She didn't miss how his hand engulfed her own, how his palms were rough and slightly calloused. He had nice fingers, a nice grip.
“Yeah, nice to meet you, too.” Farris smiled, overcoming her irritation at Larissa to greet Emerson properly. After all, it wasn't his fault the girl was annoying and he had stepped in to diffuse the situation.
“You said you were pretty new in town last night. Where did you come from? Are you here for a long time? Wow, you know what? You should stop by Farris' house on Halloween--” Beelah squeaked when Farris kicked her shin under the table.
They exchanged wide-eyed glances. Farris' was more like a glare than a glance. Had Bee lost her ever loving mind? Inviting a stranger to her house?
“What Bee means to say, is that there's a party here on Halloween. Everyone will show up,” Farris said, returning her attention to Emerson.
He looked...doubtful. “But you two won't be here, right?”
“You're an astute guesser,” Farris said.
“Then I don't think here is where I want to be Halloween night, if those are the people I have to keep company with.” He jerked his head in the direction of Larissa and crew. Two of the girls were not-so-discreetly staring at Emerson.
He might be the temporary enemy, but that usually didn't last long where guys were concerned in this town.
“Beelah can be here, actually. She doesn't have to work and I really have other things I need to be doing that night.” Farris threw Beelah right under the bus. She knew the girl was dying to spend more time with him.
Emerson met and held Farris' eyes. She imagined he was trying to tell her something with just a glance.
“I'm not leaving you alone on your birthday, Farris,” Beelah chided.
Farris bit back a sigh.
“It's your birthday on Halloween?” Emerson asked. “You can't stay home.”
“She has to stay home. Her grandmo—OW.” Beelah clamped her mouth shut when Farris' shoe connected with her shin again.
“I really do have thin--” Farris' excuse was cut off by the sudden drone of a siren. It wailed low and then high, informing the entire town of Newcastle that a tornado was coming.
. . .
Growing up in tornado alley, all the residents knew what to do: find a basement or a shelter and hide there until the catastrophe was over. The inner most room of a house—bathroom, closet, you name it—worked in a pinch.
The problem with the Rocket was that it didn't have a basement, or a closet, or even any rooms in the middle of the structure. Everything, including the bathrooms, were all on the perimeter of the building. The Rocket itself, built in the shape of a bullet train, was made to be picked up and thrown hundreds of feet in any direction. It wouldn't resist a really strong twister, not by a long shot, and Farris read the sudden uncertainty on everyone's face.
Beelah squealed and snatched up her organizer even as Farris bolted out of the booth. Emerson, already standing by the time Farris and Beelah were both on their feet, swept a long arm behind them to herd them away from the windows.
“Where should we go, Farris?” Beelah called out.
The other patrons were doing all different things; some ran outside, some huddled behind the bar, others ran for the bathrooms even though they must have known it wouldn't be safe enough.
Farris glanced left. Glanced right. Adrenaline raced through her system. She felt that staying in the Rocket was a bad, bad, idea. No one knew just where the twister was, either, only that one had touched down somewhere in Newcastle.
“The truck! We can make it to the library!” The city had a small library three quarters of a mile down the main street. There was a basement there they could hide in.
“It won't be open, will it?” Beelah shouted.
They ran for the door anyway; Emerson knocked it open when they got there. The sound of the siren was twice as loud once they stepped into the rain and gusting wind.
Would the library be open? What time was it? She had a hard time deciding with the sky full of menacing clouds.
“Go, go!” Emerson pushed them out of the way of the door; people frantic to exit threatened to trample anyone who didn't move.
Beelah rushed for the Chevy while Farris dug her keys out of her pocket. The end of her scarf whipped around her head, threatening to unwind and come completely off.
Something clanked against the street to their right, hurtling at them with the velocity of a missile. Farris didn't have time to even glance that way before it struck. A rusty, empty rain barrel connected with her shoulder and hip, knocking her straight to the ground. Pain exploded from both points of contact, swarming outward through her torso and a leg.
She had a stray thought that if it had hit her head on, it would have killed her.
And today wasn't even her birthday.
“FARRIS!”
Somewhere to her left, Beelah was screaming her name. From the ground, on her back with her shoulder and hip throbbing, Farris looked up at the whirlwind of debris flying through the air. She could see the pieces, like daggers, whip over her head to destinations beyond.
A roar that sounded as if the Rocket had come to life, like it really was a train, hit her ears. Rain pelted her cheeks, chin and forehead.
Emerson's face appeared above hers, dark hair skewed every which way from the wind. For what felt like a surreal moment or two, they stared at each other.
He blinked against a stronger gust and grabbed her up off the ground. The flaps of his coat sounded like the wings of wild birds and his boots made sucking noises in the mud.
Miraculously, he had her keys in his hand.
“We're gonna make it. Hold on, hold on,” he said.
Farris realized she was still dazed from the hit. With his arm around her, she stumbled toward the truck. Beelah, eliciting frantic uhuhuh noises, climbed inside.
“Get in, I'll drive. Hurry, it's coming,” Emerson said.
