"I can't believe they let you have books," Keijou said, skimming the titles. "They were just going to let me rot away from boredom in my cell."

"Focalor brought them to me when I asked for something to read. At first it was stuff in cuneiform, ancient Hebrew, Greek . . . Which, of course, I couldn't read."

Ukyou caught herself almost smiling at the memory, and told herself to stop. The devil wasn't doing any of this for her, which he was fond of reminding her every opportunity he got. It just so happened that what benefitted her benefitted him as well. No matter how sympathetic the face he wore seemed, she could not let herself forget that it was a cruel and calculating monster that lurked beneath. "Finally I had to ask him for something in Japanese."

Keijou's wandering fingers hit upon a scroll titled The Most High Lord of Yomi and Divers Denizens of His Court. It looked ancient. He imagined a window into the Enma-cho of a thousand years ago, populated by demons at the height of their political power over the judgment of the dead. A golden age—like what they showed in comics. It wouldn't hurt to take a look. "Do you mind?" he asked Ukyou.

Who, from her place on the other side of the room, shook her head. "Help yourself."

So far Keijou had been nothing but amicable, but Ukyou couldn't help her prejudices. He looked too much like the toughs of her memory, with his long ponytail and airs of machismo. On top of that, he was a shinigami, and her track record with those hadn't been so good so far. What was Focalor really thinking, putting him in charge of her safety, like a fox guarding the hen house? Was this his idea of revenge for her attempt to kill the child?

I guess I'm here to keep you from hurting yourself, Keijou had said when he introduced himself—all but pushed into the cell by her guards like a new stud in an endangered animal breeding program. She had cringed at his lack of tact, conscious that the guards were probably right outside, listening to every word they said and laughing, casting bets about them.

They did things like that when they thought she couldn't hear. Or perhaps just didn't care if she could. Even after they had moved her to this roomier cell, with a proper bed, plumbing instead of a chamber pot, a barred window—for all the good it did her to look down on lava fields and torture pools—and soft coverings on the stone surfaces, they still made wagers with one another on whether she would eat her dinner or not, cry in her sleep or not. Try to kill her child again or not.

This latest injustice, adding the shinigami Keijou to the mix, was just kicking her while she was down. She didn't need another pair of eyes on her every moment. And she sure didn't need a colleague of Tsuzuki's watching her, with her belly growing every week. . . .

She folded her cardigan around herself, thankful for the thickness of it, and hugged her middle. If they planned on keeping Keijou here indefinitely, he would find out soon enough. But she certainly wasn't ready to volunteer anything to a near-total stranger.

As he picked up the scroll, Keijou spotted the bowl of grapes. "At least they're keeping you fed."

"They don't feed you?" That actually did pique Ukyou's curiosity.

Keijou shrugged. "I don't need to eat. I guess they thought food would be wasted on me. Doesn't mean I don't get hungry, though."

"Well," Ukyou said, "I do need to eat, and they need to keep me alive any way they can."

"Awfully generous of them."

"Hardly. Apparently I'm not allowed to die."

She wasn't sure how much Focalor had told the shinigami when he gave him this task, but Keijou looked up at her at that comment with a concern and sympathy that Ukyou had given up expecting to find in a place like this. It was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. It was enough; she just refused to let Keijou see them before she knew whether she could really trust him.

"Hey," he said. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not as long as I'm here."

"That's not exactly reassuring coming from a shinigami," Ukyou said as steadily as she was able. Would not apologize that it came out more as an accusation. "I've noticed they have a tendency to break everything they touch. Isn't that what you're supposed to do anyway? Take the souls of the living?"

"Not here. And besides, not anymore."

As for Keijou, he had to admit it bothered him that she kept herself at such a distance. Like she feared he would rape her as soon as touch her. Whatever could have happened to scar her so? Besides the plunging headfirst into a world of demons and shinigami while still alive, that was.

Had Agrippina ever been so vulnerable, so afraid? She had told him stories about the leper asylum where she had been left as a child, and of the nuns in charge of it whose faith she admired even when they told her her disease was punishment for some sin of her past. Keijou didn't understand it, but he told himself they came from different generations, even if they had been roughly the same age when they died. Agrippina had never seemed the type to succumb to fear and loneliness as long as he knew her, but she wouldn't be the first shinigami to compensate for pain in life with strength in death.

He wished there were some way to give that strength to Ukyou. She looked like she was in need of a little hope.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I may be dead, but I'm still human. One of only two in this place. Er, if you don't count all the dead ones being punished out there."

We are being punished, Ukyou thought. But she said, "Is this your way of saying we humans have to stick together?" and Keijou didn't care just now if she was only humoring him.

"That's right. We're a rare breed."

Focalor might not have meant to, but he'd given Keijou back the hope he thought was gone with Agrippina. That's right: I amstill human. He just wondered how long he could keep that true. Whether there was any way to get out of this place with one's humanity intact.

"The grapes actually aren't that bad. Here, you probably need to keep your strength up more than I do—"

Keijou tried to hand her the bowl, but it was too much too soon. Ukyou shied away when he came close, backing up against the wall. It was impossible not to take some offense.

Then again, it seemed impossible for Ukyou to hide her anxiety. She thought about apologizing, or pretending she had shied away for some other reason, but as she doubted Keijou would believe her, she didn't see what good it would do.

