InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 6: Shameless ❯ Waterspell ( Chapter 11 )

~~Chapter 11~~

~Waterspell~

 

 

 

“Why?”

 

Gavin rolled his eyes but didn't stop as he hefted the saddle over the rack and grabbed a smaller one that would better fit Jillian. Without missing a stride as he stalked across the barn floor, he hooked the gear under his arm and jerked the stall door open. The sedate old mare affectionately called Lattice nudged Gavin's breast pocket for a lump of sugar or a hunk of carrot—neither of which he had on his person. Finding nothing of interest, she turned away with a snort, sticking her nose into the feed bag hanging on a peg on the far side of the stall.

 

“Forget it, Jillian,” he stated flatly as he heaved the saddle over the horse's broad back.

 

“But he likes me!” she argued.

 

“Save your breath, Jilli. You're not riding Waterspell, and that's final.”

 

He didn't have to look at her to know that her face had contorted into `The Pout'. He did, anyway, heaving a sigh when he caught sight of the distended lower lip, the tilt of her head as she peered through her lashes at him. Eyebrows drawn together in a consternated frown, she had her arms crossed over her chest as she shuffled her pink cowboy boots against the rough wood plank floor. “That's so not working this time, brat,” he growled inflicting a bit of irritation into his tone in hopes that she would let the subject drop.

 

He should have known better.

 

“I know how to ride horses,” she pointed out reasonably—too reasonably.

 

Gavin shook his head as he secured the buckles on the saddle and gave Lattice a light slap on the hindquarters. “He's not a rider,” he maintained. “Keep talking, Jilli . . . you're still not getting your way.”

 

“He hates being in that corral all day,” she pouted.

 

“I'm sure he does,” he agreed rather mildly. “He's too dangerous, though, and you're not riding him. Ever.”

 

Jillian rolled her eyes. “But he's such a pretty boy,” she crooned as she gripped the windowsill that overlooked the paddock where the horse in question had been put out. “What's the good of having him if he can't be ridden?”

 

Gavin sighed as he slipped the bit into Lattice's mouth. “He's a breeder, Jilli—only a breeder. He doesn't have the temperament to be a good rider. He's too much like his father and grandfather that way.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He nodded as he continued to ready the horse for Jillian's ride. “His grandfather—Old Dusky . . . my grandfather wanted to tame him. He tried to, but . . .”

 

“But?” she prompted when he trailed off.

 

Gavin shrugged off-handedly. Scowling as he fastened the bridle by rote, he tamped down the melancholy pang that always assailed him when he thought about his late grandfather. “But he couldn't be tamed,” he finished simply.

 

He could feel Jillian's eyes boring into his back as he kept working. He didn't doubt for a second that she was smart enough to figure everything out on her own. He'd told her before that his grandfather had been killed in a cattle stampede, but he hadn't told her that Old Dusky had caused the stampede. Grandpa Rog had been trying to tame the devil, and his upset had managed to spook the cattle . . .

 

“You win, Gavvie,” she said quietly, sighing as she stepped away from the window. He heard the soft rustle of her clothing—at least she'd opted to wear jeans for the excursion—moments before he felt her arms slip around his waist. Hugging his back, she gave him a little squeeze. Gavin blinked and stared at her hands; at her splayed fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. “I'm sorry about your grandpa.”

 

His smile was a little sad, but he clumsily patted Jillian's hands. “It's okay, Jilli,” he assured her. “It was a long time ago.”

 

Resting her cheek against his back, Jillian paused a moment before letting her arms drop away. “I don't know what I'd do if I lost someone I cared about,” she ventured.

