I had been applying Noritos to Benitsubasa for the previous fifteen minutes, and was growing increasingly disturbed by the results.
Benitsubasa lay on a padded table. Fortunately, she'd at least had the foresight to dress in a T-shirt and cotton shorts. I say this because she was covered in sweat, so much so that her hair stuck to her forehead. Her face was a luminescent red. I ran my hand across her legs, tracing the prana flows. The skin had goosebumps.
This called for another note.
Subject Sekirei appears to be experiencing an allergic reaction to prolonged Norito exposure. Skin is flushed. Breathing shallow. Prana flows seem to center around the Sekirei "crest" on the back of Subject's neck.
I kissed her again. The Norito had barely concluded when Benitsubasa grabbed the back of my head and shoved her tongue down my throat. It was slippery, warm, and more than a little unnerving. She moaned. With some difficulty, I managed to pry her off. Her eyes had taken a dazed, glassy appearance.
Subject Sekirei's tongue appears to have lost fine motor control. Pupils dilated. Prana flows continue to center on the crest. Vocalizations suggest discomfort.
I turned her over and lifted her T-shirt, tracing the prana across her back. Benitsubasa was practically whimpering now.
Vocalizations indicate that Subject's discomfort levels have increased. Will monitor closely. Do not wish harm to come to subject.
"Er, Bentisubasa, are you alrigh-Urk!"
She grabbed me. Once again, I felt her tongue probing my mouth. Breaking away proved difficult. Her hands were gripping my hips, presumably to stabilize herself. She squirmed and writhed. Somehow, I twisted my arm toward the counter and grabbed my notebook. I began scribbling furiously over her shoulder.
In the Subject's zeal for assisting me with my research, I fear that she has taken one Norito too many. Vocalizations have reached a fevered pitch. She has locked lips with me. Body temperature very high. Skin red. Breathing rate - OH NO OH NO OH NO - She's spasming - she may have gone into seizures - why am I still writing - I need to do some-
I peeled myself off Benitsubasa's lips and chanted a quick Aria. Fortunately, the panic in my voice did not significantly affect the spell.
Fifty gallons of water drenched us.
"EEEEEK!"
When I'd dried my eyes, I was greeted by the sight of Benitsubasa glaring at me. Her soaked T-shirt and shorts clung to her body. Water dripped from her hair. Her teeth were chattering. I congratulated myself on my choice of ice water, since it seemed to have brought her back to her senses.
She was all right, then. I released the breath I'd been holding.
"M-m-m-mERIWETHER! Wh-what d-d-did y-you d-DO?"
I detected an undertone of hostility.
"You were clearly suffering from some sort of severe allergic reaction, so I felt that the-"
CRASH!
It took me a moment to realize that Benitsubasa had just lobbed my tea mug at the wall.
"YOU are the stupidest man on EARTH, and I hope you DIE ALONE!"
"Also, your Norito overdose appears to have induced increased levels of aggression-"
Benitsubasa's scream of rage convinced me that perhaps she was best left alone until the effects wore off. I ran for the door and closed it behind me. As I descended the stairs, I tried to ignore the sound of tearing metal and broken glass issuing from my workshop.
I sank into the living room's sofa again. Minato was staring at me with a look I couldn't quite place.
He spat out his gag.
"Um, Meriwether?"
"What?" I said.
"You grew up pretty, um, sheltered, didn't you?"
"I dissected my first cadaver at five."
"That's...not what I meant."
I put the gag back into Minato's mouth.
I'd instructed Minato's Sekirei not to target Higa's hacker, since I still needed her to delete MBI's files after I "fulfilled" my end of the pact with Higa. The rest were fair game.
Benitsubasa had booted up the computer again so that our new allies could send us updates. She'd also changed back into her black shorts and fighting top. Her hair was still wet, though, and she shot me glares from time to time.
One other detail demanded my attention before the festivities began.
I knew relatively little about Japan, and even less about its legacy of obscure encounters with inhuman races. The Magus Killer's daughter knew more. We were even on speaking terms.
Dear Ilyasviel,
My apologies for the informality, but time is short. How much do you know the 'Jinki'? I'm abroad, you see. I searched a first-generation magus's library and found a heavily romanticized account, but couldn't discover anything else.
These things can supposedly manifest the Third Magic, if that helps.
Sincerely,
Meriwether Archibald, El-Melloi Heir Apparent.
A white-bellied bird with black feathers on its skull and an orange, narrow beak hopped onto my shoulder. Unlike most of my familiars, I'd brought him specially from the Clock Tower. Oh, I grant you that he wasn't a particularly large specimen compared to the hawks, owls, and ravens that many magi favor, but one cannot find a better messenger than the Common Tern. Few birds can migrate thousands of miles. Fewer still can sleep on the wing. And this without magecraft enhancements, mind.
