Rachel Caine - Weather Warden 1 - Ill Wind

VIP免费

2024-12-20 0 0 1.13MB 236 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

[version history]

The Wardens Association has been

around pretty much forever. Some

Wardens control fire, others control

earth, water, or wind— and the most

powerful can control more than one

element. Without Wardens, Mother

Nature would wipe humanity off the

face of the earth....

Joanne Baldwin is a Weather Warden. Usually, all it

takes is a wave of her hand to tame the most violent

weather. But now Joanne is trying to outrun another

kind of storm: accusations of corruption and murder.

So she's resorting to the very human tactic of running

for her life....

Her only hope is Lewis, the most powerful Warden.

Unfortunately, he's also on the run from the World

Council. It seems he's stolen not one but three bottles

of Djinn—making him the most wanted man on earth.

And without Lewis, Joanne's chances of surviving are

as good as a snowball in—well, a place she may be

headed. So she and her classic Mustang are racing hard

to find him because there's some bad weather closing

in fast....

"[Ill Wind's] forecast calls for murder,

mayhem, magic, meteorology—and a fun

read. You'll never watch the Weather

Channel the same way again."

—Jim Butcher, Bestselling Author of

The Dresden Files

STORM ADVISORY IN EFFECT

In my business, we not only understand chaos

theory, we totally abide by it. Chaos happens. Always

plan for speed.

Either the Djinn was putting me on, which would be

seriously unfunny, or the spell was coming from

Elsewhere. I hoped not an Elsewhere that began with

the letter Hell.

I got a bad feeling. "No offense, but can I at least get

some proof this message is from Lewis?"

"No," said a female voice, decisively. Static. The

radio clicked off.

It could be the Djinn. In fact, it was even likely; I'd

embarrassed him, and he owed me payback for that.

But he had made a call, and I couldn't waste the chance

if he was honestly giving me instructions on how to find

his boss. Djinn had a host of faults, but out-and-out

lying wasn't among them.

And besides, I had to outrun the storm behind me

anyway.

"Oklahoma City," I sighed aloud. "Home of heavy

weather. Fabulous."

The only redeeming thing about it was that I knew

the territory. I hadn't spent a whole lot of time there,

but one of my best friends in the world had retired out

there. It'd be nice to have a friend right now.

Somebody to count on. Some shoulder to cry on.

I had to look on the good side, anyway. Because the

bad was pretty overwhelming.

ILL WIND

Book One

of the Weather Warden Series

Rachel Caine

A ROC BOOK

CONTENTS

1 2 3 4 5

To those who inspire:

My husband, Cat (always), and to my dear friends

Pat Elrod, Kelley Walters, Glenn Rogers, Pat Anthony,

and—of course—"the" Joanne Madge

To those who believe:

Everybody in ORAC (you know who you are!) and

my friends at LSGSC

To those who made it happen:

Lucienne Diver and Laura Anne Gilman

To my musical inspiration:

Joe Bonamassa

And finally, to the one who taught me to love

the storm as much as the calm:

Timothy Bartz Rest softly, my dear. This one's for

you.

Thunder is good, thunder is impressive;

but it is the lightning that does the work.

—Mark Twain

Excerpt from OWNING

YOUR FIRST DJINN

published by

the Wardens Association

Press, 2002.

OWNING YOUR FIRST DJINN

By granting you the possession of one of the

Association's Djinn, the Wardens Association has

recognized that you are among the finest in your area

of specialty, whether you control Weather, Fire, or

Earth. You should accept this great honor and grave

responsibility with humility and courage.

Djinn are a valued, precious resource. Abuses of

Djinn or their powers will be prosecuted to the fullest

extent of our Association's laws, up to and including

execution.

•Use your Djinn to augment your powers, and rely upon your Djinn for advice in

your area of specialty.

•Guard your Djinn's home (commonly a bottle) with great care. Although your Djinn

will (of necessity) be loyal only to you until your death, or until the Association

removes the Djinn from your care, misplacing a Djinn is a very serious matter with

associated penalties. All Djinn must be housed in breakable containers (see arcane

rules, below) but precautions should always be taken against accidents.

