Sagano-cho, Kyoto (West)
Sumeragi Family Residence March 31, 2000 — 18:22 White paper screens hid the electric lights indirectly illuminating the room as the last of the sun set. A tea set stood on one side, though the twelfth head of the Sumeragi wasn't inclined to offer any. She looked thoughtfully at the three men kneeling at a respectful distance in front of her; their heads bent in apology. She'd known the moment they'd filed in that they hadn't been successful. All of them were skilled onmyoji, though they weren't as qualified as Subaru — or herself. They ought to be able to find whatever she sent them for, unless— She tapped her fingernail on the armrest of her wheelchair. There were spells, so called 'repellants', capable of hiding something particularly from those looking for it. But surely Subaru wouldn't have... She dismissed the men with a nod and a small move of her hand and frowned while they left. Repellants weren't strictly white onmyojutsu; in fact, if Subaru really had used one, then he'd taken his dabbling in the black arts much too far! She sighed. There was no point in sending another Sumeragi to Tokyo. Subaru was the most powerful onmyoji among their clan these days. She closed her hand forcefully around the armrest. If he'd gone astray... She would have to go herself. For the boy's sake. "Maki," she called her handmaid. "Prepare my traveling bag. We're going to Tokyo, first train tomorrow." ~:~:~:~:~ Chuo-ku, Tokyo, March 31, 2000 — 21:07 Sakurazuka Romiro closed the door to his apartment behind him, locked it, and pocketed the key. He threw a frustrated glance through the elegant room. Its furniture, made of white wood, was complemented by a dark grey floor. Color was added by a pale pink sakura arrangement beneath a white washi scroll with a waka by Teika on the wall opposite the window. Romiro noted, satisfied, that the ink on the scroll was still immaculate black, meaning the place hadn't been touched since he'd left it five days ago. He knew better than to stay at home when he sent out a tracer for Seishiro. His apartment was properly registered within the organization. Seishiro's on the other hand... It was a fact that the ditzy apartment he kept in Minato was a fake. The man seldom or never slept there; changed clothes and checked files at best. So far, none of them had been able to track down his real residence. They'd found several fake ones over the years; most notably the animal clinic in Shinjuku and the house in Taito. Romiro hung up his coat. He himself had tried to track down Seishiro's magical garden — the one thing in a Sakurazukamori's life that was difficult to hide entirely — but the shrewd bastard just continued to use the garden of his predecessor. And lived elsewhere. That in itself wasn't how it was supposed to be. He snorted. But it wasn't an offense serious enough for the clan to take action. None of his offenses were serious enough in their eyes. He clenched his fist. At his dark stare, the door in front of him rattled in its hinges. Romiro unlocked it with grim determination. A strong repellant spell on it made sure that no one ever noticed this door. The room on the other side... ...could hardly be explained to the general populace. He smirked, sitting down in the wide, leather-upholstered swivel-chair and rolled in front of the broad black granite table occupying the center of the room. The blood turning the ornamental carvings in the stone into magical boundaries had long dried. The little girl had squirmed and screamed when he cut the skin for the tracer out of her back. Romiro savored the memory with a smile before turning his attention to the rectangular slab of sakura wood in the center of the blood patterned table. He frowned when he saw that large parts of the blood-soaked wood were blackened with soot. The five skin pieces he'd carefully pinned to the slab were shriveled and burned. Burned. Sakurazuka! Damn y— He stopped, stared at the blood that had, soaking into the previously white wood, formed an intricate pattern still visible among the burns. This time, the hawk had not been fast enough. Concentrating, he began to read... ...and stopped, began again, stopped... Sumeragi. And traces of Sakurazuka. No, Sakurazuka traces in Sumeragi magic. Romiro pushed the chair back and stared at the unmarked wall. It was known that the thirteenth head of the Sumeragi had pentagram scars on his hands. What if they weren't just scars? What if they were real marks — the hawk's marks — and not one of his eccentric jokes, as the board had assumed back then? He frowned. When had that report come in? 1991? 