Oh, yes, warnings: profanity, wholly unnecessary lyrical quote.

4. Probing

Will I know your name or recognize your face;
Or by what means I'll be delivered from this place?
~ "The Scent of Magnolia," David Sylvian

Atem felt bad about it, but he asked his cousin to please cover for him at the game shop.

"So what's the story, Atem?" asked Yugi.

"What do you mean? We cover for each other."

"You cover for me. When's the last time you asked for an unscheduled day off?"

Atem looked at Yugi, trying to figure out what to say.

Yugi smiled. "It's not about that weird painting, is it?"

"N—what makes you say that?"

"You've been totally off ever since you got it."

Atem was beginning to feel annoyed. "Not everything has to be about that painting, you know."

"But it's mysterious! I'd think you'd want to find out more about it. It would actually be strange if you didn't track things down."

"So why are you making a fuss?"

"I'm not making a fuss. Aren't you?"

"No! It's just that everyone's asking me about it and coming over to look at it and—" Atem paused. This was exactly the sort of deal he didn't want to be making it out to be. He looked at Yugi, who wore a suspiciously mischievous expression. "Just what are you getting at?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. Anyway, is there any particular reason that you wanted the day off?"

Atem scowled. With a heavy sigh that was almost a growl, he said, "Fine. If you absolutely must know, it is about the painting. I decided to find out where that painting came from. It's unsigned and I want to figure out if I can track down the artist and figure out if it's worth anything." Muttering, he added nearly inaudibly, "Busybody."

"What was that? Oh, you should find out who posed for it while you're at it. I'm sure you're dying to know."

"Why would I want to know who posed for it?" Atem lied. Then an uncomfortable thought struck him. "I don't even know how old that painting is. The guy could be so much older than the man in the painting that talking to him would be just … weird."

"I just don't think you'll be happy until you figure this out," Yugi said, pulling out a stack of inventory forms.

"And why is that?"

"I think it's better if you told me, Atem," Yugi said. "It's not like we both don't know, and you know I'm not going to criticize you for it." He looked at Atem expectantly for a moment, but when Atem didn't answer, he said, "Anyway, why don't you get out of here and do whatever it is you need to do with your day? The sooner you do that, the sooner you can get back and tell me all about your exciting adventures."

"Sure. Thanks for covering, Yugi." Atem walked out, wondering why it was so difficult to come out to Yugi. He seemed to know everything already, so what was it?

The Pegasus Selection seemed at once both exactly the same and completely different. It contained the same sort of eclectic selection of antiques and odd items, but the arrangement and actual items seemed to be completely different than it had been the last time he was there. What was the same, however, was that the proprietor was nowhere to be seen.

Atem looked about with irritation. He was a little hesitant to muck about the place lest he become lost somewhere in that warren of junk.

Looking at the counter, however, he spotted a desk bell and struck it. When he turned around, he was surprised to find Pegasus standing right behind him.

"You rang?" The man looked as insufferably full of wicked amusement as ever. "Do you want to buy something new, or is this about the painting you bought the other week?"

"You remember that?"

"I never forget a customer."

"How—?"

Pegasus shrugged. "There's just a certain aura around people and the items in this store. They combine so that it's just—unmistakeable. So … that painting."

Atem sighed. It was no use lying or beating around the bush. This was what he came for after all.

Without waiting for an answer, Pegasus said, "I told you that I had no information about either the artist or the model already."

"But you did get it somehow, didn't you?"

"Indeed I did, indeed I did. I suppose I can give you the name of the family that I bought it from. But I must ask you to respect their privacy. Please approach them with care and please don't be blunt! I'd like to do business with them in the future!" A slight frown creased Pegasus' brow as he pulled out a business card and scribbled contact information on the back. "I really shouldn't do this at all," he muttered, handing the card to Atem. "This entire situation …"

"The situation? What do you mean?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man said in an almost insulted tone. "Just—"

"I won't let you down. I'll be very careful! If it works out, I'll come back and buy something very expensive, I promise!"

"I don't know what you could possibly be talking about," Pegasus said in such an exaggerated manner that Atem couldn't help but think that he knew a lot more about that painting than he'd ever said, artist, model, and all.

Once back in his tiny car, Atem pulled the card out of his wallet and took a look. Isis Ishtar, he read.

Well, no time like the present. Let's see what this previous owner is like.

The address wasn't far away at all. In fact, it was still in the picturesque area of Old Town.

