was part of a kitsune’s life, he said, something as natural as sleeping or breathing. To deny it would do more harm than good.
Instead, I practiced my magic every day with a monk called Satoshi, in the hopes that I would learn to control my fox-given talent, and not the other way around. The monks had been skeptical at first, but I knew Master Isao trusted that I would not use my powers for mischief, so I tried not to give in to temptation. Even though some days it was very hard not to disguise the cat as a teapot, or to make a closed door look open, or to turn a log invisible in front of the steps. Fox magic was nothing but illusion and trickery, Denga-san had seethed on more than one occasion, usually on the tail end of a prank. Nothing useful could ever come of it.
That might be true, I thought, as the heat of the fox magic rose up inside me. But it certainly is a lot of fun.
A ripple went through me, like my body was made of water that someone had just dropped a pebble into, and a puff of white smoke engulfed me from the ground up. As the tendrils of smoke dissipated, I opened my eyes and smiled at the image in the mirror. Master Isao stared back at me in the reflection, a perfect replica of the man sitting beside the mirror, if you didn’t count the rather smug grin on his weathered face. And the white-tipped tail behind him.
The real Master Isao chuckled and shook his head. “Is this what you and Satoshi have been practicing?” he asked. “I shudder to imagine the day ‘I’ suggest Denga-san should go and catch a monkey.”
“Ooh, do you think he would? That would be hilarious. Um, not that I would ever do something like that, of course.” Reaching up, I plucked the maple leaf from my head, and the illusion frayed apart, fox magic scattering to the wind, until I was just me once more. Twirling the leaf in my fingers, I wondered how much trouble I’d be in if I did disguise myself as Master Isao and told Denga to go jump in the pond. Knowing the monk’s fanatical devotion to his master, he would do it without question. And then he’d probably kill me.
“Sixteen years,” Master Isao remarked in a soft voice. I blinked at him. That was new. Normally by this time, our conversation would be over and he’d be instructing me to return to my duties. “Sixteen years to the day that you have been with us,” he went on, almost wistfully. “Since we found you outside the gate in a fish basket, with nothing but a tattered robe and a note pinned to the cloth.” Forgive me, but I must leave this child in your care, the letter said. Do not judge her harshly, she cannot help what she is, and the road I walk is no place for innocence. Her name is Yumeko, child of dreams. Raise her well, and may the Great Dragon guide your steps, and hers.
I nodded politely, having heard this story dozens of times. I’d never known my father or my mother, and hadn’t given either of them much thought. They weren’t a part of my life, and I saw no point in worrying about things I could not change.
Though there was one very hazy memory, from when I was just a toddler, that continued to haunt my dreams. I’d been wandering the woods outside the temple that day, hiding from the monks and chasing squirrels, when I’d felt eyes on me from behind. I’d turned and seen a white fox staring at me from atop a fallen log, yellow eyes glowing in the shadows. We’d watched each other for a long moment, child and kitsune, and even though I was very young, I’d felt a kinship with this creature, a sense of longing that I didn’t understand. But when I’d taken a step toward it, the fox had disappeared. I’d never glimpsed it again.
“Sixteen years,” Master Isao continued, unaware of my thoughts. “And in that time, we have taught you our ways, steered you down what we hoped was the right path, trained you to seek the balance between human and kitsune. You have always known what you are—we have never hidden the truth. I have witnessed both the fox’s cunning and human compassion within you. I have seen callousness and