The Dysasters

by P. C. Cast

  “Tate!” Her voice coming from directly beside him jolted Tate enough that he was able to tear his gaze from his disappearing limbs.

  Foster floated in the air next him. Her hair was lifting gently around her, and he saw that she had to use one hand to hold her dress down. He almost smiled at that, but realized it was hard to make his voice work.

  “Tate, pull it together! I’m right here!” Foster reached out, flailed through the air a little, and then her hand connected with Tate’s cold, invisible hand. “Hey, look in my eyes!”

  Tate did as she said, and the cold, empty feeling in his hands changed. He could feel her pulse against his skin, and her warmth. He could also feel how tightly she was gripping his hand.

  And he was able to draw a long, deep breath.

  “Look,” Foster said softly, cutting her eyes to their joined hands.

  Hesitantly, Tate peeked at them …

  “It’s visible! I can see me again!”

  “Yeah, Tate! We’re doing it!” Foster echoed his words.

  They hung in the air while Tate breathed deeply and gripped Foster’s hand.

  “Okay, wind, don’t play with my dress, please,” Foster spoke nonchalantly, like she was asking Sabine if she’d stop tapping her fingernails on the table.

  Tate was wondering what she was up to when she lifted her hand from her dress and gracefully floated around so that she was facing him. Smiling a little shyly, Foster felt along his right arm until she found his invisible hand. She wove her fingers with his, and he breathed even easier as his right hand filled with warmth and became visible.

  “Whew, that’s good. I can see both your hands now. How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Amazing. I think. Maybe a little light-headed, but better. A lot better with you up here, too.” Tate glanced down. “Uh, any idea what we should do now?”

  “Well, maybe. It’s just a guess, but how about we think about drifting slowly, real slowly, back to the ground?” Foster said. “Like to the tempo of a lullaby, um…” she paused, thinking, then a quick grin turned up the corners of her lips. ‘Moon River’! Cora used to sing it to me at bedtime. Do you know it?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “No worries. It’s from one of Cora’s favorite old movies, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It’s a sweet, sleepy little song. I’ll sing. You just think about the melody and drifting slowly down with it.”

  “Okay, I can do that, but don’t let go of my hands,” he said.

  “I’ve got you. Promise.” She gave his hands a reassuring squeeze and drifted a little closer to him as she started singing a sweet, soft lullaby.

  “Moon river, wider than a mile

  I’m crossing you in style some day.”

  Foster’s voice wrapped around him and the warm, gentle breeze picked up the melody of the lullaby, making the air glow in wisps of peach and tangerine. Tate knew he was supposed to be thinking about drifting with the song, but all he could think about was how close she was, and how beautiful she was, and how much he wanted to kiss Foster.

  Kiss her again, that is.

  And again.

  And again.

  Without conscious thought, Tate guided Foster into his arms, wrapping her in his embrace. He bent, holding her carefully, gently, like the precious gift she was, and he kissed her—long, and deep, and like he never, ever wanted to stop kissing her.

  Their feet touched the ground together. They didn’t move apart. Foster’s arms lifted, wrapping around his shoulders, and she kissed him back with a passion that had his head feeling dizzy again.

  “Oh. My. Freaking. God! We think they’re dead, and what are they doing? Making out!” Sabine sputtered as she and Finn rushed around the barn and almost ran into them.

  Foster reluctantly broke the kiss. Her eyes smiled up at Tate and she whispered, “I think we need to train our minions better.”

  19

  TATE

  The night was perfectly clear. Perfectly warm. Perfectly starry. Tate, Foster, Finn, and Sabine had taken up seats that were rapidly becoming “their” places around the Strawberry Fields fire pit while Foster stuck fat, cloudlike marshmallows through the ends of shish-kebab sticks. On a platter next to her were graham crackers and flat hunks of dark chocolate.

  Foster sighed and held two sticks near the fire, turning them so they didn’t burn. Finally, she said to Sabine, “Okay, now ask your zillions of questions.”

