Gale Force

I did, and he guided it slowly over the leather toward the latch.

No response. I heard Ortega let out a low, quiet breath and say something in a language that

might have been an antique form of Spanish, something last heard when the Aztecs were still

ru

''I'm okay,'' I said when David hesitated, and went the last bit of the way to lay my fingers on

the metal.

No shock. The Oracle had protected the book against Dji

getting hold of it. It reminded me of something, this book. Something . . .

The memory snapped back into focus with an almost physical shock. I'd seen a book like this

before, minus the latch, in a bookstore in Oklahoma.

It had possessed the power-or the knowledge, which was the same thing-to enslave Dji

I looked at David in alarm. ''It's like Star's book,'' I said. ''Right?''

Star had been an old friend of mine, one who'd been badly damaged in the course of duty as a

Fire Warden. I hadn't known how badly damaged, for a long while. She'd had something like

this in her possession.

David nodded, confirming my suspicions. There were cinders of gold and bronze in his eyes,

sparking and flaring. His skin had gone a darker shade of warm metal at least two shades off

from anything human.

''Open it,'' he said.

''You're sure?''

He was. I eased the iron peg out of the loop and folded back the black metal hinged piece, and

then it was just a matter of opening the book itself. ''What now?'' I kept both hands on the book,

as if it might try to get away. Ortega, I saw, had moved back, but not far; he had an expression

on his face that was half dread, half fascination.

''Open it,'' David said. ''Turn pages until I tell you to stop, and whatever you do, don't focus on

anything. ''

Easier said than done. Like the book that my old friend Star had used-it seemed so long ago-

this one seemed to want to be read. The symbols were incomprehensible, densely printed on the

page; I was tempted to look at the thing on the aetheric, but I was also afraid. I had, in my hands,

power that was off the scale as humans understood it. It was something that I was never meant to

have in my possession; I felt that weight in every cell of my body. It made me wonder why it

hadn't been warded against humans, but then again, it had been the possession of an Oracle. . . .

Humans didn't even figure in their equations. They'd been concerned about the Dji

I turned pages, trying to keep my gaze unfocused as I did. The symbols kept attracting me, trying

to come clear into focus. I ran lyrics to popular songs through my head, the more a

better. I knew-I remembered-that the last version of this thing I'd seen had possessed an eerie

kind of pull, and this copy had that in full measure.

After about twenty pages, the book began to whisper. Turn pages. Don't listen, I told myself.

David's eyes were focused on the book, dark bronze with sparks and flares of gold. He looked

completely alien in that moment, more severely lovely than anything in human form had any

right to be.

I felt my mouth trying to speak, and I ground my teeth together to keep the words-if they were

words-inside. I had no idea what was in this book, but I knew it was raw, undiluted power, and

not meant for humans to cha

been deadly dangerous.

This made me wonder with a prickly unease why the Air Oracle had let Ortega have it. Unless

maybe the Air Oracle had an ulterior motive of his own.

''Stop,'' David said, and I froze. The page slowly flattened, revealing dense lines of text, all

carefully scribed in a language that bore no resemblance to anything I'd ever seen in human

writing. ''Ortega. Read.''

Ortega took a look, frowning, and his eyes widened. Unlike David's, they stayed firmly in the

range of human colors, and he quickly backed away. ''What the hell is that?''

''I think that's what the Sentinels have found,'' David replied, never taking his eyes off the text,

as if it were a poisonous serpent poised to strike. ''I think it's the source of their power, and how

they plan to strike at us.''

Ortega looked pale now, and deeply troubled. ''But-if that's true, we have no defense.''

''Then we have to come up with one.'' David took a thick felt bookmark from a drawer in the

podium and slipped it in place between the pages, then nodded for me to close it, which I did,

feeling a massive rush of relief. I wasn't sure how much longer I could have resisted focusing on

those words, and repeating the whispered sounds that echoed in my head.

''So, I guess you know that the Sentinels must have a copy,'' I said, staring at the closed volume.

I carefully flipped the latch back into place and slotted in the iron peg to secure it.

Clearly, it wasn't what David and Ortega expected me to say, and from their expressions, it

hadn't occurred to them. ''Impossible!'' Ortega blurted. David didn't try to deny it; he was

already thinking along the same lines I had followed.

''Star had one.'' I glanced at David for confirmation, and he gave an unwilling nod. ''Do you

know what happened to it when she died?''

''I thought it was destroyed,'' David said. He looked very troubled. ''If it wasn't . . .''

Ortega was looking, if anything, even more horrified. My voice ran down as I noticed his

distress, and I watched as he staggered to a dusty velvet wing chair and dropped into it, rocking

back and forth, head in his hands.

David and I exchanged glances, and David went to the other Dji

hand on the man's knee. ''Ortega,'' he said, ''what is it?''

''It's my fault,'' he said. His voice sounded weak and sick, and pressed thin under the weight of

emotion. ''I swear to you, I never meant-I thought-I was only curious, you see. You know

how curious I am. It's always been a curse-''

A curse, indeed. David froze for a moment, then bowed his head. His hair brushed forward,

hiding his expression in shadow, and he said in an ominously soft voice, ''You had it. The other

book.''

Ortega nodded convulsively.

''Whom did you trade the book to?''

''A Warden,'' Ortega said. His voice was muffled by the hands pressed to his eyes. ''He never

knew I was Dji

created a copy of the original book-''

''I need this Warden's name,'' David said.

''I never meant for any harm to-''

''The name, Ortega.'' I shivered at the tone in his voice; he didn't often sound like that, but

when he did, there was no possibility of argument. He was invoking his right as the Conduit, the

Mother's representative to the Dji

Ortega took in a deep breath, lowered his hands, and looked David in the eyes. ''Robert

Biringanine.''

''Bad Bob,'' I said blankly. ''But he's dead!''

Ortega shook his head. ''I saw him,'' he said. ''Two weeks ago. On the beach. And he's been

around for a while now.''

Chapter Eleven

To say that was a shock would be an understatement. A shock implied a jolt, like sticking your

finger in a light socket; this was more like grabbing the third rail of the subway.

I'd killed Bad Bob Biringanine-well, at least, seen him die. I'd always staked a lot of certainties

on that fact; I'd been told his body was found, and nobody ever seemed to have any doubt that

Bad Bob was pushing up daisies. They'd certainly gone after me with enough vengeance to sell