InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Carol ( Chapter 37 )

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

Jessa knocked on the door frame before stepping inside the apartment.  Carol glanced up and grinned as she set the suitcase down and hurried over to hug her.  "I can't believe you're here to stay!" Jessa exclaimed, giving her friend a squeeze.  "I'm so glad you decided to come early."

Carol laughed.  "Well, I was talking to this guy—William McKay.  He comes in from time to time—very polite, not the usual type, you know?  He stands out like a sore thumb, actually.  Expensive suits, very clean . . . Anyway, the last time he came in, I was making small talk, asked him what he does, and he said that he has a club up here, that he comes down from time to time to visit suppliers and stuff like that.  So, I told him that I was planning on moving up here, and he gives me his number, tells me to call him when he's back home, that he'd love to run a background check on me, and if it came back clear, he'd offer me a job: full benefits, better pay, not a strip joint.  He calls it a gentlemen's club, but I checked into it, and there's nothing shady going on there.  They even have a dress code: black skirts no shorter than three inches above the knee, white blouses, no heels over two inches, so no more teetering around on ho-heels . . . I start Monday."  She gave Jessa another quick hug.  "I was thinking about saving up some money, taking some classes at the university—restaurant management or something like that."

"And Laith?" Jessa countered, lowering her voice in case the man in question happened to be nearby—not likely at this time of day, but she still wasn't taking any chances.

Carol tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled a little secretively.  "Well, we did talk quite a bit during my visit—I told you about all of that.  He's . . . He's very nice—a little quiet, but there's nothing wrong with that . . . I just . . . I just don't want to come on too strong with him."  She sighed.  "He seems like the type that might get spooked pretty easily."

"Well, he does ask me about you now and then . . . Didn’t you give him your phone number?"

"I did," she confessed.  "We've been talking . . . texting . . ."

"Good," Jessa concluded.

Carol giggled, then raised an eyebrow.  "Enough about me . . . How are things going with Ashur?"

She couldn't help the blush that stained her cheeks, couldn't help the smile, either . . . Given that they'd spent most of the night before—as well as most of the nights in the last two weeks since the argument by the pond—exploring each other's bodies?  And she'd ended up so dead exhausted this morning that he hadn't been able to wake her, which was why Ashur had picked Carol up at the airport alone . . .

"That good, huh?  Did my, uh . . . present . . . come in handy?"  The blush darkened as Carol laughed.  "Is that right?"  Carol hurried over, closed the door, before tugging Jessa over to the sofa.  "Are you going to give me details?"

Jessa grimaced.  "Carol, I can't," she insisted.  "I mean . . ."

Carol's smile dimmed just a little as her mouth dropped open.  "Are you in love?"

Jessa opened and closed her mouth, unable to answer that question out loud.  The answer was plain enough, and yet, some part of her . . .

She nodded slowly.  "Is . . . Is he in love . . .?"

Biting her lip, Jessa shook her head.  "I . . . I don't know," she replied quietly.

Carol made a face and sighed, slipping an arm around Jessa's shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze.  "Ah, that wonderful but awkward time in every relationship, huh . . .?  Does he . . .? Doesn't he . . .?  Do I . . .? Don't I . . .? Well, Jess, I wouldn't worry too much.  I mean, as gorgeous as you are?  If he doesn't love you yet, he will soon enough."  She kissed Jessa's temple then stood up.  "I think I'll see if Laith would mind taking me into town so I can pick a few things up at the store: soap, toothpaste . . . stuff like that.  Want to come?"

Jessa stood up, too and followed Carol outside.  "I'd love to, but Ashur's got someone stopping by soon, so I need to watch Kells."

"All right," Carol agreed.  "I'll come up to the house when I get back."

Jessa nodded and watched as Carol headed for the stables, her smile fading slowly as she stifled a sigh.

"Is . . . Is he in love . . .?"

She . . . She knew the answer to that question, didn't she?  Knew it and . . . and hated it . . . Sex was one thing.  She knew that he had a healthy preoccupation with her body, but she wasn't nearly dumb enough to equate the two, either . . . He cared about her; she didn't doubt that in the least.  But he didn't . . . didn't love her . . . and she wasn't fool enough to try to convince herself otherwise.


Bas strode into the office, tossing a manila envelope on the desk as Ashur jerked back and shot the future North American tai-youkai a quelling look.  "Who let you in?" he asked dryly.

Bas chuckled and flopped down in one of the chairs facing Ashur's desk with a heavy sigh as he slumped to the side and rubbed his forehead with a weary hand.  "Jessa did," he said.  "Oh, yeah, I have this for you, too . . ."  Digging into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he flicked very fine linen envelope onto the packet he'd already handed over.  "Mom was going to mail it, but when I mentioned that I was coming up here today, she asked me to hand deliver it, so . . . done."

