InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Murphy's Law ( Chapter 67 )

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

Ashur picked up his cell phone when it buzzed, breaking into a smile as the image of Kells and Jessa loaded on the screen.  She'd taken him out riding a few hours ago, but it looked like they'd stopped along the way to play.  Kells was pretty well covered with dirt from the top of his head to his waist—the grass was too long to see any lower—and Jessa, kneeling beside him with her phone held out to capture the image, was a little smudgy herself.  Her hair was caught up in a high ponytail, the curls falling over her shoulders like a gorgeous sunset cloud.  Eyes bright and shining on the both of them, they looked like they might well be having the time of their lives, and Ashur sighed.  Stuck in the office, waiting for a couple men to stop by for a meet and greet that he hadn't been able to avoid, he'd much rather have been out there with Jessa and Kells on the bright and sunny early September, lazy Saturday afternoon, to be just as filthy and just as happy as those two were . . .

Staring at his phone for a moment, he rolled his eyes, feeling just a little ridiculous, and shook his head as he brought up the camera and held it out, making an exaggerated sad face that might make Kells laugh, anyway.  Then he added a single word: jealous, and fired off the picture and text.

His phone buzzed again, and he laughed at the text she'd written back: 'Call in sick.  I know the boss.'

'I wish.  Have some fun for me, will you?'

Her answer was a smiley face.

Sighing again as he dropped the phone onto the desk, he stood up when the doorbell echoed through the house.  "I've got it," he called.  He wasn't sure where Nora was, but it wasn't a big deal.

Until he opened the door, anyway, only to find five men and their wives . . . and daughters?

"Uh . . ."

"Sorry, Philips," Jerry Baker said, leaning forward to extend his hand.  "Mentioned to a couple friends that we were coming out here to meet you, and they just had to tag along!  The more, the merrier, right?"

Ashur blinked and forced a tepid smile, stepping back to admit the guests.  "It's fine," he said.  "Welcome."

"Ash, this is my wife, Karen, and our daughters—I think you met them at the gala?  This is Michelle, my oldest, and my baby, Amy—but you already know her, right?"

Smiling politely and nodding his head as the ladies stepped inside, Ashur had to tamp down his irritation at the memory of what Myrna had told him about these two girls.

"Looks like you're due for a houseful," Thurston Margreave greeted.  "And you remember my wife, Clementine?"

"I certainly do," Ashur allowed, smiling at the woman.

"Ryan Harper.  Pleased to meet you, and this is my lovely mate, Cindy."

Ashur nodded, shaking Ryan's hand.  "Likewise."

"Jacques Bonheur . . ."

"Nice to meet you," Ashur replied, shaking his hand, too.

Jacques chuckled.  "This gorgeous woman is my wife, Rachael, and our daughter, Sabine."

"Make yourselves at home," Ashur said.

Rachael smiled at him.  Sabine quite literally batted her eyes.

"Saved the best for last, eh?  I'm Theo Riley, and this is my beautiful mate, Miranda—and our unnamed, unknown-gendered bump," he said, rubbing his wife's distended belly lovingly.

Ashur chuckled and followed them all into the living room after closing the door, absently wondering if any of them would notice if he just ducked out of the house and disappeared with Jessa and Kells . . . For some reason, he had a feeling that this whole thing was a time bomb, just waiting to explode . . .


Jessa dismounted Stardust in the shade of the stable as Kells hopped off Humpty Dumpty, only to dance around the wooden floor.  "Whose cars are all those?" she asked when Laith stepped up to take Stardust's reins.

"Looked like a giant group of high society types," he replied with a rather bored look.  "Ash didn't look too pleased about it, though."

"Hmm . . . I thought he said he was having a couple gentlemen over to meet with him.  He didn't say anything about that many, though."

Laith chuckled, unbuckling Stardust's saddle and yanking it off the horse.  "Yeah, well, they all brought their womenfolk, too.  Better hurry, Jessa, before one of them makes the moves on your man."

"Shut up, Laith," she muttered, cheeks pinking as she grimaced down at herself.  Covered in dirt and grass stains all over from playing Cowboys and Indians with Kells, she looked an absolute fright, and, glancing at Kells, only to discover that he was even more grimy than she was, she sighed.  "Come on, Kells," she said, reaching for the boy's hand.  "Let's see if we can't sneak in through the back and get cleaned up before anyone sees us . . ."

