This is a revised version of a story I posted to R.A.A.C. Most of the
changes are in the first few scenes, which I rewrote because I didn't
think they worked properly.
Anything you want to comment on is fine, but I'm especially interested in
correcting cultural errors. I also want to make sure the formatting
worked
properly.
I'm not subscribed to the list, so email me a copy of any comments you
make.
Unless you don't WANT me to see them, of course.
-- David
-- dhomeric@jps.net
******************************************************************
Tsuneishi Toshiro, head of the most powerful crime family in Japan,
tugged
at his collar and sweated. Despite protests from other _Yakuza_
families,
he had made extensive connections with various criminal organizations
around
the world. The Russian mob, the Black Hand of Sicily, South American
cartels -- he had extended promises, made deals, laundered money, and
accepted merchandise. The other families had been coming around, and had
grudgingly accepted his leadership, when things had begun to go wrong.
Embarrassingly wrong.
Vasily Andreovitch Cherenkov, a sweaty white walrus of a man, leaned
across
the mahogany table and fixed Tsuneishi with a glassy eye. The
representatives from the other mobs were clearly enjoying Tsuneishi's
discomfort. <<Like wild dogs,>> Tsuneishi thought, <<ready to eat
whichever
one falls.>>
"I'm sorry, Cherenkov-san," said Tsuneishi, using the honorific out of
pure
habit. "I assure you that you will receive the money you are owed very
soon. We have had... difficulties. They will soon be overcome. I can
only
ask you to be patient."
"What 'difficulties?'" growled the fat Russian. "You didn't lose all my
money playing patty-chinky, did you, Toshi?"
Tsuneishi bowed his head to hide an angry flush. Much as he wanted to
slice the fat man's head from his shoulders, he was no position to do
anything but swallow the insult. <<Always the samurai are at the mercy
of
the moneylenders.>> "No, Cherenkov-san," he said. "We have had
legitimate
business difficulties which make it impossible to repay our debt to you.
But we are currently taking steps to correct the situation, and I give
you
my personal assurance that you will be repaid in due time, with proper
interest."
Cherenkov snorted. "I don't want your assurances, Toshi, and I'm tired
of
listening to your bullshit. I want my fucking money, and if you don't
stop
your bobbing and weaving and give me a straight answer, I will personally
cut off your pisser and shove it down your throat. Am I clear on this?
Now, what "situation" are you in?"
"Someone is... interfering... with our operation."
"Who?"
Tsuneishi hesitated. "Spit it out, Toshi," snapped Cherenkov.
"Mmmerjeggul," mumbled Tsuneishi.
"I can't hear you."
"Magic girls," said Tsuneishi, louder than he intended. "Pretty little
magic girls with rainbow hair. They burn our money, destroy our
warehouses,
and turn our best crystal meth into pink sugar candy. With ribbons. And
they giggle, and... and we can't stop them. Not with dogs, not with
guards,
not with guns. We... we don't know what to do."
Laughter swelled up and filled the room as Tsuneishi flushed again.
After the meeting, Tsuneishi met with his lieutenant, Sato, a slim man in
his late thirties, who wore rimless glasses and a neutral expression.
"Sato-
kun," he said,"I want these syrupy little children out of my hair. I
don't care how you do it, I want them gone. Wiped out. Eliminated. You
can have whatever you need; I just don't want to see or hear of another
one
of them.
"That could be a difficult course of action." said Sato
"It's your fault that I'm in this situation, anyway. You were the one
who
told me to make that deal." Tsuneishi pushed his fingers through his
thinning hair. He was terrified of looking weak, and knew that younger
men
were anxious to move up. It wasn't like the old days, where you picked
an
_oyabun_, or mentor, and stuck with him until he retired -- or died.
Now,
the young pups would bite the pack leader if he didn't move out of their
way. "Give me a solution, Sato-kun. I won't just sit in this trap."
"I may have one, Tsuneishi-san. The girls are interfering, yes, but
that's
not where our true difficulty lies."
"They don't make _yakuza_ movies anymore. They hate us now."
"Sir?"
"I'm sorry. Go on."
"Yes, sir. The problem is that we cannot respond effectively to their
actions. We have no magical girls of our own.
Tsuneishi frowned. "So what are you saying?"
"Tsuneishi-san, we have a magic girl gap."
* * *
MISSY FOXGLOVE
By
David Homerick.
Episode #1
"Pilot"
* * *
Sato stepped past the guards into the conference room and bowed deeply
as
the doors swung closed behind him. Tsuneishi eyed him crossly. Sato
couldn't have arranged this in just a few days; he must have been hiding
it
for months. Keeping secrets. <<Thinks he's so smart. Just run things
on
his own, never mind me. Well, I won't let him. I'm not ready to be put
out
to pasture yet.>>
"Well, Sato-kun, what have you got for me?"
