Any event hosted by the Count at the Castle of Candles was an event to look forward to. Even those who found the Count himself unsettling, or obnoxious, or a pervert, or just in general the last bureaucrat in Enma-cho they ever wanted to deal with, were quick to make an exception for his parties, which were notoriously lavish and really the only time all the various departments were able and willing to set aside their differences and unwind together.

And it was an excuse to dress up and to put one's dance moves to use, which Tsuzuki and Wakaba found to be an inexhaustible topic of conversation. "And this year I'll have Hajime all to myself!" Wakaba gushed, eyes sparkling. "No Kuro-chan to get in the way. We can dance until we just can't stand anymore!"

"No good," Terazuma piped up from across the office. "I told you before, Kannuki. I can't dance."

"Can't dance, or won't dance? I've seen you bust a move, Hajime, when you don't think I'm watching."

The former-detective went pink down to his collar at that. He mumbled something about sciatica acting up that the others only just managed to catch.

"I could teach you," Tsuzuki offered. "I was a dance hall regular in my Taisho days. Waltz and foxtrot are really quite easy, once you get the hang of the basic steps and holds. I never quite mastered the Charleston as much as I'd like to have, it was sort of after my time, but if that's more your style . . ."

Listening very eagerly to this exchange, Saya and Yuma tried their hardest to refrain from expressing how much they wished to see that.

For once, Terazuma was at a loss for zingers. It seemed Tsuzuki's earnest offer to help had taken the piss right out of him. "Hard pass," was all he grumbled.

Judging by her slow clap, Wakaba was impressed. "That was an unusually generous offer. No death threats or even a whiff of sarcasm." She leaned in toward Tsuzuki. "'Fess up. You're a pod person, aren't you?"

Which got a laugh out of Tsuzuki. "I guess I'm just in a celebratory mood, is all. I'm grateful to be back—and to be accepted back with open arms. I plan on taking full advantage of this party."

"In other words, drinking himself senseless on the Count's tab," said Terazuma.

"There is also that."

Speaking of things that had changed in the last year: "That's right," Hisoka said, remembering Tsuzuki had lost his apartment and everything that was in it. "Tsuzuki, don't you need to get a new tux?" The gallery opening last night, at which they'd concluded their case, hadn't been such a formal affair, so it didn't cross Hisoka's mind until now.

Saya and Yuma were right there and ready to jump to the rescue with suggestions, or offer to accompany him shopping, but Tsuzuki waved them off. "I keep a spare in a locker on Bureau grounds. So I'm prepared in case some emergency formal event ever comes up."

"How just like Tsuzuki," Yuma sighed, and Saya said, "So cool, like James Bond!"

What Tsuzuki failed to mention was that his tuxedo was nearly as old as his career. With a wing collar and full-dress waistcoat, and a peaked-lapel tailcoat that flattered his waist and hips in an almost androgynizing way. "It smells a little like mothballs," he said when they all met up again that night at the Castle of Candles, "but it still fits!"

Why it wouldn't was beyond Hisoka. Dead people didn't gain weight—though the way Tsuzuki could put away desserts, if there was ever an exception to that rule, it ought to be him.

"It's perfect! So Tsuzuki!" Yuma applauded, while Saya mumbled into her handkerchief, "So classy, like a young Gary Cooper!"

Hair slicked back, a few stubborn strands trailing rakishly over his forehead, holding himself as though he felt quite in-his-element in a tuxedo, Tsuzuki seemed to Hisoka like someone from the cover of jazz sheet music from the Taisho era. Hisoka always felt so small in one in comparison, knowing he didn't nor would he ever have the adult proportions to properly fill a tailcoat out. Hakama and haori were more his style, but at a function like this, they would have caused him to stick out.

Maybe it was because things had been starting to feel back-to-normal, or he was still riding the high from that kiss they'd shared under the cherry trees, but somehow Hisoka had capitulated to the peer pressure. . . .

