Tempest's Legacy (Jane True #3)

Tempest's Legacy (Jane True #3) Page 9

Ryu watched me, his eyes hooded. Finally he jerked his head back.

“He’s in his workshop. Go talk to him then come back. We’re not finished.”

I wanted to tell him that we were most certainly finished, in all the ways that mattered, but I knew he wouldn’t let me leave if I did. And you’ve got bigger fish to fry, I reminded myself, striding around to the back of Anyan’s wraparound porch, smiling at the mental image of a fuzzy-haired, glowering, iron-eyed fish that consequently popped into my brain.

I knew Anyan had a workshop behind the cabin, but it had always been padlocked. Or I would have snooped like nobody’s business. I loved the barghest’s art and had always wanted to see his creative space—which was why I’d once brought out my step stool to peer in all the windows. There were curtains involved, unfortunately.

This time, however, there was no padlock on the door and the workshop stood open. I tiptoed toward the entrance, once again extremely nervous. Peering in, my eyes swept the room until they landed on the big form of the man I’d come to see.

Anyan sat on a bale of hay, his powerful legs drawn up. Between his knees he cradled a wooden statue. It was a sinuous representation, the curves of which settled into a stylized female form. He was sanding those curves gently, bringing out the hue and grain of the wood he polished.

I watched him, gathering my nerve. He looked weary, sad, distracted. His big hands moved gently over the figurine, and my tired body rallied itself for an almost painful shudder of lust. I tamped it down, clearing my throat at the same time.

Anyan’s eyes snapped up to meet mine. We stared at each other for an uncomfortable minute before my own gaze dropped to my new purple Converse.

All day at work I’d rehearsed a very good apology speech. It was elegant, eloquent, and, I now realized, totally inappropriate.

I forced myself to raise my eyes, stepping forward into the workshop as I did so.

“I shot the messenger,” was all I said, my voice thick with shame.

A strange look passed over his face. It appeared mostly composed of relief, but combined with something I couldn’t identify. He gently placed the figurine down at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Anyan.”

“I’m sorry, too. Sorry I had to tell you like that. That it happened.”

“Yeah, but those things weren’t your fault. I was a bitch.”

He smiled ruefully. “No worries, Jane. I’m used to bitches.”

It took my tired brain a few seconds to get his joke. When I did, I gave one of my unladylike snorts. Then cringed.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I dunno. I’m so tired right now, I’m on autopilot.”

“You didn’t work today, did you?”

“It was good. A distraction. Got me away from the house.”

Anyan frowned. “What are you going to tell your father?”

I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes. I blinked furiously, feeling my nose start to run. I was on the brink of a major meltdown.

Suddenly Anyan was standing in front of me, his big hands grasping my elbows. For a second my imagination ran wild. I saw myself burying my face in his abdomen, sobbing long and hard. I imagined Anyan’s hands stroking my hair; Anyan’s hands smoothing down my back. But I wasn’t going to use my grief the way Ryu had, to get something I wanted. Anyan, for all intents and purposes, was virtually a stranger to me, and crying on him wasn’t appropriate.

“No more weeping on people,” I choked out. “Do you have some Kleenex or something?”

Anyan cupped my jaw gently, and for a second the look on his face nearly broke me. Until I realized I was about to drip snot on his hand and I sniffled, noisily. Saved by the booger, Anyan withdrew to grab a rag from the top of one of his workbenches.

“It’s clean,” he said, handing it to me.

I noisily blew my nose, then held the rag, unsure of what to do with it.

“You can keep that,” he said, as if reading my mind. I smiled at him tentatively, then he smiled back. I knew I was forgiven, and I was glad. Furthermore, I now felt free to ask everything I should have been asking the night before, instead of freaking out.

“First of all, I need to know what happened to… to my mother’s body.”

Anyan nodded. “Of course. She was given back to her people, who laid her to rest in the sea. A traditional selkie burial.”

