realised, who eachhad the power of a Djinn at their commands. No accident, that. Not when they were complaining about the shortages.
‘You said you don’t want a war,’ I said to Paul. ‘Don’t start one with me, babe.’
He let me make half of a dramatic exit. When I put my right foot on the staircase, beside the maniacally cheerful fountain, he said, ‘I get that you think you’re in love with this Djinn, which is fucked-up beyond all measure of fucked-up, by the way. But beside that, which we will be talking about later, this doesn’t end with you walking away, right?’
I didn’t turn. Didn’t let myself hesitate for more than a split second before I took the second stair.
Paul’s voice went official. ‘By the authority of the Wardens Council, I’m ordering you to turn over your Djinn to us. And if you don’t, I’m taking you down, and Marion’s authorised to put you under the knife. You’ll lose everything, Jo. Everything. Even your powers. And maybe that’ll kill you, but right now I can’t fucking worry about that.’
At the top of the stairs, David flickered into existence, walking slowly down towards me. He had on his travelling clothes, his long olive-drab coat, and he looked young and innocent and angelic. My vision of him, imposed on him? Or his own reality? How much of him was really him ? I didn’t know. I couldn’t.
He locked eyes with me for a second, then went past me down to the lobby. Hands in his pockets. The Wardens had all come to their feet, staring, and I could tell they were a whisper away from throwing their Djinn into all-out battle.
He looked back over his shoulder. The overhead lights trapped a shimmer of red and gold in his hair, and reflected sparks of hot bronze in his eyes as he smiled at me. A gentle, heartbreaking smile.
‘Give them what they want, Jo,’ he said. ‘It’ll be all right.’
All around him, Djinn were moving like disembodied shadows. He was surrounded. Hemmed in. Trapped.
I took the bottle slowly from my pocket, felt the pulsing heat of the magic inside of it, thought about what it would be like to lose him.
I can’t. Can’t.
If I started a fight, it would go nuclear in minutes. Too much power here. Too many people with the ability to destroy half the continent.
Too much goddamn emotion.
I prepared to smash the bottle against the railing.
‘Jo.’ He whispered my name like a caress, and followed it by laying fingertips gently against my cheek. ‘Don’t. This needs to happen. Just do what they tell you.’
He led me down the two steps, over to Paul. Paul held out his hand again.
I can’t.
I let the bottle drop from a height of about a foot, from my hand to Paul’s. David could have intervened. Could have jostled Paul, made him fumble the catch; could have, in that split second, blown the bottle across the room to shatter against faux stone.
I gave him that chance.
He did nothing.
Paul caught the glass container, and I felt the connection explode, melt away into silence. Even though David was holding my hand, he was gone , gone from me. Even his skin felt insubstantial.
His eyes turned dark. Human. Brown.
Sad and quiet and – hiding just under the surface – wary.
‘Good choice, kids,’ Paul said. He looked tired and unhappy as he looked at David. ‘Back in the bottle, please.’
I could feel David trying to fight, but the pull was irresistible, and in a sudden convulsive flicker he was gone. Paul reached out for the stopper, which I handed over as well. My fingers felt numb.
I watched as he worked the stopper into the bottle. The four Wardens seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Paul handed the bottle to Marion, who took a black magic marker out of her pocket and wrote a rune on the bottle itself. A sign, I recognised, that was a kind of mystical D O N OT O PEN, C ONTENTS U NDER P RESSURE . She opened a leather satchel sitting next to the chair and eased the bottle into special padding, then closed and locked
‘You said you don’t want a war,’ I said to Paul. ‘Don’t start one with me, babe.’
He let me make half of a dramatic exit. When I put my right foot on the staircase, beside the maniacally cheerful fountain, he said, ‘I get that you think you’re in love with this Djinn, which is fucked-up beyond all measure of fucked-up, by the way. But beside that, which we will be talking about later, this doesn’t end with you walking away, right?’
I didn’t turn. Didn’t let myself hesitate for more than a split second before I took the second stair.
Paul’s voice went official. ‘By the authority of the Wardens Council, I’m ordering you to turn over your Djinn to us. And if you don’t, I’m taking you down, and Marion’s authorised to put you under the knife. You’ll lose everything, Jo. Everything. Even your powers. And maybe that’ll kill you, but right now I can’t fucking worry about that.’
At the top of the stairs, David flickered into existence, walking slowly down towards me. He had on his travelling clothes, his long olive-drab coat, and he looked young and innocent and angelic. My vision of him, imposed on him? Or his own reality? How much of him was really him ? I didn’t know. I couldn’t.
He locked eyes with me for a second, then went past me down to the lobby. Hands in his pockets. The Wardens had all come to their feet, staring, and I could tell they were a whisper away from throwing their Djinn into all-out battle.
He looked back over his shoulder. The overhead lights trapped a shimmer of red and gold in his hair, and reflected sparks of hot bronze in his eyes as he smiled at me. A gentle, heartbreaking smile.
‘Give them what they want, Jo,’ he said. ‘It’ll be all right.’
All around him, Djinn were moving like disembodied shadows. He was surrounded. Hemmed in. Trapped.
I took the bottle slowly from my pocket, felt the pulsing heat of the magic inside of it, thought about what it would be like to lose him.
I can’t. Can’t.
If I started a fight, it would go nuclear in minutes. Too much power here. Too many people with the ability to destroy half the continent.
Too much goddamn emotion.
I prepared to smash the bottle against the railing.
‘Jo.’ He whispered my name like a caress, and followed it by laying fingertips gently against my cheek. ‘Don’t. This needs to happen. Just do what they tell you.’
He led me down the two steps, over to Paul. Paul held out his hand again.
I can’t.
I let the bottle drop from a height of about a foot, from my hand to Paul’s. David could have intervened. Could have jostled Paul, made him fumble the catch; could have, in that split second, blown the bottle across the room to shatter against faux stone.
I gave him that chance.
He did nothing.
Paul caught the glass container, and I felt the connection explode, melt away into silence. Even though David was holding my hand, he was gone , gone from me. Even his skin felt insubstantial.
His eyes turned dark. Human. Brown.
Sad and quiet and – hiding just under the surface – wary.
‘Good choice, kids,’ Paul said. He looked tired and unhappy as he looked at David. ‘Back in the bottle, please.’
I could feel David trying to fight, but the pull was irresistible, and in a sudden convulsive flicker he was gone. Paul reached out for the stopper, which I handed over as well. My fingers felt numb.
I watched as he worked the stopper into the bottle. The four Wardens seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Paul handed the bottle to Marion, who took a black magic marker out of her pocket and wrote a rune on the bottle itself. A sign, I recognised, that was a kind of mystical D O N OT O PEN, C ONTENTS U NDER P RESSURE . She opened a leather satchel sitting next to the chair and eased the bottle into special padding, then closed and locked
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