Warnings: None


Lucky Child

Chapter 75:

"Happy New Year"


Minato had the Switcheroo monopoly on being a solder, but I'd read The Art of War, and as I marched out of the kitchen and right up to Kuwabara-san I held a quote of Sun Tzu's tight in my focused head.

"If quick, I survive," he'd written.

I needed to strike fast, before Yusuke could get wise and ruin all my fun… mwa ha ha.

Atsuko hung onto Kuwabara-san's arm as he chatted with my parents. She fluttered her eyelashes and laughed at something he said, but he just shot her a sidelong look from behind his tinted glasses and kept talking, apparently unmoved. My mom caught my eye as I neared; one of her brows darted up, wordlessly conveying all the "what the heck is Atsuko thinking?" that had filled my own brain moments earlier. I shot her a sunny grin and said nothing, instead walking straight over to Kuwabara-san and chirping a polite "Hello!"

"Keiko!" he said, grinning his easy, lazy grin. "Good to see ya. Kazuma's been talking about this party all week."

"I'm glad you could make it." I aimed my smile at Atsuko. "I see you've met Yusuke's mother."

"I have," said Kuwabara-san.

Atsuko pulled herself tighter against his side. "We get along thick as thieves, you might even say," she said, eyelashes all aflutter.

"You might." Kuwabara spoke with the casual air of a summer breeze when he asked, "Need help with anything?"

"Actually, yes," I said. "Can you help me with something in the kitchen real fast? I threw out my shoulder and I'd love help lifting a crate."

"Of course." He gently pulled his arm away from Atsuko. "Be right back."

Atsuko looked less than pleased with this development, of course, watching as Kuwabara-san followed me away from her with a look of comical displeasure on her face, but I paid her little heed and led the way into the kitchen. Kuwabara-san immediately leaned his shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as I spun to face him.

"So." I smoothed down the front of my dress. "Ahem."

"There is no crate, is there," he said—but it was not a question.

"None," I replied.

His eyebrows hiked above the frames of his glasses. "But something tells me you weren't rescuing me from Atsuko, either."

"Kind of the opposite." I scratched the back of my neck. "I, uh. I was wondering if you'd play along. Flirt back, maybe?"

Kuwabara-san didn't reply right away. His glasses merely slid down his thin nose, revealing the cast of his dark and narrow eyes. He towered over me even when leaning against the door, arms like hams where they crossed over his chest. I'd met him a few times over the past year, but mostly in passing. He ran an imports business, long hours and lots of travel, and wasn't home much—hence Shizuru assuming the role of "mom" in the Kuwabara household. Still, even if we'd only met a few times and had only had a scant few conversations previously, that slow, deliberate glasses-slide and the measured stare he gave me spoke volumes: He did not particularly like my query, though the smile threatening the corner of his mouth said he was at least amused by it. Amusement I could work with.

"Miss Yukimura. Now why would I go and do a thing like that?" he said, almost (but not quite) teasing. "I know better than to play with a lady's heart."

Well, damn. Kuwabara chivalry back at it again. I curled my hair behind my ears and shook my head with an apologetic grin. "Yeah. You're right. It was a bad idea. Forget it, just be polite like you were doing, I'll just—"

He ducked his head, hand mopping over his stubbled jaw. "Pfft. So eager to please. You're an easy one to manipulate, you know that?" But his smile widened into one of true humor, a hearty laugh bubbling from his throat. "At least tell me what you wanted." A sly wink over the top of his glasses. "Who knows? Maybe I'll be amendable."

I certainly hoped he would be. I spoke slowly, choosing each word with care. "Yusuke and Kuwabara are both on White Team. I'm on Red," I said. "And I was thinking it would benefit me if they were… distracted."

Kuwabara-san's lips pursed. "Distracted how?"

"… distracted thinking there was a chance they could become stepbrothers in the near future?" I said, voice climbing through the octaves with every lilting syllable.

For a minute, he didn't react. He just stood there looking like his intimidating self, short ponytail and dark glasses and all—but then he threw back his head and laughed, a rich, deep bellow of delight that had me grinning, too. Kuwabara-san braced his hands on his knees and roared, swiping off his glasses so he could wipe at his watering eyes.

"They'd murder each other!" he said through his mirth. "It'd be a bloodbath!"

"I know!" I said. "Isn't it great?"

"You're devious, I'll give you that." He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, pushing his glasses back up his nose with a finger, which he then pointed at me. "Tell you what, kid. I think we can both get what we want. Do whatever you're gonna do to those boys out there. Just leave my side of things to me." And with that he put his back to my and shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, muttering, "Stepbrothers. Where does she get this stuff?"

Although I couldn't be sure what he was planning, I watched him walk across the room and rejoin my parents and Atsuko by the buffet table. Atsuko once again velcroed herself to his arm; he didn't put an arm around her in return or anything, acting as normally as he had before, but despite the lack of change in his demeanor I trusted him to play his ascribed part in the festivities in spite of myself. And if he didn't...

As The Art of War said, "Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows." And if it came down to it, I'd have to go with the flow as best as I could.

We'd set up the gaming area in the far back corner of the dining room, farthest from the restaurant's front door as possible. Amagi had taken over Atsuko's job while I was away, dutifully keeping score on a whiteboard as points were accrued by TV players and IRL players alike. White had a tenuous lead, I saw as I scanned the board, though many of their points come from the TV contestants (it didn't seem that many competition games had been played yet, most of my friends just having fun goofing off). Amanuma and Kurama were definitely the leaders for Team White, tiny katakana indicators next to the points indicating who had scored what and for what game. Kaito and, surprisingly, Eimi were the leaders for Team Red. Huh. Didn't know Eimi was much of a gamer.

"It's no fair you got the kid!" Michi was saying as I walked over. She had a finger raised toward Amanuma, who was throwing darts at a dartboard and scoring all bullseyes. "He's a ringer! A ringer!"

"Hey," said Yusuke in protest. He lounged in a chair near the TV blaring Kōhaku Uta Gassen, a dinner plate balanced on his stomach. Through a full mouth he declared, "I drew the kid's name so I get to keep him. All's fair in love and war."

But Eimi thrust her nose into the air, her previous fear of the Great Urameshi quite forgotten. "Wouldn't surprise me if a delinquent like you cheated," she said with a smart shake of her short hair. "What Keiko sees in you I will never understand."

Yusuke bristled. "And why she's friends with a shrill harpy like—"

A discarded plate sat on a table next to me; off of it I swiped a thin slice of pickled cucumber, which I threw at Yusuke from across the room. It collided with his cheek with a wet smack. As he yowled and fell out of his chair I said, "You'd better think twice about finishing that sentence, asshole."

He glared as he scrambled to his feet; Eimi just beamed as I strode over and planted my hands on my hips, staring at Yusuke nose to nose with undisguised (but playful) revulsion.

"Red Team protects their own—unlike scummy White," I said, making a face.

Yusuke peeled the cucumber off his face and dropped it atop my left foot. "What's that mean?" he asked as I cursed and wiped up the mess.

"It means," I said, "that I can't help but notice you haven't played a single game yet." I indicated the scoreboard. "You're letting Amanuma and Minamino do all the heavy lifting."

Amanuma, nearby at the dart board, spun on his heel and stared at Yusuke with a frown. Those around him turned, too, the gaggle of teenagers zeroing in on us like buzzards on the scent of a carcass.

"Hey! That's right!" Amanuma said. "I like games, but you haven't played any, Yusuke!"

Yusuke harrumphed and rolled his eyes. "Leaders lead. They don't do battle themselves. Everybody knows that."

"Or maybe you're just chicken."

Yusuke's head swung toward me so fast I feared his neck might snap. "Say what?" he said, face turning an alarming shade of red.

I didn't reply with words.

I tucked my thumbs into my armpits, hunkered down, thrust out my neck, and squawked.

Didn't take long for Yusuke to figure out I was miming his Spirit Beast, if you'll pardon the pun. I jerked my head forward and back and strut in a tight circle, making chicken clucks as I got up in Yusuke's face. He turned redder and redder with every buck-KAW, and then he went atomic when another chicken cry joined the fray. Amanuma had assumed a chicken pose, too, as had Junko, and soon most of the kids (aside from the too-dignified Amagi, Kaito, and Kurama) had joined in on the Mock Yusuke fun. We circled around him for about ten seconds making belligerent farmyard fowl noises before he let loose a wordless cry of rage and frustration, at which point we scattered like tasty poultry beneath the talons of a hawk.

"Ugh, fine!" he snarled, and he leveled a finger at the innocent look on my face. "Team lead versus team lead. Prepare to go down in flames, Grandma."

"Perfect," I said, grinning ear to ear. "I propose a series of three games. You versus me."

"Fine. So what's first?" He smirked. "Letting you pick because I'll kick your ass no matter the task."

"Mini Street Fighter tournament sound good?"

"Oh, you're toast."

But little did he know that even though Yusuke was historically a much better Street Fighter player than I was, I had a plan up my sleeve, and I had no intention of losing this game to him tonight.

We queued up the Famicon and got started in short order, sitting side by side in front of the TV in a pair of sturdy chairs. Yusuke picked Ryu (natch) and I picked Chun-Li because I was on Team Red and it felt right to pick the only woman on the roster of playable characters. The game was set up as a one-on-one fighting game, winner the best of five short matches—and in short order I found myself on the receiving end of the first KO, Chun-Li falling under a blast of Ryu's Hadouken energy attack. White Team, gathered with Red behind us to watch, let out a loud cheer.

