Gathering Storm

by Danann, Victoria

  “How are you today, Storm?”

  “I suppose I can’t complain.”

  “You could, but it wouldn’t do you any good.” Glen laughed at his own joke, but Storm didn’t find it quite as amusing. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Angel responded only by raising an eyebrow to suggest a sentiment of, “What now?”

  When the door opened, Aelsong’s eyes locked on Angel’s straightaway. She breezed in wearing the same fetching blonde curls as her brother, but longer, and a blue silk dress that made the blue of her eyes so arresting it would be impossible to look away. The silk moved around her body with such fluidity that it gave the illusion that she’d been hit with a fan like one of those hair commercials. The incongruity of the fact that she wore big clunky fur lined ankle boots only seemed to add to the appeal. Being a man who knew how to appreciate fast horses and beautiful girls, Angel sat up and temporarily lost interest in anything that wasn’t Song.

  “This is Aelsong Hawking. She’s Ram’s sister in case you didn’t already notice the resemblance. Song. This is Storm.”

  The dress and the woman came to rest directly across the table from Angel. She extended her hand. He knew he needed to rise, but forgot that he first needed to push his chair back. His ass came to a hard crash in the chair a second after launch. The upward momentum was reversed when his lap hit the table edge. She laughed softly without seeming impolite while he tried again with an embarrassed smile and ears turning beet red. Any red-blooded female would be flattered.

  “How do you do, Mr. Storm?”

  “Ah, well.”

  “That’s not what you told me!” Glen chided while Angel cut him a dirty look. “Right. That’s neither here nor there. And, clearly, this is a no-joke zone.

  “First order of business is to order lunch. Then we can talk about why Song is here. Storm, what will you have today?”

  “I was thinking club sandwich.”

  “No pheasant a la orange? No Suite of Sea? Or Strawberries Romanoff?” Glen asked.

  Angel shook his head. “Club sandwich.”

  Song looked delighted. “Storm loves club sandwiches! Practically lives on them.”

  Angel looked at her with renewed interest. “You know him?”

  “Oh, aye. He’s been fast friends with my brother since they were teenagers. Visited our home in Ireland many times. When he was no’ comin’ along, Rammel talked about him often.”

  “Aelsong, what will you have for lunch?”

  She looked at Glen then smiled at Angel. “I must be susceptible to suggestion. Now I’m findin’ myself in the mood for a club sandwich.” She looked at Angel. “Are we havin’ that with chips?”

  We? “I was thinking French fries.”

  She smiled. “Oh, aye, I forget that here chips are called French fries. Aye. ‘Tis what I’ll be havin’ as well.”

  Somehow, when she said the word “here”, she left the impression that she was making the best of roughing it in the wilderness.

  While Glen called the kitchen, Song turned to Angel.

  “All thin’s considered, you appear to be doin’ well. I really can no’ imagine bein’ in your position. Surrounded by people you do no’ know who want you to mimic someone you ne’er met? I’d find it confusin’ and terrifyin’.”

  “Yeah. It’s confusing at times, but so far, the only things terrifying are the workout regime Kay has me on and the fighting thing with Mrs. Hawking.”

  Aelsong laughed. “She lets you call her that?”

  Angel thought about it. “I guess I’ve never tried.” His contemplative look was replaced by an evil smile. “Why? Does she not like to be called that?”

  “You did no’ hear that from me, Sir Storm.”

  That was the first time anyone had referred to Angel as Sir Storm. He felt his body jerk, not enough so that anyone would notice. The tiny movement would have been imperceptible to an observer. But he felt it. No mistaking a profound visceral reaction to the idea of being called “Sir” Storm. There was something about the addition of that title, made up of three little letters, that struck a spark in his soul as surely as the turn of an internal ignition.

