Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

apply some kind of scientific principle to it, I'd say it was antimatter. Antimatter in suspension,

made stable in the real world.''

I knew the theory of antimatter, of course. Back in the 1970s, a scientist named Dirac had been

trying to figure out an explanation for the way matter behaved in certain circumstances, and he

came up with a theory about something called the Dirac Sea-a kind of negative energy that

exists underneath the positively charged matter in a vacuum. That led to scientists talking about

contraterrene matter, and antiparticles.

Human scientists had actually managed to artificially create antimatter-in fact, they regularly

did it, in places like CERN and Fermilab. Of course, their antimatter was unstable-it had to be,

considering that it was manifesting and interacting with the matter-based world. The longest

antimatter had ever lasted, even with all their technology sustaining it, was about fifteen seconds

before it annihilated itself.

But if this was some kind of bottled, stable antimatter, that was bad. Very, very bad. When

matter and antimatter collided, gamma rays were one side effect, which would explain the

radiation. Even this container, whatever it was, wasn't able to completely contain the antimatter,

so there was a continuous stream of radioactive energy pouring off it.

''Antimatter collisions are about ten times more powerful than chemically based energy,''

Silverton said, and wiped his sweating forehead with his sleeve. ''One kilogram of antimatter

annihilating itself is supposed to produce about 180 petajoules of energy.''

''Which is . . .''

''Catastrophic would be charitable.''

''And how much do you think is in there?''

We both looked at the thing lying on the concrete floor, alien and deadly enough to destroy a

Djinn even without being released.

''I think,'' Silverton said slowly, ''that we're looking at about two kilograms.''

In other words, double the worst-case scenario he'd just described.

''We need the Djinn,'' I said. ''At the very least, they need to know about what happened to

him.'' I nodded toward the dead Djinn.

Silverton nodded. ''I think we're going to need more than the Djinn,'' he said.

''Like who?''

''God.''

Chapter Three

There was no way we could safely remove the black antimatter shard by ourselves. Touching it

had damaged Silverton already; he was trying to hide it, but I could see the pain in his face, the

way his gloved hands were trembling. I remembered Lewis's blistered hands– and that had

been on the aetheric.

''Let's get out of here,'' I said. Silverton didn't argue. He had trouble getting to his feet. I

dumped the equipment, stripped off his pack, and supported him on the way up the stairs. He

made it about halfway before his knees gave out. He was a big guy, and I had to work hard to get

him up the rest of the way and out into the hallway.

''Leave,'' he said. In the light from my floating lantern, he looked drawn and sick. ''You need to

get the Djinn here, fast. Go.''

''I don't need to go anywhere to do that,'' I told him, and concentrated on the invisible thread

that linked me with David. It was thin here, but still a connection. I pulled, and distantly felt his

attention shift toward me. I couldn't communicate with him over the aetheric, at least not from

this spot, but he knew I was looking for him.

I put my back into pulling Silverton down the hallway, trying to avoid the worst of the debris. It

seemed like a very long way, and I had to superoxygenate my lungs to keep spots from dancing

in front of my eyes. I'd pay for it later, but for now, I just wanted out.

My heels hit an inconveniently placed broken computer monitor, and I tipped backward.

David caught me. ''What the hell is going on?'' he asked. ''What are you doing?''

I whirled to face him. I can only imagine how I must have looked-wild-eyed, sweating, scared.

He took a step back. ''Help me get him outside,'' I panted. Without comment, he scooped up

Silverton in his arms and walked down the hall, olive-drab coat belling behind him. I hustled

after, feeling a shake in my knees that definitely hadn't been there before. In fact, I felt distinctly

sick now, wobbly, light-headed, but I was determined not to show it. We had enough problems

to talk about.

David simply blew the glass doors off their hinges at the entrance-effective, if a little showy.

