The Amberglow Candy Store

by Hiyoko Kurisu

Genres: Fantasy; Contemporary Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology; General Fiction; Mystery; Cozy Mystery; Animal Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

In this charming, fable-like book from Japan, a fox spirit sells magical confections to troubled humans, only for them to get a little more than they bargained for...

Welcome. We don't get many humans here.

In a cozy night-alley lies a very special store. It's only open between the full moon and the new moon, and it's full of wagashi, Japanese sweets. Each candy claims to cure some ailment of the heart or the head. But who is the mysterious proprietor, and why does he study his customers so closely?

From the girl who craves more time with her boyfriend to the friends with some buried resentments, each customer learns a valuable lesson from these sugary treats. The candies can give you what you most desire, but not always in the way you expect...

Back to the shop owner—did that shadow just make it look like he has a pair of ears? Surely, not a tail? If he is a half-fox spirit, so be it. But why is he so keen to study human emotions, and why does he say each candy has a "dosage"? Patience. Like the center of a gooey caramel, the best things take time to reveal themselves.

Release date: November 11, 2025

Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons

Print pages: 208

Sample

Chapter 1

Craving-More Konpeito

I missed my boyfriend.

He hardly ever texted or called me anymore. I knew it wasn't his fault he had so little time for me. He was busy studying for his college entrance exams. But I was still lonely.

When he'd told me he wouldn't have much free time before the big exams, I'd dutifully assured him it was all right, playing the perfectly understanding girlfriend-but I hadn't realized there would be practice exams every single month.

"At least you have a boyfriend," my friends would tell me. "You should count your blessings." They didn't understand at all.

My boyfriend was one year ahead of me in school. I'd had a crush on him since junior high, where he was president of the student council. He was so cool and so smart, but always friendly and kind to those around him. I was smitten.

I studied myself half to death to get into the same high school as him, but for most of my first year there, all I could do was admire him from afar. When I finally worked up the courage to ask him out, he said yes. Me, a completely average person, not especially beautiful or brainy, dating someone as perfect as him! It was like a miracle.

But the honeymoon only lasted until spring break. Once he started his third year of high school, he had to buckle down and study for college entrance exams.

Weekend dates were a thing of the past. We didn't even walk to and from school together anymore, because he was always either at cram school or in the study rooms revising.

We were still an item, of course, which should have been better than pining for him from afar. But the truth is, I was more anxious than ever.

I didn't want him to get sick of my selfishness. I didn't want him to decide I was too much of a hassle and break up with me.

But I did want to see him. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted him to show more affection.

Was I asking too much? Should I just grin and bear it until his exams were over? But it was only May. Ten more months of this would be torture.

Plus, when he started college, the distance between us would only widen. What if he met another girl in a school club or part-time job, and lost interest in me? What if I spent a whole year waiting patiently, and then we just drifted apart? The thought was unbearable.

But what could I do about it? It wasn't like I could magically redirect his attention my way.

So I did the next best thing: one day after school, I went to pray at the shrine.

It was old and weathered, hidden among the trees on a small hill at the edge of town. I had gone there to pray for luck before my high-school entrance exams and before asking my boyfriend out, and things had worked out for me both of those times, so now I went whenever I had something important coming up. Only in secret, though-I didn't want people to think I was weird for asking the kami for help all the time.

Fortunately, once you climbed the stone staircase up the hill and stepped into the tree-lined shrine precinct, no one outside could tell you were there.

I tossed my coins into the box, rang the rusty bell, and put my hands together to pray.

May my boyfriend and I stay together forever. May our relationship get closer and stronger.

But even as I prayed, dark thoughts were rising within me.

What if my boyfriend was only with me now because he couldn't be bothered to dump me? What if he'd only agreed to be my boyfriend in the first place on a whim?

What proof did I have that he even truly liked me?

Hot tears stung my eyes.

I knew I was overthinking it. I was on my way to becoming one of those annoying, clingy girls the magazines say boys hate. But he was the first boyfriend I'd ever had. How was I supposed to get everything right when I had no experience to draw on?

