It Wasn't Supposed to Be You by Freya Ishtar

No . . . It's Just NOT Possible . . .

Chapter One

No . . . It's Just NOT Possible . . . .

Higurashi Kagome's fingers trailed along the torn and tattered spines of old history books, a pen shoved behind her ear and a scribble-filled notebook clutched in her other hand. She tried not to let another of her by now customary hopeless little sighs escape her lips. She loved being in the library after hours, loved the state of disrepair the old books on the storeroom shelves were in; somehow it seemed proper that they were well-worn as it noted that in their heyday they had seen much use and it gave a certain delicious- if momentary- sense of foreboding to her now mundane life. What she didn't love . . . was that it always caused a little voice in the back of her mind to start rambling about the past, reminding her of how far she was from it.

Not the 'I live five hundred years in the future bit'- no, every time she'd returned home as a teenager that was only a minor inconvenience. The heartache came from the fact that when she was sixteen and Naraku had finally fallen the well had spit her back out into her own time and would not swallow her in again. Of course, she knew why it had happened. The damnable thing had only allowed her to go back when it had needed her. Returning after that had only been a want of hers . . . of Inuyasha's.

Sliding one thick, leather-bound tome from the rest, she hefted it under her arm and returned to her table. She let the volume drop unto the surface with a loud thunk and settled into her chair. 'Inuyasha . . .' four years since she'd seen him and still she missed him. How couldn't she? He'd been the love of her young life. After the defeat of Naraku, after the completion of the Shikon No Tama, she had made her wish- her wish for her friends to be happy. Kohaku had returned to his sister as she remembered him, Miroku was healed and had seen the error of his lecherous ways, begging Sango's forgiveness. She only made him suffer a little before giving in, but they all felt she'd more than earned the right to worry the monk. Shippo discovered he had long lost family that took him in and gladly accepted him as if he were their own child.

Kikyo . . . while Kagome had never truly held any ill-will toward the miko . . . she'd never truly considered her a friend, so Kikyo's happiness did not enter into the matter. 'Inuyasha . . .' she sighed again as she opened the book. His happiness had surprised her- she had expected him to want Kikyo back. He wanted to know how he really felt and thus had been allowed to view his jumbled emotions about 'the whole Kagome-Kikyo mess' as he'd come to call it after a time from an objective perspective . . . to review all of the events, shared moments and memories of the past and realize who it was that he truly wanted to be with.

He had chosen Kagome. As she always did, Kikyo simply gave her sad little tight-lipped smile, nodded and strode away, Kagome never saw her again. Back in Edo, Kagome and Inuyasha had discussed at length what to do about their relationship; was she to stay with him in the past or was he to come with her to the future? Whatever their decision was, she could not simply make it without speaking to her family, first. After all, if she were to stay then she needed to return and bid them a proper, heart-felt farewell, but if he came with her then she needed to prepare them for having another head permanently under their roof.

Upon hearing of her desire to return home before making the final decision, he had asked her to spend the night with him and then he would stand with her as she disappeared into the well in the morning. And she had . . . after all they had been through together she couldn't refuse him something like that. It had felt right and it had been amazing, everything she'd always felt a girl's first time should be. For the first few months after her return she kicked herself for not insisting that he come with her. If she'd only had the sense then that they should have spoken to her family together they would not be apart now. It seemed so far away sometimes, she used to think of him- of the life she'd left behind- every day, but now she might go for weeks before something cropped up to remind her of him.

She'd gone through a very deep depression over the mess when she was seventeen . . . explaining it to her friends that Inuyasha's family had moved far away and he couldn't stay for . . . extenuating circumstances that she 'wasn't comfortable disclosing'. It was a flimsy, last minute cover-up, but they had accepted it, so that part was easy- her friends never talked about it to save her pain, but her family always doted on her because of her broken heart. How much easier it would have been if he were only half a world away instead of half a millennia.

Her depression had worked its way into other areas of her life. Her school work suffered much worse than it ever had at the hands of her time-travelling, she still didn't sleep well and the horrid feeling had even worked its way into her wardrobe. It wasn't until she heard Sota describe her as his 'emo-goth sister' that she noticed all of her once colorful closet had given away to blacks and dark blues. Even now- despite the reintroduction of a few pairs of jeans faded to that perfect shade of almost whitish powder-blue, torn stylishly at the knees- the majority of her wardrobe still held out as a reminder of that darkness she had felt.

