Warnings: None


Lucky Child

Chapter 37:

"On the Precipice"


Yusuke wore his ducky pajamas, apparently unconcerned about his image (despite, or maybe in pointed spite of, the fact Kuwabara had mocked those pajamas a few weeks prior). He lay in bed surrounded by empty chip packets and empty bowls of soup, the very portrait of indolent laziness. I walked in without a word and began collecting the garbage in a trash bag. Sound effects from the TV—the distorted clatter of a sword, the blip of flaring magic—grated on the inside of my skull, but I tried not to let my discomfort show. My brain still hurt, twitchy and jumpy after the adrenaline of my earlier panic attack.

Yusuke glanced up when I walked in, but only long enough to say in the wheedling tone he reserved for teasing, "Nice uniform, Keiko."

He'd hoped I'd turn the same crimson shade as my skirt, no doubt. No such luck. I glared at him, but I said nothing. That wasn't like me. Normally I snarked right back when he made pervy comments regarding my uniform.

Apparently my uncharacteristic silence did not escape his notice. He pressed the pause button on his game; thankfully the noises ceased. "What's eating you?" he griped.

"Nothing." I shoved an empty soda can into the bag with a jerk of my elbow. "Does your physical therapist approve of junk food?"

"Did something happen at school?" Yusuke countered. He crossed his arms, staring pointedly at the trash bag. "You're nagging. And you're angry-cleaning."

More like anxiety cleaning. Nothing like the illusion of productivity to ease the nerves. I didn't tell Yusuke that, though. I picked at the room without looking at him, without saying a word in my defense. There just wasn't anything I could say. Eventually he sighed and picked up the game controller again.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever. Not like it matters to me."

I cleaned in silence while he played the latest edition of Dragon Quest. Eventually I picked up all of the remaining trash. I folded laundry after that, then put dirty clothes into the wash. Suddenly there was nothing else for me to do. After wandering aimlessly in search of busy work, I sat on the floor below Yusuke's perch on his bed, knees to my chest, forehead pressed against their bony bulk.

The panic attack had hit like a freight train, weight of Kurama's rejection mixing in an antagonizing swirl with my uncertainty regarding the missing fiction. Too many straws, and this camel's back had bent under the strain. I'd run to the nearest study room in the library and locked myself inside so I could breathe through the worst of the anxiety. Picturing a fractal snowflake folding and unfolding in time with my breath, it took most of lunch to calm my galloping heart and screaming worry. The folding fractal was an old coping technique, taught to me by my former therapist. I was just grateful I hadn't forgotten its geometric lines, and that its soothing bloom had soothed me again in this life. Too bad there hadn't been an icebox around so I could trigger the mammalian diving reflex, or a handy paper bag to aid my breathing. Those things had always helped me before I was Keiko. Instead I walked through school on eggshells, numb and fragile in the wake of emotions too intense to house in Keiko's small, unprepared body.

"Why'd you come over?"

I started when Yusuke spoke, but settled after a moment of careful breathing. "No reason," I said.

Yusuke snorted. "Bullshit."

He shifted atop the bed, and then he was sitting next to me on the floor with elbows on his bent knees. The fluid motion (and lack of wincing as he moved) caught my eye.

"How's therapy?" I asked, uncurling my legs.

"Fine," he grunted. His eyes remained fixed on the TV as he battled a squad of high-experience metal slimes. "Doc says I'm almost done."

"That's good news."

"Yeah. I'll be back to kicking ass in no time."

"Though that means you'll have to go back to school in no time, too."

Yusuke blinked, looked at me, and jabbed the pause button. I offered him a sympathetic smile. He flopped onto his side and yanked a blanket off the bed, rolling himself into it like a bean in a pale blue burrito.

"Ugh." His voice, muffled by the blanket, was little more than an annoyed whimper. "Can I just stay home and play Dragon Quest, instead?"

"Not unless you want to repeat middle school until you're 35," I reasoned. "Best get it over with and graduate on time."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled. He pulled the blanket around himself even tighter. "Stupid school. Stupid teachers. Stupid therapist!"

Although the impulse to tease him rose strong, shrugging off my anxious feelings proved impossible. I curled my knees tight to my chest again. If Yusuke was going back to school soon, he'd become the Spirit Detective soon. That meant the Artifacts case was coming.

And that very neatly explained Kurama's behavior today, of course. But how long until Yusuke went back? How long until the case really took off?

I could think of only one way to tell for sure. I'd double, triple check when I got home tonight. Hopefully my hunch bore out. Hopefully—

"Hey, Keiko?"

I looked up with a grunt. Yusuke peered out of the blanket, cloth haloing his face like he'd become a Russian grandmother. His eyes and the set of his jaw held stubborn challenge.

"So…what the hell is wrong, exactly?" he asked.

Yusuke wasn't much of a thinker. Not one for strategy or philosophy, this guy. Still, he could tell when I was upset. He had a natural way of reading people that I admired. I wasn't half as perceptive half the time when it came to people. After eight years of friendship, there was no hiding my anxiety from him. The cleaning alone had been a dead giveaway.

"Just some stuff at school," I said, hedging. "Nothing you can do."

Reluctantly (super reluctantly, looking like a boy tasked with poking a sleeping bear), he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Because he hated discussing emotions, and because I had secrets to keep, I spared us both the agony of a heart-to-heart and shook my head. Yusuke scowled.

"So, you came over to angry-clean and…not talk about it?" he said.

I glared at him. "You'll just make fun of me if I do. No, thanks!"

"Oh, c'mon. Maybe I won't."

"Fat chance."

"Hey. I might surprise you." When I didn't react, he gestured at the TV with obvious impatience. "Just spill it already. I've got slimes to slay!"

I didn't reply. He sighed.

"Look," Yusuke said. "You wouldn't have come over here if you didn't want to talk, right?"

I hated to admit he had a point, but he did have one. A small one, as Kaito would say. I'd run straight here after school—as soon as I could after my anxiety attack—because being with Yusuke…well, it was comforting. I'd come here for the comfort of a familiar face that wouldn't ask too many questions—but now that he'd started asked them, there went my grand plan to seek comfort without repercussions.

