Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Praise for the Weather Warden Series

''The forecast calls for . . . a fun read.''

–Jim Butcher

''A fast-paced thrill ride note 1 brings new meaning to stormy weather.''

–Locus

''A breath of fresh air in the urban fantasy field.''

–SF Site

''A kick-butt heroine who will appeal strongly to fans of Tanya Huff, Kelley Armstrong, and

Charlaine Harris.''

–Romantic Times

''Chaos has never been so intriguing as when Rachel Caine shapes it into the setting of a story.

Each book in this series has built in intensity and fascination. Secondary characters blossom as

Joanne meets them . . . and twists are revealed that will leave you gasping.''

–Huntress Book Reviews

''The Weather Warden series is fun reading . . . more engaging than most TV.''

–Booklist

''Caine writes with a superquick pace that carries the reader from beginning to end effortlessly.

Caine's writing reminds me of Laurell K. Hamilton in her early days. . . . Dig in to this great new

fantasy series.''

–*Purple Pens

''With chick-lit dialogue and rocket-propelled pacing, Rachel Caine takes the Weather Wardens

to places the Weather Channel never imagined!''

–Mary Jo Putney

''I dare you to put this book down.''

–University City Review (Philadelphia)

Also by Rachel Caine

The Weather Warden Novels

Ill Wind

Heat Stroke

Chill Factor

Windfall

Firestorm

Thin Air

To the librarians and staff of the New Orleans Public

Library system, struggling to return from the

disaster of Hurricane Katrina. You are truly amazing.

Almost every branch of the NOPL sustained damage

during Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and many are

still closed and in need of renovation.

Donate by visiting the Rebuild Web site:

nutrias.org/~nopl/foundation/katrinafoundationdonation.htm .

Other Gulf Coast-area libraries are also still in need

of your help. You can find a complete list through

the American Library Association:

www.ala.org/ala/cro/katrina/katrina.htm.

Please donate generously to bring books back to

those who, like us, want to believe that words can

change the world.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Joe Bonamassa, for giving me Sloe Gin and the

inspiration to do this thing.

Prologue

''Honey!'' I yelled. ''Get the phone, would you?'' It was ringing off the hook, and I was a little

busy trying to put out a fire-a wildfire, actually, blazing across Alligator Alley along the coast

of Florida. It had been burning for three long days, sending choking black smoke our way.

Never off duty, that was me. Joanne Baldwin: Weather Warden by first choice-if a world-

ending storm blew up without notice, I was the go-to girl. My secondary ability-and second

choice-was to act as a Fire Warden, which was what was occupying me at the moment. Being

an Earth Warden, helping living things heal and grow, and controlling things such as earthquakes

and volcanoes, was also something I could do, though not nearly as reliably or as well. As far as

being comfortable with the abilities, having Earth powers was still a distant, weird, cautious

third.

I stood on the balcony of my apartment building, my eyes stinging from the whipping wind and

drifting smoke, and worked magic. It didn't look like I was doing much of anything. Truthfully, I

probably could have gone inside, picked up the phone, and talked to whatever cold-calling

telemarketer was on the other end . . . but I was feeling frustrated, and I needed to do something

positive, so I was concentrating, from a distance of several miles away, on rendering burnable

underbrush less burnable. These changes would have to be undone later, for safety, but they

made dandy firebreaks in the meantime.

Of course, I was interfering with Fire Wardens and Weather Wardens who were already doing

their assigned jobs. Well, that was why I was the boss, right? That was what bosses did-

interfere. (My bosses always had, anyway, although come to think of it, I hadn't liked it much

when I'd been on the sticky end of the problem.)

The phone quit ringing. Good, I thought. Maybe they'd just given up.

The glass door behind me rumbled open on its track. I didn't turn away from the railing until a

man's hand dangled the phone over my shoulder. I looked at the phone delivery service,

eyebrows raised in silent question; David just raised his own in response.

David was always fantastic on the eyes, but he was especially great just now, at sunset, when the

red sky picked up bronze tints in his skin and highlighted supernatural sparks in his eyes. Oh, his

eyes-currently the rich, dark color of old pennies-were taking on a brighter hue as I watched,

because although David was currently wearing human form, and liked to wear it a lot, at a DNA

level he was something completely different. We call them Djinn, because the old tales of those

supernatural creatures able to do humans' dirty work were somewhat true.

Of course, these tales were also a whole lot not true, as I continued to learn every day.

