Page 58 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

“Few days.”

I used my phone call to ring Mama, but I knew it was pointless. She couldn’t afford to bail me out, and she was so pissed at me that even if she could she would’ve left me for dead. It was Emi who took a loan from a bondsman in Van Nuys and got me out. Loan had horrible interest, and I worked my ass off for the next two years to pay it off.

Emi was waiting outside the jail when I was released, stumbling out of the building like a blinking owl in daylight. She lectured me and then hugged me and told me to never leave her again.

“Was it frightening?”

“Just a little cold.” Everything in jail was steel, turning the place into a damn icebox. Steel benches, steel brackets anchoring the benches to the floor, steel handcuffs clanking from the officers’ belts. Steel bars. It was April in Southern California, so I didn’t need a jacket that day, but by nighttime, cold had settled into my bones. Combine that with how anxious I was, and I was trembling like a leaf. “It’s where I saw the postcard for Santa Fe. Kinda got into my mind and never left.” I think about Mr. Nomura saying I’m not the type to run away. I shift on the rock. “So, all that to say, I don’t plan on ever going back.”

“Good,” Violet says. “I’d miss you too much if you ever did.”

“And I’d miss you, too,” I return softly, even though my mind races. “But look—I’m a fast learner. I got locked up with you this time around, slugger.”

She lets out a surprised laugh.

“I suppose you did! Very cunning, Ren.”

“You can have the school smarts, and I’ll have the street smarts,” I boast, making a muscle. She rolls her eyes, but her grin grows at the same time. “I still haven’t seen any of your drawings,” I dare to say. I really want to. I’ve been curious ever since she mentioned them.

“I draw on my letters for Otōsan,” she says. “I have one in my pocket. I haven’t written it yet, but the drawing is done.” Carefully, she removes a folded piece of paper and holds it out to me. I take the paper, unfold it, and hold it up. The moon and stars are bright overhead and provide just enough light.

A figure with long white hair and skeletal features is submerged underwater. Coral entraps it. Shafts of sunlight cut through the water, reaching toward it, and the figure’s limbs are translucent. You can see through the skin straight to its skeleton. Every bone notches neatly together and decay seeps from the joints, drifting away in the current.

“It’s a yūrei.” Violet speaks in a rush. “A ghost. It’s not quite right. Something about the shading is off.”

“Damn, it’s great.” By God, she’s Leonardo da Vinci. I’ve never seen a black-and-white image look so alive, so…colorful. Violet has created every gradient of black, gray, and white. Not only is it technically strong, but it’s beautiful, eerie, and grotesque. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more compelling image in my life. I raise my eyes from the sketch to her face, as though I need the one to understand the other more. “It’s really great, Violet.”

She hesitates, like she’s about to point out more deficiencies. Then, a slow smile blossoms across her lips. I think I’m seeing part of her I haven’t before. Like she’s trusting me in a way no one else has. I’m so taken by her and the moment that everything fades around us.

There’s only Violet.

Nothing else.

Maybe it’s been this way ever since I saw her outside the bus. And God help me, I don’t think it will ever change.

I almost don’t hear it when the god’s whistle cuts across the water.

Chapter Sixteen

Violet

Rotting fish. Alkaline. Pond water.

I smell it before Akira materializes out of the brush farther up the creek, wearing his brilliant-blue kimono. He approaches the water and his reflection slides across it as though it’s window glass. Ren and I go silent, watching him, though my mind thinks only of Ren. It’s like my thoughts are a sunray shining through a crystal, its facets bending everything toward him. Then Akira begins to speak. I lose my breath, listen hard, wait. In my pocket, my deer swells with warmth. It seems to wait, too.

“You are beautiful,” Akira says to his reflection. “Even with this abomination.” With trembling fingers, he touches his cheek. The horrifying crack forms a semicircle around his face. If it continues, I wonder if his face might detach entirely. It’s a terrifying thought. Dramatically, Akira lifts his head to the moon. Then he holds his hands over the creek, just as he did the first time. The fount rises immediately beneath his fingers.

“Rise!” he cries. “Rise from Yomi and attend me!”

A shape shifts through the water. I think something might indeed be rising from the underworld through the temporary geyser, and Akira must, too, because his eyes flash triumphantly. Then a fish pops out. Its flopping body sprays Akira with droplets and then it plops back into the creek. Akira gnashes his teeth in frustration. The wisp of his shadow rises from him, and he swats at it like a fly. It subdues only to come back, stronger. I grip Ren’s arm. He radiates warmth. It steadies me as my pulse pounds.

“Let’s go.”

We slip from the brush and approach. By the time we get there, Akira is attempting the spell again, but this time the fountain hardly gathers.

“It’s you two!” he cries, spying us drawing close. “You’ve ruined my focus.”

“Hello, Akira-sama.” I ignore his accusations and bow in veneration. He pretends not to notice, but satisfaction spreads across his cratered face. “We were hoping to find you here.”