Three nights ago, at the time when Tsukiyomi's face lacked his sister's bright light and the Sakura's powers ran lowest, the Tree had dug deep into its reserves. Struggling to keep its Sakurazukamori's hands from being consumed by Amaterasu's flames, it had depleted its resources more than it should have. And since then nobody had sat on the bench or taken the path running beneath its wide crown.
It was a cold night, though no longer dark as nights used to be a few centuries ago. Amaterasu's fast-living children had changed that. Street lamps lined the main paths of the park these days, and the museums surrounding it were bathed in light throughout the night. Once, only hanami nights were lit by paper lanterns and reverence flames, flickering between dancing, sake-seasoned snacks...
Snacks were rare these days, despite the lit paths and the bench Sei-chan had placed as bait between its roots. Ueno Park was a lonely place at night. Even the homeless who lived within its boundaries had long since learned not to stray too deep into its darker shadows, and the Sakura was the darkest of all. Especially when it was hungry — and tonight it was ravenous.
The Sakura's branches shifted in a wind that chilled not only the night of the living. Its oblivious Sakurazukamori lay curled around his opposite, basking in shared warmth while holding tightly to the one from whose marks he had suffered.
In their sleep they were the perfect embodiment of the taiji — the symbol at the heart of the Dao itself — and the Dao was not to be disturbed, but the Tree couldn't wait much longer. Soon, its Sakurazukamori would have to bring in prey—
—or serve as sustenance.
Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo
April 8, 2000 — 02:06
It was deep in the night when Subaru woke, unsure what had ended his sleep. New moon had been three nights ago, too close for any light to seep through the blinds, and the dark red LEDs of the alarm clock on Seishiro's nightstand were the only illumination in the room. In its glow, Seishiro was a vague shadow beside him, his heart beating under Subaru's palm, comforting, tempting...
"Your physical relationship with that man is completely unacceptable."
Subaru sighed and rolled onto his back. A few reverence lights burned on the Yanaka cemetery beyond the wall outside; signs of filial piety, of respect to the honored deceased. Their lonely flickering cursed him, accused him of failing his clan, his ancestors.
Subaru averted his eyes, leaned his aching head against Seishiro's chest, but the darkness between their bodies held no comfort against the darkness outside.
~:~:~:~:~
09:39
Seishiro didn't feel at his best when he woke. The birds outside the bedroom window made an obnoxious noise, considering that it was still dark—
His nose tickled and something brushed through his lashes as he blinked. He growled. His face was buried in Subaru's hair, which meant it wasn't dark, the birds were likely on time, and he was late. Great. At least the pain in his hands was gone. Disentangling himself from Subaru, he tried to avoid looking into the obscenely bright light coming from outside. Bath. Kitchen. Coffee.
A touch of a sleeping spell ensured that he'd get at least the first cup on his own. He yawned and decided not to get his morning paper today. Sleeping spells didn't work well on cats.
Half-closed drapes kept the blinding glare of the morning sun on the kitchen tiles at a bearable level. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Seishiro spooned sugar into his mug and waited for the coffee maker to finish. His temples were throbbing. Finally, he poured his coffee and had a first sip, savoring the acidic aroma of heavy East African blend, before he headed over to the table.
~:~:~:~:~
Subaru heard Seishiro groan at a morning that had come too fast for both of them. He felt Seishiro's muscles tense against him and kept his eyes closed, waiting for Seishiro to disentangle himself and get out of bed. He easily scattered the sleeping spell that tingled against his shields afterwards. Trust was still an issue between them.
He waited until he heard the bathroom door close before he turned onto his back.
Seishiro preferred to spend the first few minutes of a day — his first coffee — on his own, without having to bother with illusions and 'being on guard'. Subaru knew that there were still things hidden from him, some on purpose, some probably just out of habit.
"He isn't considerate about you," his grandmother had warned him, but he'd known that already. Seishiro was only considerate about himself. And cautious. Very cautious. His clan had made him that way.
Subaru sighed. He had yet to find out where he himself fit into that jumble. And into that of his own house. The reverence lights outside weren't visible in the bright light of day, but their accusation remained. His clan wouldn't postpone a solution indefinitely—
Something shattered in the kitchen. A chair screeched on the tiles. Subaru threw up his shields when the scars on his hands flared and a wave of power gushed through the house.
