The clothes Botan scrounged up for Kalanie were feminine and delicate, a yukata in shades of purple and pink. Fidgeting uncertainly, Botan said, "They're Yukina's old things. Perhaps not a perfect fit, but they should do well enough."
No. They wouldn't. But Kalanie didn't say that. Instead, she gathered them to her chest and murmured, "Thank you."
"None of that," Botan declared, flapping a dismissive hand. "You owe us no thanks after the boys kept you locked up in that hole for so long. Hiei wasn't here, you see, and Yusuke wanted him for an interrogation. Though those shields—are they shields?—around your mind rendered that moot anyway."
The ferrygirl had led Kalanie down a narrow hallway, but she still felt the press of the Jaganshi's glare at her back. If she looked over her shoulder, she knew she'd find him watching her. "It's not a shield. It's…" How to phrase it? How to explain? "My mind isn't mine. Not anymore."
Botan stopped before a sliding door and turned back to Kalanie, her brows raised. "Come again?"
She held out her wrists. "It belongs to him. I've gotten it back for now, but only because I—" The compulsion seized her and the rest of her explanation fell away.
Eyeing her as if she were some wounded animal, Botan slid back the door. A bathroom waited within. The ferry girl flicked on the light switch and gestured Kalanie inside. "There are towels in the closet. Use whatever shampoo and soap are in there. Not enough these days to be picky about sharing." Her gentle smile returned and sent Kalanie's stomach twisting into knots. "I'll be waiting out here when you're done, but take your time. No rush."
Averting her eyes from the mirror, Kalanie stepped onto the tiled floor. Botan slid the door shut at her back, leaving her in peace.
Quickly, refusing to second-guess this kindness they'd offered her, Kalanie toed off her boots and shucked her dirty clothes. The chilled tiles had her dancing from foot to foot as she turned on the shower and waited for the spray to grow hot. When steam spilled past the curtain, she climbed into the tub and lost herself beneath the water.
How long she stood there she couldn't begin to guess. It was only as the water grew cooler that she fumbled for the shampoo. Her hair was a snarl of tangles and it took three passes of conditioner before her fingers ran through smoothly. Then she scrubbed herself with soap until the water was tepid and her skin peppered with gooseflesh.
She'd forgotten to fetch a towel and she padded on wet feet across the tiles to the closet. Once she was dry, she slipped on the delicate yukata and at last faced the mirror. Steam had fogged the glass, and she cleared it with precise swipes of her towel until a face stared back at.
A face.
But not hers.
The gaunt girl framed in the glass was a stranger to her. Her skin was sallow, her cheekbones grotesque beneath her starved flesh. Unrecognizable.
A stray hair tie lay on the sink. With deft fingers, Kalanie braided her damp hair and tied the ends, then folded her towel neatly, gathered her old rags, and slid open the door.
Steam flooded the hall in her wake. Botan sat beside the doorway, nodding off to sleep, but she stirred groggily when Kalanie cleared her throat. "Oh, you're done. Right, come on then." Scrambling upright, she led Kalanie the last steps down the hall to another paneled door. "This room will be yours, at least for now. This one's mine," she said, rapping her knuckles on the last door they'd passed. "I imagine you're exhausted. Sleep for now, but if you need me, I'm here."
The bedroom was simple. A bed. A dresser. A thin set of sheets. Yet more than Kalanie had possessed in months.
As Botan closed the door and left her in peace, Kalanie padded to the dresser and laid her old things inside one of the drawers, then hung her towel from the knob. Still in her yukata, half-convinced she was dreaming, she climbed into the bed.
Kalanie never slept that night.
She tried. In fact, she tossed and turned for hours. But her body wouldn't settle. The mattress was too soft, the sheets too silken. It unnerved her.
In the wee hours of the morning, she forsook the bed and stumbled to the window. Its view looked to the rear of the shrine, revealing—as she'd suspected the night before—a sprawling encampment. Tent after tent had been erected between the trees, fires burning between them. The last army in defense of humanity. A handful of half-trained psychics. Apparitions who saw no future for themselves in this new world. The local, pitiful humans who'd managed to survive the first disastrous weeks after the Fall.
This was their stronghold. An old shrine, a barrier, and a field of tents.
Human World's future had never looked so bleak.
She saw him then, as the sun's first rays cleared the trees—the Jaganshi, seated in a tree mere yards from her window. He held his katana in hand, sharpening it on a whetstone, but his gaze never strayed from her. Even through the curtains, she could make out the burning purple light of his Jagan.
No doubt he expected her to flee. To scurry to her bed and never emerge. But she was done fleeing. She needed a plan. A way out of here. And she wouldn't find one huddled beneath her sheets.
So she stared back, meeting his crimson gaze and refusing to give so much as an inch. When he flickered out of existence, she knew where he'd gone. The scrape of the door opening didn't surprise her.
She'd been expecting it.
The wall rattled as Kalanie collided with it. Smarting pain flared down her spine, stinging as the Jaganshi pressed closer, his hand curled in the fabric of her borrowed yukata.
