Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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It was like diving in the ocean and swimming deeper and deeper, but this didn't feel like liquid;

it felt more like a metal vise, cranking inexorably tighter.

I faltered and nearly bugged out, but I caught a glimpse of the other Warden. He was below me,

only a bit farther, and I decided that if he could do it, I had to. Down I went, and if I'd had an

actual, physical mouth and lungs, I'd have been screaming and crying by the time I got there.

His aetheric form-which, I noticed, sported shadowy, shoulder-length hair and the ghost of a

guitar slung across his back-was kneeling down, studying something. I joined him. He silently

indicated what it was he was examining.

I'd never seen anything like it in the aetheric, but I didn't need a college course to tell it was

very, very bad. It looked like some kind of black icy knife, sharp on all edges, wickedly pointed

at the end. It was plunged deep into the ground, or what represented the ground up here.

The Earth Warden reached out and touched it, and from the way he jerked back, it was a very

painful experience.

Well, I hadn't come all this way not to try.

The jolt that went through me when I tried to take hold of the thing felt like being on the

receiving end of a live power cable, only not as much fun. I let go– couldn't do anything else-

and looked wordlessly at my colleague.

He shook his head and pointed up, indicating we should rise. I nodded. Up we went, slowly,

letting the pressure bleed off. I didn't suppose we'd get the bends in the aetheric, but it didn't

seem prudent to push it, and besides, I was still trembling from the jolt that piece of black ice had

sent through me.

Far above, in the softer regions of air, he made a gesture that was clear even in the aetheric-

thumb toward his ear, little finger toward his mouth. And then he pointed from himself to me.

He was going to call me. I nodded and waved, and dropped out of the aetheric, back into my

body.

The earthquake had stopped . . . temporarily, at least. The dress shop was a mess-plaster

cracked, mirrors broken, racks toppled. Disaster with a designer label. Somebody was shaking

me. Cherise. She had her hands fisted in my shirt and was trying to haul me up, but I was bigger

and she was shaking too much to really be effective on leverage.

I helped her out by lurching to my feet and checking on the store's other occupants, including the

clerk. Apart from being terrified, they were all miraculously unharmed, though hair, makeup,

and wardrobe had been sacrificed to sweat, tears, and sifting plaster dust.

I made Cherise sit down on a bench and stood for a moment, letting my awareness spread

through the structure, looking for major damage. A few cracked support beams, but nothing that

couldn't be braced, and nothing that would come down unexpectedly, unless there was another

hard jolt like the first one, which I couldn't guarantee wouldn't happen.

I pulled my cell phone out as it began to ring, and walked to the front, where plate glass windows

had once been. They were now a glitter of broken fragments inside and outside the store. People

were gathering out in the street, which was a hazard in itself, as drivers tried to navigate their

way through to check on their families, their homes, their businesses. Nobody looked badly hurt,

but everybody looked shell-shocked. Earthquakes in California came with the territory, but in

Florida?

I answered the call. ''Joanne Baldwin.''

''Warden, it's Luis Rocha. Earth Warden. We met up top.'' Meaning, up in the aetheric. I didn't

know his voice, but I liked it-warm, brisk, efficient. No wasted words. ''Everybody okay

there?''

''Looks like.'' No wasted words here, either, apparently. ''Good work up there.''

''You too, but I'm worried. I don't know what the hell that thing is we saw, but whatever it is, it

needs looking into.''

''You think it's the cause of what just happened?''

''Any place can have earthquakes, but not without some warning signs, and there weren't any.

External cause, has to be. That thing-it seems to be the epicenter, and no way is that supposed

to be there.''

I frowned. ''You think it could do more damage?''

''Don't know, but I wouldn't leave it there. We need to figure out what this thing is, fast.''

''My job,'' I said. ''I'll get the Djinn on it. You do your thing, Warden Rocha, and thank you.

Excellent job.''

