Gale Force

it, either. Then he said, slowly, “It could work. It allows us to assemble all the Wardens in one place, choose the ground, protect the Djinn, offer the Sentinels a target they can’t afford to pass up. . . .”

Oh God, it actually was a good plan. Damn. I’d been half hoping he’d shoot it out of the air. Instead, it looked as if I was going to have to kick my shopping into high gear.

“Right,” I said, and turned to David. “How do you feel about getting married tomorrow?”

I had no idea Djinn could look so blank. Venna turned to David and said, with the perfect blend of alarm and puzzlement, “Are you sure she isn’t insane?”

David continued with the blank look for a few more seconds, and then the light dawned warm in his eyes, and he slowly smiled.

“Actually,” he said, “I’m fairly certain she is, and that is exactly why I’m marrying her.”

Chapter Thirteen

One nice thing about having the Djinn Conduit on your side was receiving no arguments from the rank and file—no arguments of any substance, anyway. The other Djinn still thought we were crazy, but generally decided that was our personal business.

What they weren’t so wild about was the idea that we weren’t going to charge off to Rahel’s rescue, but I knew they weren’t tactically inept; they knew if we played the game the Sentinels had set in motion, we would all pay the price.

I also knew how hard it was going to be for them to stand by and sacrifice Rahel for a tactical point. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. I knew David, and I knew that making those choices was just as impossibly hard for him as it was for me.

Part of what we planned was, again, complete insanity. Lewis carried out the first part of it at four o’clock, on the steps of the Miami FBI field office.

We called a press conference. To say it was well attended would be to say that the hottest club in LA had a bit of a wait to get in. I’d expected to draw attention, but as we walked through the lobby with a flying escort of FBI agents, Homeland Security, and anxiously hovering, nameless other governmental representatives, I could hear the roar of the crowd outside.

One of the no-name governmental types, nattily turned out in a nicely tailored suit and a two-hundred-dollar haircut, pushed in front of us and physically threw himself against the glass doors leading out, facing us down. “Wait!” he blurted. The parade trickled to a halt, and Lewis and I glanced at each other. We’d had bets on how long it would take for the cold feet to manifest. I was about to make a cool twenty bucks. Sweet. “Are you sure about this? You’re sure there’s no other way? The chaos—the fear—”

“Let me put it this way,” Lewis said. “You had half the news media covering the meltdown out at the motel earlier today, and every phone line to every possible agency has been jammed ever since, demanding an explanation. Do you want to try to coordinate some big lie that won’t get found out, at this point? Because I’d be happy to put your name forward as the guy in charge.”

No-Name Nice Suit Guy swallowed and lowered his arms. He straightened his lapels with an unconscious gesture and stepped out of the way.

“Damn,” Lewis said. “Kind of hoped he’d go for it, actually.”

Fat chance. This wasn’t a hot potato; it was the entire state of Idaho, fresh out of the microwave.

“Here goes,” Lewis said, and opened the door.

The noise washed over us in a wave, and we walked out into a whiteout of flashbulbs and video spotlights. It was like hitting a psychic wall, and if I’d been on my own, I’d have caved fast and hard. God. I couldn’t focus on anything; the crowd was a faceless mass of shouting faces, all blurring into a snarling, hostile entity. I transferred my probably shell-shocked stare to the buildings on the far side of the street. Somebody was in an office, backlit, looking out at us. Nice to have that kind of distance.

The FBI special agent in charge stepped up to the bank of hastily taped-together microphones and made some brief remarks, nothing incriminating for the agency, and introduced Lewis by name, adding that he was with “a special branch of the United Nations known as the Wardens.” That was it. He got out of the way, ignoring the shouted avalanche of questions.

Lewis took a deep breath and stepped up. He was tall, imposing, and had the kind of personal aura that made people take notice, when he deigned to use it. He used it now. I saw ripples of quiet move through the crowd, and reporters lean forward to catch every word he had to say.

“Earlier today some of you witnessed a battle between two opposing sides in a conflict,” he said. “As you reported, there were casualties on both sides. I’m here to explain to you what that conflict is, what it’s about, and how you can help.”

I expected a torrent of questions, but the crowd stayed still in the pause. Maybe they were stunned that they were actually going to be given information. Or maybe Lewis had sneakily exerted some Earth Warden influence on them. I used some myself, on myself, to slow my racing pulse and get myself ready for the inevitable.

“The Wardens are part of the United Nations,” Lewis said, “in the sense that we are a worldwide organization, independent of governments but working in cooperation with them whenever possible. There is a world around you, a world you see every day without knowing the truth behind it. At its most basic level, the forces at work in the universe, or at least on this planet, are real and tangible.” He paused again and took the leap. “We are the ones who help control and shape that world. Without the Wardens, the disasters you report on, the floods and hurricanes, forest fires and earthquakes—all these things would be far, far worse.”

Somebody laughed. A few others took it up, and it grew in a ripple through the crowd. “You’re kidding. This is what you have to tell us?” somebody shouted from beneath the glare of a video spotlight. “Where’s Gandalf?”

That was pretty much my cue, although I would have preferred Galadriel. I stepped forward. The FBI had furnished me with a change of wardrobe—not my normal style, but workable. It included a navy blue pencil skirt, a severely cut jacket, a white shirt and serviceable granny pumps. I’d put my hair up in a bun, to complete the image of competence and authority, sexy-schoolteacher style.

I pointed up at the sky, which was full of lightly scudding altocumulus clouds—nothing out of the ordinary for Miami.

Lewis waited, patient as a stone, giving them absolutely no indication what was going to happen. We’d agreed that it needed to be big, spectacular, and easily captured on videotape.

I slowed the progress of the clouds and began packing energy into the system, careful to balance the forces as I went. I knew the Ma’at were standing by in case I screwed it up, but it was a point of pride not to need them to clean up after me. The shape of the clouds began to change, from sheer and wispy to solid white, then gray as the moisture condensed. Altocumulus.

Then nimbocumulus.

Once I had the system packed as full as I dared, while still remaining in control, I opened both my hands, palms up. I could feel the dawning sentience in the clouds above, as the energy accumulation granted it some very basic level of awareness, of hunger. Of anger.

What I was about to do was dangerous, and not just to me. If I got it wrong, there could be a lot of collateral damage.

Easy, I heard David whisper on the aetheric. I’m here.

I called the lightning.

Florida is the lightning capital of the U.S. With the daily, constant interaction of wind, water, sandy soil, and marshland, every reporter in the crowd had probably seen close lightning strikes.

None of them had ever seen this.

The bolt streaked down out of the clouds, long and purple, crackling with energy, and broke into two jagged prongs. It hit my outstretched palms exactly on target, and for a long, long second, I kept it there as the video cameras and photographers documented the event.

Then I clapped my palms together, and the lightning vanished. Thunder rolled loud enough to rattle windows,