"I know you for what you are. Don't mistake the other's weakness for trust. You are not one of us."
"No, I'm not."
His jaw clicked closed. Surprise registered in his eyes.
In the next moment, he was across the room, waiting in the doorway as thundering footsteps echoed down the hall. Kuwabara stuck his head around the doorframe. "Oy, shrimp. Genkai sent you, too?"
"Hn." He swiveled, raising one hand in a cold summons to follow. "Come, girl."
Straightening her yukata—and glad she'd not changed out of it when she'd tried to sleep—she followed after him. Kuwabara waited in the hall, his hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. Jovially, as if complimenting an old friend, he said, "Dang. You clean up good."
She ducked her head, ignoring his praise.
The men fell into step beside one another, Kuwabara rattling off details of some sort of overnight patrol. Kalanie strained not to hear him. She didn't want to know their secrets. She had enough of her own already.
They led her through the meeting room from the night before, down another hall, and into a cramped living room. Seating crowded the narrow space, two couches and a pair of matching armchairs jigsawed against the walls. Urameshi sprawled in one of the armchairs, muffling a yawn as they entered. "Too early for this shit."
"Early is a concept that doesn't exist in war, Yusuke." Kurama sat on a couch, sharing the seat with Genkai. Nodding to the empty armchair, he said, "Morning, Kalanie. Sit, please."
She did as bidden, perching at the seat's edge. Her fingers knotted around the hems of her sleeves.
Grunting greetings, Kuwabara threw himself onto the remaining couch and stretched out his legs. The Jaganshi remained in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
Genkai cleared her throat. "We'll get right to it, then. You'll answer what you can and we'll start simple. Understood?"
"Yes."
"You're from Demon World?"
"Of course."
"Which territory?"
Kalanie kept her gaze locked resolutely on her knees. Urameshi had declared the very name of her home unsafe in the Jaganshi's presence, but that didn't change the truth. "Alaric."
Urameshi snapped his fingers. "The lord nonsense makes a bit more sense now."
The Jaganshi growled.
"Enough," Genkai said. "We've ground to cover. No dawdling. So if you're from Alaric, were you there for the Fall?"
"I can't say."
The old psychic frowned. "That's your code? Confirmation where you cannot otherwise give it? But could you do so in writing? In gestures?"
"No." She dug her nails into her palms. "I'm sorry. The binds forbid it. I can't tell you secrets by any means."
"Interesting," Kurama mused. "If I'm understanding right, the compulsion was phrased to stop the spreading of anything your subconscious deems secret. Seems an apt trap."
"Don't start with the damn riddles, Kurama. Keep this shit simple," Urameshi said. "Remember, Kuwabara's listening."
"Screw you, Urameshi! Just because you're an idiot doesn't mean I am!"
Kurama cleared his throat and Kuwabara trailed off. "To clarify, if Kalanie was compelled not to speak of specifics, there'd be loopholes. As in, if she were forbidden to tell someone her birthday, she could still tell them her half-birthday and they could extrapolate from there. But if she were forbidden to share personal details of any kind, she wouldn't be able to tell you either date." He turned back to her. "So the question becomes: whose secrets can't you tell? Yours? Or Masaru's?"
His name sent a spike of terror straight to her heart. The spirit cuffs burned bright as flames as her energy unraveled in her core, thrashing in answer to the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
The telltale clink of the Jaganshi's katana withdrawing from its scabbard echoed in her ears.
She stamped down on her power. Its awakening had brought with it her body's desperate ache for iron. The beast prowled ever closer, ready to sink its claws into what fragments of her mind remained to her and shred her sanity to pieces. She needed fresh iron. Soon. So she'd give them the answers they wanted—if only so they'd give into her demands in return.
"Both. All of it." She picked her next words with utmost care. "Anything to do with Project Shell and its participants."
The stillness that followed was so absolute Kalanie hardly dared breathe.
"Project Shell?"
Her throat threatened to close, her words catching on her tongue, but she pushed past it. Project Shell was common knowledge. Every demon in the Forest of Fools had known its name for weeks before the Fall. She'd been the one to tell them. "Have you learned nothing? Are there no common apparitions in that tent camp of yours?"
"Only people we trust are here," Urameshi snapped. "We can't trust Demon World's filth."
Her tongue got the better of her. "Watch who you call filth, half-breed."
"Well, damn." Kuwabara lurched mometarily upright, staring at her with newfound appreciation. "The girl's got a spine after all."
"If you'd taken even a moment to listen to the low-class demons who flooded Human World, you'd already know Project Shell. The name, if not the details." She stilled the trembles in her hands. The edge she'd found wouldn't last. She needed to press her advantage while she had it. "You've had nineteen months, nearly two years, and you know nothing?"
"So what is it then?" Urameshi demanded. He rocked forward in his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Share the knowledge."
"Weren't you listening? I can't say."
