What the Demon Asks by Freya Ishtar

The Demon-Priest

This will likely contain spooky happenings, magic, ghosts, demons, long-buried secrets, possibly haunted/creepy settings, of course smut, and a dash of humor/levity to balance it all out.

Updates may be sporadic, chapter lengths will vary.

This is an Alternate Universe, Modern World setting with the minor tweak that belief in the supernatural is common place.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit—in any form—from this work.

Chapter One

The Demon-Priest

Kagome sat up holding her head. Her eyes still closed, she didn't want to look at the clock on her bedside table. She didn't want to think on what had woken her. Yet, as she sat in the silent darkness, waiting for that familiar anxious crawling in the pit of her stomach to subside, she heard it again.

The ticking. Almost a heavy sound, yet not; metal beating against wood.

Tick.

She forced open her eyes, darting her gaze about in the dim illumination cast from the starlight and distant street lamps through the window. The noise made her chest go cold and the air in her lungs feel strangely weighty and thick. She waited for it to stop, again—as she had the past three nights—trying to understand what the source might be. There were no clocks of substantial size to make such a sound throughout the house, and her constant picking-through of the things Gran'pa'd left her had turned up no other items that would, either.

. . . .Tick . . . . Tick . . . . Tick . . . .

It stopped and she found herself, almost against her will, turning her head to look at her clock. 3:02 am. Again. The time wasn't significant to Kagome in any way. She forced herself to breathe, normal and steady.

Though it seemed ridiculous to her, she already tried to equate the time of the strange occurrence to Gran'pa's passing—as the noise had started exactly one month after his death—but he'd died at approximately two in the afternoon.

Was it actually a ticking? Perhaps it was more of a . . . tapping. Even then, she was at a loss to identify what was causing it, or where it was coming from.

The first night, she'd gotten out of bed to investigate and couldn't pin down the direction, as though the sound emanated from everywhere and nowhere.

Closing her eyes, she balled her hands into fists and pressed them lightly to her temples. Another thing she didn't want to consider—not because of belief or lack thereof, but because it stung her heart to think it—was that perhaps it was Gran'pa. Rather than selling his house, she'd decided to live in it herself, and though she was raised here, had so many happy memories here, maybe that wasn't what he'd wanted?

Her throat tight suddenly, she forced a gulp and dropped her hands into her lap.

Sleep; she needed sleep, yes. Kagome reluctantly shifted back to rest her head on her pillow and squeezed her eyelids shut tighter, still. Sleep, and to forget about this foolishness.

Until it happened again.

* * * * *

"Three in the morning?"

Looking up miserably from her coffee, Kagome nodded. It had now been a full two weeks of being roused in the middle of the night by that infernal noise. She had bags under her eyes, her limbs felt like lead, and her long, usually-sleek, raven locks were pulled up into a less-than-neat ponytail because if she had to deal with her hair getting in her way on so little sleep, she might just tear it out, or chop it off, whichever seemed easier when the moment came.

She knew it was only natural when Sango asked about her hellish appearance. And, had she not been so tired, she might've censored her explanation somewhat. As it was, the entire thing came pouring out.

Her nails picking idly at the chipped laminate of the café tabletop, Kagome shrugged. She wanted to drink this coffee so bad, but just now it really felt as though lifting the cup to her lips required more energy than she had to spare. "I keep trying to find whatever it is, but . . . I don't know. Maybe he had something hidden somewhere that's set on an alarm?"

Sango paused, mid-cup-lift, to stare at her friend over the rim of the plastic cover, dark eyes incredulous. "And for some reason you didn't hear it for exactly one month before the day it started?"

Kagome opened her mouth to respond, but, after letting out a noisy breath, closed it and winced. "I know it sounds implausible."

Taking her sip, Sango shook her head and then set down her cup. "Okay, this look I'm giving you right now is the same one you give me when I talk about feeling like I'm not alone in an empty place."

The mention set off a cold itching across Kagome's shoulders. Before she realized what she was doing, she glanced over each shoulder.

When she returned her attention to Sango, her friend was watching her wide-eyed. Dammit. She'd given herself away. The noise had been one thing, it literally pulled her from sleep—it could not be dismissed as the work of an overactive imagination, but the . . . the presence she'd felt standing close at her back recently—

Kagome closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe normal and steady.

She could remember the sensation now, as if it were happening in the moment if she tried. It had been the day after the noise started. Standing in the kitchen and suddenly her breath caught, feeling hot in her lungs against the chill creeping through her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she felt it.

Someone standing right behind her. So near, she thought if she moved at all, she'd bump into them. So near that she thought if she turned her head, she would see a face peering at her from over her own shoulder. That if she held still, there would come the sensation of a breath against the side of her throat.