She supposed it wasn't a surprise that her life had landed her here. Never- not in the history texts, legends or fairytales- did she ever come across mention of what she and her friends had accomplished. They deserved to have a place in the annals of history and since they had been denied such, she decided they would leave their mark on the literary world; it was really the only thing she could give them. Kagome had become an author.

Not just any author, but a bright new name in the historical-fiction/fantasy genre. Though she had changed a few names slightly- and added a dash more romance to her relationship with a certain half-demon- she'd related most of the story just as she'd experienced it. Thus far, she had only produced the first book in a series- 'The Chronicles of Inuyasha'- but it seemed to become a bestseller over night.

At first she had eagerly read every bit of fan-mail that came her way- most readers questioning the appropriateness of the series title, stating that the star of the story was, in fact, the time-traveling miko- but quickly it had just become too much. The letters, the emails, the interviews, the damnable writer's cramp because she much preferred writing by hand to her poor hunt-and-peck typing skills . . . . The head librarian was a fan, too; which was why she allowed Kagome this quiet time after hours- so that the woman's new favorite author would be undisturbed as she toiled to churn out more goodies. This brought her to the one snag; the thing that had her fact-checking at an hour when she should be getting ready for another night of restless sleep.

The critics . . . . While she had been applauded for her imagination and the depth of her characters, she had been utterly picked apart over her 'historical errors'. It had driven her mad the first time she'd heard it, but- realistically- what could she do? She couldn't very well tell them, 'nope, sorry it's the history books that are wrong. You heard me- every last one of 'em!' Yes, that would have gone over well.

So her publisher had begged her to double check all of her facts before submitting the completed manuscript for the series' second installment. She slowly raised her travel mug to her lips and blew the steam gently away before sipping. Egyptian chamomile and apple . . . she'd never been one much for herbal teas in her proper time, but this one that Eri had introduced her to was good for calming her constantly worn nerves and helping her focus.

Setting her cup back down she slipped the pen out from behind her ear and set to the task of comparing her notes to the 'facts' recorded in the tome before her. Secretly she was glad that she'd never come across mention of Inuyasha . . . if she did she might feel compelled to try to seek him out and she could not imagine it would be a terribly warm reunion after the way she seemed to have dropped out of his life.

Still, if Inuyasha had any brains at all he would have tried to come for her after a few days and would have discovered that it was the well's fault and not hers- his tendency to smack his head against a mountainside until the mountain gave way notwithstanding. Inuyasha was prone to act on emotion rather than intellect . . . if he'd known that she wasn't to blame, wouldn't he have come to find her at some point?

But then . . . it had been five hundred years for him, he had most likely moved on . . . or had died. That turn of events she didn't like to think about. Another sip of tea and another scratching out of her penned words to replace a minor detail- with what she knew to be faulty information- found Kagome wishing that maybe she could see him again. Even if it were only one last time . . . even if he hated her, just so she might have the chance to explain to him what had happened.

Her thoughts came to a skittering halt and her pen dropped from her hand as she sat bolt upright in her chair, a familiar sense that she'd not felt in a long while jolting up her spine. Youki . . . a demonic aura; strong and somewhere nearby. It raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck and sent adrenaline rushing through her veins, her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

Slowly she turned her head looking around, straining to listen for anything. Hearing nothing she pushed away from the table and stood, making her way quickly to the intercom. The sensation seemed to arc along her skin like electricity, causing a little thought to jump up and down in the back of her mind, trying to be heard over everything else- to tell her something important- but she simply couldn't hear it.

Pressing the button she heard the static and clicking of the device leaping to life. "Hana?"

A long, nerve-wracking moment in which Kagome could not stop her eyes from flickering about the area passed before the older woman answered. "Yes, Kagome? Something you need?"

"No, I . . . ." 'Did you happen to let any demons into the building?' "Um . . . did anyone come into the library just now?"

"No, hun . . . ." The librarian's voice became a bit shrill as she continued, "Why? Did something happen? Are you alright?"