He backed away, making soothing sounds, his free hand raised in a calming gesture. Ukyou said, not meeting his eyes: "Did Focalor happen to mention, when he set you up for this, how long you would be staying? I mean, was this supposed to be a nine-to-five gig . . .?"

"I got the impression it was around the clock."

While Keijou found himself a seat on the opposite end of the room, Ukyou sighed—or swore; he couldn't quite tell which—and covered her face. Even at a distance, he could see how her hand trembled. I wonder if this is a little what it's like, he thought, to be abandoned in some strange new place, knowing you may never see your own home or loved ones again. When he went through his own period of coming to grips with his death, it had been excruciatingly difficult some nights, to accept the permanence of his condition; but it must have been something else entirely for the still-living, to not know. To not know whether or not you were ever going to escape, or what sort of fate awaited you, what possible pains. To not know if the person sitting across from you was going to hurt you if you closed your eyes.

"But, hey," he said, a sudden idea making him shoot back to his feet, "if we are stuck here together, that doesn't mean we can't both still have our privacy! We can put some of these rugs up like a curtain—like a divider, you know, like in that old movie, er, What's It Called, with Clark Gable."

"It Happened One Night," Ukyou supplied despondently.

"Okay, yeah. So if you get tired of looking at my mug, you can draw it closed and not have to feel like I'm watching you change or sleep or anything."

He mimed how it would work—not a difficult concept to grasp, really, and besides, Ukyou had seen the movie—and something in her started to unwind. She had been so tense, so on her guard ever since arriving here, that the thought she might actually be able to relax in someone else's company, confident that she would come to no harm, was a very enticing one.

"Thank you. That would be a good start." But she couldn't drop her guard yet. She had already made the mistake of not keeping Tsuzuki at the distance she should have.

Nonomiya heaved a heavy sigh as she entered the locker room between the pool and gym, and felt all the stress of the busy last few days start to leave her. She never would have thought she could be so grateful that her path after death had led her to Peacekeeping, rather than the taking of souls and ending of life that faced Summons agents day after day. In life, her passion had been to help others; but helping them into the grave was a raw deal the guilt of which she only now knew first-hand. She couldn't imagine carrying that guilt around for ten years, let alone the seventy-plus that Tsuzuki had.

Now that Kurosaki was back, and Dr. Akiyama had been stopped, maybe she'd get a break from the emotional and karmic weight on her of all those souls. Some laps in the pool would help to shift her thoughts to less troubling matters as well.

She let her tired eyes fall closed for just one second and nearly ran into Kazuma, who was wiping the sweat from her own workout out of her eyes.

A split second from collision, they grabbed for each other, uttering quick apologies on instinct.

"Kochou!" Kazuma said once crisis had been averted. For the briefest moment, Nonomiya wondered from her tone of voice if her old partner missed her as much as she missed Kazuma, but the next, a trace of resentment wiped the feeling away. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just going for a swim." The chill that worked itself into her voice was a defensive reaction, a shield Nonomiya raised around herself. "You know I like to swim laps when I need to de-stress."

Kazuma bristled. "I know that. I meant why now?"

"Why not now?" It was the middle of the day, not when Nonomiya usually went to the pool, that much was true; but she had to work with what Summons's sometimes erratic schedule would allow. Or were her suspicions correct, and Kazuma was trying to avoid her? "But I'm not really sure I want one, if I'm going to have company for it. Excuse me. . . ."

She turned to leave. But Kazuma's harsh "Hey!" stopped her in her tracks. "Is this how you're going to be now every time we run into each other?"

Nonomiya could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but she willed herself to calm. "How am I supposed to act, Shin? I'm not sure anymore."

"How about like a friend?"

That took gall, even for Shin. "A friend, really? You made it quite clear enough to me that friendship doesn't rank all that high in your priorities when you let our chief transfer me without even saying a word to me about it. I thought partners were supposed to stick up for one another. I could have at least used a sympathetic ear. Instead, next thing I hear of you, you're leading a raid of the Castle of Candles?"

"I was doing my job!" Kazuma shot back. "There is a reason we're here, in case you've forgotten. And despite what some of us seem to believe, it isn't up to us to just make up what we think is right as we go along. You can't honestly be holding this against me!"

And Nonomiya could hardly believe that just a moment ago, seeing Shin again, fresh from her workout and gleaming, she had genuinely thought for all of a second that they would go back to the way things had been before, like the last month and a half never happened.

Now, the longer she had to look at her old partner, the more she seethed. And she hated herself for it.

"I don't need this right now," Nonomiya said, turning away. "I came here to relieve some stress, not add a heaping scoop of it."

She could hear Kazuma calling halfheartedly to her as she walked away. She did not see Kazuma slam her fist into the nearest locker door and dent it, but she could hear it. And hoped it hurt.

Arguing with Kochou was the last thing Kazuma wanted to do. It was only when she saw her old partner with her own eyes again that she realized just how much she missed her. She couldn't just forget about everything the two of them had been through over the last several years as partners. And as friends. Dare she still say lovers? Affections waxed and waned in this place—a luxury of being dead—but they never really went away.

But forgetting was one thing. Forgiving was another matter entirely. She could tell herself that too much had happened to forgive so easily, but wasn't that exactly what she most wanted to do? Forgive? Why did doing the right thing have to be so damned hard?

