Gale Force (26 page)

‘‘Me?’’ Ortega looked completely thrown. ‘‘But I—’’

‘‘It’s an emergency,’’ David said, and again, I felt that pulse of command and control. ‘‘I’m sorry, I know you don’t like to leave this place, but it has to be done.’’

Ortega looked utterly miserable now. ‘‘Can’t you go? She won’t listen to me. She doesn’t even
like
me—’’

‘‘No,’’ David said. ‘‘I can’t.’’ He didn’t explain. Ortega heaved a great sigh, nodded, and blipped away.

David didn’t relax. He looked grim and angry, and avoided my eyes.

‘‘Why didn’t you go?’’ I asked. ‘‘I mean, I’m grateful. I’m just surprised.’’

‘‘Because if you’re right, and if they have what I think they have, they will be setting a trap,’’ he said. ‘‘A trap designed specifically for me. They want to lure me in. I hope that they haven’t managed to get everything together yet to spring it. That’s why I’m sending Ortega.’’

‘‘Because they’d be planning to get you.’’

‘‘The Conduit,’’ he said. ‘‘If they can destroy me, they can destroy the structure and power of the Djinn. You were right, Jo. I didn’t believe it, but you were right. They’ve found our one true weakness, and I don’t know how we’re going to defend against them. Maybe Ashan was right. Maybe the only way to win is to withdraw.’’

‘‘And leave us to fight alone.’’

He turned toward me, and I saw the fury and frustration in his eyes. ‘‘Yes.’’ His hands clenched and unclenched. ‘‘The book. We need to get it to his vault. I don’t want it out where anyone can stumble across it.’’ He forced some of his anger back with a visible effort; it wasn’t directed at me, but at the world. At Bad Bob. ‘‘I’m sorry, Jo. I can’t touch it. Can you carry it?’’

I picked up the weight reluctantly, afraid that even latched it might still have the power to seduce me, but it was quiet. Just leather, paper, ink, and iron.

Just a book that held the secrets to destroying an entire race.

No wonder it felt heavy.

The vault—of course a mansion like this would have one, along with a genuine, honest-to-God panic room—was crammed with stuff. Valuable stuff, to be sure. I was no expert, but I knew that early comics were worth money, and he had shelves full of them, each carefully bagged and labeled. Coin collections. Stamp collections. Toys. Rugs. Artifacts. I edged into the big steel-cased room and waited while David reorganizedthe collections enough for me to put the book down in an open space on a table. ‘‘Does he ever sell any of this stuff?’’ I asked.

‘‘No,’’ he said, moving a collection of what looked like vintage one-sheet posters. ‘‘But he buys a lot on eBay. Put it down here.’’

I did, gratefully, and stepped back from it. So did David, letting out a slow breath.

‘‘Ortega,’’ I said. ‘‘Is he going to be okay?’’

David didn’t answer. I understood a lot in that moment—his frustration, his anger. There was a good deal of self-loathing in there. David was not Jonathan, who’d held the position of Djinn Conduit before him; he wasn’t naturally the kind of man who could make ruthless, cold decisions and sacrifice his friends and family when necessary.
Lewis
was like that. David was more like me—more willing to throw himself in front of the bus than push someone else, even if it was the tactically right thing to do.

‘‘He’ll be okay,’’ I said, and took his hand. ‘‘It’s a simple enough job, and they won’t be looking for Ortega. Hell, I’d never have had a clue he was a Djinn if I’d met him in any other context.’’

‘‘I know,’’ David said. ‘‘I just wish I’d told him that I didn’t blame him for trading the other copy of the book. I don’t. His obsession is to collect things. Ortega has always been an innocent when it comes to humans; he could never see the potential for evil in them. That’s why Bad Bob took advantage of him.’’

‘‘He doesn’t seem very . . . Djinn.’’

David led the way back out of the vault and swung the massive door shut, then spun the lock. ‘‘No,’’ he agreed. ‘‘Ashan wanted to destroy him completely. I wouldn’t allow it. Ortega doesn’t have much power, for a Djinn—barely more than a human. He’s never been able to really become what he was meant to be.’’

‘‘Which is?’’

‘‘Cold,’’ David said. ‘‘Like the rest of us.’’

I kissed his hand. ‘‘You’re not cold.’’

