He lay on its roots, gasping for breath. His pale body was covered in symbols drawn in burgundy and crimson: dried and fresh blood forming the characters the Tree had learned from him. Characters that were written fluently across his skin by the Tree's dancing twig.
     ...Heat. Obsession... 
     The rough bark abraded the skin on his neck to dip into the living ink and draw the next characters... 
     ...Power. Play... 
     The Tree shivered. Blood characters were a kind of mark all by themselves. 
     Marks on skin. Marks in the flesh— 
     ...Control. Lust... 
     Yue cried out. 

A mighty bough that had been a twig writing on skin in the sixth century curled in memorized movements. A rain of petals danced through the eternal maboroshi. The Tree remembered another character drawn in blood many years later. 
     ...Politeness... 
     The wide crown quivered in amusement. Such an odd choice, so compelling in its simplicity. 
     "It is polite to ask, right?" Seishiro had asked that night with fascinatingly wicked innocence. 
     Now, twenty years later, alone in its maboroshi the Tree finally answered: ...that depends on who's asking... 

Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo, 
February 4, 2000 

The first thing he noticed was that his body was warm while his feet felt cold; the second was that there was light filtering dimly through the partially screened window. Seishiro's living room. He'd waited on the couch and— Subaru blinked drowsily and pressed a hand over his aching eyes. It had been ages since he'd dropped off like that somewhere. Had he slept all night? Hadn't Seishiro come hom—? 
     One of the lumps under his spine stirred. What!? Something nuzzled against his belly. Raising his head from the armrest, Subaru looked down along his front and found Seishiro, sound asleep, kneeling on the carpet in front of the couch and hugging him like a teddy bear. 
     Subaru almost giggled at the determined expression with which Seishiro held on. Like a spoiled child. 
     Short stubbles covered the normally impeccably smooth chin, each tiny hair casting a minuscule shadow in the gently slanting light of earliest morning. It was normal, ordinary... somehow it made the man more real. Subaru felt his fingertips itch, wanting to touch that stubbled skin, feel its roughness... He'd seen Seishiro sleeping before, but not like this — unshaven, unguarded, with tousled hair that mussed where it was caught under his temple. Seishiro's eyes moved behind his lids. Was he dreaming? And if so, of what? Of death and destruction, blood, lost souls, and sakura? Of other things? Happier things? 
     Seishiro murmured something and stirred, changing his hold. Subaru stilled at the sight of Seishiro's right hand that now lay splayed wide on his belly. The pentacle on its back was an angry red burn, torn and blistered as if a branding iron had been taken to the tormented skin. Subaru swallowed, thinking how it must have hurt Seishiro; how he must have hurt Seishiro. To think that marks could inflict injuries such as these... 
     Had Seishiro known he could be hurt like that? Was that why he'd retreated from him at Imonoyama's despite knowing that they had to 'continue', to keep the Final Battle undecided? 
     Subaru cautiously shifted himself a bit higher. There was a crick in his neck from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, but he didn't want to wake Seishiro by getting up right now. He let his fingertips ghost over the hand on his belly, careful not to touch the burns. The scars on his own hands hadn't even itched yesterday, but Seishiro's hand recoiled at the lightest brush. Afterward the scent of sandalwood hung in the air. Subaru frowned. Something gleamed on the floor behind Seishiro's legs. Craning his neck, he spotted daggers and a scattered set of ofuda. What had Seishiro been doing? 
     "The common way is to dispose of the one bearing the marks." 
     Did it work the other way round, too? Could Seishiro unmark himself if he—? 
     Slowly, Subaru pushed his hand into his pocket, reaching for an ofuda of his own. 
     Tension seeped into Seishiro's arms holding him. The next mumbled groan was cut short. Subaru, forcing his breath to remain even, closed his hand around the ofuda in his pocket and pretended to be asleep. He felt Seishiro propping himself hard against the couch to get to his feet. Peeking through his lashes, he saw him pressing a hand to the small of his back as he collected ofuda and daggers from the floor before going next door. A moment later, the bathroom door closed. When he could hear the hum of an electric shaver, Subaru got up. With a glance towards the open bedroom door and the bathroom beyond, he padded to the kitchen. 

