Foster stopped short of the coop with its pale gray siding, cheery white shutters, and fully fenced-in yard area where the chickens could chicken about without fear of being eaten by some wild animal. It was a perfect playhouse-sized version of the main house, which is exactly what Finn had intended when he’d built it. And it was nice. Really nice. Like, nicer than the vast majority of the motels she and Cora had stayed at. But those hadn’t been filled with chickens.
“Hi. Hello. Hi,” Foster said, bending over and ever so quietly tiptoeing to the small and open front door of the coop. Gingerly, she waved at the hens sitting sleepily in their nesting boxes. “How’s it going?” Foster set down the bowl and rubbed her sweaty palms on the butt of her shorts. “So I’m just going to grab this right here maybe.” She tentatively reached into the chicken coop.
“Bwak!” The chicken fluttered its wings and seemed to puff to twice its original size.
Foster yanked her hand back before the chicken had the chance to peck her to death. “Sorry, ma’am. Sorry.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and crouched into a squat. “It’s just that you happen to be sitting on something that I need.”
The hen let out a short cluck of protest.
“But, see, that’s kind of why you’re here—so we can have your eggs. I mean, there’s that whole debate about which one came first, the chicken or the egg, but what if neither came first and they both came at the same time and you, being the chicken, were like, hmm, I guess I should sit on that, but me, being the human, is telling you that you don’t have to. I’ll take it for you and … sit on it. You know, so you can have a break.”
“Are you trying to rationalize to that hen why you’re taking her eggs?”
Foster could almost hear Sabine’s eyebrow arch sardonically. “No.” She picked up the bowl as she rose to her feet. “We were just talking about … things.”
A bee buzzed around one of Sabine’s Princess Leia–style buns and she shooed it away with a calm wave of her hand. “Sure you are.” Her smooth eyebrow arched even higher, if that was possible.
“So, scones.” Foster eyed Sabine’s hands, which were empty except for the iPad she clutched against her stomach. “Where are they?”
“The kitchen. I left them in there when I came out here to get you.”
Foster’s mouth watered. “Are they chocolate chip today? Man, I love it when you make chocolate chip.”
“It’s starting.” Sabine thrust the iPad in Foster’s direction. “All morning I’ve been trying to figure out a better way to tell you, but I guess that’s why they say you can’t polish a turd.”
Foster couldn’t force herself to grab the device. She didn’t want it to be real. It couldn’t be real. Only a few minutes ago she had told herself that she wouldn’t think about those other kids, and that there was a chance that everything would be okay—that Doctor Rick, the Fucktastic Four, the entire outside world would leave her and her new family alone.
Sabine moved next to Foster, pressing the triangular button glaring up at them from the darkening screen. Foster stared speechless at the purples and reds and oranges and yellows swirling on the screen.
“Hey, Sabine!” Tate pecked Foster on the cheek before giving Sabine a friendly hug. “Finn’s out feeding, but said it was important I—”
“It’s happening.” Foster wiped a stray tear from her cheek before Tate or Sabine saw that it had fallen. “Heading for Texas,” she passed the iPad from Sabine to Tate who was back by her side. “Galveston if I read the map correctly.”
“No, no, that can’t be right.” Tate stretched his fingers across the screen, zooming in.
“Foster’s right,” Sabine said. “It’s not very big, actually it’s the opposite— small, powerful, deadly, and completely focused on its trajectory. It’s heading straight for Galveston.”
“Foster,” Tate’s voice was almost a whisper, and he took a deep inhale before continuing. “There’s, uh,” the way he avoided her gaze made her heart feel like a trapped lightning bug. It knocked wildly against the confines of her chest, only slowing as the realization set in.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
There was no place to fly to.
“Something I should have told you…”
Her light dimmed then, the way the bug would have after it lost all hope.
“Well, I should never have kept it from you.”
Dimming. Dimming. Dimming.
“I shouldn’t have lied.”
It went out.
23
EVE
“There he is.” Eve spoke under her breath as the old man entered the Corner Café. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Eve had chosen a booth that gave them a clear line of sight to the front door of the little café. The newspaper clipping hadn’t specified at what time old man Bowen had breakfast every day, so the four of them had been there since the café opened at six a.m. At first they’d hung out in the parking lot trying not to look conspicuous, and then at about seven-thirty Eve had had enough and they’d gone inside. Happily, they hadn’t had to wait long because at eight o’clock sharp, Bowen had entered the café with a book under his arm and an endearing smile on his face.
Eve leaned in and lowered her voice. “Okay, eat slowly. We need to time this so that we leave when the waitress brings him his check. That way we’ll be out in the rental car when the old man exits—we follow him.”
“Hey, we got it, sis,” Luke said, giving her a sassy wink. She sighed. Of course Luke’s in a good mood. He’s eating. He’s always in a good mood when there’s food or fire involved.
“Yeah, don’t worry. This will be a lot easier than dealing with rogue kids and their elements,” Matthew said.
“He’s an old man,” Mark said. “Let’s be sure that we keep that in mind and be careful with him.”
The four of them ate slowly while they watched Grandpa Bowen’s daily café ritual.
After a few minutes Luke snorted. “Mark, your frail old guy is wolfing down three eggs, a rib eye, fruit bowl, short stack of pancakes, and an entire pot of coffee—extra cream and sugar—while he flirts with the waitresses, who seem to like it. I’m not thinking we need to be very careful with him.”