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And get your first look at the cover.

The prodigal son has returned, and hes bringing someStrange Weatherwith him.

Joe-Hill-authorphoto

Credit: Joe Hill

Strange Weatherhits shelves Oct. 24.

Excerpt fromStrange Weatherby Joe Hill

Snapshot

1.

Like most budding engineers, I honed my craft on a series of basically juvenile pranks.

strange weather[4]

I didnt make a sound, just watched her for a bit.

She was whispering to herself.

I put the party gun aside.

Almost from the first, I felt it was important not to do anything to alarm her.

The monkey brain absorbs a great deal of information from subtle cues that we arent even aware weve received.

I squinted into the horizon as if watching the flight of a far-off airplane.

I didnt speak until I was almost within arms reach of her.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Beukes, I said, pretending to notice her for the first time.

Her head swung toward me, and her plump face instantly settled into a look of pleasant benignity.

Well, Ive got myself all mixed up!

I walked all the way down here, but I dont know why!

This isnt my day to clean!

But she had retired after her triple bypass in 1982.

It hadnt been Shellys day to clean in six years.

Her cloth shoulder bag drooped open.

Id better go home, Shelly said suddenly, almost robotically.

The Afrikaner will be wondering where I got to.

The Afrikaner was her husband, Lawrence Beukes, who had emigrated from Cape Town before I was born.

Being huge was his primary professional responsibility.

Larry and Arnie had once both appeared in the same calendar.

Larry was February and flexed in the snow, wearing nothing but a tight black hammock for his nuts.

Ill walk you, I said and took her arm.

I felt bad about her bare feet on the hot road.

It was muggy, and the mosquitoes were out.

Given her disorientation, I didnt think it could be ruled out.

I fought down my unease and asked if I could carry her coat.

She gave her head a quick shake.

I dont want to be recognized.

She leaned toward me and in a voice that was practically a hiss said, The Polaroid Man.

That slick fing weasel in his convertible.

Hes been taking pictures when the Afrikaner isnt around.

I dont know how much hes taken away with his camera, but he cant have any more.

She gripped my wrist.

Dont let him take a picture of you, she said.

Dont let him start taking things away.