partners now. The way we should have been."
I cleared my throat. "And the Wardens?"
"Going to take a lot of work to bring them back," Lewis said. His smile grew brighter. "I can't think of anyone I trust more to make that happen, Jo. You, and your son."
Son.
I put a hand over my stomach as my lips parted.
Lewis waved his hand, and the glass windows of the chapel filled in again. The Djinn had to shuffle around as wooden pews replaced piles of ashes. Creation, at the snap of his fingers.
"Is she still awake?" I asked.
"For now," he said. "She'll sleep soon. But I think you'll find things much easier now."
The Djinn were disappearing now, heading off to their newly appointed tasks. Outside the window, the sky was a pure, perfect blue, with a few light clouds drifting high. A bald eagle swooped low, so close its wings almost brushed the glass, and I wondered if it was the same one we'd left wrapped in Cassiel's coat in Las Vegas.
I watched it soar away. When I looked back down, Djinn Lewis was gone, and his silent, empty shell was all that was left.
David took my hand. "Time to go," he said.
I took in a deep breath. "What about--"
Imara gave me a smile, and looked down. Lewis's body sank into the floor, into the stone beneath. I saw the fading whisper of it moving deep, deep into the Earth.
Gone.
"Good journey, Mom," Imara said, and whispered into shadows and sand.
Behind us, the door of the chapel opened, and the priest blinked at us in surprise. "Oh, hello," he said. "The chapel isn't officially open yet, but if you'd like to come back--"
"Yes," David said. "We'll come back. But we have things to do."
We walked out, into bright sunlight, and descended the steps. I had no idea what we'd do when we got to the bottom--no car, no transportation of any kind. I didn't really feel like taking a bus.
"Things to do," I repeated. "We'll go get the rebuilding started, round up the Wardens, recover the Djinn bottles and smash them. After that, though, it's three days of spa, mud baths, and all-day massages. Anything I'm forgetting?"
"Shopping," David said, straight-faced. "And a bedroom with a locked door."
"Mmmm, I said. Joy gurgled up in me like bubbles, and I found I was poised on the edge of giggles. "Can we move that to first on the list?"
"Probably not." He smiled, and stopped on the steps to kiss me with all the passion and sweetness I could ever want. "That's an installment."
"I'd like to give you something on credit, too, but it's a public space. And a church."
He laughed, and we skipped down the rest of the steps to the parking lot.
Sitting in the middle of the lot was a black 1970 Mustang Boss 429, gleaming like new. I stopped and threw David a questioning look. He tossed me the keys.
Next stop, Las Vegas.
And the world, beyond.
Epilogue
"Mo-o-om!"
I was in the middle of a pile of paperwork and a simultaneous conference call with Warden HQ, which had already gone on for two hours and was likely to go on for two more. I counted to ten, silently, and hit the mute button on my phone just as someone, of course, asked me for my opinion. Ah well. I always told them family came first. "What is it?" I called, with extreme patience.
"I need you!"
"Do you need me right now?"
"Well--yeah, kind of!"
That was when I smelled something burning, and the smoke alarms went off at the back of the house. I jumped up, scattering papers in a summertime paper blizzard as I dashed toward my son.
He was standing in the doorway saying, "Mom, I didn't mean to; it wasn't my fault... ."
"Lewis Kevin Prince, get out of my way!"
He knew that tone, at least, and, head down, shuffled aside so I could see the freaking bonfire that was raging in the corner of his room. Those curtains were toast.
Again.
I called up my mad Fire skills and snuffed it out with only a little puff of smoke. It was worse than I'd thought--carpet melted into a toxic cesspool in the corner, the paint done for, the aforementioned curtains gone from white to charred rags. It could have been worse. At least this time, he'd kept it away from the closet, the computer, the game system, and his huge rack of books.
Our son was eight years old, and nobody in the entire history of the Wardens had shown this kind