InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 10: Anomaly ❯ Business as Usual ( Chapter 26 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Madison blinked and looked up from the tablet in her hand when the waitress in the small airport bar set the wine glass onto the bar-height bistro table before her.  Casting the girl a questioning glance, she slowly shook her head, placing her fingertips onto the base of the glass and pushing it toward her.  “I didn’t order this,” she said.

The pretty blonde—Shanna, her name tag read—laughed.  “Courtesy of the gentleman over there,” she said, jerking her head just enough to indicate a man behind her.

“Oh,” Madison replied, but continued to push the glass away.  “Would you tell him thanks, but no thanks?”

Either the waitress didn’t hear her or she chose to ignore her, and Madison stifled a sigh as Shanna hurried away again.  After a moment of silent deliberation, Madison slipped off the stool and picked up the glass, striding over to the man that Shanna had indicated.  Then, she placed the glass on the table and pasted on a polite smile.  “The waitress said that you bought this?”

The man smiled: dazzlingly straight, white teeth contrasting against his California tan, running his long-fingered hand through his sun-streaked blonde hair.  “Well, I told her to get you another one of whatever you were drinking.  White wine, it looked like.”  Lazily, he lifted the glass, swirling the contents before lifting it slowly, using his other hand to waft the aroma toward his face.  “Hmm . . . Tuscany Rieve?  Decent vintage . . . Not a ridiculously expensive wine, but very, very respectable—well known for its fruity body with undertones of a very mellow aged oak.”

“Impressive,” she said, affecting her very best business-like-tone and judiciously choosing not to tell him, just how textbook he actually sounded.  “I can’t accept it, though, but thank you.”

“Oh?” he drawled, making a very pronounced show of letting his gaze drop to her hands, as though he were checking for a wedding ring.  “My mistake, Ms. . . .?”

“Now boarding Flight 756, non-stop to JFK at Gate 36C,” the voice came over the loud speaker.  “Again, Flight 756, non-stop to JFK, now boarding at Gate 36C.”

She didn’t bother to say anything else, turning on her heel and starting away after retrieving her carry-on bag and dropping a few folded dollars onto the table.

It had been a very long week, spent meeting with contractors, overseeing the renovations on the building she’d purchased to be the first Madison’s on the west coast.  She’d met with suppliers, interviewed a number of stylists, all of whom really wanted a spot at her place, which was a very nice feeling.  It seemed that her reputation had preceded her, and that was both rewarding and a little surreal, by turns.

She stifled a sigh as she made her way down the long hallway toward Gate 36C.  No doubt about it, she was beyond ready to go home.

‘Are we?  Really?’

Wrinkling her nose at her youkai’s words, she felt her excitement wane just a little.  Going home meant returning to her apartment, and yes, the idea of being there, all alone, kind of put a damper on the whole thing.

‘Need I remind you that it was your idea?  You were the one who told Mikio that you were ready to go home, remember?  And then, you completely ignored the idea that he didn’t look entirely happy about that, too.’

She pulled up her boarding pass on the tablet as she stopped in line to wait in the shorter of the two—the one designated for those flying first class.  ‘Only because he’s not sure that I really am all right,’ she concluded.  In fact, that really was the reason why she’d decided to go home after her stint in LA was finished.  As much as she loved being with him, she didn’t want to stay, just because he felt like she was too fragile, too pathetic, to be alone . . .

‘I really don’t know where you get some of your ideas, Madison, but I don’t think—’

‘It’s not like I’m giving up,’ she cut in.  ‘I’m absolutely not.  I’ll drop by tomorrow, make him go out to dinner with me or something.’

“First class, seat A-16 . . . Enjoy your flight, Ms. Cartham.”

She smiled and closed the tablet cover, tucking it into her carry-on bag as she made her way down the gangway.

It didn’t take long as she was taken to her seat and settled in, handing the attendant her carry-on.  Taking the window seat, she figured that she’d do what she normally did on flights like this: listen to music, read a magazine, and basically, ignore everyone else around her.

