When she first moved to Japan, American Katie Greene had no idea she would get caught in a battle between the Japanese mafia and the supernatural forces that have governed Japan for most of its history. Despite the danger, Katie is determined to stay put. She’s started to build a life in the city of Shizuoka, and she can’t imagine leaving behind her friends, her aunt and especially Tomohiro, the guy she’s fallen in love with.

But the decision to stay is not as simple as she thought. She’s flunking out of Japanese school and committing cultural faux pas wherever she goes. Tomohiro is also struggling—as a Kami, his connection to the ancient gods of Japan and his power to bring drawings to life have begun to spiral out of control.

When Tomo decides to stop drawing, the ink finds other ways to seep into his life—blackouts, threatening messages and the appearance of unexplained sketches. Unsure how to help Tomo, Katie turns to an unexpected source for help—Jun, her former friend and a Kami with an agenda of his own. But is Jun really the ally he claims to be? In order to save themselves, Katie and Tomohiro must unravel the truth about Tomo’s dark ancestry, as well as Katie’s, and confront one of the darkest gods in Japanese legend.

Praise for Amanda Sun’s Ink:

“The descriptions of life in Japan…create a strong sense of place, and set an exotic backdrop for this intriguing series opener by a debut author.”

—Booklist

“The unique setting and observing how Katie learns to live in…foreign surroundings…make this story special.”

—VOYA

“An enjoyable peek at a world very different from America, yet inhabited by people whose hearts are utterly familiar.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A harrowing and suspenseful tale set against the gorgeous backdrop of modern Japan. Romance and danger ooze like ink off the page, each stroke the work of a master storyteller.”

—Julie Kagawa, New York Times bestselling author of The Iron Fey series

“With smart, well-drawn characters, cool mythology, and a fast-paced plot that keeps you on your toes, Ink is a modern day fairytale that reminds us: Sometimes you need to get a little lost in order to find your true self.”

—Amber Benson of TV’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer and author of the Calliope Reaper-Jones novels

“Amanda Sun’s Ink is a captivating story of love, passion, and the choices people make to keep themselves safe. The vivid portrayal of Japan kept me completely intrigued and immersed. A beautiful story!”

—Jodi Meadows, author of Incarnate and Asunder

“An imaginative and totally unique debut. Japanese gods, mysterious magics, beautiful boys, and an exotic setting. Ink is a fresh brushstroke.”

—Zoraida Córdova, author of The Vicious Deep and The Savage Blue

“Ink is astonishing. Fresh, vibrant, and impossible to put down. Amanda Sun is now on my must-read list. Very highly recommended.”

—Julie E. Czerneda, author of A Turn of Light

A Junior Library Guild selection

A Summer 2013 Children’s IndieNext Pick

A Chapters Indigo Top Teen Pick for 2013

A Bookish Young Adult Book for Summer 2013

A USA TODAY Young Adult Book for Summer 2013

Rain

Amanda Sun

www.miraink.co.uk

For Mum and Dad, who always believed in me

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Glossary of Japanese Words and Phrases

Acknowledgments

Teaser

Copyright

“Hold still,” Yuki said, threading the thick obi ribbon through the back of the bow. She pulled the loops tight. “Okay, now breathe in.”

I took a deep breath as Yuki shifted the bow to the center of my back, but didn’t look up from my phone.

“How’s that?”

No messages in my inbox. “Looks great.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Yuki snatched the keitai out of my hands. “Hey!”

“Ano ne,” she said, an expression which meant we needed to talk. That didn’t surprise me. “You’re starting to look obsessed. Yuu will call you; I’m sure of it. You don’t want to be the needy girlfriend, right?”

I didn’t say anything. How could I? Yuki didn’t know that not being able to get ahold of Tomohiro could mean the Yakuza had him, or the Kami had kidnapped him, or that Tomo had drowned in an ocean of his own sketching. The Kami, descendants of the Shinto goddess Amaterasu, could make ink come alive on the page, although the power came with its own curse—a plague of nightmares and threats, scars carved by the claws and talons of their own feral drawings.

It had been two weeks since I’d almost left Japan, since the revelation that Tomo was one of the most dangerous Kami alive. Takahashi Jun, Tomo’s kendo rival and the leader of the Kami in Shizuoka, said he hadn’t seen anyone as powerful in a long time and wanted him as a weapon to help destroy the Yakuza. He also said that somehow, I was making it worse. I was making the ink in the sketches do strange and deadly things. Tomo lost control when I was around, his eyes vacant and his nightmares worse.

How? I couldn’t be a Kami. I was blond...and more importantly, not Japanese. But whether Jun was right or not, after watching Tomo’s sketched gun go off and put his best friend, Ishikawa, in the hospital, I knew the ink wasn’t something to play around with.

It could’ve been Tomo in the hospital.

It could’ve been me.

Yuki grinned and sidestepped, pulling the sleeves of my yukata straight. “Now look,” she commanded.

I looked.

The summer kimono made me look elegant, the soft yellow fabric draped around me like an origami dress. Pink cherry blossoms floated down the woven material, which Yuki had complemented by lending me her pink obi belt to tie around my waist.

“Dou?”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.”

She grinned, smoothing her soft blue yukata with her hands.

“Yuu is a jerk for not calling,” she said. “But let’s forget about that. It’s Abekawa Hanabi festival, and you’re still here with us. So let’s go celebrate!”

Was he being a jerk? I hadn’t been able to get ahold of him since deciding to stay. It didn’t make sense, unless he was in trouble. Or avoiding me, in which case he’d clearly learned nothing from the first attempt to scare me away and I would pound him into tomorrow.

But it didn’t matter if he was avoiding me. Sooner or later, I’d have to get in touch with him. Because as much as I’d wanted to stay in Japan to be with him, the real reason was that I wanted control of my life. I was connected to the ink, and I belonged here. If Jun was right, Tomohiro was a ticking time bomb, and I was the only one who could defuse him.

It was hard to believe Jun was a Kami, too, one of the many secret descendants of the goddess Amaterasu. Most weren’t powerful enough to bring their sketches to life off the page, but Jun and Tomo could. I remembered how cold Jun’s eyes had been as he’d talked about using Tomohiro as a weapon to wage war on the Yakuza, the Japanese gangsters who’d tried to force Tomo into their ranks. Jun had wanted Tomo to kill the Yakuza boss, Hanchi, and had talked about ruling the country the way the ancient kami once had. Did he really mean all that? He’d seemed so normal before—charming even—when we’d walked to school together. And he’d saved us from the Yakuza with his sketched army of snakes. Sometimes it was hard to know what lay beneath the surface of someone you thought you knew.

Which I guess was the case with Tomohiro, too.

My aunt Diane entered my room, carrying a tray of glasses filled with cold black-bean tea. The ice clinked against the sides as she set them down. A pink spray of flowers unfurled in a corner of the tray.

“Don’t you girls look beautiful?” she said. “Katie, here. I picked this up for you on my way home.” She lifted the spray of pink flowers off the tray, the little plastic buds swaying back and forth on pink strings. She tucked it into the twist of blond hair Yuki had helped me pin into place.

“Kawaii,” Yuki grinned. “You look so cute!” I turned a little red. They were fussing too much.

“You, too,” I said, trying to get the focus off me. I was the wrong shape for the yukata—too tall, too blonde, too awkward. Yuki looked stunning in hers. “We should get going.”

“You should,” Diane said. “I think Tanaka’s starting to sweat a little out there.”

Yuki took a gulp of tea and slid the door to my room open to find Tanaka waiting in shorts and a T-shirt.

“You guys are taking forever,” he said. “Can we go now?”

“Let’s go,” I said, the long yellow sleeves tangling around my wrists as I slipped on flip-flops—no chance of finding geta sandals for my American-size feet—and shoved my phone into a drawstring bag.

“You look cute,” Tanaka said.

“So do you,” Yuki said, and she stuck her tongue out at him while he turned red. She grabbed my hand and we headed out the door.

“Itterasshai!” Diane called after us.

Go and come back safely.

The only word Tomo had written in the farewell note he’d pressed into my hands, the one with the moving ink rose that had sent me tripping over my own feet to catch Diane at the Narita Express platform before she left the airport. The goodbye that had made me stay in Japan.

Tanaka pushed the button for the elevator.

Jun had said we didn’t know what Tomohiro was capable of. We’ll find out together, Tomo had answered.

It didn’t make sense. Why would he push me away again now, when I was so determined to help?

The light was fading outside as we stepped into the heat. It was the last week of summer holidays, before school started for the second semester, and the hot weather wasn’t going to give up easily. We clattered down the street in our geta and flip-flops, hopping onto the local train for Abekawa Station.

“We’re gonna be late,” whined Tanaka.

“It’s fine,” Yuki said. “We’ll still make good time for the fireworks.”

The train lurched around the corner and I tried not to press into Tanaka’s side.

“If the takoyaki’s all gone by the time we get there, I’ll blame you.”

“How would that even happen?” I said. “They won’t run out.”

“Right?” Yuki agreed. “Tan-kun, you and your stomach.”

By the time the train pulled into Abekawa the sun had blinked off the horizon. We stumbled through the musty train air toward the music and sounds of crowds.

It felt like all of Shizuoka was here, the sidewalks packed with festivalgoers while dancers in happi coats paraded down the street. Lanterns swung from floats and street signs glowed, and over everything we could hear about three different songs competing for attention above the crowded roads. It was a little claustrophobic, sure, but filled with life.

“What should we do first?” Yuki shouted, but I could barely hear her. She grabbed my hand and we pressed through the thick crowd toward a takoyaki stand. Tanaka rubbed his hands together as the vendor doused the battered balls of octopus meat with mayonnaise.

“Anything’s fine with me,” I said. Translation: no idea.

“I’m good, too, now that I have my takoyaki,” Tanaka said. “Want one?” The bonito flakes on the hot batter shriveled as if they were alive.

“Um, maybe later.”

Yuki grabbed the spare toothpick from Tanaka’s container and stabbed a takoyaki, taking a chewy bite. “We should try to get a good spot for fireworks soon, though,” she said through the mouthful. “The bridge over Abe River would be best.”

“We have lots of time, right?” She’d mentioned them about five times on the train, too. “What’s the big deal about the fireworks?” I mean, I loved them as much as anyone, but now who was the one obsessing?

Yuki pulled me over, whispering in my ear. Her breath was hot and smelled of the fishy batter.

“Because,” she breathed, “if you watch the fireworks with someone special, you’re destined to be with them forever.”

“Oh.” Jeez, I could be so stupid. So this was some big scheme for her and Tanaka. “Do you want space or something?”

“No, no!” She waved her hand frantically. “Not like that. Let’s stick together, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. Like she’d tell me if that was the plan anyway. One thing I’d learned living in Japan was that sometimes it was hard to get a straightforward answer out of someone. They found it too direct, something that could make others feel uncomfortable. It was something I was trying to work on, another in my list of gazillions of daily cultural mistakes.

We rounded the corner to two rows of brightly lit tents. All the thick, fatty smells of festival foods filled the air. Fried chicken, fried squid, steaming sweet-potato fries, roasted corn, strawberry and melon kakigori ice. My stomach rumbled and I moved forward, heading for the baked sweet potatoes. I handed over the yen and pocketed the change. Then I pulled back the aluminum foil to take a bite, the steam flooding my mouth. Beside me, kids dipped red plastic ladles into a water table while an old motor whirred little plastic toys round and round. The toys bobbed in and out of the ladles while the kids shrieked with excitement.

A flash of color caught my eye, and I turned. I strained to hear a sound above the music and chatter of the crowd, but I could hear it—faintly. The tinkle of the colorful furin, the delicate glass wind chimes that Tomohiro had sketched into the tree in Toro Iseki.

