A/N: Surprise, it's another update! I don't even know what's going on. My oldest readers will know that I am a notoriously slow updater. Sometimes I've made them wait years. Yikes. But two weeks between new chapters? I don't think I've ever done that. I'm in shock at myself! But the credit all goes back to you guys, seriously. It's your reviews. I get them in my e-mail and there is nothing more motivating than reading your lovely comments and theories. I have been so inspired lately, thank you all so very much for taking the time to let me know what you think! I spend so much time organizing, planning, and writing these chapters- to know that you're reading and enjoying them makes such a difference. As for this chapter in particular, we're building towards some exciting stuff- and some hints are dropped. Can't wait to hear from you guys, happy reading!

Day Six

10:30am

The Miyuki Theater

"What was that?"

Mai set her jaw, she knew he was going to ask. He had been practically breathing down her neck since the moment they left base.

"I know you think he likes me Bou-san, but it wasn't like that. He missed the handle. He wasn't trying to touch me."

Mai held her arm to her side waiting defensively for the monk's reply, it still tingled.

"Interesting, but actually I was referring to Naru's decision to close the case."

"Oh."

"He touched you, huh?"

"On accident."

"Right."

The two of the walked up the hall in silence, Mai's face red, his amused. The embarrassment and the odd sensation in her arm faded away after a bit though, and more serious thoughts moved in. Once again, they were on a mission of sorts.

"Do you remember the way?" Bou-san spoke up after they had passed what felt like their hundredth door.

"I think so," Mai answered, frowning to herself. She had only been there once.

"We probably don't have much time, they might check the cameras..."

"I know— I know. I'm pretty sure it was near the dressing rooms. We're getting there."

The two of them quicken their pace. The last thing they wanted to be was caught by Lin in a dark hall.

Mr. Miyuki, help us out...

After hurrying through many more lamp lit passages, Mai began to notice a familiar curve. It was the turn heading toward the dressing rooms. Her gaze moved to the doors, the cracks at the bottom to be exact. This was how it went. She would only be able to find the room they were looking for if she saw...

Empty floor.

Empty floor.

Empty floor.

Empty floor-

"That's it!"

Mai halted abruptly and Bou-san stumbled into her back,

"What?"

"Ow, Bou-san"

"Sorry, but when you stop like that..."

Mai disentangled herself, rubbing the back of her foot, which had been stepped on, she approached the door,

"This is the place."

Bou-san followed, keeping a careful distance this time, "Are you sure? It looks like all the rest..."

Mai's attention was fixed on a piece of rug, a corner barely able to be seen.

"I'm positive."

Without a glance back, she placed her hand on the knob and turned. The door moved silently on it's hinges, swinging open to reveal a familiar setting. It was exactly as she remembered it, from dream and experience.

There was a large fireplace, a table and chairs, but there was also dust, and a cool damp. The room was lonely, unlived-in.

No one since Mr. Miyuki was alive...

Bou-san, who had drifted in behind her, gave a low whistle, "Not exactly cozy, is it?"

"It was once, probably."

"I remember being here last time— with John, weren't there rats though..?" The monk seemed distinctly uncomfortable with this thought.

"No, I made that up."

Bou-san looked relieved, but then curious, "You made it up, why?"

"I saw Mr. Miyuki standing there," Mai said pointing to one of the chairs. "I was surprised and you noticed. I lied that I saw a mouse. I couldn't tell you at the time what I had really seen."

"You'll let me know if you see him now though, right?"

"Of course," Mai nodded, still focusing on the chair.

She yawned. Covering her mouth, an understanding slowly dawned on her. She felt the monk brush past her, moving further into the desolate office.

"So, clues..." he murmured, squinting through the gloom. "Maybe, this desk? Did you look in here before?"

"No, I just took the picture and left."

"Well, then. Let's see what secrets these drawers hide."

There was the sound of wood sliding against wood, papers being disturbed, thoughtful grunts.

"Playbills, receipts, cigars...hey, Mai— you wanna give me a hand? Come take a drawer, it'll go faster that way. We're bound to find something, look at all this—"

"I can't Bou-san, I'm sleepy."

The monk glanced up from his rummaging,

"Huh?"

"I'm really tired."

He set the drawer on top of the desk, watching her lean against one of the plush armchairs near the cold fireplace.

"Mai?"

