Chapter one: A curious (but uncooperative) book.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fullemtal Alchemist or Inuyasha. A large thanks goes out to my beta-reader TitianWren for her awesome work. …And for not screeching at me for the three a.m. typing mistakes in the very first draft. To those that reviewed my prologue, I thank you very much. To those that didn't, I ask that should you re-click on the link to this story that you leave me a review. I haven't found too many FMA/IY crossovers and I'm interested to know what people think of this one. Okay, I'll admit it: I crave opinions. …Opinions, not flames— there is a difference between the two and I do not accept flames under any circumstance. Forgive any grammatical mistakes in the disclaimer and notes.
………
Everything is going according to plan.
Monster!
Now, now. Flattery will get you nowhere. He watched from the shadows as he always did. The monk had been correct: he didn't like to sully his hands. Either way, he was a schemer. He made things work for him while he viewed from afar. This time however, he watched from his incarnation's eyes. She fought him so vehemently when he tried to take control of her body that in the end, he compromised with her. He didn't want to admit it—he would, though only to himself— but he simply didn't have the strength to fight her; his hold was tenuous at best. Inuyasha and Sesshomaru weren't making things easier for him; his attention was constantly divided, even now.
She stood in the deep shadows of a pillar cast by the strong morning sunlight as they both watched the book being handed over to a military officer.
Excellent.
………
The book had aroused suspicion from the librarian. The whole situation was just strange to her. With the alchemist killer —code-named Scar— still on the loose, no one could be too careful. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes of Investigations stood outside the library proper and turned the book over in his hands as he listened to the librarian describe the person who had delivered it. Nodding to her absent-mindedly, he opened the first few pages and skimmed them, a frown crossing his face. The librarian whose name he still didn't know watched him, waiting expectantly. Noticing this, he smiled and pulled a picture of his daughter from his pocket and shoved it into her face.
"I'm so sorry!" Kagura heard him say. "How rude of me not to have shown you earlier! She's three and riding a tricycle. She follows me everywhere on it. Why, if my Gracia didn't take her inside every now and then, she'd have followed me here! Isn't she just the cutest thing ever?" he asked, becoming more and more animated with every word.
The librarian gave a weak, non-committal response and hustled back into the library as fast as she could. Kagura's body shook with silent laughter. That was one way of getting people away from you. And he probably planned it that way, too.
The investigator watched her go with a depressed look on his face, the book hanging limply in his right hand. Dejectedly, he stuffed the picture back into his pocket and pouted for a moment. Then his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the proud, if slightly obsessed father. That cool, blank look returned and his spine became ramrod straight. It was like watching a possessed man fight. Or rather, Kagura thought, like watching Inuyasha fight his demon blood. Where did he find the strength, she wondered, allowing her thoughts to wander for the moment to the enigmatic half-demon. Naraku always belittled him for a weak fool; the former human bandit still hadn't been able to defeat him, though. Was it his heart, she wondered, absently rubbing the empty spot in her breast.
Turning, the Lieutenant Colonel looked around as if to make sure that he wasn't being spied upon. His lively green eyes swept over the area including her hiding spot, and she scuttled deeper into the refuge of the shadows. She breathed when his gaze didn't linger. Instead, it landed on someone behind her. Whirling around, Hughes walked away with the book clutched tightly in his hand. Kagura turned and looked at the woman who leaned casually against another one of the pillars. She frowned at her and received a smirk in return. Taking the time, she studied the girl. A formfitting black dress that was much too fancy for both the time of day and overall weather hugged her body. The formal wear included elbow-length gloves and high-heeled shoes. But what caught her attention most was the scarlet tattoo that sat in plain sight on her chest: a hexagram and an ourobouros. Catching the wind-demoness's glance, the strange woman turned and began to walk away from library.
Curious, Kagura thought.
Back in his office, Hughes tipped his chair back and leaned his head into his palms. He looked down at the book as if expecting it to grow legs and walk away. No such luck. It simply sat there and stared blandly back at him. Lowering his arms, he winced as the blood rushed down again. Putting the chair back on all fours, he picked up a pencil and jabbed the sharpened end at the text. It didn't so much as move.
"I could bring you home to my daughter," he told it, conversationally, holding up the pencil and studying it. "Who knows what she'd do to you, though?" he asked, lowering his gaze back to the text. "Gracia says she's going through that destructive stage all kids have." Pulling the picture out of his pocket, he kissed it. "She's just too adorable!" he crowed.
Not that the book cared. It still stayed in place.
"Unbothered by that, are you? Well. You're braver than you look."
