Kate Daniels 04.5 - Magic Dreams

explained the scene. “Yes?”
    “The first two characters in the second column, that’s what I saw on the floor in the office.”
    “Put me down.”
    He lowered me to the ground. I leaned toward the scroll. The first character, second column:
Joro. Joro?
Really? “Are you sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Jim, that’s a very old word for whore.
Baita
is more common. I’ve never even seen
joro
on a sign anywhere, it’s that obscure.”
    “That’s what I saw.”
    I had no idea what that meant. How would August even know that
kanji?
He could barely remember the word for bathroom.
    Behind us someone roared and a burning wood beam crashed down, just like in an old movie. Jim took my hand, and we ran up the stairs, out of Underground Atlanta, and we didn’t stop running until the door of my mother’s house loomed before me.
    *

    AS SOON AS we walked through the door, my family mugged us. My mother had called an emergency. Everyone was there: uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors. They pulled Jim away from me and took him to the garden. I tried to follow, but my mother stopped me.
    “Do you have it?”
    I dug in my pocket and deposited the snail into her hand. She held up the shell to light. “Alive. Good!” She swept to the corner of the room, where a glass box held the delicate white stars of the jasmine blossoms. She gently deposited the snail onto the snowy petals and shut the box.
    “How long?” I asked.
    “Six hours, if we’re lucky. Ten, if we’re not.”
    People fussed over me and asked me questions, and then I had to explain that the poacher market was no more. Then I was pushed into the kitchen and made to eat. There were so many dishes that the counter had no space. In my family, any emergency was met with an avalanche of food; the more dire the problem, the bigger the spread.
    Over an hour later, I finally snuck away to steal a look at the Keong Emas. The snail had fed on jasmine. Its shell lay discarded and the fat body of the insect glowed with weak golden radiance.
    “It’s going well,” my mother said. “So far.”
    “I’m going out,” I told her.
    “Where to?”
    “To Komatsu Grocery to see August’s family. I want to know what we’re dealing with.”
    My mother pursed her lips. I knew what she was thinking. Of all the nationalities I have come across, the Japanese were usually hardest to talk to. They were always polite to a fault, but they didn’t speak to police and they didn’t speak to foreigners. Family matters were kept private and problems were resolved behind closed doors, so no undue attention would be drawn to the family.
    “A waste of time,” Mother said.
    “I have a plan.”
    My mother clamped her hand to her chest, pretending to be scared. “Dali, do not make Komatsu Grocery explode. Where will I shop?”
    “Mother!”
    My mother rolled her eyes to the heavens with a look of uttermost suffering. I growled and went off to find my alpha.
    By the time I fought my way through my relatives to the garden, Jim was human again and very naked. He was seated by the tree and the four older women were pouring spelled water over him, trying to purify the body.
    His gaze found me, dark eyes pleading for help. I walked over to him, trying not to ogle.
    “Help,” he said.
    I took his hand and held it. “They’re trying to keep the evil out, until my mother can get the snail to hatch.”
    “Snails don’t hatch,” he said.
    “This one does. Stay awake until I come back.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “I have to do something. Nothing dangerous. I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t worry, my family will take good care of you.”
    The hard alpha mask snapped onto Jim’s face. “I look worried to you?”
    “No. Don’t kill any of my relatives while I’m gone either.”
    “Where are you going?”
    I walked away.
    If you deny a cat information, it will nag at him. If the cat happens to be a spymaster, it will drive him completely crazy. It would keep him awake. Besides, after his lecture on how I was smart but stupid and had a chip on my shoulder, I was allowed a little payback.
    *

    IT WAS ALMOST noon by the time I made it to South Asia. It was a grand name for a small spot in southern Atlanta, where the Asian-themed shops aggregated in a large plaza formed by an old mall. I stopped there a couple of times a month—it was the closest place to buy manga. Also, Komatsu Grocery was hands down the best Asian market in the area. They had a large selection and their seaweed