Meeting of Families

[Eidolon]

She had wanted to hear how he described his brother. To judge if this errand was for good or ill before she decided whether to present the quandary to Kota. She did not recognise the face, as she had been fairly sure she wouldn’t, but the chances were far higher that Kota might. The flood of shadows hid the small quirk of her lips for the stranger’s description, and Eido was glad for it. Another commonality she should not share. But the expression faded a moment after, when she considered the possibility that the words were not poetic at all, but literal.

“Forgive me. I suspect I know what you are. If you have not been received by the Edenokōji I can only think you should not be here at all.” She was not sure any promised favour was worth the risk of interceding in gang business, or unintentionally aiding an interloper who might have no right to be in Moscow at all. The Yukuza protected their territories with vigour and even Kota stepped lightly around their interplays. It was not his word she doubted, but the price it might exact on them beyond his control, should this help offend people she did not want to risk offending.

But perhaps more than that, Eido did not want to encourage the thin thread of connection between herself and another. It didn’t seem right that anyone should be indebted to her. And he at least sounded like he might carry it with more honour than she was due.

She considered all this quietly in the darkness. A knot of anxiety had grown in her gut, where before there had been only calm. The possibility of her death was easier to face than this. She ought to simply say she did not recognise the photo, and allow the stranger to be on his way – to absolve herself the responsibility of a hunch, and spare them the trouble that might follow. It was the truth. Yet ignorance was a veil of disguise. And he was right: nothing was simple or innocent.

“I do not recognise him,” she said. “But my brother might. He will be about on business at this hour, but you may wait in the room we rent upstairs. I will tell him to come quickly. Follow, please.” She was already moving in the shadows, apparently surefooted, towards the thin line of light that marked the kitchen door. “You may call me Eido,” she added, assuming the information would offer some willing to this cursory trust that he balanced like coin in ledgers.

No one remarked upon Eido’s re-entry with a man in tow, as she had presumed they would not. Like as not, no one even glanced so closely as to realise it was not just Kota himself, though they looked nothing alike.

Once upstairs she slipped her shoes at the entryway, and unlocked the door. It was small within, humble, and neatly presented despite a tiredness to the furnishings. A curtain veiled the bed from view, and a pillow, blanket, and rolled mat lay folded on the couch. A tiny kitchenette sat adjacent, to which Eido immediately busied herself with hospitality. She did not watch the stranger, though she made a gesture that suggested he was welcome to sit if he wished.

Little here spoke of anything but a transient life. The furnishings were western, aside from the scant things they had brought with them. But the room’s dining table had been pushed out of the way against one of the walls, the two chairs tucked flush undeath. A large cage sat atop, whatever lay within obscured by the room’s shadows. An animal smell suggested it contained something, though. At the room’s centre, cramped against the couch, a low coffee table had been repurposed with a ring of tatami mats.

While she waited for water to boil for the tea she sent Kota a message about their guest. Idle conversation was not a strength, though she was not discontent with silence. Rather, she did not wish for him to feel uncomfortable. As she prepared the tray, she added, “Is there anything else I may get for you?”