Gale Force (Weather Warden #7)

Gale Force (Weather Warden #7) Page 35

"I know," I said softly. "I won't."

Cherise cleared her throat. "If you need somebody to, you know, ride along and - "

"No," I said flatly. "Not this time. This is no job for anyone who can't throw a lightning bolt, a car, or a ball of fire the size of Cleveland. I don't want you anywhere near Bad Bob."

She looked disappointed, but not really surprised. Despite the chaos of the day, there wasn't a smudge on her. Kevin put his arm around her and looked down; elfin and lovely and entirely human, she looked up into his face. The smile they exchanged made my heart ache.

"You're going?" she asked him. Kevin shrugged.

"Might as well," he said. "Got nothing else planned for the day. My Nintendo's busted."

"Watch your ass," she told him.

Ah, young love.

"Ready?" Lewis asked me. I nodded. I still wished I could live a normal life, have what I wanted, be at peace. I should have taken all of my vacation. I was just now starting to see the wisdom of waiting for trouble, instead of courting it. "Can you get David to help at all?"

I shook my head. "No. He's - staying away."

Lewis looked very, very grim. "You mean, he's walled himself off on the aetheric. The way Jonathan used to do."

"I can't be sure. He's not giving me anything back about where he is, but it would make sense." David could save himself, and his people, by shutting himself off like that for as long as necessary. Ages, if need be.

Lewis pulled in breath to say something, then decided that discretion was the better part of valor; he held up his hands and walked away to confer with the others.

He didn't have to say it. I'd already figured out that if David had really withdrawn into his stronghold on the aetheric, I might never see him again.

Not even to say good-bye.

To say that there was a military operation at work on the beach when we arrived was an understatement. One handy thing about the Wardens coming out in public was that we no longer had to make do with covert ops-style equipment. No, this time we had cops, FBI, air surveillance, coast guard boats . . . everything but the dancing bear and big top.

I was pretty sure that none of it was going to mean a damn thing to Bad Bob, in the end. Mortal firepower was beyond insignificant to him, except as an inconvenience, and with the Djinn off the board, we had very little left to counter him.

Just me, the battered and damaged white queen, with a little fleck of black to betray her true allegiances.

Lewis and I sat in a surveillance van, the tricked-out kind, watching monitors in all different spectrums. There was no movement from the beach house. SWAT teams had gone into position, stealthily moving from cover to cover inside the overgrown estate grounds. It wouldn't help them. Bad Bob knew they were there; he had to know. He probably just didn't damn well care. Humans weren't his thing, and in fact they mattered very little to him except as window dressing.

"Nothing on any of the monitors or sensors," one of the Wardens reported. "Maybe he's not there."

"He's there," I said. I was watching the house itself. I couldn't sense or see anything, and I had absolutely no basis for believing what I'd said, but somehow, I knew. I just knew. "He's got ways to conceal himself. Probably using Rahel."

"We need physical recon," Lewis said.

"I think that's my cue." I didn't wait for them to approve; I didn't wait for the protests. I just jumped down onto the road and walked up to the gates. I looked up at the perimeter camera, and felt Bad Bob's smile like a fetid ghost all around me.

"Jo, wait!" That was Lewis, trying to order me back.

"For what?" I asked him, and he had absolutely no answer to that. I read it in his eyes, though.

He wanted me to say something, anything, to make this easier. But I didn't have it, and neither did he.

So I went on.

The gates creaked open, and I walked alone, shadowed by the SWAT commandos and FBI tactical units, up the winding path. I remembered walking it with David, in happier times; Ortega was still alive then, still delighting in all his lovely things. I hadn't feared Bad Bob, except as a ghost safely sealed in my memories.

The night was cool, and there were clouds blowing up at the horizon. A natural front, nothing sinister about it. Overhead, the stars were chips of ice, sharp enough to cut.

If I'd been walking with my lover, with my husband, it would have been magical. I love you, I whispered to him, along the bond between us. I will always love you. I'm sorry.

