Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5)

Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5) Page 26

“Great. Is Griz there? Or Trace?”

“Yup, want me to pass the phone?”

“If you don’t mind. And Daddy, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby girl.”

With that the phone was passed, and I heard Grizzie’s unmistakably husky voice purr down the line.

“Jane. My darling. What are you wearing?”

“Nothing, actually,” I said, grinning. It was true. I’d just gone for a swim on the beach, again, and was basking in the sun, on a towel and under a heavy glamour. Only the occasional dog of a passing jogger seemed to notice me, pulling on their leashes to get to what their owners perceived as an empty patch of Brighton’s pebbly beach.

“Mmmm,” she growled. “My lady bits are straining at the thought. Are yours straining, as well?”

“They were strained the moment you got on the line,” I said, giggling away. We shared a laugh, but then I got serious.

“You’ve gotta cut my dad off, Griz. He can’t handle all that coffee.”

Grizzie groaned. “I know. I caught him taking sips from people’s orders before he delivered them, yesterday.”

“Make him decaf for a few days without telling him, till he’s back under control. Then let him know you made the switch. I bet he’ll be fine after that.”

“If he’s not?”

“We stage an intervention,” I said, only half-joking.

“Awesome. I have just the intervention outfit.”

“I’m sure you do. Listen, everything else okay there?”

“It’s great. Other than the coffee thing, your dad’s fit in perfectly. And it’s nice to have a man around, actually. He’s been super with the ladies.”

“What?” I said, sitting up so fast my head swam.

“We had a load of tourists in from Bangor yesterday—little old ladies who came to see the Sow and breathe the sea air and have a lobster dinner. Your dad was selling them all the shit we haven’t been able to move since we got it in. You know those hideous aprons with the lobsters wearing bikinis?”

I shuddered. “Yes.”

“He sold five of them. And those stupid snowglobes that are supposed to be sand and look like Florida, but with ‘Rockabill’ written on them. He sold eight of those. He told the old ladies they would look nice on their nightstands, and then he winked. They snatched them up like they were winning lottery tickets.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to picture my dad winking. “Wow.”

“He always was a ladies’ man,” Grizzie said. But then she paused. “Wasn’t he? It’s like I can’t really remember, for some reason…”

“Oh, he always had his ways,” I said, interrupting before Grizzie could explore the gap in her memory that was my dad’s recent history.

“And Tracy’s all right? The babies?” I continued, keeping her off the scent.

“Oh, everyone’s fine. Tracy’s fat as a walrus and can you believe she wants to paint the baby’s room yellow? I mean, how pedestrian can we get…”

Grizzie chatted away for a while, until a few people came in for coffee and she had to get between my dad and their mochas. I hung up with her after promising to call again in a few days, and then lay back down on my towel.

Ladies’ man? I thought. My dad?

Then I grinned. The thought of my dad happy, and with someone else, filled me with glee. It had taken me a moment to readjust to the dad I’d known—besotted with my mother and unable to think of anything but her eventual return—with a man who could charm old ladies into buying tchotchkes. I hoped he’d keep charming them. And that one of them, eventually, wouldn’t be so old. And would see what a great guy my dad was.

Because he was. He was kind, loyal, gentle, and unbelievably open-minded and generous for someone who’d grown up with so little and known such hardship. He deserved happiness to go along with his newfound health.

My phone rang again, and I absentmindedly picked it up and flipped it open. I was half-expecting it to be my dad, calling to say good-bye after Grizzie hadn’t passed the phone back to him. Instead I heard the jeweled tones of a woman’s cool voice.

“Is this Jane True?”

My heart nearly stopped beating.

On the other end of that line was Morrigan, or I was a monkey’s uncle’s robot sexdoll from France.

And I don’t speak French very well at all.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

This is Jane True,” I said, my brain nearly fizzing it was going so fast. But my voice was steady, even if my heart was pounding. I looked around frantically for Magog, but she’d wandered over to buy an ice cream from a man with a cart.

“Hello, Jane. So nice to hear your little voice again.”

“Morrigan?” I asked, my voice almost, but not quite, cracking. She sounded gorgeous, even over the phone.

“Oh, I’m flattered. You recognized me!”

“Yes, well. You have a way of making an impression on people.”

“Is it my natural grace?” I thought about her grace, which was, indeed, very memorable.

“I think it’s more the killing of your husband in front of a room full of people, and then running off with his brother.”

“Oh. Well, if I’d known that would have such a big impact, I would have done it ages ago.”

“Why are you calling, Morrigan?” I asked, cutting to the chase.

“I have something you want,” she said.

The book, I thought.

“Yes, you do,” I said.

“I didn’t expect to find it, and I’m very impressed by it.”

“Okay,” I said, having no clue what she was talking about. Maybe she meant that she didn’t expect to find the code hidden inside of the book? But then why did she steal it?

“That said, it smells bad. And it’s rather rude.”

At those words, everything clicked and my heart sank.

She doesn’t mean the book. She means Hiral.

“So, I have something you want, which I don’t particularly want. And you have something I want. I’m thinking a trade is in order.”

I thought quickly. I had no idea what on earth we could have that she wanted. But should I admit that? Or should I try to blunder through, acting like I knew what she wanted, when I really knew nothing?

“We have something you want,” I said, as much a possible statement as it could, possibly, be a question.

“I want to talk with you, Jane. I want to open up a dialogue. And your smelly little rat-faced friend, here, is a good way to do that. I won’t kill him. I’ll even give him back to you, unharmed. Consider it a reward for coming to see me.”

“All you want to do is talk?” The idea was fantastic. I wanted to talk to Morrigan, too. I bet we could work a lot of stuff out, if we could just sit down and talk.

“Believe it or not, yes. I used to want to kill you, I won’t lie. But you’ve become ever so much more interesting than that plebeian little child who wandered into my Compound, so many months ago.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, and that’s when it hit me. Alfar never used contractions. Morrigan had definitely loosened up.

“So what do you say?”

“My conversation, for Hiral?” I asked, again, to clarify. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“What conditions?”

“You’ll come to my estate, obviously.”

For a split second, that sounded like such a good idea. We could have some alone time. Really get to the bottom of things.

What the fuck is wrong with you? my brain demanded, forcing me to think logically.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You want to talk so bad, we meet where I say.”

“Fine,” she said, “But within reason. It’s got to be open, and public, and not owned by any of your riffraff.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking hard. Problem was, I had no idea what there was in Brighton or what would be the best place to meet, strategically. “Um, can I get back to you?”

“After you’ve had time to consult your barghest? Not a chance. You wanted to negotiate conditions, Jane—so negotiate.”

“Fine,” I said. “Um…”

Then it hit me.

“Brighton Pier,” I said, grinning at my genius. “Meet us at the pier, at midnight. Bring Hiral, and he’d better be unharmed.”

“Brighton Pier it is,” Morrigan said, then her line went dead.

“Brighton Pier?” Anyan demanded. “Are you crazy?”

I blinked. I’d thought it was a smart idea. I’d bolted the two blocks back to the house we were staying at, Magog following on my heels and shouting for me to stop. But I hadn’t slowed down till I was sitting at the beautiful house’s round kitchen table where Gog, Anyan, and Blondie were already strategizing.

“What’s wrong with the Pier?” I demanded.

“What’s wrong with the Pier? How about the fact that there aren’t even any really solid structures to use as cover. And how can I call the Earth if I need it?” the barghest continued.