The resulting hail of broken glass melted away in midair and formed a soft mound of sand,

which served as a bed on which he placed Silverton. ''Now,'' he said, and turned to me, ''what

the hell-''

He caught me as I collapsed. Which actually came as a surprise to me-the collapse, not that he

caught me. I hadn't felt it coming on; I'd thought I was coping just fine. David pressed his warm

hand to my forehead as he lowered me to the sand beside Silverton. ''Jo?'' He muttered under

his breath, something about stupid Weather Wardens and their foolish sense of invulnerability,

which really wasn't fair because I didn't feel at all invulnerable at the moment. I felt scared.

David's magical touch poured warmth into me, but it was like pouring it into a black hole.

Whatever was affecting me, it was wrong in ways I couldn't even begin to realize.

''Wait,'' I said, and held his gaze with all the determination I had left. ''David, I need you to go

into the basement. There's a dead Djinn there, and a thing– a thing we think is antimatter. Don't

go alone. Be careful-''

I had more to say, but it got lost somewhere, and the light was too bright in my eyes, and then it

was dark and still and quiet, and I was all alone, floating.

Well, dying always had been kind of peaceful for me.

I woke up in a hospital, hooked up to tubes, and I was alone. No David by my bedside. No Lewis

loitering in a chair. No Cherise, even.

All alone.

I pressed the call button, wondering if I was in a Warden hospital. Pressing the call button

seemed like an Olympic event, and one I wasn't likely to medal in at that. I was unreasonably

exhausted, considering I'd just woken up. While I waited for attention, I looked over the room I

was in. Typical hospital issue-an adjustable bed, with rails that were up. Machines that beeped.

A silently playing TV high in the corner, tuned to the Weather Channel, which led me to believe

that at the very least I'd had Warden visitors.

Nobody was responding to my call. I pressed the button again, sweating with effort. My mouth

tasted like metal, and it was sticky and dry. Everything smelled wrong. My whole body ached,

the kind of nasty, all-over body aches you get with high fever, and there were some white-hot

spots of pain in various joints. I'd been hurt worse, but somehow, being all alone, hooked up to

machines and left ignored, made this seem worse.

I gulped down a breath and pressed the button again, convulsively.

The door banged open, admitting a nurse wearing the latest scrub fashions-floral print, with a

predominantly red color. She didn't look familiar, and she didn't look happy. ''Ms. Baldwin,''

she said. ''Awake, I see.''

I tried to nod. Appallingly, I couldn't seem to get my throat to produce sounds. I gestured at the

water pitcher; she poured me a glass and held it for me. I gulped. Water had never tasted quite so

good . . . until I realized that it was taking on a red tinge. I was bleeding into it. I pulled back,

gasping, and wiped my lips. Blood on my fingers. It was coming from my gums, which were

seeping red.

''Relax, honey,'' the nurse said, unbending a little bit when she saw the obvious distress in my

face. ''You had a pretty high dose of radiation. You're getting treatment, though.''

The water had lubricated my vocal cords. ''Where am I?''

''Extension Hospital Fourteen,'' she said, which meant I was in the Warden system, not general

human health care. Thank God. ''I'm sorry we didn't have anybody with you, but you've been

out for a while, and we had other patients. Do you have a lot of pain?''

I managed to keep my nod to a measured sort of response, not a frantic oh-my-God-yes-give-me-

drugs sort of gesture. She got the point, though, and showed me the meds button, which I pushed

for all it was worth. Liquid gold painkillers slid through my veins, and I breathed a deep sigh of

relief. Even tasting blood didn't seem that disturbing, suddenly.

''David?'' I asked. My voice sounded horribly weak.

The nurse hesitated and didn't quite meet my eyes. ''Your friend and Lewis Orwell brought you

in, but they had to leave. Some kind of emergency.''

''Haven't been back?''

''No, not yet. But I'm sure they'll be back as soon as they can.''

Not good. That meant something had happened. She'd said it had been days. . . .

Someone else hip-bumped open the door, and came in carrying two tall coffees. It was Cherise.

