Gale Force

but there was no other visible damage, apart from a slight reddening on my skin. I’d deliberately kept the lightning to the bare minimum voltage necessary to stage a visible demonstration—about forty kiloamperes.

But damn, it ached inside me. I kept my smile in place with an effort, and hoped I wasn’t sweating too much under the lights.

Lewis said, in the same dry, calm tone, “This is Joanne Baldwin. She is a Weather Warden. The demonstration you’ve just seen is one of several we’ll conduct for you over the next few days. The rest will be under controlled conditions, and you can provide your own scientific experts if you’d care to do so, to document and question the experiments. But ultimately, you’re going to find that what we’re telling you is the real thing. We can control the weather. We can control the land. We can control fire. The problem is, all these things fight back.”

Nobody seemed to know what kind of questions to ask, exactly. Already, they were scrambling to find a logical explanation for what they’d seen—some kind of magic trick would be the most likely one they’d land on. I was sure whoever was the most outrageous street magician du jour would be calling in to debunk what I’d already done.

But what gave it weight was the silent presence of the FBI behind me, and the fact that we were standing on the steps of a government building.

Eventually, somebody found a question that made enough sense to voice. “How do you control the weather? Is it some kind of machine, or . . . ?” He sounded as if he couldn’t quite believe he was even asking the question. I understood that, too. An entire street full of very logical people had just been tipped over the edge of a cliff, and were still trying to figure out which way was up.

“That’s the other part of the story,” Lewis said. “The simple answer is magic. The more complicated answer is that the world around you is not how you imagine it to be—it’s deeper and stranger than you know. For many thousands of years, the Wardens have guarded humanity, and we’ve done it in silence, in secret. But it’s time to come out in the open, because now we have a very serious threat to deal with.”

“What kind of threat? Does this have anything to do with what happened at the motel?”

I wondered if the question was a plant. Lewis wasn’t exactly above that kind of thing, bless his soul. He wasn’t particularly worried about our impartial image.

“Let me tell you,” Lewis said, “about the Djinn, and the Sentinels.”

David and his strike team misted into view at the bottom of the steps, right in front of the cameras.

All hell broke loose.

We’d intended to grab the world stage, and we did. The feverish speculation occupied every news channel, every broadcast on the local level. Experts talked about a massive hoax; scientists sneered; magicians explained how all we’d shown on television could have been done by mirrors and illusion.

But it didn’t matter. We’d taken the Sentinels by surprise. They’d expected us to hide, and we weren’t hiding. Instead, we’d thrown their name into the public awareness, and we’d given them the one thing I knew they didn’t want: notoriety.

I was the lucky one. Exhausted by the efforts of the day, not to mention the lightning strike and the management of the storm I’d leveled over Miami, I collapsed on a cot and slept for six hours of blissfully ignorant darkness. Lewis didn’t sleep at all. When I woke up, he’d already issued three more press statements, and a whole packet of information about Bad Bob, including his photograph.

The Sentinels could not be happy about that. They were even less happy, I imagined, over the announcement that David and I planned to celebrate our marriage in public, in front of all the cameras we could gather to document the affair. It was a trap, a perfectly obvious one, and one I didn’t think they dared pass up. The Sentinels had gathered membership on the idea that the Djinn were toxic to us; they couldn’t allow the two of us to make such a public commitment without striking. Hell, they’d already ruined two wedding dresses.

Pulling together a last-minute affair is surprisingly easier than planning something more formal. Once I gave up the idea of catering and open bar and invitations, things simplified dramatically. All I really needed was a minister, a dress, and of course, as much security as possible so that we all survived the happy day.

My cell phone was ringing off the hook. Mostly, it was Wardens who hadn’t been given the heads-up about going public, and were blistering my ears off. One or two said they were going to complain to Paul, which stabbed me deep and hard all over again. Paul had been a part of my life for so, so long, and now . . . now all that was tainted. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it would hurt, when I had time to actually feel again.

One of the few welcome calls was from Cherise, who had checked herself out of Warden witness protection and was boarding a flight for Miami, “because you’re so not getting married without me, bitch. Where else am I going to wear that dress?”

One major side benefit of becoming instantly famous—or infamous—was that I no longer had to shop. Instead, I was under siege from local bridal stores all trying to throw dresses my way, under the theory that a little discreet promotion never hurt anybody. I never thought I’d have a sponsored by wedding, but I had more to worry about than my ethical standards.

Principally, I had to find a dress in my size in less than twelve hours that didn’t suck.

That, it turned out, was far easier than it seemed. Instant organization . . . just add Cherise.

“I booked the Palms,” Cherise said after bursting into the FBI offices, giving me a fast, fierce hug, and giving Lewis a warm peck on the cheek.

“You—wait, what?” I blinked, and so did he. I was barely out of the coffee-zombie stage, and Lewis was well into his must-have-sleep cycle. “When did you get in?”

“Exactly forty-eight minutes ago,” she said. “Gotta love that executive car service. By the way, I charged it to the Warden card, so don’t go all budget-conscious on me. Talking to you, Lewis.” He blinked, again.

Cherise must have had extra coffee on the plane; it was like being hit by a pink hurricane. “So, I made some calls,” she continued. “You didn’t get a hotel, right? I booked the Palms. Royal Palm Room for the reception, outdoor gazebo for the ceremony. They’re used to celebrity weddings, no problem on the security, although I went ahead and called a couple of other firms. I guess you’ll have the FBI, too, huh?” Cherise paused long enough to wink at Mr. No-Name Nice Suit, who still looked fresh and well tailored. “Mmmm, I feel safer already.”

“Cher—”

“Okay, I’m going to let the Palms handle all the catering and flowers and crap—it’s going to be expensive, but there you go. If you want to make a media circus out of the whole thing, you have to pay for the big top and the clowns.”

“Cherise.”

“I think we should head over there now. I got you the bridal suite, naturally. Five of the couture bridal shops are coming in an hour with their best stuff. They’ll want credit on the official press statement, but they’re doing it for the publicity. No charge. They’ll want the dress back, though, unless you get blood or something all over it, in which case, you break it, you buy it—”

“Cherise!”

She stopped, blue eyes wide, staring at me. I covered my face with both hands, fighting for control between hysterical giggles and the shakes.

“It’s not a joke,” I said finally. “We could all be killed. We could get a lot of other people killed. I can’t have this at the Palms. The Sentinels will attack. I can’t put all those innocent lives at risk!”

Cher sat down next to me on the hard, narrow cot, and took both my hands in hers. Her manicure was fresh, her hair glossy, her makeup perfect. I looked like I’d rolled out of the bad side of Satan’s bed, and forgotten to brush my hair, but there was real love in her eyes. Real friendship.

“Honey,” she said, “this isn’t about you anymore. This is about ideas. Those innocent people, they live with risk. You need to quit thinking that all us regular folks can’t handle the truth.”

I didn’t think she understood what she was saying, but I gave her a cautious nod.

“You want to stick it to those bastards who think David and all the other Djinn need to die, right?”

Another wordless nod.

“When you hide, when you call things off because you’re afraid of getting hurt, that’s when people like this win. Live loud, Jo. It’s the only way to win. No fear.”