"Sensei." Tatsumi bowed low, respectful.

"Sato is fine." Sato's eyes were cold, a pale blue-gray, devoid of expression. "You're the new kagetsukai."

"Yes, sir." Tatsumi bowed again, gracious, but watching Sato carefully with a sly eye.

"Show me what you can do." Sato stood back, giving Tatsumi room.

Tatsumi looked around. The house was bare, almost devoid of decoration. Nothing to tell him about the man. But there, at the edge of a door, was a small squat pot. It was unimportant, uninteresting. Ugly, even. So he reached his hand out to it, drawing it toward him by its shadow.

It wobbled in mid-air heroically, and then his control faded as he felt himself at the edge of his endurance. He could feel the little snap of lost energy as the shadows slipped.

Before he could move to try to catch it, Sato gestured quickly, and the pot lowered itself to the floor carefully. He walked over and picked it up, fingers running over the rim of the pot gently, thoughtfully.

"Be careful next time." Sato snapped, and he walked out, leaving Tatsumi standing, wondering what to do.

It set the tone for his studies, isolated from his peers, trapped with a madman of a former Shinigami that hadn't been trusted to have a partner or solve a case in years.

----

Tatsumi sighed. He missed the easy camaraderie of the new Shinigami quarters, a bedraggled block of housing for people whose powers were not yet fully under control. He had resented the noise and mess, but it seemed like such a nice memory, so pleasing and far away, compared to where he was now.

Though he had always wanted to live in a big, beautiful traditional house, this was nothing like it. Cobweb-riddled and dusty, empty of furnishings; it was atrocious. Some nights he woke up thinking he was some sort of fiendish medieval ghost, doomed to residence in a cold, crumbling building.

"You're not concentrating." Sato's head tilted faintly, and the stone snapped out of Tatsumi's grip, landing in Sato's outstretched hand with a soft slap.

"I'm sorry…" Tatsumi fumbled, trying to get his mind back in order, but all he could think of was how much he wanted a hot cup of tea and something to eat. He straightened his back with a wince, tired from hours of training.

Sato watched him with calculation, his thumb moving over the smooth river stone, and he snapped it back toward Tatsumi with a sharp motion of his wrist.

Surprised, Tatsumi jerked up his hands up in anticipation but the shadow was so small, so hard to catch that the stone struck him, cracking against the edge of his jaw. He cried out in pain before he could stop himself.

"Are you all right?"

"No! Do I look all right to you?!" One hand pressed against the wound, blood trickling through his fingers, down his wrist, staining the sleeve of his rice-colored haori.

Sato looked startled and began walking toward him.

Tatsumi gestured sharply with his other hand, as if to push him away. "Leave me alone!"

"Seiichirou…"

Tatsumi shook with anger, with frustration, with pain. "Stop calling me that! We are not friends! You don't know me well enough to call me that!" Tears welled up in his eyes, and for the first time in weeks he just couldn't hold it in anymore. The grueling training. The lack of basic social courtesies. The hunger, the cold, the loneliness of the big empty house…

Even as the pain began to dull, even as the blood was disappearing against his skin, a sob broke through his lips. "You're not even a decent teacher, you…you crazy old monster!"

"What's wrong?" Sato looked confused and stepped forward, into the sharp shadow cast by a long beam.

Before he even realized what he did, Tatsumi whipped his hand around, and the long, deep shadow dug into Sato's legs, slamming him away. He landed several yards away in the courtyard, tumbling over rough stones.

Tatsumi gasped, shocked at himself. Wiping impatiently at his eyes, he ran up to Sato. "Sensei! I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

Sato blinked and sat up slowly, dusting himself off with bruised and lacerated hands. "You don't need to call me that." He stood up, meeting Tatsumi's eyes with an unreadable expression.

"Sato…"

Sato reached out and brushed away a lingering tear. "Please don't do that anymore. I don't like it."

"I'm so sorry, Sato. I didn't mean to knock you away…"

"No, I meant this." He held up the tear, showing it to Tatsumi before flicking it away with a twist of his wrist. "Come." He turned and began walking out to the street.

