FIFTY SHADES OF MIKO

Chapter 1

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair – it just won’t behave, and damn Aya Shameimaru for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be covering the kappa planetarium, which opens next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired tengu with brown eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in the same old twintails and hope that I look semi presentable.

Aya is my rival, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the avian flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-important historical figure I’ve never heard of, for the tengu newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I have other stories to report on, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no – today I have to fly a hundred and sixty-five miles to Senkai in order to meet the enigmatic Saint of the Divine Spirit Mausoleum. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of Gensokyo, her time is extraordinarily precious – much more precious than mine – but she has granted Aya an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Aya is huddled on the couch in the living room.

“Hatate, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both be too busy reporting another incident by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off. Please,” Aya begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, jet-black hair in place and red eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go Aya. You should get back to bed. Would you like some green tea or picked plums?”

“Tea, please. Here are the questions and my camera. Just press to shoot. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about her,” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long flight. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some miso soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Aya, would I do this.

“I will. Good luck. And thanks Hatate – as usual, you’re my lifesaver.”

Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door. I cannot believe I have let Aya talk me into this. But then Aya can talk anyone into anything. She’s exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful – and she’s my dearest, dearest rival.

The roads are clear as I set off from Youkai Mountain toward the Human Village and the entrance to Senkai. It’s early, and I don’t have to be in Senkai until two this afternoon. Fortunately, the weather is clear and very nice, and the miles slip away as I fly leisurely down the mountain.

My destination is the headquarters of Toyosatomimi-no-Miko-sama’s domain. It’s a huge twenty-story mausoleum, all ancient wood and steel, a taoist’s mystical fantasy, with Crown Prince Tomb written discreetly in ink over the heavy wooden front doors. It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly intimidating – larger-on-the-inside lobby.

Behind the solid wooden desk, a very attractive, groomed, green-haired seemingly young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest Heian dress I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

“I’m here to see the Crown Prince. Hatate Himekaidou for Aya Shameimaru.”

“Excuse me one moment, Himekaidou-san.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Aya’s formal uniforms rather than wear my every day clothes. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length socks with red geta sandals and a simple jacket over the good old pink-ish shirt. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me.

“Shameimaru-san is expected. Please sign in here, Himekaidou-san. You’ll want the last stairway on the right, go for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of stairways past the two security guards who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut uniforms.

The stairway heads directly to the twentieth floor. I exit at the top of the stairway and I’m in another large lobby – again all ancient wood lavishly decorated. I’m confronted by another heavy wooden desk and another young gray-haired woman dressed impeccably in a Heian uniform who rises to greet me.

“Himekaidou-san, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated area of lavish wooden chairs.

Behind the chairs is a spacious tea ceremony room with a very elegant chawan bowl and at least twenty matching cushions around it. Beyond that, there is a door with a view of a fantastic well-kept garden. It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly cursing Aya for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this woman I’m about to interview. She could be ninety or she could be nine hundred. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of an Internet group discussion where I can be at home on my cell phone. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic net novel, curled up in a chair in the tengu library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal ancient mausoleum-turned-taoist-temple.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Himekaidou. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and ancient, I guess Toyosatomimi-sama is in her thousands: old, wrinkled, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed Taoist comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate Taoists? It’s like a taoist church here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Himekaidou-san?” the latest Taoist asks.

“Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded more confident.

“Her Highness will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?”

“Oh please.” I struggle out of the jacket.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Um – no.” Oh dear, is Taoist Number One in trouble?

Taoist Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.

“Yoshika, please fetch Himekaidou-san a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Yoshika scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

“My apologies, Himekaidou-san, Yoshika is our new intern. Please be seated. Her Highness will be another five minutes.”

Yoshika returns with a glass of iced water.

“Here you go, Himekaidou-san.”

“Thank you.”

Taoist Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the wooden floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Toyosatomimi-no-Miko-sama insists on all her employees being Taoists. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly-yet-respectfully dressed, attractive woman with long hair exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

She turns and says through the door. “Golf, this week, Crown Prince.”