Across from me, the furin booth glowed with electric light, catching on the gleaming chimes as they twirled in the night breeze.

“Hello,” the vendor greeted me in English, but it barely registered as I stepped into the tent. Almost a hundred chimes hung suspended around me in a rainbow of glittering colors, spinning above my head in neat rows. Tomo’s had been black-and-white, like all his sketches, but they’d held the same magic, the same chorus that my ears could never forget. These sounded happier, though—his had been melancholy, the tones haunting and ominous, a sort of beautiful discord.

“You like the furin?” the vendor smiled. He had a kind, worn face and the early beginnings of a gray beard.

“They’re beautiful.”

“The sound of summer, ne? The sound of possibility.”

I reached out, cradling a glass furin in my hand. Possibility.

“Yuki-chan, look—” I turned.

I’d lost her to the crowd.

Panic started to rise up in my throat. She wasn’t one to abandon me on purpose. Even if she did want alone time with Tanaka, I knew she wouldn’t leave me stranded.

It wasn’t like I couldn’t get home safely. Taking trains around Shizuoka wasn’t a big deal for me anymore. Festivals just weren’t as fun by yourself, and the loneliness stung a little. I clutched my fingers tighter around the furin.

“You looking for someone?” the man asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, releasing the furin and stepping back into the darkness between the bright tents. I pulled out my keitai, ready to call Yuki, and then stopped with my finger on the button. Why was I so worried? I’d been in Japan long enough that being lost in a crowd didn’t have to be a big deal. I could communicate and get around. Anyway, Yuki had wanted time alone with Tanaka, right? She’d always done so much for me, helping me with my Japanese and smoothing out my cultural blunders. I should do something for her, even something little like this.

I slipped my phone back into my bag and pulled the drawstring tight. I watched some plastic toys whir around the water table a little longer before I strolled down the row of tents.

I stared at the different festival games interspersed with food stalls. Eel scooping, pet bugs, yoyo tsuri balloons on strings floating in tiny blow-up kiddie pools. I finished my sweet potato, balling up the aluminum with a satisfying crunch. In the next tent a pool of goldfish darted around, slipping out of the way of the paper paddles dipped into the water to catch them. I watched the fish swim for a minute, their scales shining under the hot buzzing lamps of the tent. The paper paddles broke and kids shouted in dismay, while the vendor gave a good-natured laugh.

I shuffled closer to the tent as the group of kids left, a teen couple the only ones left trying to catch a fish. The girl trailed a goldfish slowly with the paddle, her movements deliberate and cautious, her giggle rising when the fish caught on and sped away. She crouched on the ground beside the pool, paddle in one hand and bowl in the other, her red-and-gold yukata crinkling around her geta sandals.

And then I realized I knew this girl.

The pregnant bump of her stomach under the light cotton of the yukata.

And the boy beside her. Tomohiro.

Not kidnapped. Not falling apart. Not dead.

Scooping goldfish with Shiori.

I stepped back. He hadn’t noticed me yet, the two of them laughing as Shiori tried to maneuver another fish into her bowl.

I knew he was here with Shiori as a friend, supporting her. He wouldn’t give up on us that fast, like we didn’t matter at all. Maybe that was the attitude he portrayed at school, but I knew better. After a sketching accident had left his elementary-school friend Koji almost blind, he’d decided to keep his distance from everyone, except his childhood friend Shiori, and now me. Shiori had been abandoned to the cruel bullying that came with being pregnant at her prestigious school. Tomo knew what it was like to be alone. That’s all this was.

But it still bothered me. I had to admit they made a cute pair. Seeing the closeness between them, seeing Tomohiro smile at another girl like that...I felt stupid suddenly, tall and ugly and awkward in my borrowed yukata.

Maybe Tomohiro wasn’t as dangerous as Jun had led me to believe. He seemed normal enough squatting beside Shiori, his eyes following the goldfish, that smile on his face. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, the usual thick wristband around his right wrist. I could still imagine the ink stains streaking up his arms, the scars hidden on the inside curve of his skin, but in the evening darkness there was no trace of what had happened. He looked so...normal.

Maybe staying in Japan had been the wrong choice. What if staying away from Tomo really did give him the ability to rein in his powers? Maybe the Kami didn’t need me—maybe he didn’t need me.

“Yatta!” Shiori shouted. “I did it!” The fish had slipped from her paddle into the bowl. The vendor laughed and reached for a plastic bag to fill with water.

“Yatta ne,” Tomohiro grinned, reaching his fingers into the bowl to chase the fish.

I stepped back and my flip-flop scraped against the street. Tomohiro and Shiori looked up.

I stared at Tomohiro’s dark eyes. They were unreadable, the smile slipping from his face as he stared back. They weren’t cold like Jun’s had been, not at all. They were warm, surprised, deep. I couldn’t look away, like prey. I felt ridiculous.

Shiori stood up, a hand on her belly. “It couldn’t be...Katie-chan? Is that right?” Tomohiro stayed crouched on the ground, unable to move.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I didn’t want her using chan with me, labeling me a friend. It was a closeness that felt stifling, that only made me aware I didn’t really belong. Tomo had fallen seamlessly back into his life with her, as if I’d never existed.

“I thought you returned to America?” Shiori said.

“Canada,” I said. My throat felt sticky and dry.

“Hai!” the vendor said, thrusting the newly bagged goldfish at Shiori.

“Thank you,” she smiled, reaching for the bag.

“Katie,” Tomohiro said, his voice deep and beautiful and just how I’d waited to hear it. Everything shattered.

“Sorry,” I whispered before turning to walk away. I pressed my way through the thick crowd, desperate to get away. I knew I was being stupid. I knew there was nothing between him and Shiori. But it stung, and I had to get away from them.

Behind me, even in the midst of all the festival noise, I was sure I heard Tomohiro call my name, but I kept walking. I wanted to see him, but not like this. I thought he’d been losing his mind to the ink—why did he seem just fine?

I should’ve left Japan after all. This was all a mistake.

I pushed past the takoyaki stand and the rows of roasted corn, turning down a darker street where some shrine-goers rang a bell and carried lanterns. I wove past them toward the big Abe River Bridge. It was late, probably about time for the fireworks. If I could just find Yuki and Tanaka, maybe I would be okay.

“Katie!”

I kept walking, but I could hear his footsteps, his black shoes clicking as he ran toward me. Suddenly his warm fingers wrapped around my wrist.

“Matte!” he said. Wait, like his ex-girlfriend Myu had said to him in the genkan when I’d first seen him.

I stood for a moment, staring at the swaying lanterns as the parade walked past. He held my wrist gently, and I knew I could shrug him away if I wanted to.

“Why?” he panted. “Why are you here? In Japan?”

“I called you,” I said, but my voice wavered. I wanted to be stronger—I did—but after two weeks of worrying, having him standing here unharmed was more than I could handle. “You’ve had your keitai off for two weeks! I tried calling the house but it never cut to voice mail. I sent you a text.” Okay, more than one. “I even thought about visiting Ishikawa in the hospital to find out where you were, but I didn’t want to get him involved in case...in case there was trouble. I thought you were taken by the Yakuza or the Kami or something!” I left out that I’d biked to his house, but chickened out about ringing the bell when I’d seen his dad’s car parked outside. If Tomo was missing, he’d have reported it, right? I mean, it would’ve been on the news and everything.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, the wristband snagging on the strands, pulling his bangs into little copper loops that sprung back into his eyes. “Che!” he swore. “You’re worrying if I’m okay and I’m scooping goldfish at a festival. If I’d known...”

“I tried!”

“I was getting weird calls from the Yakuza. Threats to stay quiet about what happened to Sato. I barely deleted one on the home phone before Tousan heard it. My dad would’ve made me go to the police, so I turned off the voice mail and my keitai.”

“Maybe you should go to the police,” I said. I hadn’t been far off the mark after all. The picture looked tranquil on the surface, but the tendrils of darkness spread beneath it. Nothing was normal after all—I’d been right.

“You know I can’t,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “They stopped last week, but then the Kami calls started. I wanted to phone you, to know you made it safely to Canada, but...I was scared they’d trace the call somehow. And now you’re here.”

“I decided to stay,” I said. “I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t get on the plane.”

Tomo’s eyes turned dark. He crouched and buried his head in his hands, his fingers splaying through his hair.

“Kuso! What if something happens to you?”

I took a deep breath. “It’s not your choice,” I said as gently as I could. “I need to stay. I influence the ink, remember? There’s got to be a way we can get this under control. Maybe somehow I can make it better instead of worse.”

“What are you going to do if the Yakuza get involved again? Or the Kami?”

“Look, I thought about it, okay? But there are people I care about here, Tomo. Diane, Yuki...and you. Do you think I’ll be safe even on the other side of the world if things blow up here? And how can I just live a normal life over there knowing the Yakuza and Kami are trying to recruit you? It’s my choice.”

“And what if that choice is selfish?” he said.

My eyes widened—that was a low blow. “You’re calling me selfish for wanting to stay in Japan?”

He hesitated, staring at the procession of lanterns down the cross street. A shrill flute played a haunting melody in a minor key, some of the notes lost in the noise of the festival as it carried on without us.

“Not you,” he said in a quiet voice. “Me. Choosing to be with you, no matter the consequences. What choice do I have? I’m a Kami. Anything I choose will hurt others. I have no choices.”

This wasn’t going at all how I’d envisioned. “That’s not true,” I said, my voice wavering. I was not going to cry in front of him, but already my sight was starting to blur. I held on with everything I could. “Faito, remember? Fight. You don’t have to do this alone, Tomo.”

He heard the tremble in my voice. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes deep and lovely and melting everything else away.

“Katie-chan,” he whispered. I stood with my arms folded, biting my lip to keep the tears from welling over.

And then his arms were around me, my face buried in the warmth of his shoulder. His heart beat rapidly under my cheek, his breath labored as he clung to me as if in a storm.

“Hontou ka?” he said. “You’re really here?”

“I’m here,” I whispered.

He stepped back, tilting my face up to his, and kissed me as though he thought I might break or disappear. Like I was a ghost, a dream. I closed my eyes, drifting on the moment. His warmth, his touch, the smell of his vanilla hair gel. Everything the same as I’d remembered.

“Tomo-kun!” shouted Shiori, and the moment ended. We stepped back as she walked toward us, her new goldfish swimming round and round the plastic bag as it swayed in her hand. I didn’t like to hear her call him Tomo-kun, especially knowing Myu had never been allowed to call him such a close name. He’d held her at a distance and made her call him by his last name, Yuu. Was Shiori really only a friend?

But that’s stupid of me, right?

“Shiori,” Tomohiro said. “Katie’s staying in Japan.”

She slowed, a puzzled frown curling onto her lips. The frown vanished as soon as I noticed it, but I was sure it had been there. “You’re not going back?” She smiled. “I’m glad! I was so sad to not even meet you after we talked on the phone that time.” She squeezed my hand, and my insecurity evaporated. She really means it, I thought. She is really clueless about the awkwardness between us.

“You two talked on the phone?” Tomohiro asked.

“The time you decided to be an idiot,” she laughed. Shiori pointed her finger at him, poking him in the chest. I didn’t like it, but I pushed the feeling down. It was petty and dumb.

“Oi,” he stuttered, annoyed.

Shiori smiled. “Katie, are you hungry? We could get some yakitori before the fireworks start.”

“Oh, um...”

“Fried chicken,” she said in English. “It’s fried chicken.” As if that’s what had made me stumble over my words.