First sunlight already reached across the garden wall, drawing a streak of light across the kitchen cabinets. Subaru filled the water cooker and switched it on, then began searching for the tea box. He had to stretch to retrieve it from the top shelf of the second hanging cabinet he examined. He couldn't find cups or bowls, but a collection of mugs was on the lower shelf. A yellow one stood right in the band of sunlight, gleaming at him. He put it together with the tea box onto the kitchen counter and sat down to wait for the water to boil. 
     Seishiro's kitchen had changed little since he'd been here last year. A basket with oranges now occupied the window sill; a bunch of opened letters stuck between it and the pane. A used glass stood near the sink. Yesterday's morning paper lay on the stool at the door. The calendar with the penguins was gone, replaced by one with space photographs. February showed a crescent Earth. It looked fragile, breakable in the deep black of the surrounding space. The date field underneath held no notes. 
     Outside, a door opened and closed. The sound of a drawer followed... 
     The water cooker hissed and switched itself off. Subaru returned to the counter to infuse his tea. 
     Seishiro's hair was damp when he entered the kitchen, clean-shaven and in a fresh shirt. The marks on his hands looked like they had the previous morning: pale silvery scars, barely visible on his skin when he reached up to turn on the radio news. Illusion, Subaru realized. He's working an illusion about them. 
     "Good morning, Subaru-kun." Seishiro threw a look out the window. "I fear toast will have to do for today's breakfast. I kind of missed my alarm." He was gone from the room before Subaru had a chance to say anything. 
     Subaru blinked. No comment about yesterday's events. Nothing regarding his reappearance in Seishiro's house. As if he hadn't left the day before at all. As if everything was... 
     ...as it should be. 
     It wasn't. Subaru had seen the scars, had seen the magical equipment laid out. The daggers and the ofuda were aggressive items, even more so in Seishiro's brand of magic; sandalwood on the other hand was a reverence oil used for intricate, sensitive work that practically excluded harmful application. Even in the Tantric vamachara , with its focus on ritualizing the forbidden, sandalwood indicated safe practices. It didn't make sense. 
     Subaru's scars itched suddenly. Alarmed, he looked up and spotted Seishiro outside, fetching the morning paper stuck in the curled steel rods of the gate. They were less than twenty meters apart and already he felt the marks calling to him, telling him of the burn on Seishiro's hands and a dull ache in his back that didn't show in his posture. 
     Twenty meters! Subaru turned away from the window, resting his head in his hands. Most buildings were larger than that. What would happen if they were at opposite sides of town? Would it be as bad as yesterday or even worse? He didn't know enough to prevent something like that on his own, and— 
     Seishiro tossed the paper onto the table. The plump cat from yesterday strayed in behind him, flopped onto the warm spot near the stove, where the sunlight already reached the floor and began licking its ruffled fur back into order. Seishiro, busying himself with setting up toaster and coffee machine, ignored it. He took a mug from the cabinet to pour himself a coffee and the sunlight glowed on his shirt, turning it soft pink instead of white, tempting to touch— 
     Subaru focused his attention squarely onto his place set, clasping his hands together beneath the table. "We have to talk about yesterday," he said quietly. "I— we can't risk something like that happening again." 
     "I second that." Seishiro put a platter with toast and ham on the table and took the other chair. Subaru gave him a skeptical look. He hadn't expected Seishiro to be reasonable. "I couldn't help but notice yesterday's lapse." Seishiro bit into a toast, chewing calmly, before he continued. "It's not as if I didn't warn you. These things—" He indicated the scars on his hands. "—can kill you, you know?" 
     "It might have helped if you had pointed that out." 
     "I considered it obvious." Seishiro put his toast down. "It didn't occur to me that you'd go straight to offer yourself—" 
     "The Waseda Tenman-gu had made the appointment with the main house six weeks in advance. I had already delayed it twice. Tenjin-kami is a vengeful god, who rose to godhood by blackmailing the emperor of his time with natural disasters until he was properly worshiped." Subaru drew a deep breath, feeling his composure slipping. "I couldn't possibly displease—" 
     "Yes, I'm sure Tenjin was especially pleased that you fell on his shrine," Seishiro retorted. "Though I don't recall him being keen on human sacrifices." 
     "Tenjin?" Subaru leaped to his feet, shoving the chair back. "Tenjin's the least of my problems!" He raised his hands, displaying the scars on their backs. "These are! The Tenman-gu isn't the first appointment I couldn't keep. Since January I haven't been able to keep up with my schedule properly. My grandmother's asking questions I have no idea how to answer. The Final Battle is no longer an excuse; she still exists, so she has drawn her own conclusions about the outcome. Do you want to tell her that she's wrong, that it's anything but decided? That to keep it that way a part of my magic is forever embedded in the murderer of my sister who crippled her?" 
     "Sure," Seishiro said, buttering a new slice of toast. "Get her on the phone." 
     Subaru stared at him. Then he slowly reclaimed his chair. "I shouldn't expect someone like you to understand." He reached for his already cooled tea, and noticed that the yellow mug had a smiley with fangs painted on it. He closed his hand around it and emptied it in one go. 
     "You will have to tell them eventually," Seishiro said matter-of-factly, laying his hand with the harmless-looking scars onto the table. "The marks won't go away and I don't intend to die any time soon to find out what the Dao does then." 
     "I know." Subaru sighed. "But right now—" He shook his head. "I have to get the marks under control first." 
     "You might not get that much time. Even under the best circumstances mark training can take years — if you are gifted." 
     "Then we had better stop wasting time." Subaru straightened. "What do I have to do?" 
     "First, learn to tell apart what's you and what's me coming through the marks." 
     "I do that already." 
     Seishiro shook his head. "You do it by content; you fail the moment my sensations are similar to yours. Body sensation and mark sensations can be distinguished separately." 
     At last, something to work with. "Show me." 
     Seishiro indicated his still untouched dish. "After you've eaten something." 

