InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ A Little Too Close ( Chapter 11 )

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

"I can't believe that this is where you live!"

Settling back on the lounge chair beside the pool while Kells splashed around in the shallow end, Jessa nodded.  "I can't believe that Ashur said it was okay to have you over," she admitted.

Which was true enough.  Ashur was in the house working on something or other in his office while Kells had begged and pleaded with her to bring him outside to swim, but she'd told him that she had to go out and meet Carol for coffee and to retrieve her things that she'd left in her locker at work.  Carol had gotten the couple items she'd left there since Ashur still stubbornly insisted that she wasn't allowed to step foot back in the club, ever again.  He'd overheard her and told her that it was fine if she wanted to have Carol come by, saying that if she swore that Carol could be trusted, he'd believe her.

Carol laughed and pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her purse.  "And your boss?  No wonder you quit the club!  That man is absolutely delicious . . . I thought that men that looked like him were all in Hollywood or something . . ."

Rolling her eyes and willing her cheeks not to pink at Carol's blunt assessment of Ashur, Jessa slowly shook her head.  "It's nothing like that," she insisted.  "I'm just watching Kells for him—and he's a friend of my cousin's, so that's it."

Carol heaved a melodramatic sigh.  "That's a damn shame," she lamented and leaned in closer.  "He's a mighty fine piece of ass, if you ask me."

"Carol!" she protested, waving a hand at her friend to shut her up.  "Hush!"

"Jessa!  Carol!  Watch me!"

The girls looked up, just in time to watch Kells as he dashed around the pool to get a running start before he launched himself out over the water, landing with a very nice crash for a child as small as he was.  He came up sputtering and laughing.  Jessa smiled.  "Good job, Kells," she said.  "But remember, you promised your da you wouldn't be running around the pool."

"I forgot!" he hollered back.

Jessa nodded and sat back again.

"Have you kissed him yet?"

Jessa blinked and shot Carol a quizzical glance.  "Kells? Well, sure . . ."

Carol heaved another melodramatic sigh and rolled her eyes in a rather theatrical way.  "Jess!  As sweet as he is, no, not Kells!  Kells' daddy," she said, her voice dropping for the last part of her delivery as she raised her eyebrows to emphasize her already emphasized, 'daddy'.

Jessa could feel the explosion of blood beneath the surface of her skin.  "Carol!  No!" she hissed in a very loud whisper.  "O-O-Of course not!"

One eyebrow dropped while the other remained highly arched.  "Why not?  He's hot—tell me you don't think he's incredibly hot."

She rolled her eyes, stubbornly averting her gaze.  "I'd hardly say that he's hot," she retorted under her breath.  "I mean, yes, he's a very good-looking man in a kind of brooding, sad sort of way, but that's hardly the point!  It's entirely inappropriate, given the circumstances, and—"

"Brooding?  Sad?  Are we talking about the same guy here?"  Carol shook her head as she considered Jessa's statement.  "Okay, brooding, maybe—I'll give you that one . . . He does seem a little more serious than he ought to be . . . I mean, he's, what?  Twenty-seven?  Twenty-nine?  Thirty's pushing it . . ."

She started to scoff that Ashur was much, much older than that, but she snapped her mouth closed before she did.  Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Carol was human, and this was one of those times . . . "Yeah, and . . . and a man his age wouldn't give a second thought to some girl who just turned eighteen," she muttered, more to herself than to Carol.

"Oh!  That reminds me!" Carol exclaimed, sitting up and reaching for her purse again.  She dug through it and pulled out a small box that wasn't wrapped but did have a pretty pink ribbon tied around it.  "Happy birthday!  I'm sorry it's late . . ."

She smiled and took the box with a soft giggle as she tugged the ribbon and let it fall away.  Inside the box was a pretty silver cross on a sparkling silver chain.  The cross itself was maybe half an inch from top to bottom and very prettily detailed.  "It's lovely!" Jessa said, carefully pulling it off of the backing pad.  "Thank you!"