"I think...I'll just sit for a second."

The monk began moving around the desk toward her, his eyes dark with concern,

"What's going on? Are you feeling sick again?"

Mai sank into the seat, little plumes of dust raising in the air. She leaned her head back, her eyes slipping closed. It was then that she felt her shoulders being seized by firm hands,

"Mai—" Bou-san's voice sounded harsher than usual, so she fought her eyes open again. He stood leaning over her, frowning, "are you okay? Answer me."

With some effort she spoke, "I'm fine. Bou-san, I'm going to dream."

The monk's lips parted,

"Right now?"

"Yes—" Mai yawned again, gently pushing his hands from her shoulders.

He stood back, uncertain.

"How do you know, I mean— what if something else is wrong?"

"I just do, it's okay. I promise..." she murmured, and her eyelids closed on a helpless looking monk.

An instant later they opened. Mai was sitting in the same armchair, but without question things were different. There was a fire burning in the gate, inviting rays of sunlight filtered through the window in the corner of the room, the smell of tobacco and lilies filled the air. Mr. Miyuki sat across from her in the other chair.

The fear that usually spasmed through her in times like this, was not present. She wasn't afraid of the man looking on at her.

"Hello," she greeted with a polite bow of the head.

The playwright returned the gesture kindly, but said nothing in return. Mai took no offense. She had learned what energy it took for him to speak, he had only ever said a handful of words to her the entire time she had spent in Nozomi.

"I didn't get to tell you before, but thank you for your help last night," Mai continued, with another bow.

Once again, Mr. Miyuki matched her with warmth, but no words. Mai shifted in her seat, settling in better, her eyes traveling the room. It was astonishing the difference between the version she had left behind and the one she existed in now. One vibrant, the other forlorn. Mai's gaze touched on the desk at the back. It was obviously useful, active. Papers, pens...a cup of something sat upon it.

Unbidden, she thought of Bou-san, digging in it's very drawers. The mission. She needed answers...and here sat the one person who could give them to her.

She opened her mouth to begin asking, but in turning back to him she found the playwright was no longer there. Mai gave a start,

Where...?

A noise behind her caused her to turn again, and she saw that he had gotten up. He was standing near the window, staring at something...

Mai was crossing over to him before she knew what she was doing. For some reason her heart rate had picked up. She felt on the verge, the clue they needed was close. She came to stand next to Mr. Miyuki, and after looking at him expectantly for a moment, hoping for some kind of indication of what he wanted her to do, decided to follow his gaze. They faced a wall, sunlight streaming in upon it. Hanging there, simple and innocent were pictures in gleaming silver frames.

The photos were in color. One was of the theater in pristine condition, perhaps taken right after it was built. Another was a wedding picture, a very young Mr. Miyuki beamed through the glass, in his arms a beautiful woman. Yoshi, his wife. Mai smiled seeing this, and glancing at the playwright, made to remark what a nice photo it was— when she saw it. The third picture.

Her smile transforming into a look of interest, she leaned forward. Again Mr. Miyuki was present, his happy face just as bright as on his wedding day, but it wasn't him who caught her attention. It was the three people pressed in next to him. Nari, Mr. Sachi and—

"That's...that's Miss Miyuki," she commented, looking away in time to see Mr. Miyuki nod.

Mai returned to her inspection, her intuition thrumming. They were young, barely teenagers. It was strange to see them in a photo together. And so cheerful, and so close...

Mai's eyes widened.

They were friends.

She swallowed and leaned back, for a moment not sure what had surprised her. Of course they were friends. They grew up together.

But, what about now...

Mai recalled the harsh looks and the venomous words that had passed between them.

What happened?

Pulling herself from her confused thoughts, Mai checked with Mr. Miyuki again, hoping there would be something in his look to tell her what to think, but his expression was entirely impassive. The two of them stood there staring for a few moments longer, but then Mr. Miyuki was suddenly gone from her side.

Mai blinked at empty air, and then her eyes found the playwright. He was back where they started, by the fire. Slowly, with one last glance at the photo on the wall, Mai joined him. Grateful for the chance to sit down, she took the free chair. Her mind was whirling. She felt her intuition was trying desperately to tell her something, but no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't focus on it.

She sat back, deciding what she needed to be done.

I need to get back to Bou-san.

