Chapter 02: "Girls' Worst Nightmare"

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It was well past midnight, but Kurama dutifully took one of the last trains of the evening to — well, wherever it was that Botan had requested he trek. She had called an hour before to babble something about the attempted kidnapping of a fortune teller before she squawked Yusuke's address, telling him to hurry before hanging up to call Kuwabara. Although Botan had a certain predilection for dramatics, Kurama knew she wouldn't use her panicked, threadbare tone needlessly. She wasn't the type to make idle demands, all dramatics aside, so Kurama paused the movie he'd been watching, put on a jacket, and headed over.

Botan opened the door scarcely after he finished knocking, panel swinging out from under his knuckles with a rush of air. Wisps of flyaway hair framed her pretty face, odd magenta eyes (so unusual for the human world) gleaming with worry and more of the panic he'd heard earlier in her voice. She ushered him in, jittery smile skating across her mouth.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here," she said, voice reedy.

"Hello to you too, Botan," Kurama said.

Upon entering, Kurama observed that Yusuke's apartment was cluttered, but clean; Keiko probably came over a tidied up a few times a week, he was sure. The soon-to-be married couple wasn't going to live together until after the wedding (Keiko's parents were rather traditional, she claimed) but she had nevertheless already made her mark on Yusuke's living space… although she hadn't been able to do a thing about the wrestling and Megallica posters festooning Yusuke's walls. Some battles were just beyond her.

Keiko was sitting on the couch in Yusuke's small living room when he walked in, and the typically effusive woman gave him little more than a cursory nod in greeting. Yusuke leaned against a wall a few feet away by a door, arms crossed, surly. His arms uncrossed when he spotted Kurama; he pushed off the wall with the barest twitch of muscle, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the door he'd been guarding.

"She's in the bathroom," Yusuke said, and then he yelled at the door, "And she's taking forever!"

No response came from within the bathroom, although Kurama discerned the faint sound of running water from beyond the wooden slab. He turned his eyes back toward Yusuke, brow lifted.

"What happened?" he asked.

But Yusuke only shrugged, saying, "I wasn't there for most of it. Keiko?"

The woman on the couch stirred. Something in her gaze appeared brittle, almost, like a dry twig creaking beneath a heavy boot, but the expression disappeared quickly enough. She cleared her throat, pulling the arms of her sweater further down the lengths of her slender hands.

"Botan and I went to get our fortunes read," she said, and as if summoned, Botan appeared behind her in the living room doorway.

"It was all fine until we left," Botan explained, "but these two demons…"

They told him the story in turns, each providing details the other had missed. Kurama took up residence in an armchair beside the television, across from Keiko's spot on the couch, and listened in patient silence with fingers steeled before his lips. Occasionally he asked a question, but mostly he just considered what they had to say. He did not want to influence their report, naturally. That wouldn't do when there was a mystery to be solved.

"Where are they now?" he asked once Botan recounted how Yusuke had beaten the demons who had pursued them across town. But she did not understand the question, if her owlish blink was anything to go by, so Kurama clarified, "The two demons Yusuke fought — well. Pummeled, I suppose, given they didn't stand much of a chance against him."

"Oh." Botan's cheeks colored. "Um."

"Well, you see —" Keiko added before cutting off with a strained clearing of her throat.

Yusuke let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Just spit it out already!" he snapped, and when Botan and Keiko hesitated, he turned to Kurama to admit, "I started questioning the fortune teller and the demons got away while I was distracted, all right?"

Kurama blinked. "They just… walked away?"

"Skulked, I should think," Botan offered. "Or snuck. They were very crafty, that's for certain."

Either the demons were crafty or due diligence had not been done in the heat of the moment; Kurama suspected the latter, though he kept this suspicion to himself. He waited for Yusuke to calm down before speaking, keeping his tone as regulated as he could.

"This complicates matters," Kurama said. "Without one of the demons to question, we can't be sure what compelled them to attack this…" He came up short. "What did you say the fortune teller's name was?"

Botan and Keiko exchanged a look of sudden guilt.

"We didn't say," Botan said.

"We also didn't ask," Keiko admitted with a huff.

"Yet. We didn't ask yet!" said Botan. "There wasn't exactly time, you see. We bustled her over here to safety as soon as we could."

"And Yusuke was too busy yelling at her for putting me in danger to wonder what her name was," Keiko dryly intoned.

