After I doze off, I find myself romping through a gorgeously coloured meadow, loosely resembling the fields of greenery and colour from the movie I was imitating earlier today.

However, my point of view is a little lower than usual.

I realise belatedly that my loping gait is not a human one. Stopping for a moment, I look down on myself. I’m a white fox, four paws, tail – tipped in purple – and muzzle. Panting.

It’s hard to guess size in a landscape so clearly founded on imagination, but I think I’m about… a metre long? Plus another metre or so for my tail. Which is its usual gorgeously fluffy self.

Eh. Problem for tomorrow’s kitsune. It’s a dream. If you can’t have fun in a dream, where can you have fun?

I stand up again and break into a run, jinking left and right, leaping over imaginary obstacles, even leaping and curling into a ball to roll down a hill. I roll in the flowers, turning my formerly pristine fur into a scintillating rainbow of colour.

Camouflage. Yes, that’s definitely why I’m doing this.

After perhaps half an hour of play, I sense a couple more presences off on the edge of the meadow. I pad over to where I feel their presence to find another two kitsune, somewhat larger than myself, looking at me with a glint in their eyes. One had red fur and a white-tipped tail and ears. The other, white fur like my own, with a blue-tipped tail.

One of them gives a yip. Welcome. The other echoes.

I sit on my own haunches and yip in reply.

They each stand gracefully and walk over to me. They each rub their noses with mine. There’s something… faintly familiar about them. Is that… Keiko and Shiro?

I yip to them in query and beneath their answers I sense an affirmative.

… It seems I speak Fox now.

Both of them stand and head towards the meadow, stopping briefly to look back at me in invitation. I stand and follow them. Then, a dozen paces in front of them, I see an electric blue bunny rabbit appear. Astonishingly, I not only see it, I hear its movement rustling in the grass, and smell a scent that is, to my vulpine nose, unmistakably a rabbit.

I thought smells weren’t supposed to work in dreams?

I suppose it’s not actually all that surprising. Firstly, well, magic. It’s clear this isn’t just any dream. Secondly, to believe that a canine would find any pleasure in a dream without a rich olfactory landscape is just weird.

I belatedly realise I’ve been smelling something all along. The sweetness of the flower nectar, the rich earthy scents of the soil, the vibrant green smells of the grass and glowers crushed beneath my paws.

As the rabbit (does it count as an illusion if it’s in a dream?) bounds off into the meadow, my seniors start to lope after it and I follow them.

The rabbit rockets across the meadow, ducking under a log (which we leap over) towards a wooded area on the edge of the meadow.

As we leave the meadow, continuing to chase the rabbit (but not really trying to catch it; there’s too much fin in the chase) it weaves around trees, under bushes, over fallen logs. It loops back around towards the meadow, then ducks into a burrow. I worm myself into the burrow, managing to get my fur thoroughly dirty, and after a claustrophobic chase through the warren, manage to chase it out through an alternate exit.

We spend perhaps another fifteen minutes chasing the rabbit back and forth, loping across the meadow and back again. Finally, tiring of the chase, we hedge it in on three sides and finally succeed in surrounding it.

As we corner it between us, it stiffens in fright then explodes into a puff of blue smoke smelling of, jarringly, strawberries.

Keiko and Shiro both turn back to me and speak again in a string of yips and barks.

That was fun, they’re saying. Mother told us to come visiting and have some fun together. Did you enjoy yourself?

I yip in agreement and appreciation.

They each dance in happiness, briefly chasing their tails and ending with a leap and a roll before landing back on their feet.

There’s a twinkle in their eyes. Why are they staring at me with that unmistakable glint?

I look down on myself to find my fur dyed a raucous shade of neon pink, then my muzzle whips back up to them in betrayal.

Practice your pranks! They yip in parting as each leaps into the air again and disappears from sight in a final tumble.

Well, they’re right I suppose. Same sentiment as Inari it seems. Their message seems to be to take fun and joy where I find it, to have no fear of releasing my inner kit. Child. Whatever.

I spend another hour running through the meadow; my illusions, unbound in my dreams by such minor matters as my level of facility with magic, are almost as good as my seniors’, so I summon my own rabbit to chase.

Finally, panting and glowing with effort well spent, I curl up to sleep.

---

As my dream fades, I find myself waking up on my bed. I circle about briefly then hop back down to the ground.

As my fuzzy mind starts to catch up on reality, I recognise that I’m still on four paws rather than two feet.

At least I’m no longer neon pink. Small mercies.

I patter into the bathroom and, with difficulty, place my front paws on the edge of the sink.

It doesn’t really help very much. Even rearing on my hind legs, I can barely get my muzzle over the edge.

There’s no freaking way I’ll get a shower done this way.

It’s probably just as well. I mean, I’m supposed to be working today. How I can manage that without opposable thumbs remains to be seen.

Let’s try the obvious first.

I try to picture myself in my kitsune form and push myself into it. Mentally, I first picture my current form – still that of a small, mostly white fox kit – and push the image towards a kitsune.

