InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Blood Contract ❯ Seized ( Chapter 3 )

Sango unlocked the door and stepped into the darkness of her tiny apartment, kicking her chunky heels into the genkan as she did so. With a sigh, she curled her fingers around the tie in her hair and tugged, pausing to enjoy the freeing sensation as the dark mass fell heavily against her back and shoulders. She tossed her keys onto the nearest flat surface, a side table littered with mail that stood sentry near the entrance, and leaned back against the door.

Her eyes swiped idly around the living space: boxy, cluttered-but-neat, and with only a flimsy partition to separate the kitchen/dining area from the living room. A thirteen inch television took up some space on top of the low bookcases lining her walls, while the shelves below held as many odd knickknacks and useful items as she could fit in around the books. Through the open door at the back, she could see the folded futon and used armoire taking up most of the space in her bedroom. It was small, but it was hers. All of it with no help from her parents, and no reliance on the significant money or influence of the Hoshinuma name. All of it the result of years of hard work and effort, a sign and proof of her own worth. Her sanctuary.

She had a pleasant, wine-induced buzz humming through her head and the warmth of a years-old friendship soothing her stomach, but the smile that quirked her mouth was bittersweet at best as she tried to swallow the vague wistfulness nipping at the day. It was so nice to spend time in the company of good friends and not have to worry about appearances and expectations, tetchy superiors, or disrespectful co-workers. The afternoon had been an oasis in the stress-filled desert of her recent life, and she’d needed it desperately.

It was just such a shame that these get-togethers had become so scarce in recent years. Back in college it had been easy to just pick up and go out for the day, but in the past few years they'd been resigning themselves more and more to phone calls and Internet chats.

Rin’s life had been a whirlwind of art shows and exotic trips since even before they’d graduated. Kagome had been consumed with the workings of her job and plagued by a lazy boss, and then Houjou had come onto the scene to take up even more of her time. And Sango herself….

Her smile faded into a grimace.

If Kagome worked long hours, then Sango never stopped, and hadn’t really since she’d joined the police force. Because of her specialized knowledge of youkai and youkai combat techniques, she'd managed to become one of the youngest detectives in the entire city, never mind that she was a woman.

Everyone expected so much, and yet it was never she, Sango, who was capable. Only the Hoshinuma name. It had been that way her entire life. She'd grown up nurtured and strong within the strong traditions of the clan Hoshinuma, a prized, prickly flower of the house. But as proud as she'd always been of her family's strengths and accomplishments, somewhere in her teens, she'd realized she'd needed to earn something for herself. She'd needed to become an asset to the Hoshinuma, not an asset of them; so she'd deviated from her father's chosen path for her. It had taken her years, but she'd done it – and all without the help or approval of her parents, because they'd never understood what drove her. It had been a source of constant stress for all of them, and one she regretted even as she couldn't change it.

But now, after this past week, and especially after what she'd done this afternoon, she wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to keep for herself the things she’d earned on her own. How could she when the Hoshinuma legacy hung so heavily around her neck?

The blinking red blip on her answering machine, tucked off to the side of the television, jumped out at her with every pulse. With anther sigh and a mental brace, Sango slung her jacket carelessly over the back of her couch and rummaged through her purse until she found her cell. She pressed the power button to light up the dead phone, and watched with dismay as the display notified her of twelve missed calls. Her fist clenched, so hard that her nails dug into her palm and her arm trembled with the strain.

“Can’t you just leave me be for a little longer, Mother?”

She tossed her purse and the phone onto the coffee table and stalked over to press the button on the answering machine. It beeped, and the mechanical voice informed her of ten missed messages before it started playing them back, one by one.

BEEP.

“Sango, this is Okasan. Just calling to remind you about the meeting with Lord Hitomi’s son today. Don't forget we arranged to meet at the house beforehand so I can help you with that kimono we had made. It makes you look so beautiful and graceful.”

BEEP.

“Sango, where are you? You were supposed to meet me at the house fifteen minutes ago, and you're not answering your cell. Something didn’t happen with your job, did it? I had your father talk to your superiors last week. They promised not to give you any trouble.... You understand the importance of this meeting. Please, Sango.”

BEEP.

“Sango! Your mother is very upset. You were told about this omiai weeks ago. I even arranged everything with your job and with Lord Hitomi. If you do not appear it will cause us great embarrassment. Where are you?”

BEEP.

Sango fumbled with the buttons on her shirt and walked into the bathroom, still half-listening as the messages played in the background, continuing to alternate between her mother and her father, each message growing progressively more agitated as they moved from the family estate to the restaurant. She perched on the edge of the tub, started the water, and rolled her head, trying to alleviate some of the tension tightening her neck and shoulders. Her head ached and the heat radiating from the tub called to her.

BEEP.

“Sango, Sango, why are you ignoring us? We’ve already been waiting for twenty minutes. Lord Hitomi and his son are being very gracious, but this is an insult to them! You must come! Please, Sango.”

BEEP.

“Sango! This is unacceptable behavior for the only daughter of the Hoshinuma to engage in! You have humiliated me, your mother, and everyone in our family by ignoring this obligation today. This rebelliousness will not go without consequence. We’ll discuss this as soon as I smooth things over with Lord Hitomi.”

BEEP.

“Ane-ue.”

Her younger brother’s voice drifted in through the open doorway as she was in the middle of tugging off her skirt and she froze, staring down at the clear, steaming water.

“I know you were against this from the start, and it wasn’t fair of them, but was it really a good idea to ignore it? It’s not like you would have been forced to marry Hitomi. Father is really angry, Sango.”

He paused, his silence was a tone-like buzz on the recording. Sango pressed her lips into a tight, thin line. “They didn’t even ask, Kohaku.” Nor had they listened when she'd voiced her objections.

“Mother and Father…they’re just worried about you. They’re afraid you’re so caught up in proving yourself to whomever you think you need to prove yourself that you’ll forget about other things. Stuff they think is more important. I know it's hard to believe sometimes, but they only want you to be happy. You know how they are. I don’t like seeing you at odds with them. Think about apologizing, will you?”

BEEP.

End of messages.

