Gale Force by Rachel Caine Page A

breath. ‘‘David has to believe me. He has to.’’
    Lewis gazed at me, expressionless. ‘‘I hope he does,’’ he finally said. He leaned over and kissed me chastely on the forehead. ‘‘About your wedding—’’
    Oh, man. I’d known we’d have to have this conversation sometime, but I really wasn’t ready for it. ‘‘Lewis, I’m sorry—’’
    ‘‘Don’t,’’ he said. ‘‘Trust me. It won’t make things any better. I’m okay. And I’m happy for you. I’m just worried. This thing—the Sentinels. They already didn’t like you. I can’t imagine they’ll be sending any congratulations about the ultimate mixed marriage.’’
    He left before I could say anything else.
    I closed my eyes and floated in a morphine cloud, trying to figure out who, outside of the Djinn, could create the black shard that I’d seen. Who was capable of that kind of lethal, subtle action?
    I didn’t know.
    I had dreams of distorted, screaming Djinn, of people being destroyed one by one, of the city in flames, of myself, walking through the rubble in a beautiful, perfect wedding gown.
    Of David lying in the street, dead, with a black shard driven entirely through his body.
    I woke up shaking.

Chapter Four
    So . . . I healed.
    David came to visit, of course, and he stayed as long as his duties would allow—longer than he should have, by the expressions of the Djinn sent to remind him of other duties at hand. But despite what I’d confidently said to Lewis, I could tell that David didn’t wholly believe me about the black shard, or the dead Djinn. He couldn’t. There was some kind of selective blindness that he couldn’t control, and that was weird and scary. It didn’t matter, though. The Wardens figured it out without the help of the Djinn.
    Somehow—I don’t know how—Lewis and a few other top-level Wardens managed to remove the black shard and take it to a containment facility, where experts, brought in under high-level security clearances, agreed that in fact it was, as Silverton had said, antimatter. Antimatter in some kind of stabilizing matrix. When I asked where the stuff was, and how it was being contained, I was told it was need-to-know, and I didn’t. Frankly, I was a little bit relieved. I was busy recovering, trying to get my strength back. My muscles seemed loose and weak, and once the doctors let me out of bed I spent my time mostly in the physical therapy room, working hard to get myself back in shape again. The pain went away. After a few weeks of natural healing, they tried Earth Wardens on me again, and this time, it worked; burns and scars smoothed out and disappeared, and I was left with glossy skin badly in need of a tanning session.
    Of course, I could always count on Cherise for that kind of therapy. She showed up one day toting a blue beach bag and told me to get dressed. Undressed was more to the point. She’d brought my favorite swimsuit, a skimpy little turquoise number that showed off as much skin as the law allowed. I changed, assuming we were going to the hydro pool for some swim therapy, but instead, she got me in the elevator, stripped off her white camp shirt and shorts, and revealed her own bathing suit choice: even less than I had on, though technically I supposed it could be considered clothing. It was a couple of scraps of tangerine orange, and she looked spectacular in it.
    ‘‘Tell me we’re not going to the cafeteria,’’ I said. ‘‘They’re having meat loaf. Again.’’ Cherise winked at me and pressed the button for the roof. It was restricted access, but she had a key card, which she used with the kind of triumphant flourish usually reserved for magicians with hat-dwelling rabbits.
    ‘‘I know you’re not up to a trip to the beach,’’ she said, ‘‘so we brought the beach to you.’’
    They really had. It wasn’t just Cherise; it was Kevin—her sometimes boyfriend, despite a five-year age difference—a Fire Warden with a deep-seated attitude