Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 88:
"Girls Protecting Girls"
Condensation beaded on the outside of the can, running over Kurama's long fingers in beads like rounded diamonds. I don't know where, exactly, he'd managed to find a can of pineapple juice in our swanky-ass hotel, but he had found one, and I took it from him without a word. The can felt like a block of solid ice against my fingers, but in spite of my shaking hands I was able to pull its tab and take a sip that was as brightly flavored as it was cold.
Satisfied, Kurama sat beside me on the wooden bench. He said nothing. The bench, secluded beneath an arched trellis dripping with flowering morning glory vines, was hard and uncomfortable, but it had been the closest private spot we could find after—
After—
I took another sip of juice. Swallowed. Grimaced at the sweet taste.
Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed. A woman by the sound of it. Maybe she was in this sprawling garden, too, under less stressful circumstances than Kurama and me. Or maybe she was inside the hotel, and her merriment was too great for a quiet laugh. I didn't really give a shit, to be honest. I just drank my juice until my hands stopped shaking. When I set the can on the bench with a hollow clink, Kurama finally spoke.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Yeah." I thought about the past five minutes—my knees losing their strength, Kurama catching me by the elbow, Kurama dragging me out here and then vanishing, only to inexplicably reappear with pineapple juice—and I nodded. "I'm actually feeling quite vindicated."
Kurama frowned. "Vindicated?"
"Yeah." I thought about the past five minutes some more. My cheeks colored. I picked up the juice can again, to fiddle with it out of nerves. "Sorry I went all noodly on you by the elevators." I braved a smile. "Ten thousand pounds of destiny came crashing down back there, and my knees just couldn't…" A deep breath, bracing and smelling of morning glory. "It was too heavy to keep standing, I guess."
"Kei."
He spoke my name simply, catching my eye as he uttered that single syllable—but that was all he needed to say to get his point across. His eyes said everything his words did not. The intensity in them, brightening the green of his gaze to the color of distilled envy, said he coveted the truth. He wanted me to talk to him. Clue him in. Give him all the answers so his brilliant mind could unravel my words down to their very bones.
In that moment, I was glad to comply.
"He's the entire reason I'm here." I jerked my head in the vague direction of the hotel. "That man in the elevator."
"That man…?"
"That was Hiruko."
Kurama understood the gravity of the name at once, even though I had only spoken of Hiruko one time in his hearing. "The boy who isn't a boy, who placed you in the role of Keiko against your will," Kurama said with confident certainty. His expression clouded. "But he looked—"
"Like an adult?" My hand clenched around the pineapple can, dimpling the metal beneath my fingers. "Yeah."
He studied me. Said, "You don't seem surprised at this turn of events."
"That's because I'm not."
A long silence followed. How long it lasted I cannot say. My mind wasn't present just then. It was… elsewhere. Somewhere quiet. No thoughts raced or fought for dominance in my head. The landscape of my mind was simply silent. Or silent but for one thought, at least.
Hiruko.
Hiruko was here—just like I thought he'd be.
I'd told Kurama I felt vindicated, and I had spoken the honest truth. Knowing Hiruko was indeed present validated all of my recent decisions, and in the face of the Hiei disaster and Yusuke's continued anger, I needed all the wins I could get.
Kurama tired of the silence before I did. "Must I ask why, or can I trust that you're going to tell me?" he said with silken sarcasm.
I wasn't sure where to begin, but Julie Andrews whispered an old refrain in my ear, and I found the thread of my beginning. "That mission in the mountains. Rescuing the ice maiden from a greedy human," I said.
"I remember," said Kurama. "But what does that have to do with…?"
"Botan and Yusuke saw a certain man on a TV screen alongside members of the Black Black Club. He had pink hair. Blue eyes. A smile that could light the world." Another deep breath, deeper even than the first. "They said his name was Hiruko. And the man he stood alongside, Sakyo, was one of the tournament backers." I shook my head, though I wasn't sure what I was denying. "They didn't know that at the time, that Sakyo would be a backer of this tournament—but I did. And with Hiruko beside him, that could only mean…"
Kurama understood. "You suspected Hiruko would be here. In the flesh."
"Yes."
I'd only ever seen Hiruko in dreams. In dreams, he could run away. He could leave whenever he wanted, before I'd wrung answers from his smiling mouth. And when I'd finally wrested control of my dreams away from him, he had stopped visiting me entirely. If I wanted answers or information, I would have to find Hiruko in a place outside my mind. I'd have to find him in the real world.
That was my reason for being here, in the end. Sure, I had other reasons. Keiko had come to the tournament in canon, and changing that part of canon had felt wrong. If I came to the tournament, I could make sure canon stayed on track despite the changes I—or, perhaps, Hiruko—had wrought in it. If I came to the tournament, I could protect my friends from threats they were not even aware existed. More selfishly, seeing the Dark Tournament up close was my fangirl dream. But the most important reason for being here was, in a word, Hiruko. The moment Yusuke and Botan told me they'd seen him with Sakyo, coming to Hanging Neck Island had become an inevitability—even if it had taken me a little while to realize it.
If Hiruko was here, in Human World, he had to have a body. He was trackable. Findable. Punishable. There would be no more running away and fleeing through the landscape of my dreams. I'd corner him in the flesh, where he couldn't escape my questions. The tournament was my best chance to confront that man who'd done this to me.
The man. Not the boy from my dreams.
"Did you know Koenma is here?" I said. "At the Tournament?"
Kurama took my non sequitur in stride. "I wondered if he would appear, but I had not yet been given confirmation," he said, tone even and contemplative. "Why?"
"Well, he won't look like you think he will. He looks your age. Maybe a few years older." At Kurama's surprised expression, I smiled. "He can wear a disguise that ages him. No idea how that disguise works, but I figured Hiruko might be able to do the same thing and look older than he appears in my dreams. They're both deities, after all."
"The logic tracks," Kurama said after a moment's consideration. "But Kei—what do you intend to do if you find Hiruko?"
"Ask him why he did this to me." My smile thinned, but it did not disappear, and in my fist the juice can crushed with a creak of tortured metal. "And depending on his answer, I might try to kill him."
His surprise turned to shock, not that I blame him. It wasn't often he saw me well and truly angry. My hands had not been shaking out of fear or weakness. My knees had not turned to jelly because I was surprised to see Hiruko. I had counted on him being here, after all—and there he was, right there in that elevator, staring at me with his enormous, taunting smile. Just as I'd told Kurama, ten thousand pounds of destiny had crashed onto my shoulders when Hiruko and I locked eyes and he flashed his maddening smile—and with that moment had come unspeakable, white hot rage.
That's why my knees had buckled, in the end. That's why Kurama had to keep me from falling. That's why he had to support me as we lurched toward this secluded bench. I had been so full of rage, vision tunneling and chest tightening and body quivering with unacted-upon wrath, I had been unable to keep upright. I had been rendered paralyzed under the crushing weight of raw fury.
The can in my hand made a pitiful whining sound as I squeezed it again, fist clenching of its own accord. My teeth clenched. Anger bubbled in my chest like magma, hot and searing and solid enough to burn.
Killing Hiruko was no idle threat. If he forced my hand, I knew deep in my gut that I wouldn't hesitate to do my worst.
"He did this to me, Kurama," I said from between my teeth. "He put me here without my consent. He's the reason my life is so complicated. Why every day is a battle between truth and fiction. Why I can't just be me. Why every waking moment of my life I must fight to keep balanced on the edge of a knife—one that cuts me every time I have to lie to the people I care about." Hiruko's smile flashed in the depths of my mind's eye; my hand began to shake, but I kept speaking. "Even though I lie to protect them, I'm still lying, and that just makes them hate me. I'm hated by the people I love. Do you understand how that feels?"
Kurama did not reply. I inclined my head, staring out at the garden before us. A fountain in the center of a mosaic mural bubbled and sparkled in the sunlight. Flowers swayed on a gentle breeze. I smelled morning glory and thought of Yusuke's angry face, betrayed and hurt and lashing out. I thought of Hiei's spat words and cutting insults, telling me I wasn't wanted and should just leave—and then I thought of Hiruko's smile again.
My teeth began, once more, to grind.
"But let them hate me," I ground out. "Let them despise me. So long as they're safe, so long as I can protect them, I will bear that hatred gladly. I'll shoulder it for as long as I'm able, because Hiruko wants me to break the rules at your expense, and I refuse to let any of you get hurt due to my actions." I turned to Kurama, searching his face. "Did I ever tell you he suggested that I kill Yusuke?"