"See?" Yusuke said, mocking grin on his face. "Told you I'd kick your ass."

"Aw, jee Yusuke," I said, giving him a sweet, syrupy smile. "You sure did!"

He blinked. "Holdup. I don't like this." Suspicious had his eyes narrowing and him leaning toward me, scanning my face for tells. "Why aren't you mad?"

"No reason," I said in a singsong tone. "Oh look, the next match is starting!"

The announcer in the game declared the match had begun; our characters began to bounce in place on the screen. I didn't defend overmuch, letting Yusuke pummel Chun-Li mostly as he liked, though of course I threw out a few badly timed punches just for show. Couldn't let him know I wasn't really trying, after all. Had to keep up the illusion that this was a fair fight.

After all, as Sun Tzu said: "All war is deception."

Thus, it should come as no surprise that I lost that second round, too. While Yusuke threw down his controller and thrust his arms into the air, basking in the cheers of White Team, I pasted on a regretful smile and heaved an overstated sigh.

"Oh man!" I put an elbow on my knee, chin resting on my hand. "You really did beat me so badly, Yusuke. You're so good at this!"

But Yusuke is no idiot even in the face of advice from Sun Tzu. He heard my empty platitudes and saw my sugary smile and stared at me, alarm creeping over his features like an urgent fog. Wheels turned behind his eyes, and then they clicked almost audibly into place.

"Are you… are you going easy on me?" he said, eyes flicking between me and the screen in turns.

I put a hand over my heart. "Why, Yusuke. Whatever would give you that idea? I'm insulted!"

"I'm… confused…" he said, inching away from me in his chair like I'd grown a pair of venomous fangs.

I bared said fangs at him, though sweetly. "I just think you deserve a win… especially in light of what's coming."

He blinked. "What's coming?"

"Oh? You mean you haven't heard?" I said, faux shock plastered all over my face.

Just as Yusuke opened his mouth to question me, the game automatically started the next match.

We traded blows immediately, but this time I didn't hold back. I timed every button press perfectly, lying in wait for Yusuke to present an opening and dodging all of his most powerful attacks. Yusuke's eyes cut my way as he button-mashed, seemingly unconcerned when he left himself open and I managed to get in a roundhouse kick.

"Haven't heard what?" he said from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh nothing major." I grinned. "Just that your mom's gonna get remarried. That's all."

For a second he didn't say anything. He threw a punch. I blocked.

Then he rocketed to his feet and rounded on me with a roar of, "She's WHAT?!"

As soon as his eyes left the screen, I performed Chun-Li's signature barrage of kicks, the Hyakuretsu Kyaku, followed by a swift Kiko-ken that sent Ryu flying. "KO" flashed across the screen; Red Team erupted into raucous cheers. But Yusuke hardly even noticed.

"Keiko!" he said, eyes bulging from his skull. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You mean she hasn't told you?" I asked, looking as innocent as a spring lamb. "My, my. I thought you knew."

"I know I'm gonna put my fist through your face if you don't tell me what the hell you're talking about!"

"Oops! Can't talk now! Match starting!"

Yusuke grumbled and slammed back down into his seat, but his hands on the controller vibrated with barely restrained rage and probably fear; I won't pretend to know what was running through his head at that moment, but doubtless it wasn't good. Still, it was certainly advantageous, because his attacks kept going wide or coming up short, and with a series of carefully timed blocks and counters I managed another KO strike. Yusuke threw down the controller with a curse as Red Team celebrated.

"Game is tied," Amagi announced. "Whoever wins this gets the point for their team."

"Oh, I'm getting that point," Yusuke growled through his teeth. "I'm getting that point and getting you talking, that's for damn certain—"

My sweet smile returned as the next match started and our characters began to bounce around the screen. "Speaking of talking," I said, voice pitched low and conspiratorial.

"Huh?" said Yusuke, eyes locked on the screen.

"I mean. Isn't it obvious?" And with that I delivered my own personal KO and jerked my head to the side, over toward the parents chatting in the corner. "Just look who your mom is talking to so cozily."

A beat passed.

Yusuke looked around the dining room.

His gaze caught on his mother talking to Kuwabara's father like a toe on the corner of a coffee table—and once again he bolted to his feet with a yelp of "WHAT THE HELL?!"

At which point I seized my opportunity, in the true spirit of Sun Tzu, and knocked our Ryu once and for all with a flurry of blows that sent him careening to the game's digital floor.

"Winner, Keiko!" Amagi declared as Red Team cheered. "To Team Red goes the point!"

But while White Team grumbled about the defeat, Yusuke didn't give a rat's ass about our little bet anymore. "What is she DOING?" he said, staring with mouth agape across the room, but before anyone else could ask what was wrong I stood up and looped my arm through his.

"She's flirting, I think," I said into his ear. "And really, really hard by the look of it." I grinned at him when he looked at me in shock, every last molar on display. "What do you think, Yusuke? A spring wedding? Maybe June?"

His glare could melt steel. "Fuck off and die."

"Not before the wedding!" I chirped. "I'm really looking forward to seeing your mom in a white dress."

"That does it." He jerked his arm away and took a step toward his mother. "I'm going over there and—"

But I grabbed him and held him back, dragging him away. "No time, no time! Next game, next game!"

My next chosen game was fukuwarai, that gigantic felt oni mask upon which we had to pin features cut out of cloth. Two horns, a mouth, a nose, eyes, ears—but the fun part was pinning on the features blindfolded after being spun in circles by your friends. Inevitably the faces looked ridiculous, laughter abounding, but to make the game a bit more competitive we'd introduced a time limit to the event, as well. Yusuke grumbled and groused and kept shooting his mother and Kuwabara's father dirty looks as we set up the game, and when Kuwabara-junior came near Yusuke, Yusuke put his back to him with a huff.

Good. I didn't want those two communicating just yet.

"OK, people," I said as everyone gathered around. "We'll get spun around and whatnot, and then pin on the features within the time limit." I nodded at Amagi, who held a small hourglass scavenged from a board game. "Whoever gets their features closest to perfect wins. Sound good?"

"Fine," Yusuke said. "But as soon as this is done, I'm getting to the bottom of—of what you told me."

People murmured about that, wondering what he meant. Yusuke cast his eyes to the floor and did not elaborate. Again: Good. "Secret operations are essential in war." It wouldn't do for Yusuke to give everything away so soon.

"I'm sure you will," I said. I reached out to Amagi for the blindfold kin her hand. "Time to put me through the spincycle."

She giggled and handed me the white bandana, which I lifted to my face and began to tie behind my head. However, as I tied I felt something brush my elbow, and then a cool voice spoke softly in my ear.

"What are you playing at?" Kurama said, voice silky—and the littlest bit amused.

"Nothing," I said, but I couldn't keep the smirk at bay. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you have the most devious grin on your face."

"Do you approve?"

He paused. Then: "Perhaps."

"Don't play coy with me. I can hear you smiling." And it was true, and Kurama laugh. Once I got the bandana tied I reached out and blindly encountered his arm, which I squeezed. "Fill you in later." And with that I held my arms out at my sides. "OK, everybody. Spin me!"

A dozen hands alit along my arms, tugging me forward to the fukuwaraiarea, and with a chorus of giggles I found myself spun around and around until I could hardly stand. Someone shoved the cloth facial features into my hands as Amagi called out from somewhere (world spun too much to pinpoint her exact location) that it was time to begin, and I staggered forward and started slapping the features onto the oni's face. I only had about thirty seconds to identify which feature was which and try to get them on the face, and I had just slapped on the final horn when Amagi at last called time. I ripped off the bandana and surveyed my work. Everything was in… almost…the right place, if not a little lopsided and off center, but for the most part I'd done OK. It wasn't a tough game, after all, even with the blindfold and the time limit.

Still, Yusuke seemed in quite the hurry to get started. "Outta my way," he said, snatching the blindfold from my hand. "Let's make this quick!"

My head was a bit smaller than his; Yusuke had to untie and then retie the blindfold, which took a minute or two (hey, I'm good at knots), and that afforded me an opportunity to scan the crowd. Almost at once I spotted what I'd been hoping for: Kuwabara senior, standing at the edge of the gaggle of kids with a few other curious adults. He caught my eye and winked—and at that wink my heart lifted.

I had no idea what Kuwabara-san was planning, but I got the sense Yusuke would have been less eager to play if he'd known I had a secret weapon waiting in the wings.

But if Kuwabara-san was here, and Sun Tzu recommended keeping plans secret in times of war, I'd need to make sure my other secret weapon didn't get compromised in whatever was about to happen. I pivoted in place until I spotted the youngest of the Kuwabara clan, who stood watching and laughing at Yusuke as Yusuke struggled with the blindfold's knot. I pushed through the other kids to his side and tapped his shoulder.

"Oh, hey Keiko!" he said. "You really kicked butt at Street Fighter!"

"Thanks!" I tried to look sorry about asking for a favor, even though I wasn't. "Say, would you mind getting me a drink? I'm really thirsty but I don't think I should leave…" And I let my eyes drift over to Yusuke, who had finally managed to get the blindfold untied and was wrapping it around his face.

Kuwabara nodded so hard his head threatened to come unglued. "Sure thing, Keiko! Be right back!"

I felt a little badly about tricking him, but all was fair in love and war, and I was very much embroiled in the latter. I sat at a nearby table as Yusuke put on the bandana and wandered toward the fukuwarai face, hands outstretched so he could take the cloth features from Amagi. As people surged forward and started spinning him, I looked over my shoulder and caught Kuwabara senior's eye once more.

