CHAPTER 18: Purgatory

-VERTEX FIVE: 10.194412-

Mitakihara

Madoka Kaname was happy.

What reason was there not to be? She had everything a teenage girl could ask for: a loving family, a happy home, dear friends, a wonderful school. Life had its little upsets and minor crises, but somehow, things always worked out. On the rare occasions that there was some problem that Mama and Papa and Tatsuya couldn't help her solve... well, that was where her friends stepped in.

Every day that she could spend with those friends was a gift to be cherished. With Sayaka, she could truly be herself, and share any worry no matter how small. Whenever she did so, Sayaka would not rest until she either made it better or helped Madoka to do so herself. Sayaka was loud, impulsive, and straightforward, always charging at her problems head-on, and usually causing trouble on the way, but Madoka loved her for that. She helped Sayaka in return, lending a shoulder whenever life's problems overwhelmed her, and comforting her until she inevitably bounced back.

With Hitomi, she enjoyed a firsthand look at young love, as the debutante and her boyfriend, the violin prodigy Kyosuke Kamijo, strengthened their relationship. Not a perfect one, because no relationship was... at times, Hitomi confided in Madoka that she thought Kyosuke had more feelings for his violin than he did for her. That always set Sayaka fuming, resolving to track the boy down and beat him until he showed more gratitude for his girlfriend's presence... but those incidents never lasted long. Within a day or two at most, Kyosuke would repent for his mistakes in a manner that was always spectacular: a bouquet of white roses attached to Hitomi's locker, enormous boxes of chocolates, impromptu private concerts, or something else equally showy. It seemed he was a hopeless romantic underneath it all, and for all the times he messed up, he always knew the way to make things right.

With Mami, Madoka had the older sister of her dreams... a great teacher as well as a great friend, always willing to listen or lend a guiding hand. Afternoon tea parties at Mami's apartment were the stuff of legend; every time she held one, she had a new recipe for some extravagant new dessert. Stuffed crepes, chocolate tortes, hot cinnamon scones, and of course, her famous peach pie. Poor Mami often seemed lonely... who wouldn't be, living in that big apartment all by herself? There was a constant glimmer of sadness in her amber eyes, and Madoka sometimes saw her staring wistfully off into space when she thought no one was looking... but Mami knew she was always welcome at the Kaname household at any time of day or night, so it always worked out in the end.

With Kyoko, Madoka could indulge her wilder and, honestly, her more rebellious instincts. The redhead's father, a Christian minister in Kazamino, normally kept his daughter under a watchful eye and a tight leash... which was probably why whenever she and Sayaka spent time together, some sort of mischief invariably ensued. The two of them were quite a pair, getting into fights just as often as they laughed and shared each other's company. It wasn't hard to see why: both of them were stubborn as mules, not to mention quick to anger and slow to forgive. They were more alike than either would ever dare admit, and being with them was always an adventure... though quite frequently a somewhat dangerous adventure.

Then there was Homura. Cool, quiet Homura, whom Madoka felt closer to than anyone else, even Sayaka. Homura, who always knew what she needed and when she needed it. Homura, who was indifferent to everyone at school, but who never failed to break into a warm smile whenever she saw Madoka's face. Homura, who swooped in like a guardian angel on the rare occasions trouble threatened Madoka's idyllic life, who could always be counted on to resolve it in short order. Homura, with whom she shared secrets she wouldn't dare breathe to anyone else. Homura, who always listened.

Truly, there could be nothing better than this.

Sayaka Miki was happy.

She was happy, despite lingering traces of bitterness. After carrying a torch for Kyosuke for so long, seeing him with Hitomi, one of her best friends... it hurt sometimes. In the deep recesses of her mind, she sometimes resented Hitomi for it. It could have been me... That thought plagued her when she lay awake at night in the dark, but she always pushed it back down. I'll be okay. I'll get over it, she told herself whenever this happened. Why should I pine over him? He's happy with Hitomi, Hitomi and I are still friends, and I've got everything I could ask for. I've got her, and Madoka, and Mami-san...

And Kyoko. Thinking of Kyoko always lightened her spirits. There was something about her... true, she drove Sayaka crazy on a semi-weekly basis, but she couldn't imagine being without her. There was a spark of connection between them, something deeper than she had words to express. If it were anyone else, Sayaka might suspect herself of harboring a crush... but on Kyoko? That couldn't be. True, Kyoko showed up in her dreams with alarming frequency, and true, when she did, she tended to do things that would make the real Kyoko threaten to bludgeon her to death if she ever found out... and true, sometimes those kinds of dreams about Kyoko slipped into her waking hours as daydreams or idle fantasies. But the two of them? In the real world? Together? Ridiculous. Sayaka much preferred to stay rooted in reality, where life was good and she was mostly satisfied.

Yes, life was good.

And yet.

On those long, dark nights when Sayaka searched her soul, she often had an odd, nagging feeling she couldn't identify. A feeling that despite living in contentment, there was something more... something she should be doing. Something she had forgotten. It frustrated her to think about it, and she tended to be short with people for a day or two whenever it came to mind.

