LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Going somewhere, Yumeko-chan?”

      “Um...” I stammered, rubbing the back of my head. Master Isao wasn’t a large man; thin and spindly, he stood a head shorter than me when he was wearing his wooden geta clogs. But no one in the temple was more respected, and no one had such control over his ki as Master Isao. I’d seen him chop a tree in half with a flick of his hand, and punch a giant boulder into rubble. He was the undisputed master of the Silent Winds temple, able to quiet a room of strong-willed ki practitioners just by appearing. Though he never raised his voice or appeared angry; the harshest expression I’d ever seen him make was a mild frown, and that had been terrifying.

      “Ano...” I stammered again, as his bushy eyebrows rose in patient amusement. No use in lying, Master Isao always knew everything about everything. “I was...going to visit the monkey family in the forest, Master Isao,” I confessed, figuring that was the least of my crimes. I wasn’t exactly forbidden to leave the temple grounds, but the monks certainly didn’t like it when I did. The amount of chores, training and duties they imposed on me when I was awake indicated that they tried to keep me busy whenever possible. The only free time I could get was usually stolen, like today.

      Master Isao only smiled. “Ah. Monkeys. Well, I am afraid your friends will have to wait a bit, Yumeko-chan,” he said, not sounding angry or surprised at all. “I must borrow your time for a moment. Please, follow me.”

      He turned and started around the pond, heading toward the temple. I dusted off my sleeves and fell into step behind him, down the bamboo trail dappled by sun and green shadows, past the singing stones where the breeze hummed playfully through the holes worn into the rocks, and over the red arched bridge that spanned the stream. A drab brown bird flitted to the branches of a juniper tree, puffed out its chest and filled the air with the beautiful, warbling song of a nightingale. I whistled back at him, and he gave me an indignant look before darting into the leaves.

      The trees opened up, the foliage falling away, as we walked past the tiny rock garden with its meticulously raked sand, and up the steps of the temple. As we entered the dim, cool hall, I spotted Nitoru glaring at me across the room, and dared a cheeky wave, knowing he would not approach while I was with Master Isao. I’d probably be sweeping the steps until next winter, but the look on the monk’s face was worth it.

      Master Isao led me through several narrow hallways, passing individual rooms on either side, until he slid back a door panel and motioned me through. I stepped into a familiar room, small and neat, empty but for a large standing mirror on the opposite wall and a hanging wall scroll beside it. The scroll depicted a massive dragon soaring over a raging sea, and a tiny boat tossed by the waves beneath it.

      I masked a sigh. I’d been in this room a few times before, and the ritual that followed was always the same. Knowing what Master Isao wanted, I walked lightly across the tatami mats and knelt in front of the mirror, the only one in the entire temple. Master Isao followed and settled himself beside it facing me, his hands in his lap. For a moment, he sat there, eyes serene, though it felt like his gaze passed right through me to the wall behind my head.

      “What do you see?” he asked, as he always did.

      I looked at the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me, a slight girl of sixteen winters, straight black hair falling, unbound, to the center of her back. She wore straw sandals, a white sash and a short crimson kimono that was tattered in places, especially the long, billowy sleeves. Her hands were grubby from kneeling at the pond talking to the fish, and dirt stained her knees and face. At first glance, she looked like a ragged but perfectly normal peasant girl, perhaps a fisherman’s or farmer’s waif, kneeling on the floor of the temple.

      If you didn’t happen to notice the bushy orange tail, peeking out from behind her robes. And the large, triangular, black-tipped ears poking up from the top of her skull. And the glowing golden eyes that very clearly marked her as not normal, not human at all.

      “I see myself, Master Isao,” I said, wondering if, this time, it was the right answer. “In my true form. Without illusion or barrier. I see a kitsune.”

      Kitsune. Fox. Or half kitsune, more accurately. Wild kitsune, the foxes that roamed the hidden places of Iwagoto, were masters of illusion magic and shapeshifting. While it was true that some kitsune chose to live as normal wild animals, all foxes possessed magic. Kitsune were yokai, creatures of the supernatural. One of their favorite tricks was to take human form—usually in the guise of a beautiful woman—and lure men astray. To the naked eye, I was an ordinary human girl; no tail, pointed ears or yellow eyes. Only in front of mirrors and reflective surfaces was my true nature revealed. Lacquered tables, still water, even the edge of a blade. I had to be very careful where I stood and what I was around, lest an acute observer notice the reflection on the surface did not quite match the girl in front of it.

      Or so the monks warned me. They all knew what I was, and made certain to remind me of it often. Half-blood, demon child, fox girl: phrases that were part of my everyday life. Not that any of the monks were cruel or heartless, just practical. I was kitsune, something not quite human, and they saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

      I glanced at Master Isao, wondering if he would tell me anything different this time, any hint of what he really wanted me to say. We’d played the what do you see? game numerous times in the past, and none of my answers—be they human, demon, fox or fish—seemed to satisfy him, because I’d always find myself right back here, staring at the kitsune in the mirror.

      “How are your lessons progressing?” Master Isao went on, giving no indication that he’d heard my answer, or if it was the right one. I very seriously doubted it.

      “Fine, Master Isao.”

      “Show me.”

      I hesitated, casting about for a suitable target. There weren’t many to be found. The mirror, perhaps. Or the wall scroll. But I had already used both in the past, and Master Isao wouldn’t be impressed with the same tricks over and over again. This, too, was a game we’d played often.

      I spotted a yellow maple leaf, caught on the end of my sleeve, and grinned.

      Picking it up, I twirled it between fingers and thumb, then carefully put it on my head. Kitsune magic needed an anchor, something of the natural world, to build an illusion around. There were stories of very old, very powerful kitsune who could weave illusions out of thin air, but I needed something to attach the magic to. Focal point in place, I half closed my eyes and called on my powers.

      Since before I could remember, magic had come naturally to me, a gift from the yokai side of the family, I was told. Even when I was a toddler, I had shown impressive talent for it, floating little balls of kitsune-bi, the heatless, blue-white foxfire, through the halls of the temple. As I’d gotten older and my magic had grown, a few of the monks thought Master Isao should put a binding on me, sealing away my power so I wouldn’t hurt anyone, or myself. Wild kitsune were notorious troublemakers. They weren’t inherently malicious, but their “pranks” could range from merely annoying—stealing food or hiding small items—to truly dangerous: spooking a horse on a narrow mountain path, or leading someone deep into a marsh or forest, never to be seen again. Better that I didn’t have that temptation, at least according to Denga and a few others. But the master of the Silent Winds temple had adamantly refused. Fox magic was part of a kitsune’s life, he said, something as natural as sleeping or breathing. To deny it would do more harm than good.

      Instead, I practiced my magic every day with a monk called Satoshi, in the hopes that I would learn to control my fox-given talent, and not the other way around. The monks had been skeptical at first, but I knew Master Isao trusted that I would not use my powers for mischief, so I tried not to give in to temptation. Even though some days it was very hard not to disguise the cat as a teapot, or to make a closed door look open, or to turn a log invisible in front of the steps. Fox magic was nothing but illusion and trickery, Denga-san had seethed on more than one occasion, usually on the tail end of a prank. Nothing useful could ever come of it.

      That might be true, I thought, as the heat of the fox magic rose up inside me.

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