InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Misjudgment ( Chapter 54 )

~~Chapter 54~~

~Misjudgment~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“H-hello?”

 

Frowning as a long sigh greeted him, Griffin held the phone against the side of his head. “Sorry to bother you, Dr. Marin,” Cain Zelig's voice came through the line.

 

“Uh, Griffin's fine.”

 

“All right, Griffin . . . Can you talk?”

 

“I guess so,” he rumbled, sparing a glance out the front window. Isabelle wasn't due home yet. She likely wouldn't be for another hour, at least. Though she'd been reluctant to do so, Griffin had maintained that she needed to go to work, needed to restore a sense of normalcy to her life, and while he'd understood that she was concerned about Charlie, Griffin had assured her that the dog would be just fine if she left his side for a few hours; long enough for her to make her rounds at the hospital.

 

And when that didn't work, he'd called and asked for a leave of absence, citing personal reasons which didn't really draw much suspicion since he'd never asked for one before. True, Charlie was still in pretty rough shape, but Griffin wasn't too worried that the animal would die. It may take him awhile to heal, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be just fine in the end. Besides, Griffin figured that Isabelle needed the distraction that work would provide far more than he did, and if his agreement to take some time off to keep an eye on the dog gave Isabelle the reassurance she needed, then he supposed that he could give her that much . . .

 

“Isabelle . . .?” Zelig pressed.

 

“She's doing rounds,” Griffin explained, idly rubbing his knuckles against his upper chest. “Why?”

 

Zelig sighed again. “I, uh, just wanted to let you know I've dispatched one of my hunters to keep an eye on her, so if you sense him in the area—”

 

“Why?” Griffin interrupted, unable to repress the suspicion that shot to the fore.

 

His answer was long in coming, as though he had to consider his words. “Avis is dead,” he stated flatly.

 

“. . . What?”

 

“Dr. Avis . . . Gavin went to Australia and . . . sort of broke into his house since they hadn't heard from him in awhile.” Zelig exhaled sharply. “He found Avis' remains and the tracker.”

 

Pacing across the living room floor and back again, Griffin considered what the tai-youkai had said—as well as what he hadn't said. “And you think that whoever killed Avis is the one who's after the research,” he concluded.

 

“I don't know,” Zelig replied, his voice drawn, weary. “After what I read of your translations, though, I have to agree with you. The name you mentioned in there—Eaton Fellowes . . . do you know anything about him?”

 

“My, uh . . . I asked a friend to look into him for me,” he admitted slowly. “Said that it might be an alias for a youkai named Alastair Gregory.”

 

“Alastair Gregory,” Zelig repeated slowly as though he were weighing the name in his mind. “Never heard of him, but I'll have my people look into it. Did you get anything else on him?”

 

“No . . . just that name.”

 

Zelig let out a deep breath. “Damn it.”

 

“Pretty much what I thought.”

 

“Anyway, it's better to assume that it's all connected, and if that's the case . . .”

 

Griffin nodded slowly. “Then it's only a matter of time before he figures out that Isabelle's got the research.”

 

Clearing his throat, Zelig took his time giving voice to his next thought. “Bas told me that Isabelle's laptop and PDA are missing, and Bellaniece told me awhile back that the ass-monkey's lab was broken into. There're just too many coincidences . . . I don't like it.”

 

Griffin grunted in agreement. He'd thought the same thing more than once. “Yeah.”

 

“Anyway, in light of all that, I thought it'd be better to have one of my men around just to make sure that everything's all right,” Zelig said, his voice slightly muffled like he was rubbing his face.

 

“No,” Griffin stated bluntly. “I . . . I told you: I'll protect her.”

 

“I'm sure you can,” Zelig replied rather dryly, “but between your work and hers . . . You can't be in two places at one time, can you?”

 

Scowling as he strode over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, scanning the road to make sure that Isabelle wasn't pulling into the driveway, he snorted. “Not a big deal,” he asserted gruffly. “I took some time off to stay with Charlie.”

 

“Charlie?” Zelig echoed rather quizzically.

 

Griffin made a face. “Her dog.”

 

“Isn't his name Froofie?”

 

“Not any more.”

 

“I see,” Zelig commented. He sounded like he was trying not to chuckle, then he sighed. “I'd feel much better about it if she wasn't working. She's far more vulnerable when she's out and about, even if she is being watched.”

 

“She could take a leave of absence, too,” Griffin ventured, pushing away from the window and plodding over to the desk once more.

