Gathering Storm (22 page)

“That’s perfectly alright. Go on.”

“It has occurred to me
that this situation might be a one-time opportunity to study an
alternate version of a person, the parallels and differences I
mean. This Storm and our Storm were born with the same identical
bodies, but the expression of personality as adults is quite
dissimilar.

“This would be better than
the nature versus nurture twin studies. It’s a study so pure
there’s no need to control for error or variance.”

“Go on.”

“I’d like to try and gain
his cooperation in establishing his biography, which could then be
compared to Storm’s. And I think I have a plan about the best way
to do that. I’m not sure it’s entirely ethical, but I’m very sure
it would produce flawless results.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Aelsong Hawking. If I
could borrow her, I could pass her off as an Order historian who
specializes in the collection of biographies.”

“I see what you mean
regarding the ethics of the thing. Having someone interviewed by a
psychic as gifted as Ms. Hawking without knowing they were talking
to a living lie detector… Without touching the question of ethics,
it’s devious to be sure.”

“I know. And Song is
ideally suited for the task. She’s up to speed in the sense that
she knows the
real
Storm. I mean
our
Storm. This one is just as real, I suppose. Like
her brother, she’s talented, loyal, and pragmatic. We can trust
her.”

“Indeed. I agree that this is an opportunity
that may never come again. We must learn what we can, while we
can.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The project to which she
is currently assigned is one that could easily be set aside for
something as unique and important as what you propose. Make
arrangements to quarter her. She’ll be there tomorrow. Margaret
will let you know exactly when.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Keep up the good work,
boy. The Order is fortunate to have you. I hope you don’t have my
job in your sights. I wasn’t planning to retire just
yet.”

“High praise, sir. Thank you, but no, I’ve
had enough of administrative duty. Between the two of us, it’s
harder than it looks.”

Simon laughed softly.
“That can be said about most things in life, Mr. Catch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Two days later, Angel
reported for his regular lunch session with Glen in Sol’s
conference room. He set his gym bag down by the door and took a
seat in his usual place to wait for Glen. He was deciding what he
would have for lunch when Glen swung through the door as he was
ending a call and closing his phone.

“How are you today, Storm?”

“I suppose I can’t complain.”

“You could, but it
wouldn’t do you any good.” Glen laughed at his own joke, but Storm
didn’t find it quite as amusing. “There’s someone I’d like you to
meet.”

Angel responded only by raising an eyebrow
to suggest a sentiment of, “What now?”

When the door opened,
Aelsong’s eyes locked on Angel’s straightaway. She breezed in
wearing the same fetching blonde curls as her brother, but longer,
and a blue silk dress that made the blue of her eyes so arresting
it would be impossible to look away. The silk moved around her body
with such fluidity that it gave the illusion that she’d been hit
with a fan like one of those hair commercials. The incongruity of
the fact that she wore big clunky fur lined ankle boots only seemed
to add to the appeal. Being a man who knew how to appreciate fast
horses and beautiful girls, Angel sat up and temporarily lost
interest in anything that wasn’t Song.

“This is Aelsong Hawking.
She’s Ram’s sister in case you didn’t already notice the
resemblance. Song. This is Storm.”

The dress and the woman
came to rest directly across the table from Angel. She extended her
hand. He knew he needed to rise, but forgot that he first needed to
push his chair back. His ass came to a hard crash in the chair a
second after launch. The upward momentum was reversed when his lap
hit the table edge. She laughed softly without seeming impolite
while he tried again with an embarrassed smile and ears turning
beet red. Any red-blooded female would be flattered.

“How do you do, Mr.
Storm?”

“Ah, well.”

“That’s not what you
told
me
!” Glen
chided while Angel cut him a dirty look. “Right. That’s neither
here nor there. And, clearly, this is a no-joke zone.

“First order of business
is to order lunch. Then we can talk about why Song is here. Storm,
what will you have today?”

“I was thinking club sandwich.”

“No pheasant a la orange?
No Suite of Sea? Or Strawberries Romanoff?” Glen asked.

Angel shook his head.
“Club sandwich.”

Song looked delighted. “Storm loves club
sandwiches! Practically lives on them.”

Angel looked at her with renewed interest.
“You know him?”

“Oh, aye. He’s been fast
friends with my brother since they were teenagers. Visited our home
in Ireland many times. When he was no’ comin’ along, Rammel talked
about him often.”

“Aelsong, what will you have for lunch?”

She looked at Glen then
smiled at Angel. “I must be susceptible to suggestion. Now I’m
findin’ myself in the mood for a club sandwich.” She looked at
Angel. “Are we havin’ that with chips?”

We?
“I was thinking French fries.”

She smiled. “Oh, aye, I
forget that here chips are called French fries. Aye. ‘Tis what I’ll
be havin’ as well.”

Somehow, when she said the
word “here”, she left the impression that she was making the best
of roughing it in the wilderness.

While Glen called the
kitchen, Song turned to Angel.

“All thin’s considered,
you appear to be doin’ well. I really can no’ imagine bein’ in your
position. Surrounded by people you do no’ know who want you to
mimic someone you ne’er met? I’d find it confusin’ and
terrifyin’.”

“Yeah. It’s confusing at
times, but so far, the only things terrifying are the workout
regime Kay has me on and the fighting thing with Mrs.
Hawking.”

Aelsong laughed. “She lets you call her
that?”

Angel thought about it. “I guess I’ve never
tried.” His contemplative look was replaced by an evil smile. “Why?
Does she not like to be called that?”

“You did no’ hear that
from me, Sir Storm.”

