The Keeper of Night (The Keeper of Night #1)(45)

Hiro crashed into a door and lay still as the dead. I sucked in a sharp breath and stood frozen as the Shinigami spat on the ground, barely missing Hiro’s face. I thought of Ivy, and all I could see was myself lying in the street under the flickering streetlight, a moment that felt like a thousand years ago but was only last year. Weren’t the Japanese supposed to value politeness and harmony? Reapers were cruel and deceitful, but Shinigami were supposed to be different.

“Stay out of my way, leech,” the man said, turning and storming past me down the hallway.

Hiro had already pushed himself up on his knees and was gathering what was left of his fish. I was too busy thinking about the darkness in the Shinigami’s face to bother helping him. Hiro stood up and instantly crumpled back down with a wince, but Neven caught his arm and pulled him back to his feet. He was favoring his left foot and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Do all Shinigami treat you like this?” I said, because it was all I could manage to say. “Are they all so...”

“Cruel?” Hiro said, gently pulling away from Neven. “Yes.”

“Why?” I hadn’t thought anyone could be as heartless as Reapers, but the look in the Shinigami’s eyes—a rage that could shatter the whole universe—told me that maybe that wasn’t true.

“Because Izanami tells them to,” Hiro said, turning away. “She can’t stop a Shinigami from coming to Yomi, but that doesn’t mean she wants me in her city.”

He started walking away, not bothering to check if Neven and I followed him.

“And why do they call you that?” I said. Both the guard and the Shinigami had called Hiro leech, a strangely specific insult. I’d never heard anyone called a leech in England, but perhaps it made more sense in Japanese.

“Call me what?” Hiro said, but his shoulders had formed a rigid line, so I knew he understood.

“Leech,” I said. “Where did that name come from?”

“You’d have to ask them,” he said without turning around. “I’m not the one who came up with it.”

He stopped in front of a door and jammed his key into the lock.

“Good night, Ren, Neven.”

Then he slid inside and shut the door.

I looked at Neven, who shrugged, then unlocked the room next door.

A hotel in Yomi apparently meant nothing more than a small space with reed mats, a lantern, and supplies to set up a futon on the floor. I waved a hand over the lantern to ignite it, then Neven and I got to work rolling out the bedding. He took off his shoes and glasses while I shed the wrinkled outer layer of my kimono, then dimmed the lantern to a warm glow and slid under the sheets.

Neven slid in beside me and turned toward the lantern, facing me.

“Ren,” he whispered. “Do you really trust him?”

I stared up at the thatched ceiling, then rolled onto my side to face Neven, his face lit only by the weak lantern light behind me. Did Shinigami have good hearing like Reapers? Was Hiro listening to us?

“I think so,” I said. “But clearly, you don’t.”

“We should help him,” Neven said without conviction.

“I won’t let him hurt us, Neven.”

Neven sighed, pulling the sheet tighter around himself and rolling onto his back. “Okay.”

“I can tell just how much you believe me by that melodramatic sigh.”

His lips crinkled in what might have been a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

“Hey.” I waved my hand in front of his face and smiled in the way I only could when it was just me and Neven. “Four-eyes, I’m over here.”

Neven swiped at my hand, missing horribly and jamming his middle finger into my eye. Without his glasses, his hand-eye coordination was lacking at best.

“Watch it!” I said, shoving a retaliatory finger in his ear. He laughed and flinched away, but I grabbed both his wrists before he could accidentally scrape my brain out through my nose.

“I win,” I said, smirking over Neven even though he probably couldn’t see it without his glasses.

He gave a token struggle before falling limp against the futon. “I surrender, but only because I know what you’re capable of.”

“And that’s exactly why you should trust me,” I said, releasing his wrists and settling back.

Neven glowered. “I trust you, Ren, it’s just that...he’s unsettling.”

I agreed, but likely for a different reason. Unless Neven was about to tell me he also found Hiro disarmingly attractive.

“Have you noticed,” Neven whispered, “that when he laughs, he doesn’t really sound happy?”

“You just saw a Shinigami spit on his face. Would you be happy about that?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. When I see him, I feel like I’m watching a shadow puppet. There’s something important happening on the other side of the screen, but I can’t see it.”

I said nothing, too stunned at the depth of Neven’s distrust. It was reasonable to question Hiro’s motives, but what Neven was describing alarmed me.

“It’s his eyes, I think,” Neven went on. “They’re too dark.”

“They’re just like mine, Neven.”

“No,” he said. “Even in the dark, I can still see his eyes, Ren. There’s not just darkness in them, there’s nothingness. The total absence of color. I feel like that’s how the world looks when you die.”