Tempest’s Legacy (40 page)

“But?” Anyan asked.

“There’s always a but, isn’t there?” I asked. The barghest smiled in response.

“Well, it still hurts. And I hate
how
she died. That makes me very angry. The fact that my mother was just kidnapped and disposed of ‘accidentally’ bothers me. I know it shouldn’t; I know it’s completely illogical that the idea of her dying by ‘accident’ really bothers me, but it does. I know I would be just as upset, maybe more, if Jarl
had
kidnapped my mother on purpose, to get at me. But still… that word, ‘accident,’ really sticks in my craw.” I realized then how good it felt to talk to Anyan about my mom. It felt right.

“How do you feel about what Winston said about your mother having other children?” Anyan asked, gently.

“Did you know?” I countered, both hoping he had known, so he could tell me about them, but also fearing he’d kept something so big from me.

“Nope. I only knew Mari when she moved into Rockabill. Sea-folk keep to themselves, otherwise.”

I felt relief wash through me: relief tinged with an edge of disappointment that I now had one more mystery hanging over my head.

“Maybe when everything is over, and Jarl is caught, I can start thinking about the fact I may have half-brothers or -sisters running around,” I said, answering Anyan’s
original question. “But right now, my biggest worry is that I need to tell my dad that Mom’s dead, but I don’t know how.”

The barghest nodded thoughtfully. “My advice would be to tell him as much of the truth as you can. Tell him that part of the reason you left on this trip was you thought you had a lead on your mother. That you investigated and discovered she was dead. You stayed to help put her affairs in order. He doesn’t need the gory details.”

I thought about that. “That makes sense.”

“But?”

It was my turn to smile. “But what do I tell him about
why
she left?”

“Well,” the barghest said, his nose twitching in thought. “You can tell him the truth about that as well. That you know there was a reason she
had
to leave, but despite that fact she still loved both of you very much.”

“That makes it sound like she was a crack addict, Anyan.”

“The ocean is sort of like crack, for selkies,” he added, shrugging.

I sat up and stretched, then looked out the window. We weren’t that far from Eastport, I figured, after looking at the time on my phone. Finally, I turned back to the big man next to me. His eyes were shut, and I noticed the shadows under his eyes.

I know the perfect way to send him to sleep
, my libido purred. But I ignored the ensuing lewd suggestions, concentrating instead on studying the craggy face in front of me.

“What?” he rumbled after a few minutes, startling me.

“Um,” I fumbled. “Just thinking about what you said.”

“And?”

“And it’s a good idea.
But
,” I said, a split second before he did, causing his wide mouth to curve in a smile as his eyes twitched open to meet mine.

“But will you be there with me when I tell him?” I didn’t know why I said that, but I meant it. And it suddenly became very important to me that Anyan said yes.

“Of course,” the barghest answered without hesitation. Then he shut his eyes again and went to sleep, for the rest of the flight.

Just an hour later, we were on the ground and ready to leave.

“Almost home,” Anyan said as he handed me his spare helmet. “Glad?”

“Yeah,” I said, watching him straddle his bike with appreciative eyes. We were still being careful with each other; unsure of exactly how to proceed. But we were getting… somewhere. We were turning the slightest moment of proximity into an opportunity for a hesitant touch: Getting off the plane, Anyan’s hand had found my hip, solicitously. I’d let my hand rest on his when he’d passed me my duffel.

I didn’t know what the fuck was going to happen between the two of us, but just then—knowing I was about to clamber on the back of his motorcycle so that we could drive home, together—it felt like the possibilities were endless.

Grinning goofily, but not caring, I let him help me up behind him. Then we were off, roaring down the dark highway toward Rockabill. It was too loud to chat, but we were both enjoying the quiet and the ride too much to care.

Less than an hour later, we glided onto the exit that would shortly lead to the center of our town. Soon enough we were on Main Street, nearing the central square.

With greedy eyes I feasted on the sight of my home, so safe and quiet. Everything was just as I’d left it; just as it had always been. Read It and Weep was still standing; as was the Trough, and the hardware store, and our little bakery. Despite everything being closed up for the night, the empty town center didn’t appear desolate. It just seemed asleep, ready to wake up for a new day tomorrow.

“Home sweet home,” I murmured. One of Anyan’s hands fell on top of my own, clasped together over his waist. He stroked my knuckles gently, and I felt a strong desire to let my hands drift downward, to where his body met the bike…

But before I could go ahead and be bold, the barghest swore and braked hard, swerving into a skidding stop that had us both looking to our right.

There, lit up underneath one of our lovely antique streetlamps as if she were on a stage, stood Blondie.

She was naked again, her entirely tattooed, beringed body glowing with power. She started to move then, and after a startled second I realized she was doing a soft-shoe tap dance on the sidewalk. Every few seconds she’d do a toe tap, one leg bent behind her, arms extended behind her in a “ta-da!” pose. Only, instead of saying “ta-da!” she’d do a bit of magic. Pulling on that strong, fully elemental power that felt both familiar and yet somehow foreign, she’d shoot off mage balls that exploded like fireworks above her head; or she’d make everything go black and surround us with her psychedelic vines.

They were all powerful, all beautiful, but all
normal
tricks for an incredibly powerful Alfar. Until she did something abnormal.

