5. Over the Threshold
--
The house so greatly resembled a samurai manor home, Kurama thought it might have been lifted out of the Heian period. Even in the dim evening light, he could see its ornately roofed main gate, the Japanese maples growing in the courtyard, and the forest that surrounded it.
Karasu approached the bronze doors and placed his hands on the elaborate handles shaped like ogres' heads. Just as Kurama noted the absence of a keyhole, the handles glowed brightly under Karasu's touch, and the doors swung open.
Kurama was familiar with ki-activated locks. The owner keyed them to open to his own unique ki signature, and some could even be keyed to multiple ki signatures, such as those of family members or business partners. Kurama had used this kind of lock when he'd been a thief, to guard his stolen treasure, but he hadn't let others' locks keep him from getting at theirs.
At the height of his power as a youko, all it had taken was a brief, overwhelming burst of his youki to override most locks. Since all his youki was now sealed in, he had no chance of fleeing from here. He wasn't even sure that he'd had enough youki in his human body to break out under normal circumstances.
The locks worked both ways: they could lock people in and out. In Karasu's house, Kurama would effectively be bolted in. He wondered about Bui.
"Are your locks keyed to Bui's ki as well?"
"Of course they are," said Bui with the slightest touch of scorn.
"Why wouldn't they be?" Karasu asked, motioning for them to enter.
Again, Kurama speculated about Bui and Karasu's history and their relationship. They made an unlikely pair, but they appeared to be coordinated partners, and even friends.
The courtyard had been swept recently; white stone benches stood under the swaying branches of maple and cherry trees. Several exquisite marble statues adorned the corners of the courtyard. Karasu passed swiftly under their shadows to the front doors of the main house and opened them as well.
Kurama followed and stepped over the threshold and looked around in amazement. The house's furnishings were sumptuously extravagant to the point of bad taste.
On the far wall opposite the doors hung a massive mirror with an ostentatious gold frame encrusted with pearls the size of a baby's head. Small tables standing at intervals down the front hall supported cloisonné vases containing flowers whose petals were slivers of purple jade, and enormous silk scrolls of landscape watercolors hung between the tables.
Kurama walked forward, when there was suddenly a deafening creaking sound beneath his feet. He jumped and looked around guiltily despite himself.
"I'm afraid you have to watch your step in this house," Karasu said. "It was built by a rich youkai who lived in constant fear of assassination attempts by his greedy relatives. These are 'nightingale floors' that will squeak loudly as they are trod upon, unless you know the proper way to silence them with your ki. The idea was that it would wake him or his servants in time, or scare the assassin into taking off."
Karasu paused smugly.
"Unfortunately for him, I managed to get past this particular defense and kill him. His cousin, who hired me, seized his money and his other estates, but this house came to me. You see, fringe benefits are the best part of my job."
His violet eyes flashed in amusement as he waved his hand, and the lamps on the walls sprang to life, illuminating the entire house. Kurama's eyes narrowed: another ki-activated device. If the rest of Karasu's houses were all like this, he certainly lived in style.
"Since you are unable to use your ki at all, I'm afraid you must walk noisily the entire time we stay in this house. And I rather like the idea of being able to hear you, wherever you are."
Kurama couldn't help making an ugly face at him.
"I must leave you now," Karasu said, smiling at him. "The Shikaku has been busy in my absence, and I cannot lose any time in catching up. I expect Hiroshi-sama will be pleased to see me again." He directed the last remark at Bui, who nodded in agreement.
Karasu continued, "I want to freshen up quickly before I go, however. I'm sure you will be happy to show Kurama around in the meantime, Bui." He strode off down the hall.
Hiroshi-sama must be the head of the Shikaku. Before Kurama could ponder it too much, though, Bui spoke.
"Come. Your bedroom is upstairs."
He led the way past several closed doors and doorways that he tersely pointed out to Kurama as bathrooms, parlors, spare bedrooms, dining rooms, and such. At last, they ascended a staircase, Kurama creaking loudly all the while, and Bui threw open a set of mahogany doors.
The room inside was spacious, and large windows took up one entire wall. A canopy bed covered in a king's ransom of silk sheets and big enough for two Toguro Otoutos occupied another wall, and a polished mahogany dresser and wardrobe stood against the other walls. Like the rest of the house, the room's décor was ridiculously lavish.
"You will be sleeping with Karasu. I believe you will find suitable clothing in the wardrobe. When Karasu is done, you should bathe as well."
