Gale Force (32 page)

Whatever problems came about, they wouldn’t be rain-related.

I’ll skip the rest of the rituals. By four o’clock, I was laced into the dress, staring at myself in the floor-length mirror of the Palms penthouse, balanced on shoes rushed to us from one of the most exclusive boutiques.

I was seeing a stranger. My hair was up, piled in loose, sexy, complicated layers, secured with diamond pins and a veil as soft as fog. My face was my own, only perfected with expert cosmetics. The dress was, as I’d thought, exactly right.

My eyes were the only things that gave the lie to the whole illusion. They were wide, dark blue, starkly terrified.

Cherise squeezed my hand and stood next to me, sharing mirror time. She looked absolutely, deliciously adorable. ‘‘You should see Lewis,’’ she said. ‘‘That man was born for formal wear. I’d totally be all over him, except he’s way too tall. I have a fear of heights.’’

‘‘Thank you,’’ I said.

‘‘For complimenting Lewis? Trust me, that’s a freebie.’’

‘‘No, for—for all this. For keeping me sane. I couldn’t—’’ My hands were shaking again. I closed my eyes and concentrated on calm. ‘‘Whatever happens, thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. I love you.’’

‘‘Love you too, sweetie, but I’m not marrying you.’’ Cherise cocked a perfect eyebrow. ‘‘You notice I didn’t mention what David looked like.’’

No, she hadn’t. That wasn’t exactly like her.

‘‘You’ll see,’’ she said smugly.

There was a discreet knock on the door, and one of the incredibly intimidating security gentlemen stuck his head in to nod at Cherise.

Time to go.

‘‘I don’t think we should do this,’’ I said.

But I let her lead me out, anyway.

I was taken through deserted hallways, feeling more and more isolated and surreal with every moment. Was this how most brides felt, or only those with targets painted on their chests? Hard to say. I just tried to swallow the growing, acrid lump of dread in my throat, and followed the confident shimmy of Cherise’s stride.

Holding open doors, hotel staff smiled at me as I passed. I had no idea where we were going, so it was a surprise when the last set of doors opened on blinding sunlight. The strains of a highly accomplished string quartet—good enough to overcome the barrier of surf noise, conversation, and humidity’s effect on wood and strings—hung luminously in the air. It was an absolutely perfect day. The sky was a breathtaking ceramic blue, washed clean of all imperfections.

I felt so much dread that I was afraid my knees would collapse underneath me.
They’ll hit us. They can’t
not
hit us.
And there were so many people to protect. So many people I couldn’t swear wouldn’t be hurt in this.

Cherise squeezed my hand one last time and said, ‘‘Stay fierce, Jo. We’ll get through this.’’ And then she moved through the rose-covered archway, taking the arm of a tall, elegant man who I only after the fact realized was Lewis. A drastically different Lewis. Smoking hot, in fact. She was right: He was made for formal wear. The severe black-and-white tailoring made him look extraordinary.

I fidgeted slightly, clutching the small, perfect bouquet of ivory roses that Cherise had handed me, and the security men on either side of me scanned the perimeters for any threats. I spotted Wardens, Wardens everywhere, waiting. If the Sentinels were coming, they were coming into the teeth of the buzz saw.

If the Wardens watching me aren’t undercover Sentinels
. . . I had to leave that terrifying thought behind. It was too much.

I knew mere security wouldn’t stop Bad Bob, or the thing that was wearing his face. The bigger the clash, the bigger the boom; he’d love to smash us here, in this most public of settings.

The string quartet shifted into the traditional bridal march, and the security man offered me his arm. He looked good in a tux, too. A little beefy, but you really wanted that in a quality bodyguard.

We passed under the arch and began the long, long walk down the rose-petal-strewn path to the graceful, arched gazebo.

For some reason, I hadn’t thought about who’d be here. Mostly Wardens, of course, mostly friends. Cherise had even managed to get some of our old TV station colleagues here at the last minute, including some of the crew, who were looking highly uncomfortable in their suits and jackets, but were beaming at me in universal accord.

