Unseen Page 8

  Just not quite so far out from their actual location. I approved of the security initiative.

  I parked the bike and dismounted, walking over to Luis as he climbed down from the truck. Ibby was awake, and climbing curiously around the cab of the vehicle to look at the view. She rolled down the window and said, “Tío Luis, be careful!” I noticed she left me out of her warning.

  Luis turned his head, shoulder-length hair streaming like a black flag in the freezing wind, and said, “Stay inside the truck, Ib. I mean it.” He’d put on a thick parka, and now jerked the fur-lined hood up over his head.

  She nodded and rolled up the window, small face gone very serious. She clutched Spike’s plastic container to her chest in anxiety.

  I looked ahead of us to see three Wardens emerging from thin air. One of them, probably the Earth Warden, had a respectable cloaking technique. They stood motionless in a group, seeming very competent indeed; the man in the middle was the young Weather Warden, and he seemed hardly old enough to shave. The other two were women, one only a little older than he was, the other a grandmotherly gray-haired elder who wielded Earth.

  “Yo!” Luis shouted into the wind. “Can we turn down the fan a little? I’m getting frozen stiff here!”

  The wind slacked and then faded to a cold, thin breeze. The fact the Warden didn’t kill the breeze completely told me something about him—despite his power, he had relatively little training. Although he wasn’t in her class, someone like the strongest of the Wardens—say, Joanne Baldwin—would have been able to pull gale-force winds from stillness and stop them on a breath; he still required some starting point, and made it easier by continuing the flow of air molecules, albeit in a minor way. It was a weakness, though not one many would recognize.

  I didn’t need to tell Luis about this. I knew he would see it as well, should we require it.

  “Thanks,” Luis said, smiling. He held up his hand, palm out, and the other Wardens did the same. On each, the stylized sun symbol of their organization glowed, visible only in Oversight. I didn’t bother to identify myself. They wouldn’t mistake me for anyone else. “Friends?”

  “We hoped you’d be coming,” the grandmotherly woman said, stepping forward. She had a sweet, crinkled face and a cloud of soft white hair, and she radiated a soothing presence that made it difficult to keep my customary wariness in place. I knew it was a manifestation of her power, but even so, it was a powerful, subtle force. “Nice to meet you. I’m Janice Worthing. This here’s my friend Ben, and that’s Shasa.” Shasa was the younger woman, who was darker-skinned and sharper-featured. She radiated mistrust in equal proportion to Janice Worthing’s peace. “Stop glaring, Shasa—they’ve been invited.”

  “Not by me,” Shasa muttered. She seemed to save her special dislike for me. I returned the favor by fixing her with a steady stare, of the sort that made the most powerful of Djinn flinch.

  She didn’t. In fact, she intensified her glare.

  Warden Worthing evidently decided not to push for better relations between us; she stepped forward, still smiling and communicating that soothing, warm reassurance, and shook hands with Luis. Coincidentally, that brought her closer to the truck, and Isabel, who was still staring through the window. “Well, hello, sweetheart,” Janice said, and gave Ibby a smile that warmed even me. “You’re a pretty one! You must be Isabel. I’m Janice.”

  Ibby put Spike’s container down, opened the truck door, and jumped down, staring up at Janice with blank concentration for a moment. She finally said, “You can’t make me like you, you know. I’m stronger than that.”

  Janice blinked. “I never had any intention of making you do anything, Isabel.”

  “Oh. You don’t know you’re doing it?”

  “Doing what?”

  “You make people feel safe, even when it’s not true.” Isabel studied her curiously. “I guess that’s a good thing, though. There were lots of times I wanted to feel safe when I really wasn’t. It would have been nicer.”

  Janice bent down and gravely offered her hand. “I hope you always feel safe with me.”

  Ibby looked to her uncle for permission, then reached out and took the woman’s hand with great formality. I saw a visible relaxation in her—something that surprised me because I had not really understood until that moment that deep down, Ibby had never let go of her fear, her worry, her wariness. I had not been able to give her that sense of safety, and it hurt me in an unexpected way.