"Sato gestured to the guards, who swung the doors open again.
"Tsuneishi-san, please allow me to present the magical girl Missy
Foxglove."
Tsuneishi watched critically as the girl entered. She was slender and
pretty, maybe fourteen or so, just blossoming into young womanhood. She
bowed deeply and straightened, hands folded, eyes cast down. Her long
hair,
bound back with a black velvet ribbon, marked her as a magical girl,
being a
deep bruised shade of purple. She wore the traditional Japanese
schoolgirl
costume, a modestly cut skirt and middy blouse, but black trimmed with
the
same deep orchid as her hair. She also wore purple pumps, about two
inches
at the heel and tied to her ankles with black ribbon. <<Young men will
be
killing themselves over her in a few years,>> thought Tsuneishi. He
gestured to one of the guards, who stepped forward.
"When I give the word," he said, "I want you to kill this young girl."
The girl glanced up, shocked, then back down. Her eyes were set wide
and
colored the same dark shade as her hair. She remained silent, but
Tsuneishi
saw her turn slightly and roll an eye back towards the guard. He leaned
forward.
"You'll have to kill this man before he can kill you," he said, "But I
don't want you to move until I give him the word." The girl didn't
answer,
but raised herself on her toes so that the heels of her shoes no longer
touched the ground. Her eye rolled toward the guard again. The guard,
for
his part, unfastened his sidearm and prepared to draw it.
Tsuneishi savored the moment. The girl rocked to the left and slowly
slid
the toe of her right foot back and to the side, while the guard crouched
and
twisted slightly. Sato, on the other hand, remained infuriatingly calm.
Tsuneishi raised his hand and rapped the table sharply.
"Now!" he barked. The guard drew as the girl whirled, hands wide,
fingers
curled like claws. A faint violet streamer of glowing haze stretched
between her hands and sent a tendril snaking forward, forking at the end.
One tip brushed the guard's wrist while the other caressed his chest.
The
gun flew from nerveless fingers as the guard collapsed, gasping, face
pale
and coated with cold sweat. The tendril withdrew, and the girl turned to
Tsuneishi questioningly. Tsuneishi nodded to her.
Still the girl hesitated, and he saw her flick a glance at Sato.
"Finish
him," snapped Tsuneishi.
The girl sent the streamer plunging into the guard's heart. The guard
groaned and twitched and then lay still. His breathing faded as the haze
withdrew, curled around the girl's hands, and vanished. She stepped
back,
turned, and bowed again, this time staying down, hiding her face.
"Thank you, Missy-chan," said Tsuneishi, "you may go now." The girl
glanced back at the body as she was led from the room. Tsuneishi
gestured
for his lieutenant to come closer.
"She's quick," he said, "and very deadly. But can she take down another
little magic girl?"
Sato hesitated. "I don't know, Tsuneishi-san. I believe she can, but
she's never actually fought one. She did well in her training, as you
saw."
"Won't the shoes be a problem? They're pretty, but they don't look
practical."
"She's not wearing a costume. The shoes and the clothes appear to be
part
of who she is. They spontaneously modified themselves several times
during
her training, as did her powers. If you want her to wear sensible shoes,
you should probably send her to a psychiatrist."
Tsuneishi nodded, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Modified themselves, hm?
What about her? Is she reliable?"
Sato nodded. "Oh, yes, sir. Missy's a good girl. She's very loyal,
and
she always does as she's told."
Toguri Junior High School in Maebashi is a squat, ugly concrete building
built just after World War II with the curious property of seeming dirty
no
matter how diligently it is scrubbed. The dusty film of neglect coating
the
building turns out, on closer inspection, to be the paint job, and the
halls
are paved with sad, yellowish tiles that may once have aspired to being
off-
white, but have sunk into dissolution and dinge as the years passed.
Nonetheless, the building is indeed scrubbed, quite diligently, by an
army
of students pressganged into service every Friday. They are released
from
class an hour early and fan through the school building wielding buckets
and
brooms and mops and sponges. They sweep and scrape and wash and wipe,
and
though the building never rises above its state of dingy disrepair, it
does
manage to achieve a distinctly antiseptic form of dingy disrepair.
On one such Friday, the door to the boys' restroom in the lower south
hall
swung slowly open and a girl with short-cropped hair peered nervously in.
"Cleaning time!" she sang, stifling a giggle. "Here I come, ready or
not!"
Receiving no reply, she thrust the door open and slipped into the room,
lugging a yellow plastic pail containing sponges and disinfectant spray.
The door swung back and thumped her companion, who was attempting to
wheel a
mop and bucket into the room by pushing on the mop handle.