"'Cause we're filthy!" Kells hollered happily.

She laughed, despite herself.  "Yes, Kells, we are . . ."

Circling around the back of the house, Jessa scooped Kells up, ready to leap to the balcony outside Ashur's—her—bedroom.  Sneak inside, get cleaned up quickly.  That was the plan, and it was a rather brilliant one, as far as she could tell.

"Oh, Jessa!  Hello!  How are you?"

Stopping abruptly and whipping around at the voice that called out to her, Jessa managed not to grimace as she pasted on a bright smile while Kells giggled at the sudden motion.  "Again, Jessa!  Again!"

Setting the boy on his feet, she tried in vain to smooth her tee-shirt—a tee-shirt that used to be white but was know a kind of dingy grayish-brown, and her shorts that were just cut off jeans, entirely frayed around the rather short bottom edges, were also beyond dirty, too, and didn't that just figure? she thought as more ladies filed out of the house behind Clementine Margreave . . .

"Uh, h-hello," she greeted, hoping—praying—that she didn't have as much dirt and grime on her face as she was afraid that she did.  Given that she'd spent the better part of four hours, crawling around through the grass, ferreting her way under fallen trees, shimmying her way up into standing trees, and all for Kells' very obvious delight . . . She stifled a sigh.

"Oh, it's the . . . nanny," Michelle Baker remarked in a very loud and very snarky aside to her equally obnoxious sister and another girl not much older than Jessa that she didn't recognize.

Amy Baker smiled insincerely, straightening her pristine yellow dress, as though to point out the very obvious disparities.  "Right, right . . . Gypsy or something, wasn't it?"

Jessa's smile was tight, almost painful.  "It's Jessa, actually," she replied.

"Oh, the girl from the party! The one who . . ." Trailing off as she cleared her throat, Karen Baker's smile dimmed a few degrees, going from cautiously polite to downright icy in a matter of moments as Jessa struggled to fight down the flush that was threatening to rush to her skin . . .

Clementine turned and pinned each of the ladies with a quelling look.  They didn't seem to get the hint.

"She looks absolutely ghetto now, does she?  It just goes to show that clothes and a little makeup really can do wonders for anyone . . ."

"Oh, Clemmie!  We're just having a bit of fun . . . Isn't that right . . . Jessa, isn't it?" the last of the women who hadn't yet spoken, said.

"We . . . We didn't realize that there was going to be company," Jessa replied tightly.  "Please, do excuse the dirt . . . Kells and I were out, riding and we stopped to play a bit . . ."

"Riding?  Oh, Stardust!  Dear, you must tell me how you like him!" Clementine said, hurrying over to Jessa with a very bright, very friendly smile.  "Did you get a pony, too, little man?"

Kells nodded slowly.  "I named him Humpty Dumpty."

Clementine laughed.  "That's a very sweet name!  I'd love to see your pony later, if you'd be so kind as to show him to me?"

Kells thought it over and nodded, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of showing off his little pony.

Despite Clementine's very obvious attempt to cover up the snide commentary that was still being bandied about, Jessa managed to hold onto her very tight smile and ignore the other remarks.

"Lady O'Shea, would you take tea here on the veranda with your . . . guests?"

Jessa glanced up, thankful to see the housekeeper, standing at the table with a tray of iced tea in tall, sparkling glasses.  "Yes, please, Nora."

The housekeeper said nothing else as she unloaded the tray and turned to head back for the kitchen, but not before Jessa caught the absolute rage in the woman's eyes.  Oh, maybe to someone else it might have been nothing.  Jessa was too familiar with Nora, however, not to see it for what it was, and she stifled a sigh.

"Surely, you won't want to touch . . . anything . . . until you clean yourself up?" one of the women who still hadn't bothered to introduce herself said in an overly polite tone.

"I'm so sorry, Jessa . . . I didn't realize that you were headed off to do that when I saw you," Clementine remarked with a frown.

"It's fine," Jessa assured her.

Clementine gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping away to take a glass of tea.

"Why are we being entertained by the hired help?" the other younger woman asked the Baker girls.

"Well, I suppose that perhaps she might think she's more than what she is, given what happened at the gala," Amy murmured, flicking Jessa a very condescending glance.

"It's a little insulting, don't you think?"

"What?  That we're being left out here with Cinderella?"

