“Before we finish up for the day,” Marjorie says, “you need to think a bit more about how your magic can be used.

“So far, we’ve only been looking at combat, but there are all sorts of utility applications as well. The sky is the limit.”

Wait. Hang on. I do a double take and hold up my hand.

I’ve been doing this wrong.

I’m not a combatant, or shouldn’t be. Why the heck have I been training in combat? Whatever is coming up – that should have been the core of what I’m learning here.

“Marge. Why now? As far as I know I’m not supposed to be a combatant. My day job is making sure computers don’t break.”

Marjorie looks uncertain. “Well, you were referred to us by the JSDF. We expected that someone referred to the army for training is intended for combat. That’s not true?”

Dammit. I slump. I feel my ears flatten and my tail droop. I feel like crying.

“Not as far as I know? I think I was being tested. And I think I failed. I should have asked you to focus on utility magic, not combat.”

Before I realise it, I’m curled up, crouching on the balls of my feet, hugging my knees. My tears start to flow as I sniff loudly. Week bloody one and I’m already screwing up. I feel sad. I feel angry. I’m fifty years old, why is this hitting me so hard?

There’s a note of alarm in Marjorie’s voice; she crouches next to me. Comforting fifty-year-old little girls is not in her job description.

“Hey, hey, calm down. You noticed. That’s the important thing. Mistakes are for learning. Every time you screw up is one step to being a better person.

“Do you want me to hold you? There’s nobody around, it’s fine…”

I nod, silently, my tears still flowing. I notice at some point I’ve started whining softly.

Marjorie crouches next to me and awkwardly gathers me in her arms. One arm behind me while the other gently strokes my head.

After a while I’ve got it out of my system. Honestly, why did I take it so hard? Yes, stress, yes, no chance to relax, yes, tripping on the starting blocks, and big yes, old habits of self-criticism, but it’s not really like me to break down like that.

Then I realise. Right. Kitsune age much, much more slowly than humans.

I’m in bloody puberty.

I hiccup a little as I calm down. I’ll need to keep a better handle on my emotional responses in future. On the other hand… sort of a positive thing? Letting my emotions loose is probably a good sign. Historically it’s not something I’m good at.

“Thanks, Marge, You can let me go now. I appreciate it.”

Marge gives my head one last pat then stands and looks at me sympathetically and asks me gently.

“Why did you react that way? That seemed a fairly strong reaction to a fairly minor issue.”

I take a deep breath to settle down. “Two things. First, I think this was a test of sorts. I’m not sure I passed it. And it’s been… a stressful week.”

“Yeah, I can understand that, but it still seems… I hate to say it, a bit of an overreaction?”

“I think what pushed me over the edge was just… I’m now effectively, what, forty years younger? Teenage hormones screwing up my emotional responses.”

Marjorie smile wryly. Ah. Yeah, I sort of get that. I loved my school years, but no way would I want to go through puberty again.”

She pulls out a handkerchief and wipes my face. It seems I’ve been demoted from potential combatant to little girl. I… honestly can’t say I mind much. Having people care is nice.

A minute’s pause.

“So… ,” she asks, “ … did you want to move on to the utility magic discussion? It sounds like that’s really what you wanted to focus on anyway…”

I take another deep breath then look into her eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that. And… thanks.”

Marjorie straightens up and swaps back from big-sister to lecturer mode.

“Right.

“Air magic can be used to still the air or move it. It can make your voice inaudible, or you can whisper to somebody a long way away. If you’re drowning, you can summon air to breathe. Cause grass to rustle to distract somebody. Flight, although that’s probably outside of your capabilities; your air affinity seems pretty low.

“Water magic – very useful in a desert. Putting out fires. Shape it to make a lens, or two, to view distant objects – that one takes some decent control. Create a slippery surface, or make somebody’s clothes wet to slow them down. If they don’t know you’re around, and there’s a plausible nearby source – drop water on a person so they’ll go away to dry their clothes.

“Fire is nice just to keep warm. Also good for signal flares. Drying stuff. Heating water. Cooking.

“Lightning doesn’t have a lot of applications outside of combat. With care it can be used to magnetise iron. With a great deal of care, you can recharge electronic devices. There’re also some interesting applications in crafting – electroplating, for example.

“Illusions… privacy screen I suppose? Invisibility for stealth. Make somebody mistake one object for a different one. Put up a fake wall. That stuff isn’t in my wheelhouse; you seem to have a pretty fair handle on it anyway.

“Life magic has all sorts of uses, but misused it can be horribly dangerous. Heart attacks. Cancer. Crippling people permanently. Use on plants is much safer; I’d recommend you start there, but if you’re going to use it on animals or humans, get a teacher for it. Again, sorry, not my wheelhouse. Once you know how to use it properly, you’ll be a healer without compare. Once you know.

“This isn’t the best place to play with those sorts of applications, and I’m not the person to teach you. I’m Army; I’m trained for combat. That’s why I started with combat applications in the first place. Utility applications usually involve other people, and using magic around other people raises awkward questions.

“Let’s finish up.”

As we leave the firing range, the time is around 2pm.

---

As we leave the firing range, a squad of soldiers is passing by, on their way to somewhere, and they stop abruptly when the see me with Marge.

The one in the lead, with two stripes on his shoulder, straightens up and salutes.

“Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

Marge looks wary. I reflexively move behind her.

“Granted, Lance.”

“Who is this darling creature, Captain?”

I straighten in shock and blush, my tail shooting out behind me in a straight line as my ears prick up,

“VIP referred to us from the JSDF, Lance. Treat her with respect if you please. Though she’s a civilian consultant; no need to stand on rank.”

His eyes flick over to me in a silent question. I relax a bit and step out from behind Marjorie, facing down but with my eyes observing his face. I still feel a little shy from my crying jag earlier. He… seems like a decent guy. He squats down and speaks gently.

“You’re very pretty and brave. You know, it’s little girls like you who we fight for? And when we’re out, it’s little girls like you, along with their mothers and fathers, who we try to help. Thank you for being healthy. Please be happy.”

Behind him, I can see the rest of his squad grinning broadly, a mix of warmness and mild mockery. I can tell he’s going to be hearing about this over a beer later.

Eh. These people devote their lives to service. I’m older than I look – but they don’t know that.

“Thank you, sir,” I tell him softly. “People know, I think. Please keep doing your best.”

What the hell, let’s play the role all the way.

I lean over to him and lightly kiss his nose.

His eyes widen a bit while the men behind him react with a mix of grins and chortling.

Now I KNOW he’ll be hearing about this over a beer.

I step back and tug on Marjorie’s sleeve.

“We need to go now.” I say quietly.

The Lance Corporal stands, gathers his men, and, after again saluting Marjorie, heads off with a casual wave.

We head back to the conference room we were in when I got here, and I change back into my civvies. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with the gi. I look questioningly at Marjorie.

“Ah. Take that home with you. You’ll need it for practice. Not sure if you’re coming here again, but it’s been good meeting you. And I’m glad I could help earlier.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I should probably head out.”

“Hold onto that security badge for now. You may need to come here again… hopefully not for combat training again.” She grins wryly.

I pack my stuff into my satchel – now more or less full to overflowing – then apply my default “nothing to see here” illusion, then Marjorie escorts me back to the front desk. She hands me a card. “That’s in case you need to get back in touch. No obligation. But I would like to talk again some time. It sounds like you could use the support.”

I head back to Parramatta station.

---

I get on the train and look around as somebody steps on behind me and the doors close. Strange. This time of day – around 4pm – even on a Sunday usually sees more people than this on a carriage. Is there trackwork on an upstream line?

They guy who stepped on behind me suddenly crowds me and I back up in alarm.

“Bloody Japs,” he says.

What?

My physique and face – illusion or no – looks mostly European. There’s no reason a random stranger would identify me as Japanese.

As the man crowds me, his face morphs into the wrinkled topology map of a bulldog.

“Don’t know what you’re doing around these parts, but I can smell you. Bloody kitsune. A saw your kind at the sacking of Singapore. Never moved to help us. Just stood back as the bastards put us in chains and hauled us off to work in their labour camps.

“You watched. You watched as they starved us, and worked us, and tortured me and my mates until we could barely remember what freedom was.”

The sack of Singapore was… eighty years ago? But he’s evidently not entirely human; who knows what his life expectancy is.

I’m in a bit of a panic at the moment. This guy is presumably one of the other members of the Weave I was warned about. He’s not assaulting me, but it’s clear he’s just the barest hair away from doing so.

“Wasn’t me!” I squeak.

A flicker of puzzlement crosses his face then it hardens again… as best as I can tell in that maze of wrinkled skin; his eyes remain bitter and hard.

“If not you, then one like you. Why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t you stop them?” he almost screams.

“Please, listen!” I say. He doesn’t look much more sympathetic; he gives a low growl.

“New kitsune! Born in Australia! Singapore was before I was even born!” I hurriedly blurt.

He freezes.

“What?” he says.

I’m starting to calm down a bit. Today has been quite the day of ups and downs.

“There was some sort of … thing at Inari’s temple in Japan. They turn some visitors – a very small number – into kitsune if they’re willing. I was born in Australia. My parents came over after the war, although Granddad fought in World War 2, in Europe.

The man backs off a little, a dawning realisation on his face.

“That’s just screwed up,” he says. “How can they do that to people?”

“Well, as I said, it’s rare ad only done for people who a willing. As for why I’m willing… I… have my reasons.

“I can’t speak for the other kitsune. But I agree it was horrible.”

The man backs off and drops into one of the vestibule benches. His face drops into his hands. I listen to him talking quietly.

“It was … terrible. So many mates. So many lives. Snuffed out just because some bastard officer didn’t like a look. They worked us – not like slaves, slaves get more respect. They worked us like animals. Fodder to do their work. They whipped us. If one of us collapsed, if they were lucky they would be whipped. If unlucky, they were shot.

“And then, when peace was declared… some of them didn’t believe it. For a couple of days it got even worse before orders came down the line and they started treating us like human beings.

“But they never paid for it. Their bloody emperor forced the peace and the Yanks took it and ran for it. Only a handful paid for it in the end.

“So much pain, so much suffering. For nothing. And now they live in luxury.

“God damn them all.”

I sit on the bench opposite him, watching. After a few minutes I speak softly.

“I wasn’t there,” I told him. “I don’t know why nothing was done to stop the atrocities. I can ask. Do you have a way of getting in touch?”

He looks up at me, which is something of an accomplishment given my height.

He takes a single deep breath then lets it all out.

“Yeah. Ask for Justin Foster at Auburn RSL. They’ll know.”