But what had my therapist always said? That bottling up emotions would only make the anxiety worse? Maybe I should talk it out (in veiled terms), after all.

Only one way to find out if that was a good idea.

"Look, it's just…a friend of mine sort of dumped me today," I admitted.

Yusuke frowned, sitting up with the blanket still clutched around his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Like, he told me we can't hang out anymore, ever." I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Just came out of the blue, that's all. And it sucks."

Yusuke didn't respond. He eyed me sidelong, lips pursed, before cracking a devious smile.

He very casually asked, "He, huh?"

I grabbed a pillow off the bed and whacked him with it; Yusuke chortled, stealing the pillow and pretending to cuddle with it, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

"It's not like that," I protested, grabbing at the pillow so I could hit him again. "It's nothing!"

"Sure it is," he said, throwing the pillow back at me. "You don't angry-clean over nothings."

"See?" Another good whack with the pillow, right in his smug face. "You're making fun of me!"

Spitting pillowcase, he said, "Got you to smile, didn't it?"

I bit down my reaction. He grinned when I looked taken aback at his unexpectedly kind words, pleased he'd managed to surprise me, after all. Tossing his head (his head, not his hair; even at home where no one would see him, the vain jerk gelled his hair into a helmet), he said, "Look, I'm sure he'll come around. And if he doesn't, he's an idiot. You're the best friend a guy could have. It's his loss, and you'd be better off without him, and you'd better not chase after him, you hear me?"

Yusuke looked utterly serious at that last statement. Not like him at all. His sudden turn in demeanor rendered me quiet. The boy searched my face for a moment, then spoke in softer, gentler tones at odds with his earlier ferocity.

"For real, though," he said. "What kind of friend would make you chase after them?" He reached for his game controller with a derisive snort. "Friends are supposed to be there for you. Leave the games for Dragon Quest."

Dragon Quest's peppy music resumed. His character's sword clinked harmlessly off the hide of a tough metal slime, but his eyes drifted askance, toward me. Gauging my reaction, no doubt.

"Yeah," I said. "You're right."

With a triumphant grin, Yusuke began battling the metal slimes in earnest. "Damn right, I'm right!" A brief hesitation, and then he held the controller toward me. "Wanna have a turn?"

I took it, aware that this gesture of generosity was a rare as it was generous. "Yeah. Sure."

Yusuke, despite his moment of surprising wisdom and unexpected kindness, did as expected and back-seat-gamed the entire night. My anxiety abated bit by bit as we squabbled over the game's strategy, and by the time I went home, the knots in my shoulders had eased somewhat.

When I called Kagome to report my findings regarding the missing stories, however, the knots returned.

I got the feeling they were there to stay, at least until the Artifacts case came to a close.


Ezakiya went down with a horrible, retching grunt when I drove my knee into his stomach. Before I could pin him, Hideki-sensei jumped into the fray. With a twist and flick of his wrist my teacher sent me sprawling to the mat. Probably a good thing. I'd been about to send and elbow into Eza's jaw—a strike not part of real aikido, but rather one born of aggression, pure and simple. Instead I lay there on the practice mat, panting, eyes closed as sweat rolled off my forehead and over my temples and my heart slowed its frantic pace.

"That's enough, Yukimura," Hideki growled.

The mat dipped at my side. Kagome knelt next to me, large eyes even larger with worry.

"What's gotten into you?" she said. "You're firing on all cylinders!"

"Sorry." The word came out a sullen grunt. While it had felt good to spar with the larger Ezakiya—whose tree-trunk body could take hits for days—my limbs felt like jelly when I sat up. "Bad week."

"A bad week is no excuse for illegal strikes on your comrades," Hideki observed from across the room. He kept a hand on Eza's shoulder; the large boy stood bent from the waist, trying to regain his lost breath. "Class dismissed. We'll resume next week, when you're ready to act like less of an animal."

I winced under Hideki's glare, but I did not argue. I just apologized to Ezakiya for the flurries of furious strikes I'd levied against him all night, bowed to Hideki-sensei (who ignored me), and followed Kagome out of the warehouse toward Uptown.

Uptown. The place Kurama and I had gone right before he left that bouquet in my locker the week before.

Kagome saw something in my expression when we walked into the square and I spotted the café where we'd watched the Lindy hoppers. "You OK?" she asked, slipping her small hand into mine. "Something's up, I can tell."

I shook my head and squeezed her hand. "Not here." Because apparently I'm a masochist, I nodded toward the Lindy café. "Let's eat there."

No Lindy hoppers occupied the café that night, thankfully. I couldn't stand a waking flashback just then. Once we settled in with food and drinks, I told Kagome everything I hadn't been willing to talk about on the phone: my night with Kurama, the bouquet, the phone call. She whistled through her teeth when I fell silent.

"Man, I knew you seemed more aggressive than usual tonight," she said. Tonight we'd had our first lesson with Hideki since Kurama's phone call; our previous session, ill-timed, had come the day before the fiasco went down. "At last week's lesson you were pretty normal, but tonight…"

"I took out some frustration on Eza," I admitted.

"I'll say you did. You were a machine tonight. I've never seen you fight like that." She paused. "Truth be told, I'm not sure I liked it."

I didn't reply right away and took a bite of my food (spaghetti; turns out this café was Italian, which explained the garlic hanging above the bar). My ferocity had surprised even me, but the minute Eza and I started sparring after Hideki's lesson on throwing opponents, I'd launched at him like a harpy diving in for the kill. Adrenaline on high, punches and kicks rained down on him in a heated volley. Eza was strong, but slow, and hadn't been able to dodge much. He'd been a sitting duck. Thank my lucky stars he could take a hit…

"So why do you think Kurama gave you that bouquet?" Kagome said.

My words came clipped and precise. "He's putting distance between himself and others before he kills himself to save his mom, I suspect."

And wasn't that just like him? Such a martyr. Such a patronizing jackass, making decisions for others without asking them first. What kind of self-sacrificing, self-aggrandizing—?

I stabbed my fork (this place used Western utensils) into my spaghetti and gave it a vicious twirl.

