InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Love Me When I'm Gone ❯ Truths ( Chapter 3 )

Author's note: I don't know who invented the term `scent-claim,' but I think it's pretty much fanon at this point, so I'm using it.

 

3. Truths

 

Shippo threw his drawing aside in frustration; he didn't have enough green crayon to finish coloring the trees in his forest scene, and he didn't have Kagome to bring him more crayons. He missed his adoptive mother with a fierce ache that manifested itself as sulkiness; consequently he was alone in Kaede's hut while Miroku meditated outside and the old priestess tended the herb garden. He looked at the rejected drawing, which had skated into a corner of the hut, and imagined Sango dropping to her knees to pick it up, her feet tucked neatly beneath the folds of her spring kimono. She smiled at him in her quiet way and held the paper out toward him.

 

“Shippo, why have you thrown this away? It is lovely. You should finish it, you know- it will please Kagome when she returns from her time.”

 

He could see her so clearly that his chest hurt, hear her voice, smell the distinctive scent that Inuyasha had insisted he memorize: a mixture of pine balsam, silk, wildflowers and oiled leather that meant Sango. It wasn't that he hadn't sensed these things before Inuyasha decided to teach him. He was a full demon, after all, and not without demon-sharp instincts. But even demons needed someone to help them develop those instincts, to share their experiences, to put a name to shared sensations, to teach the rules of the wild world. He had always known that Miroku smelled of wood smoke and skin-warmed metal and the curious unnatural blackness of the windtunnel; that Kagome smelled of—well, there was no other way to put it, Kagome smelled of home. But he was so young when his father was killed, and until Inuyasha took it upon himself to teach the kit, Shippo floated in a world of unlearned sensory impressions.

 

During their lessons, Inuyasha had been gruff but patient, yelling only when he felt Shippo wasn't working hard enough, and almost never hitting him. The half-demon could not help with Shippo's foxfire, but the kit had already mastered this hereditary magic and needed guidance in other, practical matters. It all began one evening when Inuyasha, in a rare mellow mood, suggested that Shippo accompany him on his hunting trip so that the girls would have something to cook for their dinner.

 

Shippo, who had feasted on three different flavors of Pocky earlier that afternoon (the supply meant to last a week was gone in an hour), was feeling lazy and contented and remarked that he'd rather have ramen for dinner because it was faster. Inuyasha looked disgusted. “Don't be so lazy, you little brat. Fresh game is better than that modern stuff anyway. If I wasn't here you'd get sick of ramen real quick.”

 

“Look who's talking! You're always stuffing your mouth with Kagome's food!” he'd retorted.

 

“Yeah, so that doesn't mean I depend on it. I bet you couldn't even catch a damn mouse if you had to!”

 

Shippo bristled at the implication that he was too small to bring down anything more substantial than a mouse. “I could so!”

 

“Keh, you call yourself a proper demon,” said Inuyasha, wrinkling his nose. “You're such a baby.”

 

“Hey, I fight with you guys! I help you kill demons, I use my foxfire!”

 

“But you couldn't survive for one day in these woods alone.”

 

“Well, how am I supposed to learn if you won't teach me, baka?” he yelped. “You're the only other demon I know—you want me to ask Sesshomaru? Or how about Koga?”

 

Inuyasha looked surprised, sitting back on his haunches as if Shippo had shoved him, his ears twitching. The kitsune hadn't meant it as a threat, but Shippo had forced him to consider the maddening prospect of the wolf demon sauntering into their lives. Koga wouldn't give a rat's ass about Shippo, but anything that would please Kagome—he'd do it just to gain her appreciation, to ingratiate himself to the girl he dared to call his woman. And then he'd whisk her off and claim her in earnest. Inuyasha could not allow that to happen, ever. He didn't allow himself to think about the reasons why.

 

And how am I supposed to learn if you won't teach me, baka? How indeed. He, Inuyasha, had had to learn alone; he'd had no one to teach or help or protect him. Did he want the same for Shippo, even if it would make him strong? He didn't want Shippo to be hardened, or hurt like himself. The kit deserved some guidance; simply because he was fortunate enough to have Kagome's love and protection while Inuyasha had suffered in isolation… it was not fair to punish Shippo for his own pain.

 

“Would you really want to learn from me?” he asked.

