Gale Force (36 page)

‘‘Your hands aren’t clean,’’ he pointed out. ‘‘Hell, you’ve stood by and
let
people die, if nothing else. How come I’m the bad guy?’’

‘‘Because—’’ I ground my teeth together. ‘‘Because nobody ever became evil overnight. Because the bad guys don’t see what they do as evil; they see it as their own personal good. Sound familiar?’’

He took another slug, straight from the bottle. ‘‘Joanne Baldwin, big-time hero. If I hadn’t given you that Demon Mark, you’d still be paddling around the shallow-personality pool, wondering if you could destroy a tornado fast enough to make the shoe sale at Macy’s. Not good, not evil. Not anything.’’

‘‘I don’t understand.’’

‘‘Yes, you do.’’ He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. ‘‘I’ve made you strong. I’m going to make you stronger. Stronger than any goddamn Warden in history. And I’m going to do that by changing the whole ecosystem of the planet— by destroying the Djinn. Makes humans the
real
apex predators of this little ball of rock. And I’m putting you in charge of it.’’

It hit me what he was trying to say. ‘‘You—you think this is a good thing for me. For the Wardens.’’

‘‘I don’t give a shit if it’s good or bad. It’s what’s necessary. I always do what’s necessary.’’ Bob’s grin flashed. ‘‘Sometimes that’s also fun, though.’’

I didn’t want to hear any more. Outside the windows, the seas began to chop as the wind moved faster, as temperatures shifted and swirled. He was playing with the weather. Taunting us. Sending temperatures into a downward spiral out near Cuba, creating an imbalance that would surely force intervention.

‘‘I’m going to kill you,’’ I said. ‘‘Demon or not. Dead or not. You’re not walking away today, not if it costs me every last breath I have. If you made me what I am, then what I am is coming after you.’’

He sighed. ‘‘Ah, Jo. Wave a red flag, and you run at it like a bull, every time. You think I didn’t know that?’’

Which was exactly how I wanted him to think. My gaze had fixed on something black and glittering, mounted like some exotic trophy weapon on the back wall of the house, right out in the open, almost as a taunt.

The whole house was lethally radioactive. I was, in effect, already dead. Even as an Earth Warden, I couldn’t diffuse that much radiation through my system without damaging my own cells. Maybe Lewis could, but not me. My daughter had cut herself off from me—had been forced to.

The power I was drawing from David in a steady stream was keeping me alive, but it wouldn’t save me over the long haul. It was a treatment, not a cure.

I turned away from Bad Bob and walked to the Unmaking. It was glimmering with its own black aura, sending its poisonous tendrils deep into the house, into the aetheric.

‘‘You don’t want to do that, honey,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s suicide.’’

I picked it up.

The outside of it felt shockingly hot. A slightly rough texture when I ran my fingers lightly down, finding the balance point. The horrible thing was heavier than I’d expected, and my muscles began to shake, trying to rid me of the burden.

Bad Bob hadn’t moved. He raised the cigar to his mouth and puffed, eyes half closed. ‘‘You got the wrong idea, Jo. You can’t kill me this way.’’

‘‘You’re probably right,’’ I panted. I fought, but lost, the battle for control of the weather system that was rotating in past Cuba, moving high and fast and wild. It collided with warmer air, and the clouds built walls of thick, heavy gray. Lightning burned inside it, living and dying in rapid-fire flares. ‘‘But I’ll bet it slows you down for the others to finish.’’

‘‘They’ll have their hands full trying to keep half of Florida alive by nightfall. If I make things bad enough, the Djinn will have to show their faces just to keep the balance, and once that happens . . . they’re mine.’’ His pale blue eyes focused on me. ‘‘Put it down, kid. You’re just killing yourself faster.’’

I shook my head. Sweat dripped down my face, matted my hair. ‘‘No. Make me. I know you can.’’

‘‘Why should I?’’ he asked. ‘‘You want to kill me, kill me. Do it. Maybe you’ll be right. Maybe it’ll just be that easy.’’

I lunged, both hands barely able to keep hold of the black spear, and as I did I had an involuntary flash of sense-memory, of Jerome Silverton digging that black shard from a dead Djinn, and of my dream of David lying dead in the street, pierced just like this.