"What is it?" he asked, reaching for the envelope, turning it over in his hands. "The Zelig Foundation?" he read on the back flap.

Bas nodded.  "It's just an invitation to the annual benefit gala held in New York City every summer-slash-fall, depending.  I think she mentioned having a pre-gala dinner for the generals and all the other big-wig youkai that are flying in for the event this year, though—something about wanting to introduce you properly . . ." He grimaced.  "Ten thousand bucks a seat for everyone but you since you're kind of the guest of honor, but it's all for charity, so . . ."

"The generals," Ashur repeated.  "Isn't that kind of like extortion?"

Bas chuckled.  "Yeah, but would you really say that to my mom?"

Ashur shrugged.  "Your father?  Yes.  Your mother?  Not in this lifetime."  He frowned, thoughtfully scratching his chin.  "How did your father end up with your mother?  She's so . . . sweet . . . and he's . . . not."

Bas barked out a hoot of laughter.  "He got lucky at some point, I guess," he said.  "I suppose we all do, come to think of it . . ."

"Ah, your Sydnie . . . A cat and a dog . . . How ironic . . ."

"So I've been told."  Bas nodded slowly.  "Anyway, the Zelig Foundation is a very worthwhile charity, which I can honestly say since I don't really do much but write checks to it every now and then.  I mean, sure, if anyone has a project that is something we care about, we can usually push for funding.  It's funded a lot of very necessary research for children and some for further understanding of youkai genetics, but for the most part, it's really Mom's busywork . . . I have to go this year because of this dinner—thanks for that, Ashur.  Ordinarily, I avoid it if at all possible since the last time I agreed to go, she auctioned me off."

"She what?" Ashur asked, letting the envelope drop from his fingertips.

Bas sighed.  "There's always a bachelor auction," he explained.  "Usually, one of the highlights of the evening—as long as you're not one of the eligible bachelors, anyway . . ."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass on that," Ashur muttered.

"The auction or the gala?"

He grunted.

Bas chuckled again.  "Don't worry.  She already has a full list of poor fools that she's talked into offering their time—and the gala's usually not that bad—dancing, schmoozing, hobnobbing with some hopelessly snobbish people overall, but not terrible.  You really should go.  Besides, it's something that you really should attend at least once.  Then you can make your excuses every year after that."

Ashur nodded.  "I'll think about it," he replied.

"Good . . . I'll tell Mom that you're good for the dinner and that you'll let her know about the gala.  Fair?"

Seeing no way around it, Ashur nodded again.  After all, if the tai-youkai's wife wanted to throw a formal dinner to introduce him to the others of the upper echelons, he figured that it wasn't really something he could back out of.  "I guess I could spare one evening for your mother," he allowed.

Bas nodded slowly, his grin stating plainly enough that he'd figured that would be Ashur's reply.  "Anyway, that's all of Jessa's documentation, including her formal approval for amnesty.  Found out that since she's technically got UK citizenship because of her father, she can get dual US citizenship, too, if she's interested.  It's a lot of red tape, but if she got it, it might light a fire under MacDonnough's ass in regards to settling her estate.  I'm sorry it took so long to get all that for her."

Ashur frowned thoughtfully.  Birth certificate, second level education Leaving Certificate, driver's license . . . There were a few other papers in there, too, but he didn't read through them before shoving everything back in the envelope once more and setting it aside.  "Did you find out anything else?"

He nodded slowly.  "It took awhile, but I managed to track down the mechanic that did the inspection of her mom's car.  He wasn't very helpful, though . . . He seemed a tad nervous."

"What'd he say?"

"He admitted that there wasn't anything wrong with the car when he inspected it.  He said that they always pay extra attention to things like fuel lines, make sure that everything is well maintained and solid . . . Said he didn't know what happened to the files from that shop.  It closed down just after Jessa's mom's accident.  Judging from the nervous way he kept looking around when I was talking to him, I'd say that he was just a little worried."

Ashur stared at Bas.  There was something in the depths of the man's gaze, something troubled, something he wasn't saying . . . "Can we bring him over?  Get him out of MacDonnough's jurisdiction?"

Bas made a face, pursed his lips as he slowly shook his head.  "I already tried that," he admitted.  "The guy said he wasn't really interested in jumping ship.  Still . . ."

"Still?" Ashur prompted when Bas trailed off.

Bas sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he straightened up in his chair.  "He was jumpy as hell.  He was scared of something—or someone.  Getting him out of there . . . Not sure we can do it, especially if he's got family there, too."

