Carpe Noctem 3/6

[koorii]

Fandom: Detective Conan/Magic Kaito
Pairing: KaiShin
Rating: M
Warnings: Au, Vamp!Fic, Sexual Content (Solo), Blood.
Genre: Supernatural/Suspense/Horror(??)/Mystery/Romance(??)
Words: 7630



Shinichi swam, blearily, up from the depths of sleep, as the siren call of a thick beam of pale light falling across his eyes coaxed him from the deep, dreamless depths. He groaned and pressed his face into the mattress in an attempt to escape the glow turning the inside of his eyelids red. Screwing his eyes tighter shut, Shinichi tried to will himself back to sleep, even though he knew he was well awake by now. Rubbing his nose into the sheets, he became aware of that annoying, numb, sort of half-pain that resulted from sleeping on creased fabric so long it imprinted in the skin.

Shifting in faint aggravation, he kicked the blanket that was draped over him lower in an effort to ease the prickling feeling against his skin. One of his arms was pinned beneath his chest diagonally, his hand resting down near his hip, and Shinichi realized faintly that it was numb. So numb in fact, that it felt like it had been turned into a useless lump of rubber.

Twitching, he brought his other arm up, knuckles sliding against the sheets, and used enough force to roll onto his side. The sheets clung slightly, sticking the most to his upper chest and one shoulder. They peeled away as he moved, pulling slightly at the skin and making a bit of a dry sound as they did so. It seemed so incongruous that he ignored it for the moment, too sleepy to pay it any mind.

Squinting his eyes open, Shinichi glared frostily at his numb hand. He was holding it above him, and could barely even tell. For all the way it felt to move it the thing could have really been made of rubber. Flexing his fingers slowly, Shinichi furrowed his brows in thought. That weird dream that he'd had...

As the exact sequence came back to him, a blush rushed to the surface of his cheeks, and, really, the entirety of his face. He wouldn't have been surprised if he was flushed down to his chest or more. He certainly felt hot enough all over to be, and, he noticed, with a faintly irritated groan, that wasn't the only reason. Shifting uncomfortably, Shinichi angled his gazed at the messily closed curtains over the balcony doors, one of which was parted slightly.

Why in the world would he dream about another boy who he didn't even know in that manner? Given, it was probably one of the most vivid wet dreams he'd ever had, and he'd had a decent few. Still, most of them had been sort of hazy, and half forgotten by the time he'd woken up and been left with messy cloths and sheets. Embarrassing, but not unbearably so. This, however, was shockingly easy to remember down to the pleasure hazed details, and the way his every nerve had seemed to be on fire, and, of course, the feel of too sharp teeth scraping over his skin.

His hand slid down his chest, tracing the dream-memory of a cold, gloved hand petting over him in the same manner. He didn't even notice until his fingertips dipped below the slightly twisted waistband of his pajama pants. He breathed in through his nose, startled by his own arousal at the simple recall of a strange, strange dream, but couldn't deny the already slight erection, from, perhaps, other dreams, or, of course, simple haywire hormones, stirring and hardening further.

How weird was it, to sit there and contemplate masturbating over images, strange ones at that, of the host who had allowed them to stay the night in his home? Surely, he thought, even as he pulled his hand back and absently laid it over himself, beginning to knead and pull through the fabric of his pajama bottoms, almost as hideously embarrassing as facing, say, Ran, after his hormones had gotten the better of him.

He hadn't been able to look her in the eye all day after that morning, and she'd ended up thinking he was upset with her over something.

But, he wasn't thinking about her this time. He was thinking about a demon's own smile on an impish face as he flexed his hips up into his own palm. Rasping through his throat, a soft oath lit the air, neck curving back and an unheeded twinge of pain, from the vicinity of the junction of his shoulder and neck, sparking behind his eyes.

Unfulfilled by the almost bored fondling, Shinichi lifted his hips, wriggling impatiently as he shoved his pants down to mid thigh. Tracing his fingers over the lines of his hipbones, right beneath a thin layer of flesh and muscle, he wrapped his fingers around the base of his penis in a loose grip and dragged his hand slowly upward. Closing his eyes, he remembered the feel of a heavy body pressing him down, encompassing him, dominating... The thought made him flush again, made him wonder at his own subconscious, and made his fist tighten around his cock in a quick jerk that had him moaning deep in his throat.

Shinichi shifted, curved his spine, and slid his other hand over his stomach and along his thighs, petting tensed muscles as he rolled his hips up into his own hand and imagined the cold touch of another, the feel of lips on his shoulder, and the warmth of sticky blood sliding down his chest.