Oh, shit.

Isis Ishtar
Psychic Medium
Divination
Counseling

The décor was distinctly Egyptian.

Atem wanted to turn right around and go home, but … If I turn back now, I'll always wonder if I could have tracked down where that painting came from. Let's face it. I want to know who he is and why that damn thing moves. Is it haunted?

Fuck it.

He forced himself to walk in. I hope I don't have to make a damned appointment, he thought viciously. I'm not sure I can make myself come back.

He stood in the entry room uncertainly.

"Please relax, sir," said a warm feminine voice. "I have no appointments right now, so I can see you right away. In fact, I was expecting someone to drop in at this time, so I made sure to keep this hour open."

"You …" Oh, please!

It wasn't just the fact that the appointment was conveniently open, it was that the woman, this Isis, had the same darkly tan skin with the same golden sheen as the figure in his painting. Her eyes, too, were a bright, deep blue, although not quite as dark as that man. Atem might imagine that she was related to him in some way. Perhaps it was the intelligence and intensity of those eyes, although the gaze was disconcerting in a different way. No, she seemed to look through him with a strange perception and honesty that was disturbingly disarming.

"I can see that you are skeptical," she said.

"Because you're psychic?"

"Not at all. Anyone could see that you're skeptical. Please tell me your name."

"You can't tell me my name?"

"Seers can't see everything, sir. Besides, certain things are hidden, and for some reason, your name seems to be one of those things that's particularly difficult to get at."

"Hm …" he said. As if. "My name is Atem. Motou Atem."

"You don't mind if I call you Atem, do you? It makes for a better rapport. Meanwhile, please call me Isis."

"All right, Isis. But I'm not here for a reading."

"Are you sure about that? I think you might find a reading beneficial." She lowered her gaze and voice and said, "If it would make you feel better, I wouldn't mind doing it somewhere more private. It seems to me that you've had some unusual experiences lately."

And whose fault is that? he wanted to say, but settled for, "Yes, but actually, I wanted to talk to you about an item that you sold to a fellow shop owner in the vicinity."

"The painting? Ah, yes, that's a very unusual item. I was sorry to let it go."

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you let it go, then?"

"It didn't want to stay with me any longer."

"Didn't want—what are you talking about? It's a painting."

Isis smiled. "It's a very special painting. I think you already know that. But please come into my parlor. It won't do to simply stand out here talking. Most uncomfortable. Please let me offer you some tea."

Atem followed her into a room with a large circular table of dark wood and sat in a comfortable chair facing it. There were several more chairs against the walls, which were covered with hangings of sumptuous fabric and various portraits. The floor was covered by Persian rugs. The entire room was filled with a subtle glow from several hanging and standing lamps, lending it the feeling of existing apart from the bright bustle of the city street just outside.

But the weirdest thing about the room was that Atem had the distinct impression that he was being watched.

Just as Atem was looking for the source of that disquieting sensation, Isis arrived with a silver tea set. She poured two cups of tea and offered Atem a type of almond cookie. It was so amazingly good, he took another. He was annoyed with himself for feeling so at home.

Sipping green tea, he glanced around at the paintings, realizing those were the cause of his weird sensation. All of the paintings were remarkably realistic and had the same bizarre quality of presence that his own painting had. Among them were a man with hieroglyphics drawn directly on his face, a very handsome boy with strange lilac-colored eyes, and—oddly, he thought—Pegasus Crawford himself.

Atem nearly choked on a bite of almond cookie. "You have a portrait of Pegasus?"

"He's a very good friend."

"You're not—"

"Oh, dear no. He's gay." Isis said that so straightforwardly that Atem was taken completely by surprise.

"Are all of these done by the same artist?"

"You're asking whether these were done by the same artist that painted your picture, are you not?"

"Well, yes, in a roundabout way." He glanced around again, frowning. "Are any of these signed?"

Isis smiled again. "Yes, the same artist painted all of these, and signed none of them. He's very busy with other aspects of his life and doesn't want to be known for his art."

"That Pegasus, what a liar! He said he didn't know who painted my portrait!"

Isis smiled. "He's just avoiding telling you. Technically, he doesn't know for certain. The painting wasn't signed, you see, and he wasn't there when it was painted."

Avoiding? Atem wondered why Pegasus shifted the issue to Isis, but decided not to ask directly. "The artist is quite good," he said. "Are all of these done from life?"

