Japanese terms:

katei-ka: a home economics class, attended by both girls and boys in Japanese elementary school.

maneki-neko: a common Japanese cat figurine which is often believed to bring good luck to the owner

Kuwabara Shizuru loved her baby bro.

She might not show it like some big sisters, and she definitely didn't say it much. But she did love him. Honestly.

Except for sometimes—like the Tuesday night she arrived home late from school in the winter of 1991 and found him in the kitchen, shaving carrots with a rusted peeler—when he was too much of a little shit to be loved. But who could blame her, really? Because what the heck was an eleven-year-old kid with a scraped knee and a half-healed bruise on his cheek doing with a heap of carrot shavings?

Lips pursed, she dropped her backpack at the back door and crossed her arms over her chest. "You actually attending your katei-ka class or something, bro?"

"Huh?" He lurched upright, a stray curl flopping loose across his forehead. A little too frantic, he whirled to her, shoving the peeler behind his back as he did. "Nah. Just wanted a snack."

She sighed. Who the hell did he think he was kidding? But whatever. If he wanted to be weird, so be it.

Kicking her bag into the corner, she shrugged out of her jacket and headed upstairs. "Just clean up before Mum gets home, would ya? She doesn't need a mess on the counter after finishing a night shift."

Out of the corner of her eye, Shizuru saw the peeler peek from behind Kazuma's back, a strip of carrot falling to the floor with a faint, wet plop. Sheepish, he dropped to scrape it off the linoleum. "I'll clean. Promise."

Uh huh.

Sure, he would.

Considering he hadn't attended a full katei-ka since ditching halfway through on his first day, she knew better than to expect clean surfaces when he was done. With laminate countertops as old as theirs, sparkling was out of the question, but if she wanted anything better than faintly sticky, she'd need to come down in an hour and do the work herself.

The least he could do was try though.

She expected that much.

In the narrow hall off the kitchen, she paused long enough to slip her jacket onto a hook in the coat closet—and to hang the crumpled ball Kazuma had left on the floor while she was at it—then turned the tight corner onto the stairs. She was three steps up when Kazuma nosed into the hall.

He peered up at her through the railings, gnawing his cheek in that habit she was always telling him to quit. "Did Mum leave anything for dinner?"

"What? Your carrot snack won't hold you over?"

At least he had the sense to blush. Avoiding her eyes, he scuffed a foot across the lip where the kitchen's linoleum met the hall's worn carpet. "I'm just hungry. Missed lunch."

"Fighting, again?" she asked flatly.

"No!"

Too sharp. Too defiant.

Rolling her eyes, she carried on up the stairs, calling back, "There's leftover rice in the fridge. I'll scramble some eggs in a bit, and we'll make a meal of it. Sound good?"

It was the best she could do. Wasn't like she attended katei-ka much either…

"Yeah. Thanks, Zu."

Only once she was in her room with the latch jimmied shut as securely as any proper lock could manage, where she was sure he couldn't see her, did she let a smile tug at her lips.

Stupid baby bro.

Whatever he was hiding wouldn't last long.

It never did.

Shizuru started seeing ghosts three nights after her eleventh birthday.

Probably, it had nothing to do with her birthday, but she always remembered the day the first terror struck because that night, she and Kazuma had snuck down to the kitchen after bedtime and polished off the last slices of her cake together, eating by candlelight in hopes of not waking their parents. With sticky fingers and frosting covered lips, they'd snuck back to bed, and Shizuru had sworn Kazuma to secrecy, tangling her pinky with his and solemnly promising to kick his ass if his big mouth blabbed.

He'd been too high on sugar to be scared of her.

Two hours later, he'd also been the first one to reach her bedside after she started screaming.

For a while after that night, Shizuru had imagined the candles they'd lit might've conjured the horrible spirit that had woken her. How else could she explain the shape that had hovered above her bed, somehow darker than the darkness all around it, blacker than the color black itself? And when it had reached for her, even though she couldn't actually see its hands, she'd known she shouldn't let it touch her—she'd known it was bad.

Really, really bad.

So she'd screamed, and Kazuma had come—but he hadn't seen it.

Their parents hadn't either.

In the chaos, as Mum hugged her tight and Dad paced the room, running fingers through his pillow-mussed hair, Shizuru had lost track of the shape. The ghoul? The spirit? She didn't know. But it had disappeared. Whatever it was.

That particular spirit never came back—or if it did, she never woke up to see it again. But others came. Sporadically, for the most part. Not always at night. A few she spotted in the park Kazuma liked to hang out in, and she started going with him when she could, even though there was nothing more boring than watching her stupid baby bro pick fights he couldn't win with thirteen-year-olds twice his size. It didn't matter if watching rust form was more entertaining; if spirits were hanging around, she wouldn't leave him alone out there.

That wasn't how Kuwabara Shizuru rolled.

Still, she didn't tell him about the visions, and she didn't tell their parents, either.

What was the point, really, when she was dealing with it okay? Why freak anyone out over something she had a handle on? Besides, she tended to go months without seeing one. No need to get dramatic.

But then she turned thirteen and enrolled at Sarayashiki Junior High—and that's when she met Hanako.

After that, her secret was never quite the same.

Kazuma kept being weird.

The Tuesday carrots turned into Wednesday lettuce. Which was odd enough. But Thursday, Shizuru kicked open the back door to find him bent over the counter, whacking the lid of a baby food container with the back edge of a knife, and her bizarre-o-meter shot straight into the stratosphere.

In three short strides, she crossed to his side and yanked the glass canister from his hands. One glance at the label nearly had her puking in the sink. "Pureed chicken? Are you serious, bro? What the hell are you doing? Didn't realize my eggs and rice are so bad you've gotten this desperate."

He scrambled to yank the jar from her hands. "Give that back, Zu."

Vexed, she planted a palm on his forehead and held him at bay with a single stiff arm. No wonder the kid lost every fight he picked with that Urameshi twerp. He was about as forceful as a wet paper bag. "Seriously, what the heck is this for? Do I have to go raid your room?"

He went white as sheet—white as the completely inaccurate ghosts depicted in cartoons. "You can't. My room's off limits."

"Oh yeah?"

Giving him no room to answer, she shoved the baby food into his chest and sprung into motion. Bolting for the hall. Leaping up the stairs. Darting to his room. In fifteen seconds flat, she was inside, hands planted on her hips as she surveyed the carnage.

Unmade bed. Pile of laundry too toxic for close encounters. A desk too cluttered for any proper work to ever be done—thanks in no small part to the bandages and antiseptic wipes littered atop it.

And there, in the corner by the foot of his bed, a cardboard box with holes punched in the lid.

Damn it.

Kazuma was behind her by the time she turned back to the door, the unopened jar of chicken puree still in his hands. "Zu, don't yell. I had to. I had to bring it home. It was hurt. I swear—"

Of course, he did. Of course, he brought some new stray home. It didn't matter how many times Dad said no pets after their old cat Nao died. It didn't matter that Shizuru had promised to wear their parents down.

Kazuma was too impatient—and he never freaking listened to her.

She jabbed a finger into his chest. "What's in that box? Don't lie to me."

"I… well, I'm not sure. I mean, I think it's a ferret. Maybe?" His fingers twisted ineffectually around the lid of the baby food. Despite his best efforts with the knife, it wasn't coming free. "You can see it, if you want," he added hopefully, as if her heart might suddenly soften right up if she peeked inside his stupid, idiotic, dumbass cardboard box.

"Where did you find it?"

"In an alley. I'd… Look, Urameshi beat me again, and I'm gonna get him next time, you know I will, but I was in the alley where we fought, and I saw it in this garbage heap. And it was hurt, Zu. It walks all strange, like it doesn't know how, and I know it's not my responsibility to help it survive or anything, but I couldn't just leave it there. That would be—"

She clamped a hand over his mouth. "Can it, bro. I don't need your life story, damn it." Exhaling the way Dad did when he was looking for patience, she glared up at the ceiling. The plaster didn't offer much in the way of answers. Despite her better judgment, she bit out, "Show it to me."

He hesitated a moment, awkward and suddenly too small for quickly growing limbs, but then he ducked past her and hurried to the box. She followed, peering over his shoulder as he pulled back the top flaps.

Shizuru wasn't overly familiar with ferrets, but the animal inside Kazuma's box seemed to tick the right boxes. Long body. Equally long tail. Short muzzle. Button-black nose. Pale fur. It could be a ferret.

But…

Instinct—the same instinct that alerted her when spirits were prowling—said looking like a ferret didn't mean it was a ferret.

Maybe because of the way it rose up to look at her, beady, black eyes overbright, as if it had determined she was the problem here instead of it. Or maybe just because her baby bro was an idiot who didn't get that wild animals should be left where they were, not hoarded like collectibles.

"See," Kazuma said. "It's not hurting anybody. I'm just taking care of it. For a bit. Until it's walking better."