Drawing his knees up, Shinichi dug his heels into the mattress and slid his hand between his thighs. He focused, now, on the rising tide of heat that was making him tense and flex, making him throb and pant. Gripping the weight of his testicles, Shinichi slid his fingers over them, knowing every little trick that would bring himself spiraling out of control.

Swiping his thumb over the tip of his cock, he pulled his hand down more forcefully, spreading precum with slick fingers. His hips twitched again, restless and half mad. Images fluttered behind his closed eyelids as he arched, pressing his head and shoulders into the mattress. Images of luminous eyes, and a shadowy figure standing over him with a too sharp grin, of a weight settling over him, demanding, of a loss of control that should terrify and shame him, of words whispered, and as he came, of a bite that should pain him.

Even as he settled, boneless and spent, a sticky, warm mess spread across his abdomen, into the almost trapping embrace of the bed, Shinichi couldn't help but note that this hadn't been nearly as satisfying. It hadn't had the sharp edged resplendence that even the episode in the dining room had had, and, he realized, with a faint ache that he was almost craving that rush now.

He could admit that he'd been hoping to feel that again, and couldn't help but wonder if two times had merely been a fluke, merely been an overactive mind that was too tired to function properly. Shinichi didn't want to admit to the disappointment settling in his stomach, and, instead, luxuriated in the bliss of release like a sated cat a moment longer.

Absentmindedly he licked his fingertips, then immediately flushed as he realized what he'd done. Deciding not to think about it, Shinichi pushed himself into a sitting position, despite how his muscles protested against such rash actions, and glanced around for something to clean up the mess that was sliding down his stomach. It was then that he noticed the large, rusty stain on the bed, delineated by a slope that brought to mind his own shoulder, though it also spread further down as well. The center of the stain was a darker color, looking almost wet still, almost fresh. Shinichi wouldn't been surprised if it was still damp to the touch.

Reaching out as if in a daze, he touched his fingers to it and noted that, yes, it was still damp. Pulling his hand away he blinked hazily at the bit of red tinting his fingertips. The mattress had absorbed enough blood that it wasn't all dry yet, like a saturated sponge. Maybe, he thought a bit giddily, that was why he felt a bit light headed? Smearing the blood across the sheets to clean it away from his fingers, he gazed, flushing dizzily, at the other fluids staining the sheets.

Then, slowly, almost not wanting to, he lifted his gaze back up to look at the partially open balcony doors. It could be explained, he tried to tell himself, doing his best to ignoring the increased rate of his heartbeat. Maybe he'd developed a sudden tendency to sleep walk, and opened the balcony doors. Or, maybe the storm had gotten that bad, and the latch was faulty. He should probably let the staff know, if that were the case.

And, okay, he was no stranger to wet dreams, even weird ones, and he'd just managed to cut himself somehow. Really, was that so odd? Pointedly ignoring the logical, detective minded side of his brain that noted that was a little too much blood for a simple cut, Shinichi used the blanket to wipe the mess off his stomach. Pausing, he frowned at his shirt.

If it had been a dream, then why had he woken up with the buttons on his shirt undone?

Denial happily sang up an excuse: They merely slipped in the night, or maybe he'd undone them himself. Right.

Except that was dried blood on his chest he noticed faintly, becoming aware of the itchy feeling of having something dried on his skin. Almost warily Shinichi reached up, touching carefully on the flaking mess running from his shoulder along his pectoral. Running tentative fingers up along the trail of rusty substance, he flattened his hand out over the top of his shoulder. He winced immediately as his hand pressed lightly into the sore skin.

His breath hitched, pulse jumping as a confusing shock of panic and something else sparked along his nerves. Suppressing the memories of the dream, of course it was only a dream, Shinichi swung his legs off the side of the bed, setting his feet into the slippers waiting for him there, where he'd left them the night before, and stood abruptly. He was suddenly overcome with a need to see for himself, to find proof of whether he had been dreaming, or if it had really happened.

A flush warmed him from ears to chest as he glanced from under his lashes at the soiled sheets. For a moment a clammy, almost bashful, feeling settled over his skin, and he concentrated on buttoning his pajama shirt with a slow, careful precision. He didn't want to admit it, but his fingers were trembling slightly. Shinichi wasn't sure if it was because he was starting to feel the first pangs of panic, or because he'd lost enough blood to feel a bit woozy.

