It was unsettling.

I realized, with a prickle of alarm, that Luis Rocha was watching me over Isabel’s head. I wondered what was in my face, and how much it betrayed my feelings.

He said nothing, only nodded and turned his attention back to Angela, who was asking if he wanted more tamales. With his gaze off of me, I could look at him without feeling intrusive, and I found myself admiring the clean lines of his face, the way the light caught on his dark copper skin. The blue-black shine of his hair.

He was beautiful. Not as beautiful as a Djinn—no human could be—but there was something wild and fiercely lovely about him. I was reminded of eagle, soaring high as they hunted. He had something of the eagle in him.

When Angela began to gather the dishes, I rose to help her. It seemed to be expected, and it gave me a chance to follow her into the kitchen, away from the men and Isabel.

Angela accepted the dishes with a smile of thanks and began running hot water in the sink. “So, what do you think of him?” she asked. “Luis?”

“Interesting,” I said. I leaned against the counter, watching as she rinsed dishes in soapy water. “There is tension between him and his brother.”

Angela laughed softly. “Little bit, yeah.” She glanced at me, eyes veiled under her lashes. “You want to know why?”

I didn’t answer. I gathered up pots and pans from the stove and moved them to the area where Angela was rinsing and scrubbing.

“Luis got in trouble a few years ago,” Angela said. She pitched her voice low, hardly loud enough to reach my ears. “Gang trouble. He used to be a Norteño when he was young and stupid, until he found out he had the gift and the Wardens came calling. Saved his life, probably. But the gang didn’t want to let him go.” She shook her head, mouth set in a grim line. “Still don’t.”

I cocked my head and asked, “Gang?”

Angela spent a long moment marveling at my ignorance before she shrugged and said, “Like a tribe, only they’re not related by blood. They protect each other against other gangs, go to war together, that kind of thing. And they make money, usually selling drugs or stealing. But it’s a hard life. People die all the time, and they die real young.”

“Were you in a gang?” I asked her. That surprised her, and I got a wide-eyed shake of her head. “Yet you seem—sympathetic.”

She sighed. “Not so much sympathetic as understanding. I knew so many of them. Most of them are dead now, but there are always kids, young kids, waiting to step up. I worry, that’s all. I worry that no matter what we do, the gangs grow, because we don’t make a place for these young ones. We give them good reason to be angry.”

I didn’t understand. I hardly understood anything of human culture, but it seemed to me that gangs were no different than any other cultural grouping—humans banded together for defense and profit. They always had. Sometimes it was by family, sometimes by nation, sometimes by religion, but always they divided and combined themselves.

War was a fact of their lives.

I realized with a chill that the Djinn had done the same, fractured themselves into factions. Were we becoming like the humans? No better than?

Surely not.

“Is Luis in danger?” I asked Angela, handing her a collection of spoons and forks.

“We’re all in danger,” she said. “As long as Luis is in Norteños territory.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” I said.

Angela sent me a look I could not read. “Will you?”

We finished the dishes in silence.

The next day our small office saw a visit from the Warden local officials—two senior Wardens, one Fire and one Weather. Neither was as impressive in their power signature as Luis Rocha, but they seemed competent enough, and both wielded more ability than Manny.

They wanted a report of the attack we had experienced. Manny had written it in detail, but they ignored the paper and instead asked us to describe the incident, over and over, until I simply saw no reason to answer the questions and stopped responding.

“You’re certain you didn’t recognize the power signature of the person conducting this attack?” the woman asked. Greta, her name was, and her aura clearly identified her as a Fire Warden. Physically, she was a small woman with reddish, close-cropped hair and large blue eyes. Her skin was a cool, pale beige, marked here and there with spots that looked like burns. She hadn’t bothered to have them healed or the scars removed. “You saw nothing on the aetheric?”

“Nothing I could identify,” Manny said. “Like I said, it was odd. It really didn’t feel like a trained Warden, but there was a lot of power behind it.”

“But not a Djinn.” Greta’s gaze moved to me. “You’re sure.”

I shrugged. I’d stated it several times; there was no need to continue to speak. They were making me angry. They seemed to doubt not only Manny’s word, but my own. I could not truly imagine why they thought we would lie.

“Look, if you made a mistake, if you tried something and it got out of hand, you can admit it,” said the man—Scott, the Weather Warden. He was very tall, with bushy black hair and a hangdog, heavily lined face. His voice was sharp and nasal, and accented to match. “Better to do it now than after we find out for ourselves.”

Manny’s face took on a darker hue, and I felt a pulse of anger from him. “We’re not lying.”

Greta sent her fellow Warden a quick glance. “We don’t think you are,” she said. “I think what Scott is trying to say is that if there’s something you haven’t told us, now is the time to come clean about it. Okay?”

Manny nodded tightly. “I’ve told you everything.”

“And you, Cassiel?”

“I have told the truth, as well,” I said. “Don’t call me a liar again.” I was aware of the dangerous edge to my words, and I found I didn’t much care.

It was Scott’s turn to turn red with anger. “You’re here because we let you be here—don’t you forget it!” he barked. “I didn’t want you in our territory. If you give me cause, I’ll ship you back to Florida so fast you’ll get whiplash. I don’t like having a rogue Djinn in the mix, and if I had to bet, I’d bet that whatever went wrong here, it was your fault. Get me?”

“I could,” I said evenly. I let it ring in the silence.

Manny took in a breath, then let it slowly out. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Cassiel, let’s all just calm down. We didn’t do anything wrong. Somebody attacked us; we don’t know who it was or even if it was a Warden or a Djinn. But we’re on the lookout for anything like it. Okay?”

Scott’s gaze was locked on mine. I allowed a slow, cool smile across my lips, and saw him flinch from whatever he saw naked in my eyes. There were virtues to the Djinn having gone to war with the Wardens, however briefly. It had taught them to respect us.

“Fine,” Greta said. She sounded subdued and a little nervous. “Let’s move along. I don’t want you out in the field for a couple of days, so stay here and do whatever you can remotely. Watch your backs. If you see anything odd, call for help immediately.”

“I hear your brother’s in town,” Scott said to Manny. “That right?”

“He’s staying with us for a few days, yeah.”

“I heard he applied for a transfer. I tried to get him, but they tell me we’re already fully staffed in this region. He’ll probably go to Colorado.” Scott’s muddy gaze narrowed. “Too bad. He’s got real skills. We could use him.”

“So could Colorado,” Greta said sharply. “Enough. Manny, Cassiel, thank you for your patience. We’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh,” Scott said, and snapped his fingers. “Did you get a report in the mail? Something that should have gone to the Colorado office, maybe?”

There was something odd about the way he broached the subject—too quick, with too ingratiating a smile. Before Manny could answer, I said, “I have filed the papers. I saw nothing like that.”

Manny cut a sharp glance at me, but he followed my lead and stayed quiet.