He grinned.

I grinned back.

Yusuke stopped spinning and cursed, hands coming up as he staggered in place toward the fukuwarai. "All righty. No sweat," he said to himself, stumbling. "Just walk forward and—"

He never got to finish—because like a snake in tall grass, Kuwabara-san chose that moment to strike.

"My, that Atsuko sure is hilarious, isn't she?" Kuwabara senior's voice boomed like thunder across the gaming area, followed by a hearty laugh. "A woman after my own heart, that Atsuko!"

At once Yusuke spun on his heel toward Kuwabara-san's voice with an indignant cry of, "SAY WHAT?!"

But his fury was short lived, because as soon as he turned away from the fukuwarai,Yusuke stopped. Froze. Stood there in silence as the hourglass continued to run and bleed his time away.

"Uh oh." He turned to spin back around but faced the wrong direction, perpendicular to the fukuwarai instead of facing it. "Where's the—fuck, where's that face? Where'd it go?!"

But it was too late. He careened into a table, and then a chair, as the kids erupted into laughter at his expense, and soon Amagi called out, "And, time! As Yusuke has nothing on the board, the point goes to Team Red!"

Team Red erupted into cheers, celebrating our second victory of the night. Kuwabara senior winked at me over the heads of the other adults before walking away and back toward my parents—and toward Atsuko, who once again latched onto his arm. He gently abided her flirtation as she pulled straight from a liquor bottle, clearly not encouraging it but not embarrassing her but rebuffing her, either (and when she got drunk, Atsuko did not take criticism, real or perceived, well at all).

But I couldn't sit there analyzing their dynamic for long, because Yusuke had ripped off his blindfold and was glaring at me.

"Keiko!" Kuwabara the younger pushed through the crowd, a cup raised over his head. "I got the punch you wanted!"

"Thanks, Kuwabara."

"You're welcome, I—wait. What'd I miss?" He eyed Yusuke askance and whispered, "And why does Yusuke look ready to explode?"

"He's a sore loser, that's all," I said, and I took a sip of delicious punch to celebrate.

Meanwhile, Yusuke was grinding his teeth to dust. "This is stupid," he said, fists in tight balls at his sides. "This is fucking stupid—"

"Now, now, Yusuke," I chided. "We have just one more game to play, one that we agreed we'd play together." Another of my sickliest smiles. "Or are you scared you'll lose that, too?"

"Grrr… fine! One more game!" The goad got to him like a heat-seeking missile. "But I'm picking the game this time. And I say we play… hanetsuki!"

The triumph on his face glowed like a lightbulb, and for obvious reasons. Hanetsuki was a bit like badminton or ping-pong, and it involved hitting a shuttlecock back and forth with racquets without letting it hit the floor. It was a mostly physical game, one that relied on physicality, and thus Yusuke was sure to have an advantage… but I smiled at him again, letting the look drip with sugar.

"Fancy playing in pairs?" I said.

"Whatever." He tossed his hair (although I didn't move thanks to the metric fuck-ton of gel keeping a stranglehold on its placement). "I don't care. I'm going to beat your ass so hard—"

"How about letting me pick your partner since you picked the game?" I said.

He agreed on impulse, eager to get back to taunting me. "Sure, sure, whatever handicap you think you—wait." His eyes popped open, wider even than his big, fat mouth. "Wait, no, back up—"

"I pick Kuwabara to be your partner." Ignoring Yusuke's sputtering, I turned to Amagi and bowed at her Western-style, extending a hand for her to take. "Amagi, would you do me the honoring of being my doubles buddy?"

"Certainly." Her chin lifted with understated pride. "I am on the tennis team, you know."

"Which makes you my secret weapon."

Yusuke, behind me, cradled his head in his hands and moaned, "No no no no no, not Kuwabara!"

"Hey, what the heck did I do?" Kuwabara said. "I'm great at this game! You should be glad she picked me!"

Yusuke glared at him. "Yeah, well, I'm not, so shut the fuck up and—"

Kurama cleared his throat, then. Everyone quieted down to listen, Eimi and Michiko preparing the playing field in the background. Earlier we'd marked a square on the ground in tape with a line down the middle, a small court where we could play our games. The girls fetched racquets and the shuttlecock from their box in the corner and cleared away chairs so we could have a clean playing area.

"I'll referee this match," Kurama said. "First team to drop the shuttlecock—"

(At that word somebody snickered; I think it was Junko, and then Yusuke snickered, too. Kurama ignored them both)

"—five times, loses. If the shuttlecock is knocked out of bounds, it's counted as a drop."

"We know the rules," Yusuke whined.

"Fine." Kurama's lips twitched, but he said nothing as Kuwabara, Yusuke, Amagi and I all lined up on the respective sides of our courts. He stood near the midcourt line and raised a hand into the air. "Ready? Begin!"

The game began with White Team serving, Kuwabara gently knocking the shuttlecock over onto our side of the field with a flick of his thick wrist. Amagi knocked it back with a practiced sweep of her arm, and Yusuke passed it back our way without much trouble—though he had to dodge around Kuwabara to get to it in time. The game was more about reflexes and speed than power, and on such a small court Kuwabara's bulk didn't do them any favors. He filled the space to the brim, the boys tripping over each other like a pair of puppies not yet grown into their feet. No wonder, then, that they dropped the shuttlecock first—especially since Yusuke kept shooting Kuwabara death glares, even when the big guy wasn't in his way.

"Dammit, Kuwabara!" Yusuke said. He shoved him toward the back of the court. "You stand back there and don't move!"

"Fine!" Kuwabara said. "But you're gonna have a real hard time manning the front line by yourself!"

"Shut up! I can handle it!"

"Can you, Yusuke?" I called, words melodic and smooth. "Knowing what's happening right over there?"

I didn't look over at his mother. I didn't need to; he knew what I meant, and it wasn't yet time to trigger the sleeper agent that was Kuwabara. Yusuke rounded on me with a snarl. "Shut up, you old witch!"

"Hey, don't call her that!" Kuwabara looked between Yusuke and me with a confused scowl. "And what's even up with you two, anyway? You're acting really weird!"

"It's nothing, Kuwabara." I passed Amagi the shuttlecock to serve. "Let's just play."

Kurama watched our argument with shrewd eyes, but he made no comment as he lined us up for another round. We commenced play in short order—and as it turns out, keeping Kuwabara at the back wasn't a terrible idea, after all. He hit everything that went back there with his long arms, leaving the nimbler Yusuke to dodge and dart to catch the shorter shots, and when I sent a shot toward the back of the court, Kuwabara hit it a bit harder than intended. In fact, he spiked it, shuttlecock flying hard toward us and hitting just inside the midcourt line with a loud snapping sound. I jumped back from it with an 'eep' of fright.

"I'm sorry!" Kuwabara yelped; he dropped his racquet. "I didn't meant to hit it that hard! Keiko, I'm sorry!"

"No, no, you did a good job!" I said (wow, Kuwabara really didn't know his own strength, did it?). Beaming, I looked at the other half of Team White and said, "See, Yusuke? Maybe it won't be so bad!"

He almost threw down his racquet, too. "Oh, fuck you, Keiko!"

"Yusuke! Language!" Kuwabara said—but his brow furrowed. "Wait. You're being weird again. Maybe what won't be so bad?"

At that point others had caught on, too. We had a captive audience, after all, so it made sense they'd all eventually realize there was something going on they didn't know about. A murmur picked up; Kurama stared at me, clearly wondering what the hell was going on, so I looked at him and winked.

"Let's just play again, OK?" I said, and Yusuke was more than happy to change the subject away from his mom marrying Kuwabara's dad.

However, it seems I'd miscalculated just a smidge, because this time Yusuke played with a fury unmatched. Fueled by rage, he hit back strike after vicious strike, slamming the shuttlecock into the ground and scoring his team a second point singlehandedly—upping the score from one to two. If they scored one more time, they'd win.

Amagi and I exchanged a glance as Yusuke did a victory lap. I knew full well Amagi was the better of the two of us, catching most shots and scoring our only point—which meant I needed to step up my game and start pulling my own weight. It was time to kick things up a notch.

"Wow!" I said as Yusuke settled back onto the court. Spinning my racquet between my hands, I said, "You two really do work well together. Bodes well for family harmony!"

Yusuke's elated expression shattered. "I swear to god, Keiko, if you keep talking—"

"Family harmony?" Kuwabara said. "What do you…?"

And with that, the time for subtlety was over. It was time to call in the sleeper agent. As such, I let my eyes drift. Yusuke started to talk, probably to tell me to stop, but then he face-palmed and sighed and gave up with a slump of defeated shoulders. The innocent Kuwabara, meanwhile, followed my gaze, staring with uncomprehending eyes at Atsuko and Kuwabara senior for one moment, then two.

His eyes screwed up.

"Wait," he said. He pointed at his chest. "My dad." He pointed at Yusuke. "And your… mom? They're…? Wait. Um." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm… confused?"

Perfect. Kuwabara had been rendered useless. I caught Kurama's eye. We exchanged a nod, and with a glimmer of mischievous green eyes he raised his hand into the air.

"Next round, start!" he said.

Yusuke yelped, something about not being ready, but Amagi served without mercy. Yusuke hit the shuttlecock back to her, scrambling just in time to catch the serve, but Kuwabara didn't move. He stood at the back of the court and stared at his parent, not even registering that the game had begun anew.