At least, that was her plan.

“Well, well, we meet again.  Hello, Ms.  Fancy meeting you here . . .”

Blinking as she slowly glanced up, only to come, face-to-face with the man from the restaurant where she’d waited for her flight to be called.  The last thing she wanted was to sit beside the man for the entire trip back to New York City.  Even so, she managed a tepid little smile before purposefully turning her attention to the window on her other side, intent on ignoring him if she possibly could.

Not that he seemed like a bad sort of guy, she reasoned.  Even so, she just wasn’t interested in playing some kind of weird flirtation game with a man that she didn’t really care to get to know.  After all, if he were dim enough not to have realized just how unwelcome his unbidden advances were, then he wasn’t the kind of man that she wished to inadvertently encourage, either.

“So, about your name,” he said, dropping somewhat heavily into his chair.  He leaned toward her, that rather arrogant smirk back on his face.  She had very little doubt that he might well think that the expression was cavalier, perhaps even charming.  It wasn’t.

She pretended that she hadn’t heard him, but she also refused to lean away from him, never mind that he really was invading her personal space.

“Now, I know you’re not a mute,” he quipped, apparently still not getting the message.  “Are you always this rude to a man who’s just trying to be friendly?”

That got her attention, despite her resolve to ignore him, and she slowly turned her head, cast him a withering look.  “I returned the drink that you bought for me when I didn’t give any indication that I wanted anything from you, just because you assumed that I’d be flattered or something, and I’m being rude for refusing to tell some man I don’t even know my name?  I don’t think so.”

He didn’t like her answer.  She could see it in his expression as it shifted from that calculated sense of nonchalance into something a little tighter, a little more clipped.  He did sit back a little, and he managed a very cold kind of smile.  “Ah, my apologies, then.  I didn’t realize you were . . . one of those women.”

“Those women?” she echoed, shaking her head as her temper ignited.  “Would that be the kind of woman who doesn’t really care if I’ve stroked your ego or not?  Or a woman who feels that she ought to be allowed to sit in a lounge to wait for a flight without being harassed by some man with the manners of a common mongrel?  Or did you mean something far more offensive than that?  Because if you meant, am I a lesbian?  Then, what?  You just can’t believe that any heterosexual woman might not be completely enamored of your attention?  I am under no obligation to answer any of your questions, but since you asked, no, I’m not a lesbian.  I’m very, very straight.  I just don’t like you.”

For a moment, she thought that his head just might explode.  After stammering around for a few seconds, he stood abruptly, grabbing the passing flight attendant’s arm as he cast Madison a scathing kind of glower.  “I need to be moved,” he stated in a tone that left no room for argument, never mind that it only took one glance to realize that the plane was booked to capacity.

The attendant pasted on a very tepid smile—proof positive that she’d overheard the entire exchange and didn’t rightfully like the man’s stance.  “I’d love to accommodate you, but, as you can see, this flight is booked solid—unless you’d like to see if anyone in coach would care to trade with you.”

“I’ll trade him,” another voice piped up—one with a very dry British accent—who sounded entirely bored with the entire debacle.  Madison watched as the man stood, vacating his seat a few rows up.  The other man let go of the attendant’s arm and brushed past her, careful not to even look back as he took the free seat, but even from her vantage point, she could see the ruddiness tingeing the man’s ears as a general scurry of whispers swept through the first-class cabin.

The new stranger nodded politely at the attendant, long, dirty blonde hair, caught back in a neat ponytail that bobbed with the motion.  He took the seat beside her, but said nothing, flipping open a copy of Modern Guitar magazine, instead.

He was youkai, she could tell, though she wasn’t entirely sure, what kind he was.  It didn’t really matter, of course, but she couldn’t help but to feel thankful that he’d traded with the other man.