Swallowing hard, she willed away the impression. Even what little came of thinking about it when she wasn't trying to think about it gave her goosebumps. Gods, she was a wreck!

"Kagome?" Sango reached out, gently laying one hand over Kagome's. Her voice low, she ducked her head and leaned a bit over the table toward her friend. "Are you . . . are you feeling something in that house?"

"I don't want to say," Kagome answered, recognizing a stubborn almost-whine in her voice. She didn't like this. She was supposed to be rational and level-headed, even a bit fiery-tempered. She was not supposed to believe in things she couldn't see. She was not supposed to wilt like some scared little flower at the thought of the otherworldly.

Yet, here she was.

"Don't want to say?" Sango couldn't help how her expression soured. "Because only crazy people can believe in ghosts?"

Wincing, Kagome sighed, turning her hand on the table to clasp the other young woman's fingers in her own. "That's not what I meant. I've never thought you were crazy, just that we believe different things." Some of the bitterness left Sango's face at that, and Kagome went on, "I don't want to say, because I'm so exhausted that for all I know, it could all be in my head."

"Well, okay, that makes sense, but still. Given your deliberate ignorance of the supernatural, the timing is what sells this as more than your imagination to me."

Kagome finally forced her free hand to wrap around the cup. Somehow, she managed the seemingly daunting task of lifting it to her lips. Oh, the first sip—which quickly turned into a long, draining gulp—was divine.

Setting down the now nearly empty cup, she found her friend grinning at her.

"Better?"

Laughing softly at herself, Kagome shrugged. "Check back when the caffeine's had time to kick in. Now, what did you mean about the timing?"

Now it was Sango's turn to shrug. "You said the sound always wakes you at 3am, right?"

Kagome nodded.

"You're clueless about these things, so it's not like it's a time you could've just randomly picked." Sango disentangled her fingers from Kagome's and dug her phone from her pocket. Opening the browser, she typed into it and set the device down atop the table. "3am is the witching hour. Or the Devil's Hour, depending on who you're asking."

Kagome was just tired enough that the only argument she could work up for this was, "I thought midnight was the witching hour?"

"Only in bad movies. Forget the phone; you're probably so tired if you try to read the screen, you might go cross-eyed. I'll just tell you." Sango exhaled loudly and looked around before going on—the last thing she needed was to stir debate amongst potential eavesdroppers. Everyone loved to put their two cents in about the supernatural. "It's called that, because that's the time of night when weird, unexplainable shit is most likely to go down."

"Why?"

Sango shrugged again. "There are different theories, but basically it has to do with things like energy levels and frequencies and stuff like that. Honestly? It can get a little confusing, so I've never dug too deep before. Imagine my surprise when you—you—say 'something weird is happening at my grandfather's house' and it just so happens said weird something is happening at that time?"

"I just want to get some sleep and forget any of this is going on for a while."

Cringing, Sango edged out the question in an awkward mutter, "You're not going to have the sample chapter ready by Monday, are you?" While Sango's 'main job' as Kagome's best friend trumped everything else, she couldn't forget her actual job as Higurashi Kagome's literary agent.

Kagome choked out a little agonized sound. "Oh, gods." Under normal circumstances, Kagome could whip out a sample chapter in an afternoon, the remaining days of the week would be spent picking it over, proofing, polishing, making absolutely certain that even what she was turning in as a rough draft was as perfect as she could possibly make it.

She was pretty sure if she thought back right now, the document on her laptop only read as far as the word chapter. She hadn't even gotten around to numbering it!

Mustering up the energy, she crossed her arms on the tabletop and dropped her head down on them. "This is killing me," she said, her voice muffled against her skin.

With a roll of her eyes, Sango shook her head. "You're so dramatic! No. It's not, it just feels that way. Look, you got an extension because of your grandfather's passing. I'll simply tell them you need a little more time. They'll understand. They're only human, too, Kagome."

"That's debatable."

Laughing, Sango tapped open her phone screen again and started texting. "Look, I'll handle the publishing house. You? I want you to talk to someone."

"I knew it!" Kagome forced herself to sit up. "You do think this is in my head."

"Will you stop? I don't mean a shrink. I mean . . . ." Sango's phone chimed with a response and she nodded to the words on the screen before forwarding the message, followed by an answering chime from Kagome's phone, buried somewhere in the depths of the battered yellow backpack she refused to part with. "Someone who can help you figure out what's going on in your house?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

Sango's shoulders drooped as she replaced her phone in her pocket. "Listen, Miroku recommends this guy—"

"And we're supposed to trust the word of your spirit guru booty-call?"

Uttering a sound of disgust, Sango corrected her. "We are dating. If you dated more often, you'd know what it looks like instead of assuming every romantic entanglement that isn't marriage is . . . okay, we're getting off-topic, and I know you did that on purpose."

