Chapter Fifteen

My birthday fell on March 15. At first I thought it would pass like Christmas, without ceremony, because nobody talked about it in the upcoming week at all. It made me wonder if Dad had given me the wrong date, whether by accident or as a lie. But when I stepped into the exercise room on the fifteenth to practice my katas, it was to see Mom standing against the far wall holding a bokken. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Mom!" I said. "What are you doing here?"

"I came back last night," she said simply, tapping the tip of the bokken against the wall. "Shall we spar?"

She was so, so good. One minute she'd be posed loosely aside from me. The next, I'd be flat on my face. I would think I had her and be halfway through a swing and get cracked on the head, or she'd whoosh past me and hook my ankles. I was rapped and knocked down a hundred times. But to my delight, I got her twice: once raking her beneath the breast, the other a blow to her armpit. The second time I got her, she laughed. It actually sounded mirthful.

"You have been practicing," she said, and dropped her hand companionably onto my shoulder. Chills ran down my spine. She was smiling! For me!

We stopped long enough to sit against the wall, panting with exertion. She took a long swig of some bottled water and handed it to me. I drank the lukewarm water in silence, staring at the door. The lip of the bottle tasted like sweat.

"Satou-san told me about your training," she said after a moment. "He says you get along well with your squad."

"I like them," I said. We had been going out together almost every day, helping Perez and Dickens with Japanese, and moving like a pack among the buildings around the Clubhouse where Perez lived. The Clubhouse, as it turned out, was a recruitment center stationed in a low-income area. Officially, it was a non-profit aimed at the elevation of at-risk youth. Unofficially, it was a Foot recruitment center. The Pavilion that Daichi had mentioned was a food court inside of it. Room and board was cheap for recruits, and if you were good enough, you got it free. Perez lived in one of the free rooms with her sister, who was two years younger than she was and an excellent trainee herself. Neither girl said anything about parents, so we didn't ask.

"Breakfast," sang Fujita-san from the dining room.

Mom rose to her feet with a grunt, offered her hand, and lifted me to my feet. Clinging to her in that weightless moment was thrilling. We strolled side by side to the dining room. Breakfast was the normal array of fish, rice, vegetables, soup, and tea. I had become the old pro at my chopsticks.

"Itadakimasu," we said, and jumped in.

"Your tutors won't be coming in today," Mom said.

I paused and swallowed. "Oh? Why's that?"

She paused, a piece of fish halfway to her mouth. "It's your birthday," she said. "Don't you know?"

"Oh," I stammered. "I mean, yes. It's just that nobody said anything, so..."

"I never forget your birthday," she said. She looked so matter-of-fact that I totally lost my train of thought. "I will take you shopping."

When I told my squad the reason I wasn't coming in for training, they were shocked.

"You're only eleven?" Eiji asked.

"Yeah!" I said. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen!"

"I'm fourteen," Dickens said.

"You don't seem like you're eleven at all," said Perez.

I didn't know what to say. Mutants mature faster? I'd lived a hard life before the Tower? I decided to go with option three.

"Thanks," I said.

"Are you gonna have a party?" Eiji asked. "Can we come?"

"Am I having a party?" I asked Mom. We were sitting in the back of her car on a route I didn't recognize.

"If you wish," she said.

"I want to invite my squad," I said.

"Then you may."

"Tomorrow?"

"Of course." She was staring out of the window.

"Where?"

"Same room that you meet your tutors in." Her voice was so quiet and dreamy. I could only vaguely remember her using this tone early on, when we'd met in Northampton.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

She laughed softly. "I never thought I would have this day with you again," she said.

Prickles ran up and down my spine.

"What was it like?" I asked. "When I was born, I mean. Was... was..." I swallowed the pronoun before it came out and prayed she hadn't seen it.

"No. He wasn't there." There was no hate in her voice when she said it. "But he was waiting. And I was too weary to fight him."

"He just... he just broke in?"

"Yes. In the dead of night, while I was sleeping."

Anger hit me without warning. I'd never really taken any time to imagine Mom's perspective at all. When I'd thought of that night, I'd thought of Dad swooping in to wrest me from the arms of a villain in a lab coat. I'd never thought of him slipping into a darkened room to snag me out of a crib, Mom lying nearby in helpless exhaustion.

"But how could he know?" I asked.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I have always had enemies... of various kinds. My father and the Council did not approve of your birth. I suspect they alerted him in one way or another." She turned from her reflection to me. Her eyes were sharp. "What did he tell you?"