I heard the grin in his voice. ''Yeah, well, put it on my bonus schedule. Adios, senora.''

''Adios,'' I said, and hung up. I slipped the phone into my pocket and wondered, for the first

time, why David wasn't-

''I'm right here,'' David said, appearing out of thin air in midstride. He was dressed for business,

not pleasure-sturdy blue jeans, a plain shirt, thick boots, and his long olive-drab coat. Glasses,

too. They glittered like ice in the reflected shine from the broken glass. He didn't halt at a polite

distance; he came right up and put his hands around my face, wordlessly smoothing away plaster

dust, and placed a warm kiss on my forehead. I felt the various aches and pains melt away, and a

mad jittering inside me go still and calm. I hadn't even realized how tense I was.

''What kept you?'' My tone stayed dry, although I had a strange desire to burst into tears. ''Next

time, don't stop for traffic lights, okay?''

He sighed and put his arms around me. ''Safe driving isn't just a good idea; it's the law,'' he

reminded me, in that mocking way that only Djinn can. He'd no more think of obeying traffic

laws than I would that thing about not wearing white after Labor Day. ''Sorry. We were busy.''

''Yeah, no kidding. Busy here, too. What's-'' My phone rang. I stepped back from him with an

apologetic what-can-you-do lift of my hands, and answered, ''Baldwin.''

It was my friend and (technically) boss, Lewis, and he was uncharacteristically angry. ''What the

hell did you think you were doing?'' he demanded. He was someplace close, or at least equally

affected; I could hear the rising babble of confused voices and car alarms. ''We're going to be

damn lucky if the whole eastern seaboard isn't in chaos by the end of the day!''

I stopped what I was about to say, frowned, and rewound what he'd said. I listened to it again in

my head before saying, cautiously, ''Hang on a second. You think it's my fault?''

I felt, rather than heard, him coming to a complete stop wherever he was, as if I'd gotten his

undivided attention. I hoped he wasn't standing in the middle of the street, like the idiots outside.

And I thought he was replaying what I'd just said. ''Are you saying it isn't your fault?'' he

asked.

''I'm about ninety-nine percent sure I had nothing to do with it.''

''You were seen in the middle of the-''

''Yeah, trying to fix it, which is sort of my job!'' I snapped, and looked at David. He was

watching me with warm brown eyes, looking almost completely human. I wondered what kind

of effort that was taking. ''If you don't believe me, ask the other Warden. Luis Rocha. He was

there. He saw what I saw.''

''Rocha,'' Lewis repeated thoughtfully. ''Yeah, I know him. Luis is solid. Okay, let me talk to

him, but meanwhile-sorry. I just thought, with you new to your Earth powers-''

''You thought I'd go yank around at force lines in the ground, because they were there? What

am I, four? Come on, man.''

Ah, there was the Lewis I knew and loved, in that ironic lift in his voice. ''Jo, you know damn

well that if you're standing at ground zero of trouble, I have to assume you've got something to

do with it.''

''Convicted on prior bad acts?''

''Something like that.'' He was moving again. I heard the shrilling call of a siren as it ripped by

him and dopplered away, and then heard it coming into audio range on my end-same siren, or

very similar. ''Where are you?''

''Delvia's Bridal. Um, it was Delvia's Bridal, anyway. I think it's Super Discount Gowns now.

At the very least, there's going to be a whole lot of discounting going on.''

''And you say you didn't have a motive,'' Lewis replied. ''Right. I'm heading that way. Stay

put.''

He hung up before I could assure him I wasn't going anywhere. I looked around. The clerk was

making sad attempts to right sales racks and rehang gowns. Cherise exchanged a look with me,

nodded, and went to help. David, of course, could have waved a magic hand and put it all back to

rights, but that wasn't the way things were done, at least not out here in the open, where it could

be witnessed by the general public. We'd do most of our helping out later, when people weren't

looking.