I don’t hear the reply. She turns, sees me, and smiles, her clear eyes crinkling at the corners. Yoshika has jumped up and called the stairway. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me!

“Namusan, ladies,” she says as she departs through the sliding door.

“Her Highness will see you now, Himekaidou-san. Do go through,” Taoist Number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock – just go in.” She smiles kindly.

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office.

Double crap – me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to the Crown Prince’s office, and gentle hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Holy cow – she looks so young.

“Shameimaru-san.” She extends a long-fingered hand to me once I’m upright. “I’m the Crown Prince, Toyosatomimi no Miko. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?”

So young – and attractive, very attractive. She’s tall, dressed in a fine purple dress under a white vest with elaborate trimmings, a purple-and-red long cape, purple headgear and almost platinum-colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

“Um. Actually–” I mutter. If this girl is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in hers and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

“Shameimaru-san is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Your Highness.”

“And you are?” Her voice is warm, possibly amused, but it’s difficult to tell from her impassive expression. She looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

“Hatate Himekaidou. I’m a tengu reporter with Aya, um… Aya… um… Shameimaru-san at Youkai Mountain.”

“I see,” she says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in her expression, but I’m not sure.

“Would you like to sit?” She waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.

Her office is way too big for just one woman. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

“A local artist. Margatroid,” says Miko-sama when she catches my gaze.

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted both by her and the paintings. She cocks her head to one side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more, Himekaidou-san,” she replies, her voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Aphrodite who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Aya’s questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the camera and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Her Highness says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at her, she’s watching me, one hand relaxed in her lap and the other cupping her chin and trailing her long index finger across her lips. I think she’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.”

“Take all the time you need, Himekaidou-san,” she says.

“Do you mind if I take a picture?”

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the camera – you ask me now?”

I flush. She’s teasing me? I hope. I blink at her, unsure what to say, and I think she takes pity on me because she relents. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Did Aya, I mean, Shameimaru-san, explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes. To appear in the new year issue of the tengu newspaper as I shall be conferring the awards at this year’s journalism ceremony.”

Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present the awards. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

“Good,” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Your Highness.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“I thought you might,” she says, deadpan. She’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the button on the camera, I try to look professional.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at her. Her smile is rueful, but she looks vaguely disappointed.

“Religion is all about people, Himekaidou-san, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” She pauses and fixes me with her gray stare. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Aya’s list – but she’s so arrogant. Her eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Himekaidou-san. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.”

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Himekaidou-san,” she says without a trace of humor in her smile. I look at her, and she holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does she have such an unnerving effect on me? Her overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way her eyes blaze at me? The way she strokes her index finger against her lower lip? I wish she’d stop doing that.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” she continues, her voice soft.

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control Freak.

“I employ over five hundred people, Himekaidou-san. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in Gensokyo and sell up, three hundred people would die from hunger after a month or so.”

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by her lack of humility.

“Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted.

“I own my temple. I don’t have to answer to a board.” She raises an eyebrow at me. I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, she’s so arrogant. I change tack.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?”

“I have varied interests, Himekaidou-san.” A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Very varied.” And for some reason, I’m confounded and heated by her steady gaze. Her eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” She smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. She really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.

“Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.” She shifts in her chair. “I’m a very wealthy woman, Himekaidou-san, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”

I glance quickly at Aya’s questions, wanting to get off this subject.

“You invest in Taoism. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does she make me so uncomfortable?

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of temples. What can I say?”

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”

Her mouth quirks up, and she stares appraisingly at me.

“Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?”

“Because they know me well.” Her lip curls in a wry smile.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Aya’s list.

“I’m a very private person, Himekaidou-san. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews,” she trails off.

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the Mountain, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Shameimaru-san off my back. She badgered and badgered my people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.”

I know how tenacious Aya can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under her penetrating gaze, when I should be writing an essay.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Himekaidou-san, and there are too many people on Gensokyo who don’t have enough to eat.”

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?”

She shrugs, very non-committal.