  Perhaps the catalyst was the dedication that shown through in Kay’s punishing drive toward physical perfection, or Elora’s relentless insistence on a skill set committed to muscle memory so that thought wasn’t required for performance, or the underlying passion and unmistakable pride that Glen imparted in his lessons about the history of The Order of the Black Swan, or the way Ram was so ferociously protective of his teammate’s family. Maybe it was all of those things or maybe there was something innate in Angel that lay dormant waiting for the right moment, the right stimulus, to awaken the seed of exceptionalism.

  “Tough is it?”

  “What?” Angel was brought back from his odd reaction by her voice.

  “The workouts with Kay. The fights with Elora. You said terrifyin’.”

  “It’s not as bad now as it was at first. Now the hardest part is always hearing about the paragon I’m supposed to be impersonating. To listen to his friends, you’d think he can walk on water while doing his taxes and composing a symphony.”

  Song laughed again. “Oh. So they’ve been tellin’ you he’s all that, have they?”

  “Perfection personified. He broke the perfection mold. He’s the smartest, strongest, most righteous son-of-a-bitch to ever be born. Oh, and let’s not forget, he does dishes, too.” Angel rolled his eyes.

  She laughed. “You forgot handsomest.”

  “I didn’t forget. Just exercising some humility – since I look just like him. Supposedly.”

  Song’s eyes drifted around the room at the poster-size photos. “Aye. He is beautiful and ‘tis no point denyin’ it.” Her eyes slid to Angel. “And, just so you know, there’s no ‘supposedly’ about it. You do look just like him. I once got into a lo’ of trouble with Elora for calling him the dark and broodin’ one. She does no’ put up with any teasin’ where he’s concerned.”

  Angel smiled. “Dark and brooding?” Song nodded and smiled. “So there is a flaw.”

  “No one’s flawless.” Angel smiled. “Although, to be fair, he does come close.”

  She chuckled when Angel’s face fell and his shoulders slumped dramatically.

  Glen closed his phone and sat down at the head of the table. “Now, let’s talk about why Aelsong’s been invited to our lunch date.”

  Angel couldn’t really say no to telling his life story with those big blue eyes staring at him hopefully. If he was willing to allow Elora to torture him under the pretense of learning to fight, he could certainly stand to look at Ram’s sister while he talked about himself and hear the lyrical lilt of her accent. She wasn’t Litha. But she sure was cute.

  “I’d like to ask you a question and I hope you won’t take it the wrong way.”

  “Certainly.” She seemed at ease and not the least guarded about the prospect of an unknown question.

  “Everyone else around here has been more or less acting like they’ve just come from a funeral. You seem, um, cheerful. Did you not like Storm?”

  “Oh, aye. I like him just fine. I simply have a philosophy about expectin’ the best outcomes. ‘Tis a lot less wear and tear than the alternative.”

  “An optimist. It matches your, uh, persona.”

  “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As the days wore on, Angel became so good at impersonating Storm that sometimes nobody corrected him for an entire day. They were all starting to relax around him and accept him, which made him feel better than it should have. He couldn’t figure out why he cared what they thought one way or the other. Of course he knew why he cared what Litha and Rosie thought, but he kept that to himself.

  Of all of them, Rosie had been the first to accept him. She knew he wasn’t her Daddy, but she liked him and acted like she cared about him.

  Just ten days after he’d read her the story of Jungbluth
and der Recke, Rosie was the equivalent of fourteen. It was a Sunday afternoon and Angel had finished his workout with Kay - always an adventure in brutality. He’d also completed private tutelage on Black Swan from the boy genius and the daily smack down from the Lady Laiken.

  He was making a smoothie when Rosie came into the kitchen.

  “I’m going to play chess with Glen.”

  She was wearing a cute outfit with a skirt that was a little on the short end of the spectrum. The blood drained from his face when he thought about Rosie going out in public dressed like that.

