He recalls to memory the sounds of the city. It is often said that sometimes, in the World, one can hear the city all the way up in the mountains, past the din of car horns and traffic. He tries to imagine those sounds now. All he hears is the mysterious echo of laughter in the distance. Tengu-warai, people call it. Zaniel presses his hands over his ears. Now is not the time to be thinking of tengu, and he knows it. It is humans he needs, women. His legs start to wobble with the sensation of jelly. He takes a blind step forward, and feels as if he is moving against water, as if he is on the bottom of the ocean. He is falling, falling forward, in increments of time. Yes. There. Now all he has to do is imagine, just a little more, a city — any city — a place where he can find someone … someone for Akki … someone suitable, if not perfect.

“Hello,” the Yokai says.

“What?” Zaniel looks around, confused, and rightfully so. He is lying in the classroom where his co-workers once sat. They are gone; so is their teacher. Only the Yokai sits here now, on her knees in polite seiza, hands on her lap, looking down at him with a hungry grin.

“You,” the Yokai lightly taps his nose, “fell asleep.”

“I did? No, wait a minute. I saw them. The trees. I was in the woods …” He trails off. How on earth did he end up back here?

“The woods? You must have been having some dream. Well, come on.” The Yokai urges Zaniel to his feet. “Let’s go find Mommy and Daddy. I have a party to get to.”

“What? Who?”

The Yokai is already pushing him toward the door. “No, wait … I need to talk to you.” Zaniel’s mind reels. He does not know where to even begin.

Just before they reach the door he feels the cold sensation of pain snaking from his wrists up along his arms. His black bracelet burns with cold light, his red bracelet with a sharp heat. They’re both glowing again … but why? He closes his eyes. If he concentrates hard enough, he will return to the forest. Akki must already be there. But the Yokai is here. If he goes, what will happen to her? “Please, listen to me. I need to —”

A door opens. “There you are, sweetie!” a woman’s voice cries, along with the high-pitched chirping of what must be a dozen other mothers. He feels the Yokai’s hands slip from his shoulders. Then his head is submerged in a sea of fingers running along his face and neck.

“Oh, isn’t he adorable! How old must you be, eighteen, nineteen months?”

“Looks about 323 months if I’m not mistaken!”

“How CUTE!”