A Mortal Song (21 page)

And we still didn’t know what Omori was truly after.

“Maybe,” I said tentatively, “we should also try to learn more about Omori as he was before he died. At Chiyo’s house we didn’t have time to do very much searching, and we weren’t even sure yet we had the right man.”

Chiyo’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! We could go back home. I could—”

“No,” Takeo said firmly. “Omori will definitely have ghosts watching that place, especially now that they know we’re back in Tokyo.”

Chiyo opened her mouth, and then stopped and looked at her hands—the hands that had failed to hold a simple ball of ki for more than the length of a breath.

“Right,” she said. “And if they caught me with my parents, they might attack Mom and Dad too. So we could find an internet cafe instead. There are tons of those around the city. We won’t have to go far.”

“And if we see any ghosts, we can run straight back to the protections of the shrine,” I said. I would have offered to go alone, but I’d never used a computer before. I didn’t even know what an internet cafe looked like. And from Takeo’s frown, I doubted he’d have liked the idea of me wandering the city alone either. “We have to find out more about Omori,” I went on. “Either the information will help us understand what he wants and what tactics he might use next, or... or maybe it’ll lead us to someone who knew him, who could tell us those things. Keiji’s brother came to him—Omori might have visited
his
family since his death, told them what he was doing. We’ll be so much better prepared if we can predict his next move.”

Takeo sighed, and I knew I’d pushed the right button. “We would,” he agreed. “All right. But please, be careful.”

“Of course,” Chiyo said, linking her arm around mine with a renewed smile. Haru stepped forward, but before he even spoke, she reached up to give his shoulder a playful push. “You go rest some more. You need it even more than I do. I’ve already had to save you once.”

“Sorry,” he said, wincing.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Those ghosts got me too, didn’t they?” She let go of me long enough to give him a quick kiss.

“Okay,” I said when she rejoined me. “Let’s see if we can turn the tables on this Kenta Omori.”

* * *

T
he shrine’s
forest had blocked out all sight and sound of the city around it. I’d almost forgotten we were still in the middle of Tokyo until we stepped past the gate onto the bustling sidewalk. People were peering through store windows, ambling in and out of restaurants, and crowding the intersections. The trill of bicycle bells and the rumble of engines filled the air. Traffic lights glared and advertisement screens flashed. With the sun beating down on my head, a wave of dizziness washed over me.

Chiyo sauntered forward, apparently undisturbed by the hustle and the noise, but after several steps her legs wobbled, and she caught herself against a signpost.

“Chiyo!” I said, but she waved my concern away.

“I just have to stretch these muscles a bit,” she said with her usual cheer. My stomach remained knotted as we continued down the street at a slower pace.

Chiyo stopped once to paw through a rack of dresses by a shop door, and again to ogle a display of silver jewelry. I suppressed my impatience, suspecting that she was pausing not so much out of idleness as to rest her feet. My gaze slid over the display and caught on a charm shaped like a streaming kite. Glinting in the sunlight, it looked almost like the one I’d made from ki for Takeo in our last little game. Or the one he’d made for Chiyo, or the one
she’d
made this morning. That shape wasn’t mine anymore.

“You want to get something?” Chiyo asked. “I picked up a ton of cash from the shrine—they had a huge box for offerings in front of the altar. We can use it for train tickets and amulets and all that, but we should be able to have a bit of fun too.” She pushed a wad of bills into my hand.

“But... it’s shrine money,” I said, my fingers curling around the textured paper. Offerings to the kami didn’t include me.

“It was,” Chiyo said. “And then it was mine, and now it’s yours. Even if you don’t buy anything now, we should all have some on us for emergencies, right?”

That made sense. I shoved the money into my satchel.

On the next block, Chiyo nudged me and pointed upward. A sign protruding from the second floor of a building up ahead read,
High speed internet
.

We squeezed up a narrow flight of stairs beside the first floor shoe store. An erratic beat filtered down to us, threaded with a winding, dipping melody. As we emerged into the cool artificial-smelling blast of air conditioning at the top of the stairs, my body swayed with the music, drawing resolve from the rhythm.

Bright orange paint covered the room’s walls, broken by posters of cartoon figures, hulking beasts, and soaring spacecraft. Several customers, most of them our age or a little younger, clustered around a few of the flat-screen monitors on the tables that lined both sides of the room.

As we approached the front counter, the floor jumped and rattled beneath us. I grabbed Chiyo’s arm, keeping us both balanced until the tiny quake faded.

“Another one,” the thinly bearded man behind the counter said, eyeing the ground uneasily. “All these tremors and a rainy season with no rain—I don’t care what they say on the news, it’s kind of freaking me out. And now there’s that gigantic typhoon that looks to be brewing near Okinawa. Crazy summer, isn’t it?”

