InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Comedy of Errors ( Chapter 57 )

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

Jessa frowned at the people, milling around the reception area outside the formal dining hall in the eastern wing of the Renault-Estoria Plaza Hotel in Manhattan's Upper East Side near Central Park.  It was built a just a few years ago, or so she'd been told, one of the finest hotels, anywhere in the world, they said.  Myrna had mentioned that Gin had opted to change the venue for the gala this year since the ballroom was so much larger than the one where they held the annual benefit before.

"A thousand guests, easily," Myrna had told her on the way to the hotel.  "It'll be fun for one night, right?"

"Myrna Loy and guest," the usher read from the reservation book as he turned a smile on the women.  "May I see your invitation, please?"

Myrna handed it over and waited as the young man inspected the invitation and gave it back.  It took him another couple moments to check the seating chart before he finally nodded and held out a hand, gesturing at them to follow him.

The formal dining hall was a lush and lavish affair, decorated in beautiful shades of richer colors while retaining an overall neutral palate that added an overall coziness to what could have easily been an overwhelming space.  Following the usher that had greeted them upon their arrival at the doors to the hall, heels clicking lightly on the polished travertine floor, Jessa tried to ignore the curious stares, the inundation on her senses of so many youkai in one place at one time . . .

"Here you are, ladies . . . Enjoy your evening.  The waiter will be around shortly to get your drinks."

"Thank you," Myrna murmured while Jessa just nodded.  The man hurried away, and Jessa stifled a sigh as she sat down, careful not to wrinkle the skirt of the scarlet evening gown.

"I can't get over how gorgeous you are in that," Myrna commented, her gaze flicking up and down Jessa's frame, a lazy smile quirking her lips.  "Much better than that cutesy thing I tried to get you to try on . . ."

Jessa blushed, but smiled just a little.  "Thank you.  You look wonderful, too."

Myrna laughed.  "Oh, there's Gunnar.  I'll be right back," she said as she stood up and stepped behind the table, making her way around the perimeter of the room to intercept the tall, raven-haired hanyou who stood near the head of the room—the long tables aligned against a draped and sumptuous teal brocade and tulle backdrop.  He’d been at Ashur’s birthday, Jessa thought, but he’d arrived later, so she hadn’t been introduced to him, and that was fine, in her estimation.  He was Charity’s brother—at least, that’s what Jessa thought she remembered.  He looked rather imposing, though it was more of the way he carried himself, the aloof expression on his face . . .

Their table was situated in the far corner—rather appalling, really, given that Myrna had mentioned that the entire thing was being offered selectively with the price tag of ten-thousand-dollars per seat.  It was all for charity, of course, but even so, it had still taken a moment for her to grasp that kind of money being spent on a dinner.

"Good evening, miss.  What can I get for you to drink?"

Blinking as she glanced up at the waitress, she bit her lip.  "Mineral water, please . . . and my cousin would like a glass of white wine."

The waitress nodded.  "I'll be right back!" she assured her as she hurried away.

Biting her lip, Jessa sighed inwardly.  Maybe the whole thing would be more fun than she thought.  The people filling the tables were so beautiful, so regal-looking, that, in a sense, they reminded her of the balls back home—or at least, the ones she'd been forced to attend.  There was a different kind of feel here, though.  It felt more laid-back with less of the sense of urgency that tended to accompany those balls.  Maybe it was simply that the young ladies weren't trying to look for a potential husband.  That could very easily be the difference . . .

A man, a woman, and their two daughters were led to the table by the same usher who had showed them to their seats.  They nodded at Jessa in greeting as the man held the chair for his wife to sit.  "Daddy, do you think you could arrange it?" one of the girls—a very pretty mink-youkai—said as she sat forward, unintentionally turning her back to Jessa as she leaned over her mother to speak.

The man seemed a little sidetracked as he gazed around the nearly full room.  "What's that, Amy?"

The girl sighed.  "Honestly, Daddy!  Sometimes I think you ignore me on purpose."

"Of course, I don't, princess."

Amy snorted.

"If you're going to arrange meetings, Dad, then I want one, too," Amy's sister added.  "He's absolutely gorgeous."

Daddy smiled at his daughters, each one in turn.  "Now, girls, you're not going to fight over some poor man, are you?"

"If he looks like that one?  Yeah, I think we might," the nameless daughter added.

"Forget it," Amy said stubbornly.  "I saw him first."

