Missy Foxglove

Tsuneishi Toshiro, head of the most powerful crime family in Japan, tugged at his collar and sweated. Despite protests from other _Yakuza_ families, he had made extensive connections with various criminal organizations around the world. The Russian mob, the Black Hand of Sicily, South American cartels -- he had extended promises, made deals, laundered money, and accepted merchandise. The other families had been coming around, and had grudgingly accepted his leadership, when things had begun to go wrong. Embarrassingly wrong.

Vasily Andreovitch Cherenkov, a sweaty white walrus of a man, leaned across the mahogany table and fixed Tsuneishi with a glassy eye. The representatives from the other mobs were clearly enjoying Tsuneishi's discomfort. Like wild dogs, Tsuneishi thought, ready to eat whichever one falls.

"I'm sorry, Cherenkov-san," said Tsuneishi, using the honorific out of pure habit. "I assure you that you will receive the money you are owed very soon. We have had... difficulties. They will soon be overcome. I can only ask you to be patient."

"What 'difficulties?'" growled the fat Russian. "You didn't lose all my money playing patty-chinky, did you, Toshi?"

Tsuneishi bowed his head to hide an angry flush. Much as he wanted to slice the fat man's head from his shoulders, he was no position to do anything but swallow the insult. Always the samurai are at the mercy of the moneylenders. "No, Cherenkov-san," he said. "We have had legitimate business difficulties which make it impossible to repay our debt to you. But we are currently taking steps to correct the situation, and I give you my personal assurance that you will be repaid in due time, with proper interest."

Cherenkov snorted. "I don't want your assurances, Toshi, and I'm tired of listening to your bullshit. I want my fucking money, and if you don't stop your bobbing and weaving and give me a straight answer, I will personally cut off your pisser and shove it down your throat. Am I clear on this? Now, what "situation" are you in?"

"Someone is... interfering... with our operation."

"Who?"

Tsuneishi hesitated. "Spit it out, Toshi," snapped Cherenkov.

"Mmmerjeggul," mumbled Tsuneishi.

"I can't hear you."

"Magic girls," said Tsuneishi, louder than he intended. "Pretty little magic girls with rainbow hair. They burn our money, destroy our warehouses, and turn our best crystal meth into pink sugar candy. With ribbons. And they giggle, and... and we can't stop them. Not with dogs, not with guards, not with guns. We... we don't know what to do."

Laughter swelled up and filled the room as Tsuneishi flushed again.

After the meeting, Tsuneishi met with his lieutenant, Sato, a slim man in his late thirties, who wore rimless glasses and a neutral expression. "Sato-kun," he said,"I want these syrupy little children out of my hair. I don't care how you do it, I want them gone. Wiped out. Eliminated. You can have whatever you need; I just don't want to see or hear of another one of them.

"That could be a difficult course of action." said Sato

"It's your fault that I'm in this situation, anyway. You were the one who told me to make that deal." Tsuneishi pushed his fingers through his thinning hair. He was terrified of looking weak, and knew that younger men were anxious to move up. It wasn't like the old days, where you picked an _oyabun_, or mentor, and stuck with him until he retired -- or died. Now, the young pups would bite the pack leader if he didn't move out of their way. "Give me a solution, Sato-kun. I won't just sit in this trap."

"I may have one, Tsuneishi-san. The girls are interfering, yes, but that's not where our true difficulty lies."

"They don't make yakuza movies anymore. They hate us now."

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry. Go on."

"Yes, sir. The problem is that we cannot respond effectively to their actions. We have no magical girls of our own.

Tsuneishi frowned. "So what are you saying?"

"Tsuneishi-san, we have a magic girl gap."

Sato stepped past the guards into the conference room and bowed deeply as the doors swung closed behind him. Tsuneishi eyed him crossly. Sato couldn't have arranged this in just a few days; he must have been hiding it for months. Keeping secrets. Thinks he's so smart. Just run things on his own, never mind me. Well, I won't let him. I'm not ready to be put out to pasture yet.

"Well, Sato-kun, what have you got for me?"

"Sato gestured to the guards, who swung the doors open again.

"Tsuneishi-san, please allow me to present the magical girl Missy Foxglove."

