InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Gypsies ( Chapter 58 )

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

"Keys . . . phone . . . glasses . . ." Valerie muttered under her breath as she double checked her purse to make sure that she had everything she needed.  Satisfied that she did, she slipped the bag over her shoulder, grabbed her attaché case off the table, and headed for the door.

Just down the corridor, one of her neighbors—she recognized his face but didn't actually know his name—was getting off the elevator.  Quickening her step, she hurried toward it, knowing that if she missed it, it would probably take another five minutes or so to call it back to her floor.  "Oh!  Hold it, please!" she hollered as she increased her pace once more.

The man glanced at her as his hand shot out to stay the doors, and he stepped back to allow Valerie to edge past him into the enclosed box.

"Almost missed it," he said cheerfully as he let his hand drop away and stepped back.

"Thanks!" she called as the doors slid closed.  Pushing the button for the ground floor, Valerie checked her watch as the elevator jerked to life.  It was nearly ten in the morning, and she was already running late.  Marvin must've inadvertently shut off her alarm when he shut off his before he'd left for the airport.  He had, however, left her half a pot of hot, fresh coffee and had even cut and sectioned a grapefruit for her that he left in the refrigerator, along with a note that just said, 'I'll call you when I land.'  It was enough to make her smile despite her having not woken up on time.

Her cell phone rang, and she slipped the attaché case under her arm to free up her hands so that she could dig the device out of her purse.  Frowning when she read the caller ID, though, she opened the phone, wondering absently why her boss was trying to get a hold of her.

"Valerie Denning," she said when the call connected.

"Good morning, Ms. Denning," Xavier said, his voice giving no indication of his true intentions.

"Mr. Bainey, good morning . . ."

"I've got a client waiting for me, so I'll cut right to the chase," he went on.  "Tell me, have you seen the papers this morning?"

Frowning as the sense of foreboding she'd felt moments ago escalated into a knot of dread, Valerie stifled a sigh.  "Which one?" she asked, absolutely positive that she really didn't want to know what was so bad that Xavier had gone out of his way to call her.

"Any of them," Xavier stated flatly.  "Maybe not the Wall Street Journal, but I wouldn't be surprised if their editor made an exception in this case."

Her frown morphed into a grimace.  There was only one person on the face of the earth who would cause that big of a ruckus, and she knew it.  The real question was, what had he done this time . . .? "I can't say that I've had time to look at any of the papers, no," she admitted, careful to keep her voice as even and neutral as she possibly could.

Xavier sighed.  The sound was a bit distorted, as though he were in the middle of taking a drink of coffee or something.  "Ms. Denning, I removed you from all of your other cases so that you could focus completely on the charges against Zel Roka and put you in charge of damage control, correct?"

Gritting her teeth since she really hated to be spoken to as though she were nothing more than a wayward child, Valerie shook her head.  "Yes, you did," she agreed slowly.

"Then can you tell me who this Lolita is that he was out with last night?  The one he was flaunting all over the place?"

"I called him last night, but he hasn't answered yet.  I'm on my way over there right now," she explained.

Xavier didn't sound impressed with her answer, though.  "You understand exactly how bad this has the potential to be, don't you?  If she's underage—"

"Absolutely.  I completely agree," she cut him off, wondering if anyone would really notice if Evan Zelig disappeared from the face of the earth.

"You need to make sure that he understands exactly how strict Judge Lister can be," Xavier went on a little more calmly.  "If the authorities want to look into it, he has to be sure that there's nothing in the world that can be held against him.  Besides, I thought that you were supposed to be babysitting him . . ."

"He doesn't need a babysitter, he needs some common sense," she muttered.

"All right, then be his common sense," Xavier stated flatly.

Scowling as the elevator ground to a stop, Valerie wondered whether or not Xavier really understood exactly how big of a miracle he was really asking of her.  "Yes, sir," she managed to say without sounding too pissy, all things considered.  Snapping the phone closed, she dropped it into her purse as she stepped out of the box and into the foyer of the apartment building.

She wasn't sure whether she ought to feel completely disheartened or flattered that her boss so obviously thought that she was akin to God.  Being scolded like a child just didn't sit well with her, and it didn't do anything to appease her when she was already heading over to the lion's den, so to speak.

