I was thinking that the Wardens needed a new motto. The old one, the one on the seals on my diploma, was Defensor Hominem, Latin for "Defender of Mankind," but sometime in the past twenty-four hours, I'd become convinced that I had a more appropriate motto: We're So Screwed.
Yeah, that pretty much covered it.
"Duck!" I yelled as another piece of debris came flying toward us, and grabbed for whatever order I could manage in the chaos of the weather around us. Not the easiest thing in the world, considering that the whole eastern seaboard's system had been destabilized by a gigantic killer supernatural storm--now mysteriously vanquished, through no doing of mine--and all kinds of random, unpleasant, potentially fatal problems were presenting themselves.
Currently, those included a rather large and very aggressive tornado plowing its way across some unoccupied farmland and tossing pieces of broken fence ahead of it like shrapnel.
Cherise--my traveling companion, mainly because she had a kick-ass fast Mustang and I needed wheels--squeaked and hit the dirt, covering her pretty blond head with both hands. I remained standing. It wasn't heroism, exactly, more that I didn't want to dirty up what remained of my clothes. I think about things like that during the more garden-variety apocalypses.
This is what happens when someone like me--a Weather Warden--stops for a bathroom break in the middle of a crisis. And dammit, I hadn't even gotten bladder relief out of it. I had a very personal reason to hold my ground: the tornado was threatening to flatten the only roadside public restroom in forty miles.
I reached out for the wind currents and grabbed hold of the ones that would do me the most good. A sudden gust of wind, generated by a big push of heat in the right area, deflected an oncoming piece of fencepost--a nice big chunk of jagged wood, the size of a fire hydrant--off to the side, where it smacked into an unlucky wind-lashed tree, which it uprooted with a crash. Dirt flew, adding to the general chaos and mayhem. I studied the tornado, ignoring gusts that tried to push me over; I was standing in a bubble of more or less calm air, but the wind was getting through in fits and spurts. Whatever good hair day I'd been having was a distant memory. We were into the scary fright-wig territory now.
Yes, I worry about things like hair, too. Probably more than I worry about world peace, mainly because at least I can usually control my hair.
Unable to do anything about my ruined look, focused on the tornado. They're relatively fragile things, for all the scary woo-woo attitude and screaming freight-train soundtrack. Oh, they're terrifying enough if you don't have the power to do anything about them, but luckily, I was well-equipped for this particular challenge. The twister reeled like a drunken top, right, then left, and headed straight for me with fresh enthusiasm, chewing up crops as it went. I hate it when they come straight for me. What did I ever do to them?
Cherise looked up through the gate of her fingers and shrieked, then went back to hiding her eyes. I ignored her and let myself slowly slide out of my body and up into that strange state--partly mental, partly physical, all weird--that the Wardens refer to as the aetheric plane.
It was only one of several planes of existence, but it was the highest one available to me as a human being (even one with, finally, a working set of weather powers). The world took on strange neon swirls, candy-colored sparks, and currents of power. The landscape altered around me into unknown territory.
The tornado was a glittering silver funnel, physics in its most potentially deadly form and given an instinctive menace, like a baby cobra. Fully as deadly as the more mature version, but with less experience. I had to step in before it learned where and how to strike.
I waited another few seconds, reading the patterns, then reached deep inside of the eye of the tornado and rapidly cooled the air into a heavy, sluggish mass. The energy exchange bled off in the form of a sudden burst of cable-thick lightning that snapped from the low-hanging clouds, and the wall of the tornado expanded and lost its coherence. In seconds, it was a confused mass of wind, moving too slowly to form much of a threat. It dropped its load of debris and wandered off at an angle, swirling petulantly.
"Okay," I said to Cherise as I sank back into my body and the comfortable solidity of three-dimensional space. "You can get up now. Show's over. First one to the bathroom uses all the toilet paper."
She didn't seem inclined to believe me. I waited a few seconds, then reached down and grabbed her elbow to haul her upright. She looked around, breathless.
"Wow," she said. "Okay, that was intense."
"Oh, I don't know. The hurricane was intense. This was just annoying."
"Jo, trust me on this one: Everything about what's happened since I met you is intense. Does this happen to you a lot?"
"You'd be surprised," I sighed. "Seriously. Bathroom, or you're going to be buying new seats for the Mustang."
We dashed off for the grubby-looking toilets. They were predictably scary, but I didn't care. It was a very happy few minutes, and if you've ever been stuck on the road without bathroom facilities for several hundred miles, you'll know what I mean.
We arrived back at the car at the same time. I held out my hand for the car keys, and a silent battle of wills ensued, but then Cherise had been driving the last stretch and what was she going to do? Argue with a woman who'd just stopped a tornado in its tracks? She dug them out of the pocket of her low-rise jeans and tossed them over.
"I'll try to keep us in the clear from now on," I said.
"I'd tell you not to scratch the paint, but--" Cherise rolled her eyes. Yeah, the hurricane and ensuing sand blasting had pretty much taken care of ruining the shiny finish. But the Mustang still ran, and that was the important thing.
While I'd been asleep, she'd put the top up on the car--sensible, with the intermittent rain--but I pressed the buttons to fold it back again. I wanted as much of a 360-degree view of the sky and surroundings as I could get. My version of a Doppler system.
