The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(95)

Her hate would kill them.

Eve’s laughter filled the angry wind. “That’s right! Call the cyclone. Show us your power and tear up this pathetic excuse for a town.”

Tate’s hand slipped over Foster’s. Gently prying open her clenched fist, he wove his fingers between hers. “Not with anger, Foster. That’ll only bring more death—more sadness.”

“Anger’s never the way.” G-pa’s gruff voice sliced through the wind, opening a conduit directly to Foster’s heart.

“Shut it, old man,” Luke said.

“Yeah, you’re just jealous that anger’s doing all of this.” Matthew’s arm swept up at the malevolent funnel swirling above Foster. “Check it out, you fossil. This is real power.”

“No. This isn’t real power.” Charlotte was suddenly there, standing beside Foster. “Anger’s not the way because hate isn’t the strongest emotion.”

“That would be amour—love,” Bastien said, stepping up beside Charlotte.

“No, that would be childish bullshit,” Eve said. “But enough of this. Here’s the truth, precious little Foster. It’s your turn to act like a real daughter and be there for Father. At his side. Where he needs you and your powers.”

“Be there for him? Or be complicit in his crimes and madness like you’ve been?” Foster shot back at her.

“You know nothing, child,” Eve said.

At that moment Eve seemed to speak Cora’s words and Foster’s breath caught in her throat. As she stared at Eve, seeing the familiar stranger within her expression, Foster’s anger snuffed.

“I know the difference between right and wrong—helping and enabling. I don’t know what broke you, Eve, but I pity you,” Foster said.

Eve’s dark eyes flashed with something that might have been embarrassment, but it was gone too fast for Foster to truly name it. Then the older woman shrugged. “No matter. Being a good daughter is a learned behavior. Time for you to go to school, Foster.”

Foster’s grin split her face and had her laughing with amusement. “School? No thanks. Never liked it. I prefer to think for myself.”

“That’s enough. Matthew, Mark, Luke, back me up! Time to end this now!” With every other word she stomped her foot. The earth flinched and quivered in response.

Charlotte’s wet fingers found Foster’s. “What can we do?”

“I’ll fry you crispy!” Luke lunged forward, flames shooting from his glowing hands.

Foster didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, anchored to the ground by Tate and Charlotte, and blew a calming, soothing exhale. Wind crashed into fire. Luke groaned, his feet digging trenches in the sand as his flames suffocated.

“It’s love, right?” Charlotte shouted excitedly over Foster’s breath.

Luke fell to his knees, and Matthew rushed to his side. They had moments, seconds to work out a way to stay free, to survive.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Foster asked.

Charlotte held her free hand out to Bastien. As he twined his fingers with hers, she cleared her throat. “I love being a girl!” The thrashing waves changed direction, pulsing closer to shore, closer to the Fucktastic Four as Charlotte turned to Bastien.

“Liberté!” he hollered. Salt water rushed forward and pushed Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Eve’s feet out from under them. The Four splashed against the rapidly deepening water in a jumble of legs and arms and curses.



“And I love my grandma Myrtie!” Charlotte added. The ocean surged then, filling an invisible bowl and surrounding the Four in a bubble of good wishes and water.

“I love strawberries!” Tate winked at Foster, a small laugh twitching his lips as the Fucktastic Four beat against the skin of the slowly spinning circle.

Hand in hand, Foster led Tate, Charlotte, and Bastien to their creation. Beads of air shot from Eve’s mouth as she floated, kicking and screaming. Compassion twitched through Foster as she met Eve’s wild eyes.

Does who you love, love you back?

Foster wet her lips and took a deep breath. “I love my mother, my Cora. Now, Tate,” she glanced at her Clark Kent, his shirt billowing behind him, a bit cape-like, in the strong gusts. “Let’s make them fly.” They lifted their joined hands and flicked their wrists as if shooing a bug. The rippling ball surged up, then out, out, out, a liquid meteor arching past the horizon to disappear against the clearing sky.



* * *



The change was instantaneous. The rain stopped. The wind faded to a warm caress, the clouds clearing to reveal the aquamarine sky. Foster staggered, and Tate caught her, hugging her tightly as he whispered against her ear, “We did it! We did it!”

Someone coughed and they turned to face Charlotte, Bastien, and the waterlogged G-pa and his Bugsy.

“What now?” asked Charlotte as her gaze went from Foster to Tate, and back to Foster again.

“Well, we’d like you to come home with us—to our Fortress of Sauvietude,” Foster said, trying her best to sound friendly and reasonable and not psycho-killer-like.

“Yeah, it’s a long trip home, but a really good story. Promise,” Tate said.

“Are you asking or telling us to?” Bastien spoke up.