Undone (31 page)

No. He was alive, and had either been taken or followed a trail without me. Or perhaps even both. He could have been lured away and then captured. Not impossible, in all the confusion. He might have even gone willingly, if they had used Isabel to draw him in.

A tremor of rage went through me, burning a red-hot wire trail from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. Those who had done this—who
continued
to do it—would pay dearly. I had been born into flesh without an instinct for mercy, and what little I had learned had been burned away by this latest affront.

“What can we do?” the other policeman asked. I took a deep breath and deliberately banked the fire inside of me, saving it for a more appropriate time and target.

“You can start by looking through your records,” I said. “Any missing or abducted children.”

Styles's face could have been formed from concrete. “You got any idea how many of those there are every year?”

“An unpleasantly large number?” I didn't wait for confirmation. “We have little time, Officer Styles. Luis may have no time at all. I must find him and Isabel. I pledge to you that if I find your son, I will bring him back to you safely, but I need to go. Now.”

“Go where?” That was a reasonable enough question. I had no reasonable answer.

“Away,” I said. “Away from here.”

He exchanged another of those looks with his partner, who finally shrugged. “Don't know, man. She could have let us die a couple of times. She didn't. I have to count that in her favor.”

Styles's attention returned to me. “I don't trust Wardens,” he said. “My wife doesn't trust them. If the Wardens are behind this—”

I could not believe they were. At least, not the official organization. Lewis Orwell and Joanne Baldwin, in particular, would never have condoned it. “I will find out,” I said. “I swear that to you.”

He nodded and stepped back.

I climbed on the Victory, checked the gauges, and started the engine. I would need gas soon, but for now all I wanted was to get away from the stench of burned grass and defeat.

Officer Styles didn't raise his hand in farewell to me, but I supposed the fact that he also didn't raise a gun was a bit of a triumph.

I went on, heading into Colorado. I was no longer sure my answers lay ahead, but movement, any movement, was better than standing still when there was so little time to waste.

I was five miles down the road when I heard the whisper: Luis's voice, clear as if his lips were beside my ear. “Cassie.”

Don't call me that.
I sensed a pulse of lazy amusement from him.

“Cassiel.”

I brought the motorcycle to a tire-burning halt at the side of the road. The wind had picked up again, whipping dirt in swirls over me. I closed my eyes and concentrated, turning inward. Seeking.

It was his voice, but not his presence. “Luis? Where are you?”

“I'm tied up in the back of a truck,” he said. He sounded remarkably slow and calm about it. “Sorry. They grabbed me in the smoke. Not much I could do.”

He was lying to me. No Earth Warden would find it difficult to get away from such a situation. Ropes, metal—it was all subject to their power and therefore significantly less effective, unless the enemy also had a Warden focused on preventing his escape.

“You went willingly,” I said.

“Busted.” He sounded faintly amused about it—and drugged, perhaps. I was not amused at all. “Look, they suckered us. They set a trap for us. If we want to get to Ibby, we have to let them take us to her. Don't you get it? We have to stop fighting.”

“You have no idea what they want from you,” I said. “Or what they will do to you. Luis, tell me where you are.
Tell me.
”

“No. Not until I'm ready. I don't want you busting in and blowing everything, and I know you. You're about as subtle as a lead pipe. When I see Isabel, when I know she's safe, I'll signal you.”

“How are you doing this?”

“I'm vibrating your eardrum. Old Earth Warden trick for covert operations,” Luis said. His tone changed. “Got to go. We're heading north now. Follow us.”

And then he was gone, and I heard nothing but the steady, low moan of the wind.

I had no choice but to follow his instructions.

 

I stopped for gas after two more hours of riding and waiting. I heard nothing from Luis, not even that faint and intimate whisper of my name. I wondered if he knew how that had sounded, how
warm.

I wondered if I had imagined it.

He needs you,
part of me said.
That doesn't mean he cares for you. Why should he? You're hardly inviting it.

