Gale #2
Roe, Maggie, and Jazz stood motionless inside the door as though awaiting their leader’s instructions on where to sit. The only other people present were the crew from Twisted Fates, who had all taken seats on the left-hand side of the table.
They looked at us.
We looked at them.
No one spoke.
Anticipation and burning hostility raised the room’s temperature by 10 degrees.
Suddenly parched, I zeroed in on the glasses and pitchers of water spread at intervals along the length of the table. I wanted a drink. I wanted to wait in the car. What had I agreed to?
A presentation display screen and a laptop sat at the far end of the table near the window. Otherwise, the seats on the right-hand side remained available. Olivia motioned for us to take them.
Once settled, my sister, rarely intimidated by anyone, folded her hands together and addressed Ozrik, who sat directly across from her.
“So, Devereaux. What brings your crew to the city this morning? Did you misread your weather charts?” She squinted into the bright sunlight streaming through the window. “Am I missing something?”
Boldness was a personality trait I didn’t share with my sister—one of many.
Quarreling amused Olivia, and she often instigated confrontations for the sheer pleasure, while I did everything in my power to avoid them.
She especially enjoyed messing with wiseasses who thought they were superior in any way.
Like Ozrik Devereaux.
Ozrik clutched his chest in mock amusement. “Oh, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha. Please stop. I’m in stitches.” He rolled his eyes. “The better question, Windrow, is what are you doing here?”
My sister huffed derisively. “Isn’t it obvious? The studio is looking for talent.”
“Sooo, they called you?” Ozrik rubbed his chin as he glanced at the rest of his team. “I’m confused?”
Roe joined the fun. “Let me spell it out for you. No one wants your ugly face on TV. They’d much rather someone pretty like Liv.”
I liked Roe. Of all my sister’s companions, he was the most down-to-earth. He treated me with kindness.
Maggie and Jazz snickered. I ducked my chin and stared worriedly at the table’s surface.
Not to discount my sister’s looks, but Ozrik Devereaux was not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. If they put him on TV, I would watch every episode. In secret. In fact, his attractiveness unsettled me to the point I’d had a visceral reaction to his presence in the bathroom earlier.
The wink he’d aimed in my direction not ten minutes ago was something I wasn’t ready to dissect.
Of course, he’d also checked out my sister, so I rather believed the wink was a silent means of acknowledging his place.
Laughable. He clearly didn’t know me. Even if I was inclined to be the protective brother, Olivia would never stand for it.
Our roles had been reversed for as long as I could remember.
If anyone protected anyone in our dynamic, Olivia protected me.
It was guys like Ozrik, brazen, egotistical, and self-possessed, who had driven me out of the seminary five years ago. People like him could be whoever they wanted, do whatever they wanted, act however they wanted, and say whatever they wanted. Consequences be damned.
People like me, swamped in fear and with no backbone to speak of, suffered their abuse.
Before the bickering escalated, the door to the conference room opened. Everyone hushed. Two suited men strutted in, wearing matching million-dollar grins, radiating an air of importance, and trailing a cloud of cologne.
I didn’t know who was who, but I suspected the older gentleman was Dennis Hawking, owner and founder of CineVision Entertainment.
His salt-and-pepper hair gleamed, and he possessed a certain demeanor one equated with wealth and power.
His gaze skipped over Ozrik’s group, barely acknowledging them, before settling on Olivia.
A smile lit up his face. “There she is.” He passed our side of the table, stopping behind my sister and leaning over. “Please don’t run off when we’re done here. I want a picture of us together. My son will be so jealous.”
“Of course.” Olivia beamed at the attention.
The other man had tawny hair and a tanned complexion that spoke of beach vacations under the sun. He scanned the room with the hungry gaze of an artist seeking his muse. That muse was not Olivia.
The instant his greedy eyes landed on Ozrik, the man grinned, showing impressively white teeth.
On his way to the front of the room, he slapped Ozrik’s shoulder like they were old buddies. “I’m a big fan. Such a big fan.”
Ozrik grinned devilishly at my sister as he responded. “My man. The honor’s mine.”
Why did I get the sense this was going to turn into World War III?
The gentlemen took their place at the head of the table, where the laptop and presentation materials awaited.