"Jessa?  Why they being mean?" Kells whispered to her as he tugged on her hand and stepped a little closer to her.

She smiled at the boy, hoping he couldn't see right through it.  "Why don't you run inside and wash up and change your clothes?" she suggested instead.

He quickly shook his head, stepping even closer to her, his little arms wrapping around her leg.

"Is that the general's son?" One of the other women that Jessa didn't know murmured to another beside her.  "He's a mess!"

"It's like The Sound of Music, isn't it?" the other woman murmured back.

Gritting her teeth and tamping down the desire to point out that she could, in fact, hear them quite plainly, Jessa picked up Kells instead and tried to make her smile just a little brighter, a little more welcoming.  After all, they were Ashur's guests, and it was up to her, apparently, to entertain them—or be the unwitting entertainment, as it were . . .

"If you ladies would like to visit amongst yourselves, Kells and I will be back shortly," she offered, gesturing at the large patio table before hurrying toward the doors.

"If she can even get a comb through that rats' nest she calls hair . . ."

"Is that the one they say he . . . dragged off during the gala?" one of the women whispered.

"I can't believe any nanny of such an important man would allow his child to go running about like that!  He looked like a beast, not the son of Canada's general!"

"What do you expect from someone who's a living, breathing Raggedy Ann?" Amy added with a high-pitched giggle.  "Did you see that wild hair of hers?  I'd just die . . ."

"She's a very sweet girl," Clementine Margreave cut in icily.  "Haven't you heard the old adage?  If you don't have anything nice to say—best you shut the hell up."


"Daddy!"

"Ah, Kells, you're . . . even filthier than you were in the picture.  Did you have fun with Jessa?"

He nodded, glancing around at the gathering of men before holding up his little arms, intention clear, and Ashur chuckled as he scooped the boy up, ignoring the dirt and grime that he wore like a second skin.  "I wanna stay wif you, Daddy," he said, laying his head on Ashur's shoulder.

"Okay, but you seem a little upset.  Something the matter?"

Kells sighed, jamming his dirty hand into his mouth—a sure sign that something was bothering him—and something he hadn't done in a very long time.  "Those women are mean," he said simply before burrowing his face against Ashur's neck.

He frowned.  "Would you gentlemen excuse me," he said before striding out of the room with Kells still in his arms.  "Kells?  What do you mean?"

Kells shrugged as Ashur headed up the stairs to clean him up a little.  "They were making Jessa sad," he said simply, his clear blue eyes taking on a somber light.  Then he threw his tiny hands up in the air and scrunched up his shoulders.  "I don't know why!"

Ashur set him down and placed a hand on his head, focusing his youki as the dirt fell away from Kells into a small pile around his feet, leaving him as clean as he was when he left the house with Jessa this morning.  "Wow, Daddy!  Can I do that, too?  Then I never gots to take a baff again!"

"You'll never have to, not gots to, Kells," Ashur chuckled and tousled Kells' now-clean hair.  "You can, I'm sure, when you're older, but you'll still have to take showers."

He made a face, then blinked, turning his head upward to peer at Ashur.  "Daddy, what's a Raggedy Ann?"

"Wh-What?" Ashur blurted, brows knitting together as a frown surfaced.  "Where'd you hear that?"

Biting his bottom lip, he shot Ashur the look reserved for whenever he perceived that he'd displeased his father, and Ashur drew a deep breath, managed a wan smile as he knelt before the child.  "Did . . . someone say that to Jessa?"

Kells shook his head, 'no', but his little scowl widened.  "No . . . She didn't say it to Jessa, but she said it about her . . ."

"Which one?" he asked, hoping that Kells might be able to tell him.

Kells made a face.  "The ugly one!" he hollered.

Just for a moment, Ashur smiled.  Then he leaned forward and kissed the boy's forehead.  "Hey, why don't you go out to the stables?  See what Laith and Carol are doing."

"Okay," Kells agreed.  He started to turn, to run off, but he stopped suddenly and frowned at Ashur again.  "You won't let them be mean to Jessa no more, right?"

Pushing himself to his feet, Ashur smiled.  "No, Kells, I won't."

Kells stared at him for a long moment, but he finally nodded his little head.  "It makes me mad, Daddy," he said in a rather quiet voice.

Ashur nodded.  "It makes Daddy mad, too . . ."