“Shiori,” Tomohiro said. The seriousness of his voice made me shiver a little.

“Hmm, Tomo-kun?”

“She knows what yakitori is. And I’ve just discovered my girlfriend is staying in Shizuoka, permanently. Do you think maybe we could...you know, meet up in a bit?” The words hit me like a wall. Did he actually just ask that?

“Oh...oh, no problem. I’ll get something to eat and meet you after, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Tomo said. “I just...” Shiori tried to smile and nod, but I could see the hurt on her face.

“Shiori,” I said, reaching my hand out. “It’s fine. You can stay with us.”

She waved it away and shook her head. “No, no, it’s okay.” Her voice was way too cheerful. There was no way it was okay. “I’ll catch up in a bit. This baby is always hungry.” She circled her stomach with her fingers, smiling too widely. Then she turned, and she was gone.

Living in Japan meant reading between the lines, in this case even more than when Yuki wanted time with Tanaka. No one ever said what they meant. I wasn’t sure how mad Shiori was, but she definitely wasn’t happy.

Tomo reached for my shoulders, wrapping his arms around them from behind, but I sidestepped his embrace.

“That was totally rude, Tomo.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. It was too much. I’ll make it up to her. But I just want to be with you right now. I need to be with you.” He leaned in, and this kiss wasn’t fragile at all. His lips pressed against mine sent my heart racing and heat prickling up my arms. He pulled back, his eyes gleaming. “You look cute in that yukata.”

I felt my cheeks go hot. “It’s Yuki’s.”

“I didn’t want to come here with Shiori, Katie. She showed up at my house the same time my dad came back from Kyoto. He pretty much ordered me to take her.”

“Please, like you wouldn’t have taken her anyway.” He would’ve, too. He was that kind of friend. But I was glad he wanted to explain. Things were the same between us, and Shiori hadn’t replaced me. “It’s not like you looked bored catching goldfish,” I joked.

He grinned, the happiness on his face so rare that I was flooded with the desire to always make him smile like that. “No one grows out of festivals.”

“So you’re childish, is what you’re saying.”

“Oi,” he protested, but his eyes lit up with amusement. “Come on.” He squeezed my hand. “Fireworks start soon, and I know a great spot.” He took off running and dragged me along for a couple paces until my feet started working. I let him pull me around the side streets, Tomo laughing when we almost crashed into some serious-looking lantern carriers on their way to the shrine. It was a nice change—running, but not for our lives. I hoped the Yakuza had given up if they’d stopped calling Tomo. I hoped things could be normal for us someday.

We rounded another corner, where a cast-iron bridge loomed over the Abe River. There wasn’t much in the way of a river—even in the darkness I could see the large banks of gravel with pockets of water where it had once run deeply. The early moonlight gleamed off the pools like a trail of pale white lanterns. Tomohiro pushed his way through the crowds near the metal stairs down to the rocky beach and grabbed a spot against the railing.

“Well?”

“Beautiful,” I breathed, looking out at the kaleidoscope of lights glinting around us. Lanterns in a rainbow of colors hung from the railings and rooftops, and the opposite shore gleamed with matching strands of lights. On the gravel banks, groups of kids lit small fireworks that sparked and fizzed with golden hues. The humidity of the air and the close-pressing crowds weren’t so bad here by the freshness of the river—police had been stationed along the street to make sure things stayed orderly, though I doubted it would be a problem. And the sky was wrapped in clouds, waiting for the fireworks to light the darkness above us.

“Too muddy on the beach, but you’ll get a great view up here. Do you want a drink?”

“I’m okay.” I could just drink in the feeling of being there with him.

“You sure? There’s a vending machine over there. Iced coffee? Milk tea? Melon soda?” With each suggestion he pressed his lips closer and closer to my neck until I laughed nervously.

“Okay, okay,” I relented. “Milk tea.”

“Got it.” And then he was gone, and the humid air felt cooler.

I looked out at the lights across the river as I listened to the quiet lapping of water, nearly drowned out by the crowds. Everyone was chatting and laughing, waiting for the fireworks to start. I hoped Yuki and Tanaka had managed to get a good spot, too, and Shiori—she’d made me feel awkward, but I hadn’t wished that on her. Watching the fireworks alone, feeling forgotten by the only friend she had. I know he hadn’t really meant it. It wasn’t even about her—it was about us. But that was selfish. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Tomo could call her and—

“Katie?”

My name, deep and velvet on a familiar voice, except it wasn’t Tomo’s.

I clasped my hands tightly around the railing, clinging to the cool metal as I turned my head slowly. Black T-shirt, black jeans—he almost faded into the darkness. Blue lantern light glinted on his silver earring as he moved forward.

“Katie,” he said again.

My whole body seized up with fear. I stepped backward, pressing against the railing. “Jun,” I whispered. The Kami had found us. I looked up for Tomo, but didn’t see him in the crowd. One of the policemen stood nearby. Maybe I should— But I couldn’t, right? They couldn’t know about the Kami. My mind reeled.

“It’s okay,” Jun said, lifting a hand to calm me. “I’m not going to hurt you, remember?” And then I saw his other hand, wrapped in a ghostly pale cast at his side—his broken wrist, the one Tomohiro had shattered with the ink shinai. I stared at it, trying to figure out if I should run. “I’m on your side,” he said.

“Look, I don’t want to be friends with you,” I said. “I don’t want anything to do with your little group.”

He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I didn’t mean for everything to happen like that. When you called me from the truck, I wasn’t sure what kind of showdown we’d have with the Yakuza. I just called a few friends in case we needed the help. I only wanted to be prepared, not to frighten you.”

That gave me pause. I’d been so wrapped up in his weird Kami cult that I’d forgotten how he’d saved Tomo and me. That without his help, we might have been—

One of the blond streaks in his hair fell forward and swung against his cheek. He lifted his good hand to tuck the highlight behind his ear. The motion brought back the memory of him lifting the cherry-blossom petal from my hair. And then the way he’d protected me from Ishikawa on the bridge to Sunpu Park. I felt so confused. Jun was the enemy—right?

“I’m your friend,” he said, as though he’d plucked the thought from my mind. I shivered—he could read me too well.

“Then don’t stalk me,” I said. “Stay away and give me space.”

“Katie,” he said, “I just want to help. You know as well as I do that Yuu is dangerous. But I’m not here looking for you, if that’s what you mean. You make that choice—if you want help, I’m there.”

“So why are you here?” I said. “Out of all the places in Shizuoka, why are you right here?”

Silence, and then he smiled.

“Because this is the best place to see the fireworks.”

Oh.

“Katie?” Tomo arrived from the other side of the road, a can of milk tea in each hand. When he saw Jun, his eyes narrowed. “Takahashi.”

“Yuu,” Jun grinned, his eyes gleaming. He lifted his arm so we could see his bandaged wrist clearly. “Want to sign my cast?”

Tomohiro pressed the milk tea into my hands, his eyes never leaving Jun. “If you don’t get out of here, I’ll give you another to match.”

In the corner of my eye, I saw the policeman flinch. He’d heard Tomo, too, and had turned his attention to us. I had to get them to stop before things got worse.

Jun dropped his hands to his sides. “I’m just here to watch the fireworks, Yuu. I can go somewhere else if you want.”

Tomo took a step toward him, his eyes gleaming. “Yeah. You can go to hell.”

The policeman straightened, his fingers pressed against his radio as he listened. Things were escalating, and I felt powerless to stop it. So much for controlling my link to the Kami. I couldn’t even handle two idiot guys tripped out on testosterone.

“Tomo—” I warned, moving toward him.

“No, it’s okay,” Jun said. “I’ll leave.”

And then boom!

I jumped a mile, terrified. Did Jun shoot him? Did the cop?

Another boom, and the sky flooded with light.

The fireworks. I breathed out shakily.

We all stared into the sky, the fight momentarily dropped, as bursts of color spread across the city. The crowd around us swelled, pressing the three of us close together against the railings. I became the barrier between Tomo and Jun, and it was not comfortable. Not at all.

And then I remembered Yuki’s words, that whoever I watched the fireworks with would be there for me forever.

Could I really trust Jun? Even Tomohiro was unpredictable. He’d abandoned Shiori tonight. What if he did that to me—again? Who was really telling the truth here? I needed a better hand of cards to compete. I had to learn what it really meant to have ink trapped inside me, to be connected to the Kami.

Another burst of sound in the sky, but no color, just a brief oily shimmer as it splayed across the sky. And then suddenly everyone was screaming and scattering across the road.

Ink descended like a dark rain, warm as the drops splattered down my face and stained the sleeves of my yukata.

Another firework burst, all ink instead of color, raining down on the crowd with a faint sheen. The cop had forgotten us now, pressing his radio to his ear as he called for backup to get the area under control. A woman ran past, covering her head with her hands. She bumped me into the railing and I fell forward. I dropped the milk tea, trying to grab at the railing before I fell headfirst into the sharp gravel below. And then two sets of strong hands grabbed me, pulling me back.

Tomo. And Jun. Saving me together.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tomohiro shouted. I nodded and he grabbed my wrist, pushing his way through the crowd. I turned to look at Jun, who stood silently watching me leave, the ink dripping down his cast, running down his skin in trails of black. When I looked back again he was gone, lost in the frantic swarm of people.

I wound through the crowd, staying close to Tomo. “Was it you?” I shouted, but he didn’t answer. I couldn’t have heard him over the screams anyway. The inky rain splashed down as we ran for the train station, as we were soaked by the very truth of it.

Nothing was normal, and I’d known it, deep down. It wasn’t something I could run from. The ink hadn’t forgotten me.

My fate was raining down from the sky.

We burst into the train station and pushed our way along the platform, stopping near the lines for Shin-shizuoka Station. The travelers stared at us as we stood there drenched in ink, but their eyes fell from us as more and more ink-stained festivalgoers flooded the station. It was already blaring on the news from the televisions perched above the platforms. They were calling it some sort of prank.

I wish.

Tomohiro swore under his breath and flipped his keitai open to turn it on.

“You need a new phone,” I said, trying to keep things light. “If you had one with apps, you’d be too addicted to turn it off for two weeks.” As the phone logged in, the several text messages I’d sent him all pinged in at the same time. I could feel my cheeks warm at the sound.

“I know,” he said, pushing the buttons to scroll through them. “I’m an idiot. Turning off my phone doesn’t ward off the Yakuza. But it’s not like I knew you were going to stay in Shizuoka. I’m going to text Shiori and make sure she’s okay.” He punched a few more buttons and sent the note.

“I told you not to desert her,” I said, and then I remembered I hadn’t come to the festival alone, either. “Oh crap. Yuki and Tanaka!” I pulled out my phone and started texting Yuki. This time Tomo raised an eyebrow at me and smirked.

“Shut up,” I fumed, my face burning.

He answered me in a slow, singsong voice, emphasizing every syllable. “Na-ni-mo ha-na-shi-ne-zo.” Translation: I didn’t say anything, in tough-boy speak.

I smiled and smacked his arm, and a glob of ink fell from his shirt to the ground. We stopped smiling.

Our phones chimed with replies about the same time.

“Shiori’s fine,” Tomo said. “She was under a tent when it happened, and she’s heading to the station now. She said to go ahead.”

“You sure?” I said. “We should wait.”

“That’s what I just wrote back. And...” Ding. “She insists. And Watabe-san?”

The sound of Yuki’s last name startled me a little bit. I kept forgetting Yuki and Tomo didn’t know each other very well, so of course he’d refer to her more formally. “With Tanaka,” I said. “And they’re fine. Drenched in ink, but fine. You know, Shiori’s probably embarrassed about how you brushed her off.”