The place seemed to be infinite, endless black marble floor stretching to the horizon on all sides, now hidden by a wavering field of fog obscuring anything beneath shoulder height. No wind carrying sakura petals across his line of sight, no dramatic flap of a coattail — this was a pragmatic scenery that had nothing of the elaborate effects Subaru had come to expect in Seishiro's maboroshi. 
     The wind sickle suddenly rose above the fog, hissed past his left ear, close enough to ruffle his hair. "Concentrate!" Seishiro ordered as it dived back into the fog. "Whose hand is bleeding? Yours or mine?" 
     The marks tingled with pain from afar. "Yours." 
     "See yourself," Seishiro ordered, dispelling the maboroshi's fog. 
     Subaru, numbly, saw the drops of blood on the ground next to his left foot. "But... your hand is hurting," he protested. 
     "Because yours hurts." Seishiro shook his head. "You have to distinguish your body, your sensations from mine. Sort the information coming from me from the information about yourself, see both and separate them consciously. Otherwise, you are lost the moment you lose control briefly and I'm not near." The wound, the blood and pain in his palm disappeared. The fog swirled up, enclosing them again. "Again. Your hand or mine?" 
     The wind sickle hissed through the mist, leaving a band of angry curls in its path. Nothing touched his hands. "Yours." 
     The fog dropped. Seishiro raised his hands, showed unblemished palms to him. "Neither. Concentrate." 
     "Why do you practice it like this?" Subaru asked. They had to have been training for hours, but he couldn't be sure. Time perception in a maboroshi might not be reliable. 
     "The pain is sharp and localized. The body reaction is strong and clearly located, and therefore easier to determine." Seishiro smiled. "If you want to try something difficult: ever tried to pinpoint an itch?" 
     "Did you learn it this way?" 
     "It's the most basic exercise." 
     "How old were you?" 
     "Four. Five." Seishiro shrugged. The fog swirled up again; the wind sickle circled them. "Whose hand?" 
     A sharp pain ran over Subaru's palm. "Mine." 
     Seishiro sighed, raising his bloodied hand over the fog before dispelling it with a wave that left an arch of crimson pearls on the dark ground. "We'll stop for today. You're too tired; there's no point continuing." 
     Subaru's feet sunk into the thick black carpet of Seishiro's living room. It was dark outside and they had started after midday. Wearily, he headed towards the couch. If he didn't get some rest— 
     "Where do you think you're going?" 
     "To bed." 
     "You need to eat first," Seishiro insisted sternly. "We're not working with training spells here, but with real marks. You'll need your strength when you make a mistake with them. And the bed's over there." He nodded at the open bedroom door behind him. 
     "I don't intend to pay you today," Subaru returned dryly. 
     "Feel your marks." Seishiro showed one of his hands to him. In the dimness of the unlit room, the pentacle on its back glowed a pale red. "How long do you think it will take till you are forced to come to my bed? Thirty minutes? An hour? Do the two of us a favor and stop squirming. It's been a long day." 