When she spotted Imai at one of the cafeteria tables, going over a stack of printouts over his coffee and anpan roll, she welcomed the itch of curiosity as just what she needed to take her mind off of Kochou. "Gushoushin gave you what you needed, did they?" she said as she helped herself to the seat opposite him, and started spreading out her own lunch.

"Yeah. Those bird guys work fast."

Must have been something of a shock for him when he first laid eyes on the Gushoushin. They were kind of a shock for anybody. Kazuma could still recall her mortification when she realized they weren't animatronic stuffed animals. She suspected the Elder still held that against her, judging by the side-eye he gave her any time she needed to visit the library. "And? Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Well, I think so." Imai gave the printout he was currently reading a hard flick. "Turns out this Kurosaki kid and I did cross paths. We were both working the same case, as a matter of fact, the Livertaker murders in Kumamoto last fall. The reason he looked familiar was probably exactly as you said. I must have seen him on the street and—well, he does have a look about him that's hard to forget, doesn't he? I think it's those eerie eyes. They must have just stuck in my head. I had no idea he was a shinigami at the time, of course."

"Living people rarely do. If we were obvious about it, we'd all be in trouble, wouldn't we? To you he probably seemed like a regular high school student."

"Well, he didn't look like a dead guy, that's for sure. I hope I would have noticed that." Imai furrowed his brow at a sudden thought. "You know, now that I think about it, I knew something wasn't right about that case. The whole time it felt like someone or something was looking over my shoulder every step of the way—even actively trying to obstruct my investigation. Damn it, I told Asai there was no way I just misplaced my badge!"

Kazuma's sympathies went out to Imai. It had to be frustrating being the target of a shinigami's pranks, not knowing the true cause and feeling like one was starting to lose their sanity.

"So?" she said. "Do you feel better, knowing where you remembered him from? Feel like you can put this matter behind you?"

Imai nodded. "You know, I think I do? I guess my obsessing over this mystery of where I'd seen the kid before was like this unconscious refusal to accept that I was really dead. Like by clinging to that, I was trying to cling to my past life, as if I could somehow get that back. Does that make any sense?"

"More than you think," Kazuma assured him. "It's also perfectly normal. We all go through something similar when we get here. The confusion, the regrets, the wishing we had a do-over. The desperation to find out not just how, but why we died. Maybe having the experience you had as a detective, you were just able to get through it a little faster than most."

She reached for her drink; but, not watching what she was doing, ended up knocking the cup over with the back of her hand before she could stop herself. Kazuma swore at her clumsiness—this was what she got for letting her feelings about Kochou distract her—and prepared herself for the messy splash.

But Imai's hand shot out before the cup could tip even forty-five degrees. With a nonchalant "Whoopsie-daisy" he righted it again.

Only when he realized what he'd done did his eyes snap to Kazuma's, wide with disbelief.

"How did you do that?" she asked him.

"I-I don't know!" He blinked. "This is going to sound crazy, but I knew you were going to knock it over. I was . . ." He had to weigh his words, like he didn't believe them himself. "I was waiting for that to happen. I, uh, take it that sort of thing isn't normal?"

The Summons office may have been at half capacity, but it was still too busy for Hisoka's liking. It didn't sit well with him that he might even now be being spied on, and he had only barely been able to narrow down the field of suspects.

So when Tatsumi passed by his desk, he didn't waste the opportunity to snag his attention.

"Hey, Tatsumi?" Hisoka grabbed the two folders that were all ready to go beside his keyboard. "Natsume and I finished our reports on what happened at Akiyama's office. I wanted to make sure I got them into your hands personally."

As he had hoped, the gravity in his words wasn't lost on the secretary. Tatsumi's eyes met his, full of meaning. "I appreciate it. And did you make any headway on that other matter?"

"Actually, I was hoping to discuss it with you."

Tatsumi's mix of anticipation and anxiety was an almost tangible thing when the two had closed themselves off in the conference room. Hisoka couldn't blame him. He expected to find out someone he trusted was a traitor. Hisoka would hardly have felt any different if their situations were reversed.

"Did you find our mole?" Tatsumi asked him in a low voice.

"Not yet. But I know who it isn't. Well, one more person that it isn't. Natsume and I had a bit of a heart-to-heart." There was more to it than that, of course, more that weighed on Hisoka's conscience; but he had given his word that he would be discreet about Natsume's plans if he thought they warranted it, and he thought they warranted it. At least for the time being. "Long story short, he checks out. His loyalty is to Summons. So is K's."

That was stretching it a bit, but Hisoka was confident that in Natsume's mind, his motives were all to protect the people he cared about, and many of them were indeed in Summons. And K—well, she was completely devoted to Natsume. As much as any cat could be devoted to another being, anyway.

"I always knew we had K's loyalty," Tatsumi said, which almost made a somewhat flabbergasted Hisoka ask if he was the only one who had been completely in the dark about the cat's status as a shinigami in her own right. Tatsumi let out a long sigh as he leaned back against the table, and it was clear Hisoka's news had come to him as something of a relief. "It never even crossed my mind to suspect Natsume, though I suppose it should have."

"You should have suspected everyone. Myself included."

But Hisoka knew Tatsumi could never do that, and he was grateful for it, though it was a weakness. "Natsume went out of his way to retrieve some sensitive materials for me," Tatsumi said. "He put himself in harm's way for this department. I suppose now that I think about it, he could have easily done so because he already had a deal with Todoroki."

