InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Alone ( Chapter 49 )

Kells hopped down from his chair and grabbed his plate to throw in the sink before dashing over to the French doors to let himself outside.

Jessa cleared her throat to stop him, peering over the rim of her mug of tea to raise an eyebrow at the exuberant child.  "And just where do you think you're going?" she asked mildly.

He dashed over to her and threw his tiny arms around her waist.  "I wanna go 'splorin'!" he told her, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

She laughed softly and ruffled his hair.  "Do you want me to fill up your canteen?"

He nodded.  "Pwease!"

She stood.  "Okay, then while I do that, put your plate, fork, and cup in the dishwasher like I showed you."

He darted over to do as she'd instructed while she filled the little, bright yellow canteen, complete with the embroidered Power Puppies logo on it, with cold water before screwing the white plastic cap back on and snapping the fabric case over it.  "Here you go," she said, handing the canteen to the bouncing child.

He slipped the long strap over his head as she pulled a couple granola bars out of a box and handed those over, too.

"I'll put these in my 'splorer box!" he informed her quite happily.

Jessa nodded.  It was darn near impossible to do anything but smile at the exuberant child.  "Remember that your da doesn't let you go exploring alone any farther than the south paddock," she reminded him, kneeling down to straighten the canteen and the collar of his shirt.

"Okay," Kells agreed, pausing in his bouncing long enough to kiss Jessa's cheek.  Then, with a very loud giggle, he dashed over to the doors and slammed outside and into the bright August sunshine.

The smile that he'd left her with faded slowly as she wandered over to the doors, staring outside at the bright, golden-brown head as the lad ran off in search of mystery and adventure.

The first time he'd done so, she'd worried to herself.  Ashur didn't seem to think that there was anything amiss, however, and he'd just told the child not to wander past the paddock, but Jessa couldn't help but to think that maybe Kells was a little too young to go off by himself for any length of time.

She sighed, turning away from the window when Kells finally disappeared from sight, trying to ignore the stifling silence of the empty house.

It didn't take long to clean up the few dishes and pan that she'd used to make breakfast.  She'd just finished wiping down the counter when her cell phone rang, and she grabbed it, fumbling around with it, only to grimace to herself when the name popped up on the caller ID.  It wasn't Ashur.  Somehow, she didn't think it would be, anyway . . .

"Hello?" she said, trying not to sound too disappointed as she connected the call.

"Hey, Jessa!  I'm so sorry . . . I meant to call you sooner, but I got held up in California . . . How are you?"

"Oh . . . Fine," she lied, hoping that her cousin didn't hear it in her voice.  Then again, why would she? She hadn't actually been anywhere near Jessa enough to be able to tell . . .

"Nice!  I figured . . . Ashur's a pretty decent guy, so I knew he'd take good care of you.  Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm back—at least, until they find something else to send me out on, anyway—and I thought maybe you'd like to come down here?  Hang out with me for a little while?  I mean, as nice as he is, I can't imagine that Ashur's really that much fun, right?  So, how about it?  I'll send you a plane ticket . . ."

"Oh, uh, I-I-I . . . I have to watch Kells, and—"

"Surely he can spare you for a week or two?  You're young, Jessa.  You should be out here, having fun, not squirreled away on some country estate with nothing to do and with only a stodgy old youkai and a kid to keep you company . . ."

"He's hardly stodgy," Jessa muttered.

Myrna laughed.  "It'll be fun!" she promised.  "We'll go clubbing and shopping—introduce you to some people . . . I scored a couple tickets to Zel Roka's concert, too—you like him?"

"H-He's okay . . ."

"Yeah, well, the perks of working for the Zelig," Myrna said.  "Look, I have to run.  I've got a meeting I have to get to, but I'll make the arrangements and send you the itinerary—I'm not taking, 'no' for an answer, all right?"

The phone call ended before Jessa could reply, and she sighed.

'Maybe it's for the best, Jessa . . . I mean, a little time away—time to think—might be good for you . . .'

Her youkai-voice's words were enough to make her wince.

'You know, though, it is strange that Ashur hasn't called or texted, even just to check on Kells, don't you think?'

She stuffed her phone into her pocket as she headed for the French doors, figuring that maybe she should practice to get her mind off of things.  Sure, it was strange that he hadn't bothered to return any of her calls, any of her texts.  Then again, if he were out there with Hana somewhere?  Would he really want the reminder . . .?

'But why are you so sure that it's Hana? Even if they have a history, you know damn well that she's not in the picture now.'

And yet, nothing else made any sense, either, did it?

'Does it really matter?  If they're meant to be—if they're mates . . .'

'Do you honestly believe that?'

She frowned as she focused on the torches.  That was the problem, wasn't it?  Somewhere in her heart, she . . . she kind of did believe it . . .

It was so much worse, wasn't it?  When she'd tried to go to sleep last night—while she'd blinked into the dark, stared up at the ceiling as she watched the shadows that so slowly shifted above her—and, all the while, she'd seen it, hadn't she?  Over and over again, different scenarios, the same two people—the things she hadn't wanted to see . . .

