Wildfire
Page 88
“What happens when I’m old and wrinkled and I ask if you still think I’m hot?”
“You will always be hot. Besides, I’ll be old and wrinkled by then too.”
“I still don’t understand what the big deal is about declaring the intent to marry.”
He squeezed me to him. “Because once you declare it, our Houses will be tied together. You will inherit all my friends and my enemies. An engagement announced at the trials is almost never broken. You can never undo this, Nevada. Even if you refuse to marry me, nobody will ever be able to think of House Baylor without thinking of House Rogan. I want you to come out with as few obligations as possible. You don’t have to declare it at trials. In fact, I advise you to not say anything.”
He was still trying to give me an out.
“I love you,” I told him.
“I love you too.”
Rogan’s phone rang in the pile of his clothes. I sat up.
He jumped off the bed, pulled the phone out, and answered it. “Yes? . . . I’ll be right down.”
“What is it?”
“Adeyemi Ade-Afefe is downstairs. She says we’re in danger.”
Adeyemi Ade-Afefe was a short, black woman about my age. I had looked the family up after Rogan first mentioned them. They were of Yoruban descent, came from Nigeria, and the name of their House translated to “Crowned by Wind.” Adeyemi wore a white blouse with blue jeans. A gele, a head tie of shimmering grey and blue silk the color of clear sky, hid her hair, crowning her head in an elaborate knot. She looked at the world through big brown eyes and thin-framed glasses, and you instinctively knew that if she smiled, her whole face would light up. She wasn’t smiling now.
“You have to get out.” She made a short cutting motion with her hand. “Get out and evacuate the city.”
Sergeant Heart, Rivera, Bug, Rogan, and I crowded around her downstairs.
“What happened?” Rogan asked.
“Sturm moving the winds in place. You have to get out.”
“I thought Adepero said you didn’t want to get involved,” Rogan said.
“No, Father said we would think about it. We thought about it. We’re not going to help you fight a private war, but this is bigger than that.”
“How bad is it?” Rogan asked.
Adeyemi pushed her glasses back up her nose. “It will be the worst tornado we’ve ever seen. He will level this part of the city. He may level the whole city. I don’t know if there will be anyone left.”
“Is it an F4?” Rivera asked. “F5?”
“An F5 tornado has speeds greater than two hundred miles per hour,” Adeyemi snapped. “This will be over three hundred. This storm will rip buildings off their foundations, throw cars like baseballs, and tear down trees. It will bend metal, sever power lines, and dig trenches. Do I need to draw you a picture so you will understand?”
I walked ten feet through the doors into the street. A dense blanket of dark clouds churned in the sky, hiding the stars. Wind gusts pulled at my hair. I ducked back inside.
“Can you fight him?” Rogan asked.
Adeyemi hunched her shoulders. “Weather spells take time and preparation. The atmosphere is wrapped around our planet like a big blanket. It’s continuous. Everything is connected. If you make it rain somewhere, that means there will be drought in another place, which would’ve naturally gotten the rain or the moisture. That nightmare outside is the result of weeks of work. Sturm’s been manipulating weather patterns for a month at least. The spells used are so complex, it would take days just to draw the circles properly. I can stall him, but I cannot stop him. Nobody can stop him now.”
“So you knew he was doing this?” I asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because it’s one thing to create weather conditions for a storm and another to initiate one.” Adeyemi squeezed her hands into fists. “I didn’t think he would do it. None of us thought he would. This is . . . The loss of life will be catastrophic. This will be a national emergency.”
“Why now?” Rivera wondered.
That, at least, was obvious. “He knows we have the files,” I said. “He knows that sooner or later we will decrypt them and that Brian is now worthless as a bargaining chip. He wants to bury us. If everyone’s dead and the city is in ruins, nobody will care about the conspiracy. Can we prove that he’s the one responsible for the storm?”
Adeyemi shook her head. “Not unless we see him. Weather spells are untraceable, just like other magic. One could make a guess, but a guess wouldn’t be good enough to stand up in court or before the Assembly. You have to decide fast. We’re running out of time.”
The three men stared at Rogan. The question was obvious on their faces. What do we do?
He looked at Adeyemi. “How long do we have?”
“An hour,” she said. “I can buy you maybe another thirty minutes.”
“We hit him first,” Rogan said, his face savage.
Rivera grinned.
Rogan pivoted to me. “What is House Baylor’s position in this matter?”
Do I go back and ask my family?
They were looking at me. It dawned on me that I was the Head of the House. I had to make the decision now. “House Baylor will render all necessary aid to House Rogan on and off the field.”
Rogan grinned. “Thank you. Heart, I want the plans for the Sturm family compound up.”
Heart turned and walked away.
“Rivera, I want everybody out of their racks and in full battle rattle in ten minutes in the motor pool with team leaders in the briefing room.”
Rivera took off at a run.
“Bug, take Ms. Ade-Afefe and get her whatever she needs to start working, then notify Diana and Cornelius and Rynda Charles.”
Rogan pulled his cell out of his pocket.
I took off for the warehouse. Behind me, Rogan said into the phone, “Lenora, we have a problem.”
I ran into the warehouse. It was just past eleven, and the light in the kitchen was on. I pressed the button on the intercom and said, “I need everyone in the kitchen now, please.”
In twenty seconds, Mom, Grandma Frida, Bern, Leon, and Catalina stared at me in the kitchen.
“Sturm is making a storm that will hit Houston in an hour,” I said. “Everything will be destroyed. I don’t know if the warehouse will survive. Our only chance is to hit him fast now. Rogan asked me what we will do. I told him we will fight.”
