InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Upper Fronts ( Chapter 58 )

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

"These people don't actually expect that I'm going to remember their names, do they?"

"I would certainly hope not.  Hell, I don't even know most of these people, to be honest . . . " Bas chuckled and lifted a flute of champagne to his lips, watching as his diminutive wife took a turn on the dance floor with his younger brother, Evan.  The miscreant whispered something to Sydnie Zelig that made her laugh, and Bas slowly shook his head despite the smile still on his face. "Fifty bucks says he just said something entirely inappropriate to her," Bas muttered.

Ashur sighed, scanning the ball room from their vantage point on the upper level, gazing down at the assembly below.  He'd retreated up here when it had become apparent that he wasn't going to be able to locate Jessa from down there, anyway, and it also helped that this level was restricted access to those who were considered VIP guests—roughly a third of those in attendance—thus alleviating the ridiculous number of young ladies that were trying to get him to dance.

"Are you sure that one's your brother?"

Bas sighed.  "I wonder that myself sometimes, but you know, he looks a little too much like Mom not to be—unfortunately."

Ashur grunted, draining his glass of champagne and setting it on a circulating waiter's tray.  "I'm surprised you haven't killed him yet," he added, only half-joking.

Bas nodded.  "Not for lack of trying . . . Jumps around more than a damn jackrabbit, though, so what are you gonna do?"

"I'll hold him down, and you can run him through.  Simple," Gunnar Inutaisho remarked as he wandered over to join them.  "That old lady down there—the one in that gaudy orange dress?  She grabbed my ass as I passed her," he complained.

"Which part?  You're all ass," Bas remarked.

Gunnar snorted indelicately.  "Bas-tard . . ." Taking his time as he sipped from his glass of champagne, Gunnar shifted his gaze to Ashur.  "I can't believe they talked you into attending this monstrosity."

Ashur considered that, arching an eyebrow in question.  "Monstrosity?  Fair . . . So, why are you here?"

Gunnar rolled his eyes, pursed his lips in an entirely irritated kind of way.  "Because of you," he grumbled.  "Since my darling oba-chan decided that she needed to throw a damn dinner in your honor . . ."

"You can't say no to Gin?"

Gunnar narrowed his gaze on Ashur, apparently trying to decide . . . something.  "Have you tried that?"

Ashur nodded.  "Touché."

Gunnar dismissed the topic with a flick of his fingers.  "Have you given any thought to Cain's offer to have you open another office of the special crimes department?"

Bas grunted.  "Leave it to him to talk shop here, of all places."

"I've made my obligatory appearance.  That's more than enough, as far as I'm concerned," Gunnar said.

"Oh?  So, you're not going to go down there and dance with Mom?" Bas goaded.

"Oba-chan?  Certainly.  Ass-grabber?  Not on your life.  She smelled like dusty old flowers.  They can't possibly sell that in stores . . ."

"Yeah, well, why didn't you go home to see Aunt Sierra?" Bas asked.

"Otou-san told me that he didn't want to overwhelm her right now, that it'd be best to visit in shifts, as it were.  Charity and Cass took the first shift.  I figure it'll be my turn around Christmas."

Bas sighed, slowly shaking his head.  "You're such an ass," he grumbled.

"I prefer pragmatic," Gunnar retorted.  "Anyway, back to my question: have you considered the offer?"

Ashur stifled a sigh as he continued to scan the dance floor.  "A little bit," he allowed.  "I've had a number of things going on, so . . . I'll consider it more after I go back home."

"Well," Bas said, leaning on the rich, polished wood railing that ran around the perimeter of the upper level, "if you do decide to do it, give some thought as to who you might work well with.  I know we said it before, but it's too big a job for just one person, and it's always helpful to have a fresh set of eyes to help you see things that one person could easily overlook."

"And that's why you work with him?" Ashur questioned, turning to face the two men more directly.

Gunnar chuckled.  "I'm the brains of our operation.  Bas is the one we send in to knock heads together."

"Speak for yourself, Gunsie."  Then he chuckled, too.  "Sydnie's actually our boss."

"Yours, maybe," Gunnar shot back.  "She's not mi—Oh . . . Who's that?"