Hughes studied it a few moments longer. It was obvious that it was just a book. Still, there had to be something strange about it if the librarian waited outside the library to tell him about it. He frowned. More like she'd accosted him. Tipping his head to the side, he began to chew on the eraser, momentarily forgetting the book and focusing on what his impromptu interview with the woman had yielded.
The day before —when it was dropped off— had been gray, threatening rain, and stormy.
Not important. The entire week had been miserable and wet. That was the problem with summer, he thought. Heat evaporated moisture, which in turn produced cloud buildup and then got rid of the water by raining.
It was delivered by a woman.
All right, a point. But not especially important. Was there anything about her?
She was of medium height, short black hair tied into a knot and decorated with feathers; she had red eyes, white skin, and gave off the impression of being extremely fragile.
Interesting. A coy woman, it seemed. Were it not for the white skin, he'd have thought her to be an Ishballan.
About her eyes. They were so…So what?
Empty. Her entire face was like that. Except for that… that perverse smirk on her lips. But her eyes scared me.
Hmm. He filed that away. Anything else?
She looked like she was fighting something tooth and nail.
You said her face was completely blank.
It was. But the way she walked… it seemed like she struggled— with something.
Strange. What was she fighting against? It wasn't a rhetorical question. If someone struggled to rebel but to no avail, then why? What could cause such an internal fight like that? And what did the mysterious opponent have as a control? Curiouser and curiouser. Where did the answers lie? Maes made a mental note to himself to try and find the woman and talk to her.
And one more thing.
Yes?
Her departing comment was strange. She said as an afterthought that she too was familiar with the high price of mistakes.
Well, now. That was interesting. Perhaps what she fought against had to do with that particular statement. He picked up the book and held it up to the light. Just what kind of mistakes have you committed, he wondered, going over it all again and trying to find more clues. But no answers were forthcoming; he didn't even have a theory. Too many questions and not enough in the way of puzzle pieces. Lowering the book, he began to look through it again. As he leafed through, a curious frown crept onto his face. It was a strange old text. Why hadn't it fallen apart yet? The parchment was yellow and brittle, the ink should have smeared from the oil in his fingers, and yet the tome was sturdy and in good condition. Almost unheard of. His frown deepened at the contents… or rather, lack of expected material. He was no alchemist, but even he was familiar with the Philosopher's Stone. But it wasn't even mentioned.
There was also a disturbing lack of transmutation circles. Instead, he found himself reading about a sword made from a demon's teeth. "'Tokijin, the Ogre War-god was forged by the wicked sword-smith Kaijin-bo from the fangs of Goshinki, the demon that once bit the Tetsusaiga in two. While meant to be able to beat the Steel-Cleaving Fang, it sadly fell short and was merely a match, though some say that was the fault of the sword's bearer,'" he read out loud to the empty room.
Closing the book, he put it down. If that was an alchemy text it was written in better code than he'd ever encountered. Either way, the tome wasn't going to yield its secrets to him. He stared at the desk, not really seeing it. Another thing he knew was that Central wouldn't provide him with answers either. Not with the hawks watching him —or rather, hounds. Military dogs, as Ed was fond of saying. Did that insult apply to him, seeing as he was part of the military? Probably. But then, Ed was still a kid and idealistic. When he was grown, he wouldn't be so jaded. Hopefully.
The only person Maes really trusted was Roy. But he was at their headquarters in the East. He blinked. Unconsciously, his gaze traveled back to the book as if drawn there. Ed was also in the East. After all, he answered to Mustang— much to his dislike. The mystery (or was that mysteries?) was becoming muddier and muddier. He had the strong feeling that somehow, someway, probably using him, the book would end up in the hands of the Fullmetal Alchemist. But not before Roy got to look at it.
But how to get to the East? He leaned his chin in his palm and thought. Mail was out of the question, not with the hawks that watched everything. …Scar. The rumor-mill was aflame with the whisperings that the bigwigs had worn the Fuhrer down and were all going out to the East. They wanted King Bradley safely away from Central HQ in order to protect him from Scar. Stupid, really. If Scar was after state alchemists, he'd leave the Fuhrer alone. In all his years with the military Hughes had never heard of the Fuhrer being an alchemist or even dabbling in it.
Grabbing the book, he slipped it into his jacket—a precaution, just to make sure, and ventured into the honeycomb hallways of Central. The newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel walked to where he knew King Bradley's office was. Looking at the receptionist, a pretty thing with brown hair and doe-brown eyes he asked if he couldn't have an audience with the Fuhrer at his earliest convenience. Picking up the phone, the girl called and surprised him with the news that Fuhrer Bradley would see him and he could go right on in. With trepidation, he walked into the office of the most powerful man in the state.