At least, I hoped so. The old days of the Wardens leaving messes behind them were over-or so

I'd been assured. This would, I thought, be a good test of their resolve to do the right thing, and

if they didn't . . . well, I could always take names, kick asses.

''Not normal,'' I said aloud. ''This shouldn't have happened.''

I didn't need confirmation, but David gave it to me anyway. ''Someone caused it,'' he said.

''A Warden?''

He was silent. When I glanced his way, I saw that his eyes were growing lighter in color and

brighter in power . . . but then they cooled again, and he shook his head. ''Unknown.''

''What? How can it be unknown? How can you not know?'' Because David, after all, was sort of

the running definition of omniscient these days. Imagine those surveillance cameras you see on

every street corner, only for the Djinn, every single object in the world, living or inert, has a

history and a path through time that they can follow. David was capable of unspooling that

carpet back and following the threads to . . . nothing, apparently.

That was unsettling to me-to him, too, because he shot me a frown and said nothing in his own

defense. He turned away to pace, head down, and I was reminded for all the world of a tracking

dog trying to pick up a scent.

Vainly.

I felt a slight bump of power on the aetheric level– it took concentration to detect it-and knew

that someone had arrived. Someone of the Djinn variety. Could be a good thing; could be a bad

thing. . . . Either way, it would be unpredictable.

I turned, a determined smile on my face, and was relieved to see the Djinn Rahel lounging in the

cracked doorway, arms folded, surveying the damage with amused, lambently glittering eyes.

She was a tall creature, elegant as a heron, but her nature always put me in mind of a hunting

hawk-predatory, alert, always on the verge of striking.

Today she wore a bright lavender pantsuit in what looked like (and probably was) the softest of

peach skin. It was tailored within an inch of its life, clinging to her long legs and her sculpted

torso. Purple was a relaxed color for her, as it was for me. In a less conciliatory mood, she'd

have been wearing neon yellow.

''So,'' she said, in a low voice as rich as spilled syrup, ''does this mean the wedding is off?''

''You wish,'' I said. ''Thanks for the help. Oh, wait . . .''

Her smile widened, revealing white, even teeth. My, she was in a good mood. She didn't even

bother with sharpening them to freak me out. ''Did you need help, little sister? All you had to do

was ask.''

Like I'd had time to pretty-please. She tilted her head, still focused on me, and the hundreds of

tiny, meticulous braids in her ebony hair shifted and hissed together, and the tiny beads clacked.

Snakes and bones. I resisted the urge to shiver. I liked Rahel, and I thought she liked me, as

much as that kind of thing could happen, but I was never really . . . sure. You never could be,

with the Djinn.

And once again, she surprised me by saying, ''What do you need?''

Djinn didn't offer. But she did, and I gaped at her for a long, unflattering few seconds before I

got control and composed myself into a grateful expression. ''If you could check and let me

know if you find anybody wounded, anybody in trouble-''

She flipped a negligent hand-perfectly manicured, with opal polish on the sharp nails-and

misted away. I looked around. David hadn't bothered to turn, and the humans in the store and on

the street had been too preoccupied with their own trauma to recognize a truly strange thing

when they saw it.

Two seconds later, more or less, a shadow darkened the doorway, and Lewis edged in past the

sagging, glassless metal frame. He looked first to David and nodded; David had turned to face

him, which said something about how Lewis rated on the whole threat-level scale as compared to

Rahel. Not that Lewis was a threat, except in the sense that David probably never forgot (or

could forget) that Lewis and I had once been . . . close. Not for ages, but still. It hadn't been the

kind of one-night stand you forget.

Even so, the two of them were friends, if cautious friends. And they respected one another.

