The Keeper of Night (The Keeper of Night #1)(78)

Hiro shook his head, unable to meet Neven’s gaze.

“She hasn’t even done anything!” Neven said, slamming his fist on the table and rattling the teacups. Everyone in the café turned toward us. I grabbed Neven’s arm, my face flushed hot.

“Calm down,” I said, my nails biting into his wrist.

He yanked his arm away from me. “You’re not considering this, are you?”

I said nothing. It was so easy for Neven to moralize when he wasn’t the one who’d suffer the consequences. Of course I didn’t want to kill a child. But I also didn’t want to live forever in isolation, as neither a Reaper nor a Shinigami. Tamamo No Mae could die quickly and painlessly, and in exchange I would have thousands of years of freedom. And if Hiro was right, I’d be saving a lot of humans, too.

“Neven, just think about this for a moment,” I said.

“I have!” Neven said. “That girl hasn’t done anything. Tamamo No Mae could just as easily have been reborn in your body.”

“Would you stake your compassion on the thousands of lives lost if you’re wrong?” Hiro said. But his words sounded empty, and I had a feeling he was trying to redirect Neven’s anger toward himself more than actually defend his position.

It didn’t work. Neven ignored Hiro, eyes focused solely on my face.

“Ren, is this really what you want?”

I knew in that moment that I was a horrible person, because my heart didn’t hesitate to say yes. The word thrummed through my bones and blood and every part of me. While I didn’t want to hurt the little girl, I didn’t want to hurt myself anymore, either. Her life should have mattered more to me. I should have cared more. But I didn’t.

“I don’t know,” I said.

But Neven knew I was lying, and the look of betrayal on his face was ten times worse than the guilt of not caring enough about the little girl.

“Fine,” he said, yanking his clock from his pocket and slamming it on the table. “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“Neven—”

“Find me when you’re finished,” he said, standing up and storming out of the café.

I picked up his clock, feeling no joy that he wasn’t going to stop me.

“Will you really do it, Ren?” Hiro said.

I looked down at my hands in my lap, turning the clock back and forth between them.

“I’ve... I’ve collected children’s souls before,” I said, trying to convince myself that this was normal.

“That is not the same as killing them,” he said. “I’m sure you know that.”

“Do you want me to do this or not?” I said, glaring across the table.

He shook his head. “It’s not about what I want. Whatever you decide, I will help you.”

“What’s her essence?” I said. “How do I...” I fumbled for words, imagining myself subduing the little girl the same way I’d killed the other Yokai and growing nauseous at the thought.

“Animal shifters must be hunted and killed like animals, usually with some sort of hunting tools,” Hiro said. “Luckily, we have a guide for Tamamo No Mae, since she’s been killed before.”

“With arrows and a sword?” I said, the clock growing damp in my sweaty palms. “Cutting off her head?”

Hiro grimaced. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he said.

I took a deep breath. “Well, you shouldn’t have worried,” I said. “I can do it.” My words didn’t even sound convincing to my own ears.

Hiro sighed. “I know you can, Ren, but—”

“I will do it,” I said. “I told you before, I’ll do anything. If this is what Izanami wants, then I don’t have a choice.”

Hiro looked at me across the table, his eyes flat. “You do have a choice,” he said.

“Then I choose to be a Shinigami,” I said, even as my hands shook underneath the table, “no matter the cost.”

The new Tamamo No Mae lived in a small hut at the top of a large hill. As Hiro had promised, we had no trouble finding her again, for the scent of Death carried down the hill and dispersed into the streets like some sort of noxious perfume. As we climbed higher, Death’s presence crushed down harder and harder, as if we were walking deeper and deeper underwater. Now that I knew how much blood the Yokai had on her hands, the way Death shrouded her made sense—her destiny and Death were forever intertwined.

Hiro had somehow charmed a local ronin samurai out of his katana and bow, or possibly just stolen them. Since I’d never shot an arrow, Hiro kept the bow slung over his shoulder while I wore the katana tucked under my belt. I couldn’t fight with it to save my life, but hopefully I would need only a single blow.

We reached the top of the hill, with all of Yahiko spread out below us, the tiny houses lit by moonlight and stars. A short walk away, we found the hut, little more than a dark wooden box with a mossy triangular hat on top. Through the walls, I could make out the muffled sounds of a broom and slow footsteps on weak floorboards. A pale light burned through the windows, shrouded by the spidery branches of a dying maple tree.

Something shifted in the leaves.

We both froze, eyes scanning the dark for the sound’s source. While not anywhere near as dark as Yomi, the scarcity of lanterns in the village left the night a swirl of distant gray and formless shapes. The sound had definitely come from the yard, but I couldn’t find its source.