"He said that an Elite told him," I said.

"Hmm. Which one?"

"He never said."

"A pity." She brushed my hair out of my eyes. "We should have your hair styled."

"Why did you have me?" I asked.

She smiled. "Why not?"

"Uh..."

"I watched your father rise from blows that would have killed a human being," she said. "I saw him heal faster than I did from similar wounds. Never did he complain of allergies or colds or flus. At first, all I wanted was that for myself. He was easy to draw in. No experience with women or love at all. He would do anything for me. His loyalty was unquestionable and blind."

My heart grew cold. All I could see was Dad staring miserably off into the trees, Dad keeping little pictures of her, Dad with the pretty katana that he worshipfully maintained and never used. I thought of the picture I had saved from him. I wished I hadn't.

"But I have always been sentimental," she said. "A fatal flaw. It was impossible not to meet like with like. Your father was honest. He was always honest. If he told me what he thought, he meant it. If he said he would do something, he did it. He did not lie. No, that came later." Her voice was bitter. "And soon I simply invited him because I enjoyed his company. I told myself it was because he alone could be trusted completely. Unlike other men..." She paused. "Have I told you about Oroku Saki?"

I shook my head no.

"Oroku Saki was Akemi's... my first child's father," she said. "He courted me from the time we were placed in the same squad. I was flattered because I was a child and a fool. I became pregnant when I was sixteen. That was when Saki showed his hand. He begged my father for my hand in marriage. Not me—he never went to me." Her voice was frigid. "No interest in me. No interest in our child, except that it be a boy, of course. He was going to take the Foot from me. Put me in a little house, flash me around in meetings, win the approval of the Council. A bloodless coup." Her hard eye flashed to mine. "You will find such people in your squad even now. Beware Japanese men in particular. This is a curse of our country. They expect all women to melt into housewives with no dreams or desires of their own. The wedding ring is a shackle."

"You... said no?" I asked slowly.

"My father said yes. I said no. Both of them were furious. The Council degraded me. My friends abandoned me. Our squad fell apart." She crossed her legs. "Saki said I should have an abortion if I wasn't going to marry him. I said I would have the child if I liked. How angry Saki was. He made a fool of himself in his rage. We sent him to New York to busy him with other work. He focused his anger in other directions. You know the rest of that story."

"And then you met Dad."

"No fear of marriage with that one." She smiled unpleasantly. "No fear that he would try to use me as currency with the Foot—such a union was horrific to everyone. No. He was honest. He expected no favors. He merely wanted to be with me. Such an honest, warm, foolish person, your father. You could see straight through him. His sole flaw was that he could not face his hypocrisies without collapsing. I suppose I was responsible for... worsening his condition. But it wasn't my responsibility to parent him.

"At the same time, my scientists were experimenting with creating some kind of genetic treatment to solve the physical failures of my body. A jounin who cannot defend herself is one that dies sooner rather than later. It was my bioengineers who began to make fetuses as an attempt to bridge the differences between our bodies—only one experiment of many. Most of the fetuses were totally untenable. Only one kept growing. That one was you. They told me they could grow you in a vat with no threat to me, but when your growth stalled, I opted to have you implanted. We didn't expect anything. But you lived and you were born." She leaned on her hand and looked me down. "I loved you completely, my strange, otherworldly child. Your birth was like magic."

I rubbed the back of my hand against my eyes.

"Of course," she said, "by that time the Council, and my father, had discovered I was trysting with your father. And that would never do. They wanted him out or dead. So I sent him away. And instead of trusting my judgment, he came for you."

"He said you never told him anything," I said.

"I never had to before," she said. "I should have realized that love was a slow poison for him. It made him mad. Perhaps possessive."

"He was afraid," I whispered. "He was afraid you'd put me into the Bunker like an experiment and he felt responsible."

She snorted. "Is that what he tells himself?" She looked me in the eye. "Your father wants to think of himself as a good person. When he sees his moral failures, he fabricates whole stories to support his mythical goodness. Like a child, he believes his own lies. In many ways, I am more honest than he. I know exactly what I am." She smiled, rapping a forefinger against her cheek. "What a shame he could not master this part of himself. I believe he was the only man I truly loved."

Biting my lip, I reached out for her. She reached back and squeezed my hand in hers.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?" she asked.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid next to her, then threw my arms around her. She stiffened for a second. And then she held me back.