It had been a strange feeling to go to bed beside someone; more so with that someone being Seishiro. Seishiro who'd leaned comfortably against the pillow-cushioned headboard, reading an unmarked document folder by the light of the bedside lamp. Subaru had watched him cautiously, had seen the lamp reflexes wander over the cognac tinged glasses as Seishiro followed the lines of text. 
     A glass of water and a carafe stood on the bedside table. A notepad with a pen clipped to it lay on the cover on Seishiro's lap. The top page was half covered in cryptic scribbles. At some point, Seishiro had frowned, flipped back a couple of pages and checked something, written another line on the pad and resumed reading.  
     The room had been quiet, except for their breathing, the occasional scratch of the ballpoint pen on the paper, and the rustle when Seishiro turned a page. Half asleep, Subaru had seen how Seishiro tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses and stifled a yawn before gathering himself up and continuing to work. 
     Subaru had tried to catch a glimpse of the real condition of Seishiro's hands beneath the illusion, but at some time he'd dozed off. By the time the electronic beeping of the alarm clock had registered with him in the morning, Seishiro had already been awake and about to get up. 

Later that day, they went to get his toothbrush and fresh clothes from his place. Subaru had wanted to go alone, but the marks were still too raw for that. Seishiro hadn't said a word about it, had merely taken his coat from the wardrobe and opened the door for him. 
     Subaru hated it; hated the weakness, the dependency, everything — especially that Seishiro knew it and made it easy for him. Subaru knew he should be glad about that; he wasn't. 
     They returned not only with his essentials but also with a stack of faxes; cases he was unwilling to cancel. The thirty minutes on the train back were spent in whispered argument about the balance between mark exercises, work, and overall daily life. Seishiro had a schedule of his own and refused to work with him on more than two cases a day. 
     Subaru spent the rest of the day on the phone, renegotiating appointments, suggesting alternative help, and therefore rigorously thinning his schedule. 
     Still, he failed to keep up in the following weeks. 
     Some of the mark exercises took up whole days; longer when the backlash was too strong to recover from it in a single day. Those were the times when he didn't always know how he'd got into bed the night before. 
     Consequently, there were further inquiries about his well-being, and their tone became stricter and more impatient; but the number of files actually sent his way decreased. 
     "They're outsourcing the easy jobs," Seishiro commented with a grin. "Took them long enough." 
     Subaru, sitting at the breakfast table and going through one of the most terse case summaries he'd ever seen, didn't bother with a reply. His headaches were murderous and his grandmother would kill him... 
     ...if working with Seishiro didn't kill him first. 

Minami-Aoyama-cho, Tokyo 
March 16, 2000 – 11:38 

"I think it's here..." Subaru looked up the pale green five-storey apartment complex and checked the address on the fax sheet again. The narrow front garden, not much more than a line of low bushes along the foot of the house, showed early yellow flowers scattered among the fresh green leaves. A small tree, still supported by a tripod, was planted next to the entrance. The white double door with the glass inserts looked new, too — likely repairs necessary after last year's destruction. 
     "It is, if your client didn't move house since you got the file," Seishiro said dryly, already heading up the three steps and checking the bell board. "Here, Miozuki Aiko, apartment 2-3." He pressed the button impatiently. 
     Subaru hurried up the stairs when the interphone buzzed. =Miozuki. Who's there?= 
     "Sumeragi Subaru and associate," Seishiro answered before Subaru reached him. "You called for us." 
     =Yes. Oh, I'm so glad you could make it. Please, do come in.= 
     The door buzzed and Seishiro pushed against it. He snickered as he held it open for Subaru. "Count Dracula would love her. So easy to be invited in." He looked up the staircase. "Second floor and no lift." He sighed, putting his hand on the rail. "Let's go." 
     Subaru hurried to overtake him on the stairs. 

