Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

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missing from a humiliating fleeing-the-cameras expose was me shoving the cameraman or

giving him the finger. Not that I wasn't tempted.

Once we were inside the car, I tried calming, deep breaths. It didn't really work, but it made me

feel as if at least I was making an effort. David wasted no time, exerting a pulse of power to dry

out our clothes, hair, and shoes, not to mention the seats, even as he locked the doors in case they

decided to try one more time. I hastily got the car in drive and pulled away into traffic, leaving

the reporters behind.

I distinctly saw a high five behind me in their van.

''That,'' I said, ''was not the plan.''

''What, the tornado? Or the reporters?''

''Both. Either. Not the plan.'' I chewed my lip; too late to worry about my lipstick at this point.

My carefully applied makeup, not to mention my hairdo, was long gone. ''Right. Enough

making like a target for the day. Let's give the Sentinels some time to chew over their options

while we go home and . . .''

''And?''

''Do whatever comes naturally.''

''I can think of a few things that aren't quite that natural. Are they off the table?''

''Depends.'' My heart rate was slowly declining from the triple digits, but I still felt jittery. Too

many shocks, too close together. ''I think I'll have to ask for a massage first. I'm a bundle of

nerves right now.''

He put his hand atop mine on the gear shift, and a slow warm pulse moved through my body,

steadying me. ''I would like that,'' he said. ''And if you want to take the phone off the hook and

turn off that damn cell phone . . .''

''We'd have Lewis and a bunch of paratroopers storming the apartment,'' I said. ''Being out of

contact, not really an option right now. You know, since we're bait.''

He sighed. ''Yes. Bait.'' Beat. ''I'm sorry about the dress. You seemed very happy.''

''Yes.'' I bit my lip, unreasonably distressed, and was glad he sent another pulse of energy

through my nerves to counteract my ridiculously out-of-proportion reactions. ''It was gorgeous.

Well, I'm sure I'll find another one.'' Maybe.

''We can look tomorrow.''

I couldn't help it; I laughed. He'd said it in all seriousness, as if our little outing hadn't netted a

significant and near-fatal attack. As if that was just par for the course, an everyday hazard of

going to the store.

''Yes,'' I said, when I was able to speak around the chuckles. ''Oh, absolutely. Shopping

tomorrow. But maybe we should try to pick someplace easier on bystanders. ''

He nodded soberly. ''Internet.''

''Internet.''

''I hear there's pornography on the Internet.''

''Filthy pervert.''

His eyebrows quirked, then settled into a severe line. ''I take exception. I'm quite clean,

actually.''

''Too bad. I like a scruffy man.''

''I can be scruffy.'' His tone changed. ''Pull over.''

''What?''

''Pull over now.''

Oh. Not part of the banter, then. I looked in the rearview mirror but saw nothing out of the

ordinary. Still, David wasn't exactly one to overreact. I took the next left and found a shopping

center parking space, right between a nail salon and a Spanish-language video rental store.

''What is it?''

''We're being followed,'' David said.

''I didn't see-''

''By a Djinn.'' He was already opening his door. ''Stay here.''

''David! No, you can't-'' I was having flashbacks to the horrible scene in my apartment, David

on his knees and helpless at the hands of his fellow Djinn. I didn't trust any of them now,

certainly not any of them who felt compelled to follow us in secret.

''I have to.'' No point in arguing, because I'd be arguing with the rain; he was already gone, and

even though I hurriedly scrambled out after, I saw no trace of him.

And then I did, in the deep shadows at the side of the building. David was in conversation with a

very tall man-Djinn-with hair too long to stand up in the nearly pompadour style he was

wearing. Thin, intense, and entirely unfamiliar to me. He was wearing retro clothes, circa the

mid-1950s, but he didn't seem at all Father Knows Best to me; he radiated an unfocused kind of

don't-mess-with-me menace.