All in all, she figured with a dejected sigh as she pushed out of the building and onto the stoop, it was the perfect start to what promised to be just a really, really perfect day . . .


'So what the hell are you planning on doing?  Hiding in here for the rest of your life?'

Strumming the acoustic guitar idly, Evan closed his eyes and concentrated on the dulcet tones that normally soothed his nerves.  It wasn't working at the moment . . . 'Maybe.'

'Nice, nice, you damn coward.  If you devoted as much energy in trying to find a way out of this as you did in hiding, you'd probably have figured it out by now.'

'You think I haven't been trying?'

'Well, you certainly didn't seem to mind that she was here this morning, now did you?'

Snorting loudly, Evan ground his teeth together when he inadvertently snagged a string with his claw.  It snapped with a hideous twang.  'That totally wasn't my fault!  How was I supposed to know that she'd learned how to pick locks—and furthermore, why the fuck do I even have to lock myself into my room at night, I'd like to know, and you don't really have any room to talk.  I didn't hear you tossing out any brilliant ideas,' he argued, setting the instrument aside as he got up to find a replacement string.

'Yeah, well, it's pretty sad when you're blaming me for your lack of self-control.  Besides, having Violca staying with you is probably not the best way of convincing V that you miss her.'

'Like it matters.  She's got that little nutsack over there . . . In town for a 'visit', probably, when he ought to be there all the fucking time.'

His youkai grunted, likely at Evan's more colorful choices of terms that he'd opted to use when describing Valerie's damned fiancé.  Just the sound of that word in his head was enough to unleash a low growl from him, and when he proceeded to do just that, his youkai voice grunted again.  'Stop feeling sorry for yourself and figure out how to get her back over here.'

'I'm trying; I'm trying,' he shot back.

'Not hard enough, you know, and waking up with Violca fused to your dick isn't really gonna help the situation, now is it?'

Letting out a deep breath, Evan ripped the guitar string envelope open and tossed it into the trash.   'Ah, you just had to go there, didn't you?' he half-pouted, flopping onto the battered old couch and grabbing the instrument once more.

'Yeah, that's right.  I went there.  So, got any plans on how to get V to speak to you again?'

'Balls, you're not much good for anything, are you?' Evan countered as he restrung the guitar.

His youkai voice uttered a terse grunt but didn't answer.  'Maybe,' Evan mused as he tightened the new string, 'it'll shut up for awhile . . .'

Unfortunately, everything his youkai had said was pretty much true.  He honestly hadn't thought that things could get much worse after he'd pretty well nixed any chances he had of convincing Valerie that she belonged with him.  Too bad that he'd never quite learned that age-old lesson: if you think that things cannot get worse, they can, and most often, they absolutely will.  'Bad' did not begin to adequately describe his current predicament, and the hell of it was, if it wasn't for Valerie, he'd probably have though that he'd been blessed beyond all reason.  After all, he was successful in his own right, he had everything he could want or need and probably some things that he'd be better off without.

Unfortunately, too, he didn't really figure that Valerie was going to be pleased about Violca's sudden appearance—a fact that he'd verified early this morning when he'd checked his voicemail—only to be forced to yank the phone away from his head when she'd started hollering at him.  He was kind of hoping that he could tell her about the girl before she found out for herself.  Apparently, though, Evan's luck just wasn't as good as it used to be . . .

And it didn't really help at all that both Madison as well as Bitches had thought that the unexpected arrival was just too damn funny to be believed.  They'd both quite literally spent hours, crowing over the situation.  He'd even asked Madison if she wouldn't mind having a houseguest for awhile.  Of course, she'd love to, she'd said, but she had to fly down to Miami to check on her new spa that was almost ready to open up down there, and Bitches?  Well, he really had considered asking her to take Violca home, too, but he'd discarded that idea about as fast as it had occurred to him since her girlfriend was notoriously jealous and might well have killed Violca upon sight.

In a nutshell, he was no closer to figuring out exactly what to do about his little problem than he was the day he'd opened his door, only to find her standing on his porch with a beat up, old Army issue duffle bag at her feet.  There were a few suspect splatters on that bag—weird shades of brownish-rust.  Evan suspected that it was blood, though he hadn't gotten close enough verify it.  Come to think of it, he didn't really want to know what had happened to the poor bastard who used to own that thing, either . . .