I eased into the comfy seat of the Mustang--candy-apple red, a yummy little treat of a car, or at least it had been before I'd gotten hold of it--and adjusted the seat for my longer legs as Cherise slid into my vacated shotgun position. Not that we had a shotgun. Though thanks to recent events, I'd have been more comfortable if we had some kind of arsenal beyond our wits, good looks, and a turbocharged engine.
I had my work cut out for me as we eased back into gear and tore at top speed along I-295. The storm systems just kept piling up--there was a new supercell forming off the low-pressure system in Georgia, and it was bound to head our way. That wasn't good physics, but it was the way my generally crappy luck ran these days.
"That was a good trick with the tornado, Mom," said a voice from the backseat. Formal, female, and a little awkward. I jumped in surprise, and then I focused on a face in the rearview mirror that was eerily similar to my own, except for the eyes. Mine were plain blue. The ones staring back at me were an interesting shade of ruddy gold--I don't mean amber; amber's a human color. This was amber on acid. Amber taken up to insane saturation levels.
In short, the eyes were Djinn. And they belonged to my daughter.
They widened. "Did I frighten you?"
"Frighten?" I shot back. "Why should I be frightened if somebody pops out of nowhere into the backseat of my car? Let's see, half the Djinn are trying to kill the Wardens, and at least some of the Wardens are infected with Demon Marks, and let's not forget the weather's all screwed up... oh, and the Earth's about to wake up and destroy humankind. You know what? Being a little frightened is a pretty laid-back response, all things considered, and yeah, next time? Knock."
She smiled. Tentatively, as if she was still translating all of that into Djinn-speak. I felt an immediate stab of guilt; the poor kid had been alive for all of not-even-a-day. She seemed to lack the one characteristic that was common among all the Djinn I'd ever met: smugness. I'd thought it came coded in Djinn DNA, along with pretty eyes and the cool ability to pop in and out of existence at will.
"Although," Imara ventured, "you could have done it more efficiently. Do you want me to show you how?"
"Not right now," I managed to say between gritted teeth. "Any guidance you can offer beyond second-guessing my lifesaving abilities?"
She looked injured. So I wasn't good at this mom thing. I was still trying to get my head around the idea that the child I had carried inside me--and it wasn't a normal pregnancy, by any stretch of the imagination--had all of a sudden sprung up fully adult, with her own set of emotions unrelated to my own.
"Sorry," I said, more softly. "Imara, do you know anything? Anything about--" David, oh God, I'm afraid for you. And I miss you. "--about your father?"
She shook her head, holding my eyes in the mirror. Djinn, unlike human beings, spring out of death, not life. The greater the death, the greater the Djinn--that's the rule. Djinn don't like to acknowledge that a lot of them have very human histories behind them, but it's an indisputable fact. David--Djinn and lover and father of my child--had told me months ago that in order for our child to be born, it would mean he had to die. That was the normal order of things, in the Djinn world.
Only something strange had happened, and another death--a greater death--had stepped in to give my child life. David was still alive.
Just not himself, exactly. He'd become... different.
"Mom," Imara said. "Are you all right?" She waved a graceful hand in front of my face, which I impatiently swatted away and focused back on my driving. "I apologize," she said, and withdrew back into a dignified sitting position. "I thought you were in some kind of distress."
I can't describe how it feels to hear that word. Mom. Oh, I'd gotten comfortable with the idea of being pregnant, but being a mother was a whole different thing--especially mother of a grown young woman who dressed better than I did. I consoled myself that she wore couture because she was Djinn, and able to conjure up whatever clothes amused her, and plus she hadn't been through a hurricane. And a tornado. And a very long drive.
"I was thinking about your father," I said. Which was an admission of distress in itself.
"He's all right," she said, leaning forward and laying her forearm across the top of my seat. "I would know if he wasn't. I just don't know where he is or what he's doing."
Cherise was watching all of this with bright, feverish eyes. I had no idea what she was making of it. Knowing Cherise, probably something very interesting.
"Should I go find out?" Imara asked hopefully.
"No!" I yelped, and grabbed her wrist. She looked startled. "You stay put. I want you where I can keep my eye on you."
She gave me a mutinous look. Why hadn't my own mother traded me in once I'd hit puberty? I remembered giving her loads of mutinous looks. It was hugely annoying from this side of the maternal fence.
"I'm serious," I said. "The last time we saw any of the other Djinn, they weren't in the best mood ever. I don't want you running into trouble. I can't bail you out of it. Not against David."
I tried to sound as if dealing with this, and with her, was all in a day's work. Probably didn't succeed, judging from the smile she gave me. It wasn't my smile. It was entirely her own, with a little lopsided quirk on one side.
"I'll stay," she said. "Besides, you may need me next time, if the weather gets worse."
Cherise blurted out, "Next time? Does there have to be a next time?" "Not if I can help it," I said firmly, and pressed a little more speed out of the accelerator. The cool, damp air streamed over my skin like the ghost of rain. I could have done with a more substantial sort of shower, the kind that came with shampoo and soap, but this did feel good. There was heavier weather up ahead, but we were in a clear area for the time being. I could arrange for it to stay with us, at least most of the way. "Cherise, you'd better get some rest." She needed it, poor thing. She'd been too crazed to sleep before, so I'd let her take over after we were a few hours out of Fort Lauderdale, and then again seven hours later. She'd barely closed her eyes since, and now she was starting to show the effects. Cherise was a perky, gorgeous thing, all tanned and toned in the best tradition of Florida beach bunnies, but there were telltale dark circles under her eyes. (She'd actually been a bikini model. And the "fun and sun" girl back at the podunk, fourth-rate television station that had employed us both in Florida. I didn't like remembering my job, but it hadn't involved a bikini. Except that once.)