“I just wanted time with you, Katie, not to hurt her. I think she’ll understand.”

“And if it comes back to haunt you?”

“It’s worth it,” he said. And my pulse drummed in my ears, even though I didn’t think I should be flattered by that. It always had to be complicated with him.

He headed toward the marked lines on the train platform and I followed. The passengers around us spoke in quick, panicked murmurs. They had no idea what sort of prank they’d just witnessed, but we did. We knew it wasn’t a prank at all.

“Was it you?” I asked again, quietly, as we boarded the train.

“I don’t think so. Maybe it was Takahashi. But who knows anymore? The ink does what it wants.”

I leaned against the wall by the far doors of the train car. I couldn’t exactly sit in the dripping yukata. The ink had stained all the embroidered cherry petals black.

“It’s totally ruined,” I said. “I hope Yuki won’t be mad.”

“It’s not your fault. Well, it might be,” he added with a grin.

“Not funny.”

“Warui,” he apologized, but he didn’t wipe the grin off his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue handkerchief with a cute cartoon elephant on it. He gently wiped the ink off my face with it before pressing it into my hands. The elephant’s adorable smile stared up at me.

Tomohiro, the kendo star of Suntaba School, the unreachable tough guy who sparked rumors and pretended to be badass, carried around this adorable cartoon-elephant hanky. I couldn’t help smiling a little as I mopped at the ink dripping down my arms. Poor Mr. Elephant turned pitch-black as the ink soaked into his smiling face.

The train car flooded with people, but more festivalgoers kept boarding, trying to escape the inky rain. We couldn’t possibly all fit, could we? It was like a nightmare rush hour at Tokyo Station, the kind that needed professional people pushers to close the doors. The flustered crowd swelled around us, elbows and shoulders prodding into me, squishing me until I felt a claustrophobic panic attack coming on. It reminded me of Mom’s funeral, the heat and sweat of all the bodies circling around me, too close.

“Here,” Tomo said, pressing his hands against the wall on either side of me. The crowd continued to push toward us, but Tomohiro took the brunt of it, forced closer and closer toward me.

“Thanks,” I said. He nodded once, bracing himself against the umbrellas and bags that jabbed into his arms and legs. We were pressed together like sardines; his breath was warm against my neck, and I could see the ribbons of badly healed scars trailing up his right arm. The biggest, where the painting of the kanji for sword had sliced him in elementary school, was mostly hidden under his soft wristband, but the edges of the scar trailed toward his palm and up his arm.

He hunched over me, trying not to press his body against mine, trying to give me some kind of modest space. This was the kind of guy he was, I reminded myself. Not the one who could lurk in dark alleys and call up people-eating dragons just by sketching them on paper.

But that was him, too.

The buzz of worried conversation hummed through the train car. No one would hear us, I thought. We were pressed so close together anyway.

“It was a warning, wasn’t it?” I whispered, hoping everyone else would just think I was the foreigner who didn’t really understand the Japanese she was using. “Those ink fireworks.”

“A warning? Since when have there been warnings?”

“I don’t know, it just feels like it. It’s like when my doodles came at me that time. Or when the picture of Shiori looked at me.” Like they were letting me know that they saw me, that they wanted to reach me.

“The doodles were an attack, not a warning,” Tomo said. “And are you sure the message wasn’t meant for me?”

“It knows I stayed in Japan. It’s not going to stop, Tomo.”

“You mean I’m not going to stop.”

“Don’t say that. It’s creepy.”

“Well, you talk about the ink like it has a life of its own.” He looked around to make sure no one was listening, and lowered his face only a few inches from mine. “It’s me, Katie. I’m the Kami. I’m the one drawing the pictures, not the other way around.”

“Right, but the ink in you has its own agenda. If we can figure it out—if we can figure out how I fit into all this—we can stop it.”

Tomo’s voice was breathy and dark. “I think there’s only one way to stop me.”

I shivered.

The ink dripped off Tomohiro’s bangs and curved down his cheeks. I reached up with the elephant towel and dabbed his face. “Arigatou,” he said quietly, and I wanted to kiss him right there on the train, to tell him everything would be okay.

“What about the other Kami?” The k came out so loudly. We shouldn’t be talking on the train; it wasn’t safe. I pressed my lips right to his ear. “What if one of them suddenly loses control? Although you’re the only one I’ve seen that’s so powerful, except for J—” Oops. “Um, I mean...”

If he was hurt by my comment, he hid it really well. “It’s okay. Except for Takahashi. He’s strong. I know it.”

“But you can’t be the only two. Has anything ever happened before? Some other you-know-what losing control?”

Tomo scrunched up his nose a little while he thought. The train curved around the Abe River and tilted us to the side. Someone behind Tomo stumbled, their bag smacking him hard in the leg. He buckled forward, stopping himself from falling over by pressing harder against the wall. He grimaced as they apologized, but all I could think about was how he was pressed up against me, the warmth of his body against mine.

He didn’t seem to notice, still lost in thought. “I don’t know. Except for Takahashi and his groupies I don’t know any others. Except my mom, and I can’t ask her.”

I thought about what Jun had said, about how the ink in me was pulled like a magnet to the ink in him and Tomo. If I was going to get anywhere, I needed to know more about how it all worked.

“Maybe Jun can...” I trailed off. The look on Tomo’s face made me stop in my tracks.

“You can’t trust him. He wanted to use us.”

“I know,” I said. But I wasn’t sure. Maybe I’d overreacted. Sure, he was a little messed up in the head, but he’d done a lot more kind things for me than creepy. I mean, was it really such a bad thing that he wanted to take out gangsters and world crime? His methods were questionable, but his intentions?

The train ground to a stop and Tomo leaned into me as the doors sprang open beside us. We were pressed so close his cheek was against my ear, his bangs tickling my skin.

“We need to figure it out,” I whispered, pretending that’s what I was still thinking about. Only a few weeks apart, and I’d become this nervous around him again? Must not think about his body pressed against mine. Must not think about how good he smells, like vanilla and miso.

And then he pressed his lips against my neck, and my thoughts exploded.

“We can figure it out without Takahashi,” he mumbled, his words tickling as they vibrated against my skin. “I’ve lived my whole life like this. Marked, stained, however you think of it. It’s not going to go away. I’m not normal, Katie. I can never be normal.”

You don’t have to be normal, I thought. You just have to be in control, so no one gets hurt. Especially us. But the words never made it to my lips. I wished we weren’t on the train, that we weren’t surrounded by a hundred people pretending not to see him kissing my neck. I wished we could be alone in Toro Iseki, surrounded by furin and wagtail birds and a starlit sky. But we could never be there alone again, not with his drawings around us. Things would never be the same now that renovations at the site were done.

Shin-shizuoka was the next station and we stumbled out of the train, hands entwined. Tomo walked me the whole way to Diane’s mansion—my mansion, I reminded myself. There was no time limit now. This was home, as long as I wanted it to be.

Tomohiro grasped both of my hands.

“I have to go,” I said. “It’s getting late.”

“I know.”

“It would be easier to leave if you let go of my hands.”

“I know.”

“Tomo.”

“You’re really here,” he said, giving my hands a tug so I stumbled forward. “I have to protect you. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I’m here to fix things, so don’t worry, okay? I can take care of myself.”

“Call me if the Kami or the Yakuza try to contact you. And I need to tell you something else.”

“What?”

He looked away, his face pained. “I’m going to stop drawing.”

“I thought you couldn’t.”

“I’m going to try,” he said. “No more sketching. It’ll eat me alive, but if you’re going to be here, I can’t risk it. Just notes at school.”

His fingers felt so warm laced with mine. “But your drawings mean so much to you.”

“Yeah, so much they bite and claw at me. Don’t forget the gun that shot at me.”

I shuddered. “Let’s try to get the ink under control, okay?”

“Katie,” he said, his mouth a grim line. “Do you think I set off the fireworks tonight?”

Yes.

“I don’t know. But I do know that if I don’t get in that door soon, Diane will sit me through a whole other set of fireworks and she may never let me come out again.”

Tomohiro laughed. “Wakatta. I get it. Good night.” He leaned over to kiss me, and the warmth of it threatened to knock me over. Suddenly meeting Diane’s curfew didn’t seem to matter at all.

Tomohiro’s hands slid down my arms to my hips, pulling me closer. He made a gentle noise deep in his throat and every nerve in my body tingled with the sound of it. I clung to him as I kissed him, and his fingers threaded into my hair. This was the welcome home I’d waited for.

Something papery and sharp smacked into the back of my hand, and then again. Like sharp bugbites they pierced every patch of bare skin—my feet, my wrists, my ears. I pulled back from Tomo and stared. Cherry petals made of ink lifted off my yukata, leaving behind areas of pristine and unstained fabric. The shadowy cloud of flowers swarmed around us like black flies, whipping against us over and over like we were at the center of a dark hurricane.

“Ow!” One of them nicked my finger and a drop of blood oozed from the cut.

Tomohiro swatted the petals like bugs and they fell, shriveling on the ground around us until we were surrounded by a wreath of crumpled blackness. Slowly they melted into an oily sheen, clouds of golden dust catching the light like dim fireflies. The ink, lashing out at us like it always did.

“Sorry,” he panted. “I... Maybe I should go home and clear my head. Damn hormones.”

“Fine, but next time you want to make out, leave your swarming sakura petals at home.”

He grinned and cupped my chin with his hand. “I can’t think straight when I’m with you,” he said.

He rocked back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, waiting until he was sure I was safely inside the lobby before turning to leave.

Like he wasn’t one of the more dangerous things lurking in the darkness.

The elevator hummed as it pulled me upward. After the closeness of him, I felt acutely aware of how alone I was. I walked toward the pale green door of our mansion and pushed it open.

“Tadaima,” I called out, kicking my flip-flops off in the genkan.

“Okaeri,” Diane answered from somewhere in the living room. I checked that Yuki’s yukata wasn’t dripping before I stepped onto the raised hardwood floors. The cherry blossoms on it were spotless, but the rest of the fabric still had sprays of ink soaked into it.

Diane appeared in the foyer, still holding the TV remote, and stared. “What happened to you?”

“It’s on the news,” I said quickly. “Some sort of prank or something.” She flipped the channel from the hallway, the voice of the newscaster blaring.

“Awful!” she said as she squinted at the screen. “Why would someone want to do that?”

“No idea,” I said, studying the damage in the mirror. The spray of flowers in my hair was still mostly pink, and so was my face, wiped clean by Tomo’s elephant towel. “Do you think the ink will come out?”

“I hope so. Poor Yuki. Her beautiful yukata.”

I was a mess of blurred yellow and pink. Diane helped me unloop the obi bow and untie the koshi-himo straps wrapped underneath.

“Just terrible,” Diane muttered. “I hope they catch the punks responsible.”

When had my life become such a tangle of lies?

* * *

“Greene-san, could I see you for a minute?”

I stopped in my tracks. Suzuki-sensei waited with his arms folded across his chest, and I wondered if I’d done something wrong. It was only the first day back at school. I couldn’t have messed up already, could I?

“I’ll wait in the hallway,” Yuki said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I have to hurry to kendo after anyway.” Yuki nodded and slipped out the door. Lucky, I thought. I walked toward my impending doom at the front of the class.

“Suzuki-sensei?”

He smiled, but it was a bureaucratic kind of smile, the kind that had the same warmth to it as a February morning. “Sit down, please.” I sat in the nearest desk, while he sat on top of his. “We’re glad to have you back,” he said. “I’d heard from Headmaster Yoshinoma that you were heading to live with your grandparents in Canada for September.”

“I changed my mind,” I said.

