InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Stillness ( Chapter 21 )

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

Jessa stepped into the living room, her fingers wrapped over the long cuffs of her sweater, watching Ashur, who was sitting on the sofa, reading through some kind of file.

Shuffling over to the wetbar, she took her time, pouring him a drink—the cognac that he tended to favor—before taking the snifter and approaching him slowly, cautiously, unsure what to expect, exactly.

She held out the drink between his face and the papers.

He blinked and glanced up at her before accepting the glass.  "Thank you."

She nodded.  "What's that?" she asked, sitting down beside him, pushing her hair back off of her shoulder.

He sighed.  "It's the report on your mother's car," he said.

She frowned, face paling as she shot him a questioning look.  "Why?  I mean, it was . . . was an . . . accident . . . Isn't that what they said?"

"I was, uh . . . I just thought that maybe you'd have grounds to sue the manufacturer if it was mechanical failure," he replied, stashing the papers into a file and dropping it onto the coffee table.

Something about his tone . . . She let out a deep breath, rubbing her eyes in a weary sort of way.  "I just . . . I don't want to mess with that," she said.

"Okay," he allowed, sipping his drink.

"It was strange, though," she went on, her gaze clouding over as she brought up her knee, wrapped her arms around her leg.

"What was?"

She shrugged offhandedly.  "Well, Da just got Ma's car out of the shop a couple days before that.  Had a complete tune-up and the mandatory vehicle inspection done, and everything was fine or they wouldn't have allowed the tag to be renewed."

"Mm . . . Is that right?"

She nodded.  "Don't they require that here, too?"

He seemed thoughtful.

Resting her cheek on her knee, she stared at him for a long moment.  The warm light from the lamp on the table beside the sofa cast a golden sheen over everything—over him.  The anger that she'd sensed from him earlier was gone, but there was a strange sense of foreboding in his expression, too, though, for some reason, she had a feeling that it wasn't directed at her . . .

"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly, softly.

He sat back, let out a deep breath.  "All right."

"That woman—Manami . . . You said you kissed her before."

He nodded slowly.  "I did."

"But you got mad when I kissed Devlin."

"That's different."

"How's it different?" she challenged.

"Because I kissed her two years ago—maybe more.  I don't remember, and it didn't mean anything to me."

"Then why was she all over you?  Why did she keep touching you and hugging you and . . . hanging off you?"

Snapping his mouth closed on whatever argument he'd been about to make, he heaved a sigh instead, leaning forward, dragging his fingers through his bangs.  "She's a very touchy person," he told her.  "I didn't notice that she was because that's just how she is.  It doesn't mean anything other than that she likes you as a person . . . Why?  Do you care?"  Narrowing his gaze for a moment, only to have them widen in surprise, he stared at her.  "You're jealous," he said, sounding almost gloating.

She felt her cheeks explode in embarrassed color.  "I am not!" she sputtered, sitting up straight.  "Jealous?  Ha!"

He looked entirely too amused, even though he wasn't smiling.  "Would it help if I admitted that I was dead damn jealous of your little weenie friend?"

"No, it wou—He's not a weenie!"

Ashur rolled his eyes as he drained his glass and set it aside.  "He's a weenie," he insisted.

She snorted, shooting to her feet as she headed out of the living room.  "This is what happens when I try to talk to you like an adult," she fumed, more to herself than to him.  "Delusional!  Positively delusional!  As if I'd be jealous of . . . of her!"

"Jessa," he called after her.

Against her better judgment, she stopped, turned to face him. "What?" she replied mulishly.

He stood up and shuffled over to her, corners of his lips quirked just slightly, though he didn't actually smile.  The blue of his eyes seemed to dance, to sparkle, as he hooked his index finger under her chin, lifting it to force her head back, to force her to look at him.  "If you admit you're jealous, I'll kiss you," he said.

She felt her mouth go bone-dry as conscious thought flew right out of her head.  Staring into his eyes was akin to being too close to a fire, liquefying her insides, sending out a slow burn . . .

Letting his hand drop away from her, he sighed and leaned back on his heels.  "Have it your way, Jessa," he said.  "For now, anyway . . ."

She stood there for a moment longer until her body finally caught up to her mind.  Then, with a frustrated little growl, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the living room and toward the stairs.

She thought she might have heard him chuckle.  She didn't go back to check.


He marched into the opulent office, stepping past the butler, who closed the door without a word.  The weak and vague light outside the twenty-foot-tall windows echoed his mood and had for the last few days.  The overcast weather had followed him around for the last few weeks, or so it seemed, ever since that morning when he'd come down stairs, only to find that they were gone—absconded without a trace.

