Chill Factor

"Some men are not very bright," he assured me solemnly. "Walk with me."



"Where?" I didn't move. Plan B was in the warm-up stage.



"Someplace quiet."



"You mean with fewer witnesses." I was too close to the exit not to take advantage. "Look... veni, vendi, vici. I came, I spent your money, and now I'm leaving. Try to stop me if you want. But in this dress, you'd better believe people are going to notice, especially when I start screaming at the top of my lungs right here in the lobby." I gave him a sweet smile. In the shoes, I was at least two inches taller than he was. "And then I'll start an electrical storm that'll disrupt every circuit in this place and fry half the computers, at least. Then I'll dump six inches of water onto this extremely expensive carpeting and short out the slot machines. Do you think they have flood insurance out here?"



Quinn wasn't amused. He gave me a hard look. "Don't be stupid, Joanne. You know I can hurt you. I can't sling around magic spells, but I can definitely hurt you." Great. He had a dress immunity. It figured.



I leaned closer and put my lips next to his ear. "Let me lay it on the line for you, Quinn. We're not in some private room now where your Old Republican Guard can zap me with lightning bolts out of pure spite. We're right out in the open, and I'm walking out the door. If you want to stop me, you'd better get your big guns out here, because you're going to need 'em."



He took my arm. I broke free, stepped back, and raised my voice. "Hey! Please don't touch me, you pervert! I will not wear your daughter's panties!" It stopped traffic and drew even more stares. He jerked his head at some security guards. I gathered power into my hands, felt the easy response of the aetheric, and sent a stiff breeze through the lobby. It rattled papers and stirred some exclamations from the clerks at the counter. Lifted a few full skirts, to feminine exclamations and male appreciation. I played to him this time, not to the audience. "Word of advice, Quinn, don't fight me. I'm not afraid of a little drama. I'm the one who ripped a hole in the UN Building in full view of the Security Council."



He stopped, staring into my eyes, and I got that sense of cold menace from him again. Quinn was nobody to underestimate. "They'll kill you, you keep this up." He flicked his gaze around. There were uniformed security closing in on us fast. "What are you doing?" Oh, he was quick. He knew I wasn't trying to get away, or I'd have broken for the doors already.



"Leaving," I lied. Leaving would just have multiplied my problems; I didn't have any expectation of walking out the door. The wind stirred my hair and teased it into a floating dark cloud. "I won't go down easy, and you're going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Why do I get the feeling that's not a happy thing, with those guys? I'm betting they don't like failure any more than they like bad manners and displays of power in the hotel lobby."



He was silent for a few seconds, then made some imperceptible sign that stopped security in its tracks. We were no longer the center of attention; tourists were exclaiming about the wind, holding on to their suitcases as I let the air swirl and circle. Not even an FO on the Fujita scale yet, but enough to cause a real reaction. Quinn's suit coat fluttered, outlining the gun underneath. He wasn't reaching for it, but then I wasn't under the delusion he needed to.



"I like you," he said, and flashed me a nearly genuine smile. "You know that, right? You've got style; that's rare."



"Love you too," I said. "And now I'm going. See ya!"



I turned and headed for the glass wall of doors and the gleaming ass of the sphinx outside.



Someone stepped into my path, small and neatly suited in hand-tailored excellence. Holding a silver-handed black cane, in the best tradition of his generation. Charles Ashworth II had a kind of grave dignity that wasn't affected by the wind swirling around him.



"Desist," he said to me.



"Bite me, Grandpa," I said, and kept walking. I let the wind become a gale, knocking people down, drawing shrieks of alarm from clerks and tourists. I targeted Quinn and knocked him flat, then pinned security against the walls. Sent a gust straight for Ashworth.



It didn't so much as ruffle his silver hair.



"Don't be stupid," he said. "You can't hurt me."



"News flash, Chuck, I'm not going to sit still and get fried like your chicken dinner this time." I readied my own lightning, well aware that it was destabilizing the currents inside the hotel, that it was spreading out in a dark wave of imbalance over the aetheric. "Get out of the way or I'll return the favor."