"It won't be long before that happens, after all," I grumbled. "The whole killing himself bit, I mean."

She frowned. "But Yusuke isn't back in school yet, right?"

"Right."

"And the Artifacts case won't start until he goes back. Doesn't it happen on his very first day? Iwamoto accuses him of stealing, and Koenma teaches him the Spirit Gun, and that's when the big case starts." Her head tilted to one side, curious. "How do you know when that'll happen?"

Mouth full of noodles, I replied by lifting a hand and pointing at the sky. Kagome looked up, lips coming together in a pout.

"What's that mean?" she said.

I swallowed and patted my lips with a napkin. "The moon. It's my guide."

The Mirror of Darkness only worked on the full moon. Right now it was about half full and waxing—giving me one week until it reached its full phase. One week before Kurama would use the Mirror.

One week before Kurama planned to die.

Not that he'd actually die, of course. Yusuke would intervene, and Kurama would be fine.

Even knowing that, though, it was still really depressing to think Kurama was planning on killing himself to save his mom, and that he was intentionally pushing friends away in the process…but I tried not to think about that. Focus on the fate schedule, instead, Keiko.

Here's how the timeline broke down, so far as I could tell: Today was Wednesday. If Yusuke went back to school this coming Monday, the moon would be full next Wednesday, a week from today. That gave Yusuke time to go back to school and get accused of stealing on Monday, get beaten up by Gouki that night, defeat Gouki on Tuesday, and bungle Kurama's attempt at martyrdom on Wednesday.

Provided everything went according to plan, of course.

Provided Kurama stole the treasures sometime in the next four days.

And provided Yusuke got recruited by Botan sometime in the next four days.

Oi. I'd basically made a schedule for destiny. Talk about anal retentive…

"Wow," Kagome said, staring at the celestial body above with her mouth open. "Wow. Smart, Eeyore! It's like you have a cheat code, or a road map, or something!"

"Maybe." Another stab into my food. Another bite of spaghetti, sauce rich and acidic. "From here on out, I'll be glued to the moon. I bought a lunar calendar just for this." It sat on my desk at home, mocking me with fate unfolded.

"Smart again!" Kagome chirped. She cupped her chin, eyes narrowing. "But what makes you think Kurama will strike in the next week, instead of waiting for next month?"

Good question. Truth be told, I didn't have concrete proof this month was the month. I was reading signs and signals like an auger reading prophecy in the flights of birds. Whether or not I read true signs and signals only time would tell.

"I don't feel like Kurama would've distanced himself from me too far in advance," I said. Kurama and I had gone out (and he'd dumped me as a friend) only one week prior, when the moon was dark and new. "We were just getting to be friends. I think maybe he got news, learned something that will help him break in—maybe even the same night we went out dancing. I think that was the catalyst for this change in behavior."

I hoped that was the catalyst, at least. What else could it be? His goodbye was so specific, it felt like he knew the end was nigh. Surely he had his eye on the moon, too.

"I think they're about to act, to break into the vault and steal the treasures," I continued. "He'll use the Mirror the first chance he gets. His mom is deteriorating, from what I hear, so he knows he has to act fast. I really doubt he'd wait another month in light of that."

The fangirls had been a wonderful resource this past week. Junko and Amagi (and even Hotaru) noticed that he wasn't sitting with me at lunch, and of course they'd asked why. They hadn't seemed surprised at all when I describe Kurama's curt phone call. Hotaru's cousin was a nurse at the hospital where Shiori was staying, and—in complete, but handy, violation of nurse-patient confidentiality—kept Hotaru informed of Shiori's status. Her time in isolation hadn't gone well, it seemed, and the doctors were getting desperate.

Which explained Minamino's sunken cheeks and hooded eyes whenever I glimpsed him in the hallways during this week apart. It explained his dulled hair, sallow skin, and glassy eyes as he avoided looking my way during class.

It explained why every day I saw him sitting alone in the greenhouse, a red-haired shadow on the wall, biding his time in grieving, desperate solitude.

All I wanted was to yell at him. Tell him to stop being an ass and just let someone in, let someone talk to him, let someone care for him as he walked willingly into the arms of death.

Instead I hung back. I gave him space. I ducked into classrooms when I saw him coming, and let him walk alone.

I hated myself for it. But I knew he'd resent it if I did anything more.

When he lived through this, I didn't want him resenting me.

"We stand on the precipice of the plot," I told Kagome. "It's the cliché calm before the storm. I think Kurama tried to evacuate me from the strike zone before this hurricane of his makes landfall."

She considered this, nodding and slurping up a strand of fettucine. "Yeah, that seems like something he'd do."

"Totally. Now all I can do is wait for the puzzle pieces to fall in line." I couldn't help but groan. "Too bad I fucking hate waiting."

She nodded, sympathetic. "I know. I'm sorry you're having to deal with it on top of everything. You're stressed enough as it is."

"We're stressed enough as it is," I amended.

Kagome's shoulders slumped. She dropped her fork and leaned her forehead on her tiny hand.

"True," she muttered. "This whole missing-story-thing is the worst."

The missing stories I'd managed to convey to her on the phone (apparently I was only at a loss for words when it came to Kurama). We sat in silence for a time, trying in our heads to explain the unexplainable. Neither of us could make head or tail of what it all meant. In the past week we'd both done more research into authors we'd loved in our past lives. Both of us reached the same conclusions. Stories were simply missing in this world—and it didn't end with books.

The Princess Bride had been the first clue. Once I suspected that that movie had gone the way of those missing stories, I began searching for other missing films. Although I wasn't familiar enough with Japanese cinema to see any differences in it, Disney's archives had been gutted. Many films I'd loved in the past I just couldn't find, from classics to pulp fiction to major movies of the 1980s. Kagome led the charge on that research since she was more of a movie buff than I was, and she confirmed it. Cinema had been just as gutted as literature.

No wonder Kaito said cinema was declining. He'd told me that months ago, and I just hadn't been aware enough to hear him. I hadn't wanted to hear him.

"What do you think it means?" Kagome asked.

"I wish I knew." I set down my fork, head cupped in my cold hands. "I feel like an idiot."

