Chapter 0.2

Reiko lived just west of Sapporo City’s center, in a residential district in Nishi-ku. Her building was an old mid-rise surrounded by more modern, luxury complexes, but despite its venerable age, her unit on the 12th floor was endowed with a rather favorable view of the Toyohira river and Sapporo’s mountainous flank.

Not too shabby for an underpaid public servant.

The prefectural headquarters for the Public Safety Commission was located in Sapporo’s central ward. It was a mellow, glass steel structure standing 18 stories tall and wedged between the autumn brick historic offices of the prefecture and Hokkaido University’s rich botanical gardens.

The last stretch of Reiko’s autumnal commute involved crossing the length of the garden. Here, the echoes of winter’s arrival were visible, from Reiko’s foggy breath to the waning stature of every tree. Maples lay torn between flame and ash, while ginkgoes stood resplendent in muted gold. The boardwalk stretched ahead, riddled with ochre. Only the greenhouses, laying in the distant periphery, stored what remained of the garden’s verdant hue.

And yet, Reiko herself felt not a single cold trace penetrate her skin. She tried to reason to herself that her cold shower had bestowed some kind of superficial protection.

But Reiko ultimately shook her head. She knew better than to trust such inebriating superstitions.

“You’re not cold, Mrs. Hasegawa?”

Reiko tightened her back and looked to her right. A young man wearing a police officer’s uniform waved at her with one hand, the other hand busy steering his bicycle. He offered her a cheerful grin behind his angular glasses.

“Mr. Sakurai,” she greeted. “Good morning.”

“I’m going to have to start wearing my winter jacket soon,” Sakurai groaned. “I’m so jealous, Mrs. Hasegawa. You not having to wear a coat means you don’t have to wear an extra two and a half kilograms on your commute every winter.”

“You ride a bike, Mr. Sakurai.”

“It’s more tiring than it loo–whoa!” Sakurai steadied himself with both hands. “See what I mean?”

Reiko chuckled.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Sakurai.”

“By the way, did you see the news this morning?”

“The news?” Reiko shook her head. “No. I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Everyone’s going to talk about it today, so you might as well hear it now,” Sakurai said. “The Egregore. They’ve chosen Sapporo for this year’s tea party.”

“My!” Reiko gasped. “The Egregore! Isn’t that a tremendous honor for Sapporo?”

“More like a tremendous hassle. Ah, just thinking about it makes me really tired,” Sakurai lifted a hand to rub his temples. “It’s going to be overtime after overtime until the witches are all gone. There’ll be no time for my wedding. You better be prepared too, Mrs. Hasegawa. Mr. Shinomiya’s bound to keep you busy.”

“You’re getting married, Mr. Sakurai? I don’t believe you,” Reiko pouted.

“Ah? Jealous?” Sakurai cackled.

Officer Sakurai matched Reiko’s sauntering pace until they reached the crosswalk. Reiko didn’t mind the company, and Sakurai said very little after their brief greetings. Sakurai possessed minimal presence, after all.

“What’s he up to, by the way?” the officer finally asked. “Mr. Shinomiya, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re his secretary, aren’t you?” Sakurai shrugged. “What’s he been up to? I’ve been hearing rumors. I’m worried for you, Mrs. Hasegawa.”

“Rumors?”

“I’ve been overhearing things at the office,” Sakurai muttered. “They say Mr. Shinomiya’s getting fired soon.”

“No!” Reiko gasped for the second time. “Why?”

“Not delivering results, I hear,” Sakurai shrugged. “I’ve also heard he’s been butting heads with Mr. Arataki from the Public Safety Commission’s office for months now. Not to mention, all this Egregore business, now. You might need to look for a new job soon, Mrs. Hasegawa.”

“What should I do, Mr. Sakurai?” Reiko pleaded.

“Consider working in our office,” Sakurai beamed. “The prefectural police won’t pay as well, but it’s easy clerical work, and you won’t have to worry about getting worked to the bone by Mr. Shinomiya.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Reiko nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sakurai.”

“Of course,” Sakurai smiled. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hasegawa. We’ll take good care of you. A beautiful woman like yourself ought to work shorter hours and spend the rest of her time finding a good man to marry! I’ll see you around, Mrs. Hasegawa.”

With that, the officer waved one last time and took off. Reiko shook off her smile and loosened her posture.

“Getting married, huh?” Reiko mused. “Right.”

