WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

189. Lucky 40-50

Chapter 40: Tide to the Moon

Summary:

In which our eponymous lucky child finally runs out of luck.

Notes:

Cultural Notes: There's a saying in Japan that goes "Wake from death and return to life" (起死回生). It refers to when someone is able to turn a bad situation into a good/successful one, and it's a bit of a pun when applied to Yusuke considering he literally woke from death and returned to life. It's featured in this chapter.
Also, we see "shoganai" again, and it means "it can't be helped". It's said in Japan when one is inconvenienced as a reminder to just keep calm and move on.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Yusuke stared at me.

I stared at him.

Neither of us spoke for a moment—him for fear of my reaction, me for…well. For fear of my reaction, too. Although my mouth had gone quite dry, I licked my lips and tried my best to look stunned. Skeptical. Maybe a touch freaked out, because that was only natural at a time like this.

Be careful, Keiko. Don't look like you know too much, but don't overact any hysterics, either.

"So you mean to tell me," I said, voice measured and even, "that there's a demon at my school."

"Well." Yusuke shifted in his seat, eyes wary. "Well, yeah."

I sat back in mine and breathed a solemn, "Huh."

Yusuke froze like a deer under the gaze of a predator. I lifted my water glass to my lips. Drank. Set it down and sawed off a bite of banana crepe. Lifted it toward my mouth, chocolate dripping from the edge of my fork.

"And, uh…how do you feel about that?" Yusuke asked.

Banana midway to my lips, I stared at him.

Yusuke looked as freaked out as he expected me to be. Leaning away, eyes wide and horrified, he whispered: "Why aren't you screaming?"

Slowly, I put down my fork. I pushed away my plate and lowered my head to the tabletop.

"…I don't know if that's better or worse than screaming," Yusuke observed.

"It's…screaming-adjacent," I muttered.

"The heck does that mean?"

For a moment, I didn't answer—mostly because I wasn't sure how to answer without giving shit away. Would the real Keiko freak out at this revelation, or would she remain stoic? She'd passed out for a mere two seconds in the anime when she was told demons existed, and then she'd beaten a determined warpath to get to Yusuke on Hanging Neck Island. Quite the warrior, even if she did momentarily faint—not that I blamed her. That Keiko didn't have the forewarning I did. She learned of demons all in one go. I'd learned of them the night before (so far as Yusuke knew) and was marginally more prepared to learn one went to my school. Her fainting had been perfectly reasonable in context. In my context, it was less so.

Still.

Even my version of Keiko didn't have enough forewarning to simply pass this off as a non-issue.

"I'm too busy appreciating the irony of all this to be screaming," I mumbled.

I could practically see Yusuke rolling his eyes. "Well gee, I'm so glad you're enjoying this."

My eyes rolled, too. "'Enjoying' isn't the word."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I found my motivation for the scene. This is how Keiko would feel: incensed she had missed something, peeved she'd been kept in the dark, a tiny bit afraid (though she'd cover it with bluster), willful and dry and stern all at once—and she'd direct those feelings toward Yusuke in the form of verbal spar and blame him for everything. Because of course she would. Sitting up, I shot Yusuke a glare and snatched my fork off my plate.

"There's a demon at my school, and here I was worrying about you, Yusuke?" I muttered. "I was worried about you when there was something dangerous under my nose that could bite it off?" I shoved a scrap of crepe into my mouth, and then I shoved in another before I'd even begun to chew the first. Words muffled by banana and chocolate, I slurred, "Fuck that. Fuck it. The irony burns. Just tell me who the hell the demon is and put me out of my misery." Another bite shoveled its way into my mouth, but Yusuke said nothing. I looked at him and made a shooing motion. "Well, go on."

He poked the corner of his mouth for some reason. "It's just—your face—"

An exploratory lick told me I'd covered my chin in chocolate. "Oh, don't go getting prim on me now," I snarked, mopping my face with a napkin as I glared. "You're the one who's pushed me to stress-eating." Grabbing my fork, I shoveled down another bite. "And I can't believe you even read that file."

"Hey, I didn't need the file to figure it out." The boy almost sounded offended at the suggestion. "That uniform is hard to forget."

Ah. There it was. The final clue to this little mystery, and the words I'd rather expected to hear ever since Yusuke asked for his favor. He'd recognized Kurama's uniform. Funny how the simple act of letting Yusuke walk me to school had resulted in this change to canon—but now wasn't the time to muse over canon changes. Keeping my face neutral (AKA, keeping my face disgruntled given the current situation) I watched Yusuke flip through the file and offer it to me.

"The minute I saw him, I thought his clothes looked familiar," he said. "It just took seeing the picture to jog my memory."

Gulping, I took the file from him. A photo of Minamino Shuichi—or rather, a photo of Kurama judging by the predatory glint in his bright eye—occupied the top left corner of the page. A candid shot taken at three-quarter angle, it showed him from the neck up, body clad in familiar bright magenta. Writing filled the rest of the page, but it conveyed little more than his name and the suggestion he might be some kind of animal spirit.

Gee. Spirit World really was incompetent, wasn't it? But I shouldn't say that out loud. Yusuke wasn't supposed to distance himself from Spirit World until after the Sensui Arc, when he learned of the crimes of King Yama and was banished to Demon World for his Mazoku heritage. For now, he was a somewhat reluctant, but loyal, employee.

"See?" Yusuke said, reaching over to tap the paper. "Kurama's wearing a Meiou uniform."

"I see that," I said.

Yusuke waited for me to elaborate. I did not. A vague suggestion of cobblestones filled the photo's dark background. Had this image of Kurama been captured in the Spirit World vault? It seemed a bit silly that Kurama would wear his school uniform during the heist, but that was no skin off my nose, really…

"So," said Yusuke when he tired of the silence. He could barely contain the eager edge in his voice. "Do you know him?"

After briefly flirting with the idea of playing dumb, I decided I wasn't a competent enough actress to pull that off. Tell truth, but tell it slant. Instead I handed the file back to Yusuke and crossed my arms over my chest, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"Kurama, huh," I said. "That's nothing like what it says on his school ID."

Yusuke bolted to his feet, excitement volcanic. "So you do know him!"

"Well, I thought I did. But so far as I know, his name is Minamino Shuichi."

Yusuke's nose wrinkled at the very human name, nothing at all like 'Kurama'. "OK. Weird. So what's his deal? Know anything about him?"

"Yeah. I do." And then I pinned my friend with an unflinching gaze. "Remember that guy I told you about whose mother is dying?"

Yusuke's eager smile vanished. Moving millimeter by millimeter, he lowered himself back into his chair. I took a deep breath. Telling Yusuke the truth was a gamble, but the fewer lies—even lies by omission—I told now would benefit me in the long term. Couldn't risk losing Yusuke's trust if my deception came out, and there was no reason the real Keiko would keep this information secret.

"This is him," I said. "And he's actually something of a friend of mine." Eyeing the file in Yusuke's slack hand, I forced a tepid smile. "Or he was."

Didn't take long for Yusuke to connect the dots, eyes lighting up with understanding. "Is this the same guy who dumped you?"

"Yeah." I swallowed with a glass throat. "This certainly explains some things. If he's somehow a demon and he recently fell in with dangerous criminals, it's no wonder he's suddenly distance himself from everyone around him."

Half expecting Yusuke to insult Minamino for being an ass to his friends, it came as a surprise when Yusuke's eyes fell to the table. He did not speak. It wasn't often I beheld Yusuke lost in thought (thoughtful this guy most certainly was not). The moment caught me off guard. I paused to observe, and when he did not rouse from his stupor, I rapped my knuckles on the table.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He took a breath. Let it go. Took another, and spoke. "I found them in the big park on the south side yesterday—Kurama, Gouki, and Hiei. They didn't notice me right away. Figured I'd hang back, eavesdrop a bit, see what was up before I kicked their butts."

"Smart of you," I said, unable to keep the warm approval from my voice—but Yusuke hardly noticed. He didn't even gloat.

"When I overheard them, Kurama was…how did he say it?" His eyes screwed up as he summoned the memory. "He was 'withdrawing from their alliance'?" Yusuke shook his head. "He was leaving the others and he was taking the Mirror with him. That Hiei guy wanted to build an army, really start shit. Kurama didn't want any part of it. Kurama even threatened Gouki when the big guy didn't back off and they tried to take the Mirror from him."

Ah. I remembered that part from the anime, I thought. Keiko, however, would have no such context. I lifted a brow and said, "Wow. He threatened his allies?"

Yusuke nodded. "Yup. And the others were pissed, but then I showed up and everybody but Gouki ran off." His eyes rose to mine, uncertain. "Do you think…do you think Kurama stole the Mirror to help his mom somehow?"

"Maybe." Definitely, but no way would I tell Yusuke that. I tried to look suitably uncertain, instead, and then I masked the look with concern. "But do his reasons change anything about your mission?"

Yusuke's brow knit. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, does Spirit World care if Kurama stole the Mirror to save a life?"

Yusuke's brow knit further. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just wondering what will happen to my classmate when all of this is said and done," I said. The concern seemed logical enough, given Keiko and Minamino were friends. Too bad Yusuke's confused expression told me didn't see that reasoning. I asked, "What will happen to Minamino Shuichi once Spirit World tracks him down?"

It was like watching a fish learn how to fly. The wheels in Yusuke's head turned, turned, turned, but no matter how many times he tried to speak, the words came out a senseless stammer. Understandable, really. He probably hadn't thought that far ahead yet, to the actual punishments for the demons he tracked down.

"I mean—I mean, he'll…they will…I don't know," he said, each syllable a struggle of dawning comprehension. "Gouki is an asshole and he deserves what he gets from Spirit World. Hiei, too. But Kurama—" Yusuke paused, swallowed, and looked quite green. "I—If my mom was dying, I might...I mean, I wouldn't…but—" And then he threw up his hands with an exasperated growl. "Ah, screw it! I'm not paid enough to think this hard!"

"You're not paid at all, actually."

"That makes it worse." Yusuke shook his head like a dog clearing its ears of water. "Here's a riddle for ya. How the hell does a demon have a human mom?"

My brow arched. "I just found out demons exist. What do you think I am, an expert?"

"An expert at being a pain in my ass, maybe," he grumbled, but the jibe had no heart.

In a show of surprising carelessness, Yusuke wound a hand into his gelled hair, mussing the glossy strands. While Yusuke was not a vain person in the traditional sense, he cared very much for his delinquent style. This must really be getting to him...

"This doesn't make sense," he said, half pleading and half frustrated. "Why would a demon have a human mom? Or a human name? And why would a demon care about a human enough to save one who's dying?" He looked to me as though seeking confirmation of his own experiences. "You should've heard 'em talking, Keiko. That Hiei guy, and Gouki—they hate humans. They want to eat them and enslave them and burn this world to the ground. Gouki and Hiei are both human-hating assholes and they deserve what's coming to them, but Kurama—" Another shake of his frustrated head, followed by a string of impressive (not to mention loud) curses. He flopped boneless in his seat and moaned, "I don't understand any of this bullshit!"

"You and me both," I remarked. "So what are you going to do?"

At first he didn't reply. He harrumphed and sighed and muttered a few more profanities, slumping in his chair until his head came level with the backrest. Then his eyes cleared; he heaved his most dramatic sigh yet, sat up, and pounded his fist against the table. My plate rattled a porcelain response.

"I'm gonna kick ass like always, that's what I'm gonna do," he said, triumph crowning his decision and his expression alike. "I'm gonna beat up Gouki and confront Kurama and then when that's done, I'll kick the crap out of Hiei."

How very like him, to fall back on what he was best at in times of uncertainty. Smiling, I said, "Sounds like you've got quite a busy schedule this week."

"Damn straight," he said—and he winced. "Speaking of busy schedules. Sorry to drag you into this, Keiko, but if I want to get that Mirror back before the full moon tomorrow night, I gotta act fast. I gotta level the playing field." He grinned a wicked grin, demonic heritage foreshadowed. "Show this Kurama guy I'm onto him. Kick his ass just like all the others."

That smile of his, mischievous and bellicose, sank into my bones like damp, rotting my mood from the inside. Choosing my words with care, I asked, "So you'll kick his ass even if he's trying to save someone's life?"

Somehow, in his haste to fight, I think he'd forgotten what I'd said about Kurama's mom, if only for a moment. Yusuke's smile vanished, confused blinking taking its place. I didn't want him punching Kurama in the face on sight. Yusuke hadn't done so in the anime, so maybe it was wrong of me to doubt him, but that smile…

"Sometimes people do bad things for the right reasons." I kept my voice cool and even, trying to keep a level head despite how badly I wanted to tell Yusuke to leave Kurama alone. When Yusuke scowled and opened his mouth, I held up a hand. "I'm not defending him. But you don't know him like I do."

"You barely know him at all," Yusuke fired back. "You didn't know he was a demon."

"True," I replied, "but I do know he defended me from bullies when they struck, when you weren't around to do it yourself."

Yusuke hadn't been expecting that. His teeth clacked together so hard, I heard them click from across the table.

"I don't get the sense Minamino—I mean, Kurama is evil, or that he's trying to hurt anybody," I said. "In fact, he seems lonely."

Yusuke's eyebrows shot up like geysers. So did mine, in fact. My word choice had been spontaneous, but once it left my mouth, I realized how true it felt . Kurama had been raised by a woman younger than him, and had been surrounded by peers whose intellects offered him absolutely no engagement whatsoever. And no one else in this world was a reincarnated demon, so far as he knew. He had grown up well and truly alone.

I knew that feeling. I knew what it was like to keep secrets from your birth, and what it was like to be alone. But unlike me, Kurama hadn't had a Yusuke show up and be the canary to his albatross.

If I'd felt sorry for him before, I sure as shit felt bad now.

"He seems like a very lonely person," I concluded, "not an evil one. So I hope you take that into account when dealing with this situation."

I couldn't say more than that without giving myself away, so I shut my mouth and waited. Yusuke stared, considering what I'd said, but eventually he shook his head.

"Sorry, but even if Kurama is pulling away from the others, the idea that a good person would ever be all buddy-buddy with demons like Hiei and Gouki…I just don't believe it." My mouth went desert dry at his resolute attitude, and it went even dryer when Yusuke's evil grin returned. "And he's not gonna believe it when I show up at his school."

"And that's where I come in, I assume," I said, tone mirroring the landscape of my mouth.

"Damn right. Now listen up."

It was a simple enough plan: Show up at Meiou, call Kurama out of class, and either beat the crap out of him right there or just scare Kurama badly enough to make him do something stupid (slim chance there, but Yusuke didn't know it). Yusuke figured if he dangled the knowledge of Kurama's human identity in Kurama's face, and show him Yusuke had the upper hand, it would send Kurama scrambling. All Yusuke wanted from me was a signal to let him know Kurama was actually in school, and Yusuke wasn't hanging around Meiou wasting time.

"Bold move, Yusuke," I said after he relayed the plan—the plan he had no idea was utterly, completely ironic. In the manga, Kurama called Yusuke out of school and took him to the hospital to see his mother. Now Yusuke wanted to confront Kurama, completely reversing their canon encounter.

Like I'd said before: How very, very Yusuke of him.

"What can I say?" Yusuke said with a cocky smirk. "Bold is my middle name." His eyes turned serious. "So. Will you help me?"

To be honest, I hated this plan. I didn't want it to get off the ground at all. Who knew how Kurama would react to being intimidated like this? What would this do to canon? And more concerning still, what would Kurama do to Yusuke? But the alternative to not-helping was staying out of it, and if I stayed out of it, I couldn't intervene if something went horribly awry.

Damn my meddling tendencies and obsessive streak. Damn it all to hell!

"Sure," I said. Before Yusuke could finish pumping a triumphant fist, I grabbed his hand. He blinked at me like I'd grown a second head. "But, Yusuke, please—he's my friend." It wasn't hard to inject my voice with sincerity, because I meant every word I spoke. "If Minamino tries to talk to you, just hear him out." I tightened my grip on his fingers, pleading with my eyes, my voice, my touch when he didn't agree right away. "Do it for me, OK?"

Yusuke took a deep breath. He covered my hand with his, looked into my eyes a second, then closed his eyes and cursed.

"Ugh. Fine," Yusuke said. He opened his eyes only so he could roll them. "I'll hear him out if he talks—but I can't guarantee I'll listen. Capisci?"

Much as I wanted to press for a clearer promise, I figured this was all I could really ask for.

I'd just have to protect Kurama myself, if it came down to that.

Kurama looked absolutely thunderous when he returned to class. He came back only a scant fifteen minutes after Yusuke called him out. They must not have duked it out right there in the office, I surmised, for which I felt immeasurably grateful. Seemed Yusuke could control his temper if he felt like doing so, after all.

And so could Kurama, come to think of it. Although his eyes looked like chips of malachite, all hard edges and flashing facets, no blood stained his hands. Or would death-by-Kurama come cleaner than that?

I tried to catch his eye when he returned and took his seat. So did half the class, of course, but I threw my hat in the ring, too. He didn't deign to look at a single one of us. He just sat down, faced the blackboard, and listened to the lecture as though he wasn't feeling absolutely murderous inside.

His fist gave him away, of course.

It quivered on his magenta-clad thigh like a tightrope in a gale, and when the bell rang, he glided from his seat and beat even our teacher out the door.

Kurama did not join me and Kaito for lunch (surprise, surprise), and he did not appear during my last class of the day. Junko informed me she hadn't seen him in an earlier class, either.

"What do you think happened?" she whispered in a stolen moment before class started. "The girls said he got called out to the office?"

"He did," I confirmed.

Her eyes clouded. "Do you think his mom is OK?"

"No idea."

I had no idea just then, but I knew I'd find out soon enough.

I walked in the door, took one look at Yusuke, and declared, "You look like you got hit by another car."

Yusuke scowled. Botan giggled, leaned down, and poked a finger at the bandage on Yusuke's cheek. "He does, doesn't he?

"Both of you, shut up." Yusuke lay on the floor on his back in the middle of his bedroom, covered in bandages, skin of his index finger blackened—side effect of the Concentration Ring? He mimed shooting the ceiling before letting his arm fall limp to the carpet. "I'm beat up, but I got 'im!"

Stepping over his legs, I crossed the room and sat next to Botan on the bed. "Gouki?"

"Yeah. I got the Orb back."

"Busy schedule indeed," I muttered. I'd come over to Yusuke's house directly after school, still dressed in my uniform, and he'd already taken out Gouki? To confront Kurama and defeat Gouki all in one day was quite the feat. Canon moved quickly once the ball got rolling.

Next to me, Botan reached into the front pocket of her hoodie. A green glow suffused our faces as she pulled out what had to be the Rapacious Orb—a baseball-sized object with a surface that looked like stained glass, sort of, black fissures fracturing a sphere of sickly jade light. The light had odd, unsettling depth, spiraling down and down like it sucked in other lights and tried to eat them whole. Looking at it for more than a few seconds made my forehead prick with cold sweat.

"It's eerie," I said. I was very glad when Botan put the thing away.

"And you haven't seen it suck out a kid's soul," Yusuke said. He lifted his head to look at the reaper next to me. "You maybe wanna take that back to Spirit World before Hiei swoops in and murders us for it?"

"Good idea. I'll return this to Spirit World at once." She bounced to her feet, only to sit back down with a frown. "But before I go—what's phase two of your plan for Kurama?" Botan, like a pinball bouncing between conversation topics, turned to me and beamed. "Oh, before I forget—Keiko! Thank you so much for helping Yusuke with Kurama—or should I say Shuichi." She favored Yusuke with a proud beam, a mother hen clucking over her favorite fluffy chick. "Even with Spirit World's resources at my disposal, I didn't uncover Kurama's human disguise, but Yusuke's detective instincts broke this case wide open. I'm ever so proud of him! To sniff out a demon skulking in Human World is true testament to his talent!"

Yusuke crooked his fingers, smirking. "Yeah, yeah, keep it comin'," he said. "I'm awesome."

Something about Botan's phrasing (the part not devote to praising Yusuke, I mean) bugged me. "Skulking?" I repeated. "I don't think Kurama was skulking."

Botan pushed at my arm, touch both an admonishment and a good-natured tease. "Well, of course he was skulking!" she said with a bright laugh. "Kurama is demon pretending to be a mortal boy. Who knows what dastardly schemes he's been getting up to here?"

"With all due respect, I don't think he's been doing anything but watching over his mother," I said—and Botan's smile vanished.

"Oh, Keiko, you don't really believe that, do you?" she said, tone concerned, eyes pleading, like I'd somehow never learned Santa wasn't real and she was the bearer of bad news. "Demons prey on humans. There's no reason for him to be here unless he was up to something."

"Is that so," I said, but it wasn't a question.

Botan answered anyway. "Why, yes!" She cupped a hand around her mouth, leaning toward me to mock-whisper: "And Yusuke told me that story about his human mother being sick. I think Kurama is pretending to help his mom to throw us off the scent! Maybe it's an act to make us feel sorry for him. Perfectly in character for a demon, wouldn't you say?"

At the suggestion Kurama was faking, my ire rose, fists clenching against my legs. How dare Botan suggest such a thing? I opened my mouth to argue, to set her straight—but her charming, friendly smile stopped me cold.

No guile, no aggression, no venom…Botan spoke frankly and with cheer, as if talking about the weather, laws of nature immutable, and not a good friend of mine. I didn't get the sense she was being cruel. But why would she talk about our friend and ally Kurama like this, if…?

Oh.

Right.

He wasn't our ally yet.

He wasn't yet our ally, and so far as I knew, at this stage in canon Botan was a very devoted Spirit World employee. She looked at demons as black and white, good and evil, no shades of grey between them. To her, it was inconceivable that a demon could be good.

Kurama hadn't proven her wrong yet.

Hopefully he would still get the chance despite the changes to canon.

At this realization (or was it more of a remembrance?) my temper cooled.

"Maybe," I said. "But if Minamino was faking, that would mean he knew Yusuke and I were friends."

Botan looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You never would have known about his mom if it wasn't for me telling you about her," I said. "Kurama has no idea Yusuke and I are friends. I've certainly never mentioned Yusuke to him by name." Stripping all sounds of accusation from my voice, because I certainly didn't want to antagonize Botan, I said, "Are you saying he planned to use me to make you feel sorry for him, without no way of knowing about my connection to the eventual Spirit Detective?"

Botan put a hand to her chin. For a second I thought she might listen to me, but instead she just laughed. "Well, who knows what Kurama is capable of?" She gave a resolute nod. "He's a very dangerous criminal!"

My lips thinned. How frustrating. If we were all to become friends later, it wouldn't do for Botan to be so black-and-white about demons and their morality. But what could I say to make her more receptive to—?

Botan and I flinched in unison as Yusuke sat up. "No, Botan—I think Keiko's right."

His solemn expression didn't fit his features, somehow. Botan stared at him in wonderment. When my eyes met Yusuke's, I swallowed down a ball of prickly nerves. Maybe I didn't have to do the convincing, after all. Maybe Yusuke would do that for me. But could I really get that lucky?

"You do?" I asked. "You agree with me?"

Yusuke nodded. "There hasn't been time to tell you, but when I talked with Kurama today, I…he requested we meet later. Tomorrow." He hesitated. "And he promised to give the Mirror back to me."

Botan lurched to her feet, aghast. "He what?!"

"I know, I know, bad move, don't trust him, he's an evil demon, blah blah blah," Yusuke said, rolling his eyes. "Spirit World thinks he's a criminal, but he didn't seem like one to me. He didn't seem angry, or like he wanted to fight. He seemed sad." At that his expression fell, diving into grave waters. "You were right, Keiko. He looked lonely."

"Lonely?" Botan asked, incredulous. "What do you mean, he looked lonely?"

Although Yusuke was not the more poetical of the two of us, leaving maudlin and flowery language to yours truly, in that moment he surprised me (he was doing that more and more as days went on). He hesitated, but only for a moment.

"It's like there was this—this space inside his eyes," Yusuke said. "He was desperate to use that Mirror and he was scared I'd take it away from him before he could." Speaking aloud bolstered his opinions, I think, because his stubborn eyes began to gleam. "Someone who wanted to just hurt others wouldn't look like that. They'd be angry, not scared. So I don't think Kurama is a bad guy."

"What?!" Botan threw out her hands, advancing on Yusuke where he lay. Hands on hips, magenta eyes glaring, she said, "You don't mean that, Yusuke! His friend nearly killed you today!" When Yusuke remained unmoved by her logic, she practically grew fangs. "Yusuke, he's a demon, a criminal. Koenma himself told me—"

"Screw Koenma."

Botan shut up immediately. Yusuke heaved himself upright, peeved. Botan's appeal to authority just now clearly didn't sit well with him.

"Screw Koenma," Yusuke repeated (Botan looked quite appalled at this prospect, of course). "That brat isn't here fighting ogres and watching kids get their souls sucked out. And he didn't see the look in Kurama's eyes today. And he didn't hear Kurama arguing with the others, saying he wanted out. I'm the one who's seen it all, not Koenma. I'm the best person to make this call, and if Koenma doesn't like it, he can come down off his throne and do the fighting his own damn self."

I squashed the part of me that was glowing inside (glowing and also screaming that Yusuke was sticking it to the man—er, sticking it to the baby—and hell yeah, boy, you tell 'em!). Putting on a stunned face, I caught Yusuke's gaze and spoke.

"You trust him," I said. It wasn't a question. "You trust Minamino, Yusuke."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said at once. "But…I'm willing to give him a shot." He turned to Botan again, who looked utterly flummoxed by Yusuke's mutiny. "If he gives the Mirror back, it's no harm, no foul, right? Spirit World won't get mad if he returns it, will they?"

Unfortunately for both Yusuke and myself, Botan merely grimaced. "I can't make that promise, Yusuke. Kurama, Shuichi…he committed a crime against Spirit World."

"So his cooperation means nothing?" I said, before I could modulate my fierce, protective tone. Yusuke glanced my way, brow knit at my sharp interjection, but he said nothing.

"I don't make the rules, I'm afraid," said Botan—with real regret in her voice, which surprised me. "If what Yusuke says is true, and Kurama really does return the Mirror after using it to achieve a peaceful goal, perhaps Spirit World will have leniency…but I'm just not sure."

Nobody spoke for a minute. My stomach twisted into a pretzel, tight and swollen with nerves, salt of anxiety withering my tongue. Spirit World had not punished Kurama too harshly in the manga or anime, but…

"Well." Yusuke shrugged, looking at me askance with a sly smile. "If Spirit World can't make promises…shoganai, or whatever."

I couldn't suppress a helpless giggle. He never used that phrase, preferring to meet inconvenience with a gripe or a grouse instead of shrugging it off like a typical Japanese person. Once Yusuke saw me smile, he looked away with a satisfied smirk.

"I'll meet Kurama tomorrow and see what happens," he said. "And if it does turn out he's pulling a trick, and he doesn't cooperate, I'll kick his ass and take the Mirror. Either way, I'm gonna win."

Botan giggled. "You truly do epitomize 'Wake from death, return to life,' don't you, Yusuke?"

"Hell yeah, I do!" he said…and then he shrank a bit. "What does 'epitomize' mean, again?"

As Botan proceeded to give the reluctant Yusuke a vocabulary lesson, I fell quiet, thoughts flying free of the room and into the dark night beyond.

I wasn't going to be a part of Yusuke's meeting with Kurama tomorrow—not the way I'd been a part of Yusuke's plan this morning. If something went terribly wrong during the meeting, I wouldn't be there to fix it.

I just had to hope it went according to canon plan. I just had to hope I got lucky, and everything turned out OK.

Too bad saying shoganai myself didn't do anything to make me feel better, as it had done for Yusuke.

As the full moon appeared overhead, my palms began to sweat, water pulled from them as the moon pulls the tide. Blotting palms on pants, I stared at the hospital looming tall and bright above, slats of the bench below biting into my thighs like teeth.

It was Wednesday night, and Yusuke was with Kurama.

I hadn't followed him to the hospital. I wasn't that stupid. Instead I deduced which hospital housed Kurama's mother (Hotaru had been quite helpful on this matter, thanks to her cousin the nurse) and went there shortly after Yusuke intended to meet Kurama. Now I waited on a bench across the street, protected from the dark by the light of the streetlamp overhead. Eyes on the sky, waiting for a plume of light atop the hospital to signal the Mirror's magic, I waited, knee jiggling with pent-up nerves. The hands of my watch spun round and round. One hour, then two, passed with glacial agility.

By the time Yusuke finally appeared in the hospital's main doors, the skin around my nail beds wept dark blood, stripped to the quick by anxious fingers.

I stood when I saw him. He spotted me at once, looking both ways (somebody had learned from their mistakes) before crossing the street. His shoes slapped against the pavement; he skidded to a stop, hands jammed deep into his pants pockets, shoulders slumped as if to brace against a hurricane wind that did not blow.

Yusuke did not meet my eyes.

Icewater flooded my stomach.

"Hey," I said when he didn't speak. "What happened?"

Yusuke shook his head. "Not here. Train station."

Wanting to press, wanting to pry, knowing I shouldn't do either, I bit my tongue and kept quiet on the walk to the station. Few people lined the streets this evening, but when we passed a couple holding hands and giggling, Yusuke kept his head down. Normally he'd scoff at public affection. Now, though…

Why hadn't I seen the light from the Mirror? Was I just not spiritually aware enough to see it?

Or had it simply never—?

No.

No way.

Don't think like that, Keiko.

We descended the stairs to the train platform underground in silence, heavy and thick like fallen snow. No one else waited on the platform. We were alone. I touched Yusuke's arm, curling my fingers into the fabric at his elbow. He looked down with a start, eyes hollow—hollow and brittle. Like they'd been scraped out from the inside, shells that could see but not take the weight of what they saw.

"Yusuke," I said, low and urgent. "What happened?"

His eyes slid to the train tracks. He grunted, "Not here."

"No one's around," I insisted, waving at the empty platform. "Talk to me."

Yusuke lifted his wrist, watch upon it gleaming. "Two minutes. Train gets here in two minutes." He swallowed, shaking his head. "Tell you then."

"No." My snarl surprised even me. "Now, Yusuke."

Yusuke didn't reply. No verbally, anyway.

He simply reached into his pocket, and showed me the Forlorn Hope.

It was smaller than I expected. Maybe six inches across at the most, set in a round brass frame, orbs of jade studding the perimeter of the metal ring—and plain. Very plain. It didn't sparkle or glow like the Rapacious Orb. Aside from the gems and a braided white cord attached to a ring at the top, the Mirror wasn't event decorated.

Still.

The sight of it snatched my breath, Mirror stealing air the way it had been stolen from the vault in Spirit World.

Drained as it was, my chest nearly imploded when Yusuke said: "Kurama didn't use it."

At first I thought I hadn't heard him right. I stood there, silent, until the notion finally sank home. The words knocked me back on my heels, rocking me in place as if from a punch.

"What?" I said. The icewater in my veins froze solid, muscles tightening, as immovable as stone. "He what?!"

"He didn't use the Mirror," Yusuke said. He shook the object in his hands, or perhaps his hands merely shook. "He started to, but then—he stopped."

No. No. Surely he was kidding. Surely this wasn't real. Surely Yusuke had misunderstood—or I had misunderstood, somehow.

All I could say was, "Why?"

"The Mirror—" He took a deep breath, and in his chest I heard it shudder. "Botan said there was a cost for using it, but she didn't know what it was. But Kurama said…" Yusuke swallowed down the bile I tasted in my own mouth. "He said the cost is your life."

Dimly, far off down the train track, I heard a rumble. The train, or my own heartbeat roaring in my ears?

Before I could figure it out, Yusuke began to babble, and I heard the rumble no more.

Face agonized, hand wrapping around my wrist as though to anchor himself against a typhoon, Yusuke said, "We were talking about his mom and he told me the cost and I don't know why I did it, but I told him about how my mom acted after I died, how upset and sad and pissed off she was, and he—he just gave it back to me." Yusuke looked as if he didn't believe his own words. "He just gave the Mirror back to me, before he even used it, and now his mom—"

"Oh my god," I said.

"He was willing to die for his mom, Keiko." Yusuke shook his head, shaking and shaking like he sought to deny reality itself. "He was willing to die for her, but he said he couldn't do it, and I just—I just—"

"Why?" I asked again. I think it was all I could say.

Yusuke ground his teeth, voice rough and desperate. "He said—he said it was because she would never ask him to trade his life for hers. He said he couldn't betray someone he loves like that, even if he was trying to save them." His tone dropped into sorrow like a stone into a lake. "And he couldn't do it knowing how broken she'd be without him, afterward."

Black spots swam at the edge of my vision, then.

Because these words Yusuke said—the words he said came from Kurama—

They were my words.

These were my words, spoken to Kurama that night we dance beneath the stars, thrown back in my face like razor shards of hail.

Only one thought occurred to me as Yusuke and I stared at one another, him agonized, myself frozen, neither able to speak, neither able to comprehend what had just transpired.

What in the world have I done? I thought.

Time seemed to stop. It slowed and crawled, crystallizing in place around us, spell broken only when the train roared down the track and shrieked to a halt at our feet. Yusuke walked as if on autopilot toward the doors, toes edging the yellow safety line as the train aligned before him. He shoved the Mirror in his pocket, braided cord hanging free over the hem.

My eyes caught on the cord like skin on razor wire.

The moment, like before…it crystallized.

I knew exactly what I had to do.

"Yusuke," I said.

He hummed, but he did not turn around. Good. I didn't want him to. I walked forward and wrapped my arms around him, forehead resting against the back of his hot neck. Yusuke stiffened under my touch, but he did not pull away. In front of him, the doors whooshed open, waiting for us to come inside.

In my head, I began to count.

"What are you doing?" Yusuke murmured.

My arms pulled a little tighter. I smelled his hair gel like perfume in my nose. I took a deep breath of it to steady myself, still counting inside my head.

"I'm sorry," I said after a few stolen moments. "But I have to do this."

He shifted, but he still did not break free of my embrace. "Do what?" he said.

I swallowed.

In my head, the countdown came to an end.

"Do this," I said—and I shoved Yusuke forward as hard as I could.

Yusuke wasn't expecting it. Lucky me. Surprise was the only way I could get the better of him, probably—that and my aikido training. I knew just where to push to knock him totally off-balance, send him careening forward like a helpless avalanche down a hill. He bellowed as he fell, slamming onto the floor inside the train, twisting onto his back so he could look at me and yell, "Keiko!? What the heck are you—oh."

His blazing eyes drifted, and then the fire in them doused.

He'd spotted the Mirror in my hand—the Mirror I'd tugged from his pocket as he fell.

Before he could process what I'd done, or try to take the Mirror back from me, the train doors shut behind him. Right on schedule. All according to my slapdash, desperate, spur of the moment plan.

"I'm sorry, Yusuke," I said as he threw himself at the doors, but it was too late. He pounded his fist against them, screaming my name, demanding I give the Mirror back right fucking now, dammit. "I'm sorry, Yusuke—but I have to fix this."

I didn't wait for the train to pull away, to take Yusuke out of sight into the dark tunnel beyond.

I just started running, pulled to the hospital like the tide to the moon...because if I didn't do something, Shiori was going to die.

And it was all my fault.

Notes:

There is, perhaps, an argument to be made that this isn't altogether her fault, but in the moment NQK definitely FEELS like it's her fault.

Next chapter is full of—you guessed it—everyone's favorite fox demon. And don't worry. We'll figure out *why* this change occurred soon. Maybe not next chapter, but I think next chapter will be exciting enough to excuse any delayed revelations. What do I mean by that? Stay tuned.

I pulled some of Botan's dialogue about Kurama directly from the manga, BTW. She referred to him as a bloodthirsty villain a lot. Obviously her opinion changed over time, but just in case y'all were wondering, the manga validates her initial distrust and negative opinion of him. She works for Spirit World, after all, and mirrors their thinking.

Hurricane Harvey has wreaked havoc in my hometown of Houston. I'm OK. I got very, very lucky. Others did not. My cousin lost her house and cars. Countless friends have no idea if their homes still stand. Many have been displaced, with no sign of normalcy's return on the horizon. Yet, as the bad news flooded in, the outpouring of support, well-wishes, and check-ins during the past week were a boon to my spirits. I haven't met you in person, but the show of care and concern was absolutely touching. Thank you so much. You were amazing, and your well-wishes were chips of light in a dark week.

I noticed I used a lot of water and storm metaphors in this. Cleary I have Harvey-brain! XD

Chapter 41: How Do You Know My Name?

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko knows more than she should, and not just about Kurama.

Notes:

NOTE: The Forlorn Hope works differently in the manga vs. the anime. In the anime, the Mirror spared Yusuke to honor Yusuke's nobility and selflessness. In the manga, Yusuke survived because he and Kurama shared the burden of the sacrificial life energy required to grant the wish—not because of nobility/selflessness. Wanted to clear that up (there's a long post about it on my Tumblr) for those who are familiar with only one canon or the other, because in this chapter it's super relevant.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The nurse at the front desk flinched as I slammed through the doors of the Long Term Care Ward, a wild-eyed tornado clad in disheveled clothes with flyaway hair. He started to speak, probably to tell me visiting hours were over, but at the look on my face he shut his mouth. I'm not sure what the look on my face said, exactly, but I knew it couldn't have been good—not if it reflected the turmoil I felt inside. Not if it reflected the turmoil that had sent me sprinting through the streets, guts churning into a maelstrom of agony as I ran beneath the light of the full and bloated moon, bloated like a corpse, a corpse like Shiori would become if I didn't fix this oh my god, Kagome was wrong, Kagome was wrong, I did influence Kurama, I did throw him off track, I did—

As I approached the desk, I squeezed my nails into my hand. Pain-wrought clarity, cold and sharp, sliced through the haze like a sword. A smattering of bloody drops hit the floor when my fingers unclenched.

"I'm here for the Minamino family," I said. A set of forbidding double doors stood behind the nurse, this man, this Cerberus guarding hell. I said, "Where are they?"

"Are you a relative?" he asked.

To be perfectly honest, I don't know what I said back. The memory is too blurry, too panic-punched to recollect. I know I babbled with tears in my eyes (it wasn't hard to cry on command given the circumstances), saying how badly I needed to see my friend because I heard his mom is dying, and please-oh-please won't you help me, sir, I'm begging you, please just let me in to see my friend, please? The man's face softened automatically. Nothing like being a cute young woman in crisis to stir feelings of sympathy, am I right? For perhaps the first time in this life, I didn't mind being quite so young. Leverage what you got, girl.

"It's OK, miss. You can go see them," he said, probably breaking some law or another in his attempt to soothe a sobbing teen. He hit a buzzer under the desk; behind him, I heard the heavy double doors unlatch. "Room 114."

Poor bastard. I didn't even thank him. I shoved away from the desk and pelted at the doors, throwing them open with my shoulder as if ramming down the gates of Troy, running past and down the hall, tracking room numbers one by one. 100, 102, 104, 106—

Room 114 was empty.

I stood there for about ten seconds, every breath a punch to the gut, taking in the empty room. It was a typical hospital suite furnished for an extended stay. TV, bed, table, chair, kitchenette. A few homey touches—a knitted blanket, some books—gave the space a lived-in feel. A vase of tulips on the bedside table had been knocked askew, water puddled on the floor, reflective like a Mirror.

A mirror. The Mirror.

My fist clenched again, half-moons of my nails gouging deeper into my palm. The pain felt good, felt real, lashing me to the here-and-now, keeping me suspended just above the yawning abyss of panic threatening to swallow me whole.

Where the hell was Kurama?

Where the bloody fucking goddamn hell was Kurama—?

"Yukimura?"

I almost started to cry when I heard him say my name. He stood behind me only a few feet away, eyes as wide as I'd ever seen them, hands hanging loose and empty at his sides. His garnet hair glimmered in the humming florescent lights; the bags beneath his tired, swollen eyes puffed like he'd been punched. Were they swollen with tears? Who knew. Who cared?

"Minamino," I breathed. My voice hitched and cracked from emotion and exertion both. "Your mom. Is she—?"

His brow furrowed, probably wondering just how the hell I knew to ask. "In surgery. What are you doing here?"

'In surgery' meant 'not dead yet.' Cool relief flooded my breastbone; I sagged for just a moment, collapsing against the foot of the bed with a gasp.

I wasn't too late.

I could still fix this.

"Oh, thank god," I said—but this was no time for celebration. Not yet. I stood and wedged my nails back into the flesh of my palm, reveling in the firework of pain. "Come with me."

Minamino's eyes hardened. My knees almost gave out again, though this time for an entirely different reason.

"I don't have time for you today, Yukimura," he said—no, he spat. His silky voice had lost all traces of musicality, burlap usurping silk, rough and thin and strained by emotions I couldn't begin to name. He pointed down the hallway. "Leave. I need to be here for my mother."

For a second I couldn't move.

Then I squared my shoulders.

"And you will be, if you come with me," I said—and I reached for him.

He only gasped, too confused to argue, when I grabbed his hand and pulled him after me down the hall. I paid him no mind, not even when he dragged his feet against my grasp. I was too busy looking for a stairwell sign, which I found in short order. I kicked the door open and hauled Minamino through, but mere moments after the door banged shut behind us, he ripped his hand from mine with surprising strength—only, it shouldn't have surprised me. This was Kurama we were talking about.

…not Shuichi. Kurama.

That's who stared at me with eyes on fire. Not Minamino. Not my classmate. Kurama the fox demon glared up at me, three steps below on the landing, not deigning to follow me even three measly stairs.

"Yukimura, what is this?" he said in a low voice—a low, controlled voice scarier than any bellow or snarl. "Why are you here? I am in no mood for—"

"You're in the mood for this, trust me," I said.

Before he could argue, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Mirror.

Minamino…he stopped talking.

The silence that followed seemed to last an hour, though I know it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. His eyes travelled from my face to the Mirror in a loop, wheels turning behind those living emeralds, trying to discern just what, exactly, was happening, and why, exactly, Yukimura Keiko held the Mirror of Darkness in her hand.

I had no idea what I was going to tell him: not now, nor what I'd say when all of this was said and done. There had no time for clever plans or devious schemes tonight, no time for my overthinking and worrying, no time to wonder what the real Keiko would do in my position.

There was only time to act, as I would act. I'd deal with the consequences later.

Just as the silence stretched to its breaking point, a rubber band pulled too taut to do anything but snap, Kurama's eyes met mine. A spark of green flashed like broken glass, striking me silent and still.

Kurama asked, in a voice of deadly quiet, "Where did you get that Mirror?"

I shook my head. "No time. We're going to use this save your mother's life." I turned and started up the stairs. "C'mon. Come with me."

His hand closed around my wrist like a vice snapping on the foot of a rabbit. I almost fell, whipped around in my tracks, but his hand on my shoulder kept me from tumbling down the stairs. I felt demonic the strength in him again as he supported me, felt the way he bore my weight as though I were made of twigs, and once more I sagged. He didn't move. He didn't let me fall against him—just like I wouldn't let him fall tonight. Him, or his mother.

We were going to save her, and save Kurama in the process. No fucking doubt in my mind…just so long as he cooperated. Stubborn fox.

"Wait," he said—and finally the agony inside broke through his calculating calm, raw pain turning green eyes dark. "We can't use that. The cost—"

"The Mirror takes a life if only one is offered," I blurted. "If you've got two people, it just takes a little of each life and grants your wish, no death involved." I pointed at him, then at myself, then at him again, hysterical grin cracking across my face like a brick through a window. "Math ain't my best subject, mister-sir, but gosh-golly-gee, I see two people here, so—"

A flex of his hand pushed me back to standing, but he didn't look relieved by my logic. His eyes merely narrowed with obvious suspicion. "How do you know that?"

"No time to explain. I just do." I started up the stairs again. "Now come on."

"No."

My hand spasmed, nails biting hard into my palm. The world reddened, adrenaline pounding so sharp I could taste it, and I couldn't help myself: I threw up my hands, opened my mouth, and shrieked. The wordless, feral, guttural shriek echoed up the stairs like the cry of a wounded animal. I spun, foot stomping, and glared at the fox demon below with teeth bared. He didn't so much as cringe. Was probably like getting growled at by a bunny rabbit, but whatever, I was beyond caring at that point.

"Shove your 'no' up your stubborn ass, Minamino," I said, or maybe yelled—but Kurama remained unmoved.

"No," he repeated. "Not without a guarantee that your theory is correct." A grimace crossed his lips. "I can't risk letting you get killed for—"

He said something else. I didn't hear him, too caught up in the sensation of my anger cooling. I put a hand to my forehead.

I can't let you risk getting killed.

"Oh, Kurama." His name slipped out on a sigh. "Worrying about others even now?"

The air between us seemed to vanish, just then, sent running by the sound of his true name. No distance between us, no lies, no walls—an admittance I knew more than I should, and about far more than the Mirror in my hand. Kurama stilled, every muscle a stone, eyes locked on mine as if to burrow inside them and see what secrets I kept. I waited, unable to keep the small, warm smile off my lips as Kurama's posture corrected. He rose to his full height, hands falling to his side in fists, feet squaring under him as if he meant to fight.

"How?" he breathed. Despite their volume, the words reverberated in my ears as if they had been screamed. "How do you know my name?"

My smile grew, then faded, then grew again. Kurama watched, hair-trigger tension readying like a fist behind his luminous eyes.

"Same reason I know how the Mirror works," I grated out. "Which I will tell you about—but later."

His eyes narrowed again.I skipped down the stairs and latched onto his sleeve before he could speak. Kurama put his hand over mine, but not in a caress or gesture of warmth: this was a warning, feather-light and zephyr-cool, that I'd come close enough to touch. Close enough to strike, if he so chose.

Normally that would have scared me. Now, though, I banked on my own vulnerability to get me what I wanted.

"Please," I said, gripping him tight. His fingers curled around mine in response. "Please. This wasn't supposed to happen." My voice trembled with fear and pain and more fear. "If you just trust me, it doesn't have to be this way. Your mother can live." My throat thickened with unshed tears. "Please?"

Kurama did not answer. His thumb traced over the back of my wrist as if seeking the delicate vein below the skin…but to cut it or protect it, I can't say.

"Please, Kurama," I said, and my voice broke entirely, cracking like an egg in a clawed hand. Desperately I wished for a power, any power, to make him believe me, or to fix all of this with a finger snap. "I'm—I'm not lying to you. Please, believe me. I need you to trust me, even if it's not in your nature, OK?"

He remained quiet. Green eyes searched my face the way a lost traveler reads a map. A vibration travelled up my spine in a wave; I trembled, unable to prevent it, knees and hands shaking as much as my quavering voice. Kurama's scent—mint, earth, ozone—filled the air like the scent of rain before a storm, but breathing it did little to calm me.

"Please," I repeated. "If we were ever, ever friends—please just let me help you."

Kurama stared, hand still poised over mine, without speaking. We traded that long, lean look until my eyes teared, a single drop of saline spilling down my cheek. Kurama traced its fall with his gaze until it dribbled off my quaking chin.

Something shifted behind his eyes.

Without a word, Kurama's fingers curled around my wrist, and he pulled me after him up the stairs.

The moon hung above us like a watching eye, distant and cold as we dashed together to the middle of the roof. I felt to my wooden knees and tried to set the Mirror on the ground. It fell from my numb fingers with a clatter of metal on concrete, surface reflecting the sky as a spate of clouds moved across the moon. Kurama knelt across from me, color of his eyes lost to the dark.

"Are you certain?" he said.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

Before I could reply, the clouds parted, and the Mirror reflected the face of the pearlescent moon.

Light bloomed inside the mirror like one of Kurama's hothouse flowers, radiant green to match the Rapacious Orb—only gentler, the light of a thousand glow-worms in a peaceful, shadowed cavern. I leaned forward on reflex, but my face only looked back at me for a moment before the image rippled, changed, distorted into something new, more colors swimming from the green glow like a developing photograph.

I had never met Shiori. I did not know the lines of her flesh and blood face. Still, when the image of a dark haired, liquid-eyed woman stared up at me, I knew it must be her.

She had Shuichi's eyes, somehow, even if their color didn't match.

"Mother," Kurama said—but I hardly heard him, because the Mirror had begun to speak. Its voice didn't travel through my ears and into my skull, but the other way round, from inside out as if the Mirror had lodged itself inside my head. Deep and booming, commanding yet soft, the voice filled up my head like tea poured from a warm jug.

It happened too quickly to impress or thrill me. There wasn't time for wonder.

"You seek to mend what has been broken," said this rich, old voice, "and align destiny on its proper path. You require the life of this woman restored, and the happiness of her son returned." I heard Kurama draw sharp breath, but I ignored him. "Is that what you ask me to grant?"

"Yes," I said, because the Mirror spoke the truth. "That's exactly what I want."

"You are sure?" the Mirror asked. "You would sacrifice your life for this boy's happiness?"

"Yes." I extended a hand, one finger brushing the Mirror's cold face. "But I don't think it will come to that."

I was looking at Kurama when the Mirror said, "Then your wish is granted." I was looking at him and smiling, amused by his shocked expression, laughing at how even now he was not accustomed to receiving help. Unnamable affection filled me from the inside out, cool and tingling, then warm, then hot, then burning, then a thousand little needles pricking at my insides as the green light from the Mirror burned to white, then rose to a crescendo of blinding pain—

Was that me screaming?

Oh.

So it was.

It wasn't affection that I felt, after all. It was the Mirror sucking hot and greedy at my very life, siphoning my vitality like gargantuan wasp larvae on the back of my tiny self, an ant beneath its enormous, hungry mouth. It wormed its way through my hand and into my body and gulped, guzzling, gluttonous, curling into the roots of my hair and the tips of my toes, ravenous for every last drop of me it could possibly consume. I smelled blood and bone and singed hair and pulped teeth, felt my nails shudder in their beds, eyes swelling in their sockets from the force that had lodged itself inside me. My lungs threatened to heave out of my mouth as I gasped and choked for air, stomach a knot of iron, unable to see or think or feel anything but that horrible, sucking drain threatening to reduce myself to nothing more than hollow memory.

Then I felt him touch me—him. Not the Mirror. A real touch on my real skin, pulling me from the depths of pain and back to earth again.

When the hand closed over mine, my abused nerves sang in protest—but the force inside me deflated, retracted. I could breathe again. I felt the concrete under my knees and the mad raging of my heart. I heard the sound of my own breath, my own whimpers, and a sound like crackling fire somewhere at my feet. Opening my eyes felt like lifting doors of iron.

Green lightning haloed Kurama's body, aurora borealis twining into his hair and lighting up his eyes with verdant flame. Teeth grit, hair on end, shoulders like strained wire, he met my eyes and grimaced, a guttural cry escaping his lips as the force that had been inside me tried to eat him, too. His fingers spasmed around my hand, but he did not let go—not even when those Mirror's gnashing teeth bit at me again, and I felt my body slump backward, away from him.

Darkness consumed me.

I fell into the black wondering if Keiko's frail, human body had enough life to give, or if our shared sacrifice had been in vain—and hoping, against all odds, that I'd sated the Mirror's depthless appetite.

I woke to a hand on my cheek and an arm beneath my shoulders. Someone said my name, but the pounding ache inside my skull all but drowned it out. Bam, bam, bam, each beat of my heart sent a spike of migraine misery through my temples and down my back. I clutched my face in both hands and sat up with a groan.

"Ugh. Jesus-fuck, my head!" I said.

"Keiko—are you all right?"

I cracked an eye, wincing even in the mild moonlight, light a lance striking sharp into my brain. Kurama knelt next to me, hair still reamed with static. He looked a bit like a lion who'd gotten stuck in an electric socket, though I'd never tell him that. How'd he get that way? He was normally so put-together…

"Were you kicking my head while I was out?" I grated up at him. "Sure feels like it."

Green eyes narrowed. "That was incredibly reckless," he said. His arm around my shoulders tightened, pulling me to his chest. "That was—"

His soft voice sounded too loud, too close, like a microphone with bad feedback. I looked away, wincing—and a shaft of light caught the Mirror where it lay on the ground.

Oh. Right. That. That's why we were here. How had I forgotten the Mirror and the wish—

The wish.

Had I done enough?

"Is your mom alright?" I blurted. My eyes opened all the way despite how much it hurt; I was shoving away and rising to my knees in an instant, wheeling on Kurama with a curse. "What the heck are you still doing up here, dumbass?!" My arm flung toward the door. "Go to her! Go see if she's OK!"

It was as though he'd forgotten the reason we'd come up here, too. Realization struck like lightning, suiting his on-end hair.

"Mother," he said. Without preamble, he was on his feet and running for the door—only when he wrenched it open, he paused. Turned back and met my eyes with…not a frown. Not anger. He was too worried for his mother to waste energy on me, but in his eyes I saw something build and break and build again, new information warring with old assumptions and the revelation of tonight.

Tonight, everything had changed. When it was over, and the dust settled…

"Keiko." My name sounded like petals on a cool wind. "When this is over—"

"We'll have to have that little conversation of ours. I get it, I get it," I said. I tried to brave a resigned smile; I fear I only grimaced. "It's been a long time coming."

"Yes," he replied, with odd wonder. "A very long time."

Kurama paused for just a moment, eyes shutting. When he opened them again, I saw nothing but sincerity—sincerity and a promise left unspoken.

He said: "Thank you, Keiko."

My skin tingled, but not in a good way. It crawled as though besieged by termites, burrowing beneath the bark and into the wood of my guilty heart.

"No," I breathed. Then with more force: "No. No. I deserve no thanks. None whatsoever." My hand lashed at the door again, harder. "Go. Go!"

Kurama did not argue. He merely left, leaving me alone on the roof.

It took a few minutes to gather myself enough to stand. Electric ticks jumped through my muscles when I moved; an ache settled into my bones, hot and throbbing, too intense to ignore. I hobbled to the Mirror and picked it up, teeth grinding when bending over made my spine creak.

"My, my," the Mirror said. Its voice came quieter this time, deep inside my head, somewhere above the palate but below the place where memory lives. "So you knew my secret."

"Wow." I blinked at the Mirror as it reflected the night sky above. The moon stayed firm behind the clouds; I angled the Mirror down so it could reflect the front of my shirt, instead. "You, uh…you talk."

"On occasion." Its voice drifted toward the realm of yearning. "To think. If only more had instincts like yours, perhaps I wouldn't be called the Forlorn Hope at all."

I felt a little sorry for the Mirror, suddenly. Its reputation wasn't its fault. It was merely hungry, after all. Dare few ever tried to feed it out of fear.

"Perhaps not," I said. "So you did grant the wish?"

"Yes." Cool relief flooded my head at the frank confirmation. "Your gift of life energy, spent for the sake of another, eased my hunger."

I breathed a relieved sigh. "Good. Thank you." I hesitated before asking, "Say. Can you tell me something?"

It paused, a vacuum opening behind my eyes in the absence of its voice. Some of my migraine sucked into that vacuum and disappeared. Perhaps the Mirror was still hungry, for pain of any kind. I held my breath as I waited for its response. Talking to a Mirror wasn't the highest marker of intact sanity, but still…maybe it could ease the worry polling in the place the migraine had once filled.

"I have granted many wishes, and I have taken many lives," the Mirror mused, "but I have answered few questions since my creation long ago. Few have dared speak with me, I suppose." I could almost sense it stirring in whatever non-space it called home, as if summoning its sentience like a maître-de. "Still. I will try. Ask."

"Did I do the right thing tonight?" I said. "Was I supposed to make canon happen, or was I supposed to let this new Yu Yu Hakusho have its say?"

The Mirror didn't reply. Perhaps it didn't know what Yu Yu Hakusho was. My head shook almost of its own accord.

"I'm the one who planted the seeds that led to this," I said. "Wasn't it my job to fix what broke?"

"It is…difficult to say," the Mirror told me. Its tone firmed when it continued. "But it is clear to me you care deeply for this world, and for those who inhabit it. Let that care guide you, and all consequence you will weather." The presence in my head dimmed, lights fading to black before a movie. "Now I must sleep, my friend. Good luck to you."

"Yeah." I put the Mirror in my pocket, and its presence left my head for good. "Thanks."

Wind stripped by, cold at this lofty vantage point. With arms wrapped tight around my shoulders, my feet drifted toward the edge of the building. A chain link fence kept me from a plummet to the pavement below. The fence rattled when I looped two fingers through the links; I sighed, leaning against the icy metal wires, thoughts with Kurama somewhere in the hospital below.

What did Kurama think of me now?

And what would I say to him when we next saw each other?

But more pressingly—what the fucking hell was I going to say to Yusuke when I saw him next? Because that was going to happen much sooner than my confrontation with Kurama.

Much sooner.

Like. Immediately, in fact.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Yusuke waiting for me in the street below—lounging on the same bench where I'd waited for him earlier. Despite the casual way he draped his ankle over the opposite knee, I read the tension in his shoulders and the agitated jiggle of his leg even from the hospital roof.

As if sensing my gaze, his face lifted in my direction.

When our eyes met, Yusuke did not smile.

Suddenly, it wasn't Kurama I was most afraid of.

"So he's fine."

"Yeah." I swallowed, mouth dry from talking. "And his mom is, too."

Yusuke leaned forward and spat off the edge of the roof, into the bayou behind my parents' restaurant. He'd listened to my story without saying a single word. Not like him at all, and to be honest, his silence was sorta freaky. I'd been expecting sarcasm and yelling, not this. We'd taken the train to my house without speaking and climbed on to the roof without even communicating the need for this conversation to happen in our special hang-out place. I guess it was the only private place we both knew. The story slipped from my lips in a series of curt, factual statements—ones I'd rehearsed during our quiet journey home. Had to spend the train ride doing something other than picking my nails bloody with worry…

Eyeing me askance, Yusuke asked, "You wanna tell me how you figured it out?"

Feigned ignorance came easily. "Hmm?"

"How the Mirror worked like that." He held up two fingers, eyebrow askew. "Taking parts of two lives instead of one whole one?"

"This child got lucky, I guess." Time to attempt a lame pun, throw him off the scent with a bad joke and a cheesy wink. "That's my name, after all."

"Yeah, right," Yusuke said, not buying it in the slightest. "You mean to tell me just lucked out and solved all our problems?"

"Well, what's the alternative?" Another cheesy wink. "I'm secretly from Spirit World and I've been sitting on all the secrets of this world since I was born?"

Tell all truth and tell it slant, as Emily Dickinson would say. Yusuke had no idea that this absurd hypothetical came distressingly close to describing the truth of my existence. He blinked, pursed his lips, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"When you put it like that," he grumbled, "it sounds pretty stupid."

I chuckled; Yusuke scowled. He wasn't one for brooding, but just then he stared into the dark above the drainage canals as though to pierce the shadows with his gaze. I put a hand on his knee and squeezed.

"Look, Yusuke, I…I panicked," I said, and this wasn't a slanted truth at all. "I couldn't stand the thought of Minamino's mom dying, and I knew the Mirror could help, so…I had to try. I had to try something." Even though the effects of the Mirror had abated, my smile trembled at the edge. "I couldn't just let my friend's mom die, you know?"

Yusuke looked at me for a long time. He didn't believe me—not entirely. That was obvious in his furrowed brow and pursed lips. Too bad he had no solid evidence to work with, nor any theoretical alternatives to supersede my explanation. He sensed something was up with me, but he had no means of proving it, and no compelling leads to explore or unravel.

Plus, I'd never lie to him. I always meant what I said, so far as he knew. Other than his nagging instincts, he had no reason to suspect me of anything scurrilous.

Though I would not let it show on my face, I worried I was being cruel to him, deceiving him this way.

I tried very hard not to think about that too much.

Eventually Yusuke sighed, running a hand over his slick hair. The tension left him with the sagging of his lean shoulders.

"Yeah, I know," he grumbled. Sighing, he laced his fingers together and stretched, knuckles cracking like fireworks. "Well. This means two down, one to go." At last a smile returned, sly with triumph as he lifted the Mirror from his pocket. "Thanks to you, I've got the Orb and the Mirror."

"Yeah," I said.

"That means I face Hiei next, to get the Sword." Yusuke's nose wrinkled like he'd just licked a lemon. "But he's the nastiest of the bunch. And I don't have any inside intel on him like I did Kurama. How am I gonna handle this one?"

"You've got your work cut out for you, for sure," I agreed—but I offered Yusuke no tips on how to deal with the bloodthirsty fire demon.

I was too busy thinking about how I'd deal with him, when the time finally came for Hiei and Keiko to meet.

Of course, it's not like I hadn't considered the Hiei Abduction before that night. I'm not stupid. I'd been thinking of meeting Hiei almost daily since my rebirth as Yukimura Keiko. It was, after all, her first brush with true danger (if you didn't count rescuing Yusuke from the fire). The incident therefore required quite a bit of worrying on the part of yours truly, even if it had remained a distant dream for most of my childhood.

Well…it was distant no longer. Now that Kurama had lost the Mirror, Hiei's time to strike loomed large.

Although I felt inclined to worry about Kurama (where was he? on the run from Spirit World?) and Yusuke (had he really swallowed my explanation that I'd gotten lucky?), I pushed those worries aside after Yusuke went home that night. I went to my room, pulled my journals from their hiding spot, and opened the one marked The Artifacts Case to my notes on Hiei's abduction.

I had a plan. Of course I had a plan. This is me we're talking about, Overthinker Extraordinaire.

The problem was that for my plan to work, I needed to know exactly when Hiei would strike—and unlike the situation with Kurama, I didn't have the full moon to guide my way. I knew Hiei abducted Keiko after school one day, but was that day tomorrow? The day after? How could I anticipate Hiei's arrival if I didn't know when he'd come for me?

Lucky for me, Keiko has some really great friends.

Intent on tracking down Kurama and seeing if he'd made it to school that day, the sight of Kuwabara leaning on the wall by my school gates knocked me for quite the loop. My feet skidded on the sidewalk when I spotted his blue uniform and orange hair—definitely out of place amidst the red and pink Meiou uniforms streaming past.

