Twilight Prophecy (15 page)

Racing up to them, a man in a heavy yellow coat and helmet, shouted, “Was anyone inside?”

Lucy opened her mouth, but Willem’s hand closed on her forearm, making her bite off the words she’d been about to shout. “No,” he said. “The house is empty.”

Nodding, the man returned to his work.

Lucy sent Willem a searching look.

“They’re either all right or they’re not,” he said. “If the flames reached them, they’re already gone.” His voice broke when he said it. “And if they didn’t, then they’ll be okay. The smoke won’t harm them. This is the work of vigilantes. Hate groups. We can’t risk revealing the presence of vampires to those bastards.”

Just then a familiar blue vehicle came bounding to a stop on the roadside, blocked from getting any closer by the fire trucks. James got out, and one look at his face told Lucy of his horror. Forgetting everything else, everything bad that had passed between them, she ran to him, stopping herself just short of flinging herself into his arms.

“Rhiannon?” he asked. “Fina?”

“They’re still inside—as far as we know.”

He gazed down into her eyes; then, his arm anchoring her to his side as if she belonged there, he strode up to the nearest firefighter. “Who’s responsible for this?”

The man shouted to be heard above the roar of the flames and hoses and trucks and pumps. “Rednecks trying to burn vampires while they sleep. Damn fools buying into all this hype on the TV. Press don’t know what harm they’re doing, playing into it the way they are. It’s sensationalism, is what it is. They need to get a handle on things—and fast. This is our fifth call today. Every last one of them arson.”

James turned, his eyes scanning the road in both directions, then the beach. Lucy noticed that his clothes were covered in ash and soot, and his hands were gray with it.

“You won’t find ’em hanging around,” the fireman said. “They throw their damned Molotov cocktails and run like hell. Cowards.”

“Oh, I’ll find them. Believe me, I’ll find them.”

James’s voice trembled as he spoke, and he held himself in check. But Lucy could feel the pent-up rage in him, and it frightened her.

“Any word on your family, James?” she asked softly.

He met her eyes, and his were bereft. “My parents’ home was burned. No sign of them. I don’t know if they left before…or if they…” He swallowed, cleared his throat, started over. “The others’ homes were empty. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know.”

For the first time she saw tears well up in his eyes. And for the first time, she realized, she saw him as he was. Not as a heroic angel or as a savior, not as a demon, but as a man. A man who didn’t know if his loved ones were dead or alive. A man in anguish. She did not stop herself any longer. She slid her arms around his waist, laid her head on his chest and just held him. “I pray they’re all right,” she whispered. “All of them.”

James had still been having doubts about his actions, mostly due to Lucy’s obvious disapproval of what he was doing, and why. He’d never been a man who believed a worthy end justified the use of immoral means. And yet he’d been employing just that: immoral means. He wasn’t kidding himself. He knew it was wrong to dabble in matters of life and death, matters that belonged to the discretion of the gods themselves, or to fate, or to whatever higher power was in charge of the world and its inhabitants. He knew it was wrong of him to try to take charge of life and death. But he’d believed he had no choice if he wanted to save his people. He’d felt he had been born to do this, right or wrong. He’d chosen to proceed on a morally questionable path for the greater good.

But now that he saw what the world of man was capable of firsthand, he no longer had any question about the rightness or wrongness of his actions. This was war. His people needed a champion, and he’d been chosen to be the one. If this wasn’t proof positive of that fact, he didn’t know what was.

Any people who could try to annihilate innocents while they slept, completely helpless to fight back, had long since tossed morality to the winds. And one couldn’t fight that kind of evil by following the rules.

He was going to do whatever it took to raise Utanapishtim from the dead, and then he was going to fight by that ancient immortal’s side to preserve his race.

Lucy’s arms around him, her head on his chest, finally drew his eyes to hers. She was shaken right to the core, and hot tears were burning streaks down her face as she tipped it up to his. “I don’t see Willem anymore. Where did he…?”

Alarm clamored in his veins, and he looked toward the sea. “He’s gone inside, after them. Thank God.”

“But…he’s just a mortal.”

