I tied on my yukata and slipped into a pair of sandals. I’d have to hurry if I was going to meet Haru near the entrance to Ōmura Shrine. Before I could get through the door, my mother called from the kitchen.
“It’s good luck to share an umbrella with a girl at Kusaka Matsuri.”
Share an umbrella? Gods, my parents are so old. “Yeah, thanks,” I called back.
“I’m just saying, in case you happen to meet a nice girl at the festival, take an umbrella.”
“Well, I’m not going to do that.”
I could tell from the silence she was frowning.
“I don’t even want to meet a girl at the festival,” I said. Because some girls want you to steal things. Some girls call you a little thief and send you on quests to steal memories that no one actually has. Some girls are best to avoid altogether.
“Da dee da dee dum da dee,” my mother sang to herself, dancing in the kitchen. I guess she got over the umbrella thing.
“Stop spinning around in there,” my father called. “You’ll fall and break a hip.”
“Don’t listen to your father, Koda. Go to the festival. Have fun. It will be a magical night.”
I was sincerely hoping it would not.
* * *
I left my bike and helmet in the parking lot of Ōmura Shrine and walked up between the two stone lions guarding the entrance. Haru wasn’t there, so I sat down near the gates and waited.
As the students of Kusaka High School pulled into the lot with their friends and families, I noticed our school counselor standing near the entrance of the shrine, bowing and wishing everyone a happy evening. The parents would nod to Ino-sensei and say, “Konbanwa,” before leading their kids inside. The headmaster walked by with his wife. He nodded at me without really looking. Shimizu-sensei didn’t see me at all when he walked by. Probably too busy talking to ghosts or whatever. Even ex-sumō Ikeda-sensei lumbered through the gates without yelling about basketballs or algebra or any number of other things that usually make him angry. Festivals are nice.
After a while, though, I was the only one left. Haru never showed up. The lights and sounds of Kusaka Matsuri glowed behind me, but I was outside. Alone. And kind of cold.
“Hello, little thief.”
Moya walked up and crossed her arms in front of her. She was wearing a slim dress that seemed too adult for a fifteen-year-old. Her hair, pinned back with a silver barrette, shone bright black against the night. I’d never noticed how pretty she was before.
“It’s Koda,” I stammered back.
“I know your name. And you know your name, so I think we’re ready now.”
“Ready for what?”
“To go inside,” she said, pointing.
“The festival?”
“Where else would two totally normal people go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go be normal.”
Moya looked up at the lights and took me by the hand. She tugged on my arm, pulling me through the entrance to the festival beyond.
“I didn’t find anything at Yori’s house,” I said to the back of her head. “All he cares about is manga and river trolls. I don’t think he even knows about the crows.”
“You’ll find the memory, Koda. I believe in you.”
“If Yori doesn’t know about the crows,” I said, “how could he have a memory of them? Maybe we should be looking somewhere else—”
The fireworks over the matsuri started in an explosion of blue and red and green. Moya’s face lit up.
“The festival is a safe place,” she said. “It’s a happy place. Let’s just have fun tonight.”
“I mean, you’re the one who said this was urgent.”
“Do me one favor, though,” she said, letting go of my arm and facing me. “Don’t steal my memories. I know it’s in your nature, but just don’t. Leave mine alone.”
“I … How would I steal your memories?”
“Promise me.”
“I mean … Okay, yes, that’s an easy promise to keep. If you don’t want me to know your memories, don’t say them to me.”
Moya stepped to the side and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re cute. Dumb, but cute.”
What was going on here?
“Follow me,” she called, running into the festival.
I looked up at Ōmura Shrine and did the one thing I knew I’d probably regret. I ran after Moya.
* * *
I will be honest—I don’t remember a lot of what went on the night of Kusaka Matsuri. My head felt … thirsty. That’s the only way I can describe it. Thirsty to take in everything. To hold on to it and never let it go. It felt like I was watching a dream, but I wasn’t cold and I knew I wasn’t sleeping.
Moya and I slipped in between the crowds of people, making our way along the rows of rickety booths glowing under orange lanterns and strings of colored lights. There was food everywhere we looked: chicken shish kebabs, marinated eggs, boiled daikon and skewered konyaku, cabbage pancakes with brown sauce, mochi dango rice balls, squid-on-a-stick, frankfurters, pork dumplings, fish cakes and garlic pot stickers, fruit jellies, sweet bean paste, ice cream pastries. And fried tōfu. A lot of fried tōfu.
There were booths with toys and prizes hanging from every inch of free space. Bouncing-ball games, ring-toss games, guessing games, and fishing games. Moya pointed out a metal tub where players were trying to snag eels with a piece of string and a fishing hook. I’m guessing you got to keep the eel if you caught it, but I never saw anyone win. Leathery farmers lumbered by us, swimming in the fog of alcohol found on every corner. There were also bottles of Mitsuya Cider, melon soda, natchan! orange drink, bubbling Ramune, Pocari Sweat, white grape juice with floating bits of aloe, peach water, and cartons of strawberry milk.
There was an old man stumbling by on stilts, and in the corner a stage was set up where a play about Kusaka’s founding was being performed. There were man-sized drums where taiko players pounded out a heartbeat to the night. There were priests and priestesses, businessmen and party girls, kimono and tiny sandals, papier-mâché floats and costumed parades.
Everything blurred together in a spinning haze of colors and wrappers and dripping skewer sticks, but by the end I never wanted to leave. I never wanted to be away from Moya for a moment. She was like a single point of light. A thread of clarity keeping my mind firmly in place. If she walked away, I knew the darkness would come toppling back down.