I feel a mental “click” and open my eyes, so see a kitsune in the mirror.

One problem. My eye-line is still just a little bit too low. And while the image I see in the mirror is a kitsune… I can still feel my paws, still feel that beneath the image is still that of a fox.

I drop back down to the floor. It’s really, really weird to see the kitsune image superimposed over my own. Focusing for a moment again, I dismiss the illusion, and am once again my vulpine self.

Padding into the office area, I nose the chair towards the desk then hop on up. (Reminding me: Need to get a new chair still.) With a great deal of effort, I manage to paw my work laptop towards the edge of the desk and nudge the mouse off to one side.

Getting the laptop lid open is an exercise in frustration. Can’t use my nose – it’s too much of a blunt instrument – and I’m not sure the stubby claws on my front paws are up to the job. Finally, I manage to get it open just a sliver by pushing one claw into the latch, then manage to push it the rest of the way up with the tip of my tail.

Aargh. I look at the fingerprint biometric unlock and at my paw. Not happening.

I manage to nudge the mouse over so its pointer resides above the password box, then delicately poke the mouse button to place the cursor where it belongs.

At which point I realise moving the mouse would have been a heck of a lot easier using the trackpad. Experimentally, I delicately touch the tip of my tail on the trackpad and move the cursor around, then poke it once more for a simulated button press.

Geona will remember this. Too many TellTale adventures back when.

I slowly poke my password in, gently touching the “Shift” key with one claw while tapping at keys with the tip of my tail. The backspace key gets a thorough workout. I’m making a two-finger typist look like the peak of dexterity. I’ll have to check the accessibility menu later; I’m sure there’s some sort of option for holding key modifiers.

If there’s one positive side to this, I’m really learning to use my tail well. I hadn’t realised it was quite this dexterous. Is dexterous the word when you’re not actually using a hand? It’s not even getting tired.

I imagine when I have more than one tail, I can be a two-tail typist. Heh.

Finally I get in and, this time using the trackpad, tap on Slack. I manage to tap onto the group channel, then laboriously ask to be excused: Don’t think I can work today. Something came up. Zoom Bob afterwards.

When handover starts, I manage to join in but remain silent. While I probably can’t work today – Tuesdays are usually my day dedicated to internal tickets anyway – tracking ongoing issues will help me keep up.

When the call is done I drop from the current call, and with some effort select the PM channel for Bob and start a new Zoom call.

A minute later I realise he’s in the call’s waiting room and I admit him.

“So, Reggie… ah sorry, Geona, what’s happened this time?”

I tap the camera and microphone on and look at the camera. Then give a yip and a whine.

Unsurprisingly, Bob’s grasp on the Fox language is unremarkable. Nevertheless, it’s clear I’ve gotten my point across.

He face-palms.

“Right. Got it. Let us know when you have your opposable thumbs back. You’re not taking tickets today anyway, so it’s not a big hit.

“What the hell happened? You were at least more or less human before. Now you’re some sort of dog?”

I growl a little. I am not a dog.

“Fine. Wolf? Fox?” I yip in acknowledgment. “Fine, a fox. I should know better than to ask, but how?”

I cock my head and flick my ears. I start to tap out an answer in Slack, when he realises I can’t exactly answer normally.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get the story from you later. For now, take care, hear? We’re short on engineers as it is, and losing you for a day a week is already hurting us.”

I yip again in agreement, and end the call.

I lay back down on my bed and try to image myself back into regular humanoid kitsune form.

No dice.

I jump up and pad around the apartment for a while to distract myself and give my subconscious time to consider the problem. Finally, I settle down on the lounge and try to focus once more.

Still no dice.

Then I reconsider. There’s something I haven’t done for years that I used to do pretty regularly in my misspent evangelical youth.

So I close my eyes and pray to Inari.

Goddess and Mother Inari Okami, I pray. How the hell do I get out of this?

I feel her gentle gaze upon me and the sensation of a snort. It seems my other children have been playing with you, she says. It is a simple matter, but one for which you do not yet have the knack. I would advise you to try switching back and forth a few times.

Then she pushes a gestalt into my mind; it’s an action beyond words, a twist of the spirit and of the body, reforming my soul into its intended form.

Falteringly, I try the reform, only to be struck with a spike of pain.

Hold yourself firm, she advises. Know in your bones what you are and what you will be, and that they are one and the same. Now try again.

I take a deep breath – well, as deep as a metre-long fox can manage – and try again.

This time, rather than feeling pain, I feel an electrifying tingle around my whole being, and with an with a jolt, snap into my kitsune form.

Entirely naked, of course. I blush.

Well done, Inari sends. Now try swapping backwards and forwards a few more times. Please call later if you need me again. Or if you don’t; I always enjoy talking to my children.

Taking her at her word, I try swapping backwards and forwards again. Soon enough, I can do it, not quite effortlessly, but certainly easily.

