Eye of the Tempest (10 page)

“Grim’s been busy in Borealis,” Anyan added, as if to affirm what Nell was saying.

“The Grim? The one Cappie told us about?” I asked. Grim was a friend of Anyan’s who lived in, and guarded, the little suburb of Chicago called Borealis, where halflings had made themselves a very cool home. Other than that, and the fact that he was seriously powerful, I knew nothing about Grim. He wanted to remain a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and Anyan respected his friend’s wishes.

“Yep. He guards something strong, and someone’s been trying for it. Using very similar strategies,” the barghest said.

“So, what we know is that war is coming. The bad guys are looking for things that will give them an advantage. And one of those things happens to be here, in Rockabill, but we don’t know what it is, or where,” I summarized, suddenly feeling immensely tired both physically and emotionally.

“Well, we know it’s locked. And that there are four locks,” Iris said, still managing to look on the bright side despite everything she’d gone through. I saw Caleb stroke her blond head after she’d spoken, and my heart went pitter-patter. He so
got
her, I realized—he was rewarding her for a bravery, a strength of spirit, that he would only recognize as either of those things because he really
understood
Iris—who she’d been, what she’d suffered through, and how she was fighting to regain the part of herself she’d lost in that mansion.

“Like what kind of locks? What do they look like?”

“That we’re not so sure about,” Anyan admitted. “But they’re here. Somewhere. Probably.”

“But we’re not really sure what they contain?” I said, just to be clear.

“Er, no,” was all Anyan could say.

We all sat around the bar at the Sty, not meeting each others’ eyes. Although we weren’t talking, I knew everyone was thinking the same thing I was, or at least a close approximation.

Oh, fuckerdoodles
.

CHAPTER SEVEN

My morning swim was a combination of my usual outing and a new kind of reconnaissance. I swam in and around the piglets, Trill keeping watch, trying to see if I’d go all
Exorcist
and try climbing into the whirlpool again.

But nothing happened, and I kept my usual respectful distance from the Sow. She swirled about in front of us, silent and inscrutable, while Trill and I circled like not-very-fearsome sharks.

After my swim, I went home to shower and then got ready for work. It was my first day back in my normal routine in a very long time. I’d been traveling for weeks before the attack that had left me comatose for a month, so I was incredibly lucky I had such understanding (and slightly glamoured) employers. I was also more than ready to get back into the swing of things, especially since I was really feeling my oats. The night before, shortly after we’d had our run-in with Stu, I’d nearly fallen asleep sitting up. I’d had a busy day for someone who’d been asleep for so long. Anyan looked a bit disappointed when Nell offered to apparate me home, but I took her up on the offer. I didn’t think I could stand up for much longer, so any hanky-panky with the barghest was going to have to wait.

Which meant that I began my long walk to work well rested and feeling good—almost entirely normal. Or as normal as I could feel, given the circumstances.

Because, once I entered our little village, I saw that things were definitely odd in Rockabill. Nothing a stranger would have picked up on, but I could feel it. It wasn’t all the people about—there was always a lot of foot traffic in Rockabill. Except when it was raining or snowing, people would drive into the town center, but then they’d park to do most of their errands on foot. This was partly due to how small our little village was, but it was also because it was an ideal way to socialize. Everyone would walk around, coffee in hand, chatting about who had done what to whom. In a place like Rockabill, there were no secrets and, except for the tourists, no strangers. Anyone who planted him-or herself here for longer than a single summer was fair game for the outrageously generous acts of kindness, the sometimes cruel gossip, and the ceaseless
interest
that was life in a very small community.

And for better or worse, I was a Rockabillian. So the tension that had sprung up while I was sleeping grated at me like nails on a chalkboard. Everyone was walking around like they expected something to jump out at them. Which I supposed was understandable if your friends, loved ones, and neighbors could start yelling weird threats randomly and for no obvious reason.

Or start writing on the walls
, I thought, seeing evidence of badly painted-over graffiti on the outside walls of Tanner’s Bakery; our little supermarket, McKinley’s; the Trough, our diner; as well as some of the sidewalks and benches. Underneath the fresh paint, I could clearly see the words “Rises,” “Death,” and “Come” defacing the brick or shingle sides of our downtown buildings. I wasn’t opposed to things “rising” or “coming,” but having “death” sandwiched between the two words was a bit of a buzz kill.

It’s not just that everyone’s on edge
, I observed, as I walked through our little town center.
It’s like they don’t trust themselves
.

It
would
be pretty weird, however, to discover yourself defacing public property when you’ve never so much as spat on the sidewalk. The whole point of why we were so up in each others’ business is that Rockabill
wasn’t
San Francisco or Seattle. Rockabill wasn’t known for attracting eccentrics, crazy geniuses, and the simply crazy. Yes, we had our fair share of oddities, but for the most part we were all pretty “normal” people. Every once and a while someone would do something like run off with a tourist, or invest in alpacas, or begin selling paintings of their own vagina on Etsy, but that was rare. Most of us were nice and bourgeois, so to have people in our community acting out like this (and with no memory of how or why) was really terrifying.

Which explains why everyone is walking on eggshells
, I thought, watching as Marge Tanner—returning to her bakery after delivering pastries to Read and Weep for our bakery case—gave Gus Little—who bagged groceries at McKinley’s but was really a stone spirit—a nervous nod. The idea that someone might be nervous around
Gus
illustrated how badly Rockabill nerves were frayed.