"Aren't you glad you finally trusted us to pick out your suit, Hisoka?" Yuma said beside him, patiently awaiting her due praise and gratitude.

"The midnight-blue velvet and shawl collar are so on-trend this season!" said Saya. "So mid-century chic! Doesn't he just remind you of Buddy Holly?"

"Or Elvis! He's a hunk-a hunk-a burning love!"

"Uh, yeah. You guys actually did a good job." Hisoka didn't know much about either of those people, other than that they were rock stars from long before he was born, but he was pretty sure he didn't look much like either one of them. He sent Wakaba a look weighted with thanks, certain her input was the only reason the other two hadn't foisted on him something so laden with fake flowers and ruffles even an enka singer wouldn't go near it.

But when Tsuzuki leaned over and said, almost quiet enough for only Hisoka to hear, "I think it suits you perfectly," that made all the embarrassment of being Saya and Yuma's Ken doll worth it. No double-entendres or dirty jokes, no belittling comments that made Hisoka feel like a child playing dress-up. He could stand tall and proud in his new suit knowing that Tsuzuki thought he looked good, and couldn't stop staring at Hisoka.

Until Tsuzuki saw something else that made his eyes light up like stars, and all his cool, natural elegance evaporate in an instant. "Wha~ I don't believe it. . . ."

He practically levitated to the centerpiece of the buffet, a trio of fountains that glistened under the lights of the chandeliers like . . . like the kind of fountains Tsuzuki had imagined only existed in Paradise. Not even in Gensoukai had he encountered all three in one place, and that was supposed to be a world where anything you could imagine was possible.

"I never thought I would see such a rare alignment!" he exclaimed. "The Three C's of luxury, united at long last! Cheese . . . Champagne . . ."

Each one was more glorious and mouthwatering than the last. But none compared to the third fountain: "Chocolate~!"

"It's like I died all over again, except this time I went to Heaven~" Watari crooned as he held his cheeks.

"At least I know where you two'll be hanging out all evening," Hisoka said.

Tsuzuki was already spearing a naked petit four on a long fork and sticking it under the stream of molten chocolate.

"What could we have possibly done to deserve this blessing?" said Natsume, dabbing at tears of joy, while K tried to stretch herself up tall enough to lap at the fondue fountain.

"Nothing," said Tatsumi. "I'm sure it's all coming out of our taxes. Along with the Castle's restorations. And since I helped pay for it, I intend to take full advantage of the situation forthwith!"

And wasting no time, he grabbed a plate and started heaping it with skewers of dippable items.

Come to think of it, Hisoka thought, the Count was always spoiling them and himself with expensive treats, and had seemingly endless funds at his disposal from which to extend Tsuzuki a loan, without ever being reimbursed. But where did he come by his riches? Hisoka had never paid much attention to the economy of Enma-cho before, but it was a mystery where the funds for anything came from, considering every investigation demanded more money.

And speaking of their gracious host. . . .

"I kiss your lips/ I hold you tight," the Count warbled to himself in English to a gothic sort of tune, as he sashayed about the hall, "Your body's swaying in the pale moonlight/ We dance until the break of day/ We'll tango the night away—"

"Olé!" Natsume finished for him. "I didn't know you knew Falco, Count."

"One cannot beat the classics, Mr. Natsume," the other declared as he moved down the table, adjusting platters and decorations and still humming his tune.

Examining his petit four, Tsuzuki said under his breath, "Just don't be disappointed when you ask me to dance and I say no—eek!"

"Never fear, my dear Tsuzuki," the Count murmured, appearing suddenly beside him, "I am sure we two shall be tangoing in our dreams tonight, where no one can cut in between us. Waltzing the timeless Viennese waltz, ho-ri-zon-tal-ly. . . ."

Watari and Natsume made an earnest effort not to laugh, before deciding it wasn't worth it. They slapped their knees and cackled until tears came to their eyes.