°°°Om. Amirita. Teizei. Kara. Un.°°°
°°°Om. Amirita. Teizei. Kara. Un.°°°
He reinforced his shields by repeating the mantra to Amida Buddha; most powers working within Seishiro's wards wouldn't be able to influence the Deathless One.
°°°Om. Amirita. Teizei. Kara. Un.°°°
The harmonies of the singing dead still fluctuated with the ebbing power of the wave when he cautiously left the bed, focusing on his fingertips.
°°°Om. Amirita. Teizei. Kara. Un.°°°
Where was...?
"Seishiro?"
He went out into the hallway. Banning and repellant fields flared brightly above the stairs down to the basement. The door keeping his ancestor's malevolent spirit imprisoned seemed to be made of fire with runes of ice embedded in it. Subaru gave the stairs a wide berth; the repellant Seishiro had put on the steps after he moved in was strong enough to make him violently sick if he came too close to it. He knew for sure. Seishiro had made him test it; an experience he didn't want to repeat.
The kitchen door was open as usual, but the room beyond was empty. One of the chairs was toppled; and a black-and-white coffee mug lay shattered in the middle of the floor, its content spilled all over the tiles. Subaru studied the mess carefully. Coffee drops stuck to the front of the kitchen counter. Shards had skittered under the table and against the floor panel.
Careful because of his bare feet, he crouched down and fished one of the shards from the puddle. It resembled a penguin's webbed foot — Seishiro's favorite mug. He cautiously tasted the coffee. Sugared; Seishiro's coffee.
A squall of sakura petals spilled Seishiro back into the room. Stumbling, his sleeves soaked crimson, he slammed into the kitchen table. Subaru steadied him, winced as small shards cut into his soles. "Are you—?"
Seishiro freed himself with an angry twist of his shoulders. He looked... disheveled. Mussed. But there was no blood on him.
"What happened to you?"
If Seishiro heard him, he didn't show it. Sakura petals stuck in his hair, swirling to the ground as he pushed himself away from the table. He took a long step across the coffee puddle now littered with sakura and stalked out the door, already unbuttoning his shirt with sharp, angry movements. Subaru winced and carefully pried the ceramic splitters out of his skin, angling for a paper-towel to dab off the blood and the few crunched, strangely white sakura petals sticking to it. Those on the floor were edged bright red. Had Seishiro been working already? Had that been the force he'd felt earlier?
He dabbed at the cuts again then fetched himself Seishiro's worn pair of household slippers from under the sink.
Seishiro reappeared five minutes later with a tight roll of clothes under his arm, still closing his cufflinks. Frowning at the mess of shards and splattered coffee, he disappeared in the small room holding washing machine, laundry dryer and ironing board. A moment later the lid of the washing machine was slammed shut. Subaru was just making his tea when he returned, crossing the kitchen with a terse, "I've got appointments. Mostly downtown."
Subaru set down his cup and followed him into the hallway. "When will you be back?"
"Several hours." Seishiro was already shrugging into his jacket. "I may be late for dinner." He took his keys from the table, slipped them into his pocket and headed down the stairs to grab his coat and step into his shoes. "I expect you to be fine—" He arched a suggestive brow at Subaru. "—after last night."
"Are you referring to the fact that we were both dead to the world or that we overslept for two hours?" Subaru returned, unperturbed. "How can I reach you?"
"Not at all." Seishiro mockingly raised his hand, showing him the pentacle scar on its back as he headed out the door. "Don't worry. I'll notice if you slip up."
"Don't think I'll clean up the mess your tree made out of the kitchen!"
"Then don't slip on the coffee."
Subaru stared after him until the garden gate fell into its lock. Something wasn't right. Something was absolutely not right. Seishiro didn't even avoid Yoshi weaving around his legs in front of the gate.
Subaru left the door open for the cat and turned on his heel; the washing machine hadn't run long. And to maintain an illusion, Seishiro had to be around.