In the front row was my sister. Sarah looked elegant, perfectly coiffed, and terribly pissed off. She was glaring hard at Cherise, and if looks could kill, there would have been a warrant out for her arrest. In fact, now that I thought about it, I was a little surprised there
wasn’t
a warrant out for Sarah. She’d scammed a lot of money, and if her old boyfriend (psycho but strangely honest) was to be believed, she’d been one step short of Master Criminal status. I hadn’t planned on inviting her, but in retrospect, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d shown up anyway. If there was any chance of notoriety coming from the day, she’d be right in front to tell her story to the cameras about growing up with the Freak.

I forgot all about that momentary stab of distraction, because Lewis moved aside, and David turned to look at me, and the world just . . . stopped.

I knew why Cherise hadn’t said anything about how David looked. There simply weren’t words in the human language to describe his vividness, his presence, his—his
beauty
. He was wearing a tuxedo, very much like the one Lewis was modeling so effectively, but no matter how flattering the clothes, it was David, and David’s essence, that blazed forth in that moment.

I saw it clearly: all his love, all his hope, all his commitment. He was immortal, and this was no act for him, no temporary amusement. I’d been told Djinn loved intensely, but in that single, crystalline moment, I
knew
.

It felt like a dream. I extended my hand—no longer trembling—and his fingers closed around it, drawing me to his side. I felt the aura fold around me, warmer than sunlight, and the euphoria was like nothing I had ever felt.

Somewhere, the minister was speaking. I had no idea what kind of service Cherise had cobbled together on the spur of the moment, and I didn’t care; the words didn’t matter. I understood why David had asked this of me now; I understood so much more than I’d ever thought I would. It wasn’t just words.

It was a
vow
. And vows among the Djinn were law, immutable as physics. I could feel the forces gathering, as the words progressed; I could see the shimmer spreading through the aetheric.

The minister had gotten to the heart of the matter. ‘‘Do you, David, take this woman as your only true lover, now and for her lifetime, forsaking all others, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, in hardship and in joy?’’

I saw the aetheric flare hot gold, so much power gathering, more than I’d ever seen, and David opened his mouth to reply. . . .

‘‘No,’’ said a new voice, before he could reply. ‘‘He doesn’t.’’

Ashan had crashed our wedding.

Chapter Fourteen

The power on the aetheric went wild, currents flowing around us like whirlpools, lashing and foaming in distress. David and I turned together and saw Ashan standing behind us. From the forbidding expression on his face, I was guessing he hadn’t brought us any wedding gifts, or at least none that wouldn’t explode.

‘‘I can’t allow this folly,’’ Ashan said. ‘‘Maybe you truly believe this is right, but we can’t take the chance. You expose us all to slavery, David, not just yourself.
No.
’’

The minister looked justifiably bewildered, and not just by the sudden popping in of supernatural guests. I was thinking his brain had skipped right over that part. The human race was absolutely stellar at plausible deniability. ‘‘But I haven’t asked for any objections, ’’ he said faintly. ‘‘We don’t do that anymore. Really, this is most—’’

Ashan ignored him. Ignored me, too. He was focused only on David, and if David was a glorious bright star, burning with potential, Ashan was his polar opposite: leached of color; pale as an undertaker; grim as impending death. He was even wearing black—a severe suit, with a black tie paired with a white shirt. His idea of formal attire, I guessed. It might have even passed, if it hadn’t been for the bitter expression and the cold, cold fire in his teal-blue eyes.

‘‘You have no place here,’’ David said. I felt the power of the Earth rising up in him, rich and thick and irresistible; Ashan was a Conduit, yes, but this was David’s territory, David’s home ground, in a sense. Ashan was an intruder, uninvited and unwelcome. ‘‘Leave us.’’

Ashan slowly shook his head. ‘‘I don’t come for myself,’’ he said. ‘‘I come for all of us, to
ask
. Don’t do this, David. Don’t destroy us again, for your personal satisfaction.’’

I’d expected assault, not a plea, and especially not a plea that had the ring of sincerity to it.

David didn’t respond. He gazed at Ashan, fire in his eyes, but he didn’t lash out.

Ashan said, even more quietly, ‘‘I also didn’t come alone.’’ He didn’t move, not even his gaze, but I felt the shocking flare on the aetheric, and suddenly there was a
presence
beside him. It was human in shape, but not human at all—a wild power, barely contained by flesh. His skin was hot red, shifting with patterns of color, and his eyes were the pure white of the hottest flame. I’d never seen him take human form before, but I knew him.

