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Chapter Text

“Why don’t you show yourself, ‘Mistress’?”

Reimu Hakurei looked around, trying to find the mastermind of this plot.  The long chase of fairies and spirits and the two fights against the maid had led her outside, into the night sky above the mansion.  The moon had risen by this late hour; not that you could see it clearly, just a pale red glow behind the scarlet fog.  There was a great rumbling in the air, and a cloud of bats flew past Reimu, converging in a swarming mass.  From this writhing, a figure emerged.  

A slender young girl, her skin a bloodless, pallid shade.  She was clad in soft pinks and vibrant reds in a gothic and aristocratic western style, two leathery bat wings, black as night against the red mist, spouted from her back, lazily flapping far too slowly to support her, but still she hung in the air before her.  She brushed a lock of her wavy, powder-blue hair behind one pointed ear and looked down at Reimu.

“Ah, just one?  I was told there were two human intruders,” she said in a vaguely western accent.  

An outsider then , Reimu guessed, based on her voice. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me for now.  The other one is dealing with your pet mage,” she said.  She and Marisa had been ambushed by the maid and the librarian, and they had split up to deal with them.

“Oh, so that’s how it all worked out.  I look forward to seeing the book Patchy will bind with her skin.”  The looks of quiet amusement as she said this betrayed her age, thought Reimu.  The hint of bemused malice in her child’s voice and the shadow of sadism that crossed her too-young face told Reimu that whatever this thing was, it was nowhere near as young as it appeared.

“And I assume you’re looking to do something similar to me, yeah?” Reimu asked.  She shifted her grip on her gohei purification rod and stared back into those blood-red, slit-pupiled eyes.  “Something cruel and unspeakable?”

“It’s not polite to assume things, especially about your host,” the girl responded.  She folded her hands in front of her, like they were making polite conversation.  “I’m rather thinking of asking you to leave my manor for this behavior.  You’ve harassed my staff, disrupted their work, annoyed my friend and if you don’t leave soon you may disturb my dear sister.”

“Well, remove the red fog from Gensokyo, and you might make it back to your dear sister in one piece,” Reimu said, drawing a handful of ofuda talismans.

“If you think this is a game, priestess, you’re sadly mistaken,” the girl said.  She flicked her hand and a massive, intricately ornate, blood-red, winged spear flew into her outstretched palm, too fast for Reimu to tell where it had come from.  “This is all too real.”  They both smiled tightly.

“Looks like it's going to be a long night.”

“Looks like it's going to be a fun night.”

Reimu Hakurei awoke from another dream, again anxious, disappointed and confused.  These dreams of a fantasy land were always so exciting, but when she awoke it all turned back to a familiar crushing disappointment as she remembered her real life.

She rolled to check her bedside clock, and despite wanting to stay in bed another hour, she judged that it was time to start her day.  She rolled off her futon and began her morning routine.  Boil kettle, brush hair, toast bread, find clothes.  As she spread a tiny amount of jam on her toast, she tried to remember what her dream had been about.  Another of her many heroic fantasies that, like all dreams, faded almost as soon as she woke up.  But this one had been so intense.  Did she storm a mansion?  Was she fighting a vampire with a spear?

She finished her toast, and found some clean clothes.  A once-bright red hoodie, now a deeper, faded color, and an equally old pair of khaki cargo pants, now devoid of almost all color except the dull smear of age.  She slipped into her pair of beat-up sneakers and tied up her hair into a loose bun, tied with one of her keepsakes from her mother, a red, frilled ribbon.  The locals had always talked about her with such admiration, Reimu felt a private shame that she couldn’t remember much of anything about her, but the ribbon and the two red fabric tubes she wore on her long sidelocks felt familiar in a way nothing else did.

Finally dressed, she slid her front door up, and stepped out into the mid-morning fog of Gensokyo, Tokyo.  Tucked away between Shinkaji and Udagawachō, the neighborhood was oft-forgotten by the authorities, filled equally with retirees and hipsters.  Reimu grabbed her broom from inside the Hakurei Shrine, and closed the door.  She checked her donation box on her way down the stairs, and pocketed the spare coins; judging them enough for a sandwich lunch from the corner store later in the day.  She set out to sweep the path between the torii and the shrine, trying to keep clean this tiny corner of nature wedged between urban sprawl.

“Um, hello?” came a voice from behind her.  Reimu turned to see a pale salaryman, sick mask over his face, looking around nervously as he stood on the threshold beneath the torii gate.  She turned and answered him.

“Hello, what are you looking for?” she said, leaning on her broom.

“Are you…the manager of this shrine?” he asked, looking around.

“No, but I would be if shrines had managers,” Reimu responded, wondering what this could possibly be about.  Another real estate stooge trying to buy up the shrine?

“Oh well, um,” he stumbled over his words before continuing. “I’ve got a bit of a weird problem, and I was given this flier about it…” he produced a slip of paper and offered it to Reimu and she took it.  It read in white lettering outlined in red: “Exorcisms and Spiritual Exterminations: Hakurei Shrine Services” with a picture of the shrine and the address, little cartoon ofuda talismans lining the edges.  Marisa had made these for her months ago, and little had come from putting them all over the neighborhood except for one near-sighted old woman trying to get Reimu to handle her mite infestation.  Did Marisa print more of them without telling her?

“Where did you get this?” Reimu asked.

The man looked even more nervous.  “Well, I was out drinking after work a few nights ago, and I may have started complaining about how…” he paused, looking embarrassed.  Reimu gestured for him to continue, and he collected himself.  “About how the apartment above mine is haunted,” he confided in the whisper of the terminally self-conscious.  “One of the other regulars at the bar said that she knew a great exorcist who could settle the spirit, and she gave me that flier.  Is that you?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Reimu said to try and calm his obvious nerves.  “Do you know this regular?”

“Um, I don’t know her name.” Reimu raised an eyebrow and again gestured for him to continue, and the man explained: “Tall, middle aged, blond hair, dressed in a dark purple business suit.  Didn’t socialize much.  The bartender says she’s a night owl: stays until dawn, then leaves.”  Despite the right hair color, that didn’t sound anything like Marisa.  After thinking it over for a moment and coming up with nothing, she returned her attention to the salaryman.

“So, a haunted apartment above yours?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ve spoken to the building manager, but she doesn’t believe me.  She walked me through the apartment when I lodged a noise complaint, she said it’s empty because of some kind of rot in the floorboards that she can’t find anyone to fix, but…”

“What kind of noises are you hearing?”

“At first, it was just moaning, scratching, and loud thumps at the floor,” he said.  “At first, I thought it must be someone who sleeps really poorly, then when the screams started I thought that it was someone who was kidnapped, or held against their will, but since the landlord showed me that it’s empty and she keeps the door locked, I’m convinced it’s haunted.  It’s happened every night for two months now, and I can’t get any sleep.”

Reimu mulled the problem over.  She needed cash, but a locked apartment and an uncooperative building manager might not be so easy.  She wondered if Marisa still had her lockpicking kit from her B&E days…who was she kidding? Of course Marisa still had it, the girl never threw anything away.  Reimu checked her watch, and tried to remember when Marisa would be out of her classes; not until 5 pm at the latest, which left them plenty of time to prep for a nighttime ritual and exorcism.

“Alright, If you can pay, I can remove this spirit for you,” Reimu said, shifting her tone of voice to her saleswoman pitch.  “Base fee is thirty thousand yen, with additional fees if the spirit is troublesome and takes longer, and a down payment of five thousand yen for materials.”

The man swallowed behind his mask.  “So, you can do it soon, then?” he said as he reached to open his wallet.

“Yes, we can do it tonight.  I’ll need my associate, who should be free by then.” She accepted the five bills with a slight bow. “And besides, exorcisms are best performed when the spirit is active, so we’d have to wait regardless.”  She pocketed the cash, and directed the man into the shrine to get his address and take stock of her supplies.

While she may not have been as fearless as the other Reimu in her dreams, she was still an exterminator of spirits, and a keeper of Gensokyo’s balance.

Chapter Text

“...that brings us to the dharmapala , or the guards of the law.  Each subset of Buddhism interprets them differently…”

The tiered lecture hall was only half-full, and the energy of the room matched it.  It was just after 4 pm on a Friday, and even the attentive students found themselves wishing for the day to be over.  Nevertheless, the art history professor was not one to be ignored, so they all put on their best attentive faces for her, tried to not check their phones and to look like they were earnestly taking notes from the slides.

“...can be broadly broken down into two categories: the lokapala and the janapala .  Who knows what those terms translate…” 

All but the girl near the far right wall.  The blond girl with a fashion sense arrested somewhere between ‘90s goth’ and ‘a street fashion model who was down on her luck’ was typing away on her laptop.  She would occasionally stop to consult a small journal and a large text book, and occasionally to scribble something in the journal.  No one sat close enough to her to see what exactly she was doing, only that what she was working on had little to do with art history.  Those who caught glimpses of the diagrams she was working on or understood her occasional low muttering might have guessed that she was doing work for a chemistry or engineering class.

They would not be entirely off the mark for thinking that.

“...although often depicted as terrifying, multi-faced monsters, they are recorded as benevolent beings who only act…”

On the table next to the girl sat the thing everyone in the class knew her for the most: a large, black, wide-brimmed hat.  One might have thought it was a witch’s cap from a Halloween costume, but the white leather band, zipper running up the side and the sleek but expensive nylon material of the hat itself dispelled any notion that it was any kind of costume.  When part of the class learned that her surname could also be read as “drizzling rain” one classmate made a joke that between the hat and her heavy black coat, she looked like she was more ready for a downpour than a drizzle.  He had intentionally said it within earshot of her, hoping to elicit some kind of response from her, but her single snort and strained smile was less than what he had hoped for.

“...take particular note of the small faces that ring the upper edge of the mask, as it...”

She tried to be more friendly after that, but it was so hard.  Interacting was difficult, but she prided herself on the social persona, being an energetic and fun person, but changing gears into approachability from concentration so rapidly was hard.  And so her reputation at the college developed: the quiet girl with the dyed hair, clad in mostly black with an oversized hat, who would crack a joke or throw out an occasional social jab, but preferred  to be left alone.  Everyone’s classmate, nobody’s friend.  It wasn’t the worst reputation she’d ever cultivated, but that was an exceptionally low bar.

“.. as for where these figures are depicted…Kirisame-san, can you tell us?”

She was almost done with her notes on aetheric binding’s interactions with the leylines of Tokyo…

“Kirisame-san?” 

She just had to plot out what were the best places to harness the flow of-

“Marisa!”

Marisa Kirisame was jolted out of her research-trance by the near-shout of the professor.  She looked up from her notes, realizing she had let the entire lecture slip her by.  Her face burned as she looked to see the entire class and the professor looking straight at her; some with smirks, some with looks of pity, the professor with a look of frayed patience.

“Uh…can you repeat the question?” Marisa pleaded.  The professor pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“I can see we’re all at the end of our attention spans.  You can all go ten minutes early, the test on the last two chapters will be on Monday,” she said and dismissed the class with a wave of her hand.  Marisa snapped her laptop and books shut and gathered her supplies in her messenger bag.  She slipped her coat on, shouldered her bag and grabbed her hat, then made her way down the stairs, behind the rest of the class as they all fled the lecture hall.  Half way down the stairs, she made eye contact with the professor, who mouthed ‘some see me’ and motioned to her desk.  Marisa felt her shoulders slump involuntarily.  She slowed her exit and steered herself to the professor’s desk and waited for the hall to empty. The professor pulled up a spare chair, and motioned Marisa to sit.

Once the hall was empty of other students, they both sat down and the professor began, “Kirisame-san, this is not the first time you’ve ignored most of a lecture to focus on other work.”  The unspoken question at the end of that statement hung in the air for a few seconds.

“I’m really sorry, professor,” Marisa said, bowing her head.  And she was, in a way.  She needed the class, but it was so easy to get caught up in her other, non-college work and let everything else fade away.  “I’m just…really busy with other stuff.  Time management’s never been my strong suit.”

“So I’ve heard.  I looked up your file,” she said and Marisa cringed.  She couldn’t help it.  “You’re paying for your own tuition, and you still have yet to choose a major, minor or even a degree you’d like.”

“I bet a lot of students do, isn’t that the point of this university?” Marisa blurted out, feeling herself grow defensive against her better judgment.  The professor sighed, Marisa avoided eye contact and fiddled with her side-braid.

“Well, it’s certainly one point,” she responded.  Tokyo Terakoya University was a civic experiment, testing how well an American-style community college would work, as opposed to the goal-oriented vocational or technical schools common to Japan, with a more relaxed “work towards your degree at whatever pace you can pay for” approach.  Marisa wasn’t sure if the jury was still out on how it was doing, but it suited her lifestyle just fine, for a few classes a week between side-hustles.  The professor continued, brushing a lock of cerulean-streaked hair behind her ear, “I don’t want to intrude on your personal life, Marisa, you obviously don’t want to share it.  But I do want to ask, is this really what you want to be spending your money on?”

The answer that came from within her was a muffled torrent of uncertainty and a hundred reasons to say both yes and no.  ‘No, she had better things to do.  Yes, she needed a college degree to get a real job if everything else fell through.  No, studying magic was all she wanted to do with her life.  Yes, because there were no schools for magic, at least not in Tokyo.  No, she didn’t want to spend any time more than necessary around an organization that would have power over her.  Yes, she needed this cultural and artistic background to converse and barter with the spirits that held the secrets of magic…’

And on and on it went, the professor’s earnest concern throwing the mess of her life into sharp contrast.  Marisa didn’t know how long she stood and contemplated, but the subjective hour of thought couldn’t have lasted more than an objective few seconds, or the professor would have looked more concerned when she returned to attentiveness.

“Thank you for your concern Professor Kamishirasawa, I’ll be more attentive in class from now on,” Marisa eventually said, her attempt at deflection naked and unapologetic.  She expected scorn, exasperation or pity to cross the professor’s face, but instead there was an inscrutable expression of…patience?  Kindness?  Sadness?  Marisa couldn’t place it, so she turned to leave.

On the way out, she pretended not to hear the professor say, “I’ll be free whenever you’re ready, Marisa.”

Out the front door, down the front steps and onto the sidewalk Marisa stepped, checking her phone for missed texts, and firing off a few quick replies.   She stopped and looked up when she reached the bottom of the stairs, greeted by a familiar face.

“Hey there, miko ,” Marisa said to the disheveled-looking girl on the bench in front of the school.

“Hey there, witch ,” Reimu replied, the terms traded with the affection of a lifelong friendship.  

“What brings you to the esteemed halls of learning?  I thought you were done with all schooling?”  Marisa threw herself onto the bench beside Reimu, sighing deeply.

“Oh, I am, I just needed to reach you early today,” she replied.

“I have got to find you a phone, my girl,” Marisa threw her head back and let it lull over the back of the bench.

“If you can find a carrier that has charity plans, then by all means,” Reimu said, as she watched Marisa’s hat almost slip off her head before she grabbed it.

Marisa pondered a moment, straightening back up and replacing her hat on her head.  “There’s got to be a forgotten spirit floating around somewhere who will give you free calls and texts in exchange for offerings, right?”

“If you can find one, please tell me,” Reimu chuckled, and Marisa gave her a smirk.

“So what’s up?  Got a tip on some grimoires for me?” Marisa asked.

“No, but some spare yen for you if you can help me on a job.”

Marisa raised an eyebrow at that.  “Of everyone in my life I never expected you to offer me cash.”

Reimu chuckled, “Well, I need to exorcise an apartment, but the landlord is…not willing to open the door.”  Then, at Marisa’s quizzical look she added, “It’s the guy in the apartment downstairs that wants it removed.  The apartment itself is empty.”

“And I assume you need my lockpicking skills?” Marisa asked.

“It’s ten-thousand yen for picking the lock and playing lookout for a night,” Reimu proffered, then added, “Also you might have to carry some supplies.  What do ya say?”

Marisa contemplated the offer for a few seconds.  In truth, she had nothing better to do tonight, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that breaking and entering to aid in a legally questionable exorcism was not the best use of her time.  But whatever, she had all of the weekend to study.  And ten thousand yen was not nothing.

“Sure, let’s swing by my apartment and get my stuff.”

Chapter Text

Marisa and Reimu’s walk to Marisa’s apartment complex was…mostly uneventful.  The two girls stopped for some street food, Marisa getting takoyaki, and Reimu grabbing some dango.  Marisa was surprised at the (for Reimu) extravagance of her buying dango, but figured it must be to the promised payment for the exorcism that let her splurge.  

The two ate their food while sitting on a sidewalk bench, and had almost finished, when a commotion erupted nearby.  A woman with dyed streaks in her hair and a studded and spiked  leather jacket was shouting about something incomprehensible, then flipped a couple’s table outside a restaurant and ran.  Everyone nearby jumped up when it happened, then the whole street stood still for a moment.

“Our neighborhood is so weird,” Marisa sighed, before scarfing down the last takoyaki ball, disposing of the paper tray and walking past the mess.  Various other onlookers stopped to help clear the sidewalk of pieces of the meal and the scattered and broken dinnerware.  Reimu stopped to help set the table upright and scoop up a cloth napkin-bundle from the ground that still had several dinner rolls in it, hiding them in her front hoodie pocket, then casually power-walking to catch up to Marisa.

“Probably wouldn’t have gotten that dango if I’d known another meal would be falling into my lap five minutes later,” Reimu said with ironic bitterness, then took a bite of one of the rolls as inconspicuously as possible.

“Dunno if either of those is a full meal, but I think you deserve it,” Marisa replied, searching the sidewalk crowd for a way through.  “Settling a spirit is hard work, isn’t it?”

“Depends on the spirit,” Reimu mused.  “Some you can just talk to with a ritual and get them to move on.  But the description from the client did it no favors.  Moaning, knocking, scratching on the floor, even screaming.  Probably just needs to be exterminated, but I’ll give it a shot.”

They eventually arrived at Marisa's apartment building.  Grimy, poorly maintained and all-around questionable legal, just like most things in Gensokyo.  As they approached there came from the alley between the building and another an odd bird call and the sound of metal being dropped.  Marisa turned her head and squinted down the alley.  A lone wrench lay just beyond a dumpster down the alley.  She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then called out to Reimu.

“Head on up Reimu, I’ve…gotta see a girl about a pipe.”  Reimu just stared back at her, confounded.  “I’ve gotta check on something, I’ll be right up, go on up!” She tossed her key to Reimu and slid into the side alley.  Reimu simply rolled her eyes and went through the front door and up the stairs.  Marisa walked further down the alley, to the other side of the dumpster she had heard the noise from.

“‘About a pipe’?  Really?”

Woman on the other side of the dumpster was facing away from Marisa, inspecting a pipe running along the bottom edge of the apartment exterior.  She wore a thick waterproof blue jacket, practical jeans and dirty blue wellington boots.  Her enormous green backpack was propped against the wall, half it’s compartments opened with tools strewn about and her green baseball cap laid atop it.  From the back she could see the woman’s dark blue hair pulled into two tight twintails.  Without looking, she held her hand out behind her expectantly.  Marisa knelt down and picked up the wrench.

“Maybe you should come up with a better signal then.  Or maybe a better place to meet up,” Marisa suggested.  She placed the wrench in the offered hand.

“Maybe you should stop ruining your apartment’s plumbing by flushing failed alchemy experiments,” Nitori Kawashiro returned.  “You ever thought of that, Miss Mage?”  The handywoman finished tightening one last valve, then stood up and faced Marisa. Her large jacket was unzipped in front, revealing the badge and key-ring she kept on a lanyard.

“I’ll consider it,” Marisa said.  “Were you able to get them?”  Nitori replaced the wrench on her tool belt and knelt down next to her backpack, reaching into a pouch and producing two zip-lock bags: one of various grasses and flowers, the other an opaque black.

“I required some…work, but yeah, some of them still grow beneath the city if you know where to look.”  Marisa took both bags and manipulated the black one in her fingers, feeling the contents carefully.  Satisfied, she stuffed them in an interior pocket of her jacket.  “Are you sure you wanna take those?  It’s not a good high, they’re called ‘wraithcaps’ for a re-.”

“I’m using them as reagents, not drugs,” Marisa interrupted as she reached into her messenger bag and withdrew her side of the exchange; a plastic bag containing three bright green cucumbers.  “Just like you asked.  Organic, native-grown, no pesticides.”  She tossed the bag to Nitori, who snatched it out of the air and pulled one of the cucumbers from the bag, sniffing deeply along its entire length, her expression near-rapturous.

“Ohh…that’s the good stuff,” Nitori moaned.  Marisa rolled her eyes, and turned to leave, before she was interrupted.  “Wait a moment, Kirisame!  I have something else that might interest you.”  Marisa turned back, surprised.  “While I was working, an older guy stopped by the complex.  Asked about residents, if there was anyone odd living here.  Asked some very pointed questions about if I'd seen a girl with eyes like his.  Golden eyes, and he speculated that she might have blonde hair.”  Marisa felt her blood run cold and a pit form in her stomach.  Nitori just gazed at her, her expression unreadable.  Time seemed to stand still, and Marisa couldn’t hear the noise of the street over the blood pumping in her ears.

“And what did you tell him?” She asked after a pause that was way too long to try and hide from Nitori what this meant to her.

“That if I had seen anyone like that I’d remember, but no, never seen any golden-eyed blond girls living in this building.” Nitori said, pointedly staring into Marisa’s golden eyes.  “He gave me five hundred yen to keep him updated if I did see her in the next week.”  Marisa's instincts clashed, and she didn’t know if she should leap over and hug her or try to attack her.  

“Thank you,” she said in a low tone, her voice uneven.  She reached into a coat pocket and produced a lance shogi piece, made of rich red wood, the kanji painted with a silver ink.  Nitori’s eyes widened at the token, and Marisa pressed it into her hand.  “You know what to say if he comes around again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Nitori said with a slight waiver in her voice. “Do you want more wraithcaps?  This is more th-”

“Just consider me generous,” Marisa cut her off, then reconsidered.  “If you want to do me a small favor, I would be grateful.”  Nitori motioned her assent and Marisa continued, “I need an old cellphone, just used both my spares for something else.  See if you can dredge up something decent.  Pre-smart phone.  Just need it for calls and texts.  Package it, and slip it into my mailbox, unit 217b.”

Nitori nodded as she pocketed the shogi piece and Marisa turned and power-walked around the side of the building.  She slipped in the front door and checked her mailbox, and saw the name “Akuho” under her apartment number.  It had seemed so paranoid to rent the apartment under a pseudonym, but the vindication she felt now wasn’t nearly as soothing as she would have hoped it would be.  She grabbed her mail and trotted up the stairs to her place.  She opened the door to find Reimu sitting respectfully at the table by the kitchen.  Her apartment was a mess of old newspapers, snap-spined old books, chemistry supplies, broken electronics and more.  The apartment key was left on the table in front of her, and Reimu had helped herself to a glass of water from Marisa’s filtering pitcher.

“It’s about time yo- Marisa, what’s wrong?” Reimu said.  Damn, she thought she had settled her face on the walk up, but clearly not. Reimu answered her question of what gave it away without her asking, “You’re as pale as a sheet.”

“It’s nothin,” Marisa said, too quickly.  Reimu’s brow furrowed at the lie.

“I’ve known you for over ten years now Marisa, I know when something’s up.”

“It’s personal stuff.  I don’t feel like sharing right now,” Marisa said, and she hung her hat on the rack by the door, alongside a few other different but similarly-styled wide-brim hats.  “I’d rather talk exorcisms now, if it’s all the same to you.”

Reimu considered her request for a long moment, as Marisa searched through piles of junk and various drawers for her lockpicking kit.  After a long moment thinking of what could make Marisa blanch like that, she asked in a quiet voice, “Family stuff?”

Marisa stopped her search, her shoulders slumped low.  She sighed deeply, before replying, “Yes.”

“I understand,” Reimu said, and Marisa resumed her search.

At times, Reimu’s honesty infuriated Marisa.  And then there were the times like this where she counted herself lucky to know the shrine maiden.

Chapter Text

Ten minutes of sifting through her piles of junk later, Marisa had finally located her lockpicking tools.  After another meager snack, she swapped coats and hats to something less conspicuous (though the hat was still way too big for Reimu’s taste) and the two set off.  

The sun was beginning to set, darkening the alleys and streets of the city.  Though not as notorious as Shinjuku, Gensokyo’s nightlife was still more active than many other places in Tokyo, and the two girls did their best to blend into the strangely busy crowd as the tail end of the day shift and waking of the night owls brushed up against each other.  They made their way down the street, past three blocks to the Hakurei Shrine, on its little patch of barely-alive grass and withered trees.  Marisa made herself at home, while Reimu gathered all the supplies needed and recalled the procedures.

“How long’s this prep gonna take?” Marisa asked, fidgeting with a loose chopstick.

“Well, ideally, one should purify oneself beneath a waterfall before attempting something like this,” Reimu replied.  “But seeing as I’m fresh out of waterfalls in a 10-kilometer radius, I think a cold shower will have to do.”

“My, how far our storied traditions and rituals have fallen,” Marisa snarked as she pulled out her phone and sat at the ratty and worn-out kotetsu that served as the main table of the shrine.  Reimu gathered a towel and set her cleanest ritual outfit out, then stepped out back to use the shower.  She stripped down and set her outfit on the rusted water heater placing her ribbon and hair-tubes on top of the hoodie, then flipped the ‘cold’ valve on the shower and immediately stepped in.

The cold was so much worse than she had imagined.  She’s taken cold showers before, but that was to cool off or save money in the middle of the day, she’d never taken one at night in autumn.  The wood-board walls that surrounded the outdoor shower provided privacy, but no protection from the breeze.  Shivering, Reimu sat down on the floor of the shower cross-legged, trying to remember the chants and prayers one would use for a cleansing.

All the while, she contemplated the fate of the spirit she was hired to eliminate.  Was it a human ghost, driven mad by lingering?  A zashiki warashi, a household kami abandoned and crying out?  Some kind of nascent tsukumogami?  She knew how to banish all of them, but should she do it, or just remove it from the apartment was the better question.  Traditions spoke of kindness to spirits who meant no harm and just lacked understanding, and to cleanse anything that resisted the cycles of life, but those kinds of moral judgments always seemed too flat to Reimu.

Three minutes of frigid misery later, Reimu stood and turned the shower off.  She grabbed the towel and dried herself as best she could, before darting back into her room at the back of the shrine.  She was surprised to find it warmer than she left it, and she glanced down to see her once-broken space heater glowing a faint orange.

“Thank you, Marisa,” she called into the front room.

“No problem,” returned Marisa.  Reimu finished drying her hair and legs, then quickly tried to brush her hair into shape, before slipping on some more undergarments and putting on her pure white robe.  It wasn’t quite the right type of garment for this type of religious work, her mother’s real robe meant for harae purification rituals had been destroyed when she was very young.  One of the neighborhood families had donated an old white robe to the shrine, and in Reimu’s eyes it was close enough.

She retrieved her pile of clothes from outside, and then searched for her gohei.  Like the harae robe, Reimu’s original purification rod had been destroyed, so she had fashioned her own.  It was much longer than a traditional one, nearly a meter and a half long, looking more like a staff than a gohei.  The twin white paper tassels that hung from the end were worn along the edge, but otherwise clean.  She grabbed a stack of ofuda paper talismans and tucked them inside her robe, then debated over a bundle of exorcism needles.  They were forty-centimeter long thin metal sticks, relics of cruel practices of an age gone by, but Reimu always found them useful for focusing and pinning down spirits.  Hesitantly, she tucked the bundle into her hidden sleeve pocket.  

Emerging from her bedroom, she found Marisa already had the bag of salt under one arm and the small bottle of purified water poking out of one of her coat pockets as she stood by the front door.  She gave Reimu a once-over, taking in the pure-white outfit and lack of hair-ribbon.  “Shall we get going?” she asked, then pushed the front door open and donned her shoes.  Reimu put on her wooden geta sandals and stepped outside, followed by Marisa.  It was properly night time now, but a distant rumbling of thunder and starless sky had thinned the usually energetic nightlife of Gensokyo.

“ ‘It was a dark and stormy night…’ ” Marisa mused, then giggled. “Not a good sign for our ghost hunting expedition.”

“Hush, you don’t even believe in omens,” Reimu countered.

A minute’s walk away from the shrine and the rain promised by the thunder finally began to arrive.  A drop on Reimu’s hair, then a much louder tap on Marisa’s hat.  Marisa passed the bag of salt to Reimu, who suddenly found her hands full with that and the gohei and keeping the edges of her robe from the ground.  Marisa reached into her bag and withdrew a folded umbrella.  She pressed a switch on the handle and it unfolded into a decently-sized umbrella, large enough to shelter both of them.  

“Can’t have our pure maiden getting rained on by impure waters, can we?” Marisa said, grinning up at her.  They continued walking.

Reimu smiled back down at her.  “Thank you, my fair protector.  We must really look like a priestess and her guardian…except for usually the valiant defender would be the taller one of the two.”

Marisa puffed her cheeks out. “Hey, we could always say that you’re a virgin sacrifice I’m escorting to be devoured by the monster to keep the village safe, like those old stories.”

Reimu focused on the sidewalk ahead instead. “We could, but we both know I don’t fit that description.” Both girls blushed as they made the rest of their way to the apartment block.

Reimu buzzed the intercom button labeled with her client, one Hiroshi Takamura.  A brief exchange, and he met them at the front door.  He was taken aback by both Reimu’s white robe and Marisa’s fashion sense, but dutifully led them up the stairs to the proper apartment.

“The building manager’s actually out of town for a day or two, so you should be able to…um…go about it without interruption,” he said as they climbed the stairs.  “Here we are, apartment 306.”  All three stood around awkwardly for a moment.  “I’ll be downstairs in 206.  Just…uh…let me know when it’s done,”  and he exited back down the stairs.  Both girls paused to look around.  The hallway was otherwise deserted.

“Well, master thief, please work your magic,” Reimu said in a slightly mocking tone.

“If I ever do find a spell for lock picking…” Marisa muttered, setting the salt aside and kneeling down to pick the lock.  Reimu listened intently for footsteps, and tried to focus her resolve for the exorcism.

Thirty seconds of metallic clicking later, and the door swung open and they both hurried inside.  The apartment was modestly sized, with a bedroom, living room and kitchen.  Visually, it was perfectly ordinary.  But standing in the middle of it felt… wrong.  The air was still, stagnant and too cold.  A sickening energy filled the room, and Reimu felt goosebumps prick up her arm.  

“So, how will the great Hakurei mai…den…” Marisa’s voice faltered.  The way her breath hitched in her throat let Reimu know that she felt it too.

The witty banter stopped, and they both began the prep.  While Marisa had only seen something like this done once before from a distance, Reimu had coached her on the way over.  Reimu moved to the edges of the apartment and began to stick talismans to every wall.  Marisa poked a hole in the salt bag with her lockpick and began to scatter the salt around.  Reimu finished adorning the walls with ofuda, and felt a cold breeze strike her arm and a moaning creek emanate from somewhere in the apartment.   She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she marched over to the center of the living room and grabbed the salt bag from Marisa’s arms.

“Step back, Marisa,” she said as she let the salt dribble out of the bag, slowly drawing a white circle on the dark hardwood floor.  There was a loud thump and an echoing scream from nearby, and Marisa looked to try and find what had made the noise.  She disobeyed the order for just a moment, running up to place the bottle of purified water inside the circle before Reimu closed it, before backing away against the wall, and reaching into one of her inside pockets to feel for something.  Reimu felt a scratching at her leg, and then a stinging sensation.  This spirit was as restless as they come.  She finished the salt circle and tossed the bag to Marisa, a spray of white granules arcing through the air.  She focused on her gohei.

As the ritual began, the disturbances grew worse, and they began focusing on Reimu.  Otherworldly voices, chilling gusts that vibrated with energy, and prickling sensations that appeared and disappeared up and down her body.  The salt circle began to faintly glow like pale moonlight.  And the ritual began to reveal the spirit.

It was hard to discern what it was at first.  Its shape was so distorted that it barely registered as human, a pale flailing that flickered across the apartment, resisting the ritual.  Reimu had to gather the entire spirit, nail it down before she could deal with it.  She grabbed the water bottle, popped the cap and cast it about to either side, sprinkling the water about in the vaguest imitation of the shinto blessings.  She tossed the bottle to an increasingly overwhelmed Marisa, withdrew an ofuda talisman and held it aloft in her fingers.  She dug deep into her memory and began to recite:

“By the laws of my ancestors, I call you to rest,
by the balance of harmony, I ask you to reveal your pain,
by the rites of purity, I demand you take shape!”

The chant rang out in the small apartment.  The paper talisman fluttered in her fingers, and Reimu tossed it into the air in front of her, then struck it out of the air with her purification rod.  The ofuda shattered into flickering embers, and the spirit screamed louder.  It began to coalesce, all pallid skin, white robes, and long dark hair that hid its face, such that only a pure black screaming maw could be seen.

But something in the screaming sounded off to Reimu.  It was full of…grief.  Her intuition was screaming at her louder than the ghost.  This was no vengeful spirit, she realized, dodging the reaper and set on inflicting pain, but a ghost with unfinished business, distorted and driven mad by isolation.

She considered for an infinity of a moment.  She could simply banish it.  Strike it down with her gohei, its mortal concerns disregarded, and send it to the next life, the spirit’s last moments of un-life being violently destroyed.  It would be easier.  It was what she had been hired to do, more or less.  To ensure that a spirit was put to rest.  

But, she thought, that’s not right.

The spirit reached out, phantasmal arm stretching unnaturally, passing right through Reimu’s chest.  She felt her lungs sting with sharp cold, and her heart go numb.  The salt circle would protect her if she activated it, but it could be used another way…  Reimu felt a plan form in her head at a hundred kilometers per hour.  She spread her arms out to either side, her guard dropped.  Vaguely, she heard Marisa shout something, but she couldn’t hear it over the ethereal screams and blood pumping in her ears.  The ghost surged forward, and at the last moment Reimu leapt out of the way and out of the circle, touching down on the floor, and touching her hand to the circle of salt.  The salt glowed brighter, the air shimmered, and the circle was activated, trapping the ghost inside and muffling its screams. 

Reimu panted hard for a moment, taking in the sight of the trapped ghost, squirming and writhing in place, trapped in the circle.  Her legs felt like jelly.

“Are you an idiot?!” came Marisa’s voice from behind her.  “Baiting a trap with yourself, and against a vengeful spirit?”

“It’s not a vengeful spirit, it’s a person,” Reimu countered.  “It’s what happens when a person’s spirit is neglected after a sudden death.  Over time, they twist into a poltergeist and haunt wherever they died.”

“Oh…” Marisa was taken aback.  “So, are you going to settle it?”

“In a moment.  We have to figure out their business. Then they can pass on.”  Reimu stood up and thought on the problem, while Marisa made a derisive comment about ‘speaking’ with the still incoherently screaming  spirit.  She debated different methods, but settled on a swift but effective one.  She dropped her gohei and withdrew one of the exorcism needles from the bundle hidden in her sleeve and the last ofuda from her robe, and rolled back her left sleeve.  

Before giving Marisa a chance to realize what was going on, she swept the tip of the needle down the back of her arm, drawing blood.  She held the needle aloft, straight into the air and let the drops of her blood on the needle slide down the shaft, coating it.  She silenced Marisa with a quick “Quiet!” and let the paper talisman hang in the air for a moment, before stabbing the bloodied needle through it and into the hardwood floor.  Reimu declared her spell:

“Pure Sign: Spirit Cleansing Circle!”

The ofuda pinned to the ground crumbled to ash and the blood on the needle burned away in a brief white flame.  The shimmer in the air around the salt circle twisted and intensified.  The distorted shape, barely humanoid, slowly regressed into a human form.  But the effort had drained Reimu, and she felt her legs fail.  A strong set of hands caught her as she crumpled, as Marisa had rushed to her side and grabbed her by the arm and back and was trying to prop her up.  Reimu heard the echoing sound of a minor spell, and then wood scraping against the floor as Marisa summoned a chair from the kitchen.  She set Reimu into it, and looked at her with an expression that Reimu couldn’t really place.

“You are the most reckless person I know,” Marisa said.  “And I’m studying how to summon demons!”

“I’m…sorry to worry you Marisa,” Reimu said, looking up into her eyes from her slump in the chair. “I knew it was the right thing to do, but I had to do it before I convinced myself not to.”  Reimu put her hand over Marisa’s.  “Thank you.”

Both girls looked over at the circle.  The twisted ghost was gone, and instead there was the transparent form of a young woman in her 20s, dressed in a simple t-shirt and pajama pants.  She gazed down at her insubstantial hands, and she looked close to crying tears of joy.  

“Thank you for saving me,” the ghost said, looking at Reimu.  “My name is Izumi Fukuda.  I died here 17 years ago and I need your help.”

Chapter Text

Marisa had always thought ghosts were bullshit.  The current situation was doing little to disabuse her of that notion.

From the poltergeist that had haunted her childhood room, to the hitodama ghost lights that had almost lured her into drowning in the Tama River, Marisa had always felt that ghosts were a nuisance at best and terror at worst.  Spirits had only done one thing for her; introduced her and Reimu, when Reimu’s mother had come to exorcize the poltergeist from her bedroom.  The two girls had become instant friends, despite their near-opposite personalities.  When Reimu’s mother had passed six months later, Marisa had dropped everything to help her out, blowing off school just to take care of Reimu.  And when Marisa’s family situation had become…untenable, Reimu let her crash at the shrine for a few months while she sorted her life out.  So it seemed natural that she was a bit defensive of Reimu.

Which is why she thought this random ghost’s request to help her even further when Reimu could barely stand was bullshit.  What more could they owe this spirit?

“I’m sorry, Fukuda-san, please just give me a moment to recover before we continue,” Reimu said to the ghost.

Reimu was just so damn empathetic, though.  Human, creature, spirit, it didn’t matter to her.  If you had a problem, she would at least listen.  If you had payment for one of her services, she would do anything to earn it.  Sure, she would complain and grouse about how much of a bother it was, mope and whine about the trouble, but she always kept her word.  Marisa often wondered how much of it was Reimu, and how much of it was being the steward of the Hakurei shrine, the unspoken cornerstone of Gensokyo.

What must a family history you’re proud of feel like to make you do such things? Marisa wondered.  Would she be just like Reimu if she’d had to rely on the charity of an entire community?  Would Reimu be just like Marisa if she had to steal to survive?  Such hypotheticals were of no use at the moment, so Marisa returned her attention to the present.

“Yes, I’m so sorry this is all just so much for me, for all of us,” said Fukuda (because they were apparently going to address the ghost and actually talk to it.)  “I’ve been unable to speak for years now, it’s so strange to be able to see and think clearly now.   And you can see me!  No one’s ever been able to see me!”  Despite the somewhat solemn way she had delivered the request, the ghost seemed quite excitable.  “But my manners are lost, it seems, I should be asking your names before I ask anything else of you.”

Marisa handed what was left of the purified water to Reimu, and she drank all of it down.  She paused for a moment, before setting the bottle aside and looking up at the spirit.  “My name’s Reimu Hakurei, miko of the Hakurei shrine.  I was hired to cleanse this apartment, but it seems your issues need more than a simple prayer of passing to send you on your way.”

“Yes, that does seem to be the case,” Fukuda said, bowing her head.  She turned to Marisa, “And you, young lady?”

“I’m Marisa.  I’m Reimu’s friend, helping her out,” was all Marisa said.  Even with this new attempt at manners, she didn’t feel particularly charitable towards this ghost yet.

“Thank you for helping me, Marisa-chan,” Fukuda said, bowing slightly.  Marisa felt a pinprick of annoyance at the diminutive honorific, but brushed it aside.  The ghost had probably been through a lot, she could ignore these little things.  

“I have to ask, what did you do?  Is this magic?  Magic is real?” Fukuda said, brushing her spectral hand against the faint barrier in the air above the salt circle, fascinated by what must have been a novelty of not being able to pass through something.  Marisa’s lip twitched in amusement.  The ghost who’d just attacked them with intangible limbs was asking if magic was real?

“In a way, this is a ritual I created to purify spirits,” Reimu said. “Most of the time, ghosts just get released to their next life, unless they have some real unresolved business.  Marisa’s the real magician.”

Marisa rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, I’m an amateur sorcerer.  Magic’s real, though by some definitions, this doesn’t count.  This is just a divine ritual.”

Fukuda looked like she was about to light up with a million more questions, but Reimu cleared her throat and preempted it. “I’ll do all I can to help you, Fukuda-san, but that means we need to know the circumstances of your death and your life before.  Why don’t you start with what you remember, if it’s not too hard.”

The ghost’s mood fell.  She looked down from the two girls, playing with a lock of spectral hair while she composed herself, before launching into her explanation.  “I was an office worker, an office lady they called us back then.  I worked at a small company, where I met my fiancé Hideo.  It was…a rough start for us, but we eventually hit it off.  We both chose to work at the company rather than work for our respective family businesses.  My family ran a spa and parlor, and his parents owned a bookshop, but neither of us was well suited to that, so we both defied tradition and got office jobs.  That’s what drew us together.  We were planning to get married, but…well I ended up becoming pregnant before we could.  Suddenly, we had so much else on our minds.  He proposed the day after he found out, and we were planning the wedding after I had delivered…”

Fukuda’s face was a mask of despair.  Given that she was now dead, Marisa could see that there was no happy ending in sight for this tale.  

“We can take a moment, if you need it Fukuda-san,” Reimu said.

“No, I’ve waited seventeen years to tell someone, I can get through this,” she said, shaking her head as if to cast off her feelings.  “It was a rough birth, many complications.  They kept me and my daughter Aika in the hospital for almost two weeks.  I was so drained, and Hideo had to work overtime to just afford this apartment, since we couldn’t get many benefits, seeing as we weren’t actually married and I ran out of maternity leave.”  She stiffened, folding her ghostly arms around her form, uncomfortable with recounting this all.  “I was so exhausted, taking care of her, with no help from him.  We were stuck in a vicious cycle, me caring for our daughter and him overworking himself to pay for us.”  She paused for a long moment.

“It happened one night in September, when I got up to care for Aiko.  I was so tired and groggy, still so weak from my hospital stay…I slipped on the kitchen tile, cracked my head on that edge of the countertop,” she pointed to the kitchen, to a newer-looking corner of the counter they could see.  It had been replaced after she had died on it, Marisa guessed.  “Knocked me unconscious, cracked my skull.  Brain hemorrhage, is what the medical staff said eventually. Hideo came back from his late shift to find Aiko screaming and me dead on the kitchen floor.  I tried to comfort him, to soothe his fears, but he just…” She choked back a sob.

Izumi was clearly distraught remembering this.  She must have appeared as a ghost to her own bloodied body and crying baby, unable to do anything.  Even Marisa, who was trying to keep herself at a distance from this whole ordeal, felt the mental image tug at her heartstrings.  She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the ghost’s story.  A struggle, a fight, a murder?  A battle with depression ending with suicide?  Nothing so dramatic as her imagination wanted, just a simple accident.  Somehow, it was infinitely more tragic than those lurid hypotheticals.  

The silence lingered in the air, as Izumi clearly was struggling to not break down.  “It can wait, Fukuda-san,” Reimu assured her. “Take as long as you need.  Back away from the details if you need to.”  Marisa was struck with how powerless they both felt.  Reimu was used to supporting the grieving, and it usually involved a lot more material action: getting a drink, lending physical contact, getting a tissue box, that sort of thing.  Helping a grieving ghost felt very much like doing nothing.  Just waiting until they were ready to continue.

“I’m sorry, thank you both,” Izumi eventually said.  “Well, a lot happened after that but Hideo moved out of the apartment soon after.  He couldn’t afford it, and he was unable to look at the kitchen without remembering… I couldn’t follow him, I’ve been stuck in this apartment ever since.  I tried to talk with whoever rented after that, but I only vaguely unnerved them with faint voices and cold spots.  The building manager stopped renting it after the third one to walk out, and then the building changed hands and the new manager never questioned the old manager’s excuse for leaving it unoccupied.”

“‘Rot in the floorboards’?” Reimu asked, and Izumi nodded.  

“After a few years of never interacting and being abandoned, I felt my mind begin to slip, and I began to lose my form.  I don’t really remember what I did when I was…’distorted’, as you said Reimu-chan, but it couldn’t have been anything good.”

Reimu leaned forward in the chair to tent her fingers and looked very thoughtfully at nothing.  “I imagine you have some idea of what unresolved business is keeping you from the next life?” 

Izumi looked ashamed. “It has to be Hideo and my daughter.  The last thing I did was emotionally scar him, and leave her without a mother.”  Marisa agreed, It was what made the most sense.  “I thought a lot about that, while I was trapped alone, why I was still...coherent.  I tried to let it go, to give up my attachments and move on…but I never could, no matter how hard I tried.”

Reimu nodded and explained, “Not uncommon for a person  with as sudden a death as yours.  There are some things the soul just can’t let go of.  But speaking with your fiancé and daughter should let you move on.”  What?!  “When we find th-” 

“You can not be serious!” Marisa interrupted. “You’re going to hunt down her kid and widower and, what?  Drag them back here and break in again for a chat?  Deliver a letter and hope they believe you?”

Reimu looked pained.  Marisa could tell that she either hadn’t thought that far ahead, or had and decided that this was something she had to do.  “I’ll rebind her.  I know a ritual for transferring what a ghost is haunting, she can haunt me,” Reimu said, not meeting Marisa’s eyes, which were bulging in shock.  “It has to be done now, though.  So-”

“And you’re in no condition to do such a ritual,” Marisa interrupted again. “ Just banish her and be done with it!”  

“Marisa-chan is very harsh, but she’s right,” Izumi interjected. “You’re obviously drained, Reimu-chan.  You can’t risk your health for me.  I’m dead, I had my time.  Just send me on my way.”  Marisa raised an eyebrow at the ghost.  Despite all that she still wanted to do and say, she was willing to give up her reunion for Reimu?  Marisa felt her opinion of the spirit improve.

Reimu screwed her eyes shut and said, in a low voice, “It’s not about me.”

“Bullshit,” Marisa countered. “You’re doing it, how is it n-”

Now it was Reimu’s turn to interrupt, “It’s not about me, Marisa!  And it’s not about her!” Reimu stood to face Marisa, near shouting, pointing at the ghost. “It’s about a man out there who has been living with the image of his dead love in his head for seventeen years!  It’s about a girl who has never known or spoken to her mother!  Do you know what I’ve done to try and speak with my mother?  The things I would give for just one more chance?!”  

Marisa saw tears filling Reimu’s eyes.  She felt shame well up within her.  Of course Reimu wanted to reunite a mother and daughter.  Reimu had spoken of seances and other rituals to contact the dead, but Marisa had never considered what Reimu might have used them for.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand what this means to you,” Marisa said, averting her eyes.  “But she’s not your mother, Reimu.  You don’t owe her anything.”

Marisa saw Reimu deflate, her anger and resentment replaced by weariness.  “No, she’s not my mother Marisa.  My mother got to speak with me and raise me.  And I know I don’t owe her anything, but the world owes her a better fate than the one she was dealt, and I’m the one who can give it to her.”

“But someone has to look out for you,” Marisa said, barely a whisper.  Reimu wiped the unfallen tears from her face and they looked into each other’s eyes.  Reimu smiled and broke the stalemate, and Marisa wondered again how they could be such opposites and yet still…

“For which I thank you, Marisa.  But I have to do this.”  Reimu walked, a bit steadier on her feet, and retrieved her gohei.  She returned to the salt circle, and broke it with a swift brush of her foot.  The faint barrier around the ghost dissipated.

“Are you sure about this, Reimu-chan?” Izumi said. “I can’t stop you or pretend I don’t want to leave this place, but only if you are absolutely positive you can handle this.”

“I’m not certain, but I can’t let that keep me from trying to help.”  Reimu began to draw a series of symbols  in the air between them, faint, glowing kanji floating in the air as she wrote out the ritual.  Marisa could feel the air grow heavy.  Reimu stopped waving her gohei, and held it with two hands, directly in front of her, her eyes closed, concentrating.

Marisa walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “I’m not going anywhere, Reimu.”  Reimu didn’t reply, but Marisa felt the tension in her body lessen at her words.

The heavy feeling in the air grew more and more intense as a slight circular wind began to blow around the apartment.  Izumi and Marisa looked around, but Reimu kept her focus on the ritual.  Marisa saw Izumi’s translucent form begin to glow, she felt Reimu begin to shake, and felt her muscles tense again.  Something was going wrong, she realized.  There was a high-pitched whistling in the wind that set the hair on the back of Marisa’s neck on edge.  Marisa was about to say something when a blinding flash filled her vision.  She heard the dissonant sound of a flowing river and smelt a slight scent of lemon on the wind.

And for the briefest of moments, Marisa could have sworn that Reimu had disappeared entirely.

Chapter Text

Reimu looked up from her drink.  The room was bright, impossibly bright.  An overpowering light from above made looking anywhere but down difficult.  She was seated on a sofa of some sort, with plush red leather that smelled faintly of old alcohol.  There was an identical sofa opposite her, with a long, low table in between them, which held two drinks, several empty glasses, and a microphone.  To the right, at the far end of the narrow room, there was a large TV built into the wall, showing clips of different music videos.  The muffled sound of deep bass and off-key singing was leaking in from the wall behind her.

She’d been in this room before.  It was a karaoke lounge on the south side of Shibuya, where she had been once, when a nosy reporter took her there (here?) and treated her for helping with a story…

Wait , Reimu thought, I was just…what was I doing?  Her head was full of fog, she couldn’t seem to remember, but she had the very strong impression that it was not visiting a karaoke lounge she couldn’t afford twenty minutes of time in.  

“Well, what are you singing next?” said the figure across from her (wait, wasn’t she alone?).  Reimu looked up.  The light made it hard (what karaoke lounge had lights this bright?) and she squinted her eyes instinctively, but when she tried to investigate the figure, she found that the overwhelmingly bright light did not hurt her eyes.  It only made it hard to make out details.

The figure was a middle-aged woman, legs crossed with one foot resting casually on the table and arms resting out across the top of the sofa.  She wore fancy business shoes, sleek blue slacks, a white blouse with the top buttons undone and had wavy, bright shoulder-length red hair, done up in some style Reimu couldn’t make out.  Most alarmingly, she wore a holster for a gun just like those American detectives in movies.  The leather straps looped around her shoulder and under her generous bust, holding a handgun under her right armpit.

Reimu struggled to make out her face, but the light from above was too intense.  No matter how hard she squinted, all she could see of her head was the red hair, and a smirk.  “What?” Reimu asked.  

“Well, your last song didn’t go so well,” the woman said. “I’m wondering what you’ll sing next.”

She had been…with Marisa, that was right.  She and Marisa were doing something…doing a job…

“Don’t keep us waiting,” the woman added, reaching down to grab her drink, a tall glass filled with a swirling red liquid and ice.  Some kind of fruity mixed drink, Reimu guessed.

She ignored the prompts from the woman and focused on her memories.  She and Marisa had set out to clear an apartment…of a ghost!  That’s right, Izumi!  She had started the rebinding ritual…but something else had intervened!

“Time’s a wastin,” the woman said, swirling her glass in one hand.  “If you don’t take your tur-” 

“Where am I?” Reimu interrupted.

The woman’s head shifted, her body language showing curiosity.  “You’re in a karaoke lounge, wasting ti-”

“No I’m not,” Reimu interjected. “I couldn’t afford this place with a month's worth of donations.  I came here once on someone else’s dime, and never again.  So why don’t you drop the act and tell me who you are and where I really am.”

The woman froze.  Reimu couldn’t see her face, so she just had to imagine the shock.

“Interesting,” the woman said. “You’re the fastest to question this, by a country mile.  Most people just get lost in their happy memories.  Guess I should take a closer look at the context next time.”

The singing and music from the other room died.  The random bits of music videos stopped, and was replaced with a static shot of a river, overcast sky and red spider lilies swaying in the breeze.

“What’s going on?  Where's Marisa?  And Izumi?” Reimu said, standing up from the couch.

“Not to worry, they’re still back in the apartment,” the woman said, placatingly.  Her posture remained languid, she clearly wasn’t threatened by Reimu, but wanted to deescalate all the same.  “And so are you.  Well, most of you.  I borrowed some of you for this little aside.  Grabbed a random happy memory for the set dressing.”  She waved her free hand around, indicating the lounge.

Reimu looked down at the seated woman warily.  She didn’t sound like she meant any harm, and if she could really trap Reimu inside her memories, then she was probably more powerful than anything Reimu had encountered.  So perhaps hearing her out was the best course of action.

“Why the ruse?” Reimu asked, as she cautiously sat back down on the sofa.  “ I understand the need for a place to converse, but why try and make me think we were out drinking and singing together?”

The woman took another sip of her drink and set it back on the table.  “It’s usually simpler.  Less existential crises to deal with.  Props to you, I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy with you. Granted, it’s not often I have to do this, so maybe I’m rusty.”

She was acting so familiar.  “Have we…met?” Reimu tried to look at her face, but the bizarre, unnatural light still obscured most everything above her chin.

“In a way,” she said casually, waving her hand about. “Here and there, in crowds and alone, funerals and tragedies.”

Reimu glanced at the river and spider lilies on the screen to the side.  Higanbana… she considered. And the Sanzu River? No…but…

“Are you… a shinigami?” Reimu asked cautiously, not quite believing that she was asking such a thing.

“Correct!” the woman replied, her body language exuberant. “I am a guide for souls to the afterlife!  Very good Hakurei-san.”  So the psychopomps of japanese urban legend were real.  Reimu filed that under ‘information to be processed later.’

“I expected a boat for the Sanzu River, or a huge scythe,” Reimu smirked, despite herself.

“Well, you don’t have any memories of boats, and the scythe is only part of the dress uniform now,” the shinigami said.  “It was always a pain in the ass, and us ferryman types never used it anyway.”

Reimu reached down and decided to try her drink.  It tasted exactly like she remembered: far, far too sweet.  “So why have you decided to have this talk with me?”

The shinigami sighed and scratched her cheek.  “So…here’s the thing, Hakurei-san: I like you.  You’ve made my job much easier over the years; all those properly administered rights and funerals.  Makes it so much smoother, guiding souls when their bodies are laid to rest properly.  So when I heard you were going to settle a spirit, I had to follow.”

“Why not just take her yourself,” Reimu asked, “You certainly seem powerful enough.”

“I have a strict ‘no baggage’ policy on my voyages across the river.  It makes things…difficult, ” she replied.  “And that woman is about 80% baggage by volume.  Couldn’t take her even if I wanted to.  Besides, I’m not that powerful, at least not in the mortal realm.  I can only pull you into this memory because you’re kind of dying.”

Reimu felt the blood drain from her face.  “I’m what ?”

The shinigami made a flippant motion with her hand.  “Not fully, but slightly.  That home-brew ritual you attempted really did a number on you.  Should have followed your friend’s advice, think about yourself in the future.  The sad thing is, that ritual would never have worked.  Rebinding a spirit takes a lot more study than that.”

Reimu felt the blood rush back into her face in embarrassment.  “So…that’s how it ends for me, huh?  Just drained myself dry for a ghost I just met.”  She slumped back into the sofa.

“Now, now,” the Shinigami admonished.  “You’re only mostly dead.  I can’t say whether you’d have survived before I intervened, but you got close enough to the veil for me to pull you aside for this little chat.”  She sighed, then uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.  “I’m just gonna say it, I’d like to make a deal, Hakurei-san.”

“A deal?” Reimu said, hollowly.  “Do I have to beat you at shogi or something?” The humor helped disguise how tumultuous she was feeling inside.

“I prefer Go or Yahtzee, personally.  But no, no games.  Just an offer,” she said.  Despite being unable to see her face, Reimu felt her piercing gaze.  “The paperwork will be a major headache, but I can nudge you back to the land of the living from here, no problem.  I’ll do that regardless of how you answer my request.  I don’t want to hold your life ransom over something like this.”

Reimu didn’t quite know what to feel at that moment.  She wasn’t dead?  The reaper would return her back to life, no conditions?  “Really?  You’d do that for me?”

The shinigami waved her hand.  “You’re a good kid, and I’d hate to lose a mortal ally like you so soon.  As far as I’m concerned, this is all just a near-death experience that I mistook for a real death from a distance.  I’m clumsy like that.”  Reimu got the distinct impression she was winking.  “The boss’ll get on my case about it, but…I won’t tell if you don’t.  This is a one-time thing, though.  No second chances with a reaper, okay?”

Reimu felt a certain inappropriate giddiness rising in her chest.  She was going to walk away from this? “So then, what’s this deal?”

“Fukuda-san’s been one tough customer.  She’s been cooped up in that apartment for almost twenty years, and I can’t seem to get her to let go.  She doesn’t even hear me.  She’s a persistent knot in the tapestry of life and death in this city I haven’t quite been able to unravel, and other ghosts are starting to snag on her bad vibes.  But you,” she pointed right at Reimu, “you could help her out.  Track down her family, settle her fears and affairs so I can take her across the River, to what comes after,” the shinigami motioned vaguely.

“You want me to resolve her business? How?”  Reimu already had an idea, but wanted the ‘professional opinion’ as it were.

“I can rebind her to you.  It’s way easier for me to do than a mortal,” the shinigami said. “Travel around the city with her and see if you can help her move on.”

Reimu considered her position for a moment. She was almost dead, but would be returned to life.  This was way more than she bargained for when she took this exorcism job, but that seemed to be the running theme of her life.  She could just walk away from this, leave this near-death trap of a job undone… No, Reimu couldn’t even pretend to entertain the thought more than that.  The thought of abandoning not only Izumi but also what little reputation she might build with this job made her almost physically sick.

“I accept your deal,” Reimu said.

The shinigami shifted slightly.  “Really, that quickly?”  She must have been taken aback by Reimu’s answer.

“There’s no other option I could even entertain,” Reimu replied.

“That’s why I like you, kid,” the shinigami said.  “Always dedicated when it matters.”  She shifted on the sofa, sitting straight up.  “So here’s the details: I’m gonna place a mark on you that will last until Fukuda-san passes on.  The only people who will be able to see and hear her are you and anyone who sees the mark.  Oh, and I would avoid dying.”

Reimu gave her a look.

“Dying before fulfilling a deal with a shinigami’s not a good idea,” she explained.

“I’ll make extra sure to stay alive,” Reimu half-snarked.

“See that you do,” the shinigami said, then stood up.  Reimu followed suit.

“Will I ever see you again?” Reimu asked, then quickly added “Before the end, I mean.”

She thought for a moment.  “Well, I should say no,” she shrugged.  “But something tells me we’ll be in touch.”

“In that case, may I have your name?”

The shinigami paused for a long moment.  “The first human to ask for my name in forty years… you really are something special, Hakurei-san.  My name is Komachi.”  Reimu could have sworn she saw a faint smile on her face through the light.

“Nice to meet you, Komachi-san,” Reimu said. "Please, call me Reimu."  She moved to extend her right hand for a handshake, then remembered the gun holstered under Komachi’s right arm.  Reimu switched her extended hand, presenting her left hand instead.  Reimu saw Komachi produce a small coin from nowhere in her left hand, flipping it between her fingers with a bit of sleight-of-hand, until she held it in her thumb and forefinger.  It looked like an antique yen coin to Reimu, the kind with the square hole in the middle. 

"Nice to meet you, Reimu."  Without any warning Komachi grabbed Reimu’s extended left hand with her right hand, and pulled her closer, Reimu almost tripping on the table between them.

“This is gonna hurt,” she said.  “Sorry.”  Before Reimu could say anything else, she pressed the coin against Reimu’s left wrist.

It did, if fact, hurt.  It hurt a lot .  Searing, burning pain emanating from the spot where the coin touched her skin, a spike of agony boring through her arm.  Reimu could barely scream before the karaoke lounge blurred and dissolved, along with the strange light, and Komachi a moment later.

Reimu was barely able to see her bright, magenta-tinted eyes, before the world became a black blur.

Chapter Text

The flash of light ended and Marisa barely had time to realize Reimu had gone limp.  She shifted her hand on her shoulder to catch her arm, and grabbed her by the waist with her other arm.  She lowered her to the floor as gently as possible, then cast off her coat and bunched it up to place under her head.  It was only as she did this that she realized the only sound she could hear was the rain falling against the window.

Where’s Izumi? Marisa thought as she looked around to find herself alone.  Was she banished?  Destroyed?  Did the backlash kill both of them?!  Marisa raced to feel in front of Reimu’s face and place her other hand on her neck.  She was breathing and had a pulse, but Marisa was too panicked to stop and actually check her heart rate.

“Come on, Reimu, don’t do this to me…” Marisa muttered under her breath.  She knew only a few healing spells and they were all very narrow-use, nothing for mysterious ritual-induced unconsciousness, more like hangover recovery and cramp relief.  She looked up and down her body, and found she wasn’t shaking like it was a seizure (exorcisms could cause those, right?) but she could see her eyes moving beneath her closed lids.  She spat out the incantation for a light spell and held the tiny pinprick of light above Reimu’s face, peeling each eye back to try and check for a concussion, but her rapid eye movement continued, not letting her test.  Not that she knew what dream-like REM meant in this circumstance.  Hopefully it was a good sign.

She gripped Reimu’s arm to try and move her to the recovery position, when she felt something wet on her left arm.  Marisa looked to see a little blood soaking into Reimu’s white robe from the back of her left forearm.  Right, she had drawn minor blood at some point during all this madness.  She mental kicked herself and cursed aloud for forgetting about it.  She was so flustered she could barely form the syllables for the minor calling spell to summon her bag from across the room.  She distantly heard it drag across the hardwood floor, the sound scratchy and harsh with the salt still scattered about.  She reached into the bag, and produced her first aid kit.  The cut wasn’t serious, but it was something Marisa knew how to handle, so she focused on it.  After cleaning the wound and applying the long bandage along the cut, she grabbed her wrist to try and move her arm again, but stopped once more.  She felt something on her wrist.  

Marisa inspected Reimu’s left wrist.  There was something that looked like it could be a burn or a really bad welt, raised red skin in a very particular pattern.  It was round, the size of a coin, and had a square hole directly in the center, almost like an antique yen piece.  Marisa could swear she could see the kanji that would ring it if it was a coin, when she realized that the apartment was no longer silent.

“No, no, no what have you done Izumi?” It was Izumi, visible again and panicking, pacing back and forth. “You’ve killed the girl!  She’s dead because of you and now no one can see you again!  Not again, I can’t go through that again, not again notagainno-”

“Fukuda-san!” Marisa said, trying to get her attention.  She stopped her pacing and rambling instantly.  She turned and made eye contact with Marisa, and her face almost lit up.

“Oh, Marisa-chan!  You can still see me!” she shouted, then rushed over to kneel down alongside Reimu with Marisa.  “What happened, is she okay?  Did I disappear?”

Marisa looked back down at Reimu.  Her eyes had stopped moving behind her eyelids, and her breathing was steady. “She’s alive, but I don’t know enough to say more than that.  You did disappear for a moment.  Must have had something to do with the ritual,” Marisa explained, eyes still drawn to the mark on Reimu’s wrist.

“Oh, well then.”  Izumi stumbled over her words.  “I’m sorry, this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not, Fukuda-san,” Marisa said, shifting Reimu onto her side and into the recovery position. “It’s no one’s fault.  Reimu can’t ever bring herself to ignore her duties as a shrine maiden, and you needed help. Sometimes, our natures just point us in bad directions.”

“But I can see it in your eyes,” Izumi muttered. “You blame me for this.”

Marisa inhaled deeply, and exhaled a very long sigh.  “I was unkind to you, because all of this ghost stuff scared me.  Still scares me.  And I knew before I ever tried to dissuade her that she would do anything to help you, especially after she learned you’re a mother trying to find her daughter.  I don’t hold it against you, Fukuda-san, but…”

“But you would prefer it if I didn’t need her help,” Izumi said, her voice laden with understanding.  “I know how you feel.”  She looked down at Reimu’s face, her eyes filling with what Marisa could only describe as a kind of distant parental fondness.  “You really care for her, don’t you?”  Marisa nodded.  “How long have you two known one another?

Marisa looked down at Reimu as well, blushing a bit. “We’ve known each other for more of our lives than we haven’t.  In terms of family, we’re all we have left.”

“I think she’s lucky to have you, Marisa-chan,” Izumi said.

“Thanks, and my full name’s Marisa Kirisame.  Just call me Marisa, though,” Marisa said, reaching down to check Reimu’s pulse.

“Only if you call me Izumi.”

Marisa smiled.  She’d never had a mother, but something about Izumi’s demeanor made her distantly imagine that this might be what having a cool stepmom was like.  It…wasn’t awful.  “It’s a deal then.”

Marisa had spent a good fifteen minutes looking up what to do on her phone while Izumi watched over Reimu, and she was just considering that she might have to dead-lift Reimu back to the shrine,  when she finally stirred to life.  She immediately rolled back onto her back, as she moaned and her eyes fluttered open.

“Oh, hey Izumi.  Hey Marisa,” she said, in a strained voice.  They both exclaimed and began to talk over each other, but Reimu weakly held up a hand.  “I’m glad to be alive too, but please keep it down.  Izumi-san, you should be able to leave the apartment now.  Just don’t get too far from me.”

Izumi’s eyes widened.  She hopped up from her kneeling position, and crossed the room to stand in front of the door.  She tentatively stuck her hand out, then reached straight through the door.  She emitted a giddy sound, then leapt through the door, then back into the apartment.    She continued a kind of jubilant experimentation, sticking her arms through the wall.  Marisa was slightly confused by how human her movements were.  She didn’t float about or drift in the air, but walked around and sat and stood like she was still flesh and blood.  If you ignored how she was translucent and if she wasn’t walking through a wall, you could almost imagine she was still human. (Marisa’s analytical side also wanted to know why she could walk through walls but stood and walked on the floor of this apartment on the third story of this building like she needed the floor, but knew this was not the time and quashed the thought.)

Marisa looked back to Reimu to find her warily staring at the mark on her wrist.  Marisa needed to ask her what the hell happened, but wanted some privacy… “Izumi,” Marisa called out, and she stopped her wall-walking. “We’re going to need to get Reimu back to her shrine to rest up, but I’d prefer no awkward encounters.  Could you scout the halls and stairs for us while I get her on her feet?”  Izumi gave her an odd look, and Marisa had the guilty feeling that she had seen right through her request.  Nevertheless, she nodded her head and stepped out through the wall.

Marisa immediately turned to Reimu, but Reimu spoke first, “I’m fine, I just overexerted myself, Marisa.”

“Don’t bullshit me, what happened?” Marisa said in a low, serious tone.

Reimu closed her eyes and sighed.  “You were right, Marisa.  The ritual was too much.  I passed out from the strain.  Moreover, the ritual failed, I constructed it incorrectly.”

Marisa's mouth hung open as she thought about what that could mean.  “Then…what about Izumi?  Why can she leave now?”

Reimu thought for a moment, then closed her eyes and spoke.  “I had…an encounter while I was unconscious.”

“An encounter with…what?” Marisa asked.

“With…something greater than us.  A guide of souls to the afterlife,” Reimu said, obviously choosing her words carefully.  She must have seen the hundreds of questions forming in Marisa’s mind, because she held up a hand to stop Marisa.  “It spoke to me, while I was out.  Apparently, it’s been trying to help Izumi for years, but couldn’t.  We…made a deal.”

Marisa sputtered, then spoke over Reimu’s protestations to not be interrupted.  “You made a deal with a…with a…” she struggled to believe what she was saying.  “With a…death god?”

“Something like that,” Reimu said. “It rebound Izumi to me, so she can leave the apartment.  Gave me this,” Reimu held her left hand up and showed the coin-mark to Marisa.  “Anyone who sees it can see and hear Izumi.  It will fade once she moves on.”

Marisa looked at the mark, glad to have one question answered, but also stunned at the story.  “And you got to live with this deal?”

“Apparently, I was going to live anyway.  The shinigami could only contact me during my brush with death, though”  Reimu attempted a joke, but Marisa could sense the bone-deep exhaustion and weariness that lay beneath the smirk.  She wanted to interrogate her over every last detail, but could tell that this was as far from the right time as could be, so she set her concerns aside.

Marisa retrieved some medical gauze from her kit and wrapped it around Reimu’s wrist, hiding the mark.  Didn’t need more people seeing Izumi or the brand-like symbol than necessary.  “Are you ready to head home?” Marisa asked.

“No, but I’m less ready to stay here,” Reimu replied, weakly lifting her arm.  Marisa clasped it and tried to lift her up onto her feet.  Reimu’s legs buckled immediately.  She couldn’t stand on her own, and Marisa knew she wasn’t strong enough to drag her all the way back to the shrine.  She cast her eyes around, looking for something…

The chair.  It would do, Marisa had just the spell for it.  It was a simple wooden chair with some minor cushioning on the seat.  Marisa set Reimu back on the ground, and rummaged through her bag for a focus.  

“What are you doing?” Reimu asked, still laying down, shifting in place uncomfortably.

“Supporting you.  Just rest, I’ve got this,” Marisa assured her.  She withdrew a battered marker and a stack of post-it notes from her bag.  She looked Reimu up and down, roughly estimating the measurement necessary, then she stood and walked over to the kitchen area, and tried to flip the switch.  No good, so she conjured a quick light spell and flicked it into the overhead bulb, where it weakly illuminated the kitchen, enough for precision scribing.

Most magical glyphs and runes required very special ink, with exotic and strange components that served as mystic amplifiers.  Vinegar fermented in a lizard’s corpse, nightshade that had been used to kill something, honey with crystal shards in it, that sort of thing.  Using them on the go was a pain, but her particular blend of liquefied 'angel wing' fungus and ethanol soaked in starlight (dyed purple for visibility) worked well for most serious runes, and was usable in a marker for easy application.  She tested it out one note, then began to construct the rune matrix on another note.  She jotted down the characters for ‘metal’ and ‘wood’, along with those for ‘new shape’ and a small pictograph of the desired result.  She capped the marker and pocketed it, along with the spare notes, then carefully folded the note so the runes combined into the glyph for the reconfigure spell.  She set the folded note on the seat of the chair, nervously twisted one of her rings on her right hand for good luck and power, and whispered the incantation.  The chair shuddered in place, before rearranging itself, the wooden pieces spinning and pivoting against each other, the cushioning flowing from the seat to the top of the form like water, until there was a thick wooden crutch where the chair had stood.

Marisa grabbed it before it could tip over, and then gathered the exorcism supplies and her coat, shouldered her bag and lifted Reimu up, propping her other side up with the newly transmuted crutch, Marisa propping up Reimu’s other side.

“How’s that?  Will it work to the shrine?” Marisa asked.

Reimu tested some weight on it and nodded. “Not bad, Marisa.  But we still need to stop by Hiroshi’s apartment.”

“Right, getting paid,” Marisa sighed.  She guided Reimu over to the front door, and was about to turn the handle when Izumi leaned through the door with a hand up.  Marisa suppressed a yelp.

“Just a moment, a couple’s coming home,” she said.  Marisa had forgotten about the scouting mission she had sent Izumi on.   Marisa listened, and heard the faint sound of muffled talking and footsteps in the hall.  It moved past them, then faded after the sound of a door opening and closing.

“Thanks, Izumi,” Marisa whispered, she opened the door and helped Reimu down the stairs to unit 206.  A brief knock on the door and Hiroshi appeared in pajamas, adjusting his glasses and then was startled by the state Reimu was in.  

It took a little convincing, but Hiroshi eventually handed over fifty-five thousand yen, apparently double what Reimu had initially quoted him, citing her warning about additional fees if the spirit was troublesome (her obviously haggard state did a lot to sell how much trouble it was.)  While her exhaustion was plain to see, Reimu avoided mentioning that she was the one being haunted now.  Marisa was sorely tempted to pull the gauze off of Reimu wrist and reveal Izumi to Hiroshi, so he could understand the enormity of what Reimu had taken on for him, but she guessed that such a thing was most likely going too far.  The poor man just wanted to sleep

When they eventually bade Hiroshi good night and shut the door, Reimu handed two ten-thousand yen bills to Marisa.  She thought of only taking one, as she had agreed to, but Reimu did not look to be in a mood to argue, so she accepted them without comment.  She helped Reimu down the stairs, Izumi still scouting ahead, occasionally asking details about the modern world she had missed in her confinement (What was inflation like now, was fifty-thousand yen good for this kind of job?  Who was the PM?  Who won between ‘Bebo’ and ‘MySpace’?)

It was still raining when they reached outside.  Though it was awkward, Marisa managed to wedge her umbrella between their arms and shoulders, and they made it back to the shrine mostly dry.  Marisa helped Reimu to her futon, and rolled the comforter up over her.  Reimu was barely able to utter a small “Thanks” before she nodded off.  It was then that a deep exhaustion hit Marisa as well, not just from the labor of limping Reimu back to her bed, but the emotional roller coaster she had been sent on.

Reimu would undoubtedly need some additional help tomorrow, and Marisa wasn’t feeling up to trudging back to her apartment, so she rolled out the spare futon in the front room and settled in for the night.  Feeling paranoid, she slapped one of Reimu’s spare warding talismans on the front door of the shrine and locked the door.  

“I know you’ll have a lot of questions for us, Izumi,” Marisa said.  “But they’ll have to wait for tomorrow.”

Izumi was looking around the worn-down building with equal parts curiosity and concern.  “I understand.  Please get a good night’s rest, Marisa,” she said, then vanished in a swirl of mist.

Marisa smirked as she lay down on the futon.  She still thought ghosts were bullshit, though in the moment before she fell asleep, the sentiment was decidedly less negative.

Chapter Text

Izumi Fukuda is freed from her apartment, and something in the city changes.  Deep, deep within the metaphysical structure of Tokyo, there is a shift; two players who have made their moves now make their countermoves.  They play a cosmic game of sleight-of-hand, imperceptible to most mortals and immortals alike.  Two threads of fate tighten, and together they distort the vast tapestry of the city.  

And those who watch for such things take notice.

The Mistress of Hidden Paths opens the door, and summons her dual attendants to investigate.

The Unbounded Embodiment summons her fox made from paper and mischief, and charges it with obscure tasks.

The Fang of the Winds sees the shape of things to come, and consults with the Curse-Tamer to plan for their return.

Far from Japan, The One Who Is Three, the Triplicate Goddess casts two of her eyes towards the city.

And one more, their name never spoken, waits in the space between realities…

Marisa was awoken by cold gusts to her face and a nagging voice.

“It’s nine in the morning Marisa, time to get up,” she heard Izumi say.  Marisa made a noise and rolled over on the futon.  “Are children really this lazy these days?” Izumi continued half-sarcastically.  Marisa stayed on her side for another minute or so, before realizing her leg was now asleep.  She hissed, slowly flexing her knee, and decided to get up and make an attempt at breakfast.

Reimu was still fast asleep, so Marisa helped herself to the last two of her eggs, her rice stores and cooker, and whipped up some basic egg-rice bowls for breakfast (She should probably go grocery shopping for Reimu, she wasn’t going to be in any shape to be up and about today.)  Izumi cheerfully nagged her the whole way through the process.

“Don’t just crack the egg and serve it, stir it up, distribute it,” she instructed.  "I may not be able to eat anymore, but I'll be damned before I let someone else just stand there and make subpar meals."  Marisa was too tired to argue, and acquiesced.  She brought one of the bowls into Reimu’s room, who had awoken from the sound of the cooker and smell of breakfast rice.  She served the now blended tamago rice (to Marisa's chagrin, it was actually better stirred in than left to cook on top) and they made idle chat.  It seemed that Marisa had been right, and Reimu would be spending at least another day in bed.

"Need me to go shopping for you?" Marisa asked.

"Among other things," Reimu replied, sitting up with difficulty.  Marisa helped her hobble to the water closet, then helped her out of her robe from the previous night.  Seeing her undressed, Marisa noted that she was still very thin; Reimu was taller than Marisa, but chronic under-nourishment had left her with a slight frame.  Marisa would never call her 'fragile' (she had endured too many sparring kicks to make that mistake) but her slender arms and neck always reminded Marisa of a delicate lily.  She glanced over at Izumi, who had respectfully turned away from the scene, and smiled.

She got Reimu into her pajamas, then guided her back to her futon.  Marisa made sure she was comfortable, then grabbed one of the ten-thousand yen bills from Reimu's bedside for groceries and walked out.  Izumi sat on the kotatsu top, looking partially contemplative, partially uncomfortable.  Marisa grabbed her coat, hat and Reimu's cloth grocery bags, then silently motioned towards the door to her, and they both exited out the front of the shrine.

Marisa enjoyed the chilly, autumn breeze for a moment.  After a pause, she turned away from the street to avoid being seen talking to no one and asked, "What's on your mind?"

Izumi shook her head.  "Too much, having trouble thinking of what to ask."  Frankly, that seemed reasonable under the circumstances.

Marisa pondered a moment, then said, "How about this: I'm going to the store.  While I'm gone, get your list of questions in order, and I'll answer what I can when I get back."

Izumi pursed her lips, but nodded, walking back into the shrine straight through the front door.

This was not how Marisa had imagined her weekend going.  Her helping Reimu was supposed to be a night’s diversion, not an obligation to care for her friend.  The twenty thousand yen was a boon, to be sure, but Marisa always responded poorly to having her plans interrupted or altered.  As Marisa popped her earbuds in to drown out the muzak and browsed the aisles of the supermarket, she began to rearrange her weekend in her head.

She needed to study for the art history test on Monday, distill and deliver the wraithcap solution to the Dollmaker by Sunday, and enchant the charms for her ‘magical jewelry’ racket for the high school and junior high kids by Monday morning, all while checking in on Reimu.  Put in that order, it didn’t seem all that unreasonable.  Busy, but she could crash on Tuesday and recharge.  

Halfway down the fresh produce wall, Marisa felt a slight tug on her shoulder, and turned to see a familiar face.  She was a fair bit taller than Marisa, with sharp features and long dark brown hair.  She was dressed in a cream-colored, woolen open-faced cardigan, with a black shirt and very worn jeans.  She was fidgeting with her immaculately clean, bright red nails.  Marisa only knew her casually, but could tell when she was nervous.  

“Um, h-hello Kirisame-san,” Kagerou Imaizumi stammered as Marisa removed her earbuds.  “I hope I’m not bothering you, but it’s somewhat urgent, and I just noticed you…” That was fair.  Marisa’s outfit was never conducive to blending in.

“What’s up, Imaizumi-san?” Marisa asked, already having a fairly good guess.  She dropped the package of Miso she was holding into her shopping basket, and began walking towards a relatively empty part of the market.  As they approached the corner, Kagerou looked around.  Satisfied they would not be overheard, she leaned down slightly to speak in a whisper to Marisa.  (Marisa did her best not to be offended.) 

“It’s about…my condition,” Kagerou said, a pleading look in her eyes.  Her case of lycanthropy was mild, but full moons still caused problems.  Marisa checked her mental calendar and realized one was coming up Tuesday.  Just when she thought her life would be manageable.

“Having complications?” Marisa asked.

“No, well maybe.  You see…” Kagerou paused. “I’ve been able to avoid going out after work on full moon nights, but some of the other office ladies put together a little after-work drinking party as a celebration.”  Such things were common at the kind of deeply traditional office jobs where Kagerou worked.  "There might be...questions if I call out sick...  I was hoping you might have a solution."

Marisa had provided what might charitably be called 'medicine' to Kagerou twice before, to manage her fur and keep out-of-phase 'urges' in check, but this request was something greater.  "Suppressing a full-moon transformation isn't easy, Imaizumi-san."

"I know, you said so last time, but there has to be something..." Kagerou pleaded.  "I can pay extra for a rush job, I just can't miss this outing."  Promise of payment didn't animate her quite like it did Reimu, but Marisa could never afford to turn down a payday.

Marisa scratched her chin, racking her brain.  She could offer a toxin that would make all the other OLs too sick to hold the celebration, but something told her that was not what Kagerou was looking for.  Perhaps something a little more...subtle was appropriate.  Marisa vaguely recalled one of the spells from her stolen grimoire.  It was a memory and perception charm and it could be perfect for these circumstances.

"I might have something to get you through the night," Marisa said, hesitantly.  "How would you feel about attending this little get-together while transformed?"

Kagerou looked uncomfortable as she scratched the back of her hand (which, Marisa observed, looked noticeably more hirsute.) "I'd prefer to avoid it.  My co-workers seeing me as a two-meter tall wolf lady would put a real dent in my career opportunities,"  she said, attempting a joke.  Marisa wanted to retort that office lady career paths were so famously limited that being an amazonian she-wolf might actually improve her prospects, but decided it best to restrain her sass.

"I think I can craft a little memory charm," Marisa said instead.  "One that would let you walk about for a few hours while transformed, and no one would notice or remember."

Kagerou's eyes widened.  "You can do something like that?"

"Most people's memories of magic are hazy anyway, making a spell to do such a thing is a simple matter," Marisa said, with confidence in her skills she did not truly have.  It should work, but nothing in magic was ever a guarantee.  "It'll be a one-use thing, though."  Marisa began her shopping again as they hashed out the details, where and when to meet up, how much would it cost, etc.  Marisa gave Kagerou a slight discount for being something of a Hakurei family friend. Sort of.

A decade and a half ago, a silver-haired foreigner had come to Tokyo, and left carnage in his wake.  He was a monster hunter of some kind, with no regard for civilians or the relative humanity of the 'monsters' he targeted.  Kagerou's lycanthropy was a case of collateral damage, as she'd been a bystander, injured in the foreigner's battle with the last werewolf in Tokyo.  Apparently it was that battle that had broken the camel's back and prompted Reimu's mother and several other supernatural residents of Gensokyo to confront him and try to force him out of Japan.

It had not ended well.

Though messy and gruesome, the whole affair had helped create a sense of community in those involved in the supernatural in Tokyo.  Reimu's mother had helped the young Kagerou with an occasional ritual, even if nothing could cure her.  Reimu continued her mother's kindness, renewing a blessing every new moon.

At the checkout, Marisa grabbed the day’s issue of the local Bunbunmaru newspaper (‘Today’s news in yesteryear’s format!!’ read the tagline.)  With her new task, her weekend plans had shifted yet again, and studying for the test had been bumped out.  She swung by the shrine to drop off the groceries, where she saw Izumi sitting at the foot of the shrine and remembered her promise to the ghost.

My weekend just can not get any more packed, Marisa thought to herself.

“Sorry, Izumi,” Marisa said as she stored the groceries.  “Things came up while I was out and I’ve got to handle them before I can talk.”  Izumi gave her an understanding look, and returned to watching the scenery outside.  On her walk back to her apartment, she kept an eye out for anyone staking the building out, then ascended the stairs and began her work.

Priority one was the wraithcap solution, as that was a real professional obligation and needed to be done tomorrow.  Marisa prepared her alchemy set in her darkroom, before retrieving the phantasmal fungus from the bag Nitori had given her and letting them soak in a beaker of ethanol, and wishing she had started this last night.  They would need to sit for at least eight hours before they were ready, so she covered the beaker and set up priority two: charms for the teens and Kagerou.  She grabbed the photocopied version of the grimoire pages she needed, and some more supplies for construction of the charms, along with the bag of discount jewelry, knick-knacks and assorted tawdry kitsch she would use as focuses for the spells.  She also grabbed another pen filled with a magical catalyst ink (this one filled with octopus ink mixed with campfire ash, much lower in power than her marker) and headed back to the shrine. 

When she arrived back, she checked on Reimu.  She was awake, but still weak, but seemed to be able to mostly care for herself by now and get up under her own power.  Marisa refilled her water glass, and left her to rest some more.  She set out her supplies for enchanting, and addressed Izumi.

“Sorry, but I’m a lot busier than I thought I was,” Marisa said. “I can answer some basic questions while I finish this batch of charms.”

“I see,” Izumi said, as she watched Marisa draw small glyphs on post-it notes, setting a tacky necklace or gaudy ring on each one as it was completed.  “I suppose I’ll start with the important one: where are Reimu’s and your parents?”  Marisa probably should have seen that one coming, if she had stopped for a moment at all today and thought about it.

“Don’t have any,” she replied, head down.

“Neither of you have parents?” Izumi repeated, incredulous.  “How old are you two, exactly?”

“We’re both nineteen,” Marisa said, as she applied the more delicate runes to the matrices.  “Reimu’s an orphan.  Never knew her dad, her mom never said a word about him.  She raised her alone, and she died…must be twelve or thirteen years ago.  She was the guardian of this shrine, and Reimu inherited the duties.”

Izumi looked very worried.  “And she’s stayed here this whole time?  With no legal guardian?”

“Oh, she was technically a charge of the state, probably should have been sent to a group home or something like that.  But the shrine is legally hers, and the case manager she was assigned to got super, super sick and she fell through the cracks until she was of legal age to live on her own.”  Izumi looked like she was doing some math in her head, and Marisa privately guessed what she was thinking.

“But that means she was living here on her own for nearly a decade,” Izumi said.  Marisa smirked slightly at her correct guess.  “How did she pay for utilities…or food, for that matter?”

“The Hakurei shrine is a spiritual cornerstone of Gensokyo,” Marisa said.  “The community pitched in.  She still survives largely on donations to the shrine.”

Izumi looked away, sighing.  “I guess lost children like that really do exist, not just in stories,” she said, a note of apprehension in her voice.  Marisa realized she must have been thinking about her own daughter, somewhere out there, recently turned seventeen.  Before Marisa could try and reassure, Izumi continued her questions.  “And you, Marisa?  Your parents?”

Marisa scoffed.  She should have tried harder to avoid this, but whatever.  Telling it all to a ghost was harmless.  “No mom, Dad never mentioned her.  He’s a total piece of shit, though, so no surprise.”  Izumi’s eyes widened in quiet surprise.  “A controlling creep.  Ran away a year after Reimu’s mom passed away.  We spent some time being ‘lost children’ together.”  Her sentences were growing short and clipped.  Just thinking about him, remembering Nitori’s encounter made her blood boil.  Her face must have shown it as well, because the air of general concern Izumi held was now clearly directed at her specifically.

“Marisa, I di-”

“Don’t,” Marisa cut her off.  “I can’t talk about it with anyone.  I don’t want to.  I know you want to be my mom, but please don’t make me talk about this.”  The cold edge in her voice was enough to ward off further conversation on the subject, but not enough to end the discussion.

“I don’t want to be your mother, Marisa,” Izumi said, her voice heavy with a pleading tone.  “I’m just worried for you.  We can talk about something else if this is too painful.”

“Please,” Marisa said, the word leaping too eagerly out of her mouth.  Izumi smiled and nodded, and spent the next few hours grilling Marisa on the specifics of magic (which she was much more eager to over-share on).

After a few hours, she had made all of her cheap charms and had studied the enchantment for Kagerou’s glamor.  She couldn't finish it yet, she’d need reagents.  Fortunately, she could pick them up from the Dollmaker tomorrow.  On that note, she needed to get back to her apartment to finish the solution. Marisa fixed a rice bowl for Reimu, bade Izumi farewell, and promised to stop by and check on Reimu tomorrow.

Chapter Text

It was early the next morning when Reimu awoke.  The sun had not even risen, but she had been in bed for almost the entire previous day.  Although her joints and muscles screeched in protest, she decided that it was time to get up and move about.

She checked the refrigerator and cupboards, and found that Marisa had spent her money well.  She fixed a cup of green tea, and walked out on the front porch of the shrine.  Izumi was sitting on the edge of the porch, gazing out at the light rain that had resumed after a break during the day.  Her transparent hand was extended, as if she was trying to feel the drops.  The evening was winding down, with a few night owls heading home swiftly under umbrellas.

Reimu checked the shrine's donation box, found a sign written in Marisa's handwriting and hung on the front: "the miko is SICK please donate!!"  She tore it off of the box, crumpling it up and tossing it inside.  She already accepted enough charity, she didn’t need the extra pity.  She turned, and carefully sat herself next to the ghost, slowly sipping her tea.

"You know, when you introduced yourself as the miko of a shrine, I thought it was an after-school job for you," Izumi said, still gazing out on the rain.  "When you talked about rebinding, I imagined I'd be haunting an apartment, or small house with your parents or roommates.  I didn't imagine that 'shrine maiden' was your entire life; that you lived in a shrine."

"With no parents," Reimu added.

Izumi winced. "Was I wrong to ask that of Marisa and not you?"

Reimu considered a moment. "No.  She was within her rights to fill you in on our family situations… or lack thereof."

"How much of that conversation did you hear?" Izumi asked.

"Enough," Reimu said, sipping her tea.  How to best go about this… "I understand you might have reservations about our lives, but we're both legally adults."  She kept her voice low, to avoid being heard talking to no one on her front porch.  Fortunately, the noise of the rain kept their conversation mostly private.

“That’s what concerns me,” Izumi said. “It’s all well and good that you’re of age now, but what about the decade or so you both spent without family?”

Reimu stared into her tea.  “Gensokyo was there for me.  My neighbors remembered my mother’s kindness and services, and helped me get by.  It’s the Hakurei family’s duty to protect this area, and they care for us.  We were here when it was still called Edo.  My mother, grandmother and great-grandmother before them were here to defend against the threats no one else could fight.  To protect the innocent and mediate between youkai.”  Reimu paused to drink some of her tea before continuing.  “My mother helped defeat the Silver Ripper fifteen years ago, and my grandmother helped settle the Fairy Storms in the sixties.  I, in turn, will keep this neighborhood safe from whatever happens in my lifetime.”

Izumi silently shifted in place, a nervous gesture of the body she’d lost, lingering in her spirit.  “And here I thought bloodlines of sacred protectors were just for folktales and cheesy manga.”

Reimu smiled despite the somber mood.  “The world is full of things most people regard as fiction or superstition.  Including yourself.”

Izumi cracked a small grin despite herself, and hopped off the porch edge and began to walk around in the rain, the falling water passing straight through her.  “So!  Ghosts are real, magic is real, shrine maidens with sacred powers are real, so I’m assuming the gods are real?”

Reimu shrugged.  “I haven’t spoken to any, but they’re pretty real.”

“What else is real?” Izumi asked.

Reimu thought for a moment.  “Too much.  Might be easier to see what isn’t.”

Izumi paced, then spun on her ghostly heel, still barefoot.  “Okay, rapidfire style then: werewolves?”

Reimu smiled.  “One’s a family friend, stops by once a month.”

“Vampires?”

“Marisa swears they’re real, but I have yet to meet a real one.”

“Zombies?”

“Not in a while, but we’ve had some.”

“Demons?”

“There’s a few hiding in Tokyo, and Marisa’s trying to learn to summon them.”

“Angels?”

“None as of yet.”

“Fairies- no wait, were those fairy storms you mentioned literal?”

“Yep, they’re nasty in groups but otherwise harmless and even cute.  A few like to hang around the shrine and bug me on occasion.”

“Shinigami?”

Reimu smirked.  “Met one quite recently.”

Izumi now looked like she was wracking her brain to think of every type of creature she could.  “Kappa?”

“They work in the sewers and on the electrical grid.”

Izumi looked taken aback.  “Tanuki?” she continued.

“They’re normal animals.” Reimu smiled.

“You know what I mean, the magical transforming kind.”

“Bake-danuki,” Reimu said.  “One manages a bar somewhere near here.”

“Tengu?”

“They run a few… less than reputable businesses around here.  A brewery, private security, construction, ‘consulting.’  I know the one that runs the local newspaper.”

“Okay, okay, wait,” Izumi stuttered, holding up her hands. “What’s with all the youkai living amongst humans?”

“Well, Japan is their homeland,” Reimu said, finishing her tea.

“No, I mean, how do they run businesses and work jobs?  And why?  Doesn’t anyone notice a turtle monster working on the power lines?”

Reimu shook her head.  “They don’t look like that anymore.  Youkai were born from human fears and beliefs.  As humans became more advanced, we began to disbelieve them, so they lost their power.  To survive, most moved into human urban centers, and became more human.  Those who didn’t faded away.  Tengu look just like you or me, and they hide their wings unless they are needed.  Kappa abandoned their shells and looked to innovate, working to keep the city moving smoothly.”

“So, they were dying off due to science and skepticism?  And they can only live mostly human lives now?”  Izumi asked.

“More or less,” Reimu answered.  “You probably interacted with a lot of supernatural folk and never realized while you were alive.”

Izumi considered for a moment, while Reimu flexed her back tentatively.  The pangs in her shoulders and sides told her she still wouldn’t be up to one hundred percent for a few more days, but she’d be ready to care for the shrine by tomorrow.  She should hobble over to the drug store for painkillers once they were open.

“And is it like this all over the world?”  Izumi asked.  “Do they have naga in India, or are there still centaurs in Europe, or mermaids in the sea?”

Reimu shrugged.  “Dunno.  We’ve had a few foreign visitors and immigrants.  There’s a shopkeeper that Marisa’s acquainted with, she settled here from Europe.  She’s…” Reimu paused, stumped. “She’s some kind of Romanian creature.  I don’t know what, but she’s sixty years old, looks like she’s twenty and she creeps me out.”

There was a long pause between the two.  Reimu looked out across the rain, and noticed the barest hint of light on the eastern horizon, the sunrise muted by the rain.  Izumi was still pacing back and forth.  “I’ve been dead for almost twenty years, you’d think I’d be better prepared for learning all this.”

“It’s a big shock to take in all at once,” Reimu said, wincing as she slowly stood up.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a very long, very hot shower to try and steam some of this soreness out.  We’ll try and pick up leads on your fiancé and daughter sometime this week.  When I hurt less.”

“Take your time, Reimu,” Izumi called after her.  “I’d hate for you to strain yourself for me.”

“Too late, but thanks Izumi.”

The wraithcap solution was barely finished in time.   Marisa had spent the intervening Saturday night and Sunday afternoon watching to make sure the solution developed correctly, studying art history, and working on what she could of Kagerou’s charm.  She added the final components, waited for it to turn from brown to clear, then corked it, grabbed her hat and coat and rushed down the stairs.

She maneuvered herself down the street, passing by the bar, department store and park, to find a small shop with dolls in the window on the first floor of a building labeled “Dolls in Wonderland.”  It was odd to find such a shop in this area, but it did decently as far as fleecing tourists looking for souvenirs.  Marisa ducked inside, and had to narrowly dodge a small figure with scraggly brown hair darting out of the shop.

The interior of the shop was warmer than the exterior suggested, in actual temperature and in decor.  The shop was all soft brown wood paneling, glass countertop display cases and the smell of faint, European spices.  There was one other customer, a dark-skinned tourist, browsing one of the wall displays full of porcelain dolls dressed in western dresses and asian robes.

“Welcome to a Wonderland of dolls,” said the woman behind the counter.  She was ‘Alice Margatroid’ (Marisa had learned that this was a pseudonym), the owner of the doll shop.  She was taller than both Marisa and Reimu, and looked to be a European woman in her mid-twenties.  She kept her slightly wavy blond hair short, used very minimal makeup, and always spoke with a western accent to her Japanese that Marisa assumed was Romanian, since that was where she had said she was from.  She dressed in an elegant western style while she ran the shop, with a red headband, white capelet on her shoulders and bright blue dress.

“Hello, madam, I have a delivery for you,” Marisa said as casually as she could.  Alice smiled back at her.  Something about Alice’s smiles always felt sarcastic to Marisa, like she was humoring the humans around her.

“Come, come then girl,” Alice said. “Let me take a look.”  Marisa ignored the look from the tourist and approached the counter, presenting the phial of clear liquid with small flecks of gold in it.  Alice took it, held it up to the light, briefly uncorked it to smell it, then smiled her sarcastic smile again.  “Very nice, Kirisame-chan.  Exactly what I needed.”  She rummaged behind the counter, but before she could produce her end of the bargain, the tourist appeared beside Marisa.  He said something in a language that was not Japanese or English and pointed at one of the dolls dressed in a kimono on the wall.  Marisa stepped aside and Alice responded in the same language, and began to ring him up on her antique cash register.  While Alice made a show of sliding beads on an abacus to calculate the price, Marisa noticed the fingers on her other hand twitch, and then she snapped her fingers and the doll the man had pointed to hopped off its peg on the wall, and walked behind the counter to just stand right next to Alice. The man was too focused on Alice’s use of an abacus in the twenty-first century to notice the spell or the walking doll.  Marisa smiled at the site.  Alice’s doll magic was always fascinating.  Sometimes, Marisa would come and study in her shop just to watch her work.

Alice bagged the doll for the man, who paid and left.  Once he was gone, she turned back to Marisa. “Where were we…ah, I know.” she said, and produced a small stack of papers, and slide them over to Marisa.  Marisa took them, checked the runes on them, then folded them into her interior coat pocket.

“Thanks, Margatroid-san,” Marisa said. “I was also looking for some reagents and your advice on a charm.”  

Alice tilted her head slightly, and Marisa produced the photocopied page from her coat and placed it on the countertop.  Alice squinted at the diagram.  “What is this charm meant to be for?”

“It’s a perception and memory charm, to be placed on a brooch,” Marisa answered.  “I have a friend who needs to not be noticed for an evening.”

“Oh!  Ielele’s Veil,” Alice said with sudden realization.  She saw the confusion on Marisa’s face and added.  “In my homeland this spell was named after the ielele, the temptresses of the forest who could enchant the mind and cast illusions.”

“Is that what you are?  An ielele?” Marisa said, struggling to pronounce the word.

Alice smiled, and her brilliantly blue eyes sparked with amusement.  “Perhaps.”  Marisa still had not figured out what manner of creature Alice was, and her research into Romanian folk history had generated no clues so far.  “Regardless, I am familiar with this type of short-term spell.  You need a beautiful flower, rendered down to a dust as the focus, just a little human blood as the catalyst.  I’ll get some powdered hydrangeas for you, I assume you can find the blood on your own?” she said as she disappeared into the back room.

Marisa looked down at her often-pricked ring finger, dotted up and down with minuscule scars from all the times she had previously needed blood.  “Presumably,” she said.

Chapter Text

She dreams in silver.

She dreams of ominous full moons and argent tinctures.  Jewelry melted into bullets and swallowing a pearl with breakfast. 

His face is never present in her dreams.  It is always obscured by his hair, or she simply does not look at him.  His face is always missing.

(His living face, anyway.  His face as he died is etched forever in her memory, as the hag buried her cleaver in his chest.)

His lessons are common in her dreams.  His rambling, incoherent "wisdom" that felt like the knowledge of the ages intrudes on her mind, and she remembers the lectures he delivered as he constructed weapons, and as they ate their meals together. 

"Never meet a vampire's eyes, they can charm you into a mindless puppet."

"Strays are not to be trusted.  Witches control familiars as spies, never work or speak around an animal.  If it won't leave, kill it."

"Demons can hide inside a person, and control them to oppose us.  But you'll never know for sure until you open them up."

"Werewolves cannot stand silver.  If someone is uncomfortable around us, then we will know what they really are."

"Revenants can almost look human, if they are freshly risen.  Check their eyes first."

"They feed on fear and pain.  Never let them see you bleed.  Never let them see you cry."

She knows that none of these things are true now.  But his superstitions still echo in her mind, when she sleeps.

She dreams in silver, of a world without color.  His world, of black and white and gray.  His world of steely reflections and flat morals.  The only color he accepted was red; the red blood of monsters.

The silvered knives are ever-present, in the waking world and her dreams.  His penultimate gift to her, the child he tried to mold into a killer.  His final gift is more abstract, given with his dying breath.

It comes to her less these days, with her life so much more complete than it ever was with him.  But she still sees his corpse in her dreams.  His body, surrounded by the monsters he had hunted, each with looks not of hunger or hatred like he had always described, but of disgust and pity.

Her world is one of vibrant color now.  A life of vitals reds, verdant greens, sagely purples and rainbow crystals.  Her living world is colorful, but her nightmares remain frozen in time.

She dreams in silver.

Chapter Text

Marisa managed to finish her trinkets in time to catch the morning crowd on Monday.  She was something of a mythical figure to the junior high students; she set up her display in an alley near the train station, and most of the students passed by on their way to the school.  She appeared once a month, and offered them ‘enchanted items’ and ‘charms of good luck’; they were all plastic or otherwise fake jewelry she had enchanted with minor spells.  Each gave a tiny feeling of warmth in the heart, and a tiny mote of euphoria that made the wearer feel lucky and relaxed, for a week or two.  But the presentation and sales pitch were much grander.

She sat cross-legged, with her largest black coat draped on her shoulders and her largest hat atop her head, with all her most elaborate jewelry and her nails painted with stars, a blanket laid out before her, all of her wares tagged with prices.  Each one had its own tale she had manufactured, an elaborate mythology and unique yet vague blessing it would convey, but they all held the same simple enchantment.  The students had invented names for her, for she never gave her real name: ‘Big Hat Witch,’ ‘Lucky Wizard,’ ‘Mystic Older Sister.’  She felt a pinprick of guilt at her deception being returned with affection from the excitable pre-teens, but at least there was real magic in her trinkets, if only a speck.  Besides, if their parents didn’t want them wasting their money on a bit of shady street magic, they should have raised them all better.

Hustle completed for the week, she folded up her remaining merchandise for another Monday and checked her phone for new places to catch lunch before her test.  She spotted a nice sourdough house and was on her way, moving on autopilot while reading her art history textbook, when she felt an intense itching on her left wrist.  

Oh shit.

She moved off the street, and pulled back the leather studded bracelet she kept on her left arm, to reveal a glyph tattooed onto her wrist, a thin line with a few circles and simple runes attached.  It had turned red.  It was an anchor for a dowsing spell she’d cast months ago, a spell designed to locate demonic energies.  She had to be within a city block or two.  She looked around, wondering what building it could be.  She was in an unfamiliar district, one she’d not spent too much time in, but it was mostly commercial buildings, with the occasional condo…

Before Marisa knew it, two hours had passed, and she had only narrowed her search down to a block that contained an office complex, a ten-story vertical shopping mall full of modern fashions and a large library.  She wanted to continue, but a buzzing on her phone reminded her of her test.  She favorited the shopping tower on her mapping app and headed off to her class.

Reimu held the red shogi piece in her fingers, wondering what it could mean.  

Izumi had informed her of her visitor while she was showering the previous night, the tall woman with a large umbrella, dressed in a dark purple business suit.  According to her, she had walked up to the shrine in the rain, made eye contact with Izumi, then deposited an envelope in the donation box.  Then, in the time it took Izumi to look inside the box, the woman had vanished into thin air.  The encounter had unnerved Izumi, and had puzzled Reimu, even when she had opened the envelope to reveal a letter and the knight shogi piece made of rich red wood, with the kanji painted in silver.  The letter was equally unenlightening.  It simply read:

For your troubles.

From, Y

'Y' was a figure that had shadowed the Hakurei family for some time. Reimu had received another letter from them months after her mother had died, when the social worker that was reviewing her case had fallen ill.  Before that, her mother had mentioned that Y had a habit of sending them aid and compensation after (or sometimes, more distressingly, before) misfortune befell the family.  Reimu had found another letter while sorting through her mother's belongings, but it was similarly vague, and there was no date or other details other than the paper was in fair condition and seemed on the newer side, so it couldn't have been more than twenty or so years old.

She shared none of this with Izumi.  Reimu had already noticed how concerned she was upon learning of her and Marisa's lives outside the safe, normal world she'd known, Reimu had no desire to throw more of these dark, ominous facts at her.  Instead, she concealed the letter and scrutinized the shogi piece.

"What's so special about this piece?" Izumi asked, peering closely at it.

"It's a token," Reimu said.  "They're made by one of the Tengu clans.  They use them as an odd form of currency, and many in the supernatural communities around Tokyo exchange them for favors and barter, or exotic goods.  Marisa's had a few, and I had one when I was younger."

"What can you actually do with them?" the ghost asked, sitting on the kotatsu table top.

"Depends on who you want to redeem them with," Reimu replied.  "And the rank of the piece you have.  There’s a massage parlor in a nearby ward that accepts these.  As for goods, you can get an Inchling's gold piece, magatama of the imperial line, Oni's sake... It's mostly alcohol, if I'm being honest.  All sorts of drinks that would send a normal person to the hospital."  Reimu stowed the piece in her pocket.

"Any idea who this mysterious woman in purple was?  And how could she see me?" Izumi asked.

Reimu glanced at the medical gauze that still wrapped her left wrist.  "Well, those with high spiritual attunement will always see spirits, and the more powerful youkai can sense and sometimes see them as well, so…” she trailed off.  The description had tripped a memory in Reimu.  A tall, older woman, in a purple business suit.  The description matched the patron at the bar who had given Hiroshi the flier for Reimu’s shrine and pointed him at Reimu to help deal with Izumi.  Reimu’s instinct for danger was quietly screaming in the back of her head, but neither she nor her intuition knew what it could mean, other than bad news.

As if reality responded to her last thought, Reimu heard a voice outside the door of the shrine.  “Like an arrow, she always strikes true!  Your favorite reporter is here to uncover the truth!”  There was a rapping at the front door.

Reimu was immediately robbed of her ability to sit upright.  She flopped backwards on the floor from her seated position at the kotatsu like a fish.   “Oh no.”

“Who is that?” Izumi asked.  “Wait, better question, who talks like that?”

“‘My favorite reporter’,” Reimu repeated in a mocking tone.  “What do you want?”

“You know what I want, Reimu-san,” the voice said.  “I want a scoop!  May I enter?”

Reimu thought for a long and hard moment, before her courtesy got the better of her.  “Come in.”  Izumi stood up and moved away from the kotatsu, to the side of the room.  

The door slid open to reveal Aya Shameimaru, the writer, editor, and sole reporter for the Bunbunmaru Newspaper.  She had black hair that she kept shortly cropped, a thin face with a long nose, and sharp, dark red eyes.  She was dressed for fall, with her tweed cap and coat atop a mostly plain white dress shirt, with a stripe of autumn color and leaf patterns  that cut across her torso.  The outfit was completed by khaki slacks that she kept slightly rolled, revealing her ankles and the ridiculous raised loafers she always wore.  With them, she stood a good ten centimeters taller than Reimu.

“Ah, so you are really worn out, Reimu-san,” she said upon seeing Reimu reclining on the floor of her front room.  Aya was often inconsiderate, but could be courteous when she wanted to.  “I’ll make this simple, then: do you have a ghost lurking around?”

Reimu’s eyes rolled.  Of course she already knows, she thought.  She heard Izumi gasp in the corner. “What could make you think that?”

“A good reporter always protects her sources!” Aya said, a smirk on her face, and Reimu heard a crow caw outside.  Of course.  The phrase ‘a little birdie told me’ was quite literal with Aya.

Reimu sighed deeply.  “What do you want from them, Shameimaru?”

“I want to interview them, of course!” Aya said, closing the door, removing her shoes and sitting at the kotatsu.  “I’ve recently gained competition, and I need to include something new to enrapture the readers.  Speaking with a ghost should do just that!”

“Then do an article on gardening, or tea ceremonies,” Reimu said.  “That’s what old people like, right?”

Aya ignored her comment.  “I’m no medium, but I can tell there’s a ghost here.  Right…”  She closed her eyes and let her outstretched index finger drift around the room until it came to rest some fifteen degrees or so from Izumi.  She triumphantly jabbed her hand vaguely near the curious-looking spirit.  “Here!”

Despite solidly missing her, Izumi looked plaintively at Reimu.  Reimu looked back and shrugged.  “It’s your call,” Reimu said aloud and Izumi thought for a moment while Aya sat with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.  Eventually, Izumi looked up and nodded to Reimu, a slight grin on her face.  Izumi walked over to the kotatsu and positioned herself sitting on the tabletop, directly in front of Aya.

“Okay,” Reimu said, while Izumi walked over.  “You want an interview, I want some compensation.”

Aya’s expression stuttered, before resuming her smirk.  “Of course, Reimu-san.  Perhaps some kind of deal with my paper?  Advertising for your services, perhaps.”

“We’ll see.”  Reimu said, as she pulled back the gauze on her wrist and held the Shinigami’s mark up for Aya to see.  Her eyes focused on it briefly, and Reimu could tell she was formulating a question when she noticed the ghost sitting on the table directly in front of her.

Izumi smiled.  “Boo.”

Aya leapt backwards, nearly flipping the table, before she regained control of herself.  “Hello,” she said, before straightening up and smoothing her panicked face back to a facade of friendliness.

“Aya, please meet Izumi Fukuda,” Reimu said, making introductions before Aya could.  “Izumi, please meet Aya Shameimaru, the newspaper reporter I spoke of earlier.”

“Pleased to meet you, Shameimaru-san,” Izumi said, sliding back to a more traditional seat on the opposite side of the table.

“Likewise,” Aya returned, withdrawing a notepad from an interior pocket of her jacket.

“Reimu-san told me something, I was wondering if you might confirm it,” Izumi asked, and Aya nodded back.  “Are you really a Tengu?”

Aya gave a look of annoyance to Reimu, then wordlessly shrugged off her jacket, casting it aside onto a coat hook by the door.  She closed her eyes and flexed her back.  Reimu heard a pop from her shoulders, and two black, feathery wings unfurled from her back, right out of slots already cut into the back of her shirt.  They stretched out to brush the ceiling and , when fully extended, both walls of the small room.  Her wings  were a midnight black like her hair, but with the iridescent, muddled rainbow sheen of a crow’s feathers.  “Does that answer your question, Fukuda-san?”  Izumi looked on in awe, joy lighting up her face.  She nodded and Aya closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment, before her wings retraced back with a whoosh , leaving a few stray feathers around the room.  She returned to her seat opposite Izumi.

“Now, as for compensation, Izumi’s looking for help,” Reimu said, sitting beside the two.  “She needs to find her daughter and partner to move on, but we have almost no leads since she died seventeen years ago.  In exchange for this interview, you keep the details around me vague, and help us turn up some leads on where to look.”

Aya scrunched her nose.  “Surely, we can combine these ventures and just put a call out as part of the interview. ‘If you know anything about this dead woman, please contact the Hakurei Shrine’?”

“Only if the contact is your number, Aya,” Reimu retorted.  “You know the kind of people such a request would pull in.”

Aya rolled her eyes, but gave Reimu a look of concession.  “You make a good point, Reimu-san.  Fine, I will look into her family’s wearabouts.  Quietly .  Is this acceptable to you, Fukuda-san?”

“It is, Shameimaru-san,” Izumi said.

Aya set her notepad down on the kotatsu and clicked her pen.  “Well then, let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

The next night, Marisa found herself waiting in a bar called The Night Sparrow's Song .  She’d completed Kagerou’s charm, and gotten instructions on where to meet her.  It was a small bar, with a few private rooms for parties and couples, but the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, the seafood well-grilled and the beer plentiful.  The owner was a burgundy-haired girl named Mystia who looked to be about fifteen, but ran the bar like an old pro and made the best grilled eel in Gensokyo, so no one was inclined to question her.  

(Mystia had been running the bar since Marisa was a child, so she was fairly sure she knew what she was.)

Marisa was chewing on some of the bar snacks while finishing a small glass of beer, when she noticed Kagerou enter.  The office worker looked frazzled as she made eye contact with Marisa, then quickly moved through the bar to the restroom in the back.  Marisa gave herself a casual count-of-ten, before she stood up, removed her hat and placed it on the bar stool.

"Hey barkeep," Marisa called. "I'd like the check when I get back."

"Sure thing," Mystia said as she delivered beer to a couple at a side table.

Marisa walked back to the woman's bathroom, and slipped inside, locking the door with a quick spell.  She turned to see Kagerou in her OL uniform of a white blouse and black skirt with simple heels, minus the usual pantyhose but with a dark brown sweater hanging around her neck and shoulders, tied by the sleeves.  Marisa noted the thin fur that was visible on the back of her hands and creeping up her neck, and how her eyes looked more red than usual.

"I've been fighting the urge to transform all day, I can't hold on much longer, Marisa,"  Kagerou said, an edge of slight panic in her voice.

"Well, try and hold it for another thirty seconds," Marisa said, reaching into her pocket.  "I've got to set the enchantment before you turn." 

"This better work," Kagerou said, wincing as her human ears shifted up her skull, morphing into lupine ones.  "The boss's daughter is gonna be here with us, and we're all supposed to take care of her.  I've got to make a good impression."  She dropped her purse to the floor and kicked off her heels as her feet began to widen.

"I'd say ‘statuesque werewolf’ is a good first impression, but I get your point."  Marisa pulled out a plastic brooch, with a large red empty 'gem' filled with the material components of the charm, the outside inscribed with the necessary runes.  Marisa reached up and pinned the brooch to the knot where Kagerou's sweater was tied around her neck before tapping it thrice with her fingernail and muttering a few words in Romanian that Alice had taught her.  Marisa stepped back as the air around Kagerou began to twist and waver like a heat shimmer.  The distortion stopped, and Marisa smiled.

"Alright, Imaizumi," Marisa said. "You can let go now."

Kagerou's face contorted in a mix of exertion and pain as the transformation took hold.  Her existing fur thickened and spread out across her skin as her hands grew paw-like pads and her nails lengthened and thickened into claws.  Her entire frame swelled in size, her growing muscles visible beneath her sleeves and new coat of fur as her height shot up to just over two meters, as her heels lifted and her toes and feet stretched to become digitigrade paws.  A wolf’s tail dangled from beneath the skirt, and she snarled as her shoulders broadened and the fur shot up her neck and face, her jaw and nose stretching into something like a wolf's snout.  Her normally waist-length hair was now almost to her knees, and she looked like she was desperately suppressing a howl.  

Marisa was surprised by how well her outfit held up on Kagerou's much larger body.  Her blouse was straining a bit, but both it and her skirt did not look in danger of tearing.  “I’m surprised you can get a work outfit this stretchy.”

Kagerou’s eyes were still screwed shut, but she managed a reply, “You can find a lot of odd things in online shops.”  Her voice had deepened by nearly an octave. She opened her eyes and peered down at herself, then at Marisa. “Is it active?”

“Yep, it’ll last for about ten to twelve hours, so don’t stay out too late, okay?” Marisa said.

“And no one will think this is weird?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she stretched and adjusted her skirt to allow her new tail spill out the back, above the skirt’s waistline.

“I made it, so I’m immune, but normal humans won’t notice a thing,” Marisa assured her.  “Step out and check, if you like.”  Marisa held up her hand and twisted her wrist to release the magical lock on the door.  

Kagerou knelt down to retrieve her heels and stuffed them into her large purse.  She tentatively opened the bathroom door and ducked out.  Marisa maneuvered herself to hear a snippet of conversation about what time it was and if the weather was okay with another bar patron, before Kagerou rushed back into the bathroom like a brown, furry tidal wave and scooped Marisa a massive bear hug.

“Oh, thank you so much, Marisa!” Kagerou nearly shouted, lifting Marisa off her feet and squeezing the breath out of her with her massive arms.  Marisa choked on her long neck-fur and fervently tapped Kagerou’s arm to be freed.  A second later the werewolf realized the situation and released her, dropping her back to the ground.

“Um…sorry, forgot about that, but I can’t thank you enough Marisa-san!”  Kagerous said, her ears bent back sheepishly.

“Well, you could pay me the fee now,” Marisa said, picking hairs out of her mouth. “The ingredients weren’t cheap.”

“Oh, yes of course,” Kagerou muttered to herself.  She reached into her purse and pulled out the bills for payment, and picked them out with her new oversized hands.  “It’s almost seven, and I need to be ready, I said I was going to get the room ready.  Thanks again, Marisa!”  She passed the bills to Marisa, who pocketed them.

Kagerou ducked her head on the way out of the bathroom.  Marisa gave herself a good twenty seconds while she spat out the rest of the fur in her mouth and then left the restroom as well.  Kagerou was standing by one of the doors to a private room, waiting for someone to arrive, with not a single occupant of the bar looking at her strangely.  Marisa privately noted that she would have to ask Alice for more spell advice.  

She slid up to where he hat still was and replaced it on her head.  Her check for the single beer and snacks was ready, she withdrew the cash to pay it and slid it back over the bar to Mystia.  She took it and glanced at Kagerou, raising an eyebrow, but otherwise not reacting.  The bartender returned with Marisa's change, and she took it and moved towards the door to leave the bar, making eye contact with Kagerou and nodding.

The door opened just as Marisa approached, revealing a crowd of office ladies on the other side.  The two parties stared at each other for an awkward moment before Marisa hurriedly stepped to the side to allow them through.  Each of them filed in, spotting Kagerou and greeting her enthusiastically, like they were meeting up for a normal night of drinking.  Not one of them commented on her additional height, or her fur.

Success, Marisa thought to herself, as they all walked by and into the room Kagerou had reserved.  They all had the same outfit the werewolf wore (though presumably less stretchy), except for the second-to-last member of the group. 

She was seated in a wheelchair being pushed by the final OL.  She had dark blue hair in short, delicate curls, a very young face and shiny skin and was dressed in a sea-green kimono with what looked like kelp patterns, with a large blue blanket over her legs.  Upon entering the bar and catching sight of Kagerou chatting with another of their party, she gasped and motioned for the attention of the woman pushing her chair.

"Is that Imaizumi-san over there?" the girl in the wheelchair asked, her voice high and refined.

"Yes ma'am," the woman responded, her tone professional.

This must be the boss's daughter Kagerou spoke of, Marisa thought.

"Is she always so..." she paused, looking for the right words. "Tall and strong-looking?"

Marisa didn't hear the woman's response as the warning sirens went off in her head.  Kagerou was not exceptionally tall or muscular in her human form, which could only mean that the charm was not working on the boss's daughter which meant...

She wasn't human either.

While Marisa stood rooted to the spot with this realization, the woman pushed the wheelchair past her into the private room.  Kagerou gave Marisa a smile and a thumbs-up before entering the room herself.  Marisa didn't have a chance to signal to her about what might go wrong before Kagerou closed the door.

Marisa remained in place for a moment, before deciding that she had held up her end of the bargain.  The charm was working exactly as she had described.  Beyond that, whatever happened happened, and she was not responsible.

She stepped out of the bar and into the autumn night.

Wednesday morning Reimu decided that she was well enough to visit the local cemetery.  It was part of her regular duties, and she needed to visit her mother's grave as well.  During breakfast, she noticed that Izumi seemed to be in a dark mood.  She paced the interior of the shrine, walking right through the table and walls.  

"What's on your mind, Izumi?" Reimu asked after the third time she walked straight through the kotatsu in front of her.

Izumi looked slightly shaken, like she hadn't realized how worried she looked.  "Sorry, Reimu.  I'm just worried about my family.  Hideo, Aika, even my mom and dad."

"We gave Aya your parent's address, she'll tell us how they're doing," Reimu tried to assure her.

"It's not right now I'm worried about...but how they responded to my death.  If my parents blamed Hideo..." she trailed off. "Mother never much approved of my career path or my relationship with Hideo, I hope my death didn't sour that even further.  Also..." she paused, reticent to mull over more potential misfortune.

"Just say it, Izumi," Reimu said. "I don't want you stewing over this any longer."

Izumi let out a ghostly sigh.  "It's about Hideo.  Shortly before I died, he was diagnosed with a condition in his eyes, a kind of retinal degeneration.  It was genetic, something Aika might have inherited.  He was trying to get time off to see if she might have inherited it, and see if he could be treated, but... you can see how it ended."

"And you're worried if they got the right treatment," Reimu said.  Izumi’s family situation grew ever more concerning.

"What if it couldn't be treated?" Izumi said, collapsing to the floor next to Reimu.  "What if...what if they can't see that mark on your wrist?  Can’t see me?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we get there," Reimu said. "Don't get trapped in worrying about what you can't control.  Once we know more, we'll make a plan, okay?"

Izumi took a deep breath with lungs she didn't have, then smiled bitterly at the floor. "You sound more like the adult in the room than me."  She stood up and walked through the wall to watch the morning traffic, leaving Reimu to finish her breakfast.

Reimu still had the crutch that Marisa had fashioned from the chair in Izumi's apartment, and while she could walk about on her own now, she felt it was safer and easier to use the crutch.  She dressed herself in a red and white jacket, black tank-top and a red skirt, with long white socks.  Most of the clothing Reimu owned was red or white, since almost all of it was gifts from the Gensokyo community, and they always thought it was clever to give her an outfit that was the color of a shrine maiden's traditional outfit: the red hakama pants and the white kosode robe.  

(Reimu had very little opinion on her clothes, but Marisa had once said that she looked good in red, so she stuck by the color.)  

She set out for the local cemetery with Izumi. "Will there be other ghosts in the cemetery?" she asked.

"Spirits of the dead are actually pretty rare in cemeteries or graveyards," Reimu said.  "You often get hitodama, will'o the wisps and other ghost lights, but the deceased usually haunt their place of death or someone who they were close to when they were alive."

They slowly passed by the elderly neighborhood regulars on their journey to the cemetery.  Reimu stopped by several old couples sitting on their porch or tending gardens and chatted; they all asked about the crutch, if the injury was serious, if she was eating well, and so on.

"You weren't exaggerating when you said the community looked after you," Izumi said after the third couple stopped her and asked after her.

“I’ve blessed each of their homes, and two of their grandchildren’s births,” Reimu said. “I’m kind of in high demand.”  In her head, the sentiment was only half-sarcastic.

“I’ve been wondering, Reimu, how is your entire family shrine maidens?” Izumi asked as they made their way.  At Reimu’s look of confusion, she added.  “I’d always been taught that being a miko was something you would do after school, as a favor to your uncle who ran a shrine.  That’s what my friend did in school.”

“That’s how most people think of it nowadays,” Reimu said, waiting for the light to cross the street.  “It’s become a part-time job for highschoolers, where you sweep a shrine and maybe bless a new house.  But when my family formed, in ‘days of yore,’ it was a real religious need; we were shamans, necessary for communing with the gods.  My family continued the original forms and traditions while the public conception of a ‘shrine maiden’ was slowly cheapened and reduced down what everyone else knows.”  The street crossing light turned green and they began to move.

“I see,” Izumi said as she passed through another pedestrian, causing him to shiver.  

They eventually arrived at the local cemetery.  It was on both sides of a small back-road near a river.  The hakaishi pillar-tombstones were old, but well maintained, with immaculate foliage and shrubbery all around.

“I should hurry, the gardener will be around after me,” Reimu said, as she grabbed the bucket of water and hishaku dipper for blessings from the small water basin and pavilion that marked the entrance to the cemetery.

“Is she someone to be avoided?” Izumi asked.

“No, but we…get in each other’s way, so it’ll be good to finish up before she arrives,” Reimu replied.  She set about sprinkling water around the walkways, chanting under her breath at each grave stone.  The process was slower than usual with the crutch.  After nearly half an hour, she had made her way to the end of the rows, and stood before a large family grave-pillar, labeled "Hakurei," with smaller blocks set beneath it bearing a dozen individual names, each of a family member.

No Hakurei family member had an individual grave.  Her mother, grandmother and all others before them all shared this pile of stone blocks as a memorial for their duties.

Izumi saw the name on the stone and stepped back.  "I'll give you a moment," she said.

"Thank you, Izumi," Reimu said before she vanished.

Reimu knelt down in front of the grave.  She stared at her mother's name, the leftmost stone in the literal family line.  There was a long moment, where she said nothing, but listened to the cold wind blowing, and the sounds of the city, oddly distant.

Reimu was not an introspective person by nature, but sitting here, before the only memorial to those who had come before her, to be anything but introspective felt like an offense.  A fire in the shrine in her grandmother's time had destroyed almost all family records.  Reimu only knew her great-grandmothers' names from the gravestone.  It was all that remained of them.  Would Reimu's name end up here too, she wondered.  Or would her fate twist, and might the family line end with her, no one left to carve her name?

She sat in silence a moment longer.

"Hello, mother," she finally said.  She only ever addressed her mother.  It seemed right, as her grandmother had passed before she was born.  Better to let them all rest, it seemed.  "A lot has happened since I last spoke with you.  I performed an exorcism.  A big one.  I don't know if you'd be proud or disappointed in how it all shook out.  I met a shinigami, and got turned away from the Sanzu.  Now I have to find the ghost's family to help her move on."

Reimu often wondered why her mother had not lingered as a ghost.  There must have been so much she would have wanted to tell Reimu, and certainly so much that Reimu wanted to ask her.  Perhaps it was part of their divine service; when the end came Komachi, or another reaper, would take them to the next life, no matter what they had left to do.  An express pass to the world beyond.

Or perhaps, she simply trusted that Reimu would be fine without her.  Reimu wasn’t sure how to feel about that possibility.

"I think you'd like her.  She's kind, and curious, and caring.  We're working with the tengu to find her family." 

Reimu paused for a moment, feeling the cool air as she breathed.

"Marisa's father is back.  She won't admit it, but he's trying to find her.  You didn't know him long enough to learn what a monster he is...maybe that's a blessing.  I wish I knew what to do to help her."

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a train pass by and a dog bark.

"I got my second letter from Y.  I still don't know who they are.  Did you know, and mean to tell me when I was older?  Or were they always just as much of a mystery to you?"

She watched an ant climb up the stone face of the grave.

"They say it gets easier, the older you get...but they're wrong.  The older I get, the more I learn, the more it hurts."

A breeze brushed the hairs on the back of Reimu's neck and she shivered.

"I miss you, mom.  And I love you."

Reimu stood , and struggled to her feet with the crutch, suddenly feeling very tired.  She blessed her family grave, then began to make her way back to the front of the cemetery to deposit the bucket and head home.  Izumi rematerialized and began walking alongside Reimu a moment later, but did not say anything.

As they approached the entrance, Reimu saw two figures.  One was a girl, as tall as Marisa, with short black hair cut in a neat bob, with a black hairband and ribbon.  She had a vibrant green hoodie and work jeans and boots on, with a bag full of gardening supplies and tools slung over one shoulder.  The other figure was taller, had a similar haircut, but with bright white hair and was dressed in a gi and hakama pants that suggested a kendo uniform.  The shorter one was checking something on her phone, as the taller one stepped straight through a pillar at the corner of the water basin pavilion and fixed Reimu with an intense look.

“Oh no,” Reimu felt herself whisper, against her better judgment.

“Who are they?” Izumi asked.

“That’s the gardener I spoke of, Youmu Konpaku,” Reimu whispered. “And the ghost of her sister.”

Chapter Text

The black-haired gardener looked up from her phone to see Reimu, and her face lit up, while Reimu could feel her face fall.  No chance of getting out of this one.

“Reimu-san!” Youmu shouted cheerfully, trotting up to her.  Her ghost sister followed behind, with a much more wary look on her face.  “It’s been a while.  Are you okay?” Youmu said, gesturing at the crutch Reimu was leaning on.  Her sister looked suspiciously between the crutch and Izumi, who had stepped back from the conversation.

“It’s nothing,” Reimu said.  “Just strained myself performing an exorcism.”  

She instantly wished she’d lied.  The expressions of both Konpaku sisters shifted, Youmu to concern and fear, and her sister flashed a look of warning anger.

“Oh my, Reimu-san!”  Youmu said.  “That must have been so dangerous!  Is there-”

“I’m fine now, Youmu,” Reimu cut her off.  She did not want to have this conversation right now.  “I just need some more rest.”

Youmu nodded.  “But even when you’re like this, you still come to bless the graves.  Your devotion is so admirable, Reimu-san.”

“Thanks, Youmu,” Reimu said, and she wished she could mean it.  “Are the plants doing alright?”

