Eye of the Tempest (Jane True #4)

Eye of the Tempest (Jane True #4) Page 43

[What are your weaknesses, Jane True?] the creature asked.

At that question, two answers popped into my head, simultaneously. The first was: foot rubs. The second was: pastry. I kept both to myself.

“Is this a test?” I asked, “Like those tests you created that I went through outside?”

[I did not create any tests,] it answered, with a non answer.

“So you had nothing to do with those tests?”

[That’s not what I said. Now answer my question, Jane. What would seduce you? What would make you turn your back on your friends? Your family?]

I frowned. “What do you mean, turn my back?”

[I mean leave me be. Then Phaedra and her friends will have the opportunity to force my prison open. To “free” me. Unfortunately, my prison is vast. And built under much of your North America.]

“Well, then there’s not a lot you can offer me, if ‘turning my back’ means letting everyone I know and love be destroyed.”

[Ah,] it thought. [Are you sure?]

And with that, another one of those flat, mirrorlike sigil surface thingies appeared, floating over the creature’s enormous sucker.

[I can give you anything,] the creature purred. [How about wealth?]

And with that, the mirror’s surface showed an image of what I could only describe as the love child of Jane True and Paris Hilton. It was me, but so very, very not me. “I” was dressed in all designer gear, sitting in a limo and playing with a little dog that was dripping in as much bling as “I” was.

It was my turn to laugh. Seriously? I thought.

“If I wanted stuff, I would have just stayed with Ryu,” I told the tentacle.

[Ah,] it said. [Ryu. What if you could have a Ryu who wanted what you did? Rockabill, and a family, and domestic bliss?]

And with that the image shifted from Paris-Jane to an equally ridiculous image: Ryu, wearing carpenter-fit jeans and a flannel shirt, holding not one but two babies.

I laughed even harder. That’s not how things work, I thought, not bothering to try to control my laughter enough to speak. You can’t just change people into what you want them to be.

I didn’t comment on the fact that that’s exactly what Ryu had wanted to do with me.

[Very wise, young one,] said the creature. [But there are things I can change.]

And with that, the mirror showed Anyan as a dog. He was sitting, glaring at his own tail as if it might spring to sentient life and take off with his butt, when he suddenly sat up with what appeared to be an embarrassed look on his face. Then he was engulfed in a circle of green light, and then he was standing, a man again. And naked as a jaybird.

I admit it: I ogled. I ogled hard.

[I could give you your lover back,] the creature whispered, letting its magic surge to let me know just how powerful he was.

It was tempting to say yes, I admit. The thought of Anyan safe and sound was a powerful draw.

But he’d only be human and whole long enough to die with the rest of us.

“As much as I want Anyan back the way he was, I can’t take your offer,” I said, knowing I was doing the right thing but still wanting to kick myself all the same.

[How good you are,] the creature said, its voice arch. I snorted.

“Not good, just realistic. We’ll get Anyan back the way he was, when all of this is settled.”

[What about death?] was the creature’s next, unexpected answer.

“Sorry?” I asked, not understanding the question.

[What about death?] it repeated. [What if I could bring, say, your mother back from the dead?] And with that, the mirror showed me Mari, my mom, laughing. She was wearing her red wrap-dress, the hand-me-down that I still wore. She had my eyes, my figure. I noticed, however, that my nose was my father’s, for he had joined her in the mirror. Obviously, he was older than her now, but—because of the goblin healer’s intervention—still healthy. He embraced my mom, his arms tight around her, as she hugged him back. They stayed like that, frozen in the tableau that had been my greatest childhood fantasy.

“You can’t do that,” I whispered.

[Can’t I?] the creature asked. And this time, the wave of power it unleashed actually did bring me to my knees. I went ahead and stayed kneeling.

I had to admit, it was tempting. The sight of my father’s face was what did it: He looked so happy, and I knew he would be that happy.

