Jo-there was also a card.''
''A card? Like, a greeting card?''
''You're not going to like it,'' he said. ''It's a congratulations card. On your wedding. It had a
message inside.''
I went short of breath, and it wasn't for any of the reasons that it would have been a minute
before. ''What kind of message?''
He ignored that question, which didn't bode well. ''Who knows you're getting married?''
''I-not that many people. We haven't officially-I don't know. I didn't think it was a state
secret! My God, I was about to order invitations!''
''I think we'd better talk,'' Lewis said. ''All of us. Warden HQ in New York. There are some
things you need to see.''
''Now?''
''Tomorrow. Let David drive if you're taking the car.''
I bit my lip. Not that I didn't love being in the car with David, but even at the speeds he was
likely to travel it would be at least a fifteen-hour trip. Then again, it kept us mobile, and Weather
Wardens generally didn't do too well in airplanes. We draw storms the way a bug zapper draws
moths.
''See you there,'' I said, and hung up. I dropped the cell phone back on the nightstand and rolled
back toward David. ''Where were we?''
His fingers slowly stroked the column of my throat, down the valley between my breasts, and
across to circle the hard cap of my nipple. ''That depends,'' he said, low in his throat. ''How
much time do we have?''
''How fast can you drive?''
He laughed. ''You wouldn't believe how fast I can drive if I'm properly motivated.''
''Any particular thing you find motivational?''
He put his lips close to my ear. ''Your mouth.'' His tongue traced the folds of my ear, drawing
shivers. ''I love the way you use it.''
''I'm guessing you aren't talking about pleasant travel conversation.''
I couldn't see his smile, but I felt its dark power. ''Don't want to give it a try?''
''Dude, there are laws, you know.''
''Laws against driving above the speed limit, too, but I don't notice you objecting to breaking
them.''
''You are a very bad''-I caught my breath convulsively and pressed against his fingers, which
had wandered lower-''man. And we should get dressed and on the road.''
''In a while,'' he said, watching me, and his hand began to move. My mind went white and
smooth with pleasure. His eyes were lazy and still somehow fiercely intent. ''Let me see if I can
ease your mind first.''
I decided not to protest, unless don't stop counted.
Driving with a Djinn isn't really like normal driving. For one thing, nobody really sees your car;
they have an awareness of it, for traffic safety, but even the most vigilant of peace officers can
look right at you breaking the speed limit (and nearly the sound barrier) and not feel moved to
react.
The downside? No bathroom breaks. Djinn just don't think of things like that. I know they eat,
so they must have the other human-type functions at least when maintaining human form . . . but
you'd never know it. They're better masters of their bodies than we are.
After six hours on the road, I was squirming in the seat and ready to die for a bush by the side of
the road, never mind a bathroom.
''Comfort break,'' I said to David. ''Sorry. Nature calls.''
He sent me a lazy, amused glance, entirely relaxed and at ease behind the wheel of my car. I'd
learned not to look out the windows; the constant smear of color reminded me of science fiction
movie concepts of travel past light speed. Instead, I'd asked for a laptop, which David had
obligingly provided, and an Internet connection. Bingo, I was back to research.
Only this time, I was tracking down suspects instead of china patterns.
''What are you doing?'' David asked, leaning over. I nudged him back with one shoulder.
''Drive.''
''I am.'' He stayed where he was, eyes off the road.
''You know that makes me crazy, right?''
His lips threatened to smile. ''Not the right kind of crazy. So?''
I sighed. ''I'm searching all my correspondence, trying to figure out how many people I've told
about the wedding.''
''And?''
''Dozens.'' I stared gloomily at the screen. ''Not only that, I didn't exactly think to make it eyes-
only clearance. Those dozens told more dozens, who told their friends, who posted it in the
Wardens chat room. . . .''
''So it's a dead end.''
Yeah, and we might be the ones dead at the end of it. Wasn't sure I liked that symbolism.
I was on the verge of logging off the computer, but a word caught my eye on the Warden chat
board. I frowned and scrolled back up, looking for it, and finally saw, in the message thread of
people offering congratulations on the upcoming wedding, a single entry. You had to be
registered for the Warden chat board, of course, and authenticated, but somehow, this particular
entry had no name or IP address associated with it. What it said was, simply, It'll never happen.
I shivered. The Sentinels were at work.
''Bathroom,'' David announced, and I closed up the laptop and was unhooked before he'd
screeched the Mustang to a stop in front of the gas pump of the BP station. I barely noticed the
convenience store, except that as I frantically scanned the interior walls, the bored clerk took pity
on me and pointed toward the rear of the store. Clearly, he knew the look.
I found the bathroom; it was unlocked and relatively clean, and all that mattered was the sweet,
sweet relief. When I finished, I went to the sink and washed, studying my face in the mirror. I
looked okay-a little thinner than usual, more angular, but not as haggard as I'd feared. Stress
looked good on me; it always had. Lucky me. As a beauty treatment, though, it sucked.
Hmmm. Maybe some cold cream. And Ding Dongs.
I was gathering up sweet, snack-treat goodness and heading for the register when I felt . . .
something. Not exactly trouble, but . . . something. It was subtle, but I'd definitely felt something
shift, and not on a natural real-world level.
I put the food down on the counter, smiled meaninglessly, and wandered back toward the cold-
drink case to give myself time to think. Time to track what was happening. The clerk must have
thought I was giving the Pepsi-Coke debate serious consideration. I glanced over my shoulder
and saw that David was gassing up the Mustang, eyes scanning the horizon but without any sign
of worry or alarm.
So maybe this sudden foreboding was just my imagination working overtime. Maybe I was tired,
on edge, and still recovering from my near miss.
A big semitruck eased into the parking lot. It was a tight fit; the place wasn't exactly a truck stop,
and I wondered what he was doing. Maybe he needed a bathroom, too, or Ding Dongs.
Everybody needed Ding Dongs, right? But no driver emerged from the shiny red cab; it just sat,
shimmering in the overhead lights, idling.
I felt a chill. I grabbed a drink at random from the case and went back to the counter, threw
money at the clerk, and continued to stare at the truck without blinking or looking away.
Something. Something wrong.
David didn't seem alert to anything at all. He replaced the gas cap and stood next to the car,
leaning on it, waiting for me to reappear.
''Your change,'' the clerk said, and pressed coins into my hand. I shoved it into my pocket
without looking, grabbed the sack he handed over, and hurried outside. There was a cool breeze