The Djinn's gaze fixed on me, and I saw his eyes flare into a bright crimson. He bent his head

and said something else to David, and blew apart into mist and was gone.

David came back in no particular hurry, hands in his pants pockets, lost in thought.

We both got back into the car at the same time, and I dried us off, a flick of power that felt

satisfyingly productive for a change. He hardly noticed.

''Who was that?'' I asked. David stirred, glanced at me, and looked surprised.

''Roy,'' he said.

''Who's Roy?''

''One of mine,'' he said. ''You don't need to have him over for drinks. He's not polite company.

In fact, I'd rather you never met him. But he's very useful for some things.''

''Such as?''

''Such as keeping an eye on Kevin and Rahel.'' He cocked an eyebrow at my expression. ''You

didn't seriously think I would let them do this without some kind of backup plan?''

Oh. Actually, I'd thought Rahel was the backup plan, but I could see his point. ''So what did

Roy have to say?''

''Kevin was taken from his apartment a half hour ago, along with Rahel disguised as Cherise. It

was efficient. He fought, but he was contained with a minimum of effort.''

If you knew Kevin, this was ominously impressive. ''Sentinels?''

''I can't think of anyone else with the strength and the motivation,'' David said. ''The thing is,

they did this while they were hitting us. Which implies-''

''A whole lot of organization,'' I finished. ''Not to mention power to burn.''

We looked at each other for a long moment, and I finally started up the car again. ''It's too late

to change our minds, isn't it?''

''I'm afraid so. The game's in motion now, and we have to follow the play. I dispatched Roy to

follow at a safe distance; he should report back when Kevin and Cherise reach a final

destination. I don't think they'll be taken far.''

''Meanwhile?''

He reached out and traced his thumb over my lips. ''Meanwhile, we should find a place to stay

that's far from innocent bystanders, and be prepared for another attack. Any ideas?''

''Yep.'' I put the Mustang in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, merging with the rain and

traffic. ''But you're not going to like it.''

I'd been right, and wrong. David wasn't wild about the beach house-which belonged to the

Wardens, and was normally used to host visiting dignitaries– because it was long on ocean

views and short on actual security. He also wasn't crazy about staying in a location where most

of the Wardens would guess we'd go, but I wanted to continue to provide some kind of attractive

target for the Sentinels. Anything to give Kevin time.

At least here, the beach was private, we were nowhere close to neighbors, and if the Sentinels

decided to lower the boom on us, they'd do a minimum of collateral damage.

The rain stopped about the time I pulled up in the private drive, opened the massive metal gates

with a pulse of Fire Warden power, and drove inside. The entrance was heavily landscaped,

mainly with palms and leafy bushes to conceal the grounds from prying eyes. It looked like the

sort of place a midlevel, once-all-powerful Hollywood player would stay to get away from it all.

I made sure the gates shut behind us, and followed the winding narrow road around the curves

until the white beach house emerged at the end. It was a neat little bungalow, big enough for a

few people to stay out of each other's way, but not a place for massive entertainments unless you

wanted to get full-body contact. I'd last been here back in my former boss Bad Bob

Biringanine's time; he'd used it to house visitors to the Florida territory, and it was, in fact, the

very place he'd performed his historic act of heroism in shaving vital strength out of Hurricane

Andrew. If he hadn't, I doubted most of the state would have survived its landfall.

I hadn't thought of Bad Bob in a long time, but it seemed like his ghost walked over my grave at

that moment; I almost felt his presence, strong and astringent, charming and bad tempered.

Corrupt, but hiding it well. Of all the things I couldn't forgive Bad Bob for-and one of them

had led to massive damages, once upon a time-I thought the worst was that he'd known what

Kevin's stepmother was, what kind of perversions she enjoyed, and he'd allowed her to continue.

Worst of all, he'd given her David to play with as her own personal sex toy.

