Tuesday afternoon: the dull, drowsy onset of a full stomach and a monotonous schedule. Tyki, Kanda, and he chased hotline tips until the sun crawled midway through the fog. Lenalee grouped them all for another unsucessful meeting over lunch.

Allen had sat with Fou to eat, the only redhead in his life bothering to speak with him.

Lavi was still awol; Allen bought a new phone last night, but hadn't given him a ring.

He thumbed over his number but decided against it. Lavi wouldn't pick up, anyway.

Kanda fiddled with the scanner until it filled the car with a dull buzzing.

"We don't really need the scanner if we're just picking up tips. The droning gives me a headache," Tyki drawled from the backseat, face partially hidden by the grating.

This squad car was older than Lavi's personal taxi. Allen traced the faded wrinkles in the leather with his glove, seat with cracks like branches on winter trees. Outside was the crest between fall and winter, right before the weather took a nosedive to unbearable chill and slush. Only the out of place trees in the city, like awkward streetlamps, faded in vibrancy; every blade of grass retained the crisp apple green all year. He sometimes felt as if time didn't pass in this country, with the cobbled, thigh-high stone walls and silent lush fields remaining identical even as seasons passed.

"We need to respond if we're closest to an accident," Kanda muttered back, continuing to tune it until subtle voices cut through the buzzing.

"You're right," Tyki yawned, "you're always my voice of reason, partner."

Kanda jerked the knob on the scanner, causing the feedback to nearly blow out Allen's eardrum.

An argument ensued soon after between the pair. Allen and Nea signed.

He silently watched the back and forth from the passenger seat, wondering how these two became partners.

"Probably a yin-yang thi-" Nea covered his mouth mid sentence, and then eyed Tyki.

Tyki made no discernible change in his disposition, leaning back in his seat with no seatbelt. His arm rested far over the headrest, leaving Nea to huddle over next to the opposite door.

Allen tuned in.

"You have to admit we are partners, and we do have the highest rates across the board out of any pair. That's a fact, right?"

"I'm trying to get this fucking scanner to work."

"It seems like you're trying to deflect, dear partner."

"Tyki-"

Allen tuned out.

"Can he hear me?" Nea leaned up to the grating to whisper in Allen's ear. "It's eerie. Weird. It's not fair, actually, this is our thing! Oh, God, have other people been able to see me besides him? Think about it, Allen-"

"Shut up," Allen muttered under his breath.

Kanda and Tyki looked over at Allen mid-argument.

"I mean," Allen held his hands up nervously, "let's just go, right? No point in arguing."

"Allen's right," Tyki said with an odd smile, winking at Allen.

"Bastard, damn secretive bastard," Nea muttered.

Unlike Nea, Allen found solace in another knowing of his ghost's existence. Tiny amounts of solace, though, and large chunks of anxiety sitting like a bad meal in his stomach.

"Whatever," Kanda replied, throwing the car in gear and pulling out of the lot.

Kanda flashed his badge at the last gate to exit, and they emptied on the main road.

"Which way am I headed?" Kanda asked.

Tyki clicked his tongue while tracing a crumpled map. "You want west: make a right here, ah, don't hit that car, Kanda, pretty please!"

"I'll never understand why the city doesn't make two way roads big enough for both pissing ways," Kanda said, under his breath.

Allen silently agreed. In Ireland, the problem with back roads-and most roads in general-was that they could only fit one car on them. If one truly wanted two cars on a road, they needed to go about 10 kilometers per hour and have one car half in the ditch and half in the road so the other could get by.

"You drive like a right-" Allen sucked in his breath when he was nearly sent over the dashboard.

Allen thought he knew what road rage was; he assumed his idea of the term was correct. Nea often made rude comments, and taxi drivers told other cars to piss off. It was a simple concept. But this was blistering, liquid iron anger, in the form of machinery hurling 70 kilometers per hour on weak roads.

"Seatbelt," Nea said quietly.

"You learn to love the thrill of it," Tyki said, laughing as Allen shook his head violently at this.

The skinny, dead fall trees whizzed past. The road violently and quickly bent at sharp angles. The air conditioner in the car didn't work; the wind from a cracked window blew his ragged colorless bangs back. So still, safe behind silent glass in wake of the motion outside of the screaming metal. A buzzing behind his eyes much like thrill.

Then a car would come at them head on, arguing for more space on the trapeze roads. A rush of terror flooding excitement.

"My driving is," Kanda slammed on the brakes and honked, "fine. I just like to get places faster."