And just why did she know—know—that those things were true . . .?  Whether they were happening now, whether they had already happened or had yet to come to pass, it didn't matter—didn't help—didn't offer her any kind of solace in the night, as the tears had come, unbidden . . .

Yet, just as painful, albeit in a totally different way, were the images in her mind of Kells, of his smile and his laughter, as he looked up at her the way that he looked at Jessa now . . . and all the anger, all the resentment . . . and . . .

And Jessa hated herself for that, too . . .

That little boy's frown: so sad, so lost . . . "Everybody else has a mommy . . . Nadi and Emmy have a mommy . . . Cherry's their mommy . . ." The confusion that surged in those deep blue eyes—eyes so very like his father's, staring out at her from a face far, far too young to know that kind of melancholy . . . "I don't know why I don't gots no mommy."

Kells . . . He deserved that—to have a mother as well as his father—one who loved and cherished him, so . . . So, how on earth could she justify her indignation?  How could she be so damn selfish when, in the end, Kells mattered so much more, and if Hana was the mother that he needed, that he wanted?  Did she have the right to be sad about it?  Did she have the option of being selfish, of wishing for things that were never hers, to start with . . .?

Closing her eyes for only a moment, she heard the pop, the crackle, as the torches sprang to life.  Opening her eyes, staring at the flames that burned far brighter than they should have, saw them all with a sort of disengaged perception, as though a part of her was still here, and yet, a part of her was already half a world away . . .

"Kells!"

Lifting a hand to shield her eyes against the debris that was being driven by the upsurge in wind, Jessa scanned the landscape for any sign of the child.

She sighed, unable to ignore the trickle of panic that was fast trying to flood the dam of her logical brain.   Contrary to what he'd been told, he wasn't within the set parameters of the area where he was allowed to be.

Glancing down at the shoes in her hand, she bit her lip.

Ashur had told her before that he'd installed a tracker chip into the sole of Kells' left shoe—every pair of his shoes, actually.  When she'd first started feeling uneasy, looking up from the book she'd been reading while lounging on one of the couches in the sunroom, she'd checked the house computer, relieved to see the steady blip of the tracking device.  Then she'd noticed the bright yellow exclamation point that indicated that there was a severe weather alert in effect, and would be till the wee hours of the morning.  Judging from the wind, the way the clouds were rolling in, she didn't have much time to find Kells and to get back to the house before it set in . . .

It had only taken her ten minutes to locate the boy's shoes and socks, laying beside the very small stream that traversed the estate from the pond to the road, but there was no Kells to be seen, and she couldn't find his scent, either . . . Whether he'd waded down the stream or something else entirely, she didn't know, but she broke into a sprint, unsure why she was headed the way she was, but opting to let her instincts guide her . . .

Digging her phone out of her pocket long enough to check the time, she grimaced.  She'd been out, looking for him for almost half an hour.  Stowing the device away once more, she kept moving, calling his name, over and over again.  Just why wasn't he answering?  Where was he, and what was he doing?  It wasn't like him to ignore anyone . . . Even so . . .

"Kells!"

Slowing to a walk, she cast her gaze around once more, muttering curses under her breath at the trees that blocked the way, at the grasses that were just a little too tall.  Biting her lip, she glanced around again.  If she headed right, it would take her to the path that led to the outer boundaries of the estate.  If she headed left, it would take her to the path that led to the pond . . . Would he have gone either of those directions . . .?

A sudden shift in the wind drew a gasp from her as Kells' scent filled her nostrils.  Off to the left?  But why didn't he answer if he were that close . . .?

Dashing over, through the grass, ignoring the prickles of rocks and debris under her bare feet, she had to vault off the ground slightly to avoid tripping over him.

"Kells!" she barked out, dropping to her knees beside him.  Curled on his side, little more than a pitifully tiny heap in the grass, he didn't move, and for one dizzying moment, she wasn't sure if he was even breathing.

Carefully lifting him, turning him, she gasped when she saw the ashen hue of his skin, his adorably pinked cheeks, so pale, so sallow . . . Darkened smudges under his eyes, his lips almost bluish . . .  "Kells!" she said again, rubbing his cheek, trying to get him to open his eyes.  He whimpered weakly as she choked back a sob and yanked him against her chest.

Then she noticed the puncture wounds, side by side, on his forearm.  "Oh, my God," she murmured, pushing herself to her feet, shoes lying forgotten in the grass as she turned and sprinted back toward the house, Kells held close to her heart as she ran, as the skies unleashed a torrent of rain, of wind, of lightning and thunder, so close—too close—and she ignored it all.

"Irish!  Just the girl I was thinking about . . . I have it on the best of authority that they're showing a perfectly awful triple feature tonight of three of the worst horror flicks ever made . . . How about I come over, and we spend the night, ridiculing the terrible and cliché plots while drinking Ashur's liquor and laughing like damn fools?"

"Devlin!  Help me!" Jessa blurted, almost screeched.  "Kells—It's bad, and I can't get him to the hospital!"

"Wait, whoa, slow down.  What's going on?"

She choked out a half-sob.  "Kells," she said once more.  "I don't know—It's a bite, but I don't know, and he won't wake up, and the electricity is out, and—"

"I'll be right there, Irish," he said, checking his pocket for his keys.  "Give me five minutes."

