Heath squirmed in his chair, discomforted beyond description, listening to the ragged cries coming from other interrogation rooms on either side of his own. He had no way of tracking time, but he felt sure he'd been sitting for longer than an hour. At first he'd been terrified; now, he fought hard to explain the noises, avoiding the truth, hoping against hope that it was a trick of his own mind.

The door swung inward, and two officers entered, their expressions neutral. One held a manila folder, placing it on the table, and sat down across from him. "State your full name, please," he said, as the other officer unbuttoned and rolled up his uniform sleeves, positioned between Heath and the door.

"Heath Burns. Listen, could you undo these cuffs? I'm not going anywhere, I swear. They're just really uncomfortable."

Both officers gave him a cold stare. He shrugged, sitting back. "Social security number?"

He recited it, to the best of his recollection.

"Birthdate?"

"You know, I gave all this information to that one guy at school. You don't really need me to repeat it, do you?"

The officer sitting across the table stood, closing the folder. "I suppose not. You're right. It's better that we get down to business." He walked around the table, standing behind Heath. "You know why you're here, right?"

He shrugged one shoulder, nonchalant. "I'm a name on a list? I don't know anything about that dead kid, though. If I did, I would've said something by now, believe me."

"We're trying to get information on one of your fellow students, Heath. One Spectra Vondergeist. Do you know her?"

"Oh, sure. Who doesn't?"

"Is she a friend of yours?"

He shook his head, craning back to look at the officer standing behind him. "Not really. We talk sometimes, you know, but we're not bluddies."

"But the girl," said the officer at the door, and Heath straightened, looking down at him. "The blue girl.."

"Abbey."

He nodded. "She knows Spectra well, doesn't she?"

Heath frowned. "Maybe a bit better than I do, but not much. Spectra's kind of a loner ghoul, you know?"

The officer at his back put both hands on Heath's shoulders. He tried not to tense up, but the gesture made him feel all kinds of creepy. "But you're not, right? I bet you're a real popular guy."

"Yeah, well.. can't deny I'm in demand."

The officer at the door nodded, half-smiling. "I bet you're real popular with that Abbey girl, huh?"

He scoffed, feeling his face go warm.

"Yeah," said the man at the door, nodding to him again, his smile widening. "She likes you, doesn't she?"

The officer behind him squeezed his shoulders. "She's a hot item, that one."

"She's next on our list," said the officer at the door, glancing at a clipboard on the wall. "We thought you might have some ideas how we can get her to talk."

"What? Guys, I don't think she knows anyth-"

The officer at his back slid his arm across Heath's throat, taking him into a casual headlock, pulling back only so far that Heath knew he wouldn't be able to escape. He held Heath, his arm rigid, until breathing became a challenge. In a low voice, the officer said, "How do you know what she knows? Maybe she knows exactly what's going on."

"Maybe she's the murderer, Heath. Did you think of that?"

The officer behind him leaned close. "Did you? You're a smart boy, aren't you? Quit playing dumb."

He coughed, shaking his head. The officer released him, walking back around the table to face him, arms crossed over his brawny chest.

His hands, his whole body, felt tremulous and bathed in waves of heat and cold. He looked down at his shoes on the floor, trying not to flare up in rage and fear. When he felt he'd calmed enough, he looked up at them. "You've got the wrong kids. We don't know anything, man. Sorry."

The officers exchanged a glance. The one by the door nodded, smiling. "You know what? I believe him. He seems like a decent guy."

They turned to Heath, and he stared back at them, dumbfounded. The officer by the door stepped forward. "I'm going to ask you one simple question, and if you give me the wrong answer, I'm going to punch you in the nose. Are we clear?"

"Um," said Heath, frowning. He felt heat creeping up his back again, adrenaline driving him to do something stupid.

"All right. Here goes." The officer moved close, raising one fist inches away from his face. "What's the worst possible thing we could do to her, to make her confess?"

He stared, his mind racing, his face going bright red. "I.. I don't.."

"Oh, come on," said the other officer, chuckling. "A hot-blooded young man like you has probably got all kinds of wicked ideas."

"What's it gonna be? What scares her the most, Heath? Blood? Knives? She seems like the strong silent type; would we have to hurt her to get her to cave?"

"Hey," said the other, stepping forward. "What if we were just real nice to her? What if we told her how pretty she is? You think she'd be flattered into confessing?"

