----------
"My parents are where?" Himura Kenji demanded.
"Safe," Makimachi Misao said firmly, eyes more on the pale master of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu sitting on the dojo mats. Myojin Yahiko had taken one look at the slim young onmitsu, then a second - then sat down, hard.
"You're a youkai trick," Yahiko said now, brown eyes locked on her as if she'd vanish if he blinked.
"It's 1894. Almost the new century," Misao pointed out.
"So?"
Arms propped on her knees, Misao grinned. "I always did like you, Yahiko-chan." I just liked Aoshi-sama better. Hope Tsubame knows how lucky she is. "And you're half right. But they are safe."
"If they're with Aoshi, they're not safe," Yahiko pointed out.
"Maybe not," Misao acknowledged. "But they're alive, and they're healthy. We both know Himura-san can handle anything else."
"Shinomori Aoshi?" Sakabatou by his side, Kenji looked as if he were still trying to catch up. "The okashira?"
"Yeah," Yahiko said shortly. "You've heard our stories about him. And Misao." He eyed her narrowly.
Some of the confusion left Kenji's blue-violet gaze, replaced by wariness. "Isn't Misao supposed to be... um... older?"
"Your kaasan's age. Yeah." Yahiko gave her a very Sanosuke-studying-loaded-dice look. "Don't tell me you took up Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu."
"Hiten masters aren't the only ones who drift in time, Yahiko. Though we've told the Aoiya to remind Hiko-sama to start drifting again; he's annoying, but it'd be a shame if he went out the same way Himura-san almost did." Misao's smile turned serious. "I'll tell you everything. But first - you've got to act as if they're dead. The mourning period, the funeral, everything."
"Because whoever's trying to kill them isn't done yet." Yahiko cursed under his breath.
Kenji's eyes narrowed. "I want to see them."
Misao shook her head. "Not yet."
The young Hiten Mitsurugi swordsman tensed. "Makimachi-san-"
"It's hard enough hiding one redhead. Two, and the rumors we've spread really will fall apart," Misao said flatly. "Right now, if we're careful, anyone who sees him will think they're seeing you. But not if they see you both at the same time." She gave him a crooked smile. "Besides, Saitou's going to be helping, and you know how hard it is for those two to work together without trying to kill each other."
"Ouch," Yahiko muttered.
"My father doesn't try to kill anyone," Kenji said dryly.
"Kenji-kun, you've earned that sakabatou," Yahiko sighed. "You're a great swordsman. You'll probably be one of the best masters of the Hiten ever. But take it from a guy who's been there." Yahiko leveled a serious look at the younger man. "You've never - ever - seen your father get mad."
----------
So something finally woke Battousai's temper from the ashes. Saitou Hajime smirked as he stalked through Shinomori's inn, part-time spies scattering less from his policeman's uniform than from a swordsman's unsheathed ki. This should be entertaining.
The warm scent of tea tickled his nose, underlain with a hint of sake as Saitou entered the okashira's room. "Early for that, don't you think?" Since you and I both know you've no head for liquor whatsoever, Shinomori... my, my, what could so rattle the okashira's fabled calm? Canines flashed in his grin. As if I didn't know.
Shinomori deliberately sipped his drink. Regarded the dark green liquid in his cup. "I think," the onmitsu leader said clearly, "I may have underestimated the... potential difficulties."
"Oh?"
"Shinomori-san!"
"Ah." Saitou glanced toward a familiar, hot-tempered voice. "I see Mistress Kamiya is feeling better." So you're not a complete idiot after all, are you, Himura? I wonder how the rurouni saw sense long enough to claim what you are. That is, if it was the rurouni at all....
"Where is he?" Kaoru's footsteps thudded nearer. "I'm going to pound him flat and use him as a tatami-"
Shinomori drained his cup.
"Maa, maa, Kaoru, it's only clothes...."
"Only clothes? Only clothes? I'll give him clothes, that kodachi-swinging-"
Kamiya's words whited out in Saitou's ears as she threw back the shoji, every sense suddenly overridden with a blaze of presence.
A swordsman is here. A hanyou is here.
A killer is here....
"You!" Damp hair caught back in a dark ponytail over her blue kimono, Kaoru jabbed a fist toward Shinomori. "First swords, now this?"
"Kaoru. Beloved." Kenshin put a gentling hand on her arm. "It is only clothes."
Only clothes, indeed. Saitou studied his old foe with a sense of dawning excitement, the wolf in him begging for a decent fight. It's been so long. Daisho, dark blue gi, gray hakama... add leather arm-guards and a high tail of red hair, and he'd have back that old enemy, the one whose strength and swiftness had pushed the Shinsengumi's skill to the limits and beyond.
Gods, but I've missed you, Battousai....
No. Not Battousai; not quite. The eyes were different. Gentler; amber flecking violet, but not yet burning clear.
Oho. Someone's in a temper today. This will be amusing. "I see Shinomori finally pried you out of pink," Saitou drawled.
"It was not pink!"
"No?" My, my; I do believe you're counting to ten. Amazing you have that much control, Battousai.... A waft of air brought him the delicate mix of scents around Kaoru, and the former Shinsengumi covered a wolfish grin. No wonder Shinomori's rattled. I could have told him you're the first boulder of an avalanche, Battousai; nigh-impossible to shift from your chosen place, but impossible to stop once you are moving.
As he was moving now. Governments and curse-casters beware.
"Keep your blades sheathed." Aoshi glanced up. "Misao will be here in a moment."
Another breath, and Saitou had picked out her scent as well; human, with the faintest touch of youkai that marked Aoshi's claim on her. Along with it came a taste of kitsune just filtering through a cloak of humanity. So the weasel-girl and the vixen are coming with us. Hmph.
"Misao and Megumi." Kenshin relaxed a hair. "You... scented them?"
"Aa." Though now he could sense their ki, as Battousai obviously had a good five seconds before. I always knew his range was greater than mine; it's how he eluded so many of our patrols. I suppose now we know why.
"Himura Kenji may be a genius with swords, but he still hasn't mastered following people...." Misao stepped into the room, green eyes widening. "Kenshin!"
The swordsman staggered back, arms full of happy kunoichi. "You're all right!" Misao babbled away. "I told Yahiko and Kenji you were, but I wasn't sure - the reports said you were so sick - and Aoshi and I got better, but we're onmitsu-trained and you aren't, and I was so worried-"
"You're saying this isn't an illness," Megumi said levelly as Kenshin set the still-chattering ninja down. "That it never was."
"It mimicked one," Aoshi said, just as calm. "From the Aoiya's records, the best curses do, so they may kill without interference."
"Easy, little sister." Kenshin gave Misao a gentle smile.
