Keijou was dreaming he was on a case with Agrippina when the interruption came. Before he woke, he saw her face slowly losing its scars and morphing into Sakuraiji's until the two were impossible to separate.

But it was only because Sakuraiji's was the only human face he'd seen in the last few months. He was starting to forget what his own partner, his lover, had looked like. And that was unforgivable. If those who existed forgot about those loved ones who no longer did, wasn't it like they had never been? If he had gone the same way as Agrippina in that explosion, would there be anyone who cared enough to remember that he had existed?

He bolted upright at the violent creaking of the cell door, sad to be pulled away from the Agrippina in his dream, but thankful for a distraction from all the tangled emotion that went with it.

Ukyou nearly dropped the book she was reading in surprise. "What's going on?" the two asked simultaneously as Focalor's pale face appeared in the doorway.

"Get up and take nothing with you," the devil said. "We've got to move the two of you. Now."

They did as told without complaint, Keijou steadying Ukyou when she nearly tripped over their former jailers, the demons' monstrous forms sprawled and unconscious on the stone floor outside the cell.

"Where are you taking us? What's this all about?" Ukyou asked, taking the words right out of Keijou's mouth as they hurried to keep up. Focalor set a demanding pace. But though her heart was hammering with fearful excitement, Ukyou dared not ask him to slow down.

"You're in danger if you stay here," Focalor said back over his shoulder to her. Even he sounded a little winded by their pace. Doubtless the infirmities of his vessel catching up with him. "There's been a coup, and I can no longer protect you in that cell."

"A coup?" Ukyou breathed, thinking with a shudder about Zepar. Keijou said, "Who rebelled?"

The grin the devil shot them was enough to chill even the shinigami's bones. "I did," said Focalor.

He led them to a spiraling staircase within a staircase, pushing them abruptly back into the shadows as the sound of charging, heavy footsteps came their way. They could hear armor clinking against scales, the animal snorts and growls of the demon army passing unseen only meters away, and trusted what he said was true.

The alarm had already been raised. Ashtaroth must have known by now her prize was loose. She would not stop until it was secured again—and when that happened, Keijou thought, his presence might no longer be deemed necessary.

He wanted to give Focalor a piece of his mind for threatening his very existence with this reckless, selfish act of defiance. How was a lone, unarmed shinigami out of his element and a washed-up devil in a rotting corpse supposed to stand a chance against the will of a ruler of Hell? But now wasn't the time for fisticuffs. While Sakuraiji still lived, their priority was to get her to safety. And as he had no idea where in Hell he even was, "Okay, what's the plan now, O brilliant leader?"

"I get you far away from here. Both of you."

Keijou must have had some endemic parasite stuck in his ear canal. He couldn't possibly have heard that right.

Ukyou didn't quite believe him either. "You mean to another cell? Another part of the city?"

"How is that going to make a difference?" Keijou jumped in. "Wouldn't your enemies just find us again?"

"No." Now it was Focalor's turn to look at them like they were daft. "I mean out of this world, out of Hell! You promised you would keep Dr. Sakuraiji safe, Keijou."

It took a second before he realized he should respond. "Yeah?"

Focalor gritted his teeth in impatience. "Well, here's your chance to prove your word. I need you to take the doctor to Meifu—"

"Why not my world?" said Ukyou. Why couldn't they just let her go home?

"Because there's nothing to stop Ashtaroth from hunting you down in your world!" Focalor growled. "It has to be Meifu," he said to Keijou. "It has to be Enma-cho. Nowhere else. That is the only place the doctor can be safe from Ashtaroth's reach."

"Okay," said Keijou. "But you can't send us there directly from here. The wards are designed to keep out any traffic coming from Hell, even if we're not demons ourselves."

"But I can send you to the Living World," Focalor grinned. "The very moment you arrive, don't hesitate. Take her back to your peers and guard her with your lif—er, whatever it is you dead people value most. Is that understood?

"But before we can get you there, there's one little problem I need your help with. This level is warded also, except to prevent the likes of you two from teleporting out. Lucky for you, I can get you to an area of the city that is not protected thusly, and you can make your jump from there. I just require one little favor first. Think of it as . . . a reward. For all my goodwill."

"Name it," Ukyou said. With freedom in sight, she would have given almost anything at that moment to ensure it wasn't taken away again. "Just get us out of here."

"Not you, Doctor." Focalor glared at her. "I'm talking to muscle-head over here. Except, as he's so fond of reminding me, it's against his religion to negotiate with demons."

"God!" Keijou hissed, "this isn't the time! If you say you can get us out of here in one piece, I think I can afford one little favor. What is it you want from me?"

"Just a little kiss."

At first, Keijou didn't know what to say. Then he couldn't help laughing. "You've gotta be joking."

Ukyou, however, did not look so amused. "Well?" she said, gesturing for him to get to it.

Which Keijou had no intention of doing. "Why not her?"

"I'm not kissing that!" said Ukyou, at the same time that Focalor said, "It has to be you."

"Nuh-uh." Keijou backed away. "Not a chance." He didn't like the way that gash in Focalor's cheek was staring at him either. He could almost see the teeth behind it. . . .

Focalor sighed. "Look, we can stand here all day while you deal with your machismo issues. But a second ago you said one little favor was no problem. So which is it? Do you want to get out of here or not?"

And as much as Keijou loathed to admit it, he didn't see any way he could worm his way out of this. Sakuraiji's tugging on the sleeve of his great coat, practically pushing him toward Focalor, was impossible to ignore. Whatever temporary discomfort this might cost him, she was still mortal, and deserved to get out of this place more than anything else. "Fine!" he spat. "Whatever gets you off, man. Just as long as you keep your end of the bargain when it's over."

