Free Foxfire (An Other Novel) by Karen Kincy

traditional offering of tofu decorated with a red maple leaf. Those twelve-layered kimonos aren’t cheap.
    “Well, that was … interesting,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “That’s the first time I heard any of that about kitsune, half-breeds, and foxfire. I’m not sure what to think.”
    Tsuyoshi thins his lips. “Do you doubt Shizuka?”
    Did I sound that sarcastic?
    “I would rather not believe that I’m going to drop dead.”
    “This is serious,” he says, his voice cutting. “We need her help.”
    “It didn’t seem like she wanted to help.” My throat clenches. “Or could.”
    Tsuyoshi marches down the path. “We will see.”
    Maybe he has more faith in his “gift” than I do.
    Tourists and visitors cluster around the shrine to Inari, chatting, laughing, and posing for photos by the kitsune statues—for luck. If only they knew who walked between them, dragging misfortune behind him like a tangle of dark seaweed pulling him down.

    We return to the condo at noon, to the sound of laughter in the kitchen—Gwen and Michiko. Gwen is red-faced, her curls tamed into a ponytail, and wearing a too-small apron. Michiko stands beside her, guiding the wicked knife in Gwen’s hand. Chopped veggies sit in neat heaps on the granite counter.
    “Tavian!” Gwen says, glancing up.
    “Watch your fingers,” Michiko says.
    Gwen’s face gets even redder, and she sets down the knife before looking back up at me. “We’re making bento . Aren’t they cute?” She holds out a lacquered lunchbox.
    I’m mildly horrified that Gwen is showing such an interest in making adorable pandas out of sticky rice and seaweed, nestled in a forest of broccoli trees. Back home, her idea of cooking encompassed sandwiches and boxed mac and cheese. Japan is definitely corrupting her, making her more girly-girl. Not that it’s a bad thing.
    When I don’t smile big enough, Gwen’s eyes narrow. “What happened? What did the myobu tell you?”
    Tsuyoshi clears his throat. “It was helpful.”
    Michiko looks at her husband, and he nods slightly. She purses her lips. I have no idea what they just communicated.
    “Lunch is nearly ready,” Michiko says.
    Tsuyoshi and I both wash our hands, then wait at the table. I plaster a hopeful, happy smile on my face for Gwen’s benefit, though I have a suspicion it looks more like the death grin of a cadaver.
    Gwen sits beside me. “You okay?” she whispers.
    I nod.
    Michiko sets bento boxes in front of each of us, then takes her place at the table. I get the cute pandas Gwen made; Tsuyoshi chuckles at the smiley boiled eggs in his bento. We eat in silence. Try as I might, my tongue can’t taste any of the food, but I pretend it’s delicious. What a waste.
    Afterward, Gwen drags me to my bedroom.
    “All right,” she says, shutting the door halfway. “Tell me.”
    I stand by the window, open my mouth, and shut it again. I roll back my shoulders to stretch my spine, then sit cross-legged on the floor. There’s a tiny hole in the bottom of my sock, and I poke at it.
    “What do you want to know?” I say in a low voice.
    “Everything.”
    Well, shit. I have to talk now, don’t I?
    My gaze still on the hole in my sock, or the window, or anywhere but Gwen, I give her a recap of what Shizuka told me. Ending with, “So that means I’m really screwed up. Though a temple fox would never put it in such a crude way.”
    Gwen says nothing.
    I poke at the sock-hole again. “I need new socks,” I mutter.
    “Tavian.” Her voice sounds steely. “So they didn’t help you at all?”
    I shrug. “Now I know what’s wrong with me.”
    I glance sideways at her. She’s working her jaw like she’s grinding words between her teeth. Her eyes glimmer gold.
    “We’re going to fix this,” she says.
    I laugh an empty laugh. “Got any ideas?”
    “I’m thinking .”
    This time I laugh a real laugh, but it comes out kind of scratchy. “Gwen.” I climb to my feet and take both of her hands.