  It hurt even more when Janice opened her arms, and Isabel hugged her. The old Ibby, the one I had first met, was a hugging sort of child, willing to give her love unreservedly; this one, the one we had taken out of Pearl’s hands, was much more guarded. The burning sensation inside me was, I realized, jealousy. I had wanted to bring that trust out in her, but I had wanted her to feel safe with me.

  Janice’s bright blue eyes met mine over the top of Ibby’s dark head, and I saw understanding in them, and pity.

  Irritated even more, I turned away to slap dirt from my leathers. I wanted no pity, no understanding. I didn’t even understand what I did want. It made me irritable.

  “Guess we’re not going to have a problem after all, Shasa,” Luis said, and gave her his famously seductive grin. “Sorry. I know you were looking forward to a bare-knuckle throw-down. Must get pretty dull out here.”

  She smiled back, but there was nothing seductive about it. It was pure malice. “Next time,” she said, and kissed her fingers at him. Ben turned and looked at her, eyebrows raised; she gave him a dark, burning look and stalked away. There was a black SUV parked just at the bend of the road that became visible as she walked toward it. Shasa, I realized, was the one with the talent for disguise, not Janice. Unusual in a Fire Warden.

  Ben finally came forward, to me, and offered his hand. “Hey,” he said. “Ben Samms. Pleased to meet you, ah—” He fumbled for my name.

  “Cassiel,” I supplied, and we shook. “Yes, I was a Djinn once, before you ask.”

  His face took on a faintly pink tinge, as if he was surprised I’d anticipated the question, and he glanced over at Luis, who was watching us with an expression of mild interest. “Warden Rocha.” Ben nodded, and got a nod in turn. “Hey. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

  “Thanks,” Luis said. “Nice gale you blew up on us. Took some skill, man.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been working at it.”

  Janice and Isabel were no longer hugging, but Ibby held on to the older woman’s hand, looking happier than I had seen her in some time. Another stab of jealousy, followed by guilt, found its mark inside me, and twisted. “We should get going,” Janice said. “Isabel, you want to ride with us, or with your uncle?”

  “With you,” Ibby said. “Can I bring Spike with me? He needs to stay warm.”

  “Spike?” Janice said, raising her eyebrows at Luis.

  “Lizard,” he said, and held out his palms to indicate the short span equating to Spike’s size. “He’s okay.”

  “Oh, certainly. All right, you get Spike,” Janice said. Ibby climbed up into the truck, got Spike’s container and supplies, and ran to the black SUV. I saw the flash of pain go across Luis’s face, but it was only a flash, and then he smiled.

  “Right, let’s get moving, then,” he said. “Cass? Time to mount up.”

  I was grateful to get back on my motorcycle. Things seemed simple there, stripped to bare essentials. While I was moving, slipping like a shadow through the world, I didn’t feel so vulnerable to a child’s smile, or an old woman’s pity.

  Or Luis’s pain, which, like mine, had an edge of jealousy and guilt to it.

  We passed through increasing layers of Warden security, some of it Djinn-provided, to reach the school itself, which lay in a snowy, shadowed valley surrounded by dramatic forested hills. A small frozen stream wandered its way through, gleaming silver in the light, and came within fifty feet of the fence that surrounded the school.

  It was the fence that made me think o
f a prison. Twenty feet high, built of strong metal links fringed with icicles and topped with razor wire, it hardly seemed reassuring, but I also understood the need; it was as much to protect the children from those who might wish to harm them as it was to keep them contained, though the children might not see it that way. I wondered how Ibby would interpret it, and was suddenly glad that she was riding under the calming influence of Janice Worthing. That might prevent any unpleasantness, at least for now.

  The fence opened for our little convoy of vehicles—not a gate, but an accordion-like folding of the metal that I was certain was done by Janice, or another Earth Warden. As the last car (Luis’s) passed through, the fence repaired itself seamlessly.