David sat in silence, looking at the beach house. If I hadn't known him so well, I'd have thought

he had no reaction at all. I reached over and took his hand, and his gaze shifted toward mine.

''I know,'' I said. ''I'm sorry, it's the best place.

All right?''

''I'm fine,'' he said. He wasn't, but he also wasn't ready to let me see that wound. He was all

courtesy, opening my car door for me, handing me out, walking me up the steps to the front

door. ''Keys?''

It didn't need one. I extended my hand, the one with the Warden symbol invisibly etched into the

skin, and heard the lock click over. I opened the door, and the smell of the place washed over

me, bringing with it another rush of memories as I stepped inside. Bad Bob hadn't been gone

long enough for his imprint to completely fade from this place; I swore I smelled the ghost of his

cigar smoke, before the more powerful odor of musty carpeting and furniture took over. The

house needed a full-scale cleaning. Something to keep me busy, I supposed.

David hadn't followed me inside. I turned toward him and saw that he'd put out a palm, which

was spread flat against an invisible barrier. As I watched, he moved his hand from side to side. I

could see his skin flattening as it came into contact with . . . something.

''What is it?'' I moved back to the threshold and waved my hand through the air. No barrier. I

could even make contact with David's hands, but I couldn't pull him through. ''What the hell . . .

?''

''Wards,'' he said. ''Set to keep Djinn out. You'll have to take them down before I can come

inside.''

Wards-magical boundaries-were an exclusive specialty of Earth Wardens, and they were

usually fiendishly difficult to unravel. They could be set to exclude anything the Warden

designed it to exclude– Djinn, in this case, but I'd seen them engineered to hold out humans,

and even specific individuals.

I was, theoretically, an Earth Warden, but I hadn't exactly been trained in the finer points. It was

on the to-do list, but from all that I understood, breaking wards was definitely a graduate-level

course. Maybe even postdoctoral. ''Any idea who put this up?'' I asked. Not Bad Bob, at least;

he was purely and completely a Weather Warden. But he'd had a lot of friends, and most of them

had been . . . questionable.

''Yes, but it won't do you any good. He's dead. Bad Bob had me kill him.''

The matter-of-fact way that David said it made me freeze for a second, and not just in the not-

moving sense. ''You . . . killed for him.''

''I had no choice at the time.''

''I know that. I just didn't know-'' I shook my head. ''I'm so sorry, David. He had no right.''

David said nothing to that; he clearly wanted to drop the subject, and I obliged by focusing on

the structure of the wards holding him outside the door. They were strongly made, and if they'd

survived the death of their maker, they were independently fueled by some source. If I could

locate the source, I could disable the wards-like pulling the battery. Problem was, a good Earth

Warden (and this one had been very, very good) could imbue nearly anything with aetheric

energy and set it on a slow, steady discharge. It could be something as innocuous as a teacup

hidden in the back of the pantry, or as obvious as a big switch labeled TURN OFF WARDS

HERE.

I systematically examined the house and its contents on the aetheric, looking for any telltale

sparks, but nothing became obvious. David was unable to give me any pointers; the Earth

Warden who'd created the wards had also done a damn fine job of erasing any tracks the Djinn

could use to identify the control mechanism.

This left us at a standstill, ultimately. I couldn't break the wards. David couldn't enter.

''Okay, bad idea,'' I sighed, then shut the front door and sat down with David on the steps. A

cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean, and we sat for a while watching the surf roll in.

''Maybe it's a good thing we couldn't get you inside. I know there must be– echoes.''

''Not as many as there were at Yvette's house, but yes, the history's very close to the surface

here,'' David said. He sounded remote and cool, as if he'd withdrawn into himself for protection.

''I'd rather not stay, if we can find somewhere else to go.''

I'd always liked the beach house; it had been my favorite of the Warden properties in this part of

the country. But that had been before I'd known the truth, and the depth of all the cruelty that the

people I'd trusted were capable of inflicting on others. ''That Earth Warden. Was he the only

one Bad Bob made you . . . ?''

