Kami Cursed (Dragon and Phoenix) (12 page)

“A priest.”  I
don’t know why I said it.  It kind of just popped out.  The man in my dreams
seemed holy somehow, but not gentle like the monks at the temple.  “I bet you
were a warrior-priest.  And you could do magic.”

Ryuu just looked
at me. 

I laughed at the
startled expression on his face.  I’d only been joking.  “Wow, I’m really tired. 
I’m not even making sense anymore.  Let’s go home.” 

We stood and
headed back to our bikes and I shivered a little with a sudden chill.  For just
a minute there I thought I saw something silvery out of the corner of my eye,
coiling around me.  But I blinked and the sensation was gone.

“Hey, earth to
Kit- you coming?”  Ryuu was waiting for me at the bikes.  I shook myself and
went to join him.

*****

Ryuu stepped out
of the Library, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.  He turned left and
started walking down the street, his heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. 
He hadn’t taken more than a few steps before he paused to slip his other arm
into the strap as well, putting the pack on more securely, and zipping up one
of the loose outside pockets. 

A sleek, shiny
gray car with tinted windows came to a halt at the intersection behind him. 
Ryuu’s dark eyes scanned the little shops and businesses lining the street.  It
was a row line of buildings.  The nearest alley, which would allow him to cut
across to the next street over, was six or seven buildings down.  He shifted
from foot to foot, preparing to run for it.

The car ghosted
up to the curb, but Ryuu suddenly lost interest in running away.  He could feel
something from inside the car.  Curiosity got the better of him and he stayed
where he was, standing awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk, while a man
exited the backseat of the car. 

He was an old
man, and he moved with a slow grace.  Ryuu’s eyes traveled over him briefly,
then settled on the faint silvery aura that surrounded the man.  The stranger
approached Ryuu with a wry half smile on his face, as if he knew exactly what
Ryuu was staring at.

“Excuse me young
man,” he said in a smooth voice not suited to his age.  “I need something from
that store down there,” he pointed down the sidewalk to the next block.  “I was
wondering if you would help an old man cross the street?”  He winked.  “I’m not
as spry as I used to be.”

Ryuu stared back
at him for a moment, putting all the force he could into the gaze that usually
made people cringe.  The old man simply looked back, a patient expression on
his face.  Giving it up with bad grace, Ryuu turned and began walking in the
direction the man had indicated.  The old man fell into step beside him without
difficulty.

“You’ve been
following me around a lot lately,” Ryuu said directly.

The old man
chuckled.  “Yes,” he didn’t seem ashamed.

“What do you
want?”

“In my day,” the
old man sighed, “children respected their elders.  Young folk these days are so
rude.”  He glanced sideways at Ryuu.  “I’m sure you don’t speak to your Obaasan
that way.”

Ryuu stopped
walking and spun to face the man.  “You’re right; I don’t speak to my
grandmother that way.  I don’t speak to her at all.”

The old man
nodded thoughtfully.  “I thought not.  If she had anything to do with you, she
would be raising you up to be the man you should be, not letting you grow up
here, so far from your heritage.”

Ryuu rolled his
shoulders uncomfortably.  He had often wondered if what he could do ran in his
family- and if so, why they had abandoned him.  But his mother’s family had
never cared for him.  When he was orphaned, he was left alone with his flighty
aunt, thousands of miles away from the rest of his family. 

If they
preferred to pretend he didn’t exist, he would just return the favor.  But who
was this old man, and how did he know anything about Ryuu or his grandmother? 
“What do you want?”

The old man lost
his playful façade and they continued across the street toward the store he had
pointed out- an old consignment shop that was more trash than treasure.  “I
simply wanted to let you know that you are not alone, even if you might think
so.  I know what you can do.  And I would like to help you develop those powers
of yours.”

Ryuu shook his
head immediately.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The old man
snorted.  It was funny to hear such an undignified sound coming from such a
dignified person.  “Oh don’t you?  Well, that really is too bad.  I think we
could help each other.”

Ryuu glanced at
the man, watching his aura wax and wane.  “I don’t think so,” he said
resolutely.  He had dealt with this affliction by himself for fifteen years. 
He wasn’t about to start asking for help now.  Especially from strangers who
knew more about him than they should.  Besides, he wasn’t so young and naive as
to think they didn’t want anything from him in return for their “help.”  The
thing that lived inside him was getting restless.  He was ready for this
conversation to end.