Okinawa—the Nagamotos had talked about their son heading there on vacation. But of course, Omori didn’t care any more about that than he did about the forests and farms dying or the fire growing in Mt. Fuji. My hands clenched.

“It has been,” Chiyo said. “Can we get on one computer?”

“Sure. 300 yen for fifteen minutes, 500 for half an hour.” The guy tapped the glass-doored fridge behind him with his heel. “There’s water, tea, and soft drinks if you want.”

“Thanks.” Chiyo handed over a few bills from her wad of cash. She tugged me to a computer in the far corner, away from the window overlooking the street. “Don’t want any spooks spotting us while we’re busy,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, let’s do some digging. Who do you think Omori would be talking to?”

“If anyone, his family?” I suggested. “Or maybe—he seems to still have ties to the yakuza, so someone who was part of his gang?”

“I’ll start with the wife,” Chiyo said, typing into the search box.

“I might have her name in that article we printed,” I said. By the time I’d pulled it out of my pocket, Chiyo already had a page of results in front of her. She clicked on one of the links.

“Hey, this is kind of sweet,” she said. “He organized and paid for a bunch of workers to bring supplies to Sendai after the big earthquake, and he dedicated the emergency aid effort to his wife. Emiko. Maybe we can find out where she’s living now.”

Why would someone who’d once tried to save people from natural disasters now be causing them without a care? Maybe he’d never cared, only put on a show to cover up his criminal activities?

I glanced at the print-out I’d unfolded in my lap, and all those thoughts fled my mind.

The papers were smudged from my first charcoal-drawn ofuda, and somewhere along the line they’d gotten a little damp, so the edges of the image had run. But Omori still grinned at me with that warm blast of a smile, and beside him his wife...

…looked shockingly familiar.

“I don’t think Emiko Omori is living anywhere right now,” I said, setting the pages on the table between us. “She’s dead.”

“
W
hat
?” Chiyo said, peering at the printed photo. “How do you know?”

Those soft eyes, that gentle mouth—I couldn’t have forgotten them if I’d wanted to. “When we were trapped in the keep…” I said. “There’s this sparrow that’s been following Takeo and me since we left Mt. Fuji. It has a spirit in it. She appeared to me for a moment. It was Mrs. Omori—she looked a little older than here, but I’m sure it was her.”

Chiyo’s eyebrows leapt up. “The ghost of Omori’s wife has been following you? That doesn’t sound good.”

“I don’t think she’s on his side,” I said. “If it wasn’t for her help, I wouldn’t have been able to escape. And...” The horrified expression she’d made when I’d suggested she was working with the other ghosts. “Maybe she doesn’t agree with what he’s doing. Maybe she’s scared of him. He wasn’t a demon when she married him.” Seeing us escaping Mt. Fuji, she must have assumed Takeo and I were her best chance to see him overthrown. “She couldn’t exactly explain. Someone had cut out her tongue.”

“Yikes,” Chiyo said, wincing. “That sounds like a yakuza move. They can be really vicious.” Her fingers flitted over the keyboard again. “Emiko Omori, death... Oh.”

Prominent Tokyo businessman and family slain in daytime attack
.

“This is from an independent paper,” Chiyo said. “They’re less scared of talking about yakuza stuff.”

My stomach twisted as we read through the article Chiyo had found.

“It sounds like Omori was in with the yakuza big time,” Chiyo said after a moment, her tone more subdued than usual. “Probably just below the big boss of his syndicate.”

“But why would someone have killed his wife and children too?” I said. I swallowed thickly, still feeling sick, though few details of the deaths had been given. It was the housekeeper who’d called the police after finding the bodies. The attackers had left no one in the house alive. “It says none of the yakuza groups would take responsibility for his death.”

“Look.” Chiyo pointed to a paragraph farther down. “The writer thinks that because Omori’s syndicate didn’t step up and take anyone down afterward, they might have killed him themselves. Maybe he did something that made the head boss angry. But wow, being murdered by your own colleagues—I bet his plans now have something to do with that. I’ve heard that ghosts can get stuck on whatever they were feeling right before they died. Like, this girl who drowned herself because her boyfriend cheated on her, her ghost could only think about how betrayed she was, nothing else. If that’s true for demons too, Omori could be stuck on that betrayal. Maybe he’s bringing back ghosts from all the other syndicates to get back at his own.”

“Keiji said something about that,” I said, ignoring the twinge that came with the memory. “That a person could become a demon if they were so angry when they died that it consumed them.”

“There!” Chiyo said. “That’s got to be it.”

“But how does Mt. Fuji fit in?” I said. “Why wait until Obon when he already has so many spirits with him? He doesn’t need kami to get revenge on the people who killed him and his family—he could murder any of them
himself
if that was all he wanted.”

