by Rachel Caine
"I was thinking the same thing about Imara. I remember how much trouble you got into there."
"Maybe you'd better keep the kid someplace safe," I said morosely. "Ashan's going to target her to get to us."
"I know he'll try."
"But?"
"But that isn't likely to work," David said calmly. "First, like you, she's too unpredictable. He's never going to understand her well enough to use her. Second… I won't let him touch my daughter again."
I shivered. Ashan didn't know it, but he was playing catch with a grenade if he crossed David on that one.
I kissed him with wordless agreement, and he held me, and for the moment, these precious few moments, danger was something that existed outside of the safety of this still, quiet room, and the warmth of this bed.
And wrapped in his warmth, even though urgency still beat war drums in my blood, I slept.
Morning came with a boom of thunder, and I awoke to feel things spiraling out of control again. I stayed in bed and rose up into the aetheric, struggling to keep the reins on the weather, but it was wild and getting worse.
"We should go," David said. I didn't want to. Being under soft sheets with him, cupped warm against his heat, was the best heaven I could imagine. "The first flight to Phoenix is in three hours."
"I don't think anything's flying out of town today," I said. "Feel the sky."
He was already moving, sliding off the bed and standing up naked, facing away from me. I watched as he formed clothing.
He turned to face me, pulling his olive drab coat into place on his shoulders. "It's only going to get worse." An infinity of regret in the words. I couldn't read his eyes; they were human, and hidden behind glasses and shadows. "We'll have to find a way."
I sighed and looked around. My clothes were neatly folded on the chair next to the bed. I began pulling things on. "So the Oracle is in Phoenix?"
"Not exactly." He pulled open the drawer in the small desk and took out the slender phone book. At a tap of his finger, it turned into a road atlas. He flipped pages, then handed it to me.
I glanced at it, blinked, and looked at him in exasperation. "You're kidding."
"No."
"Please tell me you're kidding."
"I'm not." He tapped the open map with his forefinger. A spot lit up, golden even in the glow of the lamp. "I don't make the rules, Jo. This is where the second Oracle can be reached."
Because the map was of Arizona, all right, but the city that was marked was Sedona. Why had I ever even doubted that sometime, somewhere, I'd have to go there?
"What's so funny?" he asked, frowning. I shook my head, laughing until spots danced in front of my eyes. Waved my hand ineffectively. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," I gasped. "It's just… so New Age-y. What do we do? Meditate in a pyramid? Wear a crystal hat?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, come on. Sedona?"
He shrugged. "The veil's thinnest there."
Well, it would be, wouldn't it?
David wanted to head straight for the airport. I wanted to stop for breakfast. It was the worst decision of my life. But even before breakfast, we had a fight about the car.
It started innocently enough. We waited for a letup in the rain. Outside, the air was cooler, cleaner, felt more alive, somehow, because of David's presence. I thought it was my imagination at first, but then I wasn't so sure; it seemed as if the flowers out front of the hotel got brighter, opened wider in his presence. Another sign of his strength and connection to the heart of the Earth.
Or of really great sex.
The Camaro was wedged in between a giant-tired Ford pickup and a van the size of the space shuttle.
David stopped a few feet from the car, looking at it with an expression I couldn't read. "This is from Lewis, isn't it," he said. Uh-oh. I unlocked the passenger door for him, then went around to my side.
"Official transportation," I said, since I didn't want to think about how deeply obligated I was to Lewis right now. "Warden motor pool."
He sent me a drop the bullshit look, opened the door, and slid inside. I did the same. "Expensive gift."
"Yes." I slid the key into the ignition and fired her up. David ran a contemplative fingertip over the dashboard, seeing who-knew-what with his Djinn senses. "It's fast. I needed a fast car. It wasn't personal."
"Oh, yes it is," he disagreed. "This is a very personal car. A very personal gift."
"David—"
"You can't see it," he said. "You would have, when you were Djinn, but he's in love with you. He's been in love with you for a long, long time. It's all over this car, his feelings for you."