Very quickly Kagome ran through a list of acceptable things. "Um, I thought . . ." her voice trailed off as she finally settled on a response and suddenly- as quickly as it had appeared- the youki vanished. 'What?'

"Kagome?"

Hana's voice snapped her back to the moment. "Oh, I . . . ." 'I was imagining it . . . not enough sleep, not enough food and entirely too much thinking about the past.' "Nothing, it was nothing. I think my imagination is running away with me, I should go home. Can I leave through the door down here?"

"Of course, hun. It'll lock automatically behind you so be sure you don't forget anything. Call me anytime you want come by again."

"Sure Hana, thank you."

Kagome quickly returned to her table, capping her mug and stowing her pen and notebook into her backpack. It was the same bag that had accompanied her all those years ago, by now so worn and re-patched she was surprised it still held together at all. Hefting up the book she decided that perhaps it was the subtle creepiness of an empty library storeroom that had fueled her little trip to the land of imagination a moment ago. She didn't want to have to come back here for a few days if she could help it. Instead of replacing the book upon the shelf she stuffed it into her bag, deciding she would explain to Hana on the phone tomorrow her necessity to borrow the item and promise to return it quickly.

Her bag slung over her shoulder and cup gripped a tad too tightly in her hand, Kagome finally stepped out of the exit and into the cooling night air. She couldn't stop herself from casting a cursory glance around the area. Satisfied once more that it had been nothing more than her own imagination she turned and started tromping her way up the block.

Despite her self-reassurances, the breeze on her face and the distant busy hum of the city at night did nothing to stop her mind from examining the incident. The strange thing was that the aura had felt a bit . . . familiar. No, not at first. So it had been familiar, but not instantly recognizable. Giving her the sense that it was someone she'd met more than once, but had spent no great length of time with. 'But how could that be? The only youkai I know lived five hundred years in the past.'

Crossing the street, she turned a corner and continued on. She had her own place now, only a five minute walk from her family's- grandpa was getting up there in years and she felt the necessity to be nearby . . . just in case. Her mind began to list who it might be, but it was a facetious task, designed to poke fun at herself- to prove to herself that it could only have been her mind playing tricks on her.

'So . . . who had survived the battle with Naraku that I would recognize and might have found a way to survive all this time? Koga?' With Koga, it was more than likely that even now he would have recognized her scent in the area and immediately come to 'claim his woman'. 'So, no . . . definitely strong enough to have survived, but not Koga. Shippo?' Well, if Shippo were still around it would not be due to strength, but cleverness and in that respect she had very little doubt that he wasn't still alive and well somewhere. However, the aura lacked that certain feel of mischief that was inherent in all kitsune. 'So . . . no, not Shippo'.'

It couldn't possibly have been Inuyasha. His aura she would have recognized in a heartbeat. Kagome's steps stilled a moment as she came to the front door of her building. It was almost strange . . . but for a moment there seemed an odd sort of resonance between the characteristics of silvery hair and golden eyes with what she'd sensed. Something about the feeling of that aura made her think of them. The little thought that had been so desperately clamoring for her attention in the library suddenly came back to her crystal clear.

Fitting her key into the lock, she forced the door open and quickly stepped in, closing it behind her. Her bag dropped unceremoniously to the floor as she turned and pressed her back against the door. A silver-haired, golden-eyed demon she had met before who was powerful enough to survive into the modern era? Her little listing-game didn't seem quite so facetious anymore. The notion caused her heart to leap into her throat- it certainly did fit the description of someone who'd made more than one attempt on her life.

'No . . . it can't be . . . .'

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He sat back in his black leather office chair twirling the book neatly between dexterous fingertips. A strange turn the evening had taken was almost unusual enough to inspire him to find the world not so dreadfully boring for a moment . . . almost.

While mulling over a small . . . 'business' matter, he had decided that perhaps a walk would clear his head. No drivers- he truly hated cars, but it had never crossed his mind that he might miss the days when he'd traveled nearly everywhere on foot- and no escort- it was never as though he'd needed protection, anyone in his employ labeled as 'bodyguard' was really just for show, allowing lesser beings he might be forced to deal with to underestimate him.

