Chapter Two

Fractured Shadows

She'd been having trouble sleeping. It wasn't a constant, every-moment-of-the-night sort of thing, simply that every so often, her current dream was interrupted. Kagome would find herself back on the shore, in that first moment she laid eyes on the temple. Once more, she relived that same dreadful feeling.

She understood she simply hadn't yet fully acclimated to this completely foreign environment, but knowing the cause didn't banish the sensation, as she wished it would.

These troublesome nighttime imaginings were an odd contrast to the fact that, in reality, she found it easier to work in the cavern as time passed. Still, she felt that something was lurking, but it had become a sensation that she was able to push aside with less and less difficulty.

Two weeks had gone by and she was beginning to wonder if perhaps ignoring that feeling had become simpler because of how hard she was working to ignore something else, entirely. The something else in question being that a little corner of her brain was batting around the idea that Professor Taisho Sesshomaru could ever be anything more to her than a mentor.

When he hunched over an artifact to point out to her the representation of an astrological symbol, explaining the significance of where it was positioned within the etching and his shoulder leaned against hers for a moment, she knew it didn't register on him in the slightest. The times his fingertips brushed hers as they checked her sketches for inaccuracies didn't mean anything to him. Things like that were no more than accidents of being in close proximity.

Even when she'd nearly bounced right out of the pickup truck—which they learned too late had no working seat belts—by a particularly rocky path and he'd put his arm around her to keep her firmly anchored inside of the vehicle, it had only been a perfectly innocent safety measure.

Kagome shook her head, smoothing back her dark hair and chugging down a little more of the gods-awful thing that passed for coffee on-site before returning her attention to the pieces she was cataloging. She simply refused to become like those ridiculous girls in her class—she would be realistic.

She wouldn't act any differently toward him. She would give no indication whatsoever that she might be developing a crush on him.

Might? A little voice mocked from the back of her head. You went from completely platonic respect to wondering if he's a good kisser after one deep conversation.

Throwing her pencil down on the table she sat back and frowned at her own thoughts as she scrunched up her face. She raised a hand to tiredly pinch between her brows. It wasn't like that. Kagome knew she wasn't actually thinking that way, it was only that she kept worrying she might start—that she might start thinking that way if she didn't stay grounded by poking fun at herself with such melodrama.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she glanced at her watch. Ten-thirty . . . almost everyone else had already called it a night. They tried to work with natural daylight as much as possible, which meant very early mornings, but she thought that perhaps if she really and truly wore herself down, she might fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.

"Hey."

Kagome started, glancing over her shoulder to see Sango at the tent's opening. "Why are you still up?"

Shrugging, Sango strolled over and leaned a hand on the table, casting a cursory glance over the catalog page. "I could ask you the same thing. Face it, girl—you've got all the makings of a proper workaholic."

Kagome laughed a little at that. "You just answered your own question then, huh? But that still doesn't explain why you're up."

Sango shifted her weight, resting a hip against the table and folding her arms under her breasts. That posture alone had Kagome thinking that, somehow, within the next five minutes, she'd be asking herself why me?

"Well, see, Professor Taisho wanted me to go over some of the recordings from the temple interior, 'cause there's some anomalous images. I said I would get through it tonight, but . . . ."

"Oh." Kagome slapped a hand to her head and let it drag down her face slowly. "You're seeing Miroku again, aren't you?"

"If I can get someone to volunteer to take over the footage review for me."

A small ache was beginning to form behind Kagome's forehead. She let her eyes drift closed for a moment before allowing compassion for her friend win out over her irritation at being thought of as having nothing better to do. The thought might be correct, but it was still irritating. "What is this? The third time since last week?"

"Something like that," Sango said with another small shrug as she cast her gaze upward.

"You are aware he flirts with a lot of girls, right?"

Sango frowned, arching a brow as she brought her attention back to Kagome. "Yeah, but so what? It's just flirting."

Kagome stared back blankly. She hadn't made the comment to wound Sango, she was just perfectly aware of how territorial the girl could be.

"Okay, fine. I'm not that okay with his flirting, but I do know the difference between just flirting and actually doing something and . . . I think I'm starting to really like him. Please do this for me?"

Kagome was quiet for a moment as she darted her gaze around. She could always get back to her cataloging in the morning—unlike Sango, she'd not been crazy enough to give an estimate on how much work she'd get done in a set amount of time. She might get to sleep even later than she'd already planned, but at least she wouldn't have Sango staring daggers at her for the next few days for saying no.

"How much footage do I have to go over?"

Instantly, Sango was dragging Kagome up from her chair and out of the tent by her wrist. "Oh, thank you! Okay, I'll explain what you're looking for and how to note it, then I'm out. It's all pretty simple."