She shrugged but smiled happily, obviously pleased that Jessa liked the gift.  "Well, you were saying the one night that you missed the cross your father gave you, right?  So, I thought that this would be okay until you can get your other one back."

"I love it," she insisted, leaning over to hug Carol.  "Thank you so much . . ."

"Me an' Daddy got Jessa a music box," Kells added, using his arms to hook himself onto the side of the pool.

Jessa smiled at the boy.  "You did," she agreed.  "It's beautiful."

Kells absolutely beamed at her.  Then he braced his feet against the wall of the pool and threw himself backward as he pushed off.

"A music box?" Carol echoed.  "Surely not one of those cheapie things from Target or something, right?"

Jessa frowned.  "No, I think it might be an antique," she admitted.  "It's really just gorgeous."

Carol's expression brightened.  "Oh, good, because if he'd gone the cheap route, I'd say you'd better make him work harder for that first kiss."

"There will be no kissing," Jessa insisted.  "Besides, he . . . He's not interested in me; not like that . . ."

Carol's smile faded, only to be replaced by a thoughtful sort of scowl as she leaned her head to the side and shifted her jaw to bite her lip, which she only did when she was considering something, Jessa had learned.  "So . . ."

Jessa glanced at her and shook her head.  "So . . .?" she repeated.

Carol straightened up and grinned.  "So, get him interested!"

Swinging her legs off of the chair, she grabbed Kells' towel and stepped toward the pool.  "I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that," she mumbled before raising her voice so that the child would hear her. "Kells!  Are you ready to get out?  You've been in there about an hour."

"Awww!  Do I have to?"

"I think it's a good idea," she said, shaking out the towel for him.  "How about a snack and a book?  And it's almost time for Monster Rangers . . ."

"Monster Rangers!" he hollered, happily splashing toward the side of the pool.  Once out, he grabbed the towel and tossed it over his shoulders like Superman's cape before speeding off toward the house.

Jessa, however, was a little slower as she gathered her towel and their water bottles.

Carol hopped up and grabbed her purse and towel, too.  "I want to see that music box," she insisted.

Jessa laughed and nodded.  "All right," she agreed.  "Let me get Kells' snack first."

"Do you suppose your boss would mind if we went and did a little shopping?  I've been meaning to get some new clothes . . . I just hate trying them all on and figuring out that I've gained a couple pounds since the last time I went . . ."

"Have you gained weight?"

Carol giggled.  "Maybe."  She struck a ridiculous representation of a classic sultry pose.  "But I still look damn fine, don't I?"

"Of course, you do," Jessa giggled as she locked the gate and led the way to the French doors.

When she stepped into the house, she stopped short at the sight of Ashur, who was busy, slapping together a couple peanut butter sandwiches.  "Oh, I was going to get his snack around," she blurted since, technically, it was her job now.

"The little despot couldn't wait," he replied rather dryly as he glanced up at her for a moment before resuming his task again.  "You sat in the sun for an hour or more, and you're still just as pale as you were when you went out there," he pointed out.

She wrinkled her nose.  "That wasn't at all tactful, Ashur," she pointed out.

He shrugged, slapping the lid onto the jar and grabbing both sandwiches.  The first one, he jammed half of it into his mouth and made a face.  "This stuff is disgusting," he muttered around a mouthful of peanut butter.

She rolled her eyes and dropped the empty bottles into the recycling bin before heading toward the maid's quarters.  "Oh, do you mind if I go shopping for a little while with Carol?"

Shaking his head as he waved the other peanut butter sandwich over his shoulder, he didn't stop as he headed out of the kitchen.

Jessa shot Carol an, 'I-Told-You-So' look before jerking her head for her friend to follow.


