Chapter 51: Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled, Part 3

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko prepares for the future.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

One cool green eye flicked upward, away from the pale hands working deftly at the lock of the teacher's lounge. "You know. Typically when one breaks and enters, the goal is to steal something," Kurama remarked. "Not leave behind more than you found."

"Yeah, well," I said. "When have you known me to be typical?"

"Alas, never." And he looked at the lock again. "You certainly have a way of keeping one on one's toes…"

Shifting from foot to foot in the dim hallway, I glanced to our left and right with a shiver. Even with the summer heat bearing down around us, being in an empty school felt, in a word, creepy. Creepy as hell, actually. I just wasn't used to seeing normally busy place so dead, y'know? Every time I moved, the backpack on my shoulders rustled, sending sibilant whispers echoing through the darkened halls. Few things struck me as creepier than an empty school, that's for sure.

"And you do, too," I said to distract myself. "Keep me on my toes, I mean."

His eyes flicked up to me again. A click and a crack later, the lounge door opened under his hand. Kurama gestured me through ahead of him with a murmur of, "And how do I manage that?"

"I mean, you picked the lock with a paper clip," I said. Kurama laughed at my disappointed tone of voice. "I thought you'd use a magical plant or something. Or at least something more, I dunno. Flashy?"

Kurama chuckled as I surveyed the room. The empty lounge had been neatly arranged before the teachers left for summer break, chairs tucked in and papers placed out of sight in filing cabinets. I charted the space for a minute or two before heading for the far corner and the desk sitting in it.

"I hardly think breaking into a teacher's lounge warrants use of my so-called 'flashier' powers." Kurama didn't follow me, leaning against the lounge door with arms crossed over his chest. "Unless there's something about this venture you're not telling me, Kei?"

I put a finger over my lips and giggled before turning and pointedly ignoring him. The vent behind the desk was easy enough to pry open with the screwdriver in my backpack, and just as easy to fill with a few items from said container (which I secured to the side of the vent with a length of duct tape). Perfect. Exactly as planned.

"What have you been hiding in here, anyway?"

Kurama had approached on silent feet, craning to look over my shoulder, but I managed to wrench the backpack shut before he could see too much. I didn't blame him for being curious. I'd been vague on the details this whole time, and this was the fifth spot we'd hit up that afternoon. My backpack felt half empty at that point; I'd left behind quite a few gifts for my future self, all positioned at key points throughout the school.

From Former Not-Quite-Keiko to you, Future Not-Quite-Keiko. And good luck.

"Oh, nothing special," I said with a big, fake smile. "Just a few bits and bobs to make the upcoming school year a little easier."

Though Kurama looked thoroughly unconvinced by my explanation (not that I'd been trying very hard to lie) he merely quirked a brow and let me have my secrets. We hit up a few more spots around the school—library, gym, and classrooms, among others—before heading outside. Kurama watched with a bemused smile as I marched smartly for the PE shed around back of the school, a few dozen yards away from the greenhouse where Kurama spent so much of his time. The front doors had been secured with a heavy padlock and chain; the doors opened a few inches when I tugged on them, but they didn't part enough to allow even Keiko's small self to squeeze through.

"Do you need me to pick that lock?" Kurama said.

"No; I have another plan."

The shed wasn't air-conditioned (few buildings aside from the school library had A/C at all) and boasted only one window on either side, set far too high up the wall for anyone to see through. Peering through the crack in the door afforded me a look at some stacked vaulting horses and crates of soccer balls. I couldn't see the back wall from the front of the shed—which was actually perfect for my purposes. I had a hunch, you see…

"Score," I muttered, with a smile at the sports pun. "This is perfect."

"What is?" Kurama asked.

"This shed. It's exactly what I wanted." I brushed off the front of my shorts and added, "Or it will be, if it's got a certain feature."

Kurama frowned, dark hair burnished a deep ruby in the summer sunlight. He followed at a more sedate pace as I jogged around the hut's corner, toward the back of the shack near the brick wall that surrounded the school grounds. Some bushes around the sides and back of the shack concealed the baseboards—and while that was good in the long run, it made it hard to see what I so desperately searched for. I shoved my hands into the leaves and pried the bushes apart, peering through the foliage through squinted eyes. Trees just beyond the school wall made it quite shady and dark around back of the shack, though. If only I had keen fox eyes…

A hand, white in the gloom, grasped a sprig of leaves just to my left. Kurama smiled, green eyes somehow luminous despite the shade.

"May I assist?" Kurama asked.

Well, who was I to turn down an offer of help from Kurama when said offer involved plants? This I had to see. Stepping aside, I watched as he placed both hands atop the bush and closed his eyes. For a moment nothing happened, but then the bushes rattled—and then they shrank in on themselves, leaves curling and retracting as though I watched time lapse photography in reverse, summer foliage reverting to winter desolation in a few seconds' time. No shower of sparks or energy glow accompanied this reverse miracle, but even so, my jaw dropped.

"Dude," I said, raising one dumbstruck finger. "Now that's the flashy stuff I was talking about."

Kurama chuckled. "I see. But please be quick. Although I could keep this up for quite some time, I fear the plant's health might be endangered if I overexert it."

"Say no more."

With the bushes reduced to skeletal frames of bare sticks, all leaves out of sight within their swollen bark, it didn't take long to scan the perimeter of the shed and find my target: a small ventilation and drainage grate on the back wall, about three feet wide and two feet tall, held in place at the corners by screws. The screws were a bit rusted, sure, but I managed to remove them and take the grate off the wall in about a minute. When I peered inside I saw a bit of space between the back wall and the sports equipment—but even if it was too small for me to fit, I could make the gap bigger if I moved some stuff around.

In short: This was perfect.

"Yup. Just as I suspected," I said, and Kurama's eyebrow lifted. "I've been scoping out the school ever since I transferred, and this makes a perfect bolt-hole, especially with a little hidden entrance like this." Experimenting, I wormed my legs through the hole, testing that it would indeed fit around my hips and shoulders. It's a good thing Keiko wasn't claustrophobic, unlike I had been in my past life. Thank my lucky stars for this difference between us.

Kurama's eyes clouded. "Much as I enjoy the suspense, Kei, may I earnestly ask what this is all about?"

I shrugged and went about replacing the grate. "I'm preparing for my future."

"Ah." He nodded at my cryptic reply. "I get the feeling I shouldn't ask, curious as I am."

"Sharp as always."

"And yet, ask I must." He offered me a hand when I started to stand, fingers cool and dry around my own. "Why do you expect you'll need a…what was it? A bolt hole?"

"Correct," I said. "A discreet little hidey-hole just for me when the going gets tough."

Kurama's eyes clouded further, and something around us rustled. For a minute I thought it was the wind, but I didn't feel anything on my skin, and then the scent of green and growing things perfumed the air. The leaves unfurled at the ends of their stems, bushes regaining their foliage in one enormous, shivering burst.

"Do you expect the going to get tough?" Kurama asked, voice as delicate as the hand he extricated from the nearly regrown bush.

"Yes," I admitted, though only after a healthy pause. Kurama had truly helped me today; I owed him at least enough of an explanation to soothe the worry clouding in his eyes. "For you, and for me, but in very different ways. And soon."

He considered that in silence, lips pursed, eyes sliding back to the grate hidden behind the bushes. Eventually he looked my way again, and I saw my explanation hadn't been enough. His eyes remained as clouded as a forest suffused in fog.

"May I ask what was in the bag?" he asked. "The items you left in the school?"

"Better you don't. I just hope I never have to use them at all." I had a hunch they'd become necessary, much as I hated the thought of using them. Head shaking, I said, "Anyway, that's it for me thanks to your lock-picking prowess. I'm done here. What next?"

Kurama blinked at me, apparently confused. "What next?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Anything you want to get up to today? Since we're already out and about and stuff."

Kurama frowned. "Oh. I don't have anything in mind." He looked only mildly discomfited when he said, "To be honest, if you hadn't called, I would've spent the day at home."

"Well, that's no fun." I jerked a thumb toward the teacher's gate we'd earlier hopped over. "Want to go hang out downtown, see what trouble we can scare up?"

"Not too much, I should hope," he chided. "I'd hate to worry Mother."

I imagine that if the account of my story were a manga, and not so many words scribbled in the journals under my mattress, the audience would see Kurama and me from above, strolling down the streets of Sarayashiki side by side. We spoke, but of nothing important, pointing out various shops and restaurants and sights, eating takoyaki off a stick as we baked in the summer heat. A bench in the cool shade of a ginko tree provided momentary relief. Kurama bought lemonade from a street vendor; we sipped in silence and watched the crowds pass by, until my curiosity got the better of me.

"Can I ask?" I said. Kurama eyed me askance, but said nothing. "What are your plans, now that she's better?"

It took him a long time to find the words—a long time filled with downcast eyes and measured breathing, hands and legs held perfectly still, as though he feared any sudden move might break the moment in half, send his intentions fleeing like a rabbit before the hunt. His hair looked nearly black in the shade, falling around his shoulders like shadow made solid.

"I confess I spend most nights pondering that question," Kurama murmured. "I never thought this far ahead, all things considered." He finally looked at me, smile wry and small. "I suppose I'll attempt to do well in school. Support her, as she has supported me. And then return to Demon World when she…"

He trailed off. He didn't need to elucidate. I knew what he was getting at. The pain and uncertainty in his eye said everything he couldn't.

"So that's possible for you?" I asked. "To wait so long, and then return to being a demon, as you originally planned?"

If my knowledge of his plans surprised him, he didn't show it. I suppose he was accustomed to me knowing too much by now. He merely shook his head. "I don't know, Kei. But my energy grows with every passing day." He raised a fist, staring at his closed fingers as if they did not belong to him. "More and more of my former power unlocks as I use my energy. I find myself…called, in a sense, to use it." The hand dropped back to his thigh. "I regret to say I do not know what consequences calling upon that power will wreak in the long term."

We lapsed back into silence. Kurama doubtlessly thought of his mother. I thought of the anime, instead. The Yu Yu Hakusho manga had skipped most of the fights in the Demon World Tournament, meaning Kurama's fight with Shigure—in which he vowed to never use his demonic energy again, and to live and die as a human—hadn't happened in the manga at all. Which version of canon would this world follow? Could Kurama eschew his demonic traits and live life as a human, or was he fated to regain his demonic traits and lose the part of him that had become so human?

The only way to find out, I supposed, was to wait and see. But that was so far off, and Kurama was uncertain now. Was there no comfort I could offer him? And comfort I wanted to offer, because the weary look in his eye sent a pang through my bleeding heart.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs. "Well. Whatever the case may be, your friends will be here for you, come what may," I said, because that was the only thing I could think of—and it was true, besides. Thankfully the words made Kurama smile, that tricky little smile that said he was about to make a joke.

"Friends, plural?" he asked. "So far as I know, I just have you."

"Give it time," I assured him, and then I placed a finger over my lips. "But I will say no more on the subject. Spoilers and whatnot."

He laughed—and some of the weight lifted from his eyes, deep green lightening to the colors of fresh spring.

We left the bench together, conversation turning back to nothing and everything, summertime a fizz setting carefree bubbles in the blood. Kurama was content to let me lead us through the city, our wandering aimless but pleasant. When we stopped for another rest, I caught him eyeing one of the nearby shops—or not a shop, rather, but something far more interesting. Jangling coins and the plink of digital music filtered out the open doors, perfect complement to the gigantic neon sign above them. Laughing kids scurried through the dark interior, faces awash with the glowing lights of their favorite games.

"Wanna check out the arcade?" I asked.

"I suppose," Kurama said, after a moment's thought. "I don't play many video games. A few here and there, and mostly when pressed by my peers, but…"

I frowned. He had been good at Goblin City in the Chapter Black arc of the anime—but then again, he had trouble working a record player. If Kurama wasn't good with technology, how was he good at games in the anime?

Interesting.

Interesting, and worrisome.

Maybe it was my job to teach him to play, or something. I certainly couldn't let this go unchecked. The Chapter Black arc depended on it, didn't it?

"Well, Kurama," I said. "Humans tend to have hobbies. Perhaps it's time you develop one of your own."

He only laughed when I tugged him after me by the sleeve, plunging us headlong into the glittering lights and sounds of the arcade. The place had that distinct arcade scent, carpet and plastic and plaster and burned wires, acrid and familiar. I spread my arms and spun in place, gesturing.

"So what's your instinct?" I asked. "Puzzle, fighter, racer? You've certainly got options."

Kurama's eyes looked almost blue in the light of the Galaga machine. "What would you recommend?"

"Well, I like games with story—role playing games like Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest. Those are more console-style games, not arcade games. I do love Mario, Tetris, classic stuff like that." I paused. "You'd probably enjoy a puzzle game like Tetris, if I had to bet."

"I haven't tried it. Lead the way."

Although Kurama claimed he'd never played the game, he took to it like a fish to water, clearing level upon level of blocks in short order. Only once the game progressed to a fast speed did he have trouble keeping up, but even so, he managed to make it onto the bottom of the leaderboard page on only his third game. I stood there with my mouth agape as it asked him to input his name, which he did—a cheeky KURAM, which he entered into the machine with what I swore was a subtle wink.

"I thought you said you'd never played!" I said.

"I haven't, but the concept is simple enough to grasp." He patted the machine. "I could grow to enjoy this. It's almost meditative, and with practice I'm sure I could go longer. But I wonder…" His smile was unmistakably devious. "Is there a harder version?"

I almost blurted that yes, there was a harder version, and I'd damn well like to see him get cocky playing it—but then I cut the words back.

The harder version was on the Goblin City machine: that version of Tetris that incorporated mathematics, where numbered blocks only cleared when they added up to the number seven. Three-Sevens, it was called. But should I introduce that game to Kurama so early? Come the Chapter Black arc, Amanuma would be killed by that game, and at Kurama's hand. And although the kid would come back to life, would teaching Kurama Three-Sevens make me, in some small way, partially responsible for Amanuma's death?

But if I didn't show Kurama this game, was it possible he'd lose to Amanuma?

The thought of those consequences made the decision for me.

"Um. There is, actually. Over on the Goblin City machine." I pointed in the appropriate direction. "But you have to play other types of games beside the Tetris-type-one to win."

"Oh?" he said. His eyes gleamed, and not from the dancing arcade lights. "That sounds interesting."

Feet heavy, I led the way to the machine, explaining the rules as best as I remembered them. Truth be told, I'd avoided playing Goblin City in this lifetime, simply for its association with Amanuma's eventual demise. Kurama took to that game (and all of its mini-games) as readily as he'd taken to Tetris; I felt only lightly disturbed by his abilities. Somehow, I think I'd expected this to happen. He was fated to be very good at this game, after all, and he was especially good at Three-Sevens when it appeared in the game's rotating challenge roster.

Kurama had no way of knowing that his new hobby (semmingly so innocent, seemingly so human) would one day lead to the death of a human child. Watching him stand at the machine, none the wiser as fate's strings wheeled around him, I wondered if I made the right choice.

Only time would tell, I supposed.

"I like this one, I think," he said when the game ended (he didn't win and kill the Goblin King, although he came quite close...for now). "The variety is a challenge all its own. You never know what task you'll be faced with next."

"Yeah. You never know." And although I'd rather lost my appetite, I slapped on a smile and asked, "Anyway, you hungry? It's about dinnertime."

Kurama hummed an affirmative, and because I wasn't quite in the mood for more surprises like the arcade, my feet took us back to my parents' restaurant. This time we didn't avoid my folks, partially because I wanted to see them this time around (even though they inevitably made a big deal of Kurama's presence). Bickering and bantering with my parents over dinner brought my mood up and away from how I'd felt at the arcade. They were good people, my parents, and I valued the way they never failed to bring my spirits up.

Too bad for me, they only seemed to bring Kurama's down.

He remained quiet through most of dinner. Even when my dad joked around with him, that old line about someone finally getting their too-serious daughter to do something besides studying on her summer break, Kurama merely offered a polite smile and said, "I think it's the other way around, rather."

"Oh?" Dad said, confused—and then he winked. "Are you sure? Because my Keiko sure looks livelier when you come calling."

My chopsticks fell to my plate with a clatter. "Da-ad!"

He didn't look sheepish at all, reaching over the bar to ruffle my hair. "Well, it's true, honey!"

"I know, but you don't have to say it out loud," I grumbled. Batting my dad's hand away, I said, "Don't mind him, Minamino; he's just teasing."

"I'm sure he is," Kurama said—but his smile looked brittle, and he watched my family's repartee with expression subdued.

I learned why once we went upstairs. It didn't take long after shutting my bedroom door behind us for Kurama to ask, "How do you do that?"

I frowned and sat on the edge of my bed, heels hooked into the frame below for purchase. "How do I do what?"

Apparently he hadn't expected to need to articulate his observations. His mouth opened and closed twice before he explained, "Your relationship with your parents is so…warm. And I wonder how you manage, given your circumstances." A low chuckle. "But I suppose this is the second set of parents you've had, isn't it. Shiori is the only parent I've ever known."

I considered him, watching as he crossed the room and sat next to me—about six inches away, but close enough to feel the mattress dip under his weight. Leaning forward, weight braced on my knees, I studied his face in profile, cataloging the curve of his jaw and the way his hair fell around his ears. His features, delicate and sculpted, bore a look of resignation I didn't quite understand.

"Did you not know your first set of parents?" I asked.

"No. Not in any sense you would recognize." He looked at the wall opposite my bed as though he could see through it, through the world beyond it, to something beyond even my imagination. "Foxes are weaned early. We part from our families before our memory even begins."

Though he spoke without emotion, I couldn't help but feel rather taken aback. To not remember one's family? "That's…"

Kurama shrugged. "It's the way of the natural world, neither good nor bad." When he looked at me, and saw my expression, the distance in his eyes closed a little. Kurama assured me, "I remember a feeling of safety and warmth, but my mother…she wasn't a demon. She was merely a fox: ordinary and wild."

"Right," I said. I'd researched this when I realized what world I inhabited this lifetime. "Kitsune start life as normal foxes and earn their demonhood over time. Is that how it works?"

"In a sense," he said. "Some are born powerful demons, of course, but others earn their abilities through cunning and longevity. With longevity comes power. Those kitsune who are born with their demonic power certainly owe that power to an ancient ancestor who started life a mere animal." And then that distance was back, framed by green the color of primeval trees and deep forest pools. "I barely remember the time before I ascended to demonhood. My memory starts with that feeling of warmth, and then I became what I am today." His eyes narrowed a fraction. "Or what I was, rather."

The implication sank in soon enough. "So this really is your first childhood," I said.

"In all the ways that matter…yes."

His gaunt smile, as effervescent as smoke, rendered me mute. There was something so tragic in that confession, in the idea of Kurama never truly experiencing the carefree life of a child, protected by a parent and allowed to freely grow under their watchful, loving eye. The animal world—and the demon world, no less—was a cruel place. Had Kurama spent his adolescent years on the run from stronger predators, never playing, never relaxing, never knowing what it felt like to simply be without the fear of death dogging his steps? How sad. And he had been born in this world already planning on leaving it. He hadn't been a child here, either.

Kurama caught my gaze, then. I swallowed and tried not to look horrified. I did a poor job, though. Kurama laughed under his breath, eyes fluttering shut, lashes sooty against his porcelain cheeks.

"I suppose that's why I have such trouble bonding with Shiori, much though I've come to love her," Kurama said. "I haven't had the practice you have, bonding with parents."

My grimace came of its own accord. "I don't know that that's it."

An interested glance. "Oh?"

"I wasn't close to my parents in my past life. So this whole 'darling daughter' stuff is new." I could only shrug, match his placid delivery with stoicism of my own. "I do my best to be a good child since I feel guilty about…well. You know." Judging by his wince, he knew what I meant; no need to state that I felt guilty for stealing another person's life aloud. I continued, "Maybe I'm eager to play the darling daughter role in this life because my parents and I were never close in my past life."

That seemed to surprise him. "Why was that?"

"It's complicated. My mother and I were too much alike to get along, for starters." My nose wrinkled. "And I'm relatively certain my dad was a narcissistic sociopath, but…I don't want to talk about that right now."

That part of my life was something I tried not to think about if I could help it. It wasn't like I was shy about how poorly I'd gotten along with my parents, but at the same time, I wasn't keen to relive all the crap they'd put me through.

Still, though. Kurama looked curious, angling his knees my way, eyes intent on my face. I heaved a heavy sigh and ran my fingers through my bangs.

"If it helps put things into context, they told me my grandmother was dying through a text message," I said. "That was the level of distance between us."

Kurama frowned, still looking at me. When he didn't speak, I scowled at him.

"What are you staring at?" I asked.

He looked away. "Nothing. But…may I ask what a text message is?"

I nearly smacked myself in the face. Ugh. Stupid of me; it was too early in the 90s for that term to have entered common parlance. "Ah. Right. Technology. Um…imagine a pager that can send a few paragraphs of text at a time, back and forth, and through a cellphone. Like instantaneous sending of letters, only digital."

His brow furrowed, but understanding sparked behind his eyes. "It sounds efficient, but I can't imagine it's a terribly personal method of communication. Much less in a situation such as the one you described."

"Exactly!" I said, absurdly pleased that he'd picked up on that so quickly. "You'd think I'd get a phone call, but nope. Just a text. It's not a good way to send a somber message, much less to your only daughter." Though a part of me wanted to keep this to myself, something about the moment begged me to admit, "I know I'm going to sound callous when I say I don't particularly miss my parents, but…I don't." And then I had to cover my face with my hands, peering at Kurama from between cracked fingers. "God. I sound like a terrible person." I'd feel guilty about this for weeks, I was sure.

However, Kurama shook his head. "Kei…"

"Don't get me wrong," I went on. "I care about my past parents' wellbeing. Objectively I know they'll be sad that my old self died, and I worry about that, and I worry about what they'll do now that I'm gone. I mean, they're my parents. It's tough knowing my parents are out of my life for good—but I've never gotten homesick for them specifically, and that's just the truth. Maybe I just miss the idea of parents, and not my original ones in particular." Admitting that didn't make me feel like a terribly great person, but at the same time, admitting that truth for the first time in this lifetime felt like the breaking of a glutted dam. "We'd go months without talking after I moved out of the house, after all. So this is just years instead of months this time around."

"Months without speaking?" Kurama said, eyes narrowed again. "Did they live far away from you, in your old life?"

"They lived about a mile down the highway."

His eyes widened. "And you'd go months without speaking?"

"Well, yeah." I shifted atop the mattress, not understanding the intensity of his stare or the odd, dawning comprehension in his eyes. "Right before I died, we were getting better at talking, but even so, we'd go for long periods out of touch."

Kurama continued to stare. I continued to shift—because while I'd wanted to emphasize that my past parents and I weren't close, his horrified expression and that strange realization didn't make sense.

Just as I began to ask what the matter was, however, it hit me.

We were Japanese, and in Japan it was common for several generations of family to reside together under one roof. In fact, households like mine and Kurama's—with just our parent or parents and ourselves—were in the minority amongst our peers at school. Since Japanese culture was the only human culture he knew, my distance from my old parents must sound even worse than it would if he'd been raised American.

Ugh.

My American friends had tended to be surprised by the distance between myself and my family, but to Kurama, that distance must seem utterly atypical of humans at large—which would make that distance seem all the greater.

I'd lost myself in thought, I suppose, because when he put a hand atop mine, I jumped. Cool fingers curled lightly around and under my own, firm but not constricting. Like he thought I might flee if he tried too hard to keep me still.

"Kei," Kurama said, tone low and urgent. "We've talked before about the ethics of our situations. But…no matter how guilty you insist on feeling regarding your presence in this world, I'm glad for one thing."

It occurred to me that we had never gotten this physically close before, and I'm reluctant to admit that my heart went a little nuts, beating against my ribs like a caged animal. "What's that?" I said, making every effort to keep calm.

Kurama smiled—a warm smile, if not a little sadder than perhaps even he intended.

"I'm glad you have a chance to find a family, in this life," Kurama told me.

We held that gaze for a long time. Of its own accord, my fingers laced through his.

"Thanks," I whispered. "And I'm glad for you, too."

Kurama's head listed to one side, curious.

"You have that chance, as well," I reminded him.

He looked surprised, for a second—like the thought that hadn't occurred to him yet, despite all the thinking and overthinking I know he must have done on this subject, so many times, so many nights, so many days spent wondering what he deserved and what his future held. He looked at me until a smile crested across his mouth, and then his eyes cast down—down to our hands, still laced together, the hands of two people who understood the other better, perhaps, than they understood themselves.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I do." And he smiled at me again. "We're both lucky, in that respect."

"Lucky children indeed," I joked—and his laughter filled the room, darkness in his eyes forgotten.

The late afternoon sun sent golden rays through the living room window, dust motes sparking in their depths like microscopic fireflies. The rays turned Shogo's black hair mahogany and set his glasses to gleaming, coins in silver frames. After a moment of silence he glanced at his wife, smile open and optimistic. "So the fox demon wants to live as a human being, Kuroko. Isn't that interesting?"

Kuroko had listened to my story about Kurama without speaking, gaze trained steady on my face as I told the tale. I suspected she'd find Kurama's willingness to help me break into the school even more interesting than his thoughts on family, but I had left that part out on purpose. Stuck to the good bits about Kurama's desire to honor his mom and, y'know—be a good person? Trying to salvage his reputation as best I could, I guess…

Kuroko regarded me a minute, cheek braced against her forefinger and thumb, remaining fingers curled over and concealing her mouth. Shogo and I stared at her with obvious apprehension. At last she sighed, hand dropping as she sat up straight.

"While I wonder at his sincerity, this does give me some comfort," she admitted—but she held up a finger in warning when my eyes brightened. "Some, Keiko. I'll be more properly convinced if he sticks to playing human in the long term. He only did just make this change, after all, and old habits are hard to break."

My smile couldn't be contained. "He's the type who keeps his promises, so hopefully…"

"Yes," Shogo echoed, with a warning glance at his wife. "Hopefully he proves us wrong. Isn't that right, Kuroko?"

She gave a rather absent yawn, face turning to the window near the fireplace. The bright sun lit her dewy skin from within, smoothing wrinkles beside her eyes and curing the scant strands of silver from her dark hair. I felt my breath catch in spite of myself. Shogo had really lucked out, marrying a woman like her. No matter how much her stance on demons frustrated me, there was no denying her strength, presence, or poise—and that's saying nothing of how pretty she was. Hell, if she'd been single and I'd been in my old body (hello, late-twenties), she'd actually be my type. But that was in another life, and I needed to not be such a damn lecher.

"Well, it's getting late," I said. I tore my eyes from her and stood up with a low bow. "I should get going before the last bus leaves. Thank you very much for having me." As Shogo and Kuroko rose, I cast my eyes toward the hallway under the stairs. "Wanted to talk to Shizuru, see when she's coming home, but I think I should let her sleep."

"Someday you'll have to spend the night instead of running off so soon," Kuroko said. She walked to husband and pushed an elbow at his ribs. "Shogo makes a mean plate of pancakes."

"Next time, for sure," I said—because pancakes, oh my god, now that was a blast from the past I could get behind. "Any idea when Shizuru will be coming home again?"

Kuroko screwed up her eyes, finger on her chin in thought. "Let's see. I have one final test in mind. Two weeks, perhaps? She's developing a technique I'd like to see fully realized before I let her go."

It was tough to conceal my interest when I asked, "And what technique would that be?"

"Do you really want to spoil it?" Kuroko said with a light laugh. "I'd rather you see it in action than hear about it from little old me."

"Oh, give me a hint, at least," I groused. "Is it a spiritual technique?"

But Kuroko was not so easily led astray. "Let's just say Shizuru will be giving demons a run for their money in short order," she said—and while that wasn't an admission, something in her eye's proud sparkle promised greatness.

Seeing Shizuru in action would be like Christmas morning, when the time finally came. Hell yeah, motherfuckers; this was gonna be good.

As Shogo fixed me a to-go dinner to eat on the train ride home, I slipped down the hall to give Shizuru one final once-over. She slept in the same pose as earlier, serene even when I pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and whispered a 'good luck' in her dreaming ear. Kuroko and Shogo stood by the front door when I returned, one kerchief-wrapped bento in Shogo's hand.

"I'll walk you to the road," Kuroko said as Shogo handed me the bento. "The woods get dangerous as the day grows long."

I nodded an affirmative. While Kuroko had never explicitly stated demons lived in the woods around her home, the creepy horned skulls lining the mountain path spoke volumes—as did the people in the nearest town, who had warned me away from the haunted mountains the first time I asked for directions here. Still, even with the threat of dark-born demons, I wondered if I wanted her walking me to the road at all. Despite my admiration for her capabilities, conversation came easier with Shogo than it did with Kuroko. We could talk about books, and writing, and—

Oh. Right. I almost forgot.

Digging through my backpack, I pulled out the one object the twins had passed over when they tore through my stuff: a three-ring binder full to the brim with printed pages. I clutched this to my chest when I asked, "Sorry, Shogo-san, but can I ask a favor?"

The man frowned. "Yes, Keiko. Of course."

A deep breath, as necessary as it was comforting. "If it's not too much to ask…I know you're busy and I don't want to intrude on your time or energy, but my friend Kaito and I were talking, and, well, sorry to do this, but if it's OK—I'd be honored if you'd take a look at this manuscript I wrote," I said, words rushing like a riptide. Before he could say no, or even give me a beleaguered look (because surely people asked him for this all the goddamn time and it must be super annoying), I dropped into a low bow, notebook displayed atop my hands. "Very sorry if this is asking too much!"

That had been my other project that summer: writing one of the stories I'd dreamed up in my old life, and completing the novel I hadn't had time to finish before I died. I wanted to realize the dream I'd so unexpectedly lost in the event of my death. This time around the book possessed a thoroughly Japanese aesthetic I hadn't counted on, of course, but that made sense considering my new life experience. When I grew weary of the novel, I turned back to my many journals and the log of activities I'd been keeping—including this one, where I'm recording my interaction with Kuroko. This notebook is doomed to live under my mattress with all the other journals, though—and that meant my fictions manuscript was the only bit of my writing that would ever see the light of day in this lifetime. I wanted to share that work with Shogo, because frankly, I was tired of all my copious writing existing in secret.

I didn't dare look up when I felt the notebook lift from my fingertips. The pages rustled in the quite living room before Shogo said, "You've written a novel."

He didn't sound upset, or annoyed—just curious, and more than a little surprised. Straightening up, but still not daring to look anywhere but at his shoes, I said: "A good portion of one, anyway. It's been my summer project. If you don't have the time to read it, it'll serve as a handy doorstop, so…" And then I had to bow again because my cheeks were on fire and my heart had started to run its own private marathon inside my chest. "I apologize if I've imposed. I just don't really share my books with anyone, and I'm not used to asking for stuff like this, and I don't want to be a bother—"

"I'd be honored to look it over."

My head snapped up. Shogo regarded me with a kind smile, eyes crinkled at the corners, lips turned up with warmth and good humor—the kind of smile I didn't feel I deserved in the slightest, and one that made my nerves rise up like a swelling tide.

Luckily Kuroko knew how to break the mood. She shot me a sunny beam and said, "Oh, me too, me too! I'll read it!"

But Shogo tucked the notebook under his arm with a firm shake of his head. "Not so fast, my darling. Sharing a manuscript is a sign of immense vulnerability and trust. Writers don't ask just anyone to read their unfinished work." He patted the book's black spine, expression more adamant than perhaps I'd ever seen it. "You'll only read it once I'm finished, and if Keiko explicitly allows." Another kindly look in my direction, followed by a bow of Shogo's own. "I'm honored to accept this task, Keiko. Thank you for trusting me with your manuscript."

And with that, my nerves evaporated. That interaction, though brief, encapsulated why I valued Shogo so much. He was trustworthy, supportive, kind, and understanding, but more than that, he was a writer—and at the core of me, that's what I am, too.

Kuroko seemed less appreciative. "Oh, you're no fun, either of you. So serious all the time!" She cupped a hand around her mouth and whisper-shouted, "Shogo never lets me read his work, either, that spoilsport!"

"Now, now," Shogo chided. "You always get to read it before it hits shelves."

"But I'm your wife!" Kuroko teased. "I should get more privileges than that, shouldn't I?" She looped an arm around my shoulders. "Keiko, back me up!"

Too bad for her, I was definitely on Shogo's side—much to her lighthearted chagrin.

We were halfway down the mountainside when Kuroko spoke, voice cutting through the sound of buzzing cicadas like a candle flame through tissue.

"Keiko," she said. "You know I say those things about demon because I care for you, don't you?"

A warm wind stirred the shaved hairs on the back of my neck, tossing my side-swept bangs over my face. A bead of sweat trickled down my collarbone and under my shirt, between the cups of my bra. I didn't look at Kuroko or pause in my steady, even stride.

I didn't want her to see the uncertain look in my eye, for fear of what comment it might bring.

Her assessment of Kurama, I'm ashamed to admit, had struck a nerve. I'd had time to reflect on it during our walk down the path to the road, and my conclusions…well, they disturbed me. Kuroko was right about him in one crucial area: Kurama hadn't cared enough for humans to stop Gouki and Hiei after they acquired the treasures. Although he now wished to remain in Human World for his mother's sake, did that goodwill extend past his family and to humans at large? Was he different now, or would he still not care about the collateral damage of his actions in Human World? How far along in his character development was Kurama—and how far along was Hiei, for that matter? It's not like there was an easy way to tell. They didn't have Friendship Gauges like the boys in otome games and dating simulators.

A gauge like that would certainly make dealing with both of them easier on me, that was for sure…

I shook my head, banishing the image of Kurama and Hiei dressed in tuxes, little meters below them showing affection for some nameless otome protagonist. Now was not the time for mental fanart, Keiko. Get your shit together.

"I know we haven't known one another long," Kuroko went on, "but I feel protective toward you. You remind me of myself at your age." She attempted a joke, then. "Plus, my husband has taking a liking to you, you see. I'd never hear the end of it, if you got killed on my watch. He has a critique of your manuscript to deliver, after all!"

She was trying so hard to break through to me, to ease some of the tension between us. Much though we disagreed on the demon issue, and much though she'd gotten under my skin, my feelings for her softened.

"I know you care about me," I said (and I was happy to see Kuroko's shoulders sag with relief). "And…I know we met only recently, like you said, but I hope I've proven myself at least a little trustworthy."

She looked confused. "Hmm?"

"When I tell you Kurama and Hiei aren't like other demons, I hope you can trust my instincts to be good ones." I tried to keep my tone even and earnest. "Those two are capable of change, I swear to you."

Although Kuroko had put doubt in my mind, when I got home, I resolved to read my journals. I resolved to read all the recaps of the anime I'd written and revel in the evidence of Kurama and Hiei's capacity for change. I resolved to read my writing, because it would make me feel better.