Shizuru bit her cheek, then stopped as soon as she remembered where Kazuma got his bad habit from. She looked pointedly at the jar of baby food, choosing to ignore the fact hoping it would learn to walk right was a ridiculous thing to wait on. "And what, it didn't like carrots?"

"I did some research. Ferrets need meat. A lot of it. Cat food is good, but baby food does in a pinch." His too big shoulders strained against his too small school uniform. "There's no pet store on the way home, but I stopped in the market and bought this. Figured it'd work until I find a pet shop—"

"No. No pet shops." She leveled him with her sternest glare. "You have one week to heal this thing up or whatever. One week, Kazuma, you got me? Then it's out of here. If it isn't, I tell Dad. I swear, I will. Don't waste money on this thing. We can't keep it forever, and I'm not getting in trouble because you can't leave feral animals where they're supposed to be."

His forehead creased, his dark eyes sparking with protest.

She silenced him with another jab of her finger. "One week. Then it's gone. That's final."

"Fine," he snapped and shoved her to the door. "But get out. You're not allowed in here."

Honestly? Shame on her for thinking that was the end of anything.

Weekdays sucked.

But Wednesday mornings? They sucked worst of all.

Not that any school day was particular great, but there was something extra hellish about back-to-back-to-back geometry, biology, and statistics. Shizuru was not a left-brain person. She did not think in numbers and facts and scientific mumbo jumbo.

Nah.

She ran on creativity. When she closed her eyes, it wasn't images of x- and y-axes or diagrams of the atmospheric pressure of blah blah blah that swam on the back of her eyelids. What she saw were collared shirts with patterned ties, eyebrows shaped to understated perfection, angled bobs providing stunning contrast to elegant jaws—in other words, a million visions Sarayashiki Junior High had no intentions of helping her hone.

Especially not on Wednesdays.

Which is how she found herself with a hall pass twenty minutes into statistics, ducking into the corridor and heading for the stairs up to the third floor. Her pace qualified for a stroll, declaring to anyone looking that why yes, she did belong out of class right now. Why would you ask that?

In reality, Old Man Watanabe had no idea she'd left. He was still blathering away at the blackboard, back turned to his bored-to-death class, blissfully—or willfully—unaware of the complete lack of academic interest he inspired.

As for the hall pass, she'd swiped a booklet of passes two weeks into the school year, and it was a serious testament to her willpower that she'd made it more than half the year before needing a renewal. Her teachers should be honored she hadn't skipped out on them more often. Still, her supply was running low. If she wanted to keep up her forgeries, she'd have to pilfer a new set soon. Shouldn't be too hard. After all, if Watanabe was good for one thing, at least it was that he was as careless with his supplies as he was his students' attention spans.

For now, though, Shizuru was headed straight for the bathroom on the third floor—and more specifically, for the broken smoke detector above the sinks.

To be clear, she wasn't the one who'd broken it. She drew a line between sticky fingers and vandalism. Breaking school property wasn't the same as mimicking her teachers' signatures and putting her pad of hall passes to good use.

She didn't dabble in destructive bullshit.

But someone had tampered with the smoke detector. If she had to guess, it had been out of commission for a year at least. Sadly, she didn't know which of her classmates deserved heroine status. Certainly nobody else seemed to realize the godsend living in the third-floor bathroom, since she'd never seen anyone else utilizing its glory.

In all fairness, she had pretty good guesses as to why that was—namely thanks to the other secret living in the stalls—but either way, she figured lighting one up in her unnamed heroine's honor was thanks enough.

As usual, the bathroom was empty as she shouldered her way inside, and she headed straight for the third sink, right below the broken alarm, before digging a pack of cigarettes from one pocket and her lighter from another. One flick of her thumb later, she was lit, cigarette between her lips as her eyes fell closed.

Hell, she really hated statistics.

When Shizuru's eyelashes next parted, her reflection was no longer the only one in the mirror.

A crown of black hair showed above the door of the third stall, dark eyes narrowed at her beneath a fringe of neat bangs. "I've asked you not to do that in here," declared a light, girly voice. The stern tone the voice aimed for didn't quite land, not with how breathy the words emerged.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I'm disturbing your air quality, what with the decommissioned status of your lungs."

"Except, you are."

Shizuru took a long drag, then turned to the stall and blew the smoke straight at those dark eyes. "Stuff it, Hanako. I so don't have the patience today."

Hanako's head ducked beneath the door as the smoke drifted her way, and Shizuru noticed—even though she'd tried not to—that no feet were visible in the gap under the stall door. She didn't need to see inside to know Hanako wasn't standing on the toilet either.

"You're the worst company," Hanako announced from beyond the door. "I hope you know that."

"Happy to hear I'm hitting the mark on my life goals."

The dark eyes reappeared, still narrowed, pale forehead now creased with disdain. "Can't you go pollute someone else's bathroom?"

"'Fraid not." Another inhale. Another aimed exhale. "You've got the ritziest spot."

"I don't like you, Kuwabara Shizuru."

Shizuru rolled her eyes. She wasn't buying it. No one forced Hanako to materialize or manifest or whatever the heck it was ghosts did when they wanted to be seen. She was the one who started these conversations, not Shizuru.

"You're just hate that you don't scare me," she said dryly.

Hanako had frightened her. Once. For about half a second. But by then, two years after the whole seeing ghosts shtick started up, finding spirits in random places was basically old hat. The myth of Hanako was scarier than the real deal, anyway.

Technically, some of the details were right in the stories Shizuru had heard. Third-floor bathroom. Third stall. Short, black bob haircut. Red school uniform, though Shizuru hadn't seen it often; peering eyes and fingers wiggling between the stall's crack was more in line with Hanako's bag of tricks than full-blown visibility.

But other bits—the actual freaky bits—were wrong.

For one thing, Hanako wasn't covered in so much as a drop of blood, which was the biggest scare factor in most whispered stories about the dead girl. Also, her hand wasn't black, not like that ghoul in the first haunting Shizuru had experienced. Mostly it was just pale. Sort of translucent. Skin, but not skin.

Boring, really.

The biggest surprise was simply that Hanako was trapped here. In dreary old Sarayashiki Junior High.

Who would've thought this stupid place housed its very own resident spirit bitch?

Definitely not Shizuru.

Still, the red uniform was the weirdest part.

Considering Shizuru was stuck in the same horrible skirt and blouse Mum had worn when she'd attended Sarayashiki twenty-two years ago, its lousy shade of periwinkle blue still offending eyes across the city, she had a hard time imagining getting to wear such a striking crimson hue. If she didn't know better, she'd think Hanako had swum over to Sarayashiki from Meiou High and brought her stunning uniform with her.

But from everything she'd pieced together over the last three years, that wasn't really how stranded spirits worked. Most never got to leave the spot where they got stuck.

Its inexplicable origins aside, at least the red uniform explained the false bits about Hanako being covered in blood. If she revealed herself to other kids and they spotted all that red without realizing it was actually her clothes, they'd probably terrified themselves into thinking she was doused in a whole slew of gore.

There wasn't a single doubt in Shizuru's mind Hanako loved that rumor.

Because that other part of the myths about her? The parts where she was pretty much psychotic?

Well. Shizuru suspected those were true.

Silence stretched between her and the ghost girl, disturbed only by the quiet noises of Shizuru's inhales and exhales. She was content to let Hanako crack first.

Eventually, the ghost did.

"Which class are you skipping now?" she asked, drifting higher in her stall until she could brace her forearms atop the door, her scarlet uniform bright against the dingy gray coating on the metal. "Let me guess. Chemistry?"

Shizuru imitated the wail of a buzzer. "Nope. That ended last semester." She blew smoke at the ceiling, straight at the faulty alarm, then stubbed out her cigarette on the lip of the sink. "Statistics. Watanabe wouldn't notice if we were all mummified right behind his back. I had to get out of there."

"So you came here."

"Not many other places to go in this dump."

If she wanted, Shizuru could probably waltz off campus, same as her baby bro got caught doing a bit too often. But much like vandalism wasn't her deal, delinquency wasn't either. Not because she was some saint. No—the only thing keeping her inside Sarayashiki's prison walls was the deal Mum had struck with their beautician. If Shizuru passed junior high with suitable marks, she could start at the salon after graduation. They'd train her and everything.

Which meant no ditching campus and no run-ins with the administration—her unsanctioned use of hall passes notwithstanding.

Speaking of forged passes, she'd used up all the time this one had bought her. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed her cigarette butt in the trash, then strode for the door. "See you, Hanako."

"Later, Kuwabara."

"Mind telling me why Kazuma has an empty cardboard box at the foot his bed?" Dad asked that night as Shizuru finished drying the last dish from dinner. He sat at the table, the morning's already out-of-date newspaper spread before him, but he wasn't reading. "A box with ventilation holes, I might add."