Scowling at the papers that had just been faxed over from the attorney's office who was working with the Irish Consulate in order to try to get a rush on resolving Jessa's parents' estate, the note with the report indicated that they were having a hard time getting Ian MacDonnough's office to sign off on the death certificates, which should have followed standard protocol, but for some reason, the European tai-youkai was apparently asking more questions than necessary and was generally just dragging his feet.

According to Lachlan Dunbyrne, the youkai attorney handling the estate, there were questions regarding Orlaith Daugherty-O'Shea's death in a car accident that had ultimately led to her husband's death less than a year later, but the police reports on the incident had been clear enough: a faulty fuel line in the car had led to a freak explosion when the car she'd been driving had passed over an area in the road where there was a downed power line that hadn't yet been cordoned off.  Until those questions were answered, he said, he could not legally release any part of the estate to Jessa.

'It almost sounds like someone thinks she had something to do with that accident,' he thought as he re-read the reports.

'It can't be that . . . I mean, she wasn't in the car—obviously.'

'Maybe but why else wouldn't they be able to release the estate?  It doesn't make sense unless they do think that, which is entirely preposterous . . .'

'Should we ask her what she knows about all of it?'

He wasn't sure.  Somehow, questioning her about her mother's death just didn't seem like a good idea . . . Considering how loathe he was to talk about his own mother's death, he couldn’t imagine that she'd feel much differently on the subject . . .

"Daddy?" Kells burbled around a mouthful of sandwich.

"You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full," Ashur reminded him without looking up from the reports.

He swallowed his bite and dropped the sandwich onto the coffee table as he hopped to his feet and skittered over to the sofa to lean on the arm beside him.  "Daddy!"

"Yes?"

"Do you wanna kiss Jessa?"

Ashur's head snapped up, eyes flaring wide as he stared at the boy incredulously as the report fell out of his slack hands onto his lap.  "Wh-What?"

Kells frowned, pursing his little lips thoughtfully.  "Jessa said you weren't interested in her like that . . . What does she mean, Daddy?"

Clearing his throat a couple of times, he shook his head.  "What else did she say?" he asked cautiously.  Part of him wanted to know.  The other part?  Well . . .

Kells leaned on the sofa arm, kicking his feet against the side.  "She said that you're good-looking . . ." He blinked and tapped Ashur's arm.  "I wanna be good-lookin' too!"

Ashur snorted.  "You've got awhile before you have to worry about that, Kells," he pointed out.  "Did . . . Did she say anything else . . .?"

Kells looked up at the ceiling, tapping his chin thoughtfully.  "Carol said you were hot, but Jessa turned all red!  Daddy!  Do you gots a fever?"

He barked out a terse laugh and shook his head.  "No, Kells . . ."

Apparently not satisfied with Ashur's answer, he reached over and slapped a tiny hand against Ashur's forehead and the other hand on his own.  "You don't feel hot . . ."

Ashur pulled his hand down and pointed at the television.  "You're missing Monster Rangers," he pointed out.

"Oh!" Kells exclaimed, scooting back over to his spot and grabbing the rest of his sandwich.

'She . . . She turned red . . .?  Blushing?  But . . .'

'Maybe she wants you to kiss her . . .'

'Oh, I can think of a thousand reasons why that's a bad idea,' he thought with an inward snort.

'Is it, though?  Is it, really?'

'Of course, it is!  She's just staying here until she gets her estate settled . . . There's nothing more to it than that . . .'

'Is that right?'

'Isn't it?'

'I don't know, Ash . . . I mean, I've thought it before, but you know, I think a part of her actually understands you on some level—quite the feat, really, given that I don't understand you half of the time.  The other half, I just think you're stupid.'

'The last thing I need is to be preoccupied, worrying about her,' he insisted as he picked up the report and scanned for where he'd left off when Kells interrupted him.  'Granted, she's a gorgeous girl—I'd have to be dead not to notice her, but that doesn't mean that I'm . . . I'm interested in her.  That . . . That would just be ridiculous.  Besides, my life's complicated enough with adding unnecessary attachments to it . . .'

