Roderick lets his fangs scrape his own bottom lip, “For the moment, maybe. For the moment…look at you, Simon—so terrified I’m going to take away the thing you love most. So ironic, it’s the same exact look Eleni had in her eyes half a century ago, soaked in gasoline, right before I dropped the match that lit the fire that burned her alive.”
Simon’s chest spasms—rough exhale, and his words come in spurts between pained, choppy breaths, “You lie —I saw them—got there just as it was finished—saw them all leaving—there was a crowd—they thought she was one of us—a vampire—someone saw me leap up to her window late at night—thought she must be one too. You’re a liar—I saw them—know every one of their faces—every last one of their terrible faces.”
On the floor just past Simon—several feet behind his back, Desiree’s eyelids flip open—revealing hideous blue.
Roderick says, “Indeed they were there, dear boy. Tied her up—brought the gasoline—brought the matches— not one of them with the guts to light it. I was all too glad to spark their murderous plans into action—to give them the strength to bring their anger to life.”
Desiree charges at Simon’s back—her teeth and nails are furious triangles bent on tearing into him.
Roderick turns toward me—in a flash he has the iron poker cocked back like a spear over his head—ready to be thrust through the air and into me—all the way through me—aimed at my chest—pointed and threatening.
Desiree’s arm swings at the back of Simon’s head. Simon spins toward her, catching her arm at the wrist, grabbing under her elbow with his other hand.
Roderick’s arm starts to come down toward me.
Simon arches his back and pulls Desiree’s arm over his head and shoulders—tossing her into the air.
Roderick’s arm comes down—hand opens—iron spear flies out.
Throw my hands up in front of my chest.
Desiree’s body smacks my hands to the side as she smashes into the wall—the iron poker dives into her chest, and she falls to the floor.
Simon’s on me—hands at my arms, frantically looking me up and down, “Are you alright—did it dig into you?”
“I’m fine—I’m fine.”
Ambrosia shrieks.
Roderick’s kneeling before her—his hands stretched over her lower stomach.
Simon traverses the room in a burst, crossing his forearms in an X-shape in front of his head—one set of sharp fingernails aimed far to the left, the other to the right. He flings his arms—uncrossing them in an instant—slicing clean through the back of Roderick’s neck.
A thud hits the floor.
Roderick’s headless body drops to the hardwood.
Simon throws his arm around Ambrosia’s shoulders and leads her toward me. I move to meet them.
Sirens blast louder outside the window.
“We better move—now,” Simon says.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
Ambrosia nods her head, patting her stomach, looking shocked that she’s unharmed and whole.
Simon grabs my hand and leads the way through the hole in the bookshelf.
A clang echoes through the room—iron poker lies on the floor, followed by the sound of feet scampering. A blur rushes out the window.
Roderick’s body remains on the floor, but his head is gone—along with Desiree. Into the night and fire.
Ambrosia’s hand lands flat on my back—trembling, and it stays there as we exit the room and run quickly through the hallway.
Going down the stairwell behind Simon is a much different experience—looks so different watching the surroundings appear over his broad shoulders with each step he takes ahead of me—like being flown out of a cave in hell on the broad wings of an eagle.
Getting close to the bottom now—on the last set of stairs. Orange and red burst through the giant hole in the door—blowing the few remnants of the door wide open and shattering the glass completely out of the windows beside it.
The flames reach into the house like fiery vines—the old, dry wood readily feeding its ravenous tongues. They flicker and reach their way onto the staircase, covering the last few steps at the bottom.
Simon stops and says, “We’re going over the rail.”
He grabs me behind my knees and at my back—lifting me into his arms.
“Ambrosia—jump on my back—arms tight around my neck like you’re trying to choke me.”
As soon as her arms clasp around him, he puts a foot to the rail, and shoves off the step with his other foot. Clearing the railing, we fall to the floor.
His feet pound the wood; his knees buckle—absorbing the shock of the jump, all his weight, all of Ambrosia’s, and all of my own.
Ambrosia lets go of his neck and drops to her feet. Simon puts me down.
“To the backdoor—fast!”
He grabs my hand, and we sprint down the hallway, him leading the way again.
“Lookout—there’s a couch on the left side,” Simon calls back to us over his shoulder.
“Yeah, the couch and I are old friends,” I say.
We breeze past my dusty, upholstered nemesis and delve further back into the hallway than I’ve been before.
Feel an opened hand flat on my back between my shoulder blades. Panic is nearly given birth in my chest; then I remember it’s just Ambrosia following close behind.
Sirens wail much louder—bright flashing lights make their way through the blown-out windows and front door —even faintly reaching us so far in the back of the house.
Finally, I can see the backdoor—where I was so desperately trying to reach earlier—just a little while ago when I was alone and terrified in the darkness—but now feeling Simon’s electric touch in my hand—safe by his side, it feels like it was a whole separate lifetime ago.
He turns to me and pulls me to his chest while looking over my head at the intruding, spinning light from beyond the fire somewhere in front of the house.
“Not going to be able to get past them easily. There’s a dead body upstairs—drugs everywhere—stolen car crashed into the porch—they’re not going to let us leave—don’t want to have to hurt them either, but we can’t let them take us.”
“What’re we going to do?” I ask.
Ambrosia says, “I’ve got this.”
“What?” asks Simon.
“I’ll go running out the backdoor and up the driveway screaming my head off—coughing, yelling— everything.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“The truth.”
“What?” Simon shouts.
“Some jerk guy took me here after dancing. We drank—danced—hooked up. Next thing I know, I wake up and the house is burning down. Scream my chest hurts, and I can’t breathe. When they’re busy with me, you guys slip out down the street. Got it?”
I ask, “You sure, girl? Are you gonna be okay?”
Bats her eyes and smiles, “I could steal the show at a circus, sweetheart. They won’t even see the fire when I’m done.”
As she turns and runs to the backdoor, her blue ponytails bounce—colorful and unreal—making me believe she can do it.
Stopping with her hand on the handle and looking back at me, she says, “Ruby, call me tomorrow—gonna need some help with a few things.”
“You got it.”
Ambrosia looks as though she may cry for a moment, but she takes a deep breath, and says with a smile, “Hot,