"I will."

But that assurance didn't make going through with it any easier. Keijou took several quick, deep breaths, steeled himself, and, avoiding eye contact, leaned forward. It took him two tries before he finally had the guts to just do it, and pressed his lips to Focalor's. In a second, it was over, and, in retrospect, not actually as awful as he had been anticipating—

Then a cold hand was gripping the root of his ponytail hard, Focalor's other arm around Keijou's waist, securing him in place. There was nowhere Keijou could go, he could barely move, and the devil's mouth was against his, heavy and insistent. For a brief moment, Keijou could almost forget it was another dude who had him lip-locked, so passionate was the kiss. But then Focalor pushed his tongue into Keijou's mouth, and Keijou nearly gagged on the metallic, rotten-fishy taste that overwhelmed his senses. And on the devil's tongue, which seemed so impossibly long Keijou could have sworn he felt it nudge against his tonsils.

He struggled to get out of the other man's grip, which had become as hard to pry off as a bear trap. And, when he finally succeeded in wrenching himself away, tried to wipe that foul taste off his tastebuds with his sleeve. "The fuck was that! You said a kiss, not that you were going to sweep my throat like it was a chimney!"

But Focalor had already moved on, as though the whole episode had never happened. "Keep close," he said as he waved them out of cover after him. "I can guarantee you'll be lost in this place without my guidance."

Zepar knew, he just knew, everyone else was on the wrong track.

As he rounded the corner behind the phalanx of armed guards, he caught a tangled trace of emotion like the scent of summer blossoms on a winter wind: It didn't belong here.

Sakuraiji Ukyou. It had to be her. He knew the taste of human fear, was well versed in the nuances of that particular emotion like some were versed in the subtle differences in vintages of merlot. And hers seemed to have forward notes of . . . ah, yes: hope. That most delicious of all human emotions. She was close—close by and close to what she sought. But she was deluded.

Zepar let the guards go on ahead of him and disappear around the corner. He followed the trail of human hope like a hound on a scent, and before long was rewarded. She was there, the shinigami Keijou at her elbow. And—oh, this was a pleasant surprise—none other than Focalor himself, clearly helping them in the act of escape.

Zepar nearly trembled in his glee. This, what Focalor had handed him, was like a present, and he was going to savor every moment of it.

He followed them in silence, waiting for the right moment when his colleague would hang himself.

Nor did he have to wait long. The trio stopped on a platform that Zepar knew for a fact had no wards to restrict the shinigami's power. But it also had only one exit that led back to Pandemonium, and he, Zepar, was blocking it.

"Traitor!" he accused as he strode openly toward them, pointing at Focalor as if to curse him. His voice rang out over the city, amplified so anyone nearby would hear and be alerted. "I have found the treasonous snake Focalor and I name him highest enemy of Hell!"

Keijou, wisely, chose that moment to teleport out of their realm with Ukyou in tow. But if Zepar regretted letting them go, he quickly got over it. Where could they hide? Even if they escaped to Meifu, Ukyou was mortal. They would not be able to keep her there for long.

What did bother Zepar, however, was the satisfied grin on Focalor's lips. It was an insult to everything they stood for, to think a devil of his rank, to say nothing of his history, would defile himself by helping a shinigami. But Focalor would pay for this transgression. Zepar would make sure of it.

"What do you have to smile about?" he jeered. "You won't be able to weasel your way out of what you deserve this time. Ashtaroth won't forgive you for this."

But Focalor refused to take the bait. And his smile only riled Zepar more.

He seized his colleague by the shirt and yanked him forward, pleased when Focalor faltered on his feet. After all this, he was still just a shade of some former glory, trapped in a decaying meat-suit. But Zepar wasn't above kicking a man when he was down. In fact, he rather enjoyed the experience.

And if all went well, maybe he could use this opportunity to send a message to Paimon as well. He still owed the regent for his earlier offense.

"Send word to King Astaroth," he told the guards when they arrived. "I have caught the Duke Focalor in the act of betraying his master and I expect to take him before the court immediately. He is a disgrace and must be made an example of. Let it be known to all that these acts of defiance will not be tolerated."

For all Hisoka's misgivings, the ceremony wasn't all that bad. As it turned out, there was no reason to work up angst over whether or not it was like a wedding. It just was what it was. The somber air guaranteed that the only thing he concentrated on was getting the spell right. It wasn't even that romantic. Well, at least it wasn't until they got to the vows.

A human official from Human Resources and a deer-headed paper-pusher from Judgment, sent to oversee that everything was done correctly, were their only witnesses aside from Wakaba. For the former reason alone, Hisoka had worn a suit and tie, and Tsuzuki had actually made an effort to look professional, slicking his hair back for the first time in years. It made him look like a character out of a hard-boiled detective movie from the 1940s, but it was the thought that counted.

He intended to stay. And to make up for his being absent for the greater part of a year with a renewed attention to his work. Even if that dedication to working hard only lasted through the day, Hisoka was grateful to Tsuzuki for it. He still couldn't shake the feeling that all of this had been, in one way or another, his fault. But Tsuzuki was an inspiration to him. A reminder that he could not change what had happened, but he could face it, and make sure he tried harder to avoid the same mistakes going forward. So long as he existed, it was never too late to repent.

Wakaba, in her miko attire, read the ancient words from a script, with the appropriate musical lilt. And, hands clasped over each other's wrists, Hisoka and Tsuzuki in turn spoke the words of the spell they had each spent well into the night before memorizing. At the culmination, pale blue lines glowed upon both their arms, connecting them to one another and seeming to brand themselves into their flesh. Tightening for a brief moment, like zip cords, before disappearing painlessly into them.