He paused its program and ignored the warning about opening the barrel while a program was keyed in to pull out the shirt Seishiro had worn this morning. He'd been right; the cuffs were stained with blood. So Seishiro had been working and— Subaru was about to put the shirt back into the machine when he noticed something else, something that made his grip on the wet cloth tighten: the inner lining of Seishiro's collar was soaked with blood, too.
~:~:~:~:~
Sagano-cho, Kyoto (West)
Sumeragi Family Residence
09:56
Lady Sumeragi drew a deep breath and hid her hands in her kimono sleeves. In a few minutes the elders would meet in the great hall; the whole house was already buzzing with rumors about the reason for this unexpected council meeting, about Subaru-san's sudden departure, about the number of guards and servants that had been put to sleep in the middle of the day...
It had taken her hours to break the spell on Hamamatsu and Shigeru-kun. Not to speak of the others! There were too many gifted onmyoji among their clan to hide the identity of the intruder, giving rise to the wildest speculations about why the wards weren't damaged and nobody was killed. The Sakurazukamori...
"If I were to start that war among our clans in your house, did you really think I'd waste my time with the peasants?"
She didn't know what to make of him. She'd expected their adversary to be smart, a shrewd operator who knew how to get what he wanted; she hadn't expected a highly intelligent man who was actually pleasant in conversation, even charming, though with an edge of darkness he didn't bother to conceal.
Watching him touch her grandson, hold him, all the while knowing that he'd done so much more...
Her nails dug into her skin. She had doubted Subaru-san's claim of consent, spoken in anger and — as she knew now — pain, but...
"...purple baby bunnies?"
"Be careful, I might put it on the line for Yoshino-san to study."
Her hands clawed around her wrists that weren't as fragile as they had been a few years ago, the result of the constant exercise of moving the wheelchair. The boy had once sworn to kill him and had begged forgiveness for that sin. She wasn't blind. She knew he was falling, open-eyed, into the Sakurazukamori's trap again and there was nothing she could do about it. It was too easy to forget who that man was.
"Be careful," she whispered as she gave the wheels of her chair a first, determined push to carry her out the room. Ameru was waiting for her outside. He would accompany her to the meeting that concerned his future almost as much as Subaru's. The voices of the assembled elders wafted out into the corridor. She nodded quietly at him, for just this instance acknowledging who he was...
...no, who he had been.
"Be careful," he said quietly, echoing her without knowing it.
~:~:~:~:~
Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo
10:25
The bright green shield bug crawled slowly up the window frame. Filigree feelers palpated the surface ahead, gliding over glass and white lacquered wood alike. Both materials were too sleek, but the groove between the pane and the frame was just rough enough. At the end of the groove there would be only lacquer too smooth to crawl on...
...but the shield bug didn't know that. Subaru, breathing in the scent of his cooling coffee, watched the insect stubbornly advancing, oblivious to the obstacle ahead. The coffee was slightly bitter; it had been on the warming plate for too long while he'd swept up the shards and got rid of the puddle. He hadn't wanted Yoshi to cut himself on the shards, or leave coffee paw prints all over the house.
Two legs of the shield bug slid off the smooth surface and the insect shifted its weight. Yoshi sat beneath it on the window sill. His whiskers stood on end; the twitching tip of his tail threatened to topple Subaru's mug. Rescuing his coffee, Subaru put a hand on the cat's back to keep it from going after the bug. Yoshi arched into his touch. Soft, silky fur vibrated against his palm with the cat's purr. Subaru briefly closed his eyes at the sensation, before taking a sip of coffee. He was crawling up a groove of his own. The heart-shaped insect in front of him would survive a fall, but would he? What would happen if he reached the end of his groove? Hadn't he reached it already?
He emptied the coffee in one large gulp and stood. Carefully, he picked the bug off the window frame and the distraught insect sprayed its secretion onto his fingers, tiny yellow legs flailing under its big green body. Yoshi flattened his ears at the stench of rotten eggs and disappeared under the table; Subaru merely wrinkled his nose as he took the bug outside.
The air was warm and smelled of Spring, of Summer to come to Death's garden.