I rolled the message up and stuffed it into a metal satchel on the bird's neck. My familiar gave its distinctive "tarr" call and preened while I plied it with scraps of uncooked bacon. It had a long trip, after all.
"Take this to the Einzbern castle," I said. "The bounded fields should recognize my prana signature and let you through."
It fluffed its feathers a few times, and then took off.
I closed my eyes and focused on my other familiars. Minato's Sekirei were close to Higa now.
My familiars first noticed Minato's Sekirei as lanky shadows cast by streetlamps. I'm told that Japanese aesthetes favor minor flaws to highlight beauty: withered cherry blossoms alongside fresh ones, or clouds obscuring a starry sky. If so, then that night's very perfection marred itself. The moon floated in a sky free of clouds.
Higa's compound rose from the concrete courtyard. Unobstructed, the moonlight glinted on black glass.
The Sekirei breathed quickly, speaking in whispers. I counted four:
Homura, the suspiciously feminine-looking male, had dressed in a long black coat and a black mask that covered his mouth. This "disguise" did not cover his white hair, however. Flames flickered on his fingertips. He was a single number, Zero-Six if recollection served. How this would translate into combat was another matter, though, since I was unsure whether Minato had winged him. If not, his talents wouldn't manifest fully.
Beside him stood Kazehana. She, too, was a single number. Like the Sekirei I'd poisoned at Mikogami's - and unlike Homura, incidentally - she'd seen real combat. Or so Benitsubasa informed me. Kazehana ran a hand through her long black hair, but omitted the fidgets and jitters that afflicted the others. She wore a purple miniskirt and open-chested dress that must have repelled the cold about as well as a nylon napkin. For all that, though, she didn't shiver. Perhaps the nigh-tumorous mammary growths on her chest provided extra insulation. A bell around her ankle danced, but did not chime. She was a wind user, so I suppose this made sense.
Tsukiumi, Minato's second (or third) single number, had apparently taken Kazehana's depraved taste in clothing as a challenge rather than the assault on public morality that it so clearly was. Her dress vaguely resembled a French maid's uniform, except that it covered less than most swimsuits. Every breeze revealed her underwear. And her bust - yes, you knew I was coming to that, didn't you? - must have avoided spilling out of its inadequate coverings from sheer grim willpower. She also seemed to have a penchant for speaking Shakespearean English, and poorly.
Musubi I've already described elsewhere. Aside from the swollen purple mass on her cheek from Benitsubasa's elbow, her appearance had not changed.
On the bright side, they'd at least shown the decency to leave the youngest plant Sekirei behind. Doubtless they'd stuck her in a mud puddle somewhere with a bikini and a packet of cigarettes.
I am informed, from time to time, that I seem to delight in aggravating people. Whatever the truth of the matter subjectively, that night was no exception.
I spoke to Tsukiumi through my (slightly modified) familiar. They already knew about them, anyway. Well, Matsu and Kazehana did.
"You know, as a water user myself, I'm rather looking forward to seeing you fight," I said.
Tsukiumi started. She pointed at my pigeon with a somewhat unsteady hand, her mouth open. Finally, though, her eyes narrowed.
"Oh, yes," I said. "And I can speak through animals, too."
Tsukiumi tossed her hair back and crossed her arms under her chest. She was blonde, and possessed a combination of volume and waviness that might have been attractive save for her questionable choice in wardrobe. Considering my familiar's size, Tsukiumi found it a simple matter to look down her dainty nose at me.
"Thou art a foul and treacherous Ashikabi, and thy water spell against Yomi was but a child's trifle, monkey."
"'You' and 'your'," I said.
"What didst thou say?"
"'You' and 'your' are the appropriate pronouns when addressing a loathed adversary of superior social rank," I said. " 'Thou' and 'thy' are actually informal. Which, incidentally, is why nobody could stand the early Quakers. In any case, I'll thank you not to butcher Queen Bess's English any further."
Tsukiumi's jaw dropped. Her arms stiffened at her sides and balled into fists.
"Thy insolence is matched only by thy-"
"'Your' insolence."
"But-"
"Informal."
"But they taught me-"
"Incorrectly, clearly."
"How dare you-"
"Perfect."
Alas, a crash of glass interrupted this nascent Elizabethan idyll before it could proceed to Stratfordians versus Marlovians.