"I mean. Dad couldn't," he was saying to himself, but he didn't sound sure. "Dad—he wouldn't, though?"

"Dammit, Kuwabara, this is no time to space out!" Yusuke yodeled as he hit back another shot.

Kuwabara turned to Yusuke as if sleepwalking. "But your mom—and my dad—if they—" His eyes bugged out of his head. "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! What the heck is my dad doing?!"

Yusuke hit a shot at Amagi; she spiked it, and it landed with a smack right at Kuwabara's unware feet. He started and did a double-take at the shuttlecock, knock-kneed with surprise, and then he yelped and jumped back with reaction most delayed.

This time Yusuke really did throw down his racquet. "Dammit Keiko! That was dirty!"

"All's fair in love and war," I said, pitiless as I quoted Yusuke (and Sun Tzu), "and in this case we've got both." I pointed my racquet at them. "Now pony up, kiddos. We're in our final round."

But Kuwabara still hadn't noticed. He marched up to his teammate and grabbed him by the collar. "Yusuke! Tell your mom to get off my dad!"

"Tell your dad to get off my mom!" Yusuke countered.

"My dad is a gentleman and he would never—"

"Yeah, well, my mom has better taste than—"

"Now, now," I scolded. "Stepbrothers shouldn't fight."

"STEPBROTHERS?!" the pair roared in abject disgust.

"Round five, begin!" Kurama said, and the boys gave a little screech of unified fright before diving back into position on the court.

As predicted, the boys were all over the place, tripping over each other and snarling insults and flailing as they fought to keep up with the game despite the fissure that had just opened in their teamwork. But they were warriors, the both of them, and the adrenaline kept them from losing the match immediately, their frantic thrashing managing to return the shuttlecock far more times than I would've thought possible. Kuwabara sent the shuttlecock back with a roar of rage (glaring at Yusuke all the while) and though Amagi managed to return the shot, she only managed it by the barest of margins. If this kept up, we'd lose even in spite of my meddling—which meant I had to end this quickly.

"No country benefits from prolonged warfare," as is says in The Art of War. Please, Sun Tzu, don't fail me now…

Summoning my nerve, I sent back the shuttlecock with a gasp of, "Hey, boys!"

The pair of them looked at me as one, teeth grit and visible behind curled lips. Kuwabara caught the shot and sent it sailing back, a long, slow shot that arced above our heads like a floating butterfly. I stood up straight and pout my hands on my hips.

"So," I said. "How do you feel about bunk beds?"

As one, they both froze, and the cry of "Hell no!" fell from their lips in unison.

Behind me, Amagi's racquet crashed into the shuttlecock, sending it flying toward Yusuke's feet.

He tried to go for it, but it was no use. He'd been too frozen to react, and it collided with the ground with a sound like thunder. All around us the Red Team cheered, members flooding onto the court to clap our backs and give congratulations. Even Amanuma joined, giddy at seeing a spirited game and not caring a lick about teams in his excitement.

Across the room, though, was a different story. Yusuke grabbed Kuwabara by the collar and said, "Dammit, Kuwabara! You lost us this game!"

"I lost us the game?" he replied. "You're the one who missed that shot!"

"Well, you're the one who has a pervert for a dad!"

"You're the one with a pervert for a mom!"

"Don't you talk about my mother that way, you sorry piece of—"

And with that, the two of them began beating each other up, a veritable cartoon dust cloud forming as they hit and kicked and bit and scratched and tried to pummel the other into oblivion. Teams Red and White alike stopped cold to watch, staring at the brouhaha in mortified silence.

Amagi eventually said, in a voice like a timid bird, "Should… should we stop them?"

"Nah," I said. "They'll tire each other out eventually."

"And the rest of the party will be peaceful for it," Eimi chimed in.

"Yeah," said Michi, sounding completely unconcerned. "They do this at school all the time."

"And outside of it!" Botan added.

Kaito pushed his glasses up his nose with a snort of dry humor. "You keep odd company, Yukimura. Though I can't say they aren't entertaining."

"Seconded." Junko looked around with a grin. "Now where's that popcorn?"

"… Mother?"

The word, spoken with quiet urgency, echoed in my ear like the tiniest of struck bells. I turned to find Kurama at my elbow, fox staring off toward the door with wide green eyes, face bearing an expression of complete and utter surprise I was not used to seeing from someone usually so in control. No one else had heard him speak, let alone seen the woman standing uncertain in our restaurant's doorway. Her liquid black eyes scanned the room until they alit on her son, at which point they noticeably softened.

What the hell was Shiori doing here?

"Oh. Oh shit." The words fell out of my mouth unchecked; I slapped a hand over my lips as Kurama walked away, toward his mother, and before I followed I tossed over my shoulder a casual, "Y'all keep playing games, huh? Night's not over yet! Go, Red Team!"

But no one heard me, too busy egging on the wrestling match between Yusuke and Kuwabara to notice the unexpected entry of Kurama's mom.

She had taken off her scarf by the time we reached her, and she smiled at us with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Kurama gripped her elbow gently, returning her smile with one of his own.

"Mother? What are you doing here?" he said. "I thought you had plans with Hatanaka-san."

"They fell through, dear." And she breezed past that topic at once, clearly not in the mood to discuss (but, like, c'mon—dish that hot goss, girl!). To me she said, "Is it all right that I came by?"

"Of course it is," I said, hoping to soothe the true anxiety I saw building in her expression. "Let me take your coat; come in, come in!"

Kurama stood back a ways, unable to keep all of the nerves off his face (though he did a good job keeping about 98% of them at bay), as I hung up his mother's coat and scarf. He looked like he might be sick, or at least sick with worry, as my parents walked over and eyed Shiori over. They smiled, wondering who she might be, and I stepped in to smooth the introductions. Something told me Kurama wasn't feeling up to the task just then, or that I least I should spare him from having to try.

"Mom, Dad?" I said. "This is Minamino-san, Shuichi's mother."

My mother gasped. "Good heavens, you are lovely!"

Shiori put a hand to her cheek. "Oh, my."

Mom's cheeks colored. "I'm sorry, I just—you are so lovely. And I've been wanting to meet you for ages and I'm overreacting. But you are, though. Lovely, I mean. Um?"

I beamed at everyone present. "And now you see where I get my awkward streak."

"I think you're both charming," Shiori said, laughing her dainty laugh. She dipped a bow. "I'm glad to meet you, as well. Your daughter has been a wonderful friend to my son, and I'm delighted to meet the parents who raised such a kind young lady."

I dismissed the compliment with a dramatic wave. "Oh, stop it, stop it! You're making me blush."

"Yes, Keiko's head will swell if you keep that up," Dad teased. I stuck my tongue out at him as he said, "Have you had dinner? There's food aplenty if you're hungry."

"I'd love something to eat." Shiori looked at her son. "Shuichi, are you…?"

"I've eaten, thank you." But his words sounded rehearsed, almost, like he'd been standing back and practicing while the rest of us talked. "The younger generation is playing competitive New Year's games."

"You should watch after you have a bite," I said.

"And after you meet everyone else." Mom looped her arm through Shiori's with a smile. "This way, this way!"

My parents shuffled Shiori off with much chattered conversation; I know where I get my albatross streak, is all I'm saying. Shiori looked over her shoulder at Kurama with a smile, and he only belatedly returned it before she was swept away into the kitchen. He looked utterly stunned, running a hand through his hair and swallowing, red strands hanging around his face like blood. I stepped into his shadow and put a hand to his elbow.

"You OK?" I said.

"I apologize for the inconvenience." Once again his words sounded robotic, spitting out like he'd prepared them ahead of time—but when our eyes met, some hard guard in his dropped the slightest bit. "I didn't think she was coming," he said, as if it explained everything.

Perhaps it did. But I wasn't sure why or how, just then.

"Oh, don't worry." I offered him one of my more sincere smiles, trying to soothe another member of the Minamino family. Kurama truly was more like his mother than he realized. "We made food for an army and my mom was dying to meet yours. She's in good hands."

He did not reply right away. I squeezed his arm, gentle and reassuring.

"Really, Kurama," I murmured. "Don't worry."

He tried to smile. "I won't. It's just—Mother doesn't have many friends." His eyes strayed toward the kitchen, restless. "I hope she…"

"She'll do fine." Like my parents with Shiori, I looped my arm through his and tugged him along after me. "C'mon. No sense standing around stressing."

Kurama heard the wisdom in this, and the trouble in his eyes quieted the smallest bit. He followed me in silence back to the gaming area and did not complain when I installed him in the Street Fighter seat, pairing him up with Amanuma for a friendly, non-competition game. Fun. That was the goal, to get his mind off his mother's social life for two seconds and relax, to have fun. Soon enough the ploy worked, Amanuma's good cheer and enthusiasm coaxing a smile from Kurama's lips and relaxation into his tight shoulders.

Later, Shiori left the kitchen, and later still, Kurama laughed at something Amanuma said. Eyes drawn across the room by the sound of her son's voice, I watched as Shiori searched for her son. Spotted him. Watched him laugh and socialize and play with kids his own age, carefree for a moment of precious time.

From across the room, she watched her son laugh—and at the sound, she smiled.


I want to make it clear that Yusuke didn't win the New Year's competition because of skill. He won because he got lucky, and because my given name in this life had been given to me in the spirit of irony—a fact becoming more and more apparent the longer I bore the moniker "Yukimura Keiko."