The wardrobe contained a kaleidoscopic array of men's kimonos which Karasu had apparently never touched, because they were in excellent condition. Kurama guessed they had belonged to the house's former owner, and surprisingly, they looked as if they would fit him.
Bui was as good as his word. Once Karasu had left, he led Kurama downstairs to the bathroom, which contained an ofuro.
"Put your clothes here," said Bui, dragging out a wooden chair. Kurama draped the simple blue kimono he had chosen out of the wardrobe over the back. Bui turned on the taps to fill the ofuro. "Clean yourself while you wait for it to fill. If you have any problems, call me."
"Thank you," said Kurama, blinking a little at Bui's graciousness. Bui hesitated and looked at Kurama before leaving. Kurama wondered what, if anything, he had been about to say. Bui's face was even more completely covered than Karasu's and thus wholly unreadable. They were both masked men, in many ways.
Once Bui had closed the door behind him, Kurama gingerly tested the seals on his ki. He fumbled in his hair for a rosebud, and attempted the simple task of making it bloom. He felt nothing but the dull constriction of the wards; no surge of energy flooded his fingertips and opened the red petals. The rosebud only bobbed gently in his quivering hand.
"Damn it!" he said, because he could do nothing else. But the youko rose in him again, and his resolve stiffened.
He threw the tightly closed rosebud aside and undressed clumsily with fingers that were trembling violently now with angry helplessness.
This obstacle only serves to temper your determination, Youko whispered. We'll have to think our way around this.
Kurama's trembling fingers gradually stilled, and he calmed enough to fold his clothes and drape them neatly over the back of the chair. He lifted the small silk pouch containing Yukina's hiruiseki from around his neck, placing it carefully on the seat of the chair.
That's it, Youko said.
He washed himself carefully, as his bubbling emotions cooled and hardened like hammered steel.
Then Kurama closed his eyes and sank into the hot water of the ofuro, intending to have a good, long soak. Youko murmured ceaselessly to him all the while, and a definite scheme began to take shape within the calming susurrus of his low, sinuous voice.
--
Outside the house, Karasu mounted the waiting carriage and said tersely to the driver, "To Hiroshi's." The driver nodded and cracked his whip, sending the black horses tearing down the road.
During the ride, Karasu gazed out the window and let his mind engage in idle, pleasant fantasizing. He pictured Kurama's pliant body and the clear tracks that drops of hot water would cut through his skin as he bathed. In his mind's eye, he saw Kurama's brilliant hair plastered to his back in wet, fantastic curls, and his fingers twitched with the longing to stroke and comb it.
Karasu could afford to let his thoughts wander. He had already prepared the few words of his short return speech, and he was confident of a gracious welcome back into the Shikaku. After all, Hiroshi needed him.
--
Kurama opened his eyes with a start, suddenly aware that he had dozed off. His fingertips were almost painfully wrinkled, and the water had cooled considerably. Wincing, he got up and began to towel himself off, planning to ask Bui for a tour of the house as soon as he was done.
--
"Good evening, Hiroshi-sama," said Karasu deferentially, bowing. "Forgive the short notice, but I thought it was better to come see you immediately, rather than waiting until you were properly informed." Although I'd bet one of my houses that Takeo has tipped you off already.
"You know many of the Shikaku whispered that you and Bui were dead at the hands of the Toguro brothers," said Hiroshi in a colorless tone, carefully looking past Karasu's head.
"They clamored for me to divide your houses and goods amongst them, insisting that there was no way you would ever return to claim them."
Then Hiroshi looked squarely at Karasu and smiled broadly. "I took your property in hand and looked after it, so that it would be waiting for you when you returned."
Karasu's boss was a deceptively pleasant-featured youkai with aristocratically pale skin, so fair that it was nearly translucent and one could clearly see the blue veins running up his arms and through his neck. His long, gleaming hair was silver, though he hardly looked a day over twenty, and he wore it down his back in a fluid plait.
Karasu smiled as Hiroshi's grin grew wider, and he stood up to offer his right hand to Karasu. Karasu stepped up and took it, bending to make a kissing sound in the air above the back of Hiroshi's hand. He straightened and shook his hair back.
"Hiroshi-sama is far-seeing as always."
"Take a seat," Hiroshi waved to him, "and tell me how you came to be freed."
"We entered the Dark Tournament . . . and won."
