Especially if one of them was you, I replied soberly. I hoped that Marion Bearheart had thought all this through; I did not know her well enough to feel confidence in her decisions. Not that I really had confidence in anyone when it came to my safety or the safety of those I loved. A human saying had always struck me as apt: Trust, but verify. It might seem paranoid to some, but it made excellent sense to me.

At least they kept the interior of the compound refreshingly free of snow. I supposed that would be light work for a Weather Warden, creating a microclimate just large enough to protect those within from the winter weather. It felt warmer, though not by any stretch warm.

I had only just dismounted my bike, feeling every cold mile of the road in my bones and aching flesh, when the front door of the school opened and a woman rolled down the ramp in a wheelchair, picking up speed and braking with a flair that landed her perfectly in front of us. Bearheart. I knew she had been injured during the Djinn rebellion, but I hadn’t known how badly; it was plain, when I looked at her in Oversight, that she would never walk again. No matter the skill of the healer, there were some things that could not be fixed in the human body once shattered. In a way, she had that in common with Esmeralda, the Snake Girl.

Bearheart met my eyes with her dark, glittering ones, and said, “No need to pity me, Djinn,” she said. “I’m satisfied I came out a winner. Plenty of my friends didn’t—on both sides.”

“I wasn’t pitying you,” I said. “I was wondering how much of a disadvantage you’d pose for us in a fight.”

She laughed. “Don’t make me roll over your foot. I’m heavier than I look, and I can build up a lot of momentum.”

She was also one of the most powerful Earth Wardens I had ever seen in person, and I had certainly seen many thousands. Physically, she was in her late-middle age, with thick black hair worn long, threaded through with liberal silver. Her skin was a warm copper, her features sharp, and I noticed a sudden resemblance to the Fire Warden girl on the road, Shasa. There was something of the same commanding nose on both.

I took a guess. “Your—niece is impressive.”

That took her a bit by surprise, but she nodded. “Shasa is my brother’s kid. Bad temper, but a damn good Warden. Funny, most people think she’s mine.”

“I am not most people,” I said gravely.

“Indeed you’re not. I’m not sure you’re people at all, actually. You’re something else.”

There was a great deal too much comprehension in her expression to please me, and I nodded toward Janice Worthing, who had gotten out of the SUV with Isabel. “Do you trust that one with Isabel?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting Isabel just yet, but I’m sure there’s not a child in the world I wouldn’t trust with Janice Worthing. She’s the best there is.” Bearheart fell silent a moment, watching me. “Unless you know something I need to know. Something other than what’s in the official record?”

I shook my head. There was, in fact, nothing to incite my suspicions about anything I’d seen so far in this place. The Wardens had done a competent job of intercepting us and escorting us in, and I suspected my general distrust was a reflection of my own feelings. Until Isabel had turned her adoration on someone else, I hadn’t realized how important the regard of the child was to me.

Without her, I felt ... less.

“I’ll want to go over what you know,” Bearheart said, clearly not convinced with my silent affirmation. “My office, one hour. Bring Warden Rocha once he’s convinced we’re not organizing a sweatshop and letting them run with scissors.” A smile flickered over her lips, but it was thin and not very amused. “Not that I blame him. Wardens don’t have the greatest track record when it comes down to dealing with our own kids. And yes, I’ve been part of that problem from time to time, to my regret. But we no longer have the luxury of worrying about each other’s possible future bad behavior. We have far too much actual bad behavior.”

With that, she pressed a control on her wheelchair and sped off to talk to Luis, meet Isabel, and generally do her duty. It said a great deal about her, I thought, that she turned her back on me so readily. Either she had underestimated me badly, or she had taken my measure exactly.

I wondered which it was.

When no one seemed to be watching me, I strolled around the side of the school, allowing the impressions to roll in. First, it appeared that the fence, though imposing, did not much reflect the quality of accommodations inside. The building itself was large, built of an outer facing of wood but, I sensed, with a core of cement and steel worthy of a military bunker. There were no bars on the windows, and the side doors I passed seemed unguarded. They also proved to be unlocked, I found, because as I was passing the north side one opened and a girl of about ten came running out, almost barreling directly into me. She backpedaled to a swift, scrambling halt, and ran into the boy who was chasing her. He was about her age, but taller, and he wrapped his hands protectively around her shoulders and moved her behind him as he demanded, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He was a Fire Warden; that much seemed obvious. I could both see and sense the energy forming around his fingers. He was ready to stand and fight. I honored that.

“My name is Cassiel,” I said. “I am a guest. And you?”

My polite tone must have reassured him, because he hesitated, then shook the fire off his fingers and nodded to me. Like Ibby, he was adult beyond his years. “Mike,” he said. “Mike Holloway. We heard about you already.”

Everyone had, it seemed. I wondered exactly what they had heard.

The girl, irritated, shoved Mike’s protective grip away and said, “I’m Gillian.” She raised her chin, almost daring me to do ... what? Declare myself the villain, attack, froth at the mouth like a rabid vole?

I smiled. “Gillian,” I said, and bowed slightly. “I am sorry I alarmed you.”

“You don’t scare me,” Gillian shot back. “I don’t scare that easy. Right, Mike?”

“Right,” he said. I could tell he really wanted to put his arm around her, but had good enough sense to know that she wouldn’t welcome it. “Gillian is badass. It’s the hair. Redheads are always badass.”

Gillian did, indeed, have fiery red hair, of a brilliance that put me in mind of bright new bronze. She had it pulled back in a small queue at the back of her neck, tied up with some complicated arrangement of rubber bands that looked as if they’d be impossible to untangle without yanking out entire hanks. Gillian was a Weather Warden, and I could tell that beneath the surface bravado she was terrified of me.

Whether she was terrified because I was simply a stranger or because she knew that I’d once been a Djinn, it was obvious to me, as it must have been to Mike. She could raise her chin and pretend, but there was no doubt that I held some kind of very real terror for her.

I liked her for nevertheless standing her ground and glaring defiance.

“You a new teacher?” Mike asked me.

“Perhaps,” I said. “For a short time. I don’t know yet. I’ll be speaking with Warden Bearheart in a moment.”

“Well ...” He eyed me doubtfully. “We need teachers who aren’t afraid of us. You know—of what we can do.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Mike grinned suddenly. “But you haven’t seen what we can do yet.”

“We haven’t seen what she can do, either,” Gillian put in. She punched Mike in the shoulder, hard enough that he winced. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

With that, they escaped back inside through the still-open door and banged it shut between us. I eyed it thoughtfully. There were no handles to enter, but obviously it was unlocked from the inside. A fire exit.