Blackbird Summer by Em Shotwell

Author:Em Shotwell [Shotwell, Em]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: magical realism, southern gothic
Publisher: City Owl Press
Published: 2016-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Delia jogged down the driveway in her soppy clothes and gladiator sandals. “Wait up, Tully,” she called.

I slowed my pace so she could catch up.

“Geez. That is crazy,” she said, sucking in lungful of air between each word and trailing a step behind me.

“Yeah, crazy,” I said.

The phrase didn’t do justice to what had happened. Someone had bombed us. For real bombed us. It was a fluke no one was sitting behind the dusty old counter. The only reason I was still alive was because I’d hidden away to be with Logan. Maybe it wasn’t a fluke at all. Maybe…maybe it was Logan’s Chans. The thought stopped me in my tracks, causing Delia to bump into me. I can’t think about that right now.

“Sorry,” I mumbled to Delia as we again started walking, falling into step with each other.

A member of my family had been posted in the shack every day since before I was born. The post included my older cousins who brought their toddlers or preschoolers with them to play at their feet while they helped customers. I shuddered at the realization that one of my baby cousins could have been burned up in the fire before their little lives even had a chance to get started. Whoever had done this was evil, pure and simple.

“First the explosion…and then…I had no idea that Daddy could do that,” Delia said, between deep breaths.

“Me neither.”

Daddy’s reputation had spread far among Gifted families. He was known to be powerful, and not someone to mess with, but as his daughter, I had only seen my mild mannered father use his power for mundane things, a far cry from the precise control I had witnessed today.

I’d heard that he’d held tornadoes at bay, but I hadn’t actually seen it. Today, he had guided the winds with perfect discipline, keeping the flames from being spread to the nearby woods, all while calling bloated clouds to drench the fire. The day had been sunny and warm, with clear skies, so his reach had to be far. Real far.

I thought about the crack of lightening that had lit up the dark sky on the night Delia was attacked, making it bright as noonday, and what it meant that Daddy had the power to control something so magnificent. Or when he had been paid to call in snow flurries. At the time, I hadn’t thought about the control needed to bring snow to Mississippi in the summer months, but it must be great.

But could he lose that control? Besides a few exceptions, he never really used his Gift for anything grander than blowing in a light sprinkle for the garden, or making rainbows on our birthdays. Maybe that was why he worked so hard to keep a calm, even attitude, never arguing with anyone except for Delia. Maybe he knew that he had the power to be destructive on an unhuman level.

Strangely, the thought comforted me. Whoever was trying to hurt us had no idea what they were messing with.

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