I had to feel better. For the sake of the story. For the sake of this world.

I had to.

"I can't vouch for any other demons, but those two…they're not what you think they are." I looked her dead in the eye to say, "And if I can't prove it to you, someday, I believe they'll do the job themselves."

We'd reached the end of the path by then. The cicadas sang around us, a thousand warbling violins heralding the end of summer. A few birds joined the chorus as uninvited soloists. Amidst the din I clearly heard Kuroko speak, dark, liquid eyes brimming with the same tired hopelessness she wore every time I defended my precious demons.

"Maybe they will," she said. "I confess I look forward to the day I'm proven wrong."

For the time being, that had to be enough. I dipped my final bow of the evening, low and long and heartfelt. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Kuroko. I appreciate all that you do."

"You're welcome, Keiko," she said.

I'd already turned my back on her and walked out the gate, past the sign that warned of vicious dogs, when her voice floated after me—another party-crashing singer raining on the cicadas' parade.

"You know, Keiko," Kuroko said. "I might never be able to change my mind about demons. Not completely."

I stopped walking. She stood with her hand on the "BEWARE OF DOGS" sign, eyes nearly invisible under the shade of the overhead trees—nearly invisible but for the twin glimmers of affection, stars against a deep night sky, staring out at me.

"Perhaps this dog has gotten too old to learn new tricks," Kuroko said, "but I do hope I'm wrong, for your sake."

"I hope you're wrong, too," I said. For all our sakes, but I didn't say that aloud. Instead I lifted a hand in farewell and called, "Tell Shizuru to call me when she wakes up?"

"Of course," said Sanada Kuroko. "Night, Keiko."

"Night, Kuroko."

I walked away into the oncoming twilight, and she did not call after me again.

That evening at the bus stop, a frail old woman passed me, a member of the village below Kuroko's secluded home. When I told her that yes, I'd come from the eerie mountain above the village, she took my hands in hers and prayed. It was an old prayer, as ancient as the mountains themselves, and it warded against all demons—literal and physical—that haunted human hearts.

She had no way of knowing how well that prayer suited me, and that the demons in the mountains paled in comparison to those waiting for me at home.

Ayame flipped the folder of papers shut before tapping it with the back of her hand. "Your reports are getting...how does one put this? Spartan?"

"Sorry," I grunted. "Busy summer."

"A level of activity not reflected in your reports," came her silky-smooth counter attack. "Reading this, once can only assume you spend most of your time watching paint dry."

I tried not to roll my eyes, standing with feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped tightly in front of my stomach. The clearing we'd made our weekly meeting spot had grown lush over the summer, grass rising high around my knees. Somehow Ayame in her perfectly draped kimono never had trouble walking through the undergrowth. Not a hair out of place even after fording through the brush. Me, I wore long pants and tennis shoes every time we met, and I had to spend an hour picking sticker-burs off my shoelaces after each report. Maybe Ayame was a ghost from the waist down or something. That would explain how soundlessly and easily she moved, for sure…

"What can I say?" I said, trying to look reticent (and probably failing hardcore). "With Yusuke away, not much is going on."

"I can see that," she said, with an accusatory look at the slim folder in her hands. "Your reports during the school year were twice as long as this. And these are so bare. Not at all like your previous descriptive efforts."

I suppressed a smirk, fighting off the urge with a renewal of my polite mask. Ayame wouldn't be saying that if she knew about the extensive, exhaustive journals I kept in my room at home, where I logged every last scrap of my life with the boys…not to mention my snarky remarks about Ayame herself, plus my theories on Hiruko. Ayame only got a watered-down version of said journals (like the one in which I'm writing this reflection on the matter) in my weekly reports. She didn't need the whole truth, and frankly, I didn't think Spirit world deserved it.

These journals were—and are, I guess—for me, and me alone. She didn't need to know about them, that was for sure.

"I'll attempt to make my reports more detailed in future," I said.

Her bland smile was about as interesting as watching paint dry; she had some nerve, criticizing my writing skills when she always looked like that. "Spirit World appreciates the effort. However, you start school next week, correct?"

"Yes."

"One hopes you will have the time to make good on such a promise, given the burden of your schoolwork." A subtle way of expressing doubt, all silky and polite and definitely not as nice as she sounded. My Texan grandmother could've given her a run for her passive-aggressive, double-speak money, though. Bless your heart, Ayame…

"I'm sure I will have the time even after school starts," I assured her. "Maybe the productivity of homework will infect other aspects of my life."

"One can only hope." So dry; seriously, I preferred paint drying to talking with Ayame, even when her eyes did glitter with that clever streak she liked to pretend she didn't possess. "Any word from Yusuke regarding his return?"

"He can't call me," I informed her. "It's in the report."

"Ah. Yes." It had been in every report this summer, though she still asked every fucking time she laid eyes on me—like maybe she suspected I was lying. I dunno. "Do inform me when you next hear from him. He is difficult to monitor at Genkai's compound." And a flicker of real annoyance managed to break through her milky demeanor. "She's rather the paranoid sort, I'm afraid."

"Yeah. I can imagine." Genkai likely warded her place better than Fort Knox against Spirit World spies. The thought of Koenma banging his head against the wall, unable to sneak a peek, almost got me to smirk. "She dislikes interference from outsiders."

"Indeed," Ayame replied with a bow. "And I suppose with that, I will bid you farewell, Keiko."

I bowed back and murmured a goodbye—but before she could swim out of sight and into the trees, I said, "Oh, Ayame?"

She paused, one cool eye regarding me over her black-clad shoulder.

"Before you go, tell me—have you heard from Botan?"

It was like watching storm shutters closing, her eyes went so cold and her mouth went so thin. Ayame recovered well enough, pasting on a sympathetic expression, but I caught the flash of chill in her features like I'd been gusted by an arctic wind.

"She is convalescing," Ayame said, tone betraying no emotion whatsoever. "She will be better in short order, I'm certain."

"Forgive me for being blunt, but so you've said every week for the last month, and she has yet to return." I didn't bother hiding my annoyance the way Ayame hid her emotions. "No messages from her? No letters? No scolding Yusuke for…being Yusuke?"

Ayame shook her head. "Not that I am aware. However, I will be sure to ask the next time I see her." And with that she turned her back on me, very clearly done for the day. "Goodbye. I shall see you next week—with a more robust report in your hand, I hope."

"Yeah," I said as she vanished between the trees. "Sure thing, lady."

After trudging through the woods and picking the sticker-burs out of my shoelaces (damn Ayame and her perfect kimono and her ghost-feet), I headed for home. It was just midday, the whole of my Saturday ahead of me, but even with just a week left of my summer break, I felt little more than a sense of uneasy anxiety clawing gently inside my chest—like a ferret scrabbling at my esophagus, sort of, persistent and annoying more than anything truly dire. It was tough to enjoy my break when my mind kept drifting to the future and the perils that would surely accompany it. True to my promise to myself, I'd come home from Kuroko's place and re-read all my Yu Yu Hakusho notes—but while they'd given me comfort regarding Kurama's emotional turnabout, they'd triggered other worries I just couldn't shake.

Yusuke and Kuwabara were due back soon. Soon after (perhaps a matter of days after) the Saint Beast arc would begin. Keiko didn't have an easy time of things during that arc, and without Botan around, she'd be facing the lackeys of Suzaku all by herself—or all by myself, rather. There I went disassociating again…

I hadn't just asked after Botan because I was worried for her, is Point The First. I asked after Botan because I was scared to face the future without her help. Having an ally during the attack would certainly give me peace of mind, even if I'd taken several precautions over the summer to ensure my safety.

Point The Second was that shit was getting perilously close to hitting the fan, and I still wasn't certain if I was ready for it. Were Hiei and Kurama ready to aid Yusuke? And was Botan ever coming back? And when the heck were Yusuke and Kuwabara going to show up, anyhow?

…but, I realized as I kicked a rock down the sidewalk, that was just about everything bothering me. And that was a pretty short list, so long as you didn't count the looming Hiruko bullshit. The little asshole hadn't contacted me in ages, after all, so even with my anxiety, it was sometimes hard to feel he posed any urgent threat.

(Though some nights I'd see his face in my dreams, brief flashes of pink hair and sea-blue eyes and a smile like a lightning strike, and I'd wake in a cold sweat and skip a meal or two. But that didn't happen often, and the summer went on and on like a movie made of gold.)

All in all, the summer had been good to me. I often went days without seeing anyone from Yu Yu Hakusho (aside from my reflection in the mirror). Between cram school and days spent reading books in my cozy bed, life almost seemed…normal. Like I lived a typical teenage life, even if Hiei did pop in to take baths sometimes, and even if I did get lunch with a fox demon every week. Despite my worries and overthinking, with summer had come a sense of serenity I hadn't experiences in…well, it felt like ages, to be honest. Now that summer was coming to a close, I felt more centered. The conversation with Kuroko stirred up some doubts, of course, as had the meeting with Ayame, but…

It had been a great summer.

It had been a wonderful, lazy, relaxing summer, and my mental health felt all the better for it.

That's probably why, when a familiar voice called my name, I didn't freak out. I didn't scream, or bolt, or panic. I merely turned in the direction of that familiar sound and, eyes like metal drawn to a magnet, looked straight through the Saturday crowd on that bustling city sidewalk and into his gleaming eyes.

Right into their gleaming eyes, one set and then the other in turn.

We said nothing for a moment, the three of us. But then Yusuke started grinning, and Kuwabara followed suit, and then I was grinning, too, and we were all staring at each other and smiling like crazy people who'd somehow escape the looney bin and were trying to start a boyband.

"Hi," said Yusuke.

"How's it goin'?" added Kuwabara.

They stood twenty feet down the sidewalk, side by weary side, covered in scrapes and bruises and dirt and who knows what else. Passersby stared at the banged-up boys without regard for subtlety, just as fascinated by the bandages on their cheeks and the blood on their clothes as I was—but I was the only one smiling, the only one whose eyes had started to well at the sight of them, at the gorgeous fucking sight of their numbskulls faces.

It felt like a giant had wrapped its hand around my heart and squeezed—but in a good way, like my soul had become too big for my skin, overflowing with the love and affection bubbling from somewhere deep inside until it flooded every nook and cranny with thrilling, electric light.

The boys are back in town, I sang inside my head, but no words came out aside from their names. "Yusuke," I said, eyes travelling between them. "Yusuke. Kuwabara."

"Long time, no see," Kuwabara said. His hair had gotten long, curls nearly falling into his dark eyes—but his eager, goofy grin hadn't changed a bit, even though he had a nasty split lip. "Did you miss us?"

"Maybe she did," Yusuke said out of the corner of his mouth, "but why's she staring like that?" His hip jutted out, cocky as all hell. "Forget what we look like or something, grandma? Didja go senile? It hasn't been that long!"

Error. has ceased to function. has likewise become unavailable, and is nowhere to be found. The only option available in my stunned programing was , which my CPU performed with gusto. I darted through the crowd of staring onlookers and launched myself straight at my boys, throwing an arm around each of their necks. Yusuke whined in protest as I pulled him to me, but Kuwabara put an arm around me, too, and mumbled something about how good it felt to be home when I buried my face into his shoulder. They stank the way teenage boys stink when they play outside too much and don't give a crap about basic hygiene, but even though my eyes watered, I didn't even make fun of them, because it didn't matter.

"You're back," I said, because that was what mattered. "You're back. I'm so glad you're back!"

"See, Kuwabara?" Yusuke gloated. "I told ya she'd get mushy."

"Yeah, yeah, you win," Kuwabara said. I felt his face press against my hair when he said, "We missed you too, Keiko," and I hugged him all the harder.

"Aw, now you're getting mushy, Kuwabara?" Yusuke whined. "I don't have the strength for both of you to get all weepy!"

"Neither of us has the strength for anything," Kuwabara shot back—and then a tremor went through him, and a tremor went through Yusuke, and somebody's knees buckled and our three-headed Cerberus of friendship magic staggered, boys falling forward, their weight on me instead of mine on them. I shrieked as my own knees bowed.

Yusuke's devious chuckle sounded in my ear, and I knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Good point," Yusuke said—and he let his weight go completely.

Kuwabara followed suit, of course, and the next thing I knew, both of them had collapsed on top of me right there on the sidewalk. I shrieked and gibbered under the onslaught of boneless, smelly teenage boy, berating them for embarrassing me in public like this, but then Yusuke started laughing, and Kuwabara started after him, and I was helpless to resist the tide of humor. We lay there in a gigantic heap of guffaws and giggles, gloriously uncaring of the looks we garnered from the innocent bystanders, living wildly in the moment without a thought to the future ahead.

There would be a journal entry about this later, I promised myself.

I'd go home and write it all down. Every last scrap of information, every last emotion, every last detail. I'd describe what it felt like to see them, touch them, be near them (and even smell them), etch all of it on paper and into memory as indelibly as words carved in stone. I'd crystallize the moment for eternity, take it out and treasure it when times got tough and the world seemed bleak—because the moment was just that perfect and good, a golden bookend to a golden summer, a shining memory I vowed to never let go.

My boys were back.

My boys were back.

Lying there under their reeking weight, laughing as tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks, the future didn't seem so scary after all.

Notes:

I then imagine Keiko had to literally carry both of them home on her back, people openly staring, because they weren't just playing a joke when they collapsed: they were both nearly dead with exhaustion from Genkai's training and literally couldn't walk anymore. What an image! Have had that in my head since the story started.

Next chapter will be posted on the first birthday of this fic, this Saturday, the 23rd. Double update this week is my holiday gift to you, meager though it may be. Love and hugs!

In my head, this has always been a literal copy of the journals (some of them, anyway) Not-Quite-Keiko keeps during her time in the YYH world. There's a bit of a plotty reason for this waaaay in the future; excited to get there, someday.

Each comment left last chapter absolutely made my day. This fic wouldn't exist without you gorgeous creatures. Biggest, most grateful thanks to you lovely folks.

Chapter 52: This Version

Summary:

In which the ball gets rolling, and Not-Quite-Keiko must go it alone.

Notes:

Will edit this for typos tomorrow. Sorry for the mess. Balancing this with Xmas travel (not to mention this week's double update) is tough!

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

Chapter Text

Despite my best efforts to sneak in unnoticed, Mom's bat ears somehow heard the click of the back door over the clangs of the closing kitchen. "Keiko, honey! Where have you been?" she said, sticking her head out of the kitchen doorway. I froze with my foot on the first step upstairs and slowly turned my head over my shoulder, like a cartoon cat with her hand in the canary cage. Mom's brow furrowed under her white hat when a drop of water fell from my hair to the clean wood floor. "And look at you. You're soaking wet!"

"Sorry, Mom. Was visiting Yusuke." I tugged on the edge of my bangs, squinting at their water-matted length. "The forecast didn't predict this, though."

Mom looked sufficiently mollified by my explanation, thank my lucky stars. She knew Yusuke and Kuwabara had been away that summer and supported my efforts to get in touch with them now they had returned—but the pair had spent the entire previous week (our last week of summer!) sleeping like the dead, only waking to groggily down a meal and then collapse again. Between the two of them, they'd probably spent a grand total of six hours awake. Genkai's training had really kicked their asses, that's for sure, which was good news for their power levels, but bad news for my nosy streak. They hadn't been awake long enough to tell me anything about Genkai, hardly, even though I spent quite a bit of time staked out at their various bedsides since they'd gotten back.

Thunder rumbled, then. Mom cocked a worried eye toward the ceiling as rain drove in harder gusts against the roof, pattering and plinking off the shingles like tiny shards of glass.

"It's really coming down," she said. "Your father spends all that time listening to aviation radio, but it caught even him off guard. He says there might even be hail tonight."

Another thunder rumble, another gust of wind, and I shivered in my sodden socks. Hair clung to the back of my neck like grasping hands. Mom looked me up and down, then shooed me off with a tut.

"Well, don't just stand there! Hot bath, pronto," she said. "You have your first day back at school tomorrow and you don't want to get sick."

"Don't remind me," I grumbled, and I did as she instructed.

I drew my bath and lingered for quite some time in its warm depths, luxuriating in bath salts my father had got me as a Christmas present the year before. Kuwabara and Yusuke had both taken Epsom salt baths since their return, mainly at my urging since every time they were awake, they both groaned and groused about various muscle aches. Would they be ready to come back to school in the morning? I'd spent half the day at each of the boys' homes, and neither had stirred from their beds. Kuwabara snores like a freight train when truly exhausted, I learned, and Yusuke mumbles under his breath.

He doesn't say anything useful, though. Nothing about his training, and certainly nothing of the future.

Since both of them refused to give up their impressions of dead and-or-hibernating bears, I left notes for them both on their besides. Meet me at the ramen shop after school, I'd written, and I'd named a time. But odds were against them waking up in time to see it, given their current sleep schedule.

With a sigh I slipped under the water in the bath, not daring to open my eyes amidst the salted water. Speaking of schedules, Shizuru hadn't come back from her training, either—though that wasn't alarming. It had only been one week since Kuroko made her estimate of two weeks left in Shizuru's training, so we were on schedule so far as I knew. Still, it was maddening not having her back yet, especially since the boys were here and Kuwabara's few lucid moments had all included questions about his sister. As in, where she was and why the heck she hadn't come to see him since he came back.

And of course, Shizuru wanted to keep her training a secret, because apparently she wanted to make my life more complicated than it already was, which meant I had to lie. Or maybe not lie, per se, but at least play dumb—but I considered lying by omission the same as out-and-out lying, so my conscience remained quite guilty. Too guilty for even the perfumed bathwater to scrub clean.

When the water went tepid and my skin pruned beyond recognition, I got out, dried off, and dressed, heading down the hall to my room with a towel draped over my soaked (but warm) hair. Vigorously rubbing at the towel with my hands, I was basically blind as I kicked the door shut behind me and headed for my closet—but before I could get there I heard a noise, a click and then a rustle from over by my desk, and then an unseasonably chill wind stripped past. A smattering of icy drops peppered my bare feet like hail. Cursing, pulse leaping into frenzy, I yanked the towel off my head and turned.

Hiei crouched on my sill, frozen in the act of lifting the window off the sill, one muddy boot placed squarely in the middle of my desk. He sat there frozen like a raccoon caught in the beam of a headlight, eyes wide enough to show white all around his blazing irises. I muffled a shriek with my towel and backpedaled on reflex, back colliding with the door to my room with a whump. The noise startled Hiei from his animal trace, scarlet eyes narrowing like the wings of flying birds.

"Quiet, Meigo," Hiei snapped. "It's only me."

"H-Hiei." My voice came out in a whispered stammer. "W-What are you doing?"

He stared at me a moment, nonplussed, before turning his head toward his own hand—still cupped under the window frame, holding the pane of glass aloft. I'm opening the window, dolt, he said without saying anything.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I get that, smartass. I mean, what are you doing here?"

And those were the magic words, apparently, because the smug look on his face vanished. His eyes slid downward and away, chin tucking into his threadbare scarf like he wanted to hide behind it. But then, just as quickly, he lifted his chin again and glared at me down the length of his pert nose.

"You said I could sleep here if it rained," he said, brusque as a winter wind. "It's raining, and I—"

"Oh. Oh." I had offered that, hadn't I? "Right. Um."

My hesitation rankled his nerves, apparently; his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. "If you didn't want me here, you should not have offered."

"It's not that, Hiei," I returned. "You're such a pessimist. Of course I want you here. It's just like the bath thing all over again. I didn't expect you to ever say yes." My eyes alit on his boot, still planted firmly atop my desk, as another chill breeze swept in—bringing with it a blast of cold water, which splattered all over my desk and oh my god my schoolbooks were stacked in my chair and they were totally going to get soaked. I strode forward and tangled my fist in Hiei's sleeve, pulling him off his perch. "Well, don't just sit there—come on in and get the hell off my desk!"

Hiei didn't budge, apart from his burgeoning scowl. "What? Why?"

"First of all, you know better than to wear shoes in my house, especially if you're going to stand on my desk, and even more especially when you're soaking wet. Get down from there this instant!"

It was with much snarking and insulting and complaining that Hiei did as I asked, followed by even more fire demon sass when I fussed at him to take off his shoes, followed by still more acerbic asides when I fussed at him to take off his sodden cloak. Soon I found myself standing in the corner while he change into a set of Yusuke's old clothes, draping his cloak and scarf and pants on the drying rack on the back of my closet door when he handed his shed clothes to me (read: when he threw them over my head from behind, that jerk).

"You're sure you don't want a bath to warm up?" I said as I hung up the last of his clothes.

"I was just in the rain," he shot back, as if I were the stupidest person he'd ever met. "A bath would be redundant."

He stood in the middle of my room with arms crossed over his chest, and I probably would've found his white-hot glare intimidating if he hadn't been wearing Yusuke's little league shirt and athletic shorts. Plus his sopping hair had clumped up and flattened a bit, weighted down as it was with water. He looked far more like an adorable drowned kitten than he did a homicidal demon, especially when he tossed his head and his bangs flopped into his face with a wet smack. Very emo-chic, that hair-toss. I'd been friends with kids in middle school who'd have been jealous.

"Come here, Mister Rain Bath," I said, swiping my discarded towel off the floor. Hiei snarled when I draped it over his head and began towel-drying his hair, but I dodged his hands and kept ruffling. In English I muttered, "You shower with rain. Of course you do."

"I heard that," Hiei said, voice muffled under layers of towel. "What's so wrong with bathing in rain?"

"Well, for one thing, it's not sanitary, and for another, soap is—wait." I stopped and swiped the towel off his head, staring at him. "Hiei, do you speak English?"

He shook his head.

"Then how did you know what I said?"

His eyes dropped to my feet. While he didn't look guilty, he looked…shifty. Sketchy? Something like that. A suspicious surfaced at the sight of his downcast eyes.

"Did you read my mind without asking?" I said.

Scarlet gleamed like a prism under a laser pointer. "I skimmed the surface for your meaning, Meigo. I delved no deeper than that. What else would you have me do? Be insulted where I cannot understand?"

"Oh." And even though I felt a bit miffed at that, I couldn't fault him. I draped the towel back over his head and started rubbing at the water again. "I guess speaking a foreign language in front of you is just about as rude as you reading my mind without permission, isn't it?"

Hiei let out one of those low, rumbling growls of his and snatched the towel from my hands. Hair now fluffy and damp instead of matted and soggy, he stalked off and sat against the wall next to my closet door, one knee bent, one elbow draped upon it—full of Hiei Anime Pose, which was neat to see. I admit I stared at him for a minute or so before finding my wits and heading for the hall closet. When I returned, arms full of bedding, Hiei shot me one of his typical scowls (the type that wasn't angry, just confused, and upset at his own confusion).

"What is that?" Hiei asked as I unrolled the makura.

"A futon," I said. When Hiei hadn't replied by the time I finished laying out the mattress, I raised a brow at him. "Y'know. For sleeping?"

Hiei snorted. "I'll sleep here."

My brow lifted higher. "Against the wall."

"Yes. No one can sneak up on me."

"For the last time, you aren't getting attacked in my house," I said—but at Hiei's grimace, I shook my head and sighed. "But fine. If you need a wall for a security blanket, have at it."

Even so, I still went back into the hall for the futon's comforter and pillow, plus sheets. Hiei watched me tuck and arrange everything together in silence. When I sat back and smoothed the comforter with my hands, satisfied by my neat handiwork, he made a tetching sound between his teeth.

"I said I didn't need it," he told me.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you're my guest, and I want to be sure you're comfortable." He only glowered at my sunny smile. "I'm sure the wall is great, but just in case you change your mind, I want you to have options." Under my breath I added, "And I want you to not wake me up in the middle of the night if you get a sore back and decide you want somewhere soft to sleep, instead."

He eyed the futon for a moment before his eyes flickered to me. After I moved back, perching on the edge of my bed, he moved with the grace of a cat and crawled atop the futon. His glare almost dared me to come close or make a comment, under penalty of death, but still he lay down atop the comforter inch by careful inch.

And then he popped off of it just as quickly, a jack in the box propelled on the end of a coiled spring.

"Feh! That is far too soft for sleeping," Hiei spat. He settled against his chosen length of wall with a satisfied smirk. "This is much better. No wonder you humans are so soft, sleeping in such soft beds."

I rolled my eyes and chose not to dignify that remark with a reply and instead headed for the door. "I have some last-minute prep for school to do before bed. Will you be fine on your own for a bit?"

"I have no need for a babysitter, Meigo."

"Of course you don't." I popped my head back into the room only a second after I left. "Have you eaten tonight, by the way?"

Hiei looked left. Hiei looked right. Hiei admitted: "No."

"Are you hungry?"

"…yes."

"Good! Dinner coming right up."

I fixed dinner in the private kitchen upstairs before gathering up my school things, ironing my uniform for the morning, and bidding my parents goodnight (mostly so they'd stay out of my hair, not to mention Hiei's, for the rest of the evening). Upon my return I found that Hiei had put on a record, Soundgarden like last time, and had once again climbed atop my desk. He'd settled in the window, this tile, staring out the pane and into the rainy dark beyond (emo edgelord supreme, that's Hiei). I put my food on the desk near him and sat on my bed, watching as he ate the rice balls and soup without once glancing in my direction.

"You know," I said. "You've changed."

The reflection of his eyes glimmered in the mirror's glossy surface, red gems on black satin. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you're not trying to murder me every time you see me." Hiei's lip curled at the suggestion; I held up one pacifying hand. "I know you can't legally hurt humans since Spirit World has its eye on you. I'm just saying is that you don't seem as eager to see humans dead as you did the day we met, that's all."

Hiei growled deep in his chest. "Humans are scum."

My hand dropped at the dark light in his eyes. "OK, never mind, then." I swapped a book off the floor next to my bed and opened it across my knees, grumbling. "Nothing's changed at all. My mistake."

But things had changed, hadn't there? Hiei was in my bedroom wearing Yusuke's old clothes, eating the food I made for him and not trying to murder me. That was some kind of progress, much though Hiei maligned the very idea of coming around.

…but had he come around?

Was he different now?

Or was I just thinking wishfully, hoping against all hope that I'd somehow triggered the change in him that the anime and manga had never explained, aside from Togashi simply being an inconsistent writer? Maybe my time was better served thinking of Yusuke as opposed to Hiei. After all, it was Keiko's bond with Yusuke that allowed him to defeat Suzaku in the anime. Was my bond with Yusuke strong enough, and of the right tenor, to serve him in this story arc?

"I…there are things I can't remember."

My musings cut short at the sound of his voice. Hiei stared out the window, still, but in the glass's reflections his gaze trained on me. The scarlet seemed uncertain, for once, still smoldering with all of Hiei's typical inner fire—but in then confusion flickered, as though even he did not understand quite what he was saying.

"The day we met," he said. "I remember what you said to me. I remember what I did. But I don't remember—no." He looked away with an audible gnash of teeth. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

I had no idea what he was getting at (or rather, all I had was an inkling, and I needed more information to make a full prediction). Setting my book aside, I swung my legs off the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, giving Hiei my full attention. Something told me this conversation deserved it.

"Wouldn't I, though?" I said, gentle but firm. "You were in my head that day. You saw, and you know better than anyone that I have a memory problem."

And that was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Hiei physically bristled. "I don't have any problems," he snapped. He looked at me in full, red eyes an inferno against tan skin, every word ejected from between his teeth like venom. "A haze fogs the days I possessed the Shadow Sword, admittedly, but make no mistake, Meigo. My actions were my own. Nothing about my opinion of you pitiful humans has changed in the slightest since that day."

An impressive statement—one belied by his presence in my bedroom, which I indicated with a look at the record player, the empty plate at his side, my bedroom at large. Hiei glared, turning back to the window with shoulders hunched.

"You are merely tolerable because you have become useful to me," he said.

"Oh? In what way?"

"Heh." He slid further down into his hunch, chin to chest, eyes on the darkness outside. "That's my secret."

"…it's because you like my cooking, isn't it."

Hiei scowled, but he said nothing, which in Hiei-speak is basically an admission of guilt. Still, I wanted to know, because sometimes he met the truth with sass, and I wasn't well-versed in his ways enough to know which one this might be. I grabbed a decorative pillow off my bed and chucked it at him (he managed to catch it, of course, and ruin all my fun).

"Hiei, you jerk!" I teased. "Tell me. I don't handle suspense well!"

"Good," he said, all smug and smirky and Hiei as he threw the pillow back (I did not manage to catch it; curse Hiei's throwing arm!). "Then you'll suffer not knowing."

"You jerk," I repeated, but before I could launch a counter offensive, a plaintive chirp sounded at my window. With a gasp I got up and darted over. "Oh. Sorei! Let him through, let him through!"

Hiei grumbled when I shooed him off the window sill, but he didn't move far as I opened the window and reached onto the shingles beyond for my cat. Sorei, shivering and soaked, willingly let himself be held, curling against my chest with another chirp. "Hi, my little phantom, are you cold? C'mere, let's warm you up."

I held the cat in the towel, which Hiei had discarded on the floor, buffing and rubbing at Sorei's soaked fur until I got most of the water out. He bore this indignity with the faintest of purrs, blinking slowly up at my face. He smelled like petrichor and motor oil, which I chided him over ("Stay out of people's garages, you goose!"). Once his fur stopped matting together with wet, he struggled against the towel; I put him down at once, because otherwise I'd get a face full of claws and one very pissy cat hissing in my corner. Hiei looked utterly bored at these proceedings, merely cocking an eyebrow at Sorei when the cat wandered over the futon in his direction. The cat sat down and stared at the demon with unwavering yellow eyes, tail lashing with precise movements against the floor. Hiei glared right back, and I couldn't suppress a giggle. It was a meeting of Keiko's very grumpy stray cats. They were in good company whether they knew it or not.

"Sorei is pretty antisocial," I said, retaking my spot on the bed, "but if you hold out your hand, let him smell you…"

Hiei shot me a look that said I was being ridiculous and he despised me for it—but then he did as I asked, extending one calloused hand in Sorei's direction.

"Good." I decided not to remark on Hiei being social, even if it was just with a cat. "If he decides you're OK, you can rub his ears a minute. But don't chase him if he walks away because he'll get grumpy."

Another don't-be-an-idiot glare; like Hiei would ever stoop so low, chasing a cat around the room (hoo boy, wait till he met Kuwabara). Hiei watched from the corner of his eye as Sorei rose soundlessly into a crouch, head craning so he could take a few small sniffs at Hiei's fingers. I figure Sorei would turn up his nose at Hiei's offering, stalk off with tail held high and ignore the interloper, but the cat surprised me. He butted his fluffy head under Hiei's palm, clearly asking for pets.

"Wow," I breathed.

Hiei looked as surprised as I felt, eyes wide and mouth parted at the cat's acceptance. He rubbed a thumb down Sorei's forehead once, twice, three times before Sorei finally disengaged and walked away, sauntering over to my bed with the swagger required of a stray tom. Sorei paused just long enough to run against my ankles, fur as soft as dandelion down, before crawling under my bed and out of sight.

"Aww, he likes you," I said with a beam at Hiei. "You got to pet him for a whole three seconds!" When Hiei's eyes narrowed, I added, "No sarcasm; that's good in Sorei-speak."

Hiei smothered a pleased expression with a shrug and a sneer. "Whatever. It's just a cat."

"A very cute cat with high standards. You should feel lucky."

"You're the lucky one, lost child. Not me."

"Hey—you have a very understanding parole officer who feeds you and gives you baths and lets you sleep in her room, so you've got some luck going for you."

"Hmmph. So you say."

I had to laugh at his stubborn and persnickety attitude. "Fine, fine. I'll drop it. You ready for bed?"

"If it gets you to be quiet for few hours, then yes."

He meant the phrase to cut, but I just giggled, and giggled harder when he looked thoroughly put out by my lack of reaction. "Who knows? Maybe I talk in my sleep."

Hiei looked horrified (AKA, Hiei looked angry and slightly disgusted). "I'll cut out your tongue if it comes to that."

"Vicious," I said, pretending to sound impressed. I pulled back the covers on my bed and crawled beneath, saying as I reached for my bedside lamp, "Night, Hiei."

Hiei did not reply (because of course) as the room bathed itself in dark. I turned and faced the wall, covers tucked up under my chin, listening to the rain patter against the window. Fog on the glass turned the light from the streetlamp outside milky, clouding it like Hiei's clouded memory. He'd begun to talk about his time with the Sword, though he hadn't given me enough information to come to a conclusion. Still, the fact remained that he apparently had trouble remembering his time with the Sword, and that was a factor worth mulling.

Hiei had done such a dramatic heel-face-turn in the series, it didn't seem natural. One had to wonder if the Sword had something to do with it. Had possessing the Sword made him more vicious, perhaps? Or had his bloodthirst regarding humans begun before he stole it? Perhaps Spirit World really had brainwashed him on some level, compelled him to take the Sword, caused this whole mess in the first place. Fandom would have a field day with that one, for sure.

Whatever the case, and despite his protests, I did feel he'd changed. This version of Hiei had changed enough to accept food and shelter from a human, and that had to count for something.

I just hoped it was enough.

My shoulder ached, so I rolled over, catching sight of Hiei's eyes in the dark. He was staring at the window yet again, a watchful guard dog standing vigil in the night—not that Hiei would ever cherish such a comparison. I debated asking him more questions (perhaps the darkness would bolster him, allow him to talk about what made him vulnerable, and his altered memory) but I stopped. He wouldn't appreciate that, and so long as he was willing to ally with Yusuke, I shouldn't violate his privacy.

"I don't even have to bother reading your mind." Hiei's voice cut through the dark and the quiet like a sword. "You're lying there thinking, aren't you."

I curled up a little tighter in my bed as his eyes flickered my way. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," he said, as though he found the act supremely distasteful. "Don't you have school in the morning? You need to rest your pathetic human head for your 'big day'."

"Ha ha, very funny, Hiei." And with that, I rolled over again and shut my eyes. "Good night and sweet dreams."

No reply came, and I faded into the depths of sleep like sugar dissolving into water.

Halfway through the night, however, I woke, and blinked groggy into the dark. Hiei stood out against my wall, a dark shadow in the gloom, and at his feet lay a small grey lump. Sorei sat just barely touching Hiei's leg with his little furry butt, sound asleep on the futon at the demon's feet. Hiei's eyes remained shut, even as I smiled at them, and even as I whispered a second goodnight.

I fell asleep smiling into my pillow, and I dreamed of Sorei's soft fur against my cheek.

Amagi was waiting by my locker when I arrived at school the next morning. She'd cut her hair over the break, soft black hair hanging in shiny waves beside her ears, framing her dark eyes and heart-shaped face with softness and silk. Pretty. Amagi was so pretty, but I couldn't let on that I thought so for the sake of my moral compass.