I’d grown up thinking Gus was mentally a bit slow, when in reality he was sort of like a dryad, only instead of bound to a tree he was bound to a rock somewhere right outside town. Like their namesakes, stone spirits were often unflappable and a bit obtuse, meaning that Gus had never done anything to raise eyebrows in his life. Unless being someone who never raised eyebrows did, indeed, raise eyebrows.

Things are bad
, I realized, grimly, as Marge gave me my own wary greeting, as if to assess whether I’d freak out on her, before stopping to chat. We exchanged some pleasantries about Belize and about the bakery, Giving Gus time to walk into McKinley’s. After I’d said good-bye to Mrs. Tanner, I walked past McKinley’s, glad Gus was inside so I didn’t have to force a conversation with him. Even my knowing his true nature and sharing his supernatural world with him didn’t make socializing with the stone spirit any easier.

I ducked into the bookstore and was immediately ambushed. “Oof,” was my awesomely articulate response to being shoved, face first, into Grizzie’s surgically enhanced bosoms the second I was through the door.

“My dahlink,” she purred. “Where have you been all my life? How could you abandon me for Belize?”

“Ahm thowwy,” I mumbled into her cleavage.

“Fickle bitch,” she replied, finally releasing me. “Now, tell me everything. And when did you start hanging around with Juan Besonegro?”

“Um… who?”

“Juan! The artist! Since when did you guys know each other?”

“Do you mean An… wan? The big guy?” I asked, finally putting together that Grizzie meant Anyan.

“Ooooh, is he big? I thought he would be.”

I blinked at her.

“Yes,” she said and sighed, disappointed. “The big guy, from the other night. The way you two were looking at each other, I figured you’d know each other’s names, at least. And maybe each other’s ticklish spots.”

“Yeah, sorry, I do know… Juan. I’m just out of it today…”

“So, where
is
his ticklish spot? And can I have a go?” Grizzie asked, raising her hands to scritch her fingernails in the air, a gesture that I found alarming, to say the least.

“His ticklish spot is right next to your pregnant girlfriend, you slattern,” I replied, backing away from her talons, painted a lurid shade of neon green to match her black wraparound dress with its neon-green-winged lapels, hem, and French cuffs.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Grizzie sighed, mock seriously. “I’m totally ball-and-chained. I’ll be forced to start wearing housecoats. Actually, I would rock a house coat,” Grizzie said, as she struck a dramatic vamp pose with one arm in the air and one foot out to the side, toes pointed.

“You totally would,” I said, heading toward the back so I could drop off my stuff before starting work. I knew Griz would follow.

“Seriously, though, how do you know Juan?” she asked, her curiosity obviously very piqued.

“How do
you
know Juan?” I countered, trying to figure out what I needed to know of Anyan’s human persona before answering.

“Who
doesn’t
know Juan?” Grizzie asked, rolling her eyes and leaning against the doorframe as I set down my bag and jean jacket on the table in the back room. “He’s totally famous, totally mysterious, and a total all-in-one sausagefest.”

“Classy, Griz,” I said, giggling.

“What, it’s true!” she replied, poking a fingernail into the side of her long, black French braid to scratch her scalp. “He’s hotter than candy on a stick. Huckleberry, cherry,
or
lime.”

“He is definitely hot—” I started to say, before Grizzie interrupted me with some more Juan worship.

“I mean, he’s not pretty, by any means. Not like Ryu. Whatever happened to Ryu, anyway?” I started to reply, but she didn’t let me. Grizzie was on a roll. “Who cares, he was pretty, but too fancy. Who wants fancy? Our Jane needs someone stable… someone grounded… someone more domestic…”

I blushed, realizing that Anyan
was
all of these things. Yes, he was a dangerous-ninja-dog-man, but he was also everything Grizzie was describing.

“Someone who’ll throw you down on the bed and show you how it’s done… Someone who’ll tie you up and let you know what it is to be a woman… Someone who’ll spank that little—”

“Grizzie!” I barked, bringing her sexual tirade to a halt, and just in the nick of time. She’d gone all glassy-eyed and drooling.

“Oh, sorry. I get carried away.”

“Oh, do you, now?” was my sarcasm-laden response.

“Anyway, he’s hot and I’ll bet he’ll spank you.”

My only rejoinder was a throaty whimper, my mouth gone dry.

“So, you know him how?” Grizzie said, interrupting me before I could plunge too deeply into my own Anyan-spanking fantasy.

“Um… we met… hiking. He has a cabin in the woods.”

“You? Hiking?” It was Grizzie’s turn to make free and easy with the sarcasm. She had a point.

“It was more… strolling,” I clarified, lying my pants off. “By the beach. You know I like to walk by the beach.”

“But you’ve been in Belize.”

Shit!
I thought, my brain shuffling away.

“We met a while ago, while I was strolling. Then we… uh… we saw each other on the plane.”

“To Belize?” Grizzie asked, clearly not believing me.

“No, that would be ridiculous, obviously,” I said, although that was totally what I’d been going to say. “On the connecting flight. Back to Eastport.”

“Ohhhh, okay. And you guys talked? Reconnected? Maybe joined the mile-high club?”