"That was exactly my thinking. But after discussing it thoroughly with him, reading his feelings on the matter, I believe he was being truthful. He would never have sold us out to Todoroki. He thinks of that man as an enemy."

"Yes, I suppose he would. After Peacekeeping treated him like a criminal."

"Do they think he's still in contact with Muraki?" At Tatsumi's confused look, Hisoka elaborated, "Because of the way he died, I mean?"

"No. Because of what he did to Tsuzuki."

Now it was Hisoka's turn to be confused.

Tatsumi backpedaled. "You still don't know what happened between them." It wasn't a question; the answer was clear on Hisoka's face.

"It didn't come up." And now Hisoka kicked himself for forgetting to ask. The question had been weighing on him so heavily when he went to confront Natsume. "But you know, don't you? And don't tell me it's none of my business and that I should ask him if I really want to know, like everyone does. You were there. Which means you aren't betraying anyone's confidence by telling me what you witnessed."

For a moment, Hisoka was sure Tatsumi would shut down the conversation again. But he must have decided that what Hisoka said rang true. Or true enough.

"If you know how Natsume's connected to Muraki," he said somberly, "then he must have told you how he died."

"Astaroth," was all Hisoka said.

Tatsumi nodded. "Well, what he may not have told you—and I wouldn't blame him for it; I would be ashamed to discuss it if I were he—is that the manner of his death made him a magnet for demonic energies. Denizens of Hell cannot get into Meifu themselves, you see, the barrier around this world is too strong; but if they can latch themselves onto a shinigami in the living world, they can ride his body back home."

"Is that what happened? He got possessed on a case?" If so, Hisoka's sympathies went out to his partner more than ever before. Why hadn't Natsume felt safe enough with him to volunteer that?

Though perhaps Hisoka already knew the answer, having seen the same thing happen to Tsuzuki.

"He didn't know it had happened," Tatsumi said. "Possession can occur subtly sometimes, and something, some . . . mark must have been placed on Natsume's soul at the moment of his death, that was perceived as an invitation by demons. Sending him back to Chijou was like dropping chum in shark-infested waters, irresistible, and each time he went up there he picked up more of them."

"Just how many?" Hisoka started to ask, but at Tatsumi's shake of the head, he figured the number didn't much matter.

"Enough," said Tatsumi. "Enough that he wasn't acting like himself for about a week before it all came to a head. We should have noticed the signs. But the fact of the matter is we didn't, and mortals who weren't meant to die for some time lost their lives before we could do anything about it. Tsuzuki tried to stop him, he put himself in harm's way, and that bought time for reinforcements to arrive at the scene. At great pains to himself, however. The demons possessing Natsume must have thought it was more fun to torture someone they couldn't actually kill."

Hisoka remembered what great pains Tsuzuki had been willing to put himself through to keep Hisoka from further harm on their first case. Even knowing Hisoka was as dead as he, he still threw himself into the line of fire, and suffered the greater wounds. He would have hesitated even less had a mortal life been on the line. "Did you perform a reibaku?"

Tatsumi shook his head. "Chief Konoe wasn't strong enough for that, and Natsume's soul probably wouldn't have been either. It was a ritual exorcism. It took so long, and had so many setbacks and participants trying different methods, none of us was sure it would actually work until it was over. But at the end of it, once he was deemed clear of any possessions, seals were placed on Natsume's soul to ensure that a repeat of the incident would never happen. He's still a magnet to demons, only now in a repulsive rather than attractive fashion. Likely he always will be."

"That explains a lot," said Hisoka. Like how well Natsume had stood his ground against Zepar, and perhaps even why their attempt to capture a shoggoth had ended in its being vaporized. "But I didn't know you could put a seal on a person's soul." For that matter, he hadn't received any feeling of what Natsume had gone through when they talked before. Hisoka had to hand it to him, he was very talented at hiding his past pain.

"It's not unlike what Muraki placed on you."

"That's different, it's a curse," Hisoka started to say. But Tatsumi continued over him: "Yet you carry that with you just the same, don't you? Even being forced to regrow your skin couldn't wipe it away. It's an indelible part of you now. Only Natsume's seal is to keep dangerous influences out, rather than keep them in."

That was an odd way of phrasing it. Muraki cursed me to keep me in pain, Hisoka wanted to remind him, but something about Tatsumi's choice of words stopped him short. What did Tatsumi think he was keeping in, exactly? Or did he just mean the memory of the night Hisoka was attacked—the memory of pain?

"I shouldn't have told you all of that," Tatsumi said, suddenly contrite. "I'm not sure Natsume would want you to know if he chose not to broach the topic himself. Particularly since Tsuzuki always blamed him for not knowing he was possessed. He seemed to believe Natsume could have stopped himself from killing the people he did, if he'd only tried a little harder to control himself."

"I think maybe now he would see things differently." Certainly Sargatanas had demonstrated to them all how easily a devil could overpower a human mind, even warp a person's purest feelings and use them as weapons against their hosts and hosts' loved ones, leaving the host little more than a passenger in his own body all the while.

"Maybe," Tatsumi agreed. "But as far as I know Tsuzuki never forgave him. The two of them never spoke after Natsume was transferred to Accounting."