“I’ll let you know,” I assure him.  “One way or the other. I can’t make demands of a goddess, but I can ask.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes more before the train finally pulls into Strathfield Station. I nod awkwardly to Justin and step off the train. A few other people step on. Whatever he did to keep people away, it’s no longer there.

The rest of the day I spend in a daze. Too much to absorb. I’m sort of shell shocked.

By mid-evening, I know I won’t be getting anything else done. I do my evening ablutions and collapse into bed.

Sunday morning.

This is honestly starting to wear me down a bit. If I keep up with a seven day timetable I’ll go spare.

Anyway, today I need to head off to the Lancer Barracks out at Parramatta, due at nine-ish. Apparently, it’s an army base, much closer to Parramatta Station than I would have expected.

I kit myself out with my standard hoodie getup an illusion-ify my tail, then grab my satchel (umbrella, tablet and a few other bits and pieces), wallet and keys, then head out.

I get some strange looks (which I’m getting used to) as I get on the train. It’s a half hour or so, then I jump off the train and scurry out of the northern entrance to the station.

Lancer Barracks is open to the public on Sundays so getting in isn’t a problem. I’m not sure how to make my presence known.

Then I notice a tall, auburn-haired woman in uniform with three pips on her shoulders. She’s looking down at her phone, with camera scanning across the crowd, until it settles on me. She looks up, then directly at me. Seeing that she has my attention, she gestures with a come-hither for me to come over.

Right. My illusions don’t work against cameras yet. I must stand out like a neon sign on any CCTV. I just hope I didn’t set off any flags at the train station. I should probably start wearing long skirts any time I’m on public transport. Dammit.

I head over to the woman and as I approach, she speaks. “Geona?” she asks.

“Yours truly,” I respond sardonically.

“I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it. Captain Marjorie Green, speaking. So you’re some sort of… fox spirit? I was told to expect you, and how to spot you. Where are you from?”

“Sydney born, believe it or not. Technically I’m a kitsune, a Japanese fox spirit… except in my case I’m not actually from Japan. Long story.”

“I’d love to hear it some time.

“For now we need to get you to a change room to get into your… uniform, then we can get to the shooting range for some practice.”

“Uniform? Practice?”

“The Japs sent a package for you to wear, although it doesn’t seem bulky enough for one of their usual uniforms. Practice… I’m a specialist. Can’t talk about it here; this isn’t a secure area.”

She escorts us off to the left of the public entrance, then to a security kiosk where a serious-looking young soldier with a single chevron on his shoulder watches us approach warily, then salutes Marjorie.

“Lance Corporal, you should have a security badge on file for Geona here. I’ve confirmed her identity and she’s identified herself. Please issue the badge for her.”

The man grimaces then opens a small safe behind him, then extracts a security badge on a lanyard. “We need a photo for the badge, Ma’am. Please step over to the wall there to have your photo taken.”

This could be troublesome. I’m pretty sure that camera will be digital; it will show my actual face, and I doubt very much that he’ll take the difference lightly.

“Lance Corporal, I’ll handle the photo. Please call the Major to confirm.”

He looks a little incredulous. I don’t really blame him; who needs a modified security clearance to change who takes a bloody photo? Nevertheless, he makes the call, then stands stiffly as the person at the other end of the line confirms Marjorie’s request.

Marjorie gestures me to a blank wall, flipping my hoodie down in passing, and motions for me to move left or right to line me up. In exasperation she tilts the camera down. “Looks like a bloody child…” she mutters in irritation, then there’s a flash.

She logs into the computer. I can’t see what she’s doing, but as she finishes up she takes the badge provided and sticks it into a machine. A bit of whirring later and the badge pops out with my photo on it – sans ears. The badge carries my name, what I think is a JSDF logo, and the words “Specialist” and “Security Clearance Purple Alpha.”

“We’ll talk more about the badge later. For now, put this around your neck.” She attaches a lanyard and hands it to me. I quickly string it around my neck as she escorts me further into the base.

Firstly, she takes me to a small meeting room off what looks to be a firing range.

“Right,” she says. “I’ve had the briefing, but it was a little short on detail. Purple clearance means magic specialist. You don’t seem to have any sort of military training; if you’re going to be wearing a uniform, we’ll probably need to correct that, but for now, just make sure you pay attention to anybody with a purple clearance badge or a suitable rank. Suitable rank for you means three pips, a crown or crossed swords on their insignia.

“Anybody junior to that, yell for help. Ask for me or Major Adams.

“Now, that security badge of yours is a bit special.”

She hands me a… monocle?

“Look at your badge through the lens,” she requests.

Looking through the lens, the photo changes. It doesn’t look like my illusion self but my true self. Interesting.

“Anybody in the know who needs to identify you on the basis of security camera footage will have one of those and will know when to use it. Anybody else…”

“I ask for you or Major Adams?” I guess.

“Bingo. I mentioned I’m a specialist. I also have some basic training in the magical arts, with core specialties in Lightning and Earth magics. Useful when making fortifications. I’ve been told you also have Lightning magic, so that’s what I’ll be using for your training. We’ll be heading over to the range in a bit to run you through that.

“You aren’t cleared for a firearm, by the way, so don’t ask.”

She stands abruptly then types a combination into a locker in the corner. She pulls a box out of the locker and hands it to me.

“Get dressed in this. I’ll wait outside for a moment; this room is shielded in more ways than one. It’s safe for you to be alone in here, and it’s safe for us to leave you alone in here.”

Marjorie steps out the door and I pull the box open.

The box contains a sakura pink judo gi, and a hair accessory in the form of a petunia, crafted in delicate metal, shaded in a much bolder shade… also of pink.

I don’t really know the language of flowers; I’m sure it means something.

Anyway, I put on the gi then use my phone camera in mirror mode to position the hair accessory behind my left ear. I feel a slight tingle as I put it on.

I shove my other clothes into my satchel, then edge the door open to see Marjorie standing outside.

“Ready when you are,” I tell her.

As I open the door, she looks me up and down and a broad grin spreads across her face. “I have to say… you’re insufferably cute. It’s a pity you’re hiding your fox features; if the boys spot you, you’ll be in serious danger of instant election as the base mascot.”

I realise with a start that it’s been close to an hour since I applied my illusion. It’s due to fade at any minute.

“If we don’t get moving, they may show up whether I want them to or not. This illusion has a time limit.”

She starts a little but doesn’t seem worried.

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve seen around here. To be honest, I think you should just let it go. It will give you more freedom to move around, at least in the non-public areas. The soldiers know better to ask, and I don’t think they’ll mind; it helps them to know what they’re fighting for.”

She may not be worried, but I am. Also, in all honesty, a little… excited? It occurs to me that I’ve spent my whole life showing some form of mask or another. There’s no helping it under some circumstances, but maybe…

I drop the illusion, and a source of strain I never realised I was holding disappears.

Marjorie squeals and twitches towards me in an obvious impulse to do something likely inappropriate before visibly restraining herself. She straightens up then heads over to a long building off to the side of the office where we just met, then swipes her security card top open the door. I follow her in.

“This is the firing range,” she informs me. “It’s a good place to practice because there are barriers in place to protect us both, and the range is hardened to minimise damage from… stray firepower.”

I notice her eyes are still flicking occasionally to my ears and tail.

I really don’t mind. I grin broadly; “Please, just let it loose. You’re going to be distracted for the rest of the day if you don’t try.”

She looks a little puzzled, with an edge of hope.

“Tail. Ears. Nuzzle away. I like that sort of thing. At least I think so. Just don’t push it too fa— ” WHUMPF.,

Suddenly I have a hundred and seventy centimetres of jacked Captain wrapped around me, one hand fondling my ears while the other strokes my tail. As she scritches my ears, I keen softly in pleasure. That feels so, soooo goooood.

After about five minutes she seems to get it out of her system and she steps back, smiling brightly. “Ah. Sorry about that. Don’t often jet a chance to let loose around here.”

“Don’t apologise. I think we both enjoyed that. But, place and time. We should probably get on with this.”

And so the magic training begins.

---

“Okay, basics. Let’s talk about lightning first, since it’s what we both have in common.

“Things you should know.

“Know exactly where your lightning is going. Know exactly how strong you’re making it. Range is limited, but is longer if there’s an ionisation trail for it to follow.

“Fire magic or other forms of fire will establish an ionisation trail. I don’t have fire magic. So I cheat. I hit it with a tracer bullet.

“You may think that if we’re firing a gun already, whatever we’re shooting is already going down. Doesn’t always work that way. Firstly, armour. Secondly, you may not always want to shoot to kill.

“In fact, in your position you will very rarely want to kill your target. Too much paperwork. Worst case, murder charges, although explaining how your victim was killed by a lightning bolt and why it’s your fault will be a challenge to the prosecutors.

“Plus, and I really hope I don’t need to explain this to you, killing people is bad. It’s something we do when necessary, not by choice. If you kill somebody, even with the very best of intentions, you will almost certainly regret it, since I’m pretty sure you’re not a psychopath.

“For most people lightning has a range of about fifteen metres, up to fifty with an ionisation trail in place, a hundred under extreme circumstances.

“Our briefing notes for you say you know the very basics. Target at the end of the range. Wait for me to get behind the barrier, then fire away.”

The target is about ten metres away.

After Marjorie ducks away, I fish around in the back of my head for a feeling for lightning. Finally I think I have a handle on it, and point my finger at the remote target.

The lightning arcs immediately to the frame of the window through which I was firing.

Marjorie calls out from beyond the barrier. “Don’t just point. You need to guide it with your thoughts. Know where it’s going, then release.”

I put my hands behind my back to reduce my impulse to point then try again. As the bolt starts to build, I hear Marjorie start to say something.

WHAP.

I wake up lying on the floor, head settled in Marjorie’s lap. She’s frowning.

“That was silly. I said not to point, not to not use your hands altogether. Without your hands as a basis, the lightning grounded at the nearest part of yourself to the target. That being, your silly head. It’s hard to hurt yourself with your own magic, but you managed a solid start.”

Blushing furiously — for more reasons than one — I lever myself back to my feet while Marjorie stands with a sardonic half-smile and moves back behind the barrier.

This time I point my hand at the target but focus on the target as a destination for my lightning. After a moment the bolt lets loose, and strikes around half way to the edge of the target.

“Close,” Marjorie supplies. “Focus more on the centre of the target, not just the target as a whole. And speed. You need more speed. If you use this in combat, she who zaps first wins. Believe me, you do NOT want to be hit by a lightning bolt when building up the charge for one yourself.