“Well,” he said,
opening the shop door for the old man.  “You’ve made it across the street. 
Maybe next time you should have your driver help you.” 

The old man
paused on the sidewalk, showing no indication of entering the store.  Ryuu
continued blithely.  “In my day,” he said mockingly, “elders didn’t lie to
their children.  I hope you find what you’re looking for in there.”  He glanced
wryly at the interior of the dusty old shop.

Then Ryuu turned
and left the old man standing on the threshold, shaking with silent laughter. 
He took a winding route home, through the park and up and down a few side
streets.  It was stupid, since he was sure they already knew where he lived. 

Anger and
defiance made his steps quicker than usual, and he was home before he realized
it.  Who was that old man?  The thing in his stomach twisted and writhed like a
giant snake, and it wasn’t calm until Kit stopped by to hang out and complain
about the amount of homework her teachers were giving her. 

Guilt rose up in
him as he studied the nasty, yellowing bruise that covered one whole side of
her face, and he wondered if he was wrong in refusing the old man’s help.

I
opened the door
on Saturday morning, blinking sleep from my eyes and still clad in my flannel
pajama pants and a baggy
Avengers
t-shirt.  I was half-expecting the
visitor to be Dad.  It would be just like him to have forgotten something and
locked himself out.  I stared in surprise at the middle-aged woman standing on
the stoop.  She was wearing a long wool coat against the chill of the winter
morning.  Grey dress slacks and pointy-toed boots peeked out from beneath the
hem. 

“Can I help
you?”  I thought maybe she’d gotten the wrong house.  Either that or she was
selling something.

She held out a
gloved hand and gave me a smile from her tired, lined face.  Her eyes traveled
over the right side of my face, now a lovely mottled yellowy-purple, but she
didn’t comment on it.  She had an air about her that I didn’t care for- as if a
kid with a face covered in bruises wasn’t anything new to her.  “Hello,” she
said, friendly enough.  “Are you Katherine Callahan?”

I nodded and
shook her hand briefly, then crossed my arms over my chest.  It was cold out
here, and I just wanted her to do her Jehovah’s Witness pitch and be on her
way.

“My name is
Marci,” she said, pulling out a little plastic ID from her coat pocket and
handing it to me to examine.  “I’m a social worker from Child Protective
Services.  Is your dad home?”

Something
unpleasant twisted in my stomach.  “No, you just missed him.  He had a meeting
this morning.  He’ll probably be gone for a few hours.”  Dad’s editor had come
to Michigan to visit some family, and since he and Dad were old friends, they
had planned to have breakfast together and talk about his new manuscript.  It
had been a long time since Dad had produced anything worthwhile, but hopefully
that phase was coming to an end. 

The woman,
Marci, tilted her head considering.  “Well, I had hoped to talk to him, but I
can come back.” 

I handed her the
ID and she slipped it back into her pocket.  “Do you mind if I come in and ask
you a few questions while I’m here?”

I glanced behind
me.  The house wasn’t too messy.  Dad and I had been on a cleaning spree this
week and he had helped me clean the place up with something like his usual
spark and vigor.  “Um…I guess that’s okay.”

I stepped back
and let her inside.  I wouldn’t have let a stranger in as a rule, but she
seemed legit.  I took her coat and hung it on a hook just inside the door.  Her
light blue eyes traveled over her surroundings, evaluating and cataloguing. 
“How about you show me around a little bit, then we’ll chat.”  Her smile was
genuine, though a bit forced. 

I shrugged and
led her into the house.  She peeked into the living room with its worn, but
clean, furniture; I showed her my room, the spare room, and bathroom.  Then I
took her past the kitchen.  She paused to peek in there, and I remembered my
manners.

“Do you want
something to drink?  I think Dad used up all the coffee this morning, but
there’s tea and juice.”

She followed me
into the kitchen.  “No thank you.” 

Her eyes drifted
around as I poured myself some orange juice.  I turned to find her surveying
the pile of white garbage bags stacked by the garage door.  Crap.  That looked
messy.  I took a sip of my orange juice, not yet panicking.  Then I saw her
frown and I remembered just what was in those bags.

The unmistakable
shape of cans could be seen, and a bit of label was visible here and there
where the plastic was stretched to its limit.  Marci glanced at me. “Are those
all beer cans?”

