Hiei and Genkai stood in the same length of pale sunlight that spilled out across the well-worn wooden floor of the shrine, holding to silence so deep that the light scrape of Hiei’s soft boots as he turned to look at her was like a mountain crumbling.

“You’re hiding something,” he said.

Genkai tucked her hands behind her back and looked up at the blue sky above her. “You put a hole in my ceiling,” she answered.

“I needed a dramatic entrance,” Hiei deadpanned.

Genkai raised an eyebrow, and curved a corner of her lips upward. “Well done, then.”  She presented her back, and Hiei felt his fingers twitch toward his sword.  But she called him over her shoulder, “Let’s walk,” she said.  So he fell into step beside her.

Outside, they tread down a path made of white stones that feathered its way through a perfectly kept garden full of pruned trees and delicate blossoms just opening to the new day.  Hiei had once known someone who would have known the names for every plant he saw, who would have told the fire demon about them all, while Hiei pretended not to listen.  Now he brushed past the groomed trees and held back a desire to rip out leaves, just to create a little chaos.

“Have you seen him?” the old priestess asked.

He didn’t bother pretending not to know who she asked about. “Yes.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“Yes.”

Genkai paused where dappled light scattered across her face and made her look younger. “Did he answer?”

Hiei stopped where the shadow was deepest.  “The Idiot and your former student came to see me today.”

Genkai was statue-still, and waiting for Hiei to make his point.

“They asked me about Kurama.” He spoke the name without a hitch.  It had taken years of practice to manage that. “I told them to leave him alone because he wasn’t of this world any longer.  Because there was no way to save him.”

Genkai reached up and pulled a purple flower that looked like an unpeeling wine glass off a low branch and her expression revealed nothing.

“I was bluffing out of my ass.”

She put the flower to her nose, but he thought she might have done it to cover a smirk.

Frustration made his tongue unwise.  “I thought you might know something more about it, old witch.”

Outwardly unperturbed, she tucked the flower behind her ear and said, “Well, since you asked so politely…” But she said nothing else, and instead turned to head back to the shrine.

Hiei gritted his teeth. “I am prepared to go to Koenma.”

Genkai spun toward him quickly enough to make white stones scatter. “He will not help you.”

“Why?” he demanded.

Her mouth opened, and then closed again.  She shook her head, hunched her shoulders slightly, and continued up the path.  He could have caught up, or been ahead of her, even run to Tokyo and back before she crossed the threshold, but it seemed pointless.  If Genkai would not say anything, he doubted he could force her to speak.

“Do you hate Kurama so much?”

She stopped. “No.”  She turned, and her eyes showed him truth. “No.”

“I don’t understand,” he said honestly.

She sighed, focus fading off to a point over his shoulder.  “It is said that, sometimes, when a spirit dies in turmoil, bound to its former life by hate and violence, it cannot travel to the Reikai and instead remains in the Ningenkai to seek vengeance for the wrongs committed against it.”

Hiei considered this, and felt Genkai’s gaze as it returned to him. “I know of ghosts, old one.  But he moves…travels, walks through this world like a living person.  Ghosts always need an anchor—often a building, or an object of some sort.”

Genkai held her hands up, thumbs crossed and fingers spread like wings. “He has one.” Her hands flicked at him, and the shadow of a great bird rippled over the stones toward his feet, sharp avian cry bouncing against trees.  He jerked his eyes upward, but saw nothing.  “A crow.”

“Death’s harbinger,” he muttered.

“Yes,” she said, and folded her hands into her long sleeves, hiding them.

Hiei looked at his feet, trying to grind his mental process to a halt, but eventually, he had to state the obvious conclusion. “So he is dead.”

A sweet, vaguely echoing voice answered.  “Mostly!”

The fire demon took a half-step back as Botan poofed into existence before him atop her floating oar, blue ponytail swinging and smile merry as ever. 

Genkai raised an eyebrow at the ferrygirl. “Botan, what are you doing here?”

“Um…gossiping?” She beamed at the old priestess.

Hiei gave Botan a sharp look to recapture her attention. “Mostly,” he reemphasized.

The girl tilted her head and tapped her chin with a finger.  “Well…technically, his soul still hasn’t reported to the Reikai.  So there’s no official documented proof that he’s dead.”

“But…his body was buried…”

She sniffed. “Silly!  You know as well as I do that bodies are nothing more than vessels for the soul—and Kurama’s…‘vessel’ seems to be up and looking as well as ever.” Then she blinked and paused, looking troubled. “It’s very odd, actually.  This sort of thing has happened before, and usually the soul reports to the Reikai first and then gets summoned back to the Ningenkai by the crow.  But something went wrong this time.”

Hiei frowned. “Hmph.  Figures.  Can’t Koenma tie his own shoes without help?”

