The Storm Runner (The Storm Runner 1)

Finally he raised his eyes. A huge smile spread across his clean-shaven face. “Little Hawk!” His voice boomed. He rounded the counter and scooped Brooks into his arms. “I thought I might never see you again.”

Standing up, the guy looked even weirder! He wore torn jeans and flip-flops the size of doormats. At least he had a shirt on under his vest.

“Hey, Jazz.” Brooks relaxed into his hug and smiled.

When he set her down, her cheeks were flushed.

“Don’t tell me you’re back,” he said, lifting one brow. “Surprised you got by the gatekeeper without me getting a phone call,” Jazz said. “The guy’s slacking.”

“Gatekeeper?” I asked.

That was the first time Jazz noticed me. Yeah, he was big and burly and sported more than a few tattoos on his arms, but the guy was like a jolly giant. He couldn’t stop smiling. Except when he looked at me. Then the smile disappeared like mist. “Who’s this?” he asked.

“I’m Zane,” I said, trying to sound cool, or at least not like a big chicken. But seriously, this guy could’ve smashed me under one flip-flop if he’d wanted to.

“We’re friends,” Brooks said. “And this is Hondo. He’s a wrestling champ,” she added, like he had just won a trophy yesterday.

Hondo tried to make himself a few inches taller by standing on tiptoe when he shook the big cashier’s hand. And his voice went a few notches deeper. “Good to meet you, man.”

“This is Jazz, descendant of the great Maya giants,” Brooks said.

“Jazz-E,” the giant corrected. “And no, I didn’t steal my name from Jay-Z. More like the other way around. But you can call me Jazz. Just don’t confuse me with Sipakna,” he insisted. “That hombre was an arrogant, wicked giant, giving us all a bad name. I come from much better stock.”

Whoa! I was in the presence of a real live giant! But how did Brooks know him? Was he some long-lost relative? A friend of the family’s?

Jazz’s gray eye crinkled around the edges when he looked at Brooks. “Any amigos of Little Hawk’s are…” He hesitated, then laughed. “Ha! Kidding. I don’t keep amigos.” Then to Brooks, “What brings you back here? I know you don’t need a surfboard.”

Brooks glanced around the shop. “I need… to see them. Jordan and Bird.”

Who were they? I wondered.

Jazz crossed his boulder-size arms over his chest. “After what they did—?”

“Jazz…” Brooks’s voice trembled. “My friends… they need to talk to the twins, and you know the only way they might help…”

“Is to trade magic or play their game.” Jazz nodded gravely like we were asking him to supply us with daggers for hand-to-hand combat.

“We don’t have any magic to trade, and what do you mean game?” I asked. Brooks hadn’t said anything about a game before this. “Like Monopoly?” I guessed. Or maybe Scrabble. I was a champ at Scrabble. Or maybe he meant mind games. I got a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Hondo, on the other hand, was beaming, practically salivating at the idea of competition.

Jazz rubbed his chin as he went back behind the counter, mumbling something under his breath. He tapped some buttons on the cash register, then pulled out two quarter-size black stones. They were round, flat, and shiny.

“What’s this?” Hondo said, taking one from the giant.

“Our key to see the twins,” Brooks said.

“Made from ancient obsidian,” Jazz added. “Magician stone.”

“Looks like volcanic glass,” I muttered, taking the other. I’d seen it once in a museum, and I used to search the Beast for any traces of it, but I’d never found any.

Jazz closed the register and eyed me. “This kid’s smart. Where’d you find him?”

Brooks said, “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Wouldn’t have to do with—?”

Brooks cut Jazz off with an icy glare, and I wondered what she was afraid of him saying. She adjusted her pack. “So, Jazz… any trouble around here?”

He leaned forward, raising a brow. “What kind of trouble?”