Genkai heaved a sigh. "These circles waste our time. Dimwits, shut up. Hiei, put away the damn sword. If Kalanie can't explain in depth, we'll frame questions so she can answer as she has been. To facilitate that, what will 'no' be?"
Kalanie hesitated. "I won't say?"
"Fair enough."
"But," Kalanie interrupted before the questions could start, "I need promises in return. You can't keep me here."
"We can't let you go either. Not into Human World." Kurama soft smile dimmed. "We can send you back—"
"No."
Urameshi scoffed. "Why the rush to leave? Maybe you'll find you like it here. If you help us, prove yourself, we could take those cuffs off. You could be our resident filth."
"I need to leave. There are people I need to meet. Promises I have to keep."
"Compulsions to obey?"
She met the Jaganshi's glare head on. "No."
"Enough," Genkai said. "You're in no position to make deals, girl. Give us information we can use. If it produces results, we can discuss rewards. Until then, you stay here and the cuffs stay on. There's no debate on the matter."
They kept at her for hours, Kurama and Genkai volleying question after question her way, the redhead marking her answers down on a pad of paper. At a certain point, she lost track of which pieces of the puzzle they'd already possessed and which they still fumbled for, but by the time Kurama had set aside his pen, they knew most of it.
Project Shell had brought about the Fall, and she'd participated in it, her will bent beneath Masaru's influence, though they could not begin to fathom her role and she refused to offer leads. They didn't deserve to know. Not about her. Nor Nomi.
When they pressed about Masaru, she confirmed he was little more than a field commander. He led fighters—minions bound by Sovereign Binds—in battle, but he wasn't the mastermind. That was a name she wouldn't have been able to give, even if she'd known it.
They'd already guessed that the territory that had once been Alaric had been home to Project Shell's base of operations—Urameshi took a twisted pleasure in mocking the Jaganshi for the Fall brewing directly under the fire demon's nose—but they hadn't realized the sheer strength in numbers their enemies possessed nor the breadth of the net they'd cast across Tourin and Gandara. And so, city by city, question by question, Kurama sketched a map of their enemies strongholds through Demon World.
Kalanie knew without seeing it herself how hopeless this encampment appeared by comparison.
Through it all, she gave them nothing they didn't ask for. Her information was the only bargaining chip she had left, and she couldn't part with anything she wasn't forced to. Until they promised her release in time for her approaching deadline, they were still her captors, no matter how reassuring Kurama's smiles or raucous Urameshi's laughter.
So she kept her secrets. The nearly six years of her life Masaru had stolen, not just from her, but from Nomi, too. How she'd managed to escape. And—most closely of all—Nomi and all that he meant to her.
"That's enough, then," Genkai declared, rising from her seat slowly. Kalanie marked the way the woman favored her right knee. An old lingering injury? Perhaps age was catching the psychic at last. "Make yourself at home, girl, but know that the barrier will keep you in as surely as it once kept you out. If you want to negotiate your freedom, I'd advise against escape attempts."
She stomped from the room without another word, brushing past the Jaganshi. Kurama swept out on her heels, bowing his head to Kalanie as he went. With a parting sneer, the Jaganshi followed suit.
"So half-breed, huh? I haven't heard that in a while."
"Urameshi—"
"Enough of that. Name's Yusuke, got it?"
She bit her lip sharp enough to draw blood. It beaded against her tongue. "All right, Yusuke, half-breed is the truth, and if my kind is filth, then you'd best acknowledge the blood in your own veins."
"So what, you're some uppity demon-lover? We already have one of those in Hiei. No need for another."
Kuwabara barked a laugh. "The shrimp's superiority complex makes me want to pound his face in. Known the bastard six years now and he's still an asshole."
Yusuke spread his hands in question. "Well? Are you?"
"Blood doesn't define anyone."
"Always cryptic with the answers, aren't you?" He rose to his feet. "Whatever. But if you want to commiserate about humanity's general uselessness, Hiei's your guy. The rest of us don't have time for that shit."
Lacing his fingers behind his head, he strolled from the room. His trilling whistles echoed down the hall long after his footsteps faded.
"You know, we're not so bad," Kuwabara said after a beat. He still lay sprawled across the couch, his feet propped on one of its arms. "The hole was an improvisation. Probably not the best place we could have put you. But hey, the world's gone to hell, so cut us some slack, yeah?"
She had no answer for that. Hell didn't begin to describe it.
A ringing had started in her ears, a dull, persistent warning. She swallowed stiffly. "If you won't release my energy, can you at least give me iron? Anything. I'll take a spoon if it has some iron in it."
He raised his brows, but shrugged and lurched to his feet. "Don't see why not."
As she trailed him into the hall, she glared down at her hands, at the Sovereign Binds that forever marked her broken. "And some gloves," she said. "The longer the better."
AN: I hope some of the pieces are starting to come together. Kalanie has hundreds of secrets and she's not so good at sharing, but I don't want the story to be too confusing either, so let me know if it's all too murky to follow!