Chapter 5

The Story With No End

Cheekbones that shine like diamonds

oh darkness, I am nerveless

eyes closed for lack of purpose

lack of light or fear that I'll lose it

I'm still afraid of the dark

you were my light for so long

oceans deep and mountains tall

our future plays tricks on us, huh?

stories that wreak of fiction

adorned, written in cursive

-Kississippi, Cut Yr Teeth

Kagome ran around her apartment looking for something, anything to wear, cursing her absolute lack of adult skills. If she had known she would go on some weird educational sword date with a super rich and good looking man who had no business paying her any never mind she would have done some laundry. Ajax watched his owner as she ran from the kitchen to the bedroom and back again. Her hair was still soaked from the land speed record shower and she might very well be out of deodorant.

"Ajax! What am I going to do!?"

She found the skirt. Draped over door handle on the backside of the kitchen door, leaving a watery puddle beneath it. Right. In her haste to get ready, she completely forgot that a car in the parking lot splashed her from head to toe. Now the work clothes that Taisho deemed suitable were a sopping mess in her kitchen.

Colorful new versions of curse words propelled her to her closet, tripping over the shoes strewn about the floor. Flicking through the clothing her hands found a black dress she hoped would still be appropriate. Slipping it on she wailed in fury as the water from her hair soaked the back and shoulders of the dress.

"Mother f-"

The sound of a hairdryer blasted from the bathroom and the corgi, lounging by the couch, sighed and laid his head down. He looked forlornly at his tennis ball and then closed his eyes, falling asleep.

Kagome emerged from the bathroom, hair semi-dry and mascara in hand as a knock sounded at her door. Running to the apartment door she flung it open and stared at the man in front of her.

He looked like a secret agent. Dark sunglasses adorned his face and his suit was nearly as nice as Taisho's.

"Ms. Higurashi?"

Recovering her voice she glanced down at her stage of dress, "Uh, you must be my ride."

He was. He also didn't seem to find it amusing when she asked him if he could see to drive at night with those dark lenses. So, instead of making small talk, Kagome, in a feat that would make any woman proud, was ready within 7 minutes, out the door, and into the limo, driving toward the mysterious man who couldn't seem to take 'no' for an answer.

Taisho followed the hostess to the table, glancing at the interior of the restaurant, making a quick assessment. He was pleased with this choice. He sat down at the table and waited 30 seconds before glancing at his watch. She would be with him shortly.

He hoped.

She was unpredictable, that was the problem. He knew this about her and he'd only just met her. It was incredibly entertaining to watch though. He wasn't sure how she made it from point a to point b without causing serious injury to herself or others. Her emotions also fluctuated by the second. He could read them like the pages of a book. Always an excellent judge of character, Taisho could see she was determined, intelligent, audacious, and most obviously, about one wrong step away from breaking a necessary bone. However, he could say, with reasonable certainty, that she was one of the few people within distant memory that he did not immediately want to separate head from body. There was something about the way her large green eyes flashed at him, the way that even when someone of authority told her what to do she seemed to rise up to meet them, defiant.

Yes, he liked that.

He also liked that she was not afraid of him. Yes, she found him a mystery. An attractive mystery, he could see that, too. But she was not so taken with him that she let him get away with his normal behavior. He knew that if he pushed her far enough, she would retaliate. After all, she already put him in his place when he asked her to dinner. That was enough to earn his begrudging respect. It was a good thing she measured up to everything he thought she would.

After all, their sudden meeting was no mistake.

Holding his glass out for the waiter to fill with wine, he thought how best to make his next move. It was imperative to have her follow his plan. But she needed to feel in control like she had a choice. He couldn't afford to scare her off. That would be detrimental.

However, he had to admit, sipping the vintage, allowing himself a small moment to enjoy the warmth as it slid down his throat, thus far, everything was happening exactly as he planned. He was in possession of the sword in less than a week. A day in fact. That he dropped an obscene amount of money certainly helped speed up the process. But, even he was surprised by the quick acquisition of the weapon.