That, too, Hisoka could understand. Tsuzuki may have had a giving heart, but anyone had only to look to Terazuma to see that when he held a grudge, he clung to it tightly, with relish.

And maybe that was the key to uncovering this whole mole business, Hisoka thought with a sudden spark of inspiration. If guilt didn't succeed in coaxing out a confession, maybe blame would do the trick. And either way, he knew just the person who could help him set the trap.

"Back again so soon?" said Gushoushin the Elder when Imai darkened his library tables for the second time that day. Then he saw Kazuma, and grumbled. "Oh. What do you want, beast-woman?"

Kazuma snorted and put her hands on her hips. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, Teddy Ruxpin. I wanted to thank you for helping my new partner out earlier today."

"And, let me guess: You have another favor to ask of us."

"Bingo, bird-man."

"Well, out with it. What can we do this time?" He spread the sarcasm on thick when he muttered, "We live to serve, after all."

The tension between them wasn't lost on Imai. "Uh, it's me," he said with a sheepishly raised hand. "Something might be going on with me since I died, and Kazuma-sempai said you might be able to tell me what it is. Or why it is."

Damn, Gushoushin thought, how did these shinigami always seem to get him involved in something he knew better than to get involved in? "Fine. What's going on?"

Haltingly—which was frustrating when there was a whole cart of books to re-shelve just waiting—Imai explained what he had been experiencing lately; which, as far as Gushoushin could tell, amounted to a sense of deja vu. Only, not deja vu. "So, you're having premonitions," he butted in, just to get to the punchline a little sooner.

Imai blinked. "Well . . . yeah. I guess you could call it that. Look, I don't believe a person can tell the future, but I also don't know how else to put it. I prided myself on being quick to put the pieces together when I was on the force, but I wouldn't say that I was ever able to see what was coming ahead of time. If I had been, it would have been useful."

"And maybe you wouldn't have died."

Kazuma shot him a chastising look, but Gushoushin actually hadn't meant that one to be insulting. Just stating the facts.

"Pretty much," said Imai. At least he understood the spirit in which it had been meant.

"So it must have happened to him when he became a shinigami," said Kazuma. "Right?"

"Well, that is why you came to me, isn't it?" Gushoushin only wished his brother had been the one to answer their call. He was usually much more enthusiastic about solving these kinds of riddles. "If you're asking me if a shinigami's powers can materialize after death, then the answer is yes. Actually, the theory is that they occur during the death itself, and usually in some manner conferred on the soul by the nature of a person's death. For example, telekinetics are usually victims of car crashes or other impact accidents, shadow-users tend to die in fires—"

"So, what? Shinigami who can see the future were people who died in explosions?"

Gushoushin hummed in thought. No, that didn't sound right either. But he wouldn't know for certain without knowing the exact details of Imai's death.

"I'm going to have to look into that," he told them, making a mental note to do some digging in the records once his chores were done. "I'll get back to you once I learn more."

Kazuma and Imai just stood there with expectant looks on their faces. Humans. Can't they take a hint?

"Well, not right now!" he squawked, shooing them towards the door. "I have a life outside of satisfying your every whim, you know. Come back later! Better yet, when I get an answer, I'll call you."

"Really, Kurosaki?" Nonomiya sighed. "I'm in no mood for this. . . ." Her usually unflappable smile was gone, replaced by a look of exhaustion that almost made him wonder if she'd been crying.

But Hisoka couldn't let that distract him. Not right now. "I understand this might not be the best time," he said, "but I don't think there is such a thing as a good time for this. You're the only one who can help me. And, to be honest, you wouldn't just be doing Summons a favor. I believe you'd be helping yourself and Kazuma, too."

The mention of her partner still in Peacekeeping did give Nonomiya pause. For the briefest of moments, Hisoka worried it might be a pause for the worse, the pause before she gave him her final, adamant refusal.

But then the tiredness changed to . . . something else. Resignation maybe, or perhaps a bit of hope. "As long as it doesn't come back to bite us. It's a risk, Kurosaki. If your plan backfires—"

"If I miss my target, and any of this gets back to your boss, I'm the one who's going to look like the bad guy, not you. Please," he said. "If it doesn't work this time I swear I won't try to rope you into it again."

Nonomiya shrugged. But it was her unspoken acquiescence that Hisoka took for an affirmative.

Besides, he needed her to sound genuine. So if she was taken aback when he flew out of the conference room, making the door slam back against its outer wall, it worked in his plan's favor.

"Where are they?" he shouted back at her as he stormed into the middle of the Summons office's collection of desks. "I know you were sent here to spy on us, Nonomiya. You can't deny it anymore, I will find where you hid the devices!"

He started fumbling around the desk belonging to the agents working northern Honshu, pretending to look for any type of recording devices or charms. The two agents leaped back out the way, judging it wise to give a pissed-off Kurosaki on a mission a wide berth.

But it was the energy attached to their belongings that really interested Hisoka. As he felt around the underside of the desk and the bottoms of drawers, he was looking for any sign of guilt that might betray them. So far, however, other than a fleeting fear of being caught not sharing a box of high-end chocolates with the rest of the office, he felt nothing.

Meanwhile, Nonomiya watched with arms crossed and an impatient expression on her face. "I told you a million times: I don't know what devices you're talking about. I am merely here to make sure none of you do anything illegal to threaten the security of Enma-cho. You're not going to try to tell me you've never done anything like that since you've been here, are you?"