"We're okay," Kaoru added, touching her shoulder in turn. "Really."
"But you're not!" Misao burst out. "Not yet. Didn't you tell them?" She threw a pleading glance Aoshi's way. "You've got to tell them. It was so close - if we don't get to the source now, they might try again, and it might work that time."
"They who?" A slim hand hovered near a sword's hilt. "Shinomori. You said this had to do with the Circle of Eternity, yet I know you and Saitou were never involved in that affair." Red hair nodded toward the doctor. "And Megumi-san was only near the edges."
Ah. That is Battousai, Saitou thought, satisfied. "I was involved with you, Battousai. It seems to have been enough."
"The curse is using you as a keystone, Himura." Aoshi flipped open a bound notebook to a series of red and black inked diagrams. "From the miko my people have consulted, the worst of the spell was aimed at you and Kaoru. But hanyou are hard to kill; and while the enchantment tried to snuff you out, the energy you resisted spilled over into any... preexisting channels."
Amber-flecked violet blinked. "Channels?"
"Even when you don't kill, you leave your mark, Battousai," Saitou said dryly. "Anyone whose ki you've clashed with is at risk. If Shishio were still on this earth he'd have been incinerated by now. Your young cub's fortunate he's never crossed blades with you."
"Yahiko." Kaoru covered her mouth with a hand.
"He's been with Hiko-sama, he should be fine as long as we don't let the curse get started again," Misao reassured her.
"But Sanosuke." Megumi paled, fingers clenching on her sleeve cuffs. "That rooster-headed idiot...."
"Appears to have bought himself some time with whatever he did to help Himura. How long...." Aoshi slapped his notes closed. "A train leaves for Yokohama in two hours. Misao and I will be on it." Green eyes glanced Saitou's way.
"Hmm. I've never been to Korea." Teeth gleamed in Saitou's smile.
"Wandering fool's probably going to need to be patched up before I get a chance to stuff him in a coffin," Megumi growled. "I need my kit. Herbs, pestle, needles - Misao?"
"Just follow me, we've got it all," Misao nodded.
"I will come," Kenshin said softly. "But Kaoru...."
"Kenshin. Anata. Koishii." Kaoru cupped his scarred cheek in a loving hand. "When are you going to learn, the safest place for me in this world is right behind you!"
"Oro...." Kenshin blinked, rubbing a ringing ear. "Aoshi. There are two difficulties I believe you may have missed."
"And we can solve them both in Yokohama harbor." Saitou's smirk widened. "Unless you've forgotten how to hijack a government ship, Battousai?"
----------
"This isn't going to work!" Megumi whispered, feeling the warmth of Aoshi's hands cupping hers as they knelt in shadows of rice-bales near the dock. Orders snapped through the crisp dawn, soldiers and marines assembled in polished rows to board the next troopship for Korea and the face-off with China.
Emerald narrowed at her. "It will not, if you hide yourself in doubt, Takani."
"Let the fox-woman have her illusions, Shinomori," Saitou said coolly, unlit cigarette waiting in his hand as he watched the troops begin their march up the gangplank. "After all, isn't that how you choose to live, Battousai? With the illusion that you'll never kill again?"
"Saitou...." Kaoru's knuckles whitened on her bokken.
"That's not fair!" Misao hissed, keeping an eye out for stray longshoremen who might start taking apart their cover.
"Misao," Kenshin said softly.
He's still Kenshin, Megumi told herself, trying not to glance at changeable eyes. Just - a little stressed.
Kenshin with killing swords....
Aoshi says he needs them to get better. You've seen enough ordinary samurai go downhill without their swords to know it could be true. It's not just steel, it's half a swordsman's soul.
A soul Megumi had feared for since the day she'd realized the man's chosen sword-skill was tearing his body apart.
Only you didn't find any trace of that, either, did you, Doctor? Old scars and undernourishment, yes, like a half-starved teenager, but not a trace of that insidious trauma to joints and ligaments you found seventeen years ago. The kind of damage that just doesn't vanish.
Not for a human, anyway.
Megumi held back a shiver. Good as it was to see Kenshin well, to realize that one of her truest friends might not be human at all....
If it's true. If.
And that's what really tears at you, isn't it, Doctor? If it's true, you've committed one of the worst offenses any doctor can. You misdiagnosed your patient, and you let your pride in your skills keep you from seeking a second opinion.
Even if that second opinion sounds like a grandmother's tale from the time of Warring States....
"Well, it's not!" Misao said hotly. "You didn't know you were hanyou, you couldn't have known what would happen when you made your first kill-"
"Red hair, Weasel Girl." Saitou's lip curled. "Unless his family had Anjin-san's lost lineage in their veins, what else could he have thought?"
"What happened, Misao-chan?" Kaoru interrupted.
The kunoichi hesitated. "Well. It's a little... when humans die violently, their energies-"
"Youkai feed on humans, Tanuki," Saitou's voice cut across her stumbling reply. "Sometimes only on their good will, with the rice and fruits we offer the kami. Sometimes on sanity, or blood, or life itself. Hanyou can get by without all of that... unless they've drunk in the deaths of their enemies." A wolf's grin gleamed in the dawn. "Wean a cub from milk to meat, Battousai, and you know it can't go back."
Amber burned in violet; dimmed again. "Perhaps that is true. For a wolf."
"Hitokiri wa hitokiri, Battousai. A dragon will kill rather than starve. Especially when it's ill. And weak." Wolf-yellow eyes narrowed. "And hungry."
"That's enough!" Kaoru looked daggers at the both of them, turned a fierce blue gaze on Misao. "Kenji?"
Megumi winced at the raw plea in his mother's voice. And bit her lip, at the troubled shift of the kunoichi's gaze. "I don't know," Misao said bluntly. "So far he's fine. Meiji's time has been peaceful here. But he does have youki; he couldn't master the Hiten without it. If Kenji ever ended up in Korea... a battlefield can pull hanyou into the bloodlust even if they don't kill."
"Any hanyou," Aoshi said coolly. "One taste of blood on killing grounds, and you seek it forever." He glanced back at the woman whose hands he still held. "As you have, since the night you tried to kill Kanryuu."
Megumi went white. How did he know? How did he know that I....
Meat soothed some of the hunger; one reason she'd frequented the Akabeko with its foreign-influenced cuisine. For the rest... well, love-bites helped. On those rare times she had the chance for them.
Sanosuke wouldn't understand, she told herself yet again, heart hurting. He'd never - for all his rooster roughness, he's an honorable man....
But so was Kenshin.
"You have done this before, by instinct," Aoshi said matter-of-factly. "How else did you think you slipped my ninjas long enough to reach Himura in the first place?" A faint warmth touched the okashira's eyes. "Deception, Megumi-san. Think of trickery, and hiding, and how very clever you are...."
