Thin Air Read Online Free PDF Page B

told me was normal…into the lives of two men who each had some agenda that I wasn’t sure I could understand.
    But one thing I knew for sure: Lewis was lying to me. I was certain of that. For good reasons, maybe…and maybe not. I didn’t really know him. Lewis and David…they were just strangers. Strangers who’d helped me, yes, but still. I didn’t know them. I didn’t know what they wanted from me.
    Deep down, I was scared that the next time I asked questions, they were going to start telling me the truth.

T WO
    We broke camp at dawn—well, Lewis broke camp, moving as if doing it were as normal as stumbling out of bed and making coffee. I mostly sat off to the side, huddled in his down jacket. Lewis had layered on all the clothes he had in the backpack—thermals next to his skin, and T-shirts, flannel, and sweaters over it.
    He was going to die if he didn’t have a coat. I was still shivering, and I was practically certified for the arctic in the down jacket.
    I made a halfhearted attempt to give it back.
    â€œNo,” he said, not even pausing. “Zip it up. You need to keep the core of your body warm.”
    â€œBut…you’re—”
    â€œI’ll be fine. One thing about Earth Wardens: We’re not likely to die of the cold.” Maybe not, but his lips looked a little blue, and so did his fingernails. As I stared at his hands, he noticed, frowned at them, and dug a pair of insulated gloves from a zippered pocket in the backpack. He continued to break down the camp. I shoveled sand over the fire pit, smothering the embers, and looked around for something else to do. Nothing, really. I shoved my cold, aching fingers back into the pockets of the jacket.
    There was still no sign of David. Lewis didn’t refer to his absence. Neither did I. Lewis rolled the sleeping bags into tight little coils, tied them off, and then broke down the tent into a small pouch and some short telescoping rods. It all went into the backpack. He handed me a bottle of water and a granola bar—no coffee—and I frowned at the bottle and shook it.
    Frozen solid. “Um…”
    â€œMelt it,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMelt the ice,” he said. “You’re a Weather Warden. Melt the ice.”
    I had no idea what he was talking about. I remembered the world that David had shown me, but I couldn’t think how to apply that to the simple, practical problem in my hand.
    Lewis let out a growl of frustration, took the bottle and held it in his hand for about two seconds, then handed it back.
    It sloshed.
    â€œHow did you—”
    â€œWe don’t have time for lessons,” he interrupted. “Let’s move.”
    â€œUm…shoes?”
    He stopped in midstride and looked back at me. I was fully dressed down to the thermal socks, but those were rapidly getting muddy and damp.
    â€œShit,” he said, surprised. “I forgot all about—”
    â€œI didn’t,” said a voice from behind me. I whirled to find David walking out of the trees, making a grand entrance that I instinctively knew must be standard procedure for a Djinn. He was holding a pair of hiking boots.
    And a fresh pair of thermal socks.
    And a backpack.
    â€œShopping,” he said, and handed everything over.
    â€œDon’t suppose you bought a Jeep while you were out,” Lewis said.
    â€œI can do a lot of things, but rearranging forest trails without attracting attention on the aetheric…”
    â€œRhetorical question.” Lewis kept not quite watching David, who’d picked up a stick and was idly poking it into the damp ground. “Any sign of trouble out there?” Which I supposed was a graceful way of asking if David had been off keeping watch, rather than brooding. Not that one precluded the other. I sat down on a fallen log, tugged off my muddied socks and put on fresh ones, then laced up the hiking boots. They