Beneath the Lilac Tree

by archangelBBQ

"Been there, done that." It's been many years, but Mai and Naru finally meet again. Or has it? Moving forward this time, Naru is determined to change the past, even if he cannot predict how it will shape their future. Together the twins, Mai, and Lin will create SPR from scratch, though things are certain to be much different this time around.

19. Part XIX

In the past two months or so a wealth of new GH information has come to light, due to witchhuntress and csakuras industrious translations. I don't know if anyone else was left with a feeling of "Wait, what? ... Wait ... what?!" That's definitely how I felt after reading the short "His Reality" about Naru. And I, like other writers of GH fanfiction I suppose, had to decide what to do with that new information in regards to on-going works in progress.

For the purpose of this story, "His Reality" changes nothing. The parts of GH canon I originally decided to keep in this alternate universe, I have kept. The parts I decided to change remain changed. That which I did not know and imagined incorrectly, these remain outside of canon. There are certainly some details from the new translations I could add and make fit into the story (such as new information regarding Lin's family) but I have decided not to. This story is incomplete only on paper: and frankly I am not interested in changing (past or) future events to make this align with canon perfectly. The point, for me anyway, is not for this to be a perfect extension of the Ghost Hunt universe. Other authors have done that and I applaud them for it. Btlt is just a story—just an idea that somehow turned into all of this, merely something I have wanted to explore.

If anything is unclear, whether in that regard or anything else, please feel free to mention either via review or PM. You've waited long enough—so without further interruption, let us continue.

Eternal thanks always to Meepyonnee for editing and providing invaluable insight.

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Part XIX

Dreary clouds covered the morning London sky when they arrived, a stiff breeze cutting through his coat as he stepped outside. Oliver's features had settled into mild annoyance by the time they made it from the terminal, through customs and to the baggage claim. When they exited the airport, the acrid smell of exhaust and the noise of the circling cars, taxis, and all the people getting in and out of them had lowered his mouth into a discernible scowl.

The tedious morning that followed did nothing to improve his mood. They parted ways from Sarah at the airport, she to the underground and they to the queue for a taxi. Upon their arrival home, Martin and Luella took morning tea when he would have much rather gone to Cambridge straight away. When Martin finally finished, Oliver was even more displeased that his father opted for the train instead of a cab, which would take twice as long. It was not a pleasant return to Cambridge, either. Nothing had changed, of course, since the last time he'd been there, but to suddenly be on the familiar campus was disorienting and made the return to England feel even more abrupt than it already did. Thankfully, he had no classes today, but he did have to visit each professor, not to mention several teacher's assistants, to collect his assignments to catch up from his leave of absence. Martin had meetings all morning, so Oliver waited for his father in his office until they could call it a day.

Finally, sometime after midday, Martin returned to his office in somewhat of a daze from the four straight hours of meetings. He ventured they stop for a quick bite and have some tea in the cafeteria, and after lunch to take a taxi to BSPR. As to be expected, Madoka was there to greet them when they arrived.

"Martin! You should have called when you landed this morning, I'd have come to pick you up." Madoka said, opening the taxi door for him. She was pretending to be upset, but she couldn't keep the infectious smile off her face and it was clear she was glad to see them.

"Nonsense, Madoka, I know Heathrow is well out of your way. And it was no trouble to catch a cab."

"Well, welcome back. To both of you! Noll, it seems like ages!"

Unthinking, Oliver did not move to sidestep Madoka's embrace—too late, he realized, as she gave him a look that was both quizzical and suspicious as she gave him a friendly hug. "You two didn't trade places, by any chance, did you?" She asked lowly, too quiet for Martin to hear. "If so that's the most convincing scowl I've ever seen on Gene's face."

"No," Oliver said, his lips twitching in annoyance. "It's nice to see you too, Madoka."

"Where are my manners," she said mockingly. "Perhaps because I haven't seen you in so long I've forgotten my favorite protégé."

"It's only been a month," he scoffed.

"Indeed," Madoka agreed, tilting her head and studying him with narrowed eyes. "And how was Cambridge this morning? I bet Professor Englebert was glad to see you."

"Yes," he said shortly, not bothering to elaborate.

Madoka raised an eyebrow dubiously, but said nothing. "And you, Martin?"

Martin waved her question away. "Faculty meetings all morning. Nothing but a complete waste of time." He sighed as they walked toward the front door. "Didn't get any work done except schedule some student meetings. But at least those will be productive."

Martin and Madoka strode toward the building together, chatting all the way. Martin had livened up after lunch and was eager to answer Madoka's questions. Likewise, Madoka was keen to hear how they'd enjoyed their trip, what they'd done in Tokyo and where they'd gone. She barely mentioned the new satellite office or its operation—presumably questions she was saving for Martin later, without Oliver around to overhear. From the suspicious glances Madoka kept sneaking at him, he knew she wanted to speak to him privately as well. There were undoubtedly going to be a lot of bothersome questions, but forefront of the list would be to ask why he'd run off to Japan so suddenly. It was a conversation he knew he wouldn't be able to evade.

A small grin tugged on his lips. Madoka could be a challenge, but he knew her well enough to predict what she'd say—as long as Martin or Luella didn't give him away beforehand. Without a doubt, Madoka was suspicious of his behavior, and curious about the new research project Martin had asked of her—but she wasn't the type to seek correlations out of thin air. Coincidences happened all the time; it was only when attention was drawn to them that they became coincidence. Hopefully this one would slip by her gaze.

Since he and Gene had told Martin and Luella what happened, he expected they would tell Madoka eventually. Madoka was closer to the family as a whole than Lin; he and Gene had been under her wing since their adoption. Martin trusted her with his work, his children, and his life. He wasn't entirely sure how Luella and Madoka met, but it'd been long before Madoka joined BSPR. But if Gene didn't want Madoka to know, then he wouldn't tell her—absolutely not, under no circumstances.

Oliver paused, lagging behind as Martin and Madoka entered the building in front of him. He turned his gaze toward the intersection, then, lips and jaw tightening as he remembered the last time he was here. The accident on the street. Going to the hospital.

He began to walk toward the site before checking and stopping himself. What would be the point, anyway? His psychometry was only a form of retro-cognition. He'd never been precognitive—that was Gene's forte—and trying to see the accident wouldn't be any more of a verification it had actually happened to them. Not to mention unreasonably masochistic, Gene would be quick to remind him.

With that he turned on his heel and strode through the doors into BSPR. There was no sign of Martin or Madoka who had entered just before, and much to his relief, there was no one else in the BSPR lobby, either. There was a tendency for people to congregate around the front desk: office personnel meeting colleagues or clients before ushering them back to a quiet room, researchers from different departments meeting on their way back from late lunches, and always, of course, where one went to collect messages of all types. Today, it was only the secretary; otherwise the entry was quiet.

There were two receptionists who shared the duties of the front desk: Mrs Hewes, whom he'd been indifferent toward until somewhere along the line he realized he rather liked her, and Miss Langley, whom he'd always rather didn't. Today, to his mild disappointment, it was Miss Langley at the desk.

"Oliver!" She all but jumped up from her seat when she saw him. "You're back!"

"Miss Langley," he acknowledged, vaguely wondering when she'd stopped calling him by his given name in that other timeline. Sometime after Gene's death, or after he'd finished university to work at BSPR full time; or sometime in between.

"Oh, c'mon, how many times have I told you to just call me Melody?" She had a distinctive way of speaking: apart from her light Northern accent she also had the habit of stressing what seemed like every other word that came out of her mouth. "I just saw Dr Davis with Ms Mori but you weren't there so I didn't think I'd get to see you today! But here you are! Lucky me! How was your holiday in Japan? I'm so jealous, I'd love to go to Japan someday!" She prattled on about mountains and cherry blossoms until he lost his patience and interrupted.

"Miss Langley, I apologize, but I have to get to work—"

"Of course, darling, your very important work," she laughed and winked at him in a patronizing way.

He resisted his scowl until after he'd turned away and slipped down the hall toward the back staircase. Mai would be pleased he'd been polite, he thought. Or maybe not—Mai had never been fond of the woman, either. Luella, then, at least. A wry, bitter smile twitched at his lips at the thought. He'd caused Luella a lot of grief, over the years, with his personality.

He managed to get to his father's office without encountering anyone in the halls, but the room was empty. Martin and Madoka might have gone to her office, instead. It was only just down the hall but he saw no reason to seek out either of them, not yet. He didn't have his own office at this point in time, not having a reason to be so firmly rooted to only one place in the building. When he and Gene came to BSPR they spent their time between Martin's office and Madoka's, in one of the experimental labs or in a conference room, his books and Gene's homework spread out across the tables.

