couldn't
explain a damned thing. "The closest storm cell is several miles away,
according to this." She turned to a portable radar that didn't look all
that portable, and how the hell had she gotten the thing in here? "My
radar, however, indicates a sizeable echo right on top of us, and if I run a
loop—" she pushed a button, and the screen ran a series of images
"—you can see that this echo formed almost instantly."
Yep,
it pretty much had. Interesting. He'd never seen evidence of how his
weather-weirdness worked.
"And
outside, the pressure rose, the temperature dropped and the wind picked up,
consistent with the hail that shouldn't be here." The desktop
weather-station gadget blinked with all the updates.
Damn,
she was hot when she was agitated, the way she kept sweeping her hair out of
her face and biting her bottom lip.
She
tapped a bunch of keys and looked up at the roof, where the hail still drummed.
He
stopped it as suddenly as he'd started it, mainly because his stomach had
started to growl. "Didn't you say you were going to make some food?"
"Food?"
She leaned close to the radar, her gaze shifting between the machine and the
weather station. "How can you think of food when—" She sucked in a
harsh breath. "It's dissipating. Too fast. This isn't natural."
"I
tried to tell you that things are mysterious and unexplainable around
here." His stomach growled again, this time loud enough for her to hear
it.
She
turned to him. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to find
out." Shaking her head, she sighed. "Tomorrow. When all the data is
in, and I've gotten some rest. And food. I probably should clean up a little
more, though."
For
the first time, he actually surveyed the room, and it sobered him up again. He
saw that four of the five windows in the living room and kitchen were blown out
completely. Haley must've cleaned while he slept, and she'd tried to rehang the
pathetic lace curtains that had been up for twenty-five years, if not longer.
She'd straightened the pictures on the walls and piled the wet books and papers
into a corner, and she'd added to the pile of debris he'd swept up earlier.
He'd
never seen it this bad. But then, he'd never been coerced to remain inside when
a storm raged. Even his team members had given up trying to keep him in once
they realized things got better a few minutes after he stepped out into the
storm. Besides, several of them had learned the hard way not to physically
restrain him when his storm-fervor had him on edge.
But
this… this had been really bad, and he drew a long, deep breath, took into his
nostrils the burnt stench he always smelled after an episode, a combination of
hickory and cinnamon, not unpleasant, not sickeningly sweet, just strong.
Normally, he welcomed it, because it meant that things were over, but the way
his skin still tingled, just below the surface, told him different.
Haley
was still standing in the middle of the kitchen. She scrubbed her cheeks with
her palms for a second and then nodded, like she'd made some kind of internal
decision. She grabbed the broom and moved to sweep out the pile by the back
door.
He
leaned against the fridge and slowly shook his head. "Forget it. You can't
sweep that outside."
"I
can't leave it like this. The generator's nearly out of gas and I don't want
one of us stumbling into the pile if we need to get to the door."
"We
can use the front door instead."
"What's
the big deal, Remy?"
"You
just can't sweep it out the door. Not tonight," he said, realized he was
going to sound like an even bigger freak, but hey, some things were so born and
bred they could never be lost. "Look, it's an old Cajun superstition,
okay? You're never supposed to sweep dirt out the door after dark."
"Why
not?"
"It's
bad luck," he said, watched her bite her lip and try, unsuccessfully, to
hold back a smile.
She
didn't make it—a small giggle burst from her before she covered her mouth.
"I'm sorry," she said, but there was still
explain a damned thing. "The closest storm cell is several miles away,
according to this." She turned to a portable radar that didn't look all
that portable, and how the hell had she gotten the thing in here? "My
radar, however, indicates a sizeable echo right on top of us, and if I run a
loop—" she pushed a button, and the screen ran a series of images
"—you can see that this echo formed almost instantly."
Yep,
it pretty much had. Interesting. He'd never seen evidence of how his
weather-weirdness worked.
"And
outside, the pressure rose, the temperature dropped and the wind picked up,
consistent with the hail that shouldn't be here." The desktop
weather-station gadget blinked with all the updates.
Damn,
she was hot when she was agitated, the way she kept sweeping her hair out of
her face and biting her bottom lip.
She
tapped a bunch of keys and looked up at the roof, where the hail still drummed.
He
stopped it as suddenly as he'd started it, mainly because his stomach had
started to growl. "Didn't you say you were going to make some food?"
"Food?"
She leaned close to the radar, her gaze shifting between the machine and the
weather station. "How can you think of food when—" She sucked in a
harsh breath. "It's dissipating. Too fast. This isn't natural."
"I
tried to tell you that things are mysterious and unexplainable around
here." His stomach growled again, this time loud enough for her to hear
it.
She
turned to him. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to find
out." Shaking her head, she sighed. "Tomorrow. When all the data is
in, and I've gotten some rest. And food. I probably should clean up a little
more, though."
For
the first time, he actually surveyed the room, and it sobered him up again. He
saw that four of the five windows in the living room and kitchen were blown out
completely. Haley must've cleaned while he slept, and she'd tried to rehang the
pathetic lace curtains that had been up for twenty-five years, if not longer.
She'd straightened the pictures on the walls and piled the wet books and papers
into a corner, and she'd added to the pile of debris he'd swept up earlier.
He'd
never seen it this bad. But then, he'd never been coerced to remain inside when
a storm raged. Even his team members had given up trying to keep him in once
they realized things got better a few minutes after he stepped out into the
storm. Besides, several of them had learned the hard way not to physically
restrain him when his storm-fervor had him on edge.
But
this… this had been really bad, and he drew a long, deep breath, took into his
nostrils the burnt stench he always smelled after an episode, a combination of
hickory and cinnamon, not unpleasant, not sickeningly sweet, just strong.
Normally, he welcomed it, because it meant that things were over, but the way
his skin still tingled, just below the surface, told him different.
Haley
was still standing in the middle of the kitchen. She scrubbed her cheeks with
her palms for a second and then nodded, like she'd made some kind of internal
decision. She grabbed the broom and moved to sweep out the pile by the back
door.
He
leaned against the fridge and slowly shook his head. "Forget it. You can't
sweep that outside."
"I
can't leave it like this. The generator's nearly out of gas and I don't want
one of us stumbling into the pile if we need to get to the door."
"We
can use the front door instead."
"What's
the big deal, Remy?"
"You
just can't sweep it out the door. Not tonight," he said, realized he was
going to sound like an even bigger freak, but hey, some things were so born and
bred they could never be lost. "Look, it's an old Cajun superstition,
okay? You're never supposed to sweep dirt out the door after dark."
"Why
not?"
"It's
bad luck," he said, watched her bite her lip and try, unsuccessfully, to
hold back a smile.
She
didn't make it—a small giggle burst from her before she covered her mouth.
"I'm sorry," she said, but there was still
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