Firestorm (23 page)

He turned, and his expression…Ah, God. The agony was heartrending. “There's nobody else to make these choices. You know.”

I did. I remembered all the times that I'd run screaming from the burden of hard choices. Even this time, I'd let myself get distracted from the mission by the opportunity to earn myself a little feel-good glory. It was Emily's job. It hadn't been mine. I'd come out here with good intentions, and hell lay at the end.

“This whole thing won't stop,” I said. “It won't stop until we're all dead. Right?”

For answer, he reached out and folded his arms around me, holding me. He smelled of smoke and sweat, real and human, and I wanted nothing but to be somewhere else with him, somewhere free of chaos and responsibility. Somewhere I could hold him against my skin, and we could wash each other clean.

If we could ever be clean again.

“I know you didn't kill them,” I whispered against his neck.

“I'm responsible,” he said again, and his lips touched the sensitive skin below my ear, a delicate benediction. “That's all you need to know.”

Lewis and Paul would shrug it off; fifteen more dead Wardens? A tragedy, sure, but we'd already lost more than we could count. And Demon-infected Wardens weren't an asset to anyone. I knew all the logical reasons, and none of them touched the black, oily guilt that continued to seep into my heart.

I took a deep breath and pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “Where are these things coming from? What do they want?”

For a second he didn't react, and then his pupils narrowed as he comprehended what I was asking. “The Demon Marks? They're destined to produce adult Demons. They reproduce at will, once they hatch. The Marks—the eggs—are drawn through rips in the aetheric, and they're pulled to the nearest source of power. Djinn or Warden.”

“Is that all?”

“No. They're drawn to us because we're part of
her
, in greater or lesser measure. What they want—especially the adults—is to get to the Mother.”

“Like I do.” Oh, the irony.

“Not…like you do,” David said slowly. “If they can get to a place where she's vulnerable, they could kill her. Demons are a disease, Jo. And we have to fight them however we can, especially now. She's vulnerable. And she's hurting.”

“The Oracle. The one in Seacasket. He was infected with a Demon Mark—”

“What?” He pulled back, completely back, eyes wide. “No. That isn't possible.”

“I—I think it might have been my fault. I got it off him, but I don't know how much damage it did first.”

His face went stiff and blank. “I have to go,” he said carefully, with exquisite care. “Don't—don't go back to the Oracle. Don't try.”

“But—”

“If you go back,” he said tonelessly, “I'll have to kill you. Don't even think about it.”

I swallowed hard. He'd shifted from the warm, comforting lover to the leader of the Djinn, and the change was terrifying. “Then what do I do? David, you're the one who said—”

“I know what I said. But it's out of my hands now. And yours. Go home, Jo.”

I stood there, stunned. He walked away, toward the fire.

One of the other Djinn was standing next to me—the big one, his pale white ponytail fluttering in the wind. He raised an expressive eyebrow.

“You can go,” he said.

Something occurred to me, late and hard. “I forgot—there's a Demon down in the fire—”

“We know, love,” he said. “That's why we're here. Go.”

When I didn't move, he just picked me up and effortlessly carried me back to the SUV, and plumped me into the driver's side. This time, the engine started with a throaty roar. I looked over at Emily, who was firmly buckled in, and fingered the shredded remains of my own seat belt.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, and reached in to touch it with a fingertip. It knitted together with dizzying speed. Good as new. He solicitously buckled me in and patted my shoulder. “You do what he says, now. You go home.”

I hardly even remembered driving away. I remember staring into the rearview mirror, at the smoke and flame and the battlefield of dead Wardens, until the next hill hid it all from view.

 

I cried for a while. Tears of fury and anguish and bitter, bitter disappointment. Disappointment in myself, mostly. If I'd stayed in Seacasket…if I'd gone back instead of going into the fire with Emily, maybe things would be different. Maybe those fifteen Wardens wouldn't be dead. Maybe…

Maybe it would all be the same, only I'd be dead, too. No way to second-guess it. I knew only that the path I was on wasn't the right one, not at all.

Emily continued to sleep, and snore, as I piloted the broke-down Jeep back down dirt roads, heading for civilization.

