Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

to come clear into focus. I ran lyrics to popular songs through my head, the more annoying the

better. I knew-I remembered-that the last version of this thing I'd seen had possessed an eerie

kind of pull, and this copy had that in full measure.

After about twenty pages, the book began to whisper. Turn pages. Don't listen, I told myself.

David's eyes were focused on the book, dark bronze with sparks and flares of gold. He looked

completely alien in that moment, more severely lovely than anything in human form had any

right to be.

I felt my mouth trying to speak, and I ground my teeth together to keep the words-if they were

words-inside. I had no idea what was in this book, but I knew it was raw, undiluted power, and

not meant for humans to channel. If the Oracles wouldn't even let the Djinn have it, it must have

been deadly dangerous.

This made me wonder with a prickly unease why the Air Oracle had let Ortega have it. Unless

maybe the Air Oracle had an ulterior motive of his own.

''Stop,'' David said, and I froze. The page slowly flattened, revealing dense lines of text, all

carefully scribed in a language that bore no resemblance to anything I'd ever seen in human

writing. ''Ortega. Read.''

Ortega took a look, frowning, and his eyes widened. Unlike David's, they stayed firmly in the

range of human colors, and he quickly backed away. ''What the hell is that?''

''I think that's what the Sentinels have found,'' David replied, never taking his eyes off the text,

as if it were a poisonous serpent poised to strike. ''I think it's the source of their power, and how

they plan to strike at us.''

Ortega looked pale now, and deeply troubled. ''But-if that's true, we have no defense.''

''Then we have to come up with one.'' David took a thick felt bookmark from a drawer in the

podium and slipped it in place between the pages, then nodded for me to close it, which I did,

feeling a massive rush of relief. I wasn't sure how much longer I could have resisted focusing on

those words, and repeating the whispered sounds that echoed in my head.

''So, I guess you know that the Sentinels must have a copy,'' I said, staring at the closed volume.

I carefully flipped the latch back into place and slotted in the iron peg to secure it.

Clearly, it wasn't what David and Ortega expected me to say, and from their expressions, it

hadn't occurred to them. ''Impossible!'' Ortega blurted. David didn't try to deny it; he was

already thinking along the same lines I had followed.

''Star had one.'' I glanced at David for confirmation, and he gave an unwilling nod. ''Do you

know what happened to it when she died?''

''I thought it was destroyed,'' David said. He looked very troubled. ''If it wasn't . . .''

Ortega was looking, if anything, even more horrified. My voice ran down as I noticed his

distress, and I watched as he staggered to a dusty velvet wing chair and dropped into it, rocking

back and forth, head in his hands.

David and I exchanged glances, and David went to the other Djinn and crouched down, laying a

hand on the man's knee. ''Ortega,'' he said, ''what is it?''

''It's my fault,'' he said. His voice sounded weak and sick, and pressed thin under the weight of

emotion. ''I swear to you, I never meant-I thought-I was only curious, you see. You know

how curious I am. It's always been a curse-''

A curse, indeed. David froze for a moment, then bowed his head. His hair brushed forward,

hiding his expression in shadow, and he said in an ominously soft voice, ''You had it. The other

book.''

Ortega nodded convulsively.

''Whom did you trade the book to?''

''A Warden,'' Ortega said. His voice was muffled by the hands pressed to his eyes. ''He never

knew I was Djinn. I swear to you, I never meant-I lied, I didn't get it from the Air Oracle. I

created a copy of the original book-''

''I need this Warden's name,'' David said.

''I never meant for any harm to-''

''The name, Ortega.'' I shivered at the tone in his voice; he didn't often sound like that, but

when he did, there was no possibility of argument. He was invoking his right as the Conduit, the

Mother's representative to the Djinn, and it rang in every syllable.

Ortega took in a deep breath, lowered his hands, and looked David in the eyes. ''Robert

Biringanine.''

''Bad Bob,'' I said blankly. ''But he's dead!''

Ortega shook his head. ''I saw him,'' he said. ''Two weeks ago. On the beach. And he's been

around for a while now.''

Chapter Eleven

To say that was a shock would be an understatement. A shock implied a jolt, like sticking your

finger in a light socket; this was more like grabbing the third rail of the subway.

I'd killed Bad Bob Biringanine-well, at least, seen him die. I'd always staked a lot of certainties

on that fact; I'd been told his body was found, and nobody ever seemed to have any doubt that

Bad Bob was pushing up daisies. They'd certainly gone after me with enough vengeance to sell

the concept of murder.

As his last act prior to dying had been to infect me with a Demon Mark, ensuring my

enslavement and eventual death, I didn't feel too good about his miraculous reappearance. Of all

the people I would pick to claw their way out of a grave, he'd be the dead last– pun intended-I

ever wanted to see.