They eventually escaped the back roads, much to Allen's relief. The four motorway ramps resembled a clover, and they took a frond up to the interstate. Kanda's driving became much less noticeable on even, wide ground.

They drove for a minute. Five minutes. Ten. It was acres upon acres of the same green and stone. Breathtaking, but boring. Tyki groaned and sprawled out, causing Nea to hiss like a disturbed cat.

Tyki broke the silence and said, "This tips' way out in the boonies. Outside Rathkeale, you know, where the Irish mafia vacations. Should be fun."

"Fucking Rovers," Kanda muttered, then looked over at Allen.

His eyes were a bit unnerving, getting darker and deeper the longer Allen kept his gaze.

"What is it?" Allen asked, blinking.

"You ever done one of these by yourself, bartender? Any field work?"

"Bartender?" Tyki questioned, but Kanda held a hand up to keep him from derailing the conversation.

"Say you have. He's trying to size you up," Nea whispered.

"No," Allen said, getting a little amused at the disappointment growing on Nea's face, "I was told I'd just be consulting, not field work. And don't call me 'bartender'."

"So you've been trained for consulting work, then? And, you work at a bar, so why shouldn't I?" Kanda knew the answer to his question before he asked.

"I've got on the job training; is that up to your standards? Why don't you just call me my name?"

"Why would I know your name? Does half-pint work better for you?"

"Oh, a quip about my stature. I suffered too many harsh winters in London to grow as monstrously tall as you, sorry," Allen said, rolling his eyes.

There was a humor beneath the irritation in Kanda's eyes. "Somehow I knew you were from London with that stick up your ass."

"Gentleman-" Tyki tried to interject, but Allen cut him off.

"We pronounce it 'arse' in London actually. For example, 'you're a giant arse'-"

"Kanda-"

"What?" Kanda yelled, looking back at Tyki pointing at the map.

"You get off the motorway," Tyki pointed at an exit ramp blocked by growing double lines, "there."

"Oh, shit!"

Kanda swerved. Allen yelped. Tyki held on to the door.

They narrowly escaped losing a headlight to the sidewall, and flew down the exit ramp.

Allen stewed irritably with his face towards the window. The rest of the car ride was silent.


Tuesday afternoon: grass like crunched up, broken beer bottles reflecting the dew of the late morning fog. The car screeched to the finish line on a narrow back road in front of a muddy and gravel driveway. The path led back, so far back in the fog that Allen could only see diluted shades of green the more he squinted. An iron gate, well maintained but barely fighting off rust, stood ajar and unlocked. It beckoned entry to nowhere but smoky slate.

Thigh-high stone walls, all hand-stacked without mortar, guarded the fields and countryside of Ireland. However, these were crumbling, crooked; the owner didn't maintain their walls or had lively livestock.

"Rover territory, just great," Kanda muttered, flipping through the files Marie made for them. "Do we have any more we can knock out here so we can get the fuck out of this town?"

They were outside Rathkeale, a small town infamous for organized crime. There were giant, ritzy mansions next to functional farms, Benz parked by tractors: the epicenter of the Rathkeale Rover's vacation center.

"The Rovers' have been quiet since the last bust. I doubt they'll even notice we're here," Tyki replied.

Allen noticed that Kanda seemed to curse more when he was irritable, which was often, but Tyki took up an air of politeness when angry. They were an odd duo, but somehow it worked.

"You're better off skipping this one, Allen," Nea whispered.

"Kanda, maybe we should investigate the house before walking up there. If we drive around we might be able to see if it's-"

Kanda cut Allen off. "If it's what? A Rover hideout with snipers on the roof? There hasn't been any tension between us and those assholes in years. We've kept our investigations tight and clean. They're not gonna shoot me for answering a tip they left; hell, the mannequin case is the type of thing they would do."

Kanda put his hand on the car door, but Allen grabbed his shoulder.

"Don't walk into something so obviously stupid. They wouldn't draw any unnecessary attention to Rathkeale like this," Allen said.

The entrance seemed too posed and stagnant; the air was heavy and his bones felt heavy in his skin. He looked to roll down his window; it was already open. Something was off.

"Then it's some farmer up there who's going to tell me to lower taxes. I'll take this one, Tyki can do the next tip, and you'll do the one after."

Kanda opened the door. Allen didn't move his hand and gripped the fabric tighter and said, "Something doesn't seem right about this."

"I agree," Nea said.

Tyki stayed silent.