“Hey!” Botan swatted at him.  “It’s not his fault!  The Reikai has nothing to do with it.”

Hiei blinked.  “What?”

Botan shrugged and reiterated. “The Reikai doesn’t have anything to do with the crows.  Never have.”

“Then who sends them?”

“Don’t know.  They drive Koenma-sama crazy every time they show up, though.  It plays havoc on his paperwork.”

Hiei rolled his eyes. “I’ll bet.”

“You said something went wrong,” Genkai said. “Do you have any idea what?”

Botan shook her head. “The only way a ghost can avoid going to the Reikai is to tie itself to a place or object in the Ningenkai, and I even exercised Kurama’s old house so—”

“You exercised Kurama?” Hiei demanded.

“No!  Well…yes, I guess so.  But,” Botan hastened to explain, “I didn’t know it was him at the time.  The whole house gave off this strange aura.  Besides, it shouldn’t have hurt him—or kept him from the Reikai.”

The three exchanged a silence.

“I’m going to check out his house again,” Hiei declared, and vanished like a blur of black static.

Botan let out a breath and slumped on her oar, drawing a shrewd look from Genkai.

“Were you authorized to tell him that?” she questioned.

“Authorized to tell him what?” Botan asked with wide-eyed innocence. “I was just having a friendly conversation, and you know me, I just babble about anything when I get carried away, and well I might have let on about some things I shouldn’t have, but I’m sure it was all in good faith.”

“Will this get you in trouble?”

Botan tilted her head. “Does it matter now?  Don’t worry so much, Genkai-sama.”  With that, the ferrygirl smiled warmly, and flew off.

Genkai watched her until she blended with the sky, and then folded her hands and went back to the shrine.

~*~

Kuwabara felt tired right down to the marrow of his bones.  He opened his apartment door with clumsy fingers and shuffled inside with only the thought of falling into bed in mind.

“Morning, Doofus.  Welcome home.”

He jerked his head up to see his sister leaning casually against a wall, right next to his framed picture of fruit in a basket that Keiko had painted for him, and felt annoyance dig into his spine.

“Shizuru.  What are you doing here?”

She swept fine brown hair over her shoulder, somehow managing not to tangle the cigarette in it, and flicked ashes into her coffee cup.  His coffee cup.  “Oh, there’s a fine welcome.”

He looked around to see if there was anything else out of place, and spotted a tangle of limbs on his couch. “Why are there naked people sleeping on my couch?”

“Don’t be such a wussy,” she answered and flicked more ash. “Only one of them’s naked.”

Unable to think of anything resembling a coherent protest to that remark, he strode across the room and snatched the cigarette out of her hand. “And why the hell are you smoking?  You know my rules.” He walked past her into the kitchen where a tall redhead stood stirring something in a pot at his stove. “And furthermore—Kurama?” He did a double take and gaped.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Shizuru said over her shoulder. “He’s your dead friend.”

Kurama looked up and smiled. “Hello, Kuwabara.”

“Kurama…” Kuwabara managed, though his voice was hoarse, and more breath than sound.

Kurama blinked and tilted his head. “You have a ponytail.”

“What?” Kuwabara asked blankly, hand automatically going back to the nape of his neck where his hair was tied off. “Oh, yeah.  Started to grow it out a few years back.”

“I like it.”

“Uh…thanks.”

Kurama picked the pot up off the stove and began to measure out portions of some white goop into four small rice bowls.  When the cigarette still dangling in his hand burnt so low it singed his fingers, Kuwabara snapped out of his daze enough to toss it into the sink and wash it down the drain.

“It doesn’t look like there’s enough for you,” Kurama was saying regretfully, standing with spoon poised over the last bowl. “But you can have my share, if you want.”

Kuwabara bypassed the spoon and pot as he stepped in carefully and wrapped his arms around the redhead’s waist and tucked his chin into the crook of neck and shoulder.  He tried not to feel embarrassed when Kurama did nothing but hold very still.  He’d come a long way from the tough street kid who thought liking someone meant you had to beat the crap out of them regularly, but there were still a lot of insecurities undermining his new found maturity.  But just when he’d decided to let go, Kurama relaxed into the embrace.  He still didn’t hug back, but Kuwabara thought it might just be because his hands were occupied.

Kurama still smelled of green earth and faintly of roses.  Kuwabara smiled, relieved.  He’d been half afraid to smell death and formaldehyde. 

Someone coughed loudly behind them.  Kuwabara turned and found Shizuru, smirking at them.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded, remembered annoyance returning. “Are you sleeping with the landlord, or something?”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, ew.  Did not need to know that.”

“Than you shouldn’t have asked.”

“It was a rhetorical.”