Bas frowned as he followed the direction of Gunnar's gaze.  "Oh, her?  That's Myrna's cousin, Jessa.  Ash knows her pretty well.  She's Kells' nanny . . . You met her, didn’t you?  At Ashur’s birthday party . . ."

Gunnar considered that with a thoughtful frown.  “Uh, no . . . I got there late, remember?  And I was busy, being hounded by everyone’s pups . . . She’s . . . damn,” he concluded.  "Kells' nanny, is she?"

Ashur turned and spotted her almost instantly.  Standing near the dance floor, surrounded by a gaggle of men, she drew his attention like a moth to a flame, and for a long moment, he could only stare.

The scarlet red dress hugged her body like a second skin to the waist where the A-line skirt flared around her in a gentle flow of layers of organza and tulle that shimmered with every breath of movement and seemed to brush the back of her ankles in the back while barely hitting her knees in the front, showing off the gentle curves of her long legs, the delicate turns of her ankles.  The wide V-neckline barely hugged her shoulders, the short sleeves molded to her arms with a shimmer of beads over the sheer fabric . . . From his vantage point, he could see the gentle slope of her neck, of her slightly protruding collar bones . . . and the memories of just what that flesh felt like under his fingertips, what it tasted like under his lips, very nearly brought him to his knees . . .

Hair drawn up and back in a gentle chignon as tendrils of it fell to frame her face, and those eyes so dark, so mysterious, and yet, there was something in her aura, something no one else seemed to notice—a certain sadness that he could feel, that dug at him, despite the polite little smile on her face—the one that didn't reach her eyes . . . And the memory of Devlin's words that haunted him . . .

"She came to you, a child.  You turned her into a woman for yourself, but you never, ever taught her how to be one outside of the bedroom . . . Now, my question for you, Ashur, is, what the hell are you going to do about it?"

Without a second thought, he brushed past Bas and Gunnar, weaving around milling people as he made his way to the staircase.  Ignoring those who tried to intercept him, who called out to him as he descended the steps, he had one goal in mind: one destination, and a strong sense that Jessa . . . She was where he belonged.

"Oh, Mr. Philips!  There you are!  Dance with me!"

Blinking away his own bemusement, Ashur frowned as he glanced down at the young woman holding onto his arm.  He'd met her earlier, but he didn't remember her name, and, at the moment, it was all he could do to keep from shaking her off and stalking away as a young man slipped an arm around Jessa, as he led her toward the dance floor with an idiotic smile on his face, despite the way she stared at the floor, chin lowered, eyes downcast . . . Why the fool couldn't see that was entirely beyond Ashur, and he sighed as the woman dragged him off to dance . . .


That flash of shining golden-brown hair, caught back in a low hanging ponytail, secured by a bit of black ribbon that matched the tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, and she felt him before she saw him, her gaze lighting on him as he descended the stairs from the exclusive upper level of the ballroom . . .

For one dizzying, beautiful, shining moment, she'd thought that maybe he was trying to get to her.  He wasn't.  When Amy Baker stepped into his path, he'd stopped, her hand on his arm, a little too close to be just a casual acquaintance . . .

"Would you care to dance?"

Jessa blinked, glanced up into the smiling face of a young man she didn't really know, other than his first name was John.  He'd probably given his full name during the course of introductions, but she'd dismissed it just as quickly as she'd told herself she didn't need to look for him, but she looked for him, just the same . . .

She didn't remember answering him.  She'd nearly jerked away on pure reflex when he slipped his arm around her to lead her off to the dance floor.  There were too many people, too many scents, too many auras, too many murmurs—murmurs that came to her ears despite her desire not to hear a blasted thing . . .

"Who is that man?  That tall one with the shining hair . . .?"

"I've never seen him before, but I'd give anything for a few minutes alone with him . . ."

"Dancing with Jerry and Karen's daughter?  Oh, don't they look perfect together . . .?"

Eyes downcast, staring at the floor in such a way that she could feel them burning in their sockets, she willed herself not to cry, not to cry, not to cry, as John No-Name pulled her into his arms, and they started to dance . . .