Kanda rolled his eyes and got out of the car, brushing Allen off his arm. Through Allen's cracked window, he bent down, pushing his hair out of the way, and said, "It'll be nothing. I'll have my walkie on, and I'll tell you when I see the house. That okay, bartender?"

Allen glared, but nodded.

"Your face will freeze like that if you don't relax," Kanda added.

His dark hair swung as he walked away, pushing past the iron gate and disappearing into the open farmland and dense fog.

A tense silence.

"It's not a Rover. I already checked; it's a kilometer or two up to some guy and his six kids," Tyki said nonchalantly.

Allen stared blankly at Tyki's grin.

"Are you taking the piss at me?"

"Not at you, of course not! At Kanda, maybe. I bet another cop I could get him to admit we're partners by the end of the week. I do most of the fact checking in the partnership. Or, someone does it for me. So this is," Tyki moved his hands as he searched for the words, "a bit of reverse psychology, if you will."

Allen sighed and rubbed his brow, fighting the mounting headache. Nea was cracking up in the back seat.

"You were actually worried, weren't you? Weren't you? About that guy?" Nea repeated while snorting.

"Theres like, a shit ton of land back there the guy could be at, too. It could take Kanda an hour, searching through fields," Tyki started to laugh mid-sentence, "getting his perfectly shined shoes covered in horse manure."

Allen's mouth loosened, almost slipping a little smile at this-ignoring Nea still cracking up behind him. The thought of Kanda nervously checking behind cows for kilometers on end would probably send Fou into a ugly laughing, half choking, fit over a sandwich tomorrow.

A strange, weak sense of family.

The scanner suddenly went off, tuning in to a stern man's voice.

"-ot a big deal, just need some perimeter backup near Adare."

Allen attempted to tune the radio, empathizing with Kanda at the state of disrepair the radio was in. A different voice, more grainy and weak.

"-at happen-ed?"

A ragged man's voice, the same channel as the first voice.

"-Yeah, a murder at the uh, the fuckin' Mustard Seed at Echo Lodge. 'ooks like a prostitute, real upscale woman of the night 'ere. Stab wounds, t'e whole pig n' half. We jus' need one or two lads to stand out front while we clear it. Anyone 'ear?"

Tyki left the trunk of the car and plopped in the driver's seat.

He picked up the radio receiver and said, "How far out from Rathkeale are you guys?"

"We can't just ditch Kanda," Allen offered.

"Oh, we don't want to bother him. He's very busy right now," Tyki said, and smiled as the car roared to a start.

"'Bout 6 kilometers or so. You free, Tyki?"

"Free as a bird, Toma. I've got an extra inspector with me to boot. Be there in five." Tyki hooked the receiver back and reached for the gearshift.

Tyki was absolutely chaotic, like a glass of smooth whiskey with cocaine around the rim, and he probably was not the best guide of judgement. However, it did feel good to ditch someone who couldn't bother to learn his name.

Tyki and Allen did terrible impressions of Kanda cursing and scoffing while mansions flew past.


Late Tuesday afternoon: cream paint nestled in golden and fiery fall trees, with leaves like rust on a copper pipe. Trees were hard to come by in the settled parts of the country; it was mostly crisp, rolling farmland and miles of jade and stone. However, the hairpin town of Adare had a fair amount of trees, giving it a warm autumn glow. Unlike the foggy, flat Rathkeale.

"Why would you fancy a woman of the night at a bed and breakfast?" Allen murmured, noting that the paint on the outside of the sprawling manor looked like soggy cereal rather than mustard.

"Hey now, this isn't our case. We just have to stand outside and look pretty," Tyki said, getting out of the car.

Allen followed in suit, locking the door behind him.

"You want a smoke?" Tyki offered one from his pack, and Allen considered it.

"Oh please don't Allen, it makes me feel faint," Nea whined, putting a hand to his forehead. "I'm already running a fever at the thought of it."

He smoked when he was nervous, but it was less of a habit and more of a coping mechanism. When Nea overwhelmed his thoughts, a cigarette often faded the noise. Nea hated the smell.

He wanted to ask Tyki what he knew about Nea, and for that, Nea had to disappear.

"Sure," Allen said, drawing one from the pack.

"Don't you dare, Walker," Nea said angrily.

Tyki handed Allen his lighter which was seemly custom made. It was a flip-top zippo lighter, all steel, with a strange pattern of two crossed keys. A design around the keys was branded in black on the steel. He curiously handed it back, but didn't ask.

The clove cigarette coated his chapped lips in cherry and tar. A silence fell over them, with smoke billowing with the dead leaves.

Nea was gone.

