Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo,
December 1999 

The wrought-iron gate was a silvery silhouette in front of a dark opening in the grey walls. A gust of icy wind caught Subaru's coat and threatened to throw him against it. The wall ornament creaked, shuddering on its axis to resemble a pentacle once again. He was cold, had been cold for weeks now. The last of his warmth had bled out of another one's body almost two months ago. 
     He reached for the gate and found it open to his touch. It moved without much of a sound, giving way to a short stone path that ended at an entrance shielded against sight from the street. The wind increased, whined around the corners. Sand grains on the stone plates crunched under his boots. The wall ornament outside creaked so much louder than the gate. A resounding clunk. A decisive sound. Subaru winced but didn't look back. The gate had fallen shut. 

The lights inside went on the moment he closed the door. It made sense. The Sakurazukamori would be covered in blood sometimes when he returned home. Or did he return home to that other house that Subaru had found on his own? The one where 'Kamui' had given him the eye two weeks ago? He didn't know, but bright illumination in front of the Sakurazukamori's door would be... asking for additional deaths. And the police station was rather nearby. Of course, the tree's guardian didn't have to worry much about the police. It was rumored that he worked for the state. Subaru didn't know if that was the truth or not. But truth had always been a scarce article where Seishiro was concerned. He had learned that the hard way.
     Inside, he found himself standing in front of a curved sweep of five steps leading up to the living area of the house. A set of slippers stood on the topmost step to the left. A coat rack was on the right, currently holding a long black leather coat and two empty hangers. On the wall by the stairs next to it was a narrow, full length mirror.
     Subaru set foot on the first step. Magic whispered. The steps were warded. He reached for an ofuda but found no aggression. Hesitatingly, he pulled the boots off his feet before he went on. The spiritual whisper changed with each step, got louder, then softer, then louder again – a multi-layered warding against spells and spirits, nothing to harm... A soft singing surrounded him in the end, low and harmonic, and... He shook his head against the dizziness. An open door to the left revealed a small, functional kitchen. Through the window he saw the sign of the police station glowing against the night. The raised floor inside gave a view across the wall surrounding its grounds. Seeing without being seen, Subaru shivered. 
     A narrow staircase went down to a basement and up to the roof. He stumbled in the open door next to it. His feet sunk into black carpet surrounded by white walls; large windows from floor to ceiling, shielded with dark venetian blinds, took up two of them. TV set, stereo– the typical paraphernalia of an expensive living room. The furniture was reduced to the essentials, a chrome-framed couch with kidskin cushions, a low table, a few strategically placed blood-red pillows... 
     Subaru felt sick. 
     Book-shelves took up the wall next to the door to another room. Subaru almost dreaded crossing the few meters. The bed there was large, almost rectangular, and took up a good portion of the room's right side. The pattern of the rumpled cover – a blood-red rectangle surrounded by a deep black frame – was repeated in the pillows. Closed doors of black wood framed the bed on both sides. Again high windows shielded with laminae curtains took up a wall. The space in front of them was taken by a light desk made from chrome and glass. An expensive laptop stood on it. Side shelves held printer, scanner, and other electronic gadgets including a multi-function phone. A dressing gown was thrown carelessly over the chair in front of it. 
     A low filing cabinet stood against the wall beyond. Documents carefully put in silver frames hung above it. His knees feeling weak, Subaru examined them. A degree. A couple of certificates for awards and speeches. So he had been indeed a veterinarian. Two books lay on display underneath the degree. A thesis bound in red with the title "Mirror symmetry in transplant growth", written 1988/89. 
     He had dropped out of high school to get closer to Seishiro. Instead.... he had distanced himself even more.
     The other book was a yearbook of Clamp Academy, 1981. A page was marked with a dried twig. Subaru found himself staring at a picture of a fifteen-year-old Seishiro looking earnestly into the camera, a bruise marring the perfection of his left cheek. His lip was swollen. Yet, he seemed relaxed, at ease. 
     "Who were you really?" Subaru whispered, choked. The book fell from his limp hands to land on the floor with a dull thud. He had vowed to kill him, had wished to die by his hand, and in the end... had achieved none of that. The room was spinning around him. The death magic enveloping the house like a protective cocoon was constantly whispering, hissing, as if the dead fueling the spells were singing. His right eye stung. He felt numb. What was he doing here? Amber had no reason to cry. Kamui. Emerald had no tears left. 'Kamui'. 
     A Dragon of... 
     ...Earth. 
     He touched his yet again seeing right eye. His fingertips trembled against the lid. The Sakurazukamori was feared, hated... wasn't he? 
     The song of the dead held no answer. 
     Strength drained away. Silk whispered. A half-forgotten scent enveloped him. Something caught his weight, something warm, yielding... He curled around it... 