"Fifteen years old, Keiko," I muttered as I walked up. "You're a dirty old lecher and she's fif-fucking-teen years old."

Amagi spotted me right away and trotted over before I could even reach the shoe lockers. Her hand wrapped around my arm, heat radiating through my thin shirt as she leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "It's happening."

Any and all butterflies that came as a result of her closeness tore themselves to bits, cannibalizing themselves into a jolt of acrid nerve. "It?" I said, staring with mouth agape. "As in, it-it?

"The thing you warned me about this summer, yes," she said.

"Oh god." My feet moved of their own accord, backpedaling toward the exit. "Not here, not here."

Amagi understood the need for secrecy without explanation, bless her, following me out of the school and around back to the PE shed. We stopped in the shadows of the trees behind it, heads bowed together so we could discuss in relative private.

"I see them," Amagi said. "I see the things you warned me I might."

I couldn't help but glance up at the trees, toward the school, at the shed. "Here, now?"

"Not in the school. Not yet. But I walked through downtown today and saw them exactly as you described." She held up her hands spaced maybe six inches apart. "Bugs. Enormous, ugly bugs no one else can see, iridescent green and absolutely disgusting."

My eyes fluttered shut.

Damn.

It was already starting.

Although I cursed how fast this was happening, at least I'd managed to get some warning before it surprised me out of the blue. It was good I'd made the call this previous summer, and even better Amagi had accepted my words without undue concern. She didn't freak out at the prospect of giant bugs that could control people, and she agreed to watch for them and let me know if she saw any without fuss. Since I couldn't see them, I needed her to act as my eyes. Amagi had agreed to be said eyes with alarming speed.

"Really?" I'd stammered into the phone. "You mean you're not freaked out?"

"No," she said in her smooth voice. "Once, when I was a child, I saw an insect crawl into someone's ear. They became immediately violent. No one else noticed. It was one of the first times I realized I can see things others cannot. I am happy to help you, Keiko."

Like the people in the village near Kuroko's home, who talked of demons like they were no more uncommon than hiker-stalking bears, Amagi seemed rather chill about the supernatural. Interesting. And the fact that she'd seen things similar to the Makai Insects was just icing on the cake. Amagi was a perfect ally in this matter.

It didn't hurt than she didn't ask questions, either, and did not question how I knew these bugs would someday appear.

In the present behind the PE shed, I flipped on my All Business switch and took a deep breath. "How many have you seen today?"

"Six. And no one else seems alarmed; it was obvious I was the only one who saw them." Her head tilted to the side, black hair falling like satin along one pale cheek. "Is this indeed what you warned me about?"

"Yeah. Totally." I threaded my fingers through my hair, the feel of the soft hair grounding me in my body just a bit. "Oh, man. First day back and this is already happening."

"You don't seem surprised that it's happening at all," Amagi said, "but I won't ask." And that's why Amagi is perfect. "This is bad, isn't it?"

I pulled my hands from my hair and tried to reengage Business Mode; no use freaking out Amagi. "Yeah, but we're still in the calm before the storm, so don't panic. Things are going to go bad soon, but not yet." I lowered my voice and tried not to sound scared, myself, but Amagi deserved to know what was about to happen in our city. "I don't mean to scare you, but there will be rioting, looting, people attacking each other. Be careful and make yourself scarce today."

"I will." She swallowed that as readily as she'd swallowed the idea of the Makai bugs. "When will it get bad?"

"I'm not sure. But not till later. I'm pretty sure not till after school." The fact that I couldn't give her a better answer set my teeth on edge. "Go home after school and sit tight, and warn anyone you can to do the same."

"Right." She gave a nod, turning as if to walk away—but she stopped, and put her hand on my arm again. "Keiko. Do you need help?"

Yes. No. Yes? The answer died and revived on the end of my tongue over and over again, until finally I put my hand on hers and squeezed.

"No," I told her. "I've got all the help I need."

It was a true statement in some ways, and a falsehood in others.

But even if Botan wasn't here to help me, no way would I ever risk Amagi's life and make her take Botan's place.

The three men—who had attacked us like clockwork as soon as we set foot downtown—fell under punches from Kuwabara, Yusuke, and myself in seconds. Happened too quickly for me to get a good look at the boys' new techniques, sorry to say, though Yusuke let out a low, impressed whistle at the sight of my new-and-improved roundhouse (thanks, Hideki-sensei). Kuwabara stepped back and rubbed his fist, glaring at the men on the ground.

"Man. At least they went down easy," he said—and then his eyes went wide, and he leveled a finger at one of their gaping, unconscious mouths. "Ugh—gross! Look at that!"

Yusuke gasped; Kuwabara looked like he was about to be sick, probably because he was seeing a gigantic bug crawl out of a person's mouth. I, of course, saw nothing but the three dudes who'd followed Kuwabara, Yusuke, and myself since we left my parents' restaurant. The boys had indeed found my notes, but no sooner had we set off to find something to eat had these goons started following us. And then the fight had happened, and there we were, watching a bug make its escape.

Well. Some of us were watching that, anyway. I just stood there and sighed as the boys started squabbling.

"Squash it, Kuwabara, squash it!" Yusuke said, jabbing at Kuwabara's arm with a fist.

"Me? Why me?" Kuwabara said. "I hate bugs!"

"Yeah, but—"

They went quiet when a new, smooth voice cut in to say: "If you'll allow me the honor, gentlemen."

I sighed again as the boys did a series of comical double-takes, spinning in place to the mouth of the alley and the woman standing in it. Ayame, dour and drab in her black kimono, minced forward atop her wooden sandal and bent at the thugs' sides. A spray bottle from the sleeve of her robe produced a fine mist, which she squirted across their faces as though selling them perfume. Yusuke and Kuwabara gasped again as (I assume) the bugs disappeared, or maybe disintegrated, or perhaps even blew up.

Not that I'd know. I couldn't see anything.

This whole no-powers thing was really starting to grate on my nerves.

Kuwabara muttered something about who this chick was in my ear, but I didn't reply. Ayame straightened up and favored Yusuke with one of her long, measured looks, expression a cross between boredom and supreme, longsuffering patience.

"Yusuke," she said. "So I see you've already gotten wind of Spirit World's latest crisis?"

"Ayame," he returned. "So you're still kicking around, huh?"

Kuwabara's eyes lit up. "Ayame. I know that name. This the Spirit World lady who took Button's place?"

"Botan's place," Yusuke said. "And yeah. That's her." Brown eyes slid my way for just a second. "The one Keiko's been working for."

Ah. So Yusuke had filled Kuwabara in already regarding Spirit World and the Detective position. There hadn't been time enough to ask about that today. We'd gone from seeking ice cream to ass kicking in no time flat. So much for us getting to play catch-up…

If I'd been worried I might say something suspicious, reveal I knew too much about the Saint Beasts before getting debriefed, Ayame soothed those worries by being a loquacious showboater. I listened to her explanation of the Saint Beasts with only half an ear, preoccupied by my next move, but she seemed to hit all the points in the anime and manga. Of course, that included a lack of explanation regarding the Beasts themselves—no mention of their powers or what to expect from the, just like in the show. Another case of Spirit World's irresponsibility in action, I guessed. Of all the thigs to match canon, why did it have to be that?

"Any details about the beasts' powers, their abilities?" I said when she finished explaining the need to destroy the Makai Whistle. Ayame's brow furrowed, so I added: "You're sending these two in blind. More intel would serve them well."

But even with my intervention, Ayame shook her head. "Unfortunately, this has all transpired too quickly for me to do thorough research." A confident smile, one I wasn't sure looked genuine. "But I trust these Beasts will be no match for our Detective and his friend."

More elusiveness and prevarication from Ayame. Ugh. But I couldn't say anything to Yusuke—who hopped from foot to foot in anticipation, eyes bright and eager—without giving myself away. Keiko had no way of knowing the details I possessed, so I merely watched, uncertain, as Ayame bade us follow her from the alley and through a door in a nearby, random building. Just like in the anime, a wooden hatch in the floor, like the hatch to a storm cellar, opened over a poor of deep, swirling blackness with no bottom. Clearly a portal. Did it look different in Yusuke and Kuwabara's eyes? Did they seem more than just deep, dark black, stretching down into a void without end?

Yusuke looked as eager as ever, still doing his little dance of anticipation. Kuwabara, however, stared into the portal with an apprehensive frown. I put a hand on his arm and smiled. He smiled back, cheeks coloring, before turning his gaze toward Ayame.

"So that's it, then?" he said. "You're just showing us the portal and saying 'jump'?"

Ayame's head listed to one side. "I have not asked, nor implied, that you would be joining Yusuke on this mission, Kuwabara."

But Kuwabara just rolled his eyes. "You gave that whole explanation to Yusuke right in front of me, ma'am. No way would I let him go alone after hearing all that, and besides—this is my home town we're talking about, and no way am I letting it go to the dogs." He paused, blinking. "Er. Go to the demons?" His head shook like an aforementioned dog. "Aw, hell, you get the idea, though! You'd have to tie me to a tree to keep me out of this, and it'd have to be a really, really strong tree to keep me back!"

Ayame smiled, chin ducking like a demure young lady. "Wonderful to have you aboard. But to answer your question, no. We're not just showing you the portal and saying 'jump'. I must add that Spirit World will be monitoring your progress as best it's able, but please keep in touch using your Communication Mirror." Her delicate brow lifted. "I trust you have that on you, Yusuke?"

Yusuke's face turned red; he rubbed the back of his neck and started to blather some sort of excuse, but I cleared my throat, reached into my pocket, and held his Mirror out.

"Figured you'd need it," I said.

Yusuke took it from me, glaring without teeth. "Hey, you stole my Mirror!"

"More like rescued it," I retorted. "You kept leaving it on your floor where Atsuko might step on it."

Yusuke grumbled at me, cowed. Ayame let out a silken laugh (something she rarely did, actually; maybe she had a heart, after all).

"Good. Then it's settled." She bowed to us. "Now is the moment I say 'jump.' We will be there to assist as best we're able. Good luck, in the meantime."

"What about Keiko?"

My head swung to Yusuke, mouth dropping in shock. He stared at Ayame through narrowed eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her. She hummed, questioning, and his eyes narrowed further.

"What about Keiko?" he repeated. "She's just gonna stay here, and what, fight these crazy bug guys?"

"I could go with you to Demon World," I offered.

But the boys replied in sharp unison, deadpan and unrelenting: "No way in hell."

I didn't bother arguing with that, merely muttering a dejected, "Spoilsports." I'd offered merely for the sake of it, on the off chance it might work—but knowing all the while it would not. I knew better than anyone that without powers, I was a dead weight and a liability. Trying to come along had been a matter of dignity more than anything.

Not that I had much dignity at all these days.

I hadn't yet seen their powers, nor heard of their ordeals, but I knew the gulf between Keiko and the others had only grown since their trip to train with Genkai.

Was it even possibly to close that gap now?

Would Keiko ever become more than a side character in this narrative? Or was I destined, once freaking more, to just sit on the sidelines and watch then action from afar?

"Anyway," Yusuke was saying, "these jerks are vicious. And Keiko's a badass, sure, but to leave her here alone…"

"Your Mirror has two frequencies, one that connects with myself, and the other with Keiko's Mirror, which we gave her when she took her role as record keeper," Ayame explained. "You'll be able to keep in touch while you're in Demon World."

That did little to mollify Yusuke, however. "That doesn't make me feel better," he said.

"Yeah, seriously." Kuwabara turned my way with worried eyes. "If things get as bad as she says, I don't want you anywhere near the blast zone, Keiko."

Although they had every reason to worry, there was no sense telling them that. I slugged them on the arm in turns, declaring with a grin, "I'll be fine, you two. And somebody's gotta watch out for our hometown while its top punks are off on a field trip, right?" Before they could protest, I continued my show of bravado by asking, "Ayame, tell me how I can help from here. What can I do here in Human World to make a difference?"

"Unfortunately, since you lack spiritual awareness, you're unable to see the Makai Insects." Her flat tone held no comfort at all, no sympathy, and in response my grin shrank somewhat. "Your best course of action is to hide, and convince your friends to keep off the streets."

"Great." My shoulders sagged; I couldn't help it. "I'm useless."

Kuwabara was quick to jump aboard the Boost Keiko's Confidence Train, hovering at my side to say, "No you're not, Keiko! You're really useful! You're—"

"Don't baby me. I know I'm just dead weight without powers."

The words had just slipped out, coaxed into speech by frustration and expression. Kuwabara pulled away, affronted; oh shit, Keiko, don't snap at the poor guy!

"Sorry, Kuwabara; I'm just frustrated. I didn't mean to bark." I ran a hand through my hair, peering up at him through my bangs—and he smiled to tell me all was forgiven. Feeling immediately better, I turned to Ayame. "You don't have a handy spirit energy drink I can take to grow some, do you?"

"Afraid not," she said. "My apologies."

"Figures." Taking a deep breath, I rounded on my friends and planted my hands on my hips. I'd let my feelings get the better of me before, but I did not intend to let that happen again. I raised a finger at them and declared, "Listen up, you two. I might not have a power that makes me useful, but I'm damn good at giving a pep talk when need be, and that's gotta be useful in its own way, right?"

The boys exchanged a glance, worried. I cleared my throat and they snapped back to attention, though, with twin "eeps" of fear and surprise.

"You two are all that stands between our hometown and four nasty-ass, wannabe demon kings," I said, "but y'know what? Demons ain't shit."

Ayame tittered. The boys, however, laughed. The laughter spurred me on like a kick to a horse's haunch.

"You two, meanwhile, are the shit. You stared death in its wrinkled face this summer. This is nothing compared to that." Forming a fist, I glared at them over the top of my knuckles. "So kick ass, take names, and don't let our town down, you understand me? And when you get back, there'll be dinner waiting. My treat."

Yusuke's roguish grin gave me life and cleared my skin. "Well, when you out it like that, how can I disappoint?"

"Yeah, Keiko—your cooking is motivation all its own!" Kuwabara concurred.

"I'm glad to hear it. But just in case it's not enough—if you two die, I'm marching into the afterlife and straight up murdering both of you all over again." My glare could've melted rock, I was sure. "Is that understood?"

Kuwabara let out another "Eep!" Yusuke, however, just tossed his head and laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, grandma," he said. "Y'know, you sound just like another grandma I know."

Genkai, obviously—and though the reminder we still hadn't had a chance to catch up send a spike into my gut, I shrugged it off. "You'll have to tell me all about her when you get back from kicking demon ass. Another reason to come back in one piece, eh?"

"Heh. Sure. And have we got some stories for you, in that case." He put his back to me and walked abruptly for the portal to Demon World, one hand raised in casual farewell. "Don't wait up, Keiko." But he did spare the time to throw one last grin over his shoulder. "I'll be home in time for dinner, I swear."

"I'll hold you to it," I said—and then as Yusuke started to climb in, I turned to Kuwabara. "Both of you."

His bashful smile held as much regret as my heart. "I'm sorry we didn't have more time to catch up about the summer before this happened. Crappy timing, huh?"

"Yeah," I agreed, but there was a lump in my throat that kept me from saying more.

The lump did nothing to deter Kuwabara, of course. Stepping toward me, hand hovering over my arm but not quite touching, he told me: "I have a lot to tell you, Keiko, a lot I want to talk to you about. This summer, it was…" He trailed off, but his face said everything he voice could not: this summer had been what he needed, the centered and confident cast to his dark eyes as obvious as his bleached hair. He swallowed, and he smiled, and he said, "And it's all thanks to you."

I just swatted his shoulder, though, with an exaggerated scowl. "Oh, hush. I didn't do anything. That was all you. You're amazing." I swatted him again, harder this time. "And you're going to keep be amazing until those demons try to crown you their king."

He drew himself up, chest puffing. "Demon King Kuwabara. I like the sound of that!"

"Me, too." I spun his by the shoulders and pushed him gently toward the portal. "Now go make Sarayashiki proud."

"Roger that." He reached up and closed his hand over mine, my hand caught between his and his shoulder. "You stay safe, Keiko."

"Yeah, Keiko!" Yusuke called, with one leg already hooked over the hatch and into the portal. "Don't do anything stupid!"

I glared around Kuwabara's bulk. "Who, me? I think you have me confused with someone else."

"Nah. I'm definitely talking about you!"

"Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure being stupid is your job, Yusuke, not mine."

He rolled his eyes, but he smiled, and in his eyes glittered heartening mirth. "Ha ha, very funny. Now c'mon, Kuwabara, we don't got all day."

Yusuke swung his other leg into the hatch and sat on the edge. Shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and then he looked over his shoulder at me—and his hand rose in a brief thumbs-up, aimed at me, eyes on mine in a way that spoke of promises kept and promises remembered.

And with that, Urameshi Yusuke began his first trip into Demon World.

Leaving me behind, alone—the first time Keiko would be left here in favor of the pull of Demon World, but certainly not the last.

"Right," Kuwabara said unaware of destiny swirling all around us. "See you on the other side, Keiko. And stay safe, yeah?"

"You, too," I said. "Good luck."

Kuwabara followed Yusuke, smiling at me with reassurance before making his own leap into the unknown. He'd joked about being the Demon King, and he had no way of knowing that fare belonged to Yusuke, not to him.

The irony made me smile, even if getting left behind stung so much.

"A touching display," Ayame said. "But like they said—do try to stay safe."

I turned to her with a scowl. "There's seriously nothing I can do to help them?"

"No. Not without spiritual sight." Her head lowered in farewell. "I must return to Spirit World. You can contact us with your mirror if anything goes awry."

I muttered an agreement, because there wasn't anything else I could say after such clear dismissal—but as Ayame walked out of the alley, something clicked. I stumbled forward with hand outstretched, calling a frantic, "Wait!"

Ayame stopped, looking at me over her shoulder. She did not speak to me, but that was just as well. I was too busy searching desperately for words to listen.

"That's it?" I said, though I knew those weren't the right words.

She quirked one thin eyebrow. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"You're just sending the boys in there…alone?" But those weren't the right words either, dammit.

"Yes. After training with a renowned spiritualist like Genkai," Ayame said, "the demons should prove no match for them."

"Are you sure about that?" I asked. "It's four against one, if I heard you right." Or four against ten, if you count Suzaku's Prism of Seven technique, but Keiko shouldn't know about that. Head shaking, because apparently I needed to be more direct than this, I said, "Look. There are two powerful demons in this city who might be of use today. Why aren't you using them?"

Those were the right words at last, it seemed. Ayame's brow furrowed, black lines on her pale brow. "And how might we do that?"

Holy hell, why was I the one having to explain this? Pushing that aside, I said, "Send Hiei and Kurama after Yusuke and Kuwabara. Kurama will do it if I ask, and Hiei…well, he'll take convincing, but maybe if Spirit World sweetens the deal…"

"What are you suggesting?" she said, affronted. "A shorter sentence?"

"Maybe. Up to you." And then I couldn't keep the most obvious question inside anymore, because what the hell was going on here? "You mean to tell me Koenma hasn't considered the possibility? Because I find that hard to believe. Why else would he keep Kurama and Hiei under surveillance if he didn't have plans for them?"

Ayame said nothing, but her chin lowered as she lost herself in thought. I did the same, truth be told. Why was I the one coming up with this plan and pressing this issue, anyway? This didn't make any sense.

Unless...

Was this the difference between Botan and Ayame?

And if the difference here was that we had Ayame instead of Botan, what the heck did that indicate about Ayame? Why in the world did Ayame not want to send Kurama and Hiei with Yusuke and Kuwabara?

Ayame finished thinking, eyes lifting back to mine with a glimmer. "Interesting."

My turn for a quirked brow. "What is?"

"You go to bat for Kurama and Hiei with such enthusiasm." Her head tilted as she studied me, a cat watching prey. "Why is that?"

I shifted from foot to foot, nervous. "Well, I've spent a lot of time with them this summer…"

"Yes. And your reports indicated a shifting in their allegiances. They could act as allies to Yusuke indeed, if your report holds true." She paused to study me a moment longer. Soon her head inclined, lips curving in a confident smile. "Then it's a good thing for you that I believe, as does Koenma, that Kurama and Hiei would be fitting additions to this mission."

Wait.

Koenma believes, present-tense? But he wasn't here, unless Ayame could talk to him inside her head somehow. But that wasn't possible, was it? When had he decided that, if Ayame was making such a big deal over the mere suggestion of sending Kurama and Hiei after Yusuke?

What the hell was going on here?

"So why…?" I said. "You…?"

Her eyes shut as she chuckled. "Truth be told, Keiko, the thought of sending those demons after Yusuke did occur to Koenma. In fact, if you hadn't said anything, my instructions were to contact both demons myself." Dark eyes opened, pools of endless, glittering shadow. "But I wanted to see how you would handle the situation, if I did not bring it up myself."

We stared at each other. My mouth opened and closed, working for words that would not come.

"You—you manipulated me," I eventually managed to grate out.

"Tested, rather," Ayame said, maddening in her calm. "But perhaps I quibble. You seem to see it as the same thing, after all." She gestured behind me, at the open hatch. "The portal to Demon World will be open until midnight. Make the appropriate calls to your demon friends, Keiko. And good luck."

And with that, Ayame left me there in that alley, the yawning portal to demon world gaping dark and heavy at my back—and in dire need of a payphone, stat.

Hiei and Kurama showed up together, little more than fifteen minutes after my call to Kurama and garbled explanation of the situation. Hiei stood with hands in his pockets off to the side as I delivered a more in-depth summary. Kurama listened with rapt attention, eyes flicking every now and again toward the portal to Demon World.

I wondered, vaguely, if the scent of it called to him—and Hiei—on some primal level, but that was a question for another day.

"I'll admit, it sounds too good to be true," he said when I finished speaking. "Spirit World isn't the type to offer mercy generously."

"Well, you have me vouching for you, and that helps."

Hiei shot me a skeptical look at that. "You vouch for us?"

"Of course I do, Hiei." I kept my tone patient, light, and open. "You're my friends, after all."

But Hiei just scowled. "Feh. Friends." He shoved off of the alley wall, all tense lines and rigid muscles. "Make no mistake, Meigo. I need no friends. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." Patience, Keiko, patience. "But I'd like to help, anyway. Take this job, and you'll get a reduced sentence. It's a step closer to freedom."

Hiei's scowl deepened nearly into a snarl. "You work for them, and yet you wish me my freedom? Why?"

Enunciating every syllable, I said, "Because I trust you to use it wisely."

I don't think he expected that, an expression of trust from the human he'd only met a few months prior. He stared, silent, until I smiled at him.

"And I mean," I said, "it'll get you closer to Yusuke. Which in turn gets you closer to…"

I trailed off. I didn't need to specify a certain sister to Hiei—not for understanding to crystallize behind his eyes. He turned and walked away, the barest of smiles gracing his small face.

"Heh. I've been looking forward to a rematch with the Detective, anyway," he said. "Especially after all the stories you've told me about him."

The summer had seen quite a few of these stories told to Hiei over dinner, my prattle inevitably turning to my friends in this world. "I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige just as soon as the Saint Beasts fall," I said. "Just so long as they do, in fact, fall."

His dark chuckle was like a hammer against iron. "Excellent." One finger lifted, pointing at me from across the alley. "Watch your back, Meigo. It would be a shame for the only decent cook in this whole damn city died, given even with a reduced sentence, I'll be stuck here for god knows how long."

It was the only compliment he'd ever paid me, and I couldn't help but grin at its crass delivery. "Good luck to you too, Hiei," I said—and he needed no further instruction. As he took a flying leap through the portal, I turned to Kurama and said, "And to you, Kurama."

"I'd ask you to stay out of trouble, but somehow, I suspect such a promise would be made for you to break," he mused, green eyes locked on my face.

"Probably. But I can promise to be careful, at least."

"That will have to do." He stepped close, voice low and urgent. "You remember your bolt hole?"

"Of course."

"And where you hid—?"

"Which one of us is supposed to be the albatross again?" I snarked. Patting his arm, I said, "Quit the mother hen routine and go kick some ass." One of my wild, crooked grins, as proud as it was devious. "'Bout time you got a chance to show off, right?"

He didn't seem as confident, however, demurring with a mild, "Perhaps." Another step, even closer this time, enough for me to get that whiff of mint and earth he carried on the air around him. "But Kei. Be careful."

"Always am." I let myself squeeze his arm, let him cover it with his own, let myself meet his eyes and not look away from nerves and teenage embarrassment at his beauty. I told him, "Take care of them, Kurama. You're the most level-headed of the lot. Spread those albatross wings. Take care of my boys—and don't forget you're one of 'em." At that he managed a soft smile, all warmth and appreciation and maybe a touch of pleasured surprise. But I couldn't let him get away without a bit of a dig, now could I? "No gaping holes in the stomach this time, eh?"

That got him to laugh. "I will try my best to manage that."

I almost shied away when his free hand lifted, but I managed to hold still when he reached for me. The tip of his finger brushed down the length of my bangs, tucking them back and aside with touch so gentle I almost didn't feel it. The finger ghosted down my cheek and over my jaw before falling to his side once more.

He held my eyes, and I held his—a moment that stretched long into infinity, unbroken and unfathomable.

"See you again," he said.

"See you," I agreed—or promised.

I wasn't sure which.

As soon as he left, I shut the hatch behind him. I went back to the pay phone and called everyone I loved—from Kagome to my parents to my friends at school—and warned them to stay home. I'd heard bad news on the radio, I said, and everyone should lay low.

Then I ran back to my school, because I sure as hell wasn't going to lead Suzaku's asshole flunkies to my parents…and little did they know that this version of Yukimura Keiko wasn't some damsel in distress.

Little did they know that this version of Yukimura Keiko came prepared to kick some ass.

Notes:

Well. Here we are. One year to the day this fic was released. NQK starting a new story arc as this fic starts a new year feels fitting indeed.

I'm not going to spend time talking about this chapter here. Instead I want to devote this space to all of you out there reading this. I started this fic as an escape during the illness and death of my grandmother. I didn't think anyone would read it. And then people did, and with gusto, and here we are today.

Although I write this story primarily for myself, I do have to wonder if I'd have gotten this far into the story this fast if not for all of you. In fact, I highly doubt I would have. You have motivated me, encouraged me, and built me up in ways I can't even try to describe. I owe all of you a debt of gratitude that is indescribable.

In short, I know don't know you, but in a very real way, I love you. Thanks for being there while I grieved, and for giving me something to look forward to each week...all 52 weeks this year, and all 52 chapters therein.

Here's to another year with you. I'm looking forward to every minute.

(Edit: I managed to post this to FFnet one year to the minute later, at 7:29 PM, and I'm SO NEEDLESSLY EXCITED.)

Chapter 53: Good Thing or Bad Thing

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko sees many familiar faces, but isn't sure if that's good or bad.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

His cheek looked the color of a ripe and bruised tomato, skin scraped and raw after an unforgiving encounter with the sidewalk (the sidewalk had won said encounter, of course; Yusuke had a hard head, but even he had trouble breaking concrete with it at the tender age of ten). He stared at the floor, sullen as an October day, as I bandaged him up on my bedroom floor. The muffled clatter of pots and pans echoed through the floor underneath us, vibrating against my tailbone and the sides of my crossed calves.

"You know," I said as Yusuke flinched away from my hands and the iodine-soaked cotton in them, "there are ways to get back at the big kids without resorting to violence."

"There are ways to get back at them without resorting to violence," he repeated, voice high and whiny in mean mockery of my own. Enormous brown eyes rolled like a cement mixer. "You're such a square, Keiko."

I pursed my lips, but I didn't retort. This was the fifth fight he'd picked with the sixth graders in a month. Sooner or later they'd stop going easy on him, really pound him into the pavement—which, yeah, they'd already done, but they'd do it worse if Yusuke kept antagonizing so many at once. This time it had been four against one. The previous week it had been three, and when Yusuke nearly won, they brought in reinforcements. And since it was my goal to keep him alive (so he could get killed at an appropriate moment in a few years, ironically) it was time I stepped in.

"Fine," I said, shrugging. "Then I won't help you embarrass them into next Wednesday, I guess."

Yusuke's sneer turned curious, those huge eyes of his blinking like a startled owl. "Embarrass them into next Wednesday?" he repeated—but he didn't mock my voice this time. "How would you do that?"

Another shrug as I tried not to smile. "I thought you said I was a square."

Yusuke scowled. "Fine. I take it back. You're as square as a triangle." He caught my wrist and leaned toward me, peering intently into my face. "So how would you do that? Embarrass them, I mean."

"You just apply a bit of chemistry, that's all."

"Chemistry?" His nose wrinkled. "What, you want me to do homework?"

"I know better than to ask that of you," I said (and Yusuke looked rather proud, that little punk). This time I couldn't suppress a small, devious smile. "Still, though. We will need to go to the library, if you want this weapon."

It was like someone had like a firework inside him, and all the sparks showed in his grinning face. "A weapon. Now we're talking." But excitement faded as his nose wrinkled again. "But what kind of weapon do you find at the library that uses chemistry and embarrasses people?"

I giggled. "The kind you get from a chemistry book, of course."

Yusuke looked unconvinced. "A book?"

"Yeah. A book." I shut the first aid kit at my side and stood. Yusuke took my hand, looking skeptical still, but I just smiled, all teeth like a leering shark. "Books are the best weapons in the world."

In another life, Yusuke could've been a chemist. He certainly mixed the formula for stink-juice and sneezing powder with all the solemn accuracy of a dedicated researcher, mischief turning his normally scattered brain quite focused. The bullies never picked on him against after the science project Yusuke inflicted upon them.

"You were right, Keiko," Yusuke said when he returned home triumphant (if not a little smelly). "Books do make good weapons, so long as you get the right kind."

He was right, of course, and seeing this, I copied down a series of chemical formulas with the same care Yusuke mixed them.

Said formulas—and the weapon of a book they came from—would prove infinitely useful protections come the inevitable, fated future.

In order to serve the whim of fate, I had to play things very, very carefully.

Although I had a bolt-hole—safe and dark and tempting—I had to use it judiciously. I couldn't just hide and wait for this all to blow over. Not right away, at least.

Upon timing, I surmised, hinged everything.

Suzaku would eventually sic his mind-controlled lackeys on Keiko in an attempt to psychologically torture Yusuke. In turn, Yusuke would be invigorated by the threat of Keiko's death—the exact opposite of Suzaku's intentions, which would lead the phoenix king to his demise. If Keiko disappeared, hidden away from the threat of her pursuers, Yusuke would not see her in peril. He would not power up, and he would lose.

Visibility, therefore, and risking myself to death, was a necessary part of fate's design.

(Provided Yusuke cared for me deeply enough to be so inspired by a threat on my life.)

(Provided I hadn't fucked it all up and treated him too much like a sister treats her brother.)

(Provided my inability to love a goddamn teenager hadn't ruined everything—an unfair and ironic consequence of my desire to be ethical.)

(But I'd have to worry about that another time. It was too late now, after all, to change my relationship with Yusuke.)

After the boys entered the portal to Demon World, I hoofed it back to the school. Much as it pained me to abandon my city and not fight the hordes of infected people terrorizing it, I valued my life far more than my pride and city's reputation. Plus, no way would I ever lead Suzaku's minions to my parents or friends. The school was to be my battleground—and a well-stocked battleground it was.

While I intended to fight a war there, I also intended to be quite comfortable whilst doing it.

I had just taken an enormous bite of onigiri, mouth full of rice and fish, when the communication mirror in my pocket chimed. Hand over my mouth, trying desperately to swallow (and wondering if I could somehow put the mirror's ringer on silent) I flipped open the compact and held it up, mumbling a "Hello?" through my full mouth.

For a moment the mirror reflected my face—bulging chipmunk cheeks and all—but soon the image rippled and Yusuke's face swam into view. He blinked at me, squinting, and said, "Keiko, are you…are you eating dinner?"

"Yeah." I managed to choke the onigiri down at last. "Just riceballs and a canteen of soup. Nothing fancy. How goes the mission?"

"It's going OK, I guess." I saw the barest gleam of a stone wall behind his head, the interior of Maze Castle I was certain. "We haven't killed each other yet, which is a plus. Was touch and go there for a second, though." His eyes lit up, memory clearly exciting. "Ya see, there was this big falling wall thing, and—"

He told me all about the Gate of Betrayal, not to mention Hiei's mad dash to save them and his play-acting the role of turncoat. It happened nearly identical to the anime, I was pleased to note. Perhaps this meant Hiei's character development was on schedule, after all. The thought had my shoulders sagging with relief. Seemed I hadn't screwed up too badly, although Yusuke took my relieved sigh a different way.

"Hey, Keiko, it's OK. We're doing fine and kicking ass," he assured me—and then the sarcasm returned. "I mean, yeah, for a little while there I was pretty sure Hiei would stab us all in the back when we weren't paying attention, little three-eyed jerk, but it turns out that's not his style, even after everything that happened with the Shadow Sword." A sheepish grin. "But then Kurama said that you'd sent him and Hiei, and I knew I had to at least give him a shot, right? And then Hiei saved our asses so it all worked out in the end."

"Aww—I didn't realize my recommendation would mean so much to you," I teased. As Yusuke turned red and sputtered, face dipping momentarily out of frame, I had to grin. Even if we weren't romantic, he trusted me. He valued me. That had to count for something.

"Yeah, whatever, Keiko," he said, rubbing at his nose as he popped back onto the mirror's round monitor. "Gloat all you want, but you're gonna be a fat load of help now that we've got the Hiei situation squared."

The reminder sent an icicle of apprehension through my chest. "So you face the Beasts next, I take it."

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes, brown glittering with a bit of orange and gold—nearby torchlight, perhaps? "Not that Koenma told us shit."

"I remember. Y'know. Since I was there and whatnot."

"So you understand why I'm pissed." He shrugged, resigned to Koenma's incompetence. "I dunno what we'll face next, but I'll check in if anything big happens. So where are you right now?"

"Yeah," cut in a deep, gravelly voice. "Are you somewhere safe?"

The video shook and shorted, black lines racing across the picture as it trembled and danced. I caught glimpse of several pairs of shoes, a pair of legs clad in distinctive magenta, and a flash of scarlet eyes before it stilled—this time showing me two faces squeezed together, each glaring at the other with teeth bared. Kuwabara had his hand on Yusuke's forehead, trying to shove him away, and Yusuke's fist clutched tight to Kuwabara's shirtfront.

"Ouch, Kuwabara!" Yusuke snapped. "Quit pushing!"

"You quit pushing!" Kuwabara shot back. "I wanna talk to Keiko, too!"

"I'm sure we can all speak to her if we're careful," came Kurama's longsuffering voice. The Mirror once more jostled, floating up to show me an expanse of stone ceiling before centering on a pair of green eyes and brilliant red hair. Kurama held the mirror at an angle above his head, arm a magenta streak to one side of the frame, camera trained down to encompass himself, Yusuke, and Kuwabara all at once (Kurama would have mad selfie skills once smartphones came about, lemme tell ya). As Kuwabara and Yusuke crowded over his shoulders to see better, Kurama asked, "I trust you've found a quiet place to lie low."