 

Gavin nodded. Youkai lived so much longer, and it was much, much harder to kill them . . . Jillian hadn't really been touched by death before. She knew, of course, that her mother had died just after giving birth to her. Thing was, she couldn't remember her, and while it was better that way, he was certain, it also lent a certain level of distance when the only parents she remembered were Cain and Gin Zelig. Truthfully, the concept of death was a difficult one for most youkai and hanyous to understand. In a day and age when violence was further removed for most youkai, the very idea of it was something that had become more of an abstract thought than a conscious possibility. The true nature of the youkai had changed over time. After Sesshoumaru's legendary edict centuries ago—after youkai began to hide their ways from nervous human eyes—youkai had been cautioned against showing too much of their aggressive tendencies, and to that end, they'd been able to fade into myth and legend.

 

“Don't worry about it, Jilli. Dad always told me that Grandpa Rog didn't have regrets.”

 

She let her arms drop and stepped back. Gavin glanced over his shoulder and grimaced when he saw the sadness in her eyes. Was she thinking about her own grandparents? InuYasha and Kagome . . . of course she was. The hanyou of legend and the powerful miko . . . they loved and doted on their granddaughter, didn't they? `Everyone loves Jillian,' his youkai whispered in his mind. She was trying to understand what it would have been like, to lose them, wasn't she?

 

“Jilli,” he mumbled, turning around and clumsily pulling her into his arms. “Don't be sad, okay? We . . . we're on vacation, remember? You can't be sad on vacation.”

 

She nodded, choking back a quiet sob as she buried her face against his chest. “Aunt Nezumi . . . she lost a baby . . . and that means the baby died, right?”

 

He sighed, stroking her hair and scowling over her head out the window at the horse cantering around the large paddock. “It does,” he agreed.

 

“Oh . . .” She sniffled. “Gavvie?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Drawing a ragged breath, Jillian leaned back, dashing the back of her hand over her eyes, swatting the tears off her cheeks as she swallowed hard. “Would it be all right if we went for a ride later?” she asked with an apologetic shake of her head.

 

He forced a wan smile. “Whatever you want,” he told her.

 

She nodded and gulped, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned on her heel and slowly shuffled toward the barn door. “I think . . . I think I want to call Mama,” she said. “I think I should see how Aunt Nezumi is doing.”

 

He watched her go and sighed. Truthfully, he had been surprised that she hadn't called Gin sooner. Though he didn't expect that she'd be told that Nezumi was completely fine, he figured that it would make Jillian feel better to know that her aunt was trying to cope.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Bas Zelig dragged his hand over his face with a weary sigh as he slammed the cover of his laptop computer closed. `Damn it . . .'

 

They were no closer to finding Mickey B. than they had been at the start. Somehow the bastard had been able to cover his tracks a little too well. Whether he was that computer savvy or if he just knew enough to cover his tracks through a number of internet fallacies, Bas wasn't sure, but with every passing day, Mickey seemed to be growing a little more restless—angrier . . .

 

The door to his office opened with a soft click. Bas didn't have to look up to know that Sydnie, his mate, had slipped into the room. “Here, puppy,” she said as she approached the desk, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

 

Reaching out to take the cup of coffee she held in her hands, Bas finally sighed and sat back, shaking his head slowly without taking his gaze off his mate. “Thanks.”

 

“You don't look so good,” she mused. “Another email?”

 

The idea of lying to Sydnie never even crossed his mind. With a curt nod, Bas shoved the laptop toward her with one hand as he brought the Styrofoam cup to his lips with the other. “He's like a damn cockroach,” Bas growled. “We just can't get rid of him.”

 

“Oh, my God,” Sydnie mumbled as she stared at the image that was attached to the latest email. Green eyes flashing to meet his, she slowly shook her head. “Has Gavin seen this one?”

 

Bas shook his head, too. “No.”

 

“And I'm assuming your father hasn't seen it, either.”

 

He didn't stop shaking his head. “Hell, no.”

 

Sydnie settled on the edge of the desk, clicking through the different emails as the chime sounded announcing the arrival of yet another correspondence. “There's a new one, too.”

 

“Shit.”