Also out of place was Kuwabara's posture. He stood with hands thrust deep into his pockets, shoulders slumped, schoolbag clamped between his elbows and ribs hard enough to give me sympathy pains. Jutting neck supported his head as it jerked left, right, and back again, eyes roving over the street as if hunting for a tiger on the loose. Instead he spotted me. His eyes widened, coin-round and anxious, and he pushed away from the wall to dart in my direction.

"Kuwabara?" I said. "What are you doing here?" My brow arched. "And how did you know where my school was?"

He ducked his head as he came close, sheepish. "Aw man, I had to ask, like, a lot of people where it was—but that doesn't matter!" He grabbed my hand in his massive ones, fingers delicate yet strong, peering nervously into my face. "Keiko, are you OK!?"

"Uh…of course I am." His face came dangerously close to mine; we probably looked like lovers to outside parties, holding hands like this, but I shoved that thought away (hopefully the rumor mill didn't go ballistic). "Why wouldn't I be?"

Kuwabara began to speak, but he stopped and looked over his shoulder so hard I feared he'd give himself whiplash. When he gave a strangled grunt, I leaned around him expecting to see that tiger he'd been searching for...but only my classmates walked by. Strange.

"Ooh, I don't like this," Kuwabara muttered, voice climbing an octave. "Ooh, I don't like this at all! I don't—" He looked at me, then over my shoulder, and at that his eyes popped wide. He jumped past me with a yelp, shielding me from something with his bulk. "W-what in the Sam hill is that?!" he said, pointing into the limbs of a tree a few feet down the sidewalk.

I scrambled to his side, eagerly scanning the foliage above. Had Kuwabara spotted Hiei, maybe? Was Hiei up there watching me?

It seemed not. The tree was rather barren, in fact, limbs clearly visible—and empty—between the smattering of clinging leaves.

"What?" I said. "Where?"

"You didn't see—?" Kuwabara blinked like an owl, then lowered his reddening face. "Oh. Um. Nothing's there, after all." Tangling his fingers in his curled hair, he said, "Aw man, I'm losin' it. This sucks."

My hand descended on his arm, pulling his fingers free of his pompadour before he could make himself bald. "Kuwabara, what the heck is going on?"

"The Tickle Feeling!" he hollered, as though he'd been holding back the words for days. Around us, several of my classmates flinched and stared. "It's the Tickle Feeling! I've been getting it nonstop since Sunday and last night I had a dream where—" His cheeks pinked; he stopped talking, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. I just had a premonition last night, and it involved you, and lately my premonitions have all been right. Beats me why this is happenin' all of a sudden, but it is, so I just gotta deal with it." He grabbed my hand again, once more peering into my face as though he could find a threat hiding in my eyebrows. "You're sure you're OK, Keiko? Like, for-sure for-sure?"

I squeezed his hand back in an attempt at reassurance. "I'm sure about me. But I'm not sure about you."

"It's not me you need to be worried—" he began, but then the blush drained from his face. So did his usual complexion, followed by every last scrap of blood coloring his veins. Face like paper, sweat beading on his temple, his eyes fixed on something just behind me, back toward the school gates.

"Oh no." His voice came small, a child in a dark bedroom after something went bump in the night. "Oh—oh no. Not her."

But there was no one behind me when I turned to look—no one Keiko could see, anyway. Squeezing his fingers harder, I asked, "Her who?" I waved a hand in front of his face when he neither responded nor looked at me, eyes locked on the empty air. "Kuwabara, what are you looking at? You're freaking me out!"

He snapped back to reality, but his face didn't color again. More sweat beading his forehead, he said, "It's—it's hard to explain—but Keiko, I have to go." Fear twanged like a broken violin in his rocky voice. "Just promise me you'll stay safe, OK?"

Before I could craft an answer, Kuwabara dropped my hands and loped down the sidewalk faster than a gazelle on speed. Blinking after him, stunned by his abrupt exit, I merely stared when he stopped on the corner and yodeled, "And don't go anywhere with any small children wearing black, you hear me?!"

"Uh," I articulated.

Kuwabara shuddered, the shake of his body visible even from up the road. "Oh no. No, no, not today, Satan—!" he said, and he ducked around the corner and out of sight.

"Is your friend all right?"

Flinching, I spun on my heel and found Amagi standing a few feet away. She glanced the way Kuwabara had gone, but she didn't wear the freaked expressions of my other classmates. Apparently she was made of sterner stuff than they when faced with a squawking delinquent.

"Oh, Amagi-san," I said. "Um. I'm not really sure."

Amagi hummed, low and musical in the back of her throat. Expression bland but shrewd, she looked first the way Kuwabara had gone, then back toward the school gate—toward the place where Kuwabara himself had been staring only moments before. She frowned, head dipping in a knowing nod.

"Ah," she said. "It's no wonder he ran."

"Um…is isn't?"

"No." She inclined her head at the empty spot. "There is a dead woman by the school gate. She is quite unhappy, not to mention vocal."

For a second, I thought I'd misheard. I stared at Amagi with my mouth open, trying to absorb the sight of her unexpectedly expectant face without success. Eventually Amagi took pity on me and offered the barest of smiles.

"Your friend can see ghosts, can't he?" she asked.

I blurted, "Can you?"

"Sometimes." She shrugged; I nearly passed out from shock. "Mostly during sleep paralysis. But there's a nasty spirit just over there, and I don't have to be sleeping to see her. She probably spooked your friend, if he's at all inclined toward the spiritual." Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

It took a minute more to both process this oh-my-god-what-the-hell information and to remember how to speak. "My friend, he was really embarrassed to admit he could see ghosts," I said when I regained use of my faculties. "I'm just surprised. You're so…open."

"Not with everyone," Amagi said, blandly, "but given your interest in Minamino, I guessed you'd be as open to hearing as I am to sharing." She stepped toward the school gate, apparently unconcerned that she'd just admitted she knew something was up with Minamino and oh god oh god what was happening with my classmate? "Let's get inside before the bell rings. Oh, and Keiko?"

Against all odds, I remembered how to be a human being. "Yeah?" I grunted.

"Your friend is right. There's a pall over you, as though someone at a great distance means you harm." She skimmed my body from head to toe, and on some days that would've given me butterflies, but just then my jaw was on the floor and I couldn't be compelled to care. "Be careful today."

"You…you got it," I managed to mutter.

Junko approached me and Amagi at the shoe lockers, chattering about a new boy she'd met. Amagi made no further mention of our conversation at the gate. Kurama never showed up for class. I spent all morning with my mouth hanging open, trying to put my shattered brain back together in the wake of this morning's excitement. When I finally managed to regain my critical thinking skills, I came to one conclusion.

I had psychic friends—more of them than I realized—and both had given me a warning that today was not meant for ordinary measures.

Like I said: I'm lucky Keiko has such good friends.

When school let out that day, I did not allow myself to be alone.

Junko took the train home each day. A single friendly overture saw me walking her to the station, two friends chatting about teachers and cute boys, normal as could be. If Junko noticed the way I scanned the trees and powerlines above, scoured the alleys and dark doorways for the sight of a black-cloaked man, she did not mention it. She merely talked and gossiped until she boarded the train and left me alone—alone if not for the crowds milling through the station, that is. Following a group of young women like I'd stitched myself to their shadow, I exited the station and sat on the nearest bench.

A bench in the middle of the square outside the station.

A bench in the line of sight of hundreds of people and security cameras, well-lit and obvious.

Voices and the slap of feet on pavement buzzed like wasps in the air. No one paid me any mind as I flipped idly through a textbook, highlighter tucked behind an ear as I read my chemistry homework. To passersby I was nothing more noteworthy than a schoolgirl waiting for a train—the very portrait of normalcy. Certainly not the target of a bloodthirsty fire demon intent on world domination.

Little did they know that in lieu of covalent bonds and rogue electrons, the name of a demon repeated itself over and over in my head like the answer to tomorrow's exam.

I had no idea if this plan of mine would work. I hoped it would, of course, but I had far fewer skills at my disposal than did demons like Hiei and Kurama…but this was a disadvantage I would soon rectify.

Maybe. Hopefully. We'd see soon enough.

It felt like I sat there for an hour, though the clock tower above the square suggested I spent a mere five minutes screaming Hiei's name inside my head. Pretty sure I've never thought that hard about something in either of my lives, nor focused on anything with that same single-minded ferocity. Eyes fixed on my book, not daring to look around, his name coursed through me like a mantra, syllables blurring together until the word lost its meaning to the depths of repetition.

Hiei Hiei Hiei Hiei Hiei—

I almost didn't notice when a shiver coursed its slow way up my spine—but I did. In that spot below memory and above my teeth, where the Mirror had spoken to me, something rattled. I stopped thinking his name and sat up straight, looking around the square with as much subtlety as I could muster.

Hiei did not appear.

For a second I felt disappointed. Then I screwed up my courage, remembered Hiei was a stubborn shithead, and hoped the next part of the plan didn't make look like too big of an idiot (though of this I had very little hope indeed).

"You can come out now, Hiei," I said, eyes still locked on my book. "I'm tired of waiting, and I'm not very good at it, anyway."

One moment of nothing passed. That moment turned into two, then three. Drawing breath to sigh my disappointment, I began to close my book and leave—but then black boots appeared in my line of sight, tips of their scuffed toes visible just above the edge of my textbook.

Promptly, I forgot how to breathe.

Hiei demanded, "How do you know my name?"

He had a voice like a sword sliding into an ill-fit scabbard, gruff and rude with pronouns indicating he thought very little of me indeed. Not that I expected much more, but still. His voice scraped against my ears like a cheese grater, higher pitched than I'd expected but no less intimidating than I'd previously assumed.

I barely dared to look at him, of course. I barely dared to think, or breathe, or cheer that my plan of summoning him to me had actually worked. I was too afraid for any of that.

This version of Hiei, the early-canon version…he was not the trustworthy fighter from later in the series. He was the demon who hated humans and sought to enslave them with the Shadow Sword.

He was the demon who might kill me, if I didn't play my cards just right.

Luckily I'd been dreaming of how to play those cards—not to mention perfecting my poker face—for fourteen entire years.

Crossing my legs at the thigh, I made a show of rolling my eyes, not deigning to look up from my book. Curious though I was to see what Hiei looked like in real life, it was imperative I not indulge just yet. I had a point to prove before any of that.

"What, really?" I said, snark dripping from every syllable. "Do you really think I'd tell you how I know? I'm not stupid enough to lose my only bargaining chip."

"Bargaining chip?" Hiei spat the words like he'd bitten into a rotten apple. "That implies I have something you want, and that you have something I would want to exchange for it." Surprisingly talkative, this Hiei. I'd forgotten how mouthy he got during his Villainous Monologue stage. "What could a pitiful human like you ever hope to offer a demon like me?"

"Wait and see." I let my eyes climb a little higher, up to the hem of a ratty black cloak with a torn hem and the tip of a scabbard hanging beside it. "That sword."

Even just looking at his legs, I saw him tense. "You can't have it," he growled.

"I don't want it," I said. "I just want to know something about it."

There followed a somewhat lengthy pause. Clearly Hiei hadn't been expecting that inquiry—which was all part of the plan. Words slow, suspicious, and patronizing, Hiei said, "What could a weakling like you possibly want to know about this sword?"

My breath rattled in my chest. Slowly, every move deliberate, I raised my eyes from my book. Hiei stared back with incredulousness so intense I could taste it—but I didn't let myself fall silent under the sight of his boiling eyes or the curl of his snarling mouth.

"That sword…can it turn me into a demon?" I asked.

And then I waited for my answer.

Notes:

Here he is. The fire demon you've been waiting for in all his villainous, rebellious-teenage-edge-lord, early-canon glory. Gosh, he's a goober in these early stages. SO FUN.

Man, I ain't going easy on y'all with these cliffhangers, am I? I debated leaving off after Hiei asked "How do you know my name?", but then the demon question was a cool cliffie all on its own and I couldn't resist.

Guys. GUYS. I debated for MONTHS over whether or not I'd straight up kill Shiori. MONTHS OF PONDERING. In the end I figured if she died, NQK would collapse under the weight of her own guilt and never "break the rules" again. And that would make for a boring story, so…Shiori had to live. And besides. NQK will feel guilty enough even after a close call…MORE ONTHIS AND KURAMA'S BEHAVIOR VERY SOON!

And so Amagi revealed a little tidbit about herself. There have been hints about this development before, but they're TEENY tiny.

Apparently I need to threaten peoples' mothers more often, because WOW. The response last week was out. Of. This. WORLD. Thank you SO MUCH for reading!

Chapter 42: Lost Child

Summary:

Not-Quite-Keiko goes to dinner.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The day I met Kurama, I found him underwhelming.

Hiei, however, rocked me to my core.

He stood no taller than five feet, crowned by an impressive shock of blue-black hair that could probably poke my eye out of Hiei got too close. Its deep navy color remained dark until light persuaded sapphire highlights into view. The odd white streaks in his hair were just that: odd. Streaky, grey, like he was actually a lot older than his height suggested. Or (more plausibly) like he'd gone to a salon and requested the weirdest dye-job on the planet, then had stuck a fork into a toaster and let it pick his spiky hairstyle.

His face, however, struck me far more than his height or hair.

The eyes dominated his features, of course. Small chin, delicate jaw, rounded cheeks, all topped by scarlet eyes so large they might actually have come out of an episode of the anime. They possessed a luminous quality that reminded me—strongly, inexplicably—of the reflector on the back of my bicycle at home. His eyes caught the light and reflected it in a glowing flash the same way those red reflectors winked bright even in the dark, eerie and inhuman in its color's bold intensity.

There was absolutely no mistaking this person for a human, that's for sure. No cosplay contacts could ever hope to replicate the coruscant quality of those eyes.

I probably would've found him intimidating if he didn't look like a goddamn child.

Despite knowing he could kill me with his pinky, and despite knowing that he hid six-pack abs under the folds of his ratty black cloak, it was hard to look at someone that short with eyes that big and not see a child staring back at you. A homicidal preteen carrying a sword, sure, but a homicidal preteen nonetheless. Even his cloak, with a trailing hem and a gaping hole on the left shoulder seam, contributed to the impression of a dirty orphan boy, a wild child raised in the woods without manners or the concept of personal maintenance. In fact, a smudge of dirt adorned one cheek just below the blaze of his watching eyes.

Although he stared mostly at me, it did not escape my notice that every so often he scanned the crowd behind me, or looked askance at the humans walking by. He wasn't nervous (it would take a powering-up Toguro to make Hiei nervous), but he was certainly wary. Probably not accustomed to being out in the open in Human World, if I had to guess—which was good, because that's what I'd been hoping for. The mud caked on his boots told stories of nights spent in parks, baths taken in bayous, catnaps stolen in the shadows of remote trees.

I knew very well I should be afraid of him.

I knew it, but it was hard not to want to scrub the dirt from his cheek with my thumb and tell him to take a bath. He'd been my favorite character in my past life, next to Kuwabara. Putting aside that knee-jerk fondness was going to be tough.

"A demon, you say?" Hiei said, button nose thrust high into the air. "Why?"

A shrug. "I have my reasons."

"Ha!" His nose rose even higher, light glancing off his reflective gaze. "For a human, you're ambitious."

"My, my," I observed. With precise, purposeful movements I packed my book into my schoolbag. "Do mine ears deceive me, or was that a compliment?"

"Not remotely," Hiei sneered (oh Jesus, seriously, he stared at me like an emo kid who'd just learned I wasn't a My Chemical Romance fan, words dripping with wry derision and acidic humor). "It's no surprise you recognize the superiority of the demonic race. Too bad for you this Sword would turn a mere mortal like you into nothing more than chattel, a pitiful lackey who follows orders with no will of its own." His grin had teeth—sharp ones. Boy literally had pointed eyeteeth, it turns out. "Not what you had in mind, I imagine."

"Not remotely," I said, quoting both his words and his sneering tone. "But I'm pretty willful."

"Not nearly willful enough to resist the thrall of the Shadow Sword," Hiei said. His hand drifted to his side, to the bulbous hilt of the Kōma no Ken. Spiked and knobby, it looked like it had been made of the carapace of a gigantic insect. Gross. Hiei said of the Sword, "It would overrun your weak human consciousness in seconds."

Hiei laughed, a harsh bark of scorn I suspected he'd practiced in a mirror. For real, though—the boy was hitting all the points from the Evil Villain Handbook, right down to the maniacal laugh. I ignored him, though, filing away his words for further study.

So the Sword, barring error on Hiei's part, would turn me into a mere lackey, not a demon of any power or substance…just as I'd remembered it would from my memories of the anime. As such, I wasn't too disappointed to receive this news. Ah, well. It had been worth a shot, even if that shot had been very long indeed. I wasn't too keen on becoming a demon. Not averse to it, necessarily, but it would be hard to explain a third eye to my mother. It was nice to get a concrete answer as to whether or not gaining powers from the Sword was even possible. The Sword couldn't give me powers unless I wanted to give up my free will—and like I said, I'm pretty willful. That's a no-go.

Oh, well, Keiko. You'll get powers another way. But we'll assess the possibilities another time, when a homicidal preteen wasn't holding a sword in your face.

And who knows? Maybe he'd still cut you with it, anyway, and maybe he'd be wrong about becoming a brainless thrall.

We'd see soon enough, I figured.

"You're surprisingly talkative, you know," I said, covering my rumination with snark. "If you want to be an effective evil overlord, try working on your menacing silences instead."

Hiei's jaw snapped shut with an audible click of his sharp teeth. A mere human giving him lip instead of cowering in fear? No way had he prepped for that. I was the lowly, helpless damsel in distress so far as he was concerned.

Good. My whole plan hinged on throwing him for various loops, starting with calling him out in full view of the public. I glanced the clock above the courtyard. Only a few minutes more until the next phase…

"Well," I said. I rose to my feet and brushed down the fabric of my skirt. "I guess this is the part where you kidnap me." Sliding my eyes toward Hiei, I adopted a sly grin. "Isn't that right?"

Hiei grit his teeth, lips pulling back to reveal those needle canines. His hand on the Sword tightened. He wasn't lunging for me, and his eyes still danced over the crowd around us, so…

"Except," I said, "I don't think even you would try to kidnap me in such a public place." It was my turn to look down my nose at him (not that it was hard considering the height difference). "The minute you start a panic, Spirit World will fall on this place like a bomb. They'd find you in minutes." It was my turn to smirk. "You'd much rather keep a low profile, since you're on the run from Spirit World and all your friends have been defeated."

Seemed my logic struck a chord. Hiei ducked his chin, glaring from under the fringes of his hair. "Did the Detective tell you that?" he snarled.

Oh. Interesting. No mention of Kurama—just the Spirit Detective, whom he had to know I knew. He was only kidnapping me to get to Yusuke, after all. Did he not know I'd been involved in events last night, regarding Kurama and the Mirror? Did he not know about my connection to Kurama?

Interesting.

I could use this.

"Maybe, maybe not," I hedged. Pretending to have been struck by a brilliant idea, I lifted one eager finger into the air. "Oh! Tell you what. I'll let you kidnap me without a fuss," (at this Hiei looked very surprised indeed), "but only if you let me go give an excuse to my parents so they don't worry about where I've gone. Then you can do whatever you want."

"They'll worry when you never come home again," Hiei spat.

I hummed, rocking back and forth on my heels with a cheery bounce. "Mmm—nah! I don't think so."

Hiei's lip jutted into a manner suspiciously resembling a pout (seriously, talk about baby-face). "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean I'll come home again, one way or another."

"Your confidence is sorely misplaced if you think that bumbling Detective can save you from someone of my strength."

"Perhaps." I tipped him a very merry wink. "But perhaps I know something you don't."

For only a moment, Hiei looked stunned by my declaration. Soon his eyes narrowed; he squared his feet beneath his hips as if he intended to fight me there and then.

"Don't act like you have any advantage here," Hiei said, words flung like poisoned knives. "You learned my name from the Detective. You must have anticipated I'd use you as bait to get to him. That's why you were saying my name inside your head." He tried his evil laugh on me once more, but once more I remained unmoved. "You surprised me, but it won't happen again."

"It won't, will it?" I mused. Snorting (and taking a surreptitious glance at the clock), I said, "Shows what you know."

"What do you mean?" Hiei asked. When I didn't answer, merely smiled at him with nonchalant cheer, he gnashed his teeth. He took one sharp step in my direction; I backed up on reflex, thighs bumping the bench. He said, "Why are you so confident, damn you?"

Before I could reply, the next train arrived—and with it came the salarymen.

Sarayashiki wasn't all that far from Tokyo, when you got right down to it. Just an hour by train, and in Japan, that wasn't a bad commute at all. Hundreds of businessmen commuted from our sleepy hamlet to the big city each and every day, and they all came home on the exact same train at the height of rush hour. I heard the train's brakes squeal inside the station and smirked, watching as behind Hiei's unknowing back a multitude of men in suits poured from the station doors. Hiei heard their feet, though, and turned just as their number crested our spot in the courtyard, breaching us with a tsunami of ties and shiny shoes and briefcases and stomachs hungry after a long day's work.

And you know what those stomachs were hungry for?

Some of my dad's famous ramen, that's what.

I'd done enough customer tracking for the business to know the source of our most consistent clientele. I knew where the dinner rush came from. I'd known since I helped my parents discern here to best place billboards when I was a kid.

In fact…

"Confident?" I repeated. "Yeah. I suppose I am." I pointed above the train station. "And that's why."

Hiei spun, hand on his sword, clearly expecting an attack—from Yusuke, maybe?—to come flying at his exposed back.

Above the station, lit by a floodlight, sat a brightly colored billboard adorned with pictures of steaming ramen. Hiei stared at it without understanding, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

Yukimura Ramen, the billboard proclaimed. Delicious and nutritious. Find us on Block 32!

While the fire demon's back was turned, I turned and walked away, letting the rushing crowd sweep me up and carry me through the square. Took Hiei a minute to notice I'd gone. When he finally did, I heard his voice from some distance behind me—and he sounded pissed.

"Wait," he snarled at my retreating back. Anger vibrated in his voice like shifting tectonic plates. "Get back here. I'm not done with you."

With nary a backward glance, I said, "Then come with me, Hiei."

There was no way to know if he'd do as I asked. I couldn't hear his feet above the smack and pound of all the salarymen. Eyes forward, Keiko. I walked from the square and down the street in the middle of a mob of suited office workers, confident that the crowd around me remained too thick to allow Hiei to strike.

I'd timed it perfectly, escaping amidst the press of hungry salarymen.

I was safe…for now.

Many of the men on the street that night were regulars at the restaurant. I had a whole spate of escorts to walk me home this evening. Some even greeted me as I followed them over the sidewalks and through the town, asking if I was on my way home to help serve on the restaurant floor.

"Maybe," I told one of them, "but I have a friend with me tonight, so maybe not."

At that, I tossed another cheerful glance over my shoulder.

Just as I'd hoped, a thoroughly disgruntled Hiei followed at the edge of the gaggle of salarymen, glaring as though to burn me to ash with his blazing eyes. I couldn't help but grin at the sight. His glower intensified.

I didn't need a Jagan eye to read his mind just then. His face said it all.

Hiei didn't follow me into the restaurant itself, of course. I stood in the doorway and smiled at him, where he waited in the street with hands shoved violently into his pockets. "Not coming in?" I asked in a sprightly tone. Hiei's brows lifted, then knit together.

"Into your hovel?" he retorted.

How very like him, to insult the restaurant on principle. With a shrug I told him, "Suit yourself. My 'hovel' is lovely, for the record." I pointed in the appropriate direction. "There's an alley around back that's probably more to your taste. Wait a minute and I'll get you something to eat."

Hiei recoiled as though I'd tried to strike him, hand once more on his Sword—but there were far too many people about for him to use it. He said, "You'll what?"

"I'll get you food," I said, enunciating each word with care. Hiei stared at me as if I'd turned into a goat before his very eyes. "What? I'm hungry, and it wouldn't be polite to eat in front of you, would it?"

Unaccustomed to the concept of social niceties, Hiei looked appropriately stunned. Despite the threat he posed, a giggle bubbled in my chest. I stifled it but was unable to fight my growing smile. Man, he was too precious for words—a lost little wild boy trying to become the emperor of Neverland.

His expression darkened at the sight of my smile. A manic gleam lit his eyes from the inside, sending cherry sparks into the night.

Or maybe he was an Evil Overlord, after all.

Focus, Keiko.

Hiei, for all his appeal as a favorite anime character, does not mean you well.

I slipped indoors amid the flow of customers, ducking around the edges of the restaurant toward the kitchen. Mom and Dad greeted me as I pushed past the noren concealing the kitchen from the restaurant floor. I skipped over to give them both a quick kiss on the cheek but was careful not to disturb their cooking. They worked like a well-oiled machine, moving in tandem to assemble the elements of their delicious homemade ramen, flying between the huge vat of broth that had been steeping since the night before and the spheres of coiled noodles on the side workbench.

"You hungry?" Dad asked as he layered noodles into a huge bowl.

"I can fix you a study snack!" Mom said, pouring broth over the noodles.

"Oh, don't worry—it's the dinner rush. I can make my own food Mind if I get some study grub for me and a friend?"

"Oh course honey," said Mom, hands flying as she fried pork cutlets for katsudon.

"Do good work!" Dad added as he sliced uzumaki fish cakes.

"I always do," I said—and then I left Mom and Dad to it. They fell back into their cooking rhythm with gusto, content to let me do homework (and maybe consort with demons) on my own. Neither noticed when I left. I stood in the doorway with a tray of food for a solid minute, watching as they laughed and chattered about incoming orders and their current inventory.

My parents didn't need to work at this point. They could easily leave the cooking to the other chefs they'd hired, just relax on the income from their new second location…but they loved what they did. Cooking, once a necessary job, now brought them joy.

Their food tasted better than ever, in my not-so-humble opinion.

Hopefully Hiei agreed.

He wasn't in the alley, but I suspected he remained close by. I set the tray of food on an empty produce crate and pulled up two others to serve as seats. Once I settled in, I cracked a pair of chopsticks.

"Hiei?" I said. "Food's gonna get cold."

He appeared in a rush of displaced air and a flash of incandescent eyes. I didn't look at him. I thanked my parents for the food with a hearty "Itadakimasu!" before wrangling a ribbon of noodles with my chopsticks.

Hiei did not sit down. He eyed the ramen with an overstated grimace, as if I had tucked into a bowl of worms. Sighing, I lowered the bite and nudged the crate opposite mine with a toe.

"Pull up a chair," I said. "C'mon. It tastes good, I promise."

"I should cut you now," Hiei shot back.

"You could," I said, nodding, "but you'd be missing out on a nice dinner." I gestured at the empty crate. "Sit. Eat. You can't perform a kidnapping on an empty stomach, can you?"

Hiei didn't move. Eyes blazed like banked coals in the alley's thin gloom. Once more, I sighed. I picked up my spoon and dipped it into his bowl, taking a large swig of broth.

"Not poisoned," I said, smacking, "but very tasty. You should have some."

Still, Hiei did not move. I shrugged.

"Suit yourself," I said.

I dug into my bowl of ramen. Hiei watched me eat five bites of noodles; I counted each one, nervous under his watchful gaze. Hiei was a wildcard. I'd been half-sure he'd cut me with the Sword the moment I walked through the alley door and was alone with him for the first time, but perhaps the promise of food had stayed his hand…or the curious nature of my behavior had inspired him to delay his plan just a little longer.

That had been my plan, after all: to make him see me.

Hiei barely thought of me as a sentient being, after all. Humans were barely worth a second look, let alone human treatment. Making him curious forced him to look at me, to see me as a living entity instead of the talking object he'd been intending to steal from Yusuke. Tonight I hoped to capitalize on my personhood so he'd treat me a little less like an inanimate tool…and maybe not cut me with that Sword at all. Just kidnap me and knock me unconscious. The effect would be the same, right?

I didn't want to be a demon—and definitely not the kind the Sword would turn me into. Given the way I'd influenced Kurama's life, I couldn't take the risk of getting cut by that Sword. Perhaps it was wrong of me to doubt Yusuke's ability to save me, but my life mattered more than trust. Avoiding getting cut was my top priority.

The fact that I didn't yet have a third eye boded well for me, so far.

Hiei moved so slowly, I only noticed he'd come close when I found him looming over the food. I looked up with noodles streaming from my mouth to find him standing next to his crate-chair, eyes still locked on me. He maintained that gaze as he lowered himself to the crate, hand extending in increments toward his food. Tan fingers curled tight around his spoon, which he lifted and dunked neatly into the ramen.

"Wait," I said as he lifted the spoon to his face. He lowered it so hard, broth sloshed back into his bowl. Tone gentle, I chided, "You have to say 'thanks' first."

Hiei bared his teeth. "Do not tell me what to do, human wench."

It was almost endearing, the way he insulted me with words I'd seen him utter in myriad fanfics. Emphasis on the word almost. "OK, OK," I grumbled. I lowered my eyes and kept eating. "Keep your shirt on, man."

Hiei complied with my demand despite his anime-tendency to rip off his clothes at the merest hint of conflict. I tried not to look at him as he ate, catching occasional glimpses of his suntanned hands fumbling with the chopsticks, as if he hadn't eaten with them in some time. The level of food in his bowl diminished clear to nothing before I'd eaten even half my food—but perhaps that wasn't really so impressive considering my nerves. My stomach roiled far too much to stomach an entire bowl of rich, hearty ramen.

"Wow," I remarked when he lifted the bowl and swigged down the last dregs of broth. "You must have liked it."

Hiei set down the bowl. "It was…edible," he admitted, grudging despite the meager compliment.

"Such a ringing endorsement," I deadpanned. "You should write restaurant reviews."

I expected him to snap a harsh retort. His response of silent staring, therefore, felt both surprising and uncomfortable. I kept cool under his gaze, chopsticks in hand, stirring my ramen with idle swirls of lazy wrist. The demon looked disgruntled, tension winding tight behind his scarlet eyes, building and building like steam under the lid of a pot.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" Hiei muttered.

I nearly dropped my chopsticks at the random—not to mention preposterous—question. "Uh. Who says I'm not?"

"You offered me a meal." The demon glowered as though I'd said something infinitely stupid. "Why?"

I didn't reply right away. Agitating the noodles in my bowl, I said, "It's not that I wasn't afraid of you. It's more like it's harder to fear someone once you've broken bread with them. Broken noodles?" I shook my head. "Anyway. I was hungry. It would have been rude not to invite you to eat, too." At that I lifted my eyes to his, grin as conspiratorial as my wink. "Rude, even if you are planning on kidnapping me later."

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. In a motion too fast for my eyes to follow, Hiei bolted to his feet, standing behind his crate-chair and glaring as though I were a bug that had crawled too close to his muddy boot. In spite of myself, I shrank beneath that look, breath catching like a shattered plate in my neck. What were the chances I could pepper-spray Hiei in the face if he came after me? He'd surely counter my aikido moves, but maybe he didn't know how to avoid the pepper-spray attached to my keyring…

"How did you know that was my plan?" Hiei snapped, oblivious to my scheming.

"I know a lot of things." I shrugged. "More than you know."

"I'm no fool," Hiei countered. "I know you're hiding something. It's all over your ugly human face. Even if you did learn my name from the Detective, that doesn't explain how you knew I was coming for you." His foot knocked aside his crate, clearing part of the space between us; I flinched at the clatter of wood on pavement. "Tell me how you know these things. Now."

Somehow my hands didn't shake as I stacked up our plates and silverware. "Honestly," I said in a shockingly steady voice, "I'm just surprised you haven't bullied your way into my head yet and seen for yourself."

A grunt of surprise accompanied Hiei's vicious snarl. "How do you—?!" One hand lurched up, touching the bandana covering the Jagan. Through clenched teeth he told me, "It doesn't work like that, you fool."

"Wait—it doesn't? But you read my mind earlier, didn't you?" Curiosity flooded me, chasing away the fear like a cat scaring a mouse. I leaned toward him, staring at his forehead in confused wonder. "Do you not know how to use it very well yet?"

I didn't ask that to mock him, or to insinuate he wasn't skilled. For a moment I just forgot to be afraid, wondering at the differences in canon and trying to suss out Hiei's abilities at this early stage in the plot. How long had it been since he acquired the Jagan? How well could he use it, and what applications did it possess beyond what the anime described?

Too bad Hiei doesn't take kindly to anything that might even remotely wound his pride. Perhaps my question, voiced with innocent interest, irritated him more than any outright mockery. His foot lashed out a second time, sending the final crate between us toppling on its side. My half full bowl of ramen sloshed onto the pavement with a splash and flop of uneaten noodles.

"Do not insult me, you pathetic human idiot," Hiei said, voice rising into a snarling bellow. "You think you know me? You think you know anything?" He tugged the white bandage from his forehead and let it flutter to my feet. "I'll show you just what the Jagan is capable of, and if its might consumes you—so be it!"

It happened too quickly to be properly terrified.

The alley's cloying darkness did not allow me to glimpse Jagan directly. Hiei's eyes smoldered magma hot as an amethyst flash pierced the shadows above his forehead, and then the light cut a sharp path into my eye, and then through it, deep into the fabric of my consciousness—like an awl piercing a bolt of cloth and ripping, tearing through the threads until they tangled around my ability to even think. I cried out, clutching at the twisting stab threatening to rend my consciousness in half, but it was no use. The pain burrowed deep into my temples, drowning out my own thoughts with rising terror and light and pain and—

Music.

Music blares from the speakers of my car, bright synthetic pop keeping me awake on the long drive home. I sing along and try not to glance at the bouquet of white flowers bound with blue ribbon sitting in the passenger seat.

I'd caught the bouquet at Denise's wedding.

Tom will laugh when I tell him, I think. Tom will laugh and kiss me and say well, of course you caught it. Because we just talked about the future last night, and marriage, and how neither of us wants kids, and how we're perfect together, and how the future looks so bright when viewed side by loving side. The bouquet is too perfect, too perfectly timed to be anything but a sign from fate.

A car with its brights on roars up the highway behind me. I adjust the rearview mirror. My face reflects back at me for just a moment. I see blue eyes, champagne-colored glasses, and loose brown curls falling against my red dress, cheeks flushed pink from a night of dancing. The moon reflects in the mirror, too, full to bursting next to my flushed face. Denise had gotten married on the night of the supermoon, and I'd caught the bouquet she'd thrown.

I thought of calling Tom, to tell him.

The impact came before I could pick up the phone.

My spine undulates; my head snaps atop my neck. Soprano screech of metal on metal drowns out even my blasting music. A quick flash of dashboard illumination, sparks on the pavement lighting up my hands, and the world turns over and over again. I catch the barest glimpse of my terrified face in the rearview mirror again, features pale and glowing like that bloated moon—

Next comes darkness.

Then a blinding light.

A velvet couch, black and plush, cushions my body like a cloud. Blinking in the light of the warm lamp on the table to my left, I stare straight ahead. The pale grey wall in front of me is bare, except for three words painted in cheerful yellow letters.

Everything is fine, they say.

"Ah. Good. You're here."

I look to my left. There is a door. It is open. Standing in it is a little boy. He wears a red kimono, and his hair is pink. Who would let a child dye their hair that color? Eyes the same color as the ribbon in Denise's bouquet twinkle like living oceans.

"Hello," says the little boy. "My name is Hiruko." He gestures behind him, through the door. "Everything is fine. Now won't you come with me?"

I look at him, wondering.

I get up, because everything is fine, and walk toward the boy named Hiruko.

And then the purple light came back, and Hiruko's face disintegrated into smoke.

I felt ground beneath me again. Cold, hard asphalt pressed into my cheek. I sat up, clutching at the ache still burrowing between my temples. I didn't think of Hiei just then. He was not nearly as important as the images he'd somehow, somehow lured from the depths of my head.

What the hell had I just seen?

"Who—what are you?"

I glanced up. Hiei stood over me, one hand clenched around the hilt of the Sword. I hadn't seen his eyes go so wide yet; he looked more like a kid than ever, if not one that could kill me in a blink.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I eventually rasped, when the silence threatened to break.

Hiei didn't like the evasive answer. He stepped close, torn bit of cloak brushing across my knee. "What was that?" he asked. "That face—that wasn't your face."

Little did he know I'd worn more than one face in my lifetimes. Trying not to let on that I was freaking out inside, I brushed my shaking hands over my hair. "Again. Your guess is as good as…"

My throat caught on itself, sputtering, words trickling to a stop.

If that vision had been a memory, where had it come from? Because I most certainly didn't remember meeting Hiruko after I died.

Was I…was I missing memories?

What had Hiruko done to me?

"I see." Hiei made a harrumphing sound in his throat, oblivious (or perhaps uncaring) that I teetered on the verge of falling apart. "You're not keeping secrets. You're as lost as I am. You have no idea what that memory meant." His smirk was as wide as it was malicious. "You're no lucky child at all. You're a lost child."

Dumbstruck, I stared at him, because had Hiei just made a pun? I didn't know how to handle the idea of Hiei making a pun, even if it was just a simple play on words.

"Kei-ko"—lucky child.

"Mei-go"—lost child.

They sounded a lot alike, probably shared characters depending on how you wrote them…but Hiei had started a pun war with the wrong damn girl.

"Well, that makes us a fitting pair, then," I said, voice still coming in a rasp. "A Meigo called out by an Imiko—a lost child called out by a forbidden one."

That was the wrong damn pun to use just then, let me tell ya.

Next thing I knew, Hiei drew the Shadow Sword and rested the tip of its blade against the hollow of my throat. Feet on either side of my legs, he glared at me with eyes on absolute fire, their color glaring like blood in the alley's gloom.

"How do you know of that name?!" Now his voice rose to a full bellow, face contorting into a mask that stripped all remnants of youth from his feral features. Sword millimeters from my chest, he demanded, "Tell me. Tell me, or I'll—"

Call it blind fury, call it stupidity, call it what you will—but I didn't give a shit that he'd threatened my life. I reached up and pinched the edge of the Sword between two fingers, wincing as its cold surface burned into my fingertips. I didn't let the pain deter me. Nervous energy from the shock of seeing Hiruko's face in my invaded brain surged, buoying me to the shore of recklessness.

"You'll nothing," I said. "I'm not scared of you. As much as you hates humans, killing a defenseless little girl isn't your style." I batted the Sword aside and rose to my feet, not bothering to look at him. "Or are you completely without honor?"

Even my addled brain knew this was a gamble considering Hiei's early-canon predilection for violence—and it was not a gamble I should've taken. I'd just begun to think I was home free when Hiei blurred from view like a vanishing phantom. I gasped; he reappeared beside me, fist slamming so hard into the wall that a puff of dust flared up, stinging my eyes and rushing gritty into my nose.

For a moment I had the presence of mind to wonder if I'd overplayed my hand. If, finally, Hiei would just cut me and get it over with.

There was something very appealing about unconsciousness, just then. Perhaps Hiruko would show up. Perhaps sleep was preferable to waking, and would afford me the answers I sought.

Too bad Hiei isn't one for giving people what they want.

"I watched you," he said, voice crackling like leaves under lightning. "I sensed nothing but mundane human conceit from you, and yet you know things you should not. You know me, when you should not." He stepped toward me; where his fist had been, a crater dented the wall of my parents' restaurant. Hiei walked into my personal space, face an inch from mine, but I did not dare to move when he snarled, "You speak in riddles. I detest you."

Like the fanfics had always posited, Hiei ran hotter than a human. I could feel the heat of him on my face like I'd walked too close to an open flame, eyebrows threatening to sear right off my skin…but that heat hurt far worse than his words. It's embarrassing how much being told he hated me stung. It stung so badly I sort of forgot how to talk, a fact that surprised even me. Luckily Hiei only searched my face for a moment before making a harsh tch sound between his teeth.

"This is a joke," he spat. The Sword, still unsheathed, bobbed in his hand when he clenched his fist. "This Sword is a joke. Perhaps I should give it back, or toss it in the ocean." His head inclined, sneer triumphant and spiteful. "Yes. I have underestimated myself. I need no Spirit World garbage to aid me. My own power is more than enough to raze this entire world to the ground." He held out the sword as though it had begun to stink. "Yes. I will lose this Sword, duck the operatives of Spirit World, and I will leave this city with its teeming human filth—"

"Wait!" The word bolted from my mouth like a runner at the sound of a starting gun; I reached for Hiei as if to anchor him in place, only barely catching myself before I touched his ratty cloak. Tucking my hands behind my back, I tried to demure by saying, "They'll come after you. You—you can't just run off, can you?"

Hiei stared, dispassionate—and then his lips spread in that maniacal, feral grin of his.

"Interesting," he said. "So you want me to stay?" He stepped close again. "What are you playing at? What is Spirit World planning?"

As heat washed over my face again, I realized it felt hotter than before—but not because of Hiei's fiery energy. My own face had heated with an embarrassed blush. Hiei had tricked me. This world-domination-hungry, edge-lord brat had tricked me! That evil grin said it all. He suspected I knew something, so he'd baited me with the thought of him leaving and got me to admit he needed to stay, that there were plans in place I knew of despite my lowly human status. Threat of him leaving, of not allying with Yusuke, sent a shotgun blast of ice into my gut.

Of all the changes I could cause to canon, driving Hiei out of the picture had never even entered my mind.

Now he'd threatened to leave. Maybe he didn't mean it. Maybe it had only been a bluff to get me to talk. Maybe he still wanted the three treasures and wasn't going to leave at all. Still—could I take the chance? But just what could I tell him to get him to stay? I couldn't tell him that he was destined to become Yusuke's ally. Hiei would just laugh and leave, never to be seen again. Maybe I could tell him that he should join Yusuke to find his sister? No, that wasn't right. Yusuke's fight with Hiei helped Hiei overcome some of his prejudice toward humans. They needed to fight, not just team up.

"I want you to fight Yusuke," I said. The lump of nerves in my neck resisted being swallowed. "The Detective. I want you to fight him."

Whatever Hiei had expected me to say, it wasn't that. His brows shot up at once. "You want me to fight him? Why?" A cruel laugh made the hairs on my arms stand up. "He can't beat a demon with my power. No pathetic human can."

"Well—that's sort of the point." Hiei's laughter dried up. "I want Yusuke to get stronger, and fighting you will do just that."

"He fights me, he dies," Hiei shot back.

"Maybe," I said. I tried to wink. "But then again…maybe not."

His face hardened at once. "I don't believe you. You're a poor liar." Damn Hiei and those sharp eyes of his. He glowered in the face of my deception, not buying it for a minute. "There's another reason. I know you know more than you let on. Tell me why I should fight him or I will leave this sorry excuse for a human city within the hour."

Oh my god—what the heck was I supposed to say? Hiei and I stared at one another, his eyes on fire, mine likely colored with poorly-disguised terror. When I didn't reply right away—because what carrot could I dangle that he'd ever want to bite?—he growled at me. Like, he growled. The feral wild-boy in him came out in full force, a bloodthirsty animal frustrated at its stubborn prey.

"More silence. More lies." He turned his back on me, cloak fluttering around his calves. "I'm going. You can tell the Detective—"

My heart lurched into my mouth.

So did seven words.

"If you fight him, you'll find her," I said.

Hiei stopped walking.

"Her, who?" he asked. He didn't bother turning around.

My breathing hitched. "You…you know exactly who I mean," I said, even though it was a bad idea. Even though it was too early. Even though it gave away far too much too soon. But it was the only thing my wild brain could concoct on short notice, the only bargaining chip the uncaring, unfeeling Hiei might allow to make him feel.

Such was the hope. Such was the hopeless, doubtful hope beating frantic in my chest.

Hiei still did not turn to face me. "Her, who?" he repeated in a voice like wind off a wildfire.

My eyes closed of their own accord. Pressure in my temples pounded in time with my galloping heart.

"Don't make me say it," I murmured into the darkness behind my lids. "Please, don't—"

I felt the heat of him before the flesh-searing hand closed around my throat. Next came the rush of air and the feeling of flying, and then a firework of nauseating pain exploded in my skull. The hand clamped down, crushing my windpipe, neck and scalp scraping against cold brick as he pushed me inch by inch up the wall. My hands closed around his wrist, fingers desperately trying to push him away because I can't fucking breathe, dammit! My flailing feet did no good. I managed to kick something, but Hiei did not move. Tears streamed from my bulging eyes and into my choking mouth; I could see only the stars above the alley, watching with cold, unfeeling light.

"You will say it if I have to ram this sword down your wretched throat and pry it from your lungs myself," Hiei snarled. Use his iron arm as leverage, I did a pull-up and tried to crane my face to see him. His eyes cut a swath of fire through the dark. "Do not toy with me you pitiful, revolting girl. You have toyed with me more than enough this evening. Tell me who you mean or I will crush your throat in my hand."

He meant it, too, and he tightened his forge-fire fingers to prove it. Amazing how hands smaller than mine could so completely cut off my airway. Something ground against something it wasn't supposed to touch in the column of my neck, but I couldn't draw enough breath to scream. Spittle leaked from the corner of my mouth; I fear my tongue lolled like a dog, likely purpling as black spots clouded my vision of Hiei's eyes. Wet clicking noises ticked like a clock inside my throat.

"Humans are so fragile," Hiei said, simpering with faux pity. "Pathetic." His fingers loosened enough or me to take a sip of cool, delicious air. "My patience wears as thin as your fading breath, girl! Tell me!"

"Y-your sister!" I choked out. "You'll find your sister!"

For a second I feared I'd damned myself to a second death, because Hiei's fingers stayed firm. Then, slowly, his fingers slackened a little further; I gulped air that time, still hanging onto his wrist with my hands so the weight of my suspended body didn't snap my neck.

"Th-that's why you got the Jagan—s-so you can find h-her?" Every word struggled like a battle despite his loosening hand, throat screaming with pain, eyes still swimming, black spots still dancing. "If you fuh-fight Y-Yusuke, you'll find her." Still, he did not let me go. Desperate, I tightened my grip on him and did my best to meet his eyes, to show him the sincerity in my own (and I was feeling quite sincere right then, I assure you). I told him, "Not n-now. You won't find her now. But, eventually—"

Hiei let me go without ceremony. I landed on my boneless knees, shock of impact sending lances of arthritic pain into my hips. Immediately I clutched my throat, coughing and gasping, wiping the spittle and tears off my face with my sleeve.

"Does the Detective know where she is?" Hiei asked—calmer now, though I knew not why.

"No," I managed to grate out. "And neither do I." Hopefully he could read the honesty in my face, though I didn't dare to look at him just then. Between ragged breaths I said, "All I know is that if you fight Yusuke Urameshi, a chain of events will lead you to your sister. Eventually." I swept out a hand, as if pushing something over. "Dominoes. It's all dominoes, falling in a line."

Hiei considered this. Asked, "When?"

"I don't know. But it will happen." Incapable of smiling, I settled on a pained grimace. "Fate has its plan. You'll see."

Hiei watched me struggle to my feet, not bothering to offer help. I leaned against the wall and tried to breathe away the agony still sitting in my neck.

Maybe I should've let him kidnap me. Not put up a fight at all. Why had I even decided to fight him? Oh, right. My damnable pride, loathe to play the role of damsel in distress. Loathe to admit it though I was, I knew the notion of not accidentally becoming a demon thrall was just an excuse to validate my petty pride. This night just kept getting worse. I should've just let him—

"Fate."

I opened my eyes. Hiei regarded me from beneath his lowered brows, gaze hooded and inscrutable. He'd put the bandana back over the Jagan at some point, but I couldn't tell you when.

"You have an ear for Fate, or some power like it," Hiei said. "Demons have killed for such a power, to know their own futures before they live them." He stepped toward me once more, teeth showing behind curled lips. "Humans are weak. Powerless. You should be grateful for what little power you've been given." Frustration colored his tone blood red. "Why is the power of Fate not enough for you? Why did you want to become a demon?"

Why, indeed. Memories of my long-ago conversation with Genkai gave me momentary pause. She'd asked a similar questions when I asked for psychic powers: Why did I want them, and why did I think I deserved them? The answer was twofold. Nothing in this lifetime could ever be simple.

"I just wanted to know if I could…get stronger, I guess." I shrugged. "You're not the only one with a code."

His lips pursed (it looked for all the world like a pout, not that I'd ever tell him). "Explain," he demanded.

"There's…something I need to protect." Maybe Hiei would understand that, given his relationship with his long lost sister. "To do it, I have to get stronger."

"And that something is?" Hiei asked.

This time, I managed a small, rueful smile. Hiei frowned.

"That something is my pride," I said. And my friends, but he wouldn't be impressed by that, so I kept the twofold truth to myself.

Hiei didn't say anything for a moment. Eventually his tossed his head with a bark of mocking laughter. "Ha! What a revolting human has to be even remotely proud of boggles the mind."

I pinned him with a dry glare. "That's racist. You're human-racist. A demon supremacist." When he didn't deny it, looking smug as a cat picking its teeth with canary bones, I shook my head and sighed. It sounded more like a shriek in my abused throat, though. "All right. I think we've danced the night away long enough. Time to get to business." I presented him with my upturned hands. "I'm your hostage, right? That was your plan earlier, at least." I eyed the sword (he'd sheathed it at some point, sneaky). "So are you going to cut me with the Sword, still? Or just conk me over the head and hope I don't get brain damage?"

"I haven't decided." He smirked, gesturing at the weapon at his side. "To cut you, or not to cut you. Giving you what you want isn't exactly in my nature, after all."

The laugh came bright, peppered with stinging pain. I'd only just thought that sentiment a few minutes prior. Was Hiei somehow reading my mind again? Too funny.

"True," I said. "You're not very giving."

"No," he said, "I'm not."

I felt like a cowboy staring down a rival on the main street of a boomtown. Hiei's hand drifted inch by inch toward his Sword. Mine drifted inch by inch toward my keyring, where my pepper-spray dangled on a metal hook. He'd dodge it, of course, but it was the only thing at my disposal that could possibly surprise him (plus it was an eye irritant, and he had more eyes than normal, so in theory pepper spray was his worst enemy). Licking my chapped lips, I met his eyes and tried my best to look unimpressed. You don't intimidate me, Hiei. And I had the open mouth of the alley at my back, so I could make a run for it—not that I'd get far if I tried.

Especially not with Botan in the way.

Like a cheerful bomb going off in the tense silence, I heard her call my name.

Hiei's eyes popped wide open. Mine did, too, as the call of my name repeated. Feet slapped the pavement at my back; hands touched my shoulder, pulling my wooden body around to face her.

"Keiko! Thank goodness I found you!" Botan said. Magenta eyes, muddy brown in the alley's poor light, peered worried and frantic into mine. "You need to get inside right now! Yusuke found an imp, a little demon spy that most assuredly works for Hiei—and it was stalking his mother! We think Hiei is about to strike, perhaps attack Yusuke's family and friends to draw him out, and that means you!"

"Botan," I said.

"There's no time to argue!" Botan hooked her arm through mine, tugging me toward the restaurant door. "You need to—oh." Her feet stilled; her arm around mine tightened, eyes the size of plates, horror creeping over her features in foul waves. "Oh. Oh!"

She'd spotted Hiei, of course. He'd blended into the dark in his black cloak, cherry red eyes pinpoints of feral light in the gloom.

Botan thought she'd gotten to me in the nick of time, but now she faced a shadowed nightmare.

When Hiei took a step toward us, light dripped along the edge of the Sword like water.

Without thinking, I put myself between Botan and Hiei. Sher tried to protest, brave and caring Botan telling me to get away from him, get behind her instead, as if she could somehow protect me from that Sword, but I could barely even hear her. This was my destiny to face, not hers.

Not hers.

Botan wasn't even supposed to be here.

"Don't hurt her, Hiei," I said, voice shaking uncontrolled. "Please. Please don't hurt her."

He paused.

He said, "Don't tell me what to do, Meigo."

Hiei disappeared. A wind stripped by, sudden and hot enough to force my eyes closes. When I opened them again, I was still standing—not in pain, not bleeding, not unconscious. I slapped my hands over my chest and legs, searching for a cut, staring wild-eyed into the dark where Hiei had been just a moment prior.

Behind me, I heard a thud.

I turned as in a dream.

Botan lay on the ground, hair fanning like spilled paint across the pavement.

From beneath her bangs a single, thin cut leaked bright red blood.

"It's just like you said," came Hiei's voice, from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "I'm not one for giving people what they want." Red flashed in the corner of my vision. "And two hostages are infinitely better than one."

A weight smashed into my skull.

Darkness enveloped me like the folds of Hiei's threadbare cloak.

Notes:

RUT ROH, BOTAN. RUT ROH, KEIKO. We're three for three with these cliffhangers, y'all! Don't hate me. :P Gotta keep y'all coming back somehow.

Early-canon Hiei is trouble. Having to balance his Maniacal Evil Edgelord side with the honorable demon that he becomes later is sort of the worst? Writing his character progression will be a trial. And Hiei now has an idea that Keiko isn't a normal human, though of course he doesn't know exactly what's going on, so that's fun. Also, Hiei's Jagan powers are not very consistent in the anime/manga. The scope of his mind-reading abilities doesn't feel fully explored, but in this moment, I think he's still new to the Jagan and hasn't gotten full grasp of its abilities. More on that later.

Originally there was going to be this big action chase scene instead of her using words/wit to knock him off his game, but there's no way she could ever outrun him unless he let her, and he wouldn't do that, so here we are. A whole chapter of Hiei being dramatic. LOL.

The flashback scene references a man named Tom. He and I were dating when I started this story. We're still dating now. Been holding off on describing our relationship because…well, it's not in the past. It's my present. But I'm going to be bringing him into it more often, I think, for reasons you'll see later.

We had some AMAZING art drawn for Lucky Child this past week, because y'all are far too good to me. ThatArtistWithAPen drew an absolutely stunning image of Hiruko puppeteering NQK, and I'll be posting images of NQK, Hiruko, and Cleo all looking like absolute DREAMS drawn by the glorious 431101134 very soon. They are fabulous artists and I love them. SO MUCH LOVE.

Chapter 43: Buying Time

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko must improvise.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The dark lifted, eventually, but it lifted merely into gloom.

Mouth dry, temple on fire, I woke coughing and spitting on a cold concrete floor. I tried to sit on reflex, but when I tried to push myself upright, my hands stayed firmly behind my back. The rough cords biting into my wrists told me why. Ankles had suffered similar treatment. For a minute I didn't know what was happening, why it was so dark, why I could pick out only the barest silhouettes of boxy-looking shadows with my hazy vision.

Then I remembered Hiei.

Then I remembered Botan.

Clarity sliced through my sleepy brain like razor wire. Rolling onto my back (a feat that painfully squashed my fingers and wrists) I sat straight up and tried to get a look around. My head pounded like artisans kneading mochi with wooden mallets as I craned my neck, but luckily it only took a moment to find her. Botan lay on her back, unbound, mere feet away. Although I could barely see the outline of her body amidst the shadows, I knew at once the figure on the ground must be her. Scooting on my butt brought me closer, but with my hands bound as they were, I couldn't do much to help her. If I could help her, that is. That Evil Eye had to be opening on her forehead even now—

My breathing hitched.

In the anime and the manga, Botan had kept the Eye from opening on Keiko's forehead with her white magic (or pneumatherapy, as the manga dubbed it). Now, though, it was Botan who'd been cut. How long had I been out? How long had that Eye been left to grow and open, inching Botan closer and closer to mindless demonhood?

Panic tried to slip in, then, hissing accusations of Keiko being a useless waste of space into my ear, but I clenched my nails into my palm and the cuts I'd carved there the night before. Now was no time for panic. Not when Botan's life hung in the balance thanks to my carelessness.

I was sharp enough, now, to know this change of canon was—once again—entirely my fault.

Which meant the burden of making things right fell squarely on my shoulders.

I took a deep breath and rolled forward onto my feet. I didn't stand, though: I hooked my hands down and under my ass, sliding my bound wrists below my thighs and behind my knees (my shoulders groaned at the strain of this, given how far up Hiei had tied my wrists, but I grit my teeth and refused to feel that pain). Then I rolled backward, extended my legs, and slid my hands up past my calves and ankles and feet. My house keys jangled in my pocket, one of them pressing sharp against my side. Getting my hands in front of me did wonders for my mood. Made me feel just a touch less helpless in this terrible scenario. My brain raced like a freight train as I picked at the knots binding my ankles. The tall, square shapes looming above us were certainly boxes or crates of some kind—a warehouse, then, just like in the anime.

There was only one warehouse district in all of Sarayashiki. Unless Hiei had spirited us away to Tokyo, we probably weren't too far from Hideki-sensei's dojo. At least I knew where we were, even if I had precious little else to go on.

Next to me, Botan groaned. Leaving the knots alone, I cupped her feverish face in my bound hands. Another groan bubbled in her chest. Panic rose in harmony within mine.

"Hiei?" I called aloud. "Hiei, are you there?"

He did not reply, not that I expected otherwise. Thick silence complemented the warehouse's gloom like a fashionable purse. Once more I wondered what time it was, and how long Hiei had left me sleeping—and why he hadn't cut me the way he'd cut Botan.

Had my plan worked, even in part? Did he see me as a person enough to spare me the fate of becoming a demon thrall? Or had he simply needed only one hostage to get cut by the Sword?

Truth be told, I was afraid to find out.

I resumed clawing at the knots around my ankles. Bit by bit they relaxed, letting my fingers worm into their innards, until they at last came loose. I rolled my ankles, trying to coax the return of circulation.

"OK, Botan," I muttered as I stood up. "Let's get you out of here."

Just as I grabbed her hand and began planning the logistics of carrying an unconscious humanoid while my hands were bound (because that feat would definitely take a bit of planning to get right), a shaft of light cut the gloom above my head. The sound of a rattling door shattered the cloying silence.

"All right, scumbag!" Yusuke bellowed. "Come out! I'm here for Keiko and Botan, so show your ugly-ass face!"

I was screaming Yusuke's name before I could even think to stay quiet. Yusuke yelled mine back, but his feet slapped the concrete floor a mere three times before I heard him skid to a halt.

"Well, well, well," Hiei drawled. "You actually showed up." I could practically see his supervillain sneer. "You're the Underworld's Spirit Detective? Up close, I see you're a weedy nothing. It makes me furious to think how much trouble you've been."

"Oh, shut up!" Yusuke snarled. "Let's get down to business. Here're the stupid Treasures—now gimme back Botan and Keiko!"

"Why, sure. No problem," Hiei said. Inside I cringed at his obvious, simpering lies. "The game's only worth playing if you follow the rules."

There came a jangling noise, metallic and thin, and a bell-like resonance as two objects hit the floor. Yusuke said, "There. Now where the hell are they?"

Hiei let out a low laugh; I heard another jingle and another chime as he picked the Treasures off the floor.

"They're the real thing," he said, sounding almost (almost) impressed. Tone snide, he said: "You really care so much for these two? You'd trade priceless treasures for the lives of two mere girls?"

"Kid, the fact that you think they're 'two mere girls' shows how much you know," Yusuke snarked. "You better not have touched them, or I swear I'll—!"

"Interesting," Hiei said. "So they are that important to you."

Yusuke started to speak, but a foot slid over the pavement like a whisper and my friend fell silent. Hiei must have pointed or something, because then Yusuke's feet pounded the ground in a mad dash. He skidded around the corner of a tower of crates a second later, eyes alighting on me with a flash of relief.

"Keiko, Botan—" he said, but I shook my head.

"Yusuke, we need help." I gestured at the blue-haired reaper. "Hiei cut her with the Sword. Look—"

Yusuke all but did a power-slide on his knees to get next to us, ripping the bonds off my wrists with a single yank of his powerful hands—hands which proceeded to flail impotently around Botan's sleeping face. Yusuke had power, but not the kind Botan needed. In this light I finally got a good look at her pale cheeks and sweating face, blue bangs limp and slick around the black line bisecting her forehead. I'm not sure Yusuke understood what he was looking at; he seemed worried, sure, but he didn't say much until after Hiei's voice slunk toward us through the shadows.

"Did you really think I'd give them back in a straight swap?" Hiei asked. "You idiot! Take a look at her forehead!"

On cue, the line on Botan's forehead twitched. Something wet gleamed between the flaps of her pale skin, rolling beneath her flesh like a marble under thin rice paper. Beside me, Yusuke tensed.

"I returned her, as promised," Hiei said, tone dripping with malice and sadistic glee, "but her fate is in my hands. She'll have the honor of being my first slave. Once that Eye opens fully, she'll be a demon under my control!"

"What happened to 'playing by the rules'?" Yusuke growled before throwing his head back with an enraged roar. "How dare you? She wasn't a part of this!"

"Did you really think I'd let you off that easily, or trade without a little insurance?" Hiei cackled. "No. I'm going to take you down, Detective!"

Behind us, metal scraped on the floor. Yusuke and I turned as one as Hiei stepped around a stack of towering crates, tip of the Shadow Sword dragging the ground with a thin metallic scream. Hiei wore a maniacal grin as he approached, scarlet eyes wide and wild when Yusuke stood up and faced him.

"Why?" he asked. "Why do you want to fight me? You've got the Treasures." He lashed out an arm, frustrated and confused. "What the hell do you want now?"

Hiei's eyes flickered in my direction, I thought, or perhaps I just imagined it. To Yusuke Hiei said, "To fight Spirit World's latest stooge, of course. To test my power against the errand boy handpicked by the geniuses in Spirit World." He raised the sword, glaring at Yusuke down the length of the dark blade. "And when I take you out, it will be one less Spirit World dog tracking my scent."

Yusuke grunted, glancing my way. "Keiko," he said, voice ragged with adrenaline, "you have to get help. You have to take Botan and get help."

I couldn't help the sarcasm, humor fighting for control over rising panic. "Help? Help from whom?" I groused. "Do you know anyone who specializes in third eye removal?"

"All right, fair point," Yusuke said, looking back at Hiei with a grimace. "Isn't there anything we can do, though?! I'm not letting my assistant turn into a fucking demon without a fight!"

