All Your Wishes

by Cat Adams

Hasan screamed in agony, but not through my lips. He was out of me.

  He was out of me.

  He was out of me and he looked like hell. If I’d had the energy, I’d have cheered. Hasan was mostly incorporeal by nature, but while he’d been beautiful, all smoky and glimmering, on the beach in Florida, now he looked a lot more like smog, yellow, dull, shot through with darker streaks, like cuts and bruises. It made him seem more substantial, almost solid.

  The burned, bloody hand of the dying mage touched the edge of the circle. As she breathed her last, power, light, and sound exploded through the circle with an intensity that beggared the imagination. I was blinded and deafened, lifted off my feet and sent airborne for several yards. When I hit the floor, I rolled, from pure instinct, coming to an abrupt, jarring stop against a stone wall. The knife in my thigh slammed into the floor, causing me an indescribable amount of pain, and I screamed in agony.

  When I was able to move, and to see, I pulled the knife from my leg; blood poured from the wound. Thanks to my vampire abilities, the place where I’d been stabbed earlier was already healing—slower than usual—but I’d lost so much blood that I was growing weaker with each moment.

  Cleaning the knife on my tattered shirttail, I slid it into the sheath. I needed both hands to steady myself.

  The floor of the cavern began to shake. I hadn’t thought I could be any more afraid than I had been in the last few hours. I was wrong. Adrenaline coursed through my body at the realization that we were underground—in the midst of an earthquake.

  I’m from California. I know about earthquakes. If we stayed where we were, chances were good we’d be buried alive. Heading for the cave entrance right now might save my life … but Kevin and the others were still down here, and I could hear Hasan’s bellows of rage. An earthquake might not be enough to stop him.

  When I glanced over my shoulder, in the dim light of the cave entrance I could see stones bouncing across the ever-narrowing gap. Saying a prayer for strength, I turned toward the burning brightness of the spell circle.

  I couldn’t stand, so I didn’t even try. Stripping off my belt, I tightened it around my wounded leg, just tight enough to slow the bleeding. Using my good leg, I pushed myself across the stony floor. Pebbles and larger stones rained down on me. Sharp, jagged bits of golden brown rock dug into my hands as I dragged myself forward, the already-damaged muscles in my arms and back screaming in pained protest.

  It was slow going, and I was treated the whole time to human screams and inhuman bellows. Beneath me, the stone floor was growing uncomfortably warm from the heat of magic—the battle was still going strong. Reaching the altar room, I found that Hasan had his back to me. Semi-corporeal, he was gathering power to his fingertips and trying to make his way to the corpse of the downed mage. At the same time, the magic from the node, concentrated through the stone in Ujala’s hands, pulled him inexorably toward the mouth of the djinn jar.

  When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. When all you have is a throwing knife, everything becomes a target. Hasan’s broad, muscular back was directly in front of me. I had no idea if the knife could harm him in his current state, but since it was a magical artifact, it might. I didn’t take time to think it out—there was no time. If he loosed a blow at Ujala from that distance he wouldn’t miss and the child, the Guardian, would die. I struggled until I was in a sitting position, drew the knife, said a quick prayer, and threw.

  I put everything I had into that throw: All my remaining strength, all the years spent honing my skills, all the rage and grief I felt at Bruno’s loss. The blade flew through the air with a slight hiss, then sank with a meaty thunk into the ifrit’s spine. I collapsed onto my side, incapable of anything more.

  Hasan’s scream could have shattered glass. His arms flew wide, the blow he’d prepared for Ujala flying into the statue to the right of the altar. As I watched, his body melted to a fine mist the dark red of heart’s blood. The vapor was sucked slowly into the mouth of the jar. When the last of it was inside, the power of the circle died. Most of the light died with it: Most, but not all.

  Ujala set the still-glowing vosta he was holding onto the ground and stepped forward. Pulling another stone from his pocket, he slammed it into the mouth of the djinn jar. Using a black candle, lit by magic, he created a new seal, muttering a spell I couldn’t make out, scratching sigils into the molten wax.

