In a quiet forest upon a mountain, on a cold autumn night, a wide dirt path winds through an assortment of trees: thousand-year-old oak, majestic redwood, thick reedy bamboo, baby spruce, short fat pine, many others with no names. The sky is red, the grass is a tawny brown, and the moon is bleeding. There are no sounds except for the tap-tap-tap of a wooden stick on the dirt road. There are no living creatures, save one: a young man down the road, walking in silence, tapping a long stick before him.
It is the first time in many years that Zaniel is venturing into this part of the woods on his own. Heart beating in his throat, he looks back over his shoulder at the house of his protector. Occupied with another woman. He can still hear their grunts and moans from here. Good, he thinks to himself. He will not go far; he just wants to know if the Yokai is out here, in the woods. Yokai do not often venture close to the house. If Zaniel is to find her again, he is certain that he must seek her out. The stick is for his own safety. The largest he could find, with a sharp point at the end for defence, and a wide girth in the middle should a demon try to tackle and bite him. A trick he picked up when he first discovered these woods. Worst-case scenario, a heavy stick to the head will shock and return him to the safety of his own bed. He hopes the tricks of the trade when it comes to dealing with certain demons still work. He still remembers their weaknesses, their flaws. Ever since Akki gave him the bracelets, however, the yokai in these parts have mostly left him alone. All they need to see are the young man’s wrists, or recognize his bright silvery eyes, and they often turn away and ignore him completely. Still, better safe than sorry. It is the new creatures that are dangerous. And, as the other day had proven, there are always new creatures about.
Zaniel finds himself heading toward a wall of darkness. Here, he cannot even see the trees on either side of the dirt path. He looks back over his shoulder once more; Akki’s house is still visible, a shadow in a crimson backdrop beyond the trees. The blackness is only here, in front of him, blocking the way. Zaniel’s face does not show fear or concern; in fact, this is what he has been preparing for. He takes the stick and sweeps it along the ground in front of him in long, slow movements.
“Stop that,” says a deep voice.
Zaniel does not stop. He bows forward and sweeps again, making grander motions with his arm.
“Please stop that,” says the voice again.
Ignoring the voice, Zaniel makes one more sweeping gesture.
“All right, that’s enough,” says the voice. High above, Zaniel sees a bulging wet eye appear. It opens, blinks a few times, then swivels round and round until it points back down at him. “If you won’t stop, I’ll just have to move.”
“That’s the idea,” says Zaniel.
“Hmph,” says the voice. “You could have just said ‘excuse me,’ you know.”
The darkness is still grumbling to itself as it rises a few inches off the ground, exposing small, black, dainty-looking feet that shuffle the wall of darkness off the road. Zaniel continues down the path. That’s one, he thinks to himself.
Zaniel walks and walks. The dirt path turns to cobblestone. Soon he hears the sound of tiny footsteps of wood on stone growing louder and closer. Zaniel sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye and immediately turns away, pretending not to have seen. A boy and a girl, no older than two years in appearance, run up to him from behind and plant themselves in his path. Their hair and kimonos are completely soaked. Zaniel suppresses a sigh, knowing he can go no further.
“Whoa, buddy, you’re a long way from home.” The boy scowls up at him. “You lost?”
“No. Look at him, brother.” The girl wipes a sticky tendril of hair from her cheek. “His eyes. See?”
Zaniel gives her a stern look, trying to appear tough. He cannot show fear, not in this place, lest his bracelet turn on again. “What about them?”
“You hide them. You hide their true colour. They’re grey here. Like your grandfather’s. But not there.” She grins. “In the real world, you disguise them. And there, see his bracelets? You must be that boy who works for that mean old pig. You must be! You must be!”
“Oh,” the boy nods. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t recognize you. What’cha doing here by yourself? Akki find someone new?”
Zaniel looks away again, tucking his hands deep into his pockets to obscure his wrists. “I’m taking a break.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what this place is here for, I guess,” the boy shrugs. “Okay, if you’re one of Akki’s gang, we won’t hassle you. You can have something from us on the house.”
“I’m not his gang, I just …” He shakes his head. “It’s a long story.”
“We’re immortal, kid. We got plenty of time.”
“No, thanks, just, uh … I … I’m not really in a talking mood tonight; I just want to get things over with.”
“You want some flowers, then!” The girl kneels down. The boy removes a small sack from inside his sleeve, unties it, and takes out a handful of dirt. He gives it to her; she shapes it into a small hill and presses it into the stones. “There. It’ll be a couple of minutes.” She cups her hands over the mound. Droplets of water fall from her fingertips. It takes a few seconds to create a good steady shower.
“Good choice,” the boy tells Zaniel. “Girls like flowers. They’re so full of symbolism and deep meaning, they’re bound to catch someone’s eye. Make them red, sis. That should really get the message across, save him some time.”