"Horizontally because we'll be in our beds!" Tsuzuki tried to explain, though everything he said somehow just made things worse. "Our own beds! Not anywhere near each other. Asleep. A-and dreaming—pure, innocent, family-friendly dreams!"

It was no use. Watari fell to his knees, all but hyperventilating with laughter, and Natsume was shamelessly groping a nearby column for support. Tsuzuki shot them an evil look. Lot of help those two clowns were. . . .

"Hisoka!" Of course, that was what he needed to put an end to the subject. Or, rather, whom he needed. He grabbed Hisoka by the arm and hauled him toward the fountains, saying, "You've got to try the fondue! Remember that time I was trying to explain it to you, and you said you'd never had it—"

"I know what fondue is, Tsuzuki. (And I told you why I don't eat it!)" And Hisoka really didn't want to get into the reason in front of all these people. It was none of their business.

But alas, Tsuzuki and his accursedly short, selective memory— "Come on, Hisoka~ If you're worried about digestive issues, the wine in it is supposed to help with that. Just try one little bite, it's so decadent and delicious~"

"No! You can't make me!"

Tempting as it may have been to stay and fawn over Tsuzuki further (and, in truth, the Count had all evening to do that), he had moved on to fulfill his duties as host, making sure to greet each group of guests personally. Even if he wasn't overly fond of some of them.

"Ahh, Chief Todoroki," he welcomed the head of Peacekeeping in a sufficiently magnanimous tone of voice. Though he could not seem to conjure it up for his companion: "And Agent Kazuma. Hm. Well, I suppose my invite did apply to everyone. Are you certain you couldn't find any reason to demure?"

Kazuma Shin crossed her arms over her generous chest, and despite the tight, feminine lines of her cocktail dress, shifted to a tough, guarded stance. But there was a cool smile on her lips when she said, "It's good to see you again, too, my lord Count. Under happier circumstances."

"I do hope you will accept my apology for the inconveniences you endured," Todoroki said with a bow, "which I make on behalf of my entire department."

Though Kazuma wore the sarcastic smile, it was her chief's tone of voice that the Count didn't trust. On the surface, Todoroki always tried to sound subservient in their meetings, almost to the point of sycophantic, but the Count wasn't fooled. He knew the type of viper that Todoroki was as well as he knew himself.

"And the damages to my property?" said the Count.

Todoroki's back stiffened before he dipped his head lower. Was that resentment that the Count detected in his posture? "You have my apologies there as well, of course. I hope you understand it was never the intent of my department to cause such wanton destruction in the course of an internal investigation. I take full responsibility for the miscommunication."

But not, the Count knew, financial responsibility. The Judgment Bureau would not allow him to bankrupt one of their pet departments, no matter how the Count itched to bring Peacekeeping to task for their overreach. "I would expect no less," he said cordially enough, even if he didn't mean it. "As they say, the bull stops here."

"I think you mean the buck, my lord," Todoroki corrected him, though they both knew he hadn't. "I'm sure you understand that it was nothing personal. My agents were simply following King Enma's wishes. I do hope that a repeat of the events that led to the damage to your castle will not have any reason to occur in the future."

"Now that Tsuzuki's back in our King's good graces, you mean."

Out of the corner of the Count's eye, Kazuma acted quickly to hide her snort in her fist, but she could not hide the width of her grin from him. Nor did he miss how Todoroki bristled at his words, before he managed to compose and excuse himself to go join the party.

"That was a low blow," Kazuma muttered to the Count when they were alone. Though what she really wanted to do was give him a high-five.

"Was it?" The Count sounded shocked she would accuse him of such. "Here I thought I was merely reminding your chief where his bread is buttered. And you, my dear? I suppose you'll be wanting to confer with your partner as to the well-being of Dr. Sakuraiji."

Kazuma blinked, though she told herself it should not have surprised her by now that the Count knew everyone's motives and desires as though he had read them out of a book. Even if Detective Imai was technically her current partner, it was Nonomiya who was on her mind. "You'll grant me the clearance to see her? Even after what I did to you?"