The story of my demise isn't one characterized by dramatic, last-minute point scoring—not on our parts, at least. No, after my victory over Yusuke, the rest of our teammates returned to their various game battles in good spirits, playing casually but intently throughout the rest of the night. Although Kaito made a killing in points by playing Trivial Pursuit, Amanuma also cleaned up by winning the Street Fighter tournament. Thus ours teams were neck and neck for most of the evening—but then on the TV Team White came out of absolutely nowhere with five consecutive wins on Kōhaku Uta Gassen, pulling the real-life White Team ahead at the last possible second. Red scrambled to catch up, but at 11:15 the show ended, leaving us one measly point behind our competitors.

Never one to let a dramatic moment go without taking full advantage of the opportunity to overact it afforded, I fell to my knees with a theatrical "NO" shouted at the sky, hands raised to the heavens in desperation as the program's closing credits began to roll. Yusuke, meanwhile, just laughed like the demon he'd someday be as the rest of our teammates cheered or sighed where appropriate. Within seconds of Kōhaku Uta Gassen ending, Kuwabara appeared at my side to babble apologies, but I just slunk off to sit at a corner table in dejected silence.

If I was to eat this pepper and come out alive, I needed to center myself.

Yusuke appeared in short order (because of course he did) bearing a glass of cold milk, the box containing the evening's penalty game, and a shit-eating grin that could put a dung beetle to shame. The tangible objects he set before me, and then he sat across from me and folded his hands atop the table. Behind him trailed the others, expressions ranging from concerned (Amagi, Eimi, Michiko, Amanuma) to amused (Junko, Kurama, Botan) to detached and maybe a little bored (Kaito, who clearly didn't feel guilty about not scoring more points for Red Team). Kuwabara sat on the bench at my side and scooted close, eyes watering like a scolded puppy's.

"I'm sorry, Keiko," he said. "I'm really, really sorry."

I gave him the stare of a dead and unimpressed salmon and said: "You're dead to me."

"What?!" he yelped. "But I didn't even score that many points."

I leaned in close. "Dead. To. Me."

Standing behind Yusuke, Amanuma's eyes widened. "Am… am I dead to you?" he said in a near whisper.

I paused, hand on my chin, to think about it. Declared: "You get a pass."

"WHAT?!" Kuwabara yelped, even louder this time. "Why does he get a pass?"

"Because he's too adorable to despise."

Amanuma thrust his fists into the air, freckled nose scrunching. "Yay!"

Junko leaned over Yusuke's shoulder, pointing at herself with one polished nail. "What about me? I only scored like, two points."

"You're… halfway deceased," I reasoned.

"Heh. Score." Junko looked inappropriately pleased. "Zombie girl."

Now Kurama stepped forward, hand on the back of Yusuke's chair. "And me, Kei?" he smoothly intoned, sly smile shamelessly decorating his lips.

I glared at him. "Super dead, Minamino. You are super, super dead to me."

Kaito, behind him, shoved his glasses up his nose and laughed. "I can't say I disapprove."

Kurama opened his mouth to say something, a devious sparkle in his eye, Yusuke waved him off before he could speak. "So, Keiko—"

"Oh, and you are completely dead to me." My stare could've set him on fire; Hiei would have been impressed. "Like, cremate-you-and-scatter-your-ashes-deadzos, Urameshi."

He soldiered on, undeterred. "Do you think that pepper—?"

"You're the deadest of them all, ass-face."

"—is gonna be as hot as last year—"

"Deader even than you were at this time last year, in fact," I said.

"—or do you think it's gonna melt your face clean off?" he finished, giggling with every syllable.

"I repeat: Deadzos." My glare grew more intense by the second. "You are dead to me. Deceased. You are an Un-Yusuke. The walking embodiment of not-alive. Pushing up the daises, that's you. Fucking dead to me, Urameshi!"

His grin widened; he traced his finger around the rim of the glass on the table. "I bet this cold glass of milk is gonna look real good in about thirty seconds."

"How are you talking when you're so fucking dead?"

"Too bad you won't be able to drink it for five whole minutes. I'm timing every second."

I slumped in my seat. Whined: "I hate you."

"I'll bet you do." He shoved the pepper-box across the table. "Now eat it."

"Don't rush me," I said. "I'm a delicate lady."

"Pfft." He seemed to find that concept even funnier than me eating a hot habanero, laughing with head thrown back. "As if!"

Luckily the rest of my team wasn't nearly as amused by my plight. Amagi caught my eye; her shoulders sagged, defeated. "We're sorry, Keiko."

"We let you down," Michiko chimed in from her right.

"No. You didn't." I held my head high and tried to be gracious. "White Team simply rose to the occasion."

"Damn straight!" Yusuke cackled (and my graciousness evaporated; I kicked him under the table, laughing when he yelped).

Kuwabara leaned in close to me again. "I'll eat the pepper for you, Keiko. I will. Promise, I totally will."

"We'll split it with you, if we have to," Eimi added from her spot next to Michiko.

And at that even Kaito appeared to grow a heart in a moment of Grinch-like character development. "Much though I perish at the thought, I too will fall on the knife if I must." He straightened his back and nodded once, resolute. "Red Team solidarity, I suppose."

It was tempting to pawn off my penalty onto my teammates, but I had to shake my head. "No. I made a bet, and bets are sacred. As leader of Team Red, it is my sacred duty to eat this pepper on my own." I grabbed the box and opened it. The bright orange pepper, squat and wrinkly with shiny skin, looked like a jewel against the blue velvet of the jewelry box, but I wasn't fooled for a second into thinking this would be pleasant. I gulped. "OK. Delaying it only makes it worse, so—"

"Wait, wait," said Yusuke. "We should at least do a countdown and—"

"Fuck that," I said, and I picked up the pepper and chowed the hell down.

I'd done this before, so I had at least some strategy in place to keep myself alive through the pepper-eating process—and not a strategy recommended to me by Sun Tzu, that traitor. Fuck if I'd ever quote that asshole again. I ate the pepper in two bites, first sinking my teeth into the middle of the pepper and tearing it in half, then without pause biting just below the green stem and taking the rest of the fruit's flesh into my mouth. Two chews, then swallow, tossing the stem aside and holding my hands up over my head and carefully away from my face (because I knew better than to touch my eyes after even gently handling a habanero). Taking only two bites and minimizing chewing would release the fewest juices possible, keeping me from being totally engulfed in flaming hot capsaicin—

Or such was the theory, anyway.

My face lit on fire within half a second, and my theory disintegrated in a wave of pure heat.

The agony was immediate. It didn't creep up slow, hitting me instead like a wrecking ball to the face. My sinuses filled with lava and my eyes welled with tears so hard I could almost hear my ducts producing moisture, and with hands still in the air I rocketed off of the bench and walked in circles, tears falling down my cheeks in rivers, nose streaming like Niagara Falls over my lips and chin. Yusuke cackled and brayed like a manic donkey, slapping his knees at my reddened face, but I ignored him and tried to breathe deep. "Just start the damn timer!" I snarled, trying desperately not to rub at my inflamed nose and mouth.

"Already did!" Yusuke said through his wheezing laughter.

The next five minutes passed in a blur of pain, snot, tears, and Yusuke's merciless laughter. A few people tried to ask me how I was doing, but I waved them off and carved a pacing circuit around the gaming area, concentrating on my footsteps as I tried to tune out the pain—and to tune out Yusuke's unending cackles. Hideki-sensei's deep breathing and meditation techniques brought me a little relief, but unfortunately even that didn't distract me from the stinging hot pain that had invaded every nook and cranny of my lips, cheeks, gums, and nose. I slammed back onto my chosen bench and pillowed my forehead on my hands, trying to keep calm and just breathe. Breathe through the pain, Keiko. Birth the pain like a baby and breathe, just breathe—

Soft footsteps approached from my right, and then Kurama's smooth voice asked: "How are you?"

I swallowed, lips engulfing in new fire. "I am in hell."

"Oh."

"I am in hell and my face is on fire."

"I see," he said, tone grave.

"I hate everyone and everything and I am going to murder Yusuke dead."

"Eh. Not scary," Yusuke said. "I'll just come back."

"He does tend to do that," Botan chimed in from somewhere to my left.

"Not helping, Botan!" I moaned. "Not helping!"

And then I grabbed the hem of my dress, pressed it to my face, and screamed into it.

It didn't help the physical pain, but on the inside I felt just a little better.

When the timer on Yusuke's watch finally entered my final minute of hell, everyone gathered round to watch the last seconds tick by. My leg jiggled up and down under the table, restless with pain, as everyone counted down the final ten seconds like the countdown to New Years. Those final ten seconds seemed to take forever, voices deepening as if in slow motion, and as soon as they hit "zero" I jerked my head off the table and snatched up the glass of milk to chug it down gulp by delicious gulp. It would hurt in the morning (Keiko's body was lactose intolerant) but the milk took the edge off the pain in my mouth at once—but it wasn't enough. Amidst the cacophony of Yusuke's bellowed laughter I vaulted away from the table and booked it to the kitchen, where I grabbed the spare jug of milk I'd stashed in the fridge just in case we needed it. This I took to the sink, where I poured it over my mouth and nose and even snorted a little to clear my sinuses, the dairy counteracting the oil of the pepper and binding with it to neutralize the sting. I was vaguely aware that the girls had all followed me into the kitchen and were watching my horrifically undignified display, but I hardly cared as I scrubbed milk into the beds of my nails and massaged it into my cheeks.

