The following day, the aroma oil pastels and dried tempera paints flood my nose when I push open double doors to Studio Art. The tension in my shoulders begins to dissipate, the violent throbbing around my skull easing. Art class is my way to relax and let my mind wander, my hands and emotions free to express themselves. But then I spot him. Bax, sitting at the very back. His letter jacket is carelessly tossed over the back of his chair.

"Good afternoon, Amaya." Mrs. Bowman, my art teacher, offers a gentle smile, small wrinkles forming around the edges of her eyes. "I was hoping maybe later in class we could talk about the works of Hokusai. I'm a big fan of his and love his prints depicting foxes."

Mrs. Bowman is becoming one of my favorite teachers even though I only have art twice a week. She's always happy, sometimes too happy. But her aura is one of the main reasons I love coming to her class. And now I find out she's a fan of my favorite ukiyo-e painter. "Kitsune are a favorite of mine, too."

"The folklore behind them is so romantic. The way a simple fox can obtain magic through years of surviving. And the stories about them transforming into women and falling in love."

And her momentary position as my favorite teacher is gone. She totally missed the point—the kitsune were playing games or punishing the unfaithful. And the times the kitsune did fall in love with humans—even marrying them—ended in disaster. Their secret always came out and they'd run off, using their magic to make their human spouses forget they ever existed. Love between kitsune and humans never wins in the end.

The bell rings and Mrs. Bowman points a finger to the back of the class. "Why don't you sit next to Mr. Warren in the back? It appears that's the only seat available."

Yup, it's official. The universe has it out for me. Why couldn't Mrs. Bowman assign seats like most of the other teachers? Dragging my feet, I weave my way through the tables. A pair of hazel eyes to my left bore into me. I smile at Gretchen and keep walking.

Bax tracks my movements with his dark eyes as I reach the glaringly empty, bright blue chair across from him. I set down my bag and sit, attempting to be as nonchalant as possible. Nothing like sitting across the table from someone who might be working with my mortal enemy.

"Okay, everyone." Mrs. Bowman circles the room. "Please take your sketchbooks out and free draw for the next fifteen minutes."

Books thump against tables, the sound of fluttering pages filling the air. I reach into my shoulder bag and pull out my damaged sketchbook, a couple of charcoal pencils, and begin drawing a koi fish. My mind immediately calms and I take my first full breath of the day, relishing how the air swirls in my lungs.

Bax chokes back a laugh, grinning at his sketchbook, shoulders shaking.

Exhaling loudly, I slam my pencil down onto the desk. "What's so funny?"

He shifts his seat closer. His pencil taps the large spot on corner of my sketchbook where colors have blended together. "What happened?"

I turn back to my drawing, pressing the pencil hard into the paper, my strokes erratic as my anger spiraled outward from the pit of my stomach. "A dog attacked me a couple of days ago and I dropped my backpack into a puddle. Haven't had time to get a new book."

"That sucks." He pulls out a clean sketchbook from his bag. "Here, I always keep a spare. Looks like you could use this more than me."

I tug hard on my earlobe as my mouth falls open, not expecting his gesture. Swallowing a couple of times to chase away the shock that's holding my voice prisoner as I reach over and take the new book. "Thank you."

I open to a fresh page and turn my attention back to drawing. Extending a kindness to another is not a trait of the humans I've come across in the past whose intention were evil. Maybe I'm wrong about Bax. Maybe he is a target and was lucky enough to escape Raiju with just a bite.

Bax flips over the back of my old book, tracing his fingers across the stickers on the back. "You like Crash Dragons, too?"

"Yeah, they're all right."

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A grin curls around his full lips like a lazy cat settling in a puddle of midday sunshine. "I went to one of their concerts last year. My dad bought me tickets. It was a lot of fun. The lead singer was wasted the entire time."

"You could come over my house sometime." He doesn't glance up, his pencil moving steadily over his paper. "My dad has a kickass stereo system in his home theater. It honestly sounds like you're at a concert."

The eraser of my pencil beats against the table with the speed of a hummingbird's wings. This would give me an opportunity to figure out what connection he has to the wolf. "Um, sure."

"Not that I have much time for music lately. I've got a lot of studying to do." His pencil tip hovers over the page decorated with angel wings. "I don't exactly have the best grades around."

