InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Confusion ( Chapter 15 )

Jessa sat under the overhang of a very old tree near the small pond in the far reaches of Ashur's estate, tucked away in one of the eastern corners with a book in her hand that had slipped closed over her thumb as she stared out over the water with a sad sort of expression on her face.

The late May breeze was crisp and fresh, carrying with it the scent of earth and green things.  Ashur had taken Kells to visit a preschool that was said to be one of the finest in the area, though Jessa had her doubts that the boy in question actually would want to go to school.  Given that Ashur tended to let him do as he wanted, for the most part, maybe curbing his impulses in a preschool setting might do Kells a little bit of good . . .

And she'd found out about the preschool visit from Kells, who had mentioned it this morning as he woke her up by bouncing on her bed.  She had, of course, grabbed him and tickled him until he was screeching with laughter, so that should have been the perfect start to the day, and it had been—until she’d seen Ashur, that was.

Ashur . . .

Making a face as she rather roughly yanked her hair over her shoulder as she dropped the book on the sparse grass beside her, she twisted the locks around and around.

It figured, she supposed.  In the ten days since the second kiss, he hadn't spoken more than two words at a time to her.  She hadn't actually thought that it could be worse than before.  She was wrong—dead wrong.  He seemed to be entirely set on ignoring her existence in the most polite and maddening way possible.

She'd opted to get out of the house, to go for a walk, and she'd ended up here.  It was as good a place as any to finish her book in peace.  At least, somebody, somewhere was getting a happy ending, even if it was entirely fictional.

The chime of her cell phone announced an incoming text. It was from Myrna, asking how she liked Canada.  For a brief moment, she considered telling her cousin that she didn't want to be here.  Then she sighed.  Even if Myrna did come get her, what was the point when it was beyond obvious that she wasn't at all interested in having Jessa around?  She texted back the perfunctory, 'everything's good, fine, love it here', and dropped the phone onto the book.

She felt like she was going mad, and she felt like she had all the time in the world to do it, too.  Never in her life had she understood or even remotely grasped just why anyone would ever run away from home.  Thanks to Ashur and his ridiculous sense of propriety, she was starting to appreciate the idea.  If she had somewhere to run to, she would probably be thinking it over even more.  As it was, though, she didn't, and even if she did, she only had the money she'd made while working at the club and the added amounts that she'd made for watching Kells, too.

'Even if we could, would you really want to leave them?'

Snorting inwardly, she snatched the book off the ground and stubbornly buried her nose in whatever page she'd randomly opened.

'You can pretend to ignore me, if that is your wish, but you really can't ignore a voice in your own head, Jessa.'

'Maybe,' she answered in a clipped little tone.  'Why shouldn't I?  There's really no point in staying here.  Besides, it's not like he'd really care if I did leave, now, would he?  Then he could keep up appearances—be a good, upstanding citizen . . . That's what he's the most concerned about, isn't it?'

'Is that what you really think?  That he's only concerned about his own image?'

'Isn't that what he said?' she snapped, clapping the book closed as she stuffed it back into the knapsack she'd brought along with a bottle of water and a few dry crackers.

'You know, I honestly think he was saying that about you, not him.  I think he was more concerned that you'd be somehow ruined . . .'

'And you know that I'm really starting to get sick and tired of you, defending him,' she countered.  'Stop trying to make me feel bad when he's the one who cannot make up his mind!'

That was the gist of it, wasn't it?  He was the one who couldn't control his urges; he's the one who had opted to kiss her—both times.  She certainly hadn't asked him to do it either time.  That was all on him, which had led her to another odd thought during one of her more interesting mental tirades.  She had to admit that kissing him was entirely nice—at least, until he'd pulled away from her, that was.  But the truth of it was that she really didn't have a basis for comparison since she stubbornly refused to acknowledge any stolen kisses when she'd worked at the club.  Those were sloppy and reeked of alcohol.  Those were no different than kissing the back of her own hand.  Well, okay, so, kissing her own hand might well be more enjoyable than those were.

In any case, she had decided that kissing Ashur really couldn't be that much different.

'You don't honestly believe that, do you?'

