Disclaimer: a) I don't own Rurouni Kenshin. The rights to it belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Sony and others I don't remember right now.

b) The quotes I'm using at the beginning of each chapter are from William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, and sorry about the delay! Sorry too that I don't answer each review properly, but I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as possible. :) Feedback is very welcome.

Saitou's in this chapter, and he will be in the next one too, in that one along with Tokio. Just thought I'd mention it.

Shameless plug No.2: If anyone would like to take a look at Chibi Battousai, go to . I'd love feedback on that too. ;)

~ Waiting For Hiko ~

- Chapter 3: Progeny Of Evils-

And this same progeny of evils comes

From our debate, from our dissension;

We are their parents and original.

At first, Hiko Seijuro the Thirteenth didn't react in any discernible way as he stepped out into the garden and saw Kenshin and Aoshi at each other's throats, thankfully without weapons. Sanosuke was complaining loudly about being left out, Yahiko was lying spread-eagled in the grass, seemingly unconscious, and the Kamiya girl was wringing her hands, pale as a sheet.

He walked towards the combatants, taking a moment to squeeze Kaoru's shoulder reassuringly.

"What do you think you're doing, baka deshi?" he inquired mildly.

Kenshin stopped in mid-lunge, turning an insolent golden gaze on his shishou. "Staking a claim," he announced. "Kaoru is mine."

"So she's property now," Hiko remarked. "How convenient."

In the background someone yelped.

"Misao, let go!" The unnaturally high, terrified tones obviously belonged to Sanosuke.

"I can't! You're just soooo damn sexy!"

Another yelp followed by a brief struggle.

"Let go dammit!"

"You impertinent child!"

"Aw Megumi, shut up already! If Sano'd wanted a hag, he'd have made a move on you already, don't you think?"

Shaking his head, Hiko turned back to his former apprentice, who was squeezing Aoshi's throat in what had to be a rather painful way.

"Let him go, Kenshin," he muttered.

"No! He touched Kaoru. No one touches Kaoru like that and lives!"

Aoshi gurgled something.

Hiko sighed. "Oh, all right then," he said. His eyes narrowed, suddenly aglow with cold, green fire. His hand encompassed the garden in one careless wave.

"SLEEP," he murmured.

After one last glance at the motionless figures on the ground he turned towards the trees.

"Come," he called. "And next time, call me earlier."

With that he walked inside, and the fireflies followed.

~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~~

"Found anything, Kamichi?"

"No, master. Not even a trace anywhere in the house."

Hiko frowned. The spell was brilliantly executed -- only the barest hint of magic, weaving a delicate web, which, so far he could see, encompassed the whole of the Aoiya, leaving the rest of the city untouched. But there was not one magical or enchanted object in the whole house, and the people themselves were untouched.

The spell was also utterly neutral and almost impossible to trace. Still, there was something he'd recognized immediately in the very subtlety of the cast, the way the strands were woven, with all the tensile strength and deceptive frailty of a spider's web. He'd seen that weave before, if only in a long buried memory.

And he didn't believe in coincidences.

Thin, squeaky noises sliced through the air. Azami shivered and covered her sensitive ears.

Hiko rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "As long as the spell is not tied to any object, it's not easy to counter-- Mustardseed, will you stop blowing that damn pipe!"

The elf put the pipe down, which still left him with a lighted cigar in the other corner of his mouth. "I was aiming for atmosphere," he said reproachfully.

"Brilliantly done if you were aiming for a torture chamber. Complete with cats in heat," commented Hiko dryly.

Mustardseed sulked.

"And where's Yumi?"

Something like a grin lit up the elf's morose features. "Late -- as usual. Probably got lost on the way or something, master. You know how she is."

Hiko watched him through narrowed eyes. "Do I, really," he murmured. "I wonder . . ."

~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~~

Travellers on the mountain road to Kyoto -- had there been any at that hour -- would have been surprised to see a slender young woman stumbling along the dusty path struggling with a sack about twice as large as she was. Especially since the contents made those dull noises usually associated with pottery banging together.

They would have been even more surprised if they could have heard her thoughts, which went like this: Damn stupid little chain-smoking drunkard! I wonder if appearing stupid is worth all this crap . . .

~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~~

Hiko rose, frowning. "Go," he said. "Search the city. Try to find out where this is coming from, but be subtle about it. You know what the word means, don't you, Mustardseed?"

"Aye sire."

"Very good. Try not to forget again, will you? That applies to all of you."

"Yes master," chorused the spirits.

"And be back by sunrise."

They flew off, leaving their king to the darkness of his thoughts. Fireflies rained in their wake, scattering sparks and magic throughout the city, and strands of magic so thin they were almost invisible.