“Also, try to mitigate the voltage a bit. Knowing how to crank it down is half the battle in knowing how to crank it up. And cranking it down can also be useful; saved a guy’s life once when we were stuck without a defibrillator.”

After a few tries I’m hitting the target close to the centre with some reliability.

Them Marjorie hits a button and the target moves back. The range markings seem to show a distance of about twenty-five metres.

I try again and the bolt arcs to ground after about twenty metres.

“That was actually pretty good. Longer range than most make.

“Next step is to try hitting the target with a fireball. You have the basics for targeted magic down, now you just try again, with a different element. Keep the power low for now.”

After Marjorie returns behind the barrier, I try sending a quick fireball at the target.

It is quick.

It’s also… suboptimally mitigated.

The far end of the range is enveloped in fire.

Marjorie ducks out from behind the barrier again with her jaw metaphorically dropped to the floor. “That was you controlling it? Please don’t burn down any suburbs if you actually let loose!”

I do at least have the grace to blush. “Er… sorry. Fire is one of the core magics of kitsune, so I think it’s a little stronger than my other elements. I mitigated it down, but only as far as for the lightning bolt from earlier. Not enough, apparently.”

“Well, try again. Gently, this time.” Barrier again.

I try again as earlier, this time dialing it way, way down. The resulting fireball is about the size of a golf ball and hits the target close to its centre.

“Now follow up with a lightning bolt. Quickly!”

I try another lightning bolt and this time it trikes the target exactly where the earlier fireball had struck.

“Brilliant! You seem to be a natural at this.

“Next step.” She brings the target back to about ten metres, then does the same with the targets on the two aisles next to mine.

“Try hitting all three at once. Lightning branches; there’s no reason why you only need to hit one target at a time.”

I manage to get it right after about fifteen minutes. She then has me try with twenty-five metres and various other ranges, then various target combinations, including directions on how and when not to hit certain targets.

“This lets you resolve a hostage situation without harming the victims. Of course, it’s not the sort of thing we do in public, but hopefully if you need to do this then the victims will already be unconscious.

“Now, I’m told you’re also good at illusions and life magic, and can do a bit of air and water magic. Try messing with those a little before we finish up.

“Don’t use life magic yet. Life magic can be insanely dangerous when practiced in ignorance. You need training first.”

Wind by itself is pretty ineffectual. Visions of wind blades are never to be. Where it is useful is an an accelerant for fire attacks… not that they need it. Basically, I can upgrade a disaster to a catastrophe.

I manage to hit the target with wind and water. Water has serious potential for some sort of water cutter arrangement, but I’m not sure it will work with my meager affinity.

I also try just holding a ball of water in place, but there isn’t enough to knock somebody out. I instead hold a ball of water over the erstwhile mouth of the target. That seems to work much better and gives a basic path to follow, one of drowning targets. Or…

I try again, this time holding the strip of water over the “eyes” of the target. Should work as a basic blinding mechanism.

Then I slap my hand over my forehead, and do the same thing with a strip of illusory darkness. Much easier, much less strain. I could instead look at putting a water ball into an opponent’s weapon to effectively disarm them.

I spend the remaining time messing with illusions, with Marjorie providing critical commentary from behind the barrier.

Panels of darkness to blind. Panels of light to dazzle. Clones of targets. Illusions of incoming gunboats. Illusions of companions turning to attack you. Illusions of me dropping down, dead so somebody targeting me seems me as no longer a target.

The potential is massive.

What I can’t do, despite many attempts, is concentrate the light enough to do any direct damage. I probably could pump up the light enough to blind somebody permanently, but… no. Just no.

I wake up next morning, after a dream where I’m a fox kit chasing rabbits, to the sound of my phone ringing. I scramble for my phone and pick up.

“Hello, Reggie speaking -“ force of habit is a terrible thing; saying my dead name makes me shiver a little and not in a good way.

“Reg, what the heck did you do yesterday?” It’s Bob. “I just got off a Zoom call with Jim, HR, and the bloody Deputy Director for Ops for the entire APAC region. They wanted recordings and video of you. What did you screw up?”

“Bob, relax, it’s nothing you need to worry too much about – “

“Is there a problem with your voice? You sounded a bit weird in handover yesterday, do you have a cold or something?”

“Relax, I briefed Kevin yesterday as the whole thing is a bit hard to believe on the face of it. Management was probably contacted by the Japanese embassy; they need the recordings for… do you know what a DeepFake is?”

“I think so, not sure why they would want to build one for you though.”

“Might want to fire up a Zoom call. Bring Michael in on it for a few minutes so he can assure you I’m not pulling your leg.”

“Sure, I’ll send the link through Slack.”

I pull out my work MacBook in preparation for the call and watch for the Zoom link coming from Bob. Bob also sends me a note, “Jim wants to join the call as well, is it OK if he’s in?”

“Sure, though he’s probably going to be a bit shocked as well…”

Bob spawns a Zoom call and sends through the link. I join the call minus video. After a few minutes I see Kevin join, then Jim. Jim starts as soon as we’re all on.

“Reggie, what’s going on that has HR and the Deputy Directory all excited? Something about the Japanese wanting video and audio of you? What’s it all about?”

I’m sort of regretting at this point trying to source recordings from work. Surely, I could have figured out another way. Well, too late now.

“It’s… complicated. I’m going to turn on video, then Kev can confirm it’s legit, then I’ll cover the basics.”

I psych myself up a bit and nervously enable video.

Bob interjects, “Reg, what are you up to? Is that some kind of Deepfake hackery? Is that why you were asking me about them before?”

“Please, let Kevin speak for a second.”

Kevin starts. “It’s real. I met Reggie yesterday at Burwood and it’s legit. That’s what he… she looks like now.” I’m glad for the correction.

“So basically, this happened to me Thursday morning; not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you about it, but this isn’t a deepfake, it’s the real me. The video and audio materials are to build a deepfake of my old appearance, for when I need to show up on video.

“Basically, because of maaagiiic” – I wiggle my fingers dramatically – “I look like this; it’s what the Japanese call a kitsune, but which you might want to think of as a fox girl. I can sort of fake it in real life as I can mess with illusions a bit, but it doesn’t work with digital video for, I dunno, reasons.

“This stuff is sort of secret-ish and pretty rare so we’re trying to hide it from as many people as possible. Ergo, the deepfake. There’s a widget to redo video on the fly, but they need video and audio recordings to prime it.

“Hey, on the bright side, Jim and Bob, there’s plus one for your diversity quotas! That’s plus one female and plus one minority – I’m now about as minority as they get!”

Jim groans. “So that’s what all this is about. Well, I’m glad it’s not as serious as I sounded. Try to give us some warning next time?”

“Well… I’m sort of hoping there won’t be a next time. I would have looked for another way if I’d realised how thoroughly the faecal matter would strike the rotary air impeller.

“If I could ask one thing though… could you call me Geona now? That’s the name I’m now using; Reggie just sounds wrong to me now. And why I had a bit about how trans people felt about pronouns before, it really hits harder now. I’m a girl, please treat me like one?”

Bob reflects a bit. “We can, but won’t it sound a bit strange when everybody is seeing your old appearance?”

“I suppose so.” I slump a little. “I suppose we could just tell everyone I’m trans now and to swap over. The people building the deepfake may be able to do some sort of transition thing so it looks like I’m changing to female over time.

“But for now, being called a guy hurts a bit. It’s like a spike driving into my brain every time somebody does it. So please, do what you can.”

“Sure,” Jim says, “We’ll sort something out with HR and get your gender corrected in the records. I hope this means you’re sticking with us?”

“Yeah, though I may need to take some time off occasionally for weird stuff, but I have a bunch of annual and sick leave accumulated so we should be right for now. Ah, I’m learning Japanese for the next few months, but that will be in my off time. Might come in handy for something.”

“Right, let’s wrap this up, Jim can sort out the necessary with HR and Security and we’ll chat again Monday. Are we good?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Anyone else?”

Kevin clears his throat. “This is going to make joint events like dinners and the end of year barbecue difficult.”

“It’s OK,” I reply. “While I can’t do much about digital cameras, in person I can use an illusion to disguise myself for about an hour at a time. That should cover most things.”

“Right, let’s leave it there then. Have a good weekend, everyone.” Bob terminates the call.

---

The call was pretty early in the morning; it’s still only about 7:30am, a benefit of sorts for having one person in the call being from the US. I’m glad they didn’t wake me up for it.

It does leave a bit of a dilemma though. My D&D group meets Saturdays in Stanmore. Should I go in? If so, am I using an illusion or my true self?

It doesn’t really take me long to decide. The group is actually half therapy, monitored my a psychiatric clinic that specialises in gender identity issues. Presenting myself as something I’m no longer seems wrong on… so many levels.

My main worry is that I may raise false hope; one or more of the others may think that I can give them the same chance. It seems unlikely; my understanding is that this is not only a literal one in a million chance, but also requires a physical visit to Japan. I suspect the criterion where they must be happy with their kitsune selves will not be a problem.

Although… kitsune have life magic. Does that mean that, once I know enough, I might be able to work with the physiology of some of the trans women to make their biology more feminine? Or for the trans men, vice versa?

I reflect guiltily that my hangups with masculinity tend to blind me a little to the problems of those born male but stuck with a female body. It’s a problem I struggle with understanding on an emotional level, even if I understand it intellectually. If it turns out I can do something with life magic, I might be able to sort out something with the clinic. However, before I even think of doing that I’ll need to learn more about life magic and about human biology, as my current knowledge of anatomy is strictly high-school level.

The potential for harm in messing with somebody’s physiology without understanding what I’m doing is fairly frightening, so I need to hold off for now. Burning stuff is much easier than building stuff. Destruction is easier than creation. I’d rather not mix them up.

That decision made, I grab the “fashion accessory” from the satchel from last night to disguise my ears for the train trip, then throw together a pink blouse/lilac skirt combo and a set of pantyhose and bra from yesterday’s delivery. I slit a vertical hole below the elastic in the back of my panties to slip my tail through.

If I allow a solid half hour for my shower and another forty-five minutes for travel, I need to start getting ready at around nine thirty. So I set my alarm…

… and dive onto my bed to scratch my reading itch for a while.

An hour and a half later, my alarm goes off and I – manfully? Womanfully? Tear myself away from my novel du jour and head for the shower.

Shower done, I use a diffuse ball of foxfire to dry myself off in those places where the towel is least effective. There’s still a few minutes to spare; I remember something else I saw in the satchel.

It’s a brush. A beautiful, broad brush, inlaid in mother-of-pearl, with nice stiff bristles. I give the silver hair atop my head a brief but thorough brushing, then divert it to my tail.