'Yes,' she insisted, breaking the seal on the water bottle with a deft twist.  'Yes, I do.'

If she had access to her parents' accounts, she could go home, where things made sense, where she felt like she belonged . . . Where there were no infuriating earth-youkai to muddle her thoughts and linger, way too long in her mind.

Her frown turned thoughtful.  It had been over two months since her father had died.  Surely, they had to be making progress on the whole thing, and she didn't have a cell phone since they'd seized hers at the time, so they had no real way to reach her, either . . .

Letting out a deep breath that lifted the long bangs on her forehead, straight up in the air, Jessa frowned and dug a business card out of her bag.  She didn't remember exactly who had given it to her, but she'd been handed it along with her passport just before they'd dumped her at the airport.

'Gregory Halsbeck, Irish Consulate,' it read, along with an email address and a couple of phone numbers.  Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialed one of them.

"Hello. You have reached the Irish Consulate.  If you know your party's extension, you may dial it now . . ."

She keyed in the four-digit extension and made a face when she was sent straight to voicemail.  "Hello, Mr. Halsbeck? My name is Jessa—um, Jessamyn—O'Shea.  I was given a card with your name and number a couple months ago when I was forced to go stay with my cousin in the States while my parents' estate was ironed out.  I was wondering if you had any more information regarding the disbursement of my parents' estate?  I'd appreciate a return call.  My number is 555-555-5555.  Thank you . . ."

Letting the phone drop once more, she slumped back against the tree.  She felt stuck, didn't she?  Entirely stuck, and, as far as she could tell, there wasn't a single being on earth who really gave a damn about her, either.

"Ah, Mr. Philips.  I'm sorry to keep you waiting.  I'm Renee Thomas, the administrator here at the Kinder Center," the middle-aged woman said, striding into the very regal office with a smile on her face as she extended a hand, her two-inch stack heels thumping against the thin Oriental carpet situated in the middle of the room.  "And you must be Kells!" she went on, letting go of Ashur's hand after a very curt shake.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, young man!"

Kells nodded, smiling widely as the woman ruffled his hair before waving them over to the sofa.

"Oh, will your mate be joining us?" she asked, setting down a manila file that contained Kells' application before she leaned forward to pour coffee into two bone china cups on the tea tray arranged on the shining coffee table.

"It's Mommy's day off!" Kells blurted before Ashur could disabuse the woman of the notion.

"Oh," she replied, looking a little perplexed.  "I see . . ."

"Uh . . ."

"Jessa's my mommy, and she's really pre-e-e-e-etty," Kells added.

Ashur wondered vaguely if the woman would find it odd if he clapped a hand over his child's overzealous mouth.  "Jessa's not his mother.  She's his nanny.  His, uh, mother’s not . . . not around."

She looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but Ashur shook his head, casting Kells a very quick glance, and she must have understood that he didn’t really want to say more in front of the child.   "Ah, that makes sense!" she replied a little too brightly, turning her attention to her paperwork as she gestured at the cup of coffee in front of him on the low table.

“No, thank you,” he mumbled.

"I have to admit, this is a little unusual," Ms. Thomas went on as she looked up from Kells' enrollment application.  "You understand, normally we have a rather long waiting list.  Right now, it stands at about eight months to a year, however, I got a call from Gin Zelig about a week ago, and she asked if there was any way to move you up in the waiting list."  She smiled pleasantly and gave a little bob of her shoulders.  "As you are undoubtedly aware, we are a specialized preschool, and we only take youkai children because we, unlike the others, work with our children to give them a solid foundation of how to harness and utilize their various potentials, focusing on their abilities to control their emotions, so, when you get a call from the wife of the tai-youkai, you pay attention."

Ashur nodded slowly.  He did know about the special qualities of the preschool, and it was one of the reasons that he'd opted to fill out the application.  Even so, some small things did worry him a little, and he wanted to have those things addressed before he shelled out the ungodly exorbitant price for admission.  "Elitism amongst the youkai isn't part of your curriculum, is it?"

Her smile didn't falter, didn't waver.  "You'll be happy to know that we do have a number of hanyou registered here, and they're all very happy—thriving, even."

