Chapter Text
One week after Natsume’s seventeenth birthday, he finds a trio of unfamiliar yokai on the way to school. At the time, he’s by himself, since Nyanko-Sensei is currently away traveling—something about a party with sake fountains and also table-sized katsudon bowls. Natsume hopes that was an exaggeration.
The three yokai don’t say anything when he gives them an awkward wave. They just stare. Actually, once Natsume gets closer, he sees that their eyes are made of small round stones, each with a circle in the center where the pupil would go. The yokai bodies are white and featureless, each vaguely human-shaped but the size of a doll. There’s something unnerving about their identical blank faces.
“Hello,” Natsume says, trying for politeness. “Do you need anything?” Maybe they’re just more people who want their names back. Maybe they’re one yokai in three bodies. Hey, Natsume’s seen weirder things happen. Far, far weirder.
No response to his question. His stomach flips. He knows there’s probably no danger. However, his bodyguard isn’t here and neither is Natori, and Natsume is just one human who can throw a decent punch once in a while.
Anyway, he has class. So he sucks in his breath and continues heading on towards school. Every time he glances back, the three yokai are following him. They move silently, in perfect unison, which is objectively creepy. Finally, Natsume halts by the trees outside the schoolyard.
“Listen, if you need help with anything or you want your names back, I can help you later. But I have school now, so please don’t follow me inside.”
He makes sure to sound polite, but firm. Boundaries are important. And he doesn’t feel like answering questions about why he’s staring at the corners of the room instead of the teacher.
The three yokai stare at him. Now that he’s really looking back, he sees that their witchstone eyes are tied to their faces with silver thread. In fact, their softly furred bodies are made of yarn.
With a twist in his gut, Natsume realizes these are not yokai at all. They’re like Natori’s paper dolls. He says, “Is a yokai controlling you? Or an exorcist?”
Maybe Natori is just trying a new thing. Before Natsume can inquire further—and clarify if the dollmaker is friendly—the yarn creatures stretch toward him. Threads extended from their bodies like tentacles, wrapping around his wrists, his ankles, and his stomach.
“Hey!” He tries to tear free, but the threads are stronger than they look. When he moves, they just tighten. Then the yarn creatures turn and walk away from the school, forcing Natsume to follow them.
He considers shouting for help and rejects the idea. Even if one of his friends heard, what could they do? None of the other humans would see the thread. Kitamoto and Nishimura would just be confused about why their friend is walking like a puppet. Taki and Tanuma would try to help, but if there’s any danger here, Natsume does not want them involved.
So he sighs and allows himself to be led. “I’ve already missed too much school,” he tells them. “If I don’t call in with an excuse, they’ll contact my foster parents. You’re making today really hard for me. Just so you know.”
If the yarn-creatures have any concern for his attendance record, they don’t show it. They march him through the woods, down a stretch of path that is only somewhat familiar. Finally, they arrive at a little creek full of gray stones not unlike the yarn creatures’ eyes.
“Oh,” Natsume says. He recognizes this place after all. He and Tanuma walked here just last week, the day after Natsume’s birthday. They’d crossed the tiny rock bridge and had a picnic on the other side. The creek contains pitch-black minnows that Tanuma couldn’t see, so Natsume didn’t mention them.
He can see the fish now, swimming in cloud-like schools. Clumps of bright green algae cover portions of the water, snaking down the bank. The bramble-rose bush growing on the other side of the creek is new, though. At least he thinks it’s a rose plant; he hasn’t seen many before, and it’s too early in the season for flowers. There’s some silver thread caught on the thorns.
It occurs to Natsume that he could summon one of his yokai friends for help. He has Misuzu’s name, after all. But he doesn’t know the situation. If he's about to meet an exorcist from the Matoba clan, he doesn’t want to bring any yokai to their doorstep.
“All right,” he tells the yarn-creatures. “You’ve brought me here. Will you tell me what this is about, please?”
They cross the little stone bridge without reply, leaving him on the other side of the creek. Turning, they all regard him with witchstone eyes, solemn and silent. Then they yank on the thread, and Natsume tumbles forward, into the creek.
The water is a shock of ice and little rocks that cut his cheeks, and it tastes sour when he inhales. Brambles slice through his shirt and dig into his skin. Then, impossibly, he sinks.
This is a shallow creek. Except it’s not. It’s a dark lake, and it’s dragging him down. In a panic, Natsume claws at the water, trying to force his way back to the surface, but it does no good. Black spots dance in his vision. Minnows nibble at his fingers and toes.
