"Yes," she said. "You don't?"
"Getting mine in about six months."
"So you want me to source."
"Yeah, please."
"No problem."
Technically, I should have been sourcing the power out of a Djinn to do what we were supposed to do. . . . The Warden nearest the storm usually had the responsibility. Using a Djinn for a source was sort of like having a superconductor in the circuit- it augmented and amplified your power, and assisted in channeling it accurately. The fact that I'd been assigned to this storm without a Djinn to source me was, I realized, not an accident. It was a test.
And Bad Bob was my proctor. Wow. No pressure.
I fought off a cold shiver and got down to business. After about thirty seconds of real time, I saw a shape approaching in Oversight-Tamara. Tall, bright, unusually vivid in her aura colors, with a clear white line of energy linking her back to her home in Mauritania. As I watched, power surged along that link. Her Djinn was delivering the goods.
I reached out to her, and our aetheric bodies touched. Energy jumped the barrier and shot into me, and I had trouble holding on to it; I was not used to Djinn-sourced power at such levels. It felt like being drunk and being dizzy and being in love, and connected to that kind of power I could feel every molecule in the swirling air, every slight variation of temperature between them. It was like . . . . . . like playing God.
Somewhere, Bad Bob was watching. That thought shook me out of any sense of divinity and got me to work. There was, predictably, a ridge of high pressure riding in front of Samuel. Seen from Oversight, the whole thing looked remarkably like a freeze-framed explosion, with a pressure null in the center and force traveling out in all directions. You don't stop a thing like that.
You just weaken the forces that drive it your direction.
Tamara and I worked quickly and-if I may say so-efficiently to smooth out the temperature variations at surface level to cut off the flow of energy up into the monster, and raise the temperature at the top end to create a shorter pressure wave. Small changes, followed by detailed analysis of the effects. One step at a time, always going back to the source ... the ocean ... for the next tiny change.
The weatherworking took no more than thirty minutes, real time, and Tropical Storm Samuel was reduced to nothing more than a stern southeast wind with some fluffy, rain-heavy clouds. I let go of Tamara- reluctantly-and felt all that power drain away.
I fell back into my body with a rushing suddenness that scared me and told me just how tired I really was. Normally I have more control than that. I'd had no idea how addictive that kind of power could feel, and how ridiculously pathetic I'd feel once it was gone.
Tamara was saying nice things about working with me, in the real world, on the real phone. I remembered how to move my lips and thanked her.
Bad Bob reached across to punch the button to hang up the line.
"Joanne Baldwin," he said. "Funny. I voted against you that day, you know. At your intake session."
Like I'd ever forget.
I was too tired to be scared of what he was about to say. I'd just have to eat whatever crap he dished out and try not to yearn for that feeling of being God, because it would be so nice to smack a nice lightning bolt down on his ass. To feel powerful, just once, in his presence.
He put a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezed, and then patted twice.
"Well, maybe I was wrong," he said. "You're not half bad, Baldwin. Got a lot of raw power, that's for damn sure. More than I've ever seen, to be absolutely truthful. I figure with power like that, you might be able to do a lot of damage."
I wasn't entirely sure I'd heard that right. I blinked and tried to get my tired brain to follow what he was saying. "Damage? I didn't . . . ?"
"Oh, no, just the opposite. You really brought home the bacon today." Now he had both hands on my shoulders. I wondered, for a creeped-out, crazed moment, if he was trying to cop a quick feel. Sexual harassment wasn't limited to just the normal outside world, after all. If anything, men who held the power to destroy whole countries might have a greater tendency to it. I wondered exactly what to say to get myself out of it.
And then I realized he wasn't rubbing my shoulders in any suggestive kind of way. It was more like he was holding me down in the chair.
"Okay," I said slowly. "Well, I really ought to get-"
"Damage is what you'll do when you go out of control, Baldwin," he interrupted. "I've seen hundreds of kids like you. Jumped up, arrogant little boys and girls who have no idea what the real price of power is. And no respect for it, either."
"Sir, I'm all about the respect. Promise."
"No, you're not," he said. "Not yet. But you will be." He didn't let me go. "You've got no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
I didn't want to admit it. He didn't care, anyway.
"God, the strength in you," he said, staring down at me with those merciless eyes. "All that strength, going to waste. You don't need a Djinn. You don't need a damn thing. I remember what it was like, being young and stupid. You know what happens, little girl? It goes away. Sooner or later, you get old, you get slow, you lose the edge. And when that happens, people screw you."