It was a foolish thought. There were so many larger things at risk, and it was yet another signal to me that I was sinking ever deeper in the quagmire of humanity. I had to struggle harder, reject these emotions, the pleasures and seductions of this flesh.

I purchased a hot dog at the gas station and ate it while standing next to my motorcycle as the tank filled. I drank a large bottled water before pressing on into the gathering darkness. The road continued to climb, heading from desert to lusher regions, thickening with trees. The stars were already bright, even though the sun hadn't completely slipped behind the branches, and the road was in deep velvet shadows.

At Pagosa Springs, Luis's voice returned to my ear to say that they were still heading north, following the same route I was traveling. “Don't gain on us,” he warned. “I don't want to spook them.”

I ignored that last, and accelerated.

What traffic there had been fell away. It seemed as if I had the road to myself, traveling endlessly through a cradle of dimly seen mountains that rose to brush stars from the sky. I glimpsed animals on the road—deer, fox, an owl swooping into the hot glow of my headlights to pluck a scurrying mouse from the pavement.

It almost seemed peaceful.

There were no towns, and no turns to take, until I neared the intersection of Highway 160. Luis was silent on the subject of a change in direction, so I continued on, following the twists of the road as it switched northwest, then seemed to reverse directions altogether after the town of Creede. After that, it took another sharp turn, back to the north, avoiding the massive upthrust of mountains.

“Cassiel,” Luis whispered, and I involuntarily slowed, surprised again by his sudden appearance inside my skull. “We turned off the main road about five miles before you get to Lake City. We're heading west.”

“Are there markers?”

“Look for a leaning dead pine; it's caught in between two others. The turnoff is about ten feet farther on. It's on the left.” Luis no longer sounded as casual as he had been, or as confident. “Look, I think—I think they're screwing with my body chemistry. It's subtle, but I think they're making me high, and I can't control my powers as well as I—”

His voice broke up into an earsplitting shriek of noise. I stopped the motorcycle, clapping my hands to my ears. It didn't help, of course. The metallic scream went on, drilling into my head. Deafening. It seemed to be increasing in power, and I knew that it was only a matter of seconds before it ruptured the fragile skin of my eardrum.

This, at least, I could prevent. It was a relatively simple matter to dampen the vibrations to a low hum of static. Of course, this meant cutting off Luis, as well. Whether it was his own lack of control, as he'd said, or an attack using him as a medium, I couldn't afford the risk of staying open to him just now.

They're making me high,
he'd said. I knew, from a small sampling of popular culture and newspapers, that he meant they were giving him drugs—or, more accurately, manufacturing them within his own body. Earth Wardens had trouble healing themselves, even the most powerful of them, and if they were successful in getting past his defenses and poisoning him in that manner, it could be very, very bad.

I didn't dare reach out to him. I needed my concentration all on the road ahead.

He'd given me a small hint, at least, enough to get me on the right trail. I spotted a dead pine matching the description and slowed to a crawl, seeking the trail.

There was none. Not in ten feet, not in twenty. Not at all. I stopped the bike and slowly walked it backward as I studied the rough ground.

They'd erased it.
Yes, of course they would. It was something an Earth Warden would find simple, to obscure a trail by growing new plants and moving the earth. Even a Weather Warden could erase all traces using wind and water, but from what I saw before me, I knew an Earth Warden had been behind this obscurement. Some of the saplings seemed green and new, not even weathered by the sun and wind yet. Some of the dirt, though authentically random in its scatter, seemed freshly distributed.

I spotted the outline of a tire track deep in the brush, and forced a way for myself and the Victory through the tangle. It was at least twenty feet deep, long enough to make me wonder if they had closed the entire trail. I pressed on, ducking to avoid the worst of the stiff branches and needlelike leaves.

The growth suddenly ended, and a dirt road carved itself out of the thin and shadowy moonlight. There were tread marks still fresh in the dust.