"Oh, wow, we're in the *boys' bathroom*," the girl said in an excited
whisper as her companion extricated herself from the doorway. "I betcha
we're not s'posed to be here. I betcha it's a mistake, and there are
boys
cleaning up a girls' restroom somewhere." She dropped the pail and
walked
up to the row of urinals. "These are where the boys pee," she whispered
theatrically. "I've heard about these things, but I've never seen one."
The other girl threw her a puzzled look. She didn't notice. "They
stand
here with their things out and-- Eeew!" She squealed and darted back to
press herself against a sink. "I don't wanna touch 'em!"
Her companion, a slightly taller girl with long dark hair bound back
with a
black ribbon, shrugged resignedly and took a sponge and a disinfectant
bottle from the pail. She wet the sponge and began cleaning the leftmost
urinal, spraying with her right hand and wiping with her left. The
short-
haired girl watched in dismay.
"I didn't say I wouldn't help!" She hurriedly plucked out a sponge and
bottle and set to work on the rightmost urinal. "There! Now that's
twice
the work, and we'll be done in half the time. You're new here, right?
Where are you from? Do you have a boyfriend? You're really beautiful;
I'll
bet you had lots of boyfriends back where you come from. I have a
boyfriend; his name's Yoshio. He's really cute. We watch _Ekksu Firu_
together. Do you watch _Ekksu Firu_? That's a really scary show; I like
to
be scared. You sure don't talk much. Oh! I forgot to introduce myself!
I'm Kosugi Chisa." She stood, gave a short bow, and beamed at the other
girl.
The other girl stood as well, and bowed. "I'm Nakasone Michie," she
said
quietly. "I'm from Tokyo, and I -- I'm afraid I've forgotten all your
other
questions."
"Me too!" said Chisa. "You have a really pretty voice, too. Will you
be
my friend? I already have a friend, but if you'll be my friend too, then
I'll have two friends. And then you can be my friend's friend, and
you'll
have two friends too. So will you be my friend, please? I'll be quiet
so
you can say yes."
"I guess so," said Michie, a little overwhelmed. She gave the urinal a
final wipe, then flushed it. She watched her reflection on the porcelain
shimmer as the water came down. "You're not -- you wouldn't happen to be
a
magic girl, would you?"
"Oh, I wish I were!" squealed Chisa. "They're so pretty, and they
always
fight for Love and Justice and stuff like that. Yoshio says I'm cute
enough
to be a magic girl, but he's my boyfriend, and he has to say stuff like
that
or I won't kiss him. Don't you wish you were a magic girl? I know I do."
"I used to. Sometimes." Michie moved to the next urinal and sprayed it
with disinfectant.
"Will you still be my friend, Michie-chan?" Chisa asked anxiously.
"Even
if I'm not a magic girl?"
"Sure." Michie reached over and hugged Chisa, who giggled, dropping her
sponge.
After school let out, Chisa introduced Michie to her friend, a rangy
girl
named Naoko. They walked along the street together as Chisa chattered.
"She's really smart, and she goes to a cram school, so she can't come
home
with us. Say something smart, Naoko-chan."
Naoko rolled her eyes. "Mandibular."
"Isn't she great? She knows all kinds of words, and can write them,
too.
*You* don't go to a cram school, do you, Michie-chan?"
Michie shook her head. "That's great!" exclaimed Chisa. "You didn't
look
really smart, so I was hoping we could hang around while..."
"Chisa-chan!" gasped Naoko. "You've insulted her!"
"Oh!" cried Chisa. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean you were stupid! I just
meant that since you're pretty and Naoko isn't..."
"Chisa-chan! You've insulted *me*!"
"I'm sorry, Naoko-chan! Please don't be mad! You don't be mad either,
Michie-chan! Oh, when will I learn to keep my big mouth shut?"
"When you're dead," snorted Naoko.
A shadow passed over Michie's face, and she turned to hide it. <<He
died
so quickly,>> she thought. <<And it was so easy, like turning off a
faucet.
I touched his heart, and he died. So... so intimate.>>
<<I can kill anyone that way. I can kill Chisa. A few seconds to
transform, a few more to touch her, and she'll be quivering and dying on
the
ground.>> She swallowed and wiped at her mouth. <<I can kill her right
now, and she'll never talk or laugh again. Never ever. And they'll
never
catch me, because I'll kill anyone who comes for me. I'll kill everyone
in
the world.>>
<<And then,>> she thought giddily, <<I'll be all alone....>>
A hand clamped firmly over Michie's mouth and nose. "You're
hyperventilating," Naoko said sharply. "Keep that up and you'll pass
out."
"I'm sorry!" said Chisa, near tears. "I didn't mean to make you sick!