Frowning, Sango let her skirt and the rest of her underwear slide down her legs and dropped them into the small crate of dirty clothes near the door. The hot water hissed as she sat on the tiny stool in the cleaning area and soaped down and scrubbed off the exertion of the day.

Omiai. A marriage meeting. How could they? Without asking, without even mentioning the possibility first, without even wondering if she’d have the smallest interest in Lord Hitomi’s son. They’d just called her back to the Hoshinuma main house for a fitting for a new kimono. All her objections had been brushed aside.

They just wanted her to be happy?

What? Was it not good enough? Was everything she’d done with her life so far just not enough for them? She was a detective – not only one of the youngest, but a successful female in a profession only just opening itself up to the female half of the population. Didn't they realize how hard she'd had to work to make it this far? How good she had to be? What had she done to make her parents think she wasn't happy?

Except, a little voice niggled at the back of her brain, they're not entirely wrong.

She liked her job. No, she loved her job and derived an intense amount of satisfaction from being good at it, from making those in the male idiocracy that dominated the police force cringe at having to give her commendations and approval. But it was...a little lonely. She had little, if any camaraderie with anyone on the force because the guys either resented her for being a woman or for her family name; the few women thought she was either a cold-hearted bitch or an untouchable idol.

She frowned.

Come to think of it, the only person who'd ever treated her with an attitude anywhere near normal at her job was...that pervert Sakurai. The bastard sexually harassed her every chance he got but at least he respected her skills for what they were. And, as much as she hated the fact that he flirted shamelessly with any girl who looked at him, she respected him as well. He was capable, good at his job when he was serious about it. It was just so irritatingly hard to tell when he was serious.

And then there was that tug, that pleasant pull in her tummy and the blood-rush in her veins that kept trying to convince her to give in to his suggestive play every time she got near him – that flush, that excited, tingling flutter that no man had ever before managed to subject her to. The secret thrill that underlined the fury every time his hand massaged over her backside, the seductive, seeping warmth that enticed her to let him keep it there, maybe do a little more. The same sensations assaulting her now.

Sango blinked down at the way her soapy hands had slowed against the bare skin of her stomach. Her spine snapped straight, and she tossed her washcloth away in a fit of temper.

No. No, no, no, no!

She rinsed off with quick, efficient movements and didn't bother with her hair before she slipped into the steaming tub. She gave soft sigh of relief at the hot water closed over her weary muscles, and spent some time staring brooding at the tiny, fogged window high in the wall above her head.

Okay. Maybe in the quietest of her most personal moments, she could admit that she found Miroku attractive; she might even grudgingly go so far as to acknowledge that she might even want him. But the temptation was irrelevant. She wasn't about to humiliate herself by becoming some barely remembered notch on a bedpost – not even for a man who made her insides churn with heat and her imagination churn with things she'd never considered doing before.

And it didn't matter anyway, because she was likely well on her way to being engaged to a man her parents considered suitable. The Hitomi family was wealthy and influential, the majority of them holding positions high within the government. Sango, for all her rebelliousness, was still a daughter of the Hoshinuma, with a pride that was built into her blood. Already, she felt regret for shaming her parents publicly.

And.... And because Kohaku was wrong. A marriage meeting between the old and distinguished families wasn't the same as a normal matchmaker service for the general population. In their world, power and politics were more important than personal feelings and an omiai a formality of an alliance already discussed and agreed upon. She let her head drop back against the edge of her small tub and sighed again. This small defiance of hers wouldn't be the end of it. Their parents had, for whatever reason, decided it was time for her to marry, and they wouldn't stop pressuring, arranging, and interfering until she was safely out of “dried up old fish” territory. The flower of the Hoshinuma could not be allowed to wither without fertilization. Sango had known that this was coming for quite some time.

Her mouth twisted into a grimace.

Kohaku was lucky. As the male heir, he would have much more time than she'd been given. He might even have enough time to find someone for himself before their parents arranged someone for him.

It wasn't as horrible as it sounded. Happiness could, and often did, come from the arranged marriages of the aristocracy – her parents were an example of that. Her father lived and breathed for her mother, and her mother adored her father; and for that Sango would always be grateful, because for all the clashes they'd had in the past few years, she still loved them dearly and would hate to see them unhappy. Unfortunately for her, she'd already met Lord Hitomi's son once, during a totally unrelated work event. He was handsome, but he'd inspired nothing in her but a vague, squirming sense of distaste. Nothing even close to what her irritating lech of a partner did to her.

If that's all you have to look forward to, an insidious internal voice whispered, then why not avail yourself of something you truly want while you still can? She had no doubt that Miroku, rakish playboy that he was, would be more than willing to show her whatever sexual ropes she might want to experience. Rin would most vehemently agree with that, even if Sango couldn't quite bring herself to sacrifice her pride to a man who would take it with a carefree smile and move right on to the next woman.

A smile lifted her lips. When Rin and Kagome found out, they'd each blow an individual gasket; she'd have to listen to them rail at her about independence and pride and personal fulfillment. Well, she'd have to listen to Rin. Once Kagome got over her initial indignation, she'd be more forgiving. Kagome understood better that the deep ties and obligations that went along with family weren't nearly so simple.

Inhaling, shaking herself from her contemplative stupor, she brought her hand up to scrub a film of wet across her face. And stilled. Blinked. Frowned. Sniffed again, more carefully this time.

A vague, bitter-herbal smell had crept into her tiny bath; it seemed to mingle with the curls of steam drifting off the water. The smell was out-of-place. Wrong.

She looked around, noted she'd left the bathroom door open a crack; her head tilted as she listened. Nothing stirred through the small opening, but the silence from beyond was the suspended, unnatural kind instead of the comfortable one that normally permeated her home. Despite the heat, an adrenaline-laced chill washed through her body. Her blood rushed through her veins, and her gut tensed in an instinctive warning that she'd learned never to ignore.

Someone was in her apartment.

A burglar? A rapist? A peep? Outrage hit her, and her expression hardened.

Not in this lifetime.