"I could help you if want... I mean, I've never had a grade lower than an A." Only because they don't score using the letter system in Japan.

"Really?" His eyes widen. "You'd tutor me?"

Helping Bax would also give me a chance to find out if Blaire's accusations are true. And his home may even offer clues about Sam's immunity. Maybe their family has some connection to the gods. "It would be my pleasure."

Bax leans forward, the sparkle in his eyes spelling mischief, and places his hand on my forearm. "We could grab a burger and discuss tutoring fees."

My heartbeat cautiously thumps as my gaze studies his features for any minute movements. A burger joint wouldn't offer the ideal atmosphere for me to pry about Tori or find out what the connection between Raiju and Bax is. "Shouldn't you be worrying about your grades instead of asking me on a date? Won't your father be pissed you're not taking your studies seriously?"

Bax grins recklessly at me. "My dad doesn't mind what I do. So long as I remain Bradley High's star lacrosse player, I can do anything." He leans in. "We could walk out of school right now and not even get a warning."

A hint of something dark flickers in his eyes, something I have seen before. That look, the flitter of darkness. The same one the soldier had in 1941 when he killed the little girl. The high-pitched laugh erupting from his chest still haunts my dreams on occasion. I hadn't fully come into my powers at the time and there wasn't anything I could do. I was just a fox, and his gun would've ended my life. Kaasan made sure the soldier paid. She drove him mad for weeks before he finally ended his life.

My fingers clench around my pencil and I blow out a heavy breath. "So, how's your friend doing?"

His body is as still as a cadaver, his complexion just as pallid. Closing his eyes, he scoffs. "I barely know Greg. Not to mention, Coach has been putting us through extra practices all week to make sure Greg's injury doesn't cost us the season."

I shake my head. How do you barely know a teammate? Spending hours training and playing games together, he should know enough about Greg to be affected by what happened. Even I feel sorry for Greg and I never met him.

"Not that Greg is any real loss," Bax continues, pencil flying back and forth, adding shading to his sketch. "He always fumbles his passes. No matter how many times I tell him to just give me the ball, he always goes for the long shot. No idea why they made him captain, but at least that error has been corrected."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "You're kidding, right? The poor kid is lying in intensive care and you're saying it doesn't matter because he was a ball hog. Like his life doesn't mean anything because he doesn't pass to you? And you're all happy to be captain now?"

His expression turns to stone, an evil glint in his eyes. He looks down at the table a second later. "Didn't mean to come off heartless. It's just how I cope. Did the same when my mom died. Sam cried and I threw myself into sports. Lacrosse got me out of the house and away from the emptiness."

My teeth sink into the eraser of my pencil. Kitsune don't grieve like humans. We don't bawl openly and immediately like Gretchen. We don't cling to resentments like Blaire. Or focus on trivialities like Bax. We carry our grief silently and with dignity, no matter how raw the pain is.

I inhale and count to ten before exhaling. "You remind me of a boy I knew in the orphanage. His parents died in a car accident, leaving him all alone. All he talked about was his baseball club. If I hadn't seen him hurrying out of his dorm one day, his eyes flooded with tears, I'd have thought he was void of all emotion."

Bax stops drawing, placing his pencil down on the desk. "You were in an orphanage?"

"Yes, back in Japan. I don't care to talk about it. Not sure why I even mentioned it." I swallow hard and change the subject. "I'm sorry about Greg."

"Me, too. We never hung out except for practice and parties and stuff like that. But I still, I don't know, keep expecting him to show up to practice." His voice is as soft as a feather, yet as cold as an empty tomb.

Bax's lips twist scornfully. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, there's a discordant whine from the school intercom. "All members of the lacrosse team are to report to the principal's office. I repeat, all members—"

"Duty calls." Bax grabs his bag, his sketchbook under one arm.

"Are we still on for burgers?"

He gives me a quick once-over and smirks. "Um, yeah. How's tomorrow night? Team doesn't get out of practice until seven. I'll sure as hell be hungry."

"Perfect."

Bax swaggers out of class. He's like a rhinoceros, powerful and capable of inflicting harm, yet a bit clumsy. When the door closes behind him, I release the breath I'd been holding. Bax is known to be particular, and while my brain aches to find out how Bax and Raiju are connected, coming off too desperate could've backfired.

Now to form a plan. If I'm not going to use my powers, I better be prepared.