"You were following Enma's wishes, were you not? Just as your chief said. It wasn't as though you wanted to raid my castle and arrest Chief Konoe, was it?"

Kazuma was so touched by his graciousness, she felt an uncharacteristic thickening of tears in her throat, but quickly swallowed them down.

Instead, she extended her hand between them. Then it was the Count's turn to look surprised.

"If you'll allow me, sir," Kazuma said, "I intend to do whatever I can for as long as this afterlife lasts to make it up to you. I hope there may come a day when I've restored your trust in me. And in my department."

The Count did not take her hand. Yet, he hoped she understood he was sincere when he said: "A being as old as myself does not easily forgive, or forget, slights against his person. It's my nature, you see, and try though I might to change it, I remain a stubborn old coot stuck in my ways. Still, I can be civil, and bury the hatchet, as they say. Would you do me the honor, Ms. Kazuma, of being the first to accompany me on a tour of my castle's recent renovations?"

The Count clapped his gloved hands then and announced: "If I may have everyone's attention, it is now time to start the first tour of my newly restored castle. Though attendance isn't mandatory, it should be noted that one's willingness to participate in work-related social activities outside the office does reflect on one's annual performance reviews. That being said, if I could have the first twenty or so volunteers line up over here. . . ."

"Let's get this over with!" Tatsumi said as he straightened his jacket. Konoe pulled a reluctant Watari away from the buffet by the back of his collar.

To Tsuzuki's surprise, Hisoka looked as though he were pretending he hadn't heard. "You're not coming, Hisoka?"

"I'll catch one of the later ones," Hisoka assured him. "Maybe they won't be so busy. I still haven't adjusted to the crowds yet."

"Oh, right. Of course."

That satisfied Tsuzuki enough to leave his side and join the tour group. It was typical of Hisoka to have an adverse reaction to the emotional milieu of such a large gathering, and there was something about the Castle of Candles in particular that only made the reaction worse.

So it wasn't really lying, Hisoka told himself as he wandered off to find a quiet corner. He really was feeling overwhelmed. It just so happened that this time it was the pressure bubbling up from inside that made him want to hide himself away. This giddy, unsettled feeling behind his navel, this nervous energy that made him fear he might do something he would later regret. Standing in the lee of a marble pillar, he leaned against its cool support, trying to slow his heartbeat. And appease the slithering within—

"Food too rich for you, too?"

Hisoka started, relieved to see it was only Natsume coming over to talk to him, even if he still would rather have been left in peace. "Ah—yeah. Sort of." I could go with that. "This is the second dinner party I've attended in as many nights, and that's two too many as far as I'm concerned. I've never had the constitution for big social gatherings."

"Me neither," Natsume chuckled, "but I find my own way to enjoy them."

And so saying, he proffered a highball glass of something bubbly to Hisoka.

"Oh. No, I don't think I should—"

"It's ginger ale," Natsume assured him. "To calm your stomach. And nerves, and anything else that may need calming in this sort of environment."

I don't suppose it works on ancient vengeful snake gods that want to take over your body, too? But Hisoka gave it a sip. It didn't taste entirely like the ginger ale he remembered, a bit more herbal and biting with a warmth left on his lips. Then again, he wasn't keen on overly sweet things, and this particular ginger ale had just the right amount of bitter to balance out the sweetness. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

But that wasn't what Natsume had come over to say. It was obvious by the way he stared, as if waiting for Hisoka to extend him the invitation to share his thoughts.

He went ahead anyway. "Can I ask you something, Kurosaki? We were partners for six months, and I know that's not a really long time around here and that you and I never really connected on a personal level. But it's long enough to get a sense of a person's moods. To tell when something's bothering them."

Shit, Hisoka thought. Did K tell him what happened to me in the Imaginary World? How would she tell him? Natsume may have proven himself trustworthy, but that didn't mean Hisoka wanted him knowing about Yatonokami. He opened his mouth to deny everything—

"You've seemed less take-charge and more back-seat since Tsuzuki came back. Er, excuse me for saying so. But I thought I should check with you to make sure everything's okay. That he's not giving you a hard time."