  I heard the sound of stone scraping on stone, coming from the column next to the altar, the one shaped like a woman. The one Hasan’s blow had damaged.

  It was … moving … and not from the earthquake.

  “Holy shit.” Cooper’s awed comment came from a corner of the room where I’d noticed something wrong with the shadows. He stood in opened-mouthed wonder, the camo spell that had hidden him expended.

  Holy shit was right. The brown stone resolved itself into a living being of incredible beauty, her skin shining like polished brass, her eyes and hair black and gleaming, like obsidian.

  She was a hundred feet tall if she was an inch, but before our eyes she shrank. As she did, a thin, iridescent dress materialized around her, sheer as a cobweb and held at the shoulder by a brooch in the shape of a sujay. When she was down to nine or ten feet tall, she stepped forward and down onto the floor of the cave. There was no rock-on-rock sound when she moved.

  Inclining her head slightly, she addressed Ujala, who held Hasan’s jar with both hands, offering it to her. In the background, Cox gestured to his people to hold fire, because battered as they were, when she first manifested, they had prepared themselves to fight.

  The djinn’s voice rang through the cavern like an enormous gong. “You have done well, Guardian. We are proud of you, and of your father before you. Take Hasan away for safekeeping.”

  Ujala bowed at the waist, but not before I saw tears gleaming in his eyes, which were now the clear gray and white of the sparkling diamond vosta he’d used during the ceremony. His hair was still dark brown, and he otherwise seemed to show no ill effects from the enormous power he had wielded.

  He is the Guardian, the giant djinn said in my mind, answering the question I hadn’t voiced.

  She glided forward another few steps until she stood directly over me. I looked up, and up, into unreadable, inhuman eyes of total black. Her expression was totally alien as she regarded me for a seemingly endless moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and intimate, pitched so that I, and only I, would hear.

  “You, too, have done well. They would not have succeeded without you.” She regarded me for another long moment, those unsettling eyes seeming to bore into my very soul. “I will give you three things you wish.” A small smile played at the corner of her lovely mouth. “Without strings.”

  She gestured at Kevin. The golden light of magic surrounded him and his body straightened into its normal, human form. He lay on the stone, naked, beautiful, and whole.

  “Give me your hand,” she said.

  I struggled to sit up. It wasn’t happening. My body simply would not move. Exhaustion, my injuries, and blood loss combined to leave me helpless at the djinn’s feet. I was too tired to even be frightened. Intellectually, I knew that I really didn’t want to piss her off. I’d had enough of angry djinn for one day … hell, for a lifetime. But I simply could not comply.

  She squatted gracefully and set her hand on my forehead. Her hand was warm but hard, like the brass it resembled. I felt strength flow into me, strength and comfort. My breath caught in a sharp sob as I remembered. Bruno was gone. I’d never see him again. Never hold him. Never tell him how much I loved him. Never get to say good-bye.

  Time stopped. Everything around me froze in place. Falling stones hovered in midair; Cox stood balanced in midstep. Then, in less time than it took me to blink, I was standing, in my dirty, bloody uniform, in a hospital emergency room.

  The scene was one of controlled chaos. Doctors and nurses in bloodied scrubs were working full out. EMTs came running through the automat
ic doors, pushing a gurney with a still and mangled form on it, the face covered by an oxygen mask. Another EMT was perched atop the body, doing heart compressions. With every push, blood pumped out of the bullet wounds that riddled the victim.

  We have gone back in time, the djinn said in my mind. You wished to save your lover. It is too late for that, nor am I willing to cross his deity. But I have brought you to a time and place where you can bid him farewell.

  Without hesitation I turned and raced after the gurney. Too late, I tried to shift around a man who was pushing a crash cart toward the curtained cubicle where they’d taken Bruno, but instead of colliding with him, I passed right through him. Apparently I was here, but my body wasn’t.

