by Rachel Caine
She had seconds left, at best. I was her only real hope. Something struck me in the back, bit sharply, and then my entire body spasmed as electric current slashed through me. My muscles lost all control, and I slammed facedown to the hot, blood-streaked pavement. I heard the metallic ticking of the Taser control, and as soon as it ended, there was a knee squarely in the center of my back, holding me down while my muscles continued to writhe in silent agony.
But worse than that, far worse, was seeing the paramedics kneel down, check the small girl’s pulse, exchange a look that clearly said their efforts wouldn’t be enough. Oh, they went through the motions, but I could feel it from where I lay pinned by the police—she was dying.
I could still save her ...
And then, with a last flutter of breath, she was gone.
I didn’t offer any more resistance. With the girl’s death, the police lost any real interest in me, especially when the mother woke from her stupor to tell them I’d been trying to help. A simple nudge of influence that I’d learned from Luis was enough to have them release me, though I didn’t immediately leave. Instead, I watched the paramedics load the body of the girl into their ambulance, and tried to understand what I was feeling. Inexplicable loss, yes. But more than that ... fear, very real fear.
I could lose Ibby, so easily. Rashid’s words came back to me with sudden, gut-wrenching force. If I’m ordered to kill those children, I won’t have a choice.
It became crystal clear to me: I couldn’t go on, not knowing what I knew now. There was someone hiding inside the school, with Isabel and Luis. I could fight all the battles I wished out here, but back there was the one that I had to win.
I’d just seen the unmistakable outcome of what would happen if I didn’t. An omen of things to come.
I got back on my motorcycle, and opened the throttle as I raced back the way I’d come, and hoped—no, prayed—that I wouldn’t be too late.
I was still two hundred miles out when the attack came, in the form of a thickly falling rain. It wasn’t a normal storm, I could sense that, but I was no Weather Warden, and the purpose of the storm failed to come to me until it was too late ... until the tide of mud rushed down the steep hill on my left in a thick, choking rush. I didn’t have enough warning, and though it was certainly of the earth, and under my control, the water in it was the active force, and the vast amount of power in it hit me with the force of a speeding train, knocking me and the Victory off the road and sweeping us along in a grinding roar of rocks, earth, and malice.
I kicked away from the bike and tried to move with the tide, but the churning, thick mud made me clumsy and slowed my efforts. I couldn’t keep my head above the muck and, after a few uselessly spent moments of flailing, allowed myself to sink as I reached out for power ...
... And found myself almost exhausted. I expended what power I could to try to slow the avalanche of mud, but it wasn’t enough. I fought my way toward the surface, slicing myself on tumbling rocks, and came up in a tangle of black roots that held me under the surface like a thick, fibrous cage. I was able to grab a quick, muddy gasp of rain and air before the tumbling flow pushed me down again.
Panic and lack of oxygen quickly robbed my limbs of strength, and I lost track of where I was or how much time had passed. I knew only that I had to get free, quickly, or I would never draw a clear breath again.
My flailing hand fell on something sharp, and I felt the sting of the cut even over the muffling grip of desperation. My fingers closed around it—a torn, razor-edged piece of metal about as long as my forearm. I gripped it hard and used it to slice at the roots that had wrapped around my head and neck, hacking wildly until I felt it give way and tumble away in the tide.
Then I touched rock beneath me, and with the last, fading glimmers of power, I launched myself up, out of the mud. I made it to the rolling top of the flow and saw a chance—just one—as it took me toward a thick overhanging branch.
I stabbed the metal into the tree branch and, screaming with primal effort, pulled my legs out of the muddy avalanche. I wrapped them around the wood and slowly, painfully crawled up on the thick, sheltering tree. I was freezing and shivering, and so caked with mud that I could hardly move with the weight of it. It seemed to take forever, but I gradually stopped shaking as the wet, sucking tide beneath me slowed to a stagnant pool of muck. Things surfaced from its depths: shredded plants, broken and unidentifiable; sad, muddy lumps of dead animals caught in the trap. I caught a glimpse of something metallic, and dropped down into the chest-high mud to wade toward it.
The Victory was buried beneath what seemed like a ton of slowly congealing mud, but the wheels were intact, and I managed to get it upright. I rolled/dragged it to a shallower area and finally got it up onto dry land again. The rain continued in a torrential downpour, but this time to my benefit, as it sluiced the thick, heavy coating of black earth from my body and the bike.
I didn’t know if the Vision could possibly still be functional after that ordeal, and at first it seemed that it wasn’t; attempts at starting her met with nothing but impotent sputters. I was beginning to think that I ought to abandon it, sad though the thought made me, but I gave it one last halfhearted try, and the engine coughed, struggled, and then roared in triumph.
I mounted the bike and leaned forward, resting my cheek on the handlebars. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
The Victory gave a rough purr beneath me ... not perfect, but running with the same determination I felt myself.
I walked it downhill, until I found a trail, and then rode.
I didn’t dare come at the school in the same direction as before; I would rather let my enemies think that they’d destroyed me. It was only luck and stubbornness that had saved me, in truth, but I couldn’t risk another encounter. I didn’t have the power.