“Oh yes!” Youmu replied, her exuberance returning.  “The chrysanthemums and higanbana are coming in wonderfully, and the persian shields that Suzuki-san requested are growing splendidly.  I've even been asked if I could do some consulting at one of the gardens at the temple…”

The exhaustion Reimu felt must have been evident even to Youmu, for she trailed off looking at her.  “I’m sorry, Reimu-san.  I can see you’re tired, I didn’t mean to keep you.  But, before you go…can you please tell if there are any spirits here?”  There was a tiny note of pleading in Youmu’s voice.

Reimu sighed involuntarily and looked around the cemetery, doing her best to ignore Izumi and Youmu’s sister giving her another warning look.  “Nope, no ghost here at the moment,” Reimu lied.

Both Youmu and her sister looked relieved.  “Oh, that’s good.  Thank you, Reimu-san, get home safely!”

“I think I’ll take a break first.  Have a good day, Youmu,” Reimu replied as she stepped aside.   Youmu walked past her to the hose that was near the water basin, grabbing it and beginning to fill a watering can.  Her sister lagged behind, making pointed eye contact with Reimu and dragging her thumb across her face in a ‘lips sealed’ gesture, before moving to follow and watch over her oblivious sister.

Reimu limped her way over to a nearby bench and sat down, resting her arm and legs.  Izumi followed and sat down next to her.

“So…that was awkward,” Izumi said.

Reimu shifted her posture on the bench to be leaning forward, hiding most of her face with the crutch.  It would make it easier to talk to Izumi without anyone else noticing.

“Yes,” was all she could muster.

 “How long has she been following her sister?” Izumi asked.

“Youen died…nine?  Ten months ago now?” Reimu said. “She was Youmu’s older sister.  She was a kendo champion, learning quick-draw iaijutsu and two-sword ryoutou-tsukai style; a real modern master of the blade.  She always liked Youmu, a model of the protective older sibling.”

Reimu paused and heaved a sigh.  “Then she walked into an abandoned house one day, and only her spirit walked out.  Official cause of death was a stroke, but that always felt…wrong.”

“And she hasn’t said anything about that?” Izumi said, gesturing to Youen’s ghost that was silently observing Youmu trimming and pruning the bonsai tree at the center of the cemetery.

Reimu shook her head.  “She’s been very reluctant to share anything after she died.  I was able to tell that her attachment to Youmu is what’s keeping her here but…”  Reimu sighed.  “Youmu is petrified of ghosts.  She can’t see them, but she can sometimes hear them, and the thought of being near one terrifies her.”

“Ah…” Izumi exhaled, comprehension dawning.

“Youmu and her parents had it real rough after Youen died, and it’s only recently that Youmu’s begun to recover, mostly by throwing herself back into her gardening.  She’s got a real green thumb.”  Reimu sighed.  “Youen is so protective of her, she won’t let anyone tell Youmu that she’s actively being haunted.  She made me swear to never say it.  Hence all those scary looks she gave me upon mentioning ghosts.”

They both watched the two sisters for a moment.  Youmu was focused on her gardening work, but Youen occasionally cast a glance over to the other human-and-ghost pairing in the cemetery.

“She has to know that this can’t last, right?” Izumi asked.

“I’m sure she does,” Reimu said.  “But it’s not something I have any right to judge.  Youen is a powerful spirit, I’d rather not antagonize her if I can avoid it.  Eventually, Youen will feel the call of the other side, or Youmu will get over her fear of ghosts.”

"Maybe I should talk with her..." Izumi mused.

"Maybe," Reimu said.  "But not today.  I need to lay down."  She pulled herself up by the crutch, and set back off for the shrine.

Marisa was better equipped, on her return trip to search for demons.  She had a more precise dowsing spell now, a small phial of liquid that would darken in the presence of demonic entities and energies.  She arrived back at the city block where her spell had originally triggered, and decided to search the department store tower first, seeing as it was the largest of the buildings.

She had intentionally dressed in one of the least conspicuous outfits she owned, a baseball cap, sunglasses, a blouse/jacket/blue jeans combo with boots that she imagined a normal person might wear. 

She did her best to blend with the crowd as she entered the lobby.  It was all clean corporate design, with polished metal and red accents.  Red seemed to be the color of whatever company owned the building, as it was used as an accent everywhere, with the largest brand logos hanging over the receptionist desk, staffed by a pretty young woman in an office lady’s uniform.   The rest of the lobby was clear glass windows, fancy couches and seating arrangements, multiple elevators and a set of escalators that lead to different floors, with a café off to one side and a restaurant off to the other.

Marisa tip-toed around a businessman to check the directory off to the side for a rough idea of the lay out.  It was twelve stories tall, with the top two stories and roof being a private penthouse for the building owners.  The rest of the building was packed with clothing stores, consumer electronics shops, restaurants and other oddities.  There was an exercise studio, a bookstore that had a walkway to the library in the next building over, a small bar, even a tea house.

Marisa stared at the directory, wondering where to start.  She had dispelled the spell on her wrist (though the base of the tattoo remained for her to enchant again later), and her newer spell was still clear.  She had about three hours to spare, so she supposed she ought to take the building floor-by-floor.  She ducked around a tall woman in a business suit as she slipped up the escalator to explore the building.

Thirty minutes later, and Marisa's head was spinning so hard she had to stop at a little café on the fourth floor.  Marisa was possessed of what Reimu had once charitably called a "materialistic streak," and walking around this many different stores, with this many shiny new products, her hands began to itch.  Most of what was for sale were clothes; cutting edge fashion and the latest trends, none of which were easily shoplifted.  She had eyed a little hair-clip that looked like a star, but someone had bumped into her, attracting the attention of the store attendant, and caution had won a rare victory in Marisa’s head.

She ordered a latte and checked her dowsing phial while she waited.  It had darkened ever so slightly, so she was on the right track, but still no solid direction from it.  Plus, she was having trouble focusing with all the anime merch and cool coats and new electronics vying for her attention.  As she sipped her coffee, she looked up the building on her phone, checking the layout.  It would probably be better to check out somewhere with fewer shiny things.  Perhaps the bookstore and connected library two floors down.  As she finished her coffee, she noticed a woman in business-wear eyeing her suspiciously.  All the more reason to leave, she must have attracted attention.  Marisa was never as subtle as she wanted to be, after all.

Down the escalator she rode, past the exercise studio blaring Chinese music on the third floor, and she arrived at the second.  She checked the phial as she rode and noticed the liquid darkening as she exited the escalator on the second floor.

Perhaps she was closer than she thought.  

She wandered around the second floor for a while, keeping one eye on the spell, when she turned a corner to arrive at the bookstore and the liquid in the phial turned pitch black.  Marisa was able to mostly suppress her surprise, as the spell turning ink-black could only mean one thing: there was an actual demon close by, not just the trace of one passing.

A real demon, no more than ten meters away from her.

She looked up at the bookstore.  It’s name looked like it was in English or maybe French, but Marisa didn’t recognize the word.  It was a very rustic-looking shop, all rich wood paneling and electric lamps  styled to look like gas lamps.  It was situated against the outer wall of the building with the walkway to the library smack-dab in the middle of the back wall of the shop like a tunnel, inviting you across.  Her eyes searched for something out of place, and when she saw the person running the shop, she knew she had found it.

There was a small crowd of young women and housewives gathered around him, each of them enraptured as he walked the shop, assisting other customers or speaking passionately about his favorite books to them.  He had a slender, lithe build, with dark-red hair slicked back and a small, immaculately maintained bit of facial hair on his chin that was just as red.  He was dressed in a white dress shirt, with a black vest, pants, and loafers, the only accent of color being a red tie tucked into the vest.  His features were…seductive…alluring, even to Marisa, who rarely swung that way.  Marisa could have sworn his pupils were snake-like vertical slits.

There was something in the nearly-predatory way his scarlet eyes swept around the shop that twigged the memory of what exactly she was looking at.  A demon who could shapeshift to take any almost-human appearance, with a magnetically attractive mystique, who cultivated small herds of humans…this could only be an incubus.  Instantly, a dozen theories bloomed in Marisa’s mind about what a seducer demon was doing selling books in a department store, each more lurid and outlandish than the last.  

It was then that the red-haired incubus looked up from scanning a shoujo manga for one of the housewives and scanned his surroundings, and Marisa remembered the other ability succubi and incubi had beyond shape shifting and attraction: the ability to sense and feed on dreams, fantasies and flights of fancy.  He must have felt Marisa’s wild imagination.

Marisa judged that now would be an effective time to make her exit.  She nearly collided with a woman on her way down the escalator and walked as quickly but as inconspicuously as she could until she was out of the department store and across the street.  She’d need to come back better prepared, after doing more specific research on incubi.

Marisa did not notice the woman observing her from the front steps of the department store.  The woman in the sharp business suit, with the silver hair and twin side-braids had made Marisa as a troublemaker from the moment she had stepped into the building (baseball cap and sunglasses, really?) and had trailed her around, but she was surprised when she had bolted so quickly.  The fear she had displayed and who she was looking at when she did could only mean that she had seen through the librarian’s assistant’s facade.  Perhaps this little thieving rat would prove useful.

The woman withdrew her phone from her breast pocket and quickly tapped out a message, then set off after the blonde girl, to follow her and uncover her abilities and her motives for intruding into her employer’s domain.

Chapter Text

Marisa stopped by her apartment to change into something more comfortable and stylish, settling on a navy blue dress dotted with constellations and an acid-washed, short-cropped jean jacket. She swapped her baseball cap for an American-style cowboy hat she'd found on sale.  She grabbed some mochi from her freezer and her paperback copy of The Demonomicon to leaf through on her way to the shrine.

She made her way to the shrine, bowing to the street-side jizo statue on the way.  She had a few hours before her class was set to start, and she wanted to catch up with Reimu.  She made her way around the edge of the lawn and through the front gate; the Hakurei shrine was the one place Marisa didn't cut across grass and stuck to the paved path.  She passed under the torii gate at the front and brushed her hand on the squat, empty pillar that would house the guardian statues of the shrine.  Apparently, the pair of komainu lion-dog statues that guarded the shrine had been stolen when Reimu was young, before Marisa had met her, and the stands they rested on had remained empty in the intervening years.

She was glad to see Reimu up and about.  She seemed to be healing well.  She presented the mochi as a gift, a snack to share, and they set it out to thaw slightly.  The two friends sat at the table and chatted, Izumi occasionally interjected and asked for an explanation from Marisa, or explained more of Reimu's outings.

Reimu explained what she'd been up to beyond resting: letting Izumu give an interview with the tengu reporter, and her encounter with Youmu and Youen.  Marisa felt a stab of sympathy; she liked the Konpaku sisters, each in different ways.  Youen had never liked Marisa, as a dishonorable, dishonest thief, it easy to see why, but Marisa had found her sense of duty and dedication admirable.  Youmu had always been a bit of an annoying brat, but she had been through a lot in losing her sister, and had found her passion for plants recently, and anyone who knew exactly what they wanted to do with their life was alright in Marisa's eyes.

Marisa explained her adventures: meeting with Alice, getting the charm working for Kagerou and how well it had worked on almost everyone.

"So, the boss's daughter isn't human..." Reimu mused.  "Who is her boss?  What does Kagerou's company even do?"

"Beats me," Marisa said, squishing a piece of mochi to see if it was soft enough to chew. "Shinsha-something reporting survey?"

Izumi interjected, "Shinasakawa Surveying and Reporting Firm?"

Reimu and Marisa looked at her, slightly amazed.  "Yeah, that's it," Reimu said.

Izumu smirked.  "It was one of the companies I interviewed and almost worked for.  They collected data on Japanese agricultural and fishing efforts, and collated it to sell to other companies."

"What company did you end up working for, then?" Reimu asked.

"Tokyo Direct Express Analysis," Izumi said, a smile creeping in at the corner of her mouth. "Public transport and shipping planning."

The two girls both gave a vague 'ah, I see' look to the business talk they half-understood.

"At the very least," Marisa said, "The company that Kagerou works at has been around for at least seventeen years if you interviewed at it, Izumi."

"More," Izumi said, eyeing the thawing mochi with a faint look of longing. "They touted 'twenty five years of excellence' or something when I was there for the interview."

"So they've been around for more than forty years," Reimu said.  "If we assume that the woman you saw was his real daughter, it's safe to assume that the boss of her firm is also not human."

"Probably," Marisa added as she judged the mochi 'thawed' and popped one in her mouth.

Izumi snorted a tiny laugh.  "I'm still stuck on 'werewolf office lady.'"

"Kagerou always considered herself human," Reimu said.  "She contracted her lycanthropy around ten, in an...accident, so she didn't grow up with it.  The only supernatural contact she had was with my mom, Marisa and me."

"I tried to set her up to talk and socialize with the Kappa, or Alice, but she always declined.  She really wanted as normal a life as possible," Marisa said, finishing her chunk of mochi.

"Maybe this mysterious office princess can get through to her on that front," Reimu said.  They sat together for a moment, chewing their mochi and contemplating.

"Oh, and I had a major breakthrough," Marisa said, withdrawing her paperback tome.  "Found an actual demon living in Tokyo."

Reimu and Izumi's eyes both widened at this news.  "Where?" they both demanded.

"At a department store twenty minutes north," Marisa said, leafing through the book to find the needed page.  She landed on it, then slid the book across the kotatsu to Reimu, while Izumi maneuvered herself to read over her shoulder.

Reimu hummed thoughtfully at the page while finishing a bit of mochi, while Izumi read aloud: "The succubus and incubus are two forms of an ungendered type of shape-shifting demon.  They feed on the imaginations of humans and other mortal races, and assume physically attractive forms to encourage the fantasies and attractions that fuel dreams."

"You met a succubus and got away?" Reimu asked, eyebrows raised.

"Incubus in form, actually," Marisa corrected.  "They were working at a bookstore, and they were tending to a small group of desperate housewives, romantic teens and at least one salaryman trying to be discreet."

"That seems... relatively harmless?" Izumi said, reading ahead.  "This book seems to indicate that their normal behavior is to sleep with humans and try to extract energy from their dreams.  Running a shop is... very ordinary."

"Perhaps," Marisa speculated.  "There are very few resources for how demons, youkai, and other creatures behave in the modern world.  This is the most modern thing I could find, and it's still almost fifty years old."  She gestured at the book Reimu still held.

"Marisa's right, most resources for the supernatural were written in a very different world."  Reimu flipped to the front of the book to check the author.  "And I'm sure that this 'Iggwilv' that wrote this was drawing on even older sources.  It's impossible to say how much of this was original research in the..." She checked the date of publication.  "The seventies, and how much things have changed since then.  Most youkai have human forms and near-human lives these days, no reason to assume that a demon wouldn't find an easier way to live."

"And if you feed on dreams and imagination," Izumi added.  "Working in a bookstore is probably easier than climbing in through someone's window and feeding on them while they sleep."

Marisa snapped and pointed at Izumi in agreement while she wolfed down her last bit of mochi.  "And maybe they have some more modern advice on summoning their kindred."

Reimu gave her a doubtful look.  "Something tells me you'll face some resistance on that front."

"Only one way to find out," Marisa said, grinning.  They chatted a moment more, before Marisa noticed the time and headed off.  She left the remaining mochi with Reimu and set off for Professor Kamashirasawa's afternoon class.

Marisa had only been gone 5 minutes when Reimu heard a knock at her front door.  That was nothing unusual at this time in the afternoon, so Reimu simply called out from her seat at the kotatsu, where she was reviewing a request for another blessing.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"An interested party," said an unexpected, unfamiliar voice.  It was a woman's voice, very faintly accented, but in a polite, refined way.  "May I enter?"

Reimu was baffled as to who it could be.  Izumi wasn't present, but appeared at the sound of the new voice.  "Should I see who it is?" she asked.

Reimu put a hand up to assuage her, but reached inside her jacket to feel the ofuda talismans.  They might be necessary.  "You may enter."

The front door slid open, revealing a woman who looked to be in her early to mid-twenties.  Her features were Caucasian, not Japanese, her face and figure were thin and sharp, her blue eyes cool and collected.  She was dressed in a formal business style, with a deep blue suit and pants, a pure white blouse, and relatively short heels.  Her most striking feature was her silvery hair, cut short in feathered layers, with two small side-braids, one in front of each ear.

She stepped past the door, sliding it closed behind her and depositing her heels on the small towel where Reimu’s shoes and sandals sat (something Marisa had never managed despite Reimu’s requests.)  Reimu motioned to the opposite side of the kotatsu, and she sat down, clasping her hands together on the tabletop, her whole posture radiating professionalism.

“My name is Sakuya Izayoi,” she said, keeping her gaze and voice level.  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Reimu Hakurei.”

Reimu was used to people knowing who she was before she introduced herself, but there was something in the very pointed way that the woman said her name that gave Reimu an inkling that she might be very familiar with her.

“A pleasure to meet you, Izayoi-san,” Reimu said.  She poured a cup of green tea from the kettle she had just prepared and slid it over to Sakuya.  “How can I help you today?”

She accepted the tea and took the tiniest sip before returning it to the table.  “Someone suspicious was very recently skulking around my employer’s building, and you are an acquaintance of theirs.  I wished to investigate.”

Marisa… Reimu thought, trying to keep her exasperation internal.  For a criminal, you sure were followed easily.

“Perhaps you can speak to her character and clarify the situation,” Sakuya continued. “I’m told the Hakurei maiden is a cornerstone of this neighborhood.  Something of a community leader.”

As much as she wanted to spin this as ‘strictly professional’ and all about Marisa, the way she touted Reimu’s theoretical position in Gensokyo slightly tipped her hand again: this visit wasn’t about Marisa, it was about Reimu.

“My friend is very close to me,” Reimu said, trying not to give more information away,  “What is she even accused of doing at this… building your employer owns?”

“Nothing, yet,” Sakuya said.  “This is simply an assessment, to see if we should hire her, ban her from the premises, or simply let her come and go.  She surely has remarkable skills, we simply wish to know more about her.”

“And so you come to me?” Reimu said, narrowing her eyes.  “Instead of writing a letter or interviewing her, you talk to me?”

“My employer wishes to ascertain if she-”

“What about what you want to know?” Reimu interjected.  “Not who you work for, I want to know what the woman sitting opposite me is doing here, because I can tell it has nothing to do with my friend.”

Sakuya’s eyes widened for a moment.  She seemed caught off-guard, and the lack of response just confirmed to Reimu that she had hit the nail on the head.  

Sakuya settled her expression.  “You’re very perceptive, Hakurei-san.  Forgive the obfuscation.  Yes, I do want to speak with you.  My employer is in need of your services, and has been considering contacting you.  When I followed your friend to try and find out more about her, only to see she spends her time at the fabled Hakurei shrine…well, I had to speak with you.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer.

“I’m familiar with the Hakurei line.  Our families have met before, in a way,” Sakuya said, withdrawing something from within her suit jacket. “Seeing as you’ve grasped that, I think it will be best to clear the air." She slid the object across the table, and Reimu stopped it and examined it, with Izumi moving to observe over her shoulder for the second time today.

It was a silver pocketwatch, tarnished with age and lack of care.  There was an intricate heraldic crest on the front, and an unreadable motto on the back.  Reimu could hear no ticking from the clock, and upon opening the watch, found the face cracked and broken, the hands of the clock frozen at 12:17.  She closed the watch and returned to the motto on the back.  Reimu’s English was poor, but she had been in school long enough to learn how to pronounce it, and how things sounded, and the words stamped there did not seem to be English.

She sounded out the motto as best she could.  "'Immundum sanguinem haurientibus…insontes servamus'?"

“It’s Latin,” Sakuya explained, setting her tea back down.  “It means ‘we shed the blood of monsters to keep the innocent safe.’”

Izumi looked up from the watch, staring daggers at Sakuya.  Reimu felt the temperature of the room drop by a few degrees.

“It was a memento,” Sakuya said.  “From my father.”

Reimu looked up at the woman opposite her.  She saw her silver hair again, and the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

A long pause, while they waited for each other to speak.

“You’re the daughter of the Silver Ripper, aren’t you?” Reimu asked.

Sakuya wore a mirthless grin. “I am.  Your mother helped kill my father, the monster hunter.”

Another pause, a beat in the conversation, stretched to the limit.  They stared into each other's eyes, searching.  Izumi looked back and forth between them, concern, bewilderment and fear fighting for space on her face.

"Reimu, your mother killed someone?" Izumi asked, unable to restrain herself any longer.

"Not exactly," Sakuya replied. 

Izumi gasped, and Reimu's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I can see and hear you, ma'am," Sakuya said, preempting the question.  "A gift from my father.  I can see who is human, and those who are not."

"Are you here for revenge?" Reimu asked, sliding the pocketwatch back across the tabletop, harder than she had received it.

Sakuya caught it as it slid off the side, almost into her lap.  "If I was, it would be quite late," she said, replacing the watch inside her jacket.  "Your mother passed away over a decade ago, if my research was correct.  I'm sorry for your loss."

Reimu inspected her face.  She seemed calm, collected, focused... but there was something else.  

"And I am sorry for your loss," Reimu said.

"Don't be," Sakuya said.  "The world is better off without him."  She spoke with conviction, but Reimu wasn't convinced that she wholly believed her own words.

"Then what is this visit about?" Reimu asked.

"I wanted to simply introduce myself, since my employer will most likely be requesting your services soon.  When that time comes, we may be working together, and I..." Sakuya paused, searching for the right words.  "...I wanted to clear the air.  I would rather tell you now than have you discover it on your own and become suspicious.  I don't hold a grudge against you or your mother.  I hope we can work together without the sins of my father being an issue."

Reimu considered the woman across the table for a moment.  Her careful, controlled demeanor and elusive micro-expressions were the opposite of Marisa's bold exuberance, but the two women felt of a kind to Reimu: both of them informed and controlled by a past they would give anything to sever and forget.

"I'm quite familiar with men who should never have been given children," Reimu said, choosing her words carefully.  "I don't hold his deeds against you, nor do I hold against you the clearly fraught upbringing he must have given you."

Sakuya's mouth moved to say something, but she reconsidered and stood from her seat at the table.  Reimu rose to match.

"Thank you for your hospitality and understanding, Hakurei-san," Sakuya said, bowing.

Reimu circled the table and opened the front door for her as she slipped back into her heels, returning the bow.  "I look forward to working with you, Izayoi-san."

She stepped out through the doorway and smiled a genuine, warm smile at Reimu.  "As do I."

And she left the shrine.  Reimu closed the door and returned to her seat.

"Your life is never boring, Reimu," Izumi said.

Reimu reluctantly agreed.

Chapter Text

INTERVIEW WITH A SPIRIT!

The shocking testimonial of one life after death!

By Aya Shamemaru

---

Loyal readers will know that I never pass up an opportunity to bring you something new and exciting, and this issue is no exception!  I had the unique opportunity to interview a ghost; an actual spirit from beyond the grave! 

I had the chance to speak with a lingering spirit, who is bound to the exorcist that removed her from her place of death.  They are currently searching for her remaining family, so she can pass into the next life. The exorcist whom the spirit is haunting was kind enough to allow this interview.

For the protection of her still-living family and the brave exorcist who removed her, some names have been withheld. 

A highlight of our discussion is presented here.  For the full transcript, please turn to page 7A.

---

Interviewer (Aya): For the interview, can you please state your name, and however much you are comfortable sharing?

Ghost (Izumi): My given name is Izumi, I'm a Tokyo native, born, raised and died, and I've been dead for almost two decades now.

Aya: As some background, can you tell us how you died, if it's not too...painful?

Izumi: Oh, I suppose the facts are relatively plain: I was exhausted, got up in the middle of the night, slipped on my kitchen floor and cracked my skull on the counter.  Huh.

Aya: What is it?

Izumi: From a distance, laid out all like that it's kind of funny, In a morbid way.

Aya: Well, if you are dead I imagine that that applies to most things.

Izumi: [laughs] That is true.

{...}

Aya: So, after your family moved out of the apartment after you died, and you were stuck haunting the same room?

Izumi: Hey now, it was a one-bedroom, not a studio apartment! [laughs]

Aya: My apologies.

Izumi: But I was trapped in the apartment where I died, yes.

Aya: And what was that like?  Being intangible but unable to leave those walls?

Izumi: Well, it wasn't pleasant, I can tell you that much.  I wasn't visible, back then.  If I shouted, sometimes a person could hear me, but they always complained about spooky noises.  Trying to touch someone when you're a ghost just results in a cold breeze, and a tingling numbness.

Aya: So the tenants after you who complained that the apartment was haunted were actually right.

Izumi: Yes, though I'd like to apologize to them all, I was just trying to get someone to listen.

Aya: Aren't we all? 

Izumi: True.

Aya: What was it like being freed from that kind of confinement?  How did it happen?

Izumi: Well...

Exorcist (Name withheld): That's not something we're discussing right now.

Aya: I understand.

{...}

Aya: So, for most of your haunting, the apartment was abandoned, and you were less 'present', then.  What's it been like, rejoining the modern world, so to speak?

Izumi: It's been endlessly fascinating.  Seeing how much technology has progressed, discovering what companies thrived and which died off.  But most of my time has been taken up with learning about [Exorcist]-san's life and friends.

Exorcist: By necessity, you understand.

(Continued on Page A6)

Marisa folded the newspaper and set it down on the table.  She liked the Bunbunmaru news, and made a point to read it each week.  Plus, she could hardly miss the interview with Izumi.  She looked up from her seat and inspected the bookstore.

Suzunaan Local and Imported Books was a small store, one of many that managed to to survive in Gensokyo against the onslaught of the larger chains, as each attempt of large retailers to  muscle into Gensokyo was mysteriously met with accidents, minor business disasters and executive shifts in business plans (the common wisdom was that they had the Tengu to thank for that, though Reimu swore that repeated construction delays at one warehouse were caused by an oni.)  Suzunaan was cozy, with a warm, welcoming atmosphere and labyrinthine interior that always made one feel like you were finding a hidden treasure amid the shop's wares.

(Marisa had, in fact, found several treasures hidden in corners of the shop: a minor book on divination, several charts on proper mixing of reagents and on one very special occasion, the ancient grimoire that had started her magical education in earnest.)

"How's this week's Bunbunmaru?" came a young voice from another room.

A sound of small bells announced the return of the shopkeeper.  Kosuzu Motoori backed her way into the front room from the storage space with a pile of books in her arms.  She was a small girl, younger than Marisa but just as tall, with a sort of mottled hair color that ranged from chestnut to ginger, done up in twintails held up with jingling bells.

She deposited the stack of books on the front counter, adjusted her thick glasses, and wiped her hands on the tan apron that comprised her work outfit.  Being the sole working employee of the shop, the work outfit was mostly 'whatever she wanted', which today was a checkerboard patterned jacket and a loose green skirt, with long socks and slippers.  It might be unprofessional, but it helped to sell Suzunaan's 'comfy' aesthetic, along with the store's reading area dotted with bean bag seats and low tables.

"Oh, it's just as insightful as always," Marisa attempted to say nonchalantly.

Kosuzu moved over to where Marisa sat, as she was the only customer this early.  She gazed down at the paper Marisa was reading, eyes lingering on the article bragging about the interview with a ghost.

"It's a good thing father won't see this," Kosuzu said. "He's always hated ghosts."

Marisa nodded in sympathy at the mention of her father.  Kosuzu and Marisa had met when Marisa had begun her magic charm racket, while still in high school.  Kosuzu had been one of the first middle schoolers to fall for it, and her earnest enthusiasm had won Marisa over.  When her father's illness progressed to the point he was unable to run the shop, Kosuzu had dropped out of school to run the shop and care for him, and invited Marisa to drop by.  

Kosuzu, for her part, loved her new job.  She was a complete bibliophile from being raised in a bookstore, and with the chance to run the store she'd taken to it like it was what she was born to do.

Kosuzu smirked down at Marisa, then took the newspaper in front of her and folded it back up, placing it back on the stack of copies for sale at the counter before returning to her seat behind the counter, giving Marisa a knowing look.  Marisa shrugged at her.  While Kozusu often displayed a puppy-dog-like eagerness to please, she put her foot down hard on anything related to the family shop.  No discounts, no free books or newspapers.

Marisa browsed through the shelves for an hour or so, searching for anything that could help her understand incubi and succubi, amid all the old tomes on things like the politics of the Meiji era, or catalogs of Japanese flower species.

She had thought of letting Kosuzu know about her real pursuits, and asking if she could order books for her, but both Reimu and Marisa had agreed that they should avoid telling Kosuzu about all the supernatural business that swirled around the neighborhood, considering the way her father had always disapproved of those things.  He'd become agitated when they had mentioned ghosts while he was in the room, they both worried what his reaction would be if she started excitedly babbling about oni and tengu in front of him. 

Marisa eventually found a book on European folk-tales that might prove useful, and bought it from the shop.  She bade goodbye to Kosuzu and wandered out of the shop, back to her apartment, where upon checking her mail, she found a package with no return address on it, just stamp of a turtle shell.  She tore the top off the package once she was in her apartment proper to find an old, ultra-thin (for its era) flip-phone, and several blank sim-cards and replacement batteries, along with a note from Nitori. 

The kappa had come through after all.  Now Marisa only had to figure out how to steal cell service with magic.  She sighed, stretched her neck, and settled in on Operation Get Reimu A Damn Cell Phone Already.

Reimu had tried to make time for Izumi, but Important Shrine Duties kept interfering.  Today, there were two miyamairi infant shrine visits together.  The two families had decided to have their new children blessed together, and had asked Reimu to perform the service, which she did, for a fee.

(All shrines charged a fee for miyamairi services, but at least the locals were usually more willing to pay it at the Hakurei Shrine.)

The event was loud and celebratory, taking place in front of the shrine, with Reimu standing before a crowd, dressed in her good robe and the traditional headwear, waving a leafy green bundle of plant matter around.  So, naturally, such a sight attracted a tourist couple who wanted to watch the 'exotic local culture.'  Reimu struggled to use her rudimentary English skills to explain what the ceremony was, but Izumi helped out by whispering to her that she should liken it to a Christian baptism, which let it click for the two foreigners.  The two families were in such high spirits, they didn't mind the strangers observing the ceremony, one of the attendees that was more fluent in English even managed to deputize one of the two foreign men into being the cameraman for the the whole thing, which got a laugh out of all present, including his partner.

Izumi mostly occupied herself by wandering around the outskirts of the crowd, careful not to walk through anyone, and looking very fondly at the children as they were held in front of Reimu.  She chanted the blessings upon the children's names, their parent's names, their family names and so on, while she waved the tagamushi around.  The 'blessings' part of the ceremony concluded and each of the adults placed their own bundle of green branches on the 'altar' that Reimu had constructed from a folding table and tablecloth. drank a small amount of sake from the traditional small, red cups (even the tourists were swept into the drinking.) 

From there, there was a half-hour or so of exchanging gifts, where the two assembled families mingled and talked as they gave child-related gifts to the new parents.  Reimu looked on from a distance, her job done, and looking forward to getting out of the robe and headdress.

"This is considerably more festive than I thought a miyamairi should be," Izumi commented as they both watched the two families mingle.  "Though, we never got around to doing Aika's, so maybe I'm wrong."

Reimu held the tagamushi in front of her mouth, doing her best to hide her half of the conversation with its green leaves.  "No, it is odd, but everything's a celebration of community in Gensokyo.  Gets a little tiring, to be honest."

"I see," Izumi said.  "I could have sworn that a child's first shrine visit was supposed to be done by head priest, not a shrine maiden," 

"It is, but there's no kanushi for the Hakurei Shrine, only a miko, " Reimu explained. "So all of the duties and functions of a shrine fall to me."

"Then why not call yourself the head priest or kanushi, if you're the only member of the shrine?"

Reimu shook her head. "It's tradition.  My mom said we had a mighty musician as the head priest at the start of the shrine, but he disappeared and was never seen again, so we only have shrine maidens ever since."

Reimu felt a tug at the leg of her robe and looked down to see a small boy, no more than three or four years old, one of the children not being blessed.  He stared up at Reimu with innocent affection.

"Big sister, who's that next to you?" he asked. "Why is she see-though?  Is she your mom?"

Reimu heard Izumi suppress a gasp and sputter at the last question.  Reimu just smiled tightly as she knelt down to talk with him.

"She's not my mother, little one," Reimu said, with all the patience she could.  "She's a friend who helps me with the blessings."

The boy looked at Izumi, then back to Reimu.  "So she'll help keep my new sister safe?"

Reimu felt a smile spread across her face against her will.  "Yes, but she has to do so secretly, okay?  So don't tell anyone about her, not even your parents, understand?"  The boy nodded vigorously, and Reimu guided him back to his family, who was getting ready to head home for the day. 

As she waved goodbye to both families and the tourists, Izumi spoke up, "Should you tell his parents he can see ghosts?"

Reimu hummed in consideration for a moment as she took down the folding table and chairs. "Maybe.  Seeing the supernatural is pretty common in kids, but most of them grow out of it."

"Let me guess," Izumi said.  "Ghosts are most kids' 'imaginary friends'?"

"Ghosts and… other creatures," Reimu said, hazily recalling murky childhood memories of a stranger no one else could see who would visit the shrine when she was young.  "Regardless, I'll keep an eye on him."

Reimu finished storing the seats and table, only to turn and see Izumi with an odd look on her face.

"What's up?" Reimu asked, plainly.

Izumi looked like she might say something, before shaking her head.  “It’s nothing.  You should eat something, you must be hungry,” she said.

Reimu was hungry, and so she returned to the shrine interior to change out of the robe, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should have pushed Izumi harder on what was bothering her.

Chapter Text

"Come on, Alice, you've got to know something!"

Marisa's project to research incubi and succubi online had not gone well.  She had known she would encounter a tidal wave of horny stories while researching a seducer-type demon, but even filtering out the actual fiction, most first-hand accounts were... lacking. (Marisa did save a few of the spicier stories for herself.)  Ninety-five percent of them amounted to the author spending a single night with an extremely attractive person, then having some terrible misfortune befall them.  While vaguely amusing in the way that tales told by terrible people trying to make themselves look good often were, they were no more helpful than the erotica.

So she found herself asking the best magician she knew about it, but she was proving just as unhelpful.

"Why are you so convinced that I know anything about demons?" Alice asked, as she twitched her index and middle fingers, pulling on near-invisible threads of magic to control a doll sitting on the countertop.  The doll shop was completely deserted today, so Alice practiced her puppet magic openly.  Shanghai, her favorite, was sewing a new outfit for another doll, wielding the sewing needle with expertise, even though it was proportionally the size of a short sword to it.  

“Because Europe’s rife with demons and devils, from what I’ve been told,” Marisa said, leafing through Alice’s catalog of reagents and spell components.

“Well, you were told incorrectly,” Alice said, exasperated.  “The closest thing to a demon I’ve ever encountered were the Strigoi, and they were a lot closer to what you would call a vampire, feeding on blood and souls.”

“I’m also looking for vampires,” Marisa said. “What do you know about these ‘Stree-goy’?”

Marisa couldn’t see the exasperation on Alice’s face, but she definitely sensed it when Alice reached over to the book Marisa was leafing through, and flipped it to a specific page, one that talked about the applications of “Strigoi Ashes.”

“I know that they burn,” Alice said, tersely.

Marisa blew at a lock of blond hair dangling in front of her eyes, and looked at Alice with a somewhat pouting look on her face.  “Come on, Margatroid, give me something!” she said.

“Then ask me about something I know about, Marisa,” she countered, returning to check on Shanghai, before setting her painting tools out to work on a new doll. “I avoid demons, revenants, ghouls, all these kinds of creatures you keep asking about.  Spellcraft, leyline interactions, mana flow, magic circle construction.  These are the things I know about, Marisa.”

“Then, how do you get components if you avoid all of them?” Marisa asked, propping an elbow up on the glass counter.

Alice gave her a withering looked.  “I buy them, Marisa.”

Marisa puffed her cheeks out in annoyance.  “Sounds expensive.”

“Good magic always is.  If you’re so interested in this, then you’re just going to have to ask this incubus you found about it.  Most city-dwelling Folk are weird, compared to the rest of their kind, like me," Alice said, using the loanword 'Folk' to describe 'supernatural beings'.  It was apparently derived from an English euphemism for the forest-dwelling Fae.  "They have to be, to stand being around humans so much.  Maybe they’ll be amenable to your questions.”

Marisa checked her watch, and realized she had promised to meet Reimu in the afternoon.  She bade Alice farewell and made her way towards the shrine, thoughts in turmoil. 

Alice was clearly annoyed by her presence today, but why?  Was it something personal that Marisa wasn't privy to, or was it something Marisa had done that she was oblivious to?  Marisa knew that she could be...persistent when she was hyper-focused on a goal.  Was Alice annoyed because she knew something and didn't want to tell Marisa, or because she knew nothing and just wanted Marisa to stop asking?

It would be far from the first time someone considered her annoying.  Most people in her life did, she knew she was always grating to be around.  She spoke too quickly, too enthusiastically about topics that interested no one else.  Her mind jumped from topic to topic, following a silver thread of logic invisible to everyone else, a behavior that left her looking unfocused and scatterbrained.  When people described Marisa, the two words they used besides "annoying" were "smart" and "strange."

Marisa knew she wasn't normal.  It wasn't normal to want to summon demons, even for a magician.  It wasn't normal for teenagers to run away from home and fabricate false documents to fool the authorities when they questioned you.  It wasn't normal for little girls to know so much about European witch trials and pagan rituals.

And as a pre-teen, she had known it wasn't normal to like both boys and girls.  She'd spoken with Reimu about it after her classmates had called her weird for expressing such feelings, and her father had dismissed her words.  Reimu had assured her that it was perfectly okay to feel that way, and relayed a lecture from her mother.  According to her, Reimu’s mother had told her that she felt the same way, and she had told Reimu that she might like different people than those around her, feel different from those around her, and it would always be okay, no matter who she liked or what she felt.  That talk from Reimu’s mother, delivered second-hand via Reimu was the closest Marisa had ever gotten to feeling maternal warmth, until she met Izumi.

(Marisa had asked Reimu if she liked boys, girls or both, and Reimu had responded that she didn't like anyone, at least not like they were discussing.  Almost seven years later, and Marisa still didn't know how she should take that, and had never had the courage to revisit the subject.)

Each of her 'oddities' had compounded as she was growing up, but her father had tolerated most of them as quirks of having to raise his child alone.  He let most of them slide, rationalized her strange interests and sexuality as "phases" she would grow out of.  

Until she didn't.  

One day, he had just exploded at her, yelled and screamed about her 'perversions' and 'abnormalities'.  That was when she had run away, and stayed with Reimu until she found another place to live.  Looking back, her memory told her that refusing to accept a playdate with a boy in her class had been what set him off, but her memory from that time in her life was something of a jumble.  She found it an acceptable narrative, even if, in the back of her mind, she knew it probably wasn't true, and she was certain she didn’t have the whole story.  

Marisa was so absorbed in her spiral of memories and contemplations that she did not notice the other distracted pedestrian moving the opposite way on the sidewalk, while the other girl was too absorbed trying to sort several books in her arms and bag, so she failed to notice the witch walking towards her until the inevitable happened.  They collided, sending both of them tumbling down to the sidewalk, books scattered as they both landed with a crunch.

"I'm sorry," they both said as they sat up.  Marisa had tumbled sideways and landed on her hip, whereas the other tall girl had fallen face-first, landing on her books and scraping the bottom edge of her palms on the concrete.  A few bystanders and fellow pedestrians stared at both of them, but no one moved to help.

Marisa sat up and felt the inside of her coat where she had landed and felt something grind.  She felt one of her coat pockets grow slightly damp, and realized one of her component ampules probably cracked and was leaking.  Whatever it was, she'd have to deal with it in a bit, but she had time; she wasn't stupid enough to carry anything truly dangerous around with her.  She instinctively started gathering up books, before she even noticed the other girl.

She was tall, even with both of them sitting on the ground, Marisa could tell.  She was dressed modestly, with a cream-colored dress sweater over a patterned blouse, and a long, blue skirt over leggings, with simple Mary-Jane shoes.  No earrings or rings, but a small bracelet shaped like a snake and a woven hair decoration that resembled a frog's face.  Her hair itself was long and straight, but curled inward at the end.  It was black, but Marisa saw streaks of faint green in it, and a faint tint of green at the curling edges along her back and around her shoulders.

Marisa inspected the two books she had grabbed.  They were textbooks, from the thickness and titles: Programming for Machinery and Industrial Design and Introduction to Robotics.   She tucked the two books under her arm and hopped up to standing.  She extended her hand into the other girl's field of vision, as an offer to help her up.

"Sorry about that," Marisa said as the girl looked at her hand, then followed her arm to see Marisa's face.  It was a round face that spoke of a bright earnestness.  Her eyes flicked up to Marisa's signature hat, but she made no comment.

"Oh, don't pay it any mind," she said, a slightly rural twang to her voice.  She grabbed her last book from the ground and accepted Marisa's hand up.  Her grip was stronger than Marisa expected, and she nearly pulled Marisa over as she pulled herself up.  Once she was standing, Marisa noticed how built she looked, she definitely seemed stronger than she had initially guessed.  Marisa chased away a thought of being held in strong arms and presented the two books to her.  (She had thought about trying to take one and run, but she had little use for these textbooks beyond scalping them to a student, which was a recipe to be caught when you stole it from another student.  Better to just sell digitally pirated versions.)

"Thank you kindly," the girl said, accepting the books and returning them to her simple canvas bag.  "Nice to run into someone with a lick of manners in Tokyo."

"Oh, you're a new arrival?" Marisa asked, deciding she had time to socialize as they both moved out of the way on the sidewalk.  Mostly, Marisa wanted to check if she could place her accent.  Not around Kyoto or Osaka, of that she was sure.  Perhaps somewhere less developed?

"Yes ma'am, been in the big city about a week now," she said.  Marisa narrowed her guesses: Sendai...or maybe Nagano?  She seemed like a farmer.  "Sanae Kochiya," she said, bowing to Marisa. "Pleased to meetcha."

Marisa's bow in return was shallower, mostly to keep from hitting Sanae with the brim of her hat. "Marisa Kirisame, the pleasure is mine.  Are you a student from the mountains out west?"

"Uhhh....yeah!" Sanae said, looking surprised.  "I thought your fancy hat was just city fashion, but are you really a wizard Kirisame-san?"

Marisa laughed, loudly and earnestly.  "Yeah, I'm a genuine amateur spellcaster."  It felt good to openly admit it, even if Sanae would take it as a joke. "No mind reading, though.  I just guessed by your accent.  Nagano, right?"

"Yes ma'am," Sanae replied.  "Farming family from Suwa, born and raised.  Got a scholarship from a new school here in Tokyo, so I got an apartment and transferred.  In fact..."  She checked her watch, on the opposite wrist to the snake bracelet.  "I'm a little turned around, do you know where Tokyo Terakoya University is?"

Marisa grinned.  So the school was offering scholarships now?  That was new.  "Sure do, I'm attending as well," she said, before pointing her down the street and giving directions and landmarks to look out for.

"I'll see you around, Kirisame-san!" Sanae said as she trotted away towards the school.

Marisa smiled and waved her fellow student goodbye as she returned to the matter of the broken plastic and fluid seeping out of her jacket pocket.  She tucked into a nearby alley to assess the damage.  It wasn't bad, as it wasn’t dangerous and there wasn't much fluid in the ampule to begin with, which was good.  The bad news was it was one of her more expensive ones: a rare spell amplification fluid called Sharix.  It wasn't dangerous, and wouldn't do much without other magic around, but it was a waste all the same.  Marisa sighed as she helded up the tiny plastic capsule, as the last of the fluid leaked down her fingers.  Well, better to use it now on a minor spell than have it come out in the wash later.

Marisa twisted the ring on her left middle finger and touched her silver pentagram necklace, and gripped the dripping pocket of her coat as she concentrated on a minor purity spell, one usually used to clean a small object or piece of clothing.  She whispered the incantation, and a small pulse of force emanated from her hand that held the pocket, as the Sharix was consumed to empower the spell.  A buzzing, tingling sensation chased up and down her skin as the purity spell scoured all of her clothes and accessories of any dirt or dust, as well as her skin and hair.  When it was done, she and her clothes were the cleanest they had ever been, her many rings and necklaces sparkling like they were new.

It was nice to be so clean so easily, but that didn’t stop Marisa from being bitter about (effectively) spending twenty-five thousand yen on a cleaning spell.  (That was black market value for Sharix.  Marisa, of course, had not actually spent that much to acquire the material, but the loss still made her scowl like she had.)

She set off for the Hakurei shrine, her mood soured.

Sanae rubbed her palms together and inspected them.  She had scraped them on the concrete, and there were scuffs that were bleeding ever so slightly.  She carried a first aid kit in her bag, so she ducked into a small fast-food joint to treat her hands before heading to class.  

She felt her left hand tingle around the wound, and up and down her arm a bit, but dismissed it as part of the injury.  Her palm was still a little damp, she assumed from the person she had just met; it was the hand Kirisame-san had helped her up with.  She had noticed that Kirisame’s hand was a little wet when she helped her up, but just assumed she had sweaty palms and said no more.  She hissed as she applied a bit of rubbing alcohol to clean the scrapes before applying the bandages, her thoughts dwelled on her new acquaintance.

Her aunt had warned her before leaving for Tokyo about all the strange people she would encounter in Tokyo.  In her telling, the city was filled with socially inept otaku, heartless business men, promiscuous women, and other ‘perverts.’  Her experience had been, predictably, more boring than her aunt’s warnings, but she still had seen plenty of odd people.  Marisa was the first she had spoken to, though, and she had been perfectly friendly, even if her fashion sense was way out there.  Had Sanae been paying attention and not absorbed in her textbook, she probably would have given the short girl dressed like a witch a wide berth.

As she finished applying the bandages to her hands, Sanae privately thanked the gods for small quirks of fate, and hoped that maybe Marisa could grow from an acquaintance at the same school into a friend, as she was terribly short on those at the moment.  

As she left the restaurant, the sting of the alcohol made it so she could not notice the tingling in her left hand spread and dissipate across her whole body before fading.  As it did, a new streak of bright green appeared in her hair, on the back of her head.

“Is it like her to be so late?”

Reimu and Sakuya were seated around the kotatsu in the Hakurei shrine’s living quarters, with Izumi sitting on the floor nearby.

“It’s not unusual, no,” Reimu replied to Sakuya.  She had shown up half an hour ago, asking if now was a good time to speak about hiring Reimu, and if she had any way of contacting Marisa.  Reimu had replied that Marisa was supposed to stop by soon, and Sakuya could speak with both of them.  (The smile Sakuya had given upon learning this made Reimu think that she somehow had already known that.)

Now they were both waiting.  Reimu had prepared some tea and minor snacks for her guest, and said guest had consumed the barest amount of both, just enough to not be rude.  Reimu had returned to her copy of the Bunbunmaru and wondered when Aya would get back to her about Izumi’s family, while Izumi read over her shoulder.  Sakuya had instead withdrawn her phone, and tapped away on it, presumably handling other business matters for her never-named ‘employer.’  

Looking over the top of the paper at her guest, Reimu thought that she clashed horribly with her surroundings.  The suit she wore for this visit was less traditional, but no less sharp and business-like: mottled gray jacket and pants, black shoes with a bright and richly blue blouse and no tie, with small blue bows on the end of her side-braids.  Her intense aura of professionalism as she tapped away on her smartphone, sitting with perfect posture in the middle of Reimu’s ratty and worn-down furniture was such a sharp contrast it almost made Reimu chuckle.  Almost.

At last, they both heard steps up the wooden stairs out front.  The front door slid open to reveal Marisa, looking weirdly cleaner than Reimu could ever remember her looking.  She was drawing breath to greet Reimu, when she spotted Sakuya also sitting at the table and froze.

“Hello, Marisa,” Reimu said, as Marisa stared at the newcomer, who stood to greet her.  “This is Izayoi-san.  She’s here with a job for us.”

Marisa stared at Sakuya for a moment as she bowed and introduced herself.  “Sakuya Izayoi.  You were investigating a building owned by my employer a few days ago, before you ran off after spotting one of our bookstore employees.”

Marisa blanched whiter than her mysteriously extremely clean blouse, as she realized what Sakuya was talking about.  She returned the bow, slid her shoes off and sat down at the table as Sakuya sat back down herself. 

“What the hell?” Marisa whispered to Reimu, who gave her a ‘not now’ look in return.

“So, Izayoi-san,” Reimu said.  “Now that we’re both here, mind telling us what you want us to do.”

Sayuka collected herself.  “I’ll be direct, then.  Someone in this city is stealing corpses from morgues.  My employer wants you to find them and stop them.”

Chapter Text

Sakuya observed their reactions carefully, to see if they might know anything about this beforehand.  The priestess was screened and cleared, but the witch was still suspect, as her history of petty larceny and sorcerous studies gave her both ample motive and means.

"What do you mean stealing corpses?" the witch said, her surprise sounding alarmingly genuine.  It was a good sign, but she was also a notorious liar, so Sakuya still needed to keep an eye on her.  "How do you just waltz into a morgue and walk out with a dead body?"

"It's easier than it seems, especially with the rise of corpse hotels," the priestess mused.  The look of shock and confusion spread from the witch to the ghost.

"I don't mean to intrude on this important meeting, but corpse what?" she said.  It seemed that the 'interview with a ghost' that Meiling had made her read in the Bunbunmaru was accurate, the ghost was a woman out of time.

"Corpse hotels are a consequence of Japan's severely over-booked crematoriums, Fukuda-san," Sakuya explained. "The changing demographics in the last twenty years means that a significant portion of Japan's elderly are now passing away from natural causes, and even with the crematoriums working as fast as they can, morgues and traditional funeral homes are running out of space.  Enter: the corpse hotel, where those who own otherwise unfavorable and empty residential buildings have converted them to hold corpses for up to a week while they await cremation, and occasionally hold the traditional overnight wake."

"There's one nearby," the priestess said. "It caused a ruckus when they set it up.  No one likes them, because they're creepy as hell, but I've been called over to perform ceremonies a few times.  Good for small families with few to attend their wakes, who don’t want to be embarrassed by a small crowd."

The witch nodded thoughtfully, taking in new information and processing it, which lowered suspicion of her even further.  If she earnestly didn't know what a corpse hotel was, then she most likely was not the culprit.

"Your intuition is correct, Hakurei-san," Sakuya added. "The corpses in question were stolen from corpse hotels, who have much less security than a real morgue."

"But why?" the ghost interjected again.  "What's the purpose?"

"Oh, there are plenty of uses for human corpses if you've got no morals," the witch said, sensing it was her turn to educate.  "Black market organ trafficking and other unsavory illegal businesses, but that's mundane.  I know of at least three magic catalysts that can only be made from parts of a human body, each of them fuel for some pretty dark spells."  Her reticence had vanished as she grew increasingly more animated, speaking about a subject she was knowledgeable in.  "There's also just old-fashioned necromancy.  If someone's raising these corpses, we'll need to know."

Best to put that notion to rest.  "As far as we're aware, the bodies themselves are not being resurrected or animated," Sakuya said.  "There's one necromancer in Tokyo, and we've vetted her.  She's not responsible for this, so we assume they're being used as a component in some spell."

The witch arched an eyebrow.  "And you believed the word of someone who raises corpses?"

"We believe that she's smart enough not to lie to my employer.  She's well aware of the consequences."

"And who is your employer, anyway?" the priestess asked.

Sakuya smiled tightly.  "My employer is the owner of the Scarlet Devil Tower, and CEO of the Koumakyou Group."

The witch whipped out her smartphone and began typing, as the priestess fixed her with a skeptical stare.

"Your boss is...Mircalla Lioncourt?" the witch said reading from what was presumably a quick internet search.

The ghost snorted at the name.  "I'm sorry, what?" she said, leaning over to check the witch's phone.  "That's not a real person."

"I mean, foreigners can have all sorts of names, Izumi," the witch said delicately, like she was trying to keep an elder from saying something offensive.  "You can't just-"

"No, I mean that's a pseudonym," the ghost said, brushing past the witch's attempted warning.  "Mircalla is the real name of the vampire in Carmilla, and Lestat de Lioncourt is the main character of Interview with a Vampire."  

Sakuya winced internally.  She had advised against that particular name being used, but Mrs. Scarlet had been insistent that no one in the Japanese business world would catch it.

"Were you a fan of vampires, Fukuda-san?" Sakuya asked, attempting a deflection.

"Yeah, I was.  In fact, I still am," she retorted, unembarrassed.  "So who runs this company that has a fake name listed as the CEO?  An unimaginative vampire?"

The two living girls looked at her expectantly.  "I know you're all about confidentiality and discretion for your 'employer,'" the priestess said.  "But I'm not working for someone unless they're being honest about what they want, and this does not inspire confidence."

Sakuya stayed silent a moment before caving to the pressure.  "Very well.  Yes, Mircalla Lioncourt is a pseudonym for my employer: a vampire by the name of Remilia Scarlet."

Sakuya reflected for a moment as the others processed this on what this would mean for her.  Remilia was careful, calculating and shrewd, but she also had a flair for the dramatic that she shared with her sister, albeit channeled very differently, and loved dramatically revealing her vampiric nature to humans.  She wanted this problem solved, but would Sakuya be reprimanded for this 'leak'?  Or would this be another thing that she had already foreseen with her strange, predictive powers?  Almost fifteen years of living under her, and Sakuya still struggled to understand her at times.

Sakuya banished the thoughts for later contemplation, and continued: "As a vampire, my employer has sensed another undead presence in the city, one that is slowly growing stronger.  Through investigation, we have connected it to the missing bodies.  It grows strong with each corpse reported stolen, but beyond that, information is limited.  That is why she wants you two to investigate with me, to pool our skills and get to the bottom of this."

The two girls gave each other a look, then turned away to discuss the proposal between themselves.  Sakuya suppressed the instinct to eavesdrop; she wasn't a rogue skulking in the shadows any more.  They finished their discussion, and turned back to Sakuya.

"Let's talk about compensation," the witch said. "What can Mrs. Scarlet offer us for our assistance?" Her use of the English honorific was clearly meant as a light jab.  Sakuka ignored it.

"My employer is possessed of considerable resources,” Sakuya said. “Am I correct in that you are currently studying how to summon demons, Kirisame-san?” Marisa gave a slight nod, her expression one of astonishment.  “We can introduce you to the one who summoned the seducer working the bookstore.  They are a mage of considerable knowledge.”

The witch had an expression that could only be called "rapturous," her now wide eyes sparking with wonder.  Sakuya turned her attention to the priestess.

"As for you, Hakurei-san, we are aware you have been having some financial difficulties relating to property tax."

The priestess reddened, and the witch snapped back to awareness and stared at her.  "You've got trouble with what, Reimu?"

The priestess sighed. "Some tax agent noticed how the name on the deed of the shrine changed to mine since my mom's been dead.  It's a whole thing about inheritance of the land, estate tax, and how the shrine might not qualify for religious exemption, since I live on the grounds... I've got to pay a lot, basically."

"And you never thought to tell me?" the witch demanded.

"Because I didn't want you hexing a government official," the priestess said, exasperated. " Again. "

"I've told you, that child services guy wasn't me-"

"Regardless," Sakuya spoke over the budding argument. "Mrs. Scarlet is prepared to solve the issue of back-taxes owed for you and secure the Hakurei Shrine as a tax-exempt religious property."

Now it was the priestess's turn to have hope light up her face.  It was subtler than the witch, but Sakuya still saw it.

"So," the witch said. "What's next?  Do we break and search for clues?"

"In a manner of speaking," Sakuya said, smiling to herself.  It had been even easier to secure their aid than she had thought it would. "I'll forward both of you an email with all the facts we've compiled about this, and meet this weekend to see what we've been able to uncover."

"I don't have an email, or phone," the priestess said bluntly.

Sakuya was caught off guard.  How had she managed to find the one adult under sixty with no phone in all of Tokyo?  She glanced over to the witch, who mouthed 'I'm working on it' to Sakuya, before speaking aloud.  "I can print her a copy, just send it to me."  She held her phone aloft to emphasize the point, and they exchanged contact information.  Sakuya was tempted to give her personal phone number, but stayed the course and gave the witch her business number.  Maybe, if all went well, they'd grow closer, but her professional obligations came first.

Sakuya sent the briefing to the witch, then stood to leave and bowed to her two new co-workers.  The priestess stood and bowed back as Sakuya moved and slipped back into her heels.  The priestess opened the door for her, and she left the dingy, run-down shrine.

 Marisa performed a flurry of research after Sakuya left, but not the kind Sakuya wanted.  She started checking the leadership of the Koumakyou Group.  Reimu listened as, with the additional internet searches and some aid from Izumi’s knowledge of vampire literature, they discovered that most former CEOs were constructed from names of various vampire characters.

“I never knew you had a soft spot for this kind of thing,” Reimu commented, while preparing more tea.  “You were so casual when you asked about vampires last week.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a recent passion for me,” Izumi said, pacing about.  “I loved them so much when I was a teenager, then I grew up.”

“Well, lucky for us, you still know all of the names, and were able to catch her on that,” Marisa said, still scrolling on her phone.  “Speaking of her, how do you know her, Reimu?”

“She followed you here after you discovered that incubus,” Reimu said, pouring more green tea for Marisa and herself. “She stopped by and we had a little chat after you left.”

“Anything I should know?” Marisa asked.

Reimu contemplated revealing Sakuya’s parentage, but it seemed… insensitive.  Sakuya had not sworn her to secrecy, but the fact that she revealed her family history to her only because they were entwined told Reimu that it was a secret shared meant as a show of good will, so Reimu opted to withhold that information from Marisa.  If Sakuya wanted her to know, she would tell her.

“No, not really,” Reimu said, as casually as she could manage.

“Do you really think she’s being honest?” Marisa asked.  “This whole ‘teaming up to catch a body snatcher?’”

“I do.  There was an article on a missing corpse in the Bunbunmaru News last week,” Reimu said. “Seems like we might be ahead of Aya for once.”

Silence fell for a moment, before Marisa spoke again.  “The vampire’s name was 'Scarlet,' right?”  Reimu and Izumi nodded an affirmative.  “Think she’s related to Flandre Scarlet?”

“Who?” asked both Izumi and Reimu.  Marisa rolled her eyes, tapped twice on her phone and handed it to Reimu.

“Flandre Scarlet,” Marisa explained.  “Is a young fashion designer who’s been making waves recently.”

Reimu inspected the phone.  It appeared to be a short article about the girl Marisa described.  There was only a small headshot of her, but it showed a girl in her mid-teens, with very bright blonde hair pulled into a curled side-tale, and stylish yet professional glasses.

“She’s been signed with the Koumakyou Group since she started creating dresses and outfits two years ago,” Marisa said, summarizing the brief passage Reimu was reading. “She’s slated to get her own brand soon.  Think ‘Remilia’ is another false name, or are they related?”  The article was filled with examples of Flandre’s work, all of it the same trendy nonsense Marisa liked to clothe herself in, but Reimu’s eyes lingered on a picture of a red dress with a delicate rainbow of crystals on the side.  She reached the end and returned the phone.

“I don’t really think it matters,” Reimu said. “We have a job to do, and I need to handle these taxes somehow.”

Marisa's look soured as she accepted her phone back.  "How bad is it?"

Reimu sighed.  She really didn't want to discuss this with Marisa, but Sakuya just had to blurt it out in front of her.  "It's bad, but manageable.  Apparently with all the drama around my child services handler and the reading of my mom's will, the shrine wasn't properly re-zoned as a religious building, which means it's now subject to inheritance tax in passing from her to me, and all sorts of other nonsense."  Reimu huffed.  "Would have been nice if someone didn't curse Touji-san to be so sick, then maybe he could have handled that for me."

Marisa looked pained. "I know you think I did that to him, but I could barely curse a rat at that point in my studies, there's no way I could have given a human cancer."

It was true, Marisa had barely begun her magical studies at the time, but the timing of his diagnosis was so convenient that Reimu had just assumed that Marisa had tried a spell far above her level and had cursed him as a 'favor.'

A few months ago, she had received a card from Touji Hishakaja, the man who had been assigned by the state as her social worker, announcing his slow recovery.  A stressed-out and massively overworked man, he'd been diagnosed with stomach cancer not one month after he'd been assigned Reimu's case.  She remembered complaining to Marisa that a stranger was going to take her away from the shrine her family had lived in for generations, so that she could take care of herself.  Then two weeks later, he'd told her she would be getting a new manager, due to his illness.  The new manager never materialized, and she spent her teenage years with no guardian, falling through the cracks of the system.

(Looking back, now, she could almost laugh at herself; nine years old and claiming she was ready to care for herself.  If not for the community's generous donations and Y's shogi token, she'd be destitute.)

At first, she had thanked the gods, but that didn't last.  She'd needed Marisa's help to forge a few documents for the local schools she had attended, and Touji's family still stopped by the shrine to donate, despite the strain his illness put on them.

It was her visit to his house for a blessing that had turned her around on the idea of her 'luck' with his cancer.  It was one thing to hear that the man that would be running your life for you was too ill to manage you, it was another to visit his house and see him bedridden, in massive pain, but still concerned for your well-being.  Reimu was a bad liar and she hated to do it, and the guilt of telling the sickly, jaundiced and barely-coherent Touji that her life was just fine under her new social worker still ate away at her, even years after the fact. 

That was when she'd started to resent what she thought was Marisa's part in it.  But now, taking a step back, and knowing what she knew now about how magic and curses worked, it didn't make sense that Marisa was responsible.

"You're right, Marisa," Reimu said wearily.  "I'm sorry for blaming you." 

"I forgive you, Reimu," Marisa said.  "Gods know I would be suspicious in your shoes."

But to Reimu, that left a larger question: assuming it wasn't just a stroke of exceptional luck (good or bad, she wasn’t sure), who was responsible?  She recalled her recent letter from Y... and the one she had gotten after her mother had died.  Was Y responsible for Touji's diagnosis?

Reimu shook her head as she abandoned those thoughts; it would only lead to more questions, questions she could not afford to entertain at the moment.

"I'm gonna go stop by Suzunaan and print out this handout she mailed me," Marisa said, holding up and wiggling her phone.  She stood up, gave Reimu a squeeze on the shoulder as she passed by and retrieved her hat and boots.

"Be back soon," and she left.  Reimu enjoyed the silence for a moment, before realizing that the room was too quiet.

"Izumi?" Reimu said to the empty room.  Izumi reappeared, sitting in a corner of the room.

"Discussion's over?" Izumi asked, a sad kind of smirk on her lips.

"You don't have to excuse yourself like that whenever we talk," Reimu said, standing up to go wash the teapot.

"I appreciate the invitation, but if I become aware of any more of you kid's drama, I'm going to have to officially become your ghost mom," Izumi said, half-sarcastically.

Reimu smiled as she rinsed the pot. "Sorry to put your family on the back burner again."

"Stop apologizing for that, Reimu," she said. "There's no rush.  I'm dead, after all."

Reimu's fingers brushed the mark on her wrist. "Yeah," she said, distantly.  "No rush..."

Chapter Text

Her errand completed, Sakuya made her way back to her place of employment and residence.  Along the way, she reflected on her recent acquaintances.  The priestess was reliable and forthright, if highly unmotivated.  Luckily, she could dangle the prospect of 'fixing' her finances in front of her to get her to jump.  The witch was inherently more unpredictable, and Sakuya's early life made her distrust her automatically, but her ambition gave her focus.

Then there was the ghost.  Sakuya didn't know what to make of the ghost.  She still had her training regarding spirits and the proper way to exorcise them sequestered away in the back of her head, but beyond that, she was... nice?  Pleasant, but highly protective of the witch and priestess.

Walking down the street, she wondered what it would be like to be haunted like that.  She imagined her father, watching helplessly as she served an alchemist, a demon and vampires.  His shock, indignation and rage might be strong enough to kill him all over again, she morbidly mused.  But having to listen to his incoherent screaming in her ear... No, no sense of retribution or revenge was worth that.

Before she knew it, she had arrived back at the street corner nearest the Scarlet Devil Tower.  She had business before she reported back to Remilia, so she circled the block and took the steps up to the library.

It was an adjacent building with a skyway over to the Tower on the second floor.  It was also owned by the Koumakyou Group, but it was managed and run by a wizard who was also an alchemist, archivist and librarian.  They had apparently completed their alchemical magnum opus centuries ago, been entombed and sealed away by witch-hunters during the process and then uninterred by Mrs. Scarlet a little over one hundred years ago, and served as something of a magical advisor and modern court mage ever since.

She passed two teenage boys leaving the library and slipped in the door behind them.  It was a magnificent structure, a grand, four-story building, whose plain edifice belayed the elegantly new-age gothic interior.  The heavy use of polished bronze, rich red wood, and faux-gas lamps let one imagine themselves to be a guest at a lavish European manor.

It wasn't very busy at the moment, just a single person at the front desk: a teenage girl checking out a small stack of manga.  The staff member helping her out was one of the college interns, and upon seeing Sakuya he pointed up.

"They're on the second floor, non-fiction, Izayoi-san," the young man said.  She gave him a professional nod and walked past the desk, up the stairs and to the section he indicated. 

It was there that she found the resident alchemist, Patchouli Knowledge (not their real name.)  They were a slight, androgynous figure, clad in a black tank top, long purple cardigan, and a darker purple skirt, with leggings patterned with various alchemical symbols Sakuya half-remembered.  Their long, pale violet hair was straight, with a red ribbon and blue ribbon tied into it on either side, and a golden crescent moon hair clip above their forehead, to match the silver sun brooch pinned to the opposite side of their cardigan.  At Sakuya's approach, they looked up from reading a book in a language she didn't recognize, but did not rise from their seat nestled in a corner of one of the reading areas, their sharp, angular face and lavender eyes assessing her.

"What brings you here now?" they asked, the normally cold edge to their voice softened ever so slightly.  Of the supernatural staff Mrs. Scarlet had in her employ, Sakuya had always had a somewhat tense relationship with the librarian; even the demon they had summoned as hired help was more friendly with Sakuya.  She tried not to take it personally, Remilia kept them around for their skills and resourcefulness, not their demeanor.

"I've just come to inform you that the amateur magician accepted the offer," Sakuya said, her tone cool and professional.

The librarian quirked an eyebrow in confusion.  "What magician?"

Sakuya felt her stomach sink.  "The local witch who wants to know how to summon demons," Sakuya said. "The one you agreed to give tomes and spells to, Knowledge-san."  She was trying to hone her voice very carefully on a tone of 'we spoke about this previously and you agreed, but are always distracted' without tripping into outright 'patronizing.'

"Oh, yes," they said, waving their hand around, and Sakuya's stomach unclenched.  "Koakuma told me.  Sure, they can look at my private library."  They looked back at Sakuya with a smirk.  "Remi still doesn't want me to look into this matter?"

"She prefers that a local investigation be carried out by locals."

"Of course she does," they said. "Do you have the new crop of interns ready to review?"

Sakuya bowed. "It will take a bit longer to compile the list, but we will send it to you as soon as it's ready."  The alchemist waved her off, and Sakuya made her exit, giving quiet thanks that the interaction went so smoothly.

They were always so cold and detached, it was no surprise that among the staff and associates of the library and tower, they and Sakuya were the least close.  They weren't hostile, but they weren't friendly either.  It didn't help that Sakuya didn't know what they were.  

Her ability to see if a person was human or not was... rough around the edges.  She could always tell if someone was not human, but knowing what they actually were was a lot of guesswork and intuition.  The ritual and concoction her father given her to induce the "family gift" wasn't reliable, and while it had given Sakuya the hoped-for ability (and turned her hair silver like his), it had not worked for her father when he had taken it as a child, so she was left with no guide or teacher on how to parse what she saw.  After much study she'd figured out what ghosts, vampires, demons, and even a few Youkai looked like to her, but the librarian remained tight-lipped as to their nature.  The best Sakuya could figure was that they were very much similar to a human... but somehow more than human.

She circled the balconies of the second floor, and crossed the skyway to the satellite bookshop that the librarian had set up in the tower, mostly out of boredom.  Voile they had named the store, and it was run alternately by their demon familiar or newcomers to Remilia's employment, before they washed out or were promoted to middle managers.

The demon's true name was known only to the alchemist, so they had been given the pseudonym Koakuma, meaning 'little devil.'   They wore a tall, mature female form today, and a tight-fitting blouse, vest and skirt combo over their wider body to draw in those customers who preferred older women.  They seemed to change forms daily, never quite the same body twice.  When Sakuya was younger, she had asked them what they really were and what they really looked like, and the demon had responded that body and gender were just choices and tools for their kind.  It was... eye-opening for her younger self.

"Hello, Izayoi-san," they casually greeted her, while stocking a shelf with copies of a new fantasy series.  "Need anything?"

"Nothing, right now, Koakuma.  Thank you," Sakuya returned, and passed through the store.

Her rapport with the demon was the relationship Sakuya was most surprised she had nurtured.  They were flirty, but they never made any real advances on Sakuya, always respecting her boundaries.  She'd been suspicious of them back in her youth (her programming to distrust and loathe all supernatural creatures was fresh and intact back then) but the two of them had reached something of a mutual understanding when they'd explained why they were so loyal to the alchemist.

"I've been summoned by hundreds of two-bit warlocks, mages and conjurers over the centuries, little blossom," they'd explained.  "Each of them were only looking for a companion to sleep with or an agent that might seduce and destroy an enemy.  Master Knowledge is the only one who summoned me and gave me a choice.  Granted, I still have to serve them, to help with the library and various bits of magical research, but it was the first time in centuries that someone even asked me what I wanted, and I’m free to leave and return to Makai at any time. I’m here because I want to be, because it's nice to do something outside what you’re told you were meant to do."  They had given Sakuya a knowing look.  "Don't you agree?"

Sakuya exited Voile and rode the escalator up to the third floor of the tower to meet with her last contact before taking the elevator up to the penthouse.  She navigated to the exercise studio labeled Shanghai Alice and the adjoining teahouse/café named simply Shanghai Teahouse.   Inside the studio, Sakuya could see the person leading the others in their cool-down activities as the class wound down before breaking.

Meiling Hong was a towering figure, almost two meters tall, and with her bright, fiery red hair that stretched almost down to her legs, she was never left wanting for attention, and the stretches she was demonstrating for the rest of the class drew even more attention.  Her fitness and exercise classes were attended by an even split of those looking to leer and drool over her muscular body, and those who were looking to emulate her impressive figure, though if push came to shove, Sakuya guessed the breakdown would be a lot more like a Venn diagram with health overlap than a clean 50/50 split.  Not that Sakuya could blame any of those in attendance, in her green sports bras and bicycle shorts, she was hard to ignore.  She had apparently been the guardian and groundskeeper of Remilia's residence, back when she lived in a European manor, and Sakuya did not doubt it for a second.  

Meiling spotted Sakuya waiting by the entrance, her bright blue eyes lit up and a smile crept across her round face as she gave her a small nod.  She finished her current set of stretches and dismissed her class.  She toweled off and slipped into a green track jacket and pants, entertaining a few questions from the attendants who stuck around, before walking over to chat with Sakuya.

"Hey there, Sakuya!" she said in English, her diction excellent, but her Chinese accent thick.  Many mocked her for her accent, but she took it all in good stride, seeing as she spoke the second-most languages amongst all the staff (second only to the librarian, who appeared to speak all languages.) The two of them often spoke in different languages to practice and keep each other sharp. (Japanese was Sakuya's third language, and English was her second.)  Meiling delighted in learning at teaching, and she had absorbed a huge amount in her world travels, which appeared to have lasted several centuries.  Sakuya wasn't sure what she was, but she claimed to be a "dragon-blooded human."  

"Good day, Meiling," Sakuya said. "Have you received the shipment of new teas yet?"  Meiling ran both the exercise studio and the connected teahouse as an alternative to the coffeeshops on the other floors of the tower.

"Sure did, and they're excellent," she responded.  "How did the meeting with the locals go?"

"Better than expected," Sakuya admitted.  "You were right, that interview with a ghost was exactly about her."

Meiling laughed, and slung an arm around Sakuya's shoulder, attempting to direct her for a cup of tea, which Sakuya decided she should accept.

Meiling had been the one who had raised her, after she'd been taken in.  Remilia supervised her, but they all had decided that since Meiling was the only one the Tower's supernatural residents that Sakuya hadn't been trained to kill, she was the best choice to ease her back to a more normal life.  As a teenager, Sakuya had realized the second reason Meiling was chosen: if Sakuya became violent and unruly (which had happened once or twice in the early days) Meiling’s mastery of martial arts meant she was the one young Sakuya literally could not harm, no matter how hard she tried.  Thus, Meiling was the member of the staff she had the most casual relationship with.  Meiling had tried to be a mother to Sakuya, but had ended up more of an older sister role.

They finished their tea and mid-day chat, so Meiling ducked away for a shower, and Sakuya made her way over to the private elevator on the first floor, straight up to her employer's residence.  She swiped a keycard to call and open the elevator, then fished out and inserted an old-fashioned iron key to operate the elevator.  Apparently, it was a replica of the key to the gate of the original Scarlet Devil Manor somewhere in Europe, and Remilia had made it a point to have the private elevator to her penthouse require the same key.  The librarian had once warned Sakuya that all vampires were excessively dramatic creatures, and every time she rode this lavishly decorated elevator up, she was reminded of how right they were.

The chime announced her arrival and she stepped out into a darkened foyer.  The motion sensors picked up her entrance, and the stylish interior of the penthouse lit up.  It was much like the other up-scale living spaces in Tokyo: lavish furnishings, minimalist shape-language and high ceilings.  The choice of a bright, scarlet red for most walls was out of the ordinary, and the thick, sunproof curtains that were currently drawn closed to darken the interior were also strange, but all that made sense for the residence of two vampires, for whom sunlight was a dangerous, but not instantly lethal hazard.

Sakuya brushed her hand on an ornate, winged spear mounted on the wall, and made her way to the right, to check on one of her responsibilities.  She approached the door to the study and knocked, and heard a faint mumble from inside.  She opened the door to find her employer’s younger sister, Flandre Scarlet, nearly asleep at her desk.  

She was young-looking, appearing to be a girl of no more than thirteen or fourteen at most times, but just like her sister, she was over five hundred years old.  Asleep at the desk, in the artificial light of the study’s massive screens that were meant to simulate a daytime view of Tokyo, she looked exactly the part of the child she appeared to be, dressed in red and white casual loungewear, her long blonde hair scattered over the sketchbooks and scraps of fabric from her clothing designs.  Her subtly pointed ears and fangs were clues as to her vampiric nature, but the dead giveaway on her lack of humanity were her “wings.”  Sticking from slots in the back of her shirt was the strangest part about her; rather than leathery bat wings, Flandre’s wings took the form of branch-like protrusions from her back, with a collection of colored crystals that hung in intervals down their length.  The crystals  were arranged by color, roughly like rainbow glass wind chimes.  She could bend and flex them  to hide them under clothing, but they were just as much a part of her body as anything else.  Sakuya had never gotten an explanation from anyone about them, but Flandre had let slip something about a ‘curse’ once, but nothing more.

The designs on the table were intriguing, full of elegant dresses and stylish jackets, many with the rainbow crystal motif of her wings.  Sakuya sighed down at the form of the sleeping girl, and carefully scooped her up in her arms.  Vampires didn't work on human’s twenty-four hour schedule, she had learned.  Rather, they were active for a week or two at a time, then rested for several days in their coffins.  Flandre had been pushing three weeks straight as she feverishly worked to produce more designs for the fashion line she had wanted, and Sakuya had expected to crash any day now.  Her crystal-wings chimed as Sakuya carried her back to her room.  Her pale skin was soft, but as cold as a corpse.

Flandre’s eyes fluttered open, revealing her slitted pupils, red irises, and black sclera.  “I’m sorry,” tumbled sleepily out of her mouth.  “Please get my designs sent over, Sakuya-san…”  With that, her eyes slid back closed, and she nodded off.  Sakuya smiled at the gentle demeanor of the small girl who could tear her apart if she wanted.  She left the vampire in her coffin in her garishly over-decorated room and made a mental note to scan the outfit designs she was working on and get them emailed over to the tailors.

The sister entombed, Sakuya made her way to the entertainment center, where her employer and master waited: Remilia Scarlet.  She was seated in a reading corner, reviewing documents on a tablet as a gentle modern love song played on the sound system.  She was slightly older-looking than her sister, but still looked like a young teenager.  Her powder-blue hair was cut short in a wavy bob, and contrasted with her midnight black bat wings that were folded down atop her dress.  She wore a dark red and black gothic lolita dress, the closest thing modern Tokyo had to the fashion and outfits of her home country, from centuries passed.

She looked up from her tablet and gave Sakuya a slight smile that still warmed her heart.  Her relationship to this vampire was the most complicated, as Remilia had spared her life and taken her in over a decade ago, and the rare praise and affection from her was what kept Sakuya going.  The cynical edge she had developed over the years told her she was still the same scared ten-year-old girl, desperate for approval and love that her father had never given her, but she silenced those thoughts with a ruthlessness that would have earned her father’s approval.

“Welcome back, Sakuya,” Remilia said, turning down the volume on the music.  “Anything to report?”

“I set Flandre to rest,” Sakuya said.  “And I’ll be handling her design documents tonight.”

“I see,” Remilia said with the most polite disinterest possible at this non-news. “How did the meeting with the mage and priest go?” 

“Very well, ma’am,” Sakuya said.  “Both of them were as motivated by the rewards you can offer as you predicted.”

“Excellent,” Remilia said, leaning back and scratching at her chin. “Those two will prove quite useful as contacts, especially the priestess.  Her family has been here for generations, something tells me her knowledge of the locals will let her recognize whoever’s responsible, upon investigation.”

“If I may be so bold, ma’am,” Sakuya said, as she moved to start a kettle of tea in the attached kitchenette.  “What is the nature of this undead threat, exactly?”

“If I knew exactly, we wouldn’t be hiring street rats to dig in the muck for clues,” she responded.

“So there’s no place to start, beyond the bodies being stolen coinciding with it ‘growing’?” Sakuya asked, retrieving the red raspberry leaf tea, Remilia’s favorite to drink while she read and answered emails.

Remilia set her tablet down on the nearby table and paused, heaving a deep sigh.  “It’s not an easy thing to describe.  I can always feel every other undead in a wide radius.  Flandre, recovering in her room, the servant of that depraved hermit, the ghost-lights that haunt cemeteries, the spirit that haunts that local priestess…  I can always feel them, like pinpricks in the back of my mind.  If I concentrate on them I can determine something of their nature, but without knowing more outside of my sense of this, I can’t easily correlate what I can feel to learn more. It’s like… hearing a voice for the first time.  You can’t know too much about the person speaking, but once you meet them and learn more beyond the sound of their voice, you can pick them out of a sea of other voices.  But this new presence… well, perhaps it’s not new, but just so old I never noticed it before and only now that it’s growing more powerful do I feel it.  It’s not like any undead I’ve felt before… It feels like…”  She visibly struggled to describe it.  “Like, a massive, unfocused force.  Like an ache in your body that has no origin.  It feels like the presence of a ghost possessing a human, but… reversed somehow.  Both living and dead, two things and one, or maybe something else…”

Sakuya mulled that over in her head for a moment.  A union of life and death was nothing new, that was standard ghostly possession but for the living to possess the dead?  What could that mean?  Even consulting the monster-hunting lessons of her father yielded nothing.  

The water had reached the appropriate temperature, so Sakuya began steeping the leaves.

“Hopefully, it will all make sense when we find whomever is responsible,” Sakuya said.

“Hopefully,” Remilia repeated, her voice lacking any hint of hope.

Chapter Text

"No, Marisa."

The woman had spoken just as Marisa had opened her mouth, but before she had even said anything.

"I'm in no mood for idle gossip today," she said.

"What if I was a paying customer, would you gossip then?" Marisa propositioned.

Yuuka Kazami's eyebrow arched. She was a tall woman, easily over a hundred and eighty centimeters, with a slim but solid and slightly top-heavy figure; something about the way she moved and stood just let you know she could break your arm as easily as she trimmed a stem on her flowers.  She had long, wavy hair that was mostly green, but as it tumbled past her shoulders streaks of color were woven in.  Rich yellows and cool blues, and a single vein of a dark red that ran up the back of her head.  Her bright red eyes were ringed by hints of purple, and they stared down at Marisa from across the counter with polite skepticism.  She was dressed in a white shirt, with a red and black plaid-patterned shawl wrapped about her shoulders, slim-fit jeans and high-top boots.

"Very well," she said, conceding. "What are you looking for?"  The colorful florist was assembling bouquets for the day, as business was slow after the morning rush.  She finished a bundle of sunflowers (her specialty), printed a price tag, and set them out for sale next to the other bundles.  The décor of her flower shop was both sleek and rustic.  Thin glass vases for sale, alongside a wrought-iron stand that held the individual bouquets and potted plants; hyper-minimalist modern shelving that held plants in ornate, old-fashioned clay pots.

"Give me a bouquet of... some sunflowers, yours are always the best," Marisa said, attempting her best flattery.  "With some lilies."

"Ah, a classic combination," Yuuka said. "What's the special occasion?"

"An investigation," Marisa said, stretching herself slightly to rest her elbows on the tall counter between her and Yuuka.  "I'm looking for information on stolen corpses."

"Human corpses?" Yuuka asked.

"Do you know of any other corpses around Tokyo?" Marisa retorted.

Yuuka held up one of the lilies she was handling, and gestured to it.  "I know of plenty.  You're surrounded by them, in fact."

Marisa felt a chill run down her spine, which was not an uncommon occurrence when one was around Yuuka.  Both Marisa and Reimu could tell that the florist wasn't human, but her true nature and motives remained a mystery, like many of the supernatural residents of Gensokyo.  She loved flowers, and ran the shop Gensokyo Flowers, Past and Present, but beyond that nothing about her was certain.  She had an oddly vicious personality that could turn from sweet to macabre without breaking stride, like a lost member of the Addams family who had discovered the concept of color.

"The slowly draining, dismembered bodies of several dozen plants line my shelves," Yuuka said, as casually as if they were discussing which shade of paper to wrap the bouquet in. "So if you wish to discuss corpses, you have stepped into a floral abattoir." She continued to arrange Marisa's order.

"I...uh..." Marisa was temporarily stunned.  "I didn't know you viewed selling flowers so... uh... macabre."

"Macabre?" Yuuka repeated.  "Oh no, death is a natural part of life.  It's beautiful.  The way the scent and coloration of a rose changes after it is cut is a delicate process, as beautiful to behold as the way a human's lividity changes after they die.  Death is an exquisite process, multifaceted in its splendor."

There was a very long pause as Marisa wanted to move away from the counter, but was afraid to move, while Yuuka finished selecting flowers for the bouquet and moved on to arranging them.

"A-anyway..." Marisa attempted to continue, taking a step back from the tall counter.  "You haven't heard anything strange lately?"

Yuuka adopted a smile of condescension. "Dear Marisa, you know what neighborhood this is, right?  Should I start with the most recent strangeness, or should I list the occurrences alphabetically?"

"I mean... something different.  Something bigger."  Marisa gestured upward and outward, vaguely trying to convey the scale she was thinking of.

Yuuka contemplated that for a moment as she finished arranging the flowers and began to wrap them.  "I have heard word of something sinister lately."

Marisa perked up.  "From who?"

"From the flowers," Yuuka said, running a gentle finger along the edge of one of the sunflowers.  Marisa deflated slightly, but still listened.  She'd heard the gossip of the flowers from Yuuka before, and it was rarely useful.  "Something ancient is stirring.  They all whisper of a vast hunger and deadly beauty that gnaws at the edge of their souls."

Marisa blinked.  "Flowers have souls?"

Yuuka smiled a smile back that was both sweet and wicked.  "Some like to think they do.  I don't have the heart to tell them otherwise."  She finished wrapping the bouquet and tied the bottom.  "That will be thirty-five hundred yen, dear.”

Marisa paid and took her bouquet of sunflowers and lilies, dodged a small pedestrian with scraggly brown hair who wanted into Yuuka's shop as she was trying to exit, and set off for her next appointment.  She hoped the flowers might make a decent gift for one of her other contacts, wondering if she could maybe get Sakuya’s employer to reimburse her for this and everything else she had bought while scouring the city for word of the theft of the bodies.  She had spent the whole day searching; she’d visited Sannyo Komakusa-dayuu’s “pachinko parlor”/sports bar, old man Rinnosuke’s second-hand store, and now Yuuka’s flower shop.  She’d even stopped by Aya’s office for some basic questions, but was informed that she was out of town on business.  Marisa decided to stop by the orphanage, run by Sannyo’s sister Nemuno, as her last stop before heading to class.  It’d be a good place to offload the flowers, at the very least.

Marisa really hoped that Reimu was having better luck on her end.

Reimu really hoped that Marisa was having better luck on her end.

"No, no," the fairy on her table shouted.  "We saw the dead squirrel last yesterday."

"Is last yesterday two days ago?" asked another.

"Nu-uh!  It's eight days ago," argued the third.

Reimu sighed, setting down the orange she was peeling and rubbed her temples.  Speaking with fairies was always a chore.  Since they flew all over the city observing and pranking whoever they came across, they knew quite a bit about what was going on.  The trick was teasing anything useful out of them.  She'd been at this for almost fifteen minutes straight.

The figures arguing on her table were between fifteen and twenty centimeters tall, each with the proportions of a human adolescent, but each with some form of wings on their backs.  They were dressed in a terrific hodgepodge of clothing stolen from dolls and action figures, and custom clothing made just for them.

"It was right after I buzzed that apartment doorbell like five times, and made the man scream!" said Cirno, the self-styled leader of the three fairies.  She was an ice fairy, and it showed in her baby blue hair and eyes, skin that was pale like snow, and wings that were the shape of snowflakes, made of delicate frost crystals that produced the slightest mist.  She was the shortest of the three, and her outfit was a miniature sailor school uniform, blue and white with a red bow around the neck, undoubtedly pilfered from some anime figurine.  "I remember because I wanted to set the dead squirrel on his doorstep."

"That would have been really mean, Cirno-san," said Daiyousei, the middle member in height and the relative voice of reason of the group.  She was a nature fairy, one of flowers and grass.  Her long green hair was tied into a ponytail with one of the tiny elastic bands used for orthodontic braces.  She wore a simple, deep blue dress with green trim, crafted for her by the Dollmaker, with a gap in the back for her leaf-like butterfly wings.  "We should have given him candy, think how happy he would be!"

"We should get candy after this!" said Summer Blaze, the tallest of the group and the foil to Cirno (In his head, anyway.  Cirno was most often too oblivious to notice their supposed rivalry.)  His orange-gold hair was very short, with darker, tanned skin.  He wore what looked like miniature swim trunks and sandals, and his wings were in the shape of a dragonfly's wings, but made of a fine filament like a space heater's coils, which appeared to glow a very faint orange, as they channeled a gentle heat.  He never wore shirts, for they would always catch fire when his wings got too hot. "We should go grab candy and then eat it all by the river while looking for bugs."

"No, we should leave some of it by that little girl's window," Cirno countered.

"Maybe we should only take a little candy, but do it every day this week," Daiyousei offered.

“Why only a little, we should take a lot of it!”

“Yeah, and throw it all out in the street, so that when it melts, it makes everyone’s shoes sticky.”

“That’s stupid, Summer.  It’s autumn, it’s not gonna melt!” 

“Who are you callin’ ‘stupid’, you idiot?”

“Oh yeah?  You want some?” Cirno began to roll up her sleeves.

“Please, both of you, we can just get some candy, then we can give the rest to the old people at the old-people-home.”

“You’re right Dai-chan!  They love us over there!”

“When they can even see us.  Mostly they just sit around and play board games.”

Reimu held her head in her hands, as Izumi looked at the arguing fairies over her shoulder, her face a mix of fascination and parental adoration.  "They are very cute," Izumi said.

"They're a menace," Reimu corrected.

"They're precious," Izumi said. 

"They're literally an invasive species," Reimu said.

Izumi raised an eyebrow. "What?" 

"Sprites and fae aren't native to Japan, they came over on European ships," Reimu explained.  "And they upset and annoyed the native gods when they stayed."

"I see..." Izumi pondered.

"But, as annoying as they are, they're just children," Reimu said. "They may have been children for decades now, but they haven't been a real problem since my grandmother was around."  Reimu dropped her arms on either side of the table, just hard enough to startle the three fairies out of their argument.

"Kids, please," she said. "I only asked if you've heard anything about bodies being stolen."

" Steal?   We didn't steal anything!" Summer Blaze lied defensively.

"Yes we did," said Cirno.  "We took the lightbulb from that woman's porch when she..."  and the two of them descended back into argument.

"We didn't hear anything about that, Miss Reimu," Daiyousei offered, moving closer to Reimu to confide in her.  She was always the most cooperative of the three, most likely due her gratitude to Reimu.  

When the three of them had met the shrine maiden, they were trying to comfort and help the little foliage fairy, who had lost the right to her name to a rival fairy circle in some kind of fae ritual/competition that Reimu still didn't totally understand.  Reimu's introduction had begun when Cirno had flown straight through her paper-screen door and begged Reimu to give the distraught plant sprite a new name, something apparently only humans could do.  After batting both Cirno and Summer Blaze away and repairing the hole in her door, Reimu had taken pity on the sniveling, miserable fairy and given her a name.  Reimu, never all that creative, had pronounced her 'Daiyousai'; meaning simply 'greater fairy.'  She was overjoyed and grateful for her new name, and the three troublemakers had become frequent visitors of the shrine, stopping by every other week to chat or request sweets or gossip about other fairy circles.

“Have you seen anything extra strange around the city, then Daiyousei?” Reimu asked, determined to learn at least one useful thing from this visit. “Maybe something at night?”

The fairy contemplated for a moment.  “There was someone sneaking by a street late at night.  Someone in all-black clothes.  I couldn’t really see them that well…”

“Where?” Reimu asked.

“Um…” A look of distress crossed Daiyousei’s face, as she struggled with the thought.  “I’m sorry, Miss Reimu.  I don’t remember which street…”

“That’s okay, Daiyousei.” Reimu said. “If you remember or if you see anything else, make sure and tell me, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Reimu,” Daiyouisei said, still looking crestfallen at being unable to help.  Reimu returned her attention to the other two fairies.

“What about playing in the leaves?” Cirno offered, as she and Summer Blaze’s argument had transformed into making plans.  “I saw some piles raked up on the way here!”

“You can, but they always smolder and catch fire on my wings, and Miss Reimu said not to make fires,” he said. 

“I did say that, very good Summer,” Reimu said, patronizingly.  “Now, how about each of you take an orange slice, then go sneak in and watch a movie at the theater.”  She had finished peeling the orange, and offered three slices in her hand.  Each of the fairies took one, before Cirno pulled the front door of the shrine open with a great heave, before the other two flew out, chowing down on their slices.

“Thank you for the orange pieces, Miss Reimu,” Cirno said. “I’ll keep an eye out for dead people, just like you asked!”  With that, she fluttered outside, and shoved the door closed.

“They really are fond of you,” Izumi commented, walking close to the front door and leaning her face out through the door to watch them go.

“Yeah well…” Reimu said, scarfing down her own orange slice. “If I understand what they’ve told me about their homeland, they should have a guardian of some sort looking after them.  Some kind of archfey.  They’ve been stuck in Japan for over a century, with no authority figure.”

“They’re over a century old?” Izumi asked.

“Existentially?  Yes,” Reimu said.  “Mentally? Far from it.”  She raised her hand and made a flicking gesture near her ear.  “Like hyperactive children, in one ear; out the other.  I’ll be a miracle if any of them follow up with me.” 

“Have a little faith, Reimu,” Izumi said, chidingly.

Reimu rolled her eyes, finished her orange and got dressed to go bless a house’s new kamidana, hoping a lead would turn up soon.

Chapter Text

It had been just under two weeks since the exorcism, and Reimu was glad to finally be able to walk without the crutch.  Her recovery had been slow, but it was finally complete, and she was more than eager to get out of the shrine.

"So wait," Izumi said as Reimu gathered her supplies for blessing a kamidana. "You're blessing a household shrine that was made and installed by a different shrine?"

"No harm in double-blessing," Reimu said.  "The locals like to have me bless most things, even if I 'technically' shouldn't."

"And the gods don't get angry?" Izumi asked, her tone uncertain.

"If they do, they've never told me," Reimu answered. "True faith is scarce these days, so most gods swallowed their pride a while ago and will take whatever they can get."  Reimu pocketed her last stack of ofuda talismans, and made a mental note to ink more when she got back. 

“And what gods are around these days?” Izumi asked, finally cutting to the meat of the matter.

“Well, prayers to the really big ones are still fruitful,” Reimu said.  “Izanagi-no-Mikoto, Amaterasu, Inari Ōkami, native Ebisu and the like, but Tokyo and Gensokyo in particular have gathered a few.”

“Oh, local kami?” Izumi asked, intrigued. “Do tell.”

“The name of the god of my shrine was lost a while ago, so I just sort of make vague prayers and hope they hear me.  The local craftspeople make offerings to the Haniyamahime on occasion.  The harvest festival passed about a month ago, and we all gave thanks to the old harvest and autumn deity, Shizuha-sama, though some say she used to be two kami.”

“Do the gods change with the myths?” Izumi asked.

Reimu shrugged.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  Depends on the god.  Or gods, I suppose.”  She returned to her list of kami.  “There’s an old butterfly god from, like, the Asuka period that some families still have shrines to, called Tokoyo. I only ever met one person who had more than a single little stand devoted to it: it was this old lady who had an entire wall of a household shrine devoted to it.  She called it ‘the Uncocooned One’.”

Izumi made a noise of distress. “That sounds vaguely cult-ish.”

“Oh absolutely,” Reimu said.  “She disappeared a few years ago.  Very spooky.”

“Any others?”

Reimu paused.  She should probably get going but… instead she sat down by her table and began to think of other local gods.

“Let’s see…” She continued. “There’s the old Ryūjin dragon god, there’s the tale of the banished snake and frog gods...  Oh!  In the spring we’ll celebrate Girl’s Day and give thanks to the curse-goddess Kagayama-hime when we float Nagashi-bina paper dolls down the river.”

“We did that when I was a kid too,” Izumi said. “Never knew it was for a specific god.  And a ‘curse-goddess’?”

“She’s supposed to be like the opposite of the lucky seven kami, she curtails misfortune.  She’s said to spin away all bad luck.”

“Any others?” Izumi asked.

“Well, there’s the weird case of Matara-jin,” Reimu explained. “Old Buddhist god,  stuck around and changed over time, eventually became a kami, of sorts.  They’re a god a lot of the tengu and other weird youkai liked to pray to, and it sort of seeped back into the human majority of the community.  They’re a god of outcasts; they watch over the disabled, the poor, and those discriminated against, though the tengu say they’re a god of secrets, protecting Gensokyo.”

“Fascinating," Izumi said.  "I could listen for hours, but you should probably get going, Reimu.”

Reimu remembered her appointment, and hopped up from her table, her face burning with embarrassment.  She gathered her gohei, slipped into a coat and set out, locking the door of the shrine with the padlock Marisa had gotten her (The doors were so flimsy that any determined intruder could easily punch their way through, but it was nice to have the some kind of deterrent.)  Izumi followed, walking through the locked door and following behind her.

The whole walk, Reimu was preoccupied by Izumi.  Having another person to talk to, who knew almost nothing of the supernatural world was... refreshing.  It was nice to have company, Reimu had come to realize; especially company that would temporarily remove themselves from existence if bored or asked politely.  Reimu was growing more and more friendly with her spectral follower.

It had to end, though.

They had reached an unspoken agreement that Reimu's life came first, though Reimu felt guilty for putting her daily life and this investigation for Izayoi ahead of finding Izumi's family, though they had made progress with getting Aya to investigate.  But the longer she spent with Izumi, the less she wanted to find her family...  Komachi had not given her a time limit on this task, other than a vague warning to get it done before she died... but it felt like abusing the reaper's trust to lollygag and waste time just to play pretend family with a spirit.  That was what every spiritual instinct she had said, but the lonely child in her that still missed her mother wanted someone around, no matter who they were.

Thoughts of family and belonging lingered in the back of Reimu's mind as she moved to the more affluent part of the neighborhood, where her appointment was.  (Affluent was a relative term since it was still around Gensokyo, it was still kind of dingy and seedy, but was home to nicer, larger houses and nicer apartment complexes.)  She was on track to make her appointment, when something caught her attention she could not ignore.

The sound of crying drifted from a nearby alleyway.  The street wasn't very busy at this time, but the other few pedestrians who passed by the alley were either too preoccupied, or just ignored it.  Reimu stopped as small, choked sobs drifted into the street.  She and Izumi exchanged a worried look, then both slid into the alley.  The crying was coming from behind a small  corner/ doorway, but when she came to the corner, she found the source of the noise, and she was surprised.

Youmu Konpaku was sitting in the alleyway, curled up against the wall, arms wrapped around her legs, and her face buried in her knee.  She was still in her aquamarine hoodie (a gift from her sister), but it was worn over her school tracksuit.  Next to her stood the ghost of her older sister Youen, still dressed in the kendo uniform she died in, arms clasped, staring down at the sobbing Youmu with a look of pain and restraint, like she was biting her tongue. 

Reimu and Izumi took in the scene, and exchanged a knowing look.  Reimu gave a nod towards Youen to Izumi, and she nodded her acknowledgement back, right as Youen noticed their approach.  She quickly pointed to Youmu, herself, and made a motion of silence across her lips.  Please, please don't mention me, she silently pleaded.  Reimu nodded, but pointed towards the other end of the alley, and Izumi followed her lead and motioned for Youen to follow.  Youen debated for a moment, her face conflicted, before she acquiesced to Reimu's demand and followed Izumi around the corner. 

Reimu waited for a moment until the two ghosts were away, before speaking up.  "Youmu?"

The girl let loose a few more sniffles as she looked up at Reimu with puffy, red eyes.  She rapidly tried to clean her face, re-parting the black hair that had fallen in front of her face, and wiping away tears with her sleeve.

"Reimu-san!" she said, trying for a neutral tone of surprise, but she was unable to hide her embarrassment at being caught crying in a back alley.  "F-fancy seeing you h-here."  

Reimu knelt down next to her, taking Youmu's hands in her own, and holding them gently.  "What happened, Youmu-chan?"

She sniffed loudly, trying to clear her sinuses.  "It's nothing," she said.  "It's high school stuff, you wouldn't want to hear about it.  I'm fine, really!"

“Youmu,” Reimu said, trying to make her voice warm, yet firm. “Tell me what happened.”

Youmu sighed and gathered herself, still wiping at her wet cheek with the hand Reimu wasn't holding.  “It… I…” she didn’t seem to know where to begin. “I was just at the gardening club after school, and it was… It’s kind of just me, these days, the others are doing other stuff, and... and I haven't been sleeping well, either... and Yuzu Nakayama, she saw me struggling with the bags of fertilizer and..." A fresh sob broke out of her, and she withdrew her hand from Reimu's, to try and hide her face.

"What did she say?" Reimu asked.

"She... s-she..." Youmu stuttered, but then paused and drew up her breath to speak.  "She said that I looked like... like I was getting ready to join Youen as worm-food.  That I should hurry up and… die..."

Reimu felt anger rise in her chest.  Such things would never be acceptable to say, even years after the fact, but to tell that to a girl who's sister had died not even a year ago, that was too cruel.

"And, I mean, it doesn't even make any sense," Youmu continued, becoming animated as she spoke on a tangent.  "We cremated Youen, there's no space for real burials in Tokyo, she should know... But... it really got to me... and I just sort of ran out of school..."  She ran out of steam again, and Reimu shifted from her kneeling position, to sit next to Youmu along the wall, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

"It's nothing new, people have made bad, cruel jokes before... but I'm so tired these days, Reimu-san," Reimu could hear the exhaustion in Youmu's voice now that she had mostly stopped crying.  "Some nights I wake up from dreams I can't remember and I feel just like I did when I went to bed.  It did look like I was half-dead, when I woke up today."

It was becoming clear to Reimu that Youmu was not coping with Youen's death nearly as well as it appeared, she just had gardening to occupy her time.

"I just feel her... all the time," Youmu continued, leaning into Reimu.  "When I look at her swords, or pass by her spot at the dining table, or when I head to school... the spot where she would have seen me off... I just feel a chill."

Reimu wondered if she was actually experiencing the effects of a haunting, or if it was just normal grief.  Youen would never intentionally do anything to harm Youmu, but no ghost could fully control the effect they had on their environment.  Even Izumi occasionally dropped the temperature of the room or knocked something light off a shelf when annoyed or unsettled, and Youen was a considerably more powerful spirit.  Regardless, Reimu decided that it was time to resort to her least favorite tactic: talking about herself.

"When my mom passed away, I still felt like she was with me, even when I knew she was gone.  When I saw her picture, remembered the meals she made, or thought about how she was beginning to teach me our family history... and it took me a while to view that as a good thing, Youmu.  Or at least, not a bad thing."

Youmu sniffled and shifted in place, leaning even more into Reimu.  “I know it’s stupid…” Youmu said.  “I know it’s just… survivor's guilt… but I still think, all the time… It should have been me that died…  We still don't even know what really happened...”

“Youmu…” Reimu began.

The young gardener cut her off.  “I know it’s stupid!  But she was better than me at so much… and Mom and Dad are just so lost now.  I’ve barely spoken with my mom, and my dad is barely home… I just keep thinking that Youen would be better at connecting with them…”

“It’s okay to feel that way,” Reimu said, leaning her head to rest on Youmu’s very slightly.  Her dark hair was slightly greasier than normal.  That, alongside her fatigue and feelings of worthlessness, indicated that her self-care must have been suffering.  “But you know how sad Youen would be if she could see you.  Everyone handles grief differently, your parents will come around.”

A loud noise emanated from the street where Izumi was presumably talking with Youen, but they both ignored it.  Eventually Youen returned from the street, and Reimu could see on her face that the ‘discussion’ had not gone well.

“I have to get going,” Reimu said, realizing the time as Youen stormed back.  “Why don’t you head on home?  Take a nice long bath, get yourself cleaned up, and maybe help out with dinner or cleaning.  Just make an effort to try and talk with your parents, then head to bed if you’re still tired, okay?”  

Reimu stood and helped Youmu to her feet.  Youmu returned her proposal with a weak, “Okay.  Thank you Reimu.”  Before wandering back to the street.  Youen passed by Reimu, giving her a half-glare before continuing after her living sister.

Izumi trailed a good distance, but wasted no time once the sisters were out of sight.

“Youmu was bullied?” Izumi asked, her voice cold and focused.  The look of displeasure on her face was a new one, an expression Reimu had only seen a shadow of whenever Reimu and Marisa spoke of the danger in their lives, or the general mess of their lives.  Izumi being angry was something new.

“She was,” Reimu answered.

“Did you learn the name of the girl?” Izumi asked.

“I did,” Reimu asked, wondering if, perhaps, Izumi also wanted revenge. “I don’t think a high-sch-”

“Good,” Izumi cut her off.  Her gray eyes looked impossibly focused behind her glasses. “Go, finish the blessing of the shrine.  We have work to do afterwards.” She set off ahead of Reimu back towards the street, ahead of the living girl.

“What work, Izumi?  What are ‘we’ doing?”  Reimu asked, confused.

Izumi Fukuda’s afterlife was nothing like she expected.  A limbo of watching others live in the apartment she died, unable to learn of her daughter or fiancé, able only to unnerve or terrify those with whom she resided.  Then, after two years of that, the total abandonment was worse.  She had thought that existing apart from everyone who lived in her old apartment to be a kind of prison, but haunting an empty apartment was worse.  The isolation was maddening, and with that madness, her ghostly form distorted, and both mind and spectral body twisted together, turning her into the screaming banshee that most of the residents of the building quietly ignored.

Izumi remembered more of her time as a distorted spirit than she would ever admit to Reimu or Marisa.  She remembered scratching and clawing at the floor, pounding on the walls, knocking over chairs, only to set them upright later in a bizarre ritual of grief.  She remembered whispering in the ear of the landlord as she inspected the apartment, clawing at the legs of a tenant who’d been given the wrong key, and she remembered attacking and screaming at a clueless burglar who had climbed into the window, looking for a score.  That was what she remembered the most: the screaming and wailing.  She’d manifest, months apart, and scream and howl until she dissipated again.  Just waiting for someone to come.

And after that was her encounter with Reimu and Marisa, the supernatural not-quite-teens-anymore.  Neither with any family, both with lifestyles that made her afraid for them.  And Reimu had done something, something Izumi got the sense that even she didn’t understand, and now she could wander with her instead of being confined to the site of her death.

Thus, her new afterlife was following around a modern-day shrine maiden, who worked with her best friend the urban witch (and probably girlfriend one day, if either of them could ever be honest with each other) as they dealt with the supernatural shadow-society that lived parallel to the normal, human one.  Dealing with werewolf office workers, succubi working in shopping malls, vampire CEOs and other complete nonsense.

Her afterlife had turned from a horror movie into an urban adventure manga.  But she wasn’t a teenager, amazed by the cool monsters and magic.  She was a mother, concerned about the danger the two girls regularly put themselves in.  But she really had no choice in the matter, and the more time she spent with the two, the more they felt like her responsibility, like they were her daughters, or perhaps her nieces.

Regardless, when the two of them found the young gardener crying in an alleyway, watched by her dead sister, Izumi had understood what the look Reimu had given her meant, and guided Youen away, for a private chat.

They turned the corner of the alleyway onto the street.  It was strange, to retreat to an open street for a private discussion, but those who walked and drove by were oblivious to the two ghosts, even as one of them passed right through Izumi and shivered.  Izumi could feel something begin to tug at the core of her being; she was reaching the edge of the invisible, ectoplasmic leash between her and Reimu.  They'd tested it before, she could move about twenty-five to thirty meters away, before being dragged back.  Izumi put on her best 'concerned' face and turned to greet Youen.

"We haven't been properly introduced," she said to her fellow ghost. "I'm Izumi Fukuda."

"Youen Konpaku," she returned, tersely. "You were following Reimu around the cemetery a few days ago."  She brushed a lock of her pure-white hair behind her ear and folded her arms in disinterest. "What did she do to disturb you?"

"Oh, far from it," Izumi said. "I was trapped at the sight of my death for almost two decades, and Reimu-chan was able to remove me.  Now I'm bound to her, until we find my living family."

Youen said nothing in return, and Izumi was forced to continue.  "Reimu told me about your situation.  I'm very sorry for the difficult place you've been put in.  But perhaps, you could move on if-"

"Clearly, you weren't told enough," Youen interrupted her.  "Youmu is terrified by the mere thought of ghosts.  She always has been.  I cannot let her be harmed by anything, least of all by me."

"Surely," Izumi said. "This silent vigil will only grow more painful.  Would it not be better to break it to her now, rather than waiting until... who knows when to tell her?"

Youen snorted.  "I want you to imagine that you're re-united with your living family, that Reimu found them, and they're right in front of you.  Now imagine that when Reimu casually mentioned the idea of ghosts and spirits, they become pale and nervous.  They look around in worry, and as Reimu explains that there's a ghost in the room, they begin to sweat and shiver, they even ask Reimu to please drive it away, as quickly as possible." Youen gave her a knowing look. "Do you think you could face your family, if they were horrified by the mere idea of you?"

"I understand what you mean, but you will need to move on at some point," Izumi said.  "You-"

"I'm still here to protect Youmu," Youen cut in. "Nothing's going to happen to her while I'm around.  I have obligations I still need to fulfill."

"Then why is she crying, hiding in an alleyway?" Izumi gestured back to the space between the buildings.

"Because some piece of filth bullied her," Youen said. "She mocked her for having a dead sibling."

That was cruel, but not too far from things she'd heard in high school, twenty-five years ago.  "And you're going to protect her against that?  How?" Izumi asked.

"Oh, she's not going to be saying anything to Youmu anymore," Youen said, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

If Izumi still had a spine, she probably would have felt a chill run up it.  "What do you mean?"

"After she mocked my sister, and Youmu fled the school in tears, that bitch walked over to her little circle of gossiping hens and rich boys.  She was fawning over her boyfriend, so I reached in her stomach and squeezed, and she threw up all over her boy-toy." The hint of a smirk on Youen's face had grown into a cruel smile.

"I see..." Izumi said. Reimu had said that Youen was a particularly powerful spirit, and to exert that kind of power of the living...

"And then," Youen continued, glee starting to seep into her voice.  "To make sure, I reached inside her head, and twisted.  She fell over on the school steps, shivering and shaking on the ground."

Izumi was almost at loss for words.  "You... you gave a high schooler a seizure for bullying your sister?" 

"Well, I didn't quite know what would happen, but I knew it would be nothing good," Youen said. "It's what she deserves."

It really, really wasn't.  Making the school bully throw up on their boyfriend, that was fair play.  But a seizure, something that could lead to permanent harm...

Youen read Izumi's face of dismay. "I'd do it again, to protect my sister.  You have no idea the things I've already done to protect her."

"You can't follow her around and just attack every person who's mean or cruel to her!" Izumi said.  Not the least of reasons being that if she did that for long enough, she would distort just like Izumi had, and her standard for what warranted retribution would begin to slip.

"Why not?" Youen sneered. 

"Because it's not right!" Izumi said.  "Reimu is duty-bound to protect people from supernatural threats... And I'd rather avoid having you become one of those threats, Konpaku-san."

Youen eyed her up and down, her ghostly blue eyes stuck somewhere between annoyed and amused.  "If you're thinking about stopping me, don't, Fukuda-san.  Don't make the mistake of thinking you or Reimu are a match for me."  As if to make her point, she reached out a hand to her side, clenched her fist, and a nearby trashcan exploded.  Everything inside was violently ejected into the air, letting food wrappers and bits of paper slowly rain down on the street.  Izumi and every living person that was passing by jumped, astonished at the inexplicable event.

Youen walked past the stunned Izumi.  "Don't get in my way," she said, then turned back down the alley.

Izumi didn't want to interfere, but she knew that there were some things she just could not let stand.  She followed Youen at a distance, back to where the two living girls were sitting.  Reimu stood and helped Youmu to her feet.  Youmu looked a little better, but also very tired.  She left Reimu, and Youen followed.

Izumi reached Reimu and quickly interrogated her about the bullying.  Luckily, Youmu had let slip the bully's name.  Izumi started leading Reimu back to the street.

“What work, Izumi?  What are ‘we’ doing?”  Reimu asked, confused.

"Youen attacked her, Reimu," Izumi said.  "She attacked the bully and made her suffer some kind of seizure, or worse."

Reimu instantly paled.  "Oh no..."

"We're going to find the hospital that girl was sent to, and we're going to make sure she's suffered no lasting damage," Izumi said, a real passion burning her heart for the first time in decades. "And then, once this threat is handled for Izayoi-san, we're going to do something about Youen Konpaku."

Marisa leafed through the pages of her photocopied grimoire, looking for a spell to help the investigation.  Her grasp of divination spells was barely rudimentary, and they all seemed to require more than she had: either information about the target, or something material and physical of the target.

She sighed and pushed the three-ring binder away.  They needed to get on this, but she'd found no real leads in her time around town.  They needed more info.  If only they knew why the bodies were being taken...

Her phone pinged, and she checked it to see a new newsletter from the Kakashi News, Aya's direct competitor.  She popped the article open, hoping for an inspiring distraction.

The articles were mostly local gossip: reports of a shady back-alley pharmacy selling drugs, an increase in dine-and-dashes by one notorious figure, the results of one of the local high school's athletic competitions...

Marisa stopped dead.  A body had been found this morning in a dumpster, with no signs of foul play.  The victim had died a few weeks earlier, then disappeared from a corpse hotel, causing a big scandal...

She grabbed the briefing she had printed out and checked the names of the missing bodies.  Sure enough, the man being recovered from the dumpster was recorded in Izayoi's list of missing corpses.  Marisa read further: the body was now being held for review at a local police morgue, pending a potential criminal investigation.

She swapped over to her messaging app, and pulled up the brief chat she had started with Izayoi.

TheMagicDrizzle: sakuya san

TheMagicDrizzle: can your employer pull strings and get us into a police station as part of this investigation?

SixteenthKnight: It's certainly not impossible, but I'd need to know why before I look into the how.

TheMagicDrizzle: one of the bodies that was stolen was just recovered from a dumpster

TheMagicDrizzle: we need to take a look at it to see what happened

SixteenthKnight: I saw the same bit of news.  Surely we can wait for a medical report and simply acquire the document.

TheMagicDrizzle: theres all kinds of magical and spiritual stuff a normal medical examiner is gonna miss

TheMagicDrizzle: if we can figure whats been done to the bodies, we can begin to work on the why the how the where and even the who

TheMagicDrizzle: you gotta get reimu and me in there

SixteenthKnight: Very well.  I'll see what I can do.

Chapter Text

Reimu slowly descended the front steps of Seisakaiya Central Hospital, her surprise second job of the day completed. 

It had been an adventure to arrive at this point.  She'd asked around some of the school staff at Youmu's high school with a sympathetic story of wanting to know what happened to the girl who collapsed, Yuzu Nakayama, and one faculty member had been loose-lipped enough to let slip where she had been taken after she collapsed.  From there, it was a whole other charade to get herself inside the hospital.

Reimu was not a liar.  She was always inclined to tell the truth in any situation, even if it would be beneficial to let white lies slip.  She couldn't tell if she preferred to tell the truth because she was bad at lying, or if the reverse was true: her preference for telling the truth hindered her ability to obscure it.  Regardless, she had to bite her tongue and pretend to be "called by the anguish of a vengeful spirit" to try and get to Nakayama's room.

It did help to have an actual ghost running interference.  Izumi scouted around, helped her find the girl's room and gave anyone who stopped and questioned her chills down their spine, to help sell the act of Reimu being a wandering spiritualist.  The girl's family was a harder sell, they seemed to think that Reimu was a 'homeless schizophrenic' in the whispered words of the father, but her grandfather was present at the vigil they held over her unconscious body, and once Reimu made a big enough ruckus, he demanded that her parents let Reimu in and allow her take a look at their daughter.

Izumi had, unfortunately, been right.  Youen's attack had left some spiritual damage on the girl, which was why she lay unconscious in the bed.  The good news was that since it had been less than a day, the damage was quickly reversible, which Reimu was able to accomplish with a quick rite of restoration.  She moved her hands over her body and waved her gohei about while trying to ignore the judgmental stares of her parents and sibling, until she traced a sigil on her forehead to deal with the damage Youen had left in her mind.

Thirty seconds later, the girl's eyes had fluttered open, and the mood of the room became a maelstrom of relief, joy and comfort; one Reimu was not prepared for.  The disdain of the parents evaporated instantly, and the mother moved and hugged Reimu tightly, something she could not hide her discomfort with.  Her brother and father gathered around Yuzu, answering the questions the girl had: where she was and what had happened.  As Reimu had attempted to leave, the grandfather had given her a knowing smile and nod of thanks from the corner of the hospital room, and the father had stopped her to vigorously shake Reimu's hand, discreetly passing her a folded ten-thousand yen bill.

"Thank you," he had whispered in Reimu's ear, as he withdrew his hand and let her leave.  Reimu glanced down at the bill in her hand, then up at Izumi, standing just outside the hospital room, then she moved to leave the hospital.

"Will she be okay?" Izumi asked, as they walked down the steps together.

"She'll be back on her feet in a few days," Reimu answered, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

"And if you hadn't intervened?" Izumi asked, her tone darkening.

Reimu inhaled deeply, then exhaled a sigh as she remembered the way back to the shrine from her current location.  "She might have recovered in a few months, or she might have been stuck with some long-term complication for years.  Injuries to the soul can take root in the body if not healed properly."

Silence hung between them as Reimu made her way back home, navigating the streets on auto-pilot as she mulled over the situation in her head.  She should have seen this coming.  Youen had been brash, aggressive and always ready to defend her family in any way possible when she was alive, Reimu should have known she wouldn't stand by while Youmu was in danger or pain.

"You're going to have to do something about her," Izumi said, returning her thoughts to the present.

"I know," Reimu said. "I'll put it on the list."

Reimu arrived back at the shrine, and proceeded to clean the grounds and do chores for an hour or so.  The mood between Izumi and her was dampened, both glad to have prevented permanent harm, but unable to articulate their concerns about the afternoon's events.  Reimu considered things from Izumi's view, that to her Youen was a danger that needed to be stopped.  Reimu's feelings were far more mixed.  The Konpaku family was a cornerstone of Gensokyo, and the sudden and tragic death of their eldest daughter was still a source of gossip and community concern, not helped by how tight-lipped the parents were about how Youen had died.  Almost no one believed the official cause of death (a 'stroke'), not for an otherwise extremely healthy and athletic college student.

Eventually, Marisa turned up with some bowls of microwave udon for dinner and an update on their assignment.  She was way underdressed (for her), wearing a basic dark blue coat and black bucket cap over a t-shirt and jeans.

"One of the missing bodies has turned up," she explained as she put the first bowl in the microwave and started it.  "Was recovered from a dumpster early this morning."

Reimu felt her eyes widen.  "And what's been done with it?"

"Taken to a police morgue for an autopsy, to see if anything's been done to it," Marisa said, gathering some chopsticks from the kitchen. "But, I was able to convince Izayoi that we need to see it now, before any magical trace evidence is lost.  We’ll meet with her tonight to get into the morgue."

The microwave dinged, and they ate their udon.  Reimu and Izumi reluctantly filled Marisa in on Youen's deeds, and she grimaced.

"It's unfortunate, but not exactly out of character for her," Marisa said, slurping noodles. "I joked about Youmu playing in the mud years ago and she almost threatened to cut my head off." Marisa attempted a slight chuckle as she said it, to lighten the mood, but it fell flat and she returned to her dinner.

Marisa seems slightly excited, to Reimu.  It might just be the potential lead in the investigation: Marisa was a problem-solver after all, she liked making progress and working on specific tasks.  She was goal-oriented, which is why she was always moving, even if she was just spinning her wheels.  But she was more excited than usual, like she had a surprise she was just barely restraining herself from spoiling.

They finished their dinner and chatted for half an hour or so, before going to meet Sakuya.  Reimu got a coat, and they headed off to a small local bar that they were told to meet her at.

From Sado with Love was a small pub, (in)famous among the surrounding neighborhoods for the unparalleled quality of its booze and the maybe-maybe not Yakuza bar atmosphere.  The owner was a strange, middle-aged woman who looked like she was forty but spoke like she was eighty.  Reimu and Marisa had a private bet as to exactly what kind of youkai she was (Reimu had guessed Bake-danuki, but Marisa had hedged her bet and said Tengu.)  She was nowhere to be found this night, with one of the new hires running the bar, which wasn't surprising this late on a week-night.

Sakuya was waiting for them in a booth, slowly sipping a very small beer.  She was dressed in yet another immaculate suit, and Reimu wondered (with a tiny mote of ire) if there was any point when she didn't look like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

"Good to see you three again," Sakuya said as Reimu and Marisa slid into the bar seat and Izumi hovered in the empty booth behind them. "Before we get to the body..." She made eye contact with Marisa and slid something across the table; something in a tiny zip-lock bag.

For the briefest of moments, Reimu thought it might be a packet of some drug, but then Sakuya removed her finger and she saw that it was a fingernail-sized microchip.  Marisa snatched it up and shook it out of the bag, retrieving something from a pocket on her coat.

"It's been a while coming, Reimu, but here you are," Marisa said, as she pulled out a red flip-cell phone and inserted the chip into the side, then flipped it open and presented it to Reimu.  "You're very own cell phone.  Consider it a late birthday present."

Reimu gingerly took the device from Marisa's hands, not really sure what to say.  Oh right, better start there.  "Thank you, Marisa," she said.  "And... Izayoi-san?"

"Kirisame-san supplied the phone," Sakuya answered. "And I judged that us being able to communicate freely is important enough that my employer can handle the cellular bill for this investigation."

"And after this investigation?" Reimu asked.

Sakuya smirked.  "She may consider it, if you'd like to remain available for any future...'incidents.'"

"Well, thank you both, regardless," Reimu said, and looked through some of the phone’s features.  She wasn't very tech-savvy, but she'd used Marisa's phone enough that she could tell that it was an older, limited model.  Still, more than enough for her.  She saw that Marisa and Sakuya were already programmed in as contacts, so she flipped it closed and pocketed it.  "Now, the body?"

The plan was less 'greased palms to gain access to the body' and more of a heist.  On such short notice, apparently there was no one to bribe for access, so Sakuya instead had learned that the autopsy would be taking place that night, by the overnight medical examiner in the district.  Sakuya's plan was to distract the examiner by calling her up to answer some questions in the guise of a corporate interview, so Reimu and Marisa could slip in the back door to the morgue in a nearby alley and do what needed to be done.

"You honestly think this is worth all this trouble?" Reimu asked, as they crouched behind a nearby dumpster, waiting for Izumi to return from her recon mission.

"The bodies are being taken for a reason," Marisa said. "And this one was dumped over a week after it was taken, so it served a purpose and no longer does.  Whoever is taking them got what they wanted out of it, and whatever that is, we need to find out.  It'll be our first clue."

"Astute," Reimu complimented her.  "You should be a private investigator with those deductive skills."

Reimu heard the smirk in Marisa's voice.  "I'd prefer to put my 'genius' towards more selfish reasons.  I'd rather be a Lupin than a Sherlock or Zenigata."

Izumi appeared from the door and circled around the stairs to meet up with the two girls.  "No security cameras inside, just that one," she said, and pointed to the black bulb set above the door she had exited.

"I've got a spell for it," Marisa said.  "Is the examiner still inside?"

"Yes," Izumi said. "She was mostly inspecting the body and filling out forms."

Reimu checked her watch: minutes to midnight, Sakuya would be pulling her away soon.  "Head back and tell us when she's left, Izumi."

Izumi nodded and walked back over to the entrance to the basement and passed through the door, set in an indent half a level below the street level of the alley.  Marisa retrieved four latex gloves from her coat (What didn't she keep in that thing?) and handed a pair to Reimu.

"Best not to leave fingerprints," she said, and Reimu donned them without further question. 

Another minute and a half crawled by, before Izumi leaned back through the door and called out, "She's leaving the room now, get started."

Marisa drew a tuning fork inscribed with runes, performed a few hand gestures, hit the fork to produce a tone, and pointed it at the camera through the side of the dumpster.  The tone rang in Reimu's ears for a moment, before she saw a small flash of light from the door, and a tiny spray of sparks.

"Camera's shorted, let's move," Marisa said, pocketing the fork and pulling out her lock-picking kit.

“Won’t someone notice?” Reimu asked as they moved together toward the door at the bottom of the stairs.

“A place this small doesn’t have anyone watching the cameras this late,” Marisa said as she knelt down  and checked the door for any other alarms before she began to work the lock. “Just have to make sure we don’t give them a reason to check the tapes.”

Reimu wasn’t sure she wanted to know how Marisa knew that, but she stood watch regardless, her head peeking over the edge of the well that led to the basement.  A few seconds later, Marisa opened the door, and they both slipped inside.

The morgue was cold, which Reimu had expected.  She had not, however, expected it to be colder than the autumn night outside.  The air conditioning sounded like it was running full-blast, as there was a drone in the air that wasn’t the many halogen lights.  There were a few large lockers on the near wall, with the far wall occupied by the expected slide-out freezers for storage of bodies.  The third wall had a small computer workstation, and the rest was the stairs up to the ground floor.  There were two metal tables in the middle of the room, and the nude body of a middle-aged man lay upon one.  It was surrounded with a variety of carts and trolleys.  Trays of tools lay on the table and carts, with one stool nearby.

All in all, not a terribly large facility.  

Izumi stood near the stairs.  Upon spotting Reimu and Marisa, she nodded.  “I’ll keep watch upstairs, warn you if anything happens.”  With that, she ascended the stairs and passed through the door.

The girls walked over to the body, and Reimu realized what the air-conditioning-like sound was: ventilation.  The body was meant for cremation and had not been well preserved in its time outside the corpse hotel.  The smell of rot grew stronger as they approached, and they both gagged.  Marisa produced and applied a facemask,  Reimu pulled her red hair-ribbon loose and let her hair fall past her shoulders, wrapping the fabric of the bow around her face.  It was not very clean, and smelled overpoweringly of her own hair, but it did a decent job of blocking the festering, putrid scent of the body.  No wonder the police had pushed this job onto the night shift.

Marisa picked up a clipboard full of forms and skimmed it.  “Jiro Murakami, this is our man,” she said, her voice low. “Well, was our man.”

Reimu looked the body up and down.  The man was of average height, but his build and any further physical details were distorted by the rotting of the body.  Despite all the funerals and services she oversaw, she wasn’t terribly familiar with human corpses this decomposed, and didn’t really know what to look for.  The skin was shrunken and tight on its frame, tinted a yellow-brown, with black splotches all over.  The skin around its face and eyes looked especially worn, dark cracks spreading from the orifices.  It was far less wet than Reimu had imagined, but she guessed it had lost most of its fluids in the intervening week.  The body wasn’t mummified per se, but was definitely dried out.  

“First clue:” Reimu said. “The culprit isn’t preserving them.”

“Good point,” Marisa said.  “You do your spiritual stuff, I’m gonna grab what we can from this.”  She produced her smartphone and snapped a few shots of the corpse, then began to take photos of each of the forms on the clipboard.

Reimu extended her hands and let them hover over the body.  She exhaled slowly, finding her center and focusing on herself.  When her mind had stilled, she turned her attention outward, to the dead man on the table in front of her.  

It was… completely empty.  

When she performed last rites and funerary rituals, she could feel the soul of a person, or their corpse.  The behavior of the soul after death was as varied as could be, with some leaving immediately, others staying until they were cremated.  Even those whose spirits left immediately left behind some part of themselves: a piece, or pieces, of their soul.  Even if they had left, she could sense these pieces and feel how they changed and responded to her rituals.  She could tell a soul would pass peacefully, even if it wasn’t in the body, from how the pieces it left behind changed with the ritual.

This body was unlike anything she had felt before.  It was truly absent of anything spiritual, an actual husk.  Nothing of Jiro Murakami remained, just rotting meat and bones.  It was unnerving to feel a void like that.

“It’s… empty,” Reimu said, unable to describe it any other way.

“What?” Marisa asked, looking up from the report.  She was finished with the photographs, and was now reading the front page.

“There’s not a scrap of spiritual energy left in this body,” she said, looking back down at the body.  Those snaking cracks that emanated from the eyes and mouth… they almost looked like…

Marisa made a face and dropped the clipboard back on the side of the table where she’d found it.  Unfortunately, the vibrations traveled and tipped a tray laden with tools off the edge of the autopsy table.  Both the tray and tools both hit the ground and scattered, filling the room with a deafening metal racket.

Both girls stood there for a moment, unable to react, praying that somehow no one had heard the noise.  

But it was not to be.

Izumi appeared from the stairs, and shouted at both of them: “Hide!”

Marisa began to look around, wildly searching for a spot, but Reimu had already decided: one of the lockers with no padlock on it.  She reached over the table, grabbed Marisa by the scruff of her shirt and dragged her over to the locker, yanked it open to find it empty, and threw both Marisa and herself inside, pulling the locker door closed behind them.

There was almost no space in the locker for a person.  Both of them together filled almost the entire space, their bodies pressed together, closer than Reimu liked to be to any person.  Reimu was almost a full head taller than Marisa, so they fit awkwardly inside.