That was enough to satisfy Enma's representatives. The doe stamped the proper documentation that showed they had completed the binding with a huge wood-block seal, asked for their signatures, and, thanking them both for their time and cooperation, departed with her colleague.

Wakaba excused herself as well, promising to meet them back at the office. Not without a hearty congratulatory hug for each of them beforehand, however. She tried to hide it from them, but she seemed to be sniffling back tears of happiness when she left.

Which left Tsuzuki and Hisoka to wander back to work on their own, taking their time as they crossed the cherry grove in relative silence.

Not awkward silence, though. More like there didn't seem to be anything that was screaming to be said. They could be comfortable, being quiet together, and that was more of a blessing than Hisoka would have been able to explain to anyone who asked.

"So," Tsuzuki said at one point, "now that that's done, do you feel any different?"

Hisoka had to give the question some thought. "You know, I don't. Do you feel any different?"

"Mm-mm, that's a negative. Wait!" Tsuzuki stopped in mid-stride, and concentrated, as if listening hard for some distant call, before deciding, "Nah, I thought I had for a second, but it was a false alarm."

"Maybe we're not supposed to feel like anything's changed. Maybe that was Enma's whole point in choosing me to watch you. We've already shown each other so much of ourselves that we wouldn't want anyone else to see. How much deeper can two people go, really?"

"Well, there is one way to test it out." Tsuzuki's eyes were sparkling with mischief as he turned toward Hisoka. "The bond is supposed to make it so you know where I am at all times—even if you don't have line of sight, right?"

"Yeah. . . ."

"Well, then! Catch me if you can!" And he vanished, teleporting to god-knew-where.

Only Hisoka did know where. After the requisite sigh and shaking of his head at Tsuzuki's childish games and time-wasting, he extended his feelers, and was surprised to find that he could sense with pinpoint accuracy where in the cherry grove Tsuzuki had teleported to. He knew the exact tree he was hiding behind, could sense its location in the space around him. And that was definitely a new experience. This must be what a bat or a dolphin feels like. Though it wasn't really echolocation, either. More like he was seeing the grove through Tsuzuki's eyes, just without the use of his eyes.

No sooner did Hisoka appear right beside him than Tsuzuki jumped again, a smile of surprise on his face right before he disappeared. Hisoka had no problem following him to the next hiding spot, and then the next.

But by about the fifth time, he tripped up. He was sure he'd pinned Tsuzuki's location exactly, but when he got to the tree, no Tsuzuki.

Until the snap of a twig in the upper branches caused him to look up. "That's cheating, Tsuzuki."

"Says who?"

But Tsuzuki took pity on him, and dropped himself down from the limbs of the tree, disturbing the cherry blossoms and causing petals to rain down on both of them like a snow shower. He laughed as he dusted them out of his hair, tousling his 'do and undoing all his work to look professional that morning.

"Anyway, I think we've proven that it works, so Enma shouldn't have anything to worry about, letting us return to Chijou," he said as he beamed down at Hisoka.

As for Hisoka, he was having a hard time remembering the last time he'd seen Tsuzuki made so happy by such simple things. Not just putting on a mask, acting casual to hide his true feelings. These were his true feelings. This was the Tsuzuki he'd first felt the stirrings of infatuation for, Hisoka realized. Taken in by his charisma, his beauty, and his easy nature that Hisoka could never stop envying. This was the Tsuzuki a person would follow to hell and back, for no other reason than that the purity of his soul demanded it.

Hisoka reached out, and Tsuzuki stumbled backwards a step as Hisoka pressed him against the trunk of the tree, and kissed his mouth.

For a moment, taken aback by Hisoka's actions, Tsuzuki let his guard down, and Hisoka felt what he felt. Finally. And, Could this day get any better? He felt the gentle pressure of his own lips against Tsuzuki's, and wasn't sure if the delicious warmth that expanded in his core was coming from Tsuzuki too or was his own invention.

Either way, it felt good. It felt right. It felt like something Hisoka should have done a long time ago, and if he regretted anything, it was only that it had taken him this long to work up the nerve. He had been terrified of what he might find when he closed the physical gap between them, but now it seemed he had been afraid all this time of a phantom that never was. Tsuzuki wasn't Muraki. He did not reward Hisoka's honesty with cruel urges, or judgment. Except perhaps to judge himself lucky to be the receiver of Hisoka's affection.

Then reality crept in, Hisoka remembered they were out in the open where anyone could just walk by, and Tsuzuki snapped his head back against the tree trunk, breaking contact. "What brought that on?" he said breathlessly. "A side effect of the spell?"

"I don't think so." Old habits died hard. The blood rushed to Hisoka's cheeks, and he stepped back, embarrassed by what he had done. "I've been thinking about it for some time, and . . . I don't know. I guess I finally just felt like giving it a try. The moment seemed right—and the way you were looking at me. . . ." It didn't help that petals were still drifting down around and onto them, making Tsuzuki look like the romantic hero in some sappy girl's manga.

"It was nice, Hisoka. Really nice." Tsuzuki might not have been able to express his appreciation in many words—perhaps reluctant to say anything that could be taken the wrong way—but Hisoka felt it nonetheless. And thanked Tsuzuki in his soul for not questioning it further.

"Just don't tell anyone at the office, alright? I'm still trying to work things out for myself."

"Hey. Cross my heart." Just for good measure, Tsuzuki traced an X over the breast of his jacket.

Then he smiled like a lech. "Hey, Hisoka. Can you guess what I'm thinking right now?"