"Please, Miozuki-san, be so kind as to describe the events that led you to contact the Sumeragi." 
     "I already explained in detail on my initial call. Surely—" 
     Subaru nodded. "You did. But I'd like to hear it in your own words instead of relying solely on the case file." He didn't add that his grandmother's case fax had been sorely lacking details, implying that he should call her — something he hadn't done for various reasons. One of these was currently sitting next to him on Miozuki's living room couch, sipping tea while listening attentively to what the old lady had to tell them about the sound of steps in the night and the sudden inexplicable translocation of objects. She'd contacted the Sumeragi when small items began to move towards her, dropping to the floor right in front or behind her, one — a pepper mill — almost hitting her head. 
     "Poltergeist?" Seishiro made it a question. 
     "Yes." Subaru nodded. "And it's getting bolder." He looked at Miozuki again. "Were there any unfortunate events in this apartment?" 
     "None that I know of," the old lady replied. "And I've been living here since my husband passed away in 1975." 
     Seishiro put his cup down. "Maybe he holds a grudge against you." 
     "Of course not!" Miozuki protested. 
     "We apologize, Miozuki-san," Subaru said, covertly kicking the back of Seishiro's leg. "But it is a valid question. Spirits often have an understanding of our world which they lacked when they were alive." He stood, not without shooting a warning glare at Seishiro who, unperturbed, refilled his teacup. "I will try to locate the source of the phenomenon. Miozuki-san, once I established the banning field, do not cross into it for any reason. It would be dangerous." He went a few steps away from them and took an ofuda from his pocket. Focusing on his raised fingertips, he called on his power. 
     °°°Om.°°° 
     Even at that very first syllable of the mantra he felt the marks tugging at him, reminding him of his incompleteness. He smelled tea on his tongue and wished Seishiro would stop sipping from his cup. 
     °°°Om Abokya Beiroshanau Makabodara.°°°  
     The magical energy he'd raised flowed calmly around him. There was a faint ripple from the couch — Miozuki's stern disapproval of his 'apprentice' registered, but that was neither strong enough nor old enough to be the source of the Poltergeist. Subaru exhaled quietly. 
     °°°Mani Handomajinpara Haraparitaya Un.°°° 
     He straightened and folded the prepared ofuda back into his pocket. There was nothing here. 
     "I was told Sumeragi-sama would be working alone," he heard Miozuki saying in a low voice. 
     "He is working alone. I'm merely the driver," Seishiro returned idly. 
     "Then why aren't you waiting outside with the car?" 
     "That wouldn't do since I'm learning the art." Seishiro beamed at her. "I'm just jobbing as a driver to finance my education." 
     "Forgive my intrusion... but aren't you a tad old to be still an apprentice?" 
     Seishiro pouted and put his tea down. 
     "His gift was discovered rather late," Subaru stated calmly. The banning field was gone. "That's also why I work with him personally. After all, we wouldn't want Seishiro-kun to make a mistake, would we?" He threw a warning glance at his 'driver'. "He could end up becoming the Sakurazukamori's prey otherwise." To Miozuki he added, "The source is not within this apartment. It most likely stems from one of the neighboring flats or comes from someone closely connected to this place who you don't know about. We will have to inquire with your neighbors if we are to pursue the apparition." He bowed at the old lady. "I understand that you'd prefer to keep this private. But I'm worried about the increasing level of violence in its actions." 
     Miozuki looked unhappily at them. "How bad could it become?" 
     "Lethal," Seishiro said dryly. 
     "It will be best if you wait outside while we make the necessary preparations," Subaru bowed again. "Your presence might interfere with the summoning." 

"Summoning?" Seishiro asked once he'd closed the apartment door behind Miozuki. 
     "Nonsense!" Subaru glared at him. "Stop expanding our tale. One of my clients may mention something of it to grandmother and—" 
     "Why should they?" Seishiro shrugged. "The jobs get done, don't they?" 
     "To express their gratitude," Subaru snapped, annoyed. "But I suspect that's nothing that happens in your work." 
     "It is exceedingly rare, I admit," Seishiro smirked, hands in his pant pockets."So, whom are you going to summon?" 
     Enma Daio's secretary, to read you the riot act! "Nobody. I'm going to set a shikigami on the ghost's trail and then we go and question the neighbors. Politely. Please keep in mind that my clients can talk outside a séance afterwards." 
     "Yes, I've come to consider that one of the downsides of your work." 

°°°Shuku Do.°°° The white ofuda on his hand began to glow and curled up at the edges. Subaru flattened his palm and added the last syllable. °°°Sho.°°° 
     In a whirl of wind and fluttering wings, his shikigami rose into the air, circling the room briefly. "There's a spiritual trail in this room—" 
     The shikigami hovered in the air in front of Seishiro, flapping its wings agitatedly. 
     "This is getting ridiculous..." Subaru muttered. "Not him," he corrected the helper spirit. "The other one!" 
     The white dove circled again, then dived through the apartment door. 
     Outside, they saw it circle in front of the door opposite Miozuki's apartment before it passed through the hallway window to disappear between the buildings. 
     "External source," Seishiro commented. 
     "And we will find out what it wants here," Subaru said. "Miozuki-san," he addressed the old lady waiting outside, "please be so kind as to introduce us to your neighbors now." 

