Windfall (25 page)

“Dammit!” Lewis rasped, and I looked up to see that the wound in Kevin's side had begun pumping out blood in high-velocity jets. I clamped my hands down on it. Lewis put his hands over mine, and I felt the power cascade in. Hot and burning and pure as liquid gold . . . and not enough. Not for an injury of this magnitude.

“I need another healer!” I yelled at the knot of people standing with their hands up, under Rodriguez's attention. “One of you, get over here! Now!”

None of them moved.
None of them.
I looked up, desperate, and in the next flash of lightning I saw something terrible on their faces. My friends and colleagues, my fellow guardians of the human race.

They just didn't give a crap.

Two forms appeared out of the darkness next to me. David, his long coat swirling in the ocean wind, his eyes blazing. Face pale and focused, as if he were holding to this form with his last strength.

Rahel, battered and ragged and bloody, limping. Holding David's shoulder for support.

“Help me,” I said.

David collapsed to his knees opposite me, on the other side of Kevin's limp form, and put his hand over mine. His skin was burning hot, enough to make me wince, and his eyes met mine for a long second.

He smiled. It was a terribly weary smile, sweet and defeated and full of indescribable pain.

“Don't forget me,” David said, and I felt the spark travel through his hand, into mine, into Lewis. Everything he had left. Everything he'd taken from Ashan, and from me. A needle-bright surge of pure healing power, drawn not from me but from that last, tightly defended core of what made David who he was.

Like the spark of life he'd put inside of me, our child, formed of the union of our power.

I heard Rahel's protest rip the night in half, a high, wailing shriek like the grieving of angels.

The wound in Kevin's side stopped bleeding.

David distorted, blackened, turned Ifrit. Rahel, closest to him, stumbled backward as the creature's blunt, razor-angled face turned toward her, like a lion scenting prey. She was too weak. He'd destroy her.

As if he knew that—
could
he know that?—he whirled and lunged for a Djinn barely visible as mist in the darkness. One of the Wardens' personal stash. It gave out a high, thin shriek of panic as the Ifrit latched on and began to feed.

Rahel, reprieved, lost no time in vanishing.

I moved my hand, carefully. No spurting blood, though I was pretty much soaking in it. There was a massive open wound, and it would make a huge scar that would be a great conversation starter from now on, but Kevin wasn't in danger of dying.

At least, not from that.

The Wardens weren't reacting to the Ifrit in their midst, and I finally remembered that they couldn't actually see him. Only Djinn—or someone like me, with Djinn Emeritus status—could see what was happening. David—the Ifrit—had the Djinn down on the sand, and his black talons were deep into its chest, sucking out power and life.

I might
want
that to happen, but I couldn't
let
it happen. Not if I wanted to sleep nights.

“David, get back in the bottle,” I said, and watched as he misted away into a black, howling whisper.

The moon slid free of the cloud layer on the horizon and gilded everything silver.

“Okay, again: What the
fuck
is going on?” Detective Rodriguez demanded. He was saying it in a loud voice, as if he'd been asking it for a while. I stared at him, then at Lewis, who maintained pressure on Kevin's wound and gave me a vintage don't-look-at-me shrug. “Who are these people?”

“Trouble,” I said. “Shoot anybody who comes near this guy. They're trying to kill him.”

That, he could understand. “Do I want to know why?”

“Not—exactly. Look, I'll tell you. Just not now, okay?”

Rodriguez settled in next to Kevin, who was breathing more steadily now, color returning to his face. I stood up and walked toward the Wardens, who were regrouping from their confusion in various stages of defiance.

Shirl was still down. I stared at the Earth Warden who was next to her. Didn't recognize him, but he looked earnest and well scrubbed, in a Fortune 500 kind of way.

“You come after him again, you deal with me,” I said flatly. “Lewis and Kevin are under my protection. And I swear, next time, I won't call off my Djinn. If you want to make this war, fine. I'm ready. Better bring along body bags.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. Jerked his head at two of the others standing there, and they got Shirl up and into a fireman's carry over the bulkiest Warden's shoulder.

