Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

The silence Takumi left behind was a heavy blanket. Rei ate the rest of her breakfast in deep contemplation about Reon, the sadist with Karasu’s piercing eyes and the physique of a sculptor’s model. Takumi had all but told her to submit, to be compliant. But her rebellious spirit, the very same that had helped her survive Chochin Row, resisted the order.

The prospect of becoming a plaything for a bored, powerful gangster trapped in a mountain shrine made her skin crawl. Enforcing boundaries became an enticing goal. A more treacherous part of her mind whispered that she needed to prove, mostly to herself, how the only reason her body had responded to Reon’s touch was because it echoed the ghost of his cousin, Karasu, her first formative lover. She sighed, the complicated web of romantic and power entanglements feeling unnecessarily dense.

Clearing away the breakfast dishes, the mundane task freeing her mind, she devised a strategy: she would be herself, be modestly respectful in the Oni way, but she would not hold back her honesty. During the ritual she sensed that Reon, for all his menace, had responded with interest to her outlining her reflections and opinions at the ritual. He seemed like a man who, accustomed to absolute obedience, found counterplay and reasoning refreshingly entertaining. Like a cat bored with docile mice. Her comms chimed. A message from Takumi: 

>> Cillian is on duty. He will take you to the shrine at 16:00.

After a long, relaxing bath meant to soothe her nerves, Rei stood before her closet. It was a gallery of corporate chic and dazzling dinner gowns, every piece designed to accentuate, to allure. With regret she realised she hadn’t thought to pack any loungewear. She didn’t want to look sexy. Actually, she would prefer to look like staff, a private chef or something that would hopefully temper the predatory heat in Reon’s eyes, so evident when he’d seen her in the golden lace corset.

Her mind made up, she texted Cillian to meet her in the suite. He arrived within minutes, posture alert, his eyes scanning the room for danger, “Rei? What’s the matter?” She offered an apologetic smile, “No immediate danger, Cillian. But my reason is still serious.”

He calmed, then grew slightly uncomfortable, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze skittered away from her frame, loosely clothed in a plush bathrobe. Rei followed his look, realized the robe had gaped open, and quickly pulled it tighter. “Erhm, I need your help,” she explained, “I need to go shopping for casual clothing.”

Cillian’s face was a picture of disbelief, followed by deep skepticism. A dubious smile tugged at his lips, “Casual? Do you have plans to lounge about the suite and challenge me to mint poker?” he joked, referencing his winning streak in her Kuroda Plaza penthouse. 

Rei laughed, a genuine sound of delight. She was happy the familiar camaraderie still existed between them, a bridge over the chasm of his confessed but unacted-upon feelings and Takumi’s ultimate, undeniable claim. She cherished their easy banter. “I would love to beat your disciplined behind at mint-poker later,” she retorted, “but the casual wear and the trip to the shrine are more urgent.”

At the mention of the shrine, Cillian tensed. The memory of the long, cold wait at the bottom of those stone stairs was vivid, as was the image of Takumi descending with Rei in his arms, his expression thunderous, never speaking of what transpired only to order Cillian to deliver her back to that very place the next day. He sighed, a sound of resigned duty. “Aye, aye, mam’,” he said, a mockingly formal tone laced with his Irish lilt. Rei burst out laughing. “Thank you, good sir,” she replied with exaggerated formality, “I’ll dress in the least formal thing I have, and then we can drive to some mall or high street store.”

When she emerged from the bedroom, she was wearing the hotel’s standard-issue pajama set, complete with the hotel’s logo embroidered on the breast pocket. Cillian raised a disbelieving eyebrow, “Rei, any person with a shred of common decency wouldn’t be seen at the breakfast buffet in that. Are you sure you want to go out in Oslo that way?”

She clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder, entirely unbothered, “You worry too much. We’re in Norway, not Mirage City. No one knows me here.” With a determined stride, she led the way out of the suite, a woman on a mission to arm herself with anonymity against the commanding Ceremonial Master waiting for her in the mountains.

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in a capsule of polished brass and soft light. Cillian’s gaze swept over Rei’s outfit once more, a look of professional scorn on his face. Sure, the pajamas were made of silk, and the spa slippers were plush with a sturdy leather sole, but she was planning to wear them in public. The most impressive and frustrating part was how utterly comfortable and elegant she managed to look, as if she were leading a new trend in haute couture loungewear.

He shook his head, a dry comment escaping, “Becoming Takumi’s mistress seems to have fried your brain, Rei.” She laughed with a charmingly raspy and open sound, letting it fill the small space. The laugh caught Cillian off guard, his breath hitching. He was one of the few people who had heard her laugh wholeheartedly fairly often, but this was different. It was lighter, almost happy, and it felt like a microphone dropped, feedback and static, drowning out everything else.

“I know, I know,” she said, still smiling, “I look like an eccentric wannabe celebrity. But honestly, Cillian, I’ve seen so many shades of scary these past few days, I think I’ve moved beyond being scared. Right now, I’m just ready for a break.” She looked up at him, her expression warm and unguarded, “I’m happy to have some real free time and freedom, maybe for the first time ever. And, well, despite loving fashion I’ve never been to a mall or a proper clothing store before.”

Cillian’s eyebrow shot up, and he was frozen for a moment, even as the elevator chimed and the doors opened onto the grand lobby. He snapped out of it and they made their way through the lobby, a few surgically-enhanced guests shooting sidelong glances at Rei’s attire, which she serenely ignored. “Even with your background,” Cillian said as they turned toward the second elevator leading to the underground car park, “I find it hard to imagine a girl who never went shopping.”

“I guess it isn’t entirely true. Once, when I was eleven, my dad took me to a dress shop for my birthday and bought me a dress. But that really was the only time”, Rei admitted. The elevator doors opened and Cillian gallantly moved aside to let her inside first. “What was the dress like?” he asked, his curiosity piqued, as he stepped into the elevator to stand beside her. Rei looked up, as if the memory were projected on the ceiling. “It was dark green,” she said, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips, “With black mambas on it.” Cillian coughed, stunned. A slow, cheeky grin spread across his face, “Right. I take back my comment from earlier. It seems you lost your marbles at eleven.”

Rei put on an appalled expression and crossed her arms, “And what is that supposed to mean?” Cillian sighed, his smile not fading, “It means that even though I’m not well-versed in tarot cards or omens, an eleven-year-old girl picking a dress with venomous snakes on it… seems ominous.” Rei laughed, swatting his arm playfully, “It does not! It means I was fierce and fearless even then.”

Cillian’s expression remained critical, but he didn’t argue further as they arrived at the car. He moved to open the back passenger door, but Rei walked around to the front passenger side, attempting to open the door herself. “Like old times?” she smiled, referencing their drives to and from her old apartment in Sakura Avenues, before the penthouse at Kuroda Plaza.

He chuckled, a warm, familiar sound, and unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. As they navigated out of the dark car park and into the cool, clear Oslo daylight, he asked, “So. Where to, then?”

Rei fumbled with the car’s GPS, her fingers navigating the screen until she found a mall. “Paleet”, she read aloud, looking at the images of a modern brick building housing mid-range and luxury brands. She selected it, and the map zoomed out, charting their course.

“Alright then,” Cillian said, pulling into traffic and giving her pajama-clad frame another sidelong glance, a mixture of exasperation and fondness in his eyes. He was driving a woman in hotel pajamas to a Norwegian shopping mall. It was, without a doubt, one of the stranger assignments in his career, but with Rei the extraordinary was quickly becoming the norm.