Hisoka tried not to sigh too obviously in relief. Of course, even though Natsume had reached some sort of truce with Tsuzuki, the old animosity between them wasn't so easily shaken off. The Tsuzuki Natsume remembered wasn't the same one Hisoka knew. Natsume's wasn't so forgiving.

"Things are fine between me and Tsuzuki," Hisoka lied—well, stretched the truth. Their interactions over the last couple days had been tense, wooden, ever since Hisoka found out Tsuzuki was the father of Ukyou's child. And Muraki. "It's just taking a while to get back into the swing of things, is all. When someone that important disappears from your life for that long, you can't just pretend they were never gone. It's something I'm working on. I want to mend the relationship we have, make it stronger even, but I know it isn't going to happen all at once. Not until we've both dealt fully with everything that's happened over the last nine months."

OK, so that was probably a bigger and truer confession than Hisoka had meant to let slip. As if to keep anything else from slipping out behind it, he took a generous swig of his ginger ale. It seemed to spread through him when it hit his stomach, like a comforting blanket smothering everything he didn't want to think about. He had to hand it to Natsume for choosing the right medicine.

Hisoka tapped his half-empty glass. "Think I could get another one of these?"

The Count's tour of the Castle led them at first through places familiar. The library, where he kept some particularly dangerous storybooks. A statue gallery whose denizens still showed signs of battle scarring from Kazuma's raid. Eventually they came to a wing that Tatsumi wasn't familiar with. Though Tsuzuki assured him he had been here before.

Which wasn't surprising. Tatsumi didn't know of anyone who had spent as much time in the Castle of Candles as Tsuzuki. Other than Chief Konoe, perhaps—though he suspected their respective reasons for visiting were rather different. "These are the offices where the Count keeps his most prized works of art," Tsuzuki said, "and magical objects from around the worlds, so the doorways are enchanted to randomly change the configuration of the rooms if the person entering isn't authorized to be here."

"How right you are, my bright young pupil," the Count said proudly. "That is why I have taken it upon myself to lead this tour personally."

"Here I thought it was so he could see our faces as he boasted over his ill-gotten gains," Tatsumi muttered under his breath, but the Count either didn't catch that or pretended not to.

"So anyone thinking about coming back later and stealing anything ought to think again. You'll find this place a maze more maddening and tangled in strange loops than was ever dreamed up by any Daedalus, and populated by far worse mind-terrors than minotaurs. Why, I once caught an oni who had thought to steal a rare, enchanted Gajapuri ruby he'd heard rumors was here. There was no telling how many days or months he had wandered these halls before Watson found him, the poor soul, as he was quite out of his head by that time. All he seemed able to say about his ordeal was, 'Red rum'. He just kept repeating those words over and over, refused to say anything else. Only . . . Red rum~"

"Red rum?" Tsuzuki said to himself. "Is that a type of liquor?"

"Knowing the Count," Watari muttered a nervous aside, "Red Rum could be anything from a childhood sled or cute puppy to some sort of eldritch horror."

"Or worse. An eldritch horror disguised as a cute puppy on a childhood sled!" The two shuddered at the thought.

The tour continued through a room one wall of which was entirely taken up by a busy fresco depicting a Renaissance battle scene, replete with lovingly rendered horse butts. A lost work of Leonardo da Vinci, the Count told them. "But of course," he chuckled, somehow making his mask seem to wink, "it isn't very lost if it's here, is it?"

"And here you'll find one of the oldest pieces in my collection," said the Count as they stepped into yet another chamber. "A replica of the coffin of Osiris himself, gifted to Enma by his counterparts in the Duat over a thousand years ago."