The officer inches from his face smiled, showing gapped, yellowing teeth. "What if I told her all the things we'd like to do to her, Heath? You think that might get her talking? Hey-" he prodded Heath's belly with the toe of his boot, propping one foot on the edge of his chair - "I got an idea. What if we told her all the things you'd like to do to her? How about that?"

He couldn't meet their eyes. He tried to say something, torn between a spiteful response, a lie about Spectra, and a sincere plea on Abbey's behalf, but nothing would come out. The words jumbled in his mouth. Sweat broke out on his face. His hands shook.

"Wrong answer."

He saw it coming and closed his eyes, tensing. The impact of the officer's fist rocked the chair back on its legs. For an instant he was blinded, suffocating, tasting blood as it dripped into his mouth. The chair rocked forward and he realized he'd struck the back of his head against its metal frame. He hung his head, trying to breathe through his nose, spitting blood onto the leg of his pants and the concrete floor, waiting for his vision to return.

He could hear them laughing. "Should I hit him again?"

"No, no. Don't rough him up too much."

"Want me to get her?"

"Are you an idiot, McCarthy? Leave her there. She won't take long. Girls never do."

"Story of my life," said McCarthy, snorting laughter.

Heath exhaled, slow and deep. He felt metal melting down the sides of his hands, dripping to the floor with a hiss. He grabbed onto the officer's leg where it still held his chair down, and the officer let out a bellowing scream as the leg of his pants and then the flesh beneath sizzled in Heath's grip.

He stood from his melting chair, releasing the man's leg, and the officer writhed on the floor, moaning. Beneath him the floor began to smoke. Across the table, the other officer fumbled for his gun. Heath moved through the metal table, a hot knife through butter, and seized the barrel of the gun, liquefying it. He reached for the officer, who shrieked as he jerked open the door and fled down the hall.

Heath dropped the molten lump that had been a gun. In that instant he lost his focus, and the flames burst out of control, exploding from his body with an audible whoomph. The sprinkler system turned on inside the room, and in the hall, a smoke alarm began its shrill screaming.

He stepped out, elbowing open the nearest door along the hall. Scarah, her face bloodied, slumped against the table within. She didn't respond when he called her name, staring forward. He decided not to risk setting the room on fire and moved on. Through a one-way mirror in the hall he saw Howleen, slumped in her seat, straining against her cuffs, watched by two officers. He tried to open the door, slamming one shoulder into it, and it began to burn outwards. The officers leaped up and he dodged between them, sliding across the surface of the table, leaving a slurred line of melted metal in his wake.

Howleen sobbed as he held the cuffs in his hands, trying to melt them, but he couldn't summon the focus he'd had earlier. They deformed, bending, and she tried to pull them from her hands, to no avail.

The officers sprayed him with the fire extinguisher, and he marched towards them, crowding them into the fiery doorway, gathering them into his foam-coated and partially extinguished arms.

He turned back to Howleen once they'd fallen to the floor, brushing foam off his sleeves, and resumed trying to liquefy her cuffs.

"Did.. did you kill them?"

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. "I don't know. Maybe."

She set her jaw, silent, and he saw a hardness behind the tears in her eyes.

The metal warped in his hands, soft as modeling clay; he pulled the cuffs apart and dropped the remnants to the floor. "Come on."

She stood, holding her arm, and followed him over the crisped bodies in the smoldering doorway. The smoke alarm now blended with the sound of sirens outside. He pressed himself against the locked door across the hall, burning through the cheap door, and stepped through.

At first he thought the room had filled with smoke already, but he quickly realized his flames were causing the layer of ice around the room to vaporize into steam. Abbey stood in the center of the frozen room, broken cuffs dangling from one wrist, her chair already smashed into shards of crystalline blue plastic encased in ice. She cocked her head at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I should've told you," he said, hanging back, "I'm not so great at keeping promises."

"Will forgive you this time." She breezed past him, helping Howleen down the hall. "Must hurry. More police will come soon."

He nodded, pushing past them into the holding room. "There's an emergency exit on this side. Go out that way. I'll be right behind you."

Abbey hurried towards the exit door, ushering Howleen ahead. An alarm sounded as they opened the door, but the noise inside the building drowned it out.

Heath squinted through the smoke, listening to coughing and choking inside the cells. "Everyone down on the floor. I'll get you out."

The station door slammed inwards, and he heard shouting down the hall, towards the main entrance. He grabbed the bars of Frankie's cell first, melting a square of them into stumps and squiggles on the floor. Frankie clambered out, nodding her thanks, and hurried towards the emergency exit. Heath moved on to Gorey's cell, trying to direct heat to his hands as he seized the bars.

