Page 32 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

“Their hearts are jittery, as though full of”—the man pauses for emphasis—“coffee.” He makes it sound like coffee is a sacred tonic, not mass-produced by Folgers. “I stir these sorts of mortals up so they are fully themselves.” His eyes slice over to me. “You are one of them. Perhaps that is why you saved my box.”

“Don’t think so,” I say sharply. I don’t like people telling me what I am. I don’t need anyone else’s opinion on the matter. “I was cooped up from being on the bus, went for a walk, and picked up the box on the way.”

“You lie,” the man hisses. “You were injured on my behalf.” I glance sidelong at Violet. I’m surprised to find she’s staring at me, not this one-ring circus in front of us. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and it makes me uneasy. “Oh, this is outrageous. A god never needs the help of an impertinent mortal. I was merely napping. I would’ve fetched the box before we left, no help needed from you.”

“Napping, huh?” I ask. “Since when do naps start with a blow from a billy club?”

“Since when do stupid immortal boys think they understand a god’s slumber?” To his credit, the guy sufficiently mimics my tone, adding a singsong note that makes it extra-insulting. “Now. I shall give you tea tomorrow.”

“Sounds great,” I say. “Tea it is.”

I wonder if things are actually shaking out in the right direction somehow. This guy—god—seems to think he owes me something, just as I hoped. Well, tomorrow I’m going to tell him it’ll take more than tea to make us square.

“Wonderful,” Violet interjects. “We’d love to have tea.”

Apparently, she’s joining us. She bows deeply in reverence. I’m not sure what her angle is, but holy shit, I can tell she has one. I wonder if she has the same plan I do. She needs her father here. Maybe this guy can help us both…and then maybe we can pick up where we left off before he showed up as the God of Pleasure Prevention.

“You’d be most welcome, wise mortal girl,” he says. “Perhaps you can teach your companion how to act in the presence of the divine.”

“I’ll try, but it might be difficult,” Violet says, and her gaze falls on me. Her eyes flash deviously, and I realize she’s teasing me. I shuffle, hating how she always seems two steps ahead of me. All right, if I’m honest I kind of love it. I think what I really hate is knowing her attention is a time bomb. It’s just a matter of when it detonates and she decides to have nothing to do with me.

“Come to my chambers tomorrow,” the god says.

“Your chambers?” I eye him doubtfully. “You got the penthouse suite here?”

“Not quite.” His lips purse in a pout. Dolefully, he says, “Block three, barrack two, apartment four. I shall give you tea. Once I do, our entanglement shall be dissolved.”

With that, he turns on his heel, his black hair swaying with every step. Yeah, I’m going to want a lot more than just petits fours and Earl Grey from him.

“Wait!” Violet calls. He doesn’t stop. “What’s your name?”

“You may call me Akira.” His words are carried on a hot breeze as he stalks away, disappearing around the warehouse’s corner.

For a moment, we stare after him. Then we look at each other. I feel the same awe I see in Violet’s eyes. The guy is a god. We’re going to have tea with him tomorrow.

“Akira…” Violet repeats his name. “Can you believe it? He’s a god, Ren. A god.”

“Maybe you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking,” I say. “There’s gotta be a way to get Akira to help us, right? Make sure Emi is okay. Get your father here.”

Violet leans toward me, as though we’re in some sort of conspiracy together. Her eyes were flashing with wonder but now they flash with an intensity that steals my breath.

“Yes.” Her hand is suddenly on my arm, her fingers insistent and present. I almost glance down but she’s so close, I can’t tear my eyes from hers. I also can’t seem to fully breathe. “Maybe if we help him or give him something, he’ll help us in return. He doesn’t seem like the type to give blessings easily.” I think about Akira’s distress at being indebted to me. My hand travels to my fox, recalling his fixation on it. If he wants it, then maybe I have everything I need. Violet glances at the sky. “Oh, for the love of Sam Hill. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten. I need to hurry back. Mama gets upset if I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”

“I can walk you over,” I say. “Carry your laundry.”

For a moment, she hesitates. I wait, wondering if she doesn’t want her mother to see us together. I think about the kiss we almost shared. What in the hell did it mean? Did she just get carried away? One minute she was angry at me for implying she was innocent—which is exactly what I was implying—and the next she had the devil’s glint in her eye and a hungry look on her face, one that knocked the sense right out of me. She’s a slugger in more ways than one. If she ever gives me that look again, she’ll have me down for the count.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you did” is all she says.

I nod and bend down to grab her laundry satchel. It’s way heavier than ours ever is. I don’t mind, though. I lift it back onto my good shoulder.

She leads the way into the main part of camp. It’s loud around us, with mess hall bells ringing for dinner and hungry, hot, irritable people streaming down the firebreaks. Her block is toward the west. We pass the Children’s Village along the way, an orphanage that spans three barracks. It’s a happening place. Groups of kids and teenagers shout and laugh while nuns guide them to dinner. Several of the nuns carry babies.

If there’s any proof this whole evacuation thing is a farce, it’s here. Almost all the kids are American-born, and there’s no convincing anyone that orphaned infants are spies for Hirohito. I shudder slightly. Everyone knows that several of the babies are from unwed mothers whose families made them give them up. In another scenario, Emi might’ve been forced to do the same. I’m glad she’s able to do what she wants. Being a Hamada isn’t easy, but it does give you a strange freedom to choose your path. Violet smiles at the chubby-cheeked babies and waves at the little kids. Once we’ve passed them, she takes a breath.

“So, you didn’t fall,” she says.

“What?”