 

Shippo looked confused. “Sure, why wouldn't I?” Inuyasha was the strongest, best fighter he knew, and the kit often wished that he would stop tormenting him and share some of his knowledge. There was no way Shippo could comprehend that what Inuyasha knew he had learned by hard and bitter experience; that he would teach him all the lessons no one had taught him. But he could appreciate it, even if it came from a scruffy half-demon who spent most of his time beating him up.

 

“Ok. I mean, you're pretty good in a fight, it's true. If you don't want people to think of you as a baby, I guess it's time you learn some of the other stuff.”

 

“You mean you'll teach me how to do- everything?” Shippo's eyes shone.

 

“Sure. I don't want to trust my neck to a kid who can't even tell the difference between demon-sign and cart tracks.” He chose his words carefully for once, hoping that Shippo caught the implied compliment.

 

“Shut up, I can so! I made it on my own before you guys came.”

 

“I'll believe that when I see it,” he said, without heat. If he recalled correctly, Shippo had lived only a few days on his own between his father's murder and his attempt to steal the shards from Kagome, but he wasn't about to point that out when Kagome's eyes were sparkling with gratitude from across the camp; she seemed surprised and happy that everything had worked out so well between them. She hadn't interfered in their conversation, but she looked thrilled with its outcome. Maybe the fact that Shippo had stood up to him instead of whining to his mother signaled that he was really ready to grow up a bit.

 

Inuyasha proved to be a patient teacher, at least in comparison to his usual scornful attitude toward the kit. They began with tracking, moved to hunting, and then to perfecting Shippo's youkai senses. There were things he knew instinctively, and others he could only learn from a more mature demon. Shippo was, after all, a young adolescent at best, and unfamiliar with aspects of the adult world. When they began to dissect scent, in particular, Shippo stumbled onto a seething mass of knowledge that had been no more than a whisper to him before.

 

The humans were easiest to read. The first time Shippo became aware of what he could only describe as a deepening of Sango's signature scent, and looked over to find her face as pink as her kimono and Miroku nursing his bruised cheek, he frowned at Inuyasha in confusion. His older friend simply smirked and rolled his eyes. Soon he learned to associate the intensified scent with the blood that pinked her cheeks prettily whenever Miroku made one of his lecherous advances, and grew even more confused. Didn't Sango hate Miroku's attentions, using her bone weapon to fend him off and show her displeasure? He sidled up to Inuyasha and whispered, “Um, Inuyasha, she smells like she likes it.”

 

The half demon snorted in amusement. “Oh, she does, she just doesn't know it. It's a good thing you can finally see that.”

 

The kitsune stared at him blankly for a moment, aware that he was being praised, and then turned back to his spinning tops.

 

It wasn't long before Shippo also began to notice his beloved Kagome's response to Inuyasha, to detect the quickened heart beats and the flush that crept from her neck up toward her cheeks. It wasn't strange that Kagome smelled of Inuyasha, not when she spent a good deal of their traveling time perched on his back, leaning easily into him, her hands either resting on his shoulders or twined loosely about his neck. But Shippo wasn't prepared for the way their scents seemed to melt together when he held her, reaching out and twisting together like interlocking fingers. If Inuyasha could tell what Sango was feeling, couldn't he feel how Kagome wanted him? And if he could, why did he never do anything about it?

One afternoon Shippo approached the half demon, who was sitting cross-legged, his back against a tree and Tetsuaiga resting across his lap, eyes closed and ears drooping in a rare moment of relaxation. “Tonight's the new moon, isn't it?” he remarked carefully.

 

Inuyasha opened one eye and regarded him speculatively. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

 

“Your demon smell is wearing off. It has been since last night. You've been smelling more and more human all day, and you're getting tired. That's why you're sitting here alone like this. You never rest like this when you're yourself.”

 

“Hmmm, maybe I'm teaching you too well,” Inuyasha said with an edge to his voice. “I wouldn't want you to think you know everything about me.”

 

“I know about Kagome,” Shippo said recklessly.

 

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, snapping to full attention.

 

“She doesn't just smell like you because you carry her around all the time. You do it on purpose, don't you? Whenever you touch her.”

 

“I don't know what you mean,” said Inuyasha stiffly.