''Everybody okay here?'' Lewis asked. I gave him a silent thumbs-up, not quite daring myself to

speak. He looked-well, like Lewis. Drop him in the middle of Manhattan or in a forest in the

Great Northwest, and he basically remained unchanged. Blue jeans, hiking boots that had seen

miles of hard use, brown hair that shagged a bit too much, a three-day growth of beard on a long,

angular face. Almond-shaped, secretive dark eyes. ''Jo. We're setting up a staging area. I'm on

my way there now. If you're done here-''

''Yeah, I'll come with,'' I said. I'd had a purse at some point, and I went back into the changing

room to hunt for it. Good thing it was a hobo bag. I felt as if I matched it nicely, what with the

rumpled clothes, sweat, and plaster dust.

When I turned, David was right behind me. He steadied me with big strong hands, looking into

my eyes, and I couldn't resist an audible gulp. He just had that effect on me.

''Be careful,'' he said, and kissed me. It was probably meant to be one of those gentle little

pecks one partner gives another casually, but it turned into something else as our lips warmed

and parted and made pledges to each other we couldn't really keep at the moment.

When we parted, I felt significantly more alone, and I could see he did, too. David tapped me on

the end of my nose with one finger, an unexpectedly human sort of gesture, and gave me a

heartbreaking smile.

''I almost lost you,'' he said. ''I hate it when that happens.''

He'd really, truly lost me a couple of times. Once, he'd broken the laws of the Djinn and the

universe itself to bring me back. I was well aware how much he'd risked for me, and how much

he'd risk again if he had to.

I had to be more careful. Losing myself was one thing. Losing David was an unacceptable

something else.

Cherise was still in the main room, hanging up gowns and dusting them off, shaking them out.

The clerk, who looked pissed now rather than shattered, was muttering under her breath as she

checked each dress for damage. I gave Cherise the high call-me sign, and she flashed me a grin

and mouthed, You owe me lunch, bitch!

Cherise was the fastest rebounding human I'd ever seen. And that was only part of the reason I

loved her like a sister.

Considering my actual bitchy, whiny, double-crossy, drug-addicted sister . . . better than my

sister.

Lewis had a Hummer. I hated Hummers, but I had to admit, it suited him-and he was probably

one of the few Hummer drivers who actually used it as God and Jeep intended, to be driven over

hard terrain. It looked it, too-muddy, dented, cheerfully well used.

I came to a halt, staring up at the passenger door. ''I swear,'' I said, ''if I split these jeans

climbing into your damn truck-''

''Need a boost?'' Lewis asked from behind me. And I had a terrifically tactile premonition of his

big hands going around my waist and lifting me up. . . .

Bad for my discipline.

''As if,'' I said, and, with a mighty effort, levered myself up to the step and into the cab of the

truck. It was like an eighteen-wheeler, only with better upholstery. As I got myself strapped in,

Lewis swung in on the opposite side with the ease of long practice, and longer legs. I sniffed.

The truck smelled like mud, leaves, wood smoke, and mildew. ''You ever get this thing

detailed?''

''What would be the point?'' Lewis put it in gear, and the tank began to roll. He drove slowly,

negotiating around stopped cars and people still standing in the middle of the street. Normal life

was starting to reassert itself. As we got farther from the dress shop, I saw that the damage

appeared limited to broken windows and overturned shelves in the stores. It looked like New

Orleans after a really rocky night of Mardi Gras. ''Okay,'' Lewis said, drawing my attention,

''so give me the bullet points.''

I ticked them off, a finger at a time. ''One, I was minding my own damn business, trying on

wedding dresses when it hit. Two, I worked with Luis Rocha to try to figure out what was

causing it and lessen the damage. Three-'' Number three was my middle finger,

unaccompanied by the other two.

''Classy,'' Lewis said. ''I'm sure the Wardens Council would be impressed with the summary.''

I repeated the gesture for the missing Wardens Council. Because I didn't much like most of

them, anyway.

''When you and Rocha went up on the aetheric, what happened?''

I described it for him-the red boil of forces out of control; Rocha diving down toward the

source; me following; the ice black shard of-something-driven into the skin of the planet.

''You touched it,'' Lewis said, ''and it knocked you away.''