He sat the bug on the rough bark of the ginkgo. His ferns were rising tall and green in the ancient tree's shadow. Two days ago, his grandmother had rolled across the grass, tearing up its blades to form knives for attacking Seishiro. On his behalf.
Today no traces of that were left. Grass had grown — changed — to heal the damage done to the garden and ensure continuity: continuity and change, irrevocably entwined.
Subaru laid a hand onto the rough bark beside him and sat down. The humidity of the earth soaked into his pants; the bark was rough against the back of his head, but somehow it felt comforting. Had his grandmother really missed the irony in using grass blades to protect him against Seishiro?
Subaru sighed and studied the scab in his palm where one of her grass knives had cut him. The healing wound itched. Wind rustled in the wide crown above his head and a ginkgo leaf fell into his lap. Then the ancient tree remained still.
~:~:~:~:~
Kasumigaseki-cho, Tokyo,
12:38
It was past midday when Sakurazuka Romiro, chief operations officer of the Tokyo Office of Sakura Enterprises, stepped out of the lift. He pushed through the wide glass door engraved with a stylized sakura blossom overlaid with five swords; their company's logo. He snorted, disgusted. Listing the honored Mori as a mere company — a composting company no less! — was probably Seishiro's biggest offense. Though for Romiro the sudden cancellation of Thursday's meeting to assess the newer cases was a close second. It had forced him to do a lot of the footwork normally left to less gifted personnel, which was the reason that he was working on a Saturday. It was afternoon and this was the first time since 4 a.m. that he would get to sit down for a while. He was a section leader! It was the Sakurazukamori who was supposed to tire himself out. Not that Seishiro cared anything about the duties involved in the position he'd stolen.
Romiro shrugged out of his coat, noting with some satisfaction that Namane-san, the office lady on duty, hurried to catch it. "My usual coffee, please." He gave her the briefest nod of acknowledge. "I'm in the main off—" He frowned, when she suddenly stood firmly rooted in his way.
"I'm sorry, Sakurazuka-san, but Sakurazuka-sama's—"
"He's here!?" Romiro stopped in his tracks. "Don't tell me he's working!"
"As you wish, sir. But he is in his office with all the files of the open cases, and requested not to be disturbed, so if you were to be so kind as to use your own office today..." She indicated the door on the side. "I'll bring your coffee right away."
Romiro tossed his briefcase on his chair and glared at the narrow, nondescript window behind his desk. It overlooked the backyard of the Ministry of Justice: lots of bricks and a few withering potted plants. The main office was a corner room; its panoramic windows looked out across the crossing of Sakurada- and Uchibori-dori, giving a free view of the Kokyo behind its moats. Romiro ground his teeth and closed his door. The view towards the Emperor, the judgment of power it symbolized, should have been his and not Seishiro's, who didn't appreciate its worth and neglected his duties.
Canceling a case assessment meeting at fifteen minutes' notice...
Romiro sat down and rested his elbows on the black leather of his writing pad. Usually, Seishiro was more cautious than that. More cautious and—
He frowned. "Why did you cancel that meeting, Sei-kun?" Romiro asked nobody in specific. "Why indeed? What happened that you were in such a hurry?" He tapped onto the lid of his laptop before he opened it and powered it up. If Seishiro had been as short of time as it seemed, then he'd been forced to compromise security for speed. He entered his password and waited for the interface to load.
~:~:~:~:~
14:28
Sasaki, plain-clothes detective... Seishiro flipped through the file, stopping at the obligatory photograph. He remembered the man: quick-witted, sharp-eyed, focused, determined. He might have a whiff of talent in him, but nothing remotely strong enough to endanger the state.
Partners: Imonoyama Tsuzuku [private living arrangement], Hashiba Shigemitsu [work, (private?)].
Hashiba... Seishiro frowned. There was a connection with the Sawada case and Tsuzuku...
He shook his head and tossed the file on to the 'discarded' stack. Sasaki's death would cause a lot more trouble than it could possibly prevent, both for the state and himself.
He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt sleepy and light-headed. The Tree had taken more blood than he'd realized at first; a disconcerting thought. It was the first time since he had Subaru's marks on his hands that the Tree had drawn blood at all and it hadn't healed the abrasions afterwards. Either the Tree's situation had been a lot more desperate than he'd realized, or—
He straightened, put his glasses back on, and opened the next file. He couldn't afford the 'or'.