 

“Oh, come on Inuyasha, don't bother, I can tell now. You do it because you want other demons to know she belongs to you.”

 

“Shippo,” Inuyasha rasped, “you better be glad I'm going to be human tonight, or I would kill you. Do not ever bring this up again, and don't you dare say anything about it to Kagome or you will wish you'd never asked to do this. Do you understand?”

 

But the conversation seemed to convince Inuyasha that his pupil was advancing, even if that meant he could no longer keep his own secrets. The next night, after he had regained his youkai strength, Inuyasha asked Kagome to bleed so that Shippo could learn her blood-sign. The whole process made Shippo distinctly uncomfortable; he knew he was the only other one aware of the painful stab of longing and guilt that went through Inuyasha as his claw delicately parted the flesh of her throat, or the flood of warmth through Kagome's body when she felt his claws in her skin. Shippo leaned over her and inhaled the bloom of her scent, feeling almost giddy with love and well-being. And yet, he felt a prickle of unease—this was Kagome's blood, his mother's blood, and even if she had drawn it willingly on his behalf, Shippo knew he must do everything in his power to ensure that he would never smell it again, never feel it pouring out of her in red waves that took her life with them.

 

Inuyasha's refusal to scent her blood puzzled him until he realized that the half-demon had smelled it several times already, in those same horrifying waves he would do anything to prevent in the future. Inuyasha had learned Kagome a long time ago. There was no way Shippo could have known that the moment the scenting was over, he leapt high into the trees and brought his fingers to his nose, gasping in what remained of her. Half ashamed, Inuyasha licked the tiny smear of Kagome's blood from his claw, shuddering with want and fear and self-loathing.

 

So Shippo could now detect the scent markings he left on Kagome, could he? He'd started marking her soon after they'd met Miroku, and the monk's behavior had made him realize that he was not the only one who desired the beautiful miko. He did it telling himself it was for her protection, and once Koga came on the scene this was no longer a convenient excuse but a legitimate reason. Beneath his rage after the kidnapping, Inuyasha thanked all the gods he knew that he had thought to stake the first claim, for he was sure that it was only his imprinted scent, the ownership it implied, that kept Koga from stealing her that first day. Even with the other male's marking, Koga was so presumptuous and free with her that Inuyasha growled to think what would have happened otherwise, a sick feeling rising in his gut. When he thought of Kagome with that arrogant, stupid, filthy wolf, thought of Koga taking what he had no right to take, he felt the hot pulse of demon energy he knew it was too dangerous to release, and snarled in frustration.

 

He preferred to think of Kagome in other ways. As his. His bitch, his mate. Her lips parting under his; her hot, deft little hands on his skin; her body pressing against his, trembling and open; her voice ragged with want, calling out to him. Sometimes just feeling the heat of her thighs through the fabric of his fire-rat clothing was enough to send a surge of answering heat to his groin; after a few hours of contact, Inuyasha would be almost delirious with unrelieved need, until he actually began to experience sensory hallucinations: Kagome had swept the mass of his hair to the side and pressed the warmth of her mouth against the back of his neck; Kagome was steadily pushing the softness of her breasts against the twisting muscles of his back; Kagome's hand had crept around his right hip and into the front of his hakama to grip his painful hardness. “Please let me, Inuyasha,” she murmured, her teeth grazing his jaw, his cheek. “Please.” She was whimpering now, as if he might refuse her, when all he wanted to do was thrust into her smooth white body until she screamed beneath him, around him, for him.

 

They were nothing but sad fantasies, and he knew it. Kagome would never want him, never accept him as a mate. He could only sneak away from camp at night and soothe himself, swallowing his own cries, swallowing the taste of her name on his tongue because it was all he would ever get of her.

 

* * *

 

Miroku ducked into the hut to find Shippo sniffling quietly in a corner, holding a crumpled ball of paper in his small fist. He dropped to his knees beside the kit, frowning in concern. His immediate thought was that Inuyasha had said something heartless or perhaps struck the younger demon, but then he realized that the assumption was unfair: Inuyasha had left for the well and Kagome's time almost an hour ago, so there was no way he was responsible for Shippo's tears.

 

“Shippo? What is it? Do you miss Kagome?”

 

The kit's shoulders jerked. “Yes, but that's not why I'm crying. I want Sango back.”

