Gale Force (13 page)

One thing was unequivocal about the truck, though: On the door panel blazed the stylized sun emblem of the Wardens.

I opened my mouth to warn David, but he already knew, of course. He stopped, studying without expressionthe van and whatever occupants it held. All the playfulness was gone, and he reminded me of a hunting leopard, lean and powerful. His eyes had gone a color that should have been a warning, and probably would have been to anybody with sense.

Unfortunately, the Warden who got out of the van was Lee Antonelli, and he had less sense than a pet rock. He was a big guy, and a gifted Fire Warden, but when it came to subtleties, he was likely to crush them under his big steel-toed boots and never notice. How he’d survived the Warden/Djinn conflicts was anybody’s guess, but the fact that he hadn’t had a Djinn issued to him in the first place was enough to keep him off the initial hit list, and I strongly suspected he’d spent most of the conflict hiding out.

I said Lee was big. Not brave. Hence, of course, the unreasonably tough shell of attitude on his van, not on his person.

He leaned against the passenger side of the van and crossed his arms; they were impressively muscled, and he’d invested a small fortune in body art. It should have made him look intimidating. Instead, I thought it made him look like someone doing hard-ass by the numbers, especially when coupled with the shaved head. ‘‘Warden,’’ Lee said to me. He didn’t so much as glance at David. I wondered why, and then I realized that Lee couldn’t see him. David had made himself invisible, although he was still there to my eyes.

‘‘Warden,’’ I replied to Antonelli coolly, ‘‘who taught you how to park? I’d say Sears, but really, they do a much better job. Maybe you were absent the day they explained what those parallel lines in the lot are for—’’

‘‘Shut up, Baldwin. I’m supposed to pick you up and escort you in,’’ he said. ‘‘Since whatever you’ve got going on is so damn important, I guess I’m riding shotgun.’’

This was weird, and it wasn’t normal. Lewis knew I was coming; he knew David was traveling with me. Why send
Antonelli,
of all people, whom he knew I couldn’t stand? Lewis might work in mysterious ways, but that was downright impenetrable. I bought time to think by digging a pair of big sunglasses out of my purse and putting them on. There. Without a clear view of my eyes, Antonelli was going to have a tougher time figuring out what I’d do. ‘‘Shotgun,’’ I repeated, ‘‘so you’re the bodyguard. Flattering.’’

Antonelli ran one hand over his bullet-shaped shaved head and gave me a grim-looking smile. ‘‘Most ladies would say so.’’

‘‘Save the smarm, I’m not in the mood.’’

He shrugged. Flirting was reflexive for him; he didn’t fancy me, except in the abstract way that somebody like Antonelli fancied anyone with internal sex organs. If I stood still long enough, he’d gladly take a turn, but other than that, I was furniture. ‘‘Playtime’s over, then. Let’s move. In the van.’’

I stayed right where I was, next to the door of the Mustang. ‘‘I’m driving my own car.’’ Technically, David was driving, but Antonelli might not know that. In fact, he didn’t look nearly worried enough, so I doubted he had any idea there was an angry Djinn standing a couple of feet away, eyes lit up like Halloween lanterns.

‘‘Look, I don’t know the plan; I’m just following orders. Lewis says take the van; we take the van,’’ Antonelli said. ‘‘I don’t ask no questions; neither do you. Come on, sister, let’s go. I’ve got things to do.’’

There was a ring of sweat around the high neck of his muscle shirt, and dark streaks under the arms. Unless Antonelli had come straight from the gym, something was up. He was nervous.

‘‘We can sort that out,’’ I said, and pulled my cell phone from my pocket. ‘‘Let me just call—’’

The circuitry inside the phone fried, boiled into vapor in an instant. I dropped the red-hot case and blew on my blistered fingers. Antonelli hadn’t moved, but something about him had changed. I could almost smell it: the burned-metal bite of desperation, mingled with a coppery odor of fear.

‘‘Get in the fucking van,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m not playing, bitch. Don’t make this a showdown; there are too many people around. Kids. I don’t want to do that, and neither do you. Let’s keep this calm.’’

Oh God, he was serious. I could tell it from the sweat on his skin, the dark shadows in his eyes. He was a whole lot more scared of someone else than he was of me.

That needed to change, right now.

I dropped my purse to the ground, glad I’d donned the sunglasses. I made sure my feet were firmly planted, shoulder-width apart, the right slightly forward to give me a more stable base.