David was only half dressed, in a pair of worn blue jeans riding low on his hips. There was a lot

of tempting gold-dusted skin on display, and so much to admire, from broad shoulders to abs that

would make a Greek statue cry with envy.

He usually had a shirt on, but then, David was actually more modest than I was. At least, in

public. In private . . . well. Let's just say that when David played at being human, he brought his

A game.

David waggled the phone again, significantly. I blinked and took it, thinking that the last thing in

the world I wanted just now was to get distracted from enjoying the view. ''Hello?''

I wasn't prepared for the volume-or the tirade– that erupted out of the phone. ''Joanne, would

you please butt out already? Jeez, woman, we can save the world without you! Just go relax! Do

you even own a dictionary? Vacation! Look it up!''

The voice on the other end was Paul Giancarlo, one of the most powerful element-controlling

Wardens in the country. He happened to specialize in weather work; he was also one of my

oldest surviving friends. The tone was a strongly Jersey-accented bellow, barely contained by the

phone's speaker. I held the phone farther from my ear. ''Oh, hey, Paul,'' I said. ''So. How's that

fire going?''

''The fire is going fine, and you need to quit screwing around. You are not on duty. I have

coverage on the damn fire, and you need to stop-''

''Helping? Thought you needed it. Because three days is kind of a long time to be breathing

smoke-''

''Kid. Stop already. We're on top of it!''

I doubted that. ''Let me talk to Lewis.'' Lewis Levander Orwell, my old college buddy and part-

time crush, was the only guy in the entire Wardens organization who still had the right to tell me

what to do, a fact that made me a little smug and-yes, I could admit it-a little insufferable.

''Lewis doesn't want to talk to you. Lewis wants me to tell you to butt out. Get it? You're on

vacation. Vacate already.''

Before I could fire back, Paul hung up on me. I stared at the phone, surprised and a little

wounded.

David took it from my fingers, put it on the patio table behind me, and said, ''I assume he told

you that you aren't needed right now. No, actually I don't assume that. I overheard.''

''Eavesdropper.''

''People three doors down heard it,'' he said. ''It wasn't a great feat of supernatural detection.''

I glared at him for a second, but honestly, I couldn't stay angry at David, especially when he

gave me that look.

But I glanced toward the fire again anyway, and I heard him sigh. ''Jo. Let go. I know how hard

it is for you, but you need to let other people handle their jobs. That's why they have them.''

''Three days!'' I said, pointing an accusatory finger toward the smoke. ''Come on, you don't

think they could have been a little more aggressive about it?''

''You know as well as I do that sometimes managing how a fire burns is more important than

putting it out,'' he said all too reasonably, and stepped between me and my view of the

conflagration. Not that he wasn't, you know, burning hot himself. Because he definitely was, and

I felt myself inevitably getting distracted.

''Stop that,'' I said, not with a lot of strength.

''Stop what?'' He reached for my hands, and I shivered as a breeze moved across my back,

which was left mostly bare by my sky blue halter top. Florida had been kind to me, for a change,

with lots of sun, lots of untroubled, cloud-free beaches. It was as if the Wardens themselves had

conspired to make my vacation uneventful, at least on the weather front, until this fire thing had

popped up.

And that had been okay for the first couple days. And then it had just kept on coming. I know it

sounds crazy, but I'd gotten a little bit too rested.

Not that David couldn't make that haunting feeling of uselessness go away; he was promising to,

just with the gentle pressure of his fingers moving up my bare arms.

''Stop making me want you,'' I said. That got the eyebrows again, and a slightly wounded

frown.

''Making you?''

''You know what I mean.''

''No, I don't, actually. You think I'm manipulating you?''

''You're Djinn,'' I said. ''Manipulating people is basically built into your DNA. I'm not really

sure you can help it. But-I didn't mean that. I'm just-I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm

thinking. I just-''

''You want to be taking action,'' he said. ''Yes. I know. You really do need to learn how to let

go.''

''What I don't need is even more vacation.'' I stepped back from David and dropped grumpily

into a deck chair, stretching my long, bare legs out in front of me. The tan was coming along

nicely. Great accomplishment. Everybody else is saving the world; you're golden-browning.

''Oh, I think you definitely do,'' David said, and draped himself over the other chair, chin

propped on his fist. ''I have never met anyone who needed to learn to relax more than you do.''

And that was saying a lot; he'd met a lot of people-millions, probably. I still didn't have any

clear idea of how old David really was, only that his birth date was so far back in history that the

idea of calendars had been newfangled. He'd been around, my lover. The fact that he was

hanging around here, letting me be bitchy to him, was kind of amazing.

