"Relax," he said. "Trust me."

He guided it to his lap, and began to stroke his fingers over the swollen skin.

Where he touched, the hot skin-which had been screaming in agony for hours-began to cool and regain its shape. It was deliciously, amazingly wonderful.

"You should open a spa," I said, and leaned my head back against the cushions of a chair. He smiled down at my foot as he stroked his fingers across the skin.

"For you, I should open a hospital," he said. "Jo-somebody helped us down there, in the sand. We were dying, and somebody came."

I didn't answer.

"Was it David?"

I felt tears start to burn, and wiped them away with shaking hands. His caress on my burned skin stopped for a second, then resumed.

"I thought I could save him," I said. "I really thought-"

I couldn't think about this, couldn't feel this, couldn't handle anything right now. The tears were uncontrollable. They hurt. Lewis continued to stroke the burn out of my foot, pressing just hard enough on the instep to work out the ache along the way. Undemanding and unassuming, as ever.

"You're not losing him," Lewis said. "You'll never lose him until he's dead. Or you are."

My left foot felt cool and soothed and sated. He gently put it back on the carpet and took my right one. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sheer animal comfort he was offering me.

"Then it's already over," I said softly. "I think he is dead. I think what's left... oh God, Lewis. You don't know what they're like. The Ifrit. You can see who they were, and sometimes they know who they were..."

"Shhhh," he whispered. "Close your eyes. Don't think."

I fell asleep with his fingers slowly, methodically taking away the pain.

When I woke up, I was in bed. Somebody-probably Lewis-had carried me in. I checked: still dressed in the jogging clothes. I felt sand in every fold of skin. I itched all over, and whatever sleep I'd gotten wasn't nearly enough.

I sat up and pulled David's bottle out of the nightstand. It was silent and inert, and there was no connection to it. No sense of his presence at all. It was just a container, fragile and limited. Like a human body.

Was that what a Djinn really was? A soul, unhoused? Then what was an Ifrit? What was a Demon? The classes at Warden U. hadn't exactly prepared me for the big questions. It was a technical school. Philosophy wasn't considered important to the curriculum.

But now I was starting to wonder if philosophy was what the Wardens were missing, and had been missing all along. The Ma'at might be a bunch of upright assholes, but at least they understood what they were doing, and why. All we did was react. React to this disaster, that crisis. We were the world's paramedics, and maybe we were spreading as much disease as we were curing.

"I love you," I whispered to the bottle, and pressed my warm cheek against it. "God, David, I do, I do, I do. Please believe me."

I fell asleep again with the bottle in my hands, still dressed in my gritty jogging clothes, and dreamed that a dark, jagged shape in the corner, like a broken nightmare, watched me the rest of the night.

INTERLUDE

The storm drives clear skies ahead of it. Warm weather, soft breezes. There is no sense of danger coming, no hint of the chaos moving on the horizon like an invading, destroying army.

The island nation in the way is fat, prosperous, and complacent about its safety. In all of its recorded history, which stretches back a thousand years, it has never been conquered. It is a paradise, a center of trade and culture and learning for half the human world. Its harbors are vast and constantly busy.

It doesn't matter. Humans have more energy than smaller animals, and the storm craves it.

The storm changes its course, unfurling its killing tentacles toward them.

First warning is the unnaturally clear sky, wrong for the season. Towards evening, the first breezes begin to arrive, and waves come faster, hit harder. A constant roar of surf crashes on high cliffs in explosions of white foam.

In the morning, people gather in the morning's soft, green-tinted light and find the sea itself boiling in distress where it meets the land. Out toward the far horizon, the storm shows itself in a black line stretching across the curve of the sky. The ocean humps toward them in long, rolling swells, each higher than the last.

The beaches go first, swallowed by wave after wave after wave. There is no alarm, at first. They have seen flooding before. Those living in the valleys and by the sea gather their families and possessions and start a trek inland, whether they will shelter with families or friends.

But the sea keeps rising, and as the storm's breath begins to blow, they realize that this is no ordinary rain coming to their fair and quiet land.

By the time they ring alarm bells, drawing the people to the temples, to the highest hills, the wind is slashing apart trees and the surge is bringing down everything in its path. They hope for divine intervention, but the wise among them already know the end of the story.

SIX

Two hours? Not enough sleep. Oh, no.

I stumbled up and into the shower, where I finally washed away the blood and sand of the night's adventures, and realized halfway through that I was still wearing my pull-on jog bra. Ever tried to get one of those off when it's wet?

Not a pretty picture.

I stumbled comatose out of my bedroom, barely remembering to belt my bathrobe along the way, and started coffee. The asthmatic chug-hiss-chug of the machine echoed through the predawn stillness. Lewis was sprawled out on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. Kevin looked boneless and well rested on the couch. He slept open-mouthed.

War refugees. I felt a prickle along my spine, a dizzying sense that all this was just prelude to something a whole lot worse. I hoped I was wrong.

Not a sound from Sarah's bedroom. I tapped gently on the closed door, then eased it open.

The two of them were asleep, wrapped tightly around each other. Eamon, in sleep, looked younger and almost angelic, that sharp intelligence missing and a kind of gentleness in its place. His arms were around Sarah. Her back was pressed against his front, and his forehead rested on the disordered silk of her hair.

It looked... sweet. And definitely postcoital.

I shut the door without waking them and went back to stare blankly at the coffeemaker as it peed into the carafe.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. It was Lewis, yawning, all lean and shirtless and tousled, hair sticking in a dozen directions, eyes heavy-lidded.