"You're asking whether there's a model for your painting. Again, the answer is yes. That painting is connected to a living young man."

"Whom you've met?"

"Yes, I have, and I believe he wouldn't mind my telling you that he was even more reluctant to walk into my establishment than you were. It was his brother who convinced him. In fact, it was his brother who convinced him to pose for the portrait. It was done for charity."

Charity? Odd as it was, it made a lot of sense to Atem.

"Are you sure you don't want a reading?" Isis asked, looking at Atem curiously. "I'm sure you'd find it fascinating."

"Uhn, not today, thanks. So, you say you know the model? Can you introduce me? I would—"

"I am sorry, but this man is truly difficult to approach. Although he's a businessman, unless you have legitimate business with him, it isn't wise to—"

"So you refuse to—"

"I'd like to give you his name, but if he knew that I gave his information out freely, it would be bad all around, for the both of us, believe me. He's very stubborn and it's my opinion that he would be unwilling to listen to anything you had to say."

"In that case, can you give me the name of the artist? You say he's shy. Would it be possible to contact him?"

Isis sighed. "He is a little more amenable, but … I warn you, approach him with care. The man who painted these portraits might be shy, but he's very powerful. He works behind the scenes. You won't recognize his name, but his accomplishments affect the lives of everyone around him." She frowned. "In fact, I often wonder whether I should have done a reading for—" she suddenly stopped, realizing she was about to slip up.

"What are you saying?"

She hesitated, then finally said, "This man wanted a reading for the man in the painting."

"A—and this was a problem?" Atem asked, trying to understand. "How—?"

"I've already said too much," Isis said as though this explained everything.

Atem's brow knitted as he tried to figure out what was going through Isis' mind. There was obviously more to this situation than she was saying. He glanced around. Who were these people? Did these paintings move? Were they of people who were important to her? His frown deepened. Was the changeability of these paintings their only weird property?

"Let me ask you this," he said carefully, "this man, this artist, is he dangerous?" How strange it was to feel worry for a man he did not know from another man he did not know whose potential menace he had no good way of judging. It was laughable.

"He's … not to be trifled with. And the man who posed …" she paused.

Atem was irritated. Why did she refuse to tell him what she knew? He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it on the table in front of Isis. "What can you tell me about this?"

"That's certainly the painting. One of these photos is pretty blurry …"

"Notice anything unusual? Like, for example, most painted figures don't move their arms around?"

"Oh, that."

Atem rolled his eyes. "Most people would consider that bizarre in the extreme, don't you think? Most people would call for a paranormal investigation."

"You haven't."

"What do you think I'm doing right now?"

"I suppose you are. However, I find it intriguing that this isn't the first aspect of the painting that you inquired about."

"Never mind me. About the painting?"

"Ah yes, it's always done that."

"Can you explain why?" Atem was struggling to keep his irritation out of his voice.

"I think you need to ask the artist about that."

"And therein lies my problem. I don't know who the artist is. I don't know how all this happened."

Isis sighed. "I'm sorry, Atem. I wish I could be more informative. I'll do this much. I'll give you the name of the artist, but, as I said, please be discrete and careful when you approach him."

"Funny, Pegasus said the same about you."

"Did he?" she said, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. "I really don't think I'm all that dangerous. But, perhaps it's—" She cut herself off again, glancing at the painting of Pegasus, and Atem wondered whether he'd caught an odd expression in her eyes. Handing Atem a slip of paper with a few lines written in a crisp, open script, Isis looked at him in the eye solemnly and said, "If you weren't formidable yourself, I'd refuse to give you this information at all."

"You know—" nothing about me? Oh, yes. She thinks she knows me. She's a medium. "Tch."

"I'm better at this than you think I am, Atem. Be careful. And don't visit that guy for a couple of days."

"Why not? Are you planning to warn him? Is that a good idea?"

"Don't think that he doesn't expect you already, Atem," she said.

Atem got up to leave. Isis walked him to the door. "I've enjoyed meeting you, Atem."

When he stepped out of the shop and reached his car, he turned back around for a last look only to find Isis following him, a few steps behind. "Did you forget something?" he asked.

"We didn't say a proper goodbye," she said. She shook his hand, holding it an instant too long and giving him one more of her warm smiles. "Are you absolutely certain that you don't want a reading? I don't normally do this, but for you I'd do a private reading, away from the shop. That would be better, actually."

