She and Aikko had left the room, saying nothing as they walked. Aikko watched with the eyes of a predator, seeing every emotion playing over Mikoto's expression, and thought it better to allow her, her moment of silence.
The conversation with Vita clouded her mind. Was it possible? Could she be right? Only moments. And then she could be back home, in the arms of Anastasia, hearing her daughters fighting and arguing. The scenarios rolled into her mind. Little misaka is running the numbers and checking and rechecking the data. "I need that book," she insisted. Mikoto slowed when she realized she was back in the central part of the library. "First, let's…"
She had time to kill. The book on the pedestal caught her eye. What information could she find about him? And why was he the way he was? And why did the damn wolves and vampires love him so much? Nothing but lovesick girls! Biting down on her lower lip, "Jerk!"
She was lost in the pages of Tessa's diary. Each word drew her deeper as if the ink itself pulsed with Tessa's spirit. The elegant script, alive in her mind, echoed softly in the library's quiet.
"He had cut his palm, letting the blood fill the bowl of goat's milk. The way he smelled was intoxicating. I edged forward, leery of the border between the shadow of the growing darkness and the setting sun's light. And to my surprise, he scooted closer…"
Mikoto's fingers trailed over each word, her breath catching as familiar memories connected with the story on the page. The diary's scent—field grass, the coolness of stone, and a young vampire's raw fear—brought her back to moments shared with Ronan under the open sky on Sakura Island. Her chest heaved as her fingers grazed the last line before she turned the page.
"blame it on the damn goat that got loose. He said with that damn smile he always had, the one he wore when it was time to fight. I am sure he will wear the one when he is about to die. He stuck the arrows in the ground, pulling the bow tight. Knotching an arrow, he stared into the darkness, waiting for them. And then he surprised me; hey, Tessa, he said calmly. Could you kiss me? He asked. I've only ever kissed my mom and grandma. Looking back, I don't know why, but I slipped out of the bearskin he had given me to protect me from the sun, never one to be ashamed of my nakedness, and I walked around him, kneeled, wrapped my arms around him, pulled him close, and kissed him. First, soft, then as if a hunger took hold of me, harder. Fearing it would be the last time I could ever give a kiss freely….
"She was just a child?" Mikoto took a breath, an uneasy hesitation taking hold of her emotions. Right or wrong, she knew this had already happened. But still, no matter what, how could he?
"pervert!"
"so was he?"
Aikko looked over Mikoto's shoulder, seeing her cheeks burning and her lower lip twitching. "It is pretty spicey? But you haven't got to the good parts." She sighed, her breath slipping over her cheek. Mikoto's nose quivered with quick breaths. " A lot more details."
" Excuse me? Mikoto's head snapped, bumping Aikko's cheek. Eyes are growing bigger, the softness and warmth pressing together. But there was no time to react because the air shifted with a sudden wave of heat. The pages fluttered as a cold blast rushed in, whipping through the library.
Without missing a beat, Aikko wrapped an arm around Mikoto's waist and pulled her back just as a portal tore open beside the pedestal.
A tiny figure stumbled through—a young kitsune with a single, bushy tail rigid with surprise skidded across the polished floor, momentum carrying her past the pedestal until she unceremoniously crashed into a reading table and a pile of chairs.
Mikoto leaned forward, concern flashing in her eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked, extending a hand toward the crash site. Her eyes darted to ensure Tessa's diary remained undisturbed on the pedestal.
A groan rose from behind the overturned furniture.
"Minako?!" Aikko's voice held both surprise and a note of pride, her gaze catching on the portal's perfect symmetry. "That was a much larger portal than your last attempt."
From behind the scattered furniture, she emerged with an annoyed scowl. One ear bent, and her tail fluffed like a bottlebrush. Minako, Aikko's youngest sister, glanced down to ensure a red-silk-bound letter was intact in her grasp.
Brushing herself off quickly, Minako cast a quick, irritated look at Mikoto. Her golden eyes narrowed with a barely contained frustration. She stomped across the floor, each step reverberating in the library's hushed atmosphere. "This is for you," she said, thrusting the letter forward, her tone as cold as a winter's night.
"Minako!" Aikko raised her voice. "You are Mother's messenger. Show the dignity that role demands."
The young kitsune's ears drooped, her tail falling. She cast an apologetic glance at her sister. "I… I'm sorry, Aikko." Her voice grew small.
With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and presented the letter again, her movements measured and formal. "Honored Mikoto," she intoned, "I bring word from my mother, the Lady of the Nine-Tails."
Mikoto accepted the letter with a gracious nod, her expression softening with understanding. She knew the source of Minako's hostility—the young kitsune blamed her for the lost moments with Ronan.
"You honor your mother," Mikoto said, completing the formal exchange.
Minako barely waited for the last syllable before spinning on her heel. Her hands moved in a practiced gesture, energy crackling as a new portal began to form in the library's still air.
Aikko's reaction was instant—her hand clenched into a fist, power radiating from her in waves. Minako froze mid-step, caught like a butterfly in amber.
"Where," Aikko growled, "do you think you're going?" she magically held on to the little kitsune.
Minako's voice came out strained, fighting against her sister's hold. "Mother said I could go find Father by the lake in the western gardens after I delivered—"
The look Aikko gave her younger sister could have frozen fire. As she considered the implications, generations of kitsune pride and protocol burned in her eyes. "You will wait for Mikoto's response before—"
"Mother is in the shrine," Minako interrupted, a spark of defiance flaring. her gaze darting to Mikoto. "And I know "she," she added pointedly, "will not disobey—"
Aikko took a predatory step forward, shadows pooling around her as her tails began to manifest, chilling the library's air.
"You are so like my youngest, aren't you?" Mikoto's soft tone carried a note of amusement that broke through the tension. Aikko's grip faltered for just a moment.
Seizing the opportunity, Minako darted through her portal. It snapped shut with a sound like wind chimes in a storm, leaving behind only the faint scent of singed air and autumn leaves.
The frozen display held for a breath before Aikko let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. "My apologies, Mikoto. My sister is…"
"Young," Mikoto finished for her, already untying the red silk cord from the letter. "As we all were, once." her expression turning serious.
She unfolded the letter. It was cool, with enchanted parchment brushing against her fingertips. The elegant brushstrokes read:
To the Honored Daughter of the Crimson Moon,
When the suns sets,
Join me at the Shrine of the Water Goddess.
We will discuss what you are truly seeking,
To find your way home.
May wisdom guide your steps.
Kuro, Lady of the Nine Tails
Mikoto's breath caught as her eyes lingered on the last lines. Her fingers traced the characters for "home," her eyes growing distant with memory.
"The Water Goddess's shrine," Aikko murmured, her earlier irritation forgotten. "Mother wouldn't summon you there unless…"
"Unless she's ready to tell me what I need to know," Mikoto finished, carefully folding the letter.
She looked back to Tessa's diary on the pedestal. The search for connections to Ronan would have to wait; something far more urgent demanded her attention now.
She turned to Aikko, holding the letter. "Where is the Shrine of the Water Goddess?"
Aikko stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with a familiar, mischievous light that always foreshadowed some form of trouble or trade.
A chill ran down Mikoto's spine as she saw the glint in the kitsune's eyes. "Who is it?" she asked, tilting her head.
Aikko's silence spoke volumes, and Mikoto felt a pang of realization. Aikko wanted to know to whom she'd compared Minako—a figure so like her youngest.
A hint of sadness crossed Mikoto's face. "Are we talking now?" she asked, careful not to meet Aikko's gaze. "Or before?"
The question hung unanswered.