Thin Air

SIXTEEN

Funny, most people wouldn’t even know it was a crisis. It didn’t have any of the usual signs-no menacing clouds, no tremors in the ground, no forest fires charring acres of homes. This was the quietest, most subtle disaster I’d ever seen. Except for a few cell phones squealing their last, and some random weird magnetic effects, it seemed to go almost unnoticed.

“Yeah, it’s definitely weird,” Paul said when I pointed it out as we made phone calls not from mobiles, or from the tricked-out communications van (which had been hastily shut down, just in case), but the old-fashioned way, from a bank of phone booths in a hotel lobby. David had quietly disappeared, I supposed to go try to persuade his fellow Nouveau Djinn to participate. Did even they take orders from him these days? Had I really seen him lose his place in the world there in the cemetery?

I hadn’t asked him, but surely he was still the conduit of energy for the New Djinn. Through him they were connected to the Mother-that gave him some security.

I hoped.

The list of numbers Paul had handed me included names I recognized, a marvel that I didn’t think was going to get old anytime soon. I liked recognizing and remembering. It was a real thrill.

Talking to the Ma’at, well, not so much. Charles Spenser Ashworth II, in particular, was a great big pain in the ass. “We’re well aware of the magnetic instability,” he told me, in that waspish, precise way he’d once commanded me to tell him the circumstances of his son’s death. He’d tortured me when I’d refused to tell him. Okay, that was a memory I could have safely kept buried. “There’s nothing to be done about it. The Ma’at don’t interfere in the natural order, Ms. Baldwin; you know that to be our guiding principle. If you want to twist nature to your will, then perhaps you should call upon your friends in the Wardens.”

“News flash, Charles: I’m standing with them right now. And we’re asking you to help.” I tapped my fingernails on the chromed surface of the pay phone in frustration. “Come on. Come out of the shadows. The Ma’at have a different take on this, and I for one think they ought to be heard before the Wardens and the Djinn decide what to do. Don’t you? Don’t you want a seat at the big table?”

I’d played directly to his vanity, shamelessly. Ashworth was rich, white, old, and patrician, and he’d never had anything but a seat at the big table. Usually red leather, handcrafted. On his own he hadn’t manifested enough power to qualify for the Wardens-there were thousands of people every year who were either borderline talented, or just below the line, who were left to go about their lives without Warden interference. Most of them never even knew what they had, or what they could do, and those who did couldn’t do much with it. Maybe light some candles without matches, if they were Fire; maybe grow out-of-season plants, if they were Earth. A weak, brief rainstorm, if Weather.

But put those marginal talents together with Djinn who willingly helped channel it, connect it into a series, you got additive power of a unique kind. The Ma’at had been focused on undoing the excesses of the Wardens; they rarely influenced things directly unless forced to it, mostly out of self-defense.

But then, they’d never been asked to step up on the front lines, really. Not until now.

“What do you want?” Ashworth asked.

“I want you, Lazlo, and everybody else in the Ma’at you can pull to get on a plane and come to Seacasket, New Jersey. The Wardens will meet you and bring you in from the airport. Call the Crisis Center number”-I gave it to him from memory, another thrill-“and tell them who you are and when you’re arriving. They’ll coordinate.”

Ashworth was silent for a few long seconds, and then said, “We won’t do anything contrary to the best interests of the planet. You understand that.”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t ask you to. Get moving.”

When I hung up, Paul was hanging up as well. He offered up a big, square hand, and I high-fived it. “Right,” he said. “We got ourselves a party. Before nightfall, there should be about five hundred Wardens here, and however many Ma’at. Throw in the Djinn, and…”

“And you’ve got a real recipe for disaster,” I said, not feeling so high-five-ish anymore. “This could turn bad so easily.”

“But it won’t,” Paul said.

“How do you know?”

He grinned. “Because I’m putting you in charge of it, kiddo.”

We took over the Seacasket Civic Center, and we did that mainly with bags of cash, toted in by Warden security representatives in their blazers, shoulder holsters, and intimidating sunglasses. Whatever functions were going on there, we got them postponed, canceled, or moved.

Even though that was the biggest indoor space in town, it wasn’t exactly spacious. I’d have rather gathered everybody in the cemetery itself, but Ashan wasn’t letting us grubby humans wander around on his sacred ground for longer than he had to.