"I meant against humans," he clarified.

"Oh, no, we absolutely do not condone any kind of that sort of behavior at all.  If we see it, even a hint of it, we take care to nip it at the bud, so to speak.  We simply don’t allow human admission because of our highly specialized curriculum.  That’s all."

"Good."

She turned her gentle smile on Kells, who was staring at an arrangement of fake fruit rather intently, like he was trying to decide whether he thought they were real.  "Tell me, Kells . . . Do you know your ABCs yet?"

Kells nodded and proceeded to start singing the Alphabet Song.

"Very good!" she said, clapping her hands as she praised the boy.  "Can you count to twenty?"

Kells nodded again.  "I can count to a hundred!"

“You can?” Ashur blurted before he could stop himself.

Kells gave one great head bob.  “Jessa taught me!”

"That's very impressive," she replied.  "He seems very advanced for his age," she said, turning her attention back to Ashur once more.

"He also knows his colors, can tie his own shoes—"

"And I can swim, too!" Kells interrupted.

Ashur grunted.  "He also can't sit still for more than ten seconds, can't keep his mouth closed for more than fifteen seconds, and can't have sugar, ever, or you'll be very, very sorry."

"Daddy!" Kells blurted, tugging on Ashur's arm.  "Jessa loves chocolate.  Can we gets her some chocolate?"

Ashur's answer was a very long, very drawn-out sigh as he leveled a look at the administrator.

She laughed.  "I absolutely believe that we have the perfect spot here for Kells," she said.  "Here's a list of the things that he'll need.  We don't have an opening till Tuesday, July 6.  A family is moving, and their son's spot will be available then.   Anyway, this list is just a few little things—facial tissues, a box of wet-naps, that kind of thing.  Here's a detailed list of our rules—nothing bad.  Just normal standards of behavior that we expect, even from small children . . . and here's a copy of our dress code.  I trust that won't be a problem?"

Glancing over the paperwork, Ashur slowly shook his head.  "No, it's fine," he said.  The sheet with the dress code actually contained lists of shops where the various things could be purchased, so that helped immensely.

Ms. Thomas nodded, her smile brightening, and she stood to escort them to the door.  "We do ask that you bring him in a half-hour or so early on his first day so that you can meet his teacher and help to get him acquainted . . . If you'd like to stay for awhile to make sure that he adjusts well, then we encourage that, too—and we do offer parents tissues for their own separation anxieties."

He smiled slightly and shook her hand again. "Thank you," he replied.  If you email me the information about his tuition, I'll pay for it then."

"Absolutely," she agreed, opening the door for them.  "Bye, Kells.  It was wonderful to meet you!"

"Bye!" Kells half-hollered as he hopped on out of the door.

Ashur shook his head and shot the woman an apologetic glance before following Kells out of the office, wondering almost absently if he could make the tyrant behave long enough to get his school uniforms . . .

"Hello?  Miss?  Are you all right?"

Jessa awoke with a start, blinking fast as she struggled to dissipate the disorientation that clung to her brain.  She didn't remember falling asleep.

"Miss?"

She glanced around, stopping when she focused on the man before her.  He was hunkered down with one knee on the ground, his forearm resting on his other knee.  Staring at her with a slight frown, his dark blue eyes were candid, frank, his face a little rounded, gentler—almost too feminine—too good looking—like Ashur, but in an entirely different way.  Ashur's face had a little more in the way of sharp angles, though those were softened around the edges, prettier, but this man . . . Not quite as pretty, per se, likely because he had one of those faces that would never actually look ‘grown up’, he reminded her more of a classic depiction of an angel, really, she supposed.  His startlingly direct gaze seemed to take her in as the breeze tossed his collar-length, dark brown hair that was layered into wispy strands that seemed to catch the breeze and hold onto it.  He was youkai, she could tell, but she had no idea what type of youkai he was, either.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone not really unfriendly, but not exactly welcoming, either.

"Who are you?" she countered, "and what are you doing here on Ashur's land?"

"Ashur's land?" he echoed, eyebrows raising to disappear under the shaggy fringe of bangs.  "Hmm . . . I thought this was mine . . ."