She looked tired, but still glamorously touseled, and the smile she gave me was pure relief. ''I

knew a mocha would get you up,'' she said, and flopped into a chair next to me. ''You are so

predictable. So. How are you?''

''Sick,'' I said. ''What the hell happened?''

The nurse cautioned her about hot liquids and my invalid state, which both of us ignored, and left

the room. Cherise leaned forward and helped me manage the mocha. It was warm, not scalding,

and the caffeine/ sugar/fat combo made me feel much steadier inside. ''Well,'' Cherise said,

''you pretty much freaked everybody the hell out. Including people I've never heard of, who

flew over from Switzerland and Australia and places like that.''

''Wardens?''

''Some of them, yeah. There's some kind of big meeting going on. That's where everybody is.''

Cherise's big blue eyes focused on mine, and I saw an internal debate going on for a few seconds

before she said, ''Your friend's dead.''

''I-what?''

''Your friend Mr. Silverton. He didn't make it, Jo. They tried, but he was too far gone. David

and Lewis both tried, but nothing worked. They were scared about you, too.'' Cherise's

expression told me everything I didn't want to know about how bad off I really was. Bleeding

gums were the least of my problems. ''You're going to have to rest up this time. Seriously.''

''But . . . did they say anything about the Djinn? The dead one? And the-''

''They said that under no circumstances was Joanne Baldwin supposed to jump out of bed and

charge to anybody's rescue. Seriously, Jo. Not your problem. Not anymore.'' She reached out

and smoothed hair back from my face. ''You look like crap, by the way.''

''Gee, thanks. So glad you're my affirmation girl.'' I actually was glad, but I couldn't let her

know that. There was love, real and soothing, in the touch of her fingers. It lulled as much as the

morphine. I felt sharp grief at the death of Jerome Silverton, and guilt. We'd gotten in over our

heads, and that was the last thing we'd intended. I'd counted on Jerome, as the expert, to know

when to back off. Instead, he'd continued though he'd known it was likely a suicide run. I

guessed he thought it was necessary.

''He wrote you a note,'' Cherise said. ''While he could still write. Do you want it?''

Cherise was a better mind reader than most of my magic-gifted colleagues. I sighed and nodded,

feeling the hot prickle of tears in my eyes. She dug paper from the front pocket of her jeans,

unfolded it, and handed it over.

Jerome's handwriting was messy. I couldn't tell if that was normal for him, or if the damage was

taking its toll. It took me a while to work out what the note said, but when I did, it hit me hard.

It said, I was wrong. Thought I could control it. Not your fault.

And, on a separate line, Hope you're okay.

I folded it up, closed my eyes, and fought back wave after wave of useless tears. When I'd

managed to get control again, I handed the note back to Cherise, who exchanged it for a box of

tissues.

''The dead Djinn?'' I asked.

''Well, that's the weird thing,'' Cherise said. ''I mean, I wasn't there, obviously, but I heard

people talking. According to David, the Djinn wasn't there.''

''What?'' He most certainly had been there. I could still remember Silverton's knife slicing his

body open, remember the elastic tension of holding open the edges of the incision so Silverton

could pull out the black glass shard.

''Well, the Wardens say he's there. The Djinn say he's not. They say there's a body, but it's not

Djinn. They can't see the black thingy, either. Nothing.''

I opened my mouth and shut it again, thinking hard. ''David, too?'' I finally asked.

''Yup. None of them can see it, sense it, whatever. It's just not there for them.''

Oh, man. Not good. ''So what are the Wardens doing about it?''

''They're 'containing the situation.' '' Cherise made air quotes around the phrase, and rolled her

eyes. ''Some of them are talking about encasing it in a big block of lead. Some are talking about

shooting it into space. Nobody knows what the hell to do, but everybody agrees, it's way too

dangerous where it is.''

