scream, or just whimper. "He'll know what to do."
"Why?" David's voice was so soft, so reasonable.
I felt a surge of absolute panic, because I realized ... realized I didn't know. Why would he know any better than I did? Lewis was more powerful, all right- more powerful than anybody. That didn't mean he could save me, except by presenting me with the same choice I had right now. Destroying someone else. A Djinn, maybe, but in every way that mattered, a real person.
"I'm so tired-" It came out of me in a rush, uncontrolled. "I can't think about it. Not now."
"You have to," David whispered. "Let's just get this over with."
The car lurched, sputtered, and coasted to a stop. Dead.
"No," I whispered. "I won't let you . . . take it..." I'd fight him with my last breath, if I had to. I wouldn't be the cause of his destruction. If there was any right thing left in my life . . .
The lights flickered and died, and in the ghostly whisper of the fan spinning down, I felt David reach across and draw his hand gently across my forehead.
"Then rest," he said.
I woke up in the passenger seat, belted firmly in place, cramped in places I hadn't known I had muscles. The clock made no sense. My mouth tasted like the bottom of a fish tank, and I needed to pee so badly, it hurt.
"What . . . ." I mumbled. David was driving. "Thought you couldn't drive."
"I lied," he said. "Djinn do that."
I muttered something about his mother under my breath-did Djinn have mothers?-and squinted at the clock again.
"Wait a minute," I said. "I've been asleep for only thirty minutes?"
He didn't answer.
"Oh. Twelve and a half hours."
"We're an hour outside Tulsa," he said. "We should be nearing Oklahoma City."
There was a brilliant blaze of light on the horizon, like frozen gold smoke against the cloudy sky. Still light rain falling, but when I checked Oversight, I found everything even and steady. No storms chasing me, for a change.
"Let's stop," I said.
David glanced aside at me. "Where?"
"Anywhere with a bathroom."
"I'll find something."
I nodded and ran my hands through my hair. That didn't cut it. I hunted around in Marion's glove compartment, came up with a brush, and attacked the tangles in my hair until it was shiny and smooth. Nothing much I could do about my generally gritty condition, but Marion had also left behind some nice wintergreen gum that took care of evening breath. I was starting to feel caffeine deprived, but just about the time I thought about complaining, a sign appeared in the distance: loves. The billboard text underneath Said GAS-FOOD-BATHROOMS.
"Miracles provided," David said. I froze for a second, then remembered to breathe. Surely he didn't know that was Bad Bob's tag line. Surely.
At exactly 9 p.m. we pulled into a parking lot big enough to hold at least thirty or forty long-haul rigs; it was a little more than half full. Oklahoma was having a damp spring, it seemed; the clouds overhead were inoffensive nimbus, spitting light rain, and we hurried inside to a warm, well-lit vestibule. On one side was a convenience store, on the other, a traditional sit-down diner; straight ahead was the sign for bathrooms. I left David to his own amusements and headed for the relief station. On the way, I ran across a gleaming bank of pay phones, and I remembered something I'd forgotten to do.
Star. I'd meant to call Star and tell her I was coming.
I picked up the handset and thought about it for a while, hung up, then finally completed the call. She wasn't there, but her answering machine took my message. Coming into town tonight or tomorrow. See you soon.
I hoped I would, anyway. I was feeling desperately alone. I wanted to count on David, but I was such a danger to him. ... It was like traveling with someone bent on suicide. If I said the wrong thing, got desperate ... I had to be on my guard. Always.
When I came back, I found David sitting at a table in the diner, contemplating a menu. He had a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. I gestured at the waitress for the same and picked up my own copy of the house specials.
"Any ideas?" I