 

Zelig pondered that. “She could,” he agreed slowly. “Actually . . . I think her boss is youkai. I could give him a call to see if it'd be possible to arrange it without her knowledge.”

 

“She has a right to know what's going on.”

 

“She needs to know about Avis' death,” Zelig allowed. “Do you really think it's best to tell her the rest of it?”

 

Griffin snorted indelicately. Knowing Isabelle, she'd just laugh at him if he told her about the idea that anyone would actually want to hurt her for any reason whatsoever. It figured. She didn't possess a damn bit of common sense, did she?

 

Heaving a sigh of his own, Griffin scratched his head as he pondered the question. “You mean, would she even believe me?”

 

“Maybe you should hold off on that until we know for sure whether or not these incidences are connected. My gut says they are, but there's just no concrete proof.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“All right. I'll leave it up to you, then,” Zelig conceded. “Call if you find out anything, and I'll do the same.”

 

“Th-thanks.”

 

The call ended, and Griffin dropped the handset onto the charger with a frown. Avis was dead? For some reason, that wasn't as surprising as it should have been. Griffin had suspected that there was more to the kidnapping story than what he'd heard, hadn't he? Plopping into the desk chair, he rubbed his eyes with a slightly shaking hand, grimacing as he tried to swallow the bitter taste that nearly choked him.

 

He hadn't realized just how badly he'd wanted to be wrong this time. The vague sense of inevitability that he'd had at other times when his feelings had been proven right was lost, and he almost reached for the phone, scowl darkening as the irrational need to reassure himself that Isabelle was all right assailed him.

 

Heaving a sigh, he tapped his fingers on the desktop. She was fine. He knew that. She'd called not forty-five minutes ago to check on Charlie, and she was fine then. Still, maybe he ought to call just to tell her to come straight home . . .

 

As if in answer to his troubled thoughts, the cell phone rang, and he started as the irritating song that he'd still not gotten changed buzzed through the quiet. “Hello?” he half-growled as he smashed the tiny device against his ear.

 

“Hey. How's Froofie?”

 

Wrinkling his nose and uttering a terse snort at the name she still used in reference to his dog, Griffin shook his head. “It's Charlie, and he's as fine as he was when you called less than an hour ago.”

 

Isabelle laughed wanly. “Good, good . . .”

 

“You about done?”

 

“Just a sec,” she said, the sound of her hand smashing over the phone registering in his ear. She said something, but he couldn't understand her words and paused a moment before uncovering the receiver. “Yeah, just about. Did you need anything from the store? I figured I'd stop and get stuff for dinner. Salmon all right with you?”

 

“Don't worry about it,” he said, frowning as the bulk of his conversation with Cain Zelig replayed in his head. “Come straight home, okay?”

 

She didn't respond right away, and when she finally did, he could only grimace and grit his teeth at the overwhelming concern in her voice. “Did something happen? Froofie—”

 

“I told you, didn't I?” he interrupted. “Charlie's fine. It's just—” Cutting himself off, he drew a deep breath and cleared his throat. “There's something I need to tell you. Don't stop anywhere, all right?”

 

“All right,” she murmured, her voice still thick with trepidation. “Give me about fifteen minutes . . .”

 

He grunted and hung up, letting out a deep breath as he leaned back in the chair. The very last thing he'd wanted to do was to frighten her, but he had to make sure that she didn't end up running unnecessary errands before she came home, damn it.

 

Tamping down the urge to hightail it to the hospital, he stood up and lumbered toward the kitchen. He didn't really want a cup of tea, no, but at least it would distract him while he waited for her to walk through the door.

 

Staring out the window over the sink as he pulled a mug from the cupboard, he scowled at the tree line. As much as he hated to admit it, the idea that Zelig would even have considered sending a hunter out to keep an eye on them irritated the living, breathing hell out of him. He wasn't helpless regardless of how he looked on the outside. He could and would take care of things should the need arise.

 

`That's not really what Zelig was saying; not at all,' his youkai pointed out.

 

`Wasn't it?' he grouched, setting the mug aside and reaching for a second one.

 

`Of course it wasn't. Stop being so defensive, will you? He told you, didn't he? He just wanted someone around if Isabelle wasn't with you.'

 

Unwilling to concede a single point, Griffin snorted as he dumped loose tea into his mug and dug in the drawer for the strainer. `Not with me? Right . . . shaking her off is like trying to get rid of fleas just by looking at `em.'

 

`If you had fleas that looked like her, you would deal with the itching.'