Shooting another sidelong look at the bed, he fought down another blush and stood up. He didn't even want to think about what the housekeeping staff would think, even though an insidious little voice whispered in the back of his mind that, just maybe, they were used to finding inexplicable fluids here and there, having a vampire master and all. Shinichi quickly banished the thought, and grabbed his bag roughly.

Stalking to the door he paused, hesitating as his hand hovered over the handle. He listened, straining his ears for any sound out there. Shinichi was quite sure that he didn't want to run into one of his friends right now. Whoever it was, whatever the case, he was sure it would prove extremely mortifying. To be honest, Shinichi wasn't sure what would be worse: Simply facing them in this state, or trying to explain aforementioned state. Probably the later, but he didn't really want to test the theory.

Once he was sure that no one was out there, Shinichi eased the door open and slipped out. The hall was as empty as he'd hoped, though the door to the rooms he knew had been occupied were all open, and a glance through Hattori's and the girl's doors showed that they weren't in them. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Shinichi picked up his pace as he neared the bathroom. He was only several steps away when that door swung open, and Hattori himself stepped out.

Shinichi stopped dead, shoulders tensing and spine so rigid he was sure he was going to just snap in half at any moment. Though he tried his hardest to keep his face bland as ever, he was damned sure his discomfort was clear to be seen. At least he wasn't blushing. He hoped.

Hattori blinked at him, opened his mouth, paused, blinked again, and gave Shinichi a considering once over. Finally the idiot asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

His tongue was tied, twisted into a million knots, and Shinichi just wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. His fingers fiddled with the lowest button on his top, then he reached up and tugged his collar a little closer to his neck. He hoped that Hattori couldn't see the blood.

Part of him, was scoffing at his ridiculously guilty tells, but, really, Shinichi thought, anyone in this awkward of a situation would have some difficulty keeping a completely blank face.

Finally, Hattori seemed to decide he wasn't going to answer, seemed used to it, probably was, and said teasingly, “You look like you had a helluva night.” Then laughing to himself, the Osakan wandered passed Shinichi, and headed back toward his room.

Luckily he didn't seem to see the way Shinichi's face was suddenly burning. Shinichi was sure he was going to self combust right then and there. Stiffly he walked the remaining couple of paces to the bathroom, and swiftly snapped the door closed behind him. His fingers, shaking slightly, turned the lock. It was an extremely satisfying sound to hear it snap into place, and he leaned against the door. The wood felt cool against his heated forehead and cheeks.

Breathing shallowly, he tried to quell the unstable emotions swirling around in him, panic seemed to be the foremost, but there was also a great deal of incredulity and fear. Did Hattori know something? If that had been more than a dream– and here was where something that tasted a great deal like shame welled up like bile –had he really allowed someone he didn't even know to, to touch him so intimately?

Why hadn't he fought back? Why had he, damn it, why had he enjoyed it so much he was left wanting more and, and...

Shinichi swung away from the door, quelling the urge to hyperventilate with sheer force of will, and stepped further into the room. Dropping his bag on the counter beside the inset sink, he stared, wide eyed and pale faced, into the mirror there. His hair was wildly tousled, his eyes lined lightly with shadows, and faint, red welts traced down the side of his neck. His cloths had fared even worse; wrinkled and twisted.

He looked, he thought, (How had some of the courser speaking boys in his year put it?) 'like he'd had a good fuck'.

Swallowing past something tightening his throat, Shinichi reached up slowly and fumbled the buttons of his shirt open one at a time, hurried but as steady as he could. The unveiling of his own pale flash supplanted the image of a gloved hand petting over his skin, soothing and inflaming, in his mind’s eye. He shook it away roughly.

Reaching up, Shinichi gripped the edge of his collar. He paused, inhaling and exhaling in a sharp, broken pattern. If he looked, if he checked, he could find answers he didn't want to think about. Everything rode on this, and did he really want the truth that much? It was almost sickening; here he was, always going on about how Truth was so important. Truth was his end all be all, and now he was scared of it and what it could mean.

A sudden loud knocking on the door nearly made Shinichi jump out of his skin, made it feel like his heart had literally skipped a beat, and his lungs felt like they'd never be full enough again. “Oi, Kudou! I'm headin' down now. I'll let the girls know you'll be down in a bit.”

Trying to work passed the dryness clogging his throat, Shinichi fumbled for a response, but it didn't appear that Hattori needed one. He could hear footsteps receding for a few moments, then silence returned. Shinichi turned to look at his reflection again, pressing his lips into a thin, determined line.