Allen felt a nervous energy brewing in the silence.

"Tyki-"

"Yeah, I can see your ghost," Tyki said in an exhale of smoke.

Tyki smirked to blend in where Allen went a few shades paler.

"Well, I can't see him, see him. I can see," Tyki pursed his lips, "a dark shadow, almost, like shades of indigo and violet coming off your person. It's not strong right now-the smoke, right? It's like burning incense in a haunted house, especially the clove."

"I-" Allen faltered for words.

"Thank you."

Tyki looked a little taken aback, but hid it well. "I don't know much about them, to be honest. But yours' is a nasty one, huh?"

"He's not that bad," Allen said with a laugh, and this time Tyki couldn't hide his surprise.

"You listen to him? The whispers, what he says?" Tyki asked quickly.

Allen sucked on the cigarette while trying to disassemble the worry in Tyki's voice. When he couldn't, he replied with a simple, "Yes."

Tyki mimicked Allen, turning to his cigarette for the next conversational cue. He looked up at the trees and blew smoke out with his words.

"A Tais is an old ghost, trapped on earth because of some connection: either affection, anger against the living, or unfulfilled duty. Anita, ah," he seemed to want to eat the name out of the air, "well, sources tell me they come from people that mourn themselves to death or die suddenly. They feed on attention and play tricks; they can't be trusted," Tyki said, staring directly at Allen.

His eyes held worry hidden beneath loose curls, dark and airy like an unlit moon.

Allen hadn't considered Nea to be untrustworthy; he'd always been helpful. They weren't out robbing graves together to practice witchcraft.

Allen drew on his cigarette with worry. "Are they always-"

"Always," Tyki repeated.

"Well how do I get rid of," Allen swallowed the name much better than Tyki, "it?"

He couldn't even imagine Nea's outrage at being called an "it". He didn't know why that mattered to him.

"I don't know," Tyki replied with a shrug.

A long pause. Cigarette burning to the filter. The wind coming to a halt. Trees above, crowding the sterile afternoon sky. Fall abruptly becoming winter.

"Here." Tyki fumbled with his wallet, searching for something. A ragged business card finally emerged, and he offered it between two fingers to Allen.

"Anita's tobacco shoppe?" Allen read slowly, before looking back at Tyki in confusion.

"You can't openly do anything that resembles witchcraft in Ireland, unfortunately. Just tell them I sent you. She can answer more of your questions than me," Tyki said, putting the butt of his cigarette out on his shoe.

"There is one thing I have noticed, though," Tyki murmured, curiously watching Allen.

Allen noticed his cigarette was out, and ash had spilled onto his glove; he wondered if Tyki could see shadows creeping up his back.

"The closer you get to someone, the more you can see their ghost. An-," he sighed but continued, "someone I know with a situation like yours; I'm very close to her. I can see her ghost, hear it; it's like there's no difference between the ghost and another human. But it's never looked as dark as yours' seems to."

He added, "You don't get close to people, do you?"

Allen opened his mouth to protest that he had exactly one friend, but noticed a peculiar rustling out of the corner of his vision. A forlorn man was blowing his way past Tyki and Allen's lax perimeter watch, shouting something lost in the crunching of dead leaves.

"Shit!" Allen jogged across the lawn over to the man, who wasn't covering much ground in his emotional state.

He collapsed in the leaves with a disgruntled suit on and bloodshot eyes.

Allen noticed the despair in his eyes shooting straight past him, into the hotel, into the room, the bed, the girl, the wounds, the blood.

"Sir, this area is-"

"She wasn't a fucking prostitute!" He screamed, on his knees in the fallen rubble of the lawn.

"Sir, please try to calm down," Allen said weakly.

He didn't know how to do this; he hurriedly looked around for Nea's smoky appearance. Maybe he was too angry to help. Allen felt the misplaced urge to apologize to thin air.

"Yeah? Fuck you!" The man yelled. "Fuck,"

"I'm sorry," Allen said quietly.

"For your loss," Nea finished, words leaving Allen's lips.

"Tell him he police are doing everything they can to preserve her image," Nea whispered, squatting to look at the man.

Allen noticed the lack of emotion in Nea's eyes when looking into complete desolation. Nea glanced up at Allen and smiled softly.

"Warn me before you smoke next time, right?"

Allen nodded his head slightly.

"I'm very sorry for your loss. We're doing everything we can to preserve her image, and there isn't an official report of what happened yet," Allen said, offering a hand to the man.

He pushed Allen's hand away. Tyki sauntered over.