Then there was that girl, the quiet one with the long black hair who almost never smiled, and who always hung around Madoka like her shadow. Homura Akemi. She was hardly a friend, but they tolerated each other for Madoka's sake. Even so, every so often, Sayaka would look at Homura... and feel a spike of white-hot rage that she couldn't explain. The instant she became aware of it, that spike would vanish into ether, but still.

Despite all of that, Sayaka was happy.

Kyoko Sakura was happy.

For her, life was about enjoying the finer things, like junk food, video games, and the company of one's friends. Sure, her father preached about the temptations of earthly desires and all of that, but Kyoko didn't see anything wrong with indulging herself, so long as she was always grateful for the chance. Doubtless, Father Sakura might have been horrified to know of the trouble his eldest daughter frequently got into in pursuit of those pleasures... if he knew, he would likely rail at her for being a bad influence on her little sister, Momoko, and go on and on about how her actions were turning her mother's hair gray. Then again, Father Sakura tended to wax tragic whenever his morning toast got burned... he was the poetic, overdramatic type. Kind of a pain sometimes, but Kyoko loved him anyway.

As it happened, that was also a remarkably accurate description of how she felt about Sayaka. Not that Sayaka would ever find out about that... she'd die before she ever admitted it. If the tomboy ever got wind that Kyoko contemplated being more than friends on occasion... she'd be laughed into the next country, most likely. Besides, Kyoko knew she was still nursing wounds over losing Kyosuke to Hitomi, no matter how much she might deny it. The last thing she needed was to learn that one of her best friends felt that way about her. Maybe in the future, things could be different, but for now, Kyoko was content to love her from a distance.

Of course, there was Mami too. Kyoko loved her like a big sister, like part of the family. It hurt to see that sad look in her eyes, the one she always masked behind a gentle smile. More than once, Kyoko tried to get her to open up and tell her what was wrong these days... but Mami would never tell. Kyoko supposed she would talk when she was ready.

Until then, Kyoko intended to enjoy life and friendship to the fullest, taking whatever came at her with a smile.

Mami Tomoe was happy... or so she claimed.

She didn't quite understand it. After the accident that orphaned her, her life rebuilt itself with remarkable speed, as if the fates were compensating her for her loss. Not just with the insurance and her parents' trust fund, but with the generous donations of the families who knew the Tomoes... Sayaka's and Kyoko's families in particular gave everything they could to make sure she was safe, comfortable, and surrounded by friends. Once she grew close with Madoka, the new transfer student, the Kanames likewise provided their help with whatever she needed.

Life was routine, but hardly boring. How could it be, with people like her friends around? On the rare occasions she wasn't out and about with them after school, she was at home, indulging in her passion for cooking. What was once a passing hobby was now a way of life. She found that she truly came alive in her kitchen, alive in ways she hadn't felt since the accident. Already there were offers from a half-dozen exclusive cooking schools, offering full scholarships for when she graduated. Once she grew up, she would be free to share her talent with the world. And not just cooking schools, either... There was more than one talent scout who frequently called with offers to get her a foothold in the modeling or idol industry, should she choose to do so.

Out of the ashes of tragedy, she had been reborn, like a phoenix. She had every opportunity a girl her age could have, and then some.

So why did she often feel so lost?

It was more than just missing her parents. She would always miss them, of course, but after an extended grieving period, she was able to put their loss behind her. It was something deeper than that... a hole in her heart, one that refused to be filled even in the company of her friends and adopted families. There was something lost. Something missing.

It bothered her, even moreso because she had no idea why she felt this way, or how she could miss something without knowing what it was. Madoka, Sayaka, and Kyoko noticed her periods of melancholy, and often asked her to tell them what was wrong... but how could she, if she didn't know herself? There was no way to give voice to the problem without sounding silly, or worse, crazy.

Something was lost. Something was missing. But every time she concentrated and tried to place what that something was, it escaped her like the wisps of a half-remembered dream.

Something... or perhaps someone.

Nagisa Momoe was not happy. Nor was she sad, or angry, or lonely, or anything, for that matter.

Nagisa Momoe no longer existed. In fact, she had never existed at all.

Homura Akemi was happy. That went without saying.

Mitakihara Middle School

Late. Madoka was late.

Homura drummed her fingers on her desk as she deliberated. It was probably nothing; perhaps her family needed her for chores, or little Tatsuya was being stubborn, or some small delay like that. Still, there was a nagging worry in the back of her mind... the same worry that was always there in the rare times when she and Madoka were apart.

Of course, it would be easy to check on her, or to instantly solve whatever problem was keeping her from school. If she wanted, she could follow Madoka every hour of every day without her notice, lending an invisible hand to provide her with anything she might need. All it would take was proper manipulation of the strings. Sometimes, the thought was tempting.

But no. Homura had done what she had done in order to give Madoka a normal, happy life. Putting her under constant surveillance with no privacy, and using her powers to fulfill her every whim... that was hardly normal. That would make Madoka into little more than a doll, and Homura refused to sink to that level. She might be damned, irredeemably so, but even the Devil had her standards. As long as Homura had a say in it, Madoka's life would be as normal as possible, given the circumstances.