I dragged myself to a wild, panting halt, flat-footed, staring at Bad Bob’s blue eyes. The tip of the Unmaking trembled just an inch from his chest. He made no effort to get away.

‘‘Do it,’’ he said. ‘‘Maybe I’m not your enemy after all. You ever think of that?’’

Sweat burned down my face, in my eyes, and I felt my hands spasming, trying to drop this thing that was already killing me. It wouldn’t do any good, but you couldn’t blame my body for trying to save itself.

He was trying to tell me something. There was a message under all this, a message unknown and beyond translation, but somehow, one I was receiving.

Bad Bob had expected me. He wasn’t the type to go in for self-sacrifice, and he knew how to set the hook firmly.

How to use the best possible bait . . . himself.

He had the power to stop me, if he wanted.
Why wasn’t he?

He’d taunted me. He’d threatened my daughter. He’d done everything he could to drive me to this moment. He’d used my vows with David to open the Djinn up to the Rule of Three. We knew he had Rahel. And Rahel had a gift . . . for mimicry.

The last piece fell into place with a physical shock.
This wasn’t Bad Bob.

It was Rahel. It had to be Rahel, forced to take on his shape, be his puppet, his sacrificial goat.

I felt a pulse of power in the black torch on my back. Bad Bob was getting impatient with me. I wasn’t following the script.

I closed my eyes and reached for the cord that bound me to David. Energy was flowing through the connection, thick and golden, a torrent that was racing through my body in a frantic effort to keep me alive. It wasn’t working anymore.
I need you to show me,
I whispered.
I need to see. Help me see.

I went up into the aetheric. It was hard, so very hard that it was like ripping off my own skin; I barely made it into the lowest levels, and my Oversight revealed the room in dull reds and blacks.

It wasn’t Rahel in the chair after all. Rahel was outside,
heading to the van
. Bad Bob was holding me here, and going after our flank by attacking Lewis.

I needed to act. If Rahel was out there, that meant that Bad Bob was in front of me.
Had
to be. I just had to strike that last inch. . . .

I saw a bright copper flash, just a flash, with the last fading strength of Oversight before I fell back into my skin, and I knew. I knew the truth.

David hadn’t gone to the aetheric. Bad Bob had used Rahel to lure him here, and he’d bound him, just as he’d bound Rahel.

David
was sitting in the chair in front of me, and I was an inch away from taking his life. I’d come so close, so horribly close, to making the wrong choice. One more inch, just one, and my life would have been over, even if I’d survived this day.

David had been trying to warn me all along.
Maybe I’m not your enemy.

Oh God.

I tried to keep my expression the same, except for a slight involuntary widening of my eyes. I was barely hanging on; subtleties would be lost, if Bad Bob was— and I knew he would be—watching.

He wouldn’t want to miss seeing me make such a catastrophic mistake.

I know it’s you,
I tried to say to David, through our locked stare.
Trust me.
If Bad Bob had put him in thrall, he wouldn’t have much room to maneuver, and no room to give me any real assistance. All I could hope was that Bad Bob, clever and cruel as he was, hadn’t thought of everything.

And of course, that I had, which wasn’t too damn likely.

‘‘Where?’’ I shaped the word only with my lips, burning my question into Bad Bob’s eyes, trying to get across one simple, impossible message. For a second I thought I’d guessed wrong, that I’d just destroyed myself for nothing and missed my only chance, but then those blue eyes darted quickly away, to a point just behind me and to my right.

The doorway. Of course. Bad Bob would want to see this up close.

One thing about the Unmaking; it was pointed on both ends. I didn’t have enough strength and control left to turn, so I lunged backward, angling toward the doorway. One step, two, fast and hard, letting my own exhausted weight do the work as I drove the weapon in reverse, straight for the real enemy.

I felt the end of the spear slam home, and felt the whole thing vibrate like a struck bell. It shook my hands off its heated surface, and my whole body threw itself into an uncontrollable spasm, every muscle sparking and spasming and driving me hard to the floor.

In the chair next to the window, the fake Bad Bob continued to sit, watching me—unable to move, because he
couldn’t
move.