“Get your leg out of my crotch,” Marisa whispered, but Reimu hissed her quiet as they heard a door open, and someone descended the steps from the first floor.

“I know I heard some… oh, of course,” said a middle-aged woman’s voice.

Reimu heard a second set of steps.  “Is everything alright?” said Sakuya’s voice from the stairs.

“A tray tipped, probably a breeze from the ventilation,” the woman said.  Most likely the medical examiner, judging by the way Sakuya had followed her down. Reimu couldn’t see through the slats in the door well, but she could tell the examiner was kneeling down to collect the tools, which had scattered everywhere. “You had some other questions, Izayoi-san?”

“I can wait until you’re done,” Sakuya said, clearly trying to get her out of the room.

“No, I can answer now,” the woman said, oddly insistent, like her patience was waning.

“Very well…” Sakuya said, then began to ask her odd technical questions about the way the morgue was run.

Reimu stopped paying attention to them, as she tried to control her own breathing.  It wasn’t easy, with the way they were wedged together.  Marisa's chest was pressed into Reimu, and they were bent awkwardly, with Marisa‘s arm wrapped inside Reimu’s  coat and around her back, and Reimu’s arm that wasn’t holding the locker door shut arched over Marisa’s shoulder and behind her neck, pushing Marisa closer.  

It was… intimate, to say the least.  Their faces were centimeters apart, and they could both feel and hear each other’s breathing thanks to the face masks they both had on, which she noticed was becoming quicker from Marisa.  The morgue was cold, but with both their bodies and the layers both of them had on, the locker was rapidly becoming quite warm and stuffy.  The smell of the rot was undetectable in this locker, she could only smell herself, and Marisa.  It was an odd scent, she always smelled like her magical reagents, like mushrooms and chemicals.  It wasn’t a new scent to Reimu, it was oddly comforting in its familiarity.

Thinking on it, as they waited for the examiner to find her scattered tools, this wasn’t far from a scenario right out of one of her mother’s romance mangas, the bulk of which Reimu had found squared away on a box after she had passed away.  Two best friends, forced into a confined space together, the need for silence as they had nothing to think about but how their bodies were touching, the space growing warmer, their mouths drifting closer together…

Not that Reimu truly had that urge.  Her mother had given her the talk she had related to Marisa, about how it was fine and normal to love men, women or whatever else, but Reimu had never much loved anyone.  Not in the way her mother and others meant it, anyway.  She loved Marisa, as her best and probably only true friend, but she had never thought about her as something ‘more’ than her best friend and greatest ally.

The elderly grandmothers and grandfathers of Gensokyo would tease her about finding a good man, or privately say that she should find a good woman to settle down with, but she often wondered if it was okay to just… exist with your best friend and just… not marry.  She didn’t want to spend her life alone, but the insistent social pressure to find the ‘special someone’ was certainly enough for her to want to swear off intimacy altogether.

Reimu noticed Marisa’s face had turned red, and she had closed her eyes, though Reimu couldn’t tell if that was because of embarrassment, the now sweltering temperature of the locker or both.

“Listen, I don’t want to be rude, Izayoi-san,” Reimu heard the examiner say, her tone rising in something like annoyance, as she placed the tray back on the table. “But I’m not interested in this program you’re recruiting for, and I’m on the clock.  I’m going to walk you out now, and then get back to work.”

“Very well,” Sakuya said. “I apologize for wasting your time.” They both moved towards the stairs.  Reimu waited for the sound of the door closing before she released the locker door and the two girls came tumbling out.

“We need to go,” Reimu whispered.  Marisa gasped for breath as she stood, looked around, and grabbed a hair from the corpse’s head before she followed Reimu  to the back door, making sure that the door would lock behind them.  Izumi moved through the door after them as they walked back towards the shrine, as they planned.  Sakuya would join them there.

“That was close,” Reimu said, removing her impromptu mask and tying it back into her hair as a bow

“That was humiliating,” Marisa said, producing a small plastic baggie and placing the hair from the corpse in it, before removing and discarding the latex gloves in a nearby trash can.

“Oh, you didn’t like being squeezed in the locker?” Reimu said, nudging Marisa’s shoulder with her own and attempting a bit of humor.

“That was fine, you know me,” Marisa said. “No, it’s that I immediately blew the whole thing.”

“Not necessarily,” Reimu said, as they turned a street corner and started the long walk back to the shrine. “You have the pictures of the report, and I think we can begin to plot out what’s going on here.  I’ll put on some tea when we get back and discuss it with Izayoi, when she arrives.”  

Behind the both of them, Izumi quietly walked, watching the two girls and making plans.

Chapter Text

Marisa had settled into the kotatsu and Reimu had just finished brewing the tea when the front door of the shrine slid open to reveal Sakuya.  She looked... well, Marisa couldn't really tell.  She was just as put-together and professional as always but there was an undeniably edge of annoyance in the way she stood there.

Maybe Marisa was just projecting.

"So, did we get anything useful before knocking over the tools?" Sakuya asked, stepping into the shrine and removing her shoes and coat.

"Sorry," Marisa volunteered.  She could feel her face redden with embarrassment despite herself.

"We got plenty, actually," Reimu said, pouring the tea into cups, placing them around the table, then grabbing a small bowl of snacks, placing them on the table sitting down.  The real Hakurei responsibility, Marisa suspected as she grabbed a snack, was the duty to be an excellent host.

"Don't feel too bad, Kirisame-san," Sakuya said as she sat down at the table and took a sip of the tea. "The examiner wasn't really buying the story I was trying to feed her.  I don't know that I could have given you much more time anyway."

"What was the story?" Izumi asked, moving towards the table.

"That I was recruiting for an elite, privately funded medical association called the 'Elysium Foundation,'" Sakuya said.

Izumi snorted. "Don't take this the wrong way, Izayoi-san, but if a foreigner like you walked up to me while I was working the overnight shift, with a pitch like that, I would also be suspicious and quick to dismiss it." Izumi sat down at the one remaining open side of the kotatsu.  It was the first time Marisa had ever seen all four sides of the shrine's kotatsu occupied.

Sakuya waved a hand. "Fair enough," she said. "So, what did we get?"

Marisa sent the photos of the body and forms to Sakuya, who quickly flipped through them. "Not deeply familiar with stages of decomposition, but this seems pretty normal," Marisa said.

"Fairly," Sakuya said, zooming in on her phone at the picture of the body. "It's dehydrated, but relatively well preserved; no marks of scavengers or the like.  These black splotches look like standard necrosis to me, but it seems more advanced than it should be."

Marisa wondered how Sakuya could know that, what kind of history she had with dead bodies, but neither Izumi nor Reimu seemed perturbed by her knowledge.  Reimu, with no smartphone to record or take notes on, had found a legal pad and pen, and was taking notes of what they discussed.

"So, the body was still rotting, but seems pretty intact," Marisa said. "So whoever is taking them is storing them inside, somewhere free of vermin."

"They also need something from the bodies," Izumi said. "The fact that this one was dumped a week after it was taken means they're done with it."

"Or it was simply becoming a liability," Sakuya said.

"Well, I'm reasonably sure we can say what they want the bodies for," Reimu said, finishing a line of her notes, then looking up to the other three.  "The soul."

Sakuya's eyes widened ever so slightly.  "You're sure?"

"Whenever I do last rites for a body or person, I can feel their soul, or what's left of it in the body," Reimu explained, as she reached forward for a cookie from the bowl.  "There was nothing in that body, it had been removed."

"I realize this is a long shot," Izumi interjected. "But is it possible someone else performed those rites before you?  Someone who found the body or even the culprit?"

Reimu shook her head. "I would feel a spirit who was put to rest or blessed.  That thing in the morgue was a husk."

"So," Izumi then asked.  "What feeds on souls?"

Marisa began scrolling to another application on her phone, trying to find her rudimentary, self-constructed bestiary, as she had left her copy of the Demonomincon at home.

Instead, Sakuya began to speak.  "A demon is the most likely candidate.  Most stories would point to an incubus or succubus, but they feed on dreams and imagination."

Reimu and Izumi nodded along, as they had discussed the diet of such creatures when Marisa had spotted the incubus at the bookstore.  It made sense that she would know that, since she was apparently familiar with whomever summoned the incubus. 

"Didn't your employer say it was an undead presence?" Izumi said, mulling it over..

That was a good point, but Marisa had been thinking about that.  "It could be both," she said. "Demons and the dead are linked through some very old powers."

"My employer also said it was unlike anything she had felt before," Sakuya shared. "Like life and death twisted together.  It may be that the demon itself is of the risen dead."

"So what kind of half-dead demon are we looking for, if it is a demon?" Marisa asked.

Sakuya pondered for a moment, hands folded in front of her mouth.  "Hard to say.  A Jikininki seems likely, or perhaps some kind of Alp or other fiend."

Her knowledge of types of demons was extensive, and Marisa narrowed her eyes at Sakuya.  How did she know that much about demons?  What was she, exactly?  She and Reimu looked at each other like they shared a secret, and Marisa didn't like it.  But this wasn't the time or place for that, so she stowed her concerns.

"Here's a question:" Reimu interjected.  "How long does it take to remove a soul from a dead body?"

"Depends," Marisa said, taking a sip of her tea.

"On what?" Izumi said.

"On a great many factors," Sakuya said, continuing for Marisa.  "What type of demon, how strong they are, in this case how fresh the corpse is, how much of the soul they are consuming."

"But would it take more than a few hours?" Reimu said.

Marisa and Sakuya considered together, looking at each other, silently debating the estimate.  "I'd say not more than three hours to be really thorough?" Marisa said.

"Two to three hours, yes," Sakuya agreed.

"Then why are they stealing the bodies at all?" Reimu asked.  The question hung in the air for a moment, as they all considered what she was asking.  "I've been in these corpse hotels, security's extremely lax.  If all the thefts are taking place at night with empty buildings, and they're taking them for their souls, why not just take the soul or soul pieces right there?  They would have well over three hours alone with the bodies."

It was a more than valid question. 

“Could it be a unique ritual of some magician?” Izumi asked. “Some kind of… soul-removal spell that needs a pentagram and candles and such?  They could be removing it to a special altar to get at the soul.”

“No,” Marisa said.  This she had actually looked up beforehand. “Such a process would leave tell-tale marks on the body.  There’s no post-mortem damage that would be necessary for a ritual like that; no lines cut into the body or holes drilled in.  There’s no spell here, it has to be a creature or being of some kind.”

"Maybe they're not taking them for their souls, perhaps it's a byproduct of some other process..." Sakuya mused.

"Unlikely," Marisa said, flipping through the pages of the autopsy report.  "The report indicates no other damage was done to the body, nothing physical was extracted."

"Perhaps..." Izumi said. "Perhaps the one stealing bodies is not the one consuming the souls."

They all sat in silence and absorbed that theory for a moment, with only the sounds of distant traffic and Reimu's pen on paper.

"It would explain why they're stolen," Marisa said. "Whoever is doing the absorption can’t sneak into the hotels with the body.”

“Perhaps they have impaired mobility or are otherwise unwell,” Sakuya said, reaching forward for her own snack, some kind of jelly-filled cookie.  

“An injured demon?” Reimu asked.  "Is that possible?"

"It's certainly possible," Sakuya said. "An injured demon would need sustenance to recover, hence the souls."

"The theory of an accomplice also answers another question I had," Reimu said, as she scribbled more on her notes. "If the objective is souls, why go for dead bodies?  The culprit is only getting fragments and parts of the soul from most bodies, why not steal whole, living souls?"

"Besides the fact that it would attract way more attention?" Marisa asked. "But you are correct, Reimu.  A living soul would be far more powerful."

"But if the accomplice is unwilling," said Izumi, following Reimu's idea. "Then it makes sense that they would want to avoid harming anyone."

"That theory does fit all the facts of the case," Sakuya said. "An injured or otherwise immobilized demon or undead would still be powerful, and could easily coerce a human or less powerful creature to gather souls, and the accomplice is unwilling to lead people to their doom, thus the theft of already dead bodies."

"And the demon accepts the scraps," Reimu said, still scribbling out their theories. "Either because it realizes that the fewer living people that disappear the better, or it's not in position to complain."  She drummed her fingers on the table. "Although, there isn't enough evidence to prove if this theorized accomplice is willingly aiding the culprit or if they're being coerced. It could go either way."

Marisa chewed her cookie and mulled the thought over.  A chance encounter with a demon, leaving some hapless soul doing the fiend’s dirty work of delivering its sustenance, compliance extracted by a threat on their loved ones… or perhaps the less sympathetic theory?  A cultist or devotee directed by the demon to steal bodies to draw as little attention as possible?  Thoughts and theories swirled around her head as she stared at the face of the corpse in the photograph.

Who consumed you, Jiro? she thought.  Who would consign pieces of you to oblivion for power?

“When did this all start again, Izayoi-san?” Reimu asked as Marisa continued to stare at her phone.

“First report of a body missing was about eight or so months ago,” Sakuya replied.  “But it began slightly before that, as my employer stated that she could sense the entity shortly before the first report.”

“And do we know of every body taken?” Izumi asked.

“Hardly,” Sakuya snorted. “It grows in power with regularity, but whoever is responsible for the corpses are often reluctant to share the fact they lost the body.  We were only able to put together a rough timeline after three news reports, all downplayed.  Once we knew what to look for, we found about five others.”

Marisa looked up from her phone.  “Any pattern to the locations or date?”

“Not really,” Sakuya said. “Mostly on week-nights, mostly located around Gensokyo and the surrounding wards.  One in Itabashi, but that’s as far as it goes.  No repeats, though; we investigated every hotel that reported and they all only had a single theft.”

Reimu sighed. “As much as I hate to think about it, that does point to a local.”

“But if there were a demon in Gensokyo proper, one of my detection spells would have gone off ages ago,” Marisa protested.

“Unless it’s been sealed or masked.  Such a thing is easily possible,” Reimu countered.  “An eroding seal would still keep a demon in place, and they could reach out and puppeteer someone to act for them.”

“Hold on… could this be a ghost who is possessing the accomplice?” Izumi said, cutting in.

“Unlikely,” Reimu said. “Full spectral possession is rare, and the ghost would need to be close to the human when they were alive: a direct blood relative or lifelong friend.  Possession is a rarity even among the most powerful spirits.”

“And my employer would have sensed any spirit who would be using souls directly and had the ability to possess immediately,” Sakuya added. “Soul-drinkers and Preta are easy to spot, they’re never this restrained.”

She sure seemed to know a lot about different kinds of creatures… Marisa would need to pry about that… quietly.  In the meantime, they all seemed to be out of ideas, and silence returned to hang over the gathering once more.

“We could sit here and throw out theories about every supernatural creature,” Marisa said. “But we’re just spinning our wheels, and it’s real late.”

Sakuya pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed, standing up.  “You’re right, Kirisame-san.  We have theories, but no direction.”

Reimu tapped her pen on the paper as she reviewed the facts.  “It seems that our best bet is to try and catch the culprit in the act.  I’ll review the corpse hotels in the area, put out some feelers and…” she paused for a moment, remembering the correct lingo, “Text you both the plan.”

“Thanks, Reimu,” Marisa said, getting up and retrieving her coat and hat alongside Sakuya.  She waved goodbye to Izumi and slid the front door shut, leaving her with Sakuya.

They found themselves walking together, out of the shrine and around the block.  They could have remained silent, it seemed to be what Sakuya preferred, but Marisa couldn't contain her questions any longer.

"You seem to know an awful lot about demons and the undead," Marisa said as they walked past a 24/7 internet café.

"I do," Sakuya returned, unhelpfully.

"Why?" Marisa asked.  Staring up at her as Sakuya locked her eyes ahead.

Sakuya sighed and thought for a moment as they waited for a street crossing.  "I suppose you deserve an answer as much as Hakurei-san did."  She paused, before visibly gathering herself.

"It begins with a man named Matthijs Vos," she said, as they slowly walked the streets, wandering vaguely towards their destination. (Marisa was just following her, as she did not want to lead her to her apartment, even if she was half-sure Sakuya already knew where it was.) 

"That name does sound faintly familiar," Marisa interjected.

"Oh, he's certainly remembered around these parts," Sakuya said. "He arrived here a decade and a half ago, after following a tip that Tokyo would be a rich... hunting ground."

Marisa felt the blood leave her face.  A decade and a half ago?  She couldn't mean...

Sakuya read her reaction instantly.  "Yes, Matthijs Vos was the real name of the 'monster hunter' known as the Silver Ripper, who terrorized this neighbourhood until he was put down.."

They paused at a street corner as Marisa looked up at Sakuya, and she finally turned to meet Marisa's eyes.

"I am his daughter," Sakuya said, flatly.

Marisa wasn't sure where to start.  She swallowed, then tried to make sense of that.

"So, he brought you along on his hunt?" she asked.

"Yes, there wasn't much of an option, as he sold everything he didn't bring with him to make the trip over." Sakuya said, breaking eye contact as they began to move again. "And when he met his timely demise, I was stranded here in Tokyo."

"And now you're working for a vampire, and with a demon," Marisa said, skirting up to the edge of what she actually wanted to say. "When your father wanted to kill all of them."

"Yes," Sakuya said, her eyes hard and dark.

"You didn't much like your father, did you?" Marisa probed.  Perhaps it was unwise to poke and prod at the child of a killer like this, but Marisa was never one for wisdom.

A humorless smile crept over Sakuya's lips. "No," she said, her voice heavy with restraint.  They had stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to the department store tower.  Did she... live in this building? "I did not much like him."  She shook her head. "You wanted to know why I know so much about demons and monsters, so now you know.  I was raised, trained, and programmed to hunt them."

"And you hated it?"

"Yes," Sakuya said, in a very small voice.

Something inside Marisa broke, just a little bit.

Without warning, without thinking, Marisa threw herself at Sakuya, wrapping her arms around the be-suited woman in a hug.  She could feel her shock and surprise, the way she stiffened and straightened up.

"I know we're just business partners right now and I really shouldn't do this," Marisa began, the words flowing from her in a torrent. "But I know what it's like to be raised to hate, to have a father that wants to hurt people and how hard it is to get away from that."  She felt the taller woman's posture soften ever so slightly, to at least accept the hug that had been thrust upon her.

"And I know how lonely it can be, even if you've got plenty of people to talk to who know what happened to you, none of them lived it, and none of them quite get it."  Marisa regretted her choice to open this particular emotional floodgate now, but it was too late to stop.  The only way out was through.

"My dad is a total trash fire, and I ran away from him as soon as I could," she said. "And I'm still running.  I know I'm not very mature or useful, but I know when someone needs a hug, and I can always listen to anyone's problems."

Marisa broke the hug, and stepped away from Sakuya, settling her bucket hat back on her head and trying to contain the rush of emotion that had made her eyes water. "You can call on me if you need someone to talk to," she said.

Sakuya's expression was arrested somewhere between surprise and understanding.  As the rush of empathy faded, Marisa could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment.  "Sorry, if that was too presumptuous."

"It was," Sakuya said, her voice stern, but her wide eyes softened with warmth. "But it was not unwelcome.  I don't know if I will take you up on that offer, but I will consider it."  She climbed a few steps, before turning back to the magician.

"Good night... Marisa."

Marisa smiled through her self-consciousness. "Good night, Sakuya."

And there, they parted ways for the night.

Chapter Text

Marisa awoke the next day with no plans.  Nothing that needed doing.  It was refreshing that she could take a day off, but she would not.  

She had intended to perhaps review for the next test, study her grimoire, or stop by the shrine to see Reimu’s plan for catching the culprit, and she might still do those things, but her talk with Sakuya the previous night had given her something new to do.

The Silver Ripper still loomed large in the culture of Gensokyo, despite the intervening fifteen years since.  Marisa had still been a child, she hadn’t even met Reimu at the time, so it was something she had only heard about second hand, something the elder Youkai would obliquely mention.  Reimu had not been present for any of the crimes or the final battle, but she had described her mother being sad and distraught after it had happened, but not remembering any specifics, and either she not being able to ask her mother afterwards, or she was unwilling to share those details with Marisa.

Regardless, it was the most recent history to happen to her neighborhood, and now that she knew the man’s daughter had never left and grown up into the servant of a vampire, she felt compelled to learn about what exactly had happened.  And who better to teach her than someone who was there?

She peaked out her window and saw a light autumn rain, so she chose her outfit appropriately: her widest, waterproof nylon hat, a rain-resistant black coat with a large yellow star on the back, jeans and a pale purple graphic t-shirt she had found at a thrift store, as she felt like it should be a comfy day.  The shirt looked to be merch for some kind of talk or radio show, as it showed a woman with pale-blonde hair and headphones in a purple suit-jacket with the phrase “Mornings with the Administrator!!” below it.  Marisa had never heard of it, as she didn’t watch much television.

She walked out into the rain, and waved at Nitori, who was working a power line nearby (the rain almost invisibly parting around her) and she set out for the junk shop.  This early, with this weather, the streets were almost deserted.  After turning past Dayuu’s sports bar and the rival bar Geidontei, she arrived at her destination, the second-hand junk shop, Kourindou.

It was made of two small buildings; the shop itself was decades old, with a traditional irimoya sloped roof, and a white plaster exterior. The name of the shop was written in large, black kanji above the wooden door, but beneath the sign it said in English “Curiosities of Lotus Asia,” which was a… liberal interpretation of the name of the shop, to be sure.  The attached small house was much more modern looking, and was where the proprietor of the shop lived.  Marisa saw the ‘open’ sign, and strolled in, greeting the shop owner.

“Mornin’ Kourin!” she called out, using the nickname she and Reimu had developed for him.

Rinnosuke Morichika looked up from his seat behind the counter of the shop, where he was reading a magazine, and a weary smile spread across his face.  He was an older man, looking to be in his mid-forties or maybe early fifties, it was hard to tell.  His thin face was lined with a lifetime of stress, and his chin-length hair was almost completely gray now, as opposed to being black with streaks of gray in it, when she’d met him over a decade ago.  He was dressed in his usual attire for running his store: a blue and black work kimono, patterned with white zig-zags and the sleeves tied up.  He peered over his reading glasses at Marisa with dull gold eyes.

“Come in Marisa,” he said, his voice welcoming, yet resigned. His voice had grown more dry and scratchy as she had known him.  “What can I help you with this morning?  I must confess, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon after your last visit.”

Marisa walked forward through the shelves of the store.  They were lined with all manner of minor magical and non-magical knick-knacks: a set of sake dishes, replicas of magatama jewels, half a bicycle frame that had a plant growing out of it, a copy of the Key of Solomon, a wand made of thorny briar wood, what might have been an ancient hollow kappa skull, and more.  She tried to settle her face, make herself look friendly but not enthusiastic, so Rinnosuke wouldn’t get the wrong idea about this visit.  The subject of this talk… wasn’t pretty.

“I’m doing well,” she said, avoiding eye contact and brushing some of the pieces on the shelves as she approached and gazed at a muted TV on the wall that showed a weather program, forecasting moderate rain throughout the day and night.  “I came to ask about… a sensitive subject.”  She heard a sigh and stole a glance towards him.  His hands were clasped in front of his mouth as he rested his elbows on the counter.  His eyes were closed, but the furrow she expected between his eyebrows was nowhere to be found.

“And,” he said. “What do you want to know about?”

No point beating around the bush.  “I need to know about the Silver Ripper,” she said, and instantly she saw his posture stiffen.  To many of the supernatural folk who were affected or saw him, he was boogyman to this day; a horror story come to life.  The reaction wasn’t unexpected, but she wished she could have learned this from a book and not have to ask someone.

“That…” Rinnosuke began, but he stopped, thought, and changed tact.  “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m digging into this neighborhood’s past, and I need to know all I can before I dive in,” she said, not technically lying.  “I wasn’t around, I wasn’t studying magic when it all happened.  The only thing I noticed was that you disappeared for a week afterwards.”  Rinnosuke has been one of her links, one of her lines into the supernatural world.  He had worked with her father, and been an acquaintance to the family.  He had not introduced her to magic, but he certainly provided new materials when she asked him about it.

Rinnosuke leaned back in his chair, and contemplated for a long moment.  The lines of his face deepened as he grimaced.  Slowly, he stood, grabbing his cane and leaning on it.

“Very well,” he said. He snapped his fingers and she heard the sign of the front of the shop clatter as it turned itself to ‘Closed’ and the door locked.  He braced his bad leg with his cane as he moved to brew some tea on a small electric stove.  Marisa’s earliest memories of him did not include the cane, but he started using it after he reappeared from the week he spent away, a week she later learned that had begun with the death of the Silver Ripper.  She had put the pieces together long ago, but had never asked him until now.  He made a wide, inviting gesture towards a table behind the counter, where he normally worked on soldering old electronics or other items, but was currently clear of junk.  She quietly sat down, placing her hat up on the counter.

“What do you want to know?” he asked as the tea boiled.

“Well… everything,” Marisa asked, realizing how foolish her request was as she said it.  In her head, the entire incident was a discrete event she could learn about in an hour and then move on, but faced with the older man leaning on his cane, his face darkening as he remembered what had happened, she felt stupid and small.  She felt like a child again, the unwelcome but familiar feeling returning: the certainty of having the whole world figured out falling away beneath her as adults silently let her contemplate her own questions.

She looked down at the table, where she noticed that she had unconsciously begun to nervously pick at an old scar on her arm, one that had never healed properly due to that exact fidget.  She pulled her arm off the tabletop and mentally chided herself.

“I-I mean, if it’s not too much,” she added, unable to keep the self-conscious tone out of her voice.  This was stupid, asking one of her only true allies and friends to reliv-

“No,” he said, making his way over to a filing cabinet, and opening it to retrieve a manila folder.  He walked back to the table and dropped it in front of her, then moved back to the tea.  “If you’re going to help Reimu protect this place like… like…” he trailed off, then picked back up. “Then you have a right to know.  Gods know your father isn’t going to tell you, so I guess it falls to me.”  In Marisa’s mind, Reimu and Rinnosuke were the only ones allowed to mention her father.  She didn’t like it, but she could hardly raise any rational objection.

She looked down at the folder as Rinnosuke hobbled away and continued to watch the kettle.  The tab was labeled with the year it happened, and simply “The Incident.”  She flipped through it to find a few news articles in languages she couldn’t read.  They used the Latin alphabet, and she recognized one as French, but was lost on the others.

“His real name was Matthijs Vos,” Rinnosuke said, as the kettle began to boil and he added the leaves.  “After everything was said and done, I dug into his past to see if there was family or friends we should worry about, or other aftershocks.  Reimu’s mother was worried about possible retribution.”

Rinnosuke was looking away, but Marisa guessed she knew what his expression was.  Reimu’s mom and him had been close, and they had worked together to protect Gensokyo.  But after she died, the grief had mounted with his injury, and forcibly retired him.  He had helped Marisa after she discovered  magic, and aided Reimu with many large donations, but kept his distance from her and the shrine.

“He was born in a city called Zwolle, in the Netherlands,” Rinnosuke said, making his way over to the table with the teapot and cups.  Marisa accepted the cup and the tea, and Rinnosuke took a seat after pouring his own cup.  “Not much official documentation on his upbringing or family, but one of my contacts in Europe was able to tell me that the Vos family were renowned spiritualists and ‘monster hunters’ over a century ago.  But something happened, the family was destroyed, and it left only Matthijs, and possibly a daughter.  Information was scarce.”

Marisa occupied herself with taking a sip of her tea to avoid eye contact.

“He traveled around Europe, trying to hunt down vampires, werewolves, witches and the like,” he said, teasing one piece of paper out of the pile in front of Marisa.  It was in some European language.  “Sometimes he would take contracts, but other times it appeared that his only client was himself.  Apparently, he had a hard time telling his prey from humans.  He was arrested several times, but due to the… esoteric nature of the crimes, it was hard to prove anything.  Then, a few years before he came here, he was spotted with a young girl, with silver hair like his.”

Sakuya, Marisa thought to herself.

Rinnosuke sighed and pulled a blurry photo from the folder, showing it to Marisa.  It showed a man holding hands with a small girl, no older than five or six, walking down a sidewalk.  The man had unkempt silver hair and beard and wore a large, black coat.  The girl was dressed in a simple blue dress.  The photo was too blurry to make out any real details, but Marisa stared at the girl.  It was nearly two decades old, but she imagined a look of consternation and misery on her face, the face of a young Sakuya.  It occurred to Marisa then, seeing her in European clothes on a European street, that Sakuya Izayoi might not be birth name.

“Some said this was his daughter, others say she was an orphan that he illegally… ‘adopted,’” he said, setting the photo down.

“Doesn’t the hair color give it away?” Marisa asked.

“Not necessarily,” Rinnosuke sighed. “Apparently, according to my contact who dug into it, silver hair was a byproduct of some secret family ritual or concoction that was supposed to grant them enhanced senses and powers.”

Marisa felt a pit forming in her stomach.  Not that she had thought well of the serial killer, but the idea that his ‘daughter’ might not have even been his child, possibly just an orphan he had abducted and… forced to participate in his ‘family business’?  That came close to making Marisa physically ill.

Rinnosuke, for his part, looked dead-eyed while discussing it.  He had probably already processed all this ages ago in his investigation, but it gave Marisa a chill to watch him explain this all with a blank face.  “It must have given her some kind of sense, because his ratio for actually identifying supernatural folk after she was spotted went up dramatically.  My contact had to help several of them escape his hunts.”

That twigged a memory in Marisa.  Sakuya… had seen and spoken to Izumi.  Marisa highly doubted that Reimu had shown her the scar on her wrist, so that meant… Sakuya could most likely have seen or sensed Izumi to begin with.  She probably had a second sight for the supernatural, that would be useful for a monster hunter, and would explain why a grown man would take a child with him on something as dangerous as a monster hunt.

But that raised another sickening possibility.  Sakuya had been forced to out creatures living amongst humans when she was barely a child.  She wasn’t just a witness to his crimes, she was an accessory.  An unwilling accomplice.

The tiny, restrained answer Sakuya had given Marisa as to if she hated her upbringing from her father suddenly gained an immensely magnified weight.

Rinnosuke wasn’t looking at her, he was staring down at the picture.  “Couldn’t find much information on why he left Europe, but after a… contract in England, he bought a flight to Korea, and spent a few months there before taking a ferry from Busan  to Osaka, and then making his way here, to Tokyo and…”

The cold reality of what had happened, what they were discussing began to make Marisa nervous.  She wanted to know, she needed to know what Vos had done, but she didn’t want to learn it.  She didn’t want to sit here and hear about his victims and crimes, forcing the closest thing she had to a mentor to relive his trauma.  Still, she needed to know.  Best to move it along.

“I, uh…” she stumbled, unable to articulate how to exit out of her own request. “I don’t need the details, Morichika-san.  You can just… just… skip over what you want…” she trailed off.  She tried to still her wringing hands, but it was no use.

Rinnosuke was staring right through the picture in his hands, lost in thought.  At Marisa’s words, he looked up, and saw the state Marisa was in.  “My apologies,” he said, returning to himself. “You’re right.  We should move on, get this over with.  Very well:  Vos and the girl arrived in Tokyo, and immediately began to track anyone he could.  He set about stalking and harassing anyone with even a hint of the supernatural about them.  As a foreigner, it seems he wasn’t terribly well-versed in local creatures, and he appeared to equate Youkai with European concepts of demons and the like.  He hounded the tengu, the kappa, made a scene with Sakata-san, and even harassed me on the street.”  Rinnosuke was a half-Youkai, and he had a few tricks of magic and a long lifespan to show for it.

Marisa had heard some of this over the years, so she judged now to be the time to interject and clarify a question.  “And no one did anything about his threats?  No one took notice?”

“We all took notice, Marisa,” Rinnosuke responded, a pinprick of annoyance in his repetition of her phrasing.  “Reimu’s mother and I spoke about it several times, and I talked with Iizunamaru-san of the tengu, the kappa elders, Ibuki-san and even the White Hare each made a rare appearance to investigate the rumors.  But… Gensokyo wasn’t a community back then, as you understand it now.  We were all just… colonies of loners, looking to be unnoticed.  There was hardly any communication between the tengu, the kappa, and the yamawaro, the tsukumogami circles didn’t check in like they do now, and the Hakurei maiden was the only person who they all knew.  It was a very different time.”

“So… Vos just went around harassing and threatening people, and no one tried to stop him?” Marisa asked.  She found it unbelievable that there was no effort to expel him before he started attacking people.

“Everyone he approached or threatened assumed it was an isolated incident,” Rinnosuke said, waving his off hand.  “Most were afraid of being exposed, and just ran, thinking him to just be a strange foreigner.  It was only two weeks in, after his second round on the locals, and several notes were slipped into the Hakurei offertory box that she began to put things together.”

Rinnosuke heaved a sigh, and took a sip of his tea.  Marisa remembered her own, and took a sip as well.

“And then, the first attack happened,” he said, producing a written page from the stack.  From what little Marisa could see, it was a rough timeline or chronicle of events.  “Vos attacked a tengu enforcer, stabbed him in the back with a silvered knife.”

“Were…” Marisa began, unable to tamp down her curiosity. “Were they effective weapons?  The silver?”

“Silver didn’t have any particular effect, but they were consecrated or enchanted with some western spell,” Rinnosuke explained.  “Some kind of withering or… draining spell.  The tengu barely survived, but his wing never recovered.  After that, there were a few more attacks.  We tried to track him down, but his movements were erratic.  He attacked a fairy circle, a kitsune familiar, a bake-danuki, and a few others.”

“Where was… the girl in this?” Marisa asked, faltering and almost calling her ‘Sakuya.’

“She was intermittently spotted with him, but the second to last sighting of her was when he hunted down and killed Cyril d'Enneval, that is when things changed.  He was a hereditary werewolf, born with his lycanthropy.  He emigrated to Japan from France to try and escape suspicion.  But… there’s no hiding from dangerous men like Vos.  When he recognized what Cyril-san was… well, he set his sights on him and pursued him… to the end.  He chased him through the back alleys, through the streets at dusk, and a young girl was injured in the chase and contracted his lycanthropy.”

“I’m familiar with Imaizumi-san,” Marisa supplied, eager to push past this, to what she still didn’t already know.

“Ah, yes.  I suppose you would be,” he said, pausing to drink some tea and gaze out the front window.  The rain continued its unsatisfyingly thin fall.  Despite having a family name that meant ‘drizzling rain,’ Marisa found she usually preferred heavy rainfall.  It was more… defined.

“It was that incident that led to many of us banding together,” Rinnosuke continued.  “Reimu’s mother, Ibaraki-san, a wolf-tengu enforcer, Sakata-san and I all gathered and decided to force him to leave.”  There was another pause, and Marisa could see in his face that he was weighing what he should say and what he should skip over.

“We cornered him late at night, and gave him our ultimatum,” he said. “We explained in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t welcome, and that we were showing mercy for the sake of his daughter and he should take the girl and leave Japan.  I explained it in English and Dutch, so I know he understood.”  Rinnosuke paused for another sip of his tea.  An extremely faint rumble filtered through the windows of the shop, like thunder dozens of kilometers away.  “It didn’t go well.”

“What was he like?” Marisa asked, against her better judgment.  She wanted a more… colorful portrait of the man.

“He was… unhinged,” Rinnosuke said, darkly.  “Immune to reason.  Later, after following up with my contact, he told me that the Vos family were once famous and respected hunters and mediators for the supernatural in Europe.  That they were like the Hakurei family, maintaining balance and expertly rooting out those who disrupted the peace of their lands.  But… something happened.  Their whole family was killed, leaving just Matthijs and possibly that girl.  Safe to say that the event took its toll on him.  The… deranged man we found that night was nothing like the family’s reputation would indicate.”

Marisa leaned back in her chair and thought about that.  She imagined the Vos family as a European Hakurei clan.  She thought of Reimu, if her mother and grandmother had been slaughtered by Youkai, what kind of girl that would produce.  A self-destructive madwoman, out to inflict as much pain on the supernatural as she could before being put down.  It was an image so far removed from her best friend and yet… something about it rang terribly true.  Reimu always seemed to be a half-step outside “normal” morals for what was expected… and it was all too easy to imagine her a half-step in a different direction.  To look at the girl who had defied all sense and good judgment and sympathized with the ghost of a dead woman haunting her apartment, and imagine a parallel version that defied sense and good judgment and a… darker manner.

Marisa pushed the alternate Reimu out of her mind and refocused on her present.

“What happened that night?” Marisa asked.

Rinnosuke heaved another great sigh and stood up from the table, walking to a window to gaze out on the rainy street.  “He fought back,” he said, looking away.  “He clipped the wolf tengu with his cursed blades, and threw another that nailed me in the leg.”  He tapped his cane against his bad leg, to make a point. “Ibaraki-san disarmed him, and forced him to the ground, on his back.  We intended to restrain him, find the girl and deport them… but he just kept making threats, against each of us: our families, our friends.  He was more observant than we thought.  He threatened Reimu to her mother’s face… and then he looked at Nemuno… and threatened the children.”

Marisa hissed and grimaced.  She was familiar with the mountain hag, she had taken the yamamba’s oath to care for lost children to the next level, and ran the group home/orphanage in Gensokyo.  It had several dozen children in it, one of the largest in Tokyo.  She protected them with a frightening zeal.

“Even though they were all human then, he didn’t see it that way,” Rinnosuke said. “Claimed they were tainted, being turned into ‘monsters.’  And… that was it.  Before we could say anything or discuss it, she stepped forward and sank the edge of her cleaver into his heart.”

Rinnosuke made a chopping motion with his hand for emphasis with a meaty thwack as he brought the side of his hand down on his palm.  The light tapping of rain on the roof seemed to fade away as he let that moment settle in, and the scene colonized Marisa’s mind.  Each of her elders, standing around Vos as he shouted and screamed, and then Nemuno stepping forward with her long gray hair, and thick steel cleaver in hand.  The downward arc of her swing, and a sputtering gurgle from the man as his blood fled his body, into the street.

As always, Marisa’s imagination painted a vivid image.

“The tengu handled the disposal of the body,” Rinnosuke said. “She brought it back to her clan, and they knew what to do.  We…” he paused.  “The others searched for the girl, but there was only one sighting of her after that, stealing food from a store.  We searched but could never find her after that.  I hoped… I don't know what I hoped for.  That she found a peaceful life?  That she escaped his legacy?  I dare not dream.  That is the story of the Silver Ripper, as I know it,” he sighed again, slowly grabbing the teapot, and pouring himself another cup.

“I’m sorry to force it back on you, Rinnosuke,” Marisa said, unable to lift her eyes off the tabletop.  The news articles and notes seemed to fill her vision.

“Oh don’t be,” Rinnosuke said. “The rain always makes my leg act up, it was nice to have something else to think about.”  Marisa wasn’t sure if she believed him or not.  “But, if you want to make it up to me, you can run an errand for me, just like the old days.”

Marisa had run many an errand for him for spare yen in years past, and sitting here in the shop, she felt a yearning for those simpler times, a nostalgia for when her biggest concerns were a new anime series and her grades in school.

“Okay, Kourin.  What do you need?”

Reimu had stayed up all late reviewing the notes of their meeting.  She’d conceded to finally heading to bed after persistent nagging from Izumi, and now she regretted her decision to stay up so late.  She had groggily swept the shrine grounds, and now reviewed the notes with a head full of fog.  The locations of each corpse hotel, the times each body was taken, and a few other notes.  She eventually compared a map of all the corpse hotels around Gensokyo, realized from the positioning that the idea that the culprit was someone who lived in the neighborhood was rapidly becoming a certainty.

Cirno’s fairy circle stopped by as she studied the map, and she broke out some soda and cookies to entertain them.  Cirno and Summer Blaze fought over the jelly filling inside a cookie, and Daiyousei was sipping soda from a miniscule coffee straw that was a third her height while Reimu tried to concentrate.  Summer Blaze won the tug of war over the cookie, and Cirno tumbled away, landing on her back near Daiyousei.

“Aww…” Cirno lamented as Summer Blaze dug into the jelly at the center of the snack.  “Hey, Dai-chan, did you tell Miss Reimu about the person?”

Daiyousei inhaled and sputtered on the soda as she swallowed and got Reimu’s attention.  “That’s right!  I saw that suspicious person again.”

Reimu was jolted out of her research.  That was right, she had asked Daiyousei to keep an eye out.  “Oh, thank you.  What can you tell me?”

“They were dressed in all-black, with a face mask, like a ninja.  They had pale hair, and they were lurking in a back alley around a building.  They were suspicious, so we ran because they looked scary!” Daiyousei explained.

“What street was the street off of?” Reimu asked.

“Um…” Daiyousei’s face scrunched in concentration as she attempted to recall it.  “I think it was… Saishi-dori?”

It took another ten minutes, but Reimu was able to explain the map and point out which streets were which.  Finally, Daiyousei was able to point to where she saw the figure.

“There, right next to that empty circle,” she said, pointing at one of the markers for a corpse hotel that had not been stolen from yet.  A shiver of excitement ran up Reimu’s back as she made eye contact with Izumi, and they both nodded.  They had a lead.

Reimu pulled out her new phone, and messaged Sakuya.

Guide-in-Dreams: I think I know where our culprit will strike next.

Chapter Text

Sakuya was surprised that the priestess was the next to find a lead, but Lady Scarlet had chosen the two girls for their local knowledge, and it seems that it was that very know-how that had led to the lead.  One of their contacts had given a tip about a mysterious figure circling a corpse hotel at night.  “Casing the joint,” as it were.

Sakuya sat at a table in the library.  It was not quite closed for the day, but was almost deserted by this time.  She reviewed a map of Tokyo, with a pin in the intersection closest to the corpse hotel that the priestess had indicated, 20 minutes walk from her shrine and nestled in one of the odd residential areas that resembled suburbs, squeezed between the major roads of Tokyo.  It had been a small corner store and office building, until the 2011 earthquake had demolished part of it.  Rebuilding it had put the owners out of business, and it had sat unoccupied, suddenly no longer prime real estate, until an ‘entrepreneur’ had bought the building for cheap and turned it into the Sanzuit Hotel .  It wasn’t an uncommon story; corpse hotels were an ugly necessity of life in Japan, and all it took to create them was enough money, an empty building and no regard for public pressure.

Sakuya reviewed the streets around the hotel, scratching at her arm under the navy-blue suit blazer, and recalling her training on cornering prey, trying to think of where they could observe all the approaches to the building.  

She imagined her father leaning across the table to observe the map, his frayed and lank silver hair hiding his face.  His image rose to mind often when she remembered the lessons and skills he had taught her.  She didn’t want to remember him, but she’d spent her formative years around him, and despite the way he… unraveled near the end, he had fed her and cared for her, and taught her much.  Sakuya wasn’t sure she could remove him from her mind, or if she even really wanted to.  It wasn’t him anyway, in spirit or in demeanor.  In her head, he never commented on her acquaintances, or advised her to hunt those she now held dear.  She imagined him as she wanted him to be: kind, analytical, tolerant.  

You need to watch this side-street here, she imagined him saying, as his unreal form pointed to a spot on the map.  She looked down with annoyance to find her imagination had pointed out a critical spot to monitor.

She gazed down at the map, trying to figure out how much of the phantom was guilt, how much was trauma, and how much was his programming.

I’m sorry, my dear, he might have said, if things were different.  But they weren’t and if they were then that wouldn’t have been him.

“Working late?” she heard a distinctively accented voice say behind her, and he left her mind.

“Just… planning the night,” Sakuya said as she looked up from the map.  Meiling walked in front of her, dressed in a forest-green letter jacket, her cabbie hat with a bright golden star pinned to the side.  She must have been headed home.

“Still on that special assignment?” she asked, glancing down at the map.

“Yes, though we may have a break in the case tonight,” Sakuya replied.  She removed the pin from the map, and began to fold it back up.  Best to get moving.

“You sure, you don’t want any help?” Meiling asked. “No back up on the hunt?”

Sakuya considered for a moment as her hands automatically finished folding and stowing the map.  They had never nailed down if there were one or two parties in the theft, and what might be responsible.  A single spirit or ghoul would be no problem for the three of them, but if there were many, then…

In her head, her father’s lessons echoed: monsters often fight alone, so we should never do the same.   It wasn’t correct, but…

“Very well,” Sakuya acquiesced, and Meiling’s viridian eyes brightened in tandem with a smirk on her lips. “Let me change first, though.”

It was ten minutes until midnight, and Reimu had been watching the corpse hotel and camping on the rooftop for half an hour or so, after gaining access to the roof from a carelessly unlatched fire escape.  She’d already reviewed her supplies twice (five exorcism needles, three dozen ofuda talismans, and her gohei .)  Her new phone buzzed, and Reimu checked the message.  Sakuya had met Marisa at the diner as planned, but the text indicated there was a “plus one.”  She showed it to Izumi, who shrugged at what that could mean.

She’d chosen the tallest building on the same block, an apartment building that was extremely cheap due to the fact that bodies were stored in the next building over.  It left her a clear view of the back alley and rear entrance to the hotel, and with Marisa and Sakuya covering the other side, they would have a view on anyone approaching, and the small rooftop garden she was settled in hid her silhouette.  It was a cloudy night, with no moon or stars.  The rain that had been forecasted could not seem to decide on whether it wanted to fall or not, and tiny showers fell sporadically through the evening and night, wetting the streets.

Reimu heard a noise from the fire escape, and Izumi leaned over the edge to investigate, giving her a thumb’s up.  Up the stairs came Marisa, with her typical black coat and jeans, giving Reimu a smile.  Following her was Sakuya, dressed in a form-fitting, gray compression top with long sleeves and a zipper running up the long neck that made it look like high-end sportswear, or maybe combat gear, with an open-faced, sleeveless dark blue cardigan and dark pants.  Reimu realized that this was the first time she had seen Sakuya not dressed in business wear.

They both nodded their quiet greetings to Reimu, as the “plus one” brought up the rear.  She was very tall, easily more than ten centimeters taller than Sakuya, with broad shoulders and thick legs.  Her long, bright red hair immediately drew the eye, along with her strong figure.  She was dressed in a dark green bomber jacket, with a white Chinese tang- style shirt with little knotted cloth buttons down the middle underneath, tight khaki pants and a green cap.  Marisa slid over and began watching the street as Reimu retreated from her spot to talk with Sakuya and the newcomer farther back on the roof.

“Hakurei-san, this is Hong Meiling,” Sakuya introduced.  “She’s a co-worker of mine who’s agreed  to help out.”

The woman made a small bow.  “Just Meiling, if it pleases you, Hakurei-san.”  Her Chinese accent was thick, but her Japanese diction and grammar were beyond solid.

“Pleased to meet you, Meiling,” Reimu said, returning the bow.

Sakuya wasted no time, and pulled up a map of the surrounding area on her phone, pointing out their position, and the best places to station two other look outs: Sakuya in another alley, and Marisa at the top of another building.  Izumi stood a respectful distance away, listening.

“Every theft took place between midnight and 2 AM, so we should get in position,” Reimu said, checking her watch.  

“The two other places are across the main street,” Meiling pointed out. “So I should probably stay here, the closest position.”

“Very well,” Sakuya said, slipping her phone back into her pants pocket, and Reimu noticed the odd way her cardigan shifted.  She had something, or a lot of somethings on the inside of it.  Sakuya moved to tap Marisa on the shoulder, and they both left back down the fire escape, Marisa giving a nod to Reimu.

“Well, we should probably settle in,” Meiling said, gesturing to planters along the edge of the roof.  Reimu nodded.  Izumi walked to the edge and sat down on it as Reimu and Meiling made themselves comfortable.

Minutes passed.

Then more time.

Reimu snuck glances at Meiling.  She was obviously strong, but was she human?  Her name and accent placed her as a native of the mainland, but her bright red hair and stature seemed to hint at something more… unnatural.

“So, what kind of work do you do with Izayoi-san?” Reimu whispered, growing bored.  She needed something to keep her alert.

“Marketing, demographics, that sort of thing,” Meiling replied under her breath, a slight smile in her whisper. “I run a work-out studio and tea shop in the building her boss owns, and I consult on company matters, from time to time.”

“And what is it like, working for a vampire?” Reimu asked, unable to restrain herself from the obvious question.

A snort emanated from Meiling. “So she told you the truth?”

“Ehh…more like we guessed it,” Reimu clarified.

“Very well,” Meiling said, sighing slightly.  “I was the gatekeeper and guardian of Lady Scarlet’s manor, back when she had one in Europe.”

“I see,” Reimu said, talking that in. “Not many gates to guard these days, though?”

“Precisely,” Meiling said.  “Since she left the old country behind over a century ago, I’ve been trying other jobs and hobbies.”

Reimu was about to question her on the ‘century’ remark, when she heard a hiss from Izumi.  Reimu peered over the edge of the roof, and looked around.  It seemed to be the same dark alley as before, when she noticed a shadow dart between pieces of cover.

The figure seemed short, dressed in black, with short white hair, and something secured on their back.  They moved across the alley, when the distant sound of sirens drifted from the street.  The figure froze, then reversed and took cover as a police car whizzed by on the nearby main street, lights spinning, siren blaring.  Reimu stared hard at the spot where the figure had disappeared. Meiling had fallen silent as well, and seemed to be watching the same spot.  The sirens faded away, and the figure emerged from the shadow, creeping closer to the hotel.  They approached directly beneath them, and crouched down next to the lock on the back door of the corpse hotel.

They had found their prey.

Reimu pulled out her phone and texted Sakuya and Marisa, giving the signal to move in.  Beside her, Meiling stood up and pushed up the sleeves on her jacket.

“Well, we’re here to stop them, right?” Meiling asked, then without another word, she leapt from the roof, down towards the street.  Both Reimu and Izumi made noise of surprise as the tall woman landed in a crouch, cracking the concrete of the alley under her feet.  Reimu was frozen for a split second at the impossibility of what had just occurred, before she composed herself and scrambled down the fire escape, down to the alleyway to try and cut off the culprit's escape.

Reimu rounded the corner of the building and found the culprit with their back to her, having leapt away from Meiling.  They quickly glanced over their shoulder to see Reimu cutting off their escape, and Reimu could see they had a black mask over their nose and mouth.  Now closer, Reimu could also see their pure white hair cut in a bob, the sword on their back: what appeared to be a genuine katana, one that seemed faintly familiar to Reimu.  All in all, they were dressed like a modern ninja.

“We don’t want to hurt you!” Reimu called, not quite shouting over the distance.  “Whatever is going on with the bodies, we can help you!”

The figure stood, still facing Meiling, their stance wide and ready to act.  Meiling looked unbothered, for her part.  Reimu took a few cautious steps forward, and Izumi tried to edge towards the culprit, perhaps forgetting her status as a ghost in the tension of the moment.

“Come on kid,” Meiling said, taking a few steps forward. “Let’s talk about this, yeah?”  The figure glanced over their shoulder, and Reimu saw their ethereal blue eyes, and something tugged at the back of her head.  “No need to draw a sword over-” As they looked, Meiling brazenly walked up and placed her hand on their shoulder.

In an instant, the situation changed.  The culprit drew their blade in a flash, attacking Meiling with a downward slash.  She leapt back, but the culprit continued her attack, spinning, arching strikes with the katana.  Meiling dodged one, then raised her arm and blocked the second with the back of her wrist.  The battle froze for a split second, as both the culprit and Reimu saw what happened.

Meiling’s arms were now covered in iridescent green scales from her fingertips to her elbows, her large hands tipped by hooked, obsidian claws, like a dragon.

Oh, Reimu thought.  That explains a thing or two.

Meiling parried another two blows with her two scaled forearms, sparks flying with each blow deflected.  Reimu moved closer, trying to see if she could grab an arm or restrain the culprit, but the battle was too chaotic.  A noise came from around the corner, past Meiling, something like a woman’s voice.

“We’re over here, Sakuy-”

Her reply was cut off, as in the split second she took to say something, the culprit moved with an unnatural speed, wheeling around in a ghostly blur and slicing straight across Meiling’s stomach.

Meiling screamed as a ribbon of blood splattered the alley wall, and Reimu froze.  Not just the injury, but the way the culprit moved shocked her.  No human could do that, the way they moved instantly as Meiling was distracted.

Meiling fell to the ground, grabbing at her abdomen.  Reimu looked up to see Sakuya at the other end of the alley, staring down at Meiling, her face full of a furious emotion like Reimu had never seen before.  She reached inside her cardigan and threw something sharp and reflective at the culprit.  They dodged, leaning to the side, and Reimu flung herself to the side and fell to her knees to avoid it as it passed her (she wasn’t sure it would have hit her anyway, but it was close enough to make her nervous.)  She swiftly drew another object and winged it at the culprit.  Reimu was able to see it was some kind of throwing knife, with a pale, clean metallic sheen. The culprit swung their blade and swatted it out of the air with a clang.  The second knife clattered to the ground near Reimu.  

Sakuya drew several knives at once, and threw all of them with one swing, each of them headed right towards the culprit.  They didn’t even move to dodge, but held up their hand, and each of the three knives froze in midair, held by some kind of faint, translucent purple distortion.  Reimu barely had time to get to her feet and process that, moving forward to try and disable this person when they twisted their hand and pointed at Sakuya, and the three knives followed suit, streaking back towards their owner.  Sakuya ducked to try and avoid them, but one clipped the outside of her thigh, and she fell over, gasping.

That gave Reimu enough time to get behind the culprit.  She grabbed at their sword arm, and curled her arm around their neck, trying to restrain them in what she hoped was an effective chokehold, but they were short and small, and it was hard to get a grip.  The figure twisted and elbowed Reimu in the stomach, and began to pull free of her arm.  Reimu tried to grab their clothing as they pulled away, but only managed to pull off their mask.

They spun away from Reimu, leveling their sword and staring at her, but Reimu could finally see their face.

For a moment, Reimu couldn’t process what she saw.  Standing before her was the last person she expected to find stealing corpses and wielding a sword: Youmu Konpaku.  But something was wrong; her eyes were a ghostly blue, and her hair pure white, not their normal black.  And she was wearing an expression that Reimu had never seen on her: pained, angry, regretful.

Beside her, Izumi was just as stunned, but spoke a wary question.

“Youen?” she asked, and Reimu realized with a crushing certainty that she was right.  Youmu’s hair was the same ethereal white that Youen’s had turned after she had died.

“I told you not to get in my way!” Youmu’s body shouted, and the voice that issued forth sounded like two people: Youmu and Youen speaking together.

“Youen…” Reimu said, then faltered at a loss for words.  “She… why?  Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have to,” she replied, her double-voice full of pain.  Reimu was still stunned, what could possibly drive her to this?

Behind her Reimu could see Sakuya righting herself, and she could hear footsteps behind herself coming from the main street: Marisa finally arriving from her rooftop lookout.

Reimu glanced behind herself to confirm that it was Marisa, and when she looked back Youmu’s body was rushing towards her.  Reimu braced herself, trying to dodge or perhaps block a blow with her gohei, but she made no move to strike, only throwing herself to the right, running up the wall around Reimu, and landing in a roll behind her, with the same brief burst of ghostly speed she had attacked Meiling with.  She sheathed the sword on her back, then began to run out towards the main street, passing right by Marisa as the blond girl turned the corner and stumbled out of the way of the figure barreling past her.

“Marisa!” Reimu shouted as Marisa barely found her footing. “Get after her, don’t lose her!”

Marisa took one look at Reimu, and understood.  “Got it!” she called back, before taking off after the culprit.  Reimu wasn’t worried; despite having shorter legs, Marisa was always the faster of the two of them.  She instead moved back down the alley to help Sakuya with Meiling.

Sakuya was back on her feet, the wound on her leg letting out a small but steady line of blood, which disappeared into her dark pants.  Meiling was holding her once-again human hands over the wound on her stomach, which was bleeding at both ends where the pressure was lighter, turning her white shirt dark red in a slowly blossoming stain.  Reimu fell to her knees, reaching down to where Meiling was putting pressure on the wound and prying her hands off to inspect it.  The wound wasn’t deep enough to penetrate to her internals, but plenty of muscle damage had been done.  

“I couldn’t get my scales up fast enough…” Meiling muttered, her face a mask of strain and suppressed pain.  Sakuya walked over, limping.  She held her cardigan open with one hand, then snapped her fingers with the other.   Reimu felt the pulse of a minor spell, and a whistling sound filled the air for a moment as the throwing knives that littered the alley flew through the air, recalling themselves to the inside of her garment.

Distantly, Reimu could hear Izumi muttering, worrying over her shoulder, but she knew what she needed to do.  A ritual she had developed herself, with a prayer that had come to her in a dream.  She withdrew a single ofuda paper talisman, placed it over the wound.  The woman’s blood was unexpectedly warm, almost uncomfortably hot.  Refocusing, Reimu began her plea to the god of healing.

Sukuna-hikona, first of the Inchlings
Please lend this soul your power
To see another sunrise

The script on the taliman shone with a brief light, and the bleeding reduced.  Reimu didn’t know how effective it truly was, but she hoped it would be enough.    She wiped her hand on the woman’s already ruined shirt and began to try and get Meiling up, desperately puzzling out how they would get medical aid for a part-dragon person.

“We’ve got to get you up, do you know-” Reimu’s question was interrupted as Sakuya dropped to her knees next to Meiling, reached over and pushed Reimu away.

“I can handle this,” Sakuya gritted out, an odd brittleness to her voice. “You were hired to catch the thief.  Do it. ”

Reimu paused, then nodded and sprinted out of the alley, Izumi already ahead of her, guiding her down the streets and after Marisa, past the occasional late-night pedestrian and back towards Gensokyo.

The night was only just beginning.

Sakuya knelt over the injured form of Meiling, her mind racing.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened.  It was supposed to be the wrap-up of the case at most, at worst just another wasted night.  Sakuya had no idea what to do.  In the decade and a half she had been living with them, none of the non-humans had ever had a medical emergency like this, at least none that she had ever learned about.  Surely, she couldn’t take Meiling to a hospital, they would notice her abnormal, scorching internal temperature, and begin to ask questions, which the Koumakyou Group could handle, but would still be a danger nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, Meiling,” Sakuya found herself saying as she kept pressure on the wound, despite the blood covering her hands beginning to scorch her.  It seems the seal the priestess had used helped, and the bleeding was slowing down.  The caligraphy on the talisman had disappeared as the whole thing had turned red, soaked in her blood.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” Meiling choked out, wincing.  “It’s my fault; lettin’ my guard down.  Didn’t think a human could move like that.”  

“What do we do?” Sakuya asked, trying to keep her voice level. “Is there some place that can treat you?”

Meiling let out a small nod as she fished around her pocket,  producing a keyring, with multiple modern keys on it.  Sakuya expected her to pick out a plastic tag with a phone number or address, but she selected a single key instead, one Sakuya had never noticed before.  It was perfectly normal, but was cleanly divided down the middle, rich red on one side and dark blue on the other.

“Doctor Yagokoro can help,” Meiling said, and before Sakuya had a chance to ask who that was, Meiling sat up, much to Sakuya’s consternation. “Come on, get me to a doorway.”

Sakuya knew better than to argue with her on this, especially when she had no idea what the alternative was.  She grabbed the wrist Meiling offered and looped her arm around the back of her neck, lifting the taller woman up to almost standing, and dragging her over to a side-entrance of the apartment they had met at the top of.  Meiling reached out and inserted the red and blue key into the deadbolt above the doorknob, which accepted the key despite not being quite the right size.

Sakuya felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and shivered as a spell activated.  The key in the lock disintegrated into specks of light, and Meiling grabbed the doorknob and pushed on the door, despite the fact that Sakuya could see that the door opened outward.  But regardless, whatever spell was in the key made the door open inwards, and inside was nothing but blinding white light.

They stepped into the light together, and the door shut behind them, the only evidence of the battle, a dark stain in the alleyway.

Chapter Text

Marisa was fast, but even she was pressed to keep up with her prey.

Sprinting through the streets after someone dressed in all black, while yourself being dressed in all black with a wide-brimmed hat under your arm was not a recipe to pass unnoticed.  The few pedestrians out past midnight gave them both a wide berth, and she passed by one police officer who shouted and yelled after them, but Marisa glanced back to see Izumi pass right through him, and she could see his resolve leave his face as the chill of death ran through his body.

As she sprinted, Marisa tried to figure out where this person was going.  They were dressed in all black with a katana on their back.  Not exactly what Marisa had expected to find, but also just strange enough that it all made sense.

They wound through the streets, the figure looking back at Marisa a few times, but stumbling each time, letting Marisa close some distance.  They had been running for ten minutes before Marisa recognized where they were: back in Gensokyo proper.  And another few minutes after that, Marisa was forced to stop as her quarry leapt over the hedge surrounding the Konpaku home and climbed into a window, shutting it behind them.  Marisa panted heavily as she stood on the sidewalk outside the home, unable to climb over the hedge without catching her breath, and confused as to where she had been led.

Izumi stopped nearby, and asked: “She went inside?”

“Yeah,” Marisa managed between gasps for air.  “What…who…wh…”

“It’s Youen, Marisa,” Izumi said gravely, sensing the question that she was trying and failing to ask. “She possessed Youmu’s body and stole the corpses.”

Marisa’s mind reeled.  Youen?  Uptight, by-the-books, honor-before-reason Youen Konpaku was puppeteering her sister to steal dead bodies?  Youen Konpaku, who had threatened harm on anyone who so much as upset her sister was possessing her?   It made no sense… and yet… they had never found a satisfactory answer as to Youen’s cause of death.  She had apparently just keeled over while exploring an abandoned house… which, as Marisa remembered what Youmu had told her, didn’t much sound like something she would do…

Theories began to spin themselves into shape, and Marisa almosted missed a shape darted out of the house, through the wall and down the street.  Izumi crossed through the hedge and maneuvered herself up to the elevated window.  Their house was built on a slight incline, and the window the person had crawled into overlooked an exercise courtyard and patio where Youen had practiced her sword skills while alive.  Marisa had a vague idea that the window led to Youmu’s room, but that was confirmed when Izumi returned.

“It’s Youmu, asleep or unconscious in bed,” she said. “Youen must have fled.”

“She doesn’t want her involved in this,” Marisa said.

“She should have thought about that before she possessed her,” Reimu said from slightly far away as she caught up to Marisa and Izumi.

“But seriously, Reimu?” Marisa asked, searching for some sign on Reimu's face that she thought this was as insane as she did.  “Youen’s our corpse thief?”

“No doubt.  She didn’t even try to deny it,” Reimu said with no hesitation. “But we don’t have the full story.  Where did she go?”

“She slipped into Youmu’s room, then something immaterial darted away,” Marisa told her.

“Youmu’s wrapped up in her blankets now, she’s out cold,” Izumi added.

Reimu thought for a second, then began to walk without warning.

“Whoa, where are we headed?” Marisa asked.

“To deal with Youen.”

“Yeah?” Marisa asked, stumped on where they could be headed. “And you know where she’s gotten to?”

“Where all ghosts go - or want to go - when they’re upset,” Reimu said, turning to Izumi.

“Their graves,” she said, solemnly.

Several minutes later they approached the roadside graveyard in Gensokyo, the one where most older neighborhood families, including the Hakurei, had gravestones.  Before they even arrived, Marisa knew Reimu was right; there was a wailing in the air, a chorus of unearthly cries that sounded like several people alternately sobbing, screaming and muttering.

Marisa felt her special necklace in her pocket, her thumb running over the octagonal surface.  She had yet to use it or the spell she had derived with its power, but she was ready to if need be.

The three of them crossed the empty street, and found Youen sobbing in front of her own grave marker, but it was… not entirely her.  As she screamed, her face distorted, her eyes sinking into black pits and her jaw elongating into a maw of mangled teeth, her white hair lengthening and blowing about her in a spectral wind, before her form flickered and she returned to normal.  

“I’m sorry…” she said, as she collapsed to the ground, overcome.

Marisa was no spiritualist, but she recognized what was happening from Izumi’s exorcism and from the spirit Reimu’s mother had exorcized from her childhood bedroom.  A spirit in pain, losing its grip on itself.  Marisa stole a glance at her companions.  Reimu’s features were hard, only the faintest hint of pity on her otherwise resigned face; she clearly expected this to only end badly, but Izumi looked more regretful, or perhaps (understandably) more empathetic.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone… I didn’t… I’m sorry…” Youen pleaded.  Marisa had to steady herself; the ghost pleading, rambling and mumbling before them was so unlike the girl she’d known.

“Then you shouldn’t have attacked anyone with a sword,” Reimu said to her, stepping ahead of the other two, her posture protective of them.

“I just, no one… no one can hurt her…” Youen said. “I’m all she has, we’re alone together.  I can’t let anything happen…”

“So you possess her?” Reimu said, the accusatory and judgemental tone in her voice rising.  “Is that how you protect your sister?”

“I don’t have a CHOICE! ” Youen shouted, her face distorting into a grisly visage of a specter again with the shout.  “She dies if I don’t!  I can’t… I won’t…” Her features returned to normal, and she sobbed.  “I don’t want to do these things, I didn’t mean to attack that person… I can’t stop myself, it’s so hard…”

“She’s been silently holding vigil over her sister for months,” Marisa quietly explained, half to herself, half to Izumi. “Frankly, I’m surprised she’d lasted this long; as being of pure ego, ghosts are extra vulnerable to mental health issues.”

“I know,” Izumi replied, her voice holding the slightest edge of ice in it.  Marisa felt stupid; of course Izumi would know all about that.

“And what does stealing bodies gain you?” Reimu asked, having drawn an ofuda talisman from inside her hoodie, holding it at the ready.

“I have to…” Youen was cut off as her form flickered again, rapidly shifting from collapsed on the ground, to standing and screaming, to flat on the ground, and back to a sideways sitting position, almost too fast to track.  “I have to!  Or she dies!” she said again.   The brief scream and rapid movement made Marisa take a step back, and Reimu threw up her arm to guard those behind her on reflex.

But Izumi moved forward, walking straight through Reimu’s outstretched arm, toward the wailing ghost.

“I’m sorry none of us could help you, Youen,” Izumi said, her tone gentle and warm. “I’m sorry that all this happened to you, that no one was there to help.”

“Izumi, what are you doing?” Reimu hissed, but Izumi ignored her.

“You didn’t deserve this, no one did,” she continued, as she approached Youen. “But we’re here to help you now, and you can do the right thing now, we can make this right and protect Youmu from whatever is trying to hurt her.  But you have to tell us what’s going on, tell us what happened, okay?”

Youen looked up at Izumi, her expression a mess of emotion.  If ghosts could actually cry, Marisa guessed that Youen’s face would be a mess of tears and snot, but as it was her face was contorted in grief and regret.

Marisa could see the tension in Reimu’s posture as Izumi drew ever closer to the flickering spirit, and she felt that same tension in her own body.  If Youen lashed out, wanted her destroyed, there was little chance Izumi would survive.

“We can get through this together, if you trust us.  Whatever’s going on, we can help,” Izumi said, spreading her arms plaintively, and dropping to her knees next to Youen.

Youen paused for a long moment looking at the woman in front of her, then she shifted and fell into Izumi’s arms with a shuddering sob.  Izumi was ready, and embraced her, hugging her tightly, and whispering to her, while holding her.  Marisa wasn’t sure if ghosts could feel each other, but from the way Youen’s form immediately stopped flickering, it was doing her a lot of good.  She wasn’t healing, per se, but she was stabilizing, coalescing.  Marisa saw Reimu relax her posture, and Marisa removed her hand from her secret talisman necklace with a mote of guilt in her mind.  She and Reimu had both assumed that this would only end in a fight, but the two spirits embracing in front of them showed that kindness was always an option.  As she listened to Izumi gently reassure Youen, Marisa just wondered how long it would last. 

A few minutes later, they were all situated around the chōzu-ya basin for purification-water.  Youen was seated on the stone edge around the basin, which was roughly bench-height, with Izumi seated next to her, her arm around her shoulder.  Marisa was leaning against the nearby pillar that held up the roof over the basin, and Reimu stood directly in front of the two ghosts, her arms crossed.  

“Youen,” Reimu said, clearly tired of waiting. “It’s time to come clean.  What happened to you?”

The young ghost sighed, and took a moment to collect herself before she began.  “I’m sorry that it came to this, Hakurei-san, but I didn’t know what to do.  It starts… it starts almost a year ago, now.  Youmu had been sleep-walking.”

“As in, getting up and wandering about while asleep?” Marisa asked.

“Exactly,” Youen confirmed. “She had never done anything like it, but the sleep-doctor said it wasn’t unheard of to start later in life, so father just fitted an ankle strap on her bed, and told me to tell no one.” Marisa winched internally. That would be just like the elder Konpakus, both remarkably strict parents.

“But I heard a noise late at night, and found that Youmu had removed the ankle restraint in her sleep,” Youmu continued.  “I didn’t think much of it; I directed her back to bed.  But then… It kept happening.  So, I decided to let it play out, see where she was trying to go, see if that was a hint.  I followed her out of our own house, out into the neighborhood.  She seemed to be a little unsteady, but she wandered to a unique location: to an abandoned house, a place I’d never noticed before.  I stopped her before she walked in the front door, but she didn’t wake up.  I waited for another few nights, and she slept-walked there every night, without fail.  So, I decided to investigate on my own.”

“Where is this house?” Reimu asked, jumping ahead.

“It’s on Meikai-dori, to the east of the old music school,” Youen said.

Marisa and Reimu looked at eachother, both thinking the same thing. “There’s no house on that part of the street, Youen,” Marisa said.

“That’s what I thought, too,” she said. “I’d passed by that spot every week and never saw a house there, until Youmu wandered up to it.  It made me uneasy.  I asked some people who passed by if they knew of a deserted mansion on the street, and none of them could see it, even when we were right next to it.  It was like some sort of spell.”

“A perception charm,” Marisa said, nodding.  “That all lines up.  A few Folk use them to remain unnoticed, and I prepared something very similar recently.  Once you followed someone who walked right up to it, it broke for you and you could see and remember it.” She touched her hand to her chin.  “Pretty standard types of spell, really.”

“A whole house, though?” Izumi asked, still looking at Youen.

“It would be difficult, but not impossible,” Marisa said.

“Well, I decided to try and leave it be…” Youen said. “But my curiosity got the better of me as I had to stop Youmu from going back a few more nights..  What could be in this hidden house that was attracting my little sister?  So a week or so later, on my way back from practice, I walked up to the front door, and opened it… and I… I died.”

There was a moment of silence as Youen stared down at the concrete.  Distantly, Marisa heard a train move past them.

“My body lying in the open door must have been enough to break through that charm, because before long my body was dragged away, but my spirit remained in the house… and I met… her. ”

The ominous weight Youen put on the word was unmistakable.

“There’s a spirit in that house, and she killed me.”

Marisa and Reimu shared another look, more startled this time. “That’s… ghosts can’t do that,” Reimu said, though her tone lacked the confidence her words implied.

“Well, this one did,” Youen continued.  “She said her name was ‘Saigyou.’”

“As in the poet?” Izumi asked, to three blank looks from the others. “Hoshi Saigyou, the Heian-era poet?  You know, ‘let me die in spring; under the blooming trees’?” The bit of verse sounded familiar, but Marisa had never heard of him, and shrugged along with Reimu.  Izumi just sighed and gestured for Youen to continue.

“Saigyou said that she was imprisoned in the mansion, and needed a way out.  She… she said she was trying to get to Youmu, because she was a particularly powerful soul, and using her would give her the power to break her seal.  I…” Youen paused to compose herself, and Izumi whispered something Marisa couldn’t hear to her.  Reimu’s face was skeptical, but she said nothing.  It seemed suspicious to Marisa as well, that this spirit could command Youmu in her sleep from over a city block away, but if she could also kill Youmu in an instant, perhaps it might be possible; perhaps she was more than a mere spirit.

“I tried to offer myself, but she said I wasn’t enough,” Youen said. “But I wasn’t going to just let this thing take both me and my sister, but I couldn’t hope to actually stop her… so I said I’d serve her.”  The shame in Youen’s voice was palpable. “I remember Reimu talking about how part of a soul remained in a body after death, and I told her I’d get her many, many bodies.  I’d gather bodies with pieces of souls in them, and she’d leave Youmu alone… It seemed like it would be the best way… no one else had to die and my sister was safe.  But… it didn’t quite work.  I tried to possess morgue workers or those around the bodies, or even the bodies themselves to get it done… but it never worked.”

“Possession by spirit requires a bond between the two souls,” Reimu said. “Possessing a person the possessor does not have a bond with requires spiritual power a human cannot achieve, so I doubt this Saigyou is truely or completely a human spirit.”

“Yes…” Youen said, picking her story back up. “I tried for a month, with no luck.  Eventually, Saigyou gave me an ultimatum, and I was forced to possess Youmu to get it done.  She’s the only person I was close enough to possess…” Youen shuddered again, dropping her head into her hands. “I couldn’t even see that I was putting the person I loved in danger to try and save them!  I should have come to you sooner, Reimu-san.”

Marisa saw Reimu’s icy expression soften, ever so slightly.  It wasn’t easy to notice, but their decade plus of knowing each other let Marisa see it.  “I understand, Youen-san,” she said, then sighed deeply. “What matters is we deal with this ghost now.”

“Uhh… what?” Marisa verbally stumbled, stunned. “Like, now?  You don’t want to get back to Sakuya and regroup?  Tell her what happened?”

“Youen, how many corpses did you steal?” Reimu asked.

“Let me think…” she said, her ghostly fingers twitching in a quick mental recounting.  “It was at least a dozen, probably twenty or so.”

“That’s more than enough,” Reimu said. “If this spirit wanted enough power to break a binding, it should have it by now.  We need to act, and act quickly, Marisa.  Whatever is happening, we can’t afford to wait.  There’s a missing piece to this, and it’s at that mansion.  The faster we solve this, the safer our neighborhood is; every second we wait, Youmu and every other spiritually sensitive person in this city is in danger.”  She turned back to Youen. “Show us this house, Youen.”

Marisa felt like she’d been brushed off. “Uh, did you forget about how this spirit killed Youen?  Like, with some kind of instant-kill power?”

Reimu paused a moment, before withdrawing two ofuda paper talismans from inside her hoodie, and holding them in front of her, whispering a quiet chant.  Marisa felt a slight buzz in the air, something she’d attuned herself to from long hours of studying aether, and she realized Reimu was enchanting the talismans with her divine powers.  

She just… did it with no explanation.  It was what Marisa both loved and hated about Reimu.  She never hesitated, never stopped.  Even in her abilities, she did in moments with the power of the gods what had taken Marisa months to even begin to learn.  Being around Reimu was reassuring, but also demeaning.  She was so good at picking a path and sticking to it, it made Marisa even more self-conscious over her fluctuating interests and paths of study, her inability to focus.

When someone was everything you aspired to be with no effort, how could you do anything but love and resent them?

Reimu finished her chant and placed one of the talismans over her heart, lifting up her black shirt and showing all of them her stomach and bra without batting an eyelash.  Marisa flushed a bit at the brief display, then Reimu stepped over next to her and yanked her closer by grabbing her coat.  Before Marisa even had a chance to realize what was happening, Reimu had placed the ofuda on the inside of her coat, near her heart.

“This should protect us from any death charms a monster can spin up,” she said. “Youen, since you’re already dead, please show us this ‘mansion.’  Marisa and I have a ghost to settle.”  

Youen looked up at her, her expression hardening in resolve as a mirror to Reimu’s.  She stood from the basin edge and Izumi followed suit.

Youen and Reimu moved out of the graveyard, and after a moment Izumi began to follow, beckoning Marisa.  Marisa couldn’t move.

“Aren’t… aren’t you scared, Izumi?” Marisa found herself asking, her hands balled into fists, resenting her entire life for reasons she couldn’t articulate to herself.

Izumi seemed to understand the questions Marisa hadn’t asked.  “I’m not scared for me, I’m already dead.  Every moment I have here is a gift, to expect more is foolish.  But I am scared for you two.  But I know you’ll help Reimu survive this.”

“What if… what if I don’t want to fight a ghost?” Marisa said, feeling childish.

“Maybe you don’t want to,” Izumi said, a parental patience in her voice. “But I know you’ll help Reimu, though.  Because no force under heaven or earth will stop her from helping someone, spirit or living.  And I know you’ll never abandon her.”

Before Izumi had said that, Marisa had long entertained fantasies of leaving Gensokyo.  Laying down her studies to go live on a rice farm, or heading to Hawaii or the USA, leaving all this behind.  They were a comfort when she felt like the walls were closing in; the private escapism of imagining a way out from your entire life and everyone you knew, to start over.  

Only upon hearing Izumi say this, did Marisa realize she never could have done it.  She could no more leave Reimu than the sun could rise from the west.  In this moment she discovered that her heart had decided this long ago, and simply never told her until now.

She smiled, a small and private smile, then set off after Youen and Reimu, Izumi leading the way.

Chapter Text

Sakuya wasn’t sure what she had expected from a medical service for the supernatural, but this was not it.

She stared through the glass at Meiling’s unconscious form, a mass of red and green laid across a gurney in a room that looked more like a converted public washroom than a surgical suite.  It was scrubbed clean, but the ceramic tiles that coated the room held the unmistakable veneer of age.

But more concerning than the tiling of the room were the two people in the room with Meiling, and the machine.

They had come through the door of white light into a small surgical prep room, and someone else had rushed in to take Meiling, followed by the woman who was now standing over her.  Together, almost without a word, they had put her on a gurney and wheeled her into the tiled room.  From there, the first woman, the one with odd purple hair, had become a surgical assistant to the woman with long gray hair.  She was tall, with her very long gray hair worn in a large braid.  She had frameless rectangular glasses on, a shirt that was half dark blue and half blood red, with a simple black miniskirt and dark stockings, with a pure white lab coat over top that gave her the thinnest veneer of being a medical professional.  

It wasn’t her appearance that troubled Sakuya, it was the machine mounted to the ceiling.  It looked like an unholy collection of robotics limbs, a mixture of simple actuators and industrial assembly-line quality arms, each with a device at the end that Sakuya could not identify, along with large lights and a few monitors.  She’d been in hospitals plenty, and seen plenty of surgeries, real and back-alley, but she was at a loss as to the function of most of the machinery.  As the assistant with purple hair wheeled around carts and trays of more familiar surgical tools, the machine placed a breathing mask over Meiling’s face and she drifted out of consciousness as the woman with gray hair cut away Meiling's shirt, and retrieved a canister of some kind from a tray.  She moved it over the cut across Meiling’s abdomen, leaving a streak of clear gel across the wound that instantly stopped the bleeding.

The assistant kept passing between Sakuya and Meiling to clean the area and Meiling of blood and retrieve tools for the surgeon, so Sakuya couldn’t quite see the entire process, but she did see a device from one of the robotics arms scan Meiling’s abdomen with red lights and then another arm projected what was absolutely a holographic screen for the surgeon to consult.  The surgery continued quickly, with the machine, the assistant and the surgeon all working together as part of a refined team to heal Meiling.  As the surgery drew to a close, the surgeon said something to the assistant, and then moved to a sink in the back of the room and began to clean up, and the assistant worked with the machine to finish the process, doing some kind of stitching or stapling.

It was the first time Sakuya had gotten a good look at her.  She was of medium height, with a young face but mature figure, with straight hair that fell past her shoulders that was a deaden pastel purple color, and seemed… damaged or brittle or frizzy somehow.  She was clothed in a dress shirt and dark pants, not unlike what Sakuya would wear on the job.  But two features stuck out: her red eyes and her ears.  Her bright red eyes seemed unnatural to Sakuya; the sclera didn’t seem quite white, almost like they were steel gray.  But as she focused on the task of sealing up Meiling’s wound, Sakuya could swear she saw movement inside her eyes, like her frighteningly red irises were camera lenses focusing on a subject.  The other thing she noticed about her appearance was her ears: they were extended well above her head, almost like elf ears or those of a hare or rabbit, but they looked like they were white plastic, not unlike antenna designs.  They were certainly artificial, but with the distance and her hair blocking the view, Sakuya couldn’t tell if they were a prosthetic or some kind of odd headset.

But the thing that troubled Sakuya more than anything she saw with her eyes was what she saw with her second sight.  Through her special vision, the assistant looked mostly human… but there was some unknown, unnatural edge to her aura, like it had been altered somehow.  And the surgeon… her aura was unlike anything Sakuya had seen.  It was intense, brilliant and shining, but also strange and alien.

The surgeon finished cleaning, and exited the room to speak with Sakuya.

“Welcome to the Hourai Medical Center,” she said as she rounded the corner to the waiting area/office space Sakuya had been left in.  Her voice was dry and smooth.  She gestured to a nearby set of chairs and sat down without waiting, and began filling out some paperwork that was waiting on the nearby desk.  The interior of the building was full to bursting with knickknacks and junk, some of it medical paraphernalia, other pieces of indecipherable origin and purpose.

Warily, Sakuya sat down opposite her, and studied her as she filled out the forms.  She looked to be in her late forties or perhaps early fifties, her face showing a few lines around her eyes and mouth and her dark eyes were sharp behind her thin glasses, darting back and forth over the form.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced in the chaos of all this,” she said, tearing her attention from the forms, back to Sakuya.  She extended a hand. “Doctor Eirin Yagokoro.”

Sakuya shook it quickly, glad to be back to speaking with someone again. “Sakuya Izayoi,” she said.

The doctor broke the handshake, then looked down at Sakuya’s leg, staring at the cut on her thigh.  Sakuya herself had mostly forgotten it, and the adrenaline in her blood kept her from noticing it.  It wasn’t deep at all, almost superficial, but Sakuya could feel a distant prickling pain from it now that she was looking at it and was reminded of it. The doctor gripped her leg, more firmly than Sakuya imagined she could, then leaned over it and withdrew a strip of some reflective white material from her lab coat, and quickly applied it over the cut, but under her pants somehow.  Sakuya wasn’t quite sure what happened, she must have blinked and missed something.  Immediately, the pain from the wound stopped.

“I’m sure you must have many questions,” the doctor said, leaning back in her office chair and grabbing an alcohol wipe from a plastic canister on the table to clean the small amount of blood on her hands.   “First, your friend will be just fine.  We have some of the best medical technology on Earth and beyond here.  It was a serious wound, but she’ll make a full recovery in less than a month.  Second: cost.” Sakuya tensed, wondering what this might set the Koumakyou Group back. 

“Nothing!” the woman said with a smile.

“You’re doing this… for free?” Sakuya asked warily.

“Not at all,” the doctor returned with a slight snort.  “As much as I wish I could provide my care free of charge, our equipment is… uniquely expensive to operate and maintain.  But the plan that Ms. Meiling purchased included a full treatment, which included the folding-space key that led here.  The cost is not inconsiderable, but your friend already paid for all of it when she purchased the key.  She’ll be taken care of and we’ll provide all the post-care and follow ups necessary for a full recovery.”

Sakuya felt a knot unraveling in her stomach that she hadn’t even realized was there.  Still, they should probably reimburse Meiling for this.  She wondered if Remilia would acquiesce to that…

“And consider that wound on your leg a house favor,” she added. “I’m not at liberty to tell you all about our services, seeing as you’re not a registered and screened client, but we understand the peculiars of emergencies here, so no need to worry.  If you’re interested, Ms. Meiling can introduce you to our application process once she’s recovered.  Otherwise, we’ll return her to her place of residence within a day or so.”

“That quickly?” Sakuya said, unable to contain her disbelief.

“We’re the best in this world in medical care, no matter the client,” she replied. “She’ll be out for a few hours while my assistant finishes and ensures everything is ready, and she should be fully recovered in three to four weeks.  Possibly faster, her dragon blood means she heals quickly.”

Sakuya leaned back, relieved.

“I’d recommend following up on whoever gave her that wound though, it was a nasty piece of work,” the doctor said, crossing her legs and resuming her casual filling out of forms on the clipboard. “And I’d follow up soon.”

“I intend to,” Sakuya said, standing.  She couldn’t even feel the wound in her leg.  “Where may I exit?”

The doctor’s eyes widened, surprised at her initiative.  She reached over and tapped a touchscreen panel, and the same door they had entered through swung open, to the same blinding white light.  “This gate will place you back though the same door you entered.”

Sakuya allowed herself a brief bow and summoned her business persona.  “Thank you for your assistance tonight, Doctor Yagokoro.”

“Glad that we could help,” the doctor said as Sakuya turned and strode into the light.

A split second later, she was back in the alleyway she’d left with Meiling, the strange, dingy clinic nowhere to be found.  She eyed the bloodstain on the concrete for a moment, remembering.  She had to force the priestess to chase after the thief… the thief she had seemed to know, or at least recognized.

Sakuya’s thoughts darkened.  This was the flip side of using the two girl's local knowledge: they had local investment.  If they knew this thief personally, would they shield them?  Could she trust them now?

Sakuya pulled out her phone and activated tracking.  She’d mostly supplied the priestess with a SIM card out of generosity, but the tracking and surveillance that was standard for Koumakyou Group plans would come in handy here.  Her phone told her she was back in Gensokyo, near Meikai-dori, so Sakuya opened her directions app and hailed a late-night cab, and pulled the recording the priestess’s phone had automatically made, to listen to what she had missed and assess the situation.

Youen led the way to the ‘mansion’ she had died at, and Reimu followed close behind.  Izumi and Marisa lagged behind, which gave Reimu a moment with Youen.  She walked quickly to catch up with the ghost.

“You may be under the impression that all is forgiven,” Reimu said to her in a low voice. “But you attacked and grievously injured someone.” Youen did not react and kept her gaze ahead, but a small nod let Reimu know she was listening. “When this larger threat is handled, we will speak about that.”  Youen opened her mouth to speak, but Reimu continued, “I understand that you were not yourself at the time, but that’s part of the problem.  As Hakurei miko, I can’t allow this to continue.”

“I made a promise, Hakurei-san,” Youen said, her voice small but powerful.  “I won’t let anything harm my sister.”

“You’re already harming her,” Reimu said. “Your repeated possessions are draining her.  She’s exhausted, she’s run herself ragged, and she thinks it’s her fault.”

“And the alternative was to let her die,” Youen snapped back, but her voice was unsteady.  “I know it’s not perfect, but if I didn’t agree, Saigyou was going to consume me, then Youmu.  I couldn’t tell you.  Youmu’s out cold, and I secured her well so she’s safe for now, which is the only reason I told you.”

“Just because there was no alternative doesn’t make it right,” Reimu replied.  Silence fell between them.

They passed the old music school, turned the corner and walked down the street until Youen stopped in the middle of what seemed to Reimu to be the most unremarkable stretch of Tokyo there was, but she kept her focus and watched as Youen climbed the stairs to the most ostentatious shoin-zukuri -style building Reimu had ever seen; one she had somehow failed to notice.  It was extraordinarily out of place with the modern buildings to either side of it, and it screamed ‘historical relic’ so hard that Reimu half expected to find a sign that said “museum” above the door, or a samurai warrior guarding the entrance.  Neither of those things were present though, just an anachronistically ornate building.

“Holy shit,” Marisa said, having arrived behind Reimu. “I used to pass this way to get to the arcade every week, and I never knew this was here.  What kind of perception charm could do that?”

“I guess it only works on the living,” Izumi chimed in. “It was the first thing I saw on the street.”

Reimu just stared up at Youen, who was looking back at her with anxiety in her eyes.  Reimu climbed the short staircase up to the front door, where she stopped.

“What’s the hold…” Marisa began, before seeing what Reimu was looking at.

Plastered all over the sliding front door of the mansion were ofuda.   Talismans in several hands, but with an oddly similar style to each.  Each one was a sealing charm, and a ward against detection.

Reimu recognized the style of the one on top of all the others: her mother’s handwriting.

Marisa had seen enough of her mother’s style of taliman to recognize it.  “Is that… are those Hakurei amulets?”

“Yes,” Reimu said, brushing her hand over the patchwork pattern of paper rectangles, their red and black ink faded with age.  “This… whatever is in this house, she helped contain.  And now… now the protection has faded.  She probably wanted to tell me… she probably meant to tell me…”  Reimu’s eyes were locked on the ofuda, taking the writing and work of her ancestors, fingers tracing their calligraphy.

Out of the corner of her eye, Reimu could see Izumi, Marisa, and even Youen looking at her with sympathy in their eyes, and Reimu grit her teeth, remembering herself.  No, no feelings.  Feelings don’t matter while there’s a job to do; worry about this later.

“No sense dawdling,” she said, gripping the sliding door handle, noticing it was already ajar.  Brushing past that, she pulled the door to the side and stepped inside, the others close behind her.

The interior was like a hotel, in a way.  Like a tourist-focused hotel that catered to those looking for a ‘traditional’ experience: it was lightly furnished, but immaculately layed out, with only the layer of dust and occasional dead leaf blown in to hint at the abandoned state of the house.  Tatami mats and wood panel flooring stretched out in the foyer, but the lighting was so dim that Marisa summoned a pinprick of light on her index finger to see by.  There were half a dozen or more doors leading away, each of them shut.  

On their journey across the foyer, Marisa’s light cast odd shadows about, dark lines and shapes that twisted and splintered as they moved deeper.  It all seemed like just another deeply outdated building; grand but unmaintained, but for the sense of foreboding that appeared in her gut the instant she crossed the threshold of the building.  It was the sign of a haunted place, Reimu recognized it from their ‘exorcism’ of Izumi.  But it was magnified now, something much worse than just one mournful spirit was here.  If Youen was to be believed, it was a ghost willing to kill to be free… but the presence was different from Izumi’s in another manner than shear magnitude.  It was… twisted, malicious… corrupted somehow.  Marisa audibly shivered, and Reimu agreed, this was a deeply evil place.  Tales of old dark houses and ghostly voices speaking behind you filled Reimu’s mind, but she dismissed them.

“So, where’s this ghost?” Marisa whispered.

“She always appeared in this room, and this room only…” Youen said, looking around.

There was a moan, an ethereal sigh in the air as the wind rushed past the four women and girls, from the open door to the darkness inside, and a voice seemed to speak from the depths of the house.

“Why have you betrayed me, child?” the voice whispered, soft but certain. “After so much leniency, after so many delays, you bring interlopers to my domain?”

Reimu could feel the temperature of the room drop, and she saw her breath briefly, before a breeze swept through the room, cold and sharp.  The air in the room swirled with fingers of mist, from under frames of every door in the room, spinning together to coalesce into the form of the person, softly luminous, bathing the room in a gentle blue glow as tiny motes of spiritfire began to hover around her form.  Her hair shone an almost pink hue, tumbling in wavy sheets past her shoulders, while her body was hidden in a voluminous blue robe, a frilled kimono patterned with butterflies down its length.  Her eyes were closed, her expression neutral.

“You have no right to other’s souls, no matter your situation,” Reimu said, brandishing her gohei purification rod.

“Oh?” the spirit’s head jerked to face Reimu, her eyes still closed, face expressionless. “The Hakurei have finally sent someone to help?”

“How do you know my family?”

“You were never told?  I suppose your mother must be dead, then,” she replied.  “I gave my life as part of a binding spell, to hold a great evil here.  I was its guardian, its jailer.  But it escaped on its own, due to the lack of care from your family.”

Reimu felt a stab of guilt.  She couldn’t have possibly known, but it was another responsibility she had never been told about… and yet…

“I must be free,” the spirit continued.  “I remain trapped here, where the evil should have been.  I have committed no crime, and I deserve to be free.”

“What ‘evil’ was here?” Marisa asked, hand buried in her coat, undoubtedly selecting a spell.

“A demon of seduction,” the spirit said. “It drew those across the land to it, so it was sealed here and I gave my life to see it through.  I have suffered enough, I must be free!”

There was something wrong with the way she moved.  As mental beings, ghosts displayed emotions readily… but then why was her face constantly blank?  Why did she move so strangely, jerking back and forth?

“You don’t get to take lives, just because of what you think you deserve!” Izumi shouted.  Reimu glanced over to see her standing in front of Youen, who looked terrified of the spirit.

“Irrelevant,” the spirit said, its voice still soft, but growing flat.  “Your souls will serve to release me.”  She raised her hand towards the group and released a deathly black pulse towards them.

Reimu felt the taliman she’d enchanted and placed on her chest grow burning hot, as the pulse passed over them.  She winced at the pain, but it was bearable, and not unexpected.  The deflection had worked, whatever the spirit had done to try and make them drop dead had failed.  Reimu noticed Marisa touch her chest in the spot where the ofuda was; she felt it too.

The moment passed.  The spirit’s head jerked to the side, like an exaggerated pantomime of a gesture a curious human might make.  “So you’ve prepared,” it's said, its voice still oddly calm.

Youen spoke up. “You killed me, then forced me to serve you.  You don’t deserve freedom, you don’t even deserve rest!”

“Ah, if only you had displayed this bravado when we first met, child.”   The more the spirit spoke and failed to emote, the less human it seemed.  “Instead, you scurried about and gathered power for me, and more importantly, let me learn what your soul feels like.  Did you imagine ambushing me with this posse?  I sensed your betrayal the moment you fled the scene with no soul fragment in tow.  

She raised her hand and twisted her fingers.  “I, too, have prepared.”  One of the many doors in the room slide open, and behind it was-

“Youmu!” Youen cried, seeing her sister step out onto the foyer.  She was still dressed in the all-black outfit Youen had put her in, and she moved like a marionette, unsteady and unnaturally.

Her eyes were unfocused, but she seemed to have some awareness, as she moved to stand near the spirit, her head shifted, like she was listening for something.

“Youen…?” The words came tumbling out of her mouth, quiet and weak.

Reimu and Marisa took an involuntary step forward but spirit’s hands twitched again, and they saw Youmu raise something to her own throat: a dagger.  It was a tantō, a curved dagger, the companion blade to Youen’s prized katana. 

“Please stay where you are,” the spirit said, the slightest tinge of amusement in its voice. “It would be a shame if she were to… succumb to her despair over losing her sister and end her own life…”

Reime felt a pain in her hands from clenching her fists, and heard the blood pumping in her ears.  She was alway so action focused, but she did not dare to move and risk Youmu’s life.

“Youen… please…”Youmu said, tears beginning to stream down her face from her still unfocused eyes.  Reimu couldn’t tell if she was really saying that, or the spirit was making her do it.

“You bitch!” Izumi shouted.  “Let her go!”  Youen had frozen, staring a Youmu’s crying face in cold terror.

The spirit’s face remained just as neutral as it always had.  “I see I have everyone’s attention now.  Excellent.  Now-”

The rest of her sentence was cut off as something reflective and metallic whizzed through the air from behind the group, right over their shoulders and straight through the spirit's forehead.  She screamed, recoiling backwards.  Before Reimu could even react, she heard a snap of the fingers behind them and the object flew backwards, tearing a hole in the spirit’s chest.  It collapsed to the ground, a pile of twitching, immaterial blue fabric.

Acting without thinking, moving on something faster than instinct, Reimu dashed over as Youmu went limp, and Reimu slid on her knees to catch her and the dagger, making sure she didn’t fall on it.  She spun away from the spirit, back towards the group.

She looked back to see where the object had come from and saw Sakuya stepping through the still-open front door, holding one of her magically returning silver daggers in her hand.

“Izayoi!” Marisa shouted, but was cut off as Sakuya spoke.

“It’s not a ghost,” she said, as she joined the group, quickly taking in Youen and Youmu.  Of course, her second sight would let her see exactly what they were dealing with.

“What is it?” Reimu asked, retrieving the scabbard for Youen’s dagger from Youmu’s belt and sheathing it, before placing it in her own hoodie pocket.

“It’s a demon,” she said, staring down at the twitching and flickering form before them all. “Or more accurately, it’s a demon possessing a ghost.”  They all turned and stared at the spectral creature. “It’s no wonder my employer didn’t recognize it.  I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I know what demonic possession looks like.”

“Demonic possession of a spirit?” Marisa asked incredulously.  “But… never mind how, I guess we’ll figure that out later.”

“It seems that my ruse has been exposed,” came a voice, deep, resonant and terrible from the demonic spirit. It straightened back up, the hole left in its skull by Sakuya’s blessed dagger still visible as a kind of tear in the transparent body of the spirit.

It finally opened its eyes, only to reveal two inky black pits, as what seemed like a ghostly tree branch sprouted from the hole in its head, knotting in a brief spiral before shooting up like a spike, leafless and dead. Similar dead branches filled the matching gap in its chest.   The ghost lights surrounding it turned from a gentle blue to sickly, deep purple, as Reimu heard the front door of the building slam shut on its own.

“Let me introduce myself properly.” Its voice rumbled unnaturally, seeming to come from all around them, as its mouth stretched open into a gaping maw.   “In ages past I was known as the Saigyou Ayakashi.  Your family sealed me away, Hakurei.   Soon your souls will grant me freedom.  Freedom, and revenge. ”

Chapter Text

Distantly, the name the demon spoke sounded familiar to Reimu, but she shut down those thoughts immediately.  No time to dig around in her memories, this was life and death.  She raised her gohei purification rod in her off hand, the one that wasn’t cradling Youmu’s limp body.

“I will have what I am owed,” it said, as its form continued to distort, its face elongating and its fingers distending like tree branches.

“We should leave,” Reimu heard Youen say, which was where she was leaning, except she distinctly remembered the door shutting behind them, and it probably wouldn’t be so easy to open with a demon in the building.

“The weakest first,” the demon said, then extended its hand towards Izumi, its branch-like fingers lengthening and reaching for her.  She stepped back, and Reimu was about to pull a talisman out to defend her, when she heard Marisa shout.

“Master Shot!”

A bolt of multi-colored light tore through the form of the demonic spirit, leaving another gaping hole where its heart should have been.  Reimu glanced over to see Marisa with her hand raised, pointing at the spirit with her index and thumb extended in a ‘finger-gun’ gesture.  A small necklace dangled from her grip, glowing faintly with the same rainbow light.

Marisa closed one eye and gripped her forearm with her free hand, sighting down on the spirit, before releasing three more magical shots of energy, tearing the spirit apart, until there was nothing left.  The dark blue form dissipated and the ominous ghost-flames scattered about the room.

There was a moment of silence as they processed what just happened.

“You can shoot lasers, Marisa?” Izumi asked incredulously.

“Crafted the spell myself,” she said, grinning from ear to ear and quickly blowing on her index finger like it was the smoking barrel of a gun. “Not too powerful, but it’s got great disruptive properties against the supernatural.” Despite the danger they were in, Reimu couldn’t help but smile with her.  When you pushed her hard enough, Marisa would forget her anxieties and be so much fun.

“That won’t work for long against a demon of this caliber” Sakuya said, spoiling the moment. “It will be back soon.”

“Right, let’s get out of here.” Marisa said quickly crossing the half dozen meters back to the front door, and attempting to slide it open.  It refused to budge.  She strained for a few seconds before backing up and running into it, attempting to bash it down with her shoulder.

Marisa cried out as she bounced off the thin paper screen and wood door, tumbling to the ground and gripping her shoulder in pain, the door completely intact.  As she lay on the floor, hissing and massaging her shoulder, Sakuya threw her silver knife at the door, and it bounced off harmlessly.  She snapped her fingers to recall the blade before it hit the ground.

“Thought so,” Sakuya said, drawing a second knife from the inside of her sleeveless cardigan with her other hand.  “The containment spells are focused inward.  We’re trapped.”

“I can probably figure a way out,” Reimu said, gazing down at the unconscious Youmu in her lap. “But I don’t get the feeling we’ll have the time for that right now.”

“Indeed,” the demonic voice rumbled, originless and directionless.  “Your souls are mine for the taking.”

“Oh yeah?” Marisa said, standing back up while still clutching her shoulder.  “Just try it, asshole.  I’ve got a spell with your name on it.”

“You seem like a proficient mage, young lady,” the voice continued.  “Do you know what a demon can do with a corpse, once the last vestiges of the soul have been consumed?”

Marisa and Sakuya both blanched, but Reimu was distracted by an odd sound coming from multiple directions.

“Oh no,” Sakuya said, having clearly connected the dots.

“What is it?” Reimu said, still focusing on the noise.  It was growing closer, but from where, and what was that smell…

“That's how you make wights,” Marisa said, as each of the doors leading into the foyer slid open to reveal walking corpses.

Izumi screamed, and Reimu had to fight the urge to follow suit.  In each of the four doors there stood a rotted body.  Their skin was taught over their withered muscles and organs, all of them emaciated husks with discolored splotches of necrosis.  Two were naked, the other two with a thin sheet tied around them, like a shroud. They stumbled forward, unsteady, but with purpose in their empty eye sockets.  Distantly, Reimu registered that the smell of decay had spiked as the un-dead moved closer, but her adrenaline blocked it out.  She slipped her arm under Youmu’s knees and stood up.

“You said the corpses definitely weren’t being raised or animated!” Reimu shouted at Sakuya as she lifted the unconscious girl and began to move towards the last door in the room, the one that led further into the building. “It was one of our first questions, Izayoi!”

“Well, they weren’t,” Sakuya replied as she whipped both daggers at a wight, catching the corpse in the neck and outstretched arm, causing it to stumble.  “This would seem to be a rather recent development.”  Her blessed daggers caused the rotten flesh of the wight to sizzle and smoke, but it still came after her, arms outstretched, faster than expected.  She ducked under the lunge and spun to deliver a roundhouse kick to the skull of the wight, which spun away, landing on the floor and struggling to get up, as wounds where the throwing knives were still embedded grew more severe, causing its head to lull unnaturally, and it wrist to go limp as the blessing ate through the rotten muscle.

Marisa fired more of her ‘Master Shot,’ the lances of rainbow light striking the dead figure nearest her, and leaving scorch marks with each hit, with a hit on a shoulder causing the corpse’s left arm to go limp.  She drew a sigil in the air, then held up her hand when it got too close, and a pulse of force knocked the wight back, head over heels into the doorway.

Reimu turned to see Youen with her hands raised, a faint purple glow surrounding one of the corpses, before she moved her hand and the wight jerked and flung itself backwards into another that was emerging from the same doorway.  It was an impressive feat of telekinesis, but Reimu could see that Youen’s form grew fainter with the exertion.

“Izumi!” Reimu shouted at the spirit, who was looking around in a panic. “Get us some recon.  How many, and where are they?”

Izumi nodded and edged around the wights standing back up from Youen’s attack and disappeared through the wall to another room in the mansion.

“Go, Reimu,” Marisa said over her shoulder as she fired another shot at the same wight, blowing its knee out as another emerged from the door behind it.  “Get Youmu out of here.”  

Reimu nodded and made her way through the sixth and final door, to a small outdoor section.  It was an open-air hallway that connected the inner and outer structure of the mansion, and if it followed traditional shoin-zukuri layout, the main garden that occupied most of the area of these kinds of structures should be past that next building.  The sounds of fighting grew more distant as Reimu carried Youmu’s body away from the battle, trying to think of a way out.  She could try to jump over the walls, but that seemed difficult to do with Youmu in tow.  She could leave Youmu, and try to come back for her, but leaving her alone for any length of time would let the ‘Saigyou Ayakashi’ feast on her soul, so she should keep her eyes on Youmu at all times.  

Reimu slid the door to the next building open with her foot, and was distracted by thoughts of what to do when her right temple exploded in pain, and her vision swam with stars.  Distantly, as if she was feeling her body remotely, she felt herself tumbling over, dropping Youmu involuntarily as her body crumpled on the floor of the room.  Then before she could even ask questions, her senses returned to her body, and she tried to turn over and see what happened to her, her entire head throbbed hard enough to make her vision swim as the corpse of a tall woman dropped to her knees next to Reimu, hands outstretched.

The wights were not exactly agile, but they possessed far more speed and manual dexterity than Reimu had expected of a moving corpse, especially after absorbing one of Marisa’s hyperfixations second-hand a year back where she had gotten hooked on zombie movies.  

The corpse bent over her, reached for her throat, and squeezed.  Fortunately, her brain was able to process ‘being choked’ over the haze of pain and the possible concussion, and Reimu reached up to try and pry the wight’s fingers from her neck.  It was hard to breathe as the un-dead’s shriveled face leaned over her and the smell of decay filled her nostrils and mouth.  The only thing that kept her from gagging were the two thumbs pressing on her windpipe.  Reimu tried to cry out, get someone’s attention, but it was no use.  The wight wasn’t the strongest being, but it was also indefatigable; Reimu was able to barely gasp for air, but the moving corpse did not relent or change tactics, it simply continued its choking, still grasping at her neck with an inhuman level of determination.  Reimu couldn’t hold its hands back much longer, but if she let go, she wouldn't be able to get it off her before it throttled her.

Reimu felt her hands begin to tire and slip, when the pressure suddenly relented, and the wight jerked strangely.  Reimu looked up to see Izumi stranding behind it, with her hand straight through its head, its grip suddenly loosened as Izumi interfered with whatever animated it.  Reimu wasted no time, and reached inside her hoodie to retrieve an ofuda, which she placed right on the chest of the half-naked corpse, and she said a prayer of banishment.  Light exploded from the talisman for a moment, before the wight slumped limply on top of her.

“Thanks,” Reimu managed to say as she coughed and struggled to catch her breath, rubbing her throat, then shoving the dead body off of her.  Izumi looked like she was about to speak, when a third voice whispered.

“Reimu…” It was Youmu’s voice.  Reimu spun and crawled over to where she had dropped Youmu.  She was still flat on the ground, her leg bent awkwardly.  Her face was still wet with tears, and Reimu could spot faint streaks of gray that had appeared in her black hair.

“It’s okay Youmu, we-” Reimu began, not really sure what about the situation they were in was ‘okay,’ but Youmu weakly held up a hand as she looked at Reimu from the floor, trying to speak.

“I know what it is,” she managed to whisper.

“You know?” Reimu repeated, unsure.

“It’s a demon, but it’s still sealed,” Youmu continued under her breath. “I could see all of it, when it controlled me.  I know what’s happening.”  Youmu’s timidity was gone, and for the moment she resembled her sister: straightforward and serious.  “It’s a demon tree.  It lures people to die around it and absorbs their souls.  But it was sealed centuries ago, a woman gave her life and body to bind it.”

Reimu listened with rapt attention as Youmu continued.  “Most of the wards are still in place, but it found a hole in the seal.  The demon figured out a way to use the woman’s soul that was entombed with her body, beneath a staff placed between its roots.  It’s wearing her like a mask, using her like an avatar.  It’s trying to use her as a pathway out of its vessel, into a new body.”

“Then it won’t need to break all the other bindings if it can force its way out through that woman’s spirit!” Reimu added, as she began to grasp the situation and caught Izumi’s eye.  Izumi nodded.

“If you can disrupt the link between them, then-” Youmu began, before her eyes went wide and she began to stutter and choke.  Reimu could feel it immediately, the pressure change in the air and the drop in temperature.

“None of that,” the demonic voice echoed in the room as Youmu was suddenly dragged across the floor by an unseen force.  Reimu lunged for her leg, but it slipped from her grasp as Youmu’s body slid straight through the paper screen door to the courtyard, leaving it in tatters.  Reimu stood herself back up and stumbled in place, still feeling unsteady after the blow to her head.  She touched her temple and felt something warm and wet.

“You’re bleeding, Reimu,” Izumi added.  Possibly, it was what she had been trying to tell her before Youmu spoke.

“It’s the least important thing right now,” Reimu replied, grabbing her gohei from the floor and making her way over to the ruined door, through which a faint light spilled in.  She would not let this demon escape.  She could not let it subvert the woman’s sacrifice; she could not let her family’s work in containing it be in vain.  She refused.

Reimu stepped through the ruined door into the garden of the mansion, and was struck by its central feature.  Across a small riverbed, dry with disuse and overgrown in weeds and past a small toro stone lantern spotted with patches of moss, there was a massive sakura tree.  It was easily ten meters tall, its trunk more than a meter and a half thick, with a large shimenawa rope and tassels wrapped around the trunk nearly three meters off the ground.  Its gnarled roots twisted and stretched out across the yard, like searching limbs.  It was blooming, bathing the garden in a faint pink light.  All in all, it was a perfect cherry blossom.

Too perfect.

The blossoms along its branches were blooming out of season in October, and there was something sickly in the way the blossoms shone with faint pink light instead of just being a vibrant pink.  The bark of the tree was twisted and extra-knotted, and the branches seemed to reach down too far, like hands grasping for something.  The entire thing was uncanny.  The shimenawa rope was normally used to indicate a tree was sacred, but judging from some of the characters inked in the tassels, it was being used as a holy object in and of itself, to contain the demonic tree.  Upon inspection, Reimu could see ofuda talismans all around its trunk.  A glint of light caught Reimu’s eye, and she saw what she had meant to ask Youmu about: a staff.  She saw how the light played off the golden metal and recognized what it was: a shakujo, a Buddhist monk’s ringed sounding-staff, stabbed into the tree near the top of the roots, sticking out at an angle.

But nearby, Reimu saw what she was looking for: the demonic spirit and Youmu.  The spirit was holding its hand out, and Youmu was floating in the air, her black outfit torn and unraveling from being dragged across the overgrown garden.  Reimu could see the fingers of the spirit extend and twist until they resembled the branches of a tree.  They brushed Youmu’s face, which was frozen in wide-eyed terror, as the streaks of gray in her hair grew, and her skin drained of color, becoming more pale.  The head of the spirit turned to face Reimu as she walked forward, its features more horrifying than she’d last seen it.  The skin tightened over the skull, the jaw hanging low to create a permanent scream.

“Hakurei,” the rumble of the demonic voice returned, and Reimu could not even identify its source.  It seemed to be coming from all around them, but also it felt like it was inside her head. “Your ancestor’s mission has failed.  Soon, with one of your souls, I shall be free.  All their work, ruined.”

“Not while I’m still here,” Reimu responded.

“But you need not be here,” the demon responded. “Why throw your life away on a meaningless quest, when you can live?  It took an army of native and Buddhist monks to contain me seven centuries ago, and you think you can do the same, just by yourself?  Leave, save yourself, and be spared a painful death.”

Reimu gripped her purification rod harder than she thought was possible.  She could almost hear the strong wood squeak in her iron grip.

“Reimu…” she heard Izumi say behind and beside her.  She was worried.  Worried about Reimu doing something dumb.  It was a fair concern.  She wasn’t the best at making decisions about her life.  There was probably an easier path for her buried back in the maze of choices she made, if she had been looking for it.

But she would never make the wrong choice when it came to this.

“If you are as powerful as it seems, and you are as ruthless as you appear… then I…” Reimu began, trying to master herself.  “I.  Will.  Die .  Before I let you go free.”  She drew her ofuda and raised her gohei.

“Very well,” the demon said, a note of ire in its voice.  It stretched its free arm towards Reimu, but she was faster on the draw.  She flung her ofuda towards the spirit, sailing through the air like one of Sakuya’s throwing knives.  It cut through the arm that was holding Youmu aloft, and she collapsed to the ground on a patch of overgrown grass as the spectral limb dissolved.  The demonic spirit hissed, as Reimu heard doors open around the courtyard garden, and half a dozen more wights stumbled in as the spirit advanced on her, a tangle of tree roots and branches emerging from where she had destroyed the arm.  The wights began to quickly walk towards her, and Reimu drew more ofuda, ready to make her stand.  One of the corpses stepped within a few meters, and Reimu prepared to try and cleanse it when a multi-colored streak of light flew from behind Reimu and hit it right between the eyes, toppling it.

“Sorry we’re late,” Marisa said, her voice growing closer behind Reimu.

“There was extra trouble back in the foyer,” Sakuya added, flinging another knife into the knee of a corpse, which collapsed a second later as the holy blessing ate through the joint.

“I didn’t take that many bodies for it,” Youen said, glancing around at the wights that were still advancing. “It’s got to be running out of backup.”

“It’s the tree,” Izumi quickly explained to the other three. “We need to re-seal it.”

“We can cover for you then,” Sakuya said, snapping her fingers to return her blade to her hand.

“Where’s Youmu?” Youen asked, the sound of suppressed panic under her voice.

Reimu pointed to her in a heap behind the spirit.  “She’s still alive,” she reassured Youen, realizing that she did not look good, crumpled behind the demon.

Reimu shared a look with Izumi, who nodded back, understanding, before one of the wights stepped close enough to swipe at her.  Reimu leaned to dodge, then planted a paper talisman on its chest and swung her gohei down to bless the seal, which flashed pure white, cleansing the body and making it crumple.  Behind her, Reimu could hear spells being recited by Marisa, and what sounded like a Latin prayer from Sakuya, as Youen slipped around the wights to Youmu’s side, trying to possess her and failing.

“She’s too drained!” Reimu called out to Youen, before realizing she had lost track of the demonic spirit.  She looked around, worried about who it might strike, before she was lifted into the air and flung across the garden, colliding painfully with one of the gnarled roots of the sakura tree as the demon’s evil laugh echoed through the courtyard.

“Reimu!” Marisa shouted, before more wights emerged from the broken door they had all entered from.  Marisa turned with scowl on her face.  “Fuck off!” she shouted, withdrawing a tiny ampule of glowing liquid from her coat and tossing it at the newcomer corpses.  The glass vessel shattered in an explosion of blue light and red sparks, which flattened the two wights emerging from behind them.  But as Marisa backed away from the explosion, she backed right into a wight, which immediately wrapped its arm around her neck and put her in a chokehold, lifting her off the ground.  She flailed wildly, barely able to breath, and unable to concentrate on a spell.

Sakuya saw what was happening, and was lining up a knife throw to try and free Marisa, when her injured leg was swept, and she fell to the grassy ground.  She rolled to her back and one of the wights placed its foot on her stomach to keep her down.  Furious, Sakuya threw a knife straight up through the bottom of its head, which instantly rendered it inert.  Unfortunately, gravity then took effect and the body crumpled on top of her.  Seeing her down, another wight dog-piled on top of her, and then another, becoming too much for her to lift.

The demonic spirit reappeared over Youmu’s body, where Youen was trying to wake her up.  Youen looked up into its dead eyes and snarled.

“You’ll never have my sister,” Youen said, laying herself across Youmu’s body to defend her.

“Then you will be first,” the demon said, as Youen’s ghostly form lifted into the air, a panicked expression on her face as the demon extended its mass of branches that had grown in place of its arm towards her.  The tree limbs shot forward, straight through Youen’s ghostly form.  She screamed as she slowly began to dim, and the demonic spirit grew brighter and more solid.

“You were such a useful insect,” the demonic voice said.  “When I called out and your sister stumbled over, I thought I had found a powerful but pliable spirit medium.  But then you stepped inside, and you were much more powerful… and so much more gullible.  Did you think I’d ever spare her life?  Why settle for one soul, when I can have two, and all the soul fragments in the city?  Soon, I will escape this wretched prison and walk the earth with your sister’s skin.  So know, before I consume you, that it was your assistance that made this all possi-”

The demonic spirit stopped speaking, flickering in place.  Youen vanished from the end of the branches.  It looked around, confused, until it looked back at the sakura tree, its true body.  Sitting atop the roots, beneath the shimenawa rope was Reimu, head bleeding and face swollen from being tossed, her hands placed to the bark, pressing a consecrated ofuda to the tree and concentrating, atop a spot where numerous other talismans had been placed.

“No!” the spirit screamed, reaching out its spectral tree limbs toward Reimu.  But its form flickered again.  It looked down to find the source: below Reimu, next to the staff stabbed between gnarled roots, was Izumi.  She was reaching her hand down through the roots, beneath the staff, down to where the woman who had sealed was buried.  Just as Izumi had disrupted the wight, she was now disrupting the link the demon had formed between itself and the woman.

The spirit rapidly flickered in place, seeming to split and twist into two separate beings: the woman that the demon had pretended to be, and something… unholy, a twisted vision of evil.  The two forms screamed in unison, as a backblast of dark energy exploded from Reimu’s hands, disintegrating her ofuda.

“It’s too strong!” Reimu said, mostly to herself.  What else could she try?  She didn’t have the resources for a proper sealing, and a chant alone wouldn’t attract the kind of divine aid she needed.

“I’ll hold it for as long as I can!” Izumi shouted up at her.  “But that’s not much longer!”

Reimu thought furiously.  She had her talismans, and her needles, but neither of those were enough on their own.  Her mind raced, and she remembered something her mother had told her, long ago.

“We are the keepers of traditions that go back thousands of years, Reimu.  We keep to what is proper and what is pure, but there are sources of power the gods will respect, even if they are…impure.  The day may come when you may have to give what no other miko would to invoke the gods.  This power is not to be invoked lightly.  The gods do not look kindly on those who would break tradition without cause. 

“If that time ever comes, remember the colors of the miko, the colors of the Hakurei family.  White and red.”

Reimu stared down at the aged white paper of the old talismans and their faded red stamped seals.  She felt the warm, wet feeling in her hair near the cut, and she understood what her mother had told her many years ago.  Impurity to call the gods in a time of crisis.  To invoke the old ways, the way this demon had been originally sealed.  The ways of sacrifice… and of blood.  

She drew Youen’s dagger from her pocket, and removed it from the sheath.  She drew the blade across her own palm, hissing in pain, until a line of blood welled up across her palm.  She drew another ofuda as she heard Izumi’s strength give out as she vanished.  In the clarity of her pain, she pressed the paper talisman to the bark of the tree and began her call to the divine.

Lord Izanagi, sealer of the Dark Below
I beseech thee to honor the sacrifices made to preserve this land you forged
I ask you to bind this monster here forever

Reimu looked up from her seal to see a monstrous sight.  Out of the bark of the tree was a contorted, barely human form, the demonic spirit projecting its ghostly shape, only the faintest resemblance to the form it had held moments earlier.  Its eyes were lidless, rotten voids that teamed with malevolent darkness.  Both its hands splintered into gnarled tree roots as its jaw unhinged and its mouth distended into an unnatural curve, as its low, wordless howl began to rise.  Reimu felt the hair all over her body stand on end as the demon reached out with its twisted branch-hand.  Reimu looked down to the talisman in front of her and slammed her bloodied palm down on the seal and finished her spell.

“Divine Arts: Blood Seal of Confinement!”

For a single split second, nothing happened.  There was an explosion of white light beneath her fingertips and Reimu tumbled away, blacking out for a moment.  

She blinked back to awareness a second later, having tumbled to the bottom of the tree roots, as the cry of the demonic spirit grew quieter, and its form was drawn back into the trunk of the tree, seething with incoherent curses and screams.  The unnatural, vaguely luminous cherry blossoms on the branches of the tree began to wilt into ink-black nothingness, and after a few seconds there was nothing there.  The tree appeared dead, a dark spider web of leafless branches against an overcast sky rendered gray by the light pollution of the city outside.

Reimu lay on the ground, trying to recover from everything that had just taken place.  Her ears were ringing, and she felt dizzy from her exertion and from the bruise she now had from being slung across the courtyard.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but it couldn’t be long.  She felt a breeze rush past, tickling her face and jingling the rings on the buddhist staff next to her.  She faintly heard Marisa and Sakuya talking, it sounded like Marisa was rolling the bodies off of Sakuya.  She wanted to sit up, but some part of her body refused to pass along the command.  

Izumi reappeared above her, looking around, then down at Reimu with concern, relief, and a small amount of pride.  They had done it, somehow.  They had sealed the demon.

Reimu heard Marisa call out her name, and then she was being lifted up, her arm slung around Marisa‘s shoulder.  Reimu found control of her feet, and managed to partially control herself as Sakuya took her other arm and they began to drag her.

Then she heard a soft sound.  Like… a whisper.  She looked around, and saw where Marisa was directing them to.  It was Youmu’s form, collapsed in the overgrown grass, Youen kneeling at her side, her form thin and insubstantial.

“Help her, please,” Youen pleaded.  Reimu noticed more as they drew closer: Youmu’s bob cut was frazzled and almost entirely gray now, and her skin was pale and lifeless, her dark eyes staring at the sky above, unfocused.  Only a tiny rise and fall of her chest told Reimu she was even still alive.  

Marisa and Sakuya let Reimu down gently to her knees, and Marisa moved to the other side of Youmu.

Sakuya held her wrist and looked at her watch for a few seconds.  “Her pulse is weak.”

“I don’t see where she would be injured,” Marisa said.

“It’s not a physical injury,” Reimu said, looking at her pale skin.  “Her soul is damaged.”

They were all silent for a moment as they took that in.  It shouldn’t have been surprising with a demon puppeteering her then draining her all in one night.  She looked up and Youen’s transparent form, sorrow and guilt playing in her eyes.

“How bad?” Sakuya asked.

Reimu reached out and put a hand on Youmu’s wrist and forehead, checking her physical condition as much as sensing her spirit.  Youmu’s blank eyes stirred slightly at her touch, looking around aimlessly, like she couldn’t actually see.  But what Reimu felt inside her was far worse.

“It’s bad,” she said, and she felt the tension in the air rise as she said it. “Her soul’s frayed, it's… unraveling.  Whatever that demon did… she won’t last.”  Sakuya’s face grew rigid.  It occurred to Reimu that she didn’t even really know who the two sisters were, but she was still here, sticking with them rather than trying to find a way out immediately.  Marisa got a far-away look in her eyes, like she was thinking through the problem, working it out in her head.

“Reimu…?” Youmu asked in a quiet whisper.  Reimu clasped her hand, feeling only a slight squeeze back.

“Can’t you heal her?” Youen replied, her voice cracking in desperation.

“Youen…?” Youmu whispered again, turning her head to Youen.  Youen looked pained, and placed her hand over Youmu's free palm, which twitched slightly at the cold sensation.

“It’s… I…” Reimu debated how to break the news. “Not here, and not anywhere close.  And… she doesn’t have much time left.  I…  There’s nothing…” Reimu felt a tear roll down her cheek.  She didn’t cry much, and she always surprised herself when she did.

Youen looked gutted.  She stared down at her sister’s eyes that looked right through her, and her lips curled, looking like she was biting back a scream.  Reimu saw her hand that was over Youmu’s ball into a fist, and her ghostly body began to shake.  

“Nothing?” Youen simply asked, and Reimu was trying to figure out a way out when Marisa spoke up.

“I think I can help,” Marisa said, pulling out a small notebook from her coat and leafing through it.  “I mean, m-maybe, if I’ve got this correct-right,” she was speaking quickly, her works slightly jumbled as she arranged her thoughts.  Reimu recognized her demeanor: this was Marisa operating at peak capacity, working at a problem from three angles simultaneously.  She held out the small notebook she was holding, and it looked like… well like magic to Reimu.  Diagrams and charts that she didn’t understand.  “The grimoire, I mean, the spellbook I’m studying, it’s got a lot of dark stuff.  Like, nasty, evil spells I never want to cast, or even see them be cast.  But I’ve been trying to adapt; or maybe it’s reformat; them into something better.  Well, more useful, or maybe-”

“Concentrate, Kirisame,” Sakuya said, her voice heavy and even. “What are you trying to say?”

Marisa took a breath, calming herself. “I think I can save Youmu, but… the spell, it’s meant to be a life-draining spell.”

There was a pause as they all waited for Marisa to explain more. “It’s meant to drain the souls of the living and dead to heal the user, extend their lifespan, mostly by repairing damage to the soul that other dark spells like it incur.  It’s vile, but I think… I think I could use it to heal Youmu.  I think I could change it.”  She paused for a moment. “But I would need a donor.  It would be like a blood, or rather a soul transfusion.  But… In adapting it right here, the cost will be heavy, I don’t know-”  

“Do it,” Youen said.  “I’ll be the donor.”  They all looked at her.  Reimu would be lying if she said she wasn’t thinking that was what Youen would do as she heard Marisa explain the spell, but hearing her say it was another matter.  Reimu heard Izumi let out a small gasp behind them.

“Youen, you…” Marisa said, clearly struggling to find the right words as she turned to Youen’s insubstantial form. “I’m constructing this spell right now; it’s messy, and it might kill a living person.  In your condition… there’s no way you’ll…”

“I know,” Youen responded. “I already lost my life trying to protect my sister… and then I just made everything worse.” Reimu could see the pain underneath the facade of bravery as she looked down at Youmu.  As a weakened spirit, Youen’s stoic facade was falling away, such that even Reimu could read her emotions.  “If I can give anything to save her, I will.  Prepare the spell.”

“Okay…” Marisa said, gazing down at her notebook.  “Sakuya, come help me with this,” she said, removing a large folded piece of parchment and several markers from her coat.  Sakuya rose from her spot and moved to the spot where Marisa was unfolding the parchment, leaving Reimu and Youen with Youmu, who was gazing around at nothing, her eyes searching but not seeing.

“It’s going to be okay, Youmu,” Youen said, unable to hold back a tiny sob.

“Youen…” Youmu repeated. “Is that… really you…?”

“Yes, it’s me, Youyou,” Youen said, using her nickname and cracking a small, desperate smile.  “I’m here… I’ve… I’ve been with you for a while.”

Youmu let out a tiny sigh that might have been a laugh. “I knew it…”

Youen was stunned. “You… knew?”

“Reimu-san is… such a terrible liar…” Youmu whispered.  “Everytime I asked her… about ghosts… she lied… so I thought it might be you…”

“I’m sorry, Youmu…” Youen mumbled. “I thought… I thought you would be scared…”

“I could never be scared of you,” Youmu responded, and Youen’s face contorted in anguish. “Even with all you did… you did it to protect me…”

Reimu’s eyes widened.  It seemed that Youmu had absorbed quite a lot of what had really been going on from her possession by the demon.  Youen too, was at a loss for words.

“It was scary sometimes, but I know you…” Youmu continued. “You always do the right thing in the end…”  Her eyes drifted away from Youen, to stare back up at the sky, losing focus.

“I’m sorry, Youyou,” Youen sobbed, keeling over Youmu. “I’m sorry…”  Reimu squeezed Youmu’s hand, trying to offer what comfort Youen could not.

“Okay, we’ve got it,” Marisa said, as she and Sakuya moved the large piece of parchment (newly emblazoned with purple runes, lines and glyphs) together, and layed it over Youmu’s legs like a blanket.  “Just a few more runes.  Youen, position yourself above her head, please,” Marisa said as she knelt down and began to carefully draw a rune matrix on Youmu’s forehead.

Youen stood up and walked over to look down on her sister from over her head, but Izumi was already standing there.  Reimu felt her stomach clench when she noticed.

“You don’t have to do this, Youen,” Izumi said quietly, as she placed a hand on Youen’s shoulder. “I’m just as dead as you are.  I could do this.”

“No, you can’t Fukuda-san,” Youen returned, under her breath. “This is why I’m still here.  To protect her.”  She looked into Izumi’s eyes, and perhaps she saw something Reimu hadn’t.  “You still need to find your family.  I know Reimu won’t let you down,” she said, making eye contact with Reimu as she watched the two of them. “This is something that only I can do.”

Izumi looked like her eyes would water if she was still alive, and she reached out and embraced Youen, squeezing her tightly.  Youen didn’t react for a moment, but then returned the hug.

“Goodbye, Youen,” Izumi whispered.

“Goodbye… and thank you for everything… Izumi,” Youen said, then broke the hug and turned back to her sister and Marisa.

Sakuya had pulled down the collar on the black tunic Youmu was dressed in as Marisa finished drawing a rune over her heart.  She pulled back the green marker and Sakuya released the collar of the tunic, which pulled back up to Youmu’s neck.  They both pulled the parchment up to cover her entire body below the neck.  The inscriptions didn’t make any sense to Reimu, but something about them looked… powerful.

“What do I do?” Youen asked, looking down at the inscriptions on the parchment and the magic rune on Youmu’s forehead.