And he washes through to the other side.
***
Natsume is absent from school again, and no one mentions it. Tanuma tries not to let it worry him. This is a dance they’ve been repeating since their friendship began: Natsume is absent, and Tanuma frets. Occasionally, it’s the other way around. If there’s another way to care about someone, Tanuma hasn’t found it yet.
He makes a mental note to remind Nishimura or Kitamoto to share their notes with Natsume tomorrow, since they have more classes with him. Then he puts all the what ifs in a box in the back of his mind and focuses on math class.
After school, Tanuma walks home alone and makes dinner for himself. Dad is out of town until tomorrow, visiting some friends at another temple, and the house unfolds into something wide and empty when he’s gone. To fill the gaps, Tanuma puts on a CD, hums along with the pop music, and makes little comments to the plants outside and to the taro he’s currently dicing. “Your skin is horribly tough,” he tells the taro root. “You’re just making life difficult for everyone.”
It would be embarrassing if anyone from school saw him do this, but no one’s here, so he can talk to himself as much as he likes.
Halfway through a social studies assignment, he decides to take a break. A call to Natsume’s house does not seem too pushy, so Tanuma picks up the phone, tapping a pencil rhythmically on the table in time with the CD. The dial tone rings and rings, but no one answers.
“He’s fine,” Tanuma mutters. “They’re just busy having a nice dinner together. Stop clucking and focus on your homework. That’s scary enough.”
Food eaten, homework done, books read, Tanuma ends his day early and tries to sleep. The shadows of fish dance on his bedroom ceiling, tugging his eyes closed.
In the morning, he runs into Kitamoto and Nishimura before school. Predictably, they’re arguing over some girl that Nishimura has a crush on. Tanuma swears it’s a different one every week. Except for Nishimura’s hopeless thing for Taki, of course.
“I promise, our eyes met over that English language textbook, and there was this vibe, I’m talking actual sparks here—”
“Static electricity,” Kitamoto deadpans.
“You’re a horrible friend who doesn’t believe in me,” Nishimura moans.
Because Kitamoto is nice and also the most grounded member of their group, he sighs and says, “Alright, you can point her out to me later, and I can see this spark for myself. Then we’ll talk about how you can finally ask a girl out, instead of just whining to me.”
Nishimura beams.
“Hi guys,” Tanuma says, walking up to them. “Sparks, huh?”
“So many,” Nishimura confirms.
“Sounds exciting,” Tanuma replies, meaning it. He likes it when his friends are happy, even if it’s built on silly roots. Then he looks around and notes a distinct lack of their group’s fourth member. “Natsume here today?”
He expects a yes or no. He does not expect Nishimura to say, all innocence, “Who?”
This is a joke. It has to be. That is the only explanation. Tanuma forces a laugh. “Right, haha. Seriously, have you seen him?”
“Seriously,” Kitamoto puts in, “who’s that? Is he in our year?”
Alarm blooms in Tanuma’s gut. They both look serious. Not even out-of-character serious, just normal. Nishimira smiling and cheerful as usual. Kitamoto frowning but unconcerned. Not a hint of deception. If this is a joke, they’re not letting on.
Tanuma tries to sound light. “Takashi Natsume. You know. He’s skinny, shorter than me, has pale hair and eyes? Always wears a fanny pack? He’s in all your classes?”
Nishimura shrugs. “Sorry, doesn’t sound familiar.”
“You’re joking, right?” Tanuma asks, praying that they own up to it.
Instead, Nishimura gives him a bewildered look, as if to say, why are you being weird. Kitamoto purses his lips and says, “Maybe we’d recognize him if you pointed him out. Did you need something from him?”
Both of Tanuma’s friends look so ordinary. As if today is normal, instead of clouded and twisted. Nishimura and Kitamoto have been Natsume’s friends longer than Tanuma’s. Natsume is the one who introduced Tanuma to them. How could they forget?
Backing away, Tanuma replies, “Um, no, I don’t need anything. Just…looking for him. Let me know if you see him, gotta go, bye!”
He tears away from them. Nishimura calls after him, something along the lines of, “Is this a crush situation? Do you need a wingman?” but Tanuma ignores it.
Inside the school building, he bumps into half a dozen students in his haste to find Taki. Finally, he spots her outside her first period classroom.
“Tanuma,” she says, smiling. “Wait, why are you out of breath? I didn’t think you cared that much about getting to school on time.”
It takes a moment to catch his breath. A headache is beginning to flare up in his temple and left eye. “Taki, have you seen Natsume? Something weird is going on.”