Hisoka had to hand it to her, her acting was convincing. If only because he knew she wasn't acting. "Or how about the fact that you've done nothing but suspect my motives since the day I walked in here?" she said when he moved on to Terazuma and Wakaba's desk—the one he dreaded searching the most. "This is nothing but a witch hunt, and it's unprofessional and unbecoming. I've done absolutely nothing to warrant this kind of treatment—"

"Nothing?" Having (thankfully) found no impression of guilt on the surface of Terazuma's desk—at least, nothing to remotely connect him to Peacekeeping—Hisoka stood and faced Nonomiya fully. It felt like all his rage about her being here was surging back to the surface; and even though he knew consciously that she didn't deserve it, wasn't even the real target of it, and that she no more wanted to be here than he did and hated her orders, there was a guilty kind of release in finally being able to get the frustration he had supressed for a month off his chest. "Care to explain to me how your buddies knew where to find me so fast?"

"I didn't plant anything," said Nonomiya.

"I'm not normally the one who has to say this, kid," Terazuma started, "but I'm thinking you need to calm the fuck down." And he reached for Hisoka's elbow.

Hisoka shrugged him off. A part of him was relieved that he received no sign from Terazuma—or Wakaba, who was watching from her own seat, stunned by the whole outburst—that he was the mole Hisoka was looking for. Another part ought to have been embarassed that his outburst had won him the entire office's attention, as no one was doing anything other than watching him, wondering if he'd finally gone off his rocker. Only Tatsumi knew what his game truly was, and he watched the rest of the room watching Hisoka, waiting for someone to react and give themselves away.

But Hisoka noticed none of that. Only now did that fateful night a month ago came back to him in a way that he hadn't had time to fully process since. The question that had been gnawing at the back of his mind for so long zoomed to the forefront, and he would not be quiet about it until he was satisfied.

"Then explain to me how Peacekeeping knew exactly where Chief Konoe and I were just moments after we got there!" he shouted back at Nonomiya. "Someone in this department relayed that information, and if it couldn't possibly have been you, as you keep insisting it wasn't, I want to know who it was!"

Because, thanks to that person, Hisoka was certain he had lost Tsuzuki forever. And now that that fact hit him with all the weight and meaning he had been avoiding for so long, he despised himself.

He hated that he had been so weak that he couldn't save Tsuzuki, that he had messed up everything so badly when he had tried. He hated that he hadn't been smarter, more tactful, about the way he'd approached his supposed rescue attempt. There must have been a thousand other ways he could have tried to reach Tsuzuki, ways which hadn't ended in his partner winding up with Muraki and even further out of his reach, ways which hadn't blown up a city block and killed innocent people asleep in their homes. . . .

"Alright! It was me!"

The office went silent as all eyes turned disbelieving to the one who had spoken.

Saya looked up sheepishly at them, before, lip trembling, she lowered her gaze to her lap. "It was me all along. Okay? Can we just please stop yelling at each other?" Perhaps Hisoka's own emotions had affected her, resonated with her own guilt, for she looked as crushed as Hisoka had felt just a moment ago when she sobbed, "I'm the spy."

Under Yuma's scandalized "Saya?!" her partner cringed. Yet when Terazuma muttered something about it always being the quiet ones, Yuma shot him a glare like daggers.

"I felt like I didn't have a choice!" Eyes brimming with tears, Saya looked to Tatsumi for understanding. "They threatened me."

"Agrippina and Keijou?" Nonomiya asked.

To which Saya nodded adamantly. It took her another moment to steady her voice. "They cornered me, said they knew I had family that was still living, and I should think long and hard about their fates if I didn't do what they asked. So when Natsume came running in here and told Tatsumi where you had gone, Hisoka, I passed it along. I knew if I didn't, and they heard about it afterwards, they would do something to make me regret it."

Apparently Hisoka wasn't the only one who was glad the two Peacekeepers were destroyed, either. Yuma for one was outraged for her partner's sake, and Terazuma and Tatsumi on principle. But it was Nonomiya's anger that Hisoka could feel strongest of all. "They should have known better," she said through her teeth. "It's grounds for termination to intentionally take a life not scheduled for death. Even threatening to do so could have ended their careers. If you had reported them—"

"Never mind that," said Terazuma. "You should have known better than to believe they'd follow up on their threats."

Wakaba made a noise that warned him he wasn't helping. But Saya shook her head. "They weren't threatening to kill my family. Agrippina said she had an in with someone in Judgment who could fix their karmic records, so that when they did . . . d-die they would receive harsher punishments. It was my family's afterlives they were going to ruin if I didn't turn spy for them.

"Don't you guys understand?" she wailed, looking between them for support before landing on Hisoka. "I couldn't risk not doing it! I had to do what they said just to make sure nothing bad happened to my family! I would never forgive myself if they had to suffer in their afterlife because of me. And who could I have reported Agrippina and Keijou to? Todoroki probably ordered them to do it." (Nonomiya's sideways glance told Hisoka there was probably some truth to that.) "Chief Konoe wasn't here, and Tatsumi—" She blushed. "I-I'm really sorry, Tatsumi, but you can be kind of scary sometimes."

"I suppose I deserve that," Tatsumi said with a small, apologetic smile.

Yuma said, "Did they really have someone in Judgment who could do that to her family?"

