Unspoken

Chapter 2-1

Two

The canned chicken hadn’t sat so well — or maybe it was the rainwater she’d collected in a carefully concealed barrel, even though she’d been careful to boil it — but she’d gotten past the stomach rumblings and managed to sleep as well as she ever could. Not for the first time, Amber wondered whether she should dare to try cultivating a small vegetable patch in a hidden corner of the gardens somewhere, if for no other reason than to give herself some fresh food to eat. She’d supplemented her bad diet with vitamins she’d scrounged from the local Walgreens, but lately, she’d been feeling weak and tired and rundown, as if her body had finally begun to rebel against the ongoing lack of decent nutrition.

And if she felt this crappy now, was she really in any shape to be contemplating some kind of cross-country trek to search for humanity’s survivors?

Well, she could figure out all that later. For now, it was enough to eat a protein bar and some dried cranberries, to do one of her utterly unsatisfactory spritzes with the rainwater she used for drinking and for washing her face and body as best she could. There was still plenty of standing water here on the grounds of the Huntington, in the ponds in the Chinese and Japanese gardens, but Amber doubted it was suitable for bathing. She knew she should be glad that the past two winters had been singularly wet for Southern California, as if the drought that had plagued the area for years had somehow disappeared the same time as all the people. But, pretty as the ponds were — and as well-stocked with frogs, which she could hear burbling away during the quiet evenings here — they wouldn’t help much with getting her clean.

After she was done with her sponge bath, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and got dressed in some jeans and a T-shirt and hiking boots. The clothes were practical, but God, she hated them. She hated this not-so-brave new world, really; more than anything, she wished she could snap her fingers and return herself to a time when she could walk into a party on her four-inch Christian Louboutin stilettos, Prada bag slung over her arm, a slim-fitting Versace showing off the sleek curves of her figure. True, she’d looked every inch the shallow SoCal rich b***h most people thought she was, but she’d also known she looked hot.

And now…now she thought she’d seriously murder someone for a shower. Even a lukewarm one.

Amber rolled up her sleeping bag, put the empty water bottle in the big trash can she emptied once a week into a pile out back behind the building, and then began her customary careful ascent up the stairs to the main level of the visitors’ center. As usual, she had a hand-cranked flashlight to illuminate the pitch-black stairwell, even though by this point, she probably could have navigated the steps blindfolded.

When she emerged into the hallway, she looked from side to side, just as she always did, one hand resting on the hunting knife she’d taken to wearing on her belt. Whether or not she’d be able to use that knife in any effective way was up for debate, but it made her feel a little safer, a little braver. Back when all this had started, she’d thought about getting a gun and then quickly discarded the notion, mostly because she’d never shot a gun in her life and was worried she might accidentally hurt herself with the damn thing.

Just as on every other day since she’d taken up residence here, the hallway was clear, as was the main reception area toward the front of the building. Outside, the day was already bright and sunny, a faint breeze stirring the day lilies in the garden beds in the courtyard. Once upon a time, that courtyard had been full of people eager to walk the garden paths or view the priceless works of art in the main gallery, but now it was just as empty as the rest of the world. The little kiosk where she’d once bought chai tea and watched people go by while her mother was occupied with a meeting with the other Huntington Fellows still remained, but she’d long since looted it of anything useful.

In addition to that shower, Amber thought she’d kill for one of those chai teas, foamy with milk, spicy with cinnamon. Who cared about the calories? She’d always been slender, but now she was downright skinny. In another year, she probably wouldn’t have any boobs left.

If she lived that long, of course.

After giving a cautious glance from side to side, she emerged from the building, walked across the courtyard, and went down the steps, heading toward the Japanese garden. She couldn’t really articulate why, but she found herself drawn there the most often, liked to sit on one of the stone benches outside the Japanese house that had apparently been brought here all the way from Kyoto. Even though she’d known doing so might attract attention, she’d been careful to close the screens that protected the interior of the house, since she didn’t want any of the sparsely elegant furnishings inside to get ruined by the rain or by wild animals. Squirrels and rabbits were plentiful here, and there had been times when she’d heard coyotes howling at the moon, so she knew there was plenty of wildlife around. Whatever had killed off the people, it didn’t seem to have done anything to the animals. In fact, she’d spotted roving bands of dogs from time to time, but they’d always kept a safe distance from her. They’d looked healthy and happy, though, so clearly they’d found plenty to eat in the ruins of the world.

She sat on a bench and let the sun touch her face, warm her all through her body. Yes, it felt good to be outside like this, to not feel like the scared creature she knew herself to be, too afraid to even leave this place and go somewhere that might be an improvement, that could have people still living there.

Because as good as this felt, Amber knew it would be a whole lot better if she could have someone sitting here next to her.

