Page 12 of The Elementalist
He snorted. “NowthatI could believe.”
Crude humor aside, I made a show of raising my hand again and the wind increased, flapping his shirt around his big frame. I lowered it again, and the wind decreased. Eyes wide, Ron couldn’t help but do the math. Then he broke out into a wide grin.
“Ha, that’s a cool trick. You almost had me going there. Is someone controlling the AC?” He turned in his seat, looked for someone standing near a thermostat, except neither of us knew where to look. “Well, they’re somewhere.”
“It’s no trick, Ron.”
“You having someone film me? Is this going on some YouTube practical joke channel? Is that how you’re making money, now that your business has all but dried up?”
“First of all no, and second, ouch. I happen to have a client.”
“Apayingclient?”
“Of course.”
“Fine. So tell me how you did that wind trick.”
“It’s not a trick, and there’s no one controlling the AC or opening and closing doors or standing behind you with a giant fan.”
“Fine.” He squinted his reddish eyes at me. “Then do it again.”
For the first time in many hours, I grinned. After all, this had been a helluva weird day.
I took in some air and raised both hands, palms up. I did so with the intent to cause a bigger storm.Intentseemed to be themost important part.
Wind erupted seemingly everywhere at once, but I knew, in fact, it was blowingawayfrom me, in all directions. I was in a sort of wind-free vortex. Around me, everything moved. Glasses shot off tables, menus erupted from storage bins like flocks of startled seagulls. A bad toupee flapped free, and hamburger buns went flying. Ron reached out, fighting the wind, and pulled my hands down. The wind slowed, then stopped as my hands came to rest on the table top. The restaurant devolved into turmoil, people standing, running, chattering, wiping spilled drinks and flying food from their clothing. Neon signs had fallen from wall mounts, and glasses and dishes had flown off tables. Napkins still fluttered in the air like so many butterflies.
Ron ignored it all; instead, he stared at me. “Holy sweet mother of God.”
“Exactly.”
“Max, what...wasthat? Please say it was a trick.”
“No trick.”
“Wh-where’s the camera?”
“There’s no camera, my friend. This is real.”
“You... you did that?”
“Would you like another demonstration?”
He said nothing, and so I raised one hand with the intent to whirl some wind around his head, and that’s exactly what happened. The look of fear and awe on my friend’s face was priceless.
“Okay, stop. Jesus, Max.”
“I’m not Jesus. At least, I don’t think I am.”
“What’s happening?”
“No clue. But I needed you to see it, too. At least I know it’s not all in my head.”
“It’s a miracle. Wait, there are no cameras on me, right? Swear to God this is true.”
“It’s true buddy. Something is happening to me.”
“If this is some trick, I swear to God I will get you back every day for the rest of my life.”