Please say you forgive me! Oh pleasepleasepleaseplease...."
Michie pushed Naoko's hand away. "It wasn't your fault. I was just
thinking about... about something bad."
Naoko raised her eyebrows, but Chisa was ecstatic. "You really mean it?
It's okay? It's really okay? You'll still come home with me?"
Michie smiled at her reassuringly. "It's really okay, Chisa-chan.
You're
sure your mother won't mind?" Michie's mother would have raised three
kinds
of hell if Michie had ever shown up with an unannounced guest.
"Oh, sure!" said Chisa. "My mom's totally non-feudal. You'll see."
Naoko stopped. "I have to go, or I'll be late. You sure you're okay,
Michie-chan?"
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Well, breathe normally, okay? If you pass out in front of Chisa,
you'll
probably scare her to death."
Michie winced. "I'll be careful. Thank you again."
Chisa tugged at Michie as Naoko walked off. "I *told* you she was
smart.
Come on, we'll be late for dinner."
Chisa and her family lived in a small brown house in the western style.
As
the two girls entered the house, Chisa kicked off her shoes and dashed
into
the kitchen, blithely announcing that her new friend would be staying for
dinner, and did Mama have to make THAT again; after all, Michie was from
Tokyo and used to the most marvelous food. Michie placed her shoes in a
corner of the entryway and, after a moment thought, Chisa's as well. She
walked over and peered into the kitchen.
Mrs. Kosugi was calmly measuring out more rice as her daughter bounced
around her. Chisa dashed over, seized Michie's hand, and towed her over
to
her mother. Mrs. Kosugi greeted Michie while putting the rice on to
boil.
Michie bowed and apologized for imposing on the family. Mrs. Kosugi, in
turn, apologized for her daughter's behavior, much to the indignation of
said daughter. Chisa grabbed Michie by the hand and towed her back out
of
the kitchen. "Let's go to my room," she said.
Chisa's room was pink and cozy, full of stuffed animals and an actual
four-
poster bed. Michie perched on the soft down comforter as Chisa
introduced
her to the entire menagerie, one by one. There was Sazuko, and
Hattori-san,
and Usagi No Gisagu, and a huge panda named Chan-chan, and Mizuko the
furry
blue dolphin, and many more, giraffes and piglets and something Michie
tentatively identified as a wombat but Chisa referred to only as "Toshi."
Michie saw very few dolls, and those were rag dolls, not the kind of doll-
baby she used to cuddle and bathe and nurse back to health in another
life
long ago.
Chisa finished her recital and plopped down beside Michie. "I got a lot
of
them," she said. "I wanted to be a veterinarian someday, but I guess
I'll
just be a wife. How many animals do you have, Michie-chan?"
"I don't have any." Her apartment had been furnished as if she were a
woman in her twenties. "I don't have much in the way of toys."
"Oh, you can have mine!" She picked up a floppy dog, a round black
piglet,
and a kangaroo with the pouch torn off, frowned at each in turn, and
discarded them. She cast about the room, then reluctantly picked up Chan-
chan. Her hands shook a little as she held it out to Michie. "Here,"
she
said. "He's the best one.
Somebody had been chewing on its ears. "I can't take your favorite
toy,"
protested Michie.
"Please," said Chisa. She thrust it at Michie again.
Michie accepted the big panda as Chisa watched anxiously. She hugged it
and smiled at Chisa to prove she liked the worn toy. Chisa smiled back.
"He's really great when you're lonely, 'cause he's always there, and he
won't laugh at you or anything. And if you're feeling bad and want a
hug,
he doesn't mind." She looked pensively at Chan-chan, then turned to show
Michie her music collection.
When dinner was ready, Michie met Chisa's brother and father. Her
brother was about a year older than Michie and made her uncomfortable.
He
made strange jokes and laughed too hard, and he kept watching her.
Michie
tried not to react when Chisa whispered that her father was a police
inspector. Chisa's father seemed jovial, if a bit distracted, and Michie
found herself imagining all the terrible things that must be on his mind.
Michie couldn't bring herself to eat naturally, so she held the bowl in
her
left hand like the rest of the family and tried not to be clumsy with the
chopsticks. She felt very self-conscious and couldn't enjoy the food,
especially with Chisa's brother staring at her. She concentrated on
moving
vegetables from platter to bowl to mouth.
The phone rang, and she dropped one in her lap. She shot a swift glare
at
Chisa's brother, who flushed and hid his face. Chisa's mother answered
the
phone, and announced that it was for Michie.
"Hello?"
"Ah, Hello." It was Sato. "I hope you are enjoying dinner with your
new
friend."
"Yes," said Michie. "Her father is a police inspector," she felt
compelled
to add.