Farris clambered in the driver's side and plopped down. Her entire right side felt like it was on fire.
Through the front windshield, she saw pieces of the Rocket start to come apart. A flash of lightning illuminated a broad column not far beyond, highlighting the monster tornado.
Beelah screamed.
People darted everywhere outside; to their cars, toward a ditch and down the street, as if they thought they could out run it.
Emerson jammed the key in the ignition, turned the engine over, and put the Chevy in reverse.
Farris braced her hands against the faded dashboard when the truck lurched backwards. Large and rectangular, with red neon bulbs shaping the Rocket's name, the sign attached to the side of the structure started to wobble. She could see it destabilize right before her eyes and then suddenly it ripped away from the facade, hurtling through the air right for them. Screaming in time with Beelah, she ducked. There was nothing else to do. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the monster storm or the monster sign. She expected impact and a shower of red tinted glass.
Emerson stomped the brakes and wrenched the wheel to the left, forcing the front of the truck to whip around as if something just as big as the tornado caught it by the tailgate and gave it a whirl.
Farris heard the whoosh of the sign, heard part of it scrape the top of the truck. Metal screeched in protest. Sparks burst outside the windows. The sense of something gigantic passing just above them was undeniable, a sensation that pricked along the skin of her arms and across the back of her neck. This was how an ant must feel when it sees the sole of a sized thirteen shoe bearing down from above.
She didn't think she'd ever been so scared in her life.
The roar of the tornado lifted above the screams, the chaos, churning across the landscape on a path of destruction. Rivets popped out of the seams of the Rocket like gunshots, becoming small missiles that hit the grill and the hood.
One punched through the windshield.
“Emerson! Get us out of here!” Farris realized in the midst of the terror that she'd put he
r life in the hands of a stranger. She didn't know anything about him, other than his name, nor whether he could get them safely away from the danger.
Putting the truck in drive, he tromped the gas, narrowly avoiding the wreck of the Rocket sign lying battered in the street.
“I'm trying, I'm trying. Are you both okay? Where are we going?”
“Out of the way of the tornado!” Beelah shouted through chattering teeth. She held the Hello Kitty organizer against her chest like a shield.
Farris dared to sit up. She had no seat belt to put on and couldn't have forced her hands to stop shaking long enough to secure the buckle anyway.
“This is Newcastle Avenue. The library's right up here on the left—but don't go there! It's coming this way. It'll take the library out and we might not have access to the basement in time.” Farris scanned the businesses on each side of the road. Pushing her hair back away from her face with both hands, she tried to think past a buzz of paralyzing fear. Where to go, where to go, where to go.
“The High School! Turn left at the next light!” She drew her hand away from her head and pointed out the windshield to help guide Emerson.
He drove slightly hunched forward, both hands on the wheel, eyes darting to the rear view and side mirrors. Pieces of debris pelted the truck and flew past the windows. A few made contact, threatening to crack the glass.
“Do the wipers go faster?” Emerson asked. He manipulated controls on the steering column but didn't look away from the road.
It was dangerous to look away from the road.
Farris reached over and ticked the lever one notch higher. The wipers whish-whish-whished faster. The tornado snarled up the street in their wake, breaking apart fences, uprooting trees and demolishing any structures it came into contact with.
Beelah whimpered and clutched the organizer tighter against her body. Farris had a crazy thought that Hello Kitty would be forever stamped on Beelah's nice green sweater.
Emerson took the next left against a red light, missing a crash with another fleeing car by inches. The tires barked against the wet asphalt.
“There's a tornado coming, don't drive toward it!” Emerson shouted uselessly at the windshield. The other driver must not have seen which direction the twister was headed. Emerson laid on the horn but didn't stop driving.
“It's right up here. Pull in the driveway—look, there are lights on. They have the basement open!” Farris pointed to the lights in the windows of Newcastle High School.
Emerson steered a mad, frantic pattern through the parking lot and stomped the brakes right before the building itself. The truck slid a foot before coming to a hard stop.
Farris jumped out Emerson's side, breaking into a run even as he grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the building.
“Beelah, come on. Faster!” Emerson hooked his other arm around Bee's shoulders and hauled both girls toward the front doors. Although school had let out hours ago, several staff members were there to let people in.
Mister Finch, the athletic coach, swung the door open. “Hurry!”
Emerson pushed the girls inside before him.
“You guys go on. I'm going to see if anyone else needs help,” Emerson said.
Farris stumbled, caught her balance and glanced back. Behind Emerson, the night was wild with nature's fury. “But, I...”
“Go!” he said.
“Farris, you have to come on!” Finch urged her inside with a tug on her elbow.
She held Emerson's gaze a second longer, then ran behind Beelah for the basement stairs. The music teacher had it open and waiting, gesturing to the girls with frantic motions. Farris trotted down the stairs behind Bee as fast as she dared. The injury to her shoulder and hip had gone numb at some point.
Beelah's shoes squeaked over the non-slip surface on the steps as she charged to the bottom. Two turns in the stairs later, they arrived in the basement. Forty or so people were already there taking cover.
None were the teenagers that had been inside the Rocket with them when the sirens went off.