She drew another deep breath and sat up slowly, so as not to slosh the water too much. Her body slipped out of the tub as easily as it had slipped into it. Naked, dripping, cautious, she crept toward the door, hugging the wall, her lithe muscles tensed and ready to defend against any attack. A quick scan of the bathroom showed only her plastic stool and a long wooden stick with a sponge on one end to be the only things available in the way of possible weapons. With a determined frown, she scooped up the wooden stick.

Anger burned in her stomach that anyone would dare violate her precious haven, but it was the calm, controlled fuel of a fighter preparing for battle. Whoever this intruder was, they were in for one hell of a surprise if they thought any child of the Hoshinuma would be easy prey.

She reached the edge of the door, still plastered against the damp tile, and eyed the opening, trying to get a view of the room beyond. Silently, she cursed herself for leaving her phone on the coffee table and mentally scoured her apartment, keeping the layout firmly in her mind. If they were waiting in ambush, the only places strategically feasible were in her tiny bedroom or right outside the bathroom door. Any other spot would give her warning and a chance to fight back. If this intruder had even the smallest amount of sense, he would wait for her to exit the bath.

Her options were limited: she could either wait inside for the intruder to make a move; or, she could charge out into the apartment naked and without having a good sense of who her opponent was, and hope that those circumstances gave her the advantage.

She chewed on her lip...and a short, thick-fingered hand worked it's way through the opening. She stared in disbelief.

The fingers curled around the edge of the door, then tugged to slide the door fully open. A sickening anticipation permeated the croaking voice that spoke at the same time. “I'm telling you, Jak, she should already be –”

He was a short, corpulent little man who barely reached her hip. He had huge, bug-round eyes that shifted around with the proficiency of a child predator, and the lower half of his face was covered in some kind of cloth mask. All this she noted with distant disgust as she swung the flimsy wooden stick with as much force as she could muster, batting a thousand against the enormous bulbs of his eyes. She felt the wood in her hands connect, and crack just a bit under the pressure.

The strange man let out a keening croak of agony and stumbled backward across the threshold. Sango didn't wait for him to recover but jammed the heel of her foot into his stunted body, sending his stumble into a full-blown careen backwards into her living room. The fact that he'd been talking to someone hadn't escaped her, and she followed him out, going down onto one knee and thrusting her damaged stick in the direction of the stunned yelp that had sounded from behind the smaller intruder.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a lovely flower-patterned kimono, a red-painted mouth and dark eyes rounded in shock. Black hair loosely curled and bound, a few messy strands tumbled about a face that somehow managed to be both masculine and feminine at the same time. A sword hilt, sticking out from a sheath against a back.

Even with the ridiculous get-up, something about this second intruder had her blood tingling a warning. Dangerous.

Then the point of her stick made contact with a gut, and the second man (at least, she though it was a man – no breasts) grunted in outrage. She followed with a surge upward, bringing her knee up to his groin with all the weight of her body. It would have worked if he hadn't twisted at the last moment, taking the blow on his hip with another grunt. His hand whipped out to smack her away like an pesky insect, but she absorbed the blow with her arm and used the momentum to throw out a strong left.

Her fist hit his eye, the blow strong enough to reverberate back along her bone.

Intruder number two's head snapped back, but he recovered fast – So fast, too fast, she realized. Who are these guys? – and swept his feet under hers, knocking her onto her back. She hit the ground and lost her breath, but managed to roll to the side before his fist slammed with stunning force into the floor where her head had been.

Sango staggered to her feet, fear adding a sharp spike to her adrenaline. These were no ordinary criminals. The second guy, at least, was a seasoned fighter, a trained warrior, and obscenely strong given his ridiculous appearance. Whatever they wanted, they might very well get it unless she got out of there.

Now.

He looked up from his fist, seemed surprised that she'd managed to dodge. “Oh? You're moving pretty well there.” He jerked his head around, his tone complaining. “Hey! Mukotsu! Your poison's not working!”

Poison?

Sango's eyes darted to the side, where the smaller man had just started to shake himself out in a corner of her tiny apartment. She didn't wait to see what else he would do. She charged the second man while he was distracted, body-slamming him back against the wall, grabbing one of his hands at the same time. She twirled, braced her bare feet, and heaved, thanking her parents, ancestors, and all the gods for years of hard training and muscle memory.

With a shocked squeal, the taller one went crashing into her coffee table.

Seeing him momentarily stunned, she whirled with the stick in her hand, intending to beat the smaller guy back into submission once more, just enough for her to get out of the apartment, nakedness be damned, and –

A plume of purple smoke hit her face, burned her lungs as she choked on it. Her knees hit the floor with a hard crack that she vaguely thought should have hurt more. The stick, to her distant alarm, slid through fingers that didn't seem to have any feeling left in them. Then the rest of her hit the ground, the world dimming as if someone had hit a light switch. She heard voices echoing from a far off place in her head.

Ah! That surprised me. The clatter of broken wood. You didn't kill her, did you?Aniki will be mad.

Heh, heh, heh. Don't worry, my poisons always work.

That first one didn't, did it? Gave the bitch a chance to touch my beautiful face.

Another thick, croaking laugh. You always were twisted, to think you're prettier than she. She'd make a lovely plaything. Shall I test her to make sure Renkotsu's information was accurate?

An irritated groan. Hey, hey. Why do you think Aniki sent me with you, Mukotsu? You're not supposed to touch the merchandise.

She felt hands on her naked flesh, hefting her into the air, and a dull whisper as the last thing in her mind.

Merchandise ?

Abruptly, the world finished its fade.

%%%%%%%%

Rin slammed her way into her studio apartment with an enthusiastic, gusty sigh, feeling utterly satisfied. Her stomach was full, her afternoon had been filled with dear old friends, and her evening filled with laughter. What a fantastic way to spend her first day back in the country.

Her luggage, two overstuffed bags and one box more than she’d left with, was still piled up by the wall where she’d had them dropped off upon her arrival from the airport. Her lips took on a gentle-wry upward curve. From the airport to home, and from home to her friends, and all without a moment to deal with the jet-lag. At least she had her priorities in order, right?