Neither was I, I wanted to tell him. Neither was I.

Only no words came out—because what the fucking heck was I supposed to do to help?!

Hiei's laughter cut the air like he'd swung his sword. "That reminds me," he said, holding up the Sword again. "The hilt of this Sword contains an antidote to the poison's effects. Fight me and you might just save your friend…so long as you can give her the antidote before that Eye opens all the way." He threw back his head and laughed, long and hard like he'd heard the funniest joke in history. "As if you could ever hope to match my speed and actually take it from me in time!"

The words slipped out on a frightened gasp. "Once the Eye opens, the effects are irreversible," I said with a glance at Botan, fingernails cutting into my palms again. Botan had held the Eye closed for Keiko with reiki in the anime—but Keiko had no such powers to use on Botan. Nails pressing even harder into my fragile skin, I said, "Oh, fuck."

Yusuke muttered a low curse, but then he tossed his slick hair and pounded a fist into his opposite palm.

"Fine," he declared, swinging his arm in a baseball stretch. "I don't wanna touch your slimy ass, Hiei, but if it's to save Botan…" He assumed a Bruce Lee pose, curling his hand as he spit defiantly at Hiei's feet. "Bring it on, asshole!"

Hiei's feral grin widened.

"Let the life-or-death game of cat and mouse begin!" he said—and then he disappeared.

Hiei flickered in and out of sight like a ghost, landing a solid punch to Yusuke's cheek in the time it took for me to inhale. Yusuke skittered backward before pelting off between a stack of crates and out of sight. Hiei followed, of course, tailing my friend into the warehouse with nary a peek in my direction. The slap of fists and the indistinct din of shouts rang inside the warehouse's echoing innards, but I tuned them out and turned to Botan.

I'd leave Yusuke to Hiei. Botan was my battle.

And she was a battle I'd be hard-pressed to fight and win.

As if responding to Hiei's ferocity, the line on her forehead flickered, and then it widened. Pale purple with striations of black stared up at me through a thin, slitted lid.

Bile invaded my throat. I choked down the urge to vomit. Fingers trembling, I pushed my fingers against the eyelid, trying to pinch it shut manually, pushing so hard I feared I'd breach the Eye and plunge my fingers straight into Botan's soft brain—but beneath my hand I felt it writhe and twist, hard like a stone, as if the Eye itself knew it was being closed and meant to rail against my efforts.

"Oh, fuck," I said, trying not to think about the absurd futility of holding a magic Eye closed with nothing but my fingers. "Oh, oh fuck!"

The shouting and sounds of battle drifted far, then near again, as the two combatants chased each other through the warehouse—Hiei taunting and laughing at Yusuke all the while. But as they neared me, Hiei let out a strangled cry; Yusuke's voice rose clear as the sounds of fighting paused.

"Are you done yapping yet?" he said—quoting the anime almost verbatim, I realized with a nostalgic jolt. "See Hiei, that's what I'm talking about! Yap, yap, yap, like you're some crappy pro-wrestler. Then what happens? You have to eat up all your words. You and that pimple you call an Evil Eye are pretty dumb!"

"Dumb?" Hiei's growl echoed through the room. "My Evil Eye, dumb? You won't be saying that when I use it to rip your spine from your body," he said—and then Yusuke yodeled something about freaky eyes and bad haircuts, and the fight was back on. Hiei had transformed, it seemed. Was the fight nearly over?

Beneath my fingers, the Evil Eye squirmed, and wetness seared my fingers as it opened another centimeter.

Yusuke's pained shout grated against my skin like sandpaper. "Please, just keep fighting," I said even though he couldn't hear me. Babbling released some of the tension building in my gut. "Please, please, Yusuke, please keep fighting—please fight fast—please beat that son of a bitch Hiei black and blue, I don't care that he's my favorite, we have to save Botan, dammit, please Yusuke—" I drew breath like an outlaw drawing a revolver. "Kurama's supposed to show up and disable Hiei's Evil Eye but I'll give you my goddamn pepper spray if that'll make things easier, it'd blind Hiei even better than the blood probably, please—!"

I stopped talking.

My hands, my body—they froze. The Eye under my hand moved again, but this time I barely felt it. Eyes fixed on Botan's face, mind racing, breath held, an epiphany seized my brain like a grasping hand.

Oh.

OH.

That's it!

I didn't have to stop the Evil Eye completely.

I just had to buy time for Yusuke to get that antidote.

Letting go of Botan's eye took every ounce of my courage, but I did it, and I reached into my pocket for my keys. The bright red canister dangling from them almost sparkled in the warehouse's thin light, a beacon of hope amidst this terrible, hopeless situation.

The warning label on the side read: CAUTION—Eye irritant.

"It had fucking better be." I flipped the cap off my pepper-spray and took aim. "Sorry in advance, girlfriend."

And then I pepper-sprayed Botan right in the fucking face.

The rope of yellow goop shot out of the canister faster than I expected, but it hit Botan's new eye right between its spreading lids. Unfortunately my shaking hands and the surprise of the moment sent the stream off-track, accidentally splashing down and onto the rest of Botan's pale face. The skin around all three of her eyes (not to mention her petite nose) puffed up and reddened almost at once; I winced as Botan groaned even in her sleep, head jerking as pain cut through her unconscious haze.

Upon her forehead, the lids of her third eye swelled completely shut, swollen and red like she'd been stung in the face by a hundred bees.

"Oh man," I said, pepper-spray falling to the ground with a clatter. "I am so, so sorry!"

Oblivious to the time I'd bought him, Yusuke raged on against Hiei's advances, but seconds turned to minutes faster than they had any right to. The fight dragged on, and on, waging war against the time borrowed by my pepper-spray. The Eye had closed, but even my panic-stricken brain knew this was just a stopgap measure, at best. No way could something as mundanely human as pepper-spray halt the progression of the supernatural Evil Eye—not for long. I needed to buy more time, dammit! The Eye would force its way open without that antidote or pneumatic healing to slow its progression. I could picture the scene from the anime in my head, envision the way Botan's hand had crackled with electric light as she healed Keiko and—

Memory of a hand suffused in warm light filled my brain to bursting…only it wasn't Botan's hand, this time. It was rougher. Older.

Because today was a day for epiphanies, something else occurred to me. Or, more specifically, someone.

There was only one person I knew of, aside from Botan, who could possibly help us now.

"Yusuke!" I hollered toward the ceiling. "I have an idea!"

His frantic response echoed through the gloom. "Little busy, Keiko!"

"Just hold him off, dammit, OK?!"

Yusuke grunted again, but the crunch of a connecting punch silenced his reply. Grabbing Botan's arm, I levered her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry, stumbling under her weight toward the light streaming in the warehouse's open door. I didn't see Hiei and Yusuke (although I didn't try to look for them since I was, y'know, busy as all hell) and managed to exit the warehouse in one piece. The night air outside lapped cool and clean at my face, a far cry from the musty store room, but I couldn't afford to take a moment to appreciate it. Warehouses towered tall above me, grey and forbidding in the dim streetlamps lighting up the lot.

The lot I recognized—because I'd come here many, many times before.

Help was close. So close I could taste it.

My relief was short-lived, however, because just then a cold hand closed tight around my wrist.

I'm sorry to say I dropped Botan like a sack of potatoes, but the indelicate handling was necessary considering the circumstances. With a quick snap of my elbow I flung the hand off my wrist, spinning to face the five men standing behind me in a knot. Eyes vacant, mouths slack, they walked with a shuffling gait in my direction, hardly seeing me even as they reached in my direction. None bore extra eyes on their foreheads, to my immense relief.

So these were Hiei's thralls, then—humans whose minds had been swayed by the Jagan to do their master's bidding. I'd almost forgotten that particular ability of the Jagan's in all this madness (Hiei only ever used this power during this story arc, anyway), but now that the thralls had appeared, it was a wonder I'd forgotten them in the first place.

"OK," I said, raising my fists and settling into a low strike-stance, "so he's not going to go easy on me." My nails cut once more into my palms. "Bring it on, you little goth punk."

The thralls lunged, quite ignoring Botan in favor of subduing me. Maybe they were like T-rexes and could only see movement or something; who knows? I danced backward out of their way, ducking low beneath an outstretched arm to sweep a leg at the nearest thrall's ankles. He fell on his back with a yelp before going silent. I launched over him, jabbing an elbow into the throat of the man behind the first. He fell, too, careening into a third thrall. The pair went down in a heap, groaning and then quieting as their eyes fell shut.

Huh. Weird. I hadn't even hit them too hard. Oddly delicate, these thralls—or perhaps the influence of the Jagan just robbed them of the willpower to stand back up again.

But this is no time for quiet contemplation, Keiko. A pair of arms circled my torso, pinning my hands to my side as the fifth goon came at me from the front. I curled my knees to my chest and donkey-kicked him as hard as I could in the face, grimacing as I heard his nose crunch under my heel. The one holding me stumbled backward and fell; I rammed my elbows into his gut as he hit the pavement, force of the fall hitting him from one direction as I assaulted from another. With a flex of my core muscles I rolled backwards over him, landing on hands and knees above his head to scan for another foe.

The five men lay on the ground, unmoving.

A smile touched with hysterical humor crested my weary face. I started to stand, but a foot brushed the concrete at my back; my muscles tensed, igniting adrenaline into a bonfire. I thrust out a leg and spun, launching myself off the ground with a war cry at the goon I must have missed.

Kurama caught my fist as casually as he might catch a crisp high-five.

I froze stiff.

"M—Minamino?" I said, blinking at him.

"Yukimura," he countered as I stood up straight. His hand slid over my fist and onto my wrist, bringing him into my personal space; the scent of mint and evergreen wafted close, as verdant as his vivid eyes. He demanded, "Why are you here?"

I didn't bother answering, of course. There wasn't time, and I was too relieved to play 20 Questions. My neck went boneless, head lolling until my forehead brushed his chest. Kurama made a sound in his throat, surprised and confused at this sudden display of closeness—but I couldn't help myself.

Kurama was here.

Everything was going to be OK.

"Oh, thank god you're here," I said, not bothering to wonder why he'd shown up or how he'd known where to go. No way was I looking this gift horse in the mouth. I yanked my head up before I could get too comfortable, let my guard down in his comforting presence. There was more yet to do, and Kurama couldn't help me do it—Yusuke needed him more than I did. Glaring, I wrenched my wrist from Kurama's hand and said, "There's no time to explain. You have to help Yusuke!" I flung a hand at the warehouse behind us. "He's in there fighting Hiei and I don't know if—"

"So you do know the Detective." His silken voice held only the barest trace of surprise. "I suspected when you appeared with the Mirror. But you know Hiei, too?"

"Yeah. I'm really, really popular," I snarked; Kurama snorted, barely phased by this development since apparently I knew everyone in his life already, somehow. "But there's no time to discuss who I'm taking to prom, dammit! My friend, she's—"

Kurama glanced at Botan, eyes narrowing as they locked onto her forehead. He was too smart to need an explanation. "Hiei cut her." His eyes narrowed further. "But why is her face so swollen?"

"I doused her in pepper-spray."

That actually managed to surprise Kurama, for whatever reason. His lips parted and his eyes widened, looking at me as if I'd declared myself the new fairy empress of Japan.

"What?!" I said, defensive. "It's an eye irritant and it makes things swell and I figured the Eye couldn't open if it was swollen shut!" Throwing up my hands, eyes rolling with frenzied humor, I told him, "It's called improvising. I don't have fancy magic powers like some people."

"No. I suppose you don't," he deadpanned—but in his eyes sparked the barest glint of humor. Was he impressed? It hardly mattered, damn my pride to hell. "Where are you taking her?"

"To a friend who can maybe help." I rattled off the address of my nearby destination, which made Kurama's eyes widen once again. "But she needs that antidote from the Sword. It's in the hilt. My friend can only slow it down a bit, you understand?"

"I do." He repeated the address. "I'll send Yusuke to find you once we get that Sword."

I took a shaky breath. "Thank you, Minamino."

I turned to go, but something struck me. Kurama wasn't arguing, wasn't trying to get me to sit it out, was cooperating during this dire situation despite how much he must distrust me—and that was huge.

He didn't know it, but his cooperation—his trust in the girl who probably didn't deserve it—was literally saving lives.

"Thank you," I repeated, bowing low at the waist in the biggest display of gratitude I could muster. "Thank you, Minamino. Thank you very, very much."

I straightened up, barely glancing at his stunned expression before heading to grab Botan—only Kurama's hand closed around my wrist again, before I could get far.

"Keiko," he said. He stepped close, that cool, dark scent of his wrapping itself around me in the most comforting hug I could imagine just then. Green eyes glittered when he looked into mine and commanded, "Keiko—be safe."

"You, too," I murmured.

We held each other's gazes for moment—but there was no time to make promises or hash out the truths that lay between us.

Turning as one from each other's sight, we parted, because we both had jobs to do.

Each ring seemed to take a millennia, but luckily Hideki-sensei only kept me waiting for three thousand years before answering. I didn't give him time to ask who was calling. I launched right in.

"Hideki-sensei, it's Yukimura," I said, not bothering to modulate my desperate tone. "I need you to meet me at the warehouse dojo, and I need to meet you there now."

Something rustled against the receiver, maybe a sheet or a blanket. I had no idea what time it was; the phone booth at the edge of the lot of warehouses, which I'd used to call my mother and Kagome a million times, didn't have a clock.

"Yukimura? It's late." He sounded pissed, not to mention groggy. "What are you—?"

"I don't have time, dammit!" My voice broke; Hideki fell silent. I swallowed and tried to remain calm as I said, "There's no time. I need your reiki healing, or else my friend, she'll—"

Apparently requesting healing was the magic word (or maybe it was my dramatic trail-off, or my inability to voice a terrible fate aloud that did the trick). Hideki's voice cut through my panic like a sharpened blade.

"I'll be there in three minutes," he said, and the line went dead.

Hiei, bless that little asshole, had kidnapped me and Botan and taken us to the only warehouse district in town, only a block or two away from Hideki's dojo. I lugged Botan's comatose body there in a fog, feet moving automatically toward the warehouse I'd walked to many times before. Hideki had left the door to the dojo unlocked (he didn't have anything valuable in there aside from practice mats and a minifridge, after all). I lay Botan on the sparring mat in the middle of the room and turned on the lights, inspecting her swollen face as my heart climbed into my mouth.

Despite the swollen flesh around it, the Eye's violet iris stared up at me through a small, but visible, slit.

I was on the cusp of dosing her with more pepper-spray when Hideki finally showed up. My body sagged when I heard the door open at my back, lips parting so I could breathe a thankful, "Sensei!"

He didn't reply (because of course he didn't). He just joined me on the mat, kneeling and examining Botan's face with both his eyes and the tips of his questing fingers.

"I need cool water and a towel," he said, tone low and rough. "Hurry."

I grabbed a bottle of water from the minifridge and a towel off the rack above it. Hideki wet the towel and mopped at Botan's face, cleaning the sticky gloop from the spray off her skin before setting the towel aside. He laced his fingers together and held them over the Eye with a grunt.

"How did you get yourself into this mess?" he said as his hands adopted their telltale, almost-invisible glow. The glow suffused Botan's face, her skin luminous like a paper lantern covering a bright flame.

I swallowed, unable to look away. "Spirit World shenanigans."

Hideki grunted again. "So you know about them, eh."

"So you know about them?" I shot back, just the littlest bit stunned. "My best friend is the Spirit Detective."

The words just spilled out; I regretted them at once, but Hideki said nothing. I looked up, away from Botan, and found him eyeing me askance.

"That friend of mine who died," I said, by way of explanation. "The one who came back? Spirit World helped with that. Now he works for them."

Hideki eyed me a moment longer. When his eyes slid away to Botan, a tension I hadn't before noticed melted from my shoulders.

"I see," he said, seemingly unperturbed—but Hideki was a tough man to read. The tip of his tongue wet his thin lips. "Think Spirit World has a cure for this? Because I can't keep this Eye closed forever."

"Friends are coming with an antidote."

"Ah. Hope they hurry." His lips curled in the leanest of smiles. "That pepper-spray of yours slowed the Eye's physical manifestation, but it didn't stop its spiritual development. This dark energy is clawing at your friend's brain, sinking into her like rusty fishing hooks. I'm doing my best to get it out, but…"

Hideki winced. A bead of sweat gathered on his temple, just below the edge of his grey hair. I put a hand on his back. To say I'd give anything to have Spirit Energy to lend him would be an understatement.

"Don't talk," I murmured. "Just heal."

Hideki's lips curled again. "Yes, ma'am."

Minutes crawled by. Hideki's pale face turned waxen the longer we waited, huddled over the unmoving Botan like watchful gargoyles. At some point I gathered one of Botan's hands in mind and stroked my thumbs over her fingers. I don't believe in a deity, and I never pray, but I offered a silent plea to the universe anyway on her behalf: Please don't let Botan—what, become a demon? What were specifics of this atheist's prayer, exactly?

Luckily I didn't have to find out. Just as Hideki breathed his shakiest sigh yet, hands spasming atop Botan's burgeoning Eye, the door to the warehouse burst open.

"Yusuke!" I said, not bothering to check and see if it was really him—because there was no doubt in my mind that he'd arrived to save the day. "Yusuke, over here!"

He darted over and slammed onto the mat next to me, Shadow Sword held awkwardly in his arms—like he was trying to hold a baby with very, very sharp teeth. He started to say something but stopped, looking Hideki up and down. "Who's this?"

"My sensei." Yusuke looked mystified; I said, "The guy who taught me to dodge."

Yusuke made a low 'oh' sound. Hideki grunted, "Pleased to meet you, but can we save the introductions?" He jerked his chin toward his hands. "This is taking a toll."

Quite the understatement give his ashen features and sweat-slick skin. Yusuke let out a low whistle. "No shit." With a twist of his wrist he separated the hilt from the Shadow Sword. "Here. We have to give her—"

The hilt functioned like a cup, hollow interior brimming with a pale amber liquid I swear Yusuke compared to the color of piss under his snarky breath. I propped Botan up and Hideki pried open her mouth so Yusuke could splash some antidote on her tongue. The effect was immediate: the Eye closed as soon as the drops passed Botan's lips, and then the black line of its lid thinned, all but disappearing amidst the swollen folds of Botan's pepper-sprayed face. Yusuke sat back on his heels, staring at the reaper with held breath.

"Is she all right?" I asked—mostly to myself, mostly rhetorically, because clearly she wasn't all right. Not after all of this.

Hideki answered the question anyway. "Her energy is chaotic," he said. He pulled his hands from her and flexed his fingers as if seeking circulation. "I've never felt anything like her energy, and that's without the demonic Eye infecting her." He shot Yusuke a sideways glance. "She's not human. Is she from Spirit World?"

Yusuke blinked. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." Something told me that wasn't the whole story, but I wasn't about to argue with my sensei. He favored Botan with a sour look, mopping sweat from his face with an unsteady hand. "And if I had to make another wild guess, someone from Spirit World needs to get here, quick, and tend to her."

The question escaped my lips at once: "Why hasn't she woken up yet?"

"No idea," said Hideki.

Cursing, Yusuke shot to his feet. "I'll—I'll try to get in touch." His hands tangled in his hair, conflicted. "But Botan usually is the one who—no. No excuses. I'm going to figure this out." He pivoted on a heel, toward the door. "I'll be back."

"Yusuke, wait!" I said. "What about Kurama and Hiei?"

His expression turned smug. "Hiei's out like a light so I just left him there. Kurama—shit." The smug look vanished; my stomach dropped into my pelvis. "He got hurt, and bad. Said he'd be OK, though, so that's something." Then he blanched. "Oh, and I need to get those Treasures. I just left 'em there on the floor!"

"Go," I said, unable to keep from laughing at his stricken expression. "Go get the treasures. I'll watch Botan."

Yusuke nodded. "Yeah, and if anything happens—"

Beside me, Hideki drew in a breath.

Yusuke stopped talking.

Something in the air shifted, then, like changing the color palette on an old TV set, turning Hideki and Yusuke's faces a strange shade of blue I perceived more with my mind than with my vision. I gasped and shut my eyes, but the odd not-color only lasted for half a second before the sense of otherness disappeared. When I opened my eyes, I gasped again—but louder, gasp mixing with a startled shriek.

In the scant time my eyes had closed, Botan had vanished.

Hideki growled, face swinging toward Yusuke, and mine followed suit. Yusuke didn't look confused, though, or even upset. He stared at the place Botan had once occupied with a resigned scowl, shoving his hands in his pockets with a sigh. For the first time I noticed the bruises gathering on his cheeks, the cuts marring the shoulder of his uniform jacket. Between Hiei and Gouki, Yusuke was in need of new school uniform.

"Sorry about that," he said. "She's in good hands now." He waved toward the door absently. "Spirit World has Kurama. He came willingly. They got Hiei and the Treasures already, too." A brief pause, then a bitter chuckle. "Seems my work here is done. Talk about anticlimactic, though I guess they spared me the utter joy of cleanup duty." He rolled his eyes. "Remind me to write Spirit World a thank-you card."

I got the sense Yusuke wasn't telling us something—something that made his eyes look so hollow, all of a sudden, twisting his words into wry jokes despite the situation at hand (though that's also just how he coped with stress; perhaps I was tired and reading into things). I tried to catch his eye, but he looked away.

Hideki rose to his feet, graceful despite the fatigue I knew he must be feeling. He asked, "That presence—who were you talking to?"

"Koenma. Lord of the Underworld." Yusuke shrugged as though he hadn't just admitted being on speaking terms with a demigod. "He drops in sometimes. Whole world goes quiet when he does. Dunno if you sensed it, old man."

The insult didn't faze my sensei in the slightest. "I did," said Hideki with surprising calm (I, meanwhile, wasn't capable of speaking at all, and stared at Botan's previous spot with my mouth hanging open). "What did he tell you?"

"They were watching the whole time, apparently, and just waiting for things to settle down before swooping in to take credit for me busting my ass." Yusuke's eyes widened; he looked at me, fidgeting, hooking at finger at Hideki where only I could see. "Oh. Um. Is it safe to tell—?"

Hideki scoffed. "I've been aware of Spirit World for some time now, kid. You won't surprise me."

When Yusuke remained unconvinced, staring at Hideki like the man might actually be three opossums in a trench coat, I forced myself to speak. "He's cool, Yusuke. Promise." I joined Hideki on my feet, bowing at him low and long. "Thank you, sensei, for your help tonight."

Tone dry, he said, "You owe me a bottle of sake, Yukimura."

"Yes, sensei."

Not one for pageantry, Hideki walked away and out of the warehouse without another word. Yusuke watched him go with an expression that seemed almost impressed. Yusuke didn't have too many father figures in his life; Hideki's collected, capable, and grouchy demeanor probably held some appeal. I lurched forward on wooden legs and hooked my fingers into Yusuke's sleeve.

"So…I guess this is it," I said.

He looked as surprised as I felt to have reached the end of this case so soon, and without loss of limb. We stared at one another for a moment, neither quite believing our good fortune (Botan's uncertain fate notwithstanding), until he shook his head and cupped my hand in his.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go."

Despite my worry for Botan's wellbeing after tonight's breach in canon, Yusuke's suggestion held enormous appeal—appeal that overrode my desire for closure, for questions, for clarification. Home, bed, a hot shower…those were just what the doctor ordered after this terrifying day.

Leaning on one another like rickety scarecrows, we turned our tired feet toward home.

Neither of us spoke until we reached the restaurant. As I fumbled with my key (and recovered my schoolbag from where Hiei had apparently left it lying abandoned in the alley), Yusuke said, "Hey—are you OK?"

"I'm fine." The keys slipped through my fatigue-weak fingers; I cursed as they clattered on the pavement. "Why?"

"Just…it's been an exciting few days, that's all. And you're quiet." He smirked, nudging me in the ribs with an elbow as he wheedled, "Normally I can't get you to shut up. Maybe a little trauma's good for ya, huh?"

I swatted his hand away, bending to grab my keys. "Very funny. I guess I'm quiet because I'm processing. It's been a busy past few days, is all."

Yusuke hummed. I found my house key and fitted it to the lock. The windows above the restaurant remained dark as I disengaged the bolt. My years of asking to sneak out had paid off. Mom and Dad rarely waited up for me. They trusted me to come home…meaning I could stay out late after being kidnapped by demons and leave them none the wiser. Sometimes being a goodie-two-shoes had its perks…

I grasped the doorknob, but I didn't turn it. "Say, Yusuke?"

"Yeah?"

"Did Koenma say what will happen to Botan?"

Yusuke shook his head, much to my dismay. "No. He said something about her having a unique physics—"

"Unique psyche?"

"Yeah, that. He's not sure how the Sword affects people from Spirit World." He tried to hide his troubled expression, but I knew him too well not to notice. "He'll let me know, though."

"OK." I paused, but eloquence escaped me. I opted instead for, "I hope she's OK."

Thank my lucky stars Yusuke wasn't one for flowery language. He merely replied, "Me, too."

I started to turn the knob again, but I stopped. Hesitated. Decided one final question couldn't hurt, and would probably help me sleep better, anyway. Even after today's exhausting excitement, I didn't doubt my anxiety's ability to keep me awake at night.

"What will happen to Kurama?" I asked. "And Hiei, too?"

It was Yusuke's turn to hesitate, rubbing at the back of his neck with one uncertain hand. "Hiei'll go to jail, I guess," he said, managing to crack a sadistic smile at the thought. The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "As for Kurama…I hope they go easy."

My heart skidded. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He jumped between me and Hiei tonight. Really put his life on the line to help me earlier. Took the Sword through the gut, in fact, but said he'd come out of it OK." At that he delivered unto me an acidic glare. "And I trust him when he says that, so you shouldn't worry too much, got it?"

I held up my hands in obvious surrender. Yusuke rolled his eyes.

"Telling you to worry is like telling fish to stop swimming," he said. "You just look at me all stupid and keep doing it anyway." Before I could retort, he changed the subject. "Anyway. Kurama gave himself up to Spirit World after I left. Didn't make them chase him at all. He's not a bad guy. He really did just want the Mirror to save his mom." Yusuke shook his head with a pronounced grimace. "And now that his mother is better, it's a waste to put him in jail. Right?"

He looked for my confirmation and agreement with odd hope, as if seeking validation for a theory he himself did not believe. I nodded at him, trying to look sure of myself.

"Yeah. I think so, too," I said. "Spirit World will be lenient with him, for sure."

They'd been lenient in the anime and manga, after all.

I just hoped I hadn't made some mistake in this life that threw those versions of fate out the fucking window, and that I'd escaped falling into deep shit despite the wrong I'd done.

Sleeping like the dead after multiple brushes with death and dismemberment is not conducive to getting to school on time, lemme tell ya.

After sleeping through all three of my alarms, my mother had to rouse me from my bed and practically shove breakfast down my sleepy throat. Being on time meant jogging most of the way to school, but the run woke me up a bit, so I didn't much mind.

Returning to school after weathering Hiei's attempt at kidnapping felt, in a word, surreal. As I ran past students, parents, businessmen, and kids that morning, I felt like I'd stepped out of one world and into another, where demons and ghosts didn't exist and people most certainly didn't spend their days worrying about getting kidnapped by psychotic goth midgets. Not a single one of the people I passed that morning even knew demons existed, probably. My perception was singular, marked by colors of reality most humans didn't even know they could perceive.

Or maybe I was just being pretentious.

Wouldn't be the first time I'd been accused of such.

Truth be told, the events of the previous night—no, the events of the previous three days felt like they'd happened months prior, memory of said events hazy and dull even though they'd only just transpired. Adrenaline will do that to one's recollections. Best not to dwell on the past (and one's past mistakes), therefore, and focus instead on the future.

Not that that was any more pleasant than dwelling on my recent fuck-ups, mind you. The past wasn't going to change, but the future? Now that was an unpredictable beast all its own.

I spent the commute to school wondering about the weeks to come. We'd cleared the Artifacts case, which meant next came Yusuke's trip to Genkai's compound and her successor tournament. But when would that happen, exactly? Next week, next month? It was only barely springtime, and if my memory of the manga served, he stayed with Genkai for a minimum of six weeks after winning her competition. How the hell would Yusuke justify missing that much school if the tournament took place during the school year? Hopefully the tournament didn't happen until summer break, or else Yusuke might doom himself to repeating the eighth grade…

Soon Meiou's gates appeared on the horizon, way down at the end of the road. Taking in a deep breath of the sweet spring air, I picked up my pace and trotted forward, glancing at my watch to check the time. I'd kept up a good clip that morning, better than expected, and had fifteen minutes before the first bell rang for homeroom. Awesome. Thank you, Mom, for waking me up soon enough to—

A woman stepped out of a doorway and into the sidewalk in front of me. My feet stuttered on the pavement, but I managed to dip around her and regain my footing without knocking her clear off the road. Ugh. That's what I got for running on the sidewalk like some silly child—

"Yukimura Keiko-san?"

My feet stilled at the sound of my name. Pausing, I turned to look over my shoulder. The woman I'd nearly run over stared after me, hands concealed in the large sleeves of her billowing black kimono. Although her lovely face—pale and round with large dark eyes, glossy black hair pulled back in a traditional bun—seemed oddly familiar, I couldn't place her. And that was weird, because a kimono in the city, in broad daylight? Not unheard of, but certainly not something you saw every day.

"Yes?" I said. "Can I help you?"

The woman bowed low from the waist, sunlight glinting off the small white obidome adorning the front of her grey and red obi. Her liquid eyes appraised me like pools of watchful ink.

"Yes," she said, "I believe you can."

Japanese Elvira did not elaborate. I lifted a brow. "Sorry, but I'm in a hurry. Do I know you?"

Pink lips curled in a small, understated smile. She bowed again.

"You do not, Yukimura Keiko," said the woman in black, "but as I am an associate of your friend Botan, I believe you will want to speak with me all the same."

For a minute, I couldn't react.

Then the black kimono, the formal speaking, the associate of Botan's—it all clicked.

Something told me that if she was here, I was in deep shit, after all.

Notes:

I set up Keiko's pepper-spray and the location of Hideki's dojo, plus his healing powers, in previous chapters. Was happy to have those details come full circle at last. I've been waiting for the scene of spraying Botan in the face since before I even started writing this darn story, haha. Hideki is also connected to things that'll become relevant soon. He's got more history than he's let on so far.

And SHE is here. Dun dun DUN. But why?

Those moments where Koenma talks to Yusuke and the whole world goes blue and freezes—tried to portray what that might be like for bystanders. Hope it made sense! But who knows what happened in that conversation Yusuke might not be sharing…

Showing the Yusuke/Hiei fight felt like a pointless rehash of events; hope nobody minded that it happened off-screen. We'll get plenty of fight recaps in later arcs, after all; don't want to overdo it too early. Also, PRACTICALLY ALL of Hiei's lines were pulled straight from the manga and anime. HE IS SO DRAMATIC; I'd almost forgotten his most egregious evil-overlord moments.

The Hiei-love last chapter was strong and bracing, a shot of whiskey for my battered soul! So glad you're here for his very, very belated introduction to this story. Don't worry: we haven't seen the last of him, though I'm going to have to pull some, um…weird tricks to keep him around consistently. You'll see what I mean next chapter. Many many thanks to all of you lovely humans!

Chapter 44: That Sounds Ominous

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko loses control.

Notes:

Cultural Note: Yamato nadeshiko (やまとなでしこ or 大和撫子) is a term used in Japan to describe the personification of an idealized Japanese woman. She represents pure, feminine beauty, but also a mastery of classical Japanese manners and customs. Her smile is actually a carefully-wielded sword; she can kill you with good manners alone.

**Warnings: Depictions of disordered eating (binge and purge).**

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Three blocks north of Meiou lay a park—seemingly standard, ostensibly mundane. A pastel playground sat at its edge. Rarely did I pass the playground and not find it full of children, but these children kept to the slide and the swings. Beyond the playground, left to run wild and untamed, the park turned from children's paradise to feral woods. Thick trees pressed close together as if guarding unknown secrets. More than once while passing this park, I'd heard a worried mother scold a child for wandering too close to the trees.

"Stay on the playground. I've heard monsters live in the deepest woods," they told their children. "You wouldn't want to get spirited away, would you?"

As I followed the woman in black into the shade beneath the trees, I wondered if that might be her intention: to spirit me away like a naughty child in a storybook, never to be seen again.

So much for being on time for school, huh?

The cool of the shade prickled at my skin, a contrast to the warm scents of earth, decay, and growing things. The woman in black did not speak to me as we picked our way over rocks and stones, until the forest opened into a small, empty glen. I wondered, vaguely, if this was the park where Yusuke had encountered Hiei and the others, but there was no real way to tell. As the woman in black walked to the center of the clearing, unnaturally graceful atop the slats of her traditional wooden sandals, I planted my feet and squared my shoulders.

"Lovely trees," I said.

The woman in black tilted her head to the coin of blue sky above. Dark lashes fluttered; she inhaled through the nose, smile crossing her full lips.

Inside my pocket, my index nail dug even harder into the cuticle of my thumb.

"It's been some time since I've visited Human World in a corporeal form," said the woman in the black kimono. "I forgot what joys it can bring."

She inhaled again, with obvious but dainty relish. I allowed her to enjoy the scenery a moment longer before cutting (politely) to the chase. "May I ask why you brought me here?" I said.

"Of course." Hands in the sleeves of her robe, she turned my way and bowed. "My name is Ayame. As I said, I am an associate of Botan's, and a fellow guide to the River Styx."

I bowed back on reflex. Internally I cursed. So I was right. She was Ayame—Koenma's personal assistant (at least according to late chapters of the manga), and Botan's apparent senior in the hierarchy of ferrygirls. Not that I knew much about ferrygirls themselves. The manga and anime hadn't given many details about them, nor about Spirit World in general.

Still. Even with my deficit in knowledge, the fact that Koenma had sent Ayame did not bode well for me. Everything from her kimono to her carriage spoke of gravity. This was not a social call. This was business…but of what nature I couldn't say. I had my suspicions, of course. They were suspicions I didn't want to entertain, not even for a moment, lest thinking of them summon them from conjecture and into the realm of truth.

Whatever the truth, I had to play this interaction very, very carefully—because one wrong move, one mere inkling that I knew more about Spirit World than Keiko was supposed to, and I could give the game away entirely.

"I come on behalf of Koenma, Lord of the Underworld," Ayame said. "And I come with a proposition."

That sent my stomach bucking. Keiko had had no dealings with Spirit World in Yu Yu Hakusho. This was bad. Really, really bad. I didn't let my unease show on my face, though, instead crossing my arms and pasting on a puzzled expression.

"Really?" I said. Ayame's smile was as beatific as it was inscrutable. "A proposition for me?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" she asked.

"I can't imagine that an organization as powerful as Spirit World calls schoolgirls such as myself out of class too often." Too bad for me Ayame didn't seem at all pleased by my flattery, allowing no emotion to slip through her well-practiced smile. I sighed and waved a hand. "Please continue. I'm curious as to what Spirit World could possibly ask of me."

The reaper jumped right into it, speaking with all the pleasant dispassion of a phone operator. "As you are aware," she said, "Botan, Yusuke's former handler, was injured in the line of duty."

That got my attention better than any so-called proposition. My hands dropped to my sides. "Is she OK?"

At last Ayame's expression flickered, though with worry or annoyance I wasn't sure. "There have been…complications, regarding her condition." She smoothed her smile back into place. "However, she is receiving the best of care available for Spirits, and will be able to resume her duties after a period of convalescence. Which brings—"

"Wait." Her wording caught my ear; my interjection slipped out unbidden. "'Spirits'? What do you mean by that?"

Ayame had used the word shinrei—not yurei for ghost, or hito for person, but shinrei, an archaic word for the soul or essence of person I had never heard used outside of myths and fables (the ones that existed in this world, anyway). An odd word to use, one I didn't hear often, and one that sounded too intentional for a random slip of the tongue. This was a capital-letter-word for sure.

Ayame didn't say anything for a moment, but eventually she nodded, coming to some unspoken conclusion she didn't care to share.

"This is not common knowledge, I suppose, so I understand your curiosity. Allow me to explain." She placed one ivory hand on her chest. "Much the way humans are born in and occupy the Human World, so too do Spirits occupy the Spirit World. Unlike humans, we are not born with physical bodies, existing instead in a purely spiritual state. Spirits are much longer lived than humans, and we reproduce at a much slower rate than both humans and demons." At that her cool smile warmed, if only slightly. "In fact, Botan is one of our youngest citizens, though even she dwarfs your age by a considerable degree."

"Interesting." And I didn't say that in jest; this information felt valuable, a little canon nugget lost to Yu Yu Hakusho fans revealed at long, long last. "So Botan is new to her job, then?

"As the guide of souls to the afterlife, no. But as assistant to the Spirit Detective, yes." She placed her hand back in her sleeve. "Yusuke was her first such assignment. Such appointments are rare in general, as Spirit Detectives are not often selected. As such, we have no other operatives trained to replace her at this time. I am afraid Botan's absence has left the ferrywomen short-staffed, even for our regular duties as guides to Spirit World."

"Sorry to hear that," I said. I tried not to wince; that staff shortage was in no small thanks to me.

Ayame nodded. "Thank you. We look forward to her return, as we will not be able to assign Yusuke a replacement assistant for some time. In fact, Botan will likely be healed before anyone else can be trained."

"I see." But that was a lie, because my involvement in this scenario didn't make sense. "Pardon me, but I'm confused. What does all of this have to do with me?"

Eyes dark and composed, Ayame looked me up, then down. I fidgeted under her watchful gaze, painfully aware of the hair I hadn't had time to style that morning and what were sure to be deep bags beneath my eyes. Ayame's aristocratic features and porcelain skin made me feel like a Cabbage Patch Kid that had seen one too many dives into the sandbox, and here she was, a collector's edition Barbie that had never left her packaging. She had that same unsettlingly luminous skin as Botan, though thanks to her darker coloring and boxy kimono, the airbrushed quality of her pores and proportions wasn't quite as obvious. Were all ferrygirls this gorgeous?

"You are close to Yusuke," Ayame intoned after another moment's scrutiny. "He trusts you, and judging by your file, you are a responsible, intelligent young woman. You have already been made aware of the existence of both Spirit and Demon world, and you are acquainted with the demon Kurama, who has been masquerading for fifteen years as the human boy Minamino Shuichi."

She stopped talking. I waited. Ayame looked me over once again, as if searching for something I didn't know how to see.

"…and?" I said when the silence grew uncomfortable.

Ayame met my eyes with frank confidence.

"And," she said, "we would like for you to act as Yusuke's temporary assistant during Botan's absence."

At first I thought I hadn't heard her right. Blinking, I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Gaped at Ayame like a beached fish until her head listed gently to one side—a question, asking if I'd heard her at all.

"Me?" I said.

Ayame nodded.

"Assistant!?"

"Yes." Her mouth lifted at the corner, amused. "Don't look so apprehensive. You would not be expected to investigate cases in any capacity. That remains up to Yusuke. We would merely ask you to keep an eye on him in Botan's absence, and write reports of his activities for our records."

My eyes dropped to her feet, to her wooden sandals and the wild grass beneath them. Ayame's words danced through my head so fast I could barely keep up with their tilt and whirl. I grabbed her speech and wrestled it to stillness, picking the words apart one by one until a single, vital bit swam free and into clarity.

"Records," I repeated. "Write reports for our records." I looked at her for confirmation. "So. Not an assistant at all, really. You want a record-keeper."

She considered this before nodding. "The title of 'record-keeper' might be more accurate, yes."

My hands slipped into my pockets. My index nail slipped back into my thumb's cuticle, pain arching tinny up my finger. What was the angle, here? There was no way Spirit World would ever ask a normal human to—

"Spirit World has eyes and ears everywhere," Ayame said, answering my unspoken question, "but even we are not omnipotent. We cannot monitor the Detective at all times. Having a contact in the field is crucial to maintaining control of the Spirit Detective."

My brow furrowed, blood running chill inside my chest. "Control?"

Ayame's head lowered. "Pardon the phrasing. I imagine that sounds ominous."

"It does. You're right. It sounds very ominous." Thinking of Sensui and Spirit World's complicated relationship with their former Spirit Detective, I asked, "Has Yusuke done anything you disapprove of?"

Her reply was as immediate as it was certain—too certain. Too rehearsed.

"No," Ayame said. "He has been a model detective." Before I could pry, she changed the subject, action as deft as a swordsman swinging a blade. "We would also ask you monitor the Kurama in a similar manner."

I blinked. "Kurama?"

"Yes. He will be returning to his human life in short order." My breathing hitched at the relief flooding my heart; she lifted a hand from her sleeve and gestured at the forest. "We ask that you monitor his habits as a teenage boy and report back to us if you observe any suspicious behaviors. Koenma decided leniency was appropriate, but Kurama will nevertheless remain under strict observation until his parole period expires."

Her phasing cooled my joy somewhat, because here lurked even more buried bombshells. Lips moving as I repeated her words in my head, I parsed Ayame's meaning phrase by phrase until a scowl hardened both my heart and my thinning mouth.

"He's on parole," I said, "and I'm his parole officer."

Ayame tittered. "That's a rather crass term for it."

"Probably so. Doesn't make it any less accurate." Shaking my head, I crossed my arms again. "I apologize, but I think you have the wrong girl for the job."

Ayame's brow lifted with maddening sincerity. "Oh?"

"I'm a normal girl, not gifted like Yusuke. And furthermore, I'm loyal to my friends," I said, emphasis deliberate and biting. "What makes you think I'd spy on them for you?"

Another maddening, close-shuttered smile. "I did not ask you to spy on them."

"Sure. Maybe not in so many words," I snarked, "but the implication is pretty clear."

There followed what can only be described as a standoff: my willful glare versus Ayame's benign smile. A rock and a hard place, an unstoppable force and an immovable object, I glared and she smiled as a wind whistled by, bringing with it the far-off sound of children laughing on the playground. Neither of us budged an inch, until finally Ayame's head tilted a centimeter to the left. Still her smile did not waver.

"Do you hold ill will toward Spirit World?" she asked.

My first instinct was to deny it—to play coy and hold Spirit World in polite reverence, the way any normal human might when dealing with a powerful supernatural organization. I opened my mouth to do that, eyes cast down with humble denial…but then I stopped. Keiko was polite, sure. But she and I had something in comment…and that was a protective street a country mile wide.

I raised my eyes to Ayame's, instead, and did not allow myself to flinch.

"Not ill will, exactly," I said, every word the truth, "but I admit Spirit World isn't on my Nice List."

Ayame's eyes widened. "Oh?" She lifted one dark sleeve to her mouth, covering her dainty laugh with silk. "Interesting. Your file did not indicate you possessed a rebellious streak."

"Your file needs to be update," I said, blunt tone causing her hand to fall at once. "I'm a contrarian, and this contrarian resents the fact that Spirit World sent a child who just so happens to be my best friend into battle against a homicidal demon." My patience and politeness evaporated completely when she tittered as if to object. "And then they sat oblivious on their asses watching as one of their own was nearly turned into a mindless demon slave, which didn't do my opinion of them any favors whatsoever."

To her credit, Ayame did look away when I said that, but I did not allow myself to gloat. I'd had these feelings even in my old life, back when I watched a 700 year old demigod send a teenage boy into battle with bloodthirsty monsters from my nightmares. I'd had these feelings even when I observed not from the sidelines, but from the other side of a TV screen. Koenma had been a real dick in the early episodes, so far as I was concerned.

"To say I disapprove of your methods is putting it lightly," I said. "Asking me to spy on my friends just lowers my estimation of you further." I let slip a wry laugh. "Assistant. Record-keeper. Call a spade a spade, Ayame. You want a spy. Don't shove a fancy title at me when all you want is a mole for Kurama and Yusuke."

I expected Ayame to act cowed. Perhaps she would demure, and change the subject as adroitly as she had before. Instead, she surprised me. She lifted her sleeve back to her mouth and laughed like a swinging wind chime, light and airy and musical in the early morning sun. The sunlight caught the dark orb of her eye, onyx glittering with astonished mirth.

Pretty as her laugh sounded, it set my teeth on edge.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

It took a moment for Ayame to compose herself. She lowered her hand, but her smile—it didn't look the same as before. A tightness around her eyes spoke of steel beneath silk, the unyielding gaze of a true Japanese yamato nadeshiko who had finally decided to snipe back.

"Your file described you as an intelligent young woman, and I am inclined to agree with that assessment," Ayame said. "However…it's interesting that you don't see all the ways Spirit World benefits from this arrangement." Another musical laugh. "But I suppose wisdom and intelligence are not mutually exclusive."

I bit back a joke about Dungeons & Dragons categorizing the two traits separately. Something told me the prim and proper Ayame wasn't into tabletop RPGs, and besides—her words made my stomach sink into my ankles as if it had been filled with frozen lead. A horrible, rising suspicion filled my throat. It was all I could do to grind out the words, "What other objective?"

Ayame paused. Intention colored that pause: the intention of an actress wielding silence like a sword, a targeted strike to grab the attention of her audience. I'm ashamed to say it worked. My breath hooked on the suspicion in my throat and lodged there, suspended on a point of sharp anxiety. Only once she saw she had my rapt attention did Ayame choose to speak.

"Kurama and Yusuke," Ayame slowly intoned, "are not the only ones this arrangement allows Spirit World to keep its eye on." At that she fixed me with a look as pointed and dangerous as her silence. "You are an interesting girl, Yukimura-san. Spirit World isn't as…how did you put it?" She pretended to think, then laughed again, this time with the sound of breaking glass. "Ah, yes. Spirit World is not as oblivious as you assume."

And there it was. My suspicions made clear. My unspoken, unwanted predictions made explicit, undeniable, and clear.

Spirit World knew.

How much they knew, I couldn't say.

But Spirit World knew—knew enough to know they needed to keep me close, under their watchful eye.

Denying it was useless. I wasn't a good enough liar to pull it off, anyway. I just stood there, silent, sweat beading on my oily skin, until Ayame bowed low and long in my direction.

"Have a good day, Yukimura-san," she said. "We would like an answer by the end of the week."

Ayame did not wait for my reply. She merely turned. She walked away. Her black kimono melded with the dark trees, and she was gone—leaving me alone, cold and hollow, emotions spiraling inside me in an unending, uncontrollable whirlpool loop.

At school, no one seemed to notice my late arrival. Whether this was a gift from Spirit World or just happenstance, I can't tell you. Kurama wasn't there. Hotaru caught me in the hallway and threw her arms around my neck. She'd gotten word from her nurse cousin that Minamino's mother had made a full recovery. A miraculous recovery, in fact. I smiled at her, hugged her back, and tried to look as thrilled as the rest of Minamino's fangirls.

At lunch, I scarfed my mother's home-packed bento. When it was done, I excused myself from Kaito's presence and bought more food at the cafeteria. Crème buns, a pork roll, onigiri, seaweed chips. I ate every bit until swallowing hurt and my tongue sat thick with saliva in my mouth.

Then I went into the bathroom and forced my fingers down my throat.

The next day, in the evening, Kagome intercepted me on the sidewalk on the way to aikido practice. Her ponytail bounced as lightly as her heels when she came my way, a rabbit skipping over stones. She took one look at my face and blanched, lurching forward to tangle her fingers in the hem of my shirt.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You look like death."

I forced a polite smile even though the sight of Kagome's small, adorable face filled my gut with dread. Mom and Dad had bought the story of stomach flu without quibble and hadn't questioned my refusal of dinner, my refusal of breakfast, or my claim I'd had a late lunch and didn't need dinner before attending 'study group'—my weekly lie for my whereabouts during aikido. Somehow I got the sense Kagome would not be so easily fooled, however. And since she was pretty much the last person I wanted to talk to that night—swallowing a fucking needle sounded more appealing than having to explain everything that had gone wrong in the past few days—I had to put her off the scent in short order.

"I'm good." I shook my head when she started to argue, brow knit into concerned creases. "I'm fine, OK?"

"You don't look fine, Eeyore." Blunt as always. She stepped close, peering up at me with wide, gleaming eyes. "What's wrong?"

What was wrong was that I'd binged and purged for the first time in this new, precious life. What was wrong was that apparently that destructive behavior hadn't died with my old, disordered body. What was wrong was I hadn't eaten in 18 hours, stomach roiling with hunger, brain raging with unnamable rebellion that made the sight of food nausea-inducing—that's what was wrong. But I couldn't tell her that purging had given me a hot, fluttery adrenaline spike rivaled only by my recent run-ins with angry demons, or that it had given me a fleeting feeling of relieved control amidst the chaos of my decidedly out-of-control life.

I couldn't tell her that, though—just as I couldn't tell her that by listening to her advice regarding Kurama, his mother had nearly been killed. In all the excitement with Hiei and Ayame, I hadn't had time to think about her indirect involvement with that situation. It wasn't Kagome's fault, per se, but resentment festered. I needed more time to get over it before I could confide in her again.

Time. That's what I needed. Time to percolate and think before having to commit to the explanations she's surely wanted.

Time to regain control.

"It's a long story," I rubbed the back of my neck, shooting wary glances at the warehouses around us. "We need to get lunch at some point, probably. Now's not the time, but…"

She glanced at the warehouses, too, then ducked her delicate chin. "Meanie. Secrets, secrets are no fun—"

"Sorry, Kagome. Now's not the time."

She stopped talking at once, mouth flapping open and closed at the sound of her formal name—her name spoken in tones more brisk than she'd probably ever heard from me. Not 'Tigger', not 'kiddo'…just 'Kagome.'

"Wait. What?" she said. Kagome smacked my arm, gently but firmly. "C'mon, Eeyore. Talk to me. What's been going on? I haven't heard from you in days. What have you—?"

The woven rug of my nerves could only sustain so many snags before disintegrating. Every one of her questions snarled into a strand of my anxieties and yanked, yanked, yanked until the edge of my frayed patience fell apart entirely. My teeth ground together like cotton paddles tearing at stubborn burrs.

"Drop it, Kagome," I snapped. "Just drop it."

I wasn't proud of snapping at her. I wasn't proud, and immediately my face began to burn. She searched my scorching face with a frown, then seemed to settle on something. Her eyes hardened, rosebud mouth thinning into a pout.

"We'll talk later," I told her. "Right now, I'm not in the mood. OK?"

Kagome drew herself to her full, if not diminutive, height. "Oh. Well." She tossed her head, hefted her gym bag a little higher, and turned up her nose. "I guess we'll talk later, then."

We didn't talk later, for which I was grateful. Perhaps Kagome sensed I just wasn't in the right headspace for it. Perhaps I'd really hurt her, denying her the way I had. I wasn't sure. We spent that evening's lesson avoiding each other's' eyes, watching Hideki-sensei and following his directions in near silence. Hideki noticed, of course, dryly remarking on the stark atmosphere with a pointed look at the two of us, but we avoided his gaze the way we'd avoided each other's all night. Poor Ezakiya looked bewildered; we spent most lessons tag-teaming the big guy, whom we always needed to double-team to take down, but now we left him uncharacteristically alone.

Dread and lightheaded, wobbly nausea after the day's workout were the only things that kept me from apologizing to Kagome when the lesson ended. I watched with my head hanging as Kagome grabbed her bag without even saying goodbye. She latched onto Eza's belt and demanded he walk her, the vulnerable young lady, to the train station since it was so late.

"Vulnerable?" I heard him mutter as they walked out the door. "You could probably beat up a bear." But then they were gone, leaving Hideki and me alone.

Hideki wasted no time. "Yukimura. What's wrong?"

I didn't reply, sitting at the edge of the mat and pulling on my shoes without looking at my sensei. The last time I'd been here, in this warehouse dojo, Botan had nearly been turned into a mindless demon thrall. That had led to Ayame approaching me on behalf of Spirit World, hinting that they knew…something. And now here we were, Hideki gearing up for an interrogation I really couldn't handle right now.

"Your friend. The reaper," he said. "How is she?"

I yanked my shoelace a little too hard. "She's being healed."

"That's a good thing, and yet you're anxious."

Suppressing a curse, I looked up to find Hideki standing with hands in pockets, face as impassive as a statue carved from marble. Lucky for me he didn't ask any prying questions—just voiced that one statement and waited for me to take the lead. Given my mood, that was about all I could handle. He was either ridiculously perceptive or just lucky.

"Spirit World wants me to work for them," I said, keeping it simple. "I now find myself in an ethical dilemma. That's all."

Hideki's head rose, like a nod that went up but never came down. He pulled a hand from his pocket and swiped it over his mouth.

He asked, "What are you doing this Sunday?"

I frowned. "What? Why?"

Grey eyes rolled, impatient. "Are you free this Sunday?"

"Yes. But what—"

"Meet me here at noon." He stepped backward, toward the door, but then he stopped and lifted one warning finger. "Don't wear your practice uniform. Dress…professional."

"Professional?" My voice rose a cracking octave as he turned and walked away, leaving me in a state of suspense I utterly hated. "That sounds, uh…ominous?"

"Shut up," he said, throwing a glare over his shoulder. "There's someone I think you should meet. See you here, at noon. Sunday."

"Oh—OK?"

He left me alone in the dark, both metaphorically and figuratively—and I felt my control on my life slip just a little further.

The next day at lunch, I stood in the cafeteria line alone, surrounded by a hundred of my classmates.

I didn't want to be there.

I'd been thinking of lunch since I woke up and slipped out the door with only a cup of miso soup for breakfast. Between the turn of every page and every word spoken to my teachers, I'd thought of the bento in my bag. If I'd eat it. If I'd not eat it. Calculating calories and wondering how many grams Mom's egg omelet precisely weighed. I thought of if I'd eat it, and then eat more food from the cafeteria until it became impossible to keep everything down, like it had the day before. I wondered if I should just skip meals altogether for a few days until I grew too faint to go without. If I should eat a bite now, and a bite later. Eat a bite every hour until I felt better—or if I should purge again, feel that buoyant body high and the sense of overwhelming, numb-edged, shake-handed relief that followed.

No, I told myself below the buzz of planning and plotting and purging. No. No. Bad idea. Do not do it. Do not ruin Keiko's poor body with your neuroses. She doesn't deserve that. If you can't refrain for your sake, do it for hers.

I gazed up at the cafeteria menu for nearly three minutes before finding the courage to turn away and head for the library stairs. Focusing on one step at a time, focusing on nothing but the feel of my feet against the stairs, I ignored the gnawing hunger in my stomach and the burning acid in my throat. I hoped Kaito was in a talkative mood, because I sure as hell wasn't. I offered a silent plea to the universe that he'd distract me as I hit the stairwell landing where he waited.

"Sorry I'm late," I said, walking straight to my window sill. I didn't bother to look at him until I said down. "I got held up—oh. Oh."

Next to Kaito, clad in a pink uniform that showed no sign of the duel he'd fought with Hiei, sat Kurama.

I'd been too caught up in my own drama to think about Kurama. I knew he'd be coming back soon, but I hadn't expected to see him today. The sight of his garnet hair, his brilliant eyes, his delicate features, his long legs splayed over the step he sat upon—

"You're—you're back," I blurted.

Kurama…he didn't react.

There followed a moment of silence. Kurama stared with those deep, crystalline eyes of his, boldly meeting my gaze with an expression that betrayed nothing but polite awareness...and beneath it, the razor edge of calculations I couldn't begin to name. Kaito looked between us in silence, a longsuffering, annoyed kid at the dinner table wondering why his parents were fighting.

I tore my eyes from Kurama's and smiled at Kaito, instead.

"Hi." I swallowed, hands freezing around my bento. "Hi, Kaito."

"Nice of you to join us, Yukimura," he said. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his thin nose with his middle finger—I wasn't sure if he meant to flip me off, or if that was just a happy accident. "I was beginning to suspect Minamino and I would be dining alone. But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

"Never." I forced a smile I'm sure looked broken and tried my hand at teasing. "Or maybe I'm sparing Minamino from yet another lecture on solipsism."

Kaito huffed, snatching his book off the step next to him and lifting it before his face. Kurama's maddening stare didn't waver, not even a tick. I felt it on my skin like burlap, itchy and tight and hot and thoroughly unwanted. But because it would be even odder if I didn't talk to him, especially since he'd been away from school for days, I forced myself to meet his eyes once more.

Despite their cool color, looking at them almost burned.

"H-how are you?" I asked.

His head tilted to one side, motion barely visible. His hair fell over his shoulder, caressing the length of his long, white neck.

"Feeling rather free, at the moment," he murmured.

The innuendo was too specific to ignore. He felt free from Spirit World. I nodded, hoping he knew I'd understood—because I didn't want to say anything more on the matter. Not then. Not so soon.

"Good to hear. I'm glad." I shifted my knees, pointing my body and my attention straight at Kaito. Tone stuffed full of artificial breeze, I asked, "So, Kaito. What topic with you regale us with today?"

"Really?" he intoned. "You don't want me to spare you and Minamino my conjecture, after all?"

"Not at all," I said. I pinned him with the most understated version of a glare I could muster. "Please, Kaito. Talk to us."

His thin lips opened, perhaps to argue—but then our eyes met, and I happened to be pleading with mine very, very hard. Kaito's glasses gleamed, a glare from the window obscuring his darkening look of understanding.

"Very well," he said—and he began to talk.

If my sensei Hideki hadn't been perceptive of my needs, Kaito did not follow suit. He launched into a discussion of his latest literary theory paper with far more gusto than usual (and that's saying something), lobbing just about all of his questions in Minamino's direction. The fox had to look away from me to pay attention to Kaito, sparing me from the lunchtime activity I truly feared: Kurama's demands for answers.

If I wasn't even ready to talk to Kagome about all of this—if I wasn't willing to talk to the person who already knew of my situation—no way in hell was I ready to talk to Kurama.

I didn't eat that lunch period. I didn't have the stomach for it. All I could do was make a few small jokes, some futile attempts at participating in the conversation as I avoided looking at Kurama. Kaito filled the hour with aplomb, only shooting me a concerned glance when Minamino briefly turned his back to access his school satchel. I just shook my head at him and mouthed the words, 'Not here.' Acid splashed inside my gut with every passing moment, burning like fire until the bell rang. I hopped off my windowsill and headed for the stairs the second the chime began to sound.

"See you guys tomorrow," I said.

"Wait."

Minamino's voice cut the air at my back. I stopped walking, but I did not turn around.

"I need to get the reading pages from you before Tsukame's class," he said. His low, musical voice held nothing sinister—just a reasonable request for the study material he'd missed from a shared class. "Can I get that now?"

"Do you need me to walk you to—?" Kaito began, jumping in to save me…only I was not to be saved today.

"I can walk her, if she needs it," Kurama cut in. "See you later, Kaito."

My eyes fell closed.

Knowing Kaito could not save me from this, I nodded, hoping he could see even if I didn't turn around.

I got my wish.

"…very well," he said—but he did not sound happy, and every beat of Kaito's retreating feet rang like a war drum in my ears.

In the silence that ensued, all I could hear was the sound of my thumping heart—until a shoe slid across the tile toward me. I flinched away on reflex; the shuffling stopped, Kurama keeping his distance from his wary, bolt-prone prey.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," I said. The words came out in a whisper.

"Nor did I." All traces of his earlier civility had disappeared into hard, cold steel. "We need to talk."

I swallowed, still not looking at him. He waited for me to reply. He did not know I was incapable. My knees nearly buckled 'neath the weight of that horrible silence, until he finally got the picture.

"After school," he said when he realized I was not going to reply. "Greenhouse."

That was all the instruction I needed, not to mention all the suspense I could take. My feet move of their own panicked accord for the stairs.

"Oh. And Yukimura?"

I froze.

A low, velvet chuckled skittered up my spine like the hand of an amorous ghost.

"Don't try to run," Kurama told me—but I disobeyed.

Unable to stop myself, unable to command my traitorous feet, unable to stop the surge of nausea that set me immediately to terrified dry-heaving, I sprinted away from Kurama and down the library stairs—into the nearest bathroom.

I ate all the snacks in my bag, not to mention my mother's bento, but could not keep them down.

Notes:

NQK as record-keeper is literally just a ruse to give Spirit World an excuse to monitor her. She literally gets no positive benefits from her (mostly honorary) appointment whatsoever, and in fact only accrues negative side effects. And you, dear readers, will wind up getting one GOOD side effect, so just hold on a tick and let me work this out.

Re. pushing away Kagome: I tend to withdraw when I'm at critical stress levels. Not a good habit. But it's me. Binging/purging is (in my situation) all about power and control. NQK has no power here, so she has suffered a relapse (or has developed a new habit, depending on your POV). This chapter was an emotional battle for me; thanks for abiding it. NQK is on her last mental leg and desperately needs a break.

Thank y'all so much for coming out last week and reading NQK's pepper-spray adventure. Next week we get the Kurama Confrontation. Stay tuned and many thanks to all of you!

Chapter 45: Ringing Endorsement

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko gets a style update (in more ways than one).

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Shizuru answered the door of Kuwabara's house, I almost started to cry. If she noticed, she didn't say anything. Clad in pleated slacks and a boxy suit vest, she leaned against the doorframe, took a long drag off her cigarette, and aimed the resulting exhalation of smoke above my head. Even if she refused to quit smoking around me, she was always careful to keep the worst of it out of my face.

"Keiko," she said, not bothering with an honorific. I'd hung out at Kuwabara's house (and had had my hair trimmed by her) enough times to make the practice feel unnecessary. "Sorry, but as you're probably aware given you should be in school, it's the middle of the school day and my baby brother isn't at home right now—"

"Doesn't matter. I'm here to see you."

Her well-manicured brows rose at once. She had no way of knowing that after the altercation with Kurama, I'd binged, purged, and skipped school to come straight here, riding my adrenaline high on a mad quest to wrest back some small modicum of control. After I'd purged, I'd rinsed my mouth at the bathroom sink and caught glimpse of myself in the mirror. Red nose, flushed cheeks, eyes glaring fever bright with fear, knuckles of my right hand gashed from where my teeth had hit them when I purged—and my hair. My shaggy, oh-so-Keiko hair, pieces hanging by my face streaked with flecks of bile.

