A woman with bright red lipstick, her hair perfectly straight and shiny black, elegantly dressed with yellow shoes, steps out of a sliding door of the large home, but doesn’t come farther. She simply watches with unhappy eyes.

Everyone is there: Arek, Kilon, Beckah, Geo, Peter, Briston, and the two men they have yet to introduce me to. They speak quietly near the back of the cars while I wait patiently trying to avoid the woman’s eyes. Soon she comes down the stairs toward me, her lipstick accentuating her straight mouth.

“I didn’t believe it until now.” Her ivory skin is perfect as she speaks with a Japanese accent. “But here you are . . . at my house.” As she finishes the sentence, her words trail off in a tone that suggests she does not want me there.

“Aita.” I hear a deep voice from behind me with the same accent. Unable to get a good look at him before, it is now possible to see just how old this Japanese man is, his bald head shiny. “Aren’t you going to say hello to our guests?”

It is obvious that he has stepped to my side to give me assistance; then I feel Arek’s shoulder against mine on the other side.

She lifts her chin and cocks her head with attitude. “You’ve got quite the protection—it seems nothing has changed. Kenichi and Arek still treating you like you can’t take care of yourself.”

“Aita, go inside. Tell everyone they have arrived,” the old man says with irritation.

She walks away, but never stops glaring.

“Where have you brought me?” I whisper to Arek.

He smiles.

“I apologize to you, Remy,” says the Japanese man named Kenichi.

“She goes by Willow—” Arek informs Kenichi, but I stop him quickly with my hand.

“It’s okay, Arek. I guess I should really try and get used to it. Remy will be fine.” We shake hands.

“Oh, I see. You don’t remember anything?” His accent is so thick it is hard to follow.

“No, sir. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

The old man looks at Arek and Briston. “Clever. Very clever. How can the Prophets and Powers fight that?”

“This is Kenichi Oto,” Briston informs me. “He and I have been friends for . . .” The two older men look at each other.

“A very long time,” Kenichi says as they chuckle.

Briston continues, “We thought it would be safest to have you here.”

Not one place has been unreachable for Navin. I want to trust them, but it is difficult. Kenichi grabs Briston’s shoulder, “Let’s drink.”

Everyone begins to make their way to the house, but Arek stays behind.

“Navin would never know to come here,” he begins as though he already knows my thoughts. “And Kenichi’s safeguards are also quite extensive.”

“Is there protection from that woman with the red lipstick?” I grin.

Arek shrugs, “That’s Aita. Let’s just say that you two didn’t see eye-to-eye on much.”

“I’m beginning to feel that Remy had more enemies than friends.”

“Enemies are just louder.” The banter is so easy that when he reaches out and his fingertips draw a path on my shoulder, it takes a moment for him to withdraw.

Together we make our way into Kenichi’s home. It could be a museum. Glass cases line the walls, with antique weapons and armor displayed securely inside. The foyer alone is the size of a large room and it leads into an even larger space where the tiles on the floor are laid in a perfect circle. Thirteen-foot windows stand on the other side, filling the traditionally decorated room with warm light from the setting sun. Plants line the walls, but there is no furniture.

Standing confidently in the middle of the circle is the younger, taller, and handsome Japanese man that was with Kenichi at the airport. There is an edge of confidence about him that meets me before his physical body can. His black hair sweeps up and over like a wave and his dark eyes watch me closely. Everyone else pays no mind to us, but something in my head whispers a name repeatedly.

“Mak?” I ask.

He smiles with pleasant surprise. “A servant told me that you don’t remember?”

“Is that right?” I ask him. A few more steps toward him brings me so close that the smell of his perfection sweeps memories through me like a sweet spring wind.

“Yes. Makoto. You used to call me Mak.”

Unexpectedly to everyone and even me, I throw my arms around him. There is such relief. The comfortable essence when you know someone is far greater to you when it has suddenly been stripped away. He squeezes me and kisses my cheek. “What do you remember?”

I look around the room and things become clearer. A vision of two young children running through and passing us—a golden-haired girl and a dark-haired boy—laughing as he chases her. “We ran around here . . . just children. You wouldn’t stop chasing me.”

There is no denying the happiness on everyone’s faces, but the one lost expression is Arek’s. Our eyes meet. He breathes in, gives me a forced grin, then exits the room swiftly.

Mak speaks and brings my attention back to him. “You recognize this room?”

The tall windows let the low sun spray my face and the tap of the tiles make a hollow sound as I walk. To answer his question, I point to the half manicured, half jungle garden out back where a chubby, happy Buddha sits as a water feature, and I smile. “Not much has changed.”

“My father, king of ‘keep things the same.’” Mak stands by me, our shoulders touching, which is completely acceptable and possibly preferred.

On the side of Mak’s face is a small scar. I’m compelled to trace my fingers lightly along it. “The boys that summer.”

“No one was going to get away with treating you that way,” he says. I wrap my arm within his with ease.

The others around the room occupy themselves with other things as though careful not to impinge on our connection. My first and only friend stands beside me, yet why just him? Every one of them hopes to be someone I will remember.

“So where does Remy’s army stand with you?” he asks, clearly hearing my unvoiced thoughts.

“What do you mean?” Yet, I know what he means and he knows this so he eyes me suspiciously. “I understand that they’re here to help.” My whisper brings his head closer to mine. “But they want me to remember. I can feel it.” For the first time, as though his presence gives me freedom, the bottoms of my eyes become small pools of emotion. He notices that I am desperate to keep it hidden and he stands with his back to them to cover me. Our facade of watching the garden continues.

His hand slides around mine that holds his arm. “They know it will take time. I promise.” He wraps his fingers in mine with his palm resting on the top of my hand. For a moment he looks at me, unable to hide his smile, then he pulls my hand to his and kisses it. “I missed you.”

In a sudden vision as younger versions of us, Mak leans over to kiss me. My heart races suddenly. Am I supposed to be married to Arek? And just like that, my relief is gone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A small bit of light somehow comes through the deep red curtains to wake me early the first morning. From this quiet room in the right wing, there is a view of a pathway leading through the Japanese gardens set evenly dispersed between thick jungle. Engaging in a deep stretch as I pull on a clean shirt that Sassi has given me, several figures follow the path just beyond the home. Arek’s frame is unmistakable, Kenichi’s bald head is covered in a knit cap, and Briston walks easily between them.

A strange feeling of jealousy runs over me as though at one time my mornings had been filled with walks by their side, yet today they hurry off without me. I stack my hair on top of my head in a bun and quickly set off. When I was just a child, these cold floors felt exhilarating in the early morning hours and now I must put on socks. The shadows point the same direction down the hall, and I follow them. The smell of smoke wafts in and before even catching a glance out one of the hall windows, my memory reminds me of the servants cooking on the outdoor hibachi grill, already preparing for the day.

The misty air soaks my skin while walking along the brick path covered in cherry blossom trees that will bloom soon for spring.

From every angle the amazing view takes my breath away. Oversize sand boxes line the trail with intricate designs drawn in them. Flowers brush my arms as they drop from the perfectly manicured trees. Some things are familiar, especially the path I take to follow the men. With every step, I can see that this trail has been walked many times.