Firestorm Page 0,6

it. I tried the steel door to the hut. Locked. Lights glowed on panels inside, but the windows were covered with steel mesh. That left us standing in a hot white wash of light, looking suspicious. I looked around, and sure enough, there was a surveillance camera--as ubiquitous as houseflies in the modern world. I waved, then turned to the door again.

"There's no lock or handle," Cherise said. "Don't they have to open it from in there or something?"

"Or something."

I held up my hand and concentrated. A faint blue sparkle moved across it, lighting up the stylized sunburst that was the symbol of the Wardens. It was magically tattooed into my flesh, and it couldn't be faked.

I ran it across a scanner inset next to the door. I waited, but nothing happened. If there'd been crickets around, they would have been chirping. I sighed, looked at Cherise and Imara, and shook my head. I ran a hand through my tangled hair and pushed it back from my face, back over my shoulders, and wondered what my chances were of bluffing the regular UN guards into granting me admittance.

I didn't wonder very long. They'd raised paranoia to an art form around here, and for very good reasons.

"Right," I said. "I guess we'll have to wait until someone decides that we look safe."

"Yeah, and when will that be?" Cherise asked, with a significant look at our generally less than presentable turnout, Imara notwithstanding.

The door let loose with a thick metallic chunk and swung open about a quarter of an inch.

"Now." I grabbed the edge and moved it wider. It was heavy. Bombproof, most likely. I ushered the girls inside, grabbed the inner handle, and pulled it tight behind me as I entered the building. The lock engaged with a snap and hum of power.

"Um... Jo?" Cherise sounded spooked.

When I turned, there were two people standing in the industrial concrete-block hallway facing us. Both were in blue blazers with a logo on them--UN Security--but with the additional graphic touch of the sun-shaped Wardens symbol pinned to their lapels. Man and woman, both tall and capable-looking. I didn't know them.

I'd seen guns before, though, and they had two great big pistols pointed right at us.

I put my hands in the air. Cherise followed suit, fast, and laced her hands behind her head without being asked. Too many episodes of police shows, I was guessing, or some indiscretions that I didn't want to know about.

Imara didn't raise her hands at all, just looked at the guards with those ruddy-amber eyes and raised her eyebrows, as if they amused the hell out of her.

"Djinn!" the woman in the blazer yelled to her partner, and took a step forward to get an angle on Imara. She had a nice two-handed shooting stance, and a voice hard enough to shatter diamond. Her eyes darted rapidly from Imara to Cherise, and then landed on me. "Warden, put your Djinn back in the bottle. Now!"

I looked at Imara, wide-eyed. She looked back. "Back in the bottle," I said. I didn't own Imara, and she wasn't bound to a bottle anyway, but she was bright enough to realize that this might not be the time to debate the issue. She misted away, off to someplace safer, I hoped. The Wardens were a little paranoid these days. Love me, hate me, want to kill me... it all depended on the mood of who I was talking to, seemed like.

But I understood their paranoia about Djinn. I'd seen the change come over David, on a beach in Florida, and it had terrified me in ways that I'd never thought possible. Nothing more frightening than seeing someone you know, someone you love, go mad.

I focused on the two guards and tried for a wan, friendly smile. "Okay, no problem, right? Djinn's in the bottle. You guys know me. Joanne Baldwin? Weather Warden? I'm here to see Paul Giancarlo."

Whether it was my name or Paul's, something made the two guards exchange a look and relax. They didn't holster their weapons, but they didn't look actively menacing anymore, either. And they pointed the barrels vaguely toward the floor.

"Baldwin," the man repeated. "Right. We've been expecting you." He was a tall fellow, thin without being skinny. The physique of a basketball player under the wool jacket, white shirt, and conservative tie. "Follow us," he said, and turned to walk down the hallway.

I shrugged and followed, Cherise obediently hurrying along with me. I hoped I hadn't dragged her