I hadn't allowed myself to think too hard about what happened next.

"Well, that's rare," Shizuru said. She leaned against the door frame, eyes intent on my face. "What's up?"

I put a hand to my head. "I need a change."

She nodded, made a small 'ah' sound, and took another drag. "Rough day?"

My eyes pricked, but I tried desperately not to let tears fall. I told her, "You can't even imagine."

One more long, slow, appraising drag, followed by a dry chuckle. "Yeah. You've had a rough day." She stepped back. "Come in."

Shizuru led me straight to the kitchen, where she pulled a stool up to the sink and draped a thick towel over the counter's edge. I watched in silence as she grabbed a bag off the kitchen table; from it she removed shampoo and conditioner, plus a rolled-up cloth caddy of brushes, scissors, and a hair dryer. She tossed her cigarette into the disposal and ran the water, finger held under the faucet to test for temperature. A sullen curl of smoke drifted from the drain before it drowned and disappeared. Still, the scent lingered—but I didn't mind. It masked the bile lingering on my tongue.

"Sorry it's not padded," Shizuru said, gesturing at the sink and stool, "but that's what you get for not coming to the salon. Sit down."

I did as she asked, letting my head loll back over the sink, towel's softness under my neck protecting me from the cold counter. Shizuru's hands, firm but gentle, washed my hair with her typical efficiency, using the sink's spray nozzle to reach the top of my head and around my ears. My eyes fell shut as she massaged my scalp. That was always my favorite part of a haircut: having someone play with my hair, more or less. Felt comforting. My mother had given me head massages in my past life whenever I had nightmares.

The wash ended too quickly, but I didn't complain as Shizuru towel-dried my hair and put a smock around my neck. The woman stood in front of me, dragging her hands over my hair as she combed it this way and that.

"So right now we're working with a bit of a shag," she said. "How much shorter are we thinking?"

I swallowed, mustered my courage, and declared: "Very short. Go nuts."

Her brow shot up again. "Careful. I'll shave you bald."

That got a fearful chuckle out of me. Shizuru walked away and pulled a magazine out of her bag. It was obvious what she wanted when she handed it to me. I flipped through it in silence until I found a short hairstyle I liked—punky, with asymmetrical bangs that framed the face, lots of lift at the roots on top, and one side trimmed shorter above the ear. It was the kind of hairstyle I'd always toyed with getting in my past life, until I hurt my arm and stopped being able to reach my head with my dominant hand. Tough to style a short 'do with just one hand, I reckoned…but now I had two good hands.

It was time. And if it turned out bad, it'd just grow out again soon.

"This," I said, pointing. "Give me this."

"Well, you have the cheekbones for it." Instead of reaching for her scissors and getting started, however, she slipped a hand into her pocket and held out a little green packet. "Gum?" she said, pulling forth a strip of silver-packaged candy.

I held out my hand. "Sure."

We chewed our gum and Shizuru cut my hair in silence. The mint coated my tongue and throat, climbing into my sinuses and clearing them of the last of the vomit smell. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the subtle weight lifting from my head, hyperaware of every piece of hair brushing my cheeks as it fell. The clip-clip-snip of the scissors filled the silence like a chattering telegraph machine. Every click made me feel a little better, a little more in control.

"You know, you don't need to lose weight."

I eyes shot open. Shizuru—in the middle of combing my hair forward to snip at my bangs—didn't meet my eyes. She'd placed a cigarette between her lips at some point, but it remained unlit.

"I'm sorry?" I said.

Without looking, she tapped my hand where it lay curled atop my smock—right on the backs of my knuckles, and the duo of small gashes above my index finger. I curled my hand under the smock on reflex.

"I know what that means," she said, bringing the scissors to my bangs. "I'm a stylist. I've worked with enough models, actresses to read the signs." Her eyes flashed momentarily to mine. "And don't think I gave you that gum just 'cause I like to share. Your breath gave you away, too."

Cheeks burning, I ducked my head. In my old life I'd employed a cadre of gums, breath mists, perfumes, and flosses to combat the telltale scent of vomit. Hadn't had a chance to amass said tools in this life. I'd only been indulging in this terrible habit for a day, after all.

"It's only been a few times," I mumbled. "I just—"

My words died. Shizuru waited. When I didn't talk, her lip curled with wry understanding.

"You just had a rough day," she surmised. "So it's not about weight, huh."

It wasn't a question, and it was the truth. I almost shook my head, by the threat of scissors near my eyes encouraged verbalization. "No."

"And the haircut is part of it." She stood back to look at her handiwork, hands on hips as she surveyed my hair. "Getting control, are we?"

"I know you're psychic like your brother," I grumbled, both annoyed and impressed by her deductions, "but can you read minds or something?"

Shizuru's eyes widened. "So he told you about that."

"Oh. Um. Yeah." Was it bad that I'd called Shizuru out on her powers? Kuwabara had seemed so shy of his. Maybe I—

But Shizuru remained stoic. Placing her scissors on the counter, she reached for the hair dryer and plugged it in.

"He must really trust you," she observed. Her eyes strayed to my lap, to my hidden hands. "You could trust him with that if you wanted to."

The thought of it—of the shame of revealing what I was doing to myself—instantly made my head hang, avoiding Shizuru's watchful gaze. She let out a low, warm laugh.

"He'd be awkward and not know what to do," she said, affection coloring every word. "He might say the wrong thing. That's my baby bro. But he's there for you if you need anything." Her hand alit on my shoulder, heavy and present. "So am I, believe it or not."

Sincerity drew my attention like a lodestone. Shizuru's eyes were the color of amber, flecks of gold and green touching her iris with luminous variation—but despite their cool expression, I felt comforted. I felt…not understood. Not really. But I didn't feel judged, the most horrible of all sensations when dealing with a budding fixation like mine. That counted for more than Shizuru knew.

I put my hand over hers and squeezed. Her lips crooked, an inviting pirate smile.

"Thanks," I told her.

The word came out in a near whisper. Shizuru didn't reply. She just fired up the blow dryer and chased the water from my hair, smirk satisfied. Then she made a few more stray clips with the scissors before rubbing styling product between her palms and running her fingers through my hair. The product smelled of sandalwood, earthy and strong—not to mention gender neutral, mimicking Shizuru's impeccable slacks and suit vest.

"All done," she said. A mirror availed itself from the depths of her boundless beauty bag. "What do you think?"

I took a deep breath before holding the plastic, pink-framed mirror before my face. The inhale turned into an outright gasp when I saw Shizuru's creation. Punky, maybe a bit nerdy, with tousled layers and an edgy asymmetry, the haircut had transformed my features into…well. I still looked like Keiko, of course, but with the haircut came an odd shift that revealed angles of Keiko's features I hadn't noticed before.

In a way, I felt I looked more like me even if I had never—never in this life nor my past—worn this cut before. The change came from within, from a sense of poise one only feels after a new, much-needed haircut.

"It's," I said, and stopped. My lips twitched with an uncertain smile as my shoulders slid back, spine lengthening in a burst of sudden, cut-wrought confidence. "It's—I look—"

Shizuru chuckled. She took a lighter from her pocket and ignited the tip of her cigarette, speaking around the yellow filter like a gangster from a mobster film.

"You look like a bad bitch," she told me, cigarette bobbing with every syllable—and as smoke curled around my shoulders, I felt inclined to agree with Shizuru's ringing endorsement.

Hopefully this confidence followed me back to school, where Kurama waited in the greenhouse.

Voice muffled by the stillness of the greenhouse I called, "Minamino?"

"Over here," he said.

His voice came from the depths of the building, blocked by ivy, flowers, and herbs. I picked my way through the maze of planters and trellises toward the middle of the space, deeper than I'd probably ever been before. I didn't see Minamino anywhere—not until I stumbled upon a small sitting area in the center of the greenhouse, a grotto hidden amidst the plants like a fairy's secret retreat. A few chairs and a bench littered the space; to one side sat a bubbling fountain. Peaceful, secluded, lush—just the place I would suspect Kurama favored.

Despite the pretty scene, my mouth went immediately dry.

"You weren't in class."

I gasped, spinning to face Kurama as he appeared behind me. He stood with hands loose at his sides, gaze appraising and cool, color of his eyes livid in the jade-tinted light.

"And you're late," he said. His lips curled at the corner. "I suspected you might not even—wait. Your hair."

I put a hand to my bare neck on reflex, stammering, "Th-That's where I was. Not running. I just needed a confidence boost." I heaved a dramatic shrug, flipping the end of my bangs. "Nothing like skipping class and getting a fancy haircut to make a girl feel powerful, am I right?"

Too bad Kurama didn't seem nearly as pleased with my new haircut as I did. He remained silent, looking between my hair and my face for almost a minute. Soon he swallowed, touching his own hair to smooth it from his delicate features.

"It looks—different," he said.

My brow arched. "Wow. What a ringing endorsement. You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty." Laughter bubbled like the fountain in the corner, drawn to the surface by sheer absurdity. "Wow. Seriously, just wow. I go out of my way to—"

"Yukimura." The sound of my name stopped my words at once; his look of cool appraisal had returned. He asked, "Are you nervous?"

"Who, me?" I said with faux innocence. "Why would I be nervous?"

"You babble when you're nervous. You're babbling now."

I started to deny it, then decided it didn't matter. "OK. So I am nervous." Holding up my hands, I said, "You caught me. Sorry, Minamino, I—"

One more, he cut me off. "You know my true name, and yet you still call me Minamino. Why?"

For a moment the only sound came from that burbling fountain. Kurama watched as I weighed my options, calculating a response that would tell him what he wanted to know without jeopardizing our secrecy.

And we had need for secrecy, even if Kurama didn't know it yet.

"I just never know who might be listening." I gestured above us, at the glass roof, hoping my expression said everything my mouth could not. "That's all."

Kurama understood almost at once. His eyes widened, but just as quickly they narrowed again.

"Spirit World?" he asked.

Well, yeah—but that was too direct, wasn't it? Spirit World wanted to keep an eye on me, on us; it wasn't wise to discuss them so openly. Lucky for me, Kurama had that covered.

"You needn't fear their eyes or ears," he said. "Not when you're with me."

My fear collapsed, making room for embarrassment. Of course he had it covered—but how? "What, you got a magic anti-listening device or something?" I muttered.

"One can disrupt their methods, if one knows how," he archly replied, as cryptic and annoying as ever. Kurama then pinned me with a look of darkening humor. "You should know: they asked me about you while I was in custody."

My heart near 'bout burst, at that. "They what?" slipped out of my mouth unbidden. Taking a breath to compose myself, and halfway hoping he wouldn't tell me, I asked, "What did you tell them?"

"I told them you were a classmate, human and nothing more." He spoke with clipped assurance; I sensed no lie from him. "I told them I knew nothing, because that is the truth. I know nothing about you."

Although his words gave me some comfort, I didn't like the emphasis of that final sentence, nor his look of intense, razor-edged inquiry. I stammered a thank-you, dropping into a habitual bow of gratitude—but Kurama held up a hand, skin tinged like new leaves in the greenhouse's odd light.

"Stop," he said. His eyes burned into mine like flares. "This is a warning, Yukimura. Spirit World suspects you, in some capacity or another. They suspect you of the same sin I suspect you: of being far more than you seem." He stepped forward; I stepped back, foot crunching over a bit of fallen foliage on the concrete floor. "Tread lightly if you intend to keep your secrets."

I said, "Thank you, Kurama."

He stopped moving, head listing to one side as if pushed by insistent wind. Amusement—dangerous, silken amusement I didn't understand—slipped over his face like a veil.

"You keep thanking me," he said, "but you need not do that."

He took another step closer; I backed up again, rabbit retreating under the predator's glare. Every step he took, I matched with one of my own, until we circled each other around the clearing like wolves fighting over scraps…only I knew there was only one wolf here. Or a fox, rather. Fear lapped at my veins, prickly and rough. Metaphors did not come easily.

"Allow me to be clear," Kurama said, each word as smooth as his gliding steps. "You saved my mother's life. For that, I owe you a boon. I will keep what I know of you from Spirit World. However…" At this his eyes narrowed; he walked faster, just enough to make me flinch, and in his mouth my name sounded like poisoned silk. "Do not mistake my gratitude for weakness, Yukimura. I intend to learn everything you know about me, just as I intend to learn everything I can about you. Now that my mother is well, I will not have my secrets jeopardized. Not by anyone, even if they've saved her life."

"I understand," I said, practically stumbling on my wooden legs. "I do, really—but you have to know I don't want to hurt you. Neither you nor your mother." I shook my head so hard it's a wonder I didn't give myself whiplash. "That's the last thing I'd ever want. Ever. You have to believe me."

Kurama stopped walking. I did, too, but only after putting more distance between us. Kurama watched as I rounded the nearest bench, hands clenching around the backrest like it might shield me from Kurama's wrath…only he didn't look like he wanted to attack. Not like before. The tightness behind his eyes had slackened like the unfurling petal of a flower. The demon looked me up and down, long and slow, as if searching for a detail in my uniform that would tell him everything he needed to know.

I did not delude myself into thinking he had become harmless. Kurama was many things. Harmless was not, and never would be, one of them.

"In spite of myself, I believe you." Even he seemed surprised by that admission, pausing as I reeled. Then he shook his head. "Still. I must be certain. How much do you know about me, and how did you come to know it?"

I inhaled; held the breath like a stone inside my chest. Kurama waited in silence. Dark hair curled over his shoulders, glossy and muted in the tinted light like ink spilled along the curve of his pale throat.

"That's…a very long story," I eventually admitted. Because it was the absolute truth, I added, "I'm afraid I don't know where to begin."

"Start with my name," Kurama said. "How did you know that name?"

"Yusuke told me." I shrugged. "You were part of his case. He saw your uniform and asked me to make introductions."

Although the lie slipped easy off my tongue, because I'd rehearsed it enough times before (and because there was some truth to it), Kurama wasn't fooled. At once his eyes narrowed, feet shifting below him as if he meant to pounce. At once I recoiled; Kurama saw this and smirked.

"Based on your behavior when we met, you knew about me long before Yusuke did." His jaw inclined above his broad shoulders, a regal king regarding an unworthy commoner. "You're lying to me, Yukimura."

Because it was pointless to argue, I didn't even try. I just said, "Yeah. I guess I am."

A moment of silence followed. Kurama's lips pursed.

"But…some of what you said was true. Partly so, at least." He hated feeling confused, and channeled the emotion into another imperious stare. "Sit down."

I didn't want to sit. Staying on my feet, where it was easier to start running, felt infinitely preferable to the vulnerable state of sitting—but how far could I even run when it was Kurama who would give chase? If I hadn't been so completely freaked out, I'm sure I would've found the futility at least partially amusing. Certainly ripe for puns, commentary, or mockery, if nothing else.

I clamped my teeth around my tongue to hold back the laugh, rounded the bench, and sat, instead.

Kurama waited for me to get settled before moving. He grabbed a chair and dragged it, metal legs squealing, over the concrete floor to the space in front of me. There he sat with leg draped over knee, hands laced together and hooked over his thigh. The urge to scoot away to a safe distance was difficult to ignore, but somehow I stayed still.

"Now," he said. "Tell me how you knew my true name."

"Well." My fingers tangled in the hem of my skirt, fighting with fabric the same way my mouth fought lies, truths, facts, and fears. "Well. You see. I—"

Something brushed my wrist.

Light, feathery, like a dragonfly alighting—I didn't think much of it until I tried to shift my hand away. A pressure looped around my arm; I gasped, and this time I yanked my arm toward me. The tension pulled taut, cutting into my flesh like a policeman's cuff, and I tried to stand, to wrench my arm away, but when I looked down with a cry of fear, my body numbed.

A leafy vine had lashed itself around my wrist.

Somehow, over the rapid beating of my heart, I heard Kurama chuckle.

I don't know how I managed to stay calm as the vine—thick as my index finger, festooned with deep green leaves that shivered despite the calm greenhouse air—tangled around my wrist and crawled up my arm like a creeping snake. Watching plants move boggled the brain, a lifetime of associating plants with stillness rendering my perception of a moving plant totally unbelievable. I watched with my mouth open as the vine moved of its own accord up to my shoulder before stopping, one leafy frond just brushing my cheek.

It goes without saying that this was Kurama's doing…and despite the way my heart throbbed in my mouth, a spark of glee lit up inside me. A fangirl to the end, that's me.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, wow." I flinched when another pressure looped around my ankle below the bench, vine wrapping around it like a manacle. Kurama's cool eyes betrayed nothing when I looked at him. My breathing hitched; my mouth twitched; Kurama's assertion came true when words tumbled nervous from my mouth. "Um. So. I know I should be scared, but this is really cool to see in person."

His brow lifted, skepticism apparent. My hysterical smile widened—but when something brushed the nape of my neck, my grin crumbled into a horrified gasp. More vines tumbled over the back of my bench, pooling in a writhing mass next to me on the seat, rattlesnakes balling up for the winter. The hiss and shiver of the leaves even sounded like the warning signal of those venomous reptiles.

Too bad for me those plants homed a monster infinitely more dangerous than a mere snake.

From the center of the mass of vines rose a single, curling stem. Like a video played at high speed, the stem grew, and grew, rising above the vines and unfurling broad leaves edged with sharp tines. A bud formed at the tip of the stem, small as a fist at first, but with every second it swelled larger and larger, growing weed-like until the bench's metal legs groaned with the strain of its great weight.

"Interesting," Kurama said.

I glanced his way, a monumental task given how the flower had transfixed me. "What is?"

He chuckled. "You are."

"…y'know, in some cultures, calling someone 'interesting' is a grave insult."

He blinked with manufactured innocence. "Is it? I merely meant that it's interesting you aren't screaming," he said—and he smiled like the fox he was inside. "Yet."

A ripping sound tore my eyes from the fox (who looked much more like a wolf, just then, but oh holy shit now is not the time for pretty metaphors). Brilliant vermillion cracks formed over the surface of the massive bud, green leaves twisting and splitting until they unfolded with a trembling heave of sweet, woody aroma. A flower bloomed, heart a bloody red, petals edging into yellow at their serrated tips—and then those serrations grew longer, folded inward, thickening until they resembled pointed teeth more than the accoutrements of any flowers.

Because they were teeth.

It wasn't until I saw the violently violet tongue undulating in the center of the flower, and noticed the ropy saliva dripping off the petals to puddle on the fabric of my skirt, that I realized what Kurama had summoned.

"OK, so this isn't cool to see in person anymore," I babbled, voice like a cat's frightened whine. "This isn't cool at all."

Atop its stem, the enormous carnivorous plant listed forward, more of its saliva dripping onto my bare knee. Its tongue wriggled and squirmed in the depths of its goopy maw, petals snapping together like eager jaws. I gave a little shriek as spittle flecked my face, hauling my leg up onto the bench so I could use it as leverage to put some distance between myself and the thing that probably, definitely wanted to eat me.

"I could think of no better company to include in our soiree," Kurama remarked. He hadn't budged from his spot, lounging as if he hadn't just summoned a plant that could probably bite my leg off if it wanted. "It can sense deceit. It has a taste for it, in fact." His eyes narrowed, dangerous but amused. "Pray you don't provide it any food."

"Right," I said with a vigorous nod. Fuck my petty pride; just then I was willing to do whatever Kurama asked to save my sorry skin. "No lying, or else Mr. Chompy has a snack. I got it. Crystal clear. Mm-hmm."

"Good. Let's try again." Now Kurama moved, uncrossing his legs so he could brace his elbows upon them and stare me down with eyes that were somehow far more threatening than any carnivorous demon plant. "How did you know my name?"

Well. Shit.

Before the addition of Mr. Chompy, I could lie to my heart's content. Now, though, if what Kurama said was true (and I definitely didn't feel like putting Mr. Chompy's lie-detection skills to the test) lying wasn't an option. I hadn't counted on this. I knew Kurama could probably tell when I was lying—being a horrible liar wouldn't help—but I at least figured I could bend and stretch the truth. Now, though, a bend too far might leave me with fewer limbs…or, y'know. Dead.

I couldn't get out of telling the truth, unless I wanted to test Kurama's bluff…and I really, really didn't want to do that. But just how much could I risk telling him without ruining Yu Yu Hakusho entirely?

Kurama watched, patient and silent, as I analyzed my options. Eventually I lifted my eyes to his and tried my best to seem brave. Did a shit job, I'm sure, but at least I tried.

"I heard a legend," I said, every word careful—and then I held my breath. Luckily Mr. Chompy didn't move. Relaxing, I continued: "This legend told the story of the renowned bandit, Youko Kurama the fox demon, and his death…including the day he became Minamino Shuichi."

Minamino would win the gold medal and the Brow Arching Olympics, especially for his efforts when he replied, "Are you serious?"

Words failed me. Instead I pointed my free hand at Mr. Chompy, who hadn't murdered me, and gave an emphatic nod. This story had worked on both Genaki and Mr. Chompy—hopefully Kurama would get on board, too.

Kurama scowled. "Even if my plant hasn't bitten your head off, you must realize that is hard to believe. Only the demons who met me in this life had any inkling I had ensconced my soul in human skin." His lip curled, so subtly I wouldn't have noticed if not for the telltale gleam in his eye. "Most who discovered the truth have been rendered unable to spread rumors."

There could be no mistaking the implication—that Kurama had killed all who'd found him in this new life. My breathing sputtered, but Kurama merely smirked. He knew his attempt to intimidate had worked, damn him, and he wasn't so humble as not to show it.

"In any case," he said, "how did you hear this so-called legend?" When I didn't reply right away, his lips pursed. "You hesitate. I would hate for 'Mr. Chompy' to become impatient."

On cue, the horrible plant swung close again, fanged petals swirling around that fat tongue. I aimed a kick at the thing, tailbone planted firmly against the armrest on the opposite side of the bench, but the creature pulled away and I missed.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I'm just trying to—" I shook my head, a strangled 'urgh!' humming in my chest—and then I pinned Kurama with the most pathetically sincere look I could muster. "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know what I'm allowed to tell you. I don't know what I'm allowed to do or say. Because the last time I let my guard down, bad things happened." Squeezing my eyes shut, I shook my head so hard it hurt. "I want to tell you everything. I figured this day would come eventually—if not with you, then with someone else. But after what happened with your mother—"

"My mother?" Kurama said.

I opened my eyes. Kurama's shoulders had tensed, hands clasped tight where they hung between his knees.

"I…I'm afraid," I admitted—and I hated that it was true. "I'm afraid telling you too much could hurt you again."

"I don't understand," Kurama said…not that I blame him. I'd been less than forthcoming so far, with all my panicked prattling. I drew in a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts despite the fear pulsing like mercury through my chest.

"Have you ever heard of a changeling?" I asked—and Kurama's eyes widened. Smile tight, I said, "You and me, we both know a thing or two about stealing children from their mothers."

"Keiko." His eyes bored into my like drills forged of unbreakable jade. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that before you were Minamino Shuichi, you were someone else. So was I."

Because it was logical—because what I was saying sounded impossible—Kurama looked at the plant. When Mr. Chompy didn't lunge for me or rip out my throat with hungry teeth, Kurama directed his attention to me again.

"We're a lot alike, in that way." I attempted another smile, but I probably just looked sick. "Only unlike you, I didn't choose this for myself."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that when I died, I didn't elect to take on a new form. This was done to me." When Kurama's eyes widened, I placed my free hand on my chest. "I am Yukimura Keiko not by choice, but by design."

He considered this, face betraying nothing. He asked, "Who did this to you?"

"A boy." But that wasn't right. I frowned. "Only, he's too old to be a boy. But he looks like a boy." I searched Kurama's face for any flicker of familiarity. "His name is Hiruko."

"Hiruko," Kurama repeated.

Hope burbled like the fountain in the corner. "Do you recognize…?"

"No." My hopes deflated. "Why did he do this to you?"

"I have no idea." My lips pressed tight together, displeasure and annoyance and rising apprehension making my words come fast. "I have no idea what he wants, why he did this to me, or what he's planning. He hinted he wants me to change things about this legend I'm living. To break the rules, in a sense." Atop my lap, my fingers trembled; I tried not to telegraph my discomfort on my face, but it was difficult. "But the last time I broke those rules, things went bad."

"'About this legend I'm living,'" Kurama repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

Although I'd already fed this story to Genkai, telling Kurama felt…different. Genkai, so near the end of her life, wasn't as ambitious as the still-youthful fox demon before me. There was a chance telling the truth might set into motion certain scheming on his part—but at the same time, he was smart. Too smart to fall into the trap of trying to outsmart fate, surely.

Too bad I couldn't afford to be wrong.

"Yukimura Keiko…she was a character in the same legend from which I learned of Youko Kurama," I said, every word picked with utter care. Kurama sat up straight, face schooled into an impassive, yet attentive mask. "When I died in my first life, I was reborn as a character from this legend. From our legend." I swallowed to compose myself. "The events happening now, to you and to her…I knew they were coming, because of the legend."

Apart from the trickling of the fountain and the low hissing of the Mr. Chompy's undulating leaves, silence reigned. Kurama searched my face for almost a minute. His green eyes traced every line of my features, hunting for deception that even his plant could not sense.

"If not for that plant," he said at last, "I'd think you insane."

"I rather like Mr. Chompy, in that case," I said—and then I held my breath in case the toothy plant took my sarcasm for a lie. Luckily Mr. Chompy seemed to have a sense of humor, because he didn't so much as nibble at any of my limbs. This did not escape Kurama's eagle-eyed notice.

"Against all odds, you speak the truth. Or you think you do, anyway." He leaned forward again, frown returning. "You died, somewhere else in space and time, and an unknown boy placed your soul in the body of a character you thought was fictional." A wry laugh escaped him. "It's preposterous."

"And yet," I said.

"And yet," Kurama solemnly concurred.

With a flex of long, lithe leg, Kurama stood. He walked away, hand mopping his face as he turned his back, feet propelling him toward the fountain in the corner. With hands clasped behind his back he stared at the bubbling water, trying to read the truth in its ebb and flow.

When his shoulders sagged, tension leaving them in a rush, a knot in my chest loosened in tandem. Kurama's eyes held cool serenity when he faced me once again.

"Against my better judgment, I will suspend my disbelief." He held up a finger at the sight of my giddy smile. "For the time being. If what you're saying is true, then in some odd, sideways capacity, you know the future by virtue of knowing this…legend, of yours." He hesitated. Amended: "Of ours."

I winced. Here we came to my greatest fear: my knowledge of the future, and Kurama's potential willingness to capitalize on it.

"Here's the thing," I said. "It's true, that I know what is supposed to happen. But that doesn't mean what's supposed to happen will always happen. Ya feel me?"

"No." His lip twitched at my colloquialism, though, which had to count for something. "Explain."

"When I act in ways that don't correspond with the legend, the legend changes. Or it becomes inaccurate, maybe. It's hard to parse, like chickens and eggs and their respective origins." I shook my head to banish the urge to get metaphorical. "I've tried so hard to be like the real Keiko when it counts, but…I'm beginning to suspect that even if I acted perfectly according to legend, things would still change." His eyes asked questions his mouth did not articulate. I said, "How's your physics?"

"Decent."

"Do you know about the observer effect?"

Of course he did. Kurama practically quoted the textbook when he recited, "The act of measuring an outcome can change the nature of an outcome."

"Right. You try to measure the temperature of a glass of water, but the heat of your hand around the cup can change its temperature slightly." I nodded to myself, trying to quote the textbook, as well. "The observer effect is meant to explain the small variations in scientific outcomes caused by contamination induced during the measuring and recording processes, but…"

Kurama was far too intelligent to require further explanation. Eyes like lanterns with skins of backlit leaves, he said, "You think your very presence in this world has the capacity to change it, no matter how in line with the original, legendary Yukimura Keiko you behave."

"You're so smart." Although I was too anxious to try an actual attempt at flattery, the words slipped out regardless. Laughing, I said, "I honestly can't believe I kept my secret for this long. How did you not see it before?" When his eyes darkened, I hastily added, "But to your credit, you clearly knew something was off about me. You were just too distracted by your mother to invest energy into figuring out the specifics."

The darkness left when I soothed his pride. "Perhaps," he said, eyes now merely curious. "But why do you think your presence can fundamentally change the plot of our shared legend? Was Keiko and important player in events to come?"

"Not really," I said, shrugging, "but big things often claim small beginnings."

Kurama accepted that without comment, gliding back to his chair. He didn't ask what I meant by that, for which I felt grateful. Although I'd mentioned Hiruko, hoping Kurama with all his advanced age had perhaps heard of him, I was not eager to hash out Hiruko's role in this any further.

I still had not had time to truly wonder at the vision—or perhaps the memory—Hiei had recovered in me. Until I obtained answers for myself, I did not wish to reveal more to anyone else.

After a moment's silence, Kurama rested an ankle on his opposite knee. Hands lying flat along the chair's armrests, he asked with all the gravity of a presiding judge, "Which events of the legend, precisely, have changed?"

Now I winced for a different reason—because this was about to get personal. Voice quiet with regret, I said, "Your mother wasn't supposed to come that close to dying. You were supposed to use the Forlorn Hope, ready to give up your life to save her." Kurama's eyes flashed, but before he could ask whether or not he was supposed to be dead instead of sitting across from me in a school greenhouse, I said, "Yusuke was supposed to help you use the Forlorn Hope the same why I did, only on impulse. You and your mother were both meant to live, without all the suspense and drama of me flying in at the last second to save the day." I ducked my head, remembering the dread and fear of the moment I learned Kurama hadn't saved his mother's life. "When Yusuke met me at the train station and told me you hadn't used it at all, I—I panicked."

"So that's what the Mirror meant."

Of all the things he could say, that was not what I had been expecting. I blinked as he smiled, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusion he'd drawn from my garbled explanations.

"'You seek to mend what has been broken and align destiny on its proper path,'" he said—and with a start I realized what he was getting at. "That was your wish, as described by the Mirror. I've been wondering for some time what the Mirror meant. Now it all makes sense." Smile brimming with understated triumph, he concluded: "Your wish was meant to fix the plot of the legend you've changed, by saving my mother's life."

"Yes." I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, one summoned by the look of loving affection in Kurama's eyes as he spoke of his mother. "I knew using the Mirror for her would lead to this, to the revelation of my secrets, but…I couldn't stand the thought of you losing her."

Something about my words struck Kurama. He looked up, affection giving way to shock, staring as if I'd suddenly sprouted antlers. I hardly noticed, though.

"I'm sorry, Minamino," I said, voice gummy with emotion—with the guilt I still harbored for nearly ruining everything about Kurama's life. "I'm sorry I interfered. I'm sorry I nearly cost your mother her life." Now my throat hurt outright, eyes pricking and nose stinging as I tried desperately to hold back tears. "I caused this. It was my fault, but I swear to you, I never once meant to—"

"You didn't cause anything," Kurama cut in, tone smooth…and bemused. "I did not renege from my plan with the Mirror because of you, Keiko."

I stopped breathing. Started again, shaky and unsure. "You...you didn't?" I asked.

"Of course not." His lips quirked, tone chiding. "Do you really think me so easily swayed by the words of just one person?"

"W…well," I said, articulation fleeing in confusion's wake. "Well, I mean—isn't it logical to assume I caused this?" When Kurama merely chuckled, I leaned forward as much as the binding vines would allow. "That night at the Lindy Hop, when you asked me about the kidneys, I was honest with you because I didn't think I'd change your mind. But your mind did change." I shook my head, not understanding, not believing, because obviously this was all my fault, and obviously I was to blame for everything. "You mind changed, but I'm the big foreign factor, and if not because of me, then why—?"

I think he took pity on me, because by then I was obviously babbling with nerves, guilt, confusion, and desperation. When he held up a hand, I bit back my words and waited on a bed of nails for him to clarify.

"I should rephrase," he said. "I am not so easily swayed by the words of just one person…except when that person is my mother."

Kurama stood up as I digested that, trying to pull meaning with a brain too frazzled to think straight. He walked to the fountain again, once more turning his back on me.

"Before they took her into surgery, she asked a favor of me," Kurama said. "My mother said, 'Take care of yourself, my son. Live a good, long life. Be happy. Promise me.'"

His tone rang softer than perhaps I'd ever heard it—like petals calling on a gentle wind, perfumed and delicate. When he turned around he wore a smile to match. A slow, aching smile, filled with regret and love I could not begin to fathom.

"How could I deny a dying woman her final wish?" Kurama murmured. "In that moment, staring into her eyes, so full of love for me despite the pain of her illness, all my planning, all my intentions—they crumbled." He shut his eyes, lips thinning into a pained line. "We went to the roof. I held the Mirror in my hand, wondering what to do. I revealed the cost of the wish to Yusuke. But then Yusuke told me about his own mother, who had so mourned him when she died, and I…" Kurama's eyes opened, the pain in them edged with sardonic humor. "He's passionate, your Zombie-kun. Passionate, and persuasive."

It took a minute to remember how to speak. "When he sets his mind to it, yeah," I said. "He is."

Kurama smiled a moment more, but then the expression sank into solemnity. "After he spoke, my determination crumbled," he said. "I gave the Mirror back to Yusuke. I resolved to live the long life Shiori had made me promise to live." Though brittle, his voice held rough, ironic conviction. "I vowed to bear the weight of her death upon my shoulders every day of my long, happy life, until death claimed me, too—when I would see her, and apologize for all I had done wrong."

"You martyr."

The word came out like a lash of sharpened claws. Kurama's eyes popped wide, but his startled expression cooled when he saw the tears on my cheeks. They rolled unchecked, my breath coming in short, hard gasps as the utter Kurama-ness of his intentions sank home.

"You martyr," I repeated, but through my tears I managed an affectionate, broken smile. "You martyr. You masochist. You were planning to be miserable on purpose!" I shook my head, laughing, sniffling, shaking at Kurama's dramatic convictions, born of such unwavering love for the woman he called mother. "That's so you. You're such a…!"

Kurama slipped a hand into his pocket. I tensed, expecting a seedling that could do me harm, but instead he pulled forth a folded handkerchief. I took it when he offered, dabbing at my cheeks until they felt chapped and dry.

"I'd be lying if I said your words didn't affect me," Kurama said. He stood no more than two feet away, gaze rife with soft regret. "But I'd be lying if I said they held a candle to my mother's dying wish. Perhaps you and Yusuke both softened me, so I could hear her wish and honor it, but…you did not cause my hesitation." At that his eyes hardened, though not at anything I'd done. "I did not enjoy that feeling of uncertainty. I promise you it will not happen again. You need not fear changing fate by speaking with my frankly; this I swear to you."

One final hiccup banished my tears. I handed the handkerchief back to Kurama with a nod.

"I admit it's tempting to know my own fate," he said. My heart lurched, fingers crimping the handkerchief into a wad at the sight of his eyes—calculating and cold, wheels behind them spinning with possibility. "I want to know more. I want to ask more."

My breath trembled in my chest. "I—I know. It's tempting. But please don't ask that of me."

His eyes shut, lips a hard line. For a moment I wondered, terror rising, if he'd force me to tell him what I knew. If I'd underestimated his wisdom, even if he was just as intelligent as I knew him to be.

Luckily Kurama is as wise as he is smart.

"Don't worry, Keiko," he said. "I won't as that of you."

My hand unclenched, relief cooling my hot muscles. Though I could scarcely believe Kurama's words, this was what I'd hoped for: for Kurama to agree not to use my knowledge of canon for his own ends. But did he mean what he said? Mr. Chompy hadn't gotten, well, chompy…but would it dare take a nibble of its own creator if its creator attempted deception?

"If the future can be changed, telling me the details my future brings with it certain risks," Kurama said. His eyes shut again, smile doleful. "The observer effect."

"Yes," I said—because Kurama's intelligence was his own worst enemy here, and for this I felt grateful. "Yes. The observer effect."

"If I know I am meant to be victorious in battle, will I fight with all my strength to survive?" Kurama said. "Or will I count on fate to guide my victory, and lose thanks to my own hubris?"

"Yes." I nodded until I feared my head my fall off. "Yes, exactly."

"When you yourself don't even know why you're here, or for what purpose this puppet master Hiruko has manipulated your fate…it's too risky. The less I know of my own fate, the better." His smile took on a different quality, inquisitive and small. "Though I admit I am still curious about you."

I inhaled sharply. "Oh?"

With another small smile, Kurama resumed his seat across from me. "In light of my vow, tell me," he said as he settled in, "and tell me the truth: Who are you? Or rather, who were you?"

"A writer, mostly," I said, because it was true. "Human," I added, because I thought Kurama would want to hear it. And I said, "No one of consequence," because it felt like the right thing to say.

But Kurama remained unconvinced. "That seems unlikely."

"And that's what makes this so strange." I shrugged ruefully. "I wasn't important. I wasn't special. I wasn't…anything. I was just normal. And now I'm here, with no idea why me."

Kurama's eyes darting toward the plant (which of course didn't move, because I was definitely telling the truth about all of that). He asked, "Where were you from?"

"Texas."

"…like John Wayne? Cowboys?"

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "That's such a stereotype. But yeah." Ticking off stereotypical you're-from-Texas questions on my fingers, I told him, "I knew how to ride horses, yes. I had an accent, yes. I owned cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, sure. No, I was not a Republican." Sitting back in my seat, I offered him a cheesy smile. "There. That should cover everything."

"That explains your proficiency with English," Kurama muttered after a moment's consideration. "Your accent is flawless." He paused, then asked, "How old were you when you died?"

"26," I said.

"You're 14 now. So, 40 years of collective experience."

"Math isn't my best subject, but that sounds right, yeah."

"Speaking of. You said were a writer."

"Yeah. No books, but I'd published short nonfiction and fiction a bit in journals. Some poetry here and there. Even got some award accolades for the nonfiction." I laughed, self-deprecating and dry. "Too bad I died before I could do anything of note, right?"

He scowled. "Publishing stories isn't 'nothing.'"

I tittered, disagreeing without saying why. My paltry publishing experience had been so far from my eventual, lofty goals that it hardly felt worth mentioning, let alone extolling. Luckily Kurama didn't want to argue the point. Eyes roving over my face, he took a deep breath—as if bracing himself for a tough question.

"Were you a woman?" Kurama asked.

The question caught me quite off-guard. "Um. Well, yeah. Why?"

"You don't seem married to human gender roles," Kurama explained. "It's difficult to explain, but in your carriage…" He managed to half-bow even while sitting. "I apologize if I've offended you."

"Oh. Don't worry. You haven't." I managed to deliver the first genuine smile of our entire conversation. "In my old life, I wore men's cologne every day. Some men's clothes, too. I don't now because it would freak out Keiko's parents, but…" I tossed my short hair with a comically snooty huff. "Gender is performative, and I'm afraid I do not have the patience or temperament to always perform as others expect, sorry-not-sorry."

Kurama absorbed that with a smile of his own. Another moment passed; he met my eyes with trepidation, as if he regretted his questions before even voicing it.

"Did the legend…our legend," he said. "Did it have a happy ending?"

Define 'happy', I wanted to say…but in the end, Yu Yu Hakusho was not a story a story of darkness. Far from it. If anything, YYH had only ever brought me light.

"There were hardships along the way, many of them," I said, "and the journey was very long, but…yes." This was one bit of truth I could give him, I thought, that wouldn't jeopardize anything. It was too nebulous, too vague, to hurt. I told Kurama, "At the very end, it did have a happy ending."

Although he looked relieved at first, the moment passed. Brow knitting, he asked, "Were you and I—were Keiko and I meant to meet?"

I wasn't sure if I liked the way he differentiated between Keiko and myself, although I often did the same; perhaps I had no room to complain. I admitted: "They knew of each other. Acquaintances, more than anything. Getting transferred to Meiou is another part of the legend I broke." I shrugged, embarrassed. "I was supposed to go to Yusuke's school. Keiko and Kurama definitely weren't meant to be close friends or have conversations like this one. You and me—you and Keiko—" (there I went, disconnecting us) "—that's new."

Kurama absorbed this, face inscrutable. "Yusuke is a part of this legend?"

"Yes. He was a main character." I didn't care to tell Kurama Yusuke was the main character—didn't want to give too much away.

"I see," Kurama said.

I almost thought he was done asking questions, then, because Kurama fell silent, looking at his clasped hands without expression. An experimental tug on the vines holding my wrist and ankle told me we weren't done, however, a suspicion confirmed when Kurama raised his eyes to mind again.

"Do you regret meeting me the way you did?" he asked.

I couldn't reply right away—mainly because the question was so stupid it rendered me incapable of thinking. "W-what?" I eventually managed to grate out. "Do I—do I regret—?"

"Do you regret meeting me?" Kurama repeated, as if asking a question no more insidious than 'how's the weather?' "It's a simple enough inquiry."

"Wuh—no, I don't regret meeting you!" My voice slipped out high and reedy, incensed and flummoxed and angry all at once. "How the hell could you ask that?! Of course I don't regret meeting you! Not one bit, mister sir, and I'm mad you'd even ask such a thing." My tone dropped; I wagged a reproaching finger. "Now, I regret that close call with Shiori. Lemme tell ya, that's brought me quite a bit of anxiety, my good, good buddy…but meeting you?" I threw back my head and laughed. "As if! Can you imagine meeting a character from a book you love? It's amazing."

Kurama's brow arched yet again, but this time it wasn't with skepticism—it was with a pleased sort of surprise, mouth curling into the barest of smiles that warmed me to my toes.

The warmth vanished under the weight of his next question, though.

"What is your name?" Kurama asked, innocent and curious and ignorant of all the ways that question tortured me. "Your true name, I mean."

I didn't reply.

I couldn't reply.

Something told me that no matter how many times this happened, I would never be able to answer that question swiftly, or without emotion. Kurama frowned, a look of displeased thunder darkening the leafy color of his eyes.

"You know my name from my past," he said, all traces of humor vanishing. "You know details of my life, I presume, that I would otherwise prefer kept secret." What maddeningly fair logic; what horrible, hurtful, correct logic. Tenor silken, delicate, and dangerous, he said, "It's only fair you level the playing field for me, isn't it?"

Wishing I could honor him the way he deserved, I said, "I'm sorry, Minamino—"

"Kurama." The harsh rebuke cut me to the quick. "Call me Kurama."

"Right. Sorry. Force of habit. I trained myself to only say Minamino, and, ah—never mind." The darkness in his eyes told me he wasn't interested in hearing my excuses. I snatched a breath like a net snatching fish from water, quick and merciless. "Sorry, Kurama. But I don't remember my name."

Now he was the one at a loss for words. Fragile surprise coated his features, threatening to shatter if he moved too swiftly. His throat worked when he swallowed. I swallowed, too, trying to banish the lump building in my neck.

"I'm sorry," Kurama said.

And it sounded like he meant it, too. I wanted to tell him not to apologize. I wanted to say it was OK. It wasn't his fault, and I was just fine without the memory of my first name. I wanted to deliver unto him a valiant, sunny smile and shrug it off, make some breezy, dismissive comment and change the subject like changing the TV channel.

I wanted to, but I could not. Instead my eyes watered; I pressed Kurama's handkerchief to my lips, eyes locked on my bare knees where they curled before me, still providing a barrier between myself and Mr. Chompy.

In the long, awkward pause, that followed, I tried very hard not to cry.

It wasn't easy.

"Keiko," Kurama said. "Are you all right?"

"My name was short."

My words surprised even me, as apparently they did Kurama. I looked up at his sharp intake of breath, matching that breath with one of my own. Our eyes met; Kurama had straightened, back ramrod erect as he waited for me to continue.

Continuing wasn't easy. It meant speaking things I hadn't yet had the heart to admit, even to my most private self.

"Sometimes I dream about it." Voice no louder than a whisper, I spoke the truth I'd avoided uttering my entire second life. "I dream about my parents, or a lover, or a friend saying my name—and I can't remember the sound, but it was a short name." Kurama didn't react when I smiled, a quivering ghost of a smile that didn't feel like a smile at all. "It was simple. Just a few letters, maybe just one syllable. It might have been a small part of a longer name. I think maybe it was a boy's name, even though I was a girl." I waved the handkerchief like a tentative flag. "Like Chris, short for Christina, or Al, short for Alexandra. Or maybe it wasn't either of those." When Kurama said nothing, I sighed. "It's just a feeling. But that's all I remember."

Silence descended like snowfall.

Kurama broke it to say, "What should I call you?"

I shrugged. "I've gotten used to Keiko. So that's fine."

But Kurama wasn't buying it. Jaw firm, he said, "Being accustomed is not equivalent to active preference." His mouth softened. "We could shorten 'Keiko', if you'd like."

I didn't say anything—because I didn't know what to do, what to feel. Shorten Keiko's name? I didn't have a name of my own anymore, but changing hers? I already had a nickname with Kagome. Hiei had called me Meigo. What would changing Keiko's name a third time bring to…?

"Kei," Kurama said. "I went to school with a boy named Kei." His confidence wavered; diffident, he suggested, "Would that make you feel more…?"

He trailed off. I turned the shortened name—a boy's name, one syllable, just two characters when spelled phonetically—over and over in my head the way a river tosses stones.

"Kei." It was simple. Cute. Boyish. A memory stirred, coaxing a small laugh. "I had a roommate named Kay in college, actually. She was nice." Bashful, I ducked my head, rubbing the back of my neck with one uncertain hand.

"Kei," I repeated with a glance at Kurama. "I think…I think I might like it."

Kurama's smile felt like a warm spring wind against my face. He stood, walked toward me, and extended one pale hand.

"Well then, Kei," he said. "It's nice to finally meet you."

I reached for him. His large hand enveloped mine and held it fast, American-style handshake reminding me inexplicably of home, of my old life, of America—but perhaps he intended that.

He knew the truth about me, after all—as much of it as I was willing to share.

"It's nice to meet you, too," I told him.

Beside me, Mr. Chompy shivered—but he did not bite, even though a part of me shrank at the notion I'd lost another facet of control alongside the privacy of my secrets.

We walked home through the early night in silence, neither quite sure what to say. What does one say after an evening like that, anyway? I had so few secrets now. Kurama had no secrets, either. Neither of us, in either of our fourteen years of living, had been honest with another person—but there we were. Exposed, together.

Granted, it was probably harder for Kurama than it was for me. He still knew so little about me, and I'd at least had the comfort of Kagome in the past few months, plus the fleeting moment of confession with the distant Genkai. My secrets were likely larger than Kurama's, true, but I did not envy how he must have felt on that walk home through the dark.

I did not envy how he'd feel when I revealed Spirit World had asked me to spy on him.

Luckily our conversation, presided over by Mr. Chompy, hadn't veered in a direction in which confessing Ayame's proposition had become necessary. I hadn't agreed to her offer yet, after all. Why tell Kurama about the contract before it had even been signed?

Perhaps I was deluding myself. Perhaps confessing just then would have been better…but I needed this last secret. I needed to wait until I had made my final decision.

I needed this last shred, this final scrap of control over my own life, lest I lost control entirely.

"This is me." We'd reached the end of my street, stopping under the watery illumination of a streetlamp. Bowing, hands clasped around my bookbag, I said, "Thanks for the walk home. See you tomorrow."

Before I could go, however, Kurama's hand curled around my elbow—not a grab or a hold, but a gentle, encircling pressure meant to keep me without force.

"Kei, wait. I have to ask," he said, low voice imploring and insistent. "There's just one thing I don't understand."

I held my breath. Kurama searched my face until I felt I'd suffocate.

"Why the puns?" he asked.

I blinked at him. "The puns?"

"The references. The veiled innuendo." When still I did not react, he explained, "Calling me a demon and a fox to my face. You can't tell me that was unintentional, knowing what I know now." The fox in him had never been more apparent than when he said, eyes glittering all the while, "For someone who wanted to maintain secrets, you walked a fine line with me. It would have been smarter to simply remain quiet about what you knew. And yet—you nearly flaunted your knowledge of me to my face." He shifted, coming deep into my personal space, looming over me even though I knew he meant me no harm. Not anymore. He asked, "Why did you do it?"

All I could do was laugh, eyes rolling with the absurdity of my own actions—and to cover the swift heat invading my cheeks. Before my courage could fail me, I told him: "Can you imagine meeting a character you've treasured your whole life, in the flesh, and then realizing that character would want nothing to do with you?"

He almost recoiled, remorse flashing across his features. "I didn't say I wanted nothing—"

"Oh—no. Don't misunderstand. You didn't do anything wrong." Curling my strange, new hair behind my ear, I regarded him from beneath my lashes, trying not to look as awkward as I felt just then. I mumbled, "Just…I wanted to get to know you, y'know?"

He didn't understand, bamboozled by my sheer weirdness. "So you made puns?"

"Well…yeah. I suppose I did." I shifted on my feet, looking anywhere but at him, because the truth of this hurt to admit. "I didn't think I was interesting enough to get your attention on my own, so…so I made myself interesting. I turned myself into a puzzle to get your attention, so you'd see me." At that I grinned, big and cheesy, accompanied by an exaggerated, cartoon wink. "And it worked. Just look at us now."

Kurama's jaw dropped—just clean dropped—and it was probably the most hilarious thing I'd ever seen in my life. Slipping from his grasp, I couldn't suppress the giggle building in my chest.

"Night, Kurama." I winked at him again before trailing off down the sidewalk. "I'll see you in school, OK?"

"Kei."

I turned. Kurama had shoved his hands into his pockets, staring after me with amusement mixed with…I wasn't sure. Not affection, surely, but something close to it.

"If it's any consolation," Kurama told me, musical voice carrying on the wind, "you are swiftly becoming the most interesting person I have ever met."

The blush could not be contained. It was atomic, enflamed, and thoroughly unwanted. I covered my face with a hand and spun, putting my back to him so I could hide the sign of my utter mortification—because oh my god, he had not just said that to me. Not to me, the totally normal girl in the body of another, totally normal girl. It was preposterous. It was unbelievable.

It was…nice.

But I sure as shit couldn't let on that it felt that way.

"Wow. What a ringing endorsement," I said, schooling my features into a scowl I could shoot like an arrow over my shoulder. "Remember what I said about that word being an insult in other cultures?"

His head tilted to one side, playacting the confused schoolboy. "Oh?"

"Don't 'oh' me." I stuck out my tongue. "And flattery will get you nowhere."

"No. I suppose it won't." He chuckled, the sound of wind through the trees. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kei."

"Yeah," I said. "See you."

I didn't turn back again. The night had gone well—better than I expected—and I was not about to tempt fate now. Given how many times I'd fucked up canon so early into the story, I would take whatever victories I could get, in whatever form I could get then.

Kurama no longer wanted my blood.

I counted that as a victory indeed.

Notes:

So, one thing I get a lot of is people calling me "interesting". But I think I'm really super boring? So I guess those last couple of lines are reflective of a comment I get sometimes, but one I have trouble believing. It's interesting the way my self-perception differs from how others (apparently) see me.

MANY HUGE EXHAUSTIVE THANKS to last chapter's readers! All of you were amazing and you made my week. The chapter came from a vulnerable place, and you made that infinitely worthwhile.

Chapter 46: Genre-Savvy

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko makes a friend (or perhaps plural friends) and is given pep-talks (definitely plural pep-talks).

Notes:

Warnings: Mentions of eating disorder and associated topics.

Notes: "Senpai" is what younger students call older students. "Kohai" is what older students call younger students. Reminder the though they're in the same grade, Amagi is older than Yukimura by at least a year. Also, "reiki" is basically life energy.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

My parents were working the kitchen, like always, when I walked through the door. Mom spied me from the corner of her eye and hummed, not looking up from the bowl of ramen she prepped with sure, deft hands.

"Keiko, honey," she said. "You're home late. Where have you—"

"What have you done to your hair?"

The interjection came from Dad, who had been stirring the big vat of broth in the corner. His hands slackened around the ladle as his jaw dropped; Mom's followed suit when she finally turned her head away from her work and saw me.

"I wanted to try something new," I said, tugging at my bangs. "Do you like it?"

Mom and Dad exchanged a Look. The bottom of my stomach turned cold, the hard surface of a skating rink.

"It's—well, it's very short, dear," Mom said.

"But you're still our pretty little girl!" Dad added, trying to be helpful.

"I just wish you'd told us about it ahead of time," Mom finished, with a nod of agreement from my father. "But we'll get used to it, I'm sure!"

My fist clenched at my side, nails scraping at the still-new wounds left there during the incident with Hiei. Although my parents didn't know it, they'd said the exact wrong thing: that they wanted to control me, even in a small way like knowing about my haircuts before I got them…and that would defeat the whole point of getting a sudden, for-me hairstyle.

Swallowing back a gummy sigh, I said, "Sorry. I guess I wanted it to be a surprise."

Dad cracked a wide, nervous grin. "Well, color us very surprised."

"Mission accomplished!" Mom chirped. "Now sit, and I'll make you dinner."

Mom delivered a rice bowl with veggies and shrimp to me, in the main dining room where I sat doing homework and occasionally waiting tables. Luckily my homework for the evening wasn't too strenuous—basic math, a history essay, a chemistry test to study for—and I could pick at my meal while I worked. Absently my chopsticks trailed over the rice, cabbage, and seafood, alighting on the sliced and marinated carrots before anything else. Their bright orange color appealed to me for some reason, drawing my eye and chopsticks like technicolor magnets.

I'd popped the first one into my mouth before I realized what my subconscious was getting at.

Horror surged, more uncomfortable than any nausea. Spitting the bright orange carrot into my hand, I slipped the uneaten vegetable back onto my plate and ate the more blandly-colored foods instead. Although Mom knew how much I usually ate and planned my portions accordingly, eating every last bite of her delicious meal felt like a battle, felt like my stomach had expanded past the point of fullness and was ready to burst by the time I'd finished the rice and shrimp.

When Mom came by an hour later to collect my dishes, she patted my head and tutted. "Keiko, you didn't even touch your carrots."

"Sorry, Mom—not feeling them today," I said.

There was no way to tell her I'd targeted them first, then avoided them on principle, because bright orange carrots were perfect for a binging marker-food.

Even though Kurama and I had put our feud to rest, and the stress of our dance along with it, it seemed I still wasn't past this…urge. This horrible act of self-loathing spurred into life by stress and fear. I went upstairs after dinner and paced across my room, feeling my stomach roil as sweat beaded between my shoulder blades. The urge to vomit was physical, yes, linked to the addictive adrenaline high triggered by purging, but it was more than that. I had only purged a few times now, but already my brain—conditioned as it was by the bad habits of my previous life—had linked purging with that high. The call of it tempted me, an addiction as difficult to describe as it was to kick. My eyes darted to the door, toward the hallway beyond and the bathroom waiting for me at the end.

My phone rang before the siren song could ensnare me. Halfway grateful, halfway angry, I snatched the phone off the cradle and snapped, "Hello?"

"Hello, Yukimura-san," said Amagi's cool, mild voice. "Do you have a minute?"

"Oh. Sure." Winding the cord around and around my hand, pulling it tight like an anchor line, I sat at my chair and propped my elbow on the desk. "What's up?"

"Just calling to check in." She paused. "How are you doing?"

"I'm OK." A lie, but she didn't need to know that. "Just got home. Everything all right?"

"Yes," care her smooth reply. "Everything's fine."

"Okay," I said.

Amagi hummed, placid. I expected her to speak, to tell me why she'd called, but she said nothing. My free hand tapped against my thigh, impatient for her to get to the point.

"So…need something?" I eventually said.

"Ah. Sure." There followed a pause so long, I wondered if Amagi had even possessed a reason to call in the first place. Eventually she figured something out, though, and said with conviction: "Right, then. I'd like your advice on a certain matter."

I blinked. "Mine?"

"Yes." She spoke with clipped assurance, confident and official. "Apart from the one incident with Hotaru, which resolved itself in short order, you have a way of avoiding social drama that I envy. I feel like you might have some advice for me."

Little did she know I stayed out of the teenage drama scene simply because I wasn't really a teenager. Smiling, I said, "It's weird to give advice to my senpai, but sure. I'll try."

"If it's any consolation," she said, "you act much older than your age."

I would've laughed at the irony if I'd been in the mood. But I wasn't, so I just told her, "Yeah. I get that a lot."

"I imagine you do," she said—but before I could analyze her wry, knowing tone, Amagi launched into an explanation.

The scenario she described sounded typical of high school drama. Two of the fangirls were squabbling over a perceived slight, one born of miscommunication and pride, and as their senpai, Amagi felt compelled to help them patch things up. Only in the course of trying to mediate, more miscommunication happened, and what started as hurt feelings had morphed into a full-blown fight.

The story took a while for Amagi to convey, explanation long and complex, attention paid to every small detail and word exchanged. The phone cord around my hand loosened with each word she spoke, tension in my shoulders abating as I listened to problems that weren't my own. Focusing on someone else's drama certainly had a way of taking my mind off my own, that's for sure.

"Well, it sounds to me like they just need to talk to each other," I said when she finished. "They've been communicating through other people and the rumor mill. Miscommunication is bound to happen when you're hearing things indirectly."

Amagi didn't sound convinced. "So you think they should just…?"

"Sit down and talk it out, yeah."

"I don't know if either of them is willing," she said. "Their pride hurts."

"Give them a bit of time to cool off, then. They'll come around." I injected my voice with as much stern gentleness as I could muster. "But before that, you have to change some things, too."

I could almost picture her lovely mouth opening with shock. "Me?" she asked.

"You've been acting as their go-between," I said, trying to sound as non-accusatory as possible. "I know you have their best interests at heart, but it's their beef, not yours. Stepping in only makes things messier."

"But I'm responsible for these girls, aren't I?" Amagi asked. "Isn't it my job to mediate?"

"To an extent, maybe. But mediating isn't the same thing as handling it for them." Leaning back in my swivel chair, I dragged a toe on the ground and rocked back and forth, back and forth, phone's spiral line stretching and compressing over and over again. "If you step out of the fray and stop facilitating them avoiding each other, they'll be forced to communicate directly."

"Ah," Amagi said. "I see your point."

"Yeah. Stepping out is the only way to get them to talk. Spread the word to the other girls," I told her. "Don't take sides, don't pass messages—just listen if they need it, and say 'I think you should go talk to her, not me,' whenever one comes to you about the other."

"You make it sound so easy. So simple."

"Simple, yes. Easy, no." I lifted a finger into the air, pontificating to an invisible audience. "It's human instinct to want to intervene when you see people hurting, but picking at a scab only risks opening it to infection. You can't baby people. You have to let them fight their own battles, even when they're your friends." Smiling to myself, I remembered all the fights between friends I'd mediated in my past life, and all the ways my good intentions had made things so much worse. "It's something you learn as you get older."

Amagi laughed. "Says my kohai."

"Old soul, remember?" I teased. "Anyway. Did I help?"

"I think so." She paused, and then she murmured, "Thank you for listening."

"Any time."

"And I'm here to listen, should you ever need it."

Her words sounded pointed. Intentional. Like perhaps she knew I needed someone to listen to me, now more than ever—and maybe she did know that. She was psychic, after all, though in what capacity I couldn't say. It was too bad I wasn't ready to talk just yet. Not yet.

But maybe soon.

She didn't say anything more. Neither did I. We sat there, listening to each other breathe, in companionable silence until my chair let out an awkward squeak. That got Amagi to laugh again. She had a pretty laugh—not as pretty as Kurama's, but then again, nobody is as pretty as him. That jerk.

"Thanks," I said when I worried the line had gone dead. "I appreciate that." I stood up. "Well, anyway. I need to work on my homework, so—"

"Yes, it's late. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."

The dial tone sounded like a bell, hollow and clamorous. I put the phone in the cradle and flopped onto my bed, massaging at the cuts gouged by my nails into my palm the day before.

A startled smile crossed my face when I glanced at the clock and saw the time.

I'd been talking to Amagi for so long, I'd missed the chance to purge.

The following Sunday, Hideki wore a charcoal suit and a black tie. I would've said the look suited him, but he would doubtless make me run extra laps for that terrible pun. Instead I walked up in my shiny leather shoes and blazer, gave him the once-over, and smiled my sunniest smile.

"Wow, sensei," I said, "you sure do clean up nice."

He harrumphed, tugging at his stiff collar. In truth, my suit pun wasn't even true. Hideki looked like he wanted to peel off the suit like a cicada shedding its skin, crawl out of the linen jacket and silk tie and leave them empty on the sidewalk outside the warehouse dojo. In fact, he nearly did just that. All the collar-tugging had set his tie askew.

"Here, let me," I said. Hideki tilted his head back, staring resolutely (or perhaps even awkwardly) at the sky as I tightened his Windsor knot and set it straight again. "You wanna tell me where we're going?"

Hideki shrugged. "You'll see."

Man of few words as he was, Hideki said little as I followed him through town, answering my questions with cryptic one-word answers or even mere grunts. From the warehouse district we passed through a residential neighborhood and then a shopping area, quaint and pretty with flowers in pots lining the brick sidewalks. I thought he meant to take me to lunch, give me a talking-to or dressing-down about my recent behaviors, but instead he led me straight to the front of a small bookstore. A sandwich board out front proclaimed that today a local novelist would be signing books and giving a reading—which was cool and all, but was Hideki a big reader? I hadn't heard of this novelist before (though his name was commonplace enough to sound familiar), let alone given Hideki reason to think I'd want to attend a reading by this "Sato Shogo" person.

Nevertheless, Hideki walked straight in the bookshop's open door, heading past rows and cases of reading material and straight to the back, where a large open space had been cleared and filled with chairs. Stacks of a blue-bound books burdened a table by the far wall, partially obscuring the man—whom I assumed was the novelist—sitting at said table. He hunched over one of the blue books, pen scribbling; a woman stood in front of him wearing a large smile. Probably a fan, if I had to guess.

