...The Sakurazukamori is meant to be my eyes and ears, my way to understand the world of the living. I, the Moon's descendant, am dependent on him to make sense of the rapidly changing world fast-living Men have created. In return I am his protector and the head of his house, the keeper of a knowledge otherwise lost to a clan that cannot always succeed by blood...
     ...In most generations there's nothing more than that: sustenance and service, on both sides. But then there are those whose blood makes me giddy, who look at the world and see something new. They are the best and they always bring change... 
     ...Chen Yue was such a man... 
     ...and Sakurazuka Seishiro is another... 
     ...and the Sumeragi enticed both... 

Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo, 
February 2, 2000 — 09:46 

The morning sun shone brightly. In its orange tinged light the ornamental steel rods of the garden gate cast an intricate shadow pattern onto the stone path.
     Seishiro raised the coffee mug to his mouth, breathing in the slightly bitter tang of the black liquid, while scanning the headlines of the morning paper for any accounts of yesterday's business. There were none. A stroke wasn't that uncommon a death for a high-class financial manager, especially in clubs like those his target had frequented. 
     Seishiro folded the paper and, distracted, rubbed at the tingling scars on his hands. The Sakura disliked natural deaths, so he had better go and see to it later today. He folded the paper and put it on the chair next to him before he retrieved his toast, hissed and dropped the hot slices onto his dish.  
     Later, after covering the somewhat cooled toast in butter and honey, he leaned back and looked out his kitchen window into the sun-streaked garden. Yoshino's oversized cat attempted to squeeze itself through the gate, leaving more than a little hair in the ornamentation. 
     Never underestimate the ability of a cat to flatten itself, he thought, watching amused, chewing. 
     He put the half-eaten toast down when the screaming began. 
     Never overestimate it. He sighed, reaching for his keys. Yoshi, you are a menace. 

Late morning was nearing midday by the time he had delivered a ruffled, dementedly purring Yoshi to his sole neighbor Yoshino-san — talk about imaginative pet names! — and successfully extricated himself from her gratitude for his rescue of her beloved— 
     At that time he had tuned her out, thinking sourly, and not for the first time, that it hadn't been his brightest idea to use the van still marked Sakurazuka Animal Hospital to transport his personal belongings when he moved house. Just when he'd closed his clinic for good, it had gotten him a seriously oversized cat for a "private patient", trying his patience by being constantly underfoot. If Yoshino-san weren't that useful a neighbor... He sighed and searched his coat pockets for cigarettes, realizing with mild dismay that he would have to buy new ones later on. 
     When he sauntered toward the Kototoi-dori and Ueno Park, a motorbike was parked in front of the small local police station, making him wonder whether or not the station's immediate vicinity was already monitored. The surveillance system across Tokyo was growing rapidly, particularly since the suspected 'terrorist act' against the Ebisu Garden Place last summer. Yet another inconvenience caused by 'Kamui'. 
     That was why natural cause was about to become the standard modus operandi. The Tree might be upset about that, but he didn't think there was a choice: moving unseen was rapidly becoming impossible. Cameras, both visible and invisible, watched — and most often recorded — a lot of places by now, even in the seedier parts of town; recordings that were studied in case of incidents or watched live by human operators. Face recognition software and emergency evaluation programs were in the making, but not yet deployed: too many false positives. He'd had some rather interesting talks with Nokoru about the topic, at least when they hadn't been discussing the end of the world. Human operators, despite their cost, still had the better score, but the software was catching up. Humans he could handle, but electronics had no mind for illusions to work on. And he wasn't quite reckless enough to burn spells on CDs. 
     The Sadako incident had been a strict warning regarding analog storage. The curse plague had finally died when the quality of the copies was reduced to a point no longer fit for transmitting magic; by then the death toll had exceeded two thousand. Seishiro didn't want to think about it going digital, where every copy had the same quality as the original, was in fact a new master disk. 
     It meant that a lot of his old tactics had to be reassessed, changed or adapted. And therefore, surveillance was one of the issues he had to discuss with the Sakura. Surveillance, fat cats, and the intensifying burn of the marks marring the backs of his hands. They'd begun to disturb his sleep and his work, taking ever more concentration and stronger spells to keep the blood-red glow concealed from ordinary people — and most importantly, from the Mori. 
     Leaving the university district, he crossed onto the nearly deserted sand paths of Ueno Park itself. 