Kagome gave a lopsided frown. It almost worked.

"As I was saying, I'll go handle this. You go get some sleep and then, first thing, when you're awake and coherent, call the number I texted you."

"Okay. Okay," Kagome didn't have the strength to disagree. Maybe if she crashed on the couch in the den during the afternoon, she could get a few solid hours of rest. And rest did sound absolutely wonderful right then.

Sango stood from her chair as Kagome pulled her backpack into her lap. "You need a ride?"

Shaking her head—though walking seemed like a horrific challenge right now—Kagome waved her off. "Thanks, but I think the fresh air will do me some good."

"Okay, you call me and let me know what happens. Promise?"

Kagome smiled. Sango always looked out for her. "Promise."

After her friend was gone, Kagome dug her phone from her bag to check her messages. Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline as she read the title preceding the phone number. "Taisho Sesshomaru, Demon-Priest?"

* * * * *

When the doorbell rang that evening, Kagome nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't expected him to be able to make an appointment so fast, and she was completely ignoring that something about his voice on the phone had dug itself under her skin. It was a nice voice, really, smooth and deep, and—

She cut herself off with the reminder that this person believed himself a demon-priest—someone trained in long-forgotten mystic arts and said to be descended from actual living, breathing demons. Ridiculous. But, it if would make Sango feel better, and possibly stop whatever was pestering her, she was willing to give it a shot.

She glanced at the clock—the big, silent, digital clock on the living room wall—as she went to the door. Right on time. To the second. Was that a coincidence or had the man stood out there waiting for a few minutes until it was precisely 7pm?

Reaching the door, she squared her shoulders and let out a breath. Prepared to let him know the sort of person he was dealing with, she launched into her statement as she opened the door.

"I'd just like to say, before anything starts, that I do not personally believe in the supernatural, or demon-priests, or—"

"Or manners?" That voice was even more affecting in person and she found herself silenced, eager to hear him speak more. "But then perhaps this is some strange custom of yours, to greet perfect strangers with a lecture before even making proper introductions?"

Kagome felt her cheeks flush as she stared up at him. My, he was . . . tall. Long silver hair fell to frame the most perfect face she'd ever seen, and there was something about his eyes. Golden . . . breathtaking in how they reflected the light of the setting sun beside them like liquid metal.

He merely stared back at her in silence, seeming bored, or irritated. Maybe even both, probably both, she understood. She was, after all, being rude, just as he was suggesting.

"I'm sorry, I—"

Tick.

Kagome started and glanced back over her shoulder. How? It wasn't nearly the usual time for that sound! Her imagination, probably. She hadn't gotten very much sleep at all on the couch.

She returned her attention to her guest. His gaze had dropped and was now snapping back up to her face, and she thought it must be her imagination that it seemed he'd been giving her a once-over.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she said again, forcing gulp down her throat. "I am Higurashi Kagome. Thank you for agreeing to this consultation on such short notice, Mr. Taisho, it's deeply appreciated. Won't you come in?" She stepped aside, gesturing into the house.

He allowed himself to appear quietly amused for only the space of a heartbeat. He nodded his head in a short, quick bow, and then slipped past her to cross the threshold and continue inside.

Kagome's head snapped to follow the movement. Something . . . some . . . bizarre, electric warmth had coursed through her when he'd gotten close to her.

Yet, watching his walk—he had a casual grace models would kill for, she noticed—he seemed unaffected. And, much to her chagrin, she caught herself staring at his ass. Just for a moment, just until he started turning back to face her.

She spun toward the door, closing it securely before turning back to meet his gaze. She thought she could die on the spot from the suspicious arch of one of those silver brows. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear he knew precisely where she'd just been looking.

Kagome cleared her throat, pretending she didn't suddenly feel this was going to go very badly, and not for reasons to do with unseen presences or mysterious sounds. "So," she said, forcing a smile, "would you care for some tea before we get started?"

Nodding, he took a seat, and somehow managed to look positively regal lounging on Gran'pa's shabby-but-comfortable couch.

Grateful for an excuse to leave the room, she hurried into the kitchen. She braced her back against the door and focused on her breathing for a few moments before she could move.

Higurashi Kagome'd had boyfriends, lovers, friends-with-benefits, and the occasional, ill-advised, one-night-stand. But never in her life had she wanted to climb a man she'd just met.

Worse, the man she wanted to climb seemed perpetually bored and annoyed with everything around him—including her. And she'd thought a skeptic seeking aid from a demon-priest made things tense enough, already.

Slapping her palm against her forehead, she uttered a mirthless laugh at herself. "Dear gods, this is going to be a long night."