Eventually I felt better (though some sting lingered in my gums and nasal passages) and I lifted my head from the sink with a whoop. "Man," I said, taking a deep breath through the nose as I mopped my face with a nearby dishtowel. "That was a doozy."

The girls all exchanged Looks, and Amagi asked: "Are you OK?"

I inhaled again, with a hand motion to indicate how smoothly I could breathe. "Well, I'm pretty sure my taste buds and sense of smell are fried, but I can breathe through my nose better than ever. That's certainly one way to clean out the sinuses."

Botan's blue brows inched higher and higher. "You… you sure you're OK?"

"Oh, peachy."

"Because you look…" Eimi said.

"You look terrible," Michiko said.

I put a hand to my cheek. "Oh, shit, do I?"

The girls exchanged another Look—and then they converged like piranha scenting blood in the water. Amagi ran water through my hair and repositioned my bow while Eimi adjusted my dress; Junko got her purse and produced an alarming amount of makeup from within the small bag, hiding the redness in my nose and the puffiness under my eyes with green stick and concealer. Botan conducted them like a maestro, rattling off a peptalk about always looking our best to feel our best, and even if it came on the heels of a terrible embarrassing ordeal, it was sort of nice to be pampered like this. We left the kitchen like a marching military unit, the girls backing me up as I marched right up to Yusuke wearing my most winning smile.

He was less than impressed to see me looking fresh as a daisy, though, scanning me from top to bottom with face quite scrunched up. "Why the hell don't you look like hell?" he said, disgruntled.

"Sheer dogged determination," I deadpanned—and I put a hand on the table and leaned down close, nose to nose and leering. "Also. You should know something. Those five minutes constituted the single most productive brainstorming session of my life." I poked his pectoral and grinned harder. "Watch your damn back, boy."

I'm elated to report he looked quite perturbed, especially when I winked at him and walked off, girls flanking me like the army we most definitely were. They followed me back over to the buffet for snacks (eating peppers works up an appetite), and even though I'd had to eat the habanero pepper that New Year's, I was pretty sure my psychological warfare against Yusuke would leave the bigger scar—and that was almost its own victory, pepper notwithstanding.

Sun Tzu had failed me, but one of his pieces of wisdom definitely applied here: "The wheels of justice grind slow, but grind fine."

I'd get my comeuppance someday—even if that day was next New Year's Eve.


Not long later, at only twenty minutes to midnight, my watch beeped upon my wrist. From across the room I heard a twin beep, sound shrill beneath the din of conversation.

Like magnets converging, amid the crown my eyes were drawn Yusuke's.

We exchanged a nod.

Our quarrel with the pepper placed to the side, we began the summoning.

Sounds dramatic, but it really wasn't. We just did as discussed and wandered through the crowd, tapping members of our respective New Year's teams on the shoulder one by one and whispering instructions in their ears. "Hey. Head up to my room." Or 'Keiko's room,' in Yusuke's case. "Why? No reason. Just a little surprise." And people obeyed, because curiosity is an untamable beast, leaving the dining room and disappearing up the stairs to the upper floor.

Eventually I saw that all of White Team had vanished. I'd gotten to most of Red Team already, Amagi the last one lingering downstairs. I tapped her, whispered my instructions, then followed her up the stairs. No one saw us go, nor did any of the adults dog our steps.

Perfect.

Though not nearly as perfect as the sight of my bedroom filled to bursting with my friends, all of them milling around and looking at my books, my record collection, my posters. They looked up when the door opened, staring as I shut it behind me and leaned against the poster of Johnny Cash flipping the camera the bird.

"Shit," I said. "It's crowded."

A chorus of giggles rose up, a few of them playfully jostling for space in my cramped quarters, and when they quieted I cleared my throat.

"All right, everybody," I said. "I have never had this many people crammed into my room at one time before. Um." A deep breath as I surveyed the room, hoping I could pull this off. "This is the first year Yusuke and I have had more than just us performing this little tradition, but we're happy you're here. So follow us and we'll show you the ropes. Be careful, keep low, and it'll be fine." I pushed through the crowd toward my desk and the window set above it. "Let's go."

Eimi and Michiko murmured something about being confused as I hefted open the pane and Yusuke crawled onto the roof. He carried a bag over his shoulder, something inside it clinking as he moved, and once he levered himself over the sill I climbed atop my desk and made to follow suit, one leg hiked high.

"Keiko?!" Kuwabara said. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He was staring at my skirt, utterly aghast. I just rolled my eyes, though.

"I've got shorts on under it, you goon," I said. "We're going onto the roof. Follow me."

It took a little convincing for some of them, but at my urging ("We're short on time!") most of my friends soon joined me on the roof, climbing one by one out the window with my help. Yusuke went on ahead to our spot, where I'd earlier stashed blankets for us to bundle up in; I sent people on to him with promises that they'd understand what was up, and soon, just trust me. Eimi and Michiko didn't want to come out onto the roof at all, scared of heights as they were, so I installed them half-in, half-out of the window and within eye-and-earshot of the rest of the group. They seemed content with this, though they were sad when Kurama chose to come out onto the roof with me and not to stay behind with them.

Kurama stared past me as he exited my bedroom, eyes narrowed at the dark roof stretching off to our left. "Do you think this can take our weight?" he asked.

"… uh." I cupped a hand around my mouth and called, "Everybody evenly disperse yourselves, just in case." To Kurama I added, "Good thinking."

He nodded, smiling as he walked nimbly past me over the shingles toward the others (guy was basically Legolas, I kid you not). Behind him, the last to leave my bedroom, was Kuwabara, who eyed the roof like he really did fear it might cave in beneath his weight. At my encouraging smile, though, he grabbed my hands and let me pull him onto the shingles—but as soon as he stood up to his full height, he reached for and grabbed my hand.

For a second I thought Kuwabara had gotten uncharacteristically bold, grabbing my hand and holding it tight, but when I looked up into his face I realized he wasn't looking at me. He didn't blush, either, the way he no doubt would when holding the hand of the girl he liked, instead staring off into the dark above the neighboring houses through narrow eyes. He swung his head forward and back, looking up and down and all around, scanning the rooftops around us for who knew what. A ball of ice formed in my stomach at the sight, cold and hard and growing larger by the second.

I frowned and squeezed his fingers. "Hey. What's up?"

He came back to himself with a start. "Not sure. I just—" And then his eyes focused on something in front of us; he scowled. "You invited him?"

I followed the line of his sight, looking out over the rooftop and across the alley below, toward the roof of the house next door. Immediately I saw who Kuwabara meant; my eyes rolled, ball of ice in my gut thawing at once.

"Of course I invited Hiei," I said. "He's one of the gang."

Hiei stood with hands in his pockets, balanced on the highest point of the roof next door. He looked a bit like a gothic kite as his cloak flapped in the frigid midnight breeze, one gust too strong liable to blow him away, but he remained unmoving and firm as he and Kuwabara locked eyes. Kuwabara gripped my hand a little tighter when Hiei's eyes narrowed with a burst of reflective red, and then the fire apparition flickered out of sight like a shadow chased away by the sun.

Over with the rest of my friends, Amagi turned her head, but by then Hiei had already disappeared.

"One of the gang?" Kuwabara said under his breath. "Not with that creepy-ass aura of his. Gave me the wiggins. For a second I thought—"

He stopped talking. I waited, but he did not resume. He just kept his grip on my hand, staring at the spot Hiei had been with teeth grit.

"Thought what?" I said.

Again my words seemed to shake him from some trance. "Nothing. I was wrong," he said. He let go of my hand with a start, like he hadn't realized he'd grabbed it in the first place. "Um. Let's go."

And so we went. We went walking carefully over the roof, along the side of the house and to the back of it, to the sloping bit of roof overlooking the large drainage ditch behind my neighborhood. The stars and the moon above shed silver light on my friends huddled together in blankets, hands cupped around tiny, thimble-like mugs that Yusuke slowly filled from the warm jug he'd brought with him in his satchel (though Amanuma went without; he was too young). I caught the scent of sake as wind stripped by and tried to crawl inside my dress, my skin breaking out in gooseflesh. I didn't grab a blanket, though. I wrapped my arms around myself and checked my watch, trying not to let my teeth chatter.

It was almost time, my watch told me. I needed to make this quick.

When everyone had a tiny cup of sake, and once Yusuke handed me a cup of my own, I picked my way down the roof to its edge, to the front of the accumulated crowd all draped in blankets and spare comforters. Yusuke knelt at my side; when another strong gust of wind whipped past, he latched his fingers into the belt around my waist with a little murmured exclamation of frantic concern. I tangled my fingers in his collar, letting him keep me grounded against the driving wind.

"Right," I said. "So. Ever since we were kids, it's been our time-honored tradition to steal some of Yusuke's mom's sake and come out here to watch the New Year change. And since we've made a lot of new friends this year, we thought we'd invite you along." I winked at everyone. "And trust me, this'll be worth it. You're in for a show. But before that starts, in just a minute now—"

Kurama cleared his throat. He sat near the front, a blanket draped loosely around his shoulders, and in the shadow of this drape he pointed one finger up and over his shoulder. I tracked that point with a frown, but my frown disappeared when I saw Hiei standing on the tallest bit of my house's roof, looking down upon us through gleaming scarlet eyes. A smile crossed my lips on reflex; I smoothed my hair, pretending to refasten the bow in it to cover my expression.

"Uh. As I was saying." I straightened up again and smiled at everyone in turn. "Pardon me while I get a bit mushy, yeah?"

