Oasis ww-102

  Oasis

  ( Weather Warden - 102 )

  Rachel Caine

  Rachel Caine. Oasis

  (Weather Warden — 2.50)

  OASIS … a new Weather Warden short story by Rachel CaineOasis a new Weather Warden short story by Rachel Caine copyright 2004 — Rachel Caine … special thanks to Claire Wilkins for her excellent editorial assistance!

  I am subscribing to the new Creative Commons licensing for this work: This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

  This story falls between the end of Heat Stroke, the second novel of the Warden series, and Chill Factor, the third novel.

  I know I've complained about this before, but believe me, I'm going to complain about it again, so get used to it: Being human sucks. Especially after you've been a Djinn. Granted, being a supernatural creature subject to a whole different set of physics and laws brings with it some significant downsides —

  and Lord knows that includes a humiliating episode with a lecherous teenage master and a Frederick's of Hollywood maid outfit — but it also has some great advantages. You don't get easily tired out, for one thing. You don't need to sleep as much.

  And you don't need to stop to pee when you're trying to prevent the latest Apocalypse.

  "I've got to stop," I sighed, and checked the sign flashing by on the passenger side of the car for information about what would be available at the next exit.

  The next exit, it appeared, was four miles ahead, give or take, and would feature a Conoco station and a Dairy Queen. Probably in the same building. On both sides of the freeway, desert blurred past in a continuous loop. I had started feeling some days back like I'd entered a video game designed by a lunatic with a cactus fetish, and I was nowhere near winning, or even cracking the first level. Hell, I was starting to wonder exactly what kind of game I was playing.

  My whole body — human, thanks very much, universe — was aching with exhaustion and vibrating with road noise. My lovely Dodge Viper wasn't feeling the strain of this drive across the country (New York to Nevada) nearly as much as I was.

  I needed sleep. I needed food that didn't contain preservatives. I needed …

  Well, I just needed.

  "There's a motel at the next exit," David said, from the passenger seat.

  Speaking of need … My Djinn lover was comfortably seated with a book in his hands, reading as if he could do this forever. Which he probably could, being supernatural and therefore not subject to the effects of small bladders and large quantities of coffee. I glanced over at him. He wasn't looking at me, he was focused on the pages of the paperback he was holding — ah, another Robert B. Parker, he was on a Spenser kick — but I could sense his attention straying toward me. Behind the innocent round glasses, those dark-brown eyes swirled with random whirls of hot bronze. I found myself glancing over to admire the elegant planes of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips, and it occurred to me that his comment hadn't been all related to an altruistic concern for my wellbeing.

  I cleared my throat and reached for the cold coffee in the drink holder. Ugh.

  It tasted nasty, oily and old. Really, it was about the same as it had tasted when I'd poured it at the last 7-11 we'd visited, but at least then it had been hot.

  "I'm okay," I said. "I just need a bathroom."

  "No, you need to sleep," he said, and turned the page. I didn't recognize the title of the book, I realized. Maybe David was reading a book that hadn't actually been published yet. I wouldn't put it past him. "You won't be any good if you arrive in this condition. There's a battle ahead of us when we get there.

  You need to rest."

  Djinn. Always right, and always smug about it. You'd think it would get annoying, but from David … not so much.

  I drove in silence for another four miles, which was about two minutes at the current speed, and took the exit too fast. Mona whined in protest as I throttled her down. There was a gas station — with a faded Dairy Queen sign on the side — and, just beyond it, a deserted-looking place called DESERT INN.

  Descriptive.

  The sign also promised CABLE TV and AIR CONDITIONING. The building was laid out in a long L-shape, one story, with about twelve rooms. One dilapidated 1980s-era Cadillac with dark-tinted windows lurked in the last parking space, and the VACANCY sign flickered on and off in red letters in the grimy office window.

  I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I could have written poetry to it.

  But we were on a timetable, and frankly, sitting in one spot and waiting for someone — like, say, Kevin the Teen Psycho, now armed with the power of a VIP among Djinn — to notice that we were an easy target … didn't sound like a sleep-inducing idea.

