Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Kevin stopped. I knew that feeling, all too well. I wanted to help him, but I knew it was

something that he had to deal with himself. No platitude was going to help, no matter how

sincere.

''Kevin.'' I took one of his hands and drew it out of its tight ball; it stayed tense in mine,

trembling, ready to yank away at a second's notice. ''Before Paul showed up, they may have told

you some things. Something that could help us.''

He was already shaking his head. ''I'd have said if they spilled their guts, okay? But they didn't.

They just talked about what a bitch you were, and how you were willing to fuck over the

Wardens for your boyfriend. . . .''

''Finally, someone you could agree with,'' I said. He shot me a covert look, almost hidden by his

dangling, shaggy hair.

''No,'' he said, ''I don't. Not after I saw what they wanted to do.''

I felt a shiver crawl hand-over-hand up the bones of my spine. ''What did you see?''

''They were going to torture him,'' Kevin said, glancing up at David, then away. ''Make him tell

everything about the Djinn. About the Oracles. About how to destroy them.''

''They really are crazy,'' Lewis said grimly. ''Destroying the Djinn and the Oracles would

destroy us. There's no way humanity, or anything else alive on this planet, would survive a

catastrophe like that.''

We thought of it at the same time, our gazes locking over the top of Kevin's bowed head. David

must have as well, because he spun toward us.

''He knows that,'' I said. ''Bad Bob knows that. He's not stupid enough to assume anything else.

So why would he want to destroy the human race?''

''You know,'' David said.

''It's not Bad Bob,'' I said. ''Is it?''

''No,'' Lewis agreed. ''I think it's a Demon wearing his skin.''

Unfortunately, I had way too much personal experience with Demons. Most recently, I'd seen

the damage they could do once they took on a human form. I thought the Wardens had been

pretty successful about purging anyone from their ranks who carried a Demon Mark-a larval

form of a Demon that granted the carrier more-than-normal strength and energy, almost like

having a secret Djinn under your control. But you could carry a Demon Mark only so long

before it began to corrupt you from within, and if you wanted to survive, you had to get rid of it

by passing it to someone else.

Someone else more powerful, because the Demon Mark was only attracted to power. It traded

up.

I'd been the unfortunate recipient of such a thing, at Bad Bob's hands. I hadn't understood, at the

time, that he'd been paying me a kind of backhanded compliment. . . . I hadn't known, then, how

really strong I was.

He had. He'd chosen me for just that reason.

It had killed him in leaving his body-he'd waited too long, hung on to his power until it was

nested deep inside. I thought about his cold body lying in a grave somewhere, and wondered if

his flesh was still there, peaceful and empty. Maybe what was walking around right now was

Bad Bob reanimated; maybe it was just a semblance, like the one Rahel had worn to play

Cherise. Either way, it wasn't Bad Bob on the inside. Couldn't be. But if it was a full-grown,

fully formed Demon, it had powers I couldn't begin to understand.

''The antimatter,'' I said. ''The Demon produces it, secretes it, something like that. That's why

there's no machinery, no plant they've had to set up. That's why we couldn't find any kind of

permanent base for the Sentinels-they don't need a plant, not even a hidden one. Because he

just . . . makes it.'' Like sweat, or blood, or other bodily fluids. It was the very essence of why

the Demon didn't belong here; it literally destroyed the world around it, just by being. The

human shell kept it contained, like a space suit insulating an astronaut from the cold of space.

If it left that shell . . .

I remembered what Jerome Silverton had said about the black shard we'd found embedded in the

dead Djinn. One kilogram of antimatter annihilating itself is supposed to produce about 180

petajoules of energy. The spear I'd seen Bad Bob use to kill Ortega had been at least five times

the size of the shard we'd originally found. Catastrophic would be charitable.

The Demon was hunting us. Hunting Djinn, using the Djinn to power the growth of the

antimatter weapon. Once it was strong enough, what would he do with it? Where would he-

''The Oracles,'' I said. ''What if he goes after the Oracles?''

David was already gone when I turned toward him; a blurred motion was all that was left. Imara.

My daughter was in Sedona, locked for all time in one location. Unable to flee.

I sat with Lewis, holding Kevin's shaking hand, and waiting for the end of the world.

The end of the world didn't come before dinner, anyway.

As the hours went by, the FBI decided they'd have a better chance of containing the situation-

ha!-if they ejected those of us not wearing three letters or badges on our outfits. That went for

the Wardens, the Ma'at, and would have gone for the Djinn, had any been present. I'd stood

witness to the FBI forensic team taking Ortega down from the wall, then interring him in a metal

casket that was marked with all kinds of warning signs. Somehow, I felt someone should watch.