I was too scared to say anything. He wasn't talking to me, not really; there was something bad going on here, something underneath. His fingers dug into my shoulders like iron spikes.
"You going to screw me, little girl?" He showed his teeth. "I mean in the figurative sense."
"No, sir," I whispered. "I wouldn't."
"Damn right you wouldn't."
I could almost feel something in the room with us, something huge and dark and malevolent. Something violent.
It wants something. Something I have.
Bad Bob seemed to realize it, too. He blinked, shook himself, and took his hands away from my shoulders. I felt the sting of blood rushing back and knew I'd have bruises there later.
"Go on," he said. "Get out of my sight."
I suppose I must have walked out, past the meteorologists, through the security door, signed out, handed Monet my badge, probably even said something. But I don't remember a thing from the getting up part to the part where I was sitting inside my car, gasping for breath and on the verge of tears.
I couldn't possibly have known how close I came that day to dying, but I sensed it. On some level, I knew.
I headed for the comfort of a beachside bar. On reflection, not the best answer to coping with crisis, but you go with your instincts.
Mine were just . . . bad.
TWO
Scattered thunderstorms, possibly heavy and severe, in the afternoon hours. A Weather Advisory is in effect for the area beginning at 11 a.m. EASTERN TIME.
Paul had given me five hours to make it out of his Sector; it wasn't a generous head start, but he knew the Mustang could make it. I had to slow down around Philadelphia, wary of speed traps, but I was still making pretty good time. By my calculations, I'd be out of his territory with about a half hour to spare. I knew he'd set his Djinn to monitor me, so it was no surprise when one appeared- poof-in my passenger seat.
Unlike Lewis's house Djinn, who had favored the traditional look, this one was hip to the new. She was a well-groomed young black woman, glossily perfect, with cornrowed hair and wraparound dark glasses and a sunshine-yellow pantsuit. I especially liked the yellow nail polish. It was a nice touch.
I managed not to drive the car off the road, though I did fumble a gear change.
"You've got a lot of people very upset," the Djinn said. She had a nice, smoky voice, contralto, with a bit of a whiskey edge. "While it might be amusing, it makes more work for me."
She skinned down the shades, and I got a look at her beast-yellow eyes. Horror movie monsters never had eyes that scary, or that beautiful.
"I can see it in you," she said. "It's burrowing." She made a clicking sound with her tongue that sounded dry and insectile.
"Paul didn't see it."
"Wardens don't," she murmured. "Unless they ask us to show them. Which they don't, because they don't know the right question to ask."
Oh. "Want to take it off me?" I asked.
She smiled. "You know the rules," she said. "A Djinn doesn't do favors. A Djinn takes orders from her master. You, sistah, are not my master."
"What if Paul ordered you to take if from me?"
"I think he would not, considering it would destroy me and he would never get another Djinn." The Djinn put the glasses back on. "You're already corrupted, I can smell it on you like a rotting wound."
"Cheer me up some more," I invited.
She smiled. Long canines showed white in her smile. "Would if I could. You going to make the border?"
"If you don't fuck around with me."
She laughed. "Now why would I do that? Everything I do must be in my master's best interests. Rules of the game. Although if you'd slow down, you might at least make it interesting."
She seemed oddly talkative, for a Djinn. I decided to indulge my curiosity as we cruised in on I-95 toward Philly. "Must be a bitch, being enslaved and all."
"Enslaved?" she asked. It didn't seem to bother her. "We are not enslaved."
"That's what they teach us in school."
She sniffed and drummed yellow talons on Delilah's window glass. I hoped she wasn't leaving scratches. "Your school is sadly free of knowledge. Djinn are the children of Fire. We serve as we must serve, as Fire serves when chained and devours when freed."
"Freed? I thought you were-sort of eternally- um, damned." Which wasn't the best way to put it, but I couldn't think of a politically correct phrase.
She shrugged. "Fire serves no one forever. It is always ready to burn the hand it warms."
The Djinn were rare-we all knew that. Precious resources. One Djinn per lifetime, no more, and when a Warden died, his or her Djinn just went back into rotation, assigned a new master. Nobody had said anything about them ever getting freed.
