by Rachel Caine
Pearl said, in a soft but carrying voice, “I have followers near the borders of Missouri. They will take up stations at the borders.”
“Can they fight off a hundred Djinn?” Brennan snapped. “Don’t throw away lives. Those Djinn will do anything they want, and we can’t stop them.”
“I can,” Pearl said with perfect calm. “I have a weapon that will destroy any Djinn who touches it.”
There was silence again, but in the silence I felt the electric surge of hope that raced around the room, leaping from human to human like a wildfire. “What kind of weapon?” Brennan asked. He didn’t want to commit, I realized, but even so, he was seduced.
As she’d intended.
“Me,” Pearl said, and bowed slightly. “I can destroy the Djinn. And you must help me accomplish it.”
Pearl had won, and I knew it. In the face of such disaster, such enormous losses of life as were piling up now, there was nothing that the Wardens could do but accept her, regardless of any later consequences or costs. Even I acknowledged it.
But not Luis.
“Are you kidding me?” he whispered furiously. “This is nuts! They’re just going to roll over for her, just like that! Kill the Djinn—are they insane? The Djinn are the only thing that have a hope in hell of stopping her!”
We were standing off to ourselves in a corner of the large room; the Wardens had drifted back to their desks, not so much to work as to process all the overwhelming flood of information in solitude. As for Pearl, she had settled in the opposite corner of the room, looking calm and smug; her children had gathered around her, sitting in a semicircle on the floor. They didn’t speak. Neither did she. I supposed that it would have been unnecessary, as thoroughly as she owned them now.
Isabel hadn’t joined them, but neither had she joined us. She was standing against the wall near Esmeralda, watching all of this with uncertain intensity. I wanted to give her some kind of surety, but I had none myself to share.
“They’re not so insane,” I said. “Think of all the Wardens have suffered these past years, and often at the hands of the Djinn; from the moment that the Djinn were released from their bonds, they’ve been dangerous to mortals, and especially to the ones who’d once held them captive. After all, my people have a very long memory. That distrust and hate might have gone on for millennia, even without any other problems to complicate it. Humans hate, but they forgive. Djinn… cannot forget, and don’t often forgive.”
“So what are you telling me, that you agree with her? That you want the Djinn dead?”
“Of course not!” I snapped, and controlled my raw temper with an effort. “But the Djinn are a deadly threat now, and they are not acting on their own. In a war there are casualties, and unless you want them all to be on the side of the humans…”
“She’s not talking about killing one or two, Cass, which is bad enough. She’s talking about slaughtering all of them. The Djinn exist for a reason. They’re the balancing force. Without them—”
“I know,” I said. “Believe me, I know. But we must find a way to make use of her—the Wardens won’t do otherwise. The best we can do is to try to minimize the damage that is done. Yes?”
He didn’t like it, and he gave me a tired, angry frown to show it. “Yes,” he finally said, but not as if he in any way agreed in the details. “I can’t believe it’s come to this, that all of a sudden we’re on the same side with her. God, Cass—”
I put my hand on his cheek. It felt rough and gritty; he’d been without bathing or shaving, and the dark stubble on his face grated my fingertips. Oddly, I found it soothing. “She’s in flesh,” I whispered. “In flesh, Luis. Always before, she’s stayed on the aetheric, made herself impossible to wound in any real way. But now…”
“Now she’s vulnerable,” he finished. Light sparked in his eyes, and he kissed the palm of my hand. “Why didn’t I see that?”
“You’re tired. We’re all tired. She had to take flesh at some point to channel the power given her by her acolytes, but she waited until she was certain it was necessary, and we were vulnerable ourselves.”
“She could shed that form, though. Anytime.”
“Not easily,” I said. “Not quickly. And if we can seal her inside it, cut her off from the sources of her power, then she’ll die along with the shell.”
“You mean cut her off from the children.”
I didn’t answer, because that was not what I meant at all. The children were her well-trained minions, yes, but that wasn’t where Pearl’s power was truly founded.… Like me, she had no direct connection to the aetheric, and therefore to stay alive had to draw power through others. I was joined to a Warden, whose connection was broad and deep, and not only sustained me but gave me access to considerable power.