  “Jesus! It’s about time. So, let’s see if I have this straight, and I realize this is an oversimplification, but basically you and Tate serenaded a gigantic, descending tornado—”

  “It’s called a funnel cloud until it touches the ground,” Tate interrupted Sabine.

  Sabine narrowed her dark eyes at him. “Semantics are not important at this moment.”

  “Be careful,” Finn said in an exaggerated whisper. “She’s getting the crazy eye. When she gets the crazy eye, you’re in trouble.”

  “Finn, do you truly want to see crazy?” Sabine’s voice was entirely too innocent.

  “Oh, no no no no. I do not. Been there. Don’t want to return.”

  “Here, have a s’more,” Foster passed Sabine a warm, gooey, cracker mess on a paper plate.

  “The peace offering of your people?” Sabine’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

  “You have an excellent memory,” Foster said. “Dark chocolate makes everything better.”

  “I hear ya on that,” Sabine agreed. She nibbled at one very hot edge before continuing. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. You serenaded a funnel cloud with a Sinatra song.”

  “Not just any Sinatra song—“Luck Be a Lady,” Tate said.

  “Is what song they sang important?” Finn asked.

  “Actually, I’m starting to think it might be,” Sabine said. “So, you sang to it and the funnel cloud went back up with the rest of the wall clouds. But then you somehow stopped the rain and made all of the clouds disappear. I mean, look up there.” Sabine pointed at the star-dusted sky. “Not one cloud. Did you sing another song for that?”

  “Nope, we just—uh…” Tate began and then his words trailed away as he turned to Foster. “How the hell did we do it?”

  Foster lifted her slim shoulder. “I’m not sure, because we really just asked it to go. I said something about wishing the rain would go away—to Seattle, I think. I mean, after the air music stopped and the funnel cloud was gone, the rest was pretty easy.”

  “Yeah, and then I pretended like I was wiping off a whiteboard while I asked the clouds to go away,” Tate said.

  “No singing, so the song’s not what’s important. Do you think it’s the—what do you call it—air music that’s important?” Finn said, taking a s’more from Foster.

  “I think the air music is something that happens when we’re doing the right thing,” Foster said.

  “Yeah, once the music starts and we can see the air currents that’s when everything seems to fall into place.”

  “Wait, you can hear music in the air?” Sabine asked, s’more paused halfway to her mouth.

  “Yep, we can hear and see it,” Tate said.

  Sabine said quickly, “How were you two feeling when you heard music and saw the air currents?”

  Tate and Foster exchanged a look, and it was Tate’s turn to shrug. “Good, I guess. Well, at first it was pretty scary, but then Foster reminded me that when she was playing with air earlier it was about how she was feeling—relaxed and happy. Right, Foster?”

  Foster nodded. “Yeah, because when I’ve been pissed and wind shows up things don’t go so well.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean! Okay, okay! You tamed the tornado and the wall cloud, then Tate, you started to fly. How were you feeling when you did that?” Sabine scooted forward, staring at Tate, s’more forgotten.

  “Super happy and relieved. Last time we tried to stop a tornado things went bad. Real bad. Tonight no one died. No one was even hurt, so I was feeling pretty great.”

  “Bu
t then you said you felt weird and started to disappear?” Finn said.

  “Yeah, I didn’t feel weird until I saw that my hands weren’t there. Then everything got confusing. My head felt like it was full of cotton. Foster had to save me.” His eyes caught Foster’s. His smile was slow and intimate. “Not that I minded. At all.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we saw,” Sabine said. “And then Foster flew, too. Right?”

  “Well, I think float is a better description, but yeah, I did.”

  “How?” Sabine asked.

  Foster thought about it as she chewed a bite of s’more and then answered simply, “I just thought that Tate needed me and I should get up there, and there I was. Up there with Tate.”

  “How did you feel?” Sabine prodded.

  “I was worried about Tate, but mostly I just wanted to get up there and calm him down. He was definitely freaking out.”