He crossed the room toward the desk, idly tracing a finger against the curvature of the wood as his eyes glanced over the family photograph Martin had set in front of his computer. His own thick folder of translated Japanese texts was placed on top of the desktop calendar and he opened it aimlessly, glancing inside. His handwritten pages—perfectly legible to him, but since others had a tendency to complain he'd written as neatly as he could—would be typed, eventually; entered into an electronic database and catalogued by one of the clerks downstairs.

There was a rap at the open door and he looked up, not surprised by the sight of the short, stocky man in the doorway. It was a friend of his father's, Terrance Ephraim. Despite the fact that he ran a research lab in the basement of the building, he had the general appearance as if he'd always just come in from outside, sunglasses perched in his tousled gray hair and his skin permanently freckled by the sun.

"Oliver," the man said warmly, a broad smile instantly brightening his features. "Welcome back."

"Dr Terry," he greeted. "Good to see you again."

"I was looking for Martin," Dr Terry said unnecessarily, shrugging. "I thought he'd be in this afternoon?"

"We just arrived, yes," Oliver answered, "but I don't know where he went. Madoka's office, maybe."

Dr Terry nodded. "Guess I'll try there next. Or maybe she took him down to the reference library. Should have stopped on my way up, I suppose," he mused to himself. "Madoka mentioned yesterday that he's started a new research project—"

"A new research project?" A voice interrupted from the hall. "Dr Davis has a new research project?"

Oliver didn't have to see the face to recognize the voice. That low baritone undoubtedly belonged to Ulrich Stevens, one of the other lead investigators in Martin's division.

Dr Terry turned his head toward the sound of hurried footsteps. "Hello, Stevens," he said with a strained smile. "Nice to see you."

"Dr Ephraim, what's this I hear? Has Dr Davis started working on a new research project?"

"Well, I believe it's only in preliminary stages, at this point," Dr Terry said vaguely, addressing the still-unseen figure in the hallway. "Madoka only mentioned in passing that he had a curious idea to look into—"

"Another curiosity?" Stevens exclaimed in surprise. He then rounded the corner, peering into the office. The tall man started when he saw Oliver standing in the room. "Oh—hello. Didn't realize you were here already, Oliver. Have a nice holiday?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stevens," Oliver acknowledged with nod. Luella would certainly be proud of his manners this time, as well.

"Good to be back, eh chap? Back to our fine English weather?" He laughed loudly at his own joke and Dr Terry smiled politely before Stevens turned back toward him, eyes narrowed as he pressed for details. "Do you know the subject of Dr Davis's new research?"

Dr Terry held up his hands quickly. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Stevens, but I know nothing more than I've already told you. Perhaps even calling it a new research project is a bit misleading. From my understanding he simply had an idea to look into—nothing more."

"Oh." Stevens seemed disappointed. He looked to Oliver shrewdly. "Don't suppose he told you what he's going on about?"

Oliver simply shook his head with a blank face.

Stevens frowned. "Hope it's not another complete folly like that idea of an office in Tokyo," he muttered. He held up both his hands quickly to the man in front of him. "Not to be rude or anything, I'm just saying it like it is. If Dr Davis is distracted by his outside projects he'll lose his credibility within BSPR. We're already behind in our division and I'm waiting for his approval to proceed with not one or two but three new cases. I say, taking time off this last week was really the worst sort of timing."

Dr Terry's annoyance—which Oliver could see building throughout the exchange—finally began to show on his face. "Now, Stevens," he began, trying to sound amicable. "You can't fault Martin for taking some well-deserved leave. He needs to spend time with his family, just like the rest of us. And any new research he begins will come second to his work here. Martin may be easily excited by a new idea, but he's not one to squander company resources, especially his own time—"

"Company resources?" Stevens interrupted and gave a derisive snort. "What about the infrared cameras and thermographs he took from my team?"

"All equipment on loan was approved unanimously by the Board, as I'm sure you'll recall," Dr Terry said sharply.

"Of course," Stevens said quickly. "And while I'm certain the Board of Directors knows best, Dr Davis's idea to open a satellite office outside of Britain may be a little too optimistic. We have cases here that need his attention," he insisted, hitting his palm with his fist for emphasis. "His time is already divided enough between Cambridge and his work here. BSPR doesn't need an affiliated international office, so why are they toying with the idea? It's certainly bound to fail miser—" Stevens stopped abruptly, eyes falling toward Oliver as if he'd just remembered he was there.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Miserably, you say?"

"No fault of Lin's, of course, and both you and your brother are immensely capable for your age," Stevens said, tripping over his words. "I'd be happy to have you in my team on any case, any time. But you can't drop a medium and one researcher in the middle of a foreign country and expect to hit the ground running, even if you speak the language. What's the point of opening a trial office with the hopes that all will go well and BSPR can pick it up? It's absolutely absurd. Dr Davis may be brilliant, but on this matter he's off his rocker."

Oliver arched an eyebrow skeptically. "You do realize what you're saying to me, don't you? Criticizing Martin like this—"

"Dr Davis already knows I was opposed to the idea," Stevens said, his nostrils flaring. "Anyway. The way things are now, there's nothing to do but wait." Wait for it to fail, was implied. Then he changed the subject. "I hope you had a pleasant holiday abroad? What's your brother up to these days, apart from waiting for some cases to show up? Rumor has it he's found himself a girlfriend—" Stevens stopped mid-sentence as Martin rounded the corner, Madoka at his side.

"Not true, I'm afraid," Martin said, laughing as he entered the room. "Perhaps, much to his disappointment and much to my relief." He nodded at the two men before meeting Oliver's gaze, smiling apologetically. "There you are, Noll. Sorry for wandering off without you."

Oliver shrugged and Martin turned back to the other guests. "Now, Ulrich, I've reviewed your summaries of those three new cases," he said as he went to his desk, beckoning the man forward and passing him a folder he'd had tucked under his arm. "You're approved to proceed with the first case and I've outlined my recommendations. You'll have to accept my apologies for the delay on the other two—I need to look into a few things before we move forward on either of those, but I'll get them to you first thing tomorrow."

"Much appreciated, Dr Davis," Stevens said, nodding toward Madoka and Dr Terry in quick succession. "I'll contact the client immediately."

Dr Terry watched the man leave with a dissatisfied look on his face, waiting until the man was out of sight before he spoke. "I'm not one to question you, Martin," he said, shaking his head, "but I think you made a mistake when you hired that bloke. Brilliant and motivated as he may be, his personality leaves a bit to be desired."

"You can say that again," Madoka agreed with a murmur.

Martin sighed and sat down at his desk, shaking the mouse to bring his computer to life. "Ulrich can be a bit.. unrelenting in his opinions," he conceded. "We may have differing opinions on some matters, yes, but I have my blind spots and it's necessary to be reminded of them sometimes. And you can't deny that he's an excellent investigator."

"There's differing opinions, yes, and then there's being an ass about it. Blimey. And he was at his most polite today. Anyway." Dr Terry shook his head. "I'm actually on my way out for the day, Martin. I've got to go pick Zach up for an orthodontist appointment, just thought I'd swing by your office before I left. Marjorie wanted to invite you and Luella over Saturday afternoon—Rebecca's home from uni this weekend and we thought we'd have a barbeque. Oliver, you're invited as well, of course, and Madoka, you're always welcome to join us if you're free."

"Busy, unfortunately," Madoka apologized with a regretful smile.

"That's a shame, Madoka. Terry's barbeques are always the gastronomic highlight of the year, the height of cuisine in all the British Isles—"

"Now, Martin, don't tease me. I'll blush."

"Simply can't help it, Terry." Martin laughed. "Anyway—we'd love to. Certainly we'll be there." He glanced at his son, eyes warm with his smile. "Luella and I, of course—I won't speak for Noll."

Oliver's mouth twitched in a small smile. "I'm afraid I'll be occupied with my coursework. I've missed several weeks of classes."

"Understandable, of course, but you're always welcome if you find a bit of time." Dr Terry nodded and lifted his hand in a parting wave. "I'll catch up with you later, Martin. See you, Madoka. Later, Oliver."

Martin waved as his friend departed. Before he could speak, his son had turned on him, eyes narrowed. "You didn't get approval from the Board of Directors to open the satellite office?"

"Ah. That." Martin hesitated, glancing between his son and Madoka, who still stood in the door. He gave her a near imperceptible nod and she closed the door behind her, leaning back against it and folding her arms together. "No." Martin exhaled heavily as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with the base of his palm. "I'm sorry, Noll. I didn't. I couldn't tell you."