“Let’s see…” Marisa said, consulting her notebook.  “You kneel above her head and put your hands on either side of her face, Reimu and Sakuya each grab one of her hands and squeeze.  Izumi, you need to step back.”

They all obeyed, as Marisa rummaged in her coat pockets.  Youmu twitched slightly as Youen put both her transparent hands on her cheeks.

“I’m cold, Youen,” Youmu whispered, her voice quavering.

“Just hold on, Youmu,” Youen reassured her.

Tears welled in Youmu’s eyes.  “I’m sorry I couldn't fight it, Youen.  I wasn’t strong enough…”

“Shhh…” Youen whispered, trying to soothe her.  “There’s nothing to apologize for, Youyou.  It’s going to be okay.”

“But you’re leaving…” Youmu said.

“Yes… I am.  But I’ll always be with you.  In your memories, and in your heart.”  Youen paused.  “I’ll always take care of you, but you need to take care of Mom and Dad, Youmu.  Can you do that for me?”

Youmu sniffed, as she cried more freely now. “I’ll try, big sis.  I’ll try.”

Youen looked up at Reimu, and their eyes met.  Reimu saw the silent plea in the ghost’s face, and nodded, ever so slightly.  Youen nodded back, and mouthed a tiny ‘thank you.’

“Okay, I’m ready,” Marisa said as she twisted her hand and her notebook began to float in front of her.  “Youen, you’re key to this.”

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“You need to concentrate on two things,” Marisa said, holding a tiny ampule full of a brown fluid with both hands.  “You need to focus on all of your essence, all of what makes you you, and imagine it flowing into Youmu, mending her soul and healing her.  At the same time, to keep her intact, you need to imagine your mind, your point of view flowing in the opposite direction, out and away from her.  Again, your soul into Youmu, and your mind away from her.  Can you do that?”

Youen looked down at Youmu’s face, and then back to Marisa, nodding.  “I can.”

“Then let’s begin,” Marisa said. “I’ve only got one vessel of Sharix left, so we only get one shot at this.”

Marisa snapped the plastic ampule in half with both hands, let whatever fluid was inside drain onto her palms, then rubbed them together until they both started glowing a dull blue.  She thrust her hands out, shining handprints floating in the darkness of the night and pointed them downward as she consulted her notebook that was still floating in mid-air.  The runes and inscriptions on the parchment began to glow that same blue as Marisa’s hands, and the rune visible on Youmu’s forehead began to glow a faint but rich green.  Youen looked down into Youmu’s unfocused eyes, still wet with tears.  She heaved a spectral sigh, then smiled bitterly, and stroked Youmu’s cheek with her thumb.

“Goodbye, Youyou,” she said, sounding close to tears. “I love you.”

“Goodbye, big sis…” Youmu whispered faintly. “I love you, too…”

Youen closed her eyes, and her own form gained the faint blue light of the spell.  Marisa began to draw symbols in the air, her glowing hands leaving trails of light that she wove into runes and kanji, until she clasped her hands and the glow began to intensify.  Reimu felt a static buzz in the air, as Youen’s form grew brighter and brighter, until Reimu had to close her eyes.  The last thing she saw was a Youen’s shining face, calm and at peace.

There was a pulse in the air, a rush of wind, and Reimu could see the light vanish from behind her eyelids.  She opened her eyes to see Youen gone, and the parchment on top of Youen crumbled to dust.  Youmu’s body was glowing slightly, and as it died down Reimu could see that Youmu’s mostly-gray hair had turned pure white, just like Youen’s ghostly hair, and her eyes were icy blue.  She inhaled, then exhaled slowly, her eyes drifting closed and her breathing steady.  Reimu let go of Youmu’s hand, and saw Sakuya checking her pulse again.

“Pulse is much stronger,” Sakuya said.  “And she’s warmer.”  She looked up at Marisa, still standing over them, the light fading from her hands, her hat blown off by the gust of wind. “You did it.”

Marisa inhaled deeply, then let out a long, slow exhale.  “No,” she corrected. “We did it.”  She looked over to Reimu.

Reimu leaned back and looked at the two of them, and Izumi as she approached.  There was a complicated tangle of emotions to unravel inside her, but the one over all of them, the one she felt the most at that moment, was easy.  Reimu was relieved.  She flopped in the overgrown grass, flat on her back.

“We did it,” she repeated, staring up at the gray sky, criss-crossed by the dark branches of the demon tree.

“Goodbye… Youen Konpaku.”

Chapter Text

Youen Konpaku wandered through the gray world.

The landscape was at once familiar and strange.  Like any random side-street in Tokyo, but petrified.  Every building was colorless concrete, and even things like trash cans and neon signs were cast in porous stone.  She wasn’t sure where she was, or how she had arrived here.  She had followed Marisa’s instructions exactly, focused on moving away from Youmu and then…

She looked down at her form, and found barely anything there.  She could hardly see her own hands, just insubstantial outlines of her fingers.  She looked up to see a cloudy, gray sky, distinguishable from the gray buildings only by the slow drift of clouds.

Was this the real afterlife?  A gray limbo of stone?

She couldn’t tell how long she wandered, but she felt like she was making progress.  She walked in a straight line, down the small street she was on, and as she moved it became stranger, the environment losing detail and becoming a series of featureless concrete boxes instead of full buildings.  She caught a hint of color ahead: green.  She continued forward, and the cubes diminished in size, until there was just a large, paved street and a stripe of green on the other side.  It was grass: a hill that rose on the other side of the street, like an artificial riverbank.  It continued as far as she could see to her left and right, infinite in both directions.  She crossed the street, and walked (did she walk?  She couldn’t even see her legs, she had no idea how she was moving) up the grassy slope, to peek over the other side.  

She looked down at a great river, so wide it might have been a lake or bay.  She couldn’t see the other side, as a fog swallowed the river.  The waters flowed from her left to her right: dark, gentle and swift.  Beyond the dark blue of the river water, there was a new color added to the scene now that she had crested the green bank: red.  Spider lilies, or higanbana, sprouted all over the hillside, their delicate, curling petals swaying in some phantom breeze that also rustled the grass and cast ripples across the river, but that Youen could not feel.  She reached down to stroke the thin petals of one of the red flowers, and the silhouette of her hand passed right through it.  The grass and flowers thinned as they approached the water, the riverside itself constructed of pebbles and larger, flat stones.

She heard something, something from upstream, a small sound.  She straightened and turned to see a few figures running down the riverside, following the flow.  They were small, the size of children no more than five or six years of age.  There were four of them, and three of them were faint shades, just silhouettes like Youen.  The fourth was leading them, and she appeared to be whole in form, her skin tone a rich brown, her short, curly hair a shiny dirty-blonde, with a few bits that seemed like unraveled braids, much longer than her shoulders and trailing behind her as she led the shadow-children in a chase.  She wore a dress that was multi-layered but translucent, with red trim and ribbon-like tassels that floated weightlessly behind her, like she was swimming through the air.  She was barefoot, and spun on her heel as one of the shades passed her, which let Youen see her stretched and oversized earlobes, reminiscent of depictions of the Buddha.

She stopped spinning as the three other shades rushed past, and spotted Youen at the top of the riverbank. She smiled and waved, and Youen hesitantly waved back.  The girl beckoned her to follow, then trotted to catch up with her companions.

Warily, Youen followed.

She followed the four children down the riverbank for what felt like hours, but must have only been minutes… or perhaps days.  It was impossible to tell.  Time felt unreal and elastic in whatever realm she was in, though the red flowers were probably a big hint.  The three shades ran around and stacked stones with their more solid companion and guide, and each time she looked back at Youen she smiled the same warm, welcoming smile as Youen followed them downstream.

Eventually, a small point appeared on the river.  A dark shape that extended from the shoreline into the water.  The tan-skinned girl in the dress ran ahead of Youen, towards it, but Youen kept her leisurely pace.

As she drew closer, she could make out more detail.  The dark spot was a pier, or small dock, with one ship bobbing at the end: a small river-fishing boat, with an engine affixed to the back.  Next to it was a figure sitting on the bench at the end of the pier.  The tan girl was speaking to them, pointing back at Youen and waving her arms.  The figure nodded, and the girl trotted down off the pier, to reconvene with her shades, which were playing around the only other landmark Youen could see: a dead tree, withered and dark, standing a dozen or so meters from the dock.  Youen sensed what she was meant to do, and she had no real desire to be difficult anymore.  She walked towards the dock.

As she stepped on to the pier, Youen finally got a good look at the person at the other end.  It was a woman.  She wore blue jeans that fit almost too tightly on her hips, with simple work boots, and a dark blue nylon jacket with a fur collar, white tufts waving in the breeze, a set of headphones partially hidden amongst the white fur.  She had medium-length crimson hair, done up in small twintails that barely brushed her shoulders.  She was leaning back, relaxed as she removed a cigarette from her mouth and exhaled a smoke ring.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” the woman said, as she tapped the ash off her cigarette into an ashtray on one of the posts supporting the dock.

“Have we met?” Youen asked.  It felt stupid, she had to know what was going on, but she just wanted a straight answer.  She’d been lied to from the moment she had died, and she wanted someone to explain everything to her plainly, no matter how dumb she sounded.

“No, not yet,” the woman replied. “I’ve tried to contact you a few times, but my influence in the mortal world is heavily regulated.”

Youen sighed, then resigned herself to her next obvious question: “Where am I?”

The woman put her cigarette to her lips and pulled, then exhaled a cloud of smoke, leaving the question hanging in the air.  “If you had to guess, where would you say you are?” she asked back.

Oh, so it was going to be like that.  Youen’s urge to be difficult surged back to the forefront.  “I’d say… the River Styx?”

The smoking woman chuckled at that. “Oh, good guess, but you’re a bit off.”  She pointed upstream, to Youen’s left.  “Styx is upstream.  If you prefer Charon, he’s still the ferryman some thousand leagues that way.”  She pointed the opposite direction.  “And if you keep following it that way, you’ll find a fork that leads to the rivers Gjol and Vaitarna.  Gjol forks into the Ginnungagap, or to Cocytus… or maybe it’s Acheron, I’ve never actually been that far.”

Youen recognized most of those names from when Youmu had been learning myths online: the many mythological rivers of the dead.  Which, of course, left little doubt as to where she stood (floated?) now.

“So… this is the Sanzu River?” she asked, glancing over at the red flowers on the riverbank.  Higanbana, the flowers of the “Other Side.”  She saw the tan-skinned girl in the white and red dress stacking river stones with one of the shades, as the two others chased each other around the dead tree.

“There you go,” the woman said in a tone that was not quite patronizing, merely amused.  

“And you’re… a reaper?”  Youen asked, unsure. “A shinigami?”

“‘Reaper’ is a bit strong,” she replied. “I’m a ferrywoman to the other side.  Not much reaping for me these days.”

“Then… it’s all true?” Youen asked, unable to keep a crushing disappointment out of her voice when she meant to ask it with wonder. “Gods and myths and demons and the afterlife and final judgment?”

“I don’t know if it's all true,” the woman said, leaning back. “Humans believe so many different things.  But I know what you mean, and yes: much of what humanity calls ‘myths’ was either real or is still real, albeit not quite as you all remember it.”  She took another pull from her cigarette, it was almost done.

“Then…” Youen said, recalling a bit of trivia a classmate had told her ages ago. “How are you real?  Shinigami were invented in the 1800s, when westerners brought tales of the ‘Grim Reaper’ over.”

The woman smiled, and exhaled smoke. “I was something else before then, and when the tales of the shinigami death gods have run their course, I will be something else.  Just as humans always change, so do we.  We didn’t stop changing when humans wrote down our tales and called us myths.  For now, I am Komachi, Sanzu guide.”  Her face grew slightly less jovial, more somber.  “I’ve been waiting for you, Youen.”

Youen averted her eyes, ashamed.  “What if… what if I don’t want to leave?”

Komachi looked at her for a long moment before putting her cigarette out in the ashtray.  “I can’t force you.  It’s one of my few big rules; if a soul doesn’t want to cross, I will not take them.”

“Then… what happens to me?” Youen not-quite muttered.  She didn’t want to ask.  She just wanted to go back, keep her sister safe.  But she had gotten into the entire mess of being threatened and indentured to the demon by not asking questions, so she had to know.  She had to ask.

“You stay here, on the shores of limbo,” Komachi said.

“And?”

Komachi shrugged. “Think it over, until you’re ready.  Little Ebisu will be happy to keep you company,” she said, gesturing at the tan girl.

Youen was momentarily stunned.  “She- she’s Ebisu?  The lucky Ebisu?”  She had waved at one of the Lucky Seven?

“Well, not all of him,” Komachi quickly corrected as Youen watched her stack stones easily a meter and a half tall.  “Probably a piece of him that fell off during his exile at sea.  The part of him that was born cursed, so she helps other… unfortunate children.”

Youen looked again at the shades of children playing, their manner so carefree, so earnest, and it dawned on her what Komachi meant.  “Oh… I see.  They…”

“Not all of them, but many,” Komachi said.  The riverbank was silent for a moment as the shades rested, and Komachi waited.

“So, I just… wait until I’m ready if I’m not ready?” Youen asked.  “There’s no going back?”

Komachi leveled a look at her that was half warning, half disappointment.  “Nothing that ever returns to the land of the living does so unchanged.”  Her tone was suddenly heavy.  “Some souls are called back, and those that make it all the way back to the mortal coil wish they hadn’t.”  She sighed, then gently rolled her shoulders while she uncrossed her legs, then crossed them in the other direction.

“Some can never let go, and their attachments lead them back to the living world,” she said, with the hesitancy of those who know they must say something unpleasant.  “Those who’s love is stronger than anything can go back.”  She saw the way Youen shifted, the way she was planning to do with that information, and immediately responded.  “Their attachment survives the journey back… but nothing else.  They become… wrong.”

Youen waited for an explanation, but received none.  She forced the issue: “Wrong?”

“They aren’t human anymore,” Komachi responded curtly, her patience thinning.  “Demons, vengeful spirits, hollow ones, whatever you call them now.    They hunt down those they loved and try to consume them to make themselves whole.”  She met Youen’s eyes, clearly relieved to see the mis-placed hope in her eyes die down.  The silent ‘is that what you want?’ in the raise of her eyebrow humiliated Youen, at least internally.  

“But then… what happens to me if I’m never ready?” Youen asked, feeling empty.  “What if I can’t let go?”

Komachi leaned back and stared up at the gray sky, before getting to her feet and approaching Youen.  Youen was so wracked with guilt and despair, she could hardly think to move.

“You can stay,” Komachi said, as she pointed toward Ebisu and the shades.  “Do you see that little boy, stacking stones with her?”  Youen nodded, though in truth it was hard to tell the supposed gender of the silhouette.  “Do you know how long he’s been here?”

Youen shook her head.  “He’d been here for over seventy years,” Komachi said plainly.  Youen felt the impulse to swallow and inhale sharply from the body she no longer had.  Komachi continued: “He was a broken soul, from fighting with his father, fighting with the world…  He could only take so much before he gave up.  Took his life at eighteen.”

Youen’s non-existent stomach twisted as she watched the boy playing with riverbed stones.  He looked like he was maybe five or six years old.  But then… “Why does he look like a child?” Youen found herself asking as soon as she had formulated the thought.

Komachi sighed deeply, and when she spoke Youen could hear the bitter smile in her voice.  “He wandered here, a boy who’s childhood had been stolen by a monster of a father and an uncaring government.  He had barely lived, he wanted more time in this life.  I told him to take all the time he needed.  And he takes it still.  Every year, his form is ever so slightly younger, living the childhood he was denied.  And every year, when I ask him if he’s ready, he understands the question less.”

A ghostly laugh drifted from the group, as his pile of stacked stones toppled over, while Ebisu’s tower held strong.

“And you won’t just…” Youen gestured vaguely into the fog that masked the other side.

“I can’t,” Komachi said, and she shook her head.  She stepped a little closer to Youen, towering over her by a good four to six centimeters.  “I know you’re scared of what’s on the other side of the Sanzu, but you need to understand that this side isn’t perfect.  It can be dangerous to stay.  You’ll begin to lose yourself.”  

She had already begun to lose herself while she tried to protect Youmu.  Youen shuttered to think of what years in this Limbo would do to her.

Komachi stepped away, back to her bench, where she gathered her ashtray and emptied it into a small bag, then stepped off the dock into the small boat at the end.  It rocked and bobbed, but she paid it no mind and rummaged around, stashing her belongings.  Youen found herself drawn closer, then sat down on the bench.  She stared out at the gray fog, unable to take another step, what might be the last step.

“You’re right, I am scared,” she said, as Komachi checked her engine.  “I always worked to control everything in my life, and Youmu’s life, because our parents never seemed to have the time or they didn’t care… and now there’s only one option for me…  And I don’t know what will happen…”

Komachi stood in her boat, at about eye level with Youen on the bench.  Youen couldn’t see her expression; she couldn’t bring herself to meet her eyes as she confessed: “I tried to do the right thing… Even when I was killed, I did what I thought was right… to protect my family.  I… let go and left to save her, but…”

She looked up at Komachi, her expression soft but sad.  “What if it’s not enough?  What if trying to do the right thing isn’t enough to make up for all the harm I caused?  What if… I can’t…”

Silence hung between them for a long moment.

“I don’t know what will happen to you on the other side, Youen,” Komachi said, her tone gentle and soothing.  “Only the Enma can decide that.  She’s a harsh judge, but she’s always fair.  But what I can tell you is this: you don’t have to go through it alone.”  She smiled, her magenta eyes filled with warmth.   “No matter what happens, no matter what judgment you receive, I’ll be there with you, to the end of the line.”

“No matter what?” Youen asked, her voice wavering.

Komachi nodded and smiled in reply.  She extended her arm, inviting Youen off the dock, into the boat. 

“It’s time, Youen,” she said.  For a long moment, Youen didn’t move.  She just stared at the outstretched hand, listening to the current of the water, the rustle of the flowers in the breeze, and the ghosts of children playing behind her.  She wasn’t debating if she should cross, she just struggled to enact the decision she had made.  

Komachi didn’t rush her or even make a sound, she simply waited.

 Eventually, Youen reached out her arm, her spectral form barely visible.  She touched Komachi’s hand, and felt it, the first physical sensation she had in nearly a year.  Her hand was so warm, so welcoming, Youen might have cried if she could.  She slid off the bench, off the dock, into the boat, and down onto the seat opposite Komachi.

Komachi tapped the motor on the back of the boat, and they soundlessly began to move, away from the dock and into the fog.  Sitting backwards, she saw Ebisu and the children’s shades wave to them as they moved away from the shore, and she found herself waving back, and smiling despite herself, as her ferry to the otherside disappeared into the fog, bound for Higan.

“Goodbye… Youmu.”

Chapter Text

Youmu Konpaku had been in bed for almost a week, and she was getting rather tired of it.

She was tired of being confined to her room, not allowed to attend classes or keep her regular appointments tending to the many gardens and landscapes around the neighborhood.  She was tired of hearing her mother scream at her father outside her room.  And she was tired of thinking about her sister.

It had been a week since Reimu and Marisa had dragged her barely-conscious body back to her family’s house at three in the morning, and tried to explain a half-true version of what had happened that night.  Youmu had interjected where she could to try and help sell the version of events where Youen’s ghost had protected her from an evil spirit that was possessing her.  It was even kind of true, except for the parts that mattered.  Her father, always so stoic, had accepted it all with a look of remorse, whereas her precise and business-like mother had completely fallen apart at the story, leaving the room and refusing to hear any more. It wasn’t exactly an easy story to believe, even with Reimu-san’s swollen half of her face and bruising on her neck.

She’d burned with embarrassment as Marisa had explained the whole lie, and Reimu silently kept a steady hand on Youmu’s shoulder for comfort.  There was another figure present at that conversation, one Youmu had never seen before: a translucent woman dressed in a simple white t-shirt, plaid pajama pants and frameless glasses, her shoulder-length brown hair permanently mussed.  She was a ghost, one who occasionally made eye contact with Reimu and Youmu, and smiled softly.

Youmu had always been afraid of ghosts, but looking at the immaterial woman, she felt no real fear.  Ghosts had always been strange voices and chills up her spine; a sense of foreboding and a shortness of breath.  Seeing one was… it made it bearable, even unremarkable.  She’d never seen a ghost before, but as she toyed with a lock of her newly-white hair, she imagined that she was in for a lot of ‘firsts’ now.

Eventually, her father had sighed and explained his family history in brief, expanding on a story he had only told Youmu and Youen once: the Konpakus had been spiritualists and mediums for many generations, but he had been one of the only people unable to feel spirits in any way.  Youmu’s mother didn’t believe in spirits, and that skepticism had drawn them together when he had been unable to carry on the family tradition.  Youmu was learning more about her parents in one night than they had ever divulged in the previous seventeen years, and she was learning it with three others, a witch, a priestess and a ghost.  She would have been embarrassed, if she wasn’t on the verge of falling asleep.  She had teetered over onto Reimu's shoulder, and had then been carried to bed.

The week since had been an emotional rollercoaster, hidden behind a very thin sheet.  Being temporarily pulled out of school for an ‘illness’, then being ordered to stay in her room while she recovered, she turned up the volume on her laptop headphones to avoid the sound of her parents arguing about her.

I’ll always take care of you, but you need to take care of Mom and Dad, Youmu.  Can you do that for me?

Was that really her responsibility?  She’d made a promise before her sister had left… but now she wasn’t sure.

And her sister… Youmu didn’t even know what to think.  When she looked in the mirror it was like a stranger stared back at her through blue eyes.  It wasn’t just her eyes and hair, but her cheeks and face felt different.  It wasn’t… bad per se; she actually liked the white hair, but it seemed like just another bit of dream-like strangeness she was waiting to wake up from.

She had more or less recovered in two days, but the lack of school and hostile atmosphere of the house left her with a lot of time holed up in her room, so she looked for new things to do and watch online.  The first thing she found was a blogger who specialized in modern versions of old dances, and who never showed her face, wearing a noh or similar mask in every video.  Youmu thought the way her long pink hair curled around her form as she spun in the empty dance studio was especially entertaining.  Then there was the video game streamer that acted like an alien princess from the moon as part of her character, but the thing she watched most was an anime she’d been recommended repeatedly.  It was about two girls with mutual interests but clashing personalities, exploring a strange world hidden behind rifts, a world that was filled with urban legends and strange, unexplainable creatures.  The romantic tension between the two leads, a blond foreigner and a university student, was sweet and earnest, even when the story was dark.  Seeing them navigate each story with their odd powers reminded her of the encounter with the demon, but in a reassuring way.  Like she was replaying the experience while safe.  It probably wasn’t normal to keep vicariously reliving your trauma like that, but to Youmu it felt right.

Reimu had stopped by a few days ago, along with the ghost woman again.  They explained their situation, and asked Youmu how she was doing.  She honestly couldn’t answer them.

“I’m just…” she began, gripping the edge of her blanket. “Not sure what to feel… about any of this.  What…” she gestured to her new, white hair, “ this means.”

“It’s a remnant from Youen,” Reimu said. “She gave herself to you, to heal you.”

“I know that,” Youmu retorted, a bit annoyed.  “But… is it good, is it bad?  Do I have powers?  Am I going to…” Youmu trailed off, not sure what she was even asking, and regretting that she snapped at Reimu, the most reliable person she knew.  Reimu sighed and closed her eyes.

“Your sister loved you, regardless of anything else, Youmu,” Izumi the ghost said. “She was fiercely protective of you.”

“That’s… kind of the problem, Fukuda-san,” Youmu replied.

A few days later, Youmu received another visitor, one she had not expected.  Another student from her high school, and not a friend.

“I was… really worried when I heard you were sick, Konpaku-san,” said Yuzu Nakayama, the girl who had insulted and demeaned her until she had fled from the school in tears.  She set a large bundle of flowers in a vase on Youmu’s desk, and Youmu studied her face as she arranged the flowers, making sure they sat right.  She didn’t look like she was joking, in fact she actually looked exhausted and slightly pale, like she’d recently been sick herself.

“I wanted to apologize to you for all I said,” Yuzu said, after arranging the flowers and sitting down in Youmu’s desk chair.  “I had an… experience right after I said all that to you that really… It gave me a new perspective.”

“And what was that?” Youmu asked, trying not to make her voice too dry.  That the queen of class 2-C was visiting her was majorly out of character, and Youmu didn’t want to be rude.

“I… well, I had a fit of some sort,” Yuzu said, brushing a lock of black hair behind her ear. “The doctors said it was a seizure…”

The rest of what she explained was lost as something surged to the forefront of Youmu’s mind.  Something less than a memory, but more visceral than an image: reaching out with a ghostly limb, straight through Yuzu’s head, and twisting; then a sense of horror and satisfaction competing in her mind as the girl’s body spasmed and toppled.  Youmu felt the recollection not with her memory, but with her body, in her arm and her eyes.

Immediately, Youmu was able to tell where the sensation had come from, but she pushed it down, unable to dwell on it with Yuzu now explaining how she’d woken up in the hospital, with her family and a strange shrine maiden at her bedside.

“...We all pitched in to get you these flowers, and I volunteered to bring them to you,” Yuzu finished, her hazel eyes flicking over to the vaseful of blossoms.  “And… I wanted to get you a personal gift, as an apology.  I… was beyond rude, and I hope you can forgive me.  I… I want to start over, Konpaku-san.”  It seemed a little trip to the hospital had completely changed the old queen bee of her class, Youmu thought as Yuzu rummaged in a bag.  She withdrew a small, simply wrapped package.  Youmu took it from her and carefully unwrapped it, making sure not to rip any of the paper.  Youmu heard Yuzu let out a tiny snort of amusement at the meticulous process.  She folded the untorn wrapping paper into a square and set it aside.  

Inside was a black box with the logo of some major brand Youmu probably should have known.  She opened it to find a length of thick black fabric.  She pulled it from the box to find a wool scarf, black but with two white stripes at the ends, very similar to the ribbon she liked to wear on her black headband.

“I thought it would look good with your ribbon,” Yuzu explained as Youmu felt the soft fabric.  “It’s merino wool, extra soft.  And I think both will look really great with this new… um… style you have.”  She made half a gesture and Youmu’s newly white hair.

“It’s um… part of the sickness-” Youmu sputtered, overwhelmed and unable to recall the excuse her father had told the school.  If she remembered anything about fabrics, merino wool was an expensive import, and it was even matched with an accessory she had, and it was a gift from the girl who had bullied her for a year and a half.  “I-I, uh, th-thank you, Nakayama-san.”

They chatted amicably but stiffly after that, and Youmu was intensely relieved when she finally left.  She sank down into bed, the black scarf wrapped around her neck and mouth.  She’d made a new friend right as she’d been pulled out of school, it was just her luck.  She still held in her mind the sensation of grabbing the inside of Yuzu’s mind, and she wanted to try and forget it.

Youmu hadn’t ever been truly sure her dead sister was lurking around; it had been a strong hunch, a barely-entertained suspicion, fueled by a thousand tiny clues.  The whisper in her room when she woke up, the chill up her spine whenever she saw her sister’s memorial photograph, the way things fell off shelves when someone was upset with her, the way the room temperature would drop when someone whispered about her at school, or the way Reimu lied through her teeth when Youmu asked about ghosts.

Youmu didn’t want to think about what her sister had done, even if she had saved her life.  Her sister had been too stubborn to ask for help, too proud to find another way.  And now Youmu was feeling what she had felt as a ghost.  

Youmu queued up the next episode of the anime on her laptop, put on her headphones and tried to forget how the echoed feeling of grasping at Yuzu’s mind reminded her of sifting dirt with her bare hands.

Marisa took another swig of her beer and stared at her spell matrix, trying to understand why everything felt terrible.

She had helped fight off a great evil, shot laserbeams, completed a supernatural job, made two month’s rent yesterday warding some rich idiot’s personal computer parts to protect it from supernatural hackers, and she had even aced professor Kamishirasawa’s test.

But several facts still nagged at her.

Sakuya had no way to know where they were when they went to the house where the Saigyou Ayakashi had been, so how did she find them?  Marisa already had the answer, she had checked over Reimu’s new phone and found that tracking was automatically turned on by the plan provider, and it could not be disabled.  Sakuya had total power of surveillance over Reimu, and Reimu didn’t seem to care.  Marisa had explained all the dangers of modern tracking, and Reimu had just sort of shrugged, said she didn’t care if a big company knew who she called or where she went, that was all already public knowledge if one asked around.

Her absolute refusal to get it made Marisa fume all over again, and she finished her beer, then retrieved another one from her fridge.  It wasn’t a good brand, but she wasn’t in a ‘good beer’ mood, so she was finally going through the extremely cheap stuff she had gotten on sale months ago.

Then there was the other matter of Sakuya tracking Reimu.  Marisa felt stupid for trusting her in the first place.  No matter her history, no matter what she’d gone through, she was still a corporate agent, a spokesperson for a literally bloodsucking executive.  Marisa clasped her head, trying to remember why embracing her and opening up to her had seemed like a good idea.  It was stupid to trust like that.  But… she had helped them fight, put herself at risk, and even gone the extra steps of taking care of the bodies recovered from the mansion, sweeping the whole thing under the rug and working with a tengu in the police to keep it all out of the news while still returning the bodies to the families.  She even said she would check on the legal status of the plot, to try and keep the demon’s prison secure.  She had more than held up her end of the bargain.  Marisa looked down at her phone next to the scrap of paper, showing the text that Sakuya had sent her earlier in the afternoon: that the mage who summoned the succubus/incubus was ready to show Marisa how to summon demons.

Which led directly into the other thing nagging at Marisa: she didn’t want to summon demons anymore.  

She had thought that demons were the ultimate secret to magical power.  Who else could tell her how to unravel the secrets of magic but those whose physical bodies were constructed from raw magic?  She had studied the secrets hidden in occult texts and religious art, and had been ready to give it a go… and then she had seen a real demon.  Not the mask that the seducer at the bookstore wore, but the form the demonic tree had taken.

She could still see its face when she closed her eyes.  Could feel its power when it had done… whatever it was that it had tried to do to them, that Reimu’s charm had prevented.  It pricked at the back of her mind like a splinter.  She could remember the empty, bottomless hunger for life that it had possessed.  And she wanted to run, screaming from it, but Reimu had held strong, and Izumi and Sakuya had held strong, and their courage had steeled Youen, and Marisa was able to stick with them.  But thoughts of summoning and trying to negotiate with something as cataclysmically evil as the Saigyou Ayakashi still haunted Marisa.  She’d been paid for her labor with a prize she’d give anything to abandon.

Still, this mage might be open to another service.  Meeting a real wizard would be a first for Marisa, up until now she’d dealt exclusively with cantrips, tricks from books and hedge-mages like Rinnosuke.  Seeing real magic… that could still be a real opportunity.

Marisa’s phone buzzed, and she checked it to see a text from the yamawaro Nitori had introduced her too, asking her if the imitation magatama would be ready for the next black market.  Marisa jolted back to awareness, returning her attention to her spell matrix, trying to refocus herself on the task at hand.  She took another swig of her beer and got back to work.

Reimu finished setting her clothes in her ancient washing machine, and turned it on.

The washing machine was one of the few modern appliances installed in the shrine.  She’d never been too clear on what all the setting on it meant, but having Izumi around had turned out to be an unexpected boon, in that she actually knew how it worked, and suddenly Reimu was using a lot less water and electricity to get her clothes clean.

Reimu moved from the tiny crevice the washing machine was wedged into, back around to her bathroom, where she washed her hands and stared into the mirror.  Her injuries were healing well, but they were still visible.  Her face was no longer swollen, but was still discolored as the bruising faded.  The finger marks around her neck were just faint outlines now, so she tried to wear a scarf while out and about.   But she still had to attend to her major, self-inflicted injury: the cut on her left palm, where she had drawn blood for her ritual.  It was healing better than she had expected, as it was much shallower than she initially thought; she hadn't even cut all the way through her skin.  She had shown it to one of the grandfathers around the neighborhood, a retired doctor, and he had pronounced it ‘nasty looking, but manageable’, and directed Reimu to avoid using the hand too much and to clean it twice a day before replacing the gauze around it.  So after washing her right hand, she unwrapped the gauze, dabbed at the mostly-scabbed cut with an alcohol wipe, and hissed as it pricked and burned.  As she washed it, the memory associated with the cut returned to her.  She had slashed her hand and pressed her bloody palm to a paper talisman to try and re-seal the demon, and she had pleaded to one of the highest powers to aid her.  

And he had answered her.

Reimu had never spoken to the gods, never received divine instruction.  They helped with rituals, and she could occasionally feel an impression of an emotion: a faint, fleeting warmth after a blessing from Amaterasu upon christening an infant or a firm determination from Konohanasakuya-hime or Haniyasu-hime when she blessed a garden, but that was it.  But none of those remotely compared to what she had felt when Izanagi-no-Mikoto had answered her prayer: disdain.

Perhaps it was her fault, for using impurity to ask for aid from a deity who had washed himself and spawned new deities in the process, or maybe he resented being called in general, but she could still feel his scorn for her and her blood-seal.  He-Who-Invites had answered her call and helped seal the demon, but he was not amused.  The message was clear: don’t try this again.  It was the first time Reimu had ever felt anything like displeasure from the divine, and remembering it made her shiver.

She finished re-wrapping her hand, and slipped back into her room and dressed herself in an old red hoodie, gray pajama pants and socks.  It was to be a comfy, warm evening, if she had anything to say about it.

Izumi was seated at the kotatsu, reading one of Reimu’s mother’s old romance novels.  Initially, Reimu had turned the pages for her, but after some experimentation, they had put the book on a stand, and Izumi was able to brush the pages, producing the slightest chill breeze, which could turn the pages.  She looked up at Reimu as she entered and sat down at the table and began to peel an orange, looking over at a stack of mystery novels she had yet to start.  She’d gotten them from Kosuzu a month ago, but had mostly forgotten about them in the chaos of her life.  After she ate the orange, and she washed her hands again…

“Did it all fit in one load?” Izumi asked of the washing machine.

“No, it’s tiny,” Reimu replied.  “It will take at least two more.”  They chatted a bit more, Izumi imparting more laundry tips that Reimu struggled to retain, before there came a knock at the door.  They glanced at each other, and Reimu reached over and stowed the romance novel, making sure to save Izumi’s place in it.

“Who is it?” Reimu called out as Izumi moved to a corner.

“Your favorite reporter,” came Aya’s voice from outside the door, drained of her usual pep.  That was odd.

“Please enter,” Reimu replied, glancing over at Izumi, who had clasped her hands nervously.  This is what they were waiting for…

Aya slid open the sliding door, slipped inside and shut it, quickly tossing her tweed jacket and newsboy cap on the hooks by the door, not even bothering to settle her short black hair back into place.  She moved quickly, like always, but there was a dissatisfied edge to her movement.  

“Something wrong, Aya?” Reimu asked.

Aya scoffed loudly, and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.  She dropped to the ground, slid under the kotatsu and flung the piece of paper at Reimu.  Reimu fought the fight-or-flight reflex of having something thrown right at her face, caught the piece of paper and focused as Izumi looked especially concerned and moved to read over Reimu’s shoulder.

Dear Aya Shameimaru, Editor in Chief and Proprietor of the Bunbunmaru News,

It has come to our attention that your newspaper has previously featured coverage of supernatural events in and around the neighborhood of Gensokyo, along with crime reporting and other sensationalist news.  One of these recent stories involved the theft of a corpse from the Last Respite funerary home, and speculation about the theft being linked to other corpses being stolen from similar establishments.  This matter has been resolved and the bodies in question have been returned to their families.  An official story implicating multiple wild animals has been issued by the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

We believe it would be in your best interest and the best interest of the community if this story was not questioned or investigated.  While we understand that you are a pillar of the community and respected investigative journalist, any prodding in this matter risks dire consequences for all.  We are prepared to pursue legal action against your business if an investigation is opened.  We would rather be friendly neighbors, and not have to resort to such extremes, but this is a very serious matter.

Sincerely,

Sakuya Izayoi, representing the Koumakyou Group

“That’s…” Reimu began.

“Unfortunate,” Izumi finished.

“I assume you know all about it, since you were running around with Kirisame a week ago, and then the thefts stopped.” Aya said, leaning forward and helping herself to a mandarin orange from the bowl at the center of the table.

“I thought you were out of town last week,” Reimu replied, attempting to dodge the question.

“Please, Hakurei,” Aya replied, rolling her red eyes. “I have sources.”

Reimu heaved a sigh. “It’s for the best,” she confessed. “We’re trying to keep a demon sealed, we don’t need anyone poking around.”  Aya raised an eyebrow at ‘demon.’  “I mean it: we need to keep this under wraps.”

“Alright, alright,” Aya replied, throwing her hands up in resignation. “But I can’t just drop coverage, the hole in the narrative is gonna attract scrutiny.” Both Reimu and Izumi cocked their heads at that, and Aya elaborated: “Oh, neither of you has used social media, forgive me.  The way news spreads online, the way people follow stories, someone could catch wind that something’s up by noticing a lack of follow-up, especially if the vampire is similarly threatening every news outlet in town.  I know Himekaidou got one of these letters as well.”  

“I’m sure you’ll think of something, Shameimaru-san,” Izumi said.

“Wait, you know who runs the Koumakyou Group?” Reimu asked, a little lost.

“You mean you didn’t?” Aya countered, bewildered.  Reimu replied with a shake of the head, and Aya shrugged.  “I guess she moved in before your time.  It was the only thing anyone talked about forty or so years ago.  The whole community was abuzz about the vampires who had bankrolled the new tower-mall and their pet wizard.  It’s kind of old news, she worked it out with us locals, and we keep well enough apart.”  

“Any idea what she wants?” Reimu asked.

“The same thing as the rest of us?” Aya said. “I suspect Japan is just another place for her to settle in for a while and find easy blood before she gets bored and moves on in another fifty years or so.”

“So…” Izumi interjected. “What did you find, Shameimaru-san?” She was fiddling with her hands, clearly anxious. “About… my family.”

Aya’s face did something complicated, like she was pretending to have good news and bad news when all she had was bad news.  “Well, I was able to find your parents, Fukuda-san.”  She pulled out her phone and fiddled with it, opening what Reimu assumed was some kind of note-taking functionality.

“I followed that lead about the spa you parents managed, but it changed hands well over a decade ago,” Aya explained. “It’s a cafe now.  So, I looked into records and found the former owners, Junichiro and Tamashini Fukuda.” Reimu saw Izumi’s spectral form stiffen at her parent’s names.  “They left Tokyo after selling the spa.  Had to fly all over to find them.  They moved to Okuma, a little town on the coast of the Fukushima Prefecture.  They were able to retire there, since the sale of the spa was apparently quite profitable for them.”

“Well,” Izumi said, stiffly. “Glad it was good for something.  I always hated that place.”  She said it like it was a joke, but Reimu could tell she was bracing herself, and Reimu agreed.  Something in the reserved way Aya was proceeding made them both feel like a blow was about to fall. 

Aya sighed and continued.  “Well, they had a relatively comfortable life for a few years… but…” She faltered.

“Just… tell me,” Izumi said.

“They died… the earthquake and tsunami in 2011,” Aya said, after a pause. 

Izumi shuttered, fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands.  Reimu felt her heart clench, remembered the emptiness she felt when she learned her own mother had died, when the policeman had told her about the accident.  She reached out, trying to touch her ghostly arm, and ignoring the chill in her fingers.  Izumi let out a heaving sob, and moved to try and wipe her face, only to find it dry.  No tears for ghosts.

“I’m… I mean… we were never close after I left… but we still were closer than Hideo and his parents, they almost hated each other… we still talked… I…” she paused for a long moment.  Aya and Reimu waited as she tried to articulate her feelings, as much to herself as to them, Reimu suspected.  “It’s not like I didn’t imagine… but… It would have been nice to say goodbye…  Where were they…?”

“Junichiro’s brother paid for a grave here in Tokyo,” Aya explained. “It’s a family plot in Kasukabe, alongside your grave marker, actually.”

“That…” Izumi began, before turning to Reimu. “Do you think we could… take a day trip sometime?”

“If it helps, then yes,” Reimu said, measuring her response.

“That- thank you,” Izumi said. She turned back to Aya. “What about Hideo and Aika?”

Reimu thought that Aya had looked grim before, but her face twisted even further at that question, in a way that made Reimu’s heart drop.  It couldn’t be…

“So, I followed several leads, flew all over Japan, but couldn’t find them,” she said.  Reimu could feel the temperature drop from Izumi’s reaction. Aya continued: “I found several ‘Hideo Fukuda’s but none of them had lost a wife, or had a kid about seventeen years ago…”

Something tickled at the back of Reimu’s mind.  An obvious fact dangling in front of her face.  She felt like the investigator in her mystery novels, ranting that he was unable to see something important.  The mood shifted as Izumi’s demeanor changed from embarrassment to confusion.

“Oh… Hideo wasn’t my husband,” she said. “Sorry.”  Aya raised an eyebrow at that, withdrew the notebook she had used to gather information from her pocket, and leafed through it as Izumi continued. “We never were officially married, and he and Aika still had his last name.  We were planning on getting that done when I died.  I might not have mentioned it…”

Aya sighed as she found the page and scanned it. “No, you never mentioned that, but there’s no note here either way,” Aya said. “I just have ‘Izumi Fukuda’ and then ‘Hideo and Aika’ jotted down.  I should have asked for clarification.”  She drew her pen and flipped to a blank page. “So, I just spent a few weeks flying all over the country looking for the wrong name, excellent.” Her voice was sharp and cold like an autumn wind, but not unkind. Reimu guessed she was more mad at herself for forgetting to clarify and get accurate information than at Izumi for not mentioning it. “So, what was his and your daughter’s family name?”

“Motoori,” Izumi said.  “Hideo Motoori.  And we used his family name for Aika.”

The feeling surged again in Reimu’s mind. Solutions to major questions were dancing just out of her reach, she just had to put the pieces together.  That name… she knew it.  It was local.  It was very local.  It made sense… but then…

“Hold on,” Reimu said as Aya scribbled the name down. “‘Motoori?’” she asked, and Izumi nodded, nonplussed. “And… you said that Hideo’s family ran… what kind of store was it?”

“A bookstore,” Izumi said, picking up on Reimu’s nervous energy. “Why?”

If she was right…

“Was it called Suzunaan?” Reimu asked, daring to hope.

Izumi’s face grew blank in disbelief, her mouth hanging open slightly, before she recovered.  “Yes, that’s what it was called, though I never visited, as his parents essentially disowned him for not continuing the family business.  How did you know that, Reimu?”

Reimu all but ignored the question as she gripped her chin in thought and her mind raced.  Hideo had a problem with his eyes; Kosuzu’s father was too ill to run the shop, but she had never asked what the issue was.  Aika might have inherited that vision issue, and Kosuzu always wore glasses. Aika would be seventeen now, the same age as Kosuzu.  Kosuzu’s only living family was her father, she’d never known her mother.

But… if what she was thinking was true, how did they end up back at the bookstore with the grandparents who hated and disowned them?  Surely… but with his fiancee dead, his eyes degrading and no one to care for his infant daughter, might Hideo have swallowed his pride and returned to his family as the shameful prodigal son?  Surely such a return would not be pleasant, his parents might set some conditions, out of spite if nothing else.

Spiteful enough… to change the name of their grandchild?

“No need to follow up on this, Aya,” Reimu finally said.  She turned to Izumi, who looked back, a sort of anxious yet hopeful trepidation on her face.  “I know where we need to look next.”

Chapter Text

The sky was darkening as Reimu and Izumi approached the bookstore Suzunaan.  Reimu had dressed up a bit, put on a longer red skirt and thick leggings, and put her brown coat on.  She’d probably be out late tonight, and she wanted to stay warm and look somewhat professional, so her pajamas had been a no-go.  Waiting for her laundry to finish had forced her to wait until nearly nightfall before setting out.

“I…” Izumi began, but then trailed off as Reimu didn’t stop. “I’m not sure if I… I can-”

“We’re doing this now, Izumi,” Reimu said, drawing an odd look from a woman walking the opposite way on the street. “Before I lose my nerve.”  It should have been easy, this was what she had been working towards, after all.  But both of them could feel that they weren’t ready to say goodbye, which is what this could be.  Reimu wasn’t sure if she’d get another chance, but she knew no other way.  The last time she had received earth-shattering news, it had been with no warning.  The police had arrived at the shrine to tell her that her mother was dead.  Killed in a hit-and-run, left to die on the sidewalk by a careless coward of a driver.  She had left early that morning for groceries.  Reimu hadn’t even been awake when she left. 

She never got to say goodbye then, so she couldn’t imagine stopping to say goodbye now.  So she charged ahead, dreading what was to come, but knowing no other way.

They crossed the street, and Reimu ducked into the back alleys of the neighborhood.  A small black cat meowed at her, and Reimu only had time to notice how strange it was to see a cat with an earring before it turned and disappeared.  Reimu turned left and right automatically until she had navigated to the other side of the housing block, and saw a small row of businesses on the other side.  A small accountant’s office, corner-store pharmacy, and sandwiched in between was the bookstore Suzunaan, with a small residential building attached.  The autumn night was falling early, and the streetlights had just turned on when they saw the small and cozy building.  If not for the sign over the door, one might have mistaken it for another large house, but the sliding door and glass display windows showing a reading room with warm orange light spilling out left no doubt as to what it was.  From what Reimu could see, there was one customer checking out; the perfect time to ask the girl to close the store. 

Izumi left out a small gasp.  “Oh… this is it.  I… we never visited – I wasn’t allowed – but he showed me a photo once, and this is it… it hasn’t changed at all…”

“Any reason his parents disapproved of you so strongly?” Reimu asked, as she looked both ways down the street.

“It wasn’t really about me… it was about him,” Izumi replied.  “They harassed and disowned him for choosing not to run this shop.  That I was willing to start a family with him… I was just one more part of his life they hated.  Like I said, we never even met.”

Reimu sighed as a delivery truck trundled past them on the street, and she jaywalked after it passed.  “So, no matter what she says, I’m not going to reveal you to her, until we confirm.  Kosuzu’s pretty skittish, I don’t want to dump all this on her if I’m somehow wrong about this.”

Izumi nodded absently as she reached up to run a hand through her hair, which remained just as messy as it always was.  “I’ll try and… stay quiet.”

Reimu moved towards the door as a short girl stumbled out, her light brown hair lanky and messy.  She was dressed in a tattered, oversized once-white hoodie, and torn black leggings.  She tried to move down the street past Reimu, stole one glance up to meet her eyes, then turned about and ran the other way, disappearing around the corner.

“Someone you know?” Izumi asked.  Reimu shook her head, wondering what the whole encounter was about.  She put it out of her mind, turned back to the sliding glass door, drew a deep breath and climbed the few steps to the sliding glass door, and entered the shop, Izumi close behind her.

Kosuzu was behind the counter, scribbling something on a legal pad.  She wore her usual yellow apron with the name of the store along the edge on top of a green dress and leggings, but she had put a red-and-white flannel jacket over top, to protect against the chill that was beginning to set in with the setting of the sun.  She wore her brown and auburn hair in twintails held with small bells, as usual, and she adjusted her round glasses as she looked up at Reimu entering.

“Oh, Reimu-san, good to see you,” Kosuzu said as Izumi made a choking noise next to Reimu.  “It’s a bit late for your visit.  Are you here to check out the new mystery novels?”

“Oh… her hair,” Izumi said, her hand over her mouth. “It’s the same color…”

Kozusu remained oblivious to Izumi as Reimu ignored her, suppressing the urge to respond. “Not tonight, Kosuzu,” Reimu said, as she moved to stand near the front counter. “I’ve actually got another request.  Something… personal.”

“Oh?” Kozusu said innocently, tilting her head.  “What kind of order might it be?”

“It’s not an order…” Reimu said, then trailed off, unsure as to how to proceed.  Maybe the books she read might provide an answer.  “I’m actually doing something of a minor investigation of my own at the moment.  I wanted to ask you some questions.  Privately.  Do you think you could… close early?”

“What’s this about, Reimu-san?” Kosuzu asked, becoming guarded.  

Reimu wanted to withhold as much as possible, until she had confirmation.  If she was somehow wrong, she didn’t want Kosuzu’s father getting upset.

“I just need to ask you some family questions, Kosuzu,” Reimu said in a placating tone.  “It’s for a… community project, of a sort.  I’d really appreciate it if we could do this here, as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” Kosuzu replied, swallowing.  She seemed to pick up on the serious tone Reimu had tried to project as she moved around the counter toward the door.  “We close in a quarter-hour anyway, so no big loss.”  She flipped the sign on the front door and the one on the front window to ‘Closed’ and pulled the cord to draw the blinds.  The room felt much smaller without the view of the outside.  Kosuzu moved to get some tea, and Reimu sat down at one of the reading tables, one that had a second chair on the opposite side.  Izumi watched Kozusu bustle about, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions evident behind her eyes.  At one point, as Kosuzu walked past her invisible form, Izumi reached out a ghostly hand to try and touch her, but Reimu cleared her throat loudly, and Izumi drew back, embarrassed.

“So what do you want to know, Reimu-san?” Kosuzu asked as she set the teapot and cups on the table between them and slid into the chair.   She raised her teacup to her lips, and the steam partially fogged her glasses.

“Well, I know that you live with your father, but I was wondering what you might tell me about your mother,” Reimu said, wrapping her hands around the warm cup but not drinking yet.

Kosuzu’s shoulders bobbed, like a gesture somewhere between a shrug and an aborted expression of disappointment. “I don’t know too much, to be honest.  Why do you-”

“I promise this will all make sense, by the end, Kosuzu,” Reimu said to the teenager.  “Please, just trust me on this.”

“Okay…” Kosuzu said, staring down at the table, deep in thought.  “My mom died when I was really young.  Before I was even a year old.  Dad was always really reluctant to talk about it, but Grandma told me she died of a brain hemorrhage after a fall.  I guess she worked with my dad?  Grandma and Grandpa never talked about her much, I don’t think they liked her.”

Reimu tried to ignore the sensation of tension rolling off of Izumi as she stood beside her.  “And do you know why that might be?”

“I mean… I guess it has to do with my dad?  He wasn’t around much when I was much younger.  He was working extra hard, trying to support me.  Grandma and Grandpa looked after me and gave us a place to live, but they didn’t really help much, and they insisted that Dad help with a bunch of expenses.  It was… messy.  I didn’t get a lot of it when I was younger, I just knew that my grandparents and my father didn’t see eye-to-eye about his life choices, and I was one of them.”

“So… they didn’t like you?” Reimu asked as she glanced over and saw Izumi chewing on her thumb.

“No, they actually kind of liked me a lot… too much, Dad used to say,” Kosuzu said. “I think… I think they really liked having a granddaughter, that they truly loved me…” She paused, sipped some tea and stared at the bookshelf behind Reimu.  “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but it seems like they raised me and treated me well to spite my father.  As like… a way to help but also remind him of who was in control.  They raised me, not him.  And while he helped out a lot, I know he loves me…”  

Reimu waited and sipped her tea, surprised by the way the girl was simply gushing with personal details, telling her deeply personal things.  Maybe it was the fact that Reimu was a respected pillar of the community, maybe it was the fact that Kosuzu was critically low on friends since she had dropped out of highschool last year to run the bookstore.  Whatever it was, getting details out of her was proving to be a surprisingly painless process.

Well, painless for Reimu.  Izumi looked like she was in physical pain listening to her daughter recount her upbringing in her absence.

“I asked my dad about my mom once, and he talked about her like… I don’t know… like he misses her and can’t let go,” Kosuzu continued after a moment. “I think he didn’t know much about raising a kid… maybe he expected my mom to do it… maybe he just couldn’t bear to be around me without her…”  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too much information.”

“No, it’s very helpful,” Reimu said. “Now, I have a second question: is ‘Kosuzu Motoori’ your legal name?”

Kosuzu looked shocked and taken aback, her head tiling and her dark red eyes widening in surprise. “Uh… no, it’s not, actually,” she said after gathering herself.  “It’s actually… Reimu-san, how di-”

“I’ll explain everything in just a bit,” Reimu said, holding her hand up in what she hoped was a placating way.  “I’m not trying to freak you out, I just need to confirm some things.  Can you tell me what your legal name is… and why everyone calls you Kosuzu?”

“Oh… I suppose,” Kosuzu said.  “My legal name is… Aika Motoori.”

Reimu heard Izumi give a great shuddering sob, and she had to suppress her reaction when Izumi whispered: “My baby girl…”

“As for why, that’s more drama, I suppose,” Motoori continued, oblivious to Izumi. “As soon as my hair was long enough, my grandparents gave me these.”  She gestured to the small bell ornaments that tied up her two twintails.  “I always really liked them, and they used to joke that it let them keep track of me when I was a toddler.  They started calling me ‘Kosuzu.’   You know, like ‘little bell.’  It annoyed my dad, because they started only calling me that, and… let just say there were a lot of fights about my name.  They didn’t like that my mom and dad apparently picked out my name and they didn’t have any say… so guess it was a way of… I dunno, asserting that they were in charge in this house?  Most of it went over my head when I was younger, but my dad eventually started calling me Kosuzu, because I responded to that a lot more.  But after Grandma and Grandpa died, Dad sat me down and explained everything.  But I guess… ‘Kosuzu’ is what I was called for so long… I don’t feel like ‘Aika.’  The last time I heard someone call me Aika was the teachers in school.”

“I see,” Reimu said, trying to ignore Izumi’s shuddering form. “And… How do you feel about your grandparents now that they are gone?”

Kosuzu let out a small, humorless chuckle.  “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.  I know they weren’t kind to my father… but they did help… and they left him a lot in their will, like the house and stuff.  I think…”  She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think.  I wish things could have been better between them and my dad… especially near the end.”  She looked up, making eye contact with Reimu again.  “Okay, now I want to know how digging into all that matters.  What is this about, Reimu-san?  No more stalling.”

Reimu leaned back in her chair, fiddling with a button on her coat and shooting a sidelong glance at Izumi, who returned to her a look of pleading desperation.  Reimu nodded back.  “So, I will, but let me set the stage: do you remember… must have been two or three weeks back, the interview in the Bunbunmaru with a priestess and ghost?”

Kosuzu’s eyes unfocused for a moment as she thought back.  “I do, it was pretty inter– wait, was that you Reimu-san?!” she asked, suddenly connecting some dots.

“It was,” Reimu offered.

“So you’re trying to find a ghost’s family?” Kosuzu asked.  “Wait, does that mean there’s a ghost here with you?”

“Yes,” Reimu said. “But she’s only visible under certain circumstances.”

“But if you’re trying to find her family, then…” Kosuzu trailed off, then gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth in the same way that Izumi often did.

“Yes,” Reimu said.  “It’s your mother, Kosuzu.”

There was a painfully long moment where no one breathed.  The noise of the city outside seemed to be held back by the weight of what Reimu had said.

“My… mom?” Kosuzu finally asked.  “You mean… My mom is here?”

“She is,” Reimu said, leaning forward and setting her elbows on the table.  At her side, Izumi’s face had lit up with an expression of joy.  “You can see her and talk, if you like.  I’m sorry for the long preamble, Kosuzu, but we had some mix-ups in information and I wanted to make abso-”

“Please,” Kosuzu cut Reimu off, this time.  Her eyes began to grow wet with the very start of what might become tears, as she firmly gripped the edge of the table.  “I want to talk to her.”

Reimu nodded, laid her arm down on the table and pulled her sleeve back.  She touched the sweatband she had on her left wrist, something to hide the coin-shaped burn Komachi had given her.  She tugged at the band, then faltered, her brow furrowing and mouth flattening unconsciously.  After this, what would happen?  Would Izumi have one conversation with her daughter and then fade away?  Would Reimu be left alone in her shrine again?

Reimu tried to focus on the task at hand, and push the images of herself sitting alone around her table out of her mind, but they refused to leave.  Her normal keystone of resolve, her duty and responsibility, cracked as the exhaustion of the past weeks fell on her all at once.  She didn’t want to do this, and for the first time she seriously entertained not doing it.

Izumi reached over and placed a few spectral fingers on the inside of Reimu’s forearm, making her wrist muscles twitch with the tickling cold.  “It’s okay, Reimu,”  Izumi said, her voice warm and soothing. “If you want to wait; if you’re not ready.”

Shame made Reimu’s face hot.  No, this was no time to think about herself.  The whole reason she was here was to unite mother and daughter again.  She pulled the band away, and pointed at the scar.

“Please look at this, Kosuzu,” Reimu said, before she could ask.  Kosuzu adjusted her round glasses as she peered down at the marking.

Kosuzu looked back up at Reimu. “That’s an interesting marking Reimu, but I do-” she began, then cut herself off as her gaze slid to the translucent woman behind Reimu.

“...Mom?” Kosuzu whispered, and over her mouth.

“Hello, Aika,” Izumi replied.  “My baby girl.”

“You… you look just like the photo that Dad kept…” Kosuzu said, standing from her chair and approaching Izumi, hand extended tentatively. “You… are real, right?”

“As real as I can be,” Izumi said, matching Kosuzu’s extended hand and passing right through it.  Kosuzu jolted at the cold, as her eyes began to well with tears.

“Reimu-san,” Kosuzu began, a sob rising in her throat. “I know you don’t-don’t like being touched, but can I-I-I, can I hug you, please?  Because I really want to hug my mom but I can’t.”

Contrary to her reputation, Reimu only disliked being touched without permission, so this request was more than reasonable. “Of course.”

Kosuzu rushed Reimu with more force than she thought the tiny seventeen-year-old possessed, letting loose with tears and sobs of joy.  She buried her face in Reimu’s chest, and squeezed her tight, tighter than Reimu had been held in years.  Reimu let it wash over her, partly stunned, and she looked up to see Izumi with her hands over her heart, smiling wider than Reimu thought possible.

“Thank you, Reimu,” Izumi whispered under the laughing sobs of her daughter.  For the first time in almost a decade, Reimu felt the warmth of family.

After another minute in the hug, Kosuzu broke away and removed her glasses to clean her face and blow her nose.  Reimu pulled up a third chair for Izumi to occupy, and when Kosuzu returned the mother and daughter launched into an extended discussion: Izumi’s history and haunting of the apartment, her ‘exorcism,’ and living with Reimu.  

(Reimu and Izumi had decided together to omit the other supernatural goings-on in Gensokyo they had been involved in.  Better not to overwhelm Kosuzu with tales of vampire hunters and demon trees.)

Kosuzu asked all sorts of questions, and filled in Izumi on all sorts of things.  They discussed her favorite stories, her grades in school (before she dropped out), her bookkeeping methods for the store’s finances, and found common ground there.  Izumi asked her what name she preferred, Aika or Kosuzu, and Izumi replied warmly where Reimu had expected a cold response when her daughter preferred the name given to her by her grandparents.

“It’s not like I can complain, it’s a lovely name,” Izumi said, and she sounded like she meant it.

Reimu was barely part of the conversation.  It all began to dissolve into noise as she finished her cold tea, and excused herself for fresh air.  She walked out the front door, sat down on the front steps of Suzunaan, and resigned herself to people-watching as she heard the sounds of muffled conversation continue from within the store.  It wasn’t a common activity for Reimu, but the sun had fully set, and Gensokyo’s night owls were in a class of their own.  She watched a few salarymen stumble home, take-out sushi in hand.  A gaggle of young adults crossed the street, the half-dozen of them all murmuring to each other.  Reimu leaned back against the store door and sighed, then opened her eyes as she heard loud talking.

Two women walked down the street, clearly inebriated.  One with a large red coat and long, pure-white hair tied in a ponytail, and walking with her was a woman in a dark blue business pantsuit, her hair also strangely pale, but streaked with cerulean.  They supported each other as the one in the red coat drunkenly ranted.

“I tell you, this new manager, Keine,” Red-Coat said, a drunken lisp creeping into her speech.  “He’s a pain in the ass, can’t tell faces from heels, always trying to tell us what to do, booking the matches all wrong.  Me’n the bug, we got half a mind… half a mind to…” she trailed off as she stumbled.  “To burn’im…”

“Easy there, champ,” the woman called Keine replied. “You’ve got a match tomorrow, and I’ve got a class to teach.  We’ll stop by Lorelei’s bar, and then head home, okay?”  The woman called Keine glanced about as she tried to steer her compatriot, giving a slight wave to Reimu, one that she returned.

“Reimu,” Izumi said, standing behind her, partly through the door.  “Are you okay out here?”

“I’m fine,” Reimu said, as she dropped her waving hand and buried her face in her knees.  

Izumi dropped down, silently sitting on the steps next to Reimu.  “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Yes, but it’s not important,” Reimu said, trying and failing to shut down the conversation.

“But it was important enough to mention,” Izumi pointed out, then sighed.  “If you don’t want to talk, then I can talk to you.  I’m eternally grateful for your aid Reimu.  You let me see my daughter, learn what happened to her.  She hasn’t had the greatest upbringing, but she’s safe, and she is happy.  You helped me, when you had no reason to.”

“It’s my job,” Reimu said, unable to make herself not sound like she was sulking.  Why was she so bitter?  What was going on?

“It’s your job to look after this town, to keep people safe,” Izumi said. “It’s not part of your job to help a ghost the way you did, to give me the benefit of the doubt, and put yourself through all the trouble you did for me.  I remember what you said to Marisa, when we first met.  That it’s not about you, it’s about me, and what my family and I deserve.”

“What are you getting at, Izumi?” Reimu said, keeping her eyes straight ahead.  She could tell Izumi was looking right at her out of the corner of her eye, but Reimu didn’t want to meet her gaze.

“Reimu… is anything in your life about you?  About what you want?” Izumi asked.  “It feels like you’re living your life for your family duty.  And… you don’t seem happy.”

“So what?” Reimu spat back.  She didn’t even have the strength to deny it.  She was the Hakurei maiden.  It wasn’t about what she wanted, it was about what she had to do.

“I… I think you want to do your family’s duty, but sometimes, when we’ve lived with them for so long, it’s hard to know where our responsibilities end and we ourselves begin.  I think… I think you need something else in your life, Reimu.  Someone else.”

Reimu snorted.  “If you’re telling me that I need a partner to hook up with, you’re far from the first.”

“No, I know how much that bothers you,” Izumi said, her tone still warm and even. “I remember you shutting down the young man who hit on you the other day.  But I know you’re afraid… because you don’t feel the same way as other people.”

Reimu felt her eyes begin to water.  Marisa had asked about this, years ago.  If they could be more.   Reimu had said no, but blamed it on her work, on her duty.  That the Hakurei maiden couldn’t give herself to someone like that.  Even then, she’d remained Reimu’s friend.  A friend so good, Reimu often thought she didn’t deserve her.

“I don’t want to lie to someone,” Reimu said, gripping and hugging her legs tighter.  “If I can’t feel the same way about someone… the way they feel about me, then… then I shouldn't pretend that I do.”

“I agree,” Izumi said, looking away from Reimu.  It felt like a tiny weight being lifted off her chest. “But you should ask them what they expect from you.  Maybe that other person isn’t asking you to exactly return those feelings, in the same way they give them.  Maybe they just want to be around you… and maybe, if you try that and talk to them… you’ll find that you feel a certain way about them.  A way that only you can feel.  Maybe that’s all they want.  You have to try, and not stop when it’s rough, Reimu.  Because… you need to find a way to be happy.  I don’t know how much longer I have here… but I know I love you.”

At that, Reimu turned and looked at her.  She was still looking away, out on the street, watching a lone man in a long coat walk down the street.  “I love you the way I love my daughter.  I want you to know that, no matter what happens.”

Reimu nodded and felt a tear roll down her cheek.  “Thank you, Izumi.  I don’t know how much longer you’ll be here, but I do want to help you.  Not just because it’s my duty, but because it’s what I want to do.”

Izumi smiled in return and raised a finger to try and wipe away the tear on Reimu’s cheek, ticking her skin.  “Thank you, Reimu.”

Reimu cleaned her face with her sleeve.  They stood together and returned to the bookstore, leaving the chill night behind.  Inside, Kosuzu was writing in a journal, where she had apparently begun to jot things down from her conversation with Izumi.

“Kosuzu, is… Hideo still awake?”  Izumi asked.

“Um… maybe?” Kosuzu replied.  “But… I’d rather wait, before you see him if that’s okay, Mom.”

“I think I understand,” Izumi agreed. “We’re all a bit drained from tonight.”

“Will you be okay until we can meet with him, Kosuzu?” Reimu asked.

“I mean, it’s an awful lot to take in,” Kosuzu said. “But this is one of the best things to ever happen to me, Reimu-san.  I think I can manage for a little bit.  It might be nice to have some time to… process all this.”  She gave her notebook a little shake, as if ‘all this’ referred to the notes she had taken.

Izumi tapped her cheek, thinking.  “Reimu, do you have Kosuzu’s number?”

“Oh, you have a cell phone now, Reimu-san?” Kosuzu asked, whipping out her own, much more modern smartphone. “Please, may I have your number?  I want to stay in touch, for when Dad’s ready to meet Mom.”

Reimu smiled slightly.  This is probably as close as I will get to having a younger sister, she thought, before retrieving her flip-phone.  

“Of course, Kosuzu.”

The motorcycle raced through the streets of Tokyo under the overcast sky, a dark streak of polished fiberglass and carbon steel, its rider a curved form of faux-leather.

The motorbike was a sleek and aggressively compact thing, a powerful engine that one leaned back and forth to steer.  It bore no brand name, had almost no color on its bodywork, but for faint purple accents and the bright silver exhaust work.  It turned corners and wove between traffic with ease, its engine strangely quiet for a bike moving at such speed.

The rider was equally dark, clad head-to-toe in a black suit of imitation plastic leather, black boots and gloves, with a black riding helmet and opaque faceplate.  But on the occasions the bike stopped at a traffic light, onlookers could spot the tall, athletic form of a woman beneath the suit.  Most barely had time to register the bike at all before it sped off, though.

Through highways and side streets the biker rode, stopping to check street names, but always navigating towards the same point.  She turned off a main street and down a road called Meikai-dori, in the neighborhood of Gensokyo.  She sped past drugstores and tourist traps, until slowing down just as she passed a large building labeled “Prismriver Orchestral Academy,” and coming to rest just outside an ancient building.  She rolled up onto the sidewalk, then off the sidewalk, right up into the grass outside the front steps of the old mansion.  The rider kicked the stand down and killed the engine of the motorcycle, removing the keys and spinning the keyring around one gloved finger.  Her helmeted head swiveled back and forth, as she failed to attract even a passing glance from the pedestrians on the sidewalk.  She dismounted the bike and stood at the bottom of the steps up to the front door, watching for another minute to make sure she wasn’t being noticed by anyone, that the perception charm was still in effect.  Satisfied, she walked up the stairs to the front door of the mansion, where she stopped.

The front door was much as she remembered it, a paper-screen door shoji door, with an array of paper talismans of the Hakurei family plastered atop it in a loose grouping.  There were new talismans, but that was to be expected after her extended absence.  What was unexpected was the padlock securing the front door closed and the large wooden sign that stood in front of the entrance.

CONDEMNED
- KEEP OUT — UNSAFE STRUCTURE -
This property has been deemed unfit for habitation, by order of the Tokyo Metropolitan Agency for Structural Regulation and Inspection.  Unlawful entry beyond this point will be prosecuted.

Below that paragraph was a further mess of legal terms and contact information.  The rider inspected it curiously.  It was certainly a defense measure for the house, but it was not one she remembered.  A fail-safe, in case someone saw through the perception charm, perhaps?  She moved past the sign and inspected the padlock.  A simple, non-magical device, to be opened by entering a combination of numbers.  Nothing she could not handle; she could crush it with a single squeeze, but whoever placed it there would know.  Instead she removed the glove from her left hand, revealing tan skin underneath.  She brushed the padlock with a finger, as lines of light crept from beneath her sleeve.  The rainbow array of blocky, magical runes and dots illuminated the back of her hand, and after a moment her spell finished and the padlock snapped open.  She noted the combination (1217) and let the lock hang open as she opened the door, entered and then left it slightly ajar.

Now hidden behind both the perception charm and front door, she finally relaxed.  She twitched her fingers and replaced the glove on her hand, and her entire outfit seemed to quiver and shake, like it was a reflection in the rippling surface of a lake.  She removed her riding helmet as the glamor spell fell away from her outfit.  As she pulled the helmet off, an impossible amount of hair spilled out.  Long, wavy hair, down to her hips, a deep purple around her head that faded to a mottled brown near the end.  Beneath the helmet, she appeared to be a woman in her mid-to-late forties. The beginnings of wrinkles peaking in around her soft eyes and thin mouth.  As she held the motorcycle helmet in her hands, it too shimmered and warped, expanding out and transmuting into a large kasa straw hat, wide and gently pointed.

At the same time, her outfit was transforming.  The imitation leather shifted and slid over her body, becoming a layered set of silk robes, the inter one white and outer one black.  A dark green pattern was woven in a grid-like shape on her kashaya, the shawl that wrapped over one shoulder and under her other arm.  Her gloves became sleeves that covered the multi-colored runes on her arms and the back of her hand, extending past her wrist and looping around her middle finger.  The biker boots shrunk away to become simple wooden sandals.

The transformation of her outfit complete, she replaced her new straw hat upon her head and spun her keyring around her finger once more, tapping it.  It too began to transform, growing larger, with a small rod-like charm growing much longer.  The keys rattling became soft jingling as they transformed into rings, and the rod extended and grew far enough to become a staff, and the keyring finished its transformation into a shakujō, a Buddhist monk’s sounding-staff.  The dark metal of the head and the rings fell still and the woman took the staff by shaft.

Her golden-brown eyes swept around the foyer of the mansion she had entered, remembering how it was the last time she had been there.  Not too much had changed, but it was in a state of disrepair.  Scattered leaves and a thick layer of dust lay about the room.  Then there was the smell; the faint scent of decay.  Not a corpse or corpses still present, but they had been stored here.  The dark stains on the floor that looked almost like bloodstains told her all she needed to know.

She crossed the foyer, sliding open the paper-screen doors with her staff and exiting into a hallway, and so on until she stepped through a broken screen door and into the courtyard.  It was so ill-cared for, it looked like it had been abandoned.  The grass was overrun with weeds, and even they looked to be yellowing and dying.  The small stream that used to run through it was long dry, and at the center of the courtyard was the source of her looming sense of dread: the demonic tree, the Saigyou Ayakashi.  It was still dead, still blossomless, as it had been when she had last seen it, over a century ago.  But approaching the tree, and could see the large sacred rope around the trunk, and the patchwork of ofuda paper talismans that constructed the seal on the demon.  In the center of them all, there was a new one, one with a bloody handprint on it.

She looked down from the talismans to the main anchor for her memories: the sounding-staff embedded between the roots of the tree.  Its golden rings rang softly in the breeze.  She recognized it well: it had been her staff, centuries ago, when she had been forced to break every Buddhist precept and plunge it through the chest of the woman who had asked her to seal away the demonic tree, to finish the seal.

She brushed the rings on the staff, letting them jingle louder.  At the sound, the breeze in the courtyard shifted, and caught the hem of her robes and her shawl.  A slight mist gathered in the edges of the garden, snaking its way through the overgrown grass and toward the woman standing before the tree.  She took a single step back from the staff as she felt the temperature drop.  The mist swirled and coalesced into the form of a woman.  She had a wide, healthy figure, and was wrapped in a frilled, soft blue kimono with butterfly patterns up its length.  Her soft pink hair floated just above her shoulders, and her skin was pale like snow.  Her ethereal, immaterial form settled, sitting on a root of the demon tree, almost exactly above where her body still was.  She opened her pink eyes, and smiled softly at the woman in front of her. 

The monk stepped back from the ghost.  She held her hands together and bowed in a Buddhist gesture of greeting, holding her staff in the crook of her elbow.  “Good to see you again, Saigyouji-sama,” the monk said.

“Likewise; it’s good you see you, Byakuren,” the ghost responded. “It has been a while.”

“I see that much has happened in my absence,” the monk said, glancing about the seemingly abandoned courtyard. “Some of it ill-fortuned, it would seem.  Tell me, where is the Hakurei maiden?  What of the Horned Sage, or Matara-jin?  Where are Yakumo-san and the others?”

The ghost sighed, shaking her head.  “Take a seat, Hijiri.  We have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

Despite the advisory to ‘take a seat’, Byakuren the Monk stood.

“Before I even approach what happened to me,” Yuyuko, daughter of Hōshi, began. “What happened to you, Byakuren?” The ghostly princess’s hair fluttered about in the phantom breeze, her wavy pink locks floating above her shoulders.  Her maroon eyes were critical, but also concerned.

“I said I was leaving for a time,” Byakuren replied. “I was… delayed in returning to Japan.”  She shifted in place, looking around at the abandoned courtyards of the ‘netherworld mansion’ as Yakumo had always insisted on calling it.

“You left over a century ago,” Yuyuko countered.  “And said you would be back within a few years. We all… I feared that you had been killed in your travels.”

Byakuren sighed.  There would be no avoiding the story.  “Very nearly, and several times.  I traveled to learn more of the world, to see the homeland of the Buddha, the sacred sites of Bodh Gaya, Kushinagara and beyond.  But it was not meant to be…  I arrived in the most unfortunate circumstances in the lands of Nepal and India.  Religious turmoil, colonial influence, all of these factors conspired to make my travels and studies difficult.” Byakuren smiled without mirth. “My particular fusion of Japanese Buddhism and sorcery were often not well received, either.”

“So they chased you out?” Yuyuko asked.

“Not often,” Byakuren said, catching a dead leaf in the wind.  She turned it over, examining its lines and dark colors.  “But I was forced to move ever westward as I traveled.  From Kathmandu, to New Delhi, to Mumbai I traveled.  My journey became less of a pilgrimage to the origin of the Buddha, and more of an ongoing debate with whomever would engage.  I learned much from the sages, bhikkhu, swami, sanyāsini I met and spoke with.  They were, on the whole, wonderful.”

The edge of Yuyuko’s mouth curled up. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming,” she said.

“The Hindu ascetics and spiritual leaders were welcoming,” Byakuren continued. “But… the political leaders, both the native and Raj, did not appreciate the… shall we say ‘influx of new ideas and debate’ that followed me.”

A small, dry laugh came from the ghostly woman. “You’ve never been good at reading the room, Byakuren.  Just like here, you just say whatever to whomever, and can’t think beyond that.  You’ve got no head for politics.”

Byakuren frowned.  “I have always preached peace and understanding.  That such a message is a threat to some is no fault of mine.”  Yuyuko rolled her eyes and motioned for her to continue. “So I traveled ever westward, across the lands of Persia and the Turkish Empire.  Such knowledge… and such discontent in those lands.”

“I remember the stories that Fumiko read to me back then,” Yuyuko commented, recalling the Hakurei maiden at the dawn of the previous century.  A friendly and forthright woman, who had been remorseful to see Byakuren leave, but had understood.  Byakuren wondered, not for the first time, how her life had faired since she had been gone.  Yuyuko continued, heedless of Byakuren’s recollections: “The newspapers spoke of terrible strife in what the westerners called the ‘Middle East.’  Many revolutions and reforms before the Great War.”

“Yes, and I found myself in the middle of them,” Byakuren said. “Revolts and crises and revolutions.  And it was there, when I was preparing for my journey home that I was imprisoned.”

Yuyuko raised an eyebrow at that.  “Byakuren, you have the strength of ten men; you can crush steel and shatter stone.  What prison could hold you?”

“Not one of stone, for it was no ordinary man who hunted me,” Byakuren replied, turning away to watch the sky through the dead branches of the tree. “My teaching, my spells, my ideas… they made me a very convenient focus of the religious ire that was boiling alongside the secular reforms these countries were performing…  I was not very subtle, as you pointed out.  So when things reached a head, I was an excellent scapegoat, and a powerful magical expert was called in to… deal with me.”

“Ah,” Yuyuko simply said, her ghostly form shifting uncomfortably. “I see.  But how did he bind you?”

Byakuren watched a small bird fly by, and waited for it to pass before she responded.  “There are beings in that land,” she said. “Invisible wraiths of the desert.  They are called the Jinn, or the Djinni.  The local magicians all spoke of a man named Suliman, who could bind and control these beings with spells gifted to him from their God.  They said that those same spells could be used by the most powerful wizards to bind a being within a physical vessel.  And the man that confronted me was one such wizard.”

“His magic was more powerful than your scroll?” Yuyuko asked.  It was a fair question, it was the sutra scroll that gave Byakuren near-immortality and her superhuman strength.

“I do not think it is a matter of power,” Byakuren said. “My scroll was not a magic which could oppose his faith.  Not then, at any rate.”

“And so what happened?” Yuyuko asked again.

“I tried to reason with him, but to him I was nothing more than a demon in human form,” Byakuren said, her gaze falling from the sky.  “Just like the monks who rejected me centuries ago.  But the difference is that this wizard had the strength to back up his claims.  I don’t know if my scroll ever could have resisted his spell, but it was no help to me.”

“He held up a copper flask, spoke those syllables, and my entire existence… shrank,” she said, pausing for the right wording.  Yuyuko looked perplexed, so Byakuren expounded. “It was like being condensed into a single point, like a poem being crushed down into one word.  Time and reality bled away as I tried to open my scroll…  And the next thing I knew, I was across the Atlantic Ocean, roughly a year ago.”

“So, you were sealed?” Yuyuko said. “Some petty foreign mage sealed you like a common youkai?”

Byakuren shook her head. “He was no petty mage, and it was no common sealing.  I researched what happened once I was freed; the spell claimed his life as its cost.”

Yuyuko’s eyes narrowed as she stared into Byakuren’s face. “You seem very… ambivalent about the fate of the man who defeated you.”

“What good is hatred?” Byakuren asked. “He was a man who believed he was defending his home and people from a grave threat, and he has been dead for over a century.  Why hold on to a baseless grudge?  Who am I to say that he was even wrong to seal me?”

Yuyuko let out a sigh like rustling papers, and shook her head, a tiny smile on her lips. “You remain the most infuriatingly calm and understanding person.”

Byakuren turned to face her, then clasped her hands and bowed in reply. “Thank you, my lady.”

“So,” Yuyuko continued. “You were released a year ago?”

“Fifteen months, to be precise,” Byakuren said. “After the death of the mage, the vessel my existence was sealed within passed from between hands as a piece of fine art, until it was purchased and shipped across the ocean, to the land of America.”

“Ah, I see,” Yuyuko said. “‘Land of the Free,’ or so it is called.  What released you?”

“An artist was tasked with touching up the engraving on the flask, and as soon as she soldered away part of the seal, I was released.  I spent the next few months with her, learning of the century I missed.”

“Oh, so you don’t need to be brought up to speed then?” Yuyuko asked with a smirk.

“No, I took my time learning, and repaying the woman who helped me.  Regardless, I was also working to improve myself and my… equipment.”

“Equipment?” Yuyuko repeated, questioning.

Byakuren nodded, and reached up her sleeve, rolling it back and peeling away the fabric to reveal her forearms.  Yuyuko’s eyes widened as she saw the rainbow-lit runes and glyphs of Byakuren’s sorcerer’s sutra scroll, glowing on her skin.  It wrapped up her arms, the characters clear as day, as if the scroll had been wrapped just half a millimeter below her skin.

“Since I was released, I have taken steps to ensure that I am never parted from it,” Byakuren offered as she rolled her sleeve back down and the runes vanished back behind the fabric.  “That was part of my journey across both the Americas, Europe and Africa, and most of Asia.”

“Ah, so you took the long way home,” Yuyuko said.

“I felt no pressing need to return.  I had total confidence that the seals on the Saigyou Ayakashi would be maintained, and that this neighborhood… this city would stand a century without me.”  Byakuren sighed deeply, and they both felt the wind change with the conversation. 

“I was in Thailand when I knew the seal was being altered.  Like a hand reaching inside my chest, I felt it.  I raced back here to investigate.”  Byakuren looked around at the dead grass, peeling paint on the walls, the abandoned courtyard, her eyes eventually landing on the bloody palm-print that marked the newest piece of the Hakurei seal on the demon tree.  “How did it come to this, Saigyouji-sama?”

Yuyuko looked away from Byakuren, the tall, dark woman who only wanted to know what had happened.  “It all… It all fell apart without you, Byakuren.”

“Matara-jin and Yakumo-san used to say that as a joke,” Byakuren said. “That I was the only thing holding all of us together.  I’d prefer a serious answer, pl-”

“It’s not a joke,” Yuyuko bit out, cutting Byakuren off.  “It wasn’t… immediate.  It took a while… but without you… they weren’t the sages they once were.”

Yuyuko shifted and floated up from her position, drifting to stare at the bloodstain on the paper talismans.  With her back to Byakuren, she tried to formulate an explanation. “A decade or so after you left, when the war was starting in Europe, the Horned Sage left to try and find you.  She… also never returned,” she said, still facing away.

Byakuren mulled that over.  The Horned Sage had always withheld her name.  A paradox of a being, she was a vicious and cunning oni who practiced ascetic deprivation and careful meditation to control her nature as a youkai.  She and Byakuren had been close, holding many debates on the nature of youkai and their existence as shadows of humanity.  It made sense that she would've been the one to venture out and search for Byakuren after she did not return.

“We looked for her… or rather the others tried,” Yuyuko said, turning back to Byakuren.  “I was not much help, trapped here.  But it was to no avail.  Her fate remains… unknown.”

“I see…” was all Byakuren could offer.  There were rituals to locate a person, to discover their fate, but if they would work on a powerfully unique being like a demonic sage… that was another matter.  Matara-jin, master of all that was hidden, surely would have tried everything to locate her.  Their attendants had always spoken of their great power.

“After the war, the country changed,” Yuyuko continued. “The military grew, the culture shifted and became more imperial.  The Hakurei maiden of the day said that is why Matara-jin vanished.”

“Vanished?” Byakuren repeated. “A curious expression for a being none of us ever actually met.” Matara-jin, as a god of secrets and the downtrodden, had never incarnated before the rest of them.  Instead they sent avatars and attendants.  They always spoke through a proxy.

“Well, the attendants just stopped appearing one day,” Yuyuko explained.  “The maiden and Yakumo tried to contact them… but other matters always interfered.  With the entire country changing, the deployment of the military to the mainland, and then the Pacific War… new youkai and demons were born.  The Hakurei maiden… her name was Kaede.  She was run ragged by the new creatures and evils that appeared constantly.  It was just Yakumo and her, in those years.  They were close… but after the war…”  Yuyuko drifted down to the grass, hovering just over it.  She looked away again, avoiding Byakuren’s gaze.

“The end of the war was…  It could feel it.  I could feel those lives ending from a thousand kilometers away,” Yuyuko near-whispered. Byakuren, inhaled slowly, then exhaled.  She knew the history, of course.  It was one of the first things she learned after her unsealing.  The… nuclear end to the war.  It had worried her gravely, but the more than seventy intervening years of history had let her feel that her home country was still safe.  But now, with this centuries-old ghost rendered quiet by the memory of it, Byakuren was confronted with an undying scar of that trauma.  Byakuren, ever the stoic, felt a crack shoot through her stony resolve.

“The war, and the occupation… maybe that’s why Yakumo…” Yuyuko trailed off.  This was the one that Byakuren had dreaded since she had realized they were all gone.  The powerful, reality-bending youkai that they had known as Yukari Yakumo had been friends with Yuyuko while the latter had still been alive, and had been crucial in the sealing of the tree.  They were good friends… and perhaps they had been more, while Yuyuko was still alive.

“I don’t… I can’t…” Yuyuko struggled to articulate what she was trying to say, as a heat crept into her voice that Byakuren did not expect. “If I never see her again, it will be too soon.”

Byakuren was taken aback.  She expected sorrow, longing, sadness for a lost friend.  Not this venomous anger.  “What happened?”

“She… she killed people,” Yuyuko bit out, making a chopping motion with her hand.  “Or she got people killed.  She was reckless, stupid, and short-sighted.  She let her fear of the new, modernizing world blind her.  She tried to escape, Byakuren.  She tried to make some kind of special… sanctuary where everything supernatural in Japan would live, away from the humans.  She gathered over a hundred mages, priests and youkai and tried to carve out a space for herself, other youkai and spirits, a space separated from reality.”

That was alarming, but also in character for the youkai of Boundaries.  It was certainly a talent she had used in setting up the perception charm around the mansion, as well as dozens of other feats over the centuries.  But to create what sounded like an alternate dimension…

“It didn’t work,” Yuyuko said, her fire leaving her.  The heat of her anger was bleeding away.  She did not speak for a few seconds before she continued: “Somewhere to the west, in the Yatsugatake Mountains, in Nagano, there is a crater.  A crater where she tried to run away from the world, and over a hundred humans died.  They died because she couldn’t accept that the world was changing, and because they fell for her… facade.”

Byakuren felt her own heart ache as she processed that.  She had wondered what could have soured Yukari and Yuyuko’s relationship, and that would do it.  Yuyuko had been arrested in her death forever, and so she always advocated that those around her grow and learn, that they adapt and overcome the challenges of their life.  Yukari-san surely would have thought she was doing just that, with this endeavor.  Clearly, Yuyuko saw it differently.

“Did she survive?” was all Byakuren could ask.

“I don’t know,” Yuyuko admitted. “If she did, she never contacted me or the Hakurei family again.”

Byakuren nodded behind Yuyuko’s back.  She still had a dozen questions that only Yuyuko could answer, but she sensed it was time to move on from this sore subject.  “And so that left just you and the Hakurei maiden.”

“For a while,” Yuyuko said, as she idly watched a small insect buzz through the air past her.  She reached up and flicked a finger at it, sending a small gust of cold at it, knocking it off course before it re-adjusted and kept flying. “They continued to pass the responsibility of maintaining the seal on the tree down the family line.  They would visit and talk… keep me sane.  Until the latest one… she died about a decade ago.”

“Was she young?” Byakuren asked.

“Fairly,” Yuyuko said, making an ambivalent gesture.  “She told me about her daughter, but she had yet to tell her daughter about me.  She just stopped showing up.  Some accident or another, I suppose; the life of a human in the modern world.  That left me alone… with the tree.”  Both of their gazes returned to the enormous dead tree at the center of the courtyard.  “I began to lose myself after a year, and it only got worse.  The insolation, the loneliness… it got to me, made me weak.  The tree was able to use that, to use me.   It… it killed a girl.  Lured her in and killed her, then used her ghost and her sister to gather souls in an attempt to escape.  The only thing that stopped it… was the Hakurei maiden.”

“Is that who is responsible for the new seal?” Byakuren asked, gesturing at the bloody palmprint with her staff.

“Yes,” Yuyuko said. “Somehow, she and her allies found this place and they managed to repair the seal.  That let me pull myself back together, after a few days.”

“And this ghost and her sister?” Byakuren asked.

“Gone and saved,” Yuyuko said.  “One of the allies set up the lock and new sign.  This place finally has a new guardianship, after a fashion.”

“I am sorry, Saigyouji-sama,” Byakuren said, bowing. “It seems I’ve failed in my duties as a sage.”

“We all failed, Byakuren,” Yuyuko said. “Entropy... We can fight against it as spirits and sages, but it is still inevitable.  Things fall apart.”  She turned to the monk, her ghostly eyes sunken and exhausted.  “What will you do now?”

“I’m not sure,” Byakuren said, stepping away from the tree to stare up at the gray sky and listen to the sounds of distant traffic.  “I want to help rebuild what eroded… but perhaps that time has passed.  The Circle of Sages was formed in a very different world.  I feel this new Tokyo and Gensokyo needs new ideas; at the same time, there are surely still spiritual and supernatural dangers that must be addressed.  And I cannot abandon my remaining charge,” she said, turning back and gesturing to the space just below the staff between the roots of the tree, where Yuyuko’s bones moldered.

“Why thank you,” Yuyuko said, a smile creeping back into her voice.  She performed a little mock bow. “You might want to introduce yourself to the Hakurei maiden.  The shrine hasn’t moved.”

Byakuren’s slight cheer faded, as she looked away.  “Perhaps.  Perhaps not,” she said. “I angered many in my travels… and perhaps with a more deft approach, that could have been avoided.  I don’t believe blundering up to this new young maiden would be very helpful to either of us.  I’ll observe and research what should be done.”

“My, you really did learn something in your travels,” Yuyuko said, as she approached the staff in the tree and slowly began to fade away. “Tact.”

Byakuren smiled as she folded her hands and made a sign of peace.  “It was good to see you too, Saigyouji-sama.  We will meet again soon.”

Yuyuko grinned in earnest at her as her form dispersed into a gray-blue mist, and dissipated across the courtyard.  Byakuren spared a glance at her old staff, before turning and leaving the mansion.  Her robes shifted and tightened into biker leathers as her straw hat curled down into a biker’s helmet and her staff shrank back down into a set of keys.  She mounted her motorcycle, gunned the engine and rode off into the city, to find a place where she could make a difference.

“The test on Hindu sculpture vs Buddhist ones will be at the end of this week,” Professor Kamishirasawa called out as the bell rang, signaling the end of classes.  The entire class gathered their papers, and Marisa packed her laptop and notebooks into her messenger bag, replacing her hat back on her head.  It was a smaller one today, something closer to a sun hat than a witch’s cap, but still to her taste.  She hustled down the stairs of the lecture hall, but a beckoning gesture from the professor made her sigh.  She’d ignored the teacher’s summons once before, to her own detriment.  She hung back, and approached the desk at the front of the hall, where the teacher gestured for her to sit down.

“Your grades had improved since our last chat, Kirisame-san,” she said, leafing through a folder that assumedly contained all of her notes on Marisa. Her blue-and white hair was mostly up in a bun, but she tucked a stray lock of ot behind her ear before putting on a pair of glasses to read.  “As well as your attentiveness in class.  But I’m still a bit lost on why you’re taking an art history course and nothing else.”

“It’s private,” Marisa blurted, feeling her face grow hot. “I’ve got personal reasons.”

“So you’ve said,” Kamishirasawa said. “But your interest has waxed and waned with certain subjects.”  She began to run her finger down the page, tracing a column Marisa couldn’t see. “You excelled at the chemical breakdown on the paints used in the renaissance and enlightenment in Europe, and referenced medieval alchemy frequently, even cross-referencing back to the week we spent on alchemical manuscripts.  You even dove into the entwining history of the occult and the spiritual in your essay on European painting history, which was outside the scope of the project, but also very interesting.”

Marisa had the distinct impression that she was being dressed down.

“Realistic compositions and the political history that informs historic trends, those you seem to regard as tedious.  But then, whenever tales of monsters, demons or youkai come up, you get top marks.  Your essay where you analyzed Japanese native depictions of demons and oni, and how that influenced and was influenced with Buddhist demons, and tying it all back to Hindu Asura made some very astute observations that I’ve never heard from a student before.”

“Uh… thanks?” Marisa said, for lack of anything better to say.  “I guess I’m a little confused as to what you’re trying to say, professor.”  The woman removed her slim glasses and stared directly at Marisa, her red-brown eyes unblinking.  Marisa looked away; she’d never felt someone stare straight through her like that.

“You seem to excel whenever the subject is something supernatural, folkloric or magical.  I just wanted to ask, because I’ve seen this profile of a student before,” Kamishirasawa said. “Marisa… are you a mage?”

“A what? No,” Marisa lied instantly.

Too fast, she thought to herself.  Act more confused, less indigent.

“You mean like… what like an occultist goth, trying out new stuff I found online?” Marisa attempted. “I guess I don’t know what you mean… like trying séances and crystal healing stuff?  If so, I guess I like that kind of thing.”

The professor stared at Marisa again, silently.  The lecture hall was so quiet that all Marisa could hear was her pounding heartbeat in her ears.  What did Kamishirasawa know?  Was she just a scholar, or was she more?  Did she know about magic, or would she buy Marisa’s cover of just being a weirdly new-age spiritual goth girl?

“Just a question of your interest, Kirisame-san,” the professor said. “You’re free to take whatever classes you want, I’m just curious.  You may go, sorry to keep you.”  She looked down from Marisa to her notes and books, and Marisa nodded, then scrambled out of the chair, desperately failing at not looking guilty.

Marisa exited the main lecture building and crossed the college lawn, pulling her long coat a bit tighter against the deepening autumn chill.  She checked her phone as she made plans.  No bites on her personal astrology/horoscope notice.  It was always a long shot with those kinds of well-worn scams, but a hit would set her up for a while.  She still had plenty of cash stashed, but she never liked to idle.  Tomorrow was her appointment with the demon summoner at the library adjacent to the Scarlet Devil Mall, but tonight she was free.  She felt like perhaps drinking at a bar or club and eating out, but she hadn’t seen Reimu for a few days, so maybe the responsible thing to do was to surprise the girl with some microwave ramen; she’d surely be thrilled by a meal on someone else’s yen.

She found a bench in the yard and sat down, sorting through several of her papers and checking her small social media feeds.  After a few minutes, she heard a raised voice moving towards her.

“You find someone to paint those nails, ham-hands?  Or did you have to teach yourself?”

Marisa looked up from her phone.  The campus was mostly empty this late in the day, but she saw a familiar figure walking down the path past her seat: Sanae, the country girl.  Her black hair with the odd green fringe was tied in a simple ponytail, and she was dressed in a blue and white dress, with a tan and unassuming wool cardigan over the top of it.  She was followed by two boys, other students, by the look of them, though their expensive-looking, well-tailored outfits set them apart from both Sanae and Marisa.  Marisa instantly read the look on all threes’ faces and recognized the scenero: they were hounding her.

“I’m surprised you could find a woman’s dress with shoulders that wide!” called one boy, his hair slicked back.  He let out a self-satisfied cackle.

“Maybe she sewed it herself,” said the other one, who had the weakest and patchiest mustache Marisa had ever seen (and her father’s had been quite bad.) “Not much else to do out in the country after you’re done shitting in the woods, huh?”

Sanae was desperately trying to ignore them, but her watering eyes and red face told Marisa it wasn’t working.  Marisa knew she shouldn’t draw attention to herself, but walking away from this scene was never an option.  She reached deep into one of her coat pockets and pulled out a small stoppered vial, one filled with dried red and black peppers, shriveled ant carcasses and small hairs.  There was a malicious rune scratched in on the side of the vial.

The boys continued to snicker and jeer at her, as Sanae walked past Marisa, not even sparing her a glance.  Marisa rose to her feet as Sanae passed and transposed herself between her and the two ‘men.’

“She’s clearly not that into you,” Marisa said.  “You’re not in third grade anymore boys, you can’t tease a girl into liking you.”

The two boys stopped, both of them clearly surprised that the random girl on the bench was involving herself.  Marisa heard Sanae stop just behind her.

“Who the hell are you, a witch?” Greasy-Hair said.

“I am,” Marisa said plainly. “And if you two don’t want to get hexed, you should back off.  You shouldn't hold people to standards that you yourself hilariously fail to meet.”  If Reimu was in this situation, she’d probably be way more disarming; just trying to shoo them off, but that wasn’t in Marisa’s playbook.  She only knew how to goad them and escalate.

“What did you say, you little street-fashion reject?” Fuzzy-Lip said.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me, your ears are more than big enough,” Marisa said. “You can’t tease her for looking strong when I don’t think either of you could lift ten kilos without assistance.”  Fuzzy-Lip tried to retort, but Marisa just kept talking. “And I don’t wanna hear any comments about her appearance from someone who forgot to shave this morning."

Marisa saw a real fire light behind his eyes; she’d definitely hit a sore spot with him.  “You don’t want to talk to me like that, bitch,” he said, balling his fist. “My dad could have you expelled, if you’re even a student.  You sure don’t look smart enough for it.  So just let the country gorilla fend for herself, okay?”

The part of Marisa’s head that never stopped thinking really disliked that comment.  It probably should have been thinking of ways out of this situation that didn’t involve a spell, but instead it was focused on how unfair the comparison was.  So what if Sanae had broad shoulders, large hands and was thicker than her or either of the boys?  She grew up on a farm, she should be strong!  Plus, muscles on a girl were attractive, even if Sanae’s conservative fashion sense prevented her from showing it off.  It wasn’t that their insults were degrading that made Marisa mad: it was that the two brats were so wrong.

“Kirisame-san, please,” Sanae said behind her, putting a hand on Marisa’s shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“You heard her, Ki-ri-sa-me-san,” Greasy-Hair said, sounding out Marisa’s name in an exaggerated, mocking imitation of Sanae’s rural accent. “She doesn’t need a shitty fairy goth-mother to rescue her.  So just walk away, and we can move on with our days.  We’re good friends with Kochiya-san, you know.  This is just business as usual.”

“These creeps have done this before?” Marisa asked over her shoulder.

Sanae flushed a little, and looked away. “Every week,” she whispered.

“Kochiya just wanted to be friends with her classmates,” Fuzzy-Lip said.

“And what’s a little roasting between friends?” Greasy-Hair added. “She’d know all about roasting, cons-

“Shut your mouth!” Sanae shouted, her restraint slipping. “Just shut up!”

Marisa wondered why Sanae was still standing there, despite the distress she was enduring.  Did she just not want to be seen running away from two bullies?  It also occurred to Marisa that Sanae might be worried about her.   Worried what the boys might do to her.

She was flattered.

“I think she’s made her position clear,” Marisa said, turning back to the two boys. “I seriously doubt she wants to be friends with someone who hasn’t washed their hair in what looks like a month.”

“It’s product, you little homeless-looking freak!” Greasy-Hair spat out, taking a step forward.  Wow, she’d managed to identify both of their insecurities at first blush.  Must have been a new record… but for what she wasn’t sure.  “Say one more thing, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what, slimeball?” Marisa said, shaking the vial.  “You try something and I guarantee you’ll wish you hadn’t.”  She was really, really glad this was happening late enough that the campus was mostly empty.  A few people watched from a distance, but most averted their eyes to avoid being involved.

“Oh, what are you going to do, you chunni?” Fuzzy-Lip asked, in a mocking tone. “Curse us?”

“Oh I’m certainly thinking about it,” Marisa said. “But the two of you seem plenty cursed already, it would be like peeing in the ocean.  I guess every little bit helps, though.”

“Come here, you little bitch!” Greasy-Hair shouted, as he and Fuzzy-Lip took a step forward.  Marisa and Sanae took a step back in sync, Marisa tapped the rune on the vial and spoke the incantation aloud.  It gave the two boys pause, as a clear mix of trepidation and curiosity held them in place as Marisa finished the magic words.  The moment passed, then they looked at each other and smirked, thinking they were in the clear.

“Some fancy magic, you creep-” Fuzzy-Lip began, then cut himself off as his legs wobbled and eye twitched.  He and Greasy-Hair both started exhibiting the same symptoms: shaking legs, discomfort on the face and twitches in their hands that said they wanted to do something with them, but were restraining themselves.

“What- what- gah!” Greasy-Hair gasped, as his knee buckled and he could restrain his hand no longer.  It dove down his pants, furiously scratching inside. “What did you do to us?” Marisa heard a gasp of surprise from Sanae.

“I’d worry less about what I did, and what you’re going to do,” Marisa said with a smirk. “If you rush to a hospital, you might get there before your junk rots off.”

“You bitch!  I’ll- we’ll-” one of them shouted before abandoning the threat.  The boys ran past them, out of the campus, both of them adopting an awkward waddle as they attempted to run without scratching their privates.

There was a very long moment of silence in the area, before the few onlookers shrugged and moved on with their lives.

“Did you…” Sanae began. “Are they really gonna lose their…?”

“No, of course not,” Marisa sighed, turning to the taller girl. “It’s an itching curse, and a pretty weak one.  Their bits will itch like hell for about twenty minutes or so, then nothing.  The only lasting harm will be if they manage to scratch themselves raw in that time.  Think of it as a lesson in… restraint,” Marisa said, unable to keep the self-satisfaction out of her voice.

Sanae snorted. “I shouldn’t laugh at someone’s sufferin’... but if ever there was a worthy target of such a thing, it’d be those two.”  She turned back to Marisa, who was sitting back down on the bench, motioning to Sanae to take a seat, so she did, laying her backpack by her feet.  “So… you really are a magician, Kirisame-san?”

“You can call me Marisa,” she replied. “And yes, I wasn’t lying.” Marisa narrowed her eyes. “You don’t seem too surprised.”

“I mean, I saw my uncle-in-law do all sorts of wacky stuff, and my friend claimed to be datin’ a demon once, so I guess a curse ain’t too weird.”  Sanae said. “Thanks for standin’ up for me.  I really wanted to sock’em right in the face, but I promised my dad I’d be on my best behavior when I was in the city.”

“That’s fair,” Marisa said, not feeling her words at all.  Feeling accountable to a father was a sensation she was wholly unfamiliar with.  She noticed that Sanae’s gray/green eyes were still a bit wet, so she reached into her coat and pulled out one of her handkerchiefs, offering it to Sanae.

“Thank you,” she said as she took the fabric and cleaned her face. “It’s been a lot rougher than I thought, tryin’ to fit in.  Everything moves so fast here.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what made you move to Tokyo from Suwa?” Marisa probed. “Aside from that scholarship.”

“Academic interest and… social stuff, I suppose?” Sanae offered, as she finished cleaning her eyes.  She folded the cloth back up and handed it back to Marisa, who quickly stored it in a zip-lock bag with a bit of slight-of-hand back in her coat. “I… wasn’t a great fit for my hometown.  I’m not a bad farmhand… but I love machinery and robotics.  Got good test scores, got a scholarship… And my dad thought Tokyo’d be a better fit for me.”

Marisa could see plain as day that that wasn’t quite the whole story, but she knew better than to pry.  The girl desperately needed friends, though.  The dip-shit duo might be scared off by the curse, or they might not.  Perhaps…

“Say, are you free right now?” Marisa asked. “I was about to meet with a friend of mine, and I think you might just get along.” It was a lie of course, it was impossible to predict how Reimu would react to something, but it was as good an excuse as any for her to try and get a new friend for both Reimu and Sanae.

“Oh, I’d love to, but I’ve got a Comp Linear Algebra class starting in just under…” She checked her watch. “Half an hour.  What about… a coffee or somethin’ some other day?”

“I’d love to,” Marisa said, touching the brim of her sun hat in the faintest imitation of a hat tip.  They exchanged contact info and Sanae set off for the library to study as Marisa stood and exited the campus to go spend the night with Reimu and Izumi.

Chapter Text

“Sakuya?”

Sakuya Izayoi returned to herself.  Meiling was standing with her, just outside the exercise studio she ran.  Class had been dismissed, but a few of the attendees were still performing a few yoga moves.  Meiling had bid farewell to the substitute instructor who was demonstrating everything Meiling still couldn’t do as she recovered from her injury.  The bandage was hidden by her shirt and jacket, but she still didn’t have full range of motion in her midsection.

“I’m sorry, Meiling,” Sakuya said. “My mind wandered.”

“Well, you texted me that you wanted to have lunch together and chat,” Meiling said. “So I assume you’ll lead the way?”

“Yes, of course,” Sakuya said. “My apologies for zoning out.”

But it was happening to her quite a bit, Sakuya reflected as they took the escalator down.  In the intervening week and few days since the battle with the demon tree, Sakuya had often found her mind wandering.  Part of it was probably over-work; Lady Flandre had awakened from her slumber and had subsequently thrown herself back into making outfits for her big fashion premiere, catching up on the work that had been done by her assistants while she rested for multiple days, as vampires often did.  Lady Remilia had relented in some of her assignments to let Sakuya handle Flandre’s many needs.  Getting her fresh blood, coordinating different teams, and working to schedule the few meetings that couldn’t be avoided to be late enough that the sun would be down and Flandre could attend them.  It was beyond a full time job, but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to.  Remilia was always more reserved, but Flandre often worked at a frenzied pace.

But while she was managing her many responsibilities, Sakuya couldn’t quite focus as of late, and the image of the Saigyou Ayakashi kept reappearing in her mind.  She’d investigated the plot of land the manor it was inside of, and found that it almost didn’t exist in the Tokyo’s records; no doubt part of the perception charm.  She’d fabricated the sign saying the building was condemned and added a lock to the front door, and she hoped that the priestess would be able to handle the rest.  

But that was a week ago, so why was she still thinking about that night?  It wasn’t like it was her only only experience in stressful, frightening situations-

-Ireland.   She watches with wide eyes as her father pins the woman down with metal spikes through her hands and feet.  She screams, and her skin turns sallow and thin as her dark hair grows dry and frayed.  Neither she nor her father can hear her keening cry, they have both to take a tonic that deadens their hearing for an hour.  She had been able to identify the woman as a banshee, and the joy and pride he expressed in her made her feel warm for the first time in a long while.   But now, watching him restrain a writhing monster woman to a bed with metal spikes, then slitting her throat with a silver knife, she just feels cold-

-Norway.  Her father holds a finger in front of his lips as the sound of hoofs on snow get closer.  They are hidden behind a large stone dusted in snow, having tracked a monster from the north of Scotland all the way across the sea to this remote coastal area.  Sakuya was able to help, catching glimpses of its aura as it crossed beneath and atop the waves.  Her father is growing more and more tired, his technique and knowledge of monsters beginning to slip, so she has had to pick up the slack.  The hoofsteps pass, but stop some distance away.  Sakuya risks a look over the top of the snowy boulder, and she can see it: the blood-red monster.  A nuckelavee, a cyclopian horse with no skin and a grotesque, flayed torso of a human growing from its back where a rider would sit.  The torso's distended arms are so long they drag in the snow.  It's a sea-demon born from the drowned and damned, or so her father says.  It walked out of the sea a week ago in the north of Scotland, and now they’ve finally found it again.  Before she can retreat back down behind the rock, the human head of the creature whips one hundred and eighty degrees and stares right at her, before screaming, blood gushing out of its mouth-

-Korea.  A family that speaks English has hired them to exorcise a spirit from a relative who has been bedridden for months.  Sakuya watches as the strange fervor that has overtaken her father manifests in his dark eyes.  He hasn’t shaved, hasn’t bathed, hasn’t stopped for weeks now.  They’re going to Japan next, but for what he won’t tell her.  He just says that there’s work there.  It feels like he’s going mad.  It scares her, but fear is already a part of her life like nothing else is.  Her father pulls on the spirit inside the man’s body, and it looks liked he is pulling on a loose thread in a sweater: the man is contorting and twisting as the spirit digs in its metaphysical heels and the man begins to scream-

-Japan.  She’s buried under a pile of animated dead bodies, puppets of this demonic tree.  All she can do is watch as the priestess she hired is almost consumed by the demon, its hands of bark and branches reaching out for her and trying to consume her as the magician’s choked screams ring out over the priestess’s chant-

-so she didn’t understand why this one instance should linger in her head.  It was just another battle, just the conclusion of another hunt.  File it away with all the other screaming and move on.  

As they rode down the escalator to the lobby, Sakuya spotted a familiar figure: the magician.  Why she was here and not in the library is beyond her, but she was talking with another known face: the puppeteer.  Lady Flandre saw her work with her doll’s clothing a few years ago, and has been consulting her since then.  She’s dressed for the part, with a smart, modern blue coat over a white dress and black stockings.  Sakuya wasn’t aware that she was supposed to be making a visit today, but Flandre is always erratic with her plans when she gets like this, so it’s no great surprise.  What is a surprise is that the magician seemed to know her.

Sakuya steered towards them, just to check that everything was okay.

“Wait a minute Alice, you told me you didn’t know about any demons or ways to summon demons, but you work with a vampire?” the magician said.

“I hardly see why that’s relevant,” the puppeteer responded. “I’ve never seen a demon here.”

“What about the incubus in the bookstore?” the magician said, with an air of indignation.

“I’ve never been to the bookstore,” the puppeteer explained.  “I only meet with Ms. Scarlet.  Oh, hello Ms. Izayoi, Meiling.”

Sakuya gave a small bow, and Meiling waved a hand to the two blondes.  The puppeteer’s smile was professional, but the magician could not hide her disdain for Sakuya.  She was still sore over how Sakuya traced the phone that she gave the sim card for.  Their conversation about it was tense, and didn’t end on good terms.  Sakuya maintained that she was well within her rights; it was a company plan in that phone after all.  She suspected that she was bearing some amount of displaced displeasure, as the priestess seemed completely unperturbed by the arrangement, and the magician can’t bring herself to be too mad at her lifelong friend.

“Izayoi,” is all the magician offered, her brow furrowed and her golden eyes cold.

“Kirisame,” she replied.  Then they parted ways as they moved past, all four of them moving to their appointments.  Sakuya should not have felt hollow from that cold stare.  Why should the scorn of a nineteen-year-old hedge-mage matter?  And yet…

“You seem worn out, Sakuya,” Meiling commented as they exited the building and descended the front steps of the building, Sakuya automatically moving towards a new little bistro she’d discovered a few blocks away.

“I’ve been pretty busy,” Sakuya said. “Lady Flandre is a demanding mistress.”

Meling’s aquamarine eyes narrowed skeptically, but she said nothing more on the matter.  Rather, as they crossed the street, she changed the subject.  “Are you free this weekend?”

“I’ve not had a chance to make plans,” Sakuya said.

“Then I have the chance to get you to relax,” Meiling said, her usual wide grin on her face.  “No, don’t object, I can see you running yourself down.  I know you kept making calls after hours this week.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a typical job, is it Meiling?” Sakuya replied.

“No, and your relationship to your boss is anything but typical,” Meiling said. “And although you aren’t a typical human, you are still human.  And you need to get out and socialize, have some fun.  And I just so happen to have tickets to the perfect event for that.”

They turned the corner together, Meiling’s stature and bright red hair parting the crowded street as they walked. “And what might that be?” Sakuya asked.

Meiling looked away, and Sakuya could hear the smile in her voice. “Have you ever been to a pro wrestling match?”

Marisa said her farewell to Alice as the older woman stayed on the first floor and Marisa took the escalator up to the second floor.  She’d decided to enter the library through the bookstore and see the seducer demon again.  She straightened her dress and adjusted her coat on the way up.  She still had no idea what to expect from this wizard, so she dressed nice.  Well, nice for her, which was her most elegant black sun hat, and navy blue coat atop a black dress with white frills.

She rounded the corner and saw that the bookstore was almost empty.  It was mid-day on a weekday, but even then it seemed odd.  There was a heavy-set young man behind the register, reading a shoujo manga and one customer inspecting a series of DIY-books on the far shelf.  In the center of the store stood a tall man with broad shoulders and olive skin.  He was inspecting one of the tables, stroking his chin at the collection of books on the central display.  He was dressed in a black vest, white dress shirt, black dress pants and shoes and a bright red tie.  It was a snappy and striking outfit, one that was apparently the uniform of the store, as the teenager behind the counter was wearing a similar ensemble, although he was not pulling it off nearly as well.  The physical feature that keyed Marisa in as to who she was looking for was the tall man’s red hair and eyes, the exact same shade as the demon she’d seen before.  It seemed that his hair and eye color was the one thing he wouldn’t (or perhaps couldn’t?) change about his appearance.

Marisa approached the store casually.  Or rather, as casually as a short, blonde, goth girl in a heavy coat and a large hat could.  The incubus turned as she approached, and gave her a dazzling white smile.  “Hello, welcome to Voile Books.  How can I help you?” he said, his voice pleasantly accented.

“Hi,” Marisa said, digging in her memory for the correct phrase. “Um… ‘I was sent to meet with the master of knowledge.’”

The incubus blinked, and the smile grew ever so slightly more genuine. “Ah, so you’re the magician.  I’m Koakuma.  A pleasure to meet you.”  He extended his hand for a hand shake, but Marisa couldn’t seem to release her hands from the deathgrip they had on the shoulder strap of her messenger bag.  She settled for forcing a smile and nodding.  The incubus saw her nervousness and turned the extended hand into a casual gesture, and not at all like he had just been left hanging.  Marisa felt a mote of jealousy spark in her chest. 

“I’ll take you to my master in a moment, but before that I’d like your opinion on something,” he said as he picked up a book from the table and showed her the cover.  It showed a katana planted blade-down in a field below a stormy sky.  The title was such a busy, overly-dense series of kanji that it took Marisa a few moments to unpack it, but it seemed to roughly say something like The Unbearable and Corrosive Weight of Pride , written by someone named Miko Kamitsumiya.  That name sounded familiar to Marsia… Wasn’t she some kind of daytime TV personality?

“Which is a better centerpiece, do you think?” Koakuma asked.  He gestured to the book he was showing her. “The weirdly anachronistic and controversial historical fantasy novel, or the newest modern cookbook?” he said, gesturing to the book currently occupying the centerpiece table of the store: the cookbook with a cover that just showed some very appetizing food.

Marisa shrugged. “The weirder the better.  I don’t do business with anyone who isn’t at least a little controversial.”

Koakuma chuckled. “Well said.”  He set the book back on the table and turned and informed the teenager behind the register that he’d be back in fifteen minutes.  He guided Marisa across the flying walkway out of the mall and into the adjoining library, then up two sets of stairs to the top floor of the library.  Unlike the very modern mall-tower, the library had a much more classical and European interior: rich wood paneling and brass wall-mounted lanterns.  The lights were all clearly electric, but styled like old gas lamps.  

Eventually, they found a very remote corner of the top floor, one where the light was out and consequently no one else was around.  Koakuma traced the bookshelf set against the wall, his fingers skipping along the spines of books, until suddenly stopping.  In a practiced, precise motion the demon pulled on the spine of a book, tipping it out of the wall at a forty-five degree angle.  Marisa heard a click from behind the bookshelf, and then the process repeated twice more, two more books tipped out and two more mechanical clicks, then an odd chime.  Koakuma stepped away from the wall, and Marisa followed suit, having already realized what was happening.  A secret doorway hidden in a bookshelf?  Really?  Marisa wanted to call it tacky, but she also knew that this was exactly the kind of thing she would design, if given the chance.

The section of the bookcase shoved a full meter into the wall, then slid out of sight to reveal what looked like a comfortable living room. 

“Knowledge is waiting,” Koakuma said as he gestured inside, and Marisa entered.  The instant she crossed the threshold, the bookcase-door slide shut behind her, leaving her alone in the room.  It was more than a little menacing.  Marisa looked around at the… study?  Or was this a sanctum?  It was larger than her first impression had indicated; well appointed and comfortable, with a second story loft at the other end of the room..  It seemed to be even more of a library than the rest of the building, as almost every wall was stuffed with books.  Lo-fi music drifted from a distant corner of the space while tables and seats seemed arranged in a slightly haphazard way, almost like… well, like Marisa’s apartment.  Like whoever used this space left things wherever they wanted and just remembered the layout, rather than ever organizing.  Marisa had a distinct impression that this was not only a private study, but also a place of residence.

On a nearby table stuffed with devices, tools and books, Marisa spotted a small bit of glassware with a bunsen burner beneath it, heating the sparkling gold-and-red fluid inside.  At least, it looked like a bunsen burner; as Marisa drew closer she saw the device had no fuel line.  It was some manner of magical device, producing a flame of shadows that licked the underside of the alchemical flask.  Marisa’s mind began to sprout with questions: was this magical fire the same temperature as a methane reaction?  Did it burn colder than any traditional flame for slower reactions, or was it used for some other reason, perhaps the layered solution in the flask needed this shadow fire?  Marisa found her hand reaching out…

“Don’t.”

Marisa instantly retracted her hand, trying not to look too guilty as she stood straight and turned to see the source of the voice.  It was a slender, androgynous figure, and they were floating down from the second level of the room, their form light and almost ethereal. They were dressed in a long purple robe, with matching long purple hair, both of which billowed in the air.  Their dress had blue trim on one side and red on the other, and they had a golden crescent moon hair clip, with a silver star pin on the opposite side, pinned to their chest. Beneath the robe was a white and purple striped camisole top, billowing black pants and intricately decorated stockings.  Their eyes were narrow, their face thin, and their skin pale.

“That’s a long-term experiment, soon to come to a head,” they said. “Don’t disturb it.”

Marisa was rooted to the spot as the figure lowered to the floor, their feet brushing the floor as the force that held their robe and hair in the air ceased and their form condensed.  Now on the floor, Marisa could see that they were taller than her, but not by much, and she’d hazard a guess that she was definitely wider and heavier than them.

“You’re the local that they’ve been bothering me about for the past few weeks, correct?” they asked. “The one who wants to summon demons?”

Marisa finally found her voice again and nodded. “Yes-or maybe.  It’s complicated.  Anyway, my name is Marisa Kirisame.” Marisa found herself bowing, against her better judgment.  Honestly, when faced with a person as regal as this, how could she not?

She looked up to see an expression on the figure arrested somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “I am Patchouli Knowledge.”

Marisa was instantly thrown by the name. “Like… like the herb?  And your surname is just… ‘Knowledge’?”

The arched eyebrow and look of slight curiosity that Marisa received in reply made her feel even worse than if Patchouli had become irate.  “Those are the names that I chose upon my creation, yes.”  They gestured to the back of the room. “I have the scrolls here a human would need for demon summoning if you’d-”

“Actually,” Marisa interjected. “I’m not looking to summon demons anymore.”

Patchouli froze. “Really?” they asked, their sense of curiosity growing stronger in their voice.

“I uh…” Marisa began, then faltered as the gaze of the strange figure returned to her.  She felt small beneath their gaze (she was, objectively, small according to the average height of Japan, but that was beside the point.) “I wanted to, when I agreed to all this.  I mean, you have a demon working for you… But then I saw what a demon can be, and what it can do.  I haven’t been able to not think about it for weeks…”

There was a silent moment as they stared at each other.  Patchouli sighed. “It’s just as well.  Finding and summoning Koakuma from Makai required centuries of practice, I doubted you could have done anything approaching that level.  At least I now no longer need to worry what I would have to do once your summoned demon ran amok.”

Marisa wanted to feel wounded at that jab, but the other mage was probably right to worry.  But now was the time to ask: “So, what other magic can you teach me, if demon summoning is off the table?”

Patchouli looked back at her, their body language suddenly stiff. “Me?  Nothing.  I’m not a teacher.”

“But… those summoning spells?” Marisa tried to ask, suddenly confused.

Patchouli rolled their eyes.  “You can take a look at my private collection of summoning tomes, but I would not teach you, even if I could.  I’m a terrible teacher.”

“What do you mean, ‘if I could’?” Marisa asked.  What were they talking about?

“Magic is not something that can be easily passed from person to person, because it lives inside of you,” they explained. “Each spell must be adapted to the person using it, through whatever method they find most natural.  Never is it a perfectly predictable process.  I assume you have used some simple sigil and reagent spell that require you to hold the rune and arcanum in your mind?”  Marisa nodded and the mage continued. “Well, I cannot teach you any more of those, because the spells that I perform are fundamentally different in their construction and components than a spell that a human like you would use.  As well, I cannot pass on any of the spells from the time of my creation in the 1600s, as they no longer function with so much of the world changed.  I’ve spent almost a century adapting every spell I discovered to work with not only this new era, but with my non-human form.”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Marisa said, throwing her hands up. “You’re four hundred years old, and not human?  What are you?”

They looked her up and down, and Marisa felt like she was back in the school counselor's office; someone with the power to destroy her was judging her.  “Let me answer that with a question: what do you know of alchemy?”

“Uh…” Marisa stalled. “It’s the study of the chemical and metaphysical composition of the world… in an attempt to understand the truths underpinning reality?  Began in Europe… it’s the forerunner to chemistry?  I’ve followed a few potion and transmutation guides to moderate success.”

“And what is the ultimate goal of alchemy?” they asked.

Marisa was stuck, but then she remembered that an anime she watched had covered this. “It’s the completion of the ‘great work’; the Magnum Opus.  It was called the ‘Philosopher's Stone,’ alternately the source of eternal life or the transmutation of any material into gold,” she recited.

“Very well remembered, but not entirely correct,” Patchouli said, holding up one hand.  Marisa felt the pulse of a very small spell as a leather-bound book shot off of a distant shelf and into their waiting hand.  The book fell open in their hand and turned its own pages to a specific entry.  They checked it, then let the book float over to Marisa.  She looked inside to see what was depicted. 

“Do you know what that is?” Patchouli asked.  Marisa tried to make sense of the image. She’d seen it once before in her art history course, when they had covered European medieval art.  It was a human figure with two heads: both a man and a woman astride a dragon wrapped around a red gemstone.  Around the two-headed figure were five colored stars, each with the alchemical symbols for the planets, as well as depictions of the sun and moon.  The seven celestial bodies formed an array around the figure, who had something printed on their chest.  Marisa leaned closer to the book, and was able to make out the word ‘REBIS’ in a medieval script.

“I would hazard a guess that it’s a ‘Rebis,’” Marisa said.

“And do you know what that is?” Patchouli asked.

Marisa thought for a moment as the floating book closed itself and then slowly drifted back into its place on the far wall.  They had begun this spiel when she had asked what they were…  And Marisa had answered about alchemy and the philosopher’s stone… In a flash of inspiration, everything she had learned about medieval alchemy returned to her: the process of creating the stone in particular: nigredo, albedo, citrinitas and rubedo; or the blackening, the whitening, the yellowing and lastly the reddening.  But she’d also seen sources that called the last step by a different color: the purpling.  Similarly, the fact that she had just been handed the depiction of a half-man, half-woman figure by a person who was overwhelmingly purple did not escape Marisa’s calculations.

“It’s what you are,” Marisa said. “A Rebis is another form of the Magnum Opus of alchemy, when it’s a person and not an object.”

Patchouli’s eyes widened as Marisa spoke.  They looked almost… stunned. “That’s… very close to the truth.  The closest anyone has ever gotten.”  They smiled, and clapped softly a few times. “You are correct, I am a Rebis, the union of opposites.  I am matter and spirit, man and woman both separated, both putrefied and purified, and reconciled in a single body.  I am the divine hermaphrodite.”

They’re speech was very impressive and regal, and they had even begun to float off the floor by a few centimeters, but something about it was just a little too self-righteous for Marisa.  She let a snort of derision out. “You’ve been sitting on that speech for a while, haven’t you?”

Patchouli’s stocking-ed feet settled back on the floor as they smiled, a small note of admittance in their eyes.  “I did get a bit swept away.  It’s so galling that few, if any, in this modern world can admire the work that went into creating something like me.  But regardless, that is part of the explanation as to why I cannot simply give you spells.  Our fundamentally different natures means that spells that I can perform do not work for you.  Most mages have a spark of magic power within them to aid them, and to power their spells.  Purely human wizards are rare, for each must know the idiosyncrasies of whatever outside magical fuel they used before they can master spells tailored to them.”

Marisa had encountered that idea before, in the grimoire she had stolen.  It mentioned how most magic was wielded by non-humans, and how humans had to work so much harder to master magic.  It was an idea that held true, as the only other practitioners of magic that she knew were Alice and Rinnosuke, both non-humans.  She had seen Sakuya perform a spell or two, but she wasn’t sure if that was something she did, or an enchantment placed on her knives.  Regardless, at Patchouli’s words, the notes scribbled in the margins of the burned grimoire came back to Marisa, as well as the seething resentment that underlined them and had caused Marisa to feel both an odd kinship and dread of the tome’s nameless author.  They had forged their own spells, adapting and creating magic spells when others said it was impossible… but also crafting utterly vile incantations like the soul-draining spell Marisa had used as a piece of the ritual that had saved Youmu.

Probably best to not bring up the human-made evil spellbook, or how she was studying it in front of the alchemical master wizard, though.

“Can’t you point me in the right direction at least?” Marisa asked. “I did risk my life for this.”

Patchouli brushed their chin with a finger, considering both Marisa and the scenario.   “Remilia and her tamed silver fox sprang this whole arrangement on me with almost no discussion, so I was fully prepared to hand you the copies of the summoning instructions and then set Koakuma to watch you until you destroyed yourself trying to summon the Devil himself.” Marisa felt her ire rise, and she quickly soothed it.  Not because they had a plan for dealing with her, that was expected.  Something about calling Sakuya a ‘tamed animal’ rubbed Marisa the wrong way.  She quashed her personal feelings; this would not be the first time she sucked up to an arrogant superhuman, and it would certainly not be the last.  

“But you’ve surprised me, Kirisame.  The fox told me all about your spells: electronic interference, this lance of energy you call ‘Master Shot,’ and even re-working another’s soul transference ritual on the fly…” they said, their tone gaining a brief, suspicious edge.

So much for keeping the grimoire secret from them, Marisa thought.  She had forgotten that she’d already spilled the beans on that when they had saved Youmu.  

Patchouli eyed her for a moment more as they drifted around Marisa, their toes scraping the floor (did they ever walk?)  “You’re quick witted, and you’re very hard-working, which is the most important trait a human magician can have.  It would be a shame to let that particular set of skills and talents languish.  How about this: we can have an appointment once every… let’s say two weeks or so where you can consult my private collection,” they said, gesturing around to indicate the room they were standing in as what they meant. “I can’t give you the spells you want on a silver platter, but you can compare and see how others have done it, if you find yourself stuck.”

All told, it was probably a better deal than Marisa deserved.  “Sounds like a deal,” she said, nodding and about to reach her hand out for a handshake when a loud POP sounded directly behind her.  Marisa jumped and turned in surprise as a few more firecracker-like sounds emanated from the flask she had inspected upon entering.  The red and gold layers of fluid had become a red solution with golden bubbles popping like boiling tar, each bubble releasing a small puff of gray-blue smoke.  

Marisa stepped away instinctually, while Patchouli floated over to the experiment, picking up a pair of tongs from the table. “It will have to be another time, though,” they said. “This room is about to be quite hazardous to humans.  I will contact you later.”

Marisa held her breath and nodded as Patchouli made a ‘shooing’ motion, and the secret door opened behind her.  She stepped out of it, back into the still dark and still-deserted corner of the library.  Despite her shaky nerves and mind spinning with new information, Marisa couldn’t help but smile.  Her first real contact with a real wizard…

Maybe her quest wasn’t so foolish after all.

“And that’s a wrap for today’s stream.  Thank you everyone who tuned in this early, but I wanted to do an early-morning stream for the new release, since I was busy last night.”

Youmu let the live stream run in the background, not even hearing it.  Her laptop sat beside her, as she scrunched up under her green, leaf-patterned comforter.  She was still trying to process what her father had just told her.

“We do have a few announcements to get through before we wrap,” said the girl with extremely long black hair on the live stream, as the screen cut away from the game to just her camera.  She had immaculate makeup, and wore the same odd pink and yellow kimono she always wore on stream.

He had paired good news and bad news, as he always did.  He’d come into her room first thing in the morning, sat at bed next to her and told her he had two things to tell her, so she knew what was coming.  First: she was going back to school next week.  She’d been keeping up on her school work thanks to the notes from Yuzu, and she was eager to get back out, no matter what reaction her white hair might get.  Her room had become suffocating after over a week stuck in it.

“I’ll be helping my host and landlord with medical things and rabbit stuff tomorrow, so no stream,” Kaguya-sama said, referencing the lore she had built-up around her stream persona.  Trying to parse what was real and what was her character was half the fun of watching her.

But the bad news her father had for her had led to her current state of staring at the wall, unable to even shut off the video playing on her computer.

“Your mother is… she’s going to stay with her sister in Kyoto for a few weeks,” he had said.  Youmu had frozen instantly.  She knew what that meant, what it was a precursor to, but she couldn’t ask for more.  She’d noticed the arguments were reaching a fever pitch, then suddenly stopped yesterday, along with her mother avoiding her whenever she left her room, but this…  Her father rushed to say that this ‘was just a temporary arrangement’ and that this ‘wasn’t her fault.’  Youmu could hardly even process what was happening.  She was no fool, she could see right through the smokescreen her father was desperately trying to deploy.  