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself." She shook her head, chiding me. "I didn't see this coming, either."

Kagome felt the same way I did in this new life, prioritizing new adventure over old routine. She further reasoned that we'd both been raised in very Japanese households, neither of our families importing much by way of foreign media into our homes—and we weren't familiar enough with Japanese history to see the signs more immediate to our lives.

Still. I couldn't help but blame myself for my obliviousness.

"Yeah, but…looking back, there were signs," I said. "Yusuke used to drag me to the movies as a kid all the time, and I always hated it. I always thought the movies were dumb 80s movies with bad special effects."

"Same here," Kagome said. "I thought I'd been spoiled by special effects from our time."

"Yeah. But maybe it's more than that."

She frowned. I took a deep breath. I hadn't yet articulated this suspicion to her (hadn't wanted to get too deep into it over the phone) and it unsettled my stomach as though I'd eaten bad spaghetti.

"Maybe it's just that there aren't as many good movies being made," I said. "Stories build on top of each other over time, influencing and affecting others in a gigantic web. But with so many classics missing from literature, maybe storytelling as an art just…didn't develop right. And what if that affects music, movies, and books, as well as people's desire to write them?"

I'd done as Kaito said and researched college programs.

There were four undergrad literature programs in the whole of Japan. I could find just two masters programs.

I could find just one that offered a PhD.

No wonder Kaito bristled when I called literature a common interest.

Kagome's face fell more and more as I spoke, until she looked pale and uncomfortable and altogether stricken. I attempted to smile. The attempt failed.

"Some songs I loved in my past life I can't find here," I said, thinking of my incomplete Johnny Cash collection in my room at home. "I always thought they were just rare tracks, hard to track down in Japan, but...what if not as many good stories are being told, and those songs suffered for it?" I put my head back in my hands, rubbing at the ache gathering in my temples. "I don't know. Maybe I've overthinking it."

"No. I think you're right." Kagome regarded me with a tense, guarded expression, but one of dawning understanding. "I feel the same. I always thought I was just used to modern American movies and better special effects, and that's why I didn't like movies here, but…what if those missing stories hurt the way we tell stories in this world?" She leaned forward. "What if movies now just aren't as good?"

"Stories are part of humanity, though." My throat felt thick, gummy, like I'd swallowed a rotten peach. "Part of the human condition. We relate through story. All nations and peoples have storytelling traditions—so why are stories so much less important here? Why are they so much less developed?"

Kagome blinked at me. Then, with an enormous sigh, she pushed aside her plate and flopped dramatically onto the table, black hair falling in a silky tumble across the glass surface.

"My brain hurts," she moaned. The girl peered over her arms at me, hopeful. "Think you could talk to Hiruko about all this? He might have some answers."

Mention of the scheming demigod intensified the roiling in my stomach. That little shit. Kagome was right, of course. Doubtless he knew something. But there was just one problem.

"I've never been able to summon him." I shrugged, resigned. "It's a very one-way relationship. But I'll try, because you're right. If anyone knows anything, it's that little bastard."

"Good." She nodded, determined on my behalf. "Maybe he'll talk to you."

"Yeah." I picked my fork back up, even though my stomach rebelled at the thought of taking another bite. "Maybe he will."

But I had my doubts.


The following Friday, Kuwabara sat on my bed with his legs crisscrossed, hands placed firmly on his knees. I straddled my chair and rested my chin on my hands. He didn't look at me. He glanced at my record player, then at my feet, and then at my desk in an unending loop, awkward like an ice-skating bumblebee.

"So, what's up?" I said when the silence thickened. "You sounded upset on the phone."

His eyes met mind for half a second before darting away again. "Yeah, I'm—" He sighed, hand cupping face. "Look, I need your advice on something, but you can't freak out, OK?"

"OK." It helped that I had a very good idea of what this was about. Hand over heart, I solemnly swore, "I promise to not freak out, on my honor as Yukimura Keiko."

That mollified him. He took a deep breath, and—words slow with care and worry—told me everything.

It was as I suspected. He'd let Eikichi out into the yard behind his house for a bit of sunshine, and had run inside for a camera when she began attacking a dandelion ("Way too cute; I'd be crazy not to take a photo!" he said). He knew it was irresponsible to leave her by herself, but it was only for a moment, and she was too tiny to hop the fence.

Still: When he came back, Eikichi was gone.

He looked all day and all night for his darling kitten. Of course he did. This was Kuwabara we were talking about. He looked high, he looked low, and with defeat he went home to mourn her—and that's when he found the note.

"We have your cat," the note told him. "We have her, and unless you want her pelt nailed to your door, you'll do what we tell you to do."

Just as I suspected.

He'd been doing favors for the kidnapping thugs all week, and while he would not divulge the nature of those failures, he performed each and every one of them hoping and praying that they were feeding his poor cat and not mistreating her. He was meeting them on Saturday, he told me. One final favor, they said, and he'd have his cat returned to him.

I closed my eyes when he mentioned Saturday. That was tomorrow. Which meant Yusuke would sneak out tomorrow, and that he'd meet Botan, and rescue the cat from the thugs.

I'd been right about the full moon, and about standing on the precipice of the plot.

One day more, Keiko. You only had to wait one day more before fate morphed from conjecture to reality.

Kuwabara lapsed into silence. I put aside my musings. This problem was very real to him right now. It wouldn't do for me to act dismissive. He had no idea that it would turn out OK in the end. He needed comfort, and the support of a friend—not a distracted Keiko who minimized his feelings.

"You're being blackmailed," I said.

"Yeah." His grim nod spoke volumes. "That's about the gist of it."

"Did you tell your dad, your sister?"

"No. They think Eikichi's at the vet." Kuwabara looked vaguely ill, suddenly. "But Shizuru's gotta know somethin's up; I can't hide jack from her."

"Yeah. Probably." That was Shizuru, all right. I leaned toward him, making sure to look sufficiently concerned. "Kuwabara, I'm so sorry this is happening. What are you going to do?"

He shifted atop my bed, sheets stretching beneath his great weight. With a helpless little shrug of his broad shoulders, he said, "I dunno."

