Her voice was soft, expression pleading. “Yoshi, please…”
Who the fuck is this, Daken?
The tomcat had assumed his usual perch on the windowsill, cleaning his paws with a tongue as rough as an iron file. His thoughts were velvet-smooth by contrast, a whispered purr rolling through Yoshi’s mind like sugared smoke.
… friend …
Yoshi sniffed. Squinted. Trying hard to find fault with it and coming up empty. She’d never brought anyone home before, but Hana was a big girl now. What she did, who she did, was her business. He leaned down, kissed Jurou on the forehead and shrugged.
“All good, sister-mine.”
She turned, gestured to the big fellow. “Come on.”
With a guilty nod aimed Yoshi’s way, the big man limped past the pair and into Hana’s bedroom. Hana was on her way to join him when Yoshi softly cleared his throat.
“Forgetting something?”
Hana made a face, reached inside her servant’s kimono, drew out the iron-thrower. Leaning down, she placed it in Yoshi’s open palm, whispered for his ears only.
“Explanations later.”
He glanced at Daken, now sawing away at his nethers with his long, pink tongue.
… don’t ask hers won’t tell yours …
“As you say.” He waved the ’thrower. “By the by, you can’t take this to work with you tonight. We need it.”
“What for?”
“Explanations later.”
The curiosity gleaming in Hana’s eye retreated with reluctance. She gave him a small nod, slipped into her bedroom. Daken prowled inside behind her and she quietly closed the door. Jurou had a grin on his face like he was the one about to do the mattress bounce. He leaned over and switched on the soundbox, turned up the volume to bestow some privacy, looking ready to turn a cartwheel.
“Good for her,” he grinned.
Yoshi lifted the iron-thrower and sniffed. A burned chemical smell, like generator oil and refinery stink wafting from the barrel. It felt just a touch lighter than it had yesterday. Just a little less death inside.
He pulled his lucky hat down over his eyes.
“Doubtless…”
Akihito perched by the window, peering out through dirty glass as Hana shut the bedroom door with a whispering click. The flat was four floors up, commanding a decent view of the street below; claustrophobic and wreathed in exhaust. But even with an elevated vantage point, he still felt utterly naked, shaking with nervous energy, belly doing cartwheels. His thoughts went to Gray Wolf, to Butcher and the others. Praying they’d gotten away safe or died fighting. He’d seen enough of Kigen jail to know it was no fit place for anyone to end.
Poor Kasumi …
Reaching inside a pouch on his obi, he retrieved an old chisel and a pinewood block, began whittling at the surface, his eyes still on the street below. No sign of bushi’ out there; just a few street urchins running dice on a corner, two lotusfiends playing pass the pipe. And still his nerves were bunched tighter than overwound clock springs, the chisel’s handle slippery in sweat-slick fingers.
“That’s pretty,” the girl said, gesturing to his carving. “What is it?”
“Present,” he muttered. “For a friend.”
“So what do you think happened? How did they find us?”
Akihito glanced to the doorway, the boys in the living room beyond. The beautiful tones of shamisen players were spilling from the soundbox, slightly muffled by the two inches of cracking plaster between them. He couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness. Of being watched. Vulnerable. “It’s not safe to talk in here. We could be overheard.”
“It’s just my brother and his boyfriend.”
“And your neighbors? I’ve met blacklung beggars who weren’t as thin as these walls.”
The girl pouted, blew a stray lock from her eye. He sized her up with a slow stare—waif-thin, pointed chin, an old scar gouged down her brow and cheek, leather eyepatch hiding the worst of it. An unruly bob of straw-dry hair, black as cuttlefish ink. Hard, he decided. The kind of hard bought on broken concrete with an empty belly and bleeding fists. Smart? Smart enough for this whole thing to be a long game? Was she playing him?
Doesn’t make a lot of sense. But maybe …
She sat down in the middle of her grubby mattress. Glancing at the door. At him. Back to the door. The hint of a crooked smile curling her lips.
“Ohhhh,” she sighed, shivering.
Akihito frowned, hands falling still at his carving. He drew breath to speak when another low moan from the girl killed the words on his lips.
“Ohhhhhh, gods.”
The big man sat a little straighter, slightly disconcerted, jaw hanging loose. He watched the girl pull herself up on all fours, prowling across the sheets. Searching the room for somewhere else to look, he found the tomcat sitting at his feet, head tilted, staring at him with wide, pus-yellow eyes.
Blink. Blink.
Leaning up against the bedroom door, the girl groaned, throaty and breathless, as if in the throes of first-night passion. She slapped one hand against the doorframe, thumping her heels against the floorboards.
“Ohhh,” she purred. “Ohh, please.”
“What the hells—”
She held up a finger, silenced his protest, continued her performance against the wafer-thin wood. Her brother’s muffled curse seeped under the door—a plea to the great and beneficent Lord Izanagi to strike him deaf as stone, or failing that, for a quick and merciful death. Akihito heard what sounded like laughter and applause from the other boy.
“Oh. My. Go-o-o-o-ods,” Hana groaned.
The soundbox squealed in the room beyond, cranked to full over Yoshi’s prayers, the tiny speakers now strained and crackling under the increase in volume. Loud enough to drown out the girl’s groans. Loud enough to drown out her screams, truth be told. Hana plopped herself back down on the mattress, tucked her feet beneath her with a satisfied smile.
“Safe enough now?”
Akihito couldn’t help but chuckle. “Nice.”
“You’ll have to forgive my brother.” Hana began running fingers through her badly cut bob of raven hair. “I don’t usually have friends … stay over.”
“Has he always been like that?”
“You mean a smart-mouthed little bastard?” Hana laughed. “Always.”
“No, I mean like that.”
Hana blinked, taking a few moments to process.
“Ohhhh … You mean has he always liked boys?”
Akihito muttered a series of incomprehensible words.
“Why?” An eyebrow crept toward the girl’s hairline. “What do you care?”
“I don’t.” Akihito seemed mortified at the suggestion. “I’m just, well…”
“Not used to that sort of thing.”
“No.”
“Well, don’t fret.” Hana smiled lopsided, began tying her hair into braids. “You’re definitely not his type. Far too old.”
Akihito felt his cheeks flush. The girl’s laughter rang out on the walls, the empty beach-glass eyes staring onto smog-choked streets. The straining soundbox filled the void, drowning the murmur and hum outside. Hana watched him for a long time, saying nothing, working plaits across her scalp.
“So,” she finally said. “How did they find us?”
“Hells if I know,” he sighed, pulling off his hat and running one hand over his braids. “Trailed someone. Caught someone and made them sing. I’m still not one hundred percent sure you didn’t set us up, truth be told.”
The tomcat jumped into his lap without warning, and Akihito gasped as its claws sank into his flesh. Using his leg as a springboard, the cat vaulted up onto the windowsill and began licking at its nethers like they were made of sugar-rock. The big man winced, whispered a curse, massaged the old wound and new claw marks in his thigh.