What is that?
It’s not the shadow of a house cat, but of a feline twice the size of a tiger. The nekomata’s fur bristles along its neck. Its dual tails switch back and forth. It rises on its hind legs, putting one massive paw on the fragile door.
“Oni-chan,” Shiro says through the door. “You can’t eat this one, she’s a guest of Mother’s.”
Another growl rumbles through the air.
“Listen,” Shiro says to the cat yokai, “Mother needs this girl to find some shinigami, okay? If you kill this girl now, there will be nobody to find shinigami for Mother, and she’ll be angry with you. And you know what Mother’s like when she’s upset.”
Oni-chan drops back to all fours, making a strange half-growling, half-whimpering noise.
“No, you can’t eat her after she’s done looking for shinigami,” Shiro says, shooting me a look that says, You see what you’ve done?
“How is this my fault?” I whisper.
“You’re a Shinto priestess,” Shiro says. “You should know better than to talk to an unfamiliar nekomata!”
“Pretty sure I’ve talked to worse today.”
“Fair point.” Shiro turns back to the screen. “Oni-chan, if you promise to leave the girl alone, how about I take you to that ramen place you like tomorrow, eh? The one with the open hibachi?”
Oni-chan shrinks a bit and cocks his head. “Mrowl?”
“Okay, okay, we can go to the shrine with the good yakitori, too,” Shiro says, rolling his eyes. “But no people-eating, are we clear?”
The cat chuffs, blowing out a breath against the screen. I guess that means yes, because the cat shrinks back to house cat size. Shiro turns the light on with a sigh.
“Oni-chan has one last stipulation,” Shiro says as he opens the door.
“What’s that?” I ask, lifting a brow.
Shiro frowns. “He says he gets to sleep on your futon tonight.”
My gaze falls on the demon cat sitting in the hallway.
I swear he’s grinning.
Nine
The Red Oni
Tokyo, Japan
The next day, I awaken in unfamiliar surroundings with noonday sunlight streaming across my face. I sit up with a start, and the creaks in my bones and in my heart and in my soul remind me where I am:
I’m in Tokyo.
Sleeping in an inn made for yokai.
Last night, my family’s shrine was desecrated by demons.
My grandfather is dead, and I must ally with the shadows to avenge his murder.
Today, I wake to a world that is forever changed. Even the shape of the sunlight looks wrong, dimmer somehow, as if my filters have shifted and left me looking through a dirty lens. Grief weighs so heavily on my chest, it’s almost hard to breathe.
Wait. That’s not just grief—it’s a cat.
I sit up. Oni-chan slides down into my lap. The cat growls at me, paws flailing in the air as he tries to right himself. He rolls over onto his pudgy belly, claws extended, and struggles through the deep pockets of bedding.
“I thought cats were supposed to be graceful?” I ask with a grin, pushing the comforter away to help him fight his way through the blankets. In the daylight, Oni-chan may be even uglier than he appeared last night. But I prefer his charms when they are house cat size.
Shiro is gone, his futon stowed in the closet. I kick off my comforter and rise, surprised to see how high the sun hangs in the sky. A small breakfast tray waits on the table by the window. I peek under the lids of the bowls to find natto, warm white rice with seaweed, miso soup, and a small piece of fish. As the smells waft into the room, Oni-chan comes to sit at my feet. He meows, licking his lips and bedraggled whiskers. I hand him a piece of fish, which he gulps down with little ceremony and no thanks.
A note lies beside my breakfast tray, left atop a slim black cell phone. It’s from Shiro, and it reads:
Good morning, Kira! I hope you like natto—this place only serves traditional breakfasts, so I grabbed as many things as I could carry. I’ve gone to run an errand for Mother, and I should be back in the afternoon. We’ll start looking for shinigami then. Also, I’ve left a spare cell phone for you to use, since yours broke. You might want to call your mom, since she won’t stop calling me now.
There are women’s showers in the public baths. If you want to get dressed, just use the wardrobe you used last night. Think of the thing you’d like to wear, and it should appear in the cabinets when you open them. Nice, right? Don’t ask me how it works—you won’t like the answer.
I fold the note over my index finger, glancing at the wardrobe. It looks entirely ordinary—just a black-lacquered chest with golden doors, with a crane in flight painted on its left-hand side.
Setting Shiro’s note down, I go to the wardrobe and imagine black skinny jeans. No, not just jeans . . . but jeans from the best brands in Japan, like Studio D’Artisan or Samurai. Clothing Mother would never allow me to buy. My parents are well off enough, but they’re frugal and fashion isn’t a top priority for them.
I take hold of the door pull, draw a breath, and pull the cabinet open.
A pair of black jeans sits on the shelf inside.
With a small shriek, I slam the door closed and hop a few steps backward, nearly tripping over my futon. On the other side of the room, Oni-chan lifts his head to snort at me, then goes back to basking in the sun. He thumps his tails against the ground in annoyance.
“That’s not how wardrobes work in the real world,” I say to him. He glances up at me, blinking slowly as if to say, Stupid girl—my world is obviously as real as yours.
I suppose the cat has a point. If his world weren’t real, I’d be spending today with Grandfather at the shrine, not preparing to search all of Tokyo for shinigami on behalf of Lady O-bei Katayama, Granter of August Wishes and Royal Pain in the Rear End.
After I bathe, I spend fifteen minutes settling on something to wear: black tights, mini-length jean shorts, a fitted button-down shirt, and an overlarge army jacket—an outfit like those I’ve seen fashionable girls wearing on the streets of Tokyo. I text Mother, letting her know I stayed with Shiro’s family overnight and will be heading to see Goro this afternoon.
Kira! she replies within seconds. Call. Me. Now.
I’m sorry, Mother, I reply. But I’m on a train, and it would be rude.
Then call me the moment you disembark. The police need to speak with you immediately—
A knock rolls across the door. “May I come in?” Shiro asks.
“Yes,” I say, pulling my jacket over my shoulders. The fabric feels fresh and crisp against my skin. I slide my phone into my pocket, putting Mother out of my mind for now.
Shiro slides the door open and steps inside in stocking feet. He looks sharp: a long-sleeved, slim-fit tee hugs his muscular chest, and he’s paired it with jeans and mussed hair. Looking me up and down, he gives me a grin. “You figured out how to use the wardrobe.”
“Can I take it back to Kyoto with me?” I ask, checking my hair in the mirrorlike depths of the framed artwork on the wall.
“I can’t imagine we’d get it on the shinkansen.” Shiro’s smile brightens, chasing all the shadows out of my soul. I cross the room to be a little closer to him, and to all that light and warmth.