Heartless

by gkeeper91

When a beginning investigator is handed the daunting task of solving two unusual murders, he discovers that trailing a killer could lead to far more devastating consequences than death. After all, what could be worse than falling for the one person who may be the murderer you are hunting for? AU.

1. Part 1: The Case of the Heartless Boys

Heartless

by: gkeeper91

---

Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is not mine.

A/N: Damien was an original character who first appeared in my story 'Soul Hunters,' who, as the story progressed, developed something of a relationship with Saralegui.

Dedication: For kerii-tan, who gave me an excuse to write more about this pair, and who made the accompanying image used here as the book cover (Please see my profile for links to other images related to this story.)

Genre: AU, School Life, Fantasy, Mystery

Warnings: Slash. Gore. Dark Themes.

---

Part One: The Case of the Heartless Boys

~o0o~

In appearance and temperament, he was, quite simply, his mother's son.

He was stunning, for he had inherited that certain quality to his face that invariably drew people's attentions. He had eyes the exact color of sunlight, warm and radiant, with a strong coppery tint. For reasons that few could comprehend, he had taken the habit of wearing a pair of unframed, elliptical glasses, tinted with a lavender hue that sometimes gave his irises a bluish sheen.

His hair was of a similar shade as his eyes, and he normally wore it down, cascading into sun-drenched rivulets over his shoulders and down his back. His lips were almost always curved upward into a half-smile, but which, however, conveyed nothing of his thoughts. If he was happy or agitated or disappointed or mad, his face didn't show it. He was always smiling.

He was slightly-built, with a thin and willowy frame. He moved with the refinement of a monarch, but with the guarded grace of a predator in the midst a hunt. He did not have much physical strength, but what he lacked in power, he more than made up for in speed and agility. He was no athlete, but he could still beat the crap out of the other boys in his class in tennis.

He was often perceived as quiet but was actually the precise opposite of shy. Whenever he spoke, it was always with a tone of self-assurance that could easily be mistaken for conceit. Although he showed no outward signs of it, he was very ambitious and extremely cutthroat. He saw life as an endless competition, to which there was only losing and winning. There was no in-between. He hated losing.

By all measures of intelligence, he was deemed to be immensely gifted. He had a certain brand of shrewdness that translated very well within academic settings and in the outside world. At the tender age of fifteen, he had already started running the family business and had actually built quite a reputation for himself because of it. People in the know regarded him a genius.

He saw the world through a shroud of cynicism, and he was wont to distrust others from the very first sight. He was ruthless against his enemies but unusually attached to his subordinates. He did not have friends, and he saw no reason why he needed to. As far as anyone could tell, he had never been in love.

All things considered, one could say that he was heartless.

~o0o~

I. Meeting

~o0o~

It was the "Heartless Murders" that brought Damien Schwarz to Saint Rose, a journey that indubitably changed his life forever.

He hadn't been aiming for a life-altering event when he'd agreed to take the case. Far from it, the circumstances didn't even pique his curiosity. It was just that someone high up in the hierarchy decided that the case was right up his alley, and Damien didn't have the authority to refuse.

One frosty night in September, Damien accompanied his boss in a meeting with the client, in order to discuss the facts of the case as well as what needed to be done in terms of damage control. His superior – a well-dressed blond known to everyone by the simple moniker, Shinou – flashed him an ingratiating smile as soon as the client finished recounting the bizarre events that had taken place at Saint Rose.

Damien reviewed the facts inside his head. Saint Rose was a private boarding school located in an island somewhere off the coast of Scotland. It was there that two students had died, under circumstances that defied all logical explanations. Both bodies were found inside their rooms, atop their own beds, looking – as witnesses described – like they could only be sleeping. At first glance, the witnesses saw nothing peculiar about them, but at closer inspection, they discovered that the bodies were both hacked open at the chest and their hearts plucked out. The medical examiner noted the absence of blood or any physical trauma indicative of any form of struggle. The police had exhausted all leads. The locals blamed the forest nymph who would, according to legends, devour the heart of any mortal who would catch her fancy.

Simply put, there was absolutely nothing for them to build a case on.

The client was the school's elderly headmaster, who had flown all the way to the city to seek the help of what was considered as the best investigative agency in the country. Upon arrival, he had quickly gone through the details of the case, wringing his hands in distress and begging for an immediate and satisfactory resolution. It was a stain to the school's glorious reputation, the old man moaned. It was a disaster. And worst, it was only the beginning. The client had reason to believe that the murderer would strike again.

Bluntly put, it was a catastrophe that needed to be—

"—stopped!" the client finished the thought for him. "I implore you, sir!"

Damien found it rather awkward to be addressed so deferentially by someone who was nearly fifty years his senior, but then he realized that the man wasn't talking to him. The client's face was turned toward Shinou, giving no indication that he had even noticed Damien at all. Damien shrugged it off, already quite used to being overlooked.

Instead, Damien flipped through the folder on his hands, glancing over the contents. There were several photographs, a printed summary of events, and at the very end, a sharp reproduction of two small cardboard pieces the size of a regular calling card. Damien's gaze lingered on the last items.

The cards were apparently found at the scenes of the crime, near the bodies of the two victims. The first card, discovered at the bedside table of the first victim who was murdered three months ago, bore a simple inscription in bold letters that read, MATTHEW. The next card – taken from the window sill of the second victim who was killed just three weeks ago – bore a similar script, but a different word: MARK.

Matthew and Mark. Mark and Matthew.

"So what do you think?" Shinou asked, rousing Damien from his reverie. The client glanced at him for the first time.

"Those weren't their names," the old man offered, noticing Damien's preoccupation. "The—the victims' names weren't—oh—but you know, of course. You've read the file. Forgive me. It's just that this entire business is driving me—!"

"Belal and Ranjeel," Shinou said smoothly, forestalling the imminent gush of another litany, "The victims were not known by any other names, were they? No aliases?"

"None. They were just—"

"And no surnames either?"

"No. It is something of a cultural—"

Shinou interrupted once again, "They were related?"

The elderly man nodded wearily, pulling out a paper towel from the inside of his coat to wipe his sweaty forehead. "You might have heard of the Cimaron Group?"

"Of course," Shinou said. Then he beamed at Damien. "Have you, Damien?"

Damien nodded absently. Cimaron was a conglomeration of businesses that ran the gamut of all possible enterprise known to mankind – from money-lending to education, agriculture to flight services, information technology to the mass production of various goods. Established a hundred years ago by a migrant from parts unknown, the Cimaron group was now run by the founder's descendants – a myriad of families with varying amounts of shares in – and consequently, control of – the company. Its growth in recent years had spurred the company on to greater heights, capturing the eye of various investors all around the world. It had a good reputation overall – well except for the growing rumors of turmoil amongst the shareholders.

'Progress begets greed,' Damien concluded wryly.

Damien returned his attention to the cards, turning to the back portion, where a series of characters were printed in a small, legible handwriting. Unlike the ones in the front however, the words proved to be a little more straightforward:

THIS IS THE FIRST.

"Ah,"Shinou remarked, smiling in a self-satisfied manner, "A message. How quaint. Any guesses as to what was in the second card, Damien?"

"'This is the second'?" Damien deduced with an ironic gleam in his eye, turning to the next page and finding that he was right.

Shinou laughed, prompting the elderly man to heave a large sigh of frustration. "This isn't a laughing matter, gentlemen! It's obvious that there would be another murder!"

"That is a fair assumption," Shinou agreed. "After all, the cards did not say, 'This is the last'."

It was difficult to tell whether he was being serious, but then Damien knew that his superior rarely was. That wasn't to say, however, that his boss was incompetent or unconcerned. Quite the opposite, Shinou was the most efficient and observant person Damien had ever known. The man's only fault, as far as Damien could tell, was the incapability to appear formal and sympathetic when the situation called for it – like now, for instance.

Shinou's matter-of-fact approach seemed to be agitating the client, and even if he wasn't looking at the man, Damien could sense an outburst waiting to happen. Damien fought down a derisive snort, but the slight sneer on his face must have still betrayed his disdain, for the client glared at him in indignation. Damien hastily rearranged his features into one of somber contemplation but the damage was already done. The headmaster looked ready to explode.

To Damien's relief, Shinou interposed before the client could detonate into a fit of rage. "But I see where you are coming from. I understand perfectly. Although…why did you not come to us immediately after the first victim died?"

The client deflated. "It's—that's—well, we wanted to keep this under wraps—you know, just among the family, but—" The man stopped abruptly, biting his lower lip.

"The family?" Shinou prodded, but the man was unwilling to give voice to his thoughts.

"That's—forget I said that," he mumbled after a moment.

Shinou was unfazed, and with a shrewd glint in his eyes, he said offhandedly, "So how is Chairman Ranjeel Senior's health nowadays? I daresay he finds the accommodations at Hotel Le Magnifique well to his liking?"

One could almost hear the proverbial pin drop in the silence that followed. The client's eyes had grown impossibly large and his jaw had dropped open in astonishment. Damien observed the exchange with interest. Ranjeel Senior was the current chairman of the Cimaron Group.

"I believe he was the one who instructed you to give this matter your undivided attention?"

"How on earth did you…?"

"My dear fellow," said Shinou with an idle flick of his hand, "a simple search of the names Belal and Ranjeel from the archives of Cimaron newsletters would reveal that they belonged to a prominent branch of the family—"

The words jolted the client back to his prior state of nervous agitation. "Prominent!" the man howled. "You don't understand! Belal was the son of the second largest shareholder in the Cimaron Group! And Ranjeel – the first-born male of the Chairman's first wife! They were both being groomed to run the company when the Chairman retires!"

"—and since the victims were potential heirs to a business empire," continued Shinou, as though there had been no interruption, "then of course one could count on the involvement of someone influential in the pursuit of closure for these cases. And if," – he glanced slyly at the client – "the Chairman's own brother comes a-calling to secure our services…"

The client turned pale. "You know me?"