Hiroshi's expression was both impressed and proud. "Was your freedom your wish?"
"Toguro promised us freedom if we won."
"So what was your wish?"
Karasu told him.
Hiroshi let out a bark of laughter. "You have good taste, as always. But where is he? I'd like to see the fallen youko."
"Bui's at home taking care of him."
Understanding flashed in Hiroshi's eyes; though Bui was not acknowledged by the Shikaku, Hiroshi always ensured that Bui received a share of the fringe benefits in the assignments he undertook with Karasu.
"Actually, we won't be staying in this area very long. We must press on to Nekura."
"I see," said Hiroshi thoughtfully.
"But I will be happy to carry out any commissions that Hiroshi-sama needs done while I am in the vicinity."
Hiroshi lit up at once. "There is, in fact, one small issue that needs to be taken care of. Garbage disposal, really. I wouldn't trouble you so soon after your return, but this is so minor that I'm sure you'll have no problems with it."
"I am always happy to be of assistance," Karasu murmured.
"There is a trifling annoyance by the name of Sawashima Kiriyama. He's been calling me the most shocking names in public, and spreading all kinds of slander. I believe we took care of someone close to him last month, but that's really no reason to smear the Shikaku's good name."
"Consider it done," said Karasu quietly.
"Now, I'm sure you want to return to your pretty kitsune as soon as possible," Hiroshi smirked, "but let me detain you a while longer. I have something of a welcome-back present for you."
So Takeo had informed him in time to prepare a present.
"Hiroshi-sama is too kind," said Karasu.
"Nonsense," said Hiroshi, clapping his hands loudly. "I do feel rather guilty about the whole Toguro fiasco."
Karasu was surprised that he alluded to it so openly, and had actually come close to apologizing. The fact was that someone with a grudge against the Toguro brothers had appealed to the Shikaku, and Hiroshi had given the job to Karasu, little knowing how powerful the Toguro brothers were. Once he'd been defeated and forced to become their indentured servant, Karasu had been livid, but he had long ago come to the conclusion that he could not blame Hiroshi for his own incompetence.
"I have to treat youkai like yourself well," he continued smoothly. "All the new blood these days is woefully inept."
A servant entered bearing a large rosewood trunk adorned with gold filigree.
"What is it?"
"Just a small token of my appreciation," Hiroshi said. "I really am quite glad to have you back, Karasu." The quiet sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.
To the servant: "Take it out to Karasu's carriage."
"Itte kimasu," said Karasu, bowing deeply again. "Rest assured that you will never hear from Kiriyama again."
"Goodnight," Hiroshi replied fondly. "Be sure to bring the kitsune by next time."
Karasu smiled and left. After he had re-entered the carriage and the horses had taken up their thunderous gallop, he turned to the gift with great interest.
Hiroshi gave excellent gifts when he was inclined to give gifts at all, usually because the recipient was someone whose good graces he needed to stay in.
This was true for Karasu, as he was one of the Shikaku's top hit men, but there was also genuine mutual respect between the two of them. Hiroshi did not befriend his subordinates, and Karasu was difficult to befriend, but they certainly had a closer relationship than could be found between most mob bosses and their underlings. But their acquaintance had persisted for years; indeed, Hiroshi had almost single-handedly raised Karasu from childhood and instructed him in the ways of assassins.
The debt Karasu owed for Hiroshi's guidance and care had been amply repaid since, with his nearly unbroken string of successful dispatches and devoted service. Still, Karasu harbored a remarkable degree of affection towards Hiroshi, and the only thing that curbed his desire to kill him—as he did with all that he loved—was the knowledge that his powers were inferior to Hiroshi's, and that he'd probably come off worse if they were to fight.
Karasu deftly undid the latch of the chest and lifted the lid. When he saw what was inside, he blinked and smiled. He plunged his hands into the contents of the box, and his sensitive fingertips brushed over luxurious surfaces as he examined everything rapturously. Hiroshi-sama knew him quite well.
Gleaming combs of ivory and jade lay neatly in compartments of a two-part tray inside the box, next to ebony brushes whose backs were inlaid with mother-of-pearl. In the last row of compartments were nestled small glass bottles of different oils and perfumes, which glowed pink and olive in the moonlight.
Awash in anticipation, Karasu slid the trays apart to see what the bottom of the box held.