----

"What do you want me to do with you?"

"Excuse me?" Tatsumi scowled, annoyed at the way Sato never came out and said anything directly.

Sato shook his head and paused for a long moment. "What I meant was: what should I call you?"

"Tatsumi-kun, I suppose."

"Is…just Tatsumi all right? The honorifics, I get them confused." Sato shrugged awkwardly, and it made Tatsumi realize that for his height, Sato wasn't so much a foreboding, looming presence as he was a gangly, uncomfortable man who kept his movements close and short to hide any clumsiness.

"Yes, that's fine." Tatsumi walked along beside him, daring a glance at Sato's face. Sato looked unsettled, and his lips moved as though he wanted to say something but could not form the words.

"I'm sorry. I…I'm not very good at…words, people." Sato gestured absently. "I learned very late. Too late. And…I don't train enough."

Tatsumi laughed weakly. "You don't train enough? I'm almost dead from your training. If you worked on your language skills as hard as you're pushing me, you'd be good enough to write novels in two months."

Sato gave him a strange look, as if he wasn't sure if Tatsumi was mocking him. "No teacher. Not in a long time," he shrugged. "I'm not training you that hard. You just don't understand."

"I really don't think-" Tatsumi began, frustrated.

Sato shook his head. "No, I said it wrong. You understand. I didn't." He stopped at a tree, beside the stream that roamed parallel to the empty street. "Look." He gestured, and a leaf twisted down off a branch. He caught it in his fingers. "Here. This is what I can control." He pointed, gesturing first at the small, flat shadow underneath the leaf, and then at the edge, where a faint outline of shadow curled along the serrated green.

"Or this." With a gesture, Sato moved a lock of hair out of Tatsumi's eyes. "But not much bigger. My teaching is wrong for you. Because you could move this whole tree if you wanted. Maybe even this stone. Both at once." He pointed at the immense flat rock in the shade of the tree that had been placed there generations ago, etched with a poem delighting in the charms of the cool stream in summer, the flowing characters nearly worn away. "I didn't know until today, until you showed me."

"I didn't either." Tatsumi sat down on the stone, staring at his hands. "Is this common?"

"No. And I don't know if I can teach you anymore." Sato sat down, almost uncomfortably close, long legs folding against his chest. "Your power is much greater. You should go back to the..." He paused, searching for the words. "Central administration. No, it's Shokan now. They will find something right for you to do in Shokan. You won't have to waste time with me."

An hour before, Tatsumi would have jumped at the thought and cursed Sato soundly as he ran back to the main office. But the thought left him with a familiar, sad guilt in the pit of his stomach. "No, there are still things I can learn from you, Sen- er, Sato. Sato." He nodded. "And things you can learn from me."

Sato looked at him sidewise. "I can never learn how to move such big shadows. My power doesn't work like that. Not even when in danger." His lips quirked in a smile.

"I didn't mean that." Tatsumi met Sato's pale eyes. "I meant in words. And people." He smiled.

Sato looked at him before nodding, slow and serious. "I would like that."

"Say thank you, afterwards."

"Yes, thank you, Tatsumi."

----

As the training died down to a trickle of useful theory instead of mind-numbing repetition, Tatsumi began to realize things that he hadn't noticed in his haze of fatigue and resentment. The house became cleaner; it had been neglected because Sato had been spending every waking moment training him. Food got better; Sato even taught him how to fish with his powers, though he tended to drag up half the riverbed instead of single slippery eels.

Times when Sato was away, Tatsumi went exploring. He found a room with piles of documents addressed to Sato. The most recent missives stated such personal details about Tatsumi and his previous life that it made him blush to think Sato had been reading them. He was relieved when, with a little subtle questioning, it turned out that not only could Sato not read, he merely accepted the papers as a matter of rote, following just the basic verbal directive that he would train Tatsumi as quickly as was possible.

He learned that Sato had previously lived in Kyoto, before Edo became the capital, and that he had acted as a Shinigami before the modern divisions created by Enma, only to be retired when new standards were put into place and Sato was unable to keep up but unwilling to pass on.