To his horror, she looks confused. “Natsume? I don’t think I’ve met anyone with that name. Are they a friend of yours?”
This can’t be real. It has to be a nightmare. Tanuma puts his hands behind his back and digs his nails into his palm. It hurts. His surroundings do not change.
Taki must have noticed his distress. She’s staring at him with wide eyes. “Are you okay? You look chalky. Do you want me to help you to the nurse’s office?”
“N-No. I’m fine. I just…you really don’t remember Takashi Natsume? He’s the one who helped with your…talking to people problem.”
This is an opaque reference to the monstrous yokai who followed Taki around for a year, threatening to kill the last people she talked to. Until Natsume helped her track the yokai and banish it. Probably Tanuma should reference the story directly, but he doesn’t want to go into gory specifics in the middle of a crowded high school building.
Still, Taki obviously knows what he’s talking about now. Her mouth thins and her face goes green. “I dealt with that on my own,” she says, forming the words slowly, as if they sting. “No one helped me. Except…that kitty who hangs around the school sometimes. The fat, adorable one with the orange spots? I think he was there somehow…”
Ponta! Tanuma thinks. If Taki can still remember Natsume’s cat, maybe he hasn’t been affected by…whatever this is. Admittedly, Taki adores cute animals to a frightening extent, so maybe the curse just isn’t strong enough to erase fluffy cats from her brain.
He’s been thinking for too long. Taki says, “Class is starting, I have to go.” She heads inside, still looking upset.
Tanuma feels bad about stirring up those memories for her, but that guilt is swallowed by thrumming panic. There’s no way he can sit through classes today. He’s heading to Natsume’s house right now.
All it takes is some dry heaving in front of the school nurse, and she sends Tanuma home with a note. The staff is used to his dizzy spells and sudden fevers by now. As someone who’s been chronically ill most of his life, Tanuma knows exactly which symptoms to play up so they’ll excuse him without calling his dad.
The nausea isn’t even a lie; his headache has burst into life, pounding through his face and teeth and making his stomach churn. Walking to Natsume’s house makes it worse, but Tanuma forces himself to continue.
Natsume’s foster mom answers the door on the first knock. Touko Fujiwara looks startled to see him. As always, the house smells delicious. This time, the scent is grilled fish, which is somehow appetizing despite his nausea. Mrs. Fujiwara’s cooking is the envy of Natsume’s entire friend group. In fact, Tanuma has never told anyone this, but he also kind of envies Natsume for having her as a mom. She’s always so warm. But he also knows how many neglectful foster homes Natsume was in before this one, so he doesn’t begrudge his friend the comfort.
“Hello,” Mrs. Fujiwara says, polite but confused. “You’re Kaname Tanuma, right? The priest’s son?”
The comforting warmth curdles in Tanuma’s chest. She knows him much better than this; he’s been to her house dozens of times. “Yes. I, um…” Praying to no deity in particular, he says, “I’m looking for my friend Takashi Natsume.”
No recognition dawns. Her brows furrow, but the concern isn’t personal. “Oh no, is a local boy missing? I don’t remember hearing anything about that.”
For some reason, her lack of memory feels worse than anyone else’s. Tanuma’s eyes sting, and he bites his lip hard to keep from sobbing.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Fujiwara says, all compassion. “Is he a good friend? You shouldn’t be searching on your own. You’re welcome to sit and have some food, and I can help you look afterwards. My husband can help too, when he gets home.”
“No, thank you,” Tanuma mumbles. He doesn’t think he can stand to see if Mr. Fujiwara forgot Natsume too. The wrongness of the situation feels rotten, like mildew and mold eating through the walls of his home. Best friends don’t just disappear. Even ones who see yokai.
Speaking of yokai. Tanuma rubs his aching forehead and says, “My friend would sometimes play with a cat around here. A really round white cat with big orange and gray patches. Is the cat yours?”
Mrs. Fujiwara smiles. “That ridiculous cat. He just showed up one day and demanded food. He sleeps in our house sometimes, but I’d say he belongs more to himself. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days, but that’s normal for him.”
“Right,” Tanuma says. In his head, he screams, Stupid Ponta! You picked now of all times to disappear? What sort of bodyguard are you?
Maybe Nyanko-Sensei is with Natsume, wherever he is. Then again, Mrs. Fujiwara can remember him, so maybe he isn’t.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” she asks. “If you want, I can call my friends and ask if they’ve seen the boy you’re looking for.”