"Have you managed to locate him?"

Grimacing inwardly at the no-nonsense question, Carl Kingston balled up his fist, tapping his knuckles against the corner of the looming desk.  "Not yet, but my man is working on it."

"Then, is this even necessary?" Ian MacDonnough asked, holding up an official document by the corner, his articulated claws, flashing as they caught the light of the desk lamp that did little to disburse the murkiness of the room in general.

Kingston uttered a terse grunt as he stomped across the floor and back. "I don't understand how this all fell apart!" he grumbled.

"It's simple," Ian remarked, dropping the document onto the desk.  "You lack control over your household."

Blanching at the European tai-youkai's set-down, Carl shook his head.  "It'll be fine once I find him.  I'll bring him home, kicking and screaming if I have to . . . You know where the gel is, don't you?"

"My sources tell me she is staying with her cousin in the States."

Carl stopped, mid stride, to pin Ian with a dark look.  "What the bloody hell is she doing there?  That's the Zelig's territory!  He won't send her back, probably just to spite you."

"I am well aware of that, Your Grace," Ian replied calmly.  "It's of little consequence.  All you have to do is gain your son's compliance, and he can go . . . claim his bride."  Ian stood up, rounded the desk, crossed the floor to fill a glass with single malt scotch.  "What he does with her after the fact is entirely up to his discretion.  The Zelig will have nothing at all to say, one way or the other."  Taking his time, he sipped the liquor before flicking a hand in obvious dismissal.  "You may go.  I trust you'll have better news for me the next time you darken my doorstep?"

Carl nodded slowly.  "Absolutely," he said, inclining his head before turning to leave.

"Kingston," he said before Carl made it to the door.

"Yes?"

"If word gets out that your heir has turned on you, it could undermine your authority in the worst possible way."

He nodded again, gritting his teeth as the door swung open before he could reach for the handle.  The warning was there, rife in Ian's tone.  If he failed to find his son—if he couldn't convince the fool that this marriage was necessary, both for his own good as well for the overall reinforcement of the tai-youkai's power, not to mention the benefits for himself, personally.  The prophecy . . .

Well, he didn't really want to think about it.  After all, Ian had a way of making sure that things were done his way . . . or not at all . . .


Ashur chuckled as Jessa made her haughty escape and considered going after her for a brief moment, if only to see if he couldn't tease her just a little more . . .

'That isn't a good habit to get into, Kyouhei . . . That girl can start fires, remember?  Tease her too much, and you're liable to end up, toast.'

That thought only made him chuckle a little more.

'Yeah, well, instead of conjuring up ways to drive her batty—and to keep her at a distance, if that's what you're trying to do—maybe you should consider what she told you about her mom's car, instead.'

And that thought was enough to wipe the smile off his face, and to dispel the amusement, right out of his head.

'Fine, fine . . . Now that you've ruined my mood, guess there's no time like the present . . .'

Seeing no way around it, Ashur dug out his cell phone and dialed the number.

"Zelig."

"Hi, it's Ashur."

"Oh, hey, how do you like Quebec?"

"Uh, it's fine," he said, rushing through the pleasantries.  "Myrna's cousin is staying with me—"

"Right, they mentioned that.  How is she doing?"

Rubbing his forehead, he made a face.  "She's fine—well, you know, as fine as she can be, given the circumstances.  Anyway, I asked the consulate for a copy of the accident report that killed her mom, and I was looking it over, but something Jessa said to me . . ."

"What's that?"

Ashur reached for the report, leafed through a few of the pages.  "Well, that's the strange part.  She said that her father had just had her mother's car serviced a few days before that, including the necessary annual vehicle inspection—mandatory by all European countries.  The thing is, there should have been a copy of that inspection here in the file to prove that an accident wasn't known mechanical failure—it's standard to have an attached copy of it, and this one doesn't have that."

"Really . . ."

"They deemed the accident, 'faulty fuel lines', saying that they failed by springing a leak, which led to the explosion over the downed electric line."

Cain sighed.  "But if the fuel lines were just inspected, then they should have been replaced if they were found to be compromised," he finished.  "Can you send me a copy of that report?  It's, uh, not my jurisdiction, but I have a couple car experts who might be able to figure a few things out for me.  When was that accident?"

Ashur sighed, too.  "Over a year ago."

"Damn . . . Then, even if I can convince Sesshoumaru to order a new investigation, the car has probably already been disposed of . . ."

"That's what I thought, too."

