“I’m Ember,” I say before remembering that I don’t look like myself. With a quick glance over my shoulder to check that Addie is out of sight, I shift back into my own form.
“Wow! How did you do that?”
“Kitsunes are masters of mischief and trickery,” I tell her with a conspiratory air.
Dirtier Than A Mud Wrestler
R eturning home, I find the elevator is broken again. It has barely been a day since it was fixed. I sprint up the stairs and struggle to hide my smirk when I walk past my new naked neighbor.
He’s buck naked—as always—with shampoo suds in his hair as he struggles to hide his junk behind a rather large rubber duck. Not trusting myself to say anything in case I comment on the way the soap sheens on his naked torso, I merely wave at him before unlocking the door to my apartment.
Kit is cooking. Or at least, I’m presuming that’s what she’d call it. In actual fact, she’s clattering around in the cupboards, while trying to stir whatever is currently burning on the stove.
“Bugger,” she mutters when several items fall out of the cupboard overhead. Luckily, nothing hits her. Except luck doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it. Her eyes track the items’ descent and they land on the counter without any sound at all.
Turning to look at me, her face lightens, all signs of irritation vanishing. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Why?” I ask, confused. Why wouldn’t I be here? This is my home after all.
“I thought you had dinner at the Orphanage tonight. Am I wrong?”
“CRAP! I completely forgot.” I feel dreadful as I check my watch. There’s plenty of time for me to get across town before Lupine and the children work out that I’ve forgotten about our plans but that does nothing to ease my guilt.
“Is Milo outside?”
“Milo?” Who the hell is she talking about? I try to place the name, but I don’t think I know a Milo.
“The neighbor.”
“The naked one?”
“Yes. The naked one. Is he out there?”
“Er. Yeah, but he looks a little indisposed.”
“Shame. I would have appreciated his help with dinner.”
“Does he cook?”
She looks at me in disbelief. “Does he cook? Only like a god! I swear when he cooks, it’s like visiting a Three Michelin Star restaurant while having sex. He’s a culinary miracle.”
“Either that or you can’t cook,” I say, looking pointedly at the pot on the stove.
“Well, there is that. But I’m serious.”
“Culinary orgasms or not, I don’t think anyone can fix that.”
With a sigh, she stops stirring. “You might be right.”
“Why don’t you come with me to the orphanage?”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Of course. There’s always plenty of food to go around at the orphanage. We could probably even invite Milo, if you like.”
“Oh no,” she says, shaking her head violently as a blush rises on her cheeks.
“You like him.”
“Absolutely not!” Her eyes are wide, and her hair is falling out of her perfect bun because she’s shaking her head so much.
“Sure. If you say so.”
I quickly go to my room to change out of my skirt, shouting through to Kit that she should wrap up warm since it’s snowing out. I pull on a pair of jeans and a dry t-shirt. When I meet her in the living room, she looks me over, amusement in her eyes.
“I need to wrap up warm?” she asks, her voice shaking with laughter.
“I’m a Fire Kitsune. I don’t get cold.”
“If you say so. I think you’re going to catch your death, but you go right ahead.”
“You sound just like my dad,” I say quietly, making my way into the corridor. I don’t really want to talk about my dad. Kit follows me out, closing the door behind her.
“Wasn’t he a fire Kitsune too?” Kit walks beside me as I climb down the stairs.
“No. Tengoku.”
“Sorry?”
“He was a Light Kitsune. A Tengoku.”
“I’m not even going to try and say that. Do Fire Kitsune’s have a special name?”
“Kasai.”
“Casaay?”
“No. Kasai.”
“Right…” We cross the lobby and out into the street to where my car is waiting. Kit’s questions continue but somewhere between our apartment and the orphanage, my answers become shorter. Kitsunes aren’t known for telling their secrets.
As we climb out of the car, my fingers curl around the necklace that I always wear. It’s hidden safely underneath my t-shirt but even through the cotton material it has a slight glow. Other than my skates, it’s the only belonging I was left with at the orphanage.
Not that it’s a possession. It’s an extension of my body, more so even than my skates, the tiny pendant containing a piece of my soul.
One of Lupine’s mates – Camden, I believe – opens the door and welcomes us into the mayhem that is waiting for us just inside. Now this is how I remember the orphanage. Children running in all directions with Mrs. Mackney – now Lupine – shouting at us to go wash up for dinner.
“I brought Kit. I hope that’s okay.”
“The more the merrier,” Camden replies. “We’re running just a smidge late. The children have been pranking Enzo.”
Enzo Rossi rushes out of the kitchen covered in pink glitter. “Why does it always have to be pink?” he grumbles as he passes us, before heading up the stairs.
We walk into the kitchen to find several children standing around the dining table. “What else can we do, Klaus?” One of the girls asks.
That name surprises me. I can’t remember Lupine mentioning a child named Klaus but then again, she didn’t exactly give me a register of names.
“Well, have you considered…” The rich, quiet voice falls quiet as his eyes meet mine. Klaus Sterling is sitting at the table, surrounded by children.
Lupine strides into the room, calling out to the children. “Time to wash your hands. I won’t say it again.”
I almost let out a giggle. She sounds just like Mrs. Mackney.
“Ember, have you met Klaus? He volunteers here sometimes.”
“Yeah. We’ve met.” The admission comes quietly from him as he stares at me. My temperature flares at the intensity of his gaze. “It’s good to see you again, Ember.”
The way he says my name causes my heart to stop. I swear it literally stops. I can’t tell if it’s affection I hear or some sort of reverence. But god, do I want to hear it again. No one has ever said my name like that before.
“Hi Klaus.” I’m astonished that I manage to get the words out at all.
“Klaus! We need another idea!”
“Evangeline, leave Klaus be and go wash your hands.”
The blonde haired child gives Lupine a foul look before getting to her feet. “I’ll be right back, Klaus,” she says in the most prim little voice I’ve ever heard before walking away, flipping her hair as she goes.
“How old is she?” I ask Lupine.