Hello ~ Bonjour ~ Hola ~ नमस्ते ~ Χαίρετε

                                   Here's a preview to my first book in the "Gods and Regulars" Storm Series! Hope you enjoy :)

     Light. Bright and warm light. June’s eyes were closed, but behind her eyelids she felt the radiating heat and comfort it exhumed. The light swarmed around her; soft, but at the same time urgent with need and almost childlike excitement. June felt relaxed, as if the light surrounding her senses were a part of her and she was becoming one with it. She knew immediately she was dreaming, she’s had this one before, but everything felt so real. With her eyes still shut, she lifted her arms out to sink deeper into the pool of warmth. She gently opened her eyes, fully taking in her surroundings before widening her eyes and jerking her head around in panic.
     

      Fire. She was floating downwards gently into an endless galaxy made of hot blue and white fire, which rippled and pulsated across endless miles in every direction. June panicked and made the effort to escape, but the rapid movement did nothing to alter her course. She gasped and raised her arms defensively as an attempt to shield her face as a collection of bright white and aqua flames the size of a small house rushed towards her, twisting and turning in all directions. She prepared herself for the pain she assumed would come, but wearily opened one eye to peer above her forearm. She was shocked to see the cool toned blue flames flicking and crackling at a standstill in front of her. June waited for an attack of some sorts but none came. Lowering her arms, June looked below her and saw only more of what was around her. Looking up was no different. She looked back down and arched a confused eyebrow at the ankle length and deep ruby dress she wore, a bright contrast to the blue hues surrounding her. It swayed gently in the space around her, not adhering to any specific point of gravity or wind. She noticed her own movements, and it was as if she were either free falling to some unknown destination; or submerged in a ocean of flames.
She opened her mouth to speak, but flinched when her words sounded muddled and echoed to her ears. She made the attempt to say her own name, but she might as well have said it with her face pressed into a thick pillow or with her hands locked around her mouth.
   

     Focusing her attention back in front of her, she gently kicked forward in the direction of the fire. No reaction, but she felt the residue of warmth from the flames on her bare foot. Confused, she reached her hand out and quickly swiped a cautious arm out through the wall in front of her to test her theory. Again she felt the warmth from the fire, but it was the same amount of heat compared to a hot bath, or gently running her hands through a warm stream of sink water. June reached out again, slower this time, and wiggled her fingers into the flames. She felt heat, but in a comfortable way, and it did not seem to affect or burn her skin. Holding up her hand for inspection, and even taking the time to flip it to study both sides, June found no evidence of a wound. She tentatively put her other hand in, and swished both hands back and forth to play in the curvy motion of the flames before her, matching their rhythm. June giggled and put her feet in as well. After a few minutes of comically shoving in and out different body parts, she was satisfied with the acceptance that the surrounding fire she faced wouldn’t hurt her. A noise could be heard from the distance behind her, it sounded like music of some sorts. Or a choir of voices.     

     She turned her body towards it as if to move away and investigate the sound, but was aggressively jerked back into the mound of fire as if someone was harshly tugging on her arms and legs. She whipped her head around and began to panic. Her body was trapped. The blue flames slowly wrapped themselves around her forearms and crept their way up her arms. The brighter, almost white colored ones swarmed around her feet, and the ginormous wall of burning blue fire began to hum rhythmically louder as it pulled June further and further inside. The once beautiful dress began to unravel into blackened dust at the feet, as it also was caught in the pull of the flames. She struggled and resisted but it had a death-grip on her, making the skin behind her ears and down around her neck shiver horribly. Her knees were starting to disappear inside, and her shoulders were being swallowed whole. The tips of her fingers all the way from her elbows felt tight and numb, and the rippling flames turned from a pleasant light hue to a sinister dark shade of blue. Her chest started to thump along with the even rhythm of the hum as it vibrated faster, the beat pulsating all around her with no sense of slowing down. June kicked as hard as she could, barely being able to feel her lower body, but still the flames would not let her go. She felt something fat and wet drip down her left cheek, but didn’t feel any tears coming out of her eyes. The flames hummed louder, almost demandingly. The noise traveled all the way from her ears and made her teeth vibrate. June could only silently scream and struggle as the flames twisted and traveled their way up her neck, completely engulfing her body into the deep blue darkness.
     