Trickery. A flame of anger burned in her breast; cold, desperate fury, spawned of years watching Kenshin and Kaoru tear each other's hearts to pieces, of all the long, tear-stained weeks of knowing she was helpless to do more than ease Kaoru's passing out of this world. Of watching love and life slip through her fingers, ever stained with the blood of her opium's victims. I'll give you trickery, Shinomori Aoshi.
Megumi reached for the stillness at the center of her self, the chill consideration that let her walk over the bloody dead to help those still living. A cold fire she'd drawn on that day she'd decided to risk all and run rather than stay with Kanryuu; their guard had slipped, just for a moment, and all she had to do was make it through one door unnoticed. Just one.
Let them see what they expect to see. Let them see anything but what I truly am.
"Oh...."
Kaoru's soft whisper opened Megumi's eyes. A firefly-?
No; though the blue spark beat against her cupped palms like a living thing. A speck of sky glowing as it bounced off the barrier of her skin, prickling her fingers as it tried to fuse back into her flesh and blood.
"That's it." Aoshi moved his hands to fence in the spark before it could flee. "Courage, Megumi-san. This will only hurt an instant."
"Hurt?" Megumi managed; her mind seemed oddly far from her body. "You didn't say anything about-"
Green eyes narrowed, Aoshi touched the spark.
Blue flared into fire.
Megumi sucked in a breath as azure flame swept outward, first flickering over herself and Aoshi, then spreading itself thin to sweep the others. It changed as it grew, gaining hues and depth with every person it touched. The okashira added flecks of subtle violet; Kaoru and Misao, a sword-flash of ruby and a thorny, rose-petal pink. Saitou burned a steady green of sea-swept pines and silken banners, and Kenshin-
Azure hesitated, creeping over cotton and steel and a scarlet tail of hair gingerly as a lapping wave. Only blue, faded and faint.
It didn't hurt, exactly. No more than blood, draining from a painless wound.
So dizzy.
"Help her, Himura." Aoshi's glance cut like a shuriken. "We need your strength to seal the illusion."
"I... understand." But the swordsman looked stricken, drawing subtly back.
"No! Don't choose." Kaoru took his hand. "Wanderer, hitokiri - just be you, Kenshin. Just you."
Someone do something soon, Megumi thought crossly, heart fluttering at the sheer impossibility in her hands. The whole dock's starting to spin....
Emerald blazed under blue.
Megumi breathed in salt air, pulse steadying as the draining weakness stopped in its tracks. Green fire was like a bracing cup of morning tea, faint threads of gold laced through it like the glittery energy of caffeine. That's Kenshin?
Yes. Oh, yes. This was what she'd sensed that first moment in the gambling hall; sensed and known, then tried to dismiss to run, the night Hyotokko and Beshimi had attacked the Kamiya dojo. The strength and calm of a typhoon's eye, pulling her to safety as surely as it destroyed anything evil enough to stand in its path.
"Are we done yet?" Saitou drawled.
"Yes." Aoshi swept her shaking body up into his arms. "Follow me, and stay silent."
"We can't," Megumi muttered into his shoulder. Guards. Sailors. Soldiers and marines by the score; the cream of Meiji's modern armed forces. And here she was, surrounded by swordsmen the like of which had not been seen since Kyoto's bloody rain. "They'll see us-"
Misao's grin was a bright curve of mischief. "They'll see what they want to see."
They stepped into sunlight. Megumi held her breath.
And all eyes slid past them, as if they were just another squad trooping up the gangplank.
----------
"Oough...." Face green, Misao leaned over the troopship's rail.
"I still think we should have taken the ship," Saitou growled, cigarette a point of red light in his hand as he glared toward the oblivious uniformed troops sharing the starlit deck with them.
"Uwaggh...."
"Quiet your anger, Miburo, or they will see us." Aoshi's voice was a whisper on the engine's drifting smoke as the okashira clung to the shadows near Misao. "Even ninja enchantments backed by a kitsune have their limits against those sensitive to ki."
"Hmph. Meiji troops." Saitou shrugged his shoulders against the sea wind, scanning the dark for any sight of land. "There's not a true swordsman in the lot of them."
"Gahhh...."
Saitou snorted. "After all, if they can't hear that-"
"Some few of them do," Kenshin observed quietly. "But there are enough others who do not take the sea well to lead them astray."
The Shinsengumi started, blinking at the blaze of scarlet that had appeared at his elbow. "Ah. The hitokiri returns."
"A will to move silently is not a will to slay, Saitou."
Saitou's lip curled. "Don't fool yourself, Battousai. I'd hate to have you dead on my hands twice."
"I do not deny that I can kill, Saitou." Kenshin peered out into the night, half-wishing he'd remained in their cramped borrowed cabin with Megumi and Kaoru. But Megumi was still shivering after watching Aoshi call blue fire from her hands - and Kaoru, kind and gentle soul that she was, had grabbed him by the ponytail and told him to go haunt the deck for a few hours. "And... if there is no other way to prevent this enemy from striking at Kaoru, and all those innocents whose path I have crossed, I...."
I don't want to kill.
The first principle of Hiten Mitsurugi: the sword swung in my name is wielded to protect the innocents of the world.
"Let your survival be their memorial."
I never knew how empty I felt without a sword at my side... not until I held daisho once more.
I don't want to kill.
But to protect Kaoru....
I would not count the lives that crossed my blade.
"Taking the ship would only have drawn more attention than we wished," Kenshin said deliberately. "This way we will arrive with no warning to our enemies."
"I wouldn't count on that," Aoshi said dryly. "Whoever has cast that curse may be warned the moment you set foot on Korean soil, Himura."
"But not before," Kenshin replied, just as dry. "And this way we have time to observe the translators..." he cut his gaze across toward that glow of tobacco in the dark, "Before we follow your plan and kidnap one, Saitou."
"An excellent plan, I think." The Shinsengumi blew smoke into the wind, oblivious to Misao's renewed gagging as the scent hit her. "Unless you've suddenly developed the ability to speak perfect Korean, Battousai."
Kenshin rolled his eyes. "No."
"Two of them are junior officers. Not likely to be missed...." The lit end waved toward a sudden scuffle in the men. One skinny, dark-haired young man seemed to be getting the worst of it, holding something in a clenched fist as a group of muscled young men jeered and snatched at it, while a tear-streaked young recruit was held back by his peers. "Tchah! That one should have been left back on the farm where he belongs."
"Enomouto Benkai," Kenshin said thoughtfully, controlling the urge to leap into the crowd. Wait. Only wait. The men are aggressive, but not vicious. He hasn't asked for help....
