I considered it now. “Because it’s easier to twist a child who has no roots,” I said. “No one to care. No one to watch. No one to fight for her.”

“Oh, believe me, we care,” Shasa said. “We watch. We fight. And if I ever see that bitch, I’ll make her understand that we’re a community, we Wardens. We stick together.” She sent me a sidelong look. “Maybe you can tell her next time you see her. From me.”

“Yes,” I said. “Perhaps I will explain it to her in great detail.”

“Is it true she’s one of you? One of the Djinn?”

“Not anymore,” I said. “But then, neither am I, if you wish to be technical.”

“So you say.” Shasa seemed unimpressed. “My aunt seems to like you. She doesn’t trust you, though. Seems that nobody trusts you, really. Including your own Warden.”

“How do they feel about you?” I asked.

She laughed. “About the same. I don’t go out of my way to be liked. Never seen much point in it.”

We had that in common, it seemed. After a moment, Shasa pushed off from the wall and walked to Elijah, who was wavering between smiles and tears, and when he saw her his face simply lit up with joy.

There was much to be said for the judgment of a child, I thought. And for not much caring about the opinions of others.

“Shasa,” I said as she lifted Elijah in her arms. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

“Yeah, I heard. I’m planning a party, with cake and balloons. You’re not invited, though.”

“Look out for them,” I said. “All of them.”

She looked up, holding a laughing Elijah on her hip, and frowned. “You got something to tell me? Something I should know?”

“Nothing definite, or I’d stay. But—it’s too good a target, this place. These children.”

“Yeah,” Shasa said. “I know. We all know. But keeping them separately wasn’t helping. At least together they can help each other. We haven’t got a lot of choices.”

I definitely understood that, but I still couldn’t silence the tremor of doubt deep within that had started upon first glimpsing this place. They’d located it far from a ley line, which was a part of the network of aetheric forces that allowed Pearl to establish footholds and compounds for her own misguided followers. There were no obvious signs that Pearl’s people were even aware of this location, and yet ...

And yet.

I couldn’t wait for the fight to come here, not with so many fragile lives at risk. I had to act first, and as aggressively as possible.

That meant abandoning Ibby, and Luis, and destroying all that I’d worked so hard to build with them.

And it hurt.

My God, it hurt.

I went to say my good-byes to Luis. His door was closed, and I knocked. I heard a rustle of sheets inside, but nothing else.

I knocked louder, and then I turned the knob.

Locked.

I snorted. That was only a token gesture—he knew perfectly well that a lock couldn’t keep me out if I wished to come in. I snapped it and repaired it as soon as the door swung in, and shut it behind me. The room was dark, but after a second there was a click, and the bedside lamp flickered on to illuminate Luis, propped up on pillows, staring at me.

I felt nothing from him. He’d closed himself off. Only the quiet whisper of the connection between us was left, but nothing came through it to indicate to me what he was feeling.

“Come for the big scene?” he asked. “Sorry. I’m all out of drama. I thought you were leaving already.”

“I am,” I said.

“So go.”

“I will. I came to see you first.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it. Locked door doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“It means you’re angry.”

“Damn straight I’m angry. Christo, woman, how you think I ought to feel, like twirling on a mountaintop and singing? How you think Ibby’s going to feel when I tell her you dumped us?”

“I think she’ll feel very hurt,” I said. “Especially if you lie to her about my motives.”

He sat up, and the sheet slid down his bare chest. The light seemed to be devoured in the dark shadows of his flame tattoos that ran up both arms. His voice came low and almost savagely rough. “You’d better not mean that, chica. You’d better not say I’m a liar, because you’re the one leaving, not me.”

“If you tell her that I’m dumping the two of you, you’re lying,” I said. “You’re lying to yourself, and to her, and that’s unforgivable. I’m not turning my back on you out of some petty disagreement. I’m fighting for you.”

“I never asked you to do that!”

“You didn’t have to,” I said. “I fight for you because it’s my duty. And I fight because I love you, Luis, and because I love Ibby and I can’t bear to see either of you harmed again. And I always will love you, no matter how you feel. Because that’s the curse of being a Djinn; we don’t fall out of love the way humans do. That’s why we so seldom try to love at all. I thought you knew that.” I felt out of breath, saying it, and a little sick. There were some weaknesses Djinn don’t want to admit, and this was the worst. Our constancy.

I wanted to stop this. I wanted him to reach out to me, love me, forgive me. I needed that from him, because I could never, ever go back to simply thinking of him as a friend, an ally, a disposable human being. He was real, and he had my heart.

Perhaps he could turn his back on what we’d built. As a Djinn, I didn’t have that option. The pain would echo forever in the empty places that were left.

I turned to leave. I suppose I was hoping that he’d stop me, say something, do something, and that there would be a shining, soul-easing moment of reconciliation between us.

And he said, very quietly, “Cassiel.”

I looked at him, and saw that a struggle was going on inside of him, one I didn’t fully understand. “Cass,” he said, “you’re doing what you’ve got to do. I know that. I don’t like it, and I don’t agree with it, but I know. But there are things I have to do, too. Things you aren’t going to like, either.”

I felt my forehead wrinkle into a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Since we talked I—I took some precautions. For Ibby’s sake.”

“I don’t understand. What precautions?”

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t agree. Best I not tell you. But just remember—I didn’t do it for myself. Just remember that.”

He wasn’t going to admit anything to me, I realized, not directly. I studied him, still frowning, and then nodded. “Be careful,” I said. “Watch out for yourself, and her. And all of them.”

He nodded, without a single word of comfort, of understanding, of acknowledgment. It was only as I walked away, feeling the burning weight of my own pain, that I realized I hadn’t, in fact, told him good-bye at all.

But I believed that he had nevertheless understood what I meant.

WELL BEFORE DAWN, I kicked my motorcycle to growling life in the fenced compound. Marion had gotten up to see me off, but there was still no sign of Luis. I felt ... unfinished. And deeply guilty, although I knew it was no fault of mine that duty drove me to this. I was acting to preserve him, and Ibby. I could do nothing else.

All I really wanted was his understanding, but it seemed he couldn’t give it to me. I hoped that eventually he would at least be able to grant me forgiveness.

I looked back over my shoulder to where Marion’s wheelchair sat on the porch; she was, as always, alert and seemed not to be tired, although I knew that the pace must be wearing her down. “Guess I can’t talk you out of it,” she said. “Even though you know you could do a lot of good here.”

“I can do a lot of good anywhere. You know I’m right about this,” I replied, over the engine’s noise. “Tell Luis ...” I didn’t know what to tell him. I didn’t know what he would accept from me.

Marion evidently did know, because she nodded. “I will,” she said. “He loves you, you know. That’s what makes this worse for him. He’s a proud man, and he wants to be with you.”