InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Twilight ( Chapter 50 )

Checking on Kells for what had to be the twentieth time in as many minutes, Jessa carefully adjusted the small blanket that covered his tiny body, still snuggled in Devlin's arms.  He was sleeping, too—probably had exhausted himself, saving Kells' life—something that she'd never, ever forget; something she'd never, ever be able to repay him for, either . . .

Frowning at the boy's arm, she gently ran her fingers over the closing puncture wounds.  It had all happened so fast that she hadn't really gotten a chance to process it at the time, but now, as she thought about it, as she looked at it . . .

It wasn't a snake bite at all, was it?  Or maybe . . . Maybe it was—just not a normal snake . . .

A sudden trill ran up her spine as she turned to glance outside once more.  The skies were so ominous, so dark, that it looked hours later than it really was, and she ran her hands up and down her arms.

It was still out there, wasn't it?

She didn't know how she knew that, but as suddenly as the thought occurred to her, she realized without a doubt that she was right.  It was out there, just out of view, waiting and lurking, ready to strike again—ready to kill the next time.  If it hadn't been for Devlin, Kells . . .

"The hell you'll touch them," she growled under her breath, taking the two long strides to the French doors as she slipped outside.

Blinking as the rain hit her hard, coming down from every conceivable direction, she turned her face away from the flash of lighting that touched down a little too close for comfort.  Taking off at a sprint, her bare feet slipping and sliding on the grass, she tried in vain to wipe the streaming rain from her eyes, tried to smell the lurking menace.

She unfurled her youki, willed it to stretch, to search, to help her locate the threat, her hair slapping in her face, blinding her even more, weighing her down with the excess rain that it absorbed, and in a moment of abject frustration, she grasped it as she ran, hacking through it with her claws, and tossed it behind her, forgotten.

On she ran, ignoring the surges of panic that seemed to rise in her with every strike of lightning, every crack of thunder.  A voice in the back of her mind told her to go back, to leave it alone, that she wouldn't be nearly enough to defeat this kind of a threat.  For some reason, that sentiment just fed her rage, her anger—anger that had been brewing for days, building, layer upon layer—a righteous indignation that she wasn't enough—not nearly enough—and that she never would be, either . . .

Skidding to a stop in the midst of the field where she'd found Kells, she drew a deep breath, stretched out her youki just a little more, a little wider, praying for something—anything—to go on, to find the one who dared to attack a helpless child.  "If you're here, show yourself," she yelled, "Come out, you bastard!  I'm not a child that you can attack so easily, and you will face me, damn you!"

Holding her hands straight out before her, she unleashed a ball of flame so hot that it sizzled and crackled as the rain poured down, landing a good twenty feet in front of her, dancing in the swirling gale.  It was enough to illuminate the area, dispelling the murky twilight haze that had fallen in the storm.

Shifting her gaze over the area, she stopped, narrowed her gaze.

The eyes staring back at her blinked.

It was a great, huge serpent—its head easily thicker than her body—youkai, definitely, and the stagnant air of its youki seemed to push hers back.  She watched in silence as the serpent rose up, slowly, slowly, swaying side to side, almost as though it were trying to lull her into some kind of trance.  Eyes just a little too golden, a little too yellow around the blackened slits of its pupils, it drew itself up till it stood taller than her—taller than Ashur—taller than the trees in the forest around the estate.  In silence, she watched as the youkai's form shifted, changed, the rain lending it an eerie sort of distortion as the body thickened, grew wider, shorter, as the arms split away.  The length of its body split up the middle as two solid legs formed, but it was the youkai-face that was the most egregious: the serpentine shape, the broad and flattish nose . . . Only the eyes remained the same, narrowing slightly as he broke into a mocking sort of sneer.  "So . . . The girl who is nothing but a passable fuck," he said, his voice a hiss in the wind.  He rumbled out a laugh that blended into the storm, but suddenly, his eyes widened, a look of exaggerated shock contorting his features.  "Oh, I'm sorry . . . You didn't know that's what he thought of you?  Sorry to tell you, sweetheart . . . I heard it straight from the horse's mouth—so to speak."