"Then..." Oliver didn't need to ask. Nor did he need to finish his statement. If the Board of Directors at BSPR hadn't approved SPR, then they hadn't invested in the office yet, either. SPR was currently funded out of Martin and Luella's pockets. "Does Lin know this?" He finally asked.

Martin pressed his lips together and gave a short nod.

Oliver frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, looking out the window to avoid his father's gaze. He wanted to ask about before—if Gene's sudden death had been enough for the Board of Directors. If they'd taken pity on the Davis family, come to a similar agreement, or if Martin and Luella had even asked. How could he have not known? How could they have kept this from him? But Martin wouldn't know the answer to those questions, even if he could ask them in Madoka's presence. That Martin and Luella would potentially give up their savings for their sons was unsettling. Even though he knew they loved him, had known it to be true—to see evidence to the fact of their love and commitment made him uneasy. He felt guilty, undeserving; a con artist with a conscience.

"It's not entirely separate," Madoka said, breaking the uncomfortable stillness. "There's a loose association between BSPR and SPR. It was much easier to get the required licenses and permits with an existing, established business. SPR is registered under Martin's name as a member of the Board of BSPR. Lin took a few days of leave to go to Japan but he's being paid his regular salary now, and all equipment is on loan from BSPR. But the office itself is not an extension of BSPR, not yet."

"Then the lease," Oliver muttered aloud. "Freight and transportation. General office expenses. Mai's salary."

"Yes. It's a bit of a... trial run, if you will," Martin said uneasily. "That's the agreement I made with the Board."

"And if it works, BSPR will take SPR on as its own." Oliver concluded, his voice tight.

"Yes," Martin agreed. He sounded tired. Oliver realized Martin had probably slept even less on the flight than himself, remembering how he'd pored over reports and case notes while Luella and Sarah slept in the seats beside him. "If Gene and Lin keep the office open, the Board will review after six months and then again after one year. If the Board agrees to take on SPR at the first review then they'll expect the transition from SPR to JSPR complete at the mark of one year."

"In other words, BSPR will only take on SPR if they see it as a profitable long-term operation," Madoka supplied. "At this stage it's still too risky."

Martin nodded. "As much as I trust you and as much as I trust Lin, I couldn't convince the rest of the Board otherwise. And—to be honest, at the time I saw no reason to," he admitted. "Luella and I didn't know how committed you two were to running that office, or if we'd have to close the office six months after we opened it."

"What would that transition entail, exactly?" Oliver asked, glancing between the two.

"For starters, we'd either send someone from BSPR or hire externally to head up the office." Seeing his son's eyes narrow, Martin sighed. "I'm sorry, Noll, but surely you can't expect to emigrate permanently to Japan to run this office? Not at sixteen, nor at seventeen. Not to mention as JSPR—as an affiliated company of BSPR—the Board of Directors will want someone with managerial experience to be in charge." He gazed at his son, hesitating slightly as he glanced at Madoka. "The contacts you've made through SPR—if any are well-suited for the position, of course they would be encouraged to apply. If, of course, only if it comes to this. At this point, it's nothing but complete conjecture."

He should have known, he should have foreseen this. After all, from an outsider's point of view—as Ulrich Stevens so smugly pointed out—it was absurd. Ridiculous to send a sixteen year old boy and his guardian to Japan, to expect two people to open a psychic research office in a foreign country and expect it to flourish. He understood their skepticism.

And yet it had worked. SPR had been a success in itself even as the search for Gene's body dragged on. He'd assembled a team. Gathered data; cleansed and exorcised spirits. There hadn't been a case he couldn't solve. This time would be no different—no different in that it would succeed, at least. They'd solved their first case and there was a handful of other guaranteed successes, knowing what they did. But Ulrich Stevens and the Board of Directors at BSPR could not know this. Neither had Martin, when he'd initially agreed to the idea.

"Why would you do this? Why?"

Martin looked surprised at his son's sudden outburst. "Why?" He repeated, perplexed, and his features relaxed then, a gentle smile spreading across his face. "It's simple, Noll, remarkably simple. We did it for you."

Oliver frowned and lowered his gaze to the floor. He understood but he didn't understand, he would do the same for Mai or Gene but at the same time Martin and Luella's actions were completely illogical. It was not irrational but not rational, either.

Martin didn't give him time to dwell on the matter as he changed the subject. "Now, actually, unless you're busy this afternoon, I was hoping you'd read Stevens' potential case summaries. I'd like to discuss our recommendations together."

Oliver took the two folders as Martin held them out toward him, surprised and pleased what his father was asking of him. It would certainly be an assessment, considering that he hadn't yet had a chance to prove himself completely. Glancing at Madoka, he saw an expression of surprise flit across her face as well, but it disappeared as she recovered.

"I do hope you're not giving them to Noll because you're too lazy or jet-lagged," she teased.

"Nonsense," Martin said briskly, a wry smile twitching on his features. "I have already read them, Madoka. I hope you don't think so poorly of me that I'd lie to Stevens' face about it."

"Of course not, Dr Davis," Madoka said, pulling open the door with a grand gesture. "I'll leave you to your work, Martin, I'm back to pore through the archives. Noll, you can use my office if you'd like a quiet place to read. Walk with me?"

Oliver nodded to Martin as he closed his door behind him, and followed Madoka down the hall toward her office. It surprised him that she did not speak along the way. It was only after they reached her office, as she went to her desk and began clearing aside papers that she spoke.

"It's been strange, this last month, not having you or Gene around," Madoka began, pausing as she glanced at a particular sheet before setting it on top of the stack. "I have to say, I never expected any of this to come from one conversation. If I'd realized Gene was going to take it so seriously I probably shouldn't have pushed him to go to Japan."

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, watching as she cleared her desk. What would have happened, indeed? "What's done is done."

"I suppose you're right about that. Though," she continued, deliberating, "opening an office in Tokyo was your idea, wasn't it?" She mimicked his shrug and stepped aside, gesturing toward her desk. "Here you are."

Though the surface was clear, he wouldn't have called it neat or tidy—not by a long shot. Madoka had always been one to thrive among chaos. "Thanks." He set the folders onto the empty desk space and sat down in her chair.

Instead of leaving, however, Madoka closed the door and sat down on the plush sofa that took up a good portion of her small office. Unlike some of the investigators, who preferred to use conference rooms, Madoka always held client interviews here. Though it was hard to say who spent more time on the sofa, Madoka's clients or Madoka herself. Gene had always liked to nap in Madoka's office as well, the west-facing window warming the room with afternoon sunlight—when there was any sun to be had, that is, in the generally dreary London weather. Luella may have liked to call Gene mon petit loup—her little wolf—but to Madoka, Gene was her office cat.

"I thought you were off to pore through the archives," he asked, glancing at her as he opened the first folder.

"Hm? Oh, no, not yet." She sighed and looked at her watch. "Martin asked me not to let anyone know exactly what I'm up to, and I know Dr Willard will be down there until three. He's such a sweetheart, I couldn't bear to lie to him if he asked."

"Couldn't bear to, huh?" He echoed mockingly.

"No, I really couldn't." Madoka grinned at him. "Contrary to what you believe, Noll, I do actually have a conscience." She sighed and leaned back into the sofa. "Goodness, today's gone by so fast. You must be exhausted. Martin said you didn't sleep much on the flight."

Oliver shrugged, returning his gaze to the page before him. "Neither did he."

"No," Madoka sighed. "He didn't." She yawned and rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. "Well, I'm exhausted. I should go get a cappuccino..."

"I'm not stopping you. And you don't need to keep me company while I'm reading."

"No," Madoka admitted. "But I know you're waiting for me to ask you why you ran off to Japan so suddenly."

Oliver's hand, turning over a paper, stilled for a fraction of a second. He lifted his head to meet Madoka's gaze. She was watching him intently.

"Fine," he said, leaning back in her chair. "Ask me, then. You already know the answer."

Madoka rolled her eyes. "I know what you told Luella and Martin, or at least, what Lintold Luella and Martin. What I don't understand how you got Lin to lie for you."

"It wasn't a lie." Oliver stated matter-of-factly.

"Come now, you don't expect me to believe that, do you?" Madoka gazed at him before relenting with a shrug. "Very well. Perhaps I'm wrong."

"You are," he agreed curtly.

"Even if Lin wasn't lying, you certainly managed to get him on your side rather easily," she noted. "However did you manage that? Unless there's some reason he desperately wanted to leave England, I don't know how you convinced him to go to Japan, of all places. After all," her voice became mocking. "We all know how Lin doesn't like Japanese people."