Ueno Park, Tokyo, 
February 2, 2000 — 13:52 

It had become conspicuously warm for a day in early February. For the first time in this year the sun had true power. It was pleasant to sit here on a thick gnarled root, feeling the warmth on his face while his back rested comfortably against the Sakura's trunk. 
     Ueno Park was coming to life in the sun's warmth. He all but saw the buds on normal trees and bushes burst into minuscule leaves, laying a haze of green across the bare plant skeletons. The people of Tokyo had not yet noticed the arrival of spring, and the park was left to its winter residents: pigeons, rabbits, the old fox in his hole near the Metropolitan — and him. 
     He watched two rabbits lying in the sun flat like mats put out to dry, nibbling the first fresh blades in the winter grass, and wondered if his shikigami would enjoy a kill of its own for a change. 
     A tuft of flowers brushed against his temple, ran sensuously slow along his jaw and down his throat. He warned the Tree off when it was about to dip into his collar. 
     The Sakura had become rather... snuggly since he was carrying marks; snuggly, cautious, and tender. The latter actually worried him. The Tree had seldom hesitated to draw blood; now it took pains that it didn't. Pink blossoms fluttered over the faintly glowing scars on his hands, easing the burn. Idly, he wondered if they would turn white when 'natural causes' became the normal mode of operation or whether the color was the result of spiritual as much as of physically absorbed blood. And was the Tree able to forgo real blood or would he still have to provide some? 
     He watched the rabbits from before chasing each other into the shrubs. 
     Would he have to resort to blood conserves or would animal blood suffice? 
     The trunk at his back quivered with sudden mirth. A blossom-cushioned twig raised his chin, tipping his head back like the Tree had used to do when he was still a boy. When had it stopped doing that? 
     ...I'm not a vampire, Sei-chan... The twig stroked the pulse under his ear. ...I'm just resisting changes in my favorite diet. You wouldn't forgo the cherries on your sundaes, either... 
     "If obtaining them became dangerous, would you provide them?" 
     He sneezed when a twig tapped his nose. 
     ...I'm not some fructiferous procreator!... 
     "Just some flowering procrastinator." 
     ...Look who's talking... the Sakura retorted in a flutter of petals. 
     "What's wrong?" Seishiro looked up into the crown when the blossomed twigs soothing his hands suddenly fell away from him. ...Sei-chan... The Tree whispered, strangely insistent, with a last brush of flowers over his hands. ...Go home... 

Seishiro walked at a brisk pace. Faint music, drifting from an open window, mixed with the even rhythm of his leather soles on the sidewalk. Birds were singing behind him in Ueno Park and ahead of him on the Yanaka. He wondered why the Sakura had asked him to go home. It wasn't as if anything untoward had happened to his house. He'd know if his wards were breached, and the vicinity itself held some rather imaginative protections. A few of the Mori were able to avoid some of them, but most were definitely out of their league. Other intruders would have even more problems... 
     Except the Kamui. 
     But the Sakura wouldn't send him towards them unwarned. 
     He crossed the corner to the small back lane where his house stood. Yoshi dozed on the sill of a firmly closed window. A clichéd picture of quiet and peace. Seishiro looked ahead; the grey wall surrounding his estate was partially bathed in sunlight. The branches of the large trees lining the Yanaka on the other side of the lane and beyond his house already showed the first green and didn't so much as move in the afternoon sun. Not a living soul within s— 
     He almost halted in his steps. A painfully thin figure in a crumpled brown coat sat in front of his gate, arms folded on drawn-up legs, head tiredly resting on them. He stopped a mere step away. 
     "Subaru-kun?" 

Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo, 
Seishiro's kitchen — 15 Minutes later 

"Which is why we seldom mark our prey for good — or for any prolonged amount of time. It has a tendency to become distracting." Seishiro put the delicate glass tea cup with the engraved flower pattern down in front of Subaru before filling his own and claiming the other chair at his kitchen table. "There are two ways to silence the marks, that I am aware of," he said calmly, breathing in the sweet scent of the tea. 
     "And those are?" Subaru asked, picking up his own cup. The slight trembling in his fingers as they lay around the glass of the cup didn't escape Seishiro's attention. Not good. The exquisite Gyokuro tea was likely wasted on Subaru. 
     Seishiro sipped at his tea. He doubted that Subaru would make it through the rest of the day on his feet. "The common one is to dispose of the one bearing the mark." 
     "I think we both know that that would endanger the state." Subaru laid both hands around his cup. "The other?" 
     Seishiro put his own down. 
     "Giving in." 

~:~:~:~:~ 

"Giving in." 
     Subaru sat motionless, yet he couldn't stop the tea cup in his hands from shaking. Under Seishiro's calm gaze he struggled not to reach out, not to touch, to— 
     Once he touched Seishiro, once his magic had reunited — he wouldn't find the will to let go again. "Giving in." The quiet words were ringing in his ears. His heart raced, missing beats in its flight, yet a calm, steady pulse thumped in his chest — a jarring dissonance. He blinked, turned away from the table, trying to focus. The cup fell from his hands. 
     Seishiro caught it before it could hit the floor. Tea sloshed onto his hand. The hot liquid on Seishiro's fingers burned Subaru's skin. He trembled. He— "I—" He slid off his chair, stood shakily, staring wide-eyed at Seishiro... at himself... "I—" He made a step... towards himself... saw himself making a step, stumbling, falling... 
     ...into his own arms... Seishiro's arms. 
     The cup shattered on the kitchen floor. 