Hisoka had to roll his eyes. Honestly, for all Tsuzuki teased him with this lame old joke, it never changed. "You're incorrigible, you know that? I finally work up the nerve to show you how I feel, and that's the first thing that pops into your head?"

Tsuzuki was wounded. "But, but, Hisoka, I thought we had this connection! It's nothing to be offended by—"

"Literally everything reminds you of food, doesn't it?" Hisoka said with a sad shake of his head. "You must be one of those people who watch nature documentaries of lions eating a zebra and think, 'I could really go for a steak.'" And before Tsuzuki could answer that (because Hisoka could see a "Well, yeah" starting to form on his lips): "Come on, then. Let's get back and see what everyone brought to the potluck."

That brightened Tsuzuki right up. "Ha! I knew you knew what I was thinking! To think I doubted you for a second."

When they returned to the office, and stepped into the conference room to see what their coworkers had brought to share, the first thing that hit the eye was a huge, finely decorated, tiered cake.

Hisoka felt his blood pressure rise. "I thought you told Saya and Yuma no cake," he muttered through his teeth.

"I did. Why does it say 'Welcome home' on it?"

"Watson brought it over earlier this morning," Tatsumi supplied as he cut off tiny little slivers of it (in order to make the cake last as along as humanly possible). "It's from the Count. To welcome you back to Enma-cho, Tsuzuki."

"Well, naturally, from the piping," Tsuzuki said. Hisoka's observation that "That explains the 'darling'," went unaddressed.

But Tsuzuki was less than enthused by that news, even if it did look to contain all of his favorite flavors. A strawberry sponge with fresh berries on top of a fluffy buttercream, thick layers of chocolate ganache filling between the pink strata of cake. . . . The sweet scent filling the conference room must have had him salivating, but he managed to mutter to Hisoka, "If the Count heard about our little ceremony already, he'll try to poison us all! Jealous bastard."

"It doesn't taste poisoned," Natsume said around a mouthful of said cake, while he let K, from her shoulder perch, lick a bit of frosting off his fork.

Tsuzuki looked like he desperately wanted to warn him that one never knew when the Count's revenge would kick in.

"And it came with a note," Konoe said. "An invitation, in fact. The Count would like to invite us all to his mansion for a formal gala."

"Oh."

"Probably to celebrate the completion of restorations to the castle," Tatsumi said, as he handed Tsuzuki a plate on which a slice of cake big enough to encompass the entire piped "darling" had been parked. It was big enough to satisfy at least two people, but Hisoka had no doubt Tsuzuki would have no problem finishing it. "Officially he says it's in honor of a new spirit of unity and cooperation between the various departments of the Judgment Bureau, but knowing the Count, he will want to use the opportunity to show off. So, best prepare your witty remarks about crown molding in advance. Just about everyone who's human is expected to attend."

"Even the guys and gals down in Billing got an invite," said Natsume. "Which almost never happens. Must say, it feels good to finally be included."

"So," Konoe huffed as Tsuzuki tore into the cake, "how did everything go this morning?"

As though the magic had intertwined their thoughts as well, the two raised their right arms at the same time and let the faintly glowing, pale blue lines come to the surface for his inspection.

"We've already tested it out and we know it works," Hisoka told the chief while Tsuzuki had his mouth full. "Even without line of sight, I can pinpoint Tsuzuki's location as if he were a flashing blip on a map in my head. Of course, the real test will come when we get back out in the field. We know the spell works in Meifu, but Chijou may be another matter entirely."

Tsuzuki nodded enthusiastically, seconding what he said.

Which seemed to satisfy Konoe. And Tatsumi too, judging by his smile. "Kannuki does an admirable job with these matters," said the former.

"But it might not have worked so well if the two of you hadn't been so close," Tatsumi added. Was it Hisoka's imagination, or did he detect a curious mixture of regret and relief from Tatsumi when he said that? "I'm glad to hear it was a success. I'm sure Enma will be pleased to know he chose well."

"Not as pleased as I am that this means the two of you can get back to work. Before the case load for Sector Two has a chance to pile up any more than it already has."

"Right," Hisoka said, sobering. It couldn't all be cake and reunion parties. A lot had happened since he left for Gensoukai. It would do him well to get back to work, and start mending the rift that had opened up between himself and Tsuzuki. Muraki may still have been out there, but they didn't have to concern themselves with that matter just yet.

"Still," the chief went on, "I'd like to have one of the Gushoushin accompany you on your first case back. Not that I don't trust the two of you, but oversight by a third party should help to allay the concerns some of the other departments still have."

"Todoroki still thinks I should have been retired fifty years ago, I take it," Tsuzuki said between bites of cake.

As if it were a joke. Though to Hisoka, it was too close to the truth to be a laughing matter. Tsuzuki was still considered persona non grata around the Judgment Bureau. As if he were still missing. And given his own behavior of late, Hisoka wondered how long it would take him to reach the same level of disregard. They would have to work extra hard to gain the other departments' trust.

Even if they did everything right from now till eternity, however, Hisoka doubted he could ever change the opinion of someone like Todoroki. As long as that man existed here, he and Tsuzuki would never be free of the shroud of suspicion.

It was just as Hisoka was thinking that that there was a commotion in the hallway outside of Summons's door.

Other shinigami rushed by, some shrugging on Peacekeeper great coats as they went. Other Summons officers hurried to the door, eager for an explanation. From somewhere beyond, they could hear shouting, though it was too far away to make out what it was about.

The telephone rang in Konoe's office. While he moved to answer it, Hisoka tried to disentangle the voices in the hall from one another. A name jumped out at him: Sakuraiji.

