this alive.
Yeah, right. You axe the bone that got thrown. My snarky superego was probably right; the Wardens- including Lewis-weren't interested in my troubles at the moment. I was a distraction, and I was on my own.
People everywhere, moving with a purpose. This was a very bad place to try a confrontation, which was probably Kevin's point in choosing it. Or Jonathan's. Sounded like Jonathan logic to me; Kevin would have probably crawled into some hole in the ground and pulled it in after him, like a kid hiding his head from the bogeyman. Jonathan was the one who'd think of all of the defensive possibilities of a very public, high-profile establishment.
Kevin steered me off into the casino area, and we strolled past one bar, heading past slots, more slots, keno, blackjack. We passed a room marked private, where, when the door opened and closed, I caught a glimpse of a poker table and some intensely silent men hunched around it. And you think you're playing for high stakes, pals. Try my game.
"Where are we going?" I asked. Kevin didn't answer. We turned left at the T intersection, away from the casino area and into what looked like (to my instant, back-brained delight) a shopping mall. A high-class shopping mall. Only he didn't lead me that direction; he steered me toward a massive bank of elevators, complete with polite and flinty-eyed security men who waved us through when I fumbled out my card key.
We stepped into the lift and enjoyed a silent, efficient ride up into the stratosphere.
"How'd you get in?" Kevin finally asked, as the lights flickered past the twenty-fifth floor. "Just curious."
"I was dead."
"Oh." He stared, waiting for the punch line. "Kind of extreme."
"You're telling me."
He couldn't decide whether or not I was lying, but it didn't much matter; the elevator topped out, and we exited one floor from the top.
It was a long walk down an elegant hallway big enough for the chariot race from Ben-Hur. The last door on the left was his.
It swung open for him at a touch, and I felt the dim, out-of-focus surge of power. Fire, this time; he'd just fooled the locking mechanism with an electric charge. Nice bit of control, that; he'd been largely untrained last time I'd seen him, mostly in the smash-and-grab phase of things.
I took a step in and realized that Kevin had appropriated the presidential suite, or at least the vice-presidential one. It was huge, sumptuous to the point of pastiche, but never over the edge. I was pretty sure the furniture was antique, for the most part; if it was reproduction, it was in the best of taste.
Kevin let go of me, shut the door, and shuffled over the wine-colored Aubusson to a fully appointed bar. He poured himself a straight glass of Jim Beam. I refrained from lecturing him about the evils of distilled spirits or reminding him of the legal drinking age.
I looked around. "Where's Jonathan?"
He rattled crystal. "Around." Which meant he had no idea, probably.
"You keep his bottle on you?"
"You smoking crack? I'm not telling you where I keep it."
"Not asking you to," I said. "Hey, would you mind..." I mimed pouring. Kevin splashed some JB in another glass and handed it over, and I took a sip. Wow. Liquid heat, turning into burning lava somewhere midthroat. Well, it was happy hour somewhere in the world.
I nearly spluttered my drink when a new voice said, "Enjoying your stay?" It came from the corner of the room, where a big leather armchair sat facing a broad plate-glass window overlooking the white spray of fountains. I set the glass down and took a couple of steps to my left to get a better look.
Not that it was any surprise, really, to see Jonathan sitting there. He looked relaxed. Fully at home. Head back, eyes half-shut, feet up on a virtually priceless Federal table that really shouldn't have been mistaken for a footstool under any circumstances. I let myself stare at him for a few long seconds. It wasn't a chore or anything; he appeared middle-aged, light brown hair liberally scattered with gray. The wiry, strong build of a habitual runner, dressed in faded blue jeans and a forest-green fleece pullover. Some kind of deck shoes on long feet. The kind of casual cool that the trend-driven shoppers downstairs could never hope to imitate.
"Chill Factor"
He was the only Djinn I'd ever met who had humanlike eyes, at least at first glance. His were dark. I