“I see that. And I’m glad you can stay here with your friends.”

I was sure there was a but... in there somewhere.

“Shikashi...”

There it is.

“If you’re going to stay in Japan permanently, you’re going to have to give a lot of thought to your future. I know you have two more years before college, but you’ll have to work harder than the others. This isn’t an international school, Katie. You’ll have to catch up your kanji and vocabulary quickly. I can’t go easy on you.”

Somehow I hadn’t seen this coming. I’d thought things would stay the same. “I can keep up. I’m going to cram school, too.”

“So are most of your classmates,” he said. “Will you be able to take the entrance exams in two years? Can you even read a newspaper yet?”

I felt itchy. “Um, not yet.”

“How many kanji are you comfortable with?”

“Er. Not enough?”

“I want you to think seriously about this, all right? I don’t want to discourage you. You’re bright, but you’re taking on a lot. I won’t be doing you a favor if I go easy on you, you understand?”

“I get it,” I said. “I’ll work hard.”

He nodded. “I know. But think about it, because you still have time to transfer to an international school if the pressure’s too much.”

An international school, filled with English speakers like me. No Yuki, no Tanaka, no Tomohiro. Segregated somehow, separated from the reality of life in Japan. Another reminder that I could never really fit into the life I wanted to live here.

I’d just have to work harder.

“I don’t want to transfer,” I said. “I can do it.”

“Okay. Ganbarimashou ne?”

“Ganbarimasu,” I said. I’ll do my best.

So, figure out the ink and try not to flunk out of high school. Fine. I could do that.

Suzuki-sensei nodded and waved me out of the room. I rushed to the gym change room, hoping Coach Watanabe wouldn’t skin me alive for being so late.

I slipped quickly into my hakama and peeked out the locker-room door to the gym—shoot, they’d already started the push-ups. The minute the coaches looked away, I sped toward an empty spot in line and launched myself at the floor. I listened, but no yelling. I’d gotten away with it. I grinned at the floorboards, feeling like a ninja as I bobbed up and down with the team. The victory vanished pretty quickly. I’d lost my edge over the summer; my arms wobbled and ached after we got to fifteen. At twenty-five, I pressed my fingers against the varnished wood and forced myself up. The cut from the dark sakura petal throbbed and stung, but I tried to ignore it.

When we were warmed up and sweating, Watanabe and Nakamura called us all to the front and told us to kneel in a semicircle. This wasn’t normal. What was going on? I snuck a peek at Tomohiro, but he was looking down at the floor.

“I have some bad news,” Watanabe-sensei said, and my nerves started to buzz. This couldn’t be good. “Some of you have heard, but Ishikawa was injured over the summer.” Watanabe cleared his throat. “He was shot.”

Oh god. Murmurs ripped through the row of kendouka. Tomohiro kept staring at the floor. I hadn’t thought about the consequences at all. I hadn’t thought about the lies we might have to spin for me to stay in Japan safely.

“They don’t know who did it,” Watanabe said, trying to speak over the frantic students. “But the police are looking into it. Ishikawa is being less than cooperative, and so they’re concerned that it was not a random attack. The police came by yesterday during our teacher prep to interview us.”

“Is he still in the hospital?” asked one of the second-year girls.

Nakamura-sensei shook his head. “He’ll be all right. Right now he’s resting at home. His mother’s let us know that he’ll be strong enough to return to school in a few weeks. But unless the facts start looking more favorable, we may be forced to take disciplinary action against him.”

Like what? Suspend him from school? Kick him off the kendo team? They had no idea what had really happened, and they couldn’t. It was Tomohiro’s sketch that had shot Ishikawa—a drawing of a gun. He’d saved Tomo’s life by throwing himself in front of that bullet. How could we explain that, or why we’d been taken by the Yakuza, or anything related to that night? My heart twisted when I thought of Ishikawa in that stark white hospital room, being interrogated by the police and unable to say a word of truth. Just the idea of it gave me chills. How much trouble was he in?

“There’s more bad news,” Watanabe continued. “Takahashi Jun from Katakou School broke his wrist and will not be competing in the prefecture tournament.”

“Ee?” One of the third-year boys, Kamenashi, called out in surprise. “So Ishikawa and Takahashi are out?”

“Lucky you, Yuu-san,” grinned another, bumping Tomo with his elbow. “No competition left.”

“Watch your back,” laughed the second-year girl. “You might be next on the kendouka hit list.”

Oh god. I hadn’t thought of it like that. If you looked at it that way, it was a little suspicious. I rubbed my hands together, breathing slowly to calm down. It’s not like the police knew about Jun’s wrist, and there was no way they could link those events.

Watanabe raised his eyebrows as the kendouka laughed nervously over the joke. “Tomohiro?” he said. “Do you know something about these events?”

I glanced at Tomohiro, but his expression was stone as he shook his head. If he was worried, he was doing an amazing job of hiding it. It was hitting too close to the truth. My heart was racing as I tried not to look guilty. Tomo just looked pissed off, but anyone would expect him to look like that when his best friend was injured and his biggest rival was out of the competition.

But what if someone linked the injuries? Ishikawa was staying quiet out of loyalty to Tomo and to cover his own butt, but Jun? What if he spoke up about what had happened?

The lights overhead felt too bright as they glared down. Jun could destroy Tomohiro with a word. Maybe he already had.

“Let’s not focus too much on the sadness,” Nakamura-sensei chimed in. “We have to fight our best at the tournament for Ishikawa’s sake. Let’s believe in him, and let’s lend all our strength to Yuu. He’s our best hope in the championship now. Ne, Tomohiro?” He started clapping loudly and far too enthusiastically. The kendouka slowly joined in, until everyone was applauding.

“Yuu-kun, ganbare!” they shouted. “Tomo-senpai, you can do it!”

Everyone’s attention was on Tomohiro. I could see his shoulders shaking, his eyes focused still on the floor. He was going to break under the pressure. He was going to confess everything. I watched, horrified.

He leaped to his feet, his hands in fists. And then he bowed to everyone with a smile, and they cheered, and Watanabe broke us up into groups for sparring.

I guess he’d had a lot of practice hiding secrets.

After kendo, Tomo and I walked to the bike racks in the courtyard of the school.

“You okay?” I said, grabbing the handlebars of Diane’s bike.

He nodded, shifting his navy-and-white sports bag on his shoulder as he reached to unlock his wheel from the rack. “Fine,” he said. “You?”

“Not totally fine,” I said. He stood and grabbed the handlebars, yanking the bike free.

“Thinking too much?”

I stifled a smile. “Maybe. Ishikawa’s in a lot of trouble, Tomo.”

“I know.”

And you might be, too. But it seemed cruel to say. I couldn’t imagine the guilt he was already feeling for putting his friend in the hospital with an unexplainable wound.

We walked alongside the bikes, both of us lost in thought. It wasn’t safe to talk too much here, anyway.

“So...what’s the plan today?” I tried.

Tomo attempted a smile as he broke from his thoughts. “I thought we could go somewhere. There’s a place I’ve been wanting to show you.”

“Like a date?” I said. He’d never used such an official term before. I swear his cheeks started to turn pink.

Then Tomo’s phone chimed with a text. He leaned his bike against his leg as he reached into his pocket.

Tomo sounded puzzled as he looked at the screen. “Tousan?”

“Your dad?” Tomo twisted the phone so I could see the message.

Come home right now. Important.

My mind fled to images of Kami and Yakuza. “Is he okay?”

“He’s never home this early,” Tomo said, which made me kind of sad. It was well past dinnertime already with kendo practice. Tomo had told me his dad worked long hours, that he almost lived alone in the silence of their empty house.

“What if the Yakuza called?” I blurted out.

Tomo stood still for a moment, staring at the screen. Then he shoved the phone into his pocket and took off running alongside his bike, lifting himself onto the seat as he sped toward Otamachi.

“Wait up!” I hopped on my bike and pedaled after him. Whatever he might have to confront, I wanted to be there.

We swerved around the streets surrounding Sunpu Park, coasting toward Tomo’s house in the northeastern part of the city. A white scooter rested on the wall around Tomo’s house, against the silver plaque that read The Yuu Family. Tomo dropped his bike to the ground and opened the metal gate, waiting to let me through before he clanged it shut behind us.

“Just a scooter,” I said. “Is it a guest?”

“That’s a police scooter,” Tomo said as he opened the door, and my heart dropped. Tomo’s dad had called the police?

“Tousan?” Tomo called out from the genkan. No answer at first and we kicked off our shoes, hurrying in. “Tousan!”

Then there was a shuffle of feet, and Tomo’s dad appeared in the hallway. He was a somber and older version of Tomohiro, wearing a tight-fitting suit with a dark tie, his black hair slicked down neatly. He looked intimidating and somehow impressive at the same time.

Another man appeared behind him, this one in a light blue shirt with a navy vest over it. He had a balding spot on his head, and his thin black hair had been neatly combed around his ears. The policeman. He stepped forward, bowing to us.

“Hiro,” Tomo’s dad said, and it took me a minute to realize he was addressing his son. “You’re late.”

“I was at kendo practice,” Tomo said, and I could feel the uneasy tension between the two.

“This is my son, Yuu Tomohiro,” Tousan said, a fake smile plastered on his face. His eyes practically shot lasers at Tomo.

The officer nodded. “I’m Suzuki,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you for a bit if that’s okay.”

Oh god. It’s starting.

Tomo’s dad looked me over, his eyes bulging a little in surprise. I guess Tomo hadn’t told him he was dating a foreigner. “I’m sorry, but your friend will have to leave for now.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” Tomo said. “Katie can wait upstairs in my room.”

Tousan’s eyes flashed. “Hiro, this is important.”

Tomo squeezed his hand into a fist. “Wait upstairs,” he said to me in English.

Well, this was an awkward first meeting with my boyfriend’s dad. But I wanted to be here in case things fell apart. I wanted to know. And being on Tomo’s side was more important right now then getting his dad to like me. I nodded and headed up the stairs toward his room. His father grunted, but didn’t protest.

I stopped at Tomo’s door, listening. They’d forgotten about me already and were moving into the living room to talk. I listened to the rapid Japanese flood the house. I still struggled with vocabulary. Tomo and my friends could communicate with me okay, and even school subjects I could get the hang of with Yuki’s help, but listening to the formal talk with the police strained what language skills I had. I sat down with my back to the stair railing, squeezing my eyes shut to try to understand the conversation.

“Actually, Yuu, I’m sure you’ve heard by now about your friend Ishikawa Satoshi. We wanted to ask you some questions.”

It wasn’t fair that he had to face this alone. I’d seen just as much, but they’d never think to question me.

“Were you aware Ishikawa was getting involved in a gang affiliated with the Yakuza?” I pieced together the question from the vocab I knew.

Tomo’s steady voice answered, “No.”

“But you’re friends. You didn’t notice anything strange?”

“We take kendo together. Otherwise I spend my time studying for exams.”

“And what else?”

“That’s it.”

A pause. The policeman didn’t believe him. The doubt dripped from every syllable.

“What about your girlfriend?” I took a shaky breath.

“Of course, we go for coffee sometimes, and we’re in kendo together. But I don’t have time for any other hobbies.”

“I see.” He asked a few questions I couldn’t follow as I strained to listen in.

“Hiro and Satoshi have been friends since elementary school,” Tomo’s dad chimed in. “It’s a shame if Satoshi has lost his way, but my son has not followed him down this path.”

“I understand,” Suzuki said. There was a pause, and I could hear the policeman scribbling down notes. Then he asked, “Tomohiro, do you know a Takahashi Jun?”

The silence pressed in around me as I waited for the response.