His eyes widened the barest of fractions. "You did not."
"He told me to take Yusuke's place as Detective. To just let him die." I scoffed, putting aside the mangled can so I could run my hands none too gently through my hair. "He said it so casually, Kurama. Like Yusuke wasn't even a person."
Kurama… I think he didn't know what to say to that. He said nothing, tearing his eyes from mine to look at the fountain in the courtyard before us. What he was thinking, I couldn't say—but I knew what I wanted to say next.
"Hiruko—I don't know his exact goals," I said, looking at the fountain, too. "I don't know what he's planning or to what end he did this to me. But he does not care if you live or die, and that means he is my enemy. And that's why I'm here." I wanted to crush another can, or perhaps a certain pink-haired demigod's smug face. "I won't let him win. I can't let him win. And I will do whatever I have to, even draw blood, to protect you from him."
Kurama looked at me again, brows knit above his piercing eyes. "Protecting us is a noble goal," he said. "But do you think we need your protection?"
More subtext. He was too polite to call me a weakling to my face, but that's what he meant. What could little old Kei do to protect the big, strong demons and psychic humans she called her friends? Only not as mean-spirited as that, because Kurama had too much tact to be so cruel. To me, anyway.
"I think you need to focus on winning the fights," I said once I found the words. "Dropping Hiruko onto Yusuke could be deadly at this point." I swallowed; a lump had gathered in my throat at the thought of events to come. "Yusuke has trials ahead. These trials will determine if he lives or dies." But although Kurama looked at me with understated alarm, I did not pause to explain what I meant. I simply said, "In light of that, Yusuke doesn't need distraction. Not right now, and certainly not on my account." I raised my chin, trying to look confident. "I will handle Hiruko in the shadows. And that's why I haven't told Yusuke I'm here."
"I see," Kurama said.
Another long silence ensued. The conversation about Hiruko had cycled neatly back around to what Kurama and I had been talking about before Hiruko's appearance—and perhaps I'd done that on purpose. Perhaps it had been an accident. Either way, Kurama placed his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together, leaning his chin upon them as he studied the courtyard and the splashing fountain. A blossom from the morning glory vines above us drifted down on a gust of gentle wind. I traced its path through the air as it fell, landing on the mosaic tile of the courtyard without a sound.
Morning glories. They had a meaning, I was sure, but I could not remember what it was.
Kurama cleared his throat. "There is a case to be made that Yusuke is already distracted by his distrust of you, and thus distraction is not a valid reason to keep your secrets."
"I tried to remedy that," I said, wincing. "That letter I wrote him—it told him everything."
But Kurama looked skeptical. "It did?"
"Yes. Which means I don't think he read it, if he's still mad. Or maybe he didn't read carefully." My face spasmed. "Or maybe he didn't even get it." The thought was too terrible to entertain; I soldiered on. "But whatever the case, the moment for truth passed by. Now is not the time to burden him with Hiruko. The letter didn't work, and the charade continues."
Kurama mulled this over. Chin on hands, eyes forward, he said, "To reveal yourself means revealing you know his destiny, and if you reveal too much, you could undermine how hard he fights to win." He sat up straight so he could look me in the eye. "I take it you've weighed your options, Kei. You believe keeping him in the dark, distracted by your deceit, is preferable to distracting him with the truth."
"At this exact moment in time—yes."
"In a future moment, could your feelings change?"
"Yes."
I answered him without hesitation, because it was true. At this exact moment, I saw nothing but distraction in revealing the truth to Yusuke. In the future, though? Who was to say telling him the truth of my existence couldn't someday become a good idea?
I was tired of lying, after all.
I was so, so utterly tired.
"I owe you an apology."
I blinked. Kurama had spoken with blunt assurance, face unlined and poised, hands curled into loose fists atop his knees. I curled my long bangs behind my ear, out of my eyes, and quirked a brow.
"Well that was certainly a non sequitur," I said. "And also, what for?"
"Yusuke came to me about you," Kurama said. "It isn't often he speaks of his emotions, but he knows that you and I are close. He didn't ask questions, so I was not forced to lie to him, but…" Kurama didn't smile, but his face seemed soft, somehow, as he said, "That letter you sent, Kei. He received it.
My heart tried to displace my tongue inside my mouth, but I still managed to say, "And?"
Kurama didn't give me an answer, instead trading question for question. "What did the letter say, Kei?" he merely asked.
"Like I said. It told him the truth."
Somehow Kurama's next question didn't sound like an accusation. "Did it?" he said. "Did it really tell the truth?"
"Yes."
"You're sure."
"Yes."
Kurama didn't speak for a moment. Soon, though, he nodded. "Yusuke seemed to take the letter as more obfuscation—as more distraction from the truth than a true admission of it," he explained. "He was angry you did not speak plainly."
I sighed. "Did he show you the letter?"
"No."
"Did he describe what I said in it?"
"No. He simply said it did not make sense."
"Fuck." I ran my hands through my hair again, painfully aware of Kurama's assessing eyes locked on my face. "I had to be careful. If someone intercepted the letter, I didn't want the truth to be obvious. Some parts of it were coded, but I thought Yusuke would be able to…"
Like clouds on a high wind, Kurama's eyes cleared. "It seems he wasn't able," he said, but gently. "Wise though taking precautions was, it tangled your intentions. And this why I must apologize." His smile, too, was gentle, not to mention penitent. "I admit that I believed him. I believed that you prevaricated and dodged telling him the truth intentionally. And that led me to believe that you had lied to me, too, when you first told me your letter would reveal your secrets."
"Irony, that," I muttered. "You're one of the few people I don't lie to much these days."
"And under the weight of Yusuke's persuasive passion, I forgot that fact." He didn't look particularly pleased with himself as he admitted the truth, but he kept speaking, anyway. "Speaking with you now, and him then… I think his ire toward you can be blamed on simple miscommunication."
It was a good explanation for what Kurama had said to me earlier and the accusations he'd lobbed before Hiruko interrupted, but it was also disheartening to the nth degree. "Great." I put my head in my hands with a groan, slumping forward in my seat. "Just great."
His hand alit softly on my shoulder blade. "I'm sorry, Kei."
"Don't be," I said into my hands. "I lie so often, it's no wonder people don't think I tell the truth."
"No. I know you too well to doubt you. I promise it will not happen again." He paused. He repeated: "I will not doubt you again."
The quiet emphasis on the negative brought my heart back into my throat, though for different reasons this time. "Thanks," I muttered, voice thick. Because crying was embarrassing as hell, I mopped a hand down my face and rubbed at my eyes until I felt OK enough to talk. "What should I do now, do you think?"
"I don't think there is any easy answer to your situation." His lips thinned, green eyes nearly grey with inner storm. "I certainly don't think there is a correct one."
"Same." I slumped, leaning my head back over the edge of the bench until all I could see were morning glories. "Shit sucks."
"Indeed," he said, voice tinged with the barest shade of amusement.
"It's just—" I paused and breathed deeply for a minute, organizing my thoughts. "Will you tell Yusuke to look at it again? To give the letter another chance? I think if he reads closely, he'll understand."
"I will try."
"Thank you."
For a few minutes, neither of us talked—and it was actually sort of nice after the excitement of the past hour. Kurama was one of those people who knew how to enjoy a good bit of quiet, how to recognize what needed to be said and not ruin things by pushing for more. His steady, calm presence was a balm for my nerves, too, quieting the last lingering vestiges of anger still thrumming through my chest. When the final strings of rage inside me cooled (for the most part) I sighed and stood up. I stretched my arms over my head until my shoulders gave a satisfying pop, and then I let my hands drop heavily to my sides.
"I should get back," I said.
Kurama's lips curled at one corner. "You aren't going to secretly attempt to murder Hiruko on your own, are you?"
"No. Even I know that's a terrible idea."
"Good. You should go straight back to your room. Wherever that is." He lifted his chin and smiled in a bland fashion, one that suggested (if I didn't know him any better) that he was sleepy. "And I would like to be a part of that hypothetical attempt, anyway. If you'll let me, of course."
Ah. Not sleepy at all, then. Just sly, and hiding it. "I'd appreciate the help," I said with a wry chuckle—but then I bit my lip and cursed. "So. Uh. You won't tell…?"