''Everybody except the Djinn.'' I couldn't leave that alone. ''Seriously, they can't see it? How

can they not see it?''

''No clue.''

''What does Lewis say?''

''He can see it, and yeah, he knows it's a problem. The Djinn thinks the Wardens have some

kind of psychosis. They say that if the thing was there, they'd be able to sense it.''

Great. ''How do they explain Silverton? Me?''

Cherise looked grim. ''They think one of you screwed up, accessed something you shouldn't

have. They can't explain it, but they don't believe the Wardens' explanation, either.''

''Not even David?''

''No,'' she said softly. ''Not even David. Sorry, babe.''

Wow. That was . . . strange. And I was too tired and too sick to do anything about it. Cherise

didn't need to worry about me going all heroic and crazy on her; all I wanted to do was hide

under my blankets and pretend it was all just a bad dream.

And for a while, that was exactly what I did, as the morphine dragged me off to a dream-rich

sleep.

Two days later, I was interrogated by a panel of Warden elders: Guillard from Switzerland, Jones

from Australia, and Lewis representing the U.S. I felt a little better, and they'd let me walk to the

shower and wash my hair, which made a difference in both body and soul.

There was also a Djinn in the mix-a short, round little thing with that indefinable glimmer to

her skin and eyes. She was introduced as Zenaya, and gave me a slight nod but no other

indication of how she stood on the subject of me.

No David. That was deeply troubling.

I went through things, step by step, detailing what I'd seen and experienced. Zenaya said

nothing, but her eyes flashed an eerie green when I talked about the dead Djinn, and the manner

of his death. I addressed a question to her. ''Wouldn't you know if one of your people

disappeared?'' I asked. She shrugged slightly. ''Wouldn't David know?''

''Yes,'' she said. ''But he says he finds no one missing.''

''Ashan?''

Another green flash to her eyes. She folded her arms. ''Ashan says his Djinn are all well. He

says nothing more.''

Which might or might not mean anything. Ashan wasn't chatty at the best of times. ''But I saw

him. And trust me, he was a Djinn.''

''How could you tell?'' Zenaya asked me, very reasonably. I started to answer, then hesitated.

Because I really wasn't sure how I knew. I just . . . knew. ''His aetheric signature,'' I finally said.

''Only the Djinn look like that.''

''Leaving aside that point,'' Guillard said, in his rich, dark chocolate voice, ''clearly you came

into contact with something highly dangerous. Earth Wardens have not been able to correct some

of the damage you sustained. We are dependent on simple human methods, which is why we've

had to hospitalize you for so long.''

Lewis nodded. He wasn't looking at me; he kept his gaze focused on the window, on the rain

outside. ''Sometimes damage just surpasses our ability,'' he said. ''That could have been the

case this time.''

''No,'' I said. ''David tried to heal me, and you know he should have been able to. He has

before.''

Lewis had no answer to that. Whatever he was thinking, he was keeping it close to the vest, and

he wouldn't damn well look at me. I wondered why. Was he angry about Silverton? He had

every right to be, I supposed. I'd screwed up, big time, and a Warden had paid with his life.

Guillard asked more questions about the black shard, things to which I had no real answers

except to give a recitation of my conversation with Silverton in the basement. And then the

whole thing was over; Jones and Guillard wished me well and departed, and Zenaya left without

a backward glance.

Lewis stayed. He still wouldn't look at me. Out of sheer stubbornness, I refused to speak first. I

sipped water and tugged irritably at my drying hair, trying to get it to stop poodle-curling around

my face. I used to have straight hair. I liked my old straight hair.

When I finally turned my attention back to my guest, Lewis was staring at me, and what was in

his eyes wasn't anger at all. Or even disappointment. It was something neither one of us could

ever really acknowledge, and it was big and powerful and breathtaking.

He cleared his throat and looked down, and said, ''You scared the shit out of me.''