“You will always be hot. Besides, I’ll be old and wrinkled by then too.”
“I still don’t understand what the big deal is about declaring the intent to marry.”
He squeezed me to him. “Because once you declare it, our Houses will be tied together. You will inherit all my friends and my enemies. An engagement announced at the trials is almost never broken. You can never undo this, Nevada. Even if you refuse to marry me, nobody will ever be able to think of House Baylor without thinking of House Rogan. I want you to come out with as few obligations as possible. You don’t have to declare it at trials. In fact, I advise you to not say anything.”
He was still trying to give me an out.
“I love you,” I told him.
“I love you too.”
Rogan’s phone rang in the pile of his clothes. I sat up.
He jumped off the bed, pulled the phone out, and answered it. “Yes? . . . I’ll be right down.”
“What is it?”
“Adeyemi Ade-Afefe is downstairs. She says we’re in danger.”
Adeyemi Ade-Afefe was a short, black woman about my age. I had looked the family up after Rogan first mentioned them. They were of Yoruban descent, came from Nigeria, and the name of their House translated to “Crowned by Wind.” Adeyemi wore a white blouse with blue jeans. A gele, a head tie of shimmering grey and blue silk the color of clear sky, hid her hair, crowning her head in an elaborate knot. She looked at the world through big brown eyes and thin-framed glasses, and you instinctively knew that if she smiled, her whole face would light up. She wasn’t smiling now.
“You have to get out.” She made a short cutting motion with her hand. “Get out and evacuate the city.”
Sergeant Heart, Rivera, Bug, Rogan, and I crowded around her downstairs.
“What happened?” Rogan asked.
“Sturm moving the winds in place. You have to get out.”
“I thought Adepero said you didn’t want to get involved,” Rogan said.
“No, Father said we would think about it. We thought about it. We’re not going to help you fight a private war, but this is bigger than that.”
“How bad is it?” Rogan asked.
Adeyemi pushed her glasses back up her nose. “It will be the worst tornado we’ve ever seen. He will level this part of the city. He may level the whole city. I don’t know if there will be anyone left.”
“Is it an F4?” Rivera asked. “F5?”
“An F5 tornado has speeds greater than two hundred miles per hour,” Adeyemi snapped. “This will be over three hundred. This storm will rip buildings off their foundations, throw cars like baseballs, and tear down trees. It will bend metal, sever power lines, and dig trenches. Do I need to draw you a picture so you will understand?”
I walked ten feet through the doors into the street. A dense blanket of dark clouds churned in the sky, hiding the stars. Wind gusts pulled at my hair. I ducked back inside.
“Can you fight him?” Rogan asked.
Adeyemi hunched her shoulders. “Weather spells take time and preparation. The atmosphere is wrapped around our planet like a big blanket. It’s continuous. Everything is connected. If you make it rain somewhere, that means there will be drought in another place, which would’ve naturally gotten the rain or the moisture. That nightmare outside is the result of weeks of work. Sturm’s been manipulating weather patterns for a month at least. The spells used are so complex, it would take days just to draw the circles properly. I can stall him, but I cannot stop him. Nobody can stop him now.”
“So you knew he was doing this?” I asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because it’s one thing to create weather conditions for a storm and another to initiate one.” Adeyemi squeezed her hands into fists. “I didn’t think he would do it. None of us thought he would. This is . . . The loss of life will be catastrophic. This will be a national emergency.”
“Why now?” Rivera wondered.
That, at least, was obvious. “He knows we have the files,” I said. “He knows that sooner or later we will decrypt them and that Brian is now worthless as a bargaining chip. He wants to bury us. If everyone’s dead and the city is in ruins, nobody will care about the conspiracy. Can we prove that he’s the one responsible for the storm?”
Adeyemi shook her head. “Not unless we see him. Weather spells are untraceable, just like other magic. One could make a guess, but a guess wouldn’t be good enough to stand up in court or before the Assembly. You have to decide fast. We’re running out of time.”
The three men stared at Rogan. The question was obvious on their faces. What do we do?
He looked at Adeyemi. “How long do we have?”
“An hour,” she said. “I can buy you maybe another thirty minutes.”
“We hit him first,” Rogan said, his face savage.
Rivera grinned.
Rogan pivoted to me. “What is House Baylor’s position in this matter?”
Do I go back and ask my family?
They were looking at me. It dawned on me that I was the Head of the House. I had to make the decision now. “House Baylor will render all necessary aid to House Rogan on and off the field.”
Rogan grinned. “Thank you. Heart, I want the plans for the Sturm family compound up.”
Heart turned and walked away.
“Rivera, I want everybody out of their racks and in full battle rattle in ten minutes in the motor pool with team leaders in the briefing room.”
Rivera took off at a run.
“Bug, take Ms. Ade-Afefe and get her whatever she needs to start working, then notify Diana and Cornelius and Rynda Charles.”
Rogan pulled his cell out of his pocket.
I took off for the warehouse. Behind me, Rogan said into the phone, “Lenora, we have a problem.”
I ran into the warehouse. It was just past eleven, and the light in the kitchen was on. I pressed the button on the intercom and said, “I need everyone in the kitchen now, please.”
In twenty seconds, Mom, Grandma Frida, Bern, Leon, and Catalina stared at me in the kitchen.
“Sturm is making a storm that will hit Houston in an hour,” I said. “Everything will be destroyed. I don’t know if the warehouse will survive. Our only chance is to hit him fast now. Rogan asked me what we will do. I told him we will fight.”