Tsuneishi watched critically as the girl entered. She was slender and pretty, maybe fourteen or so, just blossoming into young womanhood. She bowed deeply and straightened, hands folded, eyes cast down. Her long hair, bound back with a black velvet ribbon, marked her as a magical girl, being a deep bruised shade of purple. She wore the traditional Japanese schoolgirl costume, a modestly cut skirt and middy blouse, but black trimmed with the same deep orchid as her hair. She also wore purple pumps, about two inches at the heel and tied to her ankles with black ribbon. Young men will be killing themselves over her in a few years, thought Tsuneishi. He gestured to one of the guards, who stepped forward.

"When I give the word," he said, "I want you to kill this young girl."

The girl glanced up, shocked, then back down. Her eyes were set wide and colored the same dark shade as her hair. She remained silent, but Tsuneishi saw her turn slightly and roll an eye back towards the guard. He leaned forward.

"You'll have to kill this man before he can kill you," he said, "But I don't want you to move until I give him the word." The girl didn't answer, but raised herself on her toes so that the heels of her shoes no longer touched the ground. Her eye rolled toward the guard again. The guard, for his part, unfastened his sidearm and prepared to draw it.

Tsuneishi savored the moment. The girl rocked to the left and slowly slid the toe of her right foot back and to the side, while the guard crouched and twisted slightly. Sato, on the other hand, remained infuriatingly calm. Tsuneishi raised his hand and rapped the table sharply.

"Now!" he barked. The guard drew as the girl whirled, hands wide, fingers curled like claws. A faint violet streamer of glowing haze stretched between her hands and sent a tendril snaking forward, forking at the end. One tip brushed the guard's wrist while the other caressed his chest. The gun flew from nerveless fingers as the guard collapsed, gasping, face pale and coated with cold sweat. The tendril withdrew, and the girl turned to Tsuneishi questioningly. Tsuneishi nodded to her.

Still the girl hesitated, and he saw her flick a glance at Sato. "Finish him," snapped Tsuneishi.

The girl sent the streamer plunging into the guard's heart. The guard groaned and twitched and then lay still. His breathing faded as the haze withdrew, curled around the girl's hands, and vanished. She stepped back, turned, and bowed again, this time staying down, hiding her face.

"Thank you, Missy-chan," said Tsuneishi, "you may go now." The girl glanced back at the body as she was led from the room. Tsuneishi gestured for his lieutenant to come closer.

"She's quick," he said, "and very deadly. But can she take down another little magic girl?"

Sato hesitated. "I don't know, Tsuneishi-san. I believe she can, but she's never actually fought one. She did well in her training, as you saw."

"Won't the shoes be a problem? They're pretty, but they don't look practical."

"She's not wearing a costume. The shoes and the clothes appear to be part of who she is. They spontaneously modified themselves several times during her training, as did her powers. If you want her to wear sensible shoes, you should probably send her to a psychiatrist."

Tsuneishi nodded, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Modified themselves, hm? What about her? Is she reliable?"

Sato nodded. "Oh, yes, sir. Missy's a good girl. She's very loyal, and she always does as she's told."

Toguri Junior High School in Maebashi is a squat, ugly concrete building built just after World War II with the curious property of seeming dirty no matter how diligently it is scrubbed. The dusty film of neglect coating the building turns out, on closer inspection, to be the paint job, and the halls are paved with sad, yellowish tiles that may once have aspired to being off-white, but have sunk into dissolution and dinge as the years passed. Nonetheless, the building is indeed scrubbed, quite diligently, by an army of students pressganged into service every Friday. They are released from class an hour early and fan through the school building wielding buckets and brooms and mops and sponges. They sweep and scrape and wash and wipe, and though the building never rises above its state of dingy disrepair, it does manage to achieve a distinctly antiseptic form of dingy disrepair.

On one such Friday, the door to the boys' restroom in the lower south hall swung slowly open and a girl with short-cropped hair peered nervously in. "Cleaning time!" she sang, stifling a giggle. "Here I come, ready or not!" Receiving no reply, she thrust the door open and slipped into the room, lugging a yellow plastic pail containing sponges and disinfectant spray. The door swung back and thumped her companion, who was attempting to wheel a mop and bucket into the room by pushing on the mop handle.

"Oh, wow, we're in the boys' bathroom," the girl said in an excited whisper as her companion extricated herself from the doorway. "I betcha we're not s'posed to be here. I betcha it's a mistake, and there are boys cleaning up a girls' restroom somewhere." She dropped the pail and walked up to the row of urinals. "These are where the boys pee," she whispered theatrically. "I've heard about these things, but I've never seen one."