Right on cue, Cherise yawned. "How much longer?" she asked. Actually, she said, "Ow uch onger?" but I got the point.
"About another four hours," I said. "I'll wake you when we get close."
She yawned again and wadded up a blue jean jacket to serve as a pillow against the window, and in less time than it took to whip past six billboards, she was sound asleep. I thought about turning on the radio, but I didn't want to wake her.
"So," I said, and looked in the rearview mirror. My daughter met my gaze, lifting her eyebrows. There was something of David in the expression, and I felt a sad little stab of recognition and longing.
"So," she replied. "This is strange for you, isn't it?"
"Little bit, yeah."
"Would it make it better if I told you it was strange for me, too?"
"It might," I said. "You're sure you can't tell what Dav--what your father's up to?"
Her eyes took on a distant glitter, just a second's worth, and then she shook her head. "No. I can't tell. He's shut me out. They've all shut me out." She sounded wistful. "I think he did it for my protection. This way she can't get to me."
She, meaning Mother Nature. The Earth. One very ticked-off planet, who was coming slowly out of an eons-long slumber and wondering Wearily what the hell had happened with the human race while she wasn't looking. After all, in the tradition of surly teens everywhere, we'd taken the opportunity to throw loud parties and trash the place while she'd been out. It's not nice to fool Mother Nature. It's even worse to fool with her.
I focused back on Imara. "So... you're not connected to the Earth? The way the rest are?"
She looked away, and after a few seconds I realized that she was embarrassed by what she was going to say.
"It's a little like hearing music coming from the car next to you--you can hear the bass notes, but you can't make out the tune. It's not all Father's doing. There's a lot of you in me, and it holds me back." Her eyes flew back up to meet mine, stricken. "I didn't mean--"
"I know what you mean," I said. "I'm a handicap."
Even though I was, of course. I'd worked out fairly quickly that Imara wasn't fully Djinn... Right now, that was an advantage, with the other Djinn more or less susceptible to control by the waking Earth, and pretty much unreliable in the free-will department. But what did it mean for her, long-term? How would she be accepted by the other Djinn? And what would happen if--God forbid--she ever had to go up against them in a real battle?
I couldn't think about that. I couldn't stand to imagine her going up against someone like Ashan, who had the morals and kindness of a spider.
She was watching me steadily with those bright, inhuman eyes. I had a cold flash. "Can you tell what I'm thinking?" I asked.
Her eyebrows rose. "Will it make you angry if I say yes?"
"Yes."
"No."
"You're lying to me."
"Why would I do that?"
"You really are David's child, you know that?"
She smiled. "He really loves you, you know. I can feel that, too. It's the warmest thing in him, his love for you."
"I thought you said he'd cut you off."
"He has. But short of killing me, he can't cut me off completely." She shrugged. "He's my father."
I felt my throat heat and tighten, and tears prickled my eyes. I swallowed and blinked and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "Right. So, am I doing the right thing here? Heading to New York?"
In the absence of any other ideas, I was heading for the relative safe haven of Warden Headquarters, where those of us who'd survived the last few days were sure to gather. All hell had broken loose among the Wardens, with wholesale mayhem from the normally compliant and subservient Djinn. I just hoped that I wouldn't be coming back to find... nothing. The last thing I wanted was to be the last Warden standing, with the Earth waking up and Djinn running crazy. Granted, it would be exciting. It would just be a very short story, and a very ugly ending.
"I don't know if it's the right thing to do or not," my daughter replied solemnly. "I'm only a day old."
Great. I had no idea whether I was doing the right thing, I had a smart-ass immortal kid, and Cherise for a wingman.
Yeah, this was going to end well. No doubt about it.
Four hours later, it was dark and I was exhausted. Twenty-two hours in a car, even a Mustang, will do that to you. The Mustang purred around me like a contented tiger. Not the Mustang's fault that I was so tired that I wanted to weep, or that my world was falling apart, or that I was driving where my head sent me instead of my heart. My heart was back in Florida, where I'd last seen David. Where I'd last seen my sister Sarah, who was now officially a missing person, last seen being carried off by a British madman named Eamon. (I'd made use of my cell phone to report the abduction to the FBI. If that didn't screw up whatever escape plans Eamon had made, I couldn't imagine what would.)
Nope. None of it was the Mustang's fault. I liked the Mustang just fine. I was wondering how exactly I could arrange to get it as a permanent lease, once it was repainted, of course.
The Mustang's real owner stirred and smacked her lips the way people do when they wake up with monster morning breath. Cherise blinked at the pastel wash of late-night lights as we came out of the Lincoln Tunnel, and she stretched as we cruised to a halt at a stoplight a few blocks later. Guys in cars all around us watched, even though Cherise wasn't at her well-groomed best at the moment. Some girls just have it. Cherise had so much of it, the rest of us needed time-shares just to get by.
"Nurgh," she said, or something like it, then dry-rubbed her face and threw back her hair and tried again. "Whatimesit?" Or a mumble to that effect.
"Almost one a.m.," I said. Since we'd traveled directly up the eastern seaboard, the Mustang's dashboard clock hadn't been fazed by our twelve-hundred-miles-in-just-under-one-day jaunt. I eyed it with the numbed disbelief of someone who couldn't quite fathom where all the hours had gone. Straight into my ass, it felt like. "We should be there soon."
