Eye of the Tempest (4 page)

“Anyan?” I queried, my voice beseeching.

“He’s fine,” my dad responded, smiling soothingly. “He’s been here as much as he could, but he’s also been busy with… other things.”

Unbelievable relief spread through me, even as my forehead rumpled, knowing that “other things” could not be good. But before I could ask, my dad shook his head.

“Don’t worry yourself, Jane. Not yet at least. You’re awake. That’s all that matters. I was so scared…”

At that admonition, my father’s voice broke. So
I
nearly broke at the expression on his face, still so handsome, if a tad sad and careworn after all these years.

“Daddy,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry…”

At that, he laughed, if hoarsely. “Honey, please don’t apologize. I can hardly blame you for being attacked.”

“Attacked…” I frowned. I was still under the influence of the dreams, and it seemed like everything else was very far away. Especially what had happened in Anyan’s driveway.

I killed a man
. I remembered, but without emotion. Then I also remembered that was inaccurate.

I’d killed quite a few men.

And yet I couldn’t muster any guilt about that fact. All I could think of was Anyan lying there, bleeding, and, weirdly enough, about the “doctors” Jarl had employed to staff his torture clinics.

Like the men who attacked us in the glade, those men were “just doing a job,” too
.

They’d chosen to do evil for a paycheck, or because they enjoyed it, or both.

Comeuppance is a bitch
.

“What happened?” I asked.

My father frowned. “No one is sure. All we know is that you were attacked. And you saved yourself and you saved Anyan.”

I couldn’t help but feel a prickle of pride at those words. Yes, I wished I’d never had to do what I did. But when the time was right, I’d womanned up and saved myself and Anyan.

“Your friend with the tattoos”—and here my dad made a series of bizarre sounds that I chalked up as my brain having a bit of a postcoma lapse—“was able to bring Anyan right back with her healing skills. But you were another matter.”

Blondie’s still here?
I wondered.
Do I have some questions for her. Like what the hell she was doing following us in the first place. And, speaking of questions, my dad just said “healing skills.”

“Um, Dad?” I asked. “How much do you know?”

His smile was small, but firm. “I now know that your mother was a selkie. That she was magic. And I know that you’re as much her daughter as mine. That you’ve got powers, too.”

I blinked back tears at the resolve in his voice. The resolve and the forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, Dad. About Mom. About me.”

“Pshaw,” he replied, shaking his head. “I always knew how very special your mother was, and how very special you are. You have both been my greatest gifts. Now I just have more accurate words to describe why you’re so special.”

And with those words the tears wouldn’t be stopped, and he sat patiently while I cried.

“Still, I should have told you…” I said, as soon as the worst of my weeping had ceased.

“Yes, you should have. But I should also have asked. I knew about your mother’s swimming, and about yours. I knew there was always something… different about both of you. But I couldn’t begin to fathom… I’ve never been superstitious, or religious, so I had no idea what the answer could have been. I think I was frightened,” he finally admitted.

“Frightened?” I asked, my voice small.

“Frightened that what made you different was what made your mother leave. And that if I asked too much, or called attention to too much, you would leave, too.”

I rubbed my hand over my eyes, wiping away my tears. The thing was, my dad was actually right. My mom
had
left because she was different, and she would have taken me if she’d had the chance. I think she must have loved him, and me, in her own way. But her way of loving hadn’t been the human way. And now she was dead.

“Dad, I have to tell you about Mom—”

“Shh, honey. I know everything.”

“You know? That she’s—”

“That she’s gone. Yes.”

I blinked at him. I couldn’t believe we were even having this conversation, and part of me wished that I’d been the one to tell my dad about my supernatural life. But I wasn’t sorry I’d missed out on telling him about my mother. I was still dealing with my own feelings, and was in no position to help him understand what had happened.

“Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry…” I managed to choke out, eventually.

“Shh, baby girl,” he said, gathering me up in his arms for a fierce hug before he positioned me so he could look into my eyes as he talked.

“I had a lot of time to think about everything while you were out. And I’m okay. Your mother left us a lifetime ago, and I should have let her go a long time back. Almost losing you helped me see that. I loved her, and she gave me you. But you’re what’s important, and my being there for you.”

“You always were, Dad,” I said, hating the guilt I saw in his eyes.

“No, I wasn’t. We should have left Rockabill after Jason died. You deserved a fresh start. And I didn’t give that to you.”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t forget Jason and what happened just because we moved. And everything worked out for the best—”

“You sorted yourself out, yes,” he interrupted. “But at what price? I let you suffer because I wanted to be here if Mari came home. But she didn’t, and now we know she won’t…”

With that, my father’s face fell and his eyes glazed with tears. He was putting a brave face on things, but he wasn’t going to forget my mother, or deal with her loss, overnight. So I leaned forward in his hug in order to tuck my head under his chin, and I let my own tears join his.

We cried then, together, for my mom, for our family, for each other and our loss. As painful as it was to know she was gone, at that moment of sharing with my father, it felt like some very small part of my grief eased. Not all of it, but even that little bit felt like a lot.

I hoped he felt the same.

“How long
have
I been out?” I asked when we’d stopped snuffling. It had obviously been long enough for my dad to get over the shock of the supernatural world, have someone tell him about my mom’s death, and grow a beard.

A week? Maybe two?

“A month,” he replied, to my horror.

“Good lord,” I whispered. “A month?” No wonder my limbs felt all tingly and weird still. Feeling was coming back, but slowly.