"Not that yelling at her did any good." Yusuke was leaning against the wall again, shooting murderous daggers at the bathroom door (and, presumably, the woman behind it). "She just cried a lot and said she didn't know what was going on."

"And you believe her?" Kurama asked, brows shooting dangerously close to his hairline.

"I mean. Yeah?" Yusuke said, shrugging. "That eyeliner of hers got everywhere. Crying that hard seems tough to fake."

The door beside him opened with a creak, and from within a voice replied, "It's only tough if you're a bad actress — which I'm not."

The fortune teller (because that was who this was, it was easy enough to deduce) struck an impressive figure as she swaggered out of the bathroom — although the effect of her many swirling shawls, clinking jewelry and fringed headscarf was somewhat diminished by the oilslick of black eyeliner smeared across her cheeks, not to mention her hands, which she held in front of her like they were covered in wet paint. And perhaps they were, in a sense; she had clearly been crying, and her fingertips were stained with the same black that marred her cheeks. Kurama looked at her closely, trying to determine if her eyes were red, or if her face bore any other sign of legitimate tears… but it was difficult to truly see her underneath the copious costuming and stains. In fact, Kurama couldn't conclude much about the woman underneath the heinously stereotypical getup at all. The makeup and the costuming were just too distracting.

But perhaps that was the point.

The woman gave no indication of noticing his scrutiny. She simply stood there, inspecting her hands and nails as she said, "But more to the point — yeah. The waterworks were real." She lifted her eyes toward Keiko and Botan. "Do either of you have any makeup remover?" She flexed her blackened fingers. "This stuff is tough, but even it can't stand up to a complete breakdown."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, in a voice of quiet helpfulness, Botan said, "I have some, I think."

She produced from her purse a packet of makeup removing towelettes, which she handed over to the fortune teller with a smile. The fortune teller didn't return the expression, but she did give a little bow of thanks. Proper Japanese manners, Kurama thought. He filed the note away for future contemplation.

Botan, however, seemed less impressed with the woman's grace, or at least she was too distracted by something else to notice it. She stared up at the fortune teller (who was taller than Botan by at least six inches) with her face screwed up, looking her over from feet to shawl-covered head in consternation.

"You're actually rather… tall," Botan said. "I couldn't tell under all those shawls, but earlier I thought you were, well… shorter?"

"Oh. Yeah. I hunch when I'm at work." She demonstrated, neck arching as her shoulders came forward toward her ears; suddenly she was quite a bit shorter than Botan, after all. "The ancient crone gambit tends to reel in the customers. And it's Yamato, by the way."

"Huh?"

"My name." Her back straightened again. "It's Yamato Rei."

Botan introduced herself, as did Keiko and Yusuke (but only after Keiko glared at him and told him to mind his manners). Kurama eyed Yamato over while the others spoke, measuring her words against her appearance and her odd comment about acting from before.

"Ancient crone gambit," he said, drawing her attention. "You mean you aren't — ?"

Yamato scoffed. "A real fortune teller from the European Old Country? Not a chance."

Kurama had more questions, but she looked away. Juggling the towelette packet to between her knees, she pulled her arms inside her outermost shawl and stripped it off over her head. She took care not to dislodge her beaded head wrap, which gave an alarming jangle as she peeled away one, two, three — seven entire shawls, which she dropped unceremoniously to the floor in a heap. Underneath her cicada shell of clothing, she wore a simple pair of jeans and a plain white shirt. Unlike the shawls, these were formfitting enough to reveal her tall stature and slender proportions. Yamato was built athletically, with boyish hips and long legs.

She also had a somewhat boyish mouth, if one believes men are more prone to profanity than women. "Jesus Christ, that shit's warm!" she said as she dropped the last shawl and straightened her head scarf. Long strands of glossy black hair lay along her chest; she combed through them, pulling free the tangles with her fingers.

Her foul mouth — not to mention the white tennis shoes she'd apparently been wearing underneath her fortune teller regalia — gave Kurama abundant reason to doubt her appearance belied reality.

"Are you really a fortune teller at all?" he said.

Yamato laughed as she walked toward the couch, where she plopped unceremoniously down beside Keiko. "Nope," she said, taking one of the towelettes out of the pack. "No, I am not."

Yusuke frowned. "So you're not psychic?" he said, voicing Kurama's own conclusion about Yamato aloud.

She paused with the wipe midway to her face. Yamato looked at Botan, Keiko and Yusuke in turns, and — when she saw that none of them were laughing — lowered the wipe again.

