“My bodyguards? Why did I need that?”
Sassi says nothing.
Just then Briston raises his hand to call us forward and soon I am nestled between Arek and my father in one of the vehicles that drives smoothly around the curves of the Kagoshima countryside. Mesmerized by such a beautiful but unexpectedly familiar place, I tune out everyone in the car for the twenty minutes it takes to follow a winding road up the hillside. To our right are rows of farmland, edges caressed by the ocean; we are wrapped in the foliage of a forest to our left.
Small roads lead us through weeping trees where moss grows on nearly everything and hangs from branches extended over wildflowers.
“Kagoshima is beautiful,” I whisper.
Arek rubs his forehead with surprise. “Did we tell you about this place?”
I look at him, “No.”
He nods. “You always thought it was beautiful.”
Soon the jungle reveals several homes tucked deep within the dense forest by allowing just the highest tips of the traditional Japanese curved roofs to peek out. The cars are climbing a steep grade, rocking back and forth over roots and rough terrain. Then just as we turn a sharp curve, a long driveway leading to a large ornate red and black house appears. Several people in black uniforms who look like chefs found in a kitchen are standing with their hands straight down and slightly crossed. When we come to a stop, before anyone can exit, these people hurry to gather everything and everyone from the vehicles.
As my feet touch the gravel, there are so many sounds to take in. Several species of birds call to one another, frogs release deep guttural croaks, and a high-pitched sound calls that I can’t quite figure out at first until I see a small monkey swing from branch to branch. Compared to where we have just been, this place is much warmer so each of us begins stripping off our outer layers.
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?”