Before I could apologize to him, the phone rang again. I picked up the cordless extension,

pressed the button, and said, ''Paul, I swear, I'm not-''

A businesslike voice on the other end said, ''May I speak with Joanne Baldwin?''

''Speaking.'' I rolled my eyes at David. Another attempt to sell me flood insurance or steel

hurricane shutters. I readied the I'm-in-an-apartment speech, which usually served to put a stop

to these things.

''Ms. Baldwin, hello, my name is Phil Garrett. I'm an investigative reporter with the New York

Times. I'd like to speak with you about the organization known as the Wardens. I believe you're

one of its senior members. Could I have your title?''

I blinked, and my expression must have been something to behold, because David slowly

straightened up in his chair, leaning forward. ''You-sorry, what? What did you say?''

''Phil Garrett. New York Times. Calling about the Wardens. I have some questions for you.''

''I''-my voice locked tight in my throat-''got another call, hold on.'' In a panic, I hit the END

CALL button and put the phone down on the table, staring at it as if it had grown eight legs and

was about to scuttle off. ''Oh my God.''

''What?'' David asked. He looked interested, not alarmed. Apparently, I was amusing when

panicked.

The phone rang again. I didn't move to pick it up. David took it and said, pleasantly, ''Yes?''

There was a pause while he listened. ''I see. Mr. Garrett, I'm very sorry, but Ms. Baldwin can't

speak to you right now. What's your deadline?'' His mouth compressed into a thin line, clearly

trying not to smile at whatever my face was doing now. I could hardly breathe, I felt so cold. ''I

see. That's fairly soon. Ms. Baldwin is actually on vacation right now. Maybe there's someone

else you can-'' Another pause, and his gaze darted toward mine. ''You were given her

number.''

I mouthed, blankly, Shit! David lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. This could not be happening.

I mouthed, By who? David dutifully repeated the question.

''Not at liberty to divulge your sources,'' he said, for my benefit. ''I see. If you want my

opinion, I think you're being used, Mr. Garrett. And you're wasting your time.''

He listened. I felt my heart hammer even faster. Mr. Garrett wasn't going down easy.

''I'll have her call you back,'' David said, hung up, and put the phone back on the table. He

leaned forward, watching me, hands folded. ''You're scared.''

I nodded, with way too much emphasis. ''Reporters. I hate reporters. I hate reporters from little

weekly papers in One Horse, Wyoming, so how much do you think I'm going to hate somebody

from the New York Times? Guess.''

''You don't even know him. Maybe this is a good thing. Good publicity.''

''Are you on crack? Of course it's not a good thing! He's a reporter! And we're a secret

organization! Who the hell gave him his info? And my number?''

''Jo, he's a reporter. He didn't have to get your number from anyone inside the Wardens. He

could have gotten it through simple research. As to what put him on to the whole topic . . .''

David shrugged. He was right. With all the disasters and potentially life-destroying events that

we'd had the last few years, the Wardens had been a little more public than anyone liked.

And so had I.

I grabbed for the phone and dialed Lewis's cell. It rang to voice mail. ''Lewis, call me back. I've

got reporter troubles. Look, if this is your idea of a joke and you staked me out as the sacrificial

goat for the media, I am not going to be the only one on the altar when they get out the knives-

''

David took the phone and hung it up, very calmly. ''That's enough of the metaphor,'' he said.

''Look, you don't need to flail around. You know what to say. Deny everything. They won't

have proof. They never do. And even if they do have something, refer them to the government

and the UN. It'll go away.''

''What if it doesn't?'' I chewed my lip in agitation, tasting tangerine gloss. Great. Now I was

destroying my makeup, too, and the whole purpose of lip gloss was to stay interestingly kissable.

''Look, it's the Times. This is different. I'm worried.''

David cocked his head, looking bemused now. ''I've seen you face down monsters, hurricanes,

and tornadoes, and you're scared of a phone call?''

''It's bigger than that.'' I felt it in my gut. ''There was a reporter a few months ago. When I was

on my way to Sedona with Venna. She knew things. It was just a matter of time, I guess, before

word got around and people got to digging. Dammit! I should have known this was coming.''

He leaned forward and took my hands. His felt warm, strong, calming. ''I have a question that

will scare you even more, if you want to change the subject, '' he said, after a long moment.

I frowned at him. ''No games.''

''No. This is a serious question.'' He slipped off the deck chair, and one knee touched the

concrete balcony floor. He never looked away from my face, and he never let go of my hands.

