Firebug (14 page)

“No,” I said, my voice just as breathy as hers from the grip she had on me. “I didn't.”

She pursed her lips, which was difficult because of her fangs. “Then why did you do it?”

I didn't answer her and she shook me, the movement followed by the chime of her necklace hitting the floor, her motion finally dislodging the broken thing onto the ground. She looked at the shining chain as it puddled at her feet.

“That's why.” And as she gaped at the severed chain of her ward, sliced cleanly from the dull blade of the ax, I grabbed onto her arms and let her burn. Overconfidence, according to my mother, is the vampire's Achilles' heel. Fire may kill them, but it's often their hubris that opens the door. I guess when you've been an apex predator for so long, you forget that you aren't indestructible.

The vamp screamed and dropped both me and my mother, yanking her arm out of my grasp as she did. It didn't matter. I didn't need to touch her to keep the flames going. I ran for my mother, grabbing underneath her arms and dragging her out of the building. The cabin was starting to catch now. I didn't stop it. Once I had my mother at a safe distance, I ran to check on Benny. He hadn't moved, and I wasn't surprised to find no pulse. I used the side of my hand to close his eyes, told him good-bye, and then got out before the building collapsed on me.

The night air, so muggy and hot before, was cool on my skin now. We'd been using Benny's truck to get around, since our old station wagon had had its death throes somewhere in Tennessee. The truck was a gas guzzler, not to mention a stick shift, which I wasn't very good at, so I did a quick search for the car the Coterie flunkies had used. I found it parked just around the bend in our driveway, keys hanging from the ignition. Shaking my head once again at their freakish self-assurance, I was at least glad that it was working in my favor.

They had been driving a nice nondescript sedan, far better suited to my needs than the truck. I was, of course, way too young to drive legally, but knowing how to do something and being allowed to do it by law are two different things. I drove the car up to the cabin and pulled my mom into the back seat. She wasn't looking very good. My shirt was covered in her blood by the time I got her settled.

Someone had left a jacket in the passenger seat, which I handed to my mom to staunch the blood. She held it, but her grip was limp and she'd lost most of the color in her face. That flutter of panic came back and I ignored it. Wouldn't do me any good. Still, I was crying as I got back in and threw the car into reverse.

It took me about ten minutes of driving to find a sign for a hospital. I pulled up to the ER, parking the car in the ambulance lane as I ran to get a nurse, a doctor, a janitor—anything.

Things got blurry after that.

I remember white coats running around, and white floors, white bandages—that's what I remember, an overall impression of white. White, and the red of my mother's blood on my hands. On my shirt.

The doctors did what they could, but the damage was too extensive. I nodded at them numbly when they told me. I wasn't feeling much of anything; it was like all that running, spinning whiteness had seeped inside me. My brain wasn't working and my heart was gone. It had slipped away with my mother, following her into her coma, then death.

Things remained hazy as the people at the hospital talked to me and I stared at my hands. I finally snapped back to reality when they asked me if I had someone to call, someone who could come get me. The nurses were staring at me expectantly, sympathy on their faces.

Did I have someone to call? Yes, I did, the only person I trusted, but I also knew I couldn't hang around here waiting for him to play fetch. I was a sitting duck for not only the Coterie but Social Services as well. I nodded at the nice nurses and pretended to call a made-up relative. After telling them that a fictional aunt was on her way, they let me say good-bye to my mother. They didn't want me to—they said I should remember her the way she'd been. Like anything could make me forget her. As if seeing her now, peaceful and asleep, was worse than watching her bleed to death in the rearview mirror as I drove. Adults say the stupidest things sometimes.

I took her necklace and slipped it around my own neck. It wasn't much, a little silver heart with an interlocking star given to her by Cade when they weren't much older than I was now. He'd had to mow lawns, wash cars, and chop firewood to get it. It was the only thing my mom valued besides me.