  Luis opened a communication channel in my ear. Mira, he whispered, I hope they don’t go and lose all their Earth Wardens at one time. That would be awkward.

  Especially if one of them was you, I replied soberly. I hoped that Marion Bearheart had thought all this through; I did not know her well enough to feel confidence in her decisions. Not that I really had confidence in anyone when it came to my safety or the safety of those I loved. A human saying had always struck me as apt: Trust, but verify. It might seem paranoid to some, but it made excellent sense to me.

  At least they kept the interior of the compound refreshingly free of snow. I supposed that would be light work for a Weather Warden, creating a microclimate just large enough to protect those within from the winter weather. It felt warmer, though not by any stretch warm.

  I had only just dismounted my bike, feeling every cold mile of the road in my bones and aching flesh, when the front door of the school opened and a woman rolled down the ramp in a wheelchair, picking up speed and braking with a flair that landed her perfectly in front of us. Bearheart. I knew she had been injured during the Djinn rebellion, but I hadn’t known how badly; it was plain, when I looked at her in Oversight, that she would never walk again. No matter the skill of the healer, there were some things that could not be fixed in the human body once shattered. In a way, she had that in common with Esmeralda, the Snake Girl.

  Bearheart met my eyes with her dark, glittering ones, and said, “No need to pity me, Djinn,” she said. “I’m satisfied I came out a winner. Plenty of my friends didn’t—on both sides.”

  “I wasn’t pitying you,” I said. “I was wondering how much of a disadvantage you’d pose for us in a fight.”

  She laughed. “Don’t make me roll over your foot. I’m heavier than I look, and I can build up a lot of momentum.”

  She was also one of the most powerful Earth Wardens I had ever seen in person, and I had certainly seen many thousands. Physically, she was in her late-middle age, with thick black hair worn long, threaded through with liberal silver. Her skin was a warm copper, her features sharp, and I noticed a sudden resemblance to the Fire Warden girl on the road, Shasa. There was something of the same commanding nose on both.

  I took a guess. “Your—niece is impressive.”

  That took her a bit by surprise, but she nodded. “Shasa is my brother’s kid. Bad temper, but a damn good Warden. Funny, most people think she’s mine.”

  “I am not most people,” I said gravely.

  “Indeed you’re not. I’m not sure you’re people at all, actually. You’re something else.”

  There was a great deal too much comprehension in her expression to please me, and I nodded toward Janice Worthing, who had gotten out of the SUV with Isabel. “Do you trust that one with Isabel?”

  “I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting Isabel just yet, but I’m sure there’s not a child in the world I wouldn’t trust with Janice Worthing. She’s the best there is.” Bearheart fell silent a moment, watching me. “Unless you know something I need to know. Something other than what’s in the official record?”

  I shook my head. There was, in fact, nothing to incite my suspicions about anything I’d seen so far in this place. The Wardens had done a competent job of intercepting us and escorting us in, and I suspected my general distrust was a reflection of my own feelings. Until Isabel had turned her adoration on someone else, I hadn’t realized how important the regard of the child was to me.

  Without her, I felt ... less.

  “I’ll want to go over what you know,” Bearheart said, clearly not convinced with my silent affirmation. “My office, one hour. Bring Warden Rocha once he’s convinced we’re not organizing a sweatshop and letting them run with scissors.” A smile flickered over her lips, but it was thin and not very amused. “Not that I blame him. Wardens don’t have the greatest track record when it comes down to dealing with our own kids. And yes, I’ve been part of that problem from time to time, to my regret. But we no longer have the luxury of worrying about each other’s possible future bad behavior. We have far too much actual bad behavior.”

  With that, she pressed a control on her wheelchair and sped off to talk to Luis, meet Isabel, and generally do her duty. It said a great deal about her, I thought, that she turned her back on me so readily. Either she had underestimated me badly, or she had taken my measure exactly.

  I wondered which it was.