  There was no time to think about that. I stepped through the curtain and came face to face with Bruno’s spirit, which was staring down at the body on the gurney in shock. A doctor shouted for people to clear before zapping him with a defibrillator’s electrified paddles. The body bowed, its chest rising off of the gurney, but the heart machine continued its relentless, monotonous beep.

  Bruno …

  Celia? He looked at me. What? How?

  I threw my arms around him and they didn’t pass through. He was there, real, warm to the touch, his soul whole even if his body wasn’t.

  I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. My non-body was wracked with sobs as tears poured unheeded down my cheeks. I love you. I’ve always loved you.

  The body was electrified again and I felt Bruno shudder in my arms.

  So I’m dead? His voice was shocked. Are you …

  No. The djinn brought me here.

  A djinn? Celia! He squeezed me tight. You shouldn’t have. You really shouldn’t.

  I couldn’t save you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. But I had to say good-bye.

  Oh, honey. He gently cupped my cheek in his hand. Leaning down, he kissed me, his warm, gentle lips pressing against mine.

  I felt a surge of power that I’d felt only once before—not magic, something different, purer, and more powerful. It was exactly the same feeling I’d encountered when my sister’s ghost had finally been called home.

  We were out of time.

  As if from I distance I heard the doctor announcing the time of death for the official record. A slit of light appeared by the head of the gurney, swiftly becoming a doorway that hovered six inches off the floor. The rectangle was filled with light so bright I couldn’t look at it directly.

  A tall, male shape dressed in blinding white stepped out.

  What is this? Power sang through each word and I found myself falling back a step. Bruno stepped protectively between me and the figure, using his soul to guard mine.

  The angel, for that was what he was, stood at alert, his expression stern and forbidding.

  The djinn, who’d appeared behind me when the slit first appeared, raised her hands in a placating gesture. She is here to tell him good-bye. That is all. We have no quarrel, you and I.

  The angel gave her a long, wary stare, then stepped aside. He gestured for Bruno to precede him.

  Bruno turned to me. With a sad smile, he pulled me into his arms one last time, trying to put everything he had, everything we were to each other, into that last embrace.

  I love you, Celie. I always have, and always will.

  I couldn’t answer. Tears had choked words and breath from me. So I held him tight, willing him to know, to understand.

  His arms tightened around me one last time. Then he let me go. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward, into that doorway of brilliant white light. The angel followed, closing the door behind him and leaving me in a room that seemed very dark without it.

  26

  I stood staring after them for a long, long time. The djinn waited patiently. In the background, medical personnel covered the body and left, moving on to new patients, new emergencies. I heard someone talking about a burn patient, Connie DeGarmo.

  That registered dimly: Connie DeGarmo was Bruno’s aunt Connie, Sal’s wife. But I couldn’t rouse much interest.

  Bruno was gone. Dead. Yes, he’d gone to heaven—but that didn’t make the loss of him any less hard.

  When I was as ready as I was going to be, the djinn took my hand. Magic washed over me and we were back in the cavern, back in the present. We reappeared maybe a second after we’d left. The scene in the cavern was just the same. No one had moved—in fact, most of them probably had no idea I’d been gone. Cox knew; I could see it in his eyes. The look he gave me was filled with a lot of caution and a little distrust.

  I couldn’t blame him. In his place, I’d feel exactly the same.

  He was still giving me a hard stare as the djinn withdrew the stickpin that held her brooch in place, keeping the bit of jewelry in her hand as the fabric of her dress fell to pool on the floor. At a twitch of her fingers, the left sleeve of my uniform shirt dissolved to mist. I held perfectly still as, with great care, she used the sharp pin to etch a perfect circle, a few inches wide, in the flesh of my upper arm. Blood welled up, but only a little. The scratch wasn’t deep. She pressed the brooch, which was now the size of my palm, against the wound. Magic filled the air, but instead of the heat I normally felt, this was cold, so cold I shivered, my teeth chattering. The skin beneath the brooch turned red, then nearly gray, before the metal simply melted away before my eyes, leaving behind a mark that was both scar and tattoo. It had the shape of the sujay and tiny gems were embedded at each of the compass points.