He'd been a kind man, a peculiar sort of Djinn, and he hadn't deserved this kind of ending.

Lewis, Kevin, and I were bundled into an FBI helicopter-not my favorite form of

transportation– and flown to the Miami field office, where we were left in a severe-looking

room for a few more hours.

Dinner was served, and apart from its being warm and edible, I don't remember much about it.

We barely talked. There didn't seem to be all that much to say.

When David reappeared, he came with reinforcements-six Djinn. One of them was Venna,

which made me smile in relief; one was the tough-looking specimen David had identified to me

as Roy, when we'd seen him earlier-he'd been Rahel's hypothetical backup. I wondered where

he'd been when he was needed the most.

Zenaya was the third. I didn't know the other three, but they all had the otherworldly grace and

glitter that I associated with the most powerful of the Djinn, Old or New.

''The Oracles are protected,'' David said. ''Ashan's taking care of it, and Wardens we trust have

been assigned alongside them as backup.''

''He won't like that,'' I noted.

''He doesn't have to like it. I've explained the necessity. '' There was a cold, angry shimmer in

David's eyes, and I wondered exactly how civil that discussion had been. ''We intend to go and

get Rahel.''

''You can't,'' I said. I was calm about it, and authoritative, but all too aware that David might

not be in any mood to listen to reason. ''She's bait. You go charging in there, that's exactly what

they want– especially you, Conduit Boy.''

He didn't answer me, but he didn't argue, either. He was biding his time. I knew I couldn't get

him to just stand by and risk Rahel's life, not under these circumstances. Time was running out.

If I wanted to avoid watching David throw his life away, I needed a plan, and a damn good one.

And all of a sudden, looking at him, I had one. Granted, I was operating on little sleep, too much

adrenaline, and next to coma-levels of caffeine imbalance, but it sounded good. I bit my lip,

running it over in my head, and made a hold on gesture to David as I beckoned Lewis toward a

convenient corner of the room.

''What is it?'' he asked. He sounded just as stressed as I felt.

''I think I know what will bring them out in the open. We need to get the Sentinels to come after

us again, not the other way around. If we allow them to choose the ground-''

''Yeah, I get it. The Djinn don't even know how much of a disadvantage they have.'' Lewis

leaned closer. ''It's crazy, isn't it? Your idea?''

''Pretty damn crazy.''

''Tell.''

I did. Crazy didn't really exactly cover it, as I listened to the words tumble out of my mouth.

Insane, that was closer. Also, stupidly suicidal, but that was par for the course with me. At least

it would be consistent.

Lewis stared at me as if he couldn't quite believe what I'd said, and in truth, I wasn't sure if I

was believing it, either. Then he said, slowly, ''It could work. It allows us to assemble all the

Wardens in one place, choose the ground, protect the Djinn, offer the Sentinels a target they

can't afford to pass up. . . .''

Oh God, it actually was a good plan. Damn. I'd been half hoping he'd shoot it out of the air.

Instead, it looked as if I was going to have to kick my shopping into high gear.

''Right,'' I said, and turned to David. ''How do you feel about getting married tomorrow?''

I had no idea Djinn could look so blank. Venna turned to David and said, with the perfect blend

of alarm and puzzlement, ''Are you sure she isn't insane?''

David continued with the blank look for a few more seconds, and then the light dawned warm in

his eyes, and he slowly smiled.

''Actually,'' he said, ''I'm fairly certain she is, and that is exactly why I'm marrying her.''

Chapter Thirteen

One nice thing about having the Djinn Conduit on your side was receiving no arguments from

the rank and file-no arguments of any substance, anyway. The other Djinn still thought we

were crazy, but generally decided that was our personal business.

What they weren't so wild about was the idea that we weren't going to charge off to Rahel's

rescue, but I knew they weren't tactically inept; they knew if we played the game the Sentinels

had set in motion, we would all pay the price.

I also knew how hard it was going to be for them to stand by and sacrifice Rahel for a tactical

point. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that. I knew David, and I knew that making those

choices was just as impossibly hard for him as it was for me.

Part of what we planned was, again, complete insanity. Lewis carried out the first part of it at

four o'clock, on the steps of the Miami FBI field office.

We called a press conference. To say it was well attended would be to say that the hottest club in

LA had a bit of a wait to get in. I'd expected to draw attention, but as we walked through the

lobby with a flying escort of FBI agents, Homeland Security, and anxiously hovering, nameless

other governmental representatives, I could hear the roar of the crowd outside.