It was late, I was tired, there wasn’t enough coffee, and even the Djinn were crabby. Not a recipe for smooth interspecies relations.

It blew up in amazingly short order, over some dispute over seating arrangements.

I tried to get everyone’s attention. It wasn’t easy, because there was a whole lot of shouting going on, quite a bit of cursing, and I strongly suspected some hair pulling was involved, over where the Wardens and a few of the Ma’at had gotten in one another’s faces to make their points more forcefully.

David had found the time, somehow, to get me a car-a vintage Mustang, unbelievably enough, a cherry red honey of a car that made me practically orgasm with delight at the sight of it-and, of course, a change of clothing. He knew what I liked: a sleek black pantsuit with a close-fitting purple silk shirt. And a fabulous pair of elegant three-inch Manolo Blahnik heels that fit like they’d been made for my feet. (Knowing the Djinn…maybe they had. Maybe Manolo was supernatural. Having worn the shoes, I’d have believed it.)

I slipped the Manolo off of my right foot, stood up, and banged it loudly on the table in front of me. It was a cheap folding table, covered with the ubiquitous white hotel cloth, and it made a nice, satisfying racket.

That didn’t do the job. Apparently, Nikita Khrushchev had either had bigger feet or heavier shoes than I did, back when he’d used the same tactic at the UN. I transferred the shoe to assaulting the microphone instead.

In the ensuing silence, as the electronic squealing died down, Lewis, poker-faced, stage-whispered, “You must be desperate to do that to designer shoes.”

“Sit down,” I said to the room at large, “and shut the hell up. Now.” I gave Lewis a look that included him, too. He was unmoved, except for having a very slight crinkle at the corner of his mouth. He thought I was cute when I was mad. David, who had seen me at my worst, was watching me from the other side with much more perspective on the subject, and was consequently less impressed.

The Wardens more or less obeyed, sinking slowly into the folding chairs that had been provided. The Ma’at made a point of not, until they got the nod from the head table by Myron Lazlo, who was-along with Charles Spenser Ashworth II, and two or three other really old guys-in charge of that organization. Myron sat on the other side of David, who was at my right elbow, not quite touching. Counting Lewis, and Paul next to him, there were just the five of us at the head table. One step below us, down on the floor, there were round tables draped with well-used cloths, around which sat small groups of the most powerful beings in the world, all keeping to themselves. Tempers were high particularly between the Ma’at, who felt vindicated by being summoned to the meeting, and the Wardens, who felt betrayed by everything they’d ever known. Not to mention that the Wardens were terrified to be trapped in the same room with the Djinn.

The Djinn had taken over the back half of the room, standing in two separate, distinct groups. One group held the New Djinn, like Rahel, Prada, and dozens of others I’d come into contact with over the past couple of years. Marion’s tall American Indian Djinn was among them, and he gave me a small nod of acknowledgment when my eyes met his.

The Old Ones, on the other hand, held Djinn like Venna and Ashan, and dozens of badass ancients I didn’t recognize at all. They didn’t mingle.

“Right,” I said, as chairs scraped on the floors and people settled back in their appropriate armed encampments, metaphorically speaking-or neutral corners, not that I believed for a second that there was such a thing as neutral. “Let’s just get through this with a minimum of bloodshed, if possible.”

Myron Lazlo took the microphone, frowned at the dent from my shoe, and cleared his throat. He was old enough to have been running a speak-easy during Prohibition, and he liked formality. He did not, therefore, like me all that much. He was wearing a blue suit, a crisp white shirt, and a nice brocade silk tie that looked a little too daring for a dyed-in-the-wool CPA type. Probably a gift from a great-grandchild.

“Before we begin,” he said, “the Ma’at want assurances that this effort is at all necessary.”

“Assurances from whom, exactly?” one of the Wardens on the floor asked in a plummy British accent. “And who the hell are you that we have to explain ourselves to you, mate?”

A growl of agreement swept through the Wardens’ side of the room. Lewis gestured for the mike, and Myron passed it back to me. Lewis had recovered from my evil twin’s attempt to take him over, but he was well aware that in defending himself, he’d precipitated, or at least hastened, this whole mess. He looked tired, his haircut was at least a month past its expiration date, and he had a wicked five-o’clock shadow thing going. Slumped down in his chair, he was still at least six inches taller than everybody else at the table, including me.

The room went still, waiting to hear Lewis fire back at Myron and defend the Wardens.