"Oh, shit, yeah!" I said, popping to my feet. "Lemme give y'all the grand tour."

The PE shed didn't have a light source of its own, but I'd rigged a glowing lamp out of a headlamp and a plastic milk jug. I rotated in a circle, holding the mirror at selfie angle just like Kurama, showing my friends my hidey-hole in the lamp's pearlescent light. Behind the barrier of the dusty vaulting horses I'd arranged a circle of milk crates and a place to sit, complete with blanket, decorative fringed pillow, and even a small Megallica poster that had come with their latest album. Home away from home and all that. It's the little things that keep you sane.

"It's actually pretty cozy," I said. "Had to sneak it in bit by bit, but I have a radio, a cooler full of rations, and best of all…"

Kuwabara's face screwed up. "Is that—is that a beanbag chair?"

"Yup!" I walked toward the bright pink lump to give the boys a better look. "Stole it from the drama department."

Kurama chuckled. "Resourceful."

Yusuke asked, "But why did the drama department even have a beanbag chair?"

"Apparently they did a 1970s rendition of Hamlet, or something similarly atrocious. Kaito didn't want to talk about it. Poor kid seemed traumatized."

Yusuke and Kuwabara, being exactly who they were (as well as people who didn't know Kaito), didn't understand the hilarity of that mashup, but Kurama shut his eyes and chuckled behind his hand. From off-screen a scratchy voice (belonging to a person who also didn't get my jokes because he is nothing but himself) snapped, "What the hell is a bean bag chair?"

Kurama's lips quirked at the corner. "It's a bag full of beans that you sit on like a chair, Hiei."

"Wow, shorty," Kuwabara chortled, face turned to the left. "You seriously didn't get that from just the name? Sounds pretty obvious to me!"

"Mock me again and you'll lose your tongue, oaf."

"Oaf!? Why I oughta—"

Expression resigned (but eyes glimmering with the barest hint of amusement) Kurama glanced first at Kuwabara and then off screen, look of reproach silencing Kuwabara before he could lob a retort. "Now, now, you two. We learned from the Gate of Betrayal that it's important we work together."

"I need no lecture on teamwork from you, Kurama!" Hiei snarled back. He stepped into view behind the rest of the boys and glared at the back of Kurama's head. "Do not speak to me as if I am a child!"

Although the altercation pulled a giggle from me, I had to wonder: Hiei had glared at Kurama when I sent them through the portal, just as he was glaring now. Were the two of them on good terms? The last time they'd interacted (to my knowledge, at least) Kurama had been in the middle of aiding Yusuke in his fight against Hiei—a betrayal if there ever was one. Did Hiei still resent Kurama for that insult? Had they met up over the summer to work things out? I didn't know. In fact, I'd avoided asking either of them for fear of getting in the middle and ruining whatever loyalty they might forge…and also I didn't want to encroach on their feelings. That, too. They were both such private people, after all. At least they'd gotten through the Gate of Betrayal in one piece…

"Hiei, do at least try to be nice," I said, but with a smile so he wouldn't think I was mad. "You're a team now!"

He merely glared, scarlet sparking like banked coals. "And now you lecture me, Meigo?"

Kuwabara tossed a look over his shoulder, lips pursing. "Wait. Meigo?" His eyes popped wide open, darting back and forth between Hiei and the mirror in shock. "What the—?! Do you two know each other?"

Kurama smiled. "Yes, they do. Kei and Hiei are friends, Kuwabara."

Hiei sputtered something that sounded suspiciously like a denial, but Kuwabara ignored him. He was too busy staring at Kurama with that same look of confusion and shock, eyes travelling between Kurama and the mirror—between Kurama and me—in turn.

"Wait. Kei?" And once more his eyes widened; he leapt back with a dramatic point Kurama's way. "Are you tellin' me that you two know each other, too!?"

I performed a vigorous rendition of jazz hands at the mirror. "Surprise! I know literally everyone ever!"

Kurama glanced my way and chuckled before nodding at Kuwabara. "Yes, we know one another. We're classmates, actually."

"Classmates?" He at Kurama blinked a little, processing. "And you have a nickname for her?" At that he turned on Hiei. "And you have a nickname for her?" He counted on his fingers, eyes screwed up in concentration. "Hiei calls her Meigo, Kurama calls her Kei, Yusuke calls her Grandma…" His hands dropped, along with his blocky jaw. "Everybody has a nickname for Keiko but me!"

"Seems like it," Yusuke said.

"B-but!" Kuwabara said, face growing redder by the second. "But—!"

Before I could tell a stammering Kuwabara that it was OK, and to not be upset, he could make up a name for me whenever he wanted, we were still besties and we always would be, Yusuke stood on his tiptoes and snatched the mirror out of Kurama's hand. The picture swung wildly across the screen before settling on a tight shot of his face, eyes narrowed, mouth set into a thin line. It wasn't often I saw Yusuke look so serious, and the comforts building on my tongue died like sprouts in frost.

Even so, though. Knowing he was so concerned for me wasn't all bad. Perhaps our relationship was deep enough, after all…

"So tell me, Grandma," Yusuke said, low and urgent and not joking even a little bit (so unlike him, so unlike my Yusuke). "You think you'll be OK tonight?"

His voice brought a ball of nerves to my throat, but I choked it down to speak. "I hope so. I've been monitoring the radio." I angled the mirror down so he could see the headphones around my neck and the small portable radio clipped to the waistband of my track pants (I'd changed from my uniform to the workout gear I'd stashed in my hidey-hole, of course; no sense fighting in a skirt). "There's been reports of violence and they issued a riot alert for downtown, but it's nice and quiet this side of town. I'll let you know if that changes."

"You'd better." His voice dropped even lower. "Just sit tight, Keiko. We'll smash that whistle and fix all of this soon, you'll see."

"I believe in you," I said—and because the lump was coming back and I didn't want them to hear it in my voice, I smiled and waved goodbye. "Stay safe, guys."

"Roger that. Over and out!"

Yusuke's hand flashed across the screen before it darkened; he'd closed the compact, and our connection along with it. With ponderous fingers I closed my compact, too, and stashed it inside the cup of my secure sports bra.

The boys were about to face Genbu, a creature of earth who would fall under the weight of Kurama's flowers. After that came Byakko, the one feline Kuwabara would ever care to harm, and then Seiryu, whose ice would challenge the heat of Hiei's flame—and foreshadow the dragon that would rise from it someday.

Not much time left until Suzaku, the phoenix, would face the boy who had risen from the ashes and returned to life.

They had their battles to fight.

Meanwhile, I had mine.

It was time to make an appearance, I decided, and I crawled out of the PE shed's small grate.

"Wow, really?" she said. "That's terrible!"

"Yeah," I said. "They're saying everyone should go home before the rioting spreads from downtown—and definitely before nightfall."

A round of emphatic nods from her and her friends. "We really need to get going!"

Although the looks of fear on their faces sent a spike of guilt through my chest, I merely smiled—tight-lipped and silent—as my classmates gathered their things and told me goodbye. I watched them from the school's second story, tracing their path through the courtyard and out of the school's front gate.

Good. Another batch of students sent safely home. They hadn't believed me at first, but lending them one of my radio's earbuds so they could hear the Mayor's distress broadcast had certainly done wonders for my legitimacy…

Once I lost sight of them I resumed my prowl, hunting down another lingering pack of teenagers over by the library. Told them what was happening in the city, played the radio broadcast, urged them to get moving—lather, rinse, repeat the same steps I'd performed ten times that afternoon as I got rid of the final stragglers. I'd gotten my tactic down to a science…and good thing, too, because the broadcast had started playing on a loop, crowding out the local news with warnings of encroaching violence.

Things were going dark, fast.

As I patrolled the halls, flushing out the various wings of the school like a bird dog on the hunt for quail, my hand returned again and again to the mirror hidden safely in my bra (bras are far superior to pockets, says I). The boys had only contacted me the once, almost two hours prior. Surely defeating Genbu wouldn't take Kurama this long, right?

I could only pray they'd just gotten too busy for a check-in, and hadn't been felled by the Beasts.

Once the school felt deserted enough for my tastes, I headed for the only bit of ground I hadn't covered. The faculty wing still had its lights on, unlike the rest of the school, which told me at least one or two teachers remained.

Was that a good thing or a bad one? Good because Keiko needed to see and be seen in order to draw Suzaku's fire (in order to keep the goons away from her family, and for the sake of Yusuke's power-up), but bad because a teacher was fated for infection. Unlike in the anime, however, no teachers at Meiou were as terrible as Iwamoto—and that meant even the worst of them probably didn't deserve infection, let alone the beating I'd give them.

I tried not to think about that, though, as a door rattled open down the hall ahead of me. Out stepped a lone figure, lean and tall, face momentarily obscured by his gleaming glasses.

"Yukimura?" he said, glare fading to reveal the pinched and dour face of Hamaguchi-sensei. He narrowed his eyes, stringy bangs pattering against his forehead. "You're still here?"

"Sorry, sensei," I said, trying to look contrite (even as my heart decided to dance the samba in my chest). "I left my bag somewhere and I'm trying to find it."

"Hmmph." He shoved his glasses up his nose and turned. "Well, don't take too long. You'll disrupt the faculty."

"Yes, sir."

I watched him stalk off down the hall and disappear into another room, tongue clenched between my teeth. Hamaguchi was, of course, that teacher who had at first disliked me after hearing rumors from Iwamoto—but after he'd seen my grades (not to mention the fact I never cut up in class or skipped school) he'd stopped picking on me. In fact, he'd even praised my work a few times (if not grudgingly because I so often challenged his literary theory). I didn't hate the guy at all. I didn't think he hated me, either.

Still. Out of all my teachers, he was the one I pegged as most likely to attack me, his presence probably preserving Keiko's teacher-battling fate. Even though I had made a few half-hearted attempts during the school year to antagonize him just for the sake of the Saint Beast Arc, he had never truly become my enemy. Too bad I'd have to kick his ass when wasn't even a tenth the asshole Iwamoto had been.

Good thing or bad thing, Keiko? Good thing or bad thing?

I flinched and swatted my chest when something fluttered against my heart, but it was only the compact mirror vibrating—turns out it did have a silent setting, which I'd located after a few minutes of frustrated fiddling after the first mirror call. I power-walked down the hall and to a small nook where architects had tucked away a water fountain. The boys (Kurama once more holding the mirror in prime selfie position) stared back at me when I opened the compact, all of them holding up three fingers on their hands. Hiei sulked in the background, however, hands jammed petulantly into his pockets.

The breath stilled in my chest, held tight and quiet.

It hadn't occurred to me before—too caught up in our conversation, I guess—but today marked the first time I'd seen them all together. All four boys, the fated team of Spirit Detectives, united at long last, all four of their precious faces in one place for me to see. Granted, I saw them on a screen instead of in person, but still. The sight of them swelled my chest near to bursting, filled my head with delighted fizz like I'd chugged too much champagne.

My eyes pricked. I squeezed them shut and breathed again, pasting on a happy smile—a genuine one, even if I wouldn't indulge the happy tears threatening my vision.

"Ta-da!" said Yusuke.

"Three down, Keiko!" Kuwabara added.

No wonder they'd been silent for three hours. Three down accounted for Genbu, Byakko, Seiryu, and all the various wandering they'd have to do through Maze Castle. "That was fast!"

"Yeah, and the last one doesn't stand a chance," Yusuke gloated. "You still doing OK?"

"Yeah, the school's deserted. I sent all the kids home so they'd be safe." But not for long, if I had to guess. With three Beasts down, Suzaku would sic the insect-possessed goons on me any minute now. "I'm going to find a place to sit tight, in the meantime. So far the rioting is still contained to downtown."

"Good to hear," Kurama said. His eyes searched…well, the screen, but probably my face depicted upon it. "You will continue to be careful, won't you?"

"Of course!" I chirped (and I meant it, because now that Keiko had been established at her high school, there was no more reason to risk exposure and stay out in the open). "Soon as we hang up, I'll head for the shed and—"

"Keiko?"

I froze. Kurama, Kuwabara, and Yusuke all froze too—because none of them had said my name, and I certainly had no reason to say my own name, and that had definitely been a girl's voice, right? I heard the creak of my own joints in my adrenaline-soaked ears as I peeked around the corner of my alcove. My jaw dropped like an anchor through warm water when I saw her.

"Amagi?" I said. "What the heck are you doing here?"

She stood a ways down the hall, wearing jeans and a blouse—street clothes. She'd gone home after school, I was certain, and the clothes attested to that, but why the heck had she come back to school?

"I came here to check on you." Her dark eyes, perplexed and narrowed, searched the hallway at my back. "Who were you talking to?"

And right on cue, Yusuke's voice echoed her through the compact's tiny speakers. "Hey, Keiko—who are you talking to?"

Amagi's eyes slipped from my face to my hand. Uh oh. I lifted the compact up and patted my hair, lips stretched into a manic grin so huge it would make Pennywise jealous.

"Nobody, just—good luck and goodbye; I have to go!" I said through my clenched teeth, and before Yusuke could reply, I slammed the compact shut on their stunned faces. Shoving it back into my bra, I trotted forward with hands outstretched. "Amagi, you shouldn't be here!"

Her lips pursed, and normally I'd be distracted by how pink they looked, but just then all I could notice was the shake in my knees and the hitch in my worried breath. She said, "I called your house. You weren't there, and your mother said you were staying late at school to help with something. But you'd told me to leave school, and I wondered why you had come back." She pointed at the windows lining the hallway, at the dark trees standing just beyond them. Sunset's light caught her black hair like lightning on oil. "There are more bugs than before, and they started flying toward the school. I just thought—"

The shake in my knees stilled. "Flying here?"

A slow nod and a worried eye. "Yes."

"Oh. Oh no." And with that the shake returned in full swing, power lines in a gale. "You can't be here, Amagi. You have to go home, now."

"What? Why?"

"Remember how I said things were going to go bad, and soon?" I took her arm and nudged her around, turning her back the way she'd come. "Well, now it's really really soon, probably within the hour, and—"

I never got to finish that thought, of course. Nobody ever lets me finish thoughts. Throat like sticky flypaper, the words caught there and died as a door down the hallway slid open with a hiss. Footsteps echoed in the quiet air as Hamaguchi-sensei—eyes unfocused, jaw slack, hand loose around the base of a freakin' gymnastics trophy, of all things—stepped into view.

Amagi tensed under my hand.

Hamaguchi-sensei's face swung toward us—and then that slack expression vanished. His jaw clenched like an angry fist before he spoke.

"Yukimura," he slurred.

I didn't think about it. I put myself between Amagi and him with a quick side-step, hand forcing her back and behind me almost of its own accord.

Hamaguchi's mouth split in a wide grin—too wide, too gleaming, all teeth and no smile whatsoever. "I told you not to disturb the teachers, Yukimura."

"Oh my god." Amagi's breath ghosted across my ear like graveyard mist. "He's blue!"

He looked perfectly olive-toned to me, but I supposed (in a distant way, thought barely registering amidst the cold suffusing my chest) that my lack of psychic sight had something to do with this. But to Amagi I only murmured, "The bugs got him."

"I told you, Yukimura," my teacher said. He took one step forward, foot dragging the ground like a gunshot in the echoing hall, little leaping girl atop the trophy glittering. "I told you."

It's easy to be afraid. It's easy to see someone advancing on you wielding a gymnastics trophy and run for it, turn around and bolt because your life is in danger—but when my foot slid back, flight trying to win over fight, it bumped the toe of Amagi's sneaker. I looked down with a gasp, staring at that white toe with my mouth open.

Something inside me stilled.

"Amagi." My voice held steadier than it had any right to as the cold in my chest solidified, spread, sharpening my eyesight and quickening my breath, the feel of the air on my face and the clothes on my skin more tangible than they'd ever been before. My commanding tone impressed even me. "When I give the signal, you run. Run as fast as you can to the school gate, do you understand me?"

Her voice, however, still shook. "Uh. Uh huh."

"OK." My shallow breath ran deep for just one moment. "OK. Get ready."

"You always were a bad one, Yukimura," Hamaguchi said in a sing-song voice. He took another dragging step, and then another, but the fighting chill Hideki had beaten into me wouldn't let the voice of fear sing its siren song. "A blight on this school, and on the school that was so right to kick you out." A single bead of spittle trickled from his grinning mouth. "And if I have any say, I'll do the same to you!"

He lunged. Amagi shrieked, but I whirled away and under his arm, hand flying up to smack against the underside of his wrist. The trophy went flying, clattering against the ground as I spun into a crouch under my teacher's chest.

"Amagi, now!" I bellowed—and she did. Amagi ran as I grasped sensei's wrist and sent him flying over my shoulder, his back slamming onto the ground so hard I feared I'd broken him.

I didn't stop to make sure I hadn't.

Instead I aimed a kick to the side of his head, and when his skull bounced like a hollow coconut against the tile floor, I turned and sprinted after Amagi.

She was taller, but I was faster, grabbing her hand and tugging her like the Doctor tugs a companion away from certain death. The girl gasped as she ran, obviously not an athlete despite her slim waist, but she made it all the way down three halls and a flight of stairs to the shoe locker room before wrenching her hand from mine and leaning against a wall to catch her ragged breath. A quick scan of the empty atrium revealed no enemies; I skirted toward the glass-paneled front doors, keeping low and close to the wall, and peered around the door frame and into the yard beyond.

"Coast clear," I said, eyes roving across the empty courtyard. Only a few tall lamps at the edge of the school wall and the main building lit the huge space, but even the shadows looks clear to me. Amagi, breathing still labored, crept to my side when I gestured for her to follow. "We can't wait. Can you keep running?"

Amagi nodded despite her shaking chest and the fear in her eyes, face brave despite the fact a teacher had just tried to beat us to death with a trophy. This time Amagi took my hand of her own accord, gripping tight as I stood and pulled her after me out the door.

"Which way's your house?" I asked before we started running. "Left or right out the gate?"

"Left," she said.

Left. We needed to run, turn left, and then we'd be—well, not home free, but able to plan our next step, because goddamn it and fuck I hadn't counted on her being here and this threw my whole damn plan into disarray. But there was no way I could involve Amagi in this mess, nor leave her to get murdered by the bug-infested masses. I needed to take her home and double back once she was safe. We just had to run across this courtyard (wide open, exposed, sitting ducks, totally not the kind of terrain Hideki-sensei would approve of), turn left, and run some more. Easy-peasy, right?

Dammit, I sure hoped so.

Her feet slapped the sidewalk at my back, each running step far louder than my own quiet footfall. I flinched at every smack of sole on pavement, neck prickling as we left the shadow of the school and entered open terrain, but a smile slipped across my mouth when we reached the midway point and passed it without incident. The gate seemed to inch toward us, perception skewed both fast and slow by adrenaline's discombobulating pulse. Almost there, almost there, keep on running, Keiko, because you're almost there—

But things are never that easy, are they?

Amagi sensed them before I saw them, hand in mine weighing like an anchor between one step and the next. I shot a glance over my shoulder, and at the sight of her wide black eyes and color-drained face, my feet tangled with each other and sent me stumbling. We stopped, both staring at the open gate ahead, eyes locked on the darkness beyond—the darkness that grew darker as the sun beat its final retreat over the distant horizon.

"More of them!" Amagi gasped.

For a moment I held fast to the hope she was merely paranoid in her panic—but then, there in the shadows, I saw them move.

"Yukimura."

I'd been so intent on the shadows—those stumbling, shuffling shapes in the dark, silhouettes of slumped shoulders grey against the black—I hadn't thought to look behind us. I whirled to put myself between Amagi and Hamaguchi, but that left her exposed to the people in the shadows, so again I whirled, spinning on my heel with a curse. Hamaguchi stood only a dozen feet away, hands hanging limp on the end of long, swaying arms. A gash on his temple bled freely, fluid trickling down his arm to coat the scissors in his hand with gleaming red blood.

The color of it wasn't lost even in the fitful light of the streetlamps. The sight sent an electric shudder across my scalp.

"Yukimura." His head ticked to the side like a marionette on the end of drunken strings. "Hitting a teacher, Yukimura? It seems Iwamoto was right about you."

Amagi's hand found its way into mine again. Her pants sounded more like sobs as something shuffled at our backs—the people in the shadows slinking forward, eyes vacant and mouths agape. Men, mostly, but a few women, too, all adults, all holding bats and broken bottles and even a razor blade in their rigid hands.

Amagi let out a true sob, then. "The bugs—th-they're crawling everywhere. In their m-mouths, in their ears—"

My hand around hers tightened—and perhaps my lack of power wasn't such a bad things, after all, if it spared me the sight that made strong Amagi weep.

Good or bad, Keiko? Good or bad?

"He was right," Hamaguchi went on. "You're a violent, arrogant, juvenile delinquent who—"

As soon as my eyes turned his way, the horde slid forward. Fencing us in, keeping us corralled, blocking escape routes. I tugged Amagi's arm to get her moving, uncaring—or at least not letting myself care—when she gasped in fright.

"Follow me, and keep quiet," I murmured.

She obeyed.

It took at least two laps of the school and quite a bit of creative maneuvering on my part (including at least one ingenious escape through a window) to lose our pursuers, but I managed to guide Amagi back to the PE shed in one piece. I shoved her through the bushes concealing the ventilation grate first and followed after, replacing the grate as quickly and as quietly as I could behind us. Amagi sagged in a heap on my beanbag chair, huffing and puffing like a wolf trying to knock down a house, face a shiny mess of sweat and tears. Despite feeling winded, however, she managed to hold her breath as the horde pounded toward us, still hot on our heels even after my evasive maneuvers, ring of feet vibrating the tin walls of our hiding spot. Her face got even redder, which I wouldn't have thought possible, but I shut off the light of my headlamp-and-milk-jug lantern before I could decide if she was mulberry or maroon.

I found out (mulberry) when a shaft of light cut the gloom, a vertical ribbon of silver slashing the wall above our heads. The chain holding the shed's doors rattled, but held fast, as one of the infected tried to wrench it open. Amagi clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes bloodshot and nearly bulging from her skull.

I held my breath, too, every nerve singing with electricity and fear.

"Even girls their size couldn't squeeze through that," one of them said.

"Keep looking," Hamaguchi replied. A fiendish giggle. "They can't have gotten far!"

The door swung shut, and the silver ribbon disappeared.

Amagi gasped, muffling her face with the pillow she'd found beside the beanbag chair, but her devotion to secrecy—while appreciated—wasn't necessary. The voices of Hamaguchi and the others faded, the sing-song sound of my surname growing more and more distant as they wandered off over the grounds, searching. "Yukimura! Yukimura! Come out this instant!" Hamaguchi said before his voice grew unintelligible, waning into obscurity as distance grew between us and them.

My heartbeat—steady but ferocious, athletic and strong in a way my previous heart had never been—began to slow its frantic pace. I released my held breath at last, ears straining to hear the enemy over the sound of Amagi's labored breaths. Luckily I didn't hear much: just the murmur of searching voices, footsteps too far away to make out.

Still, Amagi wasn't stupid. She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper when she asked, "What is happening here, Keiko?"

A deep breath to steady my nerves. I sat back against the wall, lowering gingerly against the panel in case it creaked. "They're after me."

"Yes," Amagi said. "I gathered."

Even through a whisper I heard her desiccated voice, unamused and skeptical. We had only the light from the window, indirect and dim, to go by, but still her eyes managed to glitter in the darkness—chips of onyx bathed in ink. I met them and didn't bother smiling, both because I didn't feel like it and because she couldn't see it, anyway.

"No matter what happens, you have to stay in here," I murmured. "You have to stay in here, and stay quiet, you understand?" I groped for her hand. Found it. Gripped it tight. "I won't let them hurt you. I promise you, Amagi, I won't let them hurt you."

Her fingers, cold and clammy, clamped around mine right back. "I know you won't. I trust you. But why? Why are they after you?"

I didn't bother to hide my grimace; the darkness did it for me. Still, I hated the truth as it spilled off my tongue: "Because my friends are trying to stop this, and much as I hate to admit it, I'm their weak spot."

Much the way she'd taken my warning of psychic bugs in stride, so too did she take the tale of the Saint Beasts and Suzaku's whistle without flinching. I didn't bother lying to her, though I left out mention of demons, Suzaku implied to be nothing more out of the ordinary than a human psychic. Amagi listened without commentary, merely nodding when I finished. She hadn't let go of my hand while I spoke; I didn't bother correcting that. If this brought her comfort, so be it.

"So what do we do now?" she asked when I was through.

"We do nothing. You have to sit tight." I shifted against the wall, blood flowing back into my aching tailbone. "I'll draw them off, keep them away from you."

"No." Her hand tightened around mine. "You're not going out there when we have such a good hiding spot."

It almost made me laugh, the fact she wanted to take care of me when she was the one put needlessly in danger. "I don't plan on taking unnecessary risks, Amagi. I'll go out, make an appearance, hide again. Gotta keep them on campus while the boys take care of the source of the problem."

"But why? Why not stay hidden?"

"So they don't go after my family. I wouldn't put it past them to threaten Keiko's mom and dad to draw me out."

She didn't reply right away, and for a moment I deluded myself into thinking she would accept this, too, without question. But I was wrong.

"Keiko's mom and dad?" she said.

Oh, fuck, there I went talking in third person again. The dark helped me to tell a convincing lie, since I could put all effort of deception into the tone of my voice. "I disassociate when I'm stressed," I said, shrugging. "Regardless, I gotta keep those assholes here, away from people I care about."

"And I just made matters worse," she said, despair turning her voice brittle—but she drew in a breath and her hand steadied against my knee, resolution rallying her nerve. "Do what you have to, Keiko. I'll stay here if that's what's needed." Her confidence only lasted for so long, though. "It's just, the thought of you facing them all alone…"

"Oh. I'm not alone." I patted her wrist with my free hand, touch conveying comfort in the dark. "Not entirely, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"I've got allies hidden in the school. Sort of, anyway." I let go of her hand so I could sit up and reach under the nearest vaulting horse, and for the cardboard box I'd hidden beneath it. "And a few squirreled away in here, which is good for you."

The line of Amagi's shoulders wore the barest of silvery outlines, a silhouette of indirect illumination and perhaps a trick of the desperate eye. Her back straightened as she tried to see what I was doing, craning her neck over toward me. I grabbed a blanket off the crate beside her and draped it atop the two of us like children building a fort, dragging my water jug lantern underneath, too. I'd tested this before: with the help of the blanket, the light didn't show from outside the shed unless someone put their face against the tiny window on the east wall, and since said window was six feet up…

Still, though. Better make this quick.

"You don't happen to have any martial arts training, by any chance?" I asked as I rummaged through the box.

"Sorry." Her face had regained its usual white pearlescence, even if her eyes still carried a terrified glint. "I don't."

"Probably shouldn't give you a close quarters weapon, then, which leaves…here."

I handed her the red bottle with the pump handle set into the lid and the hose snaking off the top. It looked a bit like a fire extinguisher, though the hose ended in a thin, foot-long wand with a small opening at the tip. Amagi took it with unpracticed hands, fingers tracing over the pump, the hose, and the reservoir.

"Pepper spray," I explained. I pointed at the pump handle, then at the hose. "Pump it up if you hear them coming, then point and pull the trigger, but don't get any on your hands. If they get near, spray 'em. This has a two-meter range, so that'll keep you out of most fights, and the spray will put them out of commission for a while but won't cause any lasting damage. I hope." I winked, an ineffectual attempt at levity given Amagi's blanched face. "I couldn't get ahold of any Bhut jolokia, but Dad's imported habaneros will still do the trick." He'd inspired me to make pepper spray in more ways than one. Good ol' Dad.

Her mouth fell open, then closed again. She looked…not impressed, exactly. More like stunned? Which wasn't bad, but I'd hoped to impress her a little with this—not that I wanted to impress a teenager! Nope. Not me. Stop being a perv, Keiko, jeez—

"Keiko," Amagi asked, every word a battle slow. "Where, precisely, did you get this?"

My chest puffed. "I made it."

"You made—" Another mouth-open-and-then-shut-with-a-snap moment. "You made pepper spray?"

"Yeah. A continuous-spray-pepper-flamethrower, basically!" And I was proud of myself, too, for creating something that would hurt my enemies but not do lasting damage. "I mean, I didn't make the bottle. It's what Mom used to use to spray pesticide before she decided her garden was too much work. But the actual chemical spray—"

Her face dropped momentarily into her hand. "Dare I ask how you figured out how to make that?"

"Books." I cracked a grin—the same one I'd given Yusuke all those years before, when I taught him to make the same sneezing gas I'd hidden (among other things) in the school to aid in my impending war. "Books are the best weapons in the world."

She opened her mouth to reply, but the distant murmur of voices grew louder, recognizable words swimming through the haze. I snuffed the lantern as soon as I heard my name, bathing our hideaway once more in darkness.

Amagi waited for the voices to fade before saying, "The fact that you spend so much time with Kaito near the library is rather worrisome, in retrospect." A pause. "What about you?"

"Hmm?"

"If you're not taking the pepper spray, what weapon do you have?"

"Oh, don't worry. There's more where that came from, and there are heavy hitters in the main building." I scooted close to her on my butt, leaning an elbow against the creaking softness of the beanbag. She dipped toward me, scent of sweat and old perfume a cloud around my senses. "It's actually pretty cool. I've got—"

I wanted to tell her about my more ambitious projects, the ones that had taken real ingenuity to push past prototype phase, but before I could dive in (mostly to distract her, because a distraction was definitely in order amidst such dire straits, and maybe also just the tiniest bit to impress her again oh my god shut up you stupid teenage hormones) another shout rang up outside. This one sounded closer than before; the beanbag made a low kssshing sound as Amagi stiffened. The shout rang up again, and then a third time, followed by a meaty thump we heard even over what seemed like quite a distance. Hard to tell in the shed.

It wasn't hard to recognize a terrified screech from inside the shed, however. Not when it was so loud, so close, and so shrill.

Amagi stayed blessedly quiet as I sat up, murmured a request for stillness, and crawled beneath the vaulting horses. Luckily I'd practiced this in the daylight, winding my way through a somewhat complicated tunnel between and below the horses until I reached the eastern wall. A crate a few feet to the left of the window gave me a boost upward, but I didn't go directly to the window for a look outside. Instead I angled an ordinary compact mirror—full of makeup instead of magic—at the glass, peering into it for a glimpse outside so no one would see my head poking up over the sill. Took a second to scan the area outside and hone in on movement, but soon I managed to get a bead on a knot of infected humans congregating nearby.

They stood about a hundred feet away, over by the corner of the school where the front courtyard turned into the grassy side yard homing my PE shed. The goons formed a tight pack, facing inward like a battalion of zombies gorging on a corpse—that scene from The Walking Dead where they consumed that poor horse who didn't deserve such and undignified death, but that was a rant for another day. I couldn't see what they attacked, squinting in vain at the pack in the darkness, but a few of them fell backward and hit the ground. A figure vaulted over them, sprinting pell-mell away from the ravenous creepers and toward the back of the school, head bent below the concealing cover of a baseball cap.

As they ran, however, the cap flew off—and from under it streamed the flag of a long ponytail.

The runner paused, doubling back to grab the hat off the ground. The light caught their hair when they ran back under the flood lamp illuminating my secluded backyard, and when I saw the gleaming color of their hair, so brilliant and so bright, my heart near 'bout stopped beating. I hands gripped the mirror hard enough to make the hinge creak.

No.

It couldn't be.

Was I seeing things, or—?

Rustling sounded at my back as Amagi found her way beneath the vaulting horses, but I gave her no help, eyes locked on the figure as they shoved their hat back on and stumbled over a rut in the grass. The zombies were on her in seconds; she let out another terrified shriek, but then metal flashed, and she knocked them back with another stroke of her trusty, destined baseball bat.

Amagi put her hand on my shoulder, pulling herself up atop the crate at my side. She peered over my shoulder at the mirror with a frown. "Who is that?"

Oh. So Amagi saw her, too. I wasn't hallucinating. While this comforted me, I said nothing. My heart lodged between my teeth as the woman outside swung her weapon, terror fleeing in the heat of battle as she screamed a feral war-cry.

A war-cry, and a bellow of my name, syllables ringing like thunder in the dark.

"Keiko!" she roared. "Keiko, where are you?"

And then the infected descended, and she had no time for talk.

"Keiko," Amagi said with rising urgency. Dark eyes searched my face, but I can't tell you what they saw there. "You know her, right?"

I swallowed. It was difficult, but I managed.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I know her."

A deep breath. A deep breath to keep from screaming, from throwing up, from running out the front door and throwing my arms around her just to prove she wasn't some illusion dreamed up by my desperate, hoping brain.

I took that breath and held it, then let it out and said: "That's Botan."

Amagi said nothing, because the name meant nothing to her. I said nothing, because the name meant everything to me. Botan waved her bat and brained one of her attackers over the head, blue hair like the heart of a flame in the floodlight's soft glare, unaware I watched her from the safety of the PE shed while she fought and battled and tried desperately to find me, but was it a good thing or a bad thing that she was here, destiny and fate all muddled and mangled just the way the horde wanted to mangle her, too, and—

The mirror fell from my hands with a clatter.

"Oh my god," I said, horrified.

"Oh my god—that's Botan!"

Notes:

This chapter was a ton of fun to write. Plus we got Botan back, sort-of-kind-of, so that's neat! And I'm clearly mourning the latest Regeneration given the Doctor Who references in here…

My boyfriend got me a Megallica shirt for the holidays, which is super-duper inspiring and AWESOME. Pics on my Tumblr (username LuckyStarChild). I wrote the last chunk of this chapter wearing the shirt and I swear it's my new lucky Lucky Child charm. Also on my Tumblr: A moodboard for this chapter, and moodboards many previous chapters. Hope you like them!

THANK YOU SO MUCH, everyone who chimed in last week! I'm so excited that y'all're excited for this new arc and all the shenanigans therein, and I'm so happy we're starting this new year of LC together. Many thanks to all of you!

Chapter 54: Big Guns & Goodie Bags

Summary:

In which Keiko and Botan channel their inner "Home Alone" kid and FUCKING WRECK SHIT.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The baseball bat—pilfered from the PE shed, a perfect match for Botan's weapon of choice—made a sick crunching sound as it collided with the side of the infected man's head. One by one I beat the assholes back until I stood alone above the blinking, slack-jawed Botan.

I thrust out my hand and said, "Come with me if you want to live."

If Botan understood my movie reference, she gave no sign. She just gasped, took my hand, and ran after me without a word as I pulled her along toward the main school building.

