Air hissed from below.

Glowing lights flecked the night; tall buildings stretched across the horizon. Holograms of a great dragon and its kin soared through the streets, their shimmer reflected in Konin’s window. He leaned against the glass, a slim smile cutting his face. Passengers climbed the steps and the driver waited for their stop.

After the doors closed, the lights drifted away. Konin watched people move through the city—some like him, others creatures of every kind. An empty lunchbox dangled from his lap.

“It wasn't so bad.” He adjusted an earbud and sat up straighter. “Well, yeah, but that's what made his character so interesting.”

The lunchbox slipped to the floor. He bent to pick it up and when he looked up a pair of eyes met his—childish, wide, curious. He smiled and covered his face with both hands.

“Boo.” He revealed himself, but the child gave no reaction. Konin offered an awkward laugh and hid his face again. This time light passed through his fingers in a faint sheet of mist; his earbuds fell away. When he opened his palms, delicate, flower-like forms unfurled from his head—transparent, glistening in red and blue. They reflected in the child’s eyes and then in the faces of the other passengers.

Shimmers drifted with the floating petals, and the sweet scents of jasmine and rose threaded the air. Phones rose. The child began to smile; at that laugh the flowers receded and Konin’s face brightened into a wide grin. The passengers applauded. Konin laughed, waved, and made one more bloom: a red peony with a stem as clear as water.

As the child reached, the peony dissolved.

Red droplets clung to Konin’s palm. His hands trembled, his breathing hitched. He shrank into the corner, knocking his lunchbox and smearing the glass with the crimson print of his palm. Concerned faces leaned toward him, but he raised one hand. “Get back.”

Shadows darkened his eyes.

“Is everything all right back there?” the driver called. Konin’s head snapped toward the front; a mother scooped her child close to her chest. He fumbled for his phone—dead. He yanked the pull cord, over and over, fingers pressing against the watching passengers who could do nothing but look on.

When the bus finally stopped, Konin fled.