Gale Force

Nothing kills you. Goddamn cockroach, you are. You'll survive a nuclear winter.''

''Look who's talking,'' I said. I sat down on the edge of the couch across from him. There were

a few lights burning, not many, and the whole effect was ghostly. Outside the windows, the

beach was dark, the water slick and almost flat-a calm sea. ''You've been dead a few times, I

hear.''

He chuckled. ''Hurricane Andrew should've killed me,'' he said. ''Came damn close, actually.

But there was always just one more damn challenge, one more thing to do. One more life to save.

You know how it is.''

''That's your story? That you were in the business of saving lives?'' I leaned back and folded my

arms. ''Oh, come on.''

''I'll put my scores up against anybody's. Including yours.''

''You killed people!''

''How many collateral goddamn damages have you had over the past few years, girl? What the

fuck makes you the hero of the story? No, more to the point: What makes me the villain?''

I stared at him, not exactly sure what he was doing. I'd come here intending to make him kill me,

or to destroy him in the process, if that was possible; to wound him badly enough that Lewis

could finish him off. I hadn't expected him to be so damn defensive about, of all things, his

record as a good guy.

''Your hands aren't clean,'' he pointed out. ''Hell, you've stood by and let people die, if nothing

else. How come I'm the bad guy?''

''Because-'' I ground my teeth together. ''Because nobody ever became evil overnight.

Because the bad guys don't see what they do as evil; they see it as their own personal good.

Sound familiar?''

He took another slug, straight from the bottle. ''Joa

you that Demon Mark, you'd still be paddling around the shallow-personality pool, wondering if

you could destroy a tornado fast enough to make the shoe sale at Macy's. Not good, not evil. Not

anything.''

''I don't understand.''

''Yes, you do.'' He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. ''I've made

you strong. I'm going to make you stronger. Stronger than any goddamn Warden in history. And

I'm going to do that by changing the whole ecosystem of the planet– by destroying the Dji

Makes humans the real apex predators of this little ball of rock. And I'm putting you in charge of

it.''

It hit me what he was trying to say. ''You-you think this is a good thing for me. For the

Wardens.''

''I don't give a shit if it's good or bad. It's what's necessary. I always do what's necessary.''

Bob's grin flashed. ''Sometimes that's also fun, though.''

I didn't want to hear any more. Outside the windows, the seas began to chop as the wind moved

faster, as temperatures shifted and swirled. He was playing with the weather. Taunting us.

Sending temperatures into a downward spiral out near Cuba, creating an imbalance that would

surely force intervention.

''I'm going to kill you,'' I said. ''Demon or not. Dead or not. You're not walking away today,

not if it costs me every last breath I have. If you made me what I am, then what I am is coming

after you.''

He sighed. ''Ah, Jo. Wave a red flag, and you run at it like a bull, every time. You think I didn't

know that?''

Which was exactly how I wanted him to think. My gaze had fixed on something black and

glittering, mounted like some exotic trophy weapon on the back wall of the house, right out in

the open, almost as a taunt.

The whole house was lethally radioactive. I was, in effect, already dead. Even as an Earth

Warden, I couldn't diffuse that much radiation through my system without damaging my own

cells. Maybe Lewis could, but not me. My daughter had cut herself off from me-had been

forced to.

The power I was drawing from David in a steady stream was keeping me alive, but it wouldn't

save me over the long haul. It was a treatment, not a cure.

I turned away from Bad Bob and walked to the Unmaking. It was glimmering with its own black

aura, sending its poisonous tendrils deep into the house, into the aetheric.

''You don't want to do that, honey,'' he said. ''It's suicide.''

I picked it up.

The outside of it felt shockingly hot. A slightly rough texture when I ran my fingers lightly

down, finding the balance point. The horrible thing was heavier than I'd expected, and my

muscles began to shake, trying to rid me of the burden.

Bad Bob hadn't moved. He raised the cigar to his mouth and puffed, eyes half closed. ''You got

the wrong idea, Jo. You can't kill me this way.''

''You're probably right,'' I panted. I fought, but lost, the battle for control of the weather system

that was rotating in past Cuba, moving high and fast and wild. It collided with warmer air, and

the clouds built walls of thick, heavy gray. Lightning burned inside it, living and dying in rapid-

fire flares. ''But I'll bet it slows you down for the others to finish.''

''They'll have their hands full trying to keep half of Florida alive by nightfall. If I make things

bad enough, the Dji

happens . . . they're mine.'' His pale blue eyes focused on me. ''Put it down, kid. You're just

killing yourself faster.''

I shook my head. Sweat dripped down my face, matted my hair. ''No. Make me. I know you

can.''

''Why should I?'' he asked. ''You want to kill me, kill me. Do it. Maybe you'll be right. Maybe

it'll just be that easy.''

I lunged, both hands barely able to keep hold of the black spear, and as I did I had an involuntary

flash of sense-memory, of Jerome Silverton digging that black shard from a dead Dji

my dream of David lying dead in the street, pierced just like this.

I dragged myself to a wild, panting halt, flat-footed, staring at Bad Bob's blue eyes. The tip of

the Unmaking trembled just an inch from his chest. He made no effort to get away.

''Do it,'' he said. ''Maybe I'm not your enemy after all. You ever think of that?''

Sweat burned down my face, in my eyes, and I felt my hands spasming, trying to drop this thing

that was already killing me. It wouldn't do any good, but you couldn't blame my body for trying

to save itself.

He was trying to tell me something. There was a message under all this, a message unknown and

beyond translation, but somehow, one I was receiving.

Bad Bob had expected me. He wasn't the type to go in for self-sacrifice, and he knew how to set

the hook firmly.

How to use the best possible bait . . . himself.

He had the power to stop me, if he wanted. Why wasn't he?

He'd taunted me. He'd threatened my daughter. He'd done everything he could to drive me to

this moment. He'd used my vows with David to open the Dji

knew he had Rahel. And Rahel had a gift . . . for mimicry.

The last piece fell into place with a physical shock. This wasn't Bad Bob.

It was Rahel. It had to be Rahel, forced to take on his shape, be his puppet, his sacrificial goat.

I felt a pulse of power in the black torch on my back. Bad Bob was getting impatient with me. I

wasn't following the script.

I closed my eyes and reached for the cord that bound me to David. Energy was flowing through

the co

keep me alive. It wasn't working anymore. I need you to show me, I whispered. I need to see.

Help me see.

I went up into the aetheric. It was hard, so very hard that it was like ripping off my own skin; I