couldn't see his features, but I could see where he was, in the instant before he cut off his attack
and disappeared into the boiling mass of confusion stirred up by the attack like the smoke in the
apartment.
I'd won.
I pitched forward to my hands and knees, gasping in thick, tainted breaths, coughing and
wheezing. My mouth was full of blood, and my coughs brought up more of it. I was
hemorrhaging from my lungs, too weak to save myself, too weak to control the fire taking hold
around me, or cleanse the air I was breathing. No. You can't die now. You won!
Winning isn't everything. You need to have something left, in the end, to move on. This was the
very definition of a Pyrrhic victory.
I realized that I was staring at David, still on his knees, held pinned and helpless by Ashan. His
face was the color of ashes, and his eyes an unholy, almost demonic red, consumed with pain
and pent-up fury.
''She survived,'' Ashan said, and I heard a note of pure surprise in his voice. I felt a surge of
power move through the apartment. The siren cut off; the air turned sweet again. No more
sparks. Before my watering eyes, the curtain knitted itself into its original unburned form, and
the carpet healed itself.
That wasn't David's doing. I could tell that he was blocked by Ashan here, completely cut off.
Helpless. The bodyguards wouldn't have dared take that kind of initiative, which left only the
last person I'd have ever expected to do me a kindness.
Ashan was staring at me with half-closed, thoughtful eyes. I couldn't read his expression. I was
too tired to even try.
''Go on and finish me off,'' I said hoarsely. ''I can't stop you.''
''I know,'' he said. It was the first time I'd heard him speak with such a level tone, no trace of
hate or contempt. ''You fought well. Almost like a Djinn. But you're not a Djinn anymore, and
you never will be again.'' After another pause, I thought I heard him say, very quietly, ''Pity.''
He let David go and stepped back. David didn't hesitate. Ashan ceased to exist for him the
instant the barriers fell, and he lunged to me and gathered me in his arms. I felt healing power
cascade through me in burning, almost painful urgency, and I shuddered and buried my face
against his neck.
''Jo?'' He whispered it with his lips against my skin. His hands were everywhere on me, frantic,
protective. ''I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.''
I felt tears welling up, and whether they were shock or relief or the delayed effects of fear, I
couldn't tell. I didn't have any defenses left, not even against myself. I wanted to lie down on my
side, curl up, and weep myself into unconsciousness in his embrace, but instead, I lifted my
head-which felt as if it weighed about a hundred pounds-and focused on Ashan. His
expression was closed and still, but I thought I saw something in it that hadn't been there before.
''It was necessary, you know,'' he said. ''Necessary you stop before it's too late.'' Which wasn't
an apology, but the fact that he felt compelled to explain himself was an enormous change.
David growled, deep in his throat, and I stilled him with a hand on his cheek, still looking at
Ashan.
''Thank you. I won't expect it again,'' I said. I saw a flash in his cool eyes, and he bent his head
a fraction of an inch.
And then he misted away, and his bodyguards followed, giving me a range of stares from
curiosity to anger.
One faded in. Venna, still in black. I curled closer to David, taking comfort in the heat of his
body, the strength of his embrace. I was shaking all over, and couldn't seem to stop. It wasn't
just physical injury. I'd come close, so desperately close-in some indefinable way, I felt more
fragile now than I ever had, despite the fact that I'd won.
I wouldn't have wanted to show so much vulnerability to Ashan, but it was different with Venna.
She'd seen me crying, filthy, beaten, broken. She'd never made judgments, not in the way that
Ashan would.
I felt the soft touch of her hand stroking my hair.
''You had to win alone,'' Venna said. ''I am sorry. I couldn't help. It was a human matter, not
for the Djinn.''
I gulped air and nodded. David wasn't so understanding. He let out that low, vicious growl
again, and Venna sat back on her heels, clearly taking the warning very seriously. I couldn't tell
if it angered her, but I doubted it. She seemed to understand his desperation.
She studied the two of us with a sorrowful and composed expression, like a graveyard angel.
''Your enemies are much worse than you are. You should be prepared for the fight.''
I croaked, ''Who? Who are they?''
''You know,'' she said, and stood up. ''You knew before, and you will again. You saw him. You
just won't allow yourself to see.''
I reached out and grabbed her hand. She looked down, frowning a little, and pulled free without
any difficulty-but she did it gently. ''I hope you survive. And I hope-I hope you are happy.''
I laughed hollowly. ''I hope so, too. I don't suppose we can count on you for a little help along
those lines?''
Venna raised her eyebrows. ''What do you expect?''
Nothing, I supposed.
Which was, as Venna performed her dramatic Djinn exit, exactly what we got.
David picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. I might have passed out for a while; when
I woke, I was naked, and the two of us were in the bathtub, stretched out and facing each other.
He was gently sluicing hot water over my chest, and when he saw I was awake, he switched to a
washcloth, which he used to sponge blood from my face and mouth. There was a lot of it, which
was alarming in a distant sort of way. I was too weak to really feel panic.
He pressed his lips to my forehead.
''I'm sorry,'' he whispered. ''I'm sorry I left you. I won't leave you again.''
''Not even for-''
''No. Not even for the Mother.''
It had the feeling not of seduction, but of ritual, and the heat of the water eased something cold
and small and terrified inside of me. We stayed in the bath until I felt sleep overtaking me, and
then he carried me to bed, where I fell into a black, dreamless pit.
Sleep wasn't without its horrors. I woke a few times feeling phantom fingers scrabbling for my
heart, but it wasn't an attack, just raw unfiltered panic. David was there to drive it away. Hush,
he told me, and soothed the fear with gentle strokes of his fingers. I won't leave you. You are
safe in my arms.
When the phone rang, he answered, and I drifted back to a dark, quiet sleep for the rest of the
night.
In the morning, I woke up stronger than I'd felt through the night-though that really wasn't
much of an improvement, since I'd started from a baseline of near death. I found out from David,
who was up bright and early fixing coffee and eggs, that the phone call had been from Lewis.
The aetheric dust-up had been witnessed by hundreds of Wardens, though nobody could tell
what had been going on or who had been the target. Lewis had decided to check in, just in case.
A team of Wardens had been put on smoothing out the effects of the fight, which was good,
because it was well beyond me. Sitting up for more than an hour was beyond me.
David poured me a cup of coffee and slid into the chair beside me. ''How do you feel?'' he
asked.
''Like I survived. Barely,'' I said. ''You want the truth? I feel fragile. And glad to be alive.'' I
sipped without really tasting the nutty brown richness, though the smell of the coffee warmed