"Hurry," she said, and he pulled a face, annoyed.

He burned a two-foot square hole, then moved on. "Your sister's outside," he said, melting through the bars of Clawdeen's cell. The werewolf got to her feet just as he heard the loud report of a gun at his back, and they both saw the bullet ricochet off the intact bars only three inches from his head. "Sorry, Clawdeen. Gotta go."

He sprinted for the open emergency exit as more officers spilled into the room, slamming the door shut behind himself, and took a moment to try and weld the door closed with one fingertip, eyes half-closed. "Go! Go!" he motioned to Gorey and Frankie, and they hurried after Abbey, already a solid hundred yards ahead and hustling. The night surprised him; he'd felt sure it was, at most, late afternoon by now, and for a moment he wondered if he'd lost a day in there.

Chasing after the girls' shadows, he noticed his own yellow-orange glow, and the trail of sparks and embers he left behind.

"Abbey!" he called, racing to catch up. "I need a cool-down, or they're going to spot us."

She nodded, taking aim. Her first shot went wide, striking the side of the emergency exit, crusting over the hinged side of the door. Her second shot struck him on the arm, evaporating into steam at once. The third strike hit him in the belly, and he slowed, winded. She stopped, turning, and shot a blast of ice that coated half his face. He seized the melting mini-glacier, pushing it up into his flaming hair, and the heat began to bank down, hissing.

"Go," he said, waving them on, sinking to his knees in the grass behind the station, trying to savor the sensation of the melting ice against his skin. His pulse pounded in his ears. He took slow, measured breaths, trying to rein himself in, but it did no good. He could feel himself racing ahead, on fire, gasping for air. He could hear, replaying inside his mind, all the officers had said about him, about Abbey; and the fear bubbled up inside him, yielding to anger. The grass around him browned, sizzling, and he got to his feet. Behind him, he could hear officers pounding against the weak welded door, and he could hear more circling around the side, shouting to one another. He turned to face them, giving up on the attempt to bank the fires of his rage.

Gorey appeared at his side, panting. He looked back over his shoulder, and she shook her head. "They're fine. They're getting Howleen to the storm drain." She cracked her knuckles, rolling her neck. "You should go with them."

"What, and leave you here?"

She raised an eyebrow just as the officers came over the ridge, shouting, guns drawn, and dropped into firing position. "Can you melt bullets before they hit you, Heath? I don't think they're prepared for me."

In unspoken agreement, they rushed the crouching officers. Gorey flung herself into the center of their group, claws and fangs bared. Gunshots fired, piercing the night around them. Heath leaped over and across the officers, pulling his flaming body close to theirs, following as they scattered in terror. He circled them three times, trapping them inside a flaming circle with the enraged vampire, until one of them collided with Heath as he tried to flee and fell screaming to the ground, entangled.

Gorey got up, dusting off the ripped knees of her stockings. In the reflected light of his flames, she appeared coated in oil, her body and arms dripping with gore. "That took care of them. Quit messing around. We have to catch up."

"I'm not.. hey! Give me a hand here!" Heath squirmed out from under the panicky officer, grunting, and jogged after her.

She turned, smiling at him, her face smeared with blood, just as the back door to the station burst open. More gunshots burst through the darkness. Heath skidded to a stop sideways as Gorey lurched forward, blood spurting from her neck, and crumpled to the ground with an ugly groan.

He knelt beside her, and one clawed hand grabbed at him. She turned to face him, her voice muffled by the earth. "Go on. I'll be OK."

"No," he said, wanting to help her up, not sure if he should touch her, his hands still flaming. "No, Gorey, come on. I can't leave you here."

"You can." She pushed herself up to her knees, digging at the bloody pit on the side of her neck with one hand until she withdrew the bullet, tossing it away. "And you will, or I'll make you regret it. I already told you once. Get out."

Staring at her face, he realized she meant it. He backed away, watching the officers discover the remains of their comrades along the first ridge. He turned and ran as she faced the officers, snarling.

He hit the street, swinging wide out across the yellow line, huffing. He ran through an intersection, spotting the sharp edges of the high school above the roofs of houses.

Behind him, he heard the wail of a police cruiser. He ducked his head low, leaning forward, picking up speed.

Now he could see the entry to the school, and at the intersection before it, the storm drain where he'd originally entered New Salem a year previous.

