Chapter 3

The first thing Yami did upon entering the department store was to seek out the men's clothing section and purchase an intact, long-sleeved pullover. He paid for the shirt, had the sales clerk remove the tags, then ducked into a changing room.

Turning as he pulled the ruined shirt over his head, he caught a glimpse of his back in the full-length mirror on the cubicle wall. The intricate design - a winged sun disk across his shoulders, columns of hieroglyphic writing along both sides of his spine, bordered by papyrus stalks perched on rope-ring shen glyphs (symbolizing eternal protection), guarding the spell written on his lower back - made him shiver.

It was not a tattoo. The markings had been carved into his back with heated knives, and then dark ink and ashes had been scrubbed into the wounds to make the scars stand out more once they healed. He could still remember his uncles holding him down on the ritual stone, a cloth-wrapped stick shoved into his mouth to stifle his cries, as he strained against their hold. He could feel their fingers biting into his limbs until his bones ground together, hear his muffled screams as the hot metal blade sliced into the tender flesh of his back. The blood from each new cut burned like acid as it washed over the previous wounds, red streamers pouring from his back to pool beneath him so that he thought he would choke on the smell of copper and heated metal, and the stench of his own burning flesh.

It was his fourteenth birthday.

The ritual had marked his coming of age as it had marked his back, marked him as the future leader of his family and all who followed them. It had also marked the day he began plotting in earnest to run away from home, to escape the stifling chains of responsibility that manacled him to the hidden city of the Tombkeepers.

A year later, he had solved the Millennium Puzzle and inextricably bound himself to it, and to the underground city, as a Guardian of the Seal. That was also when the dreams started, and the growing conviction that there was something waiting for him out there, somewhere far beyond the limited confines of their desert enclave. He knew, then, that he had to get away, from his family and from Egypt. To stay would mean his slow death, stifled beneath the weight of centuries of tradition and stagnation, and the expectations of his family.

All of which, by a series of fortuitous events and near-catastrophes, had eventually led him to Domino City.

On his way out of the dressing room, Yami tossed the ripped t-shirt into the trash bin and smoothed the new shirt firmly into place, finally able to relax now that the scars on his back were covered.

With one worry out of the way, he made good time, moving quickly through the clothing racks and grabbing a few essentials like socks and underwear, and a couple of changes of clothes. He would shop for more later if it became necessary, but for now he was hanging onto the hope that the stupid airline would actually recover his luggage. If they got it back to him before separation from the Puzzle plunged him into a coma, all the better. If not... Well, then he really wouldn't care about his wardrobe, would he?

On his way past a display rack, he snagged an umbrella in case the rain hadn't let up by the time he had finished his shopping. Another thought struck him and he made a detour through the accessories aisle to pick up a few more items, including a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, a felt hat large enough to sock down over his hair, and a bandanna that could be tied around said hair to help further disguise it. (When he was dueling, or performing his role as a spokesperson for his various employers, he wanted to be recognized. The rest of the time? Not so much.)

Still moving as quickly as he could, since he really wanted to get out of the store before someone spotted him, he shifted departments so that he could pick up disposable razors, assorted toiletries, and a shampoo especially formulated for color-treated hair. His current dye job (brighter red than his natural auburn on the majority of his hair and sunny gold on the bangs and some of the sections he gelled up into spikes) should be good for at least another month provided he didn't use any harsh detergents on it.

His hair called attention to him, but it had also gotten him his first endorsement deal, right after he had won his second major tournament in a row and people started taking notice of the newcomer from nowhere. The checks from his deal with Hot Tropix Hair Care had allowed him to concentrate on improving his dueling skills rather than wondering over where his next meal was coming from. Before the endorsement deal, he had made a little money doing odd jobs to support himself, but the income was not regular.

Back in those early days after his escape from Egypt, he had to keep moving around to prevent his family from tracking him down. Now, he was well enough known that any sudden disappearance would be news. He did not think his family would risk exposure by trying to kidnap him and drag him back home. Besides, they had to know that he would simply flee again. It had taken him three tries before he made a clean getaway the first time. He would not simply give up and become what they wanted him to be now, not after having such a heady taste of freedom.

He made it all the way to the check out lane before someone recognized him. He saw the girl, standing in line in the next lane over, glance at him. Saw the double-take a second later. Saw her lean over and whisper something frantically into her friend's ear, all the while waving a not very subtle hand in his direction.