Kagome gave a tired nod, remembering dimly that she'd left her coffee behind. Just as well, really, since she suspected it was more the acrid taste than any measure of caffeine that jolted exhaustion away. She allowed Sango to hustle her into the AV tent and push her gently into a folding chair. Already set on the table before the chair was a logbook and a pencil. The television screen in front of her showed a freeze frame of Professor Taisho in the midst of discussing something with the anthropology PhD from the French university . . . what was his name? Devereux, maybe?

"Here we go. So you have an idea of the sort of things we've been picking up." Sango grabbed the remote and rewound the footage by just a few frames before hitting play and pointing to the screen. "Okay, here Professor Taisho's talking to Professor Dubois."

That's it, Dubois, Kagome thought, leaning forward just a bit in the chair and picking up the pencil.

"Now, I cut the sound from this to make it easier to focus on the visual—and 'cause the audio seems clean of any anomalies—but, like . . . here."

As Kagome watched, Professor Taisho took a few steps across the floor and his shadow . . . didn't sync. She leaned a little closer, felt her spine pull a little straighter. It moved with him as shadows should, but there was a definite hiccup, as though it waited a moment before moving to catch up to where his shadow should be. She thought she could feel the fine hairs of the back of her neck stand on end.

"Play that again."

Sango did as requested. The girls simply watched the fractured motion across the screen in silence before pausing it once more. "Okay, so you'll see that I already recorded this in the log. It's date, time, frame number—which you can catch more easily if you freeze it the second you see something—and a brief description of what the anomaly was. Like there, I put Taisho—shadow stutters."

Kagome spoke without taking her eyes from the frozen image. "I know it's probably just a glitch with the recording speed, or something uneven in the background surface, but it's still kind of, well—"

"Creepy?"

Kagome nodded.

Sango nodded back as she set the remote on the table beside the logbook. "Yeah, it really kind of is. I think of it like this: is a glitch in tech equipment really any creepier than the fact that we're being trained for careers in a field that centers around playing with dead people and-slash-or the belongings, graves and homes of said departed folk?"

Kagome rubbed her lightly aching forehead. "I guess not. I'm not sure which thing you put into perspective just now—that the footage isn't that creepy, or that archeology kind of is."

A thoughtful frown graced Sango's lips. "Hmm, that actually hadn't occurred to me."

"Am I looking for anything specific?" Kagome asked as she picked up the remote.

"I can't say just yet," Sango replied with a small shrug. "The logs will help us pinpoint commonalities, like lighting defects or, as you said, uneven surfaces . . . anything that could be reflecting the light in a way that would cause optical illusions that we're unaware of, so we can eliminate or plan around them for the rest of the tapings. Actually, I think we've been including detailed descriptions for the sole purpose of spooking each other."

"Oh, you tech people and your humor," Kagome said dryly.

"Hey, it gets dull, okay? Just do it."

"How much of this do I have to go through?"

"Most of it has already been reviewed, so I'd say maybe two hours more. See, the anomalies seem to be confined to that chamber. Since we've only had access to that area for a few days now, and, given how small our research team really is in respect to the size of the site—"

"It really only translates to several hours, at most." Kagome nodded.

"Exactly."

"So, wait, is there anything recording in there, now?"

Brow furrowing, Sango spun on her heel and started toward the tent opening. "Nope. Which is why I said I'd do all the logging tonight, and the professor's going to have to reenact anything he comes across in the meanwhile."

The recordings were to be shown to his and the other professors' classes, and—pending the weight and depth of their findings—turned into documentaries for far-reaching educational cable network stations. Given that they were dealing with a subterranean temple, it probably wasn't insane to think that this might hit international air waves.

"Doesn't he hate reenacting?" Kagome was pretty sure he'd said exactly that during one, if not more, of his lectures.

Sango looked over her shoulder at Kagome and gave a slow, painful-seeming nod. "Apparently hate is too affectionate a term. When I told him what was happening with the footage and he realized it would have meant a camera would be down while the problem was figured out . . . . Man, if looks could kill that camera probably would have melted into a puddle, right on the spot."

"Yikes." Kagome would've thought Professor Taisho didn't know how to get angry—he was always seemed so calm and centered.

"I'm just glad he wasn't looking at a living thing like that, would've charred the flesh right off 'em."

"Why not just swap in another camera in the meantime?" She already knew that the most obvious answer—to just move the damn camera—wasn't an option, as it had already been set in the only angle from which the entire chamber could be kept in the frame.

"I suggested that, but he said since it was just one night, if it's an effect of the area as opposed to a problem with the equipment—and since he's the only one out there this late tonight—it would just be a waste of time."

"You'd figure he wouldn't mind if it meant he wouldn't have to do something he hates."

Sango smirked. "Yeah, but he's a man—not a damned one of 'em makes sense. All right, I'm out. Night Kags, and thanks again. I mean it."