The other girl rolled her eyes, flicked a casual hand.  "Like it matters!  What does matter is who catches his attention, don't you think?"

Myrna slipped back into her chair and smiled as the waitress delivered their drinks.  "I'm going to have to ask Gin, just how she managed to talk Gunnar into coming when he usually tries to avoid stuff like this," she said.  "Just look at him.  He's about ready to snap someone's head off . . ."

Jessa followed the direction that Myrna pointed, only to wince when she spotted Gunnar—and the very dark scowl on his face.  "Oh . . . That doesn't seem good, does it?"

Myrna laughed as she lifted her glass of wine.  "Not my problem, puss—not tonight."  Glancing across the table, her eyes widened.  "Jerry Baker!  You old scoundrel!  You mean, they actually talked you into leaving that iceberg you call home?"

"Myrna!" the man greeted, rising from his seat and hurrying around to give Myrna a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  "Well, it's not every day you get to meet someone as well-spoken-of as this one," he said.  "Tell me how they convinced you to come?  Didn't you say that you wouldn't attend one of these, not ever?"

Myrna laughed.  "Gin asked me," she explained.

Jerry nodded as he sat back down again.  "Myrna, I don't believe you've met my wife.  This is Karen and our daughters, Michelle and Amy.  Girls, this is Myrna Loy."

"Oh, so you're the Myrna that Jerry's talked about," Karen said with a very warm smile.  "Says you saved his life once?"

"He's exaggerating," Myrna insisted.  "Oh, and this is my cousin, Jessa.  She's here visiting for a bit, originally from Ireland."

"Pleased to meet you," she said.  Jerry and his wife smiled at her.  Michelle smiled, too, but it was a rather tight little smile.  Amy quirked her lips, but it was hardly any real kind of friendly expression.  For some reason, she felt as though they were sizing her up, that they had somehow found her lacking . . .

Brushing that silly notion away, Jessa nodded, but didn't say anything else.

Looking around at the people, she frowned.  What she's thought she'd noticed before was becoming increasingly obvious to her.  Strange, wasn't it?  She wasn't entirely sure what to make of it; not really . . . "Everyone's youkai," she murmured, leaning toward Myrna, speaking in a hushed tone.

Myrna nodded.  "Of course, they are, sweetie.  They're here to meet Ashur."

The sound of that name made her heart stop for one long, dizzying moment, as her body seemed to seize on the spot, as her fingers went cold, and she could literally feel all the blood, draining out of her face . . .

"Do you know him?" Amy demanded, having overheard Jessa's question as well as Myrna's answer.

"Ashur?  Yes.  Jessa works—well, worked—for him as a nanny to his son."

She could feel the girl's gaze narrow on her, could sense the same kind of almost hostile curiosity coming from Michelle, too.

Jessa grimaced.  She . . . She shouldn't be here, couldn't see him, look at him . . . The panic that surged inside her was thick, intense, almost debilitating.  All she knew was that seeing him . . . It would hurt . . . Knowing him as intimately as she did, knowing that she didn't dare approach him . . . She was right back to square one, wasn't she?  And the seething pain was almost more than she could bear.  No, she really, really couldn't do it again, couldn't look at him and smile and pretend that she wasn't utterly broken, and she grabbed her cousin's arm maybe a little harder than she meant to.  "M-Myrna, I don't feel—"

The unnatural hush that fell over the crowd cut her off, and Jessa gripped her temples between her fingertips as the lights over the tables dimmed, as the lights over the long tables at the front brightened.  She gasped softly as Ashur strode in, taking the last empty spot at the long table, directly beside Cain Zelig, who stood, microphone in hand.  The tai-youkai looked a little uncomfortable, but he cleared his throat and leaned down to say something to Ashur.  Then he chuckled before addressing the gathering.  "Uh, good evening, and welcome to my mate's little—or not so little—" Polite laughter from the guests, "—dinner.  We thought it would be a good time to introduce you all to Canada's newest acting general, Mr. Ashur Philips."

Ashur stood and shook Cain's hand before giving a curt bow of his head and shoulders before sinking back into his chair once more.

Under the table, Jessa pressed a hand against her stomach in a futile effort to quell the festering roil of rioting emotions.  For one dizzying moment, he almost seemed to stare right at her, and she felt the world lurch around her, even as common sense assured her that she had to be imagining things, that there really was no way he'd know she was there . . . In a room of two hundred youkai where she sat in the back in the semi-darkness . . .

It just . . . It wasn't really possible at all . . .