     June’s almond eyes flashed open and she found herself staring at the green toned and coffee stained ceiling of a car. Her hearing adapted to the noises of other cars on the highway, and the soft country tunes that filtered through the radio. Rubbing her temples gently, she could feel the beginnings of a headache fitting around her head like a tight baseball cap. Remembering the lingering and quickly fading details of her dream, she wondered why her neck was slightly damp. She blinked once and then put a hand to the base of her shoulder where her neck just began, making a disgusted expression at the amount of dog drool that had come off on her hand as she removed it. She craned her neck to see her dog Cristobal, “Cristo” for short, happily content and breathing heavily in the backseat of the car. He happily laid next to a few boxes and June’s beloved set of archery equipment, as well as a few miscellaneous pieces of clothing near a box with white tape on the side labeled “kitchen” and another one labeled “lab” both in black marker.  She smelled his breath and wrinkled her nose at the gross stench. She wiped off the mass of dog spit on her hand and rubbed it on the side of Cristo, in which she received an excited and hopeful lick on the hand in return; most likely in anticipation for more petting. She fumbled on the right side of the car for a moment and pulled the lever to raise her seat into a sitting position. Cristo whined at her abandonment of him, but quieted and laid down in the backseat with a disappointed huff after a quick click of the tongue from June. She turned her attention way from her pet to the road in front of her. The gray highway, if you could call it that, was only two lanes across. The old Cherokee sailed surprising smoothly, and illegally she noted, as they weaved around a large semi-truck in the right lane. Any busy, building filled streets and signs of concrete were far behind them as they traveled farther into the country side. Looking to her left she noticed long empty fields of wheat and grass, endless hills of nature. Looking to her right over her shoulder she saw an endless array of..cows. Way too many to count. She scoffed and remembered how just six months ago they were living in a nice city apartment in Seattle. It was above a cute little coffee place that always remembered her name as she walked in the door, and had a polite barista that had always fed Cristo dog biscuits as they passed by on their morning walks to the nearby dog park. June loved that apartment, it was in her top ten list of favorite places that they had ever lived. With each new move, which occurred at least twice a year, they always provided both long lasting happy memories as well as a longing to call some place home. When June whines about this Harold always tells her that “you can make anywhere your home June, the area code is irrelevant.” She tried to remind herself of that as they drove along past the endless sea of horribly unexciting cattle.
     

     They were making good pace and would be arriving at their destination within the hour; before seven in the afternoon just as Harold had said. The orange light from the late afternoon sun was too bright and was getting in her eyes, so she reached for the dusty sunglasses perched on the dash and put them on. For good measure she opened the visor above her as well, momentarily blocking the sun from hitting her face.
     

     “Bad dreams again?” a male voice asked beside her from the driver seat. June turned to her father and crossed her arms, leaning her back against the passenger door.
     

     “Yup.” she replied curtly as she reached out to turn down the radio, “It was probably the music.” June crossed her arms again, but smiled at her dad to let him know she was kidding. Harold smiled back and adjusted his glasses, moving them closer to the bridge of his nose. He didn’t press the subject and June pretended not to feel hurt at his disinterest.
    

      “Theres nothing wrong with country music, its relaxing.” Harold defended for the fourth time during the long drive, making a noise in a similar disappointed manner to how Cristo did minutes before. At this the Great Pyrenees barked as if to agree, and Harold reached back to pat the animal on his head. June rolled her eyes and continued to watch the road from the passenger window.

     “So,” Harold started up again after a few moments of silence, “the ocean again?”

     June narrowed her eyes at the glovebox in front of her, and gently fiddled with the hair tie around her wrist as she spoke, “No. Not this time.”

     Harold nodded slowly, the mood of the car growing slightly awkward. He wasn’t the best at talking about any topic that had to do with feelings. Or people even.

     They sat in silence after that, until June finally huffed out under her breath.

     “Fire.”

     Harold looked at her strangely and then scratched at his barely-growing beard, before letting out a deep “…Huh.”

     June scoffed out a small laugh as she searched the grocery bag in front of her on the car floor for something to eat to mend to oncoming head pain, settling for a bottle of water and a snack-pack of chocolate cookies. This of course peaked Cristo’s interested, and June had to juggle both the action of getting the small plastic bag open and defending her food from the nosy animal that was inching dangerously close to the front passenger seat of the car. June was able to nudge him back with her elbow, earning another disappointed grumble from the dog.

     “Huh”, she echoed back to him. “Anything else you got for me up in that PHD brain of yours?”

     Harold rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “That was science, kid. Not psychology. Want to try some of your medicine and see if that helps?”

     June shrugged and turned in her seat to reach back to the purse she had tucked away there earlier when they had left Columbia, Missouri. She continued to run her hand through the black bag and furrowed her brow when she couldn’t find the familiar orange and white bottle. She checked in the side pocket of her purse, raising the sunglasses to her forehead to get a better look.

     Nothing.

     She checked along the inner pocket by unzipping the opening.

     Nothing again.

     June bit her lip nervously and patted along the carpet floor of the backseat.

     Nope.

     She felt the back of her neck start to perspire and nervously smiled up at her father. He noticed her pause in searching, and looked down. Recognition glazed across his blue eyes as they made contact with hers, and he narrowed them at her in a way that made her grit her teeth in anticipation for a lecture.
 

