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

alone like this? Then again, if you’re trying to keep pursuers away from your child, leading them on a diversion makes sense.

Problem is, that answer only leads to more questions. What the hell were they doing here? Why come all the way to LA from New Mexico?

I lick my lips, suddenly aware of how thirsty I am. Like down-an-entire-six-pack thirsty. The corridor swims in front of me, the anxiety and paranoia and insistent pain fighting for control. Keep it together.

What I wouldn’t give for some direction from Reggie right now. To hear Annie’s voice, Africa’s. No chance. There’s not even any static on the earpiece any more. I’m not actually sure it’s still working.

“Hey Leo?” I say, trying to sound casual. “Can I…? Would you mind if I sat down next to you?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I’m kind of tired.” I try on a smile, which feels like an XXL sweater on an S body. “Would that be cool? Because the floor next to you is OK, right?”

“I only made the zaps start, like, over there.” He points back in the direction I came in.

It takes me a second to understand what he’s saying – and when I do, my stomach drops.

It’s not just that he has power. He has control over it. He can electrify solid surfaces, but not the air. He can create a… I guess you’d call it a safety zone around himself.

It makes a weird kind of sense sense. I have a range for my PK, and it’s easy enough for me to lift something far away while leaving closer objects untouched, even though I can wrap my PK energy around both. Maybe his control over electrons works the same way. He tells the ones at a distance to start moving, while keeping the ones close to him static.

And that, right there, is the scariest thing of all. He has more control over his power at age four than I did at age twenty. And his range… He’s affecting hundreds of feet in one go. The electric charge might get weaker at the edges of that range, but still. Damn.

Who the hell is this kid?

“So it’s good for me to step off?” I ask. “OK. Cool. I’m gonna just…”

Step off my nice, safe platform onto a floor that may or may or not kill me, based on a little kid saying it’s OK.

Slowly, I move the car door towards the ground, aiming for a spot as close as I can to the boy. He doesn’t react, doesn’t even look up.

“Leo? Hey, Leo?” I point. “That spot there isn’t electrified, right? Next to you?”

He says nothing.

“I really don’t want to step off if—”

He shrugs without looking up. “It’s fine.”

I’m about to push him – you know, get confirmation that I’m not about to die – but something tells me not to. This boy might not be as murderous as Matthew Schenke, but he’s very much on edge.

Three inches above the ground. Two.

I close my eyes, and take the step.

I’m so primed for the shock that there’s a nanosecond where I actually feel it, my muscles going rigid, my heart seizing in my chest. When nothing happens, when my foot comes to a stop on the floor without a bazillion volts exploding through me, I’m hit with a case of the shakes so bad that I almost fall over.

I step off the car door fully, then lower it to the ground next to me. Then I sit down next to Leo. Very, very carefully.

He’s acting like I’m not even there, looking away from me, his shoulders still trembling. He’s scrawnier up close. Even his spiky fringe looks too big for him.

“So,” I say – and realise I’m about to clap him on the shoulder. I jerk my hand back, which fortunately is not something he notices. I shouldn’t be scared of him; he hasn’t tried to hurt me directly. Not yet anyway. He’s letting me sit next to him. But it’s like sitting next to a Bullmastiff pup – one of those breeds that gets to the size of a house by six months. It’s too young to know that it shouldn’t bite you.

“Hey,” I say gently. “Why was the… Zigzag Man, right? Why was he chasing you?”

“He makes you see things.”

Well, that’s not creepy at all.

“You were with your dad?” I ask, changing tack. He nods. “Can you tell me why he brought you here?”

He shrugs. A little boy shrug, left shoulder up, then right, then both down. “We were s’posed to go Compton.” Again, with the same over-emphasis, like the word is hard to remember.

“What’s in Compton?” It’s in South-Central LA, maybe an hour’s drive in traffic. Mostly black and Latinx – but didn’t I read that there’s a tiny Asian community there now too? Not much, maybe a thousand people, but still…

“My uncle,” Leo says. “He lives at, at 860 East Glencoe.” Running the words together, as if it’s something he was made to memorise, but doesn’t fully understand.

OK. I get it. His dad brings him to LA for… reasons. This Zigzag Guy chases them. They end up here, Leo’s dad leaves him – to lead their pursuer away, maybe? – and Leo electrifies the whole building. Good way to stay safe, I guess.

There are a lot of gaps in that story, but it’s a start.

“Did you come from the School?” I say. Almost whispering it.

“The what?”

“The… the School? Out in Albuquerque. There would have been more people like you there.”

He stares at me, four-year-old eyes blinking in confusion.

I try another tack. “Did you…” I pause. “Did you know a boy named Matthew? Matthew Schenke.”

A shake of the head. “Mm-mm.”

“He could move dirt around. With his mind.”

The second I mention the word dirt, a look of horror crosses Leo’s face. “Lucas. I hate him!”

Me too, kid. I shiver at the thought, the sensation of being buried in hot, concrete soil bubbling to the top of my mind. Lucas. Guess Matthew wasn’t his real name.

My gut clenches. It’s