The questioning of the neighbors on the floor above and below them didn't yield much. Three of the four parties were still working and he had to use Miozuki's phone list to call them. There had been this or that odd event recently, but they mostly wrote it off as tiredness or their children playing a joke on them. Nothing had transpired in the apartments on the fourth floor or at street level, so Subaru decided against inquiring at adjacent houses. The reason for the Poltergeist's manifestation had to be in this house, on this or the next floor. 
     He closed his eyes, checked on his shikigami, but the white dove was still hurrying west, curving and diving around several highrises and across a field of rubble where a tall structure had collapsed. A large billboard indicated that reconstruction of Shibuya 109 was about to begin. 
     "The source is farther away than I thought," Subaru told Seishiro quietly. "It's currently in Shibuya, still heading west. The Poltergeist has to have a strong incentive for being here." 
     "Who's living over there?" Seishiro asked, pointing at the other door on the floor. 
     "That's the apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Shimizawa. They were caught in the earthquake down in Shibuya last autumn." 
     Shibuya. Seishiro's eyes narrowed, focusing on the door. 
     "Don't—" Subaru started to say, then realized it would be in vain. Seishiro was already testing the doorknob. "Miozuki-san," Subaru hurried to call their client's attention back to him. Please, don't kick in that door! he thought desperately at Seishiro's muttered 'Inconvenient'. "Has the place been retenanted since then?" 
     "No, these are owned flats and Mrs. Shimizawa is still alive," Miozuki explained. "But her husband died." Behind her, Seishiro drew a pentagram around the doorknob. "It's really tragic. They were such a nice couple—" 
     "And rather negligent." Seishiro had pushed open the door. "Leaving their place unlocked in times as unsafe as these!" 
     "Miozuki-san, please stay outside," Subaru quickly stepped between their client and the door. "We don't know what to expect." 
     "You should bring restraints for nosy customers," Seishiro hissed as they entered the flat. 
     "Why? I've got you to entertain them with breaking into their neighbor's flat," Subaru retaliated under his breath. 
     "Breaking in? Really, Subaru-kun," Seishiro chided equally quietly. "I usually work with more style!" 
     The apartment was dark and dingy, with shuttered windows and withered plants. The light from the corridor outside fell in a rectangular frame onto a grey floor. Dust had been whirled up. Subaru blinked, and the image of a hospital room laid itself over the scene. "The shikigami has found the source," he said quietly. "A woman. Comatose." He concentrated, whispered an order to the spirit bird. A moment later, he released it. "Naito Hospital, Hatsudai-cho." 
     Somewhere inside something hit the floor with a loud thump. Seishiro moved slowly into the dark hallway to the right. Subaru felt for the light switch next to the door and bathed the devastated apartment into yellow lamp light. Trails from one room to the next were running through the dust on the floor. Subaru turned left. If the layout was similar to Miozuki's place, then the kitchen had to be on the right, with the bathroom next to it. The sleeping quarters— 
     A door banged open at his side. Subaru turned just in time to catch the shadow leaping at him before grimy fingernails could reach his face. 
     "No!" he yelled at Seishiro, who appeared behind the frail, struggling assailant in Subaru's secure grip, ready to strike. "No. I've got him." 
     "Indeed." Seishiro wrinkled his nose. 
     The man in his grip had ceased to struggle and was now cowering from the bright light. Tattered clothes and matted hair did little to hide a face deadly white from lack of sunlight and an abundance of fear. Subaru tried to breathe shallow. The inhabitant shared the dingy smell of the unkept apartment. 
     "Is that... the ghost?" Miozuki asked curiously from the door. 
     "Hardly," Seishiro commented wryly. "It's too lively for a ghost." 
     "Miozuki-san," Subaru intervened calmly. "Please be so kind as to call the social services. Tell them we've got an abandoned hikikomori who needs their help urgently."  

"That," Seishiro nodded at the shivering heap of unwashed human in Subaru's arm once Miozuki had hurried next door, "can't be the source of our Poltergeist." 
     "No," Subaru agreed. "But he's most likely the reason for it. I think that the woman in Shibuya is Mrs. Shimizawa and this is her son. I'll inquire at the hospital once the social services have sent someone to take care of him." 
     "You don't trust me with him?" Seishiro asked, a mock expression of pain on his face. 
     "No," Subaru returned. "Would you?" 