‘‘You’re right,’’ I said quietly. ‘‘I don’t want to do this.
You
don’t want to do this. But somehow, I think it’s going to happen anyway, because I can’t get in that van, Lee. Whatever’s going on, I can’t take the chance. Let’s think this through before we both start something that will end badly.’’

David had not moved. Hadn’t spoken. Still, I was feeling the vibration of menace from him like the subsonic pulses from a volcano about to blow; this was going to go south, very badly, very fast.

‘‘Who is it?’’ I asked. ‘‘Lee, tell me who’s making you do this. It’s not Lewis. It’s not the Wardens. Somebody’s forcing you to take me out of circulation. Come on, man, we don’t have to make this a throw down. We can talk about it, work it out.’’ While I talked, I used my Earth powers, subtly sending calming vibrations to him, lulling him into a state in which he might be more inclined to listen. To trust.

Antonelli shook himself, as if he were throwing off a wrestling hold, and I knew my brief second of opportunity was gone. ‘‘Save it,’’ he snapped. ‘‘I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears trainee. You can’t con me.’’

And then Lee Antonelli, one of the best natural Fire Wardens I had ever seen, declared war.

I’ll give him credit; it was a strategic strike, not just a general firestorm. He formed a fireball and lobbed it not at me, but at my car. Clearly, he did
not
understand my relationship with cars. He’d have gotten off easier if he’d gone ahead and set my hair on fire. I’d have taken it less personally.

I formed an invisible cricket bat of hardened air, swung, lined up, and hit a solid line drive, sending the fireball right back into Antonelli’s midsection. It hit him hard enough to drive him against the body of the van, which rocked and creaked on its springs, and his muscle tee caught fire. He glanced down, annoyed, and brushed a hand over it. The fire went out, but there was a nice round hole with scorched edges baring his carefully developed abs. He’d had a tattoo put around his navel—a woman’s face, with the navel representing her open mouth. Classy. ‘‘Bitch!’’ he snarled.

‘‘Repeating yourself already? We just started,’’ I said. I didn’t alter my stance, and I didn’t go after him. ‘‘Walk away. Just get in your van and go. We’ll all be happier.’’

Only it wasn’t going to happen. He was scared, and he clearly didn’t think walking away from this was an option. Instead, he pointed his finger at me, and from the tip of it blazed a pinpoint of red light, hot as the sun. Coherent light, concentrated a thousand times stronger than the brightest earth-based laser developed by men.

Air wouldn’t slow it down. Neither would water, although it would bend the beam and eat up some of its energy in steam. Both options were sure to fail, and I knew from experience that if he could break my concentration, he could hurt me badly enough that I’d have a hard time defending myself at all.

Instead of defense, I went for offense. I had to end this fast, before some innocent bystander traipsed out of the diner and into the line of—literally—fire.

First, I summoned up a gale-force wind that slammed into his chest and pinned him against the van. Then I took away his air.

It’s damn hard to concentrate when you feel like you’re suffocating. I started with the air going in, filtering out the oxygen as he gasped. Then I focused on the oxygen inside Antonelli’s body—in his lungs, in his blood. I knew what I wanted to see, and it glowed bright blue for me.

I separated the hydrogen and oxygen atoms, took away an atom from the oxygen molecule, and within seconds, he was shaking in desperation, nearly out. I let him continue to breathe, because if anything it increased his panic, but I destroyed the oxygen before he could metabolize it.

There was a side effect of this, of course. Destruction creates energy, and I burned off the excess in sharp blue sparks that danced on the antenna of the van, the metal rims of the wheels, even Antonelli’s showy belt buckle.

It
felt
as though I were killing him, in a cruel and inhumane way, and that was exactly what I wanted him to feel. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t going to give in, and I wasn’t going to screw around. If he wanted to play hardball, he was going to have to live through the opening innings, and I’d taken the game to the professional level.

‘‘Think about it,’’ I said. ‘‘I could just as easily put water in your lungs. Drowning on dry land. Sound good to you, tough guy?’’

Antonelli sank to his knees, eyes wide and desperate.I hadn’t noticed before, but he had brown eyes, big and somehow childlike despite all the ’roided-up muscles.

I felt oddly detached about what I was doing, but there was no way I was going to let go until I sensed he was more afraid of me than of the theoretical bad guys.

