purposely left them out of the play… Look, maybe this will work and maybe it won’t, but if it doesn’t, I don’t have another plan, and a baseball bat isn’t going to help.”

Ren cocked his head, looking across the street at the darkened house. “It might.”

The sound of an approaching car made them step deeper into the alley and they fell silent as they turned to watch it pass. But the car did not drive past. The engine rumbled and the vehicle slowed, and a moment later the headlights turned left, casting an ugly yellow light onto Miss Aritomo’s house as the car pulled into the drive. A moment later, the headlights went dark and the engine silent, but not before Kara saw the open trunk, and the bicycle jutting out of it.

“Oh, no,” Ren said.

“Kara, it’s your father,” Hachiro whispered.

She barely heard them. Staring, wondering how the teacher had persuaded him to drive her home, and if it had been Miss Aritomo or the Hannya doing the talking-how did that work, having a demon riding inside your mind?-Kara started out of the alley.

Sakura grabbed her shoulder. “Wait.”

Kara shook her off and took one more step before Ren lent a hand, he and Sakura preventing Kara from going any farther. Hachiro stepped in front of her, blocking Kara’s view of the house. Her pulse raced, gaze darting around. Her skin prickled with frenzied thoughts and fears, and she looked up into Hachiro’s eyes.

Car doors slammed. Her father would be taking Miss Aritomo’s bike out of the trunk now.

“Why would she bring him back here?” Kara demanded. “I thought… I don’t know if Aritomo-sensei knows the Hannya’s inside her, and my dad’s got nothing to do with the play, so I hoped he would be safe. But if she’s bringing him here, I have to stop him from going inside.”

“No,” Hachiro said firmly. “We have to stick to the plan. Just a couple of minutes and we’ll go in. He’ll be all right.”

At the sound of Miss Aritomo’s front door closing, anger flashed through Kara. “You don’t know that.”

She pulled away from her friends, stepped past Hachiro, and stared at the house. A light had come on downstairs.

And then, from higher up-from the attic, it seemed to Kara-there came a piercing scream that rose and arced and then died out, leaving horrible silence behind.

“Mai,” Sakura whispered.

Kara spun, grabbed the box from Ren’s hands, and tore it open. She looked up at her friends, who were staring at her.

“Hurry!”