Rushing into danger without it, though, was a fool’s errand. I needed to draw power; the question was, from what. Or from whom.
The obvious and easy answer was Luis, but the relationship between us was, at present, neither obvious nor easy, and I wasn’t sure he would respond ... but he hadn’t broken the link between us, which still pulsed and whispered deep within me. As I searched the aetheric for a better, less obvious route to where I was going, I also—very carefully—sent a wordless signal down the connection, like a tap on a wire.
I received a single, wordless pulse back from him. The relief I felt was immense, almost choking, and I had to steady myself for a moment before I tried to think what to do next. I was too weak to force open the connection wider on my end, and too weak to communicate with him in even that indirect whisper we’d used so often before. All I could do was signal, like someone walled up in wreckage, and hope that he’d act on his own.
My eardrum gave a peculiar flutter, and then Luis’s voice said, What happened to you?
I couldn’t really answer him. Instead, I tapped the connection again.
You’re hurt, he guessed.
I gave him another single tap. One for yes, two for no, okay?
Yes.
What do you need—dammit, you can’t tell me, can you? Are you out of power?
It was an excellent guess. Yes, I signaled back.
Hold on, he said, which was not the response I expected. Are you close to the school?
Yes.
Then come in. I’ll let Marion know you’re coming.
No! I added the emphasis by tapping harder, two times, then another two, just to be sure. No!
All right, I get it. Got your message about the traitor. You want me to come to you?
No.
Then what the hell do you want, chica?
I tapped the connection, steadily, five times, drawing attention to its presence. After a few seconds, he said, You need power, yeah, I got that. Come in to the school first.
NO! My signal this time was two strikes, as hard as I could make it. I gave out an audible growl of frustration.
Fine, he said. I’ll come to you.
Got your position on the aetheric. Be there in half an hour.
No matter how many times I tapped the connection, or how hard, he refused to speak further. I gritted my teeth in frustration, and rode the bike up the narrow, winding trail. I was approaching the school from the south, but off the expected road; I knew I’d be running into the school’s first line of boundary defenses soon. Luis was taking his life into his hands coming out, but he still had a better chance of surviving that than I did coming in.
I needed to meet him halfway.
I was still well shy of the defenses—or so it seemed—when Luis appeared, on foot, at the top of the ridge above me. He didn’t say anything at first; neither did I, as I idled the bike, then cut the engine and settled it on the kickstand. The descent from the ridge was steeper than I would have attempted, but Luis took the direct approach; he broke loose a thick slab of rock with a kick, stepped on it, and rode it like a surfboard down the rugged, snow-dotted hill, skidding to a halt in front of me.
Earth Wardens. So showy.
“Well,” he said. “You came back.”
“I had to,” I said. “There’s a traitor with a Djinn at his command inside the school. No one there is safe, and nobody can be trusted.” He nodded, not looking away from my face. “You’re not surprised.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.” He looked up the slope, and I realized that we weren’t alone.
Rashid was standing there, looking spotless and sober in his black suit. He folded his hands and stared down at me with an expressionless intensity that made me feel very, very vulnerable. If I couldn’t fight a mere Weather Warden’s attack, how much chance did I have against a Djinn?
“You came back,” Luis repeated. “I didn’t think you would, Cass. I really, really didn’t.” And then he said, almost in a whisper, “I’m so sorry. I did tell you that you weren’t going to like what I was doing.”
Rashid jumped off the ridge and landed flat-footed beside Luis. No mistaking it; Luis hardly glanced his direction. No surprise at all.
The realization came to me slowly, but it brought with it a massive shift of perspective. Luis wasn’t surprised by Rashid’s presence ... because he knew that the Djinn was there.
He knew why the Djinn was there.
And there was only one person who could know that.
I stared at Luis, and after a moment he reached in his pocket and took out a small, thick bottle sealed with a simple rubber stopper. He held it up for me to see, then put it back.
“You,” I said. “You have Rashid.”
“Yes.”
“Before I left you?”
“Yes,” Luis said. His voice was soft, but definite. “After you told me you were taking off, he showed up, carrying a message from the other Wardens. It was a God-given opportunity, Cass. I couldn’t take the risk that Ibby would be left without a last line of defense. That’s what he’s for.”
“You enslaved Rashid.” I felt sick, lost, and deeply betrayed. “Knowing what you know, you still did it, by force.”
Luis had the grace to look away. “I wasn’t sure it would work,” he said. “But I had to have something in reserve. I couldn’t depend on you; I knew that. You told me that, straight out.”
I had. I just hadn’t expected him to take me so literally.
“You’re not turning against the Wardens, or the school,” I said. “Then why—?”
“It was a strategy with Marion. We knew you’d leave us; we needed to flush out the threats along the way. I wanted to warn you. I tried to warn you.” Luis seemed uncomfortable now, and reluctant to spell it out; Rashid, on the other hand, smiled and picked up the thread.
“What your faithful lover is trying to say is that Marion ordered Warden Harley to his position in the first place. When you left, Luis arranged for me to send you there as well—expecting that with Harley a sitting target, any opposition would be drawn to him.” He shrugged. “I admit, the bargain to destroy Warden Harley was all my doing. But you didn’t have to kill him yourself. No harm done.”