Renewed bickering stopped abruptly when Kurama tilted his head back and laughed.  Kuwabara grinned, stepping back from the hug, and even Shizuru’s smile lacked its usual razor edge.  Still chuckling, Kurama put the pot in the sink and filled it with water to soak.

“I’m smiling now,” Kuwabara said to the redhead. “But you still owe me serious explanation.”

Kurama turned and nodded. “I understand.”  Offered up a wry little twist of lips. “Where would you like me to start?”

Kuwabara rubbed a hand over his hair. “Hell, I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aw, it’s not your fault.  Well—it is, but…y’know.”

“I think so.”

“First off,” Kuwabara began.  Then stopped and glared at Shizuru until she rolled her eyes at him and wandered off.  After he was sure she was gone, he cleared his throat and plunged in.  “First off, aren’t you…dead?”

Kurama folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll understand why it’s kinda a shock to see you walking around.”

“No more shocking to you than to me.  Believe me.”

“All right.  I guess that means you didn’t go and plan this or nothing.”

“Definitely not.” Kurama gave him a sharp look. “Did you think that?”

“It crossed my mind—briefly.  Give me a break, though.  You’re the guy with the brains, with the plans, and you did it once before.”

“Did what once before?”

“Dying and getting yourself reborn!”

“I…” Kurama stopped and gave him a narrow look. “How do you know about that?”

“Um…I…” Kuwabara shuffled his feet and coughed into his hand.

“Say that again?”

“I…read it.  In your Reikai file.”

“My—How did you—!”

“Look, don’t get ruffled!” Kuwabara held up his hands. “I—we, Yuusuke and me, were in Koenma’s office, and they went off to talk official business or something and it was sitting right there.”  He felt Kurama’s growing anger like an approaching fire demon—slow burn building to a flash fire. “And I was curious, this was before I knew you very well, and it wasn’t like I was gonna use any of the information against you or anything.  We were on the same side!”

Anger guttered and snuffed out.  Kurama’s stance eased, and he smiled again, brittle humor around the edges. “You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Kuwabara swallowed. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, since you didn’t plan anything anyway.  That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing walking around.”

“As far as I can tell, I’ve been granted a sort of…extended life.”

“Does Koenma know?”

“Good question.  But, no.  I don’t think so.”

“Boy, is he going to be pissed.”

Kurama grinned a bit. “Yeah.”

“But it is you, isn’t it?  Killing those guys.  In the alleyway.  In the hotel.”

Kurama’s smile faded. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

Kuwabara tried to study Kurama’s face, but the other man had bowed his head, obscuring his features. Somewhere outside and below them, he could hear the city slowly coming to life as the morning matured.  “Are they the ones?”

Kurama seemed to close into himself, hugging his elbows in tight, ducking his chin, pulling in from his slightly sprawled stance. “Yes.”

Closing his eyes, Kuwabara took a breath and then let it out again, slowly, but he couldn’t keep his fists from clenching, or the anger from closing his throat.  “Dammit.  We didn’t think to look for people—humans.  We tried…we couldn’t find them, and we tried everything.  Everything.  Even Hiei.  And Yuusuke and even, I think, Koenma just a little.  Keiko and me, the human ones, we did our share, though it wasn’t much.  I mean—I even tried reading minds.  Reading minds!  Crazy.”  Presently he felt Kurama’s eyes on him, questioning, but he kept pacing and not looking at the open face of a dead man. “We thought it couldn’t have been normal people.  Not for you, Kurama.  But it wasn’t like we could tell the police that, you know.  ‘Hey, this guy couldn’t have been taken out by any human Average Joe, no sir.  You’d better have a look out for any suspicious paranormal activity in the area.’  Could you imagine?”

“Kuwabara.”

“But we were wrong. Shit.  And then Hiei got all quiet.  He doesn’t really talk at the best of times but he just shut up altogether, except I could still hear him.  Hear him screaming, inside, very quietly, where he thought no one could hear.  But I did.  I was just waiting for him to go off and start a blood bath or something.  But, strangest thing, he just disappeared for a while.  He’s back now.  Still won’t talk to any of us any more.”

“Kuwabara.”

“There wasn’t anything.  We looked everywhere.  We couldn’t even find your soul.”

“Kuwabara!”

Kuwabara finally, almost reluctantly, looked up into steady green eyes, and was stopped in his tracks by a depth of emotion he couldn’t identify.  Kurama reached out a hand, bypassed Kuwabara’s shoulder, settled slender fingers on his cheek.  Kuwabara jerked, startled by the contact, then nearly shrank away again as he felt his own memories pulling out of him, crashing into the well behind Kurama’s eyes, curving back like a wave so he got the barest echo returned.

Kurama blinked.

Kuwabara put his hand over Kurama’s and held still as the psychic connection settled, set down roots.

“I understand,” Kurama said quietly, and Kuwabara knew it was the truth.