We scrolled through several more pages of search results, but none told us any more details about the circumstances around Omori’s death. Chiyo sat back in her chair and sighed. “Well, we can’t ask his wife what he’s thinking, but maybe he
has
been in touch with someone he worked with—someone still alive.”

“But the articles don’t give the names of any of his yakuza coworkers,” I said. “And even if we found some out, we don’t know who might have been involved in
murdering
him. What are they going to do to us if we start asking questions?”

“I can take on any yakuza jerk,” Chiyo declared, but I remembered how she’d faltered on the way here. She wasn’t even strong enough to walk at full power yet.

If only we had something to direct us... Or someone. My gazed darted to the window, seeking a small, feathered form. I didn’t see the sparrow, but she’d stuck close to us every step of the way before now. She had to be nearby.

“Omori’s wife might not be able to tell us anything, but maybe she could point us in the right direction,” I said, standing up.

We hurried down the stairs and back along the street the way we’d come. “Emiko!” Chiyo called out, drawing a few stares. “Emiko, we need to talk to you!”

We’d just come into sight of the shrine gates when a brown shape fluttered over them. “There she is,” I said, my heart leaping. The sparrow landed on a window frame beside us and bobbed its head.

For a second, I had trouble finding words. “You’re Omori’s wife,” I said. It gazed back at me, its black eyes glinting. “You helped me before,” I went on. “Now... we want to understand everything we can about what Omori wants with Mt. Fuji, what’s driving him... If there’s anything you can show us that might give us some answers, we’d be incredibly grateful.”

The sparrow bobbed its head. Then it chirped and glided across the street to a telephone pole on the opposite corner.

“Do you think she understood?” Chiyo asked.

“We’d better go with her and find out,” I said.

I was worried Chiyo wouldn’t be able to handle an extended walk, but we’d only gone a couple of blocks before the sparrow veered into a small train station building. It tapped a spot on a route map by the ticket vending machines, and Chiyo bought our tickets.

The train rumbled south for twenty minutes before we got off. The sparrow rejoined us and led us down a series of broad streets between towering apartment buildings in shades of ivory and peach. “Pretty posh neighborhood,” Chiyo said.

She’d paused for a moment to catch her breath when the sound of piano notes drifted from a second floor balcony door. The player stumbled, and the music cut off with a mumbled curse. Chiyo gazed up toward the apartment, her fingers moving against her hip. Her face had taken on an oddly melancholy cast.

I thought of the piano in the Ikedas’ living room. The one she might never play again.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t go see your parents,” I offered. “It must be hard.”

She pulled her eyes away. “Takeo was right. And I can call them again tonight. They know I’m okay, and I know they’re okay. That’s what really matters.”

But then, as we followed the sparrow around a bend, she wiped the sweat from her forehead and said, “This probably sounds silly, but... my other parents, the ones on Mt. Fuji—I keep trying to picture them, but I don’t know anything about them really. Not even what they look like.”

Because I’d tried so hard to avoid talking about them with her. An ache swelled in my chest as I finally let the jumble of memories rise up.

“Your mother is tall and thin and graceful, and very beautiful,” I said slowly. “She’s kind and calm. And very smart. Whenever there’s a disagreement among the kami, she sees the best way to solve it so everyone’s satisfied. And she has the most lovely voice when she sings.” A voice that still echoed in my head. “Your father is large in presence and in body, tall but broad, like Fuji itself. He has this way of making everyone who talks to him feel as though they’re the most important person in the world, and he can’t stand to see a single kami mistreated. When he laughs, you can hear him right across the palace. Everyone looks up to both of them—that’s why they were chosen to lead.” I hesitated. “I’m sure they can’t wait to meet you.”

Chiyo lowered her gaze. “You didn’t have any idea either, did you? That they weren’t
your
real parents.”

The ache rose up. It took me a moment to answer. “No.”

“Well,” Chiyo said, “you should know that your actual parents are great people too. They did everything right for me—always looking out for me, but never too bossy or strict. I think you’ll be really happy with them after all this is finished.”

She beamed at me, but I’d heard the hint of a quaver in her voice. An uncomfortable sort of acceptance opened inside me as I looked back at her.

She might have taken my life, but I had also taken hers. And even if her cheerful nature was too ingrained for her to acknowledge it, I wasn’t the only one missing the home I’d thought was mine.

The sparrow swooped right past my face, jerking me from my thoughts. It alighted over the front door of a pale yellow apartment building. When Chiyo and I pushed into the entryway, it fluttered in after us and pecked one of the entries on the list of apartment numbers. Kobayashi.

“That name came up in one of the articles,” I said to Chiyo. “Omori’s housekeeper, I think. It’s a common name, but why else would his wife have brought us here?”

“Not quite as exciting as a gangster,” Chiyo said.

She pushed the button beside the name. After a moment, a slightly hollow voice came through the speaker. “Yes?”