Oooooh, that feels SOO GOOD.

I lose myself in the brush for a while but am interrupted by a ping on Discord. I’m running late!

I throw on the blouse, laboriously thread my tail through the hole in my panties and pull up my pantyhose. Skirt goes on, sanity check, all looks good. Tail is hidden, ears disguised by the headset. Grab my bag of D&D books and dice sets then head out the door. As I walk to the station, I drop a note on Discord warning I’ll be a little late.

---

After catching the next service to Stanmore, I rush off the train and into the office where we hold our D&D group. In the elevator, I raise my “old me” illusion but remove the headphone disguise accessory; it will make explaining a bit easier, I hope.

The group is still in pre-game chat, catching up on what’s happened during the week.

I walk to the table and find a free chair, pull out my favourite dice, plus the Player’s Guide, Xanathar’s and Tasha’s in case I need a better handle on game mechanics and spells; I’m still pretty new to D&D. The others look at me a bit strangely; as before, the illusion can’t quite cope with the fact that my actual height is over half a metre less than my apparent height.

They look at me even more strangely when I clear my throat.

“Um… everyone, can I please say something?”

It’s a bit more formal than our usual talk, so the others stop chatting and turn towards me.

“There’s a couple of things. Firstly, from now on my pronouns are her/she, and please call me Geona or Geo rather than Reggie.” Nods and supportive murmurs.

“The second part is sort of related. Please don’t discuss this with anyone else; it’s sort of secret.”

I drop the illusion.

Michelle, our veteran DM, goggles a bit then slowly a broad grin spreads across her face. “That’s so cool! What happened?”

Kay, one of the veteran players in the group, reacts fairly placidly, reaction largely limited to a slight widening of the eyes as they lean forward. “Yes, what’s going on?”

Fidgeting a little, I look around the group, to various mixtures of curiosity, wonder and perhaps, here and there, a trace of hope.

“It’s… sort of complicated. Let’s just say there are some Japanese deities with a sense of humour and… maybe more compassion than I really deserve.”

Jen, a trans woman and one of the newer players, frowns a little. “Don’t put yourself down so much Re-… Geona. Joke or not, you’re grinning like you won the lottery. Never seen you so happy. So… are those ears real?”

“They’re real all right. Pretty sensitive too – I’ve been wearing a hoodie to disguise them, and you wouldn’t believe how much that makes them itch. Ah, you may not have noticed this but“ – I stand and raise my tail from under where the skirt is hiding it – “I also have a tail now. I could say it’s weird, but… honestly, it feels natural to me now. Almost as natural as… now being a girl.”

Jen has a slightly jealous but hopeful look. We don’t initiate physical contact in the group, as a rule, so normally this would be no-touch, but… under the circumstances, I don’t mind “If you want to feel it, you can. Just, please don’t touch right at the base; it’s fairly sensitive there.”

Jen rushes over and gently pets halfway along the tail, where the fur is at its fluffiest, then strokes it carefully. “It’s so soft and warm,” she wonders. “I’m so jealous…” Jen can’t afford the hormones or the operation, so still looks mostly male except for a touch of make-up and a feminine bent to her clothing. It seems a little unfair, I almost think she’s the one who deserved this – which she does – but I really need to lose the whole “Reg doesn’t deserve nice things” thought reflex.

I ponder whether it might be worth raising the option of using Life Magic to alter Jen’s physical gender. Problem is, I don’t know if I can get it to work, and if I can when or how effectively. It’s probably best for me not to mention it at this point; better hope deferred than the chances of premature hope being dashed.

While Jen is admiring my tail, I think for a moment then look to Michelle. “Shelly, I’ve got an idea for something we can mess with later…”

I concentrate a little then construct an illusion from last session. A dragon turtle comes to light over the table – a little transparent, so we can see our player characters huddled underneath. I scuttle our characters around a little to demonstrate.”

Michelle’s eyes light up and she seems to be reflecting on the possibilities. “That could be… really nice in bringing the campaign to life,” she notes. “Anyway, it’s about time we got started. Anyone good to give a recap of last session for an inspiration point?”

I’m a little distracted, as is Jen, so Kay volunteers and laconically summarises the events of our last session. No level up from last week, so we move forward with an encounter with a dragon turtle which we initially mistake for part of the scenery…

---

We finish up our session with a grand encounter against a group of Tabaxi who had been disguising themselves as a merchant group, only to turn around and attack us in our sleep. As the encounter finishes, Jen’s character is down and on her second death save, so I use my last second level spell slot to heal her up, then we count our losses and loot the caravan for background information.

Having established where we’re going next – a set of pirate islands to the west – we gather our loot and are told to level up and take a long rest to round out the session, then wind up for the day.

I carefully re-apply my illusion before heading out the door, then head to the train. My phone rings on the way home; I’m told to head out to the Lancer Barracks – a historical Australian Army base out at Parramatta – on Sunday morning for “special skills” training. I’d thought that was to be done from Japan, but the countries are allies, so maybe they figured something out?

I’m also told my Japanese teacher will be coming around on Monday night. The name surprises me a little; Amanda Chapman is pretty obviously not a Japanese name. Apparently, she’s a postgrad language studies student at the University of Sydney.

---

Saturday night is when Mum calls.

While our family isn’t very close, that doesn’t mean we get on badly. It’s a sort of comfortable, always-there-for-each-other relationship, where we’re not constantly checking up on each other, but get in touch once or twice a week to catch up on anything new.

That said, while I love Mum and Dad, and they’re moderately flexible as parents go – judging from what I’ve read, anyway – I don’t think they’re ready to discover their son is now a cute fox girl. Regardless of how much it thrills me personally. I’ll have to break it to them personally sooner or later, preferably sooner, but it’s not the sort of thing you break over a phone.

They would probably think I’m pulling their leg.

Actually, that’s probably not a bad idea. I need to work on my kitsune mischief badge anyway.

Google Meets rings for an incoming video call. I answer.

She looks a little stunned when I answer the call, then a look of profound suspicion flits across her face. “Reg,” she starts, “I know you like the Japanese stuff, but isn’t taking this a bit far?”

I giggle.

“Mum, like the new look?”

“Very pretty. Is this one of those weird fake video things where you look like somebody you’re not? I think you tried the talking hamburger on me a while back, hmm? This one’s far more convincing, it’s doing the voice as well, and those ears look pretty realistic.

“But I’m calling to talk to my son, not to some fake. Can you please drop it?”

“Not for now, Mum, the software doesn’t allow it — ”

Quite true, I don’t have the deepfake model yet, so I can’t fake the camera…

“— so maybe next week. So how have things been?”

Mum starts in about the people she met at her volunteer job at the local tourist centre / museum, takes a brief detour into how one our cousins in Belgium is getting married, then moves on to my father’s various health issues. He’s getting a new walker next week, but Veteran’s affairs still hasn’t approved the chair lift for the back stairs, so for now he’s still stuck easing his way up and down.

I really hope that once I learn some life magic I’ll be able to do something to help them.

I obfuscate my activities this week. No way I’m telling Mum anything near the whole truth just yet.

“Mum, I’m hoping to duck up for a week or so in a couple of months to talk about a few things. I’ll probably be taking another trip to Japan in a few months, so I’m brushing up on my Japanese again, but there’s also some other important stuff I need to talk to you about.”

“You’re not losing your job or anything?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t be thinking of going to Japan if I’d lost my job. There are some pretty major changes lined up, though, Marie knows some of the details, I’ll fill you in when everything’s sorted out properly.”

“Fine, fine, keep your secrets. I’ll wring them out of you next week. Say hello to your father.”

She points the phone at Dad. Usually, he’s concentrating on watching assorted videos on Youtube or reading a book, but at the moment his tablet is down and he’s looking directly at Mum’s camera.

He guffaws.

“Very pretty, Reg. I think your ears need combing.”

Dad snickers again.

I reply, “Sorry, Dad, but my tail needs more attention…” and I bring it up and caress it a bit. I shiver a little.

Dad goggles a bit, then chortles again.

“Yeah, sure, just don’t let your Mum near it with that confounded hair clipping set of hers. Give her five minutes and it’ll look more like a rat’s tail than a fox’s”

I hear Mum giving an outraged exclamation from off camera – “I would not! And it’s all fake anyway.”

There’s a reason why Dad is our family’s prime advertisement for male pattern baldness. We all speculate it’s Mum’s skills with the shears; it’s the number one reason I always get a haircut before visiting. Not to mention it forestalls any excuse she might have for attacking my now-nonexistent beard.

Mum’s back to pointing the camera at herself.

“Anyway, I’m taking up learning Japanese again shortly. Looks like I’m even getting a professional coach, since my superiors want me to learn as well. So I’m going to be busy for the next few months, but I’ll see if I can duck over for a few days before Christmas.”

“Let me know if you’re coming so I can get a bed ready for you. I’ll call you next week, and hopefully see you in a few months. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mum. Love you, Dad. Take care.”

We all wave ineffectually at the camera then hang up the call.

In all honesty, I’m feeling a little guilty about home much more openly I’m expressing my feelings with Inari. She’s my second mother, not my original. Maybe there’s some magic in there; all I know is that I love both my mothers, but what I feel for Inari is somehow more profound. Maybe it’s something about the magic.

Or maybe it’s just emotional stuntedness from being raised as a male.

Eh, whatever. I love them both, and Dad too. Who’s to know whether things might evolve once they’re fully aware of my new circumstances.

I fry up some tofu with vegetables and a bit of chicken for dinner, then spend a couple of hours catching up on the week’s anime.

I brush my teeth, perform my evening ablutions, and grab my tablet.

Then, as the night grows late, I head to bed and read myself to sleep.

The lecture on magic at an end, Tanaka-san beckons then accompanies me into a personal office. There is a picture of Tanaka with a younger woman and a young girl on his desk. One wall bears a katana braced on a wall bracket; another a signed poster of a popular Japanese idol singer. Tanaka takes a seat behind his desk and gestures for me to sit on the seat opposite. I notice it has a gap at the rear base of the chair, so my tail won’t be getting in the way.

“Now,” he says, “We need to consider how best to serve you going forward.

“We will be contacting you later to instruct you in more detail on how your new magics may be used. As we do not have experts in these areas here at the Sydney consulate, most of your instruction will be using digital video calls over a secure connection from experts in Kyoto and Tokyo.

“We will also be organising an instructor in the Japanese language to improve your current… rather woeful efforts in that regard. This will mostly be remote as well, but some in-person instruction will also be necessary. To reduce your chances of exposure this will be done at your own home, if you are willing.