"My daughter, Paige wants me to ask you to reserve the first dance for her."

Ashur choked on the wine he'd just sipped and shot Martin Sanstrom, the west coast general, a fulminating glower.  "Pardon?"

Martin chuckled and slapped him on the back.  "My daughter.  She wants to dance with you.  Apparently, you've caught her interest, so congratulations on that," he said rather dryly.

Ashur cleared his throat.  "I don't really dance," he muttered.

"What?  Don't like all the attention you're getting?  A pretty boy like you?"

Rolling his eyes, Ashur pushed his plate away and sat back.  "I'm sure your daughter is lovely," he replied.  "But I'm only here because of this dinner, and—"

Martin laughed outright.  "You sound like an old, married man, Ash."  His expression shifted to one of rather avid interest.  "Unless you've already found your woman . . .?"

"It’s not that," he lied, unwilling to say anything else out loud, not until after he got to talk to Jessa.  It just didn't feel right to do otherwise . . . "I've just, uh, got a lot of things going on . . . You understand."

"And just what is wrong with my daughter?" Jan Sanstrom demanded, leaning forward to peer around her mate as she arched a delicate eyebrow at Ashur.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with her, I’m sure," Ashur assured her, wishing that he could end this conversation instead of perpetuating it.

She laughed and winked at him.  "Relax, Mr. Philips.  I was just teasing."

Martin shrugged and shook his head.  "You really need to learn how to tell when someone's teasing you," he commented.  "Well, not about my daughter. She really did ask me to talk to you."

Ashur rubbed his forehead, trying his best, not to seem too displeased about the entire affair.  To be honest, he really didn't want to be there.  It was the last thing he'd wanted to do, and if there had been a way to gracefully bow out of it, he would have.  After all, Cain had called earlier to set up a time when they could meet on Monday.  He'd asked about tomorrow, but Ashur was already to the very end of his patience, as far as that went.  Tomorrow, come hell or high water, he was going over to Myrna's, and he was going to talk to Jessa about her crazy notions and her ridiculous assumptions . . .

'About that, Kyouhei . . . Do you feel it?'

Frowning as he blinked at the rather vague question his youkai posed, he grunted.  'Feel what?  A couple hundred youkai, all crammed into this small space?  I feel lots of stuff, and none of it is what I want to . . .' Drawing himself upright, he narrowed his gaze as he scanned the room, unaccountably irritated at the harsh light that he was under, the paltry glow that blanketed the rest of the hall kept everything else in the dusk . . . There, back there, in the far corner . . . The slightest brush of something familiar, of something warm and scared and . . . and lost . . . 'Jessa . . .?'

"You okay?  You look a little . . . perplexed."

Ashur blinked and shot Cain Zelig a quick glance before unconsciously shifting his gaze out toward the back corner of the room again.  It was too dark to really ascertain a thing, and yet . . .

"I . . . I thought I sensed . . . someone . . ."

Cain chuckled.  "Well, there are a lot of 'someone's here tonight, so . . ."

Ashur gritted his teeth.  "I just thought . . . but . . . but she wouldn't be here . . ."

"Who?"

"Jessa . . ."

"Oh," Cain said, giving a little shrug.  "She might have come with Myrna.  I know she's here . . ."  Turning in his chair, Cain waited for his mate to finish talking to Bas, who was seated to her other side.  "Baby girl, did Myrna mention who she was bringing?"

Gin grimaced.  "She brought Lady Jessa—ooh, I mean, Lady Jessamyn—of course . . . I meant to have her seated up here, but there was a mix-up, and Chelsea forgot to change the seating chart . . ." Leaning forward, she shot Ashur an apologetic sort of half smile.  "I'm so sorry, Ashur . . . When I realized the oversight, it was too late to change it . . ."

"She's . . . here . . ."

Gin nodded.  "Is it really all right?  The bachelor auction?  She's not going to mind, is she?"

Ashur was having trouble processing the fact that Jessa really was here—and was having distinct problems in trying to squelch the desire to march out there and find her.  "Yeah, everything's fine, Gin . . ." he muttered without actually paying attention to what she was saying.

Jessa . . . was here . . .?

Without a second thought, he stood up, headed around the table, only to be intercepted by a youkai he didn't know and, quite honestly, didn't feel like meeting now . . .

And he sighed inwardly.  'Jessa . . .'