"You're the one who attacked Kells . . . Did it make you feel good, attacking a three-year-old child?  Was that all you could handle?  You filthy, disgusting bastard . . ."

"Let me guess.  You're here for revenge, right?" he asked, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his rumpled jeans.  "Did he die in your arms, little girl?  Or was he already dead when you found him?  Tell me: how are you going to explain that to dear old Kyouhei-sama, anyway?  Dead on your watch . . ." He chuckled, the sound of it rumbling through her like the thunder.

She gasped when he disappeared, only to reappear a split second later, directly before her, catching her in his arms before she had a chance to retaliate, to get away from him.  Pushing against him, struggling to free herself, she gasped and turned her face to the side as his serpent-like forked tongue flicked out, licking her cheek.  She didn't think, didn't hesitate, her body igniting in flames that shot from her very pores, and he grunted, shoving her back as he jumped away from her, shaking his hands to alleviate the burns on his palms.  "Bitch!" he hissed, his smile finally vanishing.

Jessa straightened her back proudly, refusing to give an inch as she ignited her youki close to him, as the balls of flame converged on him.  He saw them coming and pushed out of the way, barely avoiding the impact as the flames erupted in a pillar that shot off into the sky.

He chuckled as the lightning flashed, strobing his face in a ghastly pallor against the warmth of her flames.  "I'm going to enjoy breaking you," he mused.  Then he threw his head back, and she gasped when his body dissolved into a myriad of snakes, venomous and vile, and they swarmed toward her fast—faster than she could react.  Throwing her arms up to block her face, she squeezed her eyes closed as a stunning brilliance shone through her eyelids, as bright as the noon-day summer sun, as she felt the heat—the radiance.  The snakes hissed and uttered the strangest sounds—sounds she didn't realize that they could make, and she opened her eyes, covered her nose with her hands, stared in horror as the snakes struggled to break through the circle of fire she'd created, burning themselves in the process, the acrid stench of their searing flesh, twisting her stomach into knots.

All at once, the snakes retreated, slithering away, back to the spot where the youkai had been standing.  She watched, entirely horrified, as they piled together, writhing up, higher and higher, until he stood there once more.  This time, however, he wasn't grinning, looked angrier than she could credit.  Touching his face gingerly—the right side was burned so badly that his skin looked like it was melting off—he glowered at her, glared at her, his anger, his loathing, a palpable thing.

Throwing his head back, unleashing an ungodly wail, the echoes of the sound waves managed to disrupt the flow of her fire, and she gasped as her flames died away.  Barreling toward her, his laughter still hanging in the air, he reached back, his intention to strike out at her, clear.  Catching his fist as it shot forward, she yanked, twisted, and sent him flying neatly over her shoulder.  Trying to spring away from him, she gasped as he caught her ankle, as he brought her down hard, rolling over to pin her against the soggy ground as he grabbed her wrists in one hand and slammed them down hard over her head.  "It's hard to make your flames when you're drenched to the bone, isn't it?" he growled, his gaze taking on a manic sort of light.

"Think again," she ground out, gathering her youki, igniting it around the both of them.

He yowled in pain, his hair, his clothing, catching fire, and she saw it coming before it landed, his drawn-back fist, but she wasn't prepared for the explosion of pain in her eye, in her skull, when it connected.

He shot away from her, dropping to the ground, rolling fast to put out the flames as she staggered to her feet, unable to see past the gushing flow of tears that streamed down her face from her rapidly swelling eye.  She couldn't see, couldn't think, could barely keep herself on her feet and conscious, but somewhere in the fog of her brain, she heard the tell-tale rattle as he shifted into his youkai-form once more.  She needed to move, needed to do something, needed to get out of the way, but her body wasn't cooperating.  Still too dazed from the punch he'd landed, she struggled to shake off the dizziness that impaired her movements as she forced her good eye open, as she smashed her hands over the other one.  As though in slow-motion, she saw him as he shot forward, slithering through the grass, mouth wide, ready to strike: closer and closer, faster and faster . . .

