It was empty.

I broke into a flat run, flying past startled interns and doctors, nurses and technicians, and found my way to the room where we’d left Gloria Jensen and her family as well.

Not there.

All of them—the Jensens, Brianna, Luis, Turner—were gone as if they’d never existed at all.

I grabbed a nurse walking by Gloria’s room. “The Jensen girl,” I said. “Where was she taken?”

“She was released,” the nurse said, frowning, and shook free of my grip. “She’s fine.”

I sensed something wrong with her. Deeply wrong. When I stared at her in Oversight, I saw damage in her aura, psychic wounds where someone had savagely and swiftly altered her memories. She’d be ill, later—physically first, then mentally, if she couldn’t adjust to the invasion.

I couldn’t help her. I didn’t have time. There was still a chance that I could sense Luis, if he was close, so I spun away from her and focused on my connection to him, my memories of him.

Nothing came to me that could be felt above the spiking sense of urgency I couldn’t seem to control.

I leaned against the wall, bowed my head, and tried to remember how it was that Luis, with all his Earth powers, had communicated to me silently. It was not what humans thought of as telepathy; it was an independent manipulation of the ear, re-creating sound patterns precisely, even down to intonation. Advanced work, but fairly common among Earth Wardens.

If Luis could do it . . . so could I. But I had no formal training, no idea how to direct the energy to the person I desired to speak with.

I could only try.

Luis.

Nothing. I concentrated on the aetheric essence of the man, on everything I knew and felt of him. On the connection still stretching between us—power and a growing, steel-core sense of need.

Luis.

Nothing. I felt a wave of frustration and helplessness sweeping over me, and focused even more, willing the world away.

Luis Rocha!

And from a great distance, I felt a whisper return. Cass?

Relief, brief and sweet, before reality set in again. He sounded dazed, uncertain, and weak. Worse than I had ever heard him. Cass, be careful, it’s not what you think—

Luis suddenly, invisibly screamed, and I felt the connection shredding apart—not an outside force detecting and destroying it, but his own pain destroying focus.

I opened my eyes, staring blindly at the wall, at the frightened face of the nurse a few feet away, who was gawking at me.

“I’m coming,” I told him aloud. “Hold on. Just hold on.”

And I ran.

I was spoiled for choices in the parking lot, but instead of a motorcycle I found an ambulance, parked and silent, at the back near a maintenance bay. The paper attached under the windshield noted that all repairs had been completed, but the vehicle wasn’t scheduled to be returned to duty until the next day.

I might need medical facilities. And armored transport for several people. The ambulance was a perfect choice, except for the inevitable stew of horror that awaited me on the sensory level. Although it was cleaned, bleached and sanitized, nothing could completely erase the odors—psychic, possibly—of blood, sweat, vomit, and death that lurked in the rear compartment of the vehicle.

Luis had held on to our connection, somehow, but it did not provide much of a sense of direction. He kept up a steady stream of whispers, some bursting wildly into static that told me he was struggling to keep his pain at bay. Twice the connection snapped altogether, leaving me silent and desperate, but he managed to reach out again.

I knew I was his lifeline.

I just didn’t know how I would be able to save him.

“I call on the Djinn to bargain,” I said. “I will bargain favors and obligations in return for assistance. I, Cassiel, swear this.”

It was a formal call for help, to the Djinn. I had never used it, never in my lifetime; it was an admission of weakness among the Djinn to be forced to bargain with another of equal or greater status, of being unable to charm or trick the service from another.

No one answered.

No one.

I had not expected Ashan to come calling; my Conduit had made himself very clear when he’d cast me out from his ranks that I could not approach him again, save at a crawl, and even then only once I’d fulfilled the mission he’d given me. The other True Djinn would not dare to cross him, except Venna, but Venna had problems of her own, from what I had been told.

But the New Djinn should have been interested enough to at least ask.

I had screamed into the darkness, and gotten back nothing. Not even an echo.

And then I felt the weight in the van shift, and looked in the rearview mirror to see that one Djinn had, after all, answered my call.

“Interesting,” Rashid’s voice said from behind me. “I know that as a human you’re required to earn your bread, but surely this seems a strange time to learn a new trade as a physician?”

I looked into the rearview mirror to see that he was sitting on the clean, empty gurney in the back, idly fiddling with medical supplies. He looked better. Still indefinably . . . not quite himself. The battle with the golem had taken something out of him, and it would take time for him to recover. I couldn’t give him time.

“Why did you respond?” I asked him. “No one else did.”

“You mentioned the magic word,” he said. “Bargain.”

“You’re still hurt,” I said. It wasn’t even a question, and he didn’t debate it pointlessly. “What about the other New Djinn?”

“They’re not coming.”

“Not even one.”

“Our new replacement Conduit, Whitney, has allied with Ashan on this. No Djinn will come to your aid, Cassiel. No one.” He smiled, briefly, teeth flashing. “Well. One, perhaps. If you make it worth my while.”

I stared at him steadily. “Why?”

“Maybe I just like a good fight.” His lips twitched, briefly. “I’m not on your side. I’m on no one’s side. I simply like mayhem.”

“Rashid.” I heard the desperation in my own voice, and I know he did as well, though he never looked up from his contemplation of a sealed package of bandage. “Deal with me.”

“All right.” He sat back, crossed his legs with such fluidity that he might have been a yogi, and leaned against the wall. “Bargain.”

“I wish you to direct me to where Luis Rocha is being held—the man named Luis Rocha whom you met, the Warden who is my partner,” I quickly clarified. I had been a Djinn once. That would have been the first maliciously exploitable hole I would have seen. “I wish you to fight by my side against whatever comes to save his life, and the lives of the other Wardens and humans we may find. Will you bargain for this?”

Rashid closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. They blazed with opalescent, changing colors. “If I do,” he said, “there’s only one thing I will bargain for.”

I knew what he wanted. The scroll. I couldn’t allow it to leave my hands. I couldn’t.

“Ask for something else,” I said.

Rashid’s teeth flashed in a mirthless grin. “I am not extremely prone to being ordered around, you know. What do you offer, then?”

These were not idle discussions, not this time. I had made a formal offer, and now we were dealing . . . and deals, to the Djinn, were extremely important. There was an art to it, of course; the Djinn delighted in finding ways around, under, and through deals to their own advantage, and the disadvantage of those they treated with. A kind of supernatural game of skill and treachery. For all my age, however—and I had been a Djinn far longer than Rashid—it was a game I was not well versed in. I had avoided humankind most of my existence.

Rashid was a veteran of such encounters. There was a very real risk that in this, at least, I was out of my depth.

“Give me a direction to follow before we go any further,” I said.