in mysterious ways, but that was downright impenetrable. I bought time to think by digging a
pair of big sunglasses out of my purse and putting them on. There. Without a clear view of my
eyes, Antonelli was going to have a tougher time figuring out what I'd do. ''Shotgun,'' I
repeated, ''so you're the bodyguard. Flattering.''
Antonelli ran one hand over his bullet-shaped shaved head and gave me a grim-looking smile.
''Most ladies would say so.''
''Save the smarm, I'm not in the mood.''
He shrugged. Flirting was reflexive for him; he didn't fancy me, except in the abstract way that
somebody like Antonelli fancied anyone with internal sex organs. If I stood still long enough,
he'd gladly take a turn, but other than that, I was furniture. ''Playtime's over, then. Let's move.
In the van.''
I stayed right where I was, next to the door of the Mustang. ''I'm driving my own car.''
Technically, David was driving, but Antonelli might not know that. In fact, he didn't look nearly
worried enough, so I doubted he had any idea there was an angry Djinn standing a couple of feet
away, eyes lit up like Halloween lanterns.
''Look, I don't know the plan; I'm just following orders. Lewis says take the van; we take the
van,'' Antonelli said. ''I don't ask no questions; neither do you. Come on, sister, let's go. I've
got things to do.''
There was a ring of sweat around the high neck of his muscle shirt, and dark streaks under the
arms. Unless Antonelli had come straight from the gym, something was up. He was nervous.
''We can sort that out,'' I said, and pulled my cell phone from my pocket. ''Let me just call-''
The circuitry inside the phone fried, boiled into vapor in an instant. I dropped the red-hot case
and blew on my blistered fingers. Antonelli hadn't moved, but something about him had
changed. I could almost smell it: the burned-metal bite of desperation, mingled with a coppery
odor of fear.
''Get in the fucking van,'' he said. ''I'm not playing, bitch. Don't make this a showdown; there
are too many people around. Kids. I don't want to do that, and neither do you. Let's keep this
calm.''
Oh God, he was serious. I could tell it from the sweat on his skin, the dark shadows in his eyes.
He was a whole lot more scared of someone else than he was of me.
That needed to change, right now.
I dropped my purse to the ground, glad I'd donned the sunglasses. I made sure my feet were
firmly planted, shoulder-width apart, the right slightly forward to give me a more stable base.
''You're right,'' I said quietly. ''I don't want to do this. You don't want to do this. But somehow,
I think it's going to happen anyway, because I can't get in that van, Lee. Whatever's going on, I
can't take the chance. Let's think this through before we both start something that will end
badly.''
David had not moved. Hadn't spoken. Still, I was feeling the vibration of menace from him like
the subsonic pulses from a volcano about to blow; this was going to go south, very badly, very
fast.
''Who is it?'' I asked. ''Lee, tell me who's making you do this. It's not Lewis. It's not the
Wardens. Somebody's forcing you to take me out of circulation. Come on, man, we don't have
to make this a throw down. We can talk about it, work it out.'' While I talked, I used my Earth
powers, subtly sending calming vibrations to him, lulling him into a state in which he might be
more inclined to listen. To trust.
Antonelli shook himself, as if he were throwing off a wrestling hold, and I knew my brief second
of opportunity was gone. ''Save it,'' he snapped. ''I'm not some wet-behind-the-ears trainee.
You can't con me.''
And then Lee Antonelli, one of the best natural Fire Wardens I had ever seen, declared war.
I'll give him credit; it was a strategic strike, not just a general firestorm. He formed a fireball and
lobbed it not at me, but at my car. Clearly, he did not understand my relationship with cars. He'd
have gotten off easier if he'd gone ahead and set my hair on fire. I'd have taken it less
personally.
I formed an invisible cricket bat of hardened air, swung, lined up, and hit a solid line drive,
sending the fireball right back into Antonelli's midsection. It hit him hard enough to drive him
against the body of the van, which rocked and creaked on its springs, and his muscle tee caught
fire. He glanced down, annoyed, and brushed a hand over it. The fire went out, but there was a
nice round hole with scorched edges baring his carefully developed abs. He'd had a tattoo put
around his navel-a woman's face, with the navel representing her open mouth. Classy.
''Bitch!'' he snarled.
''Repeating yourself already? We just started,'' I said. I didn't alter my stance, and I didn't go
after him. ''Walk away. Just get in your van and go. We'll all be happier.''
Only it wasn't going to happen. He was scared, and he clearly didn't think walking away from
this was an option. Instead, he pointed his finger at me, and from the tip of it blazed a pinpoint of
red light, hot as the sun. Coherent light, concentrated a thousand times stronger than the brightest
earth-based laser developed by men.
Air wouldn't slow it down. Neither would water, although it would bend the beam and eat up
some of its energy in steam. Both options were sure to fail, and I knew from experience that if he
could break my concentration, he could hurt me badly enough that I'd have a hard time
defending myself at all.
Instead of defense, I went for offense. I had to end this fast, before some innocent bystander
traipsed out of the diner and into the line of-literally-fire.
First, I summoned up a gale-force wind that slammed into his chest and pinned him against the
van. Then I took away his air.
It's damn hard to concentrate when you feel like you're suffocating. I started with the air going
in, filtering out the oxygen as he gasped. Then I focused on the oxygen inside Antonelli's
body-in his lungs, in his blood. I knew what I wanted to see, and it glowed bright blue for me.
I separated the hydrogen and oxygen atoms, took away an atom from the oxygen molecule, and
within seconds, he was shaking in desperation, nearly out. I let him continue to breathe, because
if anything it increased his panic, but I destroyed the oxygen before he could metabolize it.
There was a side effect of this, of course. Destruction creates energy, and I burned off the excess
in sharp blue sparks that danced on the antenna of the van, the metal rims of the wheels, even
Antonelli's showy belt buckle.
It felt as though I were killing him, in a cruel and inhumane way, and that was exactly what I
wanted him to feel. I wanted him to know that I wasn't going to give in, and I wasn't going to
screw around. If he wanted to play hardball, he was going to have to live through the opening
innings, and I'd taken the game to the professional level.
''Think about it,'' I said. ''I could just as easily put water in your lungs. Drowning on dry land.
Sound good to you, tough guy?''
Antonelli sank to his knees, eyes wide and desperate. I hadn't noticed before, but he had brown
eyes, big and somehow childlike despite all the 'roided-up muscles.
I felt oddly detached about what I was doing, but there was no way I was going to let go until I
sensed he was more afraid of me than of the theoretical bad guys.
''Jo.'' David's soft voice. His hand touched my shoulder. ''You don't have to kill him.''
''Maybe not,'' I said. ''But if he's one of them, it'd be a damn sight safer in the long run.''