He knew what I was asking, but rather than give me an answer, his head listed to one side. "What was it you said before?" he asked. "There is a moment in our future that you're trying to preserve?"
"A grand entrance, actually," I said, thinking of Yukina. "One that could save lives."
"I see. Then I will keep your secret." He paused, considering something. "And I feel I should mention that Hiei hasn't come back to our suite since last night, so you have nothing to fear from him, either."
This was as much a cause for celebration as it was concern. "Check on him, if you can," I said in a fit of worry. "His arm…"
"I know," said Kurama, eyes grave. "And I will."
"Right."
We stared at one another. Kurama rose slowly to his feet. Although his movements were somewhat languid, or at least casual, a certain tension tugged at the corners of his mouth and the set of his broad shoulders. This tension abated the slightest bit when he smiled and lifted one hand in farewell, stepping past me and out from under the shade of the trellis overhead. "
"I'll be seeing you after you grand entrance, Kei," Kurama said as he walked past. "Take care."
"Right. Bye."
He took another step, and then another, my gaze locked on his back. He wore a white button-up shirt and pressed slacks, professional even at a deadly tournament—and when the thought of his fastidiousness made me smile, I found myself stepping toward him. "Kurama."
He turned with a ripple of silken hair. "What is—?"
I don't think he was expecting me to hug him around the waist (and to be honest, I wasn't expecting to do that, either), but that's what I did. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, one born of surprise (and hopefully not revulsion), but he didn't pull away. It took him a minute, sure, but soon he looped an arm around my shoulders, chin resting lightly atop my hair. Damn, Keiko was short—short and in dire need of a hug from the one person who knew my secrets and wouldn't betray them without my consent. Running into Kurama at random had been quite a shock, but it was honestly for the best.
I'd need to borrow just a little strength from Kurama, moving forward. I needed all the strength I could get.
"Thank you," I said into his sternum. "For… you, I guess."
"I—" He stopped; breath drew into his chest, long and slow. "Kei. Do you—?"
But he stopped again. I pulled away (because suddenly I felt like and utter and complete dork for needing a random hug and I needed to beat a hasty retreat lest I combust from sheer embarrassment). Since comedy had historically buoyed me through most embarrassments, I clicked my heels together as my hand came up in an overly formal salute. Kurama looked bewildered, but also amused. A win in my book.
"You'll be hearing from me again soon," I said. "Good luck in the match tomorrow." I let my hand drop. "Bye!"
And with that, it was my turn to walk out from under the trellis and across the mosaic courtyard. Kurama didn't follow, and when I turned to look at him one last time over my shoulder, he hadn't moved an inch. When our eyes met, however, he raised his hand—into a salute to match mine, though he didn't affect the stiff-legged stance I'd so comically adopted. No. He just looked rather elegant, standing there beneath the morning glories with his hand shading his brilliant eyes, but even in the shade I saw how brightly and how greenly they glowed.
"Goodbye, Kei," Kurama said, voice carrying on the flower-perfumed wind. "And good luck."
The suite's door shut softly behind me, door hitting frame with only the gentlest of clicks under the guide of my steady hand. The lights were off, the curtains drawn, the barest slivers of daylight eking in where the cloth overlapped. For a moment I simply stood there, breath held, as Atsuko snored somewhere on the living room floor—right where I'd left her, if I had to guess. It was too dark to tell for sure, but her snores sounded like that came from that direction. Were the others still asleep, too?
A low moan filtered through the darkness, muffled by distance and still air. Putting a hand on the wall, I walked carefully through the dark and into one of the bedrooms, then into the attached bathroom. Another groan cut the quiet when I flicked on the light above the vanity near the door (this place was so fancy, all the bathrooms had an actual literal vanity mirror ringed by lightbulbs in them, setup complete with a velvet chair). She lay on her back in the large tub, head cushioned by a pillow and body covered in a blanket. I'd given them to her after she fell asleep in the tub; seems she hadn't moved since the night before. Probably not a bad thing. Botan wasn't used to drinking and therefore had no business wandering off to drunkenly careen about the hotel.
I sat next to the tub on the cold marble tiles. "Botan. You all right?"
Her bright eyebrows knit together above her pinched face; she looked pale, skin slick with sweat, powder blue bangs slicked against her forehead. Her hair had come undone in the night, hanging in sky-colored tangles around her elbows. When I repeated her name again, she cracked open one bloodshot eye. "Keiko?" she said. "Is that you?"
"Yeah. It's me."
"Oh, dear," she moaned as she lurched upright. Botan put a hand to her head and blinked, squinting as though the light from the vanity bothered her. "What time is it?" Her eyes drifted downward; they widened. "And why am I in a bathtub?"
"That's where you passed out. Also, noon-ish. Feeling up to breakfast?"
"Breakf—oh." All traces of color leached from her pale skin, leaving her looking even deathlier than normal. "Oh dear."
I knew what that wild look in her eye meant; I scrambled out of the way as she vaulted from the tub and dashed to the toilet. Vomiting ensued, obviously. I'll spare anyone reading this the gory details—because trust me, they were gory indeed.
"Oh, honey," I said as she wretched. I had been a sympathetic vomiter in my old life, but luckily Keiko's stomach was strong enough to not start heaving, too, at the sound of Botan's misery. Instead I went for Botan's bag of toiletries sat on the sink; inside I found a scrunchie, which I used to pulled Botan's hair into a low ponytail, stroking her back and murmuring comforts as she rid her stomach of the alcohol still lingering inside it. When Botan eventually started to dry heave, nothing left in her but vodka-scented air, I fetched the cups of water and the little plate of painkillers I'd left next to the bathtub that morning. "Try to take these when your stomach settles, OK?"
Botan didn't reply with words (too busy heaving) but she did lift one hand in a shaking thumbs up. I left the bathroom shortly thereafter. I hated it when people watched me throw up, even from something as innocuous as a hangover, and I figured Botan would want the same privacy.
Plus, I had something else I needed to take care of before the others woke up.
The note I'd left, stating I had left the suite to find food for us, was right where I'd left it on my pillow. I crumpled it up and ate it (shut up; it was more secure that putting in the trash can). Didn't want them asking questions about where I'd gone. Once I'd tied up that loose end, I went into the living room to check on the others. I saw Atsuko sprawled on the carpet after my eyes adjusted to the dim, seemingly fine as she snored. Otoha didn't look too bad, either. She was where I'd left her, too, sitting in a big, plush chair in the living room, head lolled back against the cushions. Atsuko looked dead to the world, but Otoha frowned as she slept. I knelt next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey," I said, rubbing softly at her arm. "Hey, Otoha?"
Otoha must have been a light sleeper, because her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright. "Keiko?" she said, blinking at me. "
"Yeah. Do you have work today?"
"Work?" she repeated—and then she seemed to wake up mentally as well as physically, because her eyes snapped wide open and her mouth dropped into a horrified gape. "Oh god, work!" She tried to stand, but her knees buckled and sent her right back into her seat. "What time is it?!"
"Noon-ish."
And at that, Otoha's shoulders sagged. "Oh, thank god," she said, relief dripping from every syllable. "I'm on the late shift today. Starts at three." She put her hands to her face, thick black hair falling all around her as she slumped forward. "My head is killing me."
I'd left water and painkillers by her chair that morning, too. "Here," I said, searching for and handing them to her. "Take this."
Otoha looked pained and grateful at the same time. "You're my favorite, you know that?"
She washed the painkillers down with the water, then began to chug the glass entirely. I watched without speaking, and when she handed the glass back to me, she burrowed down into her chair with a contented sigh.
But I couldn't let her take a nap just yet. "Hey, Otoha?" I said. "What's on the 14th floor?"
Otoha's eyes opened. "Eh?"
"Of the hotel. What's on the 14th floor?" When she frowned, I explained, "I was in the elevator yesterday, and I noticed you need a key to get up there."
Kurama had told me to go back to my hotel room and not go after Hiruko alone, and I had listened to the latter part of that message—just not the former. After leaving Kurama in the garden, I took a quick detour to the elevators where I'd seen Hiruko vanish, doubling back and pressing the call button as surreptitiously as possible. My heart danced a jig in my chest as I waited for an elevator to arrive. I half expected Hiruko to be there, smiling at me as the doors opened, but when an elevator finally came, the carriage was totally empty. I darted inside and found the "Door Open" button, holding it as I surveyed the written legend above the buttons that described what each floor accommodated.