The first sign of which was a paved road, black and level, at right angles to the road I was on. I turned left.

It's so strange, how quickly you can go back to normal life. The first shock came as the tires of the SUV hit black-top. The sudden lack of vibration felt weird and unnatural, and for a second I had a nightmarish vision of myself as a backwoods four-wheeling fanatic like Emily, wearing oversize work shirts and thick-waisted jeans and clunky steel-toed boots. With a collection of trucker gimme caps.

Behind us, the forest fire was a lurid red fury, pouring blackness into the clouds. I felt sick, remembering how I'd left things with David. It already seemed more dream than reality.

I wiped tears from my grimy cheeks and thought longingly of a shower. A long, hot shower, followed by a deep, drug-induced sleep.

Paved road or not, I still had a half mile or so to go before we reached the actual highway. Not out of the woods yet. The fire had turned back, consolidated itself—fighting the Djinn now, instead of the Wardens. It might give us just enough breathing space.

Home. Where was home? Sure, I'd drop Emily off at her house, but where did I belong? Back at Warden HQ, helping Lewis oversee the end of the world? Back in Florida, salvaging whatever was left of my apartment after the big storm, and waiting for the next one to hit?

My home was David, and I couldn't be with him.

I fought the tears again—self-pitying bullshit tears, and I wasn't going to give in—and decided to go with the one-crisis-at-a-time theory. First, get Emily home. I'd saved her, at least. That was something. Not much, but something.

From the backseat, Imara said, “Where are you going?”

I yelped and flinched, and the Jeep veered wildly, tires squealing. I got it under control again and looked behind me in the rearview. Imara was sitting there, black hair blowing liquidly in the wind.

“Isn't this supposed to have doors?” she asked.

“Upgrade,” I said hoarsely. “Where were you?”

“Trying to get help.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the upholstery. “I ran into Ashan. I wasn't very successful.”

“Help,” I repeated. “Wait, Ashan!…”

“I'm fine. It doesn't matter,” she said. “But at least you're safe.”

I laughed. It turned into a racking, smoky cough and ended up in a sob that I controlled with an effort. “Yeah. Safe,” I said. “How's the fire doing back there?”

She didn't even open her eyes. “Father and some of the other Djinn are there, trying to hold it, but it's hard. The Mother's…I suppose the closest description is that she's having a nightmare. He's trying to shelter the Djinn from it, but it's getting stronger. He won't be able to keep it from them indefinitely.”

“A nightmare,” I said. “About what?”

Her eyes opened. Amber-brown. Very human. “About humanity.”

Sorry I asked. I remembered the dead Wardens, the suffering on David's face.
My responsibility,
he'd said. If he'd been trying to hold the Djinn back from whatever bad vibes the earth was trying to send out, maybe he'd slipped. Lost himself.

Maybe I was still trying to make excuses for him, and it had been a cold-blooded choice. Lewis had warned me, not so very long ago, not to underestimate the alien nature of the Djinn. Even the ones I loved.

Of course, the same could be said for people….

“You're thinking about Father,” she said. “Right?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You look sad,” she said quietly. “He'd hate that he makes you sad.”

Oh,
dammit.
I was going to cry, wasn't I? No. I wasn't. I gulped enough air to make myself belch instead. “Are they going to be able to contain the fire?”

“Yeah,” she said, and looked away. “But there's something else in there. Something bad.”

Tell me about it. “Don't worry about your father—he's fought bad things most of his life.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But it's all falling apart, Mom. Why does it have to happen just when I—?”

The second she's born, the world starts to collapse. I bit my lip, furious with Jonathan suddenly; this was too big a burden to give any kid. Even a Djinn-born one. “It's going to be okay,” I told her.

“I know,” she said. Wind whipped her hair over her face and hid her expression. “I trust you.”

I didn't answer. Couldn't. My throat had locked up tight, fighting the tears. Deep breathing helped, and concentrating on the flashing yellow center stripe. Freeway up ahead, and a battalion of flashing emergency lights. I slowed for a barricade. Since there was an exodus from the fire, it didn't appear passports would be an issue. The Mountie manning it nodded to me and moved it aside, and then we were out, racing into the clear day.