He was a good dancer.  He'd obviously been trained at some time in the finer points of the waltz.  Still, Jessa's feet felt as though they were cast of lead, and she stumbled, only for him to catch her with a breathy chuckle.  "You don't have to be nervous, Jessa.  I swear I don't bite," he murmured.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, so she turned her face away, only to see Ashur, staring at her—directly at her—a strange sense of something dark, almost hostile, in his gaze—with Amy Baker in his arms . . .

"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 . . ."

“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!”

Her eyes skittered away, unable to withstand the ugly sense that she'd done something wrong, that she'd offended him somehow without even trying, like the entire universe had somehow tilted, spinning dizzily on its axis while she stood, completely still . . .

She didn't dare look up again, didn't want to see him, holding that horrible girl so very close.  It hurt, didn't it?  So much worse than she'd ever thought it could; ever thought it would . . . She could feel herself, shattering slowly, bit by agonizing bit, could feel every piece as it slowly, cracked and chipped and fell.

The song ended, and they stopped.  Maybe she clapped; she really didn't know.  What did any of it matter, anyway?  She started to turn, wanted to escape, but another hand stopped her, pulled her back.  "I'd like to cut in," another voice said.  She didn't know him, didn't recognize his face.  And yet, she couldn't quite find her voice, either, powerless to stop him as he pulled her close against him, as the string quartet launched into another waltz . . .

"You're . . . You're absolutely stunning," the man remarked.  "I mean, I don't usually say stuff like that—it sounds so trite, doesn't it?  But I've never seen anyone that looked quite like you before . . ."

For some reason, his statement made her wince.

"I guess I should have introduced myself first . . . I'm Rick Conway . . ." He chuckled.  "You're Jessa, right?  I heard you when you were talking to John, over there . . ."

She shook her head, gaze slipping away once more.  "I'm Raggedy Ann," she mumbled.

"What was that?"

"N . . . Nothing . . ."

"I'd like to cut in, if that's all right."

He stopped, she could feel his irritation rising.  Even so, he stepped back, kissed the back of her hand before he finally let go.

She started to open her mouth, started to say that she just wanted to go get some air, something to put some distance between the angry glower that she could feel, even if she just couldn't bring herself to verify it.

The interloper, however, gently slipped an arm around her waist, led her away from the dance floor, out the doors at the back of the hall into the blessedly fresh and almost crisp evening air.  Closing the door behind them, he uttered a soft sigh as he stepped back, as he dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers, leaning against the railing of the stone fence that lined the terrace.  "I'm sorry if you were enjoying yourself," he said softly, quietly.  "But you looked a little . . . Are you all right, Jessa?"

Hearing the familiarity of her name, she finally looked up, met the undisguised concern in the face of the North American tai-youkai.  "I . . . I'm fine," she said, wondering vaguely if it was dark enough, if the lie would show on her face.   "Everything's so . . . so beautiful, and I . . ."

He sighed, brows drawing together as he slowly, quietly stared at her, as though he were trying to see into her head, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft, gentle, almost careful.  "You, uh . . . You kind of remind me of my daughter, Jillian.  I mean, you don't look like her or anything, but . . . but she always tried to put on a good face, too, even when she was hurting inside.  I always hated that.  I always wondered if she thought she couldn't tell me things, but then, I realized that it was her way of dealing with things, and I figured that it was all right, that she'd tell me anything that I needed to know."

"I . . ."

He smiled, but it was a tender smile, a gentle smile, almost a shy smile.  "You don't have to say anything to me, you know.  I'm not going to ask you any more questions.  That'd probably seem weird, anyway, right?  That means you don't have to tell me the truth.  It also means you don't have to lie, okay?"

Her gaze slipped to the railing before her as she crossed her arms over her chest.  Something about the kindness in his soft voice was enough to bolster her, just a little.  "Th-Thank you . . ."

He shrugged.  "You don't have to thank me, either.  In fact, if you'd rather, you can come stay by Gin and me.  She's wanted to get to know you better—she’s kind of awestruck at the idea that you’re a, uh, ‘real, live lady’—and if you're with us, you won't have to worry about being passed around the dance floor like the Flavor of the Month."

