InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Baby Steps ( Chapter 66 )

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

Standing back with his arms crossed over his chest, Ashur watched in silence as Jessa closed her eyes, focusing her mind, stretching out her youki.  A moment later, her body erupted in a mass of flames, a very slow and controlled burn.  He smiled to himself,  inordinately proud of the progress that she'd made so far.  She'd come a long way in a relatively short amount of time, given that he'd trained for years to gain a level of mastery over the earth arts.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, her eyes glowing from an inner source, her pride unmistakable, and he nodded.  "Very good."

She laughed as the flames extinguished, bouncing just a little on the balls of her feet in much the same way as Kells.  "You mean it?" she asked rather breathlessly.  "It was good?"

He chuckled.  "It was very impressive," he told her.  "Impressive enough that I should tell you that I can't really help you anymore."

She stopped instantly, the happiness in her gaze dissipating as she ducked her chin, crossing her arms over her chest.  "I . . . I see . . ."

"You don't see," he countered, slipping his arms around her.  She resisted his hug, and he chuckled again.  "I can't help you anymore because I'm not a flame-youkai," he clarified.  "The rest of your training really is up to you.  There are no hard and fast rules, Jessa.  You can create whatever you can see in your mind."

"You mean . . . if I saw shooting fireballs in my head . . .?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, of course, but you can do better than that."

Wrinkling her nose, she stepped away from him, pulling her hair over her shoulder to twist it around as she thought.  "What was the first thing you saw?"

"Me?  Oh . . ." He chuckled, slowly shook his head.

"What?" she prodded, apparently intrigued by his amusement.

"Nothing, really . . . I mean, I got in trouble for it.  It was . . . a waste of resources—I think those were otou-san's words . . ."

"Why?"

Letting out a deep breath that raised his bangs off of his forehead, Ashur shrugged.  "Okaa-san loved sumire—uh, violets . . . so I made her some, and otou-san . . . was furious."

"Made them?  How?"

He sighed.  "Out of earth . . . Then I manipulated the earth into marble."

"Can . . . Can you show me?"

He opened his mouth to say that he couldn't.   It was so ingrained in him now, after a lifetime of his father's lectures, of his disappointment that he didn't even try to hide . . . But the hopeful little smile on Jessa's face . . .

Turning on his heel, he strode over to the edge of the veranda, held his hand out over the dirt of the flower bed.  She gasped, sinking to her knees, as the earth started to rise in small and delicate tendrils, the leaves unfurling as though they were real and not made of dirt.  When the blossoms opened, Jessa laughed.  Closing his eyes, he manipulated the earth, felt it shift under his control.

"Beautiful," she breathed.

Lowering his hand, opening his eyes again, he stared thoughtfully at the riot of marble violets, and he shrugged.

She touched the petals of the closest one.  "They're gorgeous," she said.

"Wasted effort," he murmured, raising his hand once more, this time, to return them to the earth.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed, reaching up to catch his wrist, to pull it back.

"They're sharp," he said as she rose to her feet without letting go of him.  "If Kells falls on them, he—"

"He'll live," she insisted.  "You canna destroy them!"

"Jessa—"

"They're mine."

He blinked, stared at her as she blushed a little, biting her lip, but stubbornly refused to back down.  "Yours . . .?"

She nodded once, tucking her hair behind her ear in an almost guarded fashion.  "You . . . You like my hair?  Well, I like your flowers, so . . ."

He sighed.  "I could leave one for you."

She wrinkled her nose.  "You'll leave them all for me," she grumbled.

He stared at her for a long moment.  She still refused to look at him, as though she were embarrassed by her own outburst, and he frowned thoughtfully.  'She . . . She isn't used to asking for anything, is she . . .?'

'I don't think she is . . . She's never asked us for a damn thing—only for Carol . . . only for her . . . her friend . . .'

He grimaced as that realization came to him, and maybe that was the real reason he relented.  "All right.  You win.  If Kells falls on them, though . . ."

"I'll . . . I'll hug him and tell him that it's all right," she said.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he warned.

She finally giggled, slipping her arms around his waist.  "Thank you," she said, giving him a little squeeze as he wrapped his arms around her, too.  "They're beautiful."

He snorted, but smiled over her head.  "They're stone flowers, Jessa.  You're beautiful . . ."


"Kells Satoru Philips, I did not just see you drop your book bag on the floor, did I?"

Kells skidded to a halt before he could escape into the kitchen, only to pivot on his toes to face his father, who was standing just inside the door with his arms crossed over his chest and a rather blank expression on his face.  "It slipped!" Kells insisted, throwing his tiny hands up in a gesture of complete and utter innocence that was entirely lost on his father.  Kells grabbed the bag and placed it carefully on the bench.  Having accomplished that, the lad tore off once more, no doubt to find Jessa.