And help was arriving regardless, in the form of a master sergeant's watchful eye.
"A year in, and still barely above private." Aoshi nodded.
Saitou glared at the both of them as the young soldiers dispersed, all pretending innocence. "You can't be serious."
Kenshin blinked at him. "Oro?"
"He's a farmer, Battousai. Assuming he can even tell which weeds to pull, with glasses that thick! Skinny, weak, all the grace the kami gave a tipsy tanuki-"
"And a good heart," Kenshin said softly, watching Benkai wriggle his fist open, handing over a crumpled love-note to the embarrassed recruit. "He shouldn't be in this war, Saitou."
"So you'll take him to ours instead?" Saitou arched a dark brow. "Not like you, Battousai."
"Ah, but we go not to war, Saitou." Violet glinted with amber mischief. "More like... a skirmish."
----------
So this is Grandma Cho's hometown. Marching with the rest of his unit away from the rail station, Enomouto Benkai took in the rainy outskirts of Seoul with bewildered eyes. Here was the nervous bounce of a black umbrella over a passing businessman in Western suit and clothing, there a porter in rough white top and trousers snoozing in a doorway on his chigi carrying frame, over there wet dark brown piles in an alley that couldn't possibly be....
But by the stench, they definitely were. Ugh.
I didn't think it would be like this. Grandma always looked so Japanese - so neat and clean! - and yet....
Why would anyone want to come back to this?
On the one hand, he could understand it; Yi Cho hadn't chosen to come to Japan. She'd been taken by force, back in the days when such things were still common, and Korean girls valued above others in the trade for their legendary beauty that rivaled the women of Aizu. It had been her good fortune to survive in the Willow World long enough to learn the ways of Japan, and snare the heart of Enomouto Mamoru, a clumsy but forthright farmer who had bought out her contract and given her lawful marriage.
She'd never hated his grandfather. Never. But sometimes, when the rains came, she would stare into the distance and grow very quiet.
As if she were watching for ghosts that never came. Benkai smiled a little, thinking how his ship had whispered with rumors of ghosts from stem to stern; tales of gleaming steel in the starlight, a kunoichi giggling before she vanished at dawn, a flash of red hair balanced on the crow's nest when the night watch swore nothing human could have passed them.
Not that he had reason to laugh at rumors of ghosts; no, not him! The rest of Japan might rush into the 20th century, but the people of Ishimura knew there were creatures in the night.
And I guess it must be hard to be so far from your ancestors-
A sharp elbow to the side brought him back to the tents now going up. "Counting clouds again, Benkai-kun?"
Sergeant Uyeda, Benkai realized, seeing the weasel-flash of teeth in a thin face. Now he knew the kami had it in for him.
Uyeda's family had been samurai, pensioned off by Meiji. He'd joined the military because it was expected... but also because his parents, like so many others, had had no idea how to make a living from money instead of swords. So far as Uyeda was concerned, farmers had no place in Japan's military. Especially farmers whose value was in their words - a samurai's province - rather than their skill at dying in battle.
"No, Sergeant," Benkai answered politely now. "Only trying to compose a proper letter to my family, that they may know of victory." And you can take that however you like.
"Compose later." Uyeda slapped a sealed dispatch into his hands. "Leave that pack. This needs to go to Lieutenant Akutagawa in the neighboring camp."
"But my tent - my supplies-"
"Did you hear me, Private? I said go. This is a priority dispatch, and the Lieutenant might need someone to play polite with the locals - backwards idiots that they are." He stepped back and gave a choppy salute. "Try not to screw this up, farm-boy."
Returning the salute, Benkai tried to ignore the sudden knot in his gut. I have a really bad feeling about this....
Four hours later, and it wasn't just a feeling.
I've been sent on a wild goose chase, damn it.
The passwords Uyeda had given him for the next camp were three weeks old; Benkai had spent a harrowing two hours at bayonet points as a suspected Korean spy before a master sergeant had bothered to sort out the problem and allow him inside. At which point he'd found out that while there were four lieutenants in the vicinity, none of them were named Akutagawa. And the sergeant had, as he put it, no time to wipe a green private's nose while he figured out who'd screwed up his kami-be-damned dispatch orders.
"Which doesn't even have all the right seals on it - not that I expect you can tell, glass-eyes."
Benkai winced, hearing that snappish voice in memory as he left the camp and headed for a dry goods store in a darkening part of the unquiet town. All right, so even with glasses, his vision wasn't the best. Still, he'd been handed what he thought were official orders, it was his duty to get them through....
And I've got just one more lieutenant to check. It could still be an honest mix-up. Maybe.
Though how anyone could write Akutagawa for Chikamatsu-
Almost of their own will, his feet stopped.
Something's... not right.
It wasn't anything he could put a word to; as the elders of Ishimura had always said, he really wasn't much of a warrior. Though he'd tried, for duty's sake. But something about the way the dry goods store seemed to crouch at the T intersection of streets, eight-sided mirrors on the outer wall to reflect back the bad feng shui of its location glinting like tiger's eyes-
There! Benkai peered through the dark, wishing his night sight was just a glimmer better. Something moved in front of the left mirror.
It was just a dry goods store. In the Japanese part of town, if a rougher Japan than Benkai was used to. A convenient place for Lieutenant Chikamatsu and his aide to arrange for supplies to fill in the gaps the army quartermasters might have missed. There was nothing sinister about it, even if those mirrors did look more Chinese than properly Japanese....
So why am I not walking through the front door? Benkai asked himself wryly, watching his step as he circled the shorter street of the T. A dark gap between gray walls caught his eye, and he slunk into one of the myriad of small alleys that led off every major road in this sprawling city. I'm going to get myself brought up on report, if I manage to avoid the cutpurses and don't get robbed.
A flicker caught his eye, and Benkai jerked his head up to scan the tiled roofs; no flammable thatch here, not on Japanese-built market buildings.
Nothing.
As if Koreans would run the rooflines like ninja. Mind on here and now, Private.
Left, right, a winding path over noisome bricks, and Benkai was behind the store he sought. It had to be the right place; a small, solid door was set into the wooden wall, perfect for discreet deals in forbidden goods. Inside, he heard the arrogant snap of military Japanese. "Have it arranged."
"So sorry, Chikamatsu-san, you can say no more?" A Korean voice asked. At least the accent sounded Korean, but under it Benkai caught something - off. A choice of words, a weird tonality....
"You have what you wanted," the lieutenant said roughly. "I've spent enough time here as it is."
"Ah, but what is a moment in time, compared to eternity?" The voice was almost a purr, underscored by the rustle of a silk kimono. "Time flees us, but honor is forever, is it not?"