Velvet and silk hair ribbons in different colors were rolled into tidy kaleidoscopic bundles. Karasu untied one and let the ribbons trail through his fingers. Some were embroidered with seed pearls; others with sparkling chips of beryl and spinel.
Scattered amongst these bundles were fragrant sandalwood boxes. Karasu slid the lid off one to discover gold and silver hairpins. Another box contained pins fashioned like flowers, with emerald sepals, and garnet petals so dark they were black in the moonlight. These would become Kurama well, he noted happily, and then he was off, imagining how he would twine white silk through tumbling red locks, and hold those wild curls in place with gilt pins.
When the carriage stopped in front of his house, Karasu picked up the chest with a contented sigh and walked inside, dismissing the coachman with a negligently tossed coin and wave of his hand.
"I've sent Kurama to bed," Bui said by way of greeting. He was sitting on a couch, and had apparently bathed as well, as he was not wearing his armor. "How did it go?"
"I have an assignment named Kiriyama first thing tomorrow morning. Then I'd like to move on. We're on a timetable."
"Am I to come with you?"
"Actually," Karasu said carefully, "I'd like you to stay and keep Kurama company. I won't be gone long."
He watched Bui's face for any change in expression. Bui, however, schooled his features well; Karasu could not see any of the bitterness he felt written across his face.
"Of course."
Karasu's fears fell away and he smiled. Bui was always so solid, so dependable.
He bid him goodnight, and left for his bedroom, unaware that Bui's gaze lingered resentfully on his retreating back.
"Are you asleep?" he asked Kurama's prone form quietly as he entered.
Kurama offered no response; so, rather mischievously, Karasu formed a small bomb and sent it hovering mere inches from his face, where it detonated with a deafening bang disproportional to its size.
Kurama's eyes flew open, and his green irises were harrowed with shock. Gasping and shifting nervously away from the charred circle on the sheets where the bomb had exploded, he hissed, "What was that for?"
Karasu laughed with obvious pleasure. "I wanted to know whether you were asleep or merely pretending."
"Bastard," muttered Kurama, barely restraining himself from pressing a hand to his violently palpitating heart. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the leer on Karasu's face. "I'm in no condition now to endure your little goodnight ritual after that, so leave me the hell alone."
"You're weakened by travel," Karasu observed amusedly, closing the door. He took off his mask and got into bed. "But I must inform you that I have an assignment tomorrow morning, so I probably won't see you until after lunch. Bui will look to your needs again."
Kurama heard all his words without absorbing them, and rudely turned away, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Karasu smiled fondly upon his recumbent form and spooned up to him. Kurama did not have the strength to recoil forcefully; so, encouraged, Karasu's arm tightened around him. He buried his maskless face in Kurama's hair, breathing in deeply. His nose brushed the tender skin of Kurama's neck, and he smiled against the masses of long, red locks.
--
The next morning, Kurama woke in an empty bed. He looked around blearily, expecting Karasu to saunter in, before remembering what he had been told the night before. He sat up and smiled wryly at the thought that Bui kept having to play babysitter. He couldn't be too happy about it. But it was a good opportunity for Kurama to try and wheedle more information out of Bui. Youko was eager to exercise his cunning.
He rose and selected a lavender kimono from his closet, dressed and washed, and went down to breakfast.
"Good morning," he said to Bui.
Bui grunted noncommittally.
"Are you angry that Karasu keeps asking you to stay at home and look after me?"
For a second Kurama thought he might have provoked Bui, but Bui actually chuckled at his forthrightness.
"You're rather perceptive, aren't you?"
"You could just . . . open a few locks for me and wash your hands of the matter," Kurama said slyly.
Bui's chuckle increased in volume. "Freedom from a few hours of inconvenience isn't worth suffering Karasu's displeasure. Don't appeal to me for help."
Kurama gave a small, genuine smile. It was the first time since the Dark Tournament.
--
At that very moment, Hiei was in the process of getting breakfast as well.
"B-but—if you can't pay, sir," stammered the vendor, ducking away from Hiei's unsheathed katana.
"Who said I couldn't pay?" asked Hiei, idly turning his sword around and watching the light spill off its edge. "I would think that letting you continue this pathetic travesty you call life payment enough," he said over the shopkeeper's protests of You have no money!
Hiei didn't have a cent, but better than that, he had Yukina's hiruiseki. Still, he wasn't inclined to part with that for anything less than the retrieval of Kurama from Karasu's side, safe and whole; and better than even the tear gem, he had his katana, which he was still twirling around menacingly, to the shopkeeper's dismay.