''Like it was Sammy Sosa and I was the baseball.''

''Nice sports reference. You do that because I'm a guy?''

''No, I do it because I like baseball. Back to the subject. I couldn't hold on to it, and if I

couldn't-'' The only Warden walking around who was stronger than me was currently driving

the Hummer. ''You want to give it a shot?''

''I'd like to see it,'' he said. We came to a stoplight; he turned right, found a deserted parking

lot, and parked. ''Show me.''

I took his hand. It wasn't strictly necessary, but it made me feel better. We launched up together,

out of our bodies and into the aetheric, and I was as always interested to see that Lewis didn't

really look all that different on the astral planes than he did back home. Most people tended to

reflect the person they wanted to be-prettier, fancier, stronger, taller, skinnier. Hell, our friend

Paul manifested as a kind of King Arthur– era knight, although I was pretty sure he didn't know

that.

I had no idea how I looked up top. Did I want to ask? Yeah. But it just Wasn't Done. Warden

protocol.

The aetheric was abuzz with Warden activity. Lewis and I stayed out of it, floating high and

looking down on the teeming, busy swirl of light that was the city of Fort Lauderdale. I pointed

to a cluster of Warden activity, and tugged on his hand. Down we went, hurtling fast, flashing

past startled colleagues I didn't even vaguely recognize.

We headed down into the disturbance, which, though still roiling, was contained in a tight, glassy

shell of power. It looked fragile-the shell, not the disturbance.

Lewis touched the surface, and it took on a milky swirl; then his hand passed through it. He went

inside, pulling me after, and when I looked back I saw the bubble sealing itself behind us.

Pressure closed in on me, real and intense, and I was glad I didn't have blood vessels to rupture,

because there would definitely be rupturing going on, followed by copious hemorrhaging.

Down we went, sliding through what felt like molten glass, and then I saw the black

otherworldly glitter below and pulled on Lewis's hand to let him know. He nodded, and we

touched down on something that wasn't ground, wasn't surface, wasn't anything really except a

shadow of reality.

And there it was: the black thorn of glass, driven deep.

Lewis mimed that he was going to grab it. I shook my head. He mimed again. I shook my head

again.

Fat lot of good that did. He grabbed it anyway.

Lewis held on for longer than I had-long enough that I began to think he was actually going to

manage to yank the damn thing out-but then was thrown back, just as I'd been. Well, more

violently. And he hit and bounced and drifted, seemingly unaware of anything until I grabbed on

and began hauling him upward, away from that . . . thing. I couldn't explain why, but it gave me

the serious creeps. It glittered. It looked deadly sharp, no matter what angle you looked at it;

there was a sense of purpose to it that made my skin crawl.

It meant to be there. And it meant to defend itself.

Lewis came awake again, thrashing, and broke free of my hold. I fumbled for him, but he was

already swimming away from me, heading back down.

Crap. This wasn't going well.

I couldn't yell on the aetheric, but I damn well felt like shouting. I pushed after him, feeling sick

from the pressure, and grabbed hold of his ankle. He shook free of my grip and kept going,

arriving back in front of the black shard. He didn't touch it this time; he just drifted slowly

around it, taking in every detail.

And then he went up, into another aetheric plane higher than this one. I tried to follow, but I

slammed into a glass ceiling that no amount of trying would get me past. I was anchored in the

real world, and that line stretched only so far.

I had no idea how Lewis was able to do it, but then that was why he was at the top of the Warden

food chain, and I wasn't.

I waited impatiently, and in a matter of minutes he was back, falling back down. He grabbed my

hand and we plunged through the aetheric levels, back down to the real world . . . into our

bodies.

I coughed, gasped, and felt my head pound in time with my rapid heartbeat. I was covered in

sticky, cold sweat. In fact, I felt downright sick.

So did Lewis, clearly. He looked just as bad as I felt, if not worse, and when I touched him, his

skin was ice-cold.