''No,'' David said, and got up. He looked down at me with dark, impenetrable eyes, and offered

me his hand. ''Still trust me?''

I took it and let him pull me to my feet. ''I will always trust you,'' I said. ''Thank you for

trusting me.''

He kissed me, just a gentle brush of lips. Something about this place turned him cautious, opened

old wounds, and I could tell that even if I'd found a way to break the wards, it would have been

hard for him to stay inside these walls. ''Do you mind if I choose the next stop?'' he asked.

''Hey, you're the guy with the black AmEx and unlimited credit line,'' I said. ''Speaking of

which, you know that humans pay their debts, right?''

He didn't look at me. He was staring at the beach house, with a shadow in his eyes that I'd never

seen before. ''So do Djinn,'' he said. ''When they can.''

Chapter Ten

David's choice for our temporary refuge was just outside of Miami: another beach house, but if

the Warden retreat was one that would comfortably fit a B-movie lead actor, this was A-list all

the way. A Mediterranean-style villa, probably large enough to hold twenty people in comfort on

a long stay, it had a gracious, sweeping stretch of grounds, a sculptural waterscaped pool, and its

own white-sand private beach, a near-impossibility in Miami. I shuddered to think what the place

would cost to maintain, much less buy.

''You're kidding,'' I said. David came around to the driver's side and opened my door. ''David,

really. You've got to be kidding. Rich people don't find this kind of thing very amusing when

they come home to find us performing Goldilocks and the Three Bears in their bajillion-dollar

mansion.''

''It's all right,'' he said. ''It belongs to a friend.''

''A friend?''

''A very good friend,'' he clarified, and flashed me a smile. ''We'll stay in the guesthouse, if it

makes you feel any better.''

We made it only about three steps from the car when two huge, evil-looking Rottweilers came

bounding out of the darkness, silent and intent on ripping our limbs off one at a time, but both

dogs came to a fast, skidding halt when they came within five feet of us, or, more accurately, of

David.

''Hello, boys,'' David said, went down on one knee, and petted the two ferocious attack beasts.

They licked his face and rolled over to have their tummies patted. ''See? It's fine.''

''It would be fine if you'd let me know when you were going to show up. By the way, you're

ruining my guard dogs,'' said a voice from the grand marble sweep of the stairs leading up to the

house. Lights blazed on, bright enough to land aircraft, and I squinted against the glare. A man

came down the steps, moving lightly despite the fact he was past his athletic days. In his fifties,

with a pleasant, interesting face and secretive dark eyes, he was dressed in blue jeans and a

comfortable old T-shirt that had DON'T PANIC, along with the little green guy from Douglas

Adams's Hitchhiker series as a graphic.

The jeans were expensive. So were the deck shoes. I couldn't decide if he was a well-paid

caretaker or a slumming owner.

''Good to see you, too, Ortega,'' David said, and gestured toward me. ''Joanne Baldwin.''

There was something about Ortega that felt just slightly off to me . . . not the clothes, not the way

he looked, not the smile he gave me. I couldn't define it, not immediately, and then I realized

that the feeling was familiar. It was the indefinable sense that I'd had around David, when I'd

first met him-a vibration that I'd grown used to now.

I nodded to Ortega. ''How exactly does a Djinn come to own a place like this?'' I asked. He

laughed, and his eyes flashed lime green, then faded back to plain brown.

''Very good,'' he said. ''But then, I expected no less. So, this is the one causing all the trouble?

The one you intend to marry?''

David nodded. Ortega gave me a benevolent sort of smile.

''Charming,'' he said. ''And dangerous. But I suppose you know we're attracted to that. Well,

then, how may I be of service to my lord and master?''

Ortega was New Djinn, thank God, but then again, that had pretty much been a given; I couldn't

picture any of the Old Djinn reading Douglas Adams, much less wearing any kind of a T-shirt

with a graphic. Well, maybe Venna, but it'd be a unicorn or a rainbow.