Now knowing that changing my form is possible, I try to push myself into my old form; being able to “be” my old self occasionally would be handy.

I can’t do it. It feels deeply, deeply wrong. Gargling bleach wrong. Jumping in front of a train wrong.

Despite the inconvenience, I’m not entirely unhappy about the lack. Returning to that body, even in semblance, feels like a reversion, a sacrifice of everything I have gained.

I do find I can make tweaks – very minor ones. A tint to my hair (although my tail is, evidently, out of bounds). I can change my ears a little, changing their usual size (reminiscent of a fennec fox; that is, quite long) down to perhaps half of that length, although the more severe the change, the harder it is. In my fox form, I can tint my fur a little – but no darker than a pale pastel. I cannot approach Keiko’s rich burgundy red.

I consider trying to set a thin band of fur around my neck into black as a facsimile collar to avoid being carted off to the pound, but doing so is quite difficult, if (barely) possible. On reflection, I decide conjuring an illusory collar will do the job just as well.

If somebody tries to read my nonexistent microchip – pets in New South Wales are required to be chipped – they will find the scanner mysteriously short-circuiting. Lightning magic has its advantages.

In any case, my standard shape (and colour) are easiest, and somehow most comfortable. Although my fox shape is about the same.

All that said, I’m no longer in the dog house. (Ugh.)

After grabbing a quick brunch (no tofu left, unfortunately – I gutsed it all down lasted night) I head back to my desk, fir up the VPN, then let everybody know I’m back in the picture.

I also send Bob a brief PM. Describing the circumstances of last night is irritatingly difficult. My kitsune sisters were introducing me to a new magic, I advise him, and cunningly failed to fill in all the blanks. Back to normal now, for my usual definition of normal.

He replies: So, completely weird then. Back to have you back in the bipedal portion of the populace.

Yip, whine I type in reply.

---

As I’m looking to break for lunch, my phone rings. It’s the embassy. Specifically, once I hear the voice on the other end of the line, Hikari.

She’s calling to check whether I would prefer to “work” – she does a remarkable job of vocalising those quotation marks – tomorrow or Sunday. The “work” will involve coming into the embassy and doing… various stuff. Mostly learning, magic and culture and whatever else is needed.

I’d probably prefer to do that tomorrow. It gives me a two day weekend, and keeps things simple when I get a weekend on call; not to mention it’s probably easier for the embassy staff.

She agrees and asks me to come in at nine tomorrow.

Ugh. Nine AM. Working from home has spoiled me. I’ll need to commute. During rush hour. As an (apparent) little girl, trying desperately hard to avoid having my tail stepped on or my ears brushed.

The embassy car will be by my place at quarter past eight.

Hikari starts to giggle upon hearing my relieved sigh, then coughs and asks me to confirm.

I agree, she thanks me, then hangs up.

During lunch, I remember that I need a new chair. Something with serious gas-lift functionality and a gap at the base of the back (none of this “lower back support” rubbish!)

On reflection, I decide to ask at the consulate tomorrow. I can’t be the first kitsune to run into these issues. Maybe there’s already a model others can recommend?

So I grab a quick lunch, do a bit of reading, then get back to working my tickets.

After work, I have another go at my revised Lord of the Rings pastiche. Then head into the bathroom and mess with water magic a bit, tossing a ball of water back and forth, splitting it into a stream or (with a touch of air magic) a spray.

I also try a bit of lightning magic, forming an arc between my fingers and (with a bit more concentration) between my ears, then push some into my tail and see if fluff up gloriously.

Then there’s a snap and the lights go out.

Dammit. Looks like something I did grounded in the electric circuits and shorted the lights. At least I hope it’s just the lights; accidentally frying my work laptop would not make me popular.

I slip on a one-piece dress (having rather embarrassingly forgotten to dress after today’s shape-shifting shenanigans), unlatch the door, then head out to the electrical cupboard just outside of my front door. Fortunately only one circuit breaker tripped; I fix it and head back inside, re-latching the door.

Note for future self: Only play with lightning when safely away from important electricals.

I throw together a quick curry for dinner, snarf it down while catching up on my reading, then put the leftovers in the fridge.

Washing up is annoying when my armpits are not much higher than the sink, but I get that done, then head to bed to read myself to sleep. For once, it is uninterrupted by dreams.

As work winds up for the day, efore I do anything else, I remember I owe somebody a phone call.

I call the Auburn RSL and ask for Justin Foster.

The receptionist is clearly bemused, and perhaps suspicious, that a young girl is asking for a mature man. She might assume he’s my father. After a few minute he comes on the line.

“Who is this?” he asks.

“It’s Geona. I talked to you on the train the other day?”

“Ah,” he says heavily.

“Inari spoke to me about… what happened. She didn’t ask me to pass this on but… she said a lot about freedom. I know I’m free to pass this on…”

“Wait,” he says. “First let me get this to a private room.”

There’s a rustling, then a minute or two of hideous hold music, then he picks up again.

