Ink (15 page)

“But knows
what?
”

Tomohiro sighed, and his eyes brimmed with tears that he blinked back.

In a shaky whisper he said, “I’m a Kami.”

“Kami?” My head cycled through its mini-dictionary of Japanese.
Kami
meant “paper,” but something else sparked in my mind.
Kami
also meant “god.”

“Shinto talks about the
kami,
right?” Tomohiro said.

“There are thousands of them.”

“Gods, you mean?”

“Gods,” he said. “Or spirits. Beings that inhabit things in nature, like trees, or waterfalls or stuff. Shinto’s all about a spark of life in everything.”

“So you’re some kind of spirit, is that it?”

“That’s just Shinto tradition. But there’s more than that.

There’s a reason
kami
means ‘paper’
and
‘spirit,’ Katie.”

“Just spit it out, Yuu.”

“Okay. The most famous
kami
is Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun. She’s part of the creation story. But she’s more than that.” Tomohiro stared into the distance. “Amaterasu was real.

Not a goddess maybe, but a real person with some kind of…

power. And the real Kami are descendants of that power.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Did you, or did you not, see the drawings move?”

“Point taken.”

“There was a time when the Kami were well-known. We can…do something with our minds. I don’t understand it.

Anyway, all the myths come from bits of truth. The drawings, poems, folklore…it’s all by Japanese trying to understand where the Kami came from.”

“And you’re one of these Kami,” I said, but he didn’t answer.

“Do you know what one of the conditions of surrender was at the end of World War Two?” he asked. “Emperor Hirohito had to publicly deny his divinity. Japanese always believed emperors were descended from Amaterasu. I guess Westerners thought it would be humiliating for Hirohito to denounce this claim.”

“So it sort of knocked him down a rank?” I said.

Tomohiro leaned in. “Yeah, but it wasn’t just a tradition of myth. The royal family really
are
Kami,” he said. “When Hirohito denounced his power, it was a message to the Kami to scatter. Families with the ability went into hiding, and now those who know the truth keep quiet out of fear. There are dangerous people in Japan, you know.”

“You said Ishikawa would make you work for the Yakuza,”

I said.

“I’m afraid of it,” he said, and I saw the fear in his eyes, that he was freaked out by all of this, too.

“So these Kami, they can all draw things that become real?”

“I’m not sure. For me, it’s something in my mind when I draw. I don’t really know any other Kami.”

“You’ve thought it all out,” I said.

“My dad told me most of it. But I’ve tried to learn more since he won’t tell me everything.”

“Your dad knows about this?”

“It’s why he’s forbidden me from drawing,” he said.

“Is he a Kami, too?”

Tomohiro shook his head. “He won’t give me a clear answer, but I know my mom was. She’d have to be, to pass the power down to me.” A sudden thought sparked through my head, and I was almost too afraid to say it.

“Yuu,” I whispered, “your mom…”

“It had to do with her accident, yes.”

My throat felt thick.

“That’s why you can’t tell anyone, Katie. We’d both be in danger.”

“But why did my drawing move? Why did the pen explode?”

“The pen was me,” he said. “I didn’t know what else to do.

If the drawings had reached you…” He didn’t need to complete the thought. They might have been tiny, but mouths of razor-sharp teeth don’t lie. “So I burst the pen and drowned them before they could get to you. I just told the ink to go every direction, and it was strong enough to break the plastic.”

“But I’m not a Kami,” I said. “Why would my drawings move?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said and crouched on the ground, his hands in his hair. “They were reacting to me being there. I didn’t do it, but I couldn’t stop it, either. I’ve tried so hard to keep it a secret, but somehow when you’re around I can’t control the ink as well. I’ve been trying to figure it out, believe me. But when I’m near you, I can’t—it’s like everything gets fuzzy.”

“What do you mean, ‘fuzzy’?”

He sighed. “The ink wants something from you. I don’t know what it is, believe me. You’re some kind of ink magnet or something. It’s getting really hard to control my drawings, to—to control myself.”

“Stop drawing, then,” I choked.
After me?
Why?

Tomohiro twisted the tall grasses around his fingers. “I have to draw. But I don’t use inkstones or
sumi
anymore. It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t even think straight, like it wasn’t my own mind or something.”

“The time you cut yourself,” I said, and he frowned.

“I cut myself on the kanji,” he said. “The last stroke of
sword
flicks to the left. When I drew the line across the page, the word cut into my wrist. I was lucky it didn’t kill me.”

“Shit,” I said, crouching beside him. And then another thought occurred to me.

“Koji,” I whispered. He looked at me with glassy eyes.

“I was just a stupid kid,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“I tried to hide it from him, but…he just wanted me to show him what I could do.”

There was no breakin, no guard dog. I realized that now.

The drawing, whatever it was, had ripped into Koji. And Koji had protected Tomohiro even then.

“I never told Sato about the ink. It would’ve been a death sentence for him to know. But I can control things better now.

You don’t have to worry. I would never let it happen to you.

But Koji—oh god, Katie. I still have nightmares about it.”

I took his hand and flipped it palm up, pushed his shirtsleeve back to expose the scars and cuts up his arm.

“Sometimes the drawings still scratch or bite me. This long one is from a dragon claw.”

“Dragon?” I said. “Like the tail I saw? It moved even though the page was ripped.”