"You might be?" Tyki asked, looking over the ginger man, who drank a bit too much beer over the years for the suit he was squashed in.

"Her brother," he said, trying to fix his clothes and brush off the leaves.

"She wasn't a whore," he repeated, emphasizing the "w" sound. "She wouldn't be fucking some nobody in this shithole. She works at Trinity College, in Dublin. Yeah. She wasn't a f-"

"The police are looking into it," Tyki said with a mock sweetness that gave Allen a dull toothache.

The brother eyed Allen and spewed misguided venom. "You look like you should be in there inspecting, not guarding the fucking lawn, half-pint. I could knock you over and take a look myself."

Tyki opened his mouth, but Allen replied first with Nea at his heels. He leaned in to the man's face, eyes manic with nicotine and irritability and something dark; misty locks so close the man could smell the lavender shampoo.

"You're the second man to call me half-pint today, and I'm enjoying it even less this time 'round. If you lay a single hand on me, I will knock you flat on your arse and you can mourn your sister's death from a jail cell for assaulting an officer. Sound proper, yeah?"

The man's round face scrunched up to a perfect circle and he muttered, "I fucking hate you cops. Just take a look for me, for bloody' sake. If she's wearing the corset and heels, then I have my answer. I won't give a statement unless you look-you need that shit, right?"

Allen looked over at Tyki, who nodded with a shrug. His eyes held an unrecognizable emotion.

"They might need a hand in there," Tyki said slowly.

"I'll be back in five minutes. Stay here and make sure he doesn't run in, Tyki," Allen muttered, turning on his heel.

"Yes, sir!" Tyki said, bringing his hand to attention on his forehead.


The inn was even more luxurious than Allen realized; the front was covered in various colors of flowers and herbs; a sweet and soft scent filled the gravel path leading into the yellow cream building. He looked for the chain of custody log, or even tape, but it seemed they were deeper in the inn.

He slid the glass doors ajar and stepped in, wiping the dirt off his shoes on the welcome mat before continuing.

The entrance rooms were painted a deep maroon, which matched the dark, polished wood of the furniture inside. Everything was stagnant, quiet, except for the faint sounds of camera flashes down the long hall of guest rooms. It was sparsely decorated, meant to hold an air of class compared to the cluttered knickknacks you'd usually find at a place like this. He stopped by the entrance desk and noticed a wooden board, meant to hold the room keys, mounted on the wall.

It was missing a couple rooms; he wondered how many guests had been spending the night when this happened. The kitchen was offset through glass doors; inside, an officer was talking to an older woman. Her makeup was smeared; she blew her nose into a rag.

The guest log was in a bag labeled "Evidence". Two people had already signed custody on the log attached. He moved on down the hall.

A bell rang in between the camera flashes. A shadow swiftly ran between his feet, with a tawny cat stopping at the end of the hall. It gave him a long look, then began to give the orange fur a good bath.

He suddenly felt a terrible guilt wash over him for speaking so brashly to the man outside.

"I should probably apologize," he mumbled absentmindedly.

"You didn't get to mourn that angel on the bridge, so you took it out on some else mourning," Nea said, walking over to pet the cat. It sauntered away.

"It's just a part of being human. Just apologize in that Allen way that you do. You'll feel better."

Can I trust Nea?

Is he the reason I got so angry?

Maybe it's just my temper.

Sometimes he didn't wholly feel like himself; sometimes Nea and he overlapped.

He tried not to think about it.

Room Number 8 had yellow tape barring the entrance and the door was slightly cracked.

"Coming in, you want me to sign anything?" Allen yelled, weaving through the tape and pushing on the door a little.

A man yanked the door open and replied, "We're up the crick 'out a paddle on this'n. You the Limerick lad with Tyki we 'alled in?"

Allen blinked as he deciphered the accent. "Yes, we were checking a tip in Rathkeale. Tyki's keeping the perimeter outside."

He remembered Kanda.

"You shouldn't feel guilty on that account," Nea said with a smirk.

"Sign 'ere," he said, holding out a clipboard.

The walls possessed the same red as the entrance rooms, the same red all over the body.

He quickly signed, and then stretched latex gloves over his own cloth ones.

"We've got the body over on the bed, as you can see," the man said, "the assailant stabbed her, but I don't know how many times or with what. Our blood spatter tech decided not to pick up the phone, and the one day we need him. We may need to pull Krory; he did a little blood spatter work before switching to field work, right? Is he mobilized for the Entomber case, too?"