He found out that the ugly pottery scattered through the empty house was made by one of Sato's original mentors, that a former partner had journals that Sato kept as safe as if they were religious icons, wrapped in silk and tucked into a cedar chest. Journals he had read one rainy afternoon while Sato went out to Shokan division for some unspecified meeting.

In a cramped hand, the writing had nearly smeared through the sheets of heavy paper, as though the author had wanted to conserve every square inch, reminding him how expensive it must have been in days past. It detailed mundane details, when it rained, when a festival was held in Meifu, when a Shinigami had passed on. But tucked away in this mess of ordinary life was also a wealth of information about Sato.

The journals were short, and he was a quick read. Tatsumi had replaced them very carefully, whisking traces of his own shadow away the way Sato taught him.

By the time Sato came back, dripping with rain, Tatsumi was already heating up water for tea.

"Sato? Is it all right if I asked you something?"

Sato shrugged. With observation and experience, Tatsumi had learned that this meant yes.

"I was wondering how you came to Meifu. How you died." As if he didn't already know that from the journals.

Sato shed some of his clothing, hanging the soaked garments up and sitting down beside the square hearth, stripped to the waist. "I was ill." He frowned, hand pressed against his abdomen as though he could still feel a phantom ache. "Something was wrong with my body. Something painful." He reached out his hands, warming them near the fire.

"That is…" He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to get Sato to answer him. "What was it like for you? When you first came here?" Tatsumi fiddled with the boiling water, trying to draw out the talk, afraid Sato would suddenly lapse into silence without answering him.

Sato answered guilelessly, without the defensiveness that most Shinigami would have at such a breech of etiquette. "Everything before was very dark and quiet. Lots of things to touch. Then I woke here, and it was beautiful. Strange. Lots of things to see and hear, things that made touching better. And I could do this, this thing with my mouth. Talking." He laughed, a halting sound, as if he was unused to it. "Someone told me a long time ago what was wrong with me…let's see, three things. Blind. Deaf. Mute." He smiled at Tatsumi, after proudly ticking them off on his fingers. "What about you?"

Tatsumi winced. "You're not supposed to ask people that. Especially if they're new."

"Oh. Well, you asked me first…"

Tatsumi paused for a moment, trying to think up a response. "I was just curious how long you've been here. Since the house is very old," he added, quickly.

Sato nodded, as if it was an acceptable answer. "A long time. But not as long as the house, and definitely not as long as the house in Kyoto. Maybe if you asked the keepers of the books, they might know."

Abruptly, he changed the topic. "I have something from Shokan." He handed Tatsumi a bundle of papers wrapped in oiled paper to keep the rain out. "We have a training assignment. Sanya District, in Edo, near the Bridge of Tears over the Sumida River. We'll search within a half-mile." Sato sketched a circle with his finger, suggesting a circumference.

"An assignment? Is it an investigation? What will we do? Will it be difficult?" Tea forgotten, Tatsumi unwrapped the bundle, shuffling through the papers.

"Read the papers if you want to know. I would just go and see. Usually what's wrong will come out quickly, if you challenge it."

"That seems dangerous…" Tatsumi skimmed over the documents. "This sounds like they're talking about a demon." It didn't even seem real. Demons. Tatsumi shook his head.

Sato shrugged. "Sanya has many problems. There's always something to do in a place full of poverty and desperation."

"I don't think I've ever heard of this place…" Tatsumi racked his memory.

"Have you been to Edo, Tatsumi?"

"Not to a place called Sanya. And you should call it Tokyo. No one calls it Edo anymore."

Sato shrugged, which Tatsumi read this time as an expression of apathy. "Sanya is a bad place. Not on the maps. Every year, there are dozens of murders, many suicides, and every few years, summoned demons, soul-binding magic, curses, hexes…" Tatsumi was impressed by how easily the language of Shinigami work came to Sato. "Everything and then a few things that can't be expected. If it's a demon, it means Enma thinks you're strong." Sato smiled, proud and approving. "Worth keeping. Before everything changed, you wouldn't be a real Shinigami until you had killed a demon alone."