92? It didn't matter. In either case marked prey had gone free for much too long! Romiro balled his hand into a fist. If he could prove that— —and... "How did a letter I specifically addressed to Sakurazuka Seishiro end up in the Sumeragi's hands in the first place?" ~:~:~:~:~ CLAMP Campus University Hospital March 31, 2000 — 23:37 ...feathers, edged in blood, rained down on the National Diet building, sticking to the stairs, the windows. The weak glow of the moon's vanishing sickle pulled the Kamui of the Dragons of Heaven out of the night, fleeing, black blood running down his legs and tears streaming down a face narrow from exhaustion... Kakyo jerked awake, tried frantically to find his bearings in the dark room. An eerie green nightlight was the only illumination left after the medical machines and monitors had been removed one after the other. It was silent now. A silence he hadn't known for years. A silence he wasn't used to, that let him hear his heart thumping, his blood rushing in his ears, his breath... ...the desolate crying in his dream. Eyes wide, he fled into the brightly lit corridor, away from the sounds, the darkness, the dream— —moving too fast for his muscles, weakened by years of neglect, to follow. He stumbled, falling against a hard body, was caught— struggled— "Now, there. Keep quiet," a low voice rumbled and Kakyo looked up into a large pair of reflective black glasses above a smirking mouth. "Doesn't look like the end of the world, now, does it?" Kakyo stared; his throat constricted; he— and then he found himself suddenly laughing. "No. That was totally different." ~:~:~:~:~ A few minutes later, in the first minutes of April 1, 2000, Akechi Shigetaka M.D. looked up from his files when the door to his small office was opened without a prior knock. "I've met your kitten already, Shige. Cute guy, but a little spooked." Saiga turned a chair around and sat astride on it, laying his arms folded onto its back. "So, why did you call me? Do you need me to fit him a set of clothes besides this awful hospital garbage?" "Not quite," Akechi pushed his large, wire-framed glasses higher up his nose. "There's more to that 'kitten' than there seems to be and I need someone to watch it while it figures out the reality out there and how to live in it." He nodded vaguely at the window and the lights of Tokyo beyond. Saiga was quiet for a moment. "What is he?" he asked finally. "You wouldn't call me in for a simple bodyguard job." "Bodyguard? He needs a babysitter!" Akechi chuckled. "Seriously, though… He's a dreamseer. A good one." Saiga whistled briefly. "There'll be folk out there looking for him." "Yes. And he mustn't be caught." Akechi closed the file and stood. "And? Are you interested in the job?" "As a babysitting bodyguard?" Saiga snorted. "Damn. Yes." ~:~:~:~:~ Kabuki-cho, Shinjuku, Tokyo April 1, 2000 — 09:36 The twelfth head of the Sumeragi tested the walls carefully, searching for the slightest imperfection that might indicate a breach covered up later, finding none. Subaru's apartment seemed unharmed. She thought of the overflowing mailbox downstairs — mostly advertisements — and didn't feel relieved. Taking an ofuda from the deep sleeves of her traveling kimono, she straightened in her chair and focused. "Maki, we have to go in," she decided. The wheels of her chair crunched faintly on the bare floor of Subaru's bleak apartment. The once carefully waxed wood was covered with dust. Undisturbed dust. Hitose had been right in assuming that Subaru hadn't been home for quite a while. She rolled over to the bedroom to look at the fax machine. A few sheets lay on its tray. Maki fetched them for her. The most recent dated back to March 17. She sighed, remembering the case. It had been important and she'd been worried — and angry — when Subaru hadn't picked it up, hadn't even called about it. They hadn't learned that the case had not been completed until the angry client had called the main house, complaining. It looked as if Subaru had never even received the fax. What if—? But his later appointments had been met — much more regularly actually — so...? She looked thoughtfully at his narrow