I felt nothing in response.

I walked up the steps, moving steadily and without hesitation. I reached for the knob, and opened the front door. It was unlocked. I'd known it would be.

Bad Bob was sitting in a leather wing chair next to the fireplace, feet up, puffing on a cigar. He had a bottle of liquor next to him - scotch, this time. He raised the bottle, and I levitated it to me. The taste of liquid gold burned the roof of my mouth, then poured down my throat and started a sickening burn in the cold pit of my stomach.

"It's not poisoned," I noted, and sent it back. He caught it effortlessly out of the air and chugged a few mouthfuls, then put it aside.

"Wouldn't waste good scotch. Or good poison," he said. "Wouldn't kill you, anyway, would it? Nothing kills you. Goddamn cockroach, you are. You'll survive a nuclear winter."

"Look who's talking," I said. I sat down on the edge of the couch across from him. There were a few lights burning, not many, and the whole effect was ghostly. Outside the windows, the beach was dark, the water slick and almost flat - a calm sea. "You've been dead a few times, I hear."

He chuckled. "Hurricane Andrew should've killed me," he said. "Came damn close, actually. But there was always just one more damn challenge, one more thing to do. One more life to save. You know how it is."

"That's your story? That you were in the business of saving lives?" I leaned back and folded my arms. "Oh, come on."

"I'll put my scores up against anybody's. Including yours."

"You killed people!"

"How many collateral goddamn damages have you had over the past few years, girl? What the fuck makes you the hero of the story? No, more to the point: What makes me the villain?"

I stared at him, not exactly sure what he was doing. I'd come here intending to make him kill me, or to destroy him in the process, if that was possible; to wound him badly enough that Lewis could finish him off. I hadn't expected him to be so damn defensive about, of all things, his record as a good guy.

"Your hands aren't clean," he pointed out. "Hell, you've stood by and let people die, if nothing else. How come I'm the bad guy?"

"Because - " I ground my teeth together. "Because nobody ever became evil overnight. Because the bad guys don't see what they do as evil; they see it as their own personal good. Sound familiar?"

He took another slug, straight from the bottle. "Joanne Baldwin, big-time hero. If I hadn't given you that Demon Mark, you'd still be paddling around the shallow-personality pool, wondering if you could destroy a tornado fast enough to make the shoe sale at Macy's. Not good, not evil. Not anything."

"I don't understand."

"Yes, you do." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "I've made you strong. I'm going to make you stronger. Stronger than any goddamn Warden in history. And I'm going to do that by changing the whole ecosystem of the planet -  by destroying the Djinn. Makes humans the real apex predators of this little ball of rock. And I'm putting you in charge of it."

It hit me what he was trying to say. "You - you think this is a good thing for me. For the Wardens."

"I don't give a shit if it's good or bad. It's what's necessary. I always do what's necessary." Bob's grin flashed. "Sometimes that's also fun, though."

I didn't want to hear any more. Outside the windows, the seas began to chop as the wind moved faster, as temperatures shifted and swirled. He was playing with the weather. Taunting us. Sending temperatures into a downward spiral out near Cuba, creating an imbalance that would surely force intervention.

"I'm going to kill you," I said. "Demon or not. Dead or not. You're not walking away today, not if it costs me every last breath I have. If you made me what I am, then what I am is coming after you."

He sighed. "Ah, Jo. Wave a red flag, and you run at it like a bull, every time. You think I didn't know that?"

Which was exactly how I wanted him to think. My gaze had fixed on something black and glittering, mounted like some exotic trophy weapon on the back wall of the house, right out in the open, almost as a taunt.

The whole house was lethally radioactive. I was, in effect, already dead. Even as an Earth Warden, I couldn't diffuse that much radiation through my system without damaging my own cells. Maybe Lewis could, but not me. My daughter had cut herself off from me - had been forced to.

The power I was drawing from David in a steady stream was keeping me alive, but it wouldn't save me over the long haul. It was a treatment, not a cure.