Ashur heaved a sigh and shook his head before heading down the short hallway to his office.

Nora broke into a small smile as she watched the child's hasty retreat.

True enough, she wasn't entirely certain, what to make of the relationship between Ashur and Jessa.  Jessa herself didn't seem to understand it, either.  The thing that confused Nora, however, was just how things had gotten so mixed up, in the first place.  From everything Jessa had said to her, she had no idea, exactly where she stood and seemed to be quite convinced that her mating to Ashur was some kind of a mistake, an accident—a torn condom, she'd said, but . . .

But in the weeks since Nora had arrived almost a month ago, she'd seen it, hadn't she?  Those tender looks when she wasn't paying attention, the smiles that he'd gotten on his face as he watched her with Kells, the gentleness with which he handled her . . .

Her first and foremost responsibility was, of course, to make sure that Jessa was doing well, that she found happiness, and despite the girl's concerns, Nora had to wonder if she could be happy here with this new family that she was creating.  At first, upon hearing Jessa's worries, her fears, Nora would have been hard-pressed to think that it would ever be possible.  Something about Ashur, however, was slowly changing her mind.  The problem was Jess herself, wasn't it?  She had a tendency to live in her own head, and therein lay the problem.  Just how much did Ashur know about her?  Nora was of the opinion that she really ought to stay out of it, that the two should work things out on their own, one way or another, but . . . But she hated to see Jessa so out of sorts, so unsure of herself.  The real question in Nora's mind had more to do with Ashur than it did with Jessa.  The problem in that was, it wasn't really her place to fix things, even if she wanted to do so . . .

It shouldn't have taken her as long as it had to track down Jessa when she was escorted off the land that should have, by rights, belonged to her all along.  It had darn near broken her heart to stand by and watch that, to be able to do nothing at all to help the child that she'd watched grow into such a beautiful young woman.  Jessa had needed someone to put their arms around her, not march her off with barely the clothing on her back, with no comfort, no protection, and treated no better than a common criminal . . .

The family's attorney, Lachlan Dunbyrne, Esquire, wasn't at all helpful.  She'd begged and pleaded and, much to her embarrassment, had even ended up in tears over the whole ordeal.  It hadn't done a damn bit of good, though.  Oh, he'd said that he'd love to help her, not that she believed him.  She'd learned her lesson long ago, hadn't she?  Never trust a bloody Scot.

In the end, though, it was the last person she'd ever expected to get help from who had come through for her, and all because of the gala that he'd attended—damned Scot . . .

"Nora, lass . . . As fair as ever, I see."

Nora said nothing as she pushed the door closed.  Before she could manage, however, Fergus Kinnaird slipped the toe of his thick leather ghillie boot between the frame and the door, and Nora sighed.  "What do you want, Fergus?" she demanded, stepping back and grabbing the dusting cloth off the stand and bustling away from the one man she really did not want to see . . . ever.

"Ach, nae, don' be thataway," he crooned as he followed her through the massive foyer of the O'Shea estate, Dunborough.  "It's been . . . Twenty?  Thirty years?  How 'boot a kiss fer ault times' sake?"

Shoving his arms away, Nora rolled her eyes and counted to ten—then on to twenty for good measure.  It didn't really help.  "Actually, it's been fifty-four years, seven months, two weeks, and three days, but who's counting?"

Fergus chuckled, running a hand through his wiry, bright orange hair.  "Oh, nae, we had some good times together, Nora.  Remember the Lassanach Glen?  Eh?"

"Aye, I remember it," she allowed.  "I remember havin' to clean you up when you vomited all over from drinking too much of the home brew.  That I remember very well, thank you."

"But t'was all fun afore that, and ye cannae say it wasna!"

"Still wearing a skirt, I see," she muttered, slapping his hand away from where he leaned against the tall, thick oak cabinet that she was trying to clean.

"It's a kilt, woman!  A kil—och, ne'er mind . . ."

Spinning on her heel, she planted a fist on her hip as she glowered at the maddening fool. "I said it once; I'll say it again: what do you want, Fergus?"

"I faund yer Jessa."

"If you're lying to me, I'll gut you ten ways from Sunday and spoon out your innards for the gulls," she warned.

Holding up his weathered hands, the burly man laughed.  "I'm no' lyin'," he promised her.  His smile lingered for another long moment, then he sighed.  "Tell me, Nora, why did we let things end?"