Maybe, just maybe, it was supposed to be this easy.

Now, he thought, as his gaze was drawn toward the front of the restaurant, all he had to do was convince the woman. His grip on the glass tightened slightly as she appeared through the doors. Even from the distance at which he sat, he could tell that she was flustered and nervous. But she looked lovely.

It would have been a quick lapse in his thoughts, noticing her looks. As a man who prided himself on accounting for every detail, beauty and personal appeal did not escape him. But most people possessed the kind of charm and good looks that had little to no effect on him. She, however, was not most people.

She was dressed differently from when he saw her at the gallery. She wore a black dress that fell maybe a bit too high from the knee. Maybe. But who was he to complain? The neckline was long, revealing her slender throat and collarbone. Fragile, he thought, but not weak. Her hair was pulled back from her already flushed face. She also, he noted with amusement, still wore her heels from work and her step was suffering from the choice in footwear.

He watched as she approached the hostess, her purse in one hand, and her black jacket in another. She looked young then, much younger than her years. How does it feel, he wondered, to be so new and yet so brief?

The hostess led the woman toward him, her eyes darted around the restaurant; she was impressed by the location. Taisho felt a sense of confident satisfaction well within. Her gaze swept by him and then quickly returned. It was dim and candles flickered invitingly at tables around the room. The conversations were hushed, intimate. She did not smile; he sensed she was too nervous to do so. But even with a perfectly straight face, she drew the attention of at least half the men in the room.

Taisho stood as she came to the table. She looked up at him in surprise. Apparently, that was an unexpected gesture in her circles.

"Good evening," he said.

"Hello."

The hostess offered to take her purse and coat and Kagome surrendered the items. As she did, Taisho moved to pull out her chair for her.

"Oh, thank you." She sat, her face bright red again.

He moved back to his chair and sat fluidly, reaching for the bottle of wine.

"Would you like some?"

She nodded forcefully but then almost immediately blurted, "Actually! I could really use a whiskey."

That startled a laugh out of him. He gestured for a waiter and ordered the best one.

"That's way above my pay grade," she said. "I'm perfectly happy with the poor college student rocket fuel."

"Not tonight."

They spent a silent minute where Kagome fidgeted uneasily, continuing to look everywhere but at him until the waiter buzzed back over and set down her drink. It wasn't on the table more than half a second before she swallowed half of it. She hissed, pulling a comically pained face. He was actually a little concerned. Maybe he'd found himself a very amusing alcoholic?

Finally, after several awkward moments where Kagome tried to get air back into her lungs, she finally met his eyes.

"Are you alright? Your nerves seem to be a bit… shaky."

Kagome exhaled, held up one finger, took another gulp of whiskey, and finally her face split into a wavering smile. "I know, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize."

She brushed her hair off her shoulders absently, still uncomfortable. Her glass was 1/3 empty. He'd give her about three minutes and then she'd be feeling damn fine. She caught him eyeing her glass.

"I was... am… was… a bit flustered. On my way into my apartment, a car splashed me with puddle water. Large amounts of puddle water. So, needless to say, I was a bit rushed in getting ready."

"Well, you are here now, looking un-drenched and attractive."

Her fingers trembled and she took another drag of her whiskey, "Thank you," she squeaked. "I don't have a drinking problem. I wanted to get that out of the way."

Taisho watched her in amusement. She fidgeted more, turning the heavy glass in her hand, catching the candlelight, sending little rainbows across the table. He tried again, realizing she was far too nervous to start any conversation on her own.

"Usually denial implies a problem, but I believe you," he said quickly when she opened her mouth to protest. "I take it that your dog was alive and well?"

She heard the veiled, if slightly sarcastic, humor there. "He was fine. I just can't help it; he's all I have. I won't let him down."