The words were out of my mouth on reflex. "I can help you if—"

He was shaking his head before I could even finish. "No, Keiko. Absolutely not. These guys are bad news, movin' in on Urameshi's turf while he's out sick. No way am I risking you in all this."

"Then why come to me for help?" I said.

Kuwabara started, blinking like a shocked owl. It occurred to me that I'd almost quoted Yusuke, sort of, when I went to him for comfort but refused his offer of counsel. Talk about a role reversal. I was doing those a lot these days.

He didn't respond right away, not that I blame him. My friend picked at the cuff of his jeans without looking at me. Then, eventually, his eyes met mine. In them I read frustration, desperation—and fear. I wasn't accustomed to that look from my brave Kuwabara.

"I guess I just wanted advice. Someone to talk to. Y'know?" he said.

And I did know. I knew exactly what he meant, and honestly, it was better to just give him advice rather than rush into the fray. Although every part of me wanted to help Kuwabara, I had to balance that desire with practicality. This moment in the plot was crucial. Kuwabara's kidnapped cat would lead Yusuke to becoming Spirit Detective. I mean, Botan would probably recruit Yusuke no matter what, but still. Best not get involved and perhaps screw up something this vitally important.

Best just sit on the sidelines like the good like side character I was…and wait.

Ugh.

I hated waiting!

"You know that I'm always here for you," I said, covering my displeasure with a helpful smile. "I'll try my best to help in whatever way I can."

He smiled back, but that same look of desperate frustration chased the good cheer away.

"Does it make me a bad person, if I do something bad to do something good?" he asked.

I worked out what he meant at once. "You mean if you follow their orders to save Eikichi, and they ask you to do something bad to do it?" When he nodded, I shook my head and spoke with firm assurance. "No. It does not make you a bad person. Sometimes people have to make hard choices, that's all."

But Kuwabara remained unconvinced. "But what if they want me to do something really bad?" His voice dropped to a hesitant whisper. "Like, what if they ask me to hurt someone?"

Seeing Kuwabara—the bold, confident, brave Kuwabara—doubt himself set my teeth to gritting. This was not the Kuwabara I preferred. Damn those punks, making him question himself! He was a good, wonderful person, no matter how much of a punk he might be. But what could I say to make him stop doubting that fundamental truth of his sterling character? I hated how dull his eyes had gotten, how defeated his posture. I needed my Kuwabara back, stat.

"Do you know what consequentialism is?" I asked.

Kuwabara shook his head.

"It's a type of moral philosophy," I said, concocting a hasty (and probably flawed) summary on the fly. "Basically, it states that the outcome of your actions matters most—that the consequences of your actions matter more than the actions themselves." I held out my hands, lifting them up and down as though weighing produce at the grocery store. "If you do something a little wrong, but you save your cat in the process, you can justify those actions. The good consequence outweighs the bad action. You've balanced the scales of right and wrong, sort of."

"Oh." He perked up, eyes regaining a touch of their usual spark. "I think I get it."

"But it's not a perfect moral philosophy," I cautioned. "It has its problems. Not all consequences can justify all actions." When he looked confused, I clarified. "Maybe you could justify stealing something small to save Eikichi. But you can't justify killing a person to save her. The scales wouldn't balance."

I'd picked the wrong metaphor, apparently, because Kuwabara looked utterly alarmed, eyes now bugging from his skull. "You don't think they'll ask me to kill somebody, do you?!" he yelped.

"Oh, no! No way!" I flapped my hands to ward off pesky philosophical flies. "It was just an example, promise! Philosophy is all about the hypotheticals!"

"I'll say. Hypotheticals and heart attacks." Kuwabara crossed his arms over his chest with a hearty harrumph. "One of which you nearly just gave me, I might add!"

"Sorry, sorry! It's just, morality isn't black and white. It's grey." I looked at my feet, where they kicked at the air below my chair. I murmured, "It's a thousand different degrees of grey, dark or light relative to where you cast a shadow. There are as many approaches to morality as there are routes to get to school in the morning." But because that line of thinking wasn't helpful to Kuwabara, I lifted my eyes and met his with a supportive smile. He smiled back, uncertain, but his expression cleared when I said, "You're a good person, Kuwabara. You're an ethical person. You're a kind person. Just do what you think is right. If there's a line you can't cross, don't cross it. I'm sure you'll be amazing."

Although his cheeks colored and he began rubbing the back of his wide neck, flushed with pleased embarrassment, he still looked uncertain. "But what if I—?"

"But nothing." I would not allow Kuwabara to doubt how amazing he was. I sat up straight and glared at him; he 'eeped', scooting back on my bed until his shoulders hit the wall. "And don't you dare be afraid to ask for help. The minute you need me, I'm here. I trust you to handle this. But I trust you'll know when you're out of your depth, and that you'll call me when you need to. "I softened my voice and smiled. "I'm serious. Just call me, OK?"

Kuwabara—expression less worried now, eyes less tight, jaw less clenched—nodded. Relief flooded me when he smiled, kind and warm and grateful and the Kuwabara I adored so much.

"Yeah. OK. Thanks, Keiko." He looked like he meant it. "For having my back, I mean."

I grinned and said, "Always." And I meant that, too.

I walked him out of my home shortly afterward, waving as I watched him walk down the street to prepare for the day to come. When he disappeared around the end of the street, I dropped my hand and stared after him in silence.

He was leaving me to meet destiny. I was sure of it.

Kuwabara remained blissfully unaware of the larger stakes, the larger fates at play. He thought only of his cat and pacifying the bullies who had kidnapped her. I smiled, wistful and regretful, at that thought. Soon his world would turn from kidnapped kittens to life-and-death Dark Tournaments, demons and devils snapping at his heels as the wheels of destiny turned.

Like I'd told Kagome: this was indeed the calm before the storm. Kuwabara had just confirmed it.

All I had to do now…was wait.

But like I'd said before: Ugh.


The phone only rang once before I answered—not that I gave it a chance to ring more. I'd been pacing around my room all Saturday afternoon, eyeing the handset (and occasionally screaming into a pillow when the pain of waiting grew too intense). Now I mashed the handset to my jaw so hard I felt it clack against my teeth through my cheek. I winced, eyes watering, and gasped out a desperate hello.

