Disclaimer/Intro: Idiot Beloved

by

Kenshin

Disclaimer: Kenshin does not own the Yuu Yuu Hakusho characters

(they are the property of Togashi Yoshihiro et al), and does not

make any money from said characters. Don't sue.

What Kenshin does own, however, are all the original characters

in this work. Any attempt to "borrow" these characters will be

met with the katana, or worse.

The events in Idiot Beloved take place shortly after the Dark Tournament.

What's it About: Hiei makes a single, fateful decision---and his

life will never be the same.

This novel deals with adult themes: notably the R-word

(Responsibility), the D-word (Duty), and lastly, the S-word

(Sacrifice).

Rated Mature for language and intense sexual situations.

Idiot Beloved Ch 1: The Sound of Temple Bells

by

Kenshin

"Steal the bells," Koenma had ordered. ("Recover" was how he'd

put it).

Hiei had envisioned one of those little jangling strings he could

lift with one finger, not these massive cast-iron sentinels.

He looked around. White Serpent Shrine sat on an acre of

cultivated Arizona land. To the north and south was nothing but

stark desert wilderness, dotted with the odd boulder or water

tower. Swaths of tended gravel glowed white under the gray sky

that told of an approaching storm. To either side of the

flagstone walkway leading to the temple entrance stood the bell

towers.

Hiei was strong, but this was idiotic. Each bell was as large as

he, and set inside an enormous wood and brick housing. The White

Serpent Shrine itself was all but hidden behind them.

Kneeling on the gravel path, Hiei allowed his fingers to brush

the communication device in his left pocket. He could call for

backup. He could call Botan or some other ferry girl for a ride

home.

And then what? Hiei thought; how much longer will you have to

perform as Koenma's pet?

Back to the bells. The clapperless monstrosities came

equipped with long, heavy sticks to strike a sound; he had seen

such bells before. Experimentally, he tried one, listening for

something out of the ordinary.

No. Just a bell, gonging.

Then, on hands and knees, Hiei examined each bell tower in turn.

They were virtually identical, smelling unpleasantly of cast

iron, and with no detectible sutras, powers, or ki.

That didn't necessarily mean anything. Sometimes the most

powerful things were the most cleverly guarded.

With a fluid motion he rose, took both hands from his pockets,

and laid them on one bell.

There was no sense of power, yet he detected a faint signature

about the temple itself, as if something was hidden inside,

something that might be dangerous. It came and went like fog.

Overlaid atop that echo he sensed another, fainter stamp of

power, that of something recently removed.

Weird, Hiei thought: Should have brought Kurama after all. But

even the two of them might not be able to transport these iron

monsters.

Ch. He was here. The kitsune was not. It was good to be alone

in a foreign land.

Stretching, he tested the air. There was no scent of youkai.

Arizona had its demons, of course, but they weren't anywhere

nearby at the moment. His own crossing had been uneventful.

The air itself was as alien as the landscape, dry enough to sear

his lungs, blazing with unfamiliar botanicals. Hardly a decent

tree for a perch; perhaps he would just sit on the low roof of

the temple to study his alternatives. In the fifteen minutes or

so that he'd been casing the land, not a single vehicle or person

had passed.

Excellent.

He risked a brief go-around with the Jagan. And immediately,

something laid hold of him, and saw him.

He crashed to his knees, unable to move. He could scarcely

breathe. This thing regarding him from a distance was old, and

immensely powerful, and struck at his core with a sense of

freezing, of plundering, of promising a long, painful death for

him and enjoying every minute of it.

Just as suddenly, it was gone.

Gasping, he slammed the Jagan shut, secured its ward, then

scrambled to his feet, flicked gravel dust from his sleeve and

fled the carefully-raked path for the hardscrabble ground.

Something strong enough to frighten him was here. Strong enough

to frighten Hiei, Jagan master, the millenium's only master of

the Black Dragon. Hiei of the sword and flame, who had defeated

Zeru and Bui and countless others. This thing knew where he was,

and yet had not revealed its own location.