Taisho glanced up to his left, as the waiter returned with a menu. He took it and opened it, his golden brown eyes flickering across the dishes listed with a practiced air of a man who knew good food and how to eat it.

"And I am sure he is most appreciative."

"Let's hope so. The amount of time and money I spend on that dog you'd think he was-"

She trailed off and Taisho looked up to see her staring at the menu, her face white.

"Is something wrong?"

She hugged the menu to her chest and looked up at him, incredulous.

"I've never seen a salad that cost so much money."

Taisho closed his own menu. "Do not order the salad. Do you eat meat?" She nodded. "I will order for us. Put that down. We have more interesting things to discuss than the prices of the food."

Slowly, she placed the menu on the table and regarded him seriously.

"You mentioned earlier that you were 21?" Her eyebrow quirked slightly and he continued on before the dangerous glint in her eye appeared. "I ask because that is quite an impressive age to have a bachelor's degree and a job at a prestigious gallery."

"Oh," she rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively, "That's nothing impressive, really, most people graduate by 22. Some of the classes I took when I was in Japan were more advanced than the high school classes here. When I returned for my senior year, I tested into higher classes and took courses at the local college for half my day. I also took summer school and night classes once I was actually in college. I was restless. I was already planning my master's classes my freshman year."

"You're still in school?"

She shook her head, earrings glittering in the dim light. "I was going to, but, things happened," her voice trailed off and the emotions on her face closed off. Taisho made note of it but decided not to ask her about "things" at the present moment. Hopefully, there would be time later. Correction. There would be time later. "Eventually, I plan on working toward it while I'm still in my position at the gallery."

Taisho leaned forward slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. His smile was ironic. "Surely you don't want to maintain your position. You don't seem to enjoy it."

Kagome laughed and nodded, the tension in her frame easing. Her eyes unfocused a fraction and the warmth that settled on her cheeks had less to do with him and everything to do with the empty glass in front of her. Good evening, whiskey. Taisho mentally raised a glass to all hard alcohol. "Well, keeping my current position is better than having none whatsoever."

"Why do you stay somewhere that makes you unhappy?"

She worried her lip, thinking. "I've worked there for three years. From the outside, it looks like I have a good job. I want to put in my time now so that someday, I hope, it will pay off. It might not be what I want to do forever, but it is a well-known gallery. My work might not be, but the name is. Maybe, one of those old fogies will die and everyone will get promoted." Taisho coughed, covering his surprised inhalation of wine, and she glanced at him quickly, to see if he disapproved. Apparently, the mirth she saw was enough to allow her to relax further. She gave him her first real smile of the evening and continued, "I would quit except I have this silly hope that one day Dr. Wesley will suddenly see how much I can contribute, that I do have a semblance of intelligence and that I can make a difference around the gallery."

"You may be suffering under false hope."

She sighed and placed her cheek in her hand. She looked forlorn. That wouldn't do. He surreptitiously gestured for another whiskey. "It's naive, I know. But I don't really have anything else to do. The pay is decent and I can't give up my apartment and move because I lucked into a deal I can more than afford. I'm pretty sure I'm robbing my landlady. Plus, you have no idea how hard it is to find a place in a good neighborhood and it allows you to keep pets. It's ridiculous."

"Those sound like excuses to avoid what you really want to do. What about your family? Surely they would help you."

Taisho saw the pulse beating in her neck; her heart was racing. He wondered if she was fighting back tears as she fluttered her eyes, her face blank.

"I don't have anyone to help me," she finally said, voice soft.

He felt a twinge of regret. He didn't mean to bring up painful memories.

"I didn't mean to pry."

She studied the tablecloth, her finger tracing across the intricate patterns. "There's nothing to pry about. There just isn't anyone to help me and that's that."

"No one but your dog, that is," he attempted to bring levity back.

She plucked at a loose thread on the tablecloth, "It's just us."

