from the house.” Grandpa’s sandpapery voice suddenly skids to a halt, then charges into overdrive. “Now don’t you go looking at me like I’m keeping secrets. He’s the same boy who needs your tender care. And I’ve got—”
“What did he do?” Her voice slices into his sentence with cold precision.
“I-it wasn’t so bad. A mite dangerous... Listen, his powers are growing faster than his brain. I’m just going to give his brain a little jolt so it’ll catch up, is all. He’s all for this. I’m not forcing him.”
I go to the screen door and lean against the doorjamb. Grandma sees me, and her smile is tinged with irritation. “Well, it seems I’m the one who’s going to have to trust the pair of you to behave yourselves.”
Grandpa yanks the screen door open and jerks his thumb toward the side of the house. “Truck.”
With a quick tip and swallow, I empty my glass and hand it to Grandma. “Where’s Kera?”
“Last time I saw her she was heading over to Leo’s. Something about asking him a question about an animal she found.”
A heavy sigh escapes Grandpa, and he glares at me. “Did you tell her?”
“Not yet.”
Since Kera’s been here, she’s gotten in the habit of rescuing mice, rabbits, and even a skunk.
Grandpa’s big hand rubs the back of his neck. “That girl needs to focus on rescuing non-vermin.”
“It points to a kind heart,” Grandma says.
“And I’m sure while people are fighting off the plague she’s bound to set off, they’ll be praising her kindness.”
“Now sweetheart…”
He nudges me down the porch steps and toward the truck parked alongside the house. “We’re off to the Cavanaughs’.”
“Good God, George!” Grandma’s hand flutters up to her throat. “That family is—”
“Exactly what he needs, so no fussing,” Grandpa calls over his shoulder. “We’ll be back for lunch. Remember what we discussed. Stay out of the woods. No use inviting trouble. If you need anything, call Reggie.”
As I round the truck, I see Reggie toting a shotgun as he herds a group of sheep down the dirt road behind the house. Since the incident in the woods, he’s kept his distance, wanting nothing to do with the freak that I am. Lucky me.
Grandma moves to the end of the porch and grips the railing. As I pull open the passenger-side door, she calls, “Have a good—” She stops, and a worried frown mars her forehead. “Well, do your best, Dylan.”
What is she so upset about? I feel a rush of heat climb up my suddenly tight neck, like she’s telling me I’m too stupid to know I’m about to do something really dumb. Grandpa doesn’t seem fazed. Whoever the Cavanaughs are, they can’t be all that bad if Grandpa trusts them.
I get in, and she turns a hot glare on Grandpa. “I’ll have words for you when you get home, and don’t think I won’t.”
He opens the driver-side door, and as smooth as a carnival hawker says, “I prefer kisses, but your words are nearly as sweet.”
Grandma rolls her eyes at Grandpa, and he slips in and slams the door. With a quick twist of the key he never bothers to take out of the ignition, he starts the truck.
Our eyes meet for a brief second before I stare out the front window and nod. “Nicely played, Grandpa.”
As we roll forward, a quick, deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “She acts like I annoy her, but she loves pretty words. Remember that, boy. If you ever get in trouble with a woman, get to talking sweet at her and she’ll forgive nearly anything.”
I arch my eyebrow in doubt. His advice sounds too easy…and if I’ve learned anything lately, Kera is anything but easy. I like it that way.
We tear out of the yard and down the road. Grandpa’s got a lead foot and a taste for sixties rock music, and not the good kind, which he sings along with as he drives. Fifteen minutes later, we pull into a yard that’s more used car lot than front lawn. Grandpa stops his truck and points to a 1938 Dodge pickup. “You don’t see one of those every day. They got it in yesterday. It’ll be a beauty when the boys clean it up.”
We get out and make our way through the trucks. Most are rusted boxes on wheels. I’m scared to touch one, and I’m getting a little queasy standing in the middle of them. “This is great, Grandpa, but you know exposed iron and I don’t mix.” Being around this much exposed iron is like shoving a rusted stake into my heart. Most of these trucks aren’t viable transportation options at this point.
“Right, right.” He hustles me along, but his eyes brighten with envy. “Look at that one. 1956 Ford F100 Big Window. And a 1940 GMC right behind it.”
“Awesome. Can we hurry?”
We cut around the house and see a huge garage. The sound of unvarnished iron being pounded into submission stops me. “Grandpa, are you trying to kill me?”
“We’re not going in there. We’re going over there,” he says, pointing to a barn in the distance.
When we get closer, the doors shove wide open, and a guy in a drab khaki shirt, camouflage pants, and khaki jump boots stands with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair is buzzed close to his scalp in a be-all-you- can-be cut that only hints at its dark brown color. His gray eyes stare me down under his lowered brows. “He’s bigger than I expected.”
Grandpa looks past the guy and into the barn. “How you doing, Wyatt? Where’s Reece?”
“Out obsessing over a new girl.” Wyatt circles around, giving me a brief inspection. “So, you have an anger problem.”
It’s a statement of fact, not a question. Grandpa’s obviously told him about me. How much, is the real question.
I try not to fidget under his stare. “You could say that.”
His face contorts into a mixture of annoyance and disgust. “I hate bullies.” He moves right into my face. “You’re not one of them, are you?”
I don’t like people getting into my face. I stare back, seeing the black of his pupils contract and expand like a junkie on a meth high. My jaw tightens and the muscles in my arms stiffen.
Grandpa’s big body moves between us. “When will Reece be back?”
Wyatt’s narrowed gaze gives me another once-over, and when he looks at Grandpa, he visibly relaxes. “Soon. He said you wanted a hose. Over there.”
As Wyatt trots inside to a storage room and starts pulling stuff out, Grandpa grabs my arm and pulls me inside the barn. It smells like old dirt and fresh hay. I thumb over toward GI Jackass. “What’s with him?”
“Don’t mind Wyatt. He’s a good guy.” We reach the hose and he picks it up. “I guess Reece recruited him to help train you.”
“Fantastic, and what are they training me to do?”
With a twist of the pressure nozzle, water shoots out of the end of the hose and across the barn floor. Grandpa grins. “Not light up.”
A knot in my stomach grows. “They know about me?”
“If you control yourself, and if I’m quick enough with this hose, they won’t.”
Oh, this is not a good idea. “They’re gonna freak.”
“Ready?” Wyatt says, standing in the midst of a pile of stuff.
“He’s ready,” Grandpa calls back.
Wyatt shakes his head. “Sorry, sir. I need to hear it from him. I’m not interested in helping someone who doesn’t want it.”
“I promise, he won’t accuse you of abuse when all’s said and done.”
I turn my head back and forth between the pair. “Why would someone do that? What exactly are you going to do to me?”
“Teach you to control your temper by means of repetition.”
All the tension leaves my body and I laugh. “What, every time I get angry I’m going to recite my times table?” I turn to Grandpa. “That’s a great solution.” The sarcasm in my voice isn’t hard to miss.
“This isn’t a babysitting service. You game or not?”
The guy’s getting a little testy, and I’m not fond of testy dudes, but then a flash of Kera’s horrified