''Need a place to stay,'' David said. ''Guesthouse?'' Ortega bowed his head slightly, and in the

gesture I got a sense of antique gentility. It went oddly with the jeans and T-shirt. ''As always,

what I have is yours. Just let me move the cartons. I haven't gotten around to sorting through

things quite yet.''

''Thank you.'' David gave the adoring Rottweilers one last pat and stood up to take my arm.

''We're not here, by the way.''

Ortega smiled. ''You never are.'' My Mustang faded out. ''I put your car in the garage. Slot five,

next to the Harley. Seemed appropriate.''

I looked at David, baffled. He shrugged. ''Ortega collects things,'' he said. ''You'll see.''

I knew that some of the Djinn lived among humans, but I hadn't known it could be so public. . . .

Ortega owned some of the biggest, splashiest real estate in a big, splashy, highly visible

community. Granted, the rich were different, but I was willing to bet his neighbors had never

guessed just how different. It worked in his favor that the exceptionally well-off tended to isolate

themselves in these luxurious fortresses, and only moved in their own particular social circles.

David took my arm and walked me down the wide, flawless drive toward what I could only

assume was the guesthouse-big enough to qualify as multifamily housing, and fancy enough to

satisfy even the pickiest of pampered Hollywood stars looking to slum it. He must have seen

from the bemusement of my expression what I was thinking, because he laughed softly. ''We're

safe here,'' he said. ''Ortega's known as a recluse-it's not just as a disguise for humans; it's

true among his fellow Djinn as well. The few of us he allows to visit here are carefully chosen.''

''He's . . . not what I would have expected.'' The Djinn had always had a touch of the eldritch

about them, but Ortega seemed . . . normal. His eccentricities were more like what you'd expect

from a dot-com genius who'd cashed out of the Internet game early and sailed away on his

golden parachute.

The door to the guesthouse swung silently open for us as we walked up the steps. Night-

blooming flowers poured perfume out into the air, and I stopped to drink it all in. The cool ocean

breeze. The clear night air. Rolling surf.

David, gilded silver by the moonlight.

''What are you thinking?'' he asked me, and stepped close. Our hands entwined, and I crossed

the small, aching distance between us. Our bodies fit together, curves and planes. He let out a

slow breath and closed his eyes. ''Oh. That's what you're thinking.''

I put my arms around his neck. ''I'd be crazy if I wasn't,'' I said. ''Look, it's been driven home

to me today that we're living in a bubble. If it's not the damn reporters sneaking hidden-camera

footage, it's the Sentinels trying to wipe us out. If we have even a second of safety and solitude, I

don't think we should waste it.''

''I've been wanting to get you out of that dress all day.'' His voice dropped low and quiet, barely

a murmur in my ear. I felt my pulse jump and my skin heat in response. ''Jo, I don't want to go

on like this. I can't stand knowing that at any moment they could come for you again. If I lose

you-'' His hands moved through my hair, urgent and possessive. ''If I lose you-'' He couldn't

finish the sentence.

We both knew that he was going to lose me, in the end. But it was the fullness of time, the

richness of time, from now until then that would make that pain of parting something worth

bearing.

''I love you,'' I said, and his mouth found mine. He tasted of tears, but I saw no trace of them in

his eyes or on his face. ''No more mourning. I'm here. While I'm here, we're together.''

''Yes.'' Another soul-deep kiss that left my knees weak and every nerve tingling. ''We'd better

go inside. Security cameras. Wouldn't want to shock the guards.''

''Mmmmmm.'' He'd destroyed my ability to form words that didn't include adjectives, such as

faster and more.

David picked me up and carried me across the threshold . . . and stopped. He had no choice. The

entire room was filled with cartons, floor to ceiling, rows and rows and rows of them.

