You might think my Muraki is out of character here. Then again, my Muraki thinks he's out of character, too, so that's all right.

Chapter Twelve

Muraki spent more time in the shower than was strictly necessary, hoping that Oriya would be gone by the time he got out. He knew that goading Oriya had perhaps not been the best idea in the world, but he was adamantly sure that he wanted Oriya out of harm's way. This was getting more and more dangerous by the minute.

He stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry. He had left his clothes in the other room, so he merely wrapped the towel around his waist and left the room.

The first thing he noticed was the undeniable fact that Oriya was not gone. His belongings were still there, and in any case, Muraki could still sense his presence in the room. He sighed in frustration; Oriya had most likely figured out that Muraki had played him, and hadn't left. This would inevitably lead to more arguing.

The second thing he noticed was that, although Oriya was still there, he did not see the other man anywhere.

As he stood there in slight confusion, he noticed something that was both interesting, and although Muraki never would have admitted it, terrifying.

Oriya's aura was slowly fading from the room.

It was very slight. A less skilled magician never would have noticed. It would take days before it was fully gone. But it was definitely fading.

Muraki finally saw Oriya, at first only seeing his hair where it had spread out behind him as he fell. He hurried over and knelt at the other man's side, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him roughly. "Oriya. Oriya, wake up. Oriya!"

Oriya's eyes flickered open. He looked fuzzily up at Muraki. "Where . . .?" he managed. He tried to sit up, but the world went vague in front of his eyes and he slumped backwards. "My head hurts," he added, dazed.

Muraki gave him a piercing look. "Do you know where you are?"

"Huh? No . . ." Oriya looked around, his eyes more focused. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone now harsh, and a little afraid. "Who . . . who am I? What's going on?" He started to get up, realized he was clad only in a towel, and blushed fiercely. "What did you do to me?"

"I didn't do anything to – " Muraki realized this wasn't strictly true. He also realized that he, who never got the slightest bit worried, was coming close to panic. "Oriya, calm down. We're friends. You – must have fallen, hit your head."

"My head does hurt," Oriya admitted, rubbing at the back of it. He gave Muraki a still suspicious look. "Oriya? Is that my name?"

Muraki nodded, glad that Oriya didn't seem quite as ready to run him through. "Mibu Oriya is you. My name is Muraki Kazutaka."

"And we're . . . friends." Oriya's eyes traced slowly over Muraki and his towel, then over himself and his own towel. He laughed softly. "Is that it, then?"

Muraki saw his chance and started to leap for it. While investigating the case, he had come to the conclusion that ending the curse wouldn't be difficult – but the damage that had already been done by it was likely irreversible. Whether or not Oriya lived, the amnesia was permanent.

This was how he could fix everything between them. One simple, well-placed lie.

Oriya would never know the difference.

Oriya would never forgive him.

"Yes," he said quietly. "You had just gotten out of the shower, and I went in to take my own. When I came out, I found you like this."

One simple, well-placed lie. Simply not the lie he had intended.

Oriya looked at him for a long moment. Then he looked around the room, noted the two beds, both obviously slept in. He nodded slowly. "All right. I – I hit my head?" He frowned. "I don't feel a bump anywhere."

Muraki felt like a fool. How the hell had the demon gotten in, past the wards he had placed around the room, without his notice? Had he been that distracted by what had happened in the bathroom?

No, he decided immediately. Even distracted, he would have noticed. That meant that the demon had done something earlier, while it had been in the playground. Some preliminary connection with Oriya that had allowed it to slide underneath the wards to get to him.

Unless that it wasn't a demon.

He had been sure that it was. But the Shinigami had been certain that it wasn't. Both couldn't be true. But a human sorcerer would have been able to dispel his wards with more ease – and far more subtlety – than a demon, who would have just crashed through them.

"Muraki-san?" Oriya asked hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," Muraki said. "I was thinking."

"What about?" Oriya gave him a sharp-eyed look. "And don't start lying again. I didn't fall and hit my head, so why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

Muraki inwardly cursed Oriya for being so damned sharp.

The first day took their memory.

The second day took their strength.

The third day took their personality. Their soul? Perhaps. Muraki wasn't sure.

The fourth day took their life.

And he had no idea how much of that was reversible. He couldn't allow this to go until the last minute. He needed a solution, and he needed one right now. Playtime was over.

He ground his teeth.

He needed help.

Muraki relaxed slightly. He could get help. The Shinigami were pathetic, and their sense of honor wouldn't allow them to walk away. Oriya had saved Hisoka; they would feel obligated to save him in return. All he had to do was get their attention – and that would not be terribly difficult. They kept a very close eye on him.

He turned back to Oriya, who was glaring at him evenly.

