Wait. Atomic bomb. Hadn’t the genie tempted Ariel by offering to destroy a facility designed to give atomic weapons to her country’s enemies? A country that had vowed that they would destroy her country as soon as they had the means?
Yes, a quick swim revealed the location. Hard to hide refined uranium from an astral werewolf with a nose for transuranic elements.
Back at the fault, I lined up the shot. One quick flick of my finger and the energy would cause an earthquake that would swallow hundreds of acres of land, taking the uranium processing facility with it.
But there were still innocents at that facility. Support personnel who just needed to work. Could I give them a warning? Some pre-tremblors to force an evacuation?
That would require more control of my shot, and would lead to a greater chance they could remove the material and equipment and start over.
It was what I could live with. I took a deep breath and made my shot.
I gasped and opened my eyes. Blinking was hard, my eyelids were gummy. A wave of dizziness passed and I smelled myself. Ugh.
Mike was instantly at my side, handing me a bottle of lukewarm water. I sipped water through lips so badly cracked that they bled.
I finished the water and Mike handed me another bottle. Between sips, I examined him.
His beard had grown out and his eyes were hollow. Like the locals, he had wrapped a gutra around his head to block the sunlight. Despite the covering, his skin was deeply burned. That’s when I realized our shading camouflage canopy was gone.
It was hot, too hot. Crap, my magical air-conditioner had stopped when I went under.
“How long was I gone?”
“Four days,” he said. “I was beginning to worry.”
He tilted his head and examined me critically. “I don’t think you can do any more of these four-day-long trances. You look like crap.”
“I feel like crap, but I’ll bounce back. Anyway, I did everything I needed to do in one session.”
“We don’t have to camp out here for another few weeks?”
“No, I got everything done in one dive, but we need to get going. I set a lot of events in motion and we don’t want to be in this part of the world when they occur.”
I was weak as a kitten and my bladder was full, but I dredged up enough magic to activate the cooling spell. Not much to do about the shade, but it was already near sunset.
I stroked the dagger, ready to drop the circle and get moving to more hospitable locales, then stopped.
“Is there anything dangerous about?”
“Not now. There were some dust devils before. Nothing like the genie—these were tiny. But they kept banging against the circle, then finally got bored and blew away the canopy, and left.”
I rose like an old woman, creaking and groaning, before werewolf vitality brought me back to near-normal. I was still weak, but I could move.
“Okay. I’ll leave the circle up while we rest some more and pack.” My stomach growled. “And eat something.”
Mike sat station at the edge of the circle, facing outward while I cleaned up with my magic cloth, wiping away days of sweat and dirt.
I dressed in a spare desert-brown T-shirt and pants, then handed the cloth to Mike so he could clean up.
I busied myself dropping the circle and erasing all traces of our stay here while Mike wiped down and changed clothes. Like him, I found an excuse not to stare while he was naked.
We finished off two sets of MREs each, as well as the last of the water.
“You moved the oil?” asked Mike.
“The oil is moving. It’ll take a couple of weeks for the effect to be felt.”
“I thought you had failed; you were under so long.”
“I had to give the moon time to circle around the Earth. I used modulated gravity waves to image the interior of the Earth so I could—”
Mike stopped me with a raised palm. “I’m sure I wouldn’t understand the details, Luna. It sounds like you used the moon like a big rotating MRI magnet to x-ray the center of the Earth.”
“I didn’t use magnetism, too much interference from the magnasphere—”
He shook his head again. “If you say it worked, it worked. I’m just glad you came back alive.”
Were his eyes pooling with tears? Must be irritation from the sunlight and windblown grit.
“I told you I always come back.”
Mike nodded in agreement, then raised an eyebrow. “What now, Princess?”
“Call the ship for our pickup. We’re done.”
33
Two weeks later, we were sailing out of the Strait of Hormuz—or trying to, at least. The USS George Washington and her carrier battle group were blocking our way.
Lady Birdsong had called me to the communications center. Present in addition to the two of us were our captain, Mike, Manny, and some crew-members.
A 65-inch screen displayed several people, each in an individual window.
Prince Abdul and the CIA asshole were in one window. The carrier strike group commander, an admiral, was in another window, flanked by several senior officers.
And my old enemy General Marcus was in his own window. How the hell did this known demon keep bouncing back?
The video quality was excellent. I could make out details: the increasing number of white hairs in Prince Abdul’s beard, the tiny flames in the eyes of Marcus and Mr. Jonathan that denoted possession, the faint sheen of sweat on the admiral’s brow as he nervously twisted a heavy ring on the third finger of his left hand. When Mr. Jonathan tilted his head, three faint scars on his neck became visible, barely concealed by makeup and his collar.
As I slid into my seat at the table, a few drops of water dripped from my hair and splashed onto the polished teak. I wiped them up with the sleeve of my blouse.
Ignoring my interruption, Lady Birdsong said, “I repeat, we are an allied warship taking part