I kissed her good-bye. A kind hospital employee brought me a clean scrub shirt to change into. The dried blood in my shirt stuck to my skin as I yanked it off. It was beyond redemption, but I couldn't just toss it. Leaving evidence for human police was a bad idea. Leaving it for the Coterie to find was even worse. If the next tracking team had a blood witch on hand, it would be disastrous. I'd never met one, but my mom had told me about them. They work with blood the way green witches work with plants. If I left my shirt, I might as well stay put and wrap a big bow around myself.

The pale blue scrub top was way too big for me. It looked weird with my jeans. I wrapped the old shirt in paper towels and shoved it into my waistband for the moment. I cleaned up as best I could in the sink, trying to think how I was going to slip out of the hospital. It was only a matter of time until someone called the cops or Social Services and I really only had one option: run. I was so tired of that being my only choice.

The nurse popped her head in and asked if I was okay on my own for a few minutes. She had a patient or something to get to, and I told her I would go back up to the front desk when I was done.

Every once in a while, things go your way.

I slipped out of the hospital and found the sedan pushed off to the side. Without the keys, which were safely in my pocket, that had been about all they could do until someone got around to calling a tow truck. After making sure no one was looking, I started the car and drove slowly away.

I drove until the car almost ran out of gas. Maybe I could have found a station to fill up at, but twelve-year-olds driving cars tend to attract attention, and I couldn't risk that. Plus, the back seat looked like a horror movie.

The scrub shirt had to go as well. I searched the car for anything that would help. There were a few roller bags and a backpack filled with clothes and a little bit of cash—probably travel money. I put on a shirt that must have belonged to the girl, which was a tad too big, but less conspicuous than the scrub shirt. Then I emptied the backpack and filled it with someone's hooded sweatshirt, the cash, a map, and a flashlight I'd found in the glove box.

I backed that car into the trees and got out, then set it on fire, making sure that my bloodied shirt was at the heart of the blaze. As the flames ate away the interior, I egged them on, amazed at the control I had over them. This wasn't like at the cabin—gut-reaction survival instinct fed by fear and adrenaline. No, this was something else. Like when you have a growth spurt and suddenly you fit into that jacket you really liked. For a split second you think it's the jacket—that it's shrunk. But then it hits you. You're the thing that's changed.

It was then that I realized I hadn't eaten since dinner. I should have sweet-talked the nurses into a candy bar or a soda or something, but I hadn't been thinking straight.

Ignoring my weakened condition, I kept the car blazing until the flames could go on their own. Too much evidence to just leave it.

I walked in the trees for a short time, not daring to come out until I found a service station. I bought the biggest Gatorade they had, several candy bars, and a better local map, one that had a bus station clearly marked on it. I was far enough from the hospital that I hoped no one would be looking for me. I bought a baseball hat anyway, pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, and tucked it under. With the hood up on the sweatshirt, you couldn't see my long hair. It would have to do.

I didn't have enough money to get a bus ticket all the way to Cade's, but I got pretty close. After that, I walked and sneaked the occasional ride. Dangerous, I know, but not as dangerous as waiting for the Coterie to finish me off.

By the time I got to Cade's door, I was soaked to the bone, exhausted, half-starved, and riddled with grief. He opened the door and I collapsed into him, glad I could finally let go and stop being in charge of myself. He didn't get a chance to ask what happened, but I think he figured it out from my sobbing.

He pulled me into his arms and let me cry. Once my sobs became hiccups, he deposited me on the couch under some blankets and went about the task of finding me dry clothes and warm food.

He didn't break down until he saw the necklace. That tiny silver heart and star. Though he tried to hide it, I could see the echoes of his own heart fracturing in his eyes. But he didn't let his grief stop him from taking care of me. From loving me.

Not then.

Not now.

Not ever.

7

S
HOCK
AND
A
WE

I
WOKE UP
sputtering. Ezra stood over me, an empty bottle of what had been ice-cold water held in his fist.

“Oh, good,” he said. “You're awake. We wouldn't want to go to the party without you.”

I loved Ezra, but sometimes I wanted to choke the damn life out of him. “Party?” My voice was a parched croak. Lock handed me a full bottle of water and I drank greedily.

