The Gathering Storm (15 page)

“I remember that!” Mack said suddenly. “I thought it was the sun.”

“I've never known such a young
impundulu
to be capable of creating so much lightning,” Sefu said from across the room. “You nearly struck me while I was in my
bultungin
form, as a hyena, running at this brave young woman.” He gestured to Gabriella.

Mack turned to Gabriella too. “I didn't want to leave you,” he said.

“You had no choice,” she replied quickly. “It was fine—
I
was fine. I started running, and they chased after me. Just the way I wanted them to—away from you.”

“That was so brave. And also really cool,” Mack said, a note of admiration in his voice.

Gabriella waved away the compliment. “Not as brave
as destroying Auden Ironbound,” she said. “You cracked the horn and broke his spell on the Changers. Ms. Therian says they've all gone home. Well, most of them.”

“Some stayed to help with the cleanup,” Darren said. “Luckily there's no sign of Auden, though.”

Mack swallowed hard. “So Auden Ironbound is . . . ?” he asked.

Jiichan and Ms. Therian exchanged a long look. “He escaped,” Jiichan said. “I don't . . . None of us can figure out how he managed it.”

“Dark magic, no doubt,” muttered Yara.

“But he escaped, and he took the damaged horn with him,” Jiichan continued.

Mack's face was troubled. So it was all for—for what? Auden Ironbound was still out there. The horn was still out there. Mack had delayed the inevitable, maybe, but for how long?

“Auden Ironbound is but a shell of what he was,” Jiichan said, as though he could read Mack's thoughts. “And the horn is cracked. I expect it will take a long while for him to repair it. More than enough time to prepare for what comes next.”

“We won't soon forget what you did for us,” said Ms. Therian, looking at each of her four students. “In the darkest hour, all of you rose to the occasion. That's no small thing.”

“We should know,” Yara joked. The First Four laughed harder than anyone.

Jiichan stared at Mack with a strange expression on his face. “I think you should transform,” he said.

“Here?” Mack asked. “Now?”

Jiichan nodded. “See what your bravery has earned you,” he replied.

Mack tried not to feel self-conscious as he transformed, right there in the middle of the room. He glanced around at all the faces looking at him. Everyone seemed so happy . . . so
proud
 . . .

Then Mack turned around, and to his astonishment, he saw that he had a second tail. Just like that, it had appeared—strange and beautiful and unexpected.

“A
kitsune
earns a new tail with each ability learned,” Jiichan said in a low voice. “This is why I cannot help you, much as I would like to. Who can say what powers live within you? Only time will reveal them. Time,
and your own dedication. There can be great danger in teaching certain
kitsune
abilities before a student is ready—and even greater danger in forcing that first transformation. It is a mistake that . . . that I will not make again.”

Mack didn't know what to say.

“Besides, you don't need my help, Mack,” Jiichan continued. “You're going to figure things out just fine on your own.”

Mack transformed back into his human form so that he could hug his grandfather again. “Please,” he whispered, “call me Makoto.”

There was no reason, Mack realized, why he couldn't be Makoto to his grandfather and Mack to his friends. If he could be both human and Changer, boy and
kitsune
, well, then,
anything
was possible. Mack was aware of a fundamental truth: now more than ever, it was crucial to embrace all the possibilities, all the opportunities, all the parts of himself.

Mack transformed for the third time, just because he could. It was getting easier and easier, giving him the confidence and learning that as long as he worked
hard—as long as he tried with all his might—nothing was beyond his grasp. One by one, Fiona, Darren, and Gabriella transformed, too, under the watchful eyes of the First Four.

After all, Auden Ironbound would return.

And when he did, all the Changers would be ready.

Run.

It was the only thought on Gabriella Rivera's mind; the thought that played again and again, over and over, as she darted down the soccer field.

Run.

Somewhere, deep down, Gabriella was probably aware of the world beyond the field: the golden autumn sun slicing through a clear, blue sky; the cheerleaders practicing a new routine on the track; the late buses rumbling in the parking lot, waiting to take everyone home from their after-school activities. But in the moment, all Gabriella cared about was:

The goal at the end of the field.