“As some of the magic instructors have poor facility with Eigo, learning Nihongo quickly is in your own best interests.

“You may also hear from Inari-sama or your fellow kitsune concerning other needs.”

I feel a little lost, after this, in all honesty. It’s a lot to absorb.

“Now, on to other matters. We can, if you wish, put you on our payroll and contact your current employer to request that they release you, or assign you as a liaison to our office. Or, if you prefer to continue, we can simply advise them that you are a person of interest to the Japanese government and to treat you kindly, to make allowances for special circumstances which may limit your abilities to meet in person.”

Considering this offer, I think I’d rather keep working, at least mostly. The extra training I’ll need to spend time on is going to bite into my timetable, so I might see if I can get a partial break or reduce my hours.

The company where I work is actually very pro-training, so while my position doesn’t involve customer contact having somebody on staff with a native-level facility with both English and – eventually – Japanese, is something they would likely like. I am a little worried that they might try to use me to leverage my new contacts with the Japanese government, but I’d like to think that our compulsory annual training on recognising and avoiding corruption indicates they won’t go that way.

“I think I’d like to keep working at my current position for a while, although I might ask for reduced hours so I have more time for the training you’ve asked me for. That will cut into my pay a bit, so if you can supply some sort of training allowance to fill in the gap, I’d appreciate that.”

Tanaka-san makes a note. “We’ll assign a training allowance to you. Now, on to more pleasant matters.” He reaches behind his chair and pulls out a satchel emblazoned with the Rising Sun.

“These are a few items you may find useful. I’ll leave the bulk of them for you to explore, but the most important single item is the USB web camera.

“The camera itself has its own slot for a microSD card which contains a basic facial and voice profile. Any images or video it captures are modified so that, when there is only one person framed by the camera, their appearance and voice are modified to match the included profile.

“We don’t have a profile for your original appearance at the moment, so if you could send us any video recordings and photographs you may have, we’ll use that to construct the profile and send it back to you for installation. The contact details for sending us that information are on a card with the camera.

“One other thing you may find of interest is a specially constructed set of headphones. They are a little tricky to put on, but you will find them very useful. First, the earpieces fit into your ears in a fairly comfortable manner, while the headstrap itself encloses your ears in a shell so that the whole hides your natural ears and just appears to be a… somewhat eccentric fashion accessory.

“The headphones also contain decoy earmuffs where a human has ears, complete with a prosthetic which makes it look like you have normal human ears beneath the earmuffs.

“Additionally, they earmuffs have optional noise cancellation, as well as a mode to simply carry through any noises normally without playing anything… essentially a reverse noise cancellation. They also have Bluetooth capability as well as a quite healthy battery life on the order of forty-eight hours. The batteries lie within the side earmuffs.

“Now, if you do not mind, we would like my assistant to take some measurements of you so that we may supply some additional clothes and accessories, as we are aware that your wardrobe is likely lacking at the moment.”

It doesn’t take long to decide to agree to this. One thing I discovered with yesterday’s online shopping – female clothes are expensive, and I imagine quality clothes are even more so. My nonexistent taste in clothes is also a factor; if anyone knows what good clothes look like, it would be embassy staff.

I nod to him, and Tanaka presses a button on his intercom, murmuring “Ohairikudasai, Takahashi,” then hands over the satchel.

The woman who had earlier escorted me in enters the office and gestures to me to follow, murmuring “Shitagatte kudasai.” I don’t understand the words, but her gesture, and Tanaka-san’ s earlier words, tell me what is expected. I stand and follow her into another room.

The woman – Takahashi? – takes a dressmaker’s tape measure and then measures me in every conceivable way, from the standard BWH “three measurements” to the length of my ears. It’s a little exhausting, and she seems to be having far more fun with it than might be reasonable.

I don’t really hold it against her. The embassy normally closes at four PM, and it’s now almost nine. Knowing how offices work – and it’s probably worse in a firmly patriarchal society like Japan – she likely had little choice in staying late.

I reflect a little. I could probably have taken some time off work this afternoon to ensure they wouldn’t need to stay back nearly as late. I’m not really used to people bending their schedules around me; it’s something to remember in future. An unknowing abuse of power is still an abuse of power.

“Takahashi-san, I’m sorry that I didn’t think how choosing to meet in the evening would inconvenience you or the other members of staff.” I give a shallow bow. “I will reflect on this in future and try to be less troublesome.”

A flicker of surprise washes across Hikari’s face, followed by appreciation. “It is of no concern; the consulate staff are frequently called upon to work late to cover for unanticipated events. Thank you for thinking of us kindly.”

I can’t help but warm to the woman. “If it is not too much to ask… may I talk to you in future, if time permits? I am… new to being a woman, and there are few I can call on in adapting. And in all honesty, I could use a friend.”

Takahashi’s brow flickers briefly in a moment of concern, then her face brightens. “Arigatou Gozaimasu. I can always use a new friend, and I have few in Sydney so far.” She pulls out a business card, then writes a mobile number on the back, “Please, my full name is Takahashi Hikari; you may call me Hikari-san. I would ask that you avoid phoning that number during embassy hours, but otherwise I would love to come to know such a kawaii onee-chan. I hope we may meet again soon.”

Did she just call me a cute little sister?

---

The measurements done, Hikari takes my satchel and escorts me to the embassy foyer, where Tanaka-san meets again with us.

“We will be in touch with you again over the next few days,” Tanaka-san intones. “We’ll also be sending through a shipment of new clothes to fit the measurements Takahashi-san has taken.

“We have called a taxi to take you home as the embassy drivers have finished for the day.”

Tanaka-san frowns briefly then fishes a black credit card out of his pocket. “This is an embassy credit card. Any charges made on it will be billed to the embassy; please do not abuse this, as I’ll need to account for any strange charges to Tokyo… Ah! The PIN is I-N-A-R-I, 46274.”

As the taxi pulls up outside, Hikari escorts me out the door then opens the rear door of the taxi for me, then hands me my new satchel and I enter. I give my home address to the driver and put on my seatbelt. As the taxi pulls into a gap in traffic, I wave goodbye to Hikari and Tanaka-san. They wave back, briefly, then turn around to enter the building as we drive off.

Half an hour later and the taxi arrives at my home. It’s a fairly safe neighbourhood, so despite the late hour – by now pushing eleven – I’m not concerned about being assaulted or mugged. I use the embassy card to pay the driver.

Walking through my front door, I put the satchel down then relax in a foetal half-curl on one of the lounge chairs, curling my tail in front of me and hugging it tightly. I’m frankly exhausted; it’s been a long day, with more socialising than I’ll typically do in an average week.

You may be wondering why I keep hugging my tail under these circumstances. It’s a big, fluffy, warm huggable bundle with the extra special benefit of letting me hug and be hugged at the same time, when I’m by myself. If you had one, you would do it too.

Talking to people is hard. Need hug.

After I’ve unwound a little I head to my computer desk and check my email.

There’s a note from my younger sister about coordinating a gift for Mother’s Day. That’s going to be a little troublesome, not because I can’t afford something, but because a face-to-face discussion will have problems at the moment. I’ll look at that tomorrow.

There’s also an email from the embassy with an upload link for “the discussed materials.” By that I assume they mean the voice and video recordings required for fake video footage. That’s troublesome for an entirely different reason; I really have stuffall recent video of myself.

The voice recordings… I can probably manage. There’s a recording I made six months ago for a presentation at work. The material is technically likely to be confidential, as it relates to internal processes – our email setup – but it’s unlikely to be sensitive as such. There’s probably also a couple of internal Zoom chats concerning postmortems on system failures which will have suitable snippets, again at least somewhat confidential.

For video… my first thought is to fake it, to take new video with an illusion slapped on, but that’s just another CCD and so also likely to be ineffective. We’ll probably need to extrapolate from photos rather than video. I pull up my archive of photos, ironically mostly from my trip to Japan a few years back, and pull out the ones with my face included. After archiving the photos. I upload them.

Then I send an email back to the embassy suggesting how we can fill in the gaps. I mention that my work office may have some voice recordings of me, but the material may carry a low level of classification, then give a contact at HR for them to work with. HR won’t be able to declassify the recordings themselves, but they will probably know who can. Security is big juju where I work; I wouldn’t be surprised if the request made it up to CIO level before getting approved.

While HR for APAC has all left for the day, the European shift should still be around, and the US shift will be coming online in a few more hours. It’s likely somebody in the US has the necessary pull for the security approvals.

There’s one other thing that may help with the video. The photos were all digital and should carry GPS and time data; they may be able to pull some video of me from security camera recordings in Japan, depending on how long they retain data.

Just as I send the email, Facetime starts ringing on my work iPhone. I look at it; my sister is calling. Ruddy heck. Facetime carries video by default.

OK, this is going to be an interesting conversation…

---

I pause a moment before answering the phone, considering what to do. One option is to let it ring out; she’ll probably call on my mobile – no video, no worries. She’ll be annoyed, but since my iPhone normally stays parked in my computer room as I never use it for actual calls, she’s used to falling back on calling my mobile.

However, that seems a little… deceptive. She’ll know what’s happened eventually, so skirting around it now only defers the problem.

My relationship with my sister, Marie, is a little hard to describe.

There’s an old definition of family: “Family is where, if you have to go there, they have to take you in.” It’s a little mean, but probably broadly accurate.

That’s not the way it is between Marie and I.

In its simplest terms, we have each others’ backs. Thick or thin, we’re always there for each other. We’ve been through a lot together, and while she now lives several hundred kilometres away I have no doubt that whatever happens, she’ll be on my side. She’s married now, to a wonderful woman who cares for her deeply and who has been welcomed into our family in all its strangeness.

A bit stranger now than it used to be, I suppose.

But that hasn’t made us less close, just given her somebody closer to lean on.

Anyway, it only takes a few moments for me to decide to answer the call. However, I start the call with the camera pointed at the ceiling.

“Reggie, what have you been doing all evening? I’ve been trying to call you all night about Mum’s present. I tried calling you on Facetime earlier and you didn’t answer, so I tried your mobile and that rang out as well. When are you going to start keeping your phone handy in case somebody rings?”

It’s sadly true I have a bad record in answering my phone as I often keep it my satchel where the ringing is a bit muffled. There’s probably an excuse tonight, though, as she may have called when I was in the Consulate.

“I’m sorry,” I apologise, in my fake-low-voice tone. “I was in the City earlier today and for a while my mobile signal might have been blocked off.”

“What’s with your voice, Reg? Do you have some weird cold or something? And why aren’t you showing your face on camera? You’re starting to worry me here…”

“Well, the most bizarre thing happened a couple of nights ago… I should probably have called you, but it’s all so out there it slipped my mind. Sorry about that.