"But if you don't value your life, then I suppose that I don't have anything to buy your food with."
"Oh, no, sir!" cried the vendor, who was now smiling widely and sweating bullets. "Please accept these steamed buns free of charge!"
He ended up giving Hiei not only an entire tray of steamed meat-and-vegetable buns but also a basin-sized bowl of soup and a pot of tea. Hiei smirked in satisfaction as the trembling marketplace food vendor fell over himself making sure Hiei was as comfortable as possible. For once things were going right.
He scowled as he remembered the excruciating voyage on the boat, where he'd had to crouch in a corner for hours, still wearing clothes sodden with filth. As soon as he had disembarked, he'd found a place with clothes similar to what he had been wearing, and got them for free off another terrified shopkeeper. Then he'd dunked himself in the ocean and burned his old clothes.
Once he was finally feeling reasonably clean, he tried using his Jagan to look for Kurama. Unfortunately, when it had been easy detecting unique ki signatures in Ningenkai, there were now so many different ki signatures in Makai, and many so strong that they obscured Kurama's trail, that Hiei was having considerable difficulty.
There was also the unfortunate complication that Bui had injured his Jagan at the Dark Tournament, and the healers had had a difficult time treating it. It would eventually be functional, but at the moment, even taking his bandana off and exposing it to the light was painful. He violently wished that he'd had the presence of mind to ask Yukina to heal it while he'd had the chance.
But at least the "scent" was still relatively fresh, so Hiei finished his breakfast quickly and began the painstaking task of tracing the route Kurama and his captors had taken. He followed it out of town and into a deserted forest, where most other ki faded, allowing him to pick out only two other distinct ki signatures: Karasu and Bui.
"Got you," Hiei muttered with savage delight, branding the wavelengths of their ki into his memory. He faltered slightly, however, as he followed them even deeper into the forest and the track seemed to diminish.
He cursed as the track finally disappeared. For half an hour, he circled the area, sniffing for new leads. Just as he was about to blast an unoffending nearby tree into cinders out of sheer frustration, he twitched as he felt the faint, resonating hum of familiar ki.
"Hn," he said triumphantly, racing off after it.
He was confused a moment later, though, when he heard the distant rustle of someone rushing away through the underbrush; more so when he saw fresh footprints in the dirt in front of him.
"Who's there?" he demanded loudly, looking around. No answer. He turned around and looked back, surprised to see footprints trailing away exactly the way Hiei had just come. Were they following the same path?
It was slightly unnerving, especially when he realized that the other had to be at least almost as fast as he was, to have fled so quickly. Hiei was disinclined to chase after the stranger, though, as he would lose time chasing after Kurama, and he supposed that so long as he wasn't bothered . . . but somehow, Hiei thought he hadn't seen the last of this stranger.
He approached the footprints directed towards the shrubbery and got a feel of the ki around it for future reference. The mysterious youkai was fairly powerful, and unfamiliar to Hiei, though that didn't surprise him. Then, puzzled by what had happened but determined to continue, he resumed pursuing Kurama.
He followed them through a more or less cleared path between the trees, and he thought he could see the tracks left by the wheels of the carriage they must have taken.
At last, the trail stopped in front of a great house over whose doors was emblazoned a silver logo of three intricate shuriken. Hiei looked up at its large wooden doors with grim anticipation, and, raising his katana, slashed his way in quietly.
--
At the same time, Karasu was also breaking and entering someone's house.
Kiriyama lived in a two-story cottage ("How quaint," Karasu murmured), and so far, Karasu had gotten past the wards and evaded all intruder traps with absolute ease. At this rate, Karasu thought, he'd be back by lunchtime. It had taken him a while to find where Kiriyama lived, but it appeared that the actual killing part wouldn't take more than five minutes.
He definitely sensed the other youkai's ki inside, but it was so faint that he had difficulty pinpointing the exact location. No matter. Karasu could simply have blown the entire cottage to bits, but he suspected Hiroshi might want to hang onto it. Though certainly not fit for habitation, compared to the manors the Shikaku regularly seized, new hideouts were always welcome.
"Hide upstairs only if you're prepared to jump out of the window," Karasu said under his breath, walking so lightly on the staircase that his boot heels didn't make even the faintest clicks on the wood. As he set foot on the second floor, however, Kiriyama proved that hiding wasn't really his thing.