Shizuru winced.

Stupid baby bro.

"Dunno," she lied, and then, because no matter how stupid he was, she wouldn't leave Kazuma out to dry, she added, "but I can find out."

"Do that, please."

"On it," she promised and booked it for the stairs.

The kid hadn't showed for dinner, and she could guess that meant one of two things. Either he was off getting his ass handed to him in a ramen bowl by that Urameshi punk, or he was scrounging up more ferret food—even though she'd expressly told him not to.

But it was only as she reached his door and twisted the knob that her Dad's exact wording registered. Empty cardboard box?

A day early?

That was… less than likely.

Kazuma was as punctual as he was studious. Meaning he wasn't. At all. And he really, really wasn't whenever she asked him to do things.

And for a second, all Shizuru could imagine was the worst. That it had finally happened. That Kazuma was like her—seeing people and creatures not of this world. Because if that ferret wasn't gone—and there was no way it was gone—but their Dad couldn't see it, there weren't a whole lot of explanations left other than the one Shizuru had prayed wouldn't never come true.

But that was stupid.

As stupid as Kazuma had been all week.

There was no way this creature was some spirit or magical critter or whatever. It was probably a ferret, just like Kazuma had said. After all, it had eaten the carrots, hadn't it? Or the baby food, at least. An animal that wasn't actually corporeal wouldn't eat that disgusting slop.

No way.

And yet, she couldn't stop gnawing her inner cheek as she cracked open the door. Sure enough, there it was, still sitting at the foot of Kazuma's bed—that cardboard box with its ridiculous air holes in the lid—and when she crossed to it and yanked the lid open, she found the ferret-that-might-not-be-a-ferret exactly where she'd last seen it, long body curled up in the old towel Kazuma had used to create a nest. It looked up at her, button-black nose glistening and tiny whiskers flicking back and forth as if it was scenting her.

Not an empty box.

But also, pretty damn normal.

She couldn't decide what was better or worse. On the one hand, Kazuma ditching his new pet a day early would've been a sign the whole world had gone belly up, but on the other, if this thing wasn't visible to Dad, there'd be a lot worse things to deal with than Kazuma turning over a new leaf.

Still, she refused to let herself panic. Maybe the explanation was simple. Maybe Kazuma had gotten home earlier than her, taken the ferret out for a walk—because yes, he'd totally walk a ferret like a freaking dog—then brought it back here, and maybe Dad had come in while Kazuma was gone, leading him to find an empty box.

That was rationale.

Normal.

Likely, even.

For now, that's what she chose to believe—what she had to believe. Which meant it was time to cover for Kazuma's idiot butt.

Without a moment's further hesitation, she yanked open his closet door and shoved the box inside, then tossed one of his dirty shirts over it for good measure, deciding contact with his prepubescent stink was better than leaving the box where it could be seen.

Tomorrow, she'd make sure both it and its inhabitant were gone for good.

Then she'd explain to Kazuma that he owed her for quite literally the rest of his life for sparing him the punishment a rescued ferret would've earned him. By Friday, she'd be collecting on that debt—and that? Well, that was going to be damn well worth it.

Thursday night, Mum had one of her typical late shifts and Dad was out for drinks with his colleagues, which meant there were no distractions to sway Shizuru off her course when she got home from school. Dropping her backpack at the door and hastily hanging her coat on its peg, she bee-lined up the stairs and headed straight for Kazuma's room.

She didn't mess around with knocking, just jimmied the lock in reverse of the pattern she used to jam her door shut and stepped over the threshold as the door swung open beneath her palm.

Kazuma was not prepared.

Nor was his company.

And for that matter, neither was Shizuru.

She'd been ready to find Kazuma in his room. Check. She'd been ready to discover his ferret friend still around. Check. She'd even been ready to walk in and discover he'd converted his whole room into a ferret sanctuary

And while he hadn't actually gone that far, what she discovered was somehow infinitely worse.

Because he no longer had just one ferret friend.

Now, he had two.

"What the fuck, baby bro."

Not a question.

She could not manage questions.

Not right then.

Kazuma scrambled off his bed, the ferrets plopping onto the comforter as they tumbled from his lap. "You're not allowed in here, Zu!" The declaration emerged as a whisper-yell, equal parts frustration that she'd ignored the rules of his turf and fear that she'd uncovered his newest secret.

"Too late. Already in," she answered, striving for cool and in control and not-losing-her-flipping-mind. Frankly, she did not succeed, and she stopped trying to regulate her volume as soon as one of the ferrets rose up on its back legs and reached a front paw toward Kazuma, mewling like it was… begging? Or something? "Why are there two? What the hell were you thinking? The first was such a joy you had to go buy another?"

"I didn't buy it!"

"Oh, yeah? So you found another ferret in an alley? Yeah, right, baby bro. I don't believe that for a second."

He crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture that looked way too familiar—way too much like her own reflection. His chin jutted out petulantly, but his dark eyes sparked and Shizuru didn't need her sixth sense to know shit was about to get a hell of a lot more whack. "Well, you shouldn't believe that anyway, because it's not what happened."

"Then what did?"

He wavered, just for a second, just long enough for his jaw to soften a bit, but then he squared his shoulders and stamped a foot. The effect was rather lost on Shizuru, what with how stomping on his own dirty laundry wasn't particularly intimidating. "I came home tonight, and it was here. I think Hayate is Masumi's friend—"

"You did not just use names for them," Shizuru interrupted, halting whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth. "Tell me you didn't just use names for them, baby bro, or I swear, I'm going to freak out like you cannot even imagine."

"I did use names. Now that there's two, I can't just call them Ferret 1 and Ferret 2." He turned to glance at the pair of rodents on his bed, and as a tiny smile crept onto his lips, Shizuru understood right then and there that somewhere in the past, she'd failed to make this kid fear her like he was supposed to. This is what she got for protecting his stupid butt. "I've been thinking about calling Masumi that for a few days now, so I just thought-—"

"No, Kazuma. You aren't thinking." She planted her hands on her hips. "I don't care if you pulled the new one out of your ear. I don't care if it fell out of the sky and landed in your lap. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. You don't get to keep one, and you definitely don't get to keep two. They're out of here. Right now."

She made to step past him and scoop the offending creatures from his bed, but he flung out his arms, blocking her bodily, and though she still had an inch on him in height, she was suddenly very aware that his too big frame in his too small shirt was officially bigger than her own.

"I'm not abandoning them on the street, Zu. Nuh uh. Not happening."

"We can't afford to keep ferrets," she snapped back. "Dad would never allow it, and you know Mum wouldn't like it—and seriously, Kazuma, do you ever think of anyone other yourself?"

This time, the jut of his chin was more stubborn than petulant. "I'm not thinking of me right now. I'm thinking of them."

The plaintive thrust of his hands toward the ferrets did nothing to sway Shizuru. "Get rid of them. Trust me, you want to do it now—not after I take a turn throwing them out the window."

"I saved Masumi's life—"

"It had a stupid waddle, you dolt. You didn't save it!"

"—and I'm going to keep taking care of it," Kazuma continued, talking over her. "Hayate, too." Then, with a pride so thoroughly misplaced Shizuru was pretty sure it must have come from the moon, he added, "I didn't get to tell you, but Masumi got his own dinner the last few days. He didn't even need me. So it's not like we need to pay for them. They just need a safe place to sleep."

Got its own dinner?

What the hell did that even mean?

"You're not making sense," she said flatly. "It went hunting?"

"Ew. No." Kazuma dropped to his knees and pulled an empty baby food container from beneath his bed. "I came home Monday, and Masumi had this. He'd found it for himself."

The sheer absurdity of that statement was too much for words.

But more than that, Shizuru's unease from the night before had come rushing back, and her skin crawled with horrible certainty as she stared at the glass jar in Kazuma's hand.

Ferrets didn't scavenge up human food for themselves. Nor did their twins materialize out of thin air. Regular, normal ferrets were just overly long lumps of fur. That's it. But the ferrets-that-were-not-ferrets had officially abandoned normal, and Shizuru knew better than to keep denying it.

Her anger evaporated, consumed instead by the surety that Kazuma was like her. Whether he realized it yet or not, he had an awareness most people would never possess. These creatures might be his first encounter. If they were—or even if they weren't—it was her job to protect him.

"Did you take Masumi out of the box yesterday? Like late afternoon, when Dad was home?"

Befuddled by the sudden change in topic, Kazuma merely blinked at her. "Uh, no. I left my window open while we were at school, and I think that's how he's been getting out for food, but I closed it when I got home."

"And then you went out again?"

"Yup."

But he hadn't taken Masumi with him. Which meant it was probably in that box when Dad had looked inside and decided it was empty. After all, it had been in its nest when she'd checked.

So Dad hadn't seen it—couldn't see it.

Well, shit.