''This is a question that's going to need a serious answer.''

My heart froze, then skipped to catch up on its beats. ''I-'' I couldn't begin to think of what to

say. I just waited. I probably had it all wrong, anyway.

''Will you marry me?'' he asked.

Oh. I didn't have it wrong at all.

My lips parted, and nothing, absolutely nothing, came out. Was he serious? He couldn't be

serious. We were comfortable together; we had love, we had partnership, we had-everything.

Everything except . . . well, this-an official kind of commitment.

Not possible, some part of my brain reported briskly. David was a supernatural Djinn, only partly

tied to the mortal world. I might have been a Warden, with extra powers over wind, water, air,

earth, living things . . . but I was just human, when it came down to brass tacks. He was

immortal; I wasn't, and I was achingly aware of that, every day that passed between us.

''David . . .'' I came up against an absolute blank wall, inspirationally speaking. ''I-can we talk

about this later?''

''Why? So you can come up with reasons to justify your fears about me leaving you?'' He

wasn't angry; he didn't mean it to hurt. It was matter-of-fact and strangely even gentle. ''Jo, I

need to know that you feel as I do. I need to have you with me. And– it's mortal custom.'' He

was clearly reaching on that last one.

''Have you been married before?'' There, I'd asked it. We didn't go into his past a lot, but I

knew it was ancient, and there had been plenty of relationships– Djinn as well as human.

He raised my hands to his lips, and I shivered at the warm, intimate kiss. ''Yes,'' he said. ''Ages

ago. Before I knew what I was waiting to feel.''

I stared at him. ''And now you know.''

''Of course I know,'' he said. His eyes had taken on the burning purity of newly minted copper.

''I was waiting for you.''

The phone rang. My gaze went to it; I was startled, but didn't move to pick up. One ring, and it

cut off. I wasn't sure if the caller had thought better of it, or if David had severed the connection.

''If you say no, it's all right. I will stay with you as long as you want me to stay,'' he said. ''You

won't lose me. You don't have to agree if this doesn't feel right to you.''

''But it's important to you.''

''Yes. Or I wouldn't have brought it up.'' David looked troubled for a second, as if he was

unsure of how much-or little-to say. Then he plunged ahead. ''When humans make their

vows to each other, it's the closest they can come to the depth of commitment a Djinn feels. You

see? I just want-I'm afraid of losing you.''

And it had taken him a lot to risk the question-I knew that. David's feelings for me were fierce

and constant; it was part of who the Djinn were. But human feelings were changeable, and I had

no doubt he lived in fear that one day I'd wake up and be a different person, one he couldn't

reach.

Being married wouldn't lessen that risk, but it was a symbol, a trust.

It all came down to trust. His, and mine.

''This is crazy,'' I breathed. ''What the hell are the Djinn going to say?''

''Nothing, if they know what's good for them.'' There was a glimmer of coldness to his tone.

David was the leader of about half of the Djinn-the good half, in my opinion, although there

were exceptions. The other half was led by a Djinn named Ashan, an icy bastard who didn't like

me very much and wasn't especially warm toward David, either. ''If you're worrying what it

will do to my standing among them, don't.''

But I had to think about that, didn't I? It wasn't just the two of us. The Wardens might have a

thing or two to say about a human marrying a Djinn, too. And what minister was going to bless

this union, anyway? Aside from their religious beliefs, most ministers didn't believe in the

supernatural, at least not in any good kind of way. And I knew David. He'd want complete

honesty in this, no matter how difficult that would be.

The day was getting darker, the sky turning from denim to indigo. On the horizon, the sun was

nearly down, pulling its glorious trailing rays with it.

Black, greasy smoke drifted into my eyes, and I blinked and coughed. David glanced at it,

annoyed, and the smoke disappeared-moved elsewhere. The air around us was fresh and clear.

''Jo,'' he said, ''you don't have to answer now. I just . . . had to ask the question.''

I ought to say no. I knew that. I just knew.

''Yes,'' I said, and something in me broke loose with a wild, silent cry. I was off the cliff now, I

realized, with a fierce joy, and that felt good. It felt free.

His eyes ignited into a color found only in the heart of the sun. ''Yes?''

''Yes, already. I'll marry you. Yes. Hell, yes. What am I, stupid?''

The phone rang again. David let go of my hands, picked up the extension, and thumbed it on

without looking away from my face. ''Mr. Garrett, I'm taking my lover to bed,'' he said. ''If you

know what's good for you, you'll reschedule your deadline.''