But for how long? asked my rude, ever-practical brain. Even if this thing can bring you back your real mother, the point is it’ll be your mother. And she will leave, again. She can’t stay with you on land. She couldn’t the first time, and she wouldn’t the second.

What if she’s brought back different, so she won’t leave? whispered an ugly, selfish part of my brain.

Then she won’t really be your mom, the rest of me replied, knowing it was true even as I thought it. And you don’t get to bring back somebody already dead, mourned, and survived, at the expense of so many living.

My dad had survived the knowledge of my mom’s death, but he wouldn’t survive knowing bringing her back had killed so many others. He was a good man.

I also knew the creature had been party to my little mental conversation, so I didn’t bother replying when I looked back up to the mirror to watch my happy fake-parents swirl away like ghosts. Sitting back on my heels, I hung my head.

[So strong you are,] the voice whispered. I couldn’t tell if it was mocking me or not.

“No,” I replied. “Just practical.”

[Is that it?] the creature asked. [Even practicality breaks…]

And that’s when the creature pulled its sucker punch.

“Jason,” I breathed, feeling my body tense as I stared into the mirror.

For Jason stared back. Not Jason as I’d last seen him, as an eighteen-year-old boy, but Jason as he should be now, had he lived.

Had you not been the death of him, whispered that tiny, traitorous sliver of my mind. It had been quieted, but never completely silenced.

The handsome, golden boy I’d known had become an even more attractive man. He’d have been only twenty-seven, but already crow’s feet wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

He always did spend too much time in the sun, and too much time laughing, I thought. Then I shook myself. That’s not Jason. Jason is dead. He never got to earn crow’s feet, or anything else.

Certainly not those sun streaks in his blond hair, or that filled-out body that had grown thicker and manlier. He looked like a young lion when he smiled at me with that same easy, happy smile I’d known so well. I took a step forward.

I couldn’t help it.

“That’s not fair,” I said.

[Has the world ever been fair?] it asked. [Especially to you?]

“Quit trying to manipulate me like this. You can’t do any of these things. They’re impossible. I don’t know what game this is you’re playing, but it’s over.”

[What about what you want, Jane?] it asked, as if I’d never spoken. [It’s never about what you want. Why not take something for yourself, for once?]

“I only want to stop Phaedra. I want to keep everyone safe.”

[Such a martyr. And a liar. I know you want things… You needn’t lie to me. To yourself.]

“What would you have me do?” I shouted, frustrated. “What we want doesn’t always matter! Who do you think you are?”

[I’m someone who can give you back your love,] the voice whispered. And then Jason stepped out of the mirror.

He walked toward me. I was rooted in place, shock filtering through my system like a thousand lightning bolts.

When he reached out to touch me, I was glad to be already sitting on the ground because I would have crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut. Jason only crouched down to my level, a patient expression on his face. His hand on my shoulder was gentle as those achingly familiar blue eyes searched my face.

I waited for the questions I thought he’d ask: Where was I? What happened? What was going on? But Jason only stayed crouching, smiling.

“Jason?” I asked. His smile broadened, his eyes twinkled.

I reached out tentative fingers to touch his chin. Rough, warm skin met my fingers and I shuddered. “Is it really you?”

His only response was to move his chin downward so he could kiss the tips of my fingers. His lips felt like they always had.

For a split second, I imagined launching myself into Jason’s arms. I knew they’d be warm, and solid, and they’d feel just like Jason’s.

But they weren’t really his.

“He’s not real,” I said, although I allowed myself to stroke a hand over Jason’s body’s rough cheek, so achingly familiar yet so strange—a combination of memory and fantasy.

[Why would you say that?] asked the creature.

“Jason was always the talker,” I said, smiling sadly. “I was the quiet one. If he’d been in the ground for ten years, he’d be yammering like a skipping CD right now.”

[You’re right. But I can give his shell all of your memories,] the creature crooned, his mental voice seductive. [He’ll be the Jason you remember, down to the last detail.]