“What about him?” the Earth Warden asked. He had a nice voice, vaguely Canadian, and there was an off-kilter tilt to one of his eyes that made him seem sly. He nodded at Detective Rodriguez.

“What about him?”

“We shouldn't leave a witness.”

I was dumbfounded. Was he actually saying . . . ?

Yes. He actually was.

“Over my dead body,” I said flatly. I must have looked like it would be tough to achieve, because he took a step backward. “Get it straight, assholes.
Wardens don't kill people.
”

Some of them looked away. Some didn't. I felt a familiar prickle along my spine. If I could see the Ifrit, I wondered, could I see Demon Marks? Humans couldn't, generally, but if I could, I could check out these guys and see if they were under the evil influence. Not that any of these guys, male or female, were likely to bare any chests if I asked.

Lewis joined me, standing at my side. No words. Just a hell of a lot of strength, unmistakable, shivering the air like a quiver of heat. He looked grim and exhausted and haunted, but
not
weak. Not at all.

And then, unexpectedly, Kevin woke up.

“Yeah,” he croaked faintly. “You want a fight, bring it on, buttwipes.” He accompanied all that with the kind of inept theatrical gesture associated with bad magicians, kind of an awkward, limp-wristed wave. I winced.

“Yeah, thanks, kid,” I said. “Just rest, okay? . . . Anyway. Hit the road, all of you. You're done here.”

Detective Rodriguez stood up and joined me on the other side. The sound of his gun slide ratcheting was very loud, even over the continuous roar of the surf.

They might have decided I was no threat, that they could take Kevin, that an unpowered cop with a handgun was chicken feed. But up on the coast highway, flashing lights began to paint the sky, and sirens howled.

Cavalry on the way, and they didn't seem to have the appetite for a full-scale battle that involved the rest of the non-Warden world.

The Earth Warden held my eyes and said, “You'll see us again.”

“Count on it.”

They turned as a unit and walked away, into the darkness.

Silence, and the rising shriek of ambulance and rescue on the way. I became aware of just how much my feet hurt—as if I'd taken a five-mile firewalk—and that there was a glassy ache in my knees, and my head hurt.

And I wanted, desperately, to cry because I had blood all over me and David was gone. As if he'd never even existed. And I didn't think he was coming back this time.

This had turned out to be one hell of a jog.

 

It was a long night. Kevin went to the Emergency Room, who diagnosed anemia and said he was running a quart low on blood despite the healing David and Lewis had put into him. We spent most of the wee hours watching blood drip from a bag into his veins. Rodriguez kept his mouth shut about the whole standoff issue, mostly because he couldn't understand what had happened enough to try to explain it, and none of us were talking. Lewis stayed close to me, whether looking for protection or offering me his own was not clear.

We managed, somehow, to avoid the press, who were scurrying all over the story of sinkholes on the beach.
IS YOUR CHILD SAFE
? Film at eleven . . . by the time we made it back to my apartment, I realized that my life was well and truly out of control. Bad enough there was the whole job situation, but now there was Sarah and her boyfriend, and Lewis, and Kevin, and the Djinn War, and a cop from Las Vegas who was turning out to be kind of cool, actually.

And my feet hurt like hell.

Rodriguez insisted on coming in and checking out the apartment. Eamon and Sarah were not in immediate view, but her bedroom door was closed. I didn't, ah, inquire.

“Right,” I said, and looked at my little flock. “Kevin, Lewis—sit down before you fall down.”

Lewis was already lowering himself to the couch, but he shot me a grateful look. Rodriguez leaned against the door, arms folded, and frowned at me. Kevin, who should have been out on his feet from the painkillers, shuffled around the apartment, ragged black jean hems dragging the carpet, and fondled my stuff. Ah, yes. I remembered his great respect for personal boundaries. Even his brush with death hadn't dampened his enthusiasm for that.

I sucked in a pained breath as I put my feet up on a battered hassock and let myself relax, just a little, for the first time in hours. “I don't suppose you have anyplace to go,” I said to Lewis. Who shook his head. “Fine. You're staying here. Kevin, you too. Um . . .”