Yami's heart sank. Keeping one eye on the girls, who were still carrying on a whispered conversation (or possibly argument, judging by the increasingly dramatic gestures, furrowed brows, and the rising volume of their "whispering"), he smiled his most charming smile at the cashier, an older woman with worn features and faded blue eyes.

"I think I'm about to have to make a run for it, but I promise I'm not abandoning my purchases. If you could finish ringing them up and then hold them here for a few minutes, I will send someone right back in to pay for them and pick them up. Here..." He placed a fifty on the counter between them. "A down payment."

"Sir, I really don't think I can-"

"I'm telling you it is him!" the first girl shrieked, stabbing a finger through the air in his direction. "It's that gamer guy - Yami!"

All heads in the immediate vicinity swiveled to get a look at the 'gamer guy'. Yami felt all the blood drain from his face. Oh, shit. He shoved the money at the cashier. "Honestly, someone will be right in. Gotta run!"

Without waiting for a reply, he bolted for the exit. His sudden flight startled the fangirls long enough to give him a head start and he hit the glass doors at a full run. He did not slow down once he reached the parking lot, but sprinted along the concrete walk in front of the department store, his desperate gaze searching the crowded lot for the cab his driver had promised would be waiting. A glimpse of the bright red and black check of Domino City Cab's livery caught his eye and he aimed in that direction. Sure enough, it was his cab. He flung open the rear door and dove inside, flattening himself across the seat and wondering if he could curl up small enough to hide in the well between the rear bench and the front seat of the cab.

"Uh, you okay back there, man?" The cabbie craned his neck to peer down at him through the mesh barrier.

"Fangirls," Yami gasped out, still trying to catch his breath from his run. "I don't suppose you have a blanket or a coat that I could hide under?"

The cabbie just stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed, with what sounded like a mixture of disbelief and delight. "You a celebrity or somethin'?"

"Or something." Yami crouched low, then risked a quick peek out the window. If the girls had followed him, they apparently had not seen him duck into the cab. "Look, I need you to go back into the store and pay for my stuff. I had to abandon it on the check-out counter."

"Dude. Are you serious? You really got fans that, like, chase you around and stuff?"

"Yes."

"Awesome!"

"Not really." Yami closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep, steadying breath, and reminded himself that yelling at someone is never the best way to get them to do you a favor. "Please. Just take the money I'll give you, go in and pay for my purchases, and then get me the hell out of here. Okay? I will tip you very, very well."

"Can't argue with that, and you really did give me a good tip last time. So..." He opened the slot in the barrier and stuck his hand through, wiggling his fingers. "Fork over the moolah and I'll go get your stuff for ya."

"Thank you." Yami passed the driver a handful of large bills, told him which check-out lane he had used, and then ducked back down out of sight as the driver climbed out of the cab. Surprisingly enough, he actually could fit in the cramped floor well between the seats.

Yami heard the trunk open. What was the guy doing? They couldn't hang around here much longer and still hope no one would spot him, even if he was hiding in the floor of the cab. Then the door opposite him opened a crack and the driver tossed a musty-smelling, army surplus blanket over him.

"There ya go. Keep outta sight for a couple a minutes, okay? I'll be right back." He slammed the door shut. Yami could hear the cabbie whistling a jaunty tune as he sauntered toward the store.

With no other option, Yami huddled under the scratchy wool and thought longingly of obscurity.

-o0o-

The cabbie was snickering when he returned to the car, his arms full of Yami's packages. He shoved them in the back seat along with Yami, who had gotten a leg cramp and been forced out of his hiding spot in the foot well, then climbed into the front and started the engine. "All right. Where to now, buddy?"

"Head back toward the hotel. I'll give them a call and see if the manager has found me a room." Yami dug out his cell phone and dialed the Excellence Suites. The manager was apologetic, but informed him that none of their rooms had opened up. They had, however, located a cancellation in another hotel, if he was interested. Of course, he was interested! He was about ready to fall asleep on his feet, as the day he was having had not only started too early and lasted too long, but seemed to be actively sucking the will to live right out of him.

Resisting the urge to shout all of that into the phone, Yami said, "Yes, I'm interested. Where is it?"

The manager gave him the name of the hotel and then hung up with suspicious alacrity. Yami gave the phone a fish-eyed stare.