Kazehana's whirlwind tore off the sides of Higa's compound. Shards scattered on concrete. Metal beams groaned, and then screamed. Minato's Sekirei flew into the graps, and I knew better than to send my familiars after them.
Thus, I can only recount the battle peripherally, as my observations were necessarily limited. My familiars heard from within that building the clash of metal, the crack of Sai's whips, and the angry whine of Oriha's bladed discs. Each fell silent in turn. Crunches, cracks and crumbling attested to inhumanly strong bodies colliding with architecture.
A column of flame blasted from the seventeenth story. All around it, molten glass ran down the walls. One of the floors flooded. Water poured from the open side, and then , unable to sate itself, broke the remaining glass with a series of explosive plinks.
And finally, the sounds of battle dimmed. I waited.
Kazehana staggered out.
She was biting her lip, and I noted a long line of moisture glistening on her side. Every time she leaned on her right leg, she hesitated. Her inhalations when she placed weight on the foot were both sharp and suppressed.
She looked at my familiar.
"We've done your dirty work. Let my Ashikabi go."
"Where are Minato's other Sekirei?" I said.
Her jaw tightened.
"Where do you think they are?"
I nodded, and unconsciously transmitted the gesture to the bird as well. Wonderful. And yet...
"I've changed the deal," I said. "I'm afraid our bargaining positions haven't changed. I still have your Ashikabi. Now then, Kazehana...I've made a deal with Higa for your termination. Be so good as to eliminate yourself for me, or Minato dies."
A moment passed. I couldn't make out much in the gloom, but she seemed to be shaking. And not, I suspected, with fear. The creature before me no longer resembled the harlot who had wobbled home from the bars with Uzume at three in the morning. Her prana flared.
It isn't often that I find myself at a loss, let alone overwhelmed. Yet that surge of energy so close to my familiar felt like an electric shock. The darkness seemed to thicken around her in an effect that reminded me of nothing so much as a bounded field. Wind screamed through the building's torn framework. The air had become a frigid blast.
My familiar felt a nick on its neck. And another. Frozen air bit its skin, tore its feathers.
GET OUT! GET OUT!
Yet despite the pain, despite the way that familiar contracts were supposed to work, my consciousness felt mired in mud. Impossibly, Kazehana's prana signature continued to expand. My mind stayed riveted within my familiar.
Kazehana's voice carried over the wind's howl.
"I didn't want to take this risk," she said. "I really didn't. But you...you've left me no choice, Lord El-Melloi. We're contacting the Disciplinary Squad. And if you hurt Minato, you'd better be looking forward to weeks of agony from Karasuba. Minato's mother is one of her supervisors."
"...Wait, what?"
Pain lanced through every nerve. Kazehana's winds tore my familiar joint from joint. Its vision went black.
The pain remained.
"AAAAGH!"
I must have been writhing around on the floor for a while before I noticed Benitsubasa's arms around me. The chair had overturned. We were rocking back and forth. Or rather, she was rocking me.
Strange to say, Benitsubasa's embrace reminded me of my mother, somehow. As a boy, I'd broken into my father's workshop. Something unwholesome had noticed me, and I'd awakened hours later in my mother's arms. I still don't remember what exactly happened in that workshop (and my parents never told me), but the aftermath has stayed with me all my life. Cozy, gentle arms.
She was not an entirely cold woman, my mother.
"B-Benitsubasa...?"
"Shhh...it's okay..."
Something blinked out of my mind, like a word on the tip of your tongue that you can't quite remember. I felt it again. And again.
I stretched out my consciousness to my familiars, only to find blank space. And the line of inoperative familiars lead up to...
"Norito," I said. "Quickly."
Benitsubasa must have seen the look on my face, since I felt her tense. We kissed. Light wings flared from her back. I shook my arms, hoping that the remaining stiffness would flush itself out before-
How had they figured it out so quickly? Unless they were killing every bird in their path, I didn't see...
...More importantly, how had they found me?
The far wall exploded. Flames incinerated wood and melted stone. They crawled up the mantelpiece like fingers, caressing it into charcoal and molten goop. Yet they curved away from our prisoner. My robe fluttered as oxygen rushed in to feed the fire.
A spindly silhouette stood at the center of the inferno.
It walked slowly, head tilted up. Poised. Collected. Its hands rested in the pockets of a long coat. The figure's posture seemed almost feminine. Indeed, if not for Kazehana's previous assurance that he'd perished against Higa, I could have sworn that this fire-wielding, black-garbed dandy looked exactly like Homura.
"Benitsubasa, grab Minato. We have trouble."
Kazehana's miniature tornado only served to emphasize this point when it tore off the chimney. But by then, we were already scrambling for my workshop.