"Keiko—Yusuke showed up!"

Kuwabara sounded utterly bamboozled, and that was exactly what I'd wanted to hear. Right on fucking time, thank my lucky stars! It took quite a bit of acting skill to smother my triumphant reaction and sound confused, saying, "He what?"

Excited and freaked and enthusiastic, Kuwabara told the story with babbling abandon. "I was with that asshole who took my cat, and he was about to hurt Eikichi because I didn't want to punch my friends—you were right, I found the line I couldn't cross—and then Urameshi was there! He swooped in and punched 'em out and then he ran off!" At that his voice lowered with suspicion. "You didn't send him, did you?"

"Nope." And that was the honest truth, so long as I didn't mention the machinations of providence. "I kept my promise. I didn't tell anybody." And I nearly chewed my own arm off with anticipation in the process, but Kuwabara didn't need to know that.

He believed me, not that there were any lies to find. Sounding more than a little impressed, he said, "Well then I really got lucky today, because any later and Eikichi would've been a shish kabob!"

"Fate intervened, I'd guess."

"I'll say," he said, unaware of my wry irony. His voice dropped, hushed with uncertainty. "But Keiko—something weird happened."

"Like what?" I asked.

He hesitated. "Um…remember how I told you about the Tickle Feeling? Those weird dreams I get? And the ghosts?"

"Of course I do."

"Oh, OK. Good!" Why he thought I'd forget was beyond me, but he sounded relieved nonetheless. "The guy who took Eikichi. Well—he looked weird."

I frowned into the phone, sitting on my bed with the handset's curling cord stretched between my desk and my mattress. I absently began winding its length around my palm. "Weird, how?"

"He had these weird things sticking out of his—oh, never mind. It sounds stupid." Kuwabara cursed under his breath. "I was probably just seeing things. I was stressed, and—"

"Kuwabara." He stopped babbling at my firm tone. "Tell me."

There followed a long pause.

"He…he had horns," Kuwabara whispered, as though admitting a dark secret. "But after Urameshi got to him, he didn't have them anymore."

Oh. So Kuwabara had been able to see the demon possessing the guy who'd stolen his cat, huh? The anime certainly hadn't hinted at that—but this made sense. He was far more spiritually aware than Yusuke according to canon. It would be odder for him to not see the horns.

"Oh, gosh, that's super weird," I said, trying to sound concerned. "Why do you think he had horns?"

"To be honest, I feel like my powers…they're getting strange." I heard him swallow down palpable, painful nerves even through the phone. "I've been having more and more bad dreams, more and more Tickle Feelings. It's like my powers are in overdrives and it's driving me nuts."

Sitting up a little straighter, I wrapped the phone's spiral chord around my hand a little tighter. The plastic bit into my skin, narrowing my focus on Kuwabara's words. So his psychic powers were growing? Another thing I didn't remember from the anime—oh, wait. That had been why he'd visited Genkai, right? Because he needed help with his abilities. I'd forgotten for a moment. Perhaps spotting the horns was another prophetic moment, hinting at what lay ahead.

So. Hinting at even more waiting I'd have to do.

Double ugh.

"I'm so sorry, Kuwabara," I said. "That really sounds like it sucks. I'm here if you want to talk it out." My feelings weren't as important as his just then, I reminded myself. I pulled the phone cord tighter around my knuckles. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not really. But when you see Urameshi, can you tell him to call me? He ran off before I could talk to 'im. I wanted to ask about that guy, see if he saw the horns, too. 'Cuz Okubo and the guys didn't see 'em at all and I'd kind of like to know if I'm, you know…crazy." He chortled like boulders rolling down a hill. "Though Urameshi is about as observant as a rock, so maybe he's not the person to ask!"

I cackled, too. "Yeah, probably not! But I'll go look for him, anyway." My lips twisted, humor as painful as the cord around my hand. "Should probably check and see if he got hurt playing the hero, anyway."

"Good idea." I heard a faint meow, and then the telltale sounds of Kuwabara cooing at his baby girl. "Well, I gotta take Eikichi to the vet. Make sure those jerks didn't do anything weird to her."

"I'm so glad you got her back, Kuwabara."

"Me, too. But I'm never letting her outside again, that's for sure! Talk later?"

"Of course."

We hung up. My hand relaxed, cord around it going slack. My skin had pebbled and purpled with loss of circulation, spiral leaving imprints in Keiko's delicate hand.

Finally.

Finally, we were getting somewhere…soon, anyway.

I grabbed my coat and went to find Yusuke—because at least like this, I could do something besides sit on my ass like the secondary character I was.


Cool night air lapped at my cheeks as I sat on the steps leading up to Atsuko's apartment. Yusuke hadn't been in any of his usual haunts. Maybe Botan had dragged him somewhere. Unsure, I waited, idly reading a comic book by the light of the staircase's fitful light until Yusuke rounded the corner down the street. I stood up, shoved my book into my jacket pocket, and planted my hands on my hips.

"And where, exactly, have you been?" I said.

Yusuke—who had been walking with hands in the pockets of his ridiculous green windbreaker—backpedaled, nearly falling on his ass with shock.

"Jesus Christ, Keiko!" he snapped. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"I've been doing that a lot lately," I remarked.

Yusuke muttered, kicking a toe at the ground. I tried to keep a smile at bay when I saw Yusuke's outfit: mom jeans, lime windbreaker, white kicks, a yellow sweater vest, and a red plaid shirt. His most terrible outfit from the anime, and my unabashed favorite of all his dubious fashion choices. Ah, the joys of seeing your favorite fashion disaster firsthand...

"Where have you been?" I demanded, smothering my glee with a glower. "You snuck out again."

He only shrugged, but his feet shuffled against the pavement—dead giveaway he was hiding something. He said, "Just couldn't stand being cooped up, that's all."

"Yeah, well, Atsuko's wearing a hole through the floor upstairs. She freaked when she realized you'd run off."

