I brandish the object. “It’s a pen! It’sa friggin’ pen!” And a weirdly gummy one, like those sticky-hand toys from quarter machines that within five minutes have attracted every crumb and cat hair in a five-mile radius. I return it to the table.
Luna looks at the pen, confused. “So?”
“Is it ballpoint?” Trevor asks. “Z, you should start using Paper Mate Flair Scented Felt Tips. They’ll never give you this kind of problem.”
I stare at it. “I’ve seen this pen before.” Lying around the house recently—on top of the toilet tank, on Luna’s kitchen counter, in empty cardboard boxes, and, several times, my bed. I thought it belonged to Ash and that she kept leaving it everywhere.
“My garden’s going to be ruined,” Romina moans. “And my lunch is doomed. Poor DoorDasher won’t want to comeout in this weather. Or he will, but he’ll die in the name of chili cheese fries. I can’t live with that on my conscience.”
Trevor scuttles over. “Did you put in the order already? I’ll take pretzel sticks with zesty queso.”
The lights buzz, guttering, and darkness sweeps across us. Everybody screams again.
“Please do not,” Luna pleads. “I’m getting a headache.”
We’re all quiet for a few moments. Then Trevor says: “This would be the perfect time to rob somebody.”
“Hang on.” Morgan feels his way through the room, accidentally patting my left eye as he navigates. Seconds later, a door upstairs closes.
“Where’s he going?” I straighten. “To rob someone? Trevor, look what you’ve done.”
In the darkness, all of us cowering in fear for our lives, I hear Aisling whisper to Romina, “I want chili cheese fries, too. The food here on earth tastes so bland after being spoiled by fairy treats for the last ten years in Fairyland, but I could always go for chili cheese fries.”
Twenty-Three
Fill a small brass cauldron with salt on the new moon to absorb negative influences and bury that salt under a full moon.
Spells, Charms, and Rituals,
Tempest Family Grimoire
“What do youthink Morgan’s doing?” I ask uncertainly a few minutes later.
“The bad possibilities are limitless,” Trevor replies. “He told me he used to eat Play-Doh as a child. We don’t know what Play-Doh does to cognitive function, man.”
When the siren wails again, a memory spins.
My neighbor growing up, Hank, said there’s a strange kind of goat around here that comes out only when it senses tornadoes.
Fear ignites in my chest like I’ve stuck my finger in an electrical socket. “That idiot.” I’m up and running before I can think. “That colossal idiot.”
My limbs are rubber, fright surging. White spots pulse in my vision. I don’t feel the floor beneath me, I’m flying so fast.
“Morgan!” I shriek, rounding the landing of the ramp. “Morgan! Oh curses, he’s going to go looking for a goat and end up killed by the tornado.” I throw open the front door and dash into the street.
It’s empty.
Above, the skies whistle, hot wind battering Vallis Boulevard. Wind chimes, trash, and lawn ornaments barrel through midair. He’s going to get struck by a flying mailbox. Tornadoes can turn flowerpots into weapons.
“Misery, curses, bother, blast.” I wipe my sweaty palms on the seat of my pants. “Morgan! Where are you?”
The wind rips half aZelda!toward me. I turn, unsure of which direction it came from. I can’t see for all the hair streaming in my face.
“Morgan!” I bellow once more, gripped by a terrible fear that he might be hurt, he might—
“Get back inside!” I hear him yell. “What are you doing?”
My shoulders sag. I clasp a hand to my thundering heart.