"I recognized your face from old company photographs," Shinou explained with a slight dip of the head. "It said in the papers that you used to handle an entire division of the Group's operations but that you retired to pursue a career in education."

The headmaster nodded and gestured vaguely to himself. "Saint Rose was established with my money. Mine and the Chairman's."

"So if the Chairman's own brother has come personally, then it could be safely assumed that he does so at the pleasure of the current head of the company – and his dedication to his job, of course." Shinou leaned back with a smug grin and carried on, "And if the said man arrives here catching his breath, his coat and boots wet from the drizzle outside, then he would have perhaps arrived here by foot from somewhere nearby, and not staying here as he had earlier claimed. Of the various hotels in the vicinity, there are three that are frequented by prominent personalities who wish to move about with absolute anonymity. Hotel Le Magnifique is one of them, and judging from the monogram on the paper towel that you used to wipe your brow…" He waved his hand to indicate that the rest was self-explanatory.

"Of course," murmured the client, daunted. "How careless of me. But how did you find out that the Chairman is here, too?"

"I did not," Shinou answered. "I suspected, and you have so kindly confirmed it for me." His lips curled into a smirk. "But enlighten me – why all this secrecy? Why did you not just lay the facts out into the open? And why were you not so forthcoming with your identity?"

"I apologize," the client muttered, regarding Shinou with something akin to awe. "I was instructed to give as minimal information as possible…well, you understand how sensitive this matter is to the family. And besides, the Chairman wants you to examine the situation from a fresh perspective, with as much partiality as possible. Now I'm assured that I have come to the right person."

"Of course," said Shinou, giving Damien another furtive smile. Damien fidgeted on his seat. He had an ominous feeling that his superior was up to no good, and that whatever mischief the man was up to would be at Damien's expense.

The headmaster leaned forward eagerly. "So what do you make of this matter? Do you think someone from the company…?"

"I have yet to make any conclusions," Shinou replied airily, "although judging from the fact that you came to us, I could only assume that you have already ruled out all the…human factors?"

The client looked thoroughly disconcerted. He seemed suddenly afraid, and he clasped his hands together to prevent himself from shaking. Finally, he replied in a hesitant and cautious tone, "We…we've tried to eliminate as much…er…factors…as we could. But in the end, there are…"

"—things that could not be sufficiently explained?" Shinou suggested.

The client nodded.

"So who stands to run the company now that the two other heirs had passed away?"

The headmaster shuddered visibly. "There is someone, but I—I don't know," he said after a moment, "I—I am not in the position to make baseless accusations, gentlemen."

Damien would have liked to roll his eyes at that blatant cover-up, but he didn't want to tick off the client any more than he already did. Shinou remarked, "I take it that this is the only human factor that you have not done away with?"

The client nodded again, helplessly this time.

"And in addition, you believe that there are non-human factors involved here?"

The headmaster gave no indication of concurrence or disagreement, but his reaction was enough to corroborate that Shinou had already touched upon the heart of the issue. Damien glanced at his superior with grudging admiration.

"You can understand—if you have only seen the bodies up close—it was obvious that no human could—that's why we agreed that the police would never—" The client broke off, wringing his hands once again. Then he declared, banging his fists on the table and leaning closer toward Shinou, "But that was why I came to you. You have come highly recommended sir, and I firmly believe in your capability to solve this case!"

An awkward silence ensued, in which the client continued staring at Shinou, while Shinou turned a Cheshire-cat face toward Damien, and Damien looked on with growing discomfort at the two men in front of him. His eyes widened when he realized what sort of trick was lurking behind Shinou's playful expression, but the sound of protest that escaped his lips was quickly overpowered by his boss's laughter. Now he understood why Shinou insisted on the two of them going together to this meeting. The client, on the other hand, seemed confused at their reactions, genuinely unaware of what was about to happen.

It was Shinou who spoke next. "You must pardon me for the late introduction, but this" – he waved a hand in Damien's direction – "is Damien Schwarz. He will be handling this case. I was merely here to observe."

"Him?" the client spouted in bewilderment, eyeing Damien with unflattering incredulity. "But—but I—I mean—there must be a mistake—"

"I have worked with Damien for the past two years," Shinou said. "I can assure you that he is more than capable for this job."

That was a lie. Damien was the youngest in the agency and also the least experienced. From what he'd heard and read of the matter at hand, as well as all the mention of human and non-human factors involved, Damien knew that this would be a highly complicated case – something that he couldn't possibly solve unassisted.

The client seemed to have reached the same conclusion. "But what about you?"

"I," said Shinou with a completely straight face, "am otherwise engaged."

"But surely," the headmaster protested, unwilling to give up, "you must agree that this is a very complicated matter for a…a child to undertake—?"

A child? Damien's eyes narrowed at the word. A child! That was uncalled for! Damien knew that his appearance didn't inspire much confidence from clients and colleagues alike, but all the same, couldn't the man be a little less vocal about his objection? It was embarrassing enough as it was!

"I'm eighteen," Damien said stiffly. "And I've had experience with these matters, sir."

"I'm not saying that—I mean—it's nothing personal—but—"

Damien could see the trap springing open to lure him in, but he couldn't stop himself regardless. His mouth opened to say the words that would ultimately catapult him past the point of no return.

"I can do this," Damien told the client. To Shinou, he said, "I will take the case then."

Shinou's mouth twisted with delight.

But the client wouldn't give up so easily. "Now see here—"

Shinou's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Damien will do," he cut in, this time, with a tone of finality. "And besides, his age would be perfect in this case. I dare say he would fit right in."

The man's eyes darted between Shinou and Damien with such speed that they resembled two ping pong balls being paddled back and forth at full power. "Wait," he said slowly, "…he would fit in where?"

Shinou grinned. "Saint Rose."

"You mean…" The headmaster choked on his words. "He's going to…?"

Shinou didn't bother to voice out the obvious, but the old man didn't seem willing to agree to what was being implied unless it was uttered aloud. When none gave any indication of broaching the topic, Damien cleared his throat and shattered the stalemate by asking, "So when am I supposed to enroll?"

No one answered. The headmaster's expression vacillated between disapproval and resignation. In the end, he nodded as if to acquiesce, but he still muttered doubtfully, "Are you sure this is necessary? Besides, Saint Rose is a highly private institution. Not everyone is allowed in—"

"And you will, of course, see to it that it would not be a problem," Shinou said.

"The investigation should be done with complete discretion. I couldn't be involved in this. The results would be reported straight to—"

"—the Chairman, am I correct?" finished Shinou, clapping his hands loudly. "That is settled then. Do you have any questions about the assignment, Damien?"

Damien stared at his superior and finally gave in to the impulse he had been repressing all night long. He rolled his eyes and made a disgusted face. The headmaster's misgivings heightened at this childish display, and he opened his mouth, perhaps to issue another objection. But Shinou flashed him a look, and the headmaster quickly wilted into a posture of compliance.

Shinou's grin was back, significantly broader than before. "Have fun, Damien."

Damien scowled. The client winced. Shinou's expression didn't change. And before the night was over, the illustrious Saint Rose Academy gained a new, albeit a very reluctant, student.

Needless to say, only one of the three people who met that September night to discuss the facts of the case was pleased with this decision.

~o0o~

II. Stranger

~o0o~

Damien arrived at Saint Rose three days after that meeting.

It was a few minutes shy of midnight when he drove his car up the snaking path leading to the school dormitory, attempting with little success to ignore the depressing scenery flashing by his window. He had half a mind to drop the case entirely and go back to the mainland, but the very idea of having more people dying because of his desertion was something that his conscience couldn't bear. He wished he could ignore it, but he knew that he would never be able to.

WHOOSH!

The wind was blowing harder the closer that Damien got to the dormitory. He grimaced, knowing at once that the weather would further aggravate his stay at this already hateful place. He loathed the gloom and doom vibe that the surroundings were giving him, and within a few minutes of driving, he had already sworn that he would never ever return to this place again.

Near the end of the path, Damien was forced to a stop, finding himself facing an unforeseen obstacle. A large wrought-iron gate rose before him, like a dark, gigantic sentinel blocking the way to the school. It was locked – at least Damien could see a snake-like loop of chains linking the two parts of the gateway together. It seemed that the administrators of Saint Rose were intent in keeping unwanted people out – or keeping their rich, spoiled wards in, Damien concluded privately.

Damien got out and surveyed his surroundings. He was freezing, and while pondering how to resolve this unfortunate situation, he was reduced to inspecting the dormitory from outside. He could already see the building from his vantage point – a soaring, inhospitable-looking structure that would be his home for the next week or so. Less, if Damien could manage it. He had zero desire to spend more than that period of time in an isolated island, with nothing but a bunch of spoiled high schoolers for company.

Damien understood that being shipped into a boarding school was not uncommon for some people up at the pinnacle of society. Filthy rich personalities often rely on institutions like Saint Rose to dump unwanted children and keep them out of trouble until adulthood, by which time they would be plucked and unceremoniously shoved right into the harsh arena of the business world.

Most of the students of the school, Damien was told, were scions and heirs of well-known players in the commercial world, from the son of the president of an airline carrier to the lovechild of the CEO of a large chain of hotels. Damien was given a similar social status in order to justify his presence at the school, but modest enough not to draw attention. Damien had memorized the details of his new background, putting a few touches here and there just for form's sake, hoping that he wouldn't have to resort to any of the more outlandish lies in the course of his investigation.

Damien shifted his attention to the wide expanse of land that encompassed the dormitory. It was a mountainous area composed of hills and winding paths, the landscape meandering into a sloping part at the southern portion, eventually ending into a thick forest. That was the only spot of green amidst a sea of blue, as the entire island whittled down to a triangular sort of shape, cut down rather abruptly on most of its sides by steep cliffs. Damien couldn't see a beach.

'Two murders in an isolated island,' Damien thought. 'Two locked room mysteries.' A tall order by anyone's standards.