It didn’t come to me as any surprise when he didn’t.

“Myron’s right,” Lewis said. His slightly raspy voice was level and calm, and it took away at least half of the impact of what he was saying, so the uproar was mostly confused, shocked whispers rather than full-volume outrage. “Let’s ask ourselves first if this has to be done, not just how.”

The Wardens, in particular, exploded into protest. I used the shoe again, to good effect this time, and made an after-you gesture to Lewis when things had subsided to mutters again. He gave me an entirely insincere gee-thanks look in response. We knew each other so well we could be sarcastic without even speaking.

“I think we should ask the Djinn,” he said. “David? Ashan?”

Diplomatic of him to include them both. David looked across at Ashan and made a very polite nod that I was sure cost him some pride. Ashan lifted his chin to its maximum angle of arrogance.

“In normal course, this could be allowed to happen,” he said. “But it was not triggered by natural forces, and so it should be corrected before so much of the field is broken that the change is inevitable. It causes the Mother discomfort if the change happens too quickly.”

He hated talking to us. Hated the whole idea that we would have any part in this at all. Which, hey, I didn’t much like the thought of working side by side with him, either. I had no idea what it was really costing David to do it, but I knew it wasn’t easy.

“Why aren’t we sticking these freaks in bottles?” one of the less intelligent Wardens yelled from somewhere in the back. “Murdering bastards!”

Lewis didn’t let anger slip free very often-he was mostly of the “irony is the best policy” school of thought-but there was no mistaking the steel in his voice this time. “Shut up, or you’re dealing with me,” he snapped. The silence that fell afterward stretched for long enough to make his point before he continued. “Let me get something completely clear. The Djinn aren’t our slaves, and they aren’t our pets. They’re our partners in this, and they ought to be our partners in everything we do. If they struck out at us in a rage, they were acting in defense of themselves and the Earth.” Well, not quite. Ashan had also been conducting his own campaign against David for control of the Djinn, but Lewis was right, in the main. “We oppressed them for thousands of years. We forced them to do things that none of us wants to think about or acknowledge. We sealed them in bottles with Demons. Think about it. They came after us, and we damn well deserved it.”

Another uproar, this one composed of a whole lot of variations of oh-no-you-don’ts. Lewis waited it out, stone-faced, arms folded. Yeah, that had gone over well.

Two of the Wardens got up and tried to storm out of the room. I don’t think so, I thought furiously, and created an invisible shield of hardened air around the door. The first rebel hit it and bounced off…an Earth Warden, big and burly in a lumberjack kind of way. The second, however, was a Weather Warden. Sarah Crossman, from Iowa. Decent enough person, but hidebound. She lost her temper and tried to pry at the hold I had over it.

And the fragile, highly undependable hold I had over my own temper broke. It sounded like shattering glass, which made sense, because somehow the air pressure in the room had dropped, along with the temperature, and the cloudy windows way up at the top of the room (because the other, alternative use for this place was basketball) blew out in a spray of powdered glass. People screamed, and wind whipped in uncontrollable currents.

And then everything went very, very still as Lewis grabbed hold of the air and took control from me. The door that Sarah Crossman was pulling on suddenly opened, smacking her in the face and sending her reeling backward.

Lewis said, “If you want to go, go. But if you leave this room, you’re out of the Wardens. And I’ll see to it that your powers will be neutered.”

There was an audible gasp from the Warden side of the room, and both of the groups of Djinn smiled ever so slowly. The Ma’at exchanged uneasy glances.

“You can’t do that!” Ah, it was my old friend Emily, from Maine; I hadn’t seen her since Eamon had drugged her and abducted me out of the cab of her truck. Good times. She was a solid, blocky woman, prone to clunky shoes and flannel shirts and mulish expressions. “You can’t force us to agree with you!”

“It ain’t a democracy, Auntie Em,” Paul noted dryly. “I think he can. You don’t like it, just let me know what time’s good for that clinic appointment.”

“Don’t you threaten-”

I slammed the Manolo down hard on the table, “Emily! I will personally make sure you end up strapped to a gurney. And I won’t be nearly as nice about it as Lewis; you can bet your ass on that! Now sit down!”

Silence. Most people in the room knew pieces and hints of what had happened to me in the last week, and more than a few had heard some version of a story that I’d had a daughter, and lost her in a Djinn attack. It wasn’t wrong in the main, just fuzzy in the particulars.