She breathed deeply, she relaxed her shoulders, willing herself to leave the dream. Then, realizing she was being rude, she looked over to Mr. Miyuki.

"I'm not sure what it means yet...but I'll find out, I promise," she assured him, not wishing to appear ungrateful for the clue.

He nodded simply. Mai gave a small smile and then closed her eyes. There was the snap of a log breaking down. A clock ticked somewhere.

I'm coming Bou-san.

Breathing reached her ears. Mai opened her eyes, expecting to see the monk standing over her, but she opened them on the same scene as before. Sitting up, Mai looked to Mr. Miyuki. He returned her gaze with kind patience. It occurred to her that she had never actually left one of these dreams voluntarily. She was always yanked from them, the world around her deteriorating into nothingness, just as she learned what she needed.

"Is there something else?" she asked. Her heart was pounding again.

Mr. Miyuki sat back, and swallowed. A look of earnestness entered his face as his lips parted,

"Kioko."

Mai met his eyes,

Kioko, of course.

They hadn't talked of her last clue.

"It's your daughter. I found out last night."

There was a silent moment, Mr. Miyuki seemed to be summing up more energy. Mai stared down at her fingers, thinking. Miss Miyuki pressed on her mind, and the only relief was to talk about her.

"She wants to close this theater."

The statement was a heavy one. The fire seemed to dim. Mai looked up at the playwright across from her,

"That's what this is about, isn't it? You're upset because of what your daughter's trying to do."

Mr. Miyuki stared back at her, and she noticed his eyes were wet at the same time a tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, attempting to clear her throat. These weren't her feelings.

Mai worked at composing herself, though something like a weight now sat on her chest. She felt his despair. The situation was hopeless. There were only three more days of the festival left. He would lose his theater and his daughter. Mai was nearly overwhelmed, but then something inside her pushed back. A memory was triggered.

The deal.

Mai sat forward in her chair,

"It's not like that," she began, speaking directly to Mr. Miyuki's feelings. "It's not hopeless. Miss Miyuki has a kind of contract with Mr. Sachi. The people of Nozomi know you haunt the theater..."

The theater can't be closed as long as it's haunted.

Mai was startled in the next moment to see the playwright shaking his head, his sadness palpable. Her pulse began to race, but she wasn't sure what for. Ignoring her building anxiety, she tried again—

"It's true though, Mr. Sachi explained it to us when we first came here. If he can prove the existence of a haunting, Miss Miyuki will move on. She won't close this theater. You're here, everyone knows it—" Mai's voice faltered.

Mr. Miyuki was still shaking his head. An odd feeling of uncertainty began to creep up inside her.

"Everything you've done..." she persisted, but her words barely came out.

His head shook. Slow and deliberate.

Mai's heart skipped a beat. Her intuition spoke loud and clear:

"It isn't you."

The playwright stopped shaking his head.

"You wouldn't frighten or hurt your actors."

Mai recalled the destroyed dressing rooms, Nari's horror.

He would never.

The lighting accidents.

The mirrors.

The cold spots.

The apparition.

None of it was him...

With wide eyes Mai faced him,

"Mr. Miyuki, who is haunting your theater?"

The playwright seemed to tremble, his chest expanded—

"Kioko."

The world around Mai shifted. Colors blurred. Mr. Miyuki's tormented voice was stretched into moan ringing in her ears. Everything went black.

Mai opened her eyes. She was in the same chair. But there was no fire, the room was dark and musty. Bou-san sat across from her.

"Mai!" he exclaimed, leaping up from his seat. "I've been worried sick— you've been asleep for an hour."

"An hour?" she repeated, feeling groggy and dazed. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. Hastily she wiped them away.

The monk came to hover over her,

"Did you see him?"

"Yes."

He nodded and stretched out a hand to her,

"Good. You can tell me later, let's get out of here."

"Get out...?"

"Mai, we've been here too long. We're going to get caught."

She was pulled to her feet, frowning in protest,

"What about the desk?"

"It's okay, I checked all the drawers. There was nothing special."

Nothing?

"But there is something."

She turned to face the back corner of the room. Gloom hung there, but she knew what she would find. She hurried around the armchair, the monk followed after her.

"Mai, what...?"

"There's a picture, Bou-san."

"Another one?"

Mai stopped in front of the wall by the window. No sunlight spilled in this time, she narrowed her eyes, staring hard.

Theater photo.

Wedding photo.

