''Ready?'' Lewis asked me. I nodded. I still wished I could live a normal life, have what I
wanted, be at peace. I should have taken all of my vacation. I was just now starting to see the
wisdom of waiting for trouble, instead of courting it. ''Can you get David to help at all?''
I shook my head. ''No. He's-staying away.''
Lewis looked very, very grim. ''You mean, he's walled himself off on the aetheric. The way
Jonathan used to do.''
''I can't be sure. He's not giving me anything back about where he is, but it would make sense.''
David could save himself, and his people, by shutting himself off like that for as long as
necessary. Ages, if need be.
Lewis pulled in breath to say something, then decided that discretion was the better part of valor;
he held up his hands and walked away to confer with the others.
He didn't have to say it. I'd already figured out that if David had really withdrawn into his
stronghold on the aetheric, I might never see him again.
Not even to say good-bye.
To say that there was a military operation at work on the beach when we arrived was an
understatement. One handy thing about the Wardens coming out in public was that we no longer
had to make do with covert ops-style equipment. No, this time we had cops, FBI, air
surveillance, coast guard boats . . . everything but the dancing bear and big top.
I was pretty sure that none of it was going to mean a damn thing to Bad Bob, in the end. Mortal
firepower was beyond insignificant to him, except as an inconvenience, and with the Djinn off
the board, we had very little left to counter him.
Just me, the battered and damaged white queen, with a little fleck of black to betray her true
allegiances.
Lewis and I sat in a surveillance van, the tricked-out kind, watching monitors in all different
spectrums. There was no movement from the beach house. SWAT teams had gone into position,
stealthily moving from cover to cover inside the overgrown estate grounds. It wouldn't help
them. Bad Bob knew they were there; he had to know. He probably just didn't damn well care.
Humans weren't his thing, and in fact they mattered very little to him except as window
dressing.
''Nothing on any of the monitors or sensors,'' one of the Wardens reported. ''Maybe he's not
there.''
''He's there,'' I said. I was watching the house itself. I couldn't sense or see anything, and I had
absolutely no basis for believing what I'd said, but somehow, I knew. I just knew. ''He's got
ways to conceal himself. Probably using Rahel.''
''We need physical recon,'' Lewis said.
''I think that's my cue.'' I didn't wait for them to approve; I didn't wait for the protests. I just
jumped down onto the road and walked up to the gates. I looked up at the perimeter camera, and
felt Bad Bob's smile like a fetid ghost all around me.
''Jo, wait!'' That was Lewis, trying to order me back.
''For what?'' I asked him, and he had absolutely no answer to that. I read it in his eyes, though.
He wanted me to say something, anything, to make this easier. But I didn't have it, and neither
did he.
So I went on.
The gates creaked open, and I walked alone, shadowed by the SWAT commandos and FBI
tactical units, up the winding path. I remembered walking it with David, in happier times; Ortega
was still alive then, still delighting in all his lovely things. I hadn't feared Bad Bob, except as a
ghost safely sealed in my memories.
The night was cool, and there were clouds blowing up at the horizon. A natural front, nothing
sinister about it. Overhead, the stars were chips of ice, sharp enough to cut.
If I'd been walking with my lover, with my husband, it would have been magical. I love you, I
whispered to him, along the bond between us. I will always love you. I'm sorry.
I felt nothing in response.
I walked up the steps, moving steadily and without hesitation. I reached for the knob, and opened
the front door. It was unlocked. I'd known it would be.
Bad Bob was sitting in a leather wing chair next to the fireplace, feet up, puffing on a cigar. He
had a bottle of liquor next to him-scotch, this time. He raised the bottle, and I levitated it to me.
The taste of liquid gold burned the roof of my mouth, then poured down my throat and started a
sickening burn in the cold pit of my stomach.
''It's not poisoned,'' I noted, and sent it back. He caught it effortlessly out of the air and chugged
a few mouthfuls, then put it aside.
''Wouldn't waste good scotch. Or good poison,'' he said. ''Wouldn't kill you, anyway, would it?
Nothing kills you. Goddamn cockroach, you are. You'll survive a nuclear winter.''
''Look who's talking,'' I said. I sat down on the edge of the couch across from him. There were
a few lights burning, not many, and the whole effect was ghostly. Outside the windows, the
beach was dark, the water slick and almost flat-a calm sea. ''You've been dead a few times, I
hear.''
He chuckled. ''Hurricane Andrew should've killed me,'' he said. ''Came damn close, actually.
But there was always just one more damn challenge, one more thing to do. One more life to save.
You know how it is.''
''That's your story? That you were in the business of saving lives?'' I leaned back and folded my
arms. ''Oh, come on.''
''I'll put my scores up against anybody's. Including yours.''
''You killed people!''
''How many collateral goddamn damages have you had over the past few years, girl? What the
fuck makes you the hero of the story? No, more to the point: What makes me the villain?''
I stared at him, not exactly sure what he was doing. I'd come here intending to make him kill me,
or to destroy him in the process, if that was possible; to wound him badly enough that Lewis
could finish him off. I hadn't expected him to be so damn defensive about, of all things, his
record as a good guy.
''Your hands aren't clean,'' he pointed out. ''Hell, you've stood by and let people die, if nothing
else. How come I'm the bad guy?''
''Because-'' I ground my teeth together. ''Because nobody ever became evil overnight.
Because the bad guys don't see what they do as evil; they see it as their own personal good.
Sound familiar?''
He took another slug, straight from the bottle. ''Joanne Baldwin, big-time hero. If I hadn't given
you that Demon Mark, you'd still be paddling around the shallow-personality pool, wondering if
you could destroy a tornado fast enough to make the shoe sale at Macy's. Not good, not evil. Not
anything.''
''I don't understand.''
''Yes, you do.'' He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. ''I've made
you strong. I'm going to make you stronger. Stronger than any goddamn Warden in history. And
I'm going to do that by changing the whole ecosystem of the planet– by destroying the Djinn.
Makes humans the real apex predators of this little ball of rock. And I'm putting you in charge of
it.''
It hit me what he was trying to say. ''You-you think this is a good thing for me. For the
Wardens.''
''I don't give a shit if it's good or bad. It's what's necessary. I always do what's necessary.''
Bob's grin flashed. ''Sometimes that's also fun, though.''
I didn't want to hear any more. Outside the windows, the seas began to chop as the wind moved
faster, as temperatures shifted and swirled. He was playing with the weather. Taunting us.
Sending temperatures into a downward spiral out near Cuba, creating an imbalance that would