Rolling her eyes at his suddenly-serious turn, she snorted indelicately as she resumed her task of dusting.  "Because you're a bloody arsehole," she mumbled, giving him her back as she moved to the next shelf.

"Aye, but I'm a changed mon nae," he said, following along behind her as she went about her chores.

"You were a bloody arsehole then, and you're a bloody lying arsehole now," Nora stated.  "About the Lady O'Shea—where did you find her, then?"

"Och, yer killin' me, Nora-lass!"

"If only it weren't illegal . . ." She sighed, turning on her heel to pin the man with a no-nonsense glower that, if he had even a whit of sense in his damned head, he would pay attention to it.  "I'm through with your games, Fergus Kinnaird . . . Now, if you know something, then best spit it out before I lose what's left of my temper."

He heaved a sigh, and for the briefest of seconds, she thought that maybe—maybe—she'd finally gotten through to him.  "I saw her with me own eyes, I did.  That Zelig gala . . . getting rather friendly with Zelig's newest general, Ashur Philips from Canada, she was."

"Canada . . .?  Why Canada . . .?" she mused out loud.

Fergus chuckled and leaned on a nearby table in what, she assumed, was his version of easy grace.  In her opinion, it looked much like a peacock trying to preen in front of the ladies.  "Surely I should get summat for the trouble I've gone to, flyin' right back to tell you all this?"

"And just what do you think I owe you?" she hesitated to ask.

He chuckled again, bright green eyes dancing merrily.  "How 'boot a kiss or two?"

She snorted and planted a firm hand in the middle of his face as she brushed past him.  "You didn't want my kisses while we were married, Fergus.  You don't need them now, either."

"No-o-o-ora!"

Snapping out of her reverie as Kells came tearing back into the room, breathless and bright-eyed and smiling, the lad grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it before casting her his best-little-boy-in-the-world-grin.

Controlling her urge to smile right back at him, she arched an eyebrow and waited.  "Aye, Master Kells?"

He giggled, probably at the use of 'master' before his name.  "Jessa said you made cookies!  I really like cookies," Kells ventured.

"No sugar, or we'll all suffer," Ashur called from the study.

"Hmm . . . Good thing my cookies were made with honey," she replied.

Ashur heaved a sigh, but didn't argue with her, and she finally allowed just a tiny bit of a smile as she led Kells into the kitchen for a glass of milk and a cookie.

Hopping up onto one of the stools at the tall counter in the kitchen, Kells kicked his feet to and fro as he watched Nora pour him a sippy cup of milk before handing over one large cookie from the jar.  "There you are.  And that's enough till dinner time."

He nodded happily, jamming a huge bite of the cookie into his mouth.  "Are you Jessa's mommy?" he garbled, his mouth full.

"You may repeat your question when you've finished what you've got in there," she said, gesturing at his face.

Kells giggled and quickly chewed and swallowed.  "Are you Jessa's mommy?" he repeated seconds before stuffing another bite of the cookie into his mouth.

"Her ma?  Certainly not!  I'm her family's housekeeper.  Served the O'Shea family for . . . Oh, for a very long time."

"But Jessa said that you're like her family," he went on, a thoughtful frown marring his brow.  "Jessa's my mommy!" he exclaimed.  Then he gasped, eyes widening.  "But I'm not s'posed to tell her that yet . . . Daddy said it might freak her out . . ."

Nora frowned.  "Don't you already have a ma, Master Kells?"

He shook his head, his expression shifting into a rather sad little frown.  "I never had no mommy—not till Jessa."

"You never had a mommy until Jessa," Ashur remarked, leaning in the kitchen doorway with a rather blank expression on his face.  He shouldered himself away from it, striding across the kitchen, only to tousle Kells' baby-fine hair.  "You haven't said that to Jessa yet, have you?"

Kells shook his head quickly.

Ashur chuckled.  "Just a little while longer, okay?  She's coming around . . . Daddy's . . . Daddy's working on it . . ."

Kells wrinkled his little nose.  "Can you work faster, Daddy?"

He slowly shook his head, but his smile didn't falter.  "Don't you think she's worth it?  Being patient?"

The child considered that for a long moment, then finally bobbed his head in a nod as his smile returned.  "Yeah, 'cause I morbid curious her!"

Ashur laughed and mussed the boy's hair a little more.  "It's fine to say that you . . . you love her, Kells," he told him.

Nora didn't miss the slight flinch on Ashur's face when he'd said that, and she frowned.  She'd seen the way that he had raised the stone flowers for her, had heard the conversation that had passed between the two while she was airing the area rug from the living room . . . What she'd seen bespoke love—real love—so why did he falter over the words . . .?