In spite of the situation's dire tenor, I ran with a smile on my face.

I'd always wanted to say that, I thought—but I didn't gloat.

I just kept running.

Thanks to weeks spent studying the school's blueprints, I knew a few handy rabbit-holes to bolt to when the PE shed went out of reach (the PE shed where Amagi waited for me, hidden and safe). The infected I'd stunned out would be on their feet again in short order; I could hear more of them (including the vociferous Hamaguchi) in other parts of the campus, screaming for me, so I booked it as fast as I could to a nearby-but-not-too-nearby hideaway and hunkered down.

This particular hideaway lay at the far end of the science wing, in one of the chemistry labs where we'd dissected frogs weeks earlier. Thanks to the nature of the classroom, this one had frosted windows along the hallway side, obscuring the classroom's interior, plus huge metal ventilation hoods over the work benches to whisk away the scents of formaldehyde and chemicals. And thanks to the emergency lights still illuminating most wings of the school, it would be easy to spot silhouettes of passing goons through the aforementioned windows. All in all it felt like a pretty nice place to escape to, especially considering the number of roomy cabinets lining the space—one of which I unceremoniously crammed Botan into before slipping in beside her, grabbing her bat and leaning it behind me in the corner.

Lucky for me, Botan knew better than to argue with this less than dignified treatment, going graveyard quiet the second the cabinet doors shut behind us. We stood there in the dark, faces lit only by the stripes of light filtering through vents in the doors, breathing hard from our frantic run, air in the cabinet growing slightly staler with every exhaled breath. Along with the bats, a broom and a mop near my elbow threatened to bang against the cabinet's metal back if I moved too much; I forced myself to be still, eyes shutting long enough to center my focus and control my breathing the way Hideki-sensei taught me.

Even the briefest moments of meditation, he'd taught me, could spell the difference between victory and defeat.

Too bad this quiet moment couldn't last for long.

When Botan threw her arms around my neck, brim of her baseball cap biting into the skin of my nape, the bats and broom behind me fell against the cabinet wall with a sound like a metal gong. She gasped; I grabbed the bats and broom and held them upright, away from the wall. For a moment we stood in silence, breaths held, listening for feet to start heading our direction—but this part of the building remained quiet, our safe place a secret for just a little longer.

"I'm sorry!" Botan whispered, hands fluttering at my arms, touching as if to make sure I was still there. "I'm just so happy you're OK, Keiko! Just so happy!"

"I'm happy to see you, too." I couldn't help but touch her back, but a hand on her shoulder to make sure she was real, that I hadn't risked my hiding space to rescue a figment of my desperate imagination. Her body felt cool to the touch, like perhaps she didn't run as warmly as I did, but she was as solid as granite and definitely not a figment. "Where the hell have you been, though? We've been worried sick!"

Even with just five stripes of radiance crossing her face, I saw the grimace, saw the flash of worry and fear in her magenta eyes. She hesitated, teeth glinting as they worried her lower lip. When she ducked her head, the brim of her cap shaded her eyes from view completely.

She reached up and touched that brim, then, running her finger along the edge like she traced a precious artery.

"Sorry, Keiko. I know silence isn't like me." To my horror, her pink lips trembled, jaw quivering with emotions I couldn't name. "But I promise I didn't stay away so long on purpose, or because I wanted to."

Well, that was certainly ominous. I patted her shoulder to let her know I wasn't mad, a warm squeeze hopefully conveying comforts I didn't know how to voice. "Hey, hey, it's all right. We were just worried, that's all."

Her eyes met mine, then. They swam with tears, magenta nearly scarlet amidst the swim.

"Oh, Keiko. It was terrible." Her voice broke; she took a deep breath, tugging on the brim of her ball cap with shaking fingers. "After the fight with Hiei, everything went dark. I woke up a hospital in Spirit World, but they wouldn't let me leave."

"Wait. They wouldn't let you leave?" I felt as appalled as she looked. "But why?"

Botan shook her head, ponytail whispering around her shoulders in the dark. "Safety reasons, they claimed, but to keep any free citizen of Spirit World locked up for so long is just unacceptable."

I said, "It's a civil rights violation, is what it is!"

The shafts of light slanted across her eyes just long enough for me to see them look askance. "Yes, though I see why they were concerned—at least first. There are some persistent side effects of exposure to the Shadow Sword, but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing worth mentioning. I've been fighting fit now for weeks, but still they kept me trapped."

Although the cast of her eyes made my own eyes narrow, I couldn't read her tone in those whispered words. Was she telling me the whole truth? I couldn't say, but we were too short on time for a proper interrogation. I asked, "So how'd you get out and come here?"

At that Botan's head bowed. A low, nervous laugh echoed softly in the metal cabinet. "You haven't met Koenma, but if you ever do, take care to say a kind word to the blue ogre who follows him around, would you? I'm afraid I owe him an apology, and Jorge is such a gentle soul."

"An apology?"

"Yes, and I feel very, very guilty about why, too." She shifted from foot to foot, hesitating. "He visited me almost every day during my convalescence, far more than even Koenma did." Clear hurt rang in her whisper, somehow. "And certainly more than Ayame did."

I put two and two together quickly enough. "Did you convince Jorge to let you out?"

"Yes!" But she bit her lip again. "Well. No. Not exactly. Sort of?" More of those shifty eyes, jumpy fidgeting, hesitation. "He was late for his visit yesterday, and when he arrived at the hospital this morning he told me about the case Koenma sent Yusuke on—the Saint Beasts?" She searched my face for confirmation, and when she got it, she grimaced. "He said Koenma hadn't the faintest memory of what the Saint Beasts are capable of, meaning he was sending Yusuke into hell blind!"

I swatted at her shoulder, excited. "Right! I noticed that too!"

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that!" she said, happily swatting me back. "I was furious that he'd send my best project into battle so unprepared!"

"And I was furious he'd send my best friend into battle so unprepared!"

"Exactly!" Botan crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. "It's irresponsible and I'm disappointed in him! Koenma is a good leader, but I was shocked when I heard, just shocked. I knew I had to get to the bottom of it." Her fire faded, making room for more awkwardness. "So…so I…"

"So you what?"

She took a breath and held it. One moment turned to two, then three, as she scanned my face in the dim light. When I smiled, something tightened behind her eyes.

Botan said on the power of that held breath: "The truth is that I knocked out Jorge and stole his keys because he has a copy of Koenma's master key and I used it to escape the hospital and flee to Human World and I'm just sick about what I did to Jorge but, you see, it had to be done!"

My jaw dropped. "Oh my god."

"Speaking of whom!" Botan soldiered on, not paying my stunned expression any heed. After I escaped, I went right away to get to the bottom of things with Koenma, but by the time I got to his office, it was too late to stop Yusuke and the others. He'd already sent them on their mission." She clasped my hand, fingers cool and dry and smooth. Worry clouded her eyes when she asked, "Is he all right, Keiko? Is Yusuke all right?"

I grabbed her hand right back. "He's fine. Probably fighting Suzaku now."

She looked infinitely relieved, sighing so hard her shoulders sagged. "Thank goodness." That relief was to be short-lived, however. Her eyes filled with tears again, and this time they managed to fall. "I just hope he can win without knowing what Suzaku is capable of. Oh, Yusuke…!"

Nothing to do but pull her to me, let her rest her head on my shoulder and cry against my neck, brim of her hat jutting painfully against my jugular. She was the taller of the two of us, but even still she managed to feel small and breakable in my arms, shuddering against me as if she'd swallowed an earthquake. When she pulled away, she scrubbed her face with her shirtsleeve and adjusted her hat down low over her eyes.

"I suppose I can't do anything for him, now." A huge sniffle, one that made me perk an ear in case any of the infected people (still yelling and banging about somewhere downstairs, by the sound of it) heard the telltale noise. "And Yusuke isn't why I came here, anyway."

I frowned. "He isn't?"

"No, Keiko. When I snuck into Koenma's office, I managed to see on his monitor feed that you were in danger. Suzaku sent these infected humans directly to you in order to rattle Yusuke. I came here to help you." She smiled so hard her eyes nearly shut. "And I'm so glad you're OK!"

She didn't say it to guilt me, or to brag about her altruism. She simply stated the facts and looked at me, smiling, happy to see me even amidst these dire circumstances. I gaped at her, struck dumb by both the power of her smile and the reasoning behind her actions.

Botan had come to Keiko's school during the Saint Beast arc to save her—both in this version of canon and in the original.

Seemed no matter which iteration of fate we occupied, the fates of Botan and Keiko remained as intertwined as ever.

Not that Botan saw it that way. Her chin ducked, lip protruding out in a pout. "Though perhaps I miscalculated. In the end, it was you who helped me."

Oh, Botan. Good old amazing courageous and caring Botan. Half of me wanted to hug her; the other half of me wanted to cry, pet her hair, and tell her how nice of a person (spirit?) she was while sobbing into her chest—just blubber about how much I loved her and how she was such a good character and how I'd never, ever undervalue her again.

Instead I just cracked a smile and aimed a wink in her direction, hoping the touched tears stinging my eyes didn't fall. "Well, we're not out of the woods yet. You may get your chance to help a sister beat some baddies." I glanced at the doors to drive the point home. "It's just a matter of time before they search this wing."

Grave eyes joined mine studying the door. For a moment we stood in silence, listening to the faint, distant echoes of footsteps, shouts, and general hoopla in discrete classrooms. Eventually she whispered, "What do we do now?"

"We arm ourselves." I couldn't help but smirk. "And I have just the thing."

"You do?"

"I didn't pick this classroom as our hiding spot at random. There's a Goodie Bag in the vent by the teacher's desk."

Botan blinked. "A Goodie Bag?"

I hummed. Her head tilted to one side like a curious cat.

"What's in it?" she asked.

I wondered if in the dark she could see the size of my grin—or sense the chuckle building low and steady in my throat.

"Their demise," I said, and I pushed open the locker door.

Botan followed as quietly as she could, our baseball bats held tightly in her arms as she crept across the floor with me toward the teacher's desk. I jiggled the vent off its frame and set it carefully aside, patting inside the duct beyond until I found the package taped to the wall. She watched (brow likely furrowed beneath her cap) as I unrolled the package and dumped out the contents of the small canvas backpack (homemade by yours truly). Her eyes widened as I arranged the items on the floor and she recognized a few of them.

"You ready for war?" I whispered.

As if on cue, a bang reverberated through the wall at our back—the infected slamming a door, probably in the adjacent stairwell. They were coming closer to this wing of the building, wandering through the halls as if to scare prey from the brush. Botan flinched and inched toward me, glancing at the teacher's desk that blocked our view of the door, making sure we were still hidden.

"Yes. I am," she said—but she looked askance, down at the floor with a flush of her pale cheeks. "Although, Keiko…there's something I should warn you about."

I frowned. "What is it?"

Her throat moved as she swallowed. "Just—"

Before she could say anything, however, the crash of a door slamming open made us both jump. The voices swam closer, down the hall of our wing and moving nearer with every second, occasionally dipping into classrooms before entering the hall again. Hard to tell how many there were based on the footsteps alone, but the voices sounded like five, maybe six total. I stood and crouch-ran toward a nearby cabinet, which opened for me on a silent hinge. I took what we needed and booked it for the teacher's desk again, breathing deeply as adrenaline chilled my blood and Hideki's training took hold.

"Put this on," I said.

Botan stared at the respirator in my hand with wary eyes. "Why?"

"Trust me. You'll need it."

She took and donned the gasmask, head strap jostling her ball cap just a bit. I gathered the supplies from the vent and shoved the most pertinent of them into kangaroo pouch of my hoodie, the rest into the canvas bag, and gestured with two fingers for Botan to follow me to the room's sliding door. Shoving on my own respirator, I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the glare on the thick plastic visor. The mask's rubber seal haloed my eyes, nose, and mouth, creating a suction-like vacuum seal around my features. Ignore your itchy eyes, girl, and keep this thing on tight. I kept an ear near the door to gauge the steps marching inexorably down the hall.

"Yukimura! Yukimura!" Hamaguchi's voice rang loud and commanding above the groans and snarls of the other infected, anger lacing every syllable with venom I could taste. "We're going to find you and your little friend, mark my words. Come on out, and—"

What a blowhard. Reaching into my kangaroo pouch, I pulled out a canister and pulled the pin, tucking it for safekeeping into my pocket. Botan eyed the cylindrical red canister with a profound degree of trepidation (which made sense considering this thing had a pin and a handle like a fucking grenade). I just smiled at her, hoping she could see it in the curve of my eyes since my mouth was blocked by the respirator.

"Soon as I throw, we attack," I said, holding the can up. "Got it?"

Botan nodded. "Right."

"—and we'll settle this once and for all," Hamaguchi said. "Yukimura? Yukimura!"

His footsteps rang loud, close and getting closer. I wanted until they weren't far away at all—almost too close, judging by Botan's panicked eyes—and pulled the sliding door open.

The canister activated as soon as I threw it and took pressure off the handle, a hiss accompanying the plume of red smoke—smoke laced with the oil of hot peppers—as it issued from the spigot on top. Hamaguchi yelled, wordless and startled, as the can hit the floor with a clatter and a pop. Soon he started coughing, as did the rest of the infected, ringing hacks of pain filling the hall to bursting.

"Now!" I said.

We swarmed as one out of the door, flying in a twin dervish at the infected in a barrage of swinging bats and punching fists, striking our assailants before they could even register our presence. I took a fleeting mental snapshot of the hall and the position of the infected within it before the red mist rose to blinding. Hamaguchi faded like a devil into smoke, his leering face—swollen eyes and streaming nose and all—disappearing into pigment. I'd been right, it turns out: six infected in the hall, seven if you count Hamaguchi. They stood in a tactically idiotic knot, a pack of snarling dogs whose noses and eyes swelled in the stinging red mist billowing from my smoke grenade. Botan shrieked and slammed her bat against one of their heads, dropping him to the floor with a thump. I followed her lead and hit one, then another, watching in satisfaction as they went down like sacks of wet flour.

I felled the last of them; he struggled to sit up, but I clobbered him with my bat and then glared at his unconscious face down its length. Botan, beside me, stumbled away from the pile of infected with a gasp, sound muffled and metallic through the filter of her respirator. I knew immediately what had made her gasp, but I ignored the dark shape lurking in the billowing red haze, intentionally putting my back to it as I glared down the column of my weapon.

"Stay down!" I barked.

"So you insist on fighting a teacher!" Hamaguchi's voice sounded right in my ear, right where the shadow had been—perfect. Sucker had fallen for the bait. A hand closed cold and tight around my shoulder, nails digging in despite the barrier of my sweatshirt. "Insolent brats like you must be punished!"

My bat dropped to the floor with a clank. "I don't think so!"

Poor guy hadn't learned anything since I last nailed him with a shoulder throw. He had no idea how to defend when I grabbed his wrist and used his own body weight to send him sailing over my shoulder, this time landing not on the floor, but onto the limp bodies of his fellow infected. I aimed a kick at his ribs as he lay there, face slack, stunned into momentary silence.

"You ain't gonna touch me," I said, tone even, cold, and full of razor-blade intention. "Yusuke's off fighting literal monsters, and he's gonna win. You really think he'd let me live it down if I lost to you?"

Hamaguchi roused, eyes regaining some of their former glittering glare beneath the canopy of his bushy brows. "Yukimura!"

"I'm gonna kick your ass six ways from Sunday because Yusuke is counting on me to survive." I went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I couldn't live with the shame of it if I lost. Not to a creepazoid like you."

His hand snatched the air, trying to grab me, but I skittered back and plucked my baseball bat off the ground. Botan called my name from somewhere down the hall (I'd lost sight of her in the red mist) as my teacher staggered upright, his feet tangling with the bodies of his fallen friends.

"You're nothing," I spat at him. "You're nothing compared to the demons Yusuke's fighting, and I refuse to lose to the likes of you." My teeth gnashed, calm breaking as Hamaguchi's own breath rose and fell, rose and fell, a locomotive with failed breaks. "You're nothing! You hear that, you mangy, ugly, lily-livered—"

Once more, Hamaguchi lunged for me. I danced nimbly to the side, slinging the Goodie Bag off my shoulder so I could rummage through its insides. I found what I needed at once, and when my hands closed around it, I started to grin.

"Hey, Hamaguchi!" I said, hoisting my weapon of choice high. He whirled on me with a growl. "Hope you're not too attached to your eyebrows!"

It was like something out of a cartoon, the way his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. It was nothing like a cartoon at all when he screamed, though, howling as a jet of flame from my cigarette-lighter-and-hairspray doodad (held together and equipped with a rudimentary trigger thanks to a practical application of PVC pipe, rubber bands, and quite a bit of duct tape) arced toward him through the crimson air. The vapors lit up like a cloud of blood as the fire skimmed his face; he dropped to his knees, clutching those bushy eyebrows I'd more than likely burned right off of him—and out of the haze appeared Botan, eyes wide behind her gas mask.

"Keiko?!" she yelped. "Did you make a flamethrower?"

"Damn straight!" I said, hefting my rig with pride—but a clatter and a shout rang up behind us, down the hall the way the infected had come. Reinforcements. Peachy. I leapt over the prone infected and urged Botan forward ahead of me. "C'mon, Botan, we gotta beat it."

"Roger that!"

Botan ran on ahead, out of the edges of the fog cloud and toward the stairwell on the opposite end of the hallway. I followed at a more sedate pace, walking backward as I scrounged through my near-empty Goodie Bag for the last item inside: a plastic bottle full of vegetable oil. I upended it and poured the oil onto the floor in a few wide stripes, reserving a bit for later before replacing the cap. On the other side of the mist, the infected groaned at each other, moaning as the ones on the floor rallied after our assault.

They'd be after us in moments. My oil slick would only slow them down for so long. Time to retreat.

From the stairwell door Botan called, "Keiko?!"

"Coming!" I said, and I ran to her. As I passed and headed into the stairwell proper, I shook the bottle and explained, "Vegetable oil. It'll make it tough to follow us."

Botan sputtered. "Vegetable oil?!"

"Yup. It's like walking on a slip-and-slide!" A wink as I grabbed her hand, pulling her after me. "And you ain't seen nothin' yet! Just wait till I bust out the Big Guns."

"You have bigger guns than a flamethrower?!"

Because there wasn't really time to explain, I replied with another merry wink.

Before the infected could regroup, and before their fearless leader Hamaguchi could recover from the indignity of his missing eyebrows, Botan and I booked it the hell out of there. Down the stairs, through a hallway, an army-crawl through a flower bed, in through a window, out through a vent, we traced a path through the school with no reason or rhyme at all, seeking distance and stealth and the safety it could provide. In the fine arts wing we took refuge in the drama classroom, concealing ourselves behind the drape of a tall curtain hanging from a half-constructed bit, propped against a the classroom wall like a forester's lean-to. The set piece, painted to look like stone, would eventually support the weight of an actress playing Juliet atop her balcony, but for the time being it hid us just fine.

Botan tugged her respirator down, leaving it to dangle around her neck as we stopped running and caught our breaths. "Any Big Guns in here?" she said when she could speak.

I just giggled and headed for the A/C vent, because Botan looked both horrified and a bit intrigued at the notion of more weaponry, like she couldn't decide if my sudden competence with warfare was a good thing or a bad thing. I felt it fell firmly in the "good thing" camp, myself, especially since I'd formulated all of my toys to hurt, but not inflict any lasting damage. These people were possessed, after all. My motto in this situation had to be "Do no (lasting) harm, but take no fucking shit, either."

…and, I mean, sure, there was probably an argument to be made that the flamethrower was not precisely in the spirit of "don't do lasting damage," but it was just hairspray! Probably wouldn't do anything direr than singe a person, anyway…

Botan's eyes narrowed when I unrolled this canvas Goodie Bag and unveiled the following: a box of tacks, a rolled-up length of thin wire, and a few more of the canisters like the one I'd thrown earlier. "What's that for?" she asked, pointing at the wire.

"Guess."

She put her hand over her chin, studying it—and soon enough her eyes lit up. "Oh! Are you going to string it up somewhere? Like through a doorway?"

I beamed. She beamed back.

"Of course!" she said. "They're going to hit the wire, and trip, and—" Her eyes alit on the thumbtacks; she gasped, scandalized, but she looked thoroughly excited just the same. "Ooh, devious! I quite like it!"

"Thanks! I'm definitely getting my inner Macaulay Culkin on!"

"Your inner who?"

"…never mind."

All I'm saying is that I owe my past-life-parents a "thank you" for letting me watch Home Alone seventeen consecutive times as a kid that one year at Christmas, OK?

Botan probably would've whistled while she worked if I hadn't reminded her to be quiet, and even still she couldn't help but hum a chipper tune under her breath. With nothing short of gusto she helped me rig the tripwire across the hallway outside, giggling as we covered the ground on our side of it with tacks and a good coating of slippery oil. I instructed her to stand down at the far end, next to an exit leading into the school's side yard, while I carefully picked my way over the wire-tack-oil-combo and headed back the way we'd come.

The infected were pretty far away, judging by their voices, but I banged my bat on the door a few times to get their attention. Aggro the enemy like in a video game, basically. Once I heard the pound of heavy footfalls heading our way, I trotted to the nearest fluorescent light above the tripwire, hunkered down, closed my eyes, and threw my bat up toward it as hard as I could. The light broke with a hiss and pop of burning filament, but I made the executive decision to worry about the fire hazard later. We had bigger fish to fry. I brushed the glass out of my hair, picked up my bat, and vaulted over the wire toward Botan.

"Was it necessary to break that?" she fretted, but I just pointed at the wire—and she got it in like two seconds, grinning ear to ear.

With the light out, the wire had disappeared into the shadows like it wasn't even there.

When footsteps sounded at the end of the hallway, where it bent as it headed for a new wing of the school, I drew in a deep breath and cupped my hands around my mouth. "Hey, assholes!" I screamed, much to Botan's giggling pleasure. "Come and fucking get me if you dare!"

Like I'd summoned him with magic, Hamaguchi appeared at the end of the hall. A shiny burn marred his big forehead, eyebrows nothing more than sooty cinders on his brow. More infected filled the hall behind him, moaning and groaning and shuffling in place, made stupid by the bugs controlling them, waiting for a word from their leader to attack.

With a start I realize there were more of them, now—a total of nine instead of seven, an office-worker in a pencil skirt and a man in a construction uniform joining the ranks of the feral infected.

"Yukimura!" Hamaguchi snarled. "You have been a very bad student!"

I rolled my eyes. "Blah, blah, blah." Turning, I bent over and smacked my hip in his general direction. "Kiss my ass, Hamaguchi-sensei."

"Yes!" Botan concurred, pointing dramatically at my butt. "Kiss it! Kiss it!"

His red face went nearly purple. "Such indecency! I am going to kill you!"

"Only if you can catch me!" I said—and at my signal, Botan and I flipped them off in unison, four hands displaying the bird as proudly as the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade flies its turkey balloon.

Hamaguchi went violet.

It was absolutely glorious, what happened next. Hamaguchi screamed, all of the infected screamed, and like a horde of zombies from a George A. Romero film they surged forward, grabbing and yanking at each other in an attempt to pull themselves to the head of the pack. Just as Hamaguchi managed to get out in front, however, he hit the trip-line and went crashing to the floor—and for a second he just lay there, quiet, but then he screamed, face peppered with the tacks he'd just body-slammed like Shamu at a Sea World water show. And of course that caused a chain reaction of falling bodies, infected slamming down on top of him, which made him scream louder when the pins sank in deeper, but soon he disappeared under their mass and went quite quiet. A few of the infected managed to hit the ground on either side of him, too, with matching howls of pain as the pins turned them into porcupines. The remaining goons crawled over the others, but then they hit the vegetable oil and started doing what can only be described as the scene from Parks and Rec in which Leslie Knope ran out of red carpet while trying to walk across a honey rink. They looked like baby giraffes learning to walk, slipping and sliding and falling down and flailing in a gigantic mess of uncoordinated, infected befuddlement.

In short: It was fucking hilarious, and somewhere in time and space, I got the sense John Hughes was proud of me.

Botan launched her fist into the air, baseball bat raised high in triumph. "All right, Keiko, you did it! You nailed them!"

"But they'll recover." I grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

And so we went.

We went from room to room to room, throwing the contents of Goodie Bag after Goodie Bag their way, use pepper bombs, fire, oil, and tacks at every turn. We whittled their number down from nine until a much more manageable five-plus-Hamaguchi ran hollering through the halls—and at every one of our encounters (during which Hamaguchi looked more and more livid), I gave a rousing speech about making Yusuke proud, about not daring to die, about how he must be bravely kicking ass in Demon World, and how he'd promised to come back and see me again.

"Why do you keep—what's the word? Ah, yes. Why do you keep monologueing?" Botan asked at one point. "That plus all these gadgets makes you seem like a supervillain in training!"

I shrugged midway through loading a fresh can of hair spray into my flamethrower rig (which I eyed with a nervous laugh, because she was right: I looked maniacal indeed with this in my hands). "Well, these things were sent after me, right? By Suzaku? So I figure Suzaku must be watching somehow, and if Yusuke is fighting him…"

She got it immediately, because Botan is as sharp as the tacks giving Hamaguchi unwilling acupuncture treatments. "Oh, I see! Yusuke might see it, too. You're trying to encourage him!"

I nodded, grinning. "Yup." And I pantomimed cocking a shotgun with my flamethrower. "Think he'll be encouraged if I burn off all of Hamaguchi's hair?"

Her smile was absolutely conniving. "I bet he will!"

I smiled back, but my chest constricted like a vice around a board. Sure, we put up a good fight—but would it be enough to bolster Yusuke when the moment came?

The infected were still attacking, after all.

The fight wasn't over yet.

Keeping a mental tally of the remaining Goodie Bags proved a good distraction from my worries, thankfully, mind occupied by the toll of strategic warfare—not to mention the toll adrenaline took on my energy levels. It's not like in the movies, where people run and jump and fight for hours on end without tiring. Adrenaline during extended periods is absolutely exhausting. Part of the reason Hideki-sensei always told me to end fights fast was because the longer the fight dragged on, the harder it would be to fight at all. By the time we'd used up all but the final two of my Goodie Bags (the ones with the biggest of all the Big Guns, the ones I wanted most to avoid using), sweat made the gasmask slip and slide across my skin, breath rattling in harsh pants through the mask's plastic filters. Botan panted, too, wrestling with her mask and the ball cap she refused to take off. Both had cut red lines into the skin on her cheeks and temples, marks livid against her pale flesh.

Two Goodie Bags left, I reminded myself.

I hadn't expected the fighting to go on this long.

I just hoped the next-to-last bag would be the last, and that here we'd make our final stand.

We were up on the second floor for this second-to-last bag, in the literature wing, and in Hamaguchi's classroom no less. Botan sat with her back against the closed door, breathing hard after a sprint through the school after our most recent skirmish. Her mask hung against her chest, rising in falling in time with her breath. The lenses caught the light from the room's wide windows, reflecting chips of moonlight above Botan's beating heart.

"Hear anything?" I asked as I pried the grate off the vent in the corner.

She held her breath, cocked her head, and listened. Her shoulders sagged; she breathed again. "No. They're too far away." Her shoulders sagged even lower, but not because she'd let go a breath. "But they're not passed out yet, which means Yusuke must still be fighting."

Weariness etched uncharacteristic lines on either side of her mouth, made her head hang low atop her neck. I grimaced, forcing myself to stand upright and slow my breathing down.

"Right," I said. "I know you're tired. I'm tired, too." At her skeptical look (because I was trying so fucking hard to conceal my fatigue, and apparently was doing an OK job of it) I managed a thin smile. "But we gotta be like Yusuke. We gotta keep going no matter what."

Botan hesitated—but her magenta eyes only allowed that one moment of doubt before they cleared, and she nodded, because she knew as well as I did that just as Yusuke would never give up on either of us, so too would neither of us ever give up on Yusuke.

He'd win.

We'd win.

He'd beat Suzaku.

We'd beat the infected people.

This would be over soon, I was sure of it.

Quick inventory showed me we had precious little left over from previous Goodie Bags: a dab of oil, one more pepper-smoke bomb, and another can of hairspray. I changed out the flamethrower's spray (fresh ammo, baby) and handed the bomb to Botan, which she took with a resolute nod. Out of the new Goodie Bag I revealed a canister that looked like a smoke bomb but wasn't (painted yellow to differentiate), plus a bit more tripwire, a box of tacks, and…

"Don't freak out, OK?" I said. "Was hoping I wouldn't have to use this…"

Botan frowned at it. It looked like little more than a cardboard box, maybe three inches thick and only as long as my forearm, held together with duct tape (yay, duct tape). Two metal prongs jutted from the top of the box; a rudimentary button, made from rubber and plastic, stuck out from the side. Very ordinary. Not at all threatening. Heck, at first glance, it didn't look like anything in particular at all.

I knew better than that.

I pressed the button.

A thin arc of crackling lilac light arced between the metal prongs, snapping with uncontrolled and wild electricity. Botan flinched backward. I did, too. Had been a while since I'd made this thing, basic construction performed at home, soldering done in secret using my dad's tool set in the dead of night. This was the seventh version of the weapon I'd made, and the only one to truly function as intended.

I just hoped it didn't fall apart.

I just hoped it actually had the capacity to hurt. It's not like I'd tested it, after all…

"You—you made a Taser." Botan gaped, then pointed at me as if to accuse. "How in the world did you manage to make a Taser?"

"Library," I said, shrugging. "It's amazing what they keep in there for just anyone to use." I held the Taser her way. "Think you can handle this, or do you want the flamethrower?"

Her eyes flickered to said weapon, lying next to me on the ground. "Um…the flamethrower." She nodded vigorously. "Yes. The flamethrower, please."

I passed it to her. The PVC pipe had the general shape of a gun—specifically a Tommy gun, with a stock to brace against the torso, the spray can lodged where the ammunition drum would usually sit, and a very short barrel to accommodate. The cigarette lighter sat at the barrel's tip. A deceptively simple array of rubber bands and hinged PVC bits connected to the gun's trigger. When pressed, the trigger depressed the nozzle of the spray can and flicked on the lighter. Boom, presto, you had a flamethrower, weak though it may be. It was mostly just to scare the infected, anyway, not actually burn them.

Botan hefted the flamethrower gingerly, but when she felt how light it was and raked her eyes over the simple trigger, the gingerness melted into eager confidence.

"Know how to use it?" I asked.

She aimed the gun away from me, peering down the barrel. "Point and shoot, I suppose."

"You got it."

The gun swung upward, toward the ceiling as Botan became accustomed to its bulk. "Oh, my. I admit this is intimidating, but also rather exciting. Is that strange? Or—"

She aimed the gun a bit too high, stock bumping the brim of her hat and knocking it askew. She almost dropped the gun entirely to adjust her hat and shove it back into place atop her head, pulling it low over her eyes with a nervous laugh. I glanced at the mask still hanging around her neck, then at our pile of artillery on the floor between us. Mystery Can, smoke bomb, tacks, wire, the Taser…with such limited options at our disposal, it would be a shame to waste any.

Unless she wore her gasmask, we'd have to waste the yellow bomb.

"Respirator might fit better if you just take the hat off," I said, eyes on the Mystery Can.

But Botan looked appalled. "What? Take off my hat?" She waved, flopping hand dismissive and comical—but her voice possessed a keen edge, shrill and overeager. "Don't be silly, Keiko! I'll have the most terrible hat hair, and you only need to be scarred for life once tonight. Ha ha!"

My lips pursed at her nervous laughter; I picked up the yellow canister and shook it gently. "Sure, but you're going to need your respirator to fit really well if we use this."

"What is it?"

"Sneezing gas. Low-percentage formula, of course, but still. Can cause trauma to airways and I think some countries banned it from modern warfare." Amazing what kinds of chemicals you could buy from a hardware store (or steal from school) to make a low-grade version of a military weaponry. Trying not to think about how many international combat laws the yellow canister was breaking, I said, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to use it, but I think we're past the point of being able to hold back."

Botan gulped, her hands tightening around the flamethrower—but I saw no urge to run behind her richly colored eyes. I edged closer to her, dividing my focus between her and the hallway, waiting for the sounds of the approaching infected.

"Listen," I said. "I think we can take them out here, and I think we'd better do it ASAP. We've beaten them up, they're weak and tired, but so are we." I lifted the canister and pointed at the classroom door, then raised the stun gun in my other hand. "We put up a trip line, throw the sneeze gas, I go in knock 'em out with Ol' Volty here. You back me up with the bat and the fire. Pincer maneuver on either side of the classroom door. Make our stand. And if we don't manage to put them out of commission, we fuck off back to the PE shed and lie low for the rest of the night."

Botan didn't appear to mind my crass language. Rather, she minded that we hadn't already gone back to the shed to rest. "Can't we just make a run for the shed now?"

I shook my head. "If I hide for too long, they'll probably threaten to go after my family or something. I can't risk that. But if you want to go back—"

She was shaking her head before I even finished talking, blue ponytail flying where it fell from the hole in the back of her cap. "No way, Keiko. I'm not leaving you. Not for a minute." She pointed at my light track sweater. "You set up the tripwire. I'll make a distraction."

"Right."

I gave her my sweatshirt and set up the tripwire in the classroom doorway. Although the room only had one door, a small, foot-wide ledge outside the window provided an (admittedly totally unsafe) escape path to other nearby classrooms…the windows of which I'd unlocked during my earlier rounds of the school, just in case it came to this. Thinkin' ahead, all that good stuff. After I finished stringing the wire and covering the floor with tacks and oil, I went back inside the classroom. Botan had found a cardboard box, over which she'd draped my sweater, and stuck this behind the teacher's desk—with one little edge peeking out, visible from the classroom doorway. It would look like the edge of a crouching person's back to Hamaguchi, I was certain.

"Lure them in. Good thinking." I hefted the sack of remaining weapons over my shoulder before raising the Taser in one hand and my bat in the other. "You ready?"

She blanched. "Now?"

"No sense delaying the inevitable."

"…you're right." She picked up her bat, pulled her respirator over her face, and gave me a resolute stare through the slight warp of its plastic lenses. "I'm ready."

I pointed at the cabinet over by the door. "Get in there. I'll call them up."

Putting on my own mask, I exited the room and lathered, rinsed, repeated the game we'd played all night. At the end of the hall I grabbed the stairwell door and slammed it—and that was all it took for a shout to ring up somewhere nearby, to trigger the infected into sprinting my direction like ravenous zombies. I booked it back to the classroom as soon as Hamaguchi bellowed my name, tucking myself behind the bookcase to the right of the door. Botan cracked the door of the cabinet in order to shoot me a thumbs up, but she disappeared inside again as the footsteps grew ever closer.