Her parents were going to divorce, and it was her fault.  She nodded numbly as her father explained the details, and that they needed to leave soon if they were going to catch the train she had tickets for, and when he’d be back that night.  

Her mother wouldn’t even say goodbye.

He left her alone so she could process that.  She’d put on the early video game stream to try and distract herself, but it was to no avail.

“And also, tune in to my stream this weekend, I’ll be hosting the JJP Pro-Wrestling online stream of my immortal rival!  She’s got a tag-team match at this event, and I hope you tun-” Youmu closed the stream, unable to focus on her feelings with the women blathering nonsense.  The white noise was no longer comforting.  

Her room felt smaller than it ever had.  The feelings twisting inside her and blended with her memories of that night in the abandoned courtyard, as Reimu, Marisa and Youen fought to save her and seal that demon…  The memory of that night still sent chills down her spine.  She’d felt so helpless, so frightened…

She needed to get out.  She needed to be somewhere else.  She needed to see that place again, confirm that it was all real, and not just a bad dream.  She dressed quickly, threw her green hoodie on and exited her room.

Her body grabbed Youen’s katana on her way out of the house, without even thinking.

Chapter Text

Youmu stood before the building from her nightmares.

She’d hurried over from her house, unable to think straight.  She’d only noticed the sheathed katana in her hand once she was three blocks from her house, so she hid most of it beneath her green hoodie and tried to look casual, though she was pretty sure she failed that task. 

The building was the very picture of a shoin-zukuri style mansion, but quite aged, and not gracefully.  The white outer walls were yellowed, and the flared roof was thick with dead leaves.  It looked almost abandoned.  As she climbed the front steps, she found the sign declaring it condemned, but she ignored it.  She’d just be a few minutes.  She just had to see it with her own eyes.

The front door was locked, but the padlock securing it was unlatched.  She gently pushed the front sliding door open, then glanced back at a whistling early-morning pedestrian.  What Reimu had said was true, no one seemed to be able to notice the building.  She slipped inside and pushed the door close, just in case.  The interior of the place was just as ill-cared for, with dust and cobwebs everywhere and strange, dark stains on the tatami mats.  She walked past them, trying to ignore how her fingers seemed to itch for her sister’s sword.  This was the room the ghost had puppeteered her in, made her hold a dagger to her own throat.  It didn’t even seem like the same room with the gentle morning glow drifting in through the front windows and door.  

She passed through the door at the back of the room and down the open-air hallway, the noise of the city fading as the rotting leaves crunched under her feet.  She passed into the inner room, and saw the broken paper door, the one she’d been dragged straight through.  It was still in tatters.  She knew where she had to head, what she’d come to see, but her mouth dried and her heart sank as she spotted the withered grass on the other side of the door.  She had to.

She had to.

With a long, low sigh, she finally moved forward and ducked through the broken door into the courtyard.  It was a sorry sight, the silvergrass untended and wild, the dry ditch where an ornamental river was meant to flow was full of the mulch of what looked like a decade of twigs and detritus.  Even the ornamental stone lantern was askew, and covered in moss.  But after surveying the sorry state of the courtyard, her eyes finally fell on the tree in the center.

It was a very large, leafless tree, its trunk more than a meter thick, its roots gnarled above the ground, stretching easily three or more meters from the trunk.  The sacred rope around it and the patchwork of paper talismans on the trunk did nothing to hinder the sinister look of the thing.  It should have looked holy, but it only seemed ominous.

Youmu stood there, trying to sort out the feeling warring in her heart.  The fear as she felt her soul leave her body when the spirit in the shape of the dead woman sucked her essence away.  The separate fear she felt for herself, viewing herself from the outside through her sister’s eyes, and the guilt that was entwined with it.  She grew angry and frustrated as she stared around.  Why did she feel her sister’s memories?  Why was she feeling doubly scared of this place?

A breeze drifted through the courtyard and Youmu looked down at the katana in her left hand, still in its black scabbard.  She’d grabbed it from the stand in her house without even noticing.  Was that, too, some impulse of Youen’s now embedded in her soul?  She carefully drew the blade, setting the sheathe down on the overgrown grass and holding the blade out, her gaze sliding down the silvery edge.  The morning light highlighted how well-kept the blade was.  This had been her parent’s gift to Youen after winning a kendo tournament, alongside the short sword and dagger as part of the traditional set of three blades.  It was the closest Youmu had ever seen Youen come to being excited about anything.  She’d cared for the blades meticulously, and used them only as part of her training, and a few demonstrations where she had cut through bamboo shoots or rolled-up tatami mats at their highschool or at a community event.

Then Youen had died, and used it as a real weapon while possessing Youmu’s body.  Youmu couldn’t be certain, but she had an intense sense-memory of cutting through something like flesh and a woman screaming when she felt the woven grip of the katana in her hands.  Her memories of when Youen had possessed her were foggy and fuzzy, with a dream-like unreality suffused through them.  On the other hand, her memories of the possession by the demon had a nightmarish clarity to them.

The weight of the sword felt familiar in Youmu’s hands, despite knowing she had only held it for less than an hour before this.  She placed her other hand on the grip, and raised the sword over her head, automatically holding it at a perfect angle, her feet shifting as her stance widened.  She paused for a moment, taking in her surroundings.  Why was she doing this?  Why did she even have the sword with her?

She pushed past those questions and brought the sword down in a swift strike; a proper joge-buri strike.  It was the most basic motion of kendo swordplay.  A swift strike in a downward arc, from above her head to directly in front.  She’d seen Youen perform it hundreds of times, and now she could feel that practice in her hands and tendons, in her feet and nerves and bones.

When Youen had said “I’ll always be with you,” she’d been very literal.

Youmu shifted her weight, felt her shoes slide over the grass as she moved for an upwards strike.  Then another, and another.  High, low, high.  Slice and clip, her strikes whistling in the air.  In staring around the ruined courtyard, watching her body perform exercises foreign to her memory and familiar to her instincts, she realized why she had taken the sword, why she and started to swing the blade.  It was proof: proof of the strange impulses and feelings she had mostly ignored over the last week and a bit.  She had all of Youen’s muscle memory, all of her instincts.  And she had to try it here.  Back in the small backyard of her family’s house, so very familiar, she would have been scared to swing her sister’s sword.  It would have seemed too absurd, too disrespectful, too childish.  But here, where she’d been lifted into the air by a demon, the place that haunted her dreams, it was the perfect place to confirm her new skills.

She finished her kata with a final falling stroke of the blade, panting hard, with a hint of perspiration on her forehead.  Even if the motion was familiar, her body wasn’t actually used to it.  She was a gardener, used to lifting heavy things and spending a lot of time squatting and on her knees.  She wasn’t built for these quick, harsh movements.  As Youmu quieted her panting breath, she heard a noise behind her, from where the tree was.  It was… clapping?  She slowly turned to see what was making the sound, and she found another person in the clearing with her.

Well, perhaps ‘person’ was not quite correct.  She recognized the woman not from any in-person encounter, but from her time being possessed by the demon tree.  In the strange three-part possession memories and knowledge had bleed across the three of them, Youmu had been able to see the truth of the demon, and the person who was buried under it.  The woman looked much as she had when the tree had worn her appearance as a mask, but the color of her ghostly form was much richer, her billowing hair a pastel pink, and her kimono that wrapped her wide frame was a beautiful blue.  She was seated on one of the roots of the tree, right next to the ringed staff, slowly applauding the performance Youmu hadn’t even known she was giving.

“I know you,” Youmu said, letting her two-handed grip of the sword go. “I saw you, under the ground.  You’re the woman who gave her life to seal this tree.  The daughter of Saigyou the poet.”

The woman snorted slightly, amused. “It seems you know quite a bit about me.  And yet, the door opens both ways.  You are Youmu Konpaku, heir to the Yonpaku mediums, sister of the late Youen.”

It should have been shocking or unnerving to be addressed so frankly, but after a week of everything being talked around, it was almost soothing for a ghost to speak so directly.  Even Reimu had been evasive when talking to Youmu.

“It seems we already know a lot about each other,” Youmu said, retrieving the blade’s scabbard and sheathing it. “But it’s nice to meet you properly, Yuyuko-san.”  She gave a bow.

“Likewise, Youmu-chan,” the ghost responded. “I wasn’t expecting visitors so soon, especially one who would so expertly wield a sword, such as you just did.”

“It’s… a thing my sister did,” Youmu said, feeling suddenly defensive.  It was one thing to practice these new skills alone, it was another to talk about them with another, even if that person was a centuries-old ghost. “I just wanted somewhere unfamiliar, but quiet to be alone.”

“Oh,” Yuyuko said. “I’m sorry to have intruded then.”

“No, it’s fine,” Youmu said. “It’s… probably better to have someone to talk to.”  Youmu paused, wondering if she should even ask. “I wanted to try these sword skills I somehow got from my sister… but I still don’t know how to feel about her, about what happened to her.”

"What the demon did to her was horrific," Yuyuko said. "Killing her, then stringing her along.  She died protecting you, and I'm sorry that I had any part in what happened to her."

"But... even though she was deceived, she still... she attacked someone.  Injured them."  Youmu looked down at the sword in her hands, then turned back to Yuyuko. “Maybe this is too much… but is doing bad things to protect the people you love ever justified, Yuyuko-san?  What do you do?”

Yuyuko bore a sad kind of smile. “Humans have been asking that for ages, and still haven’t come up with an answer.  Just because I’ve been dead for centuries doesn’t mean I have the answer to that.  But I can tell you this: it doesn't make you stop loving them, it only hurts more.” 

Youmu looked back at the scabbard and blade, then wrapped her arms around it, like if she squeezed it tight enough, she might be able to feel her sister, but there was only the hard object.  Only a thing.

“Then you’ve experienced that, Yuyuko-san?  A loved one doing terrible things?” Youmu asked.

Yuyuko looked away, rising from her sitting position to float in the air.  “I have,” she simply said.

Youmu wanted to know more.  She wanted some guidance.  In her glimpse of the ghost’s memories, one figure was recurred in her thoughts. “Was it… that blond woman?  The one in the purple robes?”

Yuyuko’s ghostly fingers brushed the bark of the tree as she drifted around it. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose you saw my thoughts quite plainly.  We were… I loved her, when I was alive.  She wasn’t… human.  Such a thing between a human and a youkai was unacceptable, but I didn’t care.”

A human-monster love story?  Oh, this was nothing like what Youmu had expected from the ghost. “So your family disapproved?”

Yuyuko smiled.  “Not exactly.  It was mostly a secret.  My father was a famous poet, but you saw that.  Some of his poems are still taught today, if I understand.  A melancholy man, he wrote of wanting to die beneath beautiful cherry blossoms.”

“I remember that one.  ‘When I should die, let me die while laid at ease.  By full spring moon, underneath the blooming trees.’  It was so... powerful,” Youmu said.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Yuyuko said. “Well, he wrote those poems, and then he died just as he always wanted to, beneath a beautifully cherry blossom in bloom.  His poems were so popular that others followed him, and chose this tree to die beneath… the same tree.” She gestured at the huge, leafless husk of a tree.  “Before long, the tree had absorbed enough souls to become a youkai of sorts, a demonic entity, eager for souls.  Soon, those who had no wish to die and those who had never heard my father’s poems started to seek out the tree... and when they arrived it would drain their souls from their bodies.  The ‘Saigyou Ayakashi’ they called it; the Demon Tree of Saigyou.  It became necessary to seal it away, as it grew too powerful to destroy.  I… gave my life to stop it.”

“And now you’re what keeps it in sealed,” Youmu said.

“I am,”  Yuyuko replied.  “For almost nine hundred years.  Some seven hundred years ago, a warlord learned of the tree, and wanted to use it as a weapon, so it was secretly moved to the distant outskirts of a small, remote port town by the name Edo.” Yuyuko smiled slightly. “Well, it’s not small anymore.”

“The whole tree was moved, with your body in the roots?” Youmu asked. “Who could do that?”

Yuyuko turned away again, staring up at the morning sky. “Her name was Yukari.  She was the youkai I loved.  After I died, things were never the same between us.  We still loved… or maybe it was just me that loved her.  She pledged to help keep the demon contained, and even was part of a circle of other supernatural beings who helped keep order and peace in what became Tokyo.”

“She sounds like a noble person,” Youmu said, imagining a wise sage.

“Hardly,” Yuyuko countered, a snort of derision escaping her lips. “She was always scheming, always trying to manipulate, always had a plan for how to do what needed to be done with no risk or personal involvement.  As I said, we grew apart after I died.  I think it was because after I died, I began to see through her facade, right down to her core, and she couldn’t understand my decision to sacrifice myself.  She never risked anything; it never made any sense to her.”

Yuyuko sighed, then turned back to Youmu. “You asked what you do when those who you love do terrible things in the name of protecting you, Youmu-chan.  I haven’t seen Yukari in decades.  She might be dead for all I know.  She toyed with humans and youkai, manipulated and lied to them… but it was all to keep people safe.”  She paused, blinked slowly then added. “But it didn’t work.  The people, youkai and spirits she deceived were killed in a disaster.  I’ve thought of what I would say to her, what I would do if she showed back up.  I’ve thought about it every day for more than forty years.  And I still don’t know.”

Yuyuko drifted to the ground, her ghostly form sitting on one of the gnarled roots, her back leaned against the ringed staff.  Youmu looked at her, saw how hard talking about her lost love hurt the spirit, and found herself moving towards her.  She sat down next to her.  A small part of her, the phobia of spirits she had developed over the years, was screaming, but seeing the sorrow in Yuyuko’s face overrode it.  This was no haunt, no ghoul, but a very old, very lonely woman in pain.

“I’m sorry,” was all Youmu could say. “I wish I could do something for you.  You were fighting that demon from the inside, trying just as hard as Reimu and Marisa.  I feel like I owe you something…”

“You don’t Youmu-chan,” Yuyuku said, her tone lighter. “But talking with you has been a treat.  It’s what I need to stay sane, and to keep the demon contained.  If you like, you can come here to practice your sword technique whenever you like.  I’d appreciate the company.” 

“That’s a very kind offer, Yuyuko-san,” said Youmu, reaching her hand out and brushing an overgrown weed. “But I want to do more to help you.”  Youmu did want to practice her newly granted swordsmanship, but she wanted to do more than that.  This place was ill-cared for, almost abandoned.  What it needed… What it needed was a gardener.

“Is it okay if I try and fix this house up?” Youmu asked. “I’m a gardener, and seeing a courtyard this ill-kept is really depressing.”

Yuyuko’s eyes softened as her form began to grow fainter.  “That seems like a wonderful idea, Youmu-chan.  This area wasn’t always in such a dire state, it would be lovely to see it restored.”

“Then I’ll get to work on it soon!” Youmu said as she stood up and turned to see Yuyuko fade from sight.

“I look forward to it…” Yuyuko’s voice trailed off as she faded away.  Youmu smiled as she checked around the courtyard, eyeballing the dimensions and imagining what she could do with the place.  Some bonsais… or perhaps azaleas or hydrangeas.  The grass would come first, though.  It would be a lot of work, but after a week of sitting in bed, a project would be welcome.  And coming here, using the katana, Youmu confirmed to herself that she was more than she was before, but also she had not been replaced.  The skills she had inherited from her sister were not all she was.  As she left the mansion and noted the combination on the still-open padlock, then set off home to see what supplies she had.

So what if her life was flying apart?  It was her old life, and she couldn’t stop moving forward.  If one life was ending, it was time to start a new one.

“Thank you for coming, Hakurei-san,” the woman named Nanashi said as Reimu stepped inside and took off her boots, then picked them up.  She closed the door behind her, and Izumi passed right through.

“The request sounded very serious, but you were also a bit vague,” Reimu said, taking in the interior of the woman’s home.  It was well appointed for a single mother, but Reimu knew from the multiple times she’d been here that Nanashi had a well-paying job, and took the physical and spiritual security of her home very seriously.  Reimu must have blessed a dozen things in this house over the years.

But now she was here to expel something.

“Where is it centered?” Reimu asked.

“Right back here,” Nanashi said, gesturing further into the house.  She was a middle-aged woman, unremarkable in her appearance, but exemplary in her perseverance.  Her husband had died of a drinking habit years ago, and she took her child’s safety as priority number one.  After meeting Izumi, Reimu now imagined that Nanashi is what Izumi would have been like if she had lived.  Reimu guessed that she’d been called over in the middle of the day so she could handle this while her son was at school.  They passed through the living room and kitchen, waking a fluffy Shiba Inu dog from a midday nap.  The brown and cream dog trotted along behind them.

Nanashi explained as they walked, brushing hair behind her ear. “It started a week ago.  I thought it was odd at first: some dead spots in the grass, flies crawling out of the sink, a cat hissing all night.  But then things got worse; a few days ago I found a slime on the roof of the kamidana in the backyard, and yesterday I turned my back on a bowl of rice while making dinner, and when I turned back it was… rotten.”

“Rotten?” Reimu asked as Nanashi stopped to open a door.  The dog looked up at Reimu, then over to Izumi.  It cocked its head in confusion, sniffing the air around the ghost.  Izumi smiled and brushed its black nose.  The dog recoiled at the sensation, snorting and quickly shaking its whole body like it was wet.

“It had turned gray and sludge-like in the minute I was away from it,” Nanashi said, sliding the door open and proceeding through it.  Reimu and Izumi followed her until they arrived at the door to the back of the house, where their small backyard with the household shrine was. “And then ther-”

Nanashi was cut off as the dog leapt in front of both of them and began to growl at the door.

“There’s this,” Nanashi said, dropping to one knee and trying to gently pull the dog away. “Come on Kumo, it’s okay.  I know you’re a good boy, protecting us, but please calm down.”

“Her ‘dog’ voice is pretty severe,” Izumi whispered in Reimu’s ear. “Most dog owners I knew had a gentler voice for their pets.”

“She’s a pretty severe woman,” Reimu whispered back as Nanashi sequestered Kumo in the kitchen.

“He’s been growling at something in the yard for days now,” she said, returning to speak with Reimu. “The rice was the last straw, and I figured I should get some kind of help.  Whatever is causing all this, I think it’s in the backyard.”

Reimu reached out and felt the flow of the space.  There was definitely something in the backyard, mostly likely in the small household shrine set against the back wall of the yard.  Reimu could picture it in her mind, as she had blessed it a few years ago.

“Well, I’ll see what can be done,” Reimu said. “It’s definitely in the backyard.  While this is happening, please stay away from the yard.  I need to be alone to work.”

“I understand, Hakurei-san,” Nanashi said, bowing slightly.  She must have been more desperate than she looked. “I’ll be in my room, down that way.  Please knock when you are done.”  She left through the kitchen, corralling Kumo as she went.

“Do you think it’s the same spirit as the other day?” Izumi asked as stretched and recited a quick prayer.

“It can’t be,” said Reimu. “Nanashi said it’s been here at least a week.  All the signs are the same, so it may be a similar type of creature.”

Two days ago, she’d been called to a different family home for very similar reasons: food spoiling, glasses breaking, a normally very relaxed cat becoming suddenly very antsy, and other haunting signs.  That family’s household kamidana had been inside the house, and Reimu had barely begun to exorcize the creature she’d located before it fled.  She’d been a little stunned, but had applied some new ofuda wards on the shrine to ensure whatever it was couldn’t return, and told the family it had been a success.  Now here was Nanashi, having the same thing happen to her, but starting before the other entity had fled.  That wasn’t a good sign, because it meant there was more than one of them.

Reimu wasn’t going to lose whatever it was this time.  She placed an ofuda talisman on the door to the backyard and opened it and stepped through, placing her boots back on the ground and stepping back into them.  The small space was no more than four meters a side, but it was all most people needed, a tiny square of nature in their homes.  Reimu immediately noticed the dead grass and withered bushes.  The grass was not dead in discrete chunks, but in winding and snaking lines across the space, each slithering trail criss-crossing in a network of yellowed and browned plant matter.  The other thing Reimu felt was the malice emanating off the small wooden shrine set against the outside wall of the space.  It was… sickening.

“Should I step back as well?” Izumi quietly asked as Reimu carefully placed two more Ofuda at the distant corners of the space, careful not to approach the kamidana just yet.

“You should be fine,” Reimu said, more guessing than anything else.  She still didn’t know what this was, but the barrier she had just set up around the yard would keep it contained. “Maybe just… disappear for a second.”  Izumi nodded and vanished in a swirl of mist.  Reimu focused on the shrine at the back of the yard.  It was visually unremarkable; a small, exaggerated replica of a shrine with a circular hole in front, set on a shelf that was build into the outer wall of the yard, with a decorative pillar holding it up.  Reimu could feel a curse upon it even from meters away.  Something had taken up residence in the household shrine, and it was not looking to bless this house.

Reimu drew an ofuda from her sleeve and held it in front of her as she waved her gohei in her other hand, the white tassels whipping and dancing about.  She chanted a prayer, and it was amplified by the barrier she had erected.  She focused on the shrine in her mind and ended with a declaration.

“By the rites of purity, I demand that you reveal yourself!”

A shape swam into existence: a thick, white, curling line.  The creature was wrapped around the shrine, like a pure-white snake trying to choke the divinity from the object.  It was remarkably like a snake, but so pale it almost seemed to glow, and its pure red eyes held no hint of a pupil.  Its otherwise featureless head turned and looked around the space until its head pointed at Reimu.  In an instant, it began to hiss, but not the hiss of a snake.  It was something… lower.  Deeper.  From behind its arrow-like head a red main unfurled, not one of hair, but of fine, feathered gills, like an axolotl.  Each tendril of the mane quivered and wriggled in sync with the frequency of the hiss.

The distant, detached part of Reimu’s mind tried to analyze what she was seeing.  Not a demon or youkai.  The barrier and prayer had made it almost corporeal, so some variety of spirit, perhaps?  A twisted zashiki-warashi?  What was this… thing?

With no warning or change in demeanor, it lunged for Reimu.  She was prepared, and batted it away with her gohei, the divinely imbued tool making near-physical contact with the creature.  It spiraled away in midair, fading in and out of sight.  It slithered through the air, rushing for the wall to crawl away, before colliding with the invisible barrier Reimu had created.  She was glad she had thought ahead.  Whatever these things were, they had enough self-preservation to try and flee.  Reimu withdrew an exorcism needle from the hidden fold of her jacket, and prepared to strike.

The creature recovered and tried to flee a different route but Reimu threw herself forward, stabbing into its tail with the exorcism needle, straight through its body and into the grass and ground of the yard, pinning it in place.  The spirit immediately reared back on Reimu, trying to bite her, but this she had foreseen as well.  Her gohei was already up, and the snake-like thing bit the shaft of her purification rod instead.  She quickly shifted in place, pinning it down with her knee and foot, and holding it firm until she could remove her gohei from its mouth and hold it just below the head, not quite choking the creature with the rod.  The barrier and prayer had made it solid enough to physically restrain and even injure, but it wouldn’t last.

Reimu had to get her information quickly.  “What are you?” she shouted at the spirit, but it refused to meet her eyes.  “Why are you haunting this shrine?”  Again, no reply, just it looking around widely, searching for an escape.  “If you are one of the eight-million gods, you are bound by honor to answer."  Nothing.  "You inhabited a shrine this family held dear, and I’m guessing you consumed the household kami to do so.  What are you?  A forgotten ancestor?  A divine spirit?  Answer me!”

The creature refused to even acknowledge the questions.  It either feared another power more than her, or it couldn’t speak.  She found the latter prospect unlikely, but realized it was becoming irrelevant.  There was no reason in the creature’s eyes, only malice and fear.  The barrier was fading and she couldn’t let this spirit pollute another holy site.  She raised the paper talisman in her hand, and slammed it down at the face of the snake as she invoked her prayer:

“Amulet Sign: Exorcism Seal!”  A flash emanated from the ofuda talisman, and Reimu felt her knee and arm fall a few centimeters to the grass as spirit ceased to exist beneath her.  

She felt cold, kneeling in the backyard.  She would have to purify herself after this, and she’d have to reflect and try and see what that thing was.  It wasn’t anything of the specific spirits she’d encountered in Tokyo.  More troubling, there were more out there.  Perhaps many more.  Should she put out a flier?  Ask Marisa, Aya or Rinnosuke about it?

“Is that it?” Izumi asked, having reappeared.

“Yes,” Reimu replied tersely.  She moved over to the kamidana shrine on the wall, and placed an ofuda on either side of it, guarding it against further incursion.  She stood, a little unsteady.  She had skipped lunch, and now she was drained after that encounter.  She’d need to pick up lunch on the way home.  Hopefully Nanashi would pay in cash and not a check.

“Was it some kind of… angry ghost?” Izumi asked.

“No, not quite,” Reimu said, shaking her head while still staring down at the shrine.  It was a void now, whatever divinity it had accumulated and birthed either ousted or consumed by the creature.  It would accumulate faith over time, and perhaps the house would even have a new kami in it at some point, but that was some time away.  “I’ll have to… ugh, research it.”

“Is that ‘ugh’ because it makes you sound like Marisa?” Izumi asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Only slightly,” she replied. “My research involves way fewer books and much more talking to old people.  Maybe I should pay Kourin a visit, he might know…”

“Who’s ‘Kourin’?” Izumi asked as Reimu pulled the ofuda that had formed the barrier off the edges of the backyard.

“Oh, an old family friend,” Reimu said as she reentered the house. “I should probably introduce you, I’m sure you’d get along great.”  Reimu caught the smirk that Izumi shot at her as they moved across the house.  Reimu found Nanashi and explained that the job was done, and the evil exorcized.  Reimu skipped over the fine details, as she often did, but reassured the woman that she had placed wards to stop it from happening again.  Nanashi paid Reimu’s fee with gratitude, and Reimu and Izumi left the house, Izumi waving goodbye to the dog on the way out.

Reimu should have been ecstatic with her payment and the successful exorcism, but a dark thought hung like a cloud in the back of her mind, no matter what cheerful chatter Izumi spouted.  Not even the pleasant prospect of a dinner with Marisa seemed to dispel it.

It was the second time she’d seen such a creature, and somehow Reimu knew it wouldn’t be the last.  Whatever was going on, it felt like big things in Gensokyo were moving just outside her perception.  Something was brewing on the horizon, and Reimu didn’t know what to do about it.

Chapter Text

It took Byakuren almost a week of learning the ‘new’ city, but the oni had never been all that hard to find.

She had spent most of the last week flitting around, researching the Shuten-douji Construction Company.  Their logo of a red ogre and blue ogre, each with tiger-striped clothing, juggling construction equipment back and forth made her smile, but it was the faint symbols underneath their name that told her all she needed to know.  A square, a triangle and a circle, each slightly overlapping: Sengai’s Three Dimensions of Somatic Attunement . It was a simple but obscure reference, and Byakuren remembered the drunkard who loved it well.  

Granted, the name of the company being the oni’s father had been a big hint.

She had inquired at each other office the company had in Tokyo, each time getting closer.  The owner of the company was never around, according to the employees, and no one seemed to have ever met them in person.  But in looking at where each office was, she found one that seemed likely:  It was within walking distance of at least three bars.

Byakuren had adopted a more casual outfit, her enchanted robes able to adjust to whatever she wanted.  She had found a combination of blue jeans, a cream turtleneck sweater and a black blazer to be a disarming look.  She told no lies when she spoke with the receptionist but was careful with her words: she was looking for an old friend, and did they know of an employee by the name of Suika Ibuki?

“Oh, Ibuki-san?  She’s our coordinator and site manager,” the receptionist at the latest office had supplied, followed by her address.  Byakuren thanked him, and left for the address.  Now she stood outside a small apartment with the name “Ibuki” on the intercom.  She knocked and waited, but there was no response.  Feeling concerned, she brushed the lock on the door with a spell and it unlocked, before she stepped inside.

It was dark and filthy.  Byakuren could barely navigate by the light streaming in from a high window, the late morning sun bright and clear outside.  The space looked like a small one-bedroom apartment, but buried under a layer of trash.  There were discarded tools, books, bottles, newspapers, take-out containers, food wrappers and much more that she carefully stepped around until she arrived at the shape in the middle of the floor of the living room, what looked like an adolescent human with two large horns.   She snored as she clutched an empty sake bottle, her brown hair as long as she was tall, splayed out from under her.  She was dressed in a simple white and purple nightgown with a soft, simple indigo coat that was not quite on her shoulders.

Byakuren had never exactly gotten along with the drunken powerhouse that was Suika Ibuki, for the buddhist precepts against intoxication often left her with a disdain for the young-looking oni, but they had always been allies, and she was very dependable when it counted.  Or she had been.

Byakuren nudged the figure on the floor with her foot.  “Glad to see nothing’s changed, Ibuki-san,” she said.

Byakuren felt the whisper of movement behind her, and spun to intercept the punch aimed at her back.  She caught the fist with a flat palm, and the whole room shook once as the immense, superhuman energy of the blow was dissipated.  The glass of the window and hinges of the door rattled, and a few empty bottles rolled off the low table in the center of the room as the lighter paper trash on the floor was pushed away from them both.  Byakuren guessed that particular attack might have sent her through the wall if she hadn’t caught it.

“Look what that cat dragged in,” her assailant said, her voice both weathered and bright.  The figure that had attacked her was identical to the one lying on the ground, an adolescent girl with a smattering of freckles across her face, who stood no more than 140 centimeters tall, not counting the two very large twisted and pointed horns poking out from her head.  Byakuren glanced back to see the drunken, snoozing form of Suika vanish in a dark mist, leaving only the one that had attacked her.  Byakuren lowered her hand, and the oni stumbled back, only a little unsteady on her feet.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost a step, saint Byakuren,” she said, her voice a little bleary now. Her expression was caught between amusement and bitterness.  “You haven’t changed at all.  I thought you were dead… and then I thought you might be an imposter.”

“Glad to disappoint,” Byakuren responded as the tiny girl walked past her to the table at the center of the room.  Several empty bottles had been knocked over by the energy of Byakuren absorbing her blow, and Suika set them back upright before scooping up her purple saké gourd from the floor.

Suika Ibuki was centuries old like Byakuren, and one of the most powerful oni still alive, but she preferred to hold an adolescent form.  According to her, it helped her stay ‘buzzed’ on less alcohol, but it was also an excellent way to throw off those who expected a towering monster of muscle when looking for an oni.  Her strange powers also helped mark her as one of the more powerful beings in Japan; what they were and how they worked was a secret that she kept close to the chest, but the ability to duplicate her body to a limited extent was one of the more common uses.

The oni threw herself into one of the chairs and stared up at Byakuren.  “Lemme guess: you’re back to try and put this city to rights: to sort out all the messes we’re in and restore it to the good old days.  Am I right?” she asked, her tone preemptively annoyed.

“Something like that,” Byakuren replied.  She moved to the light switch on the wall, and flicked the lights on.  Immediately, Suika flicked a bottle cap across the room, nailing the same light switch, flipping them back off.

Byakuren sighed.  It seemed the natural light from the small window would have to be enough.  “Honestly, I’m just interested in keeping everything safe, but seeing you here has me quite concerned, Ibuki-san.  This squalor is a far cry from the pride you held in your appearance a century ago.”

“Yeah, well times change,” Suika spat back.  Her eyes held none of the energy and love of life she had embodied a century ago. “This is ‘squalor’ by choice.  I have a bunch of places, but I own a whole company now, so I gotta have time to relax where no one is supposed to find me.”

“Ah, so you are the esteemed, unseen owner of Shuten-douji Construction,” Byakuren responded, taking the other seat at the table.

“Yeah, I got bored and decided to set up a way to make a little money, and it grew a little too much,” she said. “Got hired by this foreign blood-drinker to help with her building, and everything snowballed from there.  I don’t do much these days, ain’t got a head for management.”

“Well it is good to see you create something at least, rather than tear it down,” Byakuren said, unable to keep the edge of sarcasm from her voice.

Suika snorted.  “I assume you know how all your sage friends went missing after you?” Byakuren nodded and Suika continued: “After Yakumo’s pet project fell through and pissed off everyone, I tried to keep it together… but I was never good for all that sage stuff.  I thought about leavin’.  Headin’ back to the mountains.  But I like this city too much.”

“I see,” Byakuren said.  Suika had known of the Circle of Sages, but never been part of it.  She’d always been either an ally or an annoyance in turn.

“I tried to keep things on the right track.  Big human companies kept tryin’ to buy up land, and make this whole neighborhood… ‘useful.’  Develop it, I guess.  But I know you and all the others sealed and buried too many things here for that to ever work out.  So I made some accidents happen.  Non-lethal, obviously,” Suika appended when she saw the worried look on Byakuren’s face. “But very costly.  Kept this little corner of Edo for the old folks like you and the youngins’ like me.”  Suika gave Byakuren a sardonic smile and then took a swig of saké from her gourd.

“And that’s it?” Byakuren asked. “Just keeping human greed in check?”

Suika snorted again. “Don’t give me that crap, Byakuren.  I checked in and made sure your temple’s still standing.  It wasn't easy after everything fell apart.  Yakumo’s bullshit killed a lot of people and pissed off a ton of Folk, both here and in Suwa, and I was the only one left who looked like they could answer for it.  I wasn’t involved with the whole thing, I thought it was a bad idea to begin with, but I both knew her and survived, so I was left holding the bag.  People treated me like I personally recruited a hundred youkai and priests, carted them out west to Nagano, then blew them all up.”

Byakuren felt her annoyance wane and her sympathy wax.  To be made a pariah for the actions of another… yes, she was deeply familiar with that feeling.  Suika had always been a social person.  Being ostracized must have been especially hard for her.

“I’m sorry, Ibuki-san,” Byakuren said. “It was rude of me to expect nothing to have changed, especially after I learned all that transpired in my absence.  Thank you for looking after the Myouren Temple.” Byakuren had already settled back into her old temple named after her brother, which was still operating, now with legends of their superhuman founder.  Only Ichirin had remained, the rest of her companions had scattered or moved on in the last century.  Byakuren had been worried for some of them, but she relinquished that attachment.  Their paths were theirs to walk.

“What were you doin’ anyway?” Suika asked, and the monk recounted a condensed version of her sealing for the tiny ogre.  Suika roared with laughter, looking truly alive for the first time.  “You got stuffed in a flask meant for a genie?  Oh, that I would have loved to have seen.”  She wiped a tear from her eye, as a dark mist formed into another identical copy of herself, who teetered over to the refrigerator in the small kitchenette.  The duplicate retrieved a bottle of water, and tossed it back to Suika before dissipating back into black mist.  Suika pulled the plastic cap off, and began to suck down the water.  “Well, what now, Saint-san?” she asked after she drained half the bottle in one go.

Byakuren ignored the misapplied title, and thought about that.  “I came here to ask you what you knew of Yakumo-san’s fate.  Do you truly believe she is dead?”

Suika made a shrugging gesture. “I don’t know.  If she isn’t then she finally learned to mind her own business and lay low.  Honestly, I don’t know that anything could actually kill her.”

“Any suggestions on where to start looking for her or the Horned Sage?” Byakuren pressed.

“No idea on the latter,” Suika said.  “Ms. Sage said she was leaving to look for you, and I never saw her again.  I never much cared for her, but she was nice to have around.  We all miss her.  As for Yakumo… I dunno.  You might want to start with that crater in the mountains.”

“I’ll have to look into that eventually,” Byakuren said, standing up.

“You might want to look into the strange stuff goin’ on here,” Suika added as Byakuren stepped away from the table.  “I hear things around town.  Stolen bodies, animal attacks, and people being spirit’d away.”

“The matter of missing corpses has been resolved,” Byakuren said. “Though, what is this about people being ‘spirited away’?  In the city?”

“I know!” Suika said, smiling. “That’s what I thought too; normally that's the old mountain gods being angry, but I hear tell from some coworkers that there have been a few cases of people losing time.  They disappear, then have no memory of their time when they show back up, or so they said.”

Byakuren stroked her chin and considered. “That does sound suspicious… but I must confess my investigation tactics are… blunt.  I’m not sure questioning people is quite my forté.”

Suika hummed, tipping her chair onto just the back legs.  “You know, there are experts for that now,” she said.

“I’ve learned of private detectives,” Byakuren responded. “But is there one who knows of the supernatural in Tokyo?”

“Hoshigumi told me there is,” Suika said. “Said there was a private eye who could deal with all kinds of strange stuff.  Takes any job, and loves animals, apparently.”

“I see,” Byakuren said, intrigued.  She’d have to look into this.  “Any idea where I can find this miracle detective?”

Suika sucked down the rest of her water bottle, then tossed it across the room where it landed on top of an overflowing trash can.  “It was…” she paused, thinking hard as her chair almost tipped backwards. “On Atochi Road.  You’ll get a kick out of this: it’s called Third Eye Investigations.  Just like you and your chakras.  Now shoo, I gotta clean this place up.”

“It was good to see you, Ibuki-san,” Byakuren said as she stepped away. “Thank you for your aid.”  She smiled, bowed and bade the oni a fond farewell.  She always strived to be understanding and kind, but Suika always taxed her patience.

“I’m glad to see you safe, Byakuren,” she heard Suika say as she stepped out of the oni’s apartment and back on to the street.

“Apparently, Youmu’s inserting herself into the world of spirits now,” Reimu said.

Marisa choked on her noodles at that.  She’d brought a lunch over for Reimu, and they sat around the shrine’s table eating together.

“It’s true,” Izumi said, her ghostly form sitting off the floor, on a nearby bookshelf. “She stopped by the other day and said she wanted to help with the spirit that haunts the demon tree.”

“Really?” Marisa said after she had wiped her mouth of noodle broth. “That crybaby is going to manage a spirit?”

Reimu shrugged.  “She was very determined,” she said. “The way she insisted on helping out and managing that old house, the garden and the spirit inside reminded me of Youen, in a way.  And whatever you say about her courage, she’s always been very dependable.”

“I guess it’s one less thing to worry about,” Marisa conceded.  “By the way, I’ve got a date I want you to attend tomorrow.”  Reimu raised an eyebrow as she slurped her udon. “Just coffee and conversation, nothing big.  There’s this girl at school, she just moved from the countryside and she’s not fitting in very well.  I thought introducing her to you might… I dunno, help?”

“I guess I can try,” Reimu said, her voice quite unenthusiastic. “Is she strange or supernatural or something?”

“Maybe,” Marisa said. “I couldn’t say.  She’s got weird black and green hair that doesn’t look dyed.  She’s from Suwa.”

Reimu looked like she was thinking hard when a knock came to the front door of the shrine.  Marisa, Reimu and Izumi glanced back and forth at each other, all privately guessing who it could be before Reimu asked. 

“It’s Kagerou,” a slightly nervous voice replied. “Kagerou Imaizumi.”

Marisa stood up and opened the door, letting in the chill.  The brown-haired office lady stood just outside, clearly surprised to see Marisa there.  Marisa motioned inside.

“Oh, I was actually looking for you, Kirisame-san,” she said as she removed her shoes and bowed to Reimu, then sat down next to the kotatsu.  Reimu motioned her forward and she slipped her knees under the blanket.

“You can always just text me,” Marisa said, resuming her seat as Reimu poured some tea for Kagerou and handed it to her.

“It’s about my… condition,” Kagerou responded.  Marisa wanted to interject that she knew that, it was the only thing she had in common with the werewolf, but she held her tongue.  “And I don’t want any records about that.  Just in case there’s a… leak or something.”

“I guess that’s not un reasonable,” Marisa said, waving her hand and flicking her own side-braid. “So, what’s come up? Next full moon’s more than a week away.”

“It is, and… well…” Kagerou glanced around nervously.  From the way she looked around, Marisa could tell that she couldn’t see Izumi on top of the low bookcase, watching and listening intently, but she seemed to be weighing if she should speak here or privately.  “Do you remember my issue last time?  It was ah…”

“I remember, and you can speak freely in front of Reimu,” Marisa said. “She knows.”

“I guess that makes sense…” Kagerou said, flicking and tapping her long red nails.  “I um… that girl who we were all entertaining… we kind of… I um… I think she’s asked me out on a date…”

Marisa noticed Izumi smile and laugh, and Marisa felt happy for Kagerou.  Reimu politely clapped, her face almost unchanged.  

“This was the girl in the wheelchair that you were so worried about?  The boss's daughter?”  Kagerou nodded an affirmative.  “Good for you, girl,” Marisa said, leaning on the table.

“Thank you,” Kagerou said. 

“What’s her name?” Reimu asked, pouring herself more tea.

“Wakasagi,” Kagerou said, a touch bashful. “But… she’s set our next date for… another full moon.”

“Huh,” Reimu said, nonchalantly.

Marisa pulled out her phone and checked the date. “That’s a monday.  Not a typical date night.”

“I know, right?” Kagerou asked rhetorically. “I tried to suggest another date, but she was weirdly insistent on that day… do you… do you think she knows?  About my condition?”  Reimu shook her head a little at Kagerou’s refusal to speak clearly of her lycanthropy, even in this space.

Something sparked in the back of Marisa’s mind and she remembered that night when she had set the perception charm on Kagerou.  “Oh, she probably knows,” she said, trying to be casual.

Kagerou stiffened and her eyes widened. “Are you… sure?”

“Probably,” Marisa said, making a noncommittal waivering motion with her hand. “I’m pretty sure she saw right through the charm.  She’s probably not human.”

The color drained right out of Kagerou’s face.  “Not… you mean she’s a… a…”

“Probably a youkai, yes,” Reimu said, indelicately.

“And she-she; what does she wh-want with me?” Kagerou sputtered, looking back and forth between Reimu and Marisa.  This wasn’t an unexpected reaction from the werewolf.  She had not been born into the supernatural, and tried to avoid and minimize it at every turn in her life.  She had dodged multiple invitations to events that Marisa had tried to give to her.

“I’d imagine a relationship,” Reimu said. “That’s why she asked you on a date.”

“But what if she’s a demon who wants my soul?” Kagerou said, panicking. “If she saw through Marisa-san’s charm, she might be a… a succubus, stalking around for people to seduce!”

“First off, that’s offensive,” Marisa said, staring down Kagerou. “I’ve met a succubus, and they were lovely.  Didn’t try to make a move on me once.  Secondly, supernatural Folk aren’t all monsters waiting to strike.  Most are just people, trying to get by, like you.”

“But without Reimu-san’s blessings, I don’t have as much control over myself,” Kagerou responded. “I need them to keep myself in check during full moons.  Can I really trust others like that?”

“Most youkai get by just fine,” Reimu said. “Do you think you’re the only one taking steps to keep others safe?”

“I guess…” Kagerou murmured, her face turning a little red in what Marisa guessed was shame. “But… why does she want to meet again when I’m transformed?  Maybe… maybe she’s trying to expose me!”

“Kage-san, you need to calm down,” Marisa said, while also recalling the blue-hair girl she’d seen that night. “She’s probably just lonely.  I don’t know what kind of being she is, but from the bulky wheelchair she was in, the heavy blanket over her lap and her aquatic-themed clothing, I’m going to guess a mermaid or ningyo.  She’s probably got a fish’s tail under that blanket.”

Marisa noticed Izumi paying rapt attention to the conversation.  Marisa couldn’t tell if it was the ‘human’ drama or the discussion of creatures, but it was charming.

“I see,” Kagerou said, still fiddling with her nails nervously.  She reached one hand up and started pulling her fingers through her long, dark hair.  “What... what should I do?”

“Did you enjoy the time you spent with her?” Reimu asked.  It was a natural question and a good one for leading Kagerou to the conclusion she wanted but didn’t want at the same time, but Marisa knew Reimu well enough to know she had not asked it because it was gentle way to nudge Kagerou, but because she was truly impartial.  Reimu could be oddly detached like that.

“Yes, actually,” Kagerou said. “She’s kind and funny and gentle.  She’s so soft spoken, but she was really friendly, and she has a beautiful singing voice when we did karaoke after the bar.”

“And I’m sure dating the boss’s daughter would be a great boon for her career,” Izumi commented.  Marisa smirked at the comment, but opted not to repeat it for Kagerou to hear.

“And… I didn’t want to admit it… but being out and about while transformed was kind of… thrilling,” Kagerou continued. “Maybe it was being a big wolf-person, but I felt like relaxing for the first time in… a very long time.”

“It’s about time, I say,” Marisa said, trying to sidestep Kagerou’s consternation. “You can’t just get drunk alone in your apartments and watch overseas romances every full moon.”

Kagerou’s eyes widened and she leaned away from Marisa as Izumi snickered. “How… How did you know?”

Marisa snorted an aborted laugh to herself, as Izumi cackled silently and even Reimu smirked. “Lucky guess,” she said. “But seriously: whatever this Wakasagi girl may be, she has impaired mobility.  Also, being a scion of wealth, she’s probably lonely.  She’s just looking for someone who will listen, I think.  You should take the plunge, Imaizumi-san.”

Kagerou stopped anxiously brushing her hair and laced her fingers, setting them down on the table.  After a moment of consideration, she nodded slowly.  “Okay, I’ll do it.  I’ll talk to her.  Kirisame-san, can you get me another one of those charms?”

“I’ll check with my supplier,” Marisa said. “I’ll also see if I can make it reusable.”

Marisa and Kagerou chatted a bit more, when Marisa noticed Reimu check the time and then get up and put on a coat.  “It’s been nice to see you Imaizumi-san, but I’ve got errands to run.  Marisa, can you handle this elsewhere?”

“Sure thing,” Marisa said, rising to her feet with Kagerou.  “I’ll see you this friday, Kagerou.”

The tall office lady bowed to Marisa and then Reimu, before Reimu guided them both outside as she locked up.  Marisa took off for Alice’s shop to try and see if the puppeteer had more reagents and any advice on a reusable version of that charm for Kagerou.

Reimu trudged back to the shrine via the main street of Gensokyo, a bag of groceries in each hand.  Beside here, Izumi walked, admiring the nightlife of the city.  Reimu hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but a single father who donated generously to the shrine had accosted her for advice on her way to the store and before she knew it the sun had set.

As she rounded the corner of the sidewalk, Izumi spoke up. “You didn’t ask Marisa about that creature,” she said.

“No, I didn’t,” Reimu replied, then continued, preempting the response: “I was going to… but Kagerou interrupted.”  

Izumi gave her a skeptical look.  “Sure you would have.”

“I’m not ignoring the issue, Izumi,” Reimu said, a touch more defensively than she meant.  An inebriated woman walking the other way on the sidewalk looked at her strangely, then shivered as Izumi passed right through her.

“No, but you aren’t seeking aid from those who could help you,” Izumi said.

“I’ll deal with it,” Reimu said simply, as they climbed the steps to the shrine.  Izumi detected that this was to be the end of this conversation for now, and said no more.  Reimu sighed internally.  It was the Hakurei maiden’s duty to deal with these issues, and not burden the rest of the neighborhood with what was going on.  In that light, relying on Rinnosuke or Marisa was wrong… but if she couldn’t figure out what that thing had been…

Reimu was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she didn’t notice that the light in the shrine was already on until she opened the door and saw someone sitting at her table.  Reimu resisted the urge to drop her grocery bags, and Izumi gasped at the sight.

Sitting opposite the door and beneath the kotatsu was a young girl in her mid-to-late teens with European features.  Her skin was unnaturally pale, and her short, wavy hair was powder-blue.  She was dressed in a gothic dress, all black fabric and red ribbons.  She smiled to reveal enlarged fangs as her slitted, blood-red eyes with black sclera narrowed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Ms. Reimu Hakurei,” she said in an aristocratic European accent.  She stood up from the table and gave Reimu a small curtsy.  “My name is Remilia Scarlet.  I trust you have already met my attendant.  Please excuse my rude and sudden appearance, but I have good news for you.”

“Not at all,” Reimu said, remaining calm with some effort.  She closed the front door and set the bags of groceries on the floor. “I’ve been wondering when we might meet.”

“Ah, you must be the esteemed ‘Mircalla Lioncourt,’” Izumi said, a small sneer in her voice.  The vampire’s gaze shifted from the living to the dead, and with it the smile and air of quiet bemusement fell away, leaving her face blank.  “Even if you own an entire corp-”

Izumi was cut off as Remilia raised one dainty hand and snapped her fingers.  Instantly, Izumi vanished in a swirl of mist.

“She is unharmed,” Remilia said as Reimu turned back to her, the shock and anger showing clearly on her face. “I came here to have a discussion with you, not a phantom.”

“You could have just asked,” Reimu said, her voice icy.

“I could have, but I prefer my method,” Remilia said.  She gestured to the table, where a pot of green tea and a cup was already waiting for Reimu.  She noticed a manila folder on the edge of the table near Remilia.  She had been expecting documents from her.  Perhaps it was worth it to just to grin and bear it.  She wasn’t sure if she could, but it wasn’t like being more rude to this vampire was going to help the situation.  Speaking of which…

“How did you enter my shrine without an invitation?” Reimu asked as she slid under the lip of the kotatsu. “I’ve been told a vampire cannot enter a dwelling without express permission.”

“Much of what humans think they know of us is false,” Remilia commented, her voice dry. “And I am in no great hurry to set the record straight.  But, as a matter of goodwill, I will say that we can enter uninvited, but it is… difficult.  But then again… this isn’t entirely your shrine.”

Reimu narrowed her eyes as she wrapped her hands around the cup of tea for warmth.  The heater in the kotatsu wasn’t even on and the whole shrine was freezing.  The vampire must not have even felt it.  She reached under the blanket and flipped the heater on.  “What do you mean?” she asked, as the machine began its faint hum.

“Legal ownership of this plot of land has been quite disputed,” Remilia explained, waving a hand. “I had some spare time, so I decided to personally arrange our deal, rather than delegate it to Sakuya.  What I found of this shrine was most interesting.  Simply put, this small plot of land belonged to a woman who died some ten years ago.  Your mother, I would hazard a guess.”

“She left it to me in her will,” Reimu said, eager to brush past her memories.  “Besides, it’s a religious site.  That counts for something, right?”

“Ah, but that will was never notarized or officiated, according to records,” Remilia said.  “At least, that is what the charming man who investigated the records told me.”  Reimu raised an eyebrow at Remilia’s smile, and she expounded. “I have my dietary needs, and in this day and age, there are many… eager donors.  Many will perform favors for the privilege.”

“Is that how you do all your business?” Reimu asked, feeling blessed warmth on her legs again as the heater began to work. “Find a horny, lonely pervert who can do what you need and offer a special session in exchange for the honor of being drunk from?”

Remilia let out a small, polite chuckle.  “No, no.  Not all of my business.  Only when I need something quickly,” she said as she reached out a finger and turned off the hotplate the teapot was on. “Besides, it’s all consensual.  They all know exactly what they are doing.  I find using force in such a situation more trouble than it is worth.”

Reimu sighed. “Okay, so did you fix all that tax stuff like you said you would?”

“Yes, I did, dear,” Remilia said.  Reimu shrugged off a pinprick of annoyance at her familiar tone.  Consciously, she knew that the vampire was probably more than ten times her age, but her teenage body was a facade she had a hard time not believing. “The zoning of this building as a religious structure lapsed a few years ago, but I was able to… persuade the man at the NTA to accept a backdated certificate and change the record to show it was always tax-exempt.  Apparently, there was a busybody who was convinced that this shrine was a criminal front, which is why you faced so much scrutiny recently.  He has been assigned to another case.”

Remilia passed the manila folder over to Reimu, who took it and leafed through it.  Inside were several documents relating to her shrine, its ownership, and so on.  Reimu didn’t really have a head for such things, and wished she could have asked Izumi if it all looked right before the vampire left.  She’d just have to ask later. “Thank you,” Reimu said, regardless.

“It is a suitable reward for handling the matter that you did in a timely manner,” Remilia said. “If the demon Sakuya mentioned had managed to escape, that would have posed a significant risk to my interests.”

“And what are those interests, Scarlet -san ?” Reimu asked.  “What do you actually want here in Tokyo?  You can get blood anywhere.”

Remilia shifted in place, her head tilting from one side to another. “You’re not one for subtlety.  I like that about you.  Refreshingly straightforward.  Very well: what I want is a peaceful life.”

Reimu half-snorted a laugh.  “You’re dead.”

“If you choose to interpret my condition that way,” Remilia countered. “I am five-hundred and eighteen years old, at least.  I enjoy relaxing between the occasional challenge of bending arrogant men into spending their fortunes trying to outsmart me.  I left Europe over a century ago to avoid the Great War, and Japan has been a wonderful home for me these last few decades.  My sister never wants for a craft to learn here, and I’ve been able to find ample entertainment of my own.”

“And it makes you a lot of money,” Reimu said.

“Yes, but that is besides the point.  I will acquire wealth no matter where I reside,” Remilia said dismissively. “No, what I’m trying to say, Hakurei-san, is that our interests are aligned.  I can see the weave of this city: the tangled, dangerous knots of secrets that hide just out of sight.  I think that some of them will unwind in the near future, and when that happens, disaster may follow, and neither of us want that.  We both want to keep this city safe and peaceful.”

“What are you proposing?” Reimu asked.

“I want your aid, Hakurei-san,” Remilia said, her gaze suddenly intensely focused, her eyes locked with Reimu’s. “I find hiring freelancers tiresome.  I want to employ you full-time.  I want to keep you on hand as an expert, a local consultant.”

“You already have a fixer,” Reimu objected.

“Sakuya is useful, but she is just one person, and there is only so much time in the day.  Besides, her current workload is unsustainable,” Remilia explained. “I want you as an on-call exorcist and spiritual investigator.  Room, board and meals included, wages commensurate with your short lifetime of experience.  You can leave this life of poverty behind and live in luxury, as long as you solve the problems I want.”

Reimu would have been lying if she had said her heart didn’t jump at that last bit.  ‘Miko of a run-down shrine’ was not a lucrative occupation.  To never again strain to make ends meet, and to live in comfort…

Unbidden thoughts of the townspeople of Gensokyo rose in her mind.  The many senior citizens who had donated meals and clothes after her mother had died.  The mothers who helped with her laundry and the fathers who gave generously to the shrine with little or no pretense.  And Marisa…

“And what if you and your sister become a problem that needs solving?” Reimu said, almost without thinking.  Her mouth had made the decision for her. “You can hire me to help you and the city, but I’m not for sale, Ms. Scarlet.”  Reimu fished the phone that the vampire had helped pay for out of her pocket and inelegantly tossed it across the table at her guest.

Remilia snatched it out of the air, a strange smile on her face. “Consider the phone line a gift,” she said as she tossed the phone back at Reimu, who caught it a little clumsily. “I may have reason to ‘hire’ you in the future, and I feel that this modern convenience will make you a better asset, even if you are not in my direct employ.”

“Thank you for your generous donation,” Reimu said, her voice strained with sarcasm.

“I like you, Reimu- chan, ” Remilia said, standing from her spot at the table.  At first, Reimu thought her dress was unfurling, but she then realized that what she thought was part of the vampire’s gothic dress was in fact black and red bat wings that sprouted from her back that she had kept flat against her dress.  Remilia spread her wings, the tips touching each wall of the shrine.  “You’re laid back, yet determined.  You’re resolute, yet aimless.  I expect that we shall have a long and fruitful relationship, something I never quite developed with your grandmother.”

“My grand-” Reimu began, before Remilia’s form disintegrated into silver mist, rushing out of the shrine in every direction.  Confusion and outrage warred in her heart, before burning out.  She picked up her undrunken tea and dumped it in the sink, then began to make a fresh pot.  As she did, Izumi rematerialized.  

“-eration, that doesn’t…” she trailed off, clearly still caught in the same sentence she had been cut off from before being banished.  “Wha… what happened?”

“She wanted a private discussion,” Reimu, now filling her alternate teapot. “It was probably the closest thing she ever had to asking for something nicely, the brat.  She wanted to retain me as a problem-solver.”

“Oh,” Izumi said, taken aback. “I’m assuming you said no, by your demeanor.”

“I said no,” Reimu confirmed curtly.  She was already caught between being the Hakurei maiden and being herself, she didn’t need a bloodsucking executive telling her what to do.

“Good,” Izumi said, her smile a little wary. “That’s good.  Take it from a former salarywoman: it’s not worth it.  Finding Ai… I mean Kosuzu handily avoiding all of that has been an immense source of relief for me.”

Reimu pondered Izumi’s words as she spent the rest of the evening reading one of her detective manga, before remembering that she was supposed to meet Marisa and her friend the next day.  She turned in for the night, but sleep was elusive.  Memories of the strange snake-spirits that she had encountered and thoughts of what the vampire had told her chased each other around in her mind all night.

Chapter Text

Marisa twiddled her thumbs nervously.  Why was she worried?  She’d prepared and dressed stylishly.  It was a good café, where she’d set the meeting.  It was sleek and modern, with dark metal tables and stained faux-wood walls and floor.  She’d ordered her coffee (black but with lots of sugar) and claimed a table by the front window, making sure to pick one with more than two chairs.  It was nerve-wracking, making new friends.  She supposed that was what Sanae was, or might become.  She couldn’t be sure.

She’d known Reimu for more than half her life now, and she actually had a hard time remembering her life without knowing her.  Her two earliest memories were her mother’s funeral and meeting Reimu when the girl’s mother had arrived to exorcize a spirit from Marisa’s bedroom.  She’d made a few casual acquaintances and many business contacts since then, but friends… not so much.  She liked the idea of getting to be friends with Sanae.  It was nice.  It was a tiny piece of being normal.

Sanae walked in the front door, dressed in a cream coat and blue scarf.  She searched the interior before she found Marisa by the window.  Marisa thought her black coat with iridescent rainbow accents would have been more than easy for the tall girl to spot, but maybe that was just her.  Sanae approached and slipped her backpack off her shoulder as Marisa pocketed her phone.

“Hey there, Kirisame-san,” she said, sliding into the seat and pulling the tablet placed in the center of the table closer to peruse the menu.  “Let me just get… an espresso,” she said, tapping on the tablet, then tapping her phone on the device.  It chimed, and she set it back on the table.

“Everything going well in robotics class?” Marisa asked, sipping her coffee.

“It’s okay,” Sanae replied, waving her hand. “It’s all real basic stuff.  We just finish’d the history and intro stuff, as well as robots versus general machines, all that theory stuff.” Marisa nodded, and Sanae continued: “What about you, Kirisame-san-”

“Marisa, please,” Marisa said, trying to move past family names.

“Sorry,” Sanae apologized. “Force of habit.  But what kinda degree are you shootin’ for?”

“It’s actually a little weird for me,” Marisa said. “I’m not going for a degree.”

“Oh, independent study or somesuch?” Sanae asked. “What classes are you in at the moment then?”

“I’m in an art history course,” Marisa explained. “It’s actually super helpful in deciphering old manuscripts and stuff, as well as talking to immortal spirits.”

“Wow,” Sanae said, leaning back.  The tablet on the table chimed as a server walked over and set Sanae’s espresso in front of her.  Marisa finished her coffee as Sanae thanked the server and continued: “Does that really help?”

“It’s the best I got, there’s no magic class, after all.  Though it did come in handy pretty recently!” Marisa said, setting her empty cup on the table.  “I met some kind of super-wizard recently, and my knowledge of alchemy impressed them enough that they agreed to teach me some stuff.  I have my class to thank for that.”

“Huh,” Sanae uttered, flicking a strand of her green-and-black hair. “That does seem pretty cool.”

The flick reminded Marisa of something she wanted to ask Sanae.  She didn’t seem like the type to dye her hair, so…  “By the way, what’s up with your hair?  Old dye-job for a concert or something?”

Sanae straightened, seemingly embarrassed slightly. “Oh, no.  Nothing like that,” she said, waving a hand. “It’s actually natural.  Some latent genetic thing, or an illness.”  Marisa raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Sanae expounded. “I’m not really sure, to be honest.  It happened to my mom when she became extremely ill.  Her hair turned a kinda pale green-gray.  She’s still sick, and after that my hair started to turn green.”  She held up the end of a lock and examined it, as if it would suddenly tell her why right here. “Doctor’s best guess was that it was some odd sickness that she was predisposed to, but that I fought off.”

Marisa didn’t want to call her out, but it sounded like bullshit.  Not that she thought Sanae was lying, but she did suspect that there might be a more… magical explanation that was unexplainable with conventional science.

“It's got a little greener recently,” Sanae said. “I don’t feel sick at all, though.”

Marisa’s attention was torn away as she saw Izumi pass through the glass front doors, followed shortly by Reimu.  She waved to Marisa, then moved to the front counter to get her tea.  Marisa waved back, and Sanae spun around in her chair to see the newcomer.

“Oh, did she see us?” Sanae asked.

“She did, she just… likes to order from a person,” Marisa lied.  It was almost certainly because Reimu had far more cash on hand and rarely used her bank account for anything.  She ordered, paid, then approached the table with a paper cup and looked at Sanae as the latter stood up.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sanae said, bowing slightly. “My name’s Sanae Kochiya.”

Reimu didn’t immediately react, she just sort of stared at Sanae.  Her two-tone hair and the six centimeter of height she had on Reimu seemed to hold her attention.  Sanae was also inspecting Reimu’s appearance, taking in the red and white varsity jacket, simple red skirt and ratty, partly torn stockings.  Izumi hissed in Reimu’s ear, and she jolted back to awareness.

“Oh, uh.  I’m Reimu Hakurei.  Nice to meet you,” Reimu said, her enthusiasm notably lower than Sanae’s.  She set her cup in front of the third seat and slid in as Sanae stealthily tried to hide the hand she had extended for a handshake.

Oh, this is going swimmingly, Marisa snarked internally.

“So, you’re Marisa’s friend, Hakurei-san?” Sanae asked.

“She sure is,” Marisa interjected as Reimu was in the middle of a sip. “We’ve been friends for… what ten years now?”

“More than that,” Reimu said.

“Wow,” Sanae said. “And what’re you studyin’, Hakurei-san?”

“Nothing,” Reimu said, tersely.  Sanae waited for more, and Marisa was forced to pick up the slack.

“She’s not in school right now,” Marisa explained.

“And I never will be, if I have anything to say about it,” Reimu said. “High school was enough for me.”

“Sorry, she’s a bit preoccupied,” Izumi whispered, leaning into Marisa and tickling her ear with cold. “We had an unwanted visitor last night after you and Imaizumi-san left.”  As Marisa processed that, she noticed Sanae’s eyes darted towards Marisa just a bit.  She clearly couldn’t see Izumi, as she wasn’t commenting on the ghostly woman whispering in Marisa’s ear, but she might be like those with slight spiritual attunement, and be able to feel ghosts as a chill up the spine and a feeling of unease.

“Oh, so what do you do?” Sanae asked, returning to the conversation.

“I’m a professional shrine maiden,” Reimu said.  “So a lot of blessings and some exorcisms.”

“We sort of keep an eye on things around here,” Marisa added.

“Where are you from?” Reimu asked. “You look like a country girl, except for the weird hair.”

“Um, Nagano,” Sanae said, doing her best to not look too offended.

“Makes sense,” Reimu said as she took a sip of her tea.

“So, as some kinda professional miko, do you get out a lot?” Sanae asked.

“Sometimes,” Reimu answered. “If people want their houses blessed or a ghost removed.  But they also come to me with donations a lot.”

“They give the donations straight to you?  What, do you actually live in a shrine?” Sanae said, unsure if she should be joking.

“Yeah,” Reimu replied, deadpan. “Inherited it from my mother, it's a family thing.” 

“Oh, I see,” Sanae said, on the conversational back foot yet again. “You and your dad live in just the shrine?”

“No dad,” Reimu replied simply.

“Ah.  Sorry ‘bout that,” Sanae said, wincing.

Reimu shrugged nonchalantly and Marisa wanted to kick herself.  Why had she thought Reimu could be good at this kind of thing?  The girl was kind and honest, but her social skills could charitably be called ‘rough.’

“I heard you met Marisa at her college,” Reimu said.

“We actually sorta ran into each other a few streets away from the campus,” Sanae replied.

“Literally,” Marisa added. “I noticed a few of her textbooks and took a guess.”

“And Kirisame-san was real kind about get’n some obnoxious boys to lay off the other day, which I mighty appreciated.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Marisa said. 

“Saving her from bullies?” Izumi commented in an amused voice.  Marisa saw Sanae shift her head slightly when Izumi spoke, like she was subconsciously trying to hear something.

“Marisa’s pretty reckless,” Reimu said. “You might need to keep her out of trouble.”

“Oh, I can definitely see that,” Sanae said, chuckling. “She seems to be a real go-getter, even if she’s got no idea what to get.”

“Hey!” Marisa exclaimed, trying to only sound pretend-insulted. “I have plenty of ideas, just not all of them are good.”

And so they continued in stiff but amicable conversation for a few minutes, until Reimu drained her tea and stood. “It’s been nice to meet you Kochiya, but I’ve got places to be.”  Sanae looked a little surprised as she stood with Reimu, who offered her hand this time.  Sanae shook it, and Reimu set off out of the café with Izumi trailing behind her.  She cast an apologetic look back at Marisa before passing through the windows and away.

“Well,” Sanae said, sitting back down. “She seems…”

“Yeah,” Marisa said, unable to keep the apologetic tone from her voice. “She’s really busy sometimes.  She gets focused on things, and can’t shift away.  I thought you might be good for her.  Sorry.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Sanae said as she waved a hand. “I definitely have my antisocial days.  Meeting new people is hard, that’s why you’re the first friend I’ve made in Tokyo, Marisa.  I don’t know that we’ll ever be close, but I’m glad to know a good priestess.”

Marisa smiled to herself and pulled the ordering tablet closer.  “What else do you want, Sanae?  My treat.”

The venue was much larger than Sakuya had expected.  The wrestling event had been promoted as a crossover between two promotions, but she still hadn’t expected to arrive at a dedicated building for just such events.  With two tiers of balconies and an impressive array of lights and a massive television screen above the entrance ramp, the octagonal space was a sight to behold.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Meiling asked as they walked down the stairs to their seats.  They were in the middle of the ground level, an optimum distance to see the whole wrestling ring. “A friend owed me a favor, from back in the day.”

Sakuya was impressed, though she was loath to admit it.  She pulled the hem of her cardigan up to avoid brushing other people’s knees as they sidled by those already seated.  Meiling settled in her seat, setting the tray of snacks and drinks they had purchased at a steep markup on her lap as Sakuya sat down next to her.  The show was clearly still being set up as men in black shirts rushed to and fro, running cable and carrying equipment.

In visiting a women’s wrestling event, Sakuya had expected to find a crowd of mostly men and boys, but the gender split was almost 50/50 on the crowd. To her surprise, men and women alike filled the seats around them.

“So, just be clear,” Sakuya asked. “This is all scripted, right?”

“Gosh, you are so new to this, I had forgotten,” Meiling laughed. “Yes, pro wrestling is scripted, just like a TV show or a movie.  But they’re all performers, and they can improvise.  It’s about the stories, and the cool moves that they do, not who is the better fighter.  I guess a lot of the stories are built around that, but it’s not an actual contest.  There are even designated heroes and villains; called faces and heels.”

“I see,” Sakuya said.  She had never thought about it much, to be honest.  But the appeal was easy to see.  Like a live theater performance, but with flying body presses and elbows to the back.

And it was fun, and it was also exactly what she needed.  Weeks of chasing leads on the corpse thefts, managing Lady Flandre’s upcoming fashion premiere, dealing with Meiling’s recovery from her wound, and sorting through the mystery of the mansion where the demon tree was sealed had run her ragged.  Relaxing and watching a ridiculous fiction was perfect.  Meiling filled her in on the bits of backstories and rivalries that weren’t immediately obvious from the videos played before each match, and each faux-fight was engaging and interesting.  The personality and character of each wrestler was entrancing: either lovable or hateable or just plain charismatic.  The rivalries, friendships and feuds were cheesy but earnest, and the outfits and choreographed entrances felt like a miniature fashion show.

The third match on the card ended with the teal-haired underdog spraying water on her opponent out of nowhere while cornered.  The larger woman stumbled back, confused, and the smaller one quickly climbed the ropes around the ring and lept onto her opponent in what Meiling called a ‘shooting star press’ and what the commentary team called a ‘Kappa Splash.’  As the smaller woman lifted a leg and pinned the larger one, Sakuya took a look through her second sight, and was surprised: the flowing, clear aura around the woman revealed her to be an actual kappa.  She looked around a bit and spotted one or two odd auras in the crowd, as well as another type she recognized at the commentary table: the man who had called the move a ‘Kappa Splash’ was a tengu.

“There are actually youkai in this event?” Sakuya asked Meiling after the match was truly over and there was a lull in the action.

“Oh, of course you’d be able to spot that.  Most don’t ever notice,” Meiling said, a chuckle in her voice. “Yeah, wrestling’s always had more than a few Folk in it.  You’d be surprised at what the audience will accept as just special effects.  Besides, it feels nice to cut loose and use your abilities publicly, you know?”

The way she talked about it… “Meiling, did you used to wrestle?” Sakuya asked.

“Okay, you caught me,” she said, throwing her hands up in a mock surrender. “I was in an old promotion a few decades back, in the 90s.”

“Really?” Sakuya said, a grin involuntarily spreading across her face.  “You, flipping, shouting and fighting on stage?”

“Hard to believe, right?” Meiling laughed. “I always wanted to be a hero, but I got type-cast as a heel.  I mean, big woman, red hair, Chinese accent, it was natural.  They called me the Red Star, and the only character I ever got momentum behind was being a communist invader from the mainland.”

“That’s…” Sakuya said, her mood suddenly soured. “Offensive.”

“Eh.  It was kinda great, actually,” Meiling said, a smile still in her voice. “I got to rant about politics, and throw these little scamps across the ring.  It was fun to play a villain.  Besides, it’s how I met a lot of other Youkai.  Wrestling’s always been a place where Folk gather.  I think the tag team in the final match has two Folk as a team.”  Sakuya nodded and made a mental note to see if she could find match footage of Meiling hamming it up as a Chinese communist later as the next match started.

Despite it all, Sakuya couldn’t quite lose herself in the story.  She enjoyed herself, certainly: the choreography, the fashion, the acting, the music; it was all wonderful.  But she found herself speculating on what decisions led to what she was seeing, rather than letting herself be absorbed in the world.  It had always been like that, she supposed.  She certainly could appreciate fiction, but could never wholly dive in.  As two of the wrestlers performed a complicated suplex that the person being thrown clearly had to assist in, Sakuya supposed that after being in multiple life-or-death struggles, she couldn’t look past the artifice of the performance, even if she was entertained.

After an hour and a half of flips and tricks and body slams and elbows to the back of the neck, they finally arrived at the main event and last match of the night.  A tag-team match of the champions versus a team of totally unknown newcomers.  The lights dimmed and the large television showed only tiny, buzzing yellow-green lights, like a swarm of lantern flies.  “Now approaching the ring,” the Tengu announcer spoke over the guitar riff on an energetic rock song. “At one hundred and fifty-five centimeters tall, the tiny terror of the JJP, the Autumn Insect Stirring Under the Moon and the first member of Team Fire/Fly: Wriggle… NIGHTBUG!”

The name was absurd, but it seemed to exactly fit the wrestler who lept in the ring.  She was short, dressed in white tank top and denim hot pants with suspenders and knee-high boots, her outfit showing much of her almost olive-tone skin.  Her dark green hair was cut short and she wore a cape that split like a beetle’s wing cover;it was even iridescent on the outside.  She leapt clear over the ropes from outside the ring and rolled into a pose while shouting a slogan that was lost in the roar of cheers from the audience.  Sakuya could see that she had face paint on that surrounded her eyes in a red pattern, making her look more like an insect of some kind.

“Audience favorite?” Sakuya asked Meiling, speaking above her normal volume to be heard.

“A bit,” Meiling said. “An underdog story.  No one took her seriously, until she started interrupting other matches with flying kicks to the head.  She got teamed up with the real favorite, though.”  Sakuya was about to inquire further, when the lights dimmed and the crowd quieted down.  The large screen on the other side of the arena showed only an orange flame texture.

“And now, the competitor you’ve all been waiting for,” the Tengu announcer said, his voice rumbling through the speakers. “The savage and rude princess of the JJP, the Immortal Firebird, and the second member of team Fire/Fly!  Give it up for The Last Fujiwara: MOKOU!”

Jets of fire erupted from the four posts at the corners of the wrestling ring as the lights came back on.  A new woman was standing in the center of the ring, her hands raised in the air like she was controlling the pyrotechnics gushing from the posts.  She was much taller than Nightbug, with long pure-white hair pulled into a ponytail that spilled all the way down her back.  She was dressed in wrestling pants that ended just past her knees, soft boots and a bright red top.  She had her wrists wrapped in medical tape, and what looked like ofuda-style paper amulets tied in her long white ponytail.  She posed with Nightbug, and four more jets of fire erupted from the corners of the ring.

The noise of the crowd was deafening.  This was the true favorite, a hero to all in the crowd, and she seemed to love it.  The way she beamed and posed with her partner was so charismatic, she seemed to drink in the roar of the arena and let it drive her.  As the two wrestlers posed and the chant of “Fi-re Fly! Fi-re Fly!” filled the arena, Sakuya opened her second sight.  Nightbug was some kind of Youkai, but not one Sakuya could identify; perhaps some kind of insect creature, if her branding was to be believed.  But Mokou…

The other wrestler was more and less than human.  Her aura was strange, like part of what a normal human looked like, mashed together with something else Sakuya had never seen before.  A shimmering absence ran through her being, and in its place was a mote of true fire.

Nightbug held up the tag-team title belts, all gold and red leather as a microphone was tossed up to Mokou, who snatched it out of the air and began to speak.  “We’ve defended this league against every pretender and loser hopped up on a few easy wins that have come our way.  We’ve proven that the JJP is where the best of the best come to compete, and Wriggle and I aren’t gonna fold to whatever new freaks are gonna try and come at us with delusions of grandeur,” she said, with what sounded like a smoker’s rasp rendering her voice husky and more than a bit sexy. “Some people say I’m not real royalty, that I’m just an imposter.  I’ve only got one thing to say to that: I’m thirteen hundred years old and I don’t give a SHIT!”

The crowd cheered as Mokou threw up her hand in a middle finger and Nightbug pulled the mic from her hands and delivered the closing remark: “We are team Fire/Fly, and nothing can stop our light!”

“Bit of an outlandish character, isn’t it?” Sakuya asked Meiling as the noise began to die down. “An immortal and vulgar Heian princess?”

“People love a good iconoclast,” Meiling said. “There’s an appeal in the dichotomy.  And if they are the two biggest faces in the company, you don’t really get to tell them no.”

“So who are the biggest heroes fighting?” Sakuya said. “The most famous villains?”

“You’d think that, but the booking says they’re going up against two newcomers,” Meiling replied after swallowing some popcorn. “Must be some kinda special tag-team to premiere at a big event against the hottest team in the promotion.”

The arena dimmed again, and a psychedelic, morphing abstraction of doors opening into more doors played on the large screen as multi-colored lights flashed in pulsing patterns around the area.

“Tonight,  your JJP tag-team champions will be fighting a new threat, unlike anything you’ve ever seen!  Hailing from parts unknown, and here in the name of their secret god, it's the Crazy Backdoor Dancers!  Satono Nishida and Mai Teireida!”

The lights came up as a piece of music that Sakuya could only describe as ‘chaotically psychotic’ began to thunder through the arena.  The two wrestlers now approaching the arena looked like a match set, dressed in near-identical outfits, tailored in clashing yet complementary colors.  They had the same haircut: cut short but overlong bangs and sideburns that fell past their chests, with the left one having brown hair and the right one having a sort of pale green hair.  Their outfits were simple but garishly colored, each wearing a singlet with trunks on top, but the left one’s was an eye-searing fuchsia with yellow trim, and the right-side one’s singlet was a muddy, dark green with fuchsia trim.

The two danced to their entrance music, mirroring each other’s motions perfectly, as a surprising mix of cheers and boos filled the arena.  Sakuya supposed that there were those who were earnestly invested in Fire/Fly as the champions, and those who just wanted to see a fight.

Their dance routine continued for a bit longer at the top of the entrance ramp, their choreography symmetrical and energetic.  As it finished, the one on the left produced a microphone from nowhere and began to walk toward the ring while speaking. “All of you out there lost and afraid, this match is for you.  This world needs a new hero, a true hero, not a corporate-backed shill.  You say you don’t care what others think, yet you’re here, selling merchandise, firebird!”

“I mean, it’s all an industry,” Sakuya commented. “Isn’t it bad form to point that out?”

“It’s pretty standard newcomer stuff,” Meiling answered, a small sigh in her voice. “Criticize the establishment, claim you’re here to tear it all down.  Get you the underdog appeal, but it also works for heels if people like the champ enough.”

The green challenger on the right walked past her teammate, snatching the microphone from her hands. “You’re no champion of the downtrodden, but an imposter, a princess who just wants to act out, and you scooped up a young new star as a sacrificial lamb!”

Now the fuchsia one of the left repeated the maneuver, snatching the mic back and walking closer as she spoke.  Sakuya still had no idea which one was Nishida and which one was Teireida, but their routine was entertaining: stealing the microphone back and forth as they leap-frogged closer to the ring.

“What this world needs is a new power, a new god!  One who looks out for those left behind!” the fuchsia one said, turning her attention from their opponents in the ring to the crowd at large, gesturing wildly to the arena as she spun in place.  “One who can shelter the downtrodden and protect the weak!”

The green one snatched the mic again and continued: “ A god of destiny and stars!  A god of protection and crossroads!”  Their rhetoric seemed to be having an effect on the crowd, as scattered cheers and shouts erupted across the arena.  It was quite a populist message, so Sakuya could easily see why someone might like it.

The two of them slid into the arena now, and the fuchsia one took the mic back. “Our secret god!  A god of backdoors and hidden paths!”

“I’m sorry Wriggle,” Mokou commented into her mic from the other corner of the ring. “I didn’t know we were fighting goddamn missionaries tonight.”  The arena thundered with laughter and applause.  Even if the two newcomers had a popular message, Fire/Fly was still the crowd favorite by leaps and bounds.

“I think it’s good they worship a god of the downtrodden,” Nightbug added as she was handed the microphone. “They’re already lame, and they won’t have to convert when they lose!”

“Her mic-work is a bit rough,” Meiling idly mused as Nightbug tossed the microphone to a harried looking tech-worker and handed the two title belts off to a referee.

“You’re nothing but a bug, to be swatted away!” the green one said, then held her microphone to be taken.  “Satono, are you ready for this?”

“Absolutely Mai!” Nishida said as she took the microphone, then tossed it to the same worker.  Sakuya was mostly glad to know which one was Nishida and which one was Teireida.

As the announcer explained the conditions and stipulations of the tag match, Sakuya found her curiosity piqued, and looked at the dancers with her second sight.  They were… less than human.  Not like Mokou, who seemed to be a human altered by some force Sakuya couldn’t imagine.  No, the dancers’ auras almost seemed… damaged.  Sakuya had only seen something like this after a spiritual attack long ago, on a man moments before he died.  But the two stood there, bobbing their shoulders and swaying their hips together to a beat only they could hear.  They certainly still had souls, but there was something uncanny about the way they moved that seemed to match their frayed essence.  To Sakuya, it looked like something had scooped out some essential truth of humanity, leaving them as merely…

The bell rang, and Sakuya lost her concentration.  The match had started, and Nightbug and the fuschia one were the active wrestlers.  As Nightbug executed a series of spinning kicks, the dancer cartwheeled between them as her backup swayed back and forth outside the ring.  Neither of them ever seemed to stop moving, and they stayed in sync, even as one of them was attacked (or rather, as Sakuya had to remind herself, pretended to be attacked.)  Nightbug flew at her with a flying kick while shouting something, but the dancer spun backwards and caught the smaller wrestler’s leg under her arm, then tipped backwards into a pin.

Nightbug flailed, then managed to wriggle her way out, and tried to land a few elbow shots on her opponent, but the dancer rolled away.  Mokou was making a commotion, so Nightbug rushed back to their corner and tagged out.  Mokou stepped in and shouted a taunt across the ring as the dancers also tagged, and Teireida stepped into the ring.

“Interesting,” Meiling commented as the match continued.  Elbow drops, frog splashes, chops and spinning ax kicks were exchanged, and Sakuya got to see the best of each wrestler.  Flying kicks seemed to be Nightbug’s signature move, while Mokou preferred flying body-slams and tackles.  While Fire/Fly was a formidable team, the dancers seemed to move as almost a single unit.  They never stopped bobbing and shaking, the one on the edge of the ring always shimmying and dancing.  They managed to get Mokou over to their corner of the ring, and then performed what the announcer called the “Revolving Back Door,” where they repeatedly stomped on her stomach and head, then tagged their partner, who repeated the maneuver before tagging again: around and around, with Mokou unable to tag out.

“There was a team in America that had a similar move,” Meiling said.  Mokou managed to escape, blood pouring from a cut on her forehead.

“That seems a bit extreme for a scripted fight,” Sakuya commented as Mokou flicked a bit of blood off her face, then tried to trip Nishida and put her into a submission hold.

“Some performers like to bleed for the big matches,” Meiling said. “Makes it feel special.  I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“So they’ll still win this?” Sakuya asked as Nishida broke the submission hold by dragging herself to the ropes around the ring.

“I would normally say yes, but these dancers seem to be winning over the crowd,” Meiling said, gesturing around them.  It was true, Sakuya had been so focused on the match she had tuned out the noise of the arena.  The crowd was almost louder when the dancers were on top than Fire/Fly, as she was able to see as Nishida bounced herself off the ropes and then jumped into a flying drop-kick straight to Mokou’s stomach.  The mix of cheers and boos that move elicited seemed more energetic than the simple cheers for Fire/Fly.  “A heel champion team is fun, but what’s more fun is having a team that no one can agree on whether they are heroes or villains,” Meiling said.

And that was exactly what happened.  After a long, long fight that briefly spilled into the stands, Nishida landed a massive german suplex on Mokou, and pulled her leg up for the pin.  As Nightbug attempted to jump in and break the pin, Teireida jumped the ropes and clotheslined her so hard that the smaller wrestler was sent flying out of the ring.  The referee counted to three, and declared the match over.

The noise of the crowd was deafening, but incoherent with shock, anger, dismay, surprise, enthusiasm and joy.  Meiling politely clapped as the two dancers jumped and hugged in the ring.  The referee brought them the tag-team title belts and a microphone, and they made their victory speech to the arena.  As they espoused their secret god, Sakuya decided to check again: the way they moved with an uncanny synchronicity made her feel like the two might be something more… concerning.  As Mokou rolled out of the ring, she looked with her second sight to find the same, slightly hollow aura around the two of them, but now Sakuya could see something else: a thread of energy.  It led away from the two of them, into the air and towards the first tier of the balconies overlooking the arena.  Sakuya followed it, tracking the shifting, gossamer ribbon of light, back to where it seemed to originate.  But where it ended made no sense.

The trail ended at a woman seated at the very edge of the balcony.  She was quite far away, but Sakuya could make out long golden-blonde hair, and an orange outfit.  But more than that, Sakuya noticed that the distant figure seemed to be staring right at her as Sakuya saw the strand of energy leading to this seemingly completely ordinary woman twist out of sight.  As the dancers reached the end of their speech, Sakuya remained focused on the woman.  Who was she?  How was she connected?  Could she somehow see Sakuya or Meiling in the crowd? 

“Your new JJP tag-team champions: the Crazy Backdoor Dancers!” proclaimed the announcer as the two wrestlers hoisted their new belts high.

The woman waved at Sakuya, and for a split second, Sakuya was blinded.  Through her second sight, there was a flash of something she had never seen before; a power unlike any else.  She blinked rapidly, feeling a sharp pain behind her eyes.  When she opened them again, there were flashing lights and the dancers had disappeared in a smokescreen from a fog machine.  Sakuya squeezed her eyes, trying to clear her mind and settle her sudden headache.  She looked up to see the woman was gone, as the Crazy Backdoor Dancers appeared on the massive screen behind the ring.

“This is the dawn of a new era, where all those downtrodden and forgotten can find their salvation,” said Teireida on the screen.

“The dispossessed and ignored will always find an ally in us, and in our secret god: Okina!” Nishida boasted, and then the screen showed only their emblem.  Mokou and Nightbug talked in the ring, showing the agony of their defeat acting their hearts out, but Sakuya couldn’t focus on what they were saying.  The image of the woman waving to her then vanishing stuck in her mind long after she and Meiling had left the building.

“What did I tell you, pretty fun, right?” Meiling asked as they waited on a train.  Sakuya observed two other women draw closer to them; either they were curious, or thought waiting at a train platform after dark would be safer if they were near Meiling.  Sakuya honestly couldn’t say they were wrong: a disheveled drunk man gave them all a wide berth after noticing Meiling.

“Extremely,” Sakuya said, trying to return to the present. “I can see why it’s so popular.  But I’m curious about that new team: those ‘backdoor dancers.’”

“I guess that their strategy is working then,” Meiling commented. “A spectacular premiere of a new team from nowhere, claiming the title of the champions.  I’ve seen it before, and that cult gimmick they have combined with their choreography certainly sets them apart.”

Sakuya thought about that as the sound of an approaching train echoed towards them.  Their ‘secret god’ had to be just part of their fiction… right?  Or was the line between fantasy and reality not where she thought it was?

“It feels more… real than that,” Sakuya said.

“I noticed your eyes flash red as you looked around,” Meiling said.  Most people couldn’t notice the split second of red irises that accompanied Sakuya’s second sight, but Meiling knew her well.  “What were they?”

“I don’t know,” Sakuya admitted, as their train decelerated into the station. “But something in my gut says that they are more than just wrestlers with a killer gimmick.”

“I still know a person or two at the JJP,” Meiling said as the train ground to a halt in front of them.  The doors opened and Meiling and Sakuya stepped aside for others to disembark, then Meiling gestured for the two women and one drunken man to enter before them. “I could ask around.”

“Are you sure?” Sakuya said as the two women walked past them, each giving a tiny bow.

“My schedule is still light as I heal up,” Meiling said. “I can walk and talk, but exercise is still a no-go for another week, according to Doctor Yagokoro.  It’ll be something to do.”

Sakuya watched the drunk man scurry into the train before she and Meiling made their way in.  They found seats and settled in for the ride back to the tower. “Thank you, Meiling,” Sakuya said.

“Don’t mention it,” Meiling said. “You’re going to be busy with all that stuff with Flandre, right?  Her big fashion premiere?  At least I can help lighten the load.”

Sakuya smiled before she took out her phone to begin reviewing what to do on Monday.  Her weekend off had only given her more to worry about, but all in all that only seemed right.

Chapter Text

Rinnosuke Morichika sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He was having trouble reading the documents spread out before him.  His eyes were feeling more and more useless.  He supposed it was time to admit that he needed reading glasses.  It was probably inevitable; as a half-Youkai, he aged slower, but he still aged.  He was just past fifty in human years, but he looked like a thirty-year-old.  He felt useless, his leg still bandaged and numb.

How was it that something that didn’t feel like anything could be so painful, he mused to himself.  His thigh had been numb since the foreigner had stabbed him, and he’d been nearly bedridden.  He couldn’t feel the spot where the essence had been purged from his leg, but he had seen it, and now his brain would not stop telling him that he was injured, that he should be feeling pain, even if the nerves were almost dead.

He was seated in his shop, which he had not opened for the day.  It made him feel more normal, like he might be able to walk unassisted again, even if he knew that was a lie.  Rain fell from the gray sky to the windows of his shop, reflecting his mood.  He brought the document closer to his face.  He could wait to get glasses, he needed to make sure that the danger had passed.  There had been no sign that the man that Kasen had called the “Silver Ripper” had been part of a larger effort, but there were still the sightings of the girl that had been with him.  She was nowhere to be found now, though.  If he could just-

“You shouldn’t be up, Rinnosuke,” said a familiar voice from the front of the shop.  He looked up from his paper to see Misaki Hakurei, the guardian of Gensokyo.  She was stowing her umbrella in the stand by the door; Rinnosuke hadn’t even heard her come in.

Misaki was a beautiful woman, in Rinnosuke’s humble opinion.  Long brown hair, high cheekbones and eyes that almost looked like mahogany if light struck them at the right angle.  She still had a large bandage on her face where she had fallen and scraped her head in the battle with the Ripper.  She had a simple dark red raincoat on, which she hung on the hook next to the door.

“You’re supposed to be getting bedrest,” she said, passing between the shop’s shelves to meet him at his desk.

“Ibaraki-san said that there was nothing to be done about my leg,” he responded. “So I might as well get used to it and do something useful.  I need to make sure he was acting alone.”

“You can’t…” Misaki began, then sighed and dropped the subject. “And you have the nerve to call me stubborn,” she said, dropping a bag full of everyday supplies on the desk.  Rinnosuke set the article aside and began to browse through it, sorting the teabags from the toilet paper from the aspirin and a single bottle of alchemical painkillers.

“Thank you for running my errands.  How is Inubashiri-san holding up?” Rinnosuke asked as he sorted through the supplies. “She was hit by his blade too.”

“Momiji was only clipped,” Misaki said, picking up a flute from the shelf and inspecting it.  It wasn’t anything actually magical, just 100-yen junk to fill up the shelves, but Misaki picked it up carefully, owing to the brace on her wrist. She would recover from the battle’s wounds, Rinnosuke would not.  “Kasen says that she’ll keep her arm, but it’s weaker now.  Her days as an enforcer might be over.”

“I guess we both got off lucky compared to Cyril-san,” Rinnosuke said, recounting the Frenchman that the Ripper had killed weeks ago.

“We should have acted sooner, Rinnosuke,” she said, setting the flute back down. “He threatened over a dozen people publicly.  We should have done something sooner.”

“I don’t disagree… in retrospect I suppose we were foolish to think the police might intervene,” he admitted. “This neighborhood is so forgotten that I don’t think that the Tengu will even need to deflect questions around Vos’s death.”

Misaki turned away and looked out a window and watched the rain at the mention of the madman. “They shouldn’t have to even worry about that.”

“Misaki, we already talked about this,” Rinnosuke said, not in a mood to tread the argument again.

“Yes, and that doesn’t make it right,” she responded, turning back to face him.  Her whole body language told Rinnosuke she was more than willing to tread the argument again. “He was sick, Rinnosuke.  He needed help.  You saw him, unwashed, uncared for.  He had lost his mind.”

“And who was going to give that help to him?” Rinnosuke asked. “Ibaraki-san comes and goes, she’s not reliable.  Momiji doesn’t know a lick of English, and I’m no recovery psychologist.  The Tengu were in no mood to help him after all he did, and it would have taken months to even figure out how to help him.   And in that time he would have killed again.  You saw him threaten Sakata-san’s kids, the same as I did.”

“Just because it wouldn’t have been easy doesn’t mean he deserved a cleaver in the heart,” Misaki said, her voice cool.  “I know he was dangerous, but… I can’t see why he didn’t deserve better.  There’s still the matter of that girl that was spotted with him.  Now she’s probably lost and alone in a foreign country.”

“That’s not our fault,” Rinnosuke said, not fully believing his words. “He brought her into this.  This is on Vos’s shoulders for involving a child.”

Misaki wandered back over to the desk, but leaned against it, her back to Rinnosuke. “Is that what I’m doing, Rinnosuke?  In raising Reimu, am I involving a child in… this?”  Lightning struck somewhere in the distance, sending a second of dim light across the store.

“I…” Rinnosuke stumbled.  “That’s not…” The traditions of the Hakurei lineage were integral to Gensokyo.  And the Hakurei miko herself was questioning it now.  

“He was involving a child, extending what he saw as a dark but necessary business to the next generation,” she said, her back still to him.  Thunder rumbled quietly outside. “What if he was just some foreign version of my family?

“You’re not the same, Misaki,” Rinnosuke said. “You’re not going on a rampage trying to kill as many Folk as possible, and you certainly aren’t taking Reimu along with you on those times you do have to violently deal with spirits.”

Misaki pushed off the desk and sighed.  “You’re right, Rinnosuke,” she said. “As usual.”

“How is little Reimu?” he asked, trying to shift the topic.

“She’s…” Misaki began, then trailed off. “She’s so bright, Rinnosuke.  She’s learning so much so fast.  It feels like just yesterday she was an infant in my arms, and now… I don’t know what I should do.”

“There’s no shortage of experienced parents and babysitters around,” Rinnosuke remarked, finally stowing the bag of supplies beneath the counter. “I’m sure someone will be able to give you advice.”

“I’m not talking about raising just a girl, I’m talking about raising… a Hakurei,” she said, placing a not insignificant amount of consternation on her family name.  “I started so early, I can hardly remember.  Mom was dragging me around to exorcisms after elementary school.  Is that what I do?  She’s... She’s just five years old…”  She leaned against a shelf and buried her face in her hand, then pulled her hand down her face in anxiety. “I wish mom was still around to ask.”

“You can’t ask the humans of Gensokyo about that kind of thing, but what about those who were around when you were young?” Rinnosuke pointed out. “I know that that vam-pyre thing knew your mother.”

“So did Komakusa-dayuu,” Misaki added. “But…”

“But you don’t want to know, do you?” Rinnosuke said, narrowing his eyes.

Misaki paused her aimless wander around the shop, before turning back to look at him.  She never seemed to stop moving.  Rinnosuke would have thought that having a child would mellow her out and force her to slow down, and he had been resoundingly wrong on that point.  “What if our traditions are just… an albatross around our necks?  Japan is changing so much… Youkai have changed so much… should I just keep doing what my mother and grandmothers did?”  She turned away again.

“I don’t… I don’t know, Misaki,” Rinnosuke said.  He wanted to get up and put a comforting hand around her shoulder… but he couldn’t even stand at the moment.  His injured, numb leg burned with shame.  He was useless now.  Useless to her. “Maybe things need to change.  This isn’t the Tokyo that your family protected, and Reimu will protect a different Tokyo yet.  Only you can choose.  But I know that Gensokyo needs the Hakurei line.  It’s… you’re the best part of this whole city.”  Rinnosuke felt himself blush.  He hadn’t meant to be quite that direct, but he had said it, and couldn’t take it back.

Misaki didn’t immediately respond.  She was slowly pacing.  Rinnosuke spotted a tiny smile on her face at his words, but it passed a second later.  She was thinking far beyond him, as she always did.  She left him the dust so often.  He couldn’t help but glance over at his new cane, something he’d have to become very familiar with soon.  And she’ll only continue to leave you behind, an intrusive thought whispered before he dismissed it.

“And she’s the best thing I’ve ever been a part of.  Rinnosuke,” she said. “I need to ask you for a favor… or a promise, I guess.”  She turned to face him, her expression carved from stone. “If something happens to me… please take care of Reimu.”

He wanted to object to the sudden, ominous question, but he knew better than to shoot her down when she was like this.  Rinnosuke gave her a thin, lopsided smile. “If it comes to that, I'll do all I can.”

Rinnosuke rubbed his eyes and replaced his glasses as he read the news on his tablet. Record rainfall from a typhoon in the south, football scores, changes to tax codes.  Nothing interesting.  He sighed and set the tablet down.  His shop was never very profitable, it had always been a front for supernatural consultations and appraisals, with the occasional tourist wandering in on the side.  But that it was so often dead like this felt like an additional insult.  ‘Not even your pretend business is convincing’ the universe seemed to say.

The front door chimed, and Rinnosuke set aside his tablet to focus on what might be his next customer or client, but saw that it was Reimu Hakurei.  Her old cargo pants and red hoodie were familiar, but her shoes looked newer.  Must have been recently donated, Rinnoksuke guessed.  She was trailed by a ghost, a disheveled-looking woman in comfortable-looking sleepwear.  Reimu waved and called a greeting to Rinnosuke as he straightened in his chair and glanced at the ghost.  She was inspecting all of the wares that Reimu walked right past, fascinated by each knickknack.

“What can I do for you today, Reimu?” he asked, folding his hands professionally.

“I’m looking for info on a creature, but first, I’ve got to use the water closet,” she said.  Rinnosuke let out a tiny chuckle under his breath as she turned ninety degrees and headed for the restroom.  She knew where it was, and didn’t even ask.  The ghost looked a little distraught as Reimu headed off, but stayed in place.  Reimu turned the corner and the sound of a door opening, closing and locking was all that was left.

The ghost looked around a little nervously, so Rinnosuke thought he ought to break the ice.  “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said.  She jumped slightly at being addressed, looking back at the door first to see if someone else had entered before looking back at him.  She pointed to herself and Rinnosuke nodded.

“Oh, hello,” she muttered sheepishly. “I suppose you are Morichika-san?”

“That I am,” he said. “And your name?”

“Izumi Fukuda, sir,” she said, making a plaintive bow. “I’ve heard a bit about you from Hakurei-chan.”

“And I’ve read a bit about you in the Bunbunmaru,” he said, gesturing to a pile of newspapers for sale at the corner of the counter.

“Oh?  Oh, the interview,” she realized. “Yes, that was me.  I suppose you are… around the supernatural a lot then, Morichika-san?”

“I’m a Half,” he said using the outdated and slightly offensive term for a half-Japanese person.  He knew it wasn’t very ‘modern,’ but he was old, and he could call himself whatever he wanted. “A half-Youkai, that is.  I’ve been in and between both worlds all my life.”

“I see,” the ghost said. “I suppose you’ve known Hakurei-chan her whole life, then?  That seems to be her job as well; walking between worlds.”

“Her mother and I worked together,” he said, trying to keep his expression neutral. “I knew her well, but after she died…”  Misaki had always been clear that Rinnosuke was her friend, but there was always a distance between them.  To Rinnosuke, it was like the Hakurei traditions had kept her away.  He had wanted more, but she was very clear of what was expected of her.

“So, are you the one that kept Reimu fed?” Izumi said, a tiny smile in her voice.

“Not just me, but I did donate to the shrine quite generously,” he conceded.

“What about her father?” Izumi asked, looking down at a small turtle skull flower pot; one of the goofier items he had.

“There was no father,” Rinnosuke recited.

“She said that twice, and now you’ve said that, but it can’t be true,” Izumi said.  “Her mother was pregnant, right?  So there was a father.  Where is he?”

“You’re seriously underestimating the power of magic, Fukuda-san,” Rinnosuke said, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.  He let that hang for a second, watching the gears of thought spin behind Izumi’s eyes before speaking again.  “But… not in this case.  Yes, I’m sure that a man out there is her genetic father, but that has never been the way of things for her family.  The Hakurei maidens have a very particular way, and Misaki was no different.  She just showed up one day and was with child.  I never asked, because I never asked her mother, Reimu’s grandmother.”

Izumi looked troubled by that, but she nodded all the same. “And… what exactly happened to her mother?”

“An auto accident,” Rinnosuke said, feeling a familiar pain in his chest. “Hit-and-run on a rainy day.  They never found the car.”  He hadn’t been present, hadn’t seen her body on the street.  The police had asked him to identify the body before the Tengu embedded in their force had been able to take over the investigation, so he had seen her corpse, pale and cleaned in a morgue.  But everytime he thought about her, the image of her sprawled on the wet road, blood leaking from her head came to him.  It was a fiction, a false memory of an event he had only been told about, but it hurt nevertheless. 

“I see,” Izumi muttered, then looked up as the sound of plumbing came from around the corner, followed by an air hand-dryer and then the door unlatching.

“That restroom isn’t sound-proof, you know,” Reimu said. Izumi looked stricken, but recovered quickly. “Maybe you should put some speakers playing muzak or something in there.”

“I’ll consider your valuable feedback,” Rinnosuke said. “Now, what do you need?”

“I need some advice.”  Reimu dug around in her pockets before pulling out a folded piece of paper.   She unfolded it and handed it to Rinnosuke over the counter.  “Do you know what that is?”

There was a scribbled illustration of a creature on the paper. It looked like a snake, but with fingered gills behind its head.  It was drawn with standard pencil, but with spots of red coloring its eyes and gills.

“Something you’ve encountered?” Rinnosuke asked.

“Some things we’ve encountered,” Reimu said, stressing the plural.

“Three times now,” Izumi added. “All over Gensokyo.”

“Two escaped, but I had to put down a third,” Reimu explained. “They’re immaterial, almost like spirits.

“What were they doing?” Rinnosuke asked, staring at the illustration.  It could be some new breed of Youkai… or perhaps something from elsewhere.  A foreign creature, or maybe even from elsewhere in Japan, non-native to the Kanto area.

“Each was fixed around a point of worship,” Reimu explained. “They seemed to almost be… feeding off of the kami inside.  Whatever's going on, they are drawn to minor, budding divinites.”

One would be a curiosity, but three of these seemed to indicate something like an invasive species.  Rinnosuke recalled seeing something like this in a book, or perhaps on a trip somewhere when he was young, but he was foggy on the details.  It had been a very long time.

“It seems familiar, but I can’t place it,” he said, flicking the paper absently, before thinking of a detail. “What color were they besides the red eyes?”

“They were white, like the paper,” Reimu said.  Of course.  It was obvious to her.  Reimu was stranger than her mother.  Then again, Misaki had a mother well into her late twenties.  Reimu, being an orphan at nine years old, naturally acted differently.  She was not her mother, no matter how much the guilt inside Rinnosuke screamed that she was.

“I’ll have to look into this,” Rinnosuke said, tapping the note on the edge. “I’ll tell you what I find in say, a week?”

“Or you could just text me,” Reimu said, pulling an ancient flip-phone from her hoodie pocket.  

“Oh my, you finally joined us in the age of modern communication,” Rinnosuke said, a smile creeping into his voice.  She smiled back and she gave him her number.  He was about to ask how things had been and how she had gotten the phone, when a tourist man and woman entered the shop.  The dark-skinned woman spoke excitedly in English to her companion, and so Reimu stepped away and allowed Rinnosuke to run his shop.  He gave her a small nod as she circled around the two foreigners, both of them marveling at the junk on the shelves, and Izumi gave a wave as she followed Reimu out the front door.

Marisa made sure to drain her coffee before she left the café.  She had class today, then she had to meet back up with Alice and hash out the rest of the reusable charm for Kagerou.  She had a lot to do, so she immediately had alarm bells going off in her head the instant that she saw Professor Kamashirasawa waiting for her outside the classroom, along with a boring-looking faculty member.

“Kirisame-san?” the man asked, half-moving to block her way into the lecture hall.

Marisa fought down her fight-or-flight response and nodded back, barely choking out an affirmative.  The man said to follow him, and a serious look from Professor Kamashirasawa ensured she didn’t bolt.  As she followed him through corridors and hallways, she discreetly emptied her pockets into her messenger bag’s hidden compartment, then sealed it.  It had a bit of illusion magic on it to conceal itself, in case she was ever searched.

Marisa’s instincts proved to be accurate, as she was hauled to the principal’s office. The space was surprisingly modest; no walls full of awards or certificates, just lots of framed photographs and one sumi-e painting. The interior was a little crowded by the four others waiting inside.

She instantly recognized the silver-haired principal from a picture in the hallway, and she knew who the two younger occupants were from first hand-experience: Greasy-Hair and Fuzzy-Lip, the two pests who had hounded Sanae, and who she had hexed.  The severe-looking man with a thinning hairline next to the principal had a certain family resemblance to  Fuzzy-Lip, which let Marisa peg him as the ‘powerful father’ he had bragged about.  All three of them seemed to simmer with barely-restrained rage, but the principal was placid and relaxed.  The man who had brought her there said a pleasantry and closed the door behind her.

Marisa worked to maintain her cool.  So it turned out they were serious about revenge.  No problem: she just had to lie.  She was excellent at lying, in fact.  As the weirdly-dressed parentless female student in the room, the odds were stacked overwhelmingly against her, but she knew how to handle brainless functionaries and entitled manchildren like this.

“Ah, Kirisame-san, please take a seat,” the principal said, gesturing to the third and unoccupied seat.  Marisa bowed and did as she was told.  Her internal pride objected, but this was still a delicate situation: she needed to play her cards right.

“We’ve become aware that there was an… altercation between yourself, Asai-kun and Harada-kun,” he said, gesturing to each of the male students.  “We wanted to get your side before we made a judgment.”

So, it was that close already, was it?  With the father looming over all of them, she supposed it was inevitable.  Expulsion might be right around the corner.  She couldn’t claim total ignorance, there were witnesses.  She’d have to walk a fine line of pretend-innocence.

“What did you do to my son?” the father said, his tone icy. “Chemical attack?  Poisoning?”

“No, I didn’t do anything!” Marisa responded, trying to put just the right amount of innocent confusion in her voice.  The father had jumped right to question, so she would have to wait to bring up what they were doing, if it would help at all.  Sanae was a scholarship student; that had to count for something…

“Asai-san…” the principal said in an exasperated tone, but the father continued.

“My son and his friend were humiliated and traumatized.  They both… Well, they suffered very painful injuries right after they met you, so what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Marisa said, sounding a little unsure.  She needed the principal to intervene if this were to sound natural.

“Don’t lie, you sprayed something on us!” Fuzzy-Lip said, unable to not speak up.

“I didn’t do anything but talk to you!” she responded.  Privately, she thought that was interesting.  They didn’t remember the magic, as was so often the case for most humans after a few days, but had filled in something more natural-sounding.

“Listen here-” the father began.

“QUIET!” the principal half-shouted, staring daggers at the father more than Marisa or the boys.  He adjusted the papers on his desk, settled himself and turned back to Marisa. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, Kirisame-san?”

Alright, it was go-time. “I had gotten out of class, and was waiting for my friend to text me, when I saw these two walking after another friend of mine, Sanae Kochiya.  They were harassing her and they wouldn’t leave her alone.  I stood between them and told them off.  Things got pretty heated, I admit, but I never touched or did anything beyond insulting them… but they called Kochiya-san way worse things!”

The air in the room shifted a bit.  Some of the fire left the father as Marisa mentioned Sanae.  The hand he had placed on his son’s shoulder became a little stiffer.   “Kochiya-san, the girl who won the engineering scholarship?” he asked, and Marisa nodded.

It felt good to see she had played her cards right.  Whatever position the father held, he seemed to regard Sanae highly.  The two dipshits also seemed a little less sure of themselves.

“The Kochiya-san I specifically told you two to leave alone?” he said, looking down at the two boys, who shifted uncomfortably in their seats.  Marisa had the distinct impression that mentioning Sanae might have been the best thing she could have done.

“Be that as it may…”  the principal continued, looking over a piece of paper on his desk. “Multiple eyewitnesses say you brandished a glass container of some sort at them.  What was that, Kirisame-san?”

When Marisa channeled embarrassment this time, it wasn’t entirely an act. “I… well, that was just… a sort of act…” she couldn’t say it was nothing, but she needed to say something about it. “I’m researching some astrology-crystal stuff for an art history project, and I decided to try and… get them to back off… you know, by telling them what might happen if they pushed me.”

Shit.  That did not sound as good as she hoped it would.

“You threatened them with… what, magic?” the principal said.

“No, I just sort of… said some stuff,” she said, feeling panic rising. “It wasn’t real.  It’s all just new-age fortune-telling stuff, I just wanted them to go away.  They must have… just thought it was real… some placebo thing.”

The principal leaned back in his plush leather chair, considering.  Marisa stole a glance at the two boys to find them looking more confident, but the father still looked concerned.  “You may have done nothing to them physically…” the principal said, slowly. “But supposing that is true… The plausibility of the threat isn’t terribly relevant here.”

“I was just acting tough,” Marisa tried to say.

“Even if the threat was a joke,” the principal said, almost speaking over her.  “indirectly threatening another student-” 

“Sorry I’m late,” came a female voice from behind Marisa.  She turned to see Professor Kamishirasawa opening the door, her light hair tied in a long braid behind her. “You wanted to see me, Principal?”

“Yes, Keine,” the principal said, gesturing for the professor to come forward. “You’re teaching the only class at the school that Kirisame-san is attending, so I wanted your opinion.   How is she as a student?  Does the incident you were told about sound like her?”

Professor Kamishirasawa strode forward, and for a brief moment she made eye contact with Marisa.  She tried to put as much pleading, as much solidarity and as much begging into that second of eye contact as possible.  The professor’s red-brown eyes betrayed nothing back to Marisa, as she adjusted her blazer and looked around at the room and the men in it.

“Marisa is a very diligent student,” Kamishirasawa said, evenly. “She’s not perfect, but she’s shown considerable improvement over the course of the semester.  She’s one of the most passionate students in my class, and she’s often one of the best.  Which is a lot more than can be said for some students…” Her gaze fell to the two boys, who both began to shrink away.

“Oh?” the father said, his voice strangely flat. “What do you mean, professor?”

“Both Kintoko and Daiji here have been absent for a large portion of the Japanese History class they are taking, and even when they are there, their attentiveness is… lacking.  And both their grades currently reflect that, Dean Asai.”

The mood in the room grew icy, as the focus was shifted away from Marisa to the two boys.  Marisa could see the despair blooming in both their eyes and the color leave their faces, and she saw how the father’s once-comforting hand on Fuzzy-Lip’s shoulder now curled into a death-grip.  Marisa actually felt a pang of sympathy for him.

“Is.  That.  So,” the father said, his voice filled with cold fury. “And I wasn’t already made aware of this because…?”

“I was attempting to give them a chance to turn their grades around in my class…” Professor Kamishirasawa said, her tone casual yet remorseful. “But seeing as they are now part of a case of harassment against another student, I feel that period of grace has expired.”

“Thank you, professor,” the father said, almost pulling Fuzzy-Lip up by the shoulder.  He began walking his son out, grabbing the Greasy-Hair by the back of his jacket and marching both of them out of the office. “I’ll make sure to deal with this, and inform Harada-san’s parents.  In light of this new information, please consider the matter dropped, principal.  Have a good day, ladies.”

The dean hauled the two boys away, and as the door shut behind him, leaving the principal’s office in silence.  

“Well, seeing as the complaint has been dropped, I suppose there’s not much to say.  Just a strange case of two boys acting out, I suppose.  You are both free to go,” the principal commented, closing the manila folder on his desk.

“Thank you sir,” Marisa blurted out, glad to be saved by the skin of her teeth.  She stood to try and beat a hasty retreat, but before she took even a single step, a hand closed around her bicep like a vice.  Professor Kamishirasawa’s expression was a polite smile, but the iron grip she held on Marisa’s arm said otherwise.

“My class could probably use the study hall time anyway,” she said, her voice more than a little thin. “Let’s not keep them waiting too long, Kirisame-san.”

Marisa thought about resisting, but couldn't see the point as Professor Kamishirasawa forced her out of the principal’s office and into the closest empty room, which was one of the small meeting areas.  She almost threw Marisa into the room before she turned and fixed Marisa with a very pointed stare.  The smile was gone.

“What,” she began, her voice brittle. “Were you thinking ?”

“I stood up for a student!” Marisa said, trying to dodge around the major issue of magic.

“You cursed a student not twenty minutes after you lied about being a mage to me,” Kamishirasawa said.  So much for dodging this particular discussion.  Yet the part of Marisa’s mind that wasn’t withering away under the building fury in Kamishirasawa’s voice wanted to know more; what exactly did the professor know?   “I knew you were lying to me, but I thought you were smarter than that!”

Ouch. “You… knew?” Marisa asked, unable to stop herself.

“Please, Kirisame,” she said, dismissively. “What other conclusion is there when you arrive at my class twenty minutes late, reeking of ozone?  Or that time you spent the entire class researching fungal growth rates while consulting star charts?  Or how you seemed to know more about alchemy than any nineteen-year-old has any right to?  What other conclusion could I possibly draw?”

“That I’m… just weird?” Marisa attempted.

The professor didn’t take that bait. “Who’s teaching you?” she asked.

“What?” Marisa said, acting a little dumb.

“What idiot in this city was reckless enough to teach a teenager magic, then let her loose on a college campus and not tell anyone?” Kamishirasawa asked again, undissuaded.  

“No one,” Marisa said, deciding to drop all but one lie. “I’m self-taught.  I learned it all from scraps and half-finished formulae.” She had the overpowering certainty that if she told the professor about the burned spellbook, she would confiscate it somehow.

That gave Kamishirasawa pause.  She looked Marisa up and down again, seeming to re-appraise her.  “A self-taught human mage?”

“Yeah,” Marisa said, feeling her pride swell a little bit. “I had some tutors along the way, but I’m nobody’s apprentice!”

Kamishirasawa suddenly looked very tired to Marisa’s eyes.  She took a step over and seemed to collapse into a nearby chair.  “That certainly explains your behavior.  It certainly explains quite a lot about you.”

“What did I even do wrong?” Marisa pressed on. “Those two were assholes, harassing another student.  I didn’t hurt them at all, they did all the damage to themselves!”

 “The problem, Marisa, is that everytime the average person sees magic, they remember more of it!” Kamishirasawa countered. “One encounter with the supernatural is a vague memory, but the next time they see a tengu glide between buildings or a tsukumogami goes barreling down the street, it will stick in their mind a little bit easier.  Each breach of normality compounds on the last, until the veil falls away and they can’t unsee it.  And that’s how you get men like the Silver Ripper!”

Marisa was stunned.  “Just thought… I mean, I did notice that some people were just resistant to it.  Like… suggestibility and whatnot.”

“There are different tolerances between people, but the mind’s ability to let go of strange occurrences erodes with each encounter,” the professor said, making an odd, forceful gesture at Marisa. “And maybe it wouldn’t be an issue if you had shot sparks or levitated something out of the corner of their eyes, but you cursed them, directly.   They aren’t forgetting that anytime soon.”

“But…” Marisa protested. “They think I used a chemical on them.  They can’t remember what happened.”

“No, they said you used a chemical,” Kamashirasawa corrected. “What they said and what they remember are not guaranteed to be the same.  They wanted you punished, so they most likely invented a more plausible story.”  She leaned back in the chair and pinched the bridge of her nose, which caused her glasses to ride up to her forehead.  “Oh this is a mess.”

Marisa felt guilt flood her mind, against all her good senses.  “I just wanted to protect a friend.”

“I’m sure you did,” she responded.

“Am I… still welcome here?  At this school?  In… your class?” Marisa asked as she tried to tell herself that it was all purely a matter of pragmatics.  She didn’t have any emotional attachment.  Fond feelings for an institution, her?  Ridiculous.

“I didn’t stand up for you and snitch on the Dean of Engineering’s kid just to kick you out,” the older woman said.  “Despite Tokyo’s rocky history, we need a new generation of mages.  I can’t tell you to give up on your passion.  You can continue to attend my class… it’s probably safer that way.”

“Thank you, Professor Kamashirasawa,” Marisa said, giving a little bow.

“I’d prefer you just call me Keine outside class… but that’s a whole other matter,” she said, “At least the full moon is close… This can still be fixed.”

“What, what do you mean ‘fixed’?” Marisa said, her ears almost perking up at the new information.  “And what about the full moon?  What are you, professor?”

She kept her eyes closed for a long moment, and Marisa could recognize the furrow of deep thought between her eyebrows.  She opened her eyes at last, then settled herself.  She replaced her glasses on her face, tucked the locks of her pale hair that had come loose behind her ears, and smoothed the wrinkles in the skirt she was wearing.

“I suppose you need to know,” she said. “I can’t rightly stop you from learning magic, and you should know.  What I am is not as relevant as what I can do :  I’m what you would call… a problem-solver for the tengu.  And anyone else who causes a problem around Folk in Tokyo.”

“Are you… an assassin?” Marisa asked, feeling herself grow cold.  Keine was still between her and the door, she had no chance to run. “Some kind of… moonlight killer?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” she laughed. “The name the tengu have for me is the ‘historiaphage’ ; the past-eater.  Every full moon, I can remove people’s past experiences.”

Marisa blinked.  Was that… reality editing?  The holy grail of all magic? “You mean… you make it so things never happened?”

Keine chuckled again, flicking a loose lock of her light blue hair. “Nothing quite that special… but I can remove memories.  History is not the events of the past, but a person’s experience of it, so if that is removed… It’s like it never happened for them.”

“And so… you’re like the men in black?” Marisa asked, suddenly very self-conscious of all the times she might have made a mess for her now-teacher. “You run around and make sure no one knows about magic at all?”

“Not everyone,” Keine countered.  “Some, like yourself, want to participate in the supernatural world.  There’s an old grandfather in Matsushita who’s found himself to be the adoptive guardian of several Youkai.  He’s fine, he won’t do anything stupid.  No, what I focus on are those who might do something violent or dangerous.”

“And I’m assuming the tengu planted in every agency in Tokyo help with spotting those people?” Marisa asked, a few stray details about how the tengu worked sliding into place in her head.

“You are correct, Marisa,” the professor said. “So, I’ll check up with Asai-san and Harada-san this coming week.”

“I… I didn’t mean to really hurt them,” Marisa half-fibbed. “I just wanted to teach them a lesson.”

“I’m all for teaching lessons, Marisa,” Keine returned. “So here is my first truly magical lesson to you: don’t be so eager to show magic in the open.  The more people who learn about magic and Youkai without wanting to know, the more dangerous it is… for everyone.  Because someone out there is going to not respond well to the knowledge that magic is real.  And then the history of fifteen years ago will repeat itself.”

Marisa wanted to object to Keine’s understanding of the Silver Ripper, but it wasn’t worth it.  She simply nodded as Keine stood from the chair. “I understand, professor.”

“Very well,” Keine said. “If you have questions or need advice on thaumaturgy, I’m always available, but I’m no wizard, so I can only offer advice.”  She walked over to the door and opened it, gesturing for Marisa to exit the room.

“I understand,” Marisa intoned, trying to sound grateful.

“Good.  Then let’s get back to class.  We have a test on sculptures from across the world soon, and your pop quiz score wasn’t great.”

Chapter Text

“There used to be a row of bushes here,” Yuyuko said, gesturing down an overgrown path. “And some flowers here.”  Youmu nodded as she sketched out the courtyard on a notepad.  She had returned to the mansion that Yuyuko resided in and was relieved to find the ghostly woman more or less waiting for her.  She had since been describing what the small garden area was like before it had become completely overgrown over the past decade of neglect.

Youmu sketched out what Yuyuko described of the way it used to be, then wandered about the space for a while longer, taking measurements and sketching her own ideas for the space.  Several of the trees and plants that Yuyuko had described were impractical to get on her budget, but she could make due.  She also wanted to put her own spin on it.

As they chatted, soft music filled the space.  Youmu had brought her small wireless speaker and she let her work playlist fill the garden.  As Youmu concentrated on some quick math about the total area and materials she would need, Yuyuko let her think and listened to the techno-orchestral track that had started playing.

“I have to say, based on what the last Hakurei said about new music, I did not expect to enjoy this more modern style,” Yuyuko said, gracefully spinning through the air with the song’s violin, her pink hair floating off her shoulders. “That backing behind the strings is very interesting.”

Unfortunately for Youmu’s amusement, Yuyuko had absorbed a fairly comprehensive understanding of the modern world through the psychic chain of mental contact between her, the demon tree, Youen and Youmu.  Youmu had been looking forward to seeing the centuries-old ghost marvel at her smartphone and speaker, but she had instantly known all about it, even asking her what genres she enjoyed.

Still, watching the ghostly woman enjoy a more modern beat was its own kind of delightfully absurd pleasure.

“You seem to be something of a connoisseur of the arts, Saigyouji-san,”  Youmu commented as the song changed to one with lyrics, and she saw Yuyuko stop her dancing and listen to the words with a look of deep consideration.

“Family business, I guess you would call it,” Yuyuko said. “My father was a famous poet.  I wrote a fair amount before my death.  And now, I suppose that it… fills some part of me.  The snippets that float in from that music school aren’t sufficient.”

“So it’s more than just enjoying the art?” Youmu asked.  She was partly distracted by trying to figure out exactly what to do with the grass of the garden.

“I suppose,” Yuyuko responded. “It’s something to do with the tree, I think.”

That was concerning. “What do you mean?” Youmu asked, flipping to a new page on her notepad.

“I often feel… Well, nothing.  Being a ghost involves quite a bit of absence; a large void where one’s life was.  But sometimes I feel… ‘hungry’ would be the best term, I think.  I shouldn’t, but I do.  Yukari thought that it was the hunger of the Ayakashi, raging behind the seal, reflected in me.  Whatever the case, that strange, formless longing is lessened by art.  Stories, songs, paintings.  It’s something to do, if nothing else.”

Youmu smirked. “You’re in luck then,” she said, jotting down the dimensions of each side of the garden.  “We’re in a golden age of access to art.”

“Yes.  The internet, correct?” Yuyuko asked.

Youmu nodded.  “Do you know about movies?”

“I had heard of moving pictures before, but I also know that one can find almost any movie or ‘television show’ online,” Yuyuko said, a smirk on her lips.

“I’ll bring my laptop next time so you can watch something while I pull weeds,” Youmu said, storing her pen in the binder and closing it.

“That sounds lovely,” Yuyuko responded. “For me, at least.  Now, can you put that other style of music with the heavy beat back on?  I’d like to hear more of it.  ‘Dubstep,’ I think you called it?”

“These need to be a richer red,” Flandre said, wandering around a mannequin.  Sakuya stood by as she inspected several of her outfits, in the large entertainment area of the penthouse.  She wasn’t alone this time; several aides and tailors were scribbling notes as Flandre wandered in lazy loops around a series of 4 mannequins, each with a different mockup outfit.  The clothes themselves shared the same motif, red as a primary color with a rainbow trim, often in the form of crystal decorations.  It mirrored Flandre’s own cursed wings.  She dropped to one knee to look at the plastic gem hanging off the edge of one of the dresses, giving it an experimental flick.

“I’m not sure that this plastic has the right look, it’s too clear-looking, it needs to sparkle,” Flandre said, rising back to her feet.  She had glasses on that helped distract from her black eyes, and her crystalline wings were folded down around her waist, so they looked like part of her dress.  Only one of the designers present was privy to her true nature, but the rest just believed Flandre to be an eccentric teenager with a real eye for fashion and a very wealthy family.

“We can’t have actual glass or crystal, it’s too expensive,” remarked one of the tailors, a mousy woman in a brown suit.  “And maybe dangerous.”

“Not to mention heavy,” said another, a tall, thin man with very long hair. “It would ruin the silhouette.”

“What about… reflective material inside the plastic?” suggested the one who knew her nature, an older man, silver-haired and dressed in a pink-trimmed suit.

“Good idea, Katokawa-san,” Flandre said.  He was the one she and Sakuya had known the longest, and the first one to be part of this project, some five years ago. “And I want a sample with different kinds of plastic to see how they look.  Just a mockup for the crystal, no need to redo the whole dress.  As for this cardigan…”

And so it went, as Flandre refined her vision for the clothing line.  She focused on the few high-fashion pieces, then reviewed documents for the designer dresses that would actually be sold.  All the while, Sakuya observed and ran errands, carried documents and served refreshments.

Eventually, the meeting ran its course and the rest of the staff was dismissed, with the promise of meeting again at the end of the week.  Sakuya walked them to the private elevator, operated it, and sent them on their way.  She returned to the penthouse to find Flandre chatting with Katokawa as she looked through some of her notes.

“I think you should stick to the rainbow crystal motif for now,” he advised. “It’s become a recognizable symbol of the brand you are building.  Save the all-red or other variants for later, they’ll make good limited items.”  Flandre thanked him as he bowed and left.

Sakuya opened the door for him and closed it behind him.  “Is the venue for the premiere set, Katokawa-san?” she asked.

“Mostly” he said, removing his round spectacles and cleaning them with a cloth.  “I managed to secure a location with some difficulty.  Holding the debut of a major fashion brand after dark is… unusual.”

“Well, we can’t very well have the wunderkind behind the new line of clothes burst into flames on the red carpet, can we?” Sakuya said.

“Oh you’d be surprised at some of the stunts my other clients have tried to pull,” he retorted. “Even so, she doesn’t seem all that interested in the premiere, to be honest.  She’s the most focused designer I’ve ever worked with.  She’s in it for the art, not the glory.”  He paused, as they entered the elevator down, then returned his glasses to his face as Sakuya pressed the button for the ground floor.  “I suppose it comes with being as long-lived as she is.  The drama must wear on you.”

Sakuya privately disagreed, as all of Flandre’s designs were some of the most dramatic articles of clothing she’d ever seen before, but she could see Katokawa’s point: Flandre was most often focused on her work and how it would play to the crowd, rather than imagining how she would act at the upcoming show.  The elevator reached the bottom, and Sakuya walked the old man to his waiting car on the curb while they set up their next appointment.  She closed the door for him and watched as his chauffeur drove away.

She returned back to the penthouse to check on Flandre, who was back at her drawing table, sketching over existing designs, always iterating.  She had removed her glasses and let her crystalline wings out, and she was talking a deep drink from a thermos of blood; Sakuya could tell instantly from the stench.  Both Scarlet sisters avoided drinking blood in any stranger's company, but a multi-hour meeting had probably made Flandre quite thirsty.  The scent of blood had never bothered Sakuya; she’d grown used to it long before she had been adopted by Remilia.

“What's next on the schedule, Sakuya?” Flandre asked, setting the thermos down and licking her lips.

“Nothing further, that was the last thing scheduled,” Sakuya said, collecting the empty blood bag from the table beside her and looking at her phone for the day’s plan. “Though, that is due to Lady Remilia clearing the rest of your day and telling you to get out and about tonight.”

“Remi’s such a busybody,” Flandre huffed. “She thinks she’s still my big sister having to look out for me after five hundred years.” She pushed one of the legs of her desk with her foot, which caused her to freely rotate on her stool. It wasn’t a fast rotation, but it did cause the crystal parts of her wings to clink against each other softly, not unlike a wind chime. “I suppose I do need a break.  We’re still a few weeks out from the show.  Maybe I should go see a movie, find fresh inspiration and fresher blood,” she said, swirling in place as the rotation of the stool seat slowed.

Sakuya nodded, and they discussed movies and plans in the coming weeks, with Flandre eventually dismissing her.  Sakuya bowed and left Flandre’s study, as it was time for her to prepare a meal for her mistress.  The two sisters had opposite feeding habits: whereas Flandre would gulp down bagged blood with little care and only occasionally disappeared to hunt for people healthy enough to survive a good draining, Remilia’s habits were regular and she preferred a set schedule to her feedings.  Even when she sought out fresh blood, she had created a small network of semi-willing thralls.  It was something Remilia preferred to do on her own, swooping across Tokyo to suck blood from the lonely and isolated, but Sakuya still had to deal with it on occasion. 

Sakuya made her way around the penthouse, checking emails on her phone as she moved to Remilia’s preferred place of residence: the reading room.  She pulled the large red door and entered, her eyes adjusting to the low light.  Vampire eyes were more acute in darkness than human eyes, something that greatly helped with Remilia’s aesthetic tastes.  The rooms' walls were bookshelves, but it was rare that Sakuya’s master actually read them, she preferred to conduct most of her business here, and she was often found reading news and business journals on a tablet.  As Sakuya wordlessly moved to the attached kitchenette and retrieved a bag of B+ type blood (another difference, Remilia was particular about coordinating flavors with her schedule, Flandre drank what she could find) from a small refrigerator and squeezed several tablespoons of it into a teacup.  Sakuya replaced the bag in the fridge and stirred in a pinch of crushed cinnamon and a spurt of lemon juice to the cup of blood, before washing the spoon and lifting the cup and saucer.