"Is he now? That's a worthy profession. A package came for you in the
mail today."
The room grew cold. "I see."
"You should look at it when you get a chance."
"I will." Sato rung off.
"That was my guardian," Michie told Chisa. It was nearly true. "I have
to
go home soon."
"You don't have parents?"
"No," said Michie. "They... died. In a fire."
Chisa and her parents expressed condolences while her brother choked on
a
mushroom.
The sun shone redly through a window as Michie opened the door to her
apartment. Sato's "package," an unlabelled manila envelope, had been
placed
squarely on the low glass table. Michie placed Chan-chan in a corner and
drew the blinds.
The package contained a photo, a map of Tokyo with tick marks clustered
in
one district, a round-trip train ticket to that district, and a note.
"3:15
PM," it said. "Dial Tokyo 6-7071."
The photo was sharp but badly framed, an action shot of a slight girl in
schoolgirl attire, white trimmed with red, and wearing short black boots.
Her hair was red too, not a Caucasian red but a candy-apple or jellybean
red, and tied in a long French braid. Her skirt was so short, Michie
noted
disapprovingly, that her underthings were visible. One hand was flung
out
before her, and some black substance issued from it, passing out of
frame.
Michie turned the photo over and found a word scrawled on the back:
LICORICE.
So. Tomorrow she would travel to Tokyo and receive instructions on how
to
kill this Licorice, this magical girl. She stepped into the small
private
bath, stood before the mirror, and made the peculiar mental shift from
Nakasone Michie to Missy Foxglove. A purplish fog passed before her eyes
as
her clothing altered against her skin. She held the photo up to the
mirror
and compared the girl to her technicolor self. Purple and red, black and
white. Hunter and hunted. But the eyes of the girl in the photo held
exhilaration and wonder, and the purple eyes in the mirror held only
dread.
Michie did not sleep well that night.
Saturdays were half-days, with light classwork, but Michie still could
not
concentrate. The _kanji_ she had studied all week mocked her with their
meaningless shapes, or twisted themselves into likenesses of the girl in
the
photo. She stared at historical events and the dates on which they
happened
and could not convince herself that there was even such a thing as the
past.
Surely it had all happened yesterday, the Meiji Restoration and the
bombing
of Hiroshima and her dinner with Chisa. She could not even throw the
ball
properly; her pitches floated unnaturally or dropped without warning.
Then the day was over, and she was walking home affectlessly. She heard
a
pattering of feet behind her.
"Michie-chan!" It was Chisa. "Are you mad at me? Did I do something
wrong? I'm sorry! I won't do it again. What did I do?"
"What?"
"You walked right by me in the hall! I called your name, but you
wouldn't
answer. You wouldn't even look at me!"
"It's not your fault. I'm sorry. Um." Michie racked her brain for
something to tell Chisa. "I've been kind of... preoccupied."
"Oh. So... you're not mad at me?"
Michie shook her head. "No. Chisa-chan, I... I have to go."
"You do? But it's Saturday! I thought we could hang out and... and do
stuff."
"No, Chisa-chan. I have to go to Tokyo. I have errands to run."
"Oh." Chisa slumped dejectedly. "But we're still friends, right? You
don't... not like me?"
Michie shook her head again. "No. I mean, that's not it. I'm just not
in
a good place in my life right now." She bit back an urge to giggle
hysterically. <<I'm in an evil place in my life. I'm in my
killing-people
phase.>> "Thank you for being my friend," she blurted, "but I have to
go."
She turned and fled down the street.
The train sped over a bridge and down the Shumida River toward Tokyo.
Michie stared at the photo of Licorice, rubbing it between thumb and
forefinger. It wouldn't be long now. Once Michie had harbored dreams of
being a doctor, of healing with her touch. They would call her the girl
with the magic hands... then someone had wired eight ounces of plastique
to
her father's car, and everything had changed. Michie hadn't known what
kind
of work her father did, only that her parents refused to discuss it, but
when Sato had told her that her father was a _yakuza_ member, she had
felt a
terrible sense of correctness, of all the dark pieces finally fitting
together. Sato had taken her in, trained her, taught her to kill and to
obey, and given her a new, strange name. Foxglove. She still couldn't
say
it quite right, and didn't think of it as really meaning her. But she
wasn't really Nakasone Michie, either. She wasn't anybody.
She put the photo away and looked at her watch. Half past two,
according
to Mickey. Would she be on time? She would have to apologize if she
were
late, but they surely wouldn't ask for the finger-cutting. Sato wouldn't
do
that to her.
Not for being late.
If she she didn't get off, but just stayed on the train... but after
Tokyo
was the sea. She could go north or south, but there was always the sea.
But beyond the sea, there were Singapore and Bangkok, Hong Kong, Manila.