“Yep. And we thought we were going to lose you quite a few times. Your power kept draining. Dr. Sam says that if”—and here my dad again made that same series of bizarre sounds he’d made earlier.

“Gesundheit,” I interrupted.

“Sorry?”

“You sneezed.”

My dad laughed. “No, that’s your friend’s name. With the tattoos.”

I blinked at him, and then it hit me. “You mean Blondie? With the Mohawk?”

“Yes, that’s not a sneeze. It’s her name.”

“Hmmm,” I said, trying to figure out what he’d said and how he’d said it. “I think I’ll stick with Blondie.”

Especially since, although everyone keeps telling me she’s my friend, I have yet to determine her status for myself
.

For, while I’d once told the barghest I got a good vibe from the Original, that was before she showed up right before we were attacked in Anyan’s driveway. Yeah, she’d saved me, but was it all just a clever trick to gain our trust?

Chuckling again, my dad shook his head ruefully. “I had some time to practice while you were sleeping. Anyway, yeah, if she hadn’t been here, you would be dead. It was her power that kept you going.”

“Hmm,” I said, wondering what the Original’s motives were in keeping me alive. Not to mention, when had everyone become such chums? Last thing I’d known, Blondie was a stranger. And that’s what she was to me, until I could talk to her myself.

In other words, Blondie and I needed to have a little chat.

“And Dr. Sam is the…” My voice trailed off, still not able to say the word in front of my dad.

“The goblin?” he asked, his grin infectious. “Yep. A friend of Anyan’s. Both of them have been wonderful.” My dad started to make that funny combination of sounds, and then he stopped himself. “Er, Blondie did most of the healing, but you needed to be kept fed and everything. Dr. Sam also did things to keep your muscles from atrophying. You’ll still be a little weak for a few days, but he said that if you woke up and had a swim, you’d be almost as good as new.”

My dad said “
if
you woke up” so casually that my heart broke. After everything he’d been through, he must have really thought I might die. He didn’t deserve to worry like that; he didn’t deserve that fear and pain.

I nearly started crying again, but he stopped me with what he said next.

“He healed me, Jane.”

“What?” I asked, confused. When had he gotten hurt?

If those motherfuckers hurt my dad
…

“My heart. It’s as good as new. Like I was never sick a day in my life.”

My breath caught in my throat. My dad’s condition had been a part of our lives for so long that I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have him heart-whole and healthy.

“Really? Really healed?”

“Completely. And Anyan went with me to my doctor, so that he could… What do you call it? Glamour?”

I nodded.

“So he could glamour everyone, and he found someone to change everything in the system. Even followed me around so that all of Rockabill knows me as ‘Calvin True, that guy who has always been healthy.’ ”

“Oh, Dad. That’s marvelous…”

“It’s been strange,” he interrupted, as if he didn’t really want to discuss the issue. “Such a blessing at such a terrible time.”

I nodded, knowing he would need a while to think through what had happened over the past month. I was, after all, something of an expert on getting over pretty big shocks to the system.

Before we could talk more about how he felt about his sudden return to health, the door to my room burst open as a girl with pearl-gray skin and hair the color and texture of seaweed entered.

“Jane!” Trill shouted, her voice as dark and eerie as an oil slick. But the smile that took up her strange, flat-featured face was so joyful that she was beautiful.

And just as instantaneously she was crowding past my father to wrap her arms around me—arms that smelled of brine.
My sea
, I thought, desire swamping over me as irresistibly as thirst or hunger.

“Don’t smother her, kelpie,” came a gentle, grandmotherly voice from the other side of Anyan’s massive bed. When I managed to extricate myself from Trill’s grasp, I moved to greet the little woman I knew was waiting.

Nell Gnome’s enormous gray bun floated above the mattress, the rest of her plump, two-foot-tall little form revealing itself as I leaned over to the other side of the bed. When our eyes met, she smiled at me, illuminating her fairy godmother features. Features that all but disappeared in a thousand kindly crinkles.

“We thought we’d lost you, little halfling,” she said, as she levitated herself onto the bed to give me her own hug.

“I’m apparently not all that easy to kill,” I said to her, laughing as she patted me on the cheek as if to convince herself I was really there.

“No. You Trues are made of tough stuff. Calvin,” she said, nodding cordially toward my father.

“Nurse Ratched,” he intoned drily, twitching an eyebrow at me that caused me to blush. I’d left my father in Nell’s care a few times, under a glamour that convinced him she was a nurse, rather than a gnome. A nurse I’d named Ratched, in a moment of pure insanity.

I made an
I’m sorry
face at him before turning to Nell.

“Okay. I need to know what happened.” Then I made a face as my bladder suddenly made itself known.

“Gottapeegottapeegottapee!” I chanted, moving over to the edge of the bed. Trill helped me stand on shaky legs, and then she practically carried me to Anyan’s bathroom. Once she’d propped me up on the toilet, I shooed her away, but when I was finished, I only just managed to haul myself up by using the sink as leverage.

Staring at myself in the mirror as I washed my hands, I was greeted with quite a shock. My hair, first of all, was insane. For some reason it had grown exponentially, hanging down to my hips in undulating black waves.

Undulating is polite for greasy
, I thought, making a face at my grubby self.

The hair was going to need to be cut stat, not least because my bangs were halfway down my face. And I was very thin, far thinner than I’d ever been in my life. The sweatpants and T-shirt I was dressed in draped off my frame like I was some jankie old hanger. As someone who enjoyed being curvy, I didn’t like what I saw. Plus, I figured I lived enough of a knock-around life that I needed some padding.