"Listen to me, Kazuma," she said, all pretenses of her tough chick act abandoned. She was as earnest with him as she'd ever been in her life. He had to believe her. He had to understand. "I don't think these are ferrets, and I don't know what they are, but I don't think it's safe for us to have them here. I'm going to do some digging, but until I know more, I need you to be careful. Don't feed them anymore. Don't cuddle with them. I know you're not going to kick them out until I explain, and maybe you shouldn't until we know what they are anyway, but you need to careful. Got it?"

His cheek puckered as he caught it between his teeth. For a second, he said nothing, glancing between her and the creatures on his bed. Then, he shrugged. "Okay, Zu. Promise."

But she hardly heard him, because right then? Staring into ferrets-that-were-not-ferrets' beady, intelligent eyes? All she could think about was how she'd been the stupid one all along, not Kazuma. How had she not seen it before? How had she convinced herself these far too attentive animals were nothing to be concerned with? How had she thought, even for a second, that Masumi might be a mundane rodent Kazuma found on the street?

In what world was a simple ferret capable of understanding a conversation as clearly as this animal obviously had?

She couldn't say for sure how she knew, but she did know. Masumi and Hayate had heard everything they'd said—everything she'd said. They knew she wanted them gone, that she didn't trust them, that not a single part of her was okay with a single part of this. And far, far more upsettingly, they also knew they had Kazuma firmly on the hook.

Which was bad.

Holy shit, it was so bad.

Shizuru had stepped foot in a library of her own volition precisely twice in her life. Sure, she'd been dragged into Sarayashiki Junior High's abysmal collection of stacks too many times to count during for classes, but the actual library a ten-minute walk from her house? The one with zero affiliation with school?

That one she'd only been in twice.

Once to rent a book Kazuma desperately needed for a science project—even though he refused to admit how much it would help—and once to return that book, because her baby bro was an idiot and refused to 'damage his street cred' by stepping in a library. As if, at ten years old, he had any street cred whatsoever.

That Friday, when she skipped her first period and headed to the library instead, she got a firm reminder why books—and the libraries that housed them—were useless. First off, because finding the text she needed was impossible without asking for help, and that was something she refused to do, partially because she couldn't risk a librarian encounter while clearly skipping school and partially because there was no chance in this life or any other that she'd consider revealing her extracurricular senses to absolutely anyone. Secondly, books could go die in a fiery hell because reading was slow and time-consuming and not at all the way to quickly solve the crisis Kazuma had created by inviting those ferrets-that-were-not-ferrets into their house.

And yeah, she may have been a little bit panicky.

But that was not the point.

Fifteen minutes before her second class was set to start, she abandoned the library's dusty shelves, sprinted into the street, and raced to school, making it to her desk just in time for roll call—a little windblown, but mostly passable.

Unlike Old Man Watanabe, her teacher this morning—sprightly, attentive Mr. Nakamura—would notice if she went missing, so she waited exactly seventeen minutes before making her move. One correctly answered history question and flustered smile later, she escaped to the third-floor hall with a pass in hand, strolling straight for the bathroom and its not-so-unoccupied stalls.

The library may have failed her.

But that didn't mean she was out of resources.

Her heart drumming against her breastbone, Shizuru slipped into the bathroom and eased the door closed, glancing around—and even checking beneath the stalls—before calling, "Hanako?"

No answer.

Shizuru fidgeted. She'd never come here to visit Hanako directly, and until right this moment, she hadn't really considered the fact that the ghost had always chosen when to make appearances. It wasn't like Shizuru had ever wanted to summon her before.

Impatience got the best of her, and she said more firmly, "Come on, Hanako. I know you're here."

Still nothing.

Then it clicked.

The stories about Hanako—all those myths that were more wrong than right—always started with a ridiculous means of conjuring the deceased girl. Repeating her name three times. Calling to her like some strange incantation.

Which was bullshit, because Shizuru had never had to do anything for Hanako to appear before. But then, again, she'd never actually needed the ghost prior to this miserable morning, and if Hanako had put together that Shizuru had come seeking her intentionally, she was probably keeping out of sight by choice.

Gritting her teeth, Shizuru bit out, "Hanako. Hanako. Hanako."

A pause, brief and pregnant and irritating as hell.

Then a hand, squeezing between the gap at the side of the third stall's door, an entire forearm fitting impossibly through the centimeter crack. The translucent fingers hooked like claws, dragging across the door's dingy surface.

Shizuru rolled her eyes. "Very scary, Hanako. You've knocked years off my life."

The ghost rose above her stall, her dark eyes surrounded in faint laugh lines, her arm sliding through the door as if it weren't there at all. "Come to chat, have you, Kuwabara?"

Right. No beating around the bush.

Good.

"Yes, actually." She crossed to Hanako's stall, staring up at the girl floating a foot overhead, her forearms in their brilliant crimson folded atop the door. "What do you know about creatures… not from this world?"

Hanako's finely arched brows crooked. "As in spirits?"

"More or less. But an animal. Not a person like you."

"I know enough."

"So if I told you I've got a spirit infestation in my house, you could tell me how to get rid of it?"

Hanako cocked her head, a mischievous smile curling her lips like a spring. "Why get rid of it? Us spiritfolk aren't all bad." An edge ran under the words, a steady current looking to yank Shizuru's footing out from under her at the first sign of weakness.

She swallowed down a curse. Offending the ghost she wanted assistance from probably wasn't the best way to actually secure that assistance. "That came out wrong. I just… need to make sure my little brother isn't getting himself into trouble."

Hanako's smile remained the slightest degree off-center, just barely lopsided. "Well, describe these creatures, then."

Shizuru did, quick as she could. Time was ticking on her hall pass, and Nakamura would notice if she was back late. The run-down she offered Hanako was simple. Ferrets-that-were-not-ferrets, complete with long bodies, longer tails, and far too intelligent eyes. Plus, a proclivity for thievery and maybe the ability to multiply.

As soon as she fell silent, Hanako nodded. "Sounds like kuda-gitsune to me."

Shizuru frowned. "Huh?"

"Kuda-gitsune. They're friendly spirits." Hanako's smile finally faded a bit, as if delivering this news disappointed her. "They pick families and bless them. Wealth. Good fortune. Material needs. A clan of kuda-gitsune provide all that and more." With a sigh that screamed of dramatics, she slumped back into her stall. "Keep them around, Kuwabara. You'll like what they have to offer."

"Are you sure?"

"Would I lie to you, Kuwabara?"

Well, yeah. Probably.

But if she did, would she be so obvious about it?

"Now get out before you feel the urge to pollute my air," Hanako added. "I'm not in the mood for company."

Shizuru turned to go, her mind racing, but her feet ground to a standstill and she swiveled back, a frown tightening her lips. "Wait. One more question. You said a 'clan' of them. Are they going to keep appearing?"

No answer.

She rapped her knuckles on the door. "Hey. Come on. I need to know how many to expect. Hanako, seriously—" She knocked again, and the door swung open, revealing nothing but a pristine toilet, far cleaner than anything in the rest of the bathroom.

Hanako was gone.

Kazuma greeted Shizuru in the kitchen when she arrived home that night.

He sat on the counter, his heels kicking against the cabinet, and as soon as he caught sight of her through the back door's tiny windowpane, he lit up like a firework. Before she'd even made it inside, he'd started talking. "—more food when I got back. They must've gone scavenging again. We really won't need to feed them, Zu. It's perfect. I—"

She held up a hand to silence him. "Back up. What are you saying?"

"I came home today, and there was a whole bunch of baby food in my room. Seventeen jars!" His grin would've been infectious if his words didn't make her skin crawl so much. "I told you Hayate and Masumi would feed themselves."

Still only Hayate and Masumi? That was good.

If another name joined that list, she wasn't sure what she'd do. Mostly, she didn't want to think about it. But she knew better than to expect a solution to fall into their lap.

She had to be proactive.

"Listen, baby bro, I really don't think we should keep them." Screw what Hanako had said. Keeping spirits around—no matter how supposedly beneficial—was just asking for shit to go sideways. "I'd bet my life they aren't ferrets, and I promise you they don't need us. We should let them go."

Kazuma's face fell. His feet ceased swinging. "Why do you want to take them away from me?"

To protect him. Duh. Wasn't that obvious?

But no, it probably wasn't—and she didn't know how to fix that. If she told him the truth, would he even believe her? Would he accept that they both saw things most people didn't? Or would he think she was losing her mind?

"I need you to trust me. Okay, kid? Can you—"

Without letting her finish, he leapt off the counter and stormed for the hall. "No, Zu. You're wrong." He glanced over his shoulder, his sharp cheekbones and jutting jaw stonier than she'd ever seen it. "Don't come in my room ever again. I mean it."

"Kazuma, come back here!"

He didn't, and his stomping footfalls up the stairs echoed in her ears all night.

Waiting was not Shizuru's strong suit.