And he crushed the phone as if it were made of marshmallow creme and dropped the smashed

pieces on the patio table.

''Oh,'' I said faintly. ''Problem solved. Good approach.''

On the horizon, the fire in Alligator Alley continued to glow. I discovered that I didn't care at all,

as David's hand pulled me to my feet and into his arms.

I woke up hours later to the sound of screaming sirens. The Wardens had majorly screwed up-

again. My apartment complex was on fire. We were being evacuated.

That was it. I was never going on vacation again.

Chapter One

Getting married was like planning a military invasion of a distant foreign country, only instead

of moving soldiers and guns, you were organizing bridesmaids and bouquets.

Of course, my bridesmaids were bound to be pretty tough chicks. I couldn't really be sure there

wouldn't be guns.

''You know,'' said my best friend, Cherise, staring thoughtfully into the mirror and smoothing

her hands down the clinging lines of her dress, ''there's a math formula for wedding dresses.''

I blinked at her. I was trying to figure out if the layer cake of tulle and lace I had on constituted

romantic excess, or if it looked like I'd fought off a demented pastry chef and barely escaped

with my life. ''What?''

''The problem is, this dress looks totally fabulous on me. And the better the bridesmaid's gown

looks on her, the fuglier the bride's. I'm just pointing it out because I'm a kindhearted person,

you know.''

She was right-she did look totally fabulous in the dress. The color was a dark rose, one that

wildly complemented Cherise's blond hair and beautiful skin. It was a simple sheath dress,

clinging in all the right places, and it ended at the right length for her, just below the knee, to

display her perfectly sculpted calves to full advantage. No dyed generic pumps for Cherise; she'd

scoured the stores and come up with a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes that made me pray to the

fashion gods for something half as great to appear in my closet.

The first time I'd ever met Cherise, she'd looked fantastic. Cherise could look delicious wearing

an oversized foam-rubber sun-I know, I've seen her do it, back in the days we both worked for

the local bottom-of-the-barrel TV station as weather girls.

I, on the other hand, did not look delicious. I looked like a wedding cake that hadn't quite risen

properly. And white really wasn't my color.

''You're a true friend,'' I said, and unzipped my dress to let it slide into a confusion of frippery

on the dressing room floor. The waiting dress wrangler rescued it, fussily dusted it, and put it

back on a hanger and in a garment bag, the better to protect its doubtful charms. ''Right.

Something in off-white? With less-'' I made a vague, poofy gesture with my hands. The

salesclerk, who must have seen brides make a thousand terrible decisions, looked relieved. She

nodded and turned to Cherise.

''Ma'am?'' she asked. ''Can I bring you some more selections?''

Cherise turned, hands on hips. ''You're kidding, right? Look, I gave her fair warning. I am not

giving up this dress. I'll be maid of honor, but not matronly of honor.''

''Keep the dress,'' I said hastily. ''It really does look great on you. So you're done. It's just me

we're still working on.''

Cherise, mollified, unzipped and shimmied out of the dress. She was the one who fussed with it,

getting it hung just so, and zipped it into the garment bag before handing it to the salesclerk. ''Be

sure nothing happens to it,'' she said. ''Put my name on it in giant letters: Cherise. In fact, if

you've got a vault-''

''Cher,'' I said, ''leave the poor lady alone. She's dealing with enough as it is. Your dress is

safe.''

''Maybe I should take it with me.''

''Maybe you should put your clothes on. I'm feeling kind of outclassed, here.''

Cherise grinned, undermining her Playboy Bunny appeal but making herself real in a way most

pretty women weren't. She looked after herself with care, but she also didn't put too much

emphasis on it. Cherise liked to do things that the Genetically Chosen Few generally didn't, like

read, geek out on TV shows, indulge in online gaming. Her most prominent body decoration,

which showed plainly as she turned to gather up her jeans and tank top from the bench, was a

Gray-a little gray alien tattoo waving hello from the small of her back, where most beautiful

women would have put a rose as a tramp stamp.

That was Cherise, cheerfully mowing down the barriers.

I sat down on the other bench, legs crossed, feeling exposed and vulnerable in my lacy

underthings. I had a huge list of things still to do for the wedding, and I was running out of time,

and the last thing I needed to be doing was obsessing about the dress. I mean, I had good taste in

clothes, right? I could usually walk into a store, grab something right off the rack, and get it

right.