In the privacy of his head, Taisho cursed colorfully. Yes, had he forgotten? In order for this plan to work, he had to make her cry at least once. That was obviously the smoothest way to get what he wanted. Dammit. Scrambling, he said the first thing that came to his mind, "You are too good to work for those fools. Especially Weaselby. Wethers? Dr. Whatever."

She laughed out loud. He was also pleased to see she had been mindlessly sipping on her second drink. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear someone else call him that."

"A weasel or a fool?" She laughed again and he silently congratulated himself on the top-notch ice breaking job he and whiskey had double teamed. "He's far too self-absorbed to impress me with his intelligence. And, he is intelligent."

The girl nodded, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table, her eyes sparkling again. "He is. He's terribly smart, but he is such an ass. But, Mr. Taisho, I've never seen anyone talk to him the way you did today. It was brilliant."

Taisho smiled at her over his wine glass. "I am sure he had it coming."

They spoke more about the gallery, Taisho artfully directing the conversation, making sure they avoided subjects that might make her upset, subjects that might push her away. When the waiter returned some minutes later, she was well on her way toward jovial. Taisho ordered the filet minion for both of them and watched as her eyes widened slightly. He knew she was resisting the urge to grab the menu, check the price, and then insist on drinking water.

But before she could protest, he waved the waiter away. There were much more important things to talk about.

"I wondered if you wanted a chance to have a closer look at the sword."

Her drink did an impressive backward dance up and into her nasal cavity. Wincing, she coughed until she could inhale oxygen again. "A closer look?"

"You admire the sword, the way it was made, and all of those other charmingly poetic words you spoke that I don't entirely recall." That was a lie. He remembered very well what she said.

"I do admire it."

"Then you should have a closer look at it."

He waited, trying to dissect the emotions that danced across her features. She was hesitant. "Alright."

"When would you like to see it?"

She faltered, brows furrowing, little lines of tension appearing. "When?" She thought for a moment. "I have a suspicion you're busier than I am."

"I will make time."

He leaned back and laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, studying her intensely.

"It doesn't matter to me, Mr. Taisho." She was trying to be excessively polite and deferential. Perfect. Her answer gave him the opportunity to decide, as he had wanted.

"Tonight then."

She shifted in her chair, avoiding his eyes. "I suppose if that's what you'd like."

"Is that not what you would like?" He smiled behind his folded hands, enjoying her discomfort. He found her hesitancy to rise to his teasing interesting, especially given her anger earlier that day.

"Like I said, my life is pretty predictable and my calendar is wide open. So, if it suits you," she mumbled. She didn't sound quite so sure now. He had her on the run. Time to clinch.

"It does. Tonight. After we eat. Would you like to know more about it?"

Her head popped up, awkwardness forgotten. "I'd love to know more."

It pleased him to know she was truly interested in its history. Taking a final sip of his wine he began his story.

"It was forged around 500 years ago in eastern Japan, commissioned by the warlord of the west. There was not a single warlord of the west, but he was the greatest, so legend says. He owned extensive parts of those lands and diligently watched over them. He did not answer to any man, emperor, shogun, warrior. He was the epitome of power, at least where he ruled. But even when he stepped foot on other feudal lord's property, they would not cross him. His enemies were great and many but he was strong. He gained the surrounding lands by conquering. He was ruthless, but not without mercy. He was the son of another feared and powerful warrior but was said to be even more formidable than his father whose name was enough to scatter enemies."

"The sword was forged on the eve of war. Although you will not find any accounts of it in the better-known history books. It was for the Lord of the West, in preparation for the battles to come." He halted his story for a moment as their dinners were placed in front of them. Kagome was rapt with attention.

Feeling quite self-satisfied, he continued, "Legend says that the forging lasted for over a year and a half-"

"A year and a half! I don't know much about swords, but isn't that a bit lengthy?"