  No. I just needed food and a bathroom. I could always sleep in the car and get David to drive, if necessary.

  David lifted his head from the book and looked at me as I slowed Mona down even more, preparing to turn into the DQ parking area. He didn't say anything, but I knew he was thinking about it. We had a silent argument. I won.

  I drove up to the window and ordered a hamburger, fries, and a chocolate shake.

  David had the same, which made me mildly curious … Djinn could eat, of course, but normally they don't bother unless they're trying to fit in. But David was a little bit odd, by Djinn standards. He tended to actually like being human, or humanoid, or however you define it.

  "What?" he asked me, raising his eyebrows as I stared at him, thinking about it.

  I shrugged and handed over money to the cashier, who looked like she was probably working in violation of child labor laws. I hoped she wasn't also the cook. At her age, I wouldn't have been able to turn out a halfway decent sandwich, much less actually operate a fry basket.

  "Nothing," I said. "Just don't try anything funny."

  "Funny?"

  "Funny."

  Two bags and two shakes later, I drove around to the front of the gas station, hesitated, and then continued through the conveniently cojoined parking lot into the Desert Inn's domain.

  David said nothing, but when I parked, he sucked on the straw of his chocolate shake with evident satisfaction. Speaking of that … I tasted mine, and nearly had an intimate moment with the smooth, creamy taste of chocolate on my tongue.

  Well, plus the way David's lips fit around that straw.

  "Are we going into the restaurant?" he asked, when I didn't put the car in gear.

  "I'm thinking," I said. "Maybe I should just, you know, visit the Little Wardens Room and then eat out here in the car …"

  Whatever else I'd been about to say dissolved into white noise as I watched him lick the taste of chocolate shake from his lips.

  "You bastard," I said.

  "What?"

  "Don't do that."

  "What?"

  He licked the taste of fries from his fingers.

  "Dammit, stop it," I said. "I'm not going to fall for that, so you might as well …"

  He took my hand in his and touched it to his lips. His expression was entirely serious now. "Joanne. I can feel how tired you are. You need this, you need sleep and rest. I won't let anything happen to you."

  "You can't promise that."

  His eyebrows quirked, then settled. "No?"

  "No. Not when it comes to, well, you know who." Jonathan.

  David said nothing. There was really nothing he could say about that.

  "I can keep going," I said. "Really."

  Right about then, Mona shivered in the middle of idling, and my heart skipped a beat. When you're in tune with a car, you can feel that kind of thing like a malfunction of your own body. My hands tightened around the steering wheel.

  Mona sighed, shuddered, and died. The engine vibration stopped, and for a few seconds there was just the
ticking of a cool engine, and the wind blowing random sand against the windows.

  "You need to rest," David said, without emphasis. Careful about it.

  I cranked the ignition. Nothing happened.

  "I mean it," he said. "One night, Jo. One night, you sleep, we continue."

  I kept cranking for a solid minute, then stopped and sat back in the leather seat, staring out at the panoramic view.

  "I don't like being manipulated," I said.

  "I know," David said. "But you're not leaving me much choice. I won't let you kill yourself."

  The unspoken again vibrated in the air between us.

  I sighed. I didn't want to fight, I didn't have the energy for it. And my food was calling.

  "Fine," I said. "One night."

  Mona's engine vibrated to life the instant I turned the key. I turned her wheels into the Desert Inn parking lot. My body was already craving a hot shower and a soft bed, now that I'd let the thought sink in.

  One night, I promised myself.

  Yeah, myself sneered back. Nothing can happen in just one night, right?

  Right.

  ###

  The room rate would have been reasonable for, say, a decent Hilton featuring crisp white sheets, turn-down service and complimentary guest robes. It was a little high for a sagging mattress, yellowing bedding, indoor-outdoor carpet, and a bathroom decorated in early Ugh, What The Hell Is That?

  Still looked good to me.

