Dime Store Magic (53 page)
He nodded. "Good idea. While you do that, if you don't mind, I'll toss my other set of clothing in the laundry."
"Oh, that's right. You've only got the two sets. Here, give me your dirty clothes—"
"I've got it, Paige. You go on with Savannah."
"Later, we should get your bags from the motel and bring them back here." I paused. "That is, if we're staying here. We should discuss that, too."
He nodded and I walked to the kitchen doorway. Savannah looked up from measuring tea.
"Leave that, hon," I said. "Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm fine. How about we run through that ceremony of your mom's, make sure I get it right?"
"Sure."
"Let me get my stuff, then, and we'll head downstairs."
Savannah followed me into my room. As I pulled my knapsack from its hiding place, the window smashed behind me. Savannah screamed and I wheeled around just as a football-sized rock crashed into the far wall. It hit the throw rug, rolling once and leaving a trail of red. Thinking it was blood, I spun to face Savannah, but she was running to the window, unharmed.
"Get away from there!" I yelled.
"I want to see who threw—"
"No!"
I grabbed her arm and wrenched her back. As I turned, I saw a word smeared in red paint on the large rock: BURN.
I dragged Savannah from the room as Cortez came sprinting from the kitchen.
"I was in the basement," he said. "What happened?"
I grabbed the phone and dialed 911 as Savannah explained about the rock. Cortez's face went grim and he marched to the kitchen window to look out back. As I was telling the 911 dispatcher what had happened, he took the phone from me.
"Get the fire department here now," he said to the 911 operator. "Police and fire. Immediately."
While he gave details, I ran to the window. My shed was engulfed in flames, fueled by the gasoline for the lawn mower and God knew what other flammable liquids.
Suddenly the shed exploded. The boom resounded through the house.
When the next crash came, I thought it was still the shed—until shards of glass hit my face and something struck my shoulder.
Cortez yelled and dove at me, grabbing the back of my shirt and yanking me backward so hard I flew off my feet. As he pulled me from the kitchen, I saw what had hit me. A bottle stuffed with a flaming rag. I was barely out of the room when whatever filled the bottle ignited. A ball of fire flared, filling my kitchen with flame and smoke.
"Savannah, get down!" Cortez shouted. "Crawl to the door!"
From the back of the house, I heard another window break. My office!
Oh, God, all my work was in there. As I wrenched free of Cortez's grasp, I remembered what other room was at the back of the house and what even more precious contents it held.
"My room! The ceremony material and the grimoires."
Cortez tried to grab me, but I lunged out of his reach. Sirens and shouts sounded, nearly drowned out by the crackle of fire. Two steps from my room, a cloud of smoke hit me. I reeled back, gagging. Instinctively I breathed deeper, gasping for air and filling my lungs with smoke. After a split second of animal panic, sense returned and I dropped onto all fours and crawled into my room.
My bed looked like a demonic fire-beast, a four-legged mass of flame, devouring everything within reach. A gust of wind billowed through the broken window, blowing smoke into my face and blinding me. I continued forward, moving from memory, fingers outstretched. I found the knapsack first and wrapped the straps around one hand as the other continued to search. When I touched the edge of the trapdoor, I stopped and began feeling around it. My fingers connected with the white-hot metal of the clasp and I jerked away, backing into the flaming throw rug.
For one moment, it was too much. The ancient fear of fire gnawed away reason, filling my brain with the smell, sound, taste, and feel of the flames. I froze, unable to move, certain I would die here, condemned to a witch's death. The horror of that thought—the very idea of curling up and surrendering to fear—restored my senses.
Ignoring the pain, I flipped the clasp and opened the trapdoor. A moment later, I had the second backpack. I seized the straps, yanked it from the cubbyhole, and started to creep backward, crablike, toward the door. I'd barely gone two feet when Cortez grabbed my ankle and dragged me out.
"That way," he said, pushing me forward. "To the door. Don't stand up.
Oh, shit!"
He tackled me, knocking me to the floor just as I felt flames lick my calves. As he beat at flames on my back, I twisted to see that the hem of my skirt had also ignited. I kicked against the wall, but the sharp movement only made the flames burn brighter. Cortez slapped out the fire with his hands. Then he grabbed the knapsacks from my hand.
