“Like I said. Get in the truck.”

“There are people hurt—” I could feel their agony and fear battering at me, the way the boy’s pain had caught me that day in my apartment. I could feel them crying out for help.

“I know.” The resigned look in his eyes, caught in the headlights’ glow, was an awful thing. “Help’s coming.”

He was right. I could hear the rising howl of sirens, and red-and-blue flashes were visible just coming over a distant hill.

One of the wrecks—the tractor-trailer, I thought—shattered in an explosion and blew fire to the sky. I flinched, off-balance, and Luis’s hand closed around my scraped, aching right arm.

“Cassiel,” he said, “get in the truck. I’m not telling you again.”

“You don’t need to,” I said wearily. “I’m a Djinn. The third time’s the charm.”

We didn’t speak at first. I hated the closed-in metal of the truck cab, but that was less important at the moment than the enormity of the attack that had come against me. I’d seen Djinn wield that kind of force, but this—this hadn’t felt like a Djinn. While I didn’t doubt there were a few Wardens capable of such things, in terms of pure strength, I didn’t think they’d be so . . . obvious.

Then again, Scott Sands had not been a subtle man—but his power was Weather, not Earth.

The first thing that Luis said, after several miles passed beneath the wheels of the truck, was, “Ibby cried all day. I couldn’t get her to stop.”

She had lost her parents. It hardly seemed odd for a young child to be distressed.

Luis’s glance cut to me, hard and dark as an obsidian knife. “She cried because you left.”

I shifted so that I was no longer receiving the full glare. “You wanted me to go.”

“Yeah. I did. And today I get word that you blew my boss out of a window. What the hell was that? Your idea of subtlety?”

“What did you expect me to do, Luis? Wait at home for your call?”

“Wasn’t expecting murder.”

“It wasn’t murder,” I said absently. “He didn’t die.”

“What?”

“He didn’t die. I don’t know what happened to him. He jumped, but he never hit the street. It’s as if—a Djinn helped him.”

“Don’t change the subject. You went there to kill him, right?”

“I went to find out what he could tell me. As you would have, if you hadn’t needed to care for your niece,” I said.

“And what did he say?”

“Not much. Have you ever heard of something called The Ranch?”

“The Ranch,” he echoed. “Chicken ranch, dude ranch, ranch dip? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He seemed to think his superiors at The Ranch had ordered him to destroy the office. That is all he told me.”

“You suck at interrogation. That doesn’t surprise me, by the way.”

“I didn’t harm him.” I thought about it in detail. “Much. Given the circumstances, how would you have handled him to get more answers?”

“What is this, a classroom? Interrogation 101?” But Luis didn’t seem to have the same fury inside that he’d carried yesterday. Sharp edges, yes, and a simmering core of resentment, but he did not hate me.

Quite.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly what it is. I’d like to understand how you would have done it.”

“I—Okay, I probably would have gone over there, kicked the crap out of him, and forced him to tell me what was going on.” I simply looked at him, and finally he said, “So probably not all that different, I guess.”

“No.” I felt tired, and my entire right side ached fiercely. “Perhaps you would have done it better.”

“Yeah, I kind of doubt I’d have been better at the ass-kicking.” Luis’s look at me this time was guarded. “You crashed the bike?”

“Not exactly. I had to lay down the motorcycle so a truck would drive over me.”

He barked out a laugh, then realized I was serious. “No way. You did?”

“It seemed the easiest way out at the time.” I shifted and winced. “I might have been wrong.”

Luis kept watching me, flicking his gaze back and forth between me and the dark, largely empty road. We had a five-hour drive back to Albuquerque, barring any surprises. I felt very tired.

“There’s a motel up ahead,” he said. “Ibby’s safe—she’s with Angela’s cwit6">mom and her family—so I’m not due back until tomorrow. I need to take a look at your leg.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m an Earth Warden. I know it’s broken.”

“It is?” I looked down at it, bewildered. I would have thought my body would have been clearer about such an injury.

“Cracked femur, and the more time you spend hobbling around on it, the more damage done. Pretty sure you ripped up some muscles, too.” He sounded carefully remote about it, and I felt the warm brush of power, like the faintest touch of sunshine. “All right, if you don’t want to stop, let me pull over and take care of it, at least.”

I didn’t object. The continuing waves of pain were distracting, and they made me feel weak and angry with the weakness. How did humans survive a lifetime of these scars and agonies? It seemed impossible. Did they ever really stop hurting?

We drove on in silence for another mile or two, and then Luis exited into a well-lit but empty rest stop area, though I could not see what was so restful about it; it would be difficult to sleep in the glaring lights, and there were no bathrooms, only a number of battered-looking metal and wood tables and benches. Luis put the truck in park and left the engine running as he unbuckled his seat belt.

“Lean against your door,” he told me, “and put your legs up here, on my lap.”

With the ache in my right, that was a difficult process, but once it was done there was a simple comfort in having his hands lightly resting on my leather-clad shins. That comfort turned darker and deeper as his fingers lightly brushed up to my knee, then moved up my thigh.

He paused just over the place where the ache was the worst, about midway up the bone. His hand settled there in a pool of heat, and Luis looked up at me. In the dim light of the dashboard, the expression in his eyes was unreadable.

“Hold on to something,” he said. “Your hip’s actually dislocated. This won’t be pleasant, but I have to slip it back into the socket.”

I gripped the plastic handle overhead and nodded. Luis took hold of my leg, one hand beneath my thigh, the other gripping below my knee, and without a pause, pushed and twisted. In the middle of the flare of white-hot agony that arced through me, I felt and heard the snap of bone resettling in place.

I let my breath out slowly, and realized that I’d ripped the plastic handle completely out of the roof. I quickly pushed it back in place and secured it with a fast, guilty burst of power. The ache was different now, much more bearable. . . .

And then Luis moved up both hands to encircle my upper thigh, and light moved in a merciless, cruelly beautiful dance through my bones and muscles. It burned. It scorched. My whole body shook in response, and I heard myself give voice to a moan—barely a whisper, but I couldn’t stop it.

Luis’s hand pressed down, cascading life energy into me, and I felt myself rise to meet it, a wave upon the shore, and the moan purred in the back of my throat, sinful and delicious.

I opened my eyes and saw Luis watching me. His dark eyes were still unreadable, but there was a vulnerability to him now. He saw me—not as his brother’s human-formed Djinn, not as a burden, but as something else entirely. His hand moved slowly up the sensitive interior of my leg, and even through the layers of denim and leather, I felt it in every nerve.

And then he sat back and left me cold and alone, spiraling down into the breathless dark.

“Better?” His voice was low in his throat, almost harsh. “Sorry. Sometimes that happens; it’s because the nerves—well, whatever. I didn’t mean to—anyway. Sorry.”

I wasn’t sorry at all, but his retreat confused me. I concentrated on slowing my racing pulse. My human body had responded in ways that brought back vivid flashes of sense memory. . . . The dream, the one I thought I’d suppressed. The heat he’d poured into me for the healing should have cooled, but instead I felt it growing and concentrating inside me into a golden liquid glow.