Free Gale Force by Rachel Caine Page A

getting treatment, though.’’
    The water had lubricated my vocal cords. ‘‘Where am I?’’
    ‘‘Extension Hospital Fourteen,’’ she said, which meant I was in the Warden system, not general human health care. Thank God. ‘‘I’m sorry we didn’t have anybody with you, but you’ve been out for a while, and we had other patients. Do you have a lot of pain?’’
    I managed to keep my nod to a measured sort of response, not a frantic oh-my-God-yes-give-me-drugs sort of gesture. She got the point, though, and showed me the meds button, which I pushed for all it was worth. Liquid gold painkillers slid through my veins, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Even tasting blood didn’t seem that disturbing, suddenly.
    ‘‘David?’’ I asked. My voice sounded horribly weak.
    The nurse hesitated and didn’t quite meet my eyes. ‘‘Your friend and Lewis Orwell brought you in, but they had to leave. Some kind of emergency.’’
    ‘‘Haven’t been back?’’
    ‘‘No, not yet. But I’m sure they’ll be back as soon as they can.’’
    Not good. That meant something had happened. She’d said it had been days. . . .
    Someone else hip-bumped open the door, and came in carrying two tall coffees. It was Cherise. She looked tired, but still glamorously touseled, and the smile she gave me was pure relief. ‘‘I knew a mocha would get you up,’’ she said, and flopped into a chair next to me. ‘‘You are so predictable. So. How are you?’’
    ‘‘Sick,’’ I said. ‘‘What the hell happened?’’
    The nurse cautioned her about hot liquids and my invalid state, which both of us ignored, and left the room. Cherise leaned forward and helped me manage the mocha. It was warm, not scalding, and the caffeine/ sugar/fat combo made me feel much steadier inside. ‘‘Well,’’ Cherise said, ‘‘you pretty much freaked everybody the hell out. Including people I’ve never heard of, who flew over from Switzerland and Australia and places like that.’’
    ‘‘Wardens?’’
    ‘‘Some of them, yeah. There’s some kind of big meeting going on. That’s where everybody is.’’ Cherise’s big blue eyes focused on mine, and I saw an internal debate going on for a few seconds before she said, ‘‘Your friend’s dead.’’
    ‘‘I—what?’’
    ‘‘Your friend Mr. Silverton. He didn’t make it, Jo. They tried, but he was too far gone. David and Lewis both tried, but nothing worked. They were scared about you, too.’’ Cherise’s expression told me everything I didn’t want to know about how bad off I really was. Bleeding gums were the least of my problems. ‘‘You’re going to have to rest up this time. Seriously.’’
    ‘‘But . . . did they say anything about the Djinn? The dead one? And the—’’
    ‘‘They said that under no circumstances was Joanne Baldwin supposed to jump out of bed and charge to anybody’s rescue. Seriously, Jo. Not your problem. Not anymore.’’ She reached out and smoothed hair back from my face. ‘‘You look like crap, by the way.’’
    ‘‘Gee, thanks. So glad you’re my affirmation girl.’’ I actually was glad, but I couldn’t let her know that. There was love, real and soothing, in the touch of her fingers. It lulled as much as the morphine. I felt sharp grief at the death of Jerome Silverton, and guilt. We’d gotten in over our heads, and that was the last thing we’d intended. I’d counted on Jerome, as the expert, to know when to back off. Instead, he’d continued though he’d known it was likely a suicide run. I guessed he thought it was necessary.
    ‘‘He wrote you a note,’’ Cherise said. ‘‘While he could still write. Do you want it?’’
    Cherise was a better mind reader than most of my magic-gifted colleagues. I sighed and nodded, feeling the hot prickle of tears in my eyes. She dug paper from the front pocket of her jeans, unfolded it, and handed it over.
    Jerome’s handwriting was messy. I couldn’t tell if that