Honolulu.
<<But I have to do this,>> she thought. <<I don't have a choice.>> The
thought made her feel better, somehow.
She arrived in plenty of time, and made the call from the train
platform.
Sato picked up on the second ring. "Hello, Michie-chan. Are you ready.?"
"I think so."
"You sound... apprehensive."
"No. Yes. I don't know. A little." She laughed nervously.
"Afraid?"
"No, I... I don't like this."
"Why is that, Michie-chan?"
"Well... It seems... She seems so happy."
"Ah." Michie pictured Sato nodding sagely, eyebrows raised slightly as
he
considered the point. "And that should matter? If she were unhappy or
angry, would you feel differently?"
Michie couldn't answer. Wordless thoughts pushed at her tongue, but she
couldn't find the right shapes for them. Sato took her silence as
acquiescence.
"I want you to go to the central plaza of the Kodama department store.
A
child will be put in danger there. With luck, this will bring out
Licorice.
After she has rescued the child, you are to take her out."
"Kill her."
"Yes." Sensing Michie's mood, he added "it's a horrible, unpleasant
task,
Michie-chan, and it's only natural that it should repulse you. But it is
your duty to overcome these feelings and fulfill your obligations to the
Family. Do you understand?"
"_Hai, Ojisan_." Yes, Uncle. A click came over the line, then a dial
tone.
The Kodama plaza was a carefully simulated jungle with a boat ride and a
half-scale Indonesian temple. The temple stretched up the walls at one
corner, nearly reaching a balcony on the next floor. Crocodiles lay
lazily
on the lower steps and in a pool surrounding the base. Skylights ran
across
the slanting roof many stories above and down much of the south wall.
Sunlight angled down from them and dusted the treetops, but the ground
level
was dusky and cool. Mist drifted through the air from the watering
system,
and chirps, buzzes, clicks, and growls issued from hidden speakers.
Michie
wandered over a bridge across the blue fiberglass trough of the boat ride
and settled herself on a bench near the fenced-off temple area. People
moved past her, disappearing and reappearing along the paths. Hunger
prodded at her belly, but her entire gut was knotted and sore from
tension,
and she didn't want to even think about eating.
She waited, tense, hyperalert, nerves afire. Minutes passed like days.
She folded her arms across her belly and doubled over, trying to
concentrate
on her breathing. In. Out. <<Not too fast, you'll pass out.>> She
closed
her eyes, but her ears picked up a hundred tiny sounds, all of them nerve-
wracking. <<Better with them open.>>
Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Forty. A full hour crept by, second by
second, stretching endlessly. Another five minutes. Ten. Faintly,
Michie
began to hope nothing would happen. Then hope turned to fear. She would
be
waiting in this hell for all eternity.
Twenty. A woman's scream rang through the trees, and Michie fairly
sobbed
with relief. She scanned the paths and bushes. There. On the roof of
the
temple lay a boy, barely a toddler. And above him a young mother, pale
and
terrified, leaned desperately over the railing. Two guards restrained
her
as she began to climb bodily over the railing and, speaking quietly to
her,
escorted her away.
An old woman clucked disapproval by Michie's ear. "A careless woman, to
drop her child like that. And a son, too."
"It wasn't like that," said another voice. "These two punks grabbed the
boy and threw him over the railing. There was nothing she could do."
Michie turned. A small crowd had gathered behind her and was gaping
shamelessly at the spectacle.
"This is a very dangerous situation," a man in a pin-striped suit
observed
sententiously.
"I hear this happens all the time in New York City," chattered one woman.
"New York City!" chorused three more.
"SHUT UP!" cried Michie. "Shut up, you stupid clowns!"
The old woman cuffed her on the temple, hard. "Don't speak to your
elders
like that, you horrible little girl!"
"Aren't the police going to come?" asked one young man. "Or the
security
guards? Or somebody?"
Michie suddenly realized that no, nobody was going to come. Either
Licorice would show up and save the boy, or the boy would eventually fall
off the temple and be devoured. The Family did nothing by half measures;
the boy's danger was quite real. He was the bait in the trap, and she
was
the noose.
Michie fought her way out of the crowd, elbowing viciously. A woman
floating by in a boat turned to her companion and said "Oh, look, dear,
they're putting on a show at the ruined temple." Michie found herself
standing on the bridge with no clear idea of where to go. Then someone
brushed past her, and she caught a glimpse of bright red hair.
The crowd drew its breath as Licorice stepped off the bridge. She
walked
halfway to the fence and slowed to a stop. Michie gripped the railing as
Licorice tilted her head, studying the roof of the temple. Then the girl
began to run, two, three steps, and *leaped*, bounding over the fence and
the pool and the heads of the astonished crowd as if skipping over a
crack
in the sidewalk. She landed among the crocs, stumbled slightly, then
jumped
easily to the rooftop as one bit at her ankle. She gathered the boy in
her
arms, turned, and leaped again, landing just a few yards from Michie.