Uncertain, most everyone nodded.

"Cool." I spread my hands, or at least the hand not full of sake cup. "So. Here we are. It's been a doozy of a year. I'm not gonna go over everything that happened, because you were there for it. There were changes, big and small. There were good times, and there were bad ones. We made new friends and we kept the old. Silver, gold, auld lang syne and all that jazz." A little laugh followed my joke, but I pressed forward. "In the end, though, no matter how hard it got, one thing remained constant: We were there for each other. And sometimes in this crazy world, being there for each other when times get rough is all we can dream to ask for." A measured look as I met all of their eyes in turn, making sure to include every single person there in my New Year's toast. "I think all of you know I don't consider family those only bound to me in blood. Family isn't forged in blood. Family is forged in bonds. And I'm lucky to share a bond with all of you."

My watch on my wrist beeped. Smiling at this perfect cosmic timing, I raised my cup of sake skyward—and as I did, the bells began to ring.

The kleshas in Buddhism refer to the 108 sins of the human condition. Anxiety, depression, fear, rage, jealousy, they crowd the thoughts and corrupt the mind, and on New Year's Eve the Buddhist temples of Japan ring their bells 108 times, 107 times before midnight and once immediately afterward—both to ring in the New Year and to ring out the old sins, start the world anew and afresh. I'd never heard of this tradition before becoming Keiko. The first time I heard the bells ring in the cold darkness of New Year's Eve, I stood as a child transfixed, utterly entranced by their sonorous peals and mournful sound, every beat of hammer against hollow metal the sound of the universe falling into place around my thumping heart. It hadn't taken long for me to look forward to the yearly bells, and shortly after meeting Yusuke we discovered that our special spot on the roof of my home was in the perfect position to hear the bell-ringing of no less than three neighborhood temples. From that spot on the roof you could hear every last peal as clearly as a mother calling your name.

This was the song I shared with my friends that night. As had I the first time I heard the bells, they sat in utter silence, staring skyward with mouths agape while ringing filled the air. It reverberated off the roofs of the houses and off the water in the reservoir below, thrumming in the shingles under our feet like a chorus of a hundred voices, all of reality spiraling and spinning in place around the call of those pealing bells. You could feel the earth move, it seemed, rotating in time with the song of the bells, delirious and joyful even in its somber song.

"That's why we're up here," I said, though you could barely hear me for the bells. "We're here for those killer acoustics." I raised my glass high. "So, everybody, if it's OK, I'd like to make a toast."

All across the roof, glasses rose into the air.

"Here's to us," I said. "Here's to our friendship. And here's to another year of being there for each other, in the hard times and the good. Because that's all we can dream to ask for." I looked at my watch again. "And… just a second. There. Here we go." A deep breath, the final breath of the cold air of this old year. I said: "Ten. Nine. Eight—"

"Seven," Yusuke said.

"Six," said Kurama.

"Five," said Kuwabara.

"Four, three, two," everyone chorused (even Hiei, I like to think), and in one united voice we said: "One. Happy New Year!"

Behind me, as everyone drained their thimbles of hot sake, fireworks absolutely erupted across the sky.

That was the other perk of this spot on the roof: a great view of the sky, unimpeded by houses or trees, providing us a perfect, secret viewing of the city's firework display downtown. I downed my shot and sat, scooting close to Yusuke to steal a bit of his blanket and lean my head on his shoulder. The others gasped, faces illuminated by the colors of the fireworks blossoming overhead. More gasps rang out when the fireworks intensified, the view was just that good—and for a moment I felt like I was back on that porch with my Nana, holding her hand in the dark, the scents of gunpowder and cold air tickling my stinging nostrils. The sting brought me back to Japan, but the lost recollection didn't leave me feeling empty. It was like I'd said in my toast: I was surrounded by silvery new friends and family, practicing new traditions, but bringing forward to the present some of the old and gold. And as the staccato rhythm of the fireworks continued, undercut by the melody of passing sins, the lyrics and tune of "Auld Lang Syne" bubbled in my chest until I could not help but hum it quietly under my breath—traditions old and new melding together under the light of blooming fireworks and the sound of tolling bells.

Sighing, sake on my tongue and fireworks in my eyes, I leaned my head on Yusuke's shoulder and settled in to watch the New Year come—and for a moment, I think I was happy.


Atsuko had passed out sometime earlier in the night, just before I ate the pepper. She'd gotten too drunk too soon for Yusuke to interrogate, in fact, which I gloated over as I cleaned up around her unconscious body where she lay sprawled and snoring on a bench in the dining room. He'd have to spend New Year's Day sobering her up and then coaxing out answers, and of course there were none to be had. Kuwabara's father wasn't interested, it seemed, and all my taunting that night had been just that: taunting, a ruse to throw Yusuke off his game.

My first prank of the New Year was off to a good start.

As I walked through the dining room with a trash bag, collecting scattered cans and plates and cups, I suppressed a yawn. It had gotten quite late, all of the girls save for Botan having left to go home (we didn't want them going home even later than they already were, and they had the night's final train to catch). Kaito and Amanuma had followed suit shortly thereafter, mostly because Amanuma had fallen asleep in the middle of firework; Kaito had promised to get the sleepy kid home safe, because apparently they lived quite close to one another over in Mushiyori. That left just Kurama, Yusuke, Botan and Kuwabara to help with the cleanup effort, because most of my parents' friends had also split shortly after midnight. The Kuwabaras, Shiori and Mom stood in a corner talking, but as I reached for an empty beer can I saw Shiori yawn demurely behind a hand.

"Minamino?" I said. "You can go if you want to. Your mom's flagging."

Kurama looked up, hand pausing on its way toward a discarded paper plate. He'd been helping me on trash duty; the others all helped my dad in the kitchen, watching dishes and putting away extra food (which, knowing Dad, he's try to pawn off on all my friends as a New Year's gift). Green eyes flicked toward his mother and back to me.

"Are you sure?" he said. "I'd like to help clean."

"I think her carriage turned into a pumpkin sometime in the last hour," I said. "Stroke of midnight and whatnot."

Kurama frowned. "Beg pardon?"

"Uh. Never mind."

He gave me a Look, not understanding my reference to a fairy tale that didn't exist, but he didn't pursue the matter. It was too late in the evening to play 20 Questions, so instead he put down his garbage bag and approached the adults. "Mother?" he said as he drew near. "Do you want to start heading home?"

"It is getting late," she said. Anxiety creased her brow. "But if your friends are still here, I don't want—"

"I can walk you home," said Kuwabara-san.

Shiori flinched, looking over the elder Kuwabara with expression uncertain. His earrings, that ponytail, the tinted glasses and long coat—he didn't look like the kind of man you wanted walking a woman home, unless you knew better like I did. Shiori was far too polite to let on about any of that, of course, but her face wore masks the same way Kurama's did, and thus it was hard not to miss the subtle schooling of her features into a facsimile of politeness.

"I wouldn't want to impose," she said, tying her best to be subtle.

"You wouldn't be," Kuwabara said, cheerful and perhaps oblivious. "That's a man's job, to walk a woman home after dark."

Her eyes cut to the side. "But my son…"

"The kids usually crash here for the night," my mother said, trying to be helpful. When Shiori looked shocked, Mom shot the snoring Atsuko a pointed glanced. "At least, Yusuke always has, and it looks like his mom will, too. The rest of them are welcome to stay as well. We have the futons!" And she held up her hands, sheepish. "They'd be fully chaperoned, of course, if that worried you."

If it worried her, she wore her mask well enough to conceal it. She turned to Kurama, then, with a plaintive: "Shuichi? What would you like to do?"

"Whatever makes it easiest on you, Mother," came his cool and practiced reply. "You're still recovering."

She swatted at his arm. "Oh, nonsense. I'm right as rain."

But Kuwabara-san's ears pricked, at least metaphorically. "Recovering?" he said.

"I was ill, earlier this year," Shiori said, and then she smiled at her next joke. "Or last year, I suppose."

"You'll have to tell me about it on the trip back," Kuwabara-san said, tone firm out of nowhere. "No way are we letting you go it alone now, and like your son said, you need your rest." He looked her up and down, taking in her dress, heels, hose, and pretty blue pea-coat before shrugging out of his ankle-length duster. "Here; take this. Your coat doesn't look thick enough. You should take mine."

Shiori's eyes widened; she tried to take a step back, but he had already begun draping the coat around her shoulders. "But, I—"

"Please." He gave her a jovial grin. "My heart would break if I saw you shiver."

Shiori had absolutely no idea how to handle this. She stared with open-mouthed confusion at the grinning Kuwabara-san, who'd shoved his hands in his pockets and stood there in his white button-up, gold chain around his neck winking almost as brightly as his smile. Shizuru heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead.

"You might wanna just play along," Shizuru said. "He's persistent. And I'll be coming with, so don't feel too intimidated by those earrings." She flicked his hair with her finger. "You're too old for the ponytail, Dad."

"Hey, now," he said, cupping said ponytail protectively. "I think it captures my youthful spirit."

Shizuru rolled her eyes—and at that Shiori actually laughed, eyes squeezing up as she hid her mouth behind her hand. Kuwabara-san looked pleased, beaming from behind his dark glasses.

"Well. If you insist, I suppose we should be on our way." Shiori looked to her son again, almost pleading. "You'll be fine for the night, Shuichi?"

"Of course, Mother," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."

"We visit the shrine at noon sharp."

"I won't be late."