Mom took me on a whirlwind trip of dining and shopping. Our first destination was the bookstore, where she told me to get whatever I wanted. After wandering through shelf after shelf of promising choices, I had made a stack almost as tall as I was. Thinking about the size of my bookshelf, I shrugged and said I had a reading app if she'd just give me some money for that. She bought me a gift card for $1000. It required a visit from the store manager and caused a line that stretched all the way to the stationery section.

I goggled at the card as she handed it to me.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm gonna have books for the rest of my life," I whispered.

We upgraded my phone to the latest model, plenty of space for images and videos and books. She took me to a ritzy restaurant where I stumbled over French names and tried my first sip of wine. And then there was the moment that the sedan rolled to a stop before what seemed a wall of trees. I gaped and pressed my face against the window. There were horses drawing carriages, and food carts, and past the looming trunks were rolling green lawns. Women in sports bras jogged past with earbuds; families sauntered by walking dogs and pushing strollers. Kids were throwing balls and frisbees to each other.

"Is this Central Park?" I asked.

"Yes," Mom said. "But we're here for the museum."

Indeed, at the edge of the park was the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a pale fortress looming up on carved Grecian pillars. I gazed upon pillowy white Roman marble and cocked my head at a modern series depicting bones and organs crafted from papier-mâché. We lingered in the gift shop, where she bought me a pad of art paper, an overpriced pack of pencils, and a book on using graphite. After we were through feeding our eyes, we padded down the steps to the darkening green trees. She bought me an ice cream and we wandered up toward Belvedere Castle, lit up in gold above a black pond. The sky was a featureless orange haze above us, and the omnipresent groan of traffic was muffled by the trees.

I swung my shopping bag as we walked. "Have you ever been here before?" I asked.

"Yes. A few times."

"Have you… have you ever been here with Dad?"

There was a pause. Her eyebrows rose. "No."

"Why not?"

"You should know the answer to that question."

"You mean he was always hiding? Even back when he was young?"

She tapped at her thigh with an index finger. "Always. Very cautious. Terrified of revealing himself."

I lapped at an escaping chocolate dribble. "You didn't mind?" I asked.

"There were always other things to do. This is only one." She shrugged. "He wouldn't have been comfortable, so it wouldn't have been enjoyable for either of us."

"Why's he always afraid?" I asked.

"He's a living curiosity." She extended one finger. "The scientific world would draw and quarter him." She raised a second finger. "He dreads too much interaction. The idea of being visible horrified him. He's a criminal and a murderer. Many reasons. All valid."

She had run out of fingers.

"Well, I was thinking," I said, drawing the sentence out.

Her eye flicked down to mine. Her expression had alternated between dreamy and sardonic throughout the day, but now it was severe.

"I was wondering if I could see him," I said as quickly as possible. "I miss him."

She looked toward the castle. The wind played with her hair.

"He'd like seeing you too," I said.

Her shoulders stiffened. My mouth kept going without my brain, and I could feel the oncoming fuck-up one millisecond before I spoke.

"He still loves you," I said.

She threw her head back and laughed uproariously. I jerked back and nearly stabbed my chest with the ice cream.

"What's funny?" I asked in a tiny voice.

"Nothing," she said, grabbing me by the arm. "We're going home."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Nothing unexpected," she said. "Although your birthday has made you greedy."

The drive home was a quiet one, but not unpleasant. Mom sat with her chin resting on the heel of her hand, staring out of the window. I crunched up the last of my ice cream cone, licked my lips, and sucked on my fingers.

"Thanks," I said at last. "Today was awesome."

She grunted.

"I'm sorry I talked about Dad so much," I said.

The eyes in her reflection met mine.

"I just miss him," I said.

"Saya. Stop."

There was an edge to her amusement. I took the hint.

When we finally returned to the apartment parking garage, I felt sleepy and fat and warm. We meandered side by side to the elevator. Mr. Sugar stepped out of the darkness beside it. He was dressed in Elite armor with his hat shadowing his eyes.

Mom froze. I did, too.

"Satou-san?" she asked.

He slid up to her and whispered in her ear.

"No," she said softly. Then she glanced down at me. "Tell me Takeru did not act out."

Mr. Sugar said something negative and she hissed between her teeth.

"Very well," she said. "Saya-chan, be wary. Your grandfather and grandmother are here. They will not like you."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "What do I do?" I asked.