    They stayed that way for a while until June nervously opened her mouth,

    “Listen…” She drew the word out slowly, buying herself time for the impending argument.

    “June Moss I swear to God if you forgot it in another state again-“
     

     “Dad.” She started again, using the term she only pulled out in situations of high-stress, “listen I’m sure it’s-“

    “What is the one thing that I have always made very clear that you keep near you, never lose, and never forget it?” Harold interrupted, hissing at her back as she reached father into the back seat to run her hands along the floor of the car. June grumbled a sassy response about how technically they were stolen in California, not lost, and continued to fumble around the back.

    “What was that?” Her father snapped back.

    June coughed to cover her words, “Nothing dad.” And finally breathed a sigh of relief when her fingertips grazed the familiar plastic shell of the bottle.

    She slapped her hand on the window of the back seat in victory, causing Cristo to jump slightly, and slid back into her seat. She grabbed the water bottle and chugged down a gulp along with two small circular red pills she shook out of the bottle. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harold visibly relax, the tension from his shoulders dropping. She turned and gave a rather sarcastic thumbs up to Harold, who took the time to role his eyes and then put his focus back on the driving. June carefully and in a deliberately theatrical manner placed the pill bottle inside the glove box on top of a few maps and some miscellaneous items, shutting it closed and making sure Harold watched her every move, 

      “There!” She chirped, “Everything’s fi-adequte.” She quickly added, pathetically throwing in one of the vocab words she got wrong on a pop quiz last week to break the ice.

     Harold gave her a pointedly unamused look and reached over to the glove box to take out the small medicinal container, neatly placing it inside and zipping it up in his front pants pocket.

     “These could save your life one day” He said shaking his head at her, “You can keep track of a two hundred dollar phone, a rickety old bow set, and a three dollar bottle of shampoo; but not life saving medication? You have got to maintain priorities, June.”

      June raised her eyebrows at the word choice of “rickety” and “old”, and crossed her arms at his exaggeration of “saving her life”, but otherwise kept her mouth shut.

      “Sorry.” She replied in defeat, slipping the sunglasses back down to cover her now sour looking face.

      Harold sighed, tapped his thumb on his leg a few times in thought, and reached across the middle console to gently pat June on the shoulder. He looked at her, expressing both an unspoken warning and a forgiveness. June opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Cristo’s wet and sloppy assault on Harold’s plaid sleeve, earning a giggle from June and a exasperated groan from her father. The tension completely left the car as he made a show of wiping his arm on his cargo shorts, and June comfortably resumed her position in leaning against the  car seat and watching the land stretch outwards as they resumed their peaceful silence.

     A few moments later she heard the country twang of the singer grow louder from the car speakers, a sign Harold had turned the radio station back up, and sighed. She tried to focus on the sounds of the highway, but the singer on the radio pulled out what sounded to her as an annoyingly well-tuned banjo and she decided she couldn’t handle it anymore. She lifted her sunglasses from her head and gave Harold an exasperated look.

     Harold noticed her staring after a moment and lifted his hands in defeat, “Alright alright fine, but what is-“

     “Ten and two.” June interrupted and pointed out, so Harold placed his hands back on the steering wheel. June nervously calculated the chances of a car crash with her father driving versus someone like herself, underage and without a license, and winced as he sped up to pass another large truck.

     “What is so wrong with country music? It’s…” he waved his hand around from his wrist and started to snap trying to think of a proper word to use. After a few wrist flicks and an exaggerated look by June at the nonexistent watch on her arm, Harold snapped his fingers and pointed one up as if making a scientific discovery.

     “It has soul.” He proclaimed, and June rolled her eyes.

     “Harold..” she started out as if speaking to a child, “Jazz has soul. Rock and roll has soul. The only soul that country music..protrudes,” At this Harold nodded in approval instead of irritation at her use of the word, “is the soul of old white men.  All they do is sing about beer and women in tight jeans. Maybe cows. Tractors or something, I don’t know.” She finished with a shrug. At this Harold laughed and scratched the back of his head while also adjusting the glasses that had started to slip down his nose again.

     “I basically fall into all three of those descriptive categories, kid.” Harold said with a chuckle.

     June grinned and raised an eyebrow. “And I don’t fall into any of them, so lets agree to disagree and change the station to something less old white man-ish.”

     Harold laughed and adjusted his seating position so he was sitting up straighter. He reached for the small black knob to change the station, then paused, smiling a mischievous grin. He looked at June pointedly and sat back in his seat to relax. June raised an eyebrow at him in question and his grin, which was started to turn practically cheshire in nature, spread wider across his face.

     “Ask me nicely.” Harold said without changing his facial expression.