He woke on the couch — its black kid leather soft under his cheek — with Seishiro's warm hand splayed wide on his shoulder beneath the cloth of his partially unbuttoned shirt. 
     Skin on skin. Direct contact. He blinked, dizzy, until the vague forms finally took shape. 
     Seishiro was sitting in front of the couch, his feet tucked under the kotatsu. He was reading a book he had propped up against its edge while maintaining the touch that — Subaru just knew — had been essential for him to wake up knowing who was he and who was Seishiro... no, to wake up at all. 
     He tried to sit up and his head swam with pain. Seishiro looked up from his book to throw him a questioning look. "Is it always like this?" Subaru asked, pressing a hand over his eyes. 
     "Only if you go too long without shielding," Seishiro said calmly. His hand moved slightly over Subaru's skin — a deliberate caress or a motion necessary after keeping a position for too long a time — before he broke the contact. A reading lamp covered the kotatsu in warm yellow light, its reflections running along the thin gold frame of Seishiro's glasses. Subaru shuddered. The sky outside the windows was black. 
     "How long have I been out?" 
     Seishiro snapped his book shut and put it on the table. "A few hours. I expected you to take longer." He stood, and an uneasy, straining pain rushed along Subaru's spine. When Seishiro left the room, he was almost sick. With a hand pressed over his mouth, he stumbled to his feet, clinging to the couch while the room spun about him, before he dared give up the hold to follow Seishiro. He didn't see his way as much as he felt the direction of lessening pain. 
     Seishiro frowned at him when he appeared in the kitchen door and leaned, shaking, against the door frame. "You should have stayed down." 
     "I couldn't..." Subaru whispered. "The marks—" 
     Seishiro laughed wryly. "That isn't the marks; that's your irritated nerves. They're raw from the previous strain. Right now, any impulse you get — from me, from yourself, from the TV remote — will make you sick." Glass from the shattered tea cup crunched under their slippers as Seishiro pushed Subaru into a chair and went to search swiftly through the kitchen cabinet. "Here. Take these." He placed two white pills in Subaru's hand. 
     "What is it?" 
     "Acetaminophen." Seishiro put a mug on the table and the distinct smell of coffee invaded Subaru's nose. "And coffee to keep them down. I suggest you take them now—" the mug was held out to him, "— and you better refrain from being sick in my house." 
     Seishiro had to support the mug for Subaru to wash down the pills. He labored for a while to keep them down, but gradually the sickening pain abated and he no longer felt like every word was turning his stomach. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the pills or because Seishiro had touched him again and was still in the room. "I thought it was unhealthy to mix painkillers and coffee." 
     "Coughing up your intestines for half a day isn't good for you, either," Seishiro returned dryly over the jingle of broken glass while he emptied the dustpan into the bin under his sink. "And that was your alternative, believe me. You should have come earlier." He gave the floor a critical once over, before wiping his hands. "It's almost two in the morning. Sleep it off." 
     Subaru slid off his chair, expecting the pain to return and the room to spin when Seishiro left; nothing happened. He cautiously followed Seishiro; the sound of opening closets drew him into the living room. A pile of blankets lay on the black carpet. 
     "I don't have visitors, so there's no guest room." Seishiro's voice came out of his bedroom. 
     Guest room? Subaru stared at the blankets. He'd expected Seishiro to be on the phone calling him a cab. "But I—" 
     "If you want to sleep in the bed, be prepared to pay for it." Seishiro returned with a red-and-black pillow under his arm; his amber stare didn't leave any doubt about what kind of payment he had in mind. 
     Subaru felt his face growing hot in his weariness. For once, he was sure the reaction was his own; still he shivered. He wasn't up to winning this fight and he couldn't afford losing it, either. 
     Seishiro shrugged and spread the blankets over the fine leather of the couch, wrapping them safely around the cushions before he tossed the pillow against an armrest. "Sleep," he said quietly. "You need it." 
     Subaru shook his head, put a hand to the door frame to keep himself upright and found himself glancing at the Sakura painting with its brilliant contradictory colors that now loomed over his makeshift bedstead: silent sentinel and dire warning that nothing here was what it seemed. Nothing. Not even the lies. "What's going to happen now?" 
     "You'll be stuck with me for a while." 
     "For how long?" Giving in to his exhaustion, Subaru finally sat down. 
     Seishiro, already in the doorway to his bedroom, looked back. "I don't know. Believe it or not, we have no experience of untrained markers, either." He switched off the light. For a brief moment his tall frame was a stark silhouette against the light, then Subaru found himself in the dark. The silk of the pillow under his head smelled faintly of sakura, tobacco, and... something else. He wasn't sure it was blood. 

~:~:~:~:~ 

Seishiro heard the door easing open about an hour later. New moon was in three days; so only the flicker of reverence lights on the Yanaka fell through his half-closed blinds, drawing the lines of the room in a ghostly shine against the dark. He remained silent, curious what Subaru would do. The rustle of carpet fibers under socked feet, hesitant, cautious; breaths, a little too fast and forcefully kept flat; the scraping sound of worn cloth being strained... 
     He kept his own breathing even; too many experiences in his youth had taught him to keep surprise on this side by not revealing that he was awake. He didn't twitch when a hand touched his arm, though the tremor in it and the faint layer of sweat were unexpected. 
     Fear? Probably. 
     He waited. Nothing else happened. The hand held tight. The breathing evened out to deep, exhausted sleep.  
     Finally, he sat up, studying the narrow body curled up on the floor next to his bed. "Really, Subaru-kun," he sighed, slipped out of bed, picked him up and tucked him between the sheets his own body had already warmed. "You're going to catch your death like this." 

to be continued in 
Family Matters - Interregnum 1

Notes:
Sadako. Yamamura Sadako, a vengeful spirit in the novel "the ring" by Suzuki Koji, originally published 1991, who cursed people to death with a video tape. The curse could only be broken by copying the tape and having somebody else watching the copy.