The effects of the jami had been subdued, still present but not a constant worry. It had come at an opportune time, as Ietake had gotten word a tengu was displeased with its kitsune companion. Time was of importance to get my hands on the little thing before the tengu released it to the wild or forgave it. The tengu would be coming to me this time, him and Ietake having a friendly relationship. That forced any worry Malachai was letting take over back down. He could stay by me all the way back to America, if he were to truly come back with me when it was time that was to be seen. I didn’t want to force him from his life, or even force him to follow me if his fixation had worn off.

I sat with my legs folded under me, sweat dripping down my neck. The tengu sat across from me, his kitsune clutched in a taloned foot. It didn’t struggle, it didn’t move, giving the appearance it was dead if not for its black eyes darting back and forth. Whatever it had done, it was one step from death. “Ietake-san says you’re interested in my little assistant.” He squeezed the tiny fox, it letting out a small whine. “What do you have worth trading?” Misago cocked his head, overly large nose seeming even longer.

I had nothing worth trading, the only thing popping into my mind after a quick brainstorm was the bracelet Malachai gave me. The sweat made a line down my back, if I offered it and he took it…I swallowed. He’d most definitely punish me, and maybe deep down I wanted him to…I asked him to give me a moment and excused myself to dig it out of my bag. I held it tight, almost wishing Malachai would see it in my hand and stop me. I sat back down, placing it on the floor in front of Misago. “This is all I have.”

Misago picked it up with a finger, mesmerized by the metal ball. He rolled it between two fingers before putting it in a small drawstring bag. “Those,” he pointed to my ears, “may I see?” I took my earrings out, the first time in years. I felt naked without them, having gotten them on a whim in high school. I placed all ten earrings in his outstretched hand. He stared at the shiny pieces, fingering each piece, then putting them in his bag. “This is acceptable.” He loosed his hold on the kitsune, the tiny fox running to a distance and disappearing in a puff of smoke, reemerging as a woman in dogeza. Her head touching the floor, black hair falling to the tatami. She made a chittering sound, the same emphasis on the same syllables; she was speaking, repeating the same phrase. “You won’t be,” Misago seemed to squawk, “what you did brought shame to me.” He grabbed her by the hair. “Turn back and submit to your fate, Rin.” She reverted to her original form, being held above the tatami by the scruff of her neck. “What will you do with it, anyways, Oshia-san?”

I stared at the fox, at its wide black eyes. “Eat…it.”

Misago laughed, bringing the small thing closer to his face. “Fitting.” He tossed the kitsune to me, I just barely caught it, holding it up by its shoulders. “Rin is yours now, do with it what you wish.” Misago took his leave, leaving me sweaty from the jami, holding a terrified fox.

Its two tails curled under its body as I stood. I didn’t want to kill the thing, but if it was the only way to give me more time to sort myself out, I’d have to make peace with the fact a life would be lost. I tightened my grip on it, not willing to let it fall from my grasp and run off now that it knew its fate. Malachai appeared on the engawa, eyes fixed on my ears, then on the kitsune in my hands. He bore his fangs slightly, and I was certain the tiny fox’s heart would stop at his show of dominance. It squirmed in my hands, showing its first determination to get free.

Malachai grabbed it by the scarlet scruff, its form going rigid. “All you need is ears and teeth?” I nodded, about to tell him I could take care of it when he shushed me with a small puff of air. “Let me, I’ve skinned animals countless times.” He smiled, showing teeth, as if to comfort me, but there was something else in his eyes. He was thinking of something else, something he didn’t feel comfortable voicing. The look was familiar, my gaze escaping his as I realized what it was, his own perverse desires I had given him permission to fantasize over when I asked him to eat me.

I couldn’t stomach the sounds, the sight, of him skinning the fox. It made me queasy, the smell of raw meat and blood mixing in the air only furthering the feeling. He worked quickly, setting aside the two canines and furless ears before tackling the hacking of the animal into smaller pieces. He ripped flesh from bone, sliding it all into one meaty pile. He cut each organ in half, emptying contents that couldn’t be eaten, then chopped them into bite-sized pieces he snacked on throughout the entire process. He hung the pelt up, perfect in its cut, blood dripping to the floor. I should have left long before he forced the knife through bone; I couldn’t bring myself to, frozen in horror.

Each bone snapped as he forced his way through, cutting the larger ones into halves. He diced the two canines, rolling them in the cartilage of the ears, to make them go down easier. He popped an eyeball between his teeth, closing his mouth before the blood spurted out. It took everything in me not to vomit. Watching him seem to enjoy the act of mutilation and dissembling connected various dots in my mind. It wasn’t hyperbole, it was a fetish. He would quite literally cut me open, to have his way with my innards, give me pleasure until my soul was gone. All he needed was my okay to tear me limb from limb.