And each one was neatly labeled MISC.

''Ortega!'' he bellowed, and let me down. ''Dammit-''

The other Djinn popped in with an audible displacement of air, standing outside the door. He

looked past us, at the makeshift warehouse, and seemed a little embarrassed. Just a little.

''Well,'' he said, ''I did warn you that I needed to clean up.''

That wasn't messy; it was obsessive-compulsive. I'd met a Djinn with a behavioral disorder.

Now that was new.

Ortega did something I couldn't quite follow, and two columns of boxes disappeared-probably

moved into the mansion, I guessed. He gave David a questioning look, then sighed and repeated

the maneuver with all the boxes in view.

''Any other rooms?'' he asked.

''Bedroom,'' David and I said together. Ortega's eyebrows rose. ''Please,'' I added. ''Umm-

bathroom. And kitchen.''

''Done.''

And it was. The areas I could see, at least; I had no doubt that if I opened up a closet (or for that

matter, a drawer) I'd see more of Ortega's collecting fetish, but right now, the only things that

mattered to me were open space and privacy.

Ortega was waiting for something, watching David, and once again I caught a hint of something

otherworldly in him, something not quite in sync with the harmless human exterior he projected.

''I have what you asked me to find,'' he said. ''When you're ready to see it.''

David had been looking at me, but now his gaze cut sharply toward the other Djinn. ''You have

it? Here?''

''In the main house. It's warded. I can't open it myself.''

''What is it?'' I asked. If I'd only left it alone, we might have been able to ignore the tempting,

dangling bait and go on to a fevered night of fulfilling every delicious, decadent fantasy, but

noooooo. I just had to ask.

Ortega's face brightened. ''The Ancestor Scriptures. ''

David went very still. I sensed whatever chance we had to forget all this and hit the sheets

vanishing like mist in sunlight. ''You persuaded the Air Oracle to give it up?''

''No.'' The Djinn's smile widened, inviting us to join him, but David didn't, and I had no idea

what we were smiling about. ''I persuaded the Air Oracle to let me make a copy. You have no

idea what I had to give up for that.''

I'd met the Air Oracle once; it wasn't one of my most treasured memories. I'd had lots of scary

encounters, but the Air Oracle had been one of the strangest, most remote, most malevolent

creatures I'd ever met.

The fact that Ortega had charmed something out of him/her was fairly damn impressive.

David glanced at me, and I saw the frustrated apology in his expression before he said, ''I have

to take a look. This could be important.''

My hormones were not understanding, but my brain tried to be. ''I know. Mind if I look, too?''

''I want you with me,'' David said, and he meant it on a whole lot of levels. I smiled, and he

turned his attention back to Ortega, who was waiting with a polite, attentive smile. ''Main house,

you said?''

Ortega nodded and blipped out, then almost immediately blipped back, looking chagrined. ''You

can't travel so quickly, can you?'' he said to me. ''I do apologize. We'll walk.''

The stroll back to the main house was just as lovely as the first time, only with less anticipation

of fun to come. Still, the destination was certainly interesting; when Ortega led us through the

front door, I was struck once again by the incredible scale of the place. The massive chandelier

overhead, loaded down with an entire year's production of Swarovski crystals, glittered like a

captured galaxy. The ceiling was as tall as any respectable opera house lobby, and the foyer was

just about big enough to stage a road-show production of Aida, complete with elephants. There

was a sweeping grand staircase, of course, with all the usual marble and mahogany features.

What didn't quite fit in this oh-so-upscale setting was the clutter. Boxes piled randomly against

walls, paintings (nice ones, at that, to my relatively untutored eye) leaning against the boxes,

knickknacks, and gadgets strewn over every flat surface. It was like walking into one of those

clutter stores, crammed with bargains and cool finds, if only you can contain your sense of

claustrophobia long enough to find them. My eyes couldn't focus for long on any one thing.

If every room was like the foyer . . .