The
crowd applauded as she set the boy down, and she smiled and waved at it.
Michie half expected the mother to emerge from the crowd and snatch the
boy
up, but she did not appear. Neither did the boy run off into the crowd,
but
simply stood there, eyes bright and glassy. A look of uncertainty
crossed
Licorice's face, and she suddenly darted across the bridge, past Michie.
<<No!>> Michie spun and followed. <<I should've...>> Licorice turned
sharply, entering the undergrowth, and Michie plunged after her,
vegetation
slapping at her face and arms. Emerging from the other side, Michie cast
about desperately for Licorice, but saw a sea of dark heads with no sign
of
red.
But over there -- a dark-haired girl with a long French braid, walking
quickly away. Michie slipped into the crowd and began to track her,
trying
to catch a glimpse of her face. Lights set among the trees began to
flicker
on as the girl made her way over to a group of food stalls. The girl had
slowed, and was now walking quite lesiurely, so Michie was able to edge
past
her. She pulled out the picture and compared it to the girl, careful not
to
stare openly.
Her first impression was that they were two completely different people.
But, try as she might, she couldn't fathom what that impression was based
on. Both girls had the same build, the same hairstyle, and even the same
strong jawline. She cast her mind back to Licorice's rescue of the
child,
but found her memories strangely imprecise. She could remember the hair
color and the costume, but nothing about the face. Baffled, she circled
the
area as the girl bought some _Yakitori._, <<Maybe that's why no one's
ever
traced one of these girls. Maybe the magic hides them.>> She looked at
the
photo again. <<It resembles her. It really does. But I can't be sure.>>
She put the photo away. <<Anyway, I can't do it here. Too crowded.
I'll
have to wait 'till she's alone.>>
Tracking the girl was so like a game that Michie found herself enjoying
it.
Staying behind or to one side as the girl moved from shop to shop, moving
ahead when she dawdled or browsed, or watching the girl's reflection in
glass merchandise cases, Michie found the knot in her belly easing as she
immersed herself in the pursuit. Sato had taught her this skill
personally,
and she had excelled at it, following randomly chosen people through
crowded
Tokyo streets for an hour or more. Then he would put a fatherly hand on
her
shoulder, and smile approvingly, and say "you did well, Michie-chan."
She
smiled at the memories.
The girl had stopped and was talking to a tall boy in a brown leather
jacket. Michie moved closer.
"It was the one with hair like yours, you know, the red one?" said the
boy.
Michie spotted a water fountain behind the two and ducked past them,
heading
for it.
"Oh... really?" said the girl vaguely. "What was her name again?"
"Licorice," said the boy, sounding amused. "Her name is Licorice,
Mariko-
chan." Michie's stomach clenched as the cold water trickled into it.
She
braced herself against the fountain, head spinning. The girl said
something, but she couldn't quite grasp it. She put her head down and
took
a few deep breaths.
"Are you all right?" The voice was close to her ear.
The girl was leaning over her, peering at her with concern. Michie
straightened uncertainly and turned. The boy was a few feet away,
watching
the two of them. He was handsome. Michie gave him a tentative smile,
which
faded as her stomach twitched again.
"You look sick," the girl continued. "Do you feel like throwing up?"
The boy shifted uncomfortably. "Look I -- I have to go. My shift is
starting." He turned and jogged away.
The girl gaped at him as he went. "Oh!" she said indignantly. "Just
like
a *man*! As soon as things get messy, they just clear off."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
"No." The girl smiled ruefully. "He's cute though, isn't he? I think
I
could put up with him."
Michie nodded, then grimaced. "Is there anything I can do?" the girl
asked.
"Can you--" Michie felt horribly vile as she prepared her next words.
"Can we get away from this crowd?"
Stars were appearing in the purple sky as the girl led Michie out of the
building. They stood on a concrete bridge leading over a busy, narrow
street to a modern parking structure. A light wind blew, a trifle too
cold
for Michie's comfort, but she opened her mouth and inhaled it anyway. It
helped. The girl sat on the concrete railing and looked off into the
metropolitan crazy quilt of Greater Tokyo.
"Are you a magic girl?" asked Michie awkwardly.
The girl seemed not to hear. Michie was about to repeat the question
when
the girl said "Why?"
"I saw the boy," said Michie. "The one on the temple roof. I've never
seen anyone jump like that. And I... I thought I recognized you, later.
Because of the hair. But I couldn't be sure and I... I don't know."