“Un,” Tomo confirmed. “He’s a kendouka. Sixth in the nationals last year, right? I sparred with him in the ward tournament.”

“Were you aware he was admitted to Kenritsu Hospital the same night as Ishikawa?”

“No. But I heard he hurt his wrist. Our kendo coach told us today at practice.”

“Hmm,” Suzuki said. “Two of the three lead kendouka for the prefecture tournament out of commission in one night. Strange, isn’t it?”

“What are you trying to say?” Tousan’s voice rang out, and I shivered. It was a nightmare listening to all this at the top of the stairs, powerless to do anything at all.

“Only that some troublemakers have money riding on the outcome of the tournament,” Suzuki said. “Gambling on kendo is becoming a problem, and we’re concerned for Tomo’s safety.”

So they didn’t suspect him. Yet.

“You think the two incidents are linked,” Tousan said.

“Tomohiro, I think it’s best if you keep from associating with Ishikawa for now. And if you receive any threats about the tournament, let us know. Someone may be trying to fix the outcome.”

“But Takahashi only hurt his wrist,” Tomo said. “How is that a crime?”

“The fracture pattern of the bone indicates an assault,” Suzuki said. “And he arrived at the hospital only two hours after Ishikawa. We had police there when he arrived, and he was as unwilling to talk as Ishikawa was. We don’t know for certain they’re related. We’re just trying to be thorough.”

Assault charges. Gunshots and fractures. Could they track it to us? One confession from Jun or Ishikawa and they could get Tomohiro. And then what? He’d never admit I’d been there, but what about Jun’s Kami groupies? The girl on the motorbike, Ikeda—she’d looked pretty pissed when we’d fought him. She’d talk for sure, and they’d arrest us both. They’d interrogate Tomo until the ink coursed down his arms, and then they’d stick him in a lab or an asylum or something. My mind raced with terror. I had no idea what might happen, but we were in danger in the worst way.

And if I was linked to it? Would they deport me? Suspend me? Send me to jail for assisted assault? Was that even a thing? I’d been holding the shinai when Tomohiro had brought it down on Jun’s wrist. I wasn’t blameless.

The policeman spoke again. “You know Sunpu Castle, I assume.”

“It’s near my school,” Tomo answered.

“Are you aware we found traces of blood there the morning after these incidents occurred? Takahashi’s blood?”

Tomo sounded bored, but I knew it was an act. “So he hurt himself walking home?”

“We found something else, too.” I heard the rustle of cloth while my heart beat in my ears. What had they found? “It said Yuu on the back. That’s you, right?”

“My tenugui,” Tomo said softly. I leaned my head back against the railing. One of his kendo headbands must have fallen out of his sports bag when I’d reached in for the shinai.

“With Takahashi’s blood on it.”

“Explain, Hiro,” Tomo’s dad said sharply.

“I don’t know, Tousan,” Tomo answered. “I bike home through that castle gate all the time. It must’ve fallen out of my sports bag.”

“The boys face each other often in the kendo ring,” his father added. “They even recently went on a kendo retreat together. It’s very possible the source is from a sports encounter.”

I heard a rustle of paper and the creak of the floorboards. “If it fell out of your bag, that’s most unfortunate, Tomohiro-kun,” the policeman said. “Tell me, did you attend Abekawa Hanabi this weekend?”

The memory of the policeman grabbing his radio flashed through my mind.

“One of our officers is an avid kendo fan and recognized Takahashi. And he overheard you threaten to break his other wrist.”

Want to sign my cast?

If you don’t get out of here, I’ll give you another to match.

Tousan’s voice rose. “Tomohiro!”

I waited, the silence thick as he hesitated. “It was just talk. We’re kendo rivals. I didn’t mean it.”

Suzuki sighed. “Threatening someone must be taken seriously. And after talking to the teachers at your school yesterday, we know you have a history of getting into fights.”

Oh god. The world around me stopped.

“That was after his mother died,” Tousan broke in. “It was hard on him. He’s come a long way since then. My boy isn’t someone who would do this.”

“We can’t ignore this link, Yuu-san—we have to do our job, you understand.” There was a creak that sounded like someone lifting himself off a couch, the click of something plastic. “Tomohiro-kun, if you remember any more details about Ishikawa or Takahashi, could you let us know? You can reach me at this number.”

“Thank you for coming out of your way,” Tomo’s dad said.

There was another creak as Suzuki lowered himself into his shoes by the genkan.

The door snicked shut, and Tomo’s dad grunted. “Stay away from those boys, got it? The last thing I need is you causing me more trouble.”

He meant the accident with Koji, when Tomo’s drawings had almost scratched out his classmate’s eye and brought on a lawsuit.

Footsteps thumped against the stairs and I retreated into Tomo’s room so I wouldn’t look like I’d been eavesdropping.

“Hiro! Are you listening?”

“I’m listening!” Tomo shouted back. The door creaked open.

“Tomo,” I said. “Are you okay?”

He slumped on the floor beside me, dropping his kanji-printed headband onto the hardwood. A faint trail of blood sprayed across the white cotton. Tomo combed a hand through his bangs and sighed. “How much did you understand?”

I stretched out my legs. “Enough.”

“He thinks I had something to do with it,” he said. “They found a spray of blood in Sunpu Castle. Takahashi’s...on my tenugui. And they heard us at the festival this weekend.”

“I know.” I rested a hand on his arm.

“If it was just the Takahashi thing, I could’ve admitted to it. I could pass it off as a rivalry taken too far. Guys being stupid, right?” He leaned his head back against the frame of his bed.

“Except now they think Takahashi and Ishikawa are linked,” I filled in.

“Takahashi’s going to use this. If he talks, I’m done. I’ll have to join his Kami cult.”

“We’ll find another way,” I said. But everything was crumbling around us.

I had to talk to Jun. I didn’t have a choice, even if Tomohiro wanted me to stay away from him. I had to get this under control fast, for both of us.

I waited almost an hour outside of Shizuoka Station for him. I checked my watch so many times I started to know what time it would be before I even glanced down. Tea Ceremony Club had made me later than usual, but I was pretty sure Jun still had the same cram-school schedule as the first term. I couldn’t have missed him.

Every nerve in my body pulsed as I waited. Maybe my thoughts were running away with me, but the possibilities seemed endless and terrifying. Things had felt almost normal on my first day back to school—how had I not realized that the past would blow up in our faces?

A group of guys joked to each other and walked past me into the station. They wore the same Katakou School uniforms as Jun’s—navy pants, white short-sleeved shirt, navy blazer and a striped blue-and-green tie. Almost identical to Suntaba’s uniform except for the green stripes instead of red. The group of guys must have just gotten out of an after-school activity, so it was possible Jun could be arriving soon, too. They probably had a ton of different clubs at school. I might have missed him.

Another ten minutes, and I was about ready to give up. I didn’t want to face going home with all these questions in my head. How could I sleep knowing one word from Jun would get Tomohiro in trouble? Tomo could act all sly with the Yakuza, but what would he do once the police were involved? They didn’t care if he made ink move—they cared if he shot one boy and hit another.

As I shifted my weight to leave, Jun rounded the corner toward the station. He had his leather book bag slung over his shoulder with his left hand, while his right hand swung awkwardly away from his side because of the bulky cast. The blond streaks in his hair clung to his face because he didn’t have a free hand to tuck them back. A girl walked beside him, the two of them lost in conversation. Maybe she went to the same cram school, I thought. She had a green-and-navy pleated skirt, kind of like mine, and the handkerchief around her neck was green—also from Katakou School, then.

She turned as she laughed about something Jun said, and I hesitated.

I knew her. Ikeda, the girl on the motorbike.

Great. Two Kami to deal with. But I didn’t have a choice. I needed to talk to him, whether she was there or not.

“Jun,” I blurted out, approaching them. Jun stopped mid-sentence, startled. Ikeda’s fingers wrapped quietly around Jun’s arm. Oh, I thought. She’s either scared I’ll hurt him again, or she didn’t like me using his first name. Or both.

“Katie,” Jun said, lowering his book bag to his side. “Is everything all right?”

“Um.” I stared at the two of them. A few weeks ago I would’ve been running from them, and now I was seeking them out? Jun tossed his head to try to get the black-and-blond hair out of his eyes. I sighed. I didn’t have a choice, and anyway, he looked pretty harmless at the moment. Except for his eyes, which always looked too cold. “Can I—can I talk to you?”

Jun’s mouth opened but he didn’t say anything. Ikeda didn’t look pleased.

“Oh,” he said finally. “Of course. Mochiron. Here, or do you want to go somewhere?” He smiled pleasantly but my nerves buzzed louder. At least he looked more like the guy who’d gently plucked petals out of my hair than the guy who’d carved kanji into his own skin. I could see the corner of the scab where his blazer sleeve lifted up.

“Jun,” Ikeda said, and her sharp voice startled me. “We’ll be late.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“But—”

“Ikeda, this is important. Go without me.”

Ikeda glared at me, and I felt itchy all over.

I blurted, “If you need to go...” What was I even saying? I needed to talk to him now.

“I don’t,” Jun said, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s get coffee.” He lifted his left arm slowly until the handles of his book bag slid up to his elbow. Then he stepped toward me and offered his open hand with a smile.

My face flushed. I still remembered the day he’d walked to school with me, the day my uniform had been totaled by the storm and I’d had to spend the night at Tomo’s. Jun had given me his keitai number in case the Yakuza bothered me, and then he’d wrapped his warm fingers around mine. I think you have someone you like, he’d said. But if things change, would you consider me? I’d really like to get to know you better.

Did he still feel that way? Even after Tomo and I had bashed his wrist in with a shinai?

I didn’t take his hand. How could he expect me to, after everything that had happened? And anyway, it didn’t matter if he did feel that way. Tomo and I were together. Things hadn’t changed. Instead, I squeezed the handles of my own bag with both hands and turned toward the coffee shop in the station. Jun followed close beside me.

I could feel Ikeda’s eyes bore into me as we left.

“Is everything okay?” Jun asked as we walked.

“Not really.”

“Is it Yuu? Did something happen to him?”

“It’s not Tomohiro. I mean it’s kind of him. But no.”

We went into the kissaten and Jun ordered an iced coffee. I opted for melon soda and we sat in a corner where the leather booth nearly engulfed us.

“De?” Jun urged quietly, resting his good hand on the table. His eyes looked so earnest, even if they were cold. It was like his kendo matches—you could see him thinking out his every move. I guess if you were a Kami you’d have to have control over the situation all the time.

I decided to plunge right in. “Why didn’t you tell me the police were questioning you?”

He said nothing for a minute, then reclined and took a sip of his coffee. “I haven’t exactly seen you around lately. The festival seemed a poor place to bring it up. You were already scared of me.”

I pressed my hands against the cool tabletop. “With good reason. You were being creepy. And your wrist—we were defending ourselves. What exactly did you tell the police? I thought you wanted Tomo to have a choice. Why are you pressuring him to join your Kami?”

“Whoa, matte yo,” he said, lifting his left hand to tuck a blond highlight behind his ear. “I didn’t press any charges. The police were at the hospital that night because of Ishikawa, and when I went in they recognized me. They wanted to know what had happened. But I swear I told them it was an accident, that I fell on my wrist and broke it.”

“Well they don’t believe you,” I said. “They said the bone fracture showed it was an assault.” I shuddered at the term. Is that what we’d done to him? But we’d had to fight back that night. Jun hadn’t left us a choice. The bubbles in my melon soda swarmed my straw and it started to tilt over the side of my glass. I pressed it back down with a shaky hand. “And now because you and Ishikawa both went to Kenritsu Hospital the same night and wouldn’t talk, they think the two incidents are related.”

