The Two Gentlemen of Altona (Playing the Fool, #1) by Lisa Henry;J.A. Rock

Author:Lisa Henry;J.A. Rock [Rock, Lisa Henry;J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2014-08-25T16:00:00+00:00

Henry hated thunderstorms. Flat out hated them. Actually, he was terrified of them. Always had been. He didn’t know why, didn’t know if there even had to be a reason, just that something about them—the noise, the lightning, the sheer unpredictability of the next thunderclap—freaked him out. When he was a kid, even when he was old enough to have outgrown it, Viola had looked after him. Had climbed under the covers with him and sung songs until the storm passed. But he didn’t have her anymore. Didn’t have anyone. He’d never even admitted his fear to Remy, because it was such a dumb thing to be afraid of. A juvenile thing.

The covers on this bed smelled musty, but Henry climbed under them anyway. Tried to distract himself from the flashes of light he could see even through his closed eyes, and jammed his fingers in his ears. Too scared to feel stupid about it.

“‘O mistress mine,’” he whispered into the pillow. Viola’s voice had been sweet and high. So had his, at that age. He still had a good timbre, but his voice wasn’t strong enough to sing professionally. Viola could have. “‘O mistress mine, where are you roaming?’”

A thunderclap drowned him out.

Shit shit shit.

If he hadn’t been such a fucking child, he could have been rolling around on the cabin floor with Mac still, instead of huddling here wrapped up in his own fears. He was more panicked now than when Joe Hitman had shoved that gun in his face, and that made no sense at all. But this wasn’t a rational fear. This was something primeval. He’d seen that gun and his mind had worked frantically to come up with a fix. Create a distraction and run. But this fear was bigger. It was paralyzing. And how the hell could you distract a storm?

Helplessness. That was it. Storms made him feel helpless, and small, and afraid.

If people ever asked him—and it was weird the shit people asked—Henry said needles. He was afraid of needles. Because that wasn’t really a rational fear, but it was one that people were tolerant of. And it wasn’t a total lie; while he wasn’t really afraid of needles, he didn’t like them. He certainly didn’t want to go dancing across a field of them or anything. They just didn’t terrify him like storms. Not bone-deep. Not at a fucking cellular level.

And it didn’t make sense. Why were you allowed to have a fear of needles even as an adult, but a fear of thunder and lightning was something you should have outgrown? Fear was fear.

The mattress dipped. “Henry?”

He pulled his fingers out of his ears and tried to sound casual. “Yup?”

“Are you cold or something?”

Yes. Yes, that was the only decent explanation for being curled up under the covers. “Yeah. Might be coming down with something.”

Mac pulled the covers off.

Henry opened his eyes just as another clap of thunder sounded, and he knew Mac saw the fear in him. He was broadcasting in fucking Technicolor.

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