The thing was, I wasn’t seen as entirely sane, so nobody really wanted to cross me. I could only imagine that I looked just as ragged-edged as the stories indicated. That, combined with such a spectacular loss of control, suggested that a certain amount of caution might be in order.

Things were very, very still. Lewis was looking at me. So was everyone else.

“Jo.” David’s very quiet voice next to me. I felt the pressure of his hand on my shoulder, then the friction of his fingertips stroking my hair. He wasn’t using magic of any kind, except the whisper that was always present between us. “Easy.”

He was right. There was emotion boiling up in me, and I couldn’t afford it, not here. Not now. I pulled myself sharply back with a flinch that I was sure was visible.

David slowly settled back in his chair, still watching me with total, gentle attention.

Lewis had started talking again. “I think we’re agreed that since this isn’t the natural time for this magnetic flip to begin, we should counter it while we still have the chance. Now, the Ma’at have developed a whole new way of looking at the manipulation of power on the aetheric plane, and there’s a lot we can-”

“Who are these people? Why were they operating in secret?” demanded a Warden from the floor, who was too angry to let a little thing like my mood swings stop him.

“They were formed to try to undo some of the damage the Wardens were doing to the environment,” Lewis said. “They never interfered directly with us.”

“No, but they were undermining us! No wonder our success rate kept getting worse! Lives were lost!”

Lewis kept the microphone, despite impatient waves from Myron to pass it back. “The Wardens’ success rate was getting worse because we were undermining one another,” he said. “Among other things. You know there were a lot of things wrong in the organization, including Wardens selling out innocent people for profit.” He wasn’t pulling any punches. So far as I knew, nobody had ever put it that baldly, at least outside of very private, hush-hush conversations at the highest levels. “Demon Marks have subverted key members. Senior Wardens have taken kickbacks from criminal organizations. Wardens at all levels are guilty of outright murder. So let’s not pretend that anybody in this room has a monopoly on being right.”

That last word fell into a vast, ringing silence. Somebody shifted uneasily in a folding chair, waking a squeal of metal like worn-out brakes.

“I’m not making accusations,” Lewis said. “I’m stating facts. These things happened. And they’re not going to happen anymore.”

“Or?” someone stage-muttered. It might have even been from the Ma’at.

Lewis smiled slowly. I wouldn’t have wanted to be on the receiving end of that one. “They’re not…going…to happen…anymore,” he repeated very softly, and held the entire room’s stare. The place had gone very quiet, and the air was crackling with potential energy. “We’re not going to be the bad guys. The Ma’at have things to teach us. We probably have a few things to teach them, too. Now. Everybody choose.”

One Warden stood up and walked out, not bothering to mitigate the shriek of metal chair over bare floor. We all winced, even the Djinn. The door banged shut behind his grand exit.

I didn’t try to stop him. Besides, I’d already blown out the windows. Not much of a big gesture left to make.

“One down,” Lewis said, unruffled. “Anybody else want to join him and stop wasting our time?”

The rest of them exchanged glances and settled back more comfortably into their places.

I reclaimed the microphone and nervously clutched it in both hands. “We worked out that we should have three teams: Fire, Earth, and Weather, with Ma’at and Djinn equally distributed among them. The Djinn will interface us directly with the Oracles of each of the three types to ground us.”

Someone out there gave a disbelieving snort. “It’ll never work.”

“Maybe not. But I’d take it as a personal favor if you could try.”

That caused a stir, albeit a discreet one. Nobody knew quite what to make of me, really, but the rumor had already flown like lightning through the ranks of the Wardens-and no doubt the Ma’at as well-that I was falling into the more-than-human category. They didn’t know I, like Lewis, was now a triple threat…that I controlled all three elements. I wasn’t too comfortable with anyone knowing quite yet.

I wasn’t sure what it meant, either personally or professionally. Or even if, long-term, I planned to stay a professional Warden. I was kind of interested in what the Ma’at had to say, although I still didn’t much like their leadership.

Half of the Djinn were looking at David, half at Ashan. What a scary bunch they were-all packaged up nicely in human form, but with a slight edge to them that let everyone around know not to get too comfortable. It was going to be quite an adjustment between the Wardens and the Djinn. Wardens had lorded it over the Djinn for thousands of years. Djinn had worked as slaves, handed off from one master to another, their will subjugated to the needs of the moment or their masters’ whims. That kind of thing doesn’t just stop because somebody waves a magic wand, not even in our world. Too many of those Djinn had been abused, and all of them were wary of it ever happening again.