Footsteps crunched lightly behind him. A female voice called:

"Hiei!"

He spun, ready for battle.

0-0-0-0-

Two boys and one part-boy sat in a small coffee shop in Tokyo.

One of the boys was tall and powerfully built, his orange hair

combed back in a towering marshmallow pompadour. The other was

more compact, his yakuza-styled hair dark. The third, not-quite-

human, tested the air for hints of danger, and possibly also for

any amusement, his leaf-green eyes quietly watchful.

The clash of tableware and the chatter of customers provided

ample cover for their discussion.

The dark-haired boy yawned and extended his arms overhead in a

ligament-popping stretch. "Heard from Hiei yet?"

Kurama shook his head, long crimson hair fanning forward. "He

only just left, Yuusuke. Relax."

"He should've taken us with him. I've been itching for another

fight."

"There won't be one." Kurama swirled his teacup, taking a moment

to appreciate its jasmine scent that rose in a veil of steam.

"He said it was a simple grab-and-go assignment." He looked up

at the two boys and smiled. "Hiei didn't elaborate, but I think

what he really wanted was to get away from us."

"Can't imagine why." Yuusuke was ogling girls, but not very

seriously; girls were ogling Kurama, very seriously, and Kuwabara

was nervously drumming on the tabletop.

Yuusuke aimed an ineffective swat his way. "Hey, cut it out.

Your rhythm sucks."

Kuwabara grunted, then stilled his fingers. He lifted his head

and shook it, eyeing the other two. "Guys, I dunno. I got a

funny feeling about this one."

Yuusuke leaned forward in his seat, a dangerous and happy glitter

lighting his eyes. "Bad funny or funny funny?"

"Hmmm... neither." Kuwabara took a deep breath and let it out

slowly. "Kinda squishy funny."

"That's helpful," snorted Yuusuke.

Narrowing his eyes, Kurama pushed the tea away untasted.

0-0-0-0-

Hiei relaxed the slightest bit, remaining wary nonetheless. This

female was not the source of the terrifying cold power that had

found him, but---

She was no one familiar: a miko, clad in the traditional chihaya

of scarlet hakama and white kimono shirt. Skimming the ground,

she closed the space between them at a rapid clip.

Well. If this priestess wanted a fight---

She stopped, well within his reach, but with nothing in her

stance to indicate challenge.

"Hiei?" she repeated, pronouncing the name to perfection. It was

a beautiful voice, a genuine achievement, similar to Kurama's,

but lacking his breathy undertone. "Or is it Flying Shadow?" she

continued. "But no, the furigana make it 'Hiei.' I can't really

read the rest. Anyway, you dropped this."

What the---?

She held out a small white card. That stupid thing? Urameshi

had scribbled it as a joke: My name is Hiei. If found, please

return to Makai.

"Keep it," he said.

Shrugging, she thrust the card into a fold of the voluminous

trousers.

She was little---Yukina-little, with gumdrop-gray eyes that

studied him a bit too directly. Her hair was the true fire

color, waving up and back from a wide, intelligent forehead. She

was nineteen, perhaps twenty---or even a bit older than the

moron's sister, Shizuru? With ningen females it was difficult

for him to judge.

To his amusement, she bowed. "Hiei-san, Shayla Kidd namae wa."

He had a little trouble making the sounds of her name come out

right.

"I heard the bell. You're here to see the temple?" She flicked

him a sideways grin. "I'm not a miko, but I play one on TV."

Whatever that meant. It sounded like something Urameshi would

say.

A rumble of thunder stirred. He glanced up. "Daijoubu. Storm's

far away."

She shook her head. "It's closer than you think." With an

unreadable glance, she turned and walked toward the temple.

Knock her out, he thought; take the bells. "You speak Japanese."

"Iie, iie, sukoshi. I know about ten words."

"But your accent's good."

"Just showing off. I have a quick ear."

"You read the kanji and kana. Even native speakers sometimes

have trouble."

"Same ten words." Opening the temple door, she stood aside to

let him in.

