"This is the third incident," Yayoi said, looking down at the sprawled corpse. Rain drummed off her umbrella, hissing faintly as it struck puddles on the street. Shido was very much aware of her presence so near in the chilly weather, the pulse of her life warm against the humid air. "She's been dead about two hours, according to the doctor. We suspect it could be a breed's work, but we're not sure yet."

She pointed at the dead girl's hands with her penlight, the narrow alley dark enough so that even in the late-afternoon twilight the circle of light it cast showed up. Shido, of course, did not need the help to see perfectly in the dark, but the light changed the color and tint of what he saw.

"The mutilations were identical in the other two cases, bones broken in the hands so the fingers could curl backwards, as if each hand had a grip on its own wrist. The medical evidence suggests it was done while the victim was still alive. All three bodies were found in alleys like this one, nearby but not actually in a crowded area. That's why the NOS concluded it was more likely than not a breed."

Shido nodded.

"If a human killer had done this, the victims would have screamed. Someone would have heard the killing," he agreed. It had been only one day since he'd asked Yayoi to look into recent killings in the NOS files, and he had his answer now, whether a human heart had abandoned its light. Unless, of course, a second breed was currently active in the city.

"There were no signs that any victim was gagged, no bruising around the mouth, no traces of adhesive from tape. It's possible, barely, that they could have been killed in other places and their bodies dumped. Unlike breeds, human serial killers often take precautions to hide their guilt. Of course, low-level breeds aren't much more than animals, anyway."

Shido was more interested in the hands. So often the violence inflicted by a breed killer reflected the desires of its host. The one that had victimized Yayoi's sister, for example, had skinned its victim's faces in a twisted repetition of how Kasumi had accidentally burned Yayoi.

"Hanae Matsuura is a pianist," he said. That, of course, wasn't news to Yayoi, but he felt compelled to mention it. "This girl's hands were the only thing mutilated. They've all but been turned inside out, turned on themselves."

"The way you might say Hanae's hands have turned on her, given what you overheard."

"That's what I was thinking."

It was such a pathetic sight, the petite form laying face-down, hair splayed out and glistening in the rain. A young woman like that, it couldn't help but remind the vampire of Riho. His Riho, whom he'd brought into eternal night to keep her from ending up like this, a wasted life, another light snuffed out. It awoke the anger inside of him; as much as Shido hated the corruptors, the deceivers of the darkness, this was different. The stakes weren't abstract, now that he had someone to protect.

This was why, for so long, he'd held himself apart from humans. No contact meant no loss, no betrayal, no risks. There were other reasons now, but this one he felt keenly.

"When you were backstage, could you smell this?" Yayoi asked. "The blood on them?"

"No, only the presence of the breed. I'm not surprised; this murder doesn't appear to be for blood or flesh. I don't think she was killed physically at all."

"That tallies with the autopsy reports on the last two kills. The actual cause of death was probably the pain in combination with the emotional stress of the circumstances. Their bodies went into an extreme state of shock, and they died."

"Instead of sustaining itself by drinking the blood or by cannibalism, it takes the victims' fear and terror, like some kind of psychic leech," Shido concluded.

"But we can't tie it to Hanae Matsuura and her entourage," Yayoi sighed. "She's a prominent musician and her recording company has a lot of clout. If I get the NOS into a scandal with the media without solid evidence backing it up, my career will need you to raise it up from the dead."

Part of him understood her reluctance. Though she was a breed hunter, she was also a government agent. She'd almost crashed and burned in front of the NOS bureaucracy once before by defending him. He didn't want to put her through that again.

He didn't want any more bodies found with their hands bent in reverse, either.

"If you don't want to get involved," he snapped at her, "then I can handle this matter on my own."

"That isn't what I meant. I'm only saying that we need some evidence before we turn famous and influential people's lives upside down."

"Agent Matsunaga," one of the uniformed officers said, walking up to them. He was young, fresh-faced, and looked a bit queasy. This was probably the first time he'd been involved in a case of violent death.

"Yes, Officer?"

"I thought you might want to see this. We found her purse about ten feet away from the body, there." He pointed back over his shoulder. "Her wallet was in it."

He held up a leather billfold in his latex-gloved hands, then let it flip open. Her identification was prominent behind a clear plastic window.

"That face...I know that girl," Shido said. "Is forensics done with the body?"

"Yes, go ahead."

He squatted down, put a hand on her shoulder, and turned her up onto her side. Hair tumbled partly across her face, plastering itself to the wet skin, but it was obviously the same girl as in the photo.

"Meiko Shidare," Yayoi read.

"She was at the club, backstage."

"There's a few business cards here; I guess she didn't have a separate card-case." Yayoi plucked one out. It was bad police procedure, but night breeds didn't leave fingerprints. "It says here that she was the special assistant to Kazuo Ohta, assistant vice president in charge of talent management for Excite! Records." She sounded almost smug about it. "It looks like now we can act on those suspicions of yours."