He was about to turn away when a flash of yellow amongst the green of the trees caught his eye. Something – or someone – appeared to be moving, approaching his current location at a steady pace. Damien squinted hard, finding that it was…a…a…

What was that? Damien's first impression – although he later realized that it was foolish – was that he was seeing the forest nymph mentioned in the local legends. At least he thought he saw a blond head and two large purple discs of light glinting at him from the shadows. A second later, Damien quickly rearranged his assumptions to factor in the things he saw next as the figure came nearer.

It wasn't a nymph, not any form of spirit. It wasn't even a girl.

It was a guy.

Damien regarded the sight with a puckered brow. Wasn't there supposed to be a curfew here? It was a little too late to be out, wasn't it? He stepped forward, curious despite himself. The boy seemed like he was just out for a stroll – there was no sense of urgency in his movements, and he walked with a deliberateness that suggested that he was in no particular hurry to get home, wherever his home was. The figure came closer, and as he did, Damien was finally able to see his face.

Try as he might, Damien couldn't forget that face for two different reasons. One, it was simply the strangest face he had ever seen in his life, that he was inclined to believe for a moment that the vision before him wasn't human. There was just something so unearthly about the way the boy's eyes shone in the darkness, and how his long blond hair flew in disarray around his face, making it seem so…so…feral. So…untamed. Then the figure took another step forward, and Damien realized that the boy was wearing glasses.

Damien was too caught up at the absurdity of his own imagination that he didn't immediately notice that something was amiss—

—which was the second reason. Damien blinked, and the sight before him transformed into something extraordinarily bizarre. The face he had been admiring was suddenly not unblemished, and before Damien's gaze, a smear of blood slowly presented itself, curling into a vague pattern over the unknown boy's cheeks, inching down to a portion of his neck. Damien immediately assumed that the boy was hurt, and he nearly shouted to catch the latter's attention. The warning died on his lips when the boy drew nearer, exposing a sight that was quite unlike anything Damien had ever seen in his entire life.

At the boy's chest, at the spot where his heart should have been, there was instead a large, gaping hole. Damien froze.

The boy must have spotted him right then, for he came to a halt and matched Damien's wary gaze with one of his own. The eyes that peered at Damien from behind the tinted glasses were a warm shade of amber, but the expression contained within them was as icy as the night.

For a moment, they did nothing but stare at one another, sizing each other up. Then the boy smiled – the edges of his lips curled up in a sinister fashion – and he spoke. His voice was soft, cultured, and cold.

"Are you new here?"

In a flash, everything returned to normal. The boy now appeared as typical as anyone could be – blood-free and whole. Whatever it was Damien had seen a moment earlier was…a premonition? Or—?

"Does anyone know that you'd be arriving today?" the boy inquired politely. "Everyone's already asleep. It is a bit late, you know."

"And yet you are here," Damien remarked cautiously, crossing his arms.

The boy didn't seem to take too well at being chastised – and by a stranger at that – because something in his face changed. It was subtle, and Damien couldn't put his finger into it. The boy was still smiling amicably, but something felt…off.

The boy ignored Damien's comment, offering instead, "I know another way in. You could come if you want to."

Damien had a sudden mental image of a witch in a children's storybook, promising a young boy all manners of comfort, but in truth, leading the hapless child into a trap. The thought was ridiculous, of course. The boy before him was nothing like a witch, and he wasn't a naïve little child. And yet…

Damien hesitated. He couldn't identify it, but there was a quality to the boy's presence that Damien could only describe as…threatening. Which didn't make any sense, because the boy's appearance was the exact opposite of that word. Again, the possibility that the boy wasn't human crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed the notion.

"You're a student here?" Damien asked, not budging from his spot.

The boy laughed, but it was a hollow sound, bearing no trace of amusement. "Quite the distrustful one, aren't you?"

Damien glowered. "It is a bit late to be roaming the grounds."

"It is a bit late to be arriving for school," the boy parried, mimicking Damien's tone.

"I just transferred," Damien answered defensively, "and the ferry was delayed."

"I couldn't sleep," said the boy, "and I had nothing better to do."

Damien subsided into silence. The boy was still smiling, but there was nothing remotely reassuring about his expression. It was more like a practiced movement of facial muscles rather than a manifestation of any genuine emotion. It was so…cold. Damien shivered.

"My name is Saralegui."

"I…uh…" Damien cleared his throat, caught off-guard at the introduction. "I'm Damien…" He realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He cursed himself inwardly for his carelessness. Why on earth did he use his real name?

Saralegui cocked his head. His long hair swayed with the wind, like a thousand banners of silk that fluttered heavenward before descending gently back to his shoulders, framing his face and turning it bone-white in the moonlight. His eyes sparkled, and for the briefest moment, Damien thought he saw a red tinge at the boy's cheek. For the fraction of a second, Damien nearly convinced himself that he saw an empty hole at the boy's chest. But the wind howled and the moment passed quickly, and just like before, everything was back to the way it was.

"Are you coming?" Saralegui called out to him.

Damien watched the boy uncertainly, his sense of caution warring with his desire to take a rest. It was a chilly night and he was exhausted. He could no longer think straight. And besides, he hadn't intended to start his investigation the very moment that he arrived. Damien found himself nodding, making a rash decision to shelve his impressions of the other boy somewhere at the back of his mind, for examination at a later date. These things he had been seeing – whatever these were – would have to wait until dawn.

Saralegui beckoned to him with one hand, and Damien moved to follow him. The boy's lips were still frozen into a smile. Damien felt another chill run up his spine, unsure whether his unease was coming from the weather or from this boy. Saralegui. It was an odd name. It suited him.

'Strange,' Damien reflected. 'What a strange guy.'

"By the way," Saralegui said pleasantly, turning his head just so, "welcome to Saint Rose."

It was unexpected, and Damien supposed that it wasn't intentional, but when the boy turned to speak to him, Damien was momentarily…blinded. Like he was staring straight at the sun. Dear god, was there a less clichéd way to describe this feeling? He knew he had lost his train of thought for a moment, and he was aware that he had stopped walking, had even ceased breathing. And it was all because…because…

Damien shook his head, cheeks reddening with combined embarrassment and annoyance. Saralegui was already a few steps in front of him, seemingly unaware of Damien's discomfiture, or that he had been the cause of it.

Definitely strange, Damien decided. His final thought when he was finally able to compel his body to move was that he would have to keep a careful eye on this beautiful stranger.

~o0o~

III. Legend

~o0o~

"I have the pleasure to introduce a new student," the headmaster of Saint Rose intoned in a deep, somber voice, interrupting the students' free time at the study hall. "This is Mr. James Carmichael."

Damien listened to the old man's speech and fought hard to contain a wince. He knew it was tradition, that it was necessary, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking violent thoughts against the headmaster for the prolonged introduction. It wasn't even so much as an introduction as a description of Damien's alleged pedigree, making him feel like a newly-acquired show dog that was currently being paraded in front of a room of animal enthusiasts.

Finally escaping the clutches of the headmaster, Damien took the first empty seat he could find and settled by making small talk with the student who occupied it. Antoine – a cheerful-looking boy who turned out to be the heir of a large wine industry in the French regions – was friendly and surprisingly pleasant to talk to, and after a few minutes of idle conversation, he ended up offering to take Damien around with him. Damien accepted the assistance, mind churning out various methods and means to extract more information from his new acquaintance.

But as it turned out, he didn't even need to. Antoine was very forthcoming with details and stories about nearly everyone in the campus, and he did so without even so much as an encouragement from Damien. At the end of a mere fifteen minutes, Damien had already learned more about the murders that took place at the school, with much insight from Antoine about several possible motives and, consequently, suspects. Damien couldn't decide which of the things his companion had told him were merely rumors and which could be solid possibilities. The way that Antoine told it, half of the school population had very strong reasons to do away with both Belal and Ranjeel.

"A lot of companies shut down because of the families of those two," Antoine informed him. "The take-overs were brutal. They'd run over anyone who are less financially-able that they are, those bastards." Damien raised an eyebrow at this, and Antoine quickly backtracked. "Not that I condone what happened to those guys, but you know…I'm not really sorry that they're gone. And so are a lot of people here."

'Great,' Damien thought, 'So that makes half the school murder suspects.'

"Well maybe except for their fiancées," Antoine amended.

"Fiancées?" Interesting. So the victims were supposed to be married?

"They're no longer here," said Antoine. "The girls, I mean. They transferred out when the two died. To be fair, Belal and Ranjeel did have a good side. As far as I could tell, they really loved those girls. Spoiled them rotten."

"Were they involved in the investigation?" Damien asked.

"Of course. They were the prime suspects for some time, but they happened to have watertight alibis."

So the police had exhausted all leads, huh? Aloud, Damien asked, "Didn't you say that the bodies were found in their rooms?"

"Which were locked from the inside," stressed Antoine.

"So how do you think…?" Damien trailed off suggestively.

His companion quickly took the bait. "Well, there is something else…but you know, people just laugh it off. They think it's ridiculous…"

The boy eyed Damien cautiously, as though he feared Damien might also make fun of whatever it was he was going to say.

"I think any theory is worth a shot," Damien said earnestly.

Antoine seemed reassured, and he went on, "There is a legend around here, about the forest. Have you heard about it?"

The forest. Damien had seen the forest on his way to the dormitory last night. His brow creased slightly, a wisp of an idea popping out of nowhere. Something happened last night…right? What was it? He felt as though he had forgotten something important.

"James?"

Damien gave a start in delayed recognition. The fake name still sounded foreign to his ears. "Uh, not really," he muttered after a second. "But I think there's something about a nymph…or a spirit?"

"A goddess," Antoine corrected. "Well, it was supposed to be a goddess, the goddess of love. She was called Dian, and as old folks told it, she would often descend to earth to mingle among us mortals"

Damien nodded to show that he was listening.

His companion continued, "They say that she was beautiful, and that before long, she caught the eye of the king of a nearby kingdom. He asked her hand in marriage, oblivious to her being a goddess and all. But Dian fell for him too, and she decided to drop everything in order to be his bride."