"Be quiet. If they ask you questions, say yes or no. Don't tell stories. Be polite. That's all." She swiped her card at the elevator and we stepped on. Mr. Sugar stepped in front of the elevator and gave me a little wink. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Then the door shut and we lifted off.

When we stepped into the foyer, I drew back for a second. On one side of the hallway were Mom's normal Elites. On the other side were a group of four ninja I had never seen before. Their uniform was very similar—black hakama, chestplate, and pauldrons, the unique hat and high red collars—but the Foot symbol was on a band around their right and left arms, not over their hearts. Mom hesitated a moment before stepping out, and pushed me toward her left so that she stood between me and the strangers. I noted that her fingers were in her pockets. The strange Elites stood at attention with their feet at shoulder's width and their hands clasped behind their backs. When I glanced at our Elites, I noticed that all four of them had their hands on the hilts of their katana, and their unblinking eyes were fixed on their counterparts across the room.

Despite only being a walk of only twenty feet, I felt like I was running a gauntlet.

When we finally reached the genkan, I could feel my grandparents in the air. Not only the smell of them—an aged smell—but also the tension of their presence. Two pairs of strange shoes sat in our genkan—a shining pair of men's dress shoes arrested my attention first. Fujita-san rushed up to us, her eyes huge and dark. I had never seen her worried before. She leaned in toward Mom and whispered something. Mom grimaced and nodded. Then Fujita-san leaned in toward me.

"Takeru was not polite at all," she said. "He's locked himself in his room. Your grandparents are furious. Be careful."

I nodded.

Fujita-san leading the way, we donned our house slippers and marched off to face the dragons.

My grandfather and grandmother were both sitting at the dining room table. They did not rise when we entered. Both of them were thin, wrinkled, dried-out people. My grandfather wore an expensive black suit and a shining gold Rolex. My grandmother wore a handsome kimono embroidered with cranes in gold thread. She had a mole on her upper lip with two long gray hairs growing out of it. I immediately thought of witches.

"Father, Mother. Good evening," Mom said. "I'm sorry that you waited so long."

"I called three times," said grandfather, rising slowly to his feet. "I left messages."

"Did you not speak to my assistant?"

"Yes. She said you were not to be disturbed." He coughed and wiped at his lips with a handkerchief. "Even by your own father."

"I had my phone turned off. It was Saya's birthday."

Fujita-san slipped off into the kitchen. I watched her go with a shiver.

"Saya, is it?" Grandfather turned to look at me with a sneer. "Does that child have a hunchback?"

"Yes." Mom set her hand firmly on the back of my neck. "Say goodnight and go to your room, Saya."

I bowed. "Good-ni..."

"Not so fast," said Grandfather. He shuffled up to us and peered closely at me. "Is this the child from the kappa?"

"Yes," Mom said without hesitation.

"Disgusting," said my grandmother. "How could you? I was able to call the stories rumors before, but what am I supposed to say now?"

Mom's expression never changed. "Satou-san said you had important news for me from the homeland."

"Not yet," said Grandfather. "We need to discuss... this." He gestured at me. "I heard rumors that you placed this child into our Elite training program. But I didn't hear of her until a few months ago. Why is this? Has she truly been tested? Or is she like the boy?"

"She has killed before and her form is excellent," said my mother. "I would have never entered her into an Elite squad without reason."

I turned to her with wide eyes. She wasn't looking at me.

"She's too small for it, anyway." Grandfather touched my back. "What is this?"

"That is her back, Father."

"Ha."

He turned a circle around me, hunched and pinched up. He reminded me of a hungry coyote I had seen once when I was small—a sharp-edged shadow with a low head and perked ears. I could smell something medicinal on his breath. Then he ripped the neck of my shirt down with a long, knobby finger. So violently did he stretch the fabric that he yanked me down with it. I shuddered and swallowed, but I did not move.

"A shell," he said, pressing his fingertip against the whorls on my scutes. His voice dripped with anger.

Mom slapped his hand away and the pop was so loud that it echoed. The two of them whirled to face each other. The anger on his face was like a thunderhead, dark, immense; his eyes were lost beneath his beetled brows. Mom's anger was like the sun, her face clear and her eyes bright and terrible. I was the dumb animal stuck between them, struck stupid with horror.

"Go to your room, Saya-chan," she said in a monotone voice.