bed. The sheets were slightly rumpled, as if someone had sat on them and hadn't bothered to straighten them afterwards. The wardrobe stood open, revealing a few scattered pieces of clothing also covered in dust and— nothing. His shikifuku was nowhere to be seen; the prayer beads were missing as well. She turned the chair, looked at the kamidana and grew cold: wrapped in rice paper, with protective ofuda and a guardian ornament surrounding Amaterasu's tablet. Pre-emptive apology for missed services. It had been a long time since Subaru had been here, longer even since he'd slept here. Her hands trembled. Where was the boy? ~:~:~:~:~ Edogawa, Tokyo Togakushi Shrine April 1, 2000 — 23:32 The divine sword nailed his hand to the concrete. "Such a nice voice... Kamui..." A whisper, the purr of a deep, familiar, forbidden voice that vibrated over his skin and down his spine. It silenced his cries, numbed him when glass shards cut through his hand and shoulder, pinning him even more firmly against the torn wall. "The earth wishes for a change..." Blood filled his mouth, spilled over his lips. Even breaths fanned over his skin. A wet tongue licked the sensitized spot on his throat. Teeth followed. He arched back against the shards holding his hands and leg, arched into the body leaning against him. Excruciating pain turned to— to— "Fu...ma..." His chin was tipped back. Brown eyes held his gaze. "A change that won't be hindered by humans." A hard body pressed him to the stone. Narrow hips pushed against his groin. The words were whispered like a caress: "For that I will kill all those who make the earth impure..." Kamui startled awake, sweat-soaked. A dream. It was only a dream. A twisted retelling of events past, to which his body reacted. It wasn't the first time he dreamed that nonsense. It probably wasn't the last time, either. Angrily, he punched a fresh dent into his pillow and threw a tired glance at the cheap alarm clock whose ticking filled the otherwise silent room. 23:35; he hadn't slept more than an hour. He lay down again, trying to force himself to sleep... "Such a nice voice... Kamui..." the purr of a deep, familiar, forbidden voice that vibrated over his skin and down his spine, pinning him even more firmly to the floor. Even breaths fanned over his skin. A wet tongue licked the sensitized spot on his throat. Teeth followed. He arched into the body leaning against him to— to— He was dreaming again... twice in one night and... His chin was tipped back. Brown eyes held his gaze in the twilight. An alarm clock ticked and a hard body pressed him down. Narrow hips pushed against his groin. The words were whispered like a caress: "For that I'll make you impure..." Blood dripped from the dragon claw mark onto Kamui's face, slipped between his lips, tasting of copper, of— It wasn't a dream. It— A large hand was shoved into his underwear, pushed between his legs. Kamui arched back, struggled, tried to get away; a callused palm pressed painfully against his scrotum. The Twin Star smirked, pushing deeper, pushing back between his cheeks, spreading them. A long finger was forced into him; sharp nails... Kamui gasped; he felt skin tearing. Wetness— "Ah, lubrication..." The pressure vanished. Fingertips, coated bright red, were held against Kamui's lips. "Want to taste it?" Kamui twisted, struck— —bright red fingertips in front of his eyes. —bright red fingertips buried in Fuma's flesh. Fuma, bleeding around his fingers, his— Not again. Kamui checked the blow, just in time. His hand lay lightly on Fuma's chest, feeling his heart-beat. Calm. Strong. Unharmed. "I see you remember what I taught you," the Twin Star purred. He remembered. Hurting Fuma hurt too much. He'd rather— He spread his legs, raised his knees, exposing himself. The sheets stuck wet to his skin. He— The hard body above him trembled, stilled, then— "Kamui. Get away from me." "Fu...ma?" "Get away!" "Fuma." Kamui ran his hand over a cheek slick from blood. "I can't hold him much longer!" Kamui was practically thrown across the room; he slammed against the far wall. His back scraped over it as he slid down. "Stop... making it easy!" Fuma yelled at him. It was a desperate cry. Desperate, and hateful. Blood-splattered clothes were thrown at him. "Cover yourself!" With a choked sob, Kamui scrambled out of the room, pressing his clothes in a tangled mass against his chest.