Oh, dear. It wasn't so much that I didn't see it as I didn't want to see it. I'd been careful around Lewis. Not careful enough.
"Well, fine, but I'm not in love with him," I said, and put the car in gear.
"You are," David said. There was a hard edge to his voice I couldn't understand. "Don't lie to yourself."
I felt that, all right. It hurt. "David, I'm not in love with Lewis!" Except maybe I was. A little. A teeny little traitorous bit of me that still remembered the crush I'd had on him back in the day. And liked it when he crinkled those brown eyes at me and smiled so charmingly.
And gave me sexy cars. "I'm not! I'm in love with you! Dammit, why are we fighting?"
"Because he gave you a car, and you took it."
"I needed the goddamn car, David! What was I supposed to do, get Cherise to chauffeur me around to the apocalypse? Don't get me wrong, she'd do it, but it's not exactly the best idea ever!"
He set his jaw and looked out the window. I slammed the car into gear with violence unnecessary to such a sweet ride. "You don't have to worry. I'm not sleeping with Lewis."
"No," he agreed. "You're not. But you have."
Oh, ouch. I'd never directly discussed that with him, but I wasn't too surprised that he knew about it. Hard to hide anything from the Badass Head Djinn.
"Can we get over this now? Because frankly, after last night, there's nobody on this earth that I could possibly sleep with except you."
His eyebrows quirked. "Only last night?"
"Oh, you're pushing it, pal."
He let it go. "You said you wanted breakfast." He nodded up ahead. There was a huge sign, rotating with dignified deliberation, showed a tasty-looking artist's rendition of a blueberry pie and announced that LOUANN'S PIE KITCHEN was open for breakfast.
I saw no reason that pie didn't qualify as breakfast food, anyway.
The parking lot was half full, which wasn't bad for the oh-my-God hour of the morning; apparently, the place was something of a favored watering hole. It was pouring rain, and the Camaro hadn't come equipped with either rain slickers or umbrellas. I formed an invisible-air version as David and I walked across the wet pavement toward the entrance to the restaurant, represented by double glass doors in a weather-beaten glass-and-wood oversize log cabin structure. Someone—Louann, maybe, if she wasn't apocryphal—had planted a wide variety of flowers around the building in creative tiers of planters. It looked lush and rather sweet. I ducked under the green awning that sheltered the doorway and swung open the door.
When I did, I glanced back and caught sight of David standing rigid, staring off into the distance. "What is it?" I asked. He left me and went out to stand in the rain, still staring. "David?"
"Just a second."
"What's happening?"
"Don't know," he said. "Hang on."
And he disappeared. I hesitated. I didn't want to go in, if there were innocent bystanders around; the Djinn wouldn't care how many bodies they had to go through to get to me, if it was me they wanted…
David reappeared, misting out of the air in midstride. He headed straight for me, grabbed me by the neck of my shirt, and marched me inside.
The door slammed shut behind us and locked. And sealed, in some way that I was not immediately familiar with; my ears popped as if we'd suddenly shot up a few hundred feet.
David kept hustling me along.
"Hey!" I protested. It dawned on me about three steps later that something was very, very wrong at Louann's Pie Kitchen.
There was nobody inside.
I blinked. The lights were on, but nobody—and I mean nobody—was home. Empty kitchen. Empty lunch counter with pots of coffee steaming on burners. Empty booths and tables. Not a sound of human habitation anywhere. I had an ugly second of memory of some crime documentary I'd once seen, about customers and employees herded into a back room and shot, but in that case there'd be some sign, right? Purses left lying around. Chairs tipped over. Maybe even blood… This looked perfectly ordered, just… empty.
Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe David hadn't been as thorough as he'd thought in cleaning the drugs out of my system, and I was hallucinating. Maybe all of this was a dream. Maybe everything since Eamon had given me the shot had been a dream.
David let go and pushed me into a dull-green leatherette booth, then slid into the other side, facing me.
Oh, bad feelings. Very bad feelings. A fork of lightning suddenly split the clouds outside and cast a harsh white illumination that blanched the warm, homey atmosphere.