The other girl threw her a puzzled look. She didn't notice. "They stand here with their things out and-- Eeew!" She squealed and darted back to press herself against a sink. "I don't wanna touch 'em!"

Her companion, a slightly taller girl with long dark hair bound back with a black ribbon, shrugged resignedly and took a sponge and a disinfectant bottle from the pail. She wet the sponge and began cleaning the leftmost urinal, spraying with her right hand and wiping with her left. The short-haired girl watched in dismay.

"I didn't say I wouldn't help!" She hurriedly plucked out a sponge and bottle and set to work on the rightmost urinal. "There! Now that's twice the work, and we'll be done in half the time. You're new here, right? Where are you from? Do you have a boyfriend? You're really beautiful; I'll bet you had lots of boyfriends back where you come from. I have a boyfriend; his name's Yoshio. He's really cute. We watch Ekksu Firu together. Do you watch Ekksu Firu? That's a really scary show; I like to be scared. You sure don't talk much. Oh! I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Kosugi Chisa." She stood, gave a short bow, and beamed at the other girl.

The other girl stood as well, and bowed. "I'm Nakasone Michie," she said quietly. "I'm from Tokyo, and I -- I'm afraid I've forgotten all your other questions."

"Me too!" said Chisa. "You have a really pretty voice, too. Will you be my friend? I already have a friend, but if you'll be my friend too, then I'll have two friends. And then you can be my friend's friend, and you'll have two friends too. So will you be my friend, please? I'll be quiet so you can say yes."

"I guess so," said Michie, a little overwhelmed. She gave the urinal a final wipe, then flushed it. She watched her reflection on the porcelain shimmer as the water came down. "You're not -- you wouldn't happen to be a magic girl, would you?"

"Oh, I wish I were!" squealed Chisa. "They're so pretty, and they always fight for Love and Justice and stuff like that. Yoshio says I'm cute enough to be a magic girl, but he's my boyfriend, and he has to say stuff like that or I won't kiss him. Don't you wish you were a magic girl? I know I do."

"I used to. Sometimes." Michie moved to the next urinal and sprayed it with disinfectant.

"Will you still be my friend, Michie-chan?" Chisa asked anxiously. "Even if I'm not a magic girl?"

"Sure." Michie reached over and hugged Chisa, who giggled, dropping her sponge.

After school let out, Chisa introduced Michie to her friend, a rangy girl named Naoko. They walked along the street together as Chisa chattered. "She's really smart, and she goes to a cram school, so she can't come home with us. Say something smart, Naoko-chan."

Naoko rolled her eyes. "Mandibular."

"Isn't she great? She knows all kinds of words, and can write them, too. *You* don't go to a cram school, do you, Michie-chan?"

Michie shook her head. "That's great!" exclaimed Chisa. "You didn't look really smart, so I was hoping we could hang around while..."

"Chisa-chan!" gasped Naoko. "You've insulted her!"

"Oh!" cried Chisa. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean you were stupid! I just meant that since you're pretty and Naoko isn't..."

"Chisa-chan! You've insulted me!"

;"I'm sorry, Naoko-chan! Please don't be mad! You don't be mad either, Michie-chan! Oh, when will I learn to keep my big mouth shut?"

"When you're dead," snorted Naoko.

A shadow passed over Michie's face, and she turned to hide it. He died so quickly, she thought. And it was so easy, like turning off a faucet. I touched his heart, and he died. So... so intimate.

I can kill anyone that way. I can kill Chisa. A few seconds to transform, a few more to touch her, and she'll be quivering and dying on the ground. She swallowed and wiped at her mouth. I can kill her right now, and she'll never talk or laugh again. Never ever. And they'll never catch me, because I'll kill anyone who comes for me. I'll kill everyone in the world.

And then, she thought giddily, I'll be all alone. . . .

A hand clamped firmly over Michie's mouth and nose. "You're hyperventilating," Naoko said sharply. "Keep that up and you'll pass out."

"I'm sorry!" said Chisa, near tears. "I didn't mean to make you sick! Please say you forgive me! Oh pleasepleasepleaseplease...."

Michie pushed Naoko's hand away. "It wasn't your fault. I was just thinking about . . . about something bad."

Naoko raised her eyebrows, but Chisa was ecstatic. "You really mean it? It's okay? It's really okay? You'll still come home with me?"

Michie smiled at her reassuringly. "It's really okay, Chisa-chan. You're sure your mother won't mind?" Michie's mother would have raised three kinds of hell if Michie had ever shown up with an unannounced guest.