Without giving himself a chance to second guess his actions (again), he shrugged his shirt off and let it fall with a faint whisper to the ground. He stared at himself, at the rusty swath dried across his clavicle, part of his pectoral, the ridge of his shoulder: Stared at the origin point of it, and, after several hesitant seconds, reached for a cloth and wet it, then began to gently wash the blood off.

He started low, getting the mess off his chest then working up. Wincing, he carefully worked on his shoulder on the, the, the wound. Shinichi refused to call it a bite; it wasn't. At least, not yet.

Dropping the discolored cloth into the basin of the sink Shinichi leaned forward, eyes skipping frantically down toward his shoulder. He sucked in a breath, stared, blinked hard, then let out a shuddering sigh. There, on the ridge of his shoulder, were two perfect little punctures. Round and bruised a deep purple at the epicenter, while the flesh further out was red, inflamed, and tender to the careful touch of his exploratory fingertips.

If he applied pressure, tugging the skin a little either way, the tiny holes would part, open like an incision, and weep a few spare droplets of vivid red blood that lingered, edging down his damp skin. He wiped at them, smearing crimson against his flesh, and felt a chill settle into the base of his spine.

If, if, he took his as proof, if he believed that Kuroba was a... vampire... if... What then? What, indeed, did he do now? Not only had he allowed such a liberty from someone he didn't know, not only had he been, possibly, coerced into it, but...

Shinichi swallowed thickly. Vampires were essentially the walking dead. A dead body with a sort of mind remaining. He refused to call it a human mind, because while it might hovering on the edges of that still, it was something more than human, and even he could tell that.

Goosebumps broke out all over his body as he remembered that alien feeling, like someone had rewired his brain and made him go insane. Shinichi realized, with a rising feeling of dread, gripping the edge of the counter with clammy hands, that he didn't even know the right questions to begin asking. He hunched his shoulders, head lolling as he stared into the basin of the sink and rolled the idea around in his head.

Hell, he didn't even know whether or not he should be appalled, want to throw up, at the fact that he'd just had what amounted to a walking corpse jerk him off last night. If he believed, of course. If, if, if.

Given it had been very good, but... He really wasn't going to go there right now.

Dead bodies didn't bother him, hadn't since he was very small. Shinichi was of the mind that he'd never really had that childish ignorance where death was concerned, had always had a much too intimate knowledge of it. No, dead bodies didn't bother him. And, really, there as even something novel about the living dead as compared to the dead dead. Something strangely foreign and erotic about corpse cold fingers sliding over skin that felt too hot and too tight to be worth living in, when he could ascend much higher at the play of fingers like an instrument, a puppet; like prey.

Another shiver traced its way cold, clammy, and haunting up his spine at the swift cascade of thought. Whatever the case may be, he couldn't make any decisions yet: This could, as yet, be an elaborate setting created by a twisted, but very human, mind. He needed more information, needed more proof.

What he needed now was a hot shower to wash the dried sweat from his skin and ease away the tension in his muscles. Maybe it could even wash away some of the clinging cobwebs that inhabited his brain. Quickly shedding the remains of his cloths he did just that, luxuriating in the warmth for as long as he could. Afterward, as he saw to his teeth and tugged his cuffs into alignment and pulled his hair back into its usual neat control, was when he started to notice the hunger clawing at his stomach.

He supposed that that wasn't a surprising reaction considering last night, and how–

Cutting off the thought, Shinichi gathered his things again and slipped back to the room he'd spent the night in, depositing his bag there, and ignoring the fact that the bedding had been changed for fresh. He didn't want to think about it. Right now he could focus on finding his friends, on figuring out where they were, on... leaving.

It wasn't until Shinichi found himself at the top of the stairs that it struck him. He had to face Kuroba.

Suddenly Shinichi wasn't sure what was worse; the idea that he'd had a very nice wet dream about Kuroba as a vampire then jerked off while thinking about him when he woke up, or if Kuroba really was a vampire (or some sort of lunatic) and had crawled into bed with him last night.

Frozen, he shifted uncertainly, staring down at the large portrait on the second floor balcony, and wondering how the hell he was going to manage to face the guy. Trying to think logically, he recalled that people had sex all the time. Sometimes they even had sex with people they'd never met and didn't even know the names of. It was... sort of normal. Maybe.

He just had to face it, get it over with, and deal with it. Except it was still going to be horribly embarrassing, and somehow Shinichi knew that, no matter what, when he saw the other boy again there was going to be vestiges of last night, memory or dream.