"Of course not." And she danced forward to kiss his cheek. "Good night, Shuichi. And happy New Year."

"Happy New Year to you, too, Mother," he said.

We watched the Kuwabaras walk her outside into the cold in silence, and when the door shut behind them I nudged Kurama with my elbow. He stared after his mother with expression drawn, but at my touch his eyes cleared a little.

"She's in good hands," I said.

His eyes cleared further still. "I know. Knowing Kuwabara Kazuma, I suspect his father to be the trustworthy sort."

"Good."

Mom crossed her arms and smiled, staring at the front door as though she could still see Kuwabara himself. "He looks rough, but he's a gentleman. I quite like him, I've decided, and that's that." She dusted her hands together. "Now. We need to finish cleaning up here and set up the futons upstairs. Faster we do this, faster we can get to sleep."

Sleep sounded ambrosial, so in short order Kurama and I helped her clear the dining room, lug all the spare futons down from the hall closet, and unroll them across basically the entire living room upstairs. Then we went back and checked on Dad, Yusuke, Botan, and Kuwabara in the kitchen, our help the final push they needed to complete cleanup and food repackaging. We turned out the lights in the restaurant and trudged upstairs together in a sleepy mass (Dad and Yusuke lugging Atsuko up the stairs together, of couse), and at the door to the living room my parents bid me a tired goodnight and happy New Year with many cheek-kisses and promises to give me my otoshidama money in the morning (I insisted I didn't need it, but there was really no arguing with them about this particular custom so I let it go and watched the shuffle off down the hall to their bedroom without complaint).

Yusuke and the others had brought overnight bags with them, having heard the drill about our New Year's traditions through the grapevine or through experience, but as Kuwabara and Yusuke headed for the bathroom to jostle for the sink and Botan went into my room to change into pajamas, my eyes caught on Kurama's empty hands and his crisp white shirt. No way could he sleep in that. I'd been about to follow Botan to change, but instead I stopped and grimaced.

"Oh, shoot," I said. "No PJs, huh?"

"I'm afraid not," Kurama said. "I wasn't aware this could turn into a sleepover."

"Yeah, ouch. My bad," I said, because it pretty much was. I'd forgotten to tell him, assuming he'd choose to go home. "But tell you what. I have some of Yusuke's laundry downstairs that should fit you just fine." As an afterthought I assured him: "Oh. And it's clean, of course."

He smiled. "If I could borrow something for the night, that would be ideal."

"Sure thing. Wait right here."

The stairs creaked under my weight as I skipped down them two at a time and headed to the utility closet at the bottom of the steps. Not a lot of homes in Japan had laundry facilities, but our stacked washer and dryer had been an upgrade purchased when the restaurants took off, my parents were delighted to no longer trek to the laundromat down the street every time they needed to wash something. I flipped on the closet light and poked around in one of our several laundry baskets, hunting for some of Yusuke's clothes (I was always grabbing dirty clothes from his house and lugging it home to wash, hence why I wound up wearing so many of his garments much to the chagrin of my mother). I quickly scared up a garish pair of purple shorts and a neon orange shirt, but I set those aside and kept looking for more neutral tones instead. Yusuke loved his garish neon, but imagining the stately and poised Kurama in bright orange—oh wait, he wore that horrible orange coat in the show, didn't he? Maybe Kurama wouldn't mind the neon. He's not the best fashion plate, truth be told, though in real life he was a bit better than his anime counterpart—

Even lost in my inner monologue as I was, I did not miss the creak of our front door opening in the restaurant's quiet darkness.

I knew that creak. I'd heard it too many times not to know it, and my hands froze over the laundry basket. For a moment I heard nothing more besides my heart thudding in my ears, pulse beating heavy in the roof of my mouth—but then three more creaks, slow and deliberate, the sound of feet crossing over our antique wooden floor. Dad had locked up though, right? So who—?

Hiei, maybe, looking for a place to sleep? Or a drunk customer wandering in after hours, not bothering to read the "closed" sign. Moving carefully, I tucked the neon shorts and shirt under my arm and stood up. The light in the closet was near the door, casting my shadow into the closet instead of outward into the mudroom by the backdoor. No sense giving away my position to… whoever it was. I slid my feet over the floor inch by inch, years of living in this space telling me where to step to avoid a creaky floorboard. Breathing deeply, trying to keep calm, I snuck out of the laundry room toward the kitchen, and to the arch between the kitchen and the dining area.

But no one was there when I peeked my head around the corner. Or at least, I couldn't see anybody. All the lights were out, one faint light from the kitchen and the light in the laundry room providing only the barest of illumination.

My skin prickled.

"Hello?" I said. The word came out a whisper; I straightened my back and summoned my nerves, repeating myself with more force. It wouldn't do to sound weak if someone was actually there, watching me, and my mind wasn't just playing tricks. "Hello? Is someone there? We're closed for the night, so if you're hungry you'll have to try the convenience store on the corner." I paused, but no one replied. I repeated: "Hello?"

No one spoke. Nothing moved.

I reached for the light switch on the dining side of the archway. My fingers slid over smooth wallpaper, dry rasp echoing in the stillness as I hunted for the light.

Something under my hand wriggled.

I snatched back my hand as if doused in chili oil, a squeak of shock escaping my mouth as I dropped Kurama's PJs on the floor. Reflexes took over, forcing me to turn in place, back toward the stairs and the people waiting for me at the top—

Instead of darting up them, however, I froze—because two enormous eyes stared out at me from a nest of deep, black dark.

The eyes didn't belong to anything human. They were too big, too 2D, too weird to be human, eyes almost sketched onto the wall opposite me beside the stairwell. A thick black outline framed stark white sclera and round pupils, and around them lingered deeper shadow in the vaguest outline of a humanoid head. But as disturbing as these eyes most certainly were, the fleshy pink mouth below them filled me with greater dread—because it looked pasted there, almost, growing from the wall like a mushroom made of flesh. And that by itself wasn't too bad or anything, except then it decided to move.

A tongue crept out of that mouth to lick its thick, chapped lips—and it grinned, teeth like tombstones gleaming bone white against the shadows of its face.

My lizard-brain took over at the sight. I took a step back, every fiber of my being screaming at me to run the fuck away from that goddamn thing, now!, fully intending to set aside all my pride and make a break for it just so I wouldn't have to look at that horrible tongue even a moment longer.

But it was far too fast, and I was far too slow with shock to escape.

It moved before I could even finish turning around. The thing slid down and off the wall, flat body streaking across the floor in a wash of shadow just a hint darker than the rest of the gloom suffusing my parents' restaurant. I saw it flash past and then I finished pivoting, a 180-turn completed just in time to see those eyes looking at me from the floor below, ogling me like a fucked up Furbie from hell, eyes somehow larger than before and growing larger by the second—

Or maybe they weren't growing larger.

Maybe I was just getting closer to them, because the floor had disappeared from beneath my feet, and I was falling.

My stomach almost flew out of my mouth as I made a sickening drop into empty space. Throwing out my arms, I managed to catch myself on something and arrest my momentum, crying out in pain as my torso swung forward and banged into something—but it didn't bang hard because whatever I'd grabbed undulated and rippled, soft and malleable but firm under my grasp, and then it lurched and bucked and I had to hang on for dear life to keep from falling again.

Something clamped tight around my waist.

I looked down—and this time, I managed to release a high, shrill scream.

My body below my waist had disappeared because the creature had caught me in its mouth, and the object I'd clung to to keep from falling—it was lips. It was huge, pillowy lips the color of bubblegum puckering around my midsection, holding me in place like a thick cigarette. I think I screamed again, then, but I'm not sure, because the mouth yawned wide and a black pit showed beneath my kicking feet, and then the lips spasmed. I lost my grip, slipping into that dark maw like a coin dropped into a well—

The last thing I saw as I was eaten by that living shadow was a circle of grey light, pale and distant high above me, and I fell into depths unknown.


NOTES:

Very much an accident this cliffhanger occurs right as I go on hiatus, but there wasn't much I could do about it without throwing off all my planning. Sorry in advance for any "OMG NO" this might be causing. Truly was not what I intended.

But there's a light in the dark! The latest chapter of Children of Misfortune has the gang's reaction to the cliffhanger. Go check it out to tide you over until next month!

So: My hiatus begins now. See you in August! :) The next chapter will drop August 4.

FOLLOW ME ON TUMBLR! My username is "LuckyStarChild." I post reader asks and LC theories, LC art, head canons for the fic (both mine and readers'), and YYH art. It's the best place to get a Lucky Child fix while the fic is on hiatus.

Many thanks to those who chimed in last week. It was the longest chapter of the story yet (though this one wound up being longer still) and I really appreciated your thoughts and comments: Vyxen Hexgrim, The Adorable Muffin, Lady Ellesmere, Typha, C. S. Stars, MissIdeophobia, Read a Rainbow, Uzu the Talented Uzumaki, Metro Neko, Yakiitori, Lain Inverse, Sterling Bee, Guest Starring As, Kaiya Azure, zubhanwc3, HeeHeeHee01, Blaze1662001, EdenMae, xenocanaan, alicemisuzu, WaYaADisi1, DiCuoreAlissa, Marian, Queen of Cloud, jengurl24, tw2000, Littlebutterfly0, ballet022, some girl, Vixeona, Tsuki-Lolita, ryafire1, ahyeon, faedream, Konohamaya Uzumaki, KhaleesiRenee, buzzk97, shen0, yofa, general zargon, Anime Please Good, Palewen Night, and two guests!