Chapter Four: Cat and Mouse
"The library key," says Ms. Yoshisaburō, her voice edging on disapproval.
Disapproval, however, has never deterred Hisana. If it did, she'd be dead. So, she takes the key with a smile. "Thank you."
"It goes without saying—"
Hisana girds herself.
"—but if a member of the family enters the library while you are there, make yourself scarce."
"Yes, ma'am." Hisana tucks the key into a pocket of her sleeve and bows.
Then, she is off.
Snow blankets the garden and trails, rendering all her attempts at surveying the property short-lived. If she's lucky, she finds a pair of fukagutsu and hanten to steal from one of the servants charged with maintaining the walkways. But, even then, the winter's chill is brutal and forces her to retreat to the estate in no time.
Tonight, she's not so lucky. Not even the groundskeepers are reckless enough to brave the current howler.
So, here she is, seeking refuge in the Kuchiki family library.
It's huge. It smells of ink, musty leather, and midnight. It's also very dimly lit. The flickering lanterns scattered through the room are no match for the winter's shades.
The shadows are beginning to feel like old friends.
Hisana explores the stacks, looking for anything that might be of use. She stops at a section of books on art and art interpretation.
Oblivion.
It's such a nebulous concept. Where would a piece like that even fall? Probably not Art of the Four Seasons, a collection of Edo-period landscapes. It's unlikely that any books cataloguing either Hokusai's or Hiroshige's landscapes would be of much use, she thinks, running her index finger down the spines of the Edo masters.
"Eschewing your duties?"
It's unnerving just how easily the lordling can sneak up on her. With his level of reiatsu, she should feel him coming from miles away, always. But he's good at hiding himself when he wants. Like now.
"Your family knows art continued to flourish after the 1860's, right?" Hisana doesn't bother to look over at him. Once announced, she feels the agitation of his reiatsu against hers.
"What would you know of art?"
"Enough." She keeps her eyes on the books. At the very bottom of the shelf, under a stack of books, there is a small pamphlet on impressionism. She slips the pamphlet out and frowns.
The booklet nearly comes apart in her hands. It looks to be one hundred years old and lovingly used.
Hisana gently leafs through the pages. There are a few landscapes, some flower vases, and some portraits. Her frown deepens.
A book on Van Gogh appears in front of her face.
She stares at the book for a long moment. Warily, she takes the lordling's offering and glances askance at him. He watches her just as carefully as she watches him.
It's not a bad suggestion, she thinks. Van Gogh seems like a guy who might've known a thing or two about oblivion.
"If you're interested in art outside of Edo-period Japan, consider looking in another section," he says, plucking the pamphlet from her hand and reshelving it an arm's length away.
"Fair enough." Her lips twitch, but she manages to keep a grin away. "Thank you."
Maybe it's the ocher glow of lantern light or her imagination, but, when her words hit him, his expression softens. There is a somberness that flickers in his eyes, as if he wants to ask her something but can't.
Not her problem, though.
If pride steals his words, it can keep them.
A sad-looking asshole is still an asshole.
In the snowy days that follow, Hisana makes a dent in the Kuchiki's sizeable collection of books on art history. The closest she has come to anything mentioning oblivion is The Shore of Oblivion by Eugen Brach. It felt like a stroke of serendipity when she found it.
But….
It's not dark enough, and it's a landscape.
Her client said the painting contains the darkest black and is of oblivion itself, which likely means its shores don't count. Also, while the book only contains a duplication of the piece, she can't see where the truest black would be.
Sinking into the uncomfortable wooden chair tucked in the corner of the library, Hisana stares into the shadows dancing with the lantern light.
Right now, she would take a personal oblivion.
Hell, she'd settle for a drink. A stiff one.
That's when she sees it.
Her brows pull together. Her first instinct is to reject the possibility. But, there it is.
She drags herself out of the chair and crosses the floor to the small index in front of the stacks dedicated to Heian art and masters. "Who would've thought." And, here she assumed the arrangement of genres and subjects in the library was "random order."
Pulling out one of the drawers, she finds cards neatly placed, one after the other. Plucking one out reveals the location of the book, I Am a Cat, by its row, case, and shelf.
Hisana shuffles through several cards to find the book in her hand, Atmospheric Isolation: German Art from 1800 to 1900. The card contains the usual information-title, author, publication date, edition, and location-however, the card also contains references to art contained in the book, but the locations notated do not appear to be in the library.
It looks like the references are to a storage unit.
Unit 505, to be specific.
"The help generally doesn't reorganize the indices," comes a dry voice that has long lost its edge.
The lordling doesn't bother her every night. But, their paths cross often enough that his silent presence has become a ringing expectation. It isn't a comfortable feeling—always being on guard—but such is her life.
"Does the family have these paintings?" she asks, ignoring his dig at her, as is custom.
The lordling's gaze dips down to the card. "Yes."
Where do you keep them? This question burns her, but she swallows the words. Too obvious. Too needy. He will immediately suspect that she is up to no good. So, instead, she stares at him, feeling rather desperate.
He stares back, face as blank as ever.
If the lordling were more socially inclined, he might intuit the question hanging unspoken between them. But, he is not.
So, there they are. Silence gnaws at the both of them. He is better at weathering its bitterness than she. She always breaks first. Like now.
Hisana exhales a long breath and turns away.
"Did I—" he begins, but cuts himself short, as if he had not intended for the words to escape.
Hisana stops.
Maybe he is still annoyed that she implied he was ignorant about the Academy.
Or….
Maybe he doesn't understand why she ceased their correspondence via poetry.
He must know it was her.
He knows it was her in the passageway when they would test each other on seals.
She sighs again. Might as well throw a dog a bone, she thinks. She hates this part about herself, the part that caves to soothing the rougher edges of interactions. It feels like capitulating on her principles. But… it must be done. She does need this job, at least for now.
"I liked the seals." She catches him with a sidelong gaze. "That was fun."
It wasn't. She, in fact, hated it. But, she's worried that, if her foundering with this job goes on much longer, she may lose important skills. Reiatsu is a muscle in that way—use it or lose it—and her job as a maid doesn't give her many opportunities to practice.
Also, admitting to liking the poetry and his gift is painful. Physically painful. Especially, after the way he treated her during her interview.
Sure, she was lying to him and his steward and his sick dad. And sure, she's only here to steal from them. But, it's been a long time since she had to beg for something only to be measured and weighed and found wanting. It's been an even longer time since she spoke of her sister and the tragedy of leaving her in any real way. Even if the story she sold him was mostly a lie, it was real enough.
The grief and pain were real.
They're still real.
His response to her measured honesty is what rankles her, though. How can someone know the words of poets and the beauty of art and still feel nothing when confronted by expressions of genuine sorrow and pain? What kind of monster must he be?
And so, she leaves.
No bow. No good-bye. No glance to spare.
When Hisana mentioned liking the seal-breaking game she played with the lordling, she did not think—not for one single second—that this observation would come back to haunt her. And yet….
She stands at the library door, unable to enter because of a seal.
The lordling's seal.
Why can't she keep her big fucking mouth shut?
It's complicated, too. Much more complicated than her seals ever were for him. She bites the inside of her mouth hard until she tastes the tin of blood.
Just when she was inching closer to finding the stored art, too. Unit 505. Maybe?
Dammit!
Hisana's hands curl into fists at her side, she heaves a long breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and inhales until she feels her lungs burn.
You can do this. You have to do this. For you. For your sister.
Then, she sinks to her knees and sets to work.
This quickly becomes a thing. A thing she must do. Almost every night. And….
She doesn't hate it?
She sort of hates herself for not hating it.
But….
It's nice. Her job of cleaning, scrubbing, folding, organizing, and tidying is hard work, for sure, but it doesn't engage her in this way. There is something about defusing a bomb that is at once complex and horrifying. Also, calling her own reiatsu to break certain portions of the seal feels so good. There is also something intensely calming about recognizing patterns and following them to their logical conclusion.
Then, the release of adrenaline when the door opens is pure bliss.
She loves it and hates it.
Tonight is no different than the last. When Hisana arrives at the library, the hour is late, and the door is spellbound. No surprises.
Dropping to her knees, Hisana waves her hand over the seal to activate it. Knots and tangles weaving through more tangled knots light up, glowing a pale gold. It looks magical, like some sort of rune belonging to a now-forgotten language.
Hisana exhales a long breath and leans forward, shoulders sloped, chin pressed against her neck, and eyes weary. This is going to take all night to undo.
Bastard.
And so, she sets out, unweaving the spell with careful fingers, brain laser-focused on the undertaking. Her touches are light. He has set traps in the seal, ones that if triggered will shock her before adding more tangles and knots for her to undo.
Bastard.
She's good, though. This is mere child's play compared to some of the seals that she has had to break to steal items in the Rukon.
"Remarkable," comes a voice that is both completely unexpected and far too close to her ear.
Hisana jolts up, heart galloping in her chest. "Lord Kuchiki."
Yes, indeed, Lord Kuchiki is quietly sitting seiza next to her, looking on.
What the hell is with this family? Do none of them possess the decency of alerting the staff to their presence? What even is the point of servants' passages in that case?
The lord smiles and nervously scratches the back of his head. "I didn't think they taught seal-breaking at the Academy."
Hisana forces a smile as she scrambles for a convincing lie. "They do. It's an advanced class. I unofficially audited it for a semester."
"Oh?"
She shrugs. "All the classes at the Academy are so large that it's easy to sneak in and watch."
Lord Kuchiki eyes her, sidelong. She can tell that he doesn't completely buy her story, but he won't press her on it, either.
"You're certainly strong enough not to go through all the trouble of unbinding this seal," he says. For added effect, he opens his hand and breaks it with the sheer force of his reiatsu.
"Yes, but if I break it with my reiatsu, then the spellcaster will know who broke the seal based on the spiritual signature of the spell-breaker," Hisana reasons.
Lord Kuchiki grins at her, slyly. "And, you don't think the spellcaster here knows it's you who has been breaking his seals?"
"He may think it's me, but he doesn't know. He has no proof." She smirks.
"Ah, I see." The lord lifts a brow. "Cat and mouse is it?"
Hisana lifts a shoulder. "I like to think that denying him this small win keeps him warm at night, heated by the flames of vexation."
"Yes. Wouldn't want Byakuya to freeze to death; that's for sure."
"Indeed."
Lord Kuchiki chuckles lightly to himself then takes to his feet. "I'm glad Byakuya found someone who—" He pauses for a beat as if perhaps the thought that immediately comes to mind isn't one that will be well-received.
Hisana tilts her chin up, silently urging the lord to continue.
"—who will vex him every bit as much as he vexes the rest of us," he adds.
"The gods' work, I know." Hisana grins then bows her head. "Good evening, milord."
"Enjoy yourself, Miss Hisana."