I nervously
rubbed the back of one slippered foot on my opposite calf.  “Uh, some of them,
yeah.”  I think she knew I was lying though.  All of the bags- all five of
them- were stuffed to the limit with nothing
but
beer cans.  They’d been
in a big box in the garage, and I’d helped Dad pack them all up in preparation
for returning them to the store.  They were empties from a long time ago.  Dad
had been sober for quite some time now, and hadn’t done much serious drinking
since I came home from the hospital.  I tried to tell the Marci woman as much,
but I could tell she didn’t believe me.

I finally gave
up trying.  “Let’s go to the living room,” I said in exasperation, just wanting
to get away from the incriminating white bags.

I perched on the
couch and cradled my orange juice like it was some sort of magical substance. 
Marci took one of the armchairs and rummaged around in her briefcase.  She came
up with a yellow notepad and a cheap pen.  She scribbled away as she talked. 
“How often does your Dad drink?”

I narrowed my
eyes at her.  “I
told
you, he doesn’t drink anymore.  It’s been a long
time- a couple months at least- since he even had one beer.”

She nodded and
looked up from her scribbling.  Her eyes traveled over the right side of my
face, then to my hands, which I kept resolutely glued to the cup.  “Can you
tell me how you got hurt?”  Her face was filled with that tired sadness again,
and I realized what conclusions she was drawing.

“I can tell
you,” I said calmly.  “If you’re thinking my dad hurt me, then you’re wrong!  Dad
would never hurt me.”  I held out a blistered hand for her examination.  “I was
playing around in the kitchen the other day and I grabbed a hot pan without
thinking.  It slipped when I was pulling it out of the oven and I just didn’t
think and grabbed it.”  I’d had lots of time to think of a good excuse for my
injuries since my meeting with Dr. Laura.

Marci scribbled
a bit more and then looked at me again.  “And your face, honey?”

I swallowed.  “I
fell.  I’m super clumsy.  You probably know about my medical records?”  At
Marci’s nod, I rushed on.  “Well, this whole being seventeen thing is new, so I
trip and stumble and make a mess of things all the time.”  I was hoping for
some sympathy, to make her
want
to believe me.  I couldn’t tell from the
expression in those blue eyes if it was working or not. 

“It’s really
embarrassing,” I said, looking down.  “I was chasing after my friend- he lives
next door, he’ll tell you if you want- and I tripped and fell face first into a
tree.”

Marci took a
deep breath, then slowly let it out.  “You fell?”  Crap, she didn’t believe me.

“Look,” I said,
exasperated.  “Why in the world would my dad hurt me?”

The woman met my
gaze unflinchingly.  “I don’t know sweetheart.  Sometimes really good people do
some really bad things.  I’m just here to see if we can help you.”  She
paused.  “You can tell me the truth.  Do you have any other bruises?”

Probably a
million.  Not that I could tell her about how I’d really gotten any of them. 
Oh,
I can tell you the truth?  Well, in that case, I got these blisters from a malignant
spirit in a little box.  These bruises are from trying to destroy another one
of those spirits with a baseball bat.
 Suddenly, I was fed up.  I couldn’t
tell anyone the truth, and I had to constantly put up with people doubting me
and badgering me.  I got picked on at school, I had to make up stories for the
principal, Dad, Dr. Laura, and now this random woman.  Screw that.

I stood and
slammed my orange juice down on the table, sloshing the sticky stuff
everywhere.  “I’m done talking to you,” I said firmly.  I turned and walked to the
door, indicating she should follow.

Marci let out
another tired little sigh as she slipped her coat back on and tucked away her
stupid little notepad.  Why was it that people were always taking notes when
they talked to me?  If only they knew- they weren’t writing down the important
stuff.  Oh boy the crap I could tell them if I thought it wouldn’t get me
tucked away at Birch Hill faster than you could say “kami.”

Marci paused on
the stoop.  I was tempted to slam the door in her face, but managed to wait for
her to say whatever it was that she just had to say. 

“Thank you for
talking to me Katherine.  I’m sorry I’ve upset you.  We still need to talk to
your dad.  When would be a good time to catch him at home?”

I glared at her
and thought about telling her every time I could think of that he’d be out of
the house.  Instead, I muttered that he’d be busy this weekend, in and out, and
that maybe they could catch him some afternoon next week.  Maybe that would
give me time to prepare him.  This was going to crush him, having someone think
he would hurt me.