Tanuma shakes his head. “Thank you for everything. I’m…just going to keep looking.” He stumbles off her doorstep, trying to hold it together, and heads back down the road.
A yokai has to be responsible. It’s the only explanation. A yokai has taken Natsume and made everyone but Tanuma forget he ever existed.
Unless Tanuma is possessed again, and this is all taking place inside his head. He doesn’t think it’s likely, but he’s also been possessed twice already, so clearly his odds are higher than most people’s.
Or maybe something in his mind is just broken.
Shut up, he tells himself. Stop questioning reality, and figure out how to find him.
His hands are trembling, and the pain in his head has climbed down his neck and settled at the tip of his spine. Often, his illness coincides with the presence of yokai. Could there be a yokai here, right now? The Fujiwara house looked bright and normal, and nothing’s off about the new spring plants or the blueness of the sky. Still, he imagines a massive yokai stretching itself across the entire town, a serpentine thing that fogs memories and steals human boys.
If it is here, Tanuma’s twice-damned mundane eyes can’t see it. He has never cursed his limited supernatural abilities more than now. What good is he, when he can barely sense the presence of yokai, let alone fight them?
Still, he says aloud, “If you are here, and you took my friend, I will make you regret it.”
Then a familiar, grouchy old man’s voice replies, “Who are you talking to, you ridiculous human? And where’s Natsume?”
Tanuma spins around as Natsume’s round cat-who’s-not-a-cat pops out from the bushes. It’s such a relief to see him that Tanuma forgets his earlier anger. “Ponta! You’re back.”
“You have eyes,” Nyanko-Sensei grumbles, “good for you. What were you saying about a friend being taken?”
It hits Tanuma now: Nyanko-Sensei remembers Natsume. Whatever spell has been cast, he hasn’t been affected. Which means Tanuma doesn’t have to do this by himself.
“Ponta,” Tanuma says, crouching down to cat-level. “Natsume’s disappeared. And everyone else is acting like he never existed.”
***
The whole thing is so typical. Nyanko-Sensei is away for two days and his human charge gets eaten up by a void. Most kids would just go to school and gobble Touko’s incredible food like a sensible person, but Natsume has continuously proven that he and sensible are not on speaking terms. Why fate has seen fit to give him ownership of the Book of Friends is anyone’s guess. Probably the universe is bored and enjoys having a good laugh at Nyanko-Sensei’s expense.
Even before Tanuma’s outburst, it had been clear something was off. Nyanko-Sensei arrived home that morning, full of sake and katsudon and ready for a good long nap, only to find that Natsume’s bedroom was full of boxes. He’d wondered if the Fujiwaras were unexpectedly moving—and his dumb human with them—but upon inspection, the boxes contained none of Natsume’s possessions. Just normal storage. And Natsume himself was nowhere to be found.
Now Natsume’s puny, floppy-haired friend is waving his arms around, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. “We have to find him. Have you heard of something like this happening before? Do you think his other yokai friends would remember him, or is it just you?”
That’s a good question, though Nyanko-Sensei objects to being called a friend, but before he can answer, Tanuma barrels on. “Where do we even start? Who or what could have done this? Oh, and would that exorcist be able to help? The famous actor one?”
“Kaname Tanuma,” Nyanko-Sensei says, “shut your mouth so I can think.”
He obliges, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to go home either. Of all the people Natsume has chosen to get close to, he had to pick this fragile beanpole of a teenager. Based on past experience, Nyanko-Sensei knows there is no way he will ever get Tanuma to stay out of this. Even if the path to Natsume is dangerous. Especially if it’s dangerous.
Another unfortunate thought occurs to Nyanko-Sensei. “Natsume was carrying the Book of Friends. It wasn’t in his room, so he probably still has it.”
“Is that what you care about?” Tanuma snaps.
Unbothered, Nyanko-Sensei replies, “Of course it is. It’s my rightful prize. And since I’ve earned it, I can’t let another yokai steal it from me.”
“You think that’s what happened to him?”
“Why else would someone want him?” Nyanko-Sensei says, just because it’s entertaining to see Tanuma bristle.
“What if it’s just a yokai who eats humans?” Tanuma mutters, crossing his arms. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he looks as if he wishes he hadn’t said them.
Normally, Nyanko-Sensei would laugh at someone who wears his fear on the outside where anyone can see. But now…well, there’s an unfamiliar, agitated feeling in Nyanko-Sensei’s gut. And it’s not even just the giant bowls of katsudon. Nor is it entirely about the Book of Friends. It's just that somehow, the thought of Natsume gone from the world…
It’s like swallowing a fishbone, scraping his throat on the way down.