She gave me another cool smile. "Too bad you're going to die. I rather like you. A favor, then. Ask a question."
"Did Paul tell you to kill me if I don't make it out of his territory?" I blurted.
She smiled. "That was a poor question," she said. "Care to try again? Secrets of the universe? Lotto numbers? Whether your true love will be tall, dark, and handsome?"
I thought about it. Never look a gift Djinn in the mouth. "Where's Lewis?"
She took her glasses off again, and even though I didn't look at her, I could feel the pressure of those horrible, beautiful eyes. She was a dangerous pet to keep, a sleek predatory beast with bloodlust kept in check only by a constant flow of Kibbles 'n Bits and a great big magical leash.
"You already know the answer," she purred.
"Oklahoma? What the hell's he doing in Oklahoma?"
She looked away. "Saving someone. Is that not what he is always doing?" She practically steamed with contempt. "One of these days, it will cost him."
"Can we cut out the middleman, here? Just take me to Oklahoma?"
Teeth flashed. "Your favor has been spent, Snow White. Choose better next time."
"Great. Forget favors. Got any advice?"
"Be kind to your Djinn."
"I don't have a Djinn."
She shrugged. "You will, if you survive. I can smell that on you, too."
"Wait!" I sensed she was about to poof again. She slid her sunglasses back on and sat, politely bored, swinging one hand in time with Ozzy Osbourne belting out a ditty about war pigs. "Can you give Paul a message for me?"
"I can," she agreed. "It remains to be seen if I will, Snow White."
"My name is Joanne."
"I like Snow White better. I am Rahel," she said, and pointed toward herself with one neon-yellow talon. Were they longer than they had been? Her teeth flashed into a smile. "Speak."
"Tell Paul that I'm sorry. And that I still love him."
She shuddered delicately. "I try to stay out of the sexual business of mortals."
"Yeah, well, we're just friends."
"So say you," she said, and cocked an elegantly shaped dark eyebrow. "You did not see him later."
That led to things I shouldn't be thinking about, not when driving a speeding car. Rahel flicked her fingernails together in a dry, yellow clatter and disappeared.
I tried not to feel quite so relieved.
I didn't know the Warden in Philadelphia, and I was just as happy to breeze by without making his acquaintance, but I needed a pit stop. I pulled off the highway for gas at the Independence Hall exit. After taking care of the bladder problem and filling up the Mustang, I scouted around for a likely spot to grab a quick cheeseburger for the road. Weariness was starting to liquefy the edges of my brain, and I could have used a nice long nap in a Motel 6, but I was taking Paul seriously. I needed to get out of Philly on time. The idea of Rahel's having any power over me at all was extremely motivating.
Independence Hall would have made a nice diversion and a great place to stretch my cramped, exhausted legs, but I wasn't about to risk another lightning bolt in a crowded place. What I saw of it was nice. As I cruised by, I couldn't help but notice that Ben Franklin-little specs and all-was sitting on a bench reading to a group of absolutely spellbound children. There was no way I wanted to bring my problems into that world. That world didn't know the sunshine was provided for them, just like the rain, or that somebody had to protect them daily from the fury of the earth and the weather.
It was a nice world to visit, even if I couldn't live there.
On the way out of town I checked both the horizon and the weather forecasts; the storm was still out there, moving inland in my wake, but Paul's folks could take care of anything still to do. I could relax and enjoy the drive.
Hopefully.
It was a good seven hours to my next safe haven in Columbus; between here and there lay cities with Wardens I barely knew, not likely to be friendly toward me. The Sector Warden from Philly to Columbus was Rashid Al-Omar, a beautiful man about seven or eight years older than me, known to be a straight arrow and conservative both in weather and everything else you could name. For some reason, most Weather Wardens were conservative; it was the tie-dyed hippie Earth Wardens who'd cornered the liberal market.
Weather Wardens on the right, Earth Wardens on the left . . . that left Fire Wardens in the middle. My friend Estrella had been a Fire Warden, once upon a time-one of the best. But fire's a funny thing. Like Rahel said, fire is always ready to burn the hand it warms.
I felt a hot knot of tension ease in my gut as I passed the city limits sign of Philadelphia and America stretched out before me. I was out of Paul's jurisdiction.
When I checked the rearview mirror, I saw Rahel standing there next to the sign, clicking her cheerful neon talons, watching me with beast-yellow eyes. She waved.