Worse, his hands looked . . . burned, flushed bright red on the palms. He wiped them on his jeans

in a convulsive movement, as if there were something horrible on them that he wanted to get off,

but it was clear from the way he was shaking that it went deeper than surface slime.

''Christ,'' he said, and leaned his head back against the whiplash rest. ''What the hell?''

''And here I was hoping you'd have some bright, easy answer,'' I said. ''Because I've got no

clue, man. I've never seen anything like it before.''

''Have you shown it to David?''

I hadn't, and as he mentioned it, I wondered why I hadn't. And why he hadn't immediately

sensed it. Strange.

''No,'' I said slowly. ''And I-don't think I should. Don't you think?''

Lewis nodded, not looking at me. His face had gone the color of old newspaper, and his lips

looked gray. ''I don't, either,'' he said softly. ''Why is that?''

''What?''

''Why do we think that? Wouldn't we usually ask the Djinn to take a look?''

Usually, but this time . . . it just didn't feel . . .

I had no answer. I just stared at him, then shrugged. Lewis took a deep breath, started the

Hummer's engine, and pulled back out onto the road.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence.

''You're kidding,'' I said as Lewis negotiated the Hummer into a parking space built for a

Hyundai. ''We're meeting at Denny's? Was Chuck E. Cheese already booked for the

president?''

''Emergency meeting,'' he said. ''This was the closest place we could find where we could have

some privacy. Besides, I could use some food-how about you?''

Well, I supposed I could use a Grand Slam or a Moon Over My Hammy or something.

Getting out of the truck in the narrow space between two other vehicles proved to require moves

illegal in some Southern states. I managed not to scratch the other car, which was good, because

it was a Ferrari. Bright red.

Denny's had suffered little or no damage, as far as I could tell. Maybe they'd been outside of the

shake zone. Plate glass windows were intact; diners still sat at tables; waitstaff circulated with

trays and plates. Lewis and I walked in, out of the cloying humidity and into the frigid embrace

of air-conditioning. I shivered a little-still fighting off the chill I'd gotten on the aetheric, I

guessed.

Lewis led me back to a private room, one with sliding doors. Inside were four of the most

powerful people in the Southeast, never mind Florida, and they were all digging in to breakfast.

I half recognized Luis Rocha from his signature on the aetheric; he was medium height, medium

build, a bit broad in the shoulders. His skin was a dark, warm bronze color, and his eyes and hair

were black. The hair was long, trailing down around his face and past his collar. His sleeveless

gray muscle T-shirt revealed strong, defined arms inked up with flames and intimidation, but his

smile was warm and rather sweet.

He was the only Earth Warden in the room. Two of the others-Sheryl Brewer and Nicholas

Mancini– were both Weather Wardens, solid technicians, if not spectacular. Usually, trouble in

Florida came from weather, after all-it wasn't known as Hurricane Central for nothing.

The fourth was, of course, a Fire Warden. Nobody I wanted to see. She no doubt went with the

red Ferrari out front, and her name was Janette de Winter. Good at her job, but my God, didn't

she know it. We exchanged narrow smiles. She was eating a delicate little fruit cocktail thingy.

Even now, in the midst of crisis, she was perfectly put together-a tailored white suit, long

tanned legs, open-toed pumps showing a perfect pedicure. Her makeup had that airbrushed

quality of having been put on in layers, until she looked more like an animated magazine cover

than a human being.

Maybe I was just feeling catty because I was sweaty, bruised, and covered in dust.

She raised an eyebrow at my appearance, looking coolly amused. Nope. It wasn't because I

looked like crap. I felt catty because I just plain disliked the woman.

Lewis and I took seats at the table. He slid in next to the Weather Wardens, leaving me stuck

next to de Winter, but also next to Rocha, who winked at me as he shoveled syrup-drenched

waffles into his mouth.