15:06
The small transparent plastic bag was carefully sealed, with a red label taped to its right upper corner: "7635 - Ochizawa Haruhi, physical evidence #1: hair cuttings, obtained: April 4, 2000 at Be Beautiful Salon, 6-9-6 Ginza, Tokyo". The following page contained the same information, as well as a photograph of the bag at the top of a sign-out sheet. Seishiro noted, satisfied, that the list was still empty. He put his signature and the current date in the first row, took the evidence bag and headed out for the lab.
As expected, Namane Ayako was still holding the front desk. He nodded at her, indicating the evidence bag. "Please assist me in the lab for a moment."
The "lab" was a heavily shielded — and strongly warded — room in the center of the building, away from important structures or outer walls. When Seishiro had begun his work it had been a library of sorts, keeping old texts and magical items. He'd had the books scanned and made accessible via a database and the magical items and oddities examined and put into safe storage. The room had been reinforced and refurbished. In times of AIDS and MRSA, there was some risk in using wood-carved symbols soaked in blood. As far as Seishiro was aware, nobody had ever examined what effect spells and potions had on multiplying, mutating bacterial strains — and he certainly didn't want to be the one to conduct the experiment. No scientific magazine would accept that kind of paper anyway.
Seishiro waited until Namane had closed the door before he switched off the UV lamp above the stainless steel working table and put down the evidence bag. "Prepare a large vacutainer," he told her. "I need 50 ml venous blood from your left arm."
Given the framework of the case, he had a pretty clear idea for what to search. Ochizawa Haruhi, born near Adachigahara and married to a business man well above her station, apparently defined her social value entirely through her daughter. A common story within Tokyo, were there not the nursery doctor, who — like one of Ai's kindergarten prep-school teachers last month — had committed suicide, leaving a letter apologizing for lusting after an innocent infant. And though the original ogress after which Adachigahara had been named was long gone, the area was still known for a certain kind of spiritual interaction with the living. Tests for succu-doku were more reliable if done with blood from a source the succubus wouldn't find desirable.
He put on a pair of disposable nitrile gloves and wiped down bag and gloves with Sterillium before taking a wax liner to draw a pentagram on the polished steel surface of the table. After shaking a strand of hair from the bag into the pentagram, he added five protective characters at the tips and resealed the bag.
Namane had already rolled up her sleeve and applied the tourniquet. He nodded approvingly, connected a one-way needle to the vacutainer tube and wiped down the skin above the vein with an ethanol pad. "Make a fist, please." The needle slipped smoothly into her arm and dark-red blood filled the vial. He released the tourniquet, removed the needle and pressed a gauze pad against the wound, closing her hand over it. "Hold it."
He returned to the examination table and used her blood to write the querying symbols into the inner edges of the pentagram. The expected greenish glow above the hair appeared before he even finished the third symbol. At the fourth, the whole strand burst into flame. "Positive. When you're done, find me the list of institutions attended by Ochizawa Haruhi's daughter Ai, age 3. The case number is 7635." He threw a swift glance at the wall clock above the door. "And add the closing times of her courses today, if there are any." He tossed the used gloves into the dust bin, while his assistant used a small fire extinguisher on the table. "I'll be in my office."
~:~:~:~:~
18:47
Romiro leaned against the black, air-cushioned leather back of his chair and mentally went over his results again.
On April 6, somebody traveling with a NPSC ID had taken JAL175 at 8:55 from Tokyo Haneda to Osaka Kansai International. Seishiro had canceled the meeting about the new cases at 07:46 that day. NPSC IDs didn't have names attached to them and their numbers weren't searchable, but there weren't that many of them: overall estimates were well below a hundred. And he knew for a fact that Sakurazuka Seishiro carried one.
The flight had landed punctually at ten past ten at Kansai International. His check of the phone connections of Sakura Enterprises' Osaka Office revealed a two-minute call to the COO extension from a public phone on the KIX railway platform at 10:16. The Haruka express trains departed at 10:18. Haruka Express trains went from KIX via Tennoji and Shin-Osaka to Kyoto...