He spoke with an air of properness but there wasn't an ease to it; he seemed a little too forced, almost robotic in his actions. He even braided his light hair a little too harshly. Although, the man had a bit of a rounder face, and the stern hair made him seem older. Allen wouldn't be surprised if he was his own age. Maybe he was just from London.

"I just started with the Limerick division, so I'm not familiar with everyone yet," Allen said nervously. "I'm Allen."

"Excuse my manners. I'm Link. Emergency response. I don't work with this division, but I was in the area for something unrelated."

"Toma. 'ust a guarda who works 'round here," the man said, holding out his broad hand.

Allen shook it, thinking about how strange introductions were at a crime scene. The other two didn't seem to notice.

Technically, all he needed to do was look at the body and leave. The corset, completely black lace, spared no ounce of modesty. The dark heels were decadent and much too high to walk in.

"The heels," Nea murmured. "You're onto something."

"Do you mind if I take a closer look, Link, was it?" Allen asked.

The man moved with a fluidity Allen recognized as dangerous; guarda received physical training before field work, but this was much deeper. His movements were cold, calculated and quick, as if he measured the exact angles to bend.

"Why do all the emergency officers look like they could skin you with their pinky?" Nea muttered.

"Of course."

Allen put a knee on the bed to get a closer look. The corset fabric was very expensive, and that wasn't just an assumption.

"The tags are still on the corset," Nea said with curiosity.

Allen gently reached beneath the girl's armpit and pulled out the tiny, paper tags. On a piece of cardstock the size of his fingertip: three hundred pounds, Fantasy Garden Boutique, S. He wasn't feeling up for checking if the tags were still on the bottoms.

"She wasn't working in the sex industry, but someone dressed her up as if she did before they killed her," Allen said, and then remembered this wasn't his case.

Link leaned in with interest, blonde hair almost dripping on him. He blinked. "I didn't see that. Any store selling lace for that much has cameras. Thanks, Allen, we probably wouldn't have seen that until someone scanned evidence."

Link's face pinched up, and Allen pretended not to notice. However, the man looked disappointed that Allen had seen the tags, and not himself.

"It's no problem," Allen said, trailing off. "The brother is outside; someone working the case should probably get a statement."

"I'll be right behind you," Link said, although he began inspecting the tag again and retrieved a jar of black powder for fingerprinting.

"Only a perfectionist has their bangs perfectly symmetrical," Nea whispered as they exited. "Did you see him look at your hair? You should really cut it. Not a stick up the arse bowl cut, though, like that."

Allen sighed as Nea began to ramble, signed the time he left on the clipboard, and walked back into the crimson halls. The cat's bell chimed quickly, and it laced itself between his footsteps.

"She seems to like you," Nea said.

The cat ran ahead, to the exit of the inn, and the soft scent of flowers returned. Nea walked ahead of him, reaching down to stroke the cat's fur. The animal recoiled with a screech and ran out the door.


Tyki nearly ran into the glass door, pouncing on Allen as he opened it.

"We've got to go, now," Tyki said, yanking Allen by jacket and dragging him into the garden.

"Bloody-," he nearly tripped over lilacs, "what is it, Tyki?"

"Tell you in the car. Hurry along now," he responded, smashing fallen leaves with heavy footsteps.

"Give me a brief synopsis, at least," he said, looking over at the man waiting near their car.

"Kanda is just impatient, that's all, and I didn't have my walkie on me. 'Wouldn't want to keep him waiting," Tyki replied.

"Did something happen?"

Tyki chewed on this. "Yes, I suppose so."

They made it to the car, and Tyki didn't even look at the man's expectant eyes.

"She's not a prostitute," Allen said quickly as he opened his car door. "But someone dressed her up like one. Good eve."

The man looked on with confusion. "She what? Where are you going? Wait-"

Tyki reached over and slammed Allen's door, throwing up gravel and a cloud of dirt as he reversed.


"Was he shot?" Allen asked quickly as Tyki climbed up the speedometer.

They left sweet and colorful Adare; the sun began to descend into grey, heavy clouds. The grass shifted to a bleak green, the color of a faded olive sweater, and the stone walls jutted from the land as they swam past the window. The fog dissolved, but the air was thick and swallows seemed stuck like peanut butter coating the inside of his mouth.

"No."

"Captured? Killed? Held for ransom?"

"No," Tyki repeated, lighting a cigarette in the car.

Allen rolled his window down as the inside of the car filled with smoke. He noticed the walkie turned off in the cupholder, and reached for it.

"You don't want to turn that on right now. Kanda's quite unhappy," Tyki muttered.