“We’re here to see Mrs. Kobayashi,” Chiyo said.

“Who is this?”

“It’ll be easier to explain in person,” Chiyo replied.

Her upbeat tone must have eased the woman’s concerns, because the inner door buzzed. The sparrow didn’t follow as we headed across the gleaming floor of the lobby to the elevator.

When we emerged into a hallway, I could see the door of one apartment standing ajar. A wiry middle-aged woman with brown-tinted hair peered around it.

“Are you the ones who buzzed?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Chiyo said with that brilliant smile of hers. “We need your help.”

“My help?”

Chiyo nodded. “We’d really like to speak with you.”

The hallway was empty, but there was no telling who was home behind the other doors. “The subject is a little private,” I said. “Could we talk inside?”

Mrs. Kobayashi looked from one of us to the other and seemed to evaluate us as nonthreatening enough. “Well, I won’t make you stand out here,” she said. “Come in.”

Though the building’s lobby and halls had been elegantly decorated, the living room Mrs. Kobayashi led us into was plain, furnished with only a tan rug, a cushioned bench, and two wooden chairs. Chiyo and I sat down on the bench. “So,” the woman said as she sank onto one of the chairs, “what is this about?”

“We need to know about Kenta Omori,” Chiyo said. “You were his housekeeper, right?”

The woman’s hands twisted together in her lap. “Kenta Omori?” she said. “I don’t believe I know that name.”

“I’m pretty sure you do,” Chiyo said. “It would be hard to explain how we ended up here, but you don’t need to worry—we aren’t yakuza or anything. We just want to know a little more about him.”

She was smiling away, as if we weren’t asking about a criminal’s murder. “Chiyo,” I said, and she blinked at me, oblivious.

Mrs. Kobayashi was getting up, her lips pressed flat. In a second, she’d tell us to leave. Maybe she thought we were thrill-seekers or gossipmongers, or worse, that we really were associated with Omori’s former gang. She had no reason to trust Chiyo, especially when Chiyo was treating the whole situation so casually. Why couldn’t Chiyo see that?

Because she was kami. She didn’t know any approach other than her constant cheerful confidence. Eager as
I
was to find out what this woman could tell us, I was human enough to be able to hide it.

“Now, I think you should—” Mrs. Kobayashi started.

I stood up quickly, pulling Chiyo with me. “Excuse my friend,” I said, bowing. “I didn’t explain to her just how serious this matter is. She means no disrespect.”

“Of course I don’t want to be disrespectful,” Chiyo said. “I was only—”

I caught her gaze. “I think it’d be better if just one of us talked. Could you wait for me in the lobby?”

She hesitated, her brow knitting, but her good-naturedness overrode her confusion. “Well, this
was
your idea. Don’t take too long!”

When the door had closed behind her, I turned back to Mrs. Kobayashi. She was braced in front of her chair, her expression uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this must be difficult to talk about. We didn’t mean to scare you. She... she doesn’t think sometimes.”

Well, she did. She just thought like a kami.

“I don’t believe I can help you,” Mrs. Kobayashi said stiffly, but she didn’t move.

If it were me, asked by a stranger to bring up horrible memories, what would convince me to agree? Unbidden, my mind slipped back to the slash of the ogre’s claw across my throat. A shiver ran through me. But despite that fear, I was still fighting. Because I’d known I could make a difference between so many other people living or dying.

“Mrs. Kobayashi,” I said, “I am very, very sorry to ask you to remember what must have been a deeply disturbing time. But it’s important for me to know everything I can about Kenta Omori and his death. His spirit... It hasn’t settled. He’s already hurt people I care about. You’ve felt the tremors, noticed the heat, the lack of rain? It’s all because of him and what he’s been doing. I need your help to make sure he doesn’t cause an even worse disaster.”

I kept my eyes fixed on hers, hoping she would accept my explanation. Praying she had enough belief in the spirit world to think it was possible.

“Causing a disaster?” she said, her forehead furrowing. “That doesn’t sound like Mr. Omori.”

“I came here with the guidance of other spirits who want to stop him,” I said. What else could I use to convince her? I paused. She’d been the one to find the bodies. We both knew things that hadn’t been reported in the newspapers. “It was Mrs. Omori’s spirit, actually, who brought me. I’ve seen her. I know what they did to her tongue.”

Mrs. Kobayashi flinched. She stared at me, speechless.

“Please,” I said. “Anything you can tell me.”

She drew in a breath and exhaled in a rush. “All right,” she said. She lowered herself into her chair. Her hair shadowed her face. “I worked for the Omoris for seven years. There are many things I could say that I can’t imagine would be relevant. What do you want to know exactly?”

“What was important to him?” I said. “What did he want to accomplish? What did he care about the most?”

“Well, that... I assume from your friend’s comments that you know the sort of connections he had?”