"Tsuzuki—"

He looked over, but Tsuzuki must have heard it at the same time. He didn't wait for Hisoka to finish that thought. Cake forgotten, he dashed for the door and into the hall, pushing through his colleagues to try and get to the front of the pack. It was all Hisoka could do to keep up.

Without any clear idea as to where the commotion was centered, they could only follow their peers from other departments until they came to the railing around the building's rotunda, where a crowd had already gathered.

In the center, at ground level, was one person Hisoka had never expected to see again, and another Tsuzuki had been afraid to see here, in the Land of the Dead.

It was as though the shame of the long walk before his peers had physically weakened him. When Zepar released Focalor at the base of the steps before the throne, he actually fell, with a groan, and had to labor to push himself back up to his hands and knees.

If it was an act, it would not save him. Demons did not feel pity, least of all for one of their own. Those who saw Focalor fall only laughed and jeered. Surely there were many among them who, like Zepar, had been looking forward to this day for a long while.

Zepar raised his eyes to the top of the dais, where his mistress, King Ashtaroth, sat on her lion throne with head held high beneath her crown of horns. Beside her, Paimon unfolded his crossed legs to sit forward in his own. Zepar hoped it was not lost on the simian king at this moment how many other thrones stretched out in a line to either side of them that, once occupied, now sat empty.

"Illustrious monarchs of Pandemonium," Zepar sang, as much for the audience of high and low demons alike who had gathered to see the spectacle as for his queen, "I give you Focalor, once Grand Duke of Hell, now undeniable traitor! I caught him in the very act of helping the mortal woman Sakuraiji Ukyou and her child, with the aid of the captive shinigami, to escape from our world."

There were gasps of surprise from the sides of the room. But drowning them out by far, boos and calls for Focalor's head.

Paimon raised a hand for silence, but the gesture was in vain. He had to speak up over the rabble to make himself heard. "Were there any witnesses who could confirm these accusations?"

"I witnessed his crime myself, Your Grace," said Zepar, though he knew that was not what Paimon meant. "But if you're concerned about the charge's veracity, you could simply ask the accused. He wouldn't dare deny it before the court."

"And is it true?"

Silence did descend then over the room when Ashtaroth spoke. So suddenly Zepar could hear the fabric of one onlooker's robe brushing against his neighbor's. He tried not to let his satisfaction at that show too obviously; but, to him, it was proof if there ever was any that the mob was no longer with Paimon.

"Grand Duke Focalor," she continued, "you stand accused of the unpardonable offense of aiding your king's sworn enemy, the death-judge Enma, and of the theft of your lord and master's rightful property. Do you deny it?"

While she spoke, Focalor struggled to right himself in a kneeling position; and with her last words, his and Ashtaroth's eyes met. If Zepar had been paying attention to them, rather than the crowd, he might have wondered at the understanding that passed between them without need of words, and might have shivered at the confidence in Focalor's own smile when smiling ought to have been the last thing the disgraced duke felt like doing. "I do not deny helping the shinigami and mortal woman escape," he protested, to the very vocal displeasure of the audience. "But if I am guilty of anything, it is of being too loyal a servant."

Cries of disgust erupted on every side of him. Zepar took a fistful of Focalor's hair, which had come loose from its ponytail during transport, and yanked his head back hard. "Your Majesty, please. Allow me at last to take my revenge. Allow me to end this affront, this worm, once and for all, as Commander Tsuzuki rightly should have ended him in his shame in Nagasaki. Allow me to mete out this justice in your name!"

This was his moment, his glory. His chance to wipe away any trace of his ugly, naked, defeated self from the collective memory of Pandemonium. He would prove himself an avenging angel—well, an avenging fallen angel, in any event, victorious over the forces of good and bolstered by the cheers of the crowd.

The last thing Zepar expected at this moment was for Focalor to laugh at the thought of his impending demise. But, then again, he could have easily gone mad since his failed coup at Saint Michel. In fact, it would explain a lot if he had.

"Laugh all you want," Zepar hissed in his ear while the crowd chanted for Focalor's execution. "I will end you right here, so help me, whether my queen gives her consent or not."

"And I will see you fall," Focalor murmured back. "When she's had enough of you, I'll be there. And I'll still be laughing while you writhe in shame and a thousand torments. I promise you that."

Mad, definitely. There was no other explanation. Because if such an unimaginable thing as Zepar falling from Ashtaroth's good graces ever happened, Focalor certainly would not be around to see it.

With a bored twitch of her hand, Ashtaroth gave her consent.

And with every bit of his power, every bit of his hatred toward his colleague and rage at the wrongs that had been done to him, Zepar slammed Focalor's head into the stone steps. It was not difficult to pulverize the skull of a walking corpse, as it turned out. But Zepar slammed it down again and again, until that accursed eel's laughter was no more than the echo of distant waves in his head.

Science fiction made teleportation look easy. But Ukyou was now convinced it was something human bodies were not meant to endure. At least, not live ones.

Once had been more than enough. Like riding a carnival ride after a full meal, with an operator who didn't know when to stop. Surely being upwards of six-months pregnant wasn't helping. But no sooner had they landed in one world than Keijou was hoisting her to her feet again and dragging her through the fabric of space like a hot metal wire through the eye of a needle.

When they stopped again, he didn't seem to mind that she collapsed. The modern polished stone floor felt blessedly cool and solid beneath her knees and the heels of her hands, and she could breathe again while her surroundings slowly ceased their spinning. She wanted to lie down against the floor, and press her face to it, until she started to feel alive again.

But the blaring of klaxons around them and sound of footsteps rushing closer would not let her do so.

She glanced up at Keijou, and saw him tense, his expression serious, his stance indicating he was preparing for trouble.