He was still a warrior, no matter what trappings he covered himself in, and still possessed a warrior's mind. A potential adversary's underestimation was the greatest advantage one could have. Still, there were always . . . snags. His world was no longer as simple as it had once been. Once upon a time he could simply take what he wanted, the possessor of whatever that might be was either strong enough to maintain the item or not. But now, now the world was sadly, mundanely over-run and ruled by humans; contemptuous lot. He found himself almost surprised one day by the notion that he didn't quite hate them anymore- there was simply no room in a human world for hatred of the short-lived little beasts- but they were still undeniably beneath him.

Now the world was a mess of paperwork and politics. No action could be taken without considering the consequences. And that was the problem. Some upstart low level demons were making quite a nuisance of themselves in one of the townships under his run and protection. Were circumstances any different, he could easily see to the problem himself. It would perhaps take an entire five minutes out of his day- that, of course, included transportation by vehicle.

The ever irritating snag he had hit- the problem he'd decided needed a good, mind-clearing walk to ponder- was that these detestable little urchin were backed by Arashi. Arashi was noble-blooded, a high-born demon nearly as powerful as himself. Nearly- he'd often surmised that he could easily overcome Arashi if it was a question of battle, but it was not; so few things were these days. Currently he had affable dealings with the man and would only cause himself no end of little annoyances if he- or anyone known to be connected with him- were to wipe the little buggers from the face of the planet. He did not like to be annoyed.

His stroll did little to better his mood or shed any light on the issue. If he were to lower himself to hiring outside help, that could easily get back to Arashi if the price was right and, unfortunately, Arashi's wealth rivaled his own. He barely noticed when his aimless wandering brought him into a neutral neighborhood, but even so he noticed. There was always part of him that was distinctly aware of his surroundings.

In a store window something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning, he was met momentarily by his own reflection. His crisp white business suit and crimson shirt shown rather brightly against the darkening evening sky and he raised a hand to adjust the Windsor knot of his yellow silk tie- not that it needed it, there was never a centimeter of him out of order. But this was a calculated move; to mask his intent as golden eyes scanned behind the glass for whatever it was that had caught him.

There he found it, on the cover of a book. That name . . . he'd not heard mention of the half-breed in perhaps three quarters of a century, so how did it come to be there? For a moment, he set aside his problem to step into the shop and purchase a copy. Back on the street again he continued his stroll, his aristocratic nose stuck between the pages. It was not long before he'd read it cover to cover, so quick was his ability to process written word that he only need glance at a page for a moment to absorb the entirety of it.

The author puzzled him and he did not like puzzles. Somehow, whoever had written this had managed to relate correctly many fine, minor details that every human history book in creation seemed to have wrong. The true historical correctness almost surprised him. Almost . . . he did not like to be surprised; it meant that someone else knew more about a situation than he did and that could always prove to be quite disadvantageous.

His memory was excruciatingly sharp so it was not difficult to remember the half-breed and his cohorts; the demon-slayer, the priest, the miko- no, not the one with the irritating inability to stay dead, but the other. The one who'd actually challenged him . . . who'd protected his ward more than once . . . who traipsed about the battlefield in disturbingly inappropriate attire for the era.

Suddenly it struck him that her inappropriate attire was familiar. Of course, it had not been at that time, but now he recognized it as a modern era high school uniform. The time-travelling well had seemed a tad farfetched, but now that he thought on it, it explained her bold and brash behavior- women of that era knew their place and the little miko so often seemed to forget she even had one- her strange manner of dress and why she spoke just a little differently from everyone else.

The thing that cinched it- that told him he did, in all probability, know the author- was the mention in the last chapter of the half-breed's brother, Shomaru. Indeed he might have even let that slide if not for the further mention of his ward- also clearly a calculated misinterpretation- Yin. Finally he'd had enough of the irritating sensation that was curiosity and turned to the inside of the book's back cover. It stopped him in his tracks to have the time-travelling miko herself staring back at him. True a few years more mature than when he'd last encountered her, but still undeniably the same girl . . . woman? 'Human, so it matters not.'

