Rachel Caine: Total Eclipse

“Because mere humans shouldn’t be front and center?” I shot back to David. “Come on, this is about mere humans. Not Wardens. Not Djinn. It’s about millions of regular people who are going to die, and their voice needs to be heard. They’re not invisible. They’re real. ”

“I know they’re real,” he said. “But they have no voice—not that she can hear and understand. You have no voice, Jo. Not as you are.”

“Bullshit!”

He smiled. “Yelling isn’t going to solve the problem, you know.”

“But it makes me feel tons better, sweetie.” I wasn’t about to let his charm veer me off course. Well, not far off course, anyway. “We needed to go to the Oracles anyway. They’re our one real hope of getting our powers back, fast. I’m the logical one to do it. Lewis, if I get burned out, you’re not losing much at this point.”

He was looking at me, and I saw the expression that flickered over his face. We both knew that in personal terms, that absolutely was a lie, but on pure, coldly logical ground I was correct. I was human. Not a triple-powered Warden any longer. Not consort to the leader of half of the Djinn anymore.

Just Joanne Baldwin, snappy dresser and fast-car fan, mother and daughter and sister. Just another human being spending my short time on the face of the Earth, unnoticed.

And Lewis nodded, face gone utterly still and controlled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It makes sense. You’ve got the technical knowledge, we can help you get where you need to be, and if it doesn’t work—then we haven’t lost a vital Warden.”

David stood up. “Are you insane? You can’t encourage her. You know how she is.”

“I know exactly how she is, and who she is, and what she can do if I give her the chance. Don’t underestimate her just because you love her and you want to protect her.” Lewis’s eyes were bleak and full of things that I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know. “Jo, we’re fourteen hours out from port. Get ready. Once we make landfall we’re going to be very busy.”

“You know me, I love a good crisis,” I said. “I’ll be ready.”

Lewis nodded, and the meeting broke up for the next four hours so most could get some much- needed downtime. Not that they would get it, considering the pace at which things were happening.

I felt oddly . . . disconnected. Again. I kept waiting for some sense of the world around me to return, but all I had to work with now were what my limited human senses chose to give me. Not much, and not enough.

Then again, I’d made the case that being just plain human was an asset. Inconsistency, thy name is Joanne.

I saved the spreadsheet and left everything up and running for the next shift of Wardens, who were already shuffling into the room, yawning and gulping coffee and looking as shell-shocked as I felt. David waited silently for me. He took my hand as we exited the room, and waited for a whole three steps before he said, “Are you insane?”

“Clinically, or in general? I’m pretty sure there’s a ‘yes’ in there somewhere no matter what I do.”

“Jo.” He pulled me to a halt and turned me to face him. “I’m not kidding.” His hand was tight around my arm, and his face was drawn and very serious. “You can’t do this. I can’t let you do this. I’m not going to lose you, and there’s no part of this plan—if you want to call it that—that doesn’t end up with you dead. It’s bad enough you want to go to the Oracles. Going to the Mother is suicide.”

“We’re all dying,” I said, and saw him flinch as I threw his words back at him. There wasn’t any satisfaction in it. “I have to try. You know I have to try. You’d do the same, in my place.”

He let go of my arm and put his hands on my face, and for a breathtaking minute we stared into each other’s eyes, all barriers swept away. Two people poised on the edge of something awful, afraid and alone even with each other for comfort.

He hugged me close, stroking his fingers through my hair. When he’d been Djinn, he’d straightened my curls—a private sort of joke between us, a memory of a time when I hadn’t battled that problem. Now, he couldn’t wield that power, but it didn’t matter. It soothed me in deep, primal ways, and I relaxed against him, feeling the deep rush of his breath in his chest, his heartbeat, his strength and love and commitment.

“Then we go together,” he murmured in my ear. “The two of us. Together.”

Tears suddenly welled up in my eyes. I’d been prepared to go it alone, resigned to it; and yet, knowing he was with me . . . it made all the difference. I didn’t know how to feel; relief and horror struggled for dominance. The horror was because I was dragging him with me into the mouth of the lion.

But I wasn’t alone. And that mattered, in this moment, more than I could say.

“We have fourteen hours,” I said, and pulled back to wipe my eyes with the heel of one hand. “Let’s spend them doing something productive.”

That put him back on firmer emotional ground. “I’m trying to think what that is, in your world. Shopping?”

“Jerk. No. Although not a bad idea—I could use a couple of outfits.”

“Interesting.” His arms tightened around me, and the heat between us changed from comfort to something else. Something with its roots in a wilder place. “So what would you consider productive?”

“I need to do laundry.”

“And?”

“That means I should take my clothes off. You know, to be sure I have everything clean.”

I loved the smile he gave me, slow and sweet and hot. It wasn’t a Djinn smile, not with the kind of hidden power that it had just a few days ago, but it was more purely him . The core of David that I loved so very much.

“I can help with that,” he said.

“You mean, with the laundry.”

“Absolutely.”

We walked back to the cabin with our arms around each other, savoring the hours, minutes, seconds together. If other people spoke to us, I’m not sure either of us really paid attention.

As he was locking the cabin door behind us, David said, “Be gentle, it’s my first time.” I laughed, and then I understood. It was his first time with me—and my first with him, in a very deep-seated way. We’d been together as Djinn and Warden, both of us bringing power into the relationship even if that hadn’t been a deliberate plan.

This was different. Very different. This was just skin, and human emotion, and the kind of love shared by so many others. Which made it oddly precious and special, I realized.

We came together slowly, in a long and leisurely kiss. After the first few seconds I stopped thinking about what this wouldn’t be, and began thinking of what it was. It felt sweet and intimate and passionate, and his mouth tasted different now. Human. Hard as it had been to see it, even his best imitation of mortality hadn’t quite been completely honest. He’d unconsciously skewed it toward making it perfect.

And this was honest, and imperfect, and wonderful.

He broke the kiss and pulled in a deep breath, looking shaken. I had to laugh a little. “What?”

“It’s been a long time since I had reactions I couldn’t fully control,” he admitted.

“Yeah? Scared?”

“A little.”

I took pity on him, and kissed him lightly again on the lips. “Me, too. You’re doing fine.”

He was, indeed, doing fine already, gently undoing the buttons on my shirt and moving it aside, brushing his fingers over my bared skin, trailing them down to the waistband of my jeans in a suggestively delicious manner. “I usually can tell if I’m doing this right,” he said in my ear. His warm breath made me shiver. “Am I? Doing this right?”