Detective Rodriguez arched his eyebrows. “I have accommodations.” Yeah, the White Van Hilton.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For leaving?” He sounded amused.

“For staying when you didn't have to. When things didn't make any sense.”

He shrugged and gave me a wintry smile. “I'm just saving my interrogation for later. Tonight, I'm just having a drink and trying not to think about it.”

“Good plan,” Lewis said. “I could use a beer.”

I took the hint, went into the kitchen, and popped two Michelob Lights, carried them out along with a Coca-Cola, which I handed to Kevin. Who gave me a filthy look.

“Underage,” I said. “And way too unpredictable to give beer to, anyway. And do we need to talk about painkillers and alcohol?”

He kept glaring.

“Take it as a compliment that I don't still want you dead.”

He didn't, but he drank the Coke anyway. I held up another Michelob for Rodriguez's inspection; he accepted without a word. I went for a glass of white wine. Sarah had left a bottle chilling in the fridge.

“So,” I said, and sat down on the floor to mournfully consider my aching, pink feet. “How screwed are we, exactly?”

Lewis tipped back the beer bottle. His throat worked. He considered everything carefully before he said, “If we were any more screwed, we'd be having a cigarette and enjoying the afterglow.”

Rodriguez choked on his beer. Nice to know he had a sense of humor. I'd been starting to wonder.

“Why are they after you? No, wait, back up.
Who
are they?”

“Wardens.”

“Yeah, obviously. But . . . ?” Lewis pressed the cold bottle to his forehead and cast a quick look at Rodriguez. I shrugged. “Don't worry about it. I'm telling him everything. No way around it at this point; besides, he's Quinn's old partner. He should know the truth.”

“The whole truth?”

“Yep.”

Lewis shook his head, obviously not convinced of my sanity, but let it go. Got back on the subject. “The Wardens are breaking apart. I knew it was coming; they just don't have enough structure left to keep it in place. They're breaking into factions. This one caught the rumors about the Djinn turning on their masters, and most of them sealed their Djinn bottles and stuck them in vaults, safety deposit boxes, whatever was convenient. And then they came after me.”

“Why the hell would they come after
you
?”

“They've been told that I'm on a crusade to free all the Djinn.”

I looked at him for a second. “Hmmm. Are you?”

“Separate issue.” Oh, boy.

“Lewis—”

“Drop it, Jo.”

“Okay, fine, so you've been preaching freedom for all Djinn, the Djinn suddenly start turning on their masters, the Wardens start coming after you.” It made an unpleasant amount of sense. “It's Ashan's group that's behind this.”

“Yep.”

“And I think some of those Wardens may be . . .”

“Demon-marked? Makes sense, they're certainly powerful enough. Rahel's been trying to keep them off my back, but they're like wolves. I can't shake them for long. It's going to come down to killing, sooner or later.” He seemed depressed by that.

“One of them—Shirl—she was a protégée of Marion's,” I said. “I'll call Paul, find out if Marion still has some kind of control over things . . .”

“Marion's in the hospital,” Lewis said flatly. “She was hurt. Car accident. I just heard from Paul an hour ago.”

I stopped worrying about my feet. “They're targeting us. This isn't random.”

“They're going after the most powerful senior Wardens. That leaves gaps to fill. It's a coup, or at least they think it is. From Ashan's perspective, he's just dismantling the Wardens altogether.”

“What about Paul?”

He shook his head. I tried to stand up and felt my knee give a sharp enough twinge that I had to stay down. I looked over at Kevin, who was fondling my minuscule DVD collection. “Hey. Walking wounded. Put Mel Gibson down and step away.”

“
Lethal Weapon
rocks.”

“Yes, it does. Go get me the phone.”

“Get it yourself, b—”

“Kevin,” Lewis said softly. “Look at her feet. She can barely walk. Shut up and get the damn phone.”

Kevin flushed—unattractively—and glared at him, but ducked his head and put the DVD back on the shelf. “Where is it?”

I nodded toward the kitchen. Kevin shuffled off in that direction. Lewis's eyes followed him. “He's not a terrible kid,” he said. “But he needs somebody to tell him when he's a fuckup.”

“He should be lying down.”