Silk. Black and crimson. Power and Blood. 
     Scent. Tobacco and after-shave. Mild Seven and... something expensive. 
     For the first time in... he didn't know how long... he felt warm. 
     He blinked, half-awake, across an expanse of crimson-and-black silk, at a nightstand. A paperback with a silly computer-drawn sheep on the cover lay next to a bedside lamp. A grocery receipt marked a page near the middle. Sunlight glittered on the chrome of the lamp. A used glass stood next to the book, its content of deep red wine reduced to cracked crystals at the bottom. It looked as if somebody had just put the book down, intending on finishing in the evening... 
     ...and had never come back.  
     A thin layer of dust had already settled over everything. Seishiro would never know how the book ended.  
     He scrambled out of the bed. He shouldn't have been there, but he'd slept, he'd felt warm, he'd... his stomach was churning and he needed the bathroom. Urgently. 

The kitchen and the small storage room adjacent to it held precious little food. A package with instant noodles was all Subaru came finally up with. Strange. He remembered Seishiro being more of a cook, or maybe he'd just been more of a restaurant fetishist, but... instant noodles? The kitchen felt more used than that. A stainless steel water kettle stood on the work table. Lost in thought, Subaru filled it and switched it on. 
     A coffee mug stood on the kitchen counter, turned upside down next to the sink. Apparently, it had been rinsed and put up to dry. A black coffee mug with a spiked green Godzilla curling its neck over the rim at the content. Subaru found himself clasping it, the memory of Hokuto bringing it back from a shopping spree vividly on his mind, of Seishiro drinking tea out of it, smiling... He hadn't known that Seishiro had taken the mug with him. With trembling hands Subaru put the instant noodles inside and added the boiling water. It didn't take long. It didn't smell good. It didn't have to. He was hungry... 
     Which was so unlike him. How...? 
     His gaze fell onto a porcelain kitchen clock with red LED numbers: 13:48. It was past midday already. He had slept more than ten hours! A second, smaller set of LEDs gave the date beneath the time. Subaru stared, then slowly found himself sitting down woodenly on one of the kitchen stools. Almost numb, he sipped at the steaming noodles, slurping a mouthful of the distasteful pulp over his lips. Thirty-six hours. He had slept thirty-six hours! 
     His eyes wandered across Seishiro's kitchen, trying to focus, trying to find anything to make sense of this. A calendar with ice-skating cartoon penguins hung on the wall next to the door. It still displayed October. A couple of very cryptic notes were scattered across the date fields. On October 29 was a symbol that stood out: a pentacle, Subaru's very own sigil, drawn in red. An arrow curved around its upper right quadrant as if to mark a rotation. 
     October 29. The day...  
     ...of the bridge… 
     ...of Seishiro's death. 

Cold crept along his spine. Something whined. The sound rose to a high-pitched hiss, then nearly disappeared only to rise again. The staircase in the hallway formed in front of his inner eye. The half-emptied mug still in his hand, Subaru stopped halfway down and stared at the black-lacquered basement door. A pentagram was carved into it, and a Chinese symbol that looked as if it had come directly from the Guodian texts, and something that looked suspiciously like a rune. The spiritual energy flashing over and around the marks sneaked and curled like a ghost dragon. Subaru tentatively reached for an ofuda to gauge the intensity of the spell that was awake there. The pentagrams on his hands flashed. He never got to touch the paper in his pocket. 
     The Godzilla mug fell from his hand, bounced off one step and shattered on the next. Shards and noodles spilled down the stairs. Subaru gasped. Blood welled freely from three deep gashes around his wrist; clasping it, he stumbled back up the narrow staircase. The Sakurazukamori seemed to be serious about declaring the basement off limits. He wondered briefly what Seishiro had done to set this spell. Blood magic for sure. The door below sizzled audibly now. It had been warm to the touch, as warm as a human body... Apparently, the spell was fueling itself with the blood drawn from its victims. He watched the blood running between his fingers. He had to get a bandage, now; or...  
     No. That wasn't an option any longer. Tightly clasping his wrist Subaru hurried to the bathroom to find a wrapping. 

