The Storm Runner (The Storm Runner 1)

The headlights were only twenty yards away. Whoever was coming already had us in their sights. I dragged myself forward, determined to find my dog as well as some answers. If Brooks didn’t have them, maybe my Maya book would. I’d read about the underworld before, and I sort of remembered a story about someone who’d gone there. Or come back from there—I wasn’t sure which.

When I turned back to ask Brooks if she knew that myth, she was gone. She must have flown off.

A scratching sound nearby caught my attention. I lifted my gaze to see an owl blacker than ink perched on a boulder above me. It was the same one from the other night. That couldn’t be Brooks, could it? The owl’s yellow eyes glowed like two flickering flames as they peered at me. No, Brooks only knew how to turn into a hawk. And she wouldn’t choose the form of an owl even if she could. Mom said they were omens of death and to stay far away from them.

The headlights shone across the space and the owl spread its wings. Its penetrating gaze held me frozen as it said in a woman’s raspy voice, “The prophecy has begun.”

A talking owl? After the day I’d had, why not? I picked up a rock and launched it at the bird, missing its glistening body by a long shot. “I’m not part of any stupid prophecy. I only want my dog back!”

The owl let out a single cry (it was more of a screech than a hoot) and took off into the sky.

I recognized the little red truck as soon as Ms. Cab stepped out. It was a hunk of junk that had sat in her driveway ever since I could remember. It took a second for my brain to click. Blind people don’t drive. How was she here? I wondered. How had she known where to find me?

“Zane, you need to come with me,” she said.

My stomach suddenly felt queasy. My knees buckled, and then I passed out.

When I woke up, I was in Ms. Cab’s house. The ceiling fan turned in lopsided circles above me.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said as she sidestepped the piles of paper and books strewn across her cluttered living room. I’d never understood why she had so many books, her being blind and all. I sat up on the yellow velvet sofa. It was where I always sat when I answered her psychic hotline. Her place smelled like wet desert and pencil shavings. Probably because the walls were made of little mud bricks with straw poking out.

She sat in her usual red leather chair with the nailhead trim. ”I’ve applied some healing ointment to those burns.”

I looked at my hands, thinly layered in a goop like aloe vera. Already I could see the red burns diminishing.

The phone rang and Ms. Cab picked it up with a sigh. “On vacation until further notice,” she said, then set the receiver back down. “Tell me what happened, Zane.”

Ms. Cab’s voice sounded like a slo-mo recording. I stared up at the ceiling fan for I don’t know how long, and then reality came crashing down on me. According to some stupid prophecy, I was going to release the god of death, darkness, and destruction into the world. I’d cleared a path to the cave, setting everything in motion. That demon runner—it had said my name… and killed Rosie. She was really gone. Tears stung my eyes.

Ms. Cab folded her wrinkled hands in her lap. “Zane?”

I sat up, studying Ms. Cab. “How’d you know I was out there? And how did you drive blind?”

“All will be revealed in time,” she said. “First, though—”

The teapot screamed, making me jump.

“Hold on,” Ms. Cab said. She went into the kitchen and brought back two cups of brew. I wasn’t in the mood for tea. Actually, I was never in the mood for the stuff, but I knew better than to argue with Ms. Cab, so I took a sip. It was worse than licking a dirty ashtray. I scrunched up my nose and stuck out my tongue.

“It’ll heal your insides and help you relax,” she said. “You took quite a beating. I told you to stay away from that dreadful place.”

If only I’d listened. Rosie would still be alive.

Ms. Cab took off her glasses. Her eyes were milky white with no irises. “What happened at the volcano, Zane? Why were you with that nawal? What did she tell you?”

A bitter anger pulsed beneath my skin and I wanted to say, You’re a psychic, figure it out. But instead, I said, “Rosie’s gone.”

Ms. Cab shook her head. “I’m sorry about that. Hand me that box next to you, would you?”

My hands trembled as I gave her the black shoe-size box. I’d never seen it around the house before. It was light and made of rough balsa wood. On its lid were Maya hieroglyphs painted in red: a bug-eyed skull, a large-beaked bird, and a pointy-tongued snake.

Ms. Cab opened the box slowly. When I saw what was inside, my stomach lurched and I thought I might throw up.

There were two rows of eyeballs. Yeah, that’s right. Real live eyeballs! She leaned over the box, plucked out her existing eyes like they were contact lenses, and replaced them with a new pair. She shut and opened her eyelids, revealing new gray irises. She placed the plain white ones in the box.

I was definitely going to be sick.

“Ms. Cab! You—”