"It's possible they had contacts," Nonomiya said gently, not wanting to frighten Saya any more but believing she deserved the truth. "Judgment officials aren't supposed to take bribes or interfere in the judgment of souls, but I would be surprised if it never happened. I can promise you, though, that I will look into the matter personally. Peacekeepers are supposed to make sure everything happens according to law around here. It's humiliating to our department to think that two of our agents could be so crooked."

"At least Agrippina and Keijou are gone," Wakaba said. "So Saya doesn't have to worry about her family anymore. Right?"

Saya hung her head in shame. "I thought that would be the end of it," she admitted in a small voice. "I was even glad when I heard they were dead, really dead. But then that guy from the other day, Endo . . . He just showed up while Yuma and I were investigating our case, in Sapporo—"

"You didn't tell me this!" said Yuma, the fear for her partner's safety shining clear in her eyes.

"You were watching our target while I got snacks," Saya told her. "Endo waited until we were separated. He said the deal I had with his associates still applied. I was so frightened, I didn't know how to tell you."

"Never mind that. God, Saya—what kind of partner am I if I can't even tell when you're being harassed!"

"I'll handle Endo myself," Tatsumi volunteered, though Nonomiya shook her head at the idea. "You'll only make things worse," she said. "You're already at the top of Todoroki's hit list, Tatsumi. I should be the one—I should have learned long ago to stand up to him—"

"No. I'll talk to Todoroki myself."

Everyone had been too focused on Saya and the topic at hand to notice Konoe had returned. "This is my fault," he said, the emotion uncharacteristically thick in his voice. "I left my agents vulnerable when I left this department."

Choruses of "It wasn't your fault" and "You didn't know" broke out and then quickly trailed off. It was clear at moments like this how deeply all of Summons respected him, and Hisoka knew as well as anybody that Konoe had not left his department freely. He noticed Tatsumi look away when no one else did. Doubtless he blamed himself for letting Saya fall under Peacekeeping's malicious interests, for not being a strong enough chief to their division, and Hisoka knew that nothing he said would take away that guilt.

All of a sudden, he just wanted to sneak out of the office, disappear. His plan to flush out their mole had worked, but at what cost? Tormenting Saya even more than she was already being tormented, and in front of everyone who respected her? Even for what she had done, she didn't deserve this. Hisoka had believed he could hate the person who would betray their own department, and feel justified doing it; but seeing that Saya had been motivated by fear rather than malice, and most he could rouse was pity. Regret. He couldn't blame her for his own failures with Tsuzuki. And he had no idea how he could even begin to make amends for outing her like this.

Meanwhile, Konoe held up a hand to stop their protests. "Ms. Torii, I hope you can forgive me. I failed you when you needed me most."

Saya looked as though she were about to tell him he did no such thing, but settled for a grateful and somber nod.

"And as for everyone else," the chief said, "this department can only succeed insofar as we all trust each other. Communication must be kept open, and I want no more secrets to come between us. An attack on one of us is an attack on our entire team. Not to mention, an impediment to our work that we cannot afford. From now on, if someone from another department is threatening you, do not hesitate to report it to me. It's what King Enma himself would want."

"Sir." Tatsumi swung the door closed behind him perhaps a little too hard as he followed Konoe into his office. "I cannot let you take the blame for what happened to Ms. Torii. It was under my watch that she was compromised."

How could he have been so blind? Yet, Tatsumi knew the answer to that question. He had been so focused on finding Tsuzuki that he had neglected Summons's other duties. He had put so much trust into a vetted few that he had neglected everyone outside that circle. And they were no less Summons officers than he was. It wasn't the first time he had dropped this particular proverbial ball either. "I should have seen the signs. I was placed in charge of these people—I should have noticed that one of my team was under such stress—"

"You all were," Konoe said as he sat back behind his desk.

"That's no excuse. The point is, it was my incompetence that allowed Ms. Torii to be blackmailed for so long. If anyone is to reprimanded for this, I ought to be the one. Clearly we need you to hold this department together, Chief, because I doubt there is anyone else able to do it."

Konoe leaned over his elbows. "And I am telling you, Tatsumi," he said, looking straight into his secretary's eyes, "that I don't intend to let this tarnish my reputation, or yours, or anyone at Summons, so you can stop trying to fall on your sword. Besides, it's disturbing. You take the fall far too easily for someone so quick to seek justice for the smallest infraction."

That, Tatsumi couldn't deny, brought a little color to his cheeks.

"No," Konoe went on, "I place the responsibility for this solely on the Peacekeepers involved, and as two of them are now dead for a second time, I'd say they have already been punished. As for Mr. Endo's involvement, I have no doubt that he is working with Todoroki's consent, perhaps even encouragement, and that cannot be allowed to stand. As chiefs of our respective departments, the conduct of our agents ultimately rests with Todoroki and myself. And in case he has forgotten that, and refuses to see sense, I will take the matter to the administrators in Judgment—"

"I already tried that, sir. They sided with Todoroki, citing finding Tsuzuki as a matter of 'national security' that made interdepartmental spying necessary."

"I will take it to King Enma himself, then, if I have to. His Augustness understands better than anyone that now is the worst time to have departments at each other's throats, undermining the peace this realm keeps. He will make sure a swift end is put to any corruption."