I writhed over on my back. Sweaty hair clung to my face, obscuring my vision, but as I swiped it away I saw Bad Bob—the real one—standing over me, staring down at the black rod that had punched completely through his stomach and emerged glittering and bloody from the other side.

He laughed. ‘‘Good thinking,’’ he said, and blood fountained out over his chin and bubbled in his mouth. ‘‘Damn, girl. Still got an arm.’’

He fell heavily to his knees, face draining white, and gripped the Unmaking with both hands. I wriggled backward away from him as he began to pull it free of his body, one torturous inch at a time. His hands were shaking, turning gray, but he kept at it with single-minded intensity.

And what he pulled out of his body was
thicker
. He was creating more of it, generating it from his own body.

But it looked as if it hurt like a son of a bitch.

I crab-crawled back until I bumped into the legs of the man sitting in the chair, and looked up at him. I saw a single flare of Djinn fire break free of the disguise.

‘‘David,’’ I whispered. I got no response, of course. There was a container somewhere; there had to be if Bad Bob had bound a Djinn—something glass, something breakable. But even though the beach house was relatively uncluttered, I didn’t have time or strength to search. Bottles in the kitchen, the refrigerator, hidden in cupboards, forgotten in the attic—it could be anywhere.

Bad Bob grunted with effort as he pulled, one convulsive jerk after another. The Unmaking was sliding slowly out of him. I watched the sharp end disappear into his back. Another two or three pulls, and he’d have it out, bigger and more powerful than ever.

I’d bought us some time, but it was running out. Outside, I heard explosions, and felt the ground tremble under my feet. Rahel had reached the van, and she was going after Lewis. It was a free-for-all outside.

I closed my eyes and found what little small, still pool of Earth power I had. I’d never had time for real training, real control, but for this, I didn’t need it. It’s always easier to destroy than to create.

I attuned myself to the specific frequencies of glass, crystal, and porcelain, and sent out a pulse of power that rippled out from me like a sonic boom.

It hit the bottles in the bar and exploded them in a mist of silica. Crystal decanters and tumblers vibrated apart. The wave reached the windows and blew them out in sprays of glitter. It rolled over Bad Bob, past him, and shattered everything that could be shattered, continuing relentlessly through the entire house, as far as I could push it.

He
could
have hidden his bottles somewhere else, but he’d want to keep them close. Warden instinct. I pushed the wave front as far as I could, but my strength failed before I reached the gates of the estate.

‘‘Bitch,’’ Bad Bob whispered, and with one convulsive jerk, pulled the spear completely out of his body. The gaping wound crisped black at the edges, then began to knit itself closed.

In the chair, the false image of Bad Bob flinched, and I felt the timbre of power in the room shift and flow as the force that had been holding David apart from me cut off.

I’d destroyed the bottle.

David was free.

The golden thread between us vibrated and snapped tight again.

In a second, he had his hands around me and was pulling me up, preparing to carry me through the open window.

‘‘No you don’t,’’ Bad Bob gasped, and pointed his finger at us. I froze, off balance, unable to control my muscles.
Dammit!
I’d forgotten about the torch mark on my shoulder blade. It wasn’t only David he’d been able to manipulate.

‘‘If you won’t play, you pay,’’ Bad Bob said, and grinned with bloody teeth. He reversed his grip on the Unmaking, found the balance point . . . and drove it straight down, into the floor—through the floor, into the concrete.

Through the concrete, into the bedrock of the earth.

I felt the sentience of the planet cry out, a wave of horror and emotion that overrode every synapse in my body. I
felt
her agony. She hadn’t been hurt so badly in a long, long time. David cried out, and I felt his hands slide away. He lunged past me, heading for Bad Bob, but after one step he pitched onto his side, convulsing.

Conduit to the aetheric and Mother Earth, he was also the most vulnerable to her pain.

The earthquake hit with the force of a bomb, shattering steel and wood and concrete as if it were so much glass. I sensed the perimeter troops, Warden and human alike, being tossed around like dice outside. I heard explosions, cracks, the sound of trees groaning in agony and breaking off in lethally heavy pieces.

I couldn’t move. Bad Bob didn’t move, either; he stood staring at me, one hand still outstretched, the other gripping the shaft of the Unmaking still sticking out of the ground.