This time, however, Hamaguchi and his stooges knew better than to run headlong into our trap. They went abruptly silent just as they seemed to near the stairwell a floor below, and I almost didn't hear the sound of the door to said stairwell open at the end of our hall. The infected crept down the corridor like ghosts. I admit even I couldn't hear them coming, flinching when the classroom door slid open just a crack—sound small, mundane, but echoing like a gunshot in the quiet air.

Hamaguchi's chuckle sounded like bones rattling in a madman's suitcase.

"I've got you now," he said, words like oil from between his teeth. He threw the door open wide. "And you think you're so clever, don't you? But even old dogs like me can learn new tricks!"

I suppressed a curse when I saw his leg lift up and over the tripwire, neatly bypassing that trap as he entered the room. He kept his eyes locked on the box with the sweater on it, though, not deigning to turn around and see me standing in his blind spot. So did the next three goons, all of them walking into the room and over the tripwire oblivious to my presence—and a when all five of them entered my line of sight, standing in a loose knot to loom over what they thought was a poorly-hidden schoolgirl, a grin split my face like a sledgehammer.

I pulled the pin out of the sneeze gas and tossed it to the floor.

It hit the tile with a clink.

Hamaguchi froze.

"As far as I'm concerned," I said, "old dogs like you shouldn't underestimate schoolgirls like me."

My teacher only had the time to turn around and see me, face a mask of rage and shock, before the gas filled the room with a curling white haze. The effect was immediate: Hamaguchi's eyes reddened, nose swelling like a ripe fruit as he coughed and clutched at his throat. The other goons reacted in the same way, trying at once to stumble toward me as the effects of the gas began to take hold, vision impaired by their swollen eyes, motor function slowed by how hard it had become to breathe.

With a shriek, Botan leapt from the cabinet, and I let loose a howl and dove for the infected, too.

This was our final stand, our last defense, and I poured every ounce of my remaining energy into my attack. I shoved the Taser into the gut of the nearest infected, watching in grim satisfaction as he fell to the ground with a grizzled gasp of pain, the whirled on another and slammed my bat against his temple. That one fell, too, leaving me face to face with Hamaguchi—the big fish, the clear prize, the Final Boss waiting after you defeat the rest of the dungeon.

Not that he looked particularly intimidating—but the scissors that appeared in his hand just then possessed quite the wicked gleam, now didn't they?

We stared at one another for a fleeting moment, an eerie grin breaking across his rapidly swelling face, before I heard a clank of metal on tile, followed closely by Botan's shriek. I turned on reflex and saw her bat rolling away across the floor, one of the infected lying prone thanks to her efforts—but the final of our attackers lunged for Botan, sneezing amidst the smoke. She raised the flamethrower and shot a blast of fire his way, but the mindless cretin let it splash him on the chest as he lashed out with a hand. His fist collided with the flamethrower, sending its hard PVC body flying upward—

It collided with Botan's mask, forcing the vacuum-sealed barrier to jolt up the cliff of her face, its bottom lip colliding with her nose with a sickening crunch. The mask covered her eyes and forehead, hat knocked backward over her skull, a wash of blood sliding from Botan's nose and over her pain-wide mouth. She fell against the wall with a gurgle, hand rising slowly to her face to touch the slick of her bright blood.

The infected man—the construction worker who'd joined a few skirmishes earlier, in fact—roared and leapt for her.

"Botan!" I screamed.

That's all I had time to do.

Hamaguchi struck the minute I put my back to him (stupid, stupid, stupid Keiko getting distracted like that!). A trail of fire blossomed down my right shoulder as he scored me with those scissors, his mad cackle drowning out my shriek of pain. Fingers shoved into that cut with another firework of agony, thrusting against my bone as Hamaguchi pushed me with all his might. I slammed forward into the blackboard at the front of the class. The metal lip where teachers kept the chalk cut into my stomach, driving the breath from my lungs, but Hamaguchi was far from done. He wrenched me around by the shoulder and punched me square on the temple with his closed fist.

A white light flared behind my eyes, or was that the sneezing gas clouding my vision? Tinnitus rang high and shrill, a piercing ache of sound as physical as it was auditory. Blinking, unable to think under the weight of that sound, I collapsed to the floor, staring up at Hamaguchi's awful grin as I groped blindly for the cut on my back.

Something warm and wet coated my fingers.

Blood. Naturally. What else would it be?

Hamaguchi left me no time to wonder. He lifted his foot and shoved it into my stomach, leaning onto the cradle of my hips with his entire weight. I didn't have the presence of mine to dodge, concussed and winded as I was. I just tangled my fingers in his pant leg, writhing and panting and gasping as the bones in my hips creaked beneath his shoe and my wounded shoulder pressed like a landmine against the hard, cold wall.

I couldn't see Botan around Hamaguchi's looming figure. That thought came loud and clear despite the screaming ring inside my head.

Where the hell was Botan?

What the fucking was happening to Botan?

Hamaguchi pressed his foot against me harder. His hand, knuckles bloody from when he'd punched me, tangled in my hair, forcing me to look at him, only at him, as he raised the scissors high to strike. A streamer of drool dangled from his grit teeth, dripping onto my face like the foam of a panting dog.

"I've got you now, you little bitch," Hamaguchi said.

The scissors gleamed.

I stared at them in horror behind the barrier of my mask—and through the concussed symphony of my brain, one single thought swam into clarity.

I'm going to die again, aren't I?

I'm ashamed to admit that at that realization, I shut my eyes. Because who in their right mind would want to see their death coming, and greet it with eyes wide open? I was no warrior lie Hiei, after all. Death and I were not inevitable friends, but rather arms-length enemies.

I'd already died once. And I'd escaped death several times since then. To die here, at the hand of a teacher, after I'd fought so hard and prepped for so long—it just wasn't fair. It was undignified, and humiliating, and just not fucking fair, dammit, to have this new life pulled away from me so soon.

So. I shut my eyes.

I shut my eyes and I waited for the inevitable.

I'm pissed off that I shut them—but not because the act branded me a coward.

I'm pissed off because I didn't get to see what happened next.

Hamaguchi breathed deep, preparing to drive those scissors into my neck (or whatever other place he thought would hurt me most), but just as I felt him gather himself up to strike, there came a snapping noise, followed by a bellow, and then a whoosh of displaced wind cut the air just to my right. A horrible thump reverberated through the wall under my back, sound accompanied by a strangled cry of pain and then the sound of something thick and meaty sliding down the chalkboard. Whatever-it-was landed next to me on the floor, moaning the same way I'd moaned when Hamaguchi shoved me to the floor.

My eyes opened.

Next to me lay that construction worker—his arm bent at an unnatural angle midway between the wrist and the elbow, bones pressing against skin from the inside in a way no bone ever should (bile rose in me at the sight because I'd seen my own arm like that before, years ago, in another life, and that is a sight that never ever leaves you no matter how many lives you live). Around his neck blazed a livid purple bruise, one big circle and four long streaks, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and—

"You really shouldn't speak to my friend that way."

Hamaguchi—eyes locked on the construction worker just like my own—froze. He turned his head in increments to the side, body shifting just enough to let me see my friend at last.

Botan stood behind him. The mask still covered her eyes and forehead, hat still lopsided and hanging halfway off her head. Shoulders hunched, head bowed, blood dripped from her broken nose to patter on the tile floor. I heard the sound of its splash even through my ringing haze, heard the quiet rasp of her breath, heard Hamaguchi's strangled gasp as Botan's bloody lips parted in a deranged smile.

"You called Keiko a bitch," she said in an eerie sing-song cant. She lifted her foot, stepping toward us. "You should not have done that, mister-sir."

Hamaguchi's teeth grit so hard I heard them grind together. "Don't tell me what to do, girl. Respect your elders!"

Botan paused, surrounded by bodies of fallen men, foot mid-step and poised above the unconscious back of one of the men we'd felled—and then she put her foot down right on top of that helpless infected man.

She put her foot down, ground it viciously against his spine, and giggled.

It was the single most disturbing sound I'd ever heard in my life…and she followed it up with the single most disturbing sight I'd ever beheld.

Hands covered in blood (hers or someone else's I couldn't say) she grasped the brim of her hat and pulled it off her head, long ponytail flowing from the motion like a pennant on the breeze. This she tossed aside, discarded uncaring on the floor, before grasping the edges of her respirator and pulling it up, over, and off of her pale face—seemingly uncaring of the sneezing gas shrouding the room in toxic mist. For a moment she just stood there with head lolling, face toward the floor, respirator dangling from one slack hand.

The respirator dropped with a clatter.

Botan raised her head.

And Hamaguchi?

Hamaguchi gasped. He lifted his foot from my stomach, allowing me to breathe—but only so he could stumble away from her, back toward the door to the room, scissors raised between Botan and himself in hands that suddenly trembled.

"You—what are you?" he said.

Botan's jaw rose, eyes shining crimson against her pale skin and the blood that flecked it—and that's when I saw it.

I might have screamed if I hadn't been so breathless already. As it stood, I just sat there, numb, and watched Botan's shoulders shake with another vicious giggle.

"I am shinigami," Botan said.

While those were words terrifying in their own right (as was the state of Botan's horrible hat-hair, true to her earlier word), I barely heard them. I barely registered that she had named herself death, and that her eyes had gone from magenta to ruby as if dipped in dripping blood.

I was too distracted by the sight of the third eye blooming enormous and violet on her forehead to pay them any heed.

Notes:

Well. Surprise! :D

And that's all I have to say about that. :P

When I was a dumb teenager I dated a guy who liked to set things on fire (a decision only slightly less dumb than my choice of hairstyle that decade). He made a flamethrower from a can of Aqua Net, a cigarette lighter, PVC, rubber bands, and tape. Lots and lots of duct tape. So this chapter is for Patrick, I guess, who has undoubtedly been incarcerated for arson, but whose poor decision-making skills probably saved NQK's ass this week.

Also definitely dedicated to everyone who worked on Home Alone, because that was the movie of my childhood and a clear influence on this chapter, not to mention my home-defense aesthetic.

Also-also…you can learn how to make just about anything from the library, including the dubious and dangerous stuff NQK made here. I checked. Yay, realism. BUT PLEASE DO NOT MAKE A HOMEMADE TASER OR SMOKE BOMB OR SNEEZING GAS. DO NOT. DON'T. IT COULD AND WILL END BADLY.

MANY THANKS to those who read last week, as you are all angels and perfect and lovely and wonderful and please don't rip me to pieces for this cliffhanger!

Chapter 55: The Final Stand

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko falls.

Notes:

Warnings: VIOLENCE. Bone trauma, tacks to the face, nails in feet, blows to the head.

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

Chapter Text

Tom used the heel of his hand to push up his bangs, that small motion he used to corral them in place, instinctual and habitual and perfectly him. Also perfectly futile considering the eighty percent humidity that made the night feel like a mélange of wet cotton and mosquitoes (and made his hair fall back down not two seconds later), but that was the summertime in Houston for you. He pushed his bangs up again and said, "What about that one?"

He pointed at "that one" with his free hand. The owners of the house weren't home, judging by the single light burning in the two-story foyer and the rest of the dark windows. The thing was a total McMansion, but the brick wall around it and the wrought iron gate looked like something from medieval Scotland.

"Too many windows on the ground floor," I said, eyeing the offending planes of glass. I glanced across the street. "Oh, that one there? That wall…"

A car passed, then, forcing us from the middle of the street to the sidewalk. Tom—not one for hand-holding, too self-conscious of his sweaty palms—brushed my shoulder blades with his fingers, following in my wake and out of the path of the Mercedes's blue-tinged halogen headlights. Rich neighborhood if a car like that lived here, not to mention the McMansions lining the quiet lane. Granted, not all of them were McMansions (this was too old and nice an area and had several historic homes, in fact) but there were just enough of those architectural monstrosities to draw my eternal ire.

Tom studied the colonial two-story with the white columns and shuttered windows with a frown. "But are those shutters big enough? I'd have to see the back, see how secure it is."

"True. Most of these we need to see the back."

"Think it even has a back yard?" He craned his neck. "Doesn't look like it has a side fence, and we'd need one for security."

"Yeah, we would." I pointed to the home's southern end. "I like the chimney, though. Hopefully it works."

"Fires in winter. That'd be handy when the power inevitably goes out."

"For real."

"I liked that one over on Maple, with the portcullis up the side."

"I mean, I do like it, but is it secure?" I asked, looping my arm through his (the pin in it panged with pain, but I was having too good a time to care). "Couldn't they climb up?"

His eyebrow rose. "We're talking zombies, though. They can't climb."

Some couples talked about their future homes in terms of kitchen size, rooms for new babies, or yards for dogs. Tom and I, though? We discussed our future home in terms of zombies, specifically zombie invasions—which we were both pretty certain would occur someday. Would certainly be more exciting than the current state of the world was shaping up to be. And hell, I'd enjoy a zombie invasion more than living in this world after the recent presidential election. A zombie outbreak would be a nice reprieve from all the emboldened racists and sexists popping up in my Facebook feed…

"I was talking about the people," I said. "People can climb trellises, and they're the most dangerous part of any zombie invasion."

He laughed. "Oh, right."

I waved at the houses, the lights in the too-big-to-board-up windows. "Have I mentioned lately that I love this?"

Another mild touch on my back, soft and understated. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

He bent to kiss me, and I let him. He was too damn tall even though I wore boots with a heel, Tom 6'4 and as lanky as a corn stalk in June, stubble of his chin raking my skin like dry husk.

"Maybe." I pushed at his chest, nudging him back so I could look up at his blue eyes with a smile. "But seriously. This is great. Picking out our future home?"

"Our future, zombie-defensible home. Because that's what's important."

My eyes rolled. "Mom insists we'll need an extra bedroom for a kid—"

(Tom shuddered at the thought; that's why I loved him.)

"—but what's really important are the windows, and if they're too big to board up."

"Yeah," he said. "That and the number of exits."

"And the vantage point of the surrounding neighborhood."

"And a defense perimeter."

"And a wood-burning fireplace for when the EMP strike knocks out power and we're reduced to burning furniture for warmth as we scrounge expired canned goods for survival."

"We're just lucky we live in Houston," he said, "and we only have, like, two days of winter a year."

I giggled and started to walk forward, but he looped a single finger into my belt loop and tugged me to him. He wasn't one for PDA (neither was I, actually) but on that dark street so late at night, there was no one around to see. He said, "I'm serious, though. Have I told you lately that I love you?"

I put a hand on his chest, smiling at him from beneath my lashes. "Say it again."

He kissed me. "I love you because you won't buy a house for the curb appeal." He kissed me again. "Just for its ability to serve as a fortress against zombies."

And I kissed him. "I love you, too, for being so on board with my zombie paranoia."

We were the worst. Tom and I were the absolute worst. Especially in private, when the PDA-check came off and we turned into the gooshiest, grossest lovebirds anyone ever saw. In public we maintained a bit of distance so as not to make our friends barf, of course, but there on that dark street, liveoak trees swaying on a warm summer wind? Alone, we were the kind of couple we'd normally love to hate.

We would be together forever, if we got our way.

I pulled away from him, fingers tangling in his shirtsleeve, and nodded at a house down the block. "Now, how about this one?"

Tom frowned as we wandered over. It was a nice saltbox house in royal blue, very east-coast, with a white fence around it and appropriately-sized shutters at all of the lattice windows—of which there weren't too many, and they were all set pretty high off the ground. The solid front door, painted cherry red, would definitely keep out the zombies for a little while, as would that fence stretching all the way around the property. A huge metal gate emblazoned with a calligraphy B would keep out the cars of would-be marauders from our driveway, too, and that cupola on top? If it was accessible from the inside, we'd be able to see above the neighbors and onto the streets beyond. Damn near perfect, so far as I was concerned.

Tom stared at the perfect house. His head tilted to one side. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hummed, solemn-faced and quiet.

"I dunno," he said.

My brow furrowed. "What?" I pointed out the house's charming features one by one. "Wall, fence, small windows, cupola for sniping. Checks all the boxes. What's not to like?"

But Tom remained unconvinced. "Do you think it's too…I dunno…"

"Too what?"

"Too guilty-suburban-white-people-trying-hard-to-look-less-rich-than-they-actually-are?"

I blinked at him, blinked at the house, realized it was a literal sky-blue house with a white picket fence around it, and doubled over laughing. Tom somehow maintained a perfectly straight face, staring at the house without acknowledging that he'd reduced me to a puddle of giggles. Dammit, he'd roped me right into that one.

"Oh god," I said, feigning horror as I wiped at my streaming eyes. "Oh god, Tom, you're right."

"I dunno about you," he said, still keeping a straight face, "but if we were that obnoxious, I'm just sayin' I'd probably kill us before the zombies could."

"Put us out of our clichéd misery."

"We move in there, me and you, and we'd be the whitest white people to ever white." And it was so true—blue eyed with light brown hair, we'd been mistaken for siblings that one time we took my dad out for dinner, the very portrait of Nordic Anglo-Saxon milquetoast middle classers. Tom mournfully intoned (but with that devious glimmer in his eye that said he knew just how funny he was), "We wouldn't deserve to live in the post-zombie world, is what I'm saying. Not when if we're that cliché."

And I was laughing again, unable to keep quiet. "Fuck, Tom, you're so right!"

"Just add a golden retriever and we'd be the poster children for pretentious white suburbanites, even if we did buy a good zombie-fortress-house."

"Heaven forbid." I grabbed his arm, dragged him off, away from the house before his deadpan jokes killed me. "Let's go before I barf."

"Oh no, babe." He grabbed my hand and stared deep into my eyes, faux concern plastered across his face. "You want some organic, herbal, non-GMO, gluten-and-cruelty-free, vegan ginger tea I got at the farmer's market?"

"Careful. You're sounding like a WASP already."

Tom beamed. "I'm practicing for when we get the cliché house!"

Because words failed me, replaced by unending giggles, I kissed him again to shut him up, but I laughed against his mouth, and he laughed too, and we held onto one another to keep from falling down.

We would be together forever, if we got our way.

But we did not get our way, now did we?

Hamaguchi stared at Botan in silent, abject horror. Not that I blame him. I did the exact same, looking at Botan's giggling, three-eyed face with jaw dropped behind my gasmask. He pressed up against the wall as if he wanted to pass through it, turn from something resembling a zombie and into a full-on ghost. Me, though? I fet too numb to do anything but sit there, motionless, stunned into rigidity by the sight of Botan's face.

Three eyes. Three. Three of them, two like normal and the third on her forehead.

And she'd been cut by the Shadow Sword.

And she was still giggling, gazing at Hamaguchi with head lolling to one side, eyes livid scarlet against her pale skin. The man with the broken arm had fainted, I noticed, falling silent as soon as Botan revealed her new…feature. Appendage? Something like that.

No wonder Spirit World had kept her under lock and key. I hated to say it, but just then, I almost wished she hadn't escaped.

"Side effects," indeed.

The scissors in Hamaguchi's hand dropped to the floor with a clatter. "A third—a third eye," he stammered, pointing at Botan's forehead. "A third eye!"

Once again, Botan giggled—sounding for all the world like a little ghost child from a horror movie, creepy to an exaggerated extreme. I watched, unable to move, as she took two lilting steps toward Hamaguchi before the man gasped and dodged to the side. Mist swirled around their bodies, disturbed by their sudden movements. Botan's eyes followed Hamaguchi as he skirted near the windows, mouth stretched in a hideous, demented leer that put Hamaguchi's earlier smirk to shame.

That smirk—not a shade as intimidating as Botan's, not anymore—returned when he looked out the window. Botan frowned when Hamaguchi loosed a giggle of his own and pointed through the glass.

"Even with that thing, you're not match for so many at once," he said.

I'm not sure when I stood up, but somehow I managed to get my feet under me, head fuzzy and woozy as I swayed in place. From a standing position I could see out the window, down into the school's front courtyard, and over it to the school's front gate.

The gate through which half a dozen infected were running, pelting headlong for the door of Meiou High.

My blood ran cold—a feat I would have assumed impossible consider the ice already streaming through my veins.

Hamaguchi turned back to Botan, smile wide and horrible, face still embedded with tacks, blood oozing from around their metal posts. "I don't know what you are, or—"

He never got the chance to say whatever intimidating crap he'd intended.

In the space between breaths, Botan crossed the room and punched Hamaguchi in the face. The man staggered back without a sound, too stunned even to cry out, stumbling against the windows behind a spray of blood—of blood and teeth, four broken, bloody bones falling to the tile floor with a tinkle. Before he could hit the ground Botan clamped a hand around his throat, squeezing so tightly I saw the indent of her grip against his mottled skin. With strength belied by her slender limbs she lifted her arm, hoisting Hamaguchi by the neck in to the air, his feet kicking helplessly at Botan's shins. He grabbed her wrist, of course, tugging in vain at her iron arm, but his face purpled within seconds and his frantic struggling weakened like a kitten drowned in a burlap sack.

"Botan, no!"

I didn't intend to yell at her, nor to throw myself across the room at the two of them, body carving a trail amidst the mist just as Botan's had. That's what happened, though. I darted to her, stood between her body and Hamaguchi, and clasped onto her right elbow, trying in vain to pull Hamaguchi down, putting all my weight onto her joint in an effort to save my teacher—my teacher who had tried to kill me, sure, but the teacher who was infected, and therefore did not deserve to die. Not like this.

And not when Botan would surely be punished for it.

Too bad my efforts were for naught.

After favoring me with an annoyed look, Botan backhanded me with her left arm, knuckles grinding my mask with punishing force into my cheekbone.

There was no avoiding a pirouette, spinning on my feet like a ballerina in a gale before staggering away, concussed ears ringing all the louder. I slammed into a student's desk and doubled over it, hands splayed on the flat plane, breathing shallow through my mouth as a tidal wave of nausea swept up my clenching throat. Hit had nearly knocked my mask loose, but not quite, the suction-like force of its rubber seal clinging fast to my face.

Botan giggled.

I turned.

Botan stared up at Hamaguchi with that unending demented smile of hers. Hamaguchi's tongue lolled like a glutted slug from his gaping mouth, rivulets of saliva running down his cheeks, eyes bulging and red-rimmed above his swollen nose. Hands fell limp at his sides, chest shuddering as it tried in vain to draw in air.

I threw my arms around Botan' waist.

I'm not sure what made me hug her like that—what made me bury my face between her shoulder blades and hold on tight, breathing into the expanse of her back. She tried to pry my arms away with her left hand, growling unintelligibly all the while, but she couldn't shake me loose if she wanted to keep Hamaguchi suspended in the air. I squeezed her as my heart beat a frantic mambo against my ribs, eyes and throat stinging behind my gasmask—and not because sneezing gas had seeped in.

Out of nowhere, it had become very, very hard not to cry.

"Botan," I said, but even I barely heard me through my mask. I hugged her harder and yelled, "Botan, stop it, please!"

Botan did not stop. In fact, her arm flexed, and Hamaguchi made a terrible grizzled noise. Her left hand grasped one of my wrists and squeezed, fingernails sliding into my skin like feet into ill-fitting shoes—but I didn't let go. Not even when the firework of pain brightened as her grip went tighter still.

"He's infected," I pleaded. "This isn't him. You can't kill him, Botan, you just can't!"

Botan growled, low and deep in her throat like a rabid dog—but the nails digging hard into my skin eased back, pulled out of the gouges they'd dug the merest sliver of an inch.

It was hardly anything at all—but it had to be enough.

"I know you're in there Botan!" I said. "Stop it! This isn't him, but this most certainly isn't you!"

For a moment I wondered if my intervention had been effort wasted. If there was no stopping Botan now that she'd lost control, and if Hamaguchi's life would end thanks to the fallen dominoes of my poor decisions, starting with my decision to confront Hiei, which lead to Botan's injury, which lead to this horrible fate that would end Botan's life as surely as it would end Hamaguchi's—but Botan gasped, sound sharp and sweet somehow, and dropped Hamaguchi to the floor.

I caught her as she fell to her knees, propping her up as she wound a hand into the fabric of my shirt. Four crescent moons on my arm bled trickles of sullen blood, joined the blood already on Botan's hands, but I ignored the smarting pain as Botan panted, hands over her blood-smeared face. One large eye—magenta instead of red—peered at Hamaguchi with horror through her splayed fingers.

"Oh no," Botan said through her labored breath. "Oh—oh no!"

I shushed her, rubbing her back in comforting circles. "Botan, it's OK. It's all right. But we need—

She ignored me. "Keiko, Keiko, I'm sorry. I—I tried to tell you!"

"Hey, it's all right." The hat should've been a dead giveaway the minute Botan refused to take it off, but I'd been too distracted at the time to give it proper thought—which was my fault, not hers. With a glance at the unconscious (but still breathing, thank god) Hamaguchi, I said, "Let's get out of here. There are more coming. We need to—"

On cue, a shout rang out on a floor below, feet hitting the ground as a door slammed open. Botan's hand descended on my arm, fingernails easing back into my cuts again. I winced, but she appeared not to notice, dragging me to her with surprising strength. Her breathing evened out like a snapping rubber band, pants vanishing as if someone had hit the mute button.

"No, Keiko." She still covered her face with one hand, eyes still wide and bloodshot between her fingers—but her voice had flattened, level and chill. "You need to run."

"What?! Why? I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to. You must. You—" Her breathing picked up again, but instead of its earlier ragged tempo, it came in short, quick bursts like a revving engine. "You have to go, Keiko. Now."

"Botan, no!" My turn to grab her arm, teeth bared behind my growling lips. Feet slammed up the stairs, so loudly I felt them in the floor. "I'm not fucking leaving you behind!"

Botan yanked her hand from mine. She stumbled to her feet, staggering toward the classroom door with hand trailing behind, warding me off—but as I rose to my own feet to follow, Botan whirled. Her hand dropped from her face like the blade of a guillotine.

"You have to run!" she roared. "You have to leave me, Keiko!"

I started to argue.

I started to.

But the sight of Botan's eyes turning from magenta to crimson stopped me cold.

As the infected approached, running and gibbering up the stairs, Botan wheeled toward the door. Her hands dropped to her sides, chest still rising and falling like that revving engine, squaring up to confront our enemies. If she had the ability to aim herself at them instead of me, surely she had the control to just run, didn't she? I darted over and grabbed her arm, pleas for her to come with me at the ready on my tongue.

Botan placed a hand on my chest and shoved, not even looking as she threw me backward onto the floor.

"Get out, Keiko," she said in that voice of deathly calm. "I can't promise I won't attack—"

The words died. She made a strangled sound in her throat—and then she giggled.

She giggled that giggle that heralds the approach of Death.

A cough behind me revealed that Hamaguchi had regained consciousness. I turned and found him rolling onto his stomach, face still purple, one hand raising in a shaking point.

A point aimed straight at me—and a point the infected saw when they hurtled into view through the classroom doorway, climbing and clawing over each other in an effort to get inside. Six of them at least, maybe more, a tangle of limbs and lashing hands that made them seem bigger than perhaps they really were.

My stabbed shoulder snag with pain.

But I guess it didn't matter how many there were. Not when I was injured like this.

"Get her!" Hamaguchi croaked through his abused throat. "Get her!"

His words were a trigger to a gun—but this gun wasn't loaded with just the infected. Botan waited ready in the chamber, too. I watched with mouth agape as she threw back her head and roared, a wordless cry of rage and bloodthirst, uncaring as the infected swarmed her like a hoard of locusts on a flower. I needn't have worried, though, because with a thrust of her arms she sent them flying off of her, bodies like dolls made of straw as they hit the ceiling, the floor, and the walls.

Her name slipped from my mouth unbidden. "Botan!"

Botan rounded on me at once, eyes ablaze with crimson fury. For the most fleeting of moments I wondered if she'd say something witty, cock her head and smile her charming smile—but instead she advanced on me with bloody hands outstretched, walking past the infected (who climbed steadily to their feet around us) straight toward me.

To be honest, I think I owe my life to those infected people.

I froze in place at the sight of Botan's hungry eyes and reaching hands—but the infected got her before she could get to me, one on the floor latching onto Botan's leg as she passed him. Another tossed his arms around her neck, and another grabbed her hand, dragging her down to the floor with a chorus of inhuman screeches and another of Botan's feral roars.

It hit me like a bucket of cold water.

Botan was beyond my help.

Horrifying as it sounded, Botan—the feral reaper who could not tell friend from foe—had been right.

The only option left was to leave her behind.

I'm not proud of what I did next. I'm not proud that I snagged her baseball bat off the ground, went to the classroom window, and opened it. I'm not proud that I shimmied along the ledge to the class next door. I'm not proud that I climbed into the other window and ran headlong for the stairwell, leaving Botan to fight the infected all alone, their cries and hers following me like ghosts into the dark.

I had walked on a foot-wide ledge three stories in the air, but still.

I had never felt more like a coward in my life.

As Botan's murderous shrieks and the aggressive bellows of the infected waged war below, I booked it for the third floor of the fine arts wing, where I'd hidden my final Goodie Bag. The journey passed quicker than I thought it would, though perhaps my perception skewed under the persuasive influence of pain and panic, rooms passing at breakneck pace as I strode past them. I had enough presence of mind to walk, not run, lest the pound of my footfalls give away my position to the infected and the newly awakened Hamaguchi.

Hamaguchi.

He just wouldn't stay down, would he? Not that I knew what to do now that Botan had shown up and gone fucking nuts. Hell, I'd barely known what to do about Hamaguchi even before she'd arrived and thrown my plans into disarray. Sure, my traps had worked on him, but it was Yusuke who'd smash the Makai Whistle and end Hamaguchi's rampage. Most I could do was smack him upside the head and hope he passed the fuck out. Most I could do was run and run and smack and dodge and hide and hope Botan didn't get killed, or that she didn't kill Hamaguchi, or that she didn't kill me if I got too close, or that I didn't get myself killed some other bogus way—

My breath came sharp and hard and fast as I reached the end of the fine arts wing and ducked into the painting classroom, where pigment-stained tables surrounded a large desk where the teacher demonstrated proper brush techniques. I raided the A/C vent in the corner before hiding under this desk, clutching the Goodie Bag to my heaving chest, blocked from sight by the desk's metal front that extended all the way to the floor. The place reeked of acrylic and plaster once I took off my gasmask and took a gulp of clear air, but even through those aromas I tasted the acrid sting of sneezing gas on my clothes and hair. My eyes watered even from secondhand exposure.

Botan had withstood the gas like it was nothing.

What in the fucking hell had she become?

What in the fucking hell had my negligence turned sweet, loving Botan into?

What in the fucking goddamn hell had the Shadow Sword done to my adorable Botan?

Not that it really mattered. No one could answer my questions as I crouched under the desk, baseball bat tucked painfully between my ribs and knees, slowly and quietly unpacking the Goodie Bag that contained my final Big Gun. I couldn't even hear the fighting downstairs anymore, distance rendering the fray inaudible. There was no telling if Botan had beaten the infected, or if the infected had bested even her supernatural strength. My shoulder, still on fire from Hamaguchi's strike, throbbed only half as painfully as my temples, stress summoning a firestorm of a headache from what felt like the bowels of hell. God, how could I be so selfish, leaving Botan down there all alone? How could I be so awful? How could I—

I realized—in a dim, vague way—that I was hyperventilating, nearly on the verge of a panic attack…but just as that thought sank in, a voice cut through the school's eerie quiet.

"Yuki-mu-ra…"

The runaway breath stopped dead inside my neck, as painful as a hangman's tightened vice.

I knew that voice. I knew that sing-song voice, hoarse from abuse, but still recognizable in its manic glee—would that stupid motherfucker not stay down already?! And how the hell had he gotten away from Botan? But I couldn't ask questions for long because Hamaguchi sang my name like a funeral dirge, so far away he was barely audible, and yet he felt as close as the toll of my own heartbeat.

But it was OK, wasn't it? I'd run so far away so fast, taking a circuitous route through the halls. There was no way he could find me, right?

The thought steadied my breathing just a bit.

There was no way he could find me.

There was just no way.

But if that was the case, why did his voice draw inexorably closer, footsteps now distinct on the tile floor, the sound of my name growing clearer and clearer (even over the wild pound of my heart) until it sounded like he stood no more than a floor away, just below me, then coming up the stairs, my hands shaking around my Goodie Bag, mild whirling in disbelief, Yuki-mu-ra, Yuki-mu-RA—

The stairwell door opened on a creak of rusted hinge.

I moaned, sound caught halfway between a gasp and a sob.

"Little mouse thinks she's so clever," Hamaguchi called down the hallway. His voice echoed loud even through the classroom door, filling my ears like water intent on downing. "But the little mouse forgets the cat has such keen eyes…and the little mouse left quite the trail behind her."

I held my breath.

Trail? What kind of trail did he—?

Even in the midst of panic, I put two and two together…especially when the wound on my back throbbed in time to my beating heart, a pulse of pain lodged like an ember above my shoulder blade. I'm sure my face paled both from blood loss and from fear when I reached over my shoulder to touch the sticky wound, rub the blood between my fingers in abject horror. A string of ichor strung between my thumb and forefinger when they parted, sticky and wet.

A single peek—all that I dared do—around the edge of the teacher's desk confirmed my worst fears.

Three single drops of blood lay between my hiding place and the door.

More, surely, led the way straight to me.

"Fe fi fo fum," Hamaguchi sang. "I smell the blood of a hiding rat."

He referenced one of the few fairy tales that had survived in this world as he opened the classroom door. Somehow the irony of that did not escape me, even as my chest rose and fell in harsh pants with every one of Hamaguchi's footfalls. He wandered around the room, not approaching the desk, the rattle of a cabinet here and a chair there telling me he searched.

He was only playing, though. There were so few hiding places here. He knew exactly where I'd tucked myself away.

He was toying with me.

He was toying with me, trying to scare me, trying to frighten me for no better reason than his own twisted amusement.

And that probably should've scared me. I mean, it would scare any rational person, right?

"Rational" being the keyword here.

Instead of scaring me, I felt my blood begin to boil, and a single thought carved through my haze of dread.

How fucking dare he?!

"Where oh where could she be, I wonder?" Hamaguchi wheedled. "Oh, Yukimura? Your friend was no match for us. Come on out and join her. Yukimura? Yuki-mu-ra!"

It was only a matter of time before he found me. That realization—cold in its logic, unforgiving in its truth—sliced through the pain of panic, piercing into my chest with a dose of chilly adrenaline, along with more than a little indignation. How dare he toy with me! I uncurled beneath the desk, crouching on my feet with the Goodie Bag slung over my shoulder, hefting my Big Gun high.

My heart still beat like it wanted to burst from my chest and run away—but Hideki-sensei's words rang in my ears, swimming from the depths of fright to quell my racing breath.

Do not heed the words of fear, he'd told me months ago.

The words of fear said I should run. Should cry. Should faint and scream and wait for someone to save me, despair of the situation and just give up.

But—screw that.