 

Grimacing as she opened the email, she shot Bas a worried glance as she bit her lip and reluctantly nodded. “Another shower shot,” she informed him as he reached over to snag the edge of the laptop and swiveled it to check it out. She flinched when an explosion of expletives colored the air in the office.

 

The first image of Jillian's form in the shower had been bad enough. She'd been hunched over as though she were washing her legs, but he'd seen enough of her head to know that it was her and to realize that the camera that had taken the pictures had to have been mounted in the exhaust fan. In fact, that was where Gunnar was, at the moment. He'd left last night to go to Jillian's apartment and conduct another sweep for intelligence-gathering devices. He'd called awhile ago to confirm that there had been a tiny camera transmitter in the bathroom. According to Gunnar, it was one of the newer ones, roughly the size of a pencil eraser—disposable. The battery life was only about three weeks, and it worked in much the same manner as a webcam, transmitting images or even video footage to another computer terminal that could be set up anywhere it could get a signal from the transmitter the same way that a cell phone could pick up signal from towers and satellites. In the end, it wouldn't matter if it was left wherever it was planted since the camera itself retained no active memory and could not be traced back to the mother device. Still, one of the cameras normally ran around two-thousand-five-hundred dollars—no small bit of pocket change, really . . .

 

The only real bit of luck was there were only five or six companies worldwide that manufactured the cameras, so it would be entirely possible to pinpoint the manufacturer of the electronic, and if they were really lucky, the company might be able to provide a list of everyone who had purchased the devices in the past year.

 

This picture, though . . .

 

Bas sighed as Sydnie slipped off the desk and kissed his forehead before heading out of the office once more. “Hey, kitty . . . where are you going?” he called after her.

 

She poked her head back into the office long enough to smile at him as she tucked a long strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Someone has to concentrate on the other cases,” she remarked. “Anyway, you concentrate on doing something about that bastard. After all, if Jillian doesn't come back soon, I'll go crazy dealing with you and your nasty sports. Who else will keep me company while you're screaming at the television?”

 

“I'm not that bad,” Bas grumbled.

 

“That's what you think, puppy,” Sydnie retorted but smiled.

 

Bas chuckled despite his bleak thoughts. “Let me know if you need me,” he told her as he closed out the emails and snapped the lid closed once more.

 

`No sense in putting it off,' he thought with an inward sigh as he reached for the telephone. Gavin was going to be mad as hell about it, but he'd be madder still if Bas let him find the email on his own . . .

 

Dialing Gavin's number, he sat back to wait.

 

“Gavin Jamison.”

 

“Hey, Gav; it's me, Bas.”

 

“Hold on,” he mumbled, covering the receiver with one hand. Bas could hear him saying something though he couldn't make out the words. He could hear shuffling, and a minute later, Gavin uncovered the receiver. “Any news?”

 

Shifting in his seat to prop his forehead on his fingertips, Bas sighed. “Another email,” he finally allowed. “Another picture.”

 

Gavin sighed, too. “What's this one?”

 

“It's . . . worse,” he admitted, tapping a claw against his forehead.

 

“Worse?” Gavin echoed. “How could it possibly be worse?”

 

Bas grimaced. “It just is,” he ground out.

 

“Hmm . . .”

 

Bas' grimace shifted into a full-blown scowl when he heard the tones signifying that Gavin had turned on his computer. “You might not want to see it,” he drawled.

 

“Spare me, Bas,” Gavin grumbled. The sound of keystrokes came through the phone line, and Bas heaved another sigh. Gavin was far too stubborn when it came to Jillian. While it didn't surprise him that Gavin wanted to check the email for himself, Bas also knew that it was probably not exactly what he was expecting to see, either.

 

“Wh—what the—?” Gavin sputtered.

 

Bas winced as the image of Jillian, slumping against the tile wall of the shower came to mind. Over the frosted glass of the doors that enclosed the shower stall, he could still see her face. Head leaned back, mouth hanging slack, her cheeks dusted with a pretty pink flush that had little to do with the temperature of the water and everything to do with the feelings coursing through her body, there wasn't a doubt in Bas' mind as to what, exactly, his sister had been doing, and Gavin . . . well, judging from his reaction, it was a safe bet that Gavin knew what she was doing, too.