"What if you didn't?" Tatsumi shuddered, imagining what failure must have looked like.

"Then you weren't a Shinigami." Sato said, philosophically, twisting his long black hair, wringing water out. "You would move on and someone would take your place."

"That seems…unnecessarily cruel."

"Things were different." Sato frowned, trying to explain. "The spirits…people…they were strong. Very strong. Many pure bloodlines, miko families, children of gods and demons. But now it's different. More mixing when things changed, when many more people moved here and there." Sato looked aggravated as he stumbled over the words.

"No, Sato, I understand," Tatsumi said soothingly. "Modernization is changed the nature of Japan, I suppose?"

"Something like that." Sato stood up. "We can go now, if you want."

"You…uh, should put some clothes on, Sato. If we're going out." Tatsumi was careful not to look at his bare body directly.

"Oh, that. It'll just get wetter. It's raining in Chijou too." Sato gestured. "It won't take long. Maybe an hour."

"I thought investigations took days. Weeks."

"Investigations are long, but this is an extermination." Sato got up, walking into the next room. When he came back, he was carrying a pair of swords, one longer than the other.

"Here." Sato handed him the shorter one, tucking the katana into his obi.

"Sato, you know I can't…it's not right. The traditions-"

"Hmm? Oh. That doesn't matter. I don't have to wear both if I don't want to." Sato pressed the wakizashi into Tatsumi's hands. "Take this. You can't go unarmed into a demon fight."

"I don't know how to handle a sword…"

"Doesn't matter. Just wear it. If nothing, it'll keep humans from bothering you."

As he slid the short sword into his obi, Tatsumi felt a little shiver go through him, the way Sato said it.

----

Rain streaked his glasses. Tatsumi was breathing hard, pressed against the slatted wooden wall, hiding in the shadow of the building. Using his shadow, Tatsumi had managed to drag Sato into the shelter of an abandoned house, blood and soot streaking Sato's bare chest, obi charred where the electricity had left Sato's body through the steel of his sword.

The demon was much, much bigger than either of them had anticipated, hitting Sato with a jolt of lightning that Tatsumi would later swear had stopped the Shinigami's heart for a full minute.

"Sato! Sato! Wake up! Damn you…!" In desperation, he slapped Sato hard.

Sato suddenly caught a sharp breath, his first in what felt like an eternity, and his eyes opened wide, hand catching Tatsumi's wrist firmly before the next blow fell. "Thank you, Tatsumi." And just as quickly as his eyes opened, he let Tatsumi go and was back on his feet, a whirlwind of slicing shadows gathering around him like a swarm of black flies.

And he launched himself at the demon.

"Sato! Wait, you crazy-" Tatsumi tried to follow, tried to grab at the demon with long, dark poles of shadows. But it was so hard, and the rain made things indistinct. The edge of a building…the shadow of a broken shack, the body of a dead dog. He grabbed at shadows ruthlessly, pooling them, massing them, trying to create something big enough to strike the demon down…

And suddenly, as he ran down the street chasing after Sato, he managed it. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated, a sharp point of light glinting off his glasses. A dark viscous pool sucked and dragged at the demon so hard that for a moment, the demon seemed as if it would disappear altogether.

Then cold, soulless eyes turned to him. Tatsumi felt his heart skip a beat, a strange sick sensation growing in his stomach.

Lightning crackled around them, building into a charge that Tatsumi could feel in the air. Just like before it struck Sato, only this time it was much, much stronger.

Time slowed down. Sharp shards of wood dotted the demon's body in a formidable hail – Sato's work. But the demon barely noticed, so intent it was on Tatsumi.

"Run!" Sato's katana was out and he was heading toward the demon, pale eyes burning. "Tatsumi!"

He couldn't move. But he could drag the shadows to him. Form a shield…but what good was a shadow against electricity? He didn't know…perhaps Sato would. But there was no time to ask.