"Drop everything?" Damien echoed.

"She was stripped of her immortality and was banished from the heavens," Antoine explained. "But well, she was happy. And that was enough for her. Then a horrible thing happened. Before her wedding day, a lady from the kingdom, who had hoped to marry the king herself, spread rumors that Dian was a witch. The king was appalled, and he had her arrested and executed—hey, are you listening?"

Unconsciously, Damien had placed his hand on his forehead, as though to physically stop the sharp, persistent feeling that he was missing something. Antoine looked offended and Damien quickly forced himself to smile. "No, go on. I just…I just felt that I have heard that story somewhere," he lied.

Antoine eyed Damien suspiciously, but he continued just the same, "So, following the king's orders, Dian was burned at the stake. But she didn't die – or to be more exact, she couldn't die. They say that she escaped into the nearby forest before she could fully be turned into ash. The soldiers didn't find her body."

Damien struggled to concentrate on Antoine's tale. The story was interesting, a tale that would have captured his imagination any given day. But a vague memory was eating at him, an unnamed, unreachable thing occupying his mind, driving everything else away. He had forgotten something. What was it—?

"You're not listening," Antoine chided, interrupting Damien's ruminations for a second time. The boy looked disgruntled; obviously, he had meant to enthrall Damien with his story and was disappointed that he didn't get the desired reaction.

Damien grimaced in a gesture of remorse. "It's just a headache. Don't mind me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Damien, clearing his throat. "So what happened to the girl in the story?"

Antoine continued with considerably less enthusiasm, "They kept searching for Dian's body but they never found it. Pretty soon, they just assumed that she was dead. But the locals claim that Dian didn't leave, that because she gave up her life in the heavens, her spirit was still bound to the earth. They say that she still haunts the forest, trapped between earth and heaven, unable to move on, keeping herself barely alive by eating people's hearts—"

A bell rang, a deep and hollow sound reverberating across the room, putting Antoine's tale to a timely end. The students all around them shifted, almost in unison, in response to the signal. Antoine jumped from his seat.

"It's time for the next class," he said, turning to Damien. "You're with me, aren't you?"

"I—wait—" Damien groped for the schedule the headmaster had given him—wait, when was it given to him again? He already had it in his pocket this morning, so it must have been before that. But it couldn't possibly be last night. There was no one there when he arrived. Come to think of it, why couldn't he recall how the headmaster reacted to his very late appearance? Did he even meet with the old man last night…?

"Hey, James!" Antoine waved a hand in front of his face. "It's pretty early to be spacing out, you know."

"Uh, sorry!" Damien stood up too, flustered, grabbing his things. "I have Biology next—"

"Perfect," said Antoine. "We're in the same class. Come on."

Damien followed the boy, unable to shake off the feeling that a very similar scenario had happened recently. Someone had offered to take him somewhere, and he had obeyed with much reluctance. But why couldn't he remember…?

"—going to be a great class," Antoine chattered beside him. "The teacher's good, although there are some unsavory rumors about him and another student. But that's beside the point. His classes are always interesting—"

Damien allowed his companion to prattle on, occasionally inserting the usual "okay", "is that right?" and other similarly vague rejoinders. It was only when he felt a fresh breeze against his face that Damien paid more attention to what his companion was saying, and where they were going. They were traipsing out into the grounds, toward a grassy slope just beyond the entrance.

As they passed the wrought-iron gate that had impeded Damien's arrival the night before, Damien stopped completely, staring at the massive metalwork with mounting bewilderment. He had been at this very place last night, but he had no recollection of entering the gate. It was as if he had arrived, and then the next thing he knew, he was already in bed.

Last night…what happened last night? He had arrived at school past midnight. He had gotten out of the car. He remembered being cold. He remembered staring at the dormitory. Then…his eyes had drifted to the forest. And he saw…he saw…

Damien strained to remember. What did he see? Why on earth was he encountering nothing but a blank? Why were his next memories those of waking up in his room, going down to the headmaster's office to process his transfer papers, and then walking with the old man down to the study hall? Why was he missing a large chunk of what took place the night before?

"James!"

Damien tensed. Antoine was already several meters in front of him, forcing Damien to quicken his pace to catch up.

"Geez," Antoine commented, "you sure space out a lot, don't you?"

Damien blamed his imaginary headache. Antoine accepted the excuse without much fuss, and together, they clambered down the path toward their destination.

"Uh, sorry but why are we out here again?" Damien inquired as they drew near.

"Listening isn't one of your strong suits, is it?"

"Sorry…"

"I already told you – Belias wanted us to make a thorough assessment of the flora and fauna found in the island," his companion explained. Then he added, noting the blank look on Damien's face, "Belias is the Biology professor. He's really good, although he's often out of school nowadays. I heard we're going to have a double period with one of the advanced classes."

"Advanced classes?" Damien repeated.

"Yeah. Those are the classes for the really, really nerdy types. They're all mostly okay – you know, all very agreeable chaps – as long as it's not the class with—"

Antoine came to a halt. The slope was already littered with nearly twenty students, all loitering about in pairs or more. Most were chatting loudly to one another, their collective voices muted somewhat by the loud whooshing of the wind.

"What's wrong?" Damien asked.

Antoine groaned, nodding toward someone situated a little far off from the crowd. "I should have known. It's his class."

Damien followed his companion's line of vision and what he saw made him stop and literally freeze with combined confusion and recognition.

What the hell was going on?

~o0o~

IV. Remembrance

~o0o~

There was a boy at the far end of the grassy area. He was seated alone under the shade of an old tree, leaning back against the trunk and staring off into the distance. He looked quite absorbed in whatever it was he was observing, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. Damien watched him with interest. He could see the boy's eyes from where he was standing, and Damien could tell that they weren't moving. The way his body was oriented, his location, his distance from the other students…it was all a ploy, Damien surmised. A sign to warn others to stay away.

The boy must have sensed that he was being watched, for he glanced up, meeting Damien's gaze. A pair of tinted glasses hid his eyes from view, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Damien guessed that that must be what those were for. He had the impression that there was nothing wrong with the boy's eyesight. The glasses were perhaps ornamental in nature, but it seemed to Damien as if they could also be there as a self-protective device – a screen to hide behind, to withdraw upon, as needed.

'Strange,' Damien thought, his mind unexpectedly and forcibly suffused with visions of that same face – exquisitely beautiful in one instant, then inexplicably blood-spattered in the next. And then there was that one other thing, another startling mental picture – a body divested of a heart. Damien felt dazed. He had seen this guy before! Last night!

Damien took a breath to steady himself, not breaking eye contact with the blond guy. 'You did this,' he accused mutely. 'What on earth did you do to me?'

As though mocking his confusion and indignation, the boy smiled. And as if the movement of the boy's lips was a trigger, the sounds and images came rushing to fill the gaps in Damien's memories. This boy was here last night. He had offered to take Damien inside the school grounds, and true to his word…he had. He did know another way in, a circuitous path that led them to a door in the cellar, up to a narrow passage that opened to the school's inner yard.

The boy had left him then, giving Damien directions to the headmaster's office. Damien had wanted to thank him, but somehow, the words wouldn't come out. At any rate, the boy didn't seem like he was expecting any gesture of gratitude. He had merely smiled again – that smile that didn't reach his eyes – and Damien had the strangest sensation of being…blinded. A feeling that he'd been staring straight at something intensely bright.

Then he remembered the boy's voice, his tone pleasant and casual, as he told him, "How clever of you to find a way in."

Damien was rightfully confused. "What are you talking about? You're the one—"

"No," the same voice interrupted gently. "You were alone. You didn't see anyone tonight."

"But—I—"

"You found a way in. Good job."

"But…"

But Damien didn't know what followed. All he remembered was a nothingness that felt like he was being lulled to sleep, and that was it. The boy must have left him standing in the middle of the unlit yard, and Damien had…he had…

"Hey."

Antoine nudged him on the ribs, jerking Damien back to the present. His companion was glaring at him with mild remonstration.

"Uh…w-what?" Damien stuttered.

"Don't even think about it," Antoine warned in an undertone.

"What?"

Antoine gave him a knowing look. "You think he's cute, don't you?"

Damien felt at a loss. "Who?"

"Saralegui."

"Sara…legui…" Damien repeated softly, letting the name roll slowly down his tongue. Yes, that was the blond's name. He had introduced himself. Saralegui. He added, speaking more to himself, "I was just wondering…what happened last night…"

Damien returned his gaze to the boy in question. This guy had compelled him into action – and without question, without a single grain of objection. His first impression had been correct. This guy – Saralegui – was no ordinary human, or maybe not really human at all. Damien gazed distrustfully at the boy, not missing all the implications that his encounter with the latter entailed. He couldn't possibly discount his visions as mere coincidence either, when the case that brought him to this place involved hearts being ripped off peoples' chests. Saralegui must be involved somehow, his inner sense was telling him. And his perception of people and events had never failed him before – not even once. It was one of the things that made him a passable investigator.

"Last night?" Antoine said incredulously, and Damien realized too late that the vagueness of his statement had incited several interpretations from his nosy companion. Before he could clarify, however, Antoine demanded, "You were with Saralegui? That Saralegui?"

'This isn't good,' Damien scolded himself. He was getting careless. What was happening to him? Damien wondered if he could still retract what he had just said, but he feared it was already too late.

"Oh, is he that popular?" he joked, trying to make light of his companion's reaction.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of him?" exclaimed Antoine. "He's the heir of Alazon Enterprises!"

"The airline?" Damien asked, taken aback at this new information.

He had heard of Alazon Enterprises before, having been force-fed by his handlers with information about the richest corporations in this part of the world. Much of his knowledge though, had been nearly washed out through the years, and all he could remember now was the fact that the company was named after the founder's wife, and that after the founder's untimely death as well as the wife's disappearance some years before, the son had started running the company at the tender age of fifteen.