"Don't tell me you actually believe in that kind of thing," she said, judgment dripping from every syllable.

The room's occupants (Kurama included, but only for a moment) openly gaped at her.

"Because it's not real, y'know," Yamato said, as if explaining that the earth was, in fact, round. "I know that outfit of mine is super convincing, but it's all just smoke, mirrors and basic psychology."

"If you don't think it's real," Keiko said, "then why tell people's fortunes at all?"

Yamato shrugged. "I tell fortunes to put myself through college because it's easier than waiting tables." She lifted the makeup wipe back up toward her face. "And also because I don't have the tits for stripping."

Yusuke burst out laughing at once. Keiko glared at him, and Botan turned bright red before covering her mouth with one shocked hand. Kurama, meanwhile, smiled in spite of himself, but he forced his face into a mask of neutral detachment. No sense letting Yamato (who was wearing a Cheshire Cat grin of satisfaction) know he found her rather funny, too.

Funny — but casual. Far too casual for someone who had just been accosted by demons and yet admitted she did not believe in the supernatural in nearly the same breath. Something did not add up, and Kurama was intent on finding out what.

"Tell me, Yamato," he said, leaning toward her. "Did you notice anything odd about the two men who accosted you this evening?"

"You mean besides the fact that they said they literally wanted to eat my eyeballs?" she grumbled, swiping at her face with the towel.

"Yes. Besides that."

"I mean. Not really?" Her face disappeared behind the nearly blackened towel. "I was kind of busy trying to fend them off with a crowbar."

"So you noticed nothing about them that was out of the ordinary." He watched her body language closely, hunting for a clue. "Nothing at all?"

Yamato lowered the towel. One cheek was almost clean, but despite the amount of makeup still coating her face, Kurama spotted the heavy lines between her brows and the hard set of her mouth. Skepticism and — anger, was it? Darkness colored her vision, like she did not enjoy what she saw when she met Kurama's assessing gaze.

"Who are you, again?" she said, boldly staring at him. "You weren't part of my merry band of rescuers, so I'm wondering why they called you instead of the damn cops like I asked." She shot Yusuke a sharp look. "You did call the cops, right? Because I'm pretty sure those two dudes who chased us are escaped murderers or something, and the police really oughtta know who escaped from the mental hospital."

At once, everyone by Kurama looked away from her; only Keiko had the presence of mind to try and not look guilty, however, and Yamato's eyes grew darker still. She tossed her used towel onto the coffee table with a growl, yanking another from the packet with a jerk of frustrated fingers. "Oh, for the love of —"

"Consider me, and my associates by extension, a law enforcement group far more suited to incidences like these than the police," Kurama smoothly interjected — but when she just shot him a glance that said she'd rather pour glass in her eyes, he tacked on a small smile. "Please, Yamato-san. Answer my questions. I'm only trying to help."

Perhaps it was his sincere delivery that convinced Yamato to cooperate. Perhaps she was just tired. Whatever the reason, she signed and flopped back against the couch, still rubbing at her face with her fresh towel.

Inwardly, Kurama smirked. She was obstinate, yes, but easy enough to manipulate.

"All right. I'll bite," she said with a weary sigh. "No. Didn't notice much about the two dudes at all, to be honest." Yamato shuddered. "Other than the fact that they were both built like brick shit-houses and were wearing heavy trench coats in April, but…"

Botan blurted, "So you didn't notice the horns?"

Inwardly, Kurama cursed. Yusuke stiffened where he stood, and Keiko's head swung in a short, quick arc toward Botan — but somehow, Yamato didn't appear disturbed by Botan's claim. She just looked confused.

"The horns?" she repeated, but then recognition flared to life behind her eyes. "Oh. You mean the little…" She placed her knuckles against her hairline, pinkie fingers extended in an approximations of small devil horns. "Yeah, I saw those. What about 'em?"

Yusuke's jaw dropped. "What about — ?"

Botan shot to her feet. "What do you mean, what about them?!" she said. "Is that not something odd you might have noticed?!"

"Uhhh, no?" Yamato said, looking at Botan as if she'd gone and sprouted a pig's nose. "I go through Harajuku all the time and horns are in this season." She shook her head, tutting under her breath. "Heck, even tails are in fashion right now! There's a guy in my Latin class who I swear has a goddamn monkey tail, prehensile and everything, it's actually really impressive but he won't tell me how he does it and —"

Yamato went on at length about some of the odd fashion choices she'd been seeing about town in recent months. Animal ears. Tails. Horns. Fangs. Scales she assumed were fancy, shimmering makeup. A few pairs of wings. Slit pupils and forked snake tongues that had to be some kind of prosthetic. She'd chalked it all up to the whims of Harajuku, birthplace of Japanese fashion that was usually ahead of the trend curve.

