''Cops want to talk to you.''
David took my arm, a sweet gentlemanly gesture that didn't exactly fool me. He walked me in
the direction of the Mustang, which was currently an awkward bastard stepchild of a convertible,
what with all the glass scattered in glittering square pieces on the ground. ''I don't want to talk to
them,'' he said. He opened the driver's-side door. ''I'll let you drive.''
''Bribery, pure and simple. You're bribing me to do something illegal.''
''What's illegal about it? It's your car. You already talked to the police. You're not guilty of
anything.''
Well, he did have a point. But I still felt uneasy, driving away under the noses of cops and
television cameras. ''We'll be seen,'' I said, and nodded toward the news crews. David didn't
bother to glance their way.
''We won't.'' Only a Djinn could sound that confident. Or arrogant. I supposed if I didn't love
him so much it would have been just a shade more on the arrogant side. ''If we get entangled
here, more lives are at risk. We need to be moving, Jo.''
Djinn were nothing if not ruthlessly logical. And they weren't above hitting the pressure points,
even on those they cared about.
I silently got behind the wheel of the Mustang. It started up with a low rumble. Nobody looked
in our direction. ''Repairs,'' I reminded David. The broken remains of our windshields and
windows rose up in a glittering curtain from the pavement, liquefied into a pool in each open
area, and then solidified into clean, clear safety glass. I checked that the driver's-side window
rolled down, and it functioned perfectly.
''I'm disappointed in you,'' David said. ''You believe I'd do it wrong?''
''I think that you have enough to think about already, '' I said. ''His van's still in the way.''
Moving a working crime scene would have been a puzzle even to one of the most powerful
Djinn on Earth, but David was a lateral thinker; he didn't bother to move the van, or the cops, or
anyone else.
''Hold on,'' he said, and our car lurched slightly and then began to float above the road. It rose at
a steady pace, carefully level, then moved forward over the gabled roof of the diner. Nobody
looked up to follow our progress. I held on to the wheel in a white-knuckled death grip; flying
had never been my favorite method of transportation, and far less so when the vehicle wasn't
actually designed for flight. Shades of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
''What are they seeing?'' I asked. My voice was a half octave higher than I wanted it to be.
''Nothing of any significance. To them, the car hasn't moved from where it's parked. They see
the two of us standing at the phone booth. Oh, and a flock of birds overhead, just in case
someone has some rudimentary sense of the aetheric.'' Some people did; the ones with a strong
sense of it generally put out shingles as psychics or became wildly successful investors or
gamblers. If they had more than that, they probably would have ended up in the Ma'at, where
they were taught to combine their powers with colleagues, and work in concert, if their abilities
weren't enough to qualify them as Wardens.
I had to rely wholly on David to keep me off the Warden radar. I would remain mostly difficult
to find until I had to draw on my powers, but at that moment, I'd light up the aetheric like a
spotlight in a cave.
My brain was babbling to distract itself from the impossibility of a ton of metal hanging in
midair, gliding at an angle away from the diner and toward a very busy road. ''Landing will be
tricky,'' David said. ''Are you ready? When we touch down, you'll have to really accelerate to
make the merge.''
Great. Now freeway merging was taking on a whole new dimension of complexity. I nodded,
and got ready to put my foot down and shift as David brought the car in at a gliding angle,
moving us faster and faster as the road blurred on approach. . . . It was like landing a jet, only
way scarier, from my point of view.
The tires hit pavement with a lurch, and I instantly clutched, shifted, and accelerated, leaving a
rubber scratch where we'd hit. The Mustang bounced but recovered nicely, and when I checked
the rearview mirror, the car behind us was still a few feet away. Not quite heart-attack distance,
at least not on my end. I could only imagine that on the other driver's end, having a car just
appear in front of him might have been . . . unsettling. Maybe when people said he came out of
nowhere after an accident, they really were telling the truth.
I got the inevitable honk and New Jersey salute, returned the favor, and settled into the drive.
David relaxed-but not all the way. I could translate his body language pretty well, and he was
still tense. Trying hard not to let me know it, but tense.
''You're starting to believe me,'' I said, ''that things aren't quite as straightforward as they
seemed.''
''They never are with you. I've always taken you seriously,'' he said. ''But now I'm taking your
enemies seriously as well.''
Not a good sign for them, and that cheered me up as much as the food back at the diner. I was
tired, and achy from the stress and the drive, but there was something restful and strangely
comforting about having the wheel beneath my hands and my feet on the pedals. And David at
my side, which happened far less than I'd always craved. Which reminded me . . . ''You're
hanging around,'' I said. ''Do Djinn get vacations from the day job?''
''Since I'm the boss, I can take vacation whenever I want,'' he said, and took off his glasses to
needlessly polish them. It was so cute that Djinn had poker tells, just like humans; I knew
instantly that he was fibbing. ''I can take the time.''
David's job wasn't exactly low-key. He served as the Conduit for half of the Djinn, a link
between them and the raw power of Mother Earth. Without that link, the Djinn were reliant on
Wardens and their relatively feeble draw of power from the aetheric. His job was different from
that of the Oracles, but even more crucial, and it didn't have time off.
The Djinn didn't like being reliant on humans. Ever. I supposed that if I'd been one of them,
ancient beings who'd been forced into the worst kind of slavery imaginable for centuries at a
time, I wouldn't be all that fond of relying on others, either.
What else David did besides managing that power flow for his people, though, was a mystery to
me. I knew he had to leave me on a fairly frequent basis to attend to business; I knew some of
that business had to do with Djinn stepping out of line and needing correction. In a sense, David
had become the court of last supernatural resort, a role I instinctively knew he didn't want and
wasn't comfortable in playing. His friend Jonathan had been a great leader, one who'd held the
Djinn together despite all the infighting for thousands of years; he'd had a certain ruthless
wisdom that everyone respected.
David, however, was crippled by two things: One, he wasn't Jonathan; two, he had me to worry
about. I was his Achilles' heel, at least when it came to his fellow elementals. Most of them
didn't understand why he spent so much time in human form, and they'd never understand why
he had offered marriage to a mere bug like me. They'd forgive him for it, those who liked him;
after all, pledging to stay at my side would only last a human lifetime, barely a blink to the
Djinn.
But it was a worry. He'd become kind of a Crazy Cat Lady among the elementals, far too
attached to humanity for his own good. It was a sign, faint but definite, that he wasn't destined