"All right," he said, just as evenly. "I'll tell you everything. And then you have to wait here while I go to get us some help."

~~~~

Hisoka had drifted off to sleep, although he was unsure when, and he jerked awake to the sound of mumbles. He pried his eyes open. The room was dim, but he was able to see. There was moonlight coming in through the window, as the shades were drawn, and a thin strip of light underneath the door. Watari was still working.

More mumbles drew his attention to the man lying in the bed next to his. Hisoka realized he had fallen asleep fully dressed, sprawled out across one of the infirmary beds. Tsuzuki had been quiet and withdrawn and not good for much conversation, and Hisoka had been nearing exhaustion. Apparently Tsuzuki had not fared much better.

"Tsuzuki . . .?" he got off the bed and padded softly over to Tsuzuki's side. His shoes and jacket had been removed; he presumed that Watari had been responsible for that. "Tsuzuki, wake up . . . you're having a nightmare." He reached out momentarily, then drew his hand back. He didn't want to touch Tsuzuki unless he had to.

Tsuzuki jerked in his sleep. "No . . . don't hurt her . . . I'm the one you're . . . after . . ."

"Tsuzuki, damn it," Hisoka said sharply. There was no help for it. He reached out and gave Tsuzuki's shoulder a rough shake. The emotions were so strong that he could feel them even through the layers of cloth.

//Pain, fear, and undeniable RAGE – and the world exploded and he could feel his blood burning, power rushing to his head with nowhere to go but out his fingertips and everything was red – and then over –

bodies littering the ground around him –

"Ruka-chan . . . Ruka-chan, no . . . no . . ."

Silence.

"I . . . wanted . . . to save you . . ."

Tsuzuki lifted his head and screamed. //

"NO!"

"Tsuzuki – let me go – "

Tsuzuki's eyes cracked open and the world faded into view slowly. He realized that he had Hisoka's wrist locked in a death grip. The smaller boy was trembling from the sheer force of Tsuzuki's emotions.

"Please," he managed to gasp out. "Please let me go . . ."

Tsuzuki withdrew his hand. "Sorry," he whispered.

It took Hisoka a few minutes to gather himself after that storm of pain and anger and guilt. "You don't have to be sorry," he finally said. "I just . . . I didn't want to leave you in that nightmare. It looked . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence. There were no words for what he had accidentally seen.

"Seventy-two years ago," Tsuzuki said, shaking his head. "Longer, I suppose . . . that was when I was eighteen . . . still seems like yesterday, though . . ."

Hisoka nodded; he understood that much.

"I'm sorry," Tsuzuki blurted out again.

"I told you to not be sorry," Hisoka said sharply. He felt bad for snapping as soon as he saw Tsuzuki cringe away. The motion was so small as to be imperceptible, but Hisoka noticed. "I'm sorry," he said, then laughed as he realized they were apologizing back and forth. "I'm just . . . I guess we're both on edge."

Tsuzuki nodded. He sat up in bed, drawing his knees to his chest, and staring down at them. They sat for a few long seconds in silence.

"Are you worried?" Hisoka finally asked.

"About the whole curse thing?" Tsuzuki replied. "Yeah . . . who wouldn't be? I don't want to be used as a demon battery for the rest of my . . . afterlife, I guess."

Hisoka didn't reply for a long minute. He didn't know why, not exactly, but seeing Tsuzuki so quiet and withdrawn disturbed him greatly. He had a mental image of the purple-eyed Shinigami as bright, cheerful, bouncy. But he couldn't say where that image was coming from – certainly Tsuzuki had done nothing to generate it during their short time together.

"I think it's going to be all right," he finally ventured. "Watari seems pretty smart, and . . . he said we've gotten out of a lot of scrapes before."

"Wish I could remember them," Tsuzuki said, and laughed a little.

"I'm not sure we do," Hisoka said thoughtfully.

"It's too bad . . ." Tsuzuki let out a soft sigh. "Maybe Watari-san and Tatsumi-san can fix this, but . . . I'm not sure our memories will ever be recovered. Are you?"

"No," Hisoka agreed. "But . . . maybe it doesn't matter?"

"Maybe it matters less to you," Tsuzuki said. "You've lost three years. I lost over seventy."

There seemed to be nothing Hisoka could say to that.

"Besides . . ." Tsuzuki looked away. "Maybe in seventy years . . . everything in my life . . . it seems so fresh now, so recent. I don't want that. I want to go back to . . . to having forgotten it all, to not worrying about it anymore. I want to go back to that."

Without really thinking about it, Hisoka leaned over and folded Tsuzuki's hand in his own. "You never forget what hurts you," he said softly. "Never."

Tsuzuki tugged his hand away. "Are you saying that because of your empathy?" he asked, sounding bitter.

"No," Hisoka said simply, "I'm saying it because it's true. You know that as well as I do. I see no point in self-delusion. Whether you get your memory back or not – whether it was seventy years ago or seven hundred – it's still going to hurt as much as it did the day it happened."

Tsuzuki turned his face away. "Not much for comfort, are you," he said dully.

Hisoka shrugged. "As I said, there's no point in self-delusion."

Tsuzuki refused to look at him. "I almost wish I'd stayed with Muraki. Maybe he was a lying murderer, but at least he was nice to me."

"I'm sure he would have kept it up for such a long time, too. Probably until he raped and murdered you like he did me."

There was a long pause. "Sorry," Tsuzuki whispered. "I – "

"Never mind," Hisoka said roughly, wondering what on earth had possessed him to open his mouth in the first place. "Just get some more sleep. You're worn out and so am I. We both need a break. It's not worth worrying about until morning."

Tsuzuki agreed wearily. He lay back down and stared at the ceiling, listened to the rustle of sheets as Hisoka climbed back into bed.

They lay in silence for a long time, waiting to fall asleep.

