“What doyouknow of my death?” she said. She’d wanted it to sound like a threat, but it came out more like a plea.
“Nothing, yet,” the spirit said. He leaned back slightly and Sen felt like she could breathe again. “But I have tools I can use to read about the past. If you give me your name, I can learn about you.”
If you give me your name, Sen thought, dread pooling in her stomach. Even her baby brother knew better than to give his name to a spirit.
“Our past is not the same,” Sen said, clenching her jaw. “We do not live in the same world.”
The spirit glanced pointedly over her shoulder at the room that mirrored his. As his gaze passed over her shelves and books and pillows, she felt like he was staring into her soul.
“Allow me to prove it to you, then,” he said. Then he stood up and walked into the darkness of his room.
Sen could have closed the door then, but she didn’t, and she was sure the spirit knew she wouldn’t. He had turned his back to her, like he didn’t fear her at all.
He returned with a small black object in one hand, a thin rectangle with a glass surface.
“Let me tell you one thing about the future,” he said, angling the object toward himself and pressing on it with a thin finger, “and then I will shut the door. You will never see me again, if that’s what you want. But when it comes true, and you want to talk to me, I’ll be waiting on the other side of this door.”
“You’ll leave me alone if I listen?” Sen said.
“Yes,” the spirit said. “I swear.”
Slowly, Sen dropped her hand from the door. Pale light glowed from the surface of the black object, illuminating the spirit’s face.
“Is it October twentieth for you as well?” he said as he kept poking at the box.
He glanced up when Sen didn’t respond, and must have read the answer in her face, because he nodded as if he understood.
“Tomorrow, there is going to be a fire in Chiran,” he said. “The mayor will die.”
Sen frowned, glancing out her window, where the sword ferns were still wet with raindrops. “It rained a few hours ago,” she said, though the words were weak, as if she herself didn’t believe them. “There will be no fire.”
“Remember those words tomorrow,” the spirit said, “and when you smell smoke, think of me.”
Then he rose to his feet, bowed, and shut the door.
His shadow faded, and Sen hurried to push her dresser in front of the door, hating the idea of the spirit returning when she was asleep.
Sen set her sword back on its shelf, her fingers numb. If the spirit kept his word, then she’d driven it from the house, and she no longer had to worry. She lay down on her futon and stared at the ceiling, the ghost’s promise echoing through her mind.
Tomorrow, there is going to be a fire in Chiran. The mayor will die.
It was impossible to have a large fire with the wooden houses so wet, so Sen wasn’t worried. But still, the memory of the spirit’s face appeared whenever she closed her eyes, his hollow green eyes glowing in the darkness of her mind.
There was one more thing she could try—one more test. For it was one thing to seek “proof” on the spirit’s terms, but another to put him through her own test, one he had no idea about.
Sen knelt on the floor and lifted the loose floorboard near her futon, setting it to the side. Then she pulled an old sword guard from one of her drawers, wrapped it in a scrap of fabric, and placed it beneath the floor. She slotted the floorboard back into place, hiding her secret in the cold, dark earth.
“Kill it,” Sen’s father said.
Alwaysit, neverhimorher.
The hare in Sen’s grip had red eyes, scratchy tufts of brown fur, and big ears that swiveled back and forth. It kicked its hind legs at her forearms, trying to squirm away, but she held it firm behind the neck.
Sen was nine and had only just been trusted with a full-sizedkatana. This was one of her first lessons. It was a dry summer, but the soil around them was wet and spongy with blood from all the hares Sen’s father had slain, the knees of her hakama stained red.
She wanted to do what her father asked, but her hands shook whenever she locked eyes with the hare.
She’d set the first hare on the ground and deliberately drawn her sword too slowly, letting the hare dart back toward the forest.