Don't

•Manifest your Djinn in public unless first asking it to remain invisible or to take

human form.

•Abuse your Djinn by asking it to perform unsavory or immoral actions.

•Break your Djinn's container UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

Arcane Rules

•Once Djinn have been assigned a master, they can take orders only from that

master, unless the master temporarily assigns control to another Warden for

business purposes.

•Djinn cannot break their own containers. They are allowed, however, to trick others

into destroying these containers, thus freeing them from their services. YOU MUST

BEWARE OF THIS AT ALL TIMES. A freed Djinn is a very serious danger to all of

us.

•Never ask a Djinn for the Three Things Forbidden: eternal life, unlimited power, or

raising the dead.

Etiquette

You may begin to develop a certain fondness for your Djinn over time. This is normal

and healthy. But never forget that your Djinn is a magical creature of nearly unlimited

power and lifespan, and is not human. The motivations of Djinn are not always

understandable. Never trust them completely.

Technical Support

If you have questions about the day-to-day administration of your Djinn after the initial

training period, please contact our 24-hour hot line for assistance. Specialists are on

hand at all times for your protection.

ONE

Cloudy and

cool, with an

80 percent

possibility of

moderate to

severe

thunderstor

ms by

mid-afternoo

Well, thank God this is about to be over, I thought

as I drove—well, blew—past the sign that marked the

Westchester, Connecticut, city limits. Traffic sucked,

not surprisingly; rush hour was still in full swing, and I

had to moderate my impatience and ride the brake

while I watched for my exit. Calm down. Things will

be back to normal in just a few more minutes.

Okay, so I was a little too optimistic. Also

unrealistic, since me and normal have never really

been on speaking terms. But, in my defense, I needed

all the optimism I could muster right then. I'd been

running on adrenaline and bad coffee for more than

thirty hours straight. I'd been awake for so long that

my eyes felt like they'd been rolled in beach sand and

Tabasco sauce. I needed rest. Clean clothes. A shower.

Not necessarily in that order.

First, I had to find the guy who was going to save

my life.

I found the exit, navigated streets and annoying

stoplights until I found the residential neighborhood I

was looking for. I checked the scrap of paper in my lap,

studied curbside house numbers, and finally pulled the

car to a stop in front of a nice Colonial-style home, the

kind of place a Realtor would describe as a "nice

starter." It had flame-red tulips planted in mannered

rows under the windows, and the lawn looked well

behaved, too. Weird. Of all the places I'd have

expected to find Lewis Levander Orwell, the most

powerful man in the world . . . well, this wasn't it. I

mean, suburbia? Hello!

I tapped chipped fingernails on the steering wheel,

weighed risks and benefits, and finally popped open

the door and stepped out of the car.

The euphoria I'd felt when I was pulling into town

vanished as soon as my feet hit solid ground, crushed

under a load of exhaustion. Too much stress, too little

sleep, too much fear. Speaking of fear ... I felt wind on

the back of my neck, and I turned to look east. A storm

loomed like purple mountains' majesty, big

cumulonimbus clouds piled on top of each other like a

fifty-car interstate pileup. I could feel it noticing me, in

the way storms had. No question about it, I needed to

be out of Westchester before that thing decided to

pounce. I'd been watching storms crawl along the

coast, paralleling me all the way from Florida. The

nasty part was that it might actually be the same

storm, stalking me.

They did that sometimes. It was never good.

Nothing I could do about it right now. I had bigger

issues. Up the concrete walk, up three steps lined with

geraniums in terra-cotta pots, to a spacious white front

door. I knocked and waited, rocking back and forth on

three-inch heels that felt like something from the

spring collection of the Spanish Inquisition. Bad

planning on my part, but then I'd been expecting a

pleasant little business meeting, not a two-day

panicked flight cross-country. I looked down at myself

and winced; the blue French-cuffed polyester shirt was

okay, but the tan skirt was a disaster of

car-accordioned linen. Ah well. It would have been nice

for Lewis to swoon with desire on seeing me, but I'd

definitely settle for him pulling my bacon out of the

fire.

