Panic and lack of oxygen quickly robbed my limbs of strength, and I lost track of where I was or how much time had passed. I knew only that I had to get free, quickly, or I would never draw a clear breath again.

My flailing hand fell on something sharp, and I felt the sting of the cut even over the muffling grip of desperation. My fingers closed around it—a torn, razor-edged piece of metal about as long as my forearm. I gripped it hard and used it to slice at the roots that had wrapped around my head and neck, hacking wildly until I felt it give way and tumble away in the tide.

Then I touched rock beneath me, and with the last, fading glimmers of power, I launched myself up, out of the mud. I made it to the rolling top of the flow and saw a chance—just one—as it took me toward a thick overhanging branch.

I stabbed the metal into the tree branch and, screaming with primal effort, pulled my legs out of the muddy avalanche. I wrapped them around the wood and slowly, painfully crawled up on the thick, sheltering tree. I was freezing and shivering, and so caked with mud that I could hardly move with the weight of it. It seemed to take forever, but I gradually stopped shaking as the wet, sucking tide beneath me slowed to a stagnant pool of muck. Things surfaced from its depths: shredded plants, broken and unidentifiable; sad, muddy lumps of dead animals caught in the trap. I caught a glimpse of something metallic, and dropped down into the chest-high mud to wade toward it.

The Victory was buried beneath what seemed like a ton of slowly congealing mud, but the wheels were intact, and I managed to get it upright. I rolled/dragged it to a shallower area and finally got it up onto dry land again. The rain continued in a torrential downpour, but this time to my benefit, as it sluiced the thick, heavy coating of black earth from my body and the bike.

I didn’t know if the Vision could possibly still be functional after that ordeal, and at first it seemed that it wasn’t; attempts at starting her met with nothing but impotent sputters. I was beginning to think that I ought to abandon it, sad though the thought made me, but I gave it one last halfhearted try, and the engine coughed, struggled, and then roared in triumph.

I mounted the bike and leaned forward, resting my cheek on the handlebars. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

The Victory gave a rough purr beneath me ... not perfect, but running with the same determination I felt myself.

I walked it downhill, until I found a trail, and then rode.

I didn’t dare come at the school in the same direction as before; I would rather let my enemies think that they’d destroyed me. It was only luck and stubbornness that had saved me, in truth, but I couldn’t risk another encounter. I didn’t have the power.

Rushing into danger without it, though, was a fool’s errand. I needed to draw power; the question was, from what. Or from whom.

The obvious and easy answer was Luis, but the relationship between us was, at present, neither obvious nor easy, and I wasn’t sure he would respond ... but he hadn’t broken the link between us, which still pulsed and whispered deep within me. As I searched the aetheric for a better, less obvious route to where I was going, I also—very carefully—sent a wordless signal down the connection, like a tap on a wire.

I received a single, wordless pulse back from him. The relief I felt was immense, almost choking, and I had to steady myself for a moment before I tried to think what to do next. I was too weak to force open the connection wider on my end, and too weak to communicate with him in even that indirect whisper we’d used so often before. All I could do was signal, like someone walled up in wreckage, and hope that he’d act on his own.

My eardrum gave a peculiar flutter, and then Luis’s voice said, What happened to you?

I couldn’t really answer him. Instead, I tapped the connection again.

You’re hurt, he guessed.

I gave him another single tap. One for yes, two for no, okay?

Yes.

What do you need—dammit, you can’t tell me, can you? Are you out of power?

It was an excellent guess. Yes, I signaled back.

Hold on, he said, which was not the response I expected. Are you close to the school?

Yes.

Then come in. I’ll let Marion know you’re coming.

No! I added the emphasis by tapping harder, two times, then another two, just to be sure. No!

All right, I get it. Got your message about the traitor. You want me to come to you?

No.

Then what the hell do you want, chica?

I tapped the connection, steadily, five times, drawing attention to its presence. After a few seconds, he said, You need power, yeah, I got that. Come in to the school first.

NO! My signal this time was two strikes, as hard as I could make it. I gave out an audible growl of frustration.

Fine, he said. I’ll come to you. Got your position on the aetheric. Be there in half an hour.

No matter how many times I tapped the connection, or how hard, he refused to speak further. I gritted my teeth in frustration, and rode the bike up the narrow, winding trail. I was approaching the school from the south, but off the expected road; I knew I’d be running into the school’s first line of boundary defenses soon. Luis was taking his life into his hands coming out, but he still had a better chance of surviving that than I did coming in.

I needed to meet him halfway.

I was still well shy of the defenses—or so it seemed—when Luis appeared, on foot, at the top of the ridge above me. He didn’t say anything at first; neither did I, as I idled the bike, then cut the engine and settled it on the kickstand. The descent from the ridge was steeper than I would have attempted, but Luis took the direct approach; he broke loose a thick slab of rock with a kick, stepped on it, and rode it like a surfboard down the rugged, snow-dotted hill, skidding to a halt in front of me.

Earth Wardens. So showy.

“Well,” he said. “You came back.”

“I had to,” I said. “There’s a traitor with a Djinn at his command inside the school. No one there is safe, and nobody can be trusted.” He nodded, not looking away from my face. “You’re not surprised.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not.” He looked up the slope, and I realized that we weren’t alone.

Rashid was standing there, looking spotless and sober in his black suit. He folded his hands and stared down at me with an expressionless intensity that made me feel very, very vulnerable. If I couldn’t fight a mere Weather Warden’s attack, how much chance did I have against a Djinn?

“You came back,” Luis repeated. “I didn’t think you would, Cass. I really, really didn’t.” And then he said, almost in a whisper, “I’m so sorry. I did tell you that you weren’t going to like what I was doing.”

Rashid jumped off the ridge and landed flat-footed beside Luis. No mistaking it; Luis hardly glanced his direction. No surprise at all.

The realization came to me slowly, but it brought with it a massive shift of perspective. Luis wasn’t surprised by Rashid’s presence ... because he knew that the Djinn was there.

He knew why the Djinn was there.

And there was only one person who could know that.

I stared at Luis, and after a moment he reached in his pocket and took out a small, thick bottle sealed with a simple rubber stopper. He held it up for me to see, then put it back.

“You,” I said. “You have Rashid.”

“Yes.”

“Before I left you?”

“Yes,” Luis said. His voice was soft, but definite. “After you told me you were taking off, he showed up, carrying a message from the other Wardens. It was a God-given opportunity, Cass. I couldn’t take the risk that Ibby would be left without a last line of defense. That’s what he’s for.”