The web expanded . . .

~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~~

Yoko Fuchida swatted at the air with a piece of cloth, then slid the shoji screen firmly shut. Damn fireflies.

Then she turned to her husband, who was turning out to be just as annoying as the stupid bugs, if not more. "You don't really want to go to bed with that stupid sheet of paper?"

He frowned, but didn't look up from the drawing he was holding -- cradling, rather. "You don't know what you are talking about, woman. My goddess is perfect. Sublime."

"You goddess is going to land in the trash if you keep acting crazy like that. Now come to bed."

The man caressed the picture lovingly. "I'm quite all right here, thank you very much."

Yoko frowned. This was going too far. Kami knew she was a hard-working woman, and she didn't expect much. But there were a few things she did expect, and this was one of them. He hadn't been complaining so far either; actually, he'd seemed rather content. She made almost as much money as Sae-san, and she was much prettier.

Well, Hasegawa Akira was a gifted artist, and his pictures cost a lot of money . . . but that rapt expression on her husband's face was ridiculous.

"Will you come to bed," she demanded in her sternest tones.

"Go away, ugly," he muttered morosely.

That was it. She took hold of the paper and tugged. His fingers tightened instinctively around his half, and there was a loud tearing sound.

His expression of rapt adoration slowly transformed into one of utter horror. It didn't stop at horror though. It only sort of glided through, and emerged into a stony cast of features that was rather frightening in its utter lack of expression.

"Really, Minoru, there's no call to be like--"

He didn't answer her. Sliding the doors aside with care, he made his way to the spotless room where the kitchen appliances were held. There was a little rummaging, and he emerged wearing the same eerily calm expression; only now he was holding something in his hand.

"Minoru, what are you--"

He advanced almost dreamily, gaze never wavering from his wife.

"No, please .. . . Don--"

Blood fountained in a satisfyingly wide arc as Minoru brough the sharp knife down again and again.

He watched dispassionately until the body had stopped twitching, then he went out in the garden and watched the fireflies.

All over the city, love was in the air. He could tell.

~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~~

The sun rose in full splendor the next morning, spilling golden light over the Aoiya's sleeping inmates. A few stirred, obviously still in the grip of deep and disturbing dreams, but none awakened.

The hours passed, unheeded. The shadows grew longer again.

Strangely enough, loud and repeated knocking at the front gate succeeded where a blazingly hot sun had failed.

Sanosuke opened one bleary eye.

There was the irritating knocking again . . . Spitting out a curse, Sanosuke rose and ambled over to the gate. He was puffy-eyed, felt awfully hungover for some reason, and here was the opportunity to blow off some steam.

He pulled open the massive door.

"Saitou-san. What a pleasant surprise! Who's died?"

"Quite a lot of people actually, rooster-head."

Sanosuke squinted at him. "You don't say," he muttered.

"Yes," said Saitou, watching him curiously. "No one important yet, though. Still, everyone is certainly acting peculiar today . . . You wouldn't happen to know anything about this?"

"Which this do you mean, exactly?"

"Ah, Himura. Finally, a man with at least half a brain."

The redhead frowned, and Saitou couldn't help noticing the glint of gold that lit Himura's violet eyes for a moment. "And also a very short temper, at least when it comes to you. Spit it out, Saitou. What's going on?"

"Nothing much, nothing much. I guess you could call it . . . crimes of passion. And since you are here and trouble tends to follow you around, I thought I'd pay you a visit. And your informant friends as well, of course. What use are connections if one doesn't use them, after all?"

"I'm not in the mood for riddles," growled Kenshin. "Elaborate, please."

A black eyebrow rose a fraction. Kenshin's usual politeness was conspicually missing, and the gold was becoming more pronounced, too.

Saitou watched him for a moment. "No, I don't think I will," he said finally, registering the amber flash in his opponent's eyes with satisfaction. "Hope you had a nice party."

He touched two fingers to that ridiculous policeman's cap he had taken to wearing and strode off, smiling.

"What was that all about," muttered Sanosuke, scratching his jaw.

"Damned if I know," said Kenshin, but he sounded pensive.

"Well, I'll go grab something to eat. Ya know, Kenshin, I had the weirdest dream tonight . . ."

"Really? About what?"

"Well . . . Misao was ennamored of my ass." Sano shuddered. "The kind of dream that tends to follow you around, if you know what I mean."

"I hope very much I don't know what you mean," Kenshin said, eyeing his friend strangely. "That I do," he added without conviction. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Something to eat, you said? Sounds good . . . that it does."

To be continued . . .