Jessa stood in the enclosed bathroom stall, staring at the floor with a frown on her face, arms crossed over her chest as she contemplated the idea of staying right where she was for the rest of the gala that hadn't even started yet.

For one brilliant, dizzying second, she'd thought . . . Thought that maybe he'd sensed her, had seen her, and yet . . . As Cain spoke to him, as his gaze had swept over the room, only to stop as he stared where she sat . . . But he couldn't have known, and the disappointment when he'd stood up, only to be immediately set upon by a host of youkai who all wanted to meet him, to congratulate him . . .

And it was all that she could stand, wasn't it?  She'd stood, had lifted her skirts and had fled the dining hall as quickly as she could, only to realize, just a moment too late, that she really had nowhere to run to . . .

So, she'd slipped into the powder room, had hidden herself behind a stately marble door . . .

'Stop it, Jessa!  You're better than this, ye ken?  Hiding yourself away—hiding from him . . . Just what do you think you're doing?  Your da raised you better than this!  Keep your head up, walk proud, Jessamyn O'Shea!  Remember what your da said!'

Biting her lip, she winced at the reprimand in her youkai's words. The surge of panic that shot through her at the very idea of coming, face-to-face with him, however, was nearly enough to bring her to her knees, and it took another minute of deep breathing before she could get her hands to stop shaking, before she trusted them to reach for the handle on the door . . .

"His nanny?  How ridiculous!  Did you see her face?  I mean, sure, she's kind of all right looking—if you like Raggedy Ann, anyway . . . Seriously, that hair?  Do you think she colored it, just for tonight?"

“Why would anyone choose that shade of red?  Ridiculous!” her sister scoffed.

The shrill laughter cut her deep as she let her forehead fall against the cool marble.

"And that dress?  Who on earth wears a color like that to something like this?  She stands out more than Gin Zelig does . . . Trying to outshine the hostess?  Truly bad taste!  I just cannot even imagine, possessing that kind of nerve . . ."

"In all the wrong ways, maybe.  I mean, wearing a red dress with her hair?  She looks like a damn whore!"

“No wonder the general didn’t want her to be his son’s nanny!  I mean, a nanny?  Her?  Ri-i-i-ight . . . Girl like her?  Probably too busy, flirting with every guy that came around!  Thinking she’s all that and then some!  Good thing he fired her!”

"If you're talking about my cousin, might I suggest that the two of you . . . Well, you should just stop because if you don't, I won't really care who your father is or that I actually like him.  We'll see how pretty you look when you're picking your fucking noses up off the floor."

The girls gasped and muttered half-assed apologies as they hurried out of the bathroom.  Only after the door closed did Jessa hear Myrna sigh softly, just before she knocked on the stall door.  "Sweetie . . . Come out of there . . ."

When she didn't open the door right away, Myrna leaned against the door—Jessa could hear the rustle of fabric, the slight thump as she waited.  "It's not true, you know.  What those girls said . . . You're beautiful, like a . . . like a flower or something . . . like a rose, and I believe that you're just . . . biding your time, exactly like that rose.  You know, they don't open right away.  It takes a while for them to blossom.  You're a rose, Jessa, and those girls?  They're the dandelions that we step on every, single day . . ."

Jessa turned the lock as Myrna stepped away from the door, and when she opened it, she blinked as Myrna drew her into a tight hug.  "Now, let me see your face," she commanded gently, grasping Jessa's chin, lifting her face as she dug a tissue out of the box on the counter, as she dabbed gently at Jessa's eyes, her cheeks.  "Never let girls like that make you cry, honey.  Pretty on the outside is nothing in comparison to what you have."  She smiled.  "And that dress?  That dress is fabulous, so don't let girls like that make you second guess yourself."

"Thank you," Jessa murmured, blinking quickly to stave back another wash of tears.

Myrna cupped her face in her hands and smiled again. "You don't need to, but if you want to retouch your makeup, I'll wait for you."

Staring at herself in the large, plate glass mirror hanging over the opulent sinks, Jessa carefully retouched her lip gloss—just a hint of deep crimson sheen—added just a touch more eyeliner where she'd cried it off of the corners of her eyes.  It was enough, she decided as she dropped the eyeliner back into her handbag.

Myrna nodded her approval as she led the way out of the bathroom and over to the security booth to check their purses for the evening.

Jessa stole a nervous look around, but the foyer area was rapidly emptying as the first tones of music from the string quartet drifted out of the open doorways that led to the ball room, and Ashur . . . He was nowhere to be seen . . .