"I remember you," said the girl. "You were standing on the bridge. I
bumped you as I went past. Have you been following me?"
Michie nodded mutely. The girl grimaced. "I suppose it doesn't matter.
Strange how no one's worked it out before. They always say I look like
her." She turned and looked back out over the city.
<<So it is her. It's her, and it's time, and this is the perfect place
for
it. I can't put it off anymore.>>
<<Do it.>>
<<Do it now.>>
She pulled the mist up and shifted, stepping towards the girl's back.
She
put her right hand on the girl's shoulder and reached around with her
with
her left, sending her power up beneath the girl's breasts and into her
heart. The girl stiffened and turned her head, looking at Michie with
eyes
filled with shock and uncomprehending pain.
"I'm sorry," whispered Michie.
Then the girl fell backwards over the railing. Michie shrieked and
snatched at the girl's leg as she went, but only succeeded in tearing a
patch of fabric from her skirt. A bus roared out from under the bridge,
striking the girl's body as it fell. There was a dull crunch, and the
body
emerged tumbling from behind the bus and settled, torn and broken, face
down
in a smear of blood. Michie gripped the railing, sucking in the
darkening
air. Headlights moved over the body. Traffic stopped, and people
gathered
around like ants. Michie turned and walked stiffly toward the parking
garage.
<<Oh, it's over and gone and I've done and killed her and there's no way
back now. No way back. And she fell and she broke and she bled and I
did
it. I don't even know why she died and I did it to her.>> The air was
too
thick to breathe, and Michie gasped and panted as she walked. <<I didn't
want to make her bleed.>> She stumbled and caught herself against the
railing. Her head buzzed and her hands and legs tingled. <<I don't want
to
be me anymore.>> She took another step and her legs collapsed, sending
her
sliding to the cold concrete, unconscious.
It couldn't have been more than a minute until she awakened. She rolled
onto her back, realizing she had reverted to her normal form. She
climbed
clumsily to her feet, wiping away bits of gravel that clung to her cheek.
The wail of sirens floated up from the street below. A strange heady
feeling engulfed her, and she felt reborn, as if she had passed through
some
dark underworld and emerged from a crack in the earth to stand wide-eyed
in
the cool night.
But the feeling faded as she made her way back to the train station,
leaving her tired and heartsick.
Sato was waiting in the apartment when she got back, sitting by the
glass
table. "You did well," he said, light glinting off the lenses of his
glasses. "We're all very proud of you."
Michie stared at him and burst into loud, racking sobs. She buried her
face in her hands. Sato scrambled to his feet and took her in his arms,
pressing her face to his chest. "It's okay," he said. "I know. It's
hard.
It's a hard thing."
Michie raised her head. "I liked her. I really liked her. She was
nice.
Why did she have to die? Why did I have to do it?"
Sato took her over to the table and they settled down on some cushions.
He
cradled her against his chest as she cried. "It was necessary," he said.
"She was interfering. We can't have people interfering with us." He
paused, thinking. "When I was a little boy on the farm -- did you know I
grew up on a farm? A little farm on Hokkaido. Anyway, one year my
father
decided to raise rabbits, and I was given the job of taking care of the
rabbits. Every day, after dinner, I went out to the hutch to feed them
and
clean their cages. I gave them names, and played with them, and saved
bits
of food from the table to give them."
"Then, one day, it came time to slaughter the rabbits. My father asked
me
to help him, but when the first rabbit lay on the chopping block, I
quailed
and ran. I hid behind the house and cried as my father killed them, one
by
one."
"My father told me not to be ashamed," continued Sato. "It meant that I
had a kind heart -- just as you have a kind heart, Michie. But he said I
had to have a strong heart, too, because only a strong heart could do the
things that needed to be done. What you did today needed to be done. I
know it hurt you to do it, but you did do it, and I think you will find
you
have a strong heart, too."
"No," moaned Michie. "I don't want to have a strong heart. I don't I
don't I don't. Please don't make me do it again. Please, _Ojisan._ "
"Now, Michie-chan," said Sato. "It's late, and I think it's time you
went
to sleep." He got up and lay out Michie's sleeping mat and comforter and
placed her gently onto the mat. He removed her shoes, tucked the
comforter
around her, and slipped Chan-chan into her arms. "Good night," he said.
"Tomorrow is Sunday, so try to rest as much as you can. I'll be by to
see
how you're doing." He kissed her on the temple, then turned out the
lights.
Michie heard the door open and close and the lock click.
She lay there in the dark for a long time, clutching Chan-chan and
weeping
quietly. Eventually, she slept.
* * *
Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma or a hideous dream:
The Genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.
-- _Julius Caesar_
Notice:
MISSY FOXGLOVE #1 copyright 1997 David Homerick
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as an electronic document.
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