“The case is still open,” he said, much more calmly. “I checked.  Been open all this time.  Serial killer, they call it.  We could still get them—”

“It’s all right,” Kurama interrupted gently. “It’s all right.  I think…that’s what I’m here for.”

“To bring them in?”

“To kill them.” He drew back, and Kuwabara let him go. “They have a higher power to answer to, now.”

“I can’t really agree with that, you know.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t care.”

“Not really.” Kurama gave him an apologetic look. “One of the perks of being dead.  The laws of the living don’t really apply.”

Kuwabara sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S’all right.” His eyes flicked to the couch. “Next question.  Who are my other guests?  And why are you here?  As in ‘here’ my apartment.”

“I found them at the hotel.  They’re…prostitutes.”

Kuwabara felt a jolt of surprise, but waited because Kurama seemed to be drawing himself up to say something more.

“One of them is a colorful character who calls himself Jiro.  The other is…my brother.”

“What?”

This response from two sides of the room, in sibling stereo.

“Shizuru!  Have you been listening?”

“Of course,” the older sibling scoffed, waving a dismissive hand as she turned her attention on Kurama. “Kurama, talk sense.  What brother?  The only family I ever heard about was your mother.”

“This is true,” Kurama confirmed. “But just before her…before she died, my mother was engaged to marry a man named Hatanaka Sen, and he had a young son named Shuichi.”

Shizuru raised an eyebrow. “Two Shuichi’s?  That must have been a pain in the ass.”

“To an extent.”

“But, wait,” Kuwabara said. “Is Hatanaka dead?”

“Not to my knowledge.  The last I heard of him, he was a successful partner in the Mayaboshi company.”

“Then why the hell is his kid mixed up in prostitution?”

“That’s what I would like to find out.  Or rather…that’s what I would like you to find out.  I have Shuichi and Jiro’s personal accounts of what happened, and a telephone number.”

“What?  Wait—no.”

“Please, Kuwabara.” Kurama’s voice was low and serious.  He radiated a quiet, edgy desperation that made Kuwabara’s chest ache. “I—I’m not really supposed to interfere in the problems of the living but…I just can’t leave it like this.  He’s family.  Or nearly so.  Please.”

Kuwabara knew he was in trouble when he locked eyes with his sister and came within a breath of asking her for a cigarette.  Instead, he opened his mouth and what came out was, “Okay.”  Even though he knew that this was the beginning to something that would end up being more trouble than he’d gotten into in…years.

His first thought was that it just might be fun.

His second was that he really ought to find Yuusuke, because Urameshi would never forgive him for leaving him out of this one.

~*~

Yuusuke walked a familiar but long disused route, past walled gardens, down well-worn but well-maintained streets, until he reached a house nestled among flowerbeds and bushes, with a single grand maple tree spreading bare branches outward, taking up most of the lawn on the right side.  He wasn’t sure what had brought him here, other than angry, aimless wandering.  But now that he was here, the house seemed to hold him still, though everything in him wanted to keep moving.

He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets and rocked back on his heels, straight-legged.  Someone was living here again.  The flowerbeds were neatly tended, green shoots peaking through dark earth.

Kurama hadn’t been rich.  For some reason, Yuusuke had never really noticed that when his friend had been alive.  Kurama had always acted elegantly enough it seemed he should’ve been rolling in money.  His mother—warm, tough, smart woman—had kept the house in spotless repair.  Compared to Asuka’s frequently-trashed apartment, Kurama’s house had seemed rich indeed.

It was easier to look at, now.  Didn’t feel quite so empty, or seem quite so haunted.  He supposed that was a good thing, though a darker part of Yuusuke demanded the house remain like a monument, a grave marker.  But the world kept moving, despite grief and death.  He supposed it was just time, and that he should move on as well, before he frightened the house’s current occupant by skulking outside for too long.

He took one last look over the yard, and paused at the tree, where deeper shadows shifted among dead leaves.  He sensed Hiei before he saw the demon, and congratulated himself silently for it.

Hiei blurred out of the bare branches as soon as he realized he’d been spotted, and landed next to Yuusuke like a bolt of lightning, raising the hairs on Yuusuke’s arms.

“What are you doing here?” the half-demon asked curiously.

“What’s it to you?” Hiei returned defensively, scowling.

“Okay, okay, don’t get like that,” Yuusuke answered easily, unafraid in the face of Hiei’s threat.  “I’m just asking.  You don’t come to the Ningenkai very often any more.”

“I was looking.”

“Yeah?  For what?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Yuusuke blew a frustrated breath and rounded on the fire demon. “That is such shit.  It’s about Kurama, isn’t it?”

Hiei glared at him silently.

“Why won’t you tell us what’s going on?”

“I…can’t.”

