“Do tell.” I drummed my fingernails on the wood of the door impatiently.
Venna’s gaze flicked to Cherise, and then back. “You didn’t keep your threat. She’s bleeding. She isn’t dead.”
“Yet,” I said. “I thought that as a Djinn you’d understand the importance of timing.”
Chapter Eight
As I sat in Arpeggio’s deserted bar-cum-breakfast-nook, munched my command-ordered bagel and light cream cheese, and sipped coffee, I wondered what Cherise would report to Lewis—assuming Lewis was still in any shape to be reported to. Nobody bothered me, not even other Wardens.
The few fellow diners who’d endured my presence got up and left, quickly, when Venna appeared in the middle of the room, clearly and utterly alien in the way she looked and moved. She sat opposite me at the polished wooden table, a glass of orange juice in front of her, and stared at me with impassive intensity.
“I thought we were done,” I said. I sipped my coffee. It was bitter, dark, and exactly what I needed.
“For the sake of what you were, I thought I would try once more.” That was irritatingly superior.
“You can run back and tell Lewis that I’m done with pretending to care about every little life that stubs its toe, every goddamn kitten up a tree. I’ve spent my life bleeding for humans. I’ve died for them. Enough. If that makes me evil, then fine. I am.”
Venna said nothing. She drank her juice like a little girl, two hands wrapped around the glass for stability, and it left her with a faint orange ring around her lips that she tried to lick off before wiping it away. “Cherise is right,” she said. “You are more like us than them now.”
“Let me sum that up with ewwwwww.”
She stared at her empty juice glass. It filled up, welling from the bottom of the glass. She emptied it again.
“Was that supposed to be a metaphor? Sorry. Don’t get it.” I ate the last bite of my bagel and pushed my chair back to stand as I swigged the dregs of my coffee. “Bother me again, and I’ll seriously inconvenience you.” From the pulse of power inside me, it was entirely possible that I could really hurt her.
“You didn’t ask,” she said.
“Ask what?”
“Anything. Why the staff of this ship are still willing to make your bagels when their world is crumbling around them.” Venna shrugged again. “You don’t ask anything, because you don’t care anymore. It means nothing to you. It’s very Djinn.”
“I’m not Djinn.”
“No,” she agreed. “You’re becoming something else. It’s—interesting.”
“But not good.”
“No. Not good at all. Not for anyone, really.”
I didn’t care. Some part of me could not wait to blow past these conventional, stupid rules.
And some tiny, whispering part of me was mourning that very thing.
“I won’t see you again,” Venna said. “Not until this is over. I’m sorry. I liked you. It would have been better if I’d killed you.”
I put my hands flat on the table. “So? Do it now.”
“I can’t,” she said, which was surprisingly honest. “And I won’t. That’s for your own to do, not me.”
She finished another half glass of OJ, then misted away without another word.
I thought she looked a little grave, and a little sad.
I got up and stiff-armed the door out onto the promenade.
The Grand Paradise had left the storm behind during the night, although it was following us like a pit bull on a leash, obedient to my every wish.
The ship cut a rapid, hissing passage through the still-high waves, making for the destination I’d identified. Home, part of me said. Not the best part.
Sunlight flooded the promenade, glittering on drops of spray, turning the place into a gallery of diamonds. Watertight doors had opened all up and down the length of the ship. Wardens who’d been gearing up for the fight of the century, or at least the storm of the century, were left wondering what to do. I didn’t seem to be much of a threat, standing at the railing and enjoying the day.
Nothing but sun and fresh wind now. It was a beautiful morning.
I felt the winds shift. Gravity shift, at least on the aetheric level. A heavyweight had arrived.
When I looked over my shoulder, I saw that Lewis had made his way out onto the deck. Behind him was the Warden army—faces I knew and some I outright hated. Ah, good. Finally, we were at the showdown. Time to rumble.
I turned to face them.
“You’re getting off the ship,” Lewis told me. “I’m sorry, Jo.”
“Oh no. Mutiny! Whatever shall I do?” I put the back of my hand dramatically to my forehead. “Wait. I know. Kill you.”
He didn’t look especially petrified. Lewis had healed up some overnight—faster than I’d have thought, but he’d probably had tons of Earth Warden help to accelerate the process. He looked badass and focused, and whereas I was clean, scrubbed, and dressed for sexy success, he hadn’t shaved, showered, slept, or changed clothes.
I was ahead on style points, but I wasn’t counting the Wardens out. Not yet.
“You can’t win this,” Lewis said. “Don’t push me, Jo. I’m telling you the truth: You can’t.”
He sounded confident, but then, Lewis always did sound confident when it came to crunch time.
I felt the whispers of wind tease my hair, and the storm—my own personal pet now—yawned and began to spin its engine harder, preparing for battle.
“You going to talk, or are you going to fight?” I asked. “Because the alternative is hate sex, and I’m kind of over you right now.” I noted, on a highly academic level, that I was starting to sound more and more like Bad Bob, even to the ironic dark twist in my tone.
Lewis took a step toward me. Just one. But I felt my skin tighten, and something inside me turned silent and watchful, all humor gone.
“You’re talking a good game, but I’m still waiting for you to back it up.”
I laughed. “Are you begging me to kill you? Seriously? Tactics, man. Look into it.”
“No,” he said softly. “I’m telling you that deep inside, there’s a part of you that’s still protected. Still fighting. If there weren’t, you’d be walking around this ship like the incarnation of Kali, destroying everything crossing your path. Think about it. You haven’t killed anybody. And what is your master evil plan? You’re taking us to Bad Bob. That’s where we wanted to go.”
I froze, staring at him. It was true. I’d lashed out at him, but I hadn’t killed him. Hadn’t killed anyone, yet. Lots of talk, no action.
And he was right, something inside me had convinced me that the ship should be taken to Bad Bob . . . but it was the old Joanne, struggling to push me in the direction she considered right.
I opened my right hand, and a tiny pearl of light formed, flickered, and grew, expanding into a white-hot ball.
“Talk’s over,” I said. “It’s time to play.”
I threw the ball of fire into the middle of them. Lewis hit it with a blast of cold air along the way, shrinking it, and then casually batted it out over the railing when it reached him. “Going to have to play harder than that.”
I was aware that while my attention was fixed on Lewis, the other Wardens were trying to get to me. Not physically, but the Earth Wardens were messing with my body chemistry. All kinds of ways the human engine can go wonky—they weren’t trying to give me cancer, but they were trying to crash my blood sugar, give me blinding headaches, and disrupt nerve impulses.
I snapped a lightning bolt down. One of the Weather Wardens stepped out and flung up both hands, intercepting the thick, ropy stream of energy and deflecting it, but it left her limp and moaning on the deck, with a black burned patch on the wood that stretched a dozen feet around her in a blast pattern.