“I’m back. Inari? Who’s she?” he asks. “Somebody you know?”

“Inari Okami? The goddess? I mean, she’s a Japanese goddess, but you’ve probably heard about her, at least if you were in a Japanese labour camp…”

“THAT Inari? And you’re talking about her on a first name basis?”

“Well, she’s sort of a mother to kitsune, and I’m sort of new to this, so she spent some time with me last night as I was dreaming…”

“Right,” he says, with perhaps a tinge of distaste.

“So, “I continue, “About the kitsune standing by. It was, more or less, that humans must be allowed to make their own mistakes, even terrible ones. While she didn’t say so, I think the gods are trying to avoid intervening, because if they start intervening – with the power balance being what it is – we’ll all wind up serving the gods and resenting it.”

There’s a moment of silence on the line.

“I can sort of see that,” he says. “I remember a time when the gods would stick their finger in at every opportunity. It could get pretty bad.

“I don’t have to like it though! You can draw a line! Letting those men torture mates who had done no wrong beyond an honourable surrender… they could have intervened. Maybe you let your kids act freely, but you spank them when they screw up too badly.”

“And where exactly is the line?” I ask. “Every time you draw a line, somebody wants to move it just a bit. Then the next person, a bit more. Eventually, there may as well not be a line at all.”

“That’s a weird thing for a kid to say,” he says. “I can sort of see where you’re coming from, but it’s still weird. And I still think they should have helped.”

“You know I was, like, fifty before I was a kitsune, right?”

I’m inserting “like” into my sentences. Kill me now.

“Ah, right,” he says. “I’ve just gotten too used to dealing with mortal kids. Well, you’re still young. But… thanks. It’s not closure. But it’s nice knowing that they didn’t… not care.”

We say our farewells and I hang up.

---

After the call, I head back to the loungeroom and turn the television back on, then spend a few more minutes with What Dreams May Come before a thought occurs to me.

If I really want to stretch myself…

Gankutuou is an anime I bought years ago but never actually finished. It’s basically The Count of Monte Cristo in space, with psychedelic textures.; every frame is made of detailed and colourful textures, an ever-shifting mosaic which makes the whole thing gorgeously detailed.

It gives me a headache.

That said, it’s probably the best thing I know to push my illusions forward.

I pop the Robin Williams flick and file it, then grab the Gankutsuou box set and put the first volume into the player.

As the minutes slip by, I do my level best to reproduce the anime including all the slick and fancy textures.

I’m doing pretty well for a while, but… this thing really does give me a headache. I’m increasingly remembering why I gave up on it.

Plus, this feels sort of mechanical. It’s just copying. Very, very hard copying, but still copying. Stopping the DVD player, I put the current DVD away and turn the television off.

Instead, I grab my dead-tree copy of Fellowship of the Ring and the first volume of the Blu-Ray box set, then skip ahead to the flight across the Brandywine. Branduin. Whatever.

In the movies, this part skips straight to Bree. It misses out completely on Crickhollow, the Old Forest, Old Man Willow, Tom Bombadil and the Barrow-Downs. I’ve reminded myself of the movie’s depictions of the hobbits.

Now I quickly skim through the book, and as I do so, I construct an illusion of the movie as it should have been at this point.

First, the homely welcome of Crickhollow. Then, the dark menace of the Old Forest. The terror and peril of Old Man Willow; the panicked cries of Merry and Pippin and they are engulfed by the malicious tree.

And the joyful prancing of Tom Bombadil as he comes and rescues them all, then escorts them to his home to be greeted by Goldberry.

Goldberry is… not all that hard to pin down. I imagine Inari, but as a golden-haired elf. It’s a pale imitation, but in my mind’s eye, Goldberry had that same welcoming deep well of power that Inari holds. Mother to all, with a sparkle in her eye.

Bombadil is… harder. The sheer energy and merriness that Tolkien portrayed in his books is difficult to reproduce. His voice dances. It rings. And he himself, while on the surface seems to be only another man, hides depths of vigour and energy which none could stand against. Tom Bombadil in the books is an enigma, and getting that through an illusion is… tough.

Still, it’s a challenge. And a much more satisfying one than simply reproducing somebody else’s vision.

As Bombadil releases the hobbits and they find themselves lost and trapped in the Barrow-Downs, my phone rings, and my illusion shatters.

---

I grab my phone and answer. “Hello?”

“It’s Amanda Chapman. You knew I was coming, right? I’m supposed to be teaching you Japanese. Is there anywhere I can park my car? It looks like the parking at the front is metered; I’d rather not eat a parking fine.”

“Uh…” Darn it, I’d forgotten she was coming. Oh well. “There’s a visitor’s parking lot at the back. There are usually some spare spaces. The combination is…” and reel off a series of digits.

“Thanks. Be there in a few. Hang on.”

I do my best to clear some space for her to sit and grab a side table to put stuff on. I am not a naturally tidy person. I also grab some of my old Japanese workbooks and dictionaries from when I was actively trying to learn the language.