She sniffled, hiccupped.  "Hurry!  My phone's beeping, and I think it's almost de—"

He hung up with a wince as the call abruptly disconnected and ran out the door and over to his car.  On the one hand, maybe he ought to have just sprinted over—it would have been much faster, but if they needed to get Kells help, then he'd need the car . . .

She didn't answer the door when he pounded on it.  Throwing his shoulder against it did nothing at all, and he grunted, pushing himself over the low railing of the porch as he sprinted around to try the back door.  For a moment, he thought maybe she'd left since her car was gone, but he didn't pass her on the road, and he would have.  Luck was with him, however, and the French doors on the patio stood wide open.  She'd probably forgotten to close them in her haste to get Kells inside.

He found them in the living room—she sat on the sofa with the child in her arms, sobbing quietly as she kept rubbing his face, rocking him back and forth, begging him not to die, not to leave her . . .

"We've got to get him to the hospital!" she hissed, her wild gaze landing on him, fires of panic alight in her eyes.

"Let me see him."

"He's going to . . . Devlin, please!"

"Let me see him," he demanded once more, and she choked back a sob as she slowly let him down onto her lap.  Kells' color was terrible—ashen, peaked, sickly, and sallow—his breathing coming in shortened and smothered gasps that echoed in the air with a harsh and bitter edge.  Lifting Kells' arm, he grimaced.  It was as she said: two puncture wounds, each one about the size of the end of a drinking straw and farther apart than a common snake of any kind . . . Whatever had done this . . .

He wasn't going to last a ride to the hospital—not by foot, and certainly not by car.  Even if he did manage to survive that, Devlin knew that there was really nothing that any of the hospitals could do for him, not with a bite wound like that . . .  

There really was no choice to be had, was there?   He grimaced inwardly.

Devlin didn't have to think about it.  Grasping Kells, lifting him from Jessa's arms, despite her efforts to hold onto him—it must have been an instinctive thing, borne of the mother part of her, deep inside—he shook his head at her fiercely.  "Go get the first aid kit and light a fire, Irish," he told her in a tone that left no room for her to argue.

She started to snarl, to warn him off, but stopped herself as she blinked, but grudgingly nodded, sparing just a moment to kiss Kells' temple before dashing out of the room and up the stairs.

He didn't have much time, and he knew it.  He had no idea, just what kind of poison was ravaging the boy's tiny body, but he knew instinctively that that's what it was.  Sitting down on the sofa that Jessa had just vacated, he held Kells against his chest, over his heart, lifting his tiny arm, frowning at the puncture wounds that he might have attributed to a snake if they were closer together, but if that were the case, then it had to be a huge snake—or maybe it wasn't a snake, at all . . .

The thing was, he knew damn well that saving the boy . . . It would be blowing his cover completely.  He'd been warned against doing so from the time he could first comprehend, had known that there were those who would look for him if they knew—if they suspected . . . And yet, there was no choice, was there?  Not a single one, nothing . . . Because Kells . . .

Closing his eyes, willing himself to calm, Devlin felt the edges of his youki unfurling around him, encapsulating Kells in a hazy wash of dazzling white light.  He could feel the poison inside the boy, sizzling under the wash of his youki, evaporating slowly, painfully slowly, rising from the child's body in a murky purplish smoke.  So much venom in such a tiny body . . . Whoever had done this hadn't wanted him to live, had wanted him dead, but who in the world would have done such a thing, and to a child, no less . . .?

Feeling a cold sweat break on his brow, he heard Jessa's gasp as she hurried back into the room, heard the clatter of the first aid kit, hitting the floor.  "Cover . . . your face . . . Irish," he muttered, concentrating on the last lingering traces of venom, but it was caught in the air, and if she breathed it in . . .

After what felt like forever, he released the youki that held Kells, unable to help his own labored breathing, and he reached up, grasped the cloth that Jessa pressed over his mouth and nose.  "Fire," he managed to say.  "It will . . . disburse it . . ."

A moment later, a bright and merry fire was dancing on the hearth, and Jessa dropped to her knees before him, her free hand stroking the child's face as she lowered the cloth she was using to breathe to cover his tiny nose and mouth instead.  "Oh, Kells . . . oh, God . . ." she half-murmured, half-sobbed.  Leaning down to kiss his cheek, her tears, falling on his skin that was finally, mercifully, starting to return to a normal shade.  Lifting her tear-stained face to look at him, she sniffled, nostrils quivering, lips trembling, and she slowly shook her head.  "Dev . . .?"

He smiled weakly at her, letting his hand drop as the cloud of poison rapidly dissipated.  "He'll be fine," Devlin assured her.   "Just . . . Just tired . . ."

She swallowed hard, rose to her feet once more, only to kiss him on the cheek.  "It wasn't . . . wasn't a snake, was it . . .?"

He shook his head as his eyes drifted closed—at least, he thought he did . . .

Suddenly, she gasped in the quiet.  "So, that's . . . That's what you are . . ."

He wanted to answer her—wanted to ask her to keep his secret.  Too bad he was nearly asleep . . .