Partly it was because he'd so successfully hidden his capacity for cruelty and corruption from

me-from most Wardens-for so long. Partly it was that I still had nightmares about that

horrible day, about the helpless fury I'd felt and the slick, gagging feel of the Demon sliding

down my throat.

It couldn't have pleasant associations for David, either. He'd been the Djinn who'd held me

down. Rape, he'd called it later, and he'd been right, in an aetheric kind of way if not a physical

one. But it had been a rape of both of us-he hadn't wanted to do it any more than I had.

I'd taken three steps back from Ortega, an involuntary retreat that had nothing to do with him

and everything to do with the monster that had just leaped out of the closet to roar in my face.

David must have sensed my reaction, but he stayed fixed on Ortega.

''When?'' he asked. ''When did you give him the book?''

''A few months ago.'' Ortega struggled not so much to remember-Djinn didn't forget-but to

order his mind so things were clear. ''The day of mourning. He came-he had something I was

looking for. He said he'd trade. He wanted the book.''

By the day of mourning, Ortega meant the day Ashan had killed our daughter, Imara, or at least

destroyed her physical body. Imara had become the Earth Oracle, but on that very black day, we

thought we'd lost her forever.

Oh, and I'd died, too. Kind of. I'd ended up split, amnesiac, and wandering naked in the forest.

Yeah, good times.

That day had seen the expending of a lot of power. A lot. Some of it was from the Wardens,

some a product of the Djinn, some from the Earth herself. And there'd been a Demon in the mix,

fouling the well of power. . . . Anything could have happened, out of that bloody mess.

Apparently, anything had happened. Somehow, Bad Bob had managed to come back.

If he'd ever really been gone at all.

Suddenly, the appearance and rise of the Sentinels was beginning to make sick, deadly sense.

Bad Bob was a player; he wanted power, and he'd do anything to anyone to get it. I'd cheated

him the first time.

He'd make damn sure that David and I weren't in any position to do it again.

By separating the Wardens from the Djinn, then destroying the Djinn, he could ensure that no

one had the resources and strength to fight him when he made his final move. Divide and

conquer. A timeless classic.

''He's in Florida,'' I said. I was sure of it, as sure as I'd ever been of anything in my life. ''The

bastard's not even hiding, really. This is his old stomping ground. He's got networks of friends

and supporters; he feels safe here. That's why we traced the signature to the Keys, and

Kissimmee-''

''The beach house.'' David snapped to his feet.

''What?''

''The beach house. I sensed him. I thought it was just a memory, but-'' A pulse of light went

through his eyes, turning them pure white. ''The signature of the power fits his.''

''He's been at the goddamn beach house?'' I'd gone inside. I'd searched the house looking for

the focus of the wards. Bad Bob must have been out picking up his latest issue of

Megalomaniacs Weekly, which was damn lucky for me, because if he'd been there, I'd have

been trapped inside the house, with David outside, and Bob could have done anything to me,

anything at all. . . .

I couldn't think about that. Not without shaking. I'd been through a lot of trauma in my life, but

there was something so slick and calculated about Bad Bob's use of me. . . . It was worse than

betrayal. He'd cultivated and trained me specifically to transfer the Demon Mark to me, a cold

long-term plan that I'd spoiled by not being quite as weak as he'd anticipated.

You're stronger now, I told myself. But I also remembered the moment in my apartment when

Bob had focused all the power of the Sentinels on me, and I'd realized that I wasn't going to be

strong enough, in the end.

None of us was going to be strong enough, not alone.

''If he's still at the beach house,'' David was saying, as if he couldn't see I was melting down,

''he won't be there for long. We need to get word to Lewis.''

I shook my near-panic off with what I hoped wasn't a visible effort, and focused on the problem

at hand. ''Contact Rahel. Tell her to get Kevin out of there. I don't want him caught in the

middle if we spring a trap. We're screwed if Bad Bob has the contacts in the Wardens that I

think he does. He was too well liked, even after the facts started coming out. Too many good

people still like him. They wouldn't even think of it as betraying us to do a little under-the-table

heads-up to him.''

David nodded. ''Ortega. I need for you to go to Rahel and give her the message. Tell her to

extract Kevin. I don't care what she has to do. I don't care how noisy it is. Just tell the two of

them to get out.''

''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 reorganized the 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.

The flashlight played slowly around the room again in a methodical progression,

counterclockwise. I was at the nine o'clock position, and I concentrated harder as the light

crawled over the detritus in the room, heading my way.

It illuminated something strange; then there was a flash of movement, and then all hell broke

loose.

They hadn't been looking for me. They'd been looking for Kevin, and he was on the offensive.

Fire streaked out of his hand in a flat plane, slammed into the two women, and knocked them

back. Emily shrieked, but Janette reacted quickly, damping down the flames before they were

injured and setting up a glittering shield that splashed Kevin's assault away in a rolling orange

stream. It ignited dry carpeting, brittle walls, and broken furniture in an instant bonfire.