At least, that was how Homura justified it.

Still. Madoka was late, and that was troubling. Where was she?

Just one little peek. Just to make sure she was all right. Part of Homura remained calmly in her seat, and part of her rose from her desk. Invisible, intangible, her other self brushed back her long black hair, a blink away from willing herself to Madoka's location...

... and that was when Madoka came through the classroom door, wearing her usual perfect smile and a red flower in one of her pigtails.

Homura's selves merged back together as she rose to greet her. "Good morning, Madoka."

"Good morning, Homura-chan!"

"That's a lovely flower. Is it from your father's garden?"

She blushed and giggled, reaching up to stroke the thin red hanging petals. "No, the jester outside the school gave it to me. Isn't it pretty?"

That gave the Devil pause. "Jester?"

Madoka nodded. "I think that's what he was. He was waiting at the gate. He had strange hair like a jester's hat, and a mask with a big dark X through it, it was kind of scary... but he said that he only gives flowers to the prettiest girls." Her cheeks flushed as she leaned close, presenting the flower for Homura's closer inspection. "Look, it's a red spider lily. He told me he chose it especially for me, because you'd like it."

A masked jester, with a red spider lily. Homura's blood froze in her veins. How? It couldn't be the same one. It couldn't be, she killed him. "Did..." she said, as smoothly as she could, "... did this jester say anything else?"

"Um, no, I don't think so. Are you all right, Homura-chan? You look pale-"

The world stopped and turned to grayscale. Homura's barren wings unfurled from her back, and with a thought she swooped through the wall of the classroom and down to the school courtyard to the gate-

It was him. Impossibly, it was him. Joker stood there, brazen and bizarre in broad daylight, holding a bouquet of red spider lilies as if he were waiting for a date, perfectly intact save for that strange scar in his mask.

How? Homura thought. She had burned the harlequin to a crisp, she was sure of it. How could he have-

The harlequin moved. Within Homura's frozen time, he somehow moved. Again. "Bonjour, madame," he said with a courtly bow."Would the lady like a flower? They're your favorites-"

Homura split him in half. Pitch black blood spewed from the pieces, but the droplets never touched the ground... the blood and the halves froze, and then vanished in a roar of violet flame.

Furious, Homura rewound time, watching students file backwards around her in sped-up motion... The halves reformed and reconnected, and soon she saw Madoka walk backwards through the school doors, across the campus, and through the gate, all smiles. Far from freezing, now Homura's blood boiled, and her stomach churned as she saw the harlequin smile at her, gently removing the spider lily's stem from her hair with long, clawed, spider-like fingers and placing it back in the bouquet... He laughed about something, spoke to her for a moment, and waved her over, then Madoka raced back down the street and out of sight...

This time she quartered him, and burned his body and the damned flowers until not even ashes were left. A blink, and all the Clara dolls in the area assembled before her. Their shrieking and giggling died off as they were cowed into silence by Homura's livid expression.
"Listen, all of you," she said. "If you see, hear, or sense anyone who looks or sounds like this..." Here she sent the concept of Joker to them, branded it into their minds. "... inform me immediately. This person is an intruder. He does not belong here. Do you understand?"

Dozens of grinning heads nodded in nervous unison. "Gott ist tot!"

"You had best hope you do."

Another blink, and the Claras were back at their former positions. A third, and she was back in the classroom with Madoka, whose pink pigtails were just as they always were. Time resumed its course. Madoka never noticed the absence of the flower... how could she, when the harlequin never gave it to her in the first place?

"- pale," she was saying. "Should we go to the nurse's office?"

"No," said Homura, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm all right, I'm just a bit tired. You had better take your seat, class will start soon."

"Okay! See you at break, Homura-chan!"

"Yes, you will." And before then, and after. If it was for Madoka's safety and happiness, Homura would bend her self-imposed rules. Twice now, the same being had intruded upon her world, without her notice, and demonstrated an ability to not only resist her power over time, but return from certain death. Worse still, this Joker knew intimate details about her, and about Madoka... That was enough justification for keeping closer watch, she thought. It wouldn't even expend that much power. Just a simple magical orb, a "mind's eye", connected to her own sight and hovering silently around Madoka at all times. She would never know.

It didn't take long to grow used to the new routine. Every few minutes without fail, Homura would check her mind's eye and scan everything around Madoka for any signs of the harlequin. Once satisfied, she would return to her normal sight, the whole process taking no more than a fraction of a second. No trouble at all. In fact, it was... sort of fun, in an odd way. Comforting. Now she was more like Madoka's guardian angel than ever.

As she walked back across the bridge to her apartment after school, Homura found herself enjoying the ability to simultaneously watch Madoka as she stopped by a local carnival with Sayaka and Hitomi. She was rather cool toward those two, the former in particular, but with this new system in place, she didn't need to worry about accompanying them. For the moment, they could be trusted to assist in keeping Madoka safe.

