Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

meth comedown. You can’t electrify concrete. Or wood. I don’t even know how you do that without the entire building exploding.

Except: something – or someone – has.

It shouldn’t be hard to believe. I can move shit with my mind, and last year I met a boy who could cause earthquakes. But there is something about this situation, something about the way it tells the laws of physics to go fuck themselves, that scares me. Bad.

“Yo, Teagan.” Annie doesn’t look away from the building. “Get the shit.”

“Hmmm… grerp.”

“Come on, let’s go. The jackets and IDs.”

“Hrrrrrroookay.”

The whole world does a loop-de-loop as I get to my feet, the tools lining the walls of the van doubling and tripling in front of me. I nearly thump back down, and it’s a goddamn miracle I manage to stay standing. I’m sweating buckets, but I can’t stop shivering.

I regret everything.

FBI. Jackets. ID. Yes. But where do I even look? Since Paul died, the back of the China Shop van has been a disorganised mess. Bins overflowing with clothes, tools lying everywhere, duffel bags, a can of paint – from the surveillance job we did in San Jacinto, maybe? And a whole bulging folder of fake IDs.

I start with that. Or try to. The letters are moving a lot. There are multiple IDs with my own photo on them, and I swear the little smile I have on them mocks me.

“Teagan, what’s the hold-up?” Annie doesn’t wait for my response, clambering into the back and taking the ID folder, flipping through it. “Just get the jackets. They’re in that bin right there.”

The jackets should be easier. They’re not. When Paul was around, they’d be neatly folded and itemised. Now? They’re a mess, sleeves everywhere, some folded, others balled up. Sorting through them right now is like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube after a whole bottle of tequila. In the end, Annie has to help.

She hates me. I let Paul die. She’s going to let me suffer, she’s going to make me do the job, even though she knows I’m sick. Oh God. I can’t do this. There’s nothing for it. I have to get more meth. Maybe there’s some in the front passenger seat, where I first got a dose… no, that was in a different van, not this one, shit. Shit.

That image again: brown teeth in a pinched, ugly face. Meth mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears leaking from them. My throat feels like a straw that’s been left outside in the hot sun, shrivelled and kinked.

Then we’re outside. I’m wearing my jacket. There’s an ID around my neck. I have no memory of putting either of them on. The clouds on the northern horizon have gotten darker, despite the sun still burning high in the sky.

“Reggie, come in,” Annie is saying. “You got anything for us?”

I don’t even realise Annie put a comms unit in my ear until Reggie’s voice comes over the group channel. “Nothing. Security cams are fried across the storage unit, and I’m not getting anything useful from the surrounding buildings. Nothing on traffic, no online chatter, nothing on the secure channels. Whatever this is, nobody’s seen it before.”

“What about the dude who called it in? The caretaker or whatever?”

“They took him to the hospital. We can follow up later, but I want you to check out the scene first.”

“You cannot put electricity in concrete,” Africa says. His jacket is both enormous and somehow still too small for him.

Over, I think. You should say “Over” at the end of each transmission. Paul insisted on it. None of us ever listened to him, not even Annie.

“Reggie,” Annie says quietly. “Are we absolutely sure this is a…” She flicks a glance at me. “You know. A Teagan situation. Someone like her.”

I don’t have the energy to tell her that calling it a Teagan situation is kind of rude. I don’t think actually I’m able to speak.

“Because maybe there’s just a…” Annie scratches her head. “Shit, I don’t know a fault or something. A loose wire that’s—”

“Ain’t no loose wire causing this. But right now, there’s no way to be sure – not without any footage or eyewitnesses to confirm. You folks are on observation duty. Local law enforcement’s not equipped to deal with this – they don’t even know people like Teagan exist.”

Which may change, after my little stunt in the storm drain, but whatever.

“But if it is a person, then why?” Africa tugs at his jacket cuff. “Why electrify an entire building? For what?”

“Honey, I have no idea,” Reggie replies.

“Is it a hostage thing?” Annie asks.

“No. There’ve been no demands, no anything. Just an electrified building. Now listen – Moira’s asked to be connected directly.”

Ah. The only thing that could make this day worse. Having Moira Tanner see what we see, and listen to our every word. Another burst of hot, staticky paranoia: if Tanner finds out that I’m high, what will she do?

Reggie isn’t finished though. “But it looks like there are some problems with the connection in Washington. She’ll join us when she’s able.”

“Problems?” Annie bites her lip. “Reggie, you don’t think—?”

“I’m running diagnostics now. Chances are, it’s just a glitch, but we have to assume the worst.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Proceed with the mission. And one more thing: Africa’s on point for this job. Moira’s request.”

There’s a second of stunned silence. Then Annie says, “I’m sorry, what the fuck?”

“Eh.” Africa glares at her, looking both offended and pleased at once.

I don’t hear Reggie’s response. The comedown is doing horrible things to my sense of time, because suddenly we’re across the street and heading for the police line. Blue and red, the lights piercing my brain.

Annie approaches one of the uniformed cops, a middle-aged, heavyset dude with a bad goatee. He shouts at her to keep back, then blinks when she holds up the FBI identification. What are we going to do if the real feds show up? Then again, maybe Reggie and Tanner will keep