Rin toed off her heels, left them in a messy upside down sprawl somewhere near the door and puttered barefoot towards the kitchen set up in one far corner of the huge space that made up her living quarters. Even with all her money and fame, she'd been lucky to find a third-floor efficiency like this in Tokyo. It was all one huge, echoing room, with a smaller bathroom off to the side of the entrance, and huge, slanted windows opposite the kitchen corner to let in massive amounts of sunlight. She'd set up her work space over there in the sunlight, so that her drafting desk faced the upward view of the sky and the canvases in various sizes and stages of completion were catching as much of it as possible.

Famous artist that she was, consummate professional that she was, Rin needed the sunlight to work properly. She needed the open spaces and the fresh breezes that carried her inspiration to her on those days when she made the effort to heft open those huge, rust-edged windows.

On the other side of her apartment was her actual living space: a bed pushed up against the far wall and covered in a messy mass of blankets and pillows. A short couch, a coffee table, and a television all grouped around a woven area rug, and a nice radio sat on a tiny bookcase behind them. Her comforting, colorful, welcoming little mess. Even the huge wardrobe where she kept her clothes was open and in disarray, and somehow she'd left her full-length cheval mirror tilted towards the wall.

Rin inhaled and smiled in greeting at her surroundings. “It's good to be back,” she said, softly, to the room at large, then made a face. “In Austria, they made me stay in that tiny little room in a dorm. Can you believe that?” A tiny shudder shook her frame. “How they expected me to work in a box I'll never know.”

She was only twenties, but she'd had enough of boxes to last her a lifetime, thank you.

She padded her way into the small-but-functional kitchenette, plopped her bag down heavily onto a free bit of counter space, and turned a tired eye to the rather large pile of envelopes that was still sitting in the same place she'd left them when she'd absconded for her little teaching holiday a few weeks before.

Her brow knit as she studied it. “Is it just me, or did it get bigger?”

Oh, that's right. Rin rolled her eyes. Her agent had volunteered to check her mail for her while she was gone. It was his fault her mail pile had once again turned into a living, breathing monster that must be tamed. She sighed again, concluding with reluctance that a late night session of mindless television and catching up on her long neglected mail might be a good way to unwind from a very hectic day. Thus decided, she grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge, tucked the large pile of letters into her arms, and exited towards her overstuffed couch.

Humming and content, she dumped the pile of mail onto the small coffee table (next to the dirty coffee mug and crumb-littered plate she'd left there in her hurried departure for the airport), and plopped her weary body down onto one of the brilliant violet and crimson cushions flanking the coffee table. She tied her hair back with the multicolored scarf she found peeking out from beneath the carpet edge, rummaged around in the couch until she came up with the remote from under the middle cushion (right where she usually kept it) and flipped the television on. If she wasn't mistaken, she was just in time for....

“Good evening, everyone! Thank you for watching us once again tonight as we bring you the evening edition of 'In The Know', the most popular live show on television! I'm your beautiful hostess Eri --”

“And as always, I'm your lovely co-hostess Yuka, and we thank everyone for tuning in tonight as we bring you all the latest scoops on things you didn't know you wanted to know!”

Rin grinned as the two perky young women smiled at their cheering, clapping crowd and settled more comfortably onto her knees as she started sorting through the mail: bills in one sort-of pile; fan mail and work related in another; junk mail on the floor in the out-of-sight, out-of-mind pile.

“We're getting buzz from China that youkai Prime Minister Taigokomaru and his son arrived at the Split Consulate building to begin arrangements for visits to the human territory, which still seems to be on despite Prime Minister Takeda's cool response when asked about it earlier this week. Taigokomaru's son, Tsukuyomaru, pictured here, is head of security for the negotiation team and is said to be coordinating directly with both mediator and government officials.”

“Incidentally, since the images of Tsukuyomaru surfaced this morning, Internet searches on the youkai government's head of security have skyrocketed. Unfortunately, everyone, Eri and Yuka's sources tell us he's married...to a human woman.”

“They call them contracts, Eri. She would be his contracted mate.”

Rin rolled her eyes and tossed another junk letter onto the floor, then froze as her fingers brushed over the familiar pale blue shade of the envelope beneath it.

“Oh? Contracts?”

“Yes. According to our excellent research staff, youkai society is built on contracts.” A whiteboard appeared on set, complete with illustrative chart. “Everything they do is covered by them, from business arrangements to personal ones. In fact, contracts are so important to youkai that they even use some kind of magic to ensure that contracts are kept. Depending on the type of contract, breaking one can actually put your life at risk.”

“No!”

“Yes!” A cheerful grin and a wink followed that mock-horrified affirmation. “So, if anyone out there ever comes into contact with a youkai, be sure to avoid a contract. You never know what it might cost you.”

Murmurs and laughter erupted from the live studio audience, but the rest of the television chatter seemed to fade into the background.

Barely breathing, Rin flipped the small envelope over and traced a nail over the long, elegant handwriting that scrolled a simple “Rin”, followed by her address, across the front. She blinked, then drew in the breath she'd been holding as she worked a finger into the fold and unceremoniously ripped the top open. It was only a single sheet this time, but her features still softened into an affectionate smile as she unfolded it and read the familiar script.

Rin,

It appears that you have arrived back in the Human Territories safely. Your teaching efforts were well-received by the foreigners, and the press has been positive. You've drawn much attention to your work, and it will no doubt positively affect your next show. You have said many times that your desire is to reach larger audiences with your paintings, and I believe that your trip to Austria will result in that. It seems that, this time, your uncontrollable impulsiveness is well-rewarded.

I trust your next series is going well. Your show is only a few months away, and you will cause your agent as much trouble as your actions have the tendency to cause me if you are not finished in time. I advise you to avoid this. The man is weak enough before the crippling stress you induce. A nervous break-down would be undesirable.

A huge grin split her face. He'd made a joke. Most people would read that as an insult, but she'd been communicating with him for too long to not recognize the humor when she saw it. He might even have been smiling as he wrote it. Her mysterious benefactor rarely joked with her, and each instance had always felt more precious to her than any of the gifts he'd sent over the years.

She surged to her feet and walked over to her bed, letter still in hand. Dropping to her knees, she reached a hand into the abyss underneath and groped around, discarding numerous mysteriously shaped items until her fingers grabbed onto the smooth side of a cardboard box. She pulled it out and studied the large, deep, square shoe box between her knees.