“Where's Emerson?” Bee asked. She looked bedraggled, wet and scared.
“He said he was going to see if there were other people who needed his help,” Farris replied, hugging her arms around herself. The suede coat she wore was heavy and damp with rain.
“I hope my parents got out of the way,” Beelah said, breath catching on a sob.
“I know. I'm worried about O'ma and all the people at the nursing home. They'll be all right. We just have to think positive, Bee.” Farris had another uncomfortable thought.
Her stories.
A feeling of nauseating dread ate through her stomach. She couldn't lose her stories. They were more than just characters on paper to her. The second the tornado passed, she promised herself, she'd check on her grandmother, old man Henson, and head home to see if her loft over the garage was still standing.
Oh please, she thought, let it still be standing.
Chapter Three
Emerson jogged away from the High School. Debris from the tornado flew through the air, whirling on the cyclonic wind. Several pieces hit his legs, his shoulders. One piece of something wet slapped against his cheek.
He gestured at a police officer who blared his siren to get his attention, understanding the officer wanted him to go toward the high-school, not away from it. There was more important business to attend than huddling and hiding. Ducking behind a line of cars, he sprinted away from the grounds, boots squishing in the mud.
He couldn't go back to the High School, not until he re-routed the tornado.
The whole plan had gone totally awry.
Houses and businesses had been devastated by the tornado already, although he didn't think anyone had lost their life yet.
The girl who was supposed to be affected by the twister hadn't been. Not really.
Because of him.
Gritting his teeth, Emerson hopped a fence and jogged to the middle of an empty field. The tornado had turned off Newcastle Avenue, cutting a swath into a residential area.
It was headed for the High School.
Strong winds buffeted him but did not knock him over when he lifted his hands toward the spinning cyclone. He shouted words no one else would understand, a chant steeped in mysticism and power. Emerson availed the chaotic nature of the storm to ease, not just availed it, ordered it, using his distinct talent to undo the fury he'd brought to Newcastle.
This tornado had been his doing. He was the creator, a Weaver of Chaos, bringing destruction and turmoil to the landscape.
Overhead, lightning split the sky in defiance. Thunder boomed and hail rained down.
The storm fought to stay unleashed.
Emerson chanted again, adding force to the order. The cloud cover shifted and the tornado wobbled. He saw the twisting cylinder start to come undone in the midst of all the flying debris and knew that it was spinning itself out.
A few seconds later, the tornado lifted off the ground, dissipating into thin air. Rain still fell and thunder still boomed, but the worst part was over.
Emerson dropped his hands and rubbed his face.
The entire town couldn't be sacrificed for one girl. That wasn't a part of the original plan.
“Are you sure you're really a Weaver of Chaos? I mean, wasn't the point to let the tornado go and do its job?” a feminine voice said behind him.
Emerson didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
He turned around anyway, flicking wet hair away from his face with a jerk of his chin. Devon, who stood roughly five-five, with long dark hair and pale blue eyes, had recently become the bane of his existence. The burgundy brocade coat she wore over snug black pants was soaked from the rain. A few droplets even dripped off her eyelashes.
“Well, well. Look what the wind blew in,” he said.
“Didn't you hear my question?”
“I heard it.”
“Well?” She propped her hands on her slim hips and gave him an exas
perated look.
“My task was to create a system and guide it here. Obviously, you didn't do your job right, because it started targeting innocent townspeople, so I had to do something.”
“I did too do my job right. It was supposed to target Farris' best friend, Beelah. Ugh, what a nasty name.” Devon made a face.
“Yeah, and Beelah was with Farris...and a load of other people. Then they fled to the High School, where I'm sure there were even more. That's never the plan, Devon. Or at least, it's not my plan.” Emerson hated this part. Wreaking chaos was his job, it was a part of the natural flux, but intentionally guiding it to one specific place at one specific time was both difficult and unnatural.
Devon narrowed her eyes. “You have to bring it back.”
“Absolutely not. I don't owe you, Devon, remember that, and the more you push me, the more I'm not going to do what you want me to do.”
“I hear you Chaos Weavers are good at that. Stubborn, headstrong, edgy, hard to control. Well heads up, bubba. I'm the Fate of Chaos now, and though I can't totally control you or what you do, I can control the people you interact with.” Devon smiled in a superior, I have the upper hand kind of way.
Emerson scowled. The Fate of Chaos was always asking for his and other Weavers help. Audrinne, the Fate he'd known for more than fifty years, was apparently stepping down or retiring or whatever the Fates did when they were done actively deciding the Fate of the world. He'd never known another before her, and being introduced to Devon four months ago had been nothing less than a shock.
Devon had the same unpredictable air Audrinne had, except she was...darker. Emerson didn't know how else to describe the vibe he got from her. Attuned to all things Chaos, he understood on a fundamental level that Devon thrived on it. She lived it, breathed it, embraced it.
Being threatened like this though—no. Emerson wasn't having it. He took a step closer, letting her see his scowl nose to nose.
“Don't threaten me, Devon. You're still a baby at this game, too new to be throwing your weight around like this.”
The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) Page 3
