Quintus nodded, but it was very slight. The glow in his eyes intensified, and I thought I saw a flicker go through him.
“Near the border,” I said. The flicker intensified. He didn’t nod this time. He couldn’t. I knew better than to try to push past that point; if it was a truly deep geas, he would attack to defend it.
I wouldn’t survive it.
“Don’t try to stop us,” I said. Quintus stirred, just a little.
“I’m not trying to stop you,” he said. “I’m trying to prepare you.”
“For what?”
Quintus’s presence was flickering like a dying flame. “For the war.”
“We’re running out of time,” I said. “Help us, Quintus. Try.Give me something!”
He did try. The flickering intensified, and the outlines of his form blurred and dissolved.
“To find the greatest, look for the least,” he blurted. He looked up sharply, toward the darkened ceiling, and screamed in rage and pain, a scream that dissolved into nothing. The candle flickered out again. I quickly relit it, but apart from a discolored burn on the carpet where Quintus had been floating, there was no trace that he’d ever existed.
He’d paid a price—that much was clear—even as little as he’d said. The war.But the war between Djinn and Wardens—that was over. Wasn’t it?
“It has to be,” I murmured.
But I was forced to admit that cut off as I was, orphaned from my own people, I could no longer be sure of anything.
To find the greatest, look for the least.
It was a clue, but I didn’t know what it meant. When I’d been a Djinn, I would have taken pleasure in such cryptic comments; I’d have relished the confusion it caused. But Quintus—Quintus had tried very hard to be very clear.
The geas had prevented it, and punished him.
Look for the least.The least what? The least . . .
The least population?
Colorado was a land of a few population centers, and much wilderness, but as I studied the maps and Manny’s computer, I thought I found the answer to the riddle.
HinsdaleCounty held only 790 people in more than 1,100 square miles, and had the fewest roads.
It was, I thought, not only a place to hide. . . . It was a fortress made for those who wanted to retreat from the world.
I blew out the candle and shook Luis awake. He flailed, trying to get loose from the cocoon he’d fashioned out of the quilt, all too aware that another attack could be coming at any second.
“I think I know where to go,” I told him. “Get ready. We have a long drive ahead.”
“Wait.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked very tired. “Tell me first.”
He heard me out, in the predawn silence, in the house his brother had once built a life inside. When I was done, Luis said, “No.”
“No?” I was surprised, to say the least. I’d thought he understood the urgency.
“We can’t drive to Colorado and be back in time for the funeral,” he said. “And I’m not letting Ibby down this time. And I’m not leaving her unprotected while we go off chasing ghosts.”
I hadn’t thought about that. Now that I had, the weight of it sat like glass in my stomach.
“You’re going to have to keep us both safe,” Luis said, “until we get Ibby some alternate protection.”
I don’t know what the look on my face was like, but if it was anything like the frustration that raced through my body, it was no wonder he seemed wary. “Humans,” I snapped. I felt energy crackle within me, and for a moment, being balked, I felt truly Djinn once again.
But I knew he was right, as well.
Chapter 10
THE DAMAGE TOLuis’s truck was relatively minor, all things considered—cosmetic damage to his meticulously maintained paint job, broken windows, dents. His body shop was run by a man who I thought, at first glance, was a Djinn, but I finally, uneasily, decided was human. His eyes were a very light amber, his skin a darker hue than Luis’s, and he had a very unsettling smile.
“Elvis?” Luis responded, when I asked about the man. “He’s okay. Hell of a wizard with cars, but not in the actual wizardsense or anything.”
Strange. Despite Luis’s assurances, I still didn’t trust the man. I waited next to my motorcycle while Luis settled his bills with the mysterious Elvis, and his truck was driven around from behind the square, rusting building. It looked as flamboyant as ever, with new glass glinting in the windows and a fresh paint job gleaming. Elvis had, it appeared, added some glitter to the yellow center of the flames licking down the sides of the truck.
Luis seemed pleased.
We drove from the repair shop, Luis leading and me following on the Victory, through winding streets and older neighborhoods until he pulled to a stop in the driveway of a plain, square house, finished to a shade of pale pink I liked very much. As Luis got out of the truck and I parked the Victory, the front door banged open, and a small rocket shot out toward us.
Isabel.
She leapt like a cat from the ground into Luis’s arms, and he staggered back against the truck. His reaction was exaggerated, but I was fairly certain that the staggering was not. Isabel had momentum on her side.
He buried his face in her long hair, settled her more comfortably in his arms, and then turned toward me. Isabel looked, as well, a pale flash of face, a blinding smile.
“Cassie!” she said. I walked toward them, and she held out her arms. I took her, not sure if it was a natural thing to do. Her weight felt awkward in my arms, nard but after a moment, it began to feel right as my body found its gravitational center again. She smelled of sweet things—flowers, from the shampoo that had cleaned her hair; syrup, from the pancakes she had been eating. It made her mouth sticky where she kissed me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“I’m glad to be back also,” I said. I didn’t correct her about my name, not this time. I studied her at close distance. “How do you feel, Isabel?”
She didn’t answer, but her eyes did—they swam with sadness and a child’s sudden tears.
“Grandma Sylvia’s been making me pancakes,” she said. “You want pancakes?”
“Little late for pancakes, kiddo,” Luis said, and reclaimed the child from my arms to toss her over his shoulder and head for the door. “Sylvia?” He knocked on the door, and a shadow moved inside. A graying older woman opened the screen and smiled at him—a trembling sort of welcome, and there was a terrible distance in her eyes. She looked like Angela, and she had to stand on tiptoe to kiss Luis’s cheek. Her gaze went past him, to me, and her eyes widened.
“That’s Cassie,” Ibby said proudly, and pointed at me. “Grandma Sylvia, that’s Cassie! She’s my friend. I told you about her.”
“Cassiel,” I said, to be sure there was no mistake. “I prefer to be called Cassiel.”
Sylvia hesitated, then stepped aside to let me enter. She made sure to give me plenty of space to pass, as if she didn’t want to take the risk of brushing against me.
Did I look as forbidding as all that? Or only different?
The front room was a small, dusty parlor filled with old furniture and black-and-white photographs. One had been set out alone on the lace-draped table—Angela, only a few years older than Isabel, wearing a white dress and carrying flowers. There were fresh white roses in a vase on the table next to the photograph, and an ornate religious symbol—a crucifix.
“My daughter,” Sylvia said, and nodded at the table. “Angela.”
“I know. I knew her,” I said.
“Did you.” She studied me, and there was a deep mistrust in her expression. “I never saw you around before. I’d remember.”
I wondered how much she knew about the Wardens, about what Manny and Luis did. I wondered if she knew about the Djinn, and if so, if she knew about the dangers we represented.
Whatever the case, she clearly wasn’t prepared to trust me.
“She was Manny’s business partner, Sylvia,” Luis said. He let Isabel slide down to her feet. She clung to his leg for a few seconds, then ran off into the kitchen. It seemed impossible that something so small could have such heavy footsteps. “Cassiel’s a friend.”