Standing up, Ashur shoved his hands into his pockets as he rounded the desk.  "Come on," he said, letting the subject drop for the moment.  "You look like you could use a beer."

Bas stood up, too, following Ashur out of the office.  "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed.  "Just one, though, then I've got to get going.  Promised Sydnie I'd take her out tonight, and if there's one thing I've figured out?  You never, ever stand that woman up . . ."

Ashur chuckled.  "Sharpen her claws on you, will she?"

Bas shook his head as Ashur retrieved a couple bottles of beer from the fridge in the wetbar.  "Nope, but she has these killer stilettos . . . and trust me, they hurt . . ."


Jessa trailed behind Kells as the boy dragged her into his room, tugging on her hand to hurry her along.  After having spent the afternoon, teaching him some of the basics of horse handling, he was dusty and dirty and positively glowing—so much so that she'd had to talk him into taking a shower since he insisted that he only had to take one in the morning, 'wif Daddy'.  She'd won that round, though, and he'd emerged a few minutes ago, fresh and clean and smelling of baby shampoo and bubble gum flavored toothpaste . . .

"I want to hear the dinosaur story!" Kells insisted as he let go of her hand and hopped onto the bed, pointing at the bright blue shelf where he kept his favorite books.

She laughed softly and retrieved the story while he scooted around to make room for her beside him on the tiny bed.  "All right," she said as she stretched out beside him, slipping an arm around him and opening the book so that they could both see it.  "I'm not as good at the voices as your da, though," she reminded him, "and just the one story.  You've preschool in the morning."

He scrunched up his face, likely trying to figure out if there was a way to negotiate a longer story time.  Last night, it was the, 'I need to catch up on stories 'cause I was gone 'way,' attempt.  The night before that, it was the, 'Will you read until I'm done with my water?' defense.  To be honest, she had to give him points for creativity, even if she hadn't given in on the issue—yet.

"But it isn't dark outside yet, Jessa," he said, lowering his chin, gazing up at her through the heavy fringe of impossibly thick, dark eyelashes that were so like his father's that, for a moment, Jessa blinked, stared.

Forcing a laugh as she brushed aside the hesitation at the entirely too-uncanny resemblance between the two, she slowly shook her head.  "That's so, but I seem to recall a certain young lad who kept nodding off over his dinner," she reminded him.

Stifling a yawn with both of his hands, smashed over his mouth, he blinked to dispel the rising moisture brought on by the action.  "But I'm not really tired, and Daddy's still not home . . ."

She sighed, letting go of the book as she lifted a hand to gently ruffle his hair, pulled him in close to kiss his head.  "He will be soon," she promised.  He'd had to go meet someone for dinner—just another of his eager denizens, he'd told her.  But he'd left hours ago, and the last thing he'd said before he walked out the door was that it wouldn't take long . . .

Biting back the urge to sigh, Jessa turned the page.  "'There once was a dino named Jake who lived in the Valley of the Big Sun.  All day long, he stretched his neck to eat the leaves that grew high above the forest floor, but the most tender leaves were too low for him to reach . . .'"

"Why can't he reach them, Jessa?" Kells asked, leaning away to peer up at her.  "He could just lay down, and then he'd be smaller . . ."

She smiled.  "Maybe he's too big to lie down," she said.  "Horses can't lie down for too long, either.  They can hurt themselves if they do, and a dinosaur is much bigger than a horse, right?"

He considered that for a long moment, then he nodded.  "Do they die if they lie down?"

"Well, no," she said.  "But if they're down for too long, they can cause themselves some very serious problems.  Anyway, I think that's why Jake can't lie down to eat."

"What kind of problems?" Kells persisted.

"It's called, ‘reperfusion’, which is a big word that means that the animal cannot get the right blood flow to certain parts of their bodies, so when the weight is relieved, and the blood starts flowing again, it can cause a lot of problems for them.  They're so big that their weight can crush things inside them if they lie down too long."

"'Cause they're fat?"

She laughed, giving him a little squeeze.  "Not . . . exactly . . . They're just large animals.  That's all.  It's kind of like how your hand feels if you lean on it too long."

His eyes flared wide, his mouth rounded in an 'o'.  "When it's tingly!"

"Yes, just like that," she said.

"Oh, is that what happens?"

"Daddy!" Kells hollered, hopping out of bed and dashing over to his father.

Ashur chuckled and scooped him up, cuddling him on his shoulder for a minute before walking over to set him down on the bed.  "It's past your bedtime," he pointed out, even though he didn't sound at all irritated.  "Were you waiting up for me?"

Kells nodded happily.  "You can read wif us, Daddy," he said.

Ashur ruffled his hair.  "There's no room," he told Kells, frowning in mock concentration at Kells' tiny bed.  Even then, he still hunkered down beside it, leaning in so that he could see the book, too.