Cherise turned and peered over the leather seat at Imara, who was stretched out like a cat over the backseat, comfortable and indolent. "Oh. You're still here?"
"Obviously."
"I was kind of hoping you'd gone back to the mother ship by now."
I smothered a chuckle. "Cher, she's not an alien."
"Right," she said. "Not an alien. Glowing eyes, disappears at the drop of a hat. But not from another planet, got it." Cherise, needless to say, was a fervent devotee of The X-Files and alien invasion stories in all shapes and Jerry Bruckheimer sizes. She had a little big-headed gray alien tattoo to prove it, right at the small of her back. "Is Pod Girl going with us all the way?"
Imara raised a single eyebrow, in imitation of either everybody's favorite Vulcan, or at least a popular former wrestler. "Going all the way? Is that a euphemism for something else?" she asked.
"Honey," Cherise said, "you're not that cute. Well, okay, maybe if I was really drunk and your eyes didn't glow, but--"
"Hey!" I snapped. "That's my kid you're talking to." And besides, my kid was pretty much the spitting image of, well, me. So I was a little weirded out. "Are you going with us, Imara?"
I She looked frankly astonished. "I have a vote?"
"Of course."
"Then I'll go with you. As a dutiful child." She still looked too grave and self-contained, but I could see a twinkle of humor in there, buried deep.
Cherise responded to that with a dubious snort for both of us. "Whatever. So, tell me again where we're going?"
"You remember how I told you about the Wardens?" I asked.
"Organization of people like you, with all kinds of superpowers, who control the weather and stuff. Speaking of, weren't we in the middle of a hurricane that was about to kill us about twenty-four hours ago? If you could control the weather, what was up with the hundred-mile-an-hour winds? I meant to ask earlier, but I was, you know, dealing with my trauma."
"It's not as easy as just waving a hand!" I protested. "And anyway, I wasn't supposed to interfere right then.--Oh, fine. Maybe I was having an off day. In answer to your original question, we're going to my office. Warden Headquarters."
"In New York City."
"Midtown, to be exact. First and Forty-sixth." She had a look of incomprehension. "In the UN Building."
Her expression didn't change.
"You have heard of the UN, right? United Nations? Bunch of guys who get together, talk about world peace?..."
Imara murmured, "Even I know what the UN is, and I really was born yesterday."
Cherise shot her a dirty look. "Shut up! I know what the UN is!"
"Sorry."
"But... the UN controls the weather? Because I thought they were all about that whole world peace thing."
I reclaimed the conversation from the bickering--ah, children. "No, they don't control the weather. They lease office space to the Wardens, who do."
Cherise didn't bother to say, "You're insane," but the expression on her face was pretty clear, and considering this was coming from a girl who half believed aliens had abducted Elvis, that was special. She even edged a little bit more toward the passenger-side window. I was wishing that I'd left Cherise at any of the various gas stations we'd blown past along the way, but it would take only one unhappy phone call from her claiming I'd stolen her car to end my trip real quick. Hadn't seemed prudent, given the priorities.
"You weren't kidding," Cherise said, studying the building as we got closer. "We really are going to the UN. Is it even open?"
"Trust me, the Wardens never close." My whole body ached, and I really, really needed a shower. I'd scrubbed cleanish in a truck stop restroom a lifetime ago, because I just hadn't been able to stand it anymore, but I wasn't what you might call business-meeting ready. My eyes ached and watered from the glare of streetlights. I was grateful that at least it wasn't full daylight. That would have been much, much worse.
I made the turn to the special security-controlled parking garage, which was locked up like Fort Knox. There was a scanner on the driver's side. I rolled down the window and extended my hand. A green laser jittered over my exposed skin, and the door silently rolled up. I gunned it, because in seconds the door reversed course and began its downward journey. Down a corkscrewing Habitrail of a parking ramp, to a floor marked only with the sign AUTHORIZED PARKING ONLY. I was authorized. I slid into the first available parking slot.
It worried me that there were so many parking spaces unoccupied.
"Come on, we have a special door." "We do? A special door? Cool." Cherise scrambled out of the car. Imara emerged after her, elegant and tall, tossing long black hair back from her face as if she were ready for a photo shoot. I decided she didn't look like me at all. I'd never looked that glamorous. Well, I'd never felt that glamorous, anyway.
There was supposed to be a special guard on the special door. There was certainly a special-made guardpost, and as far as I knew it was supposed to be manned 24-7. Only nobody was there. Maybe the guard had gone for a call of nature, but I doubted it. I tried the steel door to the hut. Locked. Lights glowed on panels inside, but the windows were covered with steel mesh. That left us standing in a hot white wash of light, looking suspicious. I looked around, and sure enough, there was a surveillance camera--as ubiquitous as houseflies in the modern world. I waved, then turned to the door again.
"There's no lock or handle," Cherise said. "Don't they have to open it from in there or something?"
"Or something."
I held up my hand and concentrated. A faint blue sparkle moved across it, lighting up the stylized sunburst that was the symbol of the Wardens. It was magically tattooed into my flesh, and it couldn't be faked.
I ran it across a scanner inset next to the door. I waited, but nothing happened. If there'd been crickets around, they would have been chirping. I sighed, looked at Cherise and Imara, and shook my head. I ran a hand through my tangled hair and pushed it back from my face, back over my shoulders, and wondered what my chances were of bluffing the regular UN guards into granting me admittance.