“It’s shrewd business,” she murmurs, though I think she’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense – feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by her attitude.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle: ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of her own mind may take possession of anything else to which she is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

“I am.” She smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch her eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Aya has enough material now? I glance at the next question.

“You mother was the half-sister of your father. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” Oh, this is personal. I stare at her, hoping she’s not offended. Her brow furrows.

“I have no way of knowing.”

My interest is piqued.

“How old were you when you were appointed regent?”

“That’s a matter of public record, Himekaidou-san.” Her tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap. Yes of course – if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly.

“You’ve had to sacrifice your human life for your work.”

“That’s not a question.” She’s terse.

“Sorry.” I squirm, and she’s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice your human life for your work?”

“I had a human life. I had three brothers and three sisters and two parents. I had a family of my own, and then I died. I’m not interested in extending my human life beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Your Highness?”

She inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn’t I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell her I’m just reading the questions? Damn Aya and her curiosity!

“No Hatate, I’m not.” She raises her eyebrows, a cool gleam in her eyes. She does not look pleased.

“I apologize. It’s um… written here.” It’s the first time she’s said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

She cocks her head to one side.

“These aren’t your own questions?”

The blood drains from my head. Oh no.

“Err… no. Aya – Shameimaru-san – she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?” Oh crap. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame.

“No. She’s my roommate.”

She rubs her chin in quiet deliberation, her gray eyes appraising me.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” she asks, her voice deadly quiet.

Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? Her eyes burn into me, and I’m compelled to answer with the truth.

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Taoist Number Two enters.

“Her Highness, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Seiga. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Seiga hesitates, gaping at her. She’s appears lost. She turns her head slowly to face her and raises her eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh good. It’s not just me.

“Very well, Your Highness,” she mutters, then exits. She frowns, and turns her attention back to me.

“Where were we, Himekaidou-san?”

Oh, we’re back to ‘Himekaidou-san’ now.

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” Her gray eyes are alight with curiosity. Double crap. Where’s she going with this? She places her elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples her fingers in front of her mouth. Her mouth is very… distracting. I swallow.

“There’s not much to know,” I say, flushing again.

“What are your plans for the new year?”

I shrug, thrown by her interest. I haven’t really thought beyond the next couple of weeks.

“I haven’t made any plans, Your Highness. I just need to get through the month's assignment.” Which I should be doing now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze.

“We run an excellent internship program here,” she says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is she offering me a job?

“Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” I murmur, completely confounded. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.” Oh no. I’m musing out loud again.

“Why do you say that?” She cocks her head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m not blonde.

“Not to me,” she murmurs. Her gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from her scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. What’s going on? I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

“Would you like me to show you around?” she asks.

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Your Highness, and I do have a long flight.”

“You’re flying back to the top of Youkai Mountain?” She sounds surprised, anxious even. She glances out of the window. It’s begun to rain. “Well, you’d better fly carefully.” Her tone is stern, authoritative. Why should she care? “Did you get everything you need?” she adds.

“Yes Your Highness,” I reply, packing the camera into my satchel. Her eyes narrow, speculatively.

“Thank you for the interview, Your Highness.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” she says, polite as ever.

As I rise, she stands and holds out her hand.

“Until we meet again, Himekaidou-san.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake her hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

“Your Highness.” I nod at her. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, she opens it wide.

“Just ensuring you make it through the door, Himekaidou-san.” She gives me a small smile. Obviously, she’s referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into her office. I flush.

“That’s very considerate, Your Highness,” I snap, and her smile widens. I’m glad you find me entertaining, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I’m surprised when she follows me out. Seiga and Yoshika both look up, equally surprised.

“Did you have a coat?” The Crown Prince asks.

“Yes.” Yoshika leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Toyosatomimi-no-Miko takes from her before she can hand it to me. She holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on. Her Highness places her hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If she notices my reaction, she gives nothing away. Her long index finger presses the button summoning the stairway, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on her. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at her, she’s leaning against the doorway beside the stairway with one hand on the wall. She really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. Her burning gray eyes gaze at me.

“Hatate,” she says as a farewell.