The attendant strode to the front of the cabin as the pilot came over the intercom for pre-flight information, and when she caught Madison’s eye, she winked.


“H ere you go.”

“Uh, thanks,” Mikio said, taking the bottle of beer that Evan offered him.

Evan grinned, scratching his electric blue hair as he leaned casually against the counter in the rather industrial-looking kitchen of his Manhattan townhouse.  As far as Mikio knew, he still owned the mansion on Long Island, but he’d bought this place so that he and Valerie could avoid the public eye—as long as he was careful, anyway.

He’d gotten back from a few European shows a few days ago, but he’d had a photo shoot earlier, which was why he was done up in full Zel Roka regalia still.  But he’d called Mikio to ask him if he wanted to come by for supper, and Mikio had accepted, figuring he had nothing better to do . . .

‘If that’s what we’re telling ourselves today.’

Twisting open the beer cap, Mikio tossed it into the trash can nearby.  ‘Dunno what you’re talking about.’

His youkai-voice snorted indelicately.  ‘Cut the crap.  I mean, strictly speaking, I’m you, so if I know it, then you do, too.  The real reason you accepted the invitation was because you’re hoping—hoping that he’s heard from Madison, which, might I add, you wouldn’t have to skulk around if you’d just break down and text her yourself—or better yet, call her.’

‘If she . . . If she wanted me to call or text . . .’

‘Hai, hai . . . If she wanted your attention, she wouldn’t have decided on the spur of the moment to go back home, you mean?  Are you sure about that?’

‘I don’t know,’ he grumbled.  ‘She was gone before I could ask or . . .”

‘And that’s the problem, isn’t it?  If you admit that you care, then you open yourself up to things that you do not want to even consider, but if you do?  You know, don’t you?  Just . . . Just consider the rewards.’

He heaved an inward sigh.  ‘Rewards . . .’

“Mikio?” Evan’s voice broke through Mikio’s conversation.  “Hey, man, you okay?”

“What?  Oh, uh, yeah,” Mikio muttered, refusing to meet Evan’s gaze for a moment.  “I was . . . I was thinking about, uh, Gavin-san’s case, is all.”

Evan nodded, taking his time, draining half of his beer in one long swallow.  “Yeah . . . How’s that going?  I mean, I know you can’t really give specifics, but . . .”

Letting out a deep sigh, Mikio slowly shook his head.  “It’s going slowly,” he said, setting the beer aside on the counter.  “I’m making progress, I think.  Just . . . Just want to be completely thorough.”

“Makes sense,” Evan concluded, pushing himself up straight, clapping Mikio on the shoulder on his way over to the huge refrigerator.  “I meant to tell you.  Sorry for not giving you a call sooner.  I meant to, but I’ve been spending so much time in the studio, and then the overseas shows . . .”

“It’s fine,” Mikio said.  “I wasn’t really expecting to be here, and you’ve got a lot going on.”

“Well, yeah, true enough.”  He broke into a wide grin.  “So, you at least get out and do some sightseeing?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, reaching over to grab some of the stuff that Evan was pulling out of the refrigerator and setting it on the counter.  “Maddy took me around a little . . . Statue of Liberty, Coney Island . . . Other places, too . . . She said it was general tourist-y stuff.”

“Is that right?”  He peered over his shoulder and chuckled.  “I’m kind of sad that I missed that.  I assume she showed you where Kai-zan Market is?  Best place for the stuff you might want from home.”

Mikio nodded.  “The seafood’s different, but it works.”

Kicking the refrigerator closed, Evan carefully transferred the pile from his arms onto the counter before leaning down to grab a couple cutting boards out from a rack in a lower cabinet.  He handed one over and quickly set up his own work station, grabbing a few larger bowls and a large platter to arrange things upon.  He’d said that he was going to make hot pot, and that sounded just fine to Mikio.

“So, have you heard from her?” he asked, trying his best to sound entirely nonchalant.