A distressed noise escaped Mai's lips,

"It's not here."

The monk looked between her and the wall, struggling to keep up.

"There's supposed to be a third picture?"

"Yes. Right there."

"I take it this photo's important?"

"I think so..."

Mai felt disappointment settle on her.

"Where could have it gone?"

Bou-san let out a long breath,

"I don't know. You'll have to tell me about it, but we need to be going."

He gave her a gentle nudge,

"Come on, before we're found..."

Reluctantly, Mai moved away. Her eyes remained on the blank spot right through the door.

"We're gonna have to hurry, and maybe come up with some kind excuse..." Bou-san suggested, closing the office door behind them.

Mai nodded, feeling much more exposed in the hall. She was only too aware how many cameras were installed in the theater.

"We can say—"

"Mai...? Is that you?"

Mai froze, her eyes met Bou-san's.

Mr. Sachi?

Attempting to calm her pounding heart, she arranged her face into a friendly smile and turned around.

"Oh, hi."

The playwright approaching her couldn't be more different that the one she just left. He flashed her his trademark grin.

"Hi, there. What are you two up to?"

"Investigating," Bou-san answered, managing to sound nonchalant. Mr. Sachi was not Lin.

"Investigating, what?"

Mai opened her mouth, but faltered at the direct question.

"Not that door, I hope."

Mai's mouth dropped open wider.

"What?" the monk spoke, casting a glance at it. "Why?"

"Well, you won't have much luck, will you? That room has been locked up tight since Mr. Miyuki's death. I haven't even been in there."

Mai closed her mouth. She remembered. He had told her that before. Back in Nari's dressing room, the first time she had discovered the office. He had thought she was confused, she couldn't have possibly been there. It was impossible.

But, I've been inside. Twice.

On impulse, Mai made for the door.

I have to know.

Her hand closed around the knob, she turned and pushed...

"See, just like I said. Locked," Mr. Sachi remarked matter-of-factually.

Mai jiggled the handle, staring down at it with astonishment.

"What made you want to investigate that room, anyways?" The playwright wondered, looking between the two of them with interest.

Mai faced the hall again, her pulse racing. The monk cleared his throat, his gaze moved from the door she had been struggling with. The door they just came out of.

"It's just one...we've never been in. We didn't want to miss anything."

"Funnily enough, you might find a lot in there. It's Mr. Miyuki's office. Surely, his spirit lingers there strongest of all. I would let you inside in a heartbeat, but unfortunately I don't have the key."

Mr. Sachi frowned, looking past Mai, as if he deeply regretted the lost evidence. Mai's stomach churned over.

It isn't just Mr. Miyuki's spirit.

"But— wait, I thought there wasn't going to be any investigating today," Mr. Sachi said, and his frown turned on them. "That's what your President just told me at least."

A beat past. In silent agony, Mai desperately tried to come up with an excuse.

That Naru.

Bou-san suddenly broke out in a winning smile,

"But you couldn't have liked that."

Mr. Sachi's frowned deepened, he adjusted his collar, "No, not really..."

"Exactly! We didn't either. There's so much activity here, how could we take the day off? We decided to do just a bit...we'd appreciate it if this didn't make it back to our boss."

The monk was the picture of sheepish excitement. Mai's had trouble keeping her jaw from falling open again.

"I see." Mr. Sachi nodded, his frown all but vanished. "I see. Well, at least somebody is taking this investigation seriously, don't worry— your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," Mai spoke up with real relief.

The playwright gave a meaningful wink quietly backing down the hall, "Don't mention it. We never saw each other..."

Mai and Bou-san took their cue and hurried up the hall in the opposite direction.

"You saved us back there," Mai finally said, a bit breathless, when they were out of ear-shot.

"Thank me when we've made it out of here."

There was a tense moment when, in passing base, they nearly ran into Lin, who stood with his back to them in the doorway— but they made it. They pushed through the double doors, Mai squeezing Bou-san's hand.

"Thank you," she declared, recovering from the effects of the theater doors.

Bou-san smiled, "You're welcome."

They wasted no time putting space between them and the theater. They were halfway across the dusty Nozomi town square when they realized they didn't have a direction.

"Hey, you want to get something to eat?"

Mai, who's feet were naturally leading her towards the inn, stopped and looked out at the festival grounds,

"You mean, over there?"