Zaniel prepares to say that no, he is in no need of flowers tonight, but in the end, he thinks better of it. After all, it is unwise to refuse a gift from any yokai. The three of them watch the flowers bud and bloom from the earth, under the girl’s tiny rainfall. The boy collects the flowers in threes.
“What’s it like, hafu boy?” the girl suddenly asks. “What’s it like, going back and forth all the time, pretending for so long? Is it lonely?”
She is concentrating too hard on her rainfall to see the glint of anger in Zaniel’s eyes or hear it in his voice. “Maybe in a hundred years you’ll find out for yourself.”
“Not likely. We have each other. Here you go.” The boy obviously did not catch it, either. He hands Zaniel a full bouquet of red roses. The whole process only took a few minutes, as promised. “Good luck with these. Well, we’ll let you get on with your break.” He helps his sister to her feet and they stroll away, hand in hand. Zaniel watches their backs, listens to the clop-clop of their wooden geta get quieter and quieter. That’s two … or is that three?
Zaniel is cold all of a sudden. He tucks the flowers under one arm and folds his hands into the warmth of his armpits. The flowers will survive, of course, assuming he can keep his eyes open long enough to put them to use. He feels the impending danger of nodding off, so he continues his walk. “Idiot,” he curses himself. Who gets sleepy in a world where he’s already asleep?
He walks farther along the path, concentrating on the trees and the shadows they cast against the red sky behind them. They begin to normalize now, matching the deciduous trees that exist in the real world. The sky begins to darken to a deep, warm brown. He relaxes a little, but only a little, for he knows that yokai may still lurk here.
He is correct. It is not long after that another shadow appears. This one sits in the middle of the path, squatting as some humans like to do. Zaniel assumes he is meditating or sleeping. Were it not for the man’s long red nose, Zaniel would skirt right around him. He knows that would be a most unwise choice. This creature is a tengu, and tengu deserve the proper respect.
“I apologize for disturbing you, Tengu-sama,” Zaniel begins with a deep bow. “I merely want to pass through these woods unscathed. Please, let me by you without due harm.”
“So formal. Oh, wait. You are Akki’s boy. Why not say something, kid?” The Tengu rises to his feet, brushing itself down. “Do you not know how dangerous these parts are? Humans get devoured up here all the time.”
“How do you know me, sir?”
The Tengu darts up to him and taps the black beads on Zaniel’s left wrist, just visible past the cuff of his jacket sleeve. Zaniel clutches his bracelets, instinctively, as if to hide them. “Oh. I see. To be honest, I didn’t think it would matter …”
“You are Akki’s,” he repeats. “Of course it matters. Have you no idea how important you are to him?” The Tengu clicks his tongue. “Kids these days.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not a kid. I’m actually almost —”
“A thousand years old? No? Then guess what.” The Tengu rolls back his shoulders. A pair of thick black feathered wings expand from his back. “Walk with me, human.”
Reluctant, Zaniel complies. He wonders what Akki would say at the sight of him walking alongside another yokai. He wonders if Akki would even allow it.
“I know what you are thinking. I will not take much of your time. I only want to share my thoughts with you: if you are not a child, as you claim, then perhaps the time has come to depart from your bodyguard’s company. Perhaps the yokai of these woods have grown accustomed to your presence enough to leave you alone. Have you considered that?”
Zaniel shakes his head. “Not really. I guess … no, not really. There are so many new creatures about these days.”
“Were I you, I would talk with your guard. He is clearly fond of you to have kept you all this time. Perhaps he can teach you ways to defend yourself. Or, perhaps, I can impart some of my wisdom upon thee. Do you accept?”
Aha. There’s the catch. “With all due respect,” Zaniel repeats. “I am not worthy of such wisdom. I am but human.”
“Rumour has it you are hafu.”
“Only in my ethnicity. I am half-Japanese, but fully human.”
The Tengu stops walking, and sighs as if saddened by Zaniel’s reply. “Suit thyself,” he shrugs. “I only offer but once. Good night and good luck, human.”
He lets Zaniel take a few steps more, then spreads his wings, flaps them twice, and takes flight high above the trees. And that makes three. They always come in threes.
Zaniel is not disappointed to see him go. Tengu are renowned for their wisdom in swordsmanship and martial arts but are even more famous for playing tricks on unsuspecting humans. He would never hear the end of it; Akki would call him all sorts of names and chastise him for being so gullible. And Zaniel has no idea if that would come before or after Akki’s fiery rampage. It would all depend upon the fearsome yokai’s mood, untameable and ever changing as it is. Case in point, Akki had let him off easy the other night. On the other hand, perhaps the Tengu simply wanted to be helpful. It is Zaniel’s nature to be suspicious, after all these years of wandering the woods. He will never know now, and that suits him fine.