We walked to the last booth, and Moya ordered another plate of fried tōfu along with a glass of rice liquor. The man behind the counter smiled and set down a plate of agedōfu and a glass of sake.
“Arigatō,” she said, and the man bowed.
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“How did you get him to give you sake? You’re, like, fifteen!”
She adjusted her dress and touched her hair. “Do you think I look fifteen?” she asked.
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“Oh, good. Very good. Tōfu tastes like clouds, don’t you think, Koda?”
“I … don’t know.”
“If you could fry clouds, I mean. I like clouds. And snow. And sunsets. What do you like?”
“Well,” I said, walking along beside her. “I like airplanes. And hanging out with Haru.”
“Boring. Let’s talk about something else.”
Moya shoved a huge piece of tōfu into her mouth and washed it down with sake.
“Wow,” I said.
Then she belched.
“And that was the perfect end to a perfect night.”
“I really like tōfu,” Moya said, throwing her trash into a nearby bin.
“I can see that. And sake. How are you still standing? You should be in a gutter drooling on yourself by now.”
“Koda,” she said, “you are not as smart as you look.” She sighed, leading me to the entrance of the shrine. The smell of rice liquor filled the air. “But you are one of the good ones. Even if you are a dirty little thief.”
“Um, thank you?”
“I had my doubts about you, you know. People make such terrible thieves. But you, Koda, you really are one of the good ones.”
“I’m sorry, people make bad thieves?” Maybe I was a little intoxicated, too, because that last sentence only seemed to bother me a bit.
“You have a good heart. You see things other people can’t, and you care enough to try to help.”
Moya’s smile fell away and she stared off into the parking lot. “But some things can’t be helped. Other people will be sad. Other people will be sick. Finding Shibaten is the only way to end all of this.”
“Shibaten? The river troll?”
“Of course,” Moya said. “Why else would I send you to that weird bus driver? No one is more obsessed with Shibaten than he is. He has to have a memory somewhere in that gross house of his.”
“I thought we were looking for crows.”
Moya reached out and touched one of the stone lions that guarded the entrance. “No. The crows are just the symptom, Koda. Shibaten holds the key to curing the disease.”
“What does that even mean?”
Moya looked at me a little too long. “Find the memory, Koda. Use your powers for good, and I will show you what that means.”
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to ask him,” I said.
Moya slumped to the ground. “That’s my little cutpurse—asking politely for things he’s supposed to steal.”
“Being polite opens doors.”
“You know what else opens doors? Hammers. And rocks. And fire. Fire opens doors.”
“Burning down an accountant’s house is not a good use of powers,” I said, sitting down next to her. “I think you’re a little drunk.”
“I’m a lot drunk, dummy.” She looked over at me. “Do you know where the kaki tree is?”
“There are no kaki trees in this town, Moya,” I told her.
“That’s not true. There’s one. It’s the last kaki tree. I hid it. In a bamboo grove surrounded by camphor trees. Go to the westernmost part of town, and you’ll see a road next to a small graveyard. Behind the last house on the road there’s a footpath. Take the footpath and you’ll find the bamboo forest. But don’t tell anyone about this, Koda. Don’t tell anyone or I will burn you alive.”
“Okay, you probably don’t realize how extreme that sounds right now.”
“I will. I’ll burn you alive.” Moya looked up at me without a hint of a smile. “Do me a favor.”
“This is an odd time to ask for a favor—after threatening my life and all.”
“Don’t look at me for a second. Promise me.”
“I feel like this relationship is very one-sided, Moya.”
Moya leaned forward until she was centimeters from my face. Her breath was sweet. Strange and sweet, with an alcohol sting. “Don’t look at my eyes, Koda.”
I looked down.
“Wow. Not at my boobs. What’s wrong with you, kid?”
“Where am I supposed to look?” I said, jerking my chin back up.
“Just close your eyes, genius. Have you never done this before?”
“Done what?” I said.
Moya covered my eyes with her hand and kissed me. It’s true, I’d never done that before. It was different than I’d ever imagined. It felt like the oxygen was being pulled out of my body and, with it, all of the fear and the sadness and the pain that had been collecting in my soul ever since Aiko died. When Moya pulled away, I felt the air rushing back in. My head swam in the alcohol on her breath.
“Good night, Koda. Be strong. There are harder times ahead.”
Then she walked away. I wanted to follow her, but I slid down to the foot of the stone lions instead. The air blew crisp and raw against my skin. My eyes stung.
Moya was possibly insane and probably dangerous, but as she disappeared around that corner I felt the light inside me dim. It was like I’d invented fire and then someone took it away from me. Suddenly the night seemed so much bigger. So much darker. Suddenly I felt so much more alone.
* * *
The next morning, caretakers from Ōmura Shrine swept up the bottles and the lanterns and the plastic toys far away from Headmaster Sato and his small Mitsubishi. The headmaster pulled out his briefcase, locked his door, and walked through the high school parking lot. The day after the festival was usually a pleasant time for everyone. The teachers and staff would be in a good mood. A few would probably have hangovers, but nothing a little kusuri wouldn’t fix. The headmaster smiled for the first time in weeks and rounded the corner. He saw a crowd of those same teachers gathered near the southwest wall of the building, near the school swimming pool that had been drained and abandoned for years. They were all looking up. Some of them were crying.
The headmaster shielded his eyes from the morning sun and stared up at the roof. A shadow balanced dangerously over the edge.
“Taiki!” one of the teachers cried.
The boy teetered on the roof for a moment, then stretched out his arms.
“No!” the headmaster screamed, and dropped his briefcase.