But a sudden surge in updraft is too much for me, and I can no longer hold on to it.
The cloud strengthens, its edges sharpen, and its tornado heads straight for us.
I reach for it again, begging it to stop, but it drives on. In one final push, I throw as much magic as I can at it, trying to send it away from us. It lurches backward, out toward the farm, giving us just enough time to find cover.
But we stay put, mesmerized by the spinning column of air. The tornado hangs back for one second, two, three. Then it charges toward us.
“Run!” Sang yells.
But I don’t want to run. I’m amazed by the force, the absolute power of the wind rushing toward me. I want to touch it.
I’m not scared anymore. I’m exhausted and have nothing left to give, nothing left to try and stop what’s right in front of me, and for a single moment, I understand the tornado.
All it wants is to touch the earth.
“Clara, now!” Sang grabs my arm, and the moment is broken.
A tall pine tree lurches sideways, crashes to the ground.
We will die if we don’t run.
I turn toward the assembly hall, but the tornado is blocking our path. Spring House is in the distance, the closest building to us, and we sprint toward it. My ankle screams. It takes all my energy to keep running, to stay upright.
The tornado chases us as we burst through the front doors of Spring House. The first floor is a greenhouse, tall glass windows encircling the room, the only thing shielding us from the storm. We get as far away from the windows as possible and hit the floor.
We’re out of time.
The tornado slams into the building.
Windows shake, then blow out, sending glass shards sailing toward us. I cover my head, vaguely aware that I’m bleeding. Plants fly across the room, flowers in every color swirling in the air as if they have wings. I look up through the broken glass ceiling.
I want to see the storm.
Warm blood trickles down my forehead. Sang presses his hand against the cut.
“You’re okay,” he says, his tone calm and even, as if we’re taking a stroll on the beach, as if a violent cyclone isn’t reaching for us.
Blood seeps through Sang’s fingers, crawls down my face, and drips onto my chest. Clay pots shatter on the floor around us, mounds of dirt fall on the cement ground, and debris flies through the room.
The tornado sounds like a freight train. We’re in the worst of it. I see the narrow base out of the corner of my eye, see how it twists and turns and picks things up before tossing them aside.
“Look out!” I yell as an arbor is torn from its base and crashes down.
Sang keeps the pressure on my forehead firm and tucks my head into his chest, covering me.
The corner of the arbor falls on him, but he remains steady.
More glass clatters to the floor, and a rock sails over our heads before hitting the wall behind us. Branches slam into the side of the building. The entire room shakes when a massive tree plummets to the earth.
Hanging plants swing wildly back and forth. A large table full of sprouts collapses when a tree trunk rams through a broken window and slams into it.
Then nothing else falls.
Nothing else breaks.
The howling gets fainter, and silence fills the room. The darkness retreats from the sky, and tentative sunlight streams through thin clouds.
It’s over.
Chapter Seven
“Autumn is the Earth just before it falls asleep.”
—A Season for Everything
I push myself up. Sang and I are both quiet. The floor is covered with dirt and broken clay. Sunlight reaches through the fractured windows and reflects off shards of glass. I wipe my forehead, and the back of my hand comes away red. The same color as Sang’s palm.
“We need to get that cleaned up,” he says, looking at the gash. He finds a yarrow plant and grabs a handful of leaves on our way out. A deep-blue bruise is forming around his right eye.
My ankle throbs, and I bite my lip, forcing myself to walk. The campus is in disarray. There are toppled trees and cracked cement, hanging gutters and shrubs torn up by the roots. A large pine rests against the top of Avery Hall, the roof caved in beneath it.
But the campus survived. It’s still here.
It needs a lot of cleanup and a lot of repairs, but it will be okay.
Students slowly emerge from the assembly hall across campus. I want to find Nox, make sure he’s safe, but I can barely walk. I limp toward my cabin in a trance, taking in the odd contrast between the debris-covered walkways and the pure sunshine warming my skin.
Sang stops and wipes my forehead with the hem of his shirt. “We’ll never make it to Autumn House at this rate.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I say dryly. “And I don’t live in the dorms. I live in a small cabin behind Autumn House, just beyond the tree line.”
“Well, we’ll never make it there either.” Sang crouches in front of me. He reaches over his shoulder and pats his back. “Hop on.”
“Absolutely not.” Sang looks back at me, and I hope my expression reflects the mortification I feel at his suggestion.
“I’m serious. Hop on.”
“I don’t even know you. You’re not going to give me a piggyback ride across campus.”
“I don’t see why not,” he says. “Besides, we just survived a tornado together. That’s got to count for something.”
I exhale, weighing my options. Sang gives me an expectant look.
“Fine, but this is ridiculous.”
“Yet much more efficient,” he says.
I wrap my arms around his neck and crawl onto his back. He loops my legs through his arms, being especially careful of my ankle, and weaves his way