Suspiciously, the 14th floor had not been included on the information plaque—and when I looked at the button for the 14th floor itself, I saw that it sat above a keyhole. Large and surrounded by a brass scratch plate, the keyhole looked like you'd need a large, classic skeleton key of heavy metal to turn the lock. I suspected I knew exactly what would happen if I pressed button 14 without a key inserted in that lock, and when I experimentally pressed that button, my hunch was proven right. The button did not light up under my touch the way all the other buttons in the elevator did—and yes, I pushed all of them like a devious little kid before leaving that elevator car.
I knew where Hiruko had gone. I just didn't know how the heck to get there.
Over one hurdle, running into the next. Provided Otoha couldn't help me out a little.
Otoha looked like she didn't quite know what to make of my request. She brushed her hair out of her face and studied me, but eventually she heaved a sigh that seemed to say oh well, whatever. "It's a private club for the Tournament backers and team owners," she said. "Why do you ask?"
I shrugged. "Just curious, is all."
Otoha didn't look convinced—but then she grabbed one of the throw pillows behind her and pressed her face into it with a groan, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "That vodka was a bad idea."
The scent of acrid cigarette wafted toward me, heralding the arrival of our group's most avid smoker. "I'll say," Shizuru said as she appeared in the doorway of her bedroom just a little to our right. She looked unaffected by said vodka, though, leaning against the doorframe with lit cigarette in hand and a bored look on her face. "So you're awake. Thought I heard voices." She nodded toward the prone Atsuko. "Hard to tell over the snoring, though."
"Hey, Shizu," Otoha said, lifting her face from the pillow with a suspicious glare. "You look annoyingly well-rested."
"Yeah. I know my limits, unlike certain people heaving their guts out in the bathroom."
Otoha, Shizuru and I all looked, in unison, toward the doorway to the other bedroom, through which drifted the sounds of Botan's misery.
Shizuru nodded at Otoha. "You. Think we could get some hangover food brought up?"
"Yeah. And for free!" Otoha said, eyes flashing with glee. "This is a comped suite."
Shizuru grinned. "Menus anywhere?"
"Try the kitchen."
"Thanks. Maybe I'll order some champagne and OJ." Shizuru looked happy about that idea as she walked away from us and into the kitchen. "Hair of the dog might be in order…"
Otoha, meanwhile, looked horrified by that idea, burying her face back into the pillow with a dejected sigh. For a minute I let her sit there, relaxed against the pillows as she waited for the meds to kick in and chase away her headache. As soon as Shizuru went back into her bedroom to call the front desk, however, her voice muffled beyond the door to her room, I leaned over the armrest of Otoha's chair and spoke softly in her enormous, bat-like ear.
"Hey, Otoha?"
"Hmm?" she said into her pillow.
"You said this room is comped. How'd we get such a nice place to stay, do ya think?"
She raised her head and frowned at the ceiling, lower lip jutting out. "You said you got upgraded because your room was overbooked?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's certainly weird. They normally don't give out a place like this for that kind of thing." She thought about it for a little while, but then she shrugged. "You just got lucky, probably."
"Really?"
"Only reason I can think of, yeah."
She slapped her face back into her pillow again. I hesitated, wondering if I should push further—and curiosity, in this instance, was hard to control. I'd had a hunch about who had given us our room from the moment we got upgraded, and now that Hiruko was confirmed to be here, I suspected my hunch was right… but I needed to know for sure. I needed to know how far his influence in the physical world reached, and how closely he might be monitoring me.
Provided Otoha hadn't been sent to talk to me on purpose, potentially on the orders of Hiruko himself.
Because oofa doofa, that'd suck. I really liked her as a person (er, demon)—but even if she had been sent as a spy, Hiruko now knew that I knew he was on Hanging Neck Island. If she reported back to Hiruko that I was asking questions, that wouldn't give much away or tip him off to anything he didn't already know about. And if Otoha wasn't a spy, I only had advantages to gain. And I could always start feeding her misinformation if it seemed like she wasn't on the level…
I huddled closer to her. "Could you… keep a secret?"
Otoha laughed into the pillow. "Well, I'm already keeping one for you. The note and stuff," she said, voice nigh inaudible through the kitchen. Her head lifted. "Though out of curiosity, what exactly is it?"
"Could you investigate who gave us the room?" I whispered. "If anyone pulled strings and whatnot."
Her brows lifted; she huddled closer to me, too, conspiratorial and secretive. "So you think somebody pulled strings?"
"Maybe."
"Your mysterious benefactor got a name?"
I froze. "Ah…"
"Hey. You don't have to tell me." Otoha grinned. "I can just look into it, no problem."
It was nice of her not to push, and that respect of boundaries didn't seem like something a spy would be careful to maintain—and when I thought about it further, it didn't really matter if I told her Hiruko's name. If she was indeed his spy (something I didn't find likely; there had been no evidence suggesting she was anything but herself) he knew I knew he was here; hiding his name accomplished nothing.
"Hiruko." The name slipped from my mouth almost unbidden. At the sound of it, Otoha nodded. Her face betrayed no other emotions that curiosity, so I continued with: "Sometimes he goes by Ebisu. He has pink hair and blue eyes. Tends to wear a lot of red and never stops smiling." I leaned as close as I could, voice barely even a whisper. "I know he's here. I think he gave us this room. But I'd like confirmation, just to be sure."
"Hmm…" Otoha scratched her chin, regarding the ceiling again. "Well, that name's not ringing any bells, and I don't remember anyone who fits that description. But I'm just a desk worker. The maids and serving staff probably would know better than me, though they won't be able to confirm a name."
"Why not?"
"Uh. Because this tournament is kinda sorta completely and highly illegal in Human World?" Otoha said, as if it were obvious (and I suppose, in retrospect, it was). "That's why it's on an island, and I've even heard rumors this island isn't officially recognized by any human governments. It's a secret island. And they don't keep many backers' names on file, if you get my drift."
"Pseudonyms to protect their true identities."
"Basically. Don't want involvement leaking to whatever kind of authority would frown on this sort of thing." And then she looked rather hopeful, or at least eager. "The FBI?"
"That's just for Americans."
"Oh." Her lips pursed. "Where are we in Human World, anyway?"
"Japan-ish."
"Is that near America?"
"Not at all."
"Huh." She thought about it a little, but soon she just sighed and shrugged and sagged against her seat. "Oh, well. Human geography is weird; I've seen your maps and they make no sense whatsoever." She pulled her legs inward and sat cross-legged in her chair, pencil skirt dangerously close to riding up; I averted my eyes, and she tugged her blanket back over her with a laugh. "Anyway. What's the deal with this Hiruko guy? He a friend of yours?"
"Definitely not," I said, suppressing a shudder. "The opposite."
Otoha looked intrigued by that, but before she could ask any questions, Atsuko gave a loud, aggressive snort and sat up, hair a wild mess around her sleepy face. She looked at us and smiled, yawning and stretching her arms above her head until her shoulders gave an audible and mildly horrifying crack.
"Hey." She yawned again and smacked her lips, face serene, like she'd slept like an absolute baby. "Sup?"
My brow quirked at her casual tone. "Are you not hungover at all?"
"Takes more than three beers and half a handle of vodka to keep me down, honey," she said, rising on steady legs to her feet. "Now what's for breakfast?"
Behind her across the room, Botan appeared in the bedroom doorway. She clung to the frame, legs wobbly beneath her, and gave us a shaky smile.
Atsuko, who hadn't noticed Botan appear, said with absolute gusto: "I could eat a horse!"
Botan gasped. She clapped her hand to her mouth, turned around, and ran right back into the bathroom to be sick again.
In the daylight, it was hard to believe the hotel pool was the same place where Hiei had chewed me out the night prior. Gone were the dreamy reflections of blue light against the trees. Out now were myriad colorful parasols, which shaded chaise lounges and beach chairs beneath their protective cover. Gone was the quiet stillness of the night, replaced instead by humans—older human men, mostly, and young human women in small swimsuits, all of whom laughed and talked and flirted as they sipped colorful drinks from tall glasses topped by little paper umbrellas. Some women (demon women, mostly, dressed in sarongs and flower crowns) carried trays of drinks and food between the lounges and gazebos ringing the pool. It looked like something out of a very ritzy resort in the Caribbean, complete with a swim-up bar and pool floats shaped like swans and diamond rings. Tropical-sounding music even played through hidden speakers to set the mood.
