I dragged him feet first over to the leather couch, got him comfortably situated, and tried not to listen to the moaning. Oh, yeah, he was dreaming about me. I hoped I’d remembered to Scotchgard the couch.
“Do it,” I said to Sara.
The Ifrit leaped on me, dug talons deep into my chest, and started to feed. After the first few seconds of agony…
… we were falling through the aetheric. Fast. Balled up together, inseparable, feeding on one another like an ouroboros. Falling like a meteor through the aetheric, up through higher levels, the weirdest sensation of gliding in a direction that wasn’t up or down or sideways, here or there. I remembered the weirdness of the journey to Jonathan’s house, even in the relatively familiar analog of the elevator. The Ifrit wasn’t even trying to cloak this in familiar terms.
The aetheric was a minefield of disasters in progress. To the east, the furious storm was consuming power at a frightening rate; it was a towering whirlwind of coldlight and pure energy, and the few Wardens still fighting it were flickering, weak, and near to breaking. I didn’t sense any other Djinn. The fires in Yellowstone lit up the plane like a supernova—consuming everything in all the realms of our reality, nearly obscured by a shell of the swirling blue sparks. No Wardens at all near that, now. And no Djinn.
We hurtled toward the center of the inferno. I tried to scream, but the Ifrit was drawing everything out of me, every ounce of power and will, and I was deadweight by the time we hit the fires. The pain was so intense I thought that it was over, I was gone, but then there was a sense of pushing through something viscous and thick, of being squeezed, and then a sudden unexpected release.
We tumbled down, fast, still locked together. She was still feeding off of me.
We slammed down onto something hard and unyielding, and I realized I’d been made flesh again, sans tacky French Maid getup; I was wearing a long pale robe instead, something soft and cool and with a texture like silk.
It was the mirror image of what the woman kneeling astride me was wearing, only hers was a blinding white where mine was a soft cream.
Sara had regained her form. At least for the moment. She was breathing hard, eyes wide and a little wild, and the dull flush in her cheeks could have been exhilaration or post-traumatic stress. Her claws were still sunk deep into my chest, and I could see the pale steady fire of my lifeforce running up through them, into her.
“Get off!” I managed to say, and batted at her weakly. She pulled the claws out, looking stunned and still maniacally excited, and stood up as I rolled over on my side. Oh God. I felt a wave of pure nausea and spat out blue sparks. They were sparkling all over Sara, too, but she didn’t seem to feel any ill effects from them. In fact, the sparks were going into her, not being rejected.
I’d never felt so frail and sick in my life—human or Djinn. I lay full length on the cool, silky wood floor, struggling to keep myself together, and heard footsteps from the other room.
Ah, perfect. Jonathan. She’d brought me to Jonathan.
He looked down at me with those cool, dark, judging eyes, then bent over and picked me up. Paused when he saw Sara standing there, looking unearthly and beautiful and unhealthily stuffed with energy.
“You,” he said. Not welcoming, not unwelcoming, and not surprised. “Stay here.”
I liked being held in a man’s arms again, feeling the strength against me. It made me feel safe, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. I tried to pay attention, but it was all just flashes and impressions—a hallway, a glimpse of a kitchen, what looked like photos on the wall, an open darkened doorway. Lights flipped on as he carried me in. The softness of a bed sucked me down.
Jonathan looked down at me, and I was surprised to see something in his eyes that might have been respect. “You made it,” he said. “How’d you know where to go?”
“Didn’t,” I murmured. “Ifrit.”
He nodded. “Yeah, she would.” He took hold of my arm and ran both hands down it, like a coach giving a therapeutic massage; warmth cascaded back into me, silent and luminous. Life, coursing through me.
His hands moved on to my left arm, squeezed in energy. Then my legs, right, then left. The steady warm pressure of his hands lulled me into a half-dream.
Over on my back. Somehow my clothes were gone. Hands on my back, working down the muscles, healing.
“What are you?” I whispered. I felt Jonathan’s presence like the sun behind me. His fingers were no longer pressing my skin, then were inside of me, touching deep.
He never answered.
I woke up warm and comfortable, with a soft feather pillow under my head and no memory at all of going to sleep. No dreams, either. The sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood, and they were crisp and cool on my bare skin. The room didn’t look familiar. It featured a honey-warm wooden chest of drawers, massively carved, and a couple of paintings of space and the stars that looked vivid enough to be windows into infinity. A bookcase, loaded with hardbacks of all shapes, sizes, and colors. A bedside table with another lamp, currently off.