One of the no-name governmental types, nattily turned out in a nicely tailored suit and a two-

hundred-dollar haircut, pushed in front of us and physically threw himself against the glass doors

leading out, facing us down. ''Wait!'' he blurted. The parade trickled to a halt, and Lewis and I

glanced at each other. We'd had bets on how long it would take for the cold feet to manifest. I

was about to make a cool twenty bucks. Sweet. ''Are you sure about this? You're sure there's no

other way? The chaos-the fear-''

''Let me put it this way,'' Lewis said. ''You had half the news media covering the meltdown out

at the motel earlier today, and every phone line to every possible agency has been jammed ever

since, demanding an explanation. Do you want to try to coordinate some big lie that won't get

found out, at this point? Because I'd be happy to put your name forward as the guy in charge.''

No-Name Nice Suit Guy swallowed and lowered his arms. He straightened his lapels with an

unconscious gesture and stepped out of the way.

''Damn,'' Lewis said. ''Kind of hoped he'd go for it, actually.''

Fat chance. This wasn't a hot potato; it was the entire state of Idaho, fresh out of the microwave.

''Here goes,'' Lewis said, and opened the door.

The noise washed over us in a wave, and we walked out into a whiteout of flashbulbs and video

spotlights. It was like hitting a psychic wall, and if I'd been on my own, I'd have caved fast and

hard. God. I couldn't focus on anything; the crowd was a faceless mass of shouting faces, all

blurring into a snarling, hostile entity. I transferred my probably shell-shocked stare to the

buildings on the far side of the street. Somebody was in an office, backlit, looking out at us. Nice

to have that kind of distance.

The FBI special agent in charge stepped up to the bank of hastily taped-together microphones

and made some brief remarks, nothing incriminating for the agency, and introduced Lewis by

name, adding that he was with ''a special branch of the United Nations known as the Wardens.''

That was it. He got out of the way, ignoring the shouted avalanche of questions.

Lewis took a deep breath and stepped up. He was tall, imposing, and had the kind of personal

aura that made people take notice, when he deigned to use it. He used it now. I saw ripples of

quiet move through the crowd, and reporters lean forward to catch every word he had to say.

''Earlier today some of you witnessed a battle between two opposing sides in a conflict,'' he

said. ''As you reported, there were casualties on both sides. I'm here to explain to you what that

conflict is, what it's about, and how you can help.''

I expected a torrent of questions, but the crowd stayed still in the pause. Maybe they were

stunned that they were actually going to be given information. Or maybe Lewis had sneakily

exerted some Earth Warden influence on them. I used some myself, on myself, to slow my

racing pulse and get myself ready for the inevitable.

''The Wardens are part of the United Nations,'' Lewis said, ''in the sense that we are a

worldwide organization, independent of governments but working in cooperation with them

whenever possible. There is a world around you, a world you see every day without knowing the

truth behind it. At its most basic level, the forces at work in the universe, or at least on this

planet, are real and tangible.'' He paused again and took the leap. ''We are the ones who help

control and shape that world. Without the Wardens, the disasters you report on, the floods and

hurricanes, forest fires and earthquakes-all these things would be far, far worse.''

Somebody laughed. A few others took it up, and it grew in a ripple through the crowd. ''You're

kidding. This is what you have to tell us?'' somebody shouted from beneath the glare of a video

spotlight. ''Where's Gandalf?''

That was pretty much my cue, although I would have preferred Galadriel. I stepped forward. The

FBI had furnished me with a change of wardrobe-not my normal style, but workable. It

included a navy blue pencil skirt, a severely cut jacket, a white shirt and serviceable granny

pumps. I'd put my hair up in a bun, to complete the image of competence and authority, sexy-

schoolteacher style.

I pointed up at the sky, which was full of lightly scudding altocumulus clouds-nothing out of

the ordinary for Miami.

Lewis waited, patient as a stone, giving them absolutely no indication what was going to happen.

We'd agreed that it needed to be big, spectacular, and easily captured on videotape.

I slowed the progress of the clouds and began packing energy into the system, careful to balance

the forces as I went. I knew the Ma'at were standing by in case I screwed it up, but it was a point

of pride not to need them to clean up after me. The shape of the clouds began to change, from

sheer and wispy to solid white, then gray as the moisture condensed. Altocumulus.

Then nimbocumulus.

Once I had the system packed as full as I dared, while still remaining in control, I opened both

my hands, palms up. I could feel the dawning sentience in the clouds above, as the energy

accumulation granted it some very basic level of awareness, of hunger. Of anger.

