Chapter Eight

"I don't believe it," Hisoka said flatly. "It's impossible." He looked around the table at the three others, and his voice was thin and strained. "It has to be impossible."

Watari twisted a long golden thread of her hair around her right index finger, pulling at it absently till it snapped, and then blinked. "No," she said gently. "Hisoka-kun, do you remember when I checked Tsuzuki for injuries after the fight with the demon with the cursed violin?"

"Yes," Hisoka said dryly. "And you missed one, too."

Muraki seemed to tense at his end of the table, like a pale thundercloud beginning to draw itself together and prepare a deadly lightning. "What was this?"

Tsuzuki raised both hands to intercede. "It was like this. Hisoka and I were investigating a case together, and it turned out to have a demon behind it who was involved with a bargain and a cursed violin. It was Brig-"

"Don't say it!" Muraki and Watari snapped together, then blinked at each other in mild surprise.

"Don't say it, Tsuzuki-san," Watari added. "Write it down. Saying his name draws his attention if he's anywhere near."

Muraki removed a small notepad and pencil from a pocket in his yukata, and placed it on the table beside Tsuzuki. He smiled warmly as Tsuzuki waited till the doctor had withdrawn his hand before reaching for the pad. "Indeed, Watari-san. Any competent demonologist knows that."

Tsuzuki flushed, and made several attempts at the proper katakana before Hisoka sighed, commandeered the paper and pencil, and scribbled down Makai Grand Duke Dragon Cavalry Lord Ashitarote's servant, Brigade Leader Saagatanasu. "That one," he said baldly, flicking the pad back to Muraki.

Muraki raised an icy eyebrow, then inspected the name. His visible eye widened a touch. "Tsuzuki-san, you don't do things by halves, do you?"

"How is it that everyone here except me knows all about demons?" Tsuzuki asked the ceiling. He looked down again, and saw Muraki opening his mouth to answer. An icy chill ran down his spine - like fingers, he thought - as he considered exactly what the psychotic doctor might reply. "Er, don't answer that."

"No real thirst for knowledge," Muraki commented sadly.

"I've always thought that," Watari agreed, remembering the cold-hearted refusal to serve as experimental subject for countless sex-change potion attempts. She coughed. "Er, that is, I see that you know of the demon in question, Muraki-sensei."

Muraki nodded. "Direct subordinate of the commander of the Spirit Brigade. Rumored ability to steal a person's soul and take command of . . ." He paused. "Oh. Oh, I see."

"What do you see?" Hisoka asked resentfully. He didn't see, personally, and he still wasn't happy about having to be rescued by the others - and from such a humiliating position, too. And terrifying, the back of his mind whispered. Have you really forgotten how frightened you were?

Muraki didn't even bother to look at him. "Simple enough, boy. Your Tatsumi has been possessed by this demon."

Hisoka was shaking his head before the older man had finished. "No, no, that's not possible. It's dead. We saw it torn apart by Tsuzuki's shikigamis. There was blood everywhere." But it was coming back to him now, that coldness he had felt just before unconsciousness, and how familiar it had seemed. I felt it before, and now I know where. "He wasn't even hurt . . ." he pointed out hopefully.

Tsuzuki reached across and patted Hisoka on the arm. Must be supportive, must be helpful, must try and ignore Muraki stroking his foot against mine . . . "I think everyone took some minor bumps and grazes during the, um, confusion." He blushed, remembering his part in it, then realized Muraki's gaze was resting appreciatively on him, and blushed even more.

Watari drank some of her coffee. She was feeling a little better now. "The demon must have decided to be more cunning this time. It lay low and made plans. It tried to eliminate me when it found out that I was planning a general physical inspection . . ."

Tsuzuki sighed and slumped in his chair. "I am not overweight and I do not need to eat less cakes."

"If I may continue? Thank you," Watari stated briskly. "Anyhow, he tried to murder me and incriminate Muraki-sensei here."