Zaniel arrives at an opening in the forest, a crossroad in the path. One direction, he knows, will lead him deeper into the woods, farther away from the supposed safety of Akki’s domain. The other will take him closer to the city. He makes a face. He does not really wish to choose either one. There is no telling what yokai he will encounter should he take the road on the left, and he has no indication that he may find the Yokai should he choose the road on the right. He does not suppose her to be much of a social creature. He sighs. His search was fruitless after all. All he wants now is to awaken. Perhaps he can try again another night — if he can gather the courage to do so all over again, that is. He lays his flowers at the intersection and heads down the path to the right. A place closer to the city will be safer to rest long enough to wake up.
If only he had waited a moment longer, for someone is running up from behind.
“Hello? HELLO?”
It is the Yokai. She comes running down the path, stopping at the crossroads. She is certain she saw someone heading this way, but which way could he have gone? “Damn.” She is more than lost, now. Maybe it is for the best. There are so many strange noises and shapes in the dark, there is no telling if the one she has been following would have been any benefit to her. None of the others were. At least here she can see the stars up above, providing her with a little more vision and comfort than the forest. She can see a city below the mountains, brimming with life and lights. She can see her hands before her face. Now if only she can determine which way to go.
The Yokai looks down at the ground, noticing the bouquet of roses. She approaches them and kneels. They look and smell heavenly, too unreal, too perfect to be true. The scent of them make her dizzy when she stands. If only they were pointing toward one direction or the other, she thinks to herself, they might give her a hint of which way to go. She looks up at the sky again. The stars give no suggestion of where to go, either. Not that she can read stars, she remarks with chagrin. “Too bad you can’t talk,” she mutters out loud.
“Says who?!”
Watching in bewilderment, the Yokai notices some of the stars glowing brighter and closer to her face. “Uh-oh,” she says. This feels all too familiar.
One of several dozen glowing balls of light buzzes in her face, making a sound like an angry wasp. “That’s right, freak,” it says. “We’re back. Now, go away. Don’t make us teach you another lesson.”
“Another lesson?” The Yokai makes a puzzled face. Something about these glowing stars, these lights, makes her feel wary but she cannot for the life of her remember why. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“Yeah, well, neither do you. Get lost.”
The Yokai groans, impatient. “I am lost. That’s the problem.”
“We told you not to come around here. We thought you got the message.”
“Okay … don’t know what the heck you things are talking about, but I’m just trying to get … I’m supposed to be at a …” the Yokai trails off, noticing the patterns on the horizon have changed. The city is now on her left-hand side instead of her right. “Wait. The mountains were in front of me a minute ago. I have to go back that way. Or is it this way? For crying out loud, will you all just stop moving for one minute?!”
The nightmares’ laughter is like the hissing of snakes. “Aw, poor Yokai can’t keep her directions straight! Boo hoo hoo!”
The Yokai takes another deep breath. She believes it best to remain calm. “Listen, guys. I’m starving, I’m tired, and I’m really not in the mood to argue with anyone. I just saw someone go this way and none of you batted an eyelash, so unless you’re getting paid to stand out here and be assholes, you have no right to bar me from anything. It’s a free country.”
“Uh, NO it isn’t,” says the first light. “Where do you think this is, the human realm? Idiot.” The others back it up with jeers of their own.
“You can’t stop me.” The Yokai says, resolute. “You’re just a … what the heck are you, anyway? A will-o’-the-wisp?”
“What a dumb-ass. We’re your worst nightmares.”
“Oh no, a glowing ball of light. How terrifying. I think I just soiled myself. Give me a break.”
“You loser,” another light groans. “You think we’re playing? We’re NIGHTMARES, hello!”
Again, the others chime in. “Yeah! Don’t underestimate us!”
“Fine,” the Yokai groans. “Then point me back the way I came.”
Another nightmare, fat and bright, buzzes in her face. “No! We changed our minds. We’re fickle like that! You’re gonna stay here and suffer! Ha! You want everyone to think you’re human with that tacky disguise? Well, you’ve got your wish; now you can rot and die up here like all the humans who’re too stupid to stay away from here — you know, where they don’t belong.”
The others watch and laugh, but there is an air of nervousness in their chuckles. They altogether find it strange that she does not remember their last encounter. One would think the trauma of it all would have scared her right from the beginning. But in the backs of their minds, they chalk it up to just more of her human-like behaviour. She is a strange creature indeed.
The Yokai huffs. Now she is upset. “You know what? Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. You’re just a bunch of glowing will-o’-the-wisps with no authority, and you can’t stop me from — Ow! Son of a —!”
She was too caught up in the moment. By the time the one fat light had lowered itself to the height of her hand, it was too late to get away before it gnashed her fingers. She sucks at them, tasting blood.