In the meantime, Homura could focus on scouring the city for the harlequin's presence, rooting him out of wherever he was hiding. Already there were ideas forming for how she would deal with him if he dared show his face again. Some of her favorites of those ideas involved extensive usage of chainsaws.

Watching: there was Madoka, stopping by a colorful booth to buy some cotton candy. Pink, of course. She bit into the spun sugar and made a sound of delight, then offered a piece to Sayaka. Homura felt a twinge of annoyance at that, but she suppressed it. It would be easy enough to arrange for Sayaka to pay for it later by getting a rock stuck in her shoe, or something to that effect.

Warm air blew through her hair as Homura made a turn onto her street. She could just blink herself back home, of course, but why waste the power? It was a lovely spring evening. Perhaps she would stop by the carnival in a bit, as a surprise for Madoka. It could be amusing.

Watching: Madoka took Hitomi's hand and pulled her toward another booth, laughing. This one was some kind of puppet show. Too juvenile for Homura's tastes, but harmless.

The holo-keypad next to the front door of her apartment building flickered to life as Homura waved her hand before it. One by one she pressed in the digits of her security code: 1-9-9-7-1-0-0-3. Madoka's birthday, of course. She wouldn't dare program the code to be anything else.

Watching: the show was a simple affair. A hand puppet with a blue bob haircut wearing a blue sailor fuku and a tiara spoke in a pleasant female voice, telling the audience a story of a clumsy schoolgirl who became a superhero to fight for love and justice. Other puppets battled behind her as she spoke, one side in similar fukus of varying colors, the other composed of shadowy creatures. Sayaka listened to the tale with rapt attention. Just like her. How pathetic.

The lock disengaged with a satisfying click, and the doors slid aside to allow Homura through. She turned a corner and began the climb up the stairs to the sixth floor.

Watching: now the puppet in blue had moved on to another story. "Once upon a time, there was another hero, much like Usagi-chan, who started as nothing more than an ordinary schoolgirl. This schoolgirl gained great power, and used it to bring hope to the universe..."

Homura paused with her hand on her doorknob.

Watching: "But as the price for this power," continued the puppet, "the girl had to leave the universe, only coming back to lead the dying to Heaven. This made a lowly newt very, very sad, for she loved the schoolgirl and didn't want her to leave. So one day, when the newt lay dying and the schoolgirl came to claim her... in an act of selfish cowardice, the newt reached up and tore the schoolgirl's power from her, taking it for herself..."

Blink. Homura sizzled with rage as she appeared behind the booth at the carnival in an instant, ten seconds before the puppet began its second story, time hanging in wait for her to resume its course. With her will alone, she ripped the booth apart... but she dragged the harlequin inside out of the wreckage with her bare hands.

Joker flashed an obsequious grin, dismissing his puppet back to the palace with a click of his fingers. No use putting her in the crossfire; his personal safeguards weren't in place for her, and she was too valuable to risk. "What's wrong, mon petit deville?" he said to Homura. "Is the show not to our liking?"

Homura's hands closed around his neck with the force of an industrial steel press. A single squeeze was all it took. A fearsome snap echoed in the silence of frozen time. Joker's head lolled sickeningly to to one side, that maddening grin still leering at her in rictus...

She sent his corpse a thousand miles underground, to a place deep within the earth's crust. Once it materialized there, she took savage pleasure in watching the planet's gravitational forces crumple it down to a tiny speck, as if it were a ball of paper. Only then did she allow the intense heat do away with the rest.

Blink. She was back to Madoka's side at the end of the school day, walking with her as they left the gates. "Madoka," she said smoothly, "let's go to my house tonight. I need your help with my English homework."

"But-" Sayaka sputtered. Another spike of inexplicable anger flared within her, then dissipated. "But we were supposed to go to the carnival tonight! Akemi-san, you can't just-"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Homura as she tweaked the strings. "Kamijo-kun is giving a concert in the park tonight. Surely you don't want to miss that for a silly little carnival?"

"Oh my," said Hitomi, putting a hand to her lips. "I had completely forgotten. That's right, Kyosuke wanted us both to be there..."

"Dammit." Sayaka stomped her foot and crossed her arms. Now she remembered too. "Oh well. Tomorrow's Sunday, and the carnival should still be there, right? We'll all go then."

"I'm afraid that the carnival may be closing early," said Homura, making it so without missing a beat. "They must have run into some difficulty. I'm sorry, Miki-san. Perhaps another time."

"Yeah, yeah." Sayaka knew she couldn't be much help with English homework, so there was nothing for it but to let Madoka go. Why did that bother her so much, though? "You two have fun. C'mon, Hitomi-chan."

Madoka waved to them both as they parted ways. "Bye, Sayaka-chan. Bye, Hitomi-chan. Enjoy the concert!"

"We will, thank you, Madoka-chan. Good bye, Akemi-san."

"Bye."

Once the other two were gone, Homura gently pulled Madoka aside. "Actually, Madoka, I have something important that I must discuss with you..."

"... and the landlord says there's nothing he can do," said Madoka to her mother. "So please, can Homura-chan stay with us, just for a while?"