''Yeah. Sorry, I had no idea it was going to be that dangerous, or I'd have done more, taken

better precautions-''

He waved that aside. ''Silverton was your expert; you were listening to him. So if there's blame,

it's his, and he's beyond all that now, poor bastard. Even if you'd pulled back as soon as you

found the dead Djinn, it would have been too late to keep you from getting sick. This stuff is

badly toxic. We couldn't have left it there. As it is, we've had to inform NEST, and they're

following up with radiation treatments for anyone who reports in sick to the hospitals.'' NEST

was the Nuclear Emergency Support Team, out of Homeland Security. I didn't want to imagine

how that conversation had gone.

''But by taking it out of the Djinn's body-''

''The Djinn's body must have been containing it, to a certain extent. You exposed yourselves to

a massive dose,'' he said. ''Silverton more than you, because he actually touched it, even with

protective gloves.''

It could have just as easily been me. Maybe Silverton had known the risks when he'd reached

into that cavity to grab the thing; maybe he'd just been unlucky. No way to know. I'd come close

to dying lots of times-I'd actually gone over the edge, once or twice-but this felt different.

This left me shaky and deeply unsettled.

''Is it true? That the Djinn really can't sense it at all?''

''The Djinn think we're all suffering from some kind of mass hallucination,'' Lewis said.

''David's being kind about it, but it's a blind spot for them. A big one. I don't know how we're

going to convince them.''

''If me lying in this hospital bed doesn't-'' I felt light-headed, short of breath. ''David has to

believe me. He has to.''

Lewis gazed at me, expressionless. ''I hope he does,'' he finally said. He leaned over and kissed

me chastely on the forehead. ''About your wedding-''

Oh, man. I'd known we'd have to have this conversation sometime, but I really wasn't ready for

it. ''Lewis, I'm sorry-''

''Don't,'' he said. ''Trust me. It won't make things any better. I'm okay. And I'm happy for you.

I'm just worried. This thing-the Sentinels. They already didn't like you. I can't imagine they'll

be sending any congratulations about the ultimate mixed marriage.''

He left before I could say anything else.

I closed my eyes and floated in a morphine cloud, trying to figure out who, outside of the Djinn,

could create the black shard that I'd seen. Who was capable of that kind of lethal, subtle action?

I didn't know.

I had dreams of distorted, screaming Djinn, of people being destroyed one by one, of the city in

flames, of myself, walking through the rubble in a beautiful, perfect wedding gown.

Of David lying in the street, dead, with a black shard driven entirely through his body.

I woke up shaking.

Chapter Four

So . . . I healed.

David came to visit, of course, and he stayed as long as his duties would allow-longer than he

should have, by the expressions of the Djinn sent to remind him of other duties at hand. But

despite what I'd confidently said to Lewis, I could tell that David didn't wholly believe me about

the black shard, or the dead Djinn. He couldn't. There was some kind of selective blindness that

he couldn't control, and that was weird and scary. It didn't matter, though. The Wardens figured

it out without the help of the Djinn.

Somehow-I don't know how-Lewis and a few other top-level Wardens managed to remove

the black shard and take it to a containment facility, where experts, brought in under high-level

security clearances, agreed that in fact it was, as Silverton had said, antimatter. Antimatter in

some kind of stabilizing matrix. When I asked where the stuff was, and how it was being

contained, I was told it was need-to-know, and I didn't. Frankly, I was a little bit relieved. I was

busy recovering, trying to get my strength back. My muscles seemed loose and weak, and once

the doctors let me out of bed I spent my time mostly in the physical therapy room, working hard

to get myself back in shape again. The pain went away. After a few weeks of natural healing,

they tried Earth Wardens on me again, and this time, it worked; burns and scars smoothed out

and disappeared, and I was left with glossy skin badly in need of a tanning session.