Sakurai joined a myriad of other blue uniforms and suited clerical staff nursing manilla folders and convenience store coffee as they strolled into the prefecture headquarters. Like Sakurai, almost everyone who recognized Reiko saw her as one of dozens of office secretaries working for rank and file government officials.

This explained why nobody questioned when Reiko entered the elevator and did not press any of the floor buttons. One by one, administrative clerks, detectives, janitors, and technical staff left until Reiko stood alone in the lift. She then pressed her index finger to a console below the operating panel.

“Reiko Nakamura,” she declared. “Personal code, zero-zero-three. Department of Magical Crimes. Section Eight.”

“Identity confirmed,” came a lucid female voice. “Good morning, Reiko.”

The lights inside the elevator car converted to a luminescent indigo. There was a rumble, followed by a feeling of mild vertigo, then a sudden plummet. The elevator car reversed course and descended below the lobby, where it only began to slow after a full minute of descent.

When the elevator doors opened, Reiko arrived in a place that one would likely not find in any office building in all Sapporo.

In many ways, it resembled her old family study in Kamakura, a quiet, sprawling library of tomes, rolling ladders, wooden instruments, stained glass, and artifacts illuminated by lamps, though it lacked her native home’s ocean breeze mixed with the scent of tatami.

Unlike her home, there was also, at the center of the room, a stainless steel desk flanked by a grandfather clock, a pair of computers, thick wires running over wide open books, and an old man sitting at the center of it all, his crinkled eyes squinting at three loose pieces of paper curled in his right hand.

Without looking up, Kazuo Shinomiya waved for Reiko to approach with his left hand. He held out the papers towards her.

“I’ve looked over the dossiers,” Kazuo said. “These three look the most promising, I think.”

Reiko lifted the profiles out of Kazuo’s hand.

“Sakurai from upstairs thinks you’re getting fired soon, chief,” she said.

“Perhaps that’s not too far from the truth,” the old man replied.

“Oh?” Reiko raised an eyebrow.

Kazuo’s thin fingers pinched the bridge of his bumpy nose.

“I just got off another phone call with Arataki and the other officials at the Public Safety Commission,” he murmured. “Section Eight’s been handed full responsibility for the security of the Egregore’s tea party.”

“Did you tell them that it’s just you and me in Section Eight?”

“With any luck,” Kazuo pointed at the papers in Reiko’s hands. “It’ll soon be five.”

“Surely, they don’t expect us to handle everything on our own?”

“What I was told,” Kazuo shrugged, “is that the prime minister’s Cabinet is in complete disarray. Nobody expected the Egregore to make Japan their tea party visit this year.”

“Right. Reykjavík,” Reiko rolled her eyes. “We were informed at the same time as everyone else, you know, not to mention we aren’t a security division. We investigate magical crimes, Kazuo.”

“I’m afraid it’s not so simple this time,” Kazuo sighed. “The tea parties of the Egregore are a spectacle for everyday people, but there is no government on Earth who doesn’t see this as an opportunity to curry favors with the most powerful beings on the planet.”

“So while the prime minister and the Diet sucks up to the witches, we get stuck with guard duty.”

“And we take the fall if anything goes wrong, yes,” Kazuo nodded. “Anyway, have you taken a look at the dossiers?”

“I’m still trying to decide if I should listen to Mr. Sakurai and pen a transfer to a different department,” Reiko scanned the first profile and paused. She turned the paper back towards Kazuo. “This is all verified?”

“It’s an encrypted transcript from their research academy,” Kazuo said. “It’s impossible to forge. And speaking of Mr. Sakurai, where are we on the case?”

“Closer than before,” Reiko muttered, “but if we only have a week left, I could use some help staking out the place. You said there were two dozen applicants here?”

“Only those three stood out, unfortunately,” Kazuo replied. “I compromised with Arataki and agreed to try out everyone. They wanted feedback if any of the others would be a fit for their own divisions.”

“Wait. When you said that you agreed to try out everyone…”

“You’ll be trying them out, of course,” Kazuo grinned.

As it turned out, everywhere in government, even in Section Eight, the little known department of magical crimes, tossed into the depths of obscurity so that it could bother no one, one could witness the endless cycle of passing over menial responsibilities onto the next person, the next sucker.

Today, that sucker’s name was Reiko Nakamura.

“Sure,” Reiko muttered. “Whatever. Fuck.”