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Grandmother. It was almost as if my struggles with Kira and the resultant yearnings had created a family member where none previously existed. Not even realizing I was leaving Tank behind me, I padded down the road in the direction he must have come from, drawn forward by what I suspected was a pack-like bond but couldn’t confirm without werewolf blood to energize my latent skills.
Only, it turned out I didn’t need a turbocharge to solve the mystery. Because an old woman with a fox-like cant to her neck walked spryly out to meet me. “Granddaughter.” She was tiny but not wizened. Clearly Japanese in a way my sister and I were not. The stranger-who-wasn’t-a-stranger inclined her head ever so slightly, then frowned when I fumbled through a mirroring nod by way of reply.
And that show of disapproval was enough to knock loose my rose-tinted glasses. Family connection or no, it was time to remember that I was in charge of my own destiny. Step one: Figure out how and why kitsunes—because this was clearly another kitsune—kept showing up on our doorstep. Step two: Get rid of this particular kitsune before the pack blew its collective lid.
So, ignoring the fact that I was sorely in need of an older family member who had a clue how to raise a teenager, I forced my voice to turn hard as I demanded: “How did you find us?”
But the old woman was having none of it. “I’ll answer all of your questions, granddaughter,” she told me, “but not standing out here in the cold. Remember—patience is bitter...”
“...But its fruit is sweet.” Despite myself, I mouthed the end of the proverb right alongside her, remembering the way Mama had admonished me with those exact same words when I childishly complained about inevitable daily delays.
And maybe that’s why I didn’t protest when this elderly stranger led me back down the street away from my cottage and toward an RV parked at the edge of the Green where breakfast had been served yesterday evening. Maybe that’s why I didn’t pull out my sword and threaten five of the most handsome males I’d ever seen—the old woman’s entourage?—as they brushed past me to begin cranking out the vehicle’s walls.
Even without benefit of the additions, the RV was the largest one I’d ever seen. “Wow.” I didn’t mean to, but the word emerged from my mouth as easily as if I was Kira and always spoke before I thought.
“One of many benefits of our heritage, granddaughter,” the old woman told me, face mischievous as if she was letting me in on the first secret of many she’d been saving just for me. But rather than elaborating, she raised both eyebrows, slipped up the stairs someone had set out for her, then disappeared inside.
I itched to follow, but I didn’t immediately. Instead, I turned and peered back toward the spot we’d recently left behind.
I’d only been gone for a moment, but already the female werewolves had dispersed, taking Tank along with them. Instead, Gunner had reappeared, broad shoulders sagging ever so slightly from the weight of his load. Meanwhile, the air between us smelled just a little bit foul with the same scent that hung around clan central every time something was gearing up to go wrong.
I was adding to that load—and perhaps to that scent?—by spending time with this supposed grandmother. And yet...I couldn’t quite talk myself into telling this strange kitsune to leave without discovering whether she really was related to me first.
So, without meeting Gunner’s eyes or requesting his permission, I clambered up the stairs and entered the unknown.
***
“YOU MAY CALL ME SOBO,” the old woman informed me as I stepped into a space perfectly designed to fit everything one woman and five men might need in their living room. There were two couches, a recliner, heat blowing out of wall registers, a picture window opening onto forest, and even a large TV covering the opposite wall.
Despite the various seating areas, however, two of her companions—definitely human if my nose served me—knelt on either side of Sobo’s easy chair. Both gazed up at her adoringly, and in response she patted their heads as if they were dogs.
That was...odd. But I was here for answers, not to pass judgment. So I walked deeper into the old woman’s domain, feeling the door click shut behind me, presumably closed by yet another member of Sobo’s silent entourage.
And that’s enough of thinking about random humans, I reminded myself. Ignoring the males’ strange behavior, I instead rolled the unfamiliar name around in my mouth like a new food I wasn’t quite sure I liked the flavor of. “Sobo,” I repeated aloud.
“My name is Sakurako,” the old woman clarified. “But it is appropriate that my granddaughter call me Sobo instead. It means grandmother. Or, maybe...grandma?”
And even though I hated myself for being so simple, the idea that I was being offered a pet name melted the cold ache that had settled in my stomach ever since Kira started treating me like an enemy rather than a friend. It reminded me of the days when I hadn’t been the matriarch of my own tiny family, when Mama had called me Mai-chan and hugged me close up against her waist before spinning me around the kitchen in our own made-up dance.
Blinking away that seductive memory, I forced myself to remember Oyo’s fear and the problems facing Atwood clan central. Even if Sobo was my relative, that wasn’t the most important point to consider now.
So I remained standing rather than taking a seat on the couch Sobo motioned to. And I repeated my own words from earlier, this time demanding a reply. “How did you find us?” I asked a second time, piercing the old woman with a gaze that refused to be sidetracked by proverbs, a luxurious residence, or even familial love.
“Direct, just like your mother.” For the first time since I’d met her, Sobo seemed uncomfortable, shifting on the plush leather beneath her. And just like Mama when she was unhappy, Sobo’s face remained smooth save her cheek, which twitched ever so slightly up by her left eye.
I opened my mouth, struck by the similarity. Before I could relent, however, Sobo answered my question.
“I felt the moment your sister merged with her star ball,” Sobo told me. “I thought that was your coming of age, actually. What a...surprise...to discover my daughter chose undue fertility over long life.”
I knew this wasn’t the whole story. It wasn’t lost upon me that—if her story was to be believed—our grandmother had felt Kira’s presence four months earlier and in an entirely different spot from the one where she’d finally tracked us down.
Still, the tremor in the old woman’s hands told the truth of her pain at the loss of a daughter. The sad bend of Sobo’s neck was so much like Mama’s during her darkest hours that I sank down onto the couch despite myself and cupped her papery fingers in both of my hands.
Whether or not this old woman was here under false pretenses, I believed she was my grandmother. And that meant she deserved my compassion and respect.
“Sobo, I’m sorry,” I murmured. And I could feel the bonds of family clicking closed between us with my touch.