"What better place to get over his prejudice, then." Oliver turned his gaze back to the papers before him.

"He argued quite passionately on your behalf. Well," she amended, tilting her head. "About as passionate as Lin gets, I suppose." She eyed him curiously. "You've made up your mind about running the office in Japan? Martin indicated as such."

Oliver shrugged again but didn't reply.

"Gene seems quite keen on staying in Japan. Did you tell him about the deal Martin struck with Luella?"

"Of course not."

She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips dipping in dissatisfaction. "I'm surprised you're covering for him on this one."

"I'm not covering for Gene," Oliver bit out testily. "I never—"

"Please." Madoka interrupted, rolling her eyes. "You never cover for Gene, is that what you were going to say? You may let him catch the flack for some of his more outrageous ideas, Noll, but don't pretend you've never lied to Martin or Luella so Gene wouldn't get in trouble. Give me some credit here."

Oliver folded his arms across his chest and looked away. "This is different. I haven't lied to Martin and Luella about anything." Saying that, he was trying to convince himself just as much as Madoka. He wasn't sure how true it really was. Almost true? Or only partially?

Madoka considered him carefully. "If you say so," she finally acquiesced. She was silent for a moment, flipping through a file folder, before she spoke again. "This Miss Taniyama Mai seems like a nice girl. Martin and Luella seem to be very taken by her."

"Is that right." It wasn't a question.

"I'd like to meet her," Madoka said thoughtfully, tipping her head from side to side. "I don't know who started the rumours, but I'd put money on them coming from the reception desk. They are copied on all communications from Lin regarding the overseas office. Including, of course, the fact that a secretary was hired. And the rumours started right after you hired her, too quickly for it to go through any other route. By the way, was hiring a secretary your idea, or Gene's?"

"Rumours?" Oliver asked, ignoring her question.

"About.." Madoka paused deliberately. "Her being Gene's girlfriend."

"Preposterous." He frowned, drumming his fingers against the desk. "Must be Langley. Mrs Hewes wouldn't..."

"No," Madoka agreed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "It was certainly Langley. Mrs Hewes understands decencyand decorum." She shrugged one shoulder lazily. "Knowing Gene, it's not that preposterous, and considering everything, it's really no wonder it was passed around the office so quickly. But if Luella says it isn't true, I'll take her word for it." She eyed him carefully. "Unless there's something you've kept from them? I wouldn't think you'd bother to hide it if Gene did find himself a secret girlfriend, but if there was a reason—"

"She's not." He averted his gaze to the desk. He'd meant to sound bored, indifferent. Still, he had spoken too quickly, and it gave him away. Not the truth, necessarily, but that there was something to hide. Madoka was looking at him. He forced himself to look up and meet her eyes, inhaling silently and letting his face blank as he exhaled.

Madoka blinked but said nothing. After several moments her lips curved into a slight smile. "I see."

No, he wanted to say. You don't. Instead, he glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's three o'clock now. Dr Willard will have left."

"Right, then." She hopped to her feet and grinned at him, pleased from their conversation. "I'm off downstairs. Talk to you later, Noll."

He did not look up until she'd closed the door behind her. Frowning, he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Gene would have laughed at him, he knew. He would have been delighted by the predicament. Gene loved to conspire, to tell tales and make up stories—and at the same time he would have teased him for not telling the truth. Why don't you just tell her? He would taunt. She's your girlfriend. You told her you loved her and that you'd ask her to marry you. So why can't you admit to that? You even regret telling Martin and Luella—

No, Oliver exhaled and ran his hands through his hair, gripping at his scalp. No, no, no.

He opened his eyes, dropping his hands and staring forward blankly. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his mobile phone, gazing at the dark screen while he deliberated.

She wasn't likely to still be in school; they'd probably even finished the interview with the new potential client. But he didn't want to call her at the office, not with Gene or Lin there to overhear. Then he dialled the number anyway. He held his breath as he waited, waited while his request was beamed from satellite to satellite across the globe, waited for the small sound that indicated it'd found its target. There was a small click as it connected but the phone did not ring. Instead, an automated voice instructed him to leave a message, and he released a quiet exhale through the following tone.

"I miss you," he admitted, without preamble or introduction. "Only one day and I feel off-balance without you by my side."

He closed the flip phone, letting it disconnect and dropped his hand to his side. Is that all? Returning the phone to his pocket, his hand brushed against the fabric pencil case she'd given him. He could feel the tug of memories, beneath his fingertips, but did not let them pull him under before he removed his hand.

Oliver reached outwards with his mind, feeling along the telepathic connection toward Gene, but there was no response. Swallowing, he straightened his shoulders and returned his gaze to the papers before him.

...

He'd been reading Stevens' case notes for over an hour when he suddenly felt the tug, the sound of a whisper he could not hear. Unsure if it'd been his imagination, Oliver closed his eyes, concentrating intently on the connection.

Gene, he thought purposefully. Gene, are you there?

It wasn't the muffled static of a distant telephone call, but there was some sort of interference from the stretches of distance between them all the same. Gene's voice as he answered seemed quiet, distant even in his own mind.

I'd almost given up trying to reach you. This is... harder than I thought it would be, Noll.

He snorted aloud. You thought it'd be easy?

Not exactly, but... it's not like the spiritual realm and the physical line up just so. Our telepathy isn't through the physical world, so I didn't think distance would have any effect. But maybe it's something else. Interference, maybe. There's a lot of people between here and there... His voice trailed off and he was quiet.

You're half asleep right now, aren't you? Oliver accused.

It actually works much better when I'm half-asleep, Noll. I believe Lin would call this 'clarity of mind'.

If his eyes hadn't already been closed he might have rolled them toward the ceiling in response. If you don't fall asleep in the middle of it. You can call me, you know. I do have a phone.

Don't get smarmy with me, Noll. We both know you wouldn't answer.

Oliver ignored the barb. How did the interview go?

It went well, Gene replied. All of a sudden his voice was louder, as if the connection between them was stronger. We're taking the case. Rather good timing, actually. He wants us to come next week and that's after Mai's term finishes, so she doesn't have to miss any school. That's good, isn't it? Gene paused only briefly, not waiting for a reply. I suppose we'll wait a day or two before we contact Father John or that monk, after we do some preliminary research and see if we can get an idea what's going on there. Mai called Yasuhara and asked him to come in tomorrow. I don't think we'll find anything, though. Things only started happening in the past six months, and yet it feels like an old ghost. Something about it doesn't line up.

Oliver frowned. You think it's a spirit already? You're sure? Feeling what felt like a nod and a shrug in response, he sighed. Wait until you get there before you make any decisions, Gene. If you've already jumped to conclusions you'll miss facts even when they're clearly presented to you.

I know, I know, Gene reassured him. Don't worry, I haven't said anything to Mai or Lin to cloud their judgement, and we'll approach it from an appropriately skeptical angle. Unless Kanegae's lying about any of it, of course, but it looks pretty blatantly supernatural.

What sort of person is he?

Kanegae? Well... Gene's thoughts trailed off and his memories from that afternoon trickled through the connection instead. The man was relatively young, probably around Lin's age. Gene remembered vividly that he'd been wearing a brown leather jacket, and beneath clean chinos his boots were permanently dusty with dried mud that had been brushed off countless times. His voice was soft and fairly high; Gene thought if he'd taken the phone call he might have mistaken him for a woman. The man had been friendly, quick to smile and too polite to remark on either Mai's or Gene's ages even though it was obvious it had surprised him. And tired. Tired, like so many of the clients that came through their doors.

Do you trust him?

Yeah. I do.

What about Mai?

If she trusts him? Gene paused. I dunno. I didn't ask her. I just assumed she felt the same.

How's Lin holding up as acting manager of SPR? He asked dryly, and the connection seemed to jump, wavering before it righted itself again as Gene laughed.

Fine. Poor guy. He's kind of... rough with clients, you know? You're much better at this than either of us, and that's really saying something, isn't it?

What's that supposed to mean? Oliver asked, annoyed.

I get distracted too easily and Lin doesn't talk enough. Thank God Mai's here. She's good at reminding me what to say and good at filling in the awkward silences when Lin puts his foot in his mouth.

I hope it wasn't that bad.

A little hyperbole, maybe. It wasn't bad. Oliver felt Gene exhale, almost as if the breath was coming out of his own mouth. I'm tired. Any other questions about the interview? I still need to tell you about what happened yesterday and I don't want to fall asleep in the middle of it. You really wouldn't be happy about that.