Of course, I could always count on Cherise for that kind of therapy. She showed up one day

toting a blue beach bag and told me to get dressed. Undressed was more to the point. She'd

brought my favorite swimsuit, a skimpy little turquoise number that showed off as much skin as

the law allowed. I changed, assuming we were going to the hydro pool for some swim therapy,

but instead, she got me in the elevator, stripped off her white camp shirt and shorts, and revealed

her own bathing suit choice: even less than I had on, though technically I supposed it could be

considered clothing. It was a couple of scraps of tangerine orange, and she looked spectacular in

it.

''Tell me we're not going to the cafeteria,'' I said. ''They're having meat loaf. Again.'' Cherise

winked at me and pressed the button for the roof. It was restricted access, but she had a key card,

which she used with the kind of triumphant flourish usually reserved for magicians with hat-

dwelling rabbits.

''I know you're not up to a trip to the beach,'' she said, ''so we brought the beach to you.''

They really had. It wasn't just Cherise; it was Kevin-her sometimes boyfriend, despite a five-

year age difference-a Fire Warden with a deep-seated attitude problem. He was sitting in the

shade of a beach umbrella, wearing camouflage baggy shorts and a death's head muscle T-shirt.

He was, at eighteen and change, growing into his height; he was looking less like the underfed,

awkward teen I'd first met, and more like the tall, strong man he would become.

Across from him sat Lewis, wearing khaki shorts and a ratty T-shirt advertising that Virginia was

the place for lovers. They were both wearing slick sunglasses, and I had to admit, they looked

pleased with themselves.

''Hey,'' Kevin said. Too cool for any kind of more enthusiastic greeting. I nodded back. We kept

our dignity. ''Heard you screwed up. Way to go.''

''Isn't this great?'' Cherise didn't much care about things like dignity, if they got in the way of

enthusiasm, but then, that was something I loved about her. Something I suspected Kevin loved,

too. ''Check it out, we've even got waves!''

They'd outdone themselves. God only knew how they'd managed it, but they'd cordoned off part

of the roof and put up patio tables, beach umbrellas, spread sand several inches deep, and put in a

pool. Not a big one-more of a landscaping kind of thing-but sure enough, Lewis obligingly

generated some rolling miniature surf. It was very cute.

There were two lounge chairs. I settled myself on one, already relaxing in the warm glow of the

afternoon sun, and stretched my long legs out as Cherise kissed Kevin and took the other

lounger. We debated the merits of coconut-scented oils over banana sunscreens. I went with

sunscreen, figuring that I'd had enough dangerous radiation for a lifetime.

As I rubbed it into my legs, a male hand reached over my shoulder and took the bottle away. I

looked up, pulled down my sunglasses, and squinted.

David gave me a slow, wicked smile. ''I'll do it,'' he said. ''Lie still.''

I licked my lips, tasted sweat, and returned his smile. I settled back against the cushions. David

came around to the side of the lounge chair, perched on the edge, and squeezed some sunscreen

out into his palms.

''You guys aren't going to make this X-rated, are you?'' Cherise asked. ''Because if you are, I

need a barf bag. Or a video camera.''

David didn't glance toward Lewis, and I had to fight not to. ''Nothing that couldn't air on the

nightly news,'' he said. ''Word of honor.'' He held up his glistening hands. ''Ready?''

''Oh, yes.''

I closed my eyes in total, animal satisfaction as his fingers massaged sunscreen into every inch of

my feet, then worked their way slowly up my legs, my knees, up my thighs, seeking out every

ounce of tension in every muscle. He skipped areas that might have led to excessive moaning

(not that I wasn't moaning already) and moved on to my hips, my stomach. What he did to my

shoulders should have been in the Kama Sutra. It felt . . . healing. And yes, sexy as hell.

''Turn over,'' he said, low in his throat, and I glanced up to see that wicked, lovely spark in his

eyes. ''Time to do your back.''