He shook his head, lifting his glass for the waiter to fill. "Not if you believe the legend." The woman stopped as she was lifting her fork to her mouth, enthralled again. "It was said that while a sword of that caliber would take some time to forge, it was an original design, or the last of its kind, perhaps both. The stories say that the forging was lengthy because the blade was imbued with powerful spells.

"The forger, although a master, was not well known in the world. He made few swords and rarely made weapons that were not of his own design. The swords he did make were not meant to harm. As a young man, the forger was a great warrior. When dealing destruction and death became as easy as breathing, he knew he was in danger of losing what was left of his soul. He faked his own death, that is a story in itself, and he disappeared from the world. He took the skills he learned as a warrior and applied them to the creation of his masterpieces. Of the swords he created, most were given to men who no longer fought in battle: shoguns, kings, rich men, retired warriors. He swore that his hands would never be used to kill again. But, he was both blessed with immense power and he owed a long-forgotten debt to the warlord.

"To repay that debt he had to create a blade for the warlord. Not just any blade, though. He laced the weapon with his own power and magic, the magic of a warrior. The warlord of the west also sent a powerful mage to assist in the making. He wanted the ultimate perfection of weaponry.

"And why did the forging last so long? Why did the warlord need the help of a forger and a mage? Because the weapon was created to be neutral. The sword would choose its own master because the warlord was not a fool. He did not wish to have such a powerful weapon fall into the wrong hands, even if those hands were his own. He, too, contributed his own sorcery and power to the sword. So in the end, when the last hammer fell after all the spells were cast, the sword was not his. The blade had to declare him the master. If it did not, he would never be able to wield it.

"There was something that the three men had not accounted for. While they were giving their powers over to this epic weapon, they never once thought that the sword would take on a life of its own. When they finished their task, the warlord approached the blade he designed, the weapon he poured his very soul into, and it rejected him. He expected that it would choose him because he was the worthiest."

"But," Kagome broke in, "it was designed to choose its master. Why did he expect it was him?"

"Arrogance," he said, smiling grimly. "Hubris. In fact, further surprising him, it rejected all who touched it. Meanwhile, the warriors' enemies were gathering. He needed the weapon, but still, it resisted him. Finally, the warlord received a vision. He was to find the one person who could touch the blade, who could communicate with it. The sword, although it had not out and out chosen him to be the master, wanted the warlord to aide its quest. But he was proud and cold, and he still had many lessons to learn. The warlord left the forging site, where the sword still rested and sought out the one the sword called for. It took him many months to find her-"

"Her?" Kagome's voice, barely above a whisper, was full of wonder and fascination.

"Yes," he murmured, his attention suddenly somewhere else, remembering something full of weight and longing, something from long ago. His words were now as quiet as the woman sitting opposite him. "Her."

Kagome waited, her dinner growing cold, watching Taisho as he came back to the present. His face hardened, the momentary darkness dispelling quickly.

"It was a woman. A girl, really. Younger even than you. He found her in a poor village, many hundreds of miles from his own lands. She was like any other child from a small, farming community. She helped her family survive, followed the rules of the hamlet, and would one day be married off to a young man to start the cycle all over again. When he found her, the village was holding out despite its limited resources. They felt the pain of war too. Raids, the death of fathers and brothers, lost crops.

"To the warlord's eyes, she was a truly unremarkable girl from a truly unremarkable place. He had expected a great and powerful miko. She was nothing, but she was the one the sword desired. The warlord, impatient to bring the girl back to the weapon, offered her parents and the village elders large sums of money. Money as a bribe so she would be willingly given to him. Eventually, they agreed. To the village folk, even if she would not be in the best hands, the ends justified the means. Her family and her village gave her up to save themselves. She wept but she went with him to save the people she loved."

Taisho stopped his story as the waiter cleared their plates. Kagome sat riveted on the edge of her chair.

"Does that upset you?" he asked, wondering at the moisture that collected on her dark lashes.