  Your third wish, granted. Never again will any creature be able to possess your body against your will.

  Three wishes: Healing Kevin, saying good-bye to Bruno, and this. No strings attached. I knew I should be grateful, and eventually I probably would be. But now, it was all too much. I was spent, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

  Turning her back on me, the great djinn strode over to the altar. She pivoted and backed into her place, her body growing and changing until it was, again, a colossal figure carved of brown stone, reaching up to the cavern ceiling.

  27

  The army medics patched me together enough to go home. Once there, I slept for two full days, only climbing out of bed to use the facilities and eat. I didn’t watch the news. I really didn’t want to know how much damage Hasan had caused the world. He’d done more than enough damage to me.

  On the fourth day, Dawna sent Kevin to drag me out of bed. She was healing, but it would be a while before she was completely herself again. She sent Kevin because I had a flight to catch. I had appointments to keep. The military types who’d assisted me were to be given special commendations at the White House. I was invited to attend and I wanted to show my support. Cox and his people had been amazing; they completely deserved the high honors they were getting.

  The president had offered me civilian honors, but I’d decided to pass. I’d done my best, but it hadn’t been enough. I didn’t know how many had died, but even one was too many.

  I dressed conservatively and made sure I ate before and after the flight. The trip itself was uneventful, as was the limo ride to the White House. Security was tight enough that my skin reddened and blistered as I passed through the building’s perimeter, but everything had healed up by the time I’d swathed myself in sunblock and taken my assigned seat in the Rose Garden.

  The autumn day was chilly, but the garden was still beautiful. Classical music played softly in the background. My seat was in the second row, behind the family members of the honorees. Everyone was dressed in their absolute best. Some faces shone with pride. Others, probably relatives of the fallen, bore signs of grief. A few children shifted uncomfortably in their seats. One, a bright-eyed blond in pigtails and pink ruffles who couldn’t have been more than two, stared at me with wide eyes over her mother’s shoulder.

  Cox and his surviving crew, in full dress uniform, were lined up in front, beside the lectern with the presidential seal. They looked good. Some of them would have fairly spectacular new scars, but they all stood tall and proud,
at parade rest. Cox’s hair had gone completely white and his eyes, which now glowed, had taken on the color of the topaz he’d been holding during the ceremony. Tucker, who had stood at the west point of the compass, had white hair too, his eyes as vivid green as the emerald he’d used. Awaiting their commander in chief, the whole team nonetheless acknowledged me subtly. Every one. It made me proud.

  The music changed to “Hail to the Chief.” We stood. Cox and his people came to full attention.

  The president of the United States had arrived.

  I found myself blinking away tears as emotions threatened to overwhelm me. The ceremony wasn’t long. Medals were awarded. Each soldier got a personal thank you and a handshake from the president. Cooper was presented with another set of knives. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so impressed; after all, my great-aunt Lopaka rules the sirens. But I’m an American, and I choked up. I almost regretted declining my honor.

  Cox, his team, most of the families, and many of the other spectators, including me, went directly from the Rose Garden to Arlington National Cemetery, where Specialist Morales was buried with full military honors. She’d been posthumously awarded the highest honor the military could grant a mage. Her father accepted it and the folded flag from her coffin, his face solemn, as her mother sobbed in the arms of her son.

  Vargas’s funeral was just as sad. Her big, apparently close family was obviously devastated. Full military honors were given, and when they fired off the honor volley it was as if they’d fired straight into her mother’s heart.

  * * *

  While I was in DC, I met with Dom Rizzoli, who debriefed me. Then he did something totally unexpected. He gave me a hug. At first, I held back, but it felt good having his arms around me. When he said, “You did good, Celia,” I even believed him. But the cost had been so damned high. Too high. Living without Bruno … I wasn’t sure I could bear it, even though I knew I had to. It wasn’t like I had a choice.

  I went to a lot of funerals in the next couple of weeks. The service for Jones was small and simple, and attended predominantly by very scary people who looked remarkably ordinary. Dawna, Chris, Kevin, and I all went.