Ill Wind

"Stay," he said. Still a request.

"Thought you had a lunch date."

"It can wait." He was looking at me again, watching me in that half-lidded, intense way that carbonated my hormones. And worse, he knew it. If I stayed, I was going to get myself in trouble, one way or another. "I don't believe you did anything wrong. I think Bad Bob lived up to his reputation, things got out of hand—is that how it was?"

"I can't do this," I said, and pulled my hand free. Paul was staring at me with big, calculating brown eyes. His eyebrows pulled together. The smell of aftershave reminded me that I wanted to kiss him, and I sank farther back in my seat, trying not to give in to temptation, trying not to notice the way sunlight slid warm across his cheekbones and turned his skin to gold. God, I wanted comfort. I wanted someone to make everything… better.

I knew better than to believe I could find it anywhere except inside myself.

"You need my help to stabilize the system?" I asked him. The lightning bolt would have torn his careful manipulations to shreds, sending the weather into chaos even if it wasn't yet visible to the naked eye. He shook his head.

"I've got three people on it already. The less work you do in the aetheric, the better," he said. "And stay the fuck out of Oversight. Especially if you're determined to keep on with this. You glow like a heat lamp."

"I don't have a choice, Paul. I've got to keep on with it."

"I could stop you, you know."

"I know." I leaned forward and kissed him. Caught him by surprise. After a few seconds, those sensual full lips warmed under mine. The fantasy had been good; the reality was better. When I pulled back, he had a glazed look in his brown eyes, but he blinked and it cleared up. So much for my ability to cloud men's minds…

"Jesus," he breathed.

"It wasn't that good," I protested. But he wasn't kidding. He was looking at me with wider eyes, really staring now. Seeing.

"There's something wrong with you," he said. "I can't see it, but your aura's turned red. Blood colors, Jo. You know what it means—"

When I looked down at myself, I saw the black writhing form of the Demon's Mark on my chest, over my heart. It was working its way down. I focused hard and halted its progress, but I couldn't hold it for long. When I looked up, Paul was in Oversight, right in front of me—layers of green and gold and blue, perfect in their intensity. He'd see it. He had to see it in me.

Back in the real world, he only said, "Are you sick?"

I wanted to tell him. I didn't know why he couldn't see it in me, but I needed him to know, to help—to get this thing out of me. I was shaking all over with the desire to tell him.

And I couldn't afford to. That was the one thing he wouldn't let slide.

"Sick," I finally agreed.

"Let me help you. Please, just let me get Marion. She can help you—"

"No!" The protest ripped out of me with so much force, I felt it slam into him like a punch, and he pulled back. I struggled to get my voice under control. "No, she can't. Nobody can. Understand?"

He kept looking at me, studying me. I felt like he was seeing all the way through to the black shadow of the mark. God, I couldn't risk that.

"I've got to go," I said. "Are you going to turn me in?"

It was so quiet in the car that I could hear the ticks and pops of Delilah's engine cooling, hear my own fast heartbeat. Somewhere off in the distance, thunder rumbled. He reached out and touched my cheek with one thick finger, caressed the line of my cheekbone, and then sat back like he wished he hadn't touched me at all.

"I'm not going to get on the hot line just yet. I'll give you that much. But we both know Marion's people will find you. And if they don't, when the Council calls me to join the hunt, I'll come at you, sweetheart. You know I will. I have no choice." He let out a long breath. "Maybe that's for the best. Because if you're really sick—"

"I know." I was no longer looking at him, and I concentrated instead on my hands. My fingernails were ragged and torn. I picked at one and focused on a shiny red bead that appeared at the corner of one cuticle, lifted the hand to my mouth and tasted the warm copper tang of blood.

"You have five hours to get out of my sector," he said. "Try to come back, and my Dji

"Yes." One-word answers were possible, but just barely. God, this hurt. I'd anticipated everything but how much it would hurt.

Paul reached over and took my hand in his. His skin felt very warm and, startlingly, very rough. He worked with his hands, I remembered. On his car.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me where you're going. I swear, it won't go anywhere else. I just want to know."

"I can't." And I didn't dare. Finally, I pulled in a deep breath and said, "I'm going after Lewis."

He looked confused. Bothered, even. "Lewis?"

"Lewis Orwell."

"I know who the fuck Lewis is. Everybody knows. Why Lewis?"

"Because he has three Dji

"At his house?" Paul repeated. He wasn't a guy who was surprised often, but his eyebrows shot skyward. "What do you mean, at his house? How can you know where he is?"

"He told me." I sounded smug when I said it, but there, I'd kept the secret a long time. I deserved a little round of I'm-cooler-than-you, especially with Paul, who was rarely out of the loop. "Long time ago."

He gave me a richly deserved glare. "I'm not even asking what you did to get it."

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm irresistible." Yes, definitely, that was smugness in my voice. I was comfortable with it. "Which is why he's going to help me out and given me a Dji

He stared. "You're fuckin' crazy. Why the hell would Lewis do that?"

"Because," I said, before I could think about it, "I think he used to be in love with me."

Paul shook his head, got out of the car, and then leaned in the passenger side window. An east wind ruffled his hair—storm on the way.

"Jesus, Jo, he's not the only one," he said, and walked back into his castle.

I drove out of Albany not knowing exactly how to feel. I loved Paul. I'd always loved him. Paul had written my introduction letter to the program at Princeton. It was because of him that I had the degree and the training to become a real Warden.

It was because of him I wasn't a drooling shell screaming out my lungs in an asylum, because I knew that despite Marion's gentle touch, I couldn't have gone on without my powers. I would have cracked. Paul prevented that.

All the good things in my life had happened because of Paul.

All the bad things had happened because of Bad Bob.

The Wardens have a big fancy home office where they hang plaques of outstanding performers, and Bad Bob's name was covering the walls. One of the most talented Wardens ever to join the team, he was also one of the most controversial.

He had been a brilliant, temperamental teenager; he'd grown into a brilliant, tantrum-throwing, bad-attitude adult. People feared Bad Bob. Nobody in their right mind wanted to be under him. Even at his own level, or above it, people hated to see him coming.

I got him as a boss.