Page 65 of The Pansy Paradox
“More fun than it actually is?” I may have embellished a few things. Although I didn’t have to try too hard. True, summers there were brutal, but we were teenagers, all hormonal and highly inventive.
Now he laughs. “Yes. That.”
Matilda greets me with a hug and raised eyebrows. I introduce Henry as a friend from camp and garner a look so skeptical that I’m certain no one will believe this. Jack and Mort, sure. They’re well known in King’s End. But Henry is clearly a few years older than I am. He is certainly far more pulled together than I could ever hope to be. He has no reason to be here.
But he slips into the conversation as if he does, kneeling to pet Tiny, who is losing her mind over this new admirer, complete with tail thumps and drool.
“I was in the Twin Cities for some business when I remembered Pansy lived out this way.” He gives that cavalier shrug and a grin that reaches his dimples. “And since I can work remotely, I thought I’d drive out and surprise her.”
“I didn’t recognize him at first,” I add. This is really the worst explanation, but Henry runs with it.
“Well, it has been several years.” He gives Tiny’s belly a final rub and stands. “And I finally grew into my nose.”
Then he gives us one of those sexier-than-it-has-a-right-to-be winks.
Matilda laughs, and when Henry glances away, whispers, “Oh, I like him.”
With Matilda’s seal of approval, I decide I can allow Henry Darnelle to wander around the farmers market and everything will be just fine. So I do, telling him that if he spends more than twenty-five dollars at The King’s Larder, delivery is free.
“I am definitely spending more than twenty-five dollars,” he assures me.
“Denisha’s delivering today, so nothing will be crushed, either,” Matilda adds.
Then I simply watch Henry make his way from stall to stall, conjuring net bags from somewhere to hold all the produce he’s buying. Matilda raises an eyebrow at this as well.
“He plans to cook,” I tell her.
“Oh, honey, let him.”
He knows who wants a handshake, who might like a fist bump, and who would prefer not to be touched, thank-you-very-much. He visits every stall and leaves smiles in his wake. Matilda tracks his progress into The King’s Larder and then pulls out her phone.
“I’m letting Denisha know to stop by here.”
“I can take my things now.”
That skeptical look returns. “Honey, you already have your hands full.”
She’s right. I do. I get a sloppy kiss from Tiny before heading off to see just how much of his own money Henry is spending at The King’s Larder. I’m halfway across the pedestrian mall when a drop of rain hits my nose.
The sky is still that brilliant blue above me. I wipe my nose, and it comes away red. Another drop hits my cheek, cool against my sun-warmed skin. Hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and my mouth fills with static.
I spin. Yes, the view directly above is still blue and cloudless. But out to the west, a storm is gathering. The sky is that sickly green everyone in the Midwest associates with tornados. I blink, getting a sense of what this is, and what it isn’t.
More raindrops pelt my face and arms, nonsensically since the storm hasn’t reached us yet. Tendrils extend from those clouds as if they plan to grab the earth and tear it apart. The sickly green is peppered with flashes of ruby and sapphire and emerald.
Those are Screamers, and I’ve never seen them do this before.
I’m not sure how they’ve cooked up a tornado, or even why. But the storm is something everyone can see. Already, the crowd streams toward the storefronts or their cars. Merchants rush to cover their stalls. Parents are lugging their children from the play structure and into the relative safety of the bandstand.
I remain in the middle of the farmers market and unfurl my umbrella in time to deflect the first assault. The Screamers rush past, a token effort to harass me. I turn to find Henry at the door of The King’s Larder, his own umbrella in hand. He scans the sky behind me, and then his gaze meets mine.
I read concern in his eyes but certainly not panic. Everyone else is panicking, including poor Tiny, whose claws are scrabbling against the cobblestones in her attempt to bolt. But not Henry.
Instead, he merely walks to the center of the pedestrian mall as if he has all the time in the world. He unfurls his umbrella, sends a single pulse into the air, and closes it. Then? Then, he runs.
It’s the same Pied Piper maneuver he used at his father’s funeral. The Screamers coalesce, those smaller tendrils merging into a larger one. As a single unit, they give chase. Their aim is Henry, and they want nothing more than to destroy him.
For an instant, I’m frozen with both shock and fear. This is his signature move, I realize. This is what makes Henry Darnelle, Principal Field Agent, so damn good. A flash of Sight tears through my mind. I lock it down—fast and hard—but not before it sears a path through my thoughts.