Silence. I cupped my hands around my eyes and

tried to peer through glass not designed for peering.

No movement inside that I could see. With a sinking

feeling of disaster, I realized I'd never considered the

possibility that my knight in shining armor could be

away from the castle.

I knocked on his door once more, squinted through

the glass again, and tried the bell. I heard muffled

tones echoing through the house, but nothing stirred.

The house looked normal.

Normal and very, very empty.

Out where I was, Westchester was enjoying spring

sunshine. People walked, kids whooped around on

bikes, dogs ran with their tongues hanging out. Inside

the house, there was winter silence. I checked the mail

slot. Empty. Either he'd been home earlier, or he'd

stopped his mail altogether. No papers on the lawn,

either.

I considered my options, but really I had only two:

get some idea of where else to look, or lie down and die.

I decided to do some scouting. Unfortunately, the grass

was damp, and my three-inch heels weren't designed

for pathfinding. With some cursing and tripping and

excavating myself from spike-heeled holes, I clumped

around the house.

The house had that don't-touch-me feeling that

indicated strong wards and protections, but I circled it

anyway, checking the windows. Yep, wards on every

one, good strong ones. The yard was nice and neat as a

pin, with the look of being maintained by a service

instead of somebody with a passion for plants. Lewis

had a very nice workshop in the back, which was

devoted half to woodworking, half to magecraft; that

half was warded up the wazoo, no way I could do more

than just glance in the window before I had to retreat

or get zapped.

Powerful stuff. That was good—I desperately

needed a powerful guy.

I banged on the back door and squinted in the

square of window. Still nothing moving. I could see the

living room, decorated in Basic American

Normal—looked like everything in it had come out of

some upscale catalog. If Lewis lived here, he was a lot

more boring than I'd ever imagined.

I had plenty of powerful tricks up my sleeve, but

they didn't include breaking and entering. The kind of

powers I possessed, over water and wind, could

destroy a house but not open a door. I could have

summoned a hailstorm—a small one, okay?—to break

a couple of windows, but no, that would be wrong and

besides, I'd probably get caught because it was pretty

showy stuff. So I resorted to human tactics.

I tossed a rock at the window.

Now, I was pretty sure it wasn't going to work, but

in a way it did; the rock bounced off some thick

invisible rubbery surface about a half inch from the

window, and the back door slammed open.

"Yes?" snarled the guy who blocked the doorway.

He was big, and I mean huge—big, tanned, bald, with

two gold earrings that twinkled in the sunny

Westchester morning. He was wearing a purple vest

with gold embroidery over rippling muscles. I had the

impression of dark pants, but I didn't dare look down.

Didn't matter, his chest was definitely worth checking

out. Pecs of the gods, no kidding.

Just my luck. Lewis had left a Djinn at home—his

own personal mystical alarm system.

"Hi," I said brightly. "Lewis around?"

He scowled. "Who wants to know?"

"Joanne Baldwin." I held out my hand, palm up; the

Djinn passed his palm over mine and read the white

runes that glittered in its path. "We're friends. Me and

Lewis go way back."

"Never heard of you," he said brusquely. Djinn are

not known for their chatty nature, or their sunny

disposition. In fact, they're known for being difficult to

handle and—if they don't like you—fully capable of

finding some sneaky way to do you in. Not that I was

an expert, exactly; Djinn were reserved for bigger fish

than me, sort of the equivalent of a company car perk

in the Wardens Association. I didn't even rate a

reserved parking space yet.

The Djinn was still staring at me. "Go now," he

rumbled.

I stood my ground. Well, it was really his ground,

but I stood it anyway. "Sorry, can't. I need to talk to

Lewis. Urgently."

"He is not here. Being that you are a Warden, I

won't kill you for your lack of manners." He started to

close the door.

"Wait!" I slapped my hand—coincidentally, the one

with the rune—flat against the wood. It wasn't my

upper body strength that made him hesitate, that's for

sure. Even Mr. Universe couldn't have held a door

against a Djinn, much less a five-foot-five woman with

more attitude than body mass. "When will he be

back?"