The tattered practice ball at the tip of her foot.

And the pounding of her heart, strong and steady, as she ran at top speed.

Run.

Other players? What other players? Gabriella had left them all in the dust—except for Trisha, who was practicing her goalie skills across the field. A sudden alertness washed over Gabriella as she fixed her eyes on Trisha. Trisha was poised, ready to block any goal Gabriella tried to make. It was totally obvious that Trisha was trying to predict Gabriella's next move. Gabriella could tell from the way Trisha's shoulders were tensed; from the way her eyes followed Gabriella, watching for a sign, a tell . . .

No way, T,
Gabriella thought.
Not this time.

An extra burst of speed—Gabriella didn't know exactly how she channeled it, but she had a pretty good idea . . .

The thud of her foot making contact with the ball—

Her toes reverberating inside her cleat—

The solid leather ball sailed through the air as free and weightless as the fluff from a dandelion.

I did that,
Gabriella marveled.
I did it.

What choice did Trisha have but to drop to the ground, face-first in the grass? Better than a soccer ball to the face, there was no doubt about that.

Time shifted, somehow, and the seconds between
the ball tearing through the net and the piercing shriek of Coach Connors's whistle slowed, stretched while Trisha lifted her head and locked eyes with Gabriella.

Something in Trisha's eyes made Gabriella flinch, and the spell was broken. Sound came rushing back: the whistle, the cheers from the rest of their teammates, the voices of kids heading to their buses. All the ordinary noises one would expect to hear at Willow Cove Middle School on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Great work, girls. Excellent practice,” Coach Connors was saying. “You play like that on Saturday and the Middletown Marauders don't stand a chance.”

Trisha was already lifting herself out of the dirt, but Gabriella reached for her arm, anyway.

“Trisha, I am so sorry,” Gabriella said as she helped Trisha to her feet. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry? Are you serious?” Trisha asked, ignoring Gabriella's question. “What you did—that move—it was
incredible
! I've been playing goalie for years, and I have
never
seen anyone score like that.
Ever.
Coach is right. If you play even half that good on Saturday, we're going to win for sure.”

Coach Connors approached them with the ball bag.

“Blew another net, Coach,” Trisha reported.

Coach Connors shook his head as he examined the ragged hole where the ball had blasted right through the net. “I can't get mad,” he said. “We've never had so many consecutive wins before. The team is on fire this year. But, Gabriella,
try
to take it a little easy on the equipment, would you?”

“Sorry, Coach,” Gabriella said. “I got a little carried away.”

“I know,” Coach Connors replied. “But save it for Saturday, okay?”

Then he tossed the ball bag toward Trisha; as team captain it was her responsibility to gather all the soccer balls that had been used for drills.

“Here,” Gabriella said, reaching for the bag. “Let me help.”

“Thanks,” Trisha replied. They split up for a while, crisscrossing the field as they gathered several soccer balls. Soon there was just one ball left—the one that Gabriella had kicked through the net. Only hitting the side of the school had stopped it.

“You go,” Gabriella said to Trisha. “I know you have a bus to catch. I walk home, so I'm not in a rush.”

Trisha glanced over her shoulder at the buses idling in the parking lot. “This is my responsibility,” she began.

“And it's my fault the ball is all the way over there,” Gabriella said, laughing easily in the sunshine. It felt good—
so good
—to be at the top of her game, to be unstoppable on the field, to have such good friends playing by her side. She couldn't
wait
for Saturday's game.

Then Gabriella noticed she was laughing alone.

“What?” she asked self-consciously as Trisha stared at her. “Is there grass in my hair or something?”

“It's just . . . Your eyes . . . They're brown, right?” Trisha asked, peering at Gabriella. “They look brown now, I mean. But on the field . . .”

Gabriella fought the urge to look down; to cover her eyes and sprint away from Trisha.
Act normal,
she ordered herself, which was easier said than done.

“I thought they were yellow!” Trisha continued, totally oblivious to Gabriella's discomfort. “Like a cat or something! Isn't that weird?”

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.