Thomas Randall - Spirits of the Noh

The Hannya. Really, it made a weird kind of sense. Unintended ritual had summoned Kyuketsuki, beginning with the murder of Akane, followed by Sakura’s rage and grief and Ume’s guilt. Then the curse of Kyuketsuki had called out to the lingering remnants of ancient evil in Japan and focused its attention on her, Sakura, and Miho. The curse had made them a kind of magnet. The Hannya would likely come for her and Sakura eventually, but for the moment it seemed to be following its own instincts, which was to prey upon those who’d summoned it-the Noh club. Miho met both criteria, so she was doubly in danger.

Kara set her glass down on the counter, frowning. Those who’d summoned it. Miss Aritomo had chosen the play to begin with. She would be in danger as well.

Something had to be done. The trouble was that they had no proof of anything-no evidence that Daisuke and Wakana had not run away, or that the Hannya existed. The only reason that Kara even knew the story was because Miss Aritomo had chosen Dojoji for her first Noh production at the school. Even then, Kara probably never would have read the play itself except that she and Sakura had thought it would make a good manga and had started to do the research to prepare.

No one would believe them. But in Sakura and Miho’s room-with Hachiro watching for her father’s car down in the lobby-Kara and the girls had agreed on a course of action. Ever since, she had been trying to think of another plan, but they weren’t characters in a manga-schoolgirls turned demon hunters or something. The Hannya was real, and none of them wanted to meet it face-to-face.

Just do it, she thought. Follow the plan.

With a sigh, she rinsed her glass and left it in the sink, crossing the darkened kitchen and living room.

Step one.

As Kara entered his room, her father looked up from making notes on a pad. He seemed surprised to see her there, and that made her sad and frustrated with him all over again.

“What is it, honey?” he asked in Japanese.

“Something happened tonight,” she replied.

His eyes widened as he sat up, and she knew all sorts of unpleasant things must be rushing through his head. Had Hachiro done something to her? Had she and the girls gotten into trouble?

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Kara smiled. Whatever else she might be feeling toward her father, she knew he loved her.

“Home safe and sound, as you can see,” she said. Then she grew serious. “But Miho almost didn’t make it home. After she came here looking for me, someone followed her, Dad. Somebody chased her. If Hachiro and I hadn’t been out in front of the dorm, whoever it was might have gotten her.”

For several seconds, his expression was immobile. Granite. Then he slid out of bed, came over to her, kissed her forehead, and held her close. Kara wanted to pull away-the two of them still had things to work out-but now wasn’t the time.

“That’s why you needed a ride home?”

She nodded.

“Did Miho get a look at the person chasing her?”

“Not a good one,” Kara replied.

Her father took a deep breath and went to his window. From there he could see the pagoda shape of the school in the distance.

“Miho’s in the Noh club,” she went on. “So were Daisuke and Wakana.”

“You’re suggesting they didn’t run away.”

Kara stared at his back. “Do you think they did?”

“Not anymore.”

Even as he turned toward her, he picked up the phone and began to dial.

For three days in the middle of August, the spirits of the dead returned to Japanese households to spend time with their ancestors-at least, according to the Buddhist festival of Obon. Kara didn’t pretend to understand the significance of this, but she tried. Some Buddhists-mostly older people-seemed truly to believe that the spirits of their ancestors came to visit them, but for the most part Obon seemed to have taken on a more secular presence in local culture. In other words, to a lot of people, it was all about the pretty lights.

Not that she was making any judgments. The idea of ghosts hanging out in the house for a few days seemed creepy enough to her even before factoring in the family reunion element. Granted, she would have loved to believe that her mother’s spirit could be there with her, sharing space, watching over her. It warmed her heart to think of it. But her father’s mother had been a cranky, hateful old woman who complained all the time, bossed people around, and had clammy hands. She’d smelled weird, too. No way did Kara want her ghost hanging around.

On the last day of Obon, tradition required that paper lanterns be lit and floated on water, usually down a river or stream. This was called toro nagashi. Similar rituals were performed at other times-in Hiroshima, for instance, on the anniversary of the day the United States dropped an atomic bomb on the city. But despite the ghosts that were involved, the lantern festival was usually not such a grim affair.

Miyazu City was widely acknowledged to have the greatest toro nagashi festival in the country, complete with spectacular fireworks. For the most part, it seemed like a big party to her. Ten thousand paper lanterns in varying colors would be set adrift in the bay, floating gently out to sea as the sun set. The lanterns represented the ghosts of dead ancestors, returning to the spirit world after their three-day visit. People gathered all up and down the beach on Ama-no-Hashidate to watch. Musicians played. Kids splashed in the water. Under normal circumstances, Kara would have been happy and excited. But after what she and her friends had been through, an undercurrent of unease flowed just beneath the surface of every moment.

Her father hated the idea of her being out after dark, but just for this night, he had made an exception. For the most part, she would be on the beach with thousands of other people, and on the way home, she’d be walking with her friends, and she’d promised to be home no later than ten p.m., and earlier if possible.

But all that was for later. Right now, she sat on a straw mat on the beach, drinking flavored water and listening to the thunderous boom of the five guys who had set up taiko drums and were performing kumi-daiko, drumming as an ensemble. The sound got deep into her brain, thundered off the inside of her chest, and it made her feel remarkably there, in the moment, swallowed by Japan. Kara loved the drums, but was glad they weren’t any closer. The kumi-daiko guys would have drummed her right off the beach, they were so loud.

Vendors sold sweet cakes, drinks, all kinds of noodles, fried squid, and octopus dumplings. The fried squid were a bit chewy, but the octopus dumplings were astonishingly tasty, like the best sushi.

“Maybe we should talk about the plan,” Hachiro suggested as he plopped a dumpling into his mouth. A bit of something stuck to his lip and he licked it off, looking lovably silly.

Kara smiled. “Let’s wait for the others. Talk to me.”

“About what?” he asked, chewing.

“Anything,” she said, frowning. You’re my boyfriend, she wanted to say. We’re supposed to be able to talk. But that would be unfair. She and Hachiro could talk about anything and nothing with equal enthusiasm, and she never felt awkward with him. Well, almost never-whenever questions arose about where their relationship would lead, things got uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s sort of hard to think about anything else right now. When your girlfriend has a curse hanging over her head, other things don’t mean very much.”

Kara felt a warm happiness blossom in her chest. “Well done. Most guys can’t come up with that kind of spin so quickly.”

“I mean it,” Hachiro protested.

“I know you do. I’m teasing. Seriously, though. Talk about baseball. How are the Red Sox doing?”