Yesterday? Oliver frowned. What happened yesterday? Is something—

No, no no no, Gene said quickly, sensing his anxiety. Nothing like that. As it happens, Lin's grandmother's coming to see us this Friday. She sent a messenger shiki to Lin.

His frown deepened. Friday? That's sooner than he thought.

Yeah. Apparently there was a djinn in the desert they were watching after Lin had a close call with that Thibault Bertin guy. And now that djinn just disappeared—immediately after that disturbance in the spiritual plane, they say. Something ate it, or consumed it, however you want to look at it.

His words came out hurriedly, anxious. Oliver felt a shiver of dread and Gene took a deep breath. Sorry. That came out a little jumbled. I think Lin told you some of this before, but let me start over. You remember Thibault Bertin, right? Lin told you about him, didn't he?

Yes—some details, at least, but Lin never told me the whole story. I know that the man called himself a witch doctor and Lin travelled with him before he started at BSPR. That Bertin was planning on using Lin as a sacrifice all along, but Lin escaped with the help of Bertin's spirit familiar.

Right, Gene agreed. That was when Aahil joined Lin's shiki. Bertin was planning on sacrificing Lin to a djinn, but Lin got away. Ever since then, Lin's grandmother has been keeping an eye on it. To see—I don't know, to see if someone else will come along and try to make a deal with it like Bertin had, I guess. Lin was very set on the idea that the djinn itself was not evil—but that driftwood up at the Yoshimi Inn, Okobu-sama or whatever, wasn't evil either, was it? Just because it needed people to worship it and would kill them if they didn't. He snorted. And if it wasn't a threat to anyone, why was she watching it?

Oliver frowned. And you said it disappeared?

Yeah. Too much of a coincidence, right? Lin's shiki, Aahil included, feel a tremor in the spiritual plane and the next thing we hear, that djinn is gone. Not only is it gone, but I guess Lin's grandma has reason to believe it was consumed by something else.

Oliver remained silent, mulling over his brother's words.

Lin says there's no way to know if it's the same, or if they're even related. But I know they are, Noll. Maybe that djinn's disappearance wasn't the tremor itself, or whatever happened when it was consumed. But whatever consumed it made that tremor. I know it. When his brother didn't answer, Gene continued hurriedly. It's something we did, Noll. It's all related to something from this second turn-around. None of this happened the first time, when I was dead. And it didn't happen when you went back for Mai that other time. It's only because we came here. Something from this timeline is setting all of this off.

That's just something you know?

Yeah. Gene paused, deliberating. I know it. Mai knows too, doesn't she? She's had dreams.

Oliver frowned. More dreams?

No—just the ones before—

Gene, you don't know what those dreams mean, Oliver interrupted testily. Unless Mai's told you more than she's told me, we don't know what they refer to.

Except that there's a danger. You're in danger, Noll.

We can't know that—

We can, Noll, and we do. Gene's voice came fast and angry, cutting off his thoughts. Mai's had dreams where you're not in her future. What else could that mean?

There are other explanations. There are always other explanations.

No. Gene said sharply. Not this time.

When was the last time Gene had been so angry? Oliver pressed his fingers gently to his temples, trying to ignore the dull headache that had begun to grow. The connection between them seemed tight and thin, somehow. Brittle, from the tension of their disagreement. He didn't want to think what would happen if the line between them were to snap, so he backed off and changed the subject. What happened to Bertin in the end?

Gene didn't reply immediately. He died, he finally answered. He died in the trap he set for Lin.

Probably not a pleasant death, then.

Lin said he was burned alive.

Oliver nodded slowly. Lin had never told him this detail of his story of Thibault Bertin, but it was precisely because he wouldn't tell him that he'd assumed this to have been the case. Lin holds himself responsible for his death, doesn't he.

Yeah. You know Lin.

I do. The two dropped into silence. There was a heaviness in the back of his mind; Gene was on the edge of sleep. Anything else?

Gene sighed, a long and drawn-out exhale before answering. No.

I have to get back to work. Good night, then.

Good night, Noll. Give my love to Luella.

Oliver felt the connection slowly slip away and he opened his eyes. Madoka's office was dimmer than before as the sky darkened outside, but the desk and his papers were illuminated by the desk lamp. Running his hand through his hair, he began to read.

Half an hour later he was in the exact same position, hunched over the desk with both hands at his temples and staring at the papers beneath him. He'd finished reading the case outline from Stevens, but his mind was only half on the words before him. The other half continued to mull over his conversation with Gene.

The new case, Stevens' new client, sounded interesting—almost a little too interesting. He'd reviewed many of BSPR's cases when researching his thesis: past cases, cases he missed while in Japan, cases Stevens' team had undertaken instead of Madoka and her crew. He thought he would have remembered this case, but it was utterly unfamiliar to him.

At first, the case scenario was unremarkable: an old hotel, staff who saw apparitions, doors that locked on their own. Knocking at night and appliances that turned on when no one was there. There had been no reported injuries. But as he continued he could see the case was unique. The general poltergeist activity could happen at any time, but sightings of the ghost or ghosts occurred only when it rained. The most recent sighting had been just last week, and it seemed everyone in the hotel restaurant—staff, customers, visitors, management—had seen and heard the apparition during a thunderstorm. The potential client had even brought in a letter, signed by thirty patrons, to corroborate her story.

It was definitely strange. Spirits that only appeared when the weather conditions were right was not unheard of, but usually it had more to do with the people seeing them rather than the spirits themselves. And the letter: a neat list of witnesses to interview was somewhat out of the ordinary, but there had been instances in which a client wanted to bring proof to the researchers. Proof they were telling the truth, proof they were not insane. But there was something else that bothered him about it. For lack of a better word, something about the whole case didn't seem right.

There was too much evidence, already plainly in sight. Repeated, distinctive phenomena with plenty of witnesses; if it was legitimate, it could be a new step forward for the arsenal of BSPR's proof of the supernatural. And yet the woman who'd brought the request was a complete sceptic. Apparently one of her customers had urged her to seek out BSPR, and it was he who had gotten the others to sign the affidavit.

Martin would have taken this case, and would have recommended either Madoka or Stevens the same—no matter who ended up conducting the interview or who received the first inquiry sent up from the reception desk. BSPR would have taken this case. Then why didn't he remember it? If BSPR had received this case before—if being the question—he would have almost certainly read the case notes. Why hadn't BSPR carried out this particular case?

He frowned and closed his eyes, thinking about what Gene had told him. How could preventing Gene's death be linked to this? It was so far removed it was all but unthinkable to even begin to make a connection. The woman who'd requested the investigation claimed the occurrences had been going on for years, for as long as she could remember. Decades, even, as she'd heard stories long before she took over management of the hotel from her parents. Why come to BSPR now? And if BSPR hadn't taken this case last time, was it because they'd declined to investigate? Or could it be she never approached BSPR in the first place?

Oliver blinked when there was a knock at the door. Jerking his head up, he saw Martin smiling apologetically.

"Sorry, Noll. I didn't mean to startle you."

He shook his head as he released his hands from their grip in his hair. "No," was all he said.

"Which case are you reading?" Martin crossed the room to look at the papers before him. "Ah. The request from Judith Pullman. What do you think of that?"

"It's interesting," Oliver began slowly, sitting back in the chair. "And if the client is correct in her statement that the activity only occurs during inclement weather, it may be difficult to investigate."

Martin nodded, his lips twitching in a smile. "Indeed."

"Most curious to me is how sceptical she is of a supernatural influence over the events at the hotel," Oliver said, his fingertips beginning a slow rhythm against the tabletop. "She refuses to believe it could be anything paranormal, and yet has come to request an investigation? And while it is quite possible that some of the activity could result simply from a thunderstorm, some of the accounts—if from reliable sources, of course—seem overly obvious as they point toward a paranormal source. An amateur would look at her statements and cry poltergeist, though it may not be that simple."

Martin nodded again. "I thought the same. Still she maintains it must be her neighbours playing tricks or a rival hotel trying to drive away her clientele, even as she seeks counsel from the Society for Psychic Research." He chuckled lightly. "Very curious, indeed."

Oliver nodded as he gathered the papers, tapping them into order before passing them back to his father. "Otherwise, it's quite straightforward. A case BSPR has no reason not to accept, though it isn't exactly a priority. The claims that the incidents are dependent upon the weather does make things a little more complicated, but the usual surveillance should be set up to begin the investigation, followed by interviews to corroborate her claims and research into public records to determine the history of the building and locality. How to proceed after that would depend on the data gathered. If it is a poltergeist, one of the exorcists on Stevens' team could take care of it."

"Wow, Noll, you almost sound like a professional." Madoka said as she entered her office, beaming and dumping an armful of folders onto her sofa. Martin turned and winced to see papers and files crushed against the cushions.

