Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.
If a baby deer frolicked out from between the buildings trying to cuddle up, I would roar. I wouldn’t bite it, but I would roar. I had my limits.
I flicked my tail. Hmm, a half hour had passed and we were getting close to the forty-five-minute mark. The family was trying to save face or having an argument, but if nobody came to say hello in the next few minutes, their behavior would be edging on rude. One can’t ignore a mystic white tiger on their doorstep. It just wasn’t done.
The door opened and August’s auntie bowed and held it open. “Please, come in.”
I trotted inside, leaving my Lepidoptera entourage outside. August’s auntie led me past the counter to the back room, where August’s grandmother, his uncle, and his mother sat. The entire Komatsu family with the exception of the children and August’s white father. Their faces looked ashen.
I sat, curling my tail around me.
We looked at one another.
“We know why you are here,” August’s uncle said. Mr. Komatsu was a solemn-looking man in the best of times; now his expression was so grave, he could’ve been carved out of stone.
I waited.
“August is dead,” he said.
I sighed. August was the first male son in his generation. The one who would be forgiven every wrong and permitted every privilege, because years later, when his father and uncle were old, he would assume the burden of taking care of Komatsu family. It was a terrible loss for the family.
“We have buried his body. It is our affair,” Mr. Komatsu said.
I shook my head slowly. August was a shapeshifter and other shapeshifters died because of him. It was our affair now.
Mr. Komatsu stared straight ahead.
The grandmother leaned forward. “It’s the woman. Her name is Hiromi. We do not know her family name. It happened seven years ago, just before the flare.”
The flare came every seven years. If a normal magic fluctuation was a wave, the flare was a tsunami. Bad magic happened during the flare. It dissipated after three days or so, but those three days were terrible. The flare before last dumped a phoenix onto the city, right over the Asian neighborhoods. We had another flare this year and I made my family go to the Keep to stay safe.
“The bad magic was coming,” August’s mother said. “People boarded up their houses and flooded the stores to get supplies. Everyone was in a rush. Hiromi came in to buy groceries. I’d seen her before a few times. She looked poor. Her clothes were bad and she was thin. Very skinny. She had her daughter with her, a small little girl. She might have been two or three.”
“The child liked cookies,” Mr. Komatsu said. “We offered some to her every time. Hiromi would only let her have one. Very proud.”
August’s mother took a deep breath. “Hiromi bought her groceries and went out, carrying her little girl. A street person stabbed them outside the door. We found him later. He was a crazed old man. The flare had made him insane. He didn’t even remember doing it. He just stabbed them and walked away. Hiromi slumped against the wall, holding her baby, and people walked by. Everybody was in a terrible rush. Nobody wanted to get involved. Nobody stopped him and nobody helped her.”
How terrible. To lie there and bleed out slowly into the street, knowing your child is dead in your arms. How awful.
“We didn’t know she was dying outside of our store,” Mr. Komatsu said. “When we found her, she had no pulse. She looked dead. We brought her and the little girl inside, in here. They were both cold and neither had a heartbeat.”
“The flare had unleashed a phoenix and the city was burning,” August’s mother said. “We had to go. We left her. Meanwhile, the flare had awakened magic within Hiromi and pulled her back from death, but her little girl didn’t survive. When we came back after the flare, she had woven a cocoon within the store. Before she left, she warned us that everyone would pay.”
I had this sick cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew exactly how this story would end.
“She remembered everyone who’d passed by her as she lay dying and didn’t stop to help,” Mr. Komatsu said. “On the one-year anniversary of her child’s death, a mark and a note appeared on the door of the first family. Hiromi demanded a sacrifice: One member of the family had to go to her so she could . . . feed. If someone volunteered, the rest of the family would be left alone. They ignored it at first. Three days later she took the family.”
“The families put together our money and hired the Mercenary Guild,” August’s mother murmured. “She killed them. Nobody would help us after that.”
If only I could speak. They had let this monster terrorize them. They didn’t ask for help. They could’ve gone to the Order, they could’ve gone to the cops. They could’ve gone to the Pack—August was a shapeshifter, after all, and his family was in danger. But they didn’t, because everyone was too ashamed to admit that they had let a young woman and her child die alone on the street in plain view. They just took their punishment, paid their blood debt, and lived with guilt. It was the old honorable way and it cost them so many lives.
August’s mother kept talking. “She is growing stronger and stronger. She has turned her cat into a
I’d guessed as much.
“I said I should go.” August’s grandmother drew herself upright. “I’m old. I’ve lived long enough.”
“We argued about it,” August’s mother said. “While we argued, August decided that nobody should go. He went to meet Hiromi himself.” Her voice broke and she closed her eyes.
August had died for them. For his family. The first son of the new generation, the heir to the family. They had lost their future and they were crushed.
Because August had disobeyed and fought, Hiromi had toyed with him. She must’ve infected him somehow, and he brought her magic with him to the shapeshifter office. Jim was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now she wanted him. Well, she couldn’t have him. He was mine.
Mr. Komatsu rose and put his arms around his sister. “We don’t know what happened between Hiromi and my nephew. We found August’s body on our doorstep. He was drained. His corpse, it was devoid of all liquid. We buried him. The mark has disappeared from our door. We cannot help you. Now leave us in peace so we can grieve.”
I rose and walked out, leaving the shards of a broken family behind me. I felt sick, but I finally knew what my enemy was.
I STOOD NEXT to my mother by the kitchen window. Through it, I could see the garden and Jim by the tree. It had taken eight hours for Keong Emas to mature and every hour had added years to Jim’s face. His beautiful skin looked dull, as if rubbed with ash. Puffy circles clutched at his eyes. He looked exhausted, drained, like a man who had spent a decade working in some hellish mine. Only the eyes remained the same: sharp, dangerous eyes, backlit from within by a lethal green glow. He had the will to live, but no strength to keep going.
He was dying.
Poor Jim. My poor, poor Jim.
My mother pursed her lips. “It’s not too late to let him go.”
“It is.”
“Your magic will not work on her. She is an insect demon.”
Arachnid, actually. “I have a plan, Mother.”
My mother turned to me slowly. Her lip trembled.
Oh my gods.
She hugged me, clenching me to her. “My brave baby, you’re the only one I have. The only one. My precious one, my sweet daughter. You’re my everything. I’m begging you, please, please, let him go.”
I smelled tears and I knew she was crying, and then I cried, too. “I can’t, Mother. I love him so much. I just