"All right," Cain said.  "Send me that report, and I'll look it over, too.  Have you said anything to the girl about your suspicions?"

"No, but . . . I mean, I'm not keeping it from her, per se, but she said she didn't want to look at any of the reports so far, not that I can fault her for that . . . There's more to it, too."

"Oh?"

"I'll, uh . . . I'll send you the information Ben found for me.  I can't really talk about it all right now, but I'll send you what I know."

"Okay."

The call ended, and Ashur sighed again.  The parts of everything individually weren't that concerning.  It wasn't until he put them all together in his head that they became something more, and those things worried him more than he wanted to credit . . .

A strange little song interrupted the quiet, and Ashur frowned.  It took him a minute to locate the source: Jessa's cell phone.  It must have slipped out of her pocket when she was sitting with him.

Frowning at the caller ID, he shook his head.  'Carol', was all it said.   With a flick of his finger, he sent it to voicemail since he figured that she wouldn't really welcome his intrusion, especially if she'd already gone to bed.

The song started again before he could set the phone down, and he shook his head, sending the call to voicemail once more.

The third time it rang, he declined the call and opened the messaging menu, figuring he'd at least let her know that Jessa had gone to bed and would call her back tomorrow.  When it rang a fourth time, however, he sighed, and connected the call.

"Hello?"

"Je—You're not Jessa."

He almost smiled at the surprised woman's words.  "No, I'm Ashur," he said.  "She's in her room.  I think she might have already gone to bed.  I'll tell her that you called in the morning.  I'm sure she'll call you back."

"You're answering her phone now?" Carol asked.

Ashur snorted.  "Only when it rings four times in a row.  Is this an emergency?"

Carol sighed.  "No, I was just going to tell her that I managed to get a few days off work if she still wanted me to come up to visit—if it's okay with you, big guy."

"It depends," he said, settling back against the sofa. "You're not going to try to drag her out to get another illegal job at a hell hole strip club, are you?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on it, and you know, just for the record, she did pretty well for herself.  I mean, with the exception of that asshole that tried to attack her out back, she—"

"What?"

Carol sighed.  "It wasn't a big deal.  I kicked the guy in the nuts, and he left her alone after that."

"She was attacked?" he demanded sharply.

Carol hesitated before answering.  "She didn't tell you about that, I take it . . ."

"No, she didn't.  When did this happen?"

"Couple weeks into it," she said.  "Look, don't be mad at her.  No harm, no foul, right?  Besides, she was pretty shaken up over it at the time."

"What did the guy look like?  Better yet, what did he smell like?"

"Him?  He smelled like . . . like Heineken . . . That was a weird question."  She sighed.  "Listen, Ashur—can I call you that?"

"Yeah, it's fine," he bit out.

"Great . . . So, anyway, don't come down too hard on her about it.  I'm serious . . . I thought that she'd told you about it.  I mean, she said that you insisted that she learn some self-defense, so I just figured . . ."

"Right," he said, managing a bored tone that he was far from feeling.

Carol snorted.  "Don't make me regret trying to help you out."

"Oh?  And how did you do that?"

"That's for Jessa and me to know . . . and if you're nice to her, maybe you'll find out."

"You're not winning points," he informed her dryly.

She laughed.  "How about if I say that I told her that she ought to jump you?"

Snapping his mouth closed as his cheeks heated under his skin.  "Uh . . ."

Her laughter was entirely pleasant, even if it was sorely misplaced in his estimation.  "Relax, Ashur.  I'm on your side.  You and Jessa would make entirely sweet little babies."

"Babies?"

"Lots of babies."

Ashur grimaced.  "I'm hanging up now."

She laughed again.  "Bye, Ashur.  It was very interesting, talking to you."

He hung up the phone and scowled.  She was attacked at that God-forsaken place?  And she hadn't bothered to tell him about it, either . . .

Regardless of how long ago that it had happened, it bothered him more than he wanted to think about.

The thing was, he wasn't sure that starting the next war with Jessa would ultimately be worth it, and he had very little doubt that that's exactly what would happen if he went charging up there to confront her about it now.

'Just be thankful that she's fine, Ashur, because Carol's right.  It's a little too late to take issue over it now.'

'Maybe . . . Still . . .'

'Well, if you're going to say something to her about it, at least sleep on it, first.  Then you'll at least have a fighting chance of not saying something entirely stupid.'

He snorted, hauling himself off the couch and over to the wetbar to pour himself another drink.

Sleep on it?  "Right . . ."

Somehow, he didn't think he was going to feel any differently in the morning . . .