Chinese, Benkai thought, gut knotting as his ear pressed against stained pine. That smirk in the foreign voice... no one would speak so openly of honor. Not unless they meant to imply the hell that was life without it. He's trying to sound Korean - but that's a Chinese accent!
He had to get closer. He had to talk to the lieutenant. He had to see this - to see there was nothing to the odd lurch in his heart, the chill in his hands and feet. Had to-
A hard hand wrenched his right arm behind his back, and cold steel nicked his throat. "You. Stay still." The edge of the blade pressed deeper. "Name?"
I'm dead, Benkai thought, hearing the cold interest in this second Chinese voice. This one wasn't trying to pass for Korean. "Anou..." There's got to be something I can do. His eyes searched the pitch black of the alley as he bobbed in the fashion of farmer to samurai, trying to gain a fraction of an inch from the blade. No use; his assailant moved with him, graceful as a willow whip, dark clothing just one more blur in the shadows. Not even the knife at Benkai's throat gleamed, all the exposed steel painted light-draining black. There's got to be something. "Enomouto. Private Enomouto, please excuse, I'm so lost-"
"Bad karma."
Benkai sensed more than saw muscles tense, and tried not to gag with fear. "I have orders for Lieutenant Chikamatsu!" It's not exactly a lie, they might be for him. And if you're doing what I think you're doing - kami, if you are, lies, treachery, betrayal - then you can't risk the lieutenant not getting official orders.
The knife withdrew.
Benkai remembered to breathe. Took the chance to glance over his shoulder at the shorter man; face flat and Chinese to the bone, hair cropped in Western fashion to pass unnoticed in a crowd, lips crooked in an ironic smile.
I told him I know Chikamatsu's here, Benkai realized. And he knows I was listening. In a back alley. Alone. I'm the one who looks like a spy.
And all Chikamatsu has to do is take my orders from them, and swear I left him alive.
Dark eyes watched him, savoring his realization. "Bad karma, Private." Only the edge of steel gleamed.
No! Benkai kicked and writhed, glasses flying, knowing he only had an instant to break that grip before-
A bolt of pain drove breath from him, folded his knees like wet noodles as the Chinese ninja tightened his grip. I don't want to die here!
And darkness moved in darkness, with a wet thunk of steel into flesh. "Aku. Soku. Zan."
The grip on his arm... fell away.
Benkai hobbled free of limp fingers, shuddering as the tall, blurry stranger pulled bloodstained steel out of his enemy. Northern samurai? Here? Why? And in a policeman's uniform-
"Next time, try yelling 'fire'," the samurai went on dryly, cleaning his blade in one efficient swipe of paper over steel. "It won't keep him from killing you, but even dunderheads like these have to turn out for the threat of a blaze."
Benkai swallowed, distantly wondering how he'd ever find his glasses in the litter. "I...."
"Hmph. A translator who can't talk. About as useful as a reverse-bladed sword." Looking over his victim, the samurai bent in a swift, efficient search of the corpse.
He knows I'm a translator? What the hell's going on? Shuddering, Benkai edged toward the door.
Something dark dangling from his hand, the samurai gave him a wolfish smirk. "Oh, I wouldn't go in there yet."
"Wha...?"
Running footsteps inside. Something hit the door, chest high. Wood splintered.
Silence.
"You let him get that far?" Casting the cracked door a look askance, the samurai tsked. "Did you at least check the upper floors as you came down?"
"I remember how to clear a building, Saitou," an unfamiliar Japanese voice said inside. Something heavy was dragged away from the door. "Aoshi?"
"Checking if these vermin have brothers. Set one to catch one, ne?" The half-playful gaze turned hard. "Don't move."
Just about to try sneaking out of the alley, Benkai froze.
"Better." A long stride, and Saitou pressed wire frames into nerveless fingers. "Skulking through enemy territory alone by night is idiocy enough. Alone and blind - you'd deserve to walk into an assassin's knife."
"Maa, maa, Saitou, leave the young one in one piece." With a wooden moan, the abused door opened. Light spilled into the alley, the glow of an oil lamp gold and warm and welcome. "Inside."
Another samurai, Benkai realized, swiping dirt off his glasses as Saitou glared him forward; even at this distance, the translator could make out the blue and gray lines of an old-fashioned gi and hakama. But what's that red thing on his head?
Glass settled in front of Benkai's eyes, and he froze on the threshold. Red hair. Swords. And a cross-shaped scar.
My, the tatami mats are pretty this time of year....
----------
"It doesn't look like he lost that much blood," Kaoru said dubiously, looking over the slice on the unconscious Enomouto's neck.
"He didn't," Megumi said dryly, swabbing the cut clean with carbolic acid. They'd turned the sign to Closed, pulled the blinds, and propped Enomouto against the counter near a kerosene lantern. Saitou and Kenshin had dragged the surviving spy and traitor upstairs; she really didn't want to think about the low whimpers echoing down from overhead. Or what it might mean if the whimpers stopped. "First life-or-death fight, most likely his first sight of blood - sometimes the mind just flickers out for a while. This should sting enough to take care of that... ah, I thought so. Hold still," she directed the groaning translator. "I just need to bandage you up."
"Doctor?" Benkai said, bewildered.
"Takani," Megumi said soothingly. "Takani Megumi. You're Benkai, yes? You're safe now."
Bleary eyes blinked open. "I had this horrible nightmare," Benkai mumbled. "There was a Chinese ninja, and a samurai, and-" The glassy gaze fixed past her. "Eeieee...."
Megumi glanced that way, and felt her own breath catch. I didn't even hear him walk behind me. "It's all right, Enomouto. He's a friend." Meeting eyes more amber than violet, she held her ground. "I thought you were staying with the prisoners?"
"It's a bit rank up there." Kenshin's smile had a harder edge than usual.
"Rank?" Kaoru asked, confused.
"Saitou is amusing himself." Amber glowed clear in one soundless laugh. "Chikamatsu started talking after one glare, but the spy may take some more time."
"Kenshin," Kaoru said softly.
The swordsman blinked, seeming to come back from a distance. "Kaoru. It's all right. He hasn't hurt them." His smile turned wry. "Though I don't think the best laundress could save the lieutenant's uniform trousers."
Benkai shuddered.
"Am I truly so frightening, Enomouto Benkai?" Swifter than Megumi could blink, Kenshin was past her, callused fingers gripping her patient's shaking hand. "I am flesh and blood and bone just as you are, that I am. And I mean you no harm. None of us do." He smiled, gentleness at odds with the burning gold of his level gaze. "We need your help, that we do."
"My help?" Benkai was almost as pale as birch paper. "But... you're...."
