Page 87 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

Cosette squalls and I glance up. Mama rocks her, humming a nightclub tune under her breath. It’s hardly child-appropriate, but I smile to see it. I’m about to go over to her, but something catches my eye.

There’s another piece of paper on the dresser. I pick it up, bewildered. Words, painted in black ink with a bristly brush, fill it.

To the mortal boy who asked if there was a spell he might perform_there is one. I didn’t plan to tell you because you are most irreverent and rude. But when the mortal girl freed me, your fox whispered your request to me. I care not what a poorly tended relic says, but I am a most beneficent and wondrous god, so I decided to leave you this note.

Be aware that it calls whichever spirits are closest, and those are often the sleep devils who make dreams or nightmares come true. I’ve tried working with them before to see if they’d be my attendants. It did not go well. They should’ve been honored I even considered them!

Do with this spell what you will. I am much too busy being glorious and hunky-dory to care.

I stare at the letter, the instructions for the spell detailed below his note. The words move a little as I do, like they’re floating on water or some other unstable, drifting surface.

My heart still racing, I tuck the note into my pocket for safekeeping.

Mr. Nomura comes and gets his things the next day. It’s goodbye. He’s leaving for Cow Creek, and then he’ll be sent to Gila River. He talks quietly to Mama. She’s upset but pretending not to be.

Then he comes to me.

“I made twenty origami.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” I reply.

“But you took a swan.” I’ve forgotten the swan I stole to leave Violet a note on her windowsill. I’m surprised he noticed and never said anything. “So there are now nineteen. Bad number. It has a nine in it, so it’s ku.”

“Ku?”

“Associated with suffering. You must make at least one more for good energy to replace the one you took. Otherwise, the whole block might have bad luck.” He speaks gravely and I nod. Normally it’s hard to make things right, but this is simple. I’m happy to do it.

With that, Mr. Nomura holds out his hand and looks me in the eye, just like Dr. Suzuki did. I shake his hand. And then he’s gone.

Next week, Mama and I are told to come to the WRA administration offices. We head off, passing shops with old-timey-style wood signs swinging sideways from the buildings, like we’re in the Old West. Every door has a small garden of rocks, cacti, or flowers in front, a yard of sorts. Most of the barracks do, too, now. I duck into the offices, passing the staff victory garden, which has been covered in mulch for the winter. Everything is busy, which is strange considering bullets were whizzing less than ten days ago.

“Ay, Dragon!” a familiar voice calls as I enter the administration building. Kai sits in a chair, lounging back. Mama heads up the hall, but I stop, dread filling me.

“Hey…why are you here?”

“I got pinched,” he says, and his smile disappears. “They booked me a vacation to Tule Lake.”

“You’re—you’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s nothing your dad can do to stop it?”

“Naw. But he and my mom and brother are coming, too. My parents won’t let me go alone.” Guilt and regret swim in his eyes. I get it. It’s one thing to bear hardship yourself, but to bring it on others…there’s nothing like it.

I swallow hard. We grew up side by side. Wreaked all kinds of havoc and got away with half of it. He knew me as a boy, knows me now. Knew Emi. I reach out and clasp his hand.

“Kai Suzuki?” a guard says sternly, entering with a rifle. “Your transport is here.”

Kai’s hand tightens. I know he’s scared to go. It’s another unknown, another loss, a punishment for lashing out at the injustice of it all. I’ll miss him. I’ll miss him a lot.

“Dragon and tiger forever, right?” he says, and his bravado can’t cover the panic in his tone.

“Dragon and tiger forever,” I reply.

It sure as hell isn’t easy to watch him leave, the armed guard shoving him along from behind. You’d think maybe I’d be getting used to goodbyes at this point.

“Mrs. Hamada? Ren?” a WRA official calls to us from inside his office. We go in. I barely manage to suppress a curse when I see Mrs. Ross standing there. Same pearl necklace. Same fearful yet polite expression stuck on her face. Different handbag, though. She’s also wearing a fur coat that makes her look like a Pomeranian.