Page 3 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
Fumiko waved to the deeply tanned man with blond dreadlocks who was chasing purple flower petals with a push broom. Rafter grinned and gestured with its handle. “He went thataway!”
As if she didn’t know the courier’s usual route. Always the flower shop first. Then the library. And finally the office of the Wind-and-Tide Fresh Market.
Her gambit was probably silly, given that everyone in their little cooperative knew everyone else’s business. But whenever Fumiko ordered things online, she’d spread out where they were delivered in the futile hope that nobody would notice how many packages were arriving.
There were always one or two. Sometimes many more.
So far, her friends hadn’t teased—much—or staged an intervention. Maybe they thought shopping was a healthy outlet? It’s not like she had many other options, cornered as she was, with the sea at her back.
Loitering outside of Flutterbys Flowers, Fumiko waited for the courier to finish chatting with Melody. Fumiko wasn’t supposed to be seen too often. Tourists weren’t such a big deal, since they came and went, but locals and regulars might remember her and wonder about her.
While she waited, Fumiko cast a worried look toward home. Her contract with the In-between was straightforward enough. In exchange for the protection they offered, she gave birth to a minimum of one child per century. When it was time, they’d usually send in four or five men for her to choose from. All with exemplary pedigrees. Each willing to do their part.
If Zuzu was right, Fumiko was about to go through it all over again.
Picking the reaver who’d father her next child.
TWO
Jacaranda Circle
Akira spent much of the ride from the airport chatting with their driver. Candor was from a nearby enclave, though he was vague about the location—off a ways, along the coast. The Amaranthine people had made strides toward equality in America, but plenty still lived in hiding. Akira wasn’t about to be nosy. He was too grateful that Candor was both fluent in Japanese and willing to play tour guide.
Off the expressway, everything slowed down. Buildings crowded the road, which dipped and bumped under their tires. Even though it was October, trees and shrubs were green, and flowers bloomed everywhere—pink and orange and violet.
Candor had to slow often for jaywalkers. “Tourists,” he remarked with a philosophical shrug.
They passed a sign swinger whose acrobatic dance was drawing attention to a shop that rented motorized scooters. Surfers in wetsuits hefted longboards. There were dog walkers and dog joggers. Sunbaked and scruffy men snoozed in the shade of bushy palms, and a rollerblader skimmed gracefully past, dancing to the tunes blasting from a speaker clipped to their belt.
Distracted by the riot of beautiful and bizarre sights, Akira lost his bearings. “I hope you know where we are,” he joked. “I’m completely turned around.”
“Hard to get lost. Wherever you are, aim for the ocean. After that, the Ghost Light will lead you home.”
Akira wasn’t sure if Candor was serious or if they’d run up against a translation error. “Ghost Light? As in … specters?”
Candor laughed. “It’s a local legend that tries to explain a mysterious light that’s been seen along the shore. Some say it’s a restless spirit who can’t find peace. Some think it’s a portal into the seelie court. There’s even a contingent who are convinced it’s linked to alien activity.”
Juuyu was listening now.
Akira wondered if that in itself was important. “Sounds like something those cryptid chasers would have fun debunking.”
With a bark of laughter, Candor asked, “You watch Dare Together?”
“Sure.” It was the show he’d been referring to. “The kids back home are big fans. Suuzu and I read the subtitles for them. I’m always Josheb. He’s always Caleb.”
“Typecasting?” Candor glanced at Juuyu in the rearview mirror. “You’re Spokesperson Farroost’s brother, yeah?”
“I am.” Curt as ever.
Juuyu had disguised his Amaranthine features so he’d draw less attention while escorting Akira through traditional channels. But their driver had keener senses than humans. Some of Akira’s friends were from the wolf clans—dog clansmen, too, for that matter—and they could sort out another Amaranthine just by scent. Stuff like that simply wasn’t a secret. Still, Akira thought he should steer the conversation away from Juuyu.
“Suuzu’s been my best friend since middle school. But what about the Ghost Light? What is it really?”
“You’ll see for yourself. And be sure to count yourself lucky, since it’s a sight few ever see.” Idling while he waited for a crosswalk to clear, Candor nodded to an overhead sign that spanned the width of the street. “Welcome to Wind-and-Tide.”
Akira eyed the houses, which crowded four and five deep, as if jockeying for position in their rush to reach the sand. Faded paint in vivid hues. Beach towels flapping on picket fences. Rooftop decks vying for views. “I thought we were in Beacon?”
“Yep. This is Beacon, California. But plenty of neighborhoods and beaches have their own names. And personalities.”