Using his unhurt hand and his teeth to tie the wrapping firmly around his bleeding wrist, he slowly returned to the kitchen. He contemplated cleaning up the mess with the noodles. 
     ...You just don't have a sense of self-preservation, do you?... an amused voice whispered in his memories. No, he wouldn't go near that door again anytime soon. He stopped, finding himself in the living room in front of... a kotatsu. What his sleep-clouded mind had taken for a black couch table yesterday was indeed a traditional kotatsu , an admittedly cluttered one, covered with a thickly padded black quilt. A loose stack of... tax return forms secured with a solar powered calculator piled up on it. A set of thinly rimmed gold-framed glasses lay, unfolded, on a corner. A notepad with scribblings... 
     Most of it looked like interim figures, often scratched out and redone; some were descriptions... business dinner, gardening supplies, hotel suite for... investigative purposes, work clothes (Armani), and bold and thick over half a page: Tax return forms = ultimate atheistic curse! and brought to you by Doomsday Enterprises Torture Division's Prime Executive; next to it was a sketch of a penguin showing its bottom to a stick figure that somehow had a striking resemblance to Miyazawa Kiichi. 
     Subaru blinked. He saw the ghost of the older man sitting at the kotatsu, his feet comfortable in the warmth underneath, his back resting against the leather seat cushions of the couch, frowning over his tax return. The image was painfully vivid. It didn't belong... not to him... not to the Sakurazukamori... but to whom then?
     Who would fill out tax return forms while he was fighting to end the world as it was? Subaru put the notepad back and turned his back to the kotatsu. It didn't make sense. Nothing did anymore. He swallowed dryly. Maybe it never had.
     The painting above the couch called his attention. It was done in acrylic lacquer that allowed for brilliant, contradictory colors: blood red and black, midnight blue, and a silvery white. Daring strokes, rough, almost sloppy dots, and even splatters formed an intriguing picture: the Sakura, drawn in blood and night, with rays of silver light touching an edge of its trunk. Diagonal beams of a light too cool, too pure to be from the sun, yet... 
     It wasn't a masterpiece. It spoke more of enthusiasm than talent, yet Subaru found himself mesmerized by the aggressiveness yet delicacy in it. A vertical line of daring silver grey kanji flowed down from the top left corner. He needed a moment to decipher them: "Emperor Sushun's Grave". 
     His eyes fell on the opposite corner of the painting. Again grey kanji. He swallowed. He didn't have to decipher those. 
     "Sakurazuka Seishiro, 1981"
     He shuddered and practically fled from the room. An emperor's death... Fled from the house... He hastened down the front steps. Something whispered against his mind, stopping him. He turned, concentrated on the sensation.
     He kneeled in front of the steps and tentatively tested each of them as he should have done at his arrival. He kept his incantation soft, barely above a whisper. There was something inside this house that he felt he had better not disturb. 
     As expected, each of the five steps was carefully warded: the first against spirits, the second against sakanagi, then spells, curses, and sakanagi again. Considering that the Sakurazukamori followed dark onmyodo, the double layer against sakanagi wasn't surprising. But just on the edge between the spell ward and the one against curses was a faint whisper vibrating against Subaru's spiritual probe. A sleeping spell. Powerful enough to knock out even someone as gifted as himself for thirty-six hours, yet so elusive that even he hadn't noticed it among the wards until he felt it a second time. This was subtle, intricate work which stood in stark contrast to the straightforward and flashy Sakurazuka magic he'd come to expect. 
     Subaru found himself wondering just how many nosy delivery boys and inquiring neighbors Seishiro had found sleeping peacefully on his carpet and what had happened to them. Yesterday, he would have sworn that it hadn't been pretty, but now... he wasn't so sure anymore. The spell stopped people effectively from snooping, and the embarrassment of being found sleeping where they weren't supposed to be by the very owner of the place would have ensured their silence. Somehow, he could see Seishiro sending the harmless ones on their way with a fierce scowl on his face, and amused laughter hidden behind it.
     Subaru shuddered and looked into the mirror. Was he deluding himself yet again? 
     His reflection stared back at him and he winced slightly. He looked like a beggar in his coat, speckled with blood and rumpled from having been slept in. It looked dirty, abandoned, a rag garment compared to the sleek black leather coat Seishiro had left hanging on the coat rack. When had he turned so painfully thin? Subaru averted his eyes and finally left the house without looking back. 