Romiro tapped his index fingers together. The Sumeragi were in Kyoto...
Seishiro had to know that a flight on the NPSC ID could — in contrast to a Shinkansen ticket paid in cash — be traced back to him. If his destination had indeed been Kyoto, then what had been so urgent that the ten-minute difference in traveling time out-weighed the risk?
~:~:~:~:~
Musashino-shi, Tokyo
18:56
Evening traffic rushed in a blur of red and white lights past the black skeletons of street trees. Musashino-shi wasn't downtown Tokyo, but it did its best to mimic it, Seishiro thought dryly. He had failed to escape the beginning of the rush hour on his way here.
The building ahead of him was brightly lit; a tall neon sign announced it as 'Sapiru Private School'. The space on the sidewalk in front of it was filled with chatting women, waiting for the childrens' prep school to end. The coats in their hands were small; it was a prep school for kindergarten.
As he sauntered past the groups of waiting mothers, he spotted his target easily enough among them. Prim hair, mint coat, Gucci purse — after all, this prep school fed into a kindergarten associated with Seikei university, one of Tokyo's finest. The color of the small goose-down parka in Ochizawa Haruhi's hands matched that of her coat.
A few heads turned, eyes following him. Hands in his suit pockets, he gave them a smile that provoked a few embarrassed blushes, while testing his target's aura. Dark. Twisted. She'd tapped deeply into the forbidden arts to become what she was: a woman using a succubus to help her toddler along in an increasingly ruthless market. But she'd been too greedy, disturbing causality too much for it to be ignored. It made her a target, would make her daughter a threat to society if she wasn't stopped now. Target. Valid.
Turning the corner of the next building, he continued into the deeper shadows off the main street. Telephone and power cables criss-crossed overhead. The front of a closed warehouse took up the right side; a plain wall plastered with advertisings was on the left. He concentrated. The illusion would be only a whisper against her neck. He wanted her to come to him, not the whole group of waiting mothers.
...I know what you've done...
He made it titillating against her nape, something close to a touch. Close.
...I know what you've done for Ai to succeed. Do you know what your husband, your rival mothers will think?... Ai was three years old. He'd put good money on her mother being a fully fledged 'education mama' already. ...I know what you've done...
She came around the corner, stalked towards him. Fast. Angry. Sure of herself. "You—"
Her eyes bulged as his spell closed her windpipe. She grabbed her throat, staggered towards him, past him. He had the sakanagi strike her as she fell. Clean and fast. No measurable evidence. He concentrated to call in the Tree—
"Okaa-san?"
Seishiro turned at the tiny voice behind him.
"Ok—" Large eyes in a round face under feathery hair made into pigtails widened when they spotted the corpse, then returned to him, becoming larger, rounder; full red lips trembled, sending a sensual thrill down his spine, and he knew he had miscalculated.
Ochizawa Ai wasn't going to be made a threat!
He fell to a knee. The strike was pure reflex, outstretched hand hitting beneath the tiny sternum, magically sharpened nails cutting through muscles and intestines. Her body was too small for a clean kill. A twist of his wrist tossed her against the brick wall as he pushed himself up. Intestines trailed from her ripped belly. Still she moved, raised a chubby hand towards him. Crushing her skull with his heel, he finally called the Tree.
The force of its arrival nearly threw him off his feet. The Sakura was desperate to feed and careless in its greed. He struggled to direct a fraction of its power to clean blood and brains from his clothes. His head throbbed. He felt cold. There was no chance that he'd manage to relocate the bodies in this condition. Musashino was far enough from Tokyo downtown not to have surveillance cameras in its back streets...
For a brief moment, he just leaned with his shoulder against the street lamp, trying to catch his breath. The Tree's pleasure washed over him, hot, contented now. A blossom-cushioned twig whispered over his cheek, tickled behind his ear, but he had no energy to call it to order at the moment. The street light above him flickered to life. He looked down the street, his eyes following the line of lamps lighting up in the distance.