Our little crew didn't quite fit in. I wore board shorts and a t-shirt (both stolen from Yusuke at some point) over my school-issue one piece swimming suit. Shizuru wore her usual suit and vest and tie, complete with her wingtip shoes; she read through a beauty magazine, circling haircuts and makeup looks with a ballpoint pen. Botan napped in the shade beneath an umbrella, still dressed in her pajamas. Only Atsuko, who sunbathed in a criminally tiny bikini, looked like she belonged. She wore a wide-brimmed sunhat and sunglasses as enormous as her swimsuit was teeny, skin oiled to a glossy sheen as she turned herself over and over like a rotisserie turkey on a spit. More than one of the older dudes by the pool eyed her over as she passed; Atsuko appeared not to notice, or if she did, she didn't give enough of a shit to tell them to get lost.
The pool area was, in short, super relaxed. Super casual, despite the number of women wearing diamond jewelry into the pool. It was a place of relaxation and merriment, booze freely flowing and not a care in the world to be had.
And it drove me fucking nuts.
It made no sense, us sitting in place like this while visiting such a dangerous island. I couldn't shake the knowledge that not too far away, demons were fighting for their lives in the arena for the benefit of bloodthirsty human assholes. They fought for their lives while we sat around sipping margaritas (or a virgin strawberry daiquiri, in my case, which was almost too delicious for comfort). I was glad Atsuko was enjoying herself and all, but I couldn't keep from fidgeting upon my chaise lounge. The air smelled like chlorine and tequila and suntan lotion, like summer distilled, and summer was a time for fun and happiness and laziness but we were here, at the bloody Dark Tournament, and yet—
Deep breaths, Keiko.
But it didn't help that from our spot, the hotel's main building loomed high and white above us, windows shining in the midday sun. I hadn't been able to keep from counting the floors when we sat down. One by one I counted them, climbing all the way up to floor 14, which I stared at as I reclined on my lounge sipping drinks. Was Hiruko up there right now? Was he looking down on us and laughing? Could he tell how keyed up I felt after seeing him? Was he standing in one of those windows as we speak, grinning ear to ear at my futile situation and—
On the lounge beside me beneath the shade of a blue parasol, Shizuru muttered, "Simmer down, kid."
My hand, which had clenched tight around my daiquiri glass, relaxed a little. "Eh?"
"I can feel you tensing up from over here." She circled another haircut in her magazine, not lifting her eyes from its glossy pages. "Our boys don't fight until tomorrow. Relax."
I harrumphed. "Hard to relax when tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Repeat that word a few times until it sinks in."
"But—"
Finally her eyes cut my way. "Either they'll win or they won't, Keiko. No use worrying today about what might happen tomorrow." She looked at her magazine again. "Live it up while you still can."
She had a point. Too bad it was one that didn't fit with my worrywart personality. I stood up, kicked off my flip-flops, and stripped out of my t-shirt. The water in the enormous pool felt cool against my skin as I waded into the shallow end (it had an artificial beach, though without sand, concrete sloping downward from one of the pool's edges so people could walk right into the water without worrying about steps). Taking a deep breath when I reached waist-deep water, I dived in and began to swim a neat breaststroke, swimming between people floating about on pool toys on my way to the swim-up bar. I ordered another virgin daiquiri (basically a strawberry smoothie; delish) and sat there drinking it for a few minutes before I got restless. I swam around some more after that, back and forth from one side of the pool to the other, just to pass the time. I was hoping to tire myself out enough to take a nap, which would make the day pass a little more quickly.
I'm not a person who does well when I have nothing to do. I need something practical to work toward, or else I get antsy in my boredom. This day off from the fights was exactly the kind of day I detested, but the problem was that I didn't really have an alternative to lounging around the pool with my friends. The anime hadn't show how Keiko and the others had spent their day off between the boys' fights with Team Jolly Devil Six and Team Ichigaki (and the ninja team, by extension). Sure, the anime had shown how the boys spent their day off, but it hadn't given any insight into how the girls faired. And that meant I had nothing to do, or work toward, besides sitting around the pool sipping strawberry juice.
As I swam, I tried to recall how the boys had spent their day. I think Kuwabara and Yusuke had just gone to watch the Ichigaki fights, maybe? I certainly recalled a few shots of Hiei down by the ocean, trying to grip a sword with his burned hand and crying out in agony beside the crashing surf. Should I go to him? Try to help or provide comfort? Maybe wrap his arm? Or would he resent being—
I came up for air with a splash, standing in the shallow end with water up to my waist, just as someone beside the pool gave a short, strained laugh—the kind of laugh someone uses when they don't like a joke someone else just told them, but they're too polite to say so. I rubbed water from my eyes and looked around, spotting an old man in flower-patterned swim trunks and a tailored suit jacket standing just a little too close to a young woman in a long trench coat and striped headscarf (conspicuously not pool attire, that). He reached for her arm, but she dodged away and gave another of her tense laughs.
On reflex, I began to wade through the pool toward her.
"Hey, come back," the man said with a big grin. "I'll play nice, I promise."
She danced once more out of his reach. "Sorry," she said. "But I'm not in the mood to play."
I waded a little faster, pushing hard against the water's drag. I knew that tone of voice she was using, not to mention her body language. This guy is getting too close to me and he won't take a hint body language is universal girl-speak, that's for sure.
And this guy appeared to be the opposite of fluent when it came to girl-speak. "Aw, honey, of course you're in the mood," he said with a dismissive laugh, reaching for her yet again. "You're—"
The woman in the coat, who wore large black sunglasses that covered most of her face, stood her ground this time. "I said back off!" she barked, batting his hand aside. "Leave me alone!"
"Now, now. Don't be like that." He latched onto her arm, tight. "After all, I am the one who signs your paychecks, right?"
She tried to jerk away. He held onto her tight. The woman twisted and tossed her head, snarling at him to get off of her—and when she did, her headscarf slipped back and off her head. The slippage revealed something familiar, and when I spoke, my surprise was genuine indeed.
"Koto?" I blurted. "Is that you?"
I'd gotten all the way to the edge of the pool by then, standing at their feet in the clear blue water. Koto looked down at the sound of her name with a start; the man just looked upset, glaring at me for interrupting his gross little game.
"Oh my god, it is you! It's been ages, girl!" I clambered out of the pool with a cascade of drips, not caring when I splashed the douchebag who'd been manhandling her. Ignoring him completely, I pretended to look thrilled, bouncing on my heels as I stared into Koto's eyes. "I tried to see you after the fights yesterday, but oh my god, did you know you have a fanclub? Couldn't get through them to see you!"
The guy in the jacket and shorts didn't like being ignored much, though. "And who the heck are you?" he said, letting go of Koto so he could square up and look down at me with a sneer.
"Koto and I trained as refs together," I said, trying to think on my feet. "I didn't get my lucky break, unlike this gorgeous girl." I turned back to her with a giggle. "Ugh, it's so good to see you!"
I hugged her, though lightly, and she stiffened under my touch—or at least she stiffened until I hissed "Just go with it!" against the side of her head. Her ears weren't in the typical human spot, instead crowning the top of her auburn head, but still she must have heard me speak. Her arms went back around me at once, hugging me tight exactly the way an old friend would.
"Oh, for real though, girl!" Koto said. She pushed me away so she could look adoringly into my face, like she really was just pleased as punch to see me. "It's been, what… two years, three?"
"At least three!"
"What have you been up to? I want details!"
"Not anything nearly as cool as you, by the looks of it. How the heck did you even get this gig? It's amazing! Did you—?"
We chattered back and forth, eager and animated as we made shit up and traded fake anecdote for even faker anecdote. Koto must've been taking improv classes on the side or something because she played along beautifully, dropping hints and names that I could pick up on to spin a believable tale. Eventually Koto looped her arm through mine and gently pulled me along after her, still talking a mile a minute, toward the gates to the pool area. The man who'd gotten handsy with her protested weakly that he would like to see Koto again soon, but we ignored him as we left the pool and started walking back to the hotel.
As soon as we left the gates, shaded by the large palms and flowering plants beyond it, Koto removed her arm from mine. "Thank god that's over," she said, swiping off her sunglasses. "These creepy old dudes are just the worst."