  When no one seemed to be watching me, I strolled around the side of the school, allowing the impressions to roll in. First, it appeared that the fence, though imposing, did not much reflect the quality of accommodations inside. The building itself was large, built of an outer facing of wood but, I sensed, with a core of cement and steel worthy of a military bunker. There were no bars on the windows, and the side doors I passed seemed unguarded. They also proved to be unlocked, I found, because as I was passing the north side one opened and a girl of about ten came running out, almost barreling directly into me. She backpedaled to a swift, scrambling halt, and ran into the boy who was chasing her. He was about her age, but taller, and he wrapped his hands protectively around her shoulders and moved her behind him as he demanded, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  He was a Fire Warden; that much seemed obvious. I could both see and sense the energy forming around his fingers. He was ready to stand and fight. I honored that.

  “My name is Cassiel,” I said. “I am a guest. And you?”

  My polite tone must have reassured him, because he hesitated, then shook the fire off his fingers and nodded to me. Like Ibby, he was adult beyond his years. “Mike,” he said. “Mike Holloway. We heard about you already.”

  Everyone had, it seemed. I wondered exactly what they had heard.

  The girl, irritated, shoved Mike’s protective grip away and said, “I’m Gillian.” She raised her chin, almost daring me to do ... what? Declare myself the villain, attack, froth at the mouth like a rabid vole?

  I smiled. “Gillian,” I said, and bowed slightly. “I am sorry I alarmed you.”

  “You don’t scare me,” Gillian shot back. “I don’t scare that easy. Right, Mike?”

  “Right,” he said. I could tell he really wanted to put his arm around her, but had good enough sense to know that she wouldn’t welcome it. “Gillian is badass. It’s the hair. Redheads are always badass.”

  Gillian did, indeed, have fiery red hair, of a brilliance that put me in mind of bright new bronze. She had it pulled back in a small queue at the back of her neck, tied up with some complicated arrangement of rubber bands that looked as if they’d be impossible to untangle without yanking out entire hanks. Gillian was a Weather Warden, and I could tell that beneath the surface bravado she was terrified of me.

  Whether she was terrified because I was simply a stranger or because she knew that I’d once been a Djinn, it was obvious to me, as it must have been to Mike. She could raise her chin and pretend, but there was no doubt that I held some kind of very real terror for her.

  I liked her for nevertheless standing her ground and glaring defiance.

  “You a new teacher?” Mike asked me.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “For a short time. I don’t know yet. I’ll be speaking with Warden Bearheart in a moment.”

  “Well ...” He eyed me doubt
fully. “We need teachers who aren’t afraid of us. You know—of what we can do.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Mike grinned suddenly. “But you haven’t seen what we can do yet.”

  “We haven’t seen what she can do, either,” Gillian put in. She punched Mike in the shoulder, hard enough that he winced. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  With that, they escaped back inside through the still-open door and banged it shut between us. I eyed it thoughtfully. There were no handles to enter, but obviously it was unlocked from the inside. A fire exit.

  Interesting.

  I completed my perambulation, and arrived back at the front to find Marion Bearheart and Luis standing in the shade of the porch, talking. She waved to me impatiently, and wheeled herself inside.

  I paused next to Luis, who said, “Do I sound paranoid if I say I don’t like all this?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But I don’t like it, either.”

  “Excellent. Glad I’m not the only one.” He gave me a quick, furtive kiss as I moved around him toward the door, for which I rewarded him with a wide-eyed look of surprise and then, considering, backed him up against the wall and kissed him long and thoroughly. Which I felt was highly appropriate, given that it had been a very long drive and I could see no conceivable way that we would have a night of unfettered passion within the confines of this school.

  After going still with utter shock, he finally joined in with a will, his lips warm and soft and sweet around mine, his hands moving slowly up my back as we kissed. It soothed some wild need in me that I hadn’t actually known was present until it howled for release. Luis finally sighed into my open mouth, ran his tongue around my lips (which made me flare even hotter inside), and drew back to whisper, “We’re keeping the boss lady waiting.”