The demon's mouth opened, blood-streaked fangs black-crimson, and a crackling ball of lightning came flying at him. The air lit up, bright as a summer's day, and the shadows grew deeper. Darker.

Tatsumi just wanted to run away. But he couldn't. He couldn't even breathe.

A wild thought came to him as the electricity arced toward him. If only he could run away. If only he could disappear.

Sudden, sucking black, and everything was gone.

----

By the time Sato found him, it was hours later. It had taken half the staff in the Shokan division, an emergency meeting, and finally, a breakthrough from the library staff who found an obscure reference to kagetsukai powers in an old manual dating back four hundred years that had managed to escape a fire that had destroyed many important records centuries previous.

"Breathe slower. Slower than that." Firmly, Sato put his arm around Tatsumi and dragged him stumbling away from the peering eyes and prying hands of the Shokan division staff, taking him down the hall into an empty office, locking the door with an absent wave of his hand. "Shhh. Don't throw up." He guided Tatsumi down to a clean corner on the wooden floor, ignoring the high-backed western-style chairs.

Tatsumi swallowed hard, the nausea subsiding as he sat down on the hard floor, feeling his sense of balance stabilize as he leaned against the wall. He shook badly, clinging to his mentor. "I-I thought I was dead…I was trapped. I couldn't…couldn't get out."

Sato knelt beside him, patting his shoulder awkwardly, waiting for him to calm. Once Tatsumi gave a shuddery breath and relaxed minutely, Sato sat down beside him, seemingly all knees and elbows.

"It's a power. A strong power. No kagetsukai's been powerful enough to use it in centuries."

"So…I'm not dead."

"Of course you are. But not the final death." Sato caught his eye, expression serious. "And you won't. You're the second-most powerful Shinigami in a century. And the most powerful kagetsukai in living memory."

A chill passed through him. "Second-most? Who's the first?"

"A man named Asato. Uh, Tsuzuki. He helped the library staff find what was needed with a searching ofuda spell. And then I was able to send a shadow probe to find you." Sato patted him reassuringly. "If you ever get lost in the…shadow dimension…" he said it slowly and carefully, so as not to trip over the long syllables, "I'll be able to find you and help you get back. Quickly."

"So you can't go into that…place?" Tatsumi felt himself beginning to shiver again. That black formless void, with no gravity, no sense of direction, no point of reference…like being buried alive in nothingness.

"Not by myself. The most I can do is send you a little string, a thread to find you and guide you back."

"Thank you, Sato." And before he could stop himself, he hugged Sato tightly.

"It's all right." Sato was tense, bony shoulders pressed uncomfortably against him.

"Thank you, so much…you don't even know how much…"

Sato shook his head, pulling away sharply. "Nothing to thank me for. I should thank you. You saved us."

"But I ran away." Tatsumi looked away. "I didn't…didn't do my duty. I left you…" The guilt came back stronger than before, a festering old wound jarred to life.

"When you fight demons, Tatsumi, even if your duty is to win, your first duty is to survive to come home. No matter what." Sato gave him a dark look. "Never let anyone tell you different. There's no honor in passing onto the final death for no good reason."

"Yes, of course. No honor…no good reason." Tatsumi shivered hard, clenching his jaw to keep from crying. To keep from remembering. "Did-did the demon? Did you kill it?" He forced himself to think of something else. Something other than his mother's lifeless eyes…

"Yes, of course. You did well. When you distracted it, I was able to finish it off with the sword." Sato patted the pommel of his slightly charred sword.

Tatsumi took off his glasses, and pressed his fingers against his temples. "Sato. Did you know…I was safe?"

"Yes. I felt the shadows take you. I just didn't know where. I tried to look but-" Sato took him by the elbow. "Come on. You're tired, and they're coming to look for us. We should go now. You can talk later. Right now, you should rest."

"Rest. I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years." Tatsumi sighed. "With the light on."

"As long as you don't do it here." Sato gave him a ghost of a smile. "Let's go home."

They walked back together in the rain, sharing an oiled paper umbrella painted with long, slender bamboo leaves.