He was right. Crank couldn’t protect herself, or outrun a supernatural. She was smart and brave, and could hold her own for a little while, but facing down a vampire, shifter, or powerful witch—not to mention facing a bunch of them . . .
“This shouldn’t have happened,” Dub said through tears. “This shouldn’t have happened!”
He pushed past us and ran down the street. I watched his image fade into the darkness, my chest feeling as though it burned as hot as the three-story fire beside us. I wiped at my tears, angry with myself, angry that I hadn’t been here, that I’d caused this.
And Dub. Poor Dub was left to defend himself. He was just a kid too. Just a fucking kid.
“Hey.” Sebastian spun me around to face him. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Why not? It’s my fight, and I brought all of you into it.”
“You didn’t murder my grandmother,” he said. “You didn’t set the Novem up to fracture. You didn’t make Gabriel attack you. So don’t do that. Don’t take on all the blame. Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself.”
I flinched as though he’d slapped me and stepped back, caught off guard by his words. Sorry for myself? Is that what he thought? That I only cared about me?
“Wait,” he started, shaking his head, frustrated. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“Go to hell,” I said through tears, walking away and then turning back. “I feel sorry for them, for what my being here has caused. I can feel that. I’m allowed because I
I swung around, intending to march off, but ran smack into Henri. He stilled me with his hands on my arms. I let my forehead fall against his chest, wanting to let all the fear, worry, and anger out, but I forced it down and moved away.
Henri’s gaze was riveted on the house. It was completely engulfed now. Behind him I saw movement, a shadow down the street, crossing into the swath of light from the streetlamp.
It was the River Witch in his cloak and hood walking with a cane, and a tiny girl holding his hand. Relief weakened my legs. Thank God. Violet was okay. I hugged Henri. He let out a surprised grunt. And then I was running.
I dropped to my knees in front of Violet and hugged her.
When I released her, she stared at me for a long moment, her face expressionless, but her dark eyes were filled with regret. “The house is on fire,” she said. “All my treasures are burning.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
My mother’s letter and the few things she had left for me were burning too. I stood and watched the flames lick the sky. The house next door would catch fire soon. Sparks had already lit the trees between the two houses. The entire GD might go up in flames.
“Feels good,” the River Witch remarked, “the heat on my face . . . ”
I was surprised to see him out of the bayou. “What are you doing here?”
The gaze he fixed on me was bright and more than just intelligent; it was cunning and almost . . . pleased. “I’ve come to help you, child. Things are at work that you cannot overcome on your own, things that need to be . . . monitored.”
I frowned at his odd choice of words. Suspicion had lingered with me from our first meeting. “Why help at all? What do you care?”
“Because the alternative, if you should lose, is unacceptable.” He tapped his cane on the ground. “Now come, let’s see what we can do about this fire, shall we?”
As Violet went to see Sebastian and Henri, the witch moved to the middle of the street, which was as close as one could get to the flames now. There were a few fire stations and EMTs in the French Quarter, mostly to deal with the human tourists and locals. No one was going to come to our rescue out in the GD. And even if they did, there was no way they’d stop the inferno.
Bran showed up, bruised and bloodied, his sword hung over his back like he’d just stepped off some ancient battlefield. He took quick stock of the situation. “Where’s Michel? We need him back in the Quarter.”
“He took Crank to the hospital.” I nodded to the truck. “She was inside.”
A hard glint came into his eyes. “Bastard. And Simon?”
“I’m not sure. He’s either burning or gone.”
“Things are going to get worse, Selkirk. Athena has used a simple divide-and-conquer strategy. Phase one is complete; we’re divided. Conquer is next. She’ll launch her own offensive soon. United, we could have stood against her. We’ve done so in the past. Divided, we won’t stand a chance.”
The witch lifted his hands, and the roaring fire picked up. The flames began to swirl around like a tornado, lifting higher into the air as though a giant vacuum was pulling the flames from the house until finally they dissipated into the sky, leaving behind a smoking, charred skeleton.
My father appeared by my side. I glanced over at him, relieved that he was okay. His hand gripped my shoulder and squeezed, and I could see he was feeling the same as me.
“How long do you think we have before she comes?” I asked him as Sebastian, Henri, and Violet joined us.
“She’ll give the Novem time to self-destruct, but not enough time to risk them coming back together. A day or two at most.”
“Simon and the others, they’ll destroy everything. Even the jar,” Sebastian said.
“They won’t find the jar,” Bran said.
Surprised, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“It means I got it the hell out of Presby right after your little visit. That jar contains vast amounts of our combined knowledge. I’ll be damned if they destroy it looking for Athena’s kid.”
So it had been Bran who’d opened the crack in the jar as we’d knelt with the Keeper.
“How’d you manage that?” my father asked, impressed. From the tone, it sounded like moving the jar was a considerable feat.
“With a little help from Rowen. We can thank the gods that witch is on our side, because her power is unlike anything I’ve seen.”
The River Witch shuffled over to us.
Bran’s eyes narrowed and my father’s became suspicious. “Who the hell are you?” Bran demanded.
The witch regarded him with disinterest, obviously not impressed. “They call me the River Witch. I live out in the bayou. I see things, many things. I am powerful.” He tipped his head slowly toward the burned-out shell that had once been our home as evidence of his power. “I have lived in the bayou since before the first settlers arrived. This is my home, and I won’t see it destroyed.”
Bran let out a
“I could use the exercise. But my sword is with Ari.”
I dipped my head, telling him how much his loyalty meant to me. “You might as well go,” I said. “I’m heading to the hospital to check on Crank.”
He nodded. “If you need us . . . ”
“I’ll know where to find you.” All I had to do was look for the bloodshed. Between my father and Bran, things were going to get even messier.
After they left, the rest of us made our way to Charity Hospital. It was on the upper boundary between the French Quarter and the ruins, and close to Canal Street, which formed the western border of the Quarter.
We found Michel at the desk in the emergency room. “They’re inserting a chest tube to inflate her lung and setting a broken leg. A few other bumps and bruises to look over, but she should recover.”
Henri swore softly.
Michel gestured to the waiting room. “Your young friend is in there.”
We joined Dub in the waiting room, Michel leaving to deal with the fighting. The mood was somber as we found seats and waited. I felt a stare and found Sebastian’s gaze on me. I thought of his words earlier. Damn right I was feeling sorry. Crank was in the hospital, for God’s sake. How could I not feel responsible? Whatever. A second later he was standing in front of me.
“Can I talk to you?” He motioned for us to go out of the room.