Ten minutes later the intercom for the security door buzzes and I let her in. After a couple of minutes, there’s a knock on the front door and I open it up and wave her in.

Amanda is a robust woman of around a hundred and sixty centimetres, dark brown hair in a long ponytail and a trace of an epicanthic hold hinting at a partial Asian ancestry. She’s wearing a fairly sensible blouse and slacks and… mid-rise? Whatever they’re called, her shoes have a noticeable heel but not much of one. Maybe five centimetres?

She is, as expected, significantly taller than me. I’m getting used to it.

“Evening, Amanda. I’m sorry the place is a bit of a mess, I’d… sort of forgotten you were coming.”

She’s not saying anything. Instead, her eyes are flicking between my ears and tail. “So it’s real…” she murmurs.

Should I be annoyed? Maybe a titch, but I’m more sympathetic than annoyed. I mean, a week ago, my reaction would have been much the same.

So instead, I smile.

“Yep. You’re probably not half as surprised as I was.”

An expression of dawning realisation comes to her face, then she offers a box from one of the two bags she’s carrying. The other seems to be study materials. This one isn’t; it looks like it’s from a restaurant.

I pop the box, and the smell of ambrosia meets my nostrils. The box contains a layer of fried, cubed tofu, covered in a light soy-and-chilli marinade.

I glance to Amanda for a nod of permission then delicately grab one of the cubes using a pair of chopsticks sitting to one side of the box, then pop it into my mouth.

I shiver as it touches my tongue and I chew it delicately. My tail lashes about in suppressed ecstasy. This stuff is so good.

Amanda is staring in ill-concealed fascination at my tail.

Then she takes the box back and I give her a betrayed look. “Motivation,” she supplies. “The embassy organised this from a restaurant they recommended and told me I should use it to keep you interested.” She beams at me. “Looks like it’s going to work.

“Right,” she says. “I can see you already had some references. Can I ask where your Japanese is at at the moment?”

I think for a moment. “I started learning Japanese a few years ago but the workbook was all using Romaji, and so while I learned a number of words I’m sure my accent is atrocious… I’m very, very rusty… and I barely know any of the syllabaries or kanji. I started in on learning the hiragana but… I basically gave up at about that point.

“Aside from that, I’ve been reading Japanese light novels and manga for a fair few years and watch a fair bit of anime.

“So… otaku level? Basically not even conversational, but partway there, and what I do know needs a lot of revision.”

Her brow furrows. “Right, so it’s almost from scratch…

“Namae wa nandesu ka?”

I spend a minute figuring it out… namae would be “name”… wa signifies the object of the sentence… nan is “what”, desu is, roughly, “is”… and ka is a question signifier. So “name, what is ?”

“Geona desu,” I venture.

“Yeah, not even conversational. But you have some of the foundations.”

She tosses me a tofu cube and, without thinking, I leap and snatch it in my mouth. Then freeze in embarrassment.

Doggy treats?

Amanda ditches forward on her chair and collapses on the floor, wheezing in laughter, while I blush deeply and cover my face with my hands and tail.

After a minute or two she recovers, still evidently trying to suppress her giggles. “I’m sorry,” she wheezes in apology, “That really was unprofessional. I really didn’t think you’d do that… and it really was hilarious.”

I peek between my fingers and glare at her. “Sure,” I grumble. We both take a few moments to settle down. She tosses me another tofu cube abruptly, and I start out of my seat before a quick thought has me settle back down into my seat and I draw on my meagre air magic.

The cube of tofu abruptly changes course in the air and steers itself into my waiting open mouth.

I much on the new treat… dammit, the new snack, then swallow and grin at her broadly.

She goggles.

“Damn,” she says. “Was that what I think it was?”

“Definitely not magic,” I reply, with an exaggerated look of innocence. “Magic isn’t real. Everybody knows that.” Then I project an illusion of a halo over my head as a place my hands together in feigned prayer.

She stares at the halo for a moment, then meets my eyes. “Sure. Not real. Not real at all.

“Some day you gotta teach me how to do that not-magic. Maybe one night after we’re done with our not-Japanese review in your not-home.

“Anyway, probably about time I earned my princely salary.

“For now, we need to do a few things. Work on building your basic vocabulary, and get a start on learning the kana and kanji. Once we have some basic building blocks in place, we can work on sentence structure and getting your vocab to a point where you can talk to a small child….”

We start working through some more basic vocabulary, using the books she has brought with her. I more or less remember the cardinal numbers, but there are weird rules in Japanese about how numbers are expressed for different classes of object, which I never got a handle on… Amanda skims the workbooks I had then tests me on some of the words covered, discovering both basic holes and an accent which, she tells me, is the sort of level of atrocious that an upper-class Englishman would find the speech of an uncommunicative Welshman. Speaking Welsh.

That smarts.

