Chapter Three Several hours later, as the sun was well on its way to sinking behind the hills, Filia was still trying to come up with a plan. The Mazoku couldn't remain here. That much was certain. She didn't care what had happened with Valgaav; whatever was wrong, they would get through it together. She looked in the mirror of her vanity table, toweling her long, blonde hair until it was dry enough to comb. She wasn't looking forward to that; it would take her a while to make a dent in all the tangles which had resulted from being recumbent for nearly a week. A week. Filia closed her eyes. She would give anything to go back to that horrible day, to change the events. It was all so fuzzy and discordant in her mind, peppered with brief flashes of clarity. All she knew was that her head, her whole body, had hurt so much, and the room would not stop spinning. If she had been more herself that day, never would she have let Valgaav leave. She considered sending Jillas and Gravos for help, but what help? Would Lina even stand a chance? It was possible, but they had no idea where the sorceress was at, and even if they were to search for her, Filia doubted anything would come of it. Surely Xellos would find out, and surely he would make certain they never reached their destination. Maybe it was paranoid thinking, but she did not trust him. He was a Mazoku. To trust a Mazoku was folly. How often had that lesson been drummed repeatedly into her mind? Filia considered sending the servants after Valgaav, begging him to return. But what then? What else? What could they possibly do against the Beastmaster's priest, who had destroyed hundreds of her kind with just one spell? No, it was a hasty and foolish move. Someday, a chance would arise. She had to believe that. But not right then. She considered that any number of her plans would have a chance for success, but for every plan, there was a list of at least a dozen things which could go wrong, badly. Filia refused to believe that the situation was that desperate as to demand a do-or-die one-shot chance of success. There had to be something else she was overlooking, or an opportunity that had not yet presented itself. She had to keep hope alive, somehow. Looking at her own reflection in the mirror, large solemn eyes staring back from a face pale and drawn, Filia was afraid it was futile. Certainly it would be easier to just give up, she considered, studying the iridescent mother-of-pearl handle of her brush. Filia began the task of working out the tangles in her hair, starting at the bottom. Even that quickly proved to be an effort. Her muscles, sore from idleness and abuse, found the repetitive motions stressful. When Filia raised her arm to brush higher, a twinge of pain down her back and shoulder caused her to clench her teeth. A rustle of fabric caught her attention a split second before a gloved hand wrapped over hers, taking the brush from her grip. Filia jumped, looking back, her heart lodged in her throat as she stared up at Xellos. A quick glance to the door assured her that she did remember to shut it. "What are you doing in my bedroom?" she demanded, and reached her hand back for her brush. "Give me that." He held it just beyond her reach, smiling that ever-present, maddening, closed-eye smile. "Now, Miss Filia, I only thought to assist you. It seems that you are not quite capable of brushing your hair without pain." "What are you doing in my bedroom?" she repeated. "I shut my door." "Doors are not of my concern." "You can't just come in here whenever you feel like it!" Filia cried. His eyes opened just a fraction, just barely enough for her to catch a faint gleam of amethyst. He reached out and brushed his gloved hand down her hair with a feather-soft touch. A shiver ran down her spine, but whether it was from fear or the contact, Filia couldn't say. "Turn back around, Miss Filia." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but it was no less an order. Filia complied, swallowing hard and watched him in the mirror. When he raised the brush to her hair, she tensed, closing her eyes and bracing herself against the pain of pulled snarls and tangles. But there was none. She could barely feel the brush or his hand as he moved both of them through her tresses. Filia cracked her eyes open and watched him. Her hair shone in the reflection, illuminated by the soft glow of the oil lamp on her vanity table, which was quickly becoming the only source of light as the sun set. Out in the hall, she could hear the clock chiming the eighth hour. Xellos worked slowly; he was in no rush. Little by little, he worked out ever tangle with utmost caution, his touch so light that Filia could scarcely feel a thing. The shadows deepened as the lamp wick burned down and twilight gave way to night. When at last he reached the crown of her head, Filia closed her eyes once more and tilted her head back with the faint pull as he brushed her hair from her face. The confusion was overwhelming. This was the same Mazoku who had threatened to kill Jillas, was it not? Yet, the whole act of brushing her hair; it was so gentle, so intimate in its caring. It had to be a facade somehow. He moved the brush over her scalp with greater pressure once all the tangles were removed, but it felt soothing. Soon, he would disappear frequently from her vision as he would crouch down, bringing the brush straight from her scalp al the way to the tips. It felt as though not single tangle remained. Her nerves jolted with electricity as he slipped a hand under her hair, brushing his