That was the first time
anyone had referred to Angel as Sir Storm. He felt his body jerk,
not enough so that anyone would notice. The tiny movement would
have been imperceptible to an observer. But he felt it. No
mistaking a profound visceral reaction to the idea of being called
“Sir” Storm. There was something about the addition of that title,
made up of three little letters, that struck a spark in his soul as
surely as the turn of an internal ignition.

Perhaps the catalyst was
the dedication that shown through in Kay’s punishing drive toward
physical perfection, or Elora’s relentless insistence on a skill
set committed to muscle memory so that thought wasn’t required for
performance, or the underlying passion and unmistakable pride that
Glen imparted in his lessons about the history of The Order of the
Black Swan, or the way Ram was so ferociously protective of his
teammate’s family. Maybe it was all of those things or maybe there
was something innate in Angel that lay dormant waiting for the
right moment, the right stimulus, to awaken the seed of
exceptionalism.

“Tough is it?”

“What?” Angel was brought back from his odd
reaction by her voice.

“The workouts with Kay. The fights with
Elora. You said terrifyin’.”

“It’s not as bad now as it
was at first. Now the hardest part is always hearing about the
paragon I’m supposed to be impersonating. To listen to his friends,
you’d think he can walk on water while doing his taxes and
composing a symphony.”

Song laughed again. “Oh.
So they’ve been tellin’ you he’s all that, have they?”

“Perfection personified.
He broke the perfection mold. He’s the smartest, strongest, most
righteous son-of-a-bitch to ever be born. Oh, and let’s not forget,
he does dishes, too.” Angel rolled his eyes.

She laughed. “You forgot handsomest.”

“I didn’t forget. Just
exercising some humility – since I look just like him.
Supposedly.”

Song’s eyes drifted around
the room at the poster-size photos. “Aye. He is beautiful and ‘tis
no point denyin’ it.” Her eyes slid to Angel. “And, just so you
know, there’s no ‘supposedly’ about it. You
do
look
just
like him. I once got into a lo’
of trouble with Elora for calling him the dark and broodin’ one.
She does no’ put up with any teasin’ where he’s
concerned.”

Angel smiled. “Dark and brooding?” Song
nodded and smiled. “So there is a flaw.”

“No one’s flawless.” Angel smiled.
“Although, to be fair, he does come close.”

She chuckled when Angel’s face fell and his
shoulders slumped dramatically.

Glen closed his phone and
sat down at the head of the table. “Now, let’s talk about why
Aelsong’s been invited to our lunch date.”

Angel couldn’t really say
no to telling his life story with those big blue eyes staring at
him hopefully. If he was willing to allow Elora to torture him
under the pretense of learning to fight, he could certainly stand
to look at Ram’s sister while he talked about himself and hear the
lyrical lilt of her accent. She wasn’t Litha. But she sure was
cute.

“I’d like to ask you a question and I hope
you won’t take it the wrong way.”

“Certainly.” She seemed at
ease and not the least guarded about the prospect of an unknown
question.

“Everyone else around here has been more or
less acting like they’ve just come from a funeral. You seem, um,
cheerful. Did you not like Storm?”

“Oh, aye. I like him just
fine. I simply have a philosophy about expectin’ the best outcomes.
‘Tis a lot less wear and tear than the alternative.”

“
An optimist. It matches
your, uh, persona.”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

As the days wore on, Angel
became so good at impersonating Storm that sometimes nobody
corrected him for an entire day. They were all starting to relax
around him and accept him, which made him feel better than it
should have. He couldn’t figure out why he cared what they thought
one way or the other. Of course he knew why he cared what Litha and
Rosie thought, but he kept that to himself.

Of all of them, Rosie had
been the first to accept him. She knew he wasn’t her Daddy, but she
liked him and acted like she cared about him.

Just ten days after he’d
read her the story of Jungbluth and der Recke, Rosie was the
equivalent of fourteen. It was a Sunday afternoon and Angel had
finished his workout with Kay - always an adventure in brutality.
He’d also completed private tutelage on Black Swan from the boy
genius and the daily smack down from the Lady Laiken.

He was making a smoothie
when Rosie came into the kitchen.

“I’m going to play chess with Glen.”

She was wearing a cute
outfit with a skirt that was a little on the short end of the
spectrum. The blood drained from his face when he thought about
Rosie going out in public dressed like that.

“You’re not going dressed like that. Go
change.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because…”

When he imagined some
asshole doing to Rosie what he had done to that girl who stopped
him outside the club men’s room, he became enraged. The idea of
someone hurting Rosie made him want to exterminate every male on
the planet just to insure such a thing could never happen. That’s
when realization struck. That girl had been somebody’s daughter.
She might have been young and rash, gullible and naïve, maybe even
stupid, but she didn’t deserve what she got from him just because
she was wearing a short skirt and wanted a second helping of fuck
from him. Standing there in Storm’s kitchen looking at this little
girl who might have been his own, he wanted to kick his own ass
until he bled out in a long and painful way.
Public service indeed.
He was a
public enemy.

He finally decided to go
with, “Because I said so.”

She stared at him for a few beats and then
laughed. “I’m going. See you later.”

“Rosie! I’m not kidding
around.”

She blew him a kiss and
was gone.

Litha came home a few minutes later to find
him fuming.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Your daughter left here
practically
not
wearing a skirt.”

Litha blinked. “You mean it was short?”

“It wasn’t short, Litha.
It was practically non-existent!”

Every muscle in Angel’s face was tense, his
voice was definitely elevated and he was definitely aggravated.

“And you’re upset about it
because…” He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Litha’s
face and voice softened. “Do you have protective feelings about
Rosie?” She asked quietly. “It’s okay if you do. You’ve been
watching her grow up even if it’s been only two weeks. It’s been an
amazing experience. Hasn’t it?”