After an initial year of instability and looming bankruptcy, the son managed to turn the company around, and because of this feat, he was lauded by everyone as a genius in every possible way. Damien reeled back as another information struck him out of nowhere. Alazon Enterprises, if he remembered correctly, was the major flight services provider of the Cimaron Group.

"Yes, that's the one," Antoine affirmed. "His family controls a portion of the Cimaron Group – a quarter of it, if memory serves me right. You've heard of Cimaron, haven't you?"

Damien nodded. "What can you tell me about him? Saralegui?"

"He's younger, but he's in an advanced class. About to graduate, in fact. Good riddance, if you ask me."

"Why is that?"

That was all the prodding that Antoine needed. "Well, remember the two unsolved murders? The victims – Belal and Ranjeel – were also from the Cimaron Group. Saralegui's related to them somehow, but they all hated each other's guts."

"Why?"

"Family matters," Antoine said simply, as though that should explain everything. "The usual clash over money and properties. But I also heard there was some issue about his mother."

"Saralegui's mother?" Damien echoed in confusion.

Antoine bit his lip, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm not supposed to know about this but…well, I hear things around here. Word has it that she ran away with the company's money. I heard Ranjeel rubbing that into Saralegui's face before. You should have seen the look on his—"

"You saw them arguing?" Damien cut in, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Was this just before Ranjeel died?" Talk about motive, he added internally.

"Save it," Antoine advised, noting the eager glint in Damien's eyes. "I told the police the same thing, but they just dismissed everything."

"There was no evidence against him?"

"Well, in all fairness, he did have an alibi when Belal and Ranjeel were killed, but still…"

"You still think he had something to do with their deaths?"

"It's kind of hard not to," Antoine reasoned, shrugging, "because well…I think you'll soon get what I mean…there's just something strange about him. As to capability, he's the type who'd certainly dispose of someone just to get to his goal."

"Even to the point of murder?" Damien asked doubtfully.

"I don't really know but…well, with people like him, I guess you could never tell…"

They both fell quiet. Damien's eyes wandered back to the fair-haired guy, finding to his discomfort, that the boy was also observing him. It was just like last night, when they had seen each other for the first time, with both taking a second to take stock of one another.

"James."

He felt another elbow on the side, and Damien turned back reluctantly to face his companion.

"Hey," Antoine asked in a low tone, "you said you saw Saralegui last night, right?"

"I arrived late last night," Damien said as nonchalantly as he could. "I just happened to…I mean…" He shook his head, then decided to just go ahead and lie, "I think I saw him but I'm not really sure."

The fact that he was unsure didn't bother Antoine, who cried, "Last night? But that's past curfew! What was he doing outside at that hour?" The boy's voice had risen with animation, and a beat or two passed before they both realized that everyone's heads were turned toward their direction, Saralegui's included. Antoine lowered his voice. "James, did you see anyone elselast night?"

"Uh, anyone else?'

"Was there anyone with him? With Saralegui?"

"Should there be anyone with him?"

For a second, Antoine hesitated, shuffling his feet guiltily. But easily overriding all stirrings of a conscience, he said, "Well, you'll find out eventually. It's not as if it's a secret. They're not even making any effort to hide it."

Damien's ears pricked up with interest. "Hide what?"

"There's a rumor that Saralegui's meeting someone secretly. Well, not so secretly, if people have been seeing them all over the school. I think only the staff and the headmaster don't know anything about it."

Damien could feel a definite sense of letdown. He had hoped that he would be able to uncover something about Saralegui, or his involvement with the students' deaths, if there was any. This, however, sounded like your run-of-the-mill school scandal. He wondered wryly if any of these gossips would be of relevance to this mess of a case that he was trying to unravel. He highly hoped that they weren't just a waste of time.

"Oh," he remarked, not quite knowing how to react. "Um, is that a bad thing?"

"Depends on who he's seeing, and why he's seeing him."

"Him?" Damien repeated, finding that he wasn't so surprised at the revelation. "So Saralegui's seeing—"

Antoine suddenly stood on alert and signaled for Damien to stop talking. Damien took the cue and immediately looked around. Somebody had arrived; a man, whom Damien assumed to be the teacher, had just emerged from the bushes, seeming as though he had just materialized out of nowhere.

"Everybody gather around," the man said without preamble. His voice wasn't particularly loud to overcome the nonstop chattering of the students, but it had been enough to catch everyone's attention. "Line up. We shall start in a minute."

Damien traipsed after Antoine as everybody around them broke into two lines. In the cover of the noise made by a multitude of feet shuffling against the ground, Antoine tapped him on the shoulder and mouthed a single word: "Him."

For a second, Damien didn't understand what that meant, and then parts of what his companion told him earlier came flashing back:

"The teacher's good, although there are some unsavory rumors about him and another student…Well, you'll find out eventually. It's not as if it's a secret. They're not even making any effort to hide it."

And in the twinkling of an eye, Damien understood.

'Him,' he thought, not quite knowing what to make of the information, but filing it just the same at the back of his mind for future use. He stared at the man before him and repeated silently, 'It's him.'

~o0o~

V. Altercation

~o0o~

The Biology professor was a tall, thin man with a ravishing face – the type that people would quickly notice and never forget. He had sharp eyes that seemed almost Asian, and a long mane of jet black hair that he kept tied at the nape. He was just so cool.

His voice was deep and calm, and it held a tone of authority that wasn't easy to ignore. In fact, as soon as he had spoken, all of the students stopped talking and did as they were told. Well, all except for one. From the corners of his eyes, Damien saw that Saralegui didn't budge an inch, a fact that no one seemed to be bothered about, not even the teacher. Damien's attention lingered on the boy. For his part, Saralegui appeared to have lost his interest on him and had since returned his gaze to a spot somewhere in the distance.

"I would be gone for the rest of the week," the teacher informed them, "but I am going to leave you with a project."

There was a sudden shift in the air, and Damien could literally sense the anticipation from the students around him. It was odd to have this atmosphere in a class, especially one as potentially boring as Biology, but Damien guessed that it must be this teacher's influence. The man must be as good as Antoine had earlier intimated.

"Again?" one of the boys teased. "Must be nice to have another vacation…"

"Where have you been going by the way?" another called out. "You're not meeting anyone on the side, are you?"

"You're not cheating on us, are you?" a third student said in mock fury, prompting chuckles and catcalls from the others.

The teacher – Belias – answered all the queries unsmilingly, "It is not a vacation, I am not going to meet anyone, and I am not going to dignify that last question with a response."

Everyone laughed good-naturedly. When the humorous outbreak died down, Antoine raised a hand and asked, "So what are we going to do, Belias?"

"A continuation of your earlier assignment. The same conditions apply: a description of the bionetwork in the island, except—"

"—the forest," chorused the students, "We know."

"The forest is—"

"—out of bounds," the students said together. "We know already."

"I could not leave you unsupervised," Belias went on, "so I am going to entrust you with members of the advanced class. I want you to pair up – each of you with a member of the other class."

As the students divided into pairs, Belias's voice droned in the background, giving instructions for what they were supposed to do, and the output they were supposed to submit at the end of the week. Damien watched everyone mill around him, noting as he did so, that nearly everyone had already ended up with a partner. Antoine had gotten together with a short-haired girl from the advanced class, leaving Damien standing all alone in the midst of everything. The snobs of Saint Rose were all uninterested in the new kid. Unwillingly, his eyes strayed to the blond at the other end of the grassy area: Saralegui was no longer alone.

Damien could feel his eyebrows rising at the sight. Belias had approached Saralegui, falling to one knee down to the boy's eye level. The man's mouth moved and formed into a greeting and Saralegui responded in kind. A few more words passed between them, and then Belias stood up and offered the other a hand. Saralegui took the man's hand willingly, his lips quirking with…was that delight? Or amusement?

Damien was intrigued. Saralegui's smile was different; it was…real.

'So that was definitely it,' Damien concluded, staring at the unlikely pair. Saralegui was seeing a teacher – this teacher in fact. Damien mulled that over, weighing the information's potential significance to the case at hand. If Saralegui was involved with the murders, could Belias be mixed in too? If they were as close as the rumors indicated, they could be working togeth—

The idea dissolved in mid-thought, as a frosty wind gusted toward him and the vision before him transformed once more into something out of the ordinary. Saralegui was still standing there, conversing with the teacher, but he was – once again – missing a heart. There was blood on his face, dripping down his neck in beads of pure scarlet, leaving blots of carnation against the fur collar of his coat. Again, the boy seemed to sense that he was being watched. He inclined his head toward Damien, his cheeks crimson with blood.

Damien felt nauseous. He shook his head vigorously, disgusted at the gory image. It wasn't as much the seeing as what he was witnessing that threw him off-kilter. He had always been able to see patches of things that weren't visible to the naked eye, and having these types of visions wasn't entirely new to him. This, however, was his first time to witness a highly grisly and thoroughly unpleasant image. He didn't know what it signified, and he didn't like it. He wondered whether Shinou had an inkling that something of this sort would happen. He wondered sullenly whether throwing him into the midst of a ghastly scenario was his superior's idea of a joke.

"Is there a problem?"

Damien blinked, startled. The inquiry came from Belias, who was staring at him questioningly from a few meters away. Damien wanted to shake his head in denial, but his entire body felt like it had turned to lead, rendering him immobile. His gaze drifted to Saralegui, and he nearly blanched at the naked hostility on the boy's features.

"Are you new?" Belias asked. "I do not recognize you."

Damien nodded, intimidated at being addressed by an authority figure.

Belias strode toward him, closing the gap in a few paces, holding out a hand. Damien stared at the outstretched limb, perplexed. He wondered if the man was expecting him to shake it, but then Belias said in his commanding voice, "Your schedule, if you please."

Wordlessly, Damien groped for the slip of paper in his pocket and handed it to the man. Belias gave it a perfunctory look; then his arm dropped to his side and the paper disappeared into another set of hands. With a jolt, Damien realized that Saralegui had also approached, hidden somewhat from view by Belias's tall frame. He looked more intimidating up close, especially now that he seemed so…displeased.