I closed my eyes, a sudden pain gripping my heart. I would have appreciated the chance to see her again, to say good-bye… and yet, I knew Anyan had done the right thing. My mother may have loved us, but she’d loved the sea more. The sea was where she belonged. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes again to meet Anyan’s.

“I need to know what happened.”

The barghest’s open face shuttered as he returned to sit on his bale of hay. He picked up the statue and his sandpaper and went back to work. “We still don’t know that much. Whoever is running this show is careful to stay hidden.”

“Well,” I said, trying to sound reasonable, “tell me what you do know. How do you think she was captured?”

“She had to have been taken on land. Your mother was strong, and only another water-elemental could have taken her in the ocean. The Sea Code would have prevented that from happening.”

“So she was taken on land, then brought to one of these labs. What are they for?”

“All we’ve found are abandoned labs that have been cleaned out. The few times there’ve been real leads, the labs in question have been… liquidated.”

Along with my mother, I thought, at the same time I stomped down on my emotional response before it could overwhelm me.

“He may have covered his tracks, but we know who’s behind this, Anyan.”

The barghest shook his head. “We can’t jump to conclusions. We can’t make assumptions. This is huge, and we need more pieces of the puzzle.”

“Oh, get off it, Anyan,” I replied heatedly. I was so tired of this pussyfooting around the subject of the Alfar. “You sound like that one back there,” I said, jerking my head toward Anyan’s cabin where Ryu, presumably, sat stewing. “He was saying right up till Conleth fingered Phaedra that Jarl’s involvement in that fertility lab was impossible. No one wants to point fingers at the Alfar. But I know how you feel about them, and I know you know the truth. Jarl did this. Jarl is behind these labs, just like he was behind Jimmu’s killing spree and Conleth’s imprisonment. Yeah Jarl’s gotta have tons of help, but the buck stops with him. Unless you think Orin and Morrigan are involved, which I doubt. Taking my mother was personal, and Orin doesn’t work like that. He’s too cold.”

“You can’t know that your mother was a victim because of you, Jane,” the barghest responded, his voice softening sympathetically.

Damn him, I thought, feeling tears needle my eyes again. Why does he always know what I’m thinking?

“Whatever,” was my terse response. “But the lab thing is all Jarl. You said yourself that it was like where Conleth was kept. If we assume Jarl’s involvement from the beginning, and don’t waste time acting like that’s an impossibility, we’ll be a hell of a lot closer to catching him.”

Any softening of Anyan’s hawkish features hardened the minute he heard the word “we.” He stood up before placing the statue on one of the workbenches. Then he strode to the door.

“Yes, you heard me right,” I shouted after him, scrambling to keep up with his long strides. “Don’t you ignore me, Anyan Barghest!”

He was already inside his cabin, the screen door slamming in my face. I wrenched it open only to see he was already halfway through his living room. Hustling after him, I darted past a surprised-looking Julian and a sulking Ryu, both sitting on the sofa, just as the barghest gathered up a couple of bulging saddlebags and headed out his front door.

“Anyan, you shitball, you stop right now!”

Within the arc of the porch lights, he was calmly attaching his saddlebags to his gorgeous, refurbished Indian motorcycle. But now was not the time for admiring; now was the time for whooping a little man-dog keister.

“Anyan!” I shouted, demanding he acknowledge my request.

“There is no way in heaven or hell that you are involving yourself in this investigation, Jane. So don’t even start.”

I’d never been one to contain my emotions, but I don’t think I’d ever felt this sort of fury before. I’d grieved; I’d loved; I’d felt overwhelming sadness. But never real fury. Until now.

The anger started in my toes, then pushed up my body in a wave of rage so fierce I trembled. Already overcharged, my power fizzed and whizbanged right alongside my emotions. I’d always been told that emotional control was vital to magical control, but ever since I’d reached out to my ocean a year ago, I’d found that shunting off my feelings actually weakened me. Maybe it was because I was a halfling and my humanity tempered the demands of my supernatural heritage. Whatever the case, I felt a heady combination of power and anger beating through me, looking for release.