Marci turned
away and I finally gave in and let myself slam the door.  This was absolutely
craptastic. 

*****

I sat on the
wooden bench, jiggling my leg impatiently while we waited for Fumio.  There
wasn’t any other adult we could go to.  No one else would believe what I had to
say or understand what kind of crap I dealt with every day.  I had no idea what
the young monk could do to help, but we had to talk to someone.  Ryuu nudged my
foot with his and I made a colossal effort to stop twitching.  It didn’t last
long though, and I was vibrating all over again.

It wasn’t long
before Fumio appeared, dusting his hands on a white apron he had tied over his
rusty robe.  In any other situation, I would have laughed.  As it was, all I
could muster was a little grimace.  Fumio came to a halt in front of us, and
his welcoming smile faded.  “You look miserable,” he commented.

I squeezed
Ryuu’s hand, and he squeezed back.  “I need your help,” I said, tears springing
into my eyes. 

Fumio looked surprised
at my sudden welling up, but he quickly recovered his usual cheery demeanor and
gestured for us to follow him.  I guess he was used to me emoting all over
him.  “Let’s go somewhere out of the way.  We get a few visitors over the lunch
hour.”

In fact, a
couple of people had just come in and were taking off their boots and hanging
up their coats in the entryway.  We followed Fumio to the back of the temple
and into a tiny kitchen.  He pulled out a couple of stools for us and went back
to kneading a big lump of dough on the floury center island.

“Now, what is it
that’s happened Kit?” he asked calmly.

I described
Marci’s visit.  “And… she said they were coming back to talk to Dad. 
God
,
what am I going to do?  No one will believe the truth and I don’t want to end
up getting tossed back in the loony bin.  But if I don’t tell the truth, then
they’ll go after Dad, I just know they will!”

Ryuu’s hand
twitched in mine and I let up when I realized that I was squeezing so hard his
bones were probably grating together.

Fumio continued
to beat up the lump of dough, but he looked dismayed.  “Well, now… let’s not
put the cart before the horse, as the old men say.”  He stared breaking off
little pieces of dough and rolling them into balls for buns.  “Come help me
with these, will you?”

I released
Ryuu’s poor hand and we both washed up and set to work making wodgy dough
balls. 

“Just because
the social worker visited,” Fumio continued slowly, “that doesn’t mean they
will take any action.”  He shrugged.  “I volunteer at a school for
underprivileged kids.  Poor things.”  He sighed.  “It has to be pretty bad
before they’ll take the kids from the parents.”

I rolled a dough
ball between my hands, and took slow deep breaths.  His bread therapy was
working better for me than Dr. Laura’s brand of confrontation.

“But still,” I
said softly.  “There’s no guarantee.  I have this terrible looking medical
history where I was insane for years, and look at my face!”  My hands had all
but healed and remained just a little red.  But my face still looked freakish.

Fumio nodded. 
“I see your point.  If I didn’t know exactly how you’d gotten those bruises, I
might be calling a social worker myself.”

I snorted and
plopped the ball onto the pan a little harder than strictly necessary.  “It was
the psychologist.  I know it was!”

Fumio sighed. 
“If it was, then she was right in doing it.  She saw that you were maybe in
danger and wanted to make sure you were safe.  It’s her job.  And her duty as a
human being.”

I frowned down
at my floury hands.  “Well, maybe.  But it’s still a problem.”  And what would
Dad say?  Having someone think he beat his daughter was likely to make him take
up drinking again.  Why did I always have to cause him so much trouble?

Ryuu finally
spoke.  I glanced at his end of the table to see his rolls standing in neat
little lines on the tray, all graced with little crisscross tops.  “Can you
help?” 

He turned his dark
eyes on Fumio, and I swear I saw the older guy almost cringe from the force of
that gaze.  “I’ll see what I can do.  I know someone who might have some ties
at CPS.”

I turned to him
and clutched his arm, leaving floury fingerprints on his robe.  “Please,” I
said imploringly.  “Please.  I don’t…I don’t want to go back there.  To the
hospital.” 

I might not
remember much of my stay, but there was a part of me that cowered in fear
anytime I went near the place, and I thought maybe that part of me remembered.

Fumio nodded,
and smiled down at me with kindly, yet stressed, eyes brown eyes.  “I’ll do
what I can,” he said earnestly.