Jessa smiled, read Kells another few pages, only to stop when Ashur reached over and gently pulled the book away.  She glanced at him, and he shook his head before jerking it in Kells' direction. The boy was sound asleep with the vaguest smile on his adorable little face, one hand tangled in Jessa's hair, the other with a tight grip on the end of Ashur's ponytail.

She didn't get up right away, sparing a few minutes, just to watch over him as he slept.  Ashur did, too, but finally, he carefully pulled his hair out of Kells' fist and pushed himself to his feet.

Jessa untangled her hair from his tiny fingers, pulled his blanket up to his chin before blowing him a kiss and following Ashur out of the room.

"How was your dinner?" she asked as he quietly closed the door, then headed for the stairs.

His gait faltered for just a moment, more of a breath than a real hesitation, and he shrugged.  "It was fine," he said, his tone almost clipped, as he tugged off his tie with a deft yank and dropped it over the newel post.  Somewhere between the time that he'd entered the house and when he'd appeared in Kells' doorway, he'd discarded the suit jacket, too.  Stepping into the office, he flicked on the light before stopping abruptly, turning on his heel, leaning against the door jamb, hands dug deep in his pockets, to stare at her, his gaze darkened, his brow knitted together in a thoughtful scowl.  "I lied," he said with a grimace.  "Dinner . . . was pretty bad, actually."

She stopped, leaned on the newel post, unsure exactly what he was saying.  "The food wasn't to your liking?" she drawled.

He made a face, lip curling up in a rather cynical sneer.  "The food was fine," he countered mildly.  "The old bastard wanted to introduce me to his daughters—his three very single daughters."

"Oh," she said, pressing her lips together in a tight line since she had a feeling that her laughter might well set him right off.  "I take it you weren't interested?"

That comment earned her a very significant scowl.  "I ought to beat you," he muttered, stomping out of the office and down the short hallway, rounding the corner and making a beeline directly through the living room and straight to the wetbar.  "I need a fucking drink."

"Was there something wrong with them?" she asked, following him into the living room.

He sighed, tapping his forehead between the eyes with his fingertips before flipping his wrist, flicking his palm up in an entirely dismissive sort of gesture.  "They were fine.  They were very lovely girls—ladies.  They weren't my type—and I can probably tell you everything about them, because it seemed like their father was trying to sell them off, one by one."

"Oh . . . Oh, dear," she mumbled, her fingers hovering at her lips as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright.

He sloshed more brandy into his snifter than he usually did, turning on his heel, leaning back against the cabinet, ankles crossed on the floor as he sucked in one cheek and cocked his head to the side.  "It's not nearly as funny as you seem to think," he told her flatly.

"Mm," she intoned, wrapping an arm over her stomach, resting her elbow on her hand, covering her mouth with her raised fist.  "A little," she allowed.

He shook his head, narrowing his gaze on her as he drained half of the contents of the snifter in one fortifying gulp.  "You're not even slightly jealous, are you?"

She shrugged.  "Do I need to be?"

He snorted and quaffed the rest of the brandy.  "Not really."

She shrugged again.  "Then, no."

He made a show of rolling his eyes as he turned away to refill the snifter.  "Every time I tried to make my excuses, he'd start lauding more of their collective accolades."  He shook his head.  "I don't get it.  I mean, objectively speaking, they really were very nice girls—well mannered, very polished, very self-confident . . . I'm not sure why he had to employ the strong-arm tactics . . ."

Wrinkling her nose, Jessa made a face that he missed entirely.  "Probably for the same reason that my ma would start doing the same sort of thing to me . . ."

He snorted, stepping away from the wetbar, wandering over to stare out of the falling night outside.  "Glad there weren't any takers," he muttered.  "Besides, you hardly need a list of recommendations . . . Just how is it that you weren't snatched up, right off the bat, anyway?"

"I'm hardly a bit of chattel," she complained, her amusement dying away at the implication of what he'd said.

He sighed.  "And just how is it, that after all of that, I'm the one who ends up feeling dirty, anyway?"

"Do you?"

He swung around to face her, his eyes taking on a certain glow—one that was all-too familiar to her.  Staring very deliberately at her in such a way that made her feel entirely naked, entirely vulnerable, that weakened her knees and made her heart race, he slowly drained the snifter again and set it aside.

"Why don't you come here and make me feel a little dirtier?" he rumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

For the space of an instant, she fleetingly considered telling him that she was tired.  The half-smile on his face, however, drew her forward, and she gasped softly when he grabbed her, when he dragged her against him, when he lowered his lips to hers—a kiss of seduction and promise and secrets . . .