Nodding, Kagome waved her off and turned back to the recording. "How many times do I have to ask her not to call me that?" she grumbled under her breath.

Against her own better judgment, she hit rewind. She didn't know quite why, but she had to see that again. Perhaps to prepare herself for other such anomalies so that she wouldn't be startled by odder tricks of the light that might still lay ahead.

She hit play, almost unaware that she was once more leaning forward in the seat.

Professor Taisho turned toward Professor Dubois, speaking as he gestured toward something on a far wall. He took a step, two steps, three. And that was when the shadow jetted forward, falling perfectly into place behind the professor to mimic his movements, precisely as a proper shadow should.

Kagome frowned in thought. Perhaps the wall behind him dipped? A shallow alcove, not quite deep enough for the camera to pick up any difference in depth? Even thinking logically about it, the imagery was still creepy.

Repressing a shudder, she let it play through. Approximately ten minutes passed before she was hitting the pause button again, diligently ignoring that her heart had just dropped into her stomach. She rewound it a few frames and then let it play forward in slow motion.

Professor Taisho again assumed the lead in the muted conversation. He crossed the floor of the chamber again, and as he turned his head to look at Dubois over his shoulder . . . his eyes had turned black.

Forcing a small gulp down her throat, Kagome couldn't stop herself as she rose out of the chair and leaned forward across the table. Not only his eyes, but the entire area around them, from just beneath his brows the top of his cheek bones.

She carefully scanned the entire rest of the screen. Nothing else was affected, and it was only a single frame of the footage. If she'd blinked, she would have missed it, entirely.

Sitting back down—albeit a tad shakily—she dutifully jotted down the date, time and frame number in the logbook, followed by Taisho—eyes unnaturally dark.

She set the pencil down and as she reached for the remote again, her gaze skimmed upward over the previous log entries. For a moment she paused, but then shook her head and went back to her viewing. They might only be lighting defects, nevertheless those split seconds of marred shading were utterly unnerving.

This time it was nearly twice as long before she froze the image. This one was less clear, but possibly still of note. Professor Taisho was again gesturing toward something, but this time he stood still, his hands raised and for just a moment, again just a single frame, his fingers appeared . . . clawed? She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus a little better. When that didn't do much, she got up and ran back to the catalog table, returning in seconds—and completely winded—with a magnifying glass in hand. Examining the enlarged image, she felt she had no choice but to record this, too. Though, this one—Taisho—fingers appear clawed—felt a little ridiculous, but it was what it looked like.

Something a little bizarre occurred to her as the footage began to play forward, again. She paused the recording and tapped the pencil against her lips as she thought about it.

She'd seen three of these lighting anomalies, and Dubois never seemed effected. Perhaps it was because he was closer to the camera, while Professor Taisho lingered near the walls, practically skirting the shadows? But she'd thus far only seen Professor Taisho's name on the logs.

She turned her head minutely, blue eyes locking on the logbook for a moment. Against her judgment, she stuck the pencil behind her ear and picked up the book to do exactly what she'd just told herself not to. Running a finger up the page, she followed the brief descriptions all the way to the top and then flipped the page back, starting from the top and working her way down.

So few hours for so many entries and somehow . . . . Taisho, Taisho, Taisho, Taisho . . . . She wasn't imagining it—it was only around her professor that these anomalies seemed to happen.

It was almost against her will that she started reading the descriptions. Eyes glow . . . Shadow faces opposite direction . . . . Features unnaturally gaunt . . . . Appears to have aura. There was even one that explained that his ears had looked inhumanly elongated . . . .

Kagome frowned, shaking her head. Weird . . . and still creepy, but at least now her clawed fingers notation didn't feel quite so ridiculous. Of course, it was even weirder that it never affected anything else—or anyone else—in the frame.

But it always seemed to happen in the same place—or at least that appeared to be the case from the ones she'd viewed. There was the commonality Sango was hoping for! She still had the rest of the footage to comb through, though, just in case.

Nodding to herself, she picked up the remote again and hit play. Several uneventful minutes passed when a voice made Kagome nearly jump out of her skin.

"Hey—oh! I'm sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

At the entrance of the tent stood one of their PhDs. She couldn't remember who he actually was at the moment, which was probably a testament to how badly she needed some real coffee or some real sleep, whichever blessed her first. "You're one of Taisho's interns, right? Um . . . Ms. Higurashi?"

Her smile was small and perhaps a tad uneasy as she nodded. "Yeah, can I help you."

"Actually yes." He stepped inside, immediately pulling weighty-looking book from a leather pack on his hip and holding it out to her. His hand trembled ever so slightly and the bags under his eyes had bags of their own. "I'm going to turn in for the night, been up for two days straight translating. I was hoping you could just make sure Professor Taisho gets this tonight."