"Daddy!  Can you practice wif me?" Kells asked, hopping down from his stool and snatching up his cup to dump in the sink.

"Okay," Ashur agreed, and the two started toward the doors.

Kells stopped before he ducked outside, however, long enough to turn back to Nora once more.  "Fanks!" he hollered before dashing out behind his father.

Nora chuckled to herself as she watched the two through the bank of windows.  No doubt about it, Ashur Philips was a fine father, but she knew that already from everything Jessa had said.  That was apparently never in question, as far as Jessa was concerned.  Then again, Jessa had also implied that she didn't know much more about Ashur, either, which seemed entirely odd.  After all, how could the two of them been living together for months and not really know much of anything about each other . . .?



It was late.  She wasn't entirely sure how late, but she knew well enough that it was past eleven.  Ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her mind that called her a coward, she squared her shoulders and knocked softly on the door.  It took a few moments before Nora answered.  Jessa could hear her shuffling around inside the small room that served as Nora's sitting room-slash-kitchenette.

"Does your Ashur snore?" Nora asked in lieu of a proper greeting as she stepped back to allow Jessa inside.

Jessa shot the housekeeper a puzzled sort of look, not entirely sure just why Nora had asked her such an odd question.  "No . . ."

"Then tell me, lass, just why you're down here with an old woman like me instead of tucked up in your bed with your mate?"

Jessa sighed and bit her lip . . .  "If you don't want me to come in, I'll . . . I'll go . . ."

Nora sighed and made a quick face before waving for Jessa to take a seat.  "So, if he doesn't snore, does he have deplorable gas?"

"Of course not!" she said, rubbing her forehead as she plopped onto the other chair facing the small television that was turned down so low it could barely be heard.  "I . . . I told you . . ."

"That he's not really your mate?  Do you honestly think that?"

"It was an accident," she muttered, scowling at her hands, tucked demurely into her lap, almost hidden in the folds of the oversized tan sweater that hung to her knees over black leggings.

"Are you sure about that?" Nora replied.  "He doesn't act like a man who thinks it was all an accident . . ."

That earned her a rather petulant little pout.  "It . . . It had to be.  He really wouldn't have taken me as his mate otherwise . . ."

Settling back in her chair, Nora shot her a no-nonsense look.  "And have you talked to him about this?  Asked him about it?"

Jessa grimaced and slowly shook her head, lowering her chin onto her raised knees as she hugged them close, just like she had when she was a little girl.  "I don't need to," she replied.

"All right, then how do you know?" Nora countered, her tone very matter-of-fact.  It was one of the things that Jessa appreciated about the older woman.  She wasn't given to silly displays of emotion where none was needed.  Pragmatic was a good way to describe her.

Shaking her head, she simply couldn't bring herself to tell Nora about Hana.  Something about it almost felt like a betrayal of Ashur's trust, even though she wasn't entirely sure why.  Too intensely personal, maybe, or maybe . . .

"Jessa!  Stop your fussing!  A lady does not go looking for sympathy because none will ever be given.  You're better than those common people, and they know it.  No one ever feels sorry for anyone of the peerage, and why should they?   Just hold your chin up and smile . . . There's a good girl . . ."

Nora sighed.  "Lamb, he's never going to know anything if you won't talk to him.  Are you telling me you haven't tried to speak to him—to really speak to him—this whole time?"

"I speak to him," she countered.  "He has enough things to worry about.  He doesn't need to worry about me, too."

"That's where you're wrong, Jessa.  That's what a mate—a true mate—does . . ."

"And Lord Fergus?  He wasn't your true mate?"

Nora slowly shook her head, stood up to make a cup of tea.  "Fergus Kinnaird is an eejit," she muttered, measuring loose tea into two cups.  "There's not a woman alive that would have that sorry excuse for a—"

"But you married him . . . mated him," Jessa pointed out, glad to turn the conversation away from Ashur for the time being.

"Ma thought it would be a good match," she grumbled.  "It wasn't.  Let's just leave it at that."

Jessa rolled her eyes but smiled since she'd heard all of this before at one time or another.  "It still makes no sense," she remarked.  "I mean, you're a countess yourself.  You should be living at Dunbronne, not working as a housekeeper . . ."

Nora snorted.  "I'd rather be a housekeeper here than Countess of Dunbronne there, buried out in the Highlands, especially when it would mean I'd have to be married to that jackass that fancies himself, the Earl of Dunbronne," she insisted.

Jessa shook her head.  "Ma said that it's a lady's place to keep her own council with a smile," she said.

She didn't see the frown that surfaced on Nora's face as the woman peered over her shoulder at her—and she didn't see the sadness that surfaced in the depths of her gaze, either . . .