The temple was cool and dark, very much like Genkai's

headquarters, but smaller. He paused in the genkan to slip out

of his boots, but the miko shook her head. "Don't bother. And

don't bother being shocked either."

"But such an ancient---"

"Nothing ancient here except the bells."

He allowed his surprise to show; to do otherwise would have

seemed suspicious. As she gave him the tour he studied the

temple layout, while assessing his chances of ripping out each

bell by main force.

"You're only about the tenth visitor this year," she was saying,

leading him to an alcove with a low table set in its middle.

"Usually, it's someone who wants directions to the airport, and

then asks to use the bathroom."

"So few?" An isolated temple. No traffic worth mentioning.

Advantage, Hiei.

"Amazing, isn't it? You'd think a hot spot like this would be

mobbed." She bade him sit at the low table and dashed off.

A glance was all it took to see that she was right; this temple

was all too new. Was that why the brat sent him for the bells?

An ancient magical artifact in the wrong context could wreak

havoc.

The miko returned bearing a red laquer tray and two square white

plates.

"Out of tea," she apologized, kneeling to set out the plates,

which contained fanned-out slices of orange, thin enough to let

the white of the place show through. "The nearest place to buy

supplies is about forty-five minutes away and I'm getting to

dislike going there."

"That's your bokken." He nodded toward the wall at the practice

sword hanging there.

"Yup." She arranged the tray and plates and some folded napkins.

Enough. The sword was just wood, and she didn't move like a

swordsman. She moved like---

What did it matter? She was no threat. His own katana lay

secure at his back, and the knife in his boot, and other things

besides. "Is it your sensei who runs this temple?"

"Iie." She slid one of the plates toward him, and steepled her

hands. "Itadaki masu!"

He echoed her words, if not her enthusiasm, and began to eat the

orange, skin and all. It was a good one. But he noticed the

quick dart of her glance, noticed how she only ate the pulp, and

he put his plate down on the table. "I'm being impolite."

She gave a snort that would have done him credit. "This is

America. It's not rude unless you stab me."

He blinked.

Half the orange remained on her plate. She angled it toward him.

He ate it without the skin; it barely tasted like an orange.

"This temple. If your sensei doesn't run it, then who?"

"I don't know."

He waited while she dabbed her hands with the napkin and crumpled

it back onto her plate.

"Some wealthy recluse decided to build him a Shinto shrine right

here in the Arizona desert, and stick us in it."

"Us?"

"Ronni. The other fake miko."

Ronni. He wasn't even going to attempt that name. "And she

is---"

"My oldest, and some would say strangest, friend. She's the one

who got me the job."

"And where is she now?" A natural enough question.

"Up north, having a snit over her latest ex-creepazoid."

She's talking in code, Hiei thought, irritated that the simple

smash-and-grab mission was becoming more complicated by the

minute.

But this little not-miko was alone. That was the important fact.

Her sensei didn't live here, either; there was no male ningen

scent about the place. And if the shrine was built as a rich

man's playtoy, that would explain how it managed to survive with

no visitors. All he had to do was handle the girl, and get the

bells.

She picked up the last orange slice and let it drop back to the

plate. "These come from the tree out back. But you can get sick

of oranges if you have nothing else."

"Resupply."

"Told you. I don't like driving to town any more."

"Why?"

"Porous borders."

Porous? That got his attention, though he didn't so much as

flinch. Kurama would have laughed at him.

He got to his feet. "Show me."

0-0-0-0-

Many miles to the north, in a modern concrete and glass structure

that thrust agressively over a cliff, a creature with the outward

appearance of a man sat talking to a miko.

The braided hair that reached to his tailbone was white. His

skin was white. His eyes, when not hidden behind black

sunglasses, were white, the pupils contracting to verical slits.

The only other thing about him that was not white was his trim

black suit.

"It's done," he said to her. "Everything can begin."

"Cool." The miko looked around. "This place is, like, I mean, a

spa or something."

"It's nothing like a spa, but have your little fantasies. You

won't remember a word of this anyway. Now, tell me more about

the other one."

Inside the house, it began to snow.

-30-