Текст книги "Heat Stroke"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Which is?” Lewis wanted to know.

“Survival.”

Nice to know that it was possible to surprise Lewis, once in a while, although I wished it could be for a less urgent and personal cause; he looked as blank as if somebody had taken an eraser to his face. “Survival? Jo, anything wrong?”

I fielded that one, since it was an easy ground ball. “You could say.” I pulled out the third chair at the table for him; he folded himself down, long legs bumping into obstructions that hadn’t bothered me, and looked at my coffee cup with such pitiful longing that I picked it up and started for the steaming pot.

“Ah!” Patrick wasn’t looking at me, but he held up a finger like some offended schoolmaster. “Break that habit.”

Right, I’d been through this painful lecture before. Stop being human. Start acting like a Djinn. I stared down at the coffee cup, dived down into the structure and felt it from the inside out, the cool heavy reality of the ceramic, the earth-rich scent of ground beans and water. I couldn’t remember if Lewis liked cream, so I subtracted that from the equation, held out my left hand, and materialized a steaming cup of black java in it.

And felt damn proud of myself, too. You betcha.

Lewis was even more impressed. He didn’t say anything, but by damn he looked respectful as he took the mug, lifted it to his lips, and sipped.

And it was a bad time to wonder if I’d fucked up the recipe and created something lethal, but then he was an Earth Warden, he’d be able to tell anyway, and fix it if I had. The perfect guinea pig.

“It’s good,” he said, and took another, longer sip. “Colombian?”

“Guatemalan Antigua,” Patrick answered. “If she did it right.”

He held up his cup for a refill. I did it without moving a muscle. Same routine—sip, surprise, cautious approval.

Lewis put the coffee aside and didn’t let himself get distracted by the fine imitation of a barista I was doing. “You said something was wrong.”

No sense in beating around the bush, not with him; I laid it out just the way it had been spelled out for me. David’s power constantly bleeding off into me, David getting weaker, me the sucking leech that was going to kill him. Yeah, what a happy story it was, just the kind to make the heart warm and cozy. Lewis’s dark eyes got darker as it went along, and even though he always had a kind of inner stillness, he went statuelike and stayed that way. Even after I’d finished.

I finally said, into the ringing and too-loud silence, “So. You wanted…?”

He looked away. Patrick had put the little glass bottle back on the table, unstoppered; Lewis picked it up and rubbed it thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger. I wondered if he was thinking about food. I could try whipping him up a nice bagel or something, but I wasn’t sure that my culinary skills as a Djinn would be any better than they had in my normal walking-around-as-human days, in which I’d been commonly known as the Lucrezia Borgia of spaghetti sauce.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” he finally said. “But given what you’ve just told me, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea right now.”

Patrick glanced over the top of the paper at both of us. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Well, no offense, but you’re not the one who’ll end up with the nightmares if it turns out to be a rottenidea.” Lewis wasn’t usually so snappish, in my experience. He was clearly rattled. “No. Forget it. It’s okay. You have enough to worry about already.”

“Wait a minute, you haven’t even told me anything yet!” I said. Why do guys always try to make the decision before they even state the problem? “Come on, Lewis, spill it. What do you need?”

He was still rolling the bottle around in his fingers, focused on it with such precision that I wondered if he was about to try to Copperfield it out of existence. Hey, I wouldn’t put it past him. Glass was a pure, if nonorganic, manifestation of earth. He could reconstitute it into a pile of sand, if he wanted. How many degrees of heat did it take to melt sand into glass? I’d slept through most of my basic Earth Sciences classes, since it had all been about the weather for me. I remembered something about trillions of dust particles being used to make a single drinking glass, but apart from the fact that the instructor in the class had been a skinny, obnoxious woman with tortoise-shell glasses and the fashion sense of a lamp shade…

“There’s something up there,” Lewis said. “In the aetheric. I think it’s a rip into the Void.”