"I can't imagine being given up by the people who are supposed to love and protect you. It just makes me think how lucky I was to have my family as lo-" she stopped, and placed her hands in her lap, "Never mind. Please, continue."

He wanted to know what she was going to say. But that was not the plan so he proceeded with his tale.

"Her family and village abandoned her to the warlord for the money he offered. The girl felt betrayed. She was alone in the hands of the warlord. Though he never mistreated her, he did little to help her see he meant her no harm. He would never be a replacement for the village people she loved. Not that he tried. They traveled back to the site of the forging, slower than the warlord wanted. After their travels, he saw the girl as a hindrance and a nuisance. She wanted to hate him because he took her away from all that she knew. He did not tell her that he would return her to the village after he was finished with her. It never crossed his mind.

"When they reached the forger and the mage, the warlord found that word of the sword had spread and powerful enemies were amassing not to fight over land but now they were united to claim the weapon. Time was running out for the men and the girl. If they could not find a way to have the sword claim its master, both the sword and the girl were in jeopardy. The girl was brought before the sword and the warlord told her to pick it up. She was afraid. She was brave. She touched the blade with little difficulty. When she tried to hand it to any of the other three men they were burned with its power.

"She told the mage, the forger, and the warlord that when she touched the sword it spoke to her. When she told them of what it said, or rather, what it showed her in her mind, it was clear that the warlord was meant to wield the sword, but no matter how many ways they tried, the four companions, only the girl was able to touch the weapon.

"The visions in her mind became more insistent as if the sword was becoming impatient. The four companions began to travel as their enemies and the war encroached. It was now imperative that they protect the girl, who had somehow become, in her way, the protector of the sword. They ran. They could not afford to stop and fight. It was vital that they find a way to have the sword accept the warlord as its master before it chose someone else, someone whose motives were not in line with their own.

"By this time, the girl had been away from her village for a year. As they fled, the group came within close distance of her village. She begged to see her family and the warlord agreed. They adjusted their course and unknowingly put themselves in the path of disaster."

Taisho handed his credit card to the waiter, not breaking his gaze from Kagome, who was wringing her hands in anticipation.

"What was his name? The warlord? What was his name?" she asked, voice hushed.

Taisho folded his hands again and leaned on the table just as she did. He broke his gaze with her and looked at the tabletop, where his glass of wine left a faint red ring. His long finger reached out to trace the rouge colored halo, his mouth suddenly dry. Anticipate. Breathe in. Wait for your moment to strike. You are nothing but your intent. When he looked back up at her, his face was fixed in its mask.

"He has many names. None are accurate. The best name for him is simply 'warlord'." His tone was sharp. It left no room for further questions. Kagome's apprehension melted into confusion.

"Don't trouble yourself with his name. Given his end, he wouldn't want it to be known," he said this softly, an apology. She said nothing in return and he took this as his cue to continue his story.

"As they approached the village, the warlord sensed danger, he knew something horrible had happened. He tried to convince the girl that they should divert, but she also knew something was wrong. She broke from the group and ran to her village, finding the path easily. Little had changed in her time away from home. Her three protectors followed her, aware now that the danger was high, that they were running right into what they had struggled to avoid.

"When they caught up with the girl, she stood in the middle of what was left of her village. Everyone was slaughtered. Huts were burned to the ground. Women and children were slain as they ran. Even the animals were killed." Kagome looked away at this, her face pale.

"As the girl's companions ran to her, they saw the enemy's plan. But too late. It was a trap. The girl was caught in the fray, and the warlord, realizing his own mistake, also too late, watched as the girl he had taken, dragged across a country, that he loved, was pierced with the blade of his foe.

"His two companions held the enemy at bay while the warlord collected the girl into his arms, attempting to say everything that he was unable to speak before. She bled out in his arms. With the last ounce of her strength, she drew his sword that she always carried with her and told him to take it, to make things right, no matter how long it took. She told him that she did not love him, but perhaps, someday, if he made amends, if he learned, someone else would love him the way she wished she could.