“You are such an asshole.  You and Genkai both.  Ch’.”  Yuusuke turned and began to walk away.

“I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”

That quiet statement turned Yuusuke around. “What?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“But…what about what you said in the Second Kingdom…?”

“I was guessing.”

“Guessing—!”

“But I was right.  I’ve spoken to Genkai.”

“And she talked to you?  Ch’!  She all but patted me on the head and told me to go suck my thumb elsewhere.”

Hiei’s face resolved into a curious look that Yuusuke might have called embarrassment on anyone else. 

“Hiei?”

“It wasn’t Genkai,” the demon muttered. “It was Botan.”

“Botan?  What’s she got to do with it?”

Hiei shrugged.

Yuusuke sighed. “Fine.  What did she have to say?”

“Little of much use.  Except…” Hiei stuffed his hands in the pocket and turned to look at Kurama’s house. “Something went wrong with his death.  He never made it to the Spirit World.”

“We already knew that.”

“Yes.  But Botan said something that made me think…maybe it has to do with the house.”

“The house?”

Yuusuke bit down on an undignified yelp and took a step away as Hiei’s power flared in black lightning crackles around his body.

“Hiei!”

The fire demon ignored him and clawed one hand, flames lighting between his fingers.  He lobbed a casual black-fire ball at the house.  Surprise flipped to anger in an instant, and Yuusuke dove in, catching Hiei by his white scarf and pulled him up on his toes.

“You bastard!” he snarled. “What the hell—”

The youki attack met with a spirit barrier that hissed like static and resolved into a translucent light blue dome, arcing over the house and yard.  Yuusuke’s hands loosened.  He glanced nervously around the neighborhood, instinctively searching for witnesses to the display, but the street was empty.

“And it can take more than that,” Hiei said.  “I’ve tested it.”

“But…we searched all over that house looking for clues…”

“We never tried anything offensive.  There wasn’t any reason we’d have thought to.  The barrier only responds to an attack.”

“Who would put up a defensive barrier around Kurama’s house, except maybe Kurama?”

“It’s not his ki signature.  Besides, it’s far too strong to be any of Kurama’s work.”

“So who’s is it?”

“Good question.  Come on.”  Hiei turned and unlatched the iron gate, stepping into the yard.

“Hiei!” Yuusuke hissed, darting a look at the windows of the house, but saw nothing more than the reflected blue sky.  Huffing, he followed the fire demon cautiously.

The blue barrier flickered and died again as they walked up the path.  Hiei detoured before reaching the house, soft boots near-silent in the grass, heading for the maple.

“What are we doing?” Yuusuke asked.

“Testing a theory.”

Hiei clawed one hand as he walked, and black fire swirled into shape over his palm.

“Hiei…”

Then the fire demon jerked as if shot in the back.  With a choked cry, he stumbled, and Yuusuke was there to stabilize him.

“Hiei!”

“Try it,” Hiei growled. “Try forming the rei gun.”

Yuusuke jerked back and stared at him for a moment.  Hiei glared up at him, his mouth a tight line in his pale face.  Yuusuke felt the uneasy knot in his stomach tighten.  Slowly, pieces were coming together, and though he wasn’t sure of the picture yet, he knew he wasn’t going to like it.  Curling his hand into the familiar gun shape, he focused a small amount of reiki.  As soon as it took shape, he felt something pierce him between the shoulder blades, thin as a wire, cutting through bone, flesh, skin, and shooting out just under his sternum. 

“What—” he gasped.

Then it slid through him, slick and painful, pulling his strength with it.  He dropped to one knee, hand pressing to his chest as if closing a wound, but when he looked down, there was no blood.

“What,” he tried again.  It took much more effort than it should’ve to get back to his feet. “..the hell was that?”

“We always wondered why there were no signs of struggle beyond what a mere human could do.  This is why.  It negates all offensive magic, reiki and youki.”

“Shit.”

Yuusuke let his anger flare his reiki, unrefined, and felt the barrier fluctuate to accommodate him.  He pushed outward until his ki level was too high to be safe in a residential area, then let it die.  The barrier showed no signs of strain.

“Shit,” he said again, staring at his shoes, jaw clenched, bitterness burning the back of his throat.  His voice was low and deadly when he spoke again. “So what do we do now?”

Yuusuke could feel Hiei’s fangs behind his words. “There are only a handful of creatures capable of creating such a barrier.”

Yuusuke lifted his eyes, and felt himself smiling at the fire leaping behind Hiei’s returning gaze.  It was not a pleasant expression. “Then let’s hunt.”

~*~

Kurama watched the last rim of sun slip below the horizon and contemplated his new affinity for rooftops.  He wondered if it was because he liked to see things from as much a bird’s view as possible, or perhaps he was just subconsciously hoping to run into another demon—small and dark—who also liked high places.  In any case, here he was, standing on the edge of a building, letting the wind do its best to push him off, waiting for a sign.