The heated feeling of a blush riding high in his cheeks as he skittered warily down the stairs to the ground floor, Shinichi nearly spooked and went diving for cover when a voice called his name. Turning, and telling his speeding heart to calm, while keeping his face forcefully blank, he found the old man, Konousuke-san, standing near the entrance to one of the hallways. The one, Shinichi recalled, that led to the dining room from the night before.

“Ah, yes?”

Konousuke-san was giving him one of the strangest looks Shinichi had ever seen. It was a weird mixture between amusement, wistful hope, and a deep sadness the likes of which he had never known. That look made him fidget in a way that Shinichi had never experienced, made his hand fly up and clamp over the... bite mark... unconsciously. It hurt, beneath his hands. An achy kind of sore, rather than sharp. Like a bruise. The amusement seemed to deepen.

It was a simple step, an epiphany of minor proportions to know that the old man knew something. And, for the first time in his life, Shinichi shied away from an interrogation. This wasn't some nebulous Other. It wasn't about a dead body, or a missing person, or even something less nefarious like a supposed ghost haunting a school.

Shinichi, for the first time he could remember, was the victim.

He wasn't sure how to handle that. Anger bubbled up a second later, but he didn't have a chance to put it into anything, so he left it smoldering alongside the confusion that was far more prominent, and the curiosity that was almost overwhelming.

“Your friends await you in the dining room, Kudou-san,” the old man said, not unkindly.

Shinichi blinked. “Thank you, I was just heading there.”

Konousuke-san turned and began to lead the way, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. Shinichi followed, lingering a few steps behind, out of a sense of nervousness and, of course, a need to observe. His hand, still on his shoulder, rubbed unconsciously for a moment before he forced it away and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Opening his mouth Shinichi tried to speak, but found the words wouldn't come. “I'm sure you'll be hungry, then,” Konousuke-san said, almost cheerful. “The staff are quite pleased to be serving breakfast. It’s not often that they need to bother.”

Shinichi thought that rather odd statement was important. Still, at least it seemed to help him find his voice, and, despite the hesitance, he felt he spoke as strongly as ever. “Will Kuroba-san be joining us?”

Because that seemed important too.

The old man looked back at him, looked faintly surprised at the inquiry, then smiled faintly, a little sad. Before he answered though, they stepped into the dining room itself and his friends called happy greetings.

Shinichi wished he could return them. Instead, he felt faintly ill, a feeling that only increased when Ran smiled brightly at him. Skimming the faces present, he noted that Kuroba wasn't actually there. He felt a wash of relief that he didn't have to face the other boy right now, before his mind kicked into gear.

Something whispered that he hadn't been expecting to see him. Shinichi was very sure it was that annoying little part of himself that was insisting, rather vocally, that he'd been visited by a vampire last night. After all, vampires couldn't come out in the daylight, right?

Well, except for those ones in the books Ran's friend, Suzuki Sonoko, liked to go on about. Romanticized stupidity, all of it. But, then, who was he to claim he was an expert on vampires, of all things? Of course, if this did turn out like that then maybe he could... But he wasn't going to go down that road. He needed more proof. Right now all he had was the possibilities that he had a lunatic in the same house as him, or he was a suffering a serious psychotic breakdown.

After a moment longer, he finally moved forward and took the seat across the table from Hattori, leaving the Osakan detective sitting on one side of the table with Ran and Toyama-chan while he and Hakuba-san occupied the other. Ran looked puzzled, and faintly hurt, for a moment, before she asked, “Did you sleep well, Shinichi? You seemed pretty tired last night.”

How could he, in the end, explain to her that he was feeling ashamed and a little guilty because he didn't feel ashamed and guilty in the ways he thought he should? How could he tell her that last night someone may or may not have crawled into bed with him and touched him in ways no one else ever had, and that he'd, well, enjoyed it a great deal? Shinichi could well imagine the heartbreak and betrayal in her eyes.

It wasn't through her own fault that she, just like everyone, bought into the fact that the pair of them were meant to be together. Shinichi, of course, had never helped. He'd always just strung her along, unfair in his inability to act, and it had only gotten worse. Now he half wanted to tell her to stop waiting, because he was no longer sure of his own feelings– feelings that had once been the epitome of everything for him –but he didn't know how to tell her, and didn't want to hurt her even though he knew that, no matter what he did, she would be hurt.

Shinichi summoned up a small smile, hoping it didn't look as sickly as he felt. “Very well. I think I was just feeling burnt out last night.”