"Himura Kenshin," Kaoru said firmly. "My husband."
"...Hitokiri Battousai," Benkai whispered.
Kenshin's head dipped. "I have been known by that name, yes." He shrugged lightly. "It is but a name, Benkai-san. A swordsman's name. It does not grant me the skills I need now, the skills you may aid us with; the tongue of this land, that we may find one who is lost, or seek out our enemies here, in this alien place. Which is not so alien to you, yes?"
Benkai shook his head, as if to clear it. "But you can't be Battousai," he said, confusion shaking in his voice. "You'd be at least fifty - you look nineteen. But-" He looked down at the fingers still gripping his.
"Ken-san?" Megumi asked in an undertone. Something was going on; she could almost feel it, like a prickle of static from layered blankets.
"You're not lying to me." Benkai dared to meet that amber gaze. "How...?"
Interest lit Kenshin's face. "Why has no one trained you in swords, Benkai-san?"
"Are you kidding? I-" The translator looked away. "That's not funny."
"Trust me, he doesn't joke about kenjutsu." Kaoru looked the translator over with a critical eye. "Nobody got to him early enough to work him past the clumsy stage, but... he has the sense?"
"I suspected as much when he nearly saw me on the roof," Kenshin nodded. "And now that he has sought within my own ki for deception, I know." He glanced at her. "Yahiko. Or you."
"I haven't taught in years. But now...." Interest glimmered in Kaoru's smile. "First things first, ne? We've got an evil feng shui master to find."
"Evil feng shui...?" Benkai said faintly.
"I know it sounds crazy," Megumi started.
"No, no; it's the first thing about this night that makes sense." Benkai shrugged, awkwardly finding his feet. "Korean or Chinese?"
Megumi gaped. "But - you-"
"I'm from Ishimura," Benkai said apologetically. "We see a lot of weird things out there. So there's an evil feng shui master, and we're here in Korea, and army scuttlebutt said the government brought the hero Himura Battousai to inspire the troops... of course."
"Of course?" Megumi leaned on the counter to steady herself. The world leaves rational science and medicine behind to make itself a place of myth and legend once more, and all he says is, "Of course"?
"Shatter the flag, and you break the warriors' spirit," Benkai nodded. "At least, that's what old Tomi always said."
"I should like to speak with this Tomi," Kenshin murmured. Cocked his head. "Aoshi returns."
She tasted the blood in the air before the rear door opened on soundless footfalls; Aoshi calmly grim as usual, Misao uncharacteristically sober. "Two," Shinomori reported simply. "They thought this mission was routine, but they had poisoned thorns."
Amber narrowed. "Then we have to move fast."
Aoshi nodded.
"Someone had better explain," Kaoru threatened, bokken gripped fast. "You were going to bring them back alive so we could track them back to Chinese Intelligence-"
"That would have been an unacceptable risk."
Megumi shivered at the clinical tone of Himura's voice. Battousai.
"Poisoned thorns means they would have suicided rather than be captured," the hitokiri went on coolly. "Possibly after stabbing as many of us as they could reach - it's almost impossible to strip a prisoner of them without a five to one advantage." Gold glowed under the scarlet fringe of Battousai's bangs. "It also means they're prepared for sudden death. Someone will know when they don't check in."
Blue eyes were wide. "Kenshin...."
"Kaoru." He took her empty hand. "This is not honor, nor land, nor any squabble of governments over who should decide Korea's fate. This is a battle for our lives. This is the sword that defends. Our fate, Yahiko's, Kenji's - all rest on our blades. We must not lose."
"Give her the pretty explanations later, Battousai." Saitou stalked downstairs, wiping a smear of blood from his knuckles. "Kamiya. We're mired in treason, espionage, and black magic. Count bodies after it's over."
Icy green met wolf-yellow. "He talked?" Aoshi said coolly.
"Enough." Saitou stared down a pale Benkai. "Enomouto. Your lieutenant's a traitor and your superiors are probably idiotic enough to tar you with his brush if they catch you. A true samurai might allow you to choose seppuku - or at the least, to remain here until the authorities arrive, so you could go nobly to your court-martial and your execution." The wolf of Mibu took one long step into Benkai's space. "But I have evil to slay. So you live."
Benkai gulped.
"Information we gained in Japan gave us some names," Misao spoke up. "And with any luck-"
"Luck had nothing to do with it, Weasel Girl."
"-Saitou-san's gotten us a few places to start looking," the kunoichi went on, only lightly daunted. "But we don't know this place, and we don't know these people. Not like you do. Can you help us?"
"You want me to help you find one guy in the middle of Korea." Benkai blew out a breath. "Why not? But... how?"
"The curse found all of us through Himura," Aoshi said simply. "Get us close enough to the caster, and we will find him."
----------
I've got to be crazy, Sanosuke Sagara thought, steadying his brass binoculars to minimize any betraying flashes from the fading sunset. There was movement in the clearing below, an odd, nervous gathering around a silk-shrouded wagon; a rough score of Chinese soldiers bowing out of the way of a couple of guys in odd dark robes that raised every hair on the back of his neck straight up. Chasing rumors and a feeling all the way up China into Korea....
Hell. Not like I've got anything else to do.
Except get to Japan, to see his best friend's-
Don't think about it, Sanosuke told himself fiercely, scrubbing at eyes that must have gotten - dusty, yeah, that had to be it. You did - you did what Kenshin would have wanted. You got him on the boat. You sent him back to Kaoru. You did everything you could do.
Except nail the bastards who killed him.
Heh. And which set of bastards would that be, Sagara? The government? They've been after old revolutionaries a long time. The people? Kenshin could be old and gray and swordless in his grave, and they'd still be making gestures to ward off demons when somebody whispered the name "Battousai".
Not that you helped, taking off to see the world. Kaoru by herself couldn't talk Kenshin out of damn-fool ideas, you knew that. But if he'd had someone else from the Bakumatsu to talk to, someone to remind him why he married Jou-chan in the first place....
Damn dust. It was making him see things that weren't there, like the glimmer of steel and a flash of red hair-
Wait a minute.
Sano peered through the lenses, cursing the growing darkness. Damn it, that was red hair down there. Flowing flame, over womanly curves of silken green, an odd, fine-leather cloak of blue-trimmed purple, and-
Amida Buddha! Is that - it can't be - she's got a tail?
He almost didn't see the knife coming.
----------
Here. Demona bit back a crow of pure delight as nervous soldiers pulled back silk curtains to reveal a host of purple-spotted gray ovals, each padded with rice straw and glowing faint blue with protective magic. They're finally here.
"Inside," Dragonfly ordered, silk-wrapped seal clutched in one bony hand. Armed men hastened to obey under the witches' watchful eyes, obviously ready to do anything to discharge their duties and get as far from their demonic ally as possible.