Some of the tour group oohed and ahhed over the room's centerpiece, a stone sarcophagus embraced from all corners by carved winged goddesses. "The original was gilded cedar wood, of course, not to mention chopped into a thousand little pieces and scattered to all points of the globe. In an ironic turn of events, this copy has just been restored after being broken into a half dozen pieces itself." His tone soured. "By some overhasty Peacekeeper I shan't mention by name. . . ."

"How was anyone supposed to know it was valuable," a voice piped up from the back of the group, "when it was in the garden being used as a flower pot!"

The Count clapped his hands together. "That reminds me of a fun party game! It's called Let's See Who Fits In The Box Best. I would so love to demonstrate it for you all, if I could but have a volunteer from the audience? Mr. Flowerpot, perhaps? Don't be shy, step right up to the front!"

"And on that note," Konoe spoke up over him, "let's all mosey on over to the next stop on the tour."

Thankfully the Count took the hint, and led the way.

It was no exaggeration to say that after slowly making their way through one room after another, trying to sound impressed about musty old works of art when all they wanted was to get back to the drinking and dancing, the tour were getting restless. But all that bored energy evaporated the moment they stepped into the glow of one particular room—though "hall" was perhaps a better term for it.

It was a grand space, whose far walls they could not even make out through the dark and the flickering lights of millions of candles. Like a universe full of stars, one had to wonder if there even were walls, or if the Hall of Candles had no real boundaries but existed, self-contained, a world within worlds. Their group merely stood in the antechamber, yet the sight of all those avatars of real, mortal souls was enough to bring the shinigami to awed silence. Most served their whole time in Enma-cho without ever being accorded the privilege of seeing this sacred place. Or setting foot here. Or breathing in its remarkably clean and smoke-free air.

"I don't need to tell you," said the Count without a trace of humor, "that this is where the magic happens. What you see before you are the actual representations of human souls. From here, I am able to monitor any anomalous occurrences in the lives and deaths of mortals and report them immediately to Lord Enma himself. Feel free to breathe normally," he added, noticing how most of his guests seemed to be holding it in. "These are not your normal candles. It takes more than a quick puff of breath to extinguish their flames."

"But they can be altered from here?" said a voice in the back of the crowd.

Tsuzuki and Tatsumi both looked to see who had asked such an ominous question, but neither could find the source. "Perish the thought," was all the Count would say on the matter. "Needless to say, it is unconscionable that anyone would interfere with these candles."

But that did not mean they couldn't be tampered with, Konoe thought. What better way for King Enma to end Muraki Yukitaka's life prematurely than from the comfort of his Castle? Unless he had taken a foray into the Living World himself. But it was difficult to imagine Enma dirtying his own hands with that business. Who better to act as his assassin by proxy than the man possessing a mask of invisibility?

But it was what occupied a pedestal in a roped-off area in the center of the chamber that drew Tsuzuki's attention: an enormous tome that must have weighed a good fifteen kilos at least, bound in rich leather and worn with age.

"No. Can't be," Watari said beside him, seeing the same thing. "That isn't . . . the actual Kiseki?"

The Count, overhearing, laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. Do you think our great and wise King would truly allow the Book of the Dead to be left out where anyone might chance across it? It's another replica, of course. Though a special one. It updates itself in real-time, so I needn't leave my post to consult the official record."

Just another replica, huh? Tsuzuki couldn't say why he had suddenly felt a strong desire to reach out and take the book. If it was just a copy, then it was not as though a person could affect reality with it.

Still. He couldn't have been the only one who felt drawn to its power, and the power its twin—wherever that was—promised its holder. The power over life and death, at the stroke of a pen. A year ago, Tsuzuki would have said he had no interest in that. But a lot could change in a year. And the thought of holding the fates of mortal souls in his hands was intoxicating.

"Well. I've probably let the lot of you linger here long enough," the Count said, back to his usual air of frivolity. "We're nearing the end of our tour and there are others patiently waiting their turn to take in all this splendor. Just a dozen more rooms to admire."

There were groans from the tour group at that. A dozen more rooms wasn't what most of them would have counted as "nearing the end."