For the first time all evening, Jessa managed a smile.  Maybe it wasn't a big one, maybe not even a full one, but it was genuine, even as it quivered on her lips.  "I . . . I'd like that," she finally said.

Cain nodded.  "Let me know when you're ready to go back inside," he told her.

"Okay," she agreed, lifting her face, staring at the brightness of the moon . . .


Ashur was ready to snap.  Literally, ready to snap, and if someone so much as looked at him sideways, there was a good chance that he just might do it . . .

The entire universe was conspiring against him, wasn't it?  Bad enough when those idiot human boys started passing Jessa around, but then, she was rescued by Cain, and then, swept away with him, and if it wasn't bad enough that he really didn't feel that he could really drag her away from the tai-youkai, as well as the woman whose benefit they were there to raise money for, then damned if that little fucker, Evan hadn't talked Jessa into dancing with him, and worse, Ashur had been near enough to hear her laugh—laugh—at something that the rotten little bastard had said, too . . .

Just now?  Ashur snorted.  Just now, she was dancing with Bas, damn it—also probably not a good idea to cut in, all things considered—and an even worse idea, given that all Ashur really wanted to do was to toss his jacket over her shoulders and to rip the heads off of the number of men who kept giving her the eye, stripping her naked in the confines of their own twisted thoughts . . .

"Tell me something, Ash . . . Why do you look like you're ready to light into someone?"

Ashur grunted as he slowly shifted his gaze to the side to meet Myrna's rather frank expression.  "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

She shrugged, reaching over to snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and she promptly slipped one into his hand.  "Drink, you'll feel better—or I will.  Either one works for me."

"Jessa seems to be having a great time," he remarked, careful to keep his tone even—at least, he thought he did.  The look Myrna shot him might have said differently, he didn't know, and he wasn't about to ask, either.

"I figure that the two of you are friendly, right?" she said instead.  "I mean, she lived in your house for months, so you got to know her fairly well—better than I know her, I'm sure . . . Maybe a little better than I first thought, hmm?"

"Your point, Myrna?"

She shrugged, smoothing the front of the glittering black evening gown she wore.  "You wouldn't know this because we weren't seated anywhere near you, but . . . That girl you danced with?  Amy Baker?  She said some pretty rude things in the bathroom about Jessa—her and her nasty sister, Michelle.  Thing was, Jessa was in a stall, and either they didn't know it or they wanted her to hear it . . ." She shook her head.  "Anyway, I just thought I should tell you that in case they try to drag you out onto the dance floor again."

"What did they say?" he demanded.

Myrna's eyebrows shot up at the unmasked anger in his tone.  "Catty girl shit," she replied.  "Does it matter?  I just . . . I get the feeling that it wasn't the first time Jessa's heard that kind of crap over the years, so when she saw you dancing with Amy?"  Myrna laughed, but the sound was hollow, empty.  "You didn't see her face, Ash . . . but I did, and she . . ." Shaking her head slowly, Myrna sighed.  “You could have slapped her across the face, Ash, and it would have hurt her less, I think.”

He watched in silence as Myrna sauntered away, clenching his jaw so tightly that it ached.

"Well, hello, gorgeous."

Ashur shifted his gaze to the side, only to nod as Steve Vasquez, the Mexican general, sidled up next to him with a glass of champagne and a rather sardonic little grin on his face.  "Sorry, Steve, but you're still not my type, you realize."

Steve chuckled.  "You haven't been a general long enough to have that expression on your face during one of these soirees," he commented.  "Give it another . . . ten?  Fifteen years?"

"In the future, I'll be avoiding as many of these as I can, thanks," Ashur muttered.

"Yes, well, you look like you're ready to light into someone . . . Who is it and do they deserve it?"

Ashur snorted.  "Yes, but there's not a lot I can do without causing a scene, and I'm fairly sure that our darling hostess would frown upon it."

"Ah, but would Zelig?"

Deliberately taking his time, draining his champagne flute, Ashur shrugged.  ". . . Probably not."

"Well, as I see it, you have two choices.  You can stand here, looking like you're about to eat someone's spleen, or . . ."

"Or?" he prompted when Vasquez trailed off.

"Ah, güero . . . Your impatience is absolutely adorable.  Or you could do what I do to amuse myself at times like this."

