The Tengu darts up to him and taps the black beads on Zaniel’s left wrist, just visible past the cuff of his jacket sleeve. Zaniel clutches his bracelets, instinctively, as if to hide them. “Oh. I see. To be honest, I didn’t think it would matter …”

“You are Akki’s,” he repeats. “Of course it matters. Have you no idea how important you are to him?” The Tengu clicks his tongue. “Kids these days.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not a kid. I’m actually almost —”

“A thousand years old? No? Then guess what.” The Tengu rolls back his shoulders. A pair of thick black feathered wings expand from his back. “Walk with me, human.”

Reluctant, Zaniel complies. He wonders what Akki would say at the sight of him walking alongside another yokai. He wonders if Akki would even allow it.

“I know what you are thinking. I will not take much of your time. I only want to share my thoughts with you: if you are not a child, as you claim, then perhaps the time has come to depart from your bodyguard’s company. Perhaps the yokai of these woods have grown accustomed to your presence enough to leave you alone. Have you considered that?”

Zaniel shakes his head. “Not really. I guess … no, not really. There are so many new creatures about these days.”

“Were I you, I would talk with your guard. He is clearly fond of you to have kept you all this time. Perhaps he can teach you ways to defend yourself. Or, perhaps, I can impart some of my wisdom upon thee. Do you accept?”

Aha. There’s the catch. “With all due respect,” Zaniel repeats. “I am not worthy of such wisdom. I am but human.”

“Rumour has it you are hafu.”

“Only in my ethnicity. I am half-Japanese, but fully human.”

The Tengu stops walking, and sighs as if saddened by Zaniel’s reply. “Suit thyself,” he shrugs. “I only offer but once. Good night and good luck, human.”

He lets Zaniel take a few steps more, then spreads his wings, flaps them twice, and takes flight high above the trees. And that makes three. They always come in threes.