“And as such, he’ll have a better chance against the flames than they have.” He met her puzzled frown and went on. “Vampires are highly flammable. Fire is one of the few things that can kill them.”

“But—how did he get in? How did he get past the firefighters, and—wait. The tunnel. He told me there’s a tunnel.”

“Yes,” James said, nodding, and wondering just what else Lucy and Willem—the man his middle name had been chosen to honor—had spent the day discussing. “There’s a tunnel that leads from the basement to an opening in the cliffs, above the sea.”

“Where?” she asked, stepping away from him, shielding her eyes with one hand and staring out toward the water.

For the first time he noticed the skirt she wore. Full and whipping in the wind. And the blouse, baring her shoulders, hinting at the breasts beneath. And then her hair, long and loose, satin sable-brown locks he wanted to bury his hands in.

“James?” she asked.

He met her eyes and realized that he was falling for this woman. In spite of everything else going on, he was falling for her. And he was being forced to make her his enemy.

“It’s right there.” He nodded toward a spot farther along the shoreline. “Where the sand turns to stone and the beach rises.”

“I see where you mean.”

“Don’t stare too long or you’ll draw attention,” he said.

She sighed as if relieved.

“Vampires have a penchant for escape hatches,” he said.

“I can see why they would. But there are too many of them for him to move by himself,” she whispered. “Can’t we try to sneak away, too?”

“We?” he asked.

“I can’t stand the thought of all those people…” New tears flowed down her cheeks, and then she blinked rapidly, as she processed a new idea. “Can you talk to Rhiannon? You know, with your mind, to find out if she’s okay?”

“Not while she’s asleep, no. And believe me, it’s killing me not to rush into the flames myself, but we’d definitely draw the notice of those firefighters. We’d have to pass them all to get to the shore. Look, they’ve already noticed Will’s absence. And if they follow him and find—”

“I’ll distract them,” she said. “And when I do, you go. All right? Go help Will get them out.”

“And how do you intend to distract them?”

“I…spent some time in the drama club in high school,” she said. “Trust me, I’ve got a lot of angst to draw from right now. You can move fast, right?”

“Very fast.”

“Then do it.”

And before he could guess what she was even intending, Lucy lifted her voice in a scream that sounded as if it came straight out of a horror film and went running straight toward the burning house. It looked for all the world as if she planned to rush inside, despite the flames, and three firefighters dropped their hoses to race after her. All the others were entirely focused on the little drama she’d instigated as she shouted about having to try to save her cat.

Shaking his head in admiration, James poured on the speed. Three seconds later he was at the top of the cliff, and a moment after that he was diving over the side. He hit the water, plunging deeply, knowing exactly where to knife through it without cracking his skull on hidden rocks. Hell, he’d played here often throughout his childhood. He knew the beach like he knew his own sister.

That thought brought another as he broke surface again and began swimming toward the tunnel’s hidden exit. Trails of weeds and brush covered the gaping maw, but he knew where it was. And as he neared it, he thought again of Brigit. She was on the warpath already, and this was only going to solidify the choices she was making. Hell, he wasn’t even sure anymore that her notion to put together a resistance force and go head to head with the mortal vigilante groups was all that misguided.

Wipe the bastards out, she’d said. And why not? That was what the humans were trying to do to them.

He bounced out of the water high enough to grip a stone outcropping, then pulled himself up and, with a quick glance behind him to be sure he was still unobserved, pushed through the weedy entrance and moved into the cool darkness of a stone passage.

It smelled of smoke, and that worried him. He wouldn’t die from smoke inhalation, as far as he knew. But Will might. Covering his face with one arm, James moved farther in, shouting Will’s name as loudly as he dared. And then he tripped over something soft and, kneeling, realized it was Sarafina, Will’s Gypsy bride. Her body was still and limp and lifeless, just as it should be by day. It was too dark to tell if she’d been burned. Bending, James scooped her into his arms and carried her closer to the entrance, where he laid her on the cool stone floor, far enough from the mouth to ensure no sunlight touched her.

He raced deeper again, stopping at the sound of a rasping cough. “Will?”

