Gale Force

the concept of murder.

As his last act prior to dying had been to infect me with a Demon Mark, ensuring my

enslavement and eventual death, I didn't feel too good about his miraculous reappearance. Of all

the people I would pick to claw their way out of a grave, he'd be the dead last– pun intended-I

ever wanted to see.

Partly it was because he'd so successfully hidden his capacity for cruelty and corruption from

me-from most Wardens-for so long. Partly it was that I still had nightmares about that

horrible day, about the helpless fury I'd felt and the slick, gagging feel of the Demon sliding

down my throat.

It couldn't have pleasant associations for David, either. He'd been the Dji

down. Rape, he'd called it later, and he'd been right, in an aetheric kind of way if not a physical

one. But it had been a rape of both of us-he hadn't wanted to do it any more than I had.

I'd taken three steps back from Ortega, an involuntary retreat that had nothing to do with him

and everything to do with the monster that had just leaped out of the closet to roar in my face.

David must have sensed my reaction, but he stayed fixed on Ortega.

''When?'' he asked. ''When did you give him the book?''

''A few months ago.'' Ortega struggled not so much to remember-Dji

order his mind so things were clear. ''The day of mourning. He came-he had something I was

looking for. He said he'd trade. He wanted the book.''

By the day of mourning, Ortega meant the day Ashan had killed our daughter, Imara, or at least

destroyed her physical body. Imara had become the Earth Oracle, but on that very black day, we

thought we'd lost her forever.

Oh, and I'd died, too. Kind of. I'd ended up split, amnesiac, and wandering naked in the forest.

Yeah, good times.

That day had seen the expending of a lot of power. A lot. Some of it was from the Wardens,

some a product of the Dji

fouling the well of power. . . . Anything could have happened, out of that bloody mess.

Apparently, anything had happened. Somehow, Bad Bob had managed to come back.

If he'd ever really been gone at all.

Suddenly, the appearance and rise of the Sentinels was begi

Bad Bob was a player; he wanted power, and he'd do anything to anyone to get it. I'd cheated

him the first time.

He'd make damn sure that David and I weren't in any position to do it again.

By separating the Wardens from the Dji

one had the resources and strength to fight him when he made his final move. Divide and

conquer. A timeless classic.

''He's in Florida,'' I said. I was sure of it, as sure as I'd ever been of anything in my life. ''The

bastard's not even hiding, really. This is his old stomping ground. He's got networks of friends

and supporters; he feels safe here. That's why we traced the signature to the Keys, and

Kissimmee-''

''The beach house.'' David snapped to his feet.

''What?''

''The beach house. I sensed him. I thought it was just a memory, but-'' A pulse of light went

through his eyes, turning them pure white. ''The signature of the power fits his.''

''He's been at the goddamn beach house?'' I'd gone inside. I'd searched the house looking for

the focus of the wards. Bad Bob must have been out picking up his latest issue of

Megalomaniacs Weekly, which was damn lucky for me, because if he'd been there, I'd have

been trapped inside the house, with David outside, and Bob could have done anything to me,

anything at all. . . .

I couldn't think about that. Not without shaking. I'd been through a lot of trauma in my life, but

there was something so slick and calculated about Bad Bob's use of me. . . . It was worse than

betrayal. He'd cultivated and trained me specifically to transfer the Demon Mark to me, a cold

long-term plan that I'd spoiled by not being quite as weak as he'd anticipated.

You're stronger now, I told myself. But I also remembered the moment in my apartment when

Bob had focused all the power of the Sentinels on me, and I'd realized that I wasn't going to be

strong enough, in the end.

None of us was going to be strong enough, not alone.

''If he's still at the beach house,'' David was saying, as if he couldn't see I was melting down,

''he won't be there for long. We need to get word to Lewis.''

I shook my near-panic off with what I hoped wasn't a visible effort, and focused on the problem

at hand. ''Contact Rahel. Tell her to get Kevin out of there. I don't want him caught in the

middle if we spring a trap. We're screwed if Bad Bob has the contacts in the Wardens that I

think he does. He was too well liked, even after the facts started coming out. Too many good

people still like him. They wouldn't even think of it as betraying us to do a little under-the-table

heads-up to him.''

David nodded. ''Ortega. I need for you to go to Rahel and give her the message. Tell her to

extract Kevin. I don't care what she has to do. I don't care how noisy it is. Just tell the two of

them to get out.''

''Me?'' Ortega looked completely thrown. ''But I-''

''It's an emergency,'' David said, and again, I felt that pulse of command and control. ''I'm

sorry, I know you don't like to leave this place, but it has to be done.''

Ortega looked utterly miserable now. ''Can't you go? She won't listen to me. She doesn't even

like me-''

''No,'' David said. ''I can't.'' He didn't explain. Ortega heaved a great sigh, nodded, and

blipped away.

David didn't relax. He looked grim and angry, and avoided my eyes.

''Why didn't you go?'' I asked. ''I mean, I'm grateful. I'm just surprised.''

''Because if you're right, and if they have what I think they have, they will be setting a trap,'' he

said. ''A trap designed specifically for me. They want to lure me in. I hope that they haven't

managed to get everything together yet to spring it. That's why I'm sending Ortega.''

''Because they'd be pla

''The Conduit,'' he said. ''If they can destroy me, they can destroy the structure and power of

the Dji

weakness, and I don't know how we're going to defend against them. Maybe Ashan was right.

Maybe the only way to win is to withdraw.''

''And leave us to fight alone.''

He turned toward me, and I saw the fury and frustration in his eyes. ''Yes.'' His hands clenched

and unclenched. ''The book. We need to get it to his vault. I don't want it out where anyone can

stumble across it.'' He forced some of his anger back with a visible effort; it wasn't directed at

me, but at the world. At Bad Bob. ''I'm sorry, Jo. I can't touch it. Can you carry it?''

I picked up the weight reluctantly, afraid that even latched it might still have the power to seduce

me, but it was quiet. Just leather, paper, ink, and iron.

Just a book that held the secrets to destroying an entire race.

No wonder it felt heavy.

The vault-of course a mansion like this would have one, along with a genuine, honest-to-God

panic room-was crammed with stuff. Valuable stuff, to be sure. I was no expert, but I knew that

early comics were worth money, and he had shelves full of them, each carefully bagged and

labeled. Coin collections. Stamp collections. Toys. Rugs. Artifacts. I edged into the big steel-

cased room and waited while David reorganized the collections enough for me to put the book