As if I care what humans think of me. Demona's lips curled. Taking their hidden workplace for her new clanhold was a good idea, even if it was Dragonfly's suggestion. It was good hunting land, far enough away from Korea's main cities for the clan to spread and thrive, the area was already attuned to sorcery... and it let the humans think they still had control over her.
Of course, she'd have to examine every spell and ward within the area personally to find whatever surprises the Chinese feng shui masters had left to ensure that control. It wouldn't do to let a mere human enslave more gargoyles.
No, Demona thought fiercely, accompanying their precious cargo into the spell-warded room she'd made ready. A lit brazier cast a soft glow of warmth over the room. Bright-patterned Indian cotton curtains cloaked the walls, shutting out stray drafts. Brought across two oceans and planted with her own two hands, Scottish heather scented the new rookery's air, mingling with the pleasant scent of warm goat's milk from the container hung above the tiny stove in one corner. No human will enslave us with magic... nor with wretched feelings of loyalty and protection. Any humans within our territory will serve us, and only us - and those who will not, we will kill.
As it should have been, so long ago. As it would have been, if only her love had abandoned his blind honor and listened to her....
Demona kept her face cool and set as steel, locking all thought of Goliath and his accursed clan in the past where it belonged. Someday she might find a counter-spell to the Magus' curse, a way to free the last six of her lost Scottish clan from their stone sleep on Castle Wyvern. Someday.
Until then... she had eggs to raise. "This one first."
Nodding, Dragonfly touched the golden seal to the magic-sealed shell. Blue brightened, paling to starry white-
Shattered.
For a moment the egg simply rested in rice straw, still as stone.
Have I been deceived? Demona's heart seemed to freeze in her chest. Is it only dead stone, never quickened to true life? Did the centuries under ward kill it?
Purple shell wobbled. Chirped.
The immortal gargoyle let out a rough gasp. Drew in a breath. Touched the rocking shell, and crooned. "There, there, little one," she whispered in husky Gaelic. "Come on out, don't be afraid. Mother's here."
Crack. Crack, crack....
Spotted shell shattered, leaving a newborn watchbeast squirming and whining in rice straw.
"Ooooh, so beautiful, little one...." Demona rubbed off bits of shell and damp with a cotton towel, cradling the small form in her arms to marvel at every precious, tiny detail. Red, green, and amber mingled in its short fur coat, stripes smoothing into rings on the long, lion-tufted tail, mimicking a tiger in dragon's colors. Tiny horn buds dotted each brow, promising an impressively fierce adult face.
But for now, it was the cutest little thing she'd seen in centuries.
"There you are... I know it's not mother's milk, but it's the best we can do," Demona said softly as her new watchbeast kneaded her doeskin top with its paws, sucking at the leather nipple of goat's milk in her arm. "Now, to get that cowardly curse-caster to free your brothers and sisters...."
The room was suspiciously empty of human presence.
Confound the man! If he's thought to double-cross me-
But from the riot suddenly battering her stronghold walls, Dragonfly had other things on his mind than betraying her.
"Hiyahhh!"
"The Japanese?" Demona snarled an ancient curse. "Here?"
Gunshots. Yells. And a thunderous, cracking crash that had to be a forty-foot tree coming down on top of half the men out there.
Demona set the little cub down and ghosted out of the room, every nerve suddenly alert. No explosion. No warning creaks. Someone took down a tree in one blow!
"I want him alive!" Dragonfly shrieked.
Snarling, she dropped to all fours and loped for the front door.
"Low bridge!"
If she'd been walking like a human, the flying form of a disarmed soldier would have caught her in the chest, knocking her back into the house - and possibly through three or four walls, given the crashes behind her. As it was, the wind from his passage snapped her wings out straight behind her, savage as a sudden updraft.
Demona tucked and rolled out the door, ears alert to the running feet of more soldiers joining the ongoing chaos, crimson-lit eyes catching a glimmer of poisonous green about Dragonfly's hands. A Japanese martial artist, the gargoyle realized, scrutinizing her tall, spiky-haired foe as yet another rifle shattered with one fierce punch. I haven't seen a human fight like that since Kyoto!
Kyoto. The heroes of the Meiji Revolution.
Why did something about that seem familiar?
"Fall!" Dragonfly commanded, flinging out sparks of green to wreathe the struggling fighter.
Sparks clung and grew like ivy, tangling their target in a web of emerald. The fighter's arms slowed, almost stopped-
"I don't think so!"
Green shattered off white cotton; the martial artist snatched up a soldier who'd gotten too close and threw him into Dragonfly in a crunch of breaking bones.
He used his own aura to break the spell! Demona leapt into the air, catching the thin breeze to swoop down on her foe, howling like the banshees of her lost homeland. Humans never expected attack from above-
Only this human did.
She folded a wing and matched his dodge, closing fast, before he could put his greater reach and leg length to good use. Strong as he was, he was only human....
"Futae no kiwami!"
The double punch to her side caught her off-guard. Skin and bone that could survive hurtling into a mountainside shattered like sandstone; she tasted blood.
Eyes burning crimson, Demona latched onto his throat. One slice of talons-
"Alive," Dragonfly's voice croaked to her through the drum of blood in her ears. "Demona, great lady, I need him alive!"
If you didn't have that seal....
The next four minutes were a blur of pain and blood, punch and counter-punch and keeping one hand - or tail - wrapped around her enemy's throat. He fought like a demon, like a gargoyle; like a wolf with nothing left save the rage to die with his teeth locked in an enemy's jugular.
But just as she felt herself dying from the internal trauma of repeated blows, he fell.
So he was human after all.
A space of blankness; Demona drew in a living breath of warm air, blinking her eyes open to see herself back in the rookery, with her foe in a limp heap, chains binding his hands, feet and red-bruised throat. "Who - what - is he?"
"An unexpected complication." Dragonfly's left arm rested in an improvised sling, and the bloom of paired black eyes showed where someone had hastily reset his nose. One old hand shook as he studied his cast sticks. "Look."
Demona thrust herself grimly upright, holding the watchbeast away when the hatchling wanted to gnaw on enchanted wood. The faint purple sparks were unmistakable. "Another of your victims?" She snorted. "I didn't think you were so reckless as to start another death curse before the first had run its course, old man."
"I didn't," Dragonfly said flatly. "This is Himura's curse."
Under chains, brown eyes blinked open.
"Himura's...?" Demona scowled. The battered, bruised man didn't at all match the scanty description Dragonfly had given her. For one thing, he was not short. "He's not Himura."