I ducked and sprinted off, taking the little stairwell three steps at a time. I rushed into my room, shut the door, locked it. My face blazed, and there was a sob locked up in my chest that I couldn't release. I rushed into my bathroom and turned on the shower and the bathtub full blast. I stood shaking in the middle of the room, clenching and unclenching my fists, watching my bathtub fill up with water as the shower roared down on top of me. Even the roar of the tap could not hide the raised voices from the dining room. The whole time I felt like there was a burning, throbbing brand where my grandfather had touched me.

I wrapped my arms around myself and closed my eyes.

"Dad," I whispered. "Dad, Dad, Dad."

Like I could wish him there. Like I could summon him just by thinking about him. I could see an image of his face in my mind, but it only made me feel more upset. He wasn't anywhere close to me. He couldn't help me. He was so far away. So I tried to summon every good memory I had of the farm, but it felt so flat, so unreal, like an image on a postcard.

Then I thought of the kami in the green room.

This, for some reason, filled me with a kind of peace, perhaps because it was the freshest in my mind. I was sure at that time of night that no worshippers stood there. It would be quiet. Perhaps the grow lights were turned off so that even they did not hum. The only light would come from the glass window in the ceiling. I imagined that light as a calm, blue thing, and the moon as a plump, friendly face peering in. I imagined crickets creaking, fireflies flashing in the foliage, the little honden sleeping, nestled in its old twisted tree. It was safe. I imagined the yellow light between the pillars. I imagined that it could hear me, and that it cared.

There was a loud clatter in the other room. I lifted my head, shuddering. The bathtub was nearly full, but I didn't want to turn it off. I ripped off my clothes, my cute little hairclips, my nice gold necklace from Fujita-san, and wadded them up and threw them down in front of the door, then stepped into the bath. I wrapped my arms around my chest, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and sank underneath the surface. The outside world melted away until all I was aware of was the thud of my pulse.

I felt stupid, being so upset. I guess I had just been so close to feeling like a person, with real human friends, and a real human phone, and real human hair and a human shape, and all it had taken was one human being pointing out my non-human parts for me to feel like Quasimodo again.

I broke the surface of the tub, my hair floating around me. It was running over. I let it. I looked down at my weird jointed chest, my weird hands, my weird skin. I was painfully aware of my carapace, its weight, its shape, the way it scraped against the floor and walls of the tub. Even if it were all taken off, I would still look oddly rotund. Even if it were all gone, carved off by a surgeon, my grandfather would have pulled down my shirt and sneered at my scars.

"My strange, otherworldly child," my mother had said. She hadn't expected me to become a human. She knew what I was. She didn't care.

"I'm a mutant," I said softly. "I can take off everything that looks like Dad, but even then, I'll never be a human being."

I stared up at the showerhead, at the rush of water hissing onto the floor. There was a weird strength in saying it.

"I'll never be a human being," I said again. "I'll never be human. I'm a mutant."

It didn't hurt to say it. It was true. I slapped my chest and enjoyed the sound of my hand on bone. I liked this part of me. I liked it not only because it made me feel secure, but because it reminded me of Dad and Mike and Don and Northampton. I liked it and that was enough.

I soaked in the hot bathtub for a long time. Eventually I turned off the taps. All I could hear was the trickle of water. No voices. For a moment I had a completely wild thought, a thought about Mom and my grandfather fighting to the death, the flash of knives beneath a drape of heavy shadow, Fujita-san standing over twisted white bodies with clasped hands and bent head.

I wondered what time it was.

I crept out, picked up my clothes, and opened the door. There, sitting on my bed, was my mother. She leaned against the headboard, hands folded across her belly, legs crossed at the shins. There was a silk-wrapped bundle lying on her lap. Normally I would have shrunk from her; I was not wearing clothes. But something in her demeanor had changed. Her eyes were tired, heavy-lidded.

"My father is gone," she said shortly. "He will not touch you again."

I shivered. "You didn't kill him, did you?"

Her smile showed no teeth. "I should have. I will suffer almost as much."

"How?" I asked.

She shrugged and sat up straight.

"Come here," she said, and patted the edge of the bed. "There is a final present."

I sank down on the bed beside her, my clothes still bunched up on my lap. She pushed the wet strands of my hair back, thoughtful, quiet, and then her hand settled on my shoulder.

"Saya-chan," she said. "You have come so far, and without complaint. I am proud of you and your efforts." She extended the bundle. "This is for you."