Remilia was sitting in a large, high-backed chair that would have been at home in a Victorian manor, scrolling through something on her tablet.  On the other side of the room, a large flat-screen television played a decade-old daytime melodrama at low volume, serving as background noise for Remilia and the light by which Sakuya could see.  Remilia looked up from her reading as Sakuya approached and wordlessly snapped her fingers, raising the lights and lowering the volume of the show even further.

“Thank you Sakuya.  On time as always,” Remilia said as she accepted the teacup and saucer from Sakuya.  Seeing as there were no meetings or appearances planned for the week for her, Remilia was dressed in a much simpler and more modest outfit.  A plain white and red sweater, with a stitched skirt and dark leggings.  Remilia took her time drinking the blood, savoring flavor in a way Sakuya had never seen Flandre do.

“I think we may need to acquire a new accounting firm,” Remilia remarked as she set her cup on the side table and licked her teeth behind her lips. “These new tax laws are causing a few issues, and I want a department dedicated to ironing them out.”

“Before or after Lady Flandre’s brand premiere?” Sakuya asked, sitting down on another chair and retrieving a folder set on the central table.  The leather-bound documents binder/folder was always full of tasks that Sakuya would need to handle and resources to accomplish them.

“After, I think,” Remilia remarked. “It will look like business growth for the company after a successful show. You can hold interviews and research what firms would be pliable to reorganize while I am resting.”

“Preparing for the premiere, I may assume?” Sakuya said, flipping through the documents.

“I will be… resting through the show,” Remilia said, an air of reticence in her voice.

That caused Sakuya to pause.  Remilia had funded Flandre’s dream, devoted company resources to it, even created the somewhat public persona of Mircalla Lioncourt to help facilitate it… and she wouldn’t be at the culmination of that dream?

“You… won’t attend Lady Flandre’s show?” Sakuya asked, even though she knew better than to ask. “She… well, she’ll certainly miss you.  This is what she’s worked for decades to do…”

Remilia looked over at Sakuya with a mix of familiar warmth and cold disinterest.  It was an odd expression, one that Sakuya suspected you had to be dead to really pull off.  “Sometimes I forget how young you are.  I had Meiling and Patchy around for so long, they both know how this goes.”

“Lady Remilia?” Sakuya asked, unsure what she meant.

“Being a vampire means being forever arrested at the moment you were turned,” Remilia said. Sakuya stowed her questions and listened; Remilia only used this tone when she was discussing something personal, which was quite rare. “Flan was a creative child, unsure what she wanted to do when she was bitten by our sire.”  She paused, then continued. “Flan has been studying fashion for as long as you’ve been with us, Sakuya.  She was reading magazines and books on clothes and the process of designing them before you even had that name.  But what do you think she was doing before that?” she said, picking her teacup back up and taking a drink from it.

In truth, Sakuya had not given it much thought.  “I suppose… she was…” She could see where this was going, but couldn’t quite articulate it.  Besides, she knew Remilia would explain it.

“She began her career in clothing design some twenty years ago now,” Remilia said, waving her teacup in a vague gesture.  “Before that, she had a quiet time programming computers and designing software for about thirty years.  Before that, she was fascinated by architecture, during our stay in India.  Before that, in America, she spent twenty-five years learning to cook before giving that up.  Even back in Europe, before the Great War, she wrote books and poems, and before that she had a brief stint in woodcarving.”

Remilia stood, setting her cup down and walking away for a moment to browse the bookshelves.  “She wants to create, and she wants to improve herself… She wants to grow up, Sakuya.  But she can’t.  She can grow her skills and improve her craft, but her simulacrum of a human career can only last so long.  After a few decades, she will have done all a human could and grow bored.  She will need to find a new field to explore, a new human life to imitate.  Because if she does not…” she trailed off.

“She is my sister.  We lived together, we were turned together, and we destroyed our sire together.  I will do all I can to let her live all dreams he stole from her, but you must understand my disinterest when I have seen her do all this a dozen times before,” Remilia said. “She understands.  She knows that I love her, but we are both bound by who we were when we were bitten.” 

Sakuya felt a tinge of embarrassment fill her face with heat as she remembered just how much older her master was than her.  “I understand, my lady,” she said, standing with the folder in hand. “I will work to ensure that all goes smoothly during your upcoming rest.”

Remilia turned back to Sakuya, a tiny smile on her lips. “Thank you, Sakuya.”

Sanae stood in front of her closet, debating what to take with her.  It was her first time packing for a move and not for a trip, and she was taking the opportunity to look through all her old clothes.  She’d had a large refresh of her wardrobe relatively recently, but some old clothes still remained, so she was taking the opportunity to throw out what little remained.  Already a small pile of old pants and underwear sat nearby, ready for a new home.

On her desk sat the letter she’d read a hundred times, the letter her mother and father had barely believed: a letter informing Sanae of her full scholarship to Tokyo Terakoya University; room, board and tuition all paid for.  She’d hardly believed it, but multiple phone calls to the faculty had confirmed it: she was going to Tokyo.

So now she stood in front of her clothes, wondering what she should take and what she should leave behind.  It was a way to totally reinvent herself, just like she wanted, but throwing out everything she used to wear before seemed like a step too far.  Some of it still fit, and she needed some loungewear.  A few of the graphic tees were a bit sentimental, after all… But still, she wanted a fresh start.

As she took an old t-shirt off the hanger there was a knock at her door, followed by her father’s voice.  “Sanae, may I come in?” he asked from the hallway.

“Yeah,” she said, dreading what was to come. He was using his ‘important talk’ tone of voice.  He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.  He was a stout man, with wide, strong shoulders; something Sanae had inherited.  She had avoided getting her father’s short height, and instead she took after her mother in that regard, getting her stature if not her overly thin physique.

“Are you sure that you want to donate these?” he asked, a folded pile of old clothes under his arm.  He pulled them out and presented them to Sanae.  

She felt her eyebrows furrow involuntarily.  “I’m not keeping my old high school uniform, dad.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “What if you get… nostalgic?”

“Dad…” Sanae sighed, exasperated, sitting down on her bed.  She was not in a mood to go over this again. “I’m not going to wear it again.  It’s a boy’s uniform.”

Her father looked away, then shook his head, and dropped the uniforms on her desk chair.  He walked over and sat down on her bed next to her.

“I’m sorry, Sanae.  I… I’m just afraid for you,” he said, setting one of his meaty hands on her arm. “My little girl is going to the big city… and I’m scared…”

“I know, dad,” she said.  Her anger at his faux pas quickly bled away.  She couldn’t be too mad; both her mother and father had fully supported her; an occasional wrong pronoun and tone deaf comment was far better than the way others had reacted; there were friends that she had hoped to remain in contact with after high school that she would not speak with now.

“I know engineering is your passion,” he said. “You’re a lot smarter on all that than I am.  You fixed equipment that I thought was done for, and your designs are so… clever.  I always wanted you to be able to do what you wanted, but…”  He sighed again. “There are parts of raising a child that there are no answers for.  You want them to accomplish their dreams… but you also want to protect them.”

“I’m nineteen, dad,” she said, wanting to just listen but feeling a little petulant.  “I’m going to have to face the world sooner or later.”

“You may be nineteen, but you are still my daughter,” he said, squeezing her arm on the last word. “I'm scared, Sanae.  Because I love my girl, and she is going out into the world… and the world doesn’t love her, not like we do.”  His hand slid off her arm, and he clasped them together between his legs.  “I wish I could say otherwise, I wish I could tell you that it will all be fine… But I can’t.  I love you so much, and your mother loves you so much… And you probably know more than either of us that the deck is stacked against you.”

Sanae realized she had been gripping the blue fabric of her dress in both hands.  This talk was getting to her more than she had thought.  She tried to subtly let go and smooth her dress as she looked over into her father’s dark eyes.

“It’s not just you being rural, it’s not just your hair…” he said, gesturing to the tips of her hair.  They were bleached a bright green by whatever condition had also taken hold of her mother.  The doctors had been stumped, but at least Sanae had only had her hair change color and had been spared from the strange withering that had weakened her mother and left her immobile in a bed downstairs.  The image of her painfully thin mother, barely able to sit up floated into her mind.

“I wanted to send you to the best school, but with your mother the way she is…” he said. “But the gods answered our prayers, and that school chose you as their star student.  I’m so, so happy for you Sanae, but at the same time, we’ll miss you.”

“I know, dad,” she said, unable to come up with anything else.  She felt her eyes watering, just a bit.

“So I want you to be safe in Tokyo, okay?” he said, his tone shifting from a rare bout of emotional vulnerability to a more certain, fatherly tone. “I’ve spoken with the Dean of Engineering, the one who sent that letter.  He said he’ll look out for you as best he can.”  He reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Thanks dad,” she said, squeezing back.  His hand moved to the bracelet she had gotten at the local shrine, the one of a snake biting its own tail.  It was something she enjoyed, a little piece of Suwa to take with her, in her mind.

“I want you to make new friends, to study hard, and I want you to remember we love you.  No matter what happens in the big city, never forget where you came from,” he said, and he withdrew a small box from his pocket.  He opened it, showing her the contents.

“I saw you looking at this when we visited the shrine,” he said, showing her a small frog hairpin. “But your hair wasn’t quite long enough back then.  So I figured that you should have it.  To take another piece of home with you.”

Sanae gently lifted the enamel hairpin out of the box.  The snake-and-frog iconography was endemic to the shrines of Suwa.  It was said to represent the Suwa Myōjin and Moriya-no-Okami, the two gods who fought and then allied in the mythology of the area.  Sanae had always loved the tale of gods learning to live with one another; it felt very… forward-thinking.  And she couldn’t forget the personal connection: according to her great-aunt, her mother’s family had old stories about her ansestor’s close encounters with Moriya-no-Okami.

“Let me,” her father said, gently taking the pin from her hands and affixing it into her hair.  Sanae stood, then looked into the mirror against her wall.  The pin had a reassuring weight to it, hanging in her hair, clipped near her temple.  The green of the frog’s face glinted and caught the light in a way that managed to compliment the green tinge that had crept up her hair.  It made her look… no, it made her feel complete.  She smiled, and turned back to her father as he stood from the bed.

“You belong wherever you want to be, Sanae,” he said, a smile on his lips and sadness in his eyes. “Don’t let anyone else tell you that you don’t.”

“Thank you, dad,” she said, her voice slightly unsteady. “I promise I won’t let you and mom down.”  Her father smiled as she flung herself at him in a hug.  No matter what life would throw at her, she would remember her family, and remember her home.

Sanae blinked, overwhelmed by the recollection.  Sitting in the drab, cramped apartment and picking her outfit for the day made that emotional memory feel so distant.

She thought she’d been prepared to move to Tokyo.  She’d seen it on TV and even visited a relative once, but she’d been wrong.  Living in the big city was a struggle.  People were so much less friendly, so much more focused on themselves and their own life.  When she tried to be friendly, most people looked annoyed with her.  She mostly coped by keeping her head down and focusing on her studies.  She was at the top of her classes, just as she had hoped, but she hadn’t made many friends.

Just Marisa, really.

Sanae looked down at her bracelet, remembering the trip to the shrine where she had gotten it.  She’d always liked the shrines and temples in her hometown, but hadn’t had time to visit one in Tokyo.  Her thoughts turned to Reimu, Marisa’s apparent friend.  She seemed so distant, so… unfriendly.  Sanae wanted to know her better, but she had the distinct impression that she would find that difficult.  It wasn’t just her curt demeanor… there was something else.

It was the chill that had surrounded her.  It sent a shiver up Sanae’s spine when they had talked.  It was like death hung around Reimu, and seeing as she described herself as just a shrine maiden with no real job, Sanae was suspicious of her against her better judgment.  And then there was the most disquieting thing: for just a moment, she could have sworn she had seen a figure whispering in Marisa’s ear after Reimu had arrived.  She had blinked and it had disappeared, but the image of a blurry shape leaning over Marisa wouldn’t leave her mind. 

What if…

No, that was ridiculous.  Marisa was some kind of witch, she would know if she or Reimu were haunted.

Wouldn’t she?

Sanae shook her head and stood from her bed.  She still had a class to get to and breakfast to get on the way.  She dreaded that; city food was yet another thing she had yet to get used to.  She got dressed in a simple sweater and long skirt, and checked herself in the mirror as she put her hairpin in.  She didn’t want to admit it, but her hair was growing more green.  it was not intensifying in shade, but the green tips were creeping up her hair in fits and shoots.  The streak that ran up from the side was almost level with her eyes now.  She didn’t let it bother her; physically she felt fine, better than fine even.  She finished dressing, threw on some makeup, grabbed her water bottle, took her medications and pills, stuffed her laptop into her bookbag, and headed out.

What Sanae did not see as she rushed out of her studio apartment was a hazy shape coiled around her bedside lamp.  The shape was long and white, wrapped around the lamp like a ghostly snake with red eyes.

Chapter Text

Byakuren weaved her way through a crowd.  Though out of the way, this part of the city was often quite busy.  After consulting with Ichirin, she had settled on a course of action: delegation.  She may have been a thousand years old and superhumanly strong, but she was ultimately just one woman.  There was only so much she could do, and when it came to the subtler parts of this mystery, there were skills she lacked outright.  So, it was time to recruit the aid of one who possessed some of those soft skills.

She let the current of foot traffic carry her as she turned a corner.  She was taller than most of the crowd, so she did her best to blend in otherwise.  The jacket had worked well before, so she was trying it again, alongside a long gray dress.

At last, she arrived where she wanted to be: an office space.  These small buildings littered most modern cities, if she understood correctly, and they were often filled with doctor’s offices, law firms and other businesses with no ability to purchase their own building in the cramped confines of a city.  She found the business name on the plate outside, then walked up the stairs to the listed suite.  Four floors up, she found the door she was looking for, with the logo and name printed in the frosted glass: an eye with a spiral for an iris and pupil, and “Third Eye Investigations” bending around it.  Byakuren opened the door and stepped inside.

She had seen enough of the modern world that she expected a very organized office behind the door, but instead the thing she noticed first was the smell of animals.  The front of the space was a small office with a desk and multiple chairs in front of it, with a sofa to the side, alongside bookshelves and filing cabinet.  The decor was minimal, with essentially bare walls.  There was another room around a corner, and as soon as Byakuren closed the door, she heard a voice from around the corner.

“Just one moment,” the voice called, light but with a rasp to it.  Byakuren busied herself by looking around.  She had heard the sound of a small pet -most likely a cat- padding away as she entered, but looking around she also saw a small birdcage in the far corner, near the sliding glass door to the balcony.  But right as she noticed that she heard a sound to her right.  

She turned to see a large raven perched on a wooden bracket made to look like a tree branch.  Byakuren did not startle easily, but the presence of the animal certainly was surprising.  She had expected a much smaller songbird, not this large black corvid.  It looked at her with curiosity in its eyes, but no fear; she rarely provoked that kind of reaction in beasts.  She followed a faint gap in its oily black plumage that started around its chest, down to its leg.  A scar, if Byakuren had to guess.  Further damage was apparent in the bird’s lack of a right foot.  In its place there seemed to be a kind of plastic clamp that served the same purpose.  The crow operated the prosthesis with skill as it adjusted its position in the perch, moving a little closer to her.

“Hello there,” she said, reaching her hand out. The raven simply cocked its head.  Byakuren let it inspect her fingers, as it looked at them, then bit at her a little bit and pecked her once, almost experimentally.  Byakuren held her hand stead, slowly moving closer, until she could pet the bird.  The raven let her touch it, and she gently scratched the back of its neck.  The bird let out a little warble of pleasure.

Footsteps approached around the corner, and a figure emerged from the second room.  “I’m so sorry for the delay, I was occu…” the figure said, faltering as Byakuren turned to face them.  She was short; short and small, but with a tension in her body that spoke of experience, but not age.  Byakuren would have guessed she was no older than her early twenties, probably actually her late teens.  Her slightly round face spoke of a relatively recent improvement in living conditions, something Byakuren was familiar with from her time helping the destitute.  Her very short hair was a bright pink, and seemed to be entirely uncombed, and her deep purple eyes stared at Byakuren, full of suspicion and ringed by dark circles underneath.  She was dressed very simply; a white t-shirt and faded pink dress that seemed to be third-hand at best.  But on top she wore a newer and nicer light blue hanten with white trim, which she was pulling tight around her body.

They stood in silence for a moment, Byakuren wary of what made her so wary.  She was clearly expecting something unpleasant from Byakuren with the way her body was coiled with tension and she clutched at her hanten.  Byakuren simply continued to absently scratch at the raven’s neck.  Faintly, Byakuren felt something… non-physical brush her.  The sensation wasn’t unknown to her, but she struggled to remember what it might be.

The raven cawed loudly, breaking the tension of the moment.  Byakuren looked back at it, but she noticed the pink-haired girl not only looking at the bird, but cocking her head as if she was listening to something.  

“I see you’ve met Utsuho already,” she said, her voice a little reedy.  She sounded like she was already tired.  “Sorry, you just… startled me.  I thought you were someone else, or were… Nevermind.”  She released the grip on her clothes as a small meow filled the silent room.  Byakuren looked down to see a small black cat with red-tipped paws brush the girl’s leg.  “I’m so sorry.  I should introduce myself, I’m Satori Komeiji,” she said, moving carefully towards her desk chair.

“My name is Byakuren.”  She moved away from the raven’s perch towards the cat, who brushed her leg and let itself be scratched as Byakuren leaned over. “Are pets a common thing for detectives?”

“They are for this detective,” Satori responded. “Rin and Utsuho are my girls, they keep me company on long nights.” Both the animals made a noise at the sound of their names.  

“I know what you mean,” Byakuren said. “Once upon a time I worked with a very energetic mouse.  She was a dear friend.”  Rin the cat trilled as if in response.

Satori sat down in the desk chair, a palpable sense of relief emanating from her. “I see.  What can I do for you, Byakuren-san?”

“You might have guessed that I’m looking for an investigator,” Byakuren said, straightening up from scratching the cat.  “And your services have come highly recommended.”

Satori sighed a tiny chuckle.  “I do my best,” she said. “So, what needs uncovering?  Unfaithful husband?  Evidence for a child custody battle?  Employee embezzlement?”

“No, none of those things,” Byakuren responded, feeling something again.  It was like her nerves themselves felt a breeze.  Like there was something else in the room, examining her…

All at once, Byakuren remembered exactly what that sensation was: attempted psychic contact.  Her mental defenses were long-unused, but trying to do anything to her psychicly would be like kicking a concrete wall.  Suddenly, Satori’s name and incredible abilities to find information made much more sense.  

Looking at the expression on Satori’s face, Byakuren decided that she seemed to be slightly confused.  “Well… how… what do you want then?” she asked.

“Well first,” Byakuren began, sliding into the chair across the desk.  It was old and creaked loudly as she settled. “I’d like to just establish a few things before I work with you.  Above all, I am a bhikkhu, a student and adherent of Buddhism, so I believe in truth.”  Byakuren let that sit in the air as Satori’s posture seemed to grow stiffer. Rin the cat jumped up onto the desk between them and meowed loudly, but neither of them broke eye contact. “Thus I am deeply familiar with the illusions of the physical world, and you’ll find my mental discipline quite solid.”

“I…I don’t know wha-” Satori began, clearly on the back foot.

“And my mind quite impossible to read,” Byakuren finished. “So please refrain from any further attempts.”

The silence between them stretched further, broken only by passing footsteps from the office hallway.

“I apologize, Byakuren-san,” Satori said. “It normally expedites these interactions, and besides I don’t have a great deal of control on who I do and do not hear the thoughts of.”

“I understand,” Byakuren said, waving a hand. “I simply wish to establish some ground rules.  And with that out of the way…”

“So, you’re Folk, then?” Satori asked, cutting her off.

Byakuren contemplated that.  It was a newer word, one she didn’t fit neatly into or outside of, but for the purposes of this conversation, she felt it applied to her. “Culturally, yes,” she said. “And I assume you are as well with a name like ‘Satori.’”

“It’s just a name really,” she said dismissively. “It gets people thinking of the Youkai, really.  Helps sell the act.”

“So you are not a Youkai?” Byakuren asked.

Satori mulled over her answer for a moment, before ceding the point. “No.  From what I’ve been able to find, the last real satori died in the 1960s.  I’m… well, let’s just say I’m not that and move on.”

“Understandable,” Byakuren accepted.  She noticed with some amusement that the young mind-reader was a bit stiff when it came to honest conversation.  She must have become used to having all the answers before she even asked. “To business, then: I am investigating many things, but I feel I am not qualified to research one part of this mystery, and I would like to make use of your services.”

“I can accept that,” Satori said as Rin the cat padded across the desktop and lept down into her lap.  Satori began absently petting the animal after she settled. “What needs investigating?”

“There have been numerous reports of people losing time and memories in and around Gensokyo,” Byakuren explained. “Instances of people waking up and not remembering how they got to where they ended up or what happened to them in the sometimes hours in between.  After some cursory searches, it has been happening for several months.  I want to know what is causing this.”

Satori leaned back in her chair, scratching at her chin. “I had heard of one of those, but not that it’s been wide-spread.  I can certainly look into this, even try and pull lost memories, depending on circumstances.  My schedule’s free right now, so this should take a week or two at most.”

“Good.  I will be absent for a few days as I travel outside the city, I will catch up with you in one week’s time,” Byakuren said as scanned the paperwork that was scattered across the desk.

“Before that, let’s talk compensation,” Satori said, holding up a hand. “I don’t work for free, regardless of what I find.”

“Oh?” Byakuren said.  Internally, she admonished herself.  She knew she had been forgetting something.  In ages past, Yakumo would have handled any financial issues, and she had burned through the sum of money she had accrued from her work in America over a year ago.  The temple had funds that Ichirin would volunteer in an instant, but that was not what that money was for.

“The going rate is six thousand yen an hour,” Satori said. “And I’ll need an advance of at least twenty thousand before I start.”

“I must confess, as a student of the Buddha, material possessions are quite lacking for me, and that includes that amount of currency,” Byakuren said.  She saw the scoff forming on Satori’s face, so she continued. “But perhaps another form of payment could be arranged.”

“I you have any of those red shogi tiles the tengu use, then-”

“Perhaps a debt of service can be arranged,” Byakuren said, brushing past other forms of currency. “I am always eager to help those I meet on their unique paths.   Is there any aid I might be able to offer you?”

Satori stared at Byakuren for a long moment, shifting her office chair back and forth.  Byakuren felt like she was being evaluated by a remarkably cool intellect.  Komeiji might be young, but she was a very calculating individual.  Perhaps this partnership might benefit them both on more than one front.

“As it so happens, I do need help with something that money can’t buy,” Satori said at length. “I have a… personal investigation.  I’m looking for… well we can get into it later, suffice to say I need skills that I do not possess, so I feel we can work something out.”  She looked away, and as she did Byakuren noticed something she had missed.  A large, angry, red scar snaked its way up from her collar, up her neck and to the side, disappearing around the back of her head.  “First, I need to find who or what is causing these people to lose time, correct?”

“Yes,” Byakuren said. “As I said, this question is just one I am looking into, and I will be traveling to the countryside tomorrow.  I’ll see you in a week for an update, then?” She stood.

“I can work with that,” Satori said, reaching over the table to shake her hand.  Byakuren gripped her hand firmly, and left the room, giving Utsuho the raven one last scratch before she left.

She had set her task to another, and now it was time for her to pay a visit to this crater in Nagano.

Satori watched the door close, the smile fading from her lips.  Things had been going so smoothly, and now life had thrown another curveball at her.

“Sad?”

The thought drifted to her from the bird by the door.  She fluttered her wings and resettled on the branch, staring at Satori.

“Friend sad?”

“No, not sad, Utsuho.  Just… thinking,” Satori said with her mouth and her mind.  It was easier than it sounded, and those who could not fully understand her speech (like animals) seemed to grasp her thoughts easier when she spoke.

The bird let out a caw and bobbed in place, an imitation of a human nod.  Satori continued to scratch the ears and back of the cat in her lap, as she considered her situation.  She had heard the tale of the immortal giant of a monk that had once protected this city from an older tengu so drunk that she hadn’t even needed to read his mind to get the story.  And while Byakuren wasn’t exactly as tall as she had been led to believe, everything about her lined up with what she had been told, and with the rumors swirling amongst the Folk of Tokyo that the founder of the Myouren Temple had returned from her long exile.  

“What do you think of our new friend, Utsuho?” Satori asked.

“Nice.  Friendly.  Skin hard like stone. Strong,” the bird thought. “Gentle.” Her thoughts were sharp and short, like broken glass that had barely been sanded down.

Satori mulled that over for a moment.  Byakuren might not mean her ill will, but she was a big player; the biggest Satori had yet encountered.  That would mean looking into risky business, but that was what she needed to do, even if the idea made her uneasy.  Byakuren’s near-impervious mental defenses were another thing to be nervous about.  Rare was the being whose thoughts didn’t leak out of their head and directly into Satori’s mind.  The absence of thought from Byakuren had frightened her, enough that Satori had tried to actively probe her.  Lucky for Satori she was much more magnanimous about that than some others.

She looked down at the black cat in her lap as she continued to scratch behind her ears.

“And do you agree with Okuu, Orin?” Satori asked, using the nicknames the cat preferred. “Is our guest good?”

“Guest is strong,” the cat thought. “Smells bad though.  Bad like magic.  Strong, good scratches, but bad smell.”   In contrast, Rin’s thoughts were languid and slippery from her lazy mood.  

Satori leaned back further in her chair, ignoring the creak that resulted.  She couldn’t just continue this racket of exposing cheating spouses and thieving employees forever.  Even jobs for Folk were basically the same thing.  She needed to take steps forward, she needed to find her before something happened.  Satori’s ability to read minds was of no help in finding a person that no one could remember, but perhaps a legendary immortal holy woman might have other tools at her disposal.  At the very least, investigating strange occurrences would be more interesting, and might even turn up a lead for her own quest.

As she sighed and scratched Rin’s neck, leaned forward, intending to get her phone and hairband from the desk, but she leaned oddly, and her scars ignited in pain.  She hissed and leaned back in the chair, trying to stop what was coming.  The masses of scars spread from one spot on her chest, and like any old injury, they were prone to acting up.

“Pain!” Orin thought at her, as Satori gripped her fur. “Hurt?” she asked, as she noticed the tension in her body.

“No-Yes… Sorry, Rin,” Satori apologized, releasing her grip.  Rin stayed in her lap, purring gently.  She’d been so lucky to find the two animals.  They were smart, and many animals jumped at the opportunity to be understood.  Their simple thoughts were much easier on Satori than human and Youkai thoughts.

The pain was still with her, but she was used to it.  She just needed to ride it out.  As she did, she tried to occupy her mind: where would she find a good list of the victims, if there would be a pattern in that raw data, who should she interview first among them, when would she visit Doctor Yagokoro about her pain…

As she sat there, alone but for the beasts and the pain, her mental walls began to crack.  Normally, she worked hard to avoid other’s thoughts if they weren’t right next to her, but with her chest and neck and leg throbbing with the very slowly subsiding pain, the minds of the rest of the building began to leak in.

“He’s below quota.  Again.”

“Gods, she is so hot.  I should suggest a little after-work outing…”

“None of them understand, the ingrates.  I’ll show them!”

They started quiet, but before long they were overlapping in her mind, so loud Satori could hardly hear herself think.

“I can’t tell her.  I just can’t.  She’ll discard me if she finds out.”

“That’s the third time this month.  If he doesn’t start showing up on time…”

“I swear, if she spends any more money on that trash…”

“Does he ever bathe?  I’m pretty sure he’s come to work in the same shirt for three days now…”

“Keep it together.  Just keep it together until lunch.  Just hold on.  You gotta hold on, you need this paycheck…”

The swirl of mental noise overwhelmed her, and she was pulled under.  Suddenly, she wasn’t in her office.  The wall between past and present fell away.  She was elsewhere.

She was back there… back in the nightmare.  

She was holding her sister’s limp body, trying to comfort her.  And then they were in the room with her, and they were separating them; pulling her sister away, strapping both of them to a table.  She was screaming her lungs out, trying to make sense of what was happening to them before she was gagged as they cut into her flesh and-

“Boss!”

The thought broke through her flashback.  She blinked, suddenly aware of a pressure on her chest.  Her vision swam, and resolved into the face of her cat, staring into her eyes mere centimeters away with what Satori had to imagine was concern.

“Boss shaking,” Rin thought. “Boss wet.”

Satori felt embarrassed as she wiped her hand over her forehead to find sweat there.  

She shuttered for a moment as the adrenaline drained from her body.  Eirin had told her that she shouldn’t feel ashamed of panic attacks or flashbacks, but she still couldn’t quite manage that.  But Rin on her chest, purring as she slowly felt herself return to the present did quite a bit to help her back.  She sat there for a while longer, trying to center herself; she had work to do, after all.  The pain of her scars had receded, and she looked down at Rin, who was still staring up at her.

“Thank you, Rin,” Satori said as she nudged the cat off of her.  Rin obliged, hopping down off of her lap as Satori carefully stood, moving slowly to avoid whatever wrong twist had triggered her chronic pain.  

“Okay?” Came another thought from Utsuho. “Safe?”

“Yes, Okuu,” Satori reassured her. “Safe.”

“Good.  Sun please.  Cold,” the raven urged, flapping her wings slightly.  The damage to her leg and wing wasn’t disabling, but it did make it hard for her to fly.  Satori smiled and crossed the room to offer Utsuho her arm.  The raven gently transferred herself, manipulating her prosthetic clasp-foot with precision.  Once, Satori had imagined herself like Odin, with a raven to gather information from afar, but Utsuho was not up to the task.  Besides, her company was more than enough.  Satori walked over to the birdcage by the window, where the sunlight was still streaming in and allowed Utsuho to hop inside the cage.  The bird let out a caw that sounded suspiciously like “thank you” as Satori changed Rin’s food and water bowls and then started a very warm bath for herself.  She had work to do, but she needed to clean herself up first.

Marisa spun the pen in her hand, trying to make sense of her schedule.  She was relaxing in the teahouse inside the Scarlet Devil Tower, killing time before her appointment with Patchouli.  

She had managed to convince Alice to help her with a reusable version of the perception charm for Kagerou, but the payment demanded from the puppeteer was in labor, not yen.  The same night as Kagerou’s date was the annual Tokyo Black Market, the time when Folk and other supernatural-adjacent people from all across the city gathered to sell their wares and talk shop.  It was a tradition Marisa had only recently been made aware of, and she had been looking forward to browsing the shops and stocking up on rare reagents, but now she had been drafted into helping Alice set up and run her stall.  All the worse, as this was apparently the centennial of the event, the one-hundredth time it had been held in its current form.  Rare materials and special events might be just out of reach for her.

Hopefully, she’d be able to sneak away and pick up the goods she needed from the event.  She stared down at her planner, wondering where she was to fit in her own spellcrafting time…

“Oh, good to see you again, Kirisame-san,” said an accented voice near her table.  Marisa looked up from her notes to see Meiling, the red-haired and muscular proprietor of the tea shop standing by her table.  She was dressed quite differently from when she taught yoga, with something like a forest green traditional Chinese qipao on to match the decor of the shop. Marisa felt her eyes wander down from her face for a moment as she looked at how the dress hugged her figure, before pulling her gaze back up.

“Here for your lesson with Patchy?” Meiling continued, the smallest smirk at the corner of her lips.

“Uh… yes,” Marisa responded, realizing with some embarrassment that she had just sat down in the corner of the shop without ordering anything. “If you need me out of here then-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Meiling responded. “I’m glad to see you’re getting on with your life.” She gestured to a few of the more scattered notes on the table, one of which contained a few ideas she had wanted to run by the purple wizard for magic circle use.  Marisa self-consciously gathered them together to look a bit less messy.

“Thanks,” Marisa said. “How are you doing, though?  I recall that you were injured pretty badly…”

Meiling pulled the edge of where her dress was buttoned to show Marisa her midriff, which was wrapped in bandages. “Still on the mend,” she said, re-buttoning the dress. “Not bad, all things considered.  I was attended to quickly, and I heal fast.”

“Medical attention… for you?”  Marisa asked, her curiosity piqued. “Where does… someone like you go for that?”

“That… is on a need-to-know basis,” Meiling said, almost catching herself. “No, I know, but they have a whole screening process for who gets to know about them.  And you’re human, so you can just go to a regular clinic.”  Marisa sighed, but waved her hand in a way she hoped conveyed that she was fine with that.  “Anything I can get for you?  It’s on the house,” Meiling said.

Marisa wasn’t planning on getting any tea, but seeing as it was still twenty minutes or so until her appointment, she supposed it was alright.  “Sure, uh… a chai latte, please,” she said, but still, she felt compelled to ask: “But… Why is it free?”

“You helped Sakuya survive,” Meiling said, leaning over a little. “She’s very important to me, and I’m grateful you helped her.”  Marisa nodded as Meiling turned to take the order of another table, a group of four students that looked like a double-date.  Marisa leaned back as she collected her notes and stowed them, trying to relax.  She could use a moment to unwind.  

A small television was placed in the corner of the shop, at very low volume.  Marisa hardly watched any TV, but she found herself curious as to what it looked like these days.  It was within reach for her, so she tapped the ‘volume up’ button twice to hear it over the other group talking.  It was nothing but advertisements for a minute or so, but as the program returned, Marisa realized it was just a talk show, hosted by the same pair of a boring man in a suit and a woman in a skirt and blazer than every show had as their hosts.  

The only interesting thing about it was the woman opposite them on the couch.  She seemed to be middle-aged, with large eyes but an otherwise thin face.  Her delicately feathered hair was a sandy, almost blonde color, and she had a lot of it clipped in an odd updo that left two bits of hair sticking up behind her head.  Viewed from the front, it almost looked like she had cat ears.  She was dressed in a beige blazer with a dark purple vest below it.  As she turned her head and listened to the host, Marisa spotted what looked like a purple hearing aid in her ear.

“Thank you for joining us again,” the host said. “We’re here with esteemed radio host, pundit and now author Miko Kamitsumiya, talking about her first book: The Unbearable and Corrosive Weight of Pride.”  The presenter held up a hardcover book with a cover that Marisa recognized: that was the ‘controversial’ novel that Koakuma had asked her about. 

“Now, when I hear that a public figure like yourself has written a book, I usually expect a memoir or other nonfiction book, but you’ve written a work of historical fiction,” the female co-host explained while gesturing to the woman that Marisa guessed was Kamitsumiya. “Could you tell us why you decided to do that?”

“Well, it mostly boils down to the fact that I think I’m much better at telling stories than saying anything interesting about my life,” Miko said with an air of natural grace. All three laughed that stage-chuckle that Marisa hated. “I actually studied poetry when I was quite young.  Though I was never that good at meter or rhythm, I found I quite enjoyed storytelling.  Even as I grew older and found a passion for politics and public broadcast, I always remembered that desire to tell stories, and I think that a novel was the best medium for this story.”

The female co-host nodded, but the male host interjected: “You say you haven’t lived a very interesting life, but I would have thought a memoir about your mother would have been the first thing you wrote.”

Marisa could see the shift in demeanor in Miko even through the television.  She seemed to grow guarded and a little exasperated as the co-host turned back to Miko expectantly.  “Could you explain what he means, Kamitsumiya-san?” she asked.

“I suppose it was quite a while ago, and your audience does tend to skew younger,” Miko said, exasperated. The ripple of laughter from the studio audience indicated to Marisa that it was meant to be a joke. “My mother was a politician.  She often pushed for various reforms around religious laws, but unfortunately, the thing she is most remembered for is her… breakdown.  Late in the eighties, she began to claim that she was the reincarnation of Prince Shōtoku.”

Scattered laughs came from the audience, but Miko’s blank mood seemed to cut most of them off. “Was that due to your family name?” the host asked.

“It was certainly a part of it, though I can’t really say for certain,” Miko said. “Kamitsumiya was a name that the crown prince was said to have had, but I can’t really comment on what part that played.  But I do know that my mother believed it with all her heart.  But, ultimately, the scandal of her… ‘acting out’ led to her retirement.  She passed away about a year later, from heart disease.”

“Did the treatment of your mother influence you to write this book?” the co-host asked.  Meiling stopped by to drop off her chai latte and a small slip of paper with a phone number, but didn’t speak as she noticed Marisa watching the show.

“In a way.  Much of my career is born from that incident, for better and for worse,” Miko said, leaning back and scratching her chin thoughtfully.  Marisa reached down and took a sip of her tea.  Warm, milky, frothy, and full of cinnamon, just the way she liked it.  How did Meiling even know that?  Was Marisa really that easy to read? She stowed the slip of paper while barely glancing at it.

“I did have that impression from the summary.  The Unbearable and Corrosive Weight of Pride is a bestseller, but it’s been extremely controversial,” the host said.  His tone of voice indicated he was talking to the viewership, not his guest, catching up those who had no idea about whatever was going on… like Marisa. “It’s a very challenging work of historical fiction, but critics say that it’s iconoclastic, unpatriotic, or even anti-nationalist.”

“There is a very strong undercurrent of… what I would call disillusionment in the book,” the co-host said.  From the way the two talked about it, Marisa got the distinct impression that she had actually read it, and he had not.

“That’s the mood I was hoping to strike,” Miko said. “I was well aware that some more… traditional minds would see it as espousing a very jaded worldview, but I didn’t set out to produce a story that would directly encapsulate my values.  I don’t necessarily believe everything the main characters believe in, especially the view certain characters in it take on religion.  But I do think a book like this needs to exist.”

“What do you mean by that?” the host asked, plastic smile still shining.

“I think we need more space for public debate, and I especially feel that we need to be free to interrogate our historical and mythological figures.  I think we should have the freedom to imagine these people that are already so distorted by legends and myths as human, relatable and perhaps not as noble as they are often imagined to be.  They may have even held private beliefs that we know nothing about today, so I think we need to be able to talk about that, without someone saying you are damaging the national spirit.”

“I think that is an admirable goal, Kamitsumiya-san,” the co-host said, and they showed the book one more time before the program ended.  Marisa ticked the volume back down on the television as it returned to advertisements.  Sipping her spicy-sweet tea, she found herself wondering about that politician, Miko’s mother.  She pulled out her phone and looked up Miko Kamitsumiya online.  Sure enough, just past her own publishing and radio show pages, there was the Mikipedia page for her.  She opened it, then followed the links to her mother.  It was as she had expected all the usual parts of a minor public person’s biography to be, with an extra section simply titled ‘Breakdown and Scandal.”  But what Marisa found her eye drawn to was the picture of the woman.  It was grainer, but the family resemblance to Miko was strong.  More than strong; the hair color and style were different, but her face was almost identical, with the same slim nose, small mouth and large eyes.  It was almost like…

Marisa’s train of thought was interrupted as she noticed the time in the upper corner of her phone screen.  She scrambled to collect her notes and down her tea before scurrying out of teashop to her appointment with a wizard.

Chapter Text

Reimu’s search for answers had gotten her nowhere.

“I’m sorry Rei-chan,” Sakata-san said, as she riffled through her paperwork.  They were in the miniscule office of the local group-home, and Reimu had only barely gotten a sliver of the manager’s attention.  “I ain’t seen anything like what you described.  Then again, I ain’t all that devout.”  

Nemuno Sakata ran what was technically a group-home but was more like a massive orphanage.  Over two dozen children, mostly human, lived in her establishment.

“I-” Reimu began, but a timer buzzed on Nemuno’s desk, and she glanced at the time.

“Goddammit, lunch is soon,” she said, rising from her desk and removing her glasses.  She crossed the room faster than Reimu expected and exited into the hall.  Reimu scrambled after her.

“She’s quite fast for a woman her age,” Izumi commented, following Reimu as she almost tripped over two five-year-olds playing in the hall.  It was an understandable remark, as Sakata looked like she was in her fifties, but not being human, her actual age was private.

Nemuno was a yamanba, a type of mountain-hag Youkai.  Beyond hunting and living a solitary life where they scared away trespassers, something many yamanba were known to do was raise children lost in the wilderness.  Sakata took that part very seriously, and abandoned the wilderness of the mountains to help the young of the city.  Through chance and happenstance she had ended up caring for the lost children of Gensokyo.  

She had only been in charge of a handful of children when Reimu had been young, but the numbers had swelled in the last decade, and the stress was plain to see as Reimu rounded the corner and caught sight of the woman again.  Her long, gray hair tumbled past her waist, and its slight frizz gave the impression of extreme stress, which was mostly accurate.  Her bright but loose and old dress and shirt combined with her weathered face to make her look every part the hag-woman she was, despite her urban environment.  Reimu knew she cared for every child in her house, but rarely had time to show it.

Nemuno dashed about, orchestrating the making of lunch and handling little things along the way.

“Aoi, no.  Let her use that toy.  Moriko, head to the kitchen, we need- oh they started lunch already?  Excellent, then start collecting everyone.”  She continued towards the kitchen as Reimu avoided the pre-teens scrambling about and Izumi did her best to smile and wave at the few children who could clearly see her.

“Umi, are ya following the recipe?  Good.  Saito, is the trash taken out?  No?  Then get on it!  Goddamn, you need to get with the program.” Nemuno admonished.

“Goddamn!” one of the preteens echoed.

“Hey!” Nemuno snapped. “What did I say about cussing?”

The child shrank back. “That we can curse when we’re as old as you?”

“Exactly.  Now go help Umi.  Hiromu, what are you doing?”

And on it went, Reimu unable to get a word in edgewise.  She was smart enough to keep out of the way as Nemuno ordered the older children around to help, and Reimu directed them into the large dining room as they filtered in from around the building.  Two sisters stared up at Izumi, wide eyed.  The ghost responded by waving and putting a finger in front of her lips, making a shushing sound to suggest she was a secret.  The girls nodded vigorously, before being pushed into the kitchen to get a plate.

“So, the Youkai that children used to be told would eat them is taking care of them now?” Izumi asked.

“I don’t know if those stories were ever true,” Reimu said. “If your child went missing in the mountains they were either spirited away by a god or cared for by a yamanba.  Either way, you would never see them again, and that’s where stories are born.  They used to be human, before they gave it up, so it’s no surprise that they still care.”

Izumi hummed over that as Nemuno got everything set and made sure everything was settled inside. “Speaking of children, how is Kosuzu?” Izumi asked. “We were supposed to speak again, to see if Hideo was available.”

“I had actually forgotten about that,” Reimu said nonchalantly. “But she texted me that she’s been very busy as of late, so our meeting will have to wait.”

“How…” Izumi began. “How long is too long to wait on this?”

Reimu simply shrugged. “I don’t know.  Not a lot of experience in this very particular scenario.”

Izumi looked to be formulating a response when Nemuno emerged from the dining room, sleeves still tied up and gray hair pulled back.

“I don’t mean t’be rude, Rei-chan, but I’m real busy, and from what I can tell, these critters are drawn t’shrines and places a’ worship, which are in real short supply 'round here,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her arm.

“I understand,” Reimu replied.  And she did, for once.  Despite the existence of gods, certain Youkai remained staunchly… uninterested in worship.  Sakata-san always valued self-reliance and independence, so if anyone would be uninterested in asking the divine for help, it would be her.  Truth be told, Reimu had only stopped by here to see if Nemuno recognized the creature’s appearance from her time in the northern mountains of Japan, but she had not, so Reimu gave a quick goodbye and excused herself from the group home.

On her way out, a small child ran up and pressed something into Reimu’s hand.  “‘For the shrine,’ says Auntie,” they relayed, then scurried back to the kitchen.  Reimu opened her hand to find a thousand-yen bill.  She could work with that.

“Another bust,” Izumi said as they exited into the cold afternoon.  Reimu pulled her coat tighter and set off back for the shrine.

“Somewhat.  I don’t understand why no one knows these things,” Reimu wondered aloud. “They’re related to divine spirits, or they are minor kami… and yet…”

“You’ve had five encounters now, but we still don’t have a firm count on them,” Izumi added. “What is it about this neighborhood that attracts them?”

Reimu scoffed to herself as she hit the button for the crosswalk. “It’s always something around here.  Their reason for being here isn’t important if we can just learn what they are and handle it.”

Izumi looked like she wanted to object to that train of thought, but she swallowed her words and followed Reimu back to the shrine, hoping that Rinnosuke would come through soon.

All Kagerou Imaizumi had ever wanted was a quiet life.  A turbulent childhood had left her with low expectations, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time fourteen years ago had gifted her with her… furry condition.  She’d wanted nothing more than to live out the rest of her life without incident after that, no matter what Reimu or Marisa had proposed.  Their promises of Youkai bars and restaurants or support groups had seemed like nothing more than traps to pull her deeper into a world she wanted nothing to do with.

Every full moon, when her lupine side couldn’t be contained and she transformed into a massive she-wolf, she had coped by curling up and whiling away the night with television and junk food.  The thought of going out and being seen as a beast had terrified her beyond anything else.

But then the afterwork party to entertain the boss's daughter had lined up with the full moon.  Kagerou had thought of trying to weasel her way out of it, but she had already missed so many other after-work outings on full moons that the other girls in the office were starting to talk.  She heard words like ‘unreliable,’ phrases like ‘she’s not dedicated’ and questions like ‘does she think she’s better than us?’ being whispered from around corners when she was sending faxes or getting coffee. Kagerou had worked hard to get her job, and she still had to support her aging parents.  She knew that kind of talk could travel up the management ladder if she fed it, so she looked into other ways to attend the meeting, and Marisa had come through. 

And now that she had experienced an unforgettable night out with the other girls and the radiant Wakasagi, she felt a growing appetite for it.  She’d dug into her savings for that first charm, and had used another chunk for a reusable version that Marisa had promised.  

However, she was very surprised when the one who delivered the new version of the charm was not Marisa, but another woman.  Tall, blond, European, and in a very fancy blue dress.  Marisa had been right behind her, pushing a cart loaded with several dozen small boxes.  The woman had declined to introduce herself, and had simply given Kagerou a much nicer version of the brooch that Marisa had used for the last spell.  Kagerou’s enhanced sense of smell let her detect the scents of wood, lacquer, old fabrics and sulfur from the woman… but nothing remotely like a human scent.  The woman explained how the brooch was to be used and took the stack of bills from Kagerou without inspecting it.  Kagerou gave a distant wave to Marisa as the blond woman left, and Marisa waved back as the woman handed her a curiously small number of bills out of the stack before they set off across the square.  

Putting her questions aside, Kagerou ducked into a small private bathroom to transform, so she could change into a more comfortable outfit.  Finding clothes for her over two-meter-tall werewolf form was a tricky thing.  With her fur, tail and digitigrade legs, as she usually simply wrapped herself in a blanket until dawn.  She had found the largest jacket and long skirt she could, and after sliding them on she affixed the brooch, muttered the odd words the blonde woman had instructed her to and released the building transformation.  Her body stretched, her entire form growing to its full height as her anatomy shifted and warped into that of a werewolf.  She noted that the clothes still felt too small, but as she brushed what she could of her auburn fur and smoothed away the patches that stuck up while inspecting herself in the bathroom mirror, she found that she looked fine.

True to the magician’s word, she walked down the streets of Tokyo as a massive werewolf, and not a single person ran, screamed or cried “monster!”  The occasional odd but ultimately only curious glance from a passerby made her start, but she interpreted those as someone like Wakasagi; someone on whom the charm did not work.  “Folk” the blond woman had said.  She was a little nervous whenever someone made eye contact, but the tiny squints and nods of approval she received urged her on towards her destination and date.  She stepped off the train in Shibuya, a strange thrill buzzing through her.  She’d never been out and about on a full moon like this.  Looking over the heads of the entire Shibuya crowd was an experience she had never known she needed.

Eventually, she found the area she was to meet her date, and realized she was already there.  Parked in a simple wheelchair was the same girl she’d met almost exactly a month ago.  Her blue hair was twisted into delicate curls just above her shoulders and her skin was almost glossy in the light of the nighttime advertisements.  She had a pale green blouse and deep blue shawl on her shoulders, with her lower half hidden below the same blanket.  She brightened as she saw Kagerou approach.

“Imaizumi-san!” she said, surprise playing under her delicate voice. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Kagerou said. “I thought I was early, but I guess you couldn’t wait either.”

“My father is very particular about my schedule,” she replied. “Certain things are easier for my security.”  She gestured, raising one of her folded hands to point down the street to an almost unassuming woman.  ‘Almost,’ Kagerou thought, because she was fairly convincingly nondescript, except for her short, bright red hair and long crimson coat with a collar so high that it hid the bottom of her face.  She made eye contact with Kagerou and gave the smallest of nods.

Kagerou had a sudden rushing sensation of being out of her depth.  Wakasagi had real security following her.  But in being a towering werewolf walking about outside, what might have been fear became a tiny mote of enthusiasm.

“I see,” she said. “So, I suppose you want to get dinner soon?”

“I have two hours booked at a nearby karaoke establishment,” Wakasagi said. “We can order food there, if you like.”  It was certainly much more casual than Kagerou expected, but perhaps that was appropriate for the second (first?) date.

Kagerou had to bend to push Wakasagi’s wheelchair as they navigated to the karaoke establishment.  Kagerou looked over her shoulder: the security woman followed them at a distance.  She should have expected an escort with how wealthy and important Wakasagi’s family apparently was to the company, but it seemed excessive.

“You didn’t have any security at the dinner last time,” Kagerou commented. 

“That you saw,” she retorted, amused.  They entered the building and were directed to a private room, one that had been reserved.  As the woman in red followed them, Kagerou was prepared to spend the entire night with a silent third wheel, but she instead shut the door to the room and stood outside.  Well, that was better than nothing.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Wakasagi said, gesturing to the spread of light snacks and drinks on the table in the middle of the room. Sodas, juices, cookies, starchy chips and other bits sat next to two microphones and a remote.  The only light in the room came from the television set in the wall, which bathed the room in a blue glow, accentuating Wakasagi’s reflective, almost wet-looking skin and hair.  Kagerou remembered Marisa’s speculation, and decided she needed to stop and get some answers before she was swept away.

“Now that we’re alone,” Kagerou said, sitting down next to her date. “I would like to ask a few questions.”

“Oh, I will cover the bill,” she said, but Kagerou shook her head, resisting the urge to shake her whole body like a dog drying itself.

“No, it’s about you…” Kagerou began, before pausing.  How would she even ask this?  She thought for a moment, then decided on a direct approach. “You’re not human, are you?”

Wakasagi tilted her head, slightly perplexed. “No.  I thought that was obvious.”

“I’m… not well-versed in supernatural stuff… even the basics,” Kagerou forced herself to say.

“And yet you have a charm that prevents humans from seeing you for the werewolf you are,” her date replied. “Curious.”

“The company dinner was actually the first time I ever used something like that, if you can believe it,” she said. “I normally keep to myself on full moons.  But… you wanted to see me again, and I… I wanted to see you.  I guess you looked at me like that because you thought I was… what’s the term?  ‘Folk’ like you?”

“I did,” Wakasagi confirmed. “At first, I was simply intrigued by the idea of someone so powerful and strong choosing to take a humble office job, but then you were kind, honest and a little wild at times.”  She smiled. “I liked it.  I wanted to confirm, though, so I wanted for the next full moon.”

Kagerou blushed, finding herself looking at those hazy memories of one month ago in a new light. “Th-thank you.  But… If I may… I don’t know if it's rude to ask… but what are you?”

“It is considered a little gauche, but I suppose there’s always a time to learn,” Wakasagi said, pulling the large blanket on her lap aside. “Normally, such an answer is to be intuited in Folk circles, but I will be honest and forthright with you: I am a mermaid.”  The blanket was pulled away to reveal… not legs but -as Marisa had predicted- a large fishtail.  It was thin and supple; her scales a glistening mosaic of silver and blue.

Kagerou had suspected, perhaps even expected this, but seeing was a whole other matter.  She sat in silence, staring at her lower half.  She had the distant impression that she was being rude, but Wakasagi just smiled at her, amused.

“Oh…” Kagerou was eventually able to blurt out. “I guess… you really are named after the fish…” Kagerou had known that she shared a name with the tiny, minnow-like Japanese smelt, but it had mostly just flown over her head, or she had assumed it was coincidence.  

Wakasagi gave a high, strong laugh that sounded like a wind chime. “No, not quite,” she said.   She shifted her head back and forth, and Kagerou noticed fin-like ears that hid in her blue locks.  “I suppose, in a way.  Our language cannot be spoken to the open air.  Merrow-speech is pronounceable only in water, so I chose a new name on land.  My father always called me his little minnow or smelt, so I chose that name when I came to the world above.”

“And… Why did you join us here on dry land?” Kagerou asked, a small part of her amused.  A month ago, she would never have thought to ask.  She would have run from a mermaid and never spoken of her again… and now she wanted to know.  She wanted to learn more about this charming, elegant, beautiful girl.  That she had no legs, with scales and gills instead didn’t matter at all.

“I wanted to study human music,” she said. “It sounds very different underwater, but I figured that I should learn a human language and see what they had to offer.  But more than that… I was looking for someone.  Someone in whom I could confide.  My father is kind and very protective… Perhaps he is too protective.  I longed for someone who would be honest with me.  Perhaps the tide is turning on my search.”  Kagerou felt a rising warmth in her chest at the implication, but Wakasagi shifted and extended her fin before she continued. “Now, could you please help me onto the couch, so we may begin?  I don’t mind this discussion, but we are eating into our time here.”

“You… you want me to pick you up?” Kagerou asked, swallowing.  That was a bit more intimate than she had expected for the night…

“Is that a problem?” the mermaid responded, her innocent forwardness betraying something like a cultural gap.  There was no challenge or impatience in her voice, she simply acted like it was normal.  Such a thing must have been normal for merfolk. 

Kagerou nodded, stood and approached the aquatic heiress as she manipulated her wheelchair around for easier access.  Kagerou put one tentative hand on her tail, and found it slick and wet on her paw-pad.  She thought for a second, before she grabbed the green plaid-patterned blanket that had previously concealed her tail, and draped it over her arm to avoid wetting her fur.  She gently scooped the smiling woman out of the chair and carried her not unlike a princess over to the couch.  The scent of her filled Kagreou’s enhanced sense.  It was both human and fish-like as expected, but it was not the powerful, rank smell of dead fish.  Rather, it was a warm, smooth scent, one that reminded her of the open sea, like when she had traveled to Okinawa for a school trip.  

She felt her stomach grumble just a bit as she set Wakasagi down on the couch of the room.  Kagerou passed a microphone and the remote to Wakasagi, and the mermaid quickly began to browse the available songs.  Kagerou fumbled with the tablet in the middle of the table, as trying to order something heavier than the chips and cookies from the lounge’s menu with her padded fingers proved to be a proper challenge.

Eventually, she got her order for shrimp tempura in and shifted her focus back to Wakasagi, who had settled on a song, and was gesturing to the other microphone. “How is your English, Kagerou-san?” she asked.

“Um… okay?” Kagerou responded. “I can get by with the occasional overseas email.”

Wakasagi smiled, and pressed play.  As the lights changed and a scene of the sea at night played on the main screen, Kagerou recognized a familiar tune.  She smiled, picked up the microphone and tried her best to remember how it went as the lyrics scrolled up the screen.

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars…”

Everywhere Marisa looked, there was more to see.  She had never seen so many Folk in the open.  Tsukogami walked by as tengu showed their wings openly and a pack of four kappa carried a large box, one on each side.  The Youkai Black Market was turning out to be everything she had wanted and more.

She’d been relieved to find Alice a much kinder employer than she had imagined.  They had arrived at the location necessary only to find a metal barricade barring entry and a large, muscular man in a suit that Marisa felt confident in guessing might have been an oni.  Alice had presented a small stack of papers to him on request, and after a moment where he looked at Marisa with amusement, he nodded and slid the large door for them.  They entered and passed into the long, covered mall, where it seemed they had entered a different world.  What had been a simple shopping alley with a roof to keep the rain out was transformed.  Many shops were closed, with stalls set up in front of their shuttered storefronts.  Others were open, with shelves swapped to more supernatural fare.  Still others (mostly restaurants and cafes) seemed to be operating as usual.  Large rainbow banners hung at intervals from the roof proclaimed “100th Black Market, Open Tonight!!” in Japanese, English and a few other languages.

Marisa had helped Alice lug her cartful of boxes to the stall labeled for her, and had unloaded boxes for the older woman while she unboxed her working dolls.  She set each on the table that made up most of the stall, then stood over them, her fingers twitching over them as gossamer threads of  magic stitched themselves into the dolls and around Alice’s fingertips.  Shanghai, the first doll, hopped to life, then another, and another.  Before Marisa had finished unloading the cart, a small troupe of floating puppets took the box she was lifting from her hands and set it down, then continued to the next one.  She stepped back, observing the tiny porcelain and wooden figures work, each less than half a meter tall.  They floated through the air, seemingly carried on strings that Marisa couldn’t quite follow.

“Thank you for your help, Marisa,” Alice said, as she directed her puppets. “I needed a strong back to get my wares to market, but you have completed your task; I can handle the rest.”  Marisa wanted to be a little resentful that she was just someone to push a cart to Alice, but then she held out the stack of bills Kagerou had paid and Marisa took it without further questions.

As she walked the street, she found the Black Market to be much larger than she initially thought.  The street turned at a right angle, and she found a stairway to a second level.  All around her, Youkai and other Folk walked, and the conversation flowed.  Marisa, ever vigilant for opportunity, tried to take it all in.

“The Bunbunmaru has really taken a tumble in quality over the past few years.”
“At least you can still get it in print!  The Kakashi Spirit News is only online now!”
“No surprise there.  Himekaidou’s really catering to the youth these days.”

“Tatara-san!  So good you see you here.  Where’s your red friend?”
“Not here; Seki’s working tonight, sir.  What can I help you with?”
“Have you heard of ‘cold iron’?  I’ve been told it’s a Western solution to fairy problems.”

“Don’t you have anything stronger in the back?”
“What back?  This is a stall, sir.”
“Well, then under that counter, maybe?”

“The yamawaro are the only reason this entire enterprise hasn’t collapsed.”
“No surprise there, they need this to continue.  It’s one of the only ways they stay afloat.”
“Unbelievable.  It’s like you two have forgotten about the marketplace gods.”
“Why would I bother with the ichigami?  The gods departed this city a long time ago.” 

“That price is outrageous!”
“I went through hell to get these artifacts, so I get to set the price.”
“Fine… Will a knight tile cover it?”

“Do you even see the magatama crafter outside of these events?”
“No, come to think of it.  Where do you suppose she lives?”
“Maybe a cave somewhere.  She gives off that feeling.”

“You’ve heard too, haven’t you?  Animal attacks are on the rise.”
“Not as such, no.  What I have heard is that more strange animals are winding up in the city.  Why, my friend told me that a Japanese wolf turned up in Yatsugatake Park a few weeks ago.”
“Stop pulling my wings, they’re supposed to be extinct.”

“You need to stay away from that stall.  The charm I got from them was worthless.”
“Which one?”
“That one!”
“I don’t see any stalls.”
“What the- It was right there a second ago!”
“Who sold it to you?”
“They were two women.  One was really thin, and gloomy, the other was really wealthy-looking with big curls in her hair.”
“Oh no.  Please don’t tell me you fell for the Yorigami sisters, they’re the most notorious con artists in Tokyo!”
“I’m a bad judge of character, okay?!”

Distantly, Marisa was glad she had opted not to bring her own imitation magatama to this event.

All through the night, Marisa wove her way back and forth through both levels of the market.  She had funds for some raw crystals she wanted to try cutting, as well as a new set of stoppered phials for liquid spells and potions.  She looked all over, but the odd middle-eastern man she had purchased Sharix from many months ago was nowhere to be found.  A pity, since he had parted with something so valuable for so little.  Perhaps he had learned better, or perhaps he just traded whatever he could get his hands on.

Odd looks followed her as she navigated the marketplace.  Maybe it was her being a newcomer, or maybe all the old Youkai could smell the human in the room.  She liked to think it was the former, as there were other humans around, but they were all old men and women.  Maybe it was her humanity, maybe it was her youth.  Whatever it was, Marisa tried to put on her most pleasant expression and remained cool and collected.  She stocked up some rare dried herbs from a familiar face: the tall and imposing Yuuka Kazami, green-haired florist, who was running a stall of living and dead plants.  Marisa had long suspected that the woman had a front where she sold supernatural plants, and it was quietly gratifying to finally find it.

“Oh, Kirisame-chan,” she said, as she measured the powdered mandrake Marisa had ordered; her large hands impossibly precise in the fine task.  “Did you ever find what you were looking for?  The source of those strange goings-on?”

“Uh, sort of,” Marisa said, suddenly uneasy.  She knew not to mention the incident with the demon tree to humans, but was it safe here, amongst Folk?  Surely not, the thing was far too dangerous.  “Reimu and I were able to handle it… with help.”

“Oh, that’s good for you, if a bit disappointing,” Yuuka said as she carefully tipped the pile of fine powder into a small bottle. “The sunflowers relaxed about a month ago, so I figured whatever was scaring them was gone.  A pity.”

“Is…  are frightened sunflowers good?” Marisa asked tentatively.

“The best sunflowers are always just a little bit scared,” she said while taking Marisa's stack of yen.

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Yuuka said. “The fear motivates them to be just that little bit brighter.  Desperation can change the world, it can make magic happen.  I would have thought a mage like yourself would know that.”  She handed the bottle back to Marisa along with her change.  Marisa took it with a nod, and quickly retreated.  From the flow of the crowd around her booth and the wide berth it was being given, Marisa wasn’t alone in her feelings towards the florist.  She slipped the small bottle into her coat and pressed on.  Her budget was worn down by other knickknacks and doodads, and as the night drew to a close, she noticed some vendors packing up and leaving early, before the stroke of midnight.  Marisa was so distracted by watching what she was sure was an elderly kappa break down his entire stall down and pack it into his backpack that she walked right into another person.

Unlike the last time Marisa had run into a person, instead of sending both of them tumbling, she bounced off the back of the other person, who remained almost unmoved.  Marisa tried to collect herself after being knocked on her ass, straightening her hat back on her head as she looked up to the broad back she had run headlong into.

She was slightly taller than Marisa, but still shorter than most other people, with a very wide build.  Even under the green trench coat, Marisa thought she looked thick and heavy-set in a way that made her look strong and sturdy without showing any muscle.  Her green eyes looked over at Marisa with casual concern as she brushed a lock of curly green hair back into place.  She also straightened her own cap before extending a hand to help Marisa up, a very faint smile on her round face.

“Sorry about that,” Marisa managed to blurt out before she took the offered hand. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Not a problem,” the woman responded, her voice dark and rich. “I probably shouldn't stand in the middle of the remaining foot traffic.”  She looked Marisa up and down as she effortlessly pulled the smaller girl back to her feet. “You a new face around here?”

“Uh… yeah,” Marisa acknowledged. “Marisa Kirisame, mage.”

“Well I’ll be damned, you’re Nitori’s human!” the woman said, louder than Marisa liked. She winced, unable to suppress her annoyance as the larger woman began to laugh.  Making connections and friends among Folk, it was entirely unsurprising that she was often seen as a curious hanger-on at best and a pet at worst.  She just wished she had moved past that awkward stage at this point, but it was not to be.  “I thought she was pulling my leg when she said she had met a genuine human mage.  Oh, where are my manners?  My name is Takane Yamashiro, proprietor of the Black Market.”

“Oh,” Marisa said, feeling dumb.  “You’re the yamawaro responsible for all this?”

“The one and only,” Takane affirmed.  Marisa had met one other yamawaro, the kappa’s forest-dwelling and finance-inclined cousins.  Takane’s military-green camouflage trench coat certainly lined up with what Marisa remembered of the other’s fashion sense. “How are you enjoying our one-hundredth market?” Takane asked.

“It’s certainly been exciting,” Marisa admitted. “But also the mood has been… strange.  People seem to be on edge.”

Takane sighed. “So it’s not just me.  I had hoped our little centennial would get better turnout and general attendance up after last year, but it seems that the mood is not something we can just ignore.”

“Well, I got plenty of supplies and reagents, so I’m quite satisfied,” Marisa said, trying to not make her attempt to lighten the mood too obvious.

“Well that’s good to hear,” Takane said, before sharply snapping her fingers. “That’s right!  I have something you might like.  I need to make my last trade of the market, and the sorcerer I was looking to sell this to never turned up.”  She reached up and unbuttoned her coat, pulling the front flap open to retrieve something from inside.  Each interior pocket was sealed but clearly full of something, and Marisa definitely heard jangling that sounded like keys.  Takane removed what looked like a single card from one of her pockets. “Perhaps you’d be interested in a spell card?”

Marisa looked at it for a moment.  It was larger than a business card, about the size of a trading card, and it was sealed in a transparent sleeve.  It seemed to have a solid black back and a blank white front, which seemed oddly… luminescent.  Almost… prismatic. “A… what?” Marisa asked, the term unfamiliar.

“A magic card that is ideal for holding a complex ritual or incantation,” Takane said, almost reciting. “It can store spells, thaumaturgy, even prayers… that’s what I’ve been told anyway.  Magic is not really my forté.”

A way to store spells and even… prayers?  Marisa’s mind accelerated as she considered.  She’d actually imagined something like that back at the beginning of her studies.  She’d even floated it by Reimu as a way to store rituals that she might be able to sell, but Reimu had called it a foolish idea in rather harsh language, and Marisa had to admit that if such a thing was even possible, Marisa was nowhere close to being able to pull it off at that time.  Even now, revisiting the idea, it seemed daunting… but if the item already existed, simply waiting for a spell…

“How much?” Marisa found herself asking, rather than the more specific questions she wanted to ask.

“This little curiosity doesn't have a price tag in yen,” Takane said, wiggling the card.

Marisa caught her meaning instantly.  The red shogi chips were invented for just this kind of transaction.  Marisa dug deep into her coat pockets, trying to find her last tile.  Ideally she should try to haggle, but something about the situation seemed… unique.  Marisa withdrew the tile at last, looking at it.  She had gotten this from an elderly oni with unsteady hands, after she had enchanted a cup to never spill sake, something the elder said he had once been able to do.  It was one of her first magical jobs, and the piece had held a tiny sentimental place in her heart since.

Currency exists to be spent, she thought, banishing the sentiment as she held the tile up for Takane to inspect.

“Lance,” Marisa said, identifying the piece. “That seems fair to me.”

Takane looked at her for a long moment, before handing over the small card, as Marisa gave her the tile.  A simple exchange, easy and clean.  Marisa quickly stowed the card in an interior pocket in her coat as Takane did the same.

“Thank you for your patronage,” Takane said. “And now I’ve got to take care of wrapping this whole thing up.  A pleasure to meet you, Kirisame-chan.”  She turned and walked down the alley towards a tall, regal looking tengu in dark blue robes that was waiting at the other end.

Marisa browsed a bit more, but her budget was more than spent now, and the entire assembly was rapidly disintegrating as entire stalls and booths packed it up and the few stores that had been open dropped their shutters.  She arrived back at Alice’s stall to find the dollmaker stowing her personal puppets in a small box as the entire rest of the space was empty.

“Oh, good to see you Marisa,” she said.  “Excellent sales this year; more than excellent.  I’m sold out!”

“Oh, that’s good news,” Marisa said, a little thrown. “So do you…”

“No, I can get back on my own,” Alice said. “The kappa I rented the cart from already retrieved it.”  She picked up the box that contained her doll and shouldered her bag. “Good night, Marisa.”  Alice stood and left with an air of prim professionalism.

Marisa found herself lost as Alice left.  She’d topped up her supplies, made a few very casual acquaintances, and even gotten what might be a unique magic item, but still, she felt drained.  Empty, even.

She stood there on the side of the street for a long moment, watching the Black Market slowly drain away.  The crowd had already dwindled to nothing, and one by one the remaining vendors and traders packed and left.  It had been a while since she had just sat still and watched something like that; just watched people going about their night.  Eventually, as the stroke of midnight approached, the street and upper level were as they had been the previous night, and normal human traffic resumed.  Marisa shrugged, figuring she should get home.  She chalked up her sense of unease and discontent to fatigue, and set off for her apartment.  

She turned down a small alley to cut through to a side-street that would be much less crowded.  It was dark, but she was confident in her safety.  As she shifted past a stack of discarded boxes, she fingered the card in her pocket, wondering what kind of power it held.

Then something grabbed her leg.

Marisa froze, thoughts racing through her mind.  Was it a goblin?  Wretch?  Guttersnipe?  She looked down to find something she didn’t expect.  The hand around her ankle was thin, almost emaciated, with tight, unhealthily pale skin.  It led back to a shoulder and head poking out from under the pile of empty cardboard boxes.  The boxes shifted, toppling as Marisa turned to try and see the person.  It was a malnourished-looking woman.  She was nude but for a pristine white cloak on her shoulders; one that was rapidly being soiled by the filthy boxes she was crawling out of.  Her short hair was a deep, rich blue and was disheveled and uncombed, but otherwise clean.  She stared up from her position on the alley floor, unable to fully cover herself in the cloak.  Her thin face had a once-proud look to it, like a fallen noble.  She looked bizarrely clean for a person crawling out of a trash pile.

But the main thing Marisa noticed was her eyes.  Her deep, full blue eyes were bloodshot, but as she locked eyes with Marisa, her pupils shown with rainbow light, radiant and shimmering.

“Please,” she croaked out, her voice a dry scratch in the night. “Help me.”

Chapter Text

“Nothing?” Meiling asked.

“Nothing!” Mokou responded, waving her glass wildly.

They had met up at a local restaurant, the business of one Sannyo Komakusa, the yamajorou who ran a sports bar and pretend-gambling den.  Gambling laws being what they were in Japan, the long felt-top card table in the middle of the dining area was for amusement only, with daily events being held for no prizes.  Of course, the authorities were unaware of the secret back area, but that was not what Meiling and Mokou were there for.  Meiling had called her for a late-night of food and drink to find out what was going on with her rival team.

“You really can’t tell me where they came from?” Meiling asked. “These ‘Backdoor Dancers’ just showed up?”

“Trust me, I would If I knew anything,” Mokou said.  “Wriggle and I were just as blindsided by them as everyone else.” Mokou took another sip of her beer.  She looked just as natural and cool in her red leather jacket as she did in her ring gear, it was a special talent of hers. “Two weeks before the match they show up and Wriggle and I have to put together a match in less than ten days without knowing anything about them.  We had to work our asses off!”

Meiling considered that.  Many Folk had a special talent for just turning up, but appearing from nowhere to do something as public-facing as a wrestling promotion seemed odd.  She picked at the onion rings she had ordered alongside her pizza.

“I heard the name ‘Okina’ being tossed around as a player for a few weeks beforehand, but it was nothing solid,” Mokou continued. “But credit where it’s due, those two girls knew their stuff.  Hit their marks, memorized the set, it was all very professional.”

“And now I suppose this is the start of a rivalry between your teams?” Meiling asked, trying to keep her voice level.  She didn’t feel any need to hide her motives from Mokou, but she was an old friend, so it seemed polite to make conversation, especially if this line of inquiry was a dead end.

“Nah… not really,” Mokou said, her voice lowering in an almost conspiratorial manner as she leaned closer to Meiling.  The bar wasn’t crowded by any metric, but it was natural.  “They're probably gonna break us up soon.”

“Break up Team Fire/Fly?” Meiling whispered back as she saw Komakusa-dayuu float by, checking on a young couple that seemed to be completely wasted. “Really?”

“You were in the business Meiling, you know these team-ups exist to be dramatically broken up,” Mokou rebutted.

“Yes, it just seems a bit soon,” Meiling replied. “You had what? A few months?”

“Both of us want to get back to singles matches anyway,” Mokou said. “Wriggle’s due for a change of character, and they think she’ll make a good heel.”

“Really?  A turn to the dark side for that little thing?” Meiling said, a little taken back.

“We talked it out, and it’s a good story beat,” Mokou said, holding her hand palm up as if offering the plot point for inspection. “A few more tag-team losses, and then Wriggle’s ambition, her defining character trait, will get the better of her and she’ll turn on me: the old relic who is holding her back.  She’s sure to get some heat for turning on the aging hero.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Meiling asked. 

“It’s fine,” Mokou said. “I’m looking to take a more background role.  I can make my comeback in five or ten years.” Meiling smiled as they both chewed a bit of their meals.  It was just like Mokou, an immortal of unknown origin, to think that long-term.  Even Meiling, who was centuries-old, balked at the idea of spending a decade waiting for a career turnaround.

They both sat for a long moment, eating, drinking and watching a highlight reel of football plays from the past week playing on a TV hanging from the ceiling.  The large felt-topped table that normally hosted mock games of blackjack, poker, craps and roulette sat empty, and the low light made the bar feel desolate.  The atmosphere of the restaurant was always a bit melancholy this late, but Meiling preferred it that way.  

"What about you, Meiling?" Mokou asked as she drained her second full glass of beer and her face began to redden.  "Have you ever thought about making a comeback in the ring?"

Meiling hummed to herself. "I'd be lying if I told you I had never imagined it," she said, leaning back against the bar.  Komakusa-dayuu whisked by, her wavy purple hair and red silk kimono fluttering slightly as she refilled Mokou’s beer and then left to handle another table.  The old woman seemed to be a nearly impossible force of customer service.

"Come on!" Mokou exclaimed. "The Red Star, shooting back into the ring after two decades away!" She punched the air aggressively.

"The Red Star was defeated and humbled by the Rumbling Namazu, before returning to her homeland," Meiling corrected. "Besides, it really wore thin as a gimmick."

"I'm sure you could get a better character these days!" Mokou said, a little louder than before. "I could twist the manager's arm if he makes a comment on your accent or says you've gotta be a communist!"

Meiling smiled to herself as Mokou worked herself up imagining such a scenario.  She simply didn't understand that her accent was a choice, or why.  She didn't know just how many languages Meiling spoke.  As far as Meiling could tell, Mokou had lived over a thousand years and never left Japan.  Their lifespans were a point of bonding between them but were also a source of tension.  Even though Meiling was hundreds of years younger than Mokou, she was so much more widely traveled that it sometimes felt like Mokou was the younger one in their odd friendship.

"I have other matters that need my attention, Mokou, but thank you for offering," Meiling said, waving a hand.  "But I-"

Meiling felt her pocket buzz as a piano solo sounded from her phone.  She retrieved it and looked at the name of the caller.  A new entry, one without a picture yet.

"You need to take that?" Mokou asked, a touch amused.

"I should..." Meiling muttered as she stood from the barstool and slipped out the front door.  She stepped out into the early winter air, her breath a billowing cloud of steam in the air.  She looked back at her buzzing and chiming phone before hitting the 'answer' button.

"Marisa?" she asked, unsure if the ID was correct.

"Meiling!" came the voice on the other end, one definitely belonging to the rebellious little mage Sakuya had picked up. "Sorry for the late call, but it's an emergency."

"Are you alright?" Meiling asked, one question sprouting above all others in her mind: what would the junior wizard call her for? Behind it, various other questions began to light up as her mind began to spin. "Are you hurt?"

"Uh, no, not me," Marisa said, her voice racing slightly. "It's a long story, but I just found this lady with glowy eyes, and she looks like she's starving or-or dying, I can't tell!  I need whatever Youkai trauma team thing you had!"

"How-" Meiling began before stopping herself. She'd mentioned Eientei's services to her, but she hadn't expected that to come back quite so soon.  She sighed, considering her options.  Doctor Yagokoro was particular with her clientele, but she also had a standing emergency policy.  If Marisa had really stumbled upon someone in need of help...

"Let me make another call," Meiling said, relenting.

"Thank you Meiling!" Marisa said, relief coloring her voice. 

Marisa gave Meiling her location, and Meiling started another call and passed along the information and request to the clinic's strange receptionist and assistant, flipped back to Marisa and assured her help was in the way.  She listened to more thanks that she was sure were only half-sincere before ending the call. 

She wandered back into the bar, trying to put the entire matter out of her mind, but she couldn't.  Despite her stupid injury when she'd helped Sakuya, she couldn't deny the thrill and excitement that the brief battle had given was... welcome.  She'd enjoyed a few decades of relaxing after clashing with the Hakurei Maiden when they first arrived in Japan.  She had joined the wrestling world to seek thrills again, but it had grown tiring and she had retired to teach humans and eventually raise the young girl who had become Sakuya.  Now the old itch was rearing its head again...

"Good news?" Mokou asked, halfway through her third beer as Meiling approached her seat on the bar. "Bad news? Sad News?"

"Just a... thing," Meiling said, sitting down and taking a large gulp of her own drink. "Now... about this theoretical return to the ring..."

Marisa was nervous.  Nervous of the weird place she had found herself, nervous of the woman she had found, nervous of the old woman that was examining her on the other side of the glass, and very nervous of the tall, strangely still girl with long purple hair that was standing at the end of the hall.

This entire thing had been nothing but left turns.  The market, the sale, the emaciated woman crawling out of the trash, the call to Meiling, that was already too much for one night.  Then a steel door in the alleyway had slid open to reveal a figure silhouetted by blinding white light.

Marisa had wrapped the woman with rainbow pupils in her own coat to preserve her modesty and keep her warm as she picked her up and carried her.  She was surprised when the alleyway was filled with light and the figure told her "This way" in a strangely flat voice.  Blinded, Marisa stumbled towards the light, eventually stepping past the threshold of light and into... a slightly grimy looking locker room.

The figure had resolved into a tall girl with long, slightly frizzy purple hair and strange eyes.  Her face was very strange, even to Marisa: she looked to be no older than twenty, but her face was worn and thin. She was dressed in what Marisa could only describe as salarywoman's uniform: white blouse and tie, knee-length skirt and loafers.  There was also the strange headset she had on that looked like it had antennae that resembled metal rabbit ears.  Her crimson eyes were locked on Marisa as she stepped forward, scooped the woman out of her arm, turned and marched away, leaving Marisa coatless in locker room.

She had hurried after the girl, through a building that she was very certain was not the one she had walked into.  The change in air pressure as she passed through the door had made her wonder, but the layout of the building let her know for sure: she was definitely not where she was before.  Was that spatial transference?  Teleportation?  Her mind buzzed with excitement and apprehension in equal measure.

The purple-haired girl entered into what looked like a medical operating room, if the plexiglass windows on three sides of the room were any indication.  She laid the rainbow-eyed woman on a reclining seat, unwrapping Marisa’s coat and leaving her naked but for the white cape she had started with.  Marisa wasn’t one for modesty, but even she found herself embarrassed looking at the woman.  She was so thin, so frighteningly unhealthy-looking that even this medical nudity seemed to be a transgression of some sort.  She didn’t have the bloated stomach of the starving, so Marisa could see her ribs hanging over her abdomen.  The purple-haired girl with the headset stood back as another woman entered from elsewhere.  She looked to be in her fifties, with a lab coat over her blue and red sweater and khaki slacks.  Her long gray hair was braided down to her waist, and she retrieved a pair of glasses from her pocket and put them on before snapping on latex gloves.  A conversation inaudible to Marisa occurred between the doctor and her assistant, where the purple-haired girl seemed to give the woman a briefing before she left the room.  The older woman sat herself down on a stool and began to examine the patient, who seemed barely conscious.

Marisa watched for a moment, before a noise to her right spooked her.  It was the purple-haired girl, exiting back into the corridor. Marisa turned as she approached, but she launched into introductions before Marisa could.

“Welcome to the Eientei Clinic for the Supernatural and Extranormal, Kirisame-san.  Doctor Yagokoro is examining the patient and will give her full evaluation and advice when she is finished,” the girl said in a clipped, flat tone.

“Okay…” Marisa said. “And you are?”

The girl paused for a moment, as if this question was somehow unexpected. “My name is Reisen Udongein Inaba.  I am the assistant and apprentice to Doctor Yagokoro.”

“Good to meet you, Inaba-san,” Marisa said, sticking her hand out for a handshake.  Reisen looked at her hand with something like novel curiosity, her red eyes flickering and shifting before she took a step back and stood at attention near the end of the corridor like a soldier… or a machine.

Marisa slowly let her hand return to her side as she turned her attention back to the medical examination.  Yagokoro was taking the woman’s pulse, while an unknown device sat on her other wrist, a screen on the side flashing information too fast for Marisa to read it.  The room looked like it had been a public bath or shower once but had been repurposed, with carts loaded with medical supplies and machines of clean white plastic strewn about.  Despite the apparent magical means of entry, Marisa did not have a tremendous amount of confidence in what seemed to be a back-alley doctor set up in a dilapidated building.

“Oh, a new patient!” said a bright, new voice to Marisa’s right, startling her.  She jumped away slightly as a new person seemed to have silently manifested a few feet from her, observing the medical assessment with her.  She was slightly taller than Marisa, with black hair so long in the back that it tumbled almost to her ankles (hadn’t anyone here ever had a haircut?)  Her pink layered kimono made her look even more out of place, like a noblewoman out of time.  Her heavy makeup that was focused on her round cheeks seemed to be made for the stage rather than anything like a real outing.

"Oh, she's a goddess!" she said, her face almost pressed against the plexiglass observation window. "It's been so long since I've seen one in the flesh." Her voice was high and giddy, with an edge of practiced cuteness. She turned to Marisa, giving a nod. "You're a new face around here."

"Marisa Kirisame," Marisa said, trying to settle her nerves. "I found her in an alley- Wait, she's a goddess?"

"Of some sort," the girl replied. "Kunitsukami or maybe Amatsukami, I don't have the eye for anything more detailed, but she's some kind of divinity."  She turned back to Marisa again. "Oh, where are my manners?  My name is Kaguya."

"Like... the moon princess?" Marisa asked, a little flusttered.

An odd smile spread across Kaguya's face. "Yes, just like that.  Did you hear that, Udonge?" She turned back to Reisen, who was still standing at attention at the end of the hall. "Like the 'moon-princess,' oh how funny!" She brought up a hand to cover her mouth as she laughed, the over-long sleeve of the kimono hiding her actual hand.

Reisen did not move or react as Kaguya moved past Marisa, opened a small mini-fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of ramune, before turning with a swish of her kimono and vanishing down the hall, past Reisen and into a dark room at the end.

Marisa was left alone again with the statue-like apprentice.  "Does she... work here?" Marisa asked. "Like... as the pharmacist or something?"

"Negative, I handle all basic pharmacological duties," Reisen responded, her face blank. "Doctor Yagokoro is responsible for the more advanced duties.  Lady Kaguya is a ward of my mentor."

Marisa fought the urge to roll her eyes; the stiff assistant even referred to her like a princess.  She turned her attention back to the medical exam.  Yagokoro was speaking with the woman, who seemed to mumble her words as the doctor felt her arms, chest, stomach and legs, all while making notes.  Had Kaguya been right, and Marisa had stumbled upon a god hiding in the trash?

Despite the extraordinary possibilities spinning before her, Marisa found herself growing bored.  The medical exam was extremely mundane, anything magical or strange was handled by a few odd devices that Yagokoro occasionally touched to the woman's skin.  She had expected something much more... well, magical.  Sure, this was proof of her vague theories about the union of magic into technology, but everything she could observe was too concealed or integrated to study.

After a few minutes of observation yielded no insights, Marisa started feeling antsy.  "So, what are you all?" she asked, turning to glance at Reisen, who was still just standing there.  She was feeling both bored and brazen. "Tengu?  Lesser kami?  Elves or Devas?"

"The identity of Doctor Yagokoro and Lady Kaguya is theirs to discuss if they wish," Reisen responded.

"What about you?" Marisa said, leaning against the glass.

"Me?" Reisen asked, her blank demeanor slipping a bit. "I am... Reisen."

"And... are you comfortable telling me what you are?" Marisa asked. "And what's up with the headset?"

"The device on my head is a medically corrective prosthesis," Reisen responded, seeming to recite the answer. "As for what... I am...  I... I..."

"You don't have to say!" Marisa said, suddenly mortified by the innocent, stuttering incomprehension of the taller girl.  Whatever she was, she clearly had major damage about it. "It's fine, really.  You can just not answer."

"I do not wish to discuss that matter at this time," Reisen said, regaining her composure somewhat. "But I do wish to thank you for asking after me and my status, Kirisame-san."

"No problem," Marisa said as she noticed movement in the exam room.  Yagokoro had stood and was beckoning to Reisen, who approached the entrance to the room.  They conversed, before the doctor gestured down the hall to Marisa. 

As Marisa approached, she saw that Yagokoro was holding her coat in her off hand.  She offered it to Marisa as she introduced herself and Reisen stepped away.

"Eirin Yagokoro," she said as Marisa took her coat back and slipped it back on.  The familiar weight was reassuring.  "Ms. Meiling informed us of your unique circumstances.  We prefer to keep things private and on a need-to-know basis here, but we also understand emergencies."

"I get it.  I was just pretty panicked," Marisa lied.  Sure, there was a person in need, but the opportunity to investigate a magical medical service was too good a chance to pass up.

Eirin gestured into the room, and Marisa followed. "This is actually a fairly mundane case of malnutrition and ill health on the surface, but there is a twist," she explained.

"She's a god, right?" Marisa said, unable to contain herself.

"Correct," Eirin said. "As Kaguya-sama told you, the patient is a physical goddess. She may be able to tell us more when she is in better health."

"Does a god really need food and rest?" Marisa asked, eager for information. "Are they even a god if they do?"

"Incarnation is not a subject I am well-versed in," Eirin said, as she gestured to a stool near the woman. "At least, not modern incarnation.  The mechanics of the matter have shifted in the last eon, as I understand it.  But regardless, a god may not require human concepts such as food and rest, but their human bodies do, so the theological hair-splitting is secondary to the medical reality."

Marisa sat down in the stool she was shown, next to the goddess.  There was a thin linen sheet over her body now, like bedding.  It made her look... not healthier, but at least not as desperate or sickly.

"She wanted to share something with you," Eirin said as she sat opposite Marisa on the other side of the woman.

The woman opened her eyes a sliver, the kaleidoscopic rainbow still faintly playing in the depths of her pupils. Her gaze fell upon Marisa, and her thin features softened.  "Thank you... for helping me," she croaked, her voice still a harsh whisper.  Marisa felt a pinprick of shame on the back of her neck at the god's gratitude.  Her motives had been far from altruistic, but Marisa had a lot of practice ignoring that particular part of her conscience. 

"What... is your name?" the woman asked.  She extended a shaking hand, and Marisa took it hesitantly.  This all felt a bit too... much for her.

"I'm Marisa," she supplied. "And you are?"

"My name is Chimata," the blue-haired woman responded. "I was... there was a window... I..." she mumbled and slurred her words, her head nodding off to one side.  The thin hand fell from Marisa's grasp, and she would have feared the woman dead if not for the vital monitor right next to her that continued to beep periodically.

"She's exhausted right now," Eirin said, standing up. "Reisen, please get her in a gown, and get her started on... let's say meal plan C." Marisa realized she hadn't even noticed the assistant enter the room with them as she stepped forward unhooked the unconscious god from the vital monitor before scooping her up and walking away.

"This way, if you please, Kirisame-san," Eirin said as she walked out of the room, down the hallway and into a cramped office area.  Marisa found the space overly cluttered with knickknacks and junk, and as a hoarder that was saying something.  Eirin lowered herself into an office chair and Marisa did the same on a small desk chair.

"So, from what I was able to gather, she is not what you might assume as some kind of fallen kami, but rather a new one," Eirin explained, as she reviewed several forms in a clipboard. "She seems to be newly incarnated, possibly never holding a physical body before tonight."

"She's... a new god?" Marisa asked. That seemed... strange.  What god would craft for themselves such a sickly and malnourished body?  Unless... there wasn't a choice in the matter?  She needed to talk to Reimu about this.

"A new version of a god, perhaps.  As I said, this is not my area of expertise," Eirin said, waving a hand. "What I can say is that with proper care and medical attention, she can make a full... well it wouldn't be a recovery per se, but she'll be medically fit to be released back into your care-"

"Wait a minute," Marisa said, throwing up a hand. "I don't want to care for her.  I can barely take care of myself. I just wanted to help her survive and-”

“And see the inner workings of a magical clinic,” Eirin cut in, her voice dry. “Which you leaned on the trust of an acquaintance to do, and now you want to escape the consequences.” Marisa felt her face burn with embarrassment as Eirin clocked her motives without even looking at her.  She felt an odd pressure building in the room as the doctor’s gaze slid over to her, looking almost… sardonic. “I am older than your entire lineage by a factor you cannot fathom, Kirisame-san.  Do not presume you can lie to me.”

“Yes ma’am,” Marisa muttered.  No matter how many times she thought she had the upper hand, she was proven wrong.  At least there wasn’t an audience this time.

“Regardless of your motives, as a technical new arrival, Chimata-san’s case falls under our emergency aid clause,” Eirin continued. “She will be remanded back into your care, free of charge when she is strong enough to leave, which should be a few days; less than a week at most.  If you wish to abdicate responsibility in this arrangement, then you will have to pay out the full cost of treatment.”

At this, the doctor scribbled an amount on the bottom of the form she was filling out and reversed the clipboard so that Marisa could see it.  She leaned forward for a good view, then coughed and felt her eyes water at the figure she saw.

“No, I can take care of her,” Marisa said, holding her hands up.  Already her mind spun, formulating a way to pass the goddess off to Reimu; surely she would have an idea of what to do.

“Glad to hear it,” Eirin said, the tiniest smile in her voice as she passed a clipboard and pen over to Marisa. “Please fill this out with your contact information.”

Marisa did as she was told, not daring to give any false information. It was clear her luck had run out for the night.  Afterwards, Reisen reappeared and escorted her to the same locker room/surgical prep area that she had first entered.  As Reisen stared at a screen next to the steel door that Marisa couldn’t interpret, she sighed.

“No good deed goes unpunished, huh?” she breathed to herself.

The screen chimed and the door slid open to the same blinding white light as before.  Reisen turned and looked down at Marisa, her expression blank, but with a hint of a wrinkle in her brow.  “I can only offer my commentary, but I think you did the right thing in helping our patient, Kirisame-san,” she said.

Marisa had had enough earnestness for the day, so she stepped through the gateway of light without another word.  The light vanished, and she found herself alone in the same narrow alley she had found Chimata in, one person lighter and one obligation heavier.

“If doing the right thing was right, then none of us would be here,” Marisa muttered bitterly as she kicked an aluminum can that had been discarded in the alley.  It ricocheted off the wall and into the night before Marisa set off for her apartment.

If nothing else, she’d have something to talk about with Reimu.

"It only happened once," the man said, scratching his black hair as he handed Satori a glass of water. "I've been under a lot of stress, so I just thought I should take a vacation."

How did this... investigator even hear about this? he thought as he sat down in a chair opposite her. I only told Jae-hyun and Iruka about it.

Satori suppressed the curl at the corner of her mouth. The man (Najima Asukara, she recalled) was the third person she'd been able to track down who had suffered missing time, and the first who had allowed her into their home. It was a typical salaryman’s bachelor pad: the home of a man with a modest amount of money and less social sense.  Barely decorated and hardly lived-in, it seemed to be little more than a place to lay his head on the weekends; it was interesting only in that it was new data in the case.

From her initial data sample, the reports of people with missing time were sporadic for a little over a week, and then cut off roughly sixteen or seventeen days ago.  The data was on reports, not the actual times of the incidents, so Satori had been forced to do the legwork and interview those she could turn up information for to establish actual times.  So far, there was no trend she could discern, but it was still early.

As for Mr. Asukara, he was a whole layered mess all on his own, which was becoming a running theme with each interviewee.  The two previous people had been so suspicious of her that Satori hadn't had the time to really ask them anything, and they had both but shut the door in her face.  Satori didn't blame them; from stray thoughts she had been able to see that the first was an illegal immigrant and the second had been trying to work her way out of an abusive relationship.  Neither had welcomed prying questions from a stranger.

Najima was more welcoming, but it was a facade Satori was familiar with.  As she drank her glass of water, his mind continued to leak thoughts.

Who hired her?  Who's so interested in me?  Is it mom?  Dad?  The supervisor?  Oh no... 

His head buzzed with anxiety and tension.  He was far from being destitute like the last two interviewees, but he was still struggling socially.  He would cooperate so long as he thought he could get by with his reputation unscathed.  Underneath his salaryman suit-and-tie, he had plenty of reason to be suspicious.  Satori could feel his fears that his secret relationship with a Korean man might be made public simmering underneath every thought directed at her.

Not for the first time, Satori momentarily fantasized about just how easy it would be to make her money blackmailing people...  But no, that line of reasoning would end very poorly.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Asukara-san," Satori said, taking a sip of water. "I understand the misgivings one has when a detective shows up, but this has nothing to do with any personal matters, I'm just looking into the reports we received about people missing time," she said.  Lies were easier to sell if the literal words one said were true, but the implication was false.  A few careful turns of phrase at the beginning of their encounter had led to a fuzzy, indistinct belief that she was part of a very official agency. 

Now she just had to ask the right questions.  Establishing a pattern between the cases had everything to do with not just who they were, but what happened to them.  Najima's mind had already spilled most of his secrets within a minute of Satori sitting in his apartment, but she needed more.  She needed to see if there were any buried memories.

"I'm just a little taken aback is all," he explained, making an effort to calm himself and get his spiraling thoughts under control. "You're just... not what I imagined a detective to be."

It was true.  Her gaunt build and short pink hair made her stand out no matter what she did.  It was normally best to own it, so she had chosen a bit of punk fashion to accentuate it.  Black boots, a coat with lots of buckles, a plaid skirt and a dark blue leather top.  Strange, but not too out there.  

"I get that a lot," she said as she retrieved a notepad and pencil from inside her coat.  "This look helps me blend in on assignment." It was a preposterous lie, but Najima was boring and middle-class enough Satori thought he would believe it.  She was shortly proven right as she felt a sense of earnest relief flow out of him.  "So, could you walk me through what you do remember of the incident?"

"Let me see..." he said, leaning back in his chair.

It was right after my parents called me late at work, he thought. That was when mom really started to make a fuss about 'finding someone.'

"I was headed home from work," he said, simplifying. 

Satori smirked as she jotted all of that down on her notepad.  The weird girl in the kimono that lurked around Eientei had once asked her why she even needed to talk to people if she could read minds.  It was a reasonable, if naive question.  The answer was that Satori could read thoughts, not necessarily minds.   Surface thoughts and emotions were easy and clear, deeper beliefs and secrets were much harder to read.  To really explore a person, she needed to talk to them, prompt them to think about certain things, and lead their minds to contemplate what she wanted.

"I work at an insurance agency south of here," he continued. "It was pretty late, so the alley I normally cut through was darker than I expected."

And my head was throbbing so hard after that shift that I wanted to avoid the crowd.

Satori listened to his words and his thoughts in tandem, jotting down both.

"I remember..."

...Being depressed.

"Feeling a little lost and listless."

Like there's no place for me in this world.  No place to belong.  No place that will accept me for who I love.

“And then..."

A flicker of a thought, too fast to see in his mind.  No, that’s stupid.  You can’t say that.

“I don’t really remember anything, Komeiji-san,” Najima said. “There’s just a gap in my memories from that alleyway.  Next thing I knew, I was standing in Sendagaya, almost three kilometers away and it was half an hour later.  There was no one around for me to ask, so I just caught the next train back home and tried to think about it.”

Never mind how I even got there that fast with no taxi or train charges, he thought.

This would get them nowhere.  She had to allay some of his concerns in order to really dig down.

“I understand that your memory is fuzzy on this, but I need a little more,” Satori said, leaning forward. “Again, I’m not here to judge you or to expose you, sir.  What happened to you has also happened to several others.  I need to know what you experienced, even if it seems… strange or impossible.”  He moved to speak, but Satori continued. “Just lean back.  Close your eyes and think back to the sounds, the smells of that night.  What was it like to walk into that alleyway?”

It was a tiny bit of hypnotherapy she had picked up, and to her surprise Najima obeyed after a moment of consideration.  His mind slowed and his thoughts drifted back to his past experiences.  “Listen to the sound of my voice.  What do you feel?" she said. "Tell me.”

My back… he thought.

“There’s a feeling of… being alone,” he said. “I know there are people just outside, on the street.  But I feel… alone.”

My back is itching… It’s burning… His thoughts were soft and nearly formless.  The memories were fresh and unexamined, despite the weeks since the incident.  He had avoided thinking about what he had experienced around the missing time, his human mind automatically looking away from something strange and inexplicable.  The tell-tale sign of magic.

Jackpot, she thought to herself.

“What can you feel?” Satori prompted.

“I feel… felt… It’s almost like I’m falling backwards,” he said.

I'm falling back... into myself, he thought. 

“What can you smell?” she asked.

I can smell dirt… fresh earth, he thought, his mind relaxing as he didn't even respond verbally.

“What do you see?” she asked.

There’s darkness around me, but I can see a face hanging in the distance.  It’s a… mask with a long beard.  A theater mask, with a dark hat.

“What do you hear?”

There’s a voice, His thoughts echoed. It’s asking me something… Asking me...

"Asking you what?" she asked, raising her voice.  Now this was getting somewhere.

Asking me if... I'm ready to leave... Ready for...

"Ready for what?" Satori said, her voice growing forceful.  She was on the razor's edge, asking things he could never consciously answer... but she was so close.   If she could crack this mystery this early...

I'm scared... I say I'm not ready... But it asks again, if I'm ready... to serve...

"Serve who?!" Satori cried out, standing from her chair at the table.  Immediately she knew that she had pushed too far.  Najima suddenly snapped his eyes open and looked around like he'd just been awoken from a dream. 

His expression turned from shock and confusion to suspicion in an instant, and his thoughts followed: What did she just do?  What was I saying?  Did she... I need to get her out of here before she... tries anything else.  Satori complied with his hurried demands to leave, and even politely pretended to believe his excuses.  She exited out onto the streets of the Shibuya suburb she had tracked the man to.

Good news? came a thought from a nearby concrete wall. Rin the cat was pacing back and forth atop the wall, waiting for Satori to return.

Satori cupped her crossed arms and the cat leapt down into her waiting embrace. "Almost," she said as she scratched Rin's back. "There's a lot more to do." She chuckled to herself as she turned a street.  "Maybe this outfit's too much.  Too dark and mysterious."

Coat good, Rin argued, yawning. Good color.

"You would think that," Satori joked, giving her black fur one last scratch before letting her jump down to walk on her own.  As she made her way back to the subway station with Rin following, she reflected on the encounter. 

She'd been too brazen, too eager.  He has her first real contact in this case, and she'd burned a bridge.  She might have gotten more out of him by being careful, but she'd blown it.  Whatever was happening to these people, it was more than memory loss; it was something very magical, possibly more.  The mask, the question he'd heard;  she needed to keep an eye out to see if it became a running pattern… it was all something to keep in mind when she found her next interviewee. 

If she found her next interviewee.  The record wasn't great so far.

As she stepped onto the subway with Rin in tow, Satori massaged the scar on her chest.  Occasional pangs of pain in her scars were constant, but they were exacerbated by both physical activity and use of her powers.  It had been a while, so she should probably pay another to Eirin for a check up.  The way her powers interacted with her injuries was something that only the magical doctor seemed to understand, and perhaps the woman had seen something useful.

The doors on the subway slid closed and Satori sat down as Rin jumped into her lap.  The subway was fast, but the cacophony of judging thoughts from the passengers was almost too much to handle.  She stroked Rin's fur, tried to ignore the drone of thoughts and mentally reviewed her next potential interviewee as the train carried her away.

Chapter Text

Reimu repressed a sigh as she pulled herself up from her bow and settled her hair back into place. 

A flurry of household blessing and general lack of leads in the snake-like spirits had set her back into a more familiar mode: community service, maintaining the shrine and handling minor Youkai as they popped up.  She had to exterminate a poltergeist that was haunting a young boy, which was extra awkward when Izumi had tried to reason with it.  They had spent an hour trying to coax something useful before it had revealed itself as the spirit of a resentful relative, eager to inflict more pain.  Izumi had still tried to talk it down, but after taking a telekinetically thrown lamp to the temple, Reimu had run out of patience.

Now she was trying to graciously accept a donation from a wealthy family visiting their son.  She nodded and bowed as the overbearing parents dropped more than was typical into the donation bin, pointedly smiling at their son.  From the stiff way they interacted Reimu had the faint impression she was seeing a long-running family drama.  She was more preoccupied by trying to keep the three fairies out of sight, as Cirno and Summer Blaze repeatedly blew warm and cold breezes back and forth across the courtyard.  After the family finally left, she closed up shop and invited the three fairies inside to try and keep them out of trouble as she began to fix dinner.

"We're gonna show'em this time!" Cirno cried from the living room as they planned their night.  Reimu snorted as she retrieved a pork cutlet from the freezer and placed it in the microwave.

"Who is 'them'?" Izumi asked, hanging in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

"Some rival fairy circle," Reimu explained. "Three other fairies they've been fighting for... I don't know, honestly.  Decades, probably."

"You'd think they'd have gotten over it by now.  What did this other circle do?" Izumi asked as she watched Cirno and Summer Blaze perform a very intricate handshake before returning to drink from the glass of soda that was almost as tall as they were.

"A lot," Reimu said. "The main thing that they are still angry about is the green one's name.  They bet their names in some fae game, and Daiyousei lost her original name.  They still compete in pranks and other mischief."

"I see..." Izumi murmured.  Reimu finished preparing her dinner and moved back into the living room with a glass of water, chicken and rice.  She entertained the fairies with some old manga and showed them her new phone.  Cirno amused herself by dancing on the buttons, and Daiyousei tried to sing along to the tones that played as numbers were entered but stopped when phone beeped loudly in error, to the amusement of Summer Blaze.  Reimu cut off two small portions of her pork and gave them to the Blaze and Cirno, with Daiyousei abstaining from her pinky nail-sized cut of meat.

"If they've been here for decades," Izumi suggested, still invisible to the fae, "Could you not ask them about your family?  Your mother?”

Reimu smirked as she swallowed her rice.  She gave Izumi a look, then turned to the three fairies playing on her table.  “Hey, you three,” Reimu said, getting their attention. “What was my mom like?”

“What’s a mom?” Cirno asked, setting down a glass marble she was looking at.  At her height, it was roughly the size of a soccer ball to her.

“Idiot, it’s a big woman,” Summer Blaze sniped back. “Like a really big one.”

“A mom is who makes you, I think,” Daiyousei said.

“How do you make someone?” Blaze asked.

"The queen is the one who made us," Cirno said. "I wonder if she's still just as pretty."

"Queen Titania and King Oberon are the prettiest fairies in the world, they're great!"

"They're so fair..."

"I wanna see them again!"

Reimu shot a glance over at Izumi, whose mouth was pressed in a thin line of repressed exasperation.  Reimu cleared her throat and gave it a second go: "I mean, what do you remember about the woman who lived here before me?"

"'Before you'?" Blaze questioned, cocking his head as his dragonfly wings buzzed a bit.

"You've always lived here, Hakurei-san," Daiyousei said.

"Yeah, you built it!" Cirno said, flying up to Reimu’s eye level and trying to reassure her.

"No she didn't, the Ka-Mi did!" Blaze said. "The Ka-Mi made everything here!"

As the three sprites descended back into their familiar babble, Reimu glanced back at Izumi, her point made but unable to not expound. "They're creatures of eternal youth and play," Reimu told Izumi as the fae started rolling the marble across the table at each other as they talked. "They barely remember what happened a few months ago; they'll never remember what happened a year ago, never mind decades."

Izumi nodded as Reimu entertained the fairies a bit more before handing each of them a piece of candy as large as each of their heads and shooing them away.

"You may not enjoy it, but you are surprisingly good with children, Reimu," Izumi said as Reimu washed her plate and chopsticks.

"I don't dislike children, I dislike situations where I am expected to deal with children," Reimu corrected, to which Izumi rolled her eyes.  Dishes cleaned, she set the water running for her bath and Izumi vanished for the night as Reimu began to strip.  She noted that she'd need to run her laundry again soon.

It was far too cold out now for the outdoor shower, so Reimu eased herself into the miniscule tub in the shrine bathroom and reflected on the past few weeks.  Despite the lack of leads on the strange spirits, her life was going fairly well; the letters from the NTA had stopped and she had a comfortable amount of funds tucked away.  She poured water over her head and lathered shampoo as she tried to relax, kneading the suds into her hair and scalp.  She lost herself in the routine, the repetition of the comfortable known.  As the one who was meant to uphold balance and peace, Reimu herself operated on schedules; she took comfort in the fact that no matter what they said most other people were like her: they wanted every day to be just like the last.  No surprises, no changes, just certainty.

And one certainty that Reimu enjoyed was how much better a bath always made her feel.  As she stepped out of the tub and sat down on her stool, she rinsed her hair and body and felt cleaner than she had in a long while.  As she toweled off and slipped into her old sleepwear, she noticed her phone on the table of the shrine.  It was odd, getting used to having the device on and around her person.  It was certainly useful, but she'd spent so long without it that she found she often forgot it. 

As she reached down to plug it in for the night, the phone began to ring.  Reimu had not bothered to set any custom tunes, yet the jazzy song coming out of the phone was not the default ringtone she had left it with. Furthermore, it was a song she recognized from a long time ago, when Aya had taken her and Marisa out to karaoke.  Only Reimu, Marisa and Aya knew about that, so...

No, she corrected herself.  There was one other who knew about that particular outing. As she picked up the vibrating phone, she found the caller ID number had been replaced with the number 4, repeated such that it overflowed the space for phone numbers and filled the tiny screen.

Hesitantly, she flipped the phone open and answered.  "Hello?"

"Hello yourself, stranger," came a voice from the phone.  A faintly familiar, warm and dry voice that Reimu had only heard in a dream.

"Komachi?" Reimu asked.

"Sure am," the voice responded. "Glad to see you're still in business, as it were.  And thanks for getting a phone, it's much easier to use this than dreams."

"You're welcome," Reimu said, trying her best to be casual about being called by a shinigami. "So… is work going well?"

"Work is work," Komachi said. "I did want to tell you I met a friend of yours.  You're proving to be a real spirit-settling asset.  I tried to take the Konpaku girl a few times, but she was far too knotted up with guilt inside to hear me."

Reimu felt something kick-start inside her. "Y-you saw Youen?  She crossed over?" she said as she sat down next to her table, a sense of both deferred grief and relief welling up.

"Carried her across the Sanzu myself," she said.

There was a moment of silence before Reimu decided to pry: "Can you... did she..."

"Oh no, you know saying any more would be telling, Reimu-chan," Komachi chided.

"Then what did you call me for?" Reimu asked.  Distantly, she wondered if Komachi was even really calling her on her own phone, or just... creating a phone call from nothing, like with her memory of the karaoke lounge.

"I'm just checking in on my favorite shrine maiden, that's all," Komachi said, the sarcasm in her voice evident even to Reimu. "But also checking with how your search is going.  A little birdy told me that you located Fukuda-san's family, so what's the hold-up?"

"Her... fiancé isn't ready yet, according to her daughter," Reimu admitted, minding her choice of words.

"Hmm..." Komachi murmured on the line. "When I gave you that brand, I expected that you would have it for maybe two weeks at most.  I didn't expect you to get wrapped up in all that other business with the demon tree, though your good work with that was a major boon for me."

"Was it now?" Reimu asked, curiosity piqued.

"Wights are a pain, they muck up everything on the backend," Komachi said. "So, you have my thanks again there.  I can't say you don't deserve more time in our little deal, but I'm really sticking my neck out for you here. If the enma ever found out..."

"Just... say I'm an ally," Reimu offered. "If they wonder what's going on, tell them I'm a... what did you call me, 'an asset'?"

"I appreciate the thought," Komachi chuckled, "but she doesn't work like that.  Nevertheless, I'll keep up my end, even if you take your sweet time getting there.  Good nig-"

"Before you go," Reimu interrupted. "Do you know what's going on with these snake-spirits that are feeding on minor kami?"

"Not really my department," Komachi said. "I deal with human souls.  But that does sound familiar.  Some rural type of curse-god."

Well, it was more than Reimu had gotten so far.  "Thank you, Komachi," Reimu said.

"Have a good life, Reimu-chan," she replied. "See you later." The call did not so much end as it did cease.  Reimu stared down at her phone for a moment before pulling up her call history.  Somewhat unsurprisingly, there was no record of the call she just had in her phone.  She sighed before moving to plug her phone back in.  Just as she did, it buzzed with a new text message from Marisa.

TheMagicDrizzle: hey are you free this week?  if not, make yourself available soon, i need help

Youmu wiped her brow of sweat and straightened her back.  Her initial assessment of the courtyard garden had been overly optimistic.  Where the grass wasn’t dead it was overgrown, rendering much of the garden almost unsalvageable.  She had to tear out the overgrown grass by the root and rake apart the dead grass to expose the soil.  It was laborious, time-consuming work, but it was also honest and simple.  She arrived after school almost every day and got to work pulling the roots and piling them in a corner, a single one-square-meter plot at a time before moving on to the next.  She would worry about reseeding later, in the spring.  Tearing out and cleaning up the old growth had become her winter project.

"We've talked about strange events all over the world, but for this story, it's time to look closer to home: deep in the mountains of Japan there is a place of mystery.  It is the site of a disaster that still eludes complete explanation to this day, even as it continues to fuel speculation and conspiracies.  Join us as we delve into the strange and spooky history of the Hikageiri Event.  This is 'Path of the Unexplained'!"

As the intro music of the podcast played over the speaker, Yuyuko floated nearby, observing Youmu's work.  "Are you sure that spending as much time as you do here is a good idea?” the ghost asked. “I was under the impression that a student’s life after school was spent studying.”

“I was basically the only person in the gardening club, but it’s fine,” Youmu said, squatting to inspect a tangle of roots. “I feel more at ease here, weirdly.  Probably all the rumors at school about me.”

“Has your hair and recent absences made you the target of ridicule?” Yuyuko asked.

“No, everyone’s been pretty nice,” Youmu said. “A little… too nice.  I’m weird and people just keep their distance.  It’s just a bit… lonely.”

Youmu got back to work as the man on the podcast talked about his sponsors. “A service to help with designing… what were they called, web-sights?  How curious,” Yuyuko remarked.

After the ads were finished the host continued: “On April 4th, 1963 at approximately 4:27 in the morning, there was a massive, earth-shaking explosion in the mountains of the Nagano Region, in an area known as Hikageiri Park in Higashiminowa.  Residents that lived almost two kilometers away in the nearby city of Ina were awoken as the earth shook and white light filled the sky.  The explosion was so powerful that it was felt and seen in the nearby cities of Minowa, Suwa and even Shiojiri.”

“I was up late because of a barking dog, and I swear the light almost looked blue and seemed to linger,” said an elderly voice, an interviewee. “You could feel the sound of it echoing and bouncing off Mount Moriya.”

As more elderly voices relayed their experience of the event, Youmu looked up at Yuyuko, who held a pensive look.  “So, you knew about this event?”

“Only second hand, but yes, I knew of it.  Yukari… the Youkai that helped manage this neighborhood, that is, was responsible for the accident.”

Youmu listened as the narrator of the mystery-and-folklore themed podcast expanded on the facts of the event: the exact location, the square kilometers affected, the response by the government.  It was interesting to hear about a supernatural event from the perspective of a normal person as someone who knew some of the truth of it offered occasional commentary.

“It was meant to be a sanctuary, a place where Youkai would be free to exist away from humans.  Since the modern era dawned, they’ve been marginalized, forced into the shadows.  Tengu, Kappa and the like had to change and grow more… human-like to survive.”

“And so they wanted a place to return to the old ways?” Youmu asked, scooping piles of the old grass into a trash bag.

“Yes, the most stubborn of them all gathered with Yakumo to create a… separate dimension, you might call it.  A space alongside the normal reality.  But clearly, someone went wrong.”

“After an extensive investigation and consultation with numerous science agencies, the cause of the explosion was determined to be a micro-meteor air-burst explosion.  You might recognize that explanation from our episode about the Tunguska Event, and all the models show that it was a very similar event, just much, much smaller.  Indeed, the event is sometimes called ‘Japan’s Little Tunguska’; and as with the full-sized version, folklore, conspiracy theories and creepy mysteries surround it.”

“I assume the government knew what it really was?” Youmu asked as she sat down and took a long drink of water.  At the very least the late fall weather made staying cool easy.

Yuyuko shrugged and waved a hand that communicated both ambivalence and ignorance. “I don’t believe so, but I never learned one way or another.  From what I understand, some of the tengu families are the ones who manage the human government’s knowledge of Folk.  They tend to keep it limited; there is no… I suppose you would say systemic or institutional knowledge of the supernatural in the government.”

“One early theory claimed that a hidden American research facility was responsible, citing the elevated radiation levels around the crater-like area.  But like with the Tunguska event itself, the levels are far too low for any kind of nuclear weapon and are easily explained by the physics of the thermal explosion.  Another theory holds that it was alien intervention, perhaps a crashed ship or abduction gone wrong.  This explanation was used in several works of fiction, and remains a popular conspiracy talking point, often spoken in the same breath as the Roswell Incident.”

“People today seem so eager to imagine new explanations of the world,” Yuyuko said, as Youmu tore apart a patch of dead grass. 

“Well, can you blame them?” Youmu responded.  “Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t find aliens all that strange, I guess. If they were real.”

“Oh, aliens are real,” Yuyuko said casually. “They live on the moon and invented mochi.”

Youmu looked up from her work in shock.  She studied Yuyuko’s carefully blank face in surprise before she spotted the ephemeral smirk tugging at the corner of her lip.  She chuckled to herself as Yuyuko broke into a full laugh, admitting the joke. “I had you going there for a moment, didn’t I?” Yuyuko said.

“But perhaps the most persistent and evocative is the ‘Gateway’ theory: a story which posits that the explosion was actually the result of transdimensional travel, or perhaps an attempt by quantum researchers turned meditation gurus to create a parallel dimension with their elevated minds!  This theory emerged in the 1990s and may remind you of another previous episode: Ong’s Hat.  In fact, this theory only began to circulate after The Incunabula Papers that spawned the Ong’s Hat hoax were translated into Japanese, and the specific story was eventually revealed to be a hoax, just like Ong’s Hat itself, formulated by a fan of the American internet story.  And exactly like the myth of the ashram and The Egg, the story of mystic gateways to other dimensions continues to circulate, capturing the imagination of many.”

“Maybe I could get some bushes to start shoring up the bank of the stream; that might be better to start early,” Youmu said, taking a long drink of water after tying up a full bag of roots and grass.  

“You don’t have to do anything that would put undue strain on yourself, Youmu,” Yuyuko cautioned.

“This is tricky, but feels way more manageable than other similar stuff,” she responded, shaking her head. “Yatsugatake Park was way harder before it got called off.”

“Pardon?” Yuyuko asked.

“It’s a really old park in Gensokyo.  I think it was built in the 70s or 80s?” Youmu explained. “Had a shrine built at its center and everything, but when the economy went bad the companies funding it abandoned it.  It’s completely overgrown now, and no one bothers with it anymore.  A few years ago, some neighborhood association put out a call and tried to start reclaiming it, but it fell apart fast.”

“Abandoned…” Yuyuko muttered to herself.

“But you may be wondering, why so much fixation on this minor natural disaster?  Well, the reports of those who have been to the site of the explosion definitely invite speculation.  Now, much like with reports of hauntings, we have to take these with a grain of salt; those who have visited places with a reputation for the strange and uncanny are liable to imagine all sorts of things, but the stories we have are the stories we have.  Whispers on the wind is a common reported oddity, though none are able to discern the language.  Cold spots, lost time and other classic reports of hauntings are common, but one element that has been reported by many different visitors is a sudden feeling of… rage.  Multiple reports mentioned the feeling that the area made the observers suddenly feel extremely acutely unwelcome. Probably a byproduct of being miserable while you're stuck in the woods is what I would say, but more fantastical explanations are far more intriguing.”

“I think you’ve done enough for today, Youmu,” Yuyuko said, looking at the square patches of bare earth in the center of the yard.

“You’re probably right,” Youmu said, straightening. “But I’ll stick around.  It’s nicer here.”

Yuyuko’s mouth thinned to a narrow line. “Any word on your mother?” she asked.

“Nothing to report,” Youmu replied tersely. “Still staying with her sister.”  Yuyuko said nothing more.

“The mountain woods are treacherous. Even though the area that was flattened by the shockwave of the explosion has recovered amazingly in the decades since the explosion, it remains a wild area.  Injuries from accidents and wild animal attacks in the area are commonly reported by those visiting.  After a series of missing persons reports that were never resolved in the 1980s, the government declared the area officially unsafe, closing Hikageiri Park and putting up a fence around the area.  This has deterred all but the most determined of explorers, though every year someone is reported missing in the area."

"I suppose it is time to head home," Youmu said, brushing the soil off her gloves, then stowing them along with her other tools.  She had a bag that she kept at the mansion so as to not lug her tools around every day.

“One local story connects to the event and continues to fuel local legends about the explosion.  Residents of the small town of Takatomachi reported a large influx of visitors passing through the town in the weeks before the explosion.  Takatomachi is sandwiched in a valley between Ina and Suwa.  Multiple residents commented that the visitors were both locals to Suwa and out-of-towners, though none of them seemed to want to mingle with the locals for the single night each group stayed in the town.  These people arrived in town in groups of five to eight people, stayed one night in the town, then left, and many residents described them as strange or uncanny.  According to reports, there were a fair few foreigners in their midst.  It’s said that they stopped arriving a few days before the explosion, and not one of them was ever seen again after that.  The only comment we have from them is this: a young woman asked one of the men who arrived in old-fashioned robes where they were headed, and he responded thus:”

Yuyuko looked over at the speaker for a moment as Youmu packed her tools.  Mysterious music was rising behind the narrator's voice.

“‘We’re going up into the mountains, never to return.  We’re leaving this place, young one.  We can bear this new world no longer.’”  

“Thank you fo-” Youmu tapped her phone to stop the podcast and switched off her speaker before she said her goodbyes, leaving Yuyuko to fade away for the day with thoughts of times gone by.

Byakuren, so used to the solitary wanderings of a monk, had expected her expedition to the site in Nagano to be a week-long trip.  Instead, her enchanted motorcycle had turned the retreat into a day-trip.  She turned the key to shut the engine off as she flipped the kickstand out, having arrived in the small town closest to the so-called ‘Hikageiri Event.’  She brushed the frame of the bike as she stepped off it in a small parking lot.

The motorcycle was an exquisite work of magical artifice.  It was a gift from a machinist in Vietnam, which she had visited on her journey back to Japan from America.  His wife had been a reformed, peaceful Manananggal who had lost her lower half, and Byakuren had helped her locate it.  When he had given her the motorcycle in thanks, Byakuren had initially thought it a bit too modern for her liking, but when she had needed to get back to Japan quickly, the magical metal steed proved indispensable.

She looked around the town.  The autumn night had come early, so she shifted her outfit to match; a dark leather jacket and denim pants would not draw attention.  She pocketed the key to her bike and crossed the street, the sleepy town almost deserted even at this relatively early hour of the night.  She wove between small houses, appreciating the difference between the small towns and the massive city; she could actually see the stars out, and the wind smelled of mountain streams and dense woods.

She waved to a young couple hurrying home as she moved past the main street of the town, headed towards a neighborhood at the edge of the town where pavement gave way to the wilderness of Mount Moriya.  As she moved into the neighborhood, she spotted a figure on a bench.  It was a man dressed in a casual winter coat with a knit cap, spread out on a large portion of the bench.  He was tall and heavyset, but something in the splayed-out posture he displayed spoke of a man past his prime; an elder warrior, as it were.

"You reek of magic," he said, his voice deep and guttural. "Black magic."

Byakuren stopped and stared at him for a long moment, taking him in.  His complexion, his physique, his attitude... She had a hunch she was speaking to an oni, or perhaps a half-oni.  "I am a student of the Buddha and mystic secrets," Byakuren admitted, unable to lie. "I am but a traveler.  I do not wish harm on this town or its people."

"I know what you're here for," he said. "Another muckraker, here about the cursed site in the mountains, the one those demons from Tokyo caused half a century ago."

Byakuren felt herself press her lips into a hard line.  She had researched the site beforehand, with some help from Ichirin.  This kind of reception wasn't unexpected, based on what Suika had said.  "An ally of mine was responsible for that tragedy.  I... am attempting to make sense of it.  To make it right, if I can."

"You knew Yakumo?" he asked, his voice growing brittle.

"A century ago," Byakuren said.

"I lost my daughter to her poisoned promises," he said, standing from the bench and approaching Byakuren.  As he stood, Byakuren caught the barest hint of small, sharp horns on his forehead, barely hidden by his cap.  He stopped less than an arm's length away from her, the scent of intimidation roiling off of him thicker than the smell of alcohol.  He easily stood ten centimeters taller than Byakuren, and his bloodshot eyes stared down at her with a lifetime of resentment. "She came here recruiting tengu, kappa, spirits and oni from Suwa to join her.  My daughter was a powerful warrior, but she wasn't used to liars.  She joined that worm on her grand project to create a refuge for all Youkai, and she perished." His mouth twisted as he ended his sentence, the implication hanging in the short distance between them.

Byakuren wondered what she could have done, what she would have done if she was still around when Yukari had started that project.  Would it have looked like a good idea, or would she have recognized the danger?  Would it have succeeded if they had all worked on it?  She dismissed the thought; dwelling on the path not taken was an indulgence she could ill afford when there was work to do.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Byakuren said. “I wish only to discover what tragedy my friend was part of, and why she made the choices she did when I was gone.  I can not replace that which was taken from you, but I need to know what happened.”

For a long moment, Byakuren watched his eyes as they swam, raw emotion lurking behind them.  To her eye, it looked like he had never fully processed the loss he spoke of, and only the half a century between then and now gave him even the barest hint of control.  They stood there for a long moment, Byakuren’s controlled breaths leaving wisps of mist leaking out of her nose in the chilly night air, contrasted by his billowing clouds of steam as he clearly struggled to contain himself.

All at once, his building rage subsided, like a cloud blotting out the moon.  He took a step away and broke eye contact, the flame of his resentment sputtering and dying.  “Just… go.  Find your answers, witch.”  He brushed past her, heading back to the main street.

“In your long days of sorrow and grief, may the dharma guide you to peace and comfort,” Byakuren said to his retreating back.  There was no reply as she was left alone on the side street.

It was another hour and a half of mountaineering before Byakuren found her destination.

Pilgrimages through the forested mountains of Japan were nothing new to her, but she was very much out of practice.  She made her way over the low mountain, mindful of the reputation of mountain woods.  Ichirin had helped research the area, as well as the history of what the humans of Japan called the 'Hikageiri Event.'  That such a massive, failed ritual would leave aftershocks was unsurprising, Byakuren reflected as she faintly felt resentful spirits at the edge of her awareness. What was surprising was that Yukari had been the one responsible for it.

Of the sages, Yukari Yakumo had remained a mystery to Byakuren the longest.  The Horned Sage was honest and forthright, a figure that Byakuren could understand even when she could not relate.  Matara-jin's various attendants, messengers and speakers had been hard to read, but the intentions of the god behind them were always simple: they were a powerful god who was looking out for their domain.  Yakumo-san, on the other hand, was ever-elusive with her goals.  She seemed to be a Youkai like no other: an embodiment of the concept of borders.  Her reasoning, logic and sense of humor had left Byakuren, the Horned Sage and the occasional tengu representative they met with scratching their heads more often than not.  Some Hakurei maidens through the centuries had enjoyed her company, while others had found her just as baffling as the rest.  Only Yuyuko had ever seemed to consistently understand her, but their relationship was twisted and knotted by time and guilt in a way that Byakuren could scarcely begin to parse.

Then there was the resentment she had encountered.  She knew she was walking into the territory of those who would not appreciate another visitor from Tokyo, but after more than fifty years, that pain had metastasized in a most bitter way.  Even the woods themselves seemed to only grudgingly tolerate her presence.  Suika had spoken of the abuse she had suffered just for knowing Yukari and it gave Byakuren pause as she traipsed across the mountainside in the dark: was digging at this scab the right thing to do?  The circle of sages had disintegrated in her absence, and now she felt responsible for everything that had happened while she had been sealed.  Was investigating this tragedy, reopening these wounds the best course of action?

Of course it is, she reasoned to herself as she slid down a rocky outcropping. How could she hope to mend the city and keep it safe if she did not understand what had happened to it?  Even if the people of Suwa resented her for her connections and investigations, she needed to know what had happened... especially if some threat of the past lingered into the present.

She crested a hillside and finally laid eyes on the barrier she had expected.  The site had been fenced off by the government after curious humans had gone missing inside, but it wasn't dangerous enough to post armed guards or meaningfully monitor.  Instead, a simple chain-link fence encompassed the entire area, three meters tall and rusted to bits.  Perhaps it was the lingering malaise of magic that made most humans want to forget this place, perhaps it was just the lack of understanding.  She could snap the corroded link of the fence with ease, but she preferred to leave the area as she found it.  She studied her surroundings for a moment before she found two trees in an optimal position near the fence.  She ran towards them with superhuman speed, the glyphs just under her skin flaring with light.  She launched off of one trunk towards the other, then bounced off of a tree branch and arced over the fence, landing on the other side.  She straightened her jacket and continued into the woods.

Minutes later Byakuren arrived at what she could only assume was the epicenter of the event.  It was underwhelming to say the least.  A clear glade where the moonlight illuminated radial striations in the earth.  Grass and trees had sprung up beside the rotten logs felled half a century ago, all pointing toward the center.  But for the grooves in the earth that radiated from the center of the clearing, it might have been any other glade in the forest.  At least, that is what it looked like.  Byakuren's nontraditional senses told her that the area still buzzed with faint power.  Something had tried to change the shape of existence in this spot and had failed, and power like that always left a mark.

She crossed the clearing, slowly approaching the center of the scar on the land.  Grass had grown over it, softening the sharp features of the ditch, but it remained the most immediately noticeable thing about the area.  The second most noticeable feature was the small gravestone in the center of the scar.  It was a small stone obelisk, roughly a meter tall, polished granite on each side. Vines crept up its length, making it look like a splinter poking out of the skin of the world.  The simple, nonspecific inscription on the side marked it as a memorial to those who had died.

Byakuren sat down on the grass, cross-legged and pondering.  Perhaps foolishly, she had expected more: broken buildings, tattered fabric, moldering bones.  She reached out and brushed the surface of the grave, letting her mind sink into the unformed nothingness of the Dharma.  Her awareness slowly melted away as new sensations replaced her own perception.  The illusion that separated mind, matter and void retreated and the world spoke to her in thoughts too large for her still-human mind to hold.  For an infinite moment she was one with the world and her imagination furnished what the land remembered.

She felt her mind's eye construct the scene: Yukari in her purple robes, long blonde hair with ribbons tied in; her violet eyes shimmering with power as she sat with two other figures, their forms unimagined and unclear.  The three of them were set upon an altar surrounded by a circle of wizards, shamans, familiars and priests, each and every one of them chanting as part of a ritual.  She imagined the chanting rising to a crescendo, and then the entire scene disappeared in a flash of white-blue light.

The veil of the material returned and Byakuren felt her body again.  She released a deep, shuddering breath as a cold night wind blew past.  Such a technique of recalling the past was only possible in this remote setting, far from the insistent materiality of the human world, but it was still not completely reliable.  The truth of the universe was not a language humans could understand, so whatever she saw could be twisted by preconceptions and biases.

Still, Yukari had not been alone at the center of this.  Two other figures had been there.  She could discern nothing about them from the already-fading image in her mind, but the recollection had a sense about it: they had been equals in the endeavor.  Allies, perhaps.

