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“You mentioned the magic word,” he said. “Bargain.”

“You’re still hurt,” I said. It wasn’t even a question, and he didn’t debate it pointlessly. “What about the other New Djinn?”

“They’re not coming.”

“Not even one.”

“Our new replacement Conduit, Whitney, has allied with Ashan on this. No Djinn will come to your aid, Cassiel. No one.” He smiled, briefly, teeth flashing. “Well. One, perhaps. If you make it worth my while.”

I stared at him steadily. “Why?”

“Maybe I just like a good fight.” His lips twitched, briefly. “I’m not on your side. I’m on no one’s side. I simply like mayhem.”

“
Rashid.
” I heard the desperation in my own voice, and I know he did as well, though he never looked up from his contemplation of a sealed package of bandage. “Deal with me.”

“All right.” He sat back, crossed his legs with such fluidity that he might have been a yogi, and leaned against the wall. “Bargain.”

“I wish you to direct me to where Luis Rocha is being held—the man named Luis Rocha whom you met, the Warden who is my partner,” I quickly clarified. I had been a Djinn once. That would have been the first maliciously exploitable hole I would have seen. “I wish you to fight by my side against whatever comes to save his life, and the lives of the other Wardens and humans we may find. Will you bargain for this?”

Rashid closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. They blazed with opalescent, changing colors. “If I do,” he said, “there’s only one thing I will bargain for.”

I knew what he wanted. The scroll. I couldn’t allow it to leave my hands. I
couldn’t.

“Ask for something else,” I said.

Rashid’s teeth flashed in a mirthless grin. “I am not extremely prone to being ordered around, you know. What do you offer, then?”

These were not idle discussions, not this time. I had made a formal offer, and now we were dealing . . . and deals, to the Djinn, were extremely important. There was an art to it, of course; the Djinn delighted in finding ways around, under, and through deals to their own advantage, and the disadvantage of those they treated with. A kind of supernatural game of skill and treachery. For all my age, however—and I had been a Djinn far longer than Rashid—it was a game I was not well versed in. I had avoided humankind most of my existence.

Rashid was a veteran of such encounters. There was a very real risk that in this, at least, I was out of my depth.

“Give me a direction to follow before we go any further,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because time will be short, and I want to be at least driving in the right direction!”

He accepted that with a placid nod. “Toward Rose Canyon. As you suspected.”

I was already headed that way, generally. I felt a tight knot in my chest loosen enough to allow me to take a steady breath.

“What is your offer?” Rashid asked. I glanced at him again in the rearview, but there was nothing to be read in his expression. His eyes were once again closed, his body relaxed. He could have sat for a thousand years in that position, or that was the strong impression he gave.

“Future favors,” I said. “When I regain my position—” He shook his head. “A stupid bargain. You are very likely to die in flesh, Cassiel. And even if you succeed in returning as a Djinn, the change in form would release you from obligation.”

He was right, by the letter of Djinn law; changing from a human to a Djinn—necessary, to regaining my position at all—would mean that I would shed any promises or obligations I vowed in mortal form as well. If I wished to keep them, I could, but it would not be required of me.

A poor bargain for him, indeed. It put him completely at my mercy.

“Then what, as a human, can I offer you that would be of any value?” I snapped. “I’m flesh and bone and blood. I’m
nothing.
”

Rashid’s eyes opened, and in the same instant, he disappeared from my view. Gone.

I had a fatal second of horror, thinking I had succeeded in destroying the deal with my flash of temper—and then he was back, sitting in the passenger seat next to me, back twisted toward the door to face me. Still cross-legged. I considered ordering him to put on a safety belt, but truly, there was no point.

“Nothing,” he repeated. “Is that what you think? That becoming mortal makes you nothing? Then what does that make me? The shadow of nothing? The ghost of nothings past?” I’d sparked a fire in his eyes, orange and red and banked with control. “No wonder the Old Djinn and New Djinn were at war. Djinn have made bargains with mortals for tens of thousands of years. If humans are nothing, what benefit did that have?”