After a couple of hours the box of tofu is largely empty and I’ve made some noticeable progress. I’m still not ready to hold my own in a conversation; I don’t have the vocabulary and have the barest handle on the Japanese grammatical particles.

Finally, she signals that we need to wind up for the evening; it’s venturing towards half past nine. She hands me a USB key with a label written across it: “LLJC 6.2.” “This,” she tells me, “is the latest release of the Japanese solo language learning software developed at the Language Lab at the University. Please install it on your system and keep your microphone enabled. It will teach you a few new words from the learning course,” pointing at the books she’s brought along, and which, evidently, she’ll be leaving behind, “and test your pronunciation.”

She continues. “I’ll phone you Wednesday night for some quick conversational practice, but you really need to be practicing with native speakers. I was taught by my Mum so my accent is pretty good, but it’s still a second language for me; you need to be talking to a native speaker if possible.”

“I’m meeting a friend from the Japanese embassy on Thursday night…” I venture.

“Perfect. See if you can talk to her a little in Japanese, not English. It will be great practice.”

As we stand for her to leave, her eyes flick again to my tail.

The prices we pay.

“Did you want to feel my tail?” I ask. Her eyes light up.

As expected. It’s not that I blame her – it’s a truly wonderful tail, gorgeous and fluffy and cute and…

Next time I see Inari – or another kitsune – I need to ask if this thing I have about my tail is normal.

For now, I swing it around to her and let her hold it for a minute. Times like this, I’m very glad that the trope of kemomimi tails as erogenous zones isn’t accurate. Still feels nice though. For her and me.

After she releases it – with visible reluctance – she waves farewell and heads out the door. Not forgetting to give me her business card first.

Well, that was a night.

… I have tofu left over. The night is not yet over!

I savour each remaining piece in contained bliss.

I consider briefly returning to filling in the missing chapters from Lord of the Rings, but then think better of it. Not really in the mood any more.

I read for a while, then brush my teeth and head for bed.

I find myself again in Inari’s temple.

She looks ticked.

I knew it; I’ve failed her. I fall to my knees, staring only at the ground, as tears start to form at the corners of my eyes and I start to babble in apology…

Only to be silenced by a glorious finger against my lips.

I look up again, to find Inari on her knees before me, bent over me, sheltering from all that might do me harm.

Why?

Isn’t she angry at me? Isn’t she furious? I’ve taken her gift and wasted it. Isn’t she regretting taking me in?

Her own eyes seem on the verge of tears as well, her divine face etched in sorrow as she speaks.

“Child, child, you misunderstand.

“Yes, I am annoyed. Even with you, a little, but only because you hold yourself so low when you should soar.

“But mostly, I am irritated with those who would hold themselves to be my servants but understand me so little.

“My children are not tools to be used. They are not dogs to be trained.

“You and my other children are embodiments of freedom.

“Your only failing is the chains you place on yourself.

“You have an eternity to discover, to rediscover joy. To find love. To bond, with friends, with family, both the family to which you were born and my family of which you are now a part. The family you were given, and the family you have chosen.

“Wherever you discover joy, I will be there with you. Where you walk, I will be beside you.

“So long as you act in goodwill, in seeking joy in yourself and those around you, I will never be disappointed in you.”

She frowns a little.

“You have gotten so caught up in being my servant that you have forgotten that you are first and foremost my child.

“And you have allowed those who see you as a servant first and a person second to place their hands on your destiny.

“As a human you were grown. As a kitsune you have barely begun to learn how to live. As a human, you had perhaps fifty years more ahead of you. As a kitsune… centuries, millennia, until you grow tired of life – which I hope will never come to be.

“Did you not wonder why your kitsune body is so young? It is not only because kitsune are long lived. It is because you have not yet learned to be your new self.

“My kitsune shrine maidens do not serve me because they are obliged to do so. It is an act of love.”

She giggles softly.

“Do you know there is a lottery for those who wish to serve here? A rigged lottery. When you have a thousand kitsune, all skilled in the arts of illusion and prestidigitation, all vying for two positions, the winner is not by chance. It is by who can cheat most outrageously.

“But I know this, and they know this, so it is a game. A joyous game, with the stakes being who best can express their loving devotion.”

Her expression softens.

“But, for you, that time is yet to come. First, you must learn that you are free.

“As were at the army base in the morning, did you not find joy in learning to use your magic? Did you not find pride in showing this ‘Marjorie’ what you could do? In learning, in exploring, in discovering what you are now capable of?

“Then you have nothing to grieve over.

“Your duty is not to serve me. Your duty, such as it is, is to be happy. If you find happiness in serving me, all the better. But your happiness, and that of all my children, is my happiness.”

Her expression darkens a little. She seems a little exasperated.

“It is a common failing. One seen everywhere, in Japan, in Australia, in all countries, all places, all times.

“In Japan, in recent times, it has become a plague. Children become adults and are never permitted to be children again. Instead, they work, and work, and work. Focusing on duty until they die. Such a waste.

