Chapter Twenty Ren #3
Boser bends over, brushing off his dusty knees and elbows.
When he straightens, he’s more composed, even though his chest still heaves.
“I’ll give you a little time to work with the man.
Learn a ritual. One that lets you…summon a spirit.
Then meet me at midnight behind barrack twenty-seven’s latrines in two weeks.
You’ll show me what you’ve learned right then and there—nothing counterfeit, no faking.
If you don’t show up or try to do a fake spell that doesn’t work, you’ll be gone.
Get it? Away from your precious niece and your girlfriend, on a transport to Tule Lake. ”
Boser straightens his collar and strides away.
I watch him go, hands stinging. My palm has mostly healed but the delicate new skin is scraped away from our struggle.
Damn him to hell. I force myself to take long breaths and clear my head.
Luckily, there’s more than one way to send a letter.
I’ll ask Violet to mail one. So much mail comes and goes from this place, there’s no way it’ll get flagged.
I head home, passing several trucks loaded up with Guayule seedlings. They’re being tested out as a substitute for rubber. Their leafy heads nod one way and then another as the trucks jerk over the dirt. Someone plucks one of the leaves.
Akira.
“Hey!” I follow him. I think I’m going to have to chase him down, but he unexpectedly turns to me, arms outstretched, staggering toward me.
“Look at me!” he cries. I do. It’s kinda impossible not to.
The crack runs nearly all the way around to his chin in a disgusting semicircle reminding me of a can opener slowly rotating around a can.
I could peel his face right off, if I wanted.
He sits down on the grass, then grabs my wrist, pulling me to sit next to him. “Is it bad?”
“No, I don’t even notice the giant crack.” My sarcasm is lost on him because he nods seriously, agreeing. “By the way…are there any…minor spells or rituals you can teach me? Something that summons a spirit?”
“Why?” Akira’s eyes narrow.
“Just…wondering.”
“You’ll forgive my suspicion. When a mortal begins asking to be taught spells and shows interest in summoning spirits, it’s rarely good.
” I think about Boser and his straight row of pens.
Maybe he wants to command more than just writing utensils.
“And no. I can’t summon spirits even for myself, as you may have noticed. ”
“How about a less complicated ritual? Like making…sparks fly or something like that?” I know it’s a reach, but if Akira can teach me some harmless magic trick, maybe I can satiate Boser.
“Make sparks fly?” Akira snorts. “Certainly not. Though…sometimes, very rarely, I do like to do this.” He lifts his hand and gently waves it.
Glimmering particles, similar to dust motes, whirl through the air.
They are caught by the hot breeze and rise, hovering between the dirt and that terrifying cloud.
They dance around a group of kids playing with a mix of shoddy donated toys that they’ve checked out of the toy loan. The particles settle on them.
Suddenly, for a brief moment, the toys come alive.
The rickety rocking horse shakes free of its rockers and gallops in a circle around the kids.
The ball becomes a balloon, rising and floating right above them.
The dolls blink and move their arms. The kids stop for a moment, their eyes as big as saucers.
Then they scream in delight. Akira watches, silent, curious, distant.
The magic lasts for a few moments before the toys are back to the way they were before, but the kids are ecstatic.
“Not all restlessness is bad, contrary to what you mortals think,” Akira says.
“It’s energy that needs a place to go. And when everything aligns, it can be”—he casts a long look at the delighted, laughing kids—“magical.”
It’s rare to see happiness here. I run my hand gently over the grass. It’s soft and low, newly grown. Akira, though, pulls at the blades, tearing them out. I smack at his hand, earning a growl. We’re silent for a few moments. I find myself staring at my fox around his neck.
“Stop staring unless it’s me you’re going to admire,” Akira commands.
“Is it…” I hesitate. Not sure what I want to ask.
“Speak, mortal.”
“My fox warned me about you. It was terrified when I gave it to you.” Guilt makes my words pour out in a rush. “Makes me feel like I betrayed it.”
Akira makes a flippant sound. He wraps his hand around the fox, like I did for years.
“Worry not,” he says. “You didn’t betray your trinket.”
“I didn’t? But I didn’t listen to it.”
“This meager slip of divinity was merely scared because it’s been in mortal hands for so long. Mortal hands rub off, you see. They take wonderous things and tarnish them over time. The fox was like a baby before birth or a mortal before death.”
“So it’s—it’s happy?” I ask, needing to know.
“More than happy,” Akira says, and his tone is ponderous and soft.
“It’s free.” His gaze is glossy, as though he’s seeing something I don’t.
“It will always remember you, its last owner. When you cross, it will be waiting for you in its true form. You held it so tightly for so long, and while it wasn’t how you were supposed to tend it, it was its own sort of reverence. ”
My throat is thick. My eyes burn. Why am I reacting like this? I cough roughly to clear my throat.
“That’s not so bad,” I mumble.
Thankfully, Akira is unaware of my emotions.
He leans back. Looks up. Above us, the angry knots of shadow monsters are parted a bit by a breeze, and a little blue sky gets through.
I think his lips are stretching in a grimace, but they aren’t.
He’s smiling, an actual smile. I lean back and look up, too, at the small slip of clear sky. For a few moments, we’re okay.