The battered red top slid off easily, and she found herself staring at one of the few things in her life she actually kept organized. Stacks and stacks of letters – all blue, all addressed to her in the same elegant handwriting – sat within, clumped into bundles held by rubber bands, dated and tucked away with care. She brushed her hand over the refined paper inside, then she sighed and turned her attention back to the letter in her hand.

Now, as to the matter of your sudden trip. I understand the circumstances of your childhood have nurtured in you a propensity for wandering and a love of travel. However, as I written in the past, you must remember to inform me in some manner of a trip before you depart. A simple note will suffice. Understand that it creates extra work for me to find you when you simply disappear. I dislike being uninformed of your safety. Should you get into trouble at such a time, it would be more difficult for me to assist you than when I am fully aware of your circumstances. You have the address to contact me at any time. You will keep me informed, and we will avoid such matters.

Continue your work on your paintings. I look forward to them, as always.

~S

Rin read sat there and read over the letter several times, her eyes eating up each word as if they were the rarest of gourmet meals, before she roused herself. Carefully, she folded her letter back into its envelope, dated it, and left it on the rug near her bed where she'd see it later, when she wrote him back. The address he'd mentioned was a peculiar one that she hadn't been able to track with any amount of pleading, bribery or success. All she'd been able to find out for sure when she'd tried to track it was that anything she sent that way went to somewhere in China – and that it moved very, very fast. Anything she'd ever sent “S”, he'd most likely received within a twenty-four hour period.

She'd often wondered why he didn't just contact her by phone or e-mail, but she'd never gotten an answer to her questions about it.

Gently, she tucked the box back under her bed and easy access. She was tempted to go through them all, to spend the rest of her evening going back over the only relationship from her childhood that had meant anything to her, but he had asked her to work on her paintings.

And every time he prodded her about her paintings, she got the urge to paint. He was her muse as well as her beloved protector. Too bad she'd never met him – or better put, too bad she couldn't remember when she'd met him.

With a sigh that was both satisfied and sad, she stood. Leaving the TV on so that Eri and Yuka could drone on in their peculiar twist of celebrities and politics, she wandered to the other side of her studio, to the raised section of floor where she kept all her paintings supplies and in-progress canvases right in front of those huge, rusty, floor-to-ceiling windows. She flipped the lamp that flooded the dark corner with light, but didn't stop at any of her current half-finished pieces. She kept walking until she came to the very corner of her workspace, the blank space of wall that was angled so it was almost hidden unless a person stood in her workspace and looked to the right.

Three portrait-sized canvases hung on the wall, each in varying stages of completion. Each showed the same scene, with a variation of action. The scene was an alley: filthy, littered with garbage, crawling with rats, and deeply shadowed.

In the first, the alley was shown through the bars of a cage that were spattered with a violent red, and in front of the cage, a tall stranger. He was dressed in suit – tie-less – and held himself with grace, confidence, and strength as he stared down at occupant of the cage, his long gray hair falling in silky strands around broad shoulders, a long, thin sword held loosely in one fist.

The second was the same scene, seen from the same eyes, except now the cage door stood open, and the tall stranger had knelt down, his pants in the bloodied dirt of the ground, his arms reaching into the cage, his long fingers dripping with the ominous red of blood, but spread in welcome.

The third still set in the alley, but now only at the edges of the canvas. Now, the eyes of the painting were free of the cage, had backed away a bit to see past the back of a young, filthy head, up past the spare edge of a battered face to the stranger as he stared down at the girl curled protectively in his arms. She had one small, bloody, scab-crusted hand raised towards his chin, but it was his face and long hair that filled the majority of the third canvas.

She called it her “Stranger in the Night” series.

Rin reached out and brushed her fingers over the third, running the soft, sensitive tips over the face that was the focus. Each canvas had flaws: the colors weren't right, the hair wasn't right. But those were small things, things easily fixed with the right materials. Her biggest frustration was his face.

He didn't have one.

In each painting, the face of the stranger was blank, a smooth, taunting bit of white. She'd tried so many times to fill in the glaring spot, but each time it had ended with the manic depression of failure.

She'd been working on them for years. More years than she cared to count. They were her own intensely personal reflection of the night that had changed her whole world, a tribute to the rescuer who had let her become the woman she was. Her mysterious “S”.

She'd never been able to work up the courage to ask him why he'd pulled her out of her cage that night. Her life before then was nothing but a waking, blurred nightmare of memory, filled with beatings, cruelty, slavery. For years, they'd kept her, a small child, in a cage, fed her garbage, and sold her to whichever customer was willing to pay the highest price. It was a miracle she'd survived long enough to be in that right place at that right time.

She didn't remember the circumstances that had led her to being in a cage outside that night, but she remembered very clearly the screams of the ones who'd beaten and sold her, the sensation of being pulled from her cage and carried away from that horrible place...

...waking up in a private hospital and being told that all of her expenses were taken care of, that all she had to do was get well...

...wanting to see him, only to find he'd just left, always that he'd just left...

...and then the letters, assuring her that he had taken her into his care, that he intended to keep a careful eye on her, followed by years of letters and gifts, all delivered by special carrier and untraceable. She owed him everything, and yet she'd seen him not once since that life-changing night. Oh, she'd managed to coax out some things about him – he was wealthy, a business man, he had a very high opinion of himself (and who was she to disagree?), and he was much, much older than she (whatever that meant) – but she'd never heard his voice, touched his sleeve, or...thanked him properly.

“Stranger in the Night” had been conceived in a frustrated dream-fit one night, her desperate attempt to connect with the man who'd saved her.

She frowned and let her fingers drift over the shadows of the paintings, the bits of bleak sky. It wasn't right. Forgetting about the face, the dark edges were all wrong; she'd been looking for just the right mix for years. It was her blues, she was sure. None of the shades she had appropriately captured the depth of the shadows as they'd been that night.