He looked at me, and I saw the shadow of what he’d done haunting him. ‘‘I can be,’’ he said. ‘‘When I have to be.’’

We went back downstairs, edging through the boxes, trying to find empty space. Ortega had left himself a small nest, a room filled with the most beautiful things of his collection . . . exquisite crystal, breathtaking art, blindingly lovely furniture. I hated to sully it with my human presence, but my feet were tired, and the Victorian fainting couch was exquisitely comfortable.

David didn’t sit. He paced. None of the beauty touched him; he was focused elsewhere, on things far less lovely. I used the time to make calls; Lewis had been maneuvering Wardens slowly into position in Florida, using his most trusted people as well as the Ma’at, who still were outside the Warden system and therefore would be more trustworthy in something like this, if less powerful. I broke the news about Bad Bob—which was met with a suspiciously long silence, as if he’d already known and had hoped to keep it from me. That would have been par for the course.

I also gave him the update about the book, and realized midway through that I didn’t actually
know
what it was David had read that had so unnerved him. It didn’t tactically matter to Lewis, but it mattered to me, so after I finished the call, I asked.

‘‘The Unmaking,’’ David said. ‘‘I didn’t think—until I read it in the book, I didn’t think what you were describing could be true. The Unmaking is the opposite of creation.’’

‘‘Antimatter.’’

He nodded slightly. ‘‘You see it as science; we can’t see it at all, but the Ancestor Scriptures tell us that if it can be brought forth, it will feed on and destroy all Djinn, and we won’t be able to see it. It’s been thought to be nothing but a ghost. A boogeyman.’’

‘‘But it’s real,’’ I said. ‘‘It’s the black shard, the one we found in the dead Djinn. That
was
a dead Djinn.’’

‘‘It’s how they grew more of the Unmaking,’’ David said. I saw his throat work as he swallowed. ‘‘It feeds and grows inside a Djinn. What you found was just the husk, discarded and left behind. The Unmaking itself is far, far more powerful. That’s how the Sentinels are able to wield so much power; they steal the energy that pours from the Unmaking’s destruction of the world around it.’’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘‘I sent Rahel to them without any idea of the danger.’’

‘‘You couldn’t have known!’’

He ignored my attempt to mitigate things. ‘‘Ortega should have been back by now.’’

‘‘Maybe he’s having trouble finding them—’’

‘‘No.’’ His eyes unfocused into the distance. ‘‘No, that’s not it.’’

I felt a sick lurch. ‘‘David?’’

‘‘He’s—’’ David reeled, as if he’d been slapped, and crashed into a table that held a glittering display of crystal. He went down amid a shower of glass like falling stars. I threw myself onto my knees next to him, trying to think what kind of first aid I could do for a Djinn, and saw a sickening blackness bloom along the right side of his face, like fast-growing mold. His mouth stretched in a silent scream, and his eyes flared a muddy red. ‘‘Ortega,’’ he gasped. ‘‘Help him. I’ll hold on to him as long as I can, but you have to
help him
!’’

Ortega was under direct attack, and it was manifesting in David. Of course it was; he was the Conduit. Until he severed the connection, and left Ortega to die alone, he would suffer along with him.

I launched myself up on the aetheric, burning through the six inches of steel roof like mist, all the way up until the entire Florida coastline was below me, sparking and burning with psychic energy. It wasn’t hard to identify the trouble spot; it was a huge red dome of boiling, smoky power, and as I plunged down toward it, I felt the turbulence of the ongoing battle batter me, threatening to rip me apart. I couldn’t spot Djinn on the aetheric; they were like ghosts, flitting out of the corners of my eyes. But I could see the destruction.

Oversight isn’t ideal to seeing the details of an event, but it is useful for watching the ebb and flow of power. Ortega was an elusive sparkling shadow, dodging between thick threads of power that formed psychic nets; the Sentinels were trying to trap him. They’d already hurt him. I could see the darkness in him, just as it had been manifesting in David back in the real world.

I could sense his fury and despair. He couldn’t get free. There was something holding him here, something—

I needed to get to him. Quickly. But instant transportation was a Djinn thing, and mostly fatal to humans; the only Djinn I’d ever known who could carry a human from one point to another without leaving pieces behind was Venna.

I slammed back down into my skin, a disorienting shock that I ignored because I didn’t have time for it. David was writhing amid the broken glass, fighting for control. My hands hovered over him, but I didn’t want to try to touch him. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but it was beyond my capacity to fight.