Inside the office, he found the Brigadier General Gran, King Bradley's secretary, and the Fuhrer himself packing documents and such into a briefcase. The man paused this action and looked up at Hughes with his ever-present smile. Reverting to military protocol, he saluted King Bradley and waited for the man to give him permission to speak.
"Now, now, Lieutenant Colonel, at ease. What can I do for you?"
He relaxed slightly. "I hear that you and a few others are headed to our East HQ, sir."
There was a pregnant pause as King Bradley stopped his packing; his secretary looked up, and Gran stared. Juliet Douglas whipped out paper and pen and began to take notes while the Brigadier General began to splutter.
"Who told— how would you know that, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?"
Inwardly, he smirked; it wasn't often that someone managed to surprise the Iron Blood Alchemist. The smirk began to light his eyes up. God, he was enjoying this, though Gran would make his life hell for it later. The Brigadier General's face was beginning to turn a splotchy red as he continued to stutter. It was brought to a halt when the Fuhrer's laughter sounded in the room.
"Well done, Lieutenant Colonel," he complimented, a large smile on his face. Not that Hughes could ever recall seeing him without one, that is. "We certainly do get our money's worth with you in investigations."
"Thank you, sir," he replied.
"Well, now that you know," Gran said, "what do you want?"
His eyes flicked to the secretary— who was wearing her hand out recording every little thing— and he said, "I would like to request permission to go with, sir."
"Out of the question!" Gran said immediately. "You are not an alchemist. There's no need for you to come with us. Your place is here at Central."
"On the contrary, Brigadier General, sir. In case you hadn't noticed, Scar seems to be pretty well in-tune with State Alchemists. Doubtless he knows that we have some in the East. Besides, he seems to know every move we make."
"Then it's possible we have a leak, isn't it?"
The malicious implication was not lost on Hughes. "Quite possible, sir. I'll put my men on that theory," he said coolly. "And in case you're wondering, some of the men I respect most are State Alchemists," he commented, thinking of Roy, Armstrong, and even Ed. He leveled a cold glare at the other man and received one in return.
"That's enough you two," Bradley said.
"Sir!" they said in unison, neither glare lessening.
"Brigadier General, I don't for one moment believe my men would sell out any member of the military. Is there another thought you have, Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Yes, sir. If Scar is headed to the East, then we may be able to catch him there."
"Go on."
"Sir, situations in the East are unstable at best. Scar will likely run into problems there with all the upheavals. I'm also counting on the hope that he doesn't know the lay of the land all that well."
"Well said, Lieutenant Colonel. Very well, go home and pack. We leave at Zero Five Hundred."
Hughes saluted. "Thank you, sir!"
"Dismissed."
Saluting once again, Hughes made his way out of the office. Pausing in the hallway, he put a hand on his chest and simply breathed. He couldn't believe that he'd pulled it off.
………
Bradley watched Gran storm out with his customary smile in place. It dropped once the man was out of his office. He turned to his secretary watching as she wrote a few last minute notes. Laying her pen down, she met his eye and an understanding look passed between them: the Lieutenant Colonel needed watching. It was possible that he suspected something involving all of them.
0500—
Maes slouched in a train seat and yawned widely. What was it with the military and early? He didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to his daughter! His poor Elysia!
The seat across from him was suddenly occupied, which snapped him from his funk. He opened his eyes blearily and blinked a few times, focusing on Brigadier General Basque Gran. Hughes was delighted to see that all the other seats were taken, including the ones nearest to the Fuhrer. It seemed that no one wanted the Iron Blood Alchemist to sit near them— what an opportunity! Smiling mischievously, he whipped out a picture from his pocket and shoved it into the Brigadier General's face. Why should he be bored the entire trip?
"She's three now. Isn't she just the cutest thing ever? Here she's wearing mommy's hat at the pool. She's so precious!"
Gran felt a vein in his forehead start to throb. Why didn't Scar go after annoying men with photographs in lieu of alchemists?
………
First Lieutenant Hawkeye all but ran down the hall to Mustang's office. She knew that he was in a meeting with Edward and that he wouldn't appreciate being bothered, but he'd like it even less if Gran just burst on in. Said man was a few feet behind her. Upon reaching the door, she threw it open and focused on her superior's straight back. He wasn't going to like this at all.
"Company, sir!" she announced as the others reached the door.