Ran frowned at him, looking like she was about ready to go into one of her little fits of scolding on how he needed to look after himself better, when the eerie staff, silent as they had been last night, drifted in with breakfast.

Omelets, rice, and a variety of drinks.

Shinichi chose fruit juice rather than his usual coffee, though he didn't much like the choice. Still, hopefully he hadn't lost enough blood that he was going to be anemic, and the amount of iron he ingested normally would be enough to even things out. It hadn't looked like much, but... Who knows?

Determinedly, he ignored the weird looks he was getting and concentrated on digging into his meal. He hadn't realized how ravenous he was, even with his stomach feeling like an empty void, and it was good food. He hadn't noticed last night, but now that he was paying attention to the food he found it to be extremely palatable. Then again, he probably would have found a lot rather palatable right then so long as it filled his stomach and provided the necessary calories to recharge.

And, well, there was another reason to wolf down his food like the manners he'd had drilled into him had suddenly been all but forgotten. He wanted a chance to explore this house before his friends decided it was time to get moving. Maybe even come up with an excuse to stay longer, as much as that thought made him both crawl with an odd anxiety, and heat with an undeniable excitement.

It was as the meal was coming to an end, that Shinichi, having tuned out the soft conversation around him and Hattori's numerous attempts to kick his shin black and blue, that Konousuke-san reappeared, followed by the staff who began clearing the dishes away around them.

“While you dined, I went to check the roads and am afraid to report that they seem quite impassable at the moment. The rain's left them nothing but mud. The young master would be pleased to let you all stay another night to wait for the road to clear.”

That was... convenient... And, yet, Shinichi couldn't help but feel pleased that he wouldn't need to come up with something himself. Not only because he felt slightly awkward about doing so, but because he didn't know a plausible reason yet.

“Speaking of Kuroba-san,” Hakuba-san spoke up, head inclined to nail the old man with a piercing look. “I've not seen him today, and I've been up since shortly after dawn.”

“The young master is unavailable,” Konousuke-san said easily. “But he hopes that you will all be joining him for the evening meal once again.”

Shinichi wanted to laugh, because really, wasn't that just another vampiric thing? Can't go out in the sun, or you'll burn up. By now, with daylight giving his experiences and panic a whole new look, and being surrounded by the normality of his friends, such fanciful thoughts were seeming more and more stupid. Now, with daylight chasing monsters away– What was he? A child? Monsters in the closet, and under the bed... –logic was taking more of a firm grip.

He was sure that, in the end, this would only be the product of a twisted mind. That, however, didn't make him feel better in a way it should. In fact, it made him feel almost more ill, almost more...

“Feel free to wander the house or garden, but I must ask you to refrain from entering the west wing.” Shinichi blinked, catching the tail end of whatever the old man had been saying.

While it chafed from a detective standpoint not to be allowed full access to the venue he was inspecting, he well understood the need to set up barriers and privacy. Still, perhaps it would be enough. While he highly doubted anything incriminating would be left in the more public parts of the home, he knew from experience that even things that the residents deemed unimportant could be extremely telling about their owners.

Ran and Toyama-chan were rising already, talking quietly about visiting the gardens, and Shinichi cast a glance at Hattori. Perhaps he should let the other detective in on his thoughts? The two of them did make an extremely formidable team, and, really, hadn't Hattori himself felt that something was off the night before? That, however, had simply been nerves, and too many late night horror movie marathons as far as Shinichi could tell.

Something in the end stayed his tongue, and Shinichi stood as well, leaving Hattori glaring across the table at the calm, calculating face of Hakuba-san. Without bothering to say a thing to either of them, Shinichi left the dining room and headed back toward the foyer. For a moment he hesitated, considering back tracking and checking the rooms on the ground floor east wing, but changed his mind. They were obviously related to the staff and the dining areas. The most he would find were a laundry and kitchen, he suspected. While he could interview the staff, he decided to leave it for later.

He didn't want to admit that they gave him the chills.

Starting up the stairs, Shinichi went over his options. He already well knew that the top floor contained mostly bedrooms, guest rooms he supposed, though some of the other rooms could have other uses. So he would start on the middle floor. Coming to a halt on the first balcony, Shinichi wandered over to the windows overlooking the garden below. He could see Ran and Toyama-chan, sitting on a low stone bench. They two girls had their heads bent together and were talking rather furiously about something.

To be honest, Shinichi was fairly sure he didn't want to know.