The fat nightmare lets out an evil laugh. “Oh, now she’s listening,” it says. “Look at that. It speaks the language after all. Let’s see if you can understand this, freak show. Take your ugly — hey! Let me go!”
“Ha! Not so tough now, are you?” The Yokai holds the large, bloodthirsty light, enjoying the warmth and electricity as it wriggles wildly in her fists. Its friends float in the air, helpless.
“You bitch! How DARE you mess with me!”
“Maybe if you apologize, I won’t do something we’ll regret. Now, what do we say?” the Yokai addresses the others. “Are you going to move aside, or do I have to get ugly?”
The nightmare in her hands makes another angry buzzing noise. “What do I say?! I say you can bite me! I say, you’re already ugly! I say you’re — nooo!”
With a couple of popping clicks her jaw unhinges and she brings the glowing sphere to her mouth. Its last cry for help disappears behind the Yokai’s lips. A pair of snakelike fangs shimmer among her teeth as she sinks them into the nightmare. It screams as she pulls at it, tearing a large chunk of its substance off, sending a spray of golden liquid everywhere. Waves of hot sugary lemon flood over her tongue. A half-torn ball of radiance, the nightmare thrashes, spraying its fellow orbs with its golden blood. It almost escapes the Yokai’s grip, but she is faster. Its cries are muffled as she crams the rest of the nightmare into her mouth and clamps her hands over it. She chews and chews and chews. The nightmare puts up a good fight but ultimately succumbs to its fate. The other lights watch in silent horror as the Yokai doubles over onto the ground, radiant blood dribbling from one corner of her lips. She makes a loud groaning noise as though she is about to be sick. Two single tears stream from her eyes.
“Oh my gosh. Oh. My. GOSH.”
Slowly, she stands upright and swallows with a satisfied gasp. The other lights quiver in fear. She revels in their reaction. “Hmph,” the Yokai poses in triumph. “Say something now, you little pieces of dandruff! How many humans d’you know who can do that? What’s wrong? Run out of insults? No one else wants to be a hero?”
The lights detach themselves from their hedge-like barrier; as they float away the leaves tremble, the branches unravel, and everything separates like two doors sliding apart. They expose another world of darkness. But the Yokai cannot show fear now. She plunges forward, as if it was her intended destination all along.
“That’s right,” she waves without looking back. “Tell your friends about me.”
The lights do not reply, but they do their best to make a sort of bowing motion of deep respect until she disappears into the dark.
One breaks the awkward silence. “Shit. And we thought that kid of Akki’s was weird …”
“That’s what we gotta do!” says another voice. “You heard her! We gotta tell Akki!” The nightmares zip away, screeching into the night, straight to Akki’s lair, crying out his name on the wind like frightened children.
In the meantime, the Yokai strolls in the dark, more confident than ever. Even the pavement feels warmed by her recent meal. Wait … pavement? Yes, the road has changed somehow. It is colder, scratchy under her bare feet, more solid than the cobblestone path she had followed all this way. She can feel each rugged stone and pebble embedded in the cement under her toes and heels. Her senses must be heightened by the hallucinogenic effects of her nightmarish snack. She can feel it digesting in her stomach, warming neighbouring organs. It is harder to focus her vision on one focal point — not that there is anything to focus on in the darkness — and with every step she takes, she can feel every synapse vibrate in her muscles, from the soles of her naked feet all the way to her brain. She wishes she could have another to eat, right now.
The air around her begins to change, as well. It carries a pungent odour of stale cigarette butts and urine. The Yokai hopes she is stepping on neither. The darkness begins to lift; in the distance, the Yokai sees something bright orange. It is a small torii gate. An old man huddles next to it, holding his hands over a trash can fire. As the Yokai comes ever closer, she notices the torii is situated between two brick walls slathered in a colourful assortment of indecipherable graffiti. The hues blend together in a discombobulated, deconstructed rainbow. Squinting, she discerns four characters painted in crude white brush strokes:
自 分 自 身
She reaches out and touches the brick wall, outlining the white marks with a fingertip. She knows this place. It looks and smells very familiar, with the scent of salt and sensation of heat emanating from the dark space in the centre of the torii’s entrance.
The old man jolts alive. “Konbanwa, irasshai irasshai,” he croaks with a toothless grin. “Kin o motte iru ka?”
“Pardon?” asks the Yokai.
“Kin. Gorudo, gorudo.” He points down at the Yokai’s hands. The Yokai notices for the first time that her palms are covered in a shiny gold dust. It must be from the nightmare. She rubs them. The dust does not feel like a soft powder. If anything, it feels like dried, once-sticky liquid. Dried blood, if she must give it a name.
“Yesss,” the old man hisses. “Gold.” He gestures to the fiery trash can.