Pearl was different in ways that I couldn’t, still, comprehend, but her power was aggregated not from one person, but from millions. Not Wardens, but regular, unmagical humans, whose life force connected only weakly to the aetheric… but the connection existed, and could be exploited. Had Pearl tried to source herself through one of them, she’d have killed him instantly; spreading that access across a million lives or more gave her a constant, vast draw of energy. Renewable energy. She could tap anyone she liked, anytime she liked.
No wonder Ashan had seen that the only solution was the death of the human race; nothing else could possibly destroy her.
And she had to be destroyed before she gained enough power, and killed enough Djinn, to attack the Mother at her most vulnerable.
“So what’s the plan?” Luis asked me. He looked past me to the corner where Pearl sat. I followed his gaze. My sister smiled at us and inclined her head. No doubt she knew we’d be scheming; she’d be a fool to assume otherwise. She also knew, no doubt, that we had few choices ahead of us, and none of them were good.
“Trust me,” I said, and walked across the room toward Pearl. Luis, after a few seconds, pushed away from the wall to follow. So did Isabel, although Esmeralda merely stirred uneasily, then settled back to stay where she was, arms folded.
Pearl’s children watched me with blank intensity as I approached. I could sense the vibration of power around them. Earth, Fire, Weather… and the boy sitting closest to Pearl, the one whose power was a negative energy that was the most like what I sensed in Pearl. He was a Void, the power of unmaking and consuming other energy. Of all of them, I calculated him the most dangerous, only because there were few effective counters for him in a fight.
“Sister,” Pearl said. “Come to join us?”
I sat down on the floor only a few feet from her children, comfortable and cross-legged. Luis hesitated, then joined me, although he didn’t look nearly as at ease at it as I did. But he hadn’t had all the thousands of years of deception to practice. “Of course,” I said. “Your logic is flawless. For humans to survive this conflict, they need a champion, one of power. You are the only one disposed to help them. What do you propose?”
“First, we gather all the Wardens together,” she said. “You know of the ones trapped in the mine?”
“I’ve been told.”
“I’ll send one of my children to help you. She’ll be the most useful—her name is Edie; she’s the strongest Weather power I’ve ever seen.” Pearl reached out to place her hand on the shoulder of the tall blond girl, who straightened with pride. “She can help you sweeten the air while you work toward them.”
“There may be Djinn,” I said. Pearl nodded.
“And I will also send Alvin,” she said, and now the Void boy stirred, turning his gaze toward her. “Alvin will deal with any Djinn very effectively.”
“But you said I’d stay with you!” he said, and reached out to put his fingertips on her knee. “Lady, I want to stay with you.…”
“You’ll go where you’re needed, Alvin. And I believe that you’re needed to protect my sister.” Her smile was faint, but malevolent for all that. “I’m among friends here. Or at least, I’m among those without the p
ower to harm me in any significant way. I’m sure that your brother and sister can keep me safe until you return.”
She was keeping Earth and Fire with her—two powers that could be used destructively in the confines of this building, should it come to a pitched battle. I wasn’t surprised that she’d thought strategically, but she might have made an error with the boy; Alvin seemed mutinous about being sent away, as if this was a personal slight to be dismissed from her presence. The girl, by contrast, seemed proud to have a special mission from the hands of the Lady.
The boy would bear closer watching.
“When do you wish to leave?” Pearl asked me.
“Now,” I said. “If that’s convenient.”
“Of course.” She reached out and took the hand of the boy, and then that of the Weather girl. “Children, my sister will look after your safety. One thing I know about Cassiel, she does take her responsibilities seriously. She won’t allow any harm to come to you.”
The two looked at me with identical cool expressions of mistrust; Pearl had done an excellent job of poisoning them against anyone else. This wouldn’t be an easy partnership.