"James Carmichael?" Saralegui read, looking up at Damien. "Is that right?"

Damien was suddenly and unpleasantly reminded of his encounter with the boy the night before. He had let slip his real name, or maybe – Damien reconsidered – maybe the boy had drawn it out of him. That was pretty inconsequential when compared to erasing someone's memories.

"I'm glad to meet you," Saralegui said pleasantly. He didn't offer his hand. "I would tell you my name, but I have a feeling you already know." He nodded his head toward Antoine. "I just hope whatever your friend told you did me justice."

Damien couldn't tell whether the boy was offended or merely amused. He glanced uncertainly at Antoine, who was, at the moment, determinedly avoiding his gaze. Everybody else seemed to be looking elsewhere, but Damien had a feeling that they were all listening intently to the conversation.

"Sara," Belias said in a low tone. It sounded oddly appeasing, as though in his own quiet way, the man was trying to dissuade Saralegui from engaging Damien into a confrontation.

But Saralegui refused to be deterred. The edges of his lips curled up, but the resulting expression looked more like a sneer rather than a smile. It was far from pleasant, but Damien found it to be refreshingly honest.

"Well, do you need anything?" Saralegui asked. "James?"

Damien didn't miss the sardonic inflection the boy had placed on the name, and his fists clenched with irritation. He had never wanted to hit someone so badly in his entire life. How dare he act like Damien had done him something so wrong and unforgivable when it was the other way around? He was about to give himself entirely to this violent impulse when Belias stepped between Saralegui and him, the man's jaw set firm into a resolute expression.

"That is quite enough. Please learn to follow instructions and go back to the activity, Mr. Carmichael."

Being censured for something that wasn't his fault was, for Damien, the final straw. Feeling an uncharacteristic surge of spite, he looked Belias in the eye and said, "I am following your instructions, sir. I was about to approach Sara here to ask whether he would be my partner."

There was an abrupt and absolute stillness at his declaration. It was as if everyone around them had stopped breathing.

Damien asked, his tone challenging, "How about it, Sara?"

Saralegui's eyes flashed, and his smile turned dangerously congenial. "I work alone."

"The instructions were to pair up with someone from the other class."

"I'm sure Belias would make an exception," said Saralegui, and without even looking at the teacher, he confirmed, "wouldn't you?"

Belias didn't immediately answer. He was regarding Damien with a grim look in his eye. But Damien didn't give him a chance to speak.

"I think you had better reconsider," he told Saralegui.

Saralegui shook his head. "I would rather not…James."

The fake name was uttered with such significance that there was no doubt in Damien's mind that Saralegui meant to expose him if he persisted. 'Well, two can play that game,' Damien thought in a fit of vindictiveness. Shrugging, as though to recognize his defeat, he said, "Suit yourself then, but if you change your mind…"

"I won't."

Saralegui turned his back, motioning Belias to go with him. Damien waited for the boy to take exactly one step away before calling out, "By the way, I never did thank you for last night."

It had the desired effect. Saralegui froze in mid-step, and although Damien couldn't see his face, he could tell from the uneasy expression on Belias's features that Saralegui was – at the very least – shaken at that statement.

It was Damien's turn to smile.

"I meant to thank you earlier," he continued, much to everyone's apprehension, "but it took me such a long time to remember."

Saralegui didn't move. Belias placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and murmured something that sounded like, "Don't."

"It was so silly of me to forget," Damien ended, placing an emphasis on the last word.

Saralegui brushed off the hand on his shoulder, and very slowly, swiveled around. His hair moved with his head, swaying gently, a parting curtain that gradually unveiled his face. His glasses gleamed, hiding his eyes from scrutiny. Then unexpectedly, he smiled, as if to say that he was accepting the challenge implied in Damien's words.

"On second thought," he said amiably, "why not? I believe I'd be able to teach you a thing or two."

"I look forward to it," Damien answered evenly.

"I'll see you around then."

"Of course."

A minute later, when both Saralegui and Belias had walked away, out of hearing distance, Damien found himself to be the subject of a ridiculous amount of attention. The other students were staring at him with a touch of awe, but only Antoine came forward, looking torn between wonder and disapproval.

Finally, the boy shook his head and admonished, "You really don't listen, do you? Why did you have to go and say that to him?Of all people, you just had to pick a fight with Saralegui! And you asked him to be your partner? Are you crazy? "

"He started it," Damien pointed out.

"You have to apologize and call the partner thing off," said Antoine, ignoring his comment. "You can't work with someone like that. Trust me, you don't want to—"

"It'll be fine," Damien replied. "Let it be."

"James—"

"No."

"For the last time—"

"Let it go," Damien said stubbornly.

Antoine exhaled heavily, miffed. "Fine. It's your funeral."

"I know," Damien muttered to nobody in particular. But deep inside, he couldn't feel any regret for what he'd done. He couldn't quite explain it, but the altercation had left him with a curious sense of elation. He couldn't qualify it either, but he felt as though he was on the verge of uncovering something – something big. He gazed at the direction Saralegui had taken with Belias, mind geared toward a particular objective.

Innocent and pleasant though he may outwardly appear, Saralegui was turning out to be a very viable suspect. There was definitely something beneath that face and that misleading smile, beyond the warm, amber eyes that felt so icy in contradiction. And if Saralegui turned out to be involved, Damien was more than ready to snatch that beautiful mask away and reveal what was truly underneath.

Damien found himself looking forward to that day with grim anticipation.

~o0o~

VI. Supernatural

~o0o~

"Let me get this straight," Shinou's voice crackled from the other end of the line, "you think this Saralegui person has something to do with the murders?"

"Yes," Damien said intently. "You said yourself that there are non-human factors involved—"

"—which does not necessarily mean that you have to shoot the guy with the supernatural ability. I am surprised that you have drawn your conclusions based solely on that account, considering that you have one yourself, right Damien? Or James—"

"Don't call me that!" he hissed vehemently. It hadn't been a full day when he'd started living with that name, but he was already sick of it.

"Damien," Shinou conceded, "I would like to believe that I taught you better than to suspect someone without proof."

Damien was momentarily rendered speechless with resentment, and when he found his voice, he argued, "Proof! That guy made me do something against my will! He erased my memories, Shinou, and if that couldn't qualify as proof—!"

"Oh it is proof, alright." There was a pause, followed by the delicate clink of a tea cup against a china saucer. The sounds conjured an image of Shinou reclining in a patio somewhere, sipping his afternoon tea. Damien waited, tapping his foot. And then his boss's voice came once more, "It is proof that your guy has non-human abilities, but not confirmation that he killed somebody. You need more than the fact that you were so carelessly manipulated to do that guy's bidding, in order to prove murder. Surely you must know that."

"I do," Damien said through gritted teeth, deciding to disregard the covert admonishment, "and that's why I called. I need Saralegui's file. I'd go to the headmaster, but he isn't around and he doesn't want to be involved. So could you—?"

"Sorry," said Shinou, not waiting for him to finish, "no can do."

"And why the hell not?"

"Language, Damien," the man chided. "Remember where you are right now…which reminds me – why are you not in class?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"Answer my question first."

Damien huffed in exasperation, but he knew his superior well by now to know that yielding was the right way to go in this instance. "I skipped," he confessed, "I lost my schedule form out in the grounds."

"Lost" wasn't really the right term. Belias had taken the paper during Biology period and had handed it to Saralegui. Damien knew that he could always secure a replacement from the headmaster's office, but he didn't bother doing so when the loss made for a convenient excuse for him to get out of the classroom and call his boss. At any rate, Damien thought that he'd rather look for Saralegui and get the paper back, if just for the sake of annoying the hell out of that self-important snob.

After declining Antoine's offer of help, Damien had made his way to the yard. But he didn't take the normal route; instead, he followed the same path he'd taken the night before with Saralegui just so he could refresh his memories. He ended up outside the school gates, on the winding path overlooking the forest. He wondered what happened to his car, and with a twinge of annoyance, he recalled the headmaster telling him that the vehicle had been taken to the garage. Once again, he cursed Saralegui for tampering with his memories.

"Go back, Damien," Shinou said from the other end, rousing him back from his recollections. "You are not supposed to draw so much attention to yourself."

Damien bristled. "What about the file—?"

"I have to go," said Shinou. "As I said—"

"You didn't answer my question!"

"Damien." There was a warning note there, a thing that was rarely heard where Shinou was concerned. Then the voice softened. "Be very careful out there. I do not like the sound of that forest."

"I don't need advice, Shinou," Damien said quietly, calming down. "I need information."

"I am sorry, but I cannot help you on that count."

"Why?"

There was silence on the other end. Then he could hear Shinou chuckling before the man answered with an enigmatic, "Conflict of interest."

And with those three words, the line went dead.

Conflict of interest. Damien stared at the phone in bewilderment. What the hell was that? He remembered Shinou saying during the meeting with the client that he was "otherwise engaged" but…but surely…

Damien didn't know what to think. Then in the next instant, he found that he had no time to brood over Shinou's response. Two voices drifted from just around the corner, becoming increasingly louder as the owners drew near. Damien had a split second's view of a long mane of blond hair from a break in the branches, and acting on instinct, he ducked into a nearby bush for cover.

He regretted his decision as soon as he landed on his knees. The ground was covered entirely with thick, prickly brambles, piercing easily through his clothes and eating into his skin. Damien barely managed to contain a yowl of pain, and not a second too soon, Belias and Saralegui came sauntering from somewhere beyond the trees. They looked as if they had been arguing. Damien noted the unusual scowl on Saralegui's lips and he listened to the conversation with bated breath.

"—and be sure to call me the moment you get back," Saralegui was saying. He stopped and inclined his head up at Belias. "And you're still not going to tell me where you're going?"

Belias looked down at his companion and smiled for the first time. "We agreed, didn't we? We each get to keep one secret. This is something I would rather not tell you. At least for the time being."

Saralegui's eyebrows rose delicately. "So you're planning to tell me? Eventually?"

"Of course."

