Cape Storm

inside me; she had so much power, and I had a bottomless appetite for it. If she fought me, she’d expend power.

If she lost, I could take it all.

Venna said, “There is only one person who can save this ship. You, Joanne. If you wish.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m taking it to meet Bad Bob, and what happens from there doesn’t really concern me.”

Cherise covered her mouth with both hands, appalled and shocked. That was funny. Had she really not seen that coming?

“They won’t allow you to do this so easily. They’ll fight,” Venna said. It sounded like she was analyzing the next move in a Grand Masters chess game.

“Hope so,” I said, and slid off the bed to stretch, yawn, and shake my hair back over my shoulders. “Fun time’s over, girls. I need to do some work now, so I’m going. You can either move out of the way, or I can walk over your bleeding corpses. That’s metaphorical for you, Venna, but you get the point.”

Neither of them moved. Cherise looked uncertainly at Venna, but for the little girl Djinn I was the only thing in the world holding her focus.

I walked right up to her. She looked up into my eyes with eerie, ancient eyes, and then moved out of my way.

“You can’t do this,” Cherise whispered.

I used a casual punch of power to slam her across the room, into a wall, and she tumbled limply to the floor.

Bleeding.

“You’re not completely his,” Venna said, as I opened the cabin door. I looked back. She was standing in the same place, still calm and self-contained. “Do you want to know how I know?”

“Do tell.” I drummed my fingernails on the wood of the door impatiently.

Venna’s gaze flicked to Cherise, and then back. “You didn’t keep your threat. She’s bleeding. She isn’t dead.”

“Yet,” I said. “I thought that as a Djinn you’d understand the importance of timing.”

Chapter Eight

As I sat in Arpeggio’s deserted bar-cum-breakfast-nook, munched my command-ordered bagel and light cream cheese, and sipped coffee, I wondered what Cherise would report to Lewis—assuming Lewis was still in any shape to be reported to. Nobody bothered me, not even other Wardens.

The few fellow diners who’d endured my presence got up and left, quickly, when Venna appeared in the middle of the room, clearly and utterly alien in the way she looked and moved. She sat opposite me at the polished wooden table, a glass of orange juice in front of her, and stared at me with impassive intensity.

“I thought we were done,” I said. I sipped my coffee. It was bitter, dark, and exactly what I needed.

“For the sake of what you were, I thought I would try once more.” That was irritatingly superior.

“You can run back and tell Lewis that I’m done with pretending to care about every little life that stubs its toe, every goddamn kitten up a tree. I’ve spent my life bleeding for humans. I’ve died for them. Enough. If that makes me evil, then fine. I am.”

Venna said nothing. She drank her juice like a little girl, two hands wrapped around the glass for stability, and it left her with a faint orange ring around her lips that she tried to lick off before wiping it away. “Cherise is right,” she said. “You are more like us than them now.”

“Let me sum that up with ewwwwww.”

She stared at her empty juice glass. It filled up, welling from the bottom of the glass. She emptied it again.

“Was that supposed to be a metaphor? Sorry. Don’t get it.” I ate the last bite of my bagel and pushed my chair back to stand as I swigged the dregs of my coffee. “Bother me again, and I’ll seriously inconvenience you.” From the pulse of power inside me, it was entirely possible that I could really hurt her.

“You didn’t ask,” she said.

“Ask what?”

“Anything. Why the staff of this ship are still willing to make your bagels when their world is crumbling around them.” Venna shrugged again. “You don’t ask anything, because you don’t care anymore. It means nothing to you. It’s very Djinn.”

“I’m not Djinn.”

“No,” she agreed. “You’re becoming something else. It’s—interesting.”

“But not good.”

“No. Not good at all. Not for anyone, really.”

I didn’t care. Some part of me could not wait to blow past these conventional, stupid rules.

And some tiny, whispering part of me was mourning that very thing.

“I won’t see you again,” Venna said. “Not until this is over. I’m sorry. I liked you. It would have been better if I’d killed you.”

I put my hands flat on the table. “So? Do it now.”

“I can’t,” she said, which was surprisingly honest. “And I won’t. That’s for your own to do, not me.”

She finished another half glass of OJ, then misted away without another word.

I thought she looked a little grave, and a little sad.

I got up and stiff-armed the door out onto the promenade.

The Grand Paradise had left the storm behind during the night, although it was following us like a pit bull on a leash, obedient to my every wish.

The ship cut a rapid, hissing passage through the still-high waves, making for the destination I’d identified. Home, part of me said. Not the best part.

Sunlight flooded the promenade, glittering on drops of spray, turning the place into a gallery of diamonds. Watertight doors had opened all up and down the length of the ship. Wardens who’d been gearing up for the fight of the century, or at least the storm of the century, were left wondering what to do. I didn’t seem to be much of a threat, standing at the railing and enjoying the day.

Nothing but sun and fresh wind now. It was a beautiful morning.

I felt the winds shift. Gravity shift, at least on the aetheric level. A heavyweight had arrived.

When I looked over my shoulder, I saw that Lewis had made his way out onto the deck. Behind him was the Warden army—faces I knew and some I outright hated. Ah, good. Finally, we were at the showdown. Time to rumble.

I turned to face them.

“You’re getting off the ship,” Lewis told me. “I’m sorry, Jo.”

“Oh no. Mutiny! Whatever shall I do?” I put the back of my hand dramatically to my forehead. “Wait. I know. Kill you.”

He didn’t look especially petrified. Lewis had healed up some overnight—faster than I’d have thought, but he’d probably had tons of Earth Warden help to accelerate the process. He looked badass and focused, and whereas I was clean, scrubbed, and dressed for sexy success, he hadn’t shaved, showered, slept, or changed clothes.

I was ahead on style points, but I wasn’t counting the Wardens out. Not yet.

“You can’t win this,” Lewis said. “Don’t push me, Jo. I’m telling you the truth: You can’t.”

He sounded confident, but then, Lewis always did sound confident when it came to crunch time.

I felt the whispers of wind tease my hair, and the storm—my own personal pet now—yawned and began to spin its engine harder, preparing for battle.

“You going to talk, or are you going to fight?” I asked. “Because the alternative is hate sex, and I’m kind of over you right now.” I noted, on a highly academic level, that I was starting to sound more and more like Bad Bob, even to the ironic dark twist in my tone.