He watched the boy go as he stepped over to the window, watching as Kells ran out of the house and toward the stables.  He waited until he saw Kells dart inside before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

He wasn't sure what he expected when he walked into his bedroom.  He supposed that, on some level, he expected to be stung by the anger in her youki since it tended to be her emotional go-to.  He stopped short when the unmistakable scent of tears drifted to him from the bathroom, and he frowned.

From where he stood, just inside the room, he could see her reflection in the sheet mirror over the sink, but if she knew he was there, she gave no indication, and he gritted his teeth as her upset colored the air.  Staring at the mirror and clad in nothing more than a towel, she yanked at her damp hair with her pitiful brush.  The tangled locks were looped and wrapped around it in a horrible mess, and he grimaced at the tears on her cheeks, in her eyes, as she growled in frustration and yanked even harder.  After another minute as she tried in vain to untangle the mess, she uttered a half-sob, half-growl, letting go of the brush, gathering her hair at the nape of her neck in one hand, her intention very clear.

Ashur didn't wait to see more.  Dashing forward, he grabbed her hand before she could use her claws to hack off her hair.  She gasped when he pulled her around, when he folded her into his arms.  "Jessa, don't," he said softly.  "Haven't I told you?  I love your hair . . ."

"It's stupid!" she railed, leaning against him, her tone growing more and more agitated by the second as a few more tears squeezed out of her.  "It's just hair, Ashur!  It'll grow back by morning, and it's stupid! Stupid!  It's just like they said!  I can't even get a damn brush through it!"

"Like who said?" he asked her, knowing the answer, and hating the fact that he'd let those vipers into their home—that he'd allowed them to hurt her at all.

Drawing a deep breath, she choked back her tears, as she managed to completely staunch them with a ruthlessness that he rarely saw in anyone, ever, but in her . . . In her and for such a reason, it was horrifying . . .

She turned away from him, splashed a few handfuls of water over her face, and by the time she'd blotted herself dry, the tears were gone completely.  "It'll grow back by morning," she stated once more, only this time, there was a strange sense of detachment in her voice, an unnatural calm that was too measured, too serene.

"Wait here," he said as he started to turn away.  "I'll be right back.  Don't cut it off, all right?"

She stared at him in the mirror, and she nodded, but he could see in her eyes that she honestly didn't think there was much he could do about it.

He ran down the hallway to Jessa's old room, rifled through the cabinets and drawers under her sink in the bathroom until he found it: the jar of hair cream that Manami had left for her.  There wasn't much in it, but he hoped it'd do the trick because the last thing—the very last thing—he wanted to do was to let her cut off her hair, even if he wasn't entirely sure why the idea was so utterly abhorrent to him.  It had more to do with a feeling than it did her actual hair.  After all, he did know better than anyone that it would be back to normal by morning.  For some reason, though, the thought of her, walking back into that den of she-devils after having to do such a thing?  He couldn’t stand that, not at all . . .

By the time he stepped back into their room, she was dressed in a very pretty white cotton babydoll dress that just reached mid-thigh and was seated on the edge of the foot of the bed.  The brush was still tangled in her hair, and he spared a moment to kiss her forehead before swirling his finger to indicate that she should turn around.

She did, tucking her legs up under her as he scooped the cream out of the jar and set it aside.  "There's not much in here," he said rather apologetically.  "I'll call Nami tomorrow and ask her to send another jar or two."

She sighed and shook her head.  "It won't matter," she told him, her voice a little dull, a little bit of a monotone.  "I can't count how many times they just cut it off . . . It . . . It was easier that way . . ."

"Who?" he asked, gently working the cream into her hair, pleased when the brush started to loosen.

"My nannies . . . my ma . . ." she replied quietly.  "It was . . . It was my fault . . . I didn't take care to play correctly . . ."

"Correctly?  How does a child play correctly?" he countered, working the brush free, carefully, gently, tugging it through her hair.

She drew her knees up, rested her cheek on them, her eyes closing as she relaxed.  "I wanted to climb trees or run about . . . Little ladies don't play like that."

He frowned.  She didn't see it.  "Children are children.  They should play in such a way that they have fun," he said.

She sighed, and for a moment, he almost thought she might well go to sleep.  "I hate my hair," she admitted quietly.  "I just . . . I wanted it to be like everyone else's, but it's always been . . . this . . ."