Atem looked at Isis, wondering what she wasn't saying. "Would it? Not today, but I promise to think it over. Thank you for this," he said, waving the slip of paper, "and the tea." She began to turn to go, but he said, "Wait! What is the real reason that you want me to wait?"

"You'll see. Something will happen that will make a difference. You won't want to go there before."

Well, that was frustratingly uninformative. Atem let it go, and held her there by asking, "You do think that fellow, the man who painted the portraits is dangerous, don't you?"

"Oh, yes."

Something will happen …

Well if that wasn't the stupidest thing he'd ever had suggested to him. Atem thought he should just take the next step and check out this artist guy now, but … he was curious. What if something did happen? And what if going ahead and checking out this guy kept it from happening? It was too ridiculous. Still, it wouldn't hurt to wait another couple of days to see whether this "something" really did happen or not.

That evening, Atem walked into the Magician's Triple Dragon with Jounouchi. The two were laughing and joking together amiably. One good thing about looking forward to a little wait: he could relax and try to get his mind off that stupid weird painting for a little while.

Or make that "the weird painting that he was stupid over"?

"I don't get how you love playing games so much after working at a game shop all day long," said Jounouchi.

Atem almost laughed, but didn't want to say that he spent almost the entire day sleuthing."I guess it is," he said. The two stopped by the sports games. "So, Jou, going to play Demon Basketball for a while?"

"I think so," he said, sitting down at the console. Then, "Are you kidding?!"

Atem stepped up. "Don't tell me," he said. Sure enough, the top score was again KAI. He chuckled. "This guy is persistent. I can't wait to see the score for Egyptian Plagues!"

"You don't mind—"

"Are you kidding? Go right ahead! I'll be back right after I rack up a high score this KAI character can't possibly top!" He laughed out loud and headed toward the historical/fantasy section.

For some reason, Atem felt a surge of anticipation as he approached the machine. It had been a while since he'd experienced this level of competition. He wondered why he was so keyed up. Was it that he was worried that KAI might not have surpassed his score? Or had he not returned to Egyptian Plagues at all, only returning to Demon Basketball to top that score?

But wouldn't that be a good thing? Or … or would it just be disappointing? Why was it important that KAI care at least as much about Egyptian Plagues as Demon Basketball?

Oh.

There was someone sitting at the console playing Egyptian Plagues right then. He couldn't see much of him from the back. All that he could tell was that he was tall, had impeccably-combed chestnut hair, and wore an expensive-looking purple trench with a voluminous skirt.

A thought struck him. Could this be the mysterious KAI?

As he renewed his approach, he suddenly realized that he'd halted and …

Honestly, had he been holding his breath?

That's just weird.

Nearing the man, he could see the large hands, simultaneously relaxed and active, manipulating the controls with expert dexterity. Atem stretched on tiptoe to look over his shoulder at the score. He was on a high level—this had to be …

"KAI?" Atem murmured, not realizing he'd spoken out loud.

Startled, the man glanced over his shoulder without thinking to pause the game, causing a sudden sandstorm to ensue, ending it. He then whirled to face Atem, apparently shocked.

Atem nearly fell over. "Holy shit."

With the exception of his dress and his pale skin, the man looked exactly like the man in his painting.

Author's notes ...

3/14/2013: Updated to correct spelling of Jounouchi's name—oopsie!

Wow, guys, thanks for the continuing support! christmascarolling, AyaSeth, Plume Sombre, and EvilMidget6, you are all awesome! Just how much the portrait is contributing to the conversation, you'll have to wait and see, but there's definitely some sort of communication going on, no? ;)

This chapter represents a lot of re-writing and tweaking! I hope it was worth it! At any rate, I think it sets things up a lot better and the structure has been improved.

The Scent of Magnolia: Just a note about the musical reference. This is a rather unusual song that I heard on a small local public station that haunted me for weeks until I could recall enough of the lyrics to hunt it down. I wondered whether I liked it the first time I heard it, then couldn't forget it.

Want to know what happens next? Here's a hint ...

"Actually, no, the reading was weird enough. I only remember that it didn't make much sense and things were just getting stranger from there. Just when I thought I would have to call the police, they calmed down and came to some sort of agreement."

"Do you know what the agreement was?"

"All I know was that I had to pose for the damn painting and it ended up in that room along with everything else. I don't even know if she paid for it."

"Maybe it was part of the charity event."

"For all I know. Anyway, the thing turned out to be more than I bargained for."

Atem and Seto swap stories.