'It's really not, and you know that, too.  What you're really afraid of is that you'll start to care about her, just like you cared about Hana—Granted, she was never your mate, but the idea still scares you, right?  Someone you've cared about your whole life, and now . . .'

'Can we not talk about that?'

His youkai-voice sighed.  'It doesn't really make it any less true, but you know, right?  Simplifying Jessa . . . Trying to put her into the same box as Hana?  It's like comparing apples to oranges just because they're both fruit.  Jessa's nothing like Hana—and your interest in Jessa is about as different from the interest you had in Hana as daylight and dark.  You hate to admit as much, I know you do, but your mother did have a point.  Hana was just a willing body, and there wasn't really much more to it than that.'

'Drop it.'

'All right, but just so you know: simply saying you're not interested doesn't really mean that you aren't.  The fascination's still there.  So is that sense of familiarly, isn't it?  But you don't understand what that means yet, do you?'  His youkai chuckled.  'Don't worry, baka.  You will.'


Jessa knocked on the doorframe, and Ashur looked up from his task of sorting through a number of real estate listings that had been dropped off via courier a couple hours ago.  "How was shopping?" he asked, letting his gaze return to the papers, all the available homes in and around the Quebec City area that met the criteria he had established with the agent he’d spoken with earlier in the week.

"I brought you some real food," she said, stepping forward to set a nondescript white bag on the desk.

He shot her a questioning glance, but dropped the papers to dig into the bag instead.  "Sushi?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he pulled a beautifully packaged box out of the bag.  It was from a small shop that he was familiar enough with since they had the best sushi in town, which said a lot, considering how vast New York City was.  Even so, that she'd found it was a little surprising.  "Why sushi?"

She shrugged.  "Everyone likes sushi, don't they?"

He slowly blinked at her as he pulled the chopsticks apart and shook his head.  "Awfully broad generalization," he told her.  "How'd you find Yamato Sushiworks?"

She shrugged and sat down on the chair facing the desk.  "Carol suggested it.  I brought some back for Kells, too . . . It's kind of early, but is he in bed?"

"No, he's spending the night at my brother's house.  They're leaving in the morning for Maine—and he actually doesn't like sushi."

She seemed surprised by that.  "Really?"

Ashur shrugged. "Nope, which is why I don't have it very often, either."

"What does he prefer?"

"Chicken nuggets . . . pizza . . . hamburgers . . . Crap," he concluded.

She made a face.  "When I was young, Da tried to get me to eat haggis . . . Our cook was from Scotland, and Da swore that her haggis was delicious, but the smell of it . . ." She affected a full-body shudder then ruined the effect by leaning in to snatch one of the sushi rolls out of the box.

"Go eat the ones you brought home for Kells, and stay out of this," he muttered.

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.  It was an entirely pleasant sound, he decided—which didn't mean that he'd willingly give her the food she'd brought home for him, either.  "Didn't you ever learn how to share?"

He snorted, stuffing another roll into his mouth.  "Nope.  Only child—sort of."

"You have a brother," she countered.

"And as you've seen, Ben's a lot older than I am."

"That still doesn't mean that you weren't taught how to share."

He rolled his eye.  "And were you taught that it was all right to snatch things off other people's plates?"

Her smile was angelic.  The sparkle in her eyes was not.  "You don't have a plate, Ashur."

"Same idea."

She stared at him for a long moment as he finished off his food and stashed it all back in the bag once more.  Her smile faded, only to be replaced by a thoughtful little frown.  "Have you been in here all day?"

"Most of it," he admitted, resuming his perusal of Quebec City listings.  "This house looks nice," he remarked, almost more to himself than to her.  "Outskirts of the city . . . a good deal of open property with a stable that I could rent out if I wanted . . ."

"A stable?" she echoed, sitting up a little straighter.

"Mhmm," he intoned.  "The current owners have show horses, it says, so the stable is pretty much state-of-the-art—" He snorted.  "How state-of-the-art can a stable really be?"

