“Trey, don’t you dare leave with that girl.” From the stage, Vincent’s glacier eyes met mine. He staggered to his feet, his hands clenched in fists at his sides as he fought against the horrific pain that must’ve been attacking his body right now. His smartly-tailored suit was now a mess of charred fabric and ruined skin. He roared as he shuffled forward, every step a fresh agony.
That’s right. Vincent is here. That’s why they can’t leave.
“What are you going to do, Vinnie boy?” I yelled back, stepping close to the pillar. My fingers itched to touch it again, to pull from it enough power to raise the shadows and send them to torment him. “It looks like the god isn’t under your thrall any longer.”
Hands shoved me toward the exit. “Don’t worry about him now. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Trey and Quinn closed in behind me, blocking me from returning to the pillar. I reached out, but Quinn knocked my arm away. He shoved me toward the exit.
“No, I need it.” I wrestled against Quinn, kicking at his shins, clawing over his shoulders. But he held fast. With every step away from the stone, it released more of its hold on my mind. By the time we reached the bottleneck at the auditorium doors, I’d regained my faculties completely. Vincent’s gaze still burned into my back, but he was right at the rear of the stage, penned in by frightened parents and the raging fire that now tore through backstage. He’d never move fast enough with his injuries to catch up to us.
We had no time to digest what had just happened. Not with Vincent Bloomberg ready to gut me. Not with students stampeding toward the atrium, desperate to escape the building, to put some distance between themselves and that freakish pillar and the flames. They’d already died in a fire once before – no one should have to live through that helltwice.
Students and parents shoved past us as Trey struggled with Ayaz’s dead weight. My Turk’s head flopped back, his eyes glazed over. His legs were no longer on fire, but a glance at the charred curtain wrapped around him told me he was in bad shape. Even an Edimmu who couldn’t die would pass out from the pain. A smell like roasting meat rose from his velvet-clad body, turning my stomach.
“We’ve got to get Ayaz to the infirmary.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Trey’s eyes burned as he shifted Ayaz’s weight to his other arm. “But that’d be an easy way for Dad to corner us. That’s why you need to run – he can’t do anything to me or Ayaz, but you’re mortal.”
As if underlying his point, a loud noise punctured the air.
BANG.
Fresh screams rose from the student body as a bullet left a smoking hole in the plaster above my head.Someone shot at me.I burst out laughing.
BANG BANG.
Trey shoved my head down as more shots rang out. Whoever it was had terrible aim. A gilded painting depicting one of the past headmasters fell off the wall and smashed on the marble.
Loretta and Andre pulled up beside us. “We’ll take him,” Loretta said as Andre grabbed for Ayaz’s shoulder. “You guys protect Hazel.”
“Fine.” Trey dumped Ayaz into Loretta’s arms. She sagged under his weight. Andre threw Ayaz over his shoulder, and the two of them half-carried, half-dragged Ayaz away. Trey yanked my arm in the opposite direction just as another shot rang out.
The three of us elbowed our way through the crowd to reach the front doors. We shoved them open, allowing the crowd to spill out into the moonlight. The kids took off into the forest while parents leaped into their cars. Vehicles tore down the drive, kicking up clouds of dust and fumes as they fled the horror of their own making.
Vincent reached the top of the steps and surged after me, screaming as he came. He must’ve been in tremendous pain, but his rage kept him coming. My base instincts took over – I spent most of my life hiding from bad guys. I grabbed Quinn’s arm to yank him behind a flower bed. He jerked his arm away, but slid down behind the low wall. Trey dived over the low stone wall and pressed up against me.
“Your dad is crazy.” Quinn poked his head up above the garden to see what Vincent was doing. “He’s going to shoot one of the parents if he’s not careful.”
“Or someone else,” I snapped, trying to shove his head down while at the same time get a view myself. Vincent hobbled through the panicked crowd as fast as his old legs and ruined body would carry him, arms raised, his lip curling back in triumph as he lifted a trembling arm and pointed the gun right at my face.
Beside me, Quinn froze. The poor dear had never had stared down a barrel before. Back in Philly, I called that Tuesday.
I yanked Quinn’s neck and flattened myself against the stone just as Vincent fired. The edges of the bed chipped away, sending flakes of stone flying in all directions. Better the precious school flower beds than my brains.
Adrenaline surged through me, and faint embers of my flame sparked to life once more. Not enough to hurt Vincent, but perhaps enough to call for help.
Hey, Great Old God. I need those shadows now like I’ve never needed anything in my life.
Beside me, Quinn whimpered. I braced myself for another barrage of bullets, but none came. Instead, fresh screams choked the night. I dared a look around the corner. Shadows spilled from between the window panes, creeping and curling across the parking lot toward Vincent. He caught their approach out of the corner of his eye and dropped the gun. He turned and tried to run, but his burned body declared no more and he toppled into a screaming, writhing heap.
Senator Hyde-Jones drove past in a Lamborghini and slammed on the brakes. In the backseat, Damon Delacorte shoved the door open. “Get in!”
Vincent twitched on the ground. “Get the AR-15 from my Porsche. I’ve also got enough fuel to burn the entire state. She won’t get away with this. I won’t let her take—”
“Don’t.” Damon reached out with his remaining good hand and grabbed Vincent’s wrist. Vincent howled as Damon dragged him up. I couldn’t even imagine the pain of running and falling and being dragged after you’d been that badly burned, but the sound of Vincent’s scream was pure sweetness. “You think fucking bullets are going to stop that thing? The whore’s right – we don’t have control over the god anymore. Which means wecan’t be here.”
Vincent yelled and fought for freedom, but both of them were too old and weak and burned that their fight looked pathetic. Somehow Damon dragged him inside and slammed the door. The car tore off down the drive.