“Anyway, make sure you sit down first then I’ll reposition the camera.”

“If you were LOOKING at the camera rather than pointing at the CEILING you would know I’m ALREADY sitting down.” I hear one of her dogs, a small scotch terrier, barking in the background.

I tilt the camera back towards me so it’s now showing my face.

“Reggie, what’s with the cosplay? It’s a much more realistic outfit than the fox pyjama hoodie you bought in Japan, but it’s a bit weird to be wearing it when I call you.”

I sigh. “I told you this was bizarre. Short version, this isn’t cosplay. I woke up like this yesterday.” I clear my throat a little and let my voice relax to its now natural tone. “And I now sound like this.”

Her video shows dawning surprise, then a moment of doubt, rapidly shifting to delight.

“So, you’re really some sort of fox-person now? And… are you a girl now?”

Tilting my head a little, I flick my ears and smile. “Yeah.”

Marie almost squeals in delight.

“Oooh, I want to hug you so much now! Fill me in! What happened? And… I know you said a while back that you thought you might be trans, how do you feel? You SEEM pretty happy. But why didn’t you call?”

“Hey, one thing at a time!

“OK, to start with, apparently it’s some sort of lottery thing that Inari Okami-sama has to make a very, VERY small number of visitors to her temples into kitsune, you know, the Japanese fox spirits.

“I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you, to be honest. But yeah, so I’m a kitsune now, and INCREDIBLY SHORT! You would NOT believe. I have to stand on phone books to use the mirror. … But really, I love it anyway.

“I don’t really mind being short. It’s… almost, but not quite, been a dream of mine. It means… a lot. It’s like I’m now the me I’ve always wanted to be.

“So, yeah, I’m happy. Though it’s been pretty complicated.

“And I have magic now!” I summon a small foxfire fireball and have it weaving between my fingers. “Illusion magic doesn’t show up properly on video, so I can’t really show that to you, but I have a couple of other types as well. I haven’t really done anything with them yet; I might show you once I’ve learned a few things.”

Marie’s jaw drops. “That’s SOOOO COOOL!”

“Ah, there’s something else as well…” I bring up my richly fluffy tail and hug it with my left arm as I hold the iPhone in my right hand. “It’s warm, and fluffy, and huggable like you wouldn’t BELIEVE!

“As for why I didn’t call… I mean, what it comes down to is, I forgot. I had a bunch of different things to sort out, and I think I went into survival mode…”

“OK, I think I sort of understand. Although…” she looks at me curiously. “What are you wearing at the moment? Is that a hoody? And are you wearing a dress? It’s a dress, isn’t it!”

My expression turns shy. “Yeah… I really need to wear a dress, to hide my tail when I’m out in public… though I don’t really mind. I couldn’t wear these things before; they would have looked ridiculous, even if they made them in my size.”

“Well,” she says, “Good on you. You look good. And happier than you’ve been in years.”

“Thanks, Marie. That really means a lot to me.”

“I’m happy to say it. You needed a break of some sort. The last few years you just seemed to be getting… worn out. It was like your soul was leaking out. I could see you hollowing out. I hated it.”

“I hated being it. And oh! I had a dream last night where I met Inari! She’s like the warmest, most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen, dialed up to eleven. She’s like a second mother.” A thought occurs to me in a moment of shock. “I wonder if I should also get HER a mother’s day gift?”

Marie giggles. “Let’s cover one mother at a time, huh?” And we go on to discuss original-Mum’s upcoming gift…

After we sort out a suitable gift (a new coffee machine; our parents’ old one is on the fritz) we say our farewells. I brush my teeth and head for bed.

It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to Burwood, while I listen to an audio book. “The First Tail”, Taniko Williams. All about a kitsune alchemist…

For now, I’m walking sans illusions, relying on my hoody and long skirt for concealment. This time of day some of the schools release students for lunch, and in case the police decide I’m truancy material, well, my age is close enough to 15 that I may pass, and if not I can slap on my “old me” illusion.

I head up the escalators to the food court. I check the time on my tablet; I have a few minutes to spare. I duck over to the Chinese place and get a small serving of mabu tofu with rice, put it on a tray, then head out to the balcony.

Kevin is there, looking around. I’m glad to see he’s already grabbed his own lunch, a pork roll.

I walk up behind him and then, after a quick look around, apply my “old me” illusion and tap him on the shoulder. He starts, then twists around to see me and grins in greeting.

Seeing me holding my food, he makes no attempt to shake hands, although he does look a little puzzled. That’s fair enough, my hands are DOWN HERE but the illusion’s hands are UP THERE so there’s a slight shimmer around the tray.

I smile myself and work my way around to the seat opposite him, and greet him in my best-effort older-me voice. His brow furrows at the sound.

“Right,” I say, “My voice is part of what I wanted to talk about. To be honest it’s probably the least important thing.

“Before we go on, please make sure you’re not holding anything you might break if you drop it.”

Doesn’t seem to be anything.

“Right. You’re going to find this pretty shocking. The situation is complicated; before you get too worried, I’ll just say that this is something I’m actually pretty happy about.

“OK, three, two, one, and…”

I drop the illusion and flip back my hoody.

Kevin’s eyes open in shock.

“So,” I continue, “The Japanese deity Inari Okami apparently has a habit of adopting occasional visitors to her temple, and I have the honour of having been selected.

“I’m still me, not some sort of impostor, and yes, I do now look like a fourteen-year-old girl. In most ways I might as well be a fourteen-year-old girl, although obviously I retain my memories.

“And as you probably noticed, I’m no longer entirely human. In addition to the ears, I have…” wrestling up the long skirt so I can pull out my tail, “this pleasantly fluffy appendage. There’s also a few neat tricks I can do as part of my now-kitsune heritage.”

Kevin’s shock is starting to clear, gradually replaced by inquisitiveness.

I continue.

“As I mentioned earlier, I’m actually quite happy about this for a number of very good reasons. The one you may be most concerned about, my gender, is actually one of the things I like most. Additionally, it now seems I have an entirely new and separate family of fellow kitsune, not least of which is Inari, who is… word fail me. She is my second mother, who has granted my heart’s desire.”

Kevin seems a little shell-shocked. It’s not every day you run into something out of mythology. He takes a breath and visibly focuses.

Kevin waits a beat for me to continue, then interjects “So how did this happen?”

“I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you,” I reply, “but basically it’s something of a random lottery with some special conditions attached. It has to do with visiting Inari’s temple some years ago, but while that’s necessary it’s just a part of the picture.”

“So,” Kevin asks, “What will you be doing next? Why did you want to talk today? Does this mean you’ll be resigning?”

“For now, I’ll keep working as usual. I wanted to talk to you today partly so you would  realise what was going on with any oddities with my online presence in Slack and Zoom, and partly because, to be honest… I just wanted to talk to somebody about it. You wouldn’t believe how exciting I’m finding this. Physical aspects aside, I can now actually do a little bit of actual magic! You saw a bit of it with the illusion earlier, but that’s just part of it.

“I do have a meeting at the Japanese embassy tonight. I’m not entirely sure what that’s all about. If you don’t hear from me on Monday, you’ll know who to ask, but from what I can tell they were, on the whole, fairly… benign, I supposed you could say.”

“Can I see some magic?”

“Sure. Look up.” Kevin finds my little raincloud illusion parked above his head, complete with occasional lightning flashes. His eyes widen.

I notice a couple a few tables away staring. ”Testing some special effects!” I yell out to them, waving my arms around.

“There’s also this,” I say, then form a tiny blue flame on top of one finger. “Supposedly, different kitsune get other magics, but I don’t know yet what mine might be. I’m hoping to find out at the embassy.”

After a couple more demonstrations we finish up and I ask what he would suggest concerning how, or even if, we open this up to the team. I think we need to tell Bob; normally I would have told him first, but he lives a little too far away for a lunchtime meeting to be practicable, and digitally faking another face is too easy to do.

---

That night, as soon as we’re done with shift handover, I hurry to Strathfield Station and catch the next service to the CBD. I consider catching the light rail from Central, but it seems likely that the extra time taken in making the connection will more than exceed the time saved by a shorter walk from the station to our destination.

I travel in my incognito hoody form, with long skirt to hide my tail, but a small illusion to reduce the prominence of my ears; this is rush hour, and the disagreement between looking like a older guy with none of the physical presence is bound to draw attention. I’m also worried about the illusion collapsing at the wrong time.

Unfortunately, this is basically rush hour, although the bulk of passengers are traveling in the opposite direction, so crowding is relatively mild.

I have the option of switching to a tram at Town Hall station which will get me a bit closer to the embassy on O’Connell St, but instead I stay on the train until Wynyard to avoid the overhead of an additional connection. Hopping off the train at Wynyard, I take the pedestrian underpass to go under George St then head up towards the embassy.

As I walk up to the building, I see a petite young Japanese woman in a grey dress skirt standing to one side of the door, looking around for somebody; presumably that would be me. She bows slightly as I approach, and I do the same. “Konbanwa” she says politely, which I return with my mangled accent. She looks a little puzzled for a moment, then gestures to me to accompany her as he uses her pass to enter the building.

We walk into the consulate, clearly operating on a skeleton staff at the moment, and walk into a room at the rear. I’m a little bemused to see paper talismans placed on each wall.

A distinguished-looking man in his early fifties bows to me, which seems to catch the woman who had accompanied me by surprise. After a moment, I return the bow in equal degree. Tanaka asks my escort to leave the room; I recognise his voice from this morning’s call, but he introduces himself once more.

“Geona-sama,” – I smile briefly to hear myself recognised under my true name – “we are honoured by the presence of a representative of Inari Okami-sama. Our senior embassy staff are briefed on these situations; I realise while you may be uncomfortable with the deference you will be shown, please realise you now stand in the stead of one of the most revered Okami of the Japanese people.

“We are here to assist you in… adapting to your new circumstances. While you are not living in the Home Islands, you also stand to some degree in the stead of the nihonjin and we humbly entreat you to consider this in your future actions.

“These things said, let us address some additional matters.

“The first thing we wish to do is to determine the magical proficiencies granted to you by Inari-sama. These vary a great deal between people, even between kitsune. Fortunately, the methods for determining these are well-developed.”

Tanaka-san brings out a compact device, about the size and shape of a shoebox. The left-hand size of the top holds an OLED digital display, although I cannot read it as the text is entirely in Japanese.

The right side of the top of the device holds what looks like a paper talisman, but as I see the symbol on the talisman change, I realise it’s actually an e-ink display on a flexible substrate.