Figures in traditional Japanese armor charged into the rotunda, pikes pointed at Ukyou and Keijou. For a moment she thought they were historical re-enactors, but their tiger heads, baring canines like steak knives, were not masks at all, but attached and real. Ukyou wanted to scream in frustration. After all that, had they only succeeded in landing themselves back in Hell?

"Wait! Stand down!" a human woman with short dark hair and a long great coat identical to Keijou's shouted at the tiger-headed men. "This man is a Peacekeeper. He's one of us. We can take things from here."

"This man has the stench of Hell on him!" one of the tiger men protested.

And while the two parties argued it out, the woman's companion rushed forward, falling to her knees beside Ukyou. Her long hair was pulled back in a large bow that would have looked more appropriate on a younger girl, but there was kindness in her heavy-lidded eyes that Ukyou instinctively knew she could trust. "Ms. Sakuraiji, I take it?" the young woman said breathlessly. "Are you alright? How do you feel?"

Ukyou must have asked where she was, because the dark-haired woman said over her shoulder: "The Land of the Dead. The Ministry of Enma."

Keijou let out a groan of relief. "Finally! We made it!"

But Ukyou didn't like the way the woman helping her was looking at him. Ukyou knew that look well. Like she had never expected to see Keijou again.

She didn't get to ask the question that had been on the tip of her tongue, however, as all around the rotunda, more people began to crowd together, drawn by the noise. Ukyou could see them whispering to one another, and knew it was about her. Could they tell just by looking at her that she didn't belong here? That she wasn't dead? (At least, Ukyou hoped she was still alive!)

Or was it her belly they were muttering about? Was she showing that much? Self-conscious, she tried to make herself smaller behind the woman with the bow in her hair, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack coming on.

A shudder ran through Ukyou and into Nonomiya, and the shinigami's heart broke for the mortal woman. This wasn't right. It wasn't a fair burden to place on anyone, let alone someone who had already been traumatized by her experiences in Hell. "It's okay," Nonomiya tried, though the words felt hollow on her lips. "You're safe now—"

"Am I still alive?"

"Yes," Nonomiya told her, though she realized only after she said it that she could not be entirely sure of even that. But Ukyou certainly didn't feel like one of the deceased. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. You're in good hands now. No one here will allow any harm to come to you."

"And so, the prodigal returns! And with a mortal in tow? To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Whatever positive vibes Nonomiya had been trying to project for Sakuraiji's sake wavered when she heard that voice enter the room. Chief Todoroki. She should have looked to him as a superior, he should have commanded her respect and obedience, yet somewhere along the line, she realized now, she had come to genuinely resent him and feel that his presence could bring nothing good. Could it have been Konoe's influence? The result of working under the command of a benevolent chief?

"Your man carries the taint of brimstone," one of the tiger guards warned, but Todoroki waved off his concern as he stepped within the reach of their weapons. "You spend long enough breathing the fumes they call an atmosphere in Hell, of course you'll start to smell like it."

About the same time, Keijou informed his chief, loud enough for everyone to hear: "The mortal is Dr. Sakuraiji Ukyou, and it was her home Tsuzuki was tracked to two months ago. She's been kept a prisoner of Astaroth in Hell ever since, and I have reason to believe they will want her back. I brought her here hoping Enma would grant her asylum."

"She doesn't belong here. If we gave sanctuary to every living person who was foolish enough to make a pact—"

"She's carrying Muraki Kazutaka's child."

That news caused some whispering among the gathered crowd. Apparently most of Juuohcho knew of Muraki, and those who didn't were soon to find out. But Nonomiya was most concerned for Sakuraiji, who seemed to shrink behind the shield of Nonomiya's body and looked like she wished she were dead. Or, at very least, invisible.

Nonomiya wanted to knock Keijou in the jaw for sharing that bit of information with everyone who happened to be in earshot. Glancing over at Kazuma, she knew her partner was feeling the same way, and showing much less restraint. Had Keijou no compassion? Didn't he understand that that wasn't the kind of info he had the right to reveal before all of Enma-cho?

Meanwhile, Todoroki was staring at Ukyou with new eyes. As though someone had laid out a selection of diamonds before him, she thought, and told him they were all his to do with as he pleased. And, for reasons she hardly understood herself, she was deathly afraid of him for it. It was not unlike the way those men in the park in her university days had looked at her. Perhaps even worse, because it wasn't sex he wanted, or to exert his power over her, to degrade her. Ukyou knew in that instant that Todoroki had eyes only for what she carried, and it filled her with a terror the likes of which she had only felt before in Hell. I'm still not really out of it, am I?

"I'll make sure asylum is granted," Todoroki said. "In the meantime, I would like to have Ms. Sakuraiji examined. To . . . ensure that her health has not been compromised by her stay in Hell. And the child's, too, of course."

As he was speaking, a figure in a white lab coat was trying desperately to break through the crowd. And when he managed to do so, he rushed to Ukyou's and Nonomiya's sides.

"I'd like to offer my services in performing the examination," Watari said with a raised hand while he caught his breath. "I have the facilities all ready to receive patients. And, need I remind you, Dr. Sakuraiji wouldn't be the first living person—"

"Thank you, Mr. Watari, but this is a Peacekeeping matter. We will handle everything—including Sakuraiji's care."

But Ukyou wouldn't have it. The more she saw and heard of Todoroki, the more decided she was that she would not surrender herself to his custody. She would rather go back to Hell and wait to be delivered of this nightmare there than put herself in the care of that man. Though she hardly knew enough about him to say why.

"I want Mr. Watari to do it!" she said, before she could change her mind.

Watari blinked, startled that she had stood up for him when he was a perfect stranger to her. But by Nonomiya's smile, passed between the two of them like a secret, Ukyou knew she had made the right decision.