"One of his, are you?" he hissed, leaping out from behind a corner and aiming several throwing daggers at Karasu's head. "This is for my brother!"
Karasu was surprised by his accuracy and force: two of the daggers actually pierced the points of his shirt's spiky collar and sunk into the wall behind him, thereby pinning him like some kind of peculiar black butterfly on display. The other daggers thudded into the wall. He shook himself free irritably; the daggers clattered to the ground and his collar ripped.
"It's admirable that someone as weak as you has taken on the Shikaku as his enemy, but you'd have done better to leave us alone," Karasu said coolly, creating a field of Muddy Bombs underneath the floorboards in advance.
Underground bombs were usually his last resort, and he didn't want to blow Kiriyama up quite yet. Inherently sadistic to the core, he enjoyed toying with his victims as much as possible. He was also eager to really let loose, as the necessity of containing himself around Kurama was driving him mad.
Kiriyama was one of those youkai with little youki who had compensated by mastering regular martial arts forms. He had an untidy shock of coarse, red hair which offended Karasu's sensibilities by its resemblance to Kurama's coloring. A lissome tail swished behind him as he crouched.
"Many people would pay to have their brothers knocked off," Karasu remarked, easily catching the pair of shuriken Kiriyama had just hurled at his chest. "Consider yourself lucky that you got it done free of charge."
He tossed a small grenade at Kiriyama's tail; Kiriyama howled as more than half of it was blown off. Karasu smiled. It was always so much more fun when they couldn't see his bombs.
"Bastards like you who have no one in the first place don't know what it feels like to lose somebody!"
For a second Kiriyama's ugly red hair morphed into Kurama's beautiful, long locks, and with a pang in his heart, Karasu thought of him, and others from a distant history. His philosophy of killing his loved ones before they grew weak and died had sprung from a very real source in his past.
That second was all Kiriyama needed. He rushed forward, now wielding a twelve-inch kitchen knife. Karasu leapt backward, his panic out of proportion with what was actually happening, and set off all the Muddy Bombs he had planted. Kiriyama's blade grazed Karasu's shirt harmlessly as his feet and lower legs exploded. Unfortunately, Karasu had miscalculated his jump backwards and his left foot had also landed on one of his bombs.
"Die," he snarled, not wasting any more time. Immediately Kiriyama's chest burst open in a bloody explosion.
"Damn it," he said viciously, limping over Kiriyama's bleeding corpse and leaning on the railing over the stairs. He was, to a degree, immune to his own bombs, but his leg was still badly injured. By the feel of it, several bones in his foot had broken, and there were deep gashes in his calf.
Gritting his teeth, he staggered downstairs and out the front door. Cursing Kiriyama (and his own stupidity) on every step of the way, he dragged himself home, keeping to the shadows.
The deceased Kiriyama would never be able to tell anyone that he had discovered Karasu's greatest weakness—a weakness, which was, truthfully speaking, hidden in plain sight—Karasu was horribly sensitive to the suggestion of his past losses, and the prospect of future losses which his hand had not directly caused.
After all, it was he who had said, "No matter how much love you lavish on someone, they will grow old and die. In which case, I will kill them with my own hands."
--
A/N: I usually don't use Japanese words unless there really is no English equivalent. Karasu's "itte kimasu" literally means "I go and come back." It's used whenever someone leaves a place (usually home) with the intention of returning. So he's assuring Hiroshi that he will return, with Kurama in tow.
Ofuro—Ofuro are Japanese bathtubs, but they're not used for washing. They're more like indoor hot springs. All washing takes place outside the ofuro. The ofuro is used for communal bathing, which is common in Japan. It's a place to relax and chat.
Nightingale floors—Men who feared assassination by ninjas in feudal Japan really did put these into their houses.
Muddy Bomb—Karasu uses one in the anime, and it talks, too. In the American dub, he calls it his "mad bomb."
I was gratified by the positive response to Takeo and Takara in the last chapter, as I'm always a bit leery about introducing original characters in fic. And, um . . . lowers head bashfully more OCs are to come. ;; But I swear that the story will continue to center on Kurama, Karasu, Bui, and Hiei!
Whew, that was a long chapter!
P.S. For all you fellow Karasu fans on LJ (because surely you're not all die-hard HxK shippers?), I made a Karasu colorbar! It's my first ever, and I'm rather proud of it. My username is the same on LJ, so go check it out if so inclined.