 

The monk caught his breath, then let it out in a sigh; he wanted to pick up the fox child and hold him in his arms, but he wasn't sure if he was allowed. Of course, Shippo would have accepted such a gesture from Kagome, but from him…? A moment later, Miroku wanted to laugh at his hesitation as Shippo turned and threw himself into his lap, burrowing as close as he could get.

 

Actually, he didn't feel at all like laughing. “I know, Shippo, I know,” he said gently. “We all miss her dreadfully. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to get Sango back.” He thought of Sesshomaru's icy, expressionless eyes and the glint of his raised sword. He thought of the excruciating rush of hope that went through him when he understood what Sesshomaru intended, understood the possibility of reviving her. And then the crippling disappointment when the newborn hope was snatched away.

 

In light of Kikyo's botched resurrection and all the pain it had brought into their lives, Miroku supposed he should have been more wary of what Sesshomaru was offering. He'd told Inuyasha that he'd refused to allow his brother to use Tensaiga, and that was the truth. But they were only words; without the windtunnel, he was powerless to enforce them. If Sesshomaru had decided to exhume the grave and attempt it anyway, Miroku would not even have tried to stop him. He would instead have prayed for him to succeed.

 

Sango would not have come back like Kikyo, cold and empty. She would have been herself: beautiful, kind, skillful, bold in battle and modest at all other times. How her reserve had both goaded and inflamed him, making their ritual interaction at once teasingly affectionate and wistful. He groped her because he simply couldn't help himself, because she expected it, and because he didn't know how to do anything else. Didn't know how to convince her that he was truly in love with her, that he would pledge himself to her in a heartbeat, would cut off his cursed hand if it meant he might lie with her without fear.

 

Because Miroku devoted much of his free time to meditation, he had contemplated these matters at great length, examining his own heart and those of his companions. He often wondered if the fear and guilt he felt at the prospect of being with Sango mirrored Inuyasha's conflicted feelings for Kagome. The half demon must be terrified of placing Kagome in danger should his demon nature overtake him in a moment of anger or weakness. It was the only reason the monk could see for Inuyasha's continued silence on the matter. There was no way he could have missed Kagome's willingness to love him; Miroku longed to catch Sango looking at him as Kagome looked at Inuyasha, with such warmth in her eyes. And so—dismissing automatically the possibility that Inuyasha did not love her in return—Miroku assumed that the half demon held himself back from Kagome out of a misplaced nobility, or perhaps a self-hatred so intense that it eclipsed all other emotions. If so, Inuyasha was being irrational, and his concerns for Kagome's safety were unfounded—for hadn't she proved she was the only one who stood a chance of calming him when his demon self burst forward? She didn't even fear the beast in him, walking boldly forward when others shrunk away.

 

He had lost his chance with Sango and he ached every moment she lay in the ground. And suddenly he no longer faulted Inuyasha for rushing through the well to Kagome's time: for he finally understood the torture of time, of feeling alone and abandoned. His arms tightened around Shippo's weeping body, and he hummed soothingly.

 

“Hush, Shippo, hush. I know how you miss her. I miss her so much I'm sick with it. But Sango's soul is at peace. Try to think of that.”

 

The kit let out a jagged breath and stilled in his arms. “I'll try,” he squeaked, lifting his tearstained face from the soft silk covering Miroku's lap; it helped to breathe in something familiar.

 

“Shall we go help Kaede-baba with her weeding?” the monk suggested gently, lifting Shippo to his shoulder and sending a quick, silent prayer for Kagome's return into the sky, hoping that she could hear him across the eight hundred years that separated them.

* * *

 

Kagura turned away from the place where she had died, sick with the iron and blood and blackness in the air. She felt a strange sort of fizz in her chest when she reached the uprooted tree where her body had lain, where Sesshomaru had formed her a heart—but she knew nothing of the why, and only backed away from the discomfort. It had taken several hours to reach the site of battle, and the light of her first day alive was fading around her.

 

The mistress of the wind was no animal, and she lacked the sharp senses of a beast youkai. She could not tell that Inuyasha and the others had carried Koga and Sango's bodies away only a few hours before she arrived. But she did feel a queer prickling at the back of her neck as she kicked off from the ground and floated upwards. Wary, she turned in all directions, looking for the source of the unnatural energy.