     June tilted her head to the side and uncrossed her arms, confused by her dad’s sudden need for formality.

     “Harold” she said slowly, “can you please-“

     “In french!” Harold burst out, eyes gleaming as he reached over and gave his daughter a small and playful tap on her nose. June jerked back in surprise and then groaned so loud the cows by the highway probably heard.  She should have known at some point on this car ride he would throw a random test at her. He always did them when she least expected it, especially when they were starting a new language course.

     June had learned many languages by the time she was twelve, including American Sign Language, Spanish, Arabic, Italian, and after recently finishing basic Korean phrases and conversation; they started French about two months ago on her fifteenth birthday. She had never had an issue learning languages or about different cultures, but French was especially hard for her for some reason. Just thinking about conjugating verbs made her nauseous. She rested her head in her hands, and weighed her options. She didn’t want Harold to think she wasn’t studying regularly, which of course she wasn’t, but she would rather jump out the passenger window than to listen to another round of guitar strumming and cowboy twang.

     June squished her face in frustration with the palms of her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Harold waited expectantly and tapped his pointer finger slowly on the steering wheel.

     June sighed, “Père..” she started slowly, “s’il vous plaît. Tour..” she paused and rubbed her temples again, the headache now fully developed despite the dose she had taken just earlier. Harold continued to drum his fingers patiently on the steering wheel. Cristo absently snored in the backseat, having fallen asleep a few moments ago. June glanced back at Cristo and wished to switch places with the animal. She dug her hands into head a little harder and urged her brain to remember some french curses, if nothing else.

     “Tour..” June continued, “Le station de radio? Cette musique est..horrible?” She finished her request to end the music with an upward affliction to her voice, unsure to how badly her broken french was to a fluent speaker. Her dad simply nodded his head in quiet approval and pat June on the head.

     “Not bad kid, not bad.” He mused, “We can work on proper pronunciation sometime this week.” He then winked at June and she sighed with relief that her country-themed torture would be over. June stop her abuse toward her skull and reached over to fiddle with the control knob of the radio.

     Harold clicked his tongue at her in mock hurt as she adjusted the radio until it landed on a modern pop station, to which June nodded her head in approval. Harold mumbled something about raising something that was brown and rhymed with bird for a daughter and June laughed aloud as she leaned her head back against the window and closed her eyes. Harold was her adoptive; not birth father, but that it made no difference to June. Sometimes she felt like they were best friends rather than parent and child, and even understood each other better than some of the short-lasting friendships June had made in the past. Their bond was the closest to any living human she had ever known, and she knew how hard he tried to make her happy in spite of the constant traveling and moving. But since he makes his living off of traveling across the country, they don’t have much of a choice. From what June understands, his job is to: search out storm patterns across the United States, analyze their patterns and data, and report it all back to his superiors. She doesn’t always grasp the concept of it all, or even understand the science of it, but she knows that it’s something he’s passionate about. That alone is worth all the moving around to her. At the end of the day, she didn’t need anything else or anyone else to maker her happy either. She was content with her life as is. At least thats what she believed.

     After a few more minutes of pleasant, country free, music; Harold bumped her hand with his, and June turned to look at him. He nodded at the large metal sign, caked with rusted red and yellow lettering that was approaching quickly on the right closest to June, and she peered over her sunglasses at the rapidly approaching letters.

      “Welcome! to Cottonwood Falls, Kansas. Approaching in twelve miles. Population-“ June paused her out-loud reading of the billboard to peer closer at the large ripped sign at it approached, “Population four-hundred?!” June’s jaw practically dropped and she grabbed her dad’s shoulder.

     “You’re telling me that only four-hundred people live here? That’s insane!” June shook his shoulder as she spoke, and Harold, alarmed, pulled her hand off of him before she could run them off the interstate. “Sure is,” Harold nodded as he reclaimed control of the vehicle, “I believe last year it was even less. Around three-hundred and fifty or so.”

     June shook her head in disbelief. The smallest town she could remember ever living in was Auburn, California when she was eleven. Granted that was four years ago, but she could easily remember it was a small bustling city full of  bight lights, busy noise, and lively people. Everywhere they lived was always in a large city or a highly populated area. She was confused at Harold’s newest choice of residence and her face must of showed it. Harold leaned over June to open and then reach into the glove box in front of her, pulling out what seemed to be a large, crudely folded up map of some sorts. He struggled to unfold it with his teeth for a minute while driving, until finally June frustratingly snatched it from his mouth and smoothed the sides out on her legs before placing it into her lap.