Junko Kaname exchanged a worried glance with her husband, Tomohisa. "I don't understand it. What kind of miserly bastard would throw a fourteen-year-old out on the street? Doesn't he know you live by yourself?"

"Yes, he does." Homura made an effort to look as pathetic as possible. It was easy to do so; she simply thought back to how she always was before she met Madoka. Pathetic, timid, weak, and worthless. A poor, miserable, sickly orphan, downtrodden and overlooked by everyone. It came back easier than she expected, to be honest. "But he says the rules are the rules. I apologize for the inconvenience, Kaname-okaa-san..."

That made Junko back off in a hurry. "No, no, no, it's no inconvenience at all! It's just... this is so sudden..."

Tomohisa nodded and frowned. "I agree. You know you can always come to us if you're in trouble, Homura. Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?"

"It..." Homura willed tears to her eyes and choked out a quiet fake sob. "It all happened so quickly, and I didn't know where to turn... I th-thought about staying with Tomoe-san, but I was afraid she would turn me down..."

"Homura-chan, no!" said Madoka, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Mami-san would never!"

"B-but..." Homura continued with a louder sob. "... but Tomoe-san has so many troubles already, I d-didn't want to be a b-burden to her. I-I'm sorry..."

"Homura-chan, please don't cry! It'll be all right somehow-"

"I just don't know." Junko crossed her arms and frowned. "Maybe I should have a talk with social services. Surely they could do something to-"

It was time to drop the big one, take the one action that would force the Kanames' hands. Homura nudged the strings, just enough...

Tatsuya Kaname tugged at one of her black stockings. His pudgy toddler face crinkled as he looked up at his mother and father, and the beginnings of tears swam in his eyes. "Mama, Papa," he said, "can Homura-onee-chan stay? Please?"

That did it. The last of Junko's resistance faded. "Of course she can, Tatsuya," she said with a warm smile. "Homura, you're welcome at our home for as long as you like."

"Th-thank you..." For the finishing touch, Homura ran to Junko and wrapped her arms around her waist. Junko returned the hug, held her as she would hold her own children... as Homura's own mother, whoever or wherever she was, had never done.

Homura felt no warmth from that embrace. Of course, that was because she would only accept a hug like this from Madoka, and Junko wasn't Madoka. That was the only reason that made sense.

But stranger still, when Madoka seized her in a joyful, relieved hug from behind seconds later, crying happy tears into her shoulder... she felt no warmth from her beloved either.

It had to be a quirk of her powers. Nothing to worry about. Just a minor aberration, not worth fretting over... so she didn't.

"Here, Homura-chan," said Madoka, steering her toward a door on the right of the hall. "You take a bath first."

"Don't be silly, Madoka," said Homura. She placed a hand on the crook of her beloved's arm. "There's no reason we can't take one together."

"Mmm-mmm. I mean, I'd like to, but-" Her cheeks turned almost as pink as her hair. "You've had a really tough time lately, haven't you? You deserve some quiet time by yourself."

"But-"

"No buts." Madoka gave her a firm but gentle shove to the small of the back, pushing her through the bathroom door. "Take as long as you need. I'll wait until you're finished."

This wasn't going exactly as Homura planned. Another nagging temptation: it would be so easy to change Madoka's mind with her powers, but- No, she thought. Absolutely not. "All right," Homura said aloud. "I promise I won't take too long."

"Don't worry about it! And you can borrow my shampoo and stuff if you want, it's right on the edge of the tub."

"Thank you, but I have my own. I wouldn't dream of using yours."

"If you say so! See you in a little while..." Here Madoka broke into giggles. "... roommate!"

How Homura loved that sound. "Roommate," she repeated, smiling as wide as she dared. "I'll be right back."

Once the door clicked shut, Homura sighed and began to undress. How long had it been since her last real bath? They weren't necessary anymore, so she couldn't remember. After today, though, a bit of indulgence could be just what she needed. Madoka was right, as she usually was. Steaming water bubbled and lapped at the edges of the tub as it filled. With deliberate care, Homura emptied a bucket of it over herself. It really was heavenly; she forgot how good it felt to wash everything away in one big, warm cascade... and rubbing herself down with soap was quite relaxing in its mundanity, as was working the lilac-scented shampoo that Madoka liked so much into her long black hair, working out the tangles with her fingers, massaging the cool fluid deep into her scalp, and finally dousing herself once more to rinse off all the lather. Bliss. Maybe she would take a while to just soak, pause the world for an hour or two and-

"Need a towel, madame?"

The voice brought Homura crashing back to reality. He was here, in Madoka's house... lounging in her bathtub, wearing only the scarred mask and the smile she was growing to despise. How on earth had Joker managed to get so close without her knowing?

Homura stood, her eyes ablaze. She was more infuriated by his brazenness than his apparent nudity... her own, of course, was a non-issue. As she summoned her power to grasp him by his very aura and rip him-

Her mouth fell open in shock, and her pupils shrank.

He didn't have an aura.

He didn't have an aura.

