Firestorm

It looked appropriate for Seacasket, anyway.

Back on the road, I fought an increasingly jittery desire to meddle with the weather hanging out to sea. Storms, of course. Big electrical storms, packing loads of wind and swollen with rain; I didn't sense any lethal tendencies in the front, but those were no fluffy happy clouds out there. Black thunderheads, trailing gray veils over the ocean, illuminated from within by constant pastel flutters of lightning. It was, as storms went, nothing more than a surly kid, but it could pack a wallop if it got aggressive. Right now, it was content to glare and mutter, out there at sea. Kicking the tops off waves. That was good; I didn't need more to handle.

Imara had my taste in music. That wasn't too much of a surprise, but it was gratifying. We both belted out the chorus to 'Right Place, Wrong Time,' both aware of just how appropriate that song was in the radio playlist.

We cruised into Seacasket at just after 7 a.m.

It was one of those Norman Rockwell towns with graceful old bell towers, spreading oaks and elms. A few 1960s-era glass buildings that looked like misguided, embarrassing attempts to bring Seacasket out of the golden age. That was the only impression I had of it, because the one time I'd materialized in the center of town, I'd come as a Djinn, with an irresistible command to burn the town and everyone in it to ashes; that hadn't given me a lot of time for sightseeing, since I'd been desperately trying to find a way to short-circuit my own Djinn hardwiring and save some lives.

The main street was called… Main Street. The turn-of-the-last-century downtown was still kept in good repair, although the hardware stores and milliners had long ago turned into craft stores ('crap stores,' as my sister had always dismissively referred to them) and 'antique' dealers whose stock-in-trade was reproduction Chinese knockoffs and things that got too dusty over at the craft stores. So far as newcomers, there were a few: Starbucks had set up shop, as had McDonald's down the street. I spotted a couple more fast food giants competing for attention, though sedately; Seacasket must have had one of those no-ugly-sign ordinances that kept things discreet and eye-level, instead of the Golden Arches becoming a hazard to low-flying aircraft.

There was a Wal-Mart. There's always a Wal-Mart.

I pulled into the parking lot toward the side—Wal-Mart had a crowd, of course—and idled the car for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere. When I rolled down the Camaro's window, birds were singing, albeit a bit shrilly, and there was a fresh salt-scented breeze blowing inland. The temperature was cool and fresh, and all seemed right with the Seacasket world.

Which was, in itself, weird.

Imara, in the passenger seat, was watching me curiously. 'What are you doing?' she asked.

'I thought you knew everything I did,' I said.

'Past, not present or future. Are you reading the weather?'

'Not exactly.' Because weirdly enough, there didn't seem to be any weather in Seacasket. Sure, the storm I'd been noticing was still out to sea, but there was an odd energy at work in this town. Something I hadn't felt before. As if the whole place was climate-controlled… which wouldn't have made a lick of sense even if there had been a Warden on-site, which I could tell there wasn't. The Ma'at, maybe? I didn't think so. The Ma'at, rival organization to the Wardens, had their own way of doing things, which mostly involved letting nature have its way while smoothing off the highs and lows of the excesses, under the theory that if you allow the system natural corrections—even costly ones—ultimately, the entire system is more stable, less prone to lethal swings.

There was a certain logic to it, and I wasn't sure I disagreed with the Ma'at in principle… just in practice. Because I simply wasn't cold-blooded enough to sit back and watch a disaster. I could easily prevent them from taking innocent lives. Not for a theory. It didn't surprise me that the Ma'at mostly seemed composed of older men, who'd cultivated the detachment of politicians and CEOs.

This wasn't the Ma'at, though. This felt more like Djinn work, except…

I turned in the seat and faced Imara. 'What can you tell me?'

She cocked her head, looking interested but not committed. 'About?…'

'You know what David knew, right? So? What can you tell me about Seacasket?'

She'd inherited more from her father than just knowledge; I saw that in the flash of secrets in her eyes. 'Not very much.'

'I need to know where to find this Oracle thing. You're supposed to be my native guide, kid. So guide.'

'Maybe I don't know how to find it.' She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and kept her metallic Djinn stare straight on me. Intimidating, but it didn't hide the fact that she was being evasive.

'Yes, you do. Why are you being so—'

'Evasive?' she shot back, and ran her fingers through her long, straight black hair. My hair was curling again in the humidity. I resented her hair. Secretly. 'Possibly because this is certain death for a human to attempt, and I might not want you to die just yet.'

'If you didn't think I could do it, why come with me?'

She smiled slightly, and those eyes looked entirely alien all of a sudden. 'Maybe Father told me to.'

'Maybe you and your Father—' I reined myself in, unclenched my fists, and took in a deep breath. 'Don't make me do this.'

'Do what?'

'Test whether or not you're really Djinn.'

She smiled. 'If you're thinking about claiming me, that arrangement died with Jonathan. It won't work.'

'Something simpler than that.' I took in a quick breath. 'Where do I find the Oracle?'

'Mom—'

'Where do I find the Oracle?'

Ah, now she got it. And she was surprised, and pissed off, too. I saw the flare of temper in her eyes. 'The Rule of Three. You wouldn't.'

'Where do I find the Oracle?'

Three times asked, a Djinn has to answer truthfully. Of course, truth has a nearly limitless shade of interpretations; I probably hadn't framed my question closely enough to get a real answer from her, but she'd have to stick close to the subject… if the Rule of Three was still in effect.

Which it looked like it wasn't, as my daughter continued to glare furiously at me with eyes that were starting to remind me more of Rahel's than David's—predatory, primal, eternal. Not good to piss off any Djinn, especially now that humans had virtually no protection from them…

Imara abruptly said, 'It's close.'

She didn't say it willingly, either; it seemed to be dragged out of her, and when she'd gotten to the end of the sentence she clenched her teeth tight and fell back into silent glaring.

Oh, I needed to be careful now. Very, very careful.

'Where exactly is the Oracle? Where exactly is the —'

'Stop!' She threw up her hand. 'If you do that again, I'm leaving, and you won't ever see me again. Ever.'

I swallowed hard. She looked serious about that, and seriously angry. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'But I need information. In case you haven't noticed, this is getting a little more important than just respecting your feelings, Imara. I need to do this. It all looks fine here, but believe me, it's not fine out there in the big wide world. If you ever want to see any of it, you'd better help me. Right now.'

She blinked and looked away at the gently fluttering leaves of the oak tree that spread its shade over the car. A couple of kids sped by on bikes, and another rumbled by on a skateboard. Nobody paid us much attention. Wal- Mart parking lots were anonymous.

'You don't understand how it feels,' she said. 'Losing your will like that. Being—emptied out.'

'Don't I?'

'Well—maybe you do.' To her credit, Imara looked a little embarrassed about that. She had my memories; she knew the time I'd spent as Kevin's pet Djinn, forced into little French maid outfits, fending off his adolescent advances. 'All right. Just ask. But don't do it again. Please.'

'I won't if you'll answer.'

'Fine.' She pulled in a fast breath and turned away, not meeting my eyes. 'There are a few places—less than