"Ours has computers set to feed and water the horses at regular times, heat to make sure that they're comfortable in the winter, air to make sure that they're comfortable in the summer . . ."

He glanced up at her, only to look again, frowning at the wistful expression on her face.  "You miss your horses?"

She met his gaze for a moment, but looked away just as quickly, staring at her hands in a thoughtful kind of way.  "I miss my horse," she replied quietly.

"Your horse?  What kind of horse?"

Biting her lip, she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, almost as though she were wary of what he might say.  Or was it something entirely different . . .?  "Derry . . . He's a gypsy cob I got for my twelfth birthday . . ."

He didn't look impressed, but then, he didn't know a thing about horses, either.  "Is that a breed?"

She nodded.  "I . . . I have a picture," she ventured, her tone almost guarded.

"Okay," he agreed.

She watched him for another moment before getting up and walking out of the office.  Ashur stared at the listing for another minute then set it aside to ask the realtor about it.

The other listings all seemed to be a lot closer to the downtown area, which wasn't bad, exactly, but he had to admit that he missed having more open land.  This townhouse felt so close, so confining, even though he had one of the larger ones in the area—large enough for the pool, but there was no real yard to speak of, either.  Ben had suggested that he consider something that he'd be happier with and then to rent office space in town where he could conduct meetings without having to allow various strange youkai into his home, and he figured that idea might be sound enough.

He felt Jessa's return rather than heard it.  Her youki brushed over his as he glanced up.  She held a small, leather-bound book in her hands—a photo album, he supposed, and she leafed through it, stopping on a certain page, and handed it across the desk.

He took it, blinking in surprise at the image of the running horse.  The background was blurred, but the horse was not.  A large white horse with black spots, glossy and shining in the light of day, with a long, flowing mane of black and white, tufts of hair around the hooves . . . Absolutely a gorgeous animal, even if he didn't really know a thing about them . . .

"This is your horse?"

She nodded, a certain sadness surrounding her, even if she did try to hide it.  "If they haven't sold him . . . If they are bothering to take care of him—of them . . ."

He slowly turned the pages, images of people that he didn't know, but she did.  "I, uh . . . I got a report from the consulate today," he told her, pausing at a picture of Jessa, decked out in what could only be described as someone's twisted idea of a fairy tale dress: yards and yards of delicate white satin with a bodice that was so tight that he had to wonder if the girl could even breathe, and cascading lace that spilled from the mid-length bell sleeves, peeked from under the skirt that had to be at least six feet in diameter . . . She was smiling in the picture, but she didn't look like she wanted to be, and that . . . It bothered him.

"A report?  On what?"

Blinking away his wayward thoughts, he shrugged.  "Basically, it's everything they've discovered about your parents and the accident that killed your mother," he replied.  "The gist of it is that Ian MacDonnough seems to be holding things up for whatever reason . . . He apparently has questions about the accident that killed your mother."  Letting out a deep breath, he pulled the report out from underneath the listings.  "If you want to read it . . ."

Her eyes flared wide as she caught sight of the official document, and she seemed to lean away just a little.  "Do I . . .?  Do I need to?"

"No," he admitted, tapping the bottoms of the pages against the desk.  "But if you want to, I won't stop you."

She shook her head quickly, forcing her gaze to the side.  "I . . . I don't think I can," she admitted softly.

He let out a deep breath.  If he were her, he'd probably feel the same way . . .

"Da thought that they killed her—murdered her," she said quietly, almost more to herself than to him.  "Da said . . ."

Ashur frowned, letting the report drop to the desk as he stood up and came around, leaning against the desk top as he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her.  "Who did?"

She shook her head.  "I don't know," she whispered, the anger in her tone directed at herself, maybe?  Because she didn't have the answers . . .?  "He . . . He just said that it was because . . . because he'd refused the marriage, but . . ." she swallowed hard.  "But he was pretty delirious by then . . . He died the next day . . ."