He hadn’t heard from Kuronue all day.  It was starting to worry him.

Though the crow gave him space during the day, its thoughts were still a continuous hum in the back of his mind, like the murmur of low voices in another room.  Since Shuichi had touched him, though, there had been nothing.

Evening deepened to night.  Kurama watched the sky, though nothing but stars appeared.  Nervousness became a tickle in his stomach.

Your power is in the crow.  We are your anchor and your conduit.  Without the crow, you can neither walk on this plane, nor call upon the power of the other.

He decided to reach out on his own.  Kuronue?

A flicker of black-winged disapproval answered.  Are you ready now?  Finished with business that should not be yours to deal with?

That is not fair, Kurama protested.

“Fair” is not my concern.

Kurama pressed his lips together, clenching his jaw.  Can I care nothing for them any more?

You shouldn’t be real to them, Kurama.  You should be dead.

And yet here I am.

False life.  How much more do you think it will hurt them now, when you leave?

I can’t undo it.

No.

The crow flew out of the dark, banking on cold air to perch on Kurama’s shoulder, claws digging into leather, feathers brushing over his ear and cheek.  He reached a hand up to brush across the underside of a wing.

You are death, voice as soft as feathers on skin. You will destroy what you touch.  If you love them, stay away.

Kurama let fingers trace over the black paint burned into his lips and carefully thought of nothing.  The bird tilted its head, as if trying to meet his eyes.  Then youkai cleverness faded, replaced by a single-minding drive, keyed to a blood scent on the wind.  Kurama could feel it uncurling like smoke in his veins.

Follow, it said.  Follow.  It grabbed air with its wings and climbed into the sky, soaring out over the city.

Kurama followed.

Moonlight silvered pruned leaves, which blackened as Kurama walked past until they gleamed blue highlights in the darkness and clicked like glass in the breeze.  The kitsune, who had ever been attuned to nature, felt them die so suddenly it was not much like death at all.  Not the slow withering of roots, this, but a quick and total silence.  The murmur of plants ceased as he passed among them.  Had his focus been less severe, he would’ve stopped to mourn.

As it was, he could only be distracted briefly by the scenery: an old shrine, barely holding together at the seams.  Weeds grew up among the graveled paths.  The well looked disused and dry.  His nostrils flared, though in human form it was a useless gesture.  The place smelled of dust and disuse, which made him wary of the perfectly kept garden.

He slid forward, pulling shadow with him.  The crow he could sense circling above, but its eyes saw nothing more than his own—just an empty temple, slowly returning to weeds and dirt.  Something was calling him forward though.  He could feel it, a tug on his soul string.  So he took another careful step forward, senses alert, and left the protection of the wall, revealing himself to moonlight—bright in the courtyard.

A shape stirred in the doorway of the temple, resolving itself far enough for Kurama to see the arm and the gun.

Kurama leapt back as a bullet kicked up gravel where his feet would have been, and then again before the report of the first shot even reached his ears, sliding to a stop at the edge of shadow.  He crouched, fingertips touching the earth, and waited.  Dodging bullets more instinctive than actual fear—because, of course, he was dead and fatal wounds meant nothing.

Low laughter from the temple doorway indicated that his attacker was aware of this.  The figure moved forward further into the light, solidifying out of vague darkness.  Kurama’s eyes narrowed.  He felt his entire body coil into a low crouch.

“Hawk.”

Hartfield’s lackey grinned, aim never wavering. “Hey, you remember me.  Good for you.”

He was only human.  Kurama could smell that in the wind.  Human and not as confident as his cockiness suggested, so should be nothing more than an easy kill.  Yet there was more going on than the moonlight revealed, making Kurama hesitate, pressing a hand to his chest.  Hawk’s name was not on the list of those who had to die.

The crow saw a flash of silver in the dark behind Kurama, and he ducked and rolled as a sword swept through air above his head.  He regained his feet, facing his new enemy, and saw the face of a man he very much hated, though this one didn’t have a name besides the one etched into Kurama’s soul.

Fumiji Mitsuaki.

Kurama’s focus narrowed to a white-hot pinprick and he lunged.

Fumiji smirked and flicked his hand, and Kurama flew backward, yanked by his wrists as they were jerked over his head, suddenly feeling as if they were bound in burning wire.  He stood on tiptoe, his arms stretched over his head and his wrists crossed as the man approached clucking his tongue like a disapproving mother. 

A circle of arcane runes lit beneath Kurama’s feet and pulsed red like a heartbeat.  Kurama felt it burn against his skin like an electric field.  The man stopped just at the edge and reached across the barrier, still smiling a spider’s smile, to touch Kurama’s lips.  The crow screamed fury into the night.