“Maddy?  Yeah . . . She’s been in LA the last, what, week? Doing a bunch of set-up stuff for a new salon in downtown Beverly Hills.”

Mikio frowned as he cut up a daikon.  He’d already known that much.

“Yeah, but she said she’s flying home today,” Valerie said as she stepped into the kitchen.

“Is she?  Sweet,” Evan quipped.

Valerie reached around Evan to nab a couple carrot slices off of his cutting board.  “Mmm . . .” she replied, popping one of the pilfered carrots into her mouth.  “She texted a few times while she was waiting to board her plane.  I offered to pick her up at the airport, but she said she’s pretty exhausted from all the meetings, so she’s just going to go home and relax.”

“Hey, why didn’t she text me?” Evan complained.

Valerie giggled.  “She doesn’t like you, Roka.  She just felt sorry for you, so she humored you for . . . Well, forever—and I’m much more fun to hang out with.”

Evan chuckled.  “Yeah, that sounds about right . . .”

It bothered Mikio a lot more than he was willing to admit, didn’t it?  That she hadn’t told him anything about when she was coming home . . . Just what in the world was going through her mind?  He’d felt like the two of them were fairly close, maybe closer than he was to anyone else, really.  It seemed entirely unnatural, almost as if she were deliberately snubbing him, even if he really didn’t believe that, and yet . . .

It was just the strange and almost abrupt way in which she’d left, he supposed, and he’d be lying if he tried to tell himself that he wasn’t still worried about her, knowing well enough that she was still very upset about Jazz’s sudden death.  He hadn’t wanted her to go home, but there wasn’t a thing he could have done to stop her, either.

Maybe . . .

He smothered the urge to sigh.  Maybe he’d give her a call tomorrow.  With any luck, he could talk her into meeting him for dinner or something . . .

His youkai-voice sighed, instead.  ‘Or something . . .’


Madi son had just started to relax a little bit.  So far, the new occupant of the seat next to hers hadn’t tried to talk to her or to invade her personal space, and that was good enough for her.  The transcontinental flight would take roughly five-and-a-half hours, and as long as it passed peacefully, then she’d be thankful enough for that.

The man beside her took his phone off of airplane mode, and it rang almost immediately.  She didn’t miss his sigh as he rubbed his forehead and almost hesitantly accepted the call, but only after taking a moment, as though he were debating whether or not to answer it, in the first place.  “Listen, I just got on the plane, and I’m already in the air.  We already talked about this, and I told you, there’s no possible way—”

She was trying not to eavesdrop, and she figured that if it wasn’t for her youkai heritage, she probably wouldn’t have actually heard his side of the conversation.  Whatever they were discussing seemed to be something intensely personal, and, to his credit, he was trying his best to keep his voice lowered.  Madison motioned at one of the attendants who was making his way down the aisle.  “Could I get a cup of coffee, please?” she murmured.

The attendant smiled and hurried away as the man beside her drummed his claws on his bouncing knee in a show of complete exasperation that did not come through in his tone of voice when he spoke into the phone once more.  “No, that was the woman sitting next to me on the plane . . . I don’t know her name; I didn’t ask, and it doesn’t matter, anyway.  She’s got nothing to do with this . . .” Letting out an audible sigh, he leaned to the side, resting his temple on his raised hand.  “There’s nothing left to say, Rose, and even if there were, this isn’t the place to do that.  Do me a favor and lose my number.  You and I both know that it isn’t . . . It isn’t mine.”

He disconnected the call, only for the phone to ring again within seconds.  This time, though, he shook his head and shut the device off entirely.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he said, casting Madison what could only be described as a sheepish kind of grimace.

“Not a problem,” she assured him.  “You . . . You know that she—Rose—isn’t going to give up that easily.”

He winced.  “Oh, don’t I know it,” he muttered.  “I was trying not play the part of the bastard, but I rather believe that there isn’t any way around it.”  He glanced at her, only to do a double take as his gaze narrowed.  “You . . . Tell me why you look familiar,” he finally said.  “Are you in the business?”