 

`Annoying is what you are,' he growled, carefully arranging the strainer over the second mug before measuring tea leaves into it. `What does he think I am? A worthless old man?'

 

`I highly doubt that. I imagine he knows well enough that you can protect her,' his youkai spoke, the soothing tone a bit jarring, nonetheless.

 

`No one will hurt her,' Griffin thought as he pushed himself to his feet once more, as he paced the length of the living room and back. `No one . . .'

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“For the last time, I don't know!”

 

Glaring across the table at the two youkai, Gavin struggled to control the fraying ends of his temper before he did something really stupid—like barrel across the room to beat some sense into the two.

 

The dingo-youkai on the left bore his fangs in a gross misrepresentation of a very insincere smile as he fingered the hilt of the dagger strapped to his side. The other youkai—a burly, brutish-looking wolf-youkai—didn't change expressions as he stared without blinking. Intimidation tactics, Gavin supposed. Too bad he was well beyond caring.

 

To be honest, he still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. He'd gone straight back to the hotel, just as Cain had instructed, and he'd called to reserve a ticket on the next flight out. He'd just finished taking a quick shower, in fact, when the unceremonious pounding on the door began. The two youkai had insisted that he come with them, and he'd been here—wherever `here' was—ever since.

 

They'd been questioning him for hours—the same questions over and over again though they'd rephrased them all at least a dozen times. Gavin didn't have to be brilliant to understand that they were trying to trip him up or confuse him, and while he wasn't about to get caught up in their trickery, he was tired; exhausted.

 

“You really expect us to believe that you just happened to find Dr. Avis' remains? That simple, eh?” the wolf-youkai finally demanded in little better than a monotone.

 

“Yes,” Gavin gritted out after counting to twenty in an effort to quell his escalating temper. “I do.”

 

The dingo-youkai slowly shook his head, and smiled nastily. “Your story don't really hold water, does it?”

 

“I think it holds water just fine,” Gavin shot back, his voice heavily laced with a thick dose of sarcasm.

 

The two hunters exchanged significant looks; looks that drew a low, frustrated growl from Gavin.

 

Gnashing his teeth together and struggling to find a semblance of calm, “I'm telling you once more: I didn't do anything wrong!”

 

A knock on the door of the room interrupted whatever they were going to say. The wolf-youkai answered, leaning his head out into the hallway to converse with the intruder in low tones that Gavin couldn't discern. After a minute, he closed the door again, crossing his arms over his chest as he slowly turned to face Gavin once more, and the smirk that twisted his countenance was downright nasty. “Well, Mr. Jamison,” he began in a mocking tone, “I'm afraid that we're going to have to detain you for awhile.”

 

“On what charges?” Gavin blurted, his expression registering his absolute disbelief.

 

“Breaking and entering, for starters,” he replied, nodding at the dingo-youkai who strode over to Gavin without a word, yanking him to his feet and propelling him toward the door.

 

Gavin stumbled at the sudden motion but caught himself, sparing a moment to glower over his shoulder at the dingo. “That's ridiculous!” he growled.

 

“Oh, yeah? How about tampering with a crime scene? Is that `ridiculous', too?” the dingo-youkai taunted. “Take him down to a holding cell.”

 

The wolf-youkai grabbed Gavin's arm once more, dragging him out of the room as his voice echoed in his wake, protests against what he considered to be unfounded charges. “I didn't tamper with anything, damn it! This is insane! I didn't do anything wrong!”

 

Waiting until the sliding doors of the elevator at the end of the hallway closed behind his partner and the American's voice had faded, Dirk Benning dug the cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.

 

“I trust everything is taken care of?”

 

Rubbing the back of his neck as he ambled toward the double paned two way window, Dirk let out a deep breath. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

 

There was a long pause before he answered. “Good, good. Do make sure that our guest isn't too uncomfortable.”

 

“Absolutely. Did you want me to make the call to the Zelig?”

 

“No,” he replied tersely. “I'll take care of that.”

 

Dirk uttered a grunt, lowering the device and clicking the disconnect button before dropping it into his pocket once more with a shake of his head. That pup—Gavin Jamison . . . he wasn't a killer, and Dirk knew it. Even his partner, Pete Stevens, the hot-headed wolf-youkai, didn't believe it. He'd thought it more than once over the years since he'd come to work for Jude Covington, the Australian tai-youkai: if someone stepped on the man's toes, he always—always—made sure that the unfortunate soul lived to regret it. To be honest, he couldn't make sense of why, exactly, they were holding Mr. Jamison, in the first place. Worse criminals had been turned loose for more serious charges all the time. A few days ago, one had been brought in for questioning when he'd been overheard making impotent threats against the tai-youkai, and he had been released after issuing what Dirk had considered to be a half-assed apology. Aside from the inference that Covington wasn't able to take care of matters in his own jurisdiction, there wasn't really a feasible charge that would stick, in the end, and Dirk didn't doubt for a moment that Covington realized that, too.