As they set up, a woman in her mid-thirties, equally well-dressed and oozing professionalism, glided into the room and shut the door behind her.
Arms full of a tablet, a notepad, and several writing implements, she took a vacant seat near the exit before arranging her station.
No one introduced her or acknowledged her presence. She melted into the background.
The brief interaction with the man, whom I assumed was the producer, made Ozrik sit straight, like he’d won the game before the gun had gone off. My sister matched his pose, her steel resolve showing. She was not intimidated, nor would she be knocked down easily.
“All right.” The distinguished man with the salt-and-pepper hair clapped his hands and rubbed them together.
“I’m Dennis Hawking, cofounder and CEO of CineVision Entertainment.
Welcome. It’s wonderful to have you here to discuss this new project.
I personally vet our content, which includes evaluating hundreds of submissions to ensure we bring captivating programming to our audiences. ”
I somehow doubted this man personally read through every submission, but I wasn’t about to contradict him.
“Launching new projects is my favorite part of the job. What people don’t realize is how much planning and organizing is required to get these adventures off the ground.
Now, I don’t usually take such a keen interest in project development.
Once approved for production, I trust the producers and their teams to bring it to the screen, but…
” He grinned. “As an avid follower of the Wind Riders, I took to this show idea immediately, so much so that I asked my dear friend Charles if I could be more involved in the process.”
At this, Dennis motioned to the other gentleman.
“I’d like you to meet Charles Gallant. Charles has worked in the film production industry for eighteen years.
I could list his credentials, recite testimonials, name awards, and give a chronological list of his past credits, which I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, but stroking his ego isn’t necessary. ”
Dennis nudged Charles, whose cool poise and haughty smirk were those of a man who looked like he would have thoroughly enjoyed a rundown of his accomplishments and was annoyed at the gloss-over.
“What you need to know,” Dennis went on, “is that Charles and I have worked on several CineVision-exclusive movies, shows, and miniseries over the past four and a half years. All huge successes. I’ll let him explain the project and our proposed outlook.
From there, we will discuss why you’ve been asked here today, although I’m sure you can imagine where this is going. ”
Dennis motioned for Charles to take over, slid into a chair, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and threaded his fingers together, resting them on his taut belly.
Charles adjusted his tie as he scanned Olivia and her crew for the first time. When his gaze landed on me, a faint divot appeared between his brows; the impression of a man accessing an internal data bank as he tried and failed to figure out how I fit into the equation.
Neither man had asked us to introduce ourselves, so I assumed that, if they were fans, both groups were known through their social media presences and YouTube channels.
Except for me. My face had never appeared on Olivia’s YouTube channel because I was not a Wind Rider.
Although Mr. Charles Gallant seemed to come to this conclusion, he didn’t question my presence, focusing on the laptop instead.
A moment later, the giant display screen at the front of the room lit up with an image. A night sky. An angry, dense mountain of cumulonimbus clouds shot through with a combination of forked and spider lightning. Indigo, pinks, and various shades of mauve reflected off the vapors.
In the center of the image were the words Stormz Rising. The Z in Stormz was shaped like its own lightning bolt, and the font was edgy and daring, flickering with the lightning and glowing with a neon hue.
“Gentlemen,” Charles’s voice boomed simultaneously with a rumble of thunder from overhead speakers.
Everyone in the room looked up and around.
Charles grinned.
Dennis cocked a brow at the producer and cleared his throat, subtly tipping his head to our side of the table.
Charles’s gaze flicked to Olivia and Maggie before he amended the statement.
“Pardon me. Ladies and gentlemen. I’m thrilled to present the birth of a new and exclusive miniseries, premiering summer 2026, with the pilot episode tentatively scheduled for July sixth.
” Another crack of thunder. The words on the screen flashed.
Charles continued once the rumble petered off. “Stormz Rising will be CineVision Entertainment’s next big hit. People love to get their hearts racing. They love danger. They love risk. They love the power of Mother Nature.”
The screen changed, showing a video of a lightning storm over prairie land, with a distinct, slowly rotating wall cloud visible on the horizon. The trees in the distance were bent by the high wind. Every chaser in the room recognized the first sign of cyclonic motion and sat up, paying attention.