‘‘Jo.’’ David’s soft voice. His hand touched my shoulder. ‘‘You don’t have to kill him.’’

‘‘Maybe not,’’ I said. ‘‘But if he’s one of
them,
it’d be a damn sight safer in the long run.’’

He didn’t say anything. I could tell he’d dropped the veil concealing him from Antonelli, because Antonelli’s mouth stretched wide, and he tried to croak out something that was probably a plea. His lips had gone the color of iron, and his skin looked dead and pale and rubbery.

He was about to lose consciousness, so I let him have a torturous, cruel gasp of air, loaded with O
₂
. He gagged and pitched forward, openly weeping; he wasn’t coming after me, that much was certain. He just wanted to live to get away.

But I didn’t
want
him to get away. I let him have just enough oxygen to survive, not enough to get his arms and legs in any kind of working order. Then I picked up my purse and walked over to him, crouched down to where he was sitting against the wheel of the van, and pulled down my sunglasses to look into his eyes.

‘‘What were you going to do to me, Lee?’’ I asked him. ‘‘Don’t lie. It’ll only make me angry, and you won’t like what happens when I lose my temper.’’

I let him have more oxygen, just enough. I’d scared him, all right. I’d terrified him almost more than was strategically necessary, and I knew—again, in a detached, academic sort of way—that it might bother me later. Maybe it would bother me a lot.

Or—and this was a lot more worrisome—maybe it wouldn’t bother me at all.

It took Lee six breaths before he was able to decide to choke out, ‘‘Going to kill you.’’

‘‘Meaning, you’re
still
going to kill me, or you were
supposed
to kill me?’’

‘‘Supposed to.’’ His face contorted with effort, and he bared his teeth. ‘‘Going to.’’

I’d known that was a possibility, but somehow, it was very different hearing it. I glanced up at David. He was standing over us, quiet, but his expression . . . Antonelli was lucky not to be relying on his mercy. I might have developed a nasty streak, but I was the kinder choice between the two options.

‘‘I guess I should give up on the friendship bracelets, ’’ I said. ‘‘Good, I suck at crafts. So, I’m guessing all this wasn’t your own brilliant idea. You haven’t had an original one since you set your cat on fire in the second grade. Who sent you? Think hard, Lee. We’re going into the final lightning round. If I don’t believe you, the next breath you take could be water. Or cyanide. I just love chemistry.’’

He didn’t want to talk, but self-preservation is a damn fine motivator. No matter how badass his bosses might be, they weren’t here. I was. Like anyone else, Antonelli wanted his next breath to be sweet and life-giving, not foul and toxic. He knew better than to question whether or not I could do it.

‘‘Sentinels,’’ he croaked. ‘‘Want you dead. Paying cash.’’

‘‘Hmmm. How much?’’ He looked at me as if I were totally crazy. I wasn’t so sure he was wrong. ‘‘I’d like to know how much it was worth, stabbing me in the back.’’

‘‘Five million.’’

I sat back, surprised. ‘‘Five million
dollars
?’’

‘‘I’d kill you for free,’’ Antonelli muttered. ‘‘Bitch.’’

‘‘Is that any way to talk to the person holding your oxygen tank?’’ I asked, and cut off the flow into his lungs. He choked and thrashed. ‘‘Oh, okay. I see your point. Five million is a lot of temptation. But I don’t think it was the money. You might like me to think it was, but I think whoever sent you scared the crap out of you.’’ I let him have an entire ten breaths of sweet, sweet air. He shook his head. ‘‘Come on, Lee. Please. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Just tell me who sent—’’

I had no warning. Neither did Antonelli.

Some tremendous force slammed into me, throwing me facedown to the gravel path. I rolled, tossed my hair out of my face, and saw that David had also been driven back from Antonelli.

That was . . . almost impossible. Unless he’d been taken by surprise, by someone or something of nearly equal strength, it was very hard to knock a Djinn for a loop. For a fatal second, David was distracted from Antonelli by a perceived threat against me, while I was busy regrouping and trying to figure out what the hell had happened.

Antonelli didn’t hit us while we were vulnerable; he wouldn’t have had either the concentration or the energy. No, someone else struck Antonelli. I’d gone up into Oversight, struggling to catch a glimpse of what was going on, and saw a huge red, spectral hand reach through the aetheric and punch claws deep into Antonelli’s chest. I felt the black wave of despair and fury like a psychic blast. In the real world, Antonelli’s eyes locked with mine.