"But he's an engineer," Todoroki protested, "not a physician—"

"I don't care. I want him to be the one to examine me," Ukyou insisted, with all the finality she could muster, "or no one at all."

Todoroki's gaze hardened, and Ukyou felt for certain that he was going to fight her on this till the very last. But, to her surprise, he acquiesced—though it seemed to pain him to do so: "If that is your wish. Watari, I leave Ms. Sakuraiji in your . . ." On the cusp of saying "capable," he stopped himself short. "Your hands. As for the matter of Agent Keijou—"

"He shall submit to quarantine," said one of Enma's guards, "until such time as his cleanliness can be ascertained."

"He will do no such thing," said Todoroki. "His cleanliness would only be a concern if there were a possibility Mr. Keijou's soul was corrupted by infernal forces."

"He spent two months in Hell, subjected during that time to what tortures we do not yet know. Therefore the possibility—"

"Is nil. Mr. Keijou is one of my most trusted officers, soldier, and no Peacekeeper of mine would allow himself to be corrupted, no matter what those devils might do to try and persuade him otherwise. The very idea is an affront to Mr. Keijou's decade of loyal service to King Enma." And Todoroki looked to Keijou for affirmation that he had not pegged his officer wrong.

Nevertheless, the tiger-headed demons insisted that those were the protocols that demanded to be followed.

They just weren't as insistent as Todoroki. "I will examine Mr. Keijou for any evidence of corruption myself, then. And King Enma can rest assured that I will be most thorough in doing so, as I stake my department's reputation on the moral fortitude of my officers. If His Augustness has a problem with my findings, or my methods, he can take it up with me personally. At which time, should he still desire that Mr. Keijou be locked away, I will happily comply with his wishes."

Shit, Hisoka thought when he saw Keijou. What's that guy doing here?

He'd been told he had killed Keijou when he ordered Rikugou's attack. At least, Hisoka had been bearing the blame for it all this while from Todoroki and his department. Unless Keijou's survival came as a surprise to Peacekeeping, too—and if it did, they were careful to give no indication. But they couldn't have known he was being holed up in Hell the last few months, could they?

What really didn't sit well with Hisoka, though, was how quickly Keijou zeroed in on Tsuzuki out of the whole crowd—not Hisoka, not the person actually responsible for what he had gone through, but Tsuzuki. Even across the room, even over all the other thoughts screaming out of people's skulls, Hisoka felt the strength of Keijou's rancor like it was being beamed straight into his gut. He didn't know how else to put it than that Keijou's hatred felt strong enough for two souls; and it didn't seem like too much of a stretch to say his eyes practically glowed with the heat of it.

Hisoka turned to Tsuzuki and was about to share his concerns, but Tsuzuki's attention was elsewhere. He didn't notice Keijou glaring daggers up at him because he was focused solely on Ukyou.

Maybe Tsuzuki had let his guard slip in his surprise at seeing her, or else the new level of connection between him and Hisoka was still fresh and strong. Either way, Hisoka could feel Tsuzuki's guilt swelling in his soul as though it were his own. The sense of I did this to her, it's all my fault she's in this mess.

And more—more he wished he didn't feel. Tsuzuki's affection. The kind of warmth a person doesn't feel for someone they view as just a pawn in their schemes. Hisoka's own jealousy. . . . Ukyou was going to be a problem. Not that it was her fault, but Hisoka could feel her presence here dragging Tsuzuki back into the same old quagmire of emotion. That she was carrying Muraki's child just made it all worse. Was it wrong of Hisoka that he wanted to protect Tsuzuki from having to face that by any means necessary?

But after Tsuzuki's confession just yesterday to planning to do Ukyou harm, exactly which of them needed protection from the other? Hisoka wanted to think that Tsuzuki had enough humanity in him he would never dream of hurting an unborn child, but how certain could he be? Where Muraki and his legacy were concerned, could he put anything past Tsuzuki?

But the Ukyou problem was, for the moment, out of Hisoka's hands, as she let Watari lead her back to his office and away from all their prying eyes. It would be Hisoka's job to keep a close watch on Tsuzuki.

He should have known. Just when he thought they were making progress, moving beyond the past, it reappeared to prove to him the past never went away. He couldn't just pretend everything they'd been through and all that they'd done no longer existed. And they would never be free of Muraki. That man didn't even have to be present to fuck everything up.

When next Zepar saw Paimon, he looked paler than usual, as if he'd eaten something that didn't agree with him.

"What seems to be the matter, my king?" said Zepar, his triumph over Focalor making him cocky, but he no longer cared to show deference to this doomed regent. "I don't suppose you've asked me here so you may apologize for the way you spoke to me before? To grovel for my intercession with Ashtaroth? Though I doubt she would spare your life now, no matter what I have to say."

Paimon laughed at that. "You really are a simpleton. Or is it just that you can't be bothered to look beyond the end of your own cock? I can't quite decide which."

The smirk died on Zepar's lips. "What are you talking about?"

"You have no idea, do you? How thoroughly you've been used—how you will be used, if you allow her to have her way?"

Paimon shook his head sadly, though Zepar doubted he actually had the other's pity. "You think you've done her a great favor," said the monkey-king, "don't you, punishing the traitor whom she had falsely trusted, winning her gratitude for yourself. But she and Focalor used you, and you're too full of your own delusions of importance to see how well you played right into their hands."

Zepar seized Paimon by the jacket, never mind that it might be construed as threatening a monarch. He was beyond such cares now.

"Tell me!" he demanded, shaking the king. "What has the traitor done!"