A miko born into an era when such things were no longer needed . . . except perhaps by one who just might want some minor demons purified off the face of the planet. But surely, even if he found her, she would not assist him- hadn't he tried to kill her a few times? That did seem to be an awfully big sticking-point with humans. Picking up his pace once more, he flipped through the book again looking for something that might point to a weakness . . . some advantage he might gain over her, to make her see things as he did.

There it was, right in the first few pages of the book. In plain black and white were words he could not misinterpret if he tried; 'For my muse- the real Inuyasha in my life. May the fates allow me to see you one last time.' 'Ah . . . what a very simple bargaining chip indeed.' Closing the book, he slipped it into his jacket pocket and found his footsteps once more stilling to a halt. For a moment, he thought his mind to be doing a truly 'un-demon-like' thing by playing tricks on him.

He had caught the miko's scent mingled with the harsh, irritating smells of the human city. So faint that he almost hadn't detected it, but it definitely called to his impeccably working mind the picture of the half-breed's traveling companion. He almost dismissed it for a moment- true that he might not have noticed it at all if not for the memory-jarring effect of the book- but then thought better on it. There could be no harm in following it. If he proved his senses wrong, he would simply find another tack for dealing with his problem, but if he proved himself right . . . ?

It was not long before he found himself outside of a library. All but two rooms held darkened windows. Peering into the first- set into a second floor lobby area- he glimpsed a slightly heavy-set human of about forty- definitely not the miko. But even so, the scent was strong here, both old and new, indicating not only that she frequented this place, but that she was here now. Undeterred, he proceeded to the other bit of illumination.

He did not need to approach cautiously, the room was flooded with light and the night outside dark- she could have looked directly at him and not seen a thing. He paused to look inside and saw someone bent over a book, their back to him. Well, that was inconvenient. He couldn't very well walk in there and introduce himself . . . not when he wanted to maintain the element of surprise. Until she agreed to aid him she was prey, and like all prey, he intended to catch her off guard and keep her that way. Scent notwithstanding he needed to determine if it was truly her.

With a bored sigh, he removed his concealment amulet, but allowed a moment to pass before he unleashed his youki- he'd been wearing the damned amulet long enough that he needed to test his control once more. The moment he unveiled his power, the human all but jumped in her chair. He watched as little trembling movements turned her head slowly. In profile her eyes were huge- she looked like a frightened doe- and he saw that she was indeed whom he sought. Under his gaze, she quickly rose and nearly tripped over her own two feet in her hurry to reach a large desk.

Even through the glass he could hear her voice as clear as crystal as she asked if anyone had entered the building. Another bored little sigh escaped him, 'alright, enough play-time.' He'd seen all he needed, but this was neither the time nor the place to present a proper front that would . . . endear the miko to the gravity of the situation she was about to find herself in. He sealed his youki once more and replaced his amulet.

He rubbed his temples with the fingers of his other hand, still twirling the book almost restlessly with the other as he waited for one of his underlings to join him. That was the irritating thing about humans . . . they didn't make very good henchmen- there was but so often you could injure them for tardiness or disrespect before you broke them permanently and had to go through the bother of finding more. The inherent problem there was that the more henchmen you broke the harder it became to find new ones.

At last a loud, thudding knock sounded at the door. He'd known the man was at the door before the minor calamity, but never bade anyone entry until they had gone through proper respects.

"Enter."

The door creaked open and his most nervous- and therefore most loyal- human entered, immediately giving a deep bow. "You wished to see me, sir?"

'If I did not you would not be here . . . humans . . . .' "Yes, Takeshi. You have a task before you."

"Yes?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in what was almost half a smile- almost, for he did not smile at his underlings. "You," he began, lightly tossing the book onto his desk so that it slid across the lacquered top towards Takeshi, "are going to find someone for me . . . Higurashi Kagome. I want her in this office by tomorrow evening. Noone is to see you meet her, noone is to see her enter this house. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes sir!" Takeshi eagerly grabbed the book and bowed once more before turning to take his leave.

"Oh, and, do see to it that you take note of her minor habits . . . I want our guest as . . . comfortable as possible." This was, of course, a bold-faced lie- the more he knew about her, the further off her guard she would be put.

"Certainly, Sesshomaru-sama."