He sighed. Burying his hands deep into his suit pockets, he pushed himself off the lamp post and headed slowly down the narrow street towards the blinking tumult of the broad avenue at its end. At least the streets leading downtown would be a little emptier now.
~:~:~:~:~
Kasumigaseki-cho, Tokyo
22:47
The laptop was the only real light source left in the room. A few offices in the Ministry of Justice were still lit, too, but their light didn't reach across the stone yard. It had become late while Romiro was poring over video footage from Kyoto Station.
The Haruka Express, departing from Kansai International at 10:18 on April 6 had reached it at 11:31 as scheduled, but Seishiro hadn't left it.
Frustrated, Romiro glared at the screen. A dozen windows showed various camera angles covering the crucial parts of Kyoto Station at different times. It had taken all Romiro's clout — and some barely concealed threats — to get access to the video recordings; he'd search them thoroughly, but it looked as if Seishiro had slipped his net once again. Grinding his teeth, he reached over to cut the connection. And froze, hastily hit replay and watched the full sequence again. And again. Then he stopped the playback and leaned back in his suddenly very comfortable chair as he looked at a still frame.
JR-KS-X99-20000406-1316 showed Sakurazuka Seishiro...
...and a clearly intoxicated Sumeragi Subaru, heading up the stairs to the Granvia hotel.
~:~:~:~:~
Ueno-cho, Tokyo
22:58
It was almost eleven by the time Seishiro stopped the Aristo in his parking lot at Ueno Station. Suppressing a yawn, he got out of the car and activated the central locking system, before renewing the protective spells. If the Mori were tracking his car, they were in for some nasty surprises. He pocketed his keys and headed down to street level. Even Ueno's notorious evening traffic was thinning by now. Turning up his collar against the night chill, he crossed the wide street into the park.
Thirty-five minutes to his home and his bed — if he kept his pace and the Tree didn't delay him. Thirty-five minutes. He felt the blood-loss acutely now. Going near the Tree in this condition wasn't a good idea. The Sakura couldn't be trusted; but he'd been to the office today and he hadn't been at his best. If they traced him...
Parking in Ueno was not suspicious — if he saw to the Tree — and the Tree's maboroshi would cut any tracers that might have slipped his attention. He yawned and wished he could have taken the Yamanote to Uguisudani and been home in less than half the time. He wished—
He left the brightly lit main path for the deeper shadows under the trees. Something moved in the dark. He tensed, hand closed around a fuda, searching the dark for an assailant. The old homeless woman stared at him out of wide, frightened eyes and scuttled away into the dark. He slowly released the fuda. Ahead of him the Tree was still glowing in gluttonous joy on the spiritual plane. A twig reached for him, tried to entice, to entwine him. He brushed it aside, more weary than angry. A second twig came out of the dark, raised his chin—
...Go home... The Tree's blossoms whispered with a warm flutter of petals over his cheek. ...Rest...
He yawned. The streetlights ahead seemed haloed as if there were fog, but the night was clear. He blinked angrily. Cutting corners by crossing through the yard of the International Library for Children's Literature, he headed out of the park. A whiff of sakura kept him from walking in front of a bus on the Kototoi-dori. What was—
The small streets beyond were empty and silent.
He yawned again, fumbled in his pocket for his keys.
The gate closed behind him. The house door...
He kicked his shoes off his feet. The coat fell onto the stairs. His keys jingled on the hallway table. He fumbled with his jacket buttons—
"Let me help."
Slender hands reached for his throat. He batted them aside, dropped into bed...
Sleep.
~:~:~:~:~
Ukyo-ku, Kyoto
23:38
The room was old, its wooden beams and paper walls darkened by time. The screened electric lamp on the wall provided a honey-colored light that failed to hide the overall chill of the small guestroom. The futon had already been laid out and it had been too late to ask for a meal.
Ameru folded his dark brown cloak neatly and hung it over the back of the single woven chair occupying one corner of the room before he sat down on the futon, crossing his legs.
It had hurt to see her again after all these years. It had hurt to see her like this. Old. Frail. Worried. He slowly formed his right hand into a fist. Nobody had told him that she'd been injured, that she'd retained disabilities from a battle he hadn't known she fought.