“Oh. Okay.” Hesitant, the Yokai dusts her hands a safe distance over the fire. The old man claps his own hands with glee at the sight of the gold cloud she creates. He scrambles up to the old torii gate and pulls back the barely visible tarp. It is pitch-dark underneath.
“No way. I’m not going in there.”
“Yes, yesss! In! In!”
The Yokai sighs. “Damn it …” She follows the old man’s gestures and ducks under the tarp. It is a bit of a tight squeeze at her size, but at least here it is warmer.
A dim light comes into view through the darkness. A woman in a beautiful kimono materializes before the Yokai, candle in hand. “Welcome.” She bows low. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Please, be yourself. This way …”
She gestures for the Yokai to follow her. The Yokai does so through the darkness. Suddenly the panels of dark slide away, revealing a tiny courtyard with a giant cherry blossom tree illuminated from below. The Yokai cannot help but stop and stare up at the branches littering petals all over her. “Oh, wow …”
The maître d’ smiles. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Please, this way. You’ve arrived at the best time. It is busy, but there are no humans around to bother you. They are not permitted entry for the remainder of the night. Please, feel free to shed your disguise and be yourself.”
The Yokai follows the maître d’ into the restaurant, barely acknowledging the restaurant’s greeting, for she is distracted by two long buffet tables in the pit, groaning under the weight of a hundred dishes. Upon the stage, three massive iridescent squids with white hachimaki headbands bang fast steady rhythms on a dozen taiko drums. The Yokai takes it all in: the creatures, the waitresses’ kimonos, the food, the mayhem. At the peak of “oni only” hours, Jibun Jishin is in high-spirited chaos.
The maître d’ walks up to the table on the left, past a group of women in business suits eating pink sashimi slices and feeding gari to the lips hidden in the backs of their heads. Beside them, seal-like yokai toast Turban Shell sashimi with their flippers while tiny creatures crawl all over their bodies, licking salt off their fine hairs with tiny pink tongues. Across the table, red-eyed leopard-spotted monkeys nibble roasted spiders and smoking cedar chips. The maître d’ stops between a large rooster sitting before a heap of flaming bamboo shoots and a one-legged yokai holding a freshly sucked crab shell. A stool pulls itself out for the Yokai as dishes form before her: steamy gyoza, sizzling lemon-ginger fried chicken, golden yellow corn drowning in butter and soy sauce, warm crunchy pumpkin sushi rolls, glistening lotus root chips, a giant bowl of niku jaga, matcha ice cream dusted with dark green powder sublimating a frosty incense-like smoke, freshly baked taiyaki, bubbling lava cheese tarts, and colossal stacks of alternating hamburger patties and sourdough buns layered with lettuce and slices of tomato, and dripping mayonnaise and ketchup.
The maître d’ smiles. “As you can see, we strive to provide our guests with their innermost desires, whatever they may be. Now, which one would you like?”
The Yokai takes a deep breath. “All of it.” She dives in: a gyoza here, a scoop of corn there, a click-click-pop of her jaw unhinging to take a bite of burger, and so on. The other yokai slowly return to their own meals but cannot help watching, overwhelmed with fascination at her spectacle of sustenance.
“Wow,” the one-legged yokai says after staring for some time. “So … you can use chopsticks, eh?”
“Oh, don’t start with that. Of course, she can.” The rooster clears its throat. “Basan, from Shikoku. How about you, kid? What are you? Where you from?”
“Um …” the Yokai covers her mouth, still chewing.
“Never mind,” the rooster says before she can speak. “It’s not important, either. You really can eat, huh? Here, would you like to try some of this? It’s good.” It nuzzles a fiery bamboo shoot off its plate in her direction.
“Okay,” says the Yokai with a mouthful. “Thanks.”
“Amazing. She ate it! Um, how about some of mine? Would you like to …?” The one-legged yokai takes a chopstick serving of crab flesh and places it on her plate.
“Sure. Thank you. Mmm, I like it. It’s salty.”
In moments, other yokai surround her. They test her and offer her more and more of their food. Each one the Yokai politely accepts and lifts to her mouth. Now beginning to relax in her presence, the demons start asking her questions: Has she ever eaten this before, is this her first time at Jibun Jishin, how long has she been using chopsticks, does she like the food, where did she come from? She simply nods “yes” to everything, unable to speak with her mouth so full. No one asks many follow-up questions, to the Yokai’s relief, because she is too immersed in the sensations each mouthful brings her: the tart, the crunchy, the sweet, the salty, the gooey, briny, buttery, sweet, firm, rich, decadent food all swim in her stomach and send quivers up her spine. Her voracious appetite shows no bounds. Everything placed in front of her disappears into her mouth. She feels like butter melting in warm sunlight.