"I have them," he said. "Don't look back. Just keep moving."
I started forward. The rear of the house was ablaze. Tongues of fire licked across the house toward the front and, when I passed the living room, I turned to see the drapes ignite. Breathing through my mouth, I pushed forward, willing myself to crawl over small pockets of fire in my path. At the front hall, I paused to glance over my shoulder for Cortez. He waved me forward. I crawled to the open back door and toppled outside.
A man in a uniform caught me and shoved a cloth over my nose and mouth. I inhaled a deep breath of something cold and metallic. I grabbed the man's arm, gesturing that I could breathe without medical help. Above me, his face wobbled out of focus. I wrenched around, looking behind me for Cortez. I saw the open doorway and empty hall. Then my limbs gave way and everything went black.
Package Deal
I AWOKE WITH A HEADACHE THAT FELT LIKE A CHISEL
striking behind my eyes. When I lifted my head, bile rushed to my mouth and I hunched over, gagging and spitting. Every time I tried to rise, nausea forced me down. Finally I gave up and collapsed.
Where was I? When I opened my eyes, I saw only darkness. The last thing I remembered was drifting off to sleep with Cortez beside me.
Flashes of nightmare illuminated the darkness. The taste of smoke made me retch again. As I did, my fingers clenched the sheets and I hesitated, running my thumb over the cloth. These weren't my sheets.
"Cortez?" I shifted onto my side. "Lucas?"
As I squinted into the darkness, my eyes adjusted enough to make out shapes. Another twin bed to my left. A nightstand above me. I reached for the light and flicked the switch, but nothing happened. My fingers crept to the bulb and found an empty socket. I jumped up, stomach lurching with the sudden movement.
Across the room Savannah muttered in her sleep.
"Savannah?"
She made a noise, half-stirring.
The door swung open. A woman stood in the entrance, illuminated by the hall light. I blinked twice but my eyes wouldn't focus.
"Finally. We thought you girls were going to sleep all day."
With that voice, my heart stopped.
Leah
. I flung myself from the bed and tried to locate Savannah but my legs buckled under me and I fell to the carpet.
"Stay in bed," a man's voice said. "You won't be ready to walk yet."
I tried to push myself up from the floor, but couldn't. Leah and her partner stood outside the door, neither making any move to help me. A staccato series of beeps filled the silence, then the man murmured something.
"A cell phone?" Leah said when he finished the call. "Jesus, Friesen.
He's in the next room."
"Standard communication procedure. Mr. Nast wants to see them immediately."
The man—Friesen—moved into the light and I recognized him as the
"paramedic" who'd helped me out of the burning house. Early thirties, dirty blond brush cut, with the oversized build of a quarterback and the misshapen face of a boxer.
But who was Nast? I should have known, but my brain wouldn't focus any better than my eyes. I repeated the name in my head, my stomach clenching with each iteration. Nast was… wrong. Someone I didn't want to meet. My gut told me that. But…
"My throat hurts," Savannah said.
"We'll get you a cold drink in a sec, kiddo," Leah said. "You just lie there and relax."
Savannah. Nast. The connection fired. Savannah's father. Kristof Nast.
Oh, God.
"Sa—Savannah?" I managed, struggling to my feet. "I have to ta—talk to you, hon."
"No talking," Friesen said. "Mr. Nast will want her to save her energy."
I made it to Savannah's bed and sat down on the edge. I had to swallow several times before my throat would open. "Nast is—" I stopped, realizing I couldn't just blurt it out. She needed to know more. "Kristof Nast. He's a sorcerer. He's the head… no, the son of the head of the Nast Cabal."
She blinked. "Like Lucas?"
"No, not like Lucas." At the mention of Cortez's name, I remembered the last time I'd seen him, crawling behind me in the burning house. I hadn't seen him get out. Had they—? Oh, God. I swallowed hard and tried not to think of that. "The Nast Cabal—"
"Enough," Leah said. "If you haven't told her by now, we should leave it for a surprise. Do you like surprises, Savannah?"
Savannah glared at her. "Don't talk to me."
"Savannah, there's something else—" I began.
"Nope," Leah said, grabbing my shoulders and propelling me off the bed. "It's gonna be a surprise. Trust me, kiddo, you're gonna love this one.