Alas, she was the only fan. Although the bookstore had cleared a space for this grand signing event, that woman was the only one present. Maybe the event was over, or hadn't started yet? I wasn't sure, but perhaps novelists (not to mention their novels) weren't so popular in this literature-bereft world.

My heart gave a little pang at that thought. My past life ambition had been to become a novelist. Was it even worth it in this world? Would people even read the books I still wanted so desperately to write?

Hideki didn't give me time to contemplate the matter, which was probably good for my nerves. He spotted the man at the table and waited until the woman collected her book and walked away from the writer before approaching. My sensei walked as silently as a cat to stand over the man, so quietly that at first our author didn't notice us. When he did lift his head and behold my sensei, he flinched—but then his eyes widened behind his rectangular glasses.

"Hide…Hideki-san?" he said.

"Sato-san," said my sensei with a stiff, awkward bow. "It's been a long time. You might not remember me."

"Don't be silly. Of course I remember you." Sato stood up, mouth moving between a smile and a confused grimace in turns. Eventually the smile won out; he looked Hideki up and down, shaking his head with pleased wonder. "I knew today would get a small turnout, but to think you'd show up? My, my. It's been years." The man mopped a hand over his face, smoothing his thin mustache and the scruff on his chin. Almost as an afterthought he asked, "How are you?"

"Fine." Hideki glanced around, face as impassive and expressionless as always. "Where's Kuroko?"

Sato smiled at the mention of that name. I just stood there, because it meant nothing to me—not at first at least. But then:

Wait.

Kuroko?

"Ah," said Sato Shogo—the man whose name and occupation suddenly sounded all the more familiar, especially paired with the name Kuroko. "So this isn't just a social call, or coincidence." He spread his hands, gesture supplicating. "I'm sorry, but she's at home with the kids. I'm afraid she doesn't come with me to book signings much these days."

"Damn." Hideki's lips pulled into a tiny, regretful smirk. "It was worth a shot, at least. But I suppose you'll do." Slate-grey eyes slid my way. "Come here."

Because my brain was busy piecing together clues, rapidly scouring the mental archives to make this all make sense, I did as Hideki asked without thinking about it. Sato looked at me as if noticing my presence for the first time. He wore his thick brown hair parted down the middle, looking for all the world like a nerdy writer.

Only there was more to him than that, wasn't there? A lot more.

Sato's expression warmed when he saw me, father's instincts shining through. "And who might you be?" he asked.

"My student," came Hideki's curt reply. My sensei gestured between Shogo and I, face set in that same neutral mask I'd come to expect from him—and completely at odds with the bombshell he didn't even realize he was throwing me.

"Yukimura Keiko, this is Sato Shogo," my Hideki said. "Sato Shogo, this is Yukimura Keiko. Yukimura is best friends with the current Spirit Detective."

Sato's warm expression vanished—this time into remorse. Voice low, expression somber, he said: "Another one?"

"Yeah." Hideki glanced at me. "And Keiko—"

I knew what he would say even before he said it, because just then all the pieces clicked.

"This man is the husband of Sanada Kuroko," my sensei said, "the first Detective of Spirit World."

Shogo (as he bade me call him), was more than content to pause the book signing—"It wasn't very busy, anyway"—and go to a nearby restaurant to talk in private. We sat in a secluded booth near the back of an American-style diner, one with Formica counters and vinyl seats and very little American cuisine on the menu. This was both comforting and totally disconcerting, as Shogo (in a game attempt at casual small talk) made a comment about enjoying "foreign cuisine". I didn't have the heart to tell him the menu was mostly German.

I, of course, was fucking flummoxed by the whole situation. How the shit did Hideki know Kuroko, for one thing, and how the hell hadn't I recognized Shogo's name the first time I saw it? Granted, he was a minor character in the anime who appeared for only one or two episodes, but still: I prided myself on my encyclopedic knowledge of Yu Yu Hakusho. I'd totally forgotten Kuroko's husband was a novelist in the first place! He would've been a great person to consult about the missing literature in this world. I'd have to pull my YYH-info-booklets from their hiding place and reevaluate all my notes just as soon as I got home. Had I even written down his name or remembered his existence when I made my YYH journals so many years ago? It had been nearly a decade since I made my journals, so there was a chance I'd jotted it down and just forgotten. Ten years was a long time to go without seeing the anime…

"I imagine you must be confused," Shogo said to me after a waitress (wearing a Superman costume, of all things) took our drink order. His smile seemed kindly, though it cooled a little when he turned to Hideki. "And to be honest, I am, too. It's been years since we've spoken."

Hideki—sitting with arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window into the street beyond—shot Shogo a brief glance, but he said nothing. I shifted in my seat, hands clasped tightly enough to impeded circulation.

"Can I ask how the two of you know each other?" I asked.

Hideki took a deep breath, though I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been sitting next to him. Eyes falling shut, he muttered, "I was just a kid when I discovered my spiritual powers. So was Kuroko. We liked to fight each other, and then we fought at one another's side when Spirit World recruited her."

Oh. Well, wasn't that interesting. Hideki was basically the Kuwabara to Kuroko's Yusuke, then?

"And somewhere along the way," Shogo cut in with a grin, "they met me. Never was as strong as Hideki or Kuroko, though I had my uses." He laughed, eyes on Hideki as if searching for confirmation. "We had a good time, the three of us."

Hideki grunted. But I knew him well enough to know that wasn't an actual agreement.

"Eventually Hideki went off to learn Reiki from some master in the mountains," Shogo went on. My ears metaphorically perked up at that. "What was her name?"

Hideki's mouth twitched the way it did when he was annoyed. "Doesn't matter." Shogo started to ask another question (as did I, actually) but Hideki didn't let us speak. He said, "By the time I got back, you and Kuroko were hitched."

"That we were," Shogo said—and his eyes turned sorrowful. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you first. Been meaning to say that for some time. But you didn't stick around long, and…"

"It's in the past." Shogo looked surprised at that, though Hideki wore the same cool mask as always. Eyes fixed carefully on the window, he said: "You're good together. She's happy. That's all I can ask for."

The two men lapsed into silence: Hideki staring out the window, Shogo trying desperately to catch my sensei's eye, and failing. I, of course, was busy analyzing all the little implications hidden in the way Hideki refused to look at Shogo when he wished for Kuroko's happiness with the other man. History occupied the silences and avoided gazes, filled the nooks and crannies in Hideki's features and the pauses between his words. None of my business, obviously, but very interesting nonetheless. Eventually Shogo got tired of trying to crack Hideki's demeanor and heaved a sigh, pasting on a chipper smile as he shifted his body my way.

"So, Keiko," he said. "Your best friend is the current Spirit Detective?"

"Yeah." I swallowed, knowing I should probably be careful with how much I revealed—because Kuroko hadn't liked Yusuke too much when they met in the anime. "He is."

"That's why I brought her here," Hideki grunted.

Shogo grinned, eyes pleased crescents. "I suspected you didn't come to merely reminisce about the good old days." He looked directly into my eyes, then. "So. What can I do for you?"

"I apologize, but Hideki didn't tell me who we were meeting." Shogo's mouth parted in surprise at my blurted words. "I'm still getting my thoughts in order, and if you'll just give me a moment—"

Beside me, Hideki growled. "You're overthinking again." To Shogo he intoned: "Spirit World wants her to work for them."

Like a deer caught in headlights, Shogo looked from Hideki to me and back again. I sighed, simultaneously grateful for and annoyed with Hideki's blunt nature.

"Yes," I said. "That's right."

Before we could get down to the nitty-gritty, the Superman-server arrived with our drinks. I had a soda; Hideki ordered tea, and Shogo ordered coffee. He added cream and sugar in heaping dollops, contemplating the swirl of white into dark brown as he stirred with a silver spoon. The soda tasted like acid on my tongue; I pushed the drink away.

"I imagine you're reluctant to accept such a job offer," Shogo said once he took his first sip. "I don't blame you." He met my eyes with an expression of grave solemnity. "While Spirit World has the good of humanity at heart, they ask a lot of their Detectives. Sometimes too much. Spirit World won't hesitate to sacrifice one for the good of many." He pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling behind the light reflecting off the lenses. "They're quite utilitarian in that regard. Very Japanese. My wife gladly retired from their employ when we got married. She'd seen enough for one lifetime."

Gladly retired, huh. Interesting. I pretended to take a drink of my soda, hyperaware of Hideki's eyes as they fixed upon me, sidelong.

"What position did they offer you?" Shogo asked, leaning an elbow on the table. "Detective is taken already, so…"

"They want me to be the new Detective's record-keeper," I explained. This didn't feel like oversharing—not too badly, anyway. "The Spirit Detective's handler—"

"A ferry-girl?"

"Yes. She was injured, and they want me to keep an eye on the Detective in her place." I couldn't suppress a derisive snort. "They're calling it 'record-keeping,' but that's just a fancy word for spy."

Shogo's eyes narrowed. "You're reluctant to do it, I assume."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Since I couldn't tell him the real reason—that Spirit World wanted to keep an eye on me, too—I shrugged and demurred to his own explanation. "It's just what you said. They ask too much of those in their employ."

"But your age indicates you've only barely begun working with them," Shogo said, "so how could you know that?" He leaned forward, eyes intent on my face. "No. There's something more you're not saying."

Truth be told, I floundered—because I had not come here expecting an interrogation, and therefore I hadn't prepped myself to lie effectively. My mouth opened and closed a few times before I found the wherewithal to speak.

"I guess—I guess I don't relish the idea of spying on my friends," I said—but that was the wrong damn thing to say. Shogo leaned forward even farther.

"Friends plural?" he observed.

I froze.

"I thought you said they wanted you to monitor the Detective. So far as I'm aware, there can only be one Spirit Detective," he said. Tone oddly gentle, he asked, "Is there more to the story, perhaps?"

Beside me, Hideki shifted. "Who else did they ask you to watch?" my sensei murmured.

There followed a long, tense silence—a silence in which I sat there, unmoving, because I feared drawing attention to myself might give the entire game away. I knew one day I'd have to reveal my secrets to the main YYH gang, but that did not include the husband of a former Spirit Detective and my martial arts master. Telling either of these people about my problems simply wasn't in the plan. What the fuck consequences would there be, and how the hell could I ever hope to anticipate them? And now that these two were sitting here staring me in the face, trying to drag out answers, I just couldn't—

Luckily, Shogo took pity on me.

"Hideki," he said. "I'm sorry, but could I speak with Yukimura in private?"

My sensei shrugged, but he didn't argue. "Suit yourself."

We played booth-shuffle so he could get up and walk outside. I watched him through the window as he went to the café's patio and sat down, ordering something else from a waitress dressed inexplicably in lederhosen. He shot me one blank look through the window before turning pointedly away to watch the cars pass on the street.

"Now," Shogo said. "Hopefully you can talk freely." He wore the smile my father wore when he had to talk to me about hard subjects, kind and firm and gentle. "I understand there might be things you hesitate to say in front of your sensei. But you have my word that anything you say will remain confidential."

It was all I could do to stammer: "Thank you."

"In light of that, will you tell me what's really bothering you?" When I hesitated, his smile deepened. "Perhaps this will help: I know you knew who I was before Hideki said my name."

The booth fell out from under me, then. It's a miracle I didn't flop in a shocked, boneless puddle to the floor. Shogo seemed amused at my fish-out-of-water gaping, the way my mouth opened and closed again as I tried in vain to form words. Any words.

"Well," I said. "Wuh—well." I scrabbled for the only excuse available to my addled mind. "You're a novelist, so—"

"I'm not that famous. Not enough to recognize on the street, anyway." Another of those kindly, twinkly-eyed smiles. "And has anyone ever told you you're not a very good liar?"

It felt pointless to argue. I just stirred my drink and watched bubbles course over crystalline ice cubes, dejected and frankly too tired of panicking to feel panicked. "It's a curse."

"And a gift," Shogo said. "Honesty is to be commended."

"Not when it gets me in trouble."

"Maybe so," he relented. "But the fact is, your face betrayed you as soon as Hideki said my wife's name." Once more he leaned forward. "You knew the name of the former Spirit Detective, somehow. Can I assume you're closer to Spirit World than even your sensei assumes, to have learned her name?"

Ah, writers. Bless them for constantly looking for answers, and in this instance providing me with a handy excuse while doing so. Of course he assumed I learned Kuroko's name through Spirit World. Passing a hand over my hair to gather myself, I gave Shogo the vaguest agreement I could voice: "That's one way of putting it."

But writers are more than just over-thinkers: they're observant, too, and Shogo was no exception. His eyes narrowed at my not-quite-admission, recognizing it for the dodge that it was.

"I see," he said. He took a sip of his coffee, set it aside, and placed his hands, palms up, on the table. "If you're reluctant to talk, perhaps I can do the talking for you," he said. "Give me your hands."

I started to do so—only a memory of the anime, of Shogo reading Yusuke's palms with alarming accuracy, popped like our superhero waitress into my head to save the day. My hands vanished back under the table almost of their own accord. At this Shogo merely laughed.

"Even in your silence, you reveal yourself," he said, bemused. "You already know I read palms, I see."

My cheeks burned, because holy shit, this guy! There was no fooling him, was there? Of all the adversaries I had to face, him I had not counted on. Shogo, oblivious to my inner turmoil, curled and uncurled his fingers, beckoning me.

"Nothing more than a parlor trick, I assure you," he said. "You have nothing to fear, Yukimura."

Shogo's fatherly smile and laughing demeanor were hard to deny—and to be honest, the idea of having my fortune read was more tempting that I'd like to admit, safety of my secrets notwithstanding. After all, in this world there might actually be some validity to the practice. I'd been a staunch disbeliever of everything even remotely supernatural in my old life, from god to superstition to tarot cards. Here in the world of Yu Yu Hakusho, however, the limits of possibility stretched beyond the scope of my small sight. Was I a fool to pass up a chance to have my fortune read by someone who knew what they were doing?

"Sorry," I said, hedging. "It's just—it's just that the last time I had my palm read, the psychic chased me off her front porch with a letter opener."

Shogo gasped, stunned at that admission, mouth opening to ask me just what the heck I meant (and I meant it quite literally; it was a great story to tell at parties)—but he shut his mouth when I lifted my hands. He let me lower my hands into his, probably figuring that he'd scare me off if he initiated contact. Surprisingly, he didn't immediately peruse my palm. Instead he studied the backs of my hands: the small gouge above my index finger courtesy of my teeth, the mole by my wrist, the scar on my middle finger where I'd cut myself slicing tomatoes as a kid.

"Interesting," he said.

He turned over my hand and coaxed open my fingers, next, tracing the inside of them one by one before opening up my palm with gentle pressure of his thumbs. I started to wince when he brushed the crescent moon cuts left by my nails, but his touch elicited no pain. One by one he traced the lines he found, eyebrows knitting together with ever swipe of his finger or thumb.

"Interesting," he said again. "Very, very interesting."

My pulse lurched. "Dare I ask?"

"Your lifeline." He pointed at the line, where it started between my forefinger and thumb, and traced its downward curve to the start of my wrist. "There's a distinct fissure." He frowned. "I've seen gaps in lifelines before, but your line fissures, then merges together again after the break. Can't say I've ever seen the like, to be honest."

'Sweating bullets' doesn't cover it. Shogo wasn't sure what he was looking at, but even with my limited exposure to palmistry, I had a pretty good idea of what that meant: one life ended and another began, soul travelling from one life and into the next. But there was no way I'd be clarifying that for him today, thank you very much.

But perhaps he didn't need my help to see the truth.

"But more than that…you aren't from around here." Shogo lifted his eyes to mine with a puzzled frown. "It's as if you earned one lifeline here, and another somewhere else. And this line is deeper than it ought to be given your age." His thumb traced the line again, as if to truly understand its unusual length. "You are more than you seem, Yukimura Keiko."

I didn't reply. Mostly because I couldn't.

"Truth be told, I suspected as much as soon as I saw you," Shogo said. His eyes lost their mystification, confusion giving way to frank appraisal. "Your carriage, your eyes, these lines…they belong to someone who has seen more stress than their youth would suggest. Far more. But not merely in the past." He tapped the cuts on my palm, but not hard enough to hurt. "You are under immense pressure. More pressure than perhaps you've ever experienced. And you have the urge to pull away, pull back, isolate yourself to protect yourself from harm—but it won't work."

My breath stuttered like a bad engine. "W-what do you mean?"

"I mean that you're thinking of running. Of turning down Spirit World's proposal." Shogo grimaced when I gasped; his words were so damnably true, it almost hurt. "However…pulling away, drawing back, hiding…it won't help your friends as much as you think. And it will help you even less."

His hands slipped free of mine, then, but only so he could cup them from below, squeezing in a manner far more threatening than reassuring. Dark eyes bored into mine as if to peer straight into the coils of my reluctant brain.

"You're afraid of losing control," Shogo said, "and running will ensure you do exactly that."

Our gazes held for a long time—so long I lost the feeling in my hands, lost the sensation of the booth pressing against my thighs. My head seemed to float free of its skull cage as Shogo and I stared at one another, body nothing more than the far-away memory of a forgetful soul.

Shogo blinked, and the spell broke.

"Oh," he said. He reached for the napkin dispenser on the table and offered me a tissue. "Oh, I'm sorry—here, take this."

Confused, I took the napkin—and then a drop of water hit the back of my wrist. I hadn't felt myself start to cry, but tears stained my cheeks like I'd been biking through a rainstorm. Embarrassed, I wiped the tears away and tried not to look Shogo directly in the eye. Ugh. Why was I even crying, anyway?

"Palmistry lets me see many things," Shogo said with a mortified laugh, "but if I'd known it would make you cry, I wouldn't have done it!"

"I'm sorry," I said on reflex.

"Oh, don't apologize. It's my fault." He scratched the back of his neck, smile penitent. "And I hope you don't mind, but…while palm-reading reveals much, simple observation is a powerful tool."

As though afraid he'd send me sprinting for the hills, Shogo reached for my hand—my right hand, the one curled around the napkin. Instead of looking at my palm, though, he simply took my hand in his and held it…but his finger drifted to the mark on the back of my knuckle. To that little gash carved by my careless teeth the day before in the bathroom.

"The stress," he observed in a voice like a gentle wind through flowers, "affects you in more ways than one."

Shogo didn't judge me. I sensed nothing but concern from him, temperate and kind. The knowing look told me he knew what the mark was from, but that he didn't consider me weaker because of it. I pulled my hand away out of self-consciousness, yes—but not shame. Nothing in his eyes triggered shame in me.

Much as I'd been stunned to meet Shogo today, I was beginning to feel glad for it.

"You know." He leaned his cheek on his fist, expression distant but fond. "I knew a young woman, once, who could probably relate to you." My brow arched of its own accord; Shogo continued: "She was overweight at a time when young girls are their most cruel. She tried everything to conform to their standards, to claim control of her narrative." His eye drifted to my hands. "Including what you're trying now."

It took effort to suppress a gasp of recognition. Hadn't Kuroko been vastly overweight in the anime, before getting a huge growth spurt? Was that who he spoke of?

"Eventually, though, she discovered something about herself," he said with obvious affection. "A special talent, you might say. She was noticed by people who could bring that talent to fruition." If those 'people' where those in Spirit World who had recruited her as Detective, Shogo didn't say. "She threw herself headlong into her work and found that despite its own stresses and dangers, she rather loved it. That's where she found her control." He tapped the table with the tip of a finger. "Tell me, Yukimura. What do you love to do? Any talents, perhaps?"

Because he was a published author, and because in this life I was nothing more important than a girl who kept exhaustive records of her life in journals, it was with pronounced reluctance that I told him: "I write."

"Ah." He didn't appear to care about my bona fides, grinning so widely he looked more like an excited schoolboy than a father of two. "Birds of a feather, then! I can say from experience writing is one of the best distractions."

"Agreed," I said. I'd escaped from reality and into my work too many times to quibble.

Shogo lifted his coffee mug. "From one writer to another: may you find solace in your work, and may the words flow ever free."

At his encouragement, I lifted my drink, clinked his mug, and added my murmured 'kampai' to his vigorous recitation of the same. We both drank; the soda tasted better this time around, though perhaps a bit too sweet.

The moment of levity ended soon enough. He drained his cup and set it aside, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop as he said, "But back to your more pressing matter."

"Spirit World," I surmised.

"Spirit World," he concurred. "Why exactly don't you wish to associate with them?"

This man…though I hadn't factored him into any of my planning, I liked him, probably more than I'd have guessed had I remembered him ahead of time. The kindly father-figure with insight into the supernatural, not as gruff as Hideki, not as out-of-the-loop as my father by birth. Shogo had a unique window into what it meant to be close with a Spirit Detective, making him a valuable resource in this second life of mine.

Plus, he was a writer. I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that that endeared him to me somewhat. I obviously couldn't tell him everything, but he had already intuited so much…

"There are things I don't want Spirit World knowing about me." I shrugged. "You saw my palms."

"I did," said Shogo. "But I don't know what I saw. Not really."

Shaking my head, I told him, "I can't tell you what those lines mean, and I'm sorry about that, but…you're a writer." At that I smiled. "You must know the trope of keeping information to yourself in order to protect others."

His expression walked the line between smile and grimace. "I do, though I admit I find that trope rather inconvenient."

"I do, too, but in this case, discretion is warranted. Trust me on this. You're better off not knowing." I sighed and sat back in my seat, stirring my drink until the very last of the bubbles popped. "The long and short of it is that Spirit World…they can't read palms, so far as I know, but they know something is off about me. That same je ne sais quoi you sense, I guess." Shrugging, I tried not to descend into self-pity at the thought of Spirit World suspecting me despite how hard I'd worked to remain anonymous. "I don't know what they suspect, or how much they know, but they said they found me 'interesting.' And that's enough to get my hackles up."

This time Shogo full-on grimaced. "I can see why. 'Interesting' is a dubious word indeed."

"Yeah." Leave it to another writer to see why that single word had set me so on edge. "Keeping them informed of my friends' business is a way for them to keep an eye on me, too. Ayame admitted it outright."

Shogo sat up straighter, pushing his glasses up his nose with one precise finger. "Ayame? She's still advising the Detective?"

"Oh. No. There's a new girl, but she's…on vacation." Better not get into the specifics. "Ayame is just her placeholder until she gets back."

"I see," Shogo said. "Well, I can't say I envy your position. Ayame is pleasant enough, but her manners hide a razor's edge."

"Yes—exactly!" Shogo was becoming more and more relatable with every passing moment.

"Truth be told, I've based more than a few characters on her." He laughed with the faintest hint of unease. "But, um. Don't tell her I said that."

"Your secret's safe with me," I said, laughing too. "But yeah—she's smart. Totally character-worthy. And since I'd be dealing with her if I said yes to Spirit World's offer, I worry about her noticing the things I'd rather hide."

"Associating with Spirit World closely would give them access to your life, I imagine," Shogo said.

"Yes. So the way I figure it, if I want to keep secrets, I can't risk giving them that access."

Shogo nodded, processing this…but he didn't speak right away. Eventually he crossed his arms, hooking one leg over the other as he lost himself in thought.

"Actually," he said after a minute, "I think you should risk that."

Surprise rendered me momentarily speechless. Eventually I managed, "What? Why?"

"Control." Shogo spoke the word with a confident smile, hands clasping tightly on the table. "Spirit World is trying to manipulate you, Yukimura. That is Ayame's specialty in particular. And with just one comment, she's sent you into a tailspin…and that tailspin might confirm all that Spirit World suspects about you." He leaned toward me, smile adopting a mischievous edge. "Who says you can't manipulate them right back, by taking their job as though you don't fear them at all? Why not manipulate them and her?"

Nonplussed, I stared at him. Shogo stared right back, waiting for me to get on board—but what he was saying was impossible, wasn't it? I couldn't play Spirit World, could I? Taking the job just gave them an advantage. They were too powerful, had too many resources, knew secrets of the universe a lowly human like me could never—

But when Shogo smiled, suddenly I wasn't so sure.

"I sense doubt in you, Yukimura," he said, "but you should know one thing: the denizens of Spirit World are much more human than you think." His head tilted to one side, a troublemaking schoolboy about to prank a reviled teacher. "The beings they'd like for us to regard as gods are far less powerful than they'd like us to believe…and you, I suspect, are for more capable than you even realize."

"You can't play a player," I said, too stunned to keep from speaking in English.

His brow knit. "Beg pardon?"

"Nothing, just—you're right." Jaw slack with wonder, eyes wide with realization, I stared at Shogo as though he'd just turned to diamond before my very eyes. "If I take the job, I look fearless. I look like I'm not hiding anything." Shogo's eyes bugged a bit when I swore, colorfully and vehemently. "I mean, I've been assuming they were just too powerful to manipulate, but—"

"But they're not," came Shogo's simple, laughing reply. "Perhaps I'm too atheistic to take gods seriously, but I've Spirit World make too many mistakes to take their word for gospel."

Now that I was thinking about it…I should've felt the same way. I was an atheist, too, who had seen Koenma's incompetency and King Enma's unethical treatment of demons in the anime. What was I doing, revering them and fearing them this way? I knew they made mistakes. Sure, they had resources I didn't, but Koenma was far from infallible.

Ayame was far from infallible.

And that meant—

"If you want control, take it," Shogo said. He tipped a conspiratorial wink, fond and fatherly. "I think it's yours for the taking, if you just know where to look."

He did me the courtesy of not talking for a while after that. The waitress came and refilled Shogo's drink, topping mine off with more ice since most of it had melted. When she left again, I placed my hand flat on the table and took a bracing breath.

"You're right," I said, with a grin of my own this time. "And as an added bonus, if I take the job, I can protect my friends from whatever Spirit World throws their way."

His eyes glittered behind his glasses. "There's that plural again."

"That pesky plural," I concurred—but I said nothing more. Shogo ducked his chin with a smile.

"I get it," he said. "More of what you can't tell me. But I suppose you're entitled to your secrets. We did just meet, after all."

Holy hell, his man was a treasure. "Thanks for respecting that."

"My pleasure." He tipped back his second cup of coffee and drank it down in just a few gulps; I feared for his safety, but he didn't look pained when he set the cup aside and stood. "Well, I suppose that's all the advice I can offer."

I stood, too, dipping a bow from the waist. "Thank you, Sato-san. I—"

"Oh. One more thing."

He looked at me the way he had in the bookstore: like he had seen me for the first time again, eyes narrow and searching. I straightened up and touched my hair, ill at ease under the weight of that gaze.

"The final thing I read in your palm," Shogo said—and his intensity softened just the smallest bit. "You are a caring person, Yukimura. You're sensitive and kind, and you care deeply for those you love. Some might tell you that's a weakness, but it's not."

He lifted a hand. It descended onto my short hair in a gentle, fatherly pat. I blinked up at the man—he was taller than I'd realized, a towering string bean of tender smiles and stunning insight—as he patted my hair like a doting uncle.

"Kindness, in fact, is a strength all its own," said Shogo. The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Though Hideki's aikido is definitely worth learning, too."

"Though unexpected, it was good to see you, Hideki," Shogo said. "And good to meet you, Yukimura."

The three of us stood outside the restaurant, having paid for our drinks and abandoned the booth shortly prior. Hideki had shed his suit-coat at some point, standing with hands in pockets of the slacks he probably didn't wear too often. I dipped a low bow, trying my best to look grateful. I owed Shogo quite a lot, I figured, and he deserved appropriate thanks.

"Thank you for your council, Shogo-san," I said.

"Any time. In fact…" He reached into his coat and pulled a small white card from his breast pocket. This he handed to me with a flourish. It bore a printed address and phone number, plus his name. "You're welcome in our home for dinner any time. I'm sure my wife would love to meet you and learn more about the new Spirit Detective." His chortle warmed me to my toes; it reminded me of my dad's laugh, earnest and heartfelt. "Just be sure to call and warn us first, or our guard dogs might attack!"

He didn't explain that he really meant his children might attack, but I laughed at the joke anyway. "Thank you. I will."

Hideki put a hand on my shoulder. "We'll be going, now," he said to Shogo. My sensei nodded at the author with a swing of grey ponytail. "Give my regards to Kuroko."

Shogo's mouth thinned, a smile that wasn't quite a smile at all. "You know, you're welcome to come by for dinner too, Hideki." His voice dropped low and pleading. "Kuroko would like to see you, I'm certain."

But Hideki wasn't so convinced, grunting a short: "I doubt it. Come along, Yukimura."

I followed Hideki down the sidewalk while Shogo waved goodbye, his eyes dark, sparkling crescents in his craggy face. I waved over my shoulder until we turned a corner and lost sight of him—and once we'd walked a few blocks more, I nudged my sensei with my shoulder. He eyed me askance and scowled at the contact, brow rising the barest millimeter.

"Sensei—thank you," I said.

He hummed—or grunted, rather. But it was a question, I could tell.

"I can't imagine that was easy to do." I had my suspicions about the dynamics of Shogo, Kuroko, and Hideki, but they were just that: suspicions. When Hideki didn't reply, I clarified. "I can't imagine it was easy to go to Shogo. So thank you for doing that for me. Turns out, he was the perfect person to talk to."

My teacher swung his eyes forward, face a neutral mask again. "No idea what you mean," he said, tone bland—but he was trying to be bland, to not give anything away, wearing that dispassionate mask to shield himself the same way I wore Keiko-face to school.

Unable to help it, I started to smile.

"No," I said—because he was entitled to his secrets, too. "I suppose you don't."

We walked in silence the rest of the way to the dojo. Hideki loosened his tie at some point, unable to keep its restrictive length around his neck any longer. Once we reached the dojo, I bowed to him and bid him goodbye—only Hideki had other plans. Before I'd even gotten the words out, he started speaking.

"I won't ask you to tell me what you two spoke about," he said, "but I hope you know I'm trustworthy."

Nothing in his expression spoke of jealousy, or of hurt, but it occurred to me he might resent my immediate trust of Shogo and not of my sensei himself. Smile apologetic, I said, "I trust you. It's just easier sometimes to confide in a stranger, especially if what I'm confiding could hurt them." I swallowed a lump of emotion, throat stinging. "I just…I want to protect the people I care about. And you're in that number, now."

His eyes widened the barest fraction. For a second I thought he might meet my touching statement with an assurance of his own...but I was wrong. Hideki was not one for sentiment, no matter how heartfelt.

"Oh, please." Hideki rolled his eyes. "I'm the one teaching you how to protect yourself."

"Doesn't mean I can't look out for you in my own way," I said, greeting his sarcasm with my own. I pointed, teasing. "Your tie is crooked again, by the way."

He pinned me with a glare. "I'm giving you extra laps at practice."

"Eep!"

At that point I basically ran away, lest I anger my sensei and incur further penalties next practice. Hideki actually laughed as I beat my swift retreat, scratchy like a tree branch scraping a window pane.

When I reached home, my parents insisted I eat lunch with them.

Afterward, I went to my room, pulled the drafts of my old novels from their hiding place, and set to work.

That afternoon, I didn't purge. The distraction of writing worked—and even if it wouldn't work every time, or if I ran out of material someday, it could at least help me cope for just an afternoon.

It came as no surprise when I found Ayame outside my school one week to the day after she voiced Spirit World's proposal. Without a word I followed her away from school and back to the park where we'd first parlayed, under the shadows of dark trees that kept our secrets concealed.

"So you've come to a decision, then?" she said when we entered the clearing.

"Yup," I said.

While Ayame watched, I searched for a tree that wasn't oozing with sap and leaned against it, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. The meeting with Shogo played over and over in my head, his advice given a few days prior thumping like a bass track through my consciousness.

Who says you can't manipulate them right back?

You can't play a player, as I'd told Kurama. And I needed to be a player now more than ever.

"Yes," I said as I got settled. "The answer is yes." I left unspoken the fact that being hands-on would give me the control I craved, and the ability to protect my friends. "I'll be the record-keeper for Spirit World."

Ayame's full lips curved into a beatific smile. She bowed, thanking me with her body language even as she said, "Very good. I'm looking forward to working together, Yukimura-san."

"However—I have some ground rules."

To my frustration, my demand didn't appear to rattle Ayame one bit. She merely stood up straight and cocked her head to one side, expression cool and curious and not at all confounded (dangit!).

"Structured communication," I told her, gesturing in the vague direction of my school. "No popping in and out of my life or showing up at my school. I'd prefer a set meeting time and place." I delivered unto her my most weighty glare. "And I'd much prefer you don't spy on me during my private life, when at all possible."

Ayame didn't even take time to think about it. Her smile returned and she said, "All reasonable requests. Consider it done."

I blinked, because I'd been expecting to have to negotiate. There went all the flash-card memorization I'd done the night before…but perhaps this ready agreement was an attempt to throw me off balance. Schooling my features back into a polite mask, I said, "Very well, then. I'm glad you're on board."

Her smile widened. "You're doing us a favor, Keiko. We're happy to accommodate your needs."

If you say so, I thought, but I didn't speak the snarky words aloud. Instead I just looked at her down the bridge of my nose and said, "OK. Down to the nitty-gritty. How does this whole thing work?"

"As stated previously, you will be expected to monitor Yusuke and Kurama, and to assist Yusuke where needed in his duties, barring fighting or placing yourself in any form of danger." She spoke as though she'd had flashcards, herself, speech smooth and rehearsed and memorized. "Materials necessary for Yusuke's duties will be delivered to your desk in your home as needed." At that she cracked a pleasant smile, demure and droll. "Don't worry. We don't need you to leave the window unlocked."

"Cool." Trying not to get creeped out at the implication she could access my home at any time was a feat of acting on my part, let me tell ya. "Anything else?"

"Yes. We'd like you to establish a weekly meeting with the demon Kurama."

My brow furrowed. I'd figured they'd just let me keep an eye on him without a formal meeting, but it's not like this wasn't doable. I'd be seeing him more than once a week as it was—especially considering recent events and conversations.

"Whether or not you reveal yourself as his 'parole officer,' as you called it, is up to you," Ayame said. She hid her smile with the sleeve of her inky kimono. "Is that a problem?"

"I believe I'll manage," I said, polite and cool—and vague.

Little did Ayame know I was already way, way ahead of her in that regard. But it wasn't the time to think about that just then.

Taking my acquiescence in stride, Ayame nodded. "Spirit World expects a report of Kurama and Yusuke's activities in writing, delivered directly to me each week. Perhaps we should meet Saturday mornings, here?"

"8 AM," I said—but it wasn't a request. It was a demand.

I think she knew better than to argue, given my tone. "Perfect," she said. One slender hand reached into her kimono sleeve, pilling from it a small object. This she held out to me. "Here. Consider this a distress beacon."

Pushing off the tree, I walked to her and took what she offered. It was, predictably, a small compact mirror—only it didn't have miniature screens inside like Botan's communicator. It contained only normal mirrors, exterior free of embellishments aside from a small pink rhinestone on the compact's silver cover.

"Press the mirror inside should you have urgent need to speak with me before our scheduled meeting," Ayame said. "I will meet you here as soon as possible in the event the beacon is activated."

Turning the object over in my hands, I muttered, "Nifty."

How cool, to get a Spirit World gadget—but wait. Why didn't I get an actual communication mirror? The ugly truth hit me in short order. Could I even see the screen of a communicator with no spirit awareness? Probably not. This was likely all I'd be getting in terms of fun gadgets. Just my luck…

Ayame let me examine the mirror in silence. When I finished I slipped it in my pocket and faced her once more. "So…is that it, Ayame-san?" I asked with faux pleasantness.

"Yes, unless you have any other questions," she replied.

I tipped an imaginary hat, smile coy. "I'll let you know."

"Yes." She dipped a goodbye-bow, which I forced myself to return. "I expect you will."

"Ok. Then I'll see you Saturday, Ayame-san."

Turning my back on her pleasant smile, I headed for the trees—only as I began to step into their ranks, something rustled behind me. Spinning, I flinched as a flock of birds took flight on the opposite edge of the clearing, an explosion of cawing crows lifting from the forest as though shot into the air by a cannon blast. Ayame wheeled to look, too, moving faster in her kimono than I think I'd seen from her before. Her long sleeves fluttered around her thighs like the wings of a bird far greater than any mere crow.

When the birds faded—flight blocked by the dark canopy above our heads—Ayame stilled. Her feet slowly pivoted her my way again, but her eyes stayed skyward, cast to the small ring of blue sky above the shadowy clearing. Eventually her gaze lowered down to me; she wore no smile, merely a look of empty appraisal

When our eyes met, her smile returned. It looked oddly brittle.

"Oh, Keiko?" she said.

I swallowed, nervous though I knew not why. "Yes?"

"There is something else, actually."

I almost rolled my eyes, the urge nearly slipping free of the polite Keiko-mask I wore like armor—because oh, look. A dramatic reveal at the end of our conversation. How predictable. Instead of snark I opted for a mild, "Yes, Ayame-san?"

"Since you're already monitoring one parolee of Spirit World," she said, every word a proclamation all its own, "we do not think it unreasonable to ask you monitor one more."

My chest hitched, breath catching like a snarl of hair around the tines of an unfeeling comb…because oh my fucking god. I was genre-savvy enough to know exactly where Ayame was headed with this—but I wasn't sure if I liked it.

Hell. I wasn't sure if I'd survive it.

But Ayame didn't need to know that.

Making a show of thinking about it, I put my hand to my chin and screwed up my eyes in thought, not allowing an ounce of apprehension to slip past my careful mask.

"I could probably handle one more, if it's just a weekly meeting," I said after a moment's ersatz contemplation. "Who's the lucky parolee?"

"You've met him before," she said—and if given the chance, I probably could've quoted Ayame's next words right along with her.

Oblivious to the heart beating rapid-fire in my chest, and to the myriad possibilities playing in endless, horrific loops inside my head, the reaper told me: "I trust you remember the demon Hiei?"

Before I could react, before I could say yes, the trees behind her stirred—but instead of a murder of crows, the demon in question stepped from the shadows of the trees.

Notes:

And that's why this "record keeper" plot exists: to keep Hiei around. Surprise!

Keiko needed a goddamn squadron of pep-talks, hence Amagi and Shogo in this chapter. And I've discovered I LOVE SHOGO SO MUCH. Keiko needed an insightful (and KIND) older person in her life, and I think he fits that bill really well.

In the anime, Genkai sent Yusuke to Sanada Kuroko (the first Spirit Detective) for advice. Kuroko appeared to know Genkai pretty well and referenced her fondly. Kuroko is the main connection between Genkai and Hideki. I imagined Hideki, Kuroko, and Shogo were a little Spirit-Team "back in the day," not unlike the team that forms around Yusuke in YYH itself, and met Genkai at some point.

This hasn't been explained in the story, but Hideki was apprenticed to a martial arts and reiki master (same way Yusuke apprenticed to Genkai) and inherited that master's technique. Reiki seems a secretive art, and Genkai has implied in YYH that she knows other martial arts masters, so there's another connection between her and Hideki—she knew Hideki's old master and knew Hideki lived in Keiko's town when she recommended him as an instructor.

I'm explaining this basically to show that YYH is a very small world. I love writing little fill-in-the-gaps bits like this. As for Kuroko herself, she'll be part of this story eventually, in a way I'm SUPER EXCITED TO WRITE ABOUT.

(Also, yes: I have been chased off of a psychic's front porch with a letter opener. Will write about it sometime. I really, REALLY pissed her off.)

Chapter 47: Patience

Summary:

In this ironically named chapter, NQK recognizes the value of patience.

Notes:

(The chapter title is ironic since it's called "patience" and this installment is a day late, LOL AREN'T I CLEVER, no I'm not ugh sorry this is late)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The college cafeteria, with its bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the green expanse of the Quad, thrummed with the tense talk of my classmates in the grip of final exam panic. Malory looked across the Caf with dismay, leaning around the students ahead of us in the entry line to catch glimpse of the buffets. They sat on the opposite side of the long, brightly lit room like some distant, glimmering oasis.

"Aw, man," she said. "It's packed. They'll be out of pizza already!"

Pizza, she had told our study group, was her favorite Brain Food, hence the decision to meet in the Caf for our weekly meeting. I didn't have to lean around the girls ahead of us; I was taller than them by a good foot thanks to my favorite heeled boots.

"I'm more worried about finding a place to sit," I said, looking at the crammed tables.

At that, Mal heaved an enormous sigh. "Maybe we should get our dinner to go?"

Neither of us was sure. The rest of the group was going to meet us here; would they want to study elsewhere since it was so loud? As the line moved, taking us closer to the cafeteria doors, Mal sighed again.

"We better decide fast," she said. "Ms. Linney won't let us change our minds once we go past her." Another huge sigh. "Ms. Martha would let us, but Ms. Linney is a bitch."

The aforementioned woman, wearing a smock with a garish floral pattern over loose sweatpants, barely even glanced at the students as she took their ID cards and swiped them through the scanner. Hellos she returned with grunts; smiles she returned with scowls. To her left, atop the small table where she sat performing her duties, the periwinkle corner of a romance novel peeked from beneath a napkin.

"Seriously," Mal muttered as we drew close. "She's just so mean."

I hated that Ma's point was at least partially proven when she chirped a bright "Hello!" at Ms. Linney, and Ms Linney didn't return it. Mal trotted on ahead as I handed over my ID card; she stopped a few feet away to wait for me, an I-told-you-so splashed across her face.

"Hi, Ms. Linney," I said. "How's the book?"

She looked up at once—and then she grinned.

"Jo-Anna married the Count to protect Sir Henry," she said as she swiped my card. She didn't hand it back to me right away, though. "She's one smart lady, that's for sure."

"Oooh, scandalous!" I said, dramatically placing my wrist against my forehead. "But that's kind of sad. She's not with her true love?"

Linney chuckled, looking smug. "I think she's gonna learn she's pregnant and the marriage will be annulled. That's how things usually go in these rags." At that she rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever write romance novels, you hear me? Write something decent."

"Will do!" I said, saluting. "You'd better have finished that book by the time I come back, though; I wanna hear the ending before the term lets out."

"Don't tell me what to do," she said—but with a sly grin. Knowing her, she'd have it finished by the end of her shift. Linney was a reader; even long, wordy classics only took her a day or two.

Linney gave back my card with a smile. When I turned to go, Mal was standing there with her mouth open. She shut it in short order, but as we fell into step and walked toward the buffet, she leaned toward me.

"How the hell did you do that?" she asked.

"How did I do what?"

"Get that harpy to smile?"

I shrugged. "I noticed she reads a lot, so I asked about her book a few months back." It had taken a few asks for Linney to actually start replying in earnest, but after a while she'd started being friendly with me.

"Huh." Mal looked, in a word, flummoxed. "And that got her to like you?"

"People like talking about their interests," I said. "Show you're interested, too, and they open up even if they're a bit prickly at first."

It was as if I'd described nuclear physics to her, judging by the look on her face. "If you say so," she said, "but I've been nice to her a hundred times, and she's never smiled back."

As one of the three southerners attending my Midwestern college, many of my habits (holding doors for people, abundant small-talk, eager smiles and easy familiarity with strangers) had been viewed with bemused skepticism many times before. My southern hospitality had been viewed with outright suspicion in Chiago, when I'd opened a door for a woman who had her hands full and was thanked with a snarled, "The fuck you want?" As we reached the buffet line, I gestured for Mal to go first and addressed the back of her head.

"My daddy raised me," I told her, wincing as a hint of southern accent slipped through. "He's friendly with everyone. Could probably make a rattlesnake feel at home, I've always said. So maybe I just picked it up from him and—"

"Jose!"

Mal darted off, having spotted one of our study group members in the crowd. The explanation died on my tongue. Reaching for a slice of pizza, I stacked my plate and followed Mal into the crowd.

It didn't really matter, why or how I'd made friends with the grumpy Ms. Linney. Mal wasn't interested in hearing about it, anyway.

Hiei's reflective eyes appeared first, fiery will-o-the-wisps summoned by the magic of a woodland sorcerer. His body solidified amidst the shadowy trees next, moving forward into the light like a shadow turned physical. He wore the same black cloak from before, the one with the trailing hem and the tear along a shoulder seam—but he walked with certain stride to stand ten feet from me, not limping or hurt in any way that I could see. Spirit World hadn't been too rough on him, I guessed.

Still. When he looked at me, he appeared pained—as though he'd smelled something foul, and the scent offended him.

Predictably, I found myself quite unable to move.

Ayame watched through shrewd eyes as Hiei and I shared a long, silent look. Eventually she stepped forward, standing neatly between us, looking at each of us in turn.

"Were the conditions of your parole explained to you?" Ayame asked.

Hiei's eyes flickered in her direction before settling back on me.

"Do not leave the prefecture," he said, voice gravelly and harsh. "Stay close to the city. Meet with her once weekly."

The demon pronounced the pronoun with undisguised distaste. My body unlocked at that point, lips thinning into a hard line. I was the one who should feel affronted by all of this, not him. He was the one who'd kidnapped me, the one who had hurt Botan and thrown my Record Keeper job into disarray. What right did he have to be resentful?

Ayame waited after Hiei spoke, but when he said nothing else, her brows rose. "And?"

His lip curled back. "And what?"

The reaper did not react to his snarl; her poker face was as good as Kurama's, probably. "There is one more condition," Ayame said, as if she spoke to an ornery child.

Hiei didn't speak. He didn't move. He stared at Ayame for a time untrackable—and then he ducked his chin and muttered something, words unintelligible but clearly derisive, that same ornery child repeating his teacher's words whilst being reprimanded.

"What was that?" Ayame asked with mocking delicacy.

Hiei's audible growl preceded a snarl of, "No harming humans! There. Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes, it was." Ayame turned to me and bowed; she did not do the same for Hiei. "I'll leave you to it."

Her words had barely registered as a goodbye, abrupt as they were. "Ayame, wait," I said, reaching for her—but moving with surprising speed, Ayame slipped through the trees and disappeared behind their trunks. Pretty sure she'd pulled a Cleo and vanished, because when I ran to the trees and tried to spot her…well, it was very literally like trying to grab a ghost.

"Well." I shifted from foot to foot, staring after her in disbelief. "Well. Um. Never mind, I guess." I glanced over my shoulder; Hiei hadn't moved. "Hello."

The fire demon's lip curled. A small "tch" sound slipped from between his teeth—and then Hiei pivoted on one foot and started for the trees, himself.

"Wait," I said, because everybody kept abandoning me and that was just not cool. Hiei stopped, but he did not turn around. "We need to set up our meeting time."

For a second I thought he'd tell me to go fuck myself, or tell me that Spirit World's order didn't apply to him, or something similarly contrary. Instead his hands fisted at his sides, hard and unmoving and betraying tension Hiei probably didn't want anyone to see.

"I'll come to you," he said.

"No, you won't." The scarlet eye glaring over his shoulder would've scared me had I not felt so righteously indignant about his ridiculous suggestion. Drawing myself, I declared: "Sorry-not-sorry, Hiei, but you will not come waltzing in and out of my life whenever you damn well please. We will have structure, or Spirit World will have to find you a new parole officer." At that I smiled, tight and ironic. "And I can't guarantee they'll know how to make ramen like I do."

His brow shot up, nearly disappearing beneath the fabric of his white headband. I bit back another sarcastic line and put a hand to my head, eyes falling shut for just a moment. While mouthing off certainly felt nice, I knew with someone as taciturn as Hiei that it was a poor idea.

Schooling my features into a more neutral mask, I said, "Meet me at my house at sundown. We'll discuss more then." A glance at my watch had me wincing. "But for now, I'm late to school and need to go."

He made that 'tch' sound again, this time punctuated by an impressive rolling of his vivid eyes.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever."

Unlike Ayame, who disappeared between objects, or Clotho, who disappeared into the space between moments, Hiei disappeared much like he did in the anime: with athleticism. His knees bent, and with a flicker of black and a clatter of air so precise it sounded like a pool cue smacking an eight ball, he blurred from sight—moving too fast for me to follow with the naked eye. I stood there blinking at thin air until, distantly, the ringing of the school bell floated above the dark treetops.

Well, crap.

Even though I knew I'd get sweaty, I ran all the way back to school, stopping only briefly in the area with the shoe lockers to don my indoors slippers—and scribble a hasty note on the back of a receipt. This I stuffed into a certain locker, hoping that the owner would find the note and obey its instructions without being too much of an intellectual ass about it. My teacher made me stand in the hall during the first five minutes of the lecture as punishment for my tardiness, but to be honest, getting to be by myself felt…nice.

I'd likely become very social in the days to come, after all. Especially now that all four of the YYH boys were firmly affixed in different areas of my life. Alone time would likely turn scarce in coming weeks.

My classes passed fast, thank my lucky stars, lectures giving way to lunch without incident. Rather than head for the library stairs, however, I made my way through the halls to the back of the school. "Sorry, Kaito," I murmured as I exited the building and began the short walk across the back field. "But I'll be there in a jiffy."

The greenhouse, to my dismay, was empty. I called Kurama's name as I shut its door behind me, and I even walked to the little sitting area where he'd interrogated me to check for him. He didn't answer, nor did he reveal himself, so I sat on the bench with a sigh and put my head in my hands. Guess he hadn't gotten my note, after all.

But then, loud in the greenhouse's stillness, I heard the door click open. I sat up, head cocked in the direction of the door.

"Kei?" Kurama said.

Relief flooded my chest; I sagged back against the bench, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee and grasping it tightly with one hand. "Over here," I said as I lay my other arm along the back of the bench.

The sound of steps carried through the warm, humid air. Kurama appeared in short order. The pink of his uniform looked more like muted brown in the green light, though of course that same light only illuminated the green-glass of his eyes from within. He gave me a nod as he entered the clearing, but he didn't say anything as he sat on the bench opposite mine.

"You got my note," I observed.

The fox cross his legs, fingers steepling together above his lap.

"I did," he said. His lips quirked. "Kaito will wonder where we are."

"Well, he does always say he keeps me around so I can keep him on his toes."

"Yes. That's true." Kurama's smile faded, giving way to a look of pointed curiosity. "So tell me, Kei. How did the meeting with Ayame go?"

Five days earlier, directly after I got home from my Sunday meeting with Sato Shogo, I picked up the phone and called Kurama. He knew better than to ask why I wanted to meet, or perhaps his mother was nearby and he simply didn't wish to be overheard. Whatever the reason, he came to the restaurant within the hour. I met him on the front steps, hands twisting together like ropes snarled in a gale. He wore those terrible high-waisted mom-jeans so endemic to this time period, though somehow he looked good in them (what a jerk) and a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Plain, simple clothes, and yet he looked like he'd stepped off a runway somewhere and gotten lost, showing up in a pedestrian place like this. It's criminal, how good he looked wearing black—a color I couldn't recall him wearing much in the anime. Hiei, that goth wannabe, needed to take notes. Kurama's red hair gleamed where it lay on his shoulder, red highlights made all the more visible against the dark background of his shirt, and above that his pale skin and those luminous eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark—

Stop it, Keiko. You didn't call him for a date, even if Kurama was smiling at you with surprising warmth.

"Kei." My new nickname sounded oddly familiar when he said it, like Kurama hadn't coined it mere days ago. "I wasn't expecting another call so soon, let alone a request to meet."

"Yeah, well." I shifted from foot to foot, looking him up and down. "Consider the circumstances extenuating. Follow me."

He did so without a word. Just a smile, small and bemused, as I took us on a circuitous route through the restaurant to avoid my parents. We climbed to the second floor and headed down the hall in equal silence, until I opened the door to my room and stepped inside. Kurama paused, hand on the doorframe to look around. Surprise widened his eyes a fraction.

"What?" I said, affecting a comically cross expression. "Never seen a girl's room before?"

He smiled, laugh low and wry. "Can't say I have, actually. Not in this life."

"…Oh." But Kurama's romantic history was a mystery to ponder another day. I gestured at my desk. "Have a seat."

He sat; I leaned on the edge of my bed, too nervous to relax. Kurama's hands rested idle and unmoving on his thighs as he trained his eyes on me, expectant. Clearly he knew this wasn't just a social call, as well. I tossed my bangs out of my face and licked my lips. Somehow my index nail found its way into my thumb's cuticle, ripping at it like a piranha feasting on a carcass.

"Can anyone," I said, with a pointed glance at the ceiling, "listen in right now?"

Kurama paused, glancing at the floor. His eyes rose to mine with a reassuring smile. "No," Kurama said. "I have it covered."

"Good." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Said the following in a rush, not giving myself time to pause, to second-guess, to back down from what I knew I had to do: "Spirit World wants me to act as your parole officer and as Yusuke's handler. Maybe act as spy on you both. I'm not sure." I relayed Ayame's exact words with my eyes still closed, reconstructing her offer exactly as I remembered it for Kurama's benefit, even including Ayame's implication that Spirit World considered me 'interesting'. When I finished, I opened my eyes and found Kurama staring at me—expression totally blank, green eyes flat with suppressed emotion. Wincing, I said, "I'm sorry I didn't mention this sooner. I just needed time to process, and to decide what Ayame meant by everything." Taking a steadying breath, I spoke my intentions aloud for the first time. "I wanted to warn you before I accept their offer."

Some small, hidden uncertainty inside me gelled as soon as the words left my lips. Before I accept their offer. Ever since the meeting with Shogo earlier that day, I hadn't allowed myself to speak aloud of my intentions. Saying it aloud, even to myself, would make it all real.

And I'd been right. Now that I'd said what I intended to do, I knew there could be no going back.

Kurama's flat expression sharpened at my declaration, though I could still not discern his true feelings. He wore his masks too well. "So you intend to take the offer?" he asked.

"Yes." I attempted a smile, though I'm pretty sure it resembled a grimace more than anything. "I figure it would look suspicious if I didn't take the offer. Declining would make it look like I have something to hide."

"Which you do," Kurama observed.

"Which I do," I agreed—and at that I let my look turn sly. "But they don't need to know that, now do they?"

"I suppose not," Kurama said (and now a smile peeked through that bland, calculating mask, which made me feeling better far more than it should have). Kurama leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "It's possible they don't suspect the truth—suspect you, yes, but not of what you're truly hiding. When they asked me about you in Spirit World, the questions were general, leading, and unspecific."

A tightness unclenched inside my chest. "I'm happy to hear that."

"I'm glad." His lips twisted into a full, wry smile, then. "Your existence does stretch the bounds of credulity, after all. I truly doubt they suspect the truth. They could, for instance, merely suspect you possess psychic powers they did not predict."

"It's possible." There had been no hints to real truth of my life aside from certain conversations with Kagome; since they'd only begun suspecting me after the Kurama incident, I doubted they were aware of those. "But if I'm to find out what they know about me, I need an 'in.' This job could be just that."

Kurama said, "Friends close…"

"Enemies closer," I finished.

Kurama's neutral mask slipped entirely at that point, making way for a conspiratorial laugh. "I admit the idea of them recruiting you is perturbing, but I think it's prudent to accept their offer."

My heart leapt. "You do?"

"Yes." He looked out the window above my desk, lips curled. "Spirit World would never expect a mere human to attempt to manipulate them. They rely too heavily on the respect of humans, on humans treating them with reverence and deferential awe. But pride goes before the fall, as they say." His eyes slid my way again, warming slightly. "I appreciate your candor on this subject."

I could scarce believe it, let alone form my halting reply. "So…you're not mad at me?" I asked.

"Why would I be? You're being transparent—the only thing I've wanted from you since the day we met." His low, musical laugh made my toes curl inside my socks; I tried not to look overtly please at that tiny Kurama-smile he wore, that subtle look more telling than any overblown grin. He said, "I can hardly complain at honesty from you, Kei."

"Always logical, that's you," I said, hiding my pleasure behind a joke. "I admit there's another reason I want to take the offer, though."

Kurama's posture straightened. "Oh?"

"I don't know what they're planning when it comes to Zombie-kun. Or you, for that matter." My good cheer withered at the memory of meeting Ayame in the forest. "Ayame's wording…it bodes." But I pasted on a look of determination I didn't really feel, because I knew what I had to do. "If I take the job, I can warn you if they're coming after you, or after Yusuke."

The suspicion on his face cleared, making way for amusement. "What did you call it?" he asked. "Acting as an albatross?" Kurama shook his head, but he smiled as he did it. "It's so very like you, to protect others even while protecting yourself."

Agreeing with that statement would feel like paying myself a compliment, so I just hummed, noncommittal and evasive. Kurama laughed again—but then he sobered, one of his long, dexterous hands resting flat on the desk as he leaned toward me.

"Kei," he said. "I can care for myself."

My lips pursed; my brow shot up. "Haven't we been over my whole 'you-can-accept-help-sometimes' shtick before?"

"Yes. And while I recognize the wisdom in your logic, I would hate for you to suffer at the hands of Spirit World on my account." Kurama spoke with odd gravity, eyes intent on my face. "In fact, I will not allow that to happen. Not to you. Not after what you did for my mother."

It felt like the air had been sucked out from the room. Almost lightheaded, not wanting to examine the solemn promise of his words too closely, I lurched forward and smacked Kurama playfully on the knee. He blinked at the motion, looking quite taken aback by my rolling eyes. The spell he'd cast over the room, and over me, crumbled.

"Oh, don't be so dire," I teased, trying to deflect with humor. "Worrying is my job." I pasted on a look of overstated, cartoonish suspicion. "What are you trying to do, huh? Steal my job? Put me out of work?" I lifted a finger and pointed at him, head thrown back so I could stare dramatically down the bridge of my nose. "J'accuse!"

He bore my act with patience, matching it with a dry eye-roll of his own. "I'm allowed to fret, too, Kei. Allow me to be your albatross, for once." A teasing spark lit his eyes from within. "Or do you require me to parrot your own 'you-can-accept-help-sometimes' shtick back at you?"

I huffed, indignant, but I couldn't formulate an articulate response. Kurama's triumphant smile told me that he knew he'd won, but the smile faded when Kurama lifted his hand off the desk. He reached behind his neck, into the thicket of his lustrous hair—and my body reacted like a startled horse when he pulled a large round seed into view, legs propelling me backward over the mattress until I hit the wall behind my bed. Kurama blinked, lowering his hand as I gathered my knees to my chest and ducked my head, embarrassed.

"Um," I said. "Um, sorry. Gut reaction." To remedy his utter mystification I admitted in a small, mortified voice that "I associate plants with danger when you're within ten feet of them."

Kurama didn't react for a moment—and then he blinked, threw back his head, and laughed. It was the most heartfelt laugh I'd heard from him yet, rising from the depths of his chest like warm water flowing from a crack in the earth. A deeper sound than I'd expected from his smooth, sophisticated voice, too. I was so accustomed to hearing low, small laughs from him that this hearty chuckle reduced me to wordless staring, mouth dropped open, eyes bugging unattractively from my startled skull. Eventually the laughter faded, but the sound lingered both in his sparkling eyes and in my aching chest.

"A wise policy for my enemies," Kurama said when he stopped laughing. "Thankfully, you do not rank within that number." He held out his hand again, seed the size of a grape lying innocently on his wide palm. "This emits a field that disrupts Spirit World's typical methods of observation. I can ward them off with my own energy, but…"

"But I can't." Yet another manifestation of my powerless human nature. Ugh. Eyeing the seed, I said, "And that seed will do the dirty work for me."

"Yes. I am confident that this seed will provide you privacy. I admit I did my homework when imprisoned in Spirit World." His lips curled, but not into a smile. "A demon, doing homework. Seems my human life is sinking in at last."

"About time," I said. "You've only been human for 15 years."

"Though I wasn't planning on staying as such for this long," he said. "Seems I still have much to learn."

Tucking the seed into my pocket, I hopped off my bed with a bounce and a grin. "Well, thank your lucky stars you have a teacher." I jerked a thumb at the door. "Have you eaten dinner? My treat."

Kurama accepted the offer. My parents were, of course, absolutely delighted to see him, and even more delighted by the news his mother was set to come home from the hospital within the week. There followed a hundred offers to bring the Minamino family food, and of course they'd love to meet Shiori once she felt well enough to come visit. Kurama bore these offers and overtures with grace—but more than once I caught him watching me interact with my parents with the oddest look on his face. Like he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing, or like something about my actions confused him.

But that, I figured, was a matter for another day, and I would not ruin this moment of sudden peace with my awkward curiosities.

"So Hiei is here," Kurama said. "I must admit that I'm surprised."

I didn't say anything. I wasn't surprised Hiei was back, of course—but so soon? Just a week or so after the incident with Botan had happened? I thought Spirit World would keep him locked up for far longer, or at least not let him out of custody quite so fast.

"Was he meant to come back?" Kurama said. "In the legend, I mean."

Kurama had listened to my report about the conversation with Ayame in silence, asking clarifying questions only a few times when trepidation muddied my wording. We had planned to meet after school to discuss my scheduled meeting with Ayame, but I couldn't wait now that Hiei had shown up. I needed to talk ASAP, not wait till after school.

"Yes," I said. "He's supposed to be Yusuke's ally—but eventually."

Kurama's brows shot up at that, not that I blamed him. Hiei's sudden heel-face-turn in the anime had stunned many the viewer over the years, too. The anime's favorite homicidal edgelord had turned into an honorable swordsman out of absolutely nowhere, and with no explanation other than Togashi simply changing Hiei's personality to better fit with Yusuke's group. It was a fandom mystery, wondering what had precipitated Hiei's shift in personality, trying to find a logical reason for a change that made no sense in canon.

And of course, per my usual habits, I had to worry and wonder about what Keiko and Hiei knowing each other would do to canon. Was it my job to turn him into the kind of demon that would become Yusuke's ally, or would that happen without my interference? Or would he become something else entirely thanks to this new association of ours?

"You're worried you'll affect fate again."

My head jerked up. Kurama regarded me with a regretful smile, apologetic as though he'd been the one to cause my anguish. That martyr.

"Of course I worry," I said, closing my eyes. "I always worry."