"Ashur said the pond's on his land," she replied cautiously.

"I suppose that's possible," he said.  "Technically speaking, I just bought my estate.  The closing on it was yesterday."  He smiled, an easy expression that added a sparkle to his eyes.  "I'm Dev—Devlin Broughton."

She frowned.  "You're British," she said.  "I'm Jessa O'Shea.  Pleased to meet you . . . maybe."

"And you're Irish," he countered with a chuckle.  "Well, if you're all right, then I'll not trouble you further," he said, pushing against his knees as he rose to his feet.

For some reason, she didn't want him to leave, not yet.  Maybe it was simply because he was the first person to have spoken to her—actually talked to her—in weeks.  Whatever the reason didn't matter.  She reached out, grasped his hand before he could stand.  "Wait," she blurted, unable to keep the slight note of panic out of her voice.  "I . . . I mean . . ." she sighed.

He stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowing as he watched her.  She didn't rightfully know what he saw, but he slowly gave a nod as he settled back into his squat once more.  "Are you all right?" he asked again, only this time, his tone was softer, gentler.

She forced a small smile, flicked her hand in what she could only hope was a casual kind of way.  "Oh, yes . . . Right as rain," she lied.  "So, um . . . You just bought your property?  Does that mean you'll be here a while?"

He shrugged, his expression a little on the tolerant side, as though he were humoring her, and, while it bothered her, she pushed that notion aside, feeling almost desperate, just to have someone—anyone—listen to her—talk to her.  "For a time," he replied with an offhanded shrug.  "Seems like a nice area—a quiet area."

"A little boring, if you ask me," she said.

"There's something to be said for boring, too," he told her.  "Sometimes, it's preferable to strife and contention."

"Seems like you know a bit about those things."

He ran his hand through his hair, and she watched as the strands all drifted back into their perfect semblance of messy disarray that seemed somehow perfect on him.  Broad but not bulky, lean but not skinny, hidden in the folds of a pair of jeans that were a little too big and a rumpled white v-neck tee-shirt that looked like he might have slept in it, and somehow, he seemed entirely approachable—maybe it had something to do with the quiet earnestness in his blue gaze . . . "When you grow up in London, you learn to appreciate the simple and unfussy things in life," he said.

She smiled, uttered an ironic sort of laugh.  "It's not reserved strictly for London."

He nodded slowly, smiled as he pushed himself to his feet again.  "Well, I was out for a ride, and spotted you . . . Thought that maybe you were a damsel in distress . . ."

"For a ride?" she repeated, her gaze shifting off of his face and lighting on the roan gelding tethered to a tree nearby.  "Oh . . ." she breathed as she slowly stood.  The animal was lovely, obviously well cared-for, a soft gray with black undertones . . . Without stopping to think about it, she stepped over to the creature, slowly reaching out to stroke his smooth and glossy side.  "He's beautiful," she breathed.

"I don't know him well yet," he admitted as she stopped beside her.  "He is the first one I made friends with, though."

She sighed as a sudden and savage jolt of wistfulness shot through her.  "I have a gypsy cob," she said.  "Back home, anyway . . ."

"You ride," he concluded.  "Do you have a horse here?"

She shook her head and gently stroked the animal's bulging jaw.  "No . . . There's a stable, but no horses . . . Pity . . ."

Tilting his head slightly as he looked at her, he seemed to be considering something.  She stepped back, letting her hand fall away as she smiled a little sadly.  "If you'd like to spend some time in my stable, you're welcome to do so," he offered.  "I'm just . . ." Pointing over his shoulder in a vague sort of way, he shrugged.  "Just next door, in a manner of speaking," he told her.  "Feel free to stop in."

"Thank you," she replied, breaking into a small smile.  "I . . . I will . . ."

He untied the horse swung himself up into the saddle, holding onto the reins as he smiled down at her.  "It was nice meeting you, Jessa O'Shea."

He clucked his tongue, gave the horse a small nudge in the ribs.  She watched him go and sighed.  "Devlin Broughton," she murmured to herself.  "Hmm . . ."