Jun leaned in, toying absentmindedly with his silver earring. “They are related.”

“I know, but it has nothing to do with this whole gambling-on-kendo-results theory they have.”

“Gambling?” Jun frowned. “Two of the prefecture’s most promising kendouka injured and out of commission on the same night, a few weeks before the tournament.” My straw made a second bubbly escape, but before I could reach for it, Jun grabbed for it and pressed it down. “Yeah, I guess that looks suspicious.”

“I know. I hadn’t even thought of that before, but it does. But that’s not even close to what happened. It had nothing to do with the tournament.” I rested my head on my arm. “And they...they think Tomo’s involved. They found his tenugui at Sunpu Castle, and they overheard you two butting horns at the festival. You can’t let us get pulled into this, Jun. It’ll be bad for all of us. Please.”

Jun frowned. “I can keep denying everything, but it’s not like they’re going to believe me when Ishikawa is being silent, too. It just makes it look gang related if we won’t talk. I mean, what if they get video of us or something? We were all in the same places that night. Che! What a mess. If only I’d made it there before the Yakuza shot Ishikawa.”

“They didn’t,” I said. “Wait, you didn’t know that?”

“What do you mean they didn’t?”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap! Of course Jun didn’t know. He hadn’t arrived until after the gun went off. Now I’d run off to the enemy and given him all our secrets. Now he had all kinds of info to blackmail us into joining his Kami cult. Stupid!

“Katie?” Jun asked gently. “Who shot Ishikawa?”

“Never mind.”

“You can trust me,” he said. “I’m not going to tell the police anything, and I’m not going to force Yuu to join me, either. Right now I just want to help you, but I can’t unless you let me.” My straw made another jump for the table and we caught it at the same time, our fingertips touching as they wrapped around the slippery plastic. His fingers were soft and warm, slender the way Tomohiro’s were. I pulled my hand back but Jun didn’t, holding the straw in place as he smiled at me. “Ano saa,” he said, “you really need to drink some of this before your straw leaps to its bubbly death.”

In spite of everything, I felt a grin curl its way onto my lips. It seemed so ridiculous, the two conversations side by side. I took a huge sip of melon soda and the straw sank down.

I looked at Jun carefully. He seemed so normal sitting here. He sat forward, shrugging his blazer off in the booth. He looked a little flushed, his cheeks pink.

“It’s hot in here,” he laughed, but I wondered. Was it because of me? Did he— No, it didn’t matter. Why did I keep thinking about it? He had way too many screws loose up there.

“Um,” he said, “I have a problem.”

“What?”

He grinned and rose to his feet, taking slow steps toward my side of the booth. His blazer was half off, half on, crumpled around his elbows like he was chained.

“The cast,” he said, and I could see where the jacket had snagged on the thick white bandage. “Could you...?”

“Oh.” I paled. “Um, sure.” I lifted my hands to his sleeve, the weave of the fabric soft under my fingertips. I carefully unhooked the edge of the cuff from the cast, my fingers brushing over the hard bandaged shell as I worked the sleeve down.

My heart pulsed faster. Shut up, shut up, I told it. I wished I could shut off my shallow brain. Sure, Jun looked like a poster boy for the next TV drama series, but couldn’t I look past that to the fact that he had some serious issues?

The sleeve slipped off his arm and I watched the jacket collapse into folds of fabric as it fell. Jun caught the blazer with his good hand, throwing it onto the bench beside him and sitting again.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for his iced coffee with his now-bare arm. I could see the welts of the snake kanji he’d carved into his skin, faint and scabbing.

“It’s the least I could do,” I said. “I guess the cast is kind of my fault.”

His smile disappeared. “No, it’s not. It’s my fault—I came on too strong about the Kami. I should’ve given you more time to think about it. It’s just—I’ve been alone with my secret for so long. None of the other Kami can do anything close to what Yuu can do. And when I realized there was ink in you, too—I was just so happy not to be alone. I got carried away. I’m sorry, Katie. I’m sorry for frightening you.”

I didn’t know what to say. He’d put his life in danger to rescue all of us. And the words he spoke now, they were genuine. He meant them.

“It was a sketch,” I whispered. God, I hoped I was making the right choice.

“A sketch?”

“The gun,” I said, my voice dry.

“A sketched gun?”

I nodded.

“Shit. Is that what they asked Yuu to do?”

“And money. Sketching money.”

“Bastards.” Jun’s eyes shone like hard marbles. It frightened me, the way he looked. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him after all. “They never learn.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just old business. What matters is that the police don’t suspect Yuu. I won’t say a word, and if Ishikawa’s any kind of friend he won’t, either. It’ll blow over soon enough.”

My thoughts raced. This is why I’d met with him—to save us, and he was willing to do it. “Why are you protecting Tomo?” I said. “So the police don’t learn about the Kami?”

“I’m sure the police know about the Kami, conspiracy-style,” Jun smirked. “Some of them probably are Kami. But no, that’s not why. First, I’m worried the stress of being arrested for assault would make Yuu more dangerous. Second, I’m not joking when I say I’m on your side. If Yuu can learn to control his power—if you can learn to control the ink—we’d be able to do anything.”

“Like kill the Yakuza?” I said, rolling my eyes. I felt like I should be frightened, but sitting here in our school uniforms sipping soda and iced coffee somehow muted the terror.

“That’s not fair,” said Jun. “I don’t really want to kill anyone, if I can help it. I just want to save the world from crime, poverty, famine—everything. Wouldn’t you? There’s so much these powers can be used for, but until Yuu knows how, he’s just a mine in a field waiting to blow up the innocent. He’s stronger than me, Katie. Two weeks ago he proved that. I can’t do it alone—I need you two.”

So the goal of the creepy goth cult was to save the world, feed the hungry, clothe the poor? That didn’t sound so bad.

“That’s it? You don’t want to take over the world or something?”

Jun grinned. “Do I look like some crazy dictator?”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Hey! That hurts.” He spun his straw around his now-empty glass in slow circles. “I don’t expect you to trust me. I know this Kami stuff is scary. But I hope you will. I want to help you.”

“So we can help you.”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“The others?”

“Katie,” he said, his voice velvet and smooth. He reached his left hand up to his earring, rubbing it gently as he looked at me. “There’s only one other reason.”

I turned all shades of red and stared down at my soda, my heart pounding.

Focus. You didn’t come here to stare at his pretty eyes.

“I want to learn how to stop the ink,” I said. “You said there’s ink trapped in me, right? Why me? And what do I do?”

“Meet me again,” Jun said. “It’s too complicated a discussion for a café. To be honest, there’s a lot I don’t know, but I can give you somewhere to start. Plus, I do have to eventually get to cram school because we’re having our mock exams today.”

“Oh my god. I’m sorry!”

He grinned. “You wouldn’t have talked to me if I’d told you.” He stood and reached for his book bag, sliding it up his arm so he could grab his blazer. It was surreal to watch him struggle with the fracture Tomo and I had given him. How could I feel pleased and horrified at the same time?

“Text me when you can chat, or you can always meet me at Katakou and we’ll walk to the train together.” He started to leave and then turned to look at me. “I’m glad you came to meet me,” he said. “We can help each other. And I know you can help Yuu see that.”

As he walked away, I was a queasy mix of relief and utter guilt.

* * *

“Tadaima,” I muttered, shutting the door behind me.

“Katie!” Diane said. “You won’t believe it—look!” She swung Yuki’s yukata in front of me, swaying on its special hanger. Too blurry, and my eyes glazed over until the summer kimono slowed down, and then I saw what she meant.

“Nice job,” I said. “Not a spot of ink on it. What’d you use?”

“That’s the weird thing,” Diane said. “I went to get it from your room, and it was already clean. It’s like it all just aired out or something. Maybe it wasn’t ink.”

“Um, yeah, that’s totally weird.” I hoped I was convincing.

“Well, if it was a prank like they’re saying, I’m glad it wasn’t permanent. They would’ve ruined a lot of expensive kimonos and yukatas with real ink. If they ever find who did it, he’ll be in trouble.”

“Definitely,” I said. I grabbed the kimono from her and went into my room to hang it in my closet until I could take it back to Yuki. A gleam caught my eye from the tatami floor.

A disintegrating pile of shimmering dust where the yukata had been left to dry. Kami ink powder, no doubt, like the firefly dust I’d seen glinting around Tomohiro’s sketches. More evidence he was subconsciously behind the fireworks. Thank god he’d decided to stop drawing. Maybe things would finally take a turn for the better.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. When did all this ink stuff become my problem? Couldn’t I have found a normal boy who didn’t have these issues? But even more than that, Jun had reminded me of my own link to the Kami. It was the ink inside me that really bothered me. Why was it happening to me? How the heck did it get there?

I had to meet Jun again soon. I wanted to know exactly what role I played in this. In the meantime, there had to be a way to help myself.

I went to my desk and lifted the lid of my laptop. Searching for Kami just brought up the expected—Shinto gods, pictures of Amaterasu, a few mangas and animes. Apparently the internet didn’t think Kami could possibly be real. Ancient myths, old stories. The Kami had done such a good job of hiding their tracks.

My keitai chimed suddenly from my book bag. I reached over and rifled through the bag’s contents for it, flipping it open to a text from Tomohiro.

You okay? Didn’t see you after school.

He’d probably freak out if I told him I’d met up with Jun. Probably better to mention it later and not over texts.

Fine, just worried about the Ishikawa thing, I typed back. Wasn’t that kind of obvious?

Another chime, seconds later.

Thought so. Everything will be okay. You want me to swing by?

I wasn’t sure what Diane thought of Tomohiro, but considering the look she’d given him when he’d shown up at the door last time, she’d probably want a little warning before he dropped in. There were enough reasons why being together was a bad idea—I didn’t need Diane breathing down my neck, too.

Maybe next time, I wrote back. Just about to have dinner.

I like food. Invite me.

I rolled my eyes, sure he was joking.

Do you also like being grilled by family members?

I closed the phone and put it on the table beside me.

How did I affect the ink? There were other Kami around, but Tomo hadn’t lost control because of them. He’d never lost control like he had since I’d arrived in Japan. Well, maybe when the dog drawing had attacked his friend Koji, and also when the sword painting had sliced his wrist open—but both of those he’d sketched on the page. The demon face he’d created when Ishikawa had threatened him with the Yakuza, and the black wings that had unfurled on his back—he hadn’t drawn those. I’d made those happen, some kind of reaction between my ink and his.

Maybe it was emotional. Maybe he was just serious about me. I flushed a little at that one.

So if it wasn’t that—then what?

“Am I a Kami?” I whispered. I twirled my hair between my fingers—no, that had been pretty much ruled out. There’s no way my absentee dad could be Japanese, not with blond hair like this.

What other options were there?

My phone chimed again.

Meet you at Shizuoka Eki tomorrow, it said. And don’t skip kendo—you need all the practice you can get.

Baka, I wrote back. Stupid.

“Katie!” Diane called, and I tossed the phone onto my bed.

I had no clue how I could have ink in me. There was no choice—I had to depend on Jun.

I headed for the table and pulled out a chair as Diane scooped the nikujaga into my bowl.

“So?” she said. “Things back to normal again?”

“Yeah,” I said, spearing a potato with my fork. I had to think of school-related things to talk about so I’d stay away from the Kami problems. “Suzuki-sensei threatened me with international school. I’m not using enough kanji in my schoolwork.”

“You’ll be fine,” Diane said. “I wouldn’t have enrolled you at Suntaba if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“I know.”

“Have you talked to that boy yet?”