"I don't blame you. Not in this instance." I heard him shift atop his bench, clothes rustling in the still air. "Truth be told, I'm shocked Spirit World considers Hiei redeemable at all. He detests humans without exception, so far as I know. And he seemed particularly vicious in recent months." A pause, in which Kurama doubtless studied every angle of this problem. Eventually he asked, "What made him decide to aid Yusuke in your legend?"

"Pragmatism, mostly. Orders from Spirit World and the promise of parole."

That was the honest truth, of course…it just omitted the anime's aforementioned uncertainties. Was it worth mentioning that the 'legend' was hazy on the whys and hows of Hiei's conversion? Was it worth mentioning that King Enma occasionally brainwashed demons to attack humans, and that some members of the fandom had speculated Hiei could be counted among that number? I'd seen fans justify Hiei's early-series behavior with that excuse. Brainwashing would certainly explain the personality change…

"To be honest, the legend wasn't so clear about why Hiei joined Yusuke aside from the chance of parole," I decided to admit. Best keep some details to myself, because they might not even be relevant, and Kurama wasn't meant to know of King Enma's deceptions just yet. "It wasn't clear if you and Hiei kept in contact before Spirit World asked you both to help Yusuke, either."

Another brow lift from Kurama. "I'm meant to be his ally, as well?"

Uh oh. Was that too much to reveal? But it was too late to demure, so I admitted, "Yes. With promises of a scrubbed record for your cooperation."

Kurama nodded, considering this as he stared past me and into space. The fox didn't care to share his thoughts on the subject, sitting in silence under my watchful gaze. Eventually he shook his head.

"As for my continued association with Hiei," he said, "I doubt that's up to me. If Hiei does not wish to be found, he won't be. He'll come to me if he wishes, then and only then. So please: try not to worry about him, so far as I'm concerned."

I snorted. "Easier said than done."

His head tilted. "Are you nervous?"

"Who, me? Nervous?" My voice rose with fevered humor. "Are you kidding? Me, nervous? Never. I'm never nervous. Nerves of steel, that's me!"

He pinned me with a look. "Kei…"l

"Oh, fine," I grumbled, deflating. "Of course I'm nervous." I threw up my hands and shook my head, making a wordless sound of frustrated rage. "The last time I met Hiei, he kidnapped me and straight up tried to murder my best friend! Of course I'm nervous! Hiei might try to straight-up murder me, too, and who knows if you'll be there to take a sword through the gut to save me like you did Yusuke? Also, by the way, thanks for that. Yusuke's important and him dying again would've been really, really bad." Dropping my hands, I looked Kurama over. "Speaking of which. Can I ask you something?"

He waved, indicating for me to go on.

"OK, cool. Well, it's been bugging me for a while now, but—why were you at the warehouse that night?" When Kurama arched a brow, I said, "In the legend, you went to help Yusuke since he saved your mom. But he didn't save her, so some of the connective bits for this story's plot aren't adding up."

"Ah. In that case, allow me to ameliorate your uncertainty," Kurama said with a small, amused smile. "Hiei isn't exactly subtle when he wants to show off. I could sense his energy, and I surmised he must be fighting someone." He paused, then admitted, "And you were missing, as well. It wasn't hard to piece everything together."

"Missing?" I said, sitting up straighter. "How did you…?"

Kurama hesitated—which wasn't like him at all. I waited as patiently as I could (AKA, with my foot bouncing like that rabbit from Bambi) as he stood up and wandered to a nearby trellis.

"I went by the restaurant the day after we used the Mirror," Kurama said, fingers trailing up and down the vines climbing to the wooden climber. "I went to get answers from you." Kurama kept his back turned to me; I could not see his face. "I found the bowls in the alley. Saw signs of a struggle. And when Hiei's energy lit up like a bomb, Yusuke's followed suit."

I hadn't known any of this. All I could manage was a small, "So you came to…?"

"Help you, I suppose," Kurama said.

He turned around, then. Our eyes met. The silence said a lot—but to be honest, I wasn't sure precisely what words it spoke. My relationship with Kurama was still so uncertain. We were so similar, our secrets so aligned, but this was so new, a path untouched by feet before…

I did not fear him any longer. But that didn't meant I knew what I felt yet, let alone what Kurama might be thinking behind those cloistered eyes.

"It's not often I act on impulse," he murmured, "but…"

"Well." I ducked my chin, rubbing shyly at the back of my neck. "Whatever the reason, thank you. You saved Yusuke's bacon."

"It was nothing," he said, voice cool but kind. "Repayment of a debt."

"If you say so." I stood up, stretching my arms over my head with a satisfying pop of shoulder. "I'll keep you posted about Hiei. I told him to meet me after school, though who knows if he'll do show up."

Green eyes flashed like thorns in moonlight. "Do you want me to be there?"

"While I'll admit the thought is tempting, no, thank you. Don't want to spook him, and he might still be angry with you." I made a show of flexing my bicep. "I can handle him."

"I believe you," Kurama said, smiling at my bravado, "but do know that you can call me should you require reinforcements."

I didn't look at him. I grabbed my schoolbag and busied myself with its strap, muttering a sidelong, "Sure, sure."

Kurama was smart enough to realize I was avoiding making promises. He stepped toward me, reaching until his fingers just brushed the edge of my sleeve. His scent of mint and earth carried on the breeze, calming and familiar.

"I mean it, Kei," Kurama murmured. "Hiei is dangerous." Green eyes searched my face. "You don't have to face this alone."

"I know," I said. I pulled my arm from his grasp; he kept his hand outstretched, then let it drop at the sight of my can-do smile. "But, ah…give me a chance, all right?"

It took him a moment to reply. "All right," he said—but he said it grudgingly, and I knew that if he felt Hiei's energy spike again, I'd more than likely wind up with an angry fox demon on my doorstep.

The thought, I will admit, brought me comfort.

We left the greenhouse in silence. Halfway across the back lawn, however, Kurama caught my eye.

"Kei," he asked. "Have you told Yusuke about Spirit World's offer?"

"Not yet," I said. Kurama looked skeptical. "Spirit World is suspicious of me, and I wanted to talk that out with someone who's in-the-know about me before telling him." I kicked at the grass, strands green and delicate with spring's new life. "Yusuke knows me really well. I haven't told him yet because he'd be able to tell I'm worried, and about more than just their offer. But I plan on telling him soon."

"Soon is best, I imagine," came Kurama's dry observation. "And you haven't told him your secrets yet, either."

"Yeah." I hated admitting it, but it was true. Yusuke, with his utmost importance to canon, was the last person I wanted to alienate with my secrets…but then a new thought occurred to me, one I eagerly grabbed as a distraction. Cocking a hip, I said, "By the way. Yusuke knows you're on parole and that you go to my school, so he'll probably find out that we're associating no matter what. Are you OK with me telling him about your—I mean, our situation?"

He shook his head. "I don't mind. He knows my true nature, regardless, and does not seem the type to betray my trust."

"OK. Good." I gestured at the school. "We should be getting back."

Kurama nodded; we fell into step beside each other, heading for the school doors and then the library after that. As I opened the stairwell door, however, I paused.

"Say, Kurama?" I asked.

His head inclined. "Yes?"

"Have you ever thought about telling your mother the truth?" I asked. "The truth about you, I mean."

For a moment I wondered if I had crossed a line. Kurama's look darkened, eyes fixing on me like a wolf spotting a rabbit—but then one thin brow rose high. The tension abated.

"Have you ever thought of telling your parents?" Kurama inquired.

His tone said that no, clearly I had never considered telling my parents, and it would be useless to claim otherwise—and damn him, he was right. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Ducked my head, lower lip jutting in a sullen pout.

"Fair point," I muttered.

Kurama's low, satisfied laugh sounded like a smirk made audible. I stuck out my tongue and marched forward up the stairs, hoping that by the time we reached the top, my incriminating blush would have faded. Either way, Kaito didn't seem to notice. He just glared as Kurama and I appeared at the top of the flight, slapping his book closed between both of his hands.

"Finally," he said. "Now where, exactly, have you two been?"

Kurama and I traded a look. The hard edge to his green eyes faded as he adopted a cool, pleasant smile.

"Oh," said Minamino Shuichi, "we were merely exchanging pleasantries. That's all."

Promptly at sundown, I marched into the alley behind the restaurant with a bowl of ramen balanced on each hand. These I set atop a wooden produce crate, a crate flanked by two boxes to use as seats. I'd already arranged the drinking glasses, spoons, chopsticks, and paper placements, creating a makeshift table setting for tonight's featured guest. I'd considered finding some flowers for a centerpiece, but something told me Hiei might just set them on fire to be ~edgy~.

Despite my dramatic tendencies, I just didn't have the patience for that.

"Hiei?" I said when the last traces of sunlight vanished from the sky above. "Are you here?"

Behind me I heard a distinct flitting noise, the hiss of air parting as something moved faster than I could see. Turning, I found Hiei standing behind me with his hands in his pockets, hunched at the shoulders like he'd been walking through a storm. The light above the restaurant doors caught his eyes, brilliant scarlet color reflecting like an animal's in the gloom.

"Hungry?" I said. I gestured at the crate-table. "Sit."

Hiei did not sit. He just stood there, staring, until I lost my patience and rolled my eyes.

"OK," I said. "Be that way and stand, then."

The fire demon didn't move as I sat down; he merely tracked me with his gaze, watching as I cracked my chopsticks and dug into my ramen—and then his eyes flickered to the bowl sitting across from mine. Oh, so he could be plied with food. Or at least tempted by it. Good to know.

"Spirit World has told me I need to meet you with once a week, as your…well. As your parole officer." I paused to slurp down a bite of delicious noodles. When I finished I set down the spoon and crossed my arms. "I'm thinking here, Thursdays, sundown. Is that acceptable to you?"

Finally Hiei moved, even if it was to simply curl his lip into a hateful sneer. "Do I even have a choice?" he spat.

"Well. Yes." When his eyes widened, clear surprise etched into his features, I raised a hand and started counting on my fingers. "I could meet you in the morning instead of sundown, if you'd prefer. Friday mornings before school I have a late-start day so it wouldn't be trouble. Tuesday nights are the biggest conflict in my schedule since I have aikido. But—"

Hiei's low growl silenced me. From between grit teeth he said, "Sundown. Thursday. Fine."

Prim and proper and polite, I picked up my chopsticks and chirped, "Good! Then it's settled." I scooped up another bite of noodles and blew on them, regarding Hiei over their steaming tangle. "So…what are you going to get up to while you're on parole, do you think?"

"That is no concern of yours," he flatly returned.

"Actually, it kind of is?" I said. "As your parole officer, I'm supposed to know what you're doing. But—"

Hiei didn't let me finish. Teeth flashing between snarling lips, he let out a derisive cackle and pointed one accusatory finger in my direction.

"Just as I thought!" he said, voice full and deep with darkly gleeful triumph. "You're just another dog of Spirit World. For all your talk of pride the last time we met, you're nothing but—"

"Excuse you, but I wasn't done."

Hiei shut up real fuckin' fast when I suddenly started talking in Mom Voice. He actually stepped back a pace at my quiet, I'm-not-mad-I'm-just-disappointed tone, watching with grit-toothed apprehension as I patted my lips with a napkin and set my chopsticks down.

"Before you interrupted me," I said, "I was going to say that what you do is, in fact, my business—but nevertheless, I will respect your privacy as best I'm able for the duration of your parole."

Hiei's eyes already dominated his face, giving him the look of a perpetually startled child, but just then they seemed to swallow the rest of his features whole. I suppressed a smile, trying not to marvel at how such a rude, prickly person could look so damn adorable. He'd likely main me if I told him that, anyway.

"Eat your soup," I said, gesturing at the bowl across from me. "It'll get cold if you don't hurry."

Hiei didn't move. I sighed and picked my chopsticks up again. Hiei reminded me of Sorei, my nearly-feral pet cat—unsure if I meant him ill or well, but tempted by the food I offered and surprised that I wasn't mistreating him. But perhaps it was with fire demons as it was with feral cats: patience and avoiding overt eye contact would win him over.

Eventually.

Maybe.

If he felt like it.

I ate my soup for about a minute before Hiei moved. His foot slid over the ground; I looked up and he froze, staring with that oh-shit-they-see-me expression cats wear when they're caught sneaking into someone's home. We held that stare until my eyes started to water.

"So," I said when I couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Do you want to eat your—?"

Hiei's eyes flared like sparks from a summer bonfire. His body rippled in the dark, and with a burst of displaced air the demon vanished before my eyes.

The bowl of ramen across from my vanished, too. I threw up my hands and scoffed.

"I meant eat here, not—" The futility of arguing had me shaking my head and shouting full-voiced at the sky. "At least give the bowl back when you're done, you hear me?!"

Hiei never replied. Part of me suspected I'd never seen that bowl again.

Muttering to myself about devious demonic ingrates ("My goddamn feral cat has better manners that you, Hiei!"), I gathered up the unused spoons and chopsticks ("What're you gonna do, kiddo, eat ramen with your hands?") and put the crates back where they belonged ("I went to all this trouble to be nice, but no-o, you've got a chip on your shoulder like the Mariana Trench and you stole my fucking bowl!"). This whole meeting had been anticlimactic as hell, not to mention annoying. Just how the heck was I supposed to keep an eye on him when he couldn't stand to be around me for more than ten seconds at a time?

On the plus side, he hadn't brought up the vision of Hiruko he'd seen in my head, in this very alley. I'd been wondering if he might, but I hadn't wanted to dredge that up with Kurama just yet (not when I still couldn't decide how many details it was safe to reveal about my association with Hiruko and Cleo). Not before I could ask Hiei himself about it.

Because who knew? Perhaps Hiei could bring to light more of what I had, apparently, forgotten. So long as he didn't try to use it against me somehow…

I put that thought out of my head and resolved to think about it later. Focus on the positive, girl. Even if this night hadn't gone to plan, and even if Hiei had all the charisma of a feral cat, at least nothing bad had come of tonight's meeting.

(Aside from my stolen bowl.)

(And Hiei had best believe I'd be following up with him about that.)

After I cleaned up, I took my dishes inside and grabbed a jacket off the peg by the door, shouting a goodbye to my parents and an excuse about needing to look something up at the library. The walk to Yusuke's house passed faster than I wanted it to (who me, avoiding responsibility? No way) but soon I found myself standing on his porch. I let myself in (I had a key, natch) and saw Atsuko snoring on the couch, empty bottle of liquor dangling from one unfeeling hand. Just as I crossed the room to pull a blanket over her, Yusuke appeared in the doorway to the living room.

"Keiko?" he said, blinking at me like an owl in a floodlight. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Yusuke." I straightened up, took a deep breath, and smiled. "Can we talk in private?"

Somehow a moth had winged its way into Yusuke's room. It fluttered around the light in the center of his ceiling like Icarus around the sun; I tracked its futile progress as I explained everything to Yusuke. As if by some cosmic coincidence, the moth found a place to land on the light's ensconcing fixture just as I stopped talking.

Yusuke took a long time to speak, stunned into silence by Spirit World's offer just as I had been.

"Well, isn't that just great," Yusuke eventually groused, every single syllable dripping with sarcasm. "Just fuckin' peachy of them. I can really tell they care about me." He rolled his eyes so hard it's a wonder they didn't come tumbling out of his head. "Spirit World can't be happy just butting into my life; they have to butt into yours, too." But he shot me a sidelong glance, one filled with wry accusation. "Though honestly, this doesn't surprise me."

"It doesn't?" I said.

"Hell, no! You're already so deep in my shit, who else would they ask to watch my back?" He jammed his elbow into my ribs, cackling at my incensed expression and startled squawk. "You've got a severe case of the mom-face, Keiko. Too responsible for your own damn good, that's for sure!"

Like Kurama had days prior, Yusuke listened to my explanation of Ayame's offer in silence—only he'd listened with his mouth wide open, eyes bulging from his skull. When I finished he'd shaken his head and groaned, but luckily for me, most of his ire seemed direct at Spirit World itself.

"So you're not mad I took the offer?" I asked.

His lips puckered. "I mean, I don't like the idea of you being involved, but…look on the bright side. At least this way I don't have to worry about keeping things from you." His look turned sly. "Spirit World can't get mad at my big mouth if you're my assistant, now can they?"

"I suppose that's true," I said—but inside I winced. Yusuke was worried about keeping things from me, but here I was with earth-shaking secrets of my own…and he had no idea. When would the day come that I couldn't keep my secrets any longer, and was Kurama right? Was sooner best when it came to revealing them?

But now wasn't the time to ponder that. Better alone, in my room, where worry could consume me in isolation. I didn't want Yusuke sensing my discomfort. He had his own stresses to contend with.

"And besides," he was saying. Another elbow in my ribs, gentler this time. "This way I can watch out for ya if demons like Hiei get any more big ideas."

"That was my thinking," I confessed. "We're in this together. If I'm in, I can warn when you Spirit World pulls stupid-ass shenanigans."

Yusuke scowled. "And that's probably going to happen sooner rather than later, knowing them." He flopped back, landing with a whump atop his mattress as he draped an arm over his eyes. "Gah! Why the heck did I even sign up for this job, anyway?"

Getting up, I sat in the chair next to his bed. "Easy. You took it so you could come back to life to hang out with me"—I flipped my hair when he peeked out from under his arm—"your favorite person in the whole, wide world."

Yusuke sat up at once. "When the hell did I call you that?" he said, chucking a pillow at me. "Now you're just making shit up!" I stuck out my tongue; he grabbed another pillow and threw it squarely into my face. "Don't make me cut a hole in your skirt again, 'cause you know I will, dammit!"

I picked up the first pillow and held it like a shield, warding off the third and final projectile he lobbed my way. "Fine, fine; uncle, uncle!"

We squabbled for a few minutes more while I re-made his bed and he groused about me claiming the title of Yusuke's Favorite Person (which we both knew was true, but no way would he admit it). Once we settled down again Yusuke let out a long, tired sigh.

"So what happens now?" he asked. "Do they give you assignments to give to me, or what?"

"I think so," I said. "They told me they'd leave case material on my desk."

Yusuke grinned, letting out a raucous, grudging laugh. "Ya know, for all the crap I say about Spirit World, they got one thing right. You're way more organized than me."

I giggled. "You'd lose copies of case files in two seconds."

"What can I say? I've never been very good at remembering homework," he said with a delinquent's preening pride. "It's just one of my many talents."

I could only glower. "Y'know, that's not actually something to be proud of."

"Yeah, yeah, Grandma; whatever." He dismissed me with a nonchalant wave. "So what else? You give me cases and keep me focused? That's it?"

"Well." I shifted in my seat; Yusuke's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "There's one more thing."

It was Yusuke's turn to glower. "Uh oh. That's not good. I haven't seen you look this worried since I died." He smirked. "In fact, I think I just heard your butt-hole clench from across the room."

"Yusuke, gross," I said—but I could hardly be mad, not even when he laughed like a perverted hyena. "Sad thing is, you're not actually wrong." Now to cut to the heart of the matter. I took a deep breath and asked, "Remember Kurama?"

The name caught his attention at once. Eyes dark with sudden concern, Yusuke leaned toward me. "Yeah?"

"He's out on parole."

Yusuke's worry vanished, eyes once again bright as he pumped a fist into the air. "All right, good for him!" he said, pride and approval obvious. "What did I tell ya, Keiko? I always said he wasn't so bad. Just got a little lost trying to save his mom, that's all. Anybody would've done the same."

"Agreed," I said, but my happiness at Yusuke's good attitude didn't last. Bracing myself for a reaction, I said, "But…"

His eyes narrowed again. "But what?"

"But…he's also back at school." Yusuke blinked. I hesitated before blurting: "And I'm sort of his parole officer."

"You're WHAT?!" Yusuke yelped.

"And I'm Hiei's parole officer, too—because he's also out of prison and definitely living in town."

In a flash Yusuke leapt to his feet, right there in the middle of his bed. Arms akimbo, legs cocked like a cowboy swaggering down a boomtown avenue, his face resembled a tomato in two seconds flat.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" he barked. "You're going to be the parole officer of the demon who kidnapped you? Who almost killed Botan? What the shit is Spirit World thinking, letting a demon like that back into Human World?!" He paused, then repeated, "After what he did to Botan?!"

"No idea," I said. "But they must have some reason to think he'll reform, or—"

Or nothing. Yusuke bolted off the bed and scrambled for his hamper, yanking out clothes and tossing them over his shoulder in a storm of dirty laundry. Muttering under his breath about kicking diapered asses, Yusuke dug in the pocket of a pair of jeans and pulled forth a compact mirror. I had barely registered that this must be a Spirit World communication Mirror before he wrenched it open and bellowed into it, device held mere inches from his face.

"Hey, toddler bitch!" Yusuke roared. "You reading me up there? Because I've got a bone to pick with you and I'm two seconds away from getting hit by another car so I can pay your ugly ass a visit! You hear that, ya baby-faced asshole?!"

He paused. I got up and looked over his shoulder, but I beheld nothing more than a set of standard reflective mirrors inside the compact. So too, apparently, did Yusuke. He smacked the mirror against his thigh, then shook it before yelling at the blank screens some more.

"Koenma!" Yusuke screeched. "Koenma?! Answer me, dammit, or I'm comin' up there myself!"

Alas, no one replied. Yusuke shut the mirror and flopped onto the floor with a wordless cry of frustration. I sat by his side, trying to look sympathetic to his plight—but internally I heaved a massive, what-else-was-I-suspecting sigh. I'd had a feeling he'd react badly, but not quite to this level.

"Damn thing must be broken." Yusuke lifted the compact to his face so he could glare at it. "Or they're just ignoring me, which is even worse, because they have some explaining to do, and fast."

"Yusuke, don't worry." When his eyes darted my way, I offered him a soft smile. "I'll be OK. It's all fine."

He sat up, rolling to his knees in front of me with a pointed glare. "No, Keiko, it isn't fine. Making you my glorified secretary is one thing, but making you watch a guy like Hiei? That's nuts!"

He wasn't wrong, but he didn't know the whole story—that Spirit World was likely trying to throw me off balance with the introduction of Hiei, trying to stress me into doing something stupid while they observed me from afar. But I couldn't tell Yusuke that.

…right?

Keeping things from him was getting harder and harder. But where was the line? At what point would he stop trusting me if I revealed my origins? How long could I lie to him without hurting our relationship with my (probably inevitable) reveal?

I wasn't sure. And I hated that I didn't know the answer. But maybe Ayame would out me, make the decision so I wouldn't have to…

No. That was the coward's way out.

I'd figure it out eventually, I told myself. Soon. For the sake of my friendship with Yusuke.

"If you feel that strongly about it," I wound up saying, "why don't you come with me the next time I have to see Ayame?" His ears metaphorically perked at that idea. "It's certainly better than you killing yourself again to win a trip to Spirit World."

I was gratified to see his eyes light up with determined darkness.

"Yeah," said Yusuke. "Yeah. I think I'll do just exactly that."

Relief tingled in my chest at the sound of his acquiescence—because Hiei and Yusuke weren't meant to see each other again until the Saint Beast arc. I didn't relish the thought of them coming to blows before that, before Hiei had his change in personality (however that was supposed to happen). The question was, could I keep them apart until they were meant to meet?

And better yet…should I even be trying to keep them apart in the first place?

At home that night, after my various conversations with Yusuke, Hiei, and Kurama, all I wanted was to sink into a warm bath, drink my bedtime tonic of seltzer water with sliced lemon, and go to sleep. I needed—no. I deserved some Me Time, dammit, full of blessed silence and indulgent self-reflection. After a day like the one I'd had, I felt destiny owed me that much.

Unfortunately for me, fate had other plans.

I'd have to give Cleo a good talking-to when next we saw each other.

Oh, I got my bath, and it was as great as I'd imagined. But I'd only just poured my seltzer and settled into bed with my journals full of stories when my phone rang. I debated answering, but in the end I grabbed it off the cradle and muttered a tepid, "Hello?"

"H-hey, Keiko? It's, um. It's me."

Kuwabara's gravelly voice was uncharacteristically quiet this evening, as though he didn't want to be overheard by whoever might be near. I sat up in bed and set aside my notebook.

"Hey," I replied, trying to sound less peeved at the interruption. "What's up?"

"Nothin', I just…" He trailed off, then breathed a shaky sigh. "Look, are you busy right now?"

"No," I said. Working on my novel wasn't nearly as important as supporting a friend. "Are you OK?"

"Um." Another long pause. "Do you think you could tell me the rest of that story?"

I didn't react for a second.

"The…the one about Buttercup?" he said. As if maybe I'd forgotten telling the first half of the Princess Bride a few weeks prior—though to be fair, it felt more like years prior. "I just—I'd really like to hear the ending, if that's OK?"

"Of course it's OK," I replied. Injecting as much soft understanding into my voice as I could, I asked, "Do you want to hear it for, um…for the same reason as last time?"

Despite my indelicate attempt at being delicate (talk about embarrassing), Kuwabara merely sighed. I didn't need to see his face to picture bags beneath his eyes, nor intuit the tired sag of his broad shoulders. I hadn't seen him since the day I'd been kidnapped by Hiei—the day Kuwabara had shown up at my school to give me a warning, and had apparently been tormented by the ghost of a woman I could not see. Would he look as haggard as he sounded?

"Because the last time I saw you, you seemed really spooked," I said, referring to the day he'd shown up at my school. Going out on a limb, I ventured: "You've told me before you can see ghosts. I can't help but wonder if you're seeing something tonight that's got you spooked, too."

I trailed off, hoping my suspicions weren't too terribly off-base. Luckily Kuwabara just sighed again. He sounded even more tired than before.

"Yeah," he said. "You're right. Somethin's got me spooked."

A long pause followed. I waited, patient, until he found the nerve to continue.

"Tonight there's—" He stopped, then said in a strangled tone, "There's a woman here and she's covered in blood and she won't leave me alone, so I thought—"

"Say no more," I said, because it didn't sound like he was capable of saying more, anyway, and it would be better if we acted like his silence was my idea. "Let me just figure out where we left off, get your mind off things. OK?"

"OK," Kuwabara said—and I thought his voice might crack in half. "OK, Keiko. That sounds good."

The Princess Bride rolled off my tongue with all the comfortable familiarity of a warm blanket. I cuddled down into my bed as I told Kuwabara the story. He listened without speaking, though the farther along I got into the action, the more he began to react, to come out of his shell, to show glimmers of humor amidst the tension gripping him so tightly. By the time we reached Westley's demise in the depths of Count Rugen's torture chamber, Kuwabara had loosened up enough to gasp aloud.

"Wait, wait, no, that can't be right," he said, unknowingly mimicking the little boy from the movie adaptation. "You have to be remembering that wrong. Westley can't die—he has to go save Buttercup from marrying the prince!"

"You want me to finish the story or not?" I said, playing the role of the grandfather with relish.

It took the two of us a while to reach the end of the story (because I had to act out Inigo's famous slaying of the aforementioned Count with all the theatric panache I could muster). When I describe Westley and Buttercup's ride into the sunset, Kuwabara let out a contented, happy sigh. It turned into a squawk of embarrassment when I described their famous kiss, but luckily the boy's blush didn't burn a hole through the phone.

"And that is, of course, the end," I said when it was through.

"Aw, man," Kuwabara said, heaving another cozy sigh. "That was great. I wish I knew more stories like that."

"Unfortunately, the Princess Bride is a singular tale," I lamented. "But I'd be more than happy to tell it to you again, if you have another night like this."

Kuwabara started to say something, but he stopped. My heart shriveled at the sound of his frustrated curse.

"Is this happening often?" I asked.

"Yeah." He spoke quickly, curtly, not like my sweet Kuwabara at all. "It's just getting worse and worse. Some nights, I can barely sleep. It's like—it's like I'm being held hostage in my own skin."

I knew that feeling better than I dared admit, which only made my heart hurt all the more. "Could you go to someone for help?" I asked.

"My sister and my dad just tell me to tough it out," he said, words muffled as though coming through clenched teeth. "They said it got worse for the both of them at my age, too, but I don't know. This is pretty bad."

"Maybe there's someone else who could help," I said. "Someone who could help you control your powers."

"Or just turn 'em off completely," he grumbled. "I'll take whatever I can get."

A frown tugged the corner of my mouth. His sensitivity must be bad indeed, for him to suggest getting rid of his powers completely. I just hoped he'd find his way to Genkai somehow—or should I be the one to mention her, now that I knew of her? Hadn't Shizuru been the one to suggest Genkai to Kuwabara in the manga?

Whatever. I'd force the issue of consulting Genkai if it came down to it…but something told me Fate wouldn't let Kuwabara miss out on that trip into the mountains.

"You'll let me know if I can help, right?" I said. "If there's anything I can do at all?"

"I will," Kuwabara said, "but don't worry about me, Keiko, all right? You help enough with these stories." I heard the grin in his voice so clearly, I could practically see it. "Do you think you could come up with a new one for when I call again?"

I said yes. Of course I said yes. Pretty sure Kuwabara could talk me into jumping off a cliff if he smiled wide enough. In fact, I was smiling when we hung up, rolling over in my bed to hug a pillow to my chest. His attitude, cheerful even in the worst of times, was like the sun after a long trek on a stormy sea.

And besides: Even though Kuwabara was suffering, in his pain I could see a reluctant silver lining. His overactive powers led him to Genkai, which led him to the Spirit World…which led him to battling at Yusuke's side in the Saint Beasts' tower. That in turn brought him to Kurama and Hiei.

It brought them all together.

It brought my boys together.

The bubbles had all popped in my glass of seltzer water by the time I turned off my bedroom lights and curled up to go to sleep, but the bubbles of excitement in my chest just wouldn't quit. As a result, sleep would not claim me right away. My eyes widened in the dark when the reason why hit me—the reason why I felt so energetic as I lay there, why I felt like smiling, why I felt like throwing open the window and howling delight at the waning moon.

Somehow, against all odds—I felt optimistic.

I was in contact with all four of my boys, now.

The wheels of the plot had been nudged into motion, despite changes to our story's canon.

Soon they would meet, and fall into step at each other's sides.

All I needed now was patience.

Kurama no longer desired my blood. Yusuke and Kuwabara I counted among my closest friends. And while Hiei was a work in progress (a prickly, snappish work in progress), he was at least permanently affixed in the picture of our world. From here on out I could support each of my boys in turn, nudge and direct and patiently push the flow of their fates in the directions they were destined to go.

Supporting others, I'd found in recent days, was a form of control I enjoyed. It was in the act of supporting them that I would find my serenity—or would seek it out and claim it for my own, if it came down to it.

Today had been a good day. Best day I'd had in a while, in fact.

As I fell asleep at last, I could not help but smile.

Notes:

So sorry this is late. I spent Saturday at a wedding. I usually write a lot of my chapter on Saturday morning but the wedding afforded me no writing time whatsoever. The three days leading up to said wedding were filled with migraine. I can't really write with a migraine and got very behind as a result.

I'll be participating in NaNoWriMo in November. I won't be updating during that month but will be back with weekly updates in December. Next chapter (chapter 48 on Oct 28) will be the last for a month, but I'll see y'all again December 9 with chapter 49. Wish me luck as I work on my original novel!

(Psst. I think this was the first chapter with scenes with all four boys. Huzzah!)

Am going to try to cram a LOT into the next chapter to leave y'all with a cool ending before my hiatus. THANK YOU SO MUCH to those who read the previous chapter! The comments that were left were just SO KIND; it gave me a ton of encouragement to keep going. Love you all!

Chapter 48: Was I Wrong?

Summary:

In which time passes, and Not-Quite-Keiko finds her footing.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Time passed slowly after the Artifacts case, inching toward the golden promise of summer break.

Days turned into weeks with all the hurry of a child building a sandcastle before the morning tide. The routine of school, aikido, my meetings with the boys blurred together in an unbroken strip, a film reel playing on into infinity. I dutifully recorded a record of each day in my increasingly elaborate journals, pages fluffing as I peeled them apart and painted them with ink. All was well, my descriptions of events marked by languid leisure, no haste or anxiety turning Keiko's pretty handwriting to my more natural chicken scrawl. Worry lingered in the back of my mind concerning the events of canon coming to pass—but the worries remained distant. As distant as they'd been, perhaps, when I was just a child named Keiko, canon nothing more than a phantom lingering on the dim horizon.

This time period felt, in many ways, like a long sigh after a hard day's work: a reward for time spent in agony, tension unspooled and lying slack at last.

The strings of tension only knotted tight again at my weekly aikido lesson.

Ever since I had snubbed Kagome, and had asked for distance from her, she had kept herself just beyond arm's length. We avoided each other's gazes when we could, at first, before proximity forced us to shift into a reserved and chill civility. An exchange of greeting, curt and impersonal, preceded our lessons; Kagome asked Ezakiya to walk her to the train station each night, with only the most perfunctory of goodbyes thrown over her shoulder.

"Hi," I'd say.

"Hey," she'd reply.

"Night," I'd call after her.

"See ya," she's quip.

It never went beyond that.

Initially, every time I caught glimpse of her dark hair when I entered the dojo, my stomach lurched like a boat in a storm. Rather than think about that feeling, about my need to apologize to her, I pushed the feeling aside, did not allow it room in my heart to linger. Soon the sick impulse to shy away from her faded, and when I saw her, I experienced nothing but a pang of mild regret. Kagome appeared to feel the same.

At some point, I suppose we became accustomed to the distance between us—and by then it seemed too late to fix it.

Hideki noticed.

He paired us up in practice more often than not, pitting us against the greater bulk of Ezakiya. Hoping we'd reconcile if we were forced into teamwork, I suspect, but for all his efforts Kagome and I only developed the ability to make eye contact without flinching. Hideki watched through hooded eyes, tutting under his breath when we never re-clicked, never shed that armor of empty social niceties that protected us from pain and hurt.

—until, one day, the tense spell broke, shattered into pieces by nothing more unusual than a laugh.

The practice began like any other over the past few months. "Hi," I told Kagome, and "Hey" she replied, before Hideki bade us practice katas and showed us a new grapple. Then, in yet another attempt to force us to cooperate, he instructed us to use this grapple on Ezakiya—to work together to create an opening so either one of us could strike.

"It's like we're little kids," I grumbled as I took my stance, "and he's forcing us to wear one of those 'Get Along' shirts."

Luckily no one heard me. Kagome and I stood on opposite sides of Eza; I caught her eye and gave a subtle nod to my left. Go that way; I'll create an opening on that side, the look said.

Kagome rolled her eyes, tossed her hair, and went in the opposite direction. Because of course she did.

Kagome was like that, I thought as I launched at Ezakiya. Little rebellions, small snubs, pointed comments—tiny reminders from a tiny girl that she hadn't forgotten our beef, but wasn't the type to cause drama over it, either. Still, despite her ignoring my cue, we'd been practicing together long enough that we circled him as if we'd actually agreed on a strategy, one attacking at weak spots while the other distracted, trying to take down the bigger guy with our combined speed and agility.

Eza had long proved he was the best fighter of the three of us. If it weren't for his size and relatively slow speed, he'd easily be able to beat Kagome and I, especially one on one. The boy had an instinctual understanding of aikido's rhythm and flow, an intuitive grasp of momentum and strike patterns that allowed him to dodge strikes in spite of his lack of speed.

That explains how he managed to dodge Kagome, I guess, when she launched a flying kick at him while his back was turned. He twisted and moved to the side like Gumby and Neo combined, moving neatly out of the way as her body flew through the space he'd once stood.

A space I happened to be standing on the opposite side of.

Kagome's foot collided with my stomach; we went down with twin screeches of surprise and pain, landing atop one another in a heap. When I gathered myself, I found I couldn't breathe—because Kagome sat on my chest, rubbing her head with a hand. Eza watched us with his mouth open. When I grunted, she looked down.

Our eyes met.

My lips twitched.

So did Kagome's.

We both tried to hold it in. I could tell by the way she forced her face into a comical scowl, overblown and theatrical, but neither of us could hold off for long. The laughter erupted like a volcano finally blowing its top, hot and loud and searing in its sincerity. Kagome slid off my chest and lay beside me on the mat, arm draped over my heaving chest as we howled. I rolled to my side and draped an arm over her, too, until we practically hugged on the practice mat.

When our eyes met again, no tension remained.

The spell had broken under the hammer weight of physical comedy. Bugs Bunny would've been proud.

"Finally," Hideki grumbled over the sound of our mirth. "I have no idea what's been going on between the two of you, but I was getting sick of it."

"Me too," said Eza, whose big hands clasped nervously around themselves—big guy looked on the verge of apology, but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "Does this mean you'll start talking again?"

Kagome propped herself up on her elbows, looking at me with a smirk. "Well. She's got some explaining to do."

"And some apologies to say," I said.

Her eyes softened. "True. But—" she flopped back onto the mat, curling her arm through mine "—I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." It's silly, how those words brought such a painful lump to my throat, the way her hand in mine felt so soothing, so missed. "And I'm sorry."

"It's OK." The smirk returned, topped by pleading eyes. "Just promise me you won't do it again."

"I promise." And because it bore saying, and because I knew what we'd be doing after practice, I told her: "We have a lot to talk about."

Yu Yu Hakusho, I learned early on, is an incomplete record of Yusuke's adventures.

Like. A really super uncomfortably grossly incomplete record.

Soon after the Artifacts case came to a close, and not long after my appointment as Yusuke's Record Keeper, I found a manila envelope atop my desk at home. Inside lay a single piece of paper, heavy cardstock that might have had linen woven throughout. It bore scant little information: an address, a photo of a young girl, and a short description.

Suzuma Sakura has made friends with a tanuki, it said. They are playing pranks on Suzuma's neighbors. Please return these tanuki to the forest or persuade them to stop playing pranks.

"What am I, an exterminator?" Yusuke groused when I delivered the case. "This is no fun. Do I not get to fight demons anymore?"

Despite what the manga had led me to believe, apparently the answer was a resounding "no."

In the weeks following the Artifacts case, many more envelopes appeared on my desk, each containing a case that involved a ghost, a tanuki, an imp possessing a young boy, a rambunctious spirit causing trouble in a neighborhood. Case after case came across my desk, sending Yusuke on errand after errand that he deemed completely not worth his time. Of course, he grudgingly completed these cases as instructed, but that didn't stop him from griping about it at every last opportunity.

"Spirt World's gotta be kidding!" he said more than once as weeks elapsed. "This is all small potatoes compared to the shit with Kurama and Hiei."

"Agreed," I told him. The anime had severely neglected to mention how many small cases Spirit World sent Yusuke on before the next big one—which would be the Genkai tournament, I had no doubt. The anime had made it seem like Yusuke left for the tournament as soon as he defeated Hiei, but now, weeks were passing with no sign of the tournament's approach—not that that was a bad thing. If Yusuke was going to stay with Genkai for weeks, or even months, I hoped he didn't get that case till summer break. If it came earlier, he'd miss school, and knowing Yusuke he'd chew my ear off with complaints if he had to stay held back a year, and that was a fate I really fucking wanted to avoid, because Yusuke's whining was awful, and—

"Hey. Hey! Earth to Keiko!"

I flinched and found him staring, holding a gauze pad soaked in iodine to his cheek with a toothy glare.

"I'm sick and tired of tanukis clawing my face off," he said, pointing dramatically at the gauze. "If I'm gonna get beat up, it might as well be by a badass demon. My cred's not gonna last if all I have to fight are raccoon dogs and punk ass preteens possessed by imps! When is Spirit World going to give me my next big case? Huh, Miss Record-Keeper?"

I heaved a heavy sigh, because this argument was getting quite old. "As I have said approximately one thousand, two hundred and seventeen times: I have no fucking clue. Spirit World just sends me cases and that's it. They don't tell me jack!"

"Oh really?" Yusuke asked, squinting. "Is that so? Because you meet with Ayame once a week, and you're telling me she never drops hints?"

"You've met her," I said. "Do you really think she's the type to drop hints? Huh?"

Yusuke's lower lip jutted as he turned away, muttering about how he hated it when I was right, and yeah, Ayame should've been a professional poker player ("would make more money that way, for sure," he said, "because there ain't no way Diaper Brat is paying her big bucks").

Yusuke, per his request when I first told him about my Record Keeper job, had gone with me the next time I met with Ayame. She didn't seem surprised to see him there—heck, she even said in her smooth, pleasant, fake-ass customer service voice that he was welcome to come to every meeting I had with Ayame, should he so choose…but Yusuke hated waking up earlier than he absolutely had to and turned down the offer in a heartbeat. Sacrifice sleep for responsibility? As if.

"I mean, thanks for finally inviting me to your little party, and sorry I forgot to bring tea," he'd said with undisguised, scornful venom, "but just what the heck is the brat thinking, roping Keiko into this? She could get hurt!"

I rolled my eyes at Yusuke's protective streak; he shot me a nervous glance, knowing I hated it when he tried to baby me, but at that moment I was too distracted by Ayame's small, calculating smile to bop him over the head.

"I apologize Yusuke, for what must feel like an invasion of your private life," Ayame said, "but Spirit World simply does not have the resources to appoint you a replacement for Botan. Keiko is the best alternative." Her smile widened, coy and knowing. "Unless you want to write reports of your activities yourself?"

Yusuke's eyes shot open, darting toward the packet of papers under Ayame's arm—the report I'd written up that week, about five pages long in small print. Yusuke had trouble with one-page essays, let alone the volume of documentation demanded by Spirit World.

"Nah. I'd rather eat a toenail," he said, still looking at the papers with an expression of ghastly revulsion. "So that's a big 'nope' for me, sorry. Keiko can keep the damn job." His eyes narrowed, darkening as he got serious. "But I gotta know. How is Botan? I haven't heard from her since..."

He trailed off, but Ayame didn't need clarification. She schooled her features into a sympathetic mask and said, "Botan continues to improve every day. We hope to reinstate her promptly. However, I'm afraid that is all I can say on the matter."

Yusuke, much to my chagrin, turned and hocked a loogie into the nearby forest, loud and wet and crude and a clear middle finger to Ayame's proper persona. "Feh! Stupid Spirit World and their stupid secrets." He rounded on Ayame with hands raised, eyes suddenly aflame. "I'm sick and tired of your—!"

But Ayame, as he'd turned his back, had vanished into the woods—because she wasn't the type to take his shit, even if he was the Spirit Detective. Yusuke looked as freaked out as I'd felt the first time I saw Cleo vanish. Probably would've made me laugh had I not been so concerned about Botan.

When was she coming back? Ayame's line had seemed so…rehearsed. What was she hiding, and why wouldn't she tell us more about our friend Botan?

As we walked away that day, Yusuke kept his eyes down, uncharacteristically silent. His feet scuffed the sidewalk like dead leaves on a winter wind despite the warm spring weather.

"You OK?" I asked.

Yusuke didn't reply right away. He wiped a finger under his nose, sniffed loudly, and breathed a long, heavy sigh. When the sigh ended, a light returned to his bright eyes.

"Ayame is creepy," he declared. "Way more like a grim reaper than Botan. Botan should take notes, stop saying 'bingo' so damn much and try to act her part."

I had to giggle at that. Yusuke tossed his hair, laughing at his own joke. He sobered quickly, though.

"I just hope she's OK," he said. "I know Ayame says she's doing well, but…"

Yusuke trailed off, eyes uncharacteristically distant. I slipped my arm through his. He whined, looking around as though someone might see us and he'd be embarrassed even if a total stranger saw us walking arm in arm, but he quieted when I squeezed his wrist.

"I'm worried for her, too," I said. "But she's a tough cookie. She'll pull through." Another squeeze of his wrist, gentle and affirming. "I know she will."

Yusuke swiped his thumb over his nose again before jamming his hand in his pocket.

"Yeah," he said. "Botan's a badass when she needs to be, that's for sure."

Over the course of the following months, Yusuke asked after Botan every time I spoke to Ayame. Ayame gave the same cryptic responses she always gave. Botan is on the mend. Botan's recovery is progressing. Protocol dictates I keep details quiet. I could tell Yusuke hated the way Ayame dodged his questions, but all he said to me was, "So long as Botan comes back healthy, I guess I can wait for her." And then his eyes would narrow and he's jab at my ticklish ribs. "But she owes me, big time, for getting me stuck with your ass."

Despite his bravado, I knew he worried for her—so I did the best I could to make his cases run smoothly. I researched and supported and delivered messages as I was told, because I couldn't stand the worried look brewing behind his eyes.

I was supposed to be the worrier, not my devil-may-care Yusuke.

Just like old times, Kagome and I had gone to our favorite yogurt shop to trade stories and get caught up after our time of awkward distance. Kagome chose lychee yogurt with strawberries and gummy bears, as per her sugary custom, gnawing on the cold-hardened gummies as I explained everything she'd missed (and delivered my oh-so-necessary apologies): Kurama not using the Mirror, Hiei's kidnapping, Botan's wound from the Shadow Sword, and Ayame's offer—not to mention her suspicion that I was more "interesting" than perhaps Yukimura Keiko should be.

When I told her about the eating problems, the old-life relapse of a habit I thought I'd kicked, she practically launched herself across the table to throw her arms around my neck.

"I'm OK," I said into the curve of her shoulder. "I promise, I'm OK."

"Really?" she said, small voice muffled and more than a little teary. "You're sure?

"Yeah. I've found distractions. Coping mechanisms. I think I have it under control."

Throwing myself headlong into obsessive journaling and working on my novel drafts had kept some of the urges at bay. I made sure to linger in public after dinner, to not let myself be alone after I ate, and to keep myself around people whenever the urge to purge rose up. It wasn't a perfect solution (I needed a therapist, like I'd had in my old life, to talk out my problems) but for the time being it had eased the symptoms of my relapse. Now I just had to be careful to keep up the good work, so to speak…

Once I pried Kagome's arms from around my neck, she sat back in her seat and let me finish explaining Yusuke's new case-load—not to mention his antsy demeanor, itching to fight strong demons like Hiei and Kurama again. She stirred her spoon around and around her yogurt until it turned to slush.

"I gotta say, it's impressive you're keeping all of them apart," she said. "Yusuke and Kurama and Hiei and Kuwabara, I mean."

"Well. Not all of them."

"Oh?" Her metaphorical ears perks up. "Have some of them met out order?" Kagome nudged my calf under the table with her foot. "Girl, spill! Who's met who?"

"Well…"

Kurama and I held our formal, Spirt-World-mandated check-in on Saturday evenings. He would meet me promptly at seven outside my parents' restaurant; sometimes we'd go inside for dinner, though often we'd simply start walking with no particular destination in mind. Most of the time we travelled in companionable quiet, content to observe the city bustling around us and stumble upon a secluded café, food cart, or tucked-away restaurant down a hidden street. Kurama seemed to favor my parents' food, though—which, yeah, it tasted great, but I ate it all the time and sometimes wanted a change of pace. Luckily he understood that and followed me on my quest for something new.

Of course, throughout all of this, we'd talk.

It wasn't the kind of talking we did in school, with Kaito chaperoning at lunch or our peers watching from the wings, nor was it the kind of talking we did in Kurama's secluded greenhouse, private and clandestine and usually about Spirit World business. In-private-yet-in-public, all claims of paradox aside, we conveyed more of our natural selves, comments breaking through our quiet evening walks like shoots springing from damp soul.

Mostly, we talked about how fucking stupid being reborn in a new body felt.

It happened gradually, of course, reaching that subject and the honesty necessary to debate it. During our first few meetings, we mostly discussed Spirit World, Ayame, Yusuke, Hiei—until one day, while walking side by side toward uptown, a group of kids crossed our path. The gaggle talked in overloud voices, competing for attention from both their group and passersby, pushing each other and giggling and yelling with abandon. The fact that these kids were my age in a very real way irked me, settling under my skin like a subdermal itch.

"Teenagers," I muttered under my breath.

"Teenagers," Kurama agreed under his.

We exchanged a glance—a long, loaded look, Kurama's expression slightly embarrassed for reasons I couldn't pin down.

"Teens are the worst," I said. "It's bad enough being around them, but actually being one?" I rolled my eyes with all the ironic teenage drama I could muster. "Growing up once was hard enough. And now I have to do it all over again? Life ain't fair, but this feels straight-up spiteful."

Kurama chuckled, eyes shutting for just a moment.

"I confess it's easy to forget my physical age, at time," he said. "I fear I'm too harsh on my peers, but…"

"But nothing," I deadpanned. "Teenagers suck and it sucks to be one, too. Nobody takes you seriously, you have to go to school with teachers who think they're smarter than you just because they're older, and your hormones won't behave themselves. No, thanks." Kurama coughed into his hand at the hormone comment; my head listed to one side. "Say. Does your mom ever get onto you about dating?"

Kurama blinked. I laughed.

"Mine keeps nagging me to get out more," I said, "but it's hard to explain that I'm actually, like, 40 years old inside, and the thought of dating a teenager makes me feel like a dirty cougar."

It was almost funny, the look of intense relief that crossed Kurama's face—funny and comforting, because I knew I was not alone.

"Yes, exactly," he said, green eyes intent on mine. "My mother only wants me to be happy, I know, but entering into any relationship with a human so young…"

"Right! It's gross!" I gestured at myself. "Keiko is way too young to be dating. She's 14, and that's basically just a fetus with an attitude!"

My companion blinked, then laughed aloud at the colorful comparison—a feat I achieved more and more often as the weeks elapsed and I finally learned what made Kurama tick, and what types of jokes made him laugh the loudest. He preferred quiet irony, but unexpected comparisons and other word games ranked among his favorites, too.

Our relationship, at its most basic, didn't really change after he learned of my secret—aside from feeling a bit less threatening, of course. He was still curious about me, and we spoke more freely now that we could be honest with one another, but the core of our friendship—one based on respect and mutual appreciation for the other's perspective—remained static, tempered now by a sense of deepened understanding. The wariness we'd felt around each other melted under the radiant warmth of friendship. Our favored topics of conversation shifted from the personal (how to manage peers and parents) to the philosophical (what had happened to the souls of the children we'd replaced) to the ethical (what were the moral ramifications of stealing the place of said souls?) to the practical (how did one connect with one's parents when we were older, or the same age, as them?). While Kagome understood the complexities of my situation well enough, her new life was still just that: new. Kurama had lived in his longer than she had and had encountered many of the same problems I suffered, and besides. In those early days, Kagome and I weren't on speaking terms.

Kurama was, in a very real way, the closest thing to a peer I had in this world. I spent my weeks looking forward to our meeting, where I could let down the last of my walls and finally be myself, daydreaming about where we'd walk and what we'd eat and what secrets we'd finally share for the first time with another living soul.

But of course, how could I explain all of that to Yusuke?

He knew I met with Kurama weekly, in private, to perform the duties asked of me by Spirit world. Saturday nights were prime social real estate, after all; he noticed with alarming swiftness that I remained unavailable on a night we'd normally hang out together, and pieced together that I must be spending it with one of my parolees with even more alarming alacrity. Perhaps he was suited to being a detective after all…

"It's Kurama," I admitted when he pressed for information (and threatened to cut holes in all my skirts if I didn't give up the ghost). "We just go for a walk and catch up. Nothing major."

But Yusuke's eyes narrowed. "You two are spending an awful lot of time together."

"Well, I mean, we're classmates, so…"

"But your entire Saturday night?" He crossed his arms and scowled. "You're not dating a felon, are you?"

The suggestion didn't incense me as much as it normally might, given Kurama and I had had the dating conversation the night before, both settling on the conclusion it was best to wait till we reached the age of majority, and date someone of similar age, in order to scrub all ethical ewies from the equation. I just rolled my eyes and swatted his arm; Yusuke yelped, even though there was no way the strike had actually hurt him.

"Well, I guess the bright side is that you're not meeting with Hiei for hours every week," Yusuke eventually relented. His eyes narrowed again. "So when did you say you meet with him?"

"I didn't say," I said, sticking out my tongue. "And I won't tell you, because you'll only barge in and try to kick his ass."

Yusuke grumbled something about wanting to give Hiei two, no, three black eyes, but he didn't argue. He knew I was right. Hiei and I only met for up to ten minutes at a time, so Yusuke hadn't been able to guess when I met with him the way he'd guessed my meetings with Kurama. If Yusuke ever figured that out, there was no way he'd keep a cool head and refrain from turning Hiei into a pile of minced meat. Nope. Not Yusuke "Punch First, Questions Later" Urameshi. The boy was still infinitely salty about the way Hiei had treated Botan (and me, but to a remarkably lesser extent, probably because I'd come out unscathed) and would no doubt try to straight-up murder my favorite edgelord fire demon on sight. Best keep them apart, I reasoned.

While I managed to keep Yusuke from Hiei, it turns out I couldn't keep him from Kurama.

Yusuke is a meddlesome little shit, it turns out.

About a month after accepting the Record Keeper gig from Ayame, I walked out of my parents' restaurant and stood on the sidewalk. The Saturday evening crowd trickled by with murmurs of conversation, snatches of perfume and the odor of bodies coloring the night. I scanned the crowd, searching for Kurama's distinctive shock of red-black hair, which had become easier and easier to spot as I familiarized myself with its subtle garnet shine—so imagine my surprise when I spotted a familiar face that didn't bear the stamp of Kurama's angelic features. Instead, Yusuke appeared amidst the other pedestrians, and when he caught my eye, he smiled.

It was a shark's smile. All teeth, no humor.

"Yusuke?" I said, unable to do anything but stammer his name as he trotted over. "What are you doing here?"

"What's it look like?" His hip jutted out, as sassy as Kagome on her most contrarian of days. "I'm crashing your little party."

"It's not a party, and also, no fucking way." My hands alit on his shoulders, trying to force him to turn around and "Go home, Yusuke!"

Yusuke dug in his heels like an obstinate billy-goat. "Why?" he said over his shoulder. His eyes adopted a wicked glint. "You wanna keep fox boy all to yourself?"

"Sorry, Yusuke," said a familiar, melodic voice, "but I'm afraid foxes make terrible pets."

Yusuke stiffened under my hands; I froze, head turning in creaking increments to the side. Kurama stood no more than a handful of feet away, regarding us with a small, amused smile.

"Hello," Kurama said—but when his eyes slid away from mine, travelling in Yusuke's direction, the amusement turned to solemnity. "Yusuke," he said in lieu of greeting. "It's been a while."

Yusuke stepped out of reach, toward Kurama. "There you are," he said. His shark grin returned, fists coiled loosely—but at the ready—by his side. "I've got something to say to you."

While Kurama did not look particularly intimidated, I couldn't help but notice his feet slid into a prepared stance, center of gravity balanced as if anticipating a strike. "Yes?" he said.

Yusuke, with all the suspense of a judge making a court ruling, lifted his hand. Kurama's eyes narrowed as he watched it rise—but Yusuke merely pointed it at me.

"She's your parole officer," he said. "But me? Consider me the bounty hunter who'll come after your ass if you try anything, if you so much as bruise her." That wicked grin of his possessed a protective core, hidden from scrutiny by bravado and teenage bluster. "Got that, foxy? Don't try anything fishy, or you'll have me to answer to."

Kurama stared at him for a minute. Soon his chin dropped, lips curling in a small, warm smile.

"I see," he said. He regarded Yusuke with good humor, restrained a fraction so as not to antagonize. Kurama lied, "Consider me thoroughly intimidated."

Obviously Yusuke had to aim for overkill. "I mean it, fox boy," he said, taking one menacing step forward. "You try anything shady with Grandma, here, and I'll—"

Both of them ignored my indignant squawk of "Grandma!?" in favor of trading the longest, leanest look I'd ever seen. Kurama shook his head.

"I intend to try nothing 'shady' with Kei, I assure you," he said.

But that was the wrong damn thing to say. Yusuke's head jerked back as though he'd been struck. "Kei?" he repeated, blinking owlishly. "What, you've even got your own little nickname for her?"

"Well, we have become friends," came Kurama's demure reply. "Nicknames are part of the human experience, I'm told." His eyes travelled back to me. Once more he began to smile—that secretive smile that told me he was up to something. He said, "Kei is teaching me about what it means to be human."

Ah. So that's what he was getting at. To comfort Yusuke, Kurama implied I was merely his teacher, less of a friend and more of a mentor—and while I knew he made the implication to placate Yusuke, my feelings twinged with a psychic bruise. Hopefully Kurama didn't really feel that way. Hopefully I hadn't misinterpreted our budding friendship for something it wasn't.

Whatever the truth, Kurama's tactic didn't quite work as intended. The tension coiled in Yusuke's shoulders sagged, sure, but his eyes screwed up as though he'd been confronted with a particularly intimidating math problem.

"Oh," he said, passing a hand over his helmet of gelled hair, voice disgruntled, grating with a hint of burgeoning annoyance. "Well. That's…weird? But—"

My hand curled around his wrist. "All right, Yusuke," I murmured. "Simmer down."

Yusuke glanced at me with a scowl, mouth opening as if to argue—but when he caught sight of my face, he paused. Seemed to think about something before closing his eyes. A smirk crossed his lips.

"I am simmered." When his eyes opened, they held nothing but wry humor. "Mainly because I don't see this guy being a problem. Too much of a mama's boy to hurt a girl."

Kurama laughed at the barb (thank fucking god he had a sense of humor), while I gasped and smacked Yusuke upside the head. He just laughed and dodged my strike, dancing out of reach and over toward Kurama. All traces of his earlier combative stance vanished, replaced instead by easy self-assurance.

"So tell me, Kurama, Shuichi, whatever your nickname is," he said. "How's your mom doing these days?"

"Call me Kurama, at least in present company," said Kurama. "And she's doing well. Thanks to the two of you, she's made a full recovery."

Yusuke's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Ah man, that's great!"

Yusuke invited himself to dinner that night, because that was only natural for a freeloader like him. As I watched him and Kurama interact, I had to wonder if I had been wrong. Had it been necessary to keep these two apart? They were getting along well enough, even if Kurama dodged and redirected when Yusuke asked too personal of questions. Perhaps building a bond early would only serve them better down the line.

Better serve them, sure—but were Kurama and I going to have a third wheel at every meeting from now on?

I hated to admit that I hated the idea. But if it served canon, perhaps that was a sacrifice Keiko would have to make.

Kagome bore an uncanny resemblance to Yusuke when she waggled her eyebrows. "Do I spy a hint of possessiveness, dearie?"

"Oh, not you, too," I grumbled. "Yusuke's bad enough as it is." He'd taken to teasing me about loving 'long walks down the street' with a certain fox ever since he crashed that first meeting—but luckily he hadn't felt the need to crash our party but for once every month or so. Apparently Kurama and I together were too nerdy for his tastes.

"Well, you and Kurama have a lot in common." Another eyebrow-wiggle. "So? You two a thing or aren't you?"

"Firmly aren't," I said. "We both agree our bodies are too young to date."

Kagome deflated. I sighed.

"Talk to me when Keiko turns 18. Then we'll see," I relented. Kagome perked up immediately, which was probably bad news for my mental health, so I tempered my answer with a distraction of, "Either way, at least Keiko doesn't have Hiei's baby-face at this age."

She took the bait, thankfully. Kagome sat up straight, placing one hand flat on the table with careful precision, finger by finger in a fanning splay—eyes glittering with intense, shifted interest.

"Speaking of which. Hiei." She leaned forward, rising up and out of her seat. "Tell me everything. Is he just as grumpy in real life? Is he as short as he seemed in the anime? And most importantly, is he as hot?"

"Oh god," I said with dawning horror. "He was your favorite character, wasn't he?"

"He totally was." She sat back down and cupped her chin in her hands, eyes distant and dreamy. "So is he absolutely amazing?"

Much as I hated to burst her bubble, I shook my head. "Amazing…isn't the word I'd use."

Every Thursday, Hiei darkened my door with his grumpy, growly self—or should I say he darkened my alleyway? It certainly would be more specific considering he refused to come inside no matter how many times I told him eating indoors would be better than a dingy backstreet.

Not to mention eating indoors would make it harder for him to steal my ramen bowls.

Which he kept fucking stealing because he's an enormous jerkwaffle.

For weeks after our meetings started, Hiei ended every meeting by stealing my goddamn cutlery. He'd stand there eyeing the steaming ramen until I ran out of questions to ask. How are you spending your days, Hiei? Sleeping. Are you enjoying your stay in Human World, Hiei? I hate this place. Will you please eat here and leave my bowl behind, please and thank you?

That last question he countered with a roll of his cherry-red eyes, blurring out of sight, and absconding with said bowl right in front of me.

Like I said.

Hiei is an enormous jerkwaffle.

I thought about not giving him dinner, of course, but the one time I tried that, he didn't even stay to listen to my questions. He took one look at the empty alley, sneered, and flitted off like Sorei when I greeted the cat sans treats. Food was a non-negotiable part of my association with Hiei—not unless I wanted to flex Spirit World punishment as leverage, which I didn't.

That's where disposable flatware comes in.

Hiei damn near spilled the ramen all over himself when he next tried to steal his dinner. Only this time after he flitted out of sight, he appeared again in short order. The flimsy plastic bowl—much smaller than he was used to, not to mention thinner—buckled under the weight of the broth inside it; Hiei cursed and set it down atop the crate-table with a look like it had tried to bite his hands off. I just laughed, watching him from my spot against the alley wall.

"What infernal excuse for an eating utensil is this?" he demanded, one accusatory finger leveled at the object in question.

"What, never seen a disposable plate before?" I said, laughing. "Serves you right." I pointed at the rickety plastic bowl—the thinnest, cheapest one I could find at the convenience story. "Sit and eat. No running."

Hiei glowered, eyes practically on fire. "But it's less soup than normal."

"Yeah, the plate is smaller because you keep stealing the big ones," I said, speaking as if to a small child. "Finish that and I'll make you more. Once you get over your kleptomaniacal streak, I'll bring back the big bowls."

Hiei growled at me—but then his stomach growled even louder. The demon sat down and ate without further argument, looking thoroughly cowed.