“Come again?”

“The Void.” He finally lifted his gaze and met mine. “The place where demons come from. Where they reach through to leave the Mark.”

Oh yeah, I know all about the Mark. Had one, didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as you’d think. Something about demons trying to claw their way out from inside me, incubating like baby spiders in the helpless stunned body of an insect… ugh. Not a pleasant memory. The thought of a repeat engagement filled me with a sharp-edged sense of anxiety. “There’s a demon trying to get through?”

“Not at the moment.” Lewis let the bottle roll out of his fingers onto the tabletop, and prodded it gently around in a circle. “Doesn’t mean one won’t. We need to shut the door and seal it.”

“And when you say we, that’s a royal I’m-the-biggest-bad-ass-Warden-there-is-and-I-don’t-need-any-help sort of we, right?” Because I really didn’t much like where this conversational trail of breadcrumbs was leading. There was a witch at the end of it, and an oven, and a really unpleasant fairy tale.

“I mean that I can’t do it alone,” he said. He sucked in a deep breath and came out with it. “I need a Djinn.”

“Hey, fine, just pull one out of backstock and fire it up, there, buddy.”

“I freed them. All the ones I had.” He shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. I agree with David about the slavery issue, and besides, I wasn’t planning on needing one any time soon.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Yes.” He stopped playing with the bottle, folded his hands together, and just looked at me.

“Oh, no, don’t even,” I said. “I’m nowhere near ready for that kind of thing. Ask Patrick.”

“I did.”

I shot a hot, disbelieving, wide-eyed look at my so-called mentor in his porn Disney getup. He’d manifested some kind of breakfast while I wasn’t looking, but it didn’t look anything like a traditional bacon-and-eggs kind of thing; some kind of lumpy-looking yogurt stuff, thin little flaps of something that looked like unfolded blintzes, and a weirdly colored fruit mishmash. Whatever country it was from wasn’t anyplace I ever wanted to visit, or at least eat breakfast in.

“Patrick?” I demanded.

He took a bite of fruit surprise with no evidence of discomfort. “Joanne?” He put an entire argument into my name, and I lost. He turned his attention back to Lewis. “She’s made progress, but she needs to understand the flows of power. Over time, she could learn, but she doesn’t have time. If she’s going to make it through this, she has to have a jump start. Such as the one you propose.”

“Hey, pardon me, but nobody’s jumping me, okay?” I sucked in a couple of deep cleansing breaths, and tried to be reasonable. “Just to be clear, you want me to agree to be your Djinn? Your slave?”

Lewis had the grace to look appalled at the idea. “No! Employee. And only for a short time, maybe an hour or so. When the job’s done, I smash the bottle, you’re free again.”

“And even if I believe you, what makes you think I can do this thing you want done? ‘Cause I’m not exactly the most competent Djinn on the block, in case you haven’t heard. In fact, most of these guys barely consider me half of one.”

Patrick grunted and shoveled in pale gray yogurt with lime green chunks floating in it. “Less than half,” he said. “I’m afraid that to them, you’re a parasite. Better off dead.”

“Yeah, see? Parasite. I’m a parasite. You need somebody reliable. Like David.”

Lewis’s face had become a still life. How anybody could sit that quietly… “I can’t find David. Rahel turned me down. Patrick recommended you.”

“And that’s your entire list? What about the three you freed?” Because I was thinking hey, talk about owing favors… but his tense expression didn’t relax. I wasn’t breaking any new ground.

“They’re gone,” he said. “No longer on this plane of existence.”

I tossed that one to Patrick for an explanation. He gave another insouciant shrug. “They don’t want to be imprisoned again. You can understand their point of view. I myself am not willing to risk it, either. And while I trust that Lewis wouldn’t even consider it unless it was an emergency, I’m afraid that an emergency to the Wardens doesn’t necessarily constitute an emergency to me. There are plenty of Wardens equipped with Djinn. Let one of them handle it.”