“I don’t really understand how it works,” he said, gazing down at the scars. “Destroying the pictures doesn’t destroy the creatures. It contains them somehow, stops them from coming off the page. But they still move around.”

It was too much for me. My head filled with a fog of confusion. It ached to wade through this new, unwanted knowledge. I tried to focus on concrete things I knew were real.

The wagtails chirped and the breeze blew, first the scents of thatched wood and flowers, then the smell of Tomohiro’s hair gel and his skin. The smell of funeral incense clinging to his clothes. The fact that I was technically holding his hand. The heat of his skin where it touched mine.

The warmth rushed up my neck and into my cheeks. I dropped his hand, but I realized how close I was sitting to him, the way his loosened tie flapped in the wind. The little buttons undone at his throat. The soft tan skin of his collarbone.

“Yuu,” I said.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said. “Please.” He reached out for my hand with his. His fingers were softer than I’d thought, slender and gentle as they wrapped around mine.

My voice was barely a whisper. “I am afraid.”

“I know. But I would never hurt you, Katie. I would never let it hurt you.” He pulled me close to him, so that my face pressed against the fragrance of incense caught in his white shirt. The warmth of his neck and chin pressed against my hair, and I could feel his heartbeat pulsing against my shoulder. And the way his strong arms shook as they held me, I knew he was afraid, too. “I’ll fight it.”

I wanted to press myself closer to him, and at the same time I wanted to step away.

“Fight it?”

He leaned back and shook his head. “I’m marked, Katie.

That’s what the nightmares keep telling me, that there’s only suffering ahead. You saw the wagtail attack the other birds, right? There’s something darker than ink that seeps into the sketches. I don’t know if it’s the Kami bloodline or…or something in me. Maybe my true self is evil and it’s fighting its way to the surface.”

“You don’t believe that!” I said, but fear gripped my spine.

“I don’t know why it’s trying to get you. But I won’t let it.”

The power itself was as scary as hell, but the idea that it was something awful, that Tomohiro was something worthy of lurking in the shadows…

And that, whether it was him or something else, it was after me, too…

“That’s bullshit,” I said.

The corners of his mouth lifted, but the smile was brief.

“I hope so,” he said.

He pulled me close again and we stayed like that for a long time, the pages of the sketchbook flipping in the wind.

Chapter 8

It was almost dark by the time I made it home. I considered sending a text to Diane from the bus, but she was out with her coworkers, so she wouldn’t have noticed me missing anyway.

I flicked on the lights in the empty mansion, wishing for once that she was there with her corny welcome. Anything but this silence that flooded the house and left me alone with the fog in my head.

I trudged to the fridge, my feet as heavy as lead. I poured myself a glass of cold oolong tea and took the leftover curry to zap in the microwave. I sat at the kitchen table, the bowl of steaming curry in front of me. I said
itadakimasu
to nobody at all, and ate.

In my mind I kept seeing the scars on Tomohiro’s wrist, the wagtail snapping backward in midair and dropping to the ground with a cloud of sparkling ink dust.

I shoveled more rice and chicken into my mouth, willing the spices to overpower my thoughts.

It didn’t work.

The drawings moved. They looked at me.

Worse. They
saw
me.

And Tomohiro said they were after me, that he lost control sometimes when he was around me. But I didn’t have any special powers. Why did they want me? Because I knew about them?

Or because with me they could overtake Tomohiro, make him lose control—and then what?

And what if it
was
Tomohiro after me, subconsciously or not?

When my
keitai
chimed, I grabbed for it gratefully.

“Moshi mosh,”
I said, holding my forehead up with my hand and twirling my spoon into my rice.

“Katie-chan? You okay?” It was Tanaka. I straightened up like he could see me.

“Tan-kun,” I said. “I’m okay. Just an intense kendo practice.”

“I had a busy day, too,” he said. “I just got out of cram school. We’re going for karaoke. Come on!”

I hated the sound of my own singing, not because it was awful but because it sounded just like Mom’s. I wished she could be here now, to brush my hair and hold me, to tell me everything would be okay.

“I can’t really sing,” I said. I heard some other voices on the end of the phone, the sounds of Tanaka walking the streets of Shizuoka.

“You can’t say that every time!” he said. “You’ve been so busy with the kendo tournament coming up, we’ve hardly seen you. Yuki is coming, too.”

“I don’t know,” I said, but I was close to caving. It was that or being alone with my thoughts.

“Look,” Tanaka said, his voice changing. It sounded like he’d clamped his hand around the phone. “People are going to talk if you spend any more time with Tomo-kun.”

Heat spread through my body; I could almost feel the crisp white shirt against my cheek.

“How did you know?” I stammered, but Tanaka laughed.

“It’s obvious,” he said. “So you need to take a break and come be with your friends before everyone else figures it out.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez, I never pegged you for blackmail.”

He laughed. “I’m not above it. See you in ten.”

I met Tanaka and his cram-school friends halfway to Shizuoka Station, and once Yuki arrived, we went for karaoke in a winding wing of shops attached to the platforms. We ordered a round of melon sodas and cold iced teas, and Tanaka sang first, bursting out off-key but with lots of gusto. I thought Yuki would be shy around Tanaka’s cram-school friends, but when her voice rang out, it was beautiful and clear. We performed a duet together, since I was too embarrassed to sing by myself.