Middle Sister

 

Kimiko joined the flow of people entering the subway’s rear car and dropped gratefully onto an open seat. Her trek through the crowded shopping district had been worthwhile, but exhausting. Every housewife in Keishi must be doing last-minute errands before New Year’s Eve.

Settling her bags between her feet, she draped her forearms over her knees and peered toward the back. At first, she couldn’t see past the incoming passengers, but once they sorted into their seats, she had a clear view of the train’s security post. Usually, these were manned by an officer and their Kith partner, and she loved catching the eye of these sentient animals.

Today was a little different. No, a lot different.

Her curious gaze locked with the alert yellow eyes of an Amaranthine male. Clan was obvious. Even with the concession he’d made by donning the starched shirt and pleated pants worn by security officers, his long hair was held back by a furry headband, and the top two buttons of his shift were undone, revealing a colorful collection of beaded necklaces. Definitely a wolf. Maybe even an Elderbough tracker. She couldn’t see which crest he wore on his armband.

His eyebrows lifted, and a faint smile touched his lips.

Whoops. Kimiko quickly offered a series of silent messages—embarrassed apology, one of the warmer greetings, the hope for peace, and sincere gratitude for the protection his presence offered. People around her probably didn’t even notice. Amaranthine communication wasn’t like human sign language, which depended heavily on hand gestures. Their expressions were often subtler, relying on nuances of posture.

Those yellow eyes took on an appreciative shine, and he responded in kind—surprised delight, acknowledgement of her reaver status, a promise of harmony. And after a moment’s pause, a wholly unnecessary—and intensely personal—compliment on the sweetness of her soul.

Which was really very kind, but Kimiko didn’t let it go to her head. It was practically the only nice thing he could have said, given her low rating. But it was still nice to hear, and she flashed him a smile.

A twittering giggle snagged her attention, and she tuned in to a whispered argument across the aisle.

“No, you ask him.”

“You’re the one who’s curious.”

“Shhh!”

Kimiko turned, and two high school girls were suddenly fascinated by their phones. This again? She scratched the side of her face and glanced sheepishly back at the wolf.

He was laughing at her. Or them. Or maybe this whole silly situation. Any Amaranthine—with their keener senses—could detect something as basic as gender. With discreet gestures, the wolf called the human girls blind, he complimented Kimiko’s skill as a trickster, and he declared the advantage hers.

Another kindness. But really, she didn’t need cheering up. It happened all the time. If it had bothered her, she could have changed her appearance or behavior. But she’d come to enjoy making people wonder.

“Ask him.”

“He must be a reaver. That tunic, for instance.”

“Could be a knock-off. Besides, you can’t tell a reaver by looking. They’re human, but with skills.”

“Would you date a reaver?”

“Depends on his skills.”

“Eee, I can’t believe you said that!”

Kimiko wondered what these girls would think if they knew how totally unromantic reaver marriages usually were. It was hard to get excited about pedigree reports, progeny projections, and the filing of a dozen or more spousal applications. Often for a person you’d never met.

As one of three unmatched daughters, she knew more than enough about the process.

Even though looks and personality were of secondary consideration, Kimiko’s mother was forever comparing her to her older sister. Noriko was gentle and lovely and petite, just like Mama had been, back when she caught their father’s eye.

Fourteen-year-old Sakiko was promisingly pretty, if a bit taller than average. But Kimiko’s younger sister would never be mistaken for a boy. Not when her straight black hair hung like a satin curtain almost to her knees.

Kimiko was tall and flat-chested, and she kept her hair cropped. Reaver attire was unisex, and the freedom it offered only encouraged an unladylike stride. Her boots, which were standard issue for the Ingress Academy uniform, made her big feet look even bigger. Having grown up in a very normal human community, Kimiko knew she held exactly zero feminine appeal. But as a slightly-too-pretty boy, she turned heads.

Most of the time, she ignored the whispers, giggles, and long looks. But once in a while, when the circumstances fit, she was silly in her own way. Kimiko understood the elation of being noticed. She so rarely was.

So as the train neared her stop, she tucked her chin, making it even harder for her admirers to catch on. The hum of the subway changed pitch, and an automated voice announced Kikusawa’s station. Kimiko gathered up her shopping bags and, gazing up through the fringe of her bangs, caught the girls watching.

She smirked, then strode out, adding some swagger to her step. Her harmless little performance was rewarded by gasps, giggles, and bright smiles.

Curious if the wolf had seen, Kimiko continued along the side of the train to the back window. He was there, grinning now, all fang and fraternity. And he bid her farewell in a way that roughly translated you’ve made me glad our paths crossed.