The only room in the entire mansion that was safe was this one because he'd made it quite clear to the girl that she was not allowed in here, no matter what, and after this morning when he'd woken up to find her mouth suctioned around his dick like a feeding parasite, he just might move into this room for the duration . . . Unfortunately, she was mid-to-late blowjob at the time, and before he'd been able to summon the sense to push her away, as well . . .

The knock on the door yanked him rudely out of his reverie, and Evan sighed.  Strumming a few test chords on the guitar while he tuned the new string, he was about ready to tell Violca that he was busy, but his head snapped up as the door slammed open, revealing a very, very angry Valerie Denning, esquire.

She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, wearing a beautifully fitted Gan Isalles business suit with her hair dyed that soft brown shade she seemed to favor, pulled back off her face in a sleek if not entirely too-businesslike arrangement and her glasses perched on the end of her cute little nose.  Cheeks pinked with indignant color, the air around her fairly crackling with her energy, she might have been rather formidable if Evan's senses weren't completely spinning just from her very proximity.

Too bad the overall effect was completely lost on him.  His brain might have registered what she was wearing, the impression she was striving for, but all he saw was the Valerie from his dreams—blonde hair mussed and tangled and flowing freely, her body glowing with the fresh sheen of sweat from their vigorous fucking, her mouth hanging slightly open, her eyes half-closed, her skin flushed from the sensations that overtook the both of them . . .

'Knock it off before she kills us, stupid!' his youkai snapped in absolute irritation.

Evan blinked and set the guitar aside, slowly rising to his feet as he wondered vaguely if she could tell that he was currently experiencing the biggest, baddest, hardest boner that he'd had in quite awhile . . . "Hey, V," he greeted, hoping that his voice sounded steadier than he thought it did.

Damned if those eyes of hers didn't narrow on him, and for a split second, he thought that she just might dig his heart out and eat it with a spoon.  "Don't you dare, 'Hey, V,' me, Roka," she hissed under her breath and without moving her lips.  "You've got—" she checked her watch with a deliberate flick of her wrist before pinning him with that incredible gaze once more.  "—precisely two minutes to explain yourself, and your time starts now."

He winced inwardly.  'Damn, she really is mad,' he thought as he stifled a sigh.

'She's hot, too . . . fuckable-hot . . .'

'Yeah, not helping,' he insisted.

His youkai was undeterred.  'But look at her!  Do you think she's wearing a bra?'

'Of course she's wearing a bra!'

'How can you tell?'

'Well, if you just look at the way she's—Shut the hell u-u-u-up!' he growled.

Valerie tapped her foot impatiently and made another show of checking her watch.  "I'm waiting, Roka, or are you trying to come up with a good excuse?"

"Now, V, I can explain," he said, holding up his hands in an effort to placate her.  It didn't work.

"Good, I'm glad," she replied drolly.  "I'm waiting."

'Da-a-a-amn . . .' he thought as he stared at her.  She really was just fantastic, wasn't she?  So irritated that her nostrils were flaring just the tiniest bit when she breathed while she pressed her lips together in a tight line as she leveled that scowl at him, she looked as though she were trying to decide whether she should continue to wait for the explanation she'd demanded or if she ought to just go ahead and smite him where he stood.  Under the circumstances, he couldn't say that he rightfully cared which option she chose, but if she did kill him, at least he'd die happily . . . "Well, see, it's kind of funny really," he finally said though he seriously doubted that she, of all people, would actually see the humor in the situation.

"Is that right?" she replied in a thoroughly unimpressed tone.

"All right," he drawled, ambling past her, out of the music room and heading toward the kitchen.  "Don't say I didn't warn you, though . . ."

"Try me," she retorted, following him since he hadn't given her much of a choice.  "I could use a good laugh."

Evan grimaced.  Valerie didn't see it.  "That right?  Well, good . . ."

"Cut the crap and spill your guts," she insisted, grabbing his arm to stop him as he reached for the cooler drawer where he kept the beer.

He stared down at her for a long moment.  That stupid and insane urge to kiss her was back in spades.  Evan squelched it, lest she decide to avoid him for the rest of her life for it.  "Umm . . ." he hedged, racking his brain to figure out exactly where he ought to start the explanation.  "You remember that story I told you?  The one about Belgium?"

