I avoided them all as I raced after the fading trail of Pearl’s influence on the world. Where are you, sister?
The thread ended, fraying into gray smoke.
Gone.
I cast about, feeling more tired than I should. There was no sign of Pearl, nor of any other Warden or Djinn. I was standing in an utterly featureless area, one that held the soothing, nacreous colors of a shell.
Ah. I was over the ocean. The huge amount of the Earth’s surface covered by water had its own aetheric energy, but few features; humans traversed it, but made little lasting impact. Had I been Djinn, I could have seen the magnificent depth and variety of the life around me, but Wardens were not so perceptive.
I had lost Pearl at sea.
I marked the spot and opened my eyes into the mortal world while holding the aetheric steady as well, overlaying the two, and found the spot on the map where Pearl’s trace had disappeared. I colored it with a thick black dot, then drew a line from the rancid California compound to where she’d last left a mark.
Off the coast of Florida.
Journeying on the aetheric was tiring, and I was quickly burning through the power that I’d received before leaving the school. I should have taken power from Turner, my FBI friend and enemy, but delay might have cost me more than I would have gained. He wasn’t especially powerful, on his own.
No, all in all, I really had very little choice. I was cut off from the powerful Warden friends I might normally call upon—Lewis Orwell and Joanne Baldwin, so nearly equal in power and influence, had taken the majority of significant Wardens with them out to sea, seeking to stop a rogue Warden—or, possibly, something worse—from ripping a hole between universes and allowing destruction to pour forth. They’d been gone some time now, and the news had been ominously silent. We would know if they failed, of course. Success might well be heralded by a bland wave of sameness—and only the Wardens themselves could rejoice at that.
But whether success or failure awaited them, one thing was certain: My most powerful allies couldn’t help me now. My options were small, and dwindling all the time.
I could still draw power from Luis without speaking to him; it would be a simple matter, since the connection between us still existed. My entire being resisted that necessity, but I am nothing if not practical.
I knew he wouldn’t stop me, but I was reluctant to act like a parasite, preying on him for nothing more than existence. Even given what he’d done to breach the trust between us. I tentatively tugged on the connection between us, and got no response. I tugged harder, trying to open the flow of the low-level trickle that always existed between us, but he had blocked me.
I had no choice but to pick up the phone and call him. It was a difficult thing, to press the keys and initiate the contact. ... I didn’t want to talk with him, truly I didn’t, and yet some part of me yearned to hear his voice. I wondered if he felt the same anger, anguish, need, and desire, all rolled into a dangerously spiked ball. I couldn’t tell, truly. He was guarded now, more guarded than ever before.
Luis answered on the third ring, but said nothing. For a moment, it was a war of silence and static, and then I said, “I am close to finding a way to Pearl, but I’m running out of power. Will you help me?”
He was quiet for a long few seconds, and then he said, “Sure.”
“Why didn’t you simply let me draw what I needed?”
The pause this time was longer, and his voice was weary as he said, “Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice. Make sure you were okay.”
That hit me hard, and I took the phone away from my ear for a few seconds, struggling to sort out my own torrent of feelings. I finally took a deep breath and said, “I am fine.”
“Fine. Really.”
“Yes.” I wasn’t, not now, not listening to his breathing, his voice, knowing how far separated we were by both distance and emotion. “Luis—”
“Yeah?”
I couldn’t bring myself to forgive him, or even to acknowledge that I understood the decisions he’d made. I admired his ruthless dedication, but the scars were still too bloody. “How is Isabel?”
“Better,” he said. He sounded relieved that it was a less controversial topic. “She’s settling in, and the seizures are coming under control; Marion thinks we’re making good progress. She helps out with Elijah; he likes her better than any of the others.”
“But she’s suffered more seizures.”
“Yeah, one more,” he said. “Not as bad as the first one.”
“Have you given any thought to what I said? About the possibility of someone acting against you inside the school?” I hadn’t discussed it with him, but that mudslide had not been any sort of natural occurrence, not at that time of year. It had been brought down on me by a Weather Warden, one subtle enough to do it without tipping his hand early.
“I’ve looked around, but there’s nobody I can put my finger on. Maybe it was just random, Cassiel.”
His use of my full name felt like a barb, even though his voice remained calm and neutral. I had grown used to his nickname for me, Cass. I hated it on anyone else’s lips, but from him it seemed ... honorable. And warm.
“I don’t think it was,” I said. “So please, watch yourself. And protect Isabel.”
“I’d be able to do that better if you’d stayed.”
“I couldn’t. You know that.”
His voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “You made your choice, Cass. We’ll both get by without you. Sorry, but that’s how it is. That’s how you wanted it.” He was silent for a moment, in which I fought the impulse to protest that I hadn’t chosen this, not this, not this separation and anger and loss. I’d chosen him, and Ibby, to love, and that had been an enormous risk for me; it was duty that pulled me in a different direction, and I responded to it only because of my burning desire to keep them safe. Hewas the one who’d made the irrevocable decision to betray my trust, and I was certain that part of that was spite.
“Just tell me that she’s all right,” I said, and closed my eyes. I felt suddenly very weary, and very alone. “Tell me that you’re all right, too.”
His voice, when it came again, was lower, softer. “I didn’t think you’d care whether I was or not.”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But I told you: Djinn don’t fall out of love that easily. And I do care about you, even if I wish I didn’t.”
“Ouch.” He sighed. “Cassiel, please. Yeah, I should have told you about the guys waiting outside to pick up your trail. I was going to when you stopped by my room, but ... You ever have one of those moments where you wish you’d done something, wish it with everything you’ve got? That was mine. I should have warned you. I didn’t want you hurt.”
It was an apology, but not the one I was seeking. “And Rashid?” I asked. “Have you freed him?”
“Cass—”
“Then there’s nothing more to discuss. I can’t trust you if you keep a slave against his will.”
Luis cleared his throat uncomfortably and changed the subject. “Where are you?”
“Far away,” I said. His voice sounded thin and distant now, fading as the connection fluctuated. “But never far from you if you need me. I hope you believe that.”
“I do. Cass? I’m sorry for what I said before you left. Not that it wasn’t true, but it didn’t need to be that harsh. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I know,” I said. “And I’m sorry that my decisions have led us to this, but I couldn’t see another way. Something must be sacrificed for the greater good.”
“And that something’s us,” he said, recovering some of the cool distance to his tone. “Even if it puts Ibby at risk.”
“I’m trying to save Ibby. And all the others. But I can’t do it from there—you know that.” Now we were entering the downward spiral of arguing the finer points again, and I knew where that would end—in pain. “Please take care of her.”