Jane Bond Returns
Chapter 1
The House Where Secrets Live
Most people know James Bond by the way he walks into danger like it owes him an apology. But few know the woman who inherited his silenceโand the man who taught them both how to wait.
Sir Alaric Bone lives in a weathered house tucked between cedar trees and quiet. Not the heavy kind of quiet that presses on your chest, but the kind that breathesโeasily broken by chirping birds or the fast hare darting through the bushes. He is a forester. Fifteen years ago, he chose family over the agency. Jane was three years old at the time.
She remembered the house like a dream that never quite faded. Father always kept buckets with oatmeal for the local deer families, and peanuts for the squirrels scattering the nearby pines. He said animals were better at keeping secrets than people.
And then there were the doves.
Alaric raised them in a small loft behind the houseโwhite-feathered couriers trained to fly between safe houses and secret hearts. He called them โThe Doveโs Mail.โ It was how he and Mom stayed in touch when the agency erased their names but couldnโt erase their love. Jane used to watch him tie tiny scrolls to their legs, whispering things like โTell her I love her,โ or โJane made a new song.โ The doves always returned, always with a reply. They loved to read and reread the letters together on long winter evenings, when the fireplace made cozy cracking sounds and the local wolves howled loudly at the full moon.
Except for the animals, Jane, James, and Dad had no frequent visitors. Only a few friends knew how to find Alaric. They always came for help. Heโs the kind of man who fixes things without asking why they broke. A kettle. A fence. A heart.
He used to be someone else. James Bondโs father was a legendโa man with a past that could inspire nations. He chose to live in a shadow, to sever ties with the agency, and become a family man: happy father of the twins, Jane and James. Mom could not make it. She had to live away. She had to be a secret. A strained lioness living outside of her pride. A woman with stories in her bones and silence in her pockets. At least once a year, she would come home. Not for long.
They didnโt talk about missions. They talked about deer and hares. They exchanged stories. Mom was a great storyteller, and so was Dad. The stories where there were no secrets, and everything was clear. The stories where kindness and love always won.
The secrets. Jane hated them. She wanted to be with her mom. She wanted to know where Mom lived, when the next time would be for her to come home.
Now she was eighteen, and so was James. Both lived in tiny apartments in Los Angelesโstudents at a private school, learning acting and dance. Janeโs songwriting talent and beautiful voice left no doubt about her future careerโshe was meant to be a singer. It was their first year on their own, away from the forest house. The beautiful messengers kept them informed about Dadโs lifeโhe rarely left the forest. At least once a week, they received messages from him and sent their answers back to him and to Mom.
Cleo, a white pigeon with a soft gray patch on its chest, came early this week, holding a tiny scroll tied to its leg with forest-green thread. James wasnโt at homeโhe had gone camping with friends. Their birthday was coming up, but in a family where secrets lived in every sigh, birthdays were never a big party.
Jane untied the scroll with trembling fingers.
โCleo does not feel well! Needs closer attention and an escort. I have a company.โ
If Dad had company, it meant Mom was at home. If Cleo needed an escort, it meant they had to come home immediately.
Jane left a message to James and started packing.
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