Rin sighed. Unlike many other professional painters, she mixed most of her own paints in her studio, so it was only a matter of finding the right materials. She'd heard recently of a rare plant that mixed into a strikingly dark pigment, but it was only found in some of the deepest parts of the Youkai Territories. Getting anything from beyond the Barrier was both expensive and difficult – and if it came from the most isolated parts, nearly impossible. She'd put out feelers to her suppliers for the plant in question, but hadn't heard anything back yet. Until something popped up, she would be stuck on her shadows.

Her frown darkened as she moved along on the details of her most intimate work. There was something wrong with her stranger's hair, too. The fall was right, the silky texture was right, but the gray color felt too light, too dark, too flat, too warped. Wrong. But no matter how she played with it, manipulated it, it never seemed to fit. It was as if the perfect shade she strove for didn't exist. Yet another area where her memory failed her.

Another sigh, and she stepped back from the three, far enough to study them together, her bow knit in thought. Maybe if she –

A knock pounded at her door.

Rin blinked and jerked her head around, only vaguely surprised at having visitors. She was an artist, after all, and often kept odd hours for herself because she had the tendency to paint whenever inspiration struck. Like now.

The knock sounded again, harder and louder this time, more insistent.

A little miffed now, despite her own propensities, that someone would have such impatient audacity so late at night, she stomped over to the door. “All right, all right. I heard you.” Not bothering to check, she unchained the door and ripped it open. “Could you possibly make a little more noise? I don't think they heard you on –” A sudden sense of self-preservation jerked her to a stop.

Two men stood in the hallway in front of her. One was obscenely tall and just as thickly muscled, with red hair and a gaudy amount of metal decorating his body – he even had some kind of plate squared across his jaws and chin, though how that was any kind of fashion statement escaped her – and his eyes were big, dull, and stupidly flat. The other was shorter but still far taller than her, and also held himself up under layers of muscle. His black hair was spiked and wild, his clothes a sad combination of dark military chic and grunge, and his eyes were...large, dark, and wild.

Insane, her mind whispered.

Both men towered over her; both men watched her with eerie intent, like she was a bunny and they a pair of ravenous wolves.

Fear bloomed in her stomach, went sour and crisp on her tongue. Whoever these predators were, they were not friends.

The second one grinned at her, a sharp baring of teeth. “Kowizawa Rin?”

Rin sucked in a breath and tried to slam the door shut. The first man's big hand smacked against the edge, countering her strength with ease, while the second's smile grew wide and nasty. Easy strength shoved the door back at her, and the force of it sent her stumbling backwards to trip on her own feet and land hard on her butt.

She stared up at them with huge, horrified eyes and a throat frozen in terror as both men stepped their big boots into her home. The gigantic one looked down at her and let out a cold, almost mechanical laugh.

“Geh, geh, geh, geh, geh.”

The second crouched in front of her, his expression as cruel and hard-edged with delight at her suffering as the men who'd imprisoned her as a child. For a terrible moment, it threw her back to the little girl she'd been long ago, cowering in a dirty cage, desperate to survive – and then, blessedly, brought her boomeranging right back around to the woman she was today, the one who had survived, who knew herself well, knew her worth and what she could endure.

The fear in her throat unclotted a bit as she pulled her knees into her chest. “What do you want?” she whispered, forcing herself to stare into an expression that echoed her nightmares.

He smirked, and she could almost see saliva dripping from his teeth. “You have an appointment with a friend of ours.” His hand shot up from his pocket and slapped a thick cloth over her mouth.

Too late, she thought to scream. Too late, she flung out her arms and kicked her feet in struggle.

Too late, she realized with self-directed anger as the sickly-sweet smell drifted into her nostrils and her body began to go limp.

“S” would be so disappointed in her.

%%%%%%%%

Kagome tilted her head back and inhaled the warm night air as she made her slow way along the sidewalk. The heels of her flats made made soft clopping sounds on the concrete, and the hum of Tokyo traffic was a steady background ebb and flow that felt as comforting as a walking companion. The throng of people around her would trickle to almost nothing as she got closer to her apartment, but for now she was content to be a faceless body in a steady crowd.

Several hours of checking and cataloging the new book arrivals with Ayumi had kept both of them much later than normal, and Kagome was a little worn out after a day that felt more eventful than it actually had been. Thankfully, Ayumi was surprisingly quick to pick up routine, and since she'd already had some experience from her high school library, they'd gotten far more done than Kagome had expected of the evening. She was grateful, because that meant less work tomorrow. She was also grateful because the basically simple chore coupled with Ayumi's random cheerful chatter had given her time to really think – which, she thought, was something she'd been putting off recently.

With a sigh, her mind confronted it:

Houjou.

She didn't understand what had been going on inside her herself. From their very first meeting across the library check-out counter, Houjou's bright-faced friendliness had attracted her. She hadn't even hesitated when he'd invited her to lunch that very day, or when they'd started dating less than a week later. She'd been flattered and happy the first time he'd taken her hand and asked her with sincere, hopeful eyes to stay the night in his apartment. And it had been a good night, pleasurable and sweet.

She and Houjou fit so well together. They spent their free time together in activities they both enjoyed, handled their conflicts with maturity and understanding, and agreed on their ideas about life and family. Smooth compatibility. It had all flowed so naturally, one progression into the next, that she hadn't even noticed how serious it was becoming until he'd said those words. And then, stunned and unable to find a reason to reject it, she'd said yes.

Because why would she say no to a man who was perfect for her?

She bit at her thumbnail, unnerved by her own ambivalence. Never before had she questioned what the affection she felt for him really meant. And it was affection; she cared about Houjou. But Rin and Sango were right: it had never been this serious before; she'd never had to think about what it was they had between them. They were compatible in every area she could think of, she enjoyed and valued his companionship – and yet she still had this nagging sense of wrongness plaguing her every time she thought about committing herself to him for the rest of her life.

As if to prove her right, her stomach twisted into knots so tight they sent dull shots of pain into her head and her chest constricted. All of which left her with the agonizing question: If he asked her to marry him, would she be able to dredge up another yes?

Frustration was a burning whip in her mind, in her heart. It didn't make any sense. She wanted a home, a family. And yet....

She'd finally left the busier city streets and turned into a more residential area, populated by tall, square apartment buildings with balconies on every floor. The streets around her seemed even more quiet than usual tonight. Only a few souls passed beneath the street lights on their way to and from a home or a job.