“I’ll take care of them,” I agreed. In my heart, I was thinking that I would take far better care of them than she ever had, but it didn’t bear speaking aloud. The children had been twisted to her point of view; they’d never understand how much she’d taken advantage of them. I’d seen the ones she’d used and abandoned, the damage and wreckage she’d left written in small bodies. They hadn’t, and couldn’t, understand. “It’ll take an hour to reach the mine. I’m not certain how long it’ll take to reach the Wardens. It depends on how deep they are, and whether the Djinn have left any surprises for us.”
“I’m sure they have,” Pearl said. “I would.”
I nodded and rose. The girl came to me immediately, held out her hand, and said, “I’m Edie.”
“Edie,” I said, and shook hands. “Cassiel. This is Luis, my partner.”
She nodded, every bit as professional as any Warden I had ever met. The boy rose, too, but he didn’t bother to introduce himself. Edie nudged him, frowning. “And this is Alvin,” she said. “He’s kind of an ass. Don’t mind him.”
Alvin sent her a dark, scorching look. Edie topped him by at least six inches, but it wasn’t that they were dissimilar in age; both seemed to be about nine years old, perhaps close to ten. Edie was developing faster, though Alvin had a stocky weight to him. They didn’t seem to particularly care for each other. It was their mutual devotion to Pearl that had forged them together.
“Where are your families?” I asked them. Both would have come from Warden parents; that was a common theme for the children that Pearl recruited.
Edie said calmly, “They’re dead. My mother died five years ago. A Djinn killed her. My dad committed suicide.” She sounded as if she were reciting something learned in class, not something that had affected her personally. “Alvin’s mom had cancer. His dad got killed fighting another Warden. The Lady’s our mother now. We don’t need any other family.”
I wondered if any of that was true. When Iz had been in training with Pearl, they’d convinced her that I’d killed her uncle, simply to ensure that all her ties to the mortal world were cut.… These children might have living mothers and fathers, or the losses might be real.
Or Pearl might have arranged for the deaths and then lied about how they occurred. Anything was possible with her.
But it wasn’t the time to sort out the lies, not now. There were six Wardens trapped, and the world’s clock was ticking down.
“Too bad,” I told the children. “You’re stuck with us as family now. We stick together. We work together. We defend each other, always. If we don’t watch out for each other, we’ll die on this mission. Do you understand? So think of us as… your aunt and uncle, if not your parents.”
Edie nodded easily. Alvin just shrugged. I wasn’t sure whether he’d be an asset or a liability; Alvin himself probably didn’t know yet, either.
But we had our team.
Chapter 7
BRENNAN PROVIDED US with a large silver van, one with enough seating to accommodate the rescued Wardens, plus Luis and the two children; I would ride the motorcycle, both as an outrider and scout, and to provide more space in the main vehicle. He came up with supplies for us as well—sealed boxes of water with straws, energy bars, medical supplies, ropes, carabiners, lightweight tools, and other necessities. “Radios won’t work,” he told us as we inventoried the supplies. “If you need reinforcements, we probably wouldn’t be able to reach you anyway. Get as many as you can out of there and bring them in, but watch yourselves. The Djinn are busy, but they’re never too busy to come looking for trouble.” He was distracted by another Warden, who arrived with a sheaf of papers in a trembling hand and disaster written on his face. “Dammit. Get going while you still can. There’s extra gas in the back of the van, in case the pumps are out. Good luck.”
That was it. Brennan had no time or energy for fond farewells, which left Isabel and Esmeralda. Es, predictably, just shrugged off our good-bye and went back to playing a handheld game that someone had left abandoned. We figured little in her universe.
Isabel was angry.
“You’re taking them,” she said, looking at Alvin and Edie, who were packing up the supplies into sturdy canvas bags. “Not me.”
“Mija, we need a Weather Warden to make sure we can breathe on the way down,” Luis said. “I probably don’t have enough power to keep a tunnel open the whole way. Too easy for us to get trapped without an air supply, otherwise.”
“But I can help you!”
“How?” He stared at her kindly, but steadily, until she looked down. “Isabel, I love you, and I trust you, but you’re still learning fine control of what you do. You’re powerful, no question of that, but Fire’s a tricky thing.”
“I’m better at it than you!”