The answer seemed to appease the boy, for his entire body relaxed somewhat and he didn't say anything more for the next minutes. The two continued to walk in companionable silence. They didn't hold each other's hands or give any other indication of their rumored intimacy, but with their proximity, they could as well have been embracing. Damien noted that Belias was at least a half step behind the younger man, his arms moving tentatively in frequent intervals, as though he feared that Saralegui might fall any moment soon and he was merely getting ready to catch him. He appeared very protective of the other, at a level that Damien found to be slightly unsettling. It was as if Belias knew of some impending danger that Saralegui wasn't aware of.

As if to underline Damien's impression, Belias asked, "You are going to be fine?"

"I'm not a child," Saralegui answered, whirling around with a hand on his hip. But he looked so childish all the same that Damien couldn't blame Belias for looking skeptical.

"I know." Belias paused for a second before adding, "Although you do need to be reminded that classroom scuffles are beneath you."

Saralegui sighed dejectedly in response. "I just don't like that boy."

"Carmichael?"

"Carmichael," Saralegui sneered. "I've never even heard of the Carmichaels."

"There are plenty of Carmichaels in the city alone—"

"Too many Carmichaels, in fact, that anyone could virtually use the name and pose as someone from the family."

Belias seemed disturbed at the insinuation. Damien, on the other hand, sank deeper into the undergrowth. He had a suspicion that even if he hadn't unwittingly revealed his real name during that first night, Saralegui would have still found out that Damien had assumed a fake identity. There was a shrewdness in the boy's eyes that made the hairs at the back of Damien's neck stand on end. It was as if Saralegui could see right through him.

"In any case," Saralegui continued, "could you bring me that boy's file before you leave? I'd like to check something."

Damien wondered if this was normal procedure in this school, for any student's file to be at the easy access of another. He doubted that it was so, and he knew that what Saralegui was requesting of the man was both illegal and unethical.

Belias, however, neither agreed nor objected at the boy's request. He merely remarked, "It is quite unnatural for you to be so interested in someone."

Saralegui huffed. "I'm not interested in him."

"He was observing you. And now that I think about it, you were looking at him, too."

"Because," said Saralegui deliberately, "there's something strange about him."

Damien nearly laughed at that statement. Strange! Strange, indeed.

"Strange?" Belias echoed. "What do you mean?"

Saralegui seemed at a loss for the first time. "He's just surprisingly…resistant."

"Resistant?" The older man's voice had grown hard with reproach. "Sara, do not tell me that you used your eyes on him."

"I tried – 'tried' being the operative word here – Belias. But as you saw earlier, it didn't last – which was the first time that it happened."

"That was what he was talking about, wasn't it? You really did see each other last night."

"I just wanted him to forget about it."

Belias's eyes tapered into small suspicious slits. "Are you not going to tell me where you have been last night?"

"That's none of your business," Saralegui said dismissively, turning away.

"Sara…"

"We each get to keep one secret," the boy said with a hint of laughter in his voice. "This is something I'd rather not tell you for the time being."

Belias sounded amused. "And you would tell me? Eventually?"

"Maybe."

"That," Belias remarked with unmistakable affection, "is not fair."

Saralegui didn't respond. He continued his ascent up the slope, toward the path leading to the gate. But as he moved away, with Belias shadowing his footsteps, Damien could have sworn that he heard the boy chuckling with amusement. It was so foreign a sound, so incongruent with the aloof, touch-me-not image Saralegui had so consistently portrayed so far, that Damien couldn't help but feel a little confused.

It seemed to him that he had just seen two different people – Saralegui, the devious manipulator from the night before, the boy he had a spat with back in Biology class. And then there was another Saralegui, the relaxed, unguarded version with the jesting smile, who was currently walking together with Belias back toward the campus. So which was the real one?

Damien watched the two figures disappear beyond the gate before emerging from his hiding place. He stood there for a moment, taking a second to consider everything he had seen and heard so far. His head buzzed with new questions, to which he knew, the answers wouldn't be easy to find.

The wind blew, howling a warning in his ears. Damien moved to brush a clamp of hair out of his eyes, and was mildly surprised to find his palm bleeding. He looked down at himself, noting that his pants were torn off and had turned red with blood at the knees.

Which does not necessarily mean that you have to shoot the guy with the supernatural ability, Damien.

He remembered what Shinou told him minutes back, and he cringed with a slight trace of embarrassment. So Saralegui wasn't as villainous as he had initially assumed, but that didn't mean that the boy was completely innocent either, right?

I am surprised that you have drawn your conclusions based solely on that account, considering that you have one yourself, right Damien?

Damien sighed, rubbing the gashes in his hand absentmindedly. Speaking of supernatural abilities…

The pain receded. Damien watched as the skin in his injured hand repaired itself, a wound healing in fast-forward motion. He did the same for his knees, passing a hand atop the bleeding areas. It took a few measly seconds before he knew that he was fully healed. He straightened up.

'So it doesn't have to be the guy with the supernatural ability,' Damien brooded. 'But still…I have a feeling that he's involved."

And for the rest of the day – and for a long time afterwards – Damien's mind was filled with nothing else but the mystery that was Saralegui.

~o0o~

VII. Encounter

~o0o~

"Where have you been?" Antoine demanded as soon as he spotted Damien by the corridor. "You missed three classes already!" He took in Damien's torn pants with a critical eye. "And what happened to you?"

"I got lost," Damien answered, finding that the lying was coming along more easily now. The truth was that he had spent a few hours getting in touch with some of his colleagues in order to get the information that Shinou had earlier refused to help him with. It took some time, but Damien's efforts had paid off. The downside was that he had completely lost track of time and had – as Antoine so keenly pointed out – missed three hours' worth of classes. "Am I in trouble?"

"You should be," Antoine huffed. "But you're lucky that the professors weren't even aware that there was a new student – well, until I told them. You'd have to talk to them tomorrow, though."

"I'll do that. Thanks."

"Geez, you're such a bother."

Damien grimaced. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay." Antoine smiled reassuringly at him. "You're scatter-brained but I think you're really nice. You're just strange, though."

Damien laughed at the word, having heard it twice in a row by now in reference to him. "I'm not really. I think I'm just very ordinary. Or boring, to be honest."

"The others don't think so. After standing up to Saralegui like that, they all think you're just simply wonderful. They think it was brave—"

"—which is more than what anyone could ever say about you, right Antoine?"

A familiar-looking girl had sneaked up behind Antoine, tapping his back with such force that the boy staggered forward, nearly falling to his knees. She grinned at Damien, while Antoine tried to recover his dignity by drawing himself to his full height and glaring daggers at the girl.

"Leila!" Antoine complained. "I told you not to do that!"

The girl had dark brown hair, cut short rather severely, like a boy's. She rolled her eyes and brushed her hair back carelessly with one hand. "Oh don't be such a baby."

"What do you want?" Antoine grumbled.

"It's your free period right?" Leila asked. "I have the rest of the afternoon free too, so I was thinking that we could start working on that Biology project."

At that, Damien suddenly remembered where he had seen the girl before. It was during the class with Belias, where she and Antoine had quickly paired up. Leila noticed his gaze, and she offered her hand in greeting.

"Hi. I'm Leila."

"James," Damien answered easily, shaking her hand. "You're from the advanced class, aren't you?"

"Of course. Unlike someone here, I managed to pass the qualifying exams."

"You just need to rub it in every time, don't you?" Antoine muttered, but he didn't look affronted by the girl's straightforwardness. They seemed quite used to being around one another, behaving with a level of comfort characteristic of close friends or intimate lovers. Just as Damien was wondering which would best typify their relationship, Leila caught his eye and grinned meaningfully.

"We're friends," Leila explained. "Childhood friends."

"Oh," Damien remarked. "I thought…"

"You're not the first one," said Antoine, blushing. "People always think that we're together just because they always see us together. But we're not."

"But he likes me," Leila added shamelessly.

"Leila!"

"Coward," the girl rebuked, but her eyes were warm and affectionate. "Come on then. We should go to the cliff this time around. You won't mind if I take your guide, will you, James?"

Damien shook his head. "I'll manage. Besides, you two look like you could use a private moment together."

"James!" Antoine sputtered, face reddening once again. "Not you too!"

"Sorry," Damien said, laughing. "But really, thanks for all the help so far. You should go with her."

"What's your next class?" Leila asked, hooking an arm around Antoine's. "We could drop you off before we go."

"Uh…I don't know, actually. I lost my schedule form…"

"You don't remember anything about this afternoon?"

"I think it was Literature, but I'm not really sure—"

"Literature started at least thirty minutes ago," a familiar voice corrected him. "The professor would never let you in even if you decide to go. You do have free period after that."

The atmosphere had thickened with palpable tension. Antoine and Leila both stiffened at the sight of the newcomer, while Damien strived to appear unruffled. Saralegui sauntered casually toward them, holding out a piece of paper to Damien. Belias was nowhere to be seen; the man must have already left.

"You forgot this," Saralegui said.

Damien took the paper, hoping that his face wouldn't betray his apprehension. "Thank you. Do you need anything?"

"We're partners, aren't we? I'd like to start working now."

It took Damien a few seconds to realize that the boy was referring to the Biology project they were supposed to submit when the professor returns. He considered Saralegui warily. "Right now?"

"Right now. I'd like to get this over and done with."

Damien wanted to refuse, remembering with painful clarity what happened the last time he had gone alone with the other boy. But declining felt like he was backing down, and where Saralegui was concerned, it was an unacceptable decision.

"Fine," Damien replied, and at his submission, his two companions finally stirred.

"James," Antoine whispered urgently, pulling him aside. "I know you said to let it go, but if it would change your mind, the last person who got too close to Saralegui was eventually expelled, and the last one he had an argument with ended up dead, so please—"

"Excuse me," Saralegui interrupted sternly. "I am still here. Why don't you say whatever you want to the proper way?" Antoine wavered, looking as though he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole right then and there. Saralegui raised his chin and declared contemptuously, "Coward."

