Tempest’s Fury

In a flat out panic, I was suddenly back in that dank warehouse with Conleth, and my mojo reacted before my brain. Automatically reaching into that place of power inside me left by the creature, I pulled all of the water out of the air like I was some mighty supernatural sponge. And then I sent it crashing into Jack, as if two enormous bucketfuls of water appeared out of nowhere, on either side of him, pouring towards each other. He was left on his ass—drenched, spluttering, and with his fire totally squelched.

There was furious movement behind me until someone had a hold of my hair, yanking my head back hard. Then there was a knife at my throat and Anyan was shouting and I was pulling with all that force again…

“Enough,” barked Jack from where he was sprawled on the floor, his air of authority strong despite his now sodden nature.

“Let her go,” Jack finished, his voice gone smooth and quiet again. “Miss True is our guest, after all.”

He stood, careful to keep his feet under him on the now slippery concrete floor.

When he was standing, Jack walked towards me, placing a hand under my chin. I stared up at him defiantly, ready to lash out with my mojo if I had to.

“A guest with a lot of power,” he murmured. “How surprising.”

Then Jack turned on his heel, pacing a few steps away as if trying to decide what to do next. Keeping his back turned, he gathered his power around him before a short burst of flames left him entirely dry. Only then did he turn around.

“I’m very sorry to have frightened you,” Jack said, in the slick tones of a politician apologizing for something he’d actually loved doing.

I shook my head. “You didn’t frighten me. I just… react badly to ifrits,” I said.

Smiling, Jack echoed the shake of my head with his own wry little movement. “Not an ifrit, darling. I’m wyvern,” the man said, clearly expecting me to be impressed.

“Isn’t that a snake?” I asked, just as Anyan said, “And nahual, and human.”

Jack’s carefully schooled expression flashed just a glimmer of annoyance, and I wonder which of us had gotten to him. Or maybe it was our tag-team irritation offense, something Anyan and I should probably patent.

“It’s not a snake. It’s more like a dragon,” Jack said, petulantly. “And I’ve never hidden my mixed blood.”

“Why don’t we show her blood, boss?” said a ridiculously accented man from directly behind me, the man who must have held the knife to my throat. Despite that, however, I suddenly couldn’t take him seriously as he sounded like an evil Dick Van Dyke. He had one of those accents I couldn’t help but assume was a joke.

I resisted the urge to crane my neck around. Instead I gave a heartfelt sigh, as if bored to tears at the thought of another person threatening me with bodily injury.

“Phil, be good,” soothed Jack. “Come around and meet our guests.”

From behind us walked Phil, and I couldn’t help but stare. He was tall, and skinny as a rail, but what made his look was the shiny lamé green suit he was wearing, with no shirt underneath. He was, however, sporting a top hat that had a matching green lamé band around it. I thought he looked ridiculous, until his tongue flicked out at me.

It was a snake’s tongue. Naga, I thought, gathering my power again for a strike.

“No need for that, Jane,” came Jack’s charismatic voice. “We know the trouble you’ve had with nagas, but Phil’s a halfling. One of us.”

Snark battled smarts for a second, and snark won. “Um, if there’s an ‘us,’ why are we tied up?” snark asked from my own mouth.

Jack smiled at me, but ignored me, as he brought forth his other two compatriots from the shadows. “Adele Norris,” he said, gesturing to a very plump, sweet-faced black woman who waved a cat’s paw at me. She was obviously a nahual halfling.

“And meet my brother,” Jack said. “Lyman Moore.”

Like his brother, Lyman was slight, although he had a bit more weight on him than did Jack. He was wearing antique looking circular glasses, and a somber, old-fashioned dark suit. He was also smiling broadly, but apparently at nothing in particular. It wasn’t a scary smile, just inappropriate.

“Aren’t you really half-brothers?” Anyan asked, conversationally. I saw Jack’s mouth twitch again, in annoyance, before it reset. “Or quarter? I never could figure out what you call two men who share a grandfather. Although I guess he’s Lyman’s dad, no? And your grandfather? I can’t keep it straight.”

