I didn’t know if I was actually looking at Whirlwind Woman, whatever it—she—was. But the whorls in the air seemed . . . cohesive was the only word that came to mind, like there was an organized pattern to it I could only intuit.
“Um, so how do I go about this?” I asked. “I am sorry if I stepped into her turf, but, you know, it’s kind of my job as a storm rider to keep the weather from ripping holes in reality and letting through the nasties.”
The whorls shifted slightly, some elongating, others condensing, some shifting position just a touch.”
“Are you interpreting for Whirlwind Woman?” I asked Melissa?
She laughed. “No. Any movies where someone tries to interpret for the spirits is out of line. The spirits can speak for themselves. I’m just here to see if you’re sincere enough.”
“Okay . . . I’m really really sorry.”
“For what?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
Melissa rolled her eyes.
“This is pretty vague,” Nat said.
“You know, I could make those air patterns, too,” Jack said.
I turned on Jack. “Can you ever not be a total fucking asshole? I don’t care what you do, but you’re not going to kill this for me. I want to get fixed. If the nice wind lady says I did something wrong, then I did something wrong. You say anything else, I’m going to punch you in the balls until you throw up.”
Jack glared, then opened his mouth.
“Joaquin!” Anna Maria cut him off. “Know when it is enough. Even you admit there are powers greater than us . . . and of worse temperament.”
Jack folded his arms and harrumphed.
I turned back to Melissa, but she held up a hand.
“Okay, you’re good. Now I need him to be sorry,” she pointed at Jack.
“Um, well, technically he didn’t do anything. He wasn’t even here. It was all me. He just caught it from me.”
“That really doesn’t matter. He’s just an overprivileged, white douchebro.”
We all nodded to that. Even Jack after a moment.
At least he knows it.