She hated being dependent on other people, and—as she was quickly learning—she despised being held hostage by spirit creatures even more so. Not that the kuda-gitsune were holding her at gunpoint, obviously, but they'd thrown her off-kilter. Now all she could do was wait to react.

She was a big enough person to admit she wasn't handling it well.

Twice, she tried to break into Kazuma's room. The first time, she nearly succeeded, stopped only when he shoved his dresser in front of the door. After that, he was ready for her, and when her second attempt revealed he'd installed a new doorknob, its surface bright, shiny silver, and an impossible jimmy lock firmly bolted into place. For a while, she stood there dumbstruck, listening to him banging around inside, cooing to the kuda-gitsune like some mother doting over her babies. When her fury grew too heated to be contained, she banged roughly on the door, spat the most foul curse she'd ever aimed his way, and finally retreated, knowing better than to make any further of a scene and risk attracting their parents' attention.

On the Wednesday following her conversation with Hanako, she used up her final stolen hall pass to sneak out of Watanabe's class and head for the third-floor bathroom. All it took was one strike of her lighter for the ghost girl to appear, narrowed eyes like dark pits above the lip of the door, but this time, Hanako gave up no secrets. Smiling the same coy smile she had when Shizuru had first come to her for help, she asked how the kuda-gitsune were settling in, and when Shizuru demanded to know whether they were going to keep multiplying, the girl merely tittered to herself before badgering Shizuru about the indecency of her cigarette and refusing to say a word more about Kazuma's new pets.

That night, Shizuru didn't take the back door into the kitchen. Instead, she followed the bend in the alley behind their house and stopped below Kazuma's window.

The upper story was too high for her to reach from the ground, and for one feverish moment, she imagined building herself a stairway of alley junk up to the sill, but then movement shifted beyond the glass, and suddenly, there was Kazuma, forehead pressed to the window as he stuck out his tongue at her.

Oh yeah.

He definitely had the same sixth sense she did. No other way he'd have known she was there.

Bested again, she headed to her own room, resigned to more waiting. The other ugly, fashion-disaster shoe was bound to drop soon, and when it did, she'd be there to save Kazuma's dumb butt—whether he appreciated it or not.

"Zu?"

Kazuma poked his head into Shizuru's room late on a Saturday night nearly three weeks after he shut her out. It was the first contact he'd initiated in what felt like lifetimes, and she froze at the sound of him, half-convinced he'd startle away if she moved too quickly.

Hell, she'd actually missed him barging into her room.

As it turned out, he might be a twerp, but he was her twerp. His distance in the last weeks had ached as sorely as if a piece of her had gone missing—like a phantom limb screaming its absence to her bones.

"Hey, baby bro. What's up?"

"Can I show you something?"

Setting aside the magazine she'd been studying—analyzing hairstyles with the critical eye she prided herself on—she patted the space next to her on the bed. "Duh."

In seconds, he'd scrambled into place beside her, back propped against one of her over-stuffed pillows. "I don't want to fight about it, okay? Because it's pretty cool, and you shouldn't get mad."

The relief Shizuru had felt to see his orange fringe poking around her door dissipated. Not off to a great start, were they? "Not sure I can promise that, kid."

"You have to. Otherwise, I'm not showing you."

Brilliant negotiation tactics. "How do I know that's even a promise worth making? What am I bargaining for?"

Apparently, answering those questions was more than Kazuma's limited patience could handle, because he flapped a hand and sighed. "Whatever. Don't promise." Then he wiggled a hand beneath his butt into his back pocket. It reemerged cupping a slip of paper.

Yellow paper.

Of a kind Shizuru knew well.

Her brows rose. A yen note?

"You get a job while I wasn't looking?"

"No way!"

She reached for the bill. "Then where'd you get that?"

He stuffed his fist between his legs, and she pulled back, rolling her eyes. Well. Okay, then.

"Don't get mad."

"We've been through this. I don't make deals when I don't know the terms."

His lips puckered, brow creasing as he frowned at her, but then his excitement got the best of him and his hand emerged again, palm splaying flat to reveal a ten-thousand yen note. "This is a thank you. For not ratting out Hayate and Masumi."

She didn't take the money. "How'd you get that, Kazuma?" He didn't answer right away, and she pushed his hand down, back into his lap, shoving the money out of sight. "You stealing? I know you run with a lot of punks, but the Kuwabaras are better than that. We don't—"

"I didn't steal it!"

Too loud.

He'd yelled that way too loud.

She clamped a hand over his mouth. "Quiet! If Mum hears you, you're going to have way more explaining to do."

"I didn't steal it," he repeated, his words jumbling up against her palm. She released him, and he said, "If I explain, you're gonna get angry. Just take it."

"Not until you tell me where you got this much money."

He unhooked his legs and clambered upright, abandoning the note on her bed. "I'm not telling—"

She caught him as his hand closed on the doorknob. "Kazuma. Enough. Tell me or I will march straight to Dad and tell him everything."

With her hand clamped on his shoulder, he couldn't escape, but he made a valiant, squirming effort. She tightened her grip, pinning him to the inside of her door, and tipped up his chin with her free hand until he couldn't avoid her eyes.

"Masumi brought this to you," she said, and it wasn't a question.

What had Hanako said to her? That kuda-gitsune blessed families with good fortune and material goods—and wealth? Money like the note lying on her bed?

At least Kazuma had the wits not to deny it. "What's it matter if he did?"

She scoffed. "It can't create money, Kazuma. You might not have stolen that bill, but it did."

"Masumi isn't an 'it.'"

It took everything in her not to shake him until he fell apart completely, until all the muscle and sinew in his body turned to jelly and he collapsed into a heap of bones at her feet. "Are you kidding? That's what you have to say?"

A flush crept up Kazuma's neck. "You're getting mad."

"Fuck yeah, I am. You're trying to give me stolen money! Of course, I'm mad! Those things are thieves, and you welcomed them into our house, and you don't even seem to care."

"They're not hurting anyone! None of them are!"

None.

Not neither.

Shizuru felt cold, like she'd plunged in an ice bath, frozen down to her nerve endings. "How many?" she managed to ask. "How many are there now?"

He swallowed roughly. "Zu—"

"No! No, Kazuma! Tell me." She grabbed at him with her free hand, her fingers clenching around his bicep, panic driving her into a tizzy. He didn't get it. He didn't understand what he'd done. "They aren't ferrets. Don't you see that? They're not just animals. We can't keep them. We can't—"

"I know they aren't ferrets," he said softly.

She froze.

"There's seven now." He shifted awkwardly, worming free of her hands and sagging against the door. "After the fourth one appeared, they… well, none of them have hind legs anymore. Not 'cause they're hurt. Just… they're gone, I guess? Ferrets don't do that. They don't stop having legs."

Words escaped her.

But Kazuma still possessed his tongue. "Most of them are a lot smaller than Masumi. They fit in my palm. Or… in a bamboo tube. I asked Okubo's mom about them. Not about mine specifically. But I described 'em. Vaguely, ya know? She said they're called pipe foxes. Kuda-gitsune," he finished in a whisper. And then, so soft she almost couldn't hear him, "Do you think they're kuda-gitsune, Zu?"

Numbly, she nodded. "Yeah. I do, baby bro."

"And we can both see them."

"Uh huh."

"Oh." He wriggled his bare toes against the floorboards. "I didn't know. That they weren't ferrets, I mean."

"Why didn't you tell me when you figured it out?"

"You were mad at me."

Despite herself, a laugh escaped. "Nah, kid. You were the one mad at me."

"Nuh uh."

A beat of silence hovered between them before she sighed and let the tiniest fraction of tension unwind in her shoulders. "Look, it doesn't matter. Point is, we can't keep them. Okay? They can't stay here."

"But they're helping us. Or me. They're helping me."

"How?"

"Well, they get their own food still. And bring me money." His nose crinkled. "Though I guess that's not great. But they do other stuff, too! Like I forgot my bag at school a few days ago, but I got home and it was here. And Hayate brought me my new doorknob. And Mr. Sato down the street keeps yelling at me for stuff that's not my fault, and yesterday, his power went out. Only house on the whole block. And I saw Masumi on the front steps. I think he did it to help me—"

"Kazuma. Stop it. Listen to yourself. That's not good. They're stealing that food and your doorknob and money they give you. And you shouldn't want Mr. Sato to lose power, no matter how much of a jerk he is."

He shook his head. "You don't get it. They're my friends."

"No, they're not."

Head still shaking wildly, he fumbled for the knob, yanked the door open, and wriggled through the gap. She was too exhausted to stop him, and as he raced to his own room, she stared after him, feeling more helpless than she had since that night after her eleventh birthday when her second sight first kicked in.

But she wasn't going to stay helpless for long.

On Monday, she'd get answers from Hanako.

Then she'd put an end to this—whether Kazuma liked it or not.