     Harold chuckled then nodded his head at the map, “Tell me what you see.” He asked June. Another test, as per usual.
Fully laid out on her lap, June saw it to be a map of the world, with the United States smack dab in front. It was black and white save for several small masses of red blobs speckled around the map, as well as one large blue one in the center. Harold, as he exited the highway towards Cottonwood Falls, pointed at one of the small red markings on the map. June saw where he was pointing and peered closer to read the scribblings above it written in black pen. There were a few mathematical and scientific observations she didn’t understand or care to think about, but she could make out the words “Arkansas” in red letters at the very bottom of the notes.

     “That’s..Conway right?” June questioned, puzzled. They had lived there for the shortest time, she recalled, a total of three months. They didn’t even unpack any of their boxes or storage during their stay. Making a displeased face, she distinctly remembered the smelly and cramped apartment as well as the even smellier landlady.

     Harold nodded. “And this one?” He questioned, pointing to another spot about six inches to the left. June followed his finger and read the words scrawled out beneath the red dot.

     “Rosewell…New Mexico.” June observed aloud. There was a red mass in that location as well, slightly smaller than the one before. Looking around the map she saw a similar trend in surrounding states. Phoenix, Arizona. Boise, Idaho. Hershey, Pennsylvania. She could count at least seventeen more, not including Conway and Rosewell.

     “Now”, Harold told her, interrupting her gazing at the map; “Remember what I taught you about data. Inspect, analyze, and report. What do you see?”

     She gazed at the areas of color, squinting her eyes as she tried to discover their meaning.

     “Well..” She thought aloud, “You’re a scientist. You track and analyze weather and storm patterns. So this must have to do with like, weather or-“

     Harold made a displeased noise at her and scrunched his nose to make a face at her word choice. “Please don’t use the word “like” as anything other than a preposition.” He demanded more than asked.

     June rolled her eyes for the third time in the past twenty minutes. If I keep this up, June thought, I'll consider taping them shut to prevent them from plopping out of their sockets.

     “My apologies”, June forced out irritatedly, “So this must have to do with weather or something like that.” She finished with a sarcastic smile.

     Harold chose to ignore the sarcasm and continued, “Correct, and?” He asked.

     “And I can only assume the red patches are signs of excessive tornado, rain, hail, snow, or thunderstorm activity.”

     Harold gave June a side glance before turning right off the highway onto a seemingly bare gravel road, surrounded by trees. The rush of speed from traveling on the highway for so many hours dissipated, and the only noise that could be heard was the calming wind and fresh crunch of the road beneath them as they continued the drive.

     “Why do you say that?” He questioned, focusing back on the road.

     June pointed at the first spot he had shown her on the map, “There, in Conway, we lived there for about three months.” She moved her finger over to the spot to the left and tapped down twice on the small words where it said Rosewell, New Mexico.
“Here, almost seven. And here-“ June added, pointing to Phoenix and then Boise, “Around six each. The rest are all places we have traveled to and lived in the past eight or so years in order to track climate change and forecast data. And we all know you don’t believe in-”

     “-coincidences.” He finished for her. She gave him a nod and then looked back at the map. She then tilted her head in confusion. 

     She stared at the map for a few seconds and then looked out the window and then back to Harold.

     “But theres two things I just don’t understand.” June continued.

     “And that is?”

     June gestured to the map, “Well these energy levels or storm pop-ups or whatever they are, they’re way too…structured. These aren’t random episodes. Nature is anything but structured, or at least not enough to act with intent or with a intellectual purpose or even desire. Nature is…unaware to a point. It doesn’t create structure.” June paused and looked around the car until she was able to locate a rouge pen stuffed inside one of the cupholders. She clicked the pen once and scribbled it on her hand to make sure it actually worked. “Mind if I..?” She asked with hesitation, and Harold nodded his head once, granting permission for her to write on the map. She clicked the pen, and then made circles around all the red dots on the map. She then began to draw lines from city to city, connecting the dots.

     “Storms and weather,” June started speaking again as she drew on the map, “While biome specific, are both randomly occurring and tend to stay in their preferred biome.” Harold nodded at her observation, not seeming to be surprised at any of the connections she was making.

     “For example,” June said as she dragged another line, this one connecting from New York to Wisconsin. “You will rarely find rain showers in the dessert, because precipitation doesn’t belong in that biome pattern. Same goes for snow in Florida, or even sun in Seattle.” June joked, remembering the entirety of their living period in Seattle without barely a peek of light from the sky, and received an appreciative chuckle from her father as he also remembered the many gloomy days spent in Washington.

     “So what does that tell you, June?”  Harold questioned, making a left and then a right turn. The gravel on the street continued to crunch under the car tires as they made their way on the new, bumpier road. There was still no life in sight, only one road accompanied by deep green forests on either side.