She couldn't help flipping through some pages and lightly skimming them. This guy must really think Professor Taisho trusted his interns implicitly, she realized, because he didn't bat an eye at her scrutiny. "Was the text that hard to decipher?"

The man shrugged. "Yes and no. It's not the language itself that was difficult, it's just that this was a very short-lived dialect, and it was written in . . . let's see, what's the best way to put it?" He seemed to take a moment to think it over and then nodded to himself. "This tribe seemed to enjoy telling tales with a deliberate and elaborate flourish, almost like Shakespeare . . . well, comparatively speaking. So, I had to first translate the text itself and then actually figure out what it was talking about."

She started to set the book down, but he frowned in concern, his brow furrowing. "He wanted to know the minute I was done."

Now she was really beginning to feel put-upon. "Then why didn't you get him on your walkie?"

"He's at the site, by the time he gets here, I'll have passed out on the ground from exhaustion. Not the greatest impression to make on a colleague, especially one with his standing."

"Ah, okay, then." She was still irked, but she would probably feel the same way in his shoes—her professor might seem calm and collected all the time, but in the same turn, he definitely gave off an air that made those around him not want to disappoint him, and it had precious little to do with his standing in the academic community.

"Thank you. Goodnigh—hey, is that you?"

"Hmm?" Kagome turned to follow his gaze, finding that he was watching the screen.

Sure enough, she saw herself in the frame. She'd almost completely forgotten that she'd ventured to the site earlier that day to have Professor Taisho sign off on a cataloging error that had been corrected. That earthen-clay doll had actually been in two-hundred-forty-seven pieces, not two-hundred-forty-eight.

Kagome watched numbly as the professor took the catalog from her hands and turned away to sign it, and—for a second—the fingers of her shadow appeared to reach forward . . . to brush his shadow, for just the briefest moment.

Her own fingers felt almost cold as she reached down. On a strange sort of auto-pilot, she picked up the remote, rewound the recording a few frames and hit play, freezing it again when the anomaly occurred. Barely aware of what she was doing, she leaned forward and jotted in the logbook, Higurashi—shadow extends beyond subject's movement.

When she looked back up at the screen, she realized . . . it was in the same spot that all of the professor's anomalous images had taken place.

"Is that a trick of the light?"

She looked over her shoulder to see the linguist still hovering. "Huh?"

"Well, your shadow stretches out, but it's barely even a second . . . maybe there's a shallow dip in the wall behind you?"

It was comforting to have a person unfamiliar with the issue offer the same logical conclusion as she had. Instantly, even the images that had seemed not so easily dismissed were put into perspective. Dubois didn't react at all to any recorded anomalies, so it wasn't something he'd witnessed, despite his direct attention on Professor Taisho in nearly every instance. She'd been correct earlier—all of the unusual images occurred over exactly the same stretch of background surface. Visual recording equipment was capable of registering a greater range of visible light than the human eye . . . .

Well, okay, AV technical problems were hardly her strong suit, but she understood that the answer had to be something to do with the way the camera picked up the lighting against that wall in combination with how the human mind was designed to make patterns out of images or sounds that lacked a sense of order. So, it wasn't only the lighting, but how the watcher's brain interpreted images that simply didn't make sense.

This whole mess could probably be corrected by a measure as small as repositioning the lanterns.

She let out a long sigh, feeling warmth flood back into her fingers. "That's what we're trying to figure out, actually. I'm sorry to have kept you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

And like that he was gone, and Kagome was alone again.

She sat for a long, silent while, staring at the book the PhD had dropped off. That poor man had worked himself to exhaustion—she certainly hoped Professor Taisho knew what he was doing.

Half-heartedly, she picked up her walkie, fishing a list of channel frequencies from a pocket of her drab-green cargo pants. Each group changed their dialing frequency based on their current location to prevent interference or miscommunication.

She dialed the site frequency—thinking it would be a miracle if she got through, since the professor was in a structure underground—and hit the call button.

A loud, static-laced whine filled the air. Kagome dropped the walkie immediately, clamping her hands over her ears until the ringing in them ceased. Pushing up from her chair in an angry motion, she scooped up her walkie from the ground and set it on the table, just barely refraining from slamming it down.

She tapped her foot, impatient with the sudden hindrance as she thought over what to do.

She could just keep working until the professor returned from the site, but who knew how long that would be? She might have fallen asleep at the worktable by then and miss him entirely-Kagome didn't want to be the one he held responsible for receiving a potentially important translation hours after it had been completed instead of minutes. She could wait at the entrance to the camp so she wouldn't miss him. Again, for who knew how long, and with the consequence of making herself feel just a wee bit stalkerish.

Sighing heavily, she buried her face in her hands for a long moment. She had no other choice, she'd have to go to the site and hand it to Professor Taisho, directly.

It had taken a bit longer than she'd predicted, but at last she thought to herself, Why me?