“Shut up,” Luis said, and uncorked the container.
Rashid gave him a sudden, startlingly violent look that dripped of hatred. “A moment,” he said, voice still smooth despite the depth of that emotion. “She needs to know this.”
“What?” I asked.
“You can’t believe him,” Luis said.
“You can’t believe him,” I corrected him. “He has no reason to lie to me. Rashid?”
“The children from Chicago,” the Djinn said. “I know where they were being taken.”
“It doesn’t matter—she could have moved them anywhere . . .”
He smiled, but it wasn’t at all friendly. “I was thorough . Their final destination was in New Jersey.”
I could believe him or not, and clearly Luis wasn’t prepared to trust his word, but something in Rashid’s gaze prompted me to believe. I inclined my head slowly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Destroy the bitch. That’s why you’re here, not for this mortal nonsense.”
That broke Luis’s temper with an almost visible snap. “Back inside the bottle, Rashid. Now.”
Rashid stretched himself out into a thin black mist and flowed into the glass. Luis slammed the cork home and dropped it into his pocket. “I said it before—you can’t believe him. He was supposed to warn you before sending you in there,” he said. “I told him to do it, but I didn’t make it an order. I didn’t think I had to. I thought he was your friend.”
“He was an ally,” I corrected. “And it wasn’t a strike at me; it was a strike at you. I was incidental. Also, I thought you were my friend. But you used me.”
“Had to. We needed to make sure we got all of Pearl’s scouts.”
“You sent me out blind. Knowing the odds.”
“Yeah, that’s how it worked out,” he said softly. “What, did you think you were the only hard-ass on the team, Cass? The only one who could make the hard choices? I chose to do what I had to. I had to protect this school and the kids inside. I trusted you to do what you had to do to protect yourself. I didn’t think it would send you running back here.”
I bared my teeth. “I came running back here to save you.”
“I know that now,” he said, and stepped forward. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you more than that, but I really thought Rashid would warn you. I really did.”
I took in a deep breath. “Give me the bottle.”
“I can’t do that. We need him. He’s the last defense for the kids.”
“Only if you don’t lose control of him, and he’s already fooled you once, Luis. Managing a captive Djinn is something that even the elder Wardens did carefully. You can’t expect someone like Rashid to just let you order him. Free him. He’ll help you of his own will.”
Luis shook his head. “I can’t count on it. There are too many lives at stake, and this is too important. There’s no traitor at the school, Cass. I have control of the Djinn. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
I gave him a long, dark look and turned away to mount my bike. I felt filthy, inside and out. Betrayed in a way that I’d never expected.
“Wait.” Luis leaned on the handlebars of the Victory, stopping me as I kicked the engine to life. “You need power before you go. Let me do that, at least.”
I hated it. I hated him for it. But I hated myself, worst of all, for accepting. Luis took my hand in his, and the familiar hot surge of energy swept through me, healing and sure. I would have sworn that the man wielding that power could never have betrayed me, or deceived me ... but he had.
And it sickened and frightened me, that I could so misjudge him in this.
As soon as it was practical, I pulled free of him and turned the bike on the narrow trail to head back the way I’d come.
“Are you okay?” Luis asked me. The warmth in his voice made me feel a little more betrayed, a little more angry. “Cassiel—”
“Think on this,” I said. �
��If you’re not the traitor, who created the mudslide that almost killed me on the way here?”
He had no answer for that.
“Watch yourself,” I said. “And watch Rashid. He’ll betray you if he can.” I stopped short of saying what I felt: And you would deserve it.
Because even though I agreed with that, I loved him, dear God, I loved him, and that was utterly damning.
I put the Victory in gear and roared away.
Chapter 8
MANY HOURS LATER, I stopped for gasoline and a meal at a diner that proved to be delicious enough, though I avoided any kind of beef, in honor of my recent new friends from the cattle truck. It was, by that time, nearly six in the morning, and I dialed my friend in the FBI with great pleasure. “Hello, Agent Turner,” I said, with a good deal more cheer than was perhaps called for. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Matter of fact, you didn’t. Sorry about that, Cassiel.”
“I would never wish to cause you inconvenience.”
“I thought the Djinn didn’t lie.”
“Who ever told you that?”
“Huh, good point. Where are you?”
“A diner outside of Albuquerque—the Adobe Bowl. You know where it is?”
“I’m not that far away. Stay put. I’ll come to you.”
“I’ll be here.” I hung up without any kind of conventional end to the conversation; in my experience, that left the other party feeling off balance and frustrated. I liked to have Turner frustrated; he tended to give more away than he intended.
I ordered pie and coffee, and nursed both while the sunrise turned the land to intense bands of color—purple for the mountains, dark green for the foothills, ochre and gold for the flatlands. There was a television running silently in the corner of the diner, tuned to a news channel. One of the stories was about an abduction of children that began in Denver and ended in Chicago, which had been foiled by a fast-thinking citizen. All the children had been recovered safely, and the kidnappers either dead in the ensuing gun battle with police or fled. A manhunt was under way.
