Firestorm

"If you didn't think I could do it, why come with me?"

She smiled slightly, and those eyes looked entirely alien all of a sudden. "Maybe Father told me to."

"Maybe you and your Father—" I reined myself in, unclenched my fists, and took in a deep breath. "Don't make me do this."

"Do what?"

"Test whether or not you're really Dji

She smiled. "If you're thinking about claiming me, that arrangement died with Jonathan. It won't work."

"Something simpler than that." I took in a quick breath. "Where do I find the Oracle?"

"Mom—"

"Where do I find the Oracle?"

Ah, now she got it. And she was surprised, and pissed off, too. I saw the flare of temper in her eyes. "The Rule of Three. You wouldn't."

"Where do I find the Oracle?"

Three times asked, a Dji

Which it looked like it wasn't, as my daughter continued to glare furiously at me with eyes that were starting to remind me more of Rahel's than David's—predatory, primal, eternal. Not good to piss off any Dji

Imara abruptly said, "It's close."

She didn't say it willingly, either; it seemed to be dragged out of her, and when she'd gotten to the end of the sentence she clenched her teeth tight and fell back into silent glaring.

Oh, I needed to be careful now. Very, very careful.

"Where exactly is the Oracle? Where exactly is the—"

"Stop!" She threw up her hand. "If you do that again, I'm leaving, and you won't ever see me again. Ever."

I swallowed hard. She looked serious about that, and seriously angry. "I'm sorry," I said. "But I need information. In case you haven't noticed, this is getting a little more important than just respecting your feelings, Imara. I need to do this. It all looks fine here, but believe me, it's not fine out there in the big wide world. If you ever want to see any of it, you'd better help me. Right now."

She blinked and looked away at the gently fluttering leaves of the oak tree that spread its shade over the car. A couple of kids sped by on bikes, and another rumbled by on a skateboard. Nobody paid us much attention. Wal-Mart parking lots were anonymous.

"You don't understand how it feels," she said. "Losing your will like that. Being—emptied out."

"Don't I?"

"Well—maybe you do." To her credit, Imara looked a little embarrassed about that. She had my memories; she knew the time I'd spent as Kevin's pet Dji

"I won't if you'll answer."

"Fine." She pulled in a fast breath and turned away, not meeting my eyes. "There are a few places—less than a dozen around the world—where the fabric between the planes of existence is paper-thin. Where the Dji

Imara wasn't using the words holy places lightly. I hadn't known the Dji

Especially against intrusions by humans.

"Seacasket," I said aloud, and shook my head. Because Seacasket didn't exactly look like the kind of place you'd expect to find exotic spirituality. Or maybe that was just because I couldn't quite imagine something spiritual sitting in the Wal-Mart parking lot. "You still haven't told me where to go to find the Oracle."

She looked deeply uncomfortable, and for a few seconds I thought that I was going to have to invoke the Rule of Three, even though that would break something fragile between us. "It's not far."

"Yeah, so you said. Can you take me there?"

"No!" she blurted angrily, and pounded the steering wheel in a fit of fury. "It's not a place for humans. Even the Dji

Imara might know my experiences—might have been formed from parts of me—but she certainly didn't understand me on a very basic level. Oddly, that was comforting. She wasn't just a mirror image of me with some freaky-deaky eyes; she was her own person, separate from me.

And I could still surprise her.

"I'll find a way," I said. "You just show me the door. I'll get through it even if I have to pick the lock."

It sounded like bravado—hell, it was bravado. I wasn't some kick-ass Dji

But I was still just human. Body and soul. All of which I was hoping to keep together for a little while longer, apocalypse notwithstanding.

Imara was thinking about it, I could see, but finally she just sighed. Maybe she did understand me, after all.

At least enough to acknowledge that I wasn't about to take "no way in hell" for an answer.

She said, "There's a cemetery in the center of town. Which is convenient, because you're going to get yourself killed."

In Seacasket, even the cemetery was photogenic. Norman Rockwell hadn't specialized in morbid art, but if he had, he'd have painted this place; it had a certain naivete that begged for cute kids in adorable Halloween costumes to be playing hide-and-seek behind charmingly weathered gravestones. Or Disneyfied witches to be offering lemonade from a cauldron. It was the most wholesome cemetery I'd ever seen.

We parked on the street, near the town square, and walked across to the black wrought-iron fence. The gates were open, the paths in the place were fresh-raked clean white gravel, and the grass was almost impossibly green. Fat squirrels gamboled in lush spreading trees. Some of the dignified (and a few quirky) headstones were well-kept, and others had been allowed to grow with wild-flowers and vines. Not messily, though. Even the neglect looked pla

Imara's steps slowed and stopped, and I stopped with her. She was staring at the ground, and as I watched, she lowered herself to a kneeling position on the gravel, both hands upraised, palms up.

"Imara?" No answer. "Imara, where do I go?"

She was lost in prayer, or whatever it was. I waited for a few seconds, then looked around. Up ahead, there was a big white mausoleum. The name over the lintel read GRAYSON. The doors were shut.

I took a couple of steps toward it, gravel crunching briskly.

Imara's voice froze me. "Don't move!"

I teetered, then caught my balance and glanced around. There was nobody else in evidence. Just us, the squirrels, and some scolding birds who didn't think this was an appropriate place for us to be strolling.