It was during this crisis of confidence that I noticed an unusual fragrance in the breeze. I couldn't quite place it, but it was strangely appealing, like a fond memory. I glanced toward the rear of the shrine precinct, where the breeze was coming from, and my eyes widened in surprise.

Beyond the wooden shrine itself, among the row of trees surrounding the precinct, there was a gap. A passageway into the forest.

Had a shrine priest done some pruning? But why only there?

I was sure the fragrance was coming from the opening. It was a mysterious smell, like incense, or old timber.

Gripping my schoolbag tightly, I walked around the shrine toward the opening. Once I got close enough, I saw something even more surprising beyond it: a long, unpaved road lined with retro-looking stores. The stores were all made of wood and hung with round paper lanterns in red and white, like the kind you see at festivals. The setting sun lent the whole scene a warm orange tone.

"But . . . why?" I murmured to myself.

Had this shopping street always been back here? Why did it end at the shrine instead of the main road? It was as if the shrine itself was the gateway.

Something seemed off about the street, but it was also oddly familiar, like the kind of streetscape you see in old films. In the end my curiosity won out, and I walked through the opening.

The surface under my well-worn loafers wasn't asphalt, but more like compressed sand, with pebbles here and there. Did it even count as a "street"?

The buildings were old and run-down, and none of the stores were open. Some had signs in their windows reading Closed. Others had been slammed shut as soon as I stepped through the gap in the trees. That was a little rude, to be honest.

It was impossible to tell from the outside what most of the stores actually sold. And some of the signs were written in eerie characters I didn't recognize at all. There were no streetlights, and the dangling paper lanterns had a strange unreality about them that gave me goosebumps.

Still, I kept walking. I couldn't even tell you why. Maybe all that brooding over my troubles had left me in a reckless, self-destructive mood. What's odd is that I was normally the first to chicken out of things like this. I couldn't even go inside the makeshift haunted houses some classes ran at the school festival. If my boyfriend had been with me, I probably would have clung to his arm and begged to turn back.

The street ended at a T-junction, and that was where I finally found a store that looked open, with light spilling from inside. It was the very last building on the street, and made of rich, caramel-brown timber, as old as its neighbors but kept in much better shape. The carved wooden door had a window set in it, and beside it was a pink paper lantern held up on a tall stand.

The handwritten sign read Amberglow Candy Store.

Amberglow?

The days of operation were strange, too: "Closed when the moon is new or full."

Still, if it was just a candy store, I probably wouldn't get pressured into buying something I couldn't afford. And I was in the mood for something sweet.

I pushed at the door. It opened with a creak, revealing the store's gloomy interior.

A lantern hanging from the ceiling illuminated a haphazard collection of waist-high tables on which the store's wares were arranged. The stock was a strange mixture of timeless, traditional Japanese sweets like daifuku and manju and modern-but-retro confections like konpeito, Kintaro candy and caramels.

"Welcome," a voice said, making me jump. "We don't get many humans here."

I peered into the gloom and saw a man dressed in a kimono and hakama trousers standing at the back of the store. He was, in a word, hot. He had a pale complexion, with blond hair a little too long to be called short, and narrow golden eyes. I got the impression he wasn't from around here. His age was hard to guess, too-maybe mid-twenties?

And, just for a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of some two fox-like ears with pale brown fur on top of his head. Probably a trick of the light . . .

"Hello," I said cautiously. "What do you mean, you don't get many humans here?"

The corners of his mouth turned up in an insincere smile, making him look less like a real person than a skillfully painted doll.

"Gloaming Lane is located in the gap between your world and the otherworld. The only beings who come here are spirits, specters, and humans in a precarious and unstable state. Like you, if I may."

I was a little alarmed by this spiel at first, but then I realized what was happening.

This was some kind of concept store. This otherworld stuff was the backstory, and he was playing a character, like an employee at a theme park.

I knew that high-concept cafés and restaurants were popular these days. But it was hard to imagine this place getting much traction hidden away behind a shrine.

"My apologies," the man continued. His voice was high for a man's, with a cool edge to it. "I failed to introduce myself. I am Kogetsu, the owner of this establishment." He offered a polite half-bow.

"Right," I said slowly. "So . . . you're a fox or something?"