I blinked. I’d been a little prepared for an explosion of fury, not for this precise, reasoned anger. Nor its implications.

“You still don’t understand,” Rashid continued. “You’re
in
human form, but you are
not
human. Perhaps you’re getting there; I see signs, here and there. But were you a true human, you would know that what you could offer me is precious. Risk, and chance, and the highest of stakes. A Djinn risks little. A human risks everything in dealing with us.”

“You want my life?”

“No,” he said, and abruptly his eyes faded to a black so deep it seemed like the heart of night. “I want to
feel
your life. My price is this: Promise to bind yourself to me as a lover. Through this, I will feel mortal things again. Mortal emotions. Mortal joys.”

Rashid was
lonely.
It was that simple.

Insane, but simple.

What he was asking was startling, but not unprecedented. There had been human/Djinn lovers before; David and the Warden Joanne were the most visible of these, at the current time. And Rashid was attractive to me; as a Djinn, he could
make
himself attractive to me. Whether he was attracted to my human form, my aetheric presence, or the simple fact that I had been so very powerful, I could not say.

“You can choose any human,” I said. “Any one of them would do. There are many who’d leap at the chance to be your lover, you know.”

“They’re not like you,” he said, and that made my breath stop in my lungs. It was a simple admission, but a significant one. As if he sensed this, he turned toward me and said, “It’s not human love, Cassiel. It’s admiration. You burn. I’m cold. Nothing more.”

It was a fair price.

And still, I found myself saying, simply, “No.” Nothing else. Nothing more. Just a plain, unemotional denial.

Rashid’s eyes stayed black. “I told you, I’m not asking for your love,” he said. “I wouldn’t even want it.”

“And I can’t give it. In whatever form.” I swallowed hard. “Choose something else.”

He was silent. There was a subtle shift in his body; it still
looked
calm and meditative, but I sensed a readiness to move, to act, a restless hunger at odds with his outer stillness. “You’re certain. If it’s merely a matter of your scruples, I can play the villain. Force you to compliance.”

“No,” I said flatly. “No bargain.”

“Not even for the life of the one you do love?” Rashid knew. He understood why I had refused. Hence, the cold darkness in his eyes. Djinn do not understand rejection. They do not bear it well. “He is suffering now. Greatly. Soon, he will die, and what will your morality matter then? It’s a matter of flesh, nothing more.”

“If it was nothing more, why would you want it?” I shot back, and saw his face change. His eyes flickered just a little, with hot blue. “Name another price, Rashid.
Anything
else except the scroll, or being your lover.”

He shrugged. “Your firstborn.”

Surely he was joking. That was an ancient human folktale. Djinn did not collect children; they had no use for them. The idea that Rashid would want to make a pet out of my child—presuming I could even create life within me in that way, which seemed impossible—was ridiculous, and strangely chilling.

“My firstborn,” I repeated. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” he said. “Your firstborn child. You will give him to me. Swear this.”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Twice you refused me. Once more, and I will go.”

“Then
change what you want!
”

“No,” he said. “Firstborn. Or I go.”

It was a foolish bargain for us both. First, I had no interest in becoming a mother in the primal human way, although I had great fondness for little Ibby. Second, I could not imagine a circumstance under which Rashid would find it desirable to collect on his bargain for a child, no matter what he claimed.

I passed a sign that glowed green and white in the headlights, and announced that I was nearing Rose Canyon. The area seemed deserted, sleeping under the cold moonlight; trees swayed, clouds drifted, nothing else moved.

It was a huge, empty area. Without Rashid’s help, I would be too late to find Luis. And too weak to save him.

The fact was that Rashid was the only Djinn still willing to treat with me at all, and by the laws of bargaining, I could only reject his bargains three times before the bargaining ended.

This was my last chance. My very last. And for whatever unfathomable reason, Rashid seemed fixed on his demand.

“Yes,” I said. “My firstborn child, offered in exchange for your guidance to Luis Rocha and your aid in this fight to rescue the Wardens and humans. Are we agreed?”