I cringed. “What boy?”

“If you don’t know who I mean, why did you wince just now?”

My fork clanked against the side of the bowl. “There are just so many boys after me. It’s hard to keep track.”

“Katie,” she warned, but her face looked a shade paler under her plum lipstick. “You know who I mean. The punk I thought was Tanaka before when he showed up here with those ripped jeans and that smirk. What was his name? Yoshida? Yu-something... Oh, what was it?”

“Yuu Tomohiro.”

“Right, Yuu. He in your class?”

“Not exactly,” I said. She looked worried enough—no need to stress that he was a senior. “He’s in kendo, remember?”

“Oh yeah. I thought he looked violent.”

I moaned. “Diane.”

“Kidding, kidding. Well, bring him around sometime so I can get to know him.”

“You mean scrutinize him and pick him apart.”

“Exactly.”

I rolled my eyes.

“There’s something a little off about him,” she added.

“You mean his fully tattooed torso that links him to every gang-related crime in Shizuoka Prefecture?”

“Funny,” Diane said, pointing her fork at me, “but no. I meant his eyes. Is he nearsighted?”

“Um. That’s weird. Do I look like an optometrist?”

Diane sipped her cold oolong tea. “Well, never mind, Miss Snarky. I just thought his pupils went pretty large for a minute there.”

I nearly dropped my fork.

“Just wondered if everything was okay with his eyes, that’s all,” she mumbled. “Your bowl’s empty. Want more?”

“Please,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

I swear my hand was shaking when I passed her the bowl.

I waited outside the station, leaning against the wall beside a buzzing vending machine. The summer heat was lingering into September, but I’d pulled on a light sweater just in case. Tomohiro had rescheduled our mystery date, and I couldn’t be sure where we were going. Just trust me, he’d said, to which I’d reminded him about the last “date,” which had been an elaborate plan to push me away before the Yakuza had hunted him down. He’d laughed, which hadn’t left me feeling reassured.

A moment later he sailed around the corner on his bike, heading way too fast toward the racks. At the last minute he leaped off his bike and the wheel crashed against the bar with a loud echo.

I grinned. “Is that display of manliness necessary?”

“Very,” he said, stooping to lock the wheel to the rack. “Life is boring if you only do necessary things.” He stepped toward me, brushing his hands off on his jeans, a dark satchel hanging from his shoulder to his hip. “Sorry I made you wait.”

“It’s okay, I only got here a minute ago.”

“Then let’s go.” He took my hand in his for a minute, letting my fingers slip through his before heading toward the station doors.

“Where are we going exactly?” I said, following him up the steps and toward the train platforms. “You kind of left that detail out.”

“Ah, so remember when we were trying to find a new place that was just ours?”

“Yeah?” When Toro Iseki had been under renovations, Tomohiro could draw in peace, but not so much now.

“It turns out Antarctica is a hell of a commute,” he said. “So I’ve found the next best thing.”

“Wait,” I said. “I thought you said you were going to stop drawing.”

“I am,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “I have.” He pulled out his train pass and scanned it on the platform barrier. The gateway buzzed and the little metal doors flung open.

“So then why do you need a new place?” I said, scanning my own train pass and following him through. He turned to the east platform, and we sat on a bench to wait.

“Because,” he said, speaking quietly in the busy station, “first, I don’t know how long I can go without drawing. Remember how I said I’d have the nightmares and wake up with ink on the floor? Or the ink during the kendo match and maybe even those fireworks? Trying not to draw might be a way to contain the ink, but if it falls through, my only other choice is trying to control the drawings. And for that, I need a safe place to sketch. And second, I need a place to be alone with my girlfriend where others can’t snoop.”

“And Antarctica is just too far,” I smirked.

“I hear the penguins are cute, though.”

“So in non-penguin news, I’ve decided I’m going to learn how to control whatever it is inside me,” I said, watching Tomo’s eyes carefully. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone, that we’d figure it out together.

He looked surprised, and worried. “Katie, we don’t even know if that’s true. Just because Yuki’s brother said that to you...you’re not a Kami okay?”

“I know that, but there’s something going on, right? Even Jun thought that—” I stopped. When Jun had told me I manipulated the ink, that there was ink inside me, Tomohiro had been writhing on the ground haunted by shadows. He hadn’t heard a word of it.

“Jun?” Tomohiro echoed. He looked at me with concern. “Takahashi is dangerous, Katie. He’s not bothering you again, is he?”

“No,” I said, looking away. I felt like the truth was written all over my face. “I just feel like—don’t you think he might at least know some things we don’t? I mean, there’s got to be a reason the ink reacts to me.”

“There is,” Tomohiro said, tucking my hair back over my shoulder. He leaned in and his lips grazed the top of my ear. “We’re linked, Katie, and we can fight this together. We don’t need anyone else’s help.”

I nodded.

“Katie...can I ask you something?” His breath was hot against my ear and I shivered.

“What?”

“Can you—I mean...” He leaned back and sighed. “I know you’re still learning Japanese. So you won’t take offense, right?”

“Oh jeez,” I said, the heat of the embarrassment coursing through me. “What did I do?”

He paused, looking troubled. “It’s—it’s Takahashi. When you call him by his first name, it’s...not really comfortable for me.”

“Oh,” I said, staring at him. Of course. Calling someone by their first name in Japan was personal. Intimate. “You’re jealous!” I laughed.

“It’s not funny,” he said quietly, and it wiped the grin right off my face. I hadn’t thought about it before, but it was probably humiliating for him that I called another guy by his first name.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not just for me,” he said. “It’ll sound bad if you call him that in front of anyone. Especially since he’s older than you. It sounds like—it sounds like you’re more than friends. A lot more.”

I’d heard another girl call him Jun, and he’d never seemed to mind, so I’d gone along with it. Takahashi sounded strange and distant to me, but I remembered Ikeda’s response when I’d called out his first name. Maybe it really was a mistake to use it.

“Got it,” I said. “My bad.”

Tomohiro smiled. “It’s okay.”

The train whirred into the station, its brakes squealing as the arrival announcement chimed on the loudspeaker. The stale station air whisked around our faces.

And then I heard a familiar voice calling over the sound of the train.

“Tomo-kun!”

He looked up, hands in his pockets and expression frozen, like he was completely confused.

“Shiori?”

I glanced at him for a minute. Wasn’t he calling another girl by her first name? That was the same thing he’d just been upset about. But wait—she was younger than him. I’d have to ask Yuki. Names were way too complicated.

Shiori ran toward us, waving a hand. She wore her school uniform, a tartan red-and-blue skirt with her pregnant belly ballooning under her white blouse. Her white socks were pulled neatly up to her knees, her black loafers clunking against the ground. She swung her black book bag in her other hand.

“Dame yo,” Tomo warned as she approached. He shook his head disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t be running.”

“Heiki, heiki,” Shiori said, swishing her hand back and forth. “You worry too much, Tomo-kun. Hi, Katie.”

“Hi,” I said, trying to smile. I knew her life was hard right now, but I didn’t like the way she was leaning into Tomo. She knew we were dating, right?

Tomo stepped back, as if he was thinking the same thing. He ducked into the train and we followed.

“Are you on your way home?” I asked.

Shiori shook her head. “I take this train to my doctor’s office.”

“Oh.” I felt my cheeks flush. “How...how’s it going?”

“Good,” she smiled. “The baby’s very healthy.” The train was crowded, but Tomo spotted a narrow spot for two beside a salaryman on the red leather bench. He sat, his back pressed against the window, and looked up at me. I took a step forward, but Shiori brushed past me and sat down next to him, resting her bag on her lap. Guess I’m standing. It was fine, though. Shiori probably needed the spot anyway. I wrapped my fingers around the metal pole, trying to take it in stride.

“Katie, sit down,” Tomo said, starting to lift himself up.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Shiori needs to sit.”

She beamed, a little too proud of herself. We were both trying to be thoughtful, but I worried she was reading into it too much. I took a breath as the train lurched into motion. She didn’t have anyone but Tomo looking out for her. I had to trust him to let her know if things went too far.

Tomo rose out of his seat. “Sit,” he said. His eyes searched mine, apologetic. I felt awkward to sit next to Shiori, but standing would make the situation worse, like I was being difficult. I sat down beside her; neither of us looked happy.

“So, Tomo-kun,” Shiori tried. “I have three more weeks of school and then that’s it.”

He nodded. “Not long now, ne?”

“That’s exciting,” I attempted. Shiori smiled, but it was forced. I could see that.

“Thanks,” she said. “So why are you headed this way, Tomo-kun? You couldn’t be going to Myu’s house...?” Tomo winced at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. Obviously he wasn’t going there. Why was she messing with him?

“We’re going to some mystery place,” I said, trying to lighten the tension. “My guess is possibly the zoo, but he won’t tell me.”

“Oh, I love the zoo!” Shiori said. “Tomo’s taken me many times.”

Tomo looked as uncomfortable as I felt. I knew she was like a sister to him—why was she trying to make it sound like more? But then I looked at her face and the look in her eyes. Oh. She wants it to be more, doesn’t she? He protected her, stood up for her through all the bullying. He was her knight in shining armor, and I was in the way.

“We like watching the lemurs, right, Tomo-kun?”

Tomo folded his arms, leaning the back of his head against the metal pole. The beams of light from the window lit his hair like a flame. “It’s the red pandas I like.”

Shiori’s voice was quiet. “Right,” she said. “The red pandas. I forgot.”

“Lemurs are cute, though,” he added, trying to soften what he’d said. “Anyway, Katie and I aren’t going to the zoo, but we are going on a date.” The words startled me, since he’d been too indirect to say it like that before. Then I realized—he was trying to get the message across. He was trapped, but he didn’t want to embarrass either one of us.

Shiori’s face fell. “Oh.”

This whole thing was stupid. Couldn’t we just come out and say how we felt? Tomo and I were together, but I didn’t want to hurt Shiori.

“You can come with us,” I blurted out. Tomo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “It’s more fun that way anyway, right?”

“Oh, I’m too busy,” Shiori said. “I have that appointment, and then I need to stop for a couple things we need for dinner.” The train was slowing, pulling into the next stop, and the motion sent an elderly man’s bag skidding across the floor. Tomo dashed after it, returning it to the bowing, grateful man. Shiori leaned into me while he was gone, her voice low. “It’s a shame you don’t know how to cook Japanese food, Katie. How will you ever keep a Japanese man happy?”

Did she actually just say that? “Sorry?”

Shiori sighed. “It’s pathetic, you know, trying to steal Tomo from me.”

My mouth opened, but I had to force words out. “Steal him?”

“Tomo-kun and I have been inseparable since we were little. You think you’re going to change that?”

My stomach twisted; I’d never heard Shiori sound like this. “I’m not trying to get between you.”

“I don’t need your pity invites to everything you do. Anyway, do you even know the first thing about dating a Japanese guy? Poor Tomo-kun. Japanese guys have totally different expectations than Americans, you know. I could never date a foreigner. I mean, for a bit of meaningless fun, maybe, but not long-term. You know your relationship with Tomo isn’t going to go anywhere serious, right? Wait...did you know?” She looked at the bright red plastered on my cheeks. “Ara, you did! Never mind. Enjoy your date. It’s nice to be exotic, even if it’s short-lived, right?” She rose to her feet as the train doors opened, waving her hand at Tomo with a big smile as she went out the door. I stared at her like a blowfish, my mouth open in a big O as the train pulled away.

Tomo collapsed into the seat beside me, the motion making the seat jump a little. “Daijoubu?” he asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m not okay,” I said. “Not at all. Did you hear what she said?”

He leaned forward. “What?”

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