 

“Gunnar found the camera. It was installed in the ventilation fan in the ceiling,” Bas went on, judiciously choosing to ignore Gavin's incoherent stammering. “He'll be bringing it in for analysis, but he said that it's one of those disposable ones, so I highly doubt there's any sort of mechanical fingerprint on it.”

 

“Damn him,” Gavin growled, his tone taking on a predatory rumble. It was a tone that Bas hadn't heard from Gavin before. “Damn him!”

 

“Take it easy, Gavin. We're doing what we can. With any luck, we'll be able to find out something when we figure out who manufactured the camera. Losing your cool isn't going to help anything.”

 

“You think I don't know that? I think I know—” Gavin snarled then cut himself off with a sigh. “Sorry,” he allowed, sounding anything but contrite.

 

Bas rubbed his eye and sighed yet again. “Don't worry about it. Just . . . keep Jilli away from the computer, and don't let her watch the news.”

 

“Yeah, well, at least that's not a problem,” Gavin grumbled. Bas smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. He knew as well as anyone that the odds of Jillian sitting down to watch the news were slim and none. She hated the endless onslaught of depressing stories—stories that confirmed the bad in mankind.

 

“Anything unusual going on there?” Bas asked, more to change the subject than because he believed anything really was happening.

 

Gavin snorted. “Not really . . . nothing ever happens around Hidekea.”

 

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

 

“Hurry up and catch this asshole,” Gavin ground out.

 

Bas nodded. “We're working on it, Gav. I want this bastard's balls as much as you do—probably more.”

 

“I highly doubt that.”

 

Bas grinned. “Speaking of `balls' . . .”

 

Gavin snorted again. “Yeah, yeah, I know . . . keep my hands off your sister; I got it.”

 

“So long as we're clear,” Bas remarked.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Keep me posted if anything does happen.”

 

Gavin sighed. “Right. You, too.”

 

“Not a problem.”

 

The phone line went dead, and Bas' grin faded as he dropped the phone into the cradle once more.

 

True enough, Jillian had said for years that Gavin was her mate, and he believed that she thought so, sure. Thing was, if the message was getting through to Gavin, then he wasn't acknowledging it, leaving Bas to wonder if there were any truth to Jillian's feelings or not. Maybe she'd simply convinced herself that there was more to it than friendship. In any case, Bas kept up his threats against Gavin mostly to save Jillian's sensibilities in the end. She cared far too much about Gavin for a casual fling to be good. Unlike Evan and Madison—and Bas didn't even pretend to grasp the intricacies of that relationship—Jillian did want Gavin to be her mate, and sleeping with him could only be a huge mistake. No, the best thing for those two would be for them to either become mates or to go their separate ways. As good as Gavin was at keeping Jillian grounded, her dependence on him wasn't; at least, it wasn't if they really weren't mates . . .

 

Heaving another long sigh, Bas reached for the phone once more. No sense in trying to hide anything from Cain. He'd figure it out sooner or later. At least this way, Bas could warn him about the graphic nature of the photograph . . .

 

He just really hated having to make the call . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“How is everyone?” Jillian asked as she shuffled around the bedroom.

 

Gin sighed and gave a half-hearted laugh. “As well as can be expected,” she replied. “Nezumi's doing her best to move on.”

 

“I wish I could be there.”