 

Still, orders were orders, weren't they, even if he didn't like the decree . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“I want you to find out everything you can about this Eaton Fellowes—Alastair Gregory—whoever the hell he is,” Cain said, leveling a no-nonsense look at Ben.

 

“I've already got Myrna on it,” Ben commented, watching in an almost preoccupied fashion as Cain dropped the cell phone onto the desk blotter. “Dr. Marin gave you this name, you say?”

 

Lip curling back in a fierce snarl, Cain shook his head, jamming his hands into his pockets as he slumped against the desk. “Yeah, he said that he had a friend look into Fellowes after he was mentioned in the journal, but he didn't really know much more than the fact that Fellowes was obviously an alias, and that his real name was Alastair Gregory. I'll ask him later if he can give me the name of his source, but I doubt he knew much more, either.”

 

“Well, if Dr. Marin was asking questions, then I'd imagine that his source gave him all the information he had.”

 

Cain nodded, forcing back the feeling of utter irritation that accompanied the anger he directed at himself for not having seen this coming. True, he hadn't had enough to go on at the time, but he couldn't help recalling that he'd doubted Avis' sole involvement at the time. Unfortunately, everything they'd found had corroborated his story, and Cain . . . He'd thought that maybe he was letting his personal feelings as a father cloud his judgment as the tai-youkai, which was the reason he'd exiled Avis instead of having him exterminated.

 

The phone on the desk rang, and Cain scowled, his expression darkening even more when he read the number that registered on the caller ID. “Ah, God,” he muttered, his face registering his absolute disdain as he reached for the receiver. “Zelig,” he said brusquely.

 

“Afternoon,” Jude Covington greeted just as tersely. “It is afternoon there, isn't it?”

 

Scowling at the clock that read nearly 6:30 p.m., Cain barely managed to refrain from snorting. “Close enough,” he replied. “Isn't it a bit early there?”

 

“Incidentals,” Jude assured him.

 

“I trust this isn't a social call,” Cain remarked, shaking a cigarette out of the rumpled pack in his free hand. “Have you found out anything about Dr. Avis' death?”

 

Jude chuckled: a sound made entirely for effect, Cain was certain. “Funny you should mention that. We have detained one person for questioning though his level of involvement is still to be determined.”

 

“Oh? And who that be?”

 

He could hear the shuffling of papers like the Australian tai-youkai had to look up the name. “I'm sure you know,” Jude said at length. “The preliminary reports say that he is your son-in-law, after all.”

 

It took a moment for the information to process. “Gavin? You cannot be serious!”

 

“Absolutely serious,” Jude contended mildly. “He was the first on the scene, he tampered with evidence, he unlawfully broke into Dr. Avis' home, and, most importantly, he has a dead-on reason for wanting to see Dr. Avis dead.”

 

“And what reason would that be?” Cain demanded, pushing away from the desk to pace the floor.

 

“Surely you don't expect me to go into that sort of discourse over the telephone?” Jude countered. “Face facts, Zelig. Whether you want to believe it or not, your son-in-law he had motive, he had the means . . . He's the prime suspect, I'd say.”

 

It took every last ounce of Cain's self-control to keep from responding to that in kind. As it was, he couldn't quite contain the trace hostility that erupted in his voice when he finally did manage to answer. “What, exactly, do you want, Covington?”

 

Jude chuckled, finding a little too much humor in the given situation. “Not a thing, Zelig. I simply called you as a professional courtesy, you know. Your son-in-law is facing some serious accusations, and just because he is married to your daughter does not afford him special treatment here. You'll understand, I'm sure. We do things thoroughly—very thoroughly. If your son-in-law is man enough to break into another person's home regardless of the reason, then he's man enough to abide by the consequences of his actions.”

 

The line went dead, and Cain couldn't staunch the low growl that issued from him as he slammed the handset back into the cradle once more. “Bastard!” he exploded, heaving a sigh as he wheeled around to pin Ben with a fulminating glower.

 

“Who was it?” Ben asked without preamble, his expression as foreboding as Cain's was furious.