  “You’re not going dressed like that. Go change.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because…”

  When he imagined some asshole doing to Rosie what he had done to that girl who stopped him outside the club men’s room, he became enraged. The idea of someone hurting Rosie made him want to exterminate every male on the planet just to insure such a thing could never happen. That’s when realization struck. That girl had been somebody’s daughter. She might have been young and rash, gullible and naïve, maybe even stupid, but she didn’t deserve what she got from him just because she was wearing a short skirt and wanted a second helping of fuck from him. Standing there in Storm’s kitchen looking at this little girl who might have been his own, he wanted to kick his own ass until he bled out in a long and painful way. Public service indeed. He was a public enemy.

  He finally decided to go with, “Because I said so.”

  She stared at him for a few beats and then laughed. “I’m going. See you later.”

  “Rosie! I’m not kidding around.”

  She blew him a kiss and was gone.

  Litha came home a few minutes later to find him fuming.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Your daughter left here practically not wearing a skirt.”

  Litha blinked. “You mean it was short?”

  “It wasn’t short, Litha. It was practically non-existent!”

  Every muscle in Angel’s face was tense, his voice was definitely elevated and he was definitely aggravated.

  “And you’re upset about it because…” He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Litha’s face and voice softened. “Do you have protective feelings about Rosie?” She asked quietly. “It’s okay if you do. You’ve been watching her grow up even if it’s been only two weeks. It’s been an amazing experience. Hasn’t it?”

  Some of Angel’s anger seemed to melt away hearing Litha call what they’d witnessed a shared experience.

  “I... just don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “Rosie can’t get hurt. You should know that.” Her eyes went to the burn mark on his arm that was fading, but still visible.

  “I don’t mean hurt that way.”

  Litha smiled knowingly. “Okay. Let’s make hotdogs.”

  “What? What does…?”

  “Storm loves hotdogs. I wouldn’t let him have them very often because I’m the food police, but I feel like being close to him tonight. So let’s eat chili and cheese and gods-only-know toxins and die early. What do you say?”

  He looked like he was thinking it over. “Dying early? Sounds like a plan. I’m in.”

  Litha and Angel called it a three napkin dinner. They were wiping dripping chili and cheese away with every bite when they heard a door slam in the house. They both stopped eating and looked at each other.

  Litha was surprised to hear Angel say, “Stay here.”

  “No. I’m sure it’s Rosie and, if she’s slamming the door, it means that maybe she needs somebody to talk to.”

  Angel hesitated. “Let’s verify. If it’s Rosie, I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Deal.”

  Litha knocked on the door. “Rosie? You there? Can I come in?” There was silence for a few seconds and then foot stomping on the suspended hardwood floor.

  Rosie jerked the door open, turned around, and stomped back to her bed. Litha glanced at Angel then stepped in and closed the door behind her.

  “What happened?”

  She’d never even seen Rosie out of sorts, much less angry and about to cry.

  “He left before our game was finished.”

  “Oh. Well. that’s not so bad, is it?”

  “He had a date, Mom!”

  “Baby, you can finish your game anytime.” Rosie glared at her mother until Litha caught the drift. “Oh.”

  Rosie threw her hands up and then threw herself on her bed. “I hate him!”

  Litha stood motionless, trying to make sense of her own life. Less than a month ago, the teenager in front of her, apparently caught in the grip of full blown woman-child angst, was an infant no longer than her arm from shoulder to wrist. And it was shaping up to look like carrying her parents’ memories wasn’t going to save her from teen hormones or from the experiences that stir those hormones into tantrums. Apparently every soul has to walk that valley alone, demon or not.

  “Rosie, you know Glen is too old for you.”

  Rosie made a garbled noise and an exasperated gesture. “For how long?” She looked at her watch. “Three hours?!?”

  Litha had to concede that her daughter would be Glen’s age in less than two weeks. “A little bit of an exaggeration, but I get your point. The thing is you’re not old enough for Glen today. And, when you are, you need to be prepared for the possibility that the people we want don’t always want us back.”