I didn't wonder very long. They'd raised paranoia to an art form around here, and for very good reasons.
"Right," I said. "I guess we'll have to wait until someone decides that we look safe."
"Yeah, and when will that be?" Cherise asked, with a significant look at our generally less than presentable turnout, Imara notwithstanding.
The door let loose with a thick metallic chunk and swung open about a quarter of an inch.
"Now." I grabbed the edge and moved it wider. It was heavy. Bombproof, most likely. I ushered the girls inside, grabbed the inner handle, and pulled it tight behind me as I entered the building. The lock engaged with a snap and hum of power.
"Um... Jo?" Cherise sounded spooked.
When I turned, there were two people standing in the industrial concrete-block hallway facing us. Both were in blue blazers with a logo on them--UN Security--but with the additional graphic touch of the sun-shaped Wardens symbol pinned to their lapels. Man and woman, both tall and capable-looking. I didn't know them.
I'd seen guns before, though, and they had two great big pistols pointed right at us.
I put my hands in the air. Cherise followed suit, fast, and laced her hands behind her head without being asked. Too many episodes of police shows, I was guessing, or some indiscretions that I didn't want to know about.
Imara didn't raise her hands at all, just looked at the guards with those ruddy-amber eyes and raised her eyebrows, as if they amused the hell out of her.
"Djinn!" the woman in the blazer yelled to her partner, and took a step forward to get an angle on Imara. She had a nice two-handed shooting stance, and a voice hard enough to shatter diamond. Her eyes darted rapidly from Imara to Cherise, and then landed on me. "Warden, put your Djinn back in the bottle. Now!"
I looked at Imara, wide-eyed. She looked back. "Back in the bottle," I said. I didn't own Imara, and she wasn't bound to a bottle anyway, but she was bright enough to realize that this might not be the time to debate the issue. She misted away, off to someplace safer, I hoped. The Wardens were a little paranoid these days. Love me, hate me, want to kill me... it all depended on the mood of who I was talking to, seemed like.
But I understood their paranoia about Djinn. I'd seen the change come over David, on a beach in Florida, and it had terrified me in ways that I'd never thought possible. Nothing more frightening than seeing someone you know, someone you love, go mad.
I focused on the two guards and tried for a wan, friendly smile. "Okay, no problem, right? Djinn's in the bottle. You guys know me. Joanne Baldwin? Weather Warden? I'm here to see Paul Giancarlo."
Whether it was my name or Paul's, something made the two guards exchange a look and relax. They didn't holster their weapons, but they didn't look actively menacing anymore, either. And they pointed the barrels vaguely toward the floor.
"Baldwin," the man repeated. "Right. We've been expecting you." He was a tall fellow, thin without being skinny. The physique of a basketball player under the wool jacket, white shirt, and conservative tie. "Follow us," he said, and turned to walk down the hallway.
I shrugged and followed, Cherise obediently hurrying along with me. I hoped I hadn't dragged her into the middle of something really, really bad. I had to believe the Wardens wouldn't hurt her. They treated normal people with kind, despotic benevolence.
They only ate their own.
Well, even if they tossed her out on her ear, she'd be okay. Cherise would survive. She was the kind of girl who could stand on a New York sidewalk looking helpless, and in under thirty seconds, a dozen guys would dash to the rescue.
We went to the back elevators, which were operated by key card; my minders kept exchanging significant glances, but I didn't think I had much to fear from them. Wardens were never really unarmed, of course, and for the first time in a long time, I was feeling strong and confident. If this turned into a straight-out fight, I was willing and able to oblige. Provided I could get Cherise out of the line of fire--and in Warden terms, that was literal.
The elevator rose up smoothly and deposited us with a muted ding at our destination. The doors opened...
... on a floor I didn't recognize. One that looked like it was under construction, only construction would have been orderly, at least. No, this was under destruction. Paneling in splinters, pictures reduced to smashed frames and piles of glittering glass. Puddles of dark liquid that I really didn't want to examine too closely in the emergency lighting. I'd been to this place recently, and I hardly recognized it at all. It had been a hallowed, hushed center of power.
Now it was the gruesome aftermath of a war zone.
"Oh my God," Cherise murmured behind me, and edged carefully around a pile of splinters and glass that had once, I remembered, been a huge photo of the senior management of the Wardens.
"Watch your step," our male guard said, and ducked under some low-hanging grids dangling from cables. "We're remodeling."
The dry gallows humor didn't thaw out the cold shock in my stomach. "What the hell happened?"
The woman shot me one of those looks. The kind a mother uses when she's out of patience with a child's bullshit. "Guess," she snapped.
It hit me with a vengeance. They'd had a visit from some very motivated Djinn. Hence, the panic over Imara.
I kept my mouth shut as we moved slowly around obstructions to the conference room about halfway down the hall. On the way, I spotted the big marble shrine to Wardens who'd died in the line of duty. It was only lightly chipped, and my name was still on it. I supposed, with all of the furor of the last few months, they hadn't gotten around to chiseling off the writing. Or maybe they just figured my death was inevitable, and why waste the effort...
"In here," the guy said, and pointed through the open conference room door. I say "open," but it was more of a "missing." Sharp fresh-bent hinges sticking out from the wall, no sign of the doors themselves.