It wasn't that she couldn't grasp it, it was that it wasn't there at all. That simply wasn't possible. Everything had an aura: people, animals, plants, rocks, everything made of solid matter. Except him, apparently. Confounded, Homura granted herself senses far beyond the human range, of every kind she could think of... physical, mental, mystical, all of them.

According to every sense except her vision and hearing, there was simply no one there. She opened her mouth to demand him to explain himself, but all that emerged was, "How?!"

Crossing his arms behind his head, Joker leaned back into the water. "Who knows? Perhaps I'm not really here, and you're simply losing your mind, madame. I mean, with all you've been through, it had to happen sooner or later, n'est pas?"

A foreboding chill crawled down Homura's spine. That possibility had occurred to her, more than once. During the many years she spent reliving that same month, and during the time she spent trapped with the others in the false Mitakihara formed from her own Witch labyrinth, it was sometimes easier to suspect that she was going mad than to accept the merciless cruelty of her reality.

Not this time, though. This had to be a trick. It had to be. "What do you want?" she hissed from between clenched teeth. The words came out sounding more desperate than she intended; the sound made her feel ill.

"I think you already know," said Joker. "I want both you and the little rose-haired twit to join me in Dead End."

Something snapped. "Don't you dare talk about her that way-!"

Unimpressed, the harlequin yawned, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. "As much fun as this is, madame, it's almost becoming routine at this point. I appear, you kill me, we start over. We don't want the audience to get bored of the gag. So..." Now he leaned over the rim of the tub, gripping the edge with pale, clawed fingertips. The black eyes of the mask opened wide. "I'm prepared to make you an offer. A challenge, actually... a game."

The world trembled with Homura's fury. "I will not reduce myself to a plaything for your amusement-"

"Really? Ah well, then I suppose I'll just have to come back..." Joker's claws clicked the tiles. "Again and again, however long it takes... A month? A year, perhaps? Two? Ten? How long do you think you can protect your precious Madoka?"

She bristled. "From you? For as long as I have to."

The harlequin waved a hand, appallingly unconcerned. "Yes, yes, dear. But don't you see how much harder I've made your job in just one day? How far you've bent your own rules in just a few hours?"

A yawning hole opened in the pit of Homura's stomach. "I-"

"I've no doubt you can keep her safe from me," said Joker, "but I can't see how you could do it for long while still maintaining this gilded cage of yours. You see? You've already had to make so many compromises, after just one day. What will you have to do tomorrow? Or next week?"

The hole widened into a chasm. "Shut up."

"Hence, the nature of my game," Joker continued. "It's simple: if I win, we'll both go back to the routine and that will be that. But if you win, I'll acknowledge your superiority and leave dear, sweet Madoka alone."

Another flare raged through her body... how could he think she was so stupid? Did he think she couldn't tell what kind of creature he was by now? "Liar," she spat. "Even if I do win, you won't keep your promise."

"Won't I?" The harlequin shrugged and flicked water at her... it evaporated into steam long before it touched her skin. "If you beat me, really beat me, what reason would I have to come back?"

Damn it all, he had a point. The temptation to atomize this fool still gnawed at her, but she suppressed it. "Talk. What's your game?"

There was that grin again. "Eight hours." He held up eight spindly fingers for emphasis. "One night. I'll focus on you, and only on you. No one else will see, hear, or sense me. If you can make it through the night without Madoka noticing, without trying to kill me again, and without using any magic to block me out, send me away, or otherwise cheat your way out of it... you win. All you have to do is not react. Simple, non?"

Eight hours. Homura took a moment to ponder. It was a sadistic game; she expected as much from the likes of him. For anyone else, it would be torture.

However, for as much as he seemed to know about her, he apparently didn't know one crucial fact: there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do, no abuse he could imagine that could match the loathing she already felt for herself.

Not that anyone would ever know that, not even Madoka. It was only deep within her heart of hearts that she would ever acknowledge those feelings, and she tried never to do so: that this entire façade was constructed not just for Madoka's false happiness, but her own. Granting true happiness and peace of mind to herself was beyond even the powers of a God. Homura Akemi despised herself, saw herself as the lowest of the low: a vile, treacherous creature that had taken the one good, pure thing in all the universe and ripped it apart for the sake of her own selfishness and obsession.

What could Joker possibly say that she had not thought on her own at one point or another? She could do this. She could manage it. For Madoka's sake, she could endure anything.

"Swear to me," she said to Joker, her voice low. "If I agree to this, swear by whatever power you believe in... if I win, you'll leave her alone. You will never approach her again."

Joker placed one hand on his heart and raised the other in a solemn gesture. For once, that infernal smile disappeared. "I, Joker, Commander of Dead End, swear by the name, life, and honor of my creator, the Emperor of Evil, my great master Pierrot, that should I lose this game, I will never personally attempt to recruit Madoka Kaname into Dead End ever again, in any way, shape, or form. This I do solemnly swear, by Emperor Pierrot and the Dark Paint that birthed me."

Throughout this speech, Homura studied him, probing with all of her expanded senses for any hint of treachery. It was no good; whatever he had done to remove his aura shielded him from telepathy as well. His voice and body language gave nothing away. No way to tell if he was sincere in his pledge or not.