Free.

 

I dropped Emily at her house. She woke up halfway home and subjected me to a foul-mouthed inquisition; she didn't remember anything past her collapse at the ranger station, as it turned out. Convenient, that. I didn't have to answer questions about the Djinn, or the Demon Mark, or any of that crap. She looked ill, but intact, and when I offered to keep her company, she brushed me off as rudely as ever.

The fire was down to normal size, up north, according to the radio, which blamed it on a lightning strike and credited the brave Canadian fire patrols for containing the blaze. No mention of fifteen dead bodies littering the landscape. I wondered if David had cleaned up after his hit squad.

“Where now?” Imara asked. She was behind the wheel of the Camaro when I arrived, and I was too tired and too sore to argue with her.

“Back toward Seacasket,” I said. She gave me a long, frowning look. “I know. I said
toward
, not
to.
I just need to think for a while.”

“I'm not taking you back there,” she warned, and put the Camaro in gear. “Father doesn't want you near the Oracle.”

Having a Djinn driver was pretty damn sweet, I decided. For one thing, she was fully capable of opening up the car to its fullest potential, and simultaneously hiding it from any observant highway patrol cars. The Camaro loved to run, and some of its joy bled off into me, easing the ache in my guts. I closed my eyes and let the road vibration shake some of the despair away.

I must have dozed off; when I opened my eyes again, the car was downshifting, and Imara was making a turn into a parking lot in front of a roadside motel. “What's this?” I asked.

“You could use a shower,” she said.

I winced. “Tact, Imara. We'll discuss it later.”

“I'm sorry to be blunt, but you need a shower, and real sleep. Also, this is as close as I can take you to Seacasket without attracting Father's attention.”

I hated to admit it, but the kid wasn't wrong. I sniffed at myself. Ugh. I did reek.

I sent Imara in to get the room—one look at me, and they'd promptly light up the
NO VACANCY
sign—and lounged against the dusty hood of the car, waiting. She came out dangling a clunky-looking key, the old-fashioned metal kind with a diamond-shaped holder blazoned with the room number. Four was my lucky number, at least today.

While I was in the shower, shampooing for the third time, Imara knocked on the door and shouted, “I'm going to get you some clothes!”

By the time I'd rinsed off and strolled out of the heat-fogged bathroom, she was gone. I curled up under the covers and flipped channels on the TV. The news was full of bad stuff: fires, earthquakes, storms, volcanoes. Europe was locked in a sudden, unexpected deep freeze. India was facing floods. So was South America.

I turned it off and remembered the Oracle. I'd come so close…so close. Wasn't there anything I could do, anything at all? I remembered the rich, dizzying, overwhelming sensation that had come over me when I'd been holding his hand. It reminded me of the onrushing music of my dream, when Jonathan had told me to leave.

I could almost hear it again, washing through me. Wiping every thought from my mind in a white, overwhelming rush. Floating…

There was someone with me in the room. I hadn't heard the door open, but I sensed a presence. Imara was back, I thought, and opened my eyes.

Even in the dark, I knew that wasn't Imara.

“Hello, love,” Eamon said. He was right next to the bed, leaning over me. Even as I tried to roll, he grabbed me by the shoulders and pinned me down.

“Hello, Eamon,” I said. I sounded calm, no idea why, because my heart was rattling in my chest like dice in a shaken cup. I was having an out-of-body experience, or I knew I'd have felt something more than this ringing, empty amazement. Shock, I guessed. And fear. “How'd you find me?”

“GPS in your cell phone,” he said. “The wonders of modern technology. Turns out that it isn't just for law enforcement anymore.” His hand slid down my bare arm. “Are you naked under there?”

“Fuck you,” I gasped, and tried to wrench away. No luck. He was a wiry bastard, and when I reached for power to even the score, I felt a hot, wet sting in my bicep. I flinched, but it was too late; he'd emptied the contents of a syringe into me with a fast shove of the plunger. Something heavy and sickeningly warm raced up my arm, into my neck.