Then there was his blue eyes, dazzlingly bright in the dark. That gored body across the street. I breathed through the nausea to ask, “Did you…Did you kill that man?”

“You’ll have to be specific,” he said, not missing a beat with his knife. “I’ve…met many men and…my memory has…gaps.” He paused his movements as I stumbled through that night and money. “I…don’t think so.”

“‘Think’?” I said too quickly. “What…What do you mean by that?”

His hands were in the pile of raw meat, lost in thought in a feeling I could only assume was comforting for him. “That evening…I got a weird phone call…and I remember…I…took the rest of my anxiety medication and…went to bed…but-but I don’t know if…if I slept.” He gripped the meat, covering his hands and wrists in blood. “I don’t think I…killed him…but…I was hungry…panicking…and my door was unlocked in the morning…but I don’t remember if I had locked it…” He tore into a piece of meat, licking the blood from his lips. “Do you…think I did?”

“I don’t know.” I covered my nose with my kimono sleeve. “Wat…Watc…Watching you sk—I…realized that-that you’re, um…serious about…and that you could, um—”

Malachai looked up from the meat, his gaze silencing me. “Yes, August,” he reached bloodied hands out to me, “I am very serious about cutting you open.” He stopped his hands before they touched the skin of my face. “But only when you’re ready.” His eyes went wide, head moving slightly to the side. “I could never harm someone else when I’m in control of myself.” He turned back to the meat, finishing his preparations of it. He stopped suddenly, “Are you scared? It won’t hurt.” He held the knife tightly and grabbed my wrist. “I’ll train you so that even the tiniest cut,” he sliced my palm open, dragging the knife from end to other, “will only bring you pleasure, if anything at all.”

My own blood mixed with the fox’s he had smeared all over my wrist. Malachai brought my palm to his mouth, licking at the cut, his fangs catching in the gash. He pressed them deeper into the wound, my fingers twitching as he hit ligaments, his breath, warm, hit me between my middle and ring finger. He stared at me, licking the stinging pain away, and slowly bringing me closer. I was afraid of him a moment ago, at his words being all desires he truly wanted to enact, at him maybe having killed a man. Under his gaze, however, I felt myself calming down, following his lead. A lulling presence, the weight of his hand around my waist, I was losing myself to all of it.

His fangs hovered over my neck, breath warming the skin, teeth almost touching when the door slid open. He removed himself from me, clearing his throat, and I held my hand, pressing at the vein on my wrist with my thumb. Gen, her blue mask firmly covering her face, assessed us. She looked at me, at Malachai, and then finally on the remnants of the fox. “Chichi want parts niwa kitsune udon,” she held out a bowl, waiting for Malachai to put the cartilage rolled canines and bone in. “He take care rest. Spring de wash up te kudasai.” She bowed, taking her leave.

It took half a heartbeat for Malachai to latch onto me again. His fangs piercing my neck, his hand in my bloodied one, fingers threading through mine. He kept me pressed against him, so close I could feel each rise and fall of his chest, feel every thump of his heart. I held onto the front of his kimono with my free hand, desperate to keep standing as his tongue darted against my skin. I was growing weak to the blood loss, to the feeling of his teeth in me. He pulled them put before anything had the chance to peak, kissing his way to my naked ear. He pushed his fangs through each hole he could, as if he wanted to pierce them all over again.

“Should we,” his voice, low, directly into my ear grounded me, “wash up?”

I nodded and came to a third realization. Malachai held all the control, all I could do was submit to him. Most of the power I held was given to me by him, leading me into the answers he wanted to questions. There was very few things he let me have my way on. Very few things I was struggling to keep from slipping away from me. He would eat me, consuming my life before taking my flesh. I should hate it, the idea of him wanting to control every aspect of me, but maybe I really did want him to. I could be his, a thing he owned, not his partner, his equal. I could feel safer and more loved than I had ever, as long as he stayed in control of himself. I might’ve been the incentive for him to do so.

After we cleansed ourselves from the blood of the kitsune and the blood from my veins, Ietake requested my presence, Malachai following like a dog. The udon was done. Two fried pieces floated on top of a yellow-ish broth, thick udon noodles filling the rest of the bowl. It took me quite a long time to garner the courage to eat, the noises and smells of the fox’s dismemberment playing in my head. I tried to keep my mind empty as I ate. Not tasting, eating the soup as quickly as I could. It was better for my own sanity that way.

I felt sick after eating. As the day progressed, turning into night, as the sweat continued to flow and dissipate, my stomach begun to hurt. My jaw and head begun to feel as if they were splitting open. I couldn’t even scream in pain, dry heaving as the migraine turned into nausea. It felt like I was growing horns all over again, unable to do anything but lay in a dark room feeling sorry for myself. Malachai stayed by my side, petting my head over the futon’s comforter as I wallowed in pain, praying repeatedly it would subside just long enough for me to fall asleep.