He was describing a lot more to me about Djinn politics than he ever had before, and I had to admit, I was intrigued. “The Mother said to let me fight my own battles, didn’t she? That was why she summoned you both in, you and Ashan. To lay down the law.”
“Yes.”
“Which you promptly broke by racing to my side.”
“Ashan broke it first,” David pointed out. “He came to kill you, and I have no doubt he’d have done it. He didn’t see you as worthy, not in any way, of what I’m offering.”
“Flattering.”
David shrugged. “Ashan’s not known for being overly fond of mortals, but if he was going to be impressed by any human, it would probably be you.”
“Why? Because I didn’t whimper and die?” I shoved eggs around on my plate. I needed food, but everything seemed distant, lacking any kind of attraction or urgency.
“Because he saw what I saw. He saw your strength, your power, your beauty.” David paused, studying me with an expression so tender that it melted my heart and gave me shivers. “He saw what I saw in your core, and it shook him. It shook all of them. You have a peculiar gift to make Djinn feel. In a way, that makes you more dangerous than anyone they’ve ever known.”
“But less easy to kill, I hope.”
He tilted his head. No answer. I chewed eggs. They were good, I supposed. More importantly, they were fuel for a body that had spent its reserves recklessly. My body fat was gone, and my blood sugar in the negative numbers. David’s infusion of energy last night had kept me alive when my mortal flesh tried to shut down, but now it was up to me to get things back in order.
“The Sentinels,” he said. “Did you get anything from them? Anything that could help us?”
I dropped my fork and stared at him. “I didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Oh my God!” Of course I hadn’t. I’d been busy trying not to die, and then I’d been completely consumed by the novelty of still being alive. Until he’d asked the question, the knowledge had been lurking somewhere in the back of my mind, waiting for the right moment. “I know where he is! The—the anchor, the leader, whatever! Well, where he was, anyway.”
“Where?” David was already up and on his feet, and looking more Djinn than he ought to. “Where?”
I picked up my fork and gobbled down mouthfuls of egg as fast as I could, grimly intent on getting my strength back. “The Florida Keys,” I said. “Key West, or somewhere close to it. The bastard is our neighbor.”
Chapter Nine
I rested for a couple of days. My appetite returned with a vengeance on the second day out from the attack, and David was at first amused, then a little appalled at my lust for calories. “Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked when I opened up the fourth bag of barbecue chips. “There’s such a thing as overdoing it. . . .”
I knew there was, but the food and the sleep were recharging my body, and I wanted to hasten the process. Impatient, that was me. And scared. I knew the Sentinels now, in aetheric form if not in actual physical shape. I knew how much power they were packing, and it was terrifying indeed. I wanted my body back and balanced, fast.
I knew that bags of chips weren’t the way to go, but they tasted so good.
David distracted me from the chips by proposing an outing: shopping. “You,” I said, gazing at him approvingly, “are getting to know me way too well.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I plan to research you in the biblical sense later.”
“Mmmmm, maybe shopping can wait.” Those words were a sign of just how much that invitation really meant. I hardly ever delayed shopping.
“No. I want us out and visible,” he said. “If the Sentinels are watching, I want them to see that you’re alive, well, and strong. I don’t think they’ll try that again. You surprised them, and you scared them.”
“I did?”
“If you hadn’t,” David said, “they’d have come back for you already.”
Dressing took on a whole girding-for-battle significance now that I knew my enemies were going to be watching me. I bathed, scrubbed, exfoliated, shampooed, shaved, tweezed, moisturized. I spent half an hour on my hair, and another half an hour on makeup. Choosing the right sundress required another long stretch of time. When I finally appeared in the doorway, David was stretched out on the couch, feet crossed at the ankles, reading a battered paperback, which he dropped on his chest at the sight of me.
“Yeah?” I twirled for him, just fast enough that the floating hem of the light floral sundress showed my thighs. “Healthy enough?”
He pressed his lips together and struggled to sit up. “That’s one word for it.”
“What’s another?”
“Seductive.” That note in his voice made me shiver, but I put my shoulders back and shook my finger at him anyway.
“You said we needed to get out. So out we get, Mister.”
He sighed, stood up, and slipped into his coat.
“David?” I hated to say it, because this was a kind of dividing line, and I wasn’t even sure why. “The coat. If you want to be taken for human, only flashers wear coats in Fort Lauderdale in the summer.”
He seemed honestly surprised. “But—ah. Yes. Right.” He took it off and put it back on the chair, petting its olive-drab surface as he did, like a favorite pet he was sorry to leave behind. “Everything else okay?”
I gave him the walkaround. “Not bad,” I said, “but we can do better.”
“Oh no,” he said.
“That’s right. We’re shopping for you, buster.”
I knew all the good places to shop, but if I hadn’t, even JCPenney would have been able to supply a decent alternative to the ever-present checked shirt that David seemed to think was the height of fashion. But I wasn’t going for better; I was going for make women stop and stare, though with David, that wasn’t exactly difficult.
He was made for Versace.
The salespeople thought so too; David was bemused by the whole affair, clearly wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into, but as always, he was willing to experiment with the most trivial of human pursuits. I conspired with the lead saleswoman to do before and after digital pictures. Going in, David was a good-looking man, a bit conservative with his blue-and-white checked shirt and jeans.
Going out, he was so attractive that he was a menace to passing traffic. He wore a black, skin-tight Versace knit shirt, long-sleeved to give him sleekness, and his black Diesel jeans that hugged his ass and thighs, and flared out at the ends just enough. Because we were in Florida, I gave him a bit of a surfer fashion sensibility, and it suited him brilliantly. The coppery tan could have been stoked by days paddling in the surf. I added a very fine Hugo Boss sports coat, in midnight blue, and when he put it on, the salespeople gave a collective sigh and snapped pictures. He turned toward me, eyebrows raised, a slight flush in his cheeks.
I’ve made a Djinn blush, I thought. There was a weird satisfaction in that. Also, I planned to try to make him blush more, in private, later.
Some part of me, during all this public playacting, kept monitoring the aetheric for any signs of Sentinel activity. Nothing. It was dead quiet, weirdly so. Maybe I really had given them a shock with not dying on cue.
I started to pay for the clothes, but David slipped a wallet from his pocket and pulled out a jet-black American Express card. I caught a look at the name as he handed it over.
DAVID CYRUS PRINCE.
David knew what I was thinking, and he met my eyes briefly, then smiled at the salesclerk and signed the credit card receipt. We left the store with his old clothes and shoes in a bag. I couldn’t stop stealing glances at him, darkly gorgeous as he was; every woman we passed, young or old, plain or model-in-training, gave him an involuntary stare.