23
“Do you know what a pain in the ass it was to get back here after you kicked me out the first time?” Ludwig stood up from the bed, his shirt wrinkled and bunched up around his belt, his jeans catching under his heels. “I need you to do something for me. Tell me I’m smart.”
He waited. I said nothing.
“I’msmartbecausethistime I found out who I could kill that would make problems for you. I couldn’t have you running around trying to hit me with your car, right? I think I had pretty great self-control, waiting that long to set a fire.
“I was going to do a few more before I took a body, but then you and your cousin and these ghost chasers waltzed right into my mines! I tried to take you, first, but surprise—can’t behurt by fire, can’t be possessed. Turned out fine, though.” He patted his chest. “Did you know people let healthy young boys like this one get away with almostanything? I should have tried this much sooner—”
“Shut up.” My stomach heaved. “You’ve killed people.”
“Whatever. Bach has killed way more than me, and I don’t see you cutting his head off.” He stepped toward me. “He’s always been the worst.”
I spun and lunged for the door. Ludwig’s hand came down on top of mine on the door handle, searingly hot; it felt like he was pressing a clothes iron to my knuckles. I ripped my hand away and tore my glove off. It had melted, but the skin underneath was unharmed.
Ludwig held the door handle until it melted into a lump of malformed metal in his fingers, then let go. “Who needs locks? That’ll be hot to the touch for a while.” He smiled again. I heard him, but my heart was beating in my throat, making sounds pulse in and out. “Now, are you going to sit down and listen? I like watching the expressions on your stupid human face.”
I took a deep breath.
“No, no screaming for help, come on!” he said. “I’ll have to melt you a muzzle. You don’t want that, trust me, I’ve done it before, and people were not happy about it.”
I let out a long, slow exhale. It was nearly a scream.
He loped back to the desk in the corner, where a laptopand phone sat beneath the lamp. He scooped up the phone. “I can’t wait to get out of this town. The sooner the better.”
“Get out?” I said. “You could have left whenever you wanted.”
He glanced up from the phone. “Bach hasn’t told you? Hildegard,our loving mother,left us here. If I can find her entrance, I can find her.
“And I already know where it is. All these idiots thinking the treasure beneath Grimshaw House is jewelry or money, they’re all wrong. It’s Hildegard’s entrance. She escaped Addamsville through Grimshaw House and hid it there by giving Sam ownership of it. If I can get rid of them, if that ownership passes to me, I’ll be able to get back to her. She’s out there somewhere.”
“I thought she abandoned you.”
He grinned as he raised the phone and tapped something on the screen. “Only because she thought Bach and Sam were more worthy of her time. Once they’re out of the picture, it will just be me and her again. So what do you say? Partners?”
I tried to speak, but no words came out. I couldn’t say no because he would kill me. I couldn’t say yes because I couldn’t help him kill anyone else. And I couldn’t cry, because it would do no good.
“That’s a shame.” He tapped the screen again and put the phone up to his ear. When he spoke, his expression was flat buthis voice shot up an octave, breathy and fast. “Oh god—please, come quickly—she’s got—it’s some kind of fire—please, my name is Tad Thompson, I’m in room seven of the Cherry Motel on Valleywine Road. Please, please come—it’s this Novak girl, she’s setting the room on fire—please!”
And then he melted the phone and tossed it on the floor.
“Five minutes, tops,” he said.
The mustard-yellow comforter burst into flames, all at once, an even coat of orange fire that spread to the bedposts and down to the carpet. I stumbled back, catching myself on the dresser. With a hiss like a blowtorch, the dresser top went up, wood splintering. I whipped my hands away and scrambled for the desk. Smoke billowed toward the ceiling. Tad—Ludwig—shimmered in the sudden heat.
“Help!” he yelled. “Help, fire! Help!”
Fire sliced the curtains from their rods. The wallpaper cracked and curled. Smoke stung my eyes, my nose; acrid chemical smoke, things burning that shouldn’t be. The alarm clock melted on the night stand. A painting of old Addamsville crashed to the floor. The building groaned. Fire crept along the carpet fibers. I dropped, my knees unable to hold me up, my head spinning.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “Fleeting, bright, destructive. Fire’s the only true way to go.”
I was dying. I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’tsee. The fire corralled me to an empty spot on the carpet and held me there, shaking, shivering, useless. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs. If I moved, I would die. If I didn’t move, I would die.
Ludwig paced around me. Sometimes he was Tad Thompson, sometimes a creature that swallowed the light, its eyes two little red pinpricks. “I don’t feel like myself if I’m not setting something on fire. I don’t know how Bach stands his abstinence. Maybe it’s easier when you have someone else holding your leash?” He dug claws into the carpet. Smiled with human teeth. “I’m glad Hildegard didn’t make me the pet of her spawn. I’m not sure I would’ve liked being leashed.”
He leaned down. Brushed a lock of hair away from my face with a black talon. “It’s probably been enough time now. They’ll be wondering why I’m not dead yet.”
Then he grabbed the desk chair, spun, and slammed it through the window. Glass shattered. He slithered through and started screaming. I had to move. I wouldn’t burn, but I still had to breathe. There was sweet cold air outside. Outside. Outside was five feet away, and I wouldn’t make it.Go go go,said one part of my brain.Fire fire fire,said another. That part was louder. I pressed my forehead to the hot, rough carpet.