‘‘Trying—trying to hold him,’’ David gasped. ‘‘Have to—’’

David was
choosing
this. Ortega was in trouble, and David was trying to anchor him, send him power. That left David open to attack, just as Ortega was.

‘‘Let go!’’ I shook David by the shoulders with as much violence as I could. ‘‘David,
let him go
! You have to! If they get to you, it’s over.
That’s why you sent him!
’’

‘‘Can’t let him die,’’ David panted.

‘‘What can I
do
?’’ Why didn’t the Sentinels come after me again, the bastards? At least then, I’d feel less helpless. . . .

‘‘The vault,’’ David gasped. ‘‘The book. Use the book.’’

No.
There was power in that thing, sure, but it was raw and untamed and all too easy to misuse. There had to be another way to—

David’s hand became a skeletal claw. His skin was turning the color of clay.

I had no time to think about it. I jumped to my feet and ran, threading through the maze of boxes, shoving over obstructions, hurdling what I could and climbing what I couldn’t to make the most direct route back to the vault. I was trembling with fear by the time I arrived, because precious seconds were ticking away, and upstairs David was
dying
. . . .

The vault was locked. I remembered David closing it and spinning the dial.
Christ, no, please—

I had no choice. I reached out with all the Earth power at my disposal, ripped the locking mechanism to pieces, and slammed the heavy metal door aside like so much cardboard. It ripped loose of the hinges and tipped, hitting the concrete with enough force to shatter stone.

I scrambled over it into the vault.

I lunged for the book, opened the latch, and began flipping pages.
I need something to save him,
I was thinking hard, trying to direct the book to meet my desperate need.
Anything. Show me how to save him!

A page flipped and settled, and my eyes focused on symbols. I heard the whispers again, felt them rushing through me like wind, and had time to wonder if this was the right thing to do, the
smart
thing. . . .

But then it was too late. I felt my lips shaping sounds, heard my voice speak without my understanding what it was saying. On the page, each symbol lit up in fire as it was spoken, burning like miniature suns until I could barely see the rest of the scripture.

Midway through, I felt dry, aching, drained body and soul. It was taking my power to fuel itself, and I still didn’t know what it was designed to do.
Doesn’t matter,
I told the part of my self that was screaming, the part that was in charge of self-preservation.
If I don’t, he’s gone.

I had to take the chance.

As I spoke the last word, the entire book flared hot and white, and the force leaped from the pages into the center of my chest, knocking me down in a heap. I felt a sickening, sideways motion, as if the world had been twisted into a rubbery pretzel around me, and when I opened my eyes, I was lying facedown on industrial looped carpet, smelling dust and mold. I rolled over, gasping, and felt every muscle and nerve in my body shriek in protest.

I had no idea where I was, but it seemed that I was all alone. Nothing moved in the shadows around me, as far as I could see. The room looked like a deserted hotel ballroom, but one that had seen its last happy dances long ago. The carpet I was draped across was old and filthy, and the remaining furniture was a drunken muddle of broken chairs, listing tables, and fouled linens.

My brain was racing frantically, but my body was slow to follow. I managed to force muscles into enough order to get me to my hands and knees, and then to my feet, though I had to keep a hand on the dusty wall to brace myself. Apparently, Djinn spell books weren’t the most comfortable way to travel, or the most accurate, since I’d been trying to arrive at the place where the Sentinels were hiding out. . . .

I heard voices outside, in a shadowed hallway. I quickly crouched behind a table as a flashlight speared sharply through the dark, sweeping the room. It was a casual check, but I heard footsteps coming farther into the room, and risked a look. There were two people, one with the heavy flashlight in hand. I knew their faces in the backwash of light: One was Emily, Earth Warden, and an occasional adversary; the other was even less comforting—Janette de Winter. I’d last seen her in the Denny’s, after the first earthquake in Fort Lauderdale; she looked just as polished, perfect, and diamond-hard as ever.

And just by being here, she was proving out my suspicion that she was a Sentinel.

‘‘Do you feel anything?’’ Janette asked. I concentrated on concealing myself, aetherically speaking; minimizing the blaze of power around me, drawing in all my senses until I was nothing but simple human flesh. If they were looking for a Warden, they’d miss me.