“Those of your home country seem to do better. One reason why I smile to find you in my family. But you have been forgetting your roots in your rush to join my servants.

“Please, stand. Who would keep their child on their knees?”

I clamber back to my feet as she moves back to her throne and seats herself with divine gracefulness.

“Now,” she continues, “While I was unhappy with the bindings you had placed on yourself, I was less happy with those who guided you into placing them. I will be passing word through my temple to allow you to set your own pace. With an unsubtle word on those who would constrain the servants of the gods.

A shadow passes across her face.

“The other matter I wish to talk to you about was the man you encountered this afternoon.

“The Japanese people are not our servants. They also are, in a different sense, our children.

“Children are not slaves. They act by their own will. And sometimes they go astray. A hundred years ago… ruinously so.

“They saw the imperial powers of Europe and America and saw the power held over them. In rejecting that power, they in turn chose to emulate it. And all its abuse and failings, sharpened by the remains of the warrior culture which saw mercy as something offered by lesser beings.

“They forgot to be children, and remembered only to be bullies.

“My dearest children watched over them, still. We were driven to despair at the cruelty and viciousness displayed by men who through they were acting under the authority of a man descended from the gods. We pleaded, but they did not hear.

“Under the symbol of Nippon, of my dear sister Amaterasu, they chose not to be the warming, nurturing light of the sun, but the harsh, biting spears of the desert sun.

“We would speak, but they would not listen. They only found joy in power, and in servitude to those claiming to represent Our authority.

“Finally, when it became clear that their dreams of conquest were broken, they were ready to sacrifice themselves and their families in one final sacrifice… and relented when the Emperor found his taste for the blood of his people was quenched.

“And so, Japan is now a land of peace once more.

“One of the prices of immortality is that nothing can ever be entirely forgotten. As so, although the tragedies of that time have almost passed beyond human memory, the spirits and kami still live, and remember.

“Our grief and regret for those times will never pass. We can only strive, and say: Never again.”

I think I have a better understanding, now. If the reward for the freedom of Inari’s children is seeing them grow in joy, the risk is that children can be terribly cruel.

We pause for a few moments in thoughtful, grieving silence.

Then, Inari sits straight and claps her hands.

“So, if you can please pass on to this… `Justin Foster’ our regrets at the acts of our children, and something of the circumstances by which it was allowed to happen, please think of this as the first true duty I have passed on to you.

“As yourself, I ask only one thing.

“Relax. Be happy. Be free”

I tilt my head in a wry grin, my tears having long since dried.

“Isn’t that more than one thing?” I prod.

Inari releases a peal of laughter, her dour mood broken. “Indeed! But I leave such mundane tasks as counting to Tenjin and Ebisu!”

---

Monday morning. It’s a work day again.

Having gone to bed early yesterday, I get up rather early today. I take the opportunity to take a luxurious shower, letting the water flow over my glorious white fur. I realise when I went shopping last week I forgot to grab anything in the way of shampoo or conditioner to care for my hair and tail. I’m still stuck with my old bottom-shelf shampoo/conditioner.

Well, needs must.

I shampoo my hair thoroughly – with the result being a rather heavy mass, slightly tangled, weighing my head down – and then the same for my tail. Not wanting to reproduce the tangling of my hair, my brow furrows a little as I use a trace of water magic to guide the water between the fur on my tail as I lather it up then rinse it out.

It’s still a sodden mass, but at least it’s not too badly tangled.

I make a mental note for the next time I go shopping. Tofu. Shampoo and conditioner. A couple of good hair brushes.

As I towel myself off, I pat down my hair with the towel. Stepping out of the shower, I look behind me and grin, my mood much elevated from last night, and whip my tail down as quickly as I can, a typhoon of water slapping against the wall of the shower cubicle.

… Which naturally splashes off and gets me half wet again.

I peal in laughter at the joke I’ve played on myself. Then dry myself off again.

Remembering the trick I tried last week, I supplement it with a little air magic. Running spells with two different elements is a little tricky, but I have a much better handle on my magic since yesterday.

Mental note: Do not need a hair dryer, But (after having another look at my hair and tail) definitely need those hair brushes.

Right.

I sit down at my desk (… darn, also need a new chair, this one is ridiculous – way too high still, and NOWHERE TO PUT MY TAIL) … and log into the VPN and connect to my logins at work.

We run through handover again – fortunately, it’s been a quiet weekend, there’s only a few pending tickets – then when the US shift signs off, Bob runs through a couple of training requirements that are coming due.

I don’t yet have the voice data for filtering my audio, so I stay silent.

“One last thing,” Bob adds. “Reg – or should it be Geona? Please speak up.”

I lower my tone and speak. “Good mor-“

Bob interrupts. “Natural voice, please.”

I’m a little taken aback. I suppose Bob isn’t really the type to mess around with inconvenient truths. So I speak again, this time with my new voice, unfiltered and unmodified.