  “And then she was there, and as soon as she touched my hand I felt better. Then she started singing that nice little lullaby and everything just felt good. I calmed down right away. Basically, I was happy she was there with me. It made everything right again.” Tate answered Sabine’s question, but he didn’t take his eyes from Foster, whose cheeks were blazing so red that even by the soft light of the fire he could see her blush. But she didn’t look away and she didn’t make some kind of dismissive comment. She just gazed right back at him—and smiled.

  “What was the song?” Sabine asked.

  When neither Tate nor Foster answered, Sabine stretched out her long leg and gave Foster’s foot a kick.

  “Oh, uh, what?”

  “Girl, try to pay attention. We’re having a major discussion here and I think I might have figured something out. What song did you sing to get Tate down safely?” Sabine said.

  “‘Moon River,’ from—” Foster began, but Sabine finished the sentence with her. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

  “See! People still know that song,” Foster told Tate.

  “Hey, I’m pretty sure I was Holly Golightly in another life,” Sabine said.

  “Wasn’t she a prostitute?” Finn said.

  “She was an escort!” Foster and Sabine yelled together, frowning at Finn.

  “Okeydokey then.” Finn retreated behind a bite of s’more.

  “So, you floated down and then you started making out. Do I have that right?” Sabine continued.

  “Almost,” Tate said. Then he pressed his lips shut, hearing his mom’s voice in his head: A gentleman does not kiss and tell. Locker room talk should be about the game and not about women’s body parts.

  “Almost?” Sabine lifted one brow and sent Foster a look.

  Tate stayed as silent as Finn.

  Through a big bite of s’more Foster muttered, “The kissing started in the air.”

  “Yes!” Sabine cried, causing everyone to jump. “I’m right. I know I am. Okay, one more thing: when you two are hooked into air—really hooked into it like when you can hear the music and see the air currents—do you ever sense anything from it?”

  “Anything like what?” Tate said.

  “Like feelings,” Sabine said.

  Instead of scoffing at the idea, Foster sat forward in her chair. “I’m not sure if this counts, but Tate and I can feel it when we’re invoking air. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a feeling that starts over our skin. It’s kind of like static electricity. Right, Tate?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but the feeling changes. On the football field that first time it was crazy. It felt like my skin and even my blood was sizzling, but when Foster was playing the willow orchestra—you know, when you guys saw me flying—the feeling wasn’t the same.”

  “No, it’s softer.” Foster blew out a long breath in frustration. “That’s not it, either. But yes, we do sense something from air.”

  “That fits my theory. Get this—what if air is pissed? I don’t blame it. Look at all the pollution and crap people have poured into it. It’s awful. So, what if air—and the rest of the elements—are pissed, and what you two can do is calm it, but only if you’re calm. If you’re not, then terrible stuff happens, maybe stuff that’s even more terrible than what would happen if you weren’t around.”

  Tate sat up straighter. “Foster, what if she’s right? What if we didn’t cause the tornado to appear at the football game, but once it was there it reacted to us? I don’t know about you, but I was fucking scared.”

  “I was scared until Cora fell. Then I was pissed. Really pissed,” Foster said.

  “Just like you were in the truck when the tornado formed and smashed down on the highway blocking the Core Four from following us,” Tate was speaking as quickly as Foster.

  “Yeah! And then you and I were super pissed when we had that fight, and I was wrapped in a crazy, almost tornado, but nothing actually formed because we calmed down and breathed,” Foster said. Her gaze went from Tate to Sabine. “You are definitely on to something. Air does react to how we feel. So, it’s not a stretch to believe air has a type of sentience.”

  “It wasn’t our fault. That tornado—we didn’t cause it.” Tate felt a great release, as if a rubber band had suddenly been unwrapped from around his chest.

  “You couldn’t have,” Sabine said. “The way you two were sucking face, there’s no way you were pissed.”

