“I heard he applied for a transfer. I tried to get him, but they tell me we’re already fully staffed in this region. He’ll probably go to Colorado.” Scott’s muddy gaze narrowed. “Too bad. He’s got real skills. We could use him.”
“So could Colorado,” Greta said sharply. “Enough. Manny, Cassiel, thank you for your patience. We’ll leave you to it.”
“Oh,” Scott said, and snapped his fingers. “Did you get a report in the mail? Something that should have gone to the Colorado office, maybe?”
There was something odd about the way he broached the subject—too quick, with too ingratiating a smile. Before Manny could answer, I said, “I have filed the papers. I saw nothing like that.”
Manny cut a sharp glance at me, but he followed my lead and stayed quiet.
“Okay,” Scott said. He stared at me for a few seconds. “Well. If it arrives, just let me know.”
Greta rose. Scott seemed reluctant to leave, but he had little choice; she was clearly the senior in the team, and once her course was set, she did not seem the type to be balked. She shook Manny’s hand, then—after a slight hesitation—mine. I wondered what she had been told.
Perhaps she’d been told the truth. In that case, no wonder she had hesitated. I was careful to keep the brief contact impersonal, merely surface, and saw a flash of relief in her eyes.
I wasn’t so careful with Scott. He pulled free quickly, wiping his hand against his trousers. I had not made a friend.
I hadn’t intended to.
“Manny Rocha is a good Warden,” I said. “Don’t try to imply otherwise.”
I kept my stare on Scott until the door closed between us with a final, soft click.
“You shouldn’t antagonize him,” Manny said.
“You shouldn’t placate him.” I turned back to reach for the folders on the desk.
“What was all that about? Why’d you lie to him? We’ve got a folder of stuff for Colorado, right?”
“I don’t know,” I said softly. I transferred my gaze back to the closed door and frowned. “I don’t know.”
Manny yawned. “Screw it. We’ll look at it tomorrow. It’s probably nothing we need to worry about, anyway. I don’t know about you, but getting interrogated by the boss makes me tired.”
It made me tired, too, and I allowed him to draw me out of the office and deliver me home.
Djinn do not sleep, unless they take human form. Perhaps that’s one of the lures for us, that brief period of oblivion . . . and dreams. Dreams of things beyond our control.
I had never dreamed before, but that night, alone in darkness, I dreamed of Luis Rocha. In my dream he was both the same and different; more and less. A Djinn, not a Warden. His core was bright, burning power, and the tattoos licking his arms were real flames barely contained by their ink outlines. He was a beautiful, wild thing, and in the dream—in the dream—I was drawn to him, like water to the sky. His heat melted the ice within me. I knew nothing of bodies, but the dream was of flesh and need and fire, and when I woke I was trembling, aching, and echoing with the aftershocks of pleasure.
I had not dreamed of Manny. I had dreamed of his brother.
This seemed oddly significant to me.
I said nothing of the dream to Manny when he came to get me the next morning, to take me to the office. I felt uncomfortable in my skin, acutely aware of the flesh enclosing me. I had always considered it to be a tool, a shell, but the dream had given me new understanding. Human souls were partnered with bodies, and at times, it seemed, sensation drove reason.
I was not sure I liked it.
Seeing Luis waiting in the office hallway was a not unpleasant shock, a throwback to the dream that sent hot waves of sensation from the soles of my feet through the top of my head. I averted my eyes from him, eager to keep any hint of what was in my mind from him.
“Something wrong?” Manny asked me as he unlocked the door. I shook my head, pale hair lashing my face. “Yeah, obviously not. Poker face, Cassiel, look it up. . . . Hey, bro. What’s up? Isn’t this a little bit early for you?”
There was a brief pause, and I saw Luis shift his weight from a casual posture to something more—cautious. “You didn’t leave a message?”
“Leave what message?”
“To meet you here at the office.”
Manny turned the knob and opened the door. “Like I’d want to see your ugly face first thing in the morning. No, man, I—”
I felt it first, a fraction of a second before either of the Wardens. I shoved Manny into his brother, to one side of the door, and spun in the opposite direction.
Fire exploded out of the open office in a white-hot jet, rolling like lava to boil against the opposite wall, which immediately blistered, cooked, and began to burn. On the other side of the wall of flame, I saw Manny and Luis scrambling backward. Safe, for the moment.
I was not. By turning the other direction I had saved my flesh, but now I was trapped in an alcove at the end of the hallway, a shallow box with no way out. The air rippled with heat, and smoke began pouring from the flaming walls and ceiling—black and thick in my mouth and nose. My eyes stung and watered, and I found myself pressed back against the farthest wall, gasping in shallow, choking breaths.
I needed to get control of it, but the fire—fire terrified me in ways I had never imagined. It was an instinct erupting from the roots of my body, an atavistic need to retreat from the flames.
I am Djinn. I am born of fire. It can’t hurt me.
But it could now, and my flesh knew that all too well. I struggled to control my reactions. I had power; all I needed to do was apply it.
But the power was rooted in Earth, and fire responded little to my feeble attempts.
A shape emerged from the flames—human-formed but made of fire, and that cooled into the dull red of molten metal.
A Djinn.
It looked at me for a long moment, then reached out to me. When I hesitated, it cocked its head to one side, plainly impatient.
I reached out, and my fragile human hand grasped his.
There was no sense of burning.
He pulled me into the fire, and I was surrounded by the flames, enveloped and caressed by them. It was like being a Djinn again, for a brief and euphoric second.
Then I felt a shove and I stumbled on, into air that felt ice-cold after the heat of the blaze. The air was thick with toxic smoke. I reached out and felt the solid surface of a wall. I followed it, coughing and choking, until I ran into a warm body and human hands gripped my shoulders.
“I’ve got her!” I recognized the voice, even smoke roughened. Luis Rocha. “Cassiel. Come on!”
A shadow charged toward us—Manny. He took my other arm and together the brothers towed me out of the smoke, to clearer air.
The office building was a chaos of people running, yelling, talking on cell phones. People carried computers, purses, files. One man had an equipment dolly with a file cabinet, though how he imagined he would get it down the stairs was a mystery.
“Fire Wardens are responding,” Manny said, and coughed. His mouth and nose were black with soot, and his eyes were bloodshot. I imagined I looked no better. Luis bent over, hacking and choking, and spat out black.
“There they go,” Luis said, and sank down against a wall to a crouch as we felt the power of the Wardens sweep past us in a cool wave. The smoke lessened, and I heard the roar of the fire subside to a dull mutter. “Fuck. What the hell was that? Who the fuck did you piss off, Manny?”
“Me? Somebody told you to be here, remember? Maybe they’re not after me!”
They glared at each other, red-eyed and belligerent. I had never seen the blood relationship between them so clearly.
I cleared my throat and tasted ash. “You’re angry because you’re afraid,” I said. “So you should be. Someone wanted to kill us, or at least cared nothing of killing all of us so long as they achieved their goal. Someone capable of igniting fire on a massive scale, which means a Warden—”