But while Yamato assumed she was merely witnessing the dress of early adopters of upcoming fashion, Kurama had privately decided that their non-psychic fortune teller might, in fact, might actually be psychic.

It was usually only psychics who could spot demons' true features the way Yamato could, after all.

As she droned on, Kurama's new impression of her only solidified. Typical humans with mundane sight subconsciously edited out the supernatural facets of most demons' appearances; some demons needed no disguises at all, counting on human stubbornness and denial to keep their true nature hidden. Most humans did not want to admit it when they spotted want to see the supernatural, so they simply did not allow themselves to see it. It was only the most monstrous of demons that needed a disguise to go unnoticed, but the things Yamato described having seen were features most demons would actively attempt to hide.

Psychic humans had, in a nutshell, better eyes than mundane humans — or more open minds, to be more accurate.

It seemed to Kurama that Yamato had no idea that her eyes saw not new fashion, but the truth.

When Yamato stopped talking, lapsing into silence as she set about cleaning her face, Kurama stood and walked over to Yusuke, drawing him by the elbow toward the back of the room. He pitched his voice low, leaning close to Yusuke's ear to speak without being overheard.

"How much have you told her?" he murmured.

"Not much. Mostly just asked her questions." Yusuke's mouth curled. "Didn't want her crying even harder."

"She's calm now," Kurama said. Moving forward with his investigation wouldn't be easy if they left Yamato in the dark for much longer. "Perhaps it's high time we—"

"I can hear you, y'know."

Kurama and Yusuke both winced; apparently Yamato had good ears as well as eyes. Turning, Kurama headed back toward the couch, rounding it so he could retake his seat.

"Apologies," he said as he sat down. "Now, Yamato-san…"

He lifted his eyes to look at her—but she was not the same Yamato as before, and Kurama stopped short at once.

She was almost finished cleaning her face, a pile of black wipes sitting on the coffee table before her. Without the makeup smeared over her cheeks and across her eyes, she looked young—much, much younger than he had assumed. No older than his human body, if he had to guess. Bright-eyed and defiant, she wore her lips in a thin line, eyes above them so dark they were nearly black, complexion even and clear and luminous. With her pert nose, delicate jaw, high cheekbones, she was… 'pretty' wasn't the word. Neither was 'beautiful.' More like 'striking,' if he had to choose a term. She'd be better looking if she stopped wearing her ridiculous beaded head scarf. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part. He wasn't sure.

But he was staring, he realized. Not that Yamato had noticed. She was busy taking off her enormous hoop earrings, so he was able to tear his eyes away without sustaining damage to his pride.

"Yamato-san," he said, drawing her attention once he composed himself. "If we are to understand the entirety of what transpired this evening, we need to divulge to you some… sensitive information, to put it mildly."

"Oh god." Yamato groaned. "Please don't get me involved in the Yakuza. Because if those guys were Yakuza, then —"

"They were not Yakuza." He suppressed a wry smile. "But by the time I'm finished, it's possible you might wish they were."

The fear in her all-black eyes turned to intrigue; a strange reaction, though one Kurama begrudgingly admired. She gazed at him for a minute in silence, dimple on her cheek telegraphing that she was most likely chewing on the inside of it, and then she leaned back against the couch. Yamato crossed her legs at the thigh and her arms over her chest, murmuring a low 'huh' under her breath.

"Holy shit," she said, sounding almost impressed. "You're serious."

"Yes," Kurama said.

"Huh." Her head tilted to one side with a clatter of beaded head scarf. "OK. Well." She paused before sighing and throwing up her hands. "It's not like tonight can get any weirder, so… lay it on me, Red." A grin stole across her face. "Do your worst."

At her request, Kurama did his worst. And when he finished explaining the truth of the three worlds, the existence of demons, the recent demon migration to Human World, and the fact that demons had apparently targeted her from some foul purpose, she didn't protest. Yamato didn't even express disbelief like he thought she would.

She just got up and ran for the bathroom, where she was violently ill — and when she finished, Kurama heard her mumble something about wishing it had been Yakuza who attacked her, after all.

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