  “Not just that,” Foster spoke slowly, staring at Tate. “I wasn’t pissed at the football game. Not before Cora collapsed. I’ll admit to not wanting to be there, but I did have popcorn and Skittles, and it was my birthday. I felt fine.”

  “And I was happy. I was playing a game I love surrounded by my friends and family. We didn’t cause it to happen, Foster.” Tate was blinking fast, trying to keep the tears from spilling from his eyes.

  “They did it,” Sabine said.

  Everyone turned to her.

  “Who did what?” Foster said.

  Sabine practically bounced out of her chair with excitement. “Them! Those three men and that woman who are after you. You call them the Core Four. Foster, you said Cora kept you off the grid for the past year because of them, but Tate didn’t know anything about them, right?”

  “Right,” Tate said.

  “But they knew about Tate because: one, they were there that night.” Sabine held up her fingers, ticking off points. “Two, Cora had fake ID’s made for both of you, so she had to at least have had the suspicion that the Core Four knew where to find Tate. Three, Cora bought this secret place for you and the other kids you’re trying to find.”

  “Four,” Foster added. “The Core Four are working with my adopted dad—the man responsible for altering our DNA. He created the records. He must know where each kid lives.”

  “Each kid except you,” Tate said pointedly. “Which is why he had to draw you out.”

  “Foster, oh my god, what if the Core Four are attached to the elements, too? What if they called a tornado?” Sabine said.

  “In a terrible way that makes perfect sense,” Foster agreed.

  “Core Four, hell. I’m calling those assholes the Fucktastic Four from here on out,” Finn said.

  “I like it,” Foster said.

  “Me too, babe,” Sabine made a kissy face at Finn.

  “But why would the Fucktastic Four do that?” Tate asked. “People died!”

  “To draw me out.” Foster’s voice had flattened. “They couldn’t find Cora and me, but they knew where you were, Tate. And they also knew something was going to kick in on our eighteenth birthday—something that binds us to air.”

  “You’re right. The Fucktastic Four would definitely know that whatever Dr. Stewart did to us manifests on our eighteenth birthday,” Tate said. “So, what? They hang out at the football game and call a tornado down on my hometown because they have a hunch you might be there?”

  “What if it was more than a hunch? More than might be there?” Sabine asked with dread shadowing her voice.

  “You mean like whatever it is inside those two that binds them to air also draws
them together?” Finn said.

  “I guess that might be true,” Foster said.

  “But you didn’t feel drawn to Missouri?” Sabine asked.

  Foster snorted. “Uh, no. Never.” Then she paused and added. “But I didn’t need to feel drawn to Tate. Cora was doing that for me. She found Tate. She brought me there to him.”

  “Right! But what might have happened if Cora hadn’t found me? Maybe you would’ve ended up at that football game anyway,” Tate said.

  “Well, I think we’re going to find out. From the files Cora left us we’ve figured out that there are three other pairs who will be having their eighteenth birthdays in the next three months,” Foster said. “We only have what we think are the states where each of them was born, and none of them are in the same state. If we’re right about the pairs being drawn together on their eighteenth birthdays, then the next two will be coming together in the next three days.”

  “But wait, what if it’s not just these other people who are drawn to each other? What if you have to add the disaster to amp up the attraction and to make their connection with the element manifest?” Sabine said. “Did either of you do anything with air before that football game?”

  “Never,” Tate said.

  “No. I tried to use my Jedi mind trick, but it never worked well until after the first tornado. Not that it works one hundred percent of the time now, as you two already know. But doing anything else—like with the weather or air—never entered my mind,” Foster said.

  “So, we have three days and then two more kids are turning eighteen and probably facing another major disaster,” Sabine said.

  “Water is next,” Tate said. When everyone gawked at him, he added. “I figured it out from Stewart’s equations. He bonded Foster and me with oxygen molecules when we were barely embryos, and then bombarded us with gamma rays. The next two he bonded with H2O—water.”

  “We have to find those next two kids, like now,” Sabine said.

  “We’ve been trying to, but those files are crazy hard to understand,” Foster said.