Shizuru skipped lunch.

As her classmates flooded downstairs for a half hour of gossip in the crowded lunchroom, Shizuru returned to the third-floor bathroom, dead set on getting the answers she wanted—no shitty pun intended. Hanako could get away with her games with other students, but Shizuru wasn't like her classmates, and no one got away with ribbing her—not even ghosts.

Problem was, when she burst into the bathroom, she found it already occupied, a pair of girls she recognized from Mr. Nakamura's history class standing at the mirrors. One was braiding her hair, fingers working diligently as she frowned at her reflection, and the other leaned against a sink, staring at the closed third stall.

"You really think she's in there?" the second girl asked.

"That's what Daishi said."

"Yeah, but how would he know? This is the girls' bathroom."

Neither girl seemed to care that Shizuru had joined them, and she hesitated a second in the doorway, struck dumb by this unexpected wrench in her plans. Eventually, she went through the sham of a proper bathroom visit, then dawdled at the sink, but after five minutes of continued hair-braiding and stall-staring on the part of her classmates, she abandoned her efforts. Hanako wouldn't answer any questions with these two loitering around.

Shizuru would have to try again later.

'Later' turned out to be a hard time to find.

The restroom that had been her deserted sanctuary all year had suddenly turned into the hotspot of the entire school—and not because her classmates had finally realized the glorious potential of the broken fire alarm.

It took until Thursday for her to piece together the whole story.

Apparently, some guy in the year above hers—the Daishi mentioned by the girls on Monday—had ducked into the girls' bathroom to hide from Principal Takanaka. He'd raced for the stalls, landing at the third through pure random chance, and when he'd shoved open the door, Sarayashiki Junior High's resident ghost had been ready.

According to Daishi, she'd been drenched in blood, her hands clawing at her own throat, mouth open in a silent, deafening scream.

If Shizuru had to bet, Hanako had put on a phenomenal show. She probably had been fake screaming and pretending to tear herself to tatters, but the blood was surely the same load of bullshit it had always been—a very stupidly misinterpreted crimson uniform.

Not that it mattered.

The whole damn school was losing its mind regardless.

Prior to Daishi's hideout-gone-horribly-wrong incident, Hanaka hadn't made a proper appearance all school year. The strange conversations she instigated with Shizuru hardly counted as hauntings, but the fright she'd given Daishi was an entirely different monster. That terror now zinged through the school like an electric current—a magnet that sucked boys and girls alike to the third-floor bathroom.

Short of murdering every last member of the student body, Shizuru was never going to snag more than a second alone with Hanako until this whole mess died down.

And that's what scared her.

Because her gut was clamoring none of this was accidental, and her instinct was rarely wrong. If she was right and Hanako had engineered this on purpose, if the spirit had manifested for Daishi to draw attention to her bathroom, then the ghost had done it to keep Shizuru at bay—to stop Shizuru from getting the answers she needed.

Which—as should go without saying—was just another mess to add to the heap of really-really-fucking-bad that had been ruining her life.

For three hellish weeks, the calamity kept up around Hanako's stall.

And all the while, in a slight far worse than the ghost's devious ploy, Kazuma avoided Shizuru.

At family dinners, he refused to look at her. On nights when they were home alone, he dug up his own leftovers and retreated to his room, careful to return his dishes to the sink before Mum got home and discovered his rule breaking. Always, his door remained locked, an impassable barrier between Shizuru and the kuda-gitsune clan he harbored.

But she didn't miss the signs of their continued presence.

Empty baby food jars in the dumpster in the back alley. A hushed conversation she overheard between her parents, in which Mum admitted to finding an utterly absurd amount of yen in the pockets of Dad's laundry. A trinket Kazuma gifted Mum on her birthday—an intricate maneki-neko statuette far nicer than anything he should've been able to afford.

Stolen, stolen, stolen.

All of it.

And then, on the Thursday that broke the last of her tenuous hold on calm, she arrived home to a house empty of people, but not devoid of inhabitants.

They were in the kitchen.

Nearly two dozen now.

Curled up on the counters, pacing the dining table, rummaging in the cabinets—everywhere. Kuda-gitsune everywhere.

The name Kazuma had used—tube foxes—made sense now. They were all torso and tail, one long length of fur, equipped with only forepaws, no back legs to speak of. Most were smaller than Masumi, lithe and quick on their two feet, and at the sight of her, they scattered, leaping from the table and counters and fleeing, not walking so much as floating, blurring into streaks of light gray and tawny brown. In moments, she was alone, the sound of whispering fur all that remained as evidence of the kuda-gitsunes' retreat.

Except—no, that wasn't true.

Open cans littered the counter. Not baby food jars like she'd grown used to, but packets of sauce and containers of salmon and tins smoked chicken. Even Dad's secret stash of canned king crab. All opened atop the counters, their contents half-eaten, whatever remained behind scattered across the laminate.

She didn't even try to save the scraps, just dumped the lot into a garbage bag and hauled it out back. Considering the cost of what she'd thrown away, it was hardly a solution, but it was all she could do for now. After, she dusted off her palms, swiveled to the house, and stormed straight for her room.

No more delays.

No more deterences.

Tomorrow, Hanako paid the piper.

Shizuru stayed three hours later after school—three endless, dreadfully long hours during which various clubs wrapped up their overachieving extracurriculars—until, at last, she was the only living soul left within Sarayashiki Junior High's drab walls.

The third-floor bathroom unsettled her in a way it never used to as she slipped inside and stalked to the third mirror. Coming here felt different this time. Since the start of the school year, Hanako had been something of an unknown quantity, not quite what the stories had said she would be, but not quite knowable just yet, either.

Nonetheless, she hadn't frightened Shizuru. Not in any real sense.

After all, the first ghost she'd ever seen was far scarier than a girl in a toilet stall could ever be.

Now, though?

Well, frankly, her suspicions about Hanako's devious nature seemed more like straight fact these days. Maybe years of entrapment had driven Hanako off-kilter. Or maybe she'd always been sick and twisted.

Either way, she had the answers Shizuru needed. Her choice not to share them had been purposeful.

That intention seemed to hold true even then, and though Shizuru thumbed the striker on her lighter and breathed a cigarette to life between her fingers, Hanako made no appearance. Resisting the urge to kick through the stall door, Shizuru crossed to it and knocked three times. "Are you there, Hanako?"

Unbidden, the stall creaked open.

On the far side, Hanako had propped herself against the walls, back against one, knees braced against the other, looking for all the world as if she were lounging in mid-air, suspended as if atop clouds. Logically, Shizuru knew the strangely casual position was just an act—the ghost girl lacked any proper physical mass; she couldn't actually touch anything around her—but hell if it wasn't convincing enough to be unsettling.

"Bit late for a visit, Kuwabara."

Striving for her usual bite, Shizuru answered dryly, "Yeah, well, it seems like your appointment book has recently filled up more than usual."

"Has it?"

It took every dose of willpower Shizuru had not to flip the spirit off. "Look, I'm not here for a bullshit run-around. Tell me what you know about kuda-gitsune or—"

"What? How will you threaten me, Kuwabara? You can't hurt me." A garrish smile twisted Hanako's pretty lips. "No one can hurt me."

"There are two dozen now," Shizuru snapped, ignoring the taunt. "How many more can I expect? Another dozen? Fifty? A hundred?"

Hanako lifted one calf, propping it atop her other knee. Then she turned her attention to her nails, picking at her ghostly cuticles. An act. A big ploy. A show of normalcy in the midst of so much abnormal. "Wealthy homes can usually support up to seventy-five kuda-gitsune before they're picked dry."

A crease furrowed across Shizuru's brow. "What?"

"I said, wealthy homes—"

"I heard what you said! But what did you mean?"

Hanako laughed, bright and cheery. "They can't help multiplying. It'll just keep happening, and they'll have to be fed." She tilted her head, quirking a brow. "Tell me, Kuwabara, do you have a well-stocked pantry?"

On a good day, no. And on a day like today? After their cupboards were mercilessly ransacked?

Shizuru knew better than to think Hanako needed a true answer.

"You should've warned me," she accused instead. "You said they were kind spirits. I didn't kick them out because Kazuma would never forgive me. But if I'd known, if you'd told me—"

Hanako's chin rose haughtily. "You're lucky I told you anything."

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

The spirit girl went quiet, and then, right as Shizuru registered her own mistake, Hanako began to fade, her crimson uniform dulling to sun-bleached pink as her skin grew ever more translucent.

"Wait!" Shizuru stumbled forward, reaching out, her hand passing through the nothingness where Hanako's hip should've been. "How do I get rid of them? Help me, Hanako. Tell me how to make them leave."

"Sorry," Hanako said, her voice sounding from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Don't want to."

Then—silence.

Running wasn't a talent of Shizuru's.