Muraki nodded amiably. "Of course you are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish," he said helpfully. The direction of his gaze made it quite clear toward whom in particular the invitation was directed.

Tsuzuki tried to avoid the silver-haired doctor's gaze, bringing both feet back underneath his chair. "But why didn't he attack me?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"That's obvious," Hisoka said dryly. "You're the one Tatsumi cares most about. If the demon outright tried to kill you, Tatsumi would struggle and might even manage to break his control."

"Really?" Muraki queried.

"We used to be partners," Tsuzuki explained. "But he was willing to kill both of you . . ."

"There's affection and affection," Watari said briefly, and hoped that she could leave it at that. It was, after all, incredibly obvious to anybody who actually bothered to watch Tsuzuki and Tatsumi interacting. "He was probably working his way up to you. If he could persuade Tatsumi-san to despair and give in, then murdering you would be the sort of blow that Tatsumi-san would never recover from. It'd cement his control. As it is, from what I remember of the books I read, he's probably blurring Tatsumi's memories and mind, and taking control only at important moments."

"Don't worry, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki leaned across the table, and patted Tsuzuki's hand, letting his fingers rest against the shinigami's skin gently. "I won't let him get you."

Tsuzuki gritted his teeth and didn't try to pull his hand away. Of course I want to, he reassured himself. Of course I want to. "While I appreciate your concern," he said formally, "I think that our primary objective has to be to free Tatsumi and get rid of the demon for good. Right, Watari?"

Watari nodded. "The creature probably has something of a fixation against you by now. Like, ah . . ." She carefully didn't look at anyone at the table, least of all Muraki. "That is, we need to work out how to do it. A full ritual of exorcism might serve, as we have its name."

"Wouldn't we actually have to have it here to do that?" asked Hisoka, drawn in despite himself. "Or have Tatsumi-san here, rather?"

"That," said Muraki dryly, "is the plan's weak point. On the other hand, it might work, if we could subdue it fast enough. What about your own resources, Tsuzuki-san? Would any of your beautiful shikigamis be able to purify him, or could you call on your superiors for help?"

Tsuzuki twitched, remembering how close he had come to condemnation for what he had done while possessed by the creature. "That . . ." He hesitated. "That could be awkward. Kacho Konoe - our direct boss - would do his best to help, but there are some people who'd think the best course of action would be to kill Tatsumi and damn the consequences." He looked directly at Muraki, for almost the first time in the conversation. Is that what you personally want? he wondered. Now that you've heard that he cares about me, are you planning a little accident?

Muraki made a small, irritated noise deep in his throat, and leaned forward, white hair ruffling in a smooth wave over his hidden eye. "Tsuzuki-san, I am not an empath like some people at this table, but neither am I stupid. You have come to me for help. Frankly, I'm touched." He darted an irritated glare at Hisoka, who was for some reason having a spasm of disbelieving coughing, then continued, "I am currently more interested in seducing you than in killing your friends. I even gave you that annoying boy back. What more will it take to convince you?"

"Divine intervention," Hisoka muttered sotto voce.

"The doctor has a point," Watari commented, blushing scarlet from the "seduce you" comment.

Tsuzuki took a deep breath, and nodded. "I do trust you. I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't." Sitting very close to him, the back of his mind commented, able to smell his cologne and imagine how soft his hair is. "But . . ."

There was a crash from the direction of the front door. Muraki was on his feet instantly, with a cat-like litheness, and wrenched back the door of the lounge to look into the hall.

Shadows rolled through it in waves of blackness, like combers breaking on the shore of some distant ocean of night. At the end of the corridor, silhouetted against the early afternoon light, stood the figure of a man in a business suit.

"You must be the notorious Doctor Muraki," Tatsumi said. Shadows lapped around his raised right hand in a thin glove of ebony, and made blank onyx crystals of his glasses. "We have so much to discuss."

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