Chapter 1: The Rescue
The alarm clock sounded so shrill. So. Damned. Shrill. And Lily was so tired. Was it really morning already? She'd been in such a deep sleep, and she was still exhausted. Her last two law school exams of the semester had taken up her morning, and her bartending job had taken up her whole evening, and she had really been looking forward to sleeping in a bit after all that.
Come to think of it, why was her alarm going off? She was sure she hadn't set it, given the aforementioned plan to sleep late. And why would she have picked such a terrible, screechy alarm, anyway?
Lily took a deep breath, the precursor to a groan, as she prepared to force herself out of the bed – and she immediately started coughing. Her eyes flew open.
The room was dark with smoke.
"Shit!" she choked out, and scrambled up from the couch. The couch in the living room, not her bed, because she had fallen asleep while reheating some Jamaican beef patties after work. And it wasn't morning, and the sound she was hearing wasn't her alarm clock. It was the smoke detector.
Smoke. Lily froze in place. Suddenly she was nine years old again, standing outside in her pajamas next to her sister, watching her grandparents' house burn. Waiting for her family to join them at the agreed upon emergency meeting spot by the oak tree out front. Waiting still as Petunia ran next door and got the neighbors to call 911. Waiting as the screams of sirens filled the air, as the firemen arrived and declared the house too far under to save, as someone saw her and Tuney and herded them farther away, to safety.
Lily never saw her mother or grandparents again.
Her eyes stung and watered, whether from the smoke or the memories she couldn't be sure. She pushed her feelings aside and looked around the room. The living room of her Harlem apartment, not her grandparents' house. It was different, she told herself. She was an adult now, and besides. There was no one to get left behind this time.
No one except Buttercup.
The thought of her cat propelled Lily into action. "Buttercup!" she shrieked and started coughing again. She glanced around the living room, hoping Buttercup was nearby, but she didn't see the little yellow-orange tabby anywhere. "Buttercup, come here, kitty!"
The cat's favorite perch was on top of the refrigerator. Lily hurried into the short hallway that led from the living room to the rest of the apartment, dropping to her hands and knees as the smoke thickened. "Buttercup!" she called again, but the word came out in a gasp. Tears slid down her face, and she tried to tug the front of her camisole up over her nose and mouth to help her breathe. She turned her head towards the kitchen and let out a choked sob.
Heavy black smoke filled the tiny room, and through the darkness Lily could see her toaster oven, aflame like some burning symbol from the Bible. And that wasn't all. The flames had spread from their original source, devouring the curtains over the kitchen sink, licking at the sides of the fridge, curling the edges of the calendar she kept there.
Lily kept moving, refusing to give a moment's consideration to the possibility that Buttercup was still in that kitchen. The cat was probably in the bedroom, shredding important Property Law notes or asleep in a pile of fresh laundry, or any other cat-like nuisance that Lily would never complain about ever again, so long as Buttercup was all right.
Please, let her be all right.
There was a loud banging and some yelling at her front door, and Lily paused in her army-crawl for a second. Neighbors had probably heard the alarm, or smelled the smoke, and were checking to see if she was okay. Maybe they'd even called the Fire Department. But they'd have to wait. She had to get to her cat.
There was a crash behind her, and the door to her apartment splintered. A masculine voice yelled, "Shit! I've got the girl!" but Lily barely noticed.
That is, until strong arms caught her around the waist and hauled her backwards.
"Let go! My cat!"
"Miss, you can't go in there," an authoritative deep voice said. Its owner had a secure grip on Lily as he dragged her back towards the living room, further away from her only chance to look for her four-legged roommate.
"Buttercup!" Lily screamed, flailing against her rescuer's grasp. She coughed and started sobbing. "Buttercup! Here kitty, please—"
The muscular arms wrapped around Lily and picked her up like a baby, pulling her tight against a broad chest. Still, she continued to try to break free. "My cat," she wailed. "Please, we have to get her." She coughed again.
"I gotta get you outta here, Miss," the fireman said in a thick south-Bronx accent. "But I promise we'll look for your cat."
Lily glanced up at her rescuer's face, or at least what she could see of it beneath the soot stains and his fireman's helmet. He had a square jaw and full lips, and eyes that gleamed like opals under thick, dark brows.
Opals? Lily's thoughts were disjointed. She was suddenly surprisingly aware of how little clothing she was wearing. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, staring up at him. "Thank you."
"Of course, Miss," he replied, his voice a low rumble. His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes before he turned and began walking toward the front of the apartment. "Nothing to be sorry for." He stepped aside as two other firemen entered the living room dragging a heavy hose. A man with dark, wavy hair peeking out from under his helmet directed them towards the kitchen, then hurried over to the fireman holding Lily.
"Sirius, take her outside." Lily's rescuer shoved her into the arms of the other man, who had piercing gray eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass. "I'm going to sweep for animals."
"Got her," Gray-Eyes – Sirius, apparently – said with a quick nod to his colleague. Then he glanced at Lily and said more gently, "Let's get you outta here." He turned to the side and eased them out of her apartment with unexpected grace.
Lily was marveling at his fluid movements, wondering if she was actually still sleeping and this was all a dream, when she realized the second-floor hallway was nearly as smoky as her apartment. "My neighbors," she wheezed, jerking her head up from where it had fallen to rest against Sirius' shoulder. She looked around – suddenly, finally – appropriately terrified. "We've got to warn them!"
"Yes, ma'am, we're getting everyone out. Don't you worry." Sirius started down the stairs on quick, sure feet, carrying her as though she weighed nothing.
"Okay," Lily whispered anxiously. "And what about my cat?"
"Potter's looking for her now, ma'am. If she's in there, he'll get her." His voice was calm, reassuring, but Lily's heart was racing.
"I shouldn't have left her. I never should have—" Lily inhaled sharply, willing herself not to start crying again. But she couldn't get enough air. She gasped again and started taking short, shallow breaths, her eyes wide with panic. "I can't—I can't breathe."
"You're hyperventilating, ma'am. Breathe through your nose and try to hold your breath, we're almost—"
And then Lily passed out.