Ashur set the brush aside, slipped onto the bed beside her, touched her cheek with gentle fingers.  "Do you want me to tell them to go home?" he asked.

She forced her eyes open, managed a thin smile that didn't begin to touch her eyes.  "I'm okay," she said, and maybe, she thought that if she said it with enough conviction, it'd be true . . . "I'm much better now.  Thank you."

He stared at her for another long moment before relenting with a nod.  Standing up, he reached for her hands, and she let him take them, let him tug her to her feet.  "You're gentler than any of my nannies ever were," she admitted as he pulled her out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

He chuckled.  "I'll brush your hair whenever you'd like, Amaterasu."

She didn't laugh, but he could feel the slight release of tension in her youki.

Stepping into the living room, he ignored the obvious curiosity of the men who turned to look at them.  "Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind, why don't we join the ladies outside."

Instead of following the men outside, however, he detoured through the kitchen.  "Nora, I hate to ask, but I was wondering if you'd mind bring out a couple bottles of champagne and some glasses, please?"

Nora blinked and glanced down at the tray of hors d'oeuvres she was prepping.  "Would you like that now?"

"If that's all right?"

Nora nodded as Jessa shot Ashur a questioning glance.  He smiled at her, but didn't explain, leading her outside.  On the one hand, he sorely wanted to tell the men to take their venomous women out of there and never to darken his doorstep again.  On the other?  He had a feeling that Jessa would be more upset over that, even though he wasn't sure why that might be.  Either way, however, he'd be damned if he'd allow that kind of behavior toward Jessa, especially in her home, under her roof . . .

He led her over to Thurston and Clementine when he noticed the reproachful glances that the woman was dealing the other ladies in attendance.   When they spotted Jessa, both offered her very genuine smiles.

"You're looking much more relaxed, Jessa, and that dress is absolutely adorable!" Clementine said with a very warm smile.

Jessa nodded.  "I feel much better, thank you."

Thurston's eyes widened as his grin broadened.  "Congratulations!  I had no idea," he said, shaking Ashur's hand and clapping him on the arm.

"Thank you," Ashur replied.

Gritting his teeth as he heard the vague whispers, he pretended to pay attention to whatever Thurston was saying.

"Well, well, looks like she managed to detangle the rat's nest . . ."

"Which is whiter?  Her skin or that dress?"

"Maybe she ought to go find Raggedy Andy . . . I'm sure they'd be very happy together . . ."

He turned and stared at the two little vipers who were murmuring to each other, obviously not intending to be overheard and taking it sorely for granted that youkai tended to have excellent hearing.  "Michelle and Amy, was it?  Are you talking about someone in particular, or are you just . . . talking?" he asked dryly, leveling a bored stare at them as he slipped an arm around Jessa's waist.

If they could have paled under the layers of makeup on their faces, they would have, he supposed.  It didn't really give him any real sense of satisfaction.  No, if anything it only served to irritate him just a little more.

The girls were saved from having to answer, however, when Nora stepped outside with two buckets of champagne on ice and a lot of crystal flutes.  She set them on the table and shot Ashur what might have been a look of approval as she filled the glasses, but he wasn't sure.  Taking Jessa's hand, he led her over to the table to give her a glass before taking one for himself.

"Excuse me," he said, tapping on the crystal flute with his claws as Jessa shot him a questioning glance.  He waited until silence had fallen before gesturing at the filled glasses while Nora slipped back into the house.  "I just wanted to take this opportunity to formally introduce you all to my mate, Jessa, so please, raise a glass with us."

"What are you doing?" she whispered as the assembly reached in to take glasses, as congratulations were murmured and glasses raised.

He chuckled, leaned down to kiss her cheek, and whispered, "I'm sorry.  I should have at least warned you before you got back.  It's my fault, and—"

She didn't respond to that as she pressed a finger against his lips to silence him, but the look on her face told him plainly that she understood, that she wasn't at all upset with him over the impromptu gathering.

"I promise you, Jessa, that, as your mate, I will never, ever let anyone disparage you . . . and should I ever hear of it happening, you can rest assured that those people will find that they are not welcome here.  Not now, not ever," he murmured, knowing full well that he could be heard, just as he'd overheard those venomous girls.

She smiled at him, and it was a real smile, a genuine smile . . . It was mesmerizing, intoxicating, and Ashur smiled, too, as he leaned down and kissed her . . .