The coughing continued, and James followed it, the smell of smoke becoming stronger as he neared the basement. And then he met Will, carrying Rhiannon in his arms and coughing as if he were about to collapse at any moment.

“Is she…?”

“Don’t know. But she’s not burned.” Will choked out the words, dropping to his knees.

James took Rhiannon’s still body from the other man, anchoring her over his shoulder and then helping Will with his free hand. Arm around the man, he assisted him to the place where he’d left Sarafina, then set the beautiful Egyptian princess down beside the Gypsy. Then he put his hands on the other man and felt them begin to heat.

Will’s coughing eased, his breathing becoming less raspy. But he pushed James away before the healing had taken full effect. “Leave me. Get the others. Shannon, then—Roland and Damien.”

Nodding, James rushed back through the cave at full speed. At the end, a large steel door blocked entry into the basement. Will had taken the time to close it behind him to keep the tunnel from being flooded with smoke. Wise. Opening the door, James was stunned at what he saw. The sky, for one thing, beyond a crisscrossing web of charred beams. Piles of smoldering rubbish. A partial ceiling, still intact over two-thirds of the basement—including, thank the gods, the part where he stood and where his beloved ones rested beyond yet another door. He made his way through the smoky basement, opened that door and saw them there, laid out in their custom-made beds. And beside them, Rhiannon’s cat, lying still and lifeless on the floor.

“God, no. Pandora.” He knelt beside the cat, feeling its body, which was already beginning to cool.

“Dammit!” But there was no time. Not just then. He left the cat where it was—dead on the floor, near Rhiannon’s empty bed—and began carrying bodies out to the entrance, one by one. Shannon first, then Roland, and finally Gilgamesh. He was choking and his eyes burning when he went back in one last time to gather the limp and unresponsive body of Rhiannon’s beloved panther, who, unlike her owner, had not been immortal.

The firefighters captured Lucy bodily as she shouted about her cat still being inside, and she fought them, just to keep them busy, until James was out of sight. Praying he would be able to save the others, she finally surrendered, and allowed the firemen to wrap her in a blanket and lead her a safe distance from the house. She perched on the tailgate of a rescue truck, watching them douse the flames.

Finally the flow of the hoses trickled to a stop.

Firemen stood nearby, shaking their heads sadly. The far end of the house still had two walls standing upright, but burned halfway down. The rest was gutted, nothing but blackened beams and piles of charred rubble. The smell was like nothing else. A house fire, Lucy thought, had an extremely distinct aroma to it. Not the comforting smell of a campfire, a hearth or a wood-burning stove. No. A house fire smelled evil. It had a bite to it, a sourness that was hard to describe but impossible to forget.

The fire chief came over, and looked her up and down. “Do you know where the owner went?”

“To a friend’s,” she said. “It was too much for him. This was his dream house, you know.”

“Well, tell him for me that no one’s allowed any where near the place. We’ll have an arson investigator out here tomorrow, when it’s cooled down enough to poke around safely. The police are on their way now, but—”

“The police?” She was wanted by the FBI. She had to remember that.

“They’ll be a while. As I said, those vigilantes are keeping us pretty busy today. They probably won’t be able to do much for now besides tape off the scene, anyway. But they’re going to want to talk to the owner. Please pass along my regrets,” he added. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more. These damned idiots with their minds set on wiping out vampires, are making our lives hell. And the worst of it is, most of the people they’re burning out are just ordinary human beings, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Are you saying it would be all right if they were vampires?” she asked, and then wondered why she’d bristled in defense of the very people who’d ruined her life.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. “Vampires. Like that’s for real.” He shook his head slowly.

“Shoot, boss, I know they’re real. I’ve seen ’em!” one of his men put in, overhearing as he passed by with a rolled-up fire hose over his shoulder.

The chief rolled his eyes. “You have somewhere to go, miss? You gonna be all right?”

“Fine. I’ll call someone to pick me up. Thank you.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

She shook her head. “I have one of those faces,” she said, wishing he would just leave. The others were winding up hoses, stowing equipment. A couple of the trucks had already pulled away.