The Fire Keeper (The Storm Runner 2)

As we moved past Jazz, he stepped aside like he felt our presence. With a single stride, he took the lead and marched ahead, making a wider path for us.

“Hey!” someone called. “Giants in the back. You’ll block the view.”

“How about I shove a brick up your nose?” Jazz said, punching his fist into his palm. No one argued. And then I saw what his strategy was. H

is more-than-seven-foot frame looked like it was casting the shadow.

On the screens, Chaac asked Hurakan, “Do you have any last words?”

Hurakan stared straight ahead, his face unmoving.

Faster, Rosie!

A low hum rose from the crowd and my heart hammered so hard my bones shook.

“No words?” Chaac said.

Kukuulkaan’s eyes shifted like he was looking for someone in the crowd, but who? And Ixtab? She stared at her nails with a slight frown, as if she didn’t like the color anymore. I wanted to scream, but from this distance, it was too risky. I had to be close enough to make the gods listen to me. Any wrong move now would for sure equal instant death and likely force the twins’ hand too early.

We were only a few feet from the bottom of the pyramid stairs when smoke began to trail from Rosie’s nose and rise past the shadow into the air.

“Kill Hurakan!” someone shouted.

Chaac snorted. “Are you ready to see a dead god?”

Rosie stiffened. “No, Rosie,” I said. “Don’t listen. It’s just a word.” But it was too late. She’d heard the command. She shot fire from her mouth and eyes, instantly incinerating the center screen.

Ren’s shadow collapsed.

The crowd screamed.

“STEAK!” I shouted.

Of course, Rosie didn’t obey. I extended both hands toward the fire my hellhound was still streaming and drew it to me. The force of the heat’s impact flung me and Ren off Rosie’s back. My whole body smoked like a chargrilled chicken breast, but it didn’t burn, and Ren’s clothing protected her.

Jazz quickly lifted Ren and put her on his shoulders, out of the crowd’s reach. Then he turned to me. “Man, kid. Do you always have to get into so much trouble?” He shook his head. “Why are you just standing there? Hustle!”

Seeing that the immediate danger was over, people began shouting at me.

“Spy!”

“Traitor!”

I jumped onto Rosie’s back, and she bolted up the stone stairs. I turned to see Jazz with his hands high in the air, shouting, “Folks! It’s all part of the show. Don’t you watch reality TV?”

“That’s the girl from the news!” someone screamed.

News? Then I remembered the helicopter cameraperson back in Cabo, and my heart did a backflip. Who else had seen us on the news? Did that mean the gods knew I was alive? No, they would have come for my head—and Ixtab’s—by now. I bet they only watched Netflix.

A dense fog rolled in so fast I barely had time to see the last of the crowd get swallowed up by it. Everything fell silent, as if the mob had disappeared. Jazz (with Ren still on his shoulders) rushed up the steps behind me, running from the fog headed our way.

“¡Ándale, Rosie!” I cried.

My hellhound bolted up the steps three at a time, but the mist was faster. It curled all around us. Alien-looking hands with long, spindly fingers grew out of the fog, reaching for us, shoving us so hard that Rosie tripped, and I tumbled off her back, scraping the side of my face against the stone. A shroud of gray tightened around me.

“Rosie!”

The only answer was silence.