 

She saw it wafting at the edge of the trees, only twenty feet up, and recognized the smoky eel-like shape of one of the dead priestess' soul collectors. It looked fragile and whitish, a sickly, unfed white. And yet Kagura knew that it could not exist without holding at least one soul, otherwise it thinned into nothingness.

 

Kikyo must be dead, then. If she still existed, then her soul collector would have delivered its sustaining soul to her and sought more spirits to nourish itself. Kagura circled the thing on her giant feather as it sank toward the ground and wondered if she could do something—or if she should. The eel drifted toward her as though desperate for some contact; perhaps just being within the sphere of her energy infused some life into it. Kagura, however, was reluctant to actually touch it, not being familiar with the mechanics of soul transference. She had only just come back to life herself, and Sesshomaru had insisted she give her new heart “time”… it was quite possible that the new soul would overwhelm her.

 

Thinking of the beautiful, pitiless dog demon, Kagura's lip curled; she wondered if he truly possessed the power to call her to his side, and if he did, when he would do so. Why he would do so.

 

The ghostly soul collector still hovered near; it appeared that it could not deposit the soul it carried except to an empty vessel like its former mistress, and would continue to exist in its weakened state as long as the soul remained. It wove gently in the air just below her. Kagura snorted and turned her feather toward the sinking sun. She'd had enough of this place—she'd felt the need to come, and now she was here, and longed to be away. Away from the unsettling blankness of the soul collector, away from how it made her feel. The feather rippled beneath her folded legs and leapt into a passing current, but the faint hiss of energy over her skin did not leave her. She looked back, annoyed, and saw the… thing… following her at a distance of some 10 feet.

 

“Be off with you,” Kagura said sharply, not sure if it understood speech. Since it flew on behind her with no sign of comprehension or changing course, she supposed not. She tried again, making a harsh sound of displeasure in the back of her throat and shooing it away with flicks of her hand. Still the thing advanced. Kagura blew through her nose in frustration and decided there was nothing else for it: she summoned the wind.

 

The skeins of air came obediently to pulse beneath her fingers, ready to be directed. She didn't much care where the winds chose to send this strange being, and she sent it flying with another flick of her hand, the wind gathering and roaring out from the motion. She watched as the silver streak of the soul collector whipped backwards and away like a paper crane caught in a hurricane.

 

Satisfied, Kagura floated gently for a moment, considering the immediate future. Sesshomaru was the Lord of the Western Lands. Very well. She would go east, and hope that he did not call.

 

* * *

 

When she opened the front door of the house, Mrs. Higurashi was suddenly very glad of her long association with Inuyasha. It wasn't that she hadn't been glad to know him before. She was really rather fond of the half demon, and the only reason she never looked forward to seeing him was because she knew his presence signaled another of Kagome's long absences, probably preceded by a violent argument between Inuyasha and Kagome in which she refused to come with him and he used his peculiar brand of persuasion (that is, threats and physical force) until she finally agreed. If she were not absolutely sure of Inuyasha's desperate love for and devotion to her daughter, Mrs. Higurashi might have been reluctant to let her accompany him, given all his threats and harsh language. But she knew Inuyasha would sooner die than deliberately hurt Kagome; that all his rough behavior was merely a defense, a posturing, or the result of an almost endearing ignorance of manners.

 

Over the past three years, Inuyasha had become such a fixture in their lives that she had nearly forgotten how strange he seemed the first time he burst through the door as the family was sitting down to dinner and barked a string of orders at Kagome. She had forgotten that first brush of unfamiliar demon energy. And if she hadn't known Inuyasha, she probably would have fainted at the jolt of strangeness she felt now as she gazed at the… man… standing on the front step. He did not gaze back at her, his golden eyes averted as though he could not bear the sight of her. And yet her breath caught at his unearthly beauty, the long silver hair, the fine white robes—like a breath of unreality, another world.

 

Mrs. Higurashi collected her scattered wits and tried to be polite; this wasn't the first unusual visitor she'd welcomed to the house, after all—the shrine did seem to attract an odd assortment of people. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked. “Were you interested in visiting the shrine?”

