Gettyson grabbed a half-changed wolfling that passed. “You heard her,” he said. “Go!”
“And if he’s got any spray cans don’t touch them! ” I screamed after him. “They’re filled with magic pigment, and can blow up in your face, literally!”
“What does we do about the fire?” Gettyson said. “What does we do?”
“We get everyone out,” I said, holding up my burned arm. “We get everyone out, and then let it take the damn building. And we start with Cinnamon. Where is she? ”
He pointed at a low side building jutting out of the back of the werehouse. Its roof was in flames, and as we watched the whole front awning collapsed so that there was no way inside.
“Oh, hell no,” I said, staring, looking at a small barred window that was the only remaining exit. I half expected Cinnamon’s hand to reach out, to slap the glass-but more of the roof collapsed around it, barring even that entrance. “Tell me there’s another way in there.”
“Through the living quarters,” Calaphase said.
“Fischer already tried that,” Gettyson said. “The smoke will kill you-”
“Then we go this way,” Saffron said, stalking past us towards the flame.
My eyes followed her, but I could barely overcome my shock. “Saffron!”
“Where the hell did she pop up from?” Calaphase said.
“We were right there when you said there was a fire, and right behind you most of the drive in,” Saffron said, staring up at the building. “With all my power, did you really think I’d just sit by and let innocent people die, much less a child under a vampire queen’s protection?”
“Well,” Calaphase began-and then shut his mouth at her quick sidelong glance.
“My Lady Saffron,” Darkrose said, running up after her, white-lined cloak flying open, gleaming black catsuit reflecting flickering red as she flinched back from a sudden surge of flame. “ Saffry! Please, it is fire! Not even you-”
“Then stay back!” Saffron said, red dress whipping past her in the sudden wind. She looked around, scowled, then said, “Dakota, we’re getting weather effects like you reported at the Revenance kill-send the werekin out looking for the rogue magician.”
“I already have,” I said.
“Good. Calaphase, Darkrose, go make sure the other entrance is clear,” Saffron said, turning her back on us. “I don’t like the looks of this roof.”
Then with one hand she lifted the huge iron beam that had been part of the awning, tore it aside in a groaning shower of sparks, stepped forward with a savage blow that burst the metal door inward off its cinderblock frame. Then she disappeared inside.
“Oh, hell, she’s as powerful as they say she is,” Calaphase said.
“Why is she so strong?” I said, bewildered.
“She’s almost completely vegetarian,” Darkrose said. “Her vampire and human flesh exist in near perfect symbiosis. But it doesn’t make her fireproof.”
Then the flames picked up, started punching through the roof of the low outbuilding. Moments later, the whole structure collapsed, leaving half of one wall holding up smoking embers and the glowing bones of the roof.
I stared at the others. “You heard her,” I said. “Let’s go clear the path.”
But flames licked at the big roll-up door that had been the entrance to the werehouse, thwarting our attempts to get inside. Before we came up with another plan, Saffron strode out of the flames like the Terminator, holding Cinnamon half-changed in her arms. Saffron’s flaring red dress caught fire as she stepped through the threshold, but she ignored it and stomped straight up to me, holding Cinnamon. Gratefully, I took Cinnamon in my arms and held her tight.
Saffron patted her dress out idly, as I kissed Cinnamon’s half-feline face and tried not to wince at the embers that were burning my skin. My little girl was half-conscious, but breathing normally. She was safe. “Thank you,” I said.
“Do not mention it,” Saffron snapped. Her mouth pursed. “As for her collar-”
“Please,” I said, eyes jerking down to Cinnamon’s throat, to her silver collar. I couldn’t imagine a clearer demonstration of the value of Saffron’s protection. My eyes returned to Saffron, pleading. “She’s no part of whatever I have done to-”
“Don’t mention it,” Saffron repeated, more softly, then turned back towards the flames.
“No,” Darkrose said, seizing Saffron’s bare arm firmly in her glove. “You’ll die.”
“Please, dear Rose,” Saffron said, extracting her arm. “There are more to save.”
“Saffry, no,” Darkrose said, shaking her head. “There aren’t. It’s too late.”
And then we were all pushed back as a new surge of fire blossomed out of the werehouse. The flames grew more intense, burning white, streaming out of every orifice, screaming under the pressure like steam escaping a teakettle-or tortured creatures screaming in pain.
Then the main roof collapsed inward on itself and a huge backwash sprayed out of the door like a river of fire-then was abruptly sucked back with a rattling gasp, snuffing out all the flames at once. In its wake, a roiling black cloud erupted through the ruined roof.
“I’m no fireman,” I said, “but that wasn’t natural. ”
“Agreed,” Calaphase said. There was little left of the fire but embers. A few tongues of flame were springing up again, but intermittently, almost like the fire’s heart was no longer in it. “The rush of fresh air should have made it worse, but it’s like-”
“It’s like she said,” Gettyson said heavily. “It was a magic fire.”
We pulled back to my loaner car, an impromptu island in the parking lot for a group of survivors. According to Gettyson, there were a few still missing, but…
“We were lucky,” Gettyson said. “Damn lucky. Full moon proper was at eight this morning. Half the kin are gone, and most of the rest were out on an early hunt.”
“Not that lucky-we lost the werehouse,” I said. “Damnit, Gettyson, you knew covering it with paint didn’t work, you knew I needed to take pictures, and you went and painted it anyway! Not that I know we could have stopped it if we could have seen it-”
“I thought if the paint dried, maybe… ” Gettyson said. “He sure showed me.”
Saffron, Darkrose and Calaphase made one last sweep for survivors and returned empty handed. “Do you have any further need of me?” Saffron asked, as Gettyson and I tended to Cinnamon on the hood of my loaner car.
“No, my Lady Saffron,” Gettyson said. “On behalf of the Bear King, our thanks.”
Saffron nodded, then glanced at Cinnamon. She sighed, seemed about to say something, then looked up at me and Calaphase and stomped off. Darkrose bowed slightly, eyes lingering on me in apology, then followed her mistress back to their Mercedes, which quickly squealed off.
“Mom?” Cinnamon said weakly, coughing. “Mom, why are you here?” Then her eyes widened. “Oh my God! What-what happened?”
“A fire, little Cinnamon,” Gettyson said, tousling her hair. “Don’t worry. Your little wolf cub is safe. I gots Tully out looking for the punk that set this, and when we finds him… ”
“You’ll bring that little punk back alive,” I said, patting down Cinnamon’s brow with a wet-wipe. “You’ll bring him back alive. He is not working alone, and I want to question him.”
Gettyson started to retort, then looked at my eyes. Remembered what ignoring me had already cost us. He looked away, then back at Cinnamon as I cradled her. “All right,” he said, relaxing a little. “We does it your way. You earned it. We knows where your loyalties lie.”
Then the blinding white light of a spotlight pinned us all where we were, and we looked up to see a knot of smoke pushed away by a black helicopter, descending in silence.
“This is the D-E-I!” a loudspeaker screeched. “Everyone stay where you are!”
Attack on the Werehouse
Werekin scattered like cockroaches. Two more helicopters appeared-sleek as fish, black as night, quieter than vacuum cleaners: Shadowhawks, the stealth helicopters favored by the DEI. And then the loudspeaker blared again: “This is the D-E-I! Stay where you are!”
“Oh thank God,” I said, staring up into the light. I knew the voice. “That’s Philip!”
