In the Eye of the Storm (Storm and Silence 2)

Grimly, I stared at the gruesomely flowered wallpaper.

The door creaked open. There was a moment of silence. What were they waiting for? Usually they were on me the moment the door was open.

‘Whoever you are,’ I told them, ‘get on with what you’ve come here for and get out. I have no patience for time-wasters.’

‘I know, Sir.’

The voice was soft and feminine, and yet utterly unlike Violet’s. Violet’s was the screech of a hellish harpy. This voice—this voice was a balm, a light at the end of the tunnel, promising rescue from my prison of comfort and care.

I whipped around, and there she stood: Lillian Linton. She was still wearing the same dress I had forced on her aboard the ship. It was stained now, and ripped in several places, but I didn’t care. She might have worn rags and would have been more beautiful than any queen in golden robes to me! I had never particularly noticed her resemblance to an angel of light before, but right now, it was suddenly self-evident.

Particularly if she was here to get me out of this hellhole!

‘It’s you!’ The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

‘Yes, Sir.’

Silence descended over the room. My eyes bored into hers.

Why doesn’t she say anything? Why doesn’t she do anything? We have to get out of here, and she’s just standing there, staring at me! Why is she staring at me?

‘It’s really you,’ I said again, just in case I had been mistaken. My eyes might be playing tricks on me, and this might, in fact, be another hellish creature, come to torture me in a clever disguise.

‘Yes, Sir.’

No. This was no hallucination. It was she. Only she could say the word ‘sir’ like that - like a call for rebellion. But why was she just standing there?

For the first time in my life I found myself in a position where I had to perform one of the most onerous duties imaginable: get a conversation going.

‘I thought you were dead.’

There. That was a good start.

Strange, though. Why did my words sound that… rough? My throat had long since recuperated from all the saltwater. There was no reason to speak strangely. And there most certainly wasn’t any reason to keep staring at her!

‘Well… I’m not, Sir.’

Whatever my throat problem was, she seemed to suffer the same complaint. Her eyes didn’t leave my face, either. What was going on here? Why weren’t we escaping from this accursed place? Why were we just staring at each other?

Irritation made my next words cool and brusque. ‘I can see that. What took you so long?’

The corner of her mouth twitched up. She was smiling? Why in King Midas’s name was she smiling?

‘I’m glad to see you, too.’

What was that supposed to mean?

Suddenly, she started moving towards me. Before I could move a muscle, she stood at my bedside, looking down at me with a very different expression from the one the harpy had borne. For some reason, it made the lump in my throat grow thicker. Damnation! Was I getting sick again?

Her hand—so small, so soft in comparison to mine—reached out and gripped my fingers with a fierce demand. Instinctively, I squeezed back gently.

What the…!

Since when was applying pressure to a female’s paws something instinctive for me?

‘What, pray,’ I enquired, making sure to keep my voice cool and smooth as ice, ‘are you doing?’

‘I’m holding your hand,’ she informed me simply. Her tone was unexceptional, but her eyes… Oh, her eyes! There was a light dancing in them. A light that made me want to reach out and—