Tatsumi was tempted to say that he wasn't entirely sure the corruption and strife were not precisely what Enma wanted, though he had no proof to back up his suspicions. But it was at that time that Konoe winced and arched his back.

Tatsumi automatically took a step forward, but Konoe waved off his concern with one hand, while he tried to rub a sore spot with the other. "Just this old back, nothing to worry about. Seems to be acting up more than usual with all this running back and forth I've been doing, after six months of sitting around on my ass."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Tatsumi offered, even if he already knew there wasn't.

In answer, Konoe gestured for him to sit down.

"What I'm about to tell you must not leave this room. Is that understood? Watari already knows, but I don't want you discussing it with him. There's no telling where Todoroki might have ears—or anyone else, for that matter—and I can't risk this information getting out."

They were beyond the need for spoken vows and promises. Tatsumi took a seat in the chair across from him, and that was all the assurance that Konoe needed.

"As you know," the chief said, "we had Watari testing blood samples from our connected cases, trying to find a substance they might have been given in common. The results were getting us nowhere, so he tried testing DNA instead. I think you can probably guess what he found."

"Tsuzuki's DNA," Tatsumi said, to himself as much as the chief.

And Konoe's nod told him he was not wrong. "In their white blood cells."

"So, our suspicion that the cases had some connection to Muraki Yukitaka's experiments was not wholly unfounded. I can understand why you wouldn't want these results to become a matter of public knowledge."

He could guess what Todoroki might do with the information. It had been difficult enough when Tsuzuki had been merely unaccounted for, but if the rest of the Judgment Bureau knew his blood had been used to revitalize the living during the same period? And now, with Tsuzuki in Muraki's clutches, quite possibly staying with Muraki of his own volition? What would follow would be a personal crusade against Tsuzuki to make everything that came before seem like a harmless game. "But surely half of Summons already suspected as much. Having confirmation of our theory may be disturbing, to say the least, but the theory isn't exactly new."

"The DNA was a match to Tsuzuki," Konoe said in a low voice, as if it took an effort to drag each word from his own throat, "but it wasn't an exact match. Watari said it was familial."

"How much?" But Tatsumi already knew it was too much to hope for the match to indicate some niece or nephew or distant cousin.

"Fifty percent. That's right." Tatsumi's reaction must have been clear on his face, because Konoe made no mistake of it. "If the results are accurate, and Watari assures me they are, it would appear that somewhere out there, Tsuzuki has a child running around."

And I know who it is.

Damn it, Tsuzuki, why did you have to choose me to be the keeper of your secrets? Tsuzuki had begged him not to tell. But it had been Hisoka he was so terrified of learning the truth. Kurosaki, Konoe—which did it matter? The moment Tatsumi revealed to anyone how Muraki was truly connected to Tsuzuki was the moment he lost control of that information. God, if he could only erase it from his own mind so that no one else, not even he, would have to know the awful truth. . . .

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

Tatsumi shook himself out of his own thoughts to see Konoe scrutinizing him with that suspicious look. He must have paled, or gotten that distant look in his eyes that was a sure tell as to the direction of his thoughts.

"Yes, in fact. There is." Konoe knew him too well to be persuaded with a word that all was well with Tatsumi, particularly when it wasn't. Tatsumi had to give him something. "While we are being open and honest with each other, there is something that I think it's time you knew."

Mentally, he cursed Tsuzuki a thousand times for this. Let the fallout be on your head. God knows it's a weakness of mine, but I do this all for you.

"When Watari and I brought Kurosaki back with us from Sakuraiji's residence, we noticed something . . . odd."

"How odd?"

"As you know, he was very badly burned. At first we thought it was just an effect of his injuries. But upon closer examination, we were forced to concede that our eyes were not playing tricks with us. There were scales beneath the worst of Kurosaki's burns, Chief. Snake scales."

Konoe sat back, stunned to silence by the revelation. He had seen Tatsumi's file on the Kurosaki family's case, Tatsumi was certain of that, and Watari's. Konoe knew just as well as they did what had gone on in that ancient house in Kamakura, and what new and grotesque forms the Yatonokami's curse had taken.

But this, though not inconceivable by any means, had been unexpected. Though perhaps, judging by his reaction, not as unexpected to Konoe as it had been to the other two upon seeing it. His "You're certain?" had a definite ring of resignation to it. Konoe had been fearing this.

"Yes. They were unmistakable. His eyes had changed as well. That had been one of the more obvious outward signs of the elder Kurosaki's possession when we investigated him in his home. We could not forget it if we tried." The whites turned to gray, almost black, the pupils serpentine slits, the original human irises taking on a reptilian cast. . . . "Kurosaki's eyes were just the same as his father's."

Konoe nodded to himself as he let the meaning of this new information slowly sank in. It would take a while to digest, Tatsumi knew. He was still trying to accept what it might mean himself. For Kurosaki, but also for the rest of them. None of Summons was an island, after all. They all needed each other. But could he depend on associates whom he was no longer sure were not demons in disguise, wild like predatory animals and liable to turn on him at any moment?

"I think it's best," Konoe finally said, "if this stays between us as well, Tatsumi. If Kurosaki doesn't know what you saw, we should keep it that way. Enma believes he may be our only chance of saving Tsuzuki. But I'm afraid that if Kurosaki learns what he really is, it might destroy him first."

On that, Tatsumi told him, he was inclined to agree.