Kagome turned down another street, and smiled despite her internal turmoil. She'd made it to a point where the apartment buildings had started to give way to individual houses, one of the many small, curious spreads of suburbia that sprawled throughout certain parts of the city. This area was very familiar to her, because she'd lived here when she'd been very small, before the accident had forced them to make a new life at the shrine with Ji-chan. She had many fond, fuzzy memories of the community.

The house where they'd lived was the place where she'd learned from watching Mama and Papa what a wonderful thing it could be to love someone and share a life with them. Kagome didn't remember the house specifically so much as she did that warmth and happiness. Papa had loved Mama with devotion and openness, and their home had enjoyed a certain quality of warmth and joy that had never quite been the same, even after so many years of happiness at the shrine. The details were sketchy, but the feeling had stayed with her long after Mama had lost Papa and the house they'd lived in was less than a memory.

What she did remember, vividly, was the park. She'd spent a lot of her days playing there when she was little, and had an odd emotional attachment to it even now. After they'd moved to the shrine, she'd often thought back to her old playground with a wistfulness that had never accompanied her vague memories of their house. In her mind, that park was still a haven of peace and security, and she often visited it when she needed to relax and think. In her most honest moments, she could even admit that the small park was the main reason she'd decided to live nearby instead of in one of the cheaper apartments closer to the library.

Without a conscious decision, her feet turned away from her apartment, where Houjou was waiting. She walked for ten minutes before she found herself in front of the community park: a sprawling, open area of walkways, trees, bushes...and at the center, a huge, sandy square filled with a curious mix of climbable structures, slides, and swings. Concrete stairs sloped down into the play area from the road; still spurred by instinct, Kagome took them. It was deserted and dark, save for a faint glow from the lights on the street above, but that didn't bother her. In fact, just then she preferred it – solitary and quiet, as if it were her own personal secret.

Kagome kicked off her shoes, stepped her bare toes into the coolness of the sand, and threw back her head. Her eyes closed and she just stood there, absorbing the atmosphere, feeling the knots in her chest slowly unwind. Breathing. Thinking.

Come on, Kagome, what's wrong?

Rin thought that Houjou was going to propose to her tonight, and for all the casual impermanence with which Rin treated her own sex life, she was rarely wrong when it came to others' relationships. And knowing Houjou as she did, Kagome couldn't disagree. He was an honorable man; if he even once thought that living together would disrespect her in any way, he would reverse course immediately to rectify that. And it wasn't as if they hadn't talked about getting married before – though that was a fact she'd never told Rin or Sango.

The quandary remained: marriage and children were something Kagome had always wanted. Houjou was a loving, considerate man whom she respected and loved in return. They could very easily make a good life together. So what was the problem? Why did her whole being bare down in protest a little more each time the word marriage appeared in conjunction with Houjou in her mind?

She tucked the fingers of her right hand around her pinky and rubbed anxiously at the small appendage with her thumb – a nervous fidget Mama had been chiding her for since childhood. She didn't know when she'd started it, or why, but she –

Mama.

Kagome drew in a deep breath, opened her eyes, and started pacing, dragging her toes through the grains.

She had asked Mama once, many many years before while sitting beneath the sacred Goshinboku tree within the shrine, how she had known Papa was the one for her. Mama had smiled, looked up at the tree and gestured to the branches above their heads and told her they'd been sitting right there when her father had proposed to her mother.

I had my doubts, she'd said with quiet contentment on her face. We argued about silly things a lot when we were younger, and I wasn't sure if we could make it work. But when I thought of living the rest of my life without him, my heart flew into the most terrible panic. She'd looked down at Kagome, and her smile had been almost radiant. When I thought of saying yes, everything went as crystal clear and calm as the sun shining down on us through the branches, and I just knew that I had to stay with him, no matter how hard it would be.

Kagome stopped pacing and stared blankly down at her feet, her heart dropping with nauseating dismay. She dug her feet deep until the sand brushed against her ankles, trying to root herself into the ground, trying to let the peace of the park, the familiar feel of the place comfort her.

It wasn't the same. She loved Houjou, but not the way Mama had loved Papa, and probably not the way that she needed to love the man she would marry. Rin had been right about the distance between them, and Sango had been right about about her hesitancy. Kagome didn't understand why, but for all of Houjou's charm, consideration, and dependability, she lacked some essential connection with him. It was nothing she could pinpoint exactly, only something she knew: the emotion she felt for Houjou was real, but it somehow wasn't right.

Feeling heavy, Kagome let her body lower into a crouch over the sand, pressed cold fingertips against her lips. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

She couldn't marry Houjou.

How had it taken her so long to see it? She'd let them both go so far down a path that had been dead-end from the start, and it was time for her to stop it before they both made an irrevocable mistake. Her gut twisted up in a painful knot of guilt and sorrow; she felt physically ill. Throat burning with tears, she scooped her hand into the sand and watched dully as the fine grit sifted through her fingers.

Could they make a happy life together? She was certain they could – but her heart didn't belong to Houjou the way Mama's heart had belonged to Papa. It wouldn't be fair to either herself or Houjou for her to say yes when she couldn't bring herself to picture their future together without a bone-deep, terrified reluctance. More importantly, she didn't want to – couldn't – compromise in that way.

She surged to her feet and dug around in her purse for the sleek fold of her phone. It sat in her palm, a cold, indifferent stone. He was waiting for her at her home, confident that if he asked her to marry him, she'd say yes with a smile. But she couldn't marry him. Not now, and maybe not ever.

What to do now? Where did this leave them? Either way, she had to tell him.

He picked up after the second ring. He sounded easy and cheerful. “Hey, where have you been? I just called your work and no one picked up. I have a fabulous dinner waiting on you, slowpoke.”

She blinked a couple of times, hard. “Houjou, I....”

The smile fell away from his voice like a veil. “Kagome? What's wrong?”

She felt like a traitor. After a year of companionship and friendship, how could she turn her back on everything they'd invested in each other? Why was it that doing so, that the thought of leaving Houjou was the only thing that eased the tight, screaming ache in her heart?