~~~~

Watari rubbed his eyes sleepily. The computer text was blurring in front of his eyes, but after days of futility, he felt like he was finally making progress. He certainly wasn't about to go do anything silly like get some sleep. When he was on a roll, he never stopped.

Besides, he found it easiest to work at night, when the building was mostly empty and quiet. No one came to bother him. No one interrupted his work.

Of course, no one made coffee, either, and Watari had long ago finished his last cup.

He stood up. Yawned, stretched. Decided to go for a little walk to wake himself up. 003 has long ago fallen asleep, nestled in Watari's lab coat. Watari left the owl there and walked the dark hallways of the Meifu, deep in thought.

The problem was simple enough. A demon had possessed a human, and needed to be expelled. Similar to other cases they'd taken, like Hijiri's. A single reibaku spell would probably be enough for that, but what then? Once the demon was on its own – after amassing power for over a century – they would have to kill it. Well, Tsuzuki had killed numerous demons, so that wouldn't be a problem, except Watari was unsure of how the spell would react.

When the demon was gone, would Tsuzuki be free from the spell? Or would Tsuzuki, now unquestionably bound to the demon, be dragged along with it to oblivion?

Would their memories be returned? Or would they be stuck like this forever?

Watari pushed both hands through his hair and sighed.

"Ah, Watari-san! I'm glad you're here!" Gushoshin Younger floated up beside him. Watari nearly jumped out of his skin. "I thought everyone had left already. We've received an urgent message!"

"What is it?" Watari asked, turning to give the Gushoshin his full attention.