I turned away from Bad Bob and walked to the Unmaking. It was glimmering with its own black aura, sending its poisonous tendrils deep into the house, into the aetheric.

"You don't want to do that, honey," he said. "It's suicide."

I picked it up.

The outside of it felt shockingly hot. A slightly rough texture when I ran my fingers lightly down, finding the balance point. The horrible thing was heavier than I'd expected, and my muscles began to shake, trying to rid me of the burden.

Bad Bob hadn't moved. He raised the cigar to his mouth and puffed, eyes half closed. "You got the wrong idea, Jo. You can't kill me this way."

"You're probably right," I panted. I fought, but lost, the battle for control of the weather system that was rotating in past Cuba, moving high and fast and wild. It collided with warmer air, and the clouds built walls of thick, heavy gray. Lightning burned inside it, living and dying in rapid-fire flares. "But I'll bet it slows you down for the others to finish."

"They'll have their hands full trying to keep half of Florida alive by nightfall. If I make things bad enough, the Djinn will have to show their faces just to keep the balance, and once that happens . . . they're mine." His pale blue eyes focused on me. "Put it down, kid. You're just killing yourself faster."

I shook my head. Sweat dripped down my face, matted my hair. "No. Make me. I know you can."

"Why should I?" he asked. "You want to kill me, kill me. Do it. Maybe you'll be right. Maybe it'll just be that easy."

I lunged, both hands barely able to keep hold of the black spear, and as I did I had an involuntary flash of sense-memory, of Jerome Silverton digging that black shard from a dead Djinn, and of my dream of David lying dead in the street, pierced just like this.

I dragged myself to a wild, panting halt, flat-footed, staring at Bad Bob's blue eyes. The tip of the Unmaking trembled just an inch from his chest. He made no effort to get away.

"Do it," he said. "Maybe I'm not your enemy after all. You ever think of that?"

Sweat burned down my face, in my eyes, and I felt my hands spasming, trying to drop this thing that was already killing me. It wouldn't do any good, but you couldn't blame my body for trying to save itself.

He was trying to tell me something. There was a message under all this, a message unknown and beyond translation, but somehow, one I was receiving.

Bad Bob had expected me. He wasn't the type to go in for self-sacrifice, and he knew how to set the hook firmly.

How to use the best possible bait . . . himself.

He had the power to stop me, if he wanted. Why wasn't he?

He'd taunted me. He'd threatened my daughter. He'd done everything he could to drive me to this moment. He'd used my vows with David to open the Djinn up to the Rule of Three. We knew he had Rahel. And Rahel had a gift . . . for mimicry.

The last piece fell into place with a physical shock. This wasn't Bad Bob.

It was Rahel. It had to be Rahel, forced to take on his shape, be his puppet, his sacrificial goat.

I felt a pulse of power in the black torch on my back. Bad Bob was getting impatient with me. I wasn't following the script.

I closed my eyes and reached for the cord that bound me to David. Energy was flowing through the connection, thick and golden, a torrent that was racing through my body in a frantic effort to keep me alive. It wasn't working anymore. I need you to show me, I whispered. I need to see. Help me see.

I went up into the aetheric. It was hard, so very hard that it was like ripping off my own skin; I barely made it into the lowest levels, and my Oversight revealed the room in dull reds and blacks.

It wasn't Rahel in the chair after all. Rahel was outside, heading to the van. Bad Bob was holding me here, and going after our flank by attacking Lewis.

I needed to act. If Rahel was out there, that meant that Bad Bob was in front of me. Had to be. I just had to strike that last inch. . . .

I saw a bright copper flash, just a flash, with the last fading strength of Oversight before I fell back into my skin, and I knew. I knew the truth.

David hadn't gone to the aetheric. Bad Bob had used Rahel to lure him here, and he'd bound him, just as he'd bound Rahel.

David was sitting in the chair in front of me, and I was an inch away from taking his life. I'd come so close, so horribly close, to making the wrong choice. One more inch, just one, and my life would have been over, even if I'd survived this day.