  A tear slipped down Rosie’s cheek and broke Litha’s heart. “Is this supposed to be helping?” she asked quietly.

  “Well. Yes. I hope so.”

  “He’s mine.”

  Litha smiled sadly. “Rosie, he’s not yours just because you say so. You know I think the world of Glen and your dad is very fond of him. Someday, if you end up with someone like that, I’m going to feel like the luckiest mother-in-law ever. But you can’t claim another person like calling dibs. It just doesn’t work like that. Well, it doesn’t work that way for us. For elves and a few others, but not us.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because every coin has two sides. If you could claim Glen, whether he agreed to it or not, then someone could claim you whether you agreed or not.”

  Rosie looked at her mother with liquid emerald eyes. “But I know he’s mine. What do I do?”

  Litha thought about it for a minute. “How did you leave things with Glen?”

  “I tumped the chess board and scattered the pieces all over the room. Then I called him a cocksucker and left.”

  “Rosie!”

  “What?”

  “You did not call him that.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “Where did you ever… never mind. Darling, you cannot use language like that. It’s just not acceptable.”

  Rosie narrowed her eyes at her mother.

  “You found a memory where your dad called somebody that, didn’t you?” Rosie nodded and narrowed her eyes even more. “And me, too,” Litha said with resignation. Rosie nodded again. “Well, that didn’t make it right and certainly you don’t have many such memories.”

  Rosie narrowed her eyes again to which Litha said, “Your father?” Again, Rosie nodded.

  “Okay, enough about that. You threw chess pieces, called him a name… Did you yell at him?”

  “Yeah.” She said it like, “Well, duh!”

  “So you threw chess pieces, shouted that he is, well, you know, then came back here and slammed the door.”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. You’re going to lay low for about a week. Then we’re going to find out if Glen is interested, but only if you make a deal with me first that, if he’s not, you’ll let it go.”

  Rosie chewed her bottom lip. She had enough demon blood to understand that deals are sacred. She also had enough witch blood to know she could probably manipulate Glen’s will with a commanding/compelling spell, even though the great-grandmother who visited her in dreams would have a fit if she did and even though she kne
w in her heart it wouldn’t make Glen love her the way she wanted and needed him to love her. She pulled in a big breath, blew it out, and said, “Okay. What’s the plan? Does it involve shopping?”

  Litha laughed. “That’s a ridiculous question. The way you grow, every day involves shopping.”

  “I know. I mean special shopping.”

  “No. Now listen.”

  “All yours.”

  “We’re going to get Auntie’s help. If you continue to mature at the rate you have been, in seven days you’ll be eighteen. I’ll get Elora to go to Glen and mention that you’re ready for what they used to call ‘coming out’, you know, ready to date. Then she’ll ask if he has any friends we might set you up with.

  “We’ll see what happens then. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s brilliant if it works. I think it sucks it major if it doesn’t.”

  “Where did you hear a phrase like ‘sucks it major’?”

  Rosie chuckled. “Where do you think?”

  Litha’s eyes flared and she put her hand over her mouth. “We probably need some ground rules concerning what you ‘remember’.”

  As she stared into those red rimmed eyes that were so like her own, Litha couldn’t help but think about how bizarre it was to have a daughter who appeared to be going on fifteen. She was barely prepared to be mother to an infant, much less that. How she wished Storm was there to share the experience; good, bad, and bizarre.

  Storm.

  While Glen was in the shower, he was thinking about the way things had been left with Rosie and feeling unsettled about it. He couldn’t have guessed that telling her he had to cut the chess game short and get ready for a date would cause her to explode into a full-on snit. The most baffling thing was what she’d said. “You mean a date with somebody else?”

  Somebody else! What the fuck?

  Yes. He was going on a date with somebody else. Did she think he was a pedophile?

  Sure she was fun to spend time with. What other girl, of any age, could beat him at chess? No need to spend a lot of time chewing on that question. The answer was easy. None.