Hawk raised his gun.

“NO!”

Kurama flung himself against his bindings ineffectually, one sharp nail scratching across his skin as he jerked his head away.  The gunshot was enough to deafen him briefly.  Kurama felt something stick claws into his side, grab a chunk of flesh and shred.

The crow fell like a broken arrow, and hit the dusty courtyard with a keen of despair.

Kurama could have wailed, too, if he’d had any breath left.  Instead, he could only stare at the bird as it floundered, numb.

I remember this.  This is dying.

“Idiot!” the man snapped at Hawk, stepping away from Kurama and toward Hartfield’s lackey menacingly.  “You idiot!” He grabbed the gun away. “Did you kill it?  If you did, I’ll warrant it’s your life next.  You have no idea of what you’re dealing with.”

Hawk bristled.  “What the fuck is your problem?  You wanted the bird taken out, I took it out.”

Kurama wanted to curl around the hurt spreading through his body, but he couldn’t summon the strength.  His chin dropped to his chest and the crow at his feet twitched, animalistic desperation burning behind its uncanny eyes.

The moonlight was silver on black wings, and suddenly, silver was a sound—the highest violin string screaming once.  Kurama jerked his head up as his heartbeat sent a ripple through his body, as if his blood were changing over into something thicker.  The humans were still arguing.  The crow was laughing, softly.

Black lightning struck him between the shoulder blades, throwing him forward.  He clenched his fists and the invisible wires holding him up shredded.  Muscles slid, adjusted, caught him in a crouch too graceful to be human.  Mist shimmered in a roiling cloud, lit by lightning, and when it cleared he stood straight and faced two startled humans from nearly a foot taller, and flexed his claws.

Kuronue struck first.  One wing sent Kurama’s target flying; one swipe sent the gun clattering to the ground in pieces.  Kuronue pounced on Hawk as Fumiji slid across the ground, smearing out part of his warding circle as he came to a stop at Kurama’s feet.  The kitsune smiled down at him, showing off his fangs.

Demon senses were a terrible, wonderful thing.  They let him hear the crunch of Kuronue breaking human bones, sift through the scents of fear and pain and sheer joy—

Gave him a moment’s warning, just before Fumiji’s eyes turned black and the shadows came alive.

~*~

There were many many many many things Yuusuke could think of that he would rather be doing than getting drunk with a brooding Hiei.  Of course, Yuusuke conceded as he slanted his smaller companion a sideways look, he couldn’t be completely certain Hiei was brooding—it wasn’t much different from his normal appearance.  He flicked long hair out of his eyes impatiently and turned his mug around in his hands again.  He was in half-demon form, his hair still black, his power level impressive but not awe-inspiring. 

They were in a demon tavern, and he was trying to blend—which meant ragged hair down to his feet and black pants made of some light, loose material.  This combined with an open vest to show off his tattoos made him feel nervous and exposed.  Despite the time he’d spent in the Makai, large groups of rowdy demons still put him on edge.  Besides, despite his adjusted appearance, he was still ruler of a third of the Makai, and in the presence of Mukuro’s heir.  No matter how inconspicuous they tried to be, someone was going to recognize them soon.

Hiei was blood-hungry and hunting, and had grown progressively angrier at every dead end they had come to.  Their last lead had brought them here—so here they were, waiting in shadows for a demon named Kakomu, the world getting a little fuzzier around the edges with ever pint of whatever it was Yuusuke was drinking.  He’d never had much stomach for demon alcohol.

He knew he was in trouble when the brief thought of Wouldn’t it be funny if I dumped my drink over Hiei’s head? actually seemed like a good idea.  He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m going to step outside for a minute.”

Hiei gave him a brief nod to acknowledge him without even looking up.  Yuusuke rolled his eyes and made for the door.

Outside, he could almost pretend he was still in the Ningenkai, except the stars were different, and the citadel in the distance looked like nothing of human design.  It was spiraling and clawed, looking dangerous and shinning with magic lights.

Botan appeared with a soft displacement of Reikai air that crackled like static as if fighting for existence in the Makai and raised hairs on Yuusuke’s arms.

“Botan!” he said, startled.

The ferrygirl dropped off her oar immediately and stood as if shielding herself from sight behind Yuusuke’s body.  She looked at odds with her surroundings.  “Shhh!” she hushed him. “Not so loud!  I am so not supposed to be here.”

“I know,” Yuusuke said, lowering his voice. “So why are you here?”

“Because Kuwabara couldn’t find you anywhere, and apparently I’m his new messenger service.” Her grin took any sting out of the words. “So hop on and let’s get out of here.  This air does nasty things to my hair.”

“Kuwabara?  What does he want?  I can’t just pick up and leave, I’m in the middle of—”

{Go.}

Yuusuke blinked. “Hiei?”