The room was lit with emergency lanterns and chemical lights, the kind the Wardens recommended for use in hurricanes and tornadoes. It gave everything a post-apocalyptic glow--splintered heavy furniture, a blizzard of paper scattered over the floor, dark splashes on the shredded carpet.
The surviving Wardens were gathered around the splintered conference table. I counted heads. Nineteen. I made an even twenty.
I remembered the hundreds of Wardens who could have been here, should have been here, and felt a sick jolt in the pit of my stomach.
"Jo." Paul Giancarlo--my old friend and mentor--looked as bad as the room. He was a big guy, well muscled, but he was looking terrifyingly banged up as he limped toward me. I met him halfway in a hug that was careful on my part, desperate on his. He was bandaged around the head, dark hair sticking up in thick unruly clumps on top, and his skin was pasty yellow. He had Technicolor bruises over half his face. "Thank God you're okay."
His pupils were hugely dilated. Pain medication. He was doped to the gills.
I let go and stepped back, and our fingers wrapped tight. He wasn't Lewis, and our various powers didn't amplify and rebound; I felt little to nothing from him, hardly even a whisper. Drugs could do that, but this was something else. He'd drained himself to dangerous levels. I knew how that felt. I'd done it myself, more than once.
"I wish I could say the same about you," I said, and his big hand tightened around mine. "Paul. What happened here?"
"They went crazy," he said, and closed his eyes for a second. "What the hell do you think? Not a damn thing we could do, except try to keep them off of us. Too many Wardens died. Way too many."
I felt cold, imagining it. Djinn were like tigers, I'd always thought: beautiful and sleek and deadly when out of control. And this had definitely been way out of control. I remembered David, back on the beach in Florida-- David, who would never have willingly hurt me--coming for me with his eyes glowing red. I'd have died there, if it hadn't been for Imara. And that had been open ground. In an enclosed space like this, no place to run...
"We couldn't stop them," Paul finished softly. "We lost--" He looked momentarily stunned, trying to recall a number.
Down the table, a quiet voice supplied, "At least thirty. We're lucky we have as many here as we do."
"Lucky?" A half-whisper from a battered young man I didn't recognize, with the solid hum of energy that usually tokened an Earth power. "What part of that was lucky, man? I saw people--I saw friends just ripped in half--"
Paul, sighed. "Yeah, kid, I know. Easy. We're going to get through this, okay? Jo, this is pretty much everybody we could pull in that we could reach. Got more on the way, but it's going to take some time to figure out who's still alive and able to help. Plus, we can't yank everybody out. We need them on the ground, especially now." His gaze fell randomly on Cherise, and stayed. "Who's this?"
"Cherise. She's a friend." After a hesitation, I had to clarify, "Not a Warden."
He looked completely pissed off. "What are we running here? A tour group? Get her the hell out of here!"
I looked at Cherise. She was dead scared and didn't know where to look but she especially didn't want to look at the puddles of dried blood on the carpet or the silent, staring faces of the Wardens. "Cher, why don't you wait in the hall?"
"Hell no," she said. "I've been to the movies. No way am I splitting up in the scary place. C'mon, Jo, I want to stay with you. Please?"
She had a point. No telling what kind of dangers were still lurking around the corner. I turned back to Paul. "She stays," I said. He glowered. "Paul, she stays. We don't have time to screw around with who's allowed in the cool kids' room when the house is on fire, right? Just pretend she's an intern or something."
That wouldn't be too hard. Cherise was looking more and more like an out-of-her-depth undergrad.
"So what do we know?" Tasked, and slid into an empty chair. Cherise hastily took the one next to me. I scanned faces around the room and saw about twelve I recognized. Way too many were missing. I had to hope they were still somewhere out there, doing their jobs. I exchanged quick nods with the people I knew.
"We started losing contact with Wardens all over the country about three days ago. Started with just a few, but it spread like wildfire," a lean, weathered woman of about forty said. "It took us a while to understand that they were being attacked by Djinn. No survivors until they came after Marion."
I glanced down the table into shadows, alarmed. I'd seen Marion... Yes, there she was, half-hidden near the end. Marion was an Earth Warden, and her skill was healing, but self-healing was a chancy undertaking at the best of times. She looked terrible. I exchanged another nod with her.
"Marion, I'm so sorry. Your Djinn--?" I didn't know how to finish that question, because Marion and I knew things about each other that really weren't suited to sharing with a table full of strangers. Such as, I knew that Marion had taken enormous risks to recover her lost Djinn, not so very long ago, and it hadn't been out of selfless duty; she and her Djinn were lovers. That fell under the "forbidden tragic love" section of the Warden code, even under normal circumstances; I just didn't know for certain how tragic it had turned out this time.
She took me off the hook. "My Djinn helped me take out the two who came to--to free him. Then he asked me to put him back into his bottle. I did, and sealed it."
"First good advice we had," Paul said. "We've been getting hold of every Warden we can find and telling them the same thing. Get your Djinn safe and seal the bottles until we know what the hell's going on. You got anything, Jo?"
I stretched my hands flat on the scarred wood surface. "Afraid so. Here's the deal. The Djinn were serving us only because of an agreement made a few thousand years ago between the first Wardens and the most powerful Djinn in the world. His name is--was--Jonathan."
