The Westerlies shift direction, collecting together, swelling thicker and stronger. I’d thought the storm was chaos before, but now it’s an impenetrable wall of choking dust that traps all the Stormers—even Raiden—in the heavy air that Gus, Vane, and I are allowed to move through with ease. Our Westerly shields must be telling the other winds to let us pass.
We run as fast as we can, not looking back as the ground gets steeper. And the higher we climb, the more the air clears until we’re finally able to gather the winds we need for a pipeline.
“Wait,” Vane shouts, adding a Westerly to the mix before I give the final command.
Then he takes my hand, grabbing Gus with his other as he shouts “Enhance!” and the vortex expands around us, blasting us out of the valley.
CHAPTER 27
VANE
I
can’t believe we’re alive.
Well . . . for now.
I don’t know how long that crazy wind-sludge stuff will trap Raiden in Death Valley, but I’m betting it’s asking too much for it to last few hundred years. Odds are, we have a couple of hours. Maybe less.
The vortex spits us out into the open air, and I do useful things like scream and flail while Audra unravels the pipeline and Gus gathers Southerlies and tangles them around us to slow our fall. At least I remember to release the Westerly shields. We owe our lives to those weary drafts. They deserve to be free.
The winds around Gus and me zip into the gray twilight sky. But Audra’s shield tightens its grip, and from the smile on her face I can tell she wants it to stay. Only Audra could make a Westerly her new pet.
“Where are we?” Gus asks when we touch down in the middle of yet another desert. I’m starting to wonder if that’s all there is in this freaking state when I realize we’re not actually in California anymore.
The skyline in the distance has a castle, an Eiffel Tower, and a blinking neon pyramid. Leave it to me to blast us all the way to Vegas.
“Looks like we’re at least three hours from home. Unless someone wants to hit the buffets first? Or maybe get married by Elvis?”
I realize the awkward mess I’ve stepped in the second the joke leaves my mouth.
“That’s not a proposal,” I tell Audra, wondering if her cheeks are as red as mine feel. It’s hard to tell in the dim moonlight. “I would never—well, I don’t mean never—I just mean . . . I would do it way better than that—not that I’m thinking about proposing—at least not now—I just . . .”
Please, somebody kill me now.
Then Gus clears his throat and I realize there’s a whole other level of awkward to this situation.
I sigh. “Listen. I know I can’t ask you to—”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone,”Gus interrupts.“This one’s your mess. I’m staying out of it.”
Well, that’s good—I guess. I don’t know, I’m kinda over the whole “hiding it” thing. But I’ll have to talk to Audra and see how she feels about going public.
“But just so I’m clear,” Gus adds, “she’s the one you were sneaking off to the mountains to check for all the time, right?”
“All the time?” Audra repeats.
“Every chance I could,” I admit. “Finding your trace was the only thing that kept me going.”
Her face falls and I reach for her. “Hey—I didn’t mean it like that. I just missed you. I—” My hand brushes something wet on her side and she flinches. “You’re still bleeding?”
I lift the side of her shirt, and my head starts to cloud when I see the dark, jagged gash that starts above her hip and stretches onto her stomach.
“I’m fine,” she insists as I search for something I can use to cover the wound.
I try to tear off the bottom of my shorts, but the thick cargo fabric refuses to rip.
Why did I have to take off my stupid shirt?
“Hey,” she says, coiling her Westerly around her waist, “It’s okay, see? The wind helps us heal.”
I can’t tell if the cool breeze is actually stopping the blood or just whisking it away—but I guess it’ll have to do until we can get home.
“Do you feel any threat?” Audra asks Gus, who has his hands stretched out, searching the air.
“No. I don’t feel anything.”
He stalks off into the desert without another word.
It’s hard to see in the dim light, but I hear him unsheathe his windslicer and start hacking the crap out of something.
Audra looks at me, and I know she’s waiting for me to go talk to him. But what am I supposed to say? I’m assuming this is about his dad, and I suck at emotional things like this.
Several minutes pass and Gus is still going to town, so I finally make my way over.
“Hey,” I mumble, off to a brilliant start. “Um . . . you okay?”
“Oh yeah, I’m awesome.” He takes another swing, slicing the top off a dry, scraggly bush.
“Look. I know you’re angry—and I don’t blame you. What happened to Feng was—and I don’t mean what you did to the Storm thing . . . I mean what Raiden did. By the time you got there he . . .”
Wow, I really suck at this.