The Storm Makers Read online

  Ruby shrugged. “He must have a good reason.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do,” she insisted.

  “Well, I wish he’d been able to teach me a few things before skipping town,” Simon said, squinting up at the sky. Using one hand to hold the bike steady, he waved the other vaguely. “I keep trying to make some weather, but nothing seems to work.”

  “Maybe Daisy can teach you something tomorrow.”

  “You really think she’s one, too?”

  “Come on,” Ruby said. “You were there this morning. You saw how she reacted. There’s no way she’s not.”

  Simon nodded. “Well, at least we know where she works. That makes it a lot harder for her to abandon us.”

  “Otis didn’t abandon us,” Ruby said, not quite sure why she was defending him. She was as disappointed as Simon; maybe even more so. But she couldn’t bring herself to give up on Otis just yet. “He’ll be back,” she said. “I know he will.”

  Just ahead of her, Simon stopped short.

  “Is that him?” he asked, pointing down the road, which was so long and straight and flat that it looked almost endless, cut off by nothing but the horizon itself. And in the middle of it, about a hundred yards away, stood a man in a black suit.

  Ruby opened her mouth, but found that her breath was caught in her throat. The moment they paused, the man began to walk toward them. It was definitely not Otis, but he had the same airiness about him, like he might just as easily have been walking to work in a big city somewhere. There was nothing in his manner that suggested he was on an empty country road, the wheat leaning this way and that all around him.

  As he approached, Ruby realized it was the man from the waiting room at the hospital, the man whose presence had somehow made Otis disappear. And now here he was, bearing down on them. She stood stock-still, unable to move. But when she glanced over, she was surprised to find no trace of fear on Simon’s face.

  His eyes were wide and his lips just slightly parted, and there was an eagerness about him that made him seem like a little kid again. As the man drew closer, Simon readjusted his grip on the handlebars of his bike and shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

  “I don’t mean to alarm you,” the man called out when he was nearly there. He lifted a hand in a gesture halfway between a salute and a wave. His suit was black, and his shoes were shiny, and his hair was so perfect that he looked almost like a cartoon character, with dark eyes and a strong jaw and a smile that was infuriatingly white.

  “You must be Simon,” he said when he was close enough, reaching out to shake his hand and ignoring Ruby entirely.

  Simon nodded. “And this is Ruby.”

  The man slid his eyes over to her and inclined his head.

  “We met at the hospital,” she reminded him, but he chose not to acknowledge this.

  “Are you Otis?” Simon asked.

  The man let out a laugh like a cough. “Am I Otis Gray?” he said with a thin smile. “Hardly.”

  Simon looked over at Ruby, not quite getting the joke.

  “I’m Rupert London,” the man said, drawing himself up to his full height. “Chairman of MOSS.”

  “Chairman of Mouse?” Simon asked, and Rupert London flexed his jaw. He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it over. Ruby leaned in and saw that there was nothing but a little storm cloud and an address printed on the card.

  “I’m the Chairman of the Makers of Storms Society,” he said. “And I’ve come all this way to see you.”

  His voice seemed to imply that this was some kind of great honor; it was so full of pretentiousness that Ruby couldn’t help rolling her eyes. But Simon was beaming up at the man as if he’d just been knighted.

  “Wow,” he said. “I mean, thanks.”

  London nodded solemnly. “You’re the talk of the Society right now,” he said. “There are a lot of people back at our headquarters in Chicago who would love to meet you.”

  “Too bad we live up here, then,” Ruby chimed in, but London ignored her.

  “I don’t know how much you’ve heard just yet,” he continued, pivoting so that he was facing only Simon, his back to Ruby. “Or how dependable your sources have been. But not only have you revealed yourself to be our newest Storm Maker, you’re also the youngest ever recorded. And that makes you pretty special. So we’re all very excited to see what you can do.”

  Ruby could see Simon absorbing all this, the word special landing squarely across his face, which broke into a smile. “Yeah, Ruby met Otis the other day, and he told her that, too. But we haven’t seen him since.”

  “Well,” London said, “do you mind if I walk with you, then? Perhaps I can be a bit more enlightening than our friend Otis.”

  Without bothering to look at Ruby, Simon nodded, and the two of them started off ahead of her, Simon’s bike clanging with each step he took. The sky had darkened another couple of shades, and it was starting to get harder to see. In the distance, Ruby heard an engine start up, probably a tractor in a far-off field, and she wished they were closer, or that a car would drive by.

  There was something about Rupert London that felt wrong to her. She supposed it was no less creepy to show up at the hospital than it was to hide out in their barn, but for some reason, she’d trusted Otis immediately. Rupert London, on the other hand, made her feel utterly powerless.

  When she caught up, London was telling Simon more about the Society.

  “Thousands,” he said strolling with his hands behind his back. “There are thousands of us. And not just here, but all over the world.”

  “And you’re in charge of them all?” Simon asked.

  “Many of them,” he said. “Each country has its own separate Chairman, and we each preside over all the Storm Makers in our regions. But everyone knows who’s the most powerful.”

  “Who?” Ruby asked innocently, and London narrowed his eyes at her before turning back to Simon.

  “Before I was elected Chairman, I was the Director of the Department of Severe Weather for the Western Time Zone,” he said, strolling with his hands behind his back. “In charge of blizzards, hailstorms, tornadoes, and general storms.”

  Simon paused. “Stopping them, right? Not making them?”

  “Of course, of course,” London said breezily. “A Storm Maker usually excels in one particular area, though sometimes it takes a while for that talent to emerge. It’s not that they can’t manage the others, but someone who is especially proficient in hailstorms doesn’t tend to be as useful when it comes to tsunamis, if you see what I mean.”

  Simon nodded sagely. “So yours was…?”

  “I’ve dabbled in everything,” London said with a smile so falsely modest that Ruby almost rolled her eyes again. “It’s like with athletes. Most tend to specialize in one sport, but every once in a while, someone comes along who just seems to be able to play them all.”

  “And that’s you?” Simon asked, his eyes glinting.

  “That’s me.”

  Ruby cleared her throat. “And what’s Otis’s specialty?”

  Without looking over, without taking his eyes off her brother, London inclined his head. “Your sister’s friend Otis once worked in my time zone, too. He was in charge of heat-related disasters. He was supposed to be skilled in fires and droughts.” His voice had gone thin and reedy, and he paused for a moment before continuing. “And before that, he was one of our best Trackers, which is probably why he was able to find you so quickly. Otis was always quite good at locating rookies. He had something of a sixth sense for these things, which must be why he was lured back into the fray when he caught wind of you.”

  “Why, what does he do now?” Simon asked, and Ruby skipped forward a few steps, eager to hear.

  “I’m afraid he’s no longer with the Society,” London said, looking off into the fields. “Not every Storm Maker feels the need to work for the greater good. They’re still responsible for following our rules, of course, but there are
those who would rather strike out on their own than be part of the Society. Otis had a bit of a breakdown a few years back. And the poor man’s become something of a crackpot ever since.”

  “He’s no crazier than you,” Ruby said, and for the first time, London turned to face her, his eyes flashing.

  “I’d take care to mind your own business,” he said. “The only reason you’re privy to this conversation is because Otis has already shared confidential information with you, and there’s no taking that back.”

  Simon stiffened, then slowed until his stride was even with Ruby’s, their shoulders nearly touching. “We’re twins,” he told London. “We tell each other everything.”

  Ruby smiled at him gratefully, not just for defending her, but also for lying; it had been a while since they’d told each other everything, but in that moment, it was nice to believe it was still true.

  “Yes, I know,” London said to Simon, his voice a bit gentler now. “Which is why we’re making an exception in this case. Normally, it would be Storm Makers only. There are strict punishments for any sort of leaked information.”

  Simon pulled ahead again. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bore you with talk of such things, but let’s just say we have ways of reminding our members to stay in line,” he told them. “Nobody likes to wake up and discover they can no longer make so much as a drizzle.”

  Simon looked awed. “So what sorts of things can you do? What will I be able to do? Can you show us?”

  London paused in the middle of the road, which was now nearly dark. A breeze wound through the fields, and Ruby shivered in spite of the heat. She leaned against her bike, wishing they were home right now, wishing Otis had shown up, wishing none of this had ever happened. The back of her neck prickled as London turned around.

  “What would you like to see?”

  Simon shrugged. “Anything.”

  It happened in a flash. With a quick jerk of London’s head and a crack that vibrated straight down through Ruby’s toes, the sky lit up with orange. Ruby felt the heat before she saw the fire, which had leapt from a patch of wheat to their left, burning high and bright, making the rest of the world darker by comparison. The stalks popped as they burned, and the smoke made her eyes water as the flames danced in the sky, illuminating their faces.

  “Stop,” Ruby said, her voice choked. “Please stop it.”

  Simon looked dazzled by the display. For a moment he stared at it with a kind of horrified awe, but at the sound of Ruby’s voice, he ran forward a few steps, then turned back to London.

  “Those are somebody’s crops,” he said. “Make it stop.”

  London bowed his head and, with a twirl of his finger, Ruby felt a great wind at her back, the force of it propelling her forward a few steps. She sucked in a breath as she saw its source: a small tornado about a hundred yards away, moving sideways through the wheat and then jumping the road in a swirl of dust, barreling straight into the fire.

  The flames seemed to get snapped off by the wind, twisted up and lost in the vacuum of air, and what was left of the burned crops was torn up at the roots, chewed and swallowed and spit out again by the funnel.

  Ruby’s eyes stung from the nearness of it, from the wind whipping at her hair. There was nowhere to duck and nowhere to hide; all she could do was watch, stunned, as it began to die out again, the air falling flat all around them, leaving a wide patch of land stripped bare, littered with the charred remains of the wheat. She spun around, furious.

  “How could you do that?” she asked, surprised to find that there were tears in her eyes. “That’s someone’s land. You’re supposed to protect people from the weather, not use it as a weapon.”

  “It was a demonstration,” he said, but Ruby had the sense that it was more than that. There was a meanness to the act, a disregard that frightened her. She and Simon had spoken of rain clouds and snow days like this was all some great source of amusement, but standing now beside the smoking ruins of the wheat, she realized this was no longer a game.

  “Now,” London was saying. “Let’s see what you can do.”

  Simon lifted his gaze from the road, but it was Ruby he looked at first. There was something in his eyes that she hadn’t often seen before, and she realized with a start that he was scared, too.

  “I can’t do anything,” he admitted.

  “Of course you can,” London said with a smile. “I heard about your fever.”

  “But I haven’t been able to do anything since then,” Simon said. “At least not on purpose. I was thinking maybe if someone could teach me…”

  “Some of it can be taught, but most of it is instinct,” London said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out what looked like a stopwatch, but Ruby realized it was a barometer. Unlike the one from Otis, though, there were simply numbers around the edges. “So go ahead,” he said. “Make it rain.”

  Simon flashed her a panicky look, and Ruby took a step forward.

  “We need to get home,” she said, trying to sound braver than she felt. Her voice wobbled, but she squared her shoulders and stood her ground. “Thanks anyway.”

  London laughed a humorless laugh. “This won’t take long. I just need to see it for myself.”

  “I can’t,” Simon said miserably, tilting his head to the sky. The road remained dry and dusty, and the last embers of the fire were still dying in the wheat. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am.”

  London pressed his lips together. When he spoke, his voice was low and ragged. “Make it rain,” he repeated. “Now.”

  Ruby watched as Simon began desperately mouthing something at the sky, but nothing was happening and nothing was coming, and she glared at London, a knot of anger twisting itself tighter inside her.

  When she followed Simon’s skyward gaze, she thought fleetingly of all that she’d learned in science class, about how impossible it would be to replicate something as complicated as this, the chemical composition of rain, the way it moves through the atmosphere. She pictured water vapor and condensation and weather fronts, and as she did, the anger evaporated and there was only the domed sky and her brother’s prayer, and her own aching wish for Simon to succeed, and in that one brief moment, Ruby closed her eyes and, to her surprise, felt the first raindrops fall over her gently, like a mist, like a blessing, like a curse.

  Simon let out a whoop, and Ruby blinked. It was only a dusting, but it felt like a downpour, and it smelled like spring, and she let the water slide down her forehead and fall off the end of her nose.

  Simon was grinning now, doing a little rain dance, and when she turned back to London, there was a look of immense satisfaction on his face. He snapped shut the barometer and walked over to Simon.

  “Well done,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That’s some fine work for a rookie. Especially one your age.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I hope you’ll come down to see us in Chicago very soon. There’s a lot I could show you down there. A lot for you to learn.”

  “I’d like to,” Simon said, “but I don’t know….”

  “No, I understand,” London said, but the smile remained frozen on his face. He scanned the disappearing horizon for a moment, as if deep in thought, then turned back to them. “What a drought,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d hate to see it continue.”

  Ruby felt the words like bullets, each one hitting her dead in the center of her chest.

  “But if you can’t make it down,” London said, his voice becoming abruptly cheerful, “I’ll be back up here to check on you soon.”

  The rain was already letting up, and the road was almost completely dark. Simon bent to pick up his fallen bicycle, then looked up at London. “When?” he asked.

  “Soon enough. Before the twenty-first, anyway.”

  Ten days, Ruby thought, the words like an alarm.

  “What’s the twenty-first?” Simon asked, but London didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted a hand once more, then s
tarted off down the road in the opposite direction from which he had come. For a long time, Ruby and Simon simply stood there with their bikes, the smell of smoke still heavy in the air, watching as he was swallowed up by the darkness.

  thirteen

  RUBY WOKE WITH A START THE NEXT MORNING, her bed swaying like a boat at sea. For a moment, she thought maybe she was dreaming, but when she opened her eyes, it was to find Simon bouncing on the end of the mattress in his bare feet.

  “About time,” he said as she propped herself up on one elbow and squinted at him.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I had the craziest dreams last night,” he said, taking one more jump before flopping down onto the bed. He sat with his legs dangling over the side, twisting at the covers with his hands.

  Ruby yawned and turned to the window, pushing aside the curtain. At the sight of the farm—all those fields of wheat, the acres of dry crops like so much tinder—she felt herself jolted back to the night before. Her stomach twisted at the memory, and she scanned the horizon, trying unsuccessfully to spot the burned-out section.

  When she turned around again, Simon’s eyes were bright.

  “All night,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement. “All night I dreamed about making it rain.”

  Ruby tossed aside the covers and stood up. She wasn’t sure what to say to this; her own sleep had been dreamless, just as it always was, nothing but a colorless background, a reliable static. And for once, she was grateful for this. She couldn’t think of anything worse than for the events of last night to have followed her into sleep. They’d been bad enough while she was awake.

  “And not just that,” Simon was saying, trailing her as she headed out into the hallway and down the stairs. He lowered his voice as they approached the kitchen, where the smell of bacon and eggs drifted out into the foyer. “The fire, too. And the twister.”

  Ruby stopped on the second-to-last step, spinning to face him.

  “Dreams like those, you usually wake up and they’re gone,” Simon said, his face aglow with the excitement of it all. “But this one was actually real, you know? It actually happened.” He shook his head. “Amazing.”