     She finished connecting the dots and held the map up for examination. The lines created that linked up made a lopsided oval, but an oval nonetheless. June’s blinked confusedly at the paper. From what limited knowledge she had on Harold’s profession, she did know this is highly unusual behavior, and the trend of energy spots look way too geometrical to be a natural storm pattern. June set the map back down on her lap and folded the lower right corner back and forth in deep thought. She breathed out quietly, almost loud enough Harold couldn’t hear, “The only explanation is..”

     She stared at the odd oval she had drawn. Harold continued to patiently wait as she thought it out, silently humming to the tune that filled the car. She continued to look at the marks she had made from city to city, drawn by her own hand, and finally it clicked together in her head.

     June eyebrows shot up and she whipped her head to the scientist, “Rogue weather modification? In the United States?! Is that even possible?”

     “Or legal” June thought to herself.

     Harold pressed his lips tight, looking almost angered at the idea of it. “Unfortunately it’s a probability, that’s what we believe is happening. Rosaline’s the first one who brought it up at the last meeting in Missouri.” At this Harold glanced at the small mountain of boxes in the backseat, still residing next to the contently sleeping dog. “That’s why we left this time in such a rush.” He smiled apologetically. June was shocked. She looked back at the map and this time took special notice of her father’s company’s logo in the top left corner: P.O.O.L.

     June knew that the “we” he referred to had to be P.O.O.L., the organization that Harold works for and the one that helps puts food on the table. The Prognosticate Overlookers of Logistic Climates, they called themselves. She doesn’t know much, but she knows that if the weather modification isn’t coming from them, then that’s a bad sign. June never has met her father’s boss, but has met some of his colleges occasionally throughout the years. With every new move they follow the same routine that June knows all too well: move to a new location, at some point meet up with a POOL member, obtain a case of weather related activity, do the research, send the data, and finally: pack up and repeat. There are a few of these members that she had been friendly with in the past, one woman named Rosaline they met up with regularly on the west coast especially, but the majority of her father’s colleagues tended to disregard her existence. Some regarded her with disdain, as if she was an eyesore. On more than one occasion, when June was younger and adults still talked around her they way they do to small children as if she were hard of hearing, they would openly hiss about Harolds decision to adopt her. She never figured out the whole puzzle of these conversations, but it didn’t take much intelligence to associate herself with the common word passed around during those conversations which always was “mistake”. Thinking about it now didn’t anger her as much as it used too, but growing up it made her blood boil. June didn’t consider herself a stupid person. She knew why. Regardless, she was used to judgment from her odd family, especially when Kent Moss was still in the picture.

     She smiled sadly at the thought of Kent, and reached up to take it out of her shirt and fondly touch the necklace he had given her years before, a small vial with a few shards of tanzanite inside to celebrate the ninth anniversary of her adoption. Harold has been trying to get her to sell it for years, and the few shards she had would sell for a pretty penny, but she usually always answers him with disdain. It was too sentimental to her to even considering to trade in for money. Before she was able to think too long about missing her other father, she was shaken out of her trip down memory lane by Harold’s voice. June looked at him and tucked the necklace back into her shirt,

     “I’m sorry what?” She replied, giving her father her attention.

     “What was the second thing?” He asked her again, saying his question slower the second time.

     June shook her head clear of her lingering thoughts on the past and refocused on the map. She pointed her finger at the large blue spot in the middle of the United States. It was larger than any other signature and was a bright blue color in contrast to the deep red of the other marks.

     “What the hell is that?” She questioned, wiggling her digit over the spot.

     She could just make out a few numbers scrawled in messy handwriting, which looked like “38.3722° N, 96.5428° W”. She recognized that they were coordinates, to exactly where she was unsure. Harold sighed and stopped at what seemed to June the first stoplight she had seen in decades. She looked at him expectantly and he rubbed his neck in the same spot as earlier, as well as adjust his large wired glasses that had tried to make their escape down his nose, as they usually do.

     “Cottonwood Falls, Kansas.” He said plainly. “Home to probably the highest amount of energy accumulated from a thunderstorm that I have ever seen in...my entire life.” He confessed in a somber phone. The light flashed green, and Harold continued down the street as they passed a lonely looking gas station, with only a single customer spraying their car down with a hose attached to a large washing station.

     “In normal storms,” he continued, “the updraft of a thundercloud rises about forty thousand feet or more into the troposphere.” At this he paused and eyed June. “Do you remember what that is?”

     June nodded. “The lowest layer of our atmosphere.”

     Harold grinned and continued, “Right. Now if the updraft in a supercell thunderstorm is so strong, then it can develop a vortex. In other words, it can develop a tornado.”

     “But while the average thunderstorm releases about ten-million kilowatt-hours, which is-“

     “-electrical energy equal to the power consumption of a thousand watts per hour.” June finished for him while picking at her nails, having heard this particular rant before. Harold grinned again, obviously excited at the meteorology-themed banter.