The squids on the stage make their final bows, sticks in tentacles, and shuffle off the stage to make way for the koto musicians. By now, the Yokai is high as a kite. She staggers from her chair, following the tanukis’ gestures toward a sake-dispensing machine in a corner of the pit (they highly recommend she try it). Next to the machine, the Yokai cannot help staring at a pile of velvety cushions where a massive red hornet sits in a cloud of smoke. It watches the Yokai with solid dark-red eyes like five garnet mirrors, fingering peach cigarillos in each of its six legs. The scent of them makes the room spin even more.
“Suzumebachi,” the hornet introduces itself with a lofty cloud of smoke breathed into her face. “Here to try the sake?”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry.” The Yokai helps herself to a tiny cupful. The sake is piping hot, but not so hot it burns her tongue. She drinks it down easily and dispenses another refill. “Mmm, that’s good.”
“Yes. Not my thing, however. I much prefer mantis.” The suzumebachi wiggles its stinger and takes another drag on one of its cigarillos. It wants to talk to her, but does not want to engage in insipid conversation, which is what it supposes the other demons have been doing with her all night. It is difficult, however, to know where to start. “You seem to enjoy all varieties of foods, I see.”
“I guess I do.”
“Is there anything you will not eat?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really like liver.”
The hornet wiggles one of its scarlet antennae. “River?”
“Liver.”
“Lever?”
The Yokai giggles. “Li-ver.”
“I see. So, you do not like to feed on the living.”
“No,” the Yokai says, not quite understanding.
“I see. Perhaps you just have a hungry yokai in your stomach. Or you are pregnant.”
“Ha! Not bloody likely.”
“No extra mouths to feed?”
The Yokai shakes her head, trying not to focus so hard on the suzumebachi’s mandibles as they open and close. “Nope, just the one.”
“So, not one of the futakuchi.” The hornet points to where the group of young businesswomen sit. “Hmm. What about your shape? I hear you can grow as big as a house when it suits you.”
“Can I?” That would be quite an ability to have, the Yokai thinks to herself. “How?”
“Don’t ask me. I just hear these things.” The suzumebachi takes a puff of the cigarillo and blows it in the Yokai’s face, making her dizzy, but she does not wave the smoke away. She does not want to seem rude. “Hmm. You seem to have all your limbs, and you do not have any extra parts. I cannot place what kind of being you are.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Fear not, child. There are millions of us yokai these days. I am sure you will find your kind somewhere.”
The Yokai looks down at her cup. “That’s the dream,” she says before knocking back more sake.
“What did you say? The dream … ah, yes. Now there is a possibility. Tell me, child, do you eat dreams?”
“How could I?”
“Now, now, don’t take offence. It’s only a question.” Its wings bristle, then calm down. “Have you heard? They say there is more than one kind of dream. They come in all sizes, it seems. Some are tiny, so brief they pass by like sakura petals on the wind. And then there are the ones so vast you could sleep a hundred years and never see its end.”
The Yokai snags a giant gyoza from a passing waitress’s tray, stuffs it in her mouth, and says something. “Pardon?” asks the suzumebachi.
“Sorry.” She swallows. “I said, ‘Sounds deep.’”
“Yes, true. They can go deep as the ocean, too. Be careful not to drown in any of yours, child.”
The Yokai wonders if that is possible. The suzumebachi seems to recognize the perplexed look on the Yokai’s face. “I would not think on it too much, young one. Just be yourself. That is all any of us can do. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some mantis to find.”
The hornet alights into the air, straight up, flapping its giant wings so that the cloud of smoke around the Yokai dissipates and makes her cough. By the time it all clears, the Yokai notices the waitresses removing the tables. They fold the second-to-last one up and carry it away, making room for creatures to dance, for the squids have returned for an encore performance. The Yokai, however, is still hungry. All that sake has only made her more desperate for food, something to sober her up and soak up all the alcohol in her stomach.
Everything seems to shimmer with light. Colours swim before the Yokai’s eyes, bounce off yokai bodies, reflecting their scales and shells, dying their fur all the colours of the rainbow as they pump their fists, wriggle their shoulders, and stomp their feet to the music. The Yokai catches a gleam of gold between her fingers and licks it before she can think twice about doing so. She wishes she could have another one of those glowing lights from earlier. She does not see a waitress she can ask. No, it is not a nightmare she wants … she was looking for something before that … no, not something, someone …
“Hey!” A giant tanuki is shouting, pointing. “Who ordered the human?”
On the last remaining table, Zaniel sits upright. His bed is gone, replaced by a cold, silver platter scattered with lettuce and grapes for garnish. He cries out as a futakuchi-onna reaches for a grape with her chopsticks and snags his T-shirt. Scrambling off the platter, he nearly misses a black paw that almost scratches his naked leg. It takes him a moment to recognize where he is, and when he does, his panic doubles.