Lewis’s chin set in that stubborn line. A muscle flickered in his jaw. “They can’t see it. I think the only ones who can are the Djinn and humans with all three forms of Warden powers.”

“Meaning, only you.”

Lewis nodded.

Patrick slurped through another spoonful of slimy crap. “My, doesn’t that just make you indispensable, my friend? Fate of the world, depending on you? Whatever did we do before youcame along?”

And the award for most cutting sarcasm goes to… Even I flinched. Lewis, not accustomed to having people accuse him of megalomania, just blinked and looked a little lost. “I’m just giving you the facts.”

“The fact is that you wantit to be you.” Patrick leveled a spoon at Lewis like a nun with a ruler, ready to slap hands. “You need to be the hero, boy. A common human failing.”

Lewis opened his mouth, shut it with a snap, and pushed his chair back. “Fine. Sorry to have bothered you. I’ll just see myself out then. Oh, and I love what you’ve done with the place, Patrick. Kind of a whole Christopher-Lowell-goes-over-to-the-dark-side thing.”

Another shovelful of crap into Patrick’s mouth, this time the weird otherworldly-looking flat blintzes. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive. I didn’t say you were necessarily wrong. Occasionally you shouldbe the hero. I’m just saying that it’s not a good habit to acquire. No long-term prospects. Cowards live longer.”

Lewis, already standing, wavered indecisively between staying and going. I put my coffee down and stood up, too. “I understand what you’re trying to do,” I said. “I just don’t think I’m ready.”

“Yeah. I get it. Thanks anyway.”

He turned to go. I grabbed him by the arm. “I didn’t say no. Convince me.”

“Of what?”

“Why I’m ready.”

He moved closer, or maybe it just felt that way; he had that kind of aura. Once it grabbed hold, it sucked you in. I felt weightless, drawn in by the intensity of his power and conviction.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re ready,” he said. “Nothing ever stops you, Jo. Nothing ever has. I need you because you’re the only person I’ve ever known who’s completely incapable of losing a fight.”

I felt a blush burn hot up through me—not a human blush, not really, this was more happening on the aetheric level than traveling through capillaries—and I said, with more humility than I probably ever had in my life, “Yeah, well, you don’t know very many people, Lewis. Your communication skills kinda suck.”

He gave me a long, slow smile. “You didn’t always think so.”

Which led me to memories that were neither situation-appropriate nor really germane, but were damn nice to recall. Storm energy flaring all around us, two bodies naked and moving in that sweet, hot rhythm, lubricated by sweat and lust and the awesome power of the moment…

Not a bad way to lose your virginity, all things considered.

“So,” he said, and raised his eyebrows. There was that cute little line between his eyebrows again, the one I wanted to smooth away with my thumb. “In or out, Jo?”

Patrick, still sitting at the table, rustled his paper as he turned pages to check out the funnies. “She’s in.”

Lewis didn’t glance at him. “Is she?”

I reached out and scooped the perfume vial off the table. I held it out and dropped it into his open palm, then folded his fingers closed over it. “Guess so.”

There was a surprising lack of ceremony to the whole thing. First we waited for Patrick to finish his breakfast, which looked more revolting by the moment, and then for him to shuffle off to another room with his paper and unmentionable bathrobe. Lewis and I played my-God-how-tacky-is-that? with Patrick’s collection of objets d’crap, finally coming to the conclusion that only a going-out-of-business sale at a whorehouse could really explain a lot of it. When my own personal Obi-Wannabe reappeared, he looked sober and dressed for action in khaki slacks, a black silk shirt, and around his neck some kind of silvery chain that had a bit of the disco period to it.

Lewis excused himself. I watched him go, then turned my attention back to Patrick.

“Does this have the Jonathan seal of approval?” I asked. It was kind of a joke. And kind of not. Patrick shot me a nakedly assessing look.