"You bastards," their prisoner said in Japanese, "What the hell did you do to Kenshin?" He tried to wobble into a sitting position; gasped, and fell back in a rattle of chains. "What the hell are you? A youkai?"
"The word is gargoyle, human," Demona sneered in that same language. "As for what we did to your precious hero, Himura Kenshin... why, we killed him, of course."
"You bitch-!" For one instant, brown eyes were filled with berserker rage. He lunged-
Crashed to the floor in a jumble of steel, face wracked in grief that transcended pain.
"No," Dragonfly said in grim Chinese. "We didn't."
"Sorcerer," she warned.
"Tchah! You think a muscle-bound idiot like that can speak a civilized language?" The feng shui master limped over to his prisoner, studying the man with eyes that saw more than flesh and bone. "He's alive. He's under Himura's curse. Which means Himura is not dead."
My eggs. My clan! "That's impossible," Demona said flatly. "Even if this man had the strength to throw off one of your cantrips, nothing human can resist a death curse."
"Not all Japanese are human."
Unease wriggled down her spine. "Speak sense, old man. I was in Kyoto during the Revolution. The Japanese die like anyone else."
"Not all," Dragonfly said softly.
No, not all, dark memories whispered in Demona's soul. Not that bastard of a Shinsengumi who caught you trying to steal the kappa's water-bowl... and not that red-haired fiend who saw you slaughter two of his comrades after you revived, and left your gutted corpse floating in the river.
By the dragon, but that had been a week she still longed to forget. An ancient scroll had led her to the bowl, key ingredient in a curse that would let her spread a waterborne contagion to everything that drank from the accursed river. Only the bowl was in the keeping of a high Shogunate official, high enough to warrant Shinsengumi guards even against demons in the night.
Guards that had died at her claws - all save one.
"Aku. Soku. Zan."
To this night she could hear that wolfish growl, counterpoint to the blade skewering her heart with one flat thrust. She'd lived just long enough to fling herself out a window and fall....
To revive minutes later, bowl still clutched in her talons, in the middle of a running band of samurai in Choushuu colors. She'd laughed, then; actually laughed, seeing the opportunity to indulge her hate for humans and further fan the flames of hate these humans had for each other. She'd slay them all, here, where their deaths would be blamed on the Shinsengumi she had left so bloodily dead. Claws spread to slash, she leapt into the fray. One dead, two-
And a blur of red and muted blue-gray streaked past her, one swift sting in her throat. Death had been quick. Almost painless.
For the second time that night, she'd revived - in the river, her body a bloody mess, kappa bowl nowhere to be found. Her killer might have struck one clean blow, but his compatriots had taken some rather extreme measures against demonkind, and if she ever caught up with the one who'd poured salt into her opened bowels....
The week had gone downhill from there.
It's over. It's done. Nearly thirty years have passed; any who faced you then are bent with age, or dead and dust. Deal with now.
Dragonfly slipped the seal into his sleeve. "I must speak with Li Tang."
No! "I kept my bargain with you, old man!" Demona's eyes glowed crimson, talons held by her sides only through pure will.
"The terms of our bargain were that the eggs would be unsealed when Himura was dead. Think!" the curse-caster said swiftly at her snarl. "While they are sealed, they are safe from harm. That chained fool could fall on them, and his bones would break instead! Unseal your young now...."
And she'd have over thirty helpless hatchlings to ward from hostile foes. Powers, but she hated it when humans were right! "How can this be?" Demona demanded, red gaze flicking to the chained martial artist. "How can he be under Himura's curse? You shaped it to take the human and his wife." Better to take both at once; otherwise the love of one might drive the other to cling to life far longer.
"Yes. A human." Dragonfly scowled. "You," he barked in rough Japanese. "Name?"
"Sagara Sanosuke, you dried-up horse's ass." Some of the grief had faded off the man's faced, chased out by grim determination. "What the hell did Kenshin ever do to you? If you were Japanese, I might get it - Kenshin's got loads of people waiting to spit on his grave, the cowards - but Chinese?"
So this Himura has enemies in Japan. Enemies beyond Dragonfly's circle? Demona frowned, struck by a sense of pieces that didn't quite fit.
"Know Himura how?" Dragonfly pressed on.
Sanosuke rolled his eyes. "Tell that spooky idiot it's none of his damn business how I know Kenshin. I doubt either of you would understand the word 'friend' if I handed you a dictionary - yeek!"
"Rrruff!" Milk teeth worried at Sagara's white pants cuff, tail twitching with enthusiasm as the hatchling tried to tear apart tough cotton. Clawed forepaws kneaded at a chained leg.
"Ow, ow, ow - cut that out, you little - yow!" Sano twitched enough to tumble the hatchling free, subsided at Demona's glare. "Kami, what a night."
And it's almost over, Demona realized, feeling dawn press on her bones. "Take him elsewhere," she ordered in growled Chinese.
"He took down a dozen of our men. I can't detach that many more from official duties to cart him off elsewhere," Dragonfly said dryly. "And I do need him here to determine what went wrong with the curse. You'll be guarded through the day."
You cowardly-
Dawn caught her mid-curse.
----------
Chinese arrogance. One of these days, it's going to cost them.
Red sparks still floating through his vision, Sanosuke sagged against his chains, feigning unconsciousness. He kept narrowed eyes open just enough to study the stony form of his enemy and her little... whatever kind of tiger-dragon-cub that thing was. Maybe he didn't speak good Chinese, but he understood it well enough to get from China to here in once piece.
Kenshin's alive. Kenshin's alive.
Maybe.
Alive and still in danger, if he'd heard that Demona and her feng shui friend right. They death-cursed him. And Jou-chan. Because of Tokyo's Circle of Eternity? Or something else? Hell, with Kenshin's luck, it probably is Tokyo. Damn swordsman always seems to have something bite him in the ass a decade or two after it happens-
Silk rustled.
His throat was still too hurt to take a deep breath, the rest of him felt like he'd been pulled through a waterwheel backwards, and the chains stole the leverage he'd need to pull a futae no kiwami. Okay, time to play dead.
"And now, Sagara Sanosuke... you will tell me what I want to know."
Forget playing dead. "Go to hell."
"Oh, all of us will." The ancient fingers that gripped his throat were chill and full of sparks. "But before that time comes... I can show you a preview."
Morning light cringed from the screams.
------------
kaasan - mother.
kunoichi - female ninja.
miko - shrine maiden.
-sama - honorific, "lord".
koishii - beloved.
tanuki - raccoon dog.
Aku. Soku. Zan. - "Evil. Swift. Slay." Motto of the Shinsengumi.
ne? - isn't that right?
kenjutsu - art of swordsmanship.
bokken - lead-weighted wooden sword.