Idris emerged in the main gallery at the Huntington Library, then stood there for a long moment, arms crossed, surveying the portraits displayed there. They were all uniformly large in scale, his own height or even more, in grand gilt frames that appeared to shimmer against the dark green walls. The subjects of those portraits, in dress from days long gone by, seemed to stare down at him with narrowed eyes, as if they knew all too well the role his people had played in ensuring that this world would be free of their kind.

Strangely, he found himself wanting to speak, to tell them that, while the elders had not prevented the majority of djinn from carrying out their bloodthirsty plans, neither he nor Istar nor Ibram had had any active part in that g******e. Their duty was to intercede when personal feuds among djinn threatened to become deadly, or when one of their kind went against the few laws that bound them. But most of the djinn had agreed that humanity had become far too dangerous, and that it was time to end their reign on this world they’d treated so shabbily. The elders could do little except allow the conscientious objectors, the One Thousand, to save a human each, and to be able to live apart from the rest of their people in new communities of Chosen and djinn.

But there was no point in making such protests to these painted portraits of people long dead, and so Idris made himself narrow his eyes and look at the room in an objective fashion. Honestly, he did not see much to change here, although he would remove the tables from the center of the chamber, and provide more comfortable seating so that he might sit here if he wished and look at the paintings. Gone, too, would be the modern track lighting installed on the ceiling; perhaps he would open up the ceiling with a skylight and allow natural light to enter. All in all, though, those changes would be minor, something he could accomplish in very little time.

He left the gallery and went out into the main hallway, surveying the high ceilings and elegant columns and cool marble floor. Here, he saw nothing at all he would change, so he ascended the graceful curving staircase, one hand trailing along the metal of the railing as he went. While djinn were not the most social of beings, preferring to stay alone in the palaces they had constructed, or at best with a partner, Idris thought this would be an excellent setting for a gathering of some sort. He could imagine others of his kind coming and going on the steps, the brilliant silks of their finery glowing against the white marble.

And if not the djinn who’d cleansed the world — for they had never seemed to be a very sociable group — then perhaps some from a nearby community of djinn and Chosen. There was one not so very far away, only fifty or so miles to the west in the place that was once Bel-Air.

Satisfied with that plan, Idris continued his inspection, walking from room to room on the second floor, glad to see that so many of the original furnishings remained in place. Really, all he would have to do would be to remove the stanchions protecting the antique furniture, along with the nameplates and other badging that called out items of particular note. The library he admired particularly, with its floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases and enormous Aubusson rug on the wooden floor. A series of windows looked out onto the gardens, and he went there almost by instinct, laying his fingers on one of the handles so he might step out onto the balcony beyond.

A gentle breeze played with his hair, and he lifted his head to draw in a deep breath, smelling flowers and warm grass. From what he had been able to tell, the roses had survived quite well, although they were all in need of a good pruning. The grass, too, looked green and lush and wild. For a place that had just suffered two years of neglect, his new home appeared to be in far better repair than it had any right to. For now, it seemed as if he would not have to put in as much effort to make the place livable as he had thought.

He shifted, looking toward the Japanese garden and the enormous curved bridge that spanned the pond there. For just the barest instant, he thought he saw a flash of something pale near the house beyond, and he frowned. Surely someone else couldn’t be here?

But as he stared for a moment longer, he realized his eyes must have been playing tricks on him, or possibly what he had seen was merely the white tail of a deer. That made much more sense, for the local wildlife had begun to take over, ranging into suburban neighborhoods that had formerly been hostile to them. For all he knew, the main reason why the grass here looked so neatly cropped was because the deer and rabbits had been keeping it shorn.

Even so, he gazed toward the Japanese garden for another long moment, then let his eyes scan the grounds between here and there, looking for something that might indicate he wasn’t alone. Idris knew he was probably being foolish; there were no humans left, except those living with their djinn partners in their carefully protected communities. The last one living in the wild, so to speak, had been the young woman who’d stumbled onto Hasan al-Abyad’s property. Hasan was probably the last djinn Idris had ever thought would lose his heart to a human, but he’d proved to be more vulnerable than anyone had imagined, and now lived with his woman Jordan in Santa Fe.

At any rate, as far as anyone knew, Jordan was the last. Before she emerged, no other humans had been seen for many, many months, and while Idris supposed there might be one or two living in hiding here and there, he thought the odds of anyone lurking on the grounds of the Huntington Library were so low as to be laughable.

But then he recalled the young woman — barely more than a girl, really — whom he’d saved just as the Heat had begun to wind down, its deadly work done. He had come to this area to inspect the Huntington as a possible future dwelling place, since he and Ibram and Istar had already begun to consider where they would finally settle, even though they knew that day would be some time off. Already he’d rejected the Vanderbilt mansion on the East Coast of the United States as being too cold and too large, and he’d done the same with Hearst Castle in the northern part of California, while at the same time filing away the design of the indoor pool there for future reference. It had been quite grand, with its cobalt blue and rich gold tile, and something he thought he might enjoy adding to his home.