"Hey," Leila interjected in her friend's defense, "that's enough already."

Saralegui ignored her. He spun around, gesturing imperiously to Damien, a shadow of the same movement he had given Belias earlier in the day. "Let's go."

"Hey!" Leila repeated, louder this time. "You—!"

Antoine tugged at the girl's collar, pulling her back. "Don't, Leila."

"But…" She trailed off, noting the look on Antoine's face. Damien recognized that expression. It was something one would wear when confronted with an insurmountable obstacle – helplessness and frustration combined into one.

"James, you're not seriously going with him, are you?" Leila asked. Antoine's gaze held the same question.

Damien bowed slightly. "Sorry," he said yet again. "You guys go on. Thank you for all the help, but I'll be fine now."

"If you say so," Leila said, shrugging. She spared Saralegui a look of dislike, grabbed Antoine firmly by the arm, and marched away.

Damien watched them go, his chest heavy with regret at the way things turned out. It was truly a shame, for he was beginning to like Antoine and Leila. They might have been friends if the situation had been different. Now all he had was—

"You are coming, aren't you?" Saralegui called out impatiently.

Now all he had was him, Damien finished inside his head. This strange guy who was as insufferable as he was beautiful. How unfortunate, he moaned inwardly, but when had he ever been lucky with friends or family?

"Do you always do that?" Damien blurted out, keeping in step with the other boy. There were other students dawdling by the corridors, but they all gave them a wide berth. The look they gave Damien made him feel like a condemned man being led to the guillotine, or a hog to the slaughter.

"Do what?" Saralegui asked innocently, glancing at him.

"Get under people's nerves."

"Not intentionally."

"Great," Damien muttered. "So what happens if you intentionally get under people's nerves?"

Saralegui considered that for a moment before answering seriously, "They'd go mad, I guess. Or die. Whichever comes first."

"Have you ever tried it before?"

"Tried what?"

"Doing something that would drive people insane. Or to their deaths, whichever came first?"

Saralegui paused. He seemed unnerved, but a second passed and he was back to his normal haughty self. "Hmm, I don't know," he said mysteriously, resuming his pace, leading the way in silence for the next couple of minutes until they reached a room at the farthest end of the school building.

"Go in," Saralegui said, coming to a halt, opening the door widely for Damien. The same mental image of a witch enticing a child to enter her lair flashed before Damien's eyes, and he had the most unreasonable desire to run away. He quickly checked himself, nodded politely, and entered the room.

Saralegui followed, and as he shut the door, Damien heard the ominous sound of a lock clicking into place. His entire body tensed in anticipation of danger, but the other boy merely gestured vaguely to the room, and said, "Here we are. Why don't we start with the flowers."

"The what?" Damien asked, perplexed, then as his brain finally processed the visual cues present around him, his anxiety was rapidly replaced with bemused fascination.

They were inside a greenhouse of sorts. There were shrubs all around them, bursting with flowers of all types and sizes, saturating the room with vivid colors. The walls and ceiling were made of glass, capturing the light of the afternoon sun from beyond the hills, bathing everything within in a cheerful, yellow glow. Defying all impracticalities, a circular platform was installed in the middle, and atop it, a small gazebo. A table was perched on the middle, along with two plush chairs. And to complete this thoroughly beguiling vision, a kettle and two teacups were set upon the table, beside a tray filled with petits fours and sandwiches. A flower pot swung from the gazebo's ceiling, dangling stems laden with small, red blossoms right above the table.

Saralegui seemed satisfied at his reaction. "I had this room built two years ago."

Damien wanted to shake his head at such display of opulence, but he reined himself in. "It's nice," he said instead. "You like flowers?"

"I don't dislike them," Saralegui replied noncommittally. "Do you have a paper and a pen with you? You should start taking notes."

Damien felt so out of his depth. He couldn't tell whether the boy was making fun of him by pushing through with the schoolwork as though there was nothing else for them to discuss. He wondered whether this was a set-up. He said tentatively, "I think I would rather listen for now. So what type of flowers do you have here?"

"Some of the species that grow in the island."

Damien cast his gaze around, his eyes landing on a bunch of flowers clustered very close together on the area to his immediate left. The flowers were predominantly orange, with flecks of yellow and burgundy dotting the paper-like petals.

"What are these?"

"Helichrysums," Saralegui answered, peering over Damien's shoulder. "Also known as everlasting. They're from the Asteraceae family."

"Oh."

Saralegui smiled. "Would you like some tea?"

Damien's mind immediately went to poisons and toxins and some other vile form of substance that could be slipped in, undetected, into the drink. Saralegui took his place on the platform, pouring steaming green liquid on the cups. The scene was eerily reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland, with Saralegui being both the Mad Hatter and Alice rolled into one.

"Tea?" Saralegui offered again, raising a cup. "James?"

Damien felt irked at the name, knowing that the boy was using it on purpose just to provoke him. He ignored the offer, and instead bent down to examine another cluster of flowers, noting the bright pink petals splayed out from a dark yellow center.

"What about this?"

Saralegui's smile dropped a few degrees colder, obviously not pleased at being snubbed. "Cosmos bipinnatus," he answered without missing a beat. "More commonly known as sea shells, for obvious reasons."

Damien nodded. The flowers did look awfully lot like their namesake.

"They're from the same family as the helichrysums," Saralegui went on. "Pretty, aren't they, James?"

Damien straightened up and decided that he couldn't keep retreating. It was time to retaliate. "That isn't my real name," he said amiably. "But you already know that, don't you?"

Saralegui regarded him sharply before offering once again, "Tea…Damien?"

Damien finally relented. He moved toward the table, settling on the seat opposite Saralegui. The boy handed him a cup, white steam issuing out of it in upward spirals, the scent reminding Damien of freshly crushed lilacs. He wrinkled his nose in suspicion.

"So who are you working for?" Saralegui asked, sipping his tea. "You're not here for your studies, are you?"

"What made you think that?" Damien asked.

"I'm not stupid."

Damien bit back a retort, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. He chose not to answer, glancing instead at the plant hovering above the table. Three fleshy green stems arced gracefully over the sides of the container, suspending a row of heart-shaped flowers over the tea set. The outside petals were scarlet in color, but beneath the crimson layer, there was a cluster of more petals of the purest white.

"What about this one here?"

"Lamprocapnos spectabilis," Saralegui answered impatiently, putting down his cup. "What sort of work did you come here for?"

'Man, he's persistent,' Damien thought. Pointing at the flowers, he asked to deflect the matter at hand, "What is it normally called?"

"A lot of things – the lady-in-a-bath or the lyre-flower, among others." Saralegui removed his glasses and placed them carefully next to his tea cup. "Is it about the murders?"

Damien froze, then cursed himself almost immediately. It was the same knee-jerk reaction he always had when confronted with an undeniable fact that he was trying, futilely, to hide. Why was he so damn easy to read?

Saralegui chuckled, a small triumphant sound that sent prickles of unrest up Damien's spine. Damien glared at the flowers, as though they were somehow at fault. From the periphery of his vision, he saw Saralegui clasp his hands together and rest his chin atop of his intertwined fingers. The intensity of his gaze was unsettling.

"What do you know so far? What did you find out?"

Damien finally tore his gaze off the flowers and met Saralegui's gaze, and for a moment, he had the strangest sensation of being…blinded. He recognized it the moment that he felt it, and acting quickly, he averted his gaze, breaking the eye contact. Saralegui looked surprised at his evasion.

"You have unusual eyes," Damien remarked calmly, although his heart was pounding in his ears. He had nearly been trapped…again.

"You…know?" Saralegui asked quietly.

"I'm not stupid," Damien said. He watched the flower pot swing delicately above him. "But I should warn you about using them on me again, or I'm afraid I would have to hurt you."

The threat hung in the air between them. Damien kept his eyes on the flowers, heart thumping at a rate that couldn't be accounted for by him simply sitting opposite another boy in a gazebo. He waited for any movement from the other side of the table, wondering what he'd do if Saralegui won't back down. After a few tense seconds, Saralegui replaced his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. He laughed, as though Damien had just said something amusing.

"Well, well…now I see," the boy chortled. "I wonder…"

Damien stood up, not seeing the humor in the situation at all. "Thanks for the tea," he murmured, although the contents of his cup remained untouched. "I guess we'll have to save the rest of the flowers for another day."

Saralegui didn't say anything, and it was only when Damien was already nearly out the door that the boy called out to him.

"Damien…"

"…yes?"

"Bleeding hearts," Saralegui said pensively.

Damien paused, wondering if he could now safely turn back and look at the boy. He took his chances and glanced back. "What?"

Saralegui nodded to the flowers Damien had been admiring earlier, extending a finger to touch a crimson bud. "They're native to eastern Asia, but they were introduced here in the mid 1800's by a Scottish botanist. They're what you call a spring ephemeral. They bloom quickly, but they die just as fast."

Damien nodded, although he couldn't understand what the information signified.

Saralegui's smile widened. "They're most commonly called bleeding hearts."

Damien nodded once more, his eyes straying back to the flowers – a row of tiny crimson hearts that seemed as though they were indeed dripping with blood. They made a fitting complement to the fair-haired boy seated primly beneath them, who was – as Damien already half-expected him to be – once again without a heart.

It was the last thing Damien saw as the wind blew from an open window and pushed the door shut.

~o0o~

Other Notes:

1. I used the alternate spelling "Cimaron" instead of "Shimaron" because I felt it sounded more like a business empire than a country.

2. Antoine should be considered OOC in this story. I don't remember him very well, but I know that he wouldn't be as gossip-hungry as he was portrayed here. I didn't want to use any of the main characters because they would surely demand a side story of their own, which would ultimately make this story longer.

3. This was intended as a one-shot, but the more that I tinkered around it, the more that it started to mutate into a full blown multi-chaptered story.

4. I didn't intend to publish until I was done, but I'm riding the entire end-of-the-world mania, and I wanted to post something before the world exploded or something like that.