"What can I say," Oliver said, lifting an eyebrow. "I learned from the best."

Martin stifled a chuckle, coughing into his hand when Madoka shot him a look of annoyance. "You sound like you're making fun," she huffed, putting hands to her hips, "but you can't deny it's the truth."

Martin coughed again and Madoka turned her gaze to him. In response he held out the case from Stevens toward her, smiling sheepishly. "Madoka, actually, I've just heard from Stevens that there's been a development in one of his other cases. He's off to Brighton tonight, but he agreed it'd be better to begin on his other cases immediately. Would you take this one on for us?"

"You're passing his work off to me now, are you?" She said, taking the folder and flipping it open to scan the first page. "Martin, I do have my own work to do, you know."

"Of course." He smiled at her warmly. "But I thought you'd like to get out of the office for a few days. You know, mix it up."

Madoka gave a small snort, even as she kept her eyes fast upon the page. "Of course, Martin. Mix it up. I'd decline if Stevens asked me to take it for him, but I can't say no to you."

Martin beamed. "Excellent. Noll, you don't mind going, do you? It's a bit out of the way—Worcestershire, wasn't it?"

"Indeed," Madoka mused, flipping a page.

"Of course," Oliver said, collecting his remaining papers and rising to his feet.

"Oh, no, love, you needn't get up," Madoka looked up and waved vaguely, gesticulating with the file in her hands. "I'm just about to head out for the day, Noll, so you can use my desk as long as you need."

"Oh, you're leaving, Madoka?" Martin asked. "Won't you give Noll a ride? I've got another meeting shortly so I'll be stuck here for a couple more hours."

Madoka frowned at him sternly, hands returning to her hips as she scolded. "Martin, you were supposed to take it easy today on your first day back! What will Luella say?"

Martin grimaced. "I've already called to tell her I'll miss supper."

Madoka sighed and shook her head, taking her coat from behind the door. "I bet she's not pleased about that. Well, Noll, come on—I want to leave now to miss the worst of traffic."

Oliver frowned. "I'm still reading. I'll wait and take the train with Martin."

"Noll, it's really no trouble," Madoka assured him.

"No need for both of us to miss supper, Noll, and no need for you to wait for me here. You can finish reviewing that case at home."

"I'm fine on my own—" Oliver scowled at his father, but Martin shook his head and stood firm.

"Go with Madoka. Please."

If Martin was respecting his maturity by asking his opinion on Stevens' new clients, he was dismissing it now. He did not need Madoka as his chaperone. Earlier, Martin had treated him as an adult; now, he was infuriated to be slighted as a child. Oliver wanted to protest further but there was something in Martin's eyes that stopped him. It wasn't that Oliver wanted to stay at the office—he could go over Stevens' case at home or start on the growing queue of university papers, assignments, and readings waiting for him—but he also didn't particularly want to return to the Davis household, either. But there was something on the edge of Martin's voice, almost a weary plea hidden behind the words. He couldn't refuse him.

"Fine," Oliver acquiesced. "Let me get my things. Good night, Martin."

He followed Madoka outside and behind the building to the small parking lot. He let her lead him to her gray hatchback, lagging behind as he didn't recall what her car looked like at first. She opened the back and he helped her load in her box of files among the rest of the boxes of papers and sporting equipment and who-knew-what-else was buried in there. Madoka's car, like her desk, was cluttered and always seemingly at capacity, but he didn't doubt she could tell him exactly what was in there, either.

"You know Martin doesn't like it when you keep case histories in your car," he said, eyeing a particular box.

"I know, I know," she grumbled, closing the hatch with a slam. "I'll return them eventually. You won't tell on me, will you?"

Oliver rolled his eyes as he sat down in the passenger seat. "It really doesn't matter if I do or not," he muttered, and Madoka laughed as she started the ignition.

Despite all her usual chatter, Madoka wasn't one to talk as she drove, so Oliver turned his gaze out the window, watching the dark buildings slip by under the grey sky. The commercial centre gave way to residential areas, congested with the traffic from the end of the work day. It wasn't that he'd never noticed before, but he'd never dwelled on how the houses looked different, here in London compared to Tokyo. It was hard to put his finger on it, but something about the slant of the roof and the roofing tiles. The spacing, maybe, as well—the spaces between the houses was different. There was an unusual stirring in his chest and an unfamiliar feeling of homesickness.

It wasn't until they were nearly at the Davis home that Madoka began to speak. "Luella told me," she started, her eyes flicking between mirrors, "that Gene had been looking for your parents."

He didn't answer, eyes steadfast on the houses outside.

"She said you met your grandmother."

Oliver sighed, wondering why Luella had told her. It wasn't as though he'd asked or even expected her to keep it a secret, but it still seemed too soon to tell anyone outside their family. But then again, Madoka and Luella were close. Birds of feather, thick as thieves, almost like sisters. "Yes."

"What will you do now?"

"Nothing."

"It's not related to the reason why Gene decided to stay in Japan?"

"No."

Madoka nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "And you contacted your father's parents—in America?"

"Yes. We spoke to Markus Nilson's relations. Markus Nilson being our biological father." Oliver leaned his forehead against his fingertips, closing his eyes. "Gene was keen to meet them. Eventually."

"But not you, Noll?"

Oliver shrugged as he opened his eyes, watching the street slip by outside the car. He hadn't thought much about the Nilsons lately. Had Gene? "Not particularly. But if Gene wants to, I'd go along with it."

A smile twitched on Madoka's lips. "Some would call you contradictory, Noll. The only mystery you don't care about is the one behind you."

Oliver shrugged again. "I really don't see why it matters where our blood came from. I don't care where I came from. I'm already here, aren't I?"

The smile cracked her lips wide open and Madoka laughed out loud. "Facts only, isn't that right? The motivation behind the result doesn't interest you, does it? I should have known. You were always more interested in the what, Noll. The who, the when and where. Meanwhile, Gene was more interested in the why."

Oliver frowned as he considered her words, but she didn't seem to notice. "Luella said she didn't know how Martin would take to this. That Gene went to find them. Not just that he was looking for your birth family, but that he had to be so secretive about it." Madoka sighed and tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. He knew she wasn't expecting a response nor did he feel compelled to say anything, and the car drifted into silence again she turned onto his street.

"I don't think Martin would be as crushed as Luella fears, though," Madoka said quietly. "I think he'd understand your desire to know just as much as anyone. You should tell him, Noll. I know Luella won't ask you to but I think it'd be best if it came from you and Gene. And considering Gene isn't here..."

Oliver pressed his lips together, ignoring the lump that instantly formed in his throat. "Maybe."

"Well, I can't tell you what to do. Just something for you to consider." Madoka shook her head and pulled the car to the curb outside his home. "Have a good night, Noll."

Oliver hesitated, his hand on the door. "Do you want to come in for supper? I'm sure Luella would be happy for the company."

"No, but thank you. Too much work tonight and if I come in I'll never leave." She smiled and lifted her hand in parting. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He closed the door and watched her car drive off again down the street before turning toward the house. The downstairs glowed with soft light: Luella would be in the kitchen, making dinner. Waiting for him to return.

If he'd felt unsettled to return to BSPR, to the site of the accident that had brought them back to this time, then stepping over the threshold into his home was equally comforting. He closed the door behind him and hung his coat on its peg, clearing his throat for the announcement Gene always made when the two of them came in together.

"I'm home."

Footsteps responded to his voice and Luella appeared in the hall. She beamed as she came toward him, laying a gentle hand on his back. "Welcome home, Noll. Soup's on—it's your favourite tonight—and I've got Yorkshire puddings in the oven. Dinner won't be ten minutes."

"Thank you, Luella—Mum," he corrected himself.

She patted his shoulder and he followed her into the kitchen. Since it'd only be the two of them, they'd eat supper at the small kitchen table instead of the dining room, but Luella had set the table for three. She was often overly optimistic about Martin's late nights at the office.

"How was your day?" She asked, taking out a bag of salad from the refrigerator.

"It was—fine," Oliver started, unsure. Usually he didn't have much more to say than that and Gene would take over. After Gene left, Luella would try to coax details from him but he'd been more content with silence. Tonight, he racked his brain for things to tell her, making an effort to keep the conversation going. "I saw all my professors at Cambridge this morning," he ventured. "I have all the assignments to catch up from what I missed."

"I'm sure that'll keep you busy this weekend," she said with a smile. "You'll miss Terry and Marjorie's barbeque."

His lips twitched. "So I heard."

"And how was your afternoon?"