     “Yes, yes, exactly. Those are the red spots. These areas,” Harold said leaning over and gesturing to the red marks on the map, 

     “Have all read at the very least nine-million kilowatt-hours. Which in itself is casual storm energy. But this bad boy..” Harold quickly tapped twice on the area in the middle, the once centered in Kansas. “Registered at seventy-million kilowatt-hours.” 

     Harold finished, making his face blank as to judge June’s reaction. Junes’s mouth dropped open and she looked at him incredulously. She struggled to find the words but finally decided to settle on:

     “Holy shit!”

     Harold had accelerated the car as the second light they stopped at turned green, but the car slammed to a halt as Harold hit the brakes in surprise. He received a honk from behind before he waved in apology to the car who had also been forced to stop suddenly. Cristo jerked awake, nearly almost slamming into the back of June’s seat, and suspiciously looked around the car before contently laying his head back down. Harold smiled politely and waved again as the red car zoomed around him and then glared at June.

     “Please watch your mouth.” He mumbled as he pushed down on the accelerator and they moved forward.

     “But dude-“ June started.

     “Please do not call me that.”

     “Dude.” It was Harolds turn to roll his eyes, “That’s so much energy. That’s enough energy to power like-“

     “Again with that misplaced preposition.”

     June continued to ignore her father, “That’s like seven fully powered nuclear warheads!” June did the calculations in her head, which she was sure were incorrect, but this new change of pace got her so excited she couldn’t care less. After years of doing the same thing day in and day out, year after year, relocation after relocation; she was ready for something new.

     “That’s, well that’s slightly correct, but do you want to know the craziest part?” Harold asked as they transferred from the gravel and bumpy road to bricked-layered main street they were now on. June rolled down her window and put both arms out to rest them on the edge, laying her head on her forearms as she watched her new but temporary residence appear before her. They slowly drove by many small businesses that seemed old but at the same time were made of bright colors; including a cozy looking diner that was pastel green and blue fit with a flashing gold trimmed neon sign that read “Kit and Kat’s”, a dark looking tattoo parlor with an orange and red dragon sign perched on top advertising “LP Fire Tattoos”, and yet another lonely looking gas station. A few trees could be seen poking through the alley ways of a few retail stores as well as what seemed to be a grocery store on the far left. A large, empty, but clean looking fountain was placed in the middle of the square, growing larger and more impressive as they approached the roundabout closer to the center of the stores. A small sherif’s station could be seen a little farther on the left corner of the street, a line of light-poles leading to it from behind them. June took notice of the blue hospital sign with an arrow pointed to the west. June stared at the miscellaneous shops and cars that littered the area. It was so small she could hardly believe it was real. At the end of the long road that they were on sat a tall, very religious looking old structure. With the sun perched behind it, the large building with the clock tower at it’s tip seemed to loom over the car as they approached. It was all white brick save for a collection of small red roofs and a single large clock atop the building, as well as a small American flag waiving in the slight breeze. A church maybe? June questioned.

     “Which is?” June asked absentmindedly, not liking the headache that had returned as she stared at the building that was practically glowing from the surrounding sunlight.

     He gave June a side glance, knowing his next words would peak her interest.

     “No tornados.”

     June paused her temple-rubbing and looked to her left.

     “Not one?” She asked, confused.

     “Not a single one.”

     June shook her head, “But that makes no sense. With that much energy, I would expect that this place would be tornado alley if not completely blown up. Or a graveyard of rubble.”

     Harold hummed in agreement. “So did we, so imagine our surprise when we discovered there has been no recorded tornado activity here for the past…” He thought momentarily, “twelve or so years.”

     “So what the hell would be causing all that energy, if not a storm?”

     Harold pulled the car into a parking spot at the large and intimidating looking building, and put it into park with a solid click. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

     “Well”, he replied, “That’s why we’re here, kid. To find out.”

     “If theres any chance that a person, or even worse, multiple people are behind this..” He shook his head in disgust, “That means that they’re harnessing energy. Manufacturing and maybe even collecting it for a specific purpose. Either way, it’s too big a risk to just ignore. Humans aren’t meant to have control or any power over nature in a way they don’t understand.” He grumbled angrily.

     June crossed her legs and slowly tapped her shoeless foot on the gearshift, leaning her head back to lean on the passenger seats head rest.

     “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” She quoted matter-of-factly and shrugged.

     Harold turned and patted her on the head, smiling. “Wise words, June Bug,” he remarked using her old nickname, removing his hand and then turning the car off, taking the keys from the ignition and tossing them to June who caught them smoothly with her right hand. He stepped out of the car and the leaned in through the driver side window.

     “Hold on to those while I get the info and keys to the house.” He instructed, walking away before June could reply. She nodded absently in acknowledgment and then suddenly shot her head out of the drivers side window,

     “Wait wait wait”, she yelled after him, “did you say house?”