Allen did anyway.

"-is it. I swear to God and any Goddamn holy spirits listening, even his fucking son, that I am done working with you Tyki Mikk. If you don't get here in-"

"Kanda? Kanda, what's going on?" Allen asked worriedly. "Are you injured?"

"Am I-," Kanda scoffed, loudly so it would pick up on the reciever, "No I'm not hurt. I'm fucking pissed. You two asshats-"

"Someone on the scanner needed backup," Allen said while pursing his lips.

"Then fucking tell me before you ditch me in a field! Oh but, of course you wouldn't know that, bartender, because you don't know any of the protocol-"

"If someone doesn't tell me what's wrong in the next pissing moment," Allen muttered, rubbing his brow.

"This guy and his kids-oh and thanks, Tyki, for sending me in thinking it was a Rover-"

"Get to the point," Allen said, "You can yell at him later."

"I can yell at him any time I want to. I want to yell at him now, later, at four in the morning-"

"Turn that off, please, it's turning me into quite the distracted driver. Kanda found blood all over a shed with the words 'Why don't I see him?' painted on the ceiling. No dad, lights on in the house," Tyki said, flipping the switch on the walkie. "He can't clear the house without backup. He's stupid enough to go in alone if we don't get there."

"When was the tip called in?" Allen asked quietly.

The car felt too silent without Kanda yelling. They were passing mansions at a dizzying speed in a flash of light and sound.

"Two days ago, the night we found the angels," Tyki replied with a sigh. "Single dad who kept the kids and the land probably has an angry spouse. It's always the spouse. I'm thinking it's the dad's blood; the kids are probably fine with the mom. Especially if she called in a tip to make us come look at the property; she feels guilty and can't admit to it."

"'Why can't I see him?' is an odd message to leave, though," Allen said, knowing Tyki was placating him.

"Probably based off an argument they had about custody. Might even say 'them' because Kanda isn't the sharpest tack in the box when he's worked up. Although a little sadistic to write out in blood," Tyki said. "I just don't want Kanda in the house, alone, with six kids to cover."


Early Tuesday evening: a grey and yellow sky like an overdone hardboiled egg yolk, the fight beginning between night and day.

They hopped out of the car and slid past the gate.

A neighbor called out to them. "Somethin' 'appen at the McKinley's? Saw your car parked earlier-"

"Let you know as soon as we find out," Tyki called over his shoulder.

Allen turned on the walkie. Silence. They fell to a brisk walk.

"Kanda? We're walking up," Allen said.

"Someone should be handling perimeter by now. Lenalee stretched the officers too thin," Tyki muttered, falling to a brisk walk. He reached for his cigarettes, but found the pack empty.

"Did you stop for coffee on the way because it took you-"

Tyki held his hand out for the walkie, and Allen handed it over.

"Where are you? I called in a code, but no one's got perimeter yet," Tyki said.

They were far down the driveway now. Hushed grass and onwatching, wary livestock encircled the pair; they were the only ones disturbing the peace of the land.

"Near the shed. It's a ways up from the house. I knocked on the door of the house when I first arrived, but no one answered," Kanda replied quietly, anger still apparent but put on hold.

"We're coming up on it now. I think the spouse should go easily, no need to turn this into a circus," Tyki said as the rickety shed came into view.

The shed was a mess of piecewise wooden planks and tin; it looked old and weathered and rotten. The house stood farther back on the driveway, but the lights cut up the oncoming darkness of evening.

Kanda paced the same space of flattened grass with the walkie gripped in white knuckles.

"How nice of you to show up," Kanda yelled when he noticed them walking up. "You two feel like bloody doing your jobs now?"

Allen put a leg over the stone wall labeling the left side of the driveway-he was too short to hop over-and carefully exited.

"I'm so sorry someone was murdered while you needed attention, Kanda. Can we take a look inside first?" Tyki said, waltzing over to the shed.

Allen wanted to apologize, but knew it would roll off Kanda's ears and down the driveway until it snowballed into an argument.

"Yeah, I'm sure you can handle another write-up without a suspension. Lenalee will be thrilled to hear about how she stressed us staying together, and yet you two found somewhere better to be," Kanda replied.

"Ouch, there's no need for nastiness," Tyki replied as he opened the door.

The smell of blood nearly blew Allen over. It reeked, and didn't smell entirely human; however, it was familiar.

Tyki peeked in, not wanting to disrupt the scene any more than he needed to. The wood of the floor was stained red, and apparent drag marks were at the entrance. They were short marks, and Allen's stomach knotted up; a large farmer wasn't dragged here.