“We are agreed,” Rashid said, and a silvery glow slid across his skin, and pooled in his eyes for a moment before he blinked it away. “Go left.”

There was a turnoff ahead. I took it, moving from a smooth paved road to one that was still paved, but less smooth—cracked, humped in places, poorly patched. It immediately reminded me of the stillness and isolation of the area of Colorado that Pearl had chosen for her fortress before—something faintly alive about this place, as if the Mother’s spirit dwelt a little closer to the world here than in other spots. Maybe it was simply the lack of human presence, the wildness of it.

We drove on, the big ambulance bouncing and creaking as I steered it through narrow, winding turns and across a bridge over an unseen creek. There was little to be seen in detail; the moonlight gave vague outlines of shapes, but the subtlety of that was overridden by the glare of the headlights as we drove. I considered switching them off, and as I reached down for them, they went off without my physical assistance.

Rashid. He was facing forward now, staring intently through the front glass and frowning. I slowed as my eyes fought to adjust to the sudden darkness. He glanced aside at me. “Change places,” he said. “I will drive.”

I nodded and shifted over; he brushed against me on the way, and his skin felt summer- hot, and less like skin than burnished metal; with a shock, I realized that he felt like my replacement bronze left hand. It felt as if the merest touch of him would leave a burn, and my flesh tingled in passing.

Rashid’s lonely need was a physical thing, radiating from him into me.

I tried not to allow that to show.

Rashid pressed the accelerator, and the ambulance leapt forward, tires biting hard and engine growling against the weight it was dragging. He drove too fast for a human, especially in the dark, but Djinn reflexes were supernatural. I was safe enough, so long as he had nothing to gain from causing an accident.

We didn’t speak. I focused on Luis again, but though I could hear him breathing in odd, uneven jerks, he didn’t try to communicate with me. Not even to scream. Fear tightened in white-hot bands around my stomach and my throat, and I could only wait.

Wait as Rashid reached the end of the paved road, twisted the wheel, and suddenly crashed the ambulance into a boiling green mass of foliage on the right.

It concealed a road. Gravel at first, then raw dirt—neatly maintained, almost flat. The sides were precisely drawn, and there was no grass growing over the lines.

It was a great deal too precise, for nature, and that spoke of Earth Wardens maintaining the landscape. It seemed a foolish waste of power, until I considered that as a training exercise, it would have been useful in itself—teaching acolytes the control and uses of their power. A Warden who could neatly control grass, trees and bushes from encroaching on the road could also do the opposite—block or destroy a road quickly with the same tools.

It meant that we would have a difficult time getting out once they’d been alerted to our presence.

But I already knew that.

The road wound down a steep hill, twisting like a snake through treacherous switchbacks. Rashid flew down it at an insane speed, teeth bared, eyes flaring bright with pure, risk-taking joy.

He lost his smile for a bare instant, and said, “Hold.” It was all he had time to say before I saw the ground ahead of us crumble and disappear into a sudden, dramatic sinkhole less than five feet from the hood of the ambulance. The hole was at least twenty feet across, and there was no chance of stopping. Still less chance of a clumsy, non- aerodynamic vehicle like an ambulance somehow jumping the chasm.

But Rashid did both. He stopped the van so abruptly that the momentum pitched the back of the vehicle up in an arc, straight up, flipping the ambulance in a sickening full, whipping revolution
twice
. I clung to the dashboard and the handle above the door, struggling not to lose my grip as gravity’s pull tugged one way, then another . . . and then I saw the road coming up at us from below on the last revolution.

We were somehow right side up. The front tires hit first, and Rashid pressed the gas.

The back wheels slipped into the chasm, but the momentum and the front wheels’ grip dragged them up with a bump, and then we were flying again, moving so fast that the world passed in a twisting blur.

“Five seconds,” he told me. “Be ready.” Rashid sounded utterly focused and calm.

I was still openmouthed and amazed that we had survived that impossible maneuver.