     “Well do you see any apartment complexes or three-star hotels around here, dude?” Harold said, laughing as if he had made a hilarious joke.

     June stuck out her tongue as if she tasted something unpleasant. “Please do not call me that.” She shot back, echoing his words from earlier, attempting to mimic his voice. He chuckled and put his hands in his pockets, walking away from the vehicle and made his way to the large steps leading up into the white building. He slowed his pace enough to turn around at look at her. Taking a hand out of his pocket, he waved it at June, who immediately flipped a bird back in response and then cackled gleefully as the action caused Harold to stumble over a step and nearly lose his balance. He swished his head around and squinted his eyes at her in disapproval before shaking his head at and continuing to walk his way up the the steps.

     June laughed and folded up the map, tucking it away inside the glove box. She heard more than felt her stomach grumble, and the sound alerted Cristo to pop up and paw at June, needing attention now that he was awake and alert. June simultaneously pat Cristo while leaning her hips up to fish out her phone from her back jeans pocket and clicked the home button to glance at the lock screen.

     “6:57 PM”.

     She swiped through a few functions until she made it to her messenger inbox. There were only three message threads residing there: her father’s, Rosaline’s, and a friend she has been able to miraculously hold on to during her constant moving schedule: Samantha Frond. “Saffron” is what June ended up usually calling her, due to her constant teasing of Sam’s name sounding like an herb. She met Sam her second week of trying out public school for the first time when they were both around nine in California. They were shoved in the same class sitting four inches apart at the same table, had a very seriously heated debate about the formation of storm clouds, and the rest was history. Five months later they were gearing up to move again, and Harold and June both agreed that public school was both a waste of money and time when she could easily be taught what she needed to learn at home. Sam had sobbed the day June told her she was leaving, but they had promised each other to alway stay in contact. Sam’s mother and father both worked for P.O.O.L. as data-base coders, so maintaining a friendship was only slightly difficult when Harold worked with her parents. Sam even flies out twice a year to see June, something she looks forward to every December break and July before school starts up again.

     In a way they complete each other: Sam lives her wild adventures and cravings of travel through June, while June lives a structured and normal school-girl life through Sam. June has told Sam before that Harold and Cristo were good fun, but it was nice to have someone in her life that is a little younger than her dad; and a little more talkative than her dog.
Ignoring her hunger, June tapped on Sam’s icon, a picture of her dressed as Bob Ross for halloween two years ago, to send her a new message.

Hey, landed safely in the land of Oz. Only 400 here this time. Crazy right?

     June then leaned her head back against the seat and set her phone down on her thigh to wait for Sam to reply, but it didn’t take long. The phone immediately chirped and she grabbed her phone. Swiping on the lock-screen she looked at her new message and was only slightly disappointed that it was Harold instead.

Sorry this might take a while, they can’t find the keys. if you’re hungry you can take Cristobal to that restaurant we passed and grab a snack. $ in glove box. Love you - H

     June chuckled at his need to sign his initial at the bottom of his texts when he sent them, and started typing out a reply.

Thanks old man, want a coffee? 3 sugars no cream?

     She sent the message and then watched him type out a reply. She drummed her fingers impatiently as a full minute went by and she looked at Cristo impatiently. 

     “Why is he so old, boy?” She asked him sarcastically as she scratched between his ears, but the only thing she received in response was a gentle bark and a wagging tail. June phone chirped again and she held the phone up to peer at the new message.

Sure, thanks. I am also 42 not 97. -H.

     June sighed and clicked the button to roll up the driver side window as well as her own. She opened her door and stepped out, stretching her legs and arms, groaning as she felt her elbows and knees pop. The day was still bright despite the setting sun, and it was hot enough for her to shrug off her dad’s green windbreaker and toss it back into the car on the leather seat. She reached into the glove box to grab the twenty dollar bill that was stuffed inside and gently folded it, neatly tucking it into her back pocket. Cristo stayed in the car patiently until June snapped her right hand to get his attention and bringing the hand to her left shoulder, her signal for him to “come” and get out of the car. He wagged a tongue in response and smoothly moved from the back seat to the passenger seat, then patiently waited on the curb by the car as June grabbed a few possessions including her purse and her sunglasses. She smiled at Cristo and then gave him a swift pat on the head in approval. She then put on her sunglasses and made an attempt to shove her wild, dark curly hair into a baseball cap she fished out from the floor of the car. Securing the back with a satisfying snap of the velcro, she motioned with her right arm for Cristo to follow her. He happily agreed with a satisfied bark and trotted after her as she walked down the street and crossed to the concrete sidewalk. The pair then made their way to the brightly-lit diner, stomachs growling almost in unison.