My triumph at getting him to eat in my presence was short-lived, sadly. He still ignored my questions outright, or answered them with mere grunts and pointed glares. That of course only fueled my questions, not to mention my worry. I had no doubt that Hiei could take care of himself, but he didn't have a job, money, or a place to stay that I knew of. Most of my probing concerned his daily life, nothing personal or overtly prying, and from our shared dinners I learned scant little about him. He was a picky eater who didn't like mushrooms or, ironically, spicy foods (although he could tolerate both so long as my mother had prepared them; when made by my father or myself, he turned up his nose)…but that wasn't enough for me. I needed more. And the hilarious thing was that if only he'd open up, I'd likely ask fewer questions, worries eased by the comfort of transparency.

Alas. This is Hiei we're talking about. He's on board for sarcastic one-liners and barbed insults, but opening up about his personal life? As if.

Eventually I gave up, kind of. I still asked questions when he showed up for dinner, but I didn't harp on them after his initial put-offs. I just started talking about my life, instead, rambling on and on about school and home and life to fill the aching void of silence—silence punctuated by the slurping of noodles and Sorei's occasional meows. Old habits die hard. Silence makes me feel awkward, and I can't help but fill it when it rears its head.

"So now Hotaru and all the other girls have decided I'm their therapist, or something," I grumbled one night as Hiei ate. "Apparently staying out of their drama means I'm suddenly the one person they want to talk to about it." Crossing my legs at the thigh, I rested my elbow on my knee, put my chin in my hand, and sighed. "Being a teenager is exhausting. I don't want to be part of the petty nonsense, but—"

"I don't care."

I blinked, chin lifting off the pillow of my hand. Hiei stared at me through the haze of steam rising from the ramen, dispassionate and thoroughly disinterested and more than a little annoyed.

"Your human nonsense bores me," he said. "It's inconsequential, and prattling is the mark of a small mind." He dipped his spoon in the broth and took a snapping sip of it. "Are you capable of silence, or is the fact that I don't give a damn about your personal life beyond the grasp of your simple human mind?"

I stared at him. He stared at me, smirking, certain I'd shut up after the sting of his insult, smugness practically dripping off the ends of his spiky hair.

I lowered my chin to my hand and continued talking. "So basically, Hotaru is mad at Amagi because—"

Hiei's glare could've melted stone, but luckily I'm made of slightly sterner (or at least more obstinate) stuff.

The first time Hiei ever acted like I was more than gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe (gum that provided hot ramen, though that's beside the point) came mere days before my reconciliation with Kagome. We met on Thursday night, like always, and as I prepared the evening's meal, my dad popped his head into the kitchen.

"Be sure to bring your umbrella to school tomorrow, honey," he said. "I just listened to the aviation radio, and I think a cool front is blowing in, and some rain with it."

Dad always kept an eye on the weather; Mom and I shared a joke that his unheeded calling was meteorology, but Dad said he enjoyed cooking more than weather patterns despite his fixation on barometric pressure and wind speed. As I carried the food out of the house that night, Dad's prediction seemed to be coming true. An unseasonably cold wind carried through the alley to ruffle my hair all the way down to the scalp. More wind followed, but Hiei didn't seem too bothered by it when he showed up for food.

Still, though. The tear in his cloak—the one along the shoulder seam exposing a stripe of tanned skin—gaped like an open wound. I found myself staring at it, uncharacteristically quiet as Hiei ate his meal.

"Say, Hiei," I said. "Where are you staying, anyway? Like, to sleep and stuff?"

He looked up and scowled, but remained silent. I heaved a vexed sigh.

"Wait here," I told him.

Not knowing if he'd be there by the time I came back, I took the stairs two at a time up to my room to fetch my sewing kit. Luckily Hiei didn't fly the coop before I got back. I sat across from him at the crate table and extended a hand.

"You cloak, please," I said.

One thin brow shot up. "What for?"

A long sigh. "Just give it to me, OK, Mister Conspiracy?"

It took some convincing ("No, Hiei, I am not stealing your cloak as retribution for the bowls you still have yet to return; don't tempt me to change my mind") but eventually he shrugged out of his cloak and handed it over (with a snarled threat to cut me limb from limb if I treated it poorly, and an assertion that he was only handing it over to get me to shut up; he found my nattering infinitely annoying). He wore a simple black shirt, sleeveless, below his outer garment, along with tattered black pants and his customary boots. I tried not to scope out the cut of his muscular arms as I inspected the garment and began threading a needle, but I admit it was difficult. Hiei had the face of a grumpy pre-teen, but under that cloak he hid arms more accustomed to swinging a sword than wielding chopsticks. I mean, the guy was jacked. Fangirls over the world rejoice.

I mended the cloak's trailing hem and torn shoulder by the time Hiei finished eating; thank you, Mom, for insisting I learn to sew.

"There," I said when I was done. I held up the coat with obvious pride, beaming at Hiei around the side of its dark drape. "All fixed. You should be nice and toasty when the storm comes."

His eyes narrowed. "Storm?"

"Yeah. There's going to be rain soon, and a cool front. And soon it'll be the rainy season in general." My turn to narrow my eyes. "Where're you staying? You never told me."

His nose tipped up; he snatched the cloak and shrugged into it with a growl of, "That is no concern of yours."

"Sure, but—oh, hey, Sorei."

I saw his eyes, first, electric gold in the dark, before my cat sauntered out of the dark, slipping through crates and behind the dumpster on silent paws. The cat wound his skinny body around my ankles; for once, he allowed me to scratch behind his ears for a moment, but when he sidled away from me, I didn't chase him for more cuddles. I watched with a fond smile as the grey feline melded with the falling darkness and disappeared from view around a corner.

When I looked back at Hiei, I found him watching me through impassive scarlet eyes—eyes that saw much but said little. Alarming eyes when housed in such a youthful face. Striking eyes that gleamed in the darkness, reflecting light just as Sorei's had.

"As I was saying," I said, trying to sound soft and kind (even though I didn't want to considering Hiei had just threatened to kill me, but whatever). "It'll rain soon. If you need a place to stay with a solid roof, you know where to find me."

Hiei's large eyes grew larger still, dominating his face completely. I nearly laughed at his confusion, but I somehow held the sound at bay as I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, up toward the roof.

"I leave the window cracked when it rains, for Sorei," I said. "Just knock if you need a futon, all right?"

Hiei didn't reply. His eyes dropped from mine, back down to his tepid soup. When he flitted off into the night, he didn't bother with a goodbye—but nor did he bother with an insult, nor mock my offer of shelter from the rain. I stayed up late when the rain fell that night, watching out the window for a flash of red in the dark, but Hiei never knocked on my window.

Still. The evening felt like progress, however small.

As with feral cats, a lack of claws was sometimes a gesture of (albeit scant) affection-adjacent tolerance all its own.

"Wow. Prickly little shit," Kagome said. She sagged in her seat with a dramatic sigh. "And you haven't seen his abs to verify if they're sexy?"

"Nope."

Another sigh, even more dramatic this time, chin pillowed forlornly on the tabletop. "Prickly and not sexy. Man, I don't envy you." She lifted her hands over her head and ticked off the boys on her fingers. "Yusuke's a handful, Hiei bites heads off, and Kurama is all doom and gloom philosophy." Kagome's scowl rivaled Hiei's in that moment. "At least tell me Kuwabara is fun."

Suppressing a wince proved an impossible feat. Tone mild, I said, "Unfortunately…not so much."

The next time his Tickle Feeling overwhelmed him, Kuwabara didn't bother calling me for another recitation of the Princess Bride. Instead he showed up on my doorstep in the flesh. Mom was delighted to see him (she always was) and immediately ushered him up to my room.

"Keiko, honey, you have a visitor!" she said as she all but pushed him past the threshold. He stumbled in looking as awkward as a stork running an obstacle course, all long legs and awkward elbows, but Mom just gave him a fond smile. She patted the door and winked. "Just leave the door open, OK? No funny business!"

I'd been sitting at my desk doing homework; I tried not to look as embarrassed as I felt. "Sure thing, Mom."

Kuwabara bowed to Mom as she left, earning a comment about his polite demeanor and supreme suitability as a son in law. He blushed scarlet and had trouble meeting my eyes once she left entirely, footsteps fading downstairs and into the din of the restaurant below. It was just before closing and the last-minute customer rush occupied my parents so completely, it surprised me Mom had escorted Kuwabara up. She must really like him to go to that effort.

"Hey, man," I said. I got up and sat on my bed, offering the chair to Kuwabara. "Everything all right?"

He didn't reply right away. The big guy sat down like he feared the chair might collapse beneath him, eyeing me askance with that same ginger care.

"No," he muttered. "Everything isn't." But before I could ask just what the heck was up, he slung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped the main compartment. "Help me with something?"

"Uh. Sure?" I sat up a little straighter, because I expected him to ask for help with his psychic powers and I needed to be alert for that. "What with?"

Kuwabara pulled forth a tattered spiral-bound notebook. "Science experiments," he said—and then his face screwed up. "Well, not really. More like activities for kids that have something to do with science or physics or whatever." He passed the notebook into my bamboozled hands. "Pick one that looks interesting, would ya? Just make sure the materials are doable. And that the prep time is short. Some take a few days, and I…I'd like to get one done tonight." It was like he'd heard someone had died, he looked so grave. "I'd like to finish one, or maybe a couple."

Utterly bewildered, I flipped open the notebook. What I saw inside it gave me immense, thunderous pause.

"OK," I said. "I'm not gonna ask why you want to do this."

'Relief' didn't begin to describe the look on his face. "Thanks, Keiko."

"What I am going to ask is—" I held up the book to an open page "—why is this written in crayon?"

The large, loopy handwriting of a child covered every last inch of the pages with patchy crayon, wax smudged and discolored with time and many page-turns. Lists of materials, instructions, and descriptions had been written as carefully as a kid possibly could write them, but given it was all in crayon, parts appeared hard to read at first glance. Kuwabara's cheeks colored; he ducked his chin, looking anywhere but at me.

"Because I made it when I was a little kid, OK?!" came his gruff reply. One huge hand lashed out as if to scare away a pesky fly. "Just pick one, gosh darn it!"

It wasn't like him to snap, even in such a reserved way, so I shut up and did as he asked. The 'experiments' (a generous term indeed) were as Kuwabara had suggested: less experiments and more like illustrations of certain scientific concepts and theories, made simple and easy for kids to observe.

These experiments were also very, very familiar, I realized.

Too familiar, in fact. The more of them I read over, the more I realized that I had definitely read all of these experiments before. And I had a nagging suspicion as to where I'd read them previously.

Eventually I settled on a simple experiment: the tornado in a bottle. Easy enough to assemble. Just some water, dish soap, and glitter in a soda bottle. However, Kuwabara treated the experiment as seriously as one would treat the safeguarding of plutonium, each ingredient measured with utmost, exhausting consideration. His concentration was so complete, Kuwabara didn't even notice me watching him with a bemused, fond smile as he poured out each ingredient multiple times, perfectionism personified. Only once he finished assembling the tornado did I deign to speak.

"Wow," I said. Kuwabara swirled the bottle around until a glittery tornado formed inside, a whirlwind of scintillating sparkles housed in a skin of plastic. "It's pretty."

"Yeah," he said, holding the typhoon up to the light so it could it shine and shimmer like bottled happiness—fitting, considering the sudden look of contentment on his face. "I haven't done this one is so long, I forgot what it looked like."

"You've done these before?"

"Yeah. All of them. They're comforting, I guess? Or maybe they just make me feel better." His smile warmed like oncoming spring. "Whenever I'm stressed or need a distraction, I pull out the notebook and…" He stopped, seemed to remember I was there, and shot me a sidelong glance before muttering, "Doesn't matter."

I hated that look of defeat on his face. I knew it well. It was the look I wore when I talked about octopuses for too long and those around me became bored with my enthusiasm. It was the look of passion doused by the disinterest in others, a look he adopted because it had happened to him before, his passions shut down by the uncaring people in his life—and it almost broke my heart.

"It does matter," I told him with (perhaps overblown) vehemence. "To me it does."

Kuwabara hesitated. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed again—but soon enough he spoke.

"When I was little, I liked volcanoes," he said, every word a slow exploration of my attention, as though he feared I'd turn away at any moment. "And this one time I tried to make one, I messed up. Couldn't get it to work. To explode, y'know?" He smiled even as his cheeks pinked. "Out of nowhere, there was this little girl—she gave me a science book, told me how to do the baking soda and vinegar eruption thing." A bashful smile crossed his chiseled face. "My Volcano Girl."

I didn't dare look satisfied to hear that, lest I give away the rapid beating of my heart inside my suddenly-warm chest. I just nodded and listened, eyes intent on Kuwabara. He took comfort in that and kept talking.

"I loved that book," he said, sincerity as obvious as sunshine, "but I didn't want to take it from her. Didn't feel right, y'know? So she told me I should give the book to someone else when I was done, pass it on just like she had." His chin lowered, once more bashful. "But I cheated."

My brow knit. "Cheated how?"

"Well, I didn't want to give it away forever," he said, "so…I gave it to the library. That way I could go back and read it whenever I wanted. Figured it could reach more kids that way, too." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed again. "I dunno; maybe it was stupid."

I shook my head. "No. Not stupid. Very clever, actually."

"Thanks." Kuwabara tapped the back of his notebook with his knuckles. "Though having to go back and forth to the library for it was a hassle, so one day I just copied it all down."

"In crayon."

He blushed. "It's what I had on hand at the time, OK!? But, yeah. In crayon."

We'd been sitting on the floor, towels spread below us to catch and falling experiment debris. Kuwabara hauled himself to his feet and stood, wandering to my desk to stare out the window above it.

"I wonder if the book's still there," he murmured—but he shook his head and turned back to me. "Anyway. That book got me to love science the way I do." He grinned outright. "Guess I owe Volcano Girl a thank you, if I ever see her again."

"Nah. You don't." I wiggled my fingers at him, voice cheesy and dramatic. "The science was in you the whole time!"

"Ha ha, very funny." His eyes rolled like the tornado in the bottle. "Let's do another."

We cycled through three experiments that night, Kuwabara's concentration on the tasks as immutable as iron. When he left for the evening, he seemed more chipper than when he'd arrived. I offered a silent thanks to whichever of the Fates might be listening that I'd met him that day on the playground so long ago, and that giving him the science book had been the right thing to do. If it could bring him comfort in dark times, that breach of canon felt well worth it.

Too bad the comfort didn't last.

He called me that night at nearly 1 AM, nigh frantic because a ghost had made itself at home in his closet and was trying to kill him. She had an axe, he said. An axe and bloody eyes, dress torn at the waist where she'd been cleaved in two.

"So dark," he told me. "She feels so, so dark, Keiko!"

"Get out of there, Kuwabara," I said, all traces of sleepiness vanishing in the wake of his desperate voice. "Just get out of there, OK?"

"And go where?" he countered.

"To my house; duh."

The offer came automatically, though once he hung up with promises to head straight over, I realized I'd gotten myself into a pickle. Luckily my father was awake. He always stayed up till at least 2 AM doing inventory. I took a deep, bracing breath and headed into the living room, sitting across from him at the table with my very best Business Face in place. Dad sensed my mood immediately, capping his pen and setting it aside at once.

"Remember Kuwabara?" I said.

Dad nodded.

"He's having an anxiety attack." That felt like the best descriptor without getting into the ghost-factor. "His family isn't too sympathetic, but I am. I invited him over on reflex, then realized that given the hour, I should have asked you first." I leaned toward him, hoping I looked sincere. "I don't know how long he'll want to stay. But can he, if he needs to? If it gets too late I don't want him walking home alone. I can set up a futon out here, and—"

Dad held up a hand. I fell quiet.

"Leave your door open. Use the futon. And whatever you do, don't tell your mother." He grinned, lopsided and loveable. My dad. "Kuwabara is a nice boy. I trust him not to try anything funny—but more than that, I trust you to do the right thing. I just don't want your mother to have a heart attack, that's all."

Good ol' Dad. He helped me get the futon from the hall closet and set it folded in my bedroom just in case Kuwabara needed to stay here for the night. Dad didn't want him walking home alone so late, either.

When Kuwabara arrived, he would barely look at me. The boy had been so frantic on the phone, but now he refused to meet my eyes. He followed me upstairs in silence, sitting at my desk with eyes downcast. I waited for almost a minute in silence before nudging his knee with my foot.

"Hey," I said. "Want to talk about it?"

Kuwabara's dark eyes flashed, defiant and hard—but then the flint behind them shattered, and the words began to pour.

"It's just getting worse n' worse and I don't know how to stop it," he said, gruff voice cracking like ice underfoot. "Every day I see them, and they've started to see me right back, and it's just awful. They chase me home and come into my dreams and steal my energy like creepy little vampires or somethin'. Sleep hurts these days, and I keep getting less and less, and I just—" His head descended into his hands, fingers tangling into his ginger curls. "Shizuru says it'll pass eventually. It happens to everyone in our family. It's worst at thirteen or so but it gets better later, or so she tells me, because I'm getting real tired of waitin' around for this to calm down." His broken, exhausted eyes met mine; the bags beneath them had never looked darker. "I just want to sleep, OK? Is that too much to ask?"

"No," I told him, heart breaking with every syllable. "No. That's not too much at all."

Our eyes held each other for a long time. The red rims of his spoke of countless sleepless nights and a hundred terrible dreams—dreams my sweet Kuwabara didn't deserve. Just as I started to tell him about Genkai, who could help, even though it was too early for canon and even though Shizuru was supposed to tell him about Genkai, because fuck it all, Kuwabara needed help and I'll be damned if I didn't provide it—his eyes fell closed.

"Shizuru says there's some psychic lady in the mountains who could help me," he said. "Name's Genkai, but I have no idea where the heck she is." His eyes opened to resolute fire and hard, tired determination. "I don't like asking for help, and I sure as heck don't like telling people about my powers. But I'm so done with this, I'm willing to try anything."

Relief flooded me like a cool wind. "I think that's wise," I said.

Kuwabara looked relieved to hear me say that. "Yeah," he said. "I think so, too."

Per his request that night, I used the Princess Bride as a lullaby, shepherding him toward sleep with the tale of Buttercup and her Man in Black. He lay on the futon on my floor in the dark until his snores, gentle and comforting, filled the air.

When he fell asleep, I found the seed Kurama had given me and tucked it beneath his pillow.

I wasn't sure if the energy field in it warded off ghosts as well as Spirit World observation, but in the morning, Kuwabara declared it was the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

Kagome listened to Kuwabara's plight in sympathetic silence. When I finished she said, "Wow. So he's actually the most difficult of them all."

I shrugged. "More or less. But his growing awareness will take him straight to Genkai. Shizuru planted the idea. Now he just has to act on it."

"Think he'll go to Genkai at the right time? Right at the start of her tournament, I mean?" She looked understandably apprehensive. "What if he goes, like, today? And he gets there too early?"

"Well, he has to find her first. I didn't exactly hand him a GPS with her coordinates." Another shrug, accompanied by a wry smile. "Finding her is a pain in the ass, so that'll buy him some time. But as far as I can tell, aside from Hiei's personality shift, Kuwabara and Yusuke going to see her at the same time is the only scheduled bit of canon I need to be worried about."

Kagome nudged my shin under the table, smile bright and proud. "Well, look at you, Eeyore! In control and on top of things."

"For once," I grumbled. "We'll see how long it lasts."

She swatted my arm. "Oh, for crying out loud! Can't you just let yourself be happy, for once?"

Despite my pessimistic grumblings, we parted that night on better terms than we'd had in months—and when I left Kagome at the train station, I found myself not dreading next week's lesson. Kagome and I were friends again. The boys were all in my life in various ways. And from what I could tell, canon wasn't far off track despite all I'd done wrong during the Artifacts case.

Kagome, I admitted, might have been right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should just let myself be happy.

Too bad I'd be blindsided with another change in canon before that particular notion could really sink in.

A few weeks later, right after final exams and mere days before summer break, Kuwabara showed up on my doorstep wearing a baseball jersey and carrying a backpack. Despite the early morning hour, he looked as bright and alert as the sun itself—a far cry from the tired, desperate boy who'd slept on my floor some weeks prior.

"I found her," he told me, nearly giddy. "I'm going to see Genkai!"

Heart in my mouth, I packed him a dozen onigiri and saw him off at the train station—and when I came home again, a manila envelope waited on my desk. It contained instructions to send Yusuke into the mountains to participate in Genkai's tournament and track down the demon Rando.

These instructions bade me stay home, because to accompany Yusuke would be too dangerous.

Part of me wanted to flip Spirit World the middle finger and follow Yusuke as I put him on the northbound train, but after the debacle with the Artifacts case, something told me this was a battle Yusuke had to fight alone. As nervous as I was for him—for the both of them—I watched Yusuke's train pull away from the station feeling glad that he would train with Genkai over the summer, instead of missing school and having to repeat the eighth grade. I watched the train pull away knowing he could handle this, that he was destined to handle this, and would come away all the stronger for his struggle.

This was fate. This was destiny.

For once, I didn't feel the urge to intervene.

Later that afternoon, as afternoon bled into evening, my phone rang.

"So which ones of these morons," said a familiar, scratchy voice, "is supposed to be my apprentice?"

My lips curled of their own accord. "Hello to you, too, Genkai."

"Spare me the niceties. Which one? The big one with the bleached hair or the small one with the big mouth?"

I stifled a giggle at her description of Kuwabara and Yusuke. "Who's to say either of them is supposed to become your apprentice?"

She snorted. "Don't even try the vague and mysterious act, girl. That's my shtick. Only two people here are your age, so it's obvious that they're your friends. Not to mention they keep threatening each other, saying they'll call Keiko whenever one of them does something stupid. Which is constantly."

"That's them, all right." I smiled at the thought of them referencing me when I wasn't around, but then another thought occurred. "Say. How'd you get my phone number?"

"The big one appears to be the responsible type. He keeps a comprehensive address book."

"And you just…took it out of his backpack, I guess."

"What, you'd rather me ask them how they know you? Reveal that we've met before?"

I winced. "Nope. Thanks for being a pickpocket, I guess."

"Don't mention it. But enough small talk. Which of those boys am I supposed to train?" Her wry voice could peel paint off the walls. "Because frankly, apart from the big one's natural gift of spirit awareness, I'm not impressed."

How much could I say without jeopardizing canon? I walked a delicate line when I asked, "What stage of your tournament are they in?"

Genkai paused. "So you even know about that, huh? Interesting," she said. "The video games. They're in the arcade at present."

"So it's still early." I winked even though she couldn't see me, hoping the expression came through in my voice. "One, or both of them, may yet surprise you."

"…you aren't going to tell me no matter how much I threaten or blackmail, are you?"

Did mine ears deceive me, or did she sound almost impressed? I sat on the edge of my bed and cradled the phone between my jaw and shoulder, picking at my bedspread with unfeeling fingers.

"Even if I told you who is supposed to be your apprentice, if for some reason he loses the tournament, you still won't take him on," I said. "I don't see the point of ruining the suspense, in that case. You'll only train the winner, right?"

"That's the plan. And you're right." The stubborn pride in her voice conjured an image of her rheumy eyes, staring at me with unyielding dignity. "I wouldn't compromise that plan even if destiny itself sent you to intervene."

"Fate more than destiny," I mused, "but your point stands regardless."

Genkai paused again. "I take it you've learned more about your presence in this world, based on that statement."

She really was too sharp for her own good. Taking a shaky breath, I said, "Sort of. Every time I learn anything, a thousand new questions reveal themselves." My eyes rolled. "It's like being in philosophy class all over again. Questions lead to more questions, a million little rabbit holes, and you can never quite reach the bottom."

"Well, in philosophy, finding answers isn't the point. The discussion is the point. Perhaps you aren't meant to have answers." I heard rustling on the line, like perhaps she shook her head. "I don't envy you."

"I don't envy me, either." Standing, I cleared my throat. "Let me know when you pick a winner, if you get a chance?"

"Maybe," she grumbled. "But only if I'm bored and have a minute."

"Leaving me in suspense, now?" I teased. "How vengeful."

"Better believe it," Genkai said—and then the line went dead.

Because I'm an anxious person, and because waiting drives me up the wall, my pacing all but wore a hole in the floor as I waited for Genkai to call again. Too bad for me Genkai didn't call till late the next day, affording me a night of fitful sleep and bad dreams about searching fruitlessly for Yusuke and Kuwabara in a maze of long, dark hallways. I had just gotten out of a warm bath (an ineffectual attempt at relaxation, truth told) when the phone finally, finally rang. Clad in only a towel, hair dripping cold water onto my bare shoulders, I launched across the room and snatched the phone off its cradle.

"You're right," said Genkai without preamble. "They both surprised me."

"Told ya so," I said, unable to keep the smugness at bay. It vanished as apprehension filled my chest, however. "So did Yusuke…?"

"Yes. He won."

My legs gave out, sending me to my knees. Chest hitching under my hand, clutching the towel to my breast like a life raft, I breathed long and slow and deep, trying to calm down.

Yusuke had won.

Slowly, micrometer by micrometer, a smile edged across my face.

"He exposed the demon Rando and won the tournament—through sheer dumb luck, I might add," Genkai continued. "But a win is a win, and I'll honor the boy's victory no matter how he happened to obtain it." Like a king announcing the name of his newest knight, Genkai declared, "Urameshi Yusuke is the official successor of the Spirit Wave Orb." The commanding tone faded into grumpy muttering thereafter. "Or he will be, once he stops being such a pathetic lout."

"A bit of your training should fix him right up," I managed to say, but I barely even heard myself talk. Too busy trying to calm down, balancing the urge to scream my victory with the urge to take a week-long nap—a nap I felt I deserved. Canon had been maintained instead of maimed, and that was a victory indeed. But speaking of canon and maiming…

"Is Kuwabara OK?" I asked. "Did you heal him after he fought Rando?"

"You even know about—?" Genkai started. A wry chuckle scraped like dead leaves through the tinny phone connection. "Of course you know about that. Why am I surprised? And yes, he's fine. Nothing a bit of reiki couldn't fix."

"Oh, thank god." The words slipped out on a relieved sigh, earning me a questioning hum from Genkai—one I pretended I didn't hear. I had celebrating to do. Adopting an all-business voice, I said, "Anyway. I know you're probably eager to tear Yusuke apart, so I'll let you go. I'll ask Kuwabara for the details about the tournament when I see him."

Genkai didn't say anything. Then:

"That…won't be for a while, I'm afraid."

My spine straightened like a lashing whip at her muttered words, her somewhat regretful tone (if Genkai was capable of such a thing), the pregnant pause that preceded her declaration. "What do you—?" I began, but then the worst occurred to me and my legs became jello once again. Rando had broken all of Kuwabara bones; was bad news about to follow news of his reiki healing? Hand on face, half-collapsed on the edge of my desk, my voice trembled when I said, "Oh my god. Genkai. Is he OK? Can he—?"

"He's fine." Her annoyed assurance cut through the worry like a buzzsaw. "You can quit your worried girlfriend act."

Confused, I blinked stupidly at floor. "But. But? But if he's OK, then why won't—?"

"You won't be seeding him soon," Genkai interjected, "because he's going to stay here with Yusuke."

More confused floor-blinking. "Stay there…?"

Genkai said, "Yes."

"I'm going to train him," she told me.

The floor promptly fell out from under me. My stomach plummeted into my ankles like a skydiver, slapping the bottom of my feet with a jolt of horror, surprise, disbelief, abject confusion—

"But," I stammered, "b-but you said you were going to take Yusuke as—!"

"I am," said Genkai. "I'm going to teach Yusuke the Spirit Wave and name him the official successor of my techniques. But I'm also going to train Kuwabara to master his own spiritual powers, to hone his natural gifts and innate talents."

Because it was all I was capable of, I said, "I don't understand."

"…this isn't how the legend went, is it?"

"No. No! Not remotely!" The urge to babble my panic made it hard to think clearly. "Kuwabara came back and learned to harness his Spirit Sword on his own, he learned to bend it, shape it, mold it—all on his own. By himself. Not with a teacher, not with you, not with—"

"That only makes me want to train him harder," Genkai cut in, and that only made my panic flood higher. "The boy is gifted. His scores on the video game tests were among the highest I've ever seen. He manifested a spirit weapon without training, using his instinct alone, without knowing that such weapons were possible to manifest in the first place. He broke free of Rando's techniques through an act of sheer willpower before projecting his soul from his body to aid an ally in battle." I could practically see her shrugging, could envision her knowing smirk with crystalline clarity. "Sure, Rando got him in the end. But with proper training, Kuwabara could become something the likes of which I've never seen."

Her last line cut through the panic like lightning through water.

Kuwabara could become something the likes of which I've never seen.

And he would become that, even without her help. He'd develop the sword to cut dimensions soon enough, guide or no guide—and I'd always lamented that he hadn't had a teacher. That no one had ever truly trained him or taken an interest in fostering his talents. I'd said a hundred times on fandom message boards that Kuwabara's lack of training was a crime, that he deserved a mentor to become the warrior we all knew he could be.

Was I wrong to be so horrified by this breach in canon?

Wasn't this what I'd always wanted for Kuwabara, after all?

But how would this new development impact future canon?

Swallowing my confusion, I blurted, "You should see his sister."

Genkai's voice sounded like narrowed eyes. "Sister?"

"Yeah. Her natural awareness is even sharper than her brother's. But she never learned to fight, ever, so far as the legend goes."

"Hmmph." Genkai thought about it for a moment, but then she said, "My hands are full with these idiots, I'm afraid. But maybe afterwards…"

"Yeah. Maybe." Because this was too much, and I suddenly had a lot more to worry about, I took a deep breath and braced myself for a goodbye. "Well. Take good care of my boys, Genkai. I'd like them returned in one piece if at all possible."

"What am I, a used car salesman?" the crotchety woman groused. "No promises."

"Any odds on returning them alive, at least?"

"Those odds are better," she said, but only after taking a moment to think about it. "Provided they don't piss me off too badly."

I didn't say anything.

Said Genkai, and somehow it wasn't a question in spite of the phrasing: "They're going to piss me off, aren't they."

"We-ell…"

"Great." But she didn't sound like she thought it was great at all, sighing with longsuffering fatigue. "Whatever. I'll send them home in a few weeks. I'll leave coming up with an excuse for their parents to you."

My eyes popped wide. "Wait—Genkai!"

Too bad for me, she had already hung up.

I stared at the phone, dial tone buzzing on the still air, for nearly a minute before lowering the handset back into the cradle. With equal ponderousness I dressed myself, dried my hair, and sat on the edge of my bed.

How had this happened?

I'd resigned myself to a summer without Yusuke, months of golden promise stretching long before me—but now I had to go without Kuwabara, too?

Both of them were off getting stronger, being trained, readying themselves (even if they didn't know it) for the ordeals that lay ahead. Everyone was getting stronger—except for me.

And that just wouldn't do, now would it?

The walk to Kuwabara's house passed in what felt like a single moment of stolen time—too quickly for me to back down, to overthink this impulse, to shy away from what I knew I had to do. Shizuru opened the door before I even finished knocking.

"Hi, Shizuru," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

The young woman leaned against the doorframe, ubiquitous cigarette dangling from her fingers. "Shoot, kid."

I smiled. Shizuru lifted a brow as smoke curled like grasping hands around her long, thick hair.

I asked her, "Where, exactly, do you think your brother is?"

Slowly, Shizuru lifted the cigarette to her lips. Took a drag. Exhaled above my head.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to enjoy this?" she said.

In response, all I could do was grin.

Notes:

Wrote the Genkai convo back in June. So happy to finally use it.

Longest chapter ever. Sorry about that. I wanted to cram all of the crap between the big cases into one chapter. No sense in dragging out filler, methinks. Thus, this is a chapter of passing time, a means of summarizing the "in between" bits without slowing down the story overall. We can get right to the Saint Beasts (more or less) when I come back from my hiatus.

Part of me wishes I'd sent her to see the tournament, but I don't think she would've done much but stand there and cheer for people, and that's boring.

SUPER SURPRISED I managed to post this even just one day late. Had NO writing time this week due to busy work hours and lots of cosplay prep. Was at an anime convention all weekend, cosplaying as Yusuke in his most garish outfit. Pics on my Tumblr if you're interested!

MANY THANKS to those who read last week, and to those who came out and wished me luck for NaNoWriMo. See y'all next month, and thanks again!

Chapter 49: Surprises & Prophecy (Pt 1)

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko has had a busy month.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

One month after I showed up on Shizuru's unsuspecting doorstep, I boarded a bus and headed into the mountains to the west of the Sarayashiki.

Well. I boarded a train, first. And then I took a bus. And then I had to rent a bicycle, take a long walk, and then take another bus before reaching the foot of a worn mountain path at the edge of a quaint village. The point I'm trying to make is that it took a long while—a really long while—and by the time I saw the "BEWARE OF DOGS" read by the gate at the foot of the trail, I was in dire need of a nap.

Instead I tossed my sweaty bangs from my forehead, paid the dubious signage no mind, and walked beneath the shade of the trees lining the path's sloping incline.

The dogs here had long since learned not to bite me, after all. This wasn't my first rodeo, and besides: I brought the dogs too many treats. No way would they straight-up murder me.

Not like they tried to do the first time I'd shown up here. But I digress.

It took about half an hour, midday sun scorching when it filtered through the canopy above, to get the house in the secluded glen. Half an hour of trudging along, minding the horned skulls littering the path, and trying not to curse when a mosquito dive-bomb my face and landed a bite on my chin. My clothes stuck to my back and groin like tacky sandpaper. When the red pitch-roofed house with the wrap-around porch and huge picture window swam mirage-like from the trees, I let out a little whoop of joy.

Sato Shogo appeared on the porch a moment later; man had sharp ears, if he heard that whoop, or maybe the guard dogs had barked at my approach. Either way, he came left the house and stood on the upraised porch with a friendly wave.

"Keiko!" he called. "Punctual as always."

"I try." Somehow I found the energy to trot to the house and climb the stairs without embarrassing myself and passing out. "The kids around?"

"No. They're with their mother."

"…is it bad I'm relieved?"

He laughed, head thrown back with mirth. "Not at all! I live for quiet days like these."

"I can imagine." I gestured at the house and my sweaty face. "May I?"

The inside—small but cozy, ceilings lofted and echoing, furniture simple but plush—looked the same as it had the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that. I knew where the guest bathroom was and went to it at once, washing my face in the sink before heading back into the living room. Shogo had already fetched a pitcher from the kitchen and held it poised over a glass on the coffee table.

"Lemonade?" he said.

"Please." I said in the beige chair near the fireplace, leaving open the green easy chair and the blue couch—because those were favored spots for Shogo and his family, and I was a guest, and I didn't want to bother then if said family came back. As Shogo handed me my lemonade, I asked, "So how's the training going overall? I know I'm not supposed to ask, but…"

Shogo poured himself a glass of lemonade and sat in his green chair. Legs crossed, fingers steepled, he tilted back his head and thought a moment. "Last I heard, it was going well." A smile cracked his solemn features. "But Kuroko and the kids have a great time keeping me in the dark, so I can't tell you much more than that, I'm afraid."

"It's OK." That was a lie, of course, but it couldn't be helped. I took a sip of lemonade (which I think he'd diffused with refreshing, tongue-coating mint oil) and said, "I figured."

"Thank you for your understanding," he said. "And how were you this last week?"

"Oh. Fine, I suppose." We had this conversation every time I came to check in with Shogo and his family; it felt as scripted as a play, although in truth I did have more to tell him since the last time we'd spoken. "I've just been hanging out and stuff. And since everyone is off training this summer, I'll admit it's been a little…"

I trailed off. Shogo, no stranger to the song and dance of my missing friends and odd social life, offered a sympathetic smile.

"Lonely?" he surmised.

I started to say no. To paste on a smile and say I was just fine, thanks, and not to worry.

But…this was Shogo.

He knew better than to believe my excuses by now.

I heard from the boys precisely once after Genkai informed me she would be keeping both of them—and just as predicted, I missed both of them terribly.

For two weeks after the phone call from Genkai, nothing but radio silence. Nothing but a big, gaping hole in my chest Yusuke and Kuwabara had once occupied, as empty as their beds at night when the sun went down. Atsuko had swallowed the truth easily enough. I hadn't bothered lying to her, admitting Yusuke was training with a sensei in the mountains because…well. Atsuko didn't exactly care. I knew her well enough to know that she'd think it was a great idea, Yusuke training with someone, because it might give him the discipline he sorely lacked. As for Kuwabara's family, after I told Shizuru what was up, she was able to provide a cover story to Kuwabara's father almost immediately.

It covered both her and Kuwabara's absences in one precise stroke, in fact. Good ol' Shizuru. I'd come to miss her as much as I missed the boys, even if she wasn't totally cut off the way Yusuke and Kuwabara were. Genkai would bite my head off if I so much as came within a mile of her compound.

That's why the phone call at 2 AM on a Tuesday came as such a welcome surprise despite the stupid-late hour.

"Keiko?!" someone said after I mumbled a grumpy 'hello' into the phone. "Keiko, it's me!"

The heavy cotton of sleep dissolved; I sat bolt upright in bed, hand a vice on the receiver. "Kuwabara, is that you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me—but I don't have much time! Do my dad and sister know where I am? Genkai said she got word to them, but I—"

"Yeah, it's all good," I cut in. "I took care of everything."

"Oh, thank god." I could practically see him sag, blocky features relieved and grateful. "I was worried. And I would've called sooner, honest, but Genkai said 'outside distraction is detrimental to our training' or something, but I didn't hear very well because I was sort of mostly passed out at the time, and—"

"You were what?!"

"Hey, keep your voice down! I had to pick the lock and sneak out of bed to use the phone!"

I only got louder. "Genkai locks you in your room at night?!"

"Well, yeah," Kuwabara said. "She doesn't want the snakes to get out."

"THE SNAKES?!"

"Shhh!" Kuwabara susurrated, like the snakes in question probably did and oh my god Genkai I'm going to kill you for what you're doing to my precious cinnamon roll Kuwabara. "They aren't venomous or anything; they're just supposed to scare us." He sounded like a preening bird when he added, "I named all of them, actually. They're pretty nice once you get past the scales and stuff."

I took a deep breath and tried to quell my murderous urges, not to mention my utter horror at the thought of a bed full of snakes. The sheets twisting around my ankles felt suspicious, suddenly.

"Snakes," I said. "Snakes. I can't believe she makes you sleep with snakes." I'd wondered what horrible tortures Genkai would cook up for my boys, but snakes? It was like she could read minds, because: "Oh, man. That's not good. Yusuke hates snakes!"

"Yeah, I know," Kuwabara muttered. "He kept me up with his shrieking that first night." His voice adopted a sunny, optimistic air when he helpfully informed me, "But Genkai puts him on the bed of nails more often than the snake pit, so it's chill, right?"

I gaped into the dark of my bedroom and managed, in clipped tones, to intone the following: "The fact that you're presenting a bed of nails as the 'chill' option is absolutely nightmarish."

"…yeah, that does sound pretty bad out of context, doesn't it?"

"It sounds bad in any context." Far too late to get Kuwabara away from the sadistic Genkai at this point, unless I launched an escape attempt, but Genkai would just kick my ass and then we'd both be fucked and sleeping in the snake pit. Rubbing my temples, I desperately tried to change the subject. "Are you OK? Is she feeding you, at least?"

I heard him shudder through the phone. "Ugh, yeah. It tastes like crap, but it's good for us. When I get back, you bet the first thing I'll want to eat is some of your dad's ramen!"

"It'll be on the house." Least I could do, given I was the one who'd gotten Kuwabara into this mess. I swung my legs out of bed and flipped on my desk lamp, bedroom bathed in a warm glow. The fan in the corner kept the room cool, breeze wafting across my face in the damp summer dark. "So is the training going OK? Are you learning a lot, or just being tortured for sadistic funsies?"

I expected to hear about more torture, or for Kuwabara to at least bemoan Genkai's tough standards and harsh training regimen. I most certainly didn't expect to hear a tone of reverence creep into Kuwabara's rough voice, nor for his words to come as hushed as my midnight bedroom.

"Oh, man, Keiko," he said. "Genkai is amazing."

Mind darting back to the snake pit, I said, "…she is?"

"Yeah. I mean, sure, the snakes and the nails and the pushing boulders up hills and the holding your breath for ten minutes underwater thing is hard—"

"Holding your what for ten minutes, now?!"

"—but I feel good," he continued, "and I haven't felt like that in months."

The gratitude sang in his tone like a struck bell. My toes dug into the carpet by my bed, gripping the plush as I murmured, "Kuwabara…"

"Genkai said I was going about it all wrong," he said. "The answer wasn't turning down the volume on my power. The answer was learning to use it, get familiar with it, master it and make it listen to me. She makes me meditate in bad conditions until my power just…swims forward. It just swims through all the noise and then it's just there and I can feel it, and use it, and it's not scary anymore."

My lips curled on reflex. He sounded so confident—a far cry from the anxiety-riddled boy who'd slept on my floor weeks prior. Seems sending him to Genkai might be worth the snakes, after all.

"She doesn't want anyone suppressing your power," I said. "She wants you to gain control."

"Finesse is the word she keeps using," he said, and his voice dropped low when he muttered, "not that I know what that means."

"It means delicate and precise," I said. "Like a fencer wielding a foil, y'know?"

How badly did I long to see his eyes light up, a smile to bloom across his face? I could see it in my mind's eye when he said, "Hey, that makes sense, and Keiko, you'll never believe this—but I have a sword! It's like Yusuke's gun only, well, a sword instead, and it's super-super cool and I can't wait to show it to—"

He fell silent midsentence. I frowned, the buzz of the quiet line rattling against my ear canal. Was it just the fan slowly circling in the corner, or could I hear Kuwabara breathing low and steady on the line, like an animal regulating its breath to avoid a predator?

"Kuwabara?" I said.

"Sorry. Thought I heard something," he said in a softer voice. "No telling what Genkai would do if she caught me." Real regret accompanied the phrase, "I should probably go before that happens."

My heart lurched. "So soon?"

"Yeah. She'd probably make me eat a cactus if she found out I'd called you, but I couldn't not try to call, y'know?"

"I know," I said. "But—tell Yusuke that everything's OK back home, will you?"

"Will do." He hesitated. "And, uh…I miss you." And then he began to babble, voice rising louder with embarrassment. "I mean, we both miss you, even if Yusuke will never admit it, but I needed to say it for myself, to you…if it's OK? It's OK, right?"

"It's OK. I miss you, too."

Kuwabara made a strangled, pleased noise in the back of his throat. I laughed. I couldn't help it. I hadn't heard his voice in weeks and had been worried sick, but here he was getting nervous talking to a girl—nervous talking to a girl after he'd had to sleep in a pit of snakes. My Kuwabara to the core, a lovable goofball till the end. I'd miss him all the more, after hearing him stutter like that.

"And for what it's worth," I said, "I'm proud of you."

Another strangled inhale, this one followed by a squeaked, "Keiko?!"

"I'm proud of you for diving in with both feet and kicking your power's ass," I said, and I let my tone get heated for just a moment. "You're amazing. You're not running away—you're running headlong into the fray. You're brave. And I'm so, so proud of you, dammit!"

Although he'd seen my protective streak, like on the night I defended him from those thugs in the alley, I don't think Kuwabara had heard this level of proud-mama-bear from me yet. He squeaked again, like he wasn't exactly sure how to handle himself—but then he took a deep breath.

"Keiko, I need to say something," he said. He took another deep breath. "I've been thinking, and—oh my god I have to go."

Before I could blurt out a question, or even register that his voice had jumped at least an octave at that last statement, there came a thud, followed by a clatter, and then by a yelp and the pound of running feet. Static followed—and then a crass, cracking voice cut through the quiet.

"Touching conversation," she groused. "I'm one more word away from vomiting."

"Hi, Genkai," I said. I used my best no-nonsense voice to ask, "So what's this I hear about a bed of snakes?"

"Testing willpower," she grunted. "Seems he had the will to free himself, if nothing else." Though perhaps I imagined it, I thought she sounded almost impressed when she said, "Didn't realize he can pick locks."

"He can't, so far as I know," I said.

"So he learned. Adapted. Necessity is the mother of invention. Explains the sword…but I've said too much." A laugh snuck into her decrepit vocal cords. "Time to inflict a penalty game for his poor behavior."

I couldn't suppress a sympathetic wince. "Don't hurt him too badly."

"No promises," Genkai said.

She hung up.

I didn't hear from Yusuke or Kuwabara again that summer. If pressed, I'd put money on Genkai tearing the phone off the wall just to keep them from trying that stunt again—but somehow, I knew deep in my gut that this absence from the boys was worth it.

The brittle edge that had invaded Kuwabara's voice before he left to train with her had vanished.

That alone was worth the price of separation.

"I'm anxious to have them back," I said, thoughts pulled once more into the present.

Shogo nodded. "So is my wife."

My brow lifted. "Oh?"

"She's interested in her successor. Well, her successor's successor." Although he didn't say Sensui's name, I knew who he meant—but I tried not to let that show on my face. Shogo continued, "And she's very interested to hear about his experiences with Genkai. Did you know she went to Genkai once, but Genkai refused to take her on as a student?"

"No. I didn't know." Canon most certainly had never let that slip, but then again, they'd never let slip anything about Hideki-sensei and his connection to Genkai, either. Thus, I meant it when I said, "That's fascinating."

"Yes. Though it wasn't for a lack of potential. Rather, Genkai merely didn't want to take on students at the time. She claimed to be enjoying her retirement too much." At that he sighed. "Poor timing for Kuroko, I suppose. She was terribly upset, even though she managed to find a different sensei later. If she were ten years younger…"

He trailed off, implication left unspoken. It seemed every conversation I had with Shogo, I learned just the littlest bit more about this world, be it the general nature of it or its connections to Yu Yu Hakusho. Here I was uncovering another lost connection, another stray thread. Pity summer was coming to a close and these frequent visits would have to cease. We'd probably keep in touch, sure, but…

Shogo apparently read my mind. He said, "At any rate, summer is quickly drawing to its end. Have you had fun, even if you miss your friends?"

This time I was able to meet his question with a smile—a genuine smile. "I have," I said, and that was the truth.

Much as I missed my boys, saddling Genkai with their asses meant I had more free time to nurture and develop other friendships—ones canon had never quite dictated I should pursue, but ones I would pursue nonetheless.

They chose a trendy café with a French theme—very them, and exactly as I expected. And the conversation went pretty much exactly how I thought it would, too, starting with general school updates and news about my homelife. That was all a smokescreen, though, for what they really wanted to know. I saw it in their eyes, the way they lit up when they finally got all the filler bits out of the way and cut straight to the chase.

Too bad I had to let them down with my answer of "Sorry, girls, but I'm still single." They stared at me, nonplussed, and then sighed in comical unison.

"So you still don't have a boyfriend?" said Eimi.

"Changing schools didn't change my No Dating Until I'm 18 Rule," I reminded her.

"Yeah. I guess not," said Eimi.

"But we'd hoped!" Michiko added.

Another sigh between the two of them, twin looks of beleaguered pity aimed in my direction. I rolled my eyes, but I laughed, because these two were nothing if not persistent. Both of them had gone on a lot of dates since we'd last spoken. Popular girls, it seemed, but they still carved out time to visit with good ol' Keiko.

It felt good to see them. Good, and long overdue. The girls seemed to feel the same way, or at least they felt like they were falling behind on their romance lectures.

"I hear there are some really cute boys at Meiou," Michiko said when she recovered from her disappointment.

"And some cute girls," Eimi added with a waggle of eyebrow.

It was all I could do to not turn into an atomic tomato. Turning up my nose, I very stiffly declared, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," they said as one, and then we all collapsed into giggles.

I'd never explicitly "come out" to them (or to anyone in this life, for that matter) but Eimi and I both had caught each other staring at a pretty girl before, and Michiko thought it was hilarious, so there really hadn't been a need—and that was a good thing considering our nation's political climate in the 1990s. We were content to let small jokes and knowing comments slide with a giggle or two, and not discuss it in full, but still. It was nice to know I wasn't quite alone, even if we'd never exchanged a verbal truth.

We chattered for a while at the café before paying and heading out, day reserved for shopping, girl talk, and much-needed catching up. As we neared the door, however, a call of my name stopped us. From the other side of the café came Junko, of all people, grinning ear to ear. Michiko and Eimi exchanged A Look at the sight of her stylish cowboy boots and short skirt. Not in a mean or judgy way, but in an oh-my-god-Keiko-has-new-friends-who-seems-cool kind of way. Which was nice. I just hoped they got along…

"Hey, Yukimura!" Junko said. "How's your summer?"

"It's been great." I gestured at my friends. "Eimi, Michiko. This is Junko, a friend from school."

A chorus of "Nice to meet you" and a trio of bows made the rounds, greetings and names and general introductions galore. Eimi said, "We're friends from Keiko's old school. Thanks for taking care of our girl for us."

"It's no trouble." Junko nudged my ribcage, ends of her bleached hair flipping. "But she takes care of us more than the reverse, truth be told."

"Oh god," Michiko said, horrified. "So she's still acting like a mom?"

Eimi added, "We'd hoped she'd outgrow that."

"Nope!" Junko said. "Still the mommiest of all moms."

Michiko heaved a sigh. "Oh, Keiko."

"Will you never act your age?" Eimi scolded.

"Ha ha, very funny, all of you," I said—but they weren't done. Not by a long shot.

The conversation quickly turned into a barrage of good-natured teasing, Junko sharing anecdotes about my mom tendencies and the way I'd become an advice guru for most of our grade ("That's what she was at Sarayashiki, too!" Eimi said). Even if they were poking fun at me, the sight of them getting along warmed the cockles of my wee little heart right up.

If Eimi and Michiko got along with my new friends, it would be easier to keep them around and in the loop. I hadn't recognized some of the names from their stories about school. I know they hadn't recognized most, if any, from mine. How easy it would be to lose touch with these great girls if we didn't have common ground in our social lives. Growing apart was a natural part of growing up, but the thought of that eventuality sent a spike of pain through my worried head.

Lucky for me, a distraction availed itself as surely as if I'd placed an order for it at the café counter.

"Will you excuse me just one second?" I said, breaking away from the group. "Hey! Kaito!"

The aforementioned turned with a frown, movements jerky but swift. Eyes widened behind his glasses, which he shoved back up his nose with the tip of one long finger before addressing me. It was weird seeing him in street clothes instead of a uniform, though he wore a tie and suit jacket with slacks, so all in all it was more a change in color scheme as opposed to a full outfit swap. Damn guy was formal even in his casual life…

"Yukimura," he said, clipped and nasal as always. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I'll say." I jerked my head at the front of the restaurant. "Didn't figure you for a café guy."

"I'm not." He glanced over my shoulder. "Here with friends, I presume."

I looked back. Michiko and Eimi stared toward us, both huddled at Junko's side as the taller girl muttered to them out of the corner of her mouth. They all paled and pivoted away when they saw us looking, retreating behind one of the potted ivy climbers near the café door—but then they just started staring again between the leaves. Not very subtle, girls.

"Yeah," I said. "Some from all the schools I've been to, actually."

"Interesting." His lips quirked the barest fraction. "So Sarayashiki students are still willing to associate with the delinquent, then?"

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled. When Kaito laughed, I changed my tactic and waggled my eyebrows. "So what are you doing here, anyway? Hot date?"

Kaito glared, but beneath his freckles I saw a tinge of pink. "Please. I have no time for such frivolity." He proffered the book under his arm. "An author I admire is speaking at a bookstore a few blocks over. I thought a bite to eat ahead of time was in order. Would despise it if my stomach growled mid-reading."

"Ah, cool!" I said. "I went to a book signing not long ago, myself. Very fun. I hope you have a great time!"

"Oh?" he said, breezing past the well-wishes and heading right for the part that interested him. "A signing for whom, and where? Sarayashiki is woefully negligent about hosting signings."

"That makes sense, because this was in Tokyo," I said. "It was for Sato Shogo. Heard of him?"

Kaito scowled. "He's only one of the foremost voices in Japanese literature, Yukimura."

"So…you like him?"

"That's putting it mildly. I've written three papers on the use of allegory in his work." His eyes glittered, black and intense. "Did you get anything signed?"

"Nah. But next time."

"Pity. Is he scheduled again soon?"

"Not that I know of."

It wasn't like Kaito to show pedestrian emotions like disappointment, but for once he let that show on his face—and it stung. His face, already so craggy and pointed, looked as carved as an emaciated statue. My mouth intervened before my brain could tell it that this was a very bad idea.

"But I managed to strike up a correspondence," I said, cursing and cheering inside when Kaito's eyes lit up again. "I could get something signed for you, if you'd like."

Despite the light in his eyes, he didn't react with quite the joy I thought he would. "You have a correspondence with the Sato Shogo?" he said, appraising me with new eyes. Apparently I'd surprised him as much as he'd surprised me.

"Well." Ugh, me and my big mouth. I just hoped Kaito wouldn't ask questions when I replied, "Yeah. I do."

Alas, Kaito was nothing if not a creature of questions. "Why would someone like him talk to someone like you?"

"…I'm going to pretend that wasn't as insulting as it sounded." When Kaito smirked, I shrugged, using the moment to cover the fact I was scrambling for a cover story. It's not like I could tell him that Sato Shogo was married to the first Spirit Detective. "Well, you see…it's like you said the other day. Not many people are into literature. So we we got to chatting and I told Sato Shogo about the novel I'm writing and he, um…he's reading it. To help someone in the next generation, y'know?"

It certainly sounded like a good cover story to me. It used facts Kaito had taught me about the literary world, had a plausible beginning, and a good reason for my continued contact with Shogo. Plus, it was true: Shogo had offered to read some of my writing sometime, though I hadn't handed any over to him yet. Writers have to stick together and all that.

So why was Kaito staring at me like I'd shown up wearing scary clown makeup all of a sudden?

"One," he said, every word a ponderous effort. "You write? And two. He agreed to look at it?"

Aw, shit. That's why. I hadn't told Kaito I liked to write yet—because I hadn't told anyone about that, hardly. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

"Well. Yeah." I shifted from foot to foot. "To both questions, yes? I don't mention it much or anything because I'm, um…shy about it." It sounded lame even to me, but hopefully Kaito read my cagey answer as sheer embarrassment instead of a poor attempt at deception. "Yeah. That's it. I'm just shy."

Kaito stared at me, unmoving—and then he sighed.

"To get his attention, your manuscript must have somevalue," he said, though grudgingly.

"I mean, it's a work in progress, but…" No, nope, not the time to defend your work, girl. "So do you want me to get something signed for you?"

He did, of course, though he carried no such item on his person. Thus we were forced to exchange numbers to coordinate a book drop, during which we wondered if there were more readings we could attend this summer. Tentative plans made, Kaito parted from me with a very efficient bow and farewell, sparing no time for niceties—or my friends still standing behind that ivy trellis, staring at us.

"See?" Junko was saying as I walked back over. "She's friends with him."

"Junko was telling us that he's a resident genius at Meiou," Michiko said, "but he's notoriously unfriendly."

"How'd you get to be friends with him?" Eimi asked. "And did I see a phone number exchange there at the end? Hmm?"

"…you were watching us the whole entire time, weren't you."

It was not a question, even if I phrased it as such. My trio of friends averted their gazes, Junko letting out a nonchalant whistle as she tried very hard to look innocent (a feat at which she failed). When I finally sighed, hand on my forehead, Junko laughed.

"Look, I'm just saying you should join the circus as a lion tamer, OK?" she said, hands in the air. "Everybody knows Kaito has a temper. He hates talking to the other students, but you charmed him somehow."

"Well, Keiko does have a history of befriending those with social issues…" Eimi said, trailing off with a pointed look at Michiko.

"Oh?" Junko said. "Do tell!"

Michiko and Eimi sported the wickedest of all grins. "Have you ever heard the names Urameshi Yusuke or Kuwabara Kazuma?" they asked—and then the anecdotes began again.

Junko ended up going shopping with us, and by the time the evening came to a close, I got the sense my friends had become…well, friends. I just had to wonder how long any of these friendships would last, given what was to come in Keiko's canon. Growing apart might be a natural part of growing up, but I hoped to delay that parting as long as I possibly could.

These girls were worth that effort.

Shogo didn't know everything about my situation. He knew about Yusuke and Kuwabara, and about my ties to Spirit World through them, but I had never revealed my true age or origin. Just didn't seem like the right person to tell, even if I trusted him with so much else about my lucky second life. Despite the lack of detail regarding my history, however, I think he sensed troubles in me I had never spoken aloud, and entertained worries about me he couldn't quite articulate. A huge smile creased his face, put happy little creases next to his eyes, as I told him about my friends and the meeting with Kaito. When I pulled Kaito's book from my backpack for him to sign, his smile only widened.

"Well, I for one am happy to hear you have a diverse group of friends around you," he said when he handed the now-signed book back to me. "And friends with good taste, I might add."

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "My. How humble!"

"I'm allowed a little pride in my middle age," he said, light and teasing. "And I admit I worry you put too much stock in the new Detective and his friends. Having another peer group is what you need, I think."

"Me, too," I said—but my own smile faded a tad when Shogo frowned, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze intent on my face.

"Speaking of diversity. I know you dislike hearing this," he said, "But Kuroko doesn't exactly approve of the company you keep. Not all of it, anyway."

My hands tightened around my water glass.

This again. We had this talk every time I came around to visit, every time I mentioned the people I typically hung out with—but was 'people' even the right word? And had Kuroko put Shogo up to this? It hadn't gone well during my last visit, that's for sure…

Sensing the tension in my tight shoulders, Shogo said, "I tried to talk some sense into her after last time, but…well. You know my Kuroko. She's a stubborn one."

For a moment I didn't reply. Putting my glass to my lips, I drained down the rest of my minty lemonade and set the cup on the coffee table. Glass clinked against the wooden coaster, crystalline in the still house.

"I know," I said, "and thank you. But I think after last time, she understands that I'm not changing my mind." At that I chuffed, a quick, derisive exhale through the nose. "I certainly understand that she's not changing hers…"

Shogo's lean cheeks colored just a tad. "Yes. Well. Different experiences lead to different perspectives, I suppose." Some of the intensity left his gaze, giving way to manufactured civility. "May I ask how the demons are treating you?" came his polite inquiry. "I figure you'd rather I ask than Kuroko."

"That's true. I much prefer you." His wife, though a badass I admired beyond words, was at times a bit…much, at least on this subject. "And they're OK. I think last week I actually had a breakthrough with the pricklier of the two of them."

Shogo looked intrigued. "The fire demon, I'm guessing?"

"That's the one," I said—but before I began talking, I wondered if Shogo would see it the same way.

Hiei, if nothing else, was quite predictable once you established a routine…and we definitely developed a routine after so many weeks of contact. Follow these four steps to make friends with the fire demon in yourlife!

Step one: Bring ramen into the alley. Wait.

Step two: Once Hiei appears, he'll ignore you. Fill the silence with random talk about your summer vacation. Get insulted and/or ignored.

Step three: Attempt to ask about Hiei's time in Human World. Get rebuffed. Abide Hiei's snark. Of which there will be a lot.

Step four: Watch him leave, and yell at him for stealing your bowls.

Lather, rinse, repeat for weeks.

Friendship not included. Some assembly required. Satisfaction definitely not guaranteed.

Ahem.

My meetings with Hiei rarely varied. I'd chatter, he'd insult my petty human drama, and I'd try to figure out where he was sleeping. Week in, week out, I pestered him to eat a balanced diet and try new foods, expanding his menu from ramen to the various other dishes my parents offered…only I wouldn't just serve them up. Oh, no, I could do nothing so obvious with the taciturn Hiei. It would take a few tries to get him to eat something new, but if I ate it enough, he'd get jealous and eventually steal it off my plate. Grass is greener and all that.

Speaking of which…

"Say," I said. "When was the last time you washed your clothes?"

Hiei looked up from his katsudon with a scowl. Rice flecked his chin before he swiped it away with the back of his wrist. Good thing he did that himself because I was half a second away from licking my thumb and blotting it off, which would likely lose me a hand. And that's saying nothing about how badly I wanted to scrub the off-color patch on his cloak's dark elbow. It looked suspiciously streaky and shiny, like a grass stain sitting atop the black fabric.

Hiei followed my eyes to the offending stain. He promptly shifted to one side, pulling the offending limb away and out of sight.

"None of your business," he snapped, hunching over his bowl again. "That is no concern of yours, Meigo."

"Yikes. Don't bite my head off," I said. "You don't stinkor anything. I'm just wondering since you never did tell me anything about your living situation."

Another pointed glare. "I wash my clothes, if that's what you're asking."

"Sure. But with soap? Or do you in the bayou out back of my parents' house?"

A low hiss, and he shoved a bite of food into his face. The lack of rebuttal made me think I struck a nerve, which pulled forth a knowing giggle. The thought of Hiei scrubbing his clothes on a rock or something was certainly a giggle-worthy image. As he tipped back his bowl to shovel down the last bits of food, I crossed my legs and leaned my elbow on my knee, wooden crate creaking as I shifted.

Hm. There was an idea. But there was no way he'd take me up on it, right?

"Lord knows where you keep all the bowls you've stolen from me," I mused. "But whatever. I have some clothes here that would fit you."

Hiei froze, one scarlet eye focused on me around the side of said bowl. I gestured up at my bedroom window above the alley.

"You can wear them while I wash your clothes, if you want," I said. My eyes travelled downward. "And patch up that rip in your pants while I'm at it. It's been driving me nuts for weeks."

Now Hiei had to twist in the other direction to hide that bit of brown skin peeking from a gash in his trousers. This brought his grass-stained elbow back into view, much to my amusement. Just as I thought—he'd rejected my oh-so-kind offer the way Sorei rejected my attempts at bathing his mangy hide. Really, Hiei and my feral cat were peas in a foul-tempered pod.

"OK," I said, averting my eyes. "Never mind, then."

