Betrayals

me out of shock and I whirled, my braid flying out in an arc, and took off around the side of the burning school again.

I wasn’t going to make it, I could just tell. It was pretty clear now why they were attacking the school. And now, again, I was running for my life.

Just before I reached the corner, I heard the cries behind me, the wulfen’s rising chill and glassy, the djamphir’s a shrill piercing ululation, and the vampires, a weird deadly scream lodging in the brain like crystal splinters. They made a weird three-part harmony, and if you ever recorded that sound, you could stop someone’s heart just by playing it loud enough. The locket bounced against my breastbone, trapped in a fold of cloth and so cold it stung.

My teeth filled with aching, and if I’d had enough breath I would’ve screamed too. There was no time for it, because the footsteps behind me shook the earth, so I did the only thing I could do.

It wasn’t a great idea, but it was all I had.

I ran along the side of the school, fists pumping and bag slapping against my hip, and as soon as the gallery loomed ahead of me I jagged for the biggest hole I could find, braced myself as best I could, and hurled myself forward into the unnatural flames.

Burning. Smoke choking the air. I reached the end of the hall and dropped to my hands and knees, crawled forward in a blur. Glass glittered, crunched under my jean-clad knees, and I hoped I wasn’t about to flay my hands. My mouth ran with wax and rotten oranges. I spat and heard sizzling. The heat was like oil, my skin tight and shiny. The fire turned weirder, blue wires in the middle of orange flames, crawling through the stone walls like veins and spreading oven heat. Still, a circle of orange moved with me, the blue fading out of the flames as they drew closer.

Screaming behind me. If you’ve never heard a vampire die in battle, you can count yourself lucky.

They don’t just scream with their mouths, the sound goes on and on inside your head, bouncing off the inside of your skull and burrowing under your sanity until you want to scream yourself, until the edge of the world peels up and you can sense the nasty things that lie underneath regular waking consciousness. I scrambled through the burning gallery, carpet melting under and sticking to my fingers, until I spilled out another broken door into the courtyard garden. It was pure instinct, a draft of cooler air pulling me out.

Coughing, retching, I scrambled toward the middle of the garden. Smoke belched. Burning things fell like meteors, crashing to the ground.

Well, Dru, this was not your best idea. I almost pitched headfirst into the gravel path, snapped a terrified glance over my shoulder. There was a wall of orange flame and black smoke, but no vampires yet. Their keening soaked the air, fueling the flames. It was pure hate, rolled in agony and set alight, just like the Schola itself. I tried to shut out the noise again, failed, gasped and choked, and tried again while I crawled.

The bushes were burning out here too. I made it to the middle of the courtyard, there were stone benches with wooden slats, the paint on the wood smoking. I made myself as small as I could, knees up, my back braced against a bench’s legs. I dug in my bag, got the gun out, and the tears rolling down my cheeks weren’t from pain or fear. It was the smoke crawling around me, thick greasy fingers pressing behind my eyes. Coughing shook me in great racking bursts.

I’d thought I could break through the gallery and maybe find a flame-free part of the school to hide in. Now I was trapped. The vampires couldn’t come in here and get me, but the fire might do their job for them. Still, I’d take being roasted alive over getting ripped to shreds by suckers any day.

Or would I? It was getting awful hard to breathe. I hunched down further, trying for usable air close to the ground. The locket was still oddly cold and buzzing against my chest. Steam rose from my sweater, and the smoking paint on the bench wasn’t too happy either, adding a weird pungent note to the thick vapor. A dead-looking rosebush in one corner of the courtyard blossomed into flame.

Oh wow. I stared at the thin thorny sticks, now alive with crawling orange flowers that fizzed and crackled. The gun dipped. Everything was a wall of flame, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“DRUUUUUUUUUUU!” A long-drawn-out howl. I didn’t recognize the voice, and it shook the streaming flames. I coughed steadily now, choking on the smoke. Everything blurred, the blue wires threading through the stone of the courtyard pressing against the circle of orange around me. The bench was getting awful hot, and I had a sudden terrible mental vision of the gun blowing up in my hand. Ammo could do that, if it got too hot. Dad had told me.

Really not your best idea, Dru, I thought, right before I slid over to the side, my fingers cramping on the gun. A black blot dilated in the middle of the flames. “DRUUUUU!”

I coughed again, scouring my lungs. There was nothing to breathe; it was all smoke. Haziness filled my eyes.

Someone was cursing steadily. At least, it sounded like cursing, but the words were put together funny. They sounded foreign. Fingers bit my shoulder and I was dragged up. I fought feebly, the gun loosened from my fingers. Something pressed itself against my cheek, hard little divots and something softer. Then, movement. The world fell away underneath me.

Falling. A jarring through my entire body. Splintering glass and a roar, and I was on fire, burning, flesh crisping and peeling before we burst out into cooler air and rolled, steam rising in waves, a hissing sound and a scream of pain. Then, more chaos.

“Get the goddamn oxygen!” someone screamed. Hands grabbed me and I fought back wildly, coughing and retching as I struck out with fists and feet.

“Calm down!” Another yell, this one I recognized. “Goddammit, Dru, we’re trying to help!”

Graves? I tried to say his name, choked, tried again. My eyes wouldn’t work right. My skin was still on fire, and I starfished again, throwing out my arms and legs as I tried to breathe. That was my last hurrah. All the fight just spilled out of me.

Something wet and cold wiped at my face. It felt good.

More coughing. They rolled me on my side, I choked up a thick mass of burning snot and spat.

Someone caught my head, something was jammed in my nose, and a flood of something cool hit my burning lungs.

I collapsed again onto cold, hard ground, wet grass poking at my hands. My arms and legs refused to work properly. Someone had their arms around me, and I blinked, gritty stuff filling my eyes the tears flooded.

“Jesus Christ,” Graves whispered brokenly. Someone else was coughing and cursing. There was a crash and a snarl. “Leave him alone, he dragged her out! Leave him alone!”

The last three words hit that rolling-thunder-under-the-surface tone again, and the noise subsided except for the roar of the burning.

“I’ll take care of the oxygen,” I heard Dibs say. “Dial it up as high as it’ll go. She’s almost cyanotic.”

“Never seen a Burner before. I thought they died out years ago.” Someone coughed, a deep racking sound.

“Well, they found one.” It was Shanks. I barely recognized his voice without all the mockery. “Guess they had to, with a svetocha here. Jesus.”

“You’re in my way.” Dibs had lost the squeaking, terrified tone; his voice was cool and professional. “Give me that, you’re not a medic.”

“Can you carry her?” Shanks sounded deathly tired. “They’re going to come back as soon as they regroup.”

“I’ll carry her,” Graves answered grimly. “You okay?”

“Had better days.” Shanks coughed weakly. “I’ll do. Come on.”

“What about him?” someone else asked. “He’s one of them.”

“Bring him,” Graves said immediately. He sounded like he was getting used to this answering-questions thing. “They’ll kill him if we leave him here. Let’s go.”

I was dragged, then. I was too busy breathing to really care. Blessedly cool air touched my soot-stained cheeks, and my feet padded at the ground uselessly. I kept blinking, hoping my eyesight would come back. The