Ill Wind Page 0,25
realized he wasn't rubbing my shoulders in any suggestive kind of way. It was more like he was holding me down in the chair.
"Okay," I said slowly. "Well, I really ought to get-"
"Damage is what you'll do when you go out of control, Baldwin," he interrupted. "I've seen hundreds of kids like you. Jumped up, arrogant little boys and girls who have no idea what the real price of power is. And no respect for it, either."
"Sir, I'm all about the respect. Promise."
"No, you're not," he said. "Not yet. But you will be." He didn't let me go. "You've got no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
I didn't want to admit it. He didn't care, anyway.
"God, the strength in you," he said, staring down at me with those merciless eyes. "All that strength, going to waste. You don't need a Djinn. You don't need a damn thing. I remember what it was like, being young and stupid. You know what happens, little girl? It goes away. Sooner or later, you get old, you get slow, you lose the edge. And when that happens, people screw you."
I was too scared to say anything. He wasn't talking to me, not really; there was something bad going on here, something underneath. His fingers dug into my shoulders like iron spikes.
"You going to screw me, little girl?" He showed his teeth. "I mean in the figurative sense."
"No, sir," I whispered. "I wouldn't."
"Damn right you wouldn't."
I could almost feel something in the room with us, something huge and dark and malevolent. Something violent.
It wants something. Something I have.
Bad Bob seemed to realize it, too. He blinked, shook himself, and took his hands away from my shoulders. I felt the sting of blood rushing back and knew I'd have bruises there later.
"Go on," he said. "Get out of my sight."
I suppose I must have walked out, past the meteorologists, through the security door, signed out, handed Monet my badge, probably even said something. But I don't remember a thing from the getting up part to the part where I was sitting inside my car, gasping for breath and on the verge of tears.
I couldn't possibly have known how close I came that day to dying, but I sensed it. On some level, I knew.
I headed for the comfort of a beachside bar. On reflection, not the best answer to coping with crisis, but you go with your instincts.
Mine were just . . . bad.
TWO
Scattered thunderstorms, possibly heavy and severe, in the afternoon hours. A Weather Advisory is in effect for the area beginning at 11 a.m. EASTERN TIME.
Paul had given me five hours to make it out of his Sector; it wasn't a generous head start, but he knew the Mustang could make it. I had to slow down around Philadelphia, wary of speed traps, but I was still making pretty good time. By my calculations, I'd be out of his territory with about a half hour to spare. I knew he'd set his Djinn to monitor me, so it was no surprise when one appeared- poof-in my passenger seat.
Unlike Lewis's house Djinn, who had favored the traditional look, this one was hip to the new. She was a well-groomed young black woman, glossily perfect, with cornrowed hair and wraparound dark glasses and a sunshine-yellow pantsuit. I especially liked the yellow nail polish. It was a nice touch.
I managed not to drive the car off the road, though I did fumble a gear change.
"You've got a lot of people very upset," the Djinn said. She had a nice, smoky voice, contralto, with a bit of a whiskey edge. "While it might be amusing, it makes more work for me."
She skinned down the shades, and I got a look at her beast-yellow eyes. Horror movie monsters never had eyes that scary, or that beautiful.
"I can see it in you," she said. "It's burrowing." She made a clicking sound with her tongue that sounded dry and insectile.
"Paul didn't see it."
"Wardens don't," she murmured. "Unless they ask us to show them. Which they don't, because they don't know the right question to ask."
Oh. "Want to take it off me?" I asked.
She smiled. "You know the rules," she said. "A Djinn doesn't do favors. A Djinn takes orders from her master. You, sistah, are not my master."
"What if