Page 74 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

Boser crosses his arms and stares hard at me. I meet his gaze, scowling, waiting.

“Very well. Here’s the thing. I’ve seen you with that old man, the one who dresses in traditional clothing.”

“Yeah? What of it?”

“I know he’s…” For once, something akin to life brightens Boser’s eyes. My breath catches—how could he know who Akira truly is?—but lets out in a gust when Boser continues: “A practitioner of ancestral magic. Is he training you in the old ways?”

“Training me in the old ways? Aren’t you a little old to believe in magic?” It isn’t hard to sound disdainful.

“Not if it’s real. And I know it is.” He sniffs, and I stare in disbelief.

“Then go talk to the old man yourself,” I say, thinking about Akira lifting me off the floor as though I weighed no more than a kitten. “I don’t know anything about him.”

“I think you do.” Boser has the self-satisfied smile of a guy who already knows he’s won. “I’ve approached the man several times. No matter what I say, he won’t talk to me. Then I noticed something around his neck. Your relic.”

My throat goes dry. If Boser has seen Akira wearing my relic, then he for sure knows we have some sort of connection. Still, I can’t admit it.

“Yeah? He must’ve found it after I lost it. Like I said, why don’t you ask him for it instead of me?”

“I did,” Boser says. “He said I’m not…” Boser stops, struggling for the right word. “Worthy. But I’m trying to make myself so. I’ve been meditating every day.”

“In your heated bungalow?” My lip curls as I stare at him in disgust. “Maybe it isn’t a good idea to use incarcerated people for your spiritual enlightenment, ever think of that?”

“You don’t understand,” Boser says. “If anyone is unworthy, it’s you. You’re a criminal who knows nothing about who he is or where he came from.”

“And you’re a pathetic asshole,” I say.

Boser steps forward, his hand lashing out and gripping the back of my neck. His fingers dig into my skin, forcing my head down. My face is parallel to the dirt and level with his knees. Good. I grab his leg and upend him, but he doesn’t release me, so we both go down, hard. Choking dust puffs up around us. Skin scrapes off my knees and hands. Immediately, we scramble to our feet, facing off. He’s breathing hard, and I am, too.

“You attacked me. I can arrest you right now,” Boser says, and there’s a smug note in his voice, like I’ve played right into his plan.

“Sir? What’s going on? Do you need help?” a guard calls from across the way. Boser holds up his hand, telling the man to stay away. But at any moment, he can drop it. He has me right where he wants me. Sand grits in my teeth. I spit. More is in my eyes, and I drag my forearm across them, trying to blink it out.

“What do you want?” I ask, willing to tell this lunatic whatever he needs to hear.

Boser bends over, brushing off his dusty knees and elbows. When he straightens, he’s more composed, even though his chest still heaves. “I’ll give you a little time to work with the man. Learn a ritual. One that lets you…summon a spirit. Then meet me at midnight behind barrack twenty-seven’s latrines in two weeks. You’ll show me what you’ve learned right then and there—nothing counterfeit, no faking. If you don’t show up or try to do a fake spell that doesn’t work, you’ll be gone. Get it? Away from your precious niece and your girlfriend, on a transport to Tule Lake.”

Boser straightens his collar and strides away. I watch him go, hands stinging. My palm has mostly healed but the delicate new skin is scraped away from our struggle. Damn him to hell. I force myself to take long breaths and clear my head. Luckily, there’s more than one way to send a letter. I’ll ask Violet to mail one. So much mail comes and goes from this place, there’s no way it’ll get flagged.

I head home, passing several trucks loaded up with Guayule seedlings. They’re being tested out as a substitute for rubber. Their leafy heads nod one way and then another as the trucks jerk over the dirt. Someone plucks one of the leaves.

Akira.

“Hey!” I follow him. I think I’m going to have to chase him down, but he unexpectedly turns to me, arms outstretched, staggering toward me.

“Look at me!” he cries. I do. It’s kinda impossible not to. The crack runs nearly all the way around to his chin in a disgusting semicircle reminding me of a can opener slowly rotating around a can. I could peel his face right off, if I wanted. He sits down on the grass, then grabs my wrist, pulling me to sit next to him. “Is it bad?”

“No, I don’t even notice the giant crack.” My sarcasm is lost on him because he nods seriously, agreeing. “By the way…are there any…minor spells or rituals you can teach me? Something that summons a spirit?”

“Why?” Akira’s eyes narrow.

“Just…wondering.”

“You’ll forgive my suspicion. When a mortal begins asking to be taught spells and shows interest in summoning spirits, it’s rarely good.” I think about Boser and his straight row of pens. Maybe he wants to command more than just writing utensils. “And no. I can’t summon spirits even for myself, as you may have noticed.”

“How about a less complicated ritual? Like making…sparks fly or something like that?” I know it’s a reach, but if Akira can teach me some harmless magic trick, maybe I can satiate Boser.

“Make sparks fly?” Akira snorts. “Certainly not. Though…sometimes, very rarely, I do like to do this.” He lifts his hand and gently waves it. Glimmering particles, similar to dust motes, whirl through the air. They are caught by the hot breeze and rise, hovering between the dirt and that terrifying cloud. They dance around a group of kids playing with a mix of shoddy donated toys that they’ve checked out of the toy loan. The particles settle on them.