Later in life, she could point an accusatory finger at the cigarettes Hanako hated so much, but that excuse wasn't hers to claim as she sprinted home that night, her skirt baring way more of her ass to the streets than the public should've ever had the chance to see. Breathless and seeing spots, she skidded into ally the alongside her house, pausing to brace her hands against her knees and curse her own out-of-shape laziness. Still, exhaustion couldn't keep her hobbled for long, and panting, she let herself through the back door, tumbling over her own feet as she lurched into the kitchen.

The mess had returned.

Whatever stored goodies the kuda-gistune hadn't unearthed before she'd interrupted them the night before had been discovered now. Dried ramen noodles. Pocky sticks. A few straggler cans of mackerel. Even long-forgotten cat food from crotchety Nao, who'd died two years prior. The lot of it had been scarfed down, leaving nothing but wrappers and dirty countertops behind.

Despite the carnage, the kuda-gitsune themselves were nowhere to be seen.

Her lungs burned something fierce in her chest, but driven by the stubborn willpower that ran in all Kuwabara blood, she abandoned the kitchen at a sprint and tore up the stairs. "Kazuma? You home?"

No answer.

Still ignoring her? Or off getting himself banged up again?

Only one way to find out.

His new doorknob mocked her, still bright silver, a few weeks' use not enough to wear away its varnish. She gave it one hate-filled glare, then ducked into the hall closet and returned with a screwdriver. For weeks now, she'd tried to respect Kazuma's wishes, tried to give her baby bro the chance to come around, but that was over. He'd taken too long.

If he didn't forgive her for this… well, then he wasn't the baby bro she thought he was.

Leveraging the knob's inner fastenings was clumsier work than she'd expected, no doubt made worse by her still irregular breathing, but eventually the internal mechanism popped. The knob came loose in her hand, and she dumped it on the floor before unscrewing the rest of the hardware and letting the other knob tumble to the floor inside. Then she curled her fingers into the hole her work left behind and shoved her shoulder against the wood.

It swung open with ease.

Chaos greeted her.

That ferret haven she'd imagined Kazuma creating a month ago? It had come to pass—and then some.

Blankets everywhere. Nests built of shredded newspaper and pilfered washcloths. Bamboo tubes beneath the bed and lying across the desk. And through it all, on every surface, in every crevice—kuda-gitsune.

At her intrusion, nearly thirty beady-eyed stares swung to the door. She froze, one hand still threaded through the doorknob hole, the other suddenly feeling far too empty, no suitable means of defense in easy reach. Any individual kuda-gitsune would be easy to dispatch. But that many? All focused on her at once? They'd overwhelm her.

Luckily, her fear was misplaced.

As quick as their attention shifted her way, it dispersed.

Except for one.

From its spot curled atop Kuwabara's pillow, Masumi continued staring, its gaze sharp and appraising and highly unnerving.

Surely, Masumi was this clan's leader. Their founder. The one who had weaseled past Kazuma's flimsy defenses and staked a claim on the Kuwabara household. If Shizuru wanted the lot of them gone, Masumi was the place to start.

Willing steel into her spine, she snagged a bamboo tube from Kazuma's desk, upending the kuda-gitsune inside onto the floor, then marched for the bed. She wouldn't hurt Masumi if she could help it. For Kazuma's sake, she could manage that much. But it had to go—by any means necessary.

"Alright, you little vermin," she said, coming to halt before it. "Time to get out. All of you." She pointed at the window. "Through there. Now."

Masumi merely blinked at her, lazy and unconcerned, but it didn't fool her. She knew it understood. She'd seen the look in its eyes weeks ago, when she and Kazuma had fought in front of it, and there was no denying the roiling unease in her gut, the screaming tug of her sixth sense telling her to tread carefully.

"I mean it," she reiterated. Then, one eye still on the kuda-gitsune, she shifted until she could reach the window and shove it open, allowing a stream of stiff, cold winter air to flood inside. "Leave."

Masumi remained motionless.

It took her a moment to work up her nerve, and every fiber of her awareness screamed for her to step back, to keep her distance, she ignored it, lofting the bamboo tube in one hand and reaching to scoop the other beneath Masumi's belly.

Too slow.

With unnatural speed, Masumi unfurled, its lips peeling back to reveal canines sharp as needles. Again, Shizuru proved too slow, too clumsy, and before she could pull back, those teeth found her palm, sinking deep into the fleshy stretch between her thumb and pointer finger. Grunting in pain, she struck with the bamboo tube. It connected with a hollow whump, and Masumi's bite loosened, its body flinging back into the wall, but not before its teeth tore bloody tracks through her skin.

Only then, as panicked breaths heaved into her lungs, did she perceive the low, whining hiss reverberating throughout the room—thirty kuda-gitsune snarling their displeasure.

Fear beat like a drum in her chest, her heartbeat quaking through her, but before she could draw up battle plans, the back door creaked open downstairs. In rapid succession, it thudded closed.

A beat of quiet following.

Then, panicked and confused: "Zu? Are you home?"

For half a second, she considered not answering. Not because she didn't want Kazuma to know she'd broken his rules, but because she worried what might happen if her joined her amongst this mass of hissing, angery spirit creatures. But that was stupid. After all, Kazuma had gotten them into this mess.

Time he helped get them out.

"Up here, baby bro."

In a clatter of awkward, mid-puberty limbs, he thundered up the stairs. A sharp inhale gave away the moment he spotted his open door, and she braced for yelling, but it didn't come. Instead, he padded to the doorway and paused there, barely visible out of the corner of her eye.

"Did they…"

"Fuck up the kitchen? Yeah, kid."

On the bed, Masumi had gotten its bearings again. It rose back to its forepaws, tiny chest shuddering like her blow still pained it. A sliver of space separated its body from the bed, some impossibly trickery keeping its tail aloft despite its lack of hind legs. When its eyes fell on Kazuma, it whined pitifully.

She snorted.

But the whimper had done its job. "What the hell?" Kazuma lurched into the room, shoving past her so he could get a proper look at Masumi. "You hurt him. Why would you—"

"Don't you dare," she snapped, then shoved her bleeding hand in his face. "It bit me. I tried to make it leave, and it fucking bit me. You think I shouldn't defend myself? Is that it?"

"You must've scared it."

"Bullshit."

Masumi whimpered again, cowering against Kazuma's pillow, playing up its terror. All around the room, its brethren following suit, whining and mewling. Two drifting closer, twining around Kazuma's ankles like cats.

And she could see the effect it had, the way he softened to them—that stupid, too big heart of his swelling in answer. They needed him—or so they pretended—and he was too kind to turn them away.

But it was lies.

Tossing aside the bamboo tube, she caught him by the shoulders and shook him. Hard. Possibly too hard. Then she held his gaze and spoke without a hint of the teasing tone she so often riled him with, praying she'd get through to him. "Kazuma, you saw what they did downstairs. They did that last night, too, and they'll do it again. Over and over. They'll eat every last scrap we have, and then they'll leave, off to suck some new house dry. It's what kuda-gitsune do. I get that you don't want to believe it, but you have to."

Her next words were harder, but she forced them out. Even if he didn't believe now, he would eventually. There was no hiding her second sight any longer—not now that he possessed it, too. "Me and you… we're not normal. We see things other people don't. Like these kuda-gitsune. But other stuff, too. And maybe you won't be exactly like me. Maybe you'll see less. But you gotta know you can't trust creatures like this. Spirits aren't like humans. They're tricksters and demons, and if you let them in, they'll strip you of everything you have. You have to be wary. You have to protect yourself." She squeezed his shoulders a little more firmly than she meant to. "You get me, Kazuma? You understand?"

Without answering, he twisted out of her grip, turning to Masumi. A strangled sound burbled from his lips, as if he couldn't quite figure out what to say, until at lest he murmured, "You stole all our food?"

The kuda-gitsune shrank back against the pillows, still recoiling—still acting the victim.

Kazuma's next question was less wavering. "And you stole all that other stuff, too? Even though I asked you to stop stealing."

In answer, Masumi's posture changed, not significantly, not in a way that Shizuru could properly put her finger on, but just enough to be noticeable. If it had back legs, perhaps it could've been described as ready to bolt, like its muscles had tensed to run.

"And you bit Zu," Kazuma said. This time, it wasn't a question.

For the longest breath of Shizuru's life, he said no more. Around her, the kuda-gitsune clan had fallen quiet, their hissing abandoned, and the ensuing silence was deafening. She couldn't make any sense of Kazuma's expression. She'd never seen his lips pressed so thin, his brows drawn so tightly together. It was as though he was assembling a million-piece jigsaw—trying to make sense of an enigma too vast for him to manage.

His conclusion, when it at last came, left no room for rebuttal. "That's not okay. No one gets to hurt Zu." His finger rose, pointing straight at the window. "You can't stay here now. Not after that. Go. Find a new home. You don't deserve ours."