Emily, who could control wood and metal, grabbed an entire tractor's worth of furniture and

slammed it toward Kevin with shocking violence and power. I knew her; she hadn't been nearly

that strong before. Kevin tried to dodge, but there was no way he could win; Janette was lining

him up in the crosshairs for her own assault, and he had no way to stop Emily at all.

As Kevin backed toward the wall, he tripped and went down, rolled into a crouch, and

instinctively covered his head with both arms as the wall of furniture tumbled toward him.

I put up a wall of power around him, and both Emily's flood tide of furniture and Janette's

flaming wave broke against it at the same time. Again, I was shocked by the force of what they

were wielding; it was all out of proportion to what most Wardens would have used, even in

extremity. Kevin was strong, but he couldn't have equaled even one of them, much less two in

direct conflict.

I could. Barely.

I stepped out from behind the table. I considered a snappy announcement of my presence, but

really, it wasn't necessary; both the other Wardens-no, Sentinels-were already turning and

looking for me. I felt them lock on and acquire the target, and I shook my hands lightly to loosen

myself up.

''One chance to live,'' I said. ''Where's Ortega?''

I couldn't really tell their expressions, not from across the room, but their body language

suggested my sudden appearance wasn't just a surprise; it was a real shock. If I'd been hoping

that would throw them off balance, though, the surprise was mine; Janette hesitated for barely a

second before I sensed a surge of power traveling invisibly through the wall next to me, and the

paneling around me burst into white-hot flame. I ignored it. Playing their game was a sucker bet,

and I needed to get to Kevin before they could separate us and use us against each other.

I gathered up the heat vortex being generated by Janette's flames and sent it spinning toward

both the Sentinels. Neither of them were Weather Wardens, and they weren't trained on how to

defuse such things; instead, they scattered to get out of its way. I kicked off my shoes, picked

them up, and did a broken-field sprint across the ballroom toward Kevin. When I reached him, I

grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out of the tangle of burning chairs and tables

surrounding him. ''Where's the Djinn?'' I shouted. Kevin coughed, spat up black, and jerked his

chin toward the doorway. ''Ortega! Have you seen him?''

''Yeah,'' he said, and coughed again, with deep wracking spasms that made my chest hurt to

hear them. ''Outside. They had him.''

Janette and Emily were standing between me and my goal. Not a good place to be. I began

throwing flaming furniture together and rolling it toward them in unwieldy balls, and not even

their combined powers could catch it all. One ball got past Janette and plowed into them head-

on. They went flying. Strike!

''Come on,'' I snapped to Kevin, and went to the first downed Sentinel. Emily. I straddled her as

she lay on the floor, and put her down for the count by encasing her in a thick layer of ice,

pulling all the water out of the air to do it. The heat would set her free, but not for a while.

Maybe not even in time. Gosh, I was going to lose sleep over that one. I have no idea what Kevin

did to Janette, but it wasn't likely to be as merciful. Seeing his smudged, grim face, I had the

feeling it was well deserved, too.

We left the ballroom. At the last minute, I damped the fires behind us. Kevin shot me a glance,

and I shrugged; I had the desire for bloodshed, but somebody had to set a good example. I knew

it wouldn't be him.

''Where's Rahel?'' I asked. The hallway outside was more of the same-dim, cluttered,

deserted, smelling of age and mildew.

Kevin coughed again, wiped his mouth on his shirt, and said, ''They figured it out. They have

her, too. I couldn't get to her.''

''Do they know-''

''Fuck yes, they know! We were sold out. They were buying it right up until about an hour ago,

and then everything went crazy. . . .''

I wanted to hear it, but the anxiety building in me wouldn't stop clanging its warning bell.

''We've got to find Ortega, now. Go that way. If you spot him, yell.''

But in the end, I was the one who found him.

They'd posed him carefully, the Sentinels, just as they had the Djinn I'd helped discover before.

Someone-one of the Earth Wardens-had looped whorls of living wood, thick and stronger

than iron, around his arms and legs, pinning him in midair against the wall.

He'd been helpless. However they'd managed it, they'd taken away his defenses, and they'd

done it so fast, so horribly fast. . . .

''Jo?'' Kevin's hoarse pant came from behind me. I was standing very still, not blinking, not

looking away. ''Jesus.''

We couldn't get to him. There were too many Sentinels between us and Ortega. Six at least that I

could see.

I'd expected to see Bad Bob Biringanine, so the sight of him shocked me less than it had a right

to.

He looked exactly as I remembered him-white hair, fair Irish skin turned ruddy on the cheeks

and nose, fierce blue eyes.

He smiled when he saw me. It was the same cynical, sweet expression that I remembered so

well.

And then he turned to the man standing next to him and said something. The man's back was to

me, but I knew already, before he turned. Before I saw his face and knew how badly screwed we