"It isn't Focalor you should be worried about," Paimon said. "He's just a soldier. But your queen has done something very stupid. She arranged the mortal woman's escape herself. In fact, she ordered Focalor to do it—even encouraged rumors about a threat to Sakuraiji's life. My supporters have already been blamed for it, though she and I both know they are innocent of the charges. No such threat ever existed. She orchestrated it all, all so she could smuggle the doctor into Meifu. And get a man on the inside."

Zepar bared his teeth at that bit of news. That rotten little eel. . . . "Are you telling me Focalor's still alive? That my revenge—"

"Was all for show. And what a good show it was. You gave the masses what they crave. Blood, brains, the utter humiliation of someone who once ordered them around. . . ." Seeing the outrage on Zepar's features, Paimon's grin fell. But his sympathy was disingenuous. "You really didn't know? That he had already jumped ship? My, that is careless of you. Surely the decaying state of his vessel had left him in a diminished position, but it was clear to anyone who knew him the Focalor whose head you smashed in was not, shall we say, all there."

And Ashtaroth knew. How could she not have? She dangled his revenge before him, knowing it was what Zepar craved most, when all the while she must have been laughing at his ignorance. "I don't get it," Zepar said, trying not to think of how many other times he might have been used without his knowledge. "How would Sakuraiji being in Enma's jurisdiction help Ashtaroth? She can't touch her there."

"You wouldn't get it," Paimon snorted. "It's just sophisticated enough a plan to almost work. It's the child it all hinges on. Oh, don't look at me like that. It was the worst-kept secret in Pandemonium that the doctor was carrying Tsuzuki's child. And Ashtaroth has a claim on it. A legal, binding claim that even Enma won't be able to dispute. But he will, because he's as bound to his own laws as any mortal in the Upper World, and Ashtaroth will use his refusal as an excuse to rally her armies and invade."

"She will take back the Lands of the Dead for Hell, where the seat of Judgment rightly belongs," Zepar said, though even he felt like little more than a puppet speaking someone else's words. Words he had no choice but to believe. Because if they were not true, what had he devoted himself to? "And I will be there by her side for every charge, until we stand victorious against the forces of Yomi."

"She will fail. And she'll drag you and half the inhabitants of this place down with her. Those who are reckless or stupid enough to follow her on this damn-fool quest. But I come to offer you an alternative."

"Which is?"

"Join me instead."

He made it sound so simple. Just two little words. Blasphemy wasn't supposed to be so succinct. Zepar swallowed, finding his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to laugh it off as a joke, but Paimon's hard stare told of his seriousness. "You want me to betray my queen. My King."

"No," said Paimon, unblinking. "Merely . . . look the other way. When she gives the order to invade, stay home. Claim a tummy ache."

"And when she comes back to Hell, she'll murder me for desertion." After subjecting him to every torture in the book, of course. Probably publicly.

"If she comes back. It's your choice, Zepar. Will you be a stooge for a bloodthirsty queen whose power peaked three thousand years ago, and possibly be destroyed in the process? Or enjoy the privileges afforded by a higher rank in the court of a new Supreme Ruler of Hell?"

"Why tell me this?" Strange how it seemed like Zepar who was caught in Paimon's white-knuckled grasp, rather than the other way around. "You have to know I could just turn around and tell Ashtaroth what you've told me. You're not afraid that she'll put you on trial for conspiracy against her?"

"When she has already been actively conspiring to have me usurped and destroyed?" Paimon shrugged. "No, I'm not worried. I know that no matter what you do with that information, it won't change anything for me. It won't change her mind about Enma, either. She's set on this doomed plan. But you can still save yourself."

Salvation. . . . That was rich, coming from a demon. Expecting another demon would respond favorably to the word. Zepar snorted, trying to turn away.

But Paimon would not be brushed off so easily. "You'd be wise to consider my advice, Zepar. Loyalty is not a trait that suits you. Nor, for that matter, does it suit Ashtaroth. She is loyal to only one being, and that is herself."

Tell me something I don't know. But where Paimon erred was in thinking Zepar had a problem with that. "And what would you know about what suits me?"

"You and I are cut from the same cloth." Seeing that he had Zepar's attention now, Paimon stepped closer. "We're tricksters. We were never meant to bend our knees, or plot apocalypses and world domination. We thrive on disorder, anarchy. Besides, the world already belongs to us. The material world. And all her pleasures.

"That is," he muttered with a flash of teeth, the wicked canines of a baboon, "it would all be ours, if we were allowed to be ourselves. If we were allowed to interfere freely in the Living World like we did in the old days, instead of kowtowing to lazy fools that would keep us chained here, poking and prodding the souls of the already dead, doing the work that is rightly the domain of the death gods. If Ashtaroth has her way we will be as dogs tied to a tree, thrown naught but bones to gnaw on for all eternity when he could have fresh meat. When we could be wolves!"

"You would have us return to the Dark Ages," Zepar said with a grin. Far from a term to be reviled, in Hell those times when demons and devils roamed openly among the living, with far fewer regulations to restrict their dealings, were seen as a sort of Golden Age.

By some. The modern world, with its loose mores and skepticism toward the supernatural, had been kind to Zepar. He and his legions found no shortage of legitimate work under the rules as they stood. And somehow knowing his victims didn't believe in his kind only made tormenting them the sweeter. He didn't see that he had anything significant to gain from changing the system.

Still, there was something seductive in Paimon's proposal that Zepar could not deny. Though he was loth to let Paimon know that.

"Of course, it's just something to think about," the king said. "I'm not asking for your allegiance. I know it would be hypocritical of me to do so. Just ask yourself whose side you're really on before the moment comes to act. Hers, or your own?"