The Keeper of Night (The Keeper of Night #1)(32)

I nodded slowly. “Is that a problem for you?” I said, my words lacking their usual bite as his eyes explored my face.

He smiled and shook his head. “What an interesting day I’m having,” he said. “Well, Ren of London, your kimono is on backward.”

I looked down at my sopping wet clothes and wished I could disappear. The worst part was that I had no idea how to fix my clothing.

“I got dressed in the dark,” I said, glaring down at my feet in the clear water.

“Most of us do, down here,” Hiro said. He walked to Datsue-ba’s tree and pulled off what looked like a thin white dress. “Even if you’re from London, we expect you to wear underwear here,” he said, smirking and handing me the slip.

I am standing in a single layer of soaking wet silk in front of my brother and a handsome stranger, my brain helpfully reminded me, now that I was no longer worried about the dangerous hairy woman or drowning in the darkness. I snatched the slip from Hiro’s hand, my face burning.

“Turn around,” I said. “Both of you.”

Neven turned around wordlessly, but kept himself angled so that Hiro remained in his line of sight. Hiro, meanwhile, turned away from both of us, seemingly unconcerned that we might attack him from behind. I slung my wet kimono over a branch and hurried to put on the undershirt.

“So what brings you two here?” Hiro said, talking loudly up at the endless black sky. “We don’t get very many tourists.”

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the kimono. It might be dangerous to tell a stranger our purpose, even if he’s a Shinigami, I thought. Hiro swung his arms back and forth like a child who couldn’t stand still, totally defenseless against any attack. I wished I could meet Neven’s eyes to know what he was thinking. It was more likely that Hiro would help us than hurt us, given that he’d already saved us once when he could have left us for dead.

“Hello?” Hiro said. “Have you run away in the darkness and left me standing here like a fool?”

“We’re here to see Izanami,” I said.

Hiro froze. Silence stretched across the darkness, the distant murmur of trees falling silent, the ripples around Hiro’s feet stilling until the water was once again solid black glass.

“Why?” he said, the word more of a threat than a question.

“That’s not your concern,” Neven answered before I could respond. Neven had hardly ever snapped at anyone so quickly, aside from the Reapers who’d bullied me. Clearly, Hiro didn’t impress him.

“Everything about the Goddess is my concern,” Hiro said, standing up straighter. His shadow grew taller in the dim light of his lantern, and an image of the towering Jorogumo flashed in my eyes. Then he shook his head and the hard line of his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, it’s just...she and I have a complicated history. Me being a demoted Shinigami and whatnot.”

“And why did that happen?” I said, slipping on the kimono the opposite way that I’d done it before. If Hiro planned to turn on us, I at least wanted to be fully dressed for it.

“Nothing like what you’re imagining,” he said, not offering any further explanation. He must have known it was an unsatisfying answer, but for the moment it wasn’t worth potentially upsetting him to pry.

“I’m done,” I said. “Neven, help me tie this.”

“Can I turn around, too?” Hiro said.

“If I weren’t decent, why would I let my brother see me?”

Hiro turned around, smiling as if the whole world hadn’t darkened around our conversation. “I didn’t want to tread on your decency, Ren of London.”

“Just ‘Ren’ is fine,” I said as Neven took the cord around my waist and tightened it so much it nearly sliced my torso in half.

“Careful!” I said, coughing. “It’s not a corset, Neven! Just tie it so it won’t fall open.”

“That part ties in the front, actually,” Hiro said. He hung his lantern from a branch, then stepped forward and extended a hand. “May I?”

Neven withered when Hiro came closer, all of his previous bravado gone. Without waiting for permission, Hiro gently slid the cord from Neven’s hands and stepped in front of me.

“Hold this,” he said, taking my hand and pressing it just above my hip to hold the fabric in place. His fingers seared my corpse-cold skin, the ghost of his touch sparkling with warmth on my hand even when he moved away.

His arms came around my waist to cross the cord over itself in the back, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe with his sudden closeness. The skin around his neck glowed with a ghostly haze and smelled of brine and sand. Like the landscape in the darkness, he seemed barely a part of reality.

The closeness only lasted a moment before he knelt in front of me and tied the cord, then tucked it under the fabric. The moment I could breathe again, my stomach ached with a gnawing humiliation. I was so incompetent in my own culture that he’d had to dress me like a child.

Hiro’s eyes searched the trees above us, then he pulled a purple sash from the branches and wound it around my waist before moving behind me.

“This is the part that ties in the back,” he said, pulling at the fabric. It tightened for a moment before he released it and stepped back in front of me, surveying me from head to toe. “Lovely,” he said.