She frowned and shook her head, apparently confused as to why he was suddenly talking about that.  "Belgium?  The gypsy woman who gave you the fake diamond earring?"

He nodded quickly and handed her a beer.  She glanced at the bottle then set it aside on the counter.  "Yeah, that's the one!  She was really old—did I tell you that, too?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie looked like she was trying hard not to lose her temper.  "Get on with it!" she growled.

Evan sighed and popped the cap off his beer, draining half of it in one long swallow.  "I told you about her daughter, right?"

He hadn't actually thought that she could look any less impressed than she already did.  He was wrong.  If her gaze alone could have frozen him solid, it would have, it was that cold.  "The result of a one night fling with some guy, yes, you did."

"Yeah, her . . ."

"Evan . . ." she began in a warning tone of voice.

"Okay, okay, okay!" he hurried to say, holding up his hands again in a gesture meant to show his compliance.  "Well, see . . . I did tell you that Deet and I were pretty fucked up that night, didn't I?"  She nodded once and rolled her hand to indicate that he should continue.  "And I told you that she tried to give me her daughter, right?"

"Ye-e-es . . ."

He tossed back the rest of the beer and took his time, rinsing out the bottle.  "To make a long story short, the old gypsy died, and I've inherited that daughter."

Dead silence greeted his admission.  When he dared to peek over his shoulder at Valerie, he was surprised to see that she looked mildly relieved—not completely relieved, but a little bit.  "So you're her guardian?" she finally asked.

"Uhh, not . . . exactly . . ." he said slowly.  This was the part of the story that he was more than a little reluctant to tell her . . .

"What do you mean, not exactly?"

"I mean, I'm not exactly her guardian," he clarified.  "I guess you could say that I'm more like her . . . umm . . . err . . . uh . . . m-mas . . . ter . . ."

Her eyebrows shot up as her mouth fell open for a moment.  "Come again?"

He shrugged and nodded.  "Apparently, there was a contract . . ."

"Contract?" she echoed.  "What kind of 'contract'?"

Evan shot her a look that stated quite plainly that she, of all people, really shouldn't be asking him what a contract was.  "A contract, V—a contract: a formal agreement, usually written, between two or more parties that is enforceable by law."

She blinked and forced her head.  "You mean, you signed a contract with her?" she blurted incredulously.  "Have you lost your damn mind?"

"She had some damn fine smack," he said in the way of explanation.

"Oh, my God, Evan, if you tell me that you agreed to take her daughter because you were high—"

"Of course not!" he cut in indignantly.

"Then why did you?"

"Because I wanted to get high!"

"And that just makes it all better!" she snapped back.  "Do you honestly have a brain?"

Leaning against the counter after he'd finally turned around to face her once more, Evan scratched his chin thoughtfully and slowly shook his head.  "It must've been after she told my fortune . . ."

Valerie wasn't really listening to him.  Pacing the floor as she rubbed her temples, she was muttering under her breath about the validity of the contract and that she might be able to have it thrown out since Evan, obviously, wasn't in his right mind at the time of signing the damn thing.

"She said that it was obvious by its consistency that I was going to live a long time."

Valerie stopped mid-step and scowled at him.  "The consistency of what?"

Still rubbing his chin as he thought it over, he shrugged.  "My spunk."

That got her full attention.  It also brought on a livid flush as her skin darkened about ten shades of red or more.  "Your what?"

Evan finally blinked and glanced at Valerie, who was still looking entirely shell-shocked—and appalled.  "My semen, V: ejaculate—orgasm—cum—love-juice—man-bam—cream —and in some parts of the world, 'milk' . . . That's how she told fortunes.  She'd have you jack off on the floor, then she'd take this little wooden paddle like one of those 'spoons' you get when you buy a cup of ice cream from the musical truck, she'd swirl it around a little, check to see how thick it was, then she'd tell you whether you were going to die within the next week or so, among other things."

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . ." Valerie muttered, resuming her pacing once more.  "You cannot be serious—Oh, wait, yes . . . yes, you could . . ."