A waitress comes running up to the Yokai, dodging around the dancing demons. “Sorry, miss, last call for all-you-can-eat just ended, but I believe that one is part of your order just now?” She points at the young man scrambling away from yokai hands and claws.
“I didn’t order anyone,” the Yokai slurs.
“I see. All right, we’ll take him to the kitchen. Sumimasen, ningen-sama!” She wades through the crowd and tries to grab Zaniel’s wrist. He snatches his arm away too late. The waitress reels back in pain, cradling the fingers that she singed on his obsidian bracelet, now glowing with fierce heat. The other yokai back away in fear.
“Hey, hey,” the Yokai leaps onto the table. “Leave him alone. He’s not food. Come on, guys, I thought you were cool.” She places a steady hand on Zaniel’s shoulder. “You okay? They won’t hurt you.” The waitress tries to stop her, but the Yokai holds up a hand. “Relax, I’ll take him.”
“Hai, wakarimashita.” The waitress bows.
The Yokai takes hold of Zaniel’s left wrist and guides him down from the table. Zaniel allows himself to be guided. Feeling her hand enclosed around the bracelet on his wrist, sensations flow through him. Warmth, protection … safety. “Wait,” he says. “It’s you.”
“Who?”
“It’s you. You’re …!” He is at a loss for words. What is she doing here? What is he doing here? He whirls around. Akki is nowhere in sight. What is going on?
“Well, the food’s all gone. Will you dance with me?”
“Pardon?”
The Yokai does not wait for an affirmative answer. She is already guiding Zaniel’s hands to her waist and putting her head on his shoulder. “I’m dizzy,” she murmurs. But they are spinning together, slowly, out of time and sync with the drums. Zaniel looks around the restaurant. He sees other yokai point and giggle at them. Some of them even copy them, caressing and pirouetting around one another, then giving up and returning to their thrashing, hopping dance moves. Zaniel was unsure of how he could refuse, but now that he is holding the Yokai, he is grateful. The other demons have left them completely alone, ignoring them as if they are not even there. Zaniel turns his head to look at the stage, blinking in the process.
When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a small living room, cozy and familiar. Snow falls outside the window. A low kotatsu table sits at his feet, covered with food he recognizes from his own childhood: kimchi nabe with pork and mushrooms, freshly baked taiyaki, and bowls of green tea ice cream with matcha powder sprinkled on top. He is warm and safe here, in this dream within a dream.
Zaniel blinks again. The surroundings of Jibun Jishin have returned. The Yokai is still in his arms. The only difference now is they are ascending higher and higher into the air, at least seven storeys up. The Yokai does not seem to have noticed. Zaniel is so afraid of falling into the mosh pit of demons below that he decides against pointing it out.
“Mmm,” the Yokai snuggles against his shoulder. “You were so far away just now. Looked like you were daydreaming. Dreams come in all shapes and sizes, apparently. Tiny, big, deep … Do you think it’s the same with nightmares? I forgot to ask.”
Good grief, I hope not, Zaniel thinks to himself. “Ask who?” he says instead.
“The suzumebachi. I once had a dream that I ate a s’more the size of a house. I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind a dream like that being deep as an ocean. What about you? What do you dream about?” Before Zaniel can answer, she places a hand on his chest. “‘Being free?’ What does that mean?”
Ever so gently, Zaniel removes her hand by her sleeve with his right hand. He notices for the first time that his ruby bracelet is glowing, but unlike every other time, it does not hurt him. “Are … are you doing this? How?” he asks her. He finds himself asking two bewildered-looking Zaniels, two solid reflections in the pitch-dark of the Yokai’s eyes that grow bigger and bigger. No, they are not growing; it is her, leaning forward, coming closer and closer. “What are you?” he whispers against her mouth.
“Gotcha!”
A hand reaches out and snatches Zaniel by the back of his shirt, ripping him from the Yokai’s embrace. “Hang on, kid,” says the gruff, familiar voice. “I gotcha.”
Zaniel dangles precariously off the tenth floor until he is swung over the railing to safely stand on his own two feet. His saviour: a giant creature in gold samurai armour from forehead to foot. He recognizes the voice immediately. “Akki … sama?”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” The yokai removes his facial armour and helmet and shakes his dark, angry-looking mane. “Geez, kid. What the hell’re you wearin’?”
“This is what I sleep in. And I could ask you the same thing.”
“I …” Akki looks down at himself. “Huh. Well, ain’t this new.” Being honest with himself, he has no idea where any of this came from, but Akki does not dwell on it. He simply chuckles as he removes each piece of the golden suit. “How the hell’d you get here, anyway?”