He said it so simply. Like it was just a fact that he'd opened their doors to Masumi and now he got to close them, too.

And somehow—impossibly—he was right.

That was all it took.

In a stream of pale fur and floating tails, the kuda-gitsune drifted to the window, up to the sill, and out to the world beyond. One after another. No questions asked. No arguments made.

Until, at last, only one remained.

Masumi.

Seated beside Kazuma's pillow, it cocked its head a degree to the side. Softly, it chirped a singular note—one Shizuru's gut insisted meant goodbye-before it, too, glided into the night.

Kazuma watched it go.

Though Shizuru pretended not to notice, his shoulders shook unmistakably, a sob that wasn't meant for her ears breaking in his voice as he whispered, "Bye, Masumi. See you, buddy."

"Baby bro—"

"Go away," he interrupted, another sob turning the command jagged. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Kazuma—"

"I said go away!" Roughly, he shoved her for the door. "Get out! Leave me alone!"

She staggered into the hall, surprised by his sudden strength, and before she could gather her bearings, he slammed the door. It rattled loosely in the frame, no latch present to catch since she'd removed the knob—but his point was clear enough.

A sigh tore through her, heavy and exhausting. Still she crouched, peering through the hole in time to see Kazuma hurl himself into bed and yank his pillow to his chest as another ragged sob shuddered through him.

Hell.

His heart was going to get him in trouble one day.

She just knew it.

But for now, she did as he wished, leaving him to tears. After all, a mess in the kitchen was calling her name.

Her work wasn't done yet.

On Monday, Shizuru left for school thirty minutes early, and when she reached campus, it was a ghost town, most of the teachers not even on the grounds yet. Regardless, the doors were unlocked—just as she'd known they would be—so she let herself in and made straight for the third floor and the bathroom that had her name all over it.

As always, at first glance, the stalls seemed empty, and Shizuru took up her station at the third sink without a word. With mechanical efficiency, she drew out her lighter and tapped a cigarette from her pack. A breath later, smoke curled from its butt, wafting up to the broken alarm as she took a drag.

"I hope those kill you."

Hanako's singsong tone summoned a chill to Shizuru's arms, but she didn't let that unease sneak into her response. "Sort of a bitchy thing to wish on someone, don't you think?"

"Not if it's deserved."

At that, Shizuru's mask cracked. "Oh yeah, Hanako? You think I'm the asshole here? When you could've warned me what the kuda-gitsune might do? Well, I think you're wrong. I'd say there's probably a reason you're the one who died at fourteen while I'm going to keep kicking for years."

It was only then, as Shizuru twisted to glare at Hanako's stall, that she realized the ghost girl hadn't been visible in the mirror.

Weird.

Hanako never stayed out of sight once they started talking.

"What? You too good to show me your face now?" Shizuru demanded. "Well, fuck you, Hanako. You failed. We got rid of those kuda-gitsune. We're free." Tossing her cigarette into a sink, she stomped to the third stall and kicked open the door. "I'm not your victim—"

Icy knives of utter wrongness nearly drove Shizuru to her knees as a hand that wasn't a true hand clamped around her throat, fingers with no true physical presence crushing the air from her windpipe. She writhed, trying to shove the arm away, but Hanako was incorporeal, and Shizuru's hands passed uselessly through her crimson uniform even as the grip on her throat tightened further.

Shizuru's vision blurred, panic turning the world to swirling chaos, but details still registered at the edges of her perception. Hanako's wild-eyed fury. Her manic grin and pealing laughter. The vast swathes of blood stained across her chest and crusted along her cheek.

This was not the girl Shizuru had thought she'd known.

But it might've been the girl she'd spoken to all along.

After what felt like centuries, just as all of existence began to narrow into a singular, black point, Hanako shoved Shizuru aside, and though her touch wasn't real in the traditional sense, it still sent Shizuru tumbling backward, her arms wind-milling. Helpless, she careened into the sink, the same hand Masumi had bitten coming down on the smoldering cigarette lying in the drain.

Straight ahead, Hanako stood in her stall, feet floating above the tiled floor, arms extended, phantom blood dripping to the floor beneath her—a devilish grin still stretched across her otherwise innocuous face.

"Run, little Kuwabara," the spirit said, "before I don't let you."

So Shizuru ran.

And she never went back.

That night, Shizuru hunkered in her room.

She'd spent only moments elsewhere in the house, stopping in the bathroom just long enough to bandage her burned, bitten hand. Then she retreated to bed and climbed beneath the sheets, lying in the weak light filtering through her shades and staring up at the ceiling.

When she thought about it really hard and squinted just right, she was pretty sure the last few days had been victories. The kuda-gitsune were gone, and Hanako's deceptions hadn't bested her, and surely that was something. Yet, for the life of her, she didn't feel good about any of it. Which was such a load of horseshit, because—damn it—she deserved to feel good.

Didn't she?

A quiet knock at the door disrupted the quiet.

Sighing, she flapped a hand in unsee beckons. "It's open."

The door cracked. Orange fringe peeked inside. "Zu?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk?"

"Sure, Kazuma. Come in."

Carefully, as if he feared she'd change her mind, he crept inside and eased the door back closed. Then he waited, awkward and uncertain, until she patted the bed beside her. He seized on the invitation instantly, and fifteen seconds of clambering and squirming later, he lay on his back, shoulder-to-shoulder with her.

"I'm sorry we couldn't keep them," she said once he'd settled. "The kuda-gitsune, I mean."

"No, I'm sorry. You tried to warn me, but I didn't listen."

"Well, you thought they were ferrets."

She could hear the frown in his voice as he answered, "But you knew they weren't, and you always know the important things. Like when something bad is happen. You know before it does. So I should've listened."

"What are you talking about?"

His hand found hers beneath the blankets, stubby fingers squeezing around her thumb. "Remember that storm three years ago that knocked out our power for a week? You told us it was gonna be bad. Before the weatherman even started talking about it. You just knew. And you do that with lots of stuff."

Oh.

He wasn't wrong about that. She just hadn't realized he'd noticed.

"Is that…" He paused uncertainly, then started over. "Am I gonna do that, too? You said we're not normal. Both of us. So am I gonna know stuff like that?"

Now it was her turn to hesitate. "Well, maybe," she said finally. "I don't know if it's the same for everybody."

"Okay." Again, he said it so simply. As if they weren't haven't the craziest conversation the world had ever seen. After a moment, he added, "I think I will. Maybe I even am already." He rolled onto his side to face her, and she mirrored him, one brow rising in silent question. "I've been having this Tickle Feeling for a few months now. Like I'm being watched sometimes."

"Really?"

"Mhmm."

So then he did have it, too. For sure. No debate about it. This weird, impossible sixth sense wasn't hers along anymore. It wasn't a Shizuru thing. It was a Kuwabara thing.

A grin tugged at her lips.

Kazuma closed his eyes, snuggling into her blankets like he was planning to take a nap there.

"Baby bro?" she murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're like me."

A grin to match her own brightened his face as he cracked an eye open. "Me, too, Zu."

More silence followed, and for the first time since she'd come home to Kazuma shredding carrots two months ago, the tightness in her chest loosened completely. The victory she'd been struggling to find had finally arrived.

And it was just as glorious as she'd needed it to be.

But there was one more thing that had to be said.

"Hey, baby bro? When you get to Sarayashiki, do me a favor, okay? Don't ever go in the girls' third-floor bathroom."

"Huh?"

"Just trust me. The broken fire alarm isn't worth it."

AN: And thus ends the story I had more fun writing than quite possible anything else in my life. Shizuru is a gosh darn BLAST. And kid!Kuwabara? Wayyyyyy too much fun. I halfway want to start this over just so I can write it all over again.

For those not following me on Tumblr, this is my entry to the YYH Rare Fanfiction content run by the yyhfanfiction Tumblr. I wrote this story with two categories in mind: canon female-centric expansion AND Human World-centric mythology as it interacts/originates from Demon World. Since I'm only allowed to formally enter one category, I have been debating since the moment I started. I think I'll go with the latter, though, since so much of this story revolves around the myths of Hanako-san and the kuda-gistune.

On my Tumblr (hereafteryyh), I'll provide some background on these myths, but I'll provide some brief context here. Hanako-san is an Japanese urban legend about the spirit of a young girl who haunts school bathrooms. Her exact nature seemed muddled in what I researched, but generally, she seems… less than friendly.

Kuda-gistune are a type of spirit possession that possess families, rather than individuals, and though they can at first seem like a boon as they gather items for their hosts, their numbers can rapidly swell, until they become such a burden that they ruin the family they possess.

If you enjoyed this fic, you can head over to the yyhfanfiction Tumblr after May 1st to vote for it as a fan favorite in the Rare Fanfiction contest, but no pressure. It was such a blast to write, regardless of whether it wins anything.

Hope you enjoyed it!