One minute she was giving us the jazz hands, the next
minute she straightened, threw wide her arms, and transformed. Standing before us, tall and elegant, was a gorgeous white doe, sporting silver hoops in her elegantly pointed ears.

I remembered Anyan’s words from all those days ago, about how Alfar could do everything except shift. Which meant only one thing…

“You’re an Original, aren’t you?” the barghest’s deep voice rolled through the night air. The doe cocked her head, lowered her neck, and extended one foreleg to rub out an itch on her muzzle; then a second later the deer disappeared in a burst of magic, returning to her tattooed, human skin.

“You’re an Original,” Anyan repeated. And this time, he got an answer. Blondie put one finger to the side of her nose and winked.
Spot on
, the gesture agreed.

I let out a low whistle as Anyan started barking off questions.

“What do you want? Why are you here? Why are you helping us?”

Blondie merely smiled, raising her arms as her body rolled up like a window shade, leaving behind a white hawk floating in midair. And then the bird flew away.

We sat there, staring at the spot Blondie had vacated, both Anyan and I entirely speechless as we tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

I knew Blondie was powerful; one of the most powerful beings I’d ever met. I knew she was also an Original, although I had little clue what this actually implied. I did know, however, that she was here for me.

I only wished I knew what it was she wanted.

Nicole D. Peeler
is off on another adventure. This time she’s moving to Pittsburgh, to start a new job as a Creative Writing professor in Seton Hill’s MFA in Popular Fiction. Yes, folks, she’ll be mentoring students in writing urban fantasy. Or, as she likes to say, “Infecting them with her madness.” Equally infectious are her love of life, food, travel, and friends. To learn more about the author, visit
www.nicolepeeler.com
.

If you enjoyed
TEMPEST’S LEGACY,

look out for

EYE OF THE TEMPEST

Book Four of the Jane True Series

by Nicole Peeler

I’m in Anyan’s cabin.

Anyan isn’t here.

And Anyan
did
say to make myself at home
, I thought, audibly purring. I’d been so curious about Anyan’s life for so long, and now I had his cabin all to myself…

Which means there is nothing standing between me and his kitchen.

Like a flash I was out of the bathroom, all traces of sadness eradicated by my excitement. I peered around one last time to make sure I was alone, then I darted toward
what I knew was waiting for me. The last time I was here, it had taken pretty much every ounce of self-control I had not to go and hump the stove dominating Anyan’s kitchen. I don’t normally hump kitchen appliances, but this was no ordinary mod-con. It was something sublime. Something that transcended beauty and form and function and could make an angel weep.

It was a Wolf Challenger Restaurant Range. And I loved it.

I skidded to a stop before my destiny, blinking as the ever-awakening sun gleamed off its brightly polished surfaces. Gliding a hand over its hard, proud, stainless-steel frame, I caressed its burners, prying one up just to see how unabashedly easily it opened itself to me. I thought of all the pots I could get on it, and how each one would simmer. Simmer just for me.

I dropped to my knees, pulling open the oven door. I could practically crawl inside. I wouldn’t, because I’d (almost) seen firsthand what ovens can do to a body—albeit a goblin body—but I could if I wanted to.
And if I can get in here
, I thought as I peered inside greedily,
just think what else will fit…

“Jane?” asked a voice. It was curiously nonchalant, considering I was half in, half out of an open oven door. But it still scared me enough that I started, whapping the top of my skull for my trouble.

Anyan sighed, dropping down to haul me out of the Wolf’s gaping maw. The barghest had a tendency to treat me like a sack of flour, and today was no exception. Without batting an eyelash he’d lifted me up and sat me on the counter, so he could look at the top of my head.

I was watching the little birdies fly in front of my eyes,
so it took me a second to re-combobulate myself. In the meantime, he ran his fingers over my scalp, prodding until I winced, and then I felt a pulse of healing warmth filtering through my body.

“If we lived in a Roadrunner cartoon,” his rough voice grumbled, “I would come home one day to find your teeny-tiny arms and legs sprouting from underneath a gigantic Acme anvil.”

I gave him the stink eye.

“You are a disaster,” Anyan clarified, in case I didn’t catch his drift. “And are you all right?” he amended, giving my head one last gentle prod, followed by another rush of healing magics.

Anyan’s gray eyes sought mine but I ignored him, instead giving him a good once-over. Now that I could finally enjoy being around the barghest without all the stress of the investigation—not to mention the stress of not knowing whether or not he had any feelings for me—I felt like I hadn’t actually
seen
Anyan in ages. Starting at the top, I noticed that he clearly needed a haircut: His thick curls were extra poofy, sticking out in barghestian Afro-puffs shot through with grass and twigs from last night’s Blondie hunt. Then my eyes raked downward, over his long nose and almost too-wide mouth, loving the perfectly sensual imperfection of his features. His nose twitched at me, as if in response to my gaze, and I felt my own lips twitch in response. Traveling farther down over clothes rumpled from undoubtedly being left to lie under a shrub somewhere while he ran about in dog-form, I noticed he had a hole in his jeans, which rode low and sweet on his hips.

There’s bones under that there denim
, my libido reminded me unhelpfully.
Bones for nibblin’…

I told the libido to hush even as I felt my mouth water.

“Did you find Blondie?” I asked, as much to distract myself as make conversation.