Green-clad shoulders slumped, arms dangling limp from their sockets. Expression longsuffering, Yusuke moaned, "Aw, man. Can't believe she noticed. Last night she was on a bender; I thought for sure she'd be too hungover to care!"

"You know how quickly she can overcome a hangover." I hopped off the steps and walked past him down the sidewalk; Yusuke turned and followed on reflex, rendering my command a moot point. "Come with me, Yusuke."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Judging by the suspicious glint in his eye, he expected a different destination than the corner store a few streets over, and he most definitely didn't expect me to buy us packaged ice cream from the freeze in the corner. We sat on the curb to eat like we had when we were kids, but unlike when we were kids, Yusuke eyed his frozen treat with skepticism.

"…what's this about?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Just wanted to relive old times."

He didn't appear to understand, not that I blamed him. He didn't know how drastically our lives would change in the coming months—his life in particular. But he wasn't the type to question my motives, so he began to devour his ice cream cone with gusto. After all, I'd paid for it. He had little to complain about so far as he was concerned. We ate in silence, Yusuke blissfully unware that I was savoring more than just the ice cream in my hand. I committed the moment to memory, carving his clothes, the taste of the food, the smell of the wind and the sputtering street light above into the fabric of my recollections.

I doubted we'd get such a moment again.

Yusuke finished his ice cream before I did. He crumpled the wrapper and tossed it at a nearby trash can, throwing up his arms and crowing when it bounced off the rim and into the basket. He settled back onto the curb, legs stretched into the street in front of him, and soon the smile faded.

My moment had come, it seemed.

"What happened today?" I asked.

He flinched, turning his face away (but not fast enough; I saw the dark look cross his features). He said, "What makes you think anything happened?"

"I talked to Kuwabara." That got his attention in short order; he looked my way in shock, jaw dropped and eyes wide. "About what you did, and about what you saw."

Yusuke wouldn't give up his secrets so easily, however. He pasted on an aloof, casual expression, playing it cool even though I could see right through him.

"Oh?" he said with hilariously artificial nonchalance. "And what would that be?"

I was in no mood for fucking around. I deadpanned, "The boy with the horns, of course."

Yusuke's charade dropped, along with his jaw. "He—he saw that?" he stammered. "Kuwabara, he saw—?"

I shrugged. "Looks like Kuwabara is more observant than you think."

For a second I thought Yusuke might agree. He started to talk, but stopped, and the next thing I knew he'd donned that unconvincing blasé expression again, this time with disdain and denial all rolled into one.

"Or just more delusional," he said, turning up his nose. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't see nothin'."

I leaned toward him. Yusuke flinched, practically sweating as we came nose to nose and I glared right into his eyes. The boy fidgeted beneath my look, unable to keep his poker face intact under the weight of my scrutiny.

"You look constipated," I observed. "You wouldn't look constipated over nothing."

He scowled, realizing I'd quoted back at him what he'd said the week before. "Ha ha, very funny. You got me, Keiko." He scooted back an inch, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. "Look. I just don't want you getting involved, that's all."

Kuwabara had told me the same thing. What was with all of us repeating and quoting each other? I tossed my hair and scowled. "I don't need protection, Yusuke. I'm a big girl, and I can handle the truth."

"I dunno about that," he grumbled. "I had a weird day."

"You promised you'd never lie to me, Yusuke."

My words—soft and intense—cut right through his bravado. He looked up and met my eyes, swallowing what was certain to be a rather large lump of apprehension.

"I guess I did," he agreed.

"And you already told me about Spirit World, the grim reaper, coming back to life," I reminded him. "Does this boy with the horns have something to do with all of that?"

"It's—aw, hell." He swore, colorful and loud, before hopping to his feet and rounding on me. "Remember that chick I told you about, Botan? Well, to recap, she's the grim reaper, and—"

He paced while he talked, a caged tiger without an outlet for his boundless, lashing energy. Hands waving, volume flying up and down, he acted out the day's events down to the dialogue (his impressions of Botan, Kuwabara, and Koenma, by the way, were as accurate as they were hilarious, though I tried my best not to laugh). According to Yusuke, he'd stumbled upon Kuwabara by chance, noticed the guy with the horns, and had followed Kuwabara to an empty lot because he'd been so curious. Then he'd helped save the cat, had punched out the thug, and watched a tiny little horned man with blue skin climb out of the kid's unconscious mouth.

I made sure to look thoroughly shocked at that part.

"And suddenly Botan was there, wearing that stupid fortune teller outfit from earlier!" Yusuke said. "The next thing I know, Koenma's big dumb toddler face was floating in the sky and calling me a Spirit Detective—whatever that's supposed to mean." At that he stomped a foot and faced me, squatting down to eye level. "Am I crazy, Keiko?" he asked, eyes as wild as they were desperate. "Demons, reapers, detectives—this is nuts, right?"

"You're not crazy," I assured him, patting his arm. I kept my voice measured and soothing, trying to assuage his high-alert nerves. "You defied death and came back to life, Yusuke. In light of that, demons and reapers seem par for the course."

He deflated, head hanging between his knees.

"OK," he said, breathing deep and long. "OK. OK, good. So I'm not nuts." He tossed his head back and glared at the sky. "Hear that, toddler bitch? I'm not nuts!"

His brazen attitude reduced me to giggles. Digging my elbow into his ribs, I teased, "You're destined for a different kind of life, Yusuke, that's for damn sure."

Yusuke looked less than pleased by this. One fist lifted aggressively toward the sky. "Figures! All I want is to skip class, beat up jerks, and stick it to the man. So why'd the man have to pick me to be his errand boy, huh?!"

"Don't you mean why'd the baby pick you to be his errand boy?"

He blinked, then gnashed his teeth as the joke struck home. "Oh, shut up, Keiko! That just makes it worse!"

"Well, just look at it this way: If Spirit World keeps giving you cases like the one they did today, it seems you'll be fighting a lot in the days to come." I winked at him. "That's one part of your grand life plan that can commence on schedule, right?"

"Hey, yeah. That is a perk!" he said, sitting up a little straighter. His pleased expression turned quite sly, eyes gleaming with untold mischief. "And with them at my back I can't get in trouble for fighting, now can I?"