"Hey," I said, and moved away from him. "I made a big pot."

"I'm going to need a syringe to inject it directly into my bloodstream."

"IV kit, third cabinet. Rinse it out when you're done. I'll need it later," I said. My hair was still wet. I leaned over the sink and twisted it into a rope, drizzling out a stream of silver water. Lewis busied himself with coffee cup retrieval, sorted through the thrift-store assortment, and handed me a GOT COFFEE? mug with a pop-eyed, jittery Too Much Coffee Man on it. He took Garfield.

"Did you sleep?" he asked me.

"A little." I'd dreamed, too. Not good dreams. "I'm sorry I got weepy on you. Bad night."

"I understand." He poured himself a cup, mutely offered the same to me, and I nodded. "David doesn't love you."

I nearly fumbled the cup he was holding out. "What?"

"David doesn't love you," he repeated patiently. "He lives for you. I don't think you understand the difference. Djinn don't just love. It isn't a game to them, and it isn't something they fall out of when it gets old. That's why the Wardens have rules about these things. Not just because compelling a Djinn against his or her will is-unsavory-"

I thought of Yvette Prentiss, and her use and abuse of her Djinn. And David.

"It's rape," I said. "Might as well call it what it is."

He nodded, sipped coffee, and continued. "Sex, yes. But I'm talking about love. The rules are there to protect Djinn from their own instincts, as well as from anything humans might force them into. Because when they fall in love, it's ... not on a human scale. And people get hurt. I'm worried, Jo. You and David-I know you love him. But the thing is, it's the kind of love that can destroy both of you. So be careful."

If he was trying to scare me, he was doing a good job. "David would never hurt me."

"He has hurt you." Steam blurred his expression. "Listen, last night you warned me about Kevin. I have to do the same. I like David, and I respect him, but you have to know who and what he is. His instincts won't always run in your favor. Just... be careful, will you?"

I intended to be. "I have to go to the studio. Will you guys be here when I get back?"

"I don't know. We really should get on the road, try to get lost. I don't want to put you and your sister in danger. Well, any more danger than you already seem to have attracted, anyway."

"You're too tired to hit the road," I said reasonably. "If you're going to flee for your life, at least stay long enough to get some decent meals and rest. Sarah's a hell of a cook. You can take my bed while I'm gone."

There's nothing like the first swallow of coffee after a night of exhaustion; it was like a cattle prod to the spine, a fierce jolt of reality. I savored it and held his stare. "So," I said. "Are you and Rahel together?"

"What makes you think I'll answer that?"

"Cold light of day. You're warning me about falling in love with a Djinn. I'm just curious."

His expression clearly reflected skepticism of that. "Rahel and I understand each other."

"Which means, what? You play chess? You give each other backrubs?"

"I don't think it's any of your business." Well, well. Lewis had developed a prim streak. For a guy who hadn't hesitated to get wild with me on the floor of a college lab, that was a bit hilarious.

"I'm just pointing out that there may be a pot/kettle issue on the table here regarding sleeping with the Djinn."

"Funny, I didn't invite you into my private life."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Pot."

"Kettle."

"Bite me, Lewis."

"Very mature."

"Bite me hard!"

"Grow up."

"You first!"

We stopped, staring at each other, and for no apparent reason, burst into laughter. Flagrant, stupid giggles. Stress and near-death will do that to you. I had to set my coffee down for fear of acquiring more burns he'd have to heal.

When we settled down again-which took a while-I said, "Okay, I've thought about it. I'm not going to work today."

I picked up the phone. Lewis reached over and took it away from me. Our fingers brushed, and he was very close to me.

"You are," he said. "I don't think you should stay here."

"But-"

His fingers twined with mine. "I'm not blind and deaf, Jo. You think I don't know? You think I can't feel it?"

I felt horribly off balance. Were we flirting? Had we been flirting? Was he coming on to me? I'd thought he understood...

Lewis said, "No buzz."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He raised our clasped hands. "No buzz. No resonance. No feedback. Jo, you can't hide it from me. Your power is gone."

He wasn't talking about flirting. He was talking about my Warden abilities... and he was almost right. My power wasn't completely gone, but it was definitely operating at such a low voltage that he wasn't drawing a spark from it anymore.

Lewis, who'd always drawn fire and power out of me, couldn't even feel a tingle anymore.

That wasn't seduction in his eyes. It was pity.

"Jo-" He let go of my hand and moved damp hair back from my face. "Go to work. I don't want you here in case things get ugly. You'd get hurt."

"Sarah-Eamon-"

"I can keep them safe; nobody's gunning for them. You, however, don't have enough sense to stay out of the line of fire, and you'll be a target. Go. Do whatever it is you do." He winked at me. Winked. "And besides, I love watching you on TV."




Mona was running a little rough. In-town driving really didn't agree with her, of course; she needed open road and high RPMs and curves to conquer. Her heart just wasn't in the few miles to the studio. I patted her console and promised her a weekend in the country soon, not to mention a nice detailing.

Cherise's convertible was parked in its accustomed space when I arrived. Top up.

I scanned the horizon. Yep, the clouds were crawling closer. Rain later today, for certain.

I checked in with Genevieve, who laconically pointed out my costume hanging on the rack. I did a double take.

"What... ?"

Genevieve, who had for some reason added some white streaks to her hair during the night, as well as a raspberry stripe from front to back, sucked on her cigarette and shrugged. She had a new tattoo as well. I'd never actually seen a woman with a naked woman tattoo before. It seemed recursive.

"You've got a new gig, sweetheart," she said in that tobacco-stained voice.