Unknown

“Larger,” Turner repeated, and shook his head. “And that’s officially out of my depth. So let the Dji

“They can’t,” I said. “Or won’t. She’s already gained enough of a foothold in this world that she can destroy any Dji

Turner’s eyebrows rose. “Sounds like a plan. What’s her power source?”

“You,” I said. “Humanity. How do you feel about the plan now?” I let that sit in silence for a moment, then said, “I declined.”

Turner sat slowly back in his chair, staring at me, and then looked over at Luis again. “She’s serious?”

“As fucking cancer,” Luis said. “It’s still her nuclear option, if we can’t get this under control and find a way to stop Pearl.”

“So out of my depth,” Turner muttered, and shook his head. “And you’ve been in touch with Headquarters? Lewis?”

Everybody knew Lewis Orwell, the head of the Wardens organization. Everyone also assumed that Lewis was a sort of magic button to press whenever one wanted a particular outcome. Nonsense. Lewis might be a supremely powerful man, but he was only a man. This was far beyond him, and the Wardens as a whole. They were being used, yes, but Pearl was not interested in them, except as levers to move the world in her direction.

“Most of the high-level Wardens are out of contact, including Orwell,” Luis said. “We’re not going to find the answers there. We’re on our own to deal with this, and that means we have to get creative. That’s why I’m here.”

Turner was looking steadily less comfortable with the turns the conversation was taking. “If your niece is in the system as a missing or abducted child, she’s already getting the full-court press from the FBI as well as local law enforcement,” he said. “What else do you want me to do?”

“Make it your case,” Luis said. “You’re a Warden. These are Warden children. I’ll give you a list of those we’ve identified so far as missing, but there may be more. Maybe a lot more, if some of them were foster children, orphans, nobody to miss them. Here’s the catch: In at least one case we know of, one of the parents was complicit in the kidnapping. They’re recruiting fanatics, and they’ve been successful. Think terrorists, only with potential Warden powers.”

“Christ,” Turner whispered, and briefly shut his eyes. “You’ve got no idea what kind of night sweats I’ve had thinking about that for the last ten years, anyway. We’ve got some contingency plans, but I still don’t think they’re up to the job, not for a serious threat.” He focused attention back on me, speaking directly. “What can you tell me about their organization?”

“Well armed,” I said. “Paramilitary, at the very least. And they’ve recruited some disaffected former Wardens, or possibly artificially enhanced the powers of some who were not gifted enough to be recruited as Wardens in the begi

“Like the Ma’at.”

I nodded. The Ma’at were a separate organization, a kind of shadow of the Wardens, built out of those with some hints of latent power who were not deemed to be either strong enough to train as Wardens, nor dangerous enough to receive the Wardens’ typical treatment for those they rejected—a kind of psychic surgery to rip away their powers. The Ma’at had discovered it was possible to combine powers in groups, especially with the voluntary assistance of Dji

In a certain way, the Ma’at were the maintenance workers of the supernatural world around us. I had always had a small amount of respect for their efforts—as much as I had ever harbored for any human endeavor, in any case.

“They’re our next stop,” Luis said. “We’re paying a visit to their top guys, seeing if we can get an organized effort around this thing.”

Turner shrugged. “Good luck with that. Okay, here’s what I’ll do: I’ll take your list, start digging, and see if I can make any more co

“Hard and fast,” Luis said, and stood up to offer his hand for a farewell shake. “We’re going to need every damn advantage we can get if we’re going to make this end well.”

Turner’s eyes flicked to me again, and I knew what he was thinking—not because I could read his thoughts, but because I understood his fears. “No,” I said, in answer to his unvoiced question. “Luis ca

No one could stop me except, possibly, the enemy we all feared.

Pearl.

Turner didn’t offer any kind of commentary about that. He just said, “I’ll make your niece my top priority,” and ushered us out of his office. I followed Luis down the hallway, past all those silent, haunting pictures, to the elevators. He pushed the button, but I kept going, to the sign that marked access to stairs. With a sigh, he fell in behind me.

“You know, we need to talk about your claustrophobia,” he said.

“I am not claustrophobic,” I said. “I do not care for small spaces that operate at the mercy of thin cables and human engineering, and are easily manipulated by my enemies.” The door slammed and locked behind him, sealing us in the silent cool stairwell, and I turned to him on the broad concrete landing.

He looked little different than he had the first moment I had met him—strong and lean, with skin the color of caramel and dark, secretive eyes. Hair worn a bit long around his sharply angled face. On his muscled arms, the flame tattoos caught the light in shadowy flickers.

“You think he’ll help?” I asked. Luis shrugged.

“No idea. But we’ve got to pull every string we can reach.”

“And if he is working for Pearl and her people?”

“Then they know we’re serious. Can’t think that’s a bad thing. They already know we’re not going to quit. I want her to know we’re prepared to take drastic measures if we have to, to stop her.”

Except Luis didn’t believe it. He still, deep down, did not believe that I would shed my human form, rise up as a Dji

Luis did not know me at all.

“So we go to the Ma’at,” I said, and took the first flight of steps, heading down six floors. “By plane, yes?”

“It’s faster,” he said. “Hopefully, nobody will try to kill us today.”

“That would be a different kind of day.”

In fact, I suspected that someone would try to kill us, possibly even in the narrow confines of the concrete and metal stairs, but we reached the bottom- floor exit without incident, and walked out into the open lobby. We turned in our visitor badges at the security desk and exited through a heavily armored door, out into the Albuquerque afternoon sun. The dry air held the scent of fragrant mesquite wood burning in fireplaces, the sharp bite of pine, the greasy and ever-present stench of car exhaust. Overhead, a jet painted orange and blue climbed the clear sky and left a contrail behind.

Luis and I walked to the distant parking lot where we had left his large pickup truck—black, with dramatic bursts of colorful flames on both sides. He’d recently had it washed and polished, and it shone like ebony in the sun. I thought longingly of my motorcycle, which I’d reluctantly left behind; I preferred the simplicity and freedom of that transportation, not the enclosed space of the narrow metal box. But the windows did roll down, and although the day had grown cool, it was not yet cold.

It would be soon, though.

Before we reached the car, two people stepped into our path—a tall, wide man and a shorter, darker one. They held out black leather cases with gold-washed badges of identification.