Rachel Caine - Weather Warden 02.5 - Oasis.pdf - Rachel Caine - widez2

OASIS ... a new Weather Warden short story by Rachel CaineOasis a new Weather Warden short

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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

YorktoNevada ) 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

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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.”

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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.

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“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.

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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

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