I'd seen a photo of Koto on the front of her fan club's t-shirts, but it had been grainy—too grainy to capture the exact shade of her aquamarine eyes, bright and brilliant against her golden skin and the shimmering auburn of her fluffy bobbed hair. She had an ageless (she could have been 18 or 28 or anywhere in between) heart-shaped face with a few silver cat whiskers arcing off the smooth plain of her high cheekbones; they twitched when she talked, catching the eye and your attention like a firework on a dark night. The ears atop her head were pointed and fuzzy, twitching and rotating in different directions in reaction to different sounds filtering through the trees. I found myself gaping at her in awe as she smoothed down her glossy hair and ran her hands down the front of her jacket. Hey eyes flashed when she looked at me, glinting in the sun like they'd been faceted by a jeweler with an eye for the most beautiful gems. And next to that deep golden skin of hers, dewy and smooth and gorgeous, and her lips painted a glittering bright pink—
I swallowed, hard. Koto was super-duper attractive, and it was honestly kind of upsetting how fucking pretty she was. I felt altogether messy and unkempt in front of her in my stolen board shorts and school swimsuit, not to mention my chlorine-clogged hair.
If Koto took any issue with my appearance, she didn't voice it. Hell, she barely even looked at me, eyes flashing as she glanced toward the entrance to the pool with a fierce scowl. "It's like they think just because I work for this Tournament, they can just do whatever they want," she said. "But joke's on them. I'm here for blood, not a sugar daddy."
"Respectable life choice in my book," I said, but when her eyes stayed locked on the pool gate, I had to ask, "Are you OK?"
She shook herself as if waking from a nap. "I am now." Koto grabbed her scarf from around her neck and began arranging it over her tall ears. "How come the richer they are, the harder it is to take "no" for an answer?"
"Male entitlement exacerbated by a complete lack of boundaries due to the influence of too much money?"
"Truth," she said with relish—and then she looked me over as if seeing me for the first time. Her arms crossed, one hip more prominent than the other, exuding sass from every pore. "So. You know me, but I don't know you."
"Oh, right. Sorry." I gave a little bow. "I'm Keiko."
"Keiko." She didn't return the bow. She just raked over me with her gorgeous eyes. "You're human."
I swallowed again. "Don't hold it against me?"
"Will try not to," she muttered. Koto slipped her sunglasses back on and suddenly looked like a disguised dame from a noir detective flick, or a Hollywood starlet trying to go incognito in the most cliché way possible. "Well. Thanks for stepping in the way you did. Human or not, I guess us girls have to stick together, huh?"
"I'd say so." She started to walk off, but I said, "Can I ask something?"
She tugged her sunglasses down her nose and stared over the top of their frames. "If it's for an autograph, I'm afraid I forgot my pen."
"No, not that. Just—what were you doing down here?" I asked. "At the human hotel, I mean. And in a disguise, no less."
Koto heaved a sigh and patted the silk scarf that obscured her ears. "The disguise was to dodge my fans. They can get a little too enthusiastic sometimes, y'know?"
"Right. The t-shirts," I said, remembering Koto's fan club and the way they'd fought over the binoculars just for a right to see her up close.
"Comes with the territory of being famous, I guess. But as for why I was down here? Part of being the main commentator for these fights involves schmoozing." Koto snorted, scorn evident in every derisive word she spoke. "Least favorite part of the job, but if you don't make nice with the tournament backers between the fights, they'll pick another pretty demon girl to ogle. And even if the geezers are gross, I love my job." Her eyes blazed like the heart of a superheated flame, more scalding blue now than calm green. "I don't intend to lose it over something as stupid as refusing to bat my eyelashes."
I wasn't sure what to say, honestly. Her determination was admirable, but having to endure the unwanted attention of gross rich dudes who don't understand "no" couldn't be easy. Was the job worth all that grossness?
Koto didn't give me time to find out. "Anyway," she said, pushing her glasses higher up her nose again. "You watch your back." She turned away with a roguish smile and flipped a peace sign over her shoulder as she walked away. "It's not just the pretty demons these old farts like to menace, after all…"
And with that, Koto disappeared down the tiled path back to the hotel. I stared after her for a few moments, but when it became apparent she had left for good, I headed back to the pool and my waiting friends. Botan was still asleep, but Atsuko and Shizuru both sat up when I approached. Atsuko pulled off her sunglasses and jerked a thumb toward the entry gate.
"Was that the referee from the fight yesterday?" she asked.
"Uh. Yeah." I rubbed the back of my neck. "She looked uncomfortable, so…
"Well, I'm glad you stepped in." Atsuko sat back against her lounge with a glare at the man who'd menaced Koto; he was at one of the swim-up bars now, sidling up to the pretty demon bartender without a care in the world. "I was two seconds away from busting faces when I saw what he was up to."
Shizuru went back to looking at her magazine, but she said "Same" with such deadpan force, it sent a shiver down my spine.
"Really?" I hadn't known they were paying attention, but it made me happy to know they'd had my back. I sat on my lounge with a grin. "I'm glad. Girls protecting girls is a beautiful thing."
"I'll say." Atsuko grinned at me in return. "Y'know, I'm glad we didn't tell Yusuke and his friends we're here. It's nice to have a girl's day out. What do ya say we get dressed up when we hit the restaurant for dinner, huh? Make a whole thing out of it."
"Sure," I said.
Shizuru nodded. "Sounds fun." She glanced at Botan, who was still snoring on her chair. "Let's just hope she feels well enough by then."
Atsuko laughed and said something about a hangover cure of dubious origin, one that involved raw eggs and hot sauce and a secret ingredient I was too scared to ask her to reveal. As she and Shizuru chatted about hangover cures and told drinking stories, I lay back against my lounge with a sigh, happy to get to spend a little time with them. Girls protecting girls was indeed a beautiful thing. My friends were good people, and even if I felt utterly useless sitting poolside while the boys geared up for the next day's fights, at least I had these women at my side. I just hoped I would be able to protect them when the rubber really hit the road. No doubt Hiruko, wherever he was, would throw as many obstacles into our path as he could muster, just as he had so many times before.
Despite the heat of the day and the inner warmth inspired by my friends, a chill swept over me. What was Hiruko really planning here? And why had he appeared when he had? Was he trying to rattle me?
Well. If that was his purpose for that show on the elevator, he'd failed. I refused to stay rattled for long. I had my friends to protect, and come high water or hell, no way would I let Hiruko get the drop on me again.
Lying on my plush lounge, I stared up at the hotel. I lifted my hand and shaped it into a gun. I closed one eye. The gun I aimed at the 14th floor, and when my finger aligned with that floor's gleaming windows, I muttered "bang" and pulled my mental trigger.
"I'm coming for you, Hiruko," I promised him—and myself. "Just you wait and see."
"I can't believe we're going to be this late!"
Atsuko, far from cowed, glared at Botan over the kitchen bar. She stood at the kitchen sink brushing her teeth, toothpaste foaming at her mouth like she'd turned rabid. Botan stood in the living room with arms crossed, tapping one foot impatiently against the carpet while Shizuru, on the couch, breathed a longsuffering sigh. Atsuko and Botan had been battling it out all morning, and Shizuru was clearly sick of it.
Me, though? I was too distracted to pay their antics overmuch attention. There was a lot riding on this day, not to mention on the next few hours—and once those hours were past, Yusuke would know I was here. I hated to think how that revelation would go. My foot, like Botan's, tapped against the carpet, but it wasn't with impatience. My tapping was due to nerves, tapping in time with the thoughts racing at breakneck speeds through my head. First we'd need to find Yukina in the crowd around the stadium, and then we'd need to decide that she should come with us into the arena. That would lead to us fighting our way into the stadium trying to use Botan's team trainer pass as a placeholder for an additional ticket, and if we timed our entrance just exactly right, we'd help the severely injured Kuwabara win his match against Risho, and—
Shizuru scowled at me. "What are you muttering about?"
I flinched. "Oh. Uh. Was I muttering?"
Her scowl turned into a glower. "Yeah. You were."
"Sorry."
"Really, Atsuko!" Botan was saying, oblivious. "Drinking again last night? It's a wonder you didn't die in your sleep with all that alcohol running through your blood!"
"Relax," Atsuko grumbled around her toothbrush. "We'll probably just miss some opening ceremony or something, that's all."
"The opening ceremonies were on opening day, Atsuko!"
"Oh. Right." She spat into the sink and wiped her mouth with a dish towel. "Probably should hustle then, huh?"