The server appeared, and Lewis and I gave our orders-I went for waffles, after seeing Rocha's

evident happiness with his. Also, just so I could see de Winter look pained. Waffles were clearly

declasse. Hooray for waffles.

''First of all,'' I said as the waitress closed our doors, ''and just to get it out in the open, this is

not my fault. Ask Lewis.''

All eyes turned to him, if they weren't already there. He sipped coffee and nodded. ''She's in the

clear,'' he said. ''Whatever's going on, I don't think any Warden is behind it.''

Luis Rocha put down his fork. ''It wasn't natural. No way in hell. Did you see it?''

''We saw,'' Lewis said. ''And I agree. It wasn't natural. But it's nothing a Warden could be

powerful enough to do alone, either.''

There was a moment of silence. Brewer said, softly, ''Djinn?'' It was the question we were all

dreading and the reason, on some level, that Lewis and I hadn't wanted to go to David about

what we'd found. Because either he knew, which was bad, or he didn't know, which was worse.

Either way, it put him, as the leader of the New Djinn, in an impossible position.

''That's certainly a possibility,'' Lewis said. I knew what he was thinking: Ashan, and the other

half of the Djinn. The old, arrogant half. But the truth was, I didn't believe even for a second that

Ashan would have driven that evil black thorn into the skin of Mother Earth. In a curious sort of

way, he cared more for her than for himself, his people, and certainly humanity. He wouldn't

have done it, and he wouldn't have allowed it to be done, not by any of his people. Or David's, I

thought suddenly. There'd have been war first.

Nothing scarier than a war between the Djinn.

Been there. Had scars.

''Did you try to get it out?'' Rocha asked Lewis. Lewis nodded and held up his hands. They

were blistered. ''Madre de Dios. That happened on the aetheric?''

''Yeah.'' Lewis studied his palms with a frown. ''Shouldn't have.'' I knew that self-healing was

one of the toughest things for Earth Wardens, and so did Luis Rocha; he gestured to Lewis, and

the two of them went off to a side table to sit close together, backs to us. Healing was,

sometimes, kind of a private thing. Intimate. I sipped coffee and tried to ignore the fact that I'd

been left on my other side with Janette de Winter, who was shooting me looks that could kill.

''Any report on injuries?'' I asked the table at large. They all glanced at each other, and then

Sheryl Brewer took on the job.

''Minor stuff so far,'' she said. ''We've got some superficial cuts and a couple of broken bones,

but nobody dead or seriously injured. The damage was contained pretty quickly. Whatever you

guys did-''

''Wasn't much,'' I said, ''at least on my part. Rocha deserves the credit for containment,

definitely.''

Credit for more than containing the earthquake, apparently, because when he and Lewis rejoined

us– coincidentally, the same time my waffles arrived, all fluffy and begging to be drowned in

syrup-Lewis's palms were smooth and blister-free again. ''Surface damage,'' he said to our

questioning looks. ''Looks like the thing's hot.''

''Hot hot, or radioactive hot?'' Brewer asked. It was an excellent question, and not the one

Lewis had been hoping to answer.

''Radioactive,'' he said reluctantly. ''We need to find this thing in the real world and contain it.

Fast. Jo, I want you to talk to Paul, figure out if we've got anybody who specializes in

radioactivity. We're going to need somebody who knows what they're getting into.''

I nodded and dipped my first bite of waffle into syrup. It never made it to my mouth, because my

phone rang. I stepped away from the table to answer it-it was a number that didn't pop up with

a name, but it was a New York City area code.

''Ms. Baldwin? Phil Garrett here, New York Times. I hope you weren't injured in the disturbance

down there?''

I was surprised first of all that he'd gotten a cell signal through; the Wardens had priority on

connections in a crisis, along with various emergency services and governmental agencies, and I

was pretty sure reporters weren't on that list. After that surprise wore off, though, a big, ugly ball

of black stress formed in my stomach where my waffle was going to go, and my knees went a