"It's like this . . ."

~~~~

Tatsumi was a very precise man. It was apparent even in how he slept, lying on his back with one arm across his chest, the other outstretched so it could more efficiently hit the alarm clock in the morning, which he always did about ten seconds before it would go off.

Therefore, it was fortunate for Tatsumi that no one else was there at three thirty-two that morning, when his phone rang.

He flopped. And flailed. And finally knocked it off the hook and fell back to sleep.

He awoke fully a mere minute later from a strange dream in which someone was shouting at him from an impossible distance. He blinked at the phone, wondering why it was off the hook, and why he could hear a tinny little voice coming from it. "Tatsumi? Tatsumi, are you there, will you wake up already?"

Tatsumi grabbed the phone. "Tatsumi desu," he said, hoping he sounded at least partially dignified.

"Good, it's Watari. You need to get your ass down here right now."

"On my way." Tatsumi did not question. When Watari was in the mood to be serious, it meant that there was definitely something not good going on.

He arrived at the office less than twenty minutes later, impeccable as always. Watari was bent over the coffee machine, pouring himself a mug. The blonde gave him one look and snorted. "What, is that suit one piece that you just yank on in the mornings?" he asked.

Tatsumi gave him a look, but relaxed slightly. If Watari opened with one of his usual jibes, then things hadn't reached full catastrophe stage yet. "You got me out of bed, I suggest you not question," he said coolly. "Is Tsuzuki-san – "

"Tsuzuki's fine," Watari said, handing him a cup of coffee. "And so's Bon. They're still asleep."

"Then why am I here?" Tatsumi asked wearily.

"Because our dear one-eyed and evil is up to no good as usual." Watari held out the message that the Gushoshin had printed for him. "Four murders in the past six hours, all him. There are witnesses, for crying out loud. He's not being careful."

"He wants our attention," Tatsumi said, scanning the report.

"Well, he got it," Watari said dryly. "What should we do?"

Tatsumi studied the report in more detail, momentarily ignoring Watari's question. He wasn't going to make any decisions without the full facts. "These started occurring less than an hour after I last saw him," he said, each word deliberate and considered. "At which point he was still with Mibu-san."

"Who would never have let him go off on a murder spree if he could help it," Watari said slowly, seeing the direction that Tatsumi was going in. "And if Muraki wants our attention . . ." Watari swore softly. "The demon must have gotten Oriya."

"My line of thought precisely." Tatsumi folded up the report and put it in his shirt pocket. "Shall we go?"

Watari nodded, his face unwontedly serious. They appeared on earth moments later. Due to the amount of effort that Tatsumi put into keeping track of Muraki, they were able to arrive directly on the doorstep of where he was staying. Tatsumi reached up and oh-so-politely knocked on the door.

Muraki opened it moments later. He stood back to let them in wordlessly. After they had both come in, he shut the door. "I was expecting you," he said, his voice emotionless.

"Gee, just 'cause you committed four murders, you think we're at your beck and call?" Watari's voice was cheerful, but there was an edge of menace beneath it that few people ever heard from the scientist.

Muraki gestured sharply to Oriya, who was asleep in one of the beds, curled up with the blankets drawn to his chin. "The demon has Oriya," he said through ground teeth. "I had no better way to get your attention."

"Honestly, property damage would have sufficed," Watari said, giving Muraki a look. "It's not like we don't keep track of you and you damn well know it. But we don't have time for small talk or to punish you for the murders." He walked over to Oriya. "You put him to sleep?"

Muraki nodded. "I did not particularly want him privy to . . . this evening's events."

Watari checked him briefly. He gave Tatsumi a look. Tatsumi was, thus far, leaning against the door silently, letting Watari have the floor. "He'll only have four days," Watari said unhappily. "What do you think we should do?"

"How about finding a way to reverse the spell?" Muraki asked, giving them both a cold look. "As in, now?"

"Oh, you were so high and mighty, we thought you already knew how to do it," Watari said sweetly. Muraki gave him a death glare, which he returned in kind. "We'll find a way," he finally said. "But it's going to take time. More time than Oriya has. It has to be done delicately, or we risk Tsuzuki's life and soul. However . . ." Watari gave Tatsumi another look, but the secretary was, for whatever reason, letting him handle the negotiations. "Bringing someone to the Meifu apparently puts the spell into a temporary holding position. If we took Oriya there, he'd be safe until we found the solution."

"Yes," Muraki said immediately. "Good."

Tatsumi started forward. "In Kyoto . . ." he said softly, his tone dangerous, "you came to the Meifu. How?"

Muraki gave him an annoyed look, but he knew he had to answer the question. "Tsuzuki-san willingly brought in the girl. I traveled through her."

"So if we willingly bring in Mibu-san . . ." Tatsumi let the question trail off.

Muraki scoffed. "Of course not. Other than that simple sleep spell, I've never worked any magic on Oriya my whole life. He wouldn't have stood for it. I can't enter through him; I have no hold over him."

Tatsumi's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I believe you," he said.

Watari leaned over and said in a low voice, "Tatsumi . . . he did save Bon's life."

"I'm aware of that," Tatsumi said. He surveyed the situation, then nodded slightly. "Watari-san, bring Mibu-san back to the Meifu and make him comfortable. If that doesn't stop the spell because he's not a Shinigami, we'll have to go from there, but I believe it will."

"It'll be a day or two before we know, don't forget," Watari said warningly. He looked at Tatsumi, who clearly intended on staying for at least another minute, and scooped Oriya up, draping the unconscious man's arm over his shoulders. He vanished without another word.

"Yes?" Muraki said, sounding amused.

"I want you to remember something," Tatsumi said coolly. "I agreed to let Watari-san take Mibu-san to the Meifu for one reason – and one reason only. I believe it will be beneficial to him to have an actual human under the curse to figure out how to combat it. That is all."

Muraki sneered. "He saved your precious boy Shinigami, though, didn't he?"

"That has nothing to do with it." Tatsumi looked at Muraki over the rim of his glasses. "Never forget who and what you're dealing with, when you deal with us. We are Shinigami. To us, death is just part of life, just the next step taken. Mibu-san can live or he can die . . . and it will mean nothing to me."

"And?" Muraki asked quietly.

Tatsumi smiled, a cold, hard smile. "Not every Shinigami cares about the deaths of innocents, Muraki. Not every Shinigami is Tsuzuki-san. Don't forget that, or both you and Mibu-san won't live through this. And although you seem hell bent on keeping us from realizing it . . . I believe it would trouble you greatly if Mibu-san were to die . . . and you just willingly gave him into our custody."

He turned and walked away.

Muraki began to wonder if he had miscalculated.

~~~~