Total Eclipse

He was swaying a little, side to side, and she swayed with him. It was a slow, hypnotic dance, and the sand whirling around my daughter’s body slowed its angry rotation, slipping and falling in a red rain to pool around her bare feet.

“I hear you,” she said, and it was Imara’s voice, my voice, the Mother’s voice, the echo of millions. And there was a kind of drugged wonder in it. “I hear you.”

“Then feel me,” Lewis said, and kissed her.

The light that exploded from them should have burned us alive, it was so purely white. Even with my eyes shut, my arms blocking the glare, I could see the two of them standing there together, swaying, merging, dancing.

David let out a sharp cry and got to his feet—not a cry of alarm, but one of triumph, of joy, of absolute relief. And all around him formed Djinn, the Djinn I had known, the ones I had never known, the ones who’d been my mortal enemies. Venna came, and Rahel, dozens more, and more, and more until the chapel was full. Their eyes were burning not with white, but with a pure gold.

The light slowly died at the front of the chapel, and Imara and Lewis collapsed to the floor. She lay in a pale heap, hair covering her face, and as I watched the sand slip back over her in a whispering blanket, I knew she was still alive. Still an Oracle.

She opened her eyes, and sat up, staring down at herself—and at Lewis.

He wasn’t moving.

I saw the grief move over her face, and she reached down and put her fingers on his cheek, very gently. She looked up at me, and I knew instantly that Lewis . . . Lewis was gone. The flesh that lay there was empty, the soul taken.

“No,” I whispered, and all the barriers inside me broke. I’d witnessed something that had never been seen by any human before—none who’d ever lived—and it had been shocking and moving and terrifying, but in the end, all I could feel was that I’d lost him. I’d lost Lewis.

Imara straightened his body, folded his arms, and stood over him. She looked out at the Djinn and said, “You’re here to bear witness. Say his name.”

“Lewis,” said a thunderous chorus of Djinn voices. “Lewis. Lewis.”

And a shining being misted into existence, more beautiful than anything I’d ever imagined. Angels would weep to see him now, and it wasn’t for several long heartbeats that I recognized his face, his body. It was Lewis, perfected, the way David had been perfected.

But Djinn Lewis shone with so much power that it couldn’t be contained in him. The aetheric caught fire around him, and it was a white blaze of joy.

Every single Djinn—New Djinn, Old—all of them went to their knees.

I went, too, more because I didn’t want to be the only one standing. David’s face was blank, his eyes very bright, as he said, “He’s the Conduit. All of us, together again. One people, not two.”

Lewis had replaced Jonathan, in ways that David and Ashan could not.

I slowly stood up again, and Lewis’s attention fixed on me. His smile hadn’t changed at all, really.

“Hey,” I said. “So—about humanity—”

“Through me, she understands,” Lewis told me. His voice made me shiver, because it was like him and yet somehow . . . not. The seductive power he’d unleashed was still putting raw edges on him. “The human race will survive. Better get your act together, though. It’s a limited time offer.”

I nodded, not sure what to say to him anymore. David stood up next to me, and slowly, one by one, the Djinn rose.

“Right,” Lewis said. “The Djinn will help clear the damages, heal the sick and injured, rebuild alongside you. We’re partners now. The way we should have been.”

I cleared my throat. “And the Wardens?”

“Going to take a lot of work to bring them back,” Lewis said. His smile grew brighter. “I can’t think of anyone I trust more to make that happen, Jo. You, and your son.”

Son. I put a hand over my stomach as my lips parted.

Lewis waved his hand, and the glass windows of the chapel filled in again. The Djinn had to shuffle around as wooden pews replaced piles of ashes. Creation, at the snap of his fingers.

“Is she still awake?” I asked.

“For now,” he said. “She’ll sleep soon. But I think you’ll find things much easier now.”

The Djinn were disappearing now, heading off to their newly appointed tasks. Outside the window, the sky was a pure, perfect blue, with a few light clouds drifting high. A bald eagle swooped low, so close its wings almost brushed the glass, and I wondered if it was the same one we’d left wrapped in Cassiel’s coat in Las Vegas.

I watched it soar away. When I looked back down, Djinn Lewis was gone, and his silent, empty shell was all that was left.

David took my hand. “Time to go,” he said.

I took in a deep breath. “What about—”

Imara gave me a smile, and looked down. Lewis’s body sank into the floor, into the stone beneath. I saw the fading whisper of it moving deep, deep into the Earth.

Gone.

“Good journey, Mom,” Imara said, and whispered into shadows and sand.

Behind us, the door of the chapel opened, and the priest blinked at us in surprise. “Oh, hello,” he said. “The chapel isn’t officially open yet, but if you’d like to come back—”

“Yes,” David said. “We’ll come back. But we have things to do.”

We walked out, into bright sunlight, and descended the steps. I had no idea what we’d do when we got to the bottom—no car, no transportation of any kind. I didn’t really feel like taking a bus.

“Things to do,” I repeated. “We’ll go get the rebuilding started, round up the Wardens, recover the Djinn bottles and smash them. After that, though, it’s three days of spa, mud baths, and all-day massages. Anything I’m forgetting?”

“Shopping,” David said, straight-faced. “And a bedroom with a locked door.”

“Mmmm, I said. Joy gurgled up in me like bubbles, and I found I was poised on the edge of giggles. “Can we move that to first on the list?”

“Probably not.” He smiled, and stopped on the steps to kiss me with all the passion and sweetness I could ever want. “That’s an installment.”

“I’d like to give you something on credit, too, but it’s a public space. And a church.”

He laughed, and we skipped down the rest of the steps to the parking lot.

Sitting in the middle of the lot was a black 1970 Mustang Boss 429, gleaming like new. I stopped and threw David a questioning look. He tossed me the keys.

Next stop, Las Vegas.

And the world, beyond.

Epilogue

“Mo-o-om!”

I was in the middle of a pile of paperwork and a simultaneous conference call with Warden HQ, which had already gone on for two hours and was likely to go on for two more. I counted to ten, silently, and hit the mute button on my phone just as someone, of course, asked me for my opinion. Ah well. I always told them family came first. “What is it?” I called, with extreme patience.

“I need you!”

“Do you need me right now?”

“Well—yeah, kind of!”

That was when I smelled something burning, and the smoke alarms went off at the back of the house. I jumped up, scattering papers in a summertime paper blizzard as I dashed toward my son.

He was standing in the doorway saying, “Mom, I didn’t mean to; it wasn’t my fault. . . .”