Gale Force Page 0,17

"Kisses."

I said it to a humming disconnected signal. Paul was already gone, off to the next crisis. I finished up at my desk, closed the laptop, and sat back to think.

The Sentinels. That had an amateurish ring to it, but who was I to judge? Lewis had started the Ma'at, a separate Warden-like organization, when he'd been just out of college, and that had turned out to be a useful thing - the Ma'at took in people without enough talent to be Wardens, but more than the average human, and paired them up with Djinn volunteers. They worked on the theory of additive power - forming chains of people and Djinn in order to amplify and direct power that otherwise wouldn't be strong enough to make a difference.

The Sentinels didn't sound like they had a new idea, just a difference of political opinion. They were anti-Djinn. Well, that shouldn't have come as a shock; enough Wardens had been hurt or killed in the troubles with the Djinn to make some kind of backlash inevitable. I just hadn't thought it would be so fast, or so decisive. I'd never thought that it would come down to reasonable, responsible people doing something like causing unnecessary loss of life.

One thing was certain: Whether it was a good idea or not for David to be involved in this investigation about the black knife, it was going to have to happen. I needed him to know about the anti-Djinn movement, and I needed a Djinn to try to analyze the history of the black knife and tell me where it came from, who made it, who planted it, and how to remove it.

It was logical, all right.

I just had a sinking feeling that it was exactly the wrong thing to do.

Chapter Two

According to the checklist I'd downloaded from the Internet, I was already running about six months behind on planning any decent kind of wedding that didn't involve shotguns and pissed-off dads. As I waited in the Fort Lauderdale airport for Warden Silverton's plane, I read over the printed bridal list and anxiously jotted notes in the margins. Some things I just marked out. I wasn't fooling with wedding advisors, wedding consultants, or wedding planners; none of them would be equipped to deal with the complexities of the wedding of a Warden and a Djinn, anyway. And if they were, they'd be way, way too expensive.

Clergy. Now that was something I did have to think about. Unless we went for a civil ceremony . . . Hmmm. Maybe one of the pagan faiths would be willing to do it. And then there were the caterers. Photographers. Musicians for the reception. Florists.

The whole thing was obscenely complicated. I suspected the wedding ritual was designed to make absolutely sure you really wanted to get married. God knew that if you were on the fence about it, the organizing would put you over the edge into permanent bachelorette-hood.

I was settled in an uncomfortable hard plastic seat in the baggage claim area, watching the arriving passengers. I had a sign propped next to me with the stylized sun symbol of the Wardens on it in gold and glitter - unmistakable, to anyone who knew what it meant, although I'd put SILVERTON below it in block letters, just in case.

I spotted a likely candidate - a tall African American man with erect military bearing who snagged an olive-drab duffel bag from the baggage belt. Sure enough, as his eyes scanned the waiting crowd, he fixed right on me and headed in my direction.

I stood up, claimed the sign, and waited for him to stride over. He got taller and taller the closer he came, very imposing. His handshake was firm and businesslike, and I realized he was older than I'd thought - probably in his early fifties, with a light dusting of gray in his close-cropped black hair, lines around his eyes. "Mr. Silverton," I said. "Joanne Baldwin."

"Heard of you, ma'am," he said. No hint of whether the advance notice had been good or bad. "Call me Jerome, please. No point in formality if we're going to be working together."

"Right. Jerome, my car's outside. How was your flight?"

"Food-free," he said. "Could I impose on you to discuss this assignment over dinner?"

"Sure," I said. "Anything in particular?"

"Fish," he said. "Hate to miss the fish when I come to the coast."

He liked my car. In fact, Jerome liked my car more than most people, walking all the way around