Slowly, he released the tension until his palm lay flat on his knee again. The woman he'd met today no longer fit the picture he'd carried in his heart all these years, but she still wielded the power that had formed his life. And Subaru's.
Involuntarily, his fingernails dug into the skin around his kneecap. The boy was foolish to disobey her like this, but then, he was foolish, too, wasn't he? He would visit his daughter's grave before returning to Naha. And Sachiko's. With a deep sigh he lay down and pulled the cover up to his ears.
Kyoto was a cold place. Always had been.
~:~:~:~:~
Ueno-Sakuragi-cho, Tokyo
23:41
Subaru studied Seishiro sprawling on the bed and contemplated revenge for the countless "Eat before you sleep!" admonitions he'd received over time. But Seishiro seemed dead to the world, and so Subaru cautiously eased the dark glasses off his nose and put them on the nightstand, then undid the last button of his jacket and removed his belt.
His hands faltered briefly when he reached for the collar pin: almost hidden by the tie was a gash in the upper front of the shirt, surrounded by dark stains, as if something with oozing claws had slashed for Seishiro's throat and barely missed. Bandages underneath the shirt had prevented the slash from cutting the skin; more bandages were visible under the cuffs, matching the blood stains on Seishiro's shirt this morning — this time Seishiro's injuries hadn't been healed magically. Subaru shook his head and opened the collar pin to remove the tie and unbutton collar and cuffs on the shirt. Seishiro was now about as comfortable as he could make him without waking him up. He was sleeping on his comforter, so Subaru threw his own over him. The blanket they'd given Kamui when he'd spent the night was still in the laundry. Subaru stripped down to his underwear and, with a resigned shrug, crawled under the cover beside Seishiro, snuggling close.
For warmth.
When the phone rang it seemed only five minutes had passed. Subaru snatched the handset off the nightstand at the second ring, pressing the answering button right away and hoping it hadn't woken Seishiro. "Yes?"
=Good evening. My name's Omi. May I speak with Sumeragi Subaru, please?=
"I'm on the phone, Omi-san," Subaru answered quietly to avoid disturbing Seishiro beside him. He glanced at the bedside clock. It was close to midnight. "What happened?"
=Please excuse the late call. I only returned home myself to find a missive from your grandmother. She insisted that I call upon you today no matter what.=
Subaru sighed. Seishiro beside him murmured in his sleep and snuggled against him. "I hope you don't intend to come over right now."
=I was hoping for an appointment on Sunday.= Omi gave an uneasy laugh. =I'm sorry to disturb you like this, but I would not risk going against your grandmother's explicit wishes. I'm already straining them by merely using the phone.=
Subaru went mentally over his plans for tomorrow. "There's a small cafe near the north-west exit of Ueno Park, across the Kototoi-dori. I'll be there at three o'clock." He threw a brief glance at Seishiro beside him. "Alone. I assume that meets one of her conditions."
=Again, I'm sorry,= Omi said, clearly embarrassed. =Please have a good night.=
"You, too." Subaru hung up. Seishiro threw an arm around his waist, holding on to him tightly. He felt too warm to the touch...
The Tree found its Sakurazukamori in bed, sound asleep, hugging his cumbersome pet. There was no illusion left on him, not even to hide the healing burns on his hands or the bandages around his wrists and throat.
The Sakura touched invisible blossoms to them, examining the wounds underneath. Its twigs had cut deeper than it planned, had taken more than it should have. The wounds were too old now to be healed spiritually and the applied dressings and antiseptics made that impossible anyway. It trailed a small sprig thickly wrapped in blossoms up Sei-chan's arm and over his cheek, finding him slightly feverish.
Moss-colored eyes opened and squinted warily in the dark. The Tree retracted its twig just in time when Subaru put a protective arm around its Sakurazukamori.
It ran another sprig over Sei-chan's cheek, which had him moan and turn unconsciously into its touch. Countless blossoms rained onto the blood-drenched ground of the spirit world as the Sakura quivered in satisfaction.
...Still mine...
to be continued in
Family Matters 14 - Under the weather
Notes:
Japanese poison, venom: doku — succubus venom: succu-doku... heh, sudoku. ;)