Byakuren stood and looked around the empty clearing.  The night crept ever on, and she was still not any closer to a real answer.  She exited the fenced area with a mighty leap and returned to the town, her next goal in sight.

She had suspected that her path might lead her to the city of Suwa since Yuyuko and Suika had mentioned it, but now she knew where she needed to go.  Whatever ill feelings were left in the Folk of Suwa, she needed to face them to find the truth.

Sanae fought past the haze of sleep, dreaming of a silver thread of life that wove her family together.

She could tell that it was early by the lack of street noise from her apartment window.  Her alarm had yet to go off, so she didn't open her eyes and instead allowed herself to mentally catalog the day ahead.  There was a test on logic gates later in the week, so she'd need to study for that after her class on human anatomy, probably squeezing in a grocery run somewhere in there.

As she mentally sorted where she wanted to pick up breakfast she felt something slide across her chest.  Her eyes shot open as she sat up and looked down to see what she could only describe as a translucent white snake tumbling off of her chest and into her lap.  For a split second, Sanae struggled to comprehend what was happening as the serpent spirit lazily coiled on top of her comforter.

Then she screamed.  She stumbled out of her bed, tangled in her sheet and bedding as she fell shoulder-first on the hard floor.  She slid away to the other side of her tiny studio apartment and tried to stand, but she clipped the back of her head on her desk as she struggled to her feet, making her vision swim.

All the while, the white snake simply coiled on the now empty bed.  Sanae tried to calm herself and fight through the pain as she flattened herself against the wall, staring down at the creature.  It was calm, like the snakes she had encountered while surveying fields and fixing equipment back in Suwa and Tamagawa; no hissing or twitching.  The creature stared at her, a strange mane of red tendrils just behind its head quivering.  For a long moment dual impulses warred within her: her desire for safety, sanity and normalcy telling her to run while her overpowering curiosity demanded she stay and figure out what this was.  Despite the fact that she had never seen it before, the creature felt intimately familiar to her. 

“Are you… friendly?” she cautiously asked.  The snake simply flicked a forked tongue at the questions, its solid red eyes betraying no emotion.  After a moment Sanae found herself stepping forward, hand outstretched as she approached her bed, fascinated by what she saw.  “Are you a spirit?  A Kami?”  She moved close enough to touch the snake, her common sense silently shouting itself hoarse in the back of her head.  She’d seen strange things in her hometown, things in the mountain woods that others dismissed as impossible, but this was the first time she’d seen anything like this in Tokyo.  Was she attuning to her environment, or just lucky?

The spirit inspected her offered hand, its red forked tongue like a whisper of breath on her skin.   Sanae was struck by an overpowering sense of belonging as it gently coiled and climbed her arm.  She’d always been different from those around her, but perhaps it was more than just her fashion sense or intelligence.  A feeling of vigor, of power and certainty flowed into her as the spirit touched her skin, its own form like shadow in the air against her skin.  Something about the creature felt right.   She knew she had needed to leave Suwa to become who she was always meant to be, but now that sentiment took on a new hue as the snake-spirit gently continued to climb off her arm and into the air, as if following the branches of an invisible tree.  She watched as the spectral serpent faded from view in the air of her apartment.

She felt different in so many ways, but for the very first time in her life it didn’t feel like a curse.

Chapter Text

“Have you started a new investigation?” Eirin asked as she gently felt the scar that spread from Satori’s heart.

It felt so simultaneously soothing and anxiety-inducing to lie stretched out in the reclining exam chair, shirt and bra open, chest bare in the cold clinic air.  The only thoughts Satori could hear were the distant echoes of the assistant and the emotions that Eirin couldn’t hide.

“I have, and I’ve been using my power quite a bit,” Satori admitted.  She did her best not to lie to Dr. Yagokoro.  The woman had been nothing but helpful and caring to Satori, despite her copious misgivings of medical professionals.  Besides, her investigation had stalled without new information.  She had chased down several people who had lost time, but the story of her first finding repeated itself with each one.  They all held the same experience: falling back into themselves and being suspended in a black void.  They all were asked if they were ‘ready to serve.’  As of yet, every person who she had read had declined such a vague offer from whatever was behind the old noh theater mask.  “It hasn’t been too much of a benefit though,” Satori added.

Eirin only hummed in response as she turned away, spinning her stool to inspect her tray of tools.  The doctor was an enigma to Satori.  Almost every conscious thought that Satori could read was in a bizarre language that she could not understand.  Though it might have been Eirin guarding her thoughts against her by carefully thinking in that almost alien language, Satori had a feeling like that was just how the doctor was, with or without a telepath present.  Her mind was a rigid, rigorously self-controlled thing; just like how her steely eyes and white-gray hair reminded Satori of a locked vault.

Or perhaps a metal cage.

While Eirin's exact thoughts remained a mystery, their texture of emotion was something that Satori could feel; and even then, she had a hard time deciding what those feelings might mean.  Whenever the doctor inspected her scars and discussed how Satori's powers related to them, there was a cloud of conflicting emotions around her thoughts: recognition, disgust, admiration, regret, curiosity, condemnation and sorrow.  When Satori had admitted what had happened to her –what had been done to her– Eirin had seemed to understand medical experimentation on human beings all too well.  The familiarity she displayed let Satori know that she was the closest thing she would find to an expert in the subject, and that her hands were far from clean.

As the purple-haired assistant carried a small tray of devices into the exam room, Satori reflected that Reisen-san was the only reason that she trusted Yagokoro.  The rabbit-eared girl was just as much of a mystery as the doctor, but for very different reasons.  Her thoughts were alternately a complete mess or rigid and sharp enough to draw blood.  Occasionally, between crisp, efficient self-reminders of her tasks and duties, distant echoes of repressed trauma crawled through in her mind.  All in all, Satori preferred to avoid reading her almost maddening brainwaves.

No, what made Satori place any real trust in Yagokoro was the way she regarded Reisen.  The older woman was soft, gentle and occasionally stern with Reisen, but seemed to regard her as more than an apprentice or assistant: Reisen was her responsibility.  Her emotions towards the rabbit-eared girl were small motes of pride and caring floating in a sea of guilt and regret.

Reisen touched a few small plastic devices to Satori's arm, then backed away as Eirin turned back to her.  "Any word on your sister?" Eirin asked as she carefully felt the mass of scar tissue directly above Satori's heart.

"No," Satori replied, trying to not focus on how long she had been missing.  They had escaped together; she told herself they had both gotten out... but she couldn't know for sure.

"I'm sure she's fine," Eirin assured her.  Satori did her best to not sigh too deeply at the platitude, seeing as Eirin was examining her chest.  Eirin continued her inspection, occasionally touching different unknown, white, plastic-cased devices to her skin around her scars.  There would be a slight buzzing noise, and Eirin would remove them and read some result that made sense only to her.

"No sign of tissue rejection," Eirin said as she bottled a swab that she had just rubbed on one of Satori's scars. "Blood circulation and lingering nerve damage to the affected areas remains a problem.  I would wager that active mental probing on your part may exacerbate the pain."

"Don't you have anything for that?" Satori asked, though in truth she didn't expect much.

"For a normal human with bad circulation or shot nerves, maybe," Eirin said as she gently ran a small patch of cotton along one of the many scars that snaked out from the central knot of scar tissue.  She traced the red line down under her breast and across her ribs, Eirin gently lifted Satori's arm to feel it as it traveled around the back of her torso. "For someone with extinct Youkai tissue implanted in them... not so much."  She dropped Satori's arm back to her side and stood from her stool, snatching a clipboard and scribbling notes down as she stepped away.

“Reisen, finish up the paperwork and apply… let’s say oil SA-11 to her central scar,” Eirin said to her assistant.  "I need to check in with our other patient."  As Eirin left the room the red-eyed girl stepped forward from her spot in the corner and replaced her master on the stool.

"Please remain still, Ms. Komeiji," Reisen said as she twisted the cap off a small container and dipped a swab into it, withdrawing a dollop of some slick, dark purple gunk.

Satori tried to ignore the background buzz of another mind so close to hers and the prickling, stinging sensation of the strange oil being applied on the nexus of scars on her chest.  As her fingers dug into the plush armrests of the reclining exam chair, she searched for something to distract herself with.  "Anyone interesting stop by, Reisen?" she asked.

That's an odd question. / Who isn't interesting around here? / You aren't, you're just a trash that- / OVERRIDE / Why does she want to know? / Small talk and bedside manner are crucial skills, practice them. / What about confidentiality? / No personal details then.  Reisen's thoughts were a strain to listen to, like music in headphones just slightly too loud to be comfortable.

"We actually have a god in recovery right now," Reisen said, her voice shockingly calm compared to the maelstrom in her head. "She's new to the world.  She manifested malnourished, is what Dr. Yagokoro said."

"Like a physical avatar?" Satori asked, intrigued.

Why is she so interested? / It's natural to be curious. / What if she's an agent? / What if she's trying to capture me; capture us, take us back to- / OVERRIDE / She's just trying to learn. / It's not like I understand it either.

"From what I've been able to gather from her conversations with Dr. Yagokoro, a god may still create a physical form that is meant to exert their will on the world, but it's very rare in the modern age," Reisen explained aloud.  Satori pondered that; she'd never been very spiritual in the traditional sense, but something about what Reisen said pricked at the back of her mind; the part of her deductive reasoning where conclusions sat before she put them together.  Or maybe it was just her inability to concentrate with her scar itching from the oil on it.

Beyond the goddess, there's nothing out of the ordinary. / Lady Wakasagi's medication order was fulfilled without issue. / Stop thinking of names, she can read your mind! / Ms. Komeiji knows the fish princess; they met here and talked. / Yeah, what are you so worried about you paranoid, stupid- / OVERRIDE / It was worrying, but Miss Hong's injury was a fairly standard laceration, her dragon blood let her make a swift recovery.

Satori was peripherally aware of Meiling, the part-dragon martial artist-turned-fitness instructor.  They had met in passing at the clinic once, and Satori's investigations had led her to the tower/mall she worked at more than once: at least three cases of suspected unfaithful partners had turned out to be cases of vampiric victims lured out late rather than midnight love affairs.  She had offered her services to the young, silver-haired secretary, but had never received a reply.  The “Koumakyou Group” seemed to prefer to keep things ‘in-house’ when possible.

"Miss Hong was injured not long ago, but from her recent communication she has made a full recovery," Reisen said. "Dr. Yagokoro has treated her for one similar injury before."

She mentioned an investigation of her own at her checkup last week. / Something about researching the history of someone named 'Okina.' / Dr. Yagokoro made mention of Ms. Komeiji's services to her, but she did not seem interested.

Reisen disposed of the swab in a bio-waste container and resealed the jar of oil before she slid the stool away from Satori.  She picked up a tablet and tapped away on it, her thunderous mind growing quieter and easier to ignore with distance and a shifted focus to administrivia.

Satori was left to stew with her own thoughts as the itching sensation on her scar slowly faded.  Intellectually, she knew she ought to be kind and friendly with Reisen.  Whatever had happened —or had been done to her— Satori felt a kinship with her... and not just from their mutually odd hair colors. 

And yet... something about that familiarity annoyed and irritated her.  Reisen's carefully professional demeanor, her calm mannerisms, the way her mind seemed to automatically regulate a once-familiar strain of negative thoughts, it all pricked at her.  Satori was loath to put a word to her feelings, because they all displeased her: was she envious?  Jealous even?  Or was it something else that irked her?  Unlike Satori, Reisen had someone to rely on, someone to guide her on her obviously still-in-progress rehabilitation.  Satori had a feeling that the pit she felt in her stomach when she thought of Reisen wasn't because she was getting along better, but because Reisen relied on someone who seemed far too familiar with human experimentation.

It was odd, the thing that made Satori trust Eirin at all was the reason she found Reisen unpalatable.  Satori could probably work out why that was, but she didn't like the shape of the conclusions she could see from the starting line of that train of thoughts, so she decided to simply ignore that.  It was not like she was in a mood for self-reflection with the itching on her scar giving way to a burning, prickling numbness.

She needed something to distract herself and decided to be blunt about something that annoyed her. "Reisen, why do you trust her?" Satori asked, still gripping the arms of the chair to keep her hands from touching her scars.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Komeiji," Reisen said, placing the tablet on a nearby table. "Who are you speaking of?"

"Eirin," Satori said. "I can tell she did something to you, made you... what you are now.  I could... never be around those who did the same to me.  Why do you still follow her?"

Satori immediately regretted her question as a torrent of screaming thoughts flowed out of Reisen's mind.

Pathetic. Lost. Worthl- / OVERRIDE / She's right, why have you not run screaming? / There is no place in this world, it was stolen from me when I was stolen from it. / Your place is rotting in the di- / OVERRIDE / Control yourself. / I want to learn.  I want to be better. / I could never escape their shadow, why try? / Master Yagokoro is different. / She's just like the rest of them. / She's protecting me and Lady Kaguya. / No, she's waiting- / She's-

There was something about Reisen's thoughts beyond their speed and content that made hearing them an unpleasant affair.  Something about her brain waves had been altered and it made hearing her mind akin to standing too close to a subwoofer as it droned with a thrum that made you fear for your eardrums.

Who is she? / Savior. / Monster. / Surgeon. Butcher. Doctor. Traitor. Healer. / Heartlessthingwhostoleme. / TheonlykindnessIcanremember. / Theonlythingawretchlikeme- / OVERRIDE

"Dr. Yagokoro is responsible for my current state," Reisen said, her spoken words rising as the cacophony in her head faded. "She is not the only one... many are responsible.  But she is also the one who took me away, and who gave me my implants to help heal the damage done to my body and mind.  She is... the only person who has ever cared for me."  Reisen turned to stare Satori down, her artificial eyes almost glowing red. "Isn't there someone like that for you?"

Satori pursed her lips as the tingling in her chest finally faded and Reisen wiped away the remaining oil.  There was someone she cared about like that, someone who had saved her, but she was lost now.

Satori blinked away thoughts of her sister as she fastened her bra and buttoned up her shirt, glad to be over with her appointment.  Eirin re-entered the exam room through the sliding glass door and moved to briefly converse with Reisen as Satori slipped her coat back on.

"I do have one thing before you go, Komeiji-san," Eirin said as Satori filled out forms for Reisen.  She produced a small plastic bottle from her lab coat's pocket.  "These should help ablate some of the pain and other symptoms."  Satori took the bottle after giving it an experimental shake to hear the pills rattle inside. "Take one a day with breakfast and inform me when you run out," she added.

"Thank you, Doctor," Satori mumbled, eager to leave.  She pocketed the bottle and exited out the rarely used "front" door of the clinic, where it postured as a very run-down pharmacy.  She stepped out and felt the first chill of winter.  The background chatter of the street was white noise as she turned her own mind from her medical appointment back to her investigation.

Something had been asking people if they were 'ready to serve.'  Asking the downtrodden, the poor; asking social pariahs and the dispossessed.  Asking those with secrets, asking racial minorities and those who would be "called the trash of society" by people who would describe themselves as "proper citizens."  It had asked and asked and asked... until a set point.  A little over three weeks ago was the latest date she could find for this event.  What had happened?  Did the pseudo-abductions stop because someone said 'yes'?

Satori cycled through possible angles she could take on what she knew, but a new piece of information buzzed in her mind: a god had taken physical form recently.  Something about the repeated imagery and experiences seemed like a vision, like one a god might impart to followers.  A god with a particular taste in followers.  Perhaps it was worth looking into, checking with some contacts to see if this was part of a larger story.

She pulled her coat tighter and set off back to her office, a renewed determination in her step.

The only sound in the room was the hum of the many machines and the tapping of keys as Reisen filled out paper forms and Eirin reviewed her chart.  

"What's your opinion of our last patient, Reisen?" Eirin asked as she scribbled a note at the bottom of the Satori's chart.

"It would be rude to speak ill of a patient, but I find her... difficult," Reisen responded, finishing her work at the small laptop and sliding her stool over to work on cleaning the tools and instruments.

"How so?" Eirin said, eyebrow raised.

"She does not trust you, and she does not like that I trust you,” Reisen said.

Eirin sighed, rapping her fingers on a tabletop. “Perhaps her mistrust is well-placed,” she said. “I do not know who experimented on her and her sister, but I can recognize the skills involved in what was done to her all too well.”

“Doctor, that is all the more reason for her to trust us,” Reisen said. “You and I are best qualified to offer medical and emotional aid to someone still recovering from non-consensual medical trauma.” The mechanical array mounted on her ears and head ticked slightly as the antenna adjusted position.

Eirin felt her mouth dry.  Reisen made a decent point but was still missing the bigger picture. “Her issues are similar to yours, but they go farther, in ways you don’t quite understand yet.  She is… right to keep her guard up around me, considering what I have been part of.”

"But you have also done good," Reisen said plainly. "You helped to free me and Lady Kaguya."

"It's not enough," Eirin mumbled, suddenly feeling the weight of eons on her shoulders.

Reisen set down a pair of now-sparkling tweezers back on the tray and stood, turning to face Eirin. “‘Deeds are not integers.  You cannot tally your positive and negative actions until they total a single number and pass judgment thus’,” she said, her red and gray eyes shifting, focusing.  “You taught me that.  So why now do you seem to consider yourself in such a way?”

"It's easy to be that eloquent in your own defense when you don't have to look someone who suffered in the eye," Eirin said, looking down and away.

"You gave me my eyes, and you have looked into them and said as much,” Reisen affirmed. “Regardless of anything else, for that I am grateful."

Eirin sighed, then departed the room, thoughts of human naïveté swirling in her head.

Reimu approached the street that led to Suzunaan, Izumi in tow. The ghost had been in higher spirits since Reimu had reached out to Kosuzu, and agreed on a time to meet Hideo.  Now the sun had just set and the streetlamps flickered to light as Reimu tried in vain to not think about the upcoming reunion.

She would have been lying if she said that the call from Komachi wasn't the reason she had reached out to Kosuzu, but she could certainly try and pretend that wasn't the case for Izumi, who just seemed glad to be moving forward.

"I hope they like something about this..." Reimu said, looking down at the small spread of food she had gotten from a grocery store.  Kosuzu had mentioned that the only spot that might be open for a meeting this week was dinnertime, and in a moment of uncharacteristic assertiveness, Reimu had offered to supply a dinner that night.  Kosuzu had accepted and now Reimu carried a dinner platter for three down the street.  The warm food had fogged the plastic cover, obscuring the shrimp tempura, pork cutlets, rice and other bits of food that had been on discount at the store.

"If Aik-" Izumi began, then quickly corrected herself. "If Kosuzu is anything like me she'll be thankful for any kind of free meal."

Reimu nodded absently as she waited for a crosswalk light to change.  “We didn’t really talk about it… but Kosuzu mentioned that Hideo’s not… doing great.  His eyes are apparently really bad.”

“We just need to be able to talk,” Izumi said. “It might be a bit hard for him to accept at first, but I know he’ll come around.  He was always very flexible.”

He was flexible seventeen years ago, Reimu didn’t say. That was one dead fiancé, repeated parental trauma and a congenital illness ago.  

A meowing caught her attention.  On the other side of the street was a small black cat, with a metal loop of an earring in its ear glinting off the street light.  It was hiding under a hedge, staring out at the street; staring at Reimu, it seemed.  Reimu was struck with a sense of déjà vu: she could have sworn she had seen that same cat with the same earring on this road before, but when was that… and did it have two white-tipped tails…?

“Light’s green, girl,” a burly man in a suit muttered as he shouldered past her, bumping her arm and forcing her to fight to not lose the tray of food she was holding.  Platter under control again she began to cross the street, looking back to find nothing where the cat had been just a moment ago.  She sighed and put it out of her mind.

She turned the corner and knocked on the bookstore’s front door, ignoring the ‘closed’ sign as instructed.  Kosuzu peaked out of blinds on the window, then hurried to unlock the door for Reimu.  Kosuzu had abandoned the yellow apron that she wore as the shopkeeper of Suzunaan for comfortable and warm casual clothes in dusty reds and greens, though she seemed to always keep the bells in her hair.  As Reimu maneuvered to the kitchen to set down the platter of food, Izumi caught up with Kosuzu.

“Did I tell you that you have your father’s cheeks?” Izumi said, brushing her daughter’s face with spectral fingertips.  

“That tickles!” Kosuzu giggled. “No, but Grandma said it plenty.”  She followed Reimu into the kitchen behind the front desk, from the store into the attached house.  The Motoori household was small and old-fashioned, with furniture that looked like it had seen better days; no doubt inherited from Hideo’s parents.  Reimu uncovered the platter and Kosuzu plucked a chicken tender from the center and quickly scarfed it as she moved to get a glass of water for Reimu.

“Thank you for letting us come over Kosuzu,” Reimu said, as Kosuzu placed the water in front of her before taking a seat opposite.

“It’s no problem,” Kosuzu said, playing with one of her twintails and making the bell in her hair jingle softly. “Thank you for bringing dinner.  Sales have been down with the colder weather, so I’m trying to get some new advertisements printed.  Taking care of dad while doing all that has been hard.  Well, hard er.”

“How is he?” Izumi asked, apprehension lurking behind her voice.

"Dad's..." Kosuzu began, then faltered. "His eyesight fading has been pretty... rough on him.  He didn’t want to be declared legally blind, but he had to in order to get some government assistance.  That was over a year ago, and I’m still trying to get that pushed through.”

“What’s the issue?” Izumi asked.

“It’s a bunch of stuff about how he wasn’t employed long enough to qualify,” Kosuzu said, waving a hand. “I’ve been trying to learn the rules, but it just seems to keep getting pushed around to someone new.  It’s… stressful for us both.”  Reimu kept her eyes down, staring at her glass of water, feeling the distinct impression of an expectation to help.  She should probably know more about all this, considering she had technically slipped through the cracks of the system for almost a decade.  Actual paperwork or getting things done was not her forte.  It had taken a deal with a vampire to get her own government finances settled.  Perhaps she should ask Remilia about that… but when would she have a chance for that?

And what would Remilia want in exchange?

“He’s tried to coach me on dealing with all this, but I think I’m better suited to running a shop than arguing with bureaucrats,” Kosuzu continued. “He can't do much bookkeeping now, so he's been focusing on learning Japanese braille."

"Should he not have learned that earlier?” Izumi asked, a slight smile back in her voice. “Let me guess: he stubbornly tried to keep going?”

“More or less,” Kosuzu said.  “He usually likes listening to audiobooks and podcasts these days.”

A voice echoed from deeper in the house and Kosuzu popped up from her chair. “Ah, I said we’d be having dinner soon; one sec.” She exited the kitchen towards the sound of the voice, leaving them alone with the hum of the refrigerator and halogen lights.

“I’m going to take a different tactic than I did with Kosuzu,” Reimu said, keeping her voice level. "I'm going to try to discern his feelings before I show him the mark."

"You're the expert, I trust your judgment," Izumi said, shifting back and forth in an uneasy manner.

"Dad, I told you we would be having a guest tonight," said Kosuzu's voice as she reappeared, guiding an older man by the arm.

"That's tonight?  I thought that was tomorrow," he said, his voice rough and dry.  He was dressed surprisingly formally for a home-bound man, with a green plaid polo shirt under his warm coat and khaki slacks on.

Reimu had met the elder Motoori in passing, as she had everyone in Gensokyo.  She had assumed him to be in his early to late fifties; now knowing he was Izumi's fiance Hideo, and therefore in his mid-forties at most, changed quite a bit.  Now she could see that it was not age but stress that lined his face, grayed his temples and made his hairline recede.  His amber eyes weren't cloudy or whitened like some of the vision-impaired grandparents of Gensokyo, but clear.  As he approached the table his gaze slid right past Reimu.

As Kosuzu guided him to the seat at the circular table next to her, Reimu glanced over at Izumi to find her spectral expression stiff and knotted; hesitant and conflicted.  It was the polar opposite of the welling emotions that had manifested when she had seen Kosuzu for the first time.  Reimu could see why: seeing Aika –her daughter– alive and well despite all the ill fortune that had befallen the family in the intervening seventeen years had been a relief.  Seeing her baby all grown up was reassuring, but seeing her love aged by both time and stress was another matter.  It was like she was seeing the cost for keeping Kosuzu safe and happy extracted from her fiancé.  Even discounting his near-blindness, he was obviously aged beyond his years by stress.

"Hello again, Hideo.  I suppose you don't need your glasses anymore," Izumi whispered to herself. "Not much to be done about that now..."

"Hakurei-san brought dinner," Kosuzu said as Reimu cleared her throat to let him know she was there.

"Oh, thank you so much," Hideo said, somewhat taken aback. "It's been a while since you visited Hakurei-chan, and I appreciate the meal." He took a deep breath and exhaled, a smile on his face. "Especially if it's shrimp tempura."

Kosuzu helped her father by describing what was available and loading his plate as Reimu salvaged what she could of the expenditure by getting a small dinner of rice and chicken for herself as Kosuzu swiped up most of the sushi rolls and fried peppers for herself.  The mood was beyond peculiar, as Kosuzu and Reimu glanced back and forth nervously and Hideo filled the silence with empty banter while Izumi circled the table, her smile sad as she observed Hideo chat.

"It hasn't been easy, has it Hideo?" Izumi asked rhetorically.

"I only seemed right to supply dinner, seeing as I'd like a bit of your time, Motoori-san," Reimu said, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table, her portion finished.

"Well, you're in luck, Hakurei-chan," Hideo said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "Time is something I have too much of these days!"  He laughed a laugh that Reimu knew all too well: it was a coping mechanism, a defense hiding pain.

Kosuzu stood and began to clear the dishes as Reimu continued: "I’ll be direct: do you believe in spirits, Motoori-san?  Ghosts?"

His face scrunched slightly. "Can't say I put much stock in that kind of superstition, though I feel a sense of déjà vu, you asking me that question.  Just a few weeks ago, Konpaku-san was here, asking about books on spirits.  We were old aquentices from back in the day, so he said hello while he was here and he asked me the same thing: if I believed in ghosts." Reimu and Izumi exchanged a look. "I suppose it's only natural for him to dwell on that, what with how it'll be a year ago soon that young Youen passed away."

"And... did you have any of the same questions when Kosuzu's mother died?" Reimu said, trying to choose her world carefully.

Hideo predictably stiffened, then seemed to slump slightly. "How- I suppose it doesn't matter.”  He signed and leaned back in his chair as Izumi’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I did.  When Izumi –Kosuzu’s mother– died it was not a good time.  I had just been diagnosed with major vision problems, was working to support her and our new daughter without being legally married, and then…” 

He stopped for a moment, blinking away tears.  Kosuzu reached forward and grasped his hand, which let the shadow of a smile pass behind his expression.  "I'm sorry, it's been so long.  I miss her dearly.  I know you've lost family Hakurei-chan, so you know what it's like.  There comes a point where it's healthy to just… let go.  Seventeen years she's been gone this past September; that's more time without her than I knew her for, but it doesn't ever stop hurting, you just have to learn to live with it."

"As for ghosts, I don't believe in them," he continued, pulling himself together somewhat. "I've felt and imagined a great many things about her, but it's not spirits, it was just grief.  The sudden absence of someone you love can do many odd things to a person."

The tension and irony of the situation was so thick it was suffocating.  Reimu felt oddly heavy as she shared a glance with Kosuzu and her mother.

"Thank you for sharing that with us, Motoori-san," Reimu said, tugging at the sleeve that hid the burn on her left wrist. "Um... Kosuzu and I have been working on... something.  A little project for your family."

"Oh, is that why she's been so inquisitive into the family history these past few weeks?" Hideo said, smiling and chuckling. 

 Reimu rolled her sleeve back and nodded to Kosuzu as Izumi moved to the opposite side of the table from Hideo.  “Um… it’s a little weird, but we want you to try and take a look at something, Dad,” Kosuzu said.

Hideo’s expression soured. “That’s a tall ask, honey,” he said.  “My eyes have only gotten worse since that appointment a few months ago.  I can barely pick you out from the wall and table.”  They had known this might be an issue, but only now did it seem real.  

Nothing for it, thought Reimu. Just have to move forward.

“I only ask that you trust us on this, Motoori-san,” Reimu said, standing from the table and reaching forward to touch his hand. “Please tell me if you can make out… my arm.”

She guided his hand to her left arm, around the elbow.  His rough hands brushed across her skin, making her freeze, and Reimu wanted to chide herself for feeling uncomfortable.  Why was she so averse to physical contact sometimes and not others?  She tried to understand why she was fine in some circumstances and reacted so negatively other times, but it was fruitless.  She tamped down her discomfort as Hideo’s hand clamped around her wrist, then released, as if he realized he was being too rough.  His eyes wandered toward where her forearm was as Kosuzu rose and turned up the lights in the room.

“I can… faintly see a pale shape,” he said. “Holding your arm lets me know what it is, but I could never guess.”

They’d have to work with that. “Okay then,” Reimu said. “On my wrist there is a circular burn. Can you look at that, Motoori-san?”

His thumb brushed over the sensitive scar, making Reimu’s face twist with involuntary irritation.  “I can certainly feel that,” Hideo said, concern edging into his voice. “Have you seen a doctor about that?”

“I… have,” Reimu lied. “I just need you to take a look at it.”  He leaned forward now, his face less than twenty centimeters from her arm.  His eyes seemed to jitter back and forth, searching for the mark he knew was there.  

“Hideo, please…” Izumi said. “I’m right here.”

Still he remained silent, inspecting Reimu’s arm.  Kosuzu suddenly started with an idea, and pulled out her phone, turning the light on and shining it directly on Reimu’s arm.

“We’re so close…” Izumi whispered. “You just need to see that mark… then we can talk...”

Hideo’s eyes searched up and down Reimu’s arm, and Reimu noticed his eyes beginning to water.  After a tense moment, he released Reimu’s arm and wiped his eyes as a tear of concentration and pain ran down his cheek.

“Straining what’s left of my eyes hurts, I’m sorry,” he said, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “Sad to say, but I had to accept a while ago that I’m not going to be seeing much of anything ever again.”  

“I’m… I’m right here…” Izumi whispered.  The room was deathly quiet as she moved forward, passing through the table.  Reimu and Kosuzu watched her advance, Hideo’s lack of reaction to her words letting them all know the terrible answer to the question none of them wanted to ask. “Please,” she pleaded, “Just… just hear me.  I need to tell you… I need you to know…”  She reached out with her spectral hand and brushed the side of his face where the streak of a single tear remained. “Please, just tell me you can hear me…”

Hideo shivered in place, shaking his head slightly. “Anyway, thank you for the dinner, Hakurei-chan,” he said, his casual air returning.  

“No…” Izumi’s face contorted, pain and grief twisting her expression into a vision of hopelessness.  She reached back, gripping own face as her form coiled with barely contained emotion.  

Without warning, she ran.  She ignored walls and furniture, passing straight through Reimu as she bolted.  Reimu felt the cold certainty of ultimate sorrow rip through her being as the spirit fled through her for the street, desperate to get away.  Reimu staggered and had to steady herself.  Kosuzu turned away as she turned off the light on her phone, then stayed turned away as a muffled sob escaped from her.

A piercing, silent cry sounded from outside.  A ghostly noise that no human could make, the kind that settled in the soul and gripped the heart of all who could hear it.  Reimu felt a chill of despair run down her spine and she saw Kosuzu’s shoulders draw upwards as they both heard it.

Hideo remained seated, oblivious.  “I’m sorry, Hakurei-chan,” he said, after a long moment of silence. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with whatever this is.”

Chapter Text

“I finally found your hiding spot, parasite,” said Keiko Hakurei as she kicked open the door to the hotel room.  Most of the building was all but empty, but she and Ibaraki-san had tracked the traces of the magic fog-spell back to their source.  Even now, the one-armed monk was dueling the green-clad Chinese guardian in the complex’s backyard, a martial arts duel in the dead of night to keep the outsider's servant busy.  

Inside the space looked like the photographs Keiko had seen of European and American mansions: all varnished wood and plush carpets.  Even if the trail of magic hadn’t led right here, the decor and the room’s status as the most expensive room in the hotel told her she was on the right track.  And there, sitting on the plush sofa inside was the true culprit of the recent incident: the Scarlet Devil.

Keiko, Kasen and Toramaru-san had spent two weeks contending with out-of-control fairies and the related extreme weather, all the while tracking the whispers of a new arrival to Tokyo: the mysterious and elusive “Scarlet Devil.”  Right as they had begun to close in, the crimson fog had filled Tokyo and forced most humans indoors. Nagae the Messenger had worked tirelessly and dispelled the strange fog quickly.  Now, at the end of the road, Keiko found herself struggling to maintain her expression as she found the mastermind of the plot to be a teenage girl with a delicate frame and pale skin.

No, she just looked thin and frail, Keiko reminded herself.  If Shou’s research had been correct, this creature was a blood-drinking foreign demon of immense power, one that possibly employed a western mage of unknown origin.

“Ah, the esteemed Hakurei priestess,” the Devil said, brushing a twisting lock of pale-blue hair away from her face. “Welcome.  The door was unlocked, but never mind that.”  Her Japanese was accented in a manner that sounded French or perhaps eastern European; Keiko wasn't an expert.

"You're responsible for agitating the fairies and spreading the red mist," Keiko stated plainly. "Cease this at once or I will destroy you."

“Ah, here I was under the impression that Japan was a more welcoming country in the modern age,” the vampire sighed, not rising or moving from her spot on the red velvet sofa. “Did Tokyo not host the international games four years ago?”

“I’m not interested in debating with you,” Keiko said. “You’ve disrupted the peace of this city.”

"Very well," the vampire said, waving a hand.  "Patchouli, please end the ritual."

Keiko suppressed a sudden start as a figure in the corner of the hotel room stood and floated away from the plush armchair they had been seated in.  She hadn't even noticed the slender, seemingly sexless figure in lavender robes as they had sat still in a dark corner of the room.  Now they glided across the room, examining Keiko with cold disinterest before turning their attention back to the vampire. "Your sister will be displeased," they said, their voice sounding oddly flat.

"Flandre's moods pass quickly," she replied, waving a hand dismissively, displaying her long, sharp red nails. "She will find something else to amuse herself, this city is full of things to fascinate her."

The purple mage called Patchouli nodded, then slid out of the room, leaving Keiko alone with the Scarlet Devil.  "Relax Hakurei.  I mean you and your ilk no harm."

"Then why stir up the fairies into out-of-season heat waves and blizzards in September?" Keiko asked, still keeping a firm grip on her exorcism rod.

"To test a new land," she replied. "I could and most likely will make overtures to this Lord Tenma I've heard of and reach out to this breed of shelled riverfolk that have taken up engineering, but that tells me nothing of the shape of this city.  If you cause a ruckus, make a commotion, then those who actually matter will come running.  And you and your band –the tiger woman and the bandaged monk– have answered that clarion call wonderfully, my dear."

Keiko felt a sliver of pride glow in her chest despite the circumstance as she fought to keep the color from her cheeks. 'Those who actually matter' huh?

"And what do you want in Japan?" she said aloud.

"A new home," the vampire said, rising from her seat with regal grace, moving with a sweep of her dark, frilled dress as she crossed the hotel room.  Keiko carefully observed her as she moved.  She was elegant, her slight frame moving naturally in a dress fit for a western princess with what must have been centuries of practice.  Her slender neck and sharp features complemented her red eyes and pointed ears.  Now that she was standing, Keiko could tell she was only slightly taller than the foreigner.

As she arrived at the window overlooking the central street below as the windstorm continued, she gave Keiko a smile so effortlessly confident that for a moment the Hakurei wondered if she had a chance against her, before she turned to look out at the howling night.  The wind was doubtless beginning to abate, but it would last another two hours at least, if the mage had done as instructed; the fairies still had to get whatever this was out of their system.  Keiko found herself following her at a distance, intrigued by the foreign invader who had given up so easily.

"I left Europe half a century ago, before the first World War," she said, watching the faint lights of streetcars and trams below. "I've traveled the world searching for a new home.  North America was a fine diversion, but we were forced to leave.  Russia and India were similarly enlightening experiences.  I heard of the wonder of Japan and wished to see it for myself."  She turned back to face Keiko, a strange, alluring expression in her black and red eyes.

"We are not as welcoming as you have been led to believe.  How can you assure me that you will be a peaceful member of the community?" Keiko asked. "All you and yours have so far been is a menace to Tokyo."

"I am a very rich woman, Hakurei-san," she said; Keiko noticed the corners of her mouth twist into a smirk as she added the honorific.  Her Japanese was fairly eloquent for a new arrival. "I intend to do business here and those who share my interests are destined to prosper.  Or, if money is no object, then I can offer a particular skill set that a peacekeeper like yourself might benefit from."

Keiko raised an eyebrow and the Devil continued: "Did you know that there is a necromancer experimenting in your city?"

Keiko blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I can sense the living dead in the world around me at quite a range," she replied. “There’s a whole myriad assortment of spirits scattered across the city, which is quite usual.  But for the last week, I’ve felt the flickering presence of a walking corpse being raised and settled again and again.  I’d say there’s a mage or hermit of some kind busy working on their ghoul.”

Keiko stepped back.  Shou had warned them of that possibility based on recent happenings, but for a foreigner to state it so plainly… “What’s your point?” she asked.

“I could be an asset to your duties,” the Devil said, turning back to her and unfolding her hand dramatically as if to present her value in the palm of her hand. “What I want from this city is a place to do what I have always done: take care of my sister by allowing her to learn and practice new crafts, while extracting money from arrogant men.  And if what I understand is true, you are in need of a new ally in place of an old one, are you not?  I’ve heard your mother Kaede has taken the disappearance of the last of these ‘Sages’ quite hard.”

Keiko narrowed her eyes, suspicion blooming in her mind once again.  “You’re very well-informed for a new arrival.”

“I merely listen,” she responded. “Or rather, Meiling listened when she visited a few months ago.  That's all the tengu say about the Hakurei family: that this ‘Yakumo’ vanished into the mountains with the best and brightest minds of the city years ago and the elder Hakurei hasn’t been the same since.”

It hurt because it was true.  Keiko was just a teenager; a child barely learning about the history of Gensokyo from her mother and Shou Toramaru, the tall woman with tiger stripes in her hair and fur.  They had said that sixty years ago, before both World Wars, there had been a whole host of sages that had worked together to protect the people of Tokyo, both human and supernatural.  Then, one by one, they disappeared.  The monk, the oni and the god had each vanished over the last six decades, and now the last of them, the Youkai, was gone too.  Her mother had shut down after that, and in the years since Keiko had had to step up and take over as the Hakurei maiden.  She herself barely remembered the blond woman with an empty smile who seemed to be able to appear without a sound, when five years ago her mother had told her she was gone.

"How could you help?" Keiko asked warily, her guard dropping despite her unease.  She kept a firm grip on her purification rod but stowed the paper talismans back in her robe.  "What can another rich industrialist like you do?"

"Oh, I consider myself more of a financier," the vampire said. "The economic growth Japan has shown in this last decade is remarkable, thanks to all the new industries, but if there is one thing I understand after four hundred years on this Earth it is money.  I don't want to plunder your country; far from it: I want to help.  Already I've filed the paperwork to create a new, native-type corporate group that can aid in recovery from the... bizarre recent weather events.  A ‘keiretsu,’ I believe they are called?  So with those cards on the table: what say you, Hakurei?  Would you like to join forces?"  She stepped closer, within two meters or so, as she extended her hand, red talons glistening. 

Keiko felt her brow knit as she privately considered the offer: she definitely needed new, socially powerful allies.  The tengu and kappa were both starting to rub each other the wrong way, gods knew who or what might get caught underfoot in their territorial scuffles.  She seemed to be willing to help economically regardless, but what trouble would accepting what was definitely foreign aid stir up?  With her mother still retreating into depression, she might need the support of a rich foreign creature... The question was: at what cost?

She needed more information; she needed to know what kind of person this immortal with red eyes and bloodless skin was.  "You've been very quick with offers and solutions, but I still have a question you avoided: why Japan?"  Something in the vampire's practiced smile shifted, though Keiko could not decipher what it was. 

"Eternal life requires one to see new things, find new experiences," the Devil said, taking a half step closer to Keiko. "It requires... ‘entertainment’ as it were, and I believe that there is no point in living forever if you can't be surrounded by beauty. Long have I heard tales of the Far East; of Japan.  The cherry blossoms, the martial arts, the woodblock prints and artful haiku.  All dreadful orientalism I assumed, but my sister and I wished to confirm the truth for ourselves."

The Devil took another half step closer.  Now less than an arm's length away, Keiko could smell her: floral, subtle notes drifted over her and under them... something heavy, almost metallic. She swallowed as her mouth suddenly felt dry.  "And does our country live up to the tales?" Keiko asked.  Danger and attraction began to play inside her as the pale stranger's gaze continued, unblinking: eyes locked on Keiko's as she felt the world begin to spin.  Those dark, red eyes...

"Japan is the most beautiful country I have ever seen," she replied, her voice softer and silkier now, her accent lending her voice an exotic appeal. "Your language is intricate and complex, wonderfully layered.  Your traditions are ancient and honored.  Traditions like flower viewings... or the miko. "  She extended her hand and a red-nailed finger traced a white fold of Keiko's robe. "The shrine maiden... nothing exactly like it exists in my homeland.  The attire... the bright crimson and pure white robe is so... bold."

The scarlet nail finished its journey up her robe, and Keiko felt it brush her neck as an odd shiver ran down her spine: something more than a thrill played in the back of her mind: but her body felt heavy; almost leaden as her gaze remained locked with those entrancing red eyes. "And the maiden herself... well that's the real surprise," the pale girl said as her nail touched the underside of Keiko's chin and she drifted even closer, close enough that her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Such eastern beauty to be found in that thin jaw, those dark eyes, that silken brown hair."  Her finger left Keiko's face and brushed a lock of hair aside before the tip of her nail returned to her neck as she all but whispered: "That pale and smooth skin.  And that... healthy neck..."

The girl opened her mouth wide and let Keiko finally see what she had read about: the long fangs of the vampire, bared and ready to drain as she drifted ever closer to Keiko's neck.  She could feel cold breath as the creature moved ever closer.

All at once, the vampire stopped, halted as Keiko placed her exorcism rod against her chest, gently but firmly stopping the scene in its tracks.  The pale girl looked down to spot the wooden rod that kept her back, and she closed her eyes and released a low, rumbling hiss as she gradually backed away one step at a time as she closed her mouth. 

“Let it never be said that I take that which is not offered freely,” the Devil said, gradually backing off as Keiko pushed her further away, desperately trying to compose herself.  Keiko fully extended her arm, putting a solid distance between them before taking the end of her exorcism rod off of the pale girl’s chest.

“You… may reside in Japan as you please,” she said after a vain attempt to settle her nerves. “But if you bring any more harm to our community, I will exterminate you.”

“Thank you for your generous terms, oh Hakurei maiden,” the vampire said, giving a curtsy.  Keiko merely mumbled something before stumbling out of the room, her mind retreating to her duties and away from this… new experience.

Remilia Scarlet brooded in the corner of her bedless bedroom.  She did her best to not succumb to melancholy and angst, but it often seemed to be part and parcel of being a child of the night.  As Sakuya prepared her casket for her rest, she found herself regretting, a practice she made a conscious effort to avoid; being immortal meant that if you started regretting you might never stop.

Had she been too forceful when she had arrived in the 60s?  Might the Hakurei have been a closer contact and more useful asset if she had not come onto her like that?  Or would have always turned out like it did: with Keiko keeping her distance and thoroughly warning her eventual daughter Misaki away from her as well.  Misaki had apparently not even gotten the chance to warn young Reimu about the vampire in their midst, but was this an opportunity to start anew, or was that time passed?  Remilia always tried to keep in mind that mortal children were not their parents or ancestors, because it was so easy to forget that while looking at them.  Reimu was so much like Keiko: thin, confident, cautious.  Those dark eyes, beautiful brown hair and wonderful smooth skin…

Sakuya straightened from her bent position before leaning back over as she padded the soil in the coffin.  The earth from Remilia’s homeland was requited for her to rest, and as it stayed in Japan it slowly became Japanese soil, even if it never touched the actual ground.  Its native essence bled away over time, necessitating import and replacement on occasion.  Patchouli had spells to slow the decay, but none of them worked for long, so Remilia simply regarded it as a necessary expense for her and Flandre.  

Sakuya sighed as she inspected her work lining the bottom of the coffin with fresh earth before bending down to heap another scoop of dirt from the crate into the wooden casket.  She was not dressed as formally as she normally was, on account of her dirt-adjacent duties today; just a casual shirt, jacket and blue jeans, with simple gardening gloves.  To Remilia’s mind it recalled more than anything her first encounter with the girl: filthy, desperate and alone.

Remilia had employed human help before, a century and a half ago: thralls were clumsy but necessary tools.  But since Meiling had found their estate and been open to a salary for her duties, they had become more trouble than they were worth.  So too was it with new technology: impersonation and obfuscation to run circles around human businessmen had become even easier with computers now dominating every part of urban life.  But she always knew that she would need a right hand; someone to be her direct will in daylight hours.  Sometimes she wondered if that impulse was what had stayed her hand when the terrified orphan had lunged at her with a silver knife fifteen years ago.  

While working with humans was passé for Remilia, raising them had been another matter.  Or rather... it might have been.  To say that Remilia had raised the girl was a stretch.  She had given her a name and place to stay, but it was mostly Meiling, Koakuma and occasionally Patchouli who had rehabilitated the traumatized child.  Remilia had been more like a sponsor than anything else: distant and uninvolved.  Yet the way Remilia had disarmed and restrained the murderous orphan must have left an impression on her, because the young woman she had grown into had seemed admire her to some extent; and on the inverse Remilia felt a cold affection stir in her dead heart when Sakuya gave her that tiny, knowing smile.

Vampires rarely surrounded themselves with those they could not control, as resting in a coffin for days at a time left one quite vulnerable.  Meiling had proven herself both honorable and amenable to steady payment, and Patchouli's antisocial antipathy of humanity rendered them effectively trustworthy, but allowing someone who had been trained from a very young age on how to destroy vampires to administer to her when she was most vulnerable...

Remilia blinked away her thoughts, banishing her fomenting feelings.  She was tired; she needed to rest.  She needed to feel the earth of her homeland against her cold skin.

Sakuya finished the preparation and stepped away from the casket.  It was mounted leaning against the back wall of her room, raised on a gentle incline for easy access and flanked by tall brass candelabras.  The ebony wood it was carved from was wonderfully accented by silver ornamentations that reflected the candlelight of the room.  Remilia rose from her chair and crossed the room, smoothing her simple dressing gown.  She was a firm believer in always looking one's worth, but having to rest on dirt for up to a week at a time strained that particular principle, and she settled for simpler pale-pink nightwear.

Sakuya simply waited to the side after retrieving the large glass of blood that Remilia would take before being laid to rest.  Remilia ran one of her long red nails though the dark soil, feeling it crumble and part beneath her cold finger and filling the air with the scent of her home.  Even after centuries, smell was still a hotline to her memory, and all the pain that came with it:  Flandre's long imprisonment and starvation in the mansion's basement as their sire dragged Remilia around on a collar and chain to all manner of parties and debauchery. She blinked, returning to the present and looking up at Sakuya.  She was technically a woman now, though she still felt like a child to Remilia.

"Sakuya..." she said, her concentration waning as she felt the call of the earth.  "You never had to stay.  If you want to leave..."

"I serve of my own volition," Sakuya said, giving a slight bow. "My answer ten years ago was honest then, and it is honest now."

Remilia felt herself smile as she folded her wings and stepped into the coffin.  She had hidden her weaknesses and vulnerabilities from incompetent thralls and useless human flunkies for over four hundred years, only to find that the most loyal and capable servant she ever had was the one who knew exactly how to destroy her.  She took the tall glass of chilled blood from Sakuya and drank the thickened fluid slowly, savoring the notes of faint emotion and slivers of pain that were still held within: such a pale shadow of fresh blood's vibrance.  Still, it would sustain her through her rest.

She finished the glass, licked her lips and dabbed the remaining blood away with a napkin Sakuya had ready before lying back and folding her arms as she felt the soil though her gown.  She settled her body, and then closed her eyes as Sakuya slid the lid of the casket closed over her, leaving her in darkness.

Sakuya carefully closed and locked the door behind her as she left Remilia's 'bedroom.'  The likelihood of one of the business associates wandering and finding the coffin when they visited was extremely low, but better to be diligent and safe than sorry.

"She could at least tell me herself," came a voice from behind her.  Sakuya suppressed the urge to whip around, knife in hand, but only because she recognized the voice.

"Lady Remilia did not wish to distract you from your work, Flandre," Sakuya said as she turned and removed her gardening gloves, stowing them in her jacket pocket.  She turned to find the younger vampire sitting on the corner of one of the hall tables, tapping out something on her smartphone.

"You'd think that she'd know how lame her excuses are after two hundred years," Flandre said, eyes still darting back and forth at her phone.  She had only a simple red dress and stockings on, which was likely the closest thing to a plain look either sister ever sported. 

Sakuya simply held her tongue as she saw the frustration pass under Flandre's expression like a shadow on the moon.  "And she thinks I'm stuck in arrested development.  Whatever," she said after a moment.  Her wings rattled as she hopped down from the table edge. "I want to add some guests to the premiere. And I want you to invite them."

The premiere of Flandre's fashion line was at the end of the current week, so it was rather late to add new guests.  But still, this was something Katokawa should have been able to handle with a text. "What do you require of me?" Sakuya asked, confused.

"I wanna invite those two," Flandre said. "You know, the miko and magician that helped you and Meiling.  I think they could use a better reward for all their help than 'not being evicted' and 'having to spend time with Patchouli.'" She used light air-quotes to emphasize the final reward the two locals had received.  Privately, Sakuya agreed but had a hard time imagining the priestess enjoying herself at a high-society event; she seemed like more of a homebody.  Still, no harm in an invitation, though Sakuya doubted the witch would be eager to see her again. 

She was more surprised by Flandre's interest in the hired help that had aided them over a month ago.  Then again, Meiling liked to tell stories; perhaps Flandre's opinion of the two had been skewed by a particular retelling of events.

"As you wish, Ms. Scarlet," Sakuya replied, giving the smallest of bows.  Flandre hurried back to her room as Sakuya split off to pick up two of the crimson envelopes that each held an invitation from the printing firm they had contracted.  

It seemed like she was overdue for a shrine visit.

Byakuren wandered the streets towards the Grand Suwa Shrine, taking in the clear sky and the smells of food as she passed a street lined with food stalls.  She'd spent the better part of two days walking about the city of Suwa, visiting the various branches of the shrine scattered about the city, and trying to learn what she could of the region.  It was nice to be back in a town.  Suwa was not small by any measure, but it felt much more rural than Tokyo.  The cleaner air and bright blue skies were much nicer than the smog that occasionally hung around wards of the big city.  She had visited Suwa over a century ago, but just like Tokyo it had changed much in the years since.  Now she needed to know who or what from this city might have worked with Yukari.

As she turned the street corner and got her first glimpse of the torii gate in front of the Upper Shrine, she reflected on the churn of divinity that often surrounded the gods, toying with a theory in the back of her mind.  Their essence was hard to pin down, as every person held a different conception of a deity in their heart, and gods were often dependent on belief to exist.  Eastern gods in particular were prone to being multifaceted, complicated beings as their worship spread and interacted with other faiths and gods.  A god might even manifest to directly act on the human world, and that incarnation would change the god they spawned from, setting the whole system spinning again.

Incarnation was not a subject Byakuren was well versed in, but she had worked with one such being for quite a long time: the tiger-woman Shou Toramaru,  an incarnation of Lord Bishamonten.  It had been an honor for Byakuren to serve with her, and an enlightening experience.  Though Shou had been an avatar of Bishamonten's will on the earth, she was not in actuality the Heavenly King she shared so many traits with.  Incarnations were patterned after their creators, but they made their own decisions, and were not always bound by the will of their originators. She had learned much of that when she had traveled to India and studied there, where Bishamonten was called Kubera.  She had met with another avatar of a god there: a lean, quiet man with curly hair who dispensed advice for those in love and was followed by many animal companions.  They had many long debates and discussions of the world before she was forced to move along by the Raj.

She arrived at the torii and passed under it, finding the shrine surprisingly empty.  It was a little later in the day, so she was free to explore the sprawling grounds of the shrine.  She smiled at the two komainu statues that flanked the entrance right behind the torii.  No shrine should be without the protection of the twin lion-dogs.  Perhaps, she mused, she should seek advice from the spirit in the Hakurei Shrine’s komainu.  Perhaps that would be easier than just approaching the young girl (Reimu was her name according to Ichirin.)  

Despite being on a trip to learn more of the past she had missed, Byakuren could not help but turn inwardly introspective at the thought of the Hakurei Shrine.  How many generations separated Reimu from the last Hakurei that Byakuren had known?  Five, perhaps more.  She was not a friend of the family anymore; but with the collapse of the Circle of Sages was she even a story anymore?  Did Reimu’s mother or grandmother tell her stories about the stories their grandmothers had been told?  Perhaps that was why Byakuren had avoided the shrine until now.  What would she even say?  She had barely known what to say to loyal Ichirin when she had returned from a century away, never mind the great-great-granddaughter of someone she had once relied on.

The shrine was larger than many in Tokyo but that was to be expected with the extra space.  Everything in Tokyo had to be built upward, and adding new floors to a shrine was not exactly possible.  Still, she walked up to the offertory box, dropped a few yen pieces in and gave a prayer.  It was only natural, after all.  She walked the grounds for a while observing the other visitors and the general flow of the shrine.  As she walked around the side of a small shop staffed by a bored-looking teenager that seemed to be selling souvenirs, she found an old man sweeping the ground.  His spine was bent with age, but still he brushed the dust off the white pathstones around the shrine all the same, cloaked in black and white robes.  An elder of some kind; perhaps he could tell Byakuren what she needed to know.

“Oh, welcome to the Grand Shrine!” he said as he looked up at her approach. “My memory’s not what it used to be, but I know a new face when I see it.  What brings you out here?  Sightseeing or searching for a blessing from Lord Takeminakata?”

“Thank you for your time, grandfather,” she said, giving a bow.  He chuckled at the form of address, but she continued. “I’m actually here for some… shall we say historical research.  I’m familiar with the shrines of Suwa from a visit long ago, and I know the tale of Suwa-no-Ōkami and Moriya-no-kami well.”

“Indeed!” the old man cut in. “Long ago, this was the land of the god Moriya, who blessed many of his followers with children and tamed the curse-gods, protecting the town.  When Lord Takeminakata, the Hunter of the Winds, retreated from his battle with Takemikazuchi, he arrived and challenged Moriya to a battle to determine the god of the land.”  He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know about the mythology of the area, but he was so enthusiastic that Byakuren couldn’t bring herself to stop him.  “Takeminakata triumphed and earned the title of Suwa-no-Ōkami, the Great God of Suwa!  But he could never control the curse-serpent gods, for only Moriya could tame the mishaguji.  Thus, did the two gods learn to work together, and bring peace and prosperity to the land.”

It was a good tale, well told with only a hint of over-enthusiasm, and Byakuren had to restrain herself from giving a round of gentle applause.  “It's an inspiring tale, but I was wondering if there was a more... modern version,” Byakuren said. “How might that story have changed in the last sixty years?”

The old priest gave her a look: half suspicious, half incredulous.  "You an investigator, miss?  One of those strange people wondering about what happened in the mountains in '63?"

"I'll not pretend that the Hikageiri Event doesn't interest me," Byakuren said. "Have you been asked about it by someone else recently?"

"Some teenager ran all over town a few weeks ago, asking if anyone remembered the Night Parade of One-Hundred Demons from that time," he scoffed. "It's just some rumor someone started after that explosion, trying to claim it was the work of gods and demons that passed through Suwa a few nights before.  It's a rumor from when I was a preteen, I never expected to hear it again.  Apparently, she read online that it started here, at this very temple!"

Byakuren hummed her understanding, reflecting for a moment.  Night Parades had already gone out of style a century ago, but had remained popular as a subject of art and scrolls.  A mass exodus of Youkai from Suwa to the spot where the Hikageiri Event had taken place might have resembled that.  Or perhaps it was a baseless rumor.  

“Grandfather,” said a deep, full-bodied voice behind Byakuren.  She turned to see a middle-aged man approaching.  He was stocky, a bear of a man, with barely tamed brown hair, dressed in an unremarkable business suit. Byakuren squinted for a moment, before realizing where she recognized him from.  “They need you at the entrance to the shrine.  Tourists,” he said, motioning behind him.

“Oh my,” the old priest sighed. “I suppose this shrine still has some use for me after all.  Good to meet you, ma’am.”  He nodded to Byakuren before trotting off, to which Byakuren returned the Buddhist hand sign of peace.  The old man hobbled away, but the man in the suit remained.

“I never expected you to show your face around here again,” he said as soon as the old man was out of earshot.  His face darkened and his well-groomed bit of facial hair seemed to grow ever more slightly wild.

“I always wanted to return and visit this town,” Byakuren said. “But I wish it were under better circumstances.  I must say, you’ve done well for yourself, Minoru.”  When she had last visited Suwa, he had been a young bake-danuki; little more than a prankster.

His scowl only deepened. “I had to step up after all our elder Youkai and mages died,” he growled. “Hell, your good words and praise for Yakumo when you and her visited a century and half ago are the only reason the elders trusted her and agreed to her plan.”

Byakuren sighed.  So that was the other half of the story: Byakuren vouching for Yukari made her just as culpable, in the eyes of some.  “I was sealed and imprisoned for the last century.  I’m trying to piece together what happened to Yukari.  I’ve no desire to cause any harm or reopen any old wounds.”

“And yet you spent several days traipsing around town to every shrine, spreading the stench of black magic everywhere,” Minoru responded. “Can you imagine the pain that Folk here still carry?  Losing parents, children, friends… The humans noticed when some of us went missing.  We had to deflect their questions, and then endure the insufferable pride of the tengu when they decided to handle it for us.”  He stopped for a moment. “My mother observed the ritual from a distance, and still she barely survived that explosion.  She still bears scars from it.”

Byakuren fixed the wide and disguised tanuki with her best icy stare and responded. “Many from Tokyo and Gensokyo also perished in the incident.  I am not interested in debating responsibility or measuring grief.”

The moment between them was long and tense, as the birdsong and faint noise of the rest of the shrine melted away.  Just the Youkai and the monk, tucked away in a corner of the shrine, staring each other down.

Minoru cracked first. “Tell me what you want,” he said, rage draining from his face. 

“I know that Yukari worked as part of a triad to try and create her sanctuary space,” Byakuren said. “I need to know who those other two were.  My intuition says they were Suwa natives.  Also, if you can, what was the Night Parade the priest spoke of?”

“It’s all the same thing,” Minoru said. “That was the last Night Parade of Youkai in Suwa, as it was to be their exodus from the city.  It started right here, in fact.”

“A Youkai march started at a shrine?” Byakuren asked.

“Yes, because at the front of the assembly was a god,” he said. “One of two.  Yakumo had convinced the gods to lend their aid to her cause, so they joined her in her ritual.  Takeminakata-no-Kami and Moriya-no-Kami both incarnated.”

Of course, Byakuren thought to herself.

“Each manifested a physical form and identity,” Minoru continued. “They deigned to grace Yakumo’s undertaking, and were met with obliteration, or at least discorporation.  A better fate than the rest who were part of it.”  

It all made a horrible amount of sense now.  They had been avatars of the gods, so the failure of the project had deprived the Folk of Suwa of friends, family and faith.

“I thank you for your aid,” Byakuren said as she bowed and clasped her hands, finally understanding the true depth of the resentment that was being directed at her. “Blessings of the Buddha be upon you.”  Minoru made no reply, only nodded as she passed him.

As she was leaving, she heard him call after her: “Byakuren!  I’m sorry for your losses.  But don’t get stuck trying to change what you can’t.” 

She turned and bowed to him again before passing back through the torii gate and out onto the street.  The day was advancing, but if she made it back to her motorcycle then she could return to Tokyo by nightfall.  With all that she had learned and how she had behaved, she felt it best to stay no longer than necessary in Suwa.  Perhaps one day she would be welcome again, but that was a distant possibility.

A pair of foreign tourists passed by, fresh from the other entrance to the shrine and sporting merchandise of a frog and snake.  In her visits to the many branches of the Suwa Shrine, Byakuren had seen the various representations of the two animals and learned they were a minor bit of tourist-focused branding on the part of the shrine, representing the gods Moriya and Takeminakata respectively.  It pricked at the back of her memory, because it seemed so familiar.  She was trying to remember why that combination of godly animals seemed so familiar, but seeing the two giggling young women comparing their keychains and bracelets somehow jogged her memory.

Centuries ago, in a period of famine and fire, a mage had followed the myths and tried to seize the power of the Saigyou Ayakashi as a weapon of war.  She had ensnared a renowned general in her schemes and had used his army to try and root out where the demonic tree was hidden.  She was not the first: many had tried, and they had all failed.  Her’s was the last attempt, but as part of her plan a myth had been created.  She had spread a story around Edo as part of her scheme: that a snake god and frog god were coming, planning to invade the capital.  None from the Circle of Sages were sure of her intent in starting the rumor: the Horned Sage thought it a mere distraction, but Matara-jin’s attendant had speculated that she was trying to manifest a deity.  Regardless, her scheme had been thwarted, but that myth had persisted like a weed.  The mage’s story had been twisted, such that it now mythologized the near-coup she had orchestrated, and the people of Gensokyo still told the story of the snake and frog god that had been banished from their city.

Was it coincidence that Yukari had allied herself with two gods often symbolized by a snake and frog, or was it destiny?  Did the mage get the idea from Suwa, or was there another force at work here? All those possibilities circled each other in her mind, along with her theories of what was really happening with those missing time in Gensokyo.  She needed to get back to Tokyo.  Byakuren turned the final corner as the sun began to descend, only to find her motorcycle missing from its parking spot.  

Well then.

It wasn’t like it had been hot-wired: as a magical artifact only she had the key to the aetheric ignition.  But it was still an object, and it could simply be lifted by two or more people, which is exactly what had happened if she had judged the tracks in the sand around the parking lot correctly.  Lifted, then carried to a truck of some kind and driven off.  She could only wonder: was this simple theft, or part of the local’s warm welcome for one they saw as associated with the Hikageiri tragedy?

Byakuren sighed as she began to track the tire tracks in the gravel road.  She needed to check back in with young Satori soon; she had a feeling that the consequences of Yukari’s failed plan was intertwined with the happenings in Tokyo, she just couldn’t see how yet.  She removed the magical keychain from her pocket and activated the weak seeking charm built into it.  

She would find what she sought sooner or later, it was just a matter of time.

Chapter Text

It was finally Chimata's discharge day, so Marisa sorted through her clothes, looking for something that would fit someone fifteen centimeters taller than her and twenty kilograms lighter.

It wasn't as hopeless as it seemed: as a self-admitted hoarder Marisa had kept almost every piece of clothing she had ever bought, stolen or been gifted, so there were many pieces that didn't fit her anymore and a few that never had.  She settled on a long blue and red dress, tattered old black stockings with a rainbow pattern, and stompy boots that had always been too tight on her.  Hopefully that would do to get her to the shrine, where Reimu's wardrobe would fit the goddess better.  Marisa couldn't help but snort at the absurdity of it.  She was rooting around at the bottom of her closet, looking for second-hand clothes for a god.

She added a long, old gray hoodie to the pile, before folding the bundle of clothes into her messenger bag and getting herself ready.  The weather had finally turned cold enough that she didn't draw attention for her big black coats, so she broke out her favorite: a black padded jacket that went to her knees with a large white star across the back.  It paired well with her witch's hat: the rain-proof one with the zipper up the side.  She looked in the mirror as she re-wove her side braid, wondering if she should bother with makeup.  She rarely put on more than some eyeliner.  Reimu was always better at all that stuff, though she never bothered with it outside of blessing houses and infants.

Marisa finished her preparations and made her way to the address she had been texted: a dingy pharmacy in Shinkaji that was so obviously a front that it nearly made her laugh.  The yellowed linoleum interior matched what she had seen the night she had been there almost a week ago now, but the girl behind the counter was new.  She was quite short –probably Marisa's height- and dressed in an absurd pink nurse outfit with a miniskirt that seemed more like cosplay than a real uniform.  Combined with the intense tan, white rabbit ears poking out of her curly black hair and her posture –bare feet kicked up on the reception desk as she talked on a cellphone– she looked perfectly ready for a saucy photoshoot, not manning a front desk of anything other than a cheesy love hotel.  Marisa, never one to judge someone for their apparel unless she wanted to, stepped up to the desk.

"Gotta go babe, the morning appointment is here," the girl said before ending her call, her voice bizarrely accented somewhere between a country farmer and a theatrical yakuza.  She kicked her bare feet off the desk and stood, sliding her phone into a fold in her outfit.  Marisa noted that the new girl was actually shorter than her. "Kirisame, right?" the girl said. "Here for the thin blue woman?"

"Yes," Marisa replied evenly.

The girl leaned down to hit a button on her desk before speaking into it: "Reisen!  Your human is here."

Marisa fought valiantly to control her expression as the rabbit-eared girl sat back down, taking a long drink from an unmarked aluminum can and looking Marisa up and down, her gaze oddly calculating.  After a very awkward moment Reisen appeared from a corner of the room, dressed in a navy blazer and long pleated skirt with loafers; the whole outfit made her look like a schoolgirl from the late 80s. 

Oh my god, is the dress code of this office dress-up? Marisa couldn't stop herself from thinking.

"This way, Mrs. Kirisame," Reisen said, gesturing down the corridor before turning and heading away.  Marisa hurried after her, eager to get away from the bunny-girl and her uncomfortably knowing smirk.

"Some uniform for your receptionist," Marisa said as she trailed after Reisen.  The interior of the establishment was even more familiar to her earlier visit, the same oddly cramped interior, with every wall either being aged tile or translucently frosted plastic, and the smell of antiseptics did even more to convince her that she was in the right place.

"Inaba-dono is not our receptionist," Reisen returned.  Marisa was about to inquire further, but her guide stopped at a door and knocked.  There was a faint vocal noise from inside, and Reisen opened the door.

Marisa entered to find the same woman she had seen crawl out of the trash days prior.  She was now dressed in a simple pale-blue hospital gown, sitting on the edge of a bed.  She did look healthier, her frame not so thin, her cheeks a little fuller.  She looked up as Marisa entered, and she could see the thing that made her not immediately dismiss the woman as a transient: her pupils glinted with faint rainbow light.

"Hello, Kirisame-san," she said, her voice breathy and airy.  "I understand I am to be released today."

"Looks like it," Marisa muttered, unshouldering her bag and setting it on the nearby dresser. "I brought you some clothes."

"Thank you," Chimata said, rising to her full height: she was taller than Reisen by a good five centimeters.  Marisa moved out of the room and Reisen shut the door behind them.  Beyond the common courtesy of leaving someone to dress in private, Marisa was acutely aware of the many myths that involved someone being cursed for seeing a goddess nude... though on reflection perhaps that ship had sailed the night Marisa had found her.  She and Reisen stood abreast of the door in an awkward silence for a moment.

"So, if the girl in the front isn't your receptionist," Marisa said, picking the thread of conversation back up. "Then who is she?"

"She is our... 'manager' is not quite the right word.  'Landlord' might be closer," Reisen said, hands folded behind her back. 

"And she's manning your front desk while dressed like that because...?" Marisa asked, searching.

"Boredom, I suspect," Reisen replied bluntly. "She owns this city block and several surrounding it, either officially or unofficially.  She lets us do our business and does what she desires; we try not to get in her way."

'Officially or unofficially'?   Marisa wondered, a dark curiosity as to who exactly the short girl was driving a potential inquiry, but Chimata's voice from inside the room broke her train of thought.  Reisen opened the door, and Marisa was surprised by what she saw.  Her ratty, ill-fitting clothes and tacky patterned stockings fit the skinny goddess well, transforming both the woman and the outfit into a strangely regal appearance.  Queen of the hobos, Marisa thought to herself, only mostly derisively.  Granted, the white cape on top of the outfit was the piece of clothing most responsible for that graceful look.  It was spotless, with a gentle blue cloud texture on the inside.  It made a certain amount of sense that it was all she had been found with.

"Thank you for the clothing, Kirisame-san," she said, giving a slight bow.

Marisa merely swallowed and let out a tiny "Sure." She signed the paperwork Reisen presented and hurried out of the office, eager to move along.

"Enjoy your day, Black Cat," the short rabbit-girl called after Marisa as she and Chimata exited the clinic.  Marisa felt ice shoot down her spine as the door closed behind them.

"Is that a nickname you have used?" Chimata asked as they stepped back onto the street to find a strong wind blowing by.  Marisa pulled her coat tight and shivered, but Chimata seemed unaffected, her white cape clinging close to her form.

"A while ago," Marisa said, wheels turning in her head.  She'd first used the alias Black Cat five years ago, in her very brief push to sell cannabis.  She'd been visited by a rather large oni who said he worked for someone named the White Hare, and he had gently but firmly suggested she find another business.  She had, but she had also asked around about this White Hare, and both Aya and Alice had only heard rumors that painted the Hare as a crime boss with considerable reach and resources.  Marisa had dropped the matter and used the alias Black Cat for a few other cons over the years, but something about the white rabbit ears that girl had gave Marisa the impression that she'd just met one of the more dangerous figures in Gensokyo.

They walked into the wind for a block or so before Chimata spoke up: "I am grateful for all your assistance, and I'm sure you have many questions."

"I sure do," Marisa responded as they turned a corner and got out of the wind.  "But I know someone who would be a whole lot more interested in you, so we're gonna save your sob story until then."

Chimata simply nodded, and they walked together in silence to the Hakurei Shrine.

Reimu fiddled with her phone, flipping it open and closed, wondering how you called back a shinigami.

It had been almost two days since her visit to Suzunaan and the near-reunion between Izumi and Hideo.  In that time, Izumi had completely vanished: she did not appear when called as she usually did, simply letting the world pass by.  Reimu, who had spent most of her time with only Marisa as occasionally company, had expected to find the return to silence a welcome reprieve.  Instead, the day and a half of solitude had only worried her.

From a certain perspective, it made sense.  When Reimu had been depressed after her mother had passed away, she had the impulse to simply not exist.  She would not have taken her life, but she had curled up on futon and ignored the world outside, letting days or even weeks pass in a haze, until the repeated checks from Marisa, Hishakaja-san and several other concerned parents and grandparents eventually coaxed her out of bed and back into her life.

If she had been in Izumi's position after what had happened, Reimu imagined she might spend a week in the aether too.

Reimu had immediately thought about trying to contact Komachi to see if there was a solution to their present conundrum, but there was no number to call back on her phone.  She supposed it wasn't the way of a psychopomp to give out contact information.  A cursory internet search of Hideo's condition suggested that it was irreversible, or that any experimental procedure that claimed to heal it would cost the worth of the entire Hakurei Shrine ten times over. 

Reimu knew a few healing prayers, but it was all temporary and all for wounds: cuts, scrapes, bruises, burns and the like.  She had been able to staunch the bleeding when Meiling had been attacked, but nothing more.  Trying to heal Hideo's eyes would probably be like a student council president trying to negotiate a multinational treaty: she'd be hopelessly out of her depth.  Likewise, she knew Marisa's medical skills were rudimentary: soothing cramps and the like.  Maybe she'd have the chance to ask Marisa when she arrived...

Reimu stood and moved to refill the teapot.  The shrine had never felt as empty as it did today.  She felt something needed to be said.

"This isn't the end, Izumi," she said, trying to project confidence as she projected her words.  "There's always something more we can do.  Hideo will... I know there are other ways out of this.  So please don't give up."

The distant sound of a truck on the street outside was her only reply.

Reimu set the teapot to boil and instead began sorting some of her books, feeling restless.  It was another few minutes before there was a knock on the front door of the shrine.  Reimu crossed over and opened the door.  She found Marisa as she expected, looking extra witchy in the large black coat and hat.  But she also found that her friend had brought someone with her.

Behind Marisa stood a tall, skinny woman with shortly cropped blue hair.  Her face was thin, a look of distant hunger Reimu remembered from her own face in years gone by.  She was dressed in old, worn clothes and a spotless white cape.  Reimu looked her up and down and in her soft, almond-shaped eyes Reimu thought she caught a glimpse of rainbow light in the depths of her pupils.  Beyond that, well… There was something that Reimu could just feel about her that told her much more about her new acquaintance than her appearance ever could.

I see, thought Reimu, lessons and family stories long forgotten returning to her.

Reimu’s gaze slid over and down to Marisa, who was practicing her best apologetic expression.  “Hi Reimu.  I uh… found someone a few days ago.”

“Hello, Reimu Hakurei,” the tall woman said in an almost-regal voice. “My name is Chimata Tenkyuu.  I’ve been eager to meet the guardian of Gensokyo.”

“Sure… come on in,” was all Reimu could reply.  She ushered her friend and the newcomer inside.  Each of them slid off shoes and Marisa set her hat on the hook by the door, next to her coat.  Reimu poured a cup of green tea for each of them as she noticed Marisa looking around curiously.

“Where’s Izumi?” she whispered.

“Later,” Reimu whispered back, feeling both cautiously curious of what Marisa had gotten into and a tad uncharitable of her at the moment.  She gestured to Chimata as she settled her legs beneath the kotatsu. “You could have told me you were bringing over completely new company that needed help.  I have a phone now.”

“I’ve been busy,” Marisa recited from her stock excuses.  Assuredly she was, the girl never sat still for long.  Even so…

“I don’t want to impose more than is necessary, but I do wish to learn all I can about this neighborhood,” Chimata said, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

“Well, I don’t object,” Reimu said, “I’d be a pretty poor shrine maiden if I refused to host a goddess.”

Chimata gave a faint smile as her eyes seemed to grow more blue, but Marisa's face shifted to something between bewildered and annoyed. "But I... I had a whole thing set up for introducing you to a god," she sputtered.

"I must admit I'm pretty excited," Reimu said, which she was faintly aware was incongruous with her flat delivery.  She supposed she could have put on a livelier expression, but the morose tension of the last day had drained her of most of her ability to express even genuine emotions. "My mother said that my grandmother worked with an incarnated god, but I never met either of them.  Regardless, I know what divinity feels like, so..." Reimu took a long sip of her tea.  "I took an educated guess.  Marisa, how did we get here?"

Marisa explained her attendance of the Black Market, and how she had discovered Chimata in the trash, begging for help.  Despite the telling bearing all the telltale marks of embellishment that Marisa was prone to, Chimata simply nodded along; Reimu couldn't tell if Marisa was telling the truth or Chimata was simply gracious.  She continued with how she had learned of a clinic for Folk from Meiling and called them to help care for Chimata.

A supernatural medical clinic, Reimu mused to herself as Marisa explained how they had cared for Chimata and released her back into her care a week later, as –according to Marisa– she knew the best place for a goddess to get her bearings would be a shrine.  Marisa finished her tale, unable to keep a tinge of self-satisfaction out of her manner.

Reimu turned her attention over to Chimata, who was taking a sip of tea. "So how much of that is true, Tenkyuu-sama?"

Chimata's lip twisted into a smirk. "Oh, no need to be that formal Hakurei-san," she said, setting her cup back on the table. "And Kirisame-san's summary is mostly accurate; her embellishments are more than acceptable." 

Reimu noticed Marisa's face redden slightly, but she remained silent. "So how did you end up in the garbage then?" Reimu asked. "What were you doing beforehand?"

"I was... well, I was nowhere and nothing an hour before she found me," Chimata explained.  "I am an embodied god of marketplaces and crossroads.  The Ichigami; the marketplace kami that surrounded the Black Market; have been in long decline."

"Why?" Marisa asked, her curiosity peeking through. "Tokyo's a major commercial hub; been that way for decades.  Why are the gods of trade having a hard time?"

"That's the issue, Kirisame-san," Chimata said, holding up a finger. "They... I suppose you might say we… do not govern the abstracted trade of the modern economic world.  Stock, securities, shares, investment and the like; these are not the exchange of goods from person to person on which they were born.  So, we crowded around the stores.  But something changed recently.  A god taking human form was long considered impossible in the modern age.  The faith required was considered impossible to accrue."

"When was the last time something like that happened?" Reimu said, remembering that the tiger-woman her mother had spoken of had apparently been around since at least the late 1800s, but had vanished at some point in the 1980s.

"I have no sure answer for you," Chimata replied. "It was whispered that it happened twice in Nagano some sixty years ago, but I'm not sure I believe that.  Regardless, no one had managed it in some time.  The human and divine worlds had grown too far apart."

Reimu hummed an understanding, remembering when Rinnosuke had lectured her about the same thing.  To listen to him tell it, faith was always declining, always weakening the gods and Youkai.  Reimu had never felt that in her prayers and her rituals, but it seemed to be the consensus among most Folk.  Reimu heard the same talk of a dismal present and a better past from humans all the time, so she mostly chalked it up to it being a general attitude of all thinking beings, both humans and Folk.

"But something changed recently," Chimata continued. "Every kami and divine spirit could feel it: another god wears flesh and walks the earth in Tokyo once again.  The boundary between worlds changed, and all could feel that there was... window.  Before things slid back to how they used to be, there was –and perhaps still is– a chance to create a new avatar in the physical world before this strange... existential backdoor closes."

Reimu pondered that for a moment.  What god had already taken physical form, and why had Reimu not felt this supposed shift?  Perhaps it was for the gods alone to know and not mortals, no matter how close they were to the kami.  No god had reached out to her to attempt incarnation… but perhaps not all the kami desired an avatar.  If Chimata’s physical health was any indicator, it was not a very fool-proof venture.

"So is that what you did?" Marisa asked, hand on her chin, eyes glinting with focus. "You created a ritual and a body around the Black Market?"

Chimata's face twisted into an expression stuck somewhere between apologetic and plaintive.  For a moment Reimu thought she saw a bit more orange in her eyes. "Yes and no.  I was not responsible... because I did not exist.  I am... an amalgamation of a dozen spirits and minor kami transfused and transposed onto a mortal body.  There is what one might call a discontinuity between them and myself.  There are gaps in my memory as to what happened before I was incarnated."

Marisa's expression soured.  "That's convenient," she muttered.

“It’s rather inconvenient, actually,” Chimata said, either oblivious to the sarcasm or not taking the bait; Reimu couldn't tell. “Somehow a mortal or Youkai learned of the Ichigami’s plight, and steps were obviously taken to create… well me.   But the whole picture remains out of my grasp.”

"But you are aware of some of it?" Reimu probed.

"Yes," Chimata said, holding up three fingers. "The kind of incarnation that created me requires three things: a place, a ritual and at least one channeler.  How it turns out depends on the relationship between the three."

"Okay, so I can figure this out!" Marisa said as she threw her hands up, her mood swinging back to excitement. "The place is obviously the Black Market.  It's one of the only venues where barter still exists."

"You are correct, Kirisame-san." Chimata nodded, taking another sip of her tea.  Reimu reached over to refill it as she set it back on the table.

"That means the ritual was some kind of trade," Marisa said, her gaze growing distant with focus. "It would have to be a pretty significant transaction, maybe near the end of the market…"  A furrow appeared on Marisa's forehead as she put some puzzle pieces together.  “Which would mean that the channeler would be part of the…” She trailed off.

"You are on the right track, Kirisame-san," Chimata said, her voice growing extra-soothing. "The exchange you made was the ritual.”

Marisa's furrowed brow deepened. “But… I mean it can’t have been.  I didn’t even know I was part of it.  I’m no priestess, and I couldn’t channel any deity I didn’t even know existed!”

“Well…” Chimata said, gesturing vaguely.

“If I were a betting girl,” Reimu said. “I would bet on that being one of the reasons you were so ill and malnourished, Tenkyuu-san.  Half the channelers in the ritual didn’t know they were even part of it.”

“That is most likely the reason, alongside a dozen other issues with the ritual, I’m sure.  I’m not particularly inclined to speculate about it, I am just grateful to exist,” Chimata said, leaning back slightly and spreading her arms wide. “But I would like to know the intent of those who staged it, for as a living being I must now make my way in the world, and that starts with whoever orchestrated that ritual.  I trust you know who traded you for a particularly unique item near the end of that night, Kirisame-san?”

Reimu noticed Marisa fidgeting, almost stimming as she rapidly spun a silver ring on her thumb.  Her agitation was plain enough that even Reimu could detect it.  “Yeah, I remember that… interaction .  I can’t really contact her, but I know someone I can lean on to get the info.”

“I would be grateful, Kirisame-san,” Chimata said.

“But you are not staying with me,” Marisa said, jabbing her finger on the tabletop for emphasis. “I’ve got no room."

“I suspected that was the case,” Chimata said. “If I may ask for your hospitality in the coming weeks, Hakurei-san?"  To say that Reimu had not seen the pitch coming would have been a lie, but she struggled to be annoyed by it and decided that it was not worth making a fuss over. 

Moreover, it would be a welcome distraction from Izumi's disappearance.  Combined with the drastic drop in reports of the white snake-spirits, Reimu was in very real danger of having any free time.  It also just seemed like the right thing to do.  When she was young, her mother had mentioned a fair number of people who had stayed at the shrine, from fellow peacekeepers to those down on their luck and in need of a respite.  Reimu herself had played host to only a few: not counting Cirno and friends, she had let Marisa stay a few months while she sorted out her own living situation with the help of Rinnosuke.  Reimu had also let an inchling stay at the shrine for a few months when she was fifteen years old.  The tiny traveler had been good company but had decided to move on for reasons Reimu couldn't remember at the moment.

"Sure," Reimu said, to which Chimata's eyes shimmered a bit of golden hue, and Marisa seemed to visibly decompress, no doubt relieved to have foisted a responsibility onto someone else.  Reimu rose and fixed more tea and a plate of snacks as the three of them continued to amicably chat, Marisa and Reimu explaining what they knew of the Folk politics of Gensokyo, all of them working together to see if they could find a place where the humble market god could fit and survive.

“Forgive me if this is a bit rude,” Marisa said, “But what do you… actually do?  Like, what godly powers do you possess?”

“We shall have to discover that together.  I am very much a mystery to myself at the moment,” Chimata said before wolfing down two rice crackers.  Reimu noted with some amusement and recognition that her air of grace seemed to slip when eating as if the hunger was too real to suppress.  She made a note to start the oven when next she stood.  Perhaps a trip to a grocery market tomorrow would do the marketplace goddess some good.  Regardless, she would need to head out tomorrow, at least to get some kind of new clothes beyond Marisa’s forgotten rags. “If you are asking if I can fly or shoot lasers, I can answer a categorical negative on that,” Chimata added, to Marisa’s obvious disappointment.

An hour or so later, they were still considering if approaching the tengu or tsukumogami first was a better strategy, when movement caught Reimu's eye.  At first, she thought that Izumi might be joining them, but she quickly realized it was a shadow from the front of the shrine: someone was just outside the faux paper-screen sliding doors.  A knock at the front door drew everyone's attention.

"Come in," Reimu said.

The door slid open to reveal Sakuya Izayoi.  Reimu was surprised, as she thought Sakuya seemed like the type of person to avoid face-to-face conversations if possible.  Their texts over the past month had been cordial enough, but Reimu had never really expected to interact with her again. 

Sakuya looked around the interior of the shrine, taking in the three of them seated around the kotatsu.  "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her to keep the chill out.

"Not at all," Marisa said, her voice oddly low. Reimu glanced over at her to see she was wearing something close to a scowl.  Reimu faintly recalled that Sakuya had done something to earn Marisa's distrust but could not recall what it was.  Regardless, Reimu’s own feelings remained neutral.

"Sakuya Izayoi, this is Chimata Tenkyuu," Reimu said, gesturing to each of them as Chimata stood and maneuvered around Marisa to shake Sakuya's hand. "Chimata is-”

“A new arrival who’s having some trouble settling in, so she's staying with Reimu," Marisa said, cutting Reimu off.

Sakuya raised an eyebrow as she shook the offered hand with professional courtesy.  "A pleasure to meet you, Tenkyuu-san," she said.  Chimata returned to her seat, but Reimu noticed Sakuya's eyes flicker red for a split second.  It was just for a moment, as she shook her head and blinked rapidly immediately afterwards, as if a light had just been shone in her eyes.  Reimu couldn't help but let a smile tug at the edge of her mouth; she could only imagine what a god looked like to Sakuya's second sight; probably quite bright.

Reimu gestured to the one remaining side of the kotatsu as Chimata tucked her knees under the blanket, but Sakuya held up a hand, an apologetic look on her face as she seemed to struggle to tear her gaze from Chimata taking a snack from the plate in the center of the table.  "I... I do wish I could stay and visit, but I have much left to do today," she said as she finally turned to address Reimu and Marisa. "I stopped by to deliver these from my employer's sister."  She reached into her coat and withdrew two rich crimson envelopes.  She handed one to Reimu and Marisa each, then let them each open it.

The paper was thick and sturdy.  It felt expensive to the touch, which was backed up when Reimu removed the card inside, which was a cream color with embossed red ink communicating a message in English and Japanese: an invitation to an event.  Sakuya explained as Reimu read through it: “Lady Flandre wished to express her own gratitude for your aid alongside my employer, and so she wanted to invite both of you to the premiere of her fashion brand.  The show will be at the end of the week."

"Uhh..." Reimu stalled as Marisa scanned the rest of her invitation. "I... we really appreciate the gesture, Izayoi-san, but-"

"We'll be there," Marisa cut her off again, but with enthusiasm rather than wariness this time. "And we'll be dressed appropriately.  Chimata will be Reimu's plus-one; I'll find mine later."

"Very well," Sakuya said, a smile on her lips as she gave a slight bow.  "I shall inform Ms. Scarlet.  I will see you all Saturday."  She turned and exited the shrine, as crisp and efficient as ever.

"I know what you're thinking!" Marisa said preemptively, throwing her hands up as Reimu turned to her, about to speak. "I know that a fancy social event with hand-delivered invitations is not exactly either of our native environments."

"Yes," Reimu said flatly. "You could say that."

"But!  This is an opportunity," Marisa emphasized, sliding her pinched thumb and forefinger as if underlining the word with imaginary chalk.  Reimu recognized that she had switched to her sales-pitch tone of voice. "Think about it.  One: free dinner," she said as she jabbed an itinerary at the bottom of the invitation, then pulled up her hand and raised a second finger. "Two: this thing is going to be full of clueless rich people. If I can get my hooks in just one of them, I can get so much cash.  I’ll be set."

"Okay, that's a reason for you to attend, but why did you speak for both me and Tenky-"

"Three:" Marisa interrupted, raising a third finger. "This is the perfect way to help Chimata."

Chimata had so far leaned back and only observed the argument, but at this she leaned forward and spoke up.  "How so?" she said, her eyes glinting a bit green as she peeked over at Reimu's invitation. "I must confess that I'm unfamiliar with the organization running this event."  

“The Koumakyou Group is a huge multinational conglomerate, run by Izayoi’s master,” Marisa explained. “Most of it’s all that investment and stock market stuff you talked about earlier, but this,” Marisa pointed to the invitation, “Is the official launch of their latest part of the Scarlet Styles brand.  This is a clothing line, to be sold in a single store.”

“One marketplace, you say?” Chimata asked, a smile beginning to tug at the corner of her lips.

“Exactly,” Marisa said, her smile a mirror of Chimata’s own.  They continued to talk as Reimu stood to prepare a late lunch, the thought of what Izumi would think of this tugging at the back of her mind.

The sun was beginning to set and the winter night began creeping in the streets of Tokyo when Marisa left the Hakurei Shrine… and was observed.

Across the street, partly hidden behind a discarded cardboard box sat a shrouded figure.  She was small, and kept warm with layers of clothes.  Her coat was a soiled shade that had once been white but now looked gray, its jade-green accents almost washed out with age.  Her light brown hair tumbled out from under a hood, lank, scraggly and unwashed.  She munched on a rice ball, keeping herself occupied as she watched the time on her wristwatch.  Her schedule was busy, but reporting on those with no schedule meant that she had to bend her own timeline to make due.  As Marisa walked down the path out of the shrine and headed for her favorite bar, the figure jotted down several notes on a piece of paper, adding to a long list.

Witch escorted newcomer to shrine, left without her
- newcomer in care of Miko now?
- newcomer: Wild Card
no sign of Monk or Purple One
will keep eye on Wild Card

She finished her riceball and began copying her notes onto a second piece of paper, leaving out a few pieces of information and adding a few details to fit the other client’s interests.  She rubbed her eyes and signed each piece of paper with the appropriate name, then rolled each of the small slips up and placed them into plastic pipes, securing each one.  It was much more complicated than just texting the information, but each of her clients wanted to avoid leaks and digital technology.

It gave the girl all the more pleasure that neither ever seemed to realize that she was the leak.  Neither paid well enough to buy exclusivity of her services, and both of them thought of her as a compartmentalized tool.  They could never suspect that she had put together both of their plans ages ago.  One had a personal connection to the shrine and wanted to make sure it was okay, and the other considered the miko and associates all potential future threats.

She moved to the designated drop off points for each pipe (a dingy dive bar for one and an unassuming office building for the other) making sure to duck in and around crowds each time to lose any possible tails.  From one perspective, it was humiliating to be reduced to this spying and errand-running for a weekly pittance of pay.  Once upon a time, she had whispered in the ears of CEOs and prime ministers, controlled entire business empires.  Now she was forced to survive in the shadows, barely scraping by while relaying reports to idiots who barely tolerated her, all the while dressed in rags to divert attention.

Still, everyone wanted to know what happened to the Hakurei miko, and so there was money to be made in observing.  Pride was an indulgence she could ill afford if swallowing it meant being around the big fish when they began to make their moves.  She’d have to start small with shit assignments like this before either invested more in her.  That was how she had to think of it: investment in the future.  Tail the witch, tail the miko, tail the odd silver-haired business woman who occasionally visited the shrine, and keep an eye on the bookshop the miko liked to visit.  

Because what neither of her clients considered was that their faithful fox sentry had an agenda of her own.

Chapter Text

“Hey girls!” Mokou’s voice echoed down the otherwise deserted gray hallway in the training center for the JJP Wrestling Alliance.

The two wrestlers in question turned in unison and looked behind themselves at the approaching pair.  Mokou was in her red leather jacket, but with her was a tall, muscular woman they had never been introduced to.  Her fiery red hair was very long, and it contrasted with her olive-green outfit.

“Sorry girls, hate to run you down in the hall,” Mokou said, her voice apologetic.

“No, it’s alright,” chimed Satono, clad in fuchsia, her brown hair done up and her eyes wide.

“We have some time,” added Mai.  She shifted the two shinai sticks in her arms and stared at Mokou and the newcomer with a gaze just as wide. 

“Well, I have an old friend who wanted to meet you,” Mokou said, regaining her confidence.  “This is Hong Meiling.” She gestured to the taller woman.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hong,” Mai said, plucking at the fabric of her green practice gear in a strange mockery of a curtsy.  The two girls looked to be the same age, but that age was hard to pin down for Meiling.  She spent too much time in the company of the immortal to judge a human's age accurately. They looked like older teenagers or very young adults, but something in their posture made them feel both young and old.

“Just Meiling, if you please,” Meiling said, her smile wide.

“Whatever you say, Ms. Hong,” Satono replied, giving a little bow.

Meiling felt her eye twitch slightly, but Mokou intervened: “Meiling was a renowned performer back in the 90s, and she's been looking to get back into the scene.”

“I saw your match against Mokou and Wriggle,” Meiling said. “It was pretty well-executed.  You two are very in-sync.”

“Oh thank you,” Mai said, bowing slightly.

“We appreciate the praise from a veteran,” Satono said.  The gap between her and Mai’s speech was almost nonexistent. “Speaking of which, what title did you go by back in the day Ms. Hong?”

“She was the Red Star!” Mokou said, her shout a mix of excitement and indignation that neither had noticed sooner.  The two dancers gasped and took a half-step back together.

“You don’t mean-” Mai began.

“-THE Red Star, do you?” Satono continued.

“The one who defeated Raiko the Thunder God?”  

“We’re huge fans of your work!”  

“We studied your match with Drowner Murasa when we were planning our debut!”  Their praise was so effusive and so immediate that it seemed like a switch had been flipped.

"Uhhh... um... thank you both," Meiling said, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of enthusiasm. "I just wanted to say good work on that tag match with Fire/Fly… but did have a question for you two."

"Sure thing Red Star," Satono said.

"Name it!" Mai added.

"Manager characters are not something I ever dealt with," Meiling lied. "Not much anyway.  You two have a manager who's pretty central to your whole gimmick.  Do you think it's worth it?"

"Oh, I think you're talking about Okina-sama, correct?" Mai asked, and Meiling nodded.

"Oh, are you looking for guidance from the Secret God of Destiny?" Satono said, her tone of voice already so peppy and energetic that Meling wasn't sure if she was being earnestly asked or proselytized to.

"Just... checking in with what's going on in the business, I guess," Meiling tried to play off her discomfort as Mokou beside her suppressed what was either a snicker or a grimace. "Who came up with the whole... uh... 'cult' thing?  Was that your idea or your manager's?"

"Ms. Hong, I'm shocked," Satono said, taking a step back.

"How scandalous, Ms. Hong," Mai added. "Are you attempting to infringe on our gimmick?"

"Are you trying to muscle in on our territory?" Satono echoed, before they giggled together, the noise made uncanny by their unity. Meiling and Mokou exchanged a look, both puzzled at the sudden turn the conversation had taken.

"It was an honor to meet you, Ms. Hong," Mai said, a smile still wide on her face.

"But we must be getting to our practice match with the Toxic Two," Satono said, gesturing with her shoulders to the bamboo kendo sticks she was holding.

"Good to see you as well, Mokou.  Give Wriggle our love!" Mai said before the two turned together and walked away down the hall.

A moment passed in relative silence.

"I told you," Mokou said.

"I believed you," Meiling responded. "But even still.  It's like they embody the phrase 'marching to the beat of their own drum.'"

"'Dancing' is more like," Mokou snarked. “It’s one thing to be dedicated to respecting kayfabe but there are times I’m not sure if they’re performing and not just… being part of a cult.”

"And the head of the JJP won't say anything about their manager Okina?" Meiling asked.

"Don't even get me started on him!" Mokou raised her voice in irritation as her phone buzzed in her pocket.  She fished it out, checked it and began typing a reply as she walked down the corridor. "Got to go, Meiling.  Hope this helped with whatever it is you're doing.  See you later, and thanks for the invite to that fashion thing.  I'll run it by Keine.  Bye!"

As Mokou walked down the corridor after the Backdoor Dancers, Meiling sighed and turned the other way.  She approached the corner at the end of the hallway and turned to the person lurking just out of sight around it.

"Get anything good?" Meiling asked Satori Komeiji, as the shorter girl exhaled gently.  She leaned against the wall, her eyes closed and her thumb unconsciously running along the scar on her neck.

"Not really," Satori groaned. "They're almost as empty-headed as they sound." Meiling smirked despite herself.  She'd shared a casual conversation or two about Folk-only medical issues with the diminutive detective at Eientei, but she'd been rather surprised when she'd been approached at her own teahouse, given a lead in her side-project and then asked to aid in her own investigation.

"That's a bit dismissive," Meiling said. "They're odd, I'll grant you that, but-"

"I'm being literal," Satori cut in.  "Their thoughts are... incomplete. Fragmented. They're almost... I don't know how to describe it.  But they had one image in their mind when you talked about their 'master.'  The same one I've been chasing."  Satori pulled a small poster advertising the Backdoor Dancers from her pocket and inspected it.  It had the two of them posed symmetrically, with a figure looming behind them: a figure dressed in orange robes, wearing a noh mask of an aged, wrinkled man; eyes closed, face smiling, with a length of gray hair falling from the chin of the mask.

“When I saw the poster, I felt in my gut that I had found what I was looking for, but I had to be sure," Satori said, gesturing with the poster a bit. "When I learned you were looking into the same figure, well..."

"So those two and their manager really are connected to the cases of people blacking out that happened a month or two ago?" Meiling asked.

"Looks like it," Satori muttered, pushing herself off the wall and stowing the poster back in her pocket.

"Then, what is this 'Okina'?" Meiling asked.

Satori took a long moment, stretching as she closed her eyes. "It wasn't really my job to figure that out; I’m just supposed to find the one responsible for the missing time. If I were to take a guess... a god or angel of some kind?  Perhaps an avatar.  I can't say for certain.  But what I've gathered will satisfy my client whenever they get back.  What about you?"

Meiling considered for a moment before remembering that almost any thought she had was probably readable to the detective.  Better to just speak plainly: "I was looking into them as a favor, to see if they are dangerous.  This is not really a definitive answer either way on that question."

Satori hummed for a moment then turned to the taller woman. "I have a feeling my client will know quite a bit about this 'Okina.'  I think they only needed help locating them," she said, tapping her foot nervously. "If you are open to working together again in the future, I could... keep you informed of what else I learn."

Meiling looked down at the pink-haired girl, eyes squinting. "I’ve seen you around for a while now, Komeiji," she said, speaking very evenly. "A year or two since we met at Eirin's, and every time you came snooping around my employer's business you were rather... cold.  Disinterested in collaboration, one might say.  Why the sudden change of pace?"

Satori looked away, down the hallway.  A door at the other end opened and the sound echoed and bounced towards them.  She half-turned back to Meiling, facing perpendicular to her.  "I have something I need to do," she said. “And I have those I don’t want to know about me, so I’m careful with who I trust.  For a long time I thought that I could just keep my head down and do what needed to be done.  But it’s become apparent to me that to do what I want… need to do, I need friends.  Or failing that... contacts."

Meiling smiled as extended a hand to the sickly-looking girl.  “I’d love to be kept up to speed on what you learn.  If you need something from me, just ask,” Meiling said. “My help might be expensive, but I’m always available for a friend.”

Satori let a small smile creep across her face, the expression clashing with her tired eyes.  She extended her own hand to clasp Meiling’s.  Her hand was small and delicate in Meiling’s grip.  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, before letting go and turning to exit out the staff entrance Meiling had smuggled her in though.

"Oh, and one last thing," Satori said, turning back to Meiling as she pushed the door out open. "Please don't think of me as 'sickly-looking,' even if it's true."

Meiling leaned back and let out a mighty bark of a laugh as the detective slipped away.

Reimu found herself reclined on the tatami floor of the shrine, listening to the water run in the bathroom.

Chimata had elected to start her day with a shower before they went shopping, so Reimu had to wait on her.  She had wanted to read a book or check the news, but she found the mood off for something that required that kind of focus.  So instead she just laid back on the floor of the living room, wanting to spread out but not having the space to do so without knocking into something.

Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, half-hoping for a call from Komachi, but finding only Marisa’s name on the thin liquid crystal display.

 “Good morning,” Reimu said as she flipped the phone open and brought it to her ear.

"So I kind of got carried away last night after all that planning with Chimata," Marisa said, her voice crisp in Reimu's ear.  She wasn't normally a morning person, so she must have been extra energized by the idea of getting into an up-scale event like the one she had talked Reimu into. "I forgot to follow up: what's happening with Izumi?"

Reimu heard herself sigh.  "It's..." she began, then refocused. "We finally visited Kosusu's father.  His eyesight has deteriorated to much worse than expected.  He... couldn't even see the mark on my wrist, which-"

"Which means he can't see or hear her," Marisa finished. "That certainly throws a wrench in things.  Hrm..." she trailed off, but Reimu could faintly make out muttering that sounded like brainstorming. "Restoring lost vision would be quite tricky... but maybe if it's temporary... Or what about putting an image directly in his mind?  Via optic overlay or... does it have to be the real burn and not an image? But seeing something with your eyes is just an image too… Sorry Reimu.  I can't think of anything at the moment.  I'm guessing that Izumi is taking it poorly."

"Correct," Reimu said. "I can still feel her, but she's obviously not in the mood to talk."

"I wouldn't be either, honestly," Marisa replied. "If I ever wanted to speak to my family, that is.  I'll see what I can turn up.  One of my professors works with... memory, I'll see if she has any ideas before class tomorrow.  We can meet up afterwards and get you and Chimata something to wear."

“You don't-"

"I'm paying," Marisa said. "And before you get too thankful on me, it's not like I'm buying you a designer gown.  You need some kind of basic formalwear going forward.  You can't go to a fashion show in that old red hoodie you love so much."

Reimu felt a flush of frustration as she glanced down at her torso to find the exact red hoodie that Marisa was talking about. There was being predictable, and then there was that. "It's a nice hoodie..." was all she could mutter.

"I'm sure it is," Marisa assured her. " We'll get you something nice and equally red.  Like a... frilly kimono with detached sleeves."

"Pass," Reimu said flatly. "That sounds like something that will not survive my washing machine."

"You're probably right," Marisa said. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow!"

Her phone beeped as the call ended and Reimu was left alone for another moment.  She realized that the sound of running water had stopped, so she pulled herself up from the floor to refill her water bottle and not look quite so listless in front of her divine guest.

Chimata emerged from the bathroom, still drying her blue hair and dressed in Reimu's spare loungewear that barely fit her lanky frame.  She let the small towel hang around her neck as she approached the table and slid her legs under the blanket as Reimu passed her a hanten coat to keep warm. 

"I'm not one to pry," Chimata said as pulled on the coat and opened the wrapper on a rice cracker. "But is this shrine... haunted?"

Reimu thought for a moment as she fiddled with her glass of water.  "What makes you say that?"

"There is... I guess you could call it a malaise," Chimata said, her eyes flickering a dark purple. "The feeling in the aether around the shrine is... heavy."

"I guess..." Reimu began. "I'm haunted, in a way.  There's a ghost who is following me.  She's... dealing with something difficult, so it probably seems like a haunting."

Chimata stroked her chin as her eyes rapidly cycled between colors.  "I see..." she muttered. "I suppose that might explain it..."

"Regardless, we need to get some groceries and some basic clothes for you," Reimu said, standing up. "Let's get moving, goddess."

"Accounts receivable is not used for that, Nakiyazu," the teacher said. "Try again."

Sanae struggled to keep her attention on the accounting class she was in.  She was sorely tempted to start working on her programming homework, but pulling out her laptop in the middle of class was bound to attract undue attention, and her new, completely green hair had already drawn a few stares.  As the teacher went over how to manage accounts and records, she instead contented herself with drawing snakes in the margin of her notebook.  Not just any snakes, but white snakes with a mane of gills. She'd had multiple encounters with the snake-creatures in the past few days, and each had left her energized and invigorated, her hair more green and less black.  Maybe it was just the restless energy that made her feel bored; she couldn't really tell.

It wasn't that the class was particularly boring, but rather it was all something she already knew extremely well.  She had been around her mother and father balancing the books of their farm, tracking sale prices, equipment costs and farmhand payroll when she was a child; she'd practically been born into farming and accounting.  It made this first-year "basics of balancing a checkbook" class a tremendous slog, but she tried to just power through her boredom.

Sanae tapped her pen a few times before returning to drawing as the teacher lectured for another ten minutes about the importance of making sure everything lined up on both sides of your account before the bell rang and she was dismissed.  She gathered her books and supplies as everyone rushed out of the room.  The week had barely begun, but already it felt like everyone was eager for it to be over.  The colder weather didn't help much.

"Heya Kochiya," said someone behind her in the outdoor hallway.  She turned to see a classmate from her physics course whose name she had forgotten.  That in itself was more evidence on how different city life was: she'd known every person's name she'd ever spoken with in Suwa, by necessity.  Now she casually interacted with so many people that it was impossible to keep their names straight.

"Oh, hello," Sanae responded, hoping to skirt by the conversation as she made a mental note to surreptitiously learn his name in their next class.  She was more surprised to find anyone else she knew this late when it was getting this cold.  The outdoor sections of the campus seemed to be abandoned most afternoons now.

"What's with the new dye-job?" he asked, gesturing up at her hair.  Sanae felt her cheeks blush. "You trying to promote something?  The green party, maybe?" he said, giving a chuckle at his own barely-a-joke.  She was momentarily stuck on what to say.  She actually loved her new hair; she loved the color, loved how it reminded her of the wooded mountains, and loved how bright and vibrant the color was.  What she loved significantly less was the way it made her stand out.  The warring desires to embrace what made her happy versus not wanting to be the nail that got hammered back down was far from a new feeling for her, but it always made her uncomfortable.

"It's partly a medical thing," she mostly-lied.  “It was changin’ color in an ugly way, so I decided to dye it rather than let it get all gray ‘n gross.”

“Huh,” he responded, his tone giving her absolutely no hint as to if he believed her or not. “Well I think it looks good on you.  See you tomorrow.” 

He walked ahead of her, pulling out his phone and disappearing around a corner.  Sanae herself slowed.  She was free for the rest of the day, and she was ahead on her class project, which left her feeling a bit restless.  Her scholarship was so generous it even included a personal spending stipend, but Sanae still contemplated getting a part-time job.

Suddenly a hand gripped her by the back of the shirt and pulled her to the side, into a darkened hallway off the main thoroughfare of the building.  She was caught off guard and barely realized what was happening until she was pressed against the exterior of the nearby building, her back against the bricks.  She looked down to find the person who had accosted her was an unfortunately familiar face: Kintoko Asai.  He and his friend Daiji were entitled rich manchildren who had clocked Sanae as lonely and vulnerable from the moment they had crossed paths.  She'd very much enjoyed watching Marisa curse the both of them after a month of name-calling, heckling and other harassment. But now seeing the earnest rage in the boy's eyes, Sanae felt like whatever Marisa had done was boomeranging back to her.  

"You've got some nerve, dying your hair even more after all this," he said, his hand pressing her shoulder against the wall. "Flaunting your victory?  You look like an idiot."

He was shorter than her by a few centimeters and she was definitely stronger than him, but he kept her held against the wall with what seemed to be all his strength.  Sanae could have just pushed him away, but she knew well where that would lead: a scuffle where she would not come out looking good.  No matter how defensive she was, he was related to school staff, and she would be made to look like the aggressor.

"I've done nothin' to you, Asai," she stated. "Let me go."

"I suppose sicing your gross witch friend on us doesn't count to you?" he said, spitting the words slightly as he tried to channel fury while still speaking under his breath. "Do you know how much that hurt?"

"I can imagine," Sanae said flatly. “Seemed like just deserts for all the hate you sent my way.”

"I didn't hate you, Kochiya," he continued, a cruel smirk appearing and disappearing on his face. "It was just a bit of fun; some hazing for a newcomer.  It’s just how things are in the big city.  But you had to take it too far."

Sanae tried to ignore this ramble and move from the wall, but Asai pushed her back with surprising strength. "That goth bitch... whatever you had her do, that's one thing.  But then she turned my professor on me… and she did something to Daiji!"

Sanae stopped as her ears perked up.  Marisa had done what now?

"She got to my professor... that bitch did something to her… charmed her.  And now my dad is... he's talking a-about… expelling me.  And now Daiji doesn’t even remember what s-she did!" Asai stuttered, before turning his glare back at Sanae. "I won't go down like a fucking wimp, Kochiya.  If something happens to me, then I'll make damn sure the same happens to you: If I can't get a free ride here, then I will guarantee that your precious scholarship gets revoked."

Sanae felt panic begin to rise in the back of her mind, though she kept it from her face. "You ain't got any way to do that, Asai."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Asai said, the smirk twisting into a sickening smile. “Perks of being the dean’s kid is knowing exactly how all this school is doing, and it’s not looking good.  It’s floundering in the big numbers, so it’s on shaky ground with the people who approve the funding. Imagine if a rumor started to go around about the freak they gave the big scholarship to? One look into it will tell them all they need to know: the deviant with dyed hair who's not even from Tokyo.  Do you think those idiots will stand behind you when the public scorn makes them sweat?”

Sanae’s panic spiked as the scenario played out in her head, and it jammed her fight-or-flight response on “freeze.”  It was so easy to imagine all of that happening that it felt like it already was happening, like he was announcing something that had just occurred, not something that might happen.  She felt her breaths grow sharper, as she edged towards acting on instincts she knew she would regret when-

“Asai!” A voice called from the edge of the hall.  Both of them turned to see a tall woman in a blue coat with long pale hair at the edge of the hall, her heels clicking on the concrete as she rapidly approached.  Sanae partly returned to her senses and recognized the history professor, Kamishirasawa-sensei.  Her dark reddish eyes seemed to shimmer with fury behind her glasses as she stared down at Asai, who had quickly released Sanae and backed away.

“Skipping classes, harassing students and now physical altercations?”

“Professor, I-” Asai began, shrinking back from Keine’s wrath.

“Save it,” she cut him off, grabbing the back of his collar. “My office, now.  As for… you…” She trailed off as Sanae’s panic response had finally settled on ‘flee.’  Keine watched as she all but ran away down the corridor and out the other end, disappearing out of sight.

Twenty minutes later, Asai was not nearly as panicked but was still clearly suspicious.

“You’re assigning me… a teacher’s assistant position?” he asked, his voice a mix of trepidation and relief.  They sat in Keine’s office, a space barely large enough for her, let alone two people.

“Thursday night.  Three sessions…” Keine checked the calendar on her desk, marked with the lunar phases. “Over the next three weeks.  You show up for all three sessions and grade papers for me, and I won’t fail you in my Japanese History class or report your little… altercation. ”

Keine watched the calculations taking place behind the boy’s eyes.  He really thought he was getting away with something.  And granted, she was going to use him as a way to get some work done, so he wasn’t entirely wrong.  “Th-thank you Professor,” he said. “Do you think you could talk to my father about-”

“This deal of ours is contingent on your good behavior,” Keine said, speaking over him. “You cause any more trouble with that girl and you will be gone . Is that clear?”  Asai swallowed and nodded. “Good.  Now get going.  I will see you here Thursday night at 8 PM.”

Asai gathered his bag and scurred out of her office, shutting the door behind him.  Keine sighed and leaned back in her chair.  She had meant to erase his memory of Marisa’s little stunt last full moon, but she’d only been able to meet with his friend Daiji Harada.  She’d been too busy to realize how his friend suddenly not remembering something would look to Asai junior now that his palace of privilege was collapsing around him.  But now that he felt like he had a path to get out of the situation he had dug himself into, he’d be sure to show up, and Keine was sure he’d be around at the next full moon.  Then she could take his memories of Marisa’s hex and the meeting with the principal where he’d been humiliated.  With the memories behind them gone, his resentment would wither away, and that would make everyone’s life easier.

She leaned forward and began reviewing the stack of letters and messages she had gotten.  Every month she collected reports of those who had learned of the supernatural and become dangerous for it, and every full moon she’d use her were-beast side’s powers to edit or remove their memories. She’d even been forced to skip the centennial celebration of the Youkai Black Market to get every target last week. Now it was only a week into the lunar month and reports were already piling up.  There was an email about a radio station being haunting that sounded like a fairy prank taken too far, a request from a Tengu family asking her to handle someone who was probing and inquiring around about a ‘winged man’, and a letter from a Youkai salaryman who was concerted about a coworker who would not stop talking about how he had seen a werewolf pushing a someone in a wheelchair to a karaoke lounge during the last full moon.

She sent replies and drafted an email on her laptop to her contact at the Kakashi Spirit News to see what they could find on the targets before she tried to sort her next lesson: one on the history of the Meiji Restoration.  However, as she worked her mind kept returning to the girl that Asai had been threatening. Based on what she remembered of the dropped harassment case she was probably Sanae Kochiya.  She’d looked into the girl briefly: a transplant from Nagano, she grew up on a farm but demonstrated such a talent for mechanical design that she had caught the eye of the Dean of Engineering.  This civic experiment of a college was hungry for prestige, so she’d been offered a scholarship.

But it wasn’t her skills that made the girl stick in Keine’s mind.  It was what she smelled like.  Keine’s esoteric lycanthropy gave her a sense for the scents of the uncanny, and it was all over that girl.  She smelled like sunrise at dusk, or like summer rain in December.  She smelled human… but also like a kami.

Keine blinked and pushed it out of her mind for the moment.  She had work to do, so if she wanted to know more she’d just have to ask Marisa about the girl.

Sanae burst back into her apartment, suppressing tears and a scream.  She turned and slammed the door shut behind her, before being overcome with guilt about how loud and rough she was being.

She let her bag fall from her shoulder as her emotions roiled inside.  She felt small and stupid.  Why had Marisa continued to escalate after chasing them off?  Had they cornered her and forced her hand, or had she just thought it would be fun to mess with them more?  From her brief encounters with the witchy rebel, that seemed more likely.  Marisa seemed to be very unfamiliar with any form of social consequences.  She seemed like she did as she pleased and ignored or reveled in any scorn that might fall on her... or those around her.  Or maybe Asai was just lying… but why would he?

Sanae felt her fear, exhaustion and resentment drain away as she slumped in her desk chair.  Her mind shifted to planning mode: she'd need to see the dean first thing tomorrow.  She'd need to take action, make sure her position was secure.  She opened her eyes to look into the mirror mounted on the back of the desk.  She had avoided crying, but her watering eyes had messed with her eyeliner.  As she leaned closer to the mirror and inspected her face and dab at her eyes, she noticed something impossible.

Behind her reflection, flanking her on either side were shadowy silhouettes of people.  The dark shapes looked vaguely human, and they appeared more solid the longer she looked at them.  She quickly checked behind herself, only to find nothing strange there.  She turned back and realized the images were only in the mirror.  She inspected the two humanoid shapes: one was short and small, with wide yellow eyes shining out, staring at her.  The other was tall; taller than Sanae with thin red eyes that seemed to pierce her reflection.  Gently, she reached out and touched the mirror, her fingertips meeting with her reflection’s.

You're finally ready, a soundless voice said in her mind.

"R-Ready?" Sanae asked, not quite believing what she was seeing and hearing.

You're ready, child of Moriya, said another voice. Ready to fulfill your destiny.

Chapter Text

It had taken an extra day in Suwa, but Byakuren had eventually found her motorcycle abandoned and overturned on a road outside town.  It was undamaged but had obviously been discarded by whoever had taken it; the magically locked ignition must have confounded those who had stolen it.  Byakuren simply righted the vehicle and drove back to Tokyo; she was not particularly interested in what happened, just that she had her mode of transport back.  

As she arrived back in Tokyo, she parked her bike in the back lot of the Myouren Temple.  Now it was nestled in a pocket of suburban sprawl, but originally it had been slightly remote, like the mansion the Saigyou Ayakashi had been hidden in.  She had founded the temple some centuries ago and named it after her late brother.  It had always been a reminder of him, and of her mission: to keep the peace and try to build a bridge of understanding between peoples through the teachings of the Buddha.  That mission had never gone quite as she had imagined it would. Over the years she’d been aided by a number of allies: people she’d never have thought to count on, but the endless crisis Tokyo faced over the centuries made for odd friendships. The avatar Shou Toramaru had been her greatest ally, but there was also the shapeshifting nue who had caused constant mischief but helped them against the mage who had almost burned Tokyo to the ground.  Once a proud mouse spirit aided her in a quest to locate many sacred treasures, and Byakuren had even convinced a dead pirate captain to turn and sink her own fleet of ghost ships.

But only one of her personal allies remained after Byakuren returned to Tokyo.  Ichirin Kumoi had stayed to look after the temple even as most took her for dead.  As Byakuren shifted her outfit back into the robes of a monk, she entered the temple through the back entrance.  A chant reached her ears, so she softened her steps and moved to the main room.  The temple was far from large or impressive like others in Tokyo, but both natives and tourists visited, keeping it afloat with donations, a few of which were large, anonymous sums.  With those funds and with some assistance from Suika, the temple had remained standing in the last century.  As Byakuren approached the main room she realized the prayer being recited was part of a service: Ichirin was leading a late morning sutra recitation for a few devotees and a party of tourists standing in the back.  Ichirin tapped the mokugyo wooden fish-bell as she chanted, and the half-dozen or so attendees sat with closed eyes and meditated. 

Byakuren moved to position herself near the entrance, opposite Ichirin and behind the attendees.  As she did, she noticed the visitors whispering before one of them approached her cautiously.

"Uh... soomi mas-hen," he said, his American accent so thick the Japanese was almost unintelligible. "Desh ka-"

"I speak English," Byakuren said in English.  She had possessed a passing knowledge of the language a century before her sealing, and her months recovering in America had given her plenty of opportunity to brush up on the more modern form.

"Oh thank god," he muttered, tension visibly leaving his body.  He was dark-skinned with short-cropped hair and a coat too thin for the cold.  She motioned out the front of the shrine, into the entrance area so they didn't speak over the service.  Byakuren spent the next few minutes listening to their woes of missing trains and getting lost, with their older cell phones being incompatible with the 'foreign' network as they tried to find someone to ask.  Their tale eventually concluded with them wandered into the temple looking for help.  Byakuren listened, waited and directed them to the nearest train station, making sure to give them landmarks to look for, as they all lacked GPS and only the woman of the group could read the signs.  

She waved the party farewell and returned to the temple as the service let out and the attendees left.  Byakuren approached the front of the temple as Ichirin carefully wrapped the wooden fish back up for storage.  Her face seemed more drawn than when Byakuren had met her a century and a half ago, with a weariness lining her eyes.  Light, pastel-colored hair still poked out from the edge of her Zukin headdress.  Her headscarf and robes were a faint violet-blue, as they had been before, but she no longer carried the large golden ring that she had used to channel a mighty smoke Youkai.  There was little need for it outside of battle.

"There was no need for you to aid the tourists, Byakuren-sama," she said as she finished wrapping the bell and stowed it in a storage space to the side of the main prayer room. "Such chores are beneath you."

Byakuren winced internally.  Ichirin had spent a lifetime as a fighter, warrior and soldier before she had bonded with her partner Youkai, met Byakuren and eventually converted to Buddhism.  Despite the centuries of faith since, service and hierarchy seemed ingrained in the woman down to her very bones.  Byakuren wanted to believe that she had chosen to stay in Tokyo when the others had left out of faith and kindness, but the possibility also existed that Ichirin decided to hold the temple out of shear stubbornness and rigid, dogmatic loyalty.

"No task of kindness is beneath me, Ichirin," Byakuren said, slipping out of her sandals and taking a seat on one of the cushions before the statue of the Buddha that dominated the back wall of the main room.  The statue was simpler and smaller than most other temples’ in Tokyo by necessity; the space was too small for anything so elaborate.

Ichirin returned a small noise of acknowledgement as she moved around the room, settling the cushions that had been knocked astray. "I trust your trip was insightful?”

“It certainly illuminated things,” Byakuren said, gazing at the benevolently impassive face of the Buddha.  She explained what she had found, alongside outlining her emerging theories to Ichirin, who seemed to take it all in rather stoically.

“Yakumo asked if I wanted to come with her before she left,” Ichirin said. “I knew her idea was a fool’s errand, but I never imagined it would turn out so... disastrously."

A thought scratched at the back of Byakuren's mind.  Something about what had happened didn't sit right with her beyond all the obvious unknowns.  She was missing something...

"Regardless," Ichirin continued as she motioned to one of the temple's volunteers. "That detective you hired stopped by, said she had completed her investigation."

Byakuren looked over at Ichirin, a little surprised. "That's impressive considering that I never told her who exactly I was, or where I reside."

"Then she must be a very good detective," Ichirin returned, a rare smirk on her face.

"It would seem so," Byakuren said, rising from her seated position. "Best not to keep the young woman waiting."

Byakuren dressed herself for a stroll, opting for a warm sweater and long dark skirt.  She could ride over, but it seemed like a better idea to take a walk so she could take in the city.  As she navigated the streets, she found her gaze pulled upward.  The blue of the sky was the only warm thing about the city, which had embraced fall in earnest.  The gray and black boxes of buildings scattered with brightly lit advertisements that made up the center of Tokyo now seemed alien.  She had felt the same when she had awakened in an American metropolis over a year ago, and again as she traveled the modern world on her journey back home.  She still had trouble reconciling her memory of the city with the reality around her.  Yet another illusion of the physical world to test her, in a way.

Yet, there was still plenty of nature surviving in the city, she noted as she stopped by an overgrown public park in Gensokyo proper.  She knew she had somewhere to be, but she found herself taking a seat on a nearby bench and enjoying the slice of nature in the concrete maze of the city, as wild and untended as that slice was.  The city block seemed oddly abandoned, the trees and shrubs working together to nearly completely hide the interior of the park from the outside.  Byakuren could barely make out the name of the area printed in peeling letters on a stained sign near the bench just outside the overgrowth: Yatsugatake Park.  Icons below the name seemed to indicate that it once had a pavilion for events, a small lake and even a Shinto shrine in the middle once upon a time, but judging from what she could see of the state of the park she doubted much of it was usable or even standing.  It was certainly curious that such a sizable patch of untended, seemingly abandoned unused land would be left standing in a park space and would not be bought and bulldozed, but perhaps this was the fruits of Suika’s labors that she had mentioned: keeping Gensokyo insulated from larger human interests.

Byakuren enjoyed what she could of the afternoon before standing and making her way to Third Eye Investigations. She climbed the stairs of the building and knocked on the door before a familiar voice beckoned her in.  She found the young Satori reclined in her office chair, Rin the cat in her lap.

"Welcome back," Satori said, scratching her pet behind the ears. Utsuho the black bird echoed her welcome with a caw from the open cage she was nestled in.

"Thank you, Komeiji-san," Byakuren said, closing the door behind her. "I understand that you paid a visit to the Myouren temple."

"I like to know the people I work for, especially if they ask for me to work without pay," Satori responded, setting her phone on the desk and taking her feet off the edge.  Rin the cat scurred off of her lap as she shifted, darting away into the rest of the office. "The tales I heard from the staff about their mythical founder were very interesting."

"Then I trust I don't have to explain much to you," Byakuren said, smirking. "Though, it is curious to me that you accepted an... unpaid job on the promise of future aid when you didn't know who I was at the time."

"I had a hunch," Satori replied, shrugging. "Anyway, I was able to track down the common thread between each case and trace them back to the source." She offered a flyer to Byakuren.  She took it and inspected it.  It was a promotion for an event, with performers posed dramatically against a background of fire and lighting.  The two women in front were posed symmetrically with their contrasting green and fuchsia leotards, but the figure behind them loomed ominously.  It was clad in long orange robes and had its face obscured by a theater mask.

An okina mask...

"It's for a wrestling show," Satori explained. "It's a staged fight, kind of like-"

"I'm familiar with professional wrestling," Byakuren said. "My host in America was rather fond of it."

"Ah.  Well then," Satori said. "Regardless, that mask appeared in the repressed memories of everyone I found who had lost time.  Each one of them was an outcast, closeted misfit or social pariah, and it asked all of them the same question: 'are you ready to serve?'" Satori picked her phone back up and began scrolling through it before continuing. “Over two months ago was the first report I could find of someone blacking out like this.  I can’t be sure of the exact beginning, seeing as the profile of people means they were all unlikely to report it.”

“I see…” Byakuren mused.  She felt like she could see where this was going, but she waited for the detective to continue.

“The end is hard to pin down, but a little more than a week after the last report I was able to find, the Backdoor Dancers show up as a wrestling team with a person hiding behind that mask as a manager.  What I was able to glean from their minds sealed my conclusion: when asked about their manager, they both thought of the same image: an okina theater mask, floating in the void.”  Satori tapped the table for emphasis. “The same image that asked each other person if they were ‘ready to serve.’ I think that these two said ‘yes,’ and that’s why the incidents stopped.” She pointed at the poster that Byakuren held. "So that's my findings.  This 'Okina' is your culprit."

Byakuren stared at the poster, contemplating.  It could just all be coincidence: the oldest, most sacred figure of noh theater with twin servants called the "Backdoor Dancers." It could be a normal person just using the trappings of Matara-jin.  But then there were the words printed on the poster.  The text printed in bright, bold colors promised a liberation from strife and salvation via a destiny written in the stars.  All that was plausible... but then there was what the poster called the two wrestlers Satono and Mai: attendants of a god.

She had never seen Matara-jin, none of them had.  The venerable deity had never incarnated, but had always communicated with Byakuren, Yukari, Yuyuko and the Horned Sage through intermediates.  Over the centuries they had employed dozens of mortal men and women as oracles, messengers, agents and champions, and always two at a time.  But the thing that settled the matter in Byakuren's mind was the word used.  They always described themselves the same way: attendants of Matara-jin.

The use of that word alongside every other trapping around this strange performer could not be mere coincidence.

"Thank you for your service," Byakuren said, folding the flier and pocketing it. "I'll be speaking with this 'Okina' woman soon.  Regarding repayment as per our arrangement..." She paused, looking over at Utsuho the bird drinking from a feeder. "What would you require of me?"

Satori drummed her fingers on her desk, filling the silence. "I told you I'm looking for someone.  There are still some details I need to narrow down on, but... I can tell you the basics."  Byakuren moved to take a seat, sensing this would not be a brief explanation.  Rin the cat appeared and clawed at the worn fabric lining the side of the chair as Byakuren sat down.

"My abilities... were given to me.  I was... we were... experimented on," Satori said, looking away from Byakuren's eyes. "Against our will."

It was a disturbing fact, but it was also a scenario that Byakuren had somewhat intuited. "Who is responsible?" Byakuren asked, her voice unnatural even.

"I don't know," Satori mumbled before clearing her throat. "Or rather, I don't know who ordered it.  My memory of that time is... hazy.  I investigated where I remembered escaping, but there's nothing there now.  Even building and civic records show nothing.  They were powerful enough to leave no official trace, so I’ve been very cautious in sharing this information."

Byakuren leaned forward, balancing her elbows on her knees as she laced her fingers and folded her hands together.  "What do you remember of your life before then?"

"Almost nothing," Satori said, with a small, mirthless smile on her lips. "Just like I don’t remember much of my captivity.  But the dreams… the images that come with the pain… I know not recalling the rest is a blessing.” She glanced at Byakuren, and her own expression darkened. “I don't want your pity, Byakuren.  But… I want to be honest with you, because I can't read you.  I want you to understand why I'm so cautious, and also understand what this means to me.  I don't care who I was before, but the one thing that matters to me is my sister.  My younger sister was experimented on, like me.  We only survived because we had each other.”

“Is she your sister by blood?” Byakuren asked.

“She is,” Satori confirmed. “From what I remember of the… experiments, they were counting on us being related.  I was… the prototype, she was… We…”

Byakuren could see the signs of stress creeping across Satori’s face as her brow furrowed and her breaths grew shorter. “Slow down and breathe, Satori-chan.  Take as much time as you need.”

Satori blinked, seeming to catch herself and looking back down as Rin the cat hopped up onto the table to demand attention with a meow. Satori stroked the beast as she settled on the table in front of her.  “We escaped... but were separated. She's... not like me.  She has very different abilities than me... abilities that make her nigh-impossible to track down.  I can read minds, but she… she’s invisible to the minds of others, among other things.  She’s lost, but I promised that I would protect her, and I need to fulfill that promise.  When the time is right, can I count on your aid?"

Byakuren considered for a moment.  The request was so much smaller in scope that she imagined. "And what of this organization?" she asked. "Surely you do not wish those who caused such harm to go free?”

Satori’s brow wrinkled. “I… want revenge.  And they need to be stopped… but that will come later… if ever.”  She leaned back in her chair. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I want to get back at them.  I just want to be free. But before all that: I need to find my sister.”

“If I can offer my aid in reuniting with her, then I will give it,” Byakuren said, rising and placing a hand in her own heart.

