Cape Storm

Cape Storm (The eighth book in the Weather Warden series) A novel by Rachel Caine

To Ter Matthies.

For courage, for peace, for sailing on ahead.

We’ll meet on the shore.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Jim Suhler & Monkey Beat

Joe Bonamassa

Lucienne Diver

Charles Armitage

Katherine Gunther

P. N. Elrod

Jackie Leaf

Christina Radish

Joya Manning

Jenn Clack

Kari Phillips

ORAC

Jackie Kessler

Richelle Mead

Kaz de Winter

. . . and, as always, my lovely and very patient husband,

Cat.

Thanks for sharing the voyage, and making all the

lovely, fruity drinks.

What Has Come Before

My name is Joanne Baldwin, and I used to control the weather as a Weather Warden. These days, I can also control the forces of the earth, like volcanoes and earthquakes, and the forces of fire.

Sounds like fun, eh? Not when it makes you a target for every psycho crazy world-killing danger that comes along.

Good thing I’ve got my friends at my back—Lewis Orwell, the most powerful Warden on the planet; Cherise, my best (and not supernatural) friend; and a wide cast of sometimes dangerous allies who’ve got their own missions and agendas that don’t always match up with mine.

And I’ve got David, my true love. He’s also a supernatural Djinn, the fairy-tale three-wishes kind, and he’s now co-ruler of the Djinn on Earth.

What I don’t have is peace, because even while I walked down the aisle to get married to my true love, an old enemy totally ruined my chances for a happy honeymoon and possibly even my survival. I’m not just in danger now, I’m dangerous—to everyone I love.

I’ve got to go and fix this, before the whole world suffers the consequences.

Chapter One

I’ve had many oh crap moments in my life. If you know me at all, you can imagine how many of them there have been, and the rising scale of crapitude that these moments cover.

So when I say that I looked out past the Miami Harbor horizon to the east and saw the storm that was heading for us, and said a heartfelt oh crap, you’ll understand that my concern was not so much for the state of my already disheveled hairdo, or my not-so-designer clothes, but more about survival.

And not just my survival. An ominous line of storm-black out there was spreading like ink, and it was already large enough to rain destruction all over Miami before it ripped through Florida’s panhandle and blew apart into tornadoes, floods, deadly downbursts.

Hurricanes: the gift that keeps on giving.

I tightened my grip around a handy light pole as the wind buffeted me. Rain had already started to fall, and although it was nearly midday, it seemed very dark. I couldn’t see any hint of sun overhead, not even a pale shadow through the clouds.

Chaos ruled the docks, as shipmasters rushed to secure their vessels against the unforecast storm. Tourists scrambled for shelter. Locals resignedly broke out the plywood and hammers. I’d heard that the major freeways were jammed and that the hurricane evacuation plan had been triggered, but it was never going to work. The thing was simply moving too fast, and there wasn’t enough warning.

And needless to say, all this was my fault.

I mean that literally. I’m supposed to be able to control the weather, and other elements at work on this planet; I’m supposed to be able to stop things like this from happening. I’m supposed to be the hero, dammit.

It came as a bit of a shock to be both helpless and—although no one knew it yet—a villain. As the storm came roaring toward us, I knew it was my fault.

I could feel it in the burning of the black tattoo on my back, high up on the shoulder. Not the normal tramp stamp you could get (with hepatitis on the side) at any corner needle shop; mine was courtesy of an old enemy