Unbroken

“Shinju is inside,” he said. “With us. And that’s where I need you, too, inside. I can’t risk a single one of the Djinn out there, not now; it’s the endgame. We’re losing cities, whole cities, and we can’t keep it together much longer. We’ve already lost so many. David is one of the most powerful we could ever have on our side. I absolutely can’t let him go.” No wonder his eyes were so haunted, his face so pale and lined. He was managing the end of the human race, and it was burning him alive; his very passion was destroying him.

If it was grave enough that he could abandon Joanne, whom I knew he loved more than any of us… then it was the last death throes of the Wardens.

This was Shinju, I thought again. Pearl, taking her revenge in small, cruel ways. Abandoning Joanne hurt Lewis, and it would destroy David; it would hurt all the Wardens, in great or small ways.

I shouldn’t have left her there alone. I should never have agreed to it.

Chapter 12

LAS VEGAS SEEMED shockingly normal. Inside the hotel, lights burned; slot machines rang, buzzed, and whirred. Dead-eyed humans sat and gambled away their last wealth, expecting no tomorrow. I supposed that at the end of the world, perhaps people would take their pleasures where they could, though I didn’t see what joy could come of winning a game of chance now.

The very definition of a Pyrrhic victory. You win only to burn.

I thought about that scream that David had uttered; I didn’t seem to be able to unhear that kind of pain and anguish, fury and horror. It echoed unpleasantly inside my head, driving out everything else, and I thought, I have to get him back. Open the bottle and let him find her.

I thought that up to the moment when Lewis opened a door and walked me inside the last refuge of the Wardens.

The smell of sweat, desperation, and despair was thick in the room. There was little noise; it was as hushed and quiet as a church, or a funeral. At one time, this would have been an expensive retreat for the ridiculously wealthy, a playpen for the spoiled, but now all of the elegance had been stripped and shoved away, and the room was a morgue, hospital, surgery, and battleground all at once. There was a space in one corner for Wardens to work, and currently there were six standing together, hands linked. As I watched, one collapsed. A black-coated staff member of the hotel silently picked her up and carried her to a cot, woke another Warden, and led him groggily to take the empty place in the circle.

In Oversight, this room was awash in reds and blacks, bloody with it.

And around us, hemming us in, was a descending white fury.

There was another room, the door left partially open; I glanced at it as we walked past, and saw…

Isabel.

“Ibby!” I cried, and ran toward her. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, but scrambled up to hug me when I hurtled toward her. Luis was right with me, hugging the child, kissing her.

She’d grown still more—no longer the slender early teen, she’d now matured to an age that had to be ringing the bell of adulthood. Seventeen, eighteen years of growth, perhaps, but the smile was still the unfettered joy of a child, and the relief of one.

“Mama,” she blurted, and then took in a sharp, steadying breath. She shook her long, dark hair back and composed herself with an obvious effort. “I mean, hello, Cassiel. Uncle Luis.”

“Shut up, mija,” he said, and hugged her again. He kissed her on the forehead. “How did you get here?”

“I came with everybody out of Seattle,” she said. “We were evac-ed out by helicopter, except for the Weather Wardens; they had to go in a truck. Es went with them. She said it was exciting.” The color was high in her cheeks, but she was trying very hard to seem composed. “You two look tired. But you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Luis said, and smiled.

“I’m so glad,” said a new voice, and I turned. So did Luis, and his smile vanished. So did his good mood, and mine, because Pearl’s human form stood there, cool and composed, smiling at us. I hadn’t noticed in the stress of the moments before, but she’d affected a Japanese kimono, and put her dark hair up in a complicated style; of all those I’d seen in this place, she was the first to look rested and content. “Please, be welcome here with us.” The us was significant, because she was talking about Isabel. And, I saw, Esmeralda, who was asleep in a piled tangle of coils nearby.

And beyond her was a room full of Pearl’s children. Eerily quiet children, mostly awake and focused on things that weren’t there—working on the aetheric, I assumed. Performing their altruistic duty to help mankind… until Pearl decided that was no longer necessary, of course. As soon it wouldn’t be.

There were almost a hundred of them here, dressed in plain white shirts and pants, like a uniform. Isabel, I realized, was also in white. Even Esmeralda wore a soft white T-shirt on her human half instead of her usual flashy choices.

Pearl’s kimono was a softly patterned white, with embossed flowers and dragons.

“Interesting,” I said, holding her dark gaze. “White’s the color for funerals in Japan.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m in mourning for all those we’ve lost. I’m surprised that you are not… but then, Cassiel, you were never what one would term the sentimental sort. You finally came to join the battle.”

“Oh, I’ve been fighting,” I said. “And I don’t forget who I’m really fighting, either. That was your doing, out there in the desert.”

She cocked her head slightly, but her utterly polite and blank expression never shifted. “It’s good to be aware of one’s purpose,” she said blandly. “Though I thought the Djinn had a different path for you than this. You could have become something so… different. So powerful.”

I had a suffocating flashback to being sealed in that airless tight crystal coffin, pierced by slow, pitiless needles. Changing, as she intended, to something different. Something powerful.

Something that she would control. Her angel of death, stalking the world.

“That’s not going to happen,” I said, and she bowed her head, just a tiny inclination.

“As you say.” It was amusement, not agreement. “You are welcome to stay here with us.”

“No. Isabel,” I said, “get Esmeralda. We’re joining the Wardens.”

“I can’t,” Isabel said. It wasn’t a rebellion, it was a statement. “I’m sorry, Cassie, but I can’t do that. The Wardens aren’t where I need to be. Es, either. They don’t understand us, and they don’t know what we can do. We’re better here, where we can really use our powers to help.”

There was the faintest shadow of a smile on Pearl’s lips. Delicate, like the shadows of flowers and dragons on her robe. “The children know that I’ll care for them,” she said. “As I always have.”

“Care for them,” I repeated. The rage that I kept banked inside, that had driven me to survive despite all the challenges arrayed against me, against Ashan’s edict and the Wardens’ distrust, against the Mother herself—that rage warmed me now. Sustained me. I did not let it drive me, however. I knew that was what she wanted. “Oh, you care for them. I’ve seen the wreckage of the children you no longer wanted, could no longer use. You keep those you can put to work, and once they’re dry, you’ll discard them. And none of them will outlive your rebirth, will they?”

But that, I knew, was a lie. Of all the children that Pearl had abducted, or coerced, or whose parents she’d persuaded to entrust them to her—of all these elite children gathered here with her in this room—she’d keep Isabel to the last breath, purely because I loved her.

Isabel was my punishment. Solely, completely, mine.

“It’s my choice,” Iz insisted. “Cassie, please understand—this is how I want to help. By being here. With her. I want you to respect what I choose to do.”

Luis hadn’t spoken, but he was staring at his niece with an expression that told me how heartbroken he was. “You can’t want this, Iz,” he said softly. “If you do, you’re forgetting everything you learned. She took you, baby. She did things to you that hurt you. She made you—she made you believe that Cass was your enemy, that I was dead. Don’t you see that? She’s not your friend. She’s our enemy.”

“She’s your enemy,” Iz said. She looked just as grave, just as sad. “I’m sorry,