Jackson Ford - Eye of the Sh*t Storm

Another voice. Inaudible.

“Maybe the wind caught ’em.” That sounded like Alan the Accountant.

I let out a long, slow, shaky breath. Holy shit. That actually worked.

Of course it fucking worked . It was, if I say so myself, genius. Twisted, insane genius.

Used to be that I could only feel out objects up to about fifty feet away. Over the past couple years, I’ve gotten a lot stronger. My PK range is up to two hundred feet – and it doesn’t matter what’s in the way. Plus, I can move fast if I have to. So when I saw Africa about to get the heave-ho, I ran a quick check to find an empty suite below us. Then I zipped open the balcony door, grabbed hold of the couch – which had a nice, handy metal frame – and made Africa a landing pad.

Of course, I didn’t just leave it to chance. I find that when you tell people you’re going to tear their dicks off and play a drum solo with them, they tend to pay attention – if only because they find it amusing. They didn’t notice the thump from below. They didn’t care about the person they’d already thrown off a balcony, and especially not when the railing is two feet thick. That type of railing is pretty tough to lean out over – try it, if you don’t believe me, next time you meet your gun dealer at a high-end hotel.

I have to force myself to talk. “And that is the real meaning of couch-surfing.”

Africa is grinning now. He’s got it. Shaking his head, staring at me like I’m the craziest thing he’s ever seen. “You dëma ,” he says, keeping his voice low.

I’m unsteady on my feet, but somehow I stumble through to the suite. I was expecting it to be a wreck – this place is home to squatters, after all – but it’s surprisingly clean. The bed is made, and there’s even a bunch of flowers on the nightstand. Dead flowers, but still.

“We must tell Mrs Tanner,” Africa says, as I gently shut the door. “She must know how you handled this, yaaw ? You did good. She will be impressed.”

That gets him a strange look from me. Since when is Africa so keen to keep Tanner informed?

Annie is just inside the door, staring at nothing. I take a step towards her. “You OK?”

She snaps her head up, like a wolf scenting blood. Then she takes two strides, and grabs me by the front of my tank top, lifting me off the ground and slamming me against the wall so hard I nearly bite my tongue.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she snarls, her mouth inches from my face. Her breath, hot and harsh, smells very faintly of whiskey. She’s not drunk, I know that, but she’s definitely had some.

“Annie!” Africa tries to insert himself between us, doesn’t get anywhere. I just gape. I don’t know what else to do. My feet kick at open air.

“We could have been fucking killed,” Annie says. She shoves me harder into the wall, then abruptly lets me go. I thump down onto the carpet, nearly losing my balance.

Annie doesn’t back off, not even when Africa tries to pull her away. She jams a finger in my face, eyes blazing. “Next time you wanna get us thrown off a fucking balcony, leave me at home. Jesus Christ.”

She shoves Africa off, walks into the middle of the suite, her back to us. I’m too stunned to be angry.

To be fair, this isn’t the first time Annie and I have taken a high-dive together. Last year, we did a job in a skyscraper in downtown LA – a job that ended up with us trapped on the top floor, with no way out. I may or may not have grabbed Annie and punched us through a window, eighty-something floors up.

Annie is terrified of heights, absolutely one of her worst fears. I’m still apologising for that little stunt.

“What is the matter with you?” Africa stops, lowers his voice. “Annie, that is not helpful, huh? Teggan was not the one who threw us.”

Damn right. Last time I checked, I actually saved us. Is she mad because I… what, because I let it happen? What other choice did I have? Reveal my ability? Hope it all worked out?

I thought I made the right decision. It was scary, and dangerous… but it got us out of a bad situation unhurt, didn’t it?

“Annie—” I say.

She snaps up a hand, still not looking at me. “Don’t.”

“I just… If I could have told you, I totally would have…”

“I said: don’t .”

I just saved your life back there . I open my mouth to say it, but Africa clears his throat. Gives me a very firm shake of the head.

My voice is low. “I was only gonna—”

“Mm-mm.”

“But—”

“No. Leave it, yaaw ?”

He’s right. If I’m honest, I sort of do know why Annie is being a prick. And it makes me want to throttle her and hug her, both at once.

China Shop used to have a logistics guy. Paul Marino. Ex-Navy quartermaster, a detail-minded pain in the ass… and Annie’s lover. Paul died a few months ago, buried alive by a psychotic little boy named Matthew Schenke, who had the ability to control the earth. It was him who caused the big quake here in LA.

Annie is angry. Grieving. Nothing wrong with that – it’s healthy – but the problem is, she’s taken a lot of that anger out on me. For months now, she’s been cold towards me, snapping at me, sometimes even leaving a room when I walk in. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But it kept happening, and then I mentioned it to Reggie, who said she’d noticed it too.

I didn’t kill Paul, but it’s as if Annie thinks I had a part in it – that because Matthew came from the same research my parents used to make me, I was partly to blame.

Which hurt, let me tell you.

I eventually got up the courage to ask Annie to ease off on me, without actually mentioning Paul or the boy who killed him. She nodded, said she was sorry, said she was going through some shit. I nodded too and smiled and said it was OK. Then a few days later, things went right back to the way they were.

Annie shakes her head. “Elevator. Let’s go.” She strides past me, stopping in the suite’s entrance hall, by the door. Waits.

When neither Africa nor I move, she gives me a pointed look.

“Oh.” I snap my fingers. “Sorry. Yes.”

I send my PK out past the door. There’s nothing and nobody in the hall, and after a nod from me, Annie steps out. Half the lights aren’t working, and the other half flicker on and off, like the world’s most depressing rave. Annie lopes to the elevator, jabbing the call button.

“Who the fuck told them about China Shop?” I say to Africa.

A troubled look crosses his face. “I do not know.”

“Somebody’s trying to get up in our shit.”

“We will talk to Reggie later. She might be able to do a trace.”

On what? Robert’s phone? Maybe – Reggie is that good. It would be a real pleasure to find whoever just ruined our op, and exactly how they know about China Shop. Then throw them off a building.

That’s a problem for later. After we get out of here.

The elevator dings. Annie steps to one side, out of view of the doors. Smart – no point exposing ourselves if the bikers happen to be on their way down to ground level to confirm the kill. That would be an embarrassing way to get caught. Africa and I slip into a door alcove, hiding ourselves from view, and I close my eyes, concentrating on the rising car.

“Clear,” I murmur.

The elevator ride is exactly as awkward as you think it is. Let’s leave it at that.

The doors open onto a service corridor in the basement – one suffering from the same lighting problems as the floor we were on. Bare concrete, mysterious stains on the walls, janitor’s bucket lying on its side. I don’t know if the janitor knocked it over today – maybe he stepped out for a smoke, decided he’d pick it up when he got back – or if it fell over in the quake, and just sat there.