~:~:~:~:~ 

Kioi-cho, Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo 
Hotel New Otani 
49 minutes later 

Seishiro rested his chin comfortably in his palm and looked, seemingly idle, at the garden outside. He'd barely found time to change clothes in Minato — the Carte d'Argent required formal attire in which he couldn't possibly pass as Subaru's driver — and arrived twenty minutes before his "appointment". The restaurant, renowned for its exquisite French cuisine, lay on the first floor. Its wide front of panorama windows provided an excellent view of the garden Lord Kato had created in the sixteenth century. He wondered briefly, what the samurai of old would have done had he known that at the end of the twentieth century his beloved garden, meticulously preserved until the present day, was the outdoor attraction of the New Otani hotel complex, tastefully illuminated and gawked at daily by thousands of visitors. 
     Of course, Seishiro was more interested in the window pane than in the garden beyond; more precisely, in the reflection of the table set behind him in a more remote spot of the restaurant. Either Sawada's secretary hadn't been precise when making the reservation that had called the Mori's attention, or Sawada himself was paranoid regarding sharp shooters. Seishiro smirked behind his hand. Admittedly, Sawada had some reason to fear shooters. According to the briefing file, it wouldn't be the first attempt on his life in a public place. 
     The waiter approached Seishiro's table to take his order. After a brief glance at the menu, he ordered ducklings in saffron. 
     At the other table, Sawada was speaking intently to his guests, feeling secure in the acoustics of the room which were designed to keep conversations private. Seishiro leaned back comfortably. An unobtrusive spell had taken care of that feature twenty minutes ago. So far, the discussion held little of interest; most of it dealt with a joint venture involving some company in Singapore. 
     Seishiro's meal arrived, smelling delicious. He'd always liked saffron; even more than its taste and the texture of its stigmata on his tongue, he enjoyed the knowledge that it was highly toxic. It was a rather expensive death. And freely available in every deli if one had the necessary money. 
     He savored the taste and listened to Sawada discussing financial details over a dish of what looked like spiny lobster in red wine. He stifled a yawn. The man should be killed for being such a bore in the first place. But so far, nothing had transpired that validated him as a target. Nothing. But... 
     One of the diplomats, laughing, pulled out his briefcase, causing no less than three bodyguards scattered across the restaurant to tense. He showed a picture to Sawada, indicating something on it. 
     Cold flowed over Seishiro's spine. He straightened. There it was. The power was indeed remarkable, but unfocused; very unfocused. 
     Unacknowledged or unrealized, Seishiro concluded, watching in the reflection how Sawada returned the gesture. The chill abated when the discussion returned to business topics. 
     Seishiro signaled the waiter for an ashtray and lit a cigarette, unobtrusively using first the flame of the lighter and then the glow of the cigarette's tip as a focus. But the surge of power was gone. He pulled a deep drag and tried again, but the brightly glowing tobacco also failed to reveal what had just been there. He slowly tapped the ash off his cigarette and leaned back again. There was something powerful, dangerous even, but Sawada wasn't the source of it... 
     ...a relay. Sawada himself didn't pose a threat, but somebody closely related to him did — and went off the scale with it, so that he still registered powerfully. Possible that it was even strong enough to accidentally help Sawada along. That was why Romiro's results had been inconclusive despite his prolonged investigation. He was commissioned to kill Sawada, but Sawada wasn't the main threat. Seishiro took a final drag. The client wouldn't like that. He stubbed the cigarette out and signaled the waiter to bring the bill. 

He left the hotel through the main entrance twenty minutes later. Outside the street lamps had lit up. The wind caught his coat, batted it to the side. He tied his belt firmly and stuffed his hands into the pockets against the chill. Heading south, along the Shimizudani park towards the Nagatacho metro station, he contemplated his next move. He had to observe Sawada's surroundings. The man was the link, but the target, though connected, didn't seem to keep close contact, otherwise Romiro would have come across it. So... 
     Seishiro's steps slowed slightly as he headed down the steps to the station. The briefing file mentioned a son, living apart from his father... 