"As he watched her die, he said one last thing before she closed her eyes forever.

"'Give me the sword.'

"He did not try to convince her that he truly loved her. He did not beg for forgiveness. He knew that he could not. The only way that she would ever forgive him was if he took the sword from her hands, the sword that he had sacrificed her for, and use it. His hands closed around hers right before she drew her final breath.

"His companions, fighting for their own lives, did not witness the exchange between the girl and the warlord, but they felt the sudden shift in power. They saw the blast of light that burned away everything within a hundred feet. They cowered as sorcery of a kind they had never seen, unleashed itself on their enemy.

"It was enough to drive their enemy back. However, the warlord had not mastered the sword yet. Ruled by his emotions, he used what he knew: raw power. It saved his companions lives, but it did not save the girl he loved. After her death, he spent many years tracking his enemy. An enemy that had grown stronger over time. He was a powerful man, too."

Taisho felt the spasm in his cheek, the bite of his nails into his palm. "No," his voice was laced with controlled fury, "He was not a man. He was a demon from hell. He was the bastard of malice and depravity. He sold his soul to gain power and he fed on chaos and death. When warriors saw him in battle they described him climbing up from hell to drag them to an eternity of pain.

"Legends, religions say that there are demons and gods and spirits and they are either divinely good or evil. Some say they are moral agnostics and they watch humanity trip along, separate, never able to interfere. I believe they choose. Good or evil. A little of both. Or they play both sides, just as humans do. Perhaps these words: demon, spirit, god, have too many connotations to accurately portray what these beings are - or were -

"The enemy that the warlord tracked was an evil demon. His desire was to destroy and rule because he believed compassion and mercy for humanity would be the end of his own people. He wanted to crush humans beneath his heel. Many agreed with him and he gathered power and followers quickly. Few wished to stand in his way when he unleashed his final blow.

"Eventually the warlord separated from the forger and the mage. He did not wish to involve anyone else in his hunt. It was his burden to bear."

The waiter returned and handed the man his credit card. Taisho stood from his chair, slipping his credit card into his wallet and then his wallet into his jacket pocket. He buttoned his suit before walking over to Kagome's chair. He pulled it out for her and she stood, an expectant look on her face.

"Did he ever-"

"Yes," He offered her an arm and she took it, without hesitation, "But, delay a moment. I will continue the story on our way."

The man walked her through the restaurant, staring down anyone who happened to look at them. At the door, they were given their coats and Kagome's purse. Taisho helped her into her coat before donning his own. He placed his hand on her upper arm, guiding her through the door that the hostess held open.

Outside, the rain was finally stopping. It was dark now, and the lights from the cars and buildings reflected oddly on the stagnant water in the streets. Taisho could feel Kagome's melancholy; it was so weighty that his own heart felt heavier than just a moment before.

"Does the story have a happy ending?" she asked and he barely caught her voice again the wind.

He wished he could answer yes, but he did not want to lie, not about this.

"I do not know."

The car pulled up to the curb and the driver stepped out and opened the door for them. Taisho helped Kagome in and she slid over on the seat, allowing him room to sit. When the door shut and the car began to move, she turned to him. He pressed a button on the side of the door and the electric windows rolled down, letting in the smell of the rain, the cool night air both refreshing and strangely heart wrenching.

With the wind blowing on his hair and the scent of fresh rain filling his nose, the scent of sadness lifted, he turned his eyes back to the woman next to him. In the dim light of the limo, a normal man would only catch glimpses of her when they passed under street lamps. But Taisho, anything but normal, could see her clearly in the gloom.

"Would you like to hear the rest?"

He watched her face, hidden in shadow, but he already knew the answer to his question.

"Yes."

Taking a deep cleansing breath he began the final part of the sword's history, knowing all the while it was a lie.

The story had no end.