“Please place your right hand on the talisman,” Tanaka-san requests, “and push your magical power into it. If you are unsure how to do this… I cannot advise you; if need be we can call for experts in Tokyo, but -“

I interrupt him with a raised hand. “Please, there is no need. What sort of otaku” – Tanaka winces at the word; otaku is not a compliment in Japan – “would I be if I hadn’t experimented with my magic as soon as the note you sent me advised me?”

Placing my hand on the talisman, I push soul energy into the machine. The talisman cycles through several kanji; each time it changes, it seems to drain me a little. After a dozen or so symbols, it stops and the machine beeps.

Tanaka looks at the display and glances at me; I shake my head to indicate I can’t read it. He continues.

“You have the expected proficiencies in illusion and fire; this is seen in all kitsune. You also have proficiencies in life and lightning. Life is fairly common amongst kitsune due to Inari-okami-sama’s authority over the harvest. Lightning is less so.”

“Illusion magic is as you might expect; it projects illusions of light and sound for others to perceive. This includes a small mental component to fool the mind as well as they eye. You will find that the effect is somewhat limited initially when dealing with electronic devices as they are not subject to the mental component. Electronic cameras will often show your true image. This will become common as your facility with the magic strengthens.

“As the letter you received advised, for now the duration of your illusions is limited, so be careful depending on them; as touch is unaffected, until the mental component can be reinforced, people touching your illusions may find the effect broken.

“We are aware that kitsune have a loving for mischief and illusions are probably your most powerful tool in this regard. However, please don’t go too far in pranking others.” He looks slightly resigned as he glances behind himself at the fix tail which has mysteriously attached itself to him.

“Your second proficiency is with fire. Kitsune flames not quite the same as mundane flames; you can draw in and absorb such flames, as your flames are ascendant over them, within certain limitations. Your fire also has a purifying component, and they will not harm those to whom you wish no harm.

“Your third proficiency is with Life magic. This bears directly on Inari-sama’s authority as a goddess of the harvest, but it can also be used for healing, as well as for accelerating growth. Life magic is not always a boon; it can also accelerate infections or cause rampant growth if drawn upon to do so.

“Your final proficiency is with lightning. While this remains rare amongst kitsune, we have found it is becoming more common in the last fifty years or so as people are increasingly surrounded by electricity and electromagnetic radiation. Your proficiency here is unusually strong.

“There are other proficiencies for which you bear slight traces. These are not strong enough to be particularly useful but are not entirely useless.

“Your water proficiency is slight, enough perhaps to create a cup full of water.

“Your air proficiency is enough to cause a small, localised breeze.

“You seem to be entirely lacking in earth, metal, death and chaos proficiencies.

“Lacking Earth is unusual. You would have to have spent the bulk of your life elevated away from the ground. Inari’s role as goddess of the harvest usually ensure kitsune have some draw to earth magic; this does not seem to be true in your case.

“Metal proficiency is quite common in modern times due to the widespread use of metals in everyday life. However, metal is subsidiary to earth, which is likely why you are lacking in that respect.

“Death is opposed to life so this is expected; lacking chaos is also common. While some may think kitsune to be agents of chaos due to your inclination to prank others, the pranks are almost always benign, and Inari-sama is herself a powerful force for good and order.”

I quietly absorb this information and think of how it may be used before Tanaka interrupts me.

“Let’s move into my office.”

The sun shines beneath the blinds of my bedtime window. I hear a whisper, which carries a strangely grandiose elegance: “Amaterasu welcomes you to our family.”

I shoot up in bed, and in so doing accidentally yank on the tail still cradled in my arms. I yelp in pain, then reflect ruefully on the fox vocalisations I seem to have fallen into recently.

Amaterasu is serious, serious juju. She’s the Sun God, head of the Japanese pantheon, such as it is. The literal goddess of the Sun just greeted me.

I tug my blinds open and face the sun. “Geona, daughter of Inari, thanks Amaterasu-sama for her kindness,” and I kneel on my bed, bowing towards the sun in a deep dogeza.

I’ve been an atheist for thirty years, but recent developments seem to indicate a revisiting of those views is about due.

Looking at the clock, it’s about eight.

I need to fit a shower in. With yesterday’s events I skipped having a shower, but that’s not a good habit to get into. Amongst other things, it seems the kitsune form carries an improved sense of smell, and while I don’t exactly reek, there’s definitely a distinct fragrance I’m developing.

Normally I’d read until about eight thirty then shower, but while I’m nowhere near as large as I once was, I now have fur, ears and a tail to deal with – to say nothing my my long hair.

Which is…getting more than a little tangled.

On second thought, I grab a spare towel from the linen cupboard and hang it over the shower rail along with my usual towel, then turn on the hot water, and spend half a minute getting the temperature right.

I get in the shower and apply some body wash to my face washer, then intermittently wipe myself down with the sudsy cloth and rinse off. I manage, by hurrying a little, to get most of myself clean before the hot water runs out, but my hair and tail remain wet but largely unwashed.

Showering in cold water is unappealing, but then I have a thought.

I summon a ball of foxfire then push it into the shower head. Initially, the water remains lukewarm, but with a slight push the temperature rises to something pleasantly hot. I get the feeling this is a temperature I might once have found scalding, but now it’s quite comfortable. I may not need to worry so much about the summer heatwaves as I had thought…

In any case, I grab the bottle of shampoo, then lather up my hair. This takes a while; my hair is much, much longer than it’s ever been before, and I’m just not used to it. Eventually I get it washed and rinsed; I may need to talk to somebody suitably experienced and get some tips, and probably some new hair care products. I really don’t want to cut it, not only because it’s part of Inaris’s gift, but because I can see myself getting quite vain about it.

That leaves my tail.

Fluff, fluff, wherefore art thou fluff? The tail which was gloriously fluffy in bed last night now more closely resembled a bedraggled wet cat. I whip my fair over my shoulder to make sure it doesn’t get in the way, then get down to some serious shampooing, all the while maintaining a corner of my focus to ensure that the water remains hot.

Eventually it’s done.

I dry myself off normally then grab the second towel to pat down my hair and tail.

It’s not remotely sufficient.

I grab the first towel as well and use it to pat down my tail again.

The result is significantly drier but still retains that trademark drowned dog look. What I really need is a hair dryer.

Then I have an epiphany.

I once again summon my foxfire and form it into a large ball. Passing it repeatedly down the length of my tail, I can feel it gradually growing drier and fluffier. There are still some tangles I’ll need to work out.

I then try the same thing with my hair. It doesn’t work quite as well, as the hair isn’t constrained by a central core as my tail is, but eventually it gets dry enough.

Looking again at my hair, I can’t entirely suppress a sense of dread. My old hair was quite short; the only grooming gear I had was a single, large comb and a beard trimmer.

Fifteen minutes later I have tears in my eyes and a couple of broken teeth on my comb. My tail is still slightly disordered and my hair has a handful of knots I couldn’t quite work out.

Then the alarm for work goes off. Handover in five minutes.

---

I’ll skip what was involved for work on this day; it was, suffice to say, along very similar lines. There were only two new developments.

The first was a brief discussion with our second shift manager, Kevin, who is usually in charge of the junior team. I used to be on his team before a reshuffle moved us around. However, the advantage of talking to him rather than Bob is that he lives quite close; meeting together for lunch is fairly easy to organise.

After Sydney takes the shift in handover, I ping Kevin in Slack to organise meeting at lunch. I mention to him that the topic will be strange, even by my standards, and ask that we eat on the balcony on the outside of the Burwood Westfield food court. This is up on the first floor – what Americans would call the second floor – and so is not easily visible from the ground. We set the date for quarter past one.

After I finish off my first few tickets, there’s a brief lull. I look up the number for the Japanese embassy in Sydney and phone them to organise an appointment.

The receptionist answers “Moshi moshi, thank you for calling the Japanese embassy in Sydney. How may I help you?”

I ask if I can organise an appointment in the next few days. I can almost hear the frown over the phone line; she asks what needs to be organised.

I take a deep breath, momentarily nervous.

“I have been told the phrase to give you is: Inari ga daisukidesu. Amaterasu ga hikarumasu.” Then I wait a heartbeat to see how she responds.

Her response sounds puzzled. It seems she doesn’t know what the phrase signifies.

“I was told the embassy would be familiar with the meaning of this phrase. Could you please talk briefly to your superior and quote that phrase for them? Inari ga daisukidesu. Amaterasu ga hikarumasu. I apologise for inconveniencing you in this way, but this is quite important, and quite unusual.”

You can tell she’s been well trained. A moment later, she says “wait one moment,” then the phone starts playing a traditional Japanese song accompanied by a koto.^[6]

A minute or so later, the music is cut off, and replaced by a new, male voice, breathing slightly quickly. “Sumimasen,” they say, “Could you please repeat what you told our honourable receptionist earlier?”

I repeat the phrase and they release a heavy, somewhat resigned breath. I can hear the receptionist in the background, asking quietly what’s going on.

“Apologies again,” the new voice says. “I am Tanaka-san, and I am a junior attaché at this office. We need to meet you in person as soon as possible, for a period of three or four hours. When might we be able to meet you?”

I think for a moment. I’d rather not cancel work at such short notice, and I have something else on tomorrow during the day.

“Would tonight be OK?” I ask. “Otherwise, we could meet late tomorrow afternoon, Sunday, or I could probably make some time on Monday.”

Tanaka’s world-weary sigh echoes down the line. “While we would prefer a time during the day, tonight is an option. At least,” he says wryly, “we need to worry less about conflicts with existing appointments. I will inform the senior attaché. Is six PM possible?”

“It’s a little early as I finish work around five, but I think I can manage it” I respond.”

“Very well,” he agrees. “I will see you tonight at, or shortly after, six PM. Please be prepared to demonstrate your… qualifications.”

---

Half an hour after I hang up, a buzz resonates through the unit.

I head over to the door and confirm that it’s the delivery I have been anticipating. I buzz them in so they can reach my floor and a few minutes later they knock at my front door.

Thinking for a moment, I apply an illusion to follow my “human teenager” appearance: fox ears hidden, human ears added, and tail hidden, plus some basic clothes beyond the basics I’d pieced together yesterday. I tune the illusion so my clothes look a little more conventional; as they currently stand, they look a little too much like the “boyfriend’s T-shirt” look, and I would rather not have people thinking I’m jailbait.

I pull the deadlock and open the door to the unit, waiting for the delivery person to arrive. A few minutes later, they arrive with a very large box – perhaps a sixty centimetre, or about two foot, cube – plus a couple of shipping bags of the more flexible variety. I thank them profusely then haul the clothes inside as they leave.