Ashan nodded, after keeping David in suspense for long enough to make his point. David said, “The Djinn will cooperate in this. All of us.”

Lazlo cleared his throat. “The Ma’at will of course help any way we can,” he said stiffly. “We’ll be happy to demonstrate our way of channeling forces. It might be helpful for this. Of course, we’re shorthanded, and the Ma’at were never as widespread or powerful as the Wardens…” He was backpedaling so fast that if he didn’t watch it, he’d fall under the wheels.

The Djinn suddenly transferred their attention as a unit from David to Lazlo. It was like being hit with a truck, and then being knocked into a black hole. I watched his throat work, pale, wrinkled skin trembling as he struggled to stay calm.

“But of course,” he amended, “we will give our full support.”

The Ma’at had never participated in the slavery of the Djinn. The Djinn that helped them-Rahel among them-were always free to come, go, or stay. It was an easy and practical arrangement, and the Djinn had a level of trust in the Ma’at that they did not have-and might not ever have-in the Wardens.

But the Ma’at had no illusions about the Djinn, as the Wardens had… We’d gotten lulled into a false sense of security over the millennia of ordering around creatures far more powerful than we could ever hope to be. We thought that if a predator took orders, it was no longer a predator.

We’d learned better these past few weeks.

We got down to the operational details. I let Lewis and Lazlo handle the fierce debate. I was mainly there to act as a moderator, and wield a mean shoe when necessary. And terrify anybody who got out of line, of course.

David was still holding my hand. I looked sideways at him without turning my head, and saw he was openly watching me.

He leaned closer, put his mouth to my ear, and said, “What do you think? Can we do this? Together?”

“It’s day one of the new world,” I said. “These things take time. But yeah, I think we probably can. It’ll be messy and bumpy, but we’ll get through it. And next time it’ll be a little better.” I turned to look at him, and our eyes met. I felt that warm shiver go through me again, as if we were still connected in some odd, unexplained way, although the bond of master and slave-Djinn was long dissolved. “David. Are you going to be all right?” I meant in this thing with Ashan.

He shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“What, and this isn’t?” I raised an eyebrow at the debate, which was rising in volume. “Spill.”

His eyebrows climbed, too. “Why?”

“It might have escaped you, but what affects the Djinn pretty much seems to roll downhill to humanity. So I’d like to know now, instead of later, when I’m fighting for my life. Also, I love you, and I’ll kick his fine Djinn ass if he hurts you.”

He glanced around the room, looking innocent. Entirely false. I had reason to know. “You really want to talk about it here?”

“No,” I said. “I want to talk about it someplace a lot quieter than this, with a hot tub, but if we leave, things are going to slide downhill without us, and you know it.”

He nodded slowly. “This had to happen, Jo. The Old Ones weren’t going to endure having someone like me as their conduit. I’m not like Jonathan. I can’t…step away from the world and take the long view.”

“Too close to humans,” I said, remembering what Venna had said. “Too close to me. I caused this.”

“No,” he said. “And change isn’t destruction. It’s just change. Maybe we’re adapting into two species-the Old Ones as pure Djinn, the rest of us into something that can-and should-remain closer to you. To help.” He glanced over toward Ashan, who was watching us with eerie concentration. So was Venna, frowning slightly. “When they’re finished today they’ll go, and they won’t interact with humans unless they have to, for the good of the Djinn or the good of the Mother. But my people will. We’ll stay with the Ma’at. We’ll stay with the Wardens. We’ll stay part of everything.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “Everything.”

My heart rate picked up a few dozen beats per minute. The debate was slowing down, Lewis was making notes on a big wipe-board with names and procedures, and already there was a sense of purpose in the room. A sense, strangely, of excitement.

It was day one, and we were going to change.

And change wasn’t a bad thing.

“Well,” I said, “when this is over, you’re mine, David. I expect to have your full, undivided attention for at least twenty-four hours. Maybe longer.”

He kissed my hand. There went the heart rate, edging up again.

“You have it,” he said, “for the rest of your life. When this is over, we can go for a drive. I understand the seats recline in the Mustang.”

I closed my eyes and soaked that in, and then I stood up.

I addressed the entire room. “Let’s go save the world.”

Because from this day forward, that was officially our job.