“Jonathan doesn’t concern himself with the details of the manufacturing process,” he said. His lips twitched into a strange little smile. “Not anymore. Although he once was—how would you say it? A great deal more hands-on in his management style.”

I settled down on the banana couch and drew my legs up more comfortably, hugging the tacky leopard throw close around my shoulders. There was a chill in the air—or, more likely, in me. “You know, nobody’s been overly forthcoming about the guy. What’s his deal?”

“Jonathan?” Patrick’s thick white eyebrows climbed heavenward. “You realize you’re asking a foolish question?”

“An obvious no.”

The eyebrows compressed again, this time into a frown. “You can know the history of anything and anyone you wish, Joanne. All it takes is a bit of concentration. You should know this.” He looked woefully disappointed in me. “You tell meabout Jonathan.”

He reached out and touched me with one blunt finger, right in the center of my forehead.

It was like being hit by a cement truck at eighty miles an hour, head on.

My head exploded into color, light, chaos, pain, heat, cold, fury. I gasped and struggled to hang on to something, flailed around, found a memory. I grabbed it and held to it with iron strength.

Jonathan, handing me the cold, sweating beer bottle.

Jonathan’s eyes, dark and endless as space, meeting mine for the first time.

There. Patrick’s silent whisper in my head. Go there.

He shoved me, hard, from behind, and I tumbled out of control into chaos.

When I got my footing again—whatever footing consisted of, in this place—I was standing on a raw piece of rock, dizzyingly high up, and an ice-sharp wind blew through me. It caught my long black hair and snapped it back like a battle flag. I was different, here. Snow-pale, dressed in filmy black robes that rose on the wind like a cloud.

I faltered when I realized that I was inches from the drop, that gravity was singing at me like a siren. I dropped down into a crouch and put both hands on the cold stone. Lightning flashed in a hot pastel curtain overhead, and far down below, far down in the mud, men were dying.

I could feel that. Feel every wound, hear every scream, taste every drop of blood being shed.

“ ‘And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul,’ ” Patrick whispered. He was next to me, solid and flaring white-hot. Beside him, behind him, a black ice-edged shadow. “Although this is not that Jonathan, or that David, the verse is still true. If you want to know about Jonathan, you will know it here.”

Here. That was the Ifrit’s silent whisper. I looked down, trembling, wanting desperately to go because there was so much death here, so much pain.

So many dying.

There was one who shone. Glittered with power. Warden. He was tall, spare, moving with grace and speed as he turned and fought against the ones coming at him. The lightning kept calling to him, but he wouldn’t answer. The Earthwas calling to him, her voice like thunder, like rivers flowing, like the slow rising cry of mountains.

He wouldn’t answer her.

“Oh God,” I whispered. “He’s like Lewis.”

No, he was morethan Lewis. The world itself was wrapped around him, through him, like a lover holding him. Not just a man who controlled the elements, but was loved by them.

Fiercely defended.

Rain sheeted down, silver as tears.

He was rejecting her love, there on the battlefield. He was fighting as a man, not a Warden. Sword in his hand, solid blows of metal on metal, his leather and metal armor taking cut after cut. Blood…

I felt it coming. The world around me felt it coming.

A lunge. A spear angling up, punching past hardened leather and too-soft bronze, ripping…

I cried out. It didn’t matter, the whole world was crying out, the Mother crying out for her dying child, and even though I was at the mountain’s peak, looking down on a struggle of ants, I could seeJonathan, see him struggling to pull the spear out of his chest with both hands, face fierce and bloody with determination.

No no no…

Lightning hit him, burned the spear to ash, melted metal.

Transforming him in a crucible of pure fire. That wasn’t just lightning, not just energy and plasma and science. That was something else.

Pure, implacable magic.

Someone else on the battlefield crying out, too, crawling through thick bloody mud, a man, just a man—dying already, with a dagger buried in his chest.