 

“Would you believe,” Cain began in a deadly quiet voice, jaw ticking as he struggled to control the rising need to beat the hell out of something, “that Jude actually detained Gavin? Says that's he's the prime suspect just because he found Avis' remains.”

 

Ben shook his head and considered it for a moment before offering a curt shrug. “Is that so?”

 

“Yeah, that's so.”

 

“Sounds to me like Covington's just trying to goad you.”

 

“Pretty much,” Cain agreed, smashing the cigarette butt in the small ashtray beside him. It was a power play, at best; a witch hunt at worst, and as much as he hated to play those sorts of petty games, he wasn't really being given a choice, was he?

 

Heaving a sigh as he made a face, he reached for the phone once more. He'd gotten Covington's meaning clearly enough: if Cain wanted to have the charges against Gavin dropped, he'd have to make a trip to do it . . .

 

`If that's how he wants it,' Cain allowed grudgingly. It wouldn't be a completely wasted trip, he supposed. After all, he had a few choice things that he wanted to say to the Australian tai-youkai . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Tugging on the too-tight collar of the stark white button-down shirt, Griffin lifted his eyes without moving his head to survey the restaurant, wondering for what had to be the fiftieth time exactly how she'd managed to cajole him into this . . .

 

`Oh, get over it, will you? It's not that bad, is it?'

 

That was debatable, as far as Griffin could tell. `Do I really have to remind you that there's a lunatic out there that may or may not know about Isabelle's involvement with the research?'

 

`No, but you were the one who insisted that there wasn't anything that she needed to worry about, weren't you? That being the case, you'd better concentrate on making sure that she doesn't suspect anything, don't you think?'

 

Wrinkling his nose and repressing the desire to growl, he decided instead to ignore the irritating voice in his head.

 

Unfortunately, everything his youkai had claimed was true enough. When Isabelle had gotten home from the hospital, she'd looked completely freaked out, and it had taken a good twenty minutes just to calm her down enough so that she would hear him out. In the end, though, he'd finally gotten her settled down with a cup of tea after she'd pestered Charlie.

 

“So what was it that you needed to tell me?” she asked without preamble, her eyebrows knitting together in a marked frown as she glanced around almost nervously, her hands shaking just the tiniest bit.

 

Setting his cup on the coffee table, Griffin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Your, uh, grandfather called a little while ago,” he said slowly, carefully gauging her reaction before going on.

 

“Grandpa Cain?”

 

He nodded. “Yes.”

 

She looked even more puzzled, and she bit her lip as she considered Griffin's words. “Why?” she finally asked.

 

“That guy—that doctor guy . . . the one who kidnapped your, um . . . aunt? Cousin . . .?” Trailing off as he shook his head since thinking about Isabelle's family never ceased to make his head hurt, he rolled his hand as though to prompt her to fill in the name for him.

 

“Jillian?” she supplied. “What about him? Dr. Avis?”

 

Drawing a deep breath, Griffin rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle fingers. “He's dead,” he stated quietly.

 

It took a minute for his words to sink in. Staring around the living room in a shocked sort of silence, she didn't look like she could quite grasp the gravity of what he'd said. “But . . .” she murmured, shaking her head pathetically. “How?”

 

“I don't know,” Griffin said, placating himself mentally, telling himself that it wasn't entirely a lie. He didn't know exactly how the doctor was killed, did he? No, Griffin only knew that he was killed. Zelig never told him how the deed was done . . .

 

Staring hard at him for a solitary moment, her eyes flared wide just before she winced. “You think he was . . . murdered, don't you?”

 

He couldn't meet her gaze, couldn't do much more than nod curtly—one solitary jerk of his head. “Yeah.”

 

“Who would want him dead?” Isabelle asked.

 

Pushing himself to his feet, he didn't answer her. Unable to voice what he knew in his heart to be true, he wandered over to the window and stared out at the darkness of the descending evening. Telling her that Avis had likely been murdered over the research—the same research that she hoped to finish . . . He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't do it . . .

 

So instead, he'd offered to take her to dinner—anything to get her mind off everything; anything to staunch the questions that he just didn't want to answer. Seeing that much worry in the depths of the eyes he'd come to know so well . . . it wasn't something he could do . . .

 

“Jillian . . . she had so many questions that she didn't get to ask him,” Isabelle remarked without looking up from the menu.

 

Griffin blinked and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “About what?”

 

With a sigh, she closed the laminated folder and set it aside. “Everything . . . things about her biological parents . . .”

 

“Are those things really that important?” he mumbled, uncomfortable with the perceived intimacy of the current conversation.