“Thank, Bob,” I say. Mezzo-soprano, as you may recall. One of the highest female voice registers, and nothing like my old light baritone. “I’d probably prefer Geona, now. And female pronouns, please.”

There’s a lack of sudden surprised intakes of breath; almost everybody is muted, of course. Finally somebody unmutes and speaks up.”

“Very funny, Reggie. Is that some sort of vocal filter?”

“Nope,” I answer. “All me. Complicated situation. May fill you in on the details some time.. But, yeah, call me Geona now. I’ll probably keep using my old credentials though, reprovisioning everything is more trouble than it’s worth.”

Bob adds, “Kevin and I can confirm. So deal with it.

“Other than that,” he continues, “we also have a new contracting arrangement.”

First I’d heard of this…?

“Reggie, er, Geona, is contracted elsewhere on Wednesdays. All part of the same situation. But moving forward, he’s – dammit, she’s, have to get used to that – unavailable Wednesdays.

“Geona, please stay on the call after everybody else drops off.”

After a few minutes, everybody else has dropped off Zoom, leaving just Bob, Kevin and myself.

“OK,” I ask, “What’s the deal with Wednesdays?”

Bob replies “It really is a contracting arrangement. Your friends would apparently like you for the whole week, but I gather you told them to stuff that. You were originally going to stick to your current working arrangements, but we got word yesterday that that Is Not Good Enough.

“Apparently somebody at the Highest Level” – I could hear the capitalisation – “has asked that we ensure you get some time off. Since apparently your weekends are now quite busy as well, and you know how I feel about everybody getting a decent break. It’s not just a legislative requirement, it’s just the decent thing to do.”

I wonder if Inari – or her shrine maidens – had an unsubtle word with somebody? I don’t really care how it happened, but yesterday’s breakdown told me I do need some proper time off.

“We’re also going to talk to HR about your credentials. At minimum, we’re setting up an alias for your email. Other stuff remains to be seen. We’re also updating your ARIA profile. Please supply a new photo. Anything else?”

I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest. I was more or less expecting to have to fake my old identity. Now it appears that will be wholly unnecessary.

“Nothing major,” I reply. “I think I’ll need a new chair – my old one is just stupid now – but I have an allowance for that stuff, should be fine.

“Do you know what I’m supposed to be doing Wednesdays?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, just as long as you get a day off each week. That can be Sunday or Wednesday. Your call. Sort it out. I don’t want to hear anything about seven-day weeks. It’ll drive you nuts.”

Did he hear about yesterday somehow? Maybe, maybe not

“Re-… Geona,” he resumes. “If you’re looking at leaving, let us know. We’re recruiting for headcount at the moment already; we’d rather not lose you as well, but if it looks like we might, I’d appreciate some advance notice.

“I wasn’t planning to,” I reply. “If that changes, you’ll be the first to know. Aside from a certain goddess I could name.”

“A Goddess.” I hear him sigh in exasperation. “Under the circumstances, I’m not entirely sure you’re yanking my chain. Just as long as you let me know.”

We wind up the call and I get on with my usual working day.

---

At lunchtime, I figure it’s time I give the whole “relaxation” thing a try. I head to the kitchen, make a quick sandwich (… need to get some fried tofu… ) which I snarf down while reading.

As I turn the pages on my tablet, I feel a nagging inclination. I mean, yes, reading is my lifeblood. I think a week without reading would drive me around the bend.

But still… new toys…

Fifteen minutes before the end of my lunch break, I give up. I have a quick shuffle through my DVD collection and dig up “What Dreams May Come,” then slide it into my DVD player,

Scene skip. Dream world. Robin Williams wandering through a gorgeous painterly landscape; impressionism brought to life.

And as I watch, one eye on the television and one on the space above it, I do my level best to reproduce the gorgeous moving landscape through the power of illusion.

It’s a miserly attempt; the detail of the scene may or may not be beyond me, but reproducing it in movement is more than I can handle… for now. On the other hand, my visual imagination does seem to be much more vivid than it used to be.

It used to be when imagining a picture I could at best give myself a fleeting mental glimpse. Now… it’s not quite full motion video – particularly for the level of detail I was seeking today – but it’s pretty bloody impressive.

Probably a kitsune thing. Another kitsune thing. I’m not complaining.

As the scenes flow, I startle guiltily and check the time on my phone.

Oops. Fifteen minutes over time.

I hit pause and duck back to the bedroom where my computer setup lives and apologise for running over time.

Then resume work.

---

Late in the afternoon, I receive an SMS from an unfamiliar number.

K: Keiko here. Shopping Thursday night?

Ah, right, Keiko was the nice onee-san from the Japanese Consulate.

G: Sure, where are we going?

K: Meet in city at Galeries Victoria. Dinner at Ichiban Boshi first?

G: Sure. 6:30 OK?

K: 6:30 should be fine.

So that’s set up. I double-check Keiko’s number against the business card she gave me and confirm it’s the same number. As expected; this is not exactly prime social engineering fare. I add her name to her number in my contacts.