Botan threw up her hands with a wordless shriek of frustration. "That's what I've been saying!"
I laughed in spite of myself, stifling the sound when Botan shot a glare over her shoulder. She'd been on a warpath ever since discovering that Atsuko had turned off our morning alarms (she wanted to sleep in, apparently, at the cost of missing the first parts of the day's matches). But this was in accordance with canon, as far as I could recall, so I didn't worry. I'd just woken up and decked myself out in all my usual weapons, which I'd concealed about my person as discretely as I could. I just hoped I wouldn't have to use too many of my weapons when we inevitably fought our way in past the guards later. I'd never killed anyone, human or demon or otherwise, and I didn't exactly want to start now.
Not unless I absolutely had to, or unless the person had pink hair and blue eyes…
I replayed my mental agenda for the day over and over as we finished getting ready, headed to the elevators, and made our way across the lobby to the front of the hotel. I let the others lead the pack; I had other things to think about, after all, that were far more important than following the well-marked path to the stadium.
A voice, however, soon cut through my thoughts about the upcoming day. "Good morning," a concierge attendant called from behind the information desk near the revolving glass doors to the outside. "Are the four of you attending today's matches?"
"We are." Botan glared at Atsuko and the clerk in turns. "And we're late."
But the clerk was all smiles. "Not to worry, miss. We keep transportation on hand for all the guests of Hotel Kubikukuri in the event of a late start."
Botan's mood turned on a dime at once. "Now that's more like it!" she crowed.
"And would you fancy breakfast, miss?" said the clerk.
"Boy would I!"
From behind the counter the clerk produced a fruit and muffin basket, which Botan took as if accepting a basket of golden eggs, and then he led us outside. Half a dozen covered carts like the one from the night we arrive sat in a neat and orderly line, engines idling as their drivers waited for passengers from the hotel. And speaking of the cart from the night we arrived, the first cart in line contained a familiar face: the young driver with the smart-looking cap and pressed uniform, prehensile monkey's tail snaking down to reach the pedals beneath his polished black shoes (which hovered at least six inches off the floor due to the kid's short legs). The boy waved when he saw us, and at the bidding of the concierge, we climbed aboard.
"Why, hello!" Botan said, settling in beside him in the front seat. "Nice to see you again."
The boy beamed. "To the stadium, miss?"
"Of cour—AIEEEE!"
Botan's happily chirped response ended in a shriek as the boy slammed the gas pedal, careening down the road to the stadium with the same wild driving as he'd shown us all before. Botan clung to the muffin basket for dear life as Shizuru, Atsuko and I did the same to the metal bars supporting the cart's roof. Despite the somewhat deadly circumstances, I was glad we had a ride to the stadium. It wasn't a far walk or anything, but the wild ride was a nice distraction from my planning for the day—at least at first. Despite his crazy maneuvers behind the wheel, I soon found myself hoping we didn't beat Yukina to the stadium and miss her entirely.
Eventually we skidded to a stop, one Botan greeted with a distraught "I'm alive!" aimed at the heavens. She practically fell out of the seat while our driver giggled; Atsuko high-fived him. Shizuru leaned forward from the backseat and tapped his shoulder.
"Say, kid," she said. "What's your name?"
"Tobi, miss." He reached into his jacket and produced from inside it a small silver whistle. "Call me any time in the event you need a lift."
Shizuru raised a brow at the whistle. "You know there's no phone number on that, right?"
"Yes, miss." He lifted his hat, revealing two small, round ears jutting from the top of his head. Botan gave a delighted gasp when she saw them, cooing over how cute they were. "Phones aren't necessary where I'm concerned."
Shizuru took the whistle with a chuckle. "Thanks, Tobi."
He donned his hat so he could tip the brim at her. "Of course, miss."
He left us with a smile and a wave, and Botan amended her thoughts about him as he drove off. "He might need more time in driver's ed, but he is definitely quite polite," she said, smiling after him.
"And he got us here in record time," Atsuko said. "We're barely even late thanks to him!"
And she was right: A glance at my watch told me we weren't, in fact, all that late after all, but while that bit of news cheered Botan, it didn't do much for my short nerves. It would be exceedingly easy to head inside the stadium without finding Yukina at this rate…
Not that I could say that to my friends, though. I followed along behind them as we headed toward the crowds of demons at the foot of the enormous stadium, scanning the crowds for a shock of mint green hair—but the crowd was already so colorful and vibrant, spotting her wouldn't be easy. Hundreds of demons milled about talking or brawling or jeering at the big screen TVs hanging from the stadium's outer walls. Food vendors hawked wares from carts with colorful signage; demons wearing guard uniforms stood at attention at every entrance to the stadium, keeping careful watch on the bustling crowd. We were mean-mugged a little as we made our way toward a stadium entrance, but Atsuko shot them glares of her own and most of the demons were sent slinking off with their tails (more often literal than not) between their legs.
We were walking past one of the viewing areas beneath the big screens when Shizuru paused, gaze swinging upward to the image displayed across it. "Bro," she said, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing?"
Botan looked, too. "Is Kuwabara fighting, Shizur—oh dear!"
Kuwabara lay face down on the ground, unmoving. Behind him dodged Yusuke and the masked fighter, our friends nimbly dodging the attacks of three men moving with similar alacrity across the ring. The three men (one shirtless with brown hair, another short with a mop of carroty hair, and the third with a long black braid down the back of his purple martial arts uniform) were immediately recognizable to me, even if Shizuru and the others watched the scene in complete confusion.
Botan curled her hand around Shizuru's arm. "What happened to him?"
"Easy." Shizuru lit up a cigarette, exhaling a long puff of blue smoke above the heads of the demon crowd. "He got his ass kicked."
"Ugh." Atsuko watched the screen with undisguised revulsion. "Check out the troll on the sidelines."
The camera had cut to the edge of the ring, where a short, broad demon in a white lab coat stood laughing. He had the ugliest face I'd ever seen, bar none, with enormous pointed ears, a long chin and gigantic, bulbous forehead, between which were position two beady little eyes and a fanged mouth stretched wide in a sadistic grin. Balding with a fringe of mossy green hair around the back, he looked every inch the disgusting demon I knew him to be. His face suited his personality that way.
Atsuko seemed to agree. "Does he have an ass for a face or what?"
"Definitely an ass for a face," I concurred. I'd certainly rather stare at someone's ass than behold him for even a moment longer.
Lucky for me, the camera cut away from him soon enough, training back on Yusuke as he dodged and dipped around the three mind controlled fighters opposing him. I studied the image to see if I could spot more people on the sidelines, but Hiei and Kurama appeared to be absent—which was actually a good thing. Everything was going according to canon's plan, including Kuwabara's (temporary) defeat. Soon Genkai would use the Spirit Wave and then the committee would be a jerk and start the next match too soon. Our boys wouldn't like that, sure, but I knew it was for the best. Canon, at least on their end, had been fulfilled.
Which meant only I had my end of the bargain to keep up. Suppressing a victorious smile, I scanned the crowd around us with renewed vigor. It was important I spot Yukina soon, before we went inside.
Even more luckily for me, Shizuru seemed in no hurry to move us into the stadium. "Those fighters," she said, studying the screen. "They look human, don't they?"
"They do," Botan said with undisguised surprise. "Those devices on their backs; what do you suppose they're for?"
"Dunno," Atsuko said. "But they're creepy. Maybe they're demons, after all."
"No." Neither Shizuru's eyes nor her voice quavered an inch, she was so certain. "They're human. And there's something… off about them." Her lips thinned, eyes hardened with worry. "There's something very, very off about those boys. A sadness."
"A sadness?" Botan repeated.
"What the heck does that even mean?" Atsuko said.
"I'm not sure. I just know—those boys don't want to do this. They didn't want to hurt my brother." She puffed rapidly on her cigarette, then exhaled an avalanche of smoke. "Even from here, I can feel that. They're not in control."
Even more that fell in line with canon! Wonderful. But I had bigger fish to fry than watching the match on the screen.
The screen and its attached observation area sat in a sort of alcove along the stadium's outer wall, cupped by outcroppings of architecture and surrounded by several half-circle rows of concrete benches. I wandered to the edge of the nearest outcropping, standing by a plain metal door with no handle (likely a maintenance access panel for the TVs or something; wasn't like I cared). Peering around the outcropping afforded me a look at another section of the stadium crowd, one that watched a different set of TVs. I scanned these new demons for Yukina some more, but no mint-green hair availed itself.