"I spoke to Gene," he said, hesitating as he decided not to tell her their conversation had been telepathic. "He sends his love. They're starting a new case next week. And Lin's grandmother will be visiting."

Luella's eyes softened but her smile remained steady on her lips. "He's keeping busy, then, too. Did you call Mai?"

"I did." Seeing her expectant look he shook his head. "I didn't reach her."

"But she knows we've made it back safe and sound," Luella approved.

Oliver nodded absently. Even if Luella knew he was a mature adult in a mature relationship, she wouldn't be able to help herself from offering motherly advice as if he were still only sixteen. It's her right, he told himself, and certainly she thinks it's her duty.

The timer on the oven dinged, then, and Luella hurried forward with oven mitts to pull out a tin of steaming puddings. "Here we are. Noll, love, would you serve up the soup?"

The two had a quiet dinner together, Oliver letting Luella talk and offering the occasional question to keep her going. See, it's not so hard, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gene's mocked him.

They finished eating and Martin still hadn't come home. Oliver could tell Luella was anxious and annoyed at her husband's late night at the office, but she was doing her best to hide it so he reciprocated by pretending not to let on. He helped her tidy the kitchen before heading upstairs to his room to return to his reading.

He'd been sitting in an uncharacteristic slouch in his chair, his pencil tapping against his paper as he thought. He frowned when he heard the house phone ring downstairs, his thoughts interrupted by the sound.

"Noll," Luella called from downstairs. "It's Lin on the phone for you."

At the sound of her voice he realized a lot of time must have passed and still Martin hadn't returned. He stood and left his desk, slipping down the hallway to the upstairs study where there was a second phone line.

"Lin," he greeted, pausing to hear the slight but distinctive sound as Luella hung up the phone downstairs. "You didn't tell me SPR wasn't getting any funding from BSPR."

The line was silent at first, the sudden accusation catching Lin off-guard. Then he sighed. "No," Lin finally admitted. "And perhaps it was wrong of me not to tell you. It's not that I didn't think you would find out eventually." When Oliver remained quiet, Lin exhaled audibly again. "I apologise if you're upset."

"I had to hear about it through Stevens, Lin. You should have known Martin and Luella weren't going to tell me. You should have told me."

"It wasn't my place, Naru." Lin's voice, usually so controlled, sounded tight and irritable. "There are things you've asked me not to tell Martin and Luella that they would be very cross to hear I've kept from them as well. But it's not my place to tell them, either. I hope you can understand my position."

Oliver frowned in displeasure but he had to admit Lin was right. "I don't suppose you would tell me now if there was anything else?" He shook his head, continuing before Lin could speak. "No. Nevermind. I won't ask," he finished grudgingly, a motion for the topic to end. His eyes slid toward the clock on the desk. It was later than he thought. "This is an odd time of day for you to be calling," he noted, an eyebrow rising. "Isn't it rather late there?"

"A bit." Lin hesitated. "Before I continue, do you have a moment? I'll call back tomorrow if it's inconvenient."

"It's not." Oliver frowned. Are you able to speak freely? This remained unspoken but he heard it in Lin's question all the same. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No." Lin said the word carefully, and though Oliver knew his friend wasn't lying, something was causing him to hesitate. "Gene and I had a brief conversation this morning. Because of that, I had a conversation with Aahil. I've come to realize several things and I wanted to discuss with you."

"Go on."

"Gene told me about a conversation he once had with Aahil, when the two of them first met," Lin began, and Oliver nodded slowly, trying to remember. His twin had told him about that first conversation with the spirit familiar, although it didn't seem there had been much to it. "Two things. First, Aahil alluded to the fact that he was aware of feats the both of you might accomplish—"

"Was that a surprise?" Oliver interrupted sharply.

"No, I was aware of Aahil's precognition. In his life he was a seer—a fortune-teller, reading the future from the auras he saw in those who came to visit him. When he was killed and his spirit enslaved it was that ability which became the essence of his being. Gene told you, did he not, that he also asked Aahil about Mai?"

"Yes," Oliver said slowly. "I do remember that. If I recall, Aahil said something to the effect that Mai's future was difficult to see."

"Exactly as Gene said," Lin agreed. "And considering what Aahil said later about Mai's aura—I am not surprised. Her abilities lie in the unpredictable and her aura reflects that. At the time, Mai had just begun her qigong training and I was preoccupied with how unstable her abilities were. I did not ask him to clarify."

"But today you did."

"Yes." Lin exhaled quietly. "Today, after speaking with Gene, I realized I should have asked more questions."

"And?" Oliver said impatiently.

"What Aahil sees in an aura—any aura, of any person—could be likened to a roadmap. As long as a person's future does not include him, he is able to see a very general trajectory. His abilities seem to be blind when it comes to his own involvement," he added as an explanation.

"Precognition when it comes to others but not himself," Oliver mused. "It is not uncommon, among those who are precognitive."

"In this way, Aahil is also unable to see my future very clearly, but the way he is unable to see my future is very different from how he cannot see Mai's. He knew, for example, that I was almost certainly going to meet Sarah sooner than the events that led to our meeting in the last time, but he did not know when or where."

"He couldn't predict that Martin would bring Sarah with him."

"Precisely," Lin agreed. "In hindsight it seems very clear. We knew that Martin and Luella were bound to come see you in Japan eventually, but even I couldn't make the obvious connection that the simplest way to see Sarah would have meant that she would accompany them."

"If we'd known Martin and Luella were coming, we all would have thought Madoka would have been the one to chaperone," Oliver reminded him. "It only goes to show how difficult precognition can be. There are always unexpected variables." He paused and frowned. "I don't see why it should be any different for Mai. Surely Aahil's had enough contact with both Mai and Gene that their futures would be unclear. Perhaps not to the extent of yourself—"

"No," Lin interrupted quietly. "You're quite right. Anyone closely connected to me would be the same. I think it is not presumptuous to say my future is closely linked with yours, Naru. And Gene and Mai in turn. And this is exactly what I would have suspected. But Mai is different."

"Different how?"

"He said her aura disappears from his view completely. It is not muddled or unclear, the way it is with others—it completely disappears."

"Disappears?" Oliver repeated.

"As if one was following a map closely as they travelled down a road, and saw that the line marked on the map suddenly stopped but the road on which they were standing stretched forward into the distance. Or the way one cannot see what lies beyond as you approach a crest. These were the two analogies he used. To be honest, I'm not sure I understand. Aahil himself said he'd never encountered a blind spot quite like this before."

"Is that all he said?"

"On that subject, yes."

"What was the second thing?" Oliver asked. Hearing nothing but silence, he pressed on. "The second thing from Gene and Aahil's conversation?"

"Secondly.." Lin hesitated again. "Aahil told Gene that he could help him remember."

"Remember?" Oliver echoed.

"Remember the time he was dead." This time Oliver didn't reply, his eyebrows sinking low as his frown deepened. "I gather Gene didn't tell you that," Lin continued quietly.

"No," Oliver muttered. "He didn't."

"Gene, apparently, refused. And Aahil corroborated when I asked." Lin sighed and Oliver could just imagine the man rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. "I don't imagine this is going to be a pleasant revelation, Naru, but Aahil told me Bertin taught him a very rudimentary type of psychometry. He learned how to take memories from an object and a way to pass those memories to another."

Oliver gripped the phone receiver to his ear, jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. "Explain," he demanded. "Psychometry cannot simply be learned—"

"Aahil seems to think it can be." Lin said simply.

"He must have had the latent ability—"

"Either way, Naru, what's important here is that Aahil possesses some form of psychometry and had memories he was willing to give to Gene. Now, it would not have been Gene's actual memories—in this case Gene did not have a physical body and therefore could not leave any of his memories behind—but Aahil could give his own memories of any time he'd observed you, when we were together, as well as any impressions he'd picked up from myself, you or Mai—anything that might fill in the gaps of Gene's memories."

"But Gene refused him. You said so yourself. I don't see why this is pertinent."

"Because we have never approached this thinking it could be your psychometry that makes us remember, Naru." Lin said seriously. "Your PK may have brought us here but your psychometry can account for our memories."

"It's only through our telepathic bond that I can share the effects of my psychometry with Gene," Oliver said carefully. "While I will admit I haven't tested this hypothesis, I very much doubt I could share a memory—mine or anyone else's—with anyone besides him."

"I don't see why we couldn't think that in the midst of a PK explosion there might be an exception." When Oliver remained silent, Lin exhaled a tired sigh. "Naru, did you have anything of Mai's—the first time?"

Oliver stiffened, eyes widening and the pattern of the wallpaper fading before his eyes as his mind went blank.