Kimiko returned the gesture, waved goodbye in a completely human way, then mounted the stairs to street level with even more spring in her step than usual.
 

Home for Kimiko was Kikusawa, an aging neighborhood within Keishi, full of small shops and nosy neighbors. Faded paint, rusted metal, curling advertisements tacked to walls. She supposed Kikusawa was a little on the shabby side, but she preferred to focus on the good parts. Vivid bins of satsuma oranges at the grocers. The tempting sizzle of croquettes, served piping hot in paper sleeves. Sticky-sweet burned sugar smells coming from the tea shop that grilled their dango out front to lure in customers.

People lived over shops or behind businesses. Poky alleys hid the entrances to restaurants, the barber, a hardware store, and the candy shop Kimiko had frequented since she could walk. She hoped this part of the city—her part—would never change. Everyone bought their produce from the Nakamura’s and their fish from Satoh and Sons. The Smiling Cat was famous for its western-style lunch menu, and The House of the Noble Chrysanthemum sold traditional sweets.

It was a matter of pride to shop locally, which made Kimiko self-conscious about her collection of bags. But some things couldn’t be bought in Kikusawa.

“Kimi-chan,” called Mrs. Miura, who was sprinkling salt on the public bath house’s front step. Wrinkles might hide the little old woman’s eyes, but she never missed a thing. “Adding to your collection?”

“Yes, Auntie.” Kimiko hurried to her side and held out one of the bags. “I found these two stations over. Limited editions for the New Year.”

Mrs. Miura pawed gently through the bag, humming and clucking. “I used to like these when I was a girl. My father worked for Junzi, you know.”

She knew that, of course. Mrs. Miura had told her the story dozens of times. The local chocolate-maker was famous throughout Japan for the superior quality of their sweets and for the artistry in their packaging. “My grandfather used to buy them for me.”

“I used to play with Miyabe-kun.” She lifted one of the squat chocolate bars, foil wrapped, with a heavy paper sleeve adorned with plum blossoms. “He always had a sweet tooth.”

“Me, too. Would you like that one, Auntie?”

“No, no, dear.” Mrs. Miura returned the chocolate to her bag. “Didn’t you go a long way for these? Only bring your book down sometime soon.”

“As soon as I add these,” Kimiko promised.

She’d been collecting labels from Junzi chocolate bars since grade school, when she’d first realized what limited edition meant. Her grandfather had helped her find them, buy them, and organize them. And he’d never left Keishi without bringing home Junzi chocolate bars exclusive to other prefectures.

Kimiko missed him terribly.

But her usual trick mostly worked. Focus on the good parts, like the tradition he had started and she would carry on. Not out of duty, but for love.

With a parting wave for Mrs. Miura, Kimiko continued homeward. Theirs was a tight-knit community, mostly overlooked by outsiders and ruled by the Kikusawa Business Association and the Ladies Neighborhood Improvement Committee. They had their own schools—preschool through middle—and a community center where folks gathered to play shogi, mahjong, or table tennis.  Kimiko passed the pharmacy, a twenty-four hour convenience store, and old Mr. Ryota’s steamy oden cart.

“Miyabe-kun!”

Kimiko waved cheerily at Mr. Fujiwara, who owned the butcher shop. The deep-voiced man with his craggy features and bloody apron used to frighten her when she was small. But there was a good nature behind his gruff way of speaking.

He beckoned her over to the window at the front of his shop and its brightly-lit glass case. Making a big show of looking both ways, he passed her a steamed bun.

“Are you sure?” she asked. The glossy white bread was hot against her palm.

Mr. Fujiwara pointed knowingly at the bags looped over her arms. “Sweets aren’t strength, and you’ll be needing yours.”

“Thank you!” Kimiko broke the bun in half, releasing a fragrant cloud of steam. “Will we see you up top tonight?”

The man, who had gone to school with her mother, patted his muscular bicep. “You can count on me and my boys! These are the times when friends and neighbors rally together!”

“Until later.” Kimiko waved and called, “Thank you, again!”

Many of the shops had closed up early. No doubt they were already hard at work, helping with the finishing touches for tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve festivities.

She’d polished off the last of the pork bun by the time she reached the pair of ancient cherry trees that marked the turning to the elementary school. Then a covered bus stop. Beyond was a steep, forested slope, thick with evergreens. Nestled beneath the overhanging boughs was a long, narrow stairway, its foot framed by a distinctive red arch and a pair of crouching stone dragons.

Home for Kimiko Miyabe was Kikusawa, but especially Kikusawa Shrine. Because the Miyabe family had always lived on the outermost edge of the In-between, serving the human community as shrinekeepers.