I figured those fox ears I'd glimpsed earlier had to be some kind of cosplay prop. Maybe I was his first customer in ages, and he was pulling out all the stops for me. It felt cruel not to at least acknowledge his efforts.

"Very perceptive," Kogetsu said. "But only half correct."

"How so?"

Kogetsu just smiled. But since I had him talking about the store's concept, I decided to try asking about the days of operation, too.

"Why are you closed on the new and full moon?" I asked.

"I dislike them," he said. "I am a creature of the in-between. When the strength of the moon's influence is at either extreme, I find it difficult to bear."

He sounded almost bitter. Maybe it was something to do with his "half-fox" backstory? But I also didn't see any other employees around. Was he running this place alone, with only two days off a month? I'd find that difficult to bear, too.

I started to browse through the wares on offer. What a waste, I thought, for such a good-looking guy to run a store that had no chance of going viral.

"Precarity, instability-it usually has a cause," Kogetsu said. "Something must be weighing heavily on your mind."

I almost dropped the little container of konpeito I'd picked up. "How did you know?" I stammered, looking into his golden eyes. His eyelashes were gold, too, and long enough to rest matchsticks on.

"Experience, perhaps," Kogetsu said with a smirk. "And intuition. Do those konpeito interest you?"

He gestured at the container I had fumbled. It was round and translucent, with a color gradient from pale purple to blue. The effect reminded me of a hydrangea. But that wasn't what had caught my eye.

"Their name does," I admitted.

I'd noticed something unusual about the store's wares: all of their names went beyond simple description-Mame Daifuku, Dorayaki, whatever-to include an extra twist.

The container I was holding, for example, was Craving-More Konpeito. After all my worrying about whether I was asking too much of my boyfriend, I'd reached for them almost automatically.

Kogetsu put a finger to his lips, as if about to tell a secret, but what he said next sounded more like something from a fairy tale.

"Eat one of those konpeito, and a minor joy will come your way. However, you must not eat more than one per day."

That explained the name, at least. "One konpeito per day?" I said dubiously. "That sounds difficult." Konpeito were so tiny that it was hard to stop at a handful, let alone one.

"Perhaps so," Kogetsu said. "But we take no responsibility for any consequences of overindulgence."

I felt my heart skip a beat. His cool expression began to look threatening. What kind of "consequences" were we talking about here?

Kogetsu was such a good actor that for a moment I felt genuine fear. But I didn't want him to know that, so I pushed the container into his hands and said I'd take it. The price tag said it cost just 300 yen, and the individual konpeito inside looked big and tasty, so it seemed like a reasonable purchase.

Kogetsu rang up my purchase an antique cash register and put my konpeito in a sepia-colored paper bag for me. "Thank you very much," he said. "And please be sure to follow the guidelines for usage . . . and dosage."


Safely back home and lying on my bed, I gazed at the konpeito on my desk across the bedroom. What a weird experience. But I had to admit, Kogetsu was perceptive. Maybe he had a side hustle as a fortune teller? That would jibe with the mysterious atmosphere of his store, and his dramatic manner.

"I should just try one," I said aloud, rising from the bed. I'd already had dinner. And I hadn't brushed my teeth yet. So why not?

I shook a few konpeito out into my hand-but then remembered Kogetsu's warning and put all but one back.

I wasn't scared. I just wanted to play along with the story.

At least that's what I told myself.

I popped the konpeito into my mouth, which immediately filled with the powerful sweetness of pure sugar. There was a hint of peppermint, too, just enough to keep the taste from becoming cloying. It was delicious. And I was supposed to stick to just one per day?

Still . . .

I was too old to believe in jinxes and charms, but if these konpeito really could bring me a "minor joy" of some kind, 300 yen was a bargain.

There was still some time before I had to sleep, so I decided to prepare for tomorrow's classes. But no sooner had I sat down than my phone trilled from my pillow where I'd left it.

Recognizing the sound as a call instead of a text, I was across the room in one leap. The display showed my boyfriend's name.

I tapped the button to accept the call, and stuttered out, "H-hello?" I was so nervous that my voice briefly went falsetto. We hadn't talked on the phone in ages.