Fire Within (27 page)

“A few weeks!” the woman shrieked. “His face is going to look like that for weeks? Charlie, did you hear that? You’re going to ruin Charlene’s wedding.” With that pronouncement, apparently realizing the enormity of this insult to her orderly world, Henrietta’s tears started to flow.

Ari exchanged a helpless look with the paramedics. How could she stop the flood? At best, she was a resource counselor, not a damn shrink. And unlike a couple of her sister witches, she had no ability for healing others, except for potions, and the law didn’t allow her to use those on humans. She tried patting the lady’s shoulder but Mrs. Stillman continued to shake with sobs. Ari didn’t seem to be making much headway. She flashed the paramedic an apologetic look and took the coward’s route. She left.

Ari scooted into the space on the far side of Charlie Stillman, watched the deft fingers of the male EMT dab ointment on Charlie’s face, and waited for a break in their conversation. The moment the young man finished his care instructions, Charlie turned to his wife.

“For Heaven’s sake, Hettie, get a hold of yourself. These folks are going to think you’re a ninny.” In spite of this tough talk, Charlie took his wife’s good hand and squeezed it. “There, there, sugar. That’s better,” he added as she showed signs of calming. Her rapid breathing slowed, and then the tears stopped.

When she was down to sniffles, Charlie turned toward Ari. “You’ll have to excuse her, Miss. She’s had quite a shock.”

“I understand. You’ve both been through a bad experience. The club owner, Andreas De Luca, wanted me to assure you that your medical bills will be covered.” She knew Andreas would approve of that. “When the club reopens, he’d like you to accept a champagne dinner for two, on the house. It’s the least we can do.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Charlie said. His wrinkled face managed a half-smile. “You thank him for us. See there, Hettie, everything will be all right.”

“If you say so, Charlie.”

Ari hoped she didn’t look as astonished as she felt. Under Charlie’s experienced touch, the watering pot had been transformed. Ari breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you tell me what happened?” she ventured, hoping the question wouldn’t set the wife off again.

“I don’t rightly know,” he said. “We had just arrived when something came flying through the window.”

“The tiffany panel. It came through that lovely tiffany panel next to the door,” his wife corrected.

“Yes, dear,” Charlie agreed. “Whatever it was, it was on fire. Window pieces struck my face, scorching hot. And Hettie’s sleeve caught on fire. Somebody pulled us behind the front desk. There was smoke everywhere, and I had trouble breathing.” He patted his wife’s hand. “That nice young man over there took us outside.” He pointed toward Marcus, who was standing with Andreas and two firefighters. “He stayed with us, too. Until the fire trucks and paramedics came.”

“Who said it was a Molotov cocktail?”

“That’s what Hettie heard,” he said, and his wife bobbed her head.

“That fireman over there.” She pointed with her good hand to one of the men standing with Andreas. “Heard him say so.”

Ari gave them an agreeable nod. A logical conclusion, if you didn’t know about the demon. She could smell the ozone, a by-product of magical fire. The fireman wouldn’t know what that meant. Under the circumstances, a Molotov cocktail was a better story than the truth.

“We’re ready to go,” the paramedic reported to Ari. “These folks should be seen by the ER docs, and we’re ready to transport.”

“Good. I’ll let you get on your way.” She turned back to the Stillmans. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Anyone you want me to call?”

“Thank you, but no,” Charlie said. “Already called my son. He’ll meet us at St. Mary’s Hospital. We’ll be fine.” The painkillers had kicked in and Charlie’s face had lost the stress creases. “You tell Mr. De Luca, we’ll be back for that dinner.”

“Any time, sir. The guest reservations will be at the front desk whenever you can make it. If you call ahead, we’ll save you the best table.”

Ari heaved a sigh of relief as the rescue van drove away. Playing nursemaid was not her best role, but the Stillmans were getting the care they needed, and with any luck, the club wouldn’t be sued.

She checked once more on the vamp gang, discovered most of them had left, and made her way over to Marcus. The smoke was down to wisps, and the firefighters were starting to put their equipment away. Andreas had disappeared.

“He’s inside,” Marcus said immediately. “The fire was contained around the front door and the host station. The club was packed, but everyone got out.”