''Sorry.'' Ortega shrugged. ''There's never enough room. This way. Watch your step.''

There were boxes on the staircases, too, all labeled, unilluminatingly, MISC. I wondered if they

were the ones he'd banished from the guesthouse, but I was more afraid they weren't, actually.

At the top of the stairs he took a right, edging around another bulwark of stacked cardboard, and

led us into what should have been a spacious-no, gracious-room. It was a library, old style,

with floor-to-high-ceiling shelves. An honest-to-God rotunda, and a sliding ladder on rails.

He kept books in the library, but it was about five times more books than could safely fit on the

shelves. The stacks teetered and leaned everywhere, and of course there were the inevitable

boxes. These were labeled, not very helpfully, BOOKS.

Ortega blazed a trail through the maze and brought us to what must have been one of the few

open spaces in the entire house. There was a massive podium, all of carved black wood,

decorated with leaves and vines, and on it lay a closed, massive book with an iron latch, secured

with a simple iron peg. No title was on the worn, pale leather cover.

Ortega stood back and indicated it with one graceful wave. David stepped up to the podium,

studying it, and reached out to touch the latch.

It knocked his hand back with a sharp, sizzling zap of power.

''I thought you said it was a copy,'' David said, rubbing his fingers against his jeans.

''It is. An exact copy. And I believe I did say it was warded.'' Arms folded, Ortega watched with

half-closed eyes, looking like nothing so much as an eccentric Buddha.

David nodded, never taking his eyes off the book, and touched the spine. There was no zap this

time, but as he moved his fingers toward the pages themselves, I felt the surge of energy building

up. He quickly moved back to safer territory.

''Jo,'' he said, ''give me your hand.''

I did, and he guided it slowly over the leather toward the latch.

No response. I heard Ortega let out a low, quiet breath and say something in a language that

might have been an antique form of Spanish, something last heard when the Aztecs were still

running their own kingdom.

''I'm okay,'' I said when David hesitated, and went the last bit of the way to lay my fingers on

the metal.

No shock. The Oracle had protected the book against Djinn, but had never anticipated a human

getting hold of it. It reminded me of something, this book. Something . . .

The memory snapped back into focus with an almost physical shock. I'd seen a book like this

before, minus the latch, in a bookstore in Oklahoma.

It had possessed the power-or the knowledge, which was the same thing-to enslave Djinn.

I looked at David in alarm. ''It's like Star's book,'' I said. ''Right?''

Star had been an old friend of mine, one who'd been badly damaged in the course of duty as a

Fire Warden. I hadn't known how badly damaged, for a long while. She'd had something like

this in her possession.

David nodded, confirming my suspicions. There were cinders of gold and bronze in his eyes,

sparking and flaring. His skin had gone a darker shade of warm metal at least two shades off

from anything human.

''Open it,'' he said.

''You're sure?''

He was. I eased the iron peg out of the loop and folded back the black metal hinged piece, and

then it was just a matter of opening the book itself. ''What now?'' I kept both hands on the book,

as if it might try to get away. Ortega, I saw, had moved back, but not far; he had an expression

on his face that was half dread, half fascination.

''Open it,'' David said. ''Turn pages until I tell you to stop, and whatever you do, don't focus on

anything. ''

Easier said than done. Like the book that my old friend Star had used-it seemed so long ago-

this one seemed to want to be read. The symbols were incomprehensible, densely printed on the

page; I was tempted to look at the thing on the aetheric, but I was also afraid. I had, in my hands,

power that was off the scale as humans understood it. It was something that I was never meant to

have in my possession; I felt that weight in every cell of my body. It made me wonder why it

hadn't been warded against humans, but then again, it had been the possession of an Oracle. . . .

Humans didn't even figure in their equations. They'd been concerned about the Djinn.

I turned pages, trying to keep my gaze unfocused as I did. The symbols kept attracting me, trying