Shido looked down at the girl's face, at her blank and staring eyes.

"It's too high a cost," he said with a sigh.

-X X X-

"So you're saying there's nothing," Ohta summed up the past five minutes of conversation. "No projected time-frame for a new work, no completed songs for a single release on the way to that album."

Hanae shivered in her chair.

"N-no..." she managed to say.

The record company executive leaned back in his seat.

"Let me be brutally honest with you. This is a niche market for Excite! Records. We can afford to carry an unprofitable artist who raises critical acclaim because it serves as positive advertising for the entire company and as an investment in a possible breakthrough. We can certainly support one of the top sellers in the market. You were each of these, once. Now, you're neither. You don't produce anything new. We could pair you with another songwriter, but not only have you always rejected that in the past but your name recognition doesn't justify the cost, Two years ago, maybe, but now we'd be better off developing a new talent."

"You're letting me go."

Ohta shrugged.

"It's a business matter. There's no point in wasting any further front-end money, promotional costs, or otherwise on you. Our business is music, Hanae, and you aren't making any."

"Please, Mr. Ohta, I...I'm sure that I'll be able to work through this. I'm positive that I'll have something soon."

"I hope you do. If you have new music, we'll be willing to sit down with you and negotiate a new deal, but that's then. For now, it's over."

His words, their finality, echoed through her like a thunderous closing chord. Hanae wanted to weep, to plead, to scream, but she could do nothing. She could only stand numbly as rage and despair warred within her, then turned and left the room.

Seiichi saw that something was wrong at once and rose from his seat in the outer office. He moved towards her, extending a hand, but she brushed it aside. She couldn't deal with it now, emotions, caring.

"Hanae?" He was insistent, though. He loved her, she knew he did, and he would not give in when he saw her in pain. "What's wrong? What did that bastard say?"

"I...he..."

"Please tell me, Hanae." His hands lay lightly on her shoulders, warm and caring, and yet all she felt was cold, driving into her soul. With a twist of her upper body she shrugged him off.

"Nothing," she snapped. "He told me nothing that I didn't already know!"

"What?" he stammered.

"A musician that doesn't play music? That isn't a musician at all. It's nothing...I'm nothing."

With a cry, she ripped away from his clutch and dashed for the outer door. Even the secretary looked up in shock as she crashed through it.

"Hanae!" Seiichi shouted. Of course he would follow, she thought. It's what he would always do, for all that she couldn't understand. In the corridor she brushed past two people stepping out of the elevator, nearly colliding with a tall, dark-haired woman. Hanae stepped into the elevator car and slapped at the button for the lobby as the tears began to flow. As the door shut, she sagged back in the corner, trembling, and stared down at her hands. They were twisted almost like claws. They'd always been the way she communicated, how she'd shown her soul to the world since she was a little girl. Now they had betrayed her.

-X X X-

Kazuo Ohta was fuming as he parked his car after the drive home. He was over an hour late leaving his office and had been forced to cancel an evening appointment. Dinner and drinks with several of his business associates were the kind of thing that kept deals flowing smoothly, and he'd been forced to put them off, back out of his obligation, all because of that bitch from the NOS.

What did he have to do with Meiko Shidare, anyway? The girl had been his assistant, a glorified gofer not even as important or reliable as his secretary. He'd barely remembered her last name, let alone known anything about her personal life.

Yet that Agent Matsunaga and that boy-toy she'd had in tow had insisted on forcing him to wait around for their interview. Then, she'd left after introducing the man, Shido, not thirty seconds after she'd arrived! Fobbed him off on some flunky as if he, Ohta, had been the nobody! Though there had been something about that Shido which had made Ohta keep his complaints to himself, some indication that it wouldn't be a good idea to make him angry. Ohta had a good sense for that, mostly from dealing with so-called "talent" over the years who would flare up at the least little affront to their ego.

No, better to smile and pour oil on troubled waters, while the idols burned out their year or two of star quality , then usher them out the door. They were, after all, infinitely replaceable. This detective was the same. Smile, nod, and pretend to care, and he'd be gone all the faster. It didn't help his frustration to have to contain it, but at least he could reassure himself that he'd done the smart thing, that his problems were at least other people's fault.

Besides, at least there was a silver lining, he told himself as he walked across the parking lot to his building. If he hadn't been angry at waiting, he probably wouldn't have cut ties with Hanae Matsuura. He'd meant to before, but had kept giving her second chances, probably because she possessed genuine artistry instead of marketability and he felt sympathetic to that. Enough was enough, though. In truth, enough had been enough a year ago, since she was a niche product.

He reached into his pocket for the card key. The doorman would let Ohta in the front, but he didn't want to waste the time on the extra walk. The parking-lot door went right to the elevators for an easy trip. If only he didn't keep forgetting where he'd put that damn magnetic card...

"Hah! There you are," he said, finding it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"Yesss, there you are," echoed a high-pitched, almost whistling voice, and then a crimson shape was hurtling through the air at him.