Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [51]
I don’t know what I was about to say, because suddenly the Traveler lifted his shield. Padma’s power crashed over us. It thundered over me, filling my head, scrambling every thought I had. I fell to my knees like I’d been hit by a hammer between the eyes.
Jean-Claude stayed standing, but I felt him sway beside me.
Padma laughed. “He cannot re-enter another host and maintain his shield.”
A voice came like a wind easing through the room. I wasn’t sure if I heard the voice out loud or if it was just in my head. “He will need his powers in the hallway. I chose to lift the shield. Enough games, Padma. Let him see what lies beyond.” There was a scent with the words; fresh turned earth, the smell of roots pulled from the ground. I could almost feel the crumble of rich black soil between my hands. I squeezed my hands around the Browning until they shook, and I still couldn’t shake the sense of earth between my hands on the gun. Even staring at the gun, seeing it was clean, didn’t make it go away.
“What’s happening?” I asked. Surprised and pleased that I could form a coherent sentence.
“They are council,” Jean-Claude said. “They have taken off, how would you say, the gloves?”
“Shit,” I said.
Padma laughed. He stared at me, and I knew he was concentrating just for little ol’ me. His power slammed over me, into me. It was halfway between putting your hand on a live electric wire and shoving the same hand into fire. The electric heat ate through my body. The heat gathered in the center of me. It flexed like a fist growing larger, larger. If he spread his fingers inside me, he’d tear me apart, burst me from the inside out with just his power. I screamed.
16
A COOL TOUCH slid over the heat. A wind, cool and easeful as death, swept over my body. The wind blew my hair back from my face. Blessed coolness filled me. Jean-Claude’s hands caressed my shoulders. He was kneeling on the floor, cradling me in his arms. I didn’t remember falling. His skin was cool to the touch. I knew that somehow he was throwing his hard-won warmth away. His warmth to cool the fire.
That awful pressure inside of me eased, then shrank. It was like Jean-Claude was a wind blowing out Padma’s fire. But it cost him. I felt his heart slow. The blood in his veins flowed slow and slower. The warmth that mimicked life was leaving him, and death seeped inside to fill its place.
I turned in his arms so I could see his face. The face was pale and perfect, and you’d never have known, just by watching, what it had cost him to save me.
Hannah turned to us, her battered face set in calm lines. “My apologies, Jean-Claude. My compatriot has let your servant’s defiance best his judgment.”
Willie stepped away from Hannah, shaking his head. “Damn you, damn you.”
Hannah’s grey eyes turned to him, angry. “Do not tempt me, little one. You cannot trade insults with me and survive.”
“Willie,” Jean-Claude said. There was no power to the word, just a warning. It was enough. Willie stepped back.
Jean-Claude looked at the Traveler in his new body. “If he had killed Anita, I might have died with her. Is that why you have truly come? To kill us?”
“I swear it is not.” Where he’d made Willie glide, Hannah was awkward on her stiletto heels. He didn’t fall, but he didn’t glide either. It was almost heartening. He wasn’t perfect.
“To prove my sincerity,” he said, “take your warmth back from your servant. We will not stop you.”
“He thrust me out,” Padma said. “How can you allow him to grow strong again?”
“You sound afraid,” the Traveler said.
“I do not fear him,” Padma said.
“Then let him feed.”
I leaned into Jean-Claude’s chest, resting my cheek against the mound of silken ruffles on the front of his shirt. His heart had stopped beating. He wasn’t even breathing. He’d used too much of himself up.
I watched Padma from the safety of Jean-Claude’s arms and knew I would kill him. I knew that Padma wanted us dead. I’d felt it. No one as powerful as he was lost control that badly. He’d nearly