“Yeah, while you were unconscious and vomiting, Owen popped in. Apparently Venus needs to talk to you again. Somehow he was unsurprised to find us all still here even though our shifts were over and your friends were gone.”

“You think we were set up?” Ezra asked, handing me a rough hand towel, probably filched from the kitchens.

“No, I think the world is full of wonderful coincidences,” Lock said, taking the empty bottle from me.

“So Venus knew I was going to get drunk and planned around it? Seems a little convoluted to me.”

“You don't drink, Aves,” Lock said, pointing at a spot I'd apparently missed. When I didn't get it, Ezra snatched my towel and wiped my chin.

“I had some of Ryan's drink by accident. Gin and tonic.”

Lock shook his head. “Even if you had two G&Ts, they wouldn't affect you like this. Someone slipped you something. Who was near your drink?”

“Ryan, of course, and the bartender maybe some of the wait staff…”

“Is that what you call careful?” Lock said. “Would it be faster for you to list who isn't a suspect?”

“Don't yell at me!” I shot back, shouting even though it made my head throb. “I've had a crappy night!”

“I'm not yelling!” Though even he seemed to figure out that he was, in fact, shouting at me. Ezra grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him into a corner like Lock was a naughty child. Then he handed the towel back to me and sat alongside me on the couch.

“I think what our friend is trying to say is that you scared us to death and we were extremely worried about you.”

“Ezra, when you say things like that, totally serious and without a single come-on or innuendo, I have a hard time taking you seriously.” I took another long pull on my water.

“Fine: We were worried about you, baby. Is that better?”

“That was actually kind of weak,” Lock said, coming out of his corner and joining us on the couch. “How are you feeling, Aves?”

“Remember that time Venus threw a mandatory pool party and we played Marco Polo with the nixies, and we won and they got so mad they tried to drown me and I puked water up all over the floor?”

“It sounds familiar, yes.”

“And the time we tried to subdue that Valkyrie who was sauced up on mead and we all ended up with concussions?”

“That's ringing a bell,” said Ezra.

“Combine those two feelings and multiply them by ten.”

“Excellent,” said Lock. “Then you're in just the right condition to deal with Venus. Ezra, tie your shoes and let's go.”

 

 

I HAD
to admit that Lock looked more badass than I did, in his leather jacket, his dark jeans, and his Purgatory shirt. Between the scorches, my tears, the combat boots I was wearing, and what was probably a little dried vomit—though I chose not to examine it closely to be sure—I resembled something out of a paramilitary group made up entirely of bedraggled orphans. Ezra, for some reason, was wearing a tailored black three-piece suit, a bright red carnation sticking out of the buttonhole. Apparently he had the suit in his locker. I don't know why, nor do I know where he procured a carnation at that hour. We flashed our passes and were let into the ostentatious elevators that led down into Hell. The doors closed with a soft hiss, and we were left staring at our reflections. Lock openly checked himself out, but I pretended not to.

“Not bad,” he said. “They will tremble before our badassery.”

“Yeah,” I said, checking my pockets for the fifth time, “because with all their strength and weaponry, they're going to get weak-kneed at the sight of your leather jacket.”

“Never underestimate a nice jacket,” Ezra said.

“And why are you wearing a suit, again?” I asked.

“Because I look spectacular,” he said. “Besides, no fox responds to a formal invitation looking like a common vagabond.” He ran his hands down his chest, smoothing the fabric. “No offense.”

“How could I possibly be offended by that?” I said.

“Good,” he said, patting my shoulder. “Glad we're on the same page.”

I can never tell if Ezra misses some of my sarcasm or if he simply chooses to ignore it.

Then the doors slid open. I wasn't sure what to expect. Maybe more guards, or Venus waiting for us by the elevator—something a little different from the usual, I guess. But everything was normal. I was so keyed up, I forgot that, for Venus and her goons, this was just another day at work. Clock in, launder some money, plan some assassinations, drink some blood, clock out.