"Oh, do cheer up. You all sound like a troupe of zombies. A zom-semble, if you will. And we do still have a lovely collection of cursed jewelry through the ages to get to. Now, who here remembers that classic of the nineteen-eighties, Romancing the Stone?"

"Knock knock," Kazuma said on the other side of the door, "I brought cake."

"Thank heavens, I could kiss you!" Nonomiya said when she answered. That was, if Shin's hands weren't already occupied with said cake, and if she wasn't sure doing so would awaken the Black Lion's wrath. But a few days stuck in the Castle, barely even seeing daylight, let alone another familiar face, had a way of making a person feel like she was trapped here for an eternity.

"I was going to bring a bottle of bubbly, too," said Kazuma, "but then I remembered, you know, bun in the oven. Is Keijou here?"

"He's taking a break, enjoying the festivities," Nonomiya told her. Then said to Ukyou, "You remember my colleague, Kazuma Shin?"

Hair pulled up in a French twist and in a tight dress and makeup that emphasized her feminine traits, Kazuma looked quite changed from the last time Ukyou had seen her. But Ukyou confirmed she remembered their meeting.

It was the kindness of Kazuma's smile, though, rather than the fierce protective vibe Ukyou had gotten from her the last time, that put her at ease as she gratefully accepted a slice of cake. That and her lack of the officious Peacekeeper great coat.

"I figured if they weren't letting you out to enjoy the party," Kazuma said, "I could at least bring some of it to you."

"Oh, the Count told Dr. Sakuraiji she was more than welcome to go downstairs and mingle," said Nonomiya, "but we all thought it best if we . . . well . . ."

She glanced uncertainly in Ukyou's direction, so Ukyou finished for her: "I think my presence here has caused enough drama already. And I really have no desire to be the center of attention. There's plenty to keep me occupied here," she said, indicating a stack of books she'd chosen from the Count's extensive collection.

"No fun being the only live act at a dead man's party, huh?" Kazuma said with a lopsided smile. "No, I get it." And she plopped herself down on an ottoman, kicking off her heels and scrunching her toes in the rug before tucking into her own slice of cake. "This whole experience has gotta be rough—especially for a woman of science. I mean, Watson alone is something you wish you could unsee. You'd never know it to look at him, but he is an amazing pastry chef!"

Ukyou looked down at her cake, suddenly seeming a bit green. "Shin," Nonomiya warned her.

But Ukyou shook her head. "No, it's okay. It helps to talk about it. I'm still in disbelief, I think. Even after everything I've been through, even after being there, it's hard to swallow the reality of Hell and Meifu. After believing they were nothing but fairy tales or myths for so long."

"If you think that's hard to believe, what would you say if I told you dragons and unicorns were real?"

Nonomiya laughed, which only made Kazuma's grin even wider. "I'm serious!" the latter said. "It's not all doom-and-gloom, you know. There's actually some quite extraordinary stuff out there in the other worlds that I certainly never thought could be real until I died."

"Okay, I'm with you one-hundred-percent on multiverse theory, but dragons? Really?" Ukyou tried to put on a skeptical face, but a childlike grin was doing its best to break through the mask. "I assume we're not talking misconstrued dinosaur bones. You don't mean to tell me there are actually giant reptiles with wings on their backs and magical powers, flying around out there in some parallel dimension?"

"Yup! Fire-breathing and everything."

"You know, scientist in the real world worked it out and determined there's no way fire-breathing dragons could actually exist."

"Of course not. That's 'cause you have to go to the Imaginary World to see them."

"Imaginary World? Now you must be joking." Ukyou narrowed her eyes at Kazuma, unsure whether the shinigami was pulling her leg or being entirely serious. The grin on her face and excited glow in her eyes could have gone either way. But either way, Ukyou was excited by the intellectual challenge Kazuma proposed. At least it would be a pleasant distraction from all her worries about her current predicament. "You've seen a fire-breathing dragon?"