An obviously irritated Jack was nearly answered, when Lyman put a hand on his brother’s arm.

“My father was the last full-blooded wyvern,” Lyman said, quite calmly. “And his son was Jack’s father, yes. But we are brothers.” Lyman was now standing in front of Anyan, and despite the fact his weird, placid smile had never changed, I could tell he didn’t like the barghest one bit. And from Anyan’s own expression, the feeling was mutual.

The barghest was about to respond when there was a tremendous crash from the glass ceilings above our heads. I ducked my face, although the falling glass was nowhere near, just as Blondie and Magog came swooping in: Magog on coal black wings so enormous they dwarfed her, and Blondie on the same angelic white wings she’d used to fly me over the Sow just last week. They looked liked dueling angels in a movie, but they were obviously on the same side as they landed next to us, supernatural weapons called forth and charged up with mojo.

“Jack, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Blondie asked, her voice almost friendly. Almost.

Jack smiled at the Original. “Cyntaf! So good to see you. It’s been too long. And Magog. What a surprise.” The rebel leader’s eyes were hard as he looked at the raven.

Blondie’s only reply was a cocked eyebrow.

“I am sorry for detaining your friends,” Jack said. “It’s just that here you are visiting, and you never came to say ‘hello.’ I was hurt.”

“I’m sure you were, Jack,” Blondie said, dryly. “Why don’t you untie them?”

Jack paused for just a second before nodding at Phil. The suited man’s snake tongue flicked out at me in annoyance, but I felt the ropes tying me to the chair uncoil and then start to slither off of me. The effect was definitely like that of snakes against my skin, and I tried to put on a brave face.

“There, now. Your friends are free. So why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here?” Jack asked again. This time, however, his voice was laced with an edge I didn’t like. Blondie helped me to my feet, as Magog did the same for Anyan. I wasn’t sure how long we were out, but standing didn’t feel so natural at the moment.

Blondie ignored Jack, making a fuss looking me over, making sure I wasn’t hurt. Only then did she turn to Jack, although she kept an arm around my waist to keep me steady.

“If you know, you’ll be involved,” the Original said, grimly. “And this isn’t some political game this time, Jack. It’s bigger than all of us.”

Jack paused, as if assessing his choices.

“My turf, my problem,” he said, finally. Adele had the good sense to look nervous.

“It’s the Red and the White. Someone’s trying to wake them,” Blondie said, her tone serious.

“Bullshit,” Phil laughed, his garish green suit reflecting the dregs of sunlight coming through the now shattered ceiling. “Them’s children’s stories, meant to scare younglings who don’t know no better.”

But Blondie didn’t laugh at the joke, and neither did Jack who was watching the Original with thoughtful blue eyes.

It was Lyman who finally broke the silence.

“Well, isn’t this a pickle,” he said, still grinning inappropriately.

Jack nodded. “It is indeed. I’ll need to look into this claim.”

And with that he strode forward to shake first Blondie’s hand, then mine, then Anyan’s, and finally Magog’s. He was like a politician mopping up the dregs of a long parade route. I was so surprised at this turn of events that I shook his hand like it was completely normal to politely see off one’s abductor.

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again, soon enough,” he told me with a wink, before turning to Blondie. “Cyntaf, I’ll be in touch. Nice seeing you.”

And with that he was off, striding out of the double doors that appeared to be the only exit, his entourage trailing behind him like some bizarre Benetton commercial.

Blondie let go of my waist and stepped away from me, frowning in thought.

“Who the fuck was that?” I asked, rubbing my chafed wrists.

“He’s the leader of the rebel forces here on the Island,” Blondie said, wearily. It took me a minute to get what she was saying.

“Wait,” I spluttered, as my little lightbulb finally switched on.

“Those are the good guys?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

But if they’re the good guys, the brave rebel halflings seeking justice, who the hell are the bad guys?” I asked, scampering to keep up with Anyan’s long strides. It was just the two of us and we were walking away from the flat Gog had misappropriated for the evening. It was a small, two-bedroom affair in the London borough of Islington, a place that was definitely more urban than where we’d stayed last night. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">