“Thank you, Byakuren-san,” Satori said, slowly rising from her own chair and circling her desk. “I would rather wait until I have a solid lead.  Your… Buddhist whatever that lets you block your mind from me might work similarly with her ability and allow you to find her.”

“A solid theory,” Byakuren conceded. “Seeing through physical and mental illusions is a part of my training.  I will study and meditate in the meantime.”  Satori approached and offered her hand somewhat hesitantly.  Byakuren smiled and accepted a handshake, sealing the second half of their deal. “I would tell you where you may find me, but I surmise you already know.”

Satori smirked and showed Byakuren out.  The monk made her way back to the temple, her mind still consumed with thoughts of the organization that Satori had spoken of and the long shadow they cast.

Sanae’s world had been turned upside down overnight.  She sat at a breakfast cafe, trying to eat her muffin and sausage, thoughts of the previous night kept intruding on her train of thought...

The two figures she had seen in the mirror had identified themselves as gods, or shades of gods.  They told her their history: that they had once been incarnations of the two Myōjin of Suwa: Moriya and Takeminakata.  According to them, they had taken physical form nearly sixty years ago, and then been betrayed and nearly destroyed, barely clinging to existence.

Our only tether to existence was Moriya's bloodline, the shadow of Takeminakata explained.  She called herself Kanako Yasaka, and her image in the mirror had red snake's eyes.

"So I'm..." Sanae had swallowed hard, unable to say what she could barely imagine. "Descended from a god?"

I blessed many humans with children, the short figure with wide, yellow eyes had said in her mind. Some of them were my own.  Over the centuries the blessing of my bloodline withered away, and in a few rare cases it inverted and became a curse in my absence.

"Are you talking about my mother?"  Sanae asked, watching the shapes in the mirror. "Is that what made her sick?  Changed her hair… and mine?"

Yes, the figure said, remorse creeping into her non-voice. A strong blessing needs power behind it, and with our decline my descendants began to suffer. I am sorry, my child.

But you survived, Kanako had intervened. You were strong enough to endure and overcome.  We were attempting to help you and your family, but our methods were limited.  Then you moved, and we moved with you, to a land rich in power.

The mishaguji helped gather motes of power from across the city and used them to advance your own transformation, Suwako explained. With enough power, your divine bloodline was mended.  Now you are almost a living god, a worker of miracles.

With a ritual you can return both our bodies, Kanako said. And then we can make things right.

Sanae had called time-out on things after that and gone to bed after an early dinner.  She'd almost thought she had imagined her encounter with the kami of her hometown the next morning, but their voices remained in her mind.  Now, as she tried to finish her breakfast, she asked mental questions of her unseen guardian.

So you were betrayed? she thought as she chewed on a muffin.

A temptress arrived in Suwa and spun a tale of salvation, Kanako replied. Her ritual to create a new paradise backfired and killed over a hundred people, many of them our lifelong servants and priests.

The Kanto area was her hunting ground, so we feared a plot was afoot when you were called to Tokyo, Suwako added.  

But she is hiding now, or otherwise was nearly destroyed in her own scheme like were were, Kanako interrupted. Their voices echoed back and forth in her mind, their thoughts sounding almost like her own sometimes.  

So, Sanae asked as she finished muffin and started to tackle the rest of her breakfast. Why now? Why couldn’t you help earlier?  Like when Mom was getting sick… or when I almost got expelled from school?

We tried to return, but the explosion robbed us of our physical forms, and did quite a bit of damage to our ability to affect the world, Suwako explained.

We have attempted much in the last several decades to find a way to revive, but the world and its faith have shifted like sand beneath our feet in the years since, Kanako continued. We returned to our shrines and sacred sites, visited our descendants and believers, but none of it worked.  We remained apart from the world like shadows in the wind.

We took an interest in you, as you were the only one to endure your family's curse, Suwako said. But I was only able to summon the mishaguji once we followed you here.

What makes Tokyo different? Sanae asked.

Such a large population means that there is more power here.  But there is something more to it: the veil between the divine and mortal planes is… thinner here. Kanako seemed to falter at the description.

Someone or something pierced it recently, Suwako continued. They crossed over here.  But the window they created won’t last.  It’s healing; the passage across realities realigning itself.  Other lost gods like us can follow and incarnate like the days of old for a short time afterwards.

That time is coming to an end soon, Kanako added. Another month or two and our power and influence will be reduced to mere blessings again.  That is why we must hurry and find a place for the ritual.

Sanae finished her breakfast and made her way to campus, her mind overloaded with thoughts of gods and curses.  She had imagined, back when she had first seen the white snake spirits that she now knew were minor curse-gods under the command of Moriya, that whatever was happening to her was something wonderful, awesome and transformative.  While that was all true in the strictest sense, the revelation had come with an attached story of betrayal and talk of duty and destiny.  There was a weight on her shoulders now, and while she was overjoyed to learn of her divine lineage and worth, it was still a lot to take in.

She looked up as she entered the college campus to see Marisa tapping away on her phone.  Her first impulse was to rush over and tell her everything, ask for her guidance in the supernatural, but second thoughts stopped her in her tracks.  Marisa had apparently continued to wreak havoc against her bully, beyond what was fair, targeting his teacher and friend and causing Asai to retaliate.  Was it wise to tell her she now had gods whispering in her head?

She is a rash and careless witch, Kanako added.

You may wish to keep your distance if her friendship involves such escalations, Suwako advised.

Sanae swallowed and tried to walk past her while keeping her head down, but a call from behind her let her know she had failed that task.

"Sanae!" Marisa said, walking over and smiling broadly. "I'd been looking for you."

Say nothing of us or your misgivings of her, Kanako commanded.  Sanae wanted to do otherwise, but there was an odd force behind the god's words that made Sanae not want to object; at least not in front of someone else.  It struck Sanae with a kind of joyless humor that if she did end up telling Marisa about the voices in her head that spoke about destiny and godhood she might be committed to the psych ward.

"Oh, sorry Marisa-san," Sanae said, turning to face the other girl. “I’m just real focused on gettin’ to class.”

“It’s just a s-short thing,” Marisa said, stuttering. “I’m- ah… Me and Reimu got invited to a big, fancy event.  A fashion premiere show this Saturday.  Would you uh…” she paused for a moment. “Like to be my plus-one?”

Is she… asking me out? Sanae pondered for a moment. I…

Who is this ‘Reimu’?” Suwako asked.

Sanae supplied an explanation that was half thought, half memory. Reimu Hakurei.  She's a full-time shrine maiden who apparently lives in her shrine. She's Marisa's friend and-

Do not accept that invitation, Kanako cut her off. 

Kanako... Suwako warned.

If the Hakurei Maiden is occupied, then we have our work cut out for us, Kanako continued. You'll be busy that night.

"Sanae?" Marisa asked with a hint of worry.  Sanae blinked and realized she had frozen while the two gods spoke to her. "You okay?  You look a little pale."

Sanae blinked, trying to look normal and not at all like she was being ordered around the voice of a deity. "Sorry Kirisame-san, just got a lot on my plate right now.  I’m reviewin’ my plans," she said, trying to avoid a factual lie. "I'm actually busy Saturday night; I've got... family visiting that I have to entertain."

"Oh.  No, I get it," Marisa said, nodding and tilting her head to hide her face under the brim of her oversized hat. Sanae couldn't tell if she had bought it or not.  "Family's important to some people.  Anyway, I gotta go talk to my teacher about a thing. Bye!" She quickly walked away, and Sanae felt her shoulders slump as she made her way to her first class of the day.

I apologize that you must deceive her, Kanako communicated as Sanae trudged to class. But she is allied to an enemy.

Enemy? Sanae asked, confused. You mean Reimu?

The Hakurei family is a tool of Yakumo, the one who betrayed us. They are not to be trusted, Kanako explained.

Sanae found her classroom, sat down and opened her laptop, but found she couldn't quite concentrate on her programming class as she pondered the god's words.  Reimu the awkward shrine maiden, untrustworthy?  It seemed preposterous, and yet... Marisa herself had proved to be both unpredictable and not a little bit inconsiderate.  Perhaps Reimu's stiffness in their encounter was something more than just social awkwardness.  Sanae's mind kept returning to the odd chill she had felt when Reimu had been in the cafe, and how she had seen a flash of a human-like shape behind Reimu, and then again whispering in Marisa's ear.

It seemed like everything she had known about Marisa and her friend was being turned upside down.  Sanae had laughed when she had hexed her bullies, but now it had possibly backfired onto Sanae, and she realized just how eerie the miko was...

You'll be free to confront her for explanation and reconciliation later, Suwako tried to explain.

But until we have been given our forms back, you cannot afford suspicion, Kanako added. Only with us can you fully channel your power and complete your transformation into an arahitogami.  When you are a living god, much will change.

Sanae nodded to herself, wondering if this new part of her life was the thing that she had been longing for and missing all along… or if it was something else altogether.

The whispering fox sat on a bench in the corner of the courtyard of the college.  Following the witch demanded more discretion than watching the shrine, but it also let her wear nicer clothes.  Granted, she still needed to pull her hood high to hide her large fox ears, but not crouching in a cardboard box in an alley was an improvement.

She normally tailed the witch once a week when she “attended” school, and today she had hit the jackpot.  There was a new girl, a tall green-haired student who seemed unremarkable at first blush, but to the fox’s well-trained eyes something remarkable revealed itself.  On either side of the girl was a dark figure: one short and lanky, the other tall and powerful.  They were beyond the sensory range of humans and even most Youkai, but the fox was adept at noticing that which lurked just out of sight.  She jotted her notes down on her new subject (the ‘green godling’) and made her usual copy of the information for each of her employers.  She knew the client with the personal interest in the shrine would be interested in her, as they had just warned her to watch out for something like this.  The other one, the company, would appreciate being informed, but their interests were elsewhere.

The fox sealed each of her reports, but waited until the classes for the day had let out before she followed the green girl back to her studio apartment.  She made a personal note of it and returned to drop off her reports.  A good spy never reported everything they saw, because you never knew when you might need leverage.  Perhaps she was just another meaningless oddity in the endless procession of them across the city, but watching the tall girl wander back to her apartment with two kami haunting her, the fox knew she’d be important.

Chapter Text

"Uh... how do I look?"

Chimata did a little twirl to show off her outfit: a blue jacket with tassels and ribbons of every color fluttering in the air with blue jeans to match.

"You're right, Reimu," Marisa said from her position sprawled out on the carpet of the store. "It's way too much."

"I think it has a certain regal air to it," Reimu countered, sitting in a chair by the dressing rooms inspecting their divine guest.

"It's pretty cumbersome..." Chimata moaned, rolling her arm as the leather straps and bobbles dangled off the jacket.

"You've got plenty in that booth by now," Marisa said, raising a hand from the floor and shooing Chimata back into the changing area. "Find some combination you like."

Chimata drew the curtain back closed with a sulking look.  Reimu returned her attention to the magazine on make-up brands.  The store was a thrift shop called Passion of Fashion that was crammed into a corner of what passed for a shopping mall in Gensokyo.  The shop was both not very popular and Marisa was apparently good friends with the pink-haired, face-masked employee, so they were free to try tons and tons of outfits.  Reimu actually found it quite cozy.  Lo-fi music drifted from a distant speaker at the front of the store, and the racks and racks of clothing were so tall and so numerous that it felt like they were hiding in a forest glade, away from the bustle of Tokyo just outside.

After a moment, Reimu folded the magazine and looked down at her best friend sprawled out on the floor.  “What’s wrong, Marisa?”

“Why do you ask?” Marisa said, barely moving.

“Because you only get like this when something’s gone wrong,” Reimu countered.

Marisa moved her hat off her face while letting out a great sigh.  “I guess I can't hide it from you.  I uh... can’t… find someone to go to the event with." She muttered the back half of her sentence.

"You're going with Chimata and me," Reimu stated.

"No, I can't get anyone to be my plus-one," Marisa clarified. "Nitori can't come, Meiling and them are already invited.  I even asked my teacher if she was free, and she said she has plans."

"It's not unusual," Reimu said. "A Saturday night event with less than a week of notice means not many people are available."

"But what's really bugging me," Marisa said, abandoning the pretense of not being bothered, "Is that I asked Sanae if she was free, and she lied to me."

Reimu raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

"As one of the preeminent liars in Gensokyo, I can tell a lie when I hear one," Marisa said, her usual sly self-confidence oddly absent from her tone. “More than that, she looked pale and nervous."

"It's probably just stress," Reimu said. "University's quite difficult from what I understand.  That's why I didn't bother."

"But why lie?" Marisa asked.

"She seemed like a serial people-pleaser to me," Reimu said bluntly. "And you can be really pushy, Marisa.  She probably just needed to relax and didn't want to flat-out reject you."

Marisa made a skeptical noise.  "If only we could all be so blunt as you.  To me it felt more like... I dunno, something was going on.  Like her mind was elsewhere. I hope she’s not caught up in anything weird.”

“Not like us,” Reimu smiled. “Paragons of normalcy trying to get a goddess into discount formalwear. Also, you asked your teacher to come with you?”

“Yeah, she’s actually Folk,” Marisa said, waving her hand vaguely. “I did it after I asked her about your scar, and she said she’d have to take a look at it."

"Well, that might be necessary," Reimu said, scratching her chin. "If Izumi doesn't appear again soon."

"I'm sorry to have worried you," a familiar voice interjected from beside Reimu, causing both girls to jump and Marisa to yelp slightly.  Reimu looked to the side to find Izumi there, her face drawn and forlorn.

"Good to see you again," Marisa said as she turned around to face their new arrival while still sitting on the floor.

"We were just concerned," Reimu said, studying the ghost's expression.

"I'll admit that I didn't handle that well," Izumi said. "It seemed so... hopeless.  It was just easier to process if I stayed away."

"Well, we're still working on your issue, but we'll need experts in some magical stuff," Marisa said.

"Excuse me, is everything alright?" said a small, slightly muffled voice from behind the forest of two-tiered clothing racks that surrounded them.  The employee of the store poked her head into the clearing around the dressing room. Her pink hair was tied in a large bun and her nose and mouth were hidden behind a cloth face mask.  Even then, her speech was slightly indistinct to Reimu's ears.

"We're fine, Kokoro-san," Marisa said. "We just got spooked by one of the outfits my friend showed us."

Marisa might have considered herself a journeywoman liar, but it always sounded lame to Reimu.  What she could see of the employee's face betrayed no hint of emotion one way or another, and she just nodded and muttered "Okay," before leaving them.

“We’ll see my teacher after the event, then we’ll have more options,” Marisa said, turning back to face Izumi.

“Thank you,” Izumi said, still looking down, embarrassment coloring her words.

“We have another guest hanging around for a little bit, by the way,” Reimu added.

“I gather from listening,” Izumi said. “I’ve not been… completely absent when you can’t see me.”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Marisa said, her curiosity peaking out. “You can hear things when you’re not… ‘present’?  Can you see things too?”

“Vaguely,” Izumi responded, a bit of color seeming to return to her form as warmth returned to her voice. “How to explain… When you can’t see me it’s a bit like being in another room.  One with a frosted glass door, I suppose.  I get faint impressions sometimes, but not the whole picture unless I focus, but it's much easier to just appear for you.”

“Huh,” Marisa said, and Reimu could almost see the gears turning in her head.

At that moment, the dressing room curtain was pulled aside again, and Chimata showed the two girls her new look, an elegantly simple ensemble. “I think this dress goes well with my cape,” Chimata said, giving a bit of twirl again. 

“Hell yeah,” Marisa said, giving a thumbs-up. “Alright, you’re next Reimu.  Izumi, do you have any ideas on getting a nice look for our girl?”

Izumi looked Reimu up and down as she set the magazine aside and stood. “I have some thoughts,” she said, a smile finally returned to her face.

“Youmu-san, what are you doing after school?” Yuzu asked as Youmu gathered her books.

“Oh, uh…” Youmu faltered, caught off guard. “Not much.”

“I hear that you quit the gardening club?” Yuzu asked. It was the last class on a Friday, so spirits were high across the school for the half-day tomorrow.  For her part, school had passed in a haze since she had returned.  She had expected Yuzu’s kind overtures and attempts to make nice to fade over time, but she still checked in with Youmu.

Youmu wrapped her black scarf around her neck after she finished stuffing her books into her bag, mindful that the fine wool had been a gift from Yuzu.  "I guess," she answered. "It wasn't much of a club with just me.  I've got some other landscaping jobs to take care of after school, so I just don't have the time to do everything the club was in charge of."

She and Yuzu grabbed their coats from the lockers at the back of the room. Youmu's favorite green hoodie contrasted interestingly with the purple plaid patterning of the school's winter uniform, but was not nearly as stylish as Yuzu's matching violet jacket.

"I was just thinking of signing up when I heard you quit," Yuzu continued as she checked her bag and picked up her two textbooks, holding them in her arms.

"Really?" Youmu couldn't help but snicker a bit. "You, getting your hands dirty?  Come on now, Yuzu-san."

"Hey, you don't know, Konpaku," Yuzu defended herself playfully. "Maybe I'd be really good at it."

"I just have a lot on my plate at the moment," Youmu said, weighing her words as they left the classroom together. She needed a human to confide in; talking about her life to Yuyuko was one thing but her being dead for centuries meant she often lacked context.

"I’ve got to focus on myself.  My uh..." Youmu began before pausing. "It looks like my parents are splitting up."

"Oh, oh that's terrible," Yuzu said, hand over her mouth. "Are you certain?"

"Not really, but I can tell where things are headed," Youmu said.

"I'm so sorry, Youmu," Yuzu said. "I can barely imagine that.  My parents had a big fight after I got out of the hospital.  I can only imagine what it's like after losing your sister..."

Youmu felt the comfort Yuzu wanted to give negated by a gnawing sense of guilt when she spoke of her hospitalization.  The inherited memory of reaching inside the other girl and causing her epileptic fit still disturbed Youmu.

"Thank you, Yuzu-san," Youmu offered as they reached the shoe lockers at the front of the school.

"But there's still hope right?" she added. "Maybe you parents will... will..."

Yuzu's eyes drooped then fluttered as she suddenly failed to keep pace with Youmu.  She tripped on her own feet, and time seemed to slow for Youmu as Yuzu's books and phone began flying out of her hands.  In an instant, Youmu felt herself act as the scene played out in slow motion.  She pushed forward and down, snatching the two textbooks out of the air and then barely grabbing Yuzu's phone as she simultaneously spun to reach out and catch Yuzu around the waist before she hit the floor.

There was a tense moment as Yuzu blinked rapidly and struggled to find her footing and stand up from the awkward catch.  The lobby of the school was mostly empty this late, but a few noises of surprise filled the area, with one boy golf clapping at the display.  Youmu could almost feel the embarrassment radiating off her friend as Yuzu stood up out of Youmu's embrace.  For her part, Youmu was just as shocked at what she had just done.  That… couldn’t have been normal… right?

"Th-thank you, Konpaku-san," she began unsteadily as she stood back up. "Ever since the hospital, I've-"

Suddenly, someone collided with Youmu's back.  She was still down on one knee, so she caught herself with her hand and was forced to let Yuzu's books clatter to the floor.  Youmu straightened up and turned to look behind her.  There stood a younger girl, a few centimeters shorter than Youmu if she had to guess.  Her eyes were partly hidden by red-framed glasses with smudged lens, and her frazzled brown hair was collected into twintails over each of her shoulders.  That combined with her hunched, inwardly drawn posture and her purple uniform being half a size too big gave her a mousy, skittish look.

"Sorry about that," Youmu began, but the girl looked up at her with piercing brown eyes.  She seemed to stare at Youmu with a glare perched somewhere between startled and accusatory.  Youmu was so shocked by the look that she didn't know what to say.  The girl instead plugged her ears back up with a set of cheap-looking earbuds and hurried around Youmu and out the front door, moving at nearly a jogging pace.

"So that's the 'Terrible Otaku'..." Suzu murmured as Youmu picked up her books and handed them back to her.

"Who?" Youmu asked.

"Oh, she's a first-year people have been talking about," Yuzu explained. "Kenichi on the student council said that a girl with dirty hair and red glasses tried to start an 'Occult Club' earlier in the year.  That kind of thing only exists in anime."

Youmu spared a brief, amused thought for all the things in her life that she had imagined to only exist in anime a few months ago. Things like demonic cherry blossom trees, or walking corpses... or spirit-powered super reflexes.

“I've heard from a few other people about how she's like, a conspiracy nut or something,” Yuzu said as they retrieved their shoes. “They say she’s been interrupting classes and harassing people.”

“Well, let’s not have too much faith in rumors of a strange first-year,” Youmu said. “People are allowed to be strange and still be good people.”

“You’re right, Youmu-san,” Yuzu said, brushing her wavy hair back into place after her fall. “Anyway, I was asking about the gardening club because I heard about a company wanting to develop part of Gensokyo, and looking for local experts to help.  Isn’t that where you live?”

The Backdoor Dancers had taken the women’s wrestling scene in Tokyo by storm in a very short amount of time, thanks in no small part to their debut defeat of the tag-team champions.  Now whispers of a Fire/Fly breakup passed between fans as Satono and Mai continued to defeat all challengers, until being dethroned by a returning tag team of demon-hunters.  The feud between the two was set to become one of the larger stories in the JJP.  Savvy, detached fans guessed that it was a way to buy time for Backdoor Dancers merchandise to be rolled out when they won the title back in an event scheduled for December.  

Regardless, the current show had booked the Backdoor Dancers as the penultimate show, so the manager of the Backdoor Dancers sat in her private balcony seat, waiting for her part in the play.  It was a lushly furnished private room, with an excellent view of the arena and comfortable, plush chairs.  The current match was a no-holds-barred match between a punk-rock rebel and a terse gang member character, which barely held her interest. As the rebel girl swung a prop barb-wire bat around, the manager checked her phone before returning her attention to the match.  Satono and Mai were loyal servants, but she always worried about them before matches.  It was only natural, she supposed.

Behind her, faint voices suddenly spoke from the other side of the door into the room.

“I’m so sorry, but is this the room for the manager of the Backdoor Dancers?” asked an older female voice.

“Yes,” said the deep voice of the security guard. “What is your name?”

“My name is Byakuren,” said the female voice. “I have business with the woman named ‘Okina.’”

There was a brief pause.  The manager smirked as she kept her eyes locked forward but her attention on the faint conversation outside.

“Okay ma’am, you’re not on the visitor’s list and I don’t see a JJP badge anywhere on you,” the guard said. “Who are you?”

“A concerned citizen,” Byakuren said. “Please step aside, I need to speak with her. ” The handle on the door jiggled slightly.

“That’s not happening,” the guard said, his voice growing more forceful. “Now step away from the door and let’s go see security about how you got back here.”

“Please remove your hand,” Byakuren said, her voice unchanged.

“Not a chance,” the guard said. “This section is not open to the public, you’re trespassing.”

“Remove your hand,” Byakuren repeated. “I will not ask again.”

“No can do miss,” the guard replied. “Come on, let’s head over and-”

The conversation abruptly halted with a loud, dull thud that sounded in the hallway outside the room and reverberated through the walls.  There was the sound of the door magically unlocking , then opening as Byakuren stepped into the private room.

"Welcome, honored Saint," the manager said, her voice low and dry. "I've so longed to meet with you,"

"Not enough to arrange a meeting," Byakuren said as she crossed to the front of the room and observed 'Okina.'  She was a slight, thin but tall woman with small shoulders and long sandy-blond hair that fell in waves over her back and shoulders.  She was dressed in a bright orange robe that seemed more costume than anything, with a tabard dotted with constellations covering her front.  As lights flashed at the thrilling conclusion to the match below, Byakuren noticed the glint of the cane wedged between her seat and the next, as well as the wheelchair parked at the end of the row of seats.

"I trusted that word of my activities would reach you eventually," Okina said, turning in her seat to look up at Byakuren. "Though perhaps I was just wondering if the rumors of a statuesque monk at the Myouren Temple were true."

Byakuren looked the woman up and down for a moment before she spoke again. "I have encountered many avatars who held a variety of views on their host deity," she said, attempting to seize the reins of the conversation. "Which do you hold, shard of Matara-jin?"

Okina looked away from Byakuren, back to the wrap-up of the mock battle happening below. Her pale gold eyes seemed to glint in the low light of the balcony suite.  "You might say that I am Matara-jin's hand, or their child, or perhaps I might be their voice."  She smiled, small and cold. "The truth of what I am in relation to them is private.  But I will tell you that much of their memory was given to me.  I remember much of their deeds and have all the same opinions of the self-righteous monk who used to work with their attendants."

A tense moment passed as Byakuren tried to read the god's thin smile.

"All the same, it's good to finally see you with my own eyes, Byakuren," Okina said, relaxing slightly. "I trust you have been familiarizing yourself with what happened in your absence?"

"In fits and starts," Byakuren responded. "From what I understand Matara-jin's attendants stopped appearing after the Horned Sage disappeared."

"And you desire an explanation, yes?" Okina said, running her finger around the lip of the glass of water sitting in the cup holder in the arm of her chair. "The short answer is that the country was quite different then.  Between the two World Wars, direct intervention was no longer feasible, so Matara-jin returned to blessing and benedictions.  That is, until Yakumo made contact."

"You've spoken with her?" Byakuren asked.

"No, not me personally," Okina said, taking a drink from her glass as the lights dimmed in preparation for the next match. "But she contacted Matara-jin with a proposal... about sixty years ago."

"The 'sanctuary project'," Byakuren said, looking out of the balcony at the crowd murmuring as men in black t-shirts ran about in the dimness, placing props and checking equipment around the ring. "I've been looking into it and the disaster that followed."

"I had a feeling you would be interested," Okina said. "For their part, Matara-jin was recruited into it to be a counterbalance of an un-incarnated god." Byakuren raised an eyebrow and Okina expounded. "Part of Yakumo's plan was to manipulate the boundary between the realms of perception, existence, the mortal and the divine.  She and her two gods from Suwa would work the issue from the human world, whereas Matara-jin would be the counterpart in unseen space."

"I've seen the crater that resulted," Byakuren said, sitting down on the edge of the balcony. "I don't suppose you know what went wrong?"

"I have no answer for you, only theories," Okina said. "The strength of the blast and the part of the process that it happened at indicates that it was a fundamentally misguided venture.  It was never going to work, but as to why… who can say?  Yukari was always too shrewd and careful to make the kind of sloppy mistake that would normally lead to the result it did.  If I were a gambling woman, I would say that the forces she thought she understood had dimensions that were completely unknown to all.  Only billion-year-old secrets can possibly explain what happened then.  I say that it is not for us to know."

"So you don't hold her responsible?" Byakuren asked, pondering what Okina meant.

"She hasn't handled it well, I’ll give you that,” Okina said. “I’ve found no direct, incontrovertible evidence of her being around in the decades since.  Just her shikigami skulking about and a few familiar pseudonyms floating around.”

“If she is still alive, she hasn’t even visited Saigyouji-san,” Byakuren said as she looked away from Okina and down at the other tag team performing their introduction on the ramp below.  Their attire was beyond strange.

“Oh, I meant to thank you for handling that,” Okina said. “Catching up with her and that damn tree was one of the reasons behind me incarnating.  It was a long and arduous process.”

"I confess that I felt avatars were rather rare in this new age," Byakuren said. "I hesitated to believe it was possible when I first contemplated the possibility."

"I had to nudge the metaphysical shape of Tokyo to do it," Okina explained. "It took extensive, careful manipulation of the aether currents and slight shifting of the dimensional spheres, but I was able to make it across the boundary.  The gap I left in the membrane of existence is inelegantly wide, but it will heal in time."  

“And I suppose you did all that with the help of those two?” Byakuren gestured to the ramp where the Backdoor Dancers were now making their entrance, bobbing and shimmying their way down to the ring in perfect sync.

“Yes,” Okina said as she looked at them. “Matara-jin needs their two dōji, so I needed mirrored attendants to perform the ritual that would grant me a physical body.”

“So you piggybacked on your own myth,” Byakuren said. “Using it for resonance both in the ritual and in this… public persona and media cult.”

“You could say that,” Okina admitted. “The proper term for such a thing these days is a ‘fandom.’” 

“From what I understand you found those two only after combing through half the social outcasts of Tokyo,” Byakuren continued.

“‘Half’ is a gross exaggeration, but you are correct,” Okina said, her voice a touch defensive. “Finding attendants willing to serve a god in body and soul is much harder these days.  You have to look for those who have nothing else.”

“And what are they now?” Byakuren asked.

“Well cared for,” the god responded. “Thriving in a profession they enjoy, their minds full of joy at their duties.”  Byakuren turned and gave Okina a cold stare before she continued. “Which is better than when I found them.  The problem is that I had to invest far more power into them than I expected to, because they were… broken.”

“Broken?” Byakuren repeated.

“I’ll spare your innocent monk ears the gory details,” Okina said, at which Byakuren could not help but let a small scowl slip.  She knew the evils of the world as much as the next immortal, but Matara-jin’s attendants had always treated her like a naive babe across the ages.  It was at least a small, bare comfort to learn after so many centuries that that attitude had come from the god and not the people she had spoken to. “I did not strip them of their will or drive, because those had been stolen from them before they accepted my call.  I poured what I could of my power into them to heal their minds and souls, but I doubt they will ever be whole without me.”

Byakuren looked down at the two wrestlers as the fuchsia one leapt from the top rope around the ring and twisted in the air before landing on her opponent.  “Are they still human?” Byakuren could not help but ask.

“Are you?” Okina responded with a smirk in her voice.

They both watched the performance for a moment longer. The Dancer’s opponents employed ‘underhanded’ tactics to break a pin, and each began to pummel one of the two attendants.  “Is this really what a god and her servants should be doing?” Byakuren asked as she gazed around the building, at the crowds of people relishing choreographed violence.

“Faith becomes an ever more elusive and complex thing as humanity changes,” Okina said. “As an avatar, I can no longer rely on the faith given to Matara-jin.  I cannot seize another place of worship without upsetting the balance of the city.  But here… faith is abundant if you know where to look.  Here what is real and what is fiction melts away and the people believe that which they know to not be true.”

“It is certainly a more… intense stage than the old Noh theater plays,” Byakuren conceded. “And I can see how you got to here from there.”

There was another pause as they both watched the match.  As a martial artist of a sort, Byakuren could appreciate the technical details as two opposed wrestlers maneuvered together for control while maintaining the illusion that they were fighting.

“What do you want from me, Byakuren?” Okina asked after a powerful suplex signaled the beginning of the end of the match.

“I wanted to know what became of my allies, and what dangers haunted the city now that they were gone,” the monk replied. “Fate decided that I should find the answer to one question at the end of a search for the other.  I take it that you have no interest in reforming the Circle?”

“The Circle of Sages outlived its purpose.  The dangers we fought against and worked to conceal are now aligned with our interests,” Okina said. “From the Tengu settling in as de facto leaders of the Youkai of Tokyo to the European vampires helping the human economy, they all want to be a part of the world we once worked to protect.”

"So you entrust the safety of humanity to them?" Byakuren asked.

"To a certain extent. They are humanity," Okina rebutted. "Or close enough to it.  The long, slow decline of magic and the supernatural into the shadows means that Youkai now all know they need humanity to survive.  I trust their survival instinct to get the job done.  The large, multidisciplinary circle of guardians we formed a millennium ago is too clumsy and unwieldy to be effective now."

"What of the Hakurei maidens?" Byakuren said.

Okina snorted half a laugh. “I personally never saw the need for a family line of shrine maidens who don’t even know the name of their god.  They were always Yakumo's favorite, not mine.”

"Then what of us?" Byakuren said as she watched the second member of the Backdoor Dancers intercept her opponent as she attempted to break a pin on her partner. "Surely you did not incarnate to then not act."

"My plans are my own, Byakuren.  I am not required to divulge all I intend to you," Okina said as she picked up a Noh mask depicting a wizened old man's smile. "There are things worth monitoring, people worth protecting in this city... but they are all delicate matters.  What I don't want is a blunt instrument like yourself blundering into things like you did here." She gestured around before grabbing her cane and standing. "Excuse me, this is my moment."

Byakuren excused herself from the edge of the balcony to the back of the space as Okina donned the mask that shared her namesake.  As the match concluded the bell rang and the pyrotechnics exploded.  Several lights illuminated Okina as she moved to the edge of the balcony, wordless raising her hand as her servants proclaimed the virtues of their 'secret' god with swelling music.  The crowd roared louder than the music, chanting her name and the names of the Dancers.  In that moment, the thin woman seemed transformed before Byakuren, her stance and bearing suddenly regal and powerful.

The music reached a crescendo before cutting out with the lights illuminating the balcony, and it was all gone in an instant.  The event continued below, with announcements and special deals on merchandise, but the main thrust of the show was over as Byakuren watched the outline of the god walk over to the wheelchair and slump into it.

"I don't hate you, Byakuren," Okina suddenly confessed.  Byakuren could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "I don't even particularly dislike you."

"That was certainly not the understanding I cultivated over the years," Byakuren said in what passed as a wry tone for her.

"You've always been painfully earnest and forthright," Okina said, adjusting herself in the wheelchair and  settling her cane beside herself before casting aside her mask. "A quality that has always been at odds with my domain.  But I would like to catch up, and learn what happened on your century-long pilgrimage.  If you would like to accompany me, we can also sort out the guard you knocked unconscious and avoid a scene."

"He is unharmed, of that I was quite careful," Byakuren said as she moved to take the handles on the back of Okina's wheelchair and push her out of the room. "And I gave him all the necessary warning."

Sanae sat on her bed, looking over her outfit for tomorrow.

The two gods had explained everything to her: the theory, the ritual, the process, but she still felt uneasy.  It wasn't just that she couldn't find the bright red hakama pants of a shrine maiden and had to settle on a navy-blue color; she felt uneasy with the entire thing.  Since they had first started speaking to her, she could see the two gods more and more as faint shapes in the air around her, like ghosts.  Was this what had spooked her about Reimu?  No, these two didn’t feel cold the way the shadow that had floated around Reimu had.

She wandered through her nightly routine as the shorter figure with yellow eyes observed her.  As she donned her pajamas and sat down on her bed she tried to soothe her anxiety.  She mentally cataloged her supplies for tomorrow night before taking her nighttime meds, turning off the lights and trying to sleep.

Your mind is in chaos, came the mental voice of Moriya-san in the darkness. What troubles you most?

I’m just… tired, Sanae thought, trying to be honest with her feelings. You two have given me a lot to think about, and I still have some trouble with it all.

It is not an easy thing we ask you to believe, Suwako said. I was concerned you would not believe our voices, but you have proved me wrong.  Kanako had faith in you… or maybe I should say she refused to accept a scenario where you didn’t believe us.

She seems very… driven, Sanae thought.

She wondered what rules governed who could hear them.  The taller, more forceful god seemed like the type to butt in, but her ancestor spoke of her freely: Since the ancient days of our last identity’s war and truce, she’s never been able to accept second best until there is no other choice.  It’s made for a strong partnership, but it can also be a stressful thing.

A partnership… Sanae pondered. I just wish I could find someone like that… or at least someone to confide in.  I thought I had Kirisame-san… but with everything going on maybe reaching out isn’t worth the risk.

I’m sure that she will prove an ally once we are reborn, Suwako said. Your mistrust is unfortunately understandable.  I understand all too well, for we have had our trust betrayed as well.

And what do you know about me and trust? Sanae asked, feeling embarrassed.  She closed her eyes and buried her head in her pillow. 

I’ve watched your family –my family– suffer for sixty years as my blessing became a curse because we trusted the wrong person, Suwako explained, her mental voice warm and even. I’ve known you for your entire life, Sanae.  I was there when you chose that name, and my heart was broken when the people you thought were your friends proved unworthy of that trust.

Sanae gripped her pillow tightly.  She had resolved that she had cried about that enough.  Only an empty pit remained in her heart where once grief and rage had warred.  

If they could not accept you for who you are, then so be it, Suwako said, taking the words from Sanae’s mind. It is their loss.  But I also know that despite talking it out with your mother and father, and determining that moving to Tokyo was best for you in every regard, you still feel like you are running away.

Sanae sifted on her futon, trying to get comfortable and banish painful memories.

I am not ambitious like Kanako, I will not whisper in your ear like a snake and tell you what needs to be said, Suwako continued. Only you can discover what your life needs, Sanae. Living godhood is not an end, it is a means for both you and us to shape the world.  To make it into something worth living in.  It will not be easy, but I think you’ve lived a powerless life for too long to turn away now.

Sanae nodded in the dark and drifted off to sleep with thoughts and dreams of a world worth creating.

Chapter Text

Despite numerous invitations from Sakuya to have a limousine escort them to the event, Reimu insisted on walking, which was not as terrible as Marisa had first implied it would be.  The event was right near Shibuya, and Reimu and Chimata were able to apply makeup and get dressed at a nearby bar operated by an older man that Reimu had aided on multiple occasions.  Chimata got dressed first, her outfit being the easiest to get into.  It was a white dress with long sleeves and her cape on top.  It was a very simple look, but something about the dress just past her knees and the pure white cape with a golden clasp combined with a hint of color in the form of a rainbow hairband made her look like a fairytale traveler.

Reimu had to fight Marisa tooth and nail to try and avoid a long dress that swept the ground.  It was too impractical, too likely to catch on something she said.  Eventually they reached a compromise of a long sleeveless red dress that went just past her ankles.  For warmth, Reimu selected a white shawl that wrapped around her shoulders and covered much of her torso.  Marisa had lamented that she insisted on still wearing the red ribbon in her hair, but when Reimu had threatened to show up in sweatpants, Marisa had yielded.

"Where is it being held in relation to here?" Chimata asked as she finished helping to strap Reimu's new dress sandals to her feet, careful of her own rainbow-painted nails.

"It's just around the corner," Izumi said. "In a hotel convention center." The two's proper introduction had been remarkably uneventful.  Reimu had imagined that Izumi might have reacted more strongly to meeting a god, but she already knew about Chimata from passively listening, and the two were cordial with each other.

The human, god and spirit all left the restaurant, Reimu nodding to the owner that they could keep their bags there until they returned.  They rounded the city block just as the last of the sunset dipped below the horizon.  Just around the corner was Marisa, looking typically over-dressed.  Her large coat was dark blue on the outside, but black on the inside and lapels, and was secured around her waist by a single gold button, with a vest and dress shirt underneath.  Her obligatory hat was large and tilted to one side from a small gold star hanging from the edge.

“Ladies,” Marisa said, touching the brim of her hat.

“When you said you ‘had a look ready,’ Marisa,” Izumi said, a smirk in her voice. “I didn’t imagine that the look was ‘Vampire Hunter D.’”

“Or perhaps blue Carmen Sandiego?” Reimu added.

“Shut up,” Marisa said, turning away to walk toward the event ahead of them while suppressing a chuckle.  They all made their way to the event, and were admitted with no trouble, much to Reimu’s surprise.  She had nursed a suspicion that they would be turned away for some reason, but it turned out to be unfounded.  Looking around at the space, their group was overdressed, but not by much.  Businesspeople in suits and the occasional tuxedo or dress made up most of the attendants, along with an idol or fashionista in a strange outfit.  Reimu assumed that Aya or one of her interns was lurking somewhere, as she noticed a harried-looking tengu in a purple plaid dress recording a conversation on her phone.  Light, gently inoffensive muzak floated from unseen speakers, quiet enough to speak over but loud enough to melt with the background buzz of conversation.

"Ah, you must be our last-minute guests," said a deep yet airy voice to the side.  Reimu turned to see one familiar face and one unfamiliar one.  The dollmaker that Marisa associated with was there in a long blue dress and capelet that seemed to be almost typical attire for her.  The source of the voice was a shorter, older, more rotund man.  His shortly cut gray hair was slicked back, and his goatee was immaculately trimmed while his tweed suit was brown and gray, accented with purple trim.  

"The miko and the magician, right?" the old man said, extending a hand.  Marisa shook it as he continued his introduction. "I've heard a bit about you from both my client and Ms. Margatroid."

"You told me you had a prior engagement," Marisa said, staring accusingly at the dollmaker. "You could have mentioned you were already going."

"Marisa, you already knew I was involved with this company," she responded before looking at her smartwatch. "They need me with prep.  Good talking, Katokawa-san. Good to see you, Marisa; Hakurei-san."

Reimu gave a half-hearted wave as the taller woman strutted away.  She also noticed a sour look and Marisa's face as the dollmaker retreated.

"I should introduce myself properly," the man called Katokawa said. "I'm Shinichi Katokawa, currently an agent for Scarlet Styles.  I don't believe I've been told about your acquaintance."

"Chimata Tenkyuu, pleased to meet you," Chimata said, shaking the hand now offered to her.

"There's a business matter Chimata has a keen interest in," Reimu said, reciting half-remember lines. "We were actually interested in speaking to Mrs. Scarlet tonight."

"You and everyone else," Katokawa chuckled. "The little prodigy is around here somewhere, giving the press their due before the show."

"I see," Chimata said, before a growling sound faintly audible over even the bustle of the reception came from her stomach.  All of them paused for a moment as Chimata's eyes and face reddened to a crimson shade.

"If you'd like to discuss this 'business matter' over appetizers, the buffet is right this way, Tenkyuu-san," Katokawa said with a smirk, gesturing to a far wall of the reception hall.  Chimata looked at Reimu with something close to a pleading look, to which Reimu nodded and the goddess followed the old man into the crowd.

"You'd think that ramen she had before we left would tide her over," Reimu mused.

"Godly appetite, I suppose," Izumi snarked.

Reimu and Marisa accepted plastic glasses of seltzer water from a server as they milled about.

"They could have at least sprung for actual champagne," Marisa said after a sip.

"Do you even like champagne?" Reimu asked.

"Only one way to find out," Marisa responded after a sip.

Reimu and Izumi followed in Marisa's wake for a few minutes as she tried to surreptitiously listen to pockets of conversation amidst the other guests, but much of it was 'fashion industry noise,' according to Marisa.

"I just need a really dumb inheritor," Marisa said, finishing the last of her drink. "Some rich failson who knows nothing that I can wring for all he's worth."

"Oh, is that all?" Izumi said sarcastically.

Marisa continued to look around before her eyes suddenly went wide and she pulled the brim of her hat down. "I uh... I need a refill on my soda water," she quickly blurted out before ducking away, leaving Reimu and Izumi perplexed for a moment before a voice spoke behind her.

“You’d think she’d flunked a test with a retreat like that.”  Reimu turned to see two women approaching her.  One was in a black suit and pants with a matching tie.  The only thing not black about her outfit was a bright red dress shirt that matched her eyes.  Her pure white hair was tied up in a ponytail that hung past her waist.  She was lean but not thin, her build athletic.  The other woman, the speaker, was taller and more graceful, dressed in a deep blue sheath gown with an intricate geometric cut along the bottom hem.  Her face was narrow, her eyes serious but with a glint of humor hiding behind them.  Light blue streaks in her long, light hair flowed as it fell freely over her shoulders.

“You must be Reimu Hakurei,” the woman in the suit said, smirking.

“I am,” Reimu supplied. “And though you both seem familiar, I must admit to being at a loss.”

“Ah, how rude of us,” the woman in the blue gown said. “My name is Keine Kamashirasawa. Your mother and I were professional acquaintances.”

“I’m Mokou,” the other woman added. “And I’ve butted heads with more of your family than I can remember.”

Reimu felt their comments scratch at an old wound, but she pushed it down and focused on the present.

“I was going to make a kind comment on Marisa’s outfit, but it seems I might have frightened her,” Keine said, gesturing towards where Marisa had run off to.

“So you know Marisa…” Reimu mused for a moment. “Oh, are you her teacher at college?”

“Indeed,” Keine replied. “When Marisa invited me to an unspecified event tonight I had no idea it was the show I was already attending.  Mokou works with Meiling-san on occasion, and was kind enough to invite me.”

“This thing is way more your cup of tea than mine anyway,” Mokou said.

“At this rate, I’m expecting to see that Sanae girl here,” Izumi said, amused. “Seeing as everyone else that declined Marisa’s invitation showed up independently.”

“I was actually coming over not just to compliment my student, but seize an opportunity,” Keine continued as Mokou snagged a drink and several small appetizers from a passing server. "Marisa explained the gist of your situation with a ghost and was wondering what might be done about it.  I said I would need more data, and this seems a prime opportunity."

"Really?" Reimu asked. "At this event?"

"I'd just go with it, kid," Mokou responded as she finished chewing and swallowing a dumpling. "She gets curious like this sometimes."

Indeed, there was a gleam of inquiry in Keine's umber eyes that even Reimu could detect.  "Why not give it a shot?" Izumi suggested.

Reimu quickly explained their issue, the rules they knew about the marking and what they speculated might be possible.  Keine listened with rapt attention, nodding along as Reimu presented the ideas of perception and image projection.

“There’s a very simple experiment I’d like to try,” Keine said, retrieving her phone from her purse.

“Here?” Mokou asked with a mouthful of food.

“Seeing as there’s another thirty minutes before they even start seating people for the event,” Keine responded as she checked the time on her phone, “I think we can afford a moment for learning.  Is Fukuda-san present, Hakurei-san?”

“Yes,” Reimu and Izumi said together, as Reimu vaguely gestured to beside herself.  Reimu offered her wrist with a thick red ribbon tied around it to hide the scar.  She pulled the bow apart to remove the ribbon and was about to show Keine when she instead gently touched Reimu’s hand, stopping her.

“Before that, can you describe the mark for me?” Keine asked.  Reimu described the shape of it, the round outer burn and square inter burn that looked like an antique coin.  Keine closed her eyes while holding Reimu’s wrist, clearly visualizing it while brushing the scar with her thumb as Reimu did her best not to squirm.  Keine opened her eyes and looked around expectantly, only for her face to fall slightly.  “Well, I don’t see anyone new,” she said, before turning Reimu’s wrist and looking straight at the scar.  Her eyes locked in on the scar then she turned her head to see Izumi beside Reimu.  “Good evening, Fukuda-san.”

“Good evening,” Izumi replied.  “If I may ask, what were you trying to do?”

“I'm breaking down the problem,” Keine said as she thumbed through her smartphone while keeping a hand on Reimu’s wrist, covering the scar with her thumb. “Only those who have seen the scar can see you, excepting those who can just see the dead naturally.  But what is vision in this context?  With Reimu’s description and through feeling the scar I pictured it in my mind.  Clearly, visualization is not enough.”

“I would have imagined that this investigation would be a lot more… magical,” Izumi said.

“Unlike Marisa, I prefer not to jump to magic as a first solution when direct study can be used first,” Keine said as she snapped a photo of Reimu’s wrist with her phone then released her wrist, much to the shrine maiden’s relief.  The taller woman turned to her companion and presented the picture she had taken.  Mokou focused on the picture as she downed the last of her drink, then looked around, her gaze sliding right past Izumi before shrugging.

“So we can rule out those who see the scar via photographs,” Keine said.

“Well I can’t very well see the scar when you haven’t shown it to me, only a picture,” Mokou countered, pointing to the photo of Reimu’s burn scar. “ ‘Ceci n'est pas une pipe’ ; this is a piece of technology, not a magic scar.”

“I think I like her,” Izumi said to Reimu, smiling.

“Of course you like her, Fukuda-san,” Keine said as she deleted the photograph and stowed her phone. “She’s a professional performer, it’s her job to be likable.”

“And to get hit,” Mokou said, extending her hand to Reimu. “May I, Hakurei-chan?”

Reimu appreciated being asked enough that she extended her arm.  Mokou quickly took her hand in her own one free hand and turned it downward, scar facing the floor.  She turned Reimu’s hand over for just a second, then back down and looked around, still clearly unaware of Izumi.  She repeated it once or twice more, eventually just looking at the inside of Reimu’s forearm, her gaze sliding down from her elbow to her wrist, her eyes catching on the mark.  For some reason, to Reimu that long gaze on her inner arm felt more intimate than being touched.  Mokou looked up to find Izumi and smiled, releasing Reimu’s wrist.

“Hey there, ma’am,” Mokou said before turning back to Keine. “So it’s not just seeing the actual scar, it’s focusing on it.  I saw it a bunch very briefly before my eyes could focus on it directly and I could finally see her.  There’s an enchantment embedded in the scar itself, one that interacts with the human mind.”

“That seems to make sense…” Keine said, finger on her chin.  

“Are you a mage, Mokou-san?” Izumi asked.

“Not as such, no,” Mokou responded. “But when you’ve lived as long as I have, you pick up a thing or two.” She smiled and snapped her fingers in front of them, released a small lick of fire that made both Reimu and Izumi take a half-step back. “Anyway, I’m starving Keine.  I need to grab something more than dumplings before I watch whatever this is going to be.”  With that, she circled around the rest of them toward a buffet.

“Thank you for indulging us, Hakurei-san,” Keine said, bowing slightly. “I’ll chat with Marisa about this another time.  I look forward to seeing you both again.”  She joined Mokou, leaving Reimu and Izumi alone as a large group of new arrivals entered the hall, forcing them to move to the side of the hall, away from the buffet area.

“Well they were a bit much,” Izumi said. “Helpful, but they moved a bit fast for my taste.”

“It’s just how things are done,” Reimu said, tying the ribbon back around her wrist and tugging the shawl tighter around her shoulders.  “Now where are they…” 

Reimu searched around for a moment, moving carefully to avoid tripping with her new dress sandals on the red carpet that was becoming more and more crowded by the minute.  A camera flashed somewhere to the side, and a pang of social anxiety whispered in her heart.  As she navigated around the crowd while trying to find the refreshments and appetizers table she reviewed the itinerary: after this reception was the main show, and then a full dinner to cap off the night.  She didn’t want to fill up on snacks, but she would probably need to grab something to tide herself over at this rate.  As she moved, she caught snippets of conversation from the social groups around her.

“The Koumakyou Group is still run by a foreigner, correct?”
“They have a foreigner or two on the board, but it’s a Japanese company.”
“And what about that woman who runs it?  Mirlaca-something?”
“Lioncourt-san is overseas at the moment, but she was elected by the board.  It’s not like she owns the entire company.  Anyway, why do you care?”

“So the Scarlet Style’s brand has been around for a while, but why the big show?”
“The chinese-style and gothic lolita lines were modest successes, but this new thing is supposed to be a much broader, more integrated brand."
“It seems like more designer, western-styles clothes from the pieces they previewed.”
“But they are launching a real fashion line, right?  It’s not just ridiculous runway stuff?”
“...You’re new to this aren’t you?”

"What is Tokyo Direct Express Analysis doing these days?  Their stock price just keeps dropping."
"That company's always had a rough time of it. The CEO keeps pushing for more public transport funding from the government, even beyond what the general public wants.”
“I heard one of the execs lost a friend to a traffic accident, that their commitment to trains is some kind of personal vendetta against cars."
"How odd."

“The fact that they created a whole show for this doesn’t sit right with me.”
“It’s the premiere of a whole new line!  They’re allowed to make a fuss about it.  What, do you want them to wait for one of the Italian or French shows?”
“It’s just smacks of nepotism and public theater.  This ‘Flandre’ girl is supposed to what, fifteen?  And she designs pieces that look like that at that age?”
“I hate to break it to you, but nepotism and public theater are the names of the game in this industry.  Besides, no one believes that the creator is actually that blond teenager they keep showing off in interviews.  It’s more than likely a team that she’s the face of, like an idol.  Don’t believe their official story just because no one else has talked yet.”

Reimu paused to get a refill from a server on her soda water and then turned when she heard Marisa's voice behind her.

"You can't get me anything more helpful than that?" Marisa asked a figure that was shepherding her back towards Reimu.

"Fine, here is a single tip: you're still thinking of a spell matrix like a programming array," the slender person in the purple gown and coat said.  Reimu had never seen them before, but their long pastel purple hair and impassive gaze were familiar from Marisa's description, as was the tall, broad-shouldered woman behind them with olive skin and short red hair who was dressed in a simple suit.

"But then what do I- oh hi Reimu," Marisa said as Patchouli removed their hand from Marisa's shoulder and she stood awkwardly with a plastic plate of rice balls and pastries.  Reimu reached over and plucked an onigiri from the plate.  

"Hakurei," Patchouli said, their voice flat and dry.

"I assume you are the ‘Knowledge-san’ I’ve heard so much about," Reimu said before taking a bite.  Her statement led to a tiny wrinkle in the brow of the master wizard, as well as a snort from their demonic companion.

"Good to see the humor of this family has improved, if nothing else," Patchouli said, looking Reimu up and down in a way that made her feel like a lab specimen. "Excuse me," they added before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.  Koakuma made a look of apology before following her master.

"That's your master in magic studies, right?" Izumi asked. "They seem... odd."

"I would hope so," Marisa said, taking a jam-filled pastry from her plate. "I don't want any kind of normie teaching me anything."

“Where’s Chimata?” Reimu asked as Izumi rolled her eyes.

“Still eating and getting into it with the old man,” Marisa said. “I listened to their chat a little.  Who knew that Chimata had a mind for business?”

Marisa, Reimu and Izumi chuckled together, before a tall, sharply dressed woman emerged from the crowd, followed by a shorter girl with blond hair in a ponytail.  One of them Reimu recognized well, the other seemed mostly unfamiliar, though her dark red eyes rang a bell.

“Good to see you two arrived safely,” Sakuya said as she placed her phone back inside her jacket.  Her pinstripe gray suit was rather understated compared to the rest of the attendees, though perfectly normal for her.  “I believe introductions are in order: this is Flandre Scarlet, sister of my employer.”

Sakuya gestured to the shorter girl standing nearby, who seemed to be dressed quite casually, at least by the standards of the event.  Her blonde hair was tied in a very simple side ponytail, and her graphic t-shirt and red hoodie were crisp, but loose on her frame.  She had a dress and stockings on, but the only thing that leapt out at Reimu as fancy were the twin vine-like belts that she wore high on her waist, under the hoodie, each of which had large crystals in a variety of colors hanging from it, each one easily ten to fifteen centimeters long.  As she introduced herself, Reimu held her attention on the crystals and the dark shapes they were attached to and noticed one of them shift and move, subtly resettling itself like a folded arm.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t express much enthusiasm,” Flandre said, her Japanese accented like her sister’s. “I’ve been smiling for the press for a good thirty minutes now while answering the same questions for each one. I needed a break.”

“I get it,” Marisa said, waving a hand airly. “Being famous is hard work.” Reimu finished her onigiri and reached over for the second and last one on Marisa’s plate.

“Not famous… human,” Flandre said with a smirk in her voice.  It was then that Reimu realized that she was not blinking her red eyes behind her slightly tinted glasses. “Celebrity is an easy thing to master in short bursts.  Humanity however… that’s always been Remi’s specialty.”

“Where is your guest?” Sakuya interjected. “Tenkyuu-san, was it?”

“Ah, she’s talking with one of your people over appetizers,” Marisa said, holding up a finger. “She actually had business with you, Mrs. Scarlet.  Let me go get her.”

Marisa ducked around a very rotund woman and away from the gathering, leaving Reimu and Izumi again.  There was an awkward moment as Reimu chewed her rice ball and Flandre and Sakuya waited.

“I’ve always wanted to meet one of the Hakurei,” Flandre said. “It’s true what Remilia said all those years ago, red really does suit you.”

“I think it suits most people,” Reimu rebutted. “It’s a strong color.”

“Not Sakuya,” Flandre said. “She looked terrible every time I put her in red.”

“That’s true,” Sakuya offered, taking a glass of water from a passing server.

“Well, you’ve finally got me,” Reimu said. “What do you want with me?”

“Me?  Not much,” Flandre shrugged. “Just a passing curiosity.  I saw your mother once from a distance, when she came shopping.  I never got the chance to get acquainted with her or your grandmother.  Your family was always Remilia’s obsession.”

“‘Obsession’?” Reimu couldn’t help but echo. “What does she want with us?  With me?”

“What she always wants,” Flandre said, throwing a wide hand to indicate exasperation. “Power, control, all that guff.  I think she fumbled her first meeting with your grandmother, and she’s been looking for a way to make it right since.  She collects locals wherever we go, it’s just what she does.”

“I never knew my grandmother,” Reimu said, looking down at her most-empty plastic glass. 

“Not even in family photos?” Sakuya asked.

Reimu shook her head.  “There was a fire in the shrine when I was a child that wiped them out.”

“I heard about that, quite a shame,” Flandre said, then she paused, running one of her long, almost talon-like nails across her chin. “Remilia does keep records.  Records that I could get you access to, if you like.”

“For what price?” Izumi said.  Both Sakuya and Flandre remained unphased by the remark; Sakuya out of professionalism, Flandre out of ignorance.

“And what will that set me back?” Reimu asked, grateful for Izumi’s guidance.

“Oh, nothing irreplaceable,” Flandre shrugged. “Stop by and have lunch, Remi would be delighted.”  She paused, reading the look of skepticism on Reimu’s face. “I am not a business woman like my sister, Hakurei-san.  I’m not looking to trap you in a contract, if that’s what has you so spooked. Though, on that topic, what’s this business your companion wanted to discuss?”

“We’ve met someone with a… very singular talent for reading marketplaces,” Reimu said, measuring her words carefully. “And she's in need of a job. We were wondering if you could spare a spot in this new operation-”

“All ‘positions’ in the roll out of this brand are already accounted for,” Sakuya said bluntly.

“Sorry for the wait,” Marisa said as she returned before Flandre could speak.

“Yes, we were quite enraptured with talk of market trends,” Katokawa said, having apparently come with. “This woman really does know her way around all this.” He gestured to the tall woman who had finally returned, looking much fuller than before: “Mrs. Scarlet, this is Chimata Tenkyuu.”

“Ni-nice to meet… you?” Chimata began, extending a hand, but she stumbled when she saw Flandre, whose entire demeanor had changed the instant she saw Chimata.  Suddenly there was a hunger in her gaze as the vampire’s eyes rushed all over Chimata’s form, assessing her with a strange fervor.

“You…” Flandre said, moving closer in the blink of an eye while snatching up Chimata’s hand and inspecting it, causing Reimu, Marisa, Izumi and Chimata all to jump.

“Mrs. Scarlet?” Sakuya asked, her tone uncertain.

“You’re perfect!” Flandre near-shouted, pulling Chimata closer by the wrist and jumping in place slightly. “Oh, this skin tone, your thin figure, the way you carry yourself, even that blue hair! You’re perfect for one of my best pieces; you HAVE to be part of the show.”

“That, uh..." Chimata stuttered, her face blanching as her eyes became yellow. "That wasn't the type of work I had in mind..."

"What?  Oh, this business thing you've been chatting with Katokawa about," Flandre said, her tone just shy of dismissive. "Tell you what, consider this the interview for a position in the company!  This way~" Flandre began dragging the taller woman with her almost effortlessly.

"Uh... Reimu? Marisa?" Chimata near-pleaded as she was pulled away.

"Good luck," Reimu said, waving her guest farewell.

"I would have killed for a job interview as easy as that," Izumi said, eliciting a smirk from Sakuya.

"Do your best!" Marisa cheered as Chimata and Flandre disappeared.

"I should probably make sure nothing legally troubling happens," Katokawa croaked, then set off after the two.

"Is she normally like that?" Izumi asked. "She's a bit more... excitable than I imagined a vampire might be."

"Lady Flandre's moods are mercurial," Sakuya said. "I'm sure that Tenkyuu-san will be well-cared for as part of the show.  Speaking of which," she checked her wristwatch, "The main hall will open soon. You two might want to make your way there for easier, early seating.  Have a good night, girls."  She moved past them towards the entrance.

As they circled a large gathering of laughing socialites, Izumi spoke up. "Your teacher is quite sharp, Marisa.  Any reason you ran like a naughty child when you saw her?"

"Listen Izumi, I don't exactly have what you would call 'honest instincts'," Marisa began.  Reimu ignored their banter as she looked up at the banner sign for the show.

INTRODUCING: U.N. OWEN
A NEW SCARLET STYLES BRAND

“And make sure she understands how to walk in those boots, okay?” Flandre said as Chimata was rapidly fitted for her dress by the rest of the staff.

“Got it, boss!” one of the sassier assistants before closing the door, leaving Flandre alone.

At last, the thought, finally relaxing a bit.  Her nerves were so shot that she took a long, slow breath; inhaling and exhaling, which for her was an unnecessary instinct of her flesh.  But breathing deep like that, she could swear she could feel her heart beating again.

Which is why she did any of this in the first place.

Flandre Scarlet had existed for over five centuries, and in that time nothing made her feel alive like art.  Not hunting, not flying (before her wings were cursed), nor killing, making love or drinking fresh blood.  This rush of excitement let her imagine she was still a young girl, with her whole life ahead of her.

Flandre distantly wondered if this was how her sister felt when she signed contracts or traded stocks or whatever her sister normally did all day and night.  Remilia wasn't usually happy with Flandre’s questions about her business.

When she’d seen the tall, thin woman with the priestess and magician, she’d known instantly that she was the final piece the show had been missing.  Her luscious blue hair, her perfect cheekbones, her luminously pale skin, and her strange, shimmering eyes all made her the perfect fit for a piece Flandre had been very fond of but had never quite found the right total look for.

Now it was in the hands of her capable assistants, and Flandre could recover in the scant few minutes before the show started.  She was behind the fitting rooms, in a space that the convention center usually reserved as a staff rest area, tucked away with a desk and couch in a corner of the backstage area.  The hustle and bustle of the preshow was all elsewhere, and she had a moment to rest.  Not that she could indulge in the supplied water, juice or snacks, though, but she could collect herself before the show.

She sat down at the desk, resettling her wings. Wrapping them around her waist like that to disguise them as a fashion accessory was nothing new, but Remilia always seemed to find it more comfortable than she did.  The cursed crystals that had once been her wings rattled lightly like glass and echoed in the empty space.  Flandre turned to the desk and plucked up a pen and she began to note down things she would change at her next show when a lone voice echoed out from behind her.

“Hello?”

Flandre slowly turned to see the origin of the voice.  She found herself no longer alone in the space, as there was a figure at the other end of the couch set against the wall. She was short, about as short as Flandre, dressed in a yellow coat several sizes too large, such that the sleeves flopped over the end of her arms and hid much of her from Flandre. What she could discern of her figure indicated someone who was thin not from lack of food, but intermittent access to food as she shivered in place.  Her pale hair looked bleached and matted, kinks and curls covering most of her face behind pale green, ghost-like locks.  Flandre could make out a few extra details thanks to her acute vision: her pale, malnourished skin and an unnaturally blue vein that snaked its way up her neck and cheek.

"Hello," Flandre responded, curiosity piqued.

"It's so quiet back here," the girl said. "Normally people and their thoughts are so loud they... they fill my head, and I can't hear myself think. I can't hear your mind at all.  And you can see me!" she continued, growing slightly less cautious. "People normally look right past me as their thoughts drill into my head. Why… Why are you different?"

The girls seemed to be a telepath of some variety, though a far cry from the spiritualist con men that had tried to entertain Remilia in the 1850s.  But perhaps what Flandre had learned from that incident could be applied here.

"Maybe I can see you because I'm not alive," Flandre said. "My brain is technically dead, by some measurements.  I'd imagine that makes my thoughts quieter."

"Dead...?" the girl echoed. "You're dead?"

"I'm a child of the night," Flandre said, a smirk developing on her lips. As much as she needled Remilia for being dramatic, she often found herself being just as mysterious. "I can see much of what others cannot.  How did you get back here, honey lemon?"

"I... I walked in," the girl explained, drawing back a bit. "I heard people talking, and I felt... wealth. Privilege. People having a good time.  No one saw me walk in, nor when I followed a woman with a busy mind through a bunch of doors."  The girl paused for a moment, trying to rub her hands together but just flopping the oversized sleeves against each other. "I'm trying to find my older sister.  She said she'd look after me..."

Something stirred in Flandre's dead heart: an echo of a promise between sisters made centuries ago.

Flandre motioned the girl to come closer and sit on the couch, which she did very slowly, clearly not quite trusting Flandre. "What's your name?" Flandre asked as gently as she could once the girl finally took a seat on the nearby couch.

"I..." the girl began, then paused. "I'm... I don't remember my name.  Or my sister's name. I... lost it."

"I know what that's like," Flandre said, feeling memories best left buried begin to stir. "But I think you will need a name if you want to find your sister.  Do you want a name?"

The girl nodded hesitantly, her one visible deep blue eye darting around just a bit.

"If you don't have a name, what do people call you?" Flandre asked.

"They don't," the girl said. "I'm invisible to most people.  But before that... before that..." Her eye looked down and away in a manner that Flandre recognized all too well. "The men in coats called me... I was... 'subject 514'."

"Well, that's no name at all," Flandre said, her mind searching for a replacement. "Five one four... Go-ichi-shi?  Goichi? No…” She mentally massaged the numbers for a moment, looking for another way to say them. “How about… Koishi?”

"Koishi..." the girl said almost experimentally. "Koishi..."

"Like uh... like 'little stone'," Flandre said, wincing at her guess at what else the syllables could mean.  She'd been speaking Japanese for decades but she still found that particular part of it cumbersome. 

“Koishi…” the girl continued.

“Listen, Koishi,” Flandre said, reaching out to her. “I can help you with your issue, if you can wait here for me.”

“I don’t like staying in one place,” Koishi responded. “And listening to people I just met.  It’s… never been good for me.”

“Well then…” Flandre began. “I’m not going to force you, but I-”

“Scarlet-san!” came a voice from behind her.  Flandre turned to see one of her assistants running out of the door to the dressing room. “It’s the new model you brought.  She has her own ideas about the outfit and is being uncooperative. Can you talk to her?”

Flandre turned back to the couch to find it empty, the strange girl gone.  She paused for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. “I’ll be over in just a moment.  Give me a second,” she said to the assistant, who nodded and retreated back to the dressing room, leaving Flandre alone again.

Flandre leaned back on the stool, considering.  It wasn’t like she had never hallucinated anything before. Very early in her life she’d been confined in inhumane conditions and subsequently seen and heard things that didn’t truly exist before she’d been released.  It had been a very long time, but the thought still occasionally cropped up that she might experience that again, and with the strange young girl who was also a younger sister who claimed to be invisible to the living, the thought that she was imagining things again was quite prominent in Flandre’s mind as reviewed the brief encounter with the girl.

She would just have to decide what she wanted to believe.

“If you can still hear me, Koishi,” she said to what looked to her to be an empty corner of the building. “My name is Flandre Scarlet, and I’m a little sister like you. I live at the Scarlet Devil Mall Tower, on the top floor. Come find me when you can.”

Flandre turned and walked back to the dressing room, one more strange encounter under her belt before her big show began.

“Are you sure about this?” Sanae asked.  

It was far colder outside than she expected as she shivered and looked at her destination: the Hakurei Shrine.  It had been relatively easy to locate it.  One online search had led her to a nearly defunct tourism website with the address. She'd watched the shrine for several minutes to make sure no one was home, but even so it was nerve-wracking.

This is the most sacred site in Gensokyo, Kanako urged her, hovering at the edge of the alley. We need that kind of power to return, regardless of anything else.

This is just a temporary thing.  We're not going to do anything drastic, Suwako assured her. 

That remains to be seen, Kanako countered. More may be necessary.

Sanae looked both ways as she crossed the street and made her way to the shrine, avoiding a gaggle of trendy teenage girls on her way there. The shrine itself was in an otherwise empty plot of land, with grass and a few nearly leafless trees taking up what space was not taken up by the main shrine, the storage shed and the stone walkway.  The plot of land itself was somewhat elevated compared to the surrounding roads, and Sanae quickly climbed the short staircase under the torii gate to look at the rest of the shrine.  It was a small plot that would have been considered modest in Suwa but given Tokyo real estate prices it was probably a lavish amount of land. Sanae had thought that Reimu living in a shrine was odd, but the more the thought about the amount of money it took to live in Tokyo, the more reasonable it seemed.

There were two squat, square stone pillars just behind the torii gate.  Sanae guessed that it was meant to hold the komainu statues, but they were nowhere to be found.  Sanae was suddenly struck with a sense of melancholy by the sight of the empty platforms.  Something had happened to the guardians of the shrine, and Sanae wondered what that might have been.  Perhaps she was not the first intruder like this…

Focus, girl, Kanako snapped, returning Sanae to the present.

So... what do we need to do? Sanae asked.  She was dressed in the white-and-blue version of a miko's uniform that she had managed to buy and she had even acquired a purification rod, which she carried under her arm.  In her other arm she had a bag full of salt, chalk, blank paper talismans and markers.  The gods had assured her that her body and soul would be enough for the rest, with no other specialized equipment required.

You need to find where the existing god of the shrine has anchored itself and remove the shintai from the shrine, Kanako explained as Sanae approached the front of the shrine. Then you can replace it with part of yourself and the ritual can proceed.

Is that... safe for the existing god? Sanae wondered.

It should be, Suwako pondered.

It doesn't matter, Kanako said. This is what needs to happen to return us to flesh and complete your transformation.  All other concerns are secondary.  

Sanae stepped on the wooden porch of the shrine and maneuvered herself around the donation box, fighting a sudden sense of foreboding.  Was this the right thing to do, to hijack an existing shrine like this?  In one sense, a god was urging her to do it, so it couldn't be anything but the right thing... right?

As she reached for the paper screen door, Sanae felt her hand slow, hesitating.  Was she holding back because of her instincts or something else?

What is the delay? Kanako asked. Is there a trap you have spotted?

This... doesn't feel right, Sanae divulged, laying out her concern. I shouldn't be doing this to another person's house.

You are right, my child, Suwako said. But those instincts serve you as a mortal. In becoming something more, you will need to fight past them.

Sanae let her hand hang in the air for a moment longer, her conscience twisting itself in conflicted knots. She wondered if this is what it meant to finally grow up and accept what a relative had told her while depressed long ago: that all gain was someone else's loss.  In serving and protecting her family and faith, would it always come at someone else's expense? The idea hung like a dark shadow in her mind.

Her hand fell forward to feel the wooden frame of the door.  She brushed it, worried about what would happen once she opened the door.

I don't... Sanae began.

"The Hakurei miko isn't home at the moment," said a voice behind her, making her jump.  Sanae turned rapidly to see who had spoken.  A tall woman in a dark green coat stood in front of the shrine, a few meters away.  Her pale-pink hair tumbled just past her shoulders, with a thick hairband across the top of her head holding most of it in place.  Her pale red eyes stared out from behind her hair and something in her gaze pierced Sanae, and made her feel extremely vulnerable.

They stood there for a moment, Sanae trying to imagine that she looked anything other than extremely guilty.  A cold breeze brushed past them and Sanae noticed the right sleeve of the woman’s jacket flap in the wind, lacking anything in it.

“Um…” Sanae stuttered, unable to come up with anything else.

“If you’d like advice on how to bless something, you might want to come back tomorrow,” the woman said, her voice having a leading edge that told Sanae she knew what was going on.

We need to regroup, Suwako cautioned.

No! Kanako urged. This is our chance.  Make an excuse, say you are waiting for someone, someth-

“Th-thank you,” Sanae said, walking past the woman unsteadily before breaking into a power walk into the night, pursued by the howling of the wind and a goddess.

The one-armed woman scratched her chin with her left hand, contemplating  the scene she had interrupted.  Had things truly deteriorated so badly in her time away that there were now usurpers to the Hakurei shrine?  Perhaps she was merely a misguided prankster, but the cloud of power and misery that surrounded the green-haired girl told a different story.  She’d have to investigate.  But first, she’d have to catch up with young Reimu.  As she looked around, she found a familiar convenience store that she could acquire dinner at while watching the shrine to keep it safe.

As she walked across the sidewalk towards the halogen glow of the store, a middle-aged salaryman exited the store and spotted her, his face lighting up.

“Ibaraki-san!” he said, surprised. “I didn’t recognize you with the new haircut.  It’s been years since I’ve seen you.”

“I’ve been out and about,” she said, smiling plaintively as she reminisced with the man, listening to what had happened in her absence.

As the conversation wound down, she bid the man good night and entered the store for a cheap sandwich, chips and bottled drink.  She paid and left, before inspecting nearby rooftops.  She surmised that the roof of the convenience store would do, and looked around to make sure there was no one watching before she found a dark spot and lept to the roof of the store, seven meters straight up.  

Sitting on the concrete edge of the roof overlooking the city block around the Hakurei shrine, Kasen Ibaraki unpacked her dinner one handed and settled in for a watchful night.

Chapter Text

The beginning of the fashion show passed over Reimu in a haze, as the more intense lights and music threatened her with overstimulation.  She mostly leaned back in the chair and let the sashaying of the models and their fancy outfits entertain her. Meanwhile Marisa leaned forward, observing each model who walked down the runway with interest.  Izumi floated near the back of the space, not wanting to stand in the thick of the action where someone might walk through her.

Reimu found herself glancing over at Marisa, who had doffed her hat, seeing as they were in the front row.  Taking a private moment, Reimu noticed how Marisa had gotten a haircut and put on some gentle makeup for the event.  Marisa looked… charming was the word Reimu settled on.  Handsome, even, in her slick coat and gently feathered wavy blonde hair.  But the most attractive thing was her focus, her enthusiasm; not just for the show happening in front of them, but for the entire night.  For Reimu, who always struggled to motivate herself and sometimes had trouble finding the will to roll off her futon in the morning, Marisa’s boundless energy and ability to commit to something had always seemed like a magic power greater than any of her spells.

In a rare moment of introspection, Reimu realized just how much of her life was improved just by being around Marisa.  What might her life be like without her? A foreign feeling in her chest made Reimu abandon her train of thought and refocus on the show.

She recognized the name 'U.N. Owen' from an Agatha Christie story and had expected a murder-mystery theme to the clothes.  She supposed it was there... if you squinted.  The main theme seemed to be red outfits with colorful crystals or crystal motifs, from what she could see.  Various dresses in a western style with trimmings and accessories that recalled the rainbow crystals that she had noted hanging around what Reimu now suspected was not just a belt around Flandre's waist.  Viewing it through the lens of a mystery story, to Reimu the red was a murder with the refraction of the many differently colored crystals representing differing clues... or maybe suspects?  The symbolism of fashion was not exactly her forte. 

After the dresses there were multiple women in dark coats with strange, almost bondage-like articles of clothing, which to her mind seemed to indicate the investigators, each a different archetype.  From there the show shifted, to some strangely experimental pieces, including one with full rainbow crystalline wings before Chimata made her debut at the very end.

Flandre must have had a real eye for talent, because the Chimata that strutted down the runway in white boots with spotlights on her held a confidence in her walk that Reimu had not seen in their days together with the goddess.  She was still dressed in her white cape, which she had to imagine was improvised to be included, seeing as it preexisted the show, but underneath that was a slightly bulky dress...

Well, calling it a dress was generous.  It was a patchwork assembly of colored fabric from across the visible spectrum held together with buckles, zippers, cross stitching and safety pins.  It looked like a quilt, in a certain sense.  Reimu was about to make a comment on how this was not the thing to end the show on as Chimata approached the end of the runway when she suddenly grabbed the dress with both her hands and pulled it off.

Under the tearaway outer decoy was the real outfit: a shimmering coat of crystalline scales, glittering with iridescent spectra of light.  The intense stage lights shone bright, turning Chimata's dress of dragon-like scales into a shining diamond that glittered like her eyes.  Reimu could have sworn she heard a noise of surprise from the crowd, but it was hard to hear anything over the pounding bass of the event’s soundtrack.  She stopped at the end of the runway, struck an odd pose with her arms curved and her hands pointing up and down as the music reached a climax, then she turned with a swish of her cape and walked back up the runway, swinging the tearaway part of her outfit in one hand as she did.

The announcer signaled the end of the event, and Reimu and Marisa made their way to the dining area attached to the main hall.  Coming out of a lavish, gem-bedecked fashion show made everything look modest, but Reimu still recognized fancy decor when she saw it.  White faux-marble pillars along the walls with wide, flat chandeliers tucked into the ceiling along the length of the space gave the space a not-too-expensive look.  She was also eager to move on to the meal promised by the itinerary.

"It was definitely more interesting than I thought it would be," Reimu admitted, pouring herself a glass of ice water from the pitcher at their table.

"It was certainly a spectacle,” Izumi commented, standing behind one of the unoccupied chairs at the round table they were seated at.  

The server arrived and withdrew her notepad without blinking at their outfits or age, which was a point in the woman’s favor in Reimu’s mind.  “What will you two be having to end the night?” she asked.

“I’ll have… shrimp alfredo,” Marisa said after inspecting the menu as Reimu picked up hers.  It was much more legible than she expected.  Reimu had it in her head that the menu would be all in French with no pictures, but she was pleasantly surprised to find it very easy to navigate.   Nevertheless, she decided to get something relatively basic.

“If I could get the Kobe beef steak,” Reimu ordered. Basic, but still expensive.  “With… green beans and rice please.”  She’d had beef of that quality only once before, after Marisa had lucked into some. She was eager to try some prepared by someone with more culinary skill than Marisa.

The server jotted their orders down, but Marisa piped up before she could leave. “And a bottle of champagne please.”  The woman nodded her head again and turned to leave.

“And also a bottle of sake please,” Reimu added.  That did raise an eyebrow from the server, but she simply nodded and excused herself.

“I think she was on the verge of asking to see both your IDs,” Izumi commented, to a chuckle from all present. “The drinking age is still twenty, is it not?”

“What are you, a cop?” Marisa sniped, smiling.  “It is, but that’s hardly ever stopped me,” she continued as she reached for the bread available in the center of the table. “Only one more year of fake IDs for me.”

“I get alcohol as a gift so often at the shrine that I’ve never been short of something to drink,” Reimu added as she observed Marisa’s teacher and her friend at another table.  The suit-clad woman seemed to be dictating an exceptionally complex order to a harrowed-looking waiter.

“How did I fall in with such delinquents…” Izumi joked.

“So, I take it you’re abandoning the search for a rich, clueless mark?” Reimu asked with a slight smirk as soon as Marisa began to chew her bread and was unable to defend herself.

Izumi let out a snort as Marisa choked down her mouthful.  “That project is forever ongoing,” Marisa said before taking a swig of water to wash down the bread. “The hunt was not fruitful tonight but hope springs eternal.”

“Can you really see yourself just… milking one rich inheritor, Marisa?” Izumi asked. “I’d imagine you’d get bored.”

“Listen, much like my theoretical taste for champagne, my ability to sit on one con for amazing benefits is something I’ll only learn by doing,” Marisa explained, waving a hand in the air slowly, as if she was presenting evidence. “I mean, it’s not hard to see, is it?  Like, if someone offered to pay your way, you’d have to be very strange indeed to not consider it.”

“Very strange indeed…” Reimu echoed, Remilia’s offer coming to mind.  The fact that Reimu had turned down exactly the kind of deal Marisa wanted would probably infuriate her… or perhaps not.  From what she had described, Marisa imagined keeping her independence while draining the disposable funds of those who could afford it, not the deal with strings attached that Remilia had offered her.  Still, Reimu found herself staring down into her glass, wondering what could have been.

“Oh, I’m glad I caught you all before you got to drinking,” said a familiar voice at the other end of the table.  Reimu looked up to see Sakuya Izayoi join them, though the older woman stopped short of taking a seat and she simply gripped the back of the fourth chair, seeming to mirror Izumi. "I'm glad to tell you that Tenkyuu-san will have a place in Scarlet Styles and U.N. Owen.  She and Lady Flandre are currently fielding interviews together.  Tenkyuu-san said that you should enjoy your night and not wait for her.  We’ll contact you soon if she needs any further assistance."

Reimu and Marisa shared a glance before Reimu responded. "Glad to hear it's going well."

"Please enjoy your night," Sakuya said before turning to leave.

“Sakuya,” Marisa spoke up, halting the assistant in her tracks. “If you are free sometime soon there’s… something I want to talk to you about.”

Reimu had no luck deciphering the look on Sakuya’s face as she nodded and said, “I’ll check my schedule and text you soon,” before she left.

“Planning a secret rendezvous with Izayoi?” Izumi asked, leaning forward, eyebrows raised.

“There’s just something I want to square away and get off my chest,” Marisa said, dipping her slice of bread in olive oil.  Shortly afterwards their drinks arrived and they enjoyed their fine alcohol… mostly.  Marisa tried her champagne, only to make a face at it.

“Not to your taste?” Reimu asked as Marisa took another sip and made the same face.

“It’s so… sharp,” Marisa said, looking at that champagne flute in an almost accusatory manner. “And dry.”

“I really don’t know why you were so keen to try it when you don’t even like western wine,” Reimu said as she sipped her sake.  It was warm, sweet and very strong, which was not how she normally liked her alcohol, but she could enjoy it nonetheless.

“Because it’s not on my dime, so I have to get something expensive,” Marisa explained, downing the rest of her champagne and then pushing the bottle away.

“It’s like I’m twenty-two again, watching the younger office girls try beer for the first time,” Izumi said, amused.

“Hey, beer I get,” Marisa said as Reimu poured a second cup of sake and passed it over to her. “That stuff seems like all pomp and unneeded prestige for what is just fizzy white wine.”

“Congratulations Marisa, you finally understand the idea of a luxury good,” Reimu said as she refilled her own glass.

“Almost all alcohol is an acquired taste in my book,” Izumi said, staring at the champagne bottle.

They chatted amicably until their food arrived.  Reimu was honestly a little intimidated by the steak.  Ordering it on someone else’s dime was one thing, but actually having a single piece of food that normally cost as much as multiple weeks worth of her meals placed in front of her made her a little light-headed.  Nevertheless, she grabbed the steak knife and got to work as Marisa sprinkled more cheese on her pasta.  Reimu’s first bite banished her worries and made her night.  The steak was incredibly juicy and rich.  The outside was seared to perfection, with a red interior that told her that the chef made all the difference between this and every other steak she’d ever had.

As they ate, Izumi’s look turned from amusement to consternation as she watched the two of them make their ways through their meals.  Reimu decided to say something as she finished her green beans: “Do you still get hungry, Izumi?”

“Not traditionally,” Izumi said, shaking her head. “I can’t smell it, though I can imagine how good it all smells and tastes.  It’s more like… I miss it.”

“That sounds like hunger to me,” Marisa said with a mouthful of pasta.

“It’s not a desire, it’s a longing,” Izumi clarified. “I don’t just miss eating, I miss… getting hungry in a sense.”  

The night progressed as they enjoyed their meals and drinks.  As Reimu’s head began to buzz, they chatted about the show and tried to guess at the story behind it.  Marisa had interpreted it as a series of hunters trying to get the scales of a dragon only for the dragon to blind them all, which made Reimu reconsider her own view of what she had seen.  The night waned, and eventually Reimu realized that they were one of the last few parties still there, so they finished their drinks and let themselves be shown out back onto the street.

“My clothes are still at the bar over on Hanmahou,” Reimu said, pulling her white shawl tight against the late autumn night as they stepped out onto the street. “I’d rather walk home in my hoodie and normal shoes.”

“I’d like a place to change too,” Marisa replied as she followed Reimu.  They arrived at the bar about fifteen minutes later and Reimu changed in the bathroom while also collecting Chimata’s clothes.  She did her best to fold the red dress and stow the fancy sandals such that they wouldn’t end up a jumbled mess in the bag, but she knew it was a fool’s errand.  She walked out of the bathroom and Marisa ducked in immediately after her.

“That was mighty fine attire you and your friend were in.  I suppose you’re being recognized for your community service?” the old man who ran the bar asked Reimu as she pulled up a stool at the bar. “I’ve not seen you dressed that nice… well, ever, come to think of it.”

“Not quite,” Reimu said as he set a glass of beer in front of her without asking.  Reimu, never one to turn down donations, sipped it without objecting.  Reimu inspected the wall of liquor behind the bar as the old man attended to other customers.  Marisa emerged from the bathroom back in her ‘normal’ streetwear, fancy hat and  jacket nowhere to be found.  Reimu imagined that she probably had a hidden magic pocket in each of her coats, but she was too buzzed to really be bothered to ask as Marisa slid up next to her and ordered a pale ale after flashing her fake ID.

They drank together, chatting of everything and nothing as Izumi hung back, reluctant to interfere.

“Anyone new in your life since we last talked, Reimu-chan?” the old man asked as he refilled her beer.

“Too many people, to be honest,” Reimu replied.

“Anyone special?” he continued.

“They’re all special in their own way,” Reimu said before taking her glass and downing half of it to try and avoid the conversation.  The old man smirked and nodded before attending to a small party that had just walked in.

Marisa, too tipsy to take the hint, continued the questions. “Who would be special to you?”

“What?” Reimu asked with a hint of slur in her speech.

“Like… who would be actually special to you?” she asked. “Izumi and Sakuya and all them are… special but who would be ‘ special’ special to you?  What would your special someone look like?”

“That’s a question,” Reimu said, feeling her face flush from drink and embarrassment.

“Just like… a,” Marisa hiccuped. “A rough estimate.  Tall or short?”

“Um… short…er.  Shorter than me.  Or same height,” Reimu said, then downed the rest of her beer.

"I want someone tall," Marisa opined. "I like looking up and up to see a beautiful face.  Maybe they can even carry me... like a princess."

"That sounds... nice," Reimu said, her brain fogging over with intoxicants. "I don't really care what someone looks like."

"But okay..." Marisa began, raising a hand from the grip she had on her third glass of beer.  Her face was fully flushed as she continued: "Gun-to-head, the world will end and you gotta pick someone.  What do you want in this scenario?"

Reimu leaned back on the stool, her thoughts languid and slippery.  "I supposed... someone who understands easily," Reimu said. "I would want... to not have to explain myself.   Because I’m really bad at that."

Marisa said something that sounded like "Oh, is that all?" as she drank the rest of her glass and planted her forehead on the bar, her hat falling off to the side.  Reimu enjoyed the sour notes of her beer before Marisa whined a little and spoke into the bar counter top: “I don’t want to go home.  It’s a long walk and it's cold.”

Reimu smiled as she fished almost enough money to cover their drinks out of her wallet and slapped it down on the bar as she shouldered her bookbag full of clothes.  The old man smiled and nodded as he took her bills. “You’re free to crash at the shrine,” Reimu offered as she shook Marisa’s shoulder. “It’ll be just like old times.”

“Just… like old…” Marisa mumbled before she slid out of her seat.  She caught herself, but not before Reimu had grabbed her around the midsection.  Reimu kept a firm grip on her friend’s waist as she stood back up before Marisa looked up into her eyes.  Both their faces were flushed and their breath stank of a night's worth of alcohol, but Reimu could see herself reflected in Marisa’s eyes.

“Thanks,” Marisa managed to say as she leaned down to grab her hat and Reimu helped walk her out of the bar as she ignored Izumi’s cat-like grin.  As she steadied her companion on the cold walk home, she wondered what her future would hold.  Her mind tumbled through thoughts of Sakuya’s father and her mother’s relationship with Remilia.  She recalled the letter from ‘Y’ that her family had received and speculated as to who that person could be before she abandoned the train of thought and everything on it.  She half-recalled stories her mother had told her of their family and ancient heroes. She wondered what had happened to the white snake spirits that had suddenly disappeared.  

The darkness of the night seemed to cast the shrine in an ominous feeling, which did not help Reimu’s mood.  She slid the door open and set out the guest futon for Marisa to pass out on before she visited the toilet and crawled into her own bed.  Izumi made a comment, but Reimu was already too tired and drunk to hear it before she drifted off to sleep.

Outside, the pink-haired visitor recognized the walk of the drunk in the two girls stumbling back to the shrine from her perch on the top of the convenience store.  She smiled to herself and decided to wait until morning to pay a visit to the shrine.  She’d been gone for years, one more night couldn’t hurt.  She hopped down off the roof, disposed of her trash and wandered off to find a spot to rest until sunrise.

Sanae burst back into her apartment, hounded by one shadow and followed by another.

This was our one chance to subvert the Hakurei shrine! Kanako soundlessly shouted. And you lost your nerve!

Kanako, calm down, Suwako admonished her. We’ll have another chance.  There are other ways.

But none of them would punish Yakumo for her betrayal! Kanako replied. Her perfect little clan needs to be brought down.  And you squandered the perfect opportunity, girl.

Sanae felt her fear and trepidation turn to indignation in an instant as he rounded on the snake god.  Kanako’s shadow form was even taller than her, but regardless she marched right up to her and stared into the only visible feature: her red, vertically slitted eyes. “And what makes you so sure that Reimu’s family deserves that?  You’ve talked so much about this betrayal from this Yakumo person, but what does that have to do with the Hakurei shrine?”

They are her favorite tool, Kanako rebutted. If I will have my revenge, then it is only with the Hakurei that we can draw Yakumo out of whatever hole she has hidden in for the past sixty years.

Kanako, you have to be real with yourself: you don’t even know that what she did was intentional, Suwako said. When she first met with us about the idea of a ‘sanctuary dimension’ she explained the risks.  She told us the whole thing could backfire.  We explained that to everyone who took part.  That it did fall apart was not some scheme.

“Why are you so convinced that the accident was actually deliberate?” Sanae asked, her anger giving way to genuine curiosity. She chafed at Kanako’s heavy, tactless orders and one-track mind, but in truth she liked the goddess for being so focused.

A tense moment passed between Kanako and Sanae as they stared into each other's eyes, before Kanako broke the stare, floating away, her back to the other two as she looked out the apartment window, down at the dark street. Because I remember, she whispered.

I was there too, Suwako pointed out. I remember just as well-

No, you don’t, Kanako interrupted. I have a perfect memory of all I have seen and learned.  When we had flesh, we were subject to its failings.

What are you talking about, Kanako? Suwako asked, perplexed.

Tell me this, Suwako, Kanako said. What happened right as the ritual failed?  Can you remember what happened right before the explosion?

There was a heavy silence as Sanae looked between her two guardian goddesses.  Suwako’s yellow eyes eventually looked down and away. No. There’s a gap in my memory, Suwako admitted. I reawakened in this shadow form a few days later, trapped in this limbo between the real and the divine.

The trauma of a human brain and body being destroyed damages your memory, Kanako said. Nothing to be ashamed of.  But I remember exactly what happened. I can’t forget it, no matter how much I want to.  She turned back to address Sanae and Suwako. The ritual was going awry, and we were attempting to rectify it.  The spheres and membranes of reality were out of alignment.  The energy we had gathered was feeding back into itself with nowhere to go, because the calculations were off.  Then, right before it happened Yakumo vanished.

“Vanished?” Sanae asked.

She had spacial manipulation abilities.  She could move almost instantly from one place to another, Kanako explained as Suwako remained silent. She used them to help move the reagents and materials needed for the ritual.  But right as she should have suffered with us, she saved herself and herself alone.  She opened a gap in space and fled her duty.  Then the ritual overloaded and the explosion consumed us all.

There was a pause as Suwako and Sanae processed that information before Kanako continued. Most ghosts are hazy on the details of how they die, because the human mind is not built to retain that kind of information.  But my mind is not human, even as my body was.  Can you imagine what it’s like to have your flesh incinerated by the heat of Hell itself?  As the untethered energy overloaded it was right in front of us.  The blast liquified my body's organs and shattered every bone in my skeleton.  

Kanako… Suwako began.

Can you imagine how intense the pain is when you remain conscious through the whole thing?  She continued. Pain exists in the body and mind, so complete disintegration could not save me from it as my mind continued to reel from the disaster.  In the time it took for you to reassert yourself, Suwako, I suffered that last agony of obliteration for days before I could… master it.

I… I’m sorry Kanako, Suwako said, her soundless voice seeming to be filled with sudden regret to Sanae’s ear.  Sanae pondered Kanako’s scenario to herself: what would happen to a person who was agonizingly completely destroyed, but could not black out even in death?  Suddenly Kanako’s single-minded focus made a terrible amount of sense to Sanae. Why didn’t you… ever tell me? Suwako asked.

Because pain is not a contest, Kanako said. Because to tell you would only earn me pity, which I despise.  You are my partner, Suwako.  I would never needlessly burden you with knowledge of my suffering which neither of us could do anything to solve.  I tell you now because mastering that pain let me focus and learn what Yakumo was actually doing.

“What was that?” Sanae asked.

She talked frequently of the Hakurei clan, of her old friend Kaede and her little child Keiko, Kanako continued. She talked of how much history she had with that family, how much she loved them, how much they had helped her.  Why, then, did she not bring this family with her among all the other shamans, experts and mages she gathered from Tokyo?  It’s because she knew what was going to happen.  I asked her why she didn’t bring this family she loved so much in on her grandest project and she never answered me.  She always intended for the ritual to backfire and eliminate us, that’s why she kept her precious Hakurei family away.

“Slow down,” Sanae said. “If she wanted the explosion and death, why did she bring people from Tokyo, people she supposedly trusted to take part.  You said that a major portion of the people who died were from Tokyo.”

It’s simple: she was eliminating competition in the guise of being a savior, Kanako said. We were the two most powerful remaining Kunitsukami located closest to the Kanto region.  She decided to spin a tale of salvation from encroaching modernity.  That lure drew us and those she wanted to purge from Tokyo to our doom.

A shard of ice lodged itself in Sanae’s chest, chilling her to the core. “You… you can’t be serious?  You think someone caused the death of those they knew to… what? Create opportunities?”

It is a lesson that I should have learned sooner. Kanako said, her red eyes narrowing. But the exhaustion of the modernizing world made us weak.  I gave her my trust when all she deserved was suspicion.  I watched hundreds of minor Kami fade into nothingness across the centuries because they didn’t have the will to take what they needed.  That is what Yakumo understood about the modern world before any of us did: you need to strike first to secure your place in it.

“You can’t be serious…” Sanae said, her head spinning.  The gods really thought like that? She turned to the other goddess, suddenly uncomfortable in her white kosode robe.  “Suwako-sama… surely this Yakumo couldn’t…”

Suwako did not respond, her form at the far end of the apartment looking away from the conversation. Yukari Yakumo had a reputation for her maze-like mind, even then, she said.   She was an enigma.  She still is. We thought her brilliant for her idea of hidden realm, but we also never considered the possibility that we were being played.  We assumed that, as gods, we were beyond the schemes of a mere Youkai.

“So you… believe this?” Sanae asked. “That someone close to the Hakurei family sought you two out to eliminate you?”

I’m simply admitting that it’s… not impossible that the entire thing was a trap, Suwako continued in a measured tone. With Yakumo in hiding for decades there’s no way to know for certain.  But I have to concede the possibility.

Sanae turned away from Suwako, stunned at what she heard.  Was it really possible that Reimu-san was part of some vast conspiracy? “Even if that’s the case… Hakurei-san hasn’t done anything to you, or to me.”

That you know of, Kanako responded, drifting closer.

“No!” Sanae shot back, swiping in the air as if to shoot down the notion. “Hakurei-san and Marisa… they’re innocent.  If we’re going to do something, it can’t hurt them by doing something like taking over Hakurei’s shrine.”

Sanae and Kanako stared each other down for another long moment before Kanako continued. I do not trust easily, little one.  The last time I did resulted in the deaths of many of my worshipers and the near-destruction of my partner and I.  But… I trust you, Sanae-chan. Something softened in Kanako’s red, serpentine eyes. I watched you grow up, follow your passions and work to help your family.  I watched you learn the sting of betrayal.  I know you want to do right, but wanting it isn’t enough.  You need to take hold of the power to do so.

Power without compassion leads to cruelty, Suwako added from behind her. But morals without strength are useless.  We need both.

I trust that you will do the right thing, Sanae, Kanako said. 

Sanae paused for a long moment, considering her situation.  It was late and she was tired, but she needed to lay down what she expected in this bizarre godly extended family endeavor. “I will not endanger Marisa, Hakurei-san or anyone else as part of this ritual.  Is that understood?”

Kanako’s shadow closed her eyes and seemed to move to place a hand over her chest. You will not have to act against them, you have my word.  We will find another way.  Her eyes opened again, and her gaze seemed to pierce Sanae for a moment. But we are running out of time.  We need a new strategy.

There’s a few local legends and myths we can use to enhance the ritual, Suwako added. It will be necessary if the location is not the central spiritual spot in the city.

“So I need some kind of shrine, right?  There’s got to be an empty shrine somewhere in the city where we can do this, right?” Sanae said, pulling her robe off. “I’ll look into it tomorrow.  I’m tired and I need a shower.”  Sanae moved past Suwako as she approached her bathroom, stripping and hanging her blue and white miko outfit back on a hanger in her small closet.  As she approached the bathroom she noticed with some embarrassment that the front door of her apartment was ajar.  It must not have closed properly when she slammed it.  She pushed it shut before stepping into her bathroom and starting the shower.

The shadow of Suwako and Kanako remained outside, silently staring each other down, Suwako’s warning yellow eyes boring into Kanako’s daring red eyes.

The fox known as Tsukasa Kudamaki smiled as the door to the apartment closed.  She had heard more than enough.

From the moment she had found this 'Sanae' girl smelling of rural gods she knew she would be important, and she was glad to be proven right.  As she hurried out of the apartment complex, the tube-fox Youkai recorded all she had learned in the night of tailing the girl in her notebook: She was a living god or something close to it, uneasily working to incarnate two near-dead goddesses from somewhere else in Japan.  Tsukasa was familiar with this kind of ritual, so she knew exactly why they had almost defaced the Hakurei shrine.  Now the three were down a location, which would slow them down... if Tsukasa didn't know of a perfect spot for them.

This was not the kind of opportunity Tsukasa had been looking for, but she would seize it nonetheless.  If she helped these three, there would be a sudden shift in the playing field of Gensokyo, both in the open politics and the hidden layer beneath.  It would be chaos.

And chaos is where she thrived.

Tsukasa began to mentally catalog everything she knew about the abandoned shrine and the surrounding area.  She'd get everything printed, slip it to the girl and her gods soon, then watch things unfold.  And when her employers scrambled for information on the new presence in Gensokyo, who would they turn to for that information?

Tsukasa couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she pulled her hood down and made her way back to her home base, more plans already forming in her mind.

Chapter Text

"Are we boring you, Byakuren?" asked Masao.

Byakuren blinked, returning her attention to the rest of the group. The Circle of Sages met around the sealed Saigyou Ayakashi every few months, but their matters of the material world had failed to hold her interest of late. It was something of a sore spot for Byakuren, this cloud of disinterest that had hung over her these past months. Perhaps it was the growing nationalistic militarism, or the news of overseas conflicts and whispers of annexation, but Byakuren found both serenity and focus difficult to come by. The sense of the country growing unbalanced had only grown in the last few years as they entered the "twentieth century" by Western reckoning. She wished Toramaru-san had still been in Tokyo, but the tiger-woman had left to attend to matters in the north.

"I apologize," Byakuren said, looking up at her compatriots. "Please continue."

"Byakuren-san has a lot on her mind," Yuyuko said, ghostly form resting on a knotted root of the great tree. Her pastel blue outline stood out against the dark wood.

"We all have quite a bit on our minds," Fumiko Hakurei said, her arms folded. She was not dressed in a miko's robes anymore, but a plain kimono. "And we are here to discuss it."

"Yes," Byakuren said, conceding to the other humans at the meeting. "Please continue with your report, Masao."

The short man was one of a pair of siblings that served as the latest attendants of Matara-jin. His balding head was hidden under a black folded eboshi hat. He smoothed the folds of his green robe and tabard, then nodded. "As I was saying, the tengu scouts in cities across the country are not just envoys looking to trade. A trusted contact reported to us that an entire clan has settled in Kyoto. They are looking to invade the human world."

"Hold on there," the Horned Sage spoke up, raising a hand as if to halt the conversation. "Saying they're invading is almost slander." She was a tall, strong-looking woman with long magenta hair that flowed freely down to her waist. Her oni heritage was apparent by the two spike-like horns that protruded from her head like her kinswoman Suika. Her flower-patterned tabard lent her a sense of serenity that offset her powerful build. "I spoke with old man Shameimaru, and he's looking to move his clan into Tokyo to live amongst the humans. They don't desire conquest, but cohabitation."

"And I suppose we're just supposed to forget about all their misdeeds against humanity?" Masao asked, eyebrows raised in his version of a sneer. "Let the wolves mingle with the sheep because they claimed to come in peace?"

"You're acting like humans haven't done worse to each other," Fumiko jabbed, her dark eyes ringed by darker circles. She was now in her late forties and was showing her age. Her daughter acted as the Hakurei miko in most capacities, but she still attended these meetings in her stead. “I don’t think they will do much harm.”

“You’ve not met many tengu, Hakurei-san,” Yuyuko said. “They are devious and stubborn.”

“So are humans,” Fumiko shot back.

“The simple fact is that humanity is likely a larger danger to them than they are to it,” said Yukari Yakumo, speaking up for the first time. A practiced and cool smile was spread across her lips, but Byakuren could see that it did not reach her eyes. She appeared to be a woman in her late thirties or early forties with pale skin and long blonde hair tied with odd ribbons at the end. She was clad in a purple western dress and carried a pink parasol lined with frills despite such feminine western clothing declining as a style as the Meiji years wore on. “The weapons humans are making now far outstrip anything the tengu or the kappa could create.”

“Kappa have been seen in the new sewers,” Fumiko said, considering. “Are they looking for the same thing?”

“Faith is receding as humans provide for themselves and believe in their own power,” Yukari responded, her gaze pointed at Masao as he stroked his chin. “It does not behoove us to act as strangers or enemies when we have a common interest in survival.”

“A carnivore’s survival comes at the expense of others’,” Yuyuko said, floating down from the gnarled root.

“Humans are omnivorous,” Yukari countered, raising a plaintive hand. “Perhaps that can be taught. Regardless, an offer of integration should be made with all who wish to emigrate to Tokyo. In meeting to negotiate, we can help to ascertain their true motives.”

The ageless youkai looked around at the other five, though she did not pause to make eye contact with Yuyuko.

Byakuren adjusted her robe and kesa shawl. “I suppose it is better to meet them in honest conversation,” she said, trying to voice a general confidence in friendly relations. “In showing kindness first, perhaps we can forge the first step in a pathway of peace.”

“I’m… not enthusiastic about this plan,” Fumiko said. “But it’s better than trying to keep them away by force.”

Eyes turned to Masao, who simply muttered his default response: “I must consult with the wisdom of Matara-jin before committing to a course of action.”

“Then it is decided,” Yukari said with a hint of sarcasm, her gaze sliding past Yuyuko, who was just shy of a furrowed brow, to look at the Horned Sage, who understood her meaning.

“I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting with one of Lord Tenma’s lot,” the Sage said. “Shameimaru-san is usually pretty responsive about this kind of thing.”

“He should be,” Masao said. “His clan placed him here as a punishment. He’ll jump at a chance to prove his worth.”

“Then we will see what tidings he shall bring,” Yukari said, looking around at her companions, her mood a familiar one of getting her way without much effort. “We shall see each other again when we receive an answer.” With that she gave a bow and stepped away. Space folded around her, and she vanished with barely a whisper. Likewise, Masao nodded to the group and stepped away through the door he had arrived by. The green door was attached to no wall and stood freely in the middle of the courtyard. After Masao closed it behind himself the portal shrank away into nothing.

“Neither of them seem capable of just walking anywhere, do they?” Fumiko asked, her manner even more tired than before. She said her goodbyes and left the manor as Yuyuko faded away.

“What troubles you still, oh friend?” the Horned Sage asked as Byakuren found herself staring at the dead branches of the demon tree crisscrossing against the blue sky.

“Much,” Byakuren said. “I feel my faith waning in light of recent events.”

“Such a thing is to be expected,” the Sage responded. They stood a moment more before Byakuren walked about the grass of the courtyard, towards the ringed staff that still jutted from between the roots of the tree. Centuries ago, she had killed an innocent woman at her own request as part of a ritual to seal the tree. She touched one of the rings as she contemplated how that woman’s soul was now trapped, entwined with the tree, forbidden from the cycle of rebirth. It had all been for the best and Byakuren had been assured by all that the deed was for the greater good. Even Yuyuko assured her she felt no ill will or regret in her own death, but the deed weighed heavy on her heart even now.

“I find myself contemplating history recently,” Byakuren said at length.

“We’ve seen a fair amount of it,” the Sage responded. “Both the human and youkai histories. What about it holds your attention now?” 

“Gods and those like them may have their say on how the world changes, but I find myself contemplating what humans of the past might say today,” Byakuren said. “I think of Prince Shotoku, who spread Buddhism across this land and helped organize the government…”

 “Yet he always respected the traditions of the kami,” the Sage interjected.

“True. But he passed away centuries before I was born,” Byakuren said. “If he had chosen or discovered the gift of extended life in service of the Buddha as I did, then what might he have done that I could not? What would our world be like?”

“I’m sure he would not dwell on such alternate pasts and presents as you do now,” the Horned Sage said, her voice a touch darker as her expression turned inquisitive. Byakuren watched her move closer in the distorted reflections on her old staff. “You want to ask me something. What is it?”

“I have questions that I cannot find answers to,” Byakuren said, turning back to her friend. “The more I learn the more I realize I do not know. The answers to my questions are not in Japan. I want… to travel. To leave and seek the lands of the Buddha and beyond. See this Western world that has ensnared the hearts of so many.”

“And you wished for my opinion first?” the Sage asked, a gentle smile slowly spreading across her face. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to leave, Byakuren.”

“But to disappear would be unkind,” Byakuren said. “And I have duties to attend to here.”

“We can all tell that something’s been off, Byakuren,” she said. “If you need to head to India to learn more, then you should go.” Byakuren was quiet for a moment and the Horned Sage continued. “Ask Ichirin what she thinks. Ask Toramaru-san when she gets back. If you need to take a year to two to travel the world, I’d say a pilgrimage is long overdue.”

Byakuren considered the matter for a long moment. Despite the mixed feeling in her heart, truly this was good news; after all, one needed to learn and master oneself before they could aid others. “Thank you for the advice,” Byakuren said. “I will consult with my allies and return with my decision.”

The Sage smiled, a bit of oni’s pride glinting in her eye. “You’re more important than you know to all of us, Byakuren. But if you need to learn, then we’ll be fine without you for a while. I’m sure you’ll have lots to share with us when you get back.”

Byakuren smiled at the bitter irony of it all. She’d arrived back with less than a decade’s experience after a century and had no one to share it with. Not for the first time, she wondered if the Horned Sage had been struck down in her search for Byakuren or if she had met with some other fate along the road. She had yet to return by both Yuyuko’s and Okina’s accounts, so death or sealing seemed like the most likely explanations. Despite needing to stay focused, Byakuren’s thoughts dwelled on her old friend again.

A thousand years of training and you’re still a novice, a voice whispered in her mind, a long-suppressed shadow of self-doubt rearing its head. She sat alone in the office of the temple, a small side room that housed the records of the temple and its staff. She sorted recent requests to use the building behind a cheap desk, feeling that as founder of the temple she should learn the administrivia of running it.

The door opened and Ichirin entered, still dressed in the navy robes for the last service of the day. "I thought I might find you here," she said, her voice weary. "You don't need to sort through the daily paperwork, Byakuren-sama."

"But doing so will give me a better grasp of the reality of the temple," Byakuren said. "Ibuki-san offered her aid, but I would like to know the state of the building that bears my brother's name. I spent the last year learning: learning the state of the world and the history that transpired while I was sealed. Now I wish to learn of my homeland again." Ichirin nodded slowly, her attention not fully present. "As a matter of fact," Byakuren continued, looking at a newspaper clipping attached to the whiteboard calendar, “How is it that I came to be referred to as ‘Saint’ Byakuren? No one ever called me by that title before I left.”

“It crept in as you were mythologized,” Ichrin said with a smirk, sitting down in the other chair. “After about fifty or so years it started to become more common, and I couldn’t very well say ‘no, she always called herself a student not a master, I knew her.’ Though, it became truly widespread and accepted in the late eighties when the Kamitsumiya affair happened.”

“I’m not familiar,” Byakuren said, raising an eyebrow.

“I supposed it’s minor history,” Ichirin said, pulling her headscarf off and running her hands through her faded pastel hair. “There was a politician in the late 1980s by the name of Kamitsumiya, who was a big champion of religious rights and tolerance. She was apparently a Buddhist, and she visited the shrine once and wanted to… promote you to the status of a true saint.”

“That’s… quite an honor,” Byakuren said, leaning back and imagining returning to find a golden statue of herself at the back of the temple. “But clearly something happened.”

“Yes,” Ichirin said. “What happened was the woman had a nervous breakdown and started claiming to be the reincarnation of Prince Shotoku, come to save Japan.”

That caught Byakuren by surprise, despite recognizing the woman’s family name as one of the names the Crown Prince had been given. “Oh?” was all Byakuren said.

“After a few months of public backlash her family managed to get her to bow out of the political world and she passed away soon after,” Ichirin continued. “Some said it was all the same thing: a mental breakdown from stress which also triggered a heart attack shortly after. Her daughter has visited once or twice since then and donated to the temple as an apology.”

“Interesting.” Byakuren processed that information, turning it over in her mind. There were a dozen ways she could interpret that, but one possibility pricked at her senses, begging to be considered. But that was something to be planned later. Her talk with Okina had cleared up much, but she still had matters to attend to.

“Shall I begin dinner?” Ichirin asked, standing from the chair and checking the time.

“I think that would be appropriate,” Byakuren said, standing to follow and placing her larger plans on hold for the night.

“Reimu, it’s morning,” the priestess heard Izumi say, which was confirmed by the dull throb in her head. The symptoms of a light hangover rendered the ghost’s voice uncomfortably grating in her ears, so Reimu turned over and tried to get back to sleep, but the ache all over her body immediately halted that line of inaction. After suffering for a moment and some light nagging from Izumi, Reimu hauled herself out of bed and threw on something comfortable. As she trudged through the too-bright living room she spotted Marisa curled up in a ball, desperately trying not to exist beneath her blanket, coat and hat.

Reimu retrieved the supplies for a modest breakfast of eggs and rice and set a glass of water before Marisa on the table to coax her out of her cocoon. Eventually, they were talking amicably but softly.

"It's been a while since I got that drunk," Marisa said hoarsely as she slowly drank her water. Reimu was still frying eggs and could barely make out her speech over the sizzling in the frying pan.

"You two are still teenagers; just how often do you drink?" Izumi said, a note of worry in her voice that sounded a tad performative to Reimu's ear.

"Together? Not in many months," Marisa said as Reimu plated the eggs and rice. "I have a beer or two every few days. Enchanting plastic jewelry is harder while tipsy, though dealing with certain… annoying people is much easier while buzzed." Reimu placed the late breakfast down in front of her friend, who responded with a quiet "Thank you." Reimu scooted herself in under the table and set to work on her own breakfast as the throbbing behind her eyes gradually lessened.

"At least we had fun last night," Marisa mumbled before shoveling eggs into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, then continued: "Or rather I had fun, I can never tell with you."

That gave Reimu pause. "What do you mean by that?"

"No matter if you're reading mysteries, doing your day job or watching a fashion show you always have this... focused expression on," Marisa said, then took a long sip of her water. "Like you're working on solving a puzzle."

Reimu blinked, processing that. "Maybe I am," she mumbled to herself as she focused her attention on her meal. "It's just what my face does when I'm thinking. We can't all be as cute as you are when you're concentrating."

Marisa smiled at that remark and color briefly returned to her cheeks, but the grin faded from her face as she looked down at her food, her expression darkening. Reimu almost heard her mutter "What are we even doing...?" to herself. 

Before Reimu could ask what she meant there was a knock at the front door. "I hope you two are recovered from last night," said a faintly familiar voice that Reimu had not heard in years. Marisa glanced up, her expression stuck somewhere between guilt and dread, and Izumi tilted her head curiously. Reimu carefully rose to her feet and walked over to the door before sliding it open.

On the other side stood an old ally of the Hakurei family: the wanderer who called herself Kasen Ibaraki. She was almost a whole head taller than Reimu, her olive drab trench coat hiding her solid frame. She wore her faded pink hair longer than the last time Reimu had seen her; it now tumbled past her shoulders, but she still had the same hairband over the crown of her skull to keep her hair in place. Her thin frame hidden underneath her coat belied her tremendous strength, as Reimu could attest. Her mouth was already curled at the corner with slight amusement.

"Hello, Auntie Kasen," Reimu said, unsure how ironic she actually intended to be with the use of that decade-old nickname.

"Good to see you two again," Kasen said, stepping into the shrine as Reimu went to get a glass of water for her. She turned to close the door then, quickly pulled her coat off with one hand and hung it on the coat hooks by the door. Below it she wore an extra-long reddish-pink shirt and plaid pants with the right sleeve folded up over her residual limb. Reimu returned to the room to find Kasen taking a seat under the kotatsu opposite an even-more miserable-looking Marisa. Izumi observed the newcomer from a corner of the room, her expression one of now-familiar curiosity.

"Where have you been?" Reimu could not help but ask. "You've been gone for over a year."

"Almost two," croaked Marisa.

Reimu looked into Kasen's red-tinted eyes, knowing that they would get the same vague answer that they always got when they asked where the woman had been: "I've been traveling; searching," she said, proving Reimu's prediction correct with ease. The woman had been a family friend of the Hakurei for a generation or two who seemed to disappear for long stretches of time with little warning. Reimu had vague memories of being baby-sat by her on occasion. Surely she was some kind of youkai or non-human being for her to still look as she did after knowing Reimu’s grandmother in the 60s, but she was always evasive when asked, so Reimu had learned to stop asking long ago.

"We're not kids anymore, Kasen," Marisa managed to say. "What, are you off on the mainland or overseas for epic tales of debauchery and skullduggery? Just tell us."

"I know you're not children anymore, especially if the state you two came back in last night is any indication," Kasen said, the smirk not leaving her mouth but rather changing in character to be less friendly. "I hope whatever event you two went to was at least fun."

"It was," Marisa said, her face making the statement very hard to believe.

"Good, because while you were out and about someone tried something at the shrine," Kasen said, grin fully vanishing.

Reimu felt the temperature of the room drop with that comment, probably not from Izumi. Marisa's eyes cleared a little as she sat up straighter and propped her arms up on the table. "Tried what?" Reimu asked, working to process that. Real estate windbags had tried to deface the shrine before, with one extended episode of attempted public sabotage by a greedy construction mogul when Reimu had been fifteen, but Kasen’s demeanor told her that this was something new.

“I arrived back in Tokyo a day or so ago and intended to drop by and check up, but instead I found someone else at the shrine,” Kasen said. “A young woman was about to do something… transgressive to the shrine.”

“Young woman?” Marisa asked.

“Transgressive?” Reimu asked at almost the same time.

“She was dressed in a miko’s outfit, but with blue pants,” Kasen continued. “But the thing that told me no good would come of it was the aura around her. She approached the shrine while soaked in the feeling of foreign gods.”

“That sounds vaguely offensive,” Izumi commented from her corner as Kasen took a drink of water.

“And you think… what?” Reimu asked. “That she was going to damage the shrine?”

“Damage, deface, defile,” Kasen said, counting up to three on her hand after setting her glass down. “She was extremely evasive when I interrupted her. She had her hand on the front door and my instincts told me she was going to do something irreversible.”

“Okay, I suppose we should keep an eye out for this ne'er-do-well,” Marisa said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Got a description for us?”

Kasen hummed for a moment as she thought. “She was tall, perhaps as tall as me, with broad shoulders. I would say she looked like someone who was used to heavy work but her long, bright green hair seemed ill-suited for most kinds of labor.”

“Kochiya-san?” Izumi asked. 

Reimu and Marisa’s eyes snapped to meet each other. Marisa’s ill look changed from pained to pale as the color drained from her cheeks. “We’ll keep a look out for this person,” Reimu said evenly.

“Good to hear,” Kasen said, nodding. She finished her water and stood from the table. “I just stopped by to make sure that the shrine didn’t burn down again. I’ve got people and friends to catch up with. I’ll see you both again soon.”

“Are you going to stick around long this time?” Marisa asked. “Or are you going to head out in a month?”

Kasen said nothing as she took her coat from the hook and deftly pulled it on with one arm in a practiced motion. She paused for a moment longer, staring near the space that Izumi occupied, causing the ghost to back away through the wall.

“I’ve… been searching for something for many years,” Kasen said, her mood suddenly somber. “I believe it has recently arrived in Japan. So, yes, I think I will be staying for a while.” With that she left the shrine, closing the door behind her.

Silence filled the room as Izumi slowly slid back through the wall.

“I feel like my head’s going to split open,” Marisa said after a moment, her face now pressed against the tabletop. “And I can’t tell if it’s the hangover or someone trying to muck up the shrine or Kasen telling us anything about herself for the first time.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Reimu said, getting up to refill both their glasses.

“So, I’m behind," Izumi said. "Who was that woman that just visited you?”

"Kasen Ibaraki," Marisa said, rubbing her eyes. "Friend of the Hakurei family."

"Infrequent friend," Reimu added. "She's been around for decades, helped my mom and grandma with some family business. She visits every time she's in Tokyo, but she travels often."

"And a two-year trip is normal for her?" Izumi said.

"Technically it's something like twenty months or so," Marisa said, her eyes closed, mentally counting as Reimu set another glass of water in front of her. "That's a long time for her, but only a little more than most. What’s stranger is her giving any kind of reason for where she goes beyond very vague sentiment.”

“I’m more concerned with this apparent trespasser that appeared while we were out,” Reimu said as she sat down with a few rice crackers.

“It can’t be Sanae,” Marisa stated. “Why would she? Though…” She paused, then reconsidered. “Her hair has gotten really green… And she matched Kasen’s description in build. And she does know about the shrine.”

“There’s another thing: whoever it was picked a time when both of you would be preoccupied.” Izumi pointed out. “Who did you two tell about being out for that event beforehand?”

“No one,” Reimu said, debating possibilities in her head. She’d barely met the girl, but she seemed nice. Then again, Reimu had been in a bad mood and hadn’t been too observant. She had arrived in the last few months… and she was from the mountains of Nagano. A few points tenuously connected themselves in Reimu’s mind. It was far from a definitive connection, but could the white snakes be related…

“I asked a bunch of people,” Marisa said, ticking off fingers as she recounted. “Alice, Kamashirasawa-sensei, Nitori, Tsukumo-san…” She trailed off. “Although only when talking to Sanae did I mention you would also be there.”

“Maybe you should talk to her,” Izumi suggested. “Just ask her, clear this up.”

“I mean… that does make sense,” Marisa said. “But what do I even ask her in this situation?”

Reimu shrugged as she pulled the wrapper of a rice cracker apart. “Let’s see…” she pondered. “How about ‘Someone was skulking around my friend’s home last night. Did you have anything to do with that?’”

Marisa put her head in her hands, as Reimu heard a sigh from Izumi. “Why are you like this?” Marisa spoke into her hands, her voice of unclear sincerity in the question.

“It’s a simple question,” Reimu said before biting into her cracker.

“It’s also sus as hell!” Marisa said, her voice rising before she flinched then deflated, obviously still not feeling great. “I’ll… think of something better. I’m going to go to bathe and then sleep in my own bed.” She rose and began grabbing and putting on her coat. Her phone buzzed as she put her hat on. She withdrew it as she stepped into her boots and mumbled to herself: “Just what I need: an appointment tomorrow.”

Reimu saw Marisa off then leaned against the wall of the shrine, thinking. She had gotten a text from Rinnosuke about the snake spirits a few days ago, but with Chimata and the fashion event and having not seen the snakes in several weeks she had put it out of her mind until now.

As she sat down and flipped open her phone Izumi spoke up: “If Sanae did try to do something to the shrine, what would that mean?”

“A lot,” Reimu said, concentrating on typing her reply to Rinnosuke on the number pad. “My mom said this shrine is a vital part of Gensokyo, that allowing someone to harm it would spell disaster. Then again, I was also six, so who knows how true that is or if she was exaggerating. But still, this is my home, so I’m not going to take… whatever Kasen saw that person trying to do lying down. And besides, on the off chance it is Sanae…” Reimu stopped typing and thought for a moment. “I do trust Kasen’s instincts... but maybe there’s more to the story.”

Izumi nodded as Reimu finished her text and then got dressed for the day ahead, as she had duties that she could not neglect. She grabbed her broom and headed outside to sweep the leaves off the pathway to the shrine.

Chapter Text

Sanae tried to keep her head down as she waited for class. The sudden influx of weirdness into her life made her time spent attending college, cooking dinner and doing homework extra strange. She now sat in the most isolated corner of the library, trying to focus on getting her mock accounting spreadsheet homework that she had skipped finished before the class started. The shadows of Suwako and Kanako floated nearby. Sanae had been concerned that someone would be able to see the two shades, but no one had said anything to her in the few days she’d been aware of the two gods.

But then again, many people didn’t speak to her at all. It seemed to Sanae that the other students in the library were avoiding her table. She felt confident in saying that no one else could see the Kanako or Suwako, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feel them; feel their slightly overbearing aura or general power. Either that or whatever Asai had said was starting to get around. She’d emailed the Dean of Engineering about it, and he said that she was not to worry about it, but his power over what the student body said and thought about her was limited.

Sanae stared at her mostly-finished homework on her laptop, her eyes unfocused themselves from looking at the rows and columns of fictional accounting ledgers for so long that she had to shake her head and look over at her two goddesses, trying to take something like a break. “So, what is your exact goal, Kanako-sama?” she asked, her voice low. She hoped she would blend into the background murmuring of the library.

A return, the taller goddess responded. Our return to the flesh and the return of true godly powers. Such a thing would normally be impossible, but with a living goddess, the current metaphysical state of Tokyo and a carefully crafted ritual, it will be.

“So, I have powers?” Sanae asked, her mind beginning to wander.

Some, Suwako said. Your divine blood can grant you the ability to perform miracles. But without us, you will only be able to perform one or two before you exhaust that power.

“How so?” Sanae asked.

The power flows down the bloodline, Kanako said. Literally.

Without us being physically incarnated, you are relying on what power the Mishaguji could impart to you, Suwako said. 

With us present, the power flows from us to you, and you can use that power to strengthen our incarnations, Kanako said. Her eyes seemed to grow redder as she explained: We can change the shape of this city, of the entire Kanto region, perhaps all of Japan if we work together. We can be like the gods of old.

"Not exactly encouraging..." Sanae muttered, but she found herself possessed by a vision of herself raining lightning down upon powerless mortals. It was as thrilling an idea as it was disturbing.

You are reluctant to embrace this power, Kanako said. No doubt the parables and moral tales of the modern world warn against 'playing god.' But this is not play; this is real. You can change the world. Together, all of us can change what we hate and champion what we believe is right. 

Sanae nodded, trying to untangle the knot of feelings Kanako had brushed against. Certainly, there was injustice and cruelty she wanted to put to a stop, but she knew that no matter what Kanako might say, such things came with a price.

"When do we have to do this?" Sanae asked.

Two days from now, Suwako explained. Normally such a ritual would be performed under a full moon, but we do not have time for that. The next best thing is the new moon, which is in two days’ nights.

In the empty moon we shall find power, Kanako said, her mental voice growing an odd edge. In the blindspot of Tsukuyomi, all manner of impossible things can happen.

Sanae was distracted as her phone buzzed. She picked it up to find a message from Marisa.

TheMagicDrizzle: hey there

TheMagicDrizzle: you free sometime soon?

TheMagicDrizzle: something weird happened at reimu's shrine and I want to talk to you about it

Sanae contemplated the message as Suwako and Kanako quietly debated the finer details of the ritual. Had the one-armed stranger told them about her? If so, they were probably suspicious, or at least uneasy. Sanae contemplated for a moment, then made a decision. If all went well, she'd be able to speak freely and openly with Marisa by the end of the week. She'd apparently have the power of the gods on her side, so that seemed like a good time to meet Marisa and possibly Reimu to sort out what they knew. She'd clear everything up then: what happened with Asai, the gods and this Yakumo character that Kanako was fixated on.

Sanae tapped out a reply that wasn't technically a lie:

Lightning_Makoto_12: I'm really busy with double exams this week, but I'm free to meet and chat this weekend.

Sanae didn't wait for a reply, as she glanced at the time and realized she was almost late for her class. She gathered up her laptop, notebooks and bags, ignoring the continued plans from Kanako and Suwako.

She had known she'd be busy settling into a new city to study at college, but with divine duty was turning out to be more than she bargained for.

"The question I keep coming back to is: 'why?'" Izumi said.

Reimu wove her way through the morning rush. She was wrapped warmly in her jacket and scarf, trying to endure the hustle and bustle as she crossed the street. "Why would Sanae do that?" Reimu reflected. "If it is her and she is connected to the snakes, then the timeline would make sense. It would also mean that she's a priest or channeler of a god or something like one," Reimu said, her voice almost drowned out by the noise of traffic. "Witting or unwitting; willing or unwilling. It's something to consider when we meet with her."

"I'm having trouble imagining an 'unwilling' or 'unwitting' priest," Izumi said, numerous pedestrians stepping straight through her and shivering as they did. She normally tried to avoid such a thing, but on shoulder-to-shoulder sidewalks like this it was impossible.

"'Unwitting' is possible," Reimu said. "Marisa was just part of such a thing."

"Right, that business with Chimata."

"As for 'unwilling'... well, Youen certainly did not want to do what she did, but she was forced to," Reimu said, her eyes narrowing. "The gods are not above threats and such to get their work done."

Izumi nodded, worry beginning to crease her brow. "Considering the state of Chimata when she was found, coercing or co-opting someone like you imagined doesn't seem like a very well thought-out plan of... whoever."

"Plans don't have to be good to cause a lot of damage and headache," Reimu countered.

They turned together off the busy main street and made their way to Kourindou. As Reimu entered and cast her jacket onto the coat rack, she was surprised to find that not only was the shop not empty, but she also recognized both of the other customers in the shop. Youmu was browsing some of the shelves, obviously trying to occupy herself as she waited. The other person was speaking to Rinnosuke over the counter in hushed tones, and it was not immediately obvious who it was. But as the person at the counter turned to look at who had entered the shop Reimu recognized Aya Shamemaru, sporting a slightly different look than normal, with a patterned coat and her hair cut even shorter than normal in a sharp bob. She and Rinnosuke both gave a wave to Reimu and Izumi, then returned to their quiet conversation.

Reimu sensed the air of the room and moved to catch up with Youmu rather than interrupt whatever Rinnosuke and Aya were near-whispering about.

"Hello, Hakurei-san, Fukuda-san," Youmu said, nodding as she set a hollow, polyhedral artifact back on the shelf. Her now completely white hair was carefully combed, and her green hoodie still had flecks of dirt on it from whatever she had been doing previously.

"Good you see you again, Konpaku-chan," Izumi said.

"Everything going well?" Reimu asked, to which Youmu made a face that even Reimu could tell was not going well. 

"I've actually been wanting to talk to you," Youmu said, brushing past that question. "I wanted to thank you for letting me handle the maintenance of that manor. Saigyouji-sama," she stopped and blushed before continuing, "I mean, Saigyouji-san has been a big help for me, and I think I've helped her."

Reimu was initially silent, as she didn't quite know what to say. "Uh-you're welcome," she blurted as she felt a chill down her spine from Izumi covertly jabbing her in the back. "I suppose that's alright. As long as it stays sealed and safe."

"Were you looking to speak with Morichika-san?" Izumi asked.

"I was just looking for some advice," Youmu said. "It's about... well, me. Ever since... that night I've found I can do things I couldn't before. It's not just seeing spirits now."

"What kind of things?" Reimu asked, her eyebrow creeping up.

"I can wield a sword," Youmu said, her voice lowering. "Like it's second nature. Like Youen did. I can remember things she did, and sometimes..." she paused, then shook her head, dismissing her last point.