“Hiei?” Botan echoed.  “Is he around here?”

{Go.  I can do this myself.}

Yuusuke wasn’t sure whether he should be insulted or worried.  “Are you sure?”

-blood and fire- {Yes.}

“All right,” he said, uneasily, then turned to Botan, who was giving him a speculating look.  He chuckled weakly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um.  Right then.  Let’s go.”

Yuusuke hopped off the oar and saluted to Botan as she winked and vanished again.  When she was gone, he looked around Kuwabara’s apartment, trying to refamiliarize himself.  He’d helped Kuwabara move in about two years ago, but hadn’t been back since.  There were files open and papers scattered across the coffee table, the sofa, books open on the kitchen table.

Yuusuke bent to untie his shoes. He was back to human form, and enjoyed a moment of purely human activity.  “Kuwabara?” he called, kicking out of them. 

When there was no immediate answer, he padded over to the kitchen and picked up a book, studying the circled star symbol on the cover and the map of Tokyo spread open on the refrigerator, held up by strong magnets.  There were little red Xs marking five points.  “Where are you, jerk?” he demanded loudly.  “I left a homicidal Hiei with a jumpy sword hand and a grudge getting drunk in a tavern for you.”  He held up the book and compared the pattern of the Xs to the symbol on the book. 

“Stop your bawling Urameshi,” Kuwabara answered from behind.

Yuusuke turned and noticed Kuwabara’s pained look and the bag of ice he was holding to the back of his head. “You thought about Botan naked again, didn’t you?” he asked and grinned.

“Shut up,” Kuwabara groused. “How else am I supposed to get in contact with her?  It’s not like we’re Reikai Tantei anymore.”

“Aa,” Yuusuke agreed, handing the book back to him, cover up. “The points don’t match up.”

“I know.  I’m working on it.”  Kuwabara tossed the book back onto the table.  “It’s none of the traditional symbols, or even some of the more obscure runes.”

Yuusuke studied the map, tapping one finger to an X. “What do they stand for?”

“Murders.”

“Eh?” Yuusuke gave him a startled look. “What murders?”

“You don’t know?”

“Kuwabara.  I didn’t keep up with the news when I was a regular resident in the Ningenkai.”

“Right.” Kuwabara cleared his throat. “About six weeks ago, a school teacher and two of her students disappeared during a field trip to the Meiji Shrine, here near Harajuku station.” His finger tapped a point on the map. “A day later, the teacher’s body was recovered in this residential area here.” He slid his finger over to cover one X. “Then the students were discovered here and here within the next two weeks.”

Yuusuke watched grimly as Kuwabara mapped out the trail of murders.

“The next victims were a twenty-four year old businessman and a sixty-year-old nurse.  Each one was killed exactly the same way—and cut ritualistically after.  But there was no motive, no pattern of abduction, or relationship between the victims.”  Kuwabara gritted his teeth in frustration, then sighed and continued. “I was called in when a girl disappeared somewhere between her volleyball practice and her piano lessons about a six days ago.  At the time, it was an unrelated case.  We thought it might be ransom or blackmail.  She was the daughter of a wealthy family, the Hazamas, but there hasn’t been any demands, any contact at all from the kidnappers.  I think she’s going to be the sixth victim.”

Yuusuke stared at the map, willing it to give him answers. “So you think there’s a pattern in the locations?”

“There has to be, dammit, they’re just too evenly spaced for it to be anything else.  Besides that, all of Kurama’s killings have occurred within a three mile radius of here.” His finger circled Tokyo. “Right in the center of all those points.”

“So?”

“So, they’ve got to be connected, somehow.”

“You think Kurama did those other killings?”

“Of course not.  Don’t be stupid.  I think that whatever’s going on has something to do with Kurama, though.  We never did find the bastard who killed him.”

“About that—” Yuusuke stopped when Kuwabara shivered hard enough to be noticeable and went white. “Oi!” he said and reached out a hand to steady him.

“Did-did you feel that?”

“Feel wh—”

Pressure exploded in his head, like blood vessels bursting outward.  He clutched his skull and reeled, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a silent scream.  Then it was gone, leaving an echo of pain and his eyes watering.  He straightened to see Kuwabara wipe a trickle of blood off his upper lip.

“What—was that?” Yuusuke demanded.

“I don’t know, but it was big.”

“Can you get a fix on it?”

“Yeah,” Kuwabara answered without hesitation.  The psychic imprint was like a cold palm laid on his mind.  “Come on,” he said, turning toward the door, because of course they were going to find out what was going on, Reikai Tantei or no Reikai Tantei.

Over his shoulder, he saw Yuusuke grin, a familiar dangerous glint lighting his eyes, and found himself grinning back.  Just like old times.

Part 3

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