Silence, and then... "Kind of a modern name, isn't it?" Cherise asked. "Jonathan, I mean. Wouldn't he have an Egyptian name or--"
"Cherise. This is my story. You talk later. The thing is, once Jonathan made the agreement, which was supposed to be temporary, the Wardens didn't keep their end of the bargain. They didn't let the Djinn go once the emergency was past all those thousands of years ago. There was always some disaster or another to serve as an extension on the contract, and then they didn't even bother making up excuses. Some of the Djinn have had enough of waiting for the Wardens to grow a conscience, and the Wardens forgot that any such agreement ever existed. So the Free Djinn--"
That term caused a rustle of throat-clearing and shifting in chairs, and the inevitable interruption. "There aren't any such thing as--" someone began to declare, in much the same way people once insisted the world was flat.
"Yes there are, Rosa." That was Marion, and her tone was surprisingly sharp, coming from a woman who was normally so level and soothing in manner. But then, we'd all had a damn hard few days. I could see that it might be difficult to suffer fools with the same level of grace she usually displayed.
"Continue," Paul said, watching me.
I swallowed, wished in vain for a drink of water, and got on with it. "So some of the Free Djinn started killing Wardens, trying to free their brethren, as well. But some didn't agree with that tactic, so there was fighting in the Djinn ranks. Jonathan--" What the hell had happened to Jonathan? Something catastrophic. "Jonathan died. And when he died, the agreement between the Djinn and the Wardens, the one that kept them under our command, that went sideways. We don't own the Djinn anymore. Not as of the moment he stopped existing."
Paul's face went a paler shade of scared. "You mean, they're no longer under our control at all?"
"Yes, that's what I mean."
"Well, that's just great. You drove all the way from Florida to tell me we're dead?"
"You want me to go on, or what?" I glared back. He finally closed his drug-glazed eyes and nodded. "Right. Well, we've always thought we were fighting the planet, one on one. A fair contest. But I have to tell you, it isn't fair, and it isn't even a contest. She hasn't even been awake." Inarticulate noises of protest and denial. I ignored them. "She's not even concentrating on us at all. We're like little mosquitoes she's been swatting in her sleep."
Paul's face had drained of what little color he had. "Jo--" "Hang on, I'm still getting to the bad news." I sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out. "She's starting to wake up. Once she does, she can control the Djinn absolutely, and that means we'll face a thousand times the power we did before. Maybe worse than that. And without any help from the usual sources."
He looked glassy-eyed. "Was that the bad news? Because for fuck's sake, don't tell me it gets worse than that."
"Yeah, that was it."
He didn't say anything. The silence ticked off, one cold second at a time, until Marion murmured, "Then that would be the end of it."
Paul looked up sharply. "I'm not throwing in the towel, and you're not either," he snapped. "Jo. What else you got for us? Anything on the plus side?"
"I may--" I edited myself carefully, well aware of the way this might go. "I may know of a Djinn who can still help us."
"I'm the guy in charge of handing out life preservers on the Titanic. Anything you got that can help, let's have it. I mean, we're talking about Band-Aids on a sucking chest wound, but--"
"I don't know if this Djinn has the ability to do much," I said quickly. It wouldn't do to get anybody's hopes up, and I wasn't even sure where Imara was, or what she was up to. "But I'll check into it. Maybe we can get some intelligence about what's happening to the Djinn without too much risk. Meanwhile, we have to get off our asses. We're powerful in our own right, but we've been relying on the Djinn for too long. You need to get all hands on deck, make them quit playing politics and doing under-the-table deals. Put them to work for a change." I bit my lip, debating, and then continued, "And get the Ma'at on board. The Wardens got lazy, using the Djinn to help them. We have to learn a whole new way of doing things. The Ma'at can help."
There was another stir of resistance. Not denial--this was confusion. Marion knew about the Ma'at, and I'd presumed she'd reported everything to Paul, but surprise... he wasn't looking like he recognized the name, and neither did anyone else. I shot Marion an alarmed, semidesperate glance. She raised an inscrutable you're on your own eyebrow.
I tried for a calm tone. "I thought you knew, Paul. The Ma'at. I guess you'd call them a rival organization, who can raise up powers that can influence the same things we can. I met them in Vegas."
"Rival organization? Vegas?" Paul's face went from white to an alarming shade of maroon. "Vegas? You're telling me you knew about all this months ago?"
Well, crap, I'd quit, hadn't I? Why would I have narked on the Ma'at, at that point? "You guys weren't exactly keeping the communication channels open, you know! The Ma'at aren't as powerful as we are. Okay, to be honest, I don't know how powerful they are, but I know they're not as widespread. Still, they have a different approach. They might be able to help."
"Are you working for them?".
"What?"
He surged to his feet and leaned on the table as the other Wardens exploded into babbling argument. "Are you working for them? Is that what this is? You get inside and kill off the rest of us? You bring this Djinn along with you to finish the job?" "Paul--"
"Shut up. Just shut your mouth, Jo." He upgraded the shout to a full-out bellow. "Janet! Nathan! Get in here!"
That brought in the two guards, who'd been hovering politely out of sight around the corner. Paul gestured toward me. "Stick this one in a room while we talk this over. Do not let her sweet-talk you, and do not let her leave. If she tries anything, you've got my permission to shoot her. Someplace painful but nonvital. Got me?"
Cherise whirled around, eyes wide. "They're arresting you?"
"Looks like," I said. I was feeling a tight flutter of panic about it, but there was no point in showing that to her. She couldn't help. "It's okay, Cher. You go back to the car and head for home. I'll be all right."
"Oh, hell no. I'm not leaving you like this!"