Crawling into the fires of life in a useless attempt to save his friend.

There was a feeling of an indrawn breath.

Every creature left in that valley died—sucked instantly dry of life, of breath, of soul. Gone. Empty bodies fell as one, thousands of them, gone. It spread in a ripple of falling corpses and armor in concentric circles from the place that lightning still danced and raged.

It kept spreading. Farther. Shepherds and sheep dying on hills miles away. A village, twenty miles farther. A city of thousands falling limp.

“Stop!” I screamed. But it wasn’t going to stop. The raving grief of the world was pouring out, like blood from a heart wound, and it was going to take everything in its madness.

Patrick’s hand pressed my shoulder, hard. I heard his deep intake of breath…

… and saw one man drag another out of the white flare of lightning, far below.

Whole. Unharmed.

No longer men at all.

Djinn.

“ ‘And Jonathan told him, and said, I did but taste a little honey with the end of the rod that was in mine hand, and, lo, I must die,’ ” Patrick said softly. “Now you know what it takes to make a Djinn, little bird. The wrath of the world.”

My attention was riveted on the two Djinn below. One was holding the other, staring numbly at the death around them.

Jonathan’s eyes were still dark, dark as space. Dark as the day that had birthed him.

David’s eyes were as copper as the dagger that had killed him.

He held Jonathan in his arms and wept in the rain, and I knew he was weeping for joy, for sorrow, for guilt because he hadn’t pulled his friend out of that fire soon enough to stop all this death.

“You wanted to know about Jonathan,” Patrick continued. “No one ever wakened the Mother before him. Pray no one ever does again.”

He touched me between the eyes, and took it all away.

It hadn’t been more than a minute. I huddled there on the couch feeling cold in a rain that didn’t exist, tingling from the memory of unbelievable power, and clutched the leopard throw in a death grip around my shoulders. Patrick still stood looking down at me, utterly unaffected by what I’d seen.

“How many?” I whispered. His eyebrows twitched. “How many died?”

“That day?” He shrugged. “Enough to create Jonathan. Enough left over to create David as well. We’re born of death, didn’t you know that? But so are humans. So is everything. Don’t let it get you down, sunshine.”

I just sat and shivered.

Lewis emerged from the back, hesitated over the sight of me all cold and shaken, and gave Patrick a look. Patrick shrugged again. “Jo? You okay?”

“Sure.” I closed my eyes and willed it all away. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

Lewis took an uncomfortable perch on the shoe chair. Patrick himself picked a plastic thing in the shape of a hand, wished some kind of alcoholic beverage into his hand, and waited for the show with the genial half-interest of a golf fan at a tennis match.

“Go ahead,” he said. Lewis and I looked at each other. Lewis rolled the bottle between his fingers again, testing it for durability, apparently. “Just do it. It’s not that hard.”

I wasn’t sure I could do this. I wasn’t sure anymore I wanted to do it. God, if it took that much power to create a true Djinn, how was this going to help me? How could it help anyone? I squeezed my eyes tight shut again, fighting back tears.

Someone took my hand. Large, blunt, warm fingers. I looked into Patrick’s sea blue, tranquil eyes.

“Do you want to die?” he asked me, very softly.

“If you do, stop now, Joanne. Stop before you suffer any longer.”

I thought about David, running through the rain and mud, bleeding out his life, reaching out for something greater than himself. Stopping the greatest power in the world– ofthe world—from consuming life.

That was my heritage.

That was what had given melife.

Seemed pretty damn cowardly to give it up without a fight.

“No,” I said. “I’m fine. I’m good. Back off, Santa.”

Patrick smiled and resumed his seat.

Lewis took a deep breath, opened his palm and balanced the open bottle there. “Okay. Ready?”

“No. Just get it over with.”

“Be thou bound to my service,” he said. I was expecting something portentous in his tone, but this was an off-the-cuff style, so portent-free he could have been ordering pizza. I didn’t feel any different. I made a little come ongesture with my hand. “Be thou bound to my service.”