"The smell gave me probable cause to open it up. Says' 'why don't I see him' on the ceiling," Kanda said.

"Judge might debate that smell as normal on a farm," Allen said without thinking, and Kanda glared.

Well, I'll be, you can read correctly, Kanda," Tyki replied as he glanced at the ceiling.

He walked away from the entrance and said, "Drag marks don't look like the farmer's, although-"

Tyki took another peek at the ceiling before turning to his phone.

"What is it?" Kanda muttered.

"Comparison," he said vaguely.

Allen ignored the pair outside and went to take a look at the guts of the shed for himself. He wanted to recoil at the smell; how Tyki stood unwavering in the face of this much blood was beside him. It was sprayed on the walls, even the scattered tools and bags of manure.

"Smells like pig's blood," Nea commented as he walked inside. "Drag marks look like a smaller animal than a human, too."

The bottoms of Nea's boots soon turned maroon. He turned his gaze upward and suddenly looked a little more sober.

Allen looked, too. The letters were thick and sloppy and dripping off the tin still; it was recent.

A drop landed on his cheek and trailed down like scar tissue. Nea wiped it off and curiously looked at the muddy color on his glove.

Something about this seemed too familiar, too strange to be an angry spouse. He entered the doorway a little further and squinted.

"The 'him'," he said to Nea, "does it look capitalized to you? A particular kid, maybe?"

Nea glanced up, then back at Allen. He seemed to be worried, not for himself, but at Allen's reaction to his oncoming words. A drop of blood fell onto his shoulder.

"It's the same handwriting, Allen. You've let these two idiots cloud your thoughts. He drew a line through the 'o', the same way he did in-"

"The same way he wrote John," Allen gasped, and suddenly felt an urge to vomit.

"Why don't I see Him?, indeed," Nea muttered.

"No, he has six kids. We're reading too much into this," Allen said with nervous laughter.

"Allen-" Nea started, but Allen left the shed.

"What are you laughing at?" Kanda asked, sauntering over.

"You're wrong," Allen said shakily.

Kanda reached for Allen's shoulder. "Hey, I'm talking to you."

Allen's laughter nearly shook Kanda. "He has six kids! The blood is fresh, he was just here, we could've stopped this, he has-"

"What is your problem?" Kanda yelled, letting him stalk off.

"Oh I really hoped it wouldn't come to this. He draws a line through the 'o' the same stylistic way," Tyki murmured through pursed lips. "It's pig's blood, too, like the shirt. Shit, we missed him by a second."

Allen stumbled away from the two as his laughter faded into bitter tears.

"What the fuck is going on?" Kanda said, then glanced at Tyki's phone screen cutting through the evening dusk.

"Is that the Entomber's bible verse?"

"Look at the handwriting," Tyki said, showing him the screen.

A pause as he squinted, before cursing and pulling out his phone.

"Oh, fuck me," Kanda said with the phone up to his ear.

"Yeah, Lenalee? Search every boat headed over to those islands immediately, we've got…"

Kanda's voice faded as Allen distanced himself. Nea appeared as a vision of smoke before fully forming, soft and tanned skin handing him a handkerchief.

"We'll get him," Nea said softly. "It's not your fault."

"But it is," Allen said in a weak voice, sniffling. "I knew something was wrong when we got here."

"You can't just notice a few stones loose in the driveway and immediately call for backup," Nea murmured, leaning on the stone wall Allen was perched on.

Nea was right, like he always was, but Allen was going to let himself have a good, ugly cry. He let his face fall into his hands and let out a frustrated noise.

"It's that Tyki who messed up, not you. I don't like him; he's like that uncle who always gets too drunk at the Christmas party. God, remember that one bitter winter when you were twelve and with the, what's their bloody name, the Taylor family? And their uncle drank so much wine he went out in the snow completely naked? That was absolutely scarring."

Allen laughed a little between sniffles, and Nea smiled while watching him.

"You don't need to make nice with these assholes, right? You have Lavi." Nea tucked Allen's tangled locks behind his ears.

"And you'll always," Nea wiped away a stray tear and looked at the wet fabric of his glove for a moment.

He looked up at Allen with bright, sunset eyes full of an emotion Allen couldn't quite figure out. Much more depth than just happiness, much more darkness than love.

"You'll always, always have me."

And Allen would lie awake that night, wondering how Nea knew of something that happened when he was twelve.

But in this moment, he felt safe, happy, relieved. He felt loved.