Nonomiya rolled her eyes, but chuckled. "Here we go—"

"Up close and personal," Kazuma said, leaning forward in her seat. "And let me tell you, the proportions of those things will blow your mind."

Turned out formal work functions were just as tense and awkward in the Land of the Dead as they were among the living. Perhaps Imai should have been more surprised to learn that than he actually was.

There were, of course, the usual slew of coworkers who were thoroughly enjoying themselves, mingling and easily sliding into conversation with anyone they encountered or making copious use of the dance floor. Like the young lady with curly auburn hair who had been attempting to cajole her partner (Imai gathered his name was Hajime, and he looked disturbingly like a younger, taller version of Imai himself) into dancing with her all evening, unsuccessfully. Imai almost felt bad enough for her to want to say something, except that he wasn't the dancing type either.

There were the wallflowers, the folks who were talkative but only really within their own cliques, the flirts who were only worried about whether they left this place alone. And, as always, those who were determined to have a good time, seeing as they were all but required to be here, but needed to consume copious amounts of liquor before they could do so.

Imai was not ashamed to say he fit squarely into this latter category. He knew almost no one here, and Kazuma seemed to have abandoned him to his own devices and disappeared who-knew-where; but seeing as this Count fellow had stocked the open bar with the most expensive selection of booze of any office party Imai had ever been to, Imai was feeling so little pain that if someone broke out a karaoke machine, he would have jumped right in. Not that this was the type of joint to have a spare karaoke machine lying around.

He had another reason for wanting to drown his troubles tonight. Kurosaki fucking Hisoka. Seemed wherever Imai went in this Versailles 2.0 he saw the back of the kid's head, or those creepy green eyes. So far they hadn't made eye contact, but Imai was keeping his eye on Kurosaki, liking the kid less and less with each whisky sour he put away.

It was the way the kid kept to himself, like he thought he was too good for the scene or something. He was just like Imai's coworkers had described: exuding a vibe of negative superiority, spiky as a porcupine, so that no one would wander too close.

But Imai wanted to get close. He wanted to walk up to the kid and give him an earful about what it was like to have your life and your career and everything you thought you knew about the way the universe works suddenly ripped away from you. He wanted to demand to know why he'd had to die that night, to confront Kurosaki about his involvement with Fujisawa and the Livertaker case, and call him out on his lies about said involvement. He wanted to know: Did Kurosaki even feel sorry about what he'd done?

Imai just had to work up the balls to actually do it.

And he was getting really close. Imai could feel it, as he downed what remained of his drink and set the empty glass down hard on a nearby table. All he needed was the right opportunity to present itself.

That was when the world reeled, and Imai felt as if the floor dropped out from under him before he managed to steady himself.

"You okay?" someone said near his shoulder, though they sounded a hundred meters away. "You know, just 'cause you're dead doesn't mean you don't still have to metabolize this stuff—"

"I'm fine," Imai waved them off, bracing himself with hands on knees as he waited for the dizziness to pass. It wasn't a lie. Physically, there was nothing wrong with Imai. Temporally, on the other hand . . .

Kurosaki could wait. He had to find Kazuma and warn her, because he didn't know who else to tell or who else would believe him.

Or who else would help him make sense of what he had just seen. He didn't really understand it himself. All he knew for certain was that some bad shit was coming, and with it came scales and fire and a darkness over the world.

Author note: Quoted lyrics are from Falco's "Tango the Night". Ole! Because the first time I heard it, I immediately thought of the Count.

The lost da Vinci is a reference to his painting "Battle of Anghiari," rumored to still be hiding behind Vasari's "Battle of Marciano in Val di Chiana" fresco at the Hall of the Five Hundred in Florence, and if you like art history (and horse butts) it's a story worth checking out.

The game the Count suggests (who best fits in the box) is the party game the Egyptian god Set came up with to trick his brother Osiris into getting in the coffin he brought so Set could murder him, in the myth of Osiris.