Oh, and he did me. Thoroughly. I was a boneless, purring heap by the time he'd finished. David

pulled up another lounge chair and parked himself next to me. When I looked at him, he was

showing more skin than I could remember seeing from him before in public; he had on a simple

black pair of swim trunks, and nothing else, and it was spectacular. I let my gaze wander down

the clean sculptural lines of his chest, bump over his taut abs, and found myself staring none too

subtly at his swim trunks.

''Jo,'' he said. I heard the curl of soft reproach in his voice.

''Sorry,'' I said. ''But you're worth a rude stare or two, you know.''

He smiled. I couldn't tell if he found me amusing or arousing, or both. He took in a deep, slow

breath without replying and turned his face up toward the sun. I remembered how it felt for a

Djinn, that almost sexual pulse of warmth and energy. Gave new meaning to the term hot.

It was a long, lovely afternoon. Lewis read a book.

Kevin and Cherise played cards. There were cold beers, and all in all, it was just . . . perfect.

Peaceful. There was weather out over the Gulf, but it held politely off, stacking up its clouds at

the boundaries of the low-pressure system in neat storage ranks.

I wished it would never end, but of course eventually it did. As the afternoon cooled, and the

clouds began to move in, David kissed my fingers and murmured, ''I have to go.''

''I know,'' I said, and opened my eyes. His were brown, almost completely human in color as

well as in the emotion they contained. I wondered from time to time what Djinn really thought

about us, about the tedious nature of human existence, but David really seemed to delight in

participating when the opportunity presented itself. ''You're being careful, right?''

That got me an ironic tilt of his eyebrows. ''Look who's talking.''

''Exactly. You're consulting an expert here. Nobody better at getting into trouble than me.'' I

rolled up to a sitting position, facing him. ''I mean it, David. I dreamed-'' No, I didn't want to

talk about that. The image of him lying broken in the street, pierced by that black thing . . . no.

''I mean, I'm just worried you're not taking this seriously. About the antimatter. ''

That earned me a trace of a frown. ''It's not that I don't take it seriously. It's that for the Djinn,

it's invisible. We can't see it, touch it, measure it. It doesn't exist to us. How can I possibly

watch out for it?''

''If it doesn't exist, how did it end up inside a dead Djinn?'' I demanded. He kissed my fingers

again.

''Jo, I already told you, there is no dead Djinn,'' he said. ''Believe me, we'd know. We always

know. None of us is missing.''

He kissed me again, an apologetic good-bye, and that was it. He misted away, off about his

business, and I felt a sudden chill. Cherise had thrown a couple of wraparound robes in the beach

bag, and I donned one, shivering in its terry cloth embrace.

Lewis noticed. I suspected he noticed a hell of a lot. ''Let's get you back in bed,'' he said.

''You're checking out tomorrow. Don't want you relapsing.''

Not that there was much chance of it; with Lewis's Earth Warden treatments, and David's Djinn-

powered supplemental healing, I'd have to be damn stubborn to screw up that badly.

But I felt cold-cold and scared, for no reason I could really put a name to. Once I was back in

my room, even piles of blankets didn't seem to thaw the ice. I wanted David. I wanted him here,

with me.

I wanted him safe.

And I was desperately afraid that he wasn't.

When I tried to follow up and find out more about the dead Djinn, the antimatter black shard . . .

I was told it was none of my business. Officially. This came in a curt e-mail message from

Warden HQ, courtesy of my good friend Paul, who had evidently decided that the only kind of

ball I was going to play was hardball, and therefore he'd better play to win.

I couldn't really resent this, because he was right; I was recovering, I was weak, and it was being

handled by competent people. So I needed to stay out of it.

Naturally, I couldn't stay out of it.

Not really my thing, being sensible. Instead, I did my work quietly, hidden in between the

obvious tasks of drafting the guest list for the wedding (everybody wanted to attend, and no, I

wasn't going to feed the entire North American Warden contingent with lobster tails and open

bar). I researched caterers, florists, and ministers.

Where we were having the actual ceremony, thankfully, was a foregone conclusion. There was a