Omake: In The Garden
Curious.
That was the word Rin preferred.
It was whimsical. It hinted at intelligence, feline charm, and just a dash of carelessness. Not stupidity. Carelessness. Rin didn't make stupid mistakes, you see. She made careless mistakes.
Because she was curious.
She'd found out early that curiosity had its downsides. Like when she'd ventured into her father's library as a young child, delved too deeply into one of his books, and nearly ended up parchment-chow.
Tokiomi had given her a prana compass back then, so that she could always tell when a magical threat was beyond her abilities. It was beautiful; covered in glass, with a bluish inner rim surrounding a thicket of bronze gears in the center. The compass point could even glow red.
Flawless, almost. Except for the user.
By eight years old, Rin had become like most people her age – invincible. With strains of what-could-go-wrong frolicking in her head, she had dragged Kirei into her father's library.
I mean, she wasn't a kid anymore, was she? She could blast the spades off playing cards from fifty yards with a fire gem. Let father's collection do its worst.
Besides, Kirei could always exorcise something in a pinch. Not that he'd need to.
Her confidence had lasted right up until something spiny, slimy, and rope-like had shot out from one of the books and latched onto her leg. Until the books on the upper shelves had begun wailing, and Renaissance woodcuts of half-men had leered at her from the pages, and her ears had bled until she could barely stand up.
Purple, oily mist had risen from another book. She'd fired off gandrs and for all she was worth. It hadn't been enough. The compass's red light spun, and spun, and spun.
Kirei had pulled her out.
Well, pushed her out.
Rin remembered him swinging a Black Key that he'd barely learned to use yet, and chanting under his breath. He'd looked so calm when he'd told Rin to call for help. For that matter, he'd looked so freaking relaxed when they'd dragged his body out of the library. Unconscious, but relaxed.
Kirei hadn't been able to walk for a week after that. Dizzy spells had come and gone for another month.
Why?
She'd asked him. He'd answered.
Not because he was her "apprentice". Pfft. As if the little delinquent cared about that.
Not because Kirei liked her, either, even though Rin had always preferred to imagine he did. (And anyway, Rin meant it in a totally platonic way. Not like-liked. Well…not at this age, anyway.)
No, Kirei had rescued Rin because it had been the correct thing to do. That was the word he'd used. "Correct".
And Rin had been curious.
Eight years passed.
Rin was sixteen, and Kirei about the same.
Old Risei finally died.
Rin knew he'd died because she could feel his prana signature flicker out as she crunched up the gravel path to the Kotomine church. The old man had been shuffling off his mortal coil for a while. This final touch was just a formality. Everyone had been expecting it, right down to the appointed day.
Still, Rin had hoped to arrive at the Kotomine church a while after Risei had expired. While she didn't exactly think that Kirei would need a shoulder to cry on, she figured he'd still need something. He was human, after all.
Though as far as she knew, Kirei had never shown any emotions beyond guilt and amusement at somebody else's expense. Often simultaneously.
In any case, her original plan was impossible now.
Rin stood suspended between walking to the door and trudging home. Or waiting. Yeah, that was probably best. Her apprentice – no, just Kirei for tonight; he deserved a break – would probably appreciate the company in a little while. Let him deal with it in his own way first.
So Rin sat in the bushes and waited. She held the magecraft-powered wristwatch up to her face, and prepared to count out half an hour.
The wait ended three minutes later.
The door opened. Kirei stood on the front step for what seemed like ages, as moths fluttered around the yellow porch light. Rin couldn't read his expression. Honestly, she'd expected that. Kirei had never worn his emotions on his face like she did – much as she'd tried to hide them.
Kirei closed the door and walked into the garden. Rin followed him. Silently. She wasn't sure why.
Kirei walked past well-trimmed bushes and sandstone sculptures. Dew from the grass moistened Rin's stockings. A bat or two fluttered past her in the dark. The koi pond burbled cheerfully.
It was near the koi pond that Kirei stopped, and laid out a porcelain dish. Rin's reinforced nostrils detected a faint fishy smell. Kirei sat cross-legged.
An hour passed, and Kirei had barely moved. He appeared to be just another statue in the dark, except for the occasional glistening of blinking eyes.
Rin heard a mewl. A cat emerged from the bushes.
She recognized it: a black, ragged creature that appeared at the Kotomine church to get food from time to time. A stray. Rin could see tufts of fur wracked with mange.
Kirei clicked his tongue, beckoning with one hand while he held out the bowl of fish with the other. The cat sniffed the air. It patted over to him.
"Mreooow?"
Before Rin could blink, Kirei's hands shot out and grabbed the cat. Rin had been sparring a long time; she'd been magically reinforcing herself for longer. Kirei had been fast. She hadn't known he could move that fast.
The cat screamed. It squirmed and wriggled in his grip.
Kirei calmly walked to the koi pond, and shoved the cat underwater.
The creature screamed even more loudly at first. It clawed and bit at his wrist. It yowled. Rin could hear its claws scrabbling against the hard plastic sides. It even tried to hiss – though this last came out more as a gurgle than anything. It flopped first to one side, and then the other as it twisted its body around, seeking an escape. Water splashed. The struggling grew fainter.
Kirei pulled it out. The cat gagged, and vomited up water. Its struggles had subsided somewhat, but it was still alive. Its body was shaking. Shivering. Kirei shared a long moment with the animal, looking into its eyes as it retched. He smoothed the strands of hair along its muzzle, ignoring its halfhearted bite in reply.
And then, Kirei dunked it again.
It took another minute or two for the thing to die. Rin watched the entirety. At last, it was over. The creature's body bobbed in the pond like a bulbous, hairy cork.
Kirei was panting, eyes closed. He smiled more widely than Rin had ever seen him smile.
The moment passed. Kirei blinked. He looked over his shoulder, eyes roving from one end of the garden to the other. Rin did not move.
Kirei's shoulders sagged.
Even as a shudder passed through his body, the life seemed to drain out of Kirei. He just sort of slumped to his knees in front of the pond. His fingers tightened, clawing twin handholds into the ground. Kirei's own blood dripped down a shredded sleeve. He didn't bother healing it.
Kirei stood up, stuffed the body into a garbage bag, and slunk back to the Kotomine church.
Rin exhaled. She fiddled with her hair, and realized that her hands were shaking. She forced them still.
What-?
This was…Rin didn't even know what this was. Where exactly did this fit into her neat hierarchy of knowledge? Was it just an isolated incident? Kirei had always been a little…She doubted it, somehow. That look on his face.
It was only then that Rin began to suspect another possible explanation for the way Kirei had nearly died saving her eight years earlier:
Kirei wasn't normal.
But she—
And now her plans were—
No.
She'd fix this. Quietly. Secretly. It was just another problem. Like with gems: you just had to do your research first. Apply your prana properly. Excise the rough bits. Polish the facets until they sparkled. It had to work. Kirei was a…friend.
She could do this, right?