I didn’t really see the danger; with the power we had at our disposal, a jail could hardly hold us—at least, not a jail the way normal, nongifted humans constructed them. Holding any kind of Warden was extremely difficult, but Earth Wardens were by far the worst. Jails were made of metal, of stone, of wood—materials worked from the Earth and connected to her by chains of history.
If he was not unconscious, or drugged, Luis could make short work of most locks and stone walls. So could
I, through him.
“You’re not worried about escaping,” I realized. He grunted.
“Thing is, I’m not exactly tops on the Good Citizen list. They’re going to come for me guns blazing, and there are a lot more of them than there are of us.” Interesting that he was now automatically classifying the two of us as facing adversity together. “Trust me, it’s better if we don’t get into a fight. Not that we can’t win it, but we shouldn’t have to try. People will get hurt.”
It wasn’t the nature of the Djinn to be so prudent, but I saw his point, and I nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
“Manny’s van is in the garage,” Luis said. “Get it started, I’ll get the kid. If you could tint the windows a little darker . . .”
Child’s play. I went to the garage and did as he asked, and before long, Luis appeared in the door of the garage with the slight burden of the child in his arms. I opened the back sliding door, and we settled the boy across the bench seat in the back, sleeping quietly and wrapped in a colorful blanket from Isabel’s closet. He looked even younger now than before, and much more helpless. I saw Luis touch his fingers gently to the boy’s forehead, both in gentle affirmation and to ensure the deep sleep continued uninterrupted. I took the passenger seat up front, and Luis closed the back and entered the driver’s side.
“You ready?” he asked. I shrugged. “Yeah, me neither. Here, take my phone. You make arrangements with the Wardens. Shoot for someplace halfway.”
He backed the van out of the garage and into the street. The day remained quiet and sunny, few people around to see us leave. Manny and Angela’s home—Luis’s home, now—looked small and abandoned, and it was quickly left behind us as we made the twists and turns to lead us to the freeway.
The Wardens’ central hotline connected me directly to Marion Bearheart. I knew her by reputation, as I knew most of the prominent Wardens; she had been well thought of by many of the Djinn, although that had never extended to me. She knew of me—that was certain—because I sensed the guarded tension in her low voice.
“We need a meeting place,” I told her, without introduction; there was no need, as she would have been brought up to date by her staff or by Luis in any case. “Halfway between Albuquerque and your team’s starting point. We can’t wait here.”
“You’re sure? Crossing state lines with that boy is a federal offense.”
“I’m fairly certain that we’ve already crossed that line,” I told her, “and in any case, if we stay we’re likely to be betrayed before they can reach us. We need to move.”
She didn’t argue the point, which was a pleasant surprise. “I’ll send the team to Las Vegas,” she said. “It’ll be about a six-hour drive from where you are, and they can get a short-hop flight. Go to the casino with the pyramid, and ask for Charles Ashworth. I’ll alert him that you’re coming.”
“He is a Warden?”
“Wardens are thin on the ground right now. He’s Ma’at.”
“And we can trust him?”
“In this, I believe you can.” I approved that she limited her trust. Most humans didn’t, to their great tragedy. “Call me when you arrive, or if there’s any trouble. How powerful is this boy?”
“Very,” I said. “Far too powerful for someone his age. He lacks control and focus, but in power I would rank him highly.” I paused for a moment, then said, “I believe you will have to remove his powers.”
“That’s a last resort.”
“I believe it will be necessary,” I repeated, and shut off the phone. Luis cast me a doubtful look.
“Las Vegas,” I told him. “I shall sleep now.”
I drifted into darkness, only a little bothered by the noise of the road and the memory of Luis’s hands moving on my skin.
When I woke up, it was because the car was skidding violently sideways, heading for an oncoming truck.
Chapter 3
“HOLD ON!” Luis shouted, and wrenched the wheel hard, trying to control our skid. The van jittered, wheels spinning, and finally straightened out. I blinked and grabbed the handle for security as gravity whipped us violently, and cast my senses out to see what had happened.
Ice. The road was covered with it, an impossibility in the current weather conditions. The air was warm, and there had been no freeze, no rain.
And yet the ice was at least an inch thick, slick as glass, and the van was not made for such conditions; its tires spun and slid, trying vainly for traction as our momentum sent us hurtling onward.
Likewise, the truck coming toward us was helpless, driven by its massive kinetic energy. The driver’s attempts to steer were creating torque, and the trailer connected to the truck was beginning to slide as well, out of line with the cab.
“Weather Warden,” I said. Luis nodded without taking his eyes off the oncoming truck. He looked tense, but unafraid. Timing his actions. With a deep breath, he held out one hand to me, and I took it, feeling the snap of energy between us—complex, deep, and growing intimate.
“Now,” he breathed, and sent power out in a tightly focused wave. It plowed through the metal of the tractor trailer, slicing it cleanly in two. The two halves spun away from each other, spiraling outward from the release of energy, and Luis arrowed the van directly into the gap.
As we passed the wounded truck, I glanced over and saw the mangled remains of some large household appliance, which had been sliced in two by Luis’s strike.
“Man, I am hell on insurance companies today,” he said, with a trembling manic edge to his voice that was not quite humor. “Hold on. Could get bumpy.”
The ice was already thinning, and a hundred feet on, it ended altogether. The tires bit into asphalt with an almost physical hiss, throwing us to the side.
Luis hit the gas and arrowed us onward. I looked back over my shoulder. The driver of the truck was out, duckwalking cautiously on the ice, shaking his head at the mess that had been made of his load. He probably did not understand in the least what had just happened, which was best for us all, I thought. We drove for a few tense moments.
Nothing else came at us.
“What do you think?” Luis asked. “You think she got ahead of us somehow? Set a trap? You sense anything else?”
“I didn’t sense that one,” I pointed out. “But somehow—I don’t think so. It must have come from . . .”
From the boy. I felt that conviction strike me hard, and quickly twisted over my shoulder.
The boy’s eyes were open, wide, and focused darkly on me.
I waited, but he didn’t blink. There was an emptiness in his gaze that chilled me.
“Pull over,” I said to Luis, as I unbuckled my seat belt. I climbed over the seats to land lightly next to the boy, who still lay bundled in his red-and-yellow blanket. He didn’t move, not even to shift his gaze to follow me.
There was a dry flatness to his eyes.
I pressed my fingertips to his neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. No spark of life responding to my touch at all.
The boy was empty.
Candelario was dead.
Luis bailed out of the driver’s side up front, slid the cargo door back and climbed inside the van. I sat back and watched as Luis performed the same search I had, but with more effort, more anxiety. He came to the same result, but he didn’t simply accept the fact; he pulled the boy down into the flat open space between the seats and began pressing rhythmically on the unresponsive chest, sharp downward pumps that mimicked the beating of a human heart.