  David and I sat on either side of the bed; he ate slowly, watching me wolf down my burger and fries with every sign of fascinated amusement. After a while, he disposed of the remains of his meal — he'd only eaten a couple of bites, just for taste, I suspected — and took off his long dark-green coat. He tossed it over the back of the unhappy-looking armchair, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out on the bed full length. Ankles crossed.

  Reading.

  I sucked contemplatively on my milk shake. Yes, I was bone-tired, but still, there were parts of me that really weren't all that tired, and were clamoring for a little attention. My eyes traveled from his naked, slender feet up blue-jean-clad legs and narrow hips. His checked shirt was lying open over a white t-shirt. He turned a page, apparently not noticing my stare. I tossed my DQ bag at the trash can, missed, and got up to throw it in; he made a gesture, and the balled-up paper levitated itself up and gracefully out of sight.

  I waited.

  He read.

  "Well," I finally said, when I'd noisily sucked up the last of the shake, "I think I'm going to take a shower."

  He nodded and put an arm under his dark-auburn head without comment.

  I got up, turned around, and unbuttoned my blouse. Slowly. Let it slide off over my shoulders. The air conditioning whispered its way over my skin I bent over to slide off my skirt with a lot of unnecessary slow motion and some equally unnecessary wiggling.

  I glanced behind me while I was down there, hair dangling to the ground.

  David was still reading. Spectacularly not watching my strip tease. Bastard.

  I slammed the door behind me on the way into the bathroom, reached in and cranked the water to full blast. It heated up nicely. As steam fogged up the age-spotted mirror, I shed my underwear and stared at my pale face, my blue eyes. I'd always been fair-skinned, but it seemed like coming back to human form had been a real shock. I still looked kind of ill. Not to mention really, really tired. Raccoon-eyes tired.

  I twisted to look at my back. Yep, the bullet wound was still there, though reduced to a fading scar. It only twinged a little, thanks to David's healing touch. I was lucky to be … well, I was just incredibly lucky to be, actually.

  The odds hadn't been with me for quite some time now.

  And here I was, going into something with even worse odds. Am I crazy? The thought wasn't new, but staring into the mirror, it seemed more pertinent than usual. I should just turn the car around. Go home. Find someplace to live out my life in peace and quiet, with a minimum of people shooting at me or blowing me up or trying to kill me with tornadoes.

  Because I'd just climbed out of a hospital bed and was heading for Las Vegas, and near-certain death, and nobody was holding a gun to my head to do it. I could punk out. Nobody would blame me.

  Except me, of course.

  The mirror fogged over again. The steam in the air was making my hair curl, which it never had before I'd done my brief stint as an immortal, all-powerful being, and where's the justice in that? Shouldn't you get a pass on bad hair days after things like that?

  I swiped a palm over the glass, clearing a moist path again to continue moping at my reflection, and found that someone was standing right behind me, in the classic surprise! position of serial killers everywhere.

  My heart gave a painful, unpleasant twist. I instinctively jerked forward into the bathroom counter, and the man standing behind me gave me a slow, superior smile. Tall, lean, medium-brown hair thickly salted with gray, eyes like black holes.

  I knew him. His name was Jonathan, and he was a Djinn. Well, not just a Djinn.

  More like, the Djinn. Lord and Master. Grand Pookah of the Universe. Et cetera.

  He didn't like me very much. I couldn't quite figure out if it was just a personal thing with humans, or a particular thing with me; I suspected the latter, though. He thought David was wasting himself on me. He probably had a point.

  "Just thought I'd drop in," he said, in a perfectly normal tone of voice, as if he hadn't noticed he'd committed a huge personal invasion of my space, and hello, naked? I grabbed for a thin motel-quality towel. Not that he was looking.

  Jonathan seemed to find me downright boring. I didn't even rate a reflexive hmmm, naked girl glance.

  "Get out," I said. I kept my voice down, because the last thing I wanted — the very last thing — was for David to come charging to my rescue and become the third leg of this triangle. Jonathan could, and had, overpowered him before, and David had to be tired. I sure as hell was.