“Close call. We were lucky.”

“Yeah. It could have burned to the ground.” Marcus shuffled his feet. “I should have been better prepared for something like this.”

Ari flushed. Her bad temper was coming back to haunt her. “You’re not to blame for this. You did a great job in getting everyone to safety. And club security’s not your problem.” She tugged on his arm until he looked at her. “Not tonight and not the day of the shooting. I’m sorry, Marcus. I should have apologized sooner. I was wrong to say those things to you. I was upset, and, oh hell, sometimes I can be a bitch.”

Marcus ducked his head to hide a swift grin.

“Believe me,” she continued, “if I’m right about who did this, there isn’t anything you could have done.”

“What do you mean? Do you know who did it?”

Ari glanced at the area where the young vampires had been. Two of them were still watching and listening. “Not out here. Ask Andreas later. Let’s worry about the club first.”

Marcus frowned, shrugged, and took off toward a group of staff members. Ari went in search of Andreas. She wasn’t sure how much they could do tonight, except start the planning, but she was willing to do her share.

She found him in the main dining room, staring at the charred walls and soaked floors of the entry. Pieces of shattered glass littered the floor; the once beautiful cherry wood sat blistered and buckled; torn drapes, laden with water hung forlornly, and soot covered everything in sight. The pungent stench stung her nose.

She picked her way to Andreas’s side, the floor squishing where she walked, and slipped her hand in his.

“Your Lt. Foster called,” he said. “He is working on another case but will be here in the morning. He wants to talk with the fire investigators first. The cleanup has to wait until everyone else is finished.”

“And after that?”

He looked at the entry again, his jaw line hardening. “We rebuild, reopen, and find the devil’s spawn that did this.”

* * *

When Ari arrived home from the club, it was near dawn. It had taken hours to obtain all the names, double check that patrons and staff were safe, and secure the premises from possible vandals. She collected the morning paper from in front of her door and dropped it on the kitchen counter. Her nose was stuffy, smarting from the heavy smoke. Bed would have to wait a few more minutes. She stripped and stepped into the shower. Even her insides must be covered in smoke and soot. After ten minutes of soaping and scrubbing, she gave up. She could still smell the acrid residue of the fire.

Cuddling in a large bath towel, she searched for and found clean sleep clothes and was climbing into bed when her phone started its insistent clamor. She glanced at the bedside clock. 5:37 a.m. Another day ruined before she even got to bed.

“Get your paper,” Ryan’s voice demanded. “I’ll wait.”

“Just tell me. Is this about the fire?” she asked, rubbing her gritty eyes with a free hand. She was in no mood to listen to Ryan bitch.

“‘Killer Stalks Vamps!’” he sputtered. “I particularly liked this line: ‘A bystander described the recent attacks as a cowardly series of hate crimes.’ What’s
The Clarion
trying to do? Start a riot?”

When he mentioned
The Clarion,
she realized he must be reading from the morning news. “Why don’t you call them and ask? Instead of keeping me from my bed?” Ari padded across the room, tripped over a discarded shoe, and grabbed the paper from the kitchen counter.

“It’s the headline! Don’t you get it?”

She opened the paper, and the horrifying words jumped out at her. “Oh yeah, I get it,” she said, her heart sinking. “This is harsh. But how is bitching at me going to help?”

“Maybe it won’t, but I could strangle that sonofabitch Eddie West.” Ryan was furious. “He's been a pain from the beginning of this case, but this is the last straw. It’s bad enough we have some asshole demon running around killing people and starting fires. Now the press. This is deliberately inflammatory!”

“Okay, calm down. I’ll call Eddie and see what’s going on. Maybe I can at least prevent more articles like this. He doesn’t understand how bad things are. I learned last night that many of the younger vamps have demanded that Prince Daron approve a hunt for the killer.”

“A hunt? Dammit. Why didn’t you call me? You thought I didn’t need to know?” He uttered a few more choice words, and Ari let him vent. She had to agree that the case was going to hell in a hurry, and
The Clarion
article only made things worse.

