Archie stood straight, still as a statue. His style seemed to be stealth
rather than an intimidating windup. He held the ball in both hands at his
waist, and then, like the strike of a cobra, his right hand flicked out and the
ball smacked into Jessamine’s hand with a sound like a gunshot.
“Was that a strike?” I whispered to Earnest.
“If they don’t hit it, it’s a strike,” he told me.
Jessamine hurled the ball back to Archie’s waiting hand. He permitted
himself a brief grin. And then his hand spun out again.
This time the bat somehow made it around in time to smash into the
invisible ball. The crack of impact was shattering, thunderous; it echoed
off the mountainside—I immediately understood the need for the storm.
I was barely able to follow the ball, shooting like a meteor above the
field, flying deep into the surrounding forest.

page 306