Mustang half-turned to watch men enter his office with military precision. He turned fully, coming face-to-face with Brigadier General Gran, who stood in the forward center and stared at him, as if silently daring the Colonel to evict him. Hawkeye was right: he wasn't pleased. He barely managed to stop the growl that threatened to claw its way past his throat. But he did and looked away before he did something that would not only demote him, but land him in military court. Something occurred to him: most of the men in the room were State Alchemists… and Ed was in the room, too. His body tensed: if they'd come to take him away… although why, he couldn't imagine. Traveling his dark eyes down the line of men, he searched for a familiar face. Armstrong… well, if he had to, he could deal with the man. Next to him…
Hughes.
His eyes rested on perhaps his only true friend in the military— the one who promised to help him and continued to support him. Seeing Roy look at him, the Lieutenant Colonel abandoned his attention stance and shrugged with a sheepish grin of apology at the intrusion. Mustang's face softened and his mouth relaxed just a hair before he turned back to the Iron Blood Alchemist. No, Ed wasn't going anywhere. What good would Hughes be against someone of Ed's caliber?
He would never tell the blond young man, but he was more fond of Ed than he'd ever guess. In the years that he'd known the automail-branded boy, he'd come to think of him as a younger brother; he even teased him as such. He hadn't been in Resembool by accident the night he'd first met Hohenheim's sons. He'd been there originally to talk to Pinako Rockbell… to beg forgiveness for what he'd done to Winry's parents. Searching for the elder Elric had merely been his excuse for going to the country. That fateful night, as rain sluiced down upon his soaked body, he'd tried to work up the courage to venture down the hill and up to the door.
He'd been saved by the lights of a transmutation in progress. But he knew… he'd seen those colors before. The alchemist inside was going to fail. Mustang hadbeen rescued by two children who'd been trying to bring back their mother. What a pitiful coward he was, finding refuge in such a thing. He remembered watching a suit of armor run over to the Rockbell residence like a demon chased after it, a bundle held carefully in arms of steel. After that, it had been easy to walk down that lolling hill and knock on that door.
Schooling his face back to impassiveness, he came to attention and lifted his right hand to his superior. The Brigadier General did not salute back. Instead, he watched Mustang with that same smug, condescending expression in his eyes that Mustang remembered from prior experience. He well and truly hated the Iron Blood Alchemist.
"What brings me this pleasant surprise, Brigadier General?" he asked as a mere formality.
"As of today, we'll be taking over this East HQ as our temporary Central Command."
His eyes narrowed at that. Oh, really? Pray, tell. "May I ask what's wrong with the one in Central, sir?"
Not that Gran would answer. The two alchemists didn't talk much. The Brigadier General didn't get the chance to say anything, however. Rich laughter floated through the open door. Surprise openly transformed the Colonel's face and caused his hand to waver from its salute; a startled noise escaped his throat involuntarily. Gran and another soldier stepped neatly to the side, allowing King Bradley access to the office. Ed still hadn't moved.
"I know, Mustang."
What did he know? Roy could never figure that out.
"I asked the same thing." King Bradley walked in with a large, welcoming smile stretched on a lightly tanned face, with his right hand held up in a peace-offering gesture. His secretary, Juliet, followed behind him, her head bowed in what looked to be subservience. Always she reminded Roy of a whipped dog.
"Sorry for the hassle," King Bradley said jubilantly. "Everybody at ease now." He hadn't seemed to notice Ed's lack of salute. If he did, he didn't seem to care.
Lowering his arm, the Colonel said in a surprised voice, "Fuhrer Bradley— welcome, sir." Mustang didn't miss Ed's noise of surprise. He could only imagine the fifteen-year-old's face.
Gran took over again. "Your job is not to ask questions, Colonel. The Fuhrer and his staff will run this place, both to operate as Central Command and observe the region. I trust you'll make us comfortable."
The Brigadier's tone had become like his expression. It didn't escape Roy's notice that Gran was part of the Fuhrer's staff. He had a feeling that it wasn't meant to. His eyes narrowed at the other alchemist. Oh, he'd make him comfortable, all right— with a bed of flames. He'd always held a hatred for the power-hungry creature. The only question was charred or extra crispy.