"Oh, god," I intoned with overstated horror. "I've created a monster."

Yusuke's eyes narrowed. "Is that a pun? Like monster, demon…"

Took me a minute to catch on, but when I did, I slapped my knee and chortled in Yusuke's face.

"Oh, ha!" I said. "Pun not intended, but wow! I'm brilliant!"

"No, you're annoying." He popped off the curb like a jack atop a spring and extended a hand. "C'mon. Let's go see my mom. I gotta face the music."

Pleased at his apparent show of responsibility and helpfulness, I reached for him. I should've know better, though. Yusuke retracted the hand just as I tried to grab it, cackling maniacally when I nearly fell on my face. There commenced a game of chase, in which I herded him back to his mother's apartment through the empty nighttime streets. Atsuko waited at the top of the stairs; when she saw us, she let out a hideous shriek. Yusuke muttered an expletive, skidding to a halt as Atsuko bounded down the stairs in our direction. Between one second and the next she caught Yusuke in an impressive frog-choke.

"Yusuke, you little shit!" she yelled in his ear. "You had me worried sick!" While he squirmed and hollered in protest, Atsuko smiled at me over his head. "Thanks for bringing him back, Keiko. You're a gem." She glared down at her son, eyes like daggers. "Unlike the child I birthed! What were you thinking, Yusuke, running off like that?"

Face a comical shade of puce, Yusuke managed to choke out the words, "I'm fine, Mom! Jeez! But I won't be if you strangle me to death!"

Atsuko ignored the last part of his statement. "Fine?" she repeated. "You're fine? Well, your physical therapist agrees with you! Clearly if you're fine enough to be sneaking out, you're fine enough to go back to school!"

Yusuke went outright violet, then, yelping a smothered "What?!" into his mother's armpit.

"That's right," Atsuko declared. "I talked to the principal and she's willing to take you back on Monday." When Yusuke protested, her arm tightened around his neck. Even I feared Atsuko's glare just then. "And don't you dare complain, mister, because I had to call in a favor to get you your spot back. You should be thanking me for wasting a favor on you!"

I giggled, remembering the big black vans from the manga, and the subsequent implication Atsuko had called in a favor from the Yakuza to get Yusuke back into school—but as Atsuko dragged Yusuke up the stairs, my smile faded.

I'd been right, I realized.

The moon tonight was three quarters full. Yusuke would return to school on Monday. Kurama would use the Mirror on Wednesday, when the moon reached its bright peak.

We stood on the precipice of the Artifacts of Darkness case—Yusuke's first foray into the supernatural that would soon claim his life for its own.

We were there, or just about.

The wait was almost over.


Before the wait could end, however, I got an unexpected call.

For all the waiting I'd done that weekend, and for all the waiting I'd done for phone calls in particular, this call I did not expect. Amagi had never called me before. I almost didn't recognize her voice over the phone when I answered it early Sunday morning, still groggy. I hadn't quite made it out of bed after my late night with Yusuke on Saturday.

"Keiko, I'm so sorry," she said, "but it's an emergency."

Any and all traces of sleep vanished at the sound of her worried voice. I sat up in a tumble of sheets and shook my head, hair flying about like a mad genius's. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I was just up cooking—you know, for Minamino?—and—"

I suppressed a sigh, passing a hand down my face. Ugh. Not him.

"—and our stove caught fire!" she said. I gasped in spite of myself. "My parents are out of town and I'm here with my brother, so—"

"Are you OK?" I asked. Keiko's helpful, responsible brain was already thinking of a place Amagi could sleep, and who to call for repairs. "Do you need help? I can get my parents—"

"Oh, no, it's fine. I called my aunt. She's going to handle things, but now I have to watch my brother." Her voice nearly broke. "I'm so sorry, Keiko, but I don't think I can cook Minamino dinner! Could you take over today and bring it to him? I can give you his address."

For a second I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. I'd forgotten the more dedicated fangirls took Minamino dinner on the weekend—and that Amagi was one of those girls.

And now she expected me to be one, too?

And so soon after Kurama had told me to buzz off?

I had no idea what to say, what to feel. Clearly I couldn't take him food. Clearly I shouldn't take him food. Clearly I should stay away from him, not go near him, just fucking wait until after the Mirror incident—

Amagi took a deep breath.

"Please," she croaked, voice trembling. "Please, Keiko. Help."

I opened my mouth to say no. Instead, an image of her dark hair, her long neck, her liquid eyes played through my head—only in this image, her eyes filled with shimmering tears. My heart softened, and to my horror, so did my resolve.

Damn my weakness for crying women. Damn it all to hell and back!

I took a deep breath of my own, and—knowing this was a bad idea, but knowing I didn't have the power to say no—spoke.

"OK," I heard myself say. "Give me the address."

So much for waiting, I guess.


NOTES:

We, um, had a massive turnout of readers last chapter, and in the process we somehow managed to break the 1,000 review mark. WHAT. HOW. WHAT. Despite being so loquacious, I'm beyond words. You are all ENTIRELY too kind, and I can't thank you enough for sticking with this story. MANY THANKS TO ALL OF YOU, but especially to milleniumrain16, ballet022, KaseyKay10, 431101134, Yakiitori, Counting Sinful Stars, tatewaki2000, reebajee, A, Bring On the Chaos 95, CrystalVixen93, wennifer-lynn, general zargon, xenocanaan, sousie, HatakeSunflower64, Ne Quittez Pas, o-dragon, HereAfter, Saria19, RedPanda923, Tsuki-Lolita, ahyeon, FireDancerNix, Yunrii, brave-story, Yuriko-Rurinia, Kaiya Azure, LittleWesties9, DiCuoreAllison, Marian, Too Young to Feel this Tired, rezgurnk, AkaMizu-chan, Corralinne, buzzk97, JollyLoser, essex2, Rachael, MetroNeko, Heliumbamboo, KitsuneWho, SesshomarusLuvr, Mr. Jengablock, Chi-chan, cocobyrd87, MyHeartBeating-MWMI, Dreaming while awake, Shadow demon Kitsune, mercurae, CaetlynM, and three unnamed Guests!