Of course, Homura was no fool. She didn't trust him to honor his word for a moment. She had more than enough experience to recognize the careful phrasing of someone not expressly lying, but concealing the truth nonetheless. For that matter, his terms should he win the game were too easy, too vague... Why go through all this effort without a clear benefit for himself?

Perhaps he was simply insane, or rather, more insane than she thought at first. More reason than ever to keep him away from Madoka. If doing so meant enduring an entire night of his foolishness...

For Madoka, she could endure it.

"Very well," she said. "I accept."

Joker's grin returned wider than ever, his skin stretching like rubber until the smile was too large for the face that held it. "Excellent! Then we shall begin immediately. Starting now," he said with a snap of his fingers, "only you will know I'm here, madame. Eight hours to go."

Raven hair cast glittering droplets to the bathroom tiles as Homura turned on her heel, snatching her towel from the floor. She made for the door-

"What's wrong, madame?" Joker purred. "Aren't you going to finish your bath?"

Twitch. "I have no need to do so."

"Except that you put on that show of wanting one for dear little Madoka, and she'll be ever so confused if you don't go through with it... you might as well, non?"

Homura scowled at the door. "Fine. Leave."

Water rushed behind her as Joker stood up from the tub. "Ah, ah, ah... the deal was that I focus entirely on you for eight hours. All of eight hours... every second of them."

Bile rose in Homura's throat. Intruding on her in the bathroom, that she could tolerate, but this? Surely he didn't intend to-

Wet footsteps padded across the tiles. His breath hissed over her bare shoulder. "In case you're worried, I'll have you know that I consider myself a gentleman. I have absolutely no intention of touching you, or doing anything untoward... Frankly, for someone who calls herself the Devil, I don't find you anywhere near interesting enough to attempt anything of the sort. No, madame, I will be quite content just to watch."

Homura didn't move.

"I'll even make it easy for you. I won't say anything at all. Go ahead, pretend I'm not even here. That's what you're supposed to be doing anyway, isn't it? Ignoring me? Or are you giving up the game already...?"

Sick to her core, Homura made another sharp turn and stormed back to the tub to get it over with. Eight hours. It's for Madoka. I can endure this for eight hours...

And Joker watched. He never made a sound, nor did his eyes leave her for even a fraction of a second. His grotesque smile remained in place the entire time.

10:30 PM

"Homura-chan!" Madoka rose from her desk with a smile. "How was your bath? Do you feel better?"

"Much better," Homura lied, smooth as the surface of a lake. Joker lingered right behind her, half a step away. She could hear him breathing; a deliberate choice to her detriment, she assumed. "It's your turn."

"Thanks. I'll be right back."

"Take your time."

She waved fondly as she passed... and walked right through the harlequin. At least he was honest about that much.

There was already a futon set up on the opposite side of the room from Madoka's bed, complete with a pillow and sleeping bag, all neat and clean and arranged just for her. So kind...

As she sat and folded her school uniform, Joker strolled around the room, taking it all in. "She likes stuffed animals, I see. I never quite saw the appeal."

Homura ignored him.

A half-hour later, Madoka opened the door in a cloud of sweet-smelling steam, already in her nightclothes, her rose-colored hair hanging loose. "Ahhh, that's better. Homura-chan, are you going to bed already?"

Homura forced a weak smile. "I'm afraid so. It's been a long day, and I'm very tired."

Her face fell. "Aww. I was kinda hoping we could stay up and talk for a while, but- I guess you need your rest."

As she spoke, Joker leaned down to her ear, his eyes on Madoka. "What darling pajamas those are! They look wonderful on her, don't you think, madame?" His voice dropped to a slithering whisper. "Of course, you probably think they'd look even better on her floor..."

Homura's hands seized the blankets tight. "I'm sorry, Madoka. We'll talk more in the morning."

"I guess so. You do look kind of tired... Oh well. Sleep tight, Homura-chan."

"Sleep well."

Madoka climbed under her covers and dimmed the lights. It didn't take long for her breathing to slow.

Homura lay awake in her sleeping bag, staring at the ceiling. It would be best to try to get some sleep herself. The less of this she had to stay awake for, the better. She closed her eyes-

"Now, now," said the harlequin's voice. "You don't think you're getting out of it that easily, do you? Now that she's asleep, the real fun can begin... How about we start with counting how many times you killed your other friends? Just as a warm up..."

Staring resolutely at the ceiling, Homura bit the inside of her lip, as discreetly as possible. She wouldn't crack. She wouldn't. Madoka's safety depended on it.

1:00 AM

For the last hour, the harlequin had paced around and around her sleeping bag in circles as he spoke. He had not stopped talking since Madoka went to sleep.

"... and of course, you being too cowardly to kill yourself and do the universe a favor, well. That goes without saying," said Joker. His words were like the roots of some small, toxic weed, probing for weaknesses in the wall of her resistance, trying to burrow into the foundations. "Just a persistent cancer in the grand cosmic body, aren't we? Too stubborn to die off and stop poisoning all around you."