Later that evening…
Hughes picked up his scotch and took a liberal swallow, listening to the ice clink softly against the glass. It matched the muted atmosphere, he thought. The bar was quiet and dark in a sultry manner. It was meant to make the tension leak out of a person in one way or another. So far, it wasn't working. He wanted to be at home with his wife and daughter, not here wondering how Ed would react when he learned the truth about the current situations in Lior. Maes was perhaps the only one who knew just how protective Roy was of those boys, especially Ed. Underneath the sarcasm and cockiness was a human being packed with enough guilt and pain to literally choke on. A man with a weaker spirit would have committed suicide by now. Not that Roy hadn't tried. Helping those boys achieve their goal helped him, though. It helped to balance the equation. Alchemy was about equivalent exchange. To Hughes's mind, it was about balance. Equivalent exchange created a balance— the typical picture of a balance was a pair of scales. They were what Roy tried to balance. After everything that had happened in the past, he paid penance by helping life —those boys specifically. Which was why Maes was certain he wasn't going to like this. He only hoped Roy didn't torch the book… and the building. The polyurethane on the wood was extremely flammable.
"By the way, Roy," he started.
Mustang glanced at him and took a sip of his drink.
"Something was dropped off for Edward back at Central," he said, reaching into his jacket and grabbing the book.
That sparked the man's interest. "Really, now. What is it?"
Removing the book, he silently handed it over to his friend.
"A book, hmm?" Putting his drink down, he took the red-bound volume from Hughes and looked at him. "Why didn't you give it to Ed before our fight?" he asked, curiously.
"I wanted you to look at it first," came the low answer. "I want you to see it before it gets to him."
"Maes…"
"Listen, Roy," he said, watching the alchemist from his peripheral vision. "The librarian was so concerned that she waited outside the library to bring it to my attention."
Mustang stared at him.
"The woman who delivered it," he continued now staring into his glass, "said that it was for Ed if he was still searching for the Philosopher's Stone."
The Flame Alchemist touched his fingers to his chin and looked at the book, much like Hughes had done. Once again Maes had been right on target— this bothered him. "I know Ed's become popular with the people as of late, but a mere civilian in Central shouldn't know of his hunt for the stone."
"Correct. Apparently, the book is supposed to help him."
"Help him how?"
"I was hoping you could tell me that."
Roy smirked. "Need me to translate the technical alchemy stuff, Maes?"
Hughes returned the smirk with a good-natured grin. "Sure do. I'm normal remember? You're the freak."
"Ha, ha," came the dry response. With his trademark smirk still in place, he opened the tome. Curious, there was no title on the cover, either. All at once, his smirk disappeared and his brow drew down as he skimmed the material inside. "What kind of alchemy book is this?" he asked, a frown emblazoned on his face as he rapidly flipped the pages, searching for anything of alchemic value.
"You, too?"
Halting his assault on the book, he looked up at Hughes. Looking down again, he read the words where his hand was. "I don't understand what a sword called Tetsusaiga has to do with the Philosopher's Stone," he said, snapping the book closed.
"Hmm," Maes said, nodding. "The Tetsusaiga, or Steel-Cleaving Fang was bitten in half. Goshinki, the demon that broke it, was forged into the Tokijin. Well, his fangs were, at least," he said, taking possession of the text, flipping to the page, and glancing at it to make sure he was correct. "Yep. Because the fangs that bit the Tetsusaiga in half made the Tokijin, it was supposed to be a match for the Steel-Cleaving Fang. But it fell short."
Roy stared at his friend as if a second head had suddenly sprouted. "The Tokijin," he repeated carefully.
"Yep," Hughes replied, smirking at Roy's confused face.
The flame-wielding alchemist shook his head slightly and blinked. Gripping the book in his long fingers, he gently relieved his friend of it. "What I don't get," he said, closing it and setting it onto the bar, "is what that has to do with alchemy. An alchemist might be able to break down teeth— or in this case fangs— and make a blade. Ed could probably do it. But that has nothing to do with the Philosopher's Stone."
"Perhaps it does."
"What? Maes," Roy said, picking the book up again and flipping to a random page. "Listen. 'Along with the demon-slayer Sango is a creature called Kirara,'" he read, stumbling over the pronunciation. "'A feline nekomanta demon that can shift sizes.'"
"A code, maybe."
That halted Mustang's next comment. Grudgingly, he had to admit that Maes was potentially on the money. "If it is," he said, "it's a hell of a code." Handing the book back, he shrugged. "Go on, give it to him. Let's see if he can figure it out."
With a tight-lipped smile, Hughes slid the book back into his jacket. Roy stared morbidly into his drink. He had a very bad feeling about that book. Funny— he was a military officer and a scientist. He didn't believe in "bad feelings." And yet, this one just wouldn't go away after he rejected it. It sat in his stomach like a lump of lead and curdled his stomach lining.