 

The stranger still refused to look at her, but he answered civilly enough, his voice low and smooth. “No, I have not come to see the shrine. Where is the miko?”

 

Mrs. Higurashi frowned in confusion. “My father is the spiritual keeper of the shrine. There is no priestess here.”

 

He snorted quietly as if he could not possibly comprehend such stupidity. “Of course there is, woman. I can smell her. In fact,” the man said, leaning almost imperceptibly forward and inhaling delicately, “you are her mother. I have come to see the miko. You will bring her to me.”

 

She held in her surprise—surprise that approached but did not quite arrive at offense— as she reflected that he was asking to speak to Kagome. That he had named her as the miko's mother made the conclusion inescapable. And at least she knew now that he must come from Inuyasha's time. She tried to remember whether Kagome had ever described anyone like him to her before. She was familiar with the names and personalities of most of Kagome's companions, but she could not recall her ever having mentioned an impossibly beautiful demon with— she was almost sure from the way his wide white sleeve hung—only one arm.

 

“Of course,” she managed to reply, agreeing because disagreeing seemed not only foolish, but out of the question. Before she allowed him to see Kagome, however, one thing needed to be settled. “Sir, before you see my daughter, I must ask who you are. You are so much like…”

 

“I am Sesshomaru, Lord of the Western Lands,” he answered coldly. “I gather from your comment that you are acquainted with Inuyasha. I am his elder brother.”

 

“I see.” She could not quite feel relieved, as she did not know his intentions, but his connection to Inuyasha was certainly a mark in his favor. “Would you like to come in while I call Kagome?” she offered, stepping to the side to allow him to enter.

 

“No. I shall remain outside. Tell the miko I will wait for her by the well.” With that he turned and almost glided away, around the side of the building toward the well-house. Mrs. Higurashi stood motionless for a good thirty seconds after he left her, then shook herself sternly and turned inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. She had just reached the kitchen when Souta sprinted in the back door with a muddy soccer ball under his arm and skidded to a stop in front of her.

 

“Mom, did you know there's a weird guy out by the well-house?” he demanded.

 

“Did he speak to you?” she asked, curious.

 

“Nope, he just walked right past me. He's got these awesome swords, though—”

 

“Really?” She hadn't even noticed his weapons, too preoccupied with the prickle of his alien energy. “He wants to see Kagome. He's Inuyasha's older brother.”

 

“Whoa! I didn't know Inuyasha had a brother. I didn't even think anyone else could come through the well from his time. Why do you think he—”

 

“Souta, dear,” Mrs. Higurashi interrupted gently, pinching the bridge of her nose against a sudden insistent headache, “run and find Kagome, would you? Tell her Sesshomaru is waiting for her by the well-house.”

 

Souta dropped his soccer ball by the door and pounded up the stairs toward his sister's room, his initial excitement at the appearance of Inuyasha's brother tempered somewhat by his mother's worried expression. Kagome practically wrenched the door open before he'd finished knocking, but seemed to relax when she saw him, and he hated to say anything that would restore her tired frown. “Uh, Kagome,” he said, feeling strangely nervous under her gaze, “there's someone here to see you. He says he's Inuyasha's older brother.”

 

Kagome simply stared at him for about a minute, her mouth slack with shock. Souta continued shifting from foot to foot until he couldn't stand her silence any longer. “Who is he, Kagome? What's the matter? I didn't think anyone but Inuyasha could come through the well. Why does he want to see you? Why—”

 

“Souta,” she said, her voice strained, “please be quiet. I really can't answer any of your questions because I have no idea why he's here myself. Where is he?”

 

“Mom said to tell you he's waiting by the well-house.”

 

“Ok, thanks.” She still stood in her doorway, looking lost.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked uncertainly. “He's not going to do anything to you, is he?”

 

“Of course not, don't be silly,” she answered, a little too quickly. “Sesshomaru hasn't tried to hurt me for ages.”

 

Now it was Souta's turn to gape. “Are you serious? This is someone who's tried to kill you and you're just going to go down there and talk to him? Why would anyone related to Inuyasha try to hurt you anyway?”

 

“It's complicated,” Kagome sighed. “Inuyasha and Sesshomaru don't exactly get along, although it's a lot better than it was when I first knew them. I can't really explain it all right now, I have to go see what he wants.”