~:~:~:~:~ 

Kabuki-cho 

Subaru stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around him. He felt sorrow for Mrs. Shimizawa who, trapped in a body not allowed to die, had still struggled to support her hikikomori son. Naito-kun looked as if he had withdrawn from society a long time ago, and who knew whether he'd ever manage to reintegrate. At the end of the bet, Subaru hadn't been that different — only his withdrawal had been even more complete. And he knew he would have remained that way if not for his sister. 
     A casual glance at the cracked bathroom mirror showed a face almost alien to him. Seishiro's insistence on three meals a day "or facing the consequences", whatever that meant — actually, Subaru was tempted to skip some and find out — together with regular sleep in the last six weeks had brought that about. Cautiously, he touched his cheek with his fingertips. The bruise was merely a blue shade along his cheek bone and he hoped that Miozuki-san had overlooked it. 
     Subaru slung the towel tighter around himself and went to get dressed. 
     There was a reason why Seishiro still accompanied him on his jobs, despite the fact that Subaru was now quite good at sorting his own sensations from those coming from the marks. Maintaining control was considerably more difficult when he was using his art; as an integral part of his magic the marks would always react then. 
     He pulled up his pants and took the last clean sweater out of the closet. 
     At least that was how Seishiro had explained it, and the explanation made sense. Unfortunately, there was a difference between understanding something and being able to use it. The harsh training with the wind sickle had taught him within three days how to tell Seishiro's sensations precisely from his own — and he'd got the impression that he'd really surprised Seishiro with learning it in that short a time — but forcing Seishiro's sensations back when they threatened him meant bringing his spiritual shield to bear against his own magic — and that was another matter altogether. When he'd finally managed it, he'd also blocked himself from reaching out, magically blinding himself. 
     He rolled the sleeves down onto his wrists and tugged the turtleneck into place. 
     The sudden, inescapable emptiness of the world around him had been the most terrifying experience in his life. He'd almost wept with relief when Seishiro brought him out of it with a sound slap to his face. 
     The neon ads on the adjacent buildings came on as Subaru stuffed his dirty clothes in a laundry bag. He would have to leave soon. Sakuragi was practically on the opposite site of Shinjuku on the Yamanote line, giving a commuting time of slightly above thirty minutes — and that didn't include the way from the station to Seishiro's house, another fifteen minutes. 
     Four days had passed since he'd last managed to visit. He really ought to redirect his fax number to a mailbox; cases could be on rather short notice after all. At least a dozen new pages lay on the tray of his fax machine. He sighed and scanned them briefly. Six new jobs, one at the Diet Building. He had no idea how he was going to explain Seishiro's company there— 
     His daily observances to the family's kami were another issue. He couldn't possibly bring the kamidana into Seishiro's house, and coming daily to Kabuki-cho was out of the question... 
     ...but then he lived with Death, so he probably should stop worrying about it anyway. He probably served the kami better by not coming near them in his perpetually impure state. He'd been marked by Death before, but now he had marked Death. Were marks dark or light magic? They had drawn blood when they were placed; they injured the one bearing them — all signs of dark magic. But the power within the marks was his own and he hadn't set them of his own free will; the Dao had done that for him. Did that count? 
     He ran his hand through his hair, pushing the wet strands out of his face. These were questions Seishiro was no help with, and they still worried him. And then there was still Kamui. Guiltily, Subaru realized it had been weeks since he'd thought of the boy. That, at least, was a call he could make on the spot. 

The phone was answered after the second ring. 
     "Imonoyama-san. This is Sumeragi Subaru. May I speak with Kamui, please?" 
     =I'm sorry, but Kamui and Mono left the campus shortly after you returned to Shinjuku. I've got no information about their current whereabouts.= 
     Subaru's hand tightened around the receiver at the news. "How was he doing? Was he alright?" 
     =As can be expected, given the circumstances,= Imonoyama replied. =The Twin Star has his moments. I think that's why they left. Kamui didn't want to endanger the people here.= There was a brief pause from Imonoyama's end of the line, then: =There were several inquiries from your clan regarding your location.= 
     Subaru drew a sharp breath. "I'm... staying with a mutual friend." 
     =I see.= Again there was only the buzz of the line for a few moments, then Imonoyama said, =I told them I didn't know. As far as I'm concerned, I still don't know.= Mischief sounded in his voice when he added. =After all, he has several rooms and I can't possibly know in which one you're staying.= 

to be continued in
Family Matters - Interregnum 2

Notes:
Tantra is often divided into dakshinachara and vamachara (Right-Hand Path and Left-Hand Path). Dakshinachara consists of traditional practices such as meditation, while vamachara additionally includes sexual rituals, consumption of intoxicants, animal sacrifice and flesh-eating. Both paths are viewed as valid approaches to enlightenment; vamachara, however, is considered to be the faster and more dangerous of the two.
"Om Abokya..." taken from Tokyo Babylon vol. 0: T-Y-O.
Hikikomori (lit. "pulling away, being confined,") are reclusive adolescents and young adults who have chosen to withdraw from social life, often seeking extreme degrees of isolation and confinement.