"Please answer me. I would like to know."

The silence stretched between them. "...Yes," Oliver finally admitted, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he leaned back against the wall. "She left something for me. In the office. I hadn't realized it was there—that it was hers when I took it. I just put it in my pocket, not realizing—"

"And the connection to her was strong enough? Even after all those years?"

"She... had it for a very long time. A memento from her parents." Oliver said tightly, remembering how Mai had put her good-luck house key on her copy of the office keys. How she'd left them on the desk and how he'd pocketed them without even thinking. When Lin didn't say anything, he snapped. "I never once spied on her, if that's what you're thinking."

The line was silent for several moments before Lin sighed again, his speech halting. "You saw... her death, then, didn't you. Naru, I'm sorry—"

"No," Oliver interrupted, his voice firm and calm. "It still doesn't explain how you, or Mai, or Sarah remember the second time—"

"You were holding Mai's hand, and I believe my hand was on your arm. A direct connection would be the simplest one." Lin said, his voice suddenly weary. "I think we can both agree Gene's circumstances for remembering the past might be... rather convoluted, but there is an explanation for Sarah."

"Well, out with it, then," Oliver snapped impatiently.

"It was Aahil. He was with her on her return from the carpark. As he realized what was happening, he tried to take in some of her memories so that he could pass them back to her later."

For a moment, Oliver was too stunned to speak. "Why would he do that?"

Lin remained quiet for some time. "I would like to think he did it out of compassion. I would like to think I have treated him well enough to receive his goodwill. I would like to think he was—is—fond of her. He certainly didn't need to do such a thing out of obligation. Had he done nothing, I never would have been the wiser."

"Why didn't Aahil tell you any of this before?" Oliver asked angrily. "Least of all that he's capable of psychometry—"

"The pact between my spirit familiars and I is not as straightforward as you would like to believe, Naru," Lin said impassively. "Simply because Aahil has seen something, or knows something, does not mean he has to automatically tell me. Spirits have their blind spots as well. Had he known what that small facet of truth would lead to—I'm sure he would have told me long ago." He sighed. "The point of this discussion was not to state definitively what happened to us. Merely to make you aware of the possibility. Anyway. It's late. I'm going to bed. I'll talk to you later, Naru."

Oliver placed the phone back on its cradle and slowly walked back to his room, but he did not return to his desk. Instead he began to pace the room, his arms folded tightly across his chest, thoughts turbulent in his mind.

Why hadn't Gene told him? Had he not understood what Aahil's offer meant? What did that say about Mai's abilities, if this so-called map Aahil saw in her aura simply disappeared? And if psychometry could be taught to an individual, if it could be learned—he'd always known his psychometry could be honed, strengthened with practice, but to develop the skill from nothing? If so, psychometry was, in a way, no different from qigong—as long as one had the right teacher. And if that was the case with psychometry, then what did that mean regarding any other psychic ability? Could one be taught ESP? Could one learn to see spirits? Clairvoyance? No. He nearly scoffed aloud, turning on his heel as he paced. It was laughable. It was unthinkable.

Wasn't it?

All at once he stopped, eyes darting to Mai's pencil case. He'd removed it from his jacket pocket and it now rested on his desk beneath the lamp. Using only his fingertips, he picked it up and opened it. Frowning to himself, he retrieved the silver key from inside the case, holding it carefully between his index and middle finger. The memories danced upon his fingertips but he kept them at bay, hovering at the edge of his mind. He should have known she'd do this. After all, she'd had this key in her pocket for years, she wouldn't have another possession with such a strong imprint—

The key slipped between his fingers and his eyes widened as he fumbled, but he caught it before it hit the ground. As the key fell into the palm of his hand the vision came fast without warning and he closed his eyes involuntarily.

Footsteps running down a hall. Voices—distant, he can't hear them. Someone calls her name—Papa, wait—

No, Oliver thought, forcing his eyes open and gritting his teeth to remove himself from the vision. I have no right to see this—

But he was tired; the pull was strong and he could not keep his eyes open. If not a vision of the past the key demanded to show him something. Instead, he saw her, head sunken in a giant pillow, comforter pulled close to her neck. She was sleeping peacefully—not in her own room, on her own futon, but a bed—the spare bed in the spare room in their apartment.

He ceased to see but was instead surrounded by the emotions held within that carved piece of metal, floating in a sea of comfort and calm and so much love. He felt love and he was loved. He was safe, here, safe to sink into a deep, deep, slumber...

Oliver's hand relaxed and the key slipped from his hand, bouncing as it hit the carpet. The feelings stayed, however, and combined with the exhaustion of the flight and all the events of the day and losing his tight grip on his psychometry, it was all he could do to stumble to his bed. He fell face-first to the mattress, twitching and grasping at the blankets before his hand fell limp to the side.

...

"You're dreadfully late tonight, Martin." Luella didn't look up when her husband came in, eyes steadfast on the book she was reading.

"I'm sorry, Lu." Martin apologised, voice tired. "But I hope a late night tonight means I'm caught up for the rest of the week."

"Me too." She sighed and lowered the book. "I suppose you ate supper?"

He nodded and sank into the chair beside her, dropping his briefcase to the carpet below. "Of sorts. Wish I'd been here though."

She turned her face toward him, a frown creasing her face as she studied him. "What is it?"

"Lu, do you remember Haliama Francis, by any chance?" He ventured.

"She's in your division, isn't she? What about her?" She asked, puzzled.

"Yes." Martin sighed and rubbed his forehead absently. "She's works primarily with Stevens and has tested—occasionally—to have ESP. It hasn't ever been reliable enough for casework, but we've—I've—always known of her capability."

Luella's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

Martin sighed again and rubbed his face with both hands. "When she saw Noll leaving the office with Madoka today, she said she had a vision," he said bluntly. "She said she saw a dark shadow around him."

"A dark shadow?" She whispered. "Could it just be—what he's done—"

Martin shook his head helplessly. "I just don't know, Lu. I just don't know."

Luella looked down, her hands clenched tightly around her book. "Is it because of his abilities? Or is it—something else?"

"Something else?"

"My mother told me stories, stories about fairies and old magic. She believed all that—well, you met her before she passed." Luella shivered slightly, tracing her fingers down the spine of the volume and she closed her eyes. "If Mother heard what Noll did, she'd say it was black magic—that he'd sold himself to the devil for it."

"That's ridiculous, Lu—"

She looked at him sharply. "Is it, Martin? How is that any more ridiculous than anything else you deal with?" She rose to her feet, dropping the book on her chair as she left the room. Martin followed her, down the hall and upstairs. The door to Noll's room was open and she cautiously peeked inside, her face softening to see him asleep upon the bed.

Martin watched from the doorway as she crossed the room quietly, lifting a quilt from the bottom of the bed and bringing it up around him gently. "Oh, Noll, darling," she whispered, a wistful smile lifting her lips. She gazed at him softly. "He doesn't look sixteen any more, does he Martin?" She asked. "He looks much older than that."

"He's tired, Lu." Martin said gently. "We're all tired. Let him sleep."

Luella reached down to brush his hair away from his face. "He looks as if he's seen the end of the world," she murmured. "And maybe you have, my darling."

"Let's go to bed, Lu."

Luella nodded and leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on his temple. "Sleep well, Noll dearest. The sun will rise for you again tomorrow."

...

---

Note:

First, I want to sincerely apologize for the wait. You are all very kind in saying you'd rather wait for my chapters rather than the rushed alternative, but I understand the frustration of getting a chapter update when the last one was so long ago you can't even remember what happened. (Or maybe this is just me and my terrible memory ;;-_-) I really meant to finish this in November (and December) and here we are already in the new year. Apologies, and as always, I hope the next wait will not be quite as long.

In other news, I can't believe I'm at the five-year anniversary of this story. The publication anniversary is still coming up, but the first chapter was written five years ago on winter break (I guess this explains why the twins' backstory here is so outdated.) So here we are at the end of summer holidays, and here's to another five years—cheers! (Let me be clear that I really really really hope the rest of the story doesn't take five more years.)

To my fellow writers: I just want to apologize for all the stories I haven't been able to read and review in the past few months. It's been an insanely busy summer and I'm so behind. There's just so much I'd love to read but I just haven't the time. I'll keep trying to keep up, little by little.

To my readers: thanks so very much for all your encouragement and support. I don't know if I would bother to post this but for some of the very kind feedback I've received. A special shoutout to furiouskittenn and Meepyonnee—I'm sure would have given up on this a long time ago if it weren't for you two. Thank you.

Until next time, my dear friends—be well!

-abbq