The Storm Runner (The Storm Runner 1)

“I never said I did.”

Good point. “Then how come you were in Father Baumgarten’s office?”

“I just told you you’re in danger and you’re thinking about the principal?”

/> Technically, I was thinking about her at the principal’s office. “Where are you from, anyway?”

In the dimming light, I could see Brooks’s nostrils flare. She had six freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her jaw clenched, and she took a deep you’re-annoying-me breath. I knew that look. I’d seen it on plenty of faces in my short life, but it had never really mattered until now. Because now it was Brooks. I still couldn’t believe this gorgeous girl was at my house. And for the second time in two days.

“Are you always so irritating?” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m trying to tell you something important….”

I tried not to lean on my cane. I’d rather be considered irritating than different. “Okay, back to the demon. Your drawing was just like what I saw. Have you actually seen one in the flesh?”

“Yeah. So?”

“My mom couldn’t see it.” I didn’t know if I should be relieved (that I wasn’t going loco) or freaked (that the demon was real). “But if you have, that means I’m not losing my mind.”

“Losing your mind… Uh-huh,” she said. “This is going to be harder than I thought.” Brooks looked over her shoulder. The TV blared through the open windows. Hondo was watching wrestling again—I could hear the grunts and groans and body slams.

Brooks lowered her voice. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

I didn’t get why she was so tense. I mean, we were out in the middle of the desert with no one around. Who did she think was listening in, the FBI?

“First, I definitely think you should tell me about the demon pilot and exactly what you mean by danger,” I insisted. “Like, is it you’re-going-to-die kind of danger, or a-storm’s-coming kind of danger?” I was really hoping it was the latter.

It was a risk. I mean, she could’ve reached her boiling point, thrown up her hands, and stalked off. But, to my relief, she stayed, standing there as if deciding what to tell me. Or maybe how much she was going to tell me, because she looked like the kind of girl who had a million secrets.

“I think I should show you,” she said, “because what I have to tell you… well, you probably won’t believe me. But you have to promise you’re not going to freak out.”

Whenever someone makes you promise you’re not going to freak out, it’s usually time to freak out. We headed through the gate to the backyard. I was glad Mom didn’t have any of my underwear hanging on the clothesline. Now that would’ve been humiliating.

As we turned the corner, Rosie lifted her sleepy head from the shady grass and something came over her. Her eyes zeroed in on Brooks with a creepy laser focus, and in a millisecond she was charging us, barking like a lunatic.

“Hey, Rosie,” I said, stepping in front of Brooks to shield her with my body. “Calm down!”

But Rosie was possessed. She was like a completely different dog—a hungry, snarling monster, foaming at the mouth.

From behind me, Brooks gripped my shoulders so hard I was sure she had hands of iron. “You didn’t tell me you have a dog!”

“You never asked.”

Rosie froze within a foot of me and Brooks and growled like I’d never heard. Her hackles were raised, sharp and pointy. And who knew she had fangs that long?

I backed up to protect Brooks, and then the impossible happened. There was a sudden swish of air next to me and when I turned, Brooks disappeared.

5

Okay, maybe disappeared isn’t the right word.

Brooks changed into something else. To be more exact, the air shimmered gold and blue, then green. She went from being a girl to being a giant hawk in two blinks.

I gasped. At first I thought it was all a dream, or maybe I’d hit my head harder than I thought the other night and I’d only imagined her coming to my house, and the hawk circling overhead was just an ordinary bird (even though it was three times the normal size). It also occurred to me yet again that I’d taken a one-way trip to loco-land.

Since I was busy looking up at the sky completely dumbfounded, I didn’t see Rosie’s rubber ball underneath my feet. I slipped on it and fell backward, landing on my butt with a thud that did nothing to shake off my shock. Did Brooks see that? Probably. Hawks have keen eyesight. I searched the pecan tree where the hawk—Brooks, whatever—had perched, and yes, it was staring down at me from a high branch.

Rosie licked my cheek to make sure I was okay, then cowered next to me and whimpered, hiding her face under her paws. I loved her for making an effort to protect me, but she wasn’t very good at it. She was about as intimidating as a fifty-pound loaf of bread.

“Brooks?” The pitch of my voice hit a new high.