The Djinn just stared at me. Djinn eyes are colors

not found in the human genome, specially formulated

to produce maximum intimidation. Some of them are

citrine yellow, some bright fluorescent green, and

they're all scary. This guy's were a purple that

Elizabeth Taylor would have envied. Beautiful, and

cold as the colors in arctic ice.

"Look, I need to find him," I said. "I need his help.

There are lives at stake here."

"Yes?" He hadn't blinked. "Whose lives?"

"Well, mine, anyway," I amended, and tried for a

sheepish grin. He returned the smile, and I wished he

hadn't; it revealed perfect white teeth that would have

looked more appropriate on a great white shark.

"You stink of corruption," he said. "I will not help

you."

"That's up to your master, isn't it?" I shot back.

"Come on, he knows me! Just ask him. I know you can.

He wouldn't leave you here without any way to contact

him. Not even Lewis goes around abandoning Djinn

like disposable pens."

The purple eyes were really, really getting on my

nerves. I could feel the Djinn's power burning my skin

where my hand touched the door, another spiteful

tactic to get me to let go so he could slam it shut and

ward me clear out to the street. There's nothing

stronger than a Djinn on its home territory. Nothing.

The pain in my hand got worse. Smoke rose from

my hand where it pressed against the white-painted

wood door, and my whole body shook from nausea and

reaction. But I didn't let go.

"Illusion," I stammered. The Djinn was still

grinning. "Don't waste my time."

"My powers could not touch a true Warden," he

said. "If you burn, you burn because you deserve it."

All right, I'd had about enough of playing with Mr.

Clean gone bad. I took my hand away from the door

and held it up.

The world breathed around me.

I might have stunk of corruption, but I still

commanded the wind, and it slammed into the Djinn

with force of a speeding Volkswagen. Djinn are

essentially vapor.

I blew him away.

He was gone for about a half-second, and then he

re-formed, looking ready to pull my brain out through

my nostrils. So I hit him again. And again. The last

time, he re-formed very slowly all the way across the

room, looking pissed off but respectful. I hadn't made

the mistake of setting foot across his threshold, so he

couldn't strike back. All his awesome power—and it

was truly awesome—was useless. So long as I didn't

break the wards, I could stand out there all day and

toss microbursts and katabatic gusts.

The Djinn muttered something unpleasant. I held

my hand up again. A strong breeze shoved my hair

around, and I felt the warm tingle that meant I had at

least one more good Djinn-blasting gust at my

command.

"I really, really don't have time to dick around with

you," I said. "Give him my name. Tell him I need to

see him. Or else."

"No one threatens me!" he growled.

"I'm not threatening, sweet pea." I could feel the

white runes on my hand glowing. My dark hair

whipped around my face in the wind, which I kept

coiling around me, building tornadic speed. "Want to

bet I can blow you all the way into a teeny little open

bottle and stick a cork in you?"

"You know not what you are doing," he said, more

quietly.

"Wrong, I know exactly what I'm doing. Want

another practical demonstration?"

He held up one hand in the universal language of

surrender. I let the wind swirl and die. The Djinn

reached over and picked up something from the table,

and it took me a few seconds to realize it was a cell

phone. Good God, the Djinn had entered the age of

technology. Next thing you know, a satellite dish in

every bottle, broadband Internet, microwave ovens . ..

The Djinn punched numbers, said something, and

turned away from me while he talked. I had the leisure

to examine the back of a Djinn, which is something you

rarely do. He had a nice ass, but his legs ended in a

swirl of vapor somewhere around knee level. Still, not

a disappointment.

He finished the call, turned back, and bared pointed

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

[versionhistory]TheWardensAssociationhasbeenaroundprettymuchforever.SomeWardenscontrolfire,otherscontrolearth,water,orwind—andthemostpowerfulcancontrolmorethanoneelement.WithoutWardens,MotherNaturewouldwipehumanityoffthefaceoftheearth....JoanneBaldwinisaWeatherWarden.Usually,allittakesisawaveofherha...

展开>> 收起<<

Rachel Caine - Weather Warden 1 - Ill Wind.pdf

共236页,预览48页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Rachel Caine - Weather Warden 1 - Ill Wind

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: