Chapter Seventy
Syaoran held the metal bolt until it began to snow.
At first, he didn't recognize the frozen puffs coming down from the sky. With his eyes closed and his skin less sensitive to temperature, he spent several minutes believing the light puffs were nothing more than the breeze stirring the fine hair on his skin. When he finally did open his eyes, he was surprised to see a thin layer of fog rising from his lips as he exhaled.
He sat up, brushing the snowflakes from his jacket sleeve with his free hand. The other remained tightly closed around the metal screw. After many minutes in his hands, the bolt was warm. Just like Sakura, he thought, unfurling his fingers to examine the bolt. The smooth metal seemed so separate from the girl who had possessed it that, at first glance, there seemed to be no relation between the two. But he could smell the faint trace of her scent, a fragrance somewhere between the cherry blossoms for which she was named, and the sunlight that danced in her hair.
There may come a day when I can return this to her, he thought, closing his hand again. The metal had cooled in the open air. And by then, I'll be done with Seishirou.
He stood, pocketing the bolt. It took him a moment to realize he had nowhere left to go. Seishirou would likely still be cleaning up the bodies, if he hadn't moved locations. There was also the chance that he was out there looking for him now, but Syaoran doubted that. If Seishirou needed to find him, it wouldn't take long.
No, I have nowhere I need to be, Syaoran thought, tilting his head up toward the occluded sky. "Maybe the train station," he mused, watching the clouds churn above him.
Something flickered in the lower corner of his vision. He glanced down, then recoiled.
The Other stood across the park from him. From this distance, a human would've been unable to distinguish between the colors of his eyes. But Syaoran could.
Adrenaline flooded his veins, and he summoned his sword. It appeared in a puff of fire, a familiar weight in his hands.
His clone brought his own sword out. Not Hien—Syaoran had watched that blade shatter in one of his nightmares—but a similar blade. He felt the unique hum of energy coming off the weapon, mixing with Fai's stolen magic.
Is this world some sort of meeting place for travelers? Is that what Reed was trying to set up?
The Other raised his new sword so the tip pointed up to the sky. Syaoran felt a shift in the magic and braced himself for whatever his clone was planning. Blue sparks spider-webbed out from the blade, cloaking the Other in lightning. A moment later, a bolt tore through the clearing.
That's my spell, Syaoran thought, flinging himself to the ground. The grass was slick with frost, but that didn't stop it from going up in flames when the lightning hit it. The bolt carved a crispy path into the hillside, inches from his face. Syaoran rolled to his feet, lifting his sword for a counterattack. Electricity crackled around the blade, then exploded in the Other's direction.
By the time the bolt reached the place where his clone had been standing, he was gone.
Syaoran turned in a circle, eyes flashing across every inch of the small park. Where did he go? he wondered, his pulse pounding in his ears. When he saw no sign of the Other, he closed his eyes and tried to sense him, as he'd done in Outo and Infinity.
There was no one there.
At first, he couldn't believe it. Even a vampire couldn't flee that fast, and he would've seen if the Other had changed dimensions. It wasn't until he remembered the incident this morning that he realized why.
He was never really here. It was just another hallucination. He turned toward the patch of grass the Other's spell had annihilated. Blades of grass, still frosted, reached for the occluded sky. It's not burnt at all. It's all in my head. He's in my head.
Syaoran collapsed, hitting the cold ground with a thud. His arms wrapped around his ribs, constricting his lungs as they rapidly inflated and deflated. "No," he whispered. I can't let him get to me. It's a trick, that's all.
He got back to his feet. His knees trembled, and he fell again. I'm losing it. I'm really losing it.
The wind wailed in the hills around him. A shiver ran down his back. It sounded as if the wind was warning him to abandon this place before another hallucination drove him to do irreparable damage.
Ultimately, there was still only one person he could go to.
Seishirou threw a final shovelful of dirt on top of the body and patted it down.
The damage had been more extensive than he'd first assumed. Though he'd been able to detect the smell of Miss Adele's corpse before he'd walked through the door, he'd assumed she'd been killed only because she'd gotten in the way of their enemy. The truth—that Fei Wang Reed's soldiers had spent the better part of the afternoon cutting her up before finally killing her—was much more grisly than his initial assumption.
Is this message meant for me, or for Syaoran? he wondered, leaning the shovel against the wall and walking into the house. There was little point in tending to the rest of the bodies. They were enemies, and he planned to leave this world as soon as the Little Wolf returned to him. Whenever that might be, he thought, heading upstairs. With so many dead, the scent of rot was growing stronger. I should take Fuuma and leave this place. I can find a replacement for Syaoran on the way.
He sighed, resting a hand on his brother's forehead. "Fuuma, wake up."
The ill man didn't stir. Seishirou waited, letting his brother's forehead warm under his fingertips. He nudged the man's shoulder. "Fuuma, come on. We need to get to the next world."
Still no response.
Seishirou exhaled and went downstairs again, stepping over a body on the way. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink, scrubbing until his fingers, palms, and wrists were raw, then sidestepped a puddle of blood to get to the refrigerator. He raided it for things his brother might eat, ignoring some of the less nutritious garbage in favor of the more natural cheeses and fruits. Arms overflowing with edible things, he went back upstairs and knelt down beside Fuuma's bed. "It's time to eat," he said, hoping to coax a response out of the brunette.
Fuuma still didn't stir.
"You're making this really difficult, you know," Seishirou told him, leaning back and crossing his legs. He snatched an orange from the pile and pierced it with a sharpened claw. Translucent juice flowed out from the hole. The citrus scent dispersed through the room, covering up the smell of dead bodies. "Come on now. Wake up, just for a little while."
His brother remained inert before him. Seishirou lifted the orange and drizzled the juice between Fuuma's lips. The unconscious man swallowed automatically.
"I suppose it's nothing too surprising," Seishirou murmured. "After all, you're on the edge of death already. If you weren't, we wouldn't be here.
"The witch said there was no such thing as coincidence, only Hitsuzen. But which part of this is Hitsuzen? You getting sick, or me finding you before you died? I don't have an answer. But whatever happens, I won't outlive you by long. Or at all, if this plan works out." He brushed Fuuma's hair aside.
The clock on the wall ticked.
Fuuma took a shallow breath.
The smell of death seeped through the smell of oranges.
Seishirou's head turned toward the sound of footsteps crushing fresh snow, and he rose from Fuuma's bedside to see who was coming. As he brushed the curtains out of the way, he realized Syaoran had returned. He hurried downstairs, not wanting to force the boy to see the bodies again after everything that had happened. He met the Little Wolf at the door.
"Are you all right?"
The brunette looked at him, his expression haunted. The boy's pupils were dilated well past their usual level, and his skin was several shades paler than normal.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Seishirou said. "That was—"
Syaoran raised a hand to stop him. The fear went out of his expression. In its place was a steely resolve. He asked only one question. "Will you teach me how to shield my thoughts?"