"You couldn't have known!"
He ignored my attempt to mitigate things. "Ortega should have been back by now."
"Maybe he's having trouble finding them - "
"No." His eyes unfocused into the distance. "No, that's not it."
I felt a sick lurch. "David?"
"He's - " David reeled, as if he'd been slapped, and crashed into a table that held a glittering display of crystal. He went down amid a shower of glass like falling stars. I threw myself onto my knees next to him, trying to think what kind of first aid I could do for a Djinn, and saw a sickening blackness bloom along the right side of his face, like fast-growing mold. His mouth stretched in a silent scream, and his eyes flared a muddy red. "Ortega," he gasped. "Help him. I'll hold on to him as long as I can, but you have to help him!"
Ortega was under direct attack, and it was manifesting in David. Of course it was; he was the Conduit. Until he severed the connection, and left Ortega to die alone, he would suffer along with him.
I launched myself up on the aetheric, burning through the six inches of steel roof like mist, all the way up until the entire Florida coastline was below me, sparking and burning with psychic energy. It wasn't hard to identify the trouble spot; it was a huge red dome of boiling, smoky power, and as I plunged down toward it, I felt the turbulence of the ongoing battle batter me, threatening to rip me apart. I couldn't spot Djinn on the aetheric; they were like ghosts, flitting out of the corners of my eyes. But I could see the destruction.
Oversight isn't ideal to seeing the details of an event, but it is useful for watching the ebb and flow of power. Ortega was an elusive sparkling shadow, dodging between thick threads of power that formed psychic nets; the Sentinels were trying to trap him. They'd already hurt him. I could see the darkness in him, just as it had been manifesting in David back in the real world.
I could sense his fury and despair. He couldn't get free. There was something holding him here, something -
I needed to get to him. Quickly. But instant transportation was a Djinn thing, and mostly fatal to humans; the only Djinn I'd ever known who could carry a human from one point to another without leaving pieces behind was Venna.
I slammed back down into my skin, a disorienting shock that I ignored because I didn't have time for it. David was writhing amid the broken glass, fighting for control. My hands hovered over him, but I didn't want to try to touch him. I wasn't sure what was happening, but it was beyond my capacity to fight.
"Trying - trying to hold him," David gasped. "Have to - "
David was choosing this. Ortega was in trouble, and David was trying to anchor him, send him power. That left David open to attack, just as Ortega was.
"Let go!" I shook David by the shoulders with as much violence as I could. "David, let him go! You have to! If they get to you, it's over. That's why you sent him!"
"Can't let him die," David panted.
"What can I do?" Why didn't the Sentinels come after me again, the bastards? At least then, I'd feel less helpless. . . .
"The vault," David gasped. "The book. Use the book."
No. There was power in that thing, sure, but it was raw and untamed and all too easy to misuse. There had to be another way to -
David's hand became a skeletal claw. His skin was turning the color of clay.
I had no time to think about it. I jumped to my feet and ran, threading through the maze of boxes, shoving over obstructions, hurdling what I could and climbing what I couldn't to make the most direct route back to the vault. I was trembling with fear by the time I arrived, because precious seconds were ticking away, and upstairs David was dying. . . .
The vault was locked. I remembered David closing it and spinning the dial. Christ, no, please -
I had no choice. I reached out with all the Earth power at my disposal, ripped the locking mechanism to pieces, and slammed the heavy metal door aside like so much cardboard. It ripped loose of the hinges and tipped, hitting the concrete with enough force to shatter stone.
I scrambled over it into the vault.
I lunged for the book, opened the latch, and began flipping pages. I need something to save him, I was thinking hard, trying to direct the book to meet my desperate need. Anything. Show me how to save him!
A page flipped and settled, and my eyes focused on symbols. I heard the whispers again, felt them rushing through me like wind, and had time to wonder if this was the right thing to do, the smart thing. . . .
But then it was too late. I felt my lips shaping sounds, heard my voice speak without my understanding what it was saying. On the page, each symbol lit up in fire as it was spoken, burning like miniature suns until I could barely see the rest of the scripture.
Midway through, I felt dry, aching, drained body and soul. It was taking my power to fuel itself, and I still didn't know what it was designed to do. Doesn't matter, I told the part of my self that was screaming, the part that was in charge of self-preservation. If I don't, he's gone.
I had to take the chance.
As I spoke the last word, the entire book flared hot and white, and the force leaped from the pages into the center of my chest, knocking me down in a heap. I felt a sickening, sideways motion, as if the world had been twisted into a rubbery pretzel around me, and when I opened my eyes, I was lying facedown on industrial looped carpet, smelling dust and mold. I rolled over, gasping, and felt every muscle and nerve in my body shriek in protest.
I had no idea where I was, but it seemed that I was all alone. Nothing moved in the shadows around me, as far as I could see. The room looked like a deserted hotel ballroom, but one that had seen its last happy dances long ago. The carpet I was draped across was old and filthy, and the remaining furniture was a drunken muddle of broken chairs, listing tables, and fouled linens.
My brain was racing frantically, but my body was slow to follow. I managed to force muscles into enough order to get me to my hands and knees, and then to my feet, though I had to keep a hand on the dusty wall to brace myself. Apparently, Djinn spell books weren't the most comfortable way to travel, or the most accurate, since I'd been trying to arrive at the place where the Sentinels were hiding out. . . .
I heard voices outside, in a shadowed hallway. I quickly crouched behind a table as a flashlight speared sharply through the dark, sweeping the room. It was a casual check, but I heard footsteps coming farther into the room, and risked a look. There were two people, one with the heavy flashlight in hand. I knew their faces in the backwash of light: One was Emily, Earth Warden, and an occasional adversary; the other was even less comforting - Janette de Winter. I'd last seen her in the Denny's, after the first earthquake in Fort Lauderdale; she looked just as polished, perfect, and diamond-hard as ever.
And just by being here, she was proving out my suspicion that she was a Sentinel.