Turning away from the window, he stepped toward the hall heading off into the east wing, but was brought up short to stare contemplatively at the large portrait of the Kuroba family. It was still a surprisingly placid, happy little scene. He wondered how the elder pair had died, and if it had any basis on the strange attitudes of their son. Which gave him an idea...

Changing course, Shinichi hurriedly climbed back to the third floor and headed down the hall to the room he was staying in. Once inside he made a beeline for the nightstand and his cell phone. Grabbing it, he flipped it open, only to scowl at the lack of signal. Making his way over to the balcony, in the vague hope that if he were out on it his phone might chance to pick something up, he unlatched the glass doors and stepped out.

He was immediately beset by the smell of rain-wet forest and garden; a combination of a heavy, mud smell and damp floral scent. The smell brought back the memory of last night all over again, and left him blushing like mad for what had to be the millionth time within the last hour or so.

Still... Checking his phone and finding it just as devoid as before, Shinichi tucked the device into his pocket and turned to look at the doors he'd just stepped through. Last night Kuroba had entered through those doors, he could remember that that simple fact had woken him up, and he recalled the doors had still been partially open this morning. Why, though?

It was sloppy, like his... assailant, for lack of better terms, had left in a hurry.

Slowly, Shinichi turned his gaze to either side. On the one side there wasn't another balcony for some distance, and to the other side he had a neighboring balcony that he suspected led to Hattori's room. Looking up proved there was nothing of interest above but for the slopes of the roof, as they were on the top floor. Stepping to the low wall of the balcony, Shinichi gripped the rail and leaned out over it, attempting to see what lay below.

“Shinichiiiii!”

Turning his head, Shinichi spotted Ran. The girl was standing on the small pathway, surrounded by the heavily nodding heads of various flowers; they looked like no more than vague dots of color among the riot of green. Ran herself, wearing a bright shirt, stood with one hand cupped alongside her mouth while she waved at him to assure he noticed her. Several steps away he could see Toyama-chan, apparently absorbed in the flowers she was examining.

Lifting his hand he returned the wave. “Hey Ran! What's the matter?”

She seemed to brace herself, and looked back at Toyama-chan for a moment, nodded, then called, “Why don't you come down here? The garden's really nice!”

It was obvious that Ran wanted him to join her, to spend time with her. This was, no doubt, one of those weird romantic things that he always overheard her and Sonoko chattering about. He was probably committing all kinds of nefarious bad points if he denied her, something Sonoko would surely let him know all about in her weird, evil, subtle, female ways.

But right now he had other things on his mind. “Maybe later, I want to have a look around inside first.”

“Okay! But you better come out soon, Shinichi!” Her voice was both sad and threatening. Shinichi had no idea how she could manage that, and decided to leave the fact be.

Giving what he could see of the lower floor one last glance over, Shinichi pulled away from the edge of the balcony and stepped back into his room. Shutting the door behind him, he latched them and quit the room.

Now, where could he find Hattori? Surely if someone had used his room to get to Shinichi's, the Detective of the West would have noticed?

Without pause, he headed back down the stairs and swung into the hallway. While he'd last seen Hattori in the dining hall, he saw no reason not to check here first, as he wanted to have a look anyway. The first door he tried opened into a spacious, airy room with a wide bay of windows on one wall that showed a panoramic view of the sloping lawn, driveway, and forest. Soft sunlight floated in dust motes, giving everything a surreal, timeless, untouched quality. The light glanced, shimmering, off the body of a cello in one corner.

It was a music room. A grand piano took up another space, the lid closed, and looking untouched but for the clean condition. Various other cases and instruments were on display around the room: Violins, flutes, even a shamisen.

There was a silence to the room, and an odd sort of softness therein that seemed to embrace him, sooth him. It was tranquil, and made Shinichi want to languish in it despite the fact that, really, he wasn't musically inclined. Music was, in fact, one of his most immense failings. He winced slightly at the reminder, but couldn't help the rueful grin. Still, he wandered a few swaying steps further into the room.

Coming to a halt beside the piano, he reached out, fingers running lightly over the polished black surface of the instrument. A childish feeling swept over him, and he was just pondering lifting the lid to tap on a few of the keys, just because, when he noticed something he'd not seen before out of the corner of his eye.

Turning around, Shinichi came face to face with a painting. It was a serene scene: A green field with whimsical blue flowers bobbing among the carefully executed stalks. At the center of the image a young girl, who looked strikingly like Ran, sat. She was dressed in a deep blue, multi-layered kimono. She looked, quite simply, like a princess, out of place and settled among the blossoms. She wore a delicate wreath of the flowers on her head, among the messy strands of her dark hair, and one hand was extended as if to pluck another. Yet, despite that, her head was inclined back as she stared at the pale blue sky and soft clouds.