Breathless, I drew it from her arms. I knew what it was the second I held it. I untied the ribbons and pushed back the silk. Beneath were three sheaths, simple lacquered black affairs. The hilts were wrapped in black fabric and tipped with gold buttons. It was a katana, a wakizashi, and a tantou: a matching set.

"These are yours," she said softly. "Made by one of the last great masters of Japan. Take them on your missions."

"Mom," I whispered, looking up at her with shining eyes. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll take good care of them."

"I know you will," she said.

I drew the katana, biting my lips. A rippling texture of silver, charcoal, and white swam down its polished face just like the ones she had given Dad. But unlike Dad's, there was an inscription on the blade. It was mostly kanji, which was my weakest point, and it was dark, so I leaned in and squinted.

"It's your name," she said.

"It's so beautiful."

"Saya-chan." She paused. "Do you know what to do in case of an emergency?"

I turned, brows lowering. "An emergency?"

"The Foot is not stable right now." She closed her eyes. "The Japanese faction is faltering. I am carrying the organization. My father resents it. The first reason is that he believes that the Foot should remain solely among the Japanese. The second is that he thinks this is a man's work. He is wrong, of course." Her eyes flashed open. "He does not see either you or Takeru as fitting heirs and demanded that both of you be expelled. I said no. He said that he would see it done, one way or another."

I swallowed. "You mean… he's going to try and kill us?"

"Probably. I will attempt to stay his hand. There are ways to sate his anger. But he is near the end of his life and that has made him mad. The council, too, is not as strong or logical as it has been in the past, and it bends to his every whim. We may be facing a civil war."

"But… I thought you said you had enough money to…"

"The Foot has always been its own most dangerous enemy." Her smile was wry. "Now. In case of an emergency." She rose to her feet. "Come."

Clutching the katana to my chest, I followed her down the hallway to her room. She led me to her bed and flipped up the comforter. There were drawers built into its sides with brass pulls. She jerked the first one out. There was a keypad on it.

"The code is 0303151250," she said. "This should be simple for you to remember."

"Why?"

She laughed. "It's your birthday. Combined with the street number of an old apartment." She swung the door open. She withdrew a black clamshell case. When she opened it, a yellow light beamed out across the floor. I held my breath.

"Gene therapy," she said simply. "Reverse-engineered from your father's biological material." She reached into the case. Form-fitting gray foam held twelve large sparkling vials filled with something viscous and shining. She lifted the foam. Beneath it were syringes, neatly lined up in a row.

"I use one of these every month," she said. "It is not the same stuff that transformed your father; we do not understand all of his mysteries yet. But if I were to receive a mortal wound, and I were to inject four or five of these, it would reduce my chances of dying by at least 50%." She looked me in the eye. "If it were used on you or the turtles, the effect might be more profound."

"So the more you use, the more effective it is," I said.

"Correct." She smiled coolly.

"So if I get stabbed?" I asked.

"You will know where to go," she said. "Most stab wounds won't kill a human at once, after all. You are even less likely to succumb. So if you can get here in time..." She slipped the clamshell case back under the bed and closed the drawer. "You will be saved."

"Does Takeru know about this?" I asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I cannot trust Takeru. And this... this I cannot entrust to just anyone. We are in the middle of talks with pharmaceutical companies and I don't want our materials to end up in the wrong hands."

I hesitated. A horrible dark thought had risen up in me.

"When Dr. Hernandez draws my blood," I asked, "is she experimenting with it?"

Mom paused. "Yes."

I didn't know how I felt. A little horrified. And then I wondered about the pills and shots. A sick emptiness yawned in my belly. The bone of my plastron felt doubly brittle. Suddenly my body didn't feel like my own.

"It's nothing," Mom said. "Just a continuation of what we were doing before."

"Dad let you draw his blood?"

"Sometimes." She leaned back against her nightstand. "Or samples of his shell or skin, taken from fight scenes."

Without his knowledge, I realized. He had no idea. Trembling, I looked down at the katana in my arms.

"It is nothing," Mom said firmly, gripping my hand. Her knuckles were white. I looked down at her. For a second I was incredulous. Her face was so clear and open. I thought of a beach washed clean by days of rain, the way the atmosphere wavered in such clarity that the stars seemed touchable. I could see her heart through the clearness of her eyes. There was terror there.

Don't go, it said. Don't leave me here alone.

"I'm not going back to the Bunker anymore," I said in a low voice.

"Very well," she said.

When I went back to my room, I poured my pills down the toilet and flushed them.

I never went to the Bunker again.