"They find a room for ya?" asked the cabbie, who had been casting glances at him in the rear view mirror every few seconds. Yami wished he would stop doing that and just watch the road. The last thing he needed to cap off his horrible, no good, very bad day was to be involved in an automobile accident.

"Yes. At the Palazzo."

The cabbie's brown eyes went wide. "Oh."

Yami's eyes narrowed. "Something wrong with the Palazzo?"

"Noooo..." The cabbie shrugged. "I mean, it's a good hotel - clean rooms, good service. My sister works there. No, the problem is, uh, that's where the anime convention is being held this weekend. And, y'know, it's Friday, so there are a lot of convention-goers there already..."

Yami was going to sue that hotel - from the malignant manager all the way up to the president of the chain - for emotional damages. Right after he got out of therapy for the mental anguish the airline had inflicted on him. Yami massaged his aching forehead, and then peered around his hand at the cabby's reflection in the rear view mirror. "Can you just, uh, drive around for a few minutes while I try to find another hotel?"

"Yeah, sure." The cab driver gave him a sympathetic look. "No problem."

Fifteen frustrated minutes with the search app on his smart-phone later, Yami was forced to admit defeat. There really were no other available hotel rooms anywhere in Domino City. Dammit. Conceding defeat, he slumped back into the seat and ordered the cabbie to take him to the Palazzo.

The Palazzo turned out to be almost directly across from the Excellence Suites. There were costumed people wandering into the lobby from the street outside, and Yami could just imagine what the inside of the hotel would look (and sound) like. On the bright side, people were far less likely to notice him or, if they did notice him, far more likely to assume he was merely another fan dressed like his favorite duelist.

Just to be on the safe side, however, he dug out the bandana and dark glasses, putting on the sunglasses and tying the bandana over his hair before starting to get out of the cab. He checked outside through the window before opening the door - and froze. He thought he recognized the two men walking into the hotel across the street. A closer look proved that - despite the fact that they were both dressed in Western-style clothing and that one of them, the shorter of the pair, had dyed his wild mop of hair platinum blond - they were indeed who he had thought they were.

"Oh, shit."

"More fangirls?"

"Worse." Yami grabbed his new hat and crammed it down on top of his head over the bandana. "My brothers."

-o0o-

Yami made it into the Palazzo without incident. He had waited in the taxi, watching the Excellence Suites front entrance like a hawk until he was certain his brothers were not going to reappear without warning, and then dashed into the lobby of his own hotel. Check in went smoothly and soon he had tossed the shopping bags containing his new purchases onto the overstuffed sofa and collapsed, flat on his back with his arms and legs splayed out in every direction, onto the queen-sized bed where he stared up at the white swirls in the ceiling plaster and pondered what he had seen.

What the hell were Malik and Rashid doing in Domino City?

His brothers had gone into the hotel where he had been supposed to have reservations - where, if the hotel had not screwed up, he would have been staying. Coincidence? Or were they looking for him?

He could not imagine anything else that could have brought his brothers to Domino City. They had to be hunting him. He had successfully eluded the family's minions for almost six years. A part of him had begun to hope that they had given up and would finally let him live his life as he saw fit without their interference. He should have known better, he supposed. Tradition dictated that the oldest son of the village headman became the new leader upon that man's death or infirmity. Rashid was technically the oldest of the brothers, but he was adopted and tradition demanded the heir must be the son of the headman's body. That meant Yami.

He breathed out a heavy sigh that tried to become a derisive laugh. Even his name was an act of rebellion against tradition. The word was Japanese, chosen on a whim, something he had heard in an animated cartoon show on television. He had not even known what it meant at the time; he had simply liked the sound of it. That, and the fact that it was nothing like the names he had been given by his family.

His private name, the one used on the official genealogical records the family kept for its own use and in the family histories, was never spoken. His public name within the family, and not for use outside the hidden underground complex where they had resided for millennia, was Atem. His brothers each had three names, their private names, family names, and one for use in the outside world. Yami had never actually needed an "outside name". Until he had run away, he had never been allowed outside the walls of the above-ground village that supported their secret city, and even that exposure had been strictly limited.

Once free of the regulated environment his family and tradition had locked him into, Yami had discovered that the outside world was filled with wonders and terrors, riches and deprivation. He would exchange none of it for the gilded prison of the role his family's traditions and the order of his birth ordained for him.

Now, he just had to figure out how to make certain they did not find a way to take him back to the very thing he had run away from and spent the last six years avoiding. It was a long time before he fell into exhausted sleep.