fingertips softly across the back of her neck. The brush began working on the underside of her hair, moving gently down from the scalp, searching for any hidden snarls. No one had ever brushed her long, prized mane so thoroughly, nor so gently. What was he doing to her? It was a lie, a facade. It had to be. He was a Mazoku, he couldn't even begin to try to care! Right? Filia opened her eyes and looked at him through her mirror. He was obscured in the shadows of the dark room, by her own shadow between the lamp and him. As if knowing he was being watched, Xellos raised his head slightly and opened his eyes, holding her own through the mirror and he looked out under his bangs. The brush reappeared on the vanity, and both of his hands slid up the back of her neck, under her hair, into her hair, his fingertips tightening in the locks. But the pressure, although firm, was gentle. Filia couldn't look away, she couldn't think as he continued to lightly kneed her neck, working his way down slowly to her upper back. Xellos' open-eyed gaze never faltered or wavered from her own, and Filia lost track of the time. It was too surreal. The dim light, the shadows, the whole situation. It had to be a dream. But the clock's sudden interruption of the stillness in the room proved otherwise. She counted off nine chimes, she though. Perhaps she missed one. Xellos rested a hand on her shoulder, and gently stroked her hair back from her forehead with his other. She closed her eyes and leaned back against him, her mind racing. Everything was demanding she scream, that she assault him for daring to even think of touching her, for even being here. Guilt tried to make itself known; how she could even relax in the presence of the Mazoku who killed so many of her kind, who drove off her mate? The low, shuddering sob that strained in her throat, tapering into a heart-wrenching moan told her how. Too much fatigue, too much hurt, too much hopelessness. The ache deep down, the shattered feeling, all those things left her weak. The kindness was all that mattered, not even the source meant a thing. A gloved thumb lightly brushed over her cheek, wiping at the dampness there. "Now, Miss Filia," he gentle chided, his voice barely more than a whisper, "you're quite tired. Perhaps you should turn in now. You do have a long day ahead; getting back into looking after your shop." "Mmm. Yes. I suppose you're right," she murmured, rising to her feet. He kept a hand at the small of her back, and another on her arm as he guided her to the bed. "Rest," he told her, pushing her back onto her pillows. "The morning will come early for you, as tired as you are. I will assist you in the morning, to bring you up to date on what transactions have taken place. For now, though, sleep." Filia snuggled under the blankets, watching him. His eyes were closed once more, and the ever-present smile was back. "Mr. Xellos?" "Yes, Miss Filia?" "Why?" He opened his eyes once more, watching her for a few long moments. Then, he reached for her, tracing a lone fingertip down her cheekbone. "Sore wa himitsu desu," he whispered, and vanished into the shadows. She stared at where he had been a long time before rolling over to face her window. In spite of her fatigue, sleep was a long time in coming. Too much was on her mind. Filia had indeed discovered an emotion worse than hopelessness. That was confusion, so deep and turbulent that nothing in her world made sense, and she wondered if she perhaps she was going quite mad. He was a Mazoku. He was a monster, a cold-blooded killer. He threatened Jillas, and he threatened Valgaav. He had even threatened her, and more than once. But a little voice in her mind was a traitor. Quietly, it pointed out that all he ever really demanded of her was to be treated cordially. Could it really be as simple as that? Her elders had lied about so much; had they lied about the Mazoku, about Xellos, as well? She sincerely doubted that, but even that was no longer an absolute. Before she left the temple, before she met Lina and the others, she lived in a world of absolutes. Right and Wrong. Good and Evil. Black and White. It was only a monochromatic gray in varying tones. Before, she wondered which of all the potential moves she could see before her was the right one to take. Now, she wondered what her next move was, period. Everything had turned topsy-turvy, and the sheer force of the chaos inside her thoughts left her reeling and breathless. Uncertain. Down was up, and up was down. Yes, when unequivocal confusion was the only absolute value, it was a feeling far worse than the shattered hopelessness. Closing her eyes shut tightly, Filia snuggled under the blankets and pulled them up over her mind, desperate and longing for sleep to overtake her. Perhaps in the light of day, the last few turbulent hours would begin to make sense. The dawn arrived, and the morning proved her wishes false. His gentle demeanor continued on through the morning, the afternoon, the next day, and the day after that. The only time when he gave her cause to fear was when she turned her acidic wit on him. Even that consistency wasn't enough to settle her nerves. It wasn't enough to tell her which side of Xellos was the real one, or even if the answer to that was both. Filia couldn't shake the fear that the other shoe was simply waiting to drop, and worse than the despair was the high-strung paranoia of always expecting something around the corner. Filia blamed her constantly strained nerves the first time she blacked out.

to be continued...
Chapter Four