Except, as I discovered, when they need an exorcist.
I’m hoping my adventures from last night will go unnoticed, because I don’t see Sondheim as the type to admit I had to defend his virtue from a possessed doll. By the time lunch rolls around and not a whimper is heard, I start to relax.
I use my phone to check email in between bites of my sandwich. The first is from Kagura, and I smile as I read.
Some people have funny stories about how they met their friends. “Funny” is not the word I would use for our introduction. When I first met Kagura in Japan a couple of years ago, she was one of many shrine maidens who used an elaborate doll ritual to exorcise a demon that’d possessed me for ten years.
Kagura and her aunt run an inn near Mount Fuji now, but she still travels to the Chinsei shrine to keep things in order there. Callie and I visit her every year. When someone saves your life, it’s a hard bond to break.
Hello Tarquin,
I hope it is not too early for me to congratulate you on your upcoming graduation. Brown University is an excellent choice—though if you ever change your mind and come to Todai, I would be more than happy to assist you with the enrollment process. Your parents are both alumni, which should work in your favor.
Saya is doing very well. She works at the Adachi Museum of Art now and has become a keen gardener. I told her you and Callie will be visiting during your Easter break, and she has happily booked a room at Kamameshi as well.
Saya was one of the other shrine maidens from where Kagura served. No matter how many times they assure me otherwise, I still feel guilty, knowing I was responsible for their unexpected change in careers.
The crew of American ghost hunters I mentioned before have finally arrived. They had initially asked me to provide them with the necessary research about Mount Fuji, but now they also want me to assist them in their filming at the Aokigahara forest. They are investigating the legends of the Aitou village, said to have existed inside Aokigahara during older times, though no evidence of it remains today.
Garrick Adams, one of the ghost hunters, says I was recommended to them because my father studied records of this village in detail and was the expert in the matter. The ghost hunters would like access to all the research and findings I kept when he passed away. Adams-san also believes that as a former miko, I would be of great help dispelling any ghosts they may encounter along the way.
Still, despite their credentials, I have my doubts. I understand their interest, but Aokigahara is not a place to meddle.
They will be leaving a few weeks before you arrive, so it is a shame you and Callie will not be given the chance to meet them. They seem to be quite popular in the United States.
I’ve heard of them. Garrick Adams and Stephen Riley are spirit investigators and the hosts of Ghost Haunts, a paranormal reality television show that’s had some good buzz as of late. Adams and Riley are known for their wildly unorthodox attempts to taunt ghosts into maiming or possessing them—whatever helps their ratings, I guess. I try to imagine them with the ever-cautious Kagura and nearly choke on my sandwich.
I’m afraid Brown’s for me, I type back, but I like the idea of postgraduate studies at Todai. Dad wants me studying in America for the time being. It might be good to actually know what it feels like to stay in one place for four years.
Ghost Haunts is a big show on cable here. But watching guys flail around with a camera doesn’t sound like very convincing television to me. No harm in showing them around the place, I’d say, and it’ll be great to see you on TV! Any chance you can get me some autographs?
I pause, searching for a font that would best convey my sarcasm, then give up. It would probably be lost on the miko anyway.
Send our love to Saya-san. Looking forward to seeing you guys in a few weeks!
My email sent, I thumb through the rest of my inbox and grin when I see another new message. This one is from Callie.
“I hope that smile’s for me, Halloway.”
I glance up to see Trish Seyfried standing by my table, but she isn’t who spoke.
I don’t discriminate against cheerleaders. There’s bound to be at least a couple of intelligent, sassy girls for every giggly group of brainless Trish Seyfrieds. And Kendele Baker fits that profile. She volunteered to be my lab partner two semesters ago, and it took a few classes for me to realize she wasn’t afraid of me like her friends are. That makes me nervous—especially when she insisted I tutor her in Spanish. Beautiful green-eyed brunettes don’t usually want much to do with me, but at least I now understand who Trish got my number from.
“I just want to thank you again,” Trish says, moving to sit across the table from me while Kendele takes the empty seat on my right. “For saving Andy and me from the zombie.”
Zombie? “Zombie?”
“Well, it was kind of like a zombie, wasn’t it? If I told everyone it was just a doll, it would sound kind of silly.”