"Perhaps they're not eager to fight," I heard Botan say from behind me. "But whether or not that's true, they still appear to have mangled your poor brother! We should go inside. I think it's high time we provide our friends a little encouragement, don't you think?"
"Yeah," Atsuko said. "About damn time we show our faces. Think so, Keiko?"
My stomach lurched upward in alarm. I turned on my heel to face my friends, wheels spinning in my head to find a reason that could persuade them to stay put for just a little longer—but although Atsuko was looking at me, Botan was not. Instead she stared behind me with her mouth hanging slightly open, eyes screwed up in concentration.
Soon Botan's eyes opened wide, though, in time with the movement of her arm, which swung upward in a point. "Wait a minute," Botan called out. "I know you!"
Botan ran. She ran past me around the edge of the little outcropping with the door, shouting out a bewildered "HEY!" to someone I couldn't see. Atsuko called Botan's name and ran after her, and with a weary sigh Shizuru followed suit. I lurched to the side and looked around the corner, eyes frantic as they searched for—
Pale blue-green, the color of iced mint leaves, floating through the crowd above the palest of blue kimonos, slipping delicate and deft through the crowd of rough and tumble demons.
I grinned. I grinned as I watched Atsuko and Shizuru run after Botan as she chased after the girl with the pale green hair—because this was it. This was canon in the making. This was destiny coming to fruition right before my very eyes.
This was victory.
I had won.
Whether or not I could take credit for it was beside the point. I just grinned and started after my friends, mentally crowing a crow of celebration to the heavens.
But I was celebrating too soon—because behind me there came a click, and a creak, and then a darkness that smelled of burlap descended over my head.
I fought it, of course. I fought and I screamed, kicking and lashing out as the burlap sack cut tight around my throat and strong hands (four of them, I counted) closed around my arms. These hands hauled me backward; I heard a shout that might've been Shizuru's, one of alarm and anger, but the shout cut off when a door slammed with a boom of metal on metal. The cold, scaly hands on my arms gripped tight as they hauled me down what I assumed was a hallway. They were taking me somewhere, I knew in that vague, dim sense one knows something when one is sufficiently panicked. John Mulaney had told me the dangers of being taken to second locations, too bad for these kidnappers, so I kicked to the side as hard as I fucking could, grinning as my toe collided with something solid.
"Oof!" said a deep voice to my right. The hands on my right arm gripped even tighter than before, nearly cutting off my circulation. "He didn't tell me she would fight!"
"Shut up and help me, dammit!" said a voice to my left.
"Who the hell are you?" I yodeled. "Let go of me, let go, let me fucking go or I swear to Christ I'll—"
A hand lifted from my left arm and descended onto my mouth, pressing through the burlap sack they'd tied over my head, clamping down with impossible strength that had me seeing stars. The remaining three hands grabbed me tighter still, then lifted in unison to hold me clean off the ground, my feet kicking in the empty air beneath my flailing body. Soon I heard a ding, and then we lurched forward. There came a sliding sound, and then my stomach told me we had started to move upward—an elevator. We were in an elevator.
I stopped struggling and sat very, very still.
The two demons (because I got the sense these were demons, given their impossibly strong hands) set me on the floor again. "Heh. That's more like it," said the one to my right. "No sense fighting. She learns quick, at least."
I suppressed a deranged laugh. I hadn't learned anything, chump; I was just conserving my energy. Even if I managed to escape, I'd just be trapped in an elevator with nowhere to run once these goons recovered. Much better to spend this elevator ride regrouping than to waste energy fighting inside a closed coffin.
"Let's just get this over with," muttered the one on my left. "I can't stand being trapped in here with all this human stink!"
"Ass," I said from behind his crushing hand.
He hissed. "Human bitch."
One of the two hands on my right arm lifted; something sharp pressed against my throat just below the edges of the burlap "Move and I'll cut you. You understand?" said the one on my right.
I shut up.
"Like I said," one of them chuckled. "She learns quick."
The elevator ride took a lot longer than I liked, or perhaps being trapped in a dark bag made my perception of time a bit wonky. Whatever the case, eventually the elevator stopped moving; another bell dinged, doors sliding open with a whoosh of air against my bare skins. The demons shoved me forward, frog-marching me down what I had to assume was a long hallway—and then we turned, and walked some more, and turned again. I made sure to memorize each corner we took as best as I was able. Soon we stopped, though, and I heard a door creak open before us. The demons carried me through this without a word.
I let them go forward a few steps before taking a deep breath and wrenching my legs to the side, hard, where I hooked an ankle around the back of one of their knees. The demon screeched and went down; I went down, too, and that dragged the other demon to the floor right along with us, and in order to catch their falls both of the demons let go of me. As soon as we hit the floor (my hit cushioned by the body of the demon on my left, which was just desserts in my book) I got my feet under me and darted away, wrenching the bag off my head and spinning around to face them as I drew a knife from my thigh holster. The demons on the floor both looked like lizards, one blue and one green, and behind them stretched a long, bare wall interrupted only by one set of metal double doors. The ones we'd come through, I guessed. I saw no other exits, though it wasn't like I'd had the time to look behind me yet or figure out where they'd taken me or—
"Now, now. There's no call for violence here, I assure you."
I spun to the side, keeping the demons in my periphery as I sought the source of the voice. Turns out the room was long, but shallow, the back of it lined with floor-to-ceiling observation windows overlooking the bulk of the stadium and the cheering crowds below. I could hear these crowds through the glass, the roar of them muffled but distinct. A series of high-backed chairs sat before these windows, and to my surprise, one of these chairs began to turn.
When I saw who sat in it, my mind went very, very blank.
He smiled at me over the rim of his wine glass, swirling the liquid in tight circles as the demons clambered to their feet. I was too stunned to fight back as they latched once more onto my arms, but something told me that the man in the chair was far more dangerous than the lizard-men keeping me contained. I just stood there, gaping, as the man smiled and stood up.
"Apologies for the rough treatment," he said, setting his glass on a table near his elbow. "My associates can be a little… overzealous." At the aforementioned associates he waved a leisurely hand. "You may go, but please wait outside."
"Yes sir," the demons said. They let go of my arms at once, walking out of the double doors without protest. Only when the door shut behind them did the man in the dark suit and blue tie speak again.
"Now, where were we?" He had a rich voice, musical and hinted with the barest traces of amusement. "Ah, yes. Introductions."
I didn't speak. He waited, but when I continued to say nothing, he gave a low, throaty chuckle. Soon he bowed, and smiled—and at the ice in his eyes I felt my blood run cold. Perhaps he noticed this somehow, because once again he chuckled.
The ice in my veins ran even colder still.
"Very well. I suppose I'll start." He bowed, one hand in front of his midsection like a British butler. "My name is Sakyo," said Sakyo, owner and sponsor of Team Toguro. "And you are Yukimura Keiko, I presume."
At my dazed expression, Sakyo could only smile—and it was all I could do to wish, silently, that those lizard demons would bust through the doors and haul me away again.
NOTES:
Dun dun DUN! Things never go quite as planned for Keiko, do they?
Migraine delayed the chapter this weekend. Thanks for your patience! Hope you liked it.
Last week I posted a new "Children of Misfortune" chapter that shows how the boys are feeling on the first night of the tournament. I hope you check it out! Provides insight into Hiei and Yusuke in particular.
Many thanks to all of you who left a comment last week. You consistently make my day, and I couldn't do this without your support: Yakiitori, Selias, Reviews Not Work, Cestlavie, 431101134, Deamachi, almostNEET, MissIdeophobia, Lady Ellesmere, tammywammy9, xenocanaan, DiCuore Alissa, Marian, Just 2 Dream of You, Blaze1662001, EdenMae, read a rainbow, ahyeon, ansegiel, brave story, SirSwag333, angelofmusic, MissedAdventure92, KannaKyomu, rya-fire1, Kaiya Azure, shen0, C S Stars, WaYaADisi1, yofa, general zargon, Sterling Bee, Thornsilverfox, temper4, Laina Inverse, buzzk97, Kykygrly, Neko Mitsuko, Demkat, MyHeartBeating MWMI, Convoluted Compassion, Jengurl24, Minirowan, Ally Kenshin, Tequilamockinbur and five guests!