He gestured with his cane, pointing behind me, and I felt a presence taking form up on the aetheric. "I warn you, we will stop you. And we won't be gentle."



A Djinn. Bingo. Plan B had actually yielded a decent outcome, for once.



"Rahel!" I yelled, and spun around to face the Djinn that was just manifesting. "Dinnertime!"



The Djinn was familiar. I'd met him before, on the first leg of my journey to this strange place; he'd been watching over Lewis's house in Connecticut, weeks ago. He wasn't the type to bother with modern trappings; he had a Mr. Clean sensibility, with a shaved head and bare chest and Arabian Nights pants. His legs disappeared into mist. He was already reaching out for me.



I targeted him with a blast of wind strong enough to rip carpet from the floor and sent him flying, straight into a razor-edged black embrace. Rahel folded around him and pulled him into the shadows, both of them screaming.



Rahel was very hungry. I felt a sickening qualm about that, but dammit, the stakes were high and getting higher. Maybe she wouldn't be able to destroy him. Maybe.



Plan B, it seemed, was working too well. I hadn't actually planned on getting out of the Luxor, except under the color of an escort; on my own, I'd be a clear target for Jonathan and Kevin. Well, I'd just have to take the risk...



I'd lost track of Ashworth, but he announced himself again by cracking that cane across the back of my head. I staggered, went down to one knee, and shook off the sparks. I sensed him readying for another swing and dove forward, found myself grappling with Quinn this time, who was shouting something in my ear. Ashworth hammered me with another hard blow in the back that sent sunbursts of agony up and down my spine. People were screaming, but our little tussle was lost in the general confusion I'd started. The wind was still tearing around aimlessly, fueled by my anger, and it was in danger of ripping loose from my control. The currents I'd been preparing crackled and twisted out of control, waking sparks from a row of slot machines nearest the lobby. Bells rang, lights flashed, coins poured out. Blue lightning jumped and sparked uncontrollably as the circuits discharged.



"Stop it!" Quinn was shouting at me. His face was stark and set hard as granite as he dragged me back to my feet. "Don't make me kill you!"



I put the Manolos to good use, kicking his shins with the sharp toes, digging spiked heels into his instep.



Ashworth landed another hard crack with the cane across my shoulders, and I felt a line of fire race through my collarbone. Dammit.. .



I twisted around. No sign of Rahel or the Djinn in the chaos. They were gone.



"Stop!" Quinn yelled in my ear. I ignored him and focused on the wind, sent it spinning through the casino area, flipping cards into the air, sending dice tumbling off of the tables. My lovely dark-haired TV star yelped as his pile of chips took flight from a blackjack table like swallows heading for Capistrano.



Chaos. There was something really, really petty about the satisfaction I felt, but I couldn't really regret it.



Ashworth's cane caught me once more in the back of the head, and everything went vague and smeared. Someone was speaking to me, whispering on the aetheric. But sound didn't travel on the aetheric, did it? No, it wasn't speech, it was... something else. Vibration. Light. Power. Connections.



Don't fight, Jo. Let go.



I knew him. Knew the voice, or the frequency, or the tenor of his power. Knew the whispering colors of his aura as he wrapped me in his arms.



Please, Jo. Please let go.



It wasn't Quinn. There was somebody else there, somebody else lifting me and carrying me away. I felt safe and dreamily peaceful.



I felt whole.



I opened my eyes and saw David's beautiful, intense face, those dark brown eyes flaring bright copper as they stared down at me.



"Can't leave you alone for a minute," he said, and his lips curved into a smile. "Love the dress."



The wind stopped. The electricity stopped arcing.



Everything stopped.



Including me, as darkness sucked me down.



SEVEN



I knew it was a dream, because obviously David couldn't be here. Dream or not, I was more than happy enough to hold on to it; I woke up cradled in warm arms, against a firmly muscled male chest, and smiled and cuddled closer and refused to open my eyes and find out that I'd imagined the whole thing.



I felt a hand smooth my hair, then touch my cheek and glide gently along my jawline.



"You're awake," he said.