What I was about to do was dangerous, and not just to me. If I got it wrong, there could be a lot

of collateral damage.

Easy, I heard David whisper on the aetheric. I'm here.

I called the lightning.

Florida is the lightning capital of the U.S. With the daily, constant interaction of wind, water,

sandy soil, and marshland, every reporter in the crowd had probably seen close lightning strikes.

None of them had ever seen this.

The bolt streaked down out of the clouds, long and purple, crackling with energy, and broke into

two jagged prongs. It hit my outstretched palms exactly on target, and for a long, long second, I

kept it there as the video cameras and photographers documented the event.

Then I clapped my palms together, and the lightning vanished. Thunder rolled loud enough to

rattle windows, but there was no other visible damage, apart from a slight reddening on my skin.

I'd deliberately kept the lightning to the bare minimum voltage necessary to stage a visible

demonstration-about forty kiloamperes.

But damn, it ached inside me. I kept my smile in place with an effort, and hoped I wasn't

sweating too much under the lights.

Lewis said, in the same dry, calm tone, ''This is Joanne Baldwin. She is a Weather Warden. The

demonstration you've just seen is one of several we'll conduct for you over the next few days.

The rest will be under controlled conditions, and you can provide your own scientific experts if

you'd care to do so, to document and question the experiments. But ultimately, you're going to

find that what we're telling you is the real thing. We can control the weather. We can control the

land. We can control fire. The problem is, all these things fight back.''

Nobody seemed to know what kind of questions to ask, exactly. Already, they were scrambling

to find a logical explanation for what they'd seen-some kind of magic trick would be the most

likely one they'd land on. I was sure whoever was the most outrageous street magician du jour

would be calling in to debunk what I'd already done.

But what gave it weight was the silent presence of the FBI behind me, and the fact that we were

standing on the steps of a government building.

Eventually, somebody found a question that made enough sense to voice. ''How do you control

the weather? Is it some kind of machine, or . . . ?'' He sounded as if he couldn't quite believe he

was even asking the question. I understood that, too. An entire street full of very logical people

had just been tipped over the edge of a cliff, and were still trying to figure out which way was

up.

''That's the other part of the story,'' Lewis said. ''The simple answer is magic. The more

complicated answer is that the world around you is not how you imagine it to be-it's deeper

and stranger than you know. For many thousands of years, the Wardens have guarded humanity,

and we've done it in silence, in secret. But it's time to come out in the open, because now we

have a very serious threat to deal with.''

''What kind of threat? Does this have anything to do with what happened at the motel?''

I wondered if the question was a plant. Lewis wasn't exactly above that kind of thing, bless his

soul. He wasn't particularly worried about our impartial image.

''Let me tell you,'' Lewis said, ''about the Djinn, and the Sentinels.''

David and his strike team misted into view at the bottom of the steps, right in front of the

cameras.

All hell broke loose.

We'd intended to grab the world stage, and we did. The feverish speculation occupied every

news channel, every broadcast on the local level. Experts talked about a massive hoax; scientists

sneered; magicians explained how all we'd shown on television could have been done by mirrors

and illusion.

But it didn't matter. We'd taken the Sentinels by surprise. They'd expected us to hide, and we

weren't hiding. Instead, we'd thrown their name into the public awareness, and we'd given them

the one thing I knew they didn't want: notoriety.

I was the lucky one. Exhausted by the efforts of the day, not to mention the lightning strike and

the management of the storm I'd leveled over Miami, I collapsed on a cot and slept for six hours

of blissfully ignorant darkness. Lewis didn't sleep at all. When I woke up, he'd already issued

three more press statements, and a whole packet of information about Bad Bob, including his

photograph.

The Sentinels could not be happy about that. They were even less happy, I imagined, over the

announcement that David and I planned to celebrate our marriage in public, in front of all the

cameras we could gather to document the affair. It was a trap, a perfectly obvious one, and one I

didn't think they dared pass up. The Sentinels had gathered membership on the idea that the

Djinn were toxic to us; they couldn't allow the two of us to make such a public commitment

without striking. Hell, they'd already ruined two wedding dresses.

Pulling together a last-minute affair is surprisingly easier than planning something more formal.

Once I gave up the idea of catering and open bar and invitations, things simplified dramatically.

All I really needed was a minister, a dress, and of course, as much security as possible so that we

all survived the happy day.

My cell phone was ringing off the hook. Mostly, it was Wardens who hadn't been given the

heads-up about going public, and were blistering my ears off. One or two said they were going to