Patrick leaned forward on the arm—thumb? – of the plastic chair, and I wondered how it would feel to sit in a chair that was shaped like a hand. Like having your ass grabbed by a giant, maybe.

“Be thou bound to my service,” Lewis finished, and something changed.

It wasn’t immediately evident to me what it was. I mean, yes, I knew, but it started at some cellular level and worked its way up. Fast. I felt odd, then I felt weird, then I felt out-and-out funky.

And then I came apart in a silent explosion, mist swirling, and somehow I could still see, but not with human eyes, and not in the human wavelength… not on the aetheric level, but definitely accessing some of that plane to do what I was doing.

And then the wave crested, and I felt myself being turned inside out, torn apart, remade… reborn.

Into myself. Only… different. Better. Faster. Stronger.

Dissolving.

“Hey!” I yelped, but by that time my body had given up the flesh. I was a thin gray mist, moving faster, being sucked in by a gravitational force so huge I might as well have been a dust speck moving toward a black hole.

Which was the little perfume bottle in Lewis’s hand. I plunged into that tiny, tight container, squeezed like Concentrate of Djinn, and no matter how hard I tried to leak back out again, it wasn’t happening.

Shock was being replaced by an all-over warm feeling of fury. Man, I didn’t like this. I sodidn’t like this.

Lewis said, after what seemed like half a millennia, “Come out, Jo.”

And the negative pressure holding me in the bottle eased. Bam, just like that. I blew out of there fast, swirled around him like a cloud of angry bees, and folded myself back down into flesh again.

It took some concentration, but this time I managed to do it pretty fast—just a fraction of a second between skin and clothes. Kind of like one of those tip-the-pen-the-clothes-come-off sort of things. Lewis looked a little surprised, and then he looked a little smirky, and then a second later he remembered he was a gentleman and pretended he hadn’t seen a thing.

“You okay?” he asked. I looked down at myself and was relieved to find I was still pretty much the same person, only I’d acquired a more down-home wardrobe of blue jeans, sturdy shoes and a denim shirt. Work Djinn. I was ready to fetch and haul out on the construction site.

“I’m good,” I said absently. I was busy trying to reset the outfit to something less—literally—blue collar, but unfortunately that now seemed to be outside of my control. Lewis’s doing, whether he knew it or not. Great. At least I knew what turned him on, now. Sturdy women in sensible shoes.

“You okay?”

“You just asked me that.” I looked up at him, puzzled.

He gave me a little tilted half-smile. “Exactly. You okay?”

Oh. Rule of three. I felt the compulsion kick in, and heard my mouth say, “Hell no, you idiot, I’m not all right! I died less than a week ago, David’s being held prisoner by some bad-ass Djinn with delusions of godhood, and I just got my butt stuffed into a bottle! By you! With crappy clothes!”

He heaved a big sigh of relief. “You’re okay.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. Let’s do this thing.” I was more than a little unnerved, because I damn sure hadn’t meant to say any of that. Well, okay, maybe the part about crappy clothes, but the rest of it was dealing-with-it stuff. So the compulsion thing actually worked. Interesting. “Give me an order. Something small.”

“What’s the use of that?” Patrick asked. I’d forgotten all about him, but there he was, still sitting on the hand, arms folded, watching me with those crystal blue eyes and bad-Santa leer. He’d seen the same flash-peek-show that Lewis had, he just in no way imagined himself a gentleman. “If you’re going to do it, do something productive. Let her really get her feet wet.”

Lewis considered that for a few seconds, then waved a hand around vaguely at Patrick’s porno theater-circus tent apartment. “Okay. Redecorate this place.”

Patrick came up off the hand like he’d been goosed, but it was too late.

Talk about something happening.