I was no fucking damsel.

I was no fucking toy for this lunatic.

I'd go out on my own terms, or I'd die trying.

Somehow I didn't flinch when Hamaguchi slapped a hand atop the teacher's desk, its hollow metal body ringing around me like a diving bell. Somehow I kept it together, teeth grit so hard they ached, as Hamaguchi rounded the desk, his bloody loafers sliding into view as he stepped behind the table. Ha paused there, probably staring down at my knees and feet, more than likely visible from his vantage points, savoring the moment he caught the mouse.

Too bad for him, this little mouse had teeth.

"Yukimura," he said—and he bent down, grinning so hard that what remained of his shattered teeth threatened to fall out, face still bristling with thumbtacks embedded in his bloody skin like the villain from Hellraiser. His eyes bugged when they met mine, triumph turning them fever bright. "I've got you now—"

I didn't let him finish.

I hefted my nail gun—my Big Gun, the one that could kill if I aimed it right—and put a spike straight through the top of his foot.

I don't think he realized what I'd done at first, the whump of compressed air cutting off his words as it drove the metal into his loafer, his foot, and the floor beyond. We held each other's gazes for a moment that stretched into infinity, before his mouth opened beyond the realm of realism, stretching so wide I thought he'd tear his cheeks as he released a horrible, mangled scream.

I drove the butt of the nail gun against his foot, grabbed my baseball bat, and bolted from my hiding place as he toppled to the floor. I didn't wait for his roars of pain to turn to coherent words, nor did I stay to taunt him. I just laughed, sound as deranged as Hamaguchi looked, and ran like hell for the stairs.

The infected were waiting for me.

I wrenched open the door, pelted down the stairs, then heard them at the bottom of the stairwell. Saw the barest tops of their heads on a lower landing before I ran right the fuck out of there and back the way I'd come, no thank you mister sir, past the art class to the stairs at the other end of the hall. Threw that door open, all but threw myself down the first few steps.

A cry went up at the bottom of the stairs.

More infected, waiting for me.

A pincer maneuver.

I must've hovered, I backpedaled so hard, flying back up the stairs instead of down. The goons had wised up since my attacks with Botan, trapping me on the top floor of the school. With them on both stairs, the only way to go was up. I clambered up the ladder at the very top of the stairwell, threw open the metal doors of the roof access hatch at its zenith without daring to look back (not even when fingers brushed my ankle, trying to pull me back down). I slammed the doors behind me and caught only the barest glimpses of the faces of the infected, most sporting running eyes and bruises and blood as they howled for me, hands reaching in vain for the shuttered doors. I sat on the hatch, which looked like a storm cellar's double doors, as the infected slammed it with their fists from below. I rummaged through my Goodie Bag until I found a coil of wire for a trip line. This is wound through the door's handles with shaking hands, fastening it shut from the outside, teeth chattering as the doors rattled beneath my tailbone.

I stumbled away after I attached the wire, wheeling and watching in numb horror as the doors buckled up from below, heaving as though some great eldritch beast sought to escape from the ocean's depths through that tiny hatch. My knees buckled just like the doors; I fell on my ass atop the gravel-strewn roof, baseball bat falling with a clatter beside me.

The moon above burned white and cold, like some great, watching eye.

No stars, of course. Too deep in the city for that.

Funny what you notice in moments like those—in those last, quiet moments before hell descends and shatters the stillness like a brick through stained glass.

I upended my Goodie Bag in front of me.

Nail gun. Only a handful of shots of compressed air in the cartridge. One down, four to go.

One smoke bomb, of the sneezing variety. Useless in this open-air environment.

A box of carpet nails.

Wire, which I'd used to hold the doors shut.

And…that was it, aside from my baseball bat.

Oh. And the taser I'm managed to put in my pocket before fleeing.

I couldn't even remember doing that.

Well. First thing's first. Movements mechanical, I scattered the carpet nails around the hatch (least I could do was give these fuckers sore feet before I bit the dust). Checked the components of the taser, made sure they were still aligned. Investigated my shoulder, tested its range, verified if the bleeding had stopped (answer: not completely, but enough that I knew I wouldn't die of blood loss). Wandered to the edges of the building as the wire started to come loose from the roof access hatch, looked down for anyplace to jump to, any soft spot I could land to escape.

Nothing.

And the nearest tree was at least thirty feet away, way over by the PE shed in the back corner of the schoolyard. Too far to jump. Certainly too far to land on.

A little voice at the back of my head volunteered that I could just jump off right now and end my life, spare the infected the trouble, just jump and fall for a bit and let it all be over—but I'd had enough intrusive thoughts for one lifetime, thank you very much, and told that voice to shut the fuck up. I turned away from the ledge and took a deep breath of bracing night air.

So this was it, then.

This was where I made my final stand.

A stillness settled over me—a stillness so profound that even the pound of the roof access hatch faded into quiet. All these little lead-ups, these skirmishes fought one by one. Each had felt like the final battle, until it wasn't, and until a new fight emerged.

But there really could be nothing more dire than this, now could there?

"You're probably wondering if I'll die here."

The words slipped from my mouth of their own accord. I stood in the center of the roof, a humming A/C unit to my left cutting the quiet air with its industrious hum. Taking a deep breath, I tilted my head toward the sky and the unfeeling moon hanging above.

To the untrained eye, I spoke to no one but myself.

But I knew someone was listening.

I knew this was my final chance to give a certain someone the push he needed to succeed.

I just prayed I could find the words for the job.

"You're probably wondering if I'll make it out the other side," I said, "when the odds are stacked so high against me."

A shriek from beyond the doors sounded like the cries of a hell-beast intent on blood—and in a distressingly real way, I suppose that was actually more literal than metaphor. I closed my eyes, dragging down a breath of cool, clean air. It smelled of dirt and plaster and metal, crisp and dry.

"The odds were stacked against you, too, Yusuke," I said. "You died. And you came back, more like a phoenix than Suzaku will ever be." A wry grin twisted my lips like the wind twists a ragged flag. "They named me 'lucky child', and if I can have just a tenth of your good luck, I'll finally live up to my name."

Another shriek, followed by a pound and a slam, the infected lifting the doors in their frame before they banged down again. I wheeled and hefted my baseball bat in one hand, the taser crackling with lightning in the other, head thrown back as I stared down the barrel of my weapon toward the lurching doors.

"So bring it on, assholes!" I said—but for Yusuke's eavesdropping benefit or for my own, I truly cannot say. "If you want me, come and get me—but I won't lose to you. I wouldn't fucking dare. I know what it's like to lose a best friend. I won't do that to Yusuke by dying here!" I pointed my bat up at the sky, straight up at the bright moon, teeth grit and bared as I glared through time and space and into the soul of my best friend. "You hear me, Yusuke? I've got too much pride to lose to these freaks! You'd better get on my level and do the fucking same!"

For a moment, only silence followed, like perhaps my bellowed words had scared the infected into a swift retreat.

But then the doors shook. They burst open. And the time for heroic speeches passed like a dying breath.

The infected poured from the access hatch like ants swarming a corpse.

A few stepped on the carpet tacks and fell off to the side, unable to walk on their bloodied feet, but still more surged forward (clambering right over their friends, in fact) toward me. The narrow hatch only allowed one through at a time, but by the time I sprinted forward and struck one of them across the head with a scream of "Batter up!" another two had come through the doors. I danced back as they reached for me, striking at them with the bat and taser but clearly at a disadvantage, especially when even more of them clambered up the ladder and onto the roof in their wake.

In no time at all, eight of them joined me on the roof, standing around me in a semi-circle. I backed away, brandishing my weapons until the yawning dark of the roof's ledge threatened to swallow me whole. I stopped only a few feet from the edge, eyes darting from infected to infected as they stood there, giggling, swaying when a three-story wind whipped by and sent my jagged bangs to flying.

Behind the wall of infected, Hamaguchi emerged from the roof access doors.

He practically oozed over the edge, flopping bonelessly over the lip of the hatch, rolling to his knees with a deranged laugh. He limped like a deer struck by a car, moonlight glinting against the nail still jutting from the top of his bloody foot. The pins—those damn tacks still driven into his face, still weeping blood—flashed in the moonlight, too, peppering his face with the glitter of fallen stars. The infected parted before his limping stride, watching with a chorus of manic giggles as Hamaguchi raised one bloody hand to point dramatically at me.

I almost rolled my eyes despite the terror. How many fucking times was he going to do that tonight?

"Yukimura," he said. Saliva flew from his mouth in ropes, glinting against his broken, jagged teeth. "Prepare to die!"

And how many times would he say that, too?

I had no time for a quip or a curse, though, nor a cutting comment about how stupid he sounded. He'd tried so many times to kill me already; this was getting old. Just get it over with, already!

The infected, at the very least, certainly aimed to please in that regard.

They leapt for me, fainting forward and back like a murder of cackling crows. I swung my bat and buzzed the taser at them, but step by step they inched closer, and if one of them didn't kill me with his bare hands, then surely another would push me off the ledge and into the dark below—the dark that was calling my name again, intrusive thoughts butting in once more, screaming with a sound like breaking glass, "Keiko, Keiko, turn around, Keiko, and jump!"

…wait.

That screaming sounded a lot like it came from outside my head, not inside.

I did as the voice said, and I turned.

She flew straight up through the darkened sky, oar a stripe of black beneath her, body silhouetted against the moon—looking more like a reaper than perhaps she ever had, a streak of vivid purple (her third eye, glowing and radiant) tracing the path of her flight through the dark. Unbound hair swirled around her head like the tentacles of a reaching octopus.

Against the moon like that, she looked every inch the angel of death I so often forgot she was.

"Keiko!" Botan screamed. "They knocked me out and that blow to the head brought me to my sense and—oh for goodness sake, there's no time for that, just jump!"

For a second I stared at her.

Then—without preamble, without second-guessing, without conscious thought or wondering how the bloody hell this was even happening—I dropped my bat and took a running leap into the void.

I didn't think about it, for once in my goddamn life. I didn't overthink and overanalyze and question and freeze up before I had time to act. I just saw Botan, heard her command, and fucking ran for it. I spun as I dove off the edge of the roof, catching sight of Hamaguchi's stunned expression just long enough to raise both my hands, middle fingers extended, and flip him the double bird as gravity pulled me with vicious eagerness into the dark.

And then the overthinking started as my body fell. A scream tore from my mouth like entrails on a sword-tip, hoarse and afraid and keening. Because I was going to die oh my god I was falling and I would hit the ground and I would go splat on the pavement and died and—

But Botan caught me, of course. Of course she caught me. There was no version of reality in which she wouldn't catch me. She beat the pull of physics and flew beneath my plummeting form, arms around my shoulders like a vice—but the force of my fall made her stumble (if such a thing can happen in flight), oar bucking and spinning in place so fast the world blurred. Botan squealed, her cries joining mine, clinging to me just as hard as I clung to her as we hurtled through the air and—

We hit the tree by the PE shed in a crash of broken branches and falling leaves. They tangled in my hair and tore at my clothes, buffeting me as I fell like a pachinko chip through the thicket, bouncing from branch to branch so hard I feared I'd break to pieces.

And then I did break to pieces.

One second twigs threatened to poke out my eyes, and the next I plummeted out of them, free-falling toward the ground—which I hit feet-first, and with the sickening crack of a breaking bone.

I knew that sound, just as I knew the pain that shot up my leg like it had been flooded with warm, electric water. I didn't scream when I heard the crack. I just crumpled to the ground, breathing hard as the pain stayed local in my leg, but that nauseating warmth flooded upward over my hips, through my chest, suffusing my head and sending my thoughts scattering like discarded litter on a breeze.

"I broke my leg," I heard myself say, as if from far away. I didn't feel myself move when I listed to one side, landing on my shoulder in the grass beneath the tree, extending my feet away from my body as if to detach them. Here, take my feet, I don't want them anymore. I said, "Botan. Botan—I broke my leg, OK?"

Botan didn't respond.

I lifted my head.

Botan lay a few feet away on the grass, sprawled. Her eyes were closed (all three of them). She wasn't moving. Her oar lay just beyond her fingertips, inert upon the grass.

"Botan," I said. Some dim part of my brain realized I should get to her, but as I tried to pull myself along the ground, my ankle lit up like a bomb. That time I did yell, a harsh noise born more of surprise than pain.

I looked back.

I wore my left foot at an awkward angle.

Not that that fazed me. I'd seen my arm on backward before, with bones sticking out, so a foot like a badly-built marionette wasn't all that bad in comparison. Any awkward bulges of bone were covered by my pants and shoe. It could be worse. I'd gotten lucky, actually.

I took a deep breath.

My head spun, and I barely kept the vomit down.

Above me, way up on the roof, Hamaguchi shouted something. When I looked up I saw him blotting out the moon, terrible and lofty, assuming the mantle of death from Botan now that she had fallen. After a moment he disappeared, though. Doubtless running down the stairs to get me.

There would be no running from me, of course. Not with my leg like this.

Why was I so calm?

Shock, probably. I'd gone into deep shock when I shattered my arm in my past life. Hadn't even cried, just as I wasn't crying now. Instead that odd heat of hormones going wild, going wild to numb the pain, kept me quiet and serene. I rolled onto my back and sat up. I looked from Botan to the school to the PE shed, wondering what to do.

I'd left my weapons on the roof.

I couldn't run.

Botan had been rendered unconscious.

…and I'd thought I'd die on the roof. But here I was, back by the PE shed. Back where I'd started. There was a certain cyclical irony in that, coming back so close to my hideaway, yet being so exposed. It was like fate was toying with me, almost. Go fuck yourself, Cleo. And I'd wasted my best speech on the roof, too. Was there any way to encourage Yusuke to victory now? It certainly didn't seem like it, but—

"Keiko!"

For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, seeing Amagi running toward me across the dewy schoolyard, carrying a cricket bat in one hand—but when I blinked, she did not disappear. She ran to my side and skidded to her knees, hands waving ineffectually before her as she looked me over.

"Keiko!" she repeated.

"Amagi," I said. My voice echoed nearly mad in it serenity. "I broke my leg, I think."

She looked down and turned the color of milk. "Oh my god!"

"It's OK," I said, to comfort her. "It's OK. It's fine. But—you should probably go back to the shed."

Amagi shook her head, short black hair flying. "No. I'm not leaving you out here."

I pointed up at the school. "They're coming. You should hide. Please hide?"

"No." She grabbed my arm and pulled it over her shoulder, trying to get me to stand—which I managed, though only on one leg, and only because she held me up. "Keiko, I'm not leaving you."

"Then take Botan and—"

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Better you two make it out than all three of us get killed," I said—and my hollow tone made Amagi gasp.

She had such a pretty face, Amagi. Those big dark eyes and those full lips. And y'know, her new haircut was a bit bowl-shaped, yeah, but it just made her look like a cute little nerd, and that was nice. Even though she looked so scared, she was pretty. If they beat her up, I hoped the infected avoided her face. I sighed and leaned my head on her shoulder, arm around her waist to support myself.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "Go get Botan's oar."

We hobbled like we ran a three-legged race to Botan's side. Amagi bent her knees enough for me to swipe the oar off the ground, mostly to use as a crutch—but when I heard a shout ring up from the direction of the school, my hand on the oar tightened. I shoved away from Amagi and knelt over Botan's body, oar held tightly in both hands.

"They're coming," I said.

Amagi nodded, hefting her cricket bat. "We'll have to fight." She shot me a sidelong look, biting her lower lip. "I've…I've never fought anyone before."

"No time like the present to learn how." I gestured at her bat, still feeling a million miles away from my own self. "You swing, you mind your six, you run if it gets bad." Something about that line pulled me closer to reality, sharpened the haze falling over my shocked brain. I met Amagi's eyes and said, "You hear me, Amagi? You run."

But Amagi—who had never fought anyone in her life—just shook her head.

"Fat chance, Keiko," she said in the softest voice I'd ever heard. "I will not leave you behind. That much I can promise."

I believed her.

And when the infected erupted from the school's back door, sprinting across the lawn toward us, I wondered if that promise would see her dead.

I didn't wonder that for long, of course. Hamaguchi and company left me no time for extended pondering. They arrived in what felt like both seconds and hours, standing around myself, the girls, and the tree in a loose circle, laughing and grizzling and hungry for my blood.

Nowhere left to run now.

I'd been wrong before, in the sneezing gas classroom. I'd been wrong about the roof, too.

This was our final stand.

Hamaguchi, of course, acted as the general of his sordid army. He stepped forward, limping on the foot I'd mangled, and once again pointed at me like the Queen of Hearts calling for an execution. Manic glee lit his eyes like he'd been electrocuted, and perhaps he had.

He carried my taser at his side, lightning arcing between the metal prongs with a vicious snap.

"You've run long enough," he said. "Time to die, Yukimura."

"Bring it on, asshole," I said—and Hamaguchi threw back his head and laughed.

"For your insolence, we'll make it slow!" he said to me, and to his followers he commanded, "Kill them!"

Chomping at the bit as they were, they needed no persuasion. A cry went up, and as I hefted Botan's oar above my head, they leapt in our direction.

It's difficult to describe what happened next.

But let me give it a try, OK?

It was like they hit an invisible electric fence, sort of, their advance halted when they collided with an unseen barrier surround us—one that lit up with bright, merry gold when they touched it, a network of curling heart-shapes forging a chain-like fence around our bodies. The barrier crackled and snapped as the infected collided with its golden expanse, sending them hurtling backward to the grass like they'd been tossed by the hand of a giant. I watched with my mouth agape as the fence disappeared again, the infected groaning as they gathered themselves and tried to stand.

A voice rang through the still night air, echoing from on high.

"Adults like you ought to protect the children of the next generation," said the voice, "not send them to the afterlife before their schooling is complete. You are a shame to your profession and a disgrace to teachers everywhere!"

I looked up.

A figure stood on the school's distant roof, one foot poised on the ledge above, arms crossed over her chest. Blonde hair billowed in the moonlight, silken and long. With the moon at her back I couldn't see her face, nor the details of her dress. Hamaguchi stared up at her in fury, raising the crackling taser in her direction.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"So glad you asked," she said—and she soared.

I almost screeched, afraid for this girl's life, but I needn't have worried. She hit the ground in the super-hero landing Deadpool loved to obsess over: a dip of her knee, one fist planted on the ground, crouched with one leg behind her. With a bounce she rose to her full height, threw back her head, and planted her hands on her slender hips.

Although her next words constituted an introduction, as soon as I saw the red domino mask adorning her delicate features, I knew exactly who had arrived to save me.

"The guardian of love and light and justice, Sailor V, has arrived!" said Sailor V, and with a toss of her riotous hair she struck a pose straight out of her anime series. "And in the name of love and justice, not to mention education standards, I am here to—"

She never got to finish.

She never got to finish because Hamaguchi's eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to his knees and collapsed. The rest of the infected followed suit, thudding to the ground until none were left standing.

A moment of silence followed.

Sailor V dropped her pose, blinking at the comatose infected. Her brow furrowed; her arms crossed over her chest; one foot in its bright red high heel commenced tap-tap-tapping at the ground.

Sailor V said, tone absolutely dripping with sarcasm, "And I'm here to give your unconscious bodies an ethics lecture, apparently."

I said nothing (because I was incapable of speech just then).

Amagi also said nothing (for reasons of her own).

Sailor V clicked her tongue, took a deep breath, and turned our way. She wore a bright and open smile, now, looking me up and down like a prizefighter sizing up the very sportsmanlike competition.

"Hello, Keiko. If that's even your name," she said—and with that, she winked. "Looks like Yusuke destroyed that whistle right in the nick of time, now didn't he?"

My jaw dropped.

Forgive me for not being more articulate.

At that point, I just wasn't capable of anything more.

Notes:

Like Kagome, Sailor V won't take over the story or anything, so please don't get too mad that they're here. I'd like to think I've earned benefit of the doubt regarding the crossover bits, um, maybesorta, haha. V is likely to have an even smaller role in all of this than Kagome does, though I'm still excited for what they bring to the table.

SO UM. People have been making art for this story on Tumblr and it's AMAZING? I'm creating a post over there with all the names of people who drew stuff, with links, so please check for that in the next few days. I'm about to jump in the car and travel so I'm out of time to list them here, but once I compile all their names I'll give them a shout-out here next chapter. Sorry for the delayed recognition, those who drew such amazing pieces!

MANY THANKS to all of you who reviewed last week! Your support means the world, and you came out in force last week with concern for Botan. I love each of you to bits.

Chapter 56: Conversations Light and Dark

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko converses in daylight and in darkness.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sailor V's greeting said a lot of things, whether she intended them or didn't.

First up, she knew about Yusuke. She knew about the whistle, and she knew about Suzaku. Which meant she had either heard about these things from someone in-the-know, or she knew about Yu Yu Hakusho itself.

Which brings me to point the second: She knew that my name might not be what I said it was—which meant the odds were heavily in favor of this Sailor Scout being just like me.

Another switcheroo person.

Another ally in a world in which allies came few and far between.

You'd think such a realization, made despite my blurry vision and woozy head, would've thrilled me. Maybe compelled me into a heartfelt welcome, or even some clever comment to lob her way in return.

"Uh," I said instead.

Because holy shit, I was talking to Sailor-fucking-V!

From the red ribbon crowning her mane of golden hair to her midriff-baring top to her big blue eyes, she looked every inch a confident cosplayer strutting her perfect stuff in a pair of bright red heels—only in this world she looked like an actual preteen, not the almost-woman from the anime. Before I could gather my wits enough to ask questions, Sailor V turned to Amagi—and oh shit again, Amagi was still here. Sailor V was quite short, standing midway between my height and the absent Kagome's, but she marched right up to Amagi with a broad smile, thoroughly unintimidated. "You! What's your name?"

"I'm Amagi," said Amagi. She blinked owlishly at V, apparently too stunned to question (or perhaps even recall) the strange thing the superhero had just said to me. "Are you—are you Sailor V?"

The aforementioned struck another pose, V-for-victory fingers poised over one winking eye. "The one and only!"

Amagi gaped. "I—I thought you were just an urban legend after all those video games started popping up. But you—?"

"Oh, I assure you, I'm very real. And also very cute!" She flipped her hair, preening, but her charming smile faded into a look of resolution. Her voice turned from cutesy to all-business like she'd flipped a switch. "I need your help, Amagi. Your friend broke her leg from the looks of it, and these folks need help, too. Can you find and phone and call an ambulance?"

Despite her earlier promise to never leave me behind, Amagi sure did jump at the chance to help Sailor V. She nodded like a bobble-head and said, "R-right. I can do that." A single glance at me before she started running. "I'll be right back, Keiko, I promise!"

I watched her run off in silence, jaw thoroughly dropped, unable to from a coherent thought. But then Sailor V cleared her throat.

"It never ceases to amaze me, how eagerly civilians help a superhero." She eyed me sidelong. "So you're Yukimura Keiko, huh?"

I stared at her—because for half a second, I thought she'd become somebody else entirely.

All traces of her earlier cheer had vanished. She wore a deep scowl, eyes focused, standing with hands curled loosely at her side, feet spread wide beneath her in an at-ready stance. She had posture to rival Hideki-sensei's, in fact, presence so grounded and confident she looked at first glance much older and more mature than…what, 12 or 13? She couldn't be older than that if she was still Sailor V, and hadn't yet awoken her Sailor Venus powers. Her voice had deepened, too, losing the charming chirp of optimism she'd earlier employed.

"And you're Sailor Venus," I said. I winced. "Or, you will be. You're Sailor V."

Her head inclined. "You know what I'll become. And that means…" Her lips thinned. "I see. So Kagome was right."

My jaw dropped again. "You—you know Kagome?!"

"'Know her'" is a generous phrase. More like I know of her." V frowned. "She spends far too much time at the arcade."

"…what?"

"I'm saying you have her to thank for my little intervention. And yes, before you ask—I'm just like you." When I didn't react, she added, "Not from around here. Understand?" A smile ghosted across her mouth, barely visible under the weight of her solemn eyes. "I was a Yu Yu Hakusho fan back in the day."

Well. That confirmed it. Still had no fucking clue how Kagome was a part of this, but V was just like the two of us—a soul placed in a body to which it did not belong, thrown into a world we didn't understand for reasons none of us could fathom. I shut my eyes and breathed heavily through my nose, fighting for mental clarity against the warm-water ache in my leg.

And then there were three, I thought.

Out loud I said, "Me, too. And a big Sailor Moon fan."

V's barely-there smile vanished. "That makes ones of us," she said, but before I could press, she waved a hand behind her at the school. "So tell me. Branch and rank?"

I frowned. "What?"

"Branch and rank." It was odd, seeing a look that scrutinizing, that intense on the face of a preteen. "I saw what you did in there. You came prepared."

"What, you mean my booby traps?"

V frowned. Those blue eyes gave me another once-over before they narrowed, realization registering in their swimmable depths.

And then she said something in Russian. Or maybe German? I wasn't sure, and she said it too fast for me to replicate here. I stared at her as she repeated the phrase, gesturing at me as if to disparage the state of my clothes.

"I—I don't understand?" I said, because I most definitely did not understand why she was speaking a Slavic language at me all of a sudden, and at my words V sighed. She rubbed her temples with one hand, eyes blocked momentarily from view by her hand.

"Never mind," she said. "I was wrong."

I shook my head, still not sure what she was talking about. "Look, I just—have you ever heard of Max Brooks?"

"No."

"He wrote the Zombie Survival Guide. And World War Z. About invading zombies and what to do if it happened, and—and I used to take walks with my boyfriend and go look at houses that'd be good zombie defenses, and we totally made a bug-out plan for if a zombie invasion ever happened—"

Her face screwed up, pert nose wrinkling. "Zombie invasion?" she said, but I soldiered on, because something was building inside me and it needed to come out.

"—and I saw Home Alone approximately two hundred times so I knew how to wire up a trip line and you can learn to make pretty much everything at the library, so I just thought about all those zombie houses and then Mcaulay Culkin and, presto-bingo, I rigged the school." A deep breath slammed into my lungs when I finished talking, but I wasn't done. "And I mean I've seen at least ten thousand war movies and zombie movies and movies about home invasions so in the end it wasn't exactly hard—"

"Keiko."

If that intense expression of hers didn't fit her face, then that voice of hers certainly didn't fit her diminutive frame and pretty features. She barked my name like a drill sergeant, hands falling into rigid lines down her thin sides. I shut up at once. V rolled her lips together, staring with brow knit.

"It's OK," she said after a moment. "You're safe now. You understand that, don't you?"

Unable to talk, and unsure of why that mattered, I could only nod. V watched me for a minute more. When I didn't speak, she strode past atop her bright red slingback heels and approached Botan's unconscious body. Sailor V knelt by her head, examining her skull, lightly feeling alongside her pale neck. First aid. I'd taken a course in it, and I knew what I saw. V was checking for spinal injuries, for blows to the head—movements methodical and sure, like she'd done it a million times before.

Eventually, of course, her hands brushed back Botan's bangs. V sat still, staring at the eye on Botan's forehead (its lids parted only slightly, mistakable for just a bruise perhaps, but I sensed nothing would escape V's watchful gaze).

"You've done quite the number on Botan." Somehow her voice held no accusation, no condemnation of events that were actually very much my fault. "What happened?"

I swallowed down the guilt. "Shadow Sword."

It took V all of two seconds to put two and two together. A brief pause, followed by a curt, "Hiei cut you instead of her."

It wasn't a question, because she already knew how I'd reply. She'd seen the anime, after all. It wasn't hard to make a wild guess.

"Yeah," I said. "That's right."

"And she didn't react well, I see. Interesting."

I opened my mouth to tell her no shit, she hadn't reacted well. No words came out, however, because I glanced at Botan and felt them die inside my neck.

Botan.

What in the world was I supposed to do with Botan?

V rose, movements economical and swift. "But that's a discussion for another day. Amagi seems the responsible type. She'll have the police here in minutes." She put two fingers to her brow, the barest of salutes. "Best be on my way."

She got halfway to the wall at the edge of the school grounds, almost twenty feet from me, by the time I gathered my wits enough to speak. "Wait!" I cried, scrambling to my knees despite my foot's loud protest. I swooned amid the pain but managed not to faint, though black spots crowded my vision like soot sprites. "Wait—how do I get in contact with you again?"

She tossed a look over her shoulder, not breaking stride. "You don't. I'll come to you."

"You—wait one fucking second!"

At last she stopped, far too far away from me for comfort. I sat back down, falling hard on my tailbone, broken ankle screaming when I moved. Sweat beaded on my temple and trickled down my jaw, cold in the cool night air. V watched with expression most shrewd, slowly turning in place to face me.

Botan.

Botan was unconscious. She was wanted by Spirit World, probably.

What was I supposed to do with her now?

"Botan." I swallowed, voice catching on her name. "She…Spirit World locked her up and wouldn't let her go, because of the eye. And I don't know what'll happen to her if they get her back. And I don't know what to do with her now that she's—" My breathing hitched again, and again, and then a third time, words fighting for purchase amidst the avalanche of my panted breath. "I didn't see any of this coming—I didn't—I didn't—!"

And with that, the panic attack hit me like a brick to the fucking face.

It hurt almost as much as the ankle did, actually. A vice clamped around my chest with pulsing irons bands, every breath I took pulling the vice tighter and tighter, breaths coming shallower with every sip of air. My already-woozy head seemed to spin in place like a carousel on LSD. I shut my eyes, hands threaded through my hair, rocking in place as I scrambled for control, air like bramble in my throat—but then a hand alit on my back, moving in slow circles.

"Hey," said Sailor V. "Breathe. Calm down. In through the nose, c'mon, that's it…"

She walked me through the panic attack the way Tom would have, had he been near. She coached my breathing, murmured comforts, assured me of her presence without constricting me in a hug or anything like that (the last thing I want in a panic attack is a hug). V exuded the sort of calm I valued so much in my former therapist, even-keeled and capable, her stoicism soaking into me with every deepening breath I stole. It took a few minutes, sure, and I still felt like I'd been hit by a truck when the hyperventilation stopped, but soon I had the ability to sit up and look at her unhindered.

Blue eyes raked my face. "Better?"

The words trembled on my tongue, but I managed to grate out, "Better. Thank you."

"First time seeing combat."

Although she phrased it like a question, with a "ka" on the end of her Japanese statement, she didn't inflect like she asked a question. She just stated it like a fact, that "ka" at the end an opportunity for me to prove her wrong—but I couldn't. Aside from all my practices with Hideki, and that one time I'd beat up the low-level punks threatening Kuwabara, and that brief encounter with the humans controlled by Hiei after he stole the Sword, I'd never actually seen combat. Not against worthy opponents. And certainly not for such an extended duration.

Tonight had been, in a very real way, my first glimpse of war.

"I mean, I beat up some thugs, once—but yes. How'd you know?"

She glanced at my still-heaving chest. "I've seen this reaction before. It's normal."

I wanted to ask questions. How many times had she seen combat, to know a panic attack like that is normal? Why had she asked for my rank and branch, and how had she known how to talk me down from a panic episode?

Who was this person, really?

She was Sailor V, sure.

But who else?

Sailor V, however, wasn't in the chattiest of moods. She stood up, hand lingering in a bracing pat on my shoulder, and walk past me to the prone Botan. With nimble hands and strong shoulders she lifted Botan in a fireman's carry, one of Botan arms slung around her neck, gripping that dangling wrist to keep Botan upright.

"I can take Botan for the time being," said V, not struggling at all to speak under Botan's weight. "I have a place she'll be safe."

For the umpteenth time, I felt my jaw hang loose. "Y-you do?"

"Yes." She bounced on her heels, scooting Botan higher up her neck. "Soon as she's stable, I'll bring her back to you." That subtle smile of hers, barely-there and perhaps a touch wry, crossed her glossed lips. "It's probably not the best idea to mix fandoms overmuch, but just for a night it should be fine."

I stared at her, unable to speak.

V had shown up tonight to rescue me. She hadn't gotten a chance, though, because Yusuke beat her to the punch. She might as well not have shown up at all—that's what I'd thought just a few minutes prior.

Now, however, she wanted to rescue Botan.

Looked like V got a chance to do something heroic, after all.

Something about the situation felt ironic. Coincidental? Or just plain weird? My brain felt too much like pudding mush to pick a word, but still. V was a superhero, after all...provided I could trust her with this task. We'd only just met. Was she on my side? Was Botan sage with her?

…did I even have a choice, here?

If Sailor V meant Botan ill, it's not like I had the power to stop her from just taking Botan outright. Best not look this gift horse in the mouth, in that case. Best not overthink this if I could help it.

Best just be grateful for this windfall, and deal with the consequences as they came.

"Thank you." I nearly gasped the word, throat thickening from more than mere panic. "Thank you, I—"

"Don't. It's fine." Her lips quirked. "Something tells me we'll be doing each other favors a lot from now on." With her free hand she gave me another small salute. "Ja ne, Keiko—or whoever you are."

"Wait!"

V performed an impressive double take. "Again?" she said, and rightly—she hadn't even taken a step yet.

"Just—" I shifted on the grass, putting my back to her, facing the school and staring straight again. "Now you can go."

"…what's your play here?"

"When Spirit World inevitably asks where Botan went, I can honestly say she left when my back was turned." I peeked at her over my shoulder, feeling inexplicably self-conscious. "I don't like lying."

Venus didn't move—but then she actually smiled, head throwing back in a single, hearty "Ha!" It was the first time I'd seen her wear a true smile, grin just the littlest bit crooked at the corner. Pleased with myself, I turned back around, resolutely fixed on the school in front of me.

"You'd make a good lawyer, playing off a technicality like that," V muttered. In a firmer tone she added, "Goodbye for real. I'm not waiting again."

I lifted a hand. "Au revoir."

"Right. See you soon."

I concentrated on my breathing, shutting my eyes so I wouldn't see even the barest flicker of V's bright clothes in my periphery. I didn't hear her walk away, didn't hear even the slightest whump of a high heel on the lawn—but then again, V didn't seem the type to make a noisy escape. After a minute I chanced a look over my shoulder, peering into the dark through squinted eyes.

The yard behind me lay devoid of occupants, aside from the still-sleeping infected lying comatose around me.

I won.

The thought surfaced like a dolphin leaping from the crystalline ocean, sudden and delightful.

I won.

I won.

Yusuke had defeated Suzaku. None of the infected had been killed. Botan was in safe hands, so far as I could tell—and I'd made it out the other side alive.

…I fucking won!

Before I could let out a whoop of joy, or do something similarly dramatic, movement at the corner of the yard caught my attention. Amagi trotted over, skirting around the fallen infected on her way to my side. She kept her eyes away from my ankle, staring me pointedly in the face instead.

"They're on their way, Keiko." She sat next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as she looked around. "Where did Sailor V go?"