Grabbing a knife, I slit open the packing tape on the box and the seams on the bags, and let my new clothes tumble out. I grin maniacally at the resulting pile.

I’ll need to pick something from this pile to wear at lunch – to say nothing of tonight – so I duck back to the master bedroom where my office setup lives to check if there are any new tickets. There is one, but it’s a known issue and easily dealt with

Rifling through the pile, I find the off-white hoody, then grab a long skirt and some underwear. The panties are a snug fit, and I need to slit a hole in the back for my tail. The bra takes some working out, although given my current cup size there isn’t much for it to hold. Getting the bra on is troublesome, until I remember an old trick I once read of – hook it up with the band in front, then rotate. That works nicely.

I make a couple of notes on my tablet for things I’m going to need to go shopping for. Some sort of hairbrush, probably multiple. New shoes. A hair dryer would not go astray – I can make do with foxfire at the moment, but driving the foxfire uses energy that I may not always have to spare.

With an embarrassed grimace, I note down that a visit to a pet store would be a good idea.

Oh, and I need to get some fried tofu. Mmm, tofu. My mouth waters.

Clothes sorted out, I set my alarm to give me time to Westfield in time for lunch. I grab my satchel and adjust the strap, then head out.

I start up an audiobook to listen to on my walk, but a new problem presents itself. How the heck do I put on headphones? They’re oriented in entirely the wrong direction!

Then I have another look at my headphones and grin. This set is designed to fold down flat for packing. With a bit of tweaking, I have the earmuffs directed to the front of my ears and manage to look the headband partly around the back of my ears so they don’t fall off. Eh, it will do for now.

I start in on my evening ablutions as I prepare for bed.

My teeth are mostly still human so a standard toothbrush works. The toilet is made slightly less convenient as I try to keep my tail out of the way, but my posterior covers substantially less real estate than it did last night.

I pause for a moment and think. Has it really only been one day? I’m momentarily stunned by the thought. But still, I carry that little bubble of joy, that life has been kick-started in an entirely new direction. Not just off at an odd angle, but heading off in an entirely different dimension.

Belatedly, I realise I need to wipe after I tinkle now. Cleaning up and washing my hands, I stand up and head for the door.

Turning off a few lights, I grab my tablet and head to bed. Hook up its charge then prop it up on a cushion as I settle my head onto my pillow. I have to adjust it a little to ensure that my ears are not cramped by my pillow. At least my glasses no longer get in the way.

With a bit of thought, I curl my tail over my hips and hug it gleefully.

Another moment of thought, and I bring the very tip up to my tablet, sparing an arm briefly to ensure that it’s turned on. I’ll need to do something about the iris recognition; my new eyes have played havoc with all my biometrics. For now, I’ll just fill in a PIN.

And so, blanket lightly draped over my newly slim form, I switch to the web browser and go to my Royal Road bookmarks. The Rebirth Of Alysara has a new chapter, which I devour in minutes. Switching to Selki’s Patreon, Elaine is again inadvertently causing chaos beneath the DragonEye Moons. I switch over to the Kindle app and jump to the next book in Fates Parallel.

After a moment of thought I try swiping the top of my tail over the screen to see if it can be used to turn pages.

It works. Score! Now I can hug my tail and turn pages hands-free!

The non-bibliophiles reading this may find it strange. The bibliophiles will be taking notes.

I continue reading and get about a quarter of the way into the book before my eyelids start to feel heavy. It’s now an hour after midnight. Murmuring happily, I nod off.

---

Dozing quietly (with an occasional “yip! Almost drawing me back to the waking world) I embrace sleep.

Only to hear a mellifluous voice call me to wakefulness again.

I find myself in a gloriously green glade, standing beneath a richly burgundy-red Tori gate, the traditional gate used at the entrance of Japanese shrines and temples.

I am (I am relieved to notice) still in my kitsune form, with two older kitsune a few paces away, looking at me warmly as they stand on either side of a pebbled path leading to a shrine perhaps forty metres away. The one on the left has white fur and a blue-tipped tail, svelte and tall. The other is a little shorter, with prominent ears, fox-red fur and a white-tipped tail. I bow to them deeply.

“Left”, the red-furred kitsune, speaks again. “Ohayou”. Japanese for Good Morning. I bow deeply to them, return the greeting: “Ohayou gozaimasu”, then apologise: “Sumimasen. Watashi no nihongo wa … warui desu.” Sorry, my Japanese is bad.

This is a vast understatement, but best get it out of the way.

The second kitsune winces. I’m pretty sure “warui” isn’t used that way.

The red kitsune, on the other hand, looks resigned.

“I will give you three out of ten for effort, but in future you should learn our language properly so you can converse freely with our sisters,” she opines, in slightly oddly accented English.

I’m a liiiitle tempted to play a minor prank, but I fear I am likely in the presence of true professionals.

Left-hand onee-chan resumes.

“My name is Shiro; my sister here is Keiko. We are here to welcome you, Geona, and introduce you to the one who looks over us.

“Do not concern yourself overmuch with worries about retribution concerning any pranks you may may play on us. We’ve probably seen them all, and you can use the practice.”

Keiko grins evilly and points at the space above my head. Tilting my head up, something long and floppy falls into my eye.

Rabbit ears.

Shiro hands me a carrot.

I look at it for a moment and giggle. Well played, girls.

I bow to them once again.

Shiro waves an arm towards the temple. “In time, you may yet learn to trade… favours freely with us. We find that many of our sisters from places new to the sisterhood come up with new ideas.

“For now, it is time you met our mother,”

Keiko’s lips twitch. Shiro has not yet noticed that she now bears the illusion of a kangaroo pouch, carrying within it a white kitsune plushie.

---

We stroll towards the shrine, but I stop for a moment in consternation as I notice a well and a wooden scoop off to the side of the path.

Quickly, I scurry to the well and take the scoop to pour water over my hands and head, before returning to the path.

Shiro and Keiko have a gleam of approval in their eyes. “We are glad to see you are not entirely ignorant of proper conduct,” Keiko notes. “Nevertheless, in this place, is in not necessary. This place is, for you, now another home. Come, we keep Mother waiting.

Shiro draws open the traditional Japanese paper doors. (“These doors are called Shoji,” she whispers to me.)

Before us we see a tall woman – tall by any standards at well over two metres tall – with long, flowing, ebony hair and a radiantly beautiful face. I had expected another kitsune and am a little surprised that her appearance seems, save for a gently glowing golden aura, to be essentially human.

As we walk towards her I find myself overwhelmed by her aura. It is not, as one might expect of a deity, oppressive; instead, it is deeply compassionate and loving. My initial impulse on entering, to fall down on my knees in supplication, is rapidly overwhelmed by an impulse to run to her and hug her.

“I am Inari Okami. Welcome to our home, Geona, my daughter, newest of my children.” She holds out her arms.

I take a couple of unsteady steps towards her, looking with a desperate hope into her eyes. Her smile deepens a little and her open arms gesture towards me.

My eyes erupt in tears as I leap into her arms and wrap my tail about her waist. It seems that my acceptance of my new self was not entirely without stress. At first, I merely cry desperately, quietly as I embrace her.

Gradually, as the desperate pain and relief in my heart finally finds its relief valve, my crying transitions into a desperate sobbing, grasping desperately for her red-trimmed kimono as I burrow desperately into her side.

After a while, my sobbing quietens, transitioning to a quiet keening as Inari embraces me, stroking my back and murmuring quiet encouragement..

After a time I find she has released one of her arms, and her left hand is now gently scritching behind my ears. My keening gradually subsides, overcome by the euphoria of the new sensation. After a time, I realise my keening has been replaced by little yips of happiness.

Glancing away from Inari, I see Keiko and Shiro looking on fondly. Shiro holds my illusory kitsune plushie in one hand, with a twinkle in her eye.

Calming down, Inari’s scritching slows and stops, and I push myself gently away from her. “Arigatou gozaimasu,” thank you, I murmur, then stand straight once more as I wipe my sleeve against my eyes.

I pause for a moment to re-center myself.

“Thank you, okami-sama, okaa-san, not only for your welcome here but for the gift you have granted me. I shall not disappoint you.”

Inari-sama’s gentle smile changes into a grin.

“I have seen your people, you Australians, visit my temples over the years, but you are the first to become one of my children. Your people leaven grace with humour, and so I expect you will make me proud.”

I straighten a little more then bow, a sweet smile splitting my face. “Mother, I shall make you proud, and give you reason to smile.”

Inari’s expression turns a little more serious.

“Child, the time may come when I ask of you to travel to places you would never have been, to carry my blessing and my will. I will try to ensure you are fully prepared before such becomes necessary; know that in all things I love you, as I love all my children, and would never see you come to harm.”

A shiver runs down my spine and into my tail. I vow silently to be prepared. The gift Inari has granted me, a new life, a new joy, is more than I could ever have asked for; I will be worthy of it.

Inari continues.

“When you awaken, you will need to contact the Embassy for our people in Sydney. When you do so, speak these words: Inari ga daisukidesu. Amaterasu ga hikarumasu. This means, in your tongue, ‘Inari loves; Amaterasu illuminates.’ The embassies know this as a code phrase to identify my children, and they will help you to acclimate.

“Amongst other things, they will help you learn our tongue.” Inari smirks a little.

I’m getting homework. In my dreams. My ears and tail wilt a little, but then perk up again. Of the prices that could be paid, surely this is the least of them.

“One final thing,” Inari warns, her expression growing more serious. “Know that we kitsune are not the only other threads in the Weave to have found their way to your country. Many remember the events of the last century with fresh pain; for those with centuries of life, the events of eighty years ago and the atrocities performed by the people of my homeland during that time are all too fresh in their memories. In your appearance you will be seen as Nihonjin, one of the Land of the Rising Sun, rather than as one of your wide brown homeland.

“They will judge, and you are young. They will see weakness. Beware.

“This may free you, to some extent, from one other concern. The threads native to your land will see you as a newcomer. Those who guided those who have lived in Australia for forty thousand years, only to see them exterminated in mere centuries, are unfond of the threads from the Weave who are native to Europe. You may find friends there, but use caution.”

It seems matters are not as simple as I had thought. Nevertheless, for the gifts I have gained, almost any price is worth paying.

Well, almost. “Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can’t trade for your heart’s desire is your heart^[4].^[5]” But having met Inari now, I have the warm feeling that she is not asking me to trade for my heart’s desire; she is granting it, and my heart as well.

“Farewell,” Inari murmurs, “and know I love you.”

I smile to her, and the world fades to darkness.