Ashur grunted, his gaze shifting to find Jessa once more.  This time, she was standing near Gin and Cain, talking with the woman, and she did seem a little more relaxed overall.  Even as he watched, however, another couple of men closed in on her, causing Cain to step up just a little—just enough to add the unvoiced warning that the two had come close enough.  Despite the tai-youkai's proximity, however, one of those men had the audacity to reach out, to touch Jessa's forearm, and Ashur narrowed his eyes as his back stiffened and he drew himself up just a little taller . . .

'You'd better think of something quick, Kyouhei, because you're right.  If you start a fight just because some jackass put a hand on Jessa's arm, then Gin really is going to be upset with you . . . This isn't some random dance club, you know.  This is a gathering of some of the richest and most influential people in North America—maybe the whole world . . .'

Sometimes, he really hated it when his youkai felt the need to point out what should have been obvious . . . "Okay, I'll bite," he said, more as a means of distracting himself than because he was actually interested to hear what Vasquez had to say.  "What kind of distraction do you suggest?"

Steve chuckled, raising his glass, using it to sweep a gesture over the crowded ballroom.  "Look around you, Ash.  All those women, many of whom have very relaxed morals—a sign of the times, I guess . . . and if they're willing, and you're willing, why not allow for a little distraction?  Here," he said, stuffing a condom in Ashur's hand.  "There's nothing wrong with a little recreation, especially during these kinds of things . . . Thank me later," he said as he strode away before Ashur could stop him.

Uttering a terse snort, he stuffed the damned thing into his pocket, making a mental note to maim Sanchez the next time he caught up with him.  ‘General, indeed,’ he scoffed, glaring after the axolotl.

‘It’s not like that’s a bad idea—at least, under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be.  ‘Course, considering Jessa’s absolutely ruined us, as far as that goes, we-e-ell . . .’

‘Shut up.’

The music ended abruptly as Cain escorted his diminutive wife onto the small stage, allowing the string quartet to take a break.  Cain stepped back after handing Gin the microphone that one of the quartet members had given to him as the lights dimmed just a little and a spotlight flickered to life, trained on the tiny woman.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to formally welcome you all to the Zelig Foundation Gala.  We truly appreciate your continued patronage.  As an update, I am proud to announce that, to date, we have disbursed more than twenty-seven million dollars just this year to various organizations around the world for everything from childhood cancer research to the newly opened Dieter Reichardt Center for the Arts, right here in New York City!  The center is designed to offer all kinds of art and media classes and support for the city's underprivileged youth, providing a safe and nurturing environment that is entirely free for these children, no matter where they're from, but we can't do it alone, and that's why . . ." She smiled sweetly.  "That's why you've all generously been offering silent bids on the vast array of items that have been so generously donated for tonight's event.  I also want to remind you that your monetary donations are also welcome, and please don't forget that if you have a cause that you feel strongly about, I welcome your suggestions throughout the year, not just tonight!"

Glancing over at the side of the stage, he was somewhat mollified to see Jessa, standing with Myrna, so he was reasonably okay with that.  Too bad that the little maggot who had put his hand on her was milling around nearby, like a common mongrel, sniffing around for leftovers . . .

'We could bury him easily, and no one would be the wiser . . .'

Ashur considered that for just a moment too long.  'If he touches her again, I just might . . .'

'Okay . . . I think we should probably step outside for a moment before we end up doing something we're going to regret . . .'

‘Speak for yourself.  I don’t think I’d regret it in the least.’

Letting out a deep breath, Ashur turned on his heel, skirted the crowds to let himself out onto the balcony.  He'd already donated a good amount, so the silent auction wasn't really of interest to him, anyway.  As for the idea of making that little bastard disappear?  His youkai might well regret it, but he wasn't entirely convinced he would . . .

Welcoming the brisk night air, he sighed.  All in all, he really just wanted to get the hell out of there, and yet, he couldn't, could he?  Leaving Jessa here alone was simply not an option.  Too bad it seemed like it was damn near impossible to get anywhere near her when all he wanted to do was to talk to her, to make sure she was all right—and to tell her in no uncertain terms that she absolutely was coming back home with him—back where she belonged . . .