Evan chuckled then suddenly frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor as the rest of that particular memory resurfaced in surprising clarity.  "She said Deet's life wasn't too long," he admitted quietly, the pain of loss as fresh and harsh now as it had been the day Dieter had died.  "I thought she was crazy.  Guess she wasn't, after all . . ."

For a moment, Valerie didn't seem to know what to say.  Then she remembered why she was there, and she scowled at him again, but she wasn't quite as angry as she was mere seconds before.  "Fine, but that doesn't really explain this contract," she pointed out.

"I was getting to it," he told her.  "After she told our futures, she said she had some good stuff, but she said that she'd only give it to us if I agreed to take care of her daughter if anything happened to her, so I agreed . . ."

Valerie heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead.  "Okay, let me see this contract."

Evan winced and quickly shook his head.  "I don't want to."

"Why?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow to emphasize her question.  "Did you sign it in your semen or something else demented like that?"

"No," he assured her as a grin broke over his features.  "That would have rocked, though."

Valerie snorted and stubbornly shook her head.  "Just let me see the damn thing, will you?  There's got to be a way to get you out of it, considering you weren't in a lucid frame of mind at the time."

"Trust me, V, I've already read through it, and even if you could do something about it, I can't just break it," he said.

"Don't be stupid!  That girl looks like she's still in junior high school.  Exactly how old is she, anyway?"

"I . . . don't rightfully know," Evan confessed, scratching his head as he pushed away from the counter and strode out of the kitchen and into the living room.  "I mean, I have a good idea of how old she is, but I don't know for sure."

"Then how old do you think she is?" Valerie nearly bellowed as her temper broke.

Evan winced and shot her a rather apologetic little smile.  "Well, I'm pretty sure that she's . . . seventeen . . . maybe . . ."

Valerie just blinked, apparently speechless for the moment.  Evan had a feeling that it wouldn't last, and he was right.  "Maybe?" she hollered.  "Maybe?  Damn it, Evan, you're going to end up, charged with statutory rape, and if you do, then there's nothing I can do to help you because you know how old she is!"

"Not really," he replied.  "I mean, she might not be seventeen . . ."

"And younger would be even worse!" she half-groaned.  "Why do you insist upon constantly doing things that are going to land you in prison?  Now where is that contract?  The sooner you get her out of your house, the better the chances that you won't get charged with that, too!"

Letting out a long, drawn out breath, Evan grimaced but gestured at the glass doors.  Violca was outside doing laps in the pool, but the very last thing that he really wanted to do was to show Valerie that damned contract, and not because of what it said but because of where it was . . . And . . .

"V . . . I don't want to break the contract," he admitted at length.

She stopped mid-stride—she was heading outside, probably to demand to see that contract—and stopped to gawp at him.  "Why's that?" she asked in a remarkably controlled tone.

"Her mother's dead, she doesn't understand too much English, and she's not really in the States legally.  What do you suppose they'll do with her if the cops get involved?"

"Evan, she can't stay here," Valerie reminded him, but at least she was listening to him.

Rubbing his face, Evan conceded that point with a nod.  "Besides, if I broke the contract, I'll be cursed, and I gotta tell you, V, you just don't mess around with a gypsy's curse if you're smart."

Her expression shifted from incredulous to dubious, at best.  "You're not seriously afraid of that kind of voodoo-hoodoo, are you?"

Evan stared at her for several seconds before nodding his head in an emphatic 'yes'.  "Of course, I am!" he insisted.  "You cross a real gypsy, and body parts start falling off; didn't you know?"

"As if that would be a bad thing," Valerie muttered under her breath.

"You'll regret that one day," he assured her.

"When hell freezes over," she countered.

"You're so cold, Val," he retorted.

"Better cold than stupid," she said as she made her way toward the glass doors once more.  "And since when do you call me 'Val'?"

Evan made a face but followed behind her.  He had to, really, considering the attorney was probably going to need a translator.

All in all, though, he had to admit that Valerie had taken it all a lot better than he'd expected.  He'd fully anticipated more mayhem on her part, and a lot of physical pain on his.  Of course, that wasn't to say that he thought that the worst of it was over: hell no.  No, there was a good chance that Valerie really was going to hit the roof when she discovered exactly where that contract was, and if he managed to live through that, then maybe—maybe—he could consider himself lucky, after all . . .