"Heath!"

He turned, slowing, and spotted them crouched beside a porch railing, in the shadows. "Stay there!"

The cruiser angled, cutting him off as it rolled up onto the sidewalk. Heath jumped aside, skidding across the hood of the car; paint peeled and hissed away from his form. He jumped off the car as the doors flung open, glancing back at crouching officers behind open doors, guns raised.

Shots fired. He felt one graze his calf, but he kept going, pushing the pain to the back of his mind. He passed the entry to the storm drain, rewarded by the sound of cursing as the officers took to their heels in an effort to catch him.

He hung a left at the intersection, glancing at the darkened school and the moon hanging high beyond it. In that moment he wished, harder than he'd ever thought possible, to be inside the halls of his own school, among friends.

He darted into the darkness between the houses, sliding onto the ground like he was stealing second base, and crept around the edge of a tiny Cape Cod with powder-blue shutters. He pressed his back to the siding, panting, and fought to quiet himself enough to hear his pursuers.

The officers rounded the corner, slowing. "Hold up. Hold up. Jesus."

"Where'd he go?"

"Parker, he's on fire. Just look around. You'll see him."

Heath scooted forward, noticing he'd left a scorch mark on the siding, and pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to be invisible.

He listened to them struggle to breathe, shifting their belts. He heard a click and watched a weak flashlight beam sweep the darkness between houses.

He got to his feet. Be a badass, Heath. Come on. This is your chance; don't blow it.

"I think I see him," said Parker, and the flashlight wobbled in his direction.

Heath stepped out of the shadows, marching towards them, revelling in the sensation as the flames rolled from his body, licking at the edges of the roof above.

Parker swore, dropping the flashlight, and the second officer went for his gun.

"Hey." Heath put up his hands. "Guys, I don't want to - "

"Over your head," said Parker, and the other man nodded, slackjawed. "Put your hands over your head."

He hesitated between the houses, then raised his hands into the air.

The officers nodded. "Okay," said Parker. "Now, uh.. put out the flames."

He laughed. "Sorry, dudes. No can do."

They shifted, nervous. "Come on, kid. Put 'em out."

He shrugged, shaking his head. He dropped his hands, moving towards them, and they went stiff with fear, backing into the road. "Look, it might be easier for me to douse the fire if you'd put your gun away. Deal?"

The officer shook his head. "No deal."

Heath nodded. "Yeah. I thought as much. Sorry."

He lunged, grabbing the gun as the officer fired in fear. The barrel, pointed skyward, crimped shut in his grip, and the officer tossed it aside with a pained hiss. Heath gave him an angry shove, knocking him into his partner. He ran, darting between the houses once more, and emerged just over the storm drain.

Headlights swept across him as he knelt in the road, struggling to lift the grate. He stood, giving a shrill whistle as a second cruiser swung to a stop across the street. "Yo! Abbey, Frankie, come on! Let's go!"

He knelt again. The driver's side door of the cruiser flung open. Abbey's shadow fell across him as she ran, followed close behind by Frankie and Howleen.

"Children," called a stern voice, and he glanced up, squinting in the brilliance of the cruiser's lights. "Did you forget someone?"

Abbey knelt, one hand absently touching his, the chill cutting through his own heat. "I can't," he said, releasing the grate. "It's too heavy."

"I will get it. You, get Frankie and the little Wolf."

He stood, shielding his eyes, staring towards the cruiser.

"Is that.. ?" Frankie said, crowding close to them, Howleen leaning on her other arm, whimpering.

"Yes," said Van Hellscream, closing his arm around Gorey's throat, one hand holding the point of a stake against her chest. "And if you want your friend to survive the night, you'll come along with me."

Abbey lifted the metal face of the grate off, turning to stare at Van Hellscream. Heath knew that look. He reached out, touching her arm, and shook his head. She frowned, eyeing Gorey.

Frankie stepped back, edging towards the open hole. "Guys," she said in a whisper, "go on."

Abbey shook her head. "No. Will not leave you to this horrible man."

Gorey's head lolled. She looked up at them, baring her bloodied fangs. "Go," she mouthed, and Frankie turned.

"Sorry, guys. No time for discussion." She gave Abbey a shove, sending her stumbling back into Heath, who clung to her. The two of them fell through the opening in the street, landing hard in a tangled heap at the bottom of the rusty ladder, watching dazed as Frankie replaced the grate