“You!” I yelled. “You treacherous, shallow little—”
He was paler than usual, babbling something that I wasn’t listening to, because there were Wardens and Djinn dying out there. I’d felt it like the death of a thousand cuts inside that bottle. With every life slipping away there’d been another slice, another piece gone from the world. From me.
And there was this summons. Dragging at me like an anchor, pulling me apart.
It was still there, throbbing come home like a heartbeat inside me.
Kevin was holding my bottle in a death grip. I grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “Drop it!” I snarled. “Drop it or I take your hand off.”
“Don’t hurt me.” He managed to blurt that out, and I was trapped, another barrier in the road. Dammit. I let go—no choice—and backed away.
We were still in Patrick’s remodeled apartment. The TV was showing something that involved a lot of ships in space blowing up, but the sound was on mute. I spun away from Kevin and stretched out my senses, such as were left, trying to find someone, anyone to help, because I absolutely had to go. The summons wasn’t something that could be denied. The connection to David was still there—faint, but present—and I felt it twisting and vibrating with stress. God, what was she doing… no. David couldn’t be my first priority. Not now.
“Sara!” I yelled. “Sara! Please! I don’t understand what to do! Help me!”
The shadow of the Ifrit glided past me, drifting, barely visible. I grabbed for it, but it slipped away.
“Feed,” she whispered.
I couldn’t feed her. I had nothing in reserve, and so little coming from David that I was afraid to try to pull more; it might snap the connection altogether, leave him bleeding to death out there.
I turned to Kevin. He was still up against the wall where I’d left him, looking spooked and more than a little angry; I didn’t have time for that, or for his adolescent angst, or even for his pain.
There was too much pain, now. His—and mine, and David’s—was barely a drop in the bucket.
“Order me,” I snapped.
“To do what?”
“Anything!”
He looked blank for a second, then a sly, oily light came into his eyes. “Take your clothes off and put on the ones I like. The—” He made the corset gesture.
“Sure. Whatever.” I started stripping, using my hands to slow down the process, as the gate opened to his power. I started siphoning for all I was worth, filling myself with that thick dark-syrup flood, and looked for Sara.
She was hovering like a ghost in the shadow next to the massive television. I locked eyes with the black void where I thought her face should be, and began sending Kevin’s power into her. Force-feeding. By the time I’d stripped off my pants I’d already formed the lacy undergarments for the Frederick’s outfit, so there was no actual nudity involved, but Kevin was looking just as stunned as if I’d done a Full Monty for him. Good. Stunned would keep him out of my way.
I templated on the French Maid outfit and walked forward, to where the Ifrit had gained dark, smooth substance. Can you hear me? I asked her. Somewhere under the shadows, I thought I saw a flash of purple eyes.
I hear. It was barely a whisper, but it was there. And it sounded like the Sara of my dreams.
Can you take me where I’m supposed to go?
Jonathan. Such a wealth of sadness in that single word. Yes. Can.
What about Patrick?
She seemed to flinch. Gone. Seeking.
I sucked in a deep breath that creaked the corset and strained the engineering of its lacings. Take me to Jonathan.
Barrier. The sparklies? No, that wasn’t meant to be a barrier. It was far too porous. Hard to pass.
We had to. I held up a finger to put her on hold as Kevin walked up behind me.
He put his arms around me and pulled me close, and I nearly gagged when I realized how turned on he was. God, how had I gotten myself into this…
“I want you to—” Tactical error. I hadn’t finished dressing yet, which meant I still had access to his power. He couldn’t give me simultaneous commands.
“Sleep,” I said, spun around in his arms and used some of the power that was still flowing through me to turn back on him. “Dream about me.”
For a second I thought it wasn’t going to work, but then his eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth fell open, and he dropped like a bag of bricks to the carpet. The bottle stayed in his hand, clenched tight. Dammit. If it had rolled free…
I tried working on his fingers, but I couldn’t get them to relax. Probably some Djinn rule against it anyway. Couldn’t break them, since he’d ordered me not to hurt him. Couldn’t kill him—okay, not that I would have, but…