"Yeah, can't you smell that...mmm, something's being grilled."

"But we just had breakfast."

"You mean you had breakfast. And besides, it's lunchtime now. You can't tell me you aren't hungry."

Annoyed with his knowing tone, Mai was ready to deny it. But she was hungry. Very hungry.

"Fine, but only because I feel bad you've only had toast today."

The monk grinned, and they turned towards the food stalls. As they merged with the crowds, the delicious scent of fried chicken got stronger...and so did the looks.

"So popular," Bou-san murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

Mai crossed her arms, staring hard at the names of the stands they past.

"I haven't noticed."

"So, you wanna tell me about that picture?"

Mai blinked and tore her eyes away from a sign hawking hand-made sandals.

The picture.

She hadn't told him what she had seen yet. But...what hadshe seen?

"It was a group shot. Three guesses at who's in it."

"Miss Miyuki?"

"Bingo."

The monk crossed his arms, his posture matching Mai's.

"You said group who else was with her?"

"Her father, Mr. Sachi, and Nari."

Bou-san's eyebrows raised,

"That's an odd set. Excepting Mr. Miyuki, they all hate each other."

Their pace through the crowd slowed. The area had become congested. Mai surmised that they must be close to the food stalls. The tell-tale sizzle of meats and vegetables cooking blended with the murmur of the hungry throng.

"It was an old photo. They seemed happy. I think they might have been friends once," Mai answered, bouncing on her feet to see past the heads of those pressed in around her.

A set of hands settled on her shoulders and began steering her towards a line of people in front of a stand selling Teriyaki,

"This one," the monk decided, and then picking up their conversation again, threw a doubtful look down at her. "Don't you remember Nari slapping that water bottle out of Miss Miyuki's hand? Not very friendly if you ask me..."

"Well, not now— obviously. Something must have happened."

They moved forward a few steps. Mai's enviously watched people walk away with paper plates loaded with rice and golden brown chicken.

"How convincing were they? Did anybody have each other in headlocks, was there pinched cheeks, peace or heart signs thrown up? Because you know, they could have just been putting on smiles for Mr. Miyuki's sake."

"No, there were no headlocks, Bou-san."

Mai threw him a look which he returned with a shrug. Still, she considered his point. Were they just pretending? She focused on what she remembered of the picture. She saw their bright faces, their bodies squeezed together, arms linked around each other's backs.

Friends.

The word came loud and clear. Her intuition was speaking.

They shuffled up a few spots. There was now only three people between Mai and her lunch.

"I'm right on this one. I have this feeling. The three of them were close."

The monk nodded, relenting,

"Alright, I know better than to argue one of your feelings. But, how do you explain how things are between them now?

Mai shook her head,

"That I don't know."

"Well, if that's our next clue, I guess we need to find out, hm?"

"Right," Mai agreed as she watched another person carry away something steaming and delicious. It was almost their turn now.

But what could create that kind of hate between old friends?

"Mai!"

Heads turned. Mai tore her eyes from the man paying in front of her, surfacing from thoughts of friendships ended tragically— to look around.

"Mai!"

An instant later she spotted who was calling her. He pushed his way towards her, looking a bit harassed, but a gentle smile intact.

"John!"

"I finally found you," he greeted, coming up to them, "I've been searching all morning."

"We were at the theater, but Naru said—"

"Not to work on the case." The young priest finished for her, nodding.

"That will be two teriyaki bowls, one spicy and...John, what would you like?" Bou-san cut in, mid-order.

"Oh— uh, I'll have whatever Mai is having, thank you," he answered, his gaze falling on the grills filled with strips of sauce smothered chicken.

Mai knew that look. He was just as hungry as she was. As they were waiting for their food to be prepared, Mai began to feel it again. The staring. There were whispers behind her in line.

"That's her isn't it?"

"It's it obvious? Look at the men she has around her."

"I heard they aren't her only ones."

"No, of course not. There's the one who carried her back to her room last night, and then...the one who visited her room last night."

"Oh goodness, four? She's got four?"

Mai glanced at the two men next to her, one a priest and the other practically her brother. She clenched her jaw. She had more than half a mind to correct these busy bodies who dared to run their mouths right next to her, but then a bowl of hot food was deposited in her hands. Reluctantly Mai moved on, trailing after her men. Where they should sit came up for debate, but Mai's firm answer decided it,

"There's too many people here. Let's eat over there."