And in the flash of lightning, David changed. His body filled out, with broader shoulders, whiter skin. He folded his hands on the table, pale and strong.
When the transformation finished, I was sitting across from Ashan, in his trademark tailored suit. His teal-blue tie looked natty and perfectly tied, his shirt crisp.
When had he taken David's place? Oh God, not in the hotel… No, that was impossible. Afterward, in the parking lot? Or just now, outside? I had to believe it was just outside the door of this place, and that David had been lured away to give Ashan this chance at me.
I debated my choices. I could either die facing Ashan, or die running away.
I didn't run.
And oddly enough, he didn't kill me. At least, not right off.
"Hungry?" Ashan asked blandly. "I recommend the strawberry pie."
He looked down, and he did, indeed, have a plate in front of him with a slice of strawberry pie. The brilliantly red filling was oozing out over the plate like blood over bone. He picked up his fork and took a bite, then took a sip of coffee from a chunky café-style cup.
I might mention that each of these things—the plate, the pie, the fork, the cup—appeared just as he reached for them. A flagrant and unnecessary display of his powers, just for my benefit.
"Where's David?"
"Occupied. I'm sure he'll be back soon," he said smoothly. "Sure you're not hungry? It may be your last meal."
I smiled. It felt wrong on my lips, but I hoped it would be good enough to pass his inspection. "Sure. Mind if I serve myself?"
He shrugged. I went behind the counter and cut myself a slice of coconut meringue pie that looked like just about heaven. I decided against the coffee in favor of a glass of milk. I eased myself into the booth with an annoying squeak of plastic.
If it was a dream, at least I was going to get a piece of pie out of it. And if it wasn't… well, dying on a full stomach sounded like a better idea than the alternatives. I was trembling with fear for David, sick with the knowledge that if he managed to make it back here (occupied, what did that mean?) Ashan would have the upper hand in every way.
Ashan took another bite of pie, watching me.
"I see you made sure we had privacy," I said.
"I felt it best." Another chilling predator's smile. "I'd hardly want to share you with anyone else."
From Eamon to this. I was too numbed to be terrified, really; Eamon had done me that favor, at least. Whatever reaction Ashan had been hoping to provoke, this couldn't have been it.
I took a bite of the pie.
If Ashan was disappointed, he hid it well. He continued to nibble and sip without any hint of homicidal intent. Well, okay, hints, but not actions. I could read the desire to kill me in every look and careful, neat motion.
"Where are they?" I asked. "The people who were in here."
"Still here." He gestured vaguely. "Out of phase. They won't notice a thing. I've moved us a few seconds back in time, in a kind of bubble. Once we leave, it'll snap back. It's a local phenomenon only."
That was mildly interesting. "You can do that?"
"Time is my specialty," he said. "It's an interesting thing, time. Fluid. Very tricky. I don't expect you to understand."
He was positively chatty. Which was odd. Ashan had always treated me like a cockroach. I couldn't imagine him sitting down to a nice, cozy chat with me over pie and coffee. If there was a single burning flame inside Ashan, it was ambition—cold, ruthless, and all-consuming.
So why was he sitting here making nice with me? Was he waiting for word that David had been hurt? Killed?
If Ashan had hurt him, I was going to find a way to make him pay.
Ashan smiled at me over his forkful of strawberry pie. I smiled back and took a bite of coconut. The meringue melted on my tongue. Even in my numbed, tense state, that was nice.
"So," Ashan said, and I sensed he was ready to circle around to the point. "What did the Oracle tell you, Joanne?"
"Besides the screaming? Nothing. Good pie, by the way."
He lost the veneer of affability, and what was left had no interest in dessert. His plate, fork, and mug disappeared. He pressed those large, strong, pale hands palms down on the table. I kept eating, slowly and deliberately. No way was I letting anything this good go to waste. I needed the strength.
"You mock me," he said. "You are not my equal. You are nothing. You are less than the lower life forms that spawned you."
"Oh, you smooth talker," I said. "Careful. You're turning me on."