Now it is Zaniel’s turn to be at a loss for words. “I …” Any semblance of an explanation he might have given is interrupted by a watery splash. He takes advantage of Akki’s distracted process of undress to look over his shoulder down below. The pit on the first floor has transformed into a literal sea of demons. Even ten storeys up, Zaniel can read the mystified, puzzled looks on various yokai faces at how the floor suddenly turned into water. They do not think about it for too long, however. Once the aquatic species revel in the transition, other creatures start to paddle and wade, then dive and roll, and very quickly, the yokai are splashing each other playfully and spewing water from their mouths and trunks like cartoonish fountains.
“I don’t know,” Zaniel finally answers. It is not a complete lie. “What about you?”
“You summoned me, kid. Figured you needed rescuin’ — again.”
Akki gestures to the young man’s wrist. The light from the bracelets has dimmed now that the giant yokai has arrived, but they are still glowing. How odd. Zaniel blinks with confusion. They’ve never glowed together like this. When he raises his gaze again, Akki stands before him, completely naked save his black fundoshi underwear. The dragon on his chest stirs and opens its eyes into two narrow slits. It gives Zaniel a brief sneer before turning its back on him and curling up into a ball to return to its nap.
“So, who was that messing with you there, kid? Looked like someone took you up awful high.”
“What? Oh. I don’t know. It’s okay, though. It was nothing.”
Akki narrows his eyes. “You sure about that? Didn’t look like nothing …”
“Yes.” Zaniel bows. “I’m sorry, Akki-sama, for summoning you all this way. I apologize.”
Akki sighs. “Whatever. Let’s get you out of here. C’mon, follow me.”
The giant man leads the way past private booths shrouded by shimmery silks and bamboo curtains to the nearest staircase that will take them back to the ground floor. Members of the wait staff step back to make room for him and his young companion, who feels much more self-conscious about walking around in his sleepwear.
“By the way, kid, I’ve been thinkin.’ I’ve been a bit soft on you about your taste in chicks these days. So I came up with a plan. You got three more shots to redeem yourself, see. How much time would you like?”
“Time? I’m afraid I don’t understand, Akki-sama. Are you giving me an … an ultimatum?” Akki glares at him. “I mean, saigo tsuuchou?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Let’s see …” Akki leaps down the last few steps, sending a boom that ripples through the floor and knocks a drink or two off nearby tables. “Let’s make it three broads in four nights. Yeah. I’ll make it easy on ya with an extra night.”
“Three women in four nights!” Zaniel starts after the yokai, then holds his tongue. He looks down at the translucent-tiled floor. He has no idea what he is going to do. “Understood.”
“And don’t think about gettin’ no creative ideas. I’ll pick one out, you bring her up to the house, I take it from there. That’s how our little routine’s been workin’, and that’s how it’s gonna keep workin’. If you can’t deliver, you can find yourself a new bodyguard. You got it?”
Zaniel is not listening. Rather than follow his protector, or worry about this new-found urgency, Zaniel has stopped in his tracks. Under the floor beneath him, he sees the Yokai, swimming after him. He holds in a gasp. She seems trapped, until she waves up at him. Zaniel snaps his head up. Akki is far away, already past the koi pond at the entrance. “Kid, you listenin’? I said, you got it?”
“Yes, Akki-sama.”
“Well, come on, then! Let’s get you outta here, before they put you on the menu.”
Akki watches the young man reluctantly follow. He cannot put his finger on Zaniel. The boy is actin’ strange. Stranger than usual, which coming from a yokai is saying something. What is he doing here, during “oni only” of all times? Another yokai could not have brought him. Who would be that foolish? He watches Zaniel now as the young man crosses the stone bridge, looking back over his shoulder as if pining for something. Perhaps Hino had the right notion — maybe Zaniel came here trying to prove something to himself. In the end, Akki decides not to drag out a lecture tonight. Whatever his reasoning, he believes Zaniel has learned his lesson. This new ultimatum will suffice.
Akki ducks his head through the sliding doors into the pitch darkness that will take him back out onto the streets of Osaka. He does not see Zaniel look over his shoulder one last time at the Yokai, now peeking above the surface of the koi pond. She watches him longingly, unable to follow, for the fish are tugging at her long white robe.
“Come, child,” says one of the koi. “Let’s go eat some more and dance until dawn!”
“You don’t want to mess with that one, child,” says another. “That boar god is dangerous. And that human will only draw his ire to you. You don’t want that.”
“Boar god?” the Yokai asks the fish.
“Yes, join us!” They ignore her query. “Show us what else you can eat, little one.”
“I’m not little!” But the Yokai is laughing. She has already forgotten about the man with the grey eyes and his samurai protector. She wades neck-deep through the water, then lets the water close over her head as the demons dance above the surface, wading up to their knees from the restaurant shore. The demons dance and dance until the eventual arrival of the dawn. Meanwhile, the Yokai sleeps at the bottom of her ocean, underneath all their antics and mayhem, warm and satiated, content and complete.