Sensations are different on the aetheric-properly, they're not sensations at all, because all the

nerve endings are still firmly planted down on terra firma. But the mind processes stimuli, no

matter how unpleasant or strange, and so what it felt like to me on my way down, following my

Earth Warden colleague, was . . . pressure-being squeezed, lightly at first, then more intensely.

It was like diving in the ocean and swimming deeper and deeper, but this didn't feel like liquid;

it felt more like a metal vise, cranking inexorably tighter.

I faltered and nearly bugged out, but I caught a glimpse of the other Warden. He was below me,

only a bit farther, and I decided that if he could do it, I had to. Down I went, and if I'd had an

actual, physical mouth and lungs, I'd have been screaming and crying by the time I got there.

His aetheric form-which, I noticed, sported shadowy, shoulder-length hair and the ghost of a

guitar slung across his back-was kneeling down, studying something. I joined him. He silently

indicated what it was he was examining.

I'd never seen anything like it in the aetheric, but I didn't need a college course to tell it was

very, very bad. It looked like some kind of black icy knife, sharp on all edges, wickedly pointed

at the end. It was plunged deep into the ground, or what represented the ground up here.

The Earth Warden reached out and touched it, and from the way he jerked back, it was a very

painful experience.

Well, I hadn't come all this way not to try.

The jolt that went through me when I tried to take hold of the thing felt like being on the

receiving end of a live power cable, only not as much fun. I let go– couldn't do anything else-

and looked wordlessly at my colleague.

He shook his head and pointed up, indicating we should rise. I nodded. Up we went, slowly,

letting the pressure bleed off. I didn't suppose we'd get the bends in the aetheric, but it didn't

seem prudent to push it, and besides, I was still trembling from the jolt that piece of black ice had

sent through me.

Far above, in the softer regions of air, he made a gesture that was clear even in the aetheric-

thumb toward his ear, little finger toward his mouth. And then he pointed from himself to me.

He was going to call me. I nodded and waved, and dropped out of the aetheric, back into my

body.

The earthquake had stopped . . . temporarily, at least. The dress shop was a mess-plaster

cracked, mirrors broken, racks toppled. Disaster with a designer label. Somebody was shaking

me. Cherise. She had her hands fisted in my shirt and was trying to haul me up, but I was bigger

and she was shaking too much to really be effective on leverage.

I helped her out by lurching to my feet and checking on the store's other occupants, including the

clerk. Apart from being terrified, they were all miraculously unharmed, though hair, makeup,

and wardrobe had been sacrificed to sweat, tears, and sifting plaster dust.

I made Cherise sit down on a bench and stood for a moment, letting my awareness spread

through the structure, looking for major damage. A few cracked support beams, but nothing that

couldn't be braced, and nothing that would come down unexpectedly, unless there was another

hard jolt like the first one, which I couldn't guarantee wouldn't happen.

I pulled my cell phone out as it began to ring, and walked to the front, where plate glass windows

had once been. They were now a glitter of broken fragments inside and outside the store. People

were gathering out in the street, which was a hazard in itself, as drivers tried to navigate their

way through to check on their families, their homes, their businesses. Nobody looked badly hurt,

but everybody looked shell-shocked. Earthquakes in California came with the territory, but in

Florida?

I answered the call. ''Joanne Baldwin.''

''Warden, it's Luis Rocha. Earth Warden. We met up top.'' Meaning, up in the aetheric. I didn't

know his voice, but I liked it-warm, brisk, efficient. No wasted words. ''Everybody okay

there?''

''Looks like.'' No wasted words here, either, apparently. ''Good work up there.''

''You too, but I'm worried. I don't know what the hell that thing is we saw, but whatever it is, it

needs looking into.''

''You think it's the cause of what just happened?''

''Any place can have earthquakes, but not without some warning signs, and there weren't any.

External cause, has to be. That thing-it seems to be the epicenter, and no way is that supposed

to be there.''

I frowned. ''You think it could do more damage?''

''Don't know, but I wouldn't leave it there. We need to figure out what this thing is, fast.''

''My job,'' I said. ''I'll get the Djinn on it. You do your thing, Warden Rocha, and thank you.

Excellent job.''

I heard the grin in his voice. ''Yeah, well, put it on my bonus schedule. Adios, senora.''

''Adios,'' I said, and hung up. I slipped the phone into my pocket and wondered, for the first

time, why David wasn't-

''I'm right here,'' David said, appearing out of thin air in midstride. He was dressed for business,

not pleasure-sturdy blue jeans, a plain shirt, thick boots, and his long olive-drab coat. Glasses,

too. They glittered like ice in the reflected shine from the broken glass. He didn't halt at a polite

distance; he came right up and put his hands around my face, wordlessly smoothing away plaster

dust, and placed a warm kiss on my forehead. I felt the various aches and pains melt away, and a

mad jittering inside me go still and calm. I hadn't even realized how tense I was.

''What kept you?'' My tone stayed dry, although I had a strange desire to burst into tears. ''Next

time, don't stop for traffic lights, okay?''

He sighed and put his arms around me. ''Safe driving isn't just a good idea; it's the law,'' he

reminded me, in that mocking way that only Djinn can. He'd no more think of obeying traffic

laws than I would that thing about not wearing white after Labor Day. ''Sorry. We were busy.''

''Yeah, no kidding. Busy here, too. What's-'' My phone rang. I stepped back from him with an

apologetic what-can-you-do lift of my hands, and answered, ''Baldwin.''

It was my friend and (technically) boss, Lewis, and he was uncharacteristically angry. ''What the

hell did you think you were doing?'' he demanded. He was someplace close, or at least equally

affected; I could hear the rising babble of confused voices and car alarms. ''We're going to be

damn lucky if the whole eastern seaboard isn't in chaos by the end of the day!''

I stopped what I was about to say, frowned, and rewound what he'd said. I listened to it again in

my head before saying, cautiously, ''Hang on a second. You think it's my fault?''

I felt, rather than heard, him coming to a complete stop wherever he was, as if I'd gotten his

undivided attention. I hoped he wasn't standing in the middle of the street, like the idiots outside.

And I thought he was replaying what I'd just said. ''Are you saying it isn't your fault?'' he

asked.

''I'm about ninety-nine percent sure I had nothing to do with it.''

''You were seen in the middle of the-''

''Yeah, trying to fix it, which is sort of my job!'' I snapped, and looked at David. He was

watching me with warm brown eyes, looking almost completely human. I wondered what kind

of effort that was taking. ''If you don't believe me, ask the other Warden. Luis Rocha. He was

there. He saw what I saw.''

''Rocha,'' Lewis repeated thoughtfully. ''Yeah, I know him. Luis is solid. Okay, let me talk to