“It’s going to be a strong one,” she said, looking up. The sky was bruised, a tinge of green to the gray, with the last of the sunlight giving it a bloodied edge. “Strong storms,” Vasyl mused. “What strange things your country admires.” It was just more of his nonsense, things he said to keep the customers suitably impressed with his etheric connections, but as they left downtown and pulled onto the wooded road, Maryse wondered. Strong storms and angry rivers. This part of the country wouldn’t love them, and while she was usually fine with that, now it made her shiver.