Ueno Park, Tokyo, 
in the afternoon 

The Sakura burst into bloom the moment Subaru walked into sight. It didn't exactly welcome him, though. ...Enjoyed your stay?... This time it was the tree who initiated the conversation. ...Sei-chan's real house is quite cozy, isn't it?... 
     Cozy!? Subaru wouldn't quite go that far. "Why did you send me there?" He inquired warily. 
     ...Why don't you have a seat while we talk?... 
     Subaru gave in and sat on the edge of the bench with a sigh. The old wood creaked under him. "What did you want me to do there?" 
     ...You were nearly dropping in your boots the day before yesterday. I couldn't allow that... Imaginary wind rustled in the blossom-laden branches of the tree. ...I knew Sei-chan's sleeping spell would do you a world of good... 
     Subaru's eyes flew open at that. 
     ...and it did... the tree insisted. ...You look much better than last time, Subaru-kun... It emphasized the whispered name with a silky, sweetly flavoured whisk of blossoms along his cheek. Subaru found himself unwittingly turning into the tentative touch. He shouldn't... he... 
     "May I take a seat with you?" a quiet baritone voice asked. 
     Subaru blinked, disbelieving, at the speaker who seemed to have come out of nowhere. A middle-aged man in a brown business suit under an unbuttoned wool coat was standing in front of him, a briefcase under his arm. Manners kicked in: "Of course, sir. I mean this isn't a private b–" he stuttered hastily, and the man's round face lit up in an amiable smile. Somehow, the smile made Subaru regret his manners. 
     "It's such a rare occasion to find the park not completely deserted these days," his new... companion stated and leaned relaxed against the back of the bench, somehow taking up more than a half of it. "A year ago, this place was bursting with life... Christmas shoppers, lovers strolling..." He shook his head, sadly, and the crumpled flap of Subaru's dirty coat somehow got stuck between the bench and the man's thigh. "Are you waiting for someone? For your beloved?" he asked dreamily. "You're a beauti–" 
     The tree struck. 
     Subaru stared, uncomprehending, at five thin dark twigs suddenly protruding from a chest that somehow was only inches away from him. Blood was dripping along the sleek wood. A strange mixture of lust and horrified realization marred the round face. The twigs shuddered. The blood flowed faster. The tree was drinking... 
     ...You might want to move aside, his sympathetic system is going–... 
     The distinct smell of feces and urine mixed into the sickening sweetness of spilled blood.  
     ...–to fail soon...  
     The gauze-like shimmer of the soul appeared around the round face as it slackened, quivering. The spirit was leaving the body to– The twigs were reaping the ethereal essence. The ghost screamed as it was torn apart, sucked into an uncountable mass of buds and sprouts. Cherry blossoms flowered around the body, vibrantly pink. The surrounding spiritual fabric fluctuated under the fragmented soul's wail. A deep voice hummed a happy melody about eternity. The twigs moved in rhythm with it... 
     Subaru staggered back, heaving, falling– 
     Surprisingly tender branches caught him before he reached the ground, supported his shoulders, his head, as the little food he'd eaten returned with a vengeance. He was retching... tears streamed over his face. 
     ...Shhhh... Soft, calming sounds slowly wormed their way into his consciousness. ...There's no need to cry... Blossom tufts were blotting the tears from his cheeks. Blossom tufts on... twigs... twigs... sucking... blood... life... 
     With a cry he tore himself out of their grasp. He fell, tried to scramble out of their reach. But there was nowhere to go. This was the maboroshi again. The corpse lay under the tree in full bloom like... like the little girl so many years ago. The man looked like a broken puppet as she had. Blood pooled around him. The gaping hole in his chest looked as if... as if someone... Greedy roots soaked up the streaming blood. Sakura petals fell in a joyous dance all around them. 
     He took another step back and the edge of the bench slammed against the back of his knee. He sat down with a thump. There was blood on the wood under his hands. Blood and– 
     ...Do you feel better now?... 
     The tree's branches were still moving silently. The body at its trunk wasn't much more than a knot of gnarled roots. The blood... the stench... all that was left was the soft fragrance of sakura blossoms dissipating in a dreamed wind. 
     "Wh–" He swallowed convulsively and tried again. "What is this... thing?" He touched the bench and winced at the wet sound his hand made. 
     ...Sei-chan's version of a watering ball... The tree sounded amused. ...He puts it up when he isn't sure he'll be able to fulfill his duties. – Ah, unrepentant rapists are such a luscious meal... The branches quivered in contentment. ...He first put it up when he had entrance exams while the organization demanded his full services... The tree radiated disapproval. ...They kept saying that since he had a calling he wouldn't need an education. Needless to say, even at fifteen Sei-chan saw that rather differently. The bench was our compromise... 
     The idea was sickening. Yet... compromising between duty and school sounded awfully familiar. Of course, for him duty had always come first. Had Seishiro seen that differently? A nightmarish truth dawned him. "You– you could have k–killed wh– whoever sat here!" 
     ...Yes, I could have... The tree admitted calmly. 
     "How– how could he do that?" Subaru leapt to his feet. "That's atrocious!" 
     ...He had a life, Subaru-kun. You have yet to find out what that is... 
     "Because he took it from me!" 
     ...Now, isn't that a bit melodramatic, my dear?... 
     "Melodramatic!? You killed an emperor!" 
     The temperature dropped sharply. Subaru hadn't noticed that the tree had kept it comfortably warm for him. Now his breath fogged in the still air. The sound emanating from the swishing branches could only be called disdain. ...You understand nothing... the tree dismissed him harshly. ...Go... Learn... 
     "What do you want me to learn!?" Subaru yelled in frustration. "It doesn't make sense!" 
     The tree was completely still for a moment; not a twig moving, no petal falling. Then... 
     ...Are you less of a murderer because this man's life was ended by my twigs and not your hand piercing his heart? 
     ...Are you less of a murderer because he was a bad person?... A soft breeze rustled the branches and twigs in the endless night surrounding the Sakura in it's maboroshi.
     ...Is he any less dead because he wasn't an innocent? Because he lusted after your body that you wouldn't have given willingly?  
     ...Is there less blood on your hands because I made you lounge seductively on the seat? You knew what I am. Are you less of a murderer because you preferred to be ignorant of my likely intentions?  
     ...Are you less of a murderer because you are... 
     ...Sumeragi?... 
     The maboroshi collapsed with the name. Subaru found himself in the ordinary gloom of an early evening in a partially destroyed Tokyo. The bench next to him was empty, no stain, no blood, nothing. A small layer of frost covered the slightly rough wood of its seat. No one had sat there next to him. Or...? He froze, staring at his hand smeared with something that looked reddish-brown in the dim light. 

