“I’m not his gang, I just …” He shakes his head. “It’s a long story.”

“We’re immortal, kid. We got plenty of time.”

“No, thanks, just, uh … I … I’m not really in a talking mood tonight; I just want to get things over with.”

“You want some flowers, then!” The girl kneels down. The boy removes a small sack from inside his sleeve, unties it, and takes out a handful of dirt. He gives it to her; she shapes it into a small hill and presses it into the stones. “There. It’ll be a couple of minutes.” She cups her hands over the mound. Droplets of water fall from her fingertips. It takes a few seconds to create a good steady shower.

“Good choice,” the boy tells Zaniel. “Girls like flowers. They’re so full of symbolism and deep meaning, they’re bound to catch someone’s eye. Make them red, sis. That should really get the message across, save him some time.”

Zaniel prepares to say that no, he is in no need of flowers tonight, but in the end, he thinks better of it. After all, it is unwise to refuse a gift from any yokai. The three of them watch the flowers bud and bloom from the earth, under the girl’s tiny rainfall. The boy collects the flowers in threes.

“What’s it like, hafu boy?” the girl suddenly asks. “What’s it like, going back and forth all the time, pretending for so long? Is it lonely?”

She is concentrating too hard on her rainfall to see the glint of anger in Zaniel’s eyes or hear it in his voice. “Maybe in a hundred years you’ll find out for yourself.”

“Not likely. We have each other. Here you go.” The boy obviously did not catch it, either. He hands Zaniel a full bouquet of red roses. The whole process only took a few minutes, as promised. “Good luck with these. Well, we’ll let you get on with your break.” He helps his sister to her feet and they stroll away, hand in hand. Zaniel watches their backs, listens to the clop-clop of their wooden geta get quieter and quieter. That’s two … or is that three?

Zaniel is cold all of a sudden. He tucks the flowers under one arm and folds his hands into the warmth of his armpits. The flowers will survive, of course, assuming he can keep his eyes open long enough to put them to use. He feels the impending danger of nodding off, so he continues his walk. “Idiot,” he curses himself. Who gets sleepy in a world where he’s already asleep?

He walks farther along the path, concentrating on the trees and the shadows they cast against the red sky behind them. They begin to normalize now, matching the deciduous trees that exist in the real world. The sky begins to darken to a deep, warm brown. He relaxes a little, but only a little, for he knows that yokai may still lurk here.