The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)

Sabine said quickly, “How were you two feeling when you heard music and saw the air currents?”

Tate and Foster exchanged a look, and it was Tate’s turn to shrug. “Good, I guess. Well, at first it was pretty scary, but then Foster reminded me that when she was playing with air earlier it was about how she was feeling—relaxed and happy. Right, Foster?”

Foster nodded. “Yeah, because when I’ve been pissed and wind shows up things don’t go so well.”

“That’s exactly what I mean! Okay, okay! You tamed the tornado and the wall cloud, then Tate, you started to fly. How were you feeling when you did that?” Sabine scooted forward, staring at Tate, s’more forgotten.

“Super happy and relieved. Last time we tried to stop a tornado things went bad. Real bad. Tonight no one died. No one was even hurt, so I was feeling pretty great.”

“But then you said you felt weird and started to disappear?” Finn said.

“Yeah, I didn’t feel weird until I saw that my hands weren’t there. Then everything got confusing. My head felt like it was full of cotton. Foster had to save me.” His eyes caught Foster’s. His smile was slow and intimate. “Not that I minded. At all.”

“Yeah, yeah, we saw,” Sabine said. “And then Foster flew, too. Right?”

“Well, I think float is a better description, but yeah, I did.”



“How?” Sabine asked.

Foster thought about it as she chewed a bite of s’more and then answered simply, “I just thought that Tate needed me and I should get up there, and there I was. Up there with Tate.”

“How did you feel?” Sabine prodded.

“I was worried about Tate, but mostly I just wanted to get up there and calm him down. He was definitely freaking out.”

“And then she was there, and as soon as she touched my hand I felt better. Then she started singing that nice little lullaby and everything just felt good. I calmed down right away. Basically, I was happy she was there with me. It made everything right again.” Tate answered Sabine’s question, but he didn’t take his eyes from Foster, whose cheeks were blazing so red that even by the soft light of the fire he could see her blush. But she didn’t look away and she didn’t make some kind of dismissive comment. She just gazed right back at him—and smiled.

“What was the song?” Sabine asked.

When neither Tate nor Foster answered, Sabine stretched out her long leg and gave Foster’s foot a kick.

“Oh, uh, what?”

“Girl, try to pay attention. We’re having a major discussion here and I think I might have figured something out. What song did you sing to get Tate down safely?” Sabine said.

“‘Moon River,’ from—” Foster began, but Sabine finished the sentence with her. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“See! People still know that song,” Foster told Tate.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure I was Holly Golightly in another life,” Sabine said.

“Wasn’t she a prostitute?” Finn said.

“She was an escort!” Foster and Sabine yelled together, frowning at Finn.

“Okeydokey then.” Finn retreated behind a bite of s’more.

“So, you floated down and then you started making out. Do I have that right?” Sabine continued.

“Almost,” Tate said. Then he pressed his lips shut, hearing his mom’s voice in his head: A gentleman does not kiss and tell. Locker room talk should be about the game and not about women’s body parts.

“Almost?” Sabine lifted one brow and sent Foster a look.

Tate stayed as silent as Finn.

Through a big bite of s’more Foster muttered, “The kissing started in the air.”

“Yes!” Sabine cried, causing everyone to jump. “I’m right. I know I am. Okay, one more thing: when you two are hooked into air—really hooked into it like when you can hear the music and see the air currents—do you ever sense anything from it?”

“Anything like what?” Tate said.

“Like feelings,” Sabine said.

Instead of scoffing at the idea, Foster sat forward in her chair. “I’m not sure if this counts, but Tate and I can feel it when we’re invoking air. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a feeling that starts over our skin. It’s kind of like static electricity. Right, Tate?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but the feeling changes. On the football field that first time it was crazy. It felt like my skin and even my blood was sizzling, but when Foster was playing the willow orchestra—you know, when you guys saw me flying—the feeling wasn’t the same.”

“No, it’s softer.” Foster blew out a long breath in frustration. “That’s not it, either. But yes, we do sense something from air.”

“That fits my theory. Get this—what if air is pissed? I don’t blame it. Look at all the pollution and crap people have poured into it. It’s awful. So, what if air—and the rest of the elements—are pissed, and what you two can do is calm it, but only if you’re calm. If you’re not, then terrible stuff happens, maybe stuff that’s even more terrible than what would happen if you weren’t around.”

Tate sat up straighter. “Foster, what if she’s right? What if we didn’t cause the tornado to appear at the football game, but once it was there it reacted to us? I don’t know about you, but I was fucking scared.”

“I was scared until Cora fell. Then I was pissed. Really pissed,” Foster said.

“Just like you were in the truck when the tornado formed and smashed down on the highway blocking the Core Four from following us,” Tate was speaking as quickly as Foster.

“Yeah! And then you and I were super pissed when we had that fight, and I was wrapped in a crazy, almost tornado, but nothing actually formed because we calmed down and breathed,” Foster said. Her gaze went from Tate to Sabine. “You are definitely on to something. Air does react to how we feel. So, it’s not a stretch to believe air has a type of sentience.”

“It wasn’t our fault. That tornado—we didn’t cause it.” Tate felt a great release, as if a rubber band had suddenly been unwrapped from around his chest.

P.C. Cast, Kristin Cast's books