"You are," Paul said flatly. He nodded the two guards toward Cherise. "Escort the lady out first. Nicely, please."
It was going to be nice until Cherise grabbed Janet's hair and kicked Nathan in the balls, and then it got a little ugly. Cherise fought like a girl, which meant she fought dirty. There was screeching. Nathan finally got her wrists pinned, and Janet--pink-cheeked and disarranged--looked like she wanted to do some hair-pulling herself, but she restrained herself with dignity.
The table full of Wardens looked on, wide-eyed.
Cherise continued to struggle even after they had good hold of her. I went over to her, put my hand on her shoulder.
"Cherise, stop it! I'll be all right," I promised her. "Trust me. Go home. This isn't your fight."
I was right, and I was lying, of course, because it was everybody's fight now. It was just that the regular folks, the ones who were going to be mowed down by the uncounted millions, couldn't do a damn thing about it. You can't fight Mother Nature. Not unless you're a Warden. And even then, it's like a particularly brave anthill taking on the Marine Corps.
She didn't say anything, just stared at me. Hair cascading over her face, half-wild, completely scared. I'd done this to her. Cherise had been a comfortable, self-absorbed little girl when I'd first met her, and I'd dragged her into a world she could neither understand nor control. Another stone on the crushing burden of guilt I was hauling around.
"Go home," I repeated, and stepped back. Janet and Nathan escorted her to the door--carried her, actually, since she was such a tiny little thing. Her feet kicked uselessly for the floor, but they each hoisted her with an arm under hers, and out she went.
"Jo, dammit, don't do this! Let me help! I want to help!" she yelled. I didn't move. Didn't reply. "Hey, you jerk, watch the shirt, that's designer--"
And then she was gone, and it was just me and a room full of Wardens, and it wasn't the time to be picking any fights. Besides, I wasn't fool enough to believe anybody else would jump in on my side.
"You really going to lock me up?" I asked Paul. He gave me a stare worthy of his mafioso relatives. "I could take down a bunch of you, you know," I said. "On my worst day, I could still take at least three of you if I had to. And no offense, but this isn't shaping up to be my worst day. For a change."
"Yeah, go on, you're making me not want to lock you up, with a speech like that," he said. "I know you could take any of us except Lewis; you always could. And when did you figure all that out, incidentally?"
"Started to a couple of months ago," I said, and shrugged. "So. You want to fight, or work together to help people survive this? Because I'm not going to play the traditional who's-on-top and who-can-smooch-the-most-ass game anymore. I'm not letting you stick me in some cell and pretend like this is all my fault and it'll all go away if we hold a tribunal and assign some blame. And most of all, I'm not going to sit back and let people die."
"You'll do what we ask you to do," said Marion, and rolled out from behind the table. Rolled, because she was in a wheelchair. I made a sound of distress, because I didn't realize how badly she'd been hurt--worse than Paul. There was something terribly misshapen about her legs. Marion was middle-aged, but she looked older than that now; lines grooved around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, lines of pain. Even her normally glossy black hair looked dull and tangled, but I supposed that personal grooming probably wasn't on anyone's top ten to-do list at the moment. "This isn't the moment for personal heroics, and you know it. The Wardens need to pull together. That means someone has to lead, and the rest of us have to follow. Including you."
"Following's never been her strong suit," Paul said morosely. "In case you haven't noticed. And she can probably kick your ass, too, these days."
"Paul," Marion said with strained patience, "perhaps we should stop discussing whose asses would be hypothetically kicked, and talk about what we're going to do to stop the bloodshed."
"Somebody needs to contact the Ma'at," I said. "I'm not their favorite person ever, but at least I know some names. How's that for cooperation?"
"Hand them over to Marion," Paul said. "You're done here until we can check you out and find out who these people are. Marion?"
Marion, always practical, reached into her plaid-blanketed lap, and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. I recited the ones I could remember. Charles Spencer Ashworth. Myron Lazlo. Told the Wardens about their lair in the lap of the Sphinx out in Las Vegas.
She exchanged a look with Paul, and he shrugged. "Check it out," he said. "You, Jo. You're going to spend a little time contemplating how bad an idea it was to keep that from me."
"Oh, come on, Paul. We don't have time for this bullshit."
"Sorry," Marion said, and pulled something else out from under that plaid lap blanket. An automatic pistol. It looked like one of the same police-issue models that Janet and Nathan had been sporting. "But he's right. First, we establish contact with the Ma'at, and then we decide what to do with you. Don't worry. It probably won't take all that long, and you look as if you could use the rest."
I felt a cold chill at how close she'd probably come to putting a bullet in me, just on general principles. I'd been shot in the back before, in this very building, as it happened. Not an experience I was looking to repeat, especially since David wasn't likely to show up again to help me out.
I slowly put up my hands.
She shook her head. "I'm not going to shoot you," she said, and put the gun back in her lap, though on top of the blanket. "For one thing, the recoil is murder on a broken arm." "Glad your priorities are straight."
"Up," she said. "I'll show you someplace you can wait in comfort."
I looked over my shoulder when I reached the splintered doorway, and saw something that I'd never really seen before in a group of Wardens: fear. And they were right to be afraid. In all the history of the Wardens, stretching through the ages, nobody had ever faced what we were facing: a planet that was about to wake up and kill us, and Djinn who were going to be more than happy to help.
I wondered if this was how the dinosaurs had felt, watching that bright meteor streak toward the ground.