The three of them worked their way through the masses, past the food stalls— to the edge of the festival grounds. Open space, wide and inviting welcomed them. Mai felt her shoulders relaxing as the warm sun touched her face and the long green grass brushed her bare ankles. The only whispering out there was the wind.

"I never thought of coming out here before, it's nice," John commented pleasantly as they put more space between them and the chaos of the crowds.

Bou-san nodded in agreement, attempting to steal a bite of his chicken as he walked,

"Yeah, it is really nice. How did you think of it, Mai? Oh."

Mai glanced over at the monk. She didn't like the sound of that oh.

"You must have discovered it that night Naru manhandled you."

John's bowl slipped a little from his hand and he had to hurriedly adjust his grip.

That Bou-san.

"That's where you hid, huh?"

Mai, face burning, fighting to recover her voice, followed the monk's gaze. Several yards ahead of them was a lonesome wooden structure.

The outdoor theater.

In trading moonlight for sunlight, she could now see how in disrepair it really was. There wasn't actually much theater left. Nature had all but reclaimed it. Weeds grew from the rows of benches leading up to what once must have been a miniature stage. Mai doubted if anyone could stand on it now without falling through.

"Was this place a theater?" John wondered, approaching once of the benches.

"Looks like it might have been, once. I don't know, ask Mai."

Mai cleared her throat, wishing the red would leave her cheeks. But the memory Bou-san had awakened was playing on loop through her mind.

That Naru and his manhandling.

She copied John and settled herself on one of the sturdier looking benches, and laid out her lunch,

"There's not much to tell. At the festival the night before last I was trying escape the crowds and...found this."

In the face of Bou-san's displeasure, she purposefully left out ninety percent of the story. She was in no mood to recount secret rendezvous and manhandling.

John seemed satisfied though. He nodded, quietly observing his surroundings. Mai found herself doing the same as she ate.

She stared down at the tall grass growing by her feet. She had taken cover among those weeds. Her thoughts turned towards the rendezvous. What had she seen out there?

Mr. Sachi and a woman who wasn't Nari.

Mai frowned into her rice.

And the people of Nozomi gossip about me.

Mai felt something poke her in the ribs and she was startled out of her thoughts. It was Bou-san's finger. He sat on a bench across from her, trying to get her attention.

"Hey, I asked how your feet are?"

Mai rubbed at her side and swatted at his hand, "Good, I guess. I haven't even noticed them."

"I'm glad," John spoke up, with obvious relief. "We were worried after what Nari told us last night. I wanted to check on you, but then I thought I better let you rest. I asked Ayako about you first thing this morning and she said you were better."

Mai tilted her head, a sudden thought occurring to her,

"Where is Ayako?"

"We split up after Naru told us to take the day off. I think she said something about finding a spa."

Mai shared a knowing smile with her friend. That sounded exactly like Ayako.

"And Masa—?"

From the look on Bou-san's face she faltered. He was either choking or giving her the kill sign. She decided it was the latter as the memory of what Ayako had told her the night before came flooding back:

"What happened? Wise Obasan happened. It came time to pick her chosen, and while we all stood there expecting you and Naru to be announced...she called on Masako and John."

"Masako?" John said glancing at her wonderingly, picking up where she left off.

"Oy, no more questions. What does it matter what everybody else is doing? We're here together, eating this great lunch in the sunshine. Just enjoy, Mai." Bou-san spoke up with pointed enthusiasm.

Mai hurriedly agreed, eating mouthfuls of her teriyaki bowl. She watched John out of the corner of her eye anxiously. The last thing she meant to do was embarrass him.

"I haven't seen Hara-san yet, actually," John answered, obviously having missed all their efforts to abandon the subject, "I'm sure she'll be around. I think we're supposed to be seen together from now on, but if you don't turn us in..."

This last part wasn't spoken in seriousness, but Mai's reaction was as strong as if it were.

"Oh no, of course not. This festival and it's rules are ridiculous. Bou-san is right, who really cares about...any of it. Let's just enjoy ourselves."

Mai summoned up her brightest smile, which she had the pleasure of seeing John return, but inside a familiar fire had been lit.

That Masako.

Determined to talk of something else, the monk took control of the conversation in one fowl swoop with his next words,

"So, what do you think John? Is the theater haunted?"