Power slammed into me—rich, thick, golden, unstoppable. Lewis’s potential. I now had access to everything Lewis had, everything he was, everything he could be. The amount of energy stored in him was unbelievable—enough to destroy cities, level mountains, reshape the face of the earth.

It was more than enough to do a Trading Spaceson Patrick’s apartment.

I started at one end and swept through it like a color-coordinating storm. The carpet morphed into a neat champagne beige. The walls turned light cream. The statues disappeared altogether in a swirl of mingled body parts, gone to bad-plaster heaven.

The porn tribute to Michelangelo was replaced by a nice mullioned ceiling, with gold accents. I added a wine red accent wall and replaced a black velvet painting of a pneumatic-breasted naked girl with a Mondrian. I didn’t think I’d just stolen an original, but hey, I was new at it.

Furniture. The banana couch turned to dark leather, butter soft, with manly little brass studs on the legs. Lewis’s platform shoe chair became a matching armchair.

I made Patrick’s plastic hand chair disappear completely, along with the tacky chrome coffee table.

“Stop!” Patrick sounded absolutely horrified. “What are you doing?”

“Public service,” I said, and added a nice brick fireplace with an art-deco brass screen. And a little china vase holding matches next to it. I turned to Lewis. “Any special requests?”

He was squinty-eyed with glee. Truthfully, so was I. Damn, this was fun…unlimited power crackling at my fingertips. I could do anything. Anything.

“ Ithink she’s got the hang of it,” Lewis said to Patrick.

Patrick walked helplessly in circles, not knowing which way to stare; every new revelation brought an additional flinch of despair. I fought the urge to spitefully add a copy of Great Homesto the new deco-styled cherry wood table because no, that would just be rubbing it in. “Yes. I think… she might have.”

Lewis retrieved the plastic stopper on the little perfume bottle and dumped both bottle and stopper into the pocket of his blue jeans. “Are you ready?” he asked me.

I was still on a redecorating high. “Are you kidding?” I couldn’t control the laugh that bubbled up out of me, fierce and hot with delight. “Show me the problem. Damn, this is good!”

I felt him rise up. Since he was human, he didn’t disappear in the real world; his body just stayed there, temporarily vacant. I rose with him, noting with interest the silvery cord that connected him back to his flesh, and emerged into the negative-space glittering fairyland that was the aetheric plane. It got more beautiful every time I visited, I discovered. Maybe my Djinn eyes were still adjusting, but whatever caused it, the colors were stronger this time, the glitter and shimmer and depth of them more intense. Lewis had an aura like milk glass, cool at the moment but far stronger than anything I’d seen on a human before. Not like a Djinn aura, either. Something… unique.

Human voices didn’t carry well up here, so he touched me and pointed. I grabbed on to him—he was still solid here, and more or less the same in form—and we began to move across the landscape, heading up and at an angle to the right.

Wayup. Way, wayup. The earth curved away beneath us at the edges, pearl-bright and beautiful, misted in clouds. He kept pulling me. I felt what little resistance there was to aetheric travel—and there had to be some, for reasons of not-so-simple physics– begin to lessen. We were reaching the edges of where it was safe for a Warden to go.

I let go of him and hovered next to him. He lifted his hand again and pointed. This time I could feel the force of will that went with it, the compulsion that would guide me to the destination.

Way the hell out there. Farther than even Patrick had taken me.

Into someplace that, in this reality, wasn’t even really space.

I had no choice, I found; I was already moving. I felt Lewis’s hand touch me one last time, gently, as I darted away, swimming like a fast, elegant mermaid through that sea of increasingly thin resistance.

I set myself to glide the rest of the way, and before long I saw it. Not so much a presence as an absence; space out here was big and empty and a kind of neutral gray, shot here and there with fleeting speckles of power being transferred from one place to another. I braked myself, spreading thin against the barely felt touch of the sun, and hovered, considering the problem. The Void didn’t manifest itself here, on this plane. I’d have to go up to see it.