to be continued in
36°-3: Sakurazuka Seishiro - Death in the Family

Notes:
The book on the nightstand is "Before & After" (ISBN 000648302X) - A novel by British author Matthew Thomas about exploding sheep, Nostradamus, and the end of the world. Published in 1999 it is a delicious satire about the end of the world as it speeds towards year 2000 featuring 500-year-old Professor Mike Nostrus, his trusty assistant Debbie, and his cat Aristotle (which the philosopher was named after). Mike and his cat have an uncanny ability to live through the worst of history like the Holocaust and the French Revolution, and they intend to do so this time around too. The plot starts in September 1999, though that is of no significance to this story. 
Guodian texts: The oldest known version of the Tao Te Ching, the source of Taoism (or onmyo in Japanese) was found in a tomb in the town of Guodian in the Hubei province of China in 1993. It introduced fourteen new verses to the previously known Tao Te Ching. 
Kotatsu: a low table covered with a thick, padded often electrical blanket that falls down to the floor to warm the feet in winter. The place in a Japanese home where the family gathers to tattle about the neighbors, check the grocery bills, or plan the next family holiday. 
Miyazawa Kiichi: Finance minister of Japan in 1999. 
Emperor Sushun (+ 11. Dec. 592) was the 32nd Emperor of Japan (587 - 592). He was the twelfth son of Emperor Kimmei. His mother was a daughter of the politician Soga no Iname. After the death of his brother, Emperor Yomei, he claimed the throne with the help of his mother's clan Soga. He was murdered in the year 592 by the courtier Atai Goma. Sushun is the only Japanese emperor known for sure to have been assassinated. Most important: he is also the only emperor without a known grave.
sympathetic system: short for "sympathetic nervous system" that among other things is responsible for the subconscious control of bladder and intestines. I don't think that the tree can deal for years with Seishiro without learning one or two words from him. ;)