“Yes, you are,” he agreed. “You definitely are. But that doesn’t mean you’re as good as you need to be, right?” Isabel took a breath, but didn’t try to argue the point. “Fire isn’t as useful where we’re going. Yeah, you’re a strong Earth Warden, I’ll grant you that, but so am I. So is Cassiel. We needed to choose someone who has something we lack, and that’s Weather.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s strategy, bug.” He tapped her gently on the nose and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, but you’re better off here for now. Brennan will make sure you stay safe, and if you want to help out, you can. Just be careful, okay? And do not leave the building. No matter what Es tells you.”
“Sitting right here,” Esmeralda said without looking up from the beeps and boops of her game. “I’m not looking to leave right now. But if I decide to, you’ve got nothing to say about it, Warden.”
“I know that,” Luis said. “But if you take my niece with you when you do decide to leave, I’ll find you, and we’ll be having a nice, long talk about it.”
“Wow, I can’t wait to see how that turns out.” She raised and lowered her shoulders in a fine, uncaring shrug. “See ya. Or not. Depends on if you die.”
Her callousness wasn’t unexpected, but it did have one side benefit; Isabel threw her arms around her uncle’s neck and hugged him quickly. Then she turned to me and did the same. “Don’t die,” she said. “I’ll hate you forever if you do. Come back safe.”
I kissed her cheek and, like Luis, tapped her gently on the nose. “Promise,” I said. “Get some rest.” She looked tired and pale. She nodded and settled down in a heap on the floor. Someone—not Esmeralda, certainly—had fetched her pillows and blankets.
I didn’t want to leave her, but I didn’t know what else to say. Neither, from the look on her face, did Isabel; we’d left many things unresolved, but that was the nature of human life, I supposed.
As always, I avoided the elevators; there was grumbling from the two children, but I swung one of the two canvas bags on my shoulder, stiff-armed the door,
and began the long descent without soliciting their opinions. Luis didn’t bother to offer any; he just picked up the other bag and followed, leaving the children to decide on their own. When I glanced back from two floors below, I found them trudging down in our wake. They didn’t look happy, but I hadn’t expected that.
“Hey!” Alvin called down, as I rounded the corner for the twelfth floor. “What do you have against elevators anyway?”
“Claustrophobia,” Luis said.
“It’s not claustrophobia. I simply don’t like leaving myself at the mercy of machines.”
“Claustrophobia,” Luis said again. “Cass, this might be an issue when it comes to tunnels; you know that.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. In truth, I hadn’t thought of it, but he might possibly be right about his concerns. I wasn’t comfortable in confined spaces, overall. “We have other things to worry about.” Such as the children clattering after us on the stairs, one of whom had the power to absorb any attack we might throw at him. The only vulnerability a Void wielder might have would be physical, and when he worked with a partner—such as the Weather girl—she could keep us busy enough to make that type of assault problematic.
I was already thinking about how to defeat them in a fight. It probably did not bode well for our cooperative efforts.
At the bottom of the stairs, the door took us out into a large but deserted lobby area. It seemed undisturbed, but there were already signs of neglect; the polished marble floor was scuffed in places, and the large glass doors were smudged with handprints that no one had bothered to clean. It wouldn’t take long for this place to show wear, I thought; if the Wardens or the human race survived the week, someone would need to take charge of sanitation and cleaning, unglamorous as that was.
It wasn’t a concern I’d likely have to worry about. That seemed oddly cheering.
Outside, one of the Wardens had parked the promised silver van, and someone—almost certainly an Earth Warden—had arranged for the move of my Victory down from the roof. It leaned on its kickstand behind the van. I took a moment to take Rashid’s sealed bottle out of my jacket, where I’d been keeping it safe, and rolled it into the blue jeans that were still in the backpack. It would remain better protected there, for now. I made sure the canvas bag fit securely, with both arms through the straps and the bag riding comfortably on my back. The weight was not as bad as I’d expected, balanced so, and I mounted the Victory with a sense of relief. Somehow, having the potential of movement, of escape, always made me feel less helpless, even if it was only an illusion.