I'd surprised him. He was used to people cowering and screaming. Even me. Again, my fresh inoculation of terror from Eamon had done me a strange favor.
Surprise made him thoughtful, not angry. He tilted his head and continued to stare at me. "Why do you say such things to me? Do you want to die?"
"Nope," I said. "You'll kill me, or you won't. Your petty little political ambitions are not my concern. You want to be the center of the Djinn universe? Fine. Take it up with David. I sleep with him; I don't tell him what to do. Speaking of David, you're not exactly facing off with him hand-to-hand, are you? What's the matter, Ashan? He got you scared?"
Ashan put his hands flat on the table, watching me, and his eyes were the eerie color of deep oceans lit from below. "Do you have any idea how much I want to destroy every cell of your body? Grind you into paste until all that's left of you is fragments of bone and screams?"
My heart hammered faster, but I kept eating. "Poetic. You should write that down."
I had completely nonplussed him this time. He barked out a dry laugh and sat back. "Do you really think you can defeat me? A weak little creature like you?" I shook my head. His eyes glowed brighter, and the smile grew sharper at the edges. "Perhaps you have finally lost your mind."
"That's probably it." I forked up the last delicious bite of my pie, savoring every bit, and washed it down with a prodigious gulp of milk. Now that was a snack. "I've gone insane. But at least it came with dessert."
He steepled his fingers into long, strong columns of flesh and bone. It reminded me of Eamon, fingertips touching his lips, watching me in the motel room. I felt a bolt of sheer terror flash through me, and it made me flinch; that was bad. Numbness was good. Numbness was my only real defense right now.
I compensated the only way I knew how: with sarcasm. "What are you going to do, Ashan? Glare me to death?"
I'd goaded him a little too far. He reached across the table, knocking my plate off in a wobbling arc to the floor, and grabbed my wrist. He pinned it to the table with crushing force. Probably wasn't even an effort for him to break my bones, shatter the table beneath, bring down the entire restaurant, for that matter. But I just sat still, watching him. Unresisting.
And he didn't exert any more force than he had to, to hold me still.
Like Eamon.
"What do you want?" I asked him breathlessly.
"You keep coming after me. What do I have that you want?"
There was a flash of loathing in his eyes so extreme that I swallowed. "You are of no interest to me at all. You are less than what crawls in the dirt."
I realized something terribly important. Ashan didn't want to be here. He really didn't, and it wasn't about me. He was just dicking around with me out of some obscure desire to play with his food, like a giant tomcat.
"Let go," I said. He did. I boggled, but covered it quickly. No sense in letting him know that I was lost, too. "What do you want to know, Ashan?"
"What did the Oracle say to you?"
"Nothing."
"You lie." His hands were flat on the table again, and if anything his eyes were even brighter, incandescently bright in the darkened corner. "What did the creature say to you?"
"Look," I said quietly. "I don't know what you want, but I can only tell you what I know. Which is nothing. The Oracle screamed, and—" I realized what he was getting at. The Oracle hadn't told me, but Ashan had told me himself, with all his paranoia.
He'd had something to do with the Demon Mark breaking through the defenses to get to the Oracle. Maybe he'd even done it himself.
He must have seen that I'd figured it out, because he backhanded me.
I saw it coming, and I was able to turn my face with the smack, but even so, it knocked me into the wall. My head impacted wood with a crack, and I felt a hot wave of sickness crawl over me. It didn't hurt immediately, but I had an instant conviction that it was going to hurt later. For now, there was just a high-pitched ringing in my head, and a fire-hot throb on my right temple.
Ashan was standing up. I was about to be ripped to pieces, I could feel it in the raw fury boiling off him. He reached out…
And David caught his hand.
They didn't speak. David just stared at him, face set. He looked hard—as hard as the Djinn facing him. Fire and ashes, neither one of them human.
Ashan smiled. "Took you long enough," he said. "I thought I might have to make her scream more to get your attention."
"You're a fool," David said. "And you're the second fool who's tried this in less than a day. You have no idea—"