At first glance the image seemed serene, peaceful, and lovely, but Shinichi thought the look on the girl's face was one of wistfulness, sorrow; maybe he would even go so far as to say mournful. Sliding his eyes downward, he found a small, brass plate beneath the picture. It read simply: The Blue Child.

Shinichi thought it a rather fitting descriptor, so full of double meanings and poignancy.

The painting was lovingly detailed and exacting, and, to Shinichi it seemed as if whoever had had it commissioned, or indeed, whoever had painted it, had put a great deal of time, effort, and devotion into it. He turned away. The room no longer felt inviting. Now it seemed almost dark, almost miserable. As if his scrutiny of the painting had likewise cast aside the fake atmosphere, left it bare and abandoned as it truly was.

There was a musty scent to this room, stale and disused, as if it were truly forgotten where the rest of the house had seemed as normal as ever. Even the faint amount of dust moving in the air seemed to suggest an amount of neglect, and yet... Shinichi glanced at the painting again. Not a single amount of wear, or aging shown on it. The painting, alone, was as lovely as it had probably been when it was first hung there. No dust touched the fine edges of the frame, and the colors were mostly as vibrant as if they were freshly dried.

“Ah, Kudou-san, I didn't expect to find you here.”

Despite the surprise from the sudden voice intruding on the solitude, Shinichi didn't jump, nor even turn to regard Konousuke-san as he wandered over to stand beside him. The old man was looking at the picture, and, from the corner of his eye, Shinichi could see a great depth of sadness on the old man's face.

“She was a sweet girl. The young master loved her dearly.”

“Was?” Shinichi echoed.

“She died sometime before the young master's parents.”

He wanted to say something about how Kuroba seemed to enjoy keeping pictures of dead people, just as his mind was reminded of those eerie serial killers who kept strange trophies. Somehow, though, that didn't fit what he was seeing here. Still, a traitorous voice murmured that Hakuba's father had disappeared here. Had Kuroba run out of victims and begun inviting people in? Still, five years ago...

He didn't know how old Kuroba was, could only estimate he was around the same age as he was, but that didn't always mean anything. Breathing out through his nose he turned to leave, then stopped. Looking back he found the old man was still staring at the painting. “Konousuke-san? Do you know where my friend Hattori Heiji is?”

The old man seemed to shake himself from a trance, and responded lightly, “I believe he went to visit the library with Hakuba-san. It's here on this floor, a few doors down.”

Without another word, Shinichi quit the room and made his way down to the library. Stepping through the double doors, one of which had been open, Shinichi found himself in a long, open room filled with wall shelves and free standing shelves. Though it didn't appear to have a second floor, it was plenty large enough.

Following the soft whisper sound of turning pages, Shinichi wandered through the stacks until he spotted Hattori lounging on a sofa in a small seating area among the books. When he arrived, he noted that the blond Hakuba was sitting at a nearby table, several folders and loose papers spread around him. Hattori wasn't bothering to read, but instead glaring over the top of his book at Hakuba-san.

Drifting over to his friend's side Shinichi stood over Hattori and waited for the other detective to acknowledge him. It didn't seem to be working.

“Hattori.”

With a disgruntled sound the Osakan detective's green eyes slid over to look at him curiously. “Hey, Kudou?”

Completely ignoring Hakuba-san's presence, Shinichi forged ahead and asked, “Did anyone sneak into your room last night?”

Hattori was giving him a curious, puzzled, look. “No… Why? Did someone sneak into yers?”

That sharp eyed look was back on Hattori's face, and normally Shinichi would have been relieved to see it. But, right now. he didn't want Hattori digging too deeply. Maybe he never would.

Shinichi wasn't sure he wanted his friend to have any idea what happened last night. Absentmindedly, Shinichi reached up to lay his hand over the still tender puncture wounds.

“Hey, Kudou, you okay?”

Blinking down at Hattori, who had sat up and was giving him an odd look, Shinichi nodded. “Fine, just thinking about something.”

“Well, you'll tell me what it is sometime won't you? I know normally we're on the same wave length, but I gotta admit you've lost me this time.”

“Hm...”

Turning around, Shinichi headed back toward the shelves, ignoring the fact that he could feel two sets of eyes drilling into his back. “Ran wanted me to come out into the gardens.”

It was as good an excuse to avoid Hattori as any, after all.