Windfall

“They don’t want you,” Rahel said. “They’re after him. Lewis.”

On the grand, sliding scale of things, that wasn’t the best news I’d ever heard.

“Who am I talking to?” I asked hoarsely, and managed to get to my feet. Ow. Ow ow ow. I wanted to dance around in pain, but stillness was required right now.

Stillness, and a really good poker face.

Someone summoned fire, a brilliant orange bonfire that hovered over her palm. In its reflected light I saw Shirl. Goth black, sloppily cut hair, too many piercings in awkward places. Tattoos crawling her bare arms. She didn’t look any happier to see me now than she had driving along the coast to accuse me of weather-related murder.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked her.

“None of your business,” Shirl snapped back. “You’re not even a Warden anymore. Stay out of it.”

Rahel wasn’t getting up to her feet, but she pulled into a crouch next to me.

Intimidating. I approved. From the uneasy glance Shirl gave her, it worked.

“By order of the Wardens, I’m here to take Lewis Levander Orwell into custody,”

Shirl said. “And you need to get the hell out of the way, Joa

Which might have been meant to be fu

She threw the fire at me. I mean, fastball-speed. It hissed past my face and out into the ocean, where it impacted a building wave and instantly vaporized the top half into superheated steam. “I’m not playing with you, bitch,” Shirl said. “That’s where everybody else goes wrong. They let you talk. You have one chance to tell me where he is, or I swear the next one burns right through your stomach.”

My plan to scare her into leaving wasn’t going quite as well as I’d hoped.

“I want to talk to Marion,” I said, and was surprised my voice stayed steady.

“Denied. Marion’s busy.” Shirl sounded way too smug about that. Marion was probably under house arrest after protesting too much, or flat-out refusing the order. “Last chance. Produce Lewis, or we’ll go through you.”

“Then let me talk to Paul!”

Her smile was utterly sinister. “Talk all you want. Paul’s irrelevant. We’re on the front lines out here, and we’re going to defend ourselves, with or without permission.”

“Defend yourselves against what?”

She must have remembered that she didn’t want to talk, because her arm drew back, and plasma burned toward me. I dodged. It followed. Not as fast as the previous pitch, but then, I didn’t think she meant it to be; she was playing with me. The plasma moved in mirror jerks with me, tagging me and cutting me off at every turn. I was tired and weak and clumsy with pain, and when I finally overbalanced on the soft sand and fell backward, the burning, incandescent globe dipped toward me and hovered just inches above my heaving chest. Hot enough to give me third-degree burns and make my jog bra start to char.

I dug my fingers into the sand and grabbed handfuls, trying to resist the sick urge to destroy David to save my own life.

Rahel lunged forward with a snarl, reached out with one taloned hand, and batted the fireball away. Right back at Shirl, who ducked. It hit someone else, who screamed in high-voiced agony, and Shirl turned to put out the resulting fiery chaos. Rahel grabbed my arm.

“Run,” she ordered roughly. “They’ll kill you. They’ve already killed others.”

She launched herself up in a graceful, feline leap and landed on Shirl, who screamed. Fire erupted. I saw Rahel’s neon yellow clothes burst into flame.

I flipped over and crawled to the hole. I felt the sand under my knees shift. Oh God. Lewis was losing it. The tu

There was nothing I could do.

Another flash of lightning streaked overhead, reflecting white on waves, showing a freeze-frame of the other Wardens converging around Shirl and Rahel. Rahel was going to lose. She didn’t have the wattage necessary to stop all of them, not alone, not as a Free-range Dji

“Hey!” A deep-voiced yell from a couple of sand dunes over. “What’s going on over there? You kids stop that!”

“Help!” I screamed. “Get help!”

The pompous jerk—and I was never so happy to hear one in my life—sounded even more self-righteous. And a little alarmed. “I tell you, I’m calling the cops! You clear out of here while you’ve still got the chance!”

“Yes, you idiot, call the cops! And the paramedics! Help!”

I was dimly aware of Detective Rodriguez racing back along the beach, some kind of rope slung over his shoulder, but I felt it in my bones, it was too late. All too late.

Rahel and Shirl were a bonfire rolling on the sand. Fire and blood and fury.

The sand heaved and collapsed in on itself, dropping me suddenly a good five feet. I slid down an instantly made dune.

The cave had collapsed.

Lewis was dying down there. “No!” I screamed, and started digging. It was useless. It’d take hours to move all this sand; no way they could survive down there.

I only had one option. Just one.

“David!” I yelled. “David, I need you!”

I felt the co

“David—”

Rodriguez skidded to a stop next to me and slapped the rope down on the sand.

“Where’s the hole?”

“Collapsed,” I gasped. “Oh, God—David, get them out, get Lewis and Kevin out of there—”

I felt the draw of power dig deep into me, sucking out what little I had left, and the pull was agonizing. I moaned and wrapped my arms around my stomach. It felt as if my guts might literally be ripped out and dragged through the sand like some biological lifeline.

Rodriguez abandoned the effort at rescue and turned toward the Wardens, and the struggle. His gun came out of its holster under his hooded jacket.

“Police,” he yelled. “Everybody freeze now.”

Most of them did, realizing that they weren’t exactly operating undercover;

Rahel vanished in a wisp of smoke, and Shirl was left lying on the sand, whimpering. Alive, but battered and scorched. One of the other Wardens knelt down next to her and put a hand on her arm to still her—Earth Warden, I had no doubt. I felt the surge go through the aetheric as he pumped healing power into her body.

The co

“Did you get them?” I whispered.

I felt something hum along the co

Affirmation and love, condensed emotion that was too deep and powerful to grasp all at once. As if he’d sent me everything he felt in a frantic, desperate burst, like a submarine going down and transmitting one last, despairing SOS as it went into the dark.

A hand broke out of the sand on the beach, clawed and flailing. I yelled wordlessly and grabbed for it, dragged until my muscles popped.

Lewis slid free of the clinging sand. His face broke the surface with a gasp, and he started coughing, choking, spitting.

He was holding on to Kevin. As soon as he was free I let go of him and lunged forward to grab Kevin’s wrist as Lewis hauled. The boy’s arm slowly slid free, then the curve of his shoulder. Sand fell in a thick cascade from his bent head.

He didn’t gasp for breath, because he wasn’t breathing.

I choked back a curse and got behind him, grabbed him under the armpits, and pulled like a stevedore, every muscle in my body straining. He finally pulled free. Sand clotted thickly around the open wound on his side, but it wasn’t gushing blood anymore. I wasn’t sure if that was good news, or just the worst possible news. Because you don’t bleed when you’re dead; you leak.