Souta briefly considered trying to block her way; he couldn't allow his sister to put herself in danger. But he knew even as the thought entered his mind that any such effort on his part was useless: not only would she manage to get past him, but he would have to realize his own powerlessness. His sister was about to go down to some demon who'd tried to kill her in the past, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it—what could he do against those swords he had seen tucked in at Sesshomaru's waist? Throw his soccer ball at his head? Sure, that would be really effective. He sighed. “Just be careful, Kagome, ok?”

 

She looked at him as she passed, and he read surprise in her eyes. “Always,” she said, smiling at him. He watched her walk quickly down the stairs, and then he slid into her room and over to the window to watch her as she crossed the yard toward the well-house.

 

* * *

 

Where in the name of all the gods was that infuriating miko? He could not believe that the either she or her mother had defied his order, but it he had been waiting outside the well-house for over ten minutes with no sign of her. Sesshomaru was not accustomed to being kept waiting. Jakken knew such behavior would mean his head, and Rin was always eager to obey, either coming immediately to his side or leaving him, as he demanded. He wished to spend as little time as possible in this revolting time period, and already things were not going as he had planned. Thinking of Rin, he frowned: he had no idea how long he would be gone, and although he trusted that Jakken would do everything in his power to keep her safe in that time—from fear of his master's wrath, if for no other reason— he had little confidence that everything in Jakken's power would be enough to protect her. It was at times like this that Sesshomaru regretted his relative solitude, and wished vaguely for a competent companion, someone to whom he could entrust what was most precious.

 

Sesshomaru wrinkled his nose in disgust as a fat, docile cat strolled past him, froze as it belatedly noticed his scent, and then shot around the corner of the house in its haste to get away from him. His lip curled; he had not supposed such an animal could move so quickly. Twelve minutes now. Sesshomaru took a deep, careful breath, aligning himself with what he remembered of the miko's scent. When it found him, he also caught the traces of his brother's scent claim, pungent, unmistakable, and subtly distinct from Inuyasha's own base scent. So. He breathed again. His brother had not visited this side of the well in at least three days; his scent was omnipresent, but dulled from an extended absence, like a coating of dust. That his claim had endured through that time spoke to its strength and permanence.

 

He was just readying himself to spring up to the second-story window from which her scent spilled most strongly, and force her to hear him, when she appeared at the edge of the yard and walked hesitantly toward him. His eyes narrowed. “I sent for you, miko. Why do you ignore my request?”

 

She had reached him, and he saw the ripple of anger on her face; he had to admire her as she smoothed her expression and looked up at him. “I didn't ignore it, Sesshomaru,” she said warily. “I'm here, aren't I? Speaking of which, how are you here? I didn't think you even knew about the well, much less could pass through.”

 

“I have recently acquired that ability,” he said in his most quelling tone.

 

“I don't understand.”

 

Sesshomaru said nothing.

 

“How did you do it?” the girl demanded. She crossed her arms over her chest at his continued silence and glared at him with surprising venom, the kind of glare he imagined sent his brother running. He was unaffected. “Sesshomaru! I won't listen to another word you have to say until you tell me the truth about how you got this time.”

 

“Then you are more foolish than I had thought, girl. What I have to say concerns you, Inuyasha, and your human companions. Would you throw away the information I have to give you for the sake of a stubborn display? It is worth much more than the knowledge of how I came to be here.”

 

The girl breathed rapidly through her nose, anger rolling off of her body in harsh waves. After a short silence she, spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. If you won't tell me how you're here, you can at least tell me why.”

 

“Where is the jewel?” he asked, holding in a growl of satisfaction at her compliance.

 

She looked startled. “If that's what you're here for, you can forget it. I'm not going to give it to you.”

 

“Don't be ridiculous. You should know by now that I have no interest in the jewel. I asked you where it is, and you will tell me.”

 

“Or what? You'll kill me? I think you know what would happen when Inuyasha found out what you'd done.”

 

“Your confidence in that half-breed is touching, miko, if misplaced. You have no reason to fear me unless you disobey me. But you should also know that, if I were to kill you, Inuyasha would not bother to revenge himself on me. He would simply forfeit the desire to live.”

 

The miko stared at him, her mouth unattractively agape. “What are you saying?” she asked in a strangled voice.