 

“No, dear . . . it's okay. I think it's a little overwhelming for her . . . Sierra and Belle come over every day and fuss over her . . . Coral came home just to spend time with her, and Cassidy just left yesterday . . . Chelsea and Charity have been by at least once a day—Charity even planted a memorial garden in the backyard. It's really pretty, and Alexandra's been around, too . . . Mama's dropping by constantly with little gifts, and you know Papa . . . Kichiro's been telling everyone to give Nezumi some space, so I've been staying with Morio and Meara since your father's so insistent that I not stay at the house alone . . . Uncle Sesshoumaru donated an obscene amount of money to the clinic to fund more research on prenatal care of youkai and hanyou babies . . . Even Aiko made a point of flying in from Hong Kong to offer her condolences . . .”

 

“I know . . . I just feel so badly that I'm not there,” Jillian mumbled.

 

“Oh, no . . . your flowers were lovely, and Nezumi smiled when she read the card. That really was something, you know . . .”

 

“Give her a big squeeze for me?”

 

Gin laughed softly. “Of course I will, Jillian. Now you have fun. It's been awhile since you had a real, honest to goodness vacation.”

 

“Yes, Mama,” she agreed. “It's probably late there, isn't it?”

 

“Well, it's a little after one a.m. here,” Gin allowed.

 

“I'm sorry . . . I should have checked the time converter,” Jillian grumbled.

 

“Don't worry,” Gin assured her. “I've been having a little trouble sleeping anyway.”

 

Jillian smiled just a little. “You miss Daddy.”

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

“Okay . . . I'll let you go, then. Love you, Mama.”

 

“Love you, too, sweetie.”

 

Jillian grimaced as she clicked off the cell phone and tossed the device onto the bed before pushing the sliding door open and stepping out onto the balcony. The fresh scent of sun-dried grass assailed her, and she closed her eyes as the clean air seemed to permeate her very being. The sharp whinny of a horse drew her attention, and she looked down in time to see Hank and another of Gavin's hired men—a cougar youkai named Dax—as they tried to drag Waterspell back toward the stable. The horse was having no part of it, and the youkai were struggling. Jerking his head from side to side, he gained his freedom and reared up, reared back, rising higher and higher into the air, the immense size of his body casting shadows over Hank and Dax like a phoenix rising from the smoldering ashes.

 

Gavin hurried out of the stable, deliberately slowing his gait as he neared the other men. He whistled to draw Waterspell's attention while Hank and Dax cut around to the sides to recapture the lead ropes once more. Waterspell wasn't finished, though. One last lurch . . . he reared up once more: higher and higher, towering over Gavin. He didn't try to get out of the way, either. Jillian gasped, gripping the railing and leaning over, ready to scream, and yet . . .

 

Yet the strangest surge of adrenaline ripped through her, too. Gavin's sense of confidence reached her, calming her before the hysteria could truly grasp her. Waterspell seemed to sense it, too—Gavin's calm, Gavin's control. Slamming his hooves on the ground, the horse snorted, his anger palpable, radiating off him in visible waves of contorted energy, but somehow he seemed to recognize that Gavin wasn't giving, either, and that made the difference.

 

Gavin hollered something that Jillian couldn't discern as Hank and Dax lead Waterspell back to the stable. Turning on his heel as he watched them corral the angry horse, Gavin suddenly seemed to sense her ardent perusal. When he caught her staring at him, he raised his fingers to the brim of his Stetson and inclined his head just a little.

 

Slowly letting her feet back down on the rough wood plank balcony, Jillian couldn't help the grin that surfaced on her face. The sensation that the earth had fallen out from under her was intense and immediate. Her stomach tumbled over itself; end over end, falling hard, falling fast, falling for him all over again. Stronger than any kiss, deeper than any emotion, the knowledge, the desperation, the absolute need to stay with him simply couldn't be ignored. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, welled over into the late morning air. One day she'd have to ask Gavin how he did it: how he was able to touch her without doing a thing . . .

 

`Does it matter?' her youkai whispered as she watched him stride back to the stable once more.

 

`No,' she decided as she lifted her trembling fingers to flutter over her lips. `It really doesn't matter at all, so long as he never stops . . . so long as he never, ever stops . . .'

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromJillian:

Falling …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Shameless): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~