Fushigi Yuugi and all characters are property of Watase Yuu.
Please do not repost this fanfiction without permission.

"Taka and I are going to the movie tonight," Miaka said, "if you've changed your mind."

Yui glanced out the window, at the early summer sun slanting through the trees and the rings of black smoke from the 18-wheeler roaring by on the new freeway by the school. "It's no wonder they're sending out alerts for global warming," she muttered.

"Yui-chan!"

"Can't," she said automatically, reaching for her books. "I need to run some errands for mom after English club, and then I have tutoring."

"Two tickets," Miaka said, ignoring her, dropping the colorful, glossy scraps of paper on her desk. "Bring Tetsuya if you want."

"We're not dating-" She blinked as one small hand darted in and caught hold of hers. "Miaka, I really am too busy to-"

"You take care of yourself, Yui-chan. OK?"

Yui blinked again, but Miaka smiled at her and released her hand with a laugh. "We'll be at Ikebukuro station, east entrance, seven o' clock if you change your mind. Give me a call or something if you'll be bringing Tetsuya and I'll tell Taka to be on his best behavior."

"Thanks," Yui said simply, and Miaka gave her a wave, disappearing around the doorframe like a tiny typhoon. The 18-wheeler had long gone when she turned to look out the window again, replaced by a motorcycle gang and three trucks that looked like they had seen better days.

There was a slight breeze cutting through the thick Tokyo summer humidity outside, and she shed her blazer as she left the school grounds, loosening her hair from its tight ponytail and fastening it against the nape of her neck. The train was packed, but she didn't mind so much, staking out a small corner by the door. A few older ladies shuffled on, a few schoolboys she didn't know shuffled off. The sun was setting.

At the next station she was watching the doors shut absently when she felt something fluttering around her face. She waved one hand to brush it away, assuming it was a fly or mosquito of some sort, or one of those ugly long-legged bugs that always made Miaka scream and dash into the next room, yelling Kill it, Yui-chan, kill it!

As she lowered her hand, she saw with a start that a blue butterfly had alighted on her fourth finger.

She held her breath, but it did not stir, simply perched there as if it was the most natural thing in the world. None of the other passengers seemed to notice, not even the businessman leaning heavily against the railing beside her, eyes drifting closed and jerking open as the train rocked from side to side. The butterfly's antennae twitched slightly, but the beautiful blue wings stayed perfectly still.

"Ochanomizu," the conductor drawled over the intercom, muffled by the scuffling of shoes on the train floor, the zipping and unzipping of bags. "Ochanomizu. Doors open on the right."

The butterfly stirred as the doors creaked open, and Yui watched it breathlessly for a moment before it leapt lightly from her finger and fluttered through the doors. Follow it! her brain screamed, but the practical part that seemed to be more Hongou Yui than the rest of her said, don't be an idiot.

"Doors are now closing," the pleasant recorded voice said, and she shoved the practical part aside, grabbed her bag, shoved through the doors as they slammed shut.

The outside of the station was bland, nondescript, a few streets of shops. She'd never been to this part of town. The sun seemed hotter here. She shifted her blazer to her other arm, slung her bag from her shoulder, and wondered if she should just get back on the train when something fluttered past her and she turned to watch the butterfly hovering in the air.

"Lead on," she said to it, feeling slightly foolish.

The butterfly hovered a second more, then beat its wings in a flurry of motion, launching itself down a side street to the left. Yui bit her lip and broke into a slight jog, barely following the jeweled wings in the glare of the almost setting sun. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. The sound startled her and she did not see the broken tile, caught her foot and stumbled, catching herself in time as her bag broke her fall.

When she looked up, the butterfly was gone.

"Great, Yui," she grimaced. Nothing seemed broken, though she might have a good bruise on her knee for the next week, from the look of things. The dog barked again, sounding closer, and as she pushed herself to her feet she saw it trotting toward her.

It was a large dog, larger than any dog she'd seen in the city in a long time, white-furred with a coat much too thick for the Tokyo summer heat. The snout, she saw as it came nearer, did not quite look like that of a domesticated dog, not anything like the poodles or labradors popular among the upper-class. In fact, it looked quite like-

It stopped in front of her, huge and white and sleek, its single yellow wolf-eye gazing up at her perfectly serene and knowing, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The scar over where its other eye should have been was vividly red and raised.

"Hello," Yui said. The word sounded foolish in her own ears.

The wolf-dog rumbled low in its throat, then turned its back and began padding away silently. There did not seem to be any choice, so she followed it.

The road curved to the right, widened, then narrowed. The houses and shops along its sides were silent, hidden behind elegantly pruned shrubs and high, forbidding gates. She followed the wolf-dog past a stop sign, as the road wound up a hill, then down again, passed a tiny park and then ended at the gate of a small temple.

The wolf-dog stopped and she stopped too. It looked expectantly at her and she at it, and as they stared at each other, the breeze picked up and she heard faintly the sound of flute music.

Her skin prickled and she turned to go in, turned around again, wanting to say something, though she didn't know what. But the wolf-dog was not there, and the flute music drifted faintly to her again on the wind.

She jogged through the grounds, feeling a bit sacreligeous, but there was really no point in dwelling on that now. She saw him on a bench at the far side of the outlying buildings, his back to her, the familiar reed flute lifted to his lips, and she knew it was him although his clothing was no longer the clothing of Sairou and she could not see his face. Slowing to a walk as she drew near, she tried to make her footfalls as quiet as possible, but the music stopped as she reached the bench, and he put his flute down gently on his knee. She sat down beside him.

Neither of them said anything, watching the sun setting behind the trees, huge and orange-red so it looked like everything was on fire. When Yui finally turned to him, she saw he was already looking at her, the beautiful, familiar eyes full of the words he could not say.

"Kaika-" she said, then stopped, choked, not sure if that was even right. He caught hold of her hand.

"You came back," he said, and smiled.

That book wasn't evil.
It was the most wonderful story I have ever read.

19 July 2006