The thing to do is rescue him, and then I never have to feel worried over a pathetic human ever again. Thus decided, Nyanko-Sensei strokes his whiskers and says, “If they just wanted to eat him, they’d do it and not bother covering their tracks. Why bother hiding from humans who can’t see them anyway? And no, I haven’t heard of this happening before, and I have no idea who’s responsible. But I know a few people we can ask. We can see about Natsume’s exorcist friend too.”
Tanuma nods. He still looks scared, but the anxiety has turned into resolve.
Good. Nyanko-Sensei certainly isn’t going to waste time comforting him. He adds,
“When we find the yokai who’s responsible, we’ll show them not to mess with my prey.”
“Right,” Tanuma says. “Wherever Natsume is, we’ll find him.”
***
Natsume opens his eyes. Pale light hits his vision. His face stings, and he reaches up a hand to touch the cuts from the rocks and rosebush.
“Don’t,” someone says. “I just put ointment on those. Let it sink in first.”
He blinks hard, and his eyes clear. He’s lying in the mouth of a small cave. Jagged rock hangs from the roof like teeth. Someone has given him a bedroll and a blanket.
And standing above him are two young women, both wearing brightly-colored yukatas. One is dressed in cerulean blue and has the longest hair Natsume has ever seen, flowing down to her knees. The other wears chrysanthemum red, and the lower half of her face is hidden beneath a black cloth mask.
They look human. But Natsume can’t always tell the difference between humans and yokai. There’s something off about their appearances, but he can’t put his finger on it. Neither has an exorcist vibe though.
He sits up to get a better look at them and notices one of the yarn-creatures who brought him here. It stands next to the woman in blue, and a thin thread runs from the yarn-creature’s back to the woman’s hand, wrapping around her ring finger.
“You,” he says. “You brought me here!”
“Ah. Yes. My apologies,” the woman in blue replies. “It was not my idea.”
“You shouldn’t apologize to him, Sayaka!” the woman in red hisses. She’s got a raspy voice, like she’s been eating gravel. “It’s an honor to be brought here, and shame on the little idiot if he doesn’t realize that.”
She crouches down next to Natsume, glaring at him. There’s a glint in her eyes that he doesn’t like. She says, “Let’s see how clever you are. Tell me, am I beautiful?”
The question feels heavy in a way he doesn’t understand. Natsume is about to say the polite thing—yes, of course—but Sayaka abruptly says, “Stop it, Ayumi. This isn’t the place for your games.”
“Fine,” Ayumi sighs, sounding like a petulant kid.
Natsume climbs to his feet. Everything aches, but he can stand easily enough. When he peers out through the cave’s mouth, he sees a sloping hill of viridian green grass and white wildflowers. Somewhere down below, there’s rushing water. Gray boulders are scattered throughout the space, shapes ranging from moon-spheres to hunched humanoid figures.
It’s silkscreen beautiful, but it does not seem quite real. Natsume’s heart climbs into his throat, and all he can think is, how far am I from home? Touko and Shigeru will be so worried.
“Where am I?” he asks. Then, harsher, “Why did you bring me here?”
Sayaka sighs. “Your second question has a complicated answer, but as for your first…you’re on Lady Chiyo’s mountain.”
A mountain. An otherworldly mountain, accessed by falling into water. Natsume takes a breath, willing himself to keep calm, even though he wants to shout at them both. A jolt of anxiety hits him then: the Book of Friends. Is it alright?
He reminds himself that he’d wrapped it in plastic because of recent rains, so it should have survived the water. Besides, that book has too much power in it for a creek to wash the names away.
But did Sayaka and Ayumi find it while he was unconscious and take it away? He wants to check his school bag for it, but not while they’re watching.
Still, he has to ask, “Is this about names? Does this Lady Chiyo want her true name returned?”
Ayumi bursts out laughing. “What a thought! As if our lady would have lost her name in the first place! You must be very stupid, to suggest a thing like that.”
“Why would you think of names at all?” Sayaka asks. Unlike the other woman, her voice is slow and ponderous, like seeping groundwater.
“No reason,” Natsume says hastily. “It was just an idea.” If this isn’t about a name in the Book of Friends, or about owning the book itself, then why is he here?
“Come on,” Sayaka says, offering her hand. “If you’re well enough to walk, then you’re well enough to meet our lady. She’ll explain why she chose you.”