The Fire Oracle had left his protected home in a crypt in Seacasket. I hadn’t even known he
could
.

With a whisper rather than a flare, another presence shaped itself out of the air on Ashan’s other side. Milk-glass skin, a vessel containing fog and ice. The Air Oracle was only barely human as well, and androgynous in form.
Two of them.
The Air Oracle had no fixed abode that I knew of, but still, it took a major event for it to manifest so publicly.

I knew, without even asking, that it had never happened before. Not in all the history of the Djinn.

Another surge of power, this one familiar, so bitterly and sweetly familiar. My daughter, Imara— human and far more than human, beautiful and unreachable and remote. She looked sad, but sure of herself—a mirror of my face and form, but with a totally individual core she’d inherited from both me and her father.

She was standing with the others, against us.

David closed his eyes, and I knew it hurt him as much as it did me. When he opened them, his eyes had gone dark, almost human. ‘‘You’re sure,’’ he said. ‘‘Imara?’’

I thought for a few heartbeats that she might defect, might throw her support to us, but then she bowed her head. ‘‘I’m sure,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Too dangerous. So much at risk. You can’t, Dad. You just . . . can’t.’’

Silence. The audience was whispering. I couldn’t imagine what they were making out of this. Lewis had moved Cherise out of the line of fire, in case there was going to be any, but somehow I knew this wasn’t going to come to fireworks. Not this time.

David slowly turned back to me and said, very simply, ‘‘I do.’’

My mind went blank for a second, and I felt the seductive flow of power wash over me.
Half done.
This was an exchange of vows; his was powerful, but not complete without my consent. The minister nervously cleared his throat, eyes darting from David, to me, to Ashan, to the three Oracles.

‘‘Do you, Joanne—’’ His clerical voice was about half an octave higher than it ought to have been. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘‘Do you, Joanne, take this man—’’

‘‘Wait,’’ I said.

All of the Djinn—even Ashan—let out a sigh, and David’s grip on my hand tightened painfully. His eyes went wide, and his skin bone-pale.

‘‘Jo—’’

‘‘Just
wait
,’’ I repeated. ‘‘Ashan, the Oracles—you admitted yourself that you don’t know what will happen, David. How can we do this? How can we change the rules like this when we don’t even know what’s coming for us?’’ My voice broke. My
heart
broke. I was watching the fire die in him, and it hurt. ‘‘It isn’t about us. It’s about
them,
all of the people who depend on us!’’

‘‘I’m willing to take the risk,’’ he whispered. ‘‘Believe in us, Jo. Please.
Believe.
’’

His hand came up to trace my cheek, and I felt tears well up in my eyes and burn trails down my cheeks. His fingertips came away wet from my face, and he raised them to his lips.

I might have changed my mind. I can’t swear that I would have, or I wouldn’t; the fracture between my head and my heart ran right down to my soul.

I didn’t have time to find out.

The aetheric caught fire. At first I thought it was David, erupting in frustration and anger at me for what I’d done, but then I realized that it wasn’t him at all.

We were under attack.

David spun away from me. So did the other Djinn, all facing outward, blindly seeking the threat. ‘‘You know what to do,’’ David shouted to Ashan. ‘‘Protect the Oracles!’’

A silver scar formed on David’s right cheek, then darkened, and the infection I’d seen earlier at Ortega’s house began to spread its tendrils again under his skin, moving frighteningly fast.

‘‘David!’’ I grabbed for him, but he spun away, avoiding me. Doing his job. Dispatching his waiting Djinn according to some plan he hadn’t shared with me. . . . Lewis was moving, too, shouting at the Wardens.
Everybody
had a plan, it seemed, except for me.

I felt the black wave sweep over me. It wasn’t meant for me; it was centered on David, but even the edges of it made me feel faint and sick.

He collapsed against me, shuddering, and I felt a scream trying to rip loose from him. I was the only thing holding him up, the only defense he had left.

The Oracles vanished, leaving gusts of hot wind in their place that fluttered the pale layers of my gown. David’s weight pulled me down. It seemed as though he was growing heavier with every passing second.