 

Sesshomaru snorted in annoyance. “This sort of talk avails us nothing. You will get the jewel and the remaining shards, and you will come with me.” To his slight surprise, she simply nodded and turned back toward the house. “Collect what you need and come back as quickly as you can,” he called after her.

 

She was back in five minutes, carrying a large yellow sack and clutching the jewel in one fist where it fell against her throat. Without saying a word, she walked past him into the well-house, clambered over the wooden sides of the well, her legs dangling into blackness, and looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes.

 

“Well,” she said, “then let's go.”

 

* * *

 

He was desperate to see her, and while it irked him that the others knew it, at least he could pretend that his real object in going through the well was the jewel. Kagome had already had almost four full days in her time to make a decision about the jewel's completion, and he hadn't been lying when he told Miroku he resented her excluding them all from that choice. As he sprinted toward the well and dove in, feeling the cool prickle of the time slip admit him as always, he pictured her face as it would look when he appeared on the roof outside her bedroom window: she would be happy to see him, damn it, happy and eager and not annoyed or angry.

 

The instant his bare feet hit the solid ground of Kagome's time he had leapt out of the well, and was wrenching open the door of the well-house before he felt it, and he stumbled in shock, unable to believe what his nose told him. Kagome was not here. He could always tell where she was, whether in his own time or in hers; the instant she joined him in the feudal era, or he climbed out of the well in her time, her scent bloomed around him, saturating the air. And when she left him, that welcoming bloom shriveled to nothing, the space where Kagome should be.

 

He felt the peculiar ache of her absence now. It was recent, no more than an hour gone, and while he almost howled with frustration and disappointment, he did not feel the curl of fear until he was hit with another, horribly familiar scent, a scent he never expected to catch here, in Kagome's time—Sesshomaru.

 

“How the fuck did Sesshomaru get here?” he asked aloud as he began to sniff more carefully. Sesshomaru had definitely come through the well, and then Kagome had left with him. The instant he came out of the well-house he saw Souta hovering by the door and almost pounced on him in his agitation. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, snarling.

 

Souta looked nearly as upset as he felt. “I don't know, there was this guy who came to the house, he said he was your brother and he had to speak to Kagome. She seemed really nervous, but she went to talk to him. I saw them talking for a little while, then she came back into the house, grabbed her stuff, and went into the well-house with him. I knew she went back to your time.”

“Did she say anything about what Sesshomaru had told her, or where she was going once they got back to the feudal era?”

 

“She just said Sesshomaru wouldn't tell her anything, but he didn't seem to want to hurt her. I didn't believe her,” the boy declared hotly, “she told me he's tried to do stuff to her before. But I couldn't stop her from going.” He hung his head, as though ashamed, and Inuyasha felt a stab of pity.

 

“It's all right, kid, there wasn't anything you could have done. Believe me, you don't want to get mixed up with my brother. I've got to get back to my time and track them down. Don't worry, I'll find her before that bastard can hurt her.”

 

Souta nodded, his eyes full of a sickening trust. “I know, Inuyasha.”

 

Inuyasha pivoted and raced back to the well, praying to whatever gods there were in the universe who listened to half-demons that Kagome was safe, that her scent would be strong enough on the other side of the well to at least lead him in the right direction. He cursed himself for not noticing the recent traces of her passing when he had dived into the well not five minutes ago, but he had been so focused on reaching Kagome, to the exclusion of everything else…

 

And how did Sesshomaru know about the well? He was absolutely certain that his brother had not been present when they sent Kagome home four days ago—he had been particularly cautious and alert to the possibility of his presence, and had detected nothing— so Sesshomaru did not learn about it then. And what could he possibly want with Kagome anyway? His mind suggested and almost immediately rejected the notion that he meant to harm the girl herself…unless Sesshomaru's intention was to anger him—then his brother knew there was no surer way to enrage him than to threaten or endanger Kagome.

 

Inuyasha was so angry and frightened that he felt a throb of youkai energy behind his eyes, but clamped his hand around the hilt of Tetsuaiga and forced it back. The last thing he needed was to transform into a mindless beast when he so badly needed his wits about him. He leapt into the well for the second time that day, his hand still desperately gripping the sword that would keep him himself, and kept praying.