“No need,” said the yellow eyed man. The lighter fell from his hand, dropped to the rug. Verdant flame exploded across its surface, tore its way up the vampire’s knobby back, down Enzo’s twitching legs, over Ronnie’s still form.
The resulting screech would linger in the back of Jack’s mind until he died. A thousand years of woe and agony slappedagainst him in a tidal wave of icy despair that he felt in his bones, in the very hollows of his heart.
Enzo, too, began to scream. “What the fuck?What the fuck?”
Jack stood rooted to the spot, scream caught in his throat like a fly in a spider’s web.
This time, when Boris grabbed his hand, he didn’t resist. Smoke filled the room, burned his eyes, his lungs. With only a fleeting glance at the yellow-eyed man, he ran, using his free hand to loosen his tie and pull his shirt over his nose.
Already, flames crawled across the carpet, chewed at the edges of the couch, staggered up the walls. Smoke fled down the hallways, like grey and putrid ghosts.
CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT
They emergedat the top of the staircase. Already, Jack’s eyes and throat stung. Still, he looked around wildly, shouted, “Carla! Where are you?”
“He said she’s gone,” Boris said, clutching Jack’s arm, choking on fumes. “We gotta go. Come on.”
“Carla,” Jack screamed, but his voice was raw, rasping. Tears bled down his cheeks, and he blinked them away furiously.
They raced through the kitchen, collided with a table, then darted out into the hall, where the front door was already obscured. Smoke chased after them, filled the hallway until it was nearly black. An alarm rang out, high-pitched and distant.
“Low,” said Jack, remembering suddenly an ancient instruction from his mother after their neighbor’s stove caught fire. “Smoke rises.”
On hands and knees, they crawled across the tile, past Ronnie’s office, and the side table with the phone. For a fleeting moment, Jack considered lifting the receiver, calling for help. But Boris was coughing violently beside him, losing momentum.
There was no time.
They reached the front door. Jack tugged his sleeve over his hand, reared up, and twisted the deadbolt. The door wrenched open. He dragged himself over the threshold.
The porch was blessedly cool. He staggered upright, helped Boris to his feet. In the distance, someone screamed.
“Carla,” Jack said, voice weak. “It’s gotta be Carla.”
“Fucking hell,” Boris groaned. “Carla!” he echoed, cupping his hands over his mouth. Then he doubled over into a hacking fit so great that his shoulders trembled.
“Carla!” Jack cried, spinning around, searching the trees for movement. “Carla!”
“We need to go,” Boris insisted, straightening to glare at Jack with red, watery eyes. “When the mob finds this?—”
Another scream rang out. This time, it came from the trees.Good. She was nearby.
Then he realized. Even stone couldn’t prevent the fire from spreading. The basement was already ablaze. Soon, the castle would be engulfed, and with it, the forest.
If that happened, if the flames poured through the windows and ignited the nearby trees, there was no way to survive this on foot.
“Carla!” he screamed. “Carla, go to the road!”
“Jack? Jack?” Her voice carried through the pines, loud and frantic.
“I’m right here,” he rasped, throat scorching, lungs burning. “We have to go. There’s a fire.”
“No,” she moaned. “No, there can’t be.”
Fingers dug into Jack’s bicep. “We gotta go,” said Boris.
“Follow the sound of my voice,” Jack instructed. Behind him, green flames licked at the sides of the house. Smoke billowed from the windows. “We need to get to the road.”
