The Storm Runner: Chapters 17–23

He placed his weathered hands on my shoulders, tightening his hold.

"I should say it's a Maya supernatural thing. Those with power want to keep it, which means they only hang with those who have the gold. They don't wallow with common humans. No offense, Hondo."

She sighed and unfolded the map. "See how it's in panels?" she said. "Well, when folded the right way, the hieroglyphs connect and their meanings change, so it's always fluctuating. But if you follow this blue line..."

He had acne on his cheeks and his mousy brown hair fell over one eye.

"You don't like your fries?" I asked, scooping up the leftovers.
"I never eat the ends I touch."
"How come?"
"What's it to you?" she asked, frowning as I scoured her tray for any remaining scraps.

I wanted to pretend I couldn't detect the vomit and motor oil that permeated the greasy air, but it was too powerful to ignore.

Their belt and boot chains jingled as they stomped across the linoleum.

And what did they mean, master of the underworld?
"You mean Ixtab?" I ventured.

All of a sudden Hondo was swinging a butcher knife around like a crazy man, hacking away at the black ropes.

Man, the smell actually singed my nose hairs.

"You're not taking her," I growled.
"Seems we're at an impasse," he said.

"This is a futile effort."

I reached for the road atlas, and my eyes roved over it until I saw we were in San Diego.

Was she delusional? No way was I going to dive under those waves and swim up to some stranger who could write in the sand like a ghost.

I treaded water, keeping enough distance to vamoose if I had to.

I needed the rest, so I cradled the board and brought myself to a straddled sitting position.

She must've seen the question forming, because she said, "I'm time—I can see past, present, and future. The continuum runs through me still. They couldn't take that away."

We passed a dilapidated building with a mural on it of a blond girl in roller skates with a thought cloud that read: HISTORY IS MYTH.

Maybe it was a conjuring stone. I tested it by clutching it in my fist while wishing for a stuffed sopaipilla for breakfast.

Toward the back of the shop was a little corner filled with postcards, shells, and other trinkets.

Yeah, he was big and burly and sported more than a few tattoos on his arms, but the guy was like a jolly giant.

"Made from ancient obsidian," Jazz added. "Magician stone."
"Looks like volcanic glass," I muttered, taking the other.

Jazz's eye grew bloodshot and his face became ashen.

I didn't like the way he was ogling me. It was like he was thinking liar, liar, liar, and the more he thought it, the hotter I felt.

The jade turned over in my hand and pulsated.

I'm not some gullible human that believes everything supernatural creatures tell him.

"The jade I gave you," he finally said, "is infused with ancient magic. The oldest magic, from before the very first creation."

"What's that?"
"An abyss...until I finish it."
"Abyss?"
"An empty hole that goes on forever."
Oh. Well, that settled it. No abyss for me.

There was something very unnerving about the idea of being separated from your own body.

"They've seen the world destroyed before, seen it recreated. They have no qualms about starting over." He let loose a low growl. "And the gods are hungry for a war—the peace has lasted too long."

"The storm is a living force, made up of potent elements. As in lightning, thunder, wind. Fire." His voice grew deeper, shaking with a power I couldn't even imagine.

"I wasn't about to let people I love get hurt," I said with a venom I hoped he felt like a barb.

There was enormous hand-carved furniture and the stone walls were rutted, as if someone very angry had taken an ax to them.

The pedestrian traffic was waning, vendors (if you could call them that) were packing up, music was fading.

We were thrown off the Turbo and as I spun through the air all I could think was Please land in a soft spot. Luckily for us, that spot was a thicket of bushes spread out across a lush green lawn.