 

“Aren't they?”

 

He shrugged and took his time folding his menu and laying it atop Isabelle's. “She's got parents, doesn't she? Your grandparents . . . they raised her as one of their own.”

 

“Yes,” she allowed slowly. “She still had questions. I mean, I can understand that. All my life, people have said that I got this from Mama or that from Papa or I did something because one of my parents did the same thing when they were young, but Jillian . . . She doesn't really have answers for those sorts of things, does she? I mean, no one doubts that she adores Grandpa and Grandma, but . . . but the questions are still there, you know?”

 

He pondered that for a moment, lost in thought even as he gave his order to the waitress. He hadn't really thought of it that way, he supposed. Small wonder, considering he'd spent the better part of his life trying not to think about the family he'd lost so long ago . . .

 

The soft intonation of her cell phone interrupted his thoughts, and he frowned as she dug in her purse for the device. “Oh, it's my boss,” she said when she checked the number. “I need to take this. I'm sorry.”

 

He grunted in response, trying not to look too interested as she answered the call.

 

“Hello?” She smiled at him, and he blushed, shifting his gaze to their surroundings. “No, it's fine. What can I do for you?”

 

The waitress returned with their food, and Griffin's eavesdropping was interrupted. Mumbling a terse thank you as she slipped his plate onto the table, he frowned as Isabelle clicked off her phone and stowed it back in her purse once more. “That was fast,” he said.

 

She sighed and managed a wan smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, he just wanted to let me know that the doctor I was filling in for has decided to come back to work, so-o-o . . .”

 

“When?”

 

“He said that he'd be back Monday, so I guess I'm out of a job, at least for now. He said that if I'm interested, one of the other partners will be retiring in the fall, so I could come back then if I wanted to.”

 

Griffin considered that and nodded slowly. “Not such a bad idea,” he allowed at length. “Give you some time to concentrate on the research.”

 

Taking her time cutting off a bite of steak, she thought about it. “You're right,” she finally said. “I hadn't thought of that, but it makes perfect sense. In fact, I don't think I could ask for better timing.”

 

Shifting uncomfortably as Isabelle flashed him a real smile—a warm, bright thing that made his breath catch in his throat—Griffin concentrated on stuffing a hunk of salmon into his mouth and chewing thoroughly. “So just take the next six months or so off.”

 

She laughed. “I think I will . . .”

 

Letting out a deep breath, Griffin could feel the slight tension he'd carried since Cain Zelig's unexpected phone call loosening just a little. It was good timing—damn good timing—and he had to wonder how much of an influence Zelig had been on the time frame. Then again, did it really matter?

 

Narrowing his eyes on a young man at a nearby table who was quite shamelessly staring at Isabelle, he stabbed at his food rather vindictively and couldn't help the little growl that surged out of him. The man intercepted Griffin's dark look and must have gotten the message because he finally looked away.

 

Griffin sighed as Isabelle launched into a quiet recap of her theories on the research. The faster she was finished with that, the better, in his opinion. He'd admit that it was important, of course, but he'd be damned if it was worth any sort of threat to Isabelle's safety, either . . .

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~ =~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

tragic-hellion and tsuki miko: thanks for your fanarts. They've been added to the Sueric Fanfictions website!

 

I also uploaded a few PDFs on the website. PDF versions of Potentate, Enervate, A Purity Short; The Fairy Tale, Purity 5: Phantasmand Purity 6: Shamelessare all available on their respective pages on the website: http://www.suericfanfictions.com …

 

== == == == == == == == == ==

Reviewers

==========

MMorg

Simonkal of Inuy ------ Sesshomaru4Kagura4ever ------ Usagiseren05 ------ Jester08 ------ OROsan0677 ------ Dark Inu Fan ------ blue lolipop ------ sunshine161820 ------ Sunekai ------ tinners ------ fasttimeport ------ mrskcgoodman ------ malitiadixie (thank you … that was a helluva compliment, and I'm truly flattered!) ------ SpikeRulesHell (LOL, actually, thoughts and wishes do mean a lot to me. Possibly more than anyone really knows. He's doing better. He's not doing great, but then, it would have been strange if he were. Thanks again, and thanks for reading.)

==========

Forum Reviews

Clare ------ Proforce ------ cutechick18 ------ OROsan0677 ------ sueroxmysox ------ angelfire7777 ------- atticus ------ Jester08

==========

Final Thought fromGavin:

... Youkai jail …?

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYashaor 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~