Concern for her firmed his voice. “Hey, hey. Did something happen?”

“What? No, I – Well, maybe.” She drew a deep breath. “I just think...we need to talk, Ho – Eiji.”

He hesitated. She heard his confusion in his silence, and then in his caution. “I think we need to talk, too. I told you that already.”

She bit her lip, let her eyes wander the deserted structures in the sand as she searched for words.

After another a moment of silence, Houjou sighed. “Kagome.... I know things have been a little off between us recently, and I'm pretty sure it's my fault.” Enthusiasm started to warm his words. “But I promise, I've definitely got a solution. I have it right here in my hand, actually. I'm sorry that it took me so long to – ”

She was already shaking her head, though he couldn't see her. “No, Eiji, don't. Stop. I can't –” Her throat closed up. Oh god, oh god. She had to stop him from saying it, but she suddenly knew she couldn't say something so important over the phone, no matter how calming the sand covering her feet felt.

“What are you talking about?” Now he sounded alarmed. “Where are you? You're at that park, aren't you? Stay there. I'm coming to get you.”

“No!” Panic cut through her guilt at the thought of him coming to her park. She'd never brought him here, though he knew about her fondness for it. She darted from the sandy play area, scooping to snag up her sensible flats on her way back towards the stairs. “No, I'll come home. I'll come home right now, and we'll talk.” She paused right in front of the stairs to shove one foot in her shoe.

“Kagome, you're worrying me. What happened?”

The grit still on her feet scraped at her skin, and she grimaced, then stepped off the sidewalk to scrub her feet in the grass. “Nothing happened, really. I've just...we really need to talk.” Above her, on the stairs, a large shadow appeared, the shape of a body moving down. She glanced up, vaguely disturbed by the shadow.

A man was walking down the stairs. He was tall, bald, and dressed in richly colored priest's robes.

A shiver of unease rippled over her skin. She blinked.

Houjou didn't sound pacified in the least. “You're at that park, right?”

The priest wore sandals, but they didn't make any noise. He stared at her kindly, his eyes illuminated by the soft beams of a light from somewhere behind her. He'd folded his arms into the heavy sleeves.

Kagome gave an uneasy roll of one shoulder, shifting the weight of her purse. Her little finger itched, but she couldn't rub at it with her shoes still in her hand.

The priest watched her intently, came a few steps closer. He was almost within touching distance.

“Kagome!”

She jumped, jerking her eyes to the phone still in her hand. “I – yes. I'm at the park. I should,” she darted another discomfited glance at the priest, “be home soon, so, just wait, okay?”

“Well...are you sure you're all right?”

The guilt returned in a sudden wave. He'd always been so caring. She pressed her lips together. “Houjou –”

The priest stepped down off the last step and turned in her direction. He stared at her intently.

He stared at her intently.

She swallowed. He was priest. She had nothing to fear from a priest. Jii-chan was a priest, too.

His sandals came to a stop right in front of where she stood in the grass. Now that he was right in front of her, she could tell that he was young and handsome, and his eyes had the same kind...no, cruel...deeply cruel...a deeply hidden and rooted cruelty.

Her lungs seized. This man was nothing like her grandfather.

He stood right in front of her, and looked at her. “Do you need help, Miss?”

She stepped back, shoes still in her hand, feeling her breath wheeze a bit as she forced it from her throat. “Uh.... No, thank you. I was just on my way home.”

The phone clattered with some kind of noise. “Who is that?”

Kagome forced a brittle smile at the man in front of her. “Just a friendly priest taking a short-cut,” she said into the phone, adding towards the man, “Thank you, sir, for your concern, but my family is waiting for me.”

He smiled back and her heart nearly choked her with fear. The smile should have been reassuring, but all she could see was the malice underlying the pleasant facade. She swallowed again and stepped onto the sidewalk and started walking backwards, towards the stairs. “Like I said, darling, I'm fine. You know how close the park is. I should be home in a few minutes. Has Father and his police detective friends already started their Mahjong?”

The priest's eyes widened...then so did his smile.

“Father? Mahjong? What are you –“ Houjou's voice lowered urgently. “Kagome, is that man scaring you?”
From the corner of her eye, Kagome noted that she'd hit the stairs, and paused, undecided. It was impossible to walk up stairs backwards, but she had the most horrible certainty that turning her back on this “priest” would be the worst mistake of her life. “Yes,” she said with as much calm as she could muster over the adrenaline pumping through her ears.

Houjou paused. “He's a priest? You're sure?”

The bald man started walking after her. “Miss Higurashi, you still haven't put on your shoes. It would be bad for your feet to walk around without protection.”

Funny, she was thinking the same thing about her life – she froze. “Hi-Higurashi?”

He took another step, smile unabated and confident. “That's your name, isn't it? Higurashi Kagome? Mid-class spiritual and librarian?”

She sucked in a breath. “Who are you?”

“Kagome, should I call the police?”

“No,” she said quietly, brain and body wracked with a trembling, chaotic panic. They would never make it in time. “Stay on the line with me.”

“Then, I'm coming to you. Get away from him as fast as you can.”

Houjou, well-intentioned though he was, would never make it in time either.

The priest was an arm's distance from her. His hand came out of his sleeve, holding a thick white cloth.

She had to do something. Now! She threw her shoes at his face, then turned to dart up the stairs when he ducked back. She actually made it halfway up the stairs before a thick, muscular arm clamped hard around her waist and plucked her off her bare feet. The thick cloth clamped down over her mouth, covering her scream.

“I told you,” he whispered in her ear, “that walking around barefoot would hurt your feet. Now this kind priest will have to help you get home after all.”

She fought, clawing at his forearm, kicking ineffectually back against the cushion of his robes. She tried screaming again, but the sickly-sweet scent pushing past her throat stole all her energy and turned her muscles to limp noodles. Against her will, her body sagged back against him, and she felt herself swung into a horizontal lift.

She heard his voice: “I've got her. We're heading to the chopper now.”

And then she heard nothing.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

A/N: *whistles* Whoo. After so long away, I'd forgotten how much downright fun this story is. Next up is Mimsenri's Island, and all the fun tension of indentured servitude.