She grunted out a terse sound, a hopeless kind of noise as he reared back, as his head shot forward so fast that it was little more than a blur.  Closing her eyes, stumbling back in a pathetic attempt to get away, she hit the ground hard, the wind rushing out of her in a gust, stunning her again.  Eye flashing open, she blinked as a blur of motion shot through her limited range of vision, stumbling, falling, a sharp exhalation, rising up once more as a mighty rumble shook the ground, as a pillar of mud and grass and earth closed over the serpent.

"Jessa!  Get up!"

She heard his voice, but she couldn't quite wrap her brain around the idea that he was there, that he was telling her to move.  Struggling to draw breath, she rolled over, pushed herself to her hands and knees, to her feet.

"I can't hold him, damn it!" he yelled.  "Can you hit him?"

"Hit him?" she echoed.

Ashur grunted, hands outstretched as he held the mudslide in place, but it was weakening, crumbling, and when she looked over at him, she realized why: blood, pooling on his shoulder, extending out and down over the fabric of his shirt . . . He'd taken the hit intended for her, and, judging from the look of him, the poison that came with it was spreading fast.

Raising her hands, she gasped, she growled as she summoned the fire, as it shot out of her palms, straight at the earthen mound, the heat of it engulfing it, solidifying it in a matter of moments.

Letting his hands drop as he panted for breath, he turned to face her, his expression foreboding despite the pallor that was fast washing into his features.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned instead to look at the ugly mound of dirt.  Then he lifted his foot, let it fall hard.  The mound sank back into the field, leaving no trace behind that it had been there at all.  The serpent-youkai was gone, too, and Jessa realized that it was finally, mercifully, over . . .

"I’m . . . I'm sorry," he said, stumbling toward, her.  "I . . . I shouldn't have . . . left . . ."

"You're poisoned," she said, lurching forward to intercept him, ducking under his arm, holding him with one arm around his back as the ball of flame she'd used to illuminate the field sputtered out.  "We've got to get you back . . . Devlin can help you . . ."

"Your . . . face . . ." Ashur murmured, reaching up, unsteady fingers, gently touching her cheek.  "Your . . . hair . . ."

"You've got to help me," she insisted, ignoring his commentary.  "I can't carry you . . ."

He managed another couple steps before stumbling over his own feet, crashing down in the grass as Jessa screamed his name . . .

"I can't . . . not yet . . . need to rest a little more . . . Dispelled enough . . . won't die . . ."

Ashur groaned and turned his head, just before he heaved.  Gentle but capable hands turned him onto his side, careful not to jar his shoulder too much, and he managed to open his eyes, only to find Devlin frowning down at him—at least, he thought it was Devlin . . . It was him, all right, but for reasons he didn't understand, he had pale hair—almost white—and very, very pale green eyes . . .

Devlin sighed and managed a wan smile.  "Go on back to sleep.  We'll get you cleaned up," he said.  "It's going to be pretty rough for you tonight.  Sorry for that . . ."

"Jessa," he managed to rasp out, eyes slipping closed of their own accord.

"She's here," Devlin replied.  "Checking on Kells, but she'll be right back."

"Kells . . .?"

Devlin sighed—at least, Ashur thought he did.  "He was . . . was attacked this afternoon—Don't worry, he's fine now, just sleeping," he blurted when Ashur tried to get up.  Devlin grimaced and pulled the blanket out from under him since he was off the sofa for the moment.  Then he hurriedly replaced it with a fresh, clean one before pushing Ashur back down again.  "You're going to spread the poison if you keep moving about," he told him.  "Lie still and get some more rest.  We'll deal with that in the morning."

Ashur tried to shake his head.  There were too many questions that he wanted to ask, and yet, he couldn't quite focus enough to form any of them . . .

Scooping up the soiled blanket, Devlin stalked out of the room, almost colliding with Jessa, who quickly stepped back to allow him to pass before hurrying over to check on Ashur.

