"And you," Muraki replied with equal courtesy and icy menace, "must be the well-known secretary Tatsumi of the JuOhCho department." The abruptly rising wind whipped the skirts of his yukata around his legs, and set his sleeves swinging. "I do not recall issuing an invitation."
"I," said Tatsumi, voice as cool and absent-minded as winter moonlight, "do not recall needing an invitation."
"Then you are here because . . ." The doctor let the sentence trail off, inviting an answer.
Watari held onto Tsuzuki's arm with all her strength. The coffee and cakes had helped, but even now she didn't have her usual power. The pencil and paper left lying on the table offered opportunities, but that would mean letting go of Tsuzuki, who would promptly throw himself into the middle of the confrontation, and -- well, the results bid fair to be appalling.
Hisoka took a deep breath, and tried to concentrate on the steps for a ReiBaku. It hadn't been spectacularly successful on a possessed Tsuzuki, but it had worked for a while, and it might just slow Tatsumi down enough to let Muraki exorcise him. Or, a traitorous little voice whispered at the back of his mind, perhaps after Muraki's been hurt a bit. Or a lot. Tsuzuki and Watari can deal with Tatsumi then. He'll have been slowed down. It's the easiest way to do it. The most expedient way. The safest way. Don't do anything yet. His hands faltered, and the words blurred in his mind. Hei . . . Sha . . . no, wait, wait . . .
"Because I have had enough." Tatsumi's steps punctuated his words as he made his way down the corridor. "Enough murders. Enough lies. Enough psychological warfare. Enough cruelty. I think that it's time to put an end to things once and for all. Don't you agree, Dr Muraki?"
Muraki raised one hand silently. Lines of deep amethyst light, virulent in their intensity, traced across the floor to form a circled five-pointed star around him.
"Stop it!" Tsuzuki was desperate. "Tatsumi-san, please, listen to me. Muraki didn't do it." He thought frantically for an explanation that didn't immediately involve the thesis of you're possessed. "Someone's trying to get us to waste our strength by fighting each other. Just this once, Muraki's not guilty."
Tatsumi turned to look at him, and the terrible blank rage and condescending pity in his eyes made Tsuzuki flinch. "He's bewitched you. All of you. Try to remember what he's done before, Tsuzuki-san."
Watari coughed, and swallowed phlegm. Must have inhaled more chemical fumes than I thought . . . "I can bear witness that Muraki didn't do it," she lied. If it will convince Tatsumi to stand down . . . "It wasn't him." She tried to put conviction into her voice, as she looked at the tall man in glasses and business suit whose eyes were so utterly distant and dark. "If ever we have been friends, Tatsumi-san, if ever you have trusted my judgment, believe me now."
"And what does Dr Muraki have to say in all this?" Tatsumi queried mildly.
Muraki shrugged one elegant shoulder. "If you won't believe them, then I doubt that you will believe me."
---
The light was failing faster, now; Tatsumi's mind swam with shadows, and they layered themselves over his memory and motivations like curtains of velvet. He'd come here
to find Tsuzuki
and to
to stop Muraki
and he should
scold Tsuzuki
but he couldn't do that, he cared about Tsuzuki-san, Asato-chan, the poor loving boy who offered up his heart so easily to everyone around him, who wore his kindness like a mantle and then was surprised when others turned to him as though he was the sun, who smiled so gently and who drew the great creatures of power by his bright innocence and unthinking love.
He couldn't hurt him.
then it's Muraki's fault
Yes, that felt better. He could do that. It made sense. Shadows linked like chains in the depths of his mind, covering over some part that was screaming and struggling, shielding him from whatever it was trying to say, blocking off the cries that he knew who was doing this, knew whose hands were bloody . . .
It's Muraki's fault
Of course it was Muraki's fault, who else could it be?
Muraki hurt Tsuzuki, Muraki hurt your Tsuzuki, Muraki's going to keep on hurting your Tsuzuki unless you stop him
let me show you how to stop him
Images flickered before his eyes, congealing for a moment out of the ambient darkness, and Tatsumi smiled, and stepped forward, and thought about blood, and humiliation, and agony.
---
Shadows shifted around Tatsumi, and ran like veins through the walls and floor and ceiling, then flexed. The whole house creaked and leaned against itself, parts of it coming apart or tumbling inwards, timber and bricks groaning and straining as though it screamed in pain. The coffee pot and the cups and plates jumped and clattered on the table as the house shook.
Tsuzuki could see Muraki's mouth moving, but the doctor's voice was lost in the noise. Strange shapes shifted and formed in front of the pentagram, creatures like winged dogs with the beaks of eagles and eyes as dark as dried blood. They hissed, bated their wings, and began to stalk towards Tatsumi.
Strands of shadow tore them apart and into bloody shreds. They fell in spatters across the floor, staining the pale wooden tiling.
Tsuzuki turned to grab Hisoka. "Quick! Use a ReiBaku on him to hold him where he is!"
Hisoka's hands were shaking. He mumbled something inaudible, unable to meet Tsuzuki's eyes.
"Hisoka!" Tsuzuki screamed. "Do it!" Of course he could summon one of his shikigamis, Suzaku or Byakko perhaps, but what would they do to Tatsumi's possessed body?
Tatsumi's shadows surged around Muraki's pentacle like an ocean of night, probing for a way in. Flakes of shadow spun like shuriken through the air, but were deflected by the rising lines of purple fire. The amethyst light gave Muraki an otherworldly appearance. His visible eye was narrowed in concentration, and he moved his hands in a smooth pattern of passes as he spoke again, words that tore at the air.
Watari was a second ahead of everyone else in diving for cover. Next time we go to someone other than a demonologist, she reflected, as she hit the floor behind a sofa.
The fire-breathing hydra rose out of the darkness with a huge delicacy that had a strange beauty to it. Pale gold scales shone amid the shadows as it lowered its heads towards Tatsumi, venom and fire brimming at the creature's lips.
Muraki glanced towards Tsuzuki. Their eyes met. Once again, Tsuzuki thought, I could lose myself in this desire. The colors of the scene, black and amethyst and gold, reflected themselves in Muraki's glasses and in his colorless iris in a shattered rainbow eclipse.
Then Muraki lowered his hand in a sharp, chopping gesture. The creature settled down towards Tatsumi like a writhing sea anemone, necks curling round him to hold him still, lips sealed on their load of fire.
Tsuzuki swallowed, mute in disbelief and gratitude. He did it. He stopped him without killing him. He actually kept his word . . . He tried to think about how much power Tatsumi could usually command. Must be almost at his limit now. When he's exhausted then we can reason with him, exorcise him or whatever.
Shadow exploded outwards in a hail of razors that tore through the hydra's body in sprays of ichor. It reared backwards, screaming in an awful pentatone scale of agony, and crumpled backwards.
One outflung head of the dying creature fell across the border of Muraki's pentacle.
The darkness came rushing in after it.
---
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