“The business?” she echoed, brushing aside the momentary surprise when she’d seen the man’s eyes close up.  Such a deep green around the edges that managed to fade into a sherry-gold around the pupils, they were startling, direct, and likely not the kind of color she was likely to forget any time soon.  “Hmm . . . Which business would that be?”

He shook his head.  “Show business in general, I reckon . . . Damn me if you don’t look like a face I’ve seen somewhere before, though I confess, I’m not sure, why . . .”

It wasn’t a pick up line.  She could tell from the expression on his face that he was entirely serious—and entirely confused, to boot.  She laughed, unable to help herself.  “I used to do stylist work for Zel Roka,” she said since that was likely where he might have seen her before.  After all, she’d been pictured, doing his hair or makeup at various points and in various publications, so it wasn’t unheard of that he might well recognize her from that.  “I still do.”

The sudden sense of recognition that dawned upon him was almost comical, and he chuckled.  “Ri-i-i-ight.  That’s it, then . . . Met him earlier this year at a party at Franco Tellingier’s place during the Golden Fray festival . . .” He made a face, but chuckled.  It was a warm, friendly sound.  “Sorry.  Guess I should introduce myself.  I’m Cade Warren.”

His name was vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it right off.  “Madison Cartham,” she replied.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madison Cartham,” he quipped.

And then, it clicked, and Madison blinked and raised her eyebrows.  “Cade Warren?” she repeated.  “The Other Side of the Glass.  Very nice.”

His grin widened, and he looked genuinely happy that she knew the name of his album.  “You’ve heard of me?”

His bemusement was definitely sweet, and she smiled.  “Actually, Zel recommended your music to me.  Said you had some real talent, which is pretty high praise, coming from him.”

Cade’s cheeks pinked slightly, and he shook his head, but his grin didn’t falter.  The overall effect seemed to soften the almost too-sharp edges of his facial structure.  “Yes, well, let’s hope the powers that be share his enthusiasm.”

“Oh?  Is that why you’re going to New York?”

Cade’s eyebrows lifted, and he sighed.  “Actually, I’ve got a couple meetings.  The label suggested that I find a new manager, so they’ve arranged for me to meet a few that they seem to like, and I’m going to lay a few tracks down at White Wave Sound with Buzz Marleighvaughn while I’m here.”

“Ol’ Buzz?” she echoed.  She knew the legendary producer since he’d worked with Evan on a couple of his albums, most recently V—the album that had started it all—for Evan and V, anyway . . . “They say he’s a genius.  I say he’s kind of a dirty old man,” she said.

Cade chuckled.  “Is that so?”

She nodded.  “So, what managers you’re supposed to meet with?”

He made a face.  “To be honest, I don’t remember many of the names, so, no one I’ve heard of, really, but a friend told me to ignore them.  If the labels like them, then there’s a reason for it, meaning that they’re more likely to make plans, based on what would be best for them and not me, necessarily.  To be honest, I’m pretty sure that there’s a measure of truth in that.”

It made sense, what he’d said.  She figured that Evan might well say the same thing, if she were to ask him.  “Can I ask what’s wrong with your current manager that you’d be willing to change?”

This time, he grunted, and the amusement on his face died, entirely.  “You heard the phone call just now, didn’t you?”  He rubbed his temple and grimaced.  “That was my current manager, Rose, and, given that she’s trying to tell me that she’s pregnant with my child, well . . .”

Madison made a face.  Given that kind of context, then it made perfect sense, why he’d want to sever ties with her.  Since he was most certainly youkai, then he would know, absolutely, if he had gotten the woman pregnant.  “Ouch,” she said.

He let out a deep breath, brushing his long, sun-streaked bangs out of his face as his gaze slipped to the side, but not before she saw the irritated scowl that had surfaced.  “Yeah . . . You’re telling me . . .”