I went back to rambling about cram school, and the amount of summer homework I'd undertaken just to get a leg-up on university exams (which were still years away, but I'd be damned if I didn't get into the best college in Japan and give Keiko's parents anything less than what they deserved). Hiei hadn't seemed interested in my earlier ramble-session, eating his food without any comments or eye contact (which was normal for him). He seemed just as distracted when I resumed talking. Movements slow, he ate the rest of his meal and stood up. I did, too, bracing myself for a bullet of parting snark before he would inevitably disappear (and take my bowl along with him).

Instead, his eyes dropped to my feet. His teeth clenched.

"Fine," he grated out.

I'd been mid-sentence about meeting Eimi and Michiko for dinner soon, so his comment didn't make a lick of sense. "What?" I said.

"I said fine, dammit," he repeated—and when I gaped at him, he lifted his head like a tiny little edgelord midget king commanding a subject to perform a distasteful task. "You may…wash my clothes."

I stared at him.

He stared at me right back, eyes as resolute as boulders.

"Oh," I said, because in absolutely zero capacity had I expected him to say yes. "Oh. Um. Well. OK?"

He bristled like a homicidal hedgehog. "If you didn't want me to accept your offer, you shouldn't have offered in the first place, idiot."

"Oh, no—I wanted you to accept. I just didn't expect you to actually, y'know. Do it?" Hands on hips, I turned and stared up at my bedroom window again. "Which means I didn't exactly plan the logistics of this. Gimme just a second, please."

Hiei scoffed, but he didn't call me an idiot again or disappear like a ghost, which was progress. I mulled the particulars for a minute or two before lifting my finger to the window above.

"I guess you'd probably want to avoid dealing with Mom and Dad, given you always flit away when they come near," I said. "I'll let you in the window upstairs. Is that OK?"

Hiei didn't bother with a verbal reply. He just did that weird shadow-step maneuver and vanished, leaving me alone in the alley with our empty plates (including his bowl—ah, so he didn't steal things if I offered to wash his clothes; file that away for future use). I took the stairs two at a time, barely remembering to trade my outdoor shoes for indoors slippers, and ran straight to my window. Hiei crouched on the roof outside it looking for all the world like Sorei on a rainy night, scowl embarrassed and promising imminent death if I ever told anyone he relied on me for shelter.

Hell, though. Hiei had nothing to fear. It would probably take photo proof for this scenario to seem plausible to outsiders. I was living said scenario and yet I barely believed it, myself.

I unlocked and opened the window with a smile, one Hiei did not return. He shrugged himself over the sill and placed one boot squarely in the middle of my desk (right on top of a fucking textbook, that jerk), vaulting over it to land on my carpet with a lithe hop.

"Oi!" I squawked. "What, were you raised in a barn?"

A magma-red glare attempted to turn me to ash. "I was raised by bandits," Hiei said, as though that was somehow preferable.

"…yeah, OK, prove my point why dontcha?" I pointed at his feet. "No shoes in the house. You take them off at the door. Or at the window, in your case."

I'd never seen Hiei look so completely mystified. "And why should I do that, exactly?"

I gaped at him. Shut my mouth with a clack of teeth. Ground out the words, "Because it's polite, Hiei."

But that was not enough for him. "And if an enemy attacks, and I have to run?" he demanded. "What then, Meigo? What then?"

My eyes rolled, because oh my Jesus, that was such a Hiei thing to say. "Then nothing. No one will attack you in my house, dummy."

"But how can you guarantee that?" he pressed, ever paranoid.

"Because—because it's my house?" I sputtered. Hiei looked triumphant, but before he could snark at me I added: "And I'll kick their asses if they so much as try to bruise you, that's why."

His triumphant look morphed into one of astonishment, then just as quickly into an expression of pure disdain. He tossed his head and laughed. "Ha! As if I need your protection!"

Ire rose like floodwater. "You're the one who needed a guarantee that you wouldn't get attacked, and—" I stopped talking, took a deep breath, and sighed. "Nope. Not doing this. Look, Hiei, taking off your shoes keeps the floors clean." I pointed at his boots again. "If you take off your shoes, you won't track in any dirt or gross stuff from outside. Get it?"

He did not. "Why, pray tell, would you want to keep the floor clean?"

"I mean. General sanitation and hygiene isn't enough for you?" When he remained unconvinced, I said, "In case I want to sit down on it, I guess?"

"Why would you sit on the floor when there's a chair in here?" he said, finger thrust toward my desk chair. A wicked gleam lit his eye like a spark lights a bonfire. "What, were you raised in a barn?"

Even I had to admit turnabout was fair play. I threw up my hands with a wordless cry of exasperation. "Dammit, Hiei, some people just like sitting on the floor; I don't know what to tell you!"

"I think what you're telling me is that humans enjoy prostrating themselves on the ground like dogs."

Another exasperated cry from me, and I shoved Hiei toward the door. He snapped "Unhand me, woman!" but still allowed me to push him down the hallway to the bathroom. Mom and Dad were busy working the dinner shift and wouldn't be back up for a while, but I still instructed Hiei to lock the bathroom and escape out the window if he heard anyone but me coming.

"You can change in here, then hang out in my room," I said. A thought occurred. "Oh. Do you want to shower while you're in there?"

He (predictably) glared at me. "None of your business."

"That's a yes, isn't it," I deadpanned, and Hiei flushed—just the tiniest tinge of discoloration across his nose, but still. I'd seen through the bluster and he knew it. "I'll go get a change of clothes. And I'll wait to come in till I hear the water running, OK?"

Trusting that he didn't need the shower explained to him, nor that he needed to be told what shampoo was (he'd figure it out, probably, hopefully), I shut the door on his furious face and headed for my room. I'd collected a lot of Yusuke's old clothes over the years, plus some newer ones since he'd been at Genkai's (boy clothes were the best for stealing, I gotta say, and they made me feel like Yusuke was with me when I wore them). Although it was tempting to saddle Hiei with Yusuke's most obnoxious purple shorts and garish orange t-shirt, I felt magnanimous enough to pick out a plain grey shirt and black sweatpants for the fire demon down the hall, plus a pair of Yusuke's boxers from a few year's back. I just hoped they fit him, because—

My hands froze around the aforementioned underwear.

Oh. Oh my god.

I was about to answer the age-old question of boxers or briefs, wasn't I?

Oh good lord. This I had not planned for.

Mustering my courage (and what little maturity I possessed), I marched the clothes to the bathroom. The water was running, hiss of steam audible through the closed door, but still I knocked until I heard Hiei's unintelligible growl. Even then I cracked the door and peered inside lest I accidentally walk in on him in the nude (sorry, fangirls everywhere, but that was a breach of canon I simply couldn't abide).

Hiei had stuck to the plan, leaving his clothes in a pile atop the counter. I grabbed them and left Yusuke's clothes in their place. Before walking out, however, I pitched up my voice and said, "Hey, Hiei?"

"What?" he muttered,

"I'm sorry I don't have any No More Tears shampoo."

"…what the hell are you talking about?"

"Well I mean, you have more eyes than normal, so I thought there was a heightened chance of you getting soap in them due to sheer percentage, and I know that No More Tears shampoo is for little kids, but it seemed like you'd find it useful and—"

I have no idea how he managed to throw a bar of soap over the curtain rod with enough precision to hit my head with it, but he did. And it hurt. A lot.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, "but I sense it's a joke at my expense, and rest assured I will not forget that you made it. Now get out, Meigo, or else."

Hiei did not need to make his threat explicit for me to see the wisdom in obeying it. I skedaddled at once, taking his clothes to the stacked washer-dryer in the small hall closet (a splurge sanctioned by my mother after the business took off; most homes in Japan didn't have a dryer at all). Deep breath in, deep breath out, I slowly unfolded his bundle of clothes and took stock of what he'd given me.

A shirt, tattered. Pants, torn. A threadbare scarf, at least three belts that didn't match, socks with holes on the heel, and…that was it.

No underpants to speak of.

Either Hiei made a habit of going commando, or he was wearing his underpants in the shower in case someone tried to attack him and he needed to run for it—and honestly, it was a toss-up as to which was more likely.

"Wow, Hiei," I said, staring at the assortment of garments. "You would, wouldn't you?" And somehow, despite the fangirlish anticipation of the moment, I wasn't surprised at all.

What did surprise me was the sight of Hiei in human clothes after he emerged from the bathroom (carrying his shoes this time, I was pleased to note). I sat on my bed thumbing through a textbook, pencil tucked behind my ear as I studied, and tried not to stare as he shut the door behind him. Hair dripping and matted with water, feet bare below the hem of the sweatpants, he looked every inch a kiddo in hand-me-downs, illusion broken only by the muscle of his arms and the way his wary warrior's eyes scanned my room. He paid me absolutely no heed, of course. Hiei wandered to my closet door, perusing the poster of Johnny Cash flipping the bird at the camera.

"Hmmph." The hum could've been approval or disapproval, either one, but the smirk on his face made me suspect the former. Of course he'd like Johnny Cash, of all the humans to choose from. I should've known…

I watched Hiei stalk through my room over the top of my book, hoping he didn't notice the way I tracked his progress, taking in his mannerisms and the catlike grace of his stalking stride. Watching a character like him in such a mundane setting felt absolutely surreal. When he passed close I caught a whiff of my shampoo, sandalwood sweet and earthy and warm. I didn't fault Hiei for using it; it was technically men's shampoo, but gendered products are a scam, and buying "dude" products meant Yusuke could just borrow from me when he inevitably crashed at my house. Nice to know I could care for Yusuke and Hiei both like that…

Hiei paid little attention to my bookcase and stuffed animal collection, focusing mostly on my band posters (which were darker, more his style). Eventually he paused in front of my music station, a small set of shelves with my record player on top and my vinyl collection below. His tanned and calloused hand reached for the tone-arm sitting off to the side of the turntable, eyes narrow and focused as he skimmed the metal with his fingertips.

"That's a record player," I said, trying to be helpful. "It's for—"

His eyes flashed. "I know what it's for."

I blinked at him. "You do?"

"I'm not a fool, Meigo."

To my immense surprise, and probably merely to prove a point, Hiei pulled a record off the shelf and set it on the turntable, adjusting the arm and positioning the needle with…well, not expert hands, but with hands that hesitated only a moment over the various buttons and switches that brought the vinyl to life. Soon the twanging rasp of "Bad Moon Rising" filled the room; Hiei stepped back from the record player with a pointed look in my direction.

"See, you nitwit?" his eyes said. "I know what I'm doing."

My eye bugged nearly out of my skull, I have to admit, because the idea of Hiei being at all familiar with human technology was an absolute shocker. I set my book aside and crossed my arms, staring at him like I'd never seen him before. I mean, fanfiction often painted Hiei as being scared of automatic doors and riding in cars, so this…this was a departure if I'd ever seen one.

"What are you staring at?"

I flinched at his brusque tone. "Nothing. Just…you like music?"

He scowled. "I find it tolerable."

"Right. You would." What a very Hiei thing to say. Waving at the expanse of my bedroom, I said, "Well, we have a little time before your clothes dry. Want to sit, listen to tunes to pass the time?"

"Will the music keep you from talking?" Hiei said.

I squawked for the millionth time that night, but Hiei's defiant grin wound up making me laugh. Guy loved to poke and prod at people, antagonize them for the sheer fun of it, and it was just so him that I couldn't stay mad—plus he immediately decided the window sill was the best seat in my room, bypassing my perfectly good swivel chair (the one he himself had pointed out earlier, I might add) in favor of climbing over my desk and settling down to stare into the darkness beyond the glass. Another Hiei-ism played out in real time.

Hiei was full of both surprises and prophecy fulfilled, I was learning. Interesting mix, if not a little inconvenient for my overthinking brain.

Once he settled down, I went back to my textbook, because I had a cram school exam the next day I definitely needed to pass. Hiei let me study for most of the Credence Clearwater Revival record in peace before he broke the silence.

"You never did ask me about it," he said, voice audible despite the music.

I lifted a brow, looking his way askance. "About what?"

"What I saw in your head. The boy with the pink hair who disturbs you so."

The record came to an end, then. The needle sailed off the edge of the vinyl and hovered there, light static echoing through the player's speakers.

"Oh," I said.

Hiei's gaze, measured and unwavering, didn't falter. "I half suspected you'd accost me, demand I find more of the same inside that thick skull of yours."

"I…didn't want to bother you."

Hiei frowned. "Bother me?"

"Well, yeah. I figured you wouldn't be in the mood to go panning for gold in my brain, and I didn't want to…accost you, to use your word."

Hiei had an unnerving habit of not blinking for catlike periods of time. I sighed and closed my textbook, marking my place with my pencil. What I'd said was the truth, but it wasn't all of it. Perhaps he could sense that I left something unspoken, but what was the use of telling Hiei that I was also, in a very real way, scared to know what else he might unearth inside me? Surely he'd just laugh at my fear, right?

The idea that someone like Hiruko could erase my memory, leave part of me a secret even to myself, was absolutely terrifying. But was it more terrifying to wonder, or to learn a potentially terribly truth? I wanted to talk to Cleo about it, or at least see Hiruko again to ask about it personally, but neither party had been in touch as of late. I was content to wait, to put it off, and leave the perhaps uncomfortable revelation for another day.

I tried not to think about how this basically amounted to running from my problems. I tried very, very hard to not to think about that.

"And also," I said when Hiei's stare weighed heavy. "Privacy. I enjoy mine. And I thank you for respecting that."

He harrumphed at me and looked away, back out into the night beyond the window pane. I think that second dose of truth had mollified him somewhat. I didn't trust Hiei yet, just as he didn't really trust me yet. I couldn't let him be the one to unearth my memories. I wasn't yet sure he was the type of demon who wouldn't use them against me.

His canon transformation from enemy to friend, as it were, was not yet complete. Cute though I found him, I wouldn't be caught off guard by my stray cat parolee.

"I hope you don't mind," I said, tone gentler, "if I match you observation for observation."

Hiei did not turn his head, but his eyes flashed with their eerie reflective sheen when they moved my way, mirror image of them doing the same in the reflection of the window. I took a breath to steady myself, hands fisting in my bed's soft comforter.

"You still haven't asked about your sister," I said with a small, warm smile. "I thought you'd accost me, demand to know more about what I keep in this thick skull of mine."

Honestly, that weighed on me far more heavily than that forgotten memory of Hiruko Hiei had uncovered—and that's why it had taken me this long to bring up. Hiei would surely fly off the handle at mention of Yukina, right?

Surprise. Once more, Hiei defied my expectations.

Hiei didn't move. In fact, he went quite still, and then his eyes closed into crescents of thick black lash.

"You told me enough," he grumbled. "Stick to the Detective, and I will find her. I've been patient until now. I can be patient a while longer, knowing she's close." One eye cracked, a smelted streak in his brown face. "And I know better than to meddle with Fate, unlike some."

I could only laugh at that simple reasoning—the uncomplicated, rigid rationalization of his actions, his thinly-veiled impatience, the way he lodged an insult into his logic just to get a dig at me. Hiei was rash, brash, but he wasn't stupid, and clearly he'd had more than enough time to work out his long-game tactic and resist the urge to torture me for information (much though I figured he wanted to). Laughing, shaking my head, I picked up my book again.

"Point taken," I said. "Choose a new record for us?"

He did. Soundgarden this time, darker than the previous music. Hiei didn't bob his head to the music, or sing along (I somehow doubted I'd ever see him do that), but occasionally he'd cock his head and narrow his eyes at a lyric. Did he like it or hate it? I couldn't tell. I just hoped it wasn't a bad influence, or something.

Eventually the dryer buzzed out in the hallway. I fetched his clothes, broke out the sewing kit, and darned all the torn bits under Hiei's eagle-eyed scrutiny. "Sloppy stitching," he commented as I darned a sock, but I told him to put a sock in it and rendered him sputtering and speechless with that terrible pun. When I handed the garments over, he inspected each one as though they might try to bite him, god knows why. How long would it take for him to trust I wasn't sewing trackers into his clothes?

"I'll wait in the hall until you're dressed," I said.

Hiei nodded, and I left—but then I called through the closed door, "Hey, Hiei? Stay there. Don't go right away after you get dressed, I mean. I've got something for you."

He didn't reply, and I didn't wait. I skipped downstairs and surreptitiously packed two to-go bento boxes amidst the kitchen hullaballoo, hoping Hiei would listen and I wasn't going to this effort for zilch. I mean, that would be just like him, to be stubborn and do the opposite of what I asked. But joke would be on him, because he'd be missing out on food—favored bribe of stray cats everywhere.

Lucky for Hiei, he listened to me, albeit with attitude most begrudging. He stood by the window with arms crossed, fingers drumming on his bicep. When I walked up and handed him the bentos with a huge smile on my face, he didn't take them. He just cocked a brow and stared.

"That should be about two meals. Not enough until we see each other next, though," I explained. His brow all but disappeared beneath the bandana on his forehead. "Also, you know you can come by more often if you need something, right? Like a bath or to wash your clothes? Or food?" When he didn't reply, face impassive and unreadable, I added: "You know you can come here when it rains. Like, to get somewhere dry and sleep somewhere warm. I hate the idea of you sleeping in a gutter while it's raining."

Despite my attempt at kindness, Hiei merely prickled, metaphorical hackles on the rise. "I don't need your charity, Meigo."

"It's not charity," I said, retort defensive but honest. "It's…I don't know what it is, but it's not charity. But whatever." I shoved the bento boxes at his chest. "Look, just promise me you'll eat all your vegetables, OK? I left out the mushrooms you don't like and I got the veggies you seem to like most, so you'd better eat them."

Hiei's eyes dropped from my face to the bento boxes.

I beamed. "That's how you get taller, eating your veggies."

Another sharp, hot glare. "My height is no concern of yours!"

"Of course not." I shoved the boxes at him again. "But still, veggies are good for you, and you should eat them anyway."

He waited a beat. I thought he might snap at me and leave without taking them, just to be a dick, but his lips curled back over his teeth and he snatched the boxes from my hand. "I'll take it under advisement," he said—and between one blink and the next, he blurred from sight, got the window open, and vanished into the dark.

I darted after him and stuck my head over the sill. "And you'd better bring back the bento box when you're done, you hear me?"

A futile effort, I supposed. Those bento boxes had surely gone the way of all my missing, pilfered bowls.

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when two days later I found the boxes on my windowsill, clean and intact and waiting for me.

Shogo found Hiei's behavior as funny as I did, thankfully. He chortled and slapped his knee, saying, "Returning your flatware. That is progress. And I, too, wondered where he was bathing! Still no word on that?"

"Not even on where he sleeps," I faux-lamented. "But I think this means he trusts me just a bit more than he did a month and a half ago. I mean, it's not like he trusts me much, and he basically only wants me doing chores for him—but still. Baby steps, I guess?"

"Baby steps indeed," Shogo agreed. He started to say something else, but his head cocked to the side and his eyes went distant. "And speaking of: Three. Two. One."

As soon as he started counting down, I braced myself—and good thing, too, because as if summoned by the mere mention of them, the feet of children pounded up the porch stairs outside.

Kaisei and Fubuki burst into the room like a pair of Tasmanian devils—the cartoon versions that spin around like carousels on crack and possess an unending appetite for chaos. Fubuki swarmed straight over the back of the couch and threw her arms around my neck, laughing her delight when I shrieked and scrambled to my feet—feet Kaisei had crawled under the couch to grab, wrapping himself around one leg so I had to drag him to walk anywhere. Growling like a wounded tiger, I lugged the giggling pair toward the kitchen, tugging and pulling at them and promising all manner of painful retribution for this indignity.

The kids ate that shit up like it was candy.

"Nee-san!" Fubuki warbled. "Did you get me a present? Did you? Did you?!"

"What'd you bring me?" Kaisei joined in. "What'd you bring me, Nee-san, huh?"

"All right, simmer down, simmer down, you monsters!" I griped, which only made them yell louder and laugh harder. "Leave me the heck alone and look in my backpack, why dontcha?"

At once they released their various holds and bolted for the couch, tussling each other for possession of the aforementioned backpack, which they proceeded to upend with no decorum whatsoever. Shogo watched with an utterly helpless look on his face, powerless to stop his two tornado children.

"I got you all of the Shonen Jumps and Shoujo Beats since I was last here, and a sack of melon jellies, ya little ingrates," I said, straightening my shirt and pants (more of Yusuke's stolen clothes, truth be told).

Two identical faces swiveled in my direction. If it wasn't for Fubuki's braid and Kaisei's low ponytail, I'd be helpless to tell them apart at their young age. They swapped clothes the same way Yusuke and I did.

"And the video?" the twins chorused in unison.

"And the video," I said. "Check the front pocket."

They screamed, overjoyed, and pulled the anime tape free of its confines. My call of "Go watch it in your room and leave me in peace!" fell on deaf ears, but it hardly mattered because they were already sprinting for the stairs to the loft and their shared bedroom, intent on watching their prize.

I didn't speak completely in vain, however…because while they didn't hear me, someone else certainly did.

"Sorry, Keiko," she said with a merry laugh, "but peace is in short supply in this household."

The mother of those devils—Sanada Kuroko, first Spirit Detective, slayer of demons far more literal than her wild children—had sharp ears indeed. She stood just inside the front door, hands on her hips, beaming after her twins with the infinite pride of motherhood. But much as Kuroko cut an impressive figure, I only had eyes for her companion.

"Hey, kid," Shizuru said. She lifted one battered, nicotine-stained hand in my direction, eyes glittering in her bruised, bloodied, beautiful face. "Long time, no see."

I wanted to run to her, of course. It was the first time I'd seen her in weeks. Running to her seemed like the logical thing to do.

Too bad my feet refused to move—and more's the pity, because Shizuru only managed to take one swaying step inside the house before she fainted dead away.

Notes:

Next chapter, part 2 of "Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled": Kurama, more of Shizuru's situation (also spoiler she'll be fine, she's just tired and NQK's narration is dramatic), and the start of a new story arc in YYH canon. And we get to meet Kuroko properly! Thought I could maybe fit it all into this chapter, but it would be, like, 20,000 words, and that is simply too much!

Anyway, Lucky Child has returned! NaNo was a success: Wrote 75,000 words, though the original novel I worked on isn't finished. Will try to finish it before the new year, though amidst these renewed weekly updates, I'm not quite sure how that'll go. Wish me continued luck!

See you next week, and thanks so much for sticking around during my hiatus! Y'all're the best and I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Chapter 50: Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled, Part 2

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko battles notions preconceived.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

So as not to get trampled when I made a mad dash for Shizuru, Kuroko stepped neatly aside and rounded the couch as I ran past. From the corner of my eye I saw her approach Shogo and give him a small, chaste kiss, but the cute moment barely registered. I had bigger things to worry about—things like lifting Shizuru off the floor and into my arms, laying her head on my knees so I could peer into her sunken face. She didn't reply when I said her name once, then twice, then a third time, and her mouth only thinned when I (perhaps too aggressively) patted her cheek.

"Oh, don't worry," Kuroko called. She'd taken up her spot in her favorite green armchair, one leg draped casually across the other. "She's just tired, that's all."

"Tired or dead?" I muttered.

"Tired," Kuroko said with a bright and merry laugh. "Fubuki and Kasei really wore her out."

I shot the woman a sharp look, because oh my god, anything but that. "You sicced the kids on her?"

"Of course! How else will she learn to take on more than one opponent at a time?" At that Kuroko winked. "Plus, it tires the twins out and gives Shogo and I a little peace and quiet. They probably put on that video you gave them and fell right to sleep."

"That's true," Shogo agreed. He seemed to notice my worried expression for the first time, slapping on a reassuring expression for my benefit. "And besides, Keiko. Shizuru gave the twins a run for their money the last time they sparred. There's nothing to worry about, I promise."

"If you say so," I said, meeting Shogo's sincere eyes—but then Shizuru stirred atop my thighs, and I had to look away.

"Keiko," Shizuru grumbled. Her eyes opened into mere slits, like the lights above could blind her. "Keiko, you're…"

"I'm here," I said.

"And you're loud."

She chuckled when I gaped at her, a soft, chuffing laugh low in her chest. I flicked her nose and scowled. "First time I see you since I dropped you off at the start of the summer, and first thing you do is insult me? And to think I was worried about your ass."

"Your mistake, kiddo," she grated out, and with a grunt she managed to sit up. "Now help me into bed before I fall asleep on the floor, would ya?"

Kuroko directed me through the archway below the stairs and down the hallway beyond, where a small guest room availed itself on the other side of a cracked door. Shizuru's suitcase sat open in a corner, her bed unmade and unkempt. I dumped her on the bed and hauled her feet atop the sheets, tutting at the sight of her muddy boots. The Sanada/Sato household followed the Western custom of wearing shoes indoors (mainly because it proved impossible to train the kids to take them off at the door, Shogo had once explained) so it was up to me to remove them from Shizuru's leaden feet. She didn't help me at all, head lolling atop the pillow, hair tangled over her mouth and nose like it wanted to strangle her.

"Look at you," I murmured when I set her shoes aside. Combing the hair from her face, I studied the lines of her mouth, jaw, eyes, and brow, noting the myriad scratches gouged into her pale flesh. Bruises darkened the complexion below her eyes and peppered the skin below her collarbone, exposed under the scooped neckline of her tanktop. More bruises and cuts adorned the length of her arms, the jut of her thin knees. Dirt had collected beneath her fingernails in black crescents—but the gashes on her knuckles drew my eyes away. She'd been punching things, clearly, but the twins had appeared unscathed.

Just what did Kuroko have Shizuru doing, anyway, to reduce her to this condition?

The apology came out on a whisper. "I'm sorry, Shizuru."

One baleful hazel eye cracked open. "What're you moaning about now?" she asked, voice a rasp of displaced air.

"I got you into this mess. This whole thing, it was my idea." I waved at her bloody, bruised, battered body. "And now you're…"

When I trailed off, Shizuru suggested, "Stronger?"

"Are you?" I asked. "Or are you just beaten beyond recognition?"

She managed to glower using just one eye. "Takes more than a few brats with fast fists to beat me, kid."

I didn't agree, looking instead at the torn skin on her hands. Shizuru's other eye opened, turning the glower into a full glare. She ignored me when I told her to lie down, rising up on her scraped elbows despite my urgings, winding one hand into the front of my shirt for purchase. I shut up when she hauled me down to eye level—and not merely to placate her.

The fire in her eye could've rivaled Hiei's, just then.

"Listen up, sugar. This might have been your idea, but I agreed to it." Her grip tightened, pulling me even closer. "Don't hog all the credit, now. You hear me?"

My throat lurched when I swallowed—and though I hated to admit it, in that matter, she was correct.

Shizuru listened to me in silence for almost an hour as I explained everything Kuwabara had kept from her—and the things even he didn't really know. She had burned through at least three cigarettes by the time I finished, sitting back in her chair with a fourth glowing between her fingers.

"Huh," she said, pensive. "Interesting."

I fidgeted in my seat at her kitchen table, hands a knot in my lap. "You're not freaking out."

Shizuru tapped her cigarette into the ashtray at her side, thoroughly unimpressed. "Kid, Yusuke got smashed into jelly by a car and then came back to life. Demons ain't shit." A long, dispassionate drag, smoke exhaled in a silver plume toward the ceiling. "So this Genkai. She'll make Yusuke and Kuwabara stronger?"

"Yeah." My voice dropped low. "And good thing, too, considering what Spirit World has already thrown at Yusuke."

"And considering my baby brother's habit of sticking his nose places it doesn't belong, he's got a snowball's chance in hell of staying out of it." Shizuru took another drag, longer and slower than before. "So who's this lady demon-slayer you mentioned?"

"Sanada Kuroko. She was the Spirit Detective before Yusuke." I didn't bother mentioning Sensui. Now was not the time.

Shizuru considered that a moment, eyes like a shark's—sensing everything, blood scented on the water, a drop in the ocean but still as clear to her as a summer day. If she heard the omission in my voice, she chose not to mention it.

"And this Sanada woman can make me strong?" Shizuru said. "Put me on baby bro's level?" At that she looked utterly disgusted, as if her cigarette had been packed with roach droppings. Shizuru muttered, "God. 'Baby bro's level'. Even saying that makes me nauseas."

"If we can get her to agree to train you, she can do that—probably, anyway." It pained me to be so honest, but I had to tell Shizuru, "I have no guarantee she'll be interested in training you, but…"

"But if she isn't, I'll just find someone else. She's as good a place to start as any." Ever the practical, unexcitable woman I'd admired so much in the anime, Shizuru took another drag and shrugged. "So how do we find her?"

For a moment I couldn't speak. Much though I'd wanted Shizuru to agree to my plan, it hadn't taken much convincing at all to get her to agree—just a recitation of Yusuke's story, explanations about demons and Spirit World, and yet she was already on board. It had never occurred to me that convincing Shizuru would be this…well. This easy.

Things didn't typically come easily for me in this life. I guess I just wasn't accustomed to getting my way.

I said, "You want to train with her just like that?"

"Keiko, if I don't get on his level, baby bro is liable to get his dumb ass killed," she said with maddening calm. "Least I can do is make sure I can punch out a demon if need be, right?"

I stared at her. She stared at me, as unimpressed as ever, unflapped and unruffled even in the face of staggering impossibility—but even if I hadn't expected her to agree so readily, this was Shizuru we were talking about. She of the razor mind and hidden competency, the woman I'd long lamented had never been trained in canon to her fullest potential.

And now, here we were. Here she was. Willing to be trained, and perhaps realize that potential at last.

I needed to calm down, I decided. No sense looking this gift horse in the mouth.

"Well—well, OK, then!" I said, forcing myself to smile. "I know Kuroko's husband and can call him right now, set up a meeting, test the waters and whatnot."

Her head jerked toward the kitchen proper. "You know where the phone is. Hop to it."

And with that, there was nothing else to talk about—not really, anyway. I walked to the phone, dug my datebook from my purse, and plugged in Sato Shogo's phone number. As the line connected and began to ring, I glanced over at Shizuru. The light from the kitchen window turned her brown hair gold, her eyes to chips of amber in her dusky skin. She leaned her chin on her hand, watching me, cigarette poised over the ashtray, smoke from its tip winding in lazy spirals around her tumbling hair.

She was so much older than the rest of the Yu Yu Hakusho gang—older, but still young.

Still so young.

The words came out before I could check them. "You're sure about this?" I asked.

One expertly-plucked brow lifted. "I'm not in the habit of agreeing to shit I'm not sure about, Keiko." A smirk curled across her mouth like smoke from a cigarette. "And besides. No way am I letting my baby brat brother get the one-up over me."

The line engaged before I could reply. "Hello?" Shogo said.

There would be no going back after that. Shizuru had made that clear.

Even though the hand tangled in my shirt felt strong and sure of itself, the haggard, hollow cast of Shizuru's thin cheeks made the breath catch in my throat. "I just—is this too much? Did I put too much on you by suggesting this?" I asked, breathless with nerves and anxiety.

"Like I said. Stop worrying so much. It'll give you wrinkles." She smirked, that cunning curl of the mouth that made her bright eyes glitter and made my pulse start sprinting. Her arm flexed, pulling me another inch closer. "You're too pretty for wrinkles."

My cheeks colored in spite of myself, and I rolled my eyes. "Aw, shut up."

"I will if you will." After one more smirk, she let go of my shirt. The action sent her flopping back over the pillows again, head bouncing boneless atop her neck. She managed to summon enough strength to pull a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and pull one forth, filter catching between her chapped lips. "Now leave me be, kid." Her eyes fluttered. "I have a date with…my mattress…and…"

Shizuru lapsed into sleep mid-sentence, cigarette hanging from her mouth until her lips parted in a snore and sent the object tumbling. I plucked it off her shirtfront and set it carefully on the bedside table before covering her with a blanket. Was it just me, or didn't the exposed muscles of her arm seem more defined that before, the cut of her waist slimmer under her baggy shirt? Hard to tell. It had been a month since I'd last seen her, and then her curves had been hidden under a men's suit jacket and baggy trousers. However, if she said she was stronger, I had little choice but to believe her.

It's not like I had the spiritual sensitivity to check that claim for myself, after all.

Once Shizuru began her well-deserved nap, I headed into the living room. Shogo and Kuroko stopped chatting when I entered, greeting me with nigh-identical smiles and murmurs of greeting. I nodded in return, coming up behind the couch so I could grasp the cushions for support.

"You're not going easy on her, I see." My low voice carried in the quiet, echoing room. "Isn't that right?"

Kuroko's eyes thinned into merry crescents. "Of course. She'd never get strong if I went easy." The woman stood. "Would you like another glass of lemonade, Keiko?"

As she busied herself with fixing the glass, I sat down. Kuroko cut an impressive figure, one I couldn't help but admire even though I'd met her many times by then. So tall, with such trim and defined musculature beneath her simple jeans and loose black blouse—and that hair, long and shining and tied back in a simple, low tail. Had she been so inclined, she could've been a model in another life. Her cheekbones were certainly defined enough, and she would stun on camera with those liquid eyes and her lovely, delicate jaw.

Too bad her carriage ruined all of it.

Well, maybe 'ruined' was too harsh a term. It's just that she angled her body so her back never faced an entrance to the room, and even when smiling her eyes roved across the room in endless rounds, studying and cataloging and monitoring moment to moment in an endless loop. Her hands, too, moved with the surgical dexterity of a killer's, not a single movement wasted or unintentional. Watching her had unsettled me the first time we met, but it had taken a few visits to realize exactly why—not to mention the time she'd walked up behind me on silent feet and nearly made me piss myself when I turned and found her staring at me from no more than six inches away. She'd even regulated her breathing down to nothing, I noticed, rendering her as imperceptible as a shadow in the dark.

Kuroko, for all her pretty face, had the demeanor of an assassin and the calculating eye of a practiced hitman. To see her was to see death walking, even in spite of her pretty smile.

I tried not to stare as she poured the lemonade and sat down, though I know I likely failed. Words babbled forth to cover my unease: "So may I ask what you've had Shizuru doing? Now that I've seen her, I feel secrecy isn't necessary anymore."

Kuroko looked pensive, then laughed prettily behind a hand. "No, I suppose it isn't. And nothing special. Strength and endurance testing, plus mediation to hone her spiritual powers." She paused, then added, "Oh. And basic survivalism."

My brain conjured an image of Bear Grylls drinking his own piss; my nose wrinkled. "Survivalism?"

Shogo turned a warm eye toward his wife. "My darling Kuroko is of the opinion everyone should learn to start a fire, gut game, build a lean-to, and construct a deadfall in the event of pursuing enemies."

"Don't knock it, sweetheart!" Kuroko laughed. "Served me well hunting demons in remote areas. I'd be dead if I hadn't studied survivalism, and you wouldn't have such a lovely wife to dote on." Her gaze returned to me. "Nature tests your skills in ways a living opponent never could, and Shizuru has adapted flawlessly. She's a great student, your Shizuru." A wry smile twisted her lips. "Though I'm afraid she's taught my children some rather interesting new vocabulary."

"Sounds like Shizuru, all right," I said, unable to keep a smile at bay. "Thank you for training her."

Kuroko laughed again, hand waving in dismissal. "You always thank me when you come here, and you really don't have to!" A measuring look, though a humorous one. "So polite. Maybe I should get your mother to teach my little monsters some manners, since she did such a remarkable job with you."

That got me to laugh, too. "Yeah. Mom is a stickler for proper decorum, that's for sure."

"Perhaps she's why you overdo the thanks." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Really, Keiko. Shizuru is gifted. I was happy to take her on. And it's good practice for the day the twins start training in earnest." Kuroko preened a little. "Never thought I'd be a teacher, but I'd like to think I'm not half bad."

"I don't think you're half bad," Shogo assured her, and she swatted his arm and giggled.

"I don't thank you because of my mother."

Shogo and Kuroko looked my way with surprised looks, falls of their faces similar thanks to years of mirroring each other's expressions. I told clarified, "I don't thank you because of my mother. I thank you because it's warranted." I reached for my lemonade, hands slipping around the cold glass as I composed myself. "Shizuru is protective of her brother, and if he's associating with Spirit World, I want her to be safe if she starts looking out for him. To have the ability to fend for herself against all Spirit World throws at her." My smile felt brittle, somehow, like the fragile glass in my hands. "That's why I have to thank you. Because you're safeguarding her wellbeing."

Luckily Kuroko got it, to some extent. Smile empathetic, she said, "I understand. Spirit World isn't known for their care of their employees. They truly embody the utilitarian Japanese notion of putting the good of many over the good of the individual." A glance askance at Shogo, loaded and dark. "I will admit that was my second reason for agreeing to this. All those who ally with the new Detective ought to be able to protect themselves."

"Right."

"It's just too bad I can't do much to help you, Keiko." And suddenly she wasn't smiling anymore. No—quite the opposite, in fact, voice tinged with a worried resignation that made my pulse kick up. "I wish I could…especially considering the company you keep."

As Shizuru had before her, Kuroko listened to my story—the story of Yusuke, Kuwabara, Kurama, and Hiei, not to mention me—in silence. This silence didn't unnerve me as Shizuru's had. After all, Sanada Kuroko—the Detective two appointments prior to Yusuke's—knew about Spirit World and Demon World already. A lack of reaction from her seemed normal enough.

For the most part, anyway.

When I fell quiet, she didn't move. She merely stared at me with those liquid black eyes of hers, eyes tight at the corners yet revealing no emotion. I fidgeted under her gaze, under the unspoken tension in her presence, but eventually Shogo put a hand on Kuroko's knee. They sat huddled together on the couch like twin statues of the Buddha, watchful and still.

"Honey," Kuroko said, eyes locked on me. "What do you make of all of that?"

"She's sincere, if that's what you're asking," Shogo replied. "Furthermore, Hideki vouched for her."

Kuroko's eyes flickered to Shogo, the tiniest bit of recognition lightning them from behind—along with the barest zephyr of sharp regret. So Hideki's word did matter to her, then. Not for the first time, I wondered at that relationship, though I knew better than to pry.

"And I trust her personally, as well," Shogo said. He managed to spare a smile, where before he had remained so stoic. "I read her palm, and I saw candor there."

Between the recommendations of Shogo and Hideki, Kuroko appeared satisfied—at least in part. She sat back in her seat, legs crossed, arms folded beneath her breasts. She gave me a long, slow onceover, then did the same to Shizuru. "Hmm. And you're the sister of the new Detective's best friend?"

Shizuru, lounging indolently beside me, didn't move an inch. In fact, her lips barely moved when she said, "That's the story." Mostly because a cigarette perched between said lips, unlit, but not wasted. Kuroko had made Shizuru put her cigarette out at the door. ("I hope she doesn't think she can make me give up smoking," Shizuru had muttered as she put out the light under her heel, back when Kuroko first asked. I got the feeling she kept the unlit cigarette in her mouth for comfort, even if she couldn't smoke it indoors.)

Kuroko's eyes returned to me. "And you're another friend of the Detective's."

"Yes," I said.

"The one Spirit World decided to turn into a…parole officer, was it?"

"A record-keeper, is the term they keep using. But yes." Hoping I hadn't botched my explanation of my duties, I repeated: "I keep an eye those two demons Yusuke defeated in a recent case, and I send written reports of Yusuke's activities to Spirit World."

Kuroko's eyes fell shut. Movements deliberate and economical, she rose to her feet and walked silently to the window beside the fireplace. Her back to me, I saw only the barely reflection of her face in the glass when she said, "You never should've taken that job."

At first, the comment refused to sink in. "Excuse me?" I managed to blurt.

"You never should've taken that job." Fatigue, old and creaking, turned her rich voice brittle. "Spirit World shouldn't have asked you, but you never should've accepted. Shogo's told me he thinks you're smart, but if you ask me, you have a lot to learn."

Shizuru inhaled through her nose, sharp and startled. I merely froze. Shogo, however, immediately sat up straight, pivoting toward his wife in his seat. Light from the window caught his glasses, obscuring his eyes from view.

"Kuroko," he said, words low and full of warning.

"No, Shogo." She turned, face finally full of emotion she didn't bother hiding—but I didn't see anger there, despite her heated tone. "You remember all the demons we fought back in our day. But do you remember the people they killed?"

Shogo started to speak. Kuroko shook her head.

"I remember," she said. "Their names, their faces, every last one of them. I remember them all." And then she rounded on me again, eyes blazing like coals. "That demon who took the body of a human boy, the kitsune you spoke of—he may well have killed that soul to takes its place. Has that occurred to you?"

Amidst the horror of that suggestion, it clicked—what I saw in her eyes, I mean. It wasn't anger driving her in that moment, to make that suggestion and call me an idiot.

It was fear.

It was fear, raw as an exposed nerve, totally incongruous with what I'd expected of Sanada Kuroko. I'd expected…well. I'm not saying anyone who's afraid disqualifies themselves from being a badass (fear is too universal for that generalization), but in that moment, that's how I felt. The first Spirit Detective, afraid? What the heck was going on here?

"That's not what happened," I said, rising to Kurama's defense. "He didn't kill anything to become human."

"How would you know? You really trust a demon to tell you the truth?" Her words, despite their structure, didn't sound derisive—merely tired, edged with apprehension, and blunt as a club of wood. "I've seen things you wouldn't believe. Terrible things. And if those things taught me anything, it's that demons are not to be trusted."

The thought of Sensui invaded, that Detective who could not handle shades of grey thanks to his dependence on monochrome. Heart in my mouth, I said, "Surely it isn't so black and white as that."

Kuroko surprised me again. "No. It's never black and white," she said, with a toss of her long black hair. "I'm not so dense as to lump all demons together. I've met many who merely wished to be left alone, who didn't prey on humans. But the demons you're dealing with moved against Spirit World, to the detriment of the humans in their path. That is what makes them what they are: their callous disregard for human life."

And yet again, my surprise rendered me speechless…because she was right, at least so far as Gouki and Hiei went. They didn't give a crap about human beings and considered them cattle for the slaughter.

Kurama, however…

It was as if she read my mind. Hands fisted at her sides in quivering lumps. "You might have found yourself going to school with a demon, Keiko, and he might do a convincing impression of a human boy, but don't forget what he is." Those eyes left no room for argument, no room for doubt. "Don't you forget that, not even for a moment."

It was all I could do to mutter, "He isn't like the others."

"Maybe not," Kuroko said, dry and muttering. "But from what I've heard, he had no problem allying with Gouki, eater of children. And we are the company that we keep."

The accusation stung, even if it wasn't aimed at me. Yes, Kurama had allied with Gouki in order to rob Spirit World, but then he had parted ways with Gouki, and on poor terms. Gouki had been a means to the end of healing Kurama's mother. That was it; that was all. It's not like Kurama had stolen the children's souls himself, right?

"Kurama wouldn't have approved of Gouki's behavior," I said, readying myself to defend him. "He was busy with his mom. If he'd known what Gouki would do, I'm sure—"

"If he'd known?" Kuroko countered. She shook her head, tutting. "I'm sorry, Keiko, but the Rapacious Orb is used for the sole purpose of stealing souls. What else would Gouki have used it for?"

My words died. Kuroko shook her head again.

"Kurama was preoccupied with saving his mother, yes," she said, "but he didn't try to stop Gouki from hurting children, nor did he try to stop Hiei from using the Shadow Sword—not until after he owed you a favor, and not until after he'd saved his mother. And that, to me, speaks volumes about the kind of demon this Kurama is."

Though she'd made a point—a point I hated to concede rang true—no pleasure or triumph colored her voice. She looked weary after pointing out the obvious, and nothing more than that. She didn't taunt or rub my face in her logic. She spoke with all the exhausted enthusiasm of a surgeon after a day's-long surgery, all facts and cold logic and tired, tired feet.

And I felt weary, too, hearing these words from her.

Kurama…he hadn't tried to stop Gouki or Hiei, even knowing what they might do with their stolen treasures. He'd focused on his mother and nothing else, with no thought to the innocent humans who might run afoul of his former partners.

On the one hand, I could rationalize this as a moment of selfishness. Kurama once admitted he had a selfish streak, especially when it concerned his mother. But here I was, trying to defend his honor, and even I had to admit his record of decency was not clean. That he wasn't totally virtuous, and had made decisions hat ignored the potential for collateral damage in his haste to complete his goals.

That fact made my heart hurt, like Kuroko had reached her hand into my chest and squeezed.

"And that's saying nothing of the fire demon," she went on. If Kuroko drew any conclusions from my silence, she didn't voice them. "That one tried to kill you, and you willingly monitor him for Spirit World. You willingly associate with a creature who tried to murder you, and harmed the ferry girl." She drew herself up to her impressive height, shoulders squared, feet spread. "You I can forgive, Keiko. You're still a child, and you're clearly an optimist. But Spirit World…they should be ashamed, putting this burden onto you, or onto your young friend Yusuke."

She nearly spat the name of Koenma's domain. A hundred forgotten histories lay in the pronunciation of that title, in the way she voiced it with contempt and—at last—barely-restrained fury. I got the sense her aggression in this moment didn't lie with me at all, even if I acted as her current whipping boy.

And of course, I was keenly cognizant that this woman had led a markedly different life than mine. This first Spirit Detective possessed a wildly different perspective than Keiko—and a perspective wildly different than Sensui, and even Yusuke, despite their shared title. Sanada Kuroko saw Keiko as an ignorant teen, and she saw demons as adversaries she had fought many times before. I couldn't fault her perspective, not knowing precisely all she'd seen—but that didn't make her judgmental words any easier to hear.

Against my thighs, my hands curled tight. Nails bit into my palms in cutting moons.

"I might be an idiot," I said, voice shaking in spite of my attempts at control, "but I'm not totally without a form of rationale."

Kuroko's brow lifted. Next to me, Shizuru murmured to hold steady, kid. I shot a glance at her and managed a shaking smile.

"That's why we're here, after all." Looking at Shizuru girded my nerves as if my bones had been replaced by steel. "To ask if you'll train Shizuru, and to see if you'll…"

"I can't make you psychic." Kuroko looked like she regretted saying the words out loud; when I'd asked for that from her during my earlier story-telling, she hadn't replied right away. Now, though, she spoke with apology in every syllable—apology that stung, because asking her for that favor was only slightly less important than seeing Shizuru trained by the former Detective. "It would help me sleep at night if I could, knowing you had a way to defend yourself, but I can't. I'm sorry." She glanced to my left. "You. Shizuru, was it?"

A curt nod. "Yeah."

Kuroko lifted a finger and trained it right on me, though she still addressed Shizuru. "If I train you, you'll protect her. Promise me."

I couldn't suppress a gasp. Shizuru, meanwhile, just shrugged. "Sure."

"Promise me," Kuroko repeated—and her eyes were blazing again, on fire with purpose and passion and a ferocity I had only before seen mirrored in the eyes of my own mother, the day she marched up to Iwamoto and ripped him a new one at Yusuke's funeral.

Shizuru knew what that look meant. Her legs uncrossed. She plucked the cigarette from her mouth, sat up straight, and met Kuroko's glare head on.

"I promise," Shizuru said.

Her hand crept sideways off her lap to tangle with my fingers. Kuroko watched as our hands intertwined, and then something in her sagged.

"Then fine," Kuroko said. It was her turn to smile, lips thin and set in stone. "If you're going to tangle with demons, I'm going to make sure at least one of you is prepared to take them on."

In the present, Kuroko heaved a heavy sigh. "It's just a pity you lack spiritual sensitivity, and that I don't know how to trigger it in others." Her wry smile held little humor—only kind remorse. "You looked so disappointed the first time you asked and I said no."

I got the sense Kuroko would've done it if she knew how, if only to afford me protection from the demons in my life. I told her, mostly sincerely: "It's OK. I'll figure out a way someday."

"I bet you will," she agreed. "And good thing, too. If there's one thing I'm all for, it's women learning to kick ass and take names." She aimed her following comment down the hall, voice raised. "Isn't that right, Shizuru?"

Silence replied. Shizuru did not. Kuroko giggled. Shogo coughed into his fist and said, "Perhaps let her sleep, dear."

"Oh, fine. Spoilsport." Kuroko settled back against her seat, favoring me with interest. "Tell me, Keiko. How go your duties? They never formally recruited Shogo or Hideki as my assistants, and I admit I'm still shocked they recruited you." Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "And that you accepted, of course."

That last line wasn't snide, nor even accusatory. Kuroko was above petty bickering or passive digs. I did, however, detect a current of concealed frustration—the same frustration that dogged all of our conversations about demons or my association with Spirit World. Last time I'd visited, I hadn't been careful enough with my temper or pride and had reacted badly to one such remark, innocent though I knew it was.

Her distrust of Kurama, however warranted given her past, still managed to strike a nerve with me.

"Listen, I get that you saw a lot of crap when you were Spirit Detective," I'd snapped during my last visit, when she muttered a remark against demons under her breath. "I get that you think I'm some dumb kid who can't see the forest for the trees, but Kurama and Hiei aren't like other demons, OK?"

We'd been washing dishes at the time, standing side by side as Shogo picked up the remains of lunch. Kuroko's hands stilled around her work, eyes sliding toward me askance. I don't think she'd expected me to hear the remark, much less react to it, but she didn't act overtly put off by my reaction, either.

Kuroko's smile came thin. "So you've said."

Her casual, dismissive reaction crawled under my skin and snuck there, a subtle but persistent parasite. "What, and humans are really so great all the time?" I shot back. "You ever read a book about prison camps, genocide, war? Humans aren't some paragon of virtue, y'know."

"I don't deny humans can be just as callous as demons, Keiko. I never denied that," she said—as calmly as a parent arguing with a stubborn child, infuriating in her patience. "But you have to stop acting like a naïve girl. Kitsune are famous for their preference for pretty girls. Do you really think that that fox of yours won't try to get a taste if you let him?"

I'd been spoiling for a fight, honestly, weeks of remarks rolling off my back finally too much to bear…but the suggestion that Kurama wanted a "taste" rendered me quite mute. Mute and red-faced like a tomato with a sunburn, much to my chagrin. Kuroko watched me stammer and blush before chuckling under her breath.

"So that's it. Teenage hormones, eh?" she murmured. "The fox is pretty, so he gets a pass?" But it wasn't a criticism, just a thought, and she began to wash her dishes again, no longer looking at me. "Demons bank on human emotion and attachment when hunting prey. It's just the truth of it. Keep an eye out. Demons do not change their ways, Keiko, and no amount of wishing will alter their true nature."

Thank my lucky stars Shogo is the perceptive sort, because I'm pretty sure that when he called Kuroko away to help him with something, he didn't actually need help at all. Her absence gave me the room to breathe, and to remind myself that she didn't know Kurama. That she was wrong, and she'd see it for herself eventually.

I just hoped I didn't cause a repeat of last time today. It was time to be on my best behavior, lest I incur another blow-up.

"They demons I'm watching aren't all bad," I said, voice pleasant and even and not at all defensive (I hoped). "At least Kurama is a good conversationalist."

But that little tidbit didn't bring Kuroko any peace of mind. "The fox. He worries me more than the fire apparition," she said with a slow shake of her dark head. "I tangled with more than one kitsune in my day, and they are too tricky for their own good."

Ugh. This again, her fixation with the deviousness of the fox demons. A deep breath quelled my need to come to Kurama's defense—and gave me the calm necessary to agree with Kuroko, at least in part.

"Well, this fox certainly fits the tricky stereotype." When Kuroko looked startled by my admission, I added, "But he's also…softer. Gentler."

That pulled a laugh from her. "Gentler. No doubt thanks to his time spent in Human World."

My smile came polite and cool.

It was possible she was onto something with that theory.

It was also possible she was just plain wrong.

"Sooo… I need your help."

Kurama didn't bother to ask with what. He chuckled, said "I'll be over shortly," and hung up.

It was rare for us to talk on the phone these days. We called to request company, but asked little by way of explanation before coming to one another. It was nice to have such trust established, even if it left us in suspense from time to time.

I just hoped Kurama wouldn't turn around and march in the other direction when he heard what I wanted him to do for me this summer.

The midday rush had caught my parents in its tide, so we avoided small-talking with them when Kurama appeared in the alley behind the restaurant half an hour later. "And a good thing, too, because we'd be stuck with them for hours if I didn't sneak you up," I explained as we climbed the stairs. "They really roll out the red carpet for you."

"Do they?" Kurama asked, but in that too-innocent way that meant he knew damn well what I was talking about. "I can't imagine they'd treat me any differently than the rest of your friends."

"Of course you can't," I said, eyes rolling. "Mister Humility, that's you."

Another of his low, musical chuckles. He was well aware my mother thought him cute, and smart, and well-spoken, and certainly a fitting match for her darling daughter ("If only you'd relax your silly dating rules!" she'd lamented to me, well within Kurama's range of hearing at a recent dinner). Eyes rolling harder, I opened the door to my bedroom and ushered Kurama in. He'd been there a few times at that point, but even so, he entered the space with all the hesitant care of an explorer walking a slippery bridge over a plummeting waterfall. I sat on my bed and watched him make a circuit of the room—the same circuit Hiei had made when he crawled in my window, in fact.

And Kurama ended up in the same spot, too. Namely in front of my record player. Interesting. These two had more in common than I thought. Kurama showed the record player some interest, too, skimming one long, pale finger over the player's lid.

"I have this same kind at home," he said.

"Ah. Really?" It was rare for Kurama to talk about his home life, for all the theories and philosophies about our existences we'd shared with one another. "That rig is really nice. Great sound quality. My parents got it for me for my birthday last year. I told them not to get the good one, too expensive, get an off-brand and cheaper option, but they'd just opened the second location and wanted to splurge." Hyper-aware that I'd rambled, I added with haste: "Your mom get you yours?"

He hummed an admission, hand travelling from the lid and down to my collection of records, alphabetized by the names of their artists. He traced the titles one by one, eyes roving across their names as if to memorize them.

"So you like music?" I said. But then I shook my head. "Stupid question. Of course you do. Everyone likes music. I guess it'd be better to ask what kind you like."

His hand stilled. Green eyes narrowed, mouth turning down at the corners. My own mouth thinned in response. It wasn't often anything gave Kurama pause, much less a mundane topic like music. So why…

"I…don't, actually," he said.

I frowned. "What?"

"I don't know much about music at all." Kurama looked sheepish, or something close to it. "I'm afraid it's simply not my area of expertise."

"You…" My mouth worked around empty air for a moment. "Oh. Um. Well, what records do you have?"

"Just the ones the player came with," he said, shoulders rising and falling almost imperceptibly. "They, too, were a gift from my mother."

We lapsed into twin silences. Kurama continued to peruse my collection, ticking through the sleeves and observing the titles on the spines. I, meanwhile, stared at him, until my mouth moved of its own accord and a single word slipped through.

"…wow?"

His quizzical green gaze turned my way. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Maybe?" I swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Just…I guess I figured everybody likes music. That's all."

While I'd never pegged Kurama as a true music junkie or anything, he'd listened to swing-dance tunes with me when we watched the Lindy Hoppers at our usual café. He'd abided the moments I played Megallica in the background while we chatted, and he'd never complained about pop music during nights at the karaoke lounge. Sure, I hadn't heard him express preference for any one song or another, but…to not like music at all? To have no preferences at all? That I hadn't expected. That I hadn't counted on in the slightest.

And here I thought I'd really gotten to know the guy. Joke's on me, I guess.

"I enjoy listening to music, when it plays," Kurama said with another understated shrug. "I simply don't have any opinions about different types."

"Everyone has opinions about music," I said. But because that sounded super judgey, I made sure to say, "I mean, it's OK if you don't, but…are you sure you don't have any? Any at all?" My mouth quirked; humor rose to cover the awkwardness. "All I'm saying is, Megallica is an acquired taste, and I'd hate to subject you to too much metal if it's not actually your jam. You sure you're not holding out on me?"

Though I spoke the words (mostly) in jest, Kurama didn't take them as such. He pivoted on one heel, hands settling into the pockets of his jeans, eyes as hooded as they were distant. One hip leaned against my music stand with care, testing its heft until it bore Kurama's weight.

"To be honest, I didn't think I'd need any preferences," he admitted, voice low and somber and ponderous. "Music, art…those things are not part of life in Demon World." Verdant green darkened to deep teal. "Or if they are, they are comforts for the weak."

At first I wasn't sure what he meant. It hit me soon enough, however, when he once more caressed the top of the record player—eyes full of pain, emotion shuttered and guarded yet still visible beneath his composed veneer.

"You were planning on leaving," I said as realization dawned. "Why would you bother learning about human music if you never planned to hear it again?"

For a moment, he said nothing. But then the taut set of his shoulders slackened, and he sighed with a heavy look in my direction.

"Why develop a taste for human art when I didn't intend to enjoy it past my tenth birthday?" At that his eyes flashed with a spark of heated jade. "Why bother learning how my mother's gift operates, how any human device operates, when I never intended to use them once I left this world?"

These were rhetorical questions, of course. I didn't bother answering them. I watched as Kurama turned back to the record player, not quite touching it, as though fearing it might break if he came near.

"But now you're staying," I said when the silence stretched long and thin.

It stretched even longer and thinner before he murmured his reply.

"But now I'm staying," Kurama admitted. "Which means, I suppose, that I should develop tastes of my own."

His fingers hovered over the record player's arm, not quite touching, not quite daring to get close. With a pump of leg I rose from the bed and walked to his side.

"Want me to show you how it works?" I offered.

He looked relieved, almost. "I recall the basic operations, but a refresher course might not go amiss."

With a grin and a flourish I reached for a record. "Lucky for you, I'm quite the music buff. Let's see. What to pick?" I spun a record between my hands, replaced it, and grabbed another. "I figure you for a classical guy, but maybe that's cliché of me to assume? So why don't we start you off with a universal favorite like Johnny Cash and go from there. Everyone loves Cash." Handing him the record, I pointed at the player and the turntable on top. "So what you do is set the record here, take the needle, and…"

True to his nature, Kurama learned to use the record player in a flash—but even though he was such a quick study, I couldn't help but wonder at this little surprise. First Hiei had proven adept at using human tech, and then Kurama didn't? His reasons made sense, given he disdained humans until just recently, and had planned to leave this world until just recently, but still. This was quite the shocker, though I tried not to let him see my consternation.

I never truly could let my guard down in this world, could I?

No matter what I did, the people in it would never cease to surprise me.

When music filled the room, Kurama took a seat at my desk. I sat on my bed. It was rare for Kurama to relax, to stop his calculating brain on its constant track of thought—but for once, it seemed like he'd managed to find a moment's peace. His eyes closed as Cash sang, head listing to one side as though in sleep, shoulders free of the wary tension so typical of my friend the fox demon. It was nice to see, frankly. I was the overthinker of the two of us, but Kurama held deep tension in his own right.

"I have much to learn about this world, now that I intend to live in it," he said in a silent space between songs. "Thank you, Kei."

I couldn't help but be absurdly, stupidly pleased with myself at that statement. I ducked my chin, hoping to hide the hectic blush staining my cheeks by facing the wall. Yeah, the wall behind my bed. It was an interesting wall. Definitely worth looking at instead of the boy in the corner. Mmm hmm. Yup. Definitely.

"Don't mention it," I said to the wall, hoping I didn't accidentally burn a hole in it. "What're friends for?"

He laughed, all soft velvet amusement and satin warmth. "Speaking of. You asked for a favor on the phone. How may I be of assistance?"

Ah. Perfect distraction. I turned back to him with a chipper grin, hoping the blush might pass for excitement (though given the sudden conflagration in his eyes, I doubt my plan succeeded).

"It's a little weird, admittedly. And definitely against the rules of at least a dozen institutions, but…how good are you at breaking and entering?"

Kurama said nothing, but he did give me the most amazing dead-fish stare—one belonging to a person who was thoroughly unimpressed with me, which made me cackle like a banshee. Ah, so his past occupation was still a source of pride for him, was it? Good to know.

"Rhetorical question," I said. "You're the king of thieves. You'd be amazing at pulling a B&E. You'd be perfect at it."

He smiled, all curving lips and glimmering eyes and a dark, slow chuckle that made my toes curl. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Kei—even if I enjoy the way you make it sound."

"Ah. I see. Then how do you feel about begging? Because I'm afraid I probably can't afford a bribe." Clasping my hands under my chin, I batted my eyelashes and stuck out my lower lip. "How's this? Help a girl out, Kurama; you're my only hope. Pretty please?"

He laughed, louder than before but with no less enthusiasm. "Who am I to refuse such a polite request?" Kurama said. I wasn't sure if I was happy to see the interested gleam in his eyes, or if I should have run screaming in the other direction when he asked with barely-restrained relish, "And what, pray tell, is our target?"

"The target is Meiou High School," I told him—and judging by the shock in his green eyes, he hadn't been expecting to hear that.

Notes:

YYH IS GETTING A NEW OVA/SHORT ANIMATION BUNDLED WITH THE 25th ANNIVERSARY BLU-RAY BOX SET.

NEW CONTENT. NEW YYH CONTENT. GO READ ABOUT IT ON MY TUMBLR. USER NAME LUCKYSTARCHILD. NOW GO. GO READ. NOW.

Ahem.

Second part of the frame-story-time-skip-chapter-that-covers-the-events-of-Keiko's-summer-break, ahoy! There will be three parts total of this.

Doing something a little ambitious. Another chapter (part 3) will come out…probably this Wednesday, though I'd like to have it out earlier if I can. Next Saturday, this story turns one year old (!) and I'd like to have this up to 52 chapters at that point. 52 chapters, 52 weeks in a year, I'm a sucker for symmetry like that…so consider it my Christmas/fic-birthday gift to all y'all.

AND THE NEW YYH SHORT WITH THE BLU-RAY RELEASE IS THE BIRTHDAY GIFT TO THIS FIC, AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED, SO BOY HOWDY AM I A HAPPY CAMPER THIS EVENING, YESSIREEBOBJOHN I SURE LAWDY AM.

My return from hiatus was absolutely WONDERFUL thanks to you. All of you are AMAZING; this year of updates couldn't have happened without your support and well-wishes. Warm and fuzzy affection goes out to all of you!