Free Heat Stroke by Rachel Caine Page B

felt the bottle in my fingers sliding free, out of control, heading in frozen ticks of time for the floor.
    David caught me as I fell. I heard the bottle hit the floor. Every nerve in my body fired as if a bolt of lightning hissed up from the ground, down from the clouds, caught me in its current and burned me into nothing.
    The bottle shouldn’t have broken, but it did, it shattered into a million glittering pieces. I felt myself breaking, too.
    I heard Jonathan say, “You should know better, David.” He was still sitting on the couch at ease, watching the two of us. “They’re too fragile. You’re working with flawed material. Talk about your lost causes—”
    â€œLeave her alone!” David yelled. He lifted me in his arms, and I felt the solid weight of him, the flaring pale beauty of fire reaching out to wrap me close. “Jonathan, please stop !”
    â€œNo. You stop me.” Jonathan wasn’t just a guy on a couch now, he was more than that, he was a vast power moving through the aetheric, a shadow on the wind, a storm on the air. “C’mon, David. Stop me. It’s easy, you’ve done it a thousand times. No big deal.”
    I was . . . unraveling. Breaking apart. Being subsumed into something vast and unknown and deep as space, sweet as pure cold mountain air . . .
    I felt David grabbing for me on the aetheric,struggling to hang on, but it was like trying to hold sand in the wind.
    Stop me, Jonathan said, in the aetheric, in the world, in that other place I couldn’t even name yet. Come on, David. Just do it.
    â€œI can’t!” David’s raw scream of rage sounded torn out of him with pliers. “Jonathan, I’m begging you, please stop !”
    And Jonathan let go. I fell back into flesh, into David’s arms, into pain. Oh, God, that hurt. Everything too bright, too sharp, too cold, too hot. For a few aching seconds I wanted to go back to that place where Jonathan had taken me, the place on the edge of nothing. I wanted oblivion with an intensity that scared me.
    Jonathan picked up a beer bottle and took a long, throat-working gulp, put the empty down, and sat back with his arms crossed. Looking at the two of us. I couldn’t tell anything at all from his expression. Had all of that, all of me meant anything to him at all?
    â€œSo, did you tell her?” he asked. No answer from David, but I could feel the trembling of his muscles. “Of course you didn’t. Look—what’s your name? Joanne?—Djinn live by rules, and one of the rules is that humans die while we go on. Like it or not, there’s nothing we can do about that.” His dark, dark eyes moved to David’s face. “We can’t create energy, all we can do is translate it from one form to another. The demons that killed you ate the energy that kept you alive, and you died. So David stole life energy from another source to bring you back.”
    David let me slide down to stand on my feet, buthe kept a hand on my arm, steadying me. I felt sick, lightheaded. “What?” I whispered.
    Jonathan sighed. “He stole life energy and gave it to you.”
    â€œStole it?” Oh, God, don’t tell me he killed someone else. Don’t tell me that.
    Jonathan’s eyes flicked past me to David, who said, “I didn’t steal it. I took it. From myself.”
    Jonathan nodded. “Yeah. David ripped out half of his life and gave it to you. Which means . . . what exactly does that mean, David? Enlighten us.”
    â€œNothing.”
    Jonathan rolled his eyes, reached for David’s untouched beer, and took a swig. “You know, you’ve got one hell of a martyr thing going, maybe you ought to drop by and try it out on the pope. Nothing. Bullshit. You’re committing suicide by girl.”
    David cut in, sounding very reasonable. Too reasonable; I could feel the wire-fine tension still singing in