Capítulo 2: Chapter 2

They were pretty far north already, on Route Two-Eighty-Five, but they double-timed it to the safe house in question in Artesia—to pick up a very important weapon against the attacker. It took extra time, even though they were only at the house for a minute or so, but there was no point in trying to fight this wannabe weatherman without the pit stop.

By the time they did reach the outskirts of Lovington, Dakota and Kenna needed to make a choice. Try and save the town or kill the person behind the deadly onslaught. But since they didn’t know where the guy could be found, what else he might have at his disposal, and whether or not he could summon more than one tornado at the same time, the two of them chose the former. Thirteen thousand was a lot of people. They couldn’t just walk away in favor of a wild goose chase for a person they knew nothing about and wouldn’t immediately recognize.

So, here they were, tied to a fence with the rope meant to steal a necklace. Exhausted and desperate from the long case, Dakota raised his hand toward the swirling mass of dust and debris, and he readied himself against the strengthening winds.

Their plan was questionable at best. He kept Ken a step or so behind him and insisted that she play no part in this particular showdown. Instead, she would lean against the gate, holding on with one hand. And with the other—at all costs—Ken would keep a hold of Dakota’s free arm, skin against skin. Not for emotional support. She required none. In the face of danger, she approached it with excitement. No, it was entirely a defensive tactic. His protective crystal would only provide relative safety against the tornado if she maintained a grip on him.

As for the flying rocks and unidentifiable projectiles? Those wouldn’t be part of the equation. Both of them were completely vulnerable to anything that flew their way. They would have to stop the twister as quickly as possible to avoid getting injured or killed—or rely entirely on luck.

“Cover your face!” he ordered as the tornado came into view. Both had donned sunglasses in lieu of goggles to help fight off some of the dust, but breathing it could be just as dangerous and painful. Dakota already had a bandana tied around his nose and mouth, but Kenna had kept her scarf down, citing difficulty speaking.

She didn’t need to talk now, anyway. She just had to hold on. Like a good assistant, she wisely listened to him.

With at least the security of her lungs temporarily assured, Dakota turned his full attention back to the storm. He tried to keep his arm steady. “Ba’reck eta ma!” he screamed over the roaring wind.

The tornado took an immediate hit. Now in full view, the funnel looked like it received a punch to its midsection, jolting backward and losing some of its smooth, dusty exterior. It bent over like a man in pain before righting itself again. Thought it spun in place for a few moments, the monstrosity began advancing once more.

His eyes watered, and his voice shook as violently as his extended arm. But he did not relent. A normal tornado may have been destroyed by one magic attack, but since this was a case of two talismans fighting each other, Dakota imagined that it might take a lot more effort. Whatever. He was determined to save this town, even though they might never know that anyone went to bat for them.

“Ma!” he yelled past cloth, dust, and all the debris. For effect—and to help focus his mind—Dakota lurched his body forward slightly, trying to will the magic into doing its job. He pictured it as a large knife or sword, cutting into the thing like any other enemy. “Ba’reck ma!” he fought the storm. “Ma!”

It convulsed. The movements became erratic, and it almost seemed like pieces of the thing fell off. In reality, he was disrupting the wind somehow, blocking it like a wall or neutralizing it in blotches. A tornado, the way he understood it, was just swirling air, sucking up whatever it got close to and then tossing out things at random. While this particular one had been crafted by an actual person, the basic tenants remained the same. It was just wind, he told himself. And his newest talisman was tailored to fight twisters.

He could only hope it was as strong, or stronger, than the stone that created this storm in the first place.

Dakota didn’t wait for the tornado to recover. He shoved again and again, screaming the evocation at the top of his lungs. Coughing from the dust and strain on his vocal cords, he pushed past the pain and silently hoped he could rip the funnel to shreds.

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