worst happen.”
“I...suppose you have a good point. Much as it pains me to admit it.” Okame crossed his arms with a sigh. “Fine. I don’t like the idea, but I know as much about magic as I do flower arranging. I’ll stay back here, put an arrow through the skull of any gaki that gets too close. Yumeko-chan...” He nodded at me, smiling. “Good luck. Don’t get eaten—you were just starting to make my life interesting.”
“You be careful, too,” I told him, and turned to the samurai. “All right, Tatsumi. I’m ready. What do I have to do?”
He hesitated once more, then held out a hand, palm turned up. “We have to stay connected,” he told me, and, for some strange reason, my stomach fluttered like a swarm of moths were set loose within. “The spell will cover both of us, but it isn’t meant to be used on a group. If we get separated, the gaki will be able to see you, so don’t let go, no matter what.”
I nodded, took a quiet breath and placed my hand in his. His palm was rough with calluses, but the fingers curling over mine were long and slender, almost elegant. My heartbeat quickened, and the moths in my belly swirled even more frantically before settling into an agitated fluttering.
Tatsumi had gone perfectly still, staring at our clasped hands, as if fighting his instincts to pull away. I peeked at his face and saw a flicker of emotion in those purple eyes, a hint of uncertainty and the barest shadow of fear. But only for a moment; then his expression shut down, that icy mask dropping into place. Bringing two fingers to his face with his other hand, he half closed his eyes and murmured a chant using words I didn’t understand.
A whisper of power went through the air, centered on Tatsumi. It swirled around us, cold and caressing, seeming to muffle sound and make the shadows around us even darker. Somewhere off to the side, Okame uttered a breathless curse. I suddenly felt very strange, as if my body wasn’t quite solid, and the moonlight blazing down overhead was passing right through me.
Tatsumi opened his eyes. The glimmering violet orbs peered down at me, but I could not see my reflection within. “Let’s go,” he whispered. “Remember, stay close, keep your eyes off the gaki and don’t let go of my hand. Are you ready?”
I nodded, tightening my fingers around his. He turned, and together, we walked down the narrow winding path into the cemetery.
Several ancient trees grew among the gravestones, towering cedar and looming pine. As soon as we reached the edge of the cemetery, Tatsumi broke away from the path and slipped into the shadows thrown by the giants. Gaki shambled among the gravestones; I kept my head down but saw them in my peripheral vision, their naked, bloated bodies shining grotesquely in the moonlight. My heart pounded, but as Tatsumi had predicted, they paid us no more attention than the falling leaves, though a few passed frighteningly close. Once, Tatsumi pulled me roughly against a tree, pressing us both into the bark as a gaki lurched around the trunk, barely missing him. For a few heartbeats, it stood just a few feet away, raspy breaths hissing into the air, scanning the area as if it could sense something was close. I closed my fingers around my tanto and squeezed my eyes shut, not daring to move or even breathe. My heart pounded, and I pressed myself as far from Tatsumi as I could, hoping he wouldn’t feel the lacquered case tucked into my furoshiki. If he found the Dragon’s scroll now, a graveyard full of hungry ghosts would be the least of my concerns.
Finally, the gaki’s footsteps staggered away, and I felt Tatsumi relax. “Move,” he whispered to me, and we did, slipping away from the trunk and weaving our way past the gravestones.
As we ducked between two pine trees, something glinted in the corner of my eye, causing me to halt and grab Tatsumi’s sleeve.
“Tatsumi-san,” I whispered. “I think I see the monk. Over there.”
He followed my pointing finger. At the farthest end of the graveyard, a lone headstone stood in the shadow of three enormous cedars. A beam of moonlight slanted through the tree branches, illuminating the headstone and gleaming off a staff with metal rings at the top.
“The monk’s grave,” I whispered, as with a ghostly shimmer, a section of moonlight detached from the headstone