  "I have a message for you. Don't keep this up," Jonathan said, and looked around the bathroom with an expression of disgusted disdain. Like a debutante faced with a Porta-Potti.

  "Don't keep what up? Showering? For humans, kind of necessary. Unless you like

  the funky smell of — "

  "Quit trying to stop Kevin," Jonathan continued, just like I hadn't spoken at all. He was still focusing on the missing piece of tile in the floor next to the tub. "More to the point, quit trying to stop me. You can't get to Las Vegas.

  Stop trying. I'll only kill you really, really hard."

  "I guess that won't bother you," I said.

  For the first time, he met my eyes in the mirror. Unsmiling. Those eyes gave me the shivers, because they were like windows into infinity, the only real outward sign of the power he held within. "Yeah, can't deny there are upsides," he said blandly. "Also problems." As in, David might never trust him again. Killing me might destroy every vestige of friendship between them, and for Djinn as powerful as those two, that couldn't be a good thing. "Do the smart thing.

  Turn around and go home."

  "I can't do that. You know I can't," I said. "Look, I'm doing this to help you, don't you get it? I went through being a slave to that kid, I know how terrible it is. Help me get into Vegas, I'll set you free." Because that had to be what he wanted, ultimately. Wasn't it?

  But if it was, I couldn't tell it from his expression, which remained closed and tight. "You're feeling sorry for me?" His tone was dry and clipped. "Funny. I was about to feel sorry for you."

  All my instincts kicked to life. "Why?"

  He raised his graying eyebrows, shrugged, and slipped on a pair of entirely unnecessary sunglasses. Nice sunglasses, mind you, the kind made for cutting the glare for Everest climbers and hard-core black-diamond skiers. But entirely unnecessary, because the dim fly-specked bulb over the sink didn't exactly give out a majestic eye-blinding glare.

  "Ah, but that would be telling," Jonathan said. "Do yourself a favor. Go home
before you get hurt worse than you have to be." And he vanished. Just like that.

  I didn't trust him to be gone, either, but there wasn't anything I could do about it if he chose to hang around in invisible form. I made a short circuit of the bathroom, pacing, and finally dumped the towel and got into the shower.

  I was halfway through soaping my hair when the hot water ran out. Guess I'd spent too much time staring into space and being intimidated by the most powerful Djinn in the universe.

  Being human sucks.

  ###

  When I came out, chilled and breathless, with my hair wrapped in a loose turban and my body wrapped in chill bumps, David was still flat on the bed, reading.

  But he let his book fall to his chest and looked at me directly. Maybe it was the chattering teeth. "Cold?" he asked. I tried to nod, but the shivering probably sent a clear yes anyway. He got up and came to me, and put those warm, broad hands on my arms. As he glided them down, fingers dragging on my damp skin, heat bloomed. Water disappeared. By the time he got to my fingertips I was shaking for an entirely different reason, and warm as if I'd spent an hour out sunning myself by the pool.

  "Better?" he asked. His voice had a low, rough edge to it, and as he raised his eyes I saw flickers of orange swirling. His hands circled both my wrists, and I felt an impulse in him to pull me closer … an impulse he resisted. I could feel things like that, thanks to this nifty new master/Djinn bond we'd developed since I'd finally claimed him. Feel the breathtaking, scary strength inside of him, and how very careful he was about its use.

  "David — "

  When he looked up, his eyes were shifting colors to bronze, a breathtaking, alien color that sent shivers up and down my spine regardless of the toasty warmth. "I know he was here," he said. "I was ready if he — " Flares of gold in those eyes. His skin caught fire in a golden flush, entirely Djinn; he controlled it and kept himself flesh and blood and bone. "Jo, I don't know how we do this. He knows we're coming. He's ready. He knows what you can do, what I can do — and he can beat us. It will hurt him, but he can win. Our one chance was to get in under his notice, but if we can't do that …"