No, clearly I wasn't, because that was David's voice, wasn't it? Warm and intimate as his touch, which was waking fire all over my body. I was limp and relaxed and utterly, completely dreaming.



And then his hand touched a bruise, which set off a red flash of complaint, and I realized that I wasn't dreaming at all. Not even I dreamed of having bruises. Now that I let myself drift back into the real world, I had a monster headache, pinpoints of sharp, glasslike pain all over my body, and a general feeling of having been run through the wood chipper headfirst.



I opened my eyes and looked up.



Warm copper eyes looked back, half-concealed behind round glasses.



David was seated on the bed, back braced against the wall, with me lying in his arms. I reached out to touch him. The crisp rasp of his cotton shirt felt real. So did the heat of his skin underneath.



His smile vanished as he looked down at me, replaced by a look of concern. "Jo?"



I blinked. There were two of him, both staring at me. I tried to touch one of them and jammed my fingers into the wall. "Ow."



"Dammit." He had large, sensitive hands, and one of them explored the back of my head and found that extremely sore spot, which was about the size of an egg. The words that followed weren't in English, but the venom in them left no doubt as to their meaning. David was angry. They weren't going to like him when he was angry.



"What happened?" I asked blurrily, and let myself curl up back against him. Because if it was a dream, I'd take it over my present reality any day. "Shouldn't be here."



"No, you shouldn't," he agreed grimly.



I tried again. "You shouldn't be here."



"Oh." He stroked hair gently back from my face. "Long story."



"Can't sleep." That was a bit of a lie; my eyelids were heavy, my body drugged by his warmth. The only escape from the crushing throb of the ache in my head was sleep, and I was starting to like the idea. "Tell me. I left you with Marion..."



He kissed my forehead, and I felt the trace of a smile in it. "Once upon a time there was a Djinn..."



"Not kidding."



"I didn't think you were."



And I remembered something, something that made me sit up too fast and grab my aching head in both hands to steady it. I glared at him through a curtain of disarranged-and curling, dammit-hair. "You! You... you..."



He watched me with a little line grooved between his eyebrows. It was a concerned look, not a guilty one. I managed to roll off of him to my hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. He sat up, following, hands outstretched. I admit, I was none too steady.



"You!" I repeated, and swallowed a mouthful of nausea at the way the world insisted on bobbing up and down. "You bastard! I know what you did!"



That little line cut deeper. "What exactly did I do?"



"You and Lewis... cooked this up. The night you left me at the hotel." It came to me like a blinding burst. "You knew Jonathan wouldn't let us in. You let them separate us."



He had the grace to look a little guilty. The worry line didn't disappear. "Jo, settle down. You've got a head injury."



"Head injury?! You knocked me up!" The self-righteous fury of it drove me off the bed to my feet. I swayed there, hands on my hips, trying to focus on the two of him. "Well? Nothing to say?"



"Sit down."



"Screw you! I'm pregnant!"



"Sit down before you-" He lunged. I didn't realize I was falling until I was in his arms, hovering a few inches above the floor-"fall down."



"Sorry," I mumbled. Tears stung hot in my eyes. "No, not. You 'pologize first."



The world bobbled again, and I closed my eyes to stop it. Felt myself lifted and settled back on the soft bed, covers pulled over me in a warm, rustling embrace. David's hand cupped my cheek with warmth, and I opened my eyes again to see him bent over me, close enough to kiss. His lips were parted, as if he were on the verge of saying something, but then he just closed the distance and those lips touched mine. It melted me into gold, and even though my head felt like it had used as the soccer ball in the World Cup I couldn't help but respond by kissing him back. Hungrily.



"I had to protect you. I love you," he whispered into my open mouth. "I'm watching over you. Now sleep."



As if the kiss were opium, I did.



I woke up to stillness and a cold bed. The headache was at half-mast, and the bruises had faded to dull aches. No sign of David, but someone had left the hotel television playing silently on the hotel informational channel. Apparently, the PR spin was that there was a freak windstorm that had blown into the lobby through a jammed set of doors, and some shorts had erupted in the electrical system before circuit breakers kicked in. The message told me that everything had returned to normal and there was nothing to worry about.