I will keep my promise, I told him. I will find a way to return you to your family.

The SUV drove off down the dirt road, leaving me on my knees, my blood dampening the dust around me. I was too weak to resist unnecessarily, so I sat still, hands loosely folded in my lap, as four armed paramilitary guards formed a square around me. The rifles they carried looked lethal indeed. So did the handguns at their hips.

“You’re trespassing,” one of them said. They all looked oddly interchangeable in the moonlight, thanks to their camouflage jackets and pants and matching caps. One was female, the others male. The speaker was one of the men, tall, with a pleasant tenor voice. I put him on the far side of middle age, from the glints of silver in the close-cropped hair that showed under the cap. “Didn’t you see the signs? Trespassers will be shot. That wasn’t some kind of bluff.”

There had been no signs, but I didn’t bother to argue the point. “Who are you?”

“Private citizens defending our land. I think the real question is, who are you? You don’t exactly fit in around here. Who sent you? FBI? CIA?”

“With pink hair?” one of his fellows snorted. “I’m thinking some kind of private security, private investigator, something like that.” He shoved the muzzle of his gun close to my face. “Right? Somebody hire you? You should have taken the money and run.”

I didn’t answer. All my focus was on keeping the wound in my side from pouring out more of my strength on the thirsty ground.

“Doesn’t matter,” a third one of them said—the woman, who sounded as practical and cold as all the rest. “She’s seen the kids. We have to get rid of her.”

“We should ask if they want her as a recruit.”

“Come on, you’ve got to be kidding! She’s some kind of Warden; that’s the last thing we need. We have to kill her, and do it fast, before more of them show up looking around.”

“She followed the first one.” That made my drifting attention snap back into focus, and I lifted my head to look at the speaker, who was the older man. The leader of this small group. “She’s his backup. So I don’t think we have to worry too much about more Wardens calling, especially right now. They’re a little busy.”

General laughter between the four of them. The first one. That had to be Luis. They had Luis here.

If you plan to avoid dying, the Djinn part of me commented coolly, you should likely do something now. Because the man standing to my right, the one with the graying hair, was preparing to fire a bullet through my head and put an end to it.

I let go of control of my wound, which responded in a fresh gout of blood, and reached out to the trees with power.

The pine tree branches were firm and springy, perfectly suited to pulling back and releasing. One hit my would-be executioner in the back of the head as his finger tightened on the trigger, and his shot went wild, digging a hole in the ground next to my feet.

I softened the ground beneath their feet, and watched the shock hit as their own weight dragged them down. They flailed as they sank, and two tried to shoot me, but I was already moving, rolling to my feet and limping into the trees. I heard more gunfire behind me, and shouts, and then frantic screams.

Then the ground closed over their heads, and I heard nothing.

I couldn’t go far. Black waves of weakness continued to wash over me, until it felt that the ground was softening beneath me, just as it had beneath my enemies. I fell and placed a palm flat on the surface. No, the fault didn’t lie in the ground, but in myself.

Human weakness.

I wouldn’t get far enough afoot. I needed to leave this place, find help, bring rescue to these children.

I made my stumbling way back to the Victory, only to find that one of the gunshots had exploded a tire and mangled part of the engine. I could have repaired it, if I’d had enough power.

I was using what I had left to keep myself alive.

All that remained of the four who’d tried to kill me were disturbed patches of earth, and a single pale hand breaking the surface. I hardly gave it a glance. My paramilitary friends hadn’t appeared from nowhere; they’d likely come in a vehicle, as humans seemed wont to do even for short trips.

I saw a flash of movement in the trees, then a pale, dirty face.

C. T. Styles. He had gotten away.

“Calvin Theodore,” I said, and braced myself against the trunk of a nearby pine. I kept my other hand firmly pressed against the wound in my side. “Don’t be afraid.”

He moved out from behind his concealment but didn’t come any closer. There was little expression on his face, and a flatness in his eyes that concerned me.

I said, “Your father sent me, C.T.,” and the numbness in him broke, replaced by a flare of hope so bright it was like sunrise. “I need you to help me. Did these people come in a car‹e c me?”

He shook his head emphatically. My own hopes dimmed as his rose, until he said, “They came in a truck. It’s a jeep. It’s black.”

I almost laughed. It wasn’t often a human was more precise than a Djinn. “Can you take me there?”

“Sure,” C.T. said. He darted forward and held out his hand. I took it. His skin felt fever-warm against mine, but that was only because I was chilled from shock and blood loss. He tugged at my arm to get me started, and we headed in the direction of the cold, rising moon.

“They took everybody in the truck, but I got out the back,” he said proudly. “I stayed. I knew you’d help.”

I had no breath to spare to praise him. It seemed a long way to this mythical black jeep, and every step poked red-hot knives through my side. My body was sloughing off its shock, and I did not much care for the results. “Wait,” I murmured, and pulled C.T. to a stop to lean against a handy boulder. I left black smears against the rock. “How much farther?”

“Not very much. It’s right up there,” the child said, and tugged my hand. “Right there!”

I allowed him to pull me on. At each rise, he promised me only one more, until my feet were no longer certain of their steps.

At last, I fell, and although I tried to rise, I couldn’t.

I collapsed on my back, panting, and saw C.T. lean over me, no expression on his small face.

“I thought you’d never fall down,” he said. “Goodbye, lady.”

He turned away and left me. I tried to rise again.

The dark rolled in and swept me away.

When I woke, I was being carried—no, dragged. Dragged by the heels, like a carcass, through the dirt. I opened my eyes and made a protest that sounded more like a moan than words—and then I realized that I had spoken in Djinn, not English.

It was now pitch-dark, only thin flickers of light coming through the trees. The moon had moved on without me, but it was far from morning. The air was frigid on my exposed skin.

I kicked feebly, and the one dragging me dropped my foot in surprise. The impact of my heels on the ground sent a searing burn through my side, and I jackknifed into a fetal position in response. I couldn’t scream, although I wished to. I could only pant for breath.

I heard a blowing sound, followed by a strange, fast clacking of teeth.

An enormous paw touched my stomach. Even in the dim light, I could see the talons.

The black bear was a shadow in the dark, save for a small glitter of its eyes in the moonlight and a brush of lighter fur around its muzzle.

It was frightened of me, I could see that, and I lay very still. Black bears were not aggressive in the main, and preferred eating plants to people, but that did not mean it wouldn’t kill me.

It made that blowing and clacking sound again, and I saw the white flash of teeth this time. It was followed by a long, low moan that lingered like a ghost on the air.

I forced myself not to move as the muzzle dipped and sniffed my face. The bear snorted, shook its huge head, and padded off.