The cliché rolled off my tongue without forethought. "Her work here was done," I declared, somehow managing to sound like an anime narrator despite my dizzy head.

Amagi chuckled. "Right. Of course." She looked around again, frowning. "And your friend with the blue hair? "

"With V. She'll be safe with her."

"Safe?" Amagi repeated. A moment of hesitance, and then, "Should I ask?"

I shook my head. "Probably not. Not tonight, anyway. But soon."

"I'll hold you to it." Her eyes drifted to my ankle, then shot back up to my face. Amagi looked quite pale when she said, "You should rest."

Amagi did not protest when I leaned into her, head on her shoulder, closing my eyes as her hand drifted to my hair. She stroked my hair, petting it as I tried not to think about the pain in my shoulder and leg, tried not to think too hard about all the things that had gone wrong tonight.

Botan was safe.

Nobody was dead.

Another switcheroo character had revealed herself.

But, most importantly—I won.

I won.

Soon the sound of sirens swam out of the distance. I listened to them draw near in silence, drifting away on the feeling of adrenaline and pain and Amagi's hand on my hair, breathing in her light perfume amidst the night's cloying dark. Soon red and blue lights cut the dark behind my eyelids, playing over my face like sunlight through clear water.

As those lights caressed my features, I smiled.

I smiled, because I won.

Aside from the humming lamp on my bedside table, the room remained dark, and quiet.

Not silent, mind you. Just quiet. Mom's soft breathing whispered in the stillness, nearly drowned out by Dad's gentle snores. She sat in the chair at the foot of my bed; Dad lay beside her on the floor, head pillowed on a wadded-up blanket. The nurses had tried to get them to leave—but no dice there, obviously. They'd refused to budge from my side as soon as they made it to the hospital, watching with bated breath as the doctors hoisted my bound and broken leg in a sling above my bed.

"I never thought I'd say this," Mom had said once I got situated, "but thank god you're taking aikido lessons."

The nurses bustled about, draping me with sheets and blankets, fussing with my fluid IV and fluffing my pillows. Amidst the hubbub (not to mention the narcotic painkiller coursing through my system) I still managed to note she'd spoken in present tense. My head jerked up. "T-taking?"

Dad—whose hands twisted around and around his chef's cap until it resembled a rag more than a hat—scratched the back of his neck. "I, uh…might've let it slip."

"And I didn't say anything because I realized it was just upset you, but…I'll never complain again!" Mom said, and she very promptly burst into tears. Dad tugged her to him and put her head on his chest, shooting me an apologetic look over the top of my mother's hair.

Now they both slept, of course, in a room not built for overnight visitors. They slept soundly despite Mom's tear-stained face and Dad's uncomfortable position on the floor. Frankly it was a slight miracle I'd even gotten a room of my own that night. The local hospitals were full to the brim after the rioting caused by Suzaku's whistle. The EMTs had told me that much when they took Amagi and me to the hospital.

"So you think they'll have to amputate?" I'd cheerfully intoned, pointing at my foot (which they'd hidden under a sheet for the sake of the still-pale Amagi).

One of the EMTs laughed, bouncing in place as the ambulance swayed around us. "Nah. You can keep your leg, promise."

"Oh, but a prosthetic would be so cool!" I said, feigning disappointment. "C'mon, just one little amputation? I'm pretty sure those assholes came at me with a buzz saw." I leaned off the stretcher and elbowed the EMT with a wink. "We could double back, do a little slice-and-dice before anyone notices. Just blame it on the crazies who fucked up our town, eh?"

The EMTs were in stitches at the sight of a cussing schoolgirl with dreams of slicing off her own foot. Amagi, however, shot me a disapproving stare. She sat next to me in the ambulance, still not looking at my leg despite the concealing sheet.

"You're making jokes at a time like this?" she'd said.

All I could think to do was cough into my fist, pathetic and dainty. "Ahem! Don't pick on the invalid!"

"Invalid? You're not sick—you're just a bit broken, that's all!"

I put my wrist to my forehead and flopped back against the stretcher. "Oh no! I think I feel a faint coming on, since I'm an invalid and you shouldn't pick on me!"

The EMTs were basically rolling on the floor, and even Amagi had to crack a smile.

At that point it was mostly shock talking, forcing jokes out of my mouth so I didn't succumb to another panic attack. I'd done the same when I shattered my elbow in my past life. The nurses loved me, because in my medication-drunk haze I kept insisting I was "a motherfucking anteater" and asking for beer. Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, as the song goes, and quote obscure memes when you're blazed out of your goddamn mind on morphine.

But that's a story for another time.

I know I slept after the nurses set me up in my tiny hospital room, because I woke to find my parents sleeping, that lone lamp humming next to me, feebly fighting back the dark. No idea what time it was, or when Amagi had left (we'd gotten separated when they carted me off for x-rays and stitches), or for how long I'd slept. I watched my parents sleep for a time, sometimes staring out the tiny window by my bed, but only so I could watch their reflections in the glass. My brain was too medicated to race, too numb from exhaustion to conjure true anxiety.

Still, though. I wondered where Yusuke and the others were. Had they made it back to Human World OK? I couldn't go to them with my foot as it was, bound up in soft cloth with a splint, and my room's phone wouldn't dial out. I'd checked.

A yawn made my jaw pop and crack. I'd try to call the boys in the morning. For now, sleep.

Before I could nod off again, the door to my room cracked open, shaft of gold light falling in a spear across my bed. I lifted a hand in greeting as a nurse pushed a wheelchair, folded, through the doorframe.

"Restroom?" she asked.

Pee whenever you get a chance, my grandmother had always said, and I'd made it clear to the nurses that I was not using a bedpan during my hospital tenure. The night nurse lowered my foot's sling and guided me into the chair, assisting as I did my embarrassing business. As she helped me back into bed, I patted the wheelchair's arm.

"Could you leave that here?" I said. "In case I need to go again?"

She thought about it, but eventually nodded. "Fine, but don't push yourself. You'll tear your stitches out. Have your parents help you."

"I will."

As soon as she left and the light from the hallway vanished with a click of door against frame, I lowered my leg, slid out of bed, and climbed into the chair by myself.

True to the nurse's word, the stitches on my back tugged in sharp protest when I levered myself into the chair, but it didn't feel like any of them snapped. My parents didn't stir, not even when the door's hinges creaked and my IV stand rattled as I rolled it out the door, clearly too exhausted from seeing their daughter trussed up like a fattened goose to wake. I wheeled out of the room after a brief tussle with the door (steering a wheelchair is harder than it looks, especially when you're a door and manhandling a door carting an IV line). The hallway beyond lay long and quiet, the nurse's station outside the room deserted in the dead of night. Far away, floors and wings below, I was sure the emergency center still bustled—but here in the patient wing, it was quiet.

I headed straight for the phone hanging in its cradle on the wall by the station, of course. They'd posted the dial-out codes on a handy placard next to the phone, thank my lucky stars. I input the code and dialed a number from memory.

Nobody at the Kuwabara household, however, picked up.

I hung up the phone and lifted it again, hesitating over who to call next. Not Kurama's house, certainly. Atsuko? No, she wouldn't answer, and besides—the boys went to the Kuwabara place after beating Suzaku. I was sure of it.

Were they not back yet?

Were they OK?

Not sure who else to call, I punched in another number. It rang three times before the line engaged, person on the other end mumbling a sleepy 'hello' into the receiver.

"It's me," I said.

"Oh my god, Eeyore." It was as if she'd flipped a switch, sleepiness vanishing in a millisecond. "I saw the news; Sarayashiki looked trashed. Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Mostly." I shifted in my chair and cradled the phone between my jaw and shoulder, tugging at the gauze wound around and around my neck, shoulders, and back like a mummy's sports bra. "I broke my foot and have fifteen stitches, but I'm in one piece."

"Thank god." I could almost see her sag, her relieved expression, her hand winding itself through her thick black hair. "You'll have to give me the play by play, but first—" She took a deep breath, voice skewing sly. "Did anyone…interesting show up?"

"Why, yes," I said, tone cool. "And she mentioned you, in fact."

"Oh-em-gee. She got my messages. That's so cool!" Kagome's laughter sounded like sunlight made audible, although her humor dimmed soon enough. "But—do you think she's one of us?"

"Do I think she's…?" I stared at the receiver in my hand, incredulous, before lifting it to my ear again. "Kagome. Are you telling me you contacted her without knowing whether or not—?"

Kagome cut in, "Well, you were going to be attacked, and there was no way to find out if she was one of us without talking to her, and masked superheroes are kind of hard to find, sooo—"

I braced my elbow on the wheelchair's armrest, massaging my temples. "How many blonde middle school girls are there in Tokyo? Blonde ones with red ribbons?"

"Hey, I tried to look for her before making contact! It's just that Tokyo's huge and I'm eleven years old with limited resources, that's all!"

She had a point, much though I didn't want to admit it. I grumbled, "How did you manage to contact her, anyway?"

A satisfied hum, upbeat and cheerful. "It was actually pretty clever, if I do say so myself—but is it safe for us to talk about this right now?"

I started to tell her yes, of course it was, now get to the fucking point—but from down a nearby hall I heard the click of the nurse's loafers. My back straightened at the sound, heartrate picking up like a spurred horse, but this wasn't Hamaguchi. It was just the nurse. I reminded myself of that and took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

"Much as I want to grill you about how you managed to get ahold of her, no. It's not," I said. "I'm calling from the hospital and it's…less than private."

"Think I could come visit?" she asked. "Maybe tomorrow? When do you get discharged?"

"Tomorrow night, I think. And I'd like that. We have catching up to do."

Lots of catching up to do. Kagome had contacted Sailor V, had even looked for her locally, but she hadn't thought to involve me. I had no idea why, and that meant I had quite a bit of grilling to do—plus a lot of monologing to fill her in on my wild night.

But before I forgot…

"And yes, by the way," I said. "To answer your question: She indeed appears to be one of us."

"Oh. Oh, cool." Another of her delighted, delightful laughs. "How freakin' cool!"

"You can say that again." Meeting a Sailor Scout certainly earned that descriptor, but I'd have to tell her about that later. "Talk soon?"

"Hell yeah, we're gonna talk soon." She sounded so jazzed, I wondered how she'd be able to get back to sleep—or was this like a Christmas morning situation, in which sleeping gets you to the morning faster? Whatever the case, she said "Night, Eeyore" with gusto.

"Night, Tigger."

She hung up first, and I wheeled myself back toward my room before the nurse could catch me skulking.

Well, that little excursion hadn't accomplished much. I could try the communication mirror, but it was in the pockets of the clothes I'd been wearing upon hospital admittance, which meant it was in a bag somewhere. I had no way of contacting my boys, to check and see how they were doing post-Suzaku.

I'd gone from high-octane action to just sitting around in the span of a few hours.

But what the hell was I supposed to do now?

I'd had a lot of practice in my past life using just one arm, but even so, getting back into my room wasn't a cakewalk. Wrestling with the door, juggling the IV's rolling frame, I felt my stitches strain and stretch. A hiss of pain escaped between my teeth, but just as I let go of the door to clutch at my aching shoulder, something plucked the door from my hands. It swung open, inward, into the dark beyond on hinges that had somehow gone quite quiet.

Behind me, the nurse's footsteps ceased.

"Hello, Keiko," Ayame said.

Somehow it didn't surprise me to find her standing there, black kimono nearly blending with the dark, hair and eyes composed of ink and shadow. I looked her up and down as she did the same to me, eyes moving past her to my still-sleeping parents. Their faces had taken on an odd blue quality, as if the room had sunk beneath the surface of some dark ocean.

"Ayame," I said. "Are Mom and Dad…?"

"They will not wake until I'm gone."

So she was pulling a little Spirit World trick, then. Great. I scooted past her, yanking hard on one wheel to spin my chair around to face her.

"Good. Then I can yell at you to my heart's content, in that case." I drew myself up, somehow, even though I was stuck in a chair with a broken foot. "What the fuck were you thinking, keeping Botan locked up like some goddamn animal? She's not some rabid dog—"

"You have an incomplete understanding of the situation, Keiko." That maddening sincerity of hers, her tenable calm, did not waver. "Botan is a danger to herself and to others."

"I don't deny that."

For once, I managed to knock Ayame off-balance. She started, looking at me anew, wondering where the "but" came in. Because of course there would be a "but." Ayame and I were not fated to agree on much, even if for once I could recognize that she spoke some version of the truth.

"But it sounds to me you had her in isolation, and that is not the way to treat a sick person!" I continued. "She told me somebody named Jorge visited her more than you and Koenma combined, and that is not OK."

I expected her to deny everything, naturally. I expected her to lob a prepared excuse, state with infuriating cool that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for abandoning and neglecting Botan during her hour of need.

I did not expect her to hang her head, draw in a breath, and agree with me.

Oh no.

At this rate, Ayame and I would become friends soon.

"It's true." Either she was the best actress on the planet, or Ayame actually meant what she said, remorse filling her dark eyes with raw pain. "I'm afraid I didn't visit nearly enough. Perhaps if I had…"

She trailed off. I waited, silent, until she shook her head and sighed.

"It matters not." She walked with small, mincing steps behind my wheelchair. "Let me help you into bed."

"Oh. Um. OK."

She moved me with perhaps less practiced grace than had the nurse, but her hands were strong, fingers cool and firm around my biceps and waist. Ayame even helped me put my leg back in its sling, draping a sheet over my lap before stepping back to the bed's foot. Remarkably helpful of her. What was she up to?

"Where is Botan now, Keiko?" she said—but softly, not even a hint of accusation marring her smooth tone.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

A low sigh. "Do not lie to me."

"I'm not lying. She left when my back was turned." I met her eyes with another shrug. "I have no idea where she is now."

(Just don't ask me who she's with, though. I didn't have a lie prepared for that little line of inquiry…)

Ayame stared—unmoving, unblinking—but she couldn't detect a lie because I had not told her one. I held her gaze until she broke it, her eyes falling shut with yet another long, low sigh. Her fingers trailed over my bedcovers as she crossed to the window, hand alighting like a moth upon the sill.

"As you are aware, and as you more than likely suspect," she said, "Spirit World has methods for keeping its eyes on those upon whom it holds vested interest. Said methods can be disrupted, but only by those who know what those methods entail. Tonight, Spirit World's feed on your activities was disrupted by unknown means—means of which you are not capable. We lost track of Botan during this interval."

I pretended to look interested, which wasn't hard. I knew most of that already, or had at least guessed at Spirit Word's intelligence capabilities, but the bit about Botan was definitely new. Had they lost track of her when V showed up? Had V caused that disruption?

…was Spirit World even aware of V's existence, come to think of it?

"Unless Botan had access to a device or an ability Spirit World is unaware of," Ayame went on, "intervention came from an outside source." She looked at me in the reflection of the window. "Do you know from where such an intervention might have come?"

For a moment, I didn't know what to say—but it occurred to me she'd asked from where, not from whom, the intervention had come. I knew it had likely come from Sailor V, but I had no fucking clue how she'd done it, and because of that technicality, I was safe from telling a lie. Thank the universe for loopholes, right? Maybe I really should become a lawyer…

"Nope," I said. "No idea how such a disruption might have happened."

Another truth, even one based in deception, rendered whatever lie-detection techniques Ayame employed quite useless. We had another staring contest before she once more ducked her head, fingers tracing a pattern across the window pane.

"I see," she said. "We know the demon Kurama gave you a seed that emits a disruptive energy field. We do not appreciate that, but at the same time, we understand your need for privacy." Before I could make a snide remark about needing alone-time every now and again, Ayame said, "However, this seed was in your home during the attack." She was the one to shrug, this time. "The mystery continues, I suppose."

Neither of us said anything for a moment. Ayame watched me carefully. I made sure not to move.

"Sorry I can't be of more help," I said at last.

"So am I." She shook her head, slow and solemn. Botan needs to be apprehended."

I hated to admit Ayame was right, but we were three-for-three in agreeing with each other. Although I didn't necessarily think Botan belonged in Spirit World, her behavior at the school had been downright chilling. Something needed to be done with her, be it medical (spiritual?) intervention, or maybe even training to get her impulses under control. Which solution would prove most effective, however, I was at a loss to say.

"Can we count on you to inform us of Botan's whereabouts, should you learn of them?" Ayame asked.

I sucked down a breath. Ayame watched me with care, astute and silent. I shut my eyes. Opened them again.

"What will you do to her if you catch her?" I asked.

"Ensure her health and safety. Nothing more." She tilted her head to the left, curious. "I can see you're skeptical."

"She's my friend. I don't want you putting her in a cell."

Ayame's lips thinned. "That was not—" But she took a breath, shook her head, started again. "Understand this, Keiko. What happened to Botan was not her fault. Spirit World does not blame her for her…transformation. However, we will not stand idly by and allow her to endanger innocent humans. Not when the side effects of the Shadow Sword proved so dire."

There was that term Botan had used—side effects. But how "side" could they be when they changed Botan so completely? Wondering if I was better off not knowing, but far too nosy to resist, I asked: "What exactly happened to Botan?"

"The Sword works by suffusing the soul of whomever it cuts with dark, demonic energy. It was designed to turn humans into demons. And in all of its long history, the Shadow Sword has never been used to cut a being of Spirit—much less one who had been given a body by Spirit World. Until now, of course." She put a hand to her chest, fingers clenching in the fabric of her kimono. "The Sword's dark energy sank into Botan's soul, warping and distorting the harmonics of her aura in ways Spirit World has never witnessed. In truth, we do not know the depths of the Sword's effects. We do not know if they are reversible. And we do not know what will become of Botan if she is left untreated."

By the time she finished talking, my palms had begun to sweat. "What does treatment entail?" I murmured.

"Energy therapy, for the most part. Scrubbing the demonic influence from her spirit with transfusions of pure spiritual power." But despite how simple that sounded, Ayame's eyes held only darkness. "However, Botan did not have a third eye in Spirit World. That little…feature only revealed itself when she retook her physical form." She hesitated, then admitted, "I imagine the transformation felt uncomfortable."

I sat up straighter, sling creaking as my leg moved. "She—she got worse when she came here?"

"Yes. She got worse when she came to rescue you."

At that I glared. "I can't tell if you're making an observation or shaming me. I didn't ask her to come here."

She shook her head. "Obviously. No guilt was intended. But it is true that if she had remained in Spirit World, her condition would be less advanced."

"OK, so you are trying to make me feel guilty."

Ayame had the grace to look peeved, short-tempered at my quips and dogged determination to fight her. But fighting would get us nowhere, I told myself, so I'd best start cooperating…as much as I was able, at least.

"OK, look," I said by way of olive branch. "I'm worried for Botan, so if I see her, I'll let you know. Will that suffice?"

Ayame smiled—a real smile, one that touched her eyes and made their corners crinkle. Of course, what I hadn't said was that I'd turn Botan in. Just that I'd let Ayame know if I saw her. I wasn't turning Botan in to any organization until I heard Botan's own wishes, that's for certain.

"Thank you." Ayame bowed to me, strands of hair ghosting over her white neck. "And while I am on the subject of thanks: Spirit World offers you both its humblest gratitude and its humblest apologies, for subjecting you to such torment."

She didn't speak with her usual clipped cadence. Were my ears playing tricks on me, or did she sound…sincere? Grateful? And perhaps even regretful, like she truly did disapprove of my involvement in the night's events?

Or was Spirit World just making her say that, and she was putting on a show to sell me her apologies?

"I mean—I don't blame you for what happened tonight." When Ayame's lifted a brow, uncertain, I told her, "The Saint Beasts compelled the infected to hurt me, right? That's not on you as a person, or even on Spirit World as an institution." I shrugged. "So you don't have to apologize, is what I'm saying." Fate would have thrown me into that situation no matter how hard Spirit World fought to keep me out of it—though there was no way I could communicate as such to Ayame.

Still, she wasn't satisfied. "Even so, I must stress that it was never our intention to involve you in this case in such deep capacity. And I personally lament that you became involved." One dark brow quirked. "Though you rose to the challenge with alarming alacrity."

"Yeah, well. Yusuke's made me watch a lot of war movies over the years."

"Clearly. What was it you made? Sneezing gas?"

"That's right."

"I must ask—why did you outfit the school with weapons?" And that calculating edge was back, her earlier remorse gone. "You had no forewarning of this case. How did you know to arm yourself?"

I'd been expecting someone to question my foresight, and given Ayame's views on demons, I felt she'd swallow my prepped lie (the only one I wanted to tell) without undue fuss—and Kurama probably wouldn't mind serving as my excuse, either.

"I armed myself the day Yusuke told me about demons, and that one went to my school," I said. "Felt like a wise idea at the time."

"Indeed. I'm impressed." And she looked it, too, appraising me with what looked suspiciously like…respect? She left the widow and stood at my bedside, patting my knee so lightly I almost didn't feel her touch through the bedclothes. "Rest now. You've earned a reprieve."

The blue haze over the room flickered, but before it could vanish entirely, I caught Ayame's sleeve—because she was my one line to the outside world, and I would not let this opportunity pass me by.

"Wait," I said. "The boys. How are they? Where are they?"

She placed her hand over mine, though only so she could ease it away from her clothes. "They returned to Human World less than an hour ago," she said. "I believe they went to the Kuwabara residence." Another smile, this one as incongruously genuine as the last. "And they're fine. Yusuke will likely sleep for days after his ordeal, but he is fine."

The words were a balm and a bomb, both, soothing the ache inside my chest even as they lit up my heart with an explosion of relief. I sagged back against the pillows, head lolling until my scalp touched the headboard.

"Good. Good." I cracked an eye and lifted a hand. "Goodnight, Ayame."

"Good night, Keiko," she said, and the blue tint flickered back to normal colors—but then it snapped into place once more. Ayame said, eyes on my broken leg, "Before I forget. Since you'll have trouble with uneven terrain for some time, I'll come to you next time we need to meet."

I bowed as best I was able. "Thank you for your consideration."

"Of course. It's the least we can do, after involving you in…"

Ayame trailed off, which felt very much unlike her. This was a woman certain of her words, and of her role and station in her chosen life. She glanced toward the window before stepping closer, close enough so that her whispered words carried clearly on the quiet midnight air.

"I am supposed to be impartial, Keiko," Ayame murmured, "but allow me a moment to break protocol. This never should have happened. You should not be here, in this hospital." She hesitated for only a moment before saying, in one heaving rush: "Thank you for your dedication to Spirit World. I understand if you wish to abandon your position as Record Keeper."

For a second I thought I hadn't heard her correctly. I blinked and stammered, "Oh. Um. No thanks?"

But she pressed on, lips barely moving as she spoke. "I can speak to Koenma. Give him an excuse." Her eyes weren't designed for pleading, and yet that is exactly what they did. "I can smooth it over, if that is what you wish."

Unreal. This had to be a dream, a delusion brought on by my throbbing leg and the meds coursing through my system—but Ayame was as real as my parents sleeping only a few feet away, hand descending once more onto my knee with all the weight of a butterfly.

Why was she offering this, though?

Did Ayame truly care for my wellbeing—or did she just want me gone, apropos of nothing?

The pleading sincerity in her deep eyes did not strike me as deceptive.

Summoning a conciliatory smile, I patted her hand. "Sorry, Ayame. But I gotta keep an eye on Yusuke. No way can I back out. He'd never let me live it down, y'know?"

Ayame didn't fight me. She didn't bully, or threaten, or even try to persuade. She merely breathed deeply and sighed, as though to clear everything inside herself and start anew.

Something like that, anyway.

I felt sleepy, suddenly, as the room's blue hue faded.

"You're brave," Ayame murmured. "I worry for you. But the decision is yours." She squeezed my knee. "Goodnight, Keiko."

"Goodnight, Ayame," I said—and when I blinked, both Ayame and the blue haze had faded, giving way to the dim light of the bedside lamp and the moonlight streaming through the tiny window.

In her chair, my mother stirred, voice soft and full of sleep. "Keiko, honey? Do you need something?"

"No, Mom," I told her. "Go back to sleep."

She did as I asked, huddling under the coat my father had draped across her thin frame.

I followed close behind.

Ayame had provided me with answers—and with them, questions I did not yet know how to articulate.

Although it pained them to leave me alone for any length of time, eventually Mom and Dad had to go home—mainly for showers, and to get a change of clothes for me, but also because they had three restaurants to run and life didn't stop just because I'd broken my leg and sliced up my shoulder. Both apologized profusely for abandoning their precious daughter in her hours of need (their words, not mine). I pretended to collapse like an overheated southern bell when they said they had to go, which made them laugh and eased the tension somewhat. Mom might've finally come around to the utility of aikido, but that didn't mean her motherly instinct to protect me had completely fallen to the wayside.

Once they left, however, I had little more to do than twiddle my thumbs and wait.

Much as I wanted to hear from Yusuke and the others, I couldn't exactly leave with my foot still in a soft-cast, and the nurses had denied my daytime request to use their phone. "Just rest," they commanded, "because visitor hours will open soon." Only how could the boys know where I was if I couldn't call and tell them?

Though I supposed it didn't actually matter, did it? Yusuke slept for three days after his fight with Suzaku, as I recalled. Who knew when he'd make it in to visit? The nurses still weren't sure about my discharge date since I'd suffered a blow to the head, wanting to keep me close for observation. With no way to contact my boys, stuck in that hospital bed all alone, no fucking clue when Kagome planned to stop by, I resigned myself to a day of boredom and hunkered down in my bed with a sigh. The view out the window showed me precious little, just a swath of blue sky and the tops of some trees.

Perhaps I should've had a little more faith, however.

Not two minutes after the nurses declare visiting hours open for business, my door nearly flew off its hinges, slamming against the wall so hard I feared the plaster might collapse. A nurse shouted something about quiet, and hey, how'd you get in here?, but Kuwabara didn't pay her any heed. He took one look at my hospital gown, the bandages on my neck and chest, and my foot up in its sling before gasping and hauling ass to my bedside.

"Keiko?!" he said, hands flapping, clearly at a loss for both words and action. "Keiko! Y-you're—?"

"Oh, hey! Great to see you!" I lifted my hands, aiming a set of vigorous jazz hands down the length of my leg. "Surprise! I broke my foot!"

"You broke your—?" he said. His eyes flickered from the sling to my bound chest. "A-and your back—?" But the shock faded, replaced by a comical fury, voice lifting in a high-pitched, accusatory whine. "Keiko! How could you?! How could you let yourself get hurt like this?!"

"Hey, it's not like I planned it!" I protested. "And there were a lot of them! It's not my fault I was number one on their hit list!"

"We've been worried about you, you dummy!" he said. "And you're making jokes?!"

"I cope through humor, OK?!"

"And I cope through telling you you're stupid!"

"Well, excuse me for trying to make light of the situation so you don't have an aneurism!"

"Hey, I'm not the one stuck in a hospital bed, so don't you dare try to change the subject, and—"

His face contorted like he'd bitten into a lemon, and to my surprise he dropped to his knees at my bedside. For a second he pressed his face into the covers, hair a mop of orange curls against the blue sheets, and somehow he found and grabbed my hand without looking up.

"You're OK, right?" he said, voice barely audible. "You're going to be OK, right, Keiko?"

On reflex, I grabbed his hand a little tighter. "Hell yeah, I'm gonna be fine!" I said. "Takes more than a few assholes to bring me down."

Kuwabara lifted his face, peering up at me with eyes like a scared puppy. Giggling, I patted his head with prim fingertips.

"Right as rain in no time at all," I assured him. "I'm only gonna have the stitches for, like, a month? And I'll get a hard cast instead of a soft one soon, so I'll get to walk in a boot in just a few weeks, and when that comes off I'll be good as new." I grimaced, remembering the Squeeze and wondering what the foot equivalent might be. "Well, a bit of physical therapy after that, probably, but…"

Kuwabara sat up a bit straighter, breaking out into a wide grin. "Hey, maybe we could take you to see Genkai! She fixed me right up after Rando broke my arms. No PT or nothin'!"

"He has a good idea," said a voice from the doorway. "We'll have to pay Genkai a visit. I confess I've always wished to meet her."

Kuwabara flinched and looked over his shoulder; I pulled my hand from Kuwabara's big paw so I could repeat my jazz hand performance. "Look, Kurama! I broke my foot! Ta-da!"

"Yes. I see that," Kurama said, humor curving the lip of his mouth. He glanced at Kuwabara as he shut the door to the room (with far more care than Kuwabara used to open it), eyebrow climbing just a shade higher. "Kuwabara ran past the reception desk, but don't worry. I signed us both in."

Kuwabara blushed and rubbed at the back of his neck, muttering something about getting too excited to follow hospital rules, which were probably stupid, anyway. Kurama pulled a chair over to my bedside, offering a small smile when I caught his eye. Damn, it was good to see him—him and Kuwabara both. Although I knew they'd both sustained injuries during the Saint Beast arc, neither of them looked worse for wear, and that lifted a weight off my shoulders in an instant.

Still, though. I had questions before I could relax completely.

"Yusuke still sleeping it off?" I said.

Kurama nodded. "Of course."

"And Hiei's probably up a tree somewhere?"

"Most likely."

"Yeah. Visiting an invalid isn't much is style, is it?" I said, rueful.

Kuwabara frowned. "You're not an invalid. You're just a little busted up right now, that's all."

"Funny. That's exactly what Amagi said." I shook my head. "Anyway. So long as you're all safe..."

"We are," Kurama assured me.

"Yeah, Keiko," Kuwabara said. He raised his arm and flexed. "Those demons didn't stand a chance against these muscles!"

I giggled again—but I shut my eyes, breathing in through my nose and then slowly out of my mouth.

I'd won, and my boys had won.

We'd won.

Aside from the lingering question of what to do about Botan, the Saint Beast Arc had been successfully wrapped.

Thank my lucky fucking stars that was over.

"Will you tell us what happened, Keiko?" This came from Kurama, voice cool and smooth and dry. He glanced at my leg as he remarked, "Clearly the infected put you through your paces."

"They did," I said—but something struck me. "Wait. You mean you don't know what happened?"

Kuwabara wore a frown to match my own, blocky jaw jutting. "What the—? Of course we don't know, Keiko! It's not like we had a Keiko Hotline, and you weren't answering your mirror. We might've been too busy fighting to check in much, but that doesn't mean we weren't worried sick over you!"

"Yes," Kurama said. Bright green eye searched my face for answers. "We had no way of knowing you were safe until we returned and phoned your family."

I stared at them, confused, because clearly I was missing something. The thing was, they had had a Keiko Hotline. Suzaku had been spying on me, showing a feed of my struggles top Yusuke—

Oh. Right.

To Yusuke.

The rest of the boys had…what? Stayed on a lower floor of the castle fighting those weird green monster dudes, right? I'd forgotten that detail amidst the excitement, but it meant that only Yusuke knew what I'd been through the night before. The rest of the boys hadn't had a clue.

…which meant the boys probably didn't know about Botan. And according to Spirit World, Sailor V might've blanked out any watching eyes when she showed up. It was possible even Yusuke hadn't seen her arrival.

I might be the only member of our group who knew she existed.

Oh boy. This was going to take some explaining, wasn't it? Not to mention some finesse, leaving out the parts they shouldn't know, but keeping in the parts they should. And no wonder Kuwabara had freaked out when he saw my injuries. Both he and Kurama (not to mention the absent Hiei) had no idea that Suzaku had sicced his infected goons specifically on me, let alone that I'd broken my ankle or had my back sliced open.

So…it was Keiko's Story Time, I guess.

I shook my head, both to clear the cobwebs and delay a moment to get my thoughts in order. "Sorry. Just…I'm still a bit scattered from last night. And this is going to take some explaining, so settle in, boys, because it's going to be a wild ride." A deep, bracing breath as Kurama draped one leg over the other, Kuwabara moving to sit on the edge of my bed, one hand idling protective by my knee. I told them, "I guess it all started when I outfitted the PE shed with some…well, amenities, and…"

Before I could dive in, the door popped open again. A nurse wearing a starched white cap stuck her head inside, shooting Kuwabara a disapproving look (which made him hang his head and blush) before addressing me.

"Keiko, you have another visitor," she said. "But remember you can only have three in the room at a time, OK?"

I saluted and said "Roger that, ma'am," but before I could ask who it was (because Hiei wasn't the type to pay me a visit, my parents were family, and Yusuke was still comatose) she pushed the door wide and stepped back. A pair of skinny legs topped by a pleated purple skirt bounced in, the tiny person's torso completely obscured by the enormous bouquet of sunflowers clutched in slender arms.

The sight of my favorite flowers would normally trigger an uncontrollable smile.

Now, though, their bright petals sent a dagger of sharp dread deep into my gut.

"Eeyore!" Her face managed to shove its way through the riot of flowers in her arms, smile as huge and bright and eager as her voice, hair dusted with petals made of gold. "Oh my god, the train was packed, they nearly squished your sunflowers and—oh. Oh."

Kagome stopped dead in her tracks when she realized I was not, in fact, alone. Our eyes met, wide and panicked—and then hers flickered to my right.

They flickered to Kurama.

The fox demon—the fox demon whom Kagome had met five hundred years before—observed her through shrewd, perceptive eyes. For a moment he and Kagome just gazed at each other in silence, her jaw dropped, his mouth schooled into a thin line of suspicious neutrality. The silent spell held for what felt like minutes, and then Kurama's eyes flickered to me with a glint of cold emerald green.

"Well, Keiko," he said, tone as dry as bone. "It seems you're rather popular today."

In the solemn stillness of the room, I heard Kagome gulp.

Notes:

Those of you who've read Daughters of Destiny might ought to be screaming right about now.

For those who haven't, here's a recap: I've written a side-story to this fic called Daughters of Destiny, in which Kagome and Keiko travel into the past together. In it they meet (among others) Kurama in his Youko form. Soooo basically there's a chance Kurama might recognize Kagome here, which would complicate matters. You DO NOT HAVE TO READ THAT FIC to understand this chapter, or the next chapter. Just know that Kagome and Kurama have met before.

And to that end, I decided on how DoD fits in Lucky Child's timeline. Kagome and Keiko went on their adventure to the past in the summertime, just before the most recent schoolyear started, so to them they met Yoko only a few months prior. For Kurama, it's been 500 years since they met. Yay, timelines.

I definitely thought I'd get to a totally different stopping point in this chapter, with a much punchier ending, but DAMN, these scenes ran away with themselves and I had to re-plan the next three or so chapters on the fly. CURSE my inability to keep shit short. CURSE IT. But we'll get that cool ending I wanted next week, so that's nice.

I'm planning a Children of Misfortune oneshot from Botan's POV. Keep an eye on that story for it! I hope to release it sometime this coming week.

This past week, meanwhile, was pretty dang crappy overall, notable exception being all of YOU. I so appreciate the support, and I hope you enjoyed this little interlude as Keiko's life calms back down after recent excitement. Thank you so much; you are TREASURES.