“I would have told you right away, but it was late, and then there was the fire. Besides, Prince Daron has them under control, at least for now.” She was annoyed she had to defend herself. “Give me a break, Ryan. I haven’t been to bed yet. But since I’m still up, I’ll call Eddie now.”

“I want to know what he says, so call me afterwards. I’m at the fire scene now. You’re not the only one who’s short on sleep.”

She hung up before the conversation deteriorated further and rummaged in the fridge for a diet cola. She downed it in one long swig. The throat burn actually felt good. At least it got her going again. She had Eddie’s private number on speed dial and figured he deserved to be up. When he answered on the first ring, she realized someone had gotten to him first. She was sorry to have been deprived of the pleasure.

“Did you really write this story?” she demanded. She had read every word of the article—twice. It was bad. Eddie’s by-line stared her in the face.

“Most of it, but I didn’t choose the headline. Honest. It was less dramatic when I last saw it, but you can’t expect us not to print the facts.”

“The facts, yes, but this is misleading. It seems geared toward arousing a public outcry.”

“In what way? I reported that three vamps have been killed, and two of the murders were similar. That’s true. It doesn’t take such a big leap of logic to assume the third killing is connected. And there’s the shots fired at Andreas, another
vampire
, and the firebombing last night at a
vampire
club. Even the spray painting.
House of Monsters.
While vampires aren’t the only monsters, I think the meaning is clear. Somebody hates the vampires.”

“And this helps? Some of the younger vampires are already threatening to find the killer themselves. This just fires up everybody. Are you sure you didn’t write this to get even for your time in jail?”

He didn’t answer for a long, heavy moment. “I hope that was a bad joke,” he finally said. “I have professional ethics. This isn’t a vendetta. How can you even ask that, after I suppressed the story the last time you asked?”

It was true. Nearly a year ago Ari had asked him not to print a story that revealed too much about the vampires, and he hadn’t. But that was before the cops arrested him. That could have changed his perspective. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be scooped again.

“This will make trouble,” she predicted. “The article is irresponsible.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” he said, anger making his voice rough. “I have a job to do, and the public has a right to know what’s happening. Do the vamps know someone wants to kill them? Or were you keeping that little secret to yourself?”

“What’s gotten into you? Did you hear me say they want to form a hunt? Of course, they know. Warnings went out through the community. But your article implies someone is indiscriminately killing vampires. That’s not how I see it. You’ll have every vamp in town jumping at shadows, and they could start hunting humans in spite of Prince Daron’s disapproval.”

“I don’t want to get anybody killed,” Eddie muttered. “What do you expect me to do, when all I get from official sources is the run-around? Maybe you need to tell me the story. Explain how I’m wrong.”

“After this? No way.” Ari sighed, reined in her temper, and backtracked. “At least not until it’s safe to release the story. Talk with your bosses, tone down the inflammatory stuff. Maybe even get the story off the front page.” She forced herself to be reasonable, conciliatory. Eddie wasn’t the enemy, and she didn’t want to make him one. “Your paper’s being manipulated by a clever killer. Please don’t feed into the public panic it seems to crave.” She’d said all she could and maybe more than she should. But Eddie would think it over, and she hoped it would influence his discussions with the newspaper management.

“You know who’s doing this, don’t you? Can’t you give me a hint?” Emotion simmered in his voice. “No, I suppose not. I’ll do what I can, but the story sells papers. Maybe I can find a positive angle, but no promises. Hey, what did you mean by
it
?”

Ari faked a hesitation, as if she were reluctant and hadn’t deliberately dropped the hint. “Off the record?”

Eddie groaned. “That good, huh?”

“Off the record,” she repeated to make sure he understood. “Suspects from the drive-by were apprehended. It was an attempted hit, and the money man isn’t human.”

“By not human, do you mean a werewolf or vampire?” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Was that the standoff yesterday afternoon where one of the suspects died?” Renewed interest sparked in his voice.

“I’ve told you all I can, but I think you see the problem. Your article incorrectly fed the community belief that the killer is human. You can’t tell them that’s wrong. Just back off on the hate crime rhetoric.”

“What about the fire? Is that part of this? Or something personal?”

“We’re working on it. Give us a chance.” Impatience seeped into her voice.