Madoka's ceiling blurred. Homura blinked her eyes rapidly to bring it back into focus.

"In fact, in the cosmic scheme of things, it's downright unfair," Joker continued. "Someone as small and insignificant as you shouldn't have had such a devastating impact on your universe. Think about it: if you had done what you were supposed to do and thrown yourself off that bridge so long ago... Madoka would have died saving your city, and that would have been the end of it. But noooo, you had to go and foul it all up... and now look where you are. The top of the heap! Time and space in tatters, all your former friends as your mindless puppets, and the concept of hope imprisoned in your dream world. You must be so proud of yourself! You've set rather a high bar for people like me... excusez moi, like us. How are we supposed to compete with what you've done?"

4:15 AM

Some time ago, he chose to hover inches over her, the pitiless black eyes of his mask staring straight into hers, unblinking. She stared back at him, letting her silence speak her defiance.

And still he talked, unceasing... "You still feel. I know you do. Deep down underneath your stolen powers and that fearsome exterior you put up, you're still the same as before: a wretched, weak, sickly little girl crying out for someone to love her. And she did. That's the most delicious part... she did love you, but that wasn't enough, was it? You had to have more. Look what it's gotten you... Look at her over there. Sleeping without a care in the world."

The blankets covering Madoka rose and fell in her slumber. Homura forced herself not to look.

"You know you've thought about it," hissed Joker. "You know you've fantasized about it. It would be so easy: just stop time, right now while she's asleep, and take what you really want from her. She would never know, she would never remember. No one would know... except for you and me. After you've fallen this far... what's one more sin? Do it. Do it."

6:00 AM

With a flourish, Joker produced an antique pocket watch, flipped open its brass lid, and checked the time. "Aaaaaand... that's it! Well done, Madame Diable! Honestly, I didn't think you'd make it, but you've won. The game is over. How do you feel?"

Sagging in her sleeping bag, Homura let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding in. She was drained, empty, exhausted... hours upon hours of Joker's nonstop words had hollowed her insides out. She thought there was nothing he could say that could be worse than the venom of her own self-hatred swirling inside her... she was wrong, so very, very wrong. All she wanted now was sleep, blessed, dreamless sleep... every second she remained awake was another piece of herself chipped away. "Leave," she said to Joker, shutting her eyes, embracing the dark. "Just leave."

"Of course," said the harlequin's voice. "Good day, madame." A rush of air, and he was gone.

Homura lay there, deathly tired but unable to sleep.

It felt like only seconds later when Madoka's alarm buzzed, and she yawned and sat up scrubbing her eyes. "'Morning, Homura-chan," she yawned. "Did you have a good night?"

"Yes," she lied. She used to hate telling lies, but lying was so easy now...

"Hang on," said Madoka, fumbling with her covers. "I have to go wake Mama up. I'll be right back, then we can start on breakfast." Soft footsteps padded across the room. That face Homura loved so much leaned over her... and seeing her brow crinkle in concern was like a knife thrust into her belly. "Are you sure you're okay? Your eyes are really puffy... do you feel sick?"

"I'll be fine," said Homura, with a smile that stopped at her lips. "I just need a few minutes."

Midnight

The Previous Night

Miki Residence

Water. For no reason she could understand, Sayaka Miki often dreamed of water. Swirling dark currents, surrounding her and pulling her down with irresistible force, her breath escaping her lips in a rush of bubbles. It wasn't exactly accurate to call these dreams nightmares, because more often than not, they would end with someone reaching down into the depths...

... taking her hand...

... wrapping their arms around her, as if to tell her everything was going to be all right...

... and then she would wake in her bed, puzzle over what it meant for a few moments, then go back to sleep.

Tonight, though, she woke from the water to a beautiful sound... a haunting violin melody, mournful and mysterious. What is that? she thought, sitting up in bed with a frown. It's the middle of the night, who would be dumb enough to- Wait a minute. She listened a moment more before she recognized the tune. Zemlinsky. That's one of Zemlinsky's pieces. What the hell...?

The music came from outside her window. Muttering darkly to herself, Sayaka pulled on her nightgown and stomped over to the curtains. Kyosuke, if that's you out there waking me up at this hour, I'm gonna belt you one! She threw the curtains wide, opened the window, and stuck her head out, ready to give Kyosuke a piece of her mind... "Huh?"

It wasn't Kyosuke. A bizarre figure stood in a patch of moonlight on her lawn, bowing a violin with great skill and precision, the music ebbing and flowing around him like the tide... He was dressed as some kind of jester, with a multicolored shock of hair styled like a bell cap, and a white mask with an X through it covering the upper half of his face. Slowly he gazed up at Sayaka... the eyes of his mask were empty black. "Bonsoir, Mademoiselle."

Sayaka was sorely tempted to slam the window shut and go back to sleep, but something kept her looking into those black eyes. "Who... who are you? What are you doing here?"

Joker lifted the bow from the strings, and the music stopped abruptly. "Why, I'm here to assist you, of course. I want to help you get back what you lost. Or rather... what was taken from you."

END OF CHAPTER 18

NEXT: ... IN A HANDBASKET