"Oh, sure!" said Chisa. "My mom's totally non-feudal. You'll see."

Naoko stopped. "I have to go, or I'll be late. You sure you're okay, Michie-chan?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Well, breathe normally, okay? If you pass out in front of Chisa, you'll probably scare her to death."

Michie winced. "I'll be careful. Thank you again."

Chisa tugged at Michie as Naoko walked off. "I told you she was smart. Come on, we'll be late for dinner."

Chisa and her family lived in a small brown house in the western style. As the two girls entered the house, Chisa kicked off her shoes and dashed into the kitchen, blithely announcing that her new friend would be staying for dinner, and did Mama have to make THAT again; after all, Michie was from Tokyo and used to the most marvelous food. Michie placed her shoes in a corner of the entryway and, after a moment thought, Chisa's as well. She walked over and peered into the kitchen.

Mrs. Kosugi was calmly measuring out more rice as her daughter bounced around her. Chisa dashed over, seized Michie's hand, and towed her over to her mother. Mrs. Kosugi greeted Michie while putting the rice on to boil. Michie bowed and apologized for imposing on the family. Mrs. Kosugi, in turn, apologized for her daughter's behavior, much to the indignation of said daughter. Chisa grabbed Michie by the hand and towed her back out of the kitchen. "Let's go to my room," she said.

Chisa's room was pink and cozy, full of stuffed animals and an actual four-poster bed. Michie perched on the soft down comforter as Chisa introduced her to the entire menagerie, one by one. There was Sazuko, and Hattori-san, and Usagi No Gisagu, and a huge panda named Chan-chan, and Mizuko the furry blue dolphin, and many more, giraffes and piglets and something Michie tentatively identified as a wombat but Chisa referred to only as "Toshi." Michie saw very few dolls, and those were rag dolls, not the kind of doll-baby she used to cuddle and bathe and nurse back to health in another life long ago.

Chisa finished her recital and plopped down beside Michie. "I got a lot of them," she said. "I wanted to be a veterinarian someday, but I guess I'll just be a wife. How many animals do you have, Michie-chan?"

"I don't have any." Her apartment had been furnished as if she were a woman in her twenties. "I don't have much in the way of toys."

"Oh, you can have mine!" She picked up a floppy dog, a round black piglet, and a kangaroo with the pouch torn off, frowned at each in turn, and discarded them. She cast about the room, then reluctantly picked up Chan-chan. Her hands shook a little as she held it out to Michie. "Here," she said. "He's the best one.

Somebody had been chewing on its ears. "I can't take your favorite toy," protested Michie.

"Please," said Chisa. She thrust it at Michie again.

Michie accepted the big panda as Chisa watched anxiously. She hugged it and smiled at Chisa to prove she liked the worn toy. Chisa smiled back. "He's really great when you're lonely, 'cause he's always there, and he won't laugh at you or anything. And if you're feeling bad and want a hug, he doesn't mind." She looked pensively at Chan-chan, then turned to show Michie her music collection.

When dinner was ready, Michie met Chisa's brother and father. Her brother was about a year older than Michie and made her uncomfortable. He made strange jokes and laughed too hard, and he kept watching her. Michie tried not to react when Chisa whispered that her father was a police inspector. Chisa's father seemed jovial, if a bit distracted, and Michie found herself imagining all the terrible things that must be on his mind.

Michie couldn't bring herself to eat naturally, so she held the bowl in her left hand like the rest of the family and tried not to be clumsy with the chopsticks. She felt very self-conscious and couldn't enjoy the food, especially with Chisa's brother staring at her. She concentrated on moving vegetables from platter to bowl to mouth.

The phone rang, and she dropped one in her lap. She shot a swift glare at Chisa's brother, who flushed and hid his face. Chisa's mother answered the phone, and announced that it was for Michie.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Hello." It was Sato. "I hope you are enjoying dinner with your new friend."

"Yes," said Michie. "Her father is a police inspector," she felt compelled to add.

"Is he now? That's a worthy profession. A package came for you in the mail today."

;The room grew cold. "I see."

"You should look at it when you get a chance."

"I will." Sato rung off.

"That was my guardian," Michie told Chisa. It was nearly true. "I have to go home soon."

"You don't have parents?"

"No," said Michie. "They . . . died. In a fire."

Chisa and her parents expressed condolences while her brother choked on a mushroom.