for the same long-term status that Jonathan had held.
It made David vulnerable in ways I could only dimly imagine.
''What are you thinking about?'' David asked. His eyes were closed, and his head was back
against the cushion.
''Whether I want purple roses or yellow ones. I think purple might be a nice touch for the
wedding bouquet.''
''That's not what you were thinking about.''
''How do you know?''
He smiled, but didn't open his eyes. ''Because I know when you're happy, and you're not.
Thinking about wedding bouquets is something you do when you're happy.''
''You make me happy,'' I said, and that wasn't at all a lie. I took his hand in mine. ''And that's
all that counts.''
He lifted my fingers to his lips and pressed a warm kiss against them. ''Yes,'' he said. ''It is.''
Chapter Seven
The rest of the drive was full of the normal annoyances of traffic, construction, and generally
idiotic behavior by other motor vehicle operators. David didn't have to ward off any supernatural
assaults, and all that the day required of me was moderately offensive driving to avoid the
unexpected lane changes and people failing to check their blind spots.
We rolled into the Warden parking garage, checked through the extensive security procedures,
and got our passes for the headquarters floor. It had been remodeled, again; somebody had
kindly seen to taking my name off the Memorial Wall, where they'd hastily had it added when
I'd been thought to be dead. That was what I thought, anyway, but then I looked closer. They'd
really just put some kind of filler into the engraving, a clear indication that they expected me to
get clobbered at any time. This way, they could rinse it out and voila, I'd be memorialized all
over again. At a bargain.
I cannot even begin to say how much that bugged me, but I bit my lip and smiled when I noticed,
and ignored David's slightly alarmed look. He was picking up vibrations, all right, and I tried
hard to keep myself under better control.
Lewis was waiting for us in the big round conference room, the main one, and there was a crowd
with him. Most of them I knew by sight, and some I counted as closer friends. There wasn't a
single unfriendly face, which was something of a relief.
Unless you counted Kevin.
Kevin Prentiss was seated at the table like an equal member of the war council, and next to him
sat Cherise. My best friend wasn't a Warden; she was way cool of course, but controlling the
elements wasn't her bag. So I had to wonder what she was doing in such a high-powered inner
circle.
She caught my look, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged. ''Don't ask me,'' she said. ''Lewis
wanted everybody here. Kevin was with me, and he said I could come along.'' The subtext was
that nobody had wanted to piss Kevin off by demanding his ride-along girlfriend step outside. He
was maturing, but I suspected he'd always have more than a little of that sullen, aggressive
attitude he was known for. He was at that startling age when the changes come fast and furious;
his weedy physique was filling out, developing into a fairly impressive chest under that battered
black T-shirt. He avoided my eyes, but then, he always did. We had shared some very
unpleasant, even embarrassing moments, and neither of us wanted to get too cozy. It had been a
big step for him to spend time with Cherise (and coincidentally with me) on the roof of the
hospital; he'd made up for it by ignoring me the rest of the day. I'd returned the favor.
Kevin was here because he was a seriously talented young man. Not trained, not restrained, but .
. . talented.
And maybe he cared about me. A little.
I was surprised to recognize that there was a Djinn in the room as well. She sat in the far corner
of the room, long, elegant legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, displaying lethally
gorgeous shoes. I hadn't seen Rahel since the earthquake in Fort Lauderdale, so it struck me how
much better she was looking these days. She'd taken a beating at the hands of a Demon, not too
long ago; for a while, we'd been worried she wouldn't recover.
When she turned her head slightly, I could see the scars on the right side of her sharp-featured
face– etched grooves, as if she'd been clawed. I nodded to her. She inclined her head, and her
thousands of tiny black braids slithered over her shoulders with a dark rustling sound like old
paper on stone.
She was sticking with purple again for her outfit. It looked good on her.
Lewis got me and David seated at the table, and didn't waste any more time. He hit a control
inset in the table, and a projector beamed a picture onto a screen at the far end of the room. It
was grainy surveillance video, and it took me a few seconds to recognize that it was my parking
lot, in front of my apartment. I started to ask what was going on, but then I got my answer . . . a
delivery person got out of a dark-colored panel van and jogged up the steps toward the second
floor. Lewis froze the picture. ''Ring any bells?'' he asked me. I studied the face of the man on
the screen, but it was an awful picture. I shook my head. Lewis released the freeze frame, and I
watched the deliveryman disappear into the hallway with a familiar-looking box in his hands.
When he came back ten seconds later, no box. Surveillance showed him getting into his van and
driving away. It was the kind of thing that happened a dozen times a day at any apartment
complex, nothing that would alert anyone to potential trouble. ''License plates?'' I asked.
''Covered with mud,'' said one of the Power Rangers down the table-Sasha, his name was, a
nice-looking guy with a ready smile. I called him a Power Ranger because he worked with
Marion Bearheart, and was part of the unofficial police force of the Wardens. When someone
broke the codes, Sasha and those like him took it on. I didn't much care for the system-it
bothered me to have so much power in the hands of so few-but most of them were honest.
More of them were honest than the rank and file of the Wardens, to be fair. ''We've been in
contact with every delivery service. None of them had drop-offs at your apartment that day.''
''Which leaves us with . . . ?'' Lewis asked. For reply, Sasha appropriated the controls, bringing
up another video on the screen. This one was better defined, but at an odd angle. One of the
traffic cameras, maybe.
''We tracked the delivery van back, but we lost it in the warehouse district. They were damn
careful. It took hours to trace them this far, but I don't think we'll get much farther, not with
these methods. If they're smart-and I think they are-they'd have had Earth Wardens ready to
reduce the entire truck to slag and spare parts in a few minutes.'' Sasha blanked the screen. ''If I
had to guess, I'd say we ought to be looking for warehouses rented out in the last two months.''
''Put somebody on it,'' Lewis said.
Sasha folded his arms and sat back with a cocky smile. ''Already done.''
Lewis turned his attention to another Earth Warden, young but sharp. Heather something or
other; I'd heard good things. ''What about the package itself?'' Lewis asked her.
Heather ducked her head shyly and studied her interlaced fingers. ''Still analyzing,'' she said, so
softly I could hardly hear her. ''But there is definitely a high decay rate to what's inside. It's
dangerous, most certainly.''
''But not a bomb.''