Today, I'd gone through more dresses than I'd worn in the last year. Maybe I ought to try the

designer line again. Or get married in a garbage bag. Add a couple of frills, a nice bow-

couldn't be worse than what I'd just seen myself in today. There was a fashion hell. I'd been

there.

''You okay?'' Cherise finished buttoning up her jeans, skimmed her top down to street-legal

levels, flipped her hair, and voila, she was fantastic. She stepped out of the Jimmy Choo pumps

and boxed them up with the care usually reserved for crown jewels or religious relics, and slid

her perfectly pedicured toes into a pair of hot-pink flip-flops. ''Because you look a little bit-''

''Spooked,'' I supplied sourly. ''Worried. Scared. Nuts. Insane. Completely, utterly-''

''I was going to say hungry. It's already two hours after we should have had lunch.''

Low blood sugar probably was impairing my impressive dress-choosing skills, and even though

this was a full-service bridal store, I doubted that they catered. ''Oh,'' I said. ''Right. Lunch.''

Now that she mentioned it, my stomach growled impatiently, as if it had been trying to get my

attention for a while and was ready to cannibalize another body part. I reached for my own jeans

and top and began tugging them on. I wasn't as perfectly body-balanced as Cherise, but I had

legs for days, and even in flats I topped her by several inches.

The hardworking clerk came back, sweating under a forklift's worth of alternate dress choices. I

froze in the act of zipping up my pants. ''Um-''

Cherise, rightly identifying a moment when a maid of honor could take one for the bridal team,

smiled winningly at the clerk and said, ''Sorry, but I've got a nail appointment. We'll have to

come back later. Could you keep those out? I swear, it'll be an hour, tops.'' She caught my look.

''Two, at the most.''

The clerk looked around the dressing room, which had far fewer hooks than she had dresses,

sighed, and nodded.

I had just finished fastening the top button on my pants when I felt the whole store distinctly

shake, as if a giant hand had grabbed the place and yanked. I froze, bracing myself on the wall,

and saw Cherise do the same. The clerk froze under her load of thousand-dollar frocks.

And then all hell broke loose. The floor bucked, walls undulated, cracks ripped through plaster,

and the air exploded with the sounds of glass crashing, things falling, and timbers snapping. The

salesclerk screamed, dropped the gowns, and flung herself into the doorway, bracing herself with

both hands.

I should have taken cover-Cherise sensibly did, curling instantly into a ball under the nearest

cover, which was the bench on her side.

What did I do? I stood there. And I launched myself hard into the aetheric, rising out of the

physical world and into a plane of existence where the lines of force were more clearly visible.

Not good. The entire area of Fort Lauderdale was a boiling confusion of forces, most erupting

out of a fault line running directly under the store in which I stood. It looked as if somebody had

dropped a bucket of red and black dye into a washing machine and set it on full churn.

We were so screwed.

I sensed other Wardens rising into the aetheric, responding to the crisis; there were two or three

of them relatively close whose signatures I recognized-two were Weather, which wasn't much

help, but one was an Earth Warden, and a powerful one.

I flung my still-new Earth Warden powers deep into the foundations of the building in which my

physical form was still trapped, and began shoring up the structure. It was taking a beating, but

the wood responded to me, healing itself and binding into an at least temporarily unbreakable

frame. The metal was tougher, but it also fell within my powers, so I braced it up as I went,

creating a lightning-fast shell of stability in a world that wouldn't hold together for long.

I reached out, in the aetheric, and connected with the other Earth Warden; together, we were able

to blanket part of the rift with power, like pouring superglue on an open wound. Not a miracle, it

was just a bandage, but enough. I didn't know enough about how to balance the forces of the

Earth; it was different from the flashing, volatile energy of Fire or the massive, ponderous fury

of Weather. It had all kinds of slow, unstoppable momentum, and I felt very fragile standing in

its way.

Help, I said to the other Earth Warden-not that talking was really talking on the aetheric. It was

crude communication, at best, but he got the message. I watched as he spread himself thin, and

his aura settled deep into the heart of the boiling red of the disturbance.

Oh, hell no. No way was I going there.

Then again, if I didn't, I was leaving him alone to do the dirty work-the potentially fatal dirty

work.

I took a deep metaphorical breath, steadied myself, and stepped off the cliff.

Sensations are different on the aetheric-properly, they're not sensations at all, because all the

nerve endings are still firmly planted down on terra firma. But the mind processes stimuli, no

matter how unpleasant or strange, and so what it felt like to me on my way down, following my

Earth Warden colleague, was . . . pressure-being squeezed, lightly at first, then more intensely.