My enemies knew I was coming. Even if Luis hadn't warned them, despite his best intentions, they would simply
know
. I had no doubt of that. I would press on as far as they'd allow before it came to conflict.

It didn't take long at all.

I accelerated as the road twisted around a darkly shadowed curve, then another, and as I came out on a straighter section, the trail was blocked by a single, small figure—a boy of Isabel's age, with ragged dark hair and huge eyes. He was wearing a grimy cotton shirt with a garish blue and red design, and small, loose cotton pants. No shoes. His face was smeared with tears, his nose was running, and he looked blank and terrified in the glare of my headlight.

I stopped in a cloud of dust, staring at him. My first impulse was to leave the bike and go to him, but my Djinn instincts tempered my human ones, infused the moment with an ice-cold clarity.

There was no reason for this child to be here, so far from his home, in the middle of the night.

“Is your name C.T.?” I asked. “Calvin Theodore Styles?”

His eyes filled with tears that glittered in my headlight. “Mama?” He sounded lost and very uncertain. He shuffled forward a step. “I want to go home!
I want to go home!
”

His voice rose to a chilling wail, and this time not even my cautious, cold Djinn side could keep me from turning off the motorcycle and dismounting. I approached the child carefully, not wishing to frighten him more than necessary. He was sucking on his thumb, and his eyes seemed the size of the moon that loomed overhead. Silver tears washed clean trails through the grime on his face.

I was halfway to him when the next child appeared. And the next. And the next. All moving silently out of the brush.

Ten, at least, all below the age of ten. Most looked thin and ill-kept, their clothing filthy. Some lacked shoes.

All seemed far too feral for comfort, and they were all armed. Knives, for the most part, but a few had clubs. No projectile weapons, for which I was grateful.

I paused, assessing. They were all around me, coming out of the underbrush in soft, stealthy whispers of leaves and twigs.

“I'm here to help you,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing tone. “Please. My name is Cassiel. Let me help you find your homes.”

None of them made a sound, not even the boy who'd wailed so pitifully. The wind through the trees made a hissing sound as the pine needles rubbed together, and I became aware how vast and empty this area was . . . and how alone I had become.

“I am looking for a girl called Isabel,” I said. She wasn't here, wasn't among the feral ones. “Ibby. Do you know her?” I focused on the closest child, a girl with short blond hair. “Do you know Isabel?”

She didn't answer. None of them moved, and none blinked. It was odd and—even for a Djinn—unsettling.

C.T.—if he
was
C.T.—was no longer weeping, though tears still trailed down his cheeks. He had assumed the same cold, empty aspect as the other children.

I took a step forward toward him, and they all rushed at me in silence. I jumped, grabbing hold of a low-hanging branch, and pulled my legs up as they slashed at me with silver flashes of blades. A few made grunts of effort, jumping to try to reach me, but they didn't speak, not even to each other.

By some unspoken coordination, two of them bent over to boost up others, who caught hold of lower branches and began to climb toward me. It was a ridiculous situation, hemmed in by
infants
—and yet there was a certain cold logic to it. I would be hesitant to harm these defenseless children, while the enemy—and I knew it
was
our enemy—would not hesitate to spend every small life to hurt me.

They were the perfect shock troops.

As the first child crawled along a branch toward me, mad eyes shining, I shifted my weight and grabbed for her wrist, twisting it. The knife fell like steel leaf.

She raked my arm with her fingernails and bared her teeth.

I had no choice but to sweep her off the branch, stunning her into unconsciousness as I did so. I cushioned her fall on the dirt with a burst of power.

Another was already coming. And another behind him.

These are annoyances,
my Djinn side complained.
Deal with them and move on.
And had they been adult humans, I would have done so, but the reluctance to hurt a child was encoded in my helix DNA, and not even Djinn wisdom could counter it.
You'll waste your power fighting this battle. It's what they want.