He was burning up, though his coloring was a bit better.  Devlin had only been able to extract a trace amount of the poison, he'd said.  He had used too much energy, drawing out the poison in Kells.  He'd be better, he said, in the morning.  Then he'd properly heal Ashur, too . . .

She started to reach down, to brush the bangs out of Ashur's face.  Something stopped her, though, and she let her hand fall away.  She knew, didn't she?  Even if she wanted to—even if she felt that she had the right—she couldn't . . . She was the one who had let Kells go out to play alone.  If she hadn't . . . And yes, he'd be fine, but it had been entirely too close—close enough that the simple memory of those minutes when she'd found him, when she'd brought him up to the house . . .

She shivered.  Ashur . . . When she told him the truth?  He'd never, ever forgive her, not when she'd come so close to losing Kells . . . and she really couldn't fault him for that, not when she couldn't forgive herself, either . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she turned around, wandered over to stare out into the darkness of the night.  The rain was still falling—a steady curtain of it—but the wind had died down, leaving behind a gentle but rhythmic fall, something wholly cleansing, vastly reassuring . . .

Even so, the doubt remained, gnawed at her like a dead and festering thing.  She sighed.  She hadn't even been able to take care of that man alone, and she'd wanted to—desperately wanted to . . .

She grimaced, staring dully at her reflection in the pane of glass.  Half of her face was hidden in shadows, which was just as well.  She'd already seen the damage in the bathroom mirror, and that was more than enough. The other half of her face was illuminated by the flickering flames on the hearth, and her grimace darkened wryly as she grasped a tufty end of her hair and held it out.

How pathetic was she, really?  How truly, utterly pathetic . . .?  Standing there, staring at herself, wondering just why it was . . . why she couldn't manage to stand on her own two feet, relying on everyone else to fix things for her, didn't she?  There really was nothing she could do, nothing she could ever work out, and wasn’t she just a foolish child for ever thinking that maybe she could . . .? All she’d done was cause trouble for everyone, everywhere she was.  How sad, how pathetic . . . No family, no means, no way of taking care of herself, even on the basest of levels . . . Forcing Myrna to take her in, even if she hadn’t wanted her, had pawned Jessa off on Ashur . . . Forcing herself upon Ashur in every way imaginable . . .

Wincing as the unspoken implications as that lone statement struck home, she felt it, didn't she?  The shame that came with the understanding that she . . .

It was all her fault, wasn't it?  Everything, from the moment she'd stepped into Ashur's townhouse in the city . . . All those tiny moments that had seemed so very insignificant, and somehow, it had all led her here, to this.  She'd poked him and prodded him, dragged him out of every single thing that he found to be safe, secure, forcing him into situations that he wasn't familiar with, that he didn't know, but she did—sure, she did, and she . . .

Swallowing hard as she forced herself to admit it, willed herself to acknowledge it, if only within the confines of her mind, she choked back a sob that had gotten lodged in her throat, tried to ignore the bitter sting of tears behind her eyelids, creating a dull throbbing in her swollen eye that was a welcome ache.  She'd all but dragged him into her bed, too, hadn't she?  Pushed him past his own control and despite his reservations that she was already well aware of . . . It was her, all her, and she . . .

The flash of Kells' ashen face, flickered to life in her mind, and she smashed her fist against her lips to stave back the sob that very nearly escaped.  She ruined everything she touched, didn't she?  First her parents, and now . . .

Digging her phone out of her pocket before she could talk herself out of it, she scrolled through the contacts, located the one she wanted, firing off a text before she could stop to think about it, before she allowed her heart to get in the way of what she ultimately knew she had to do, if not for herself, then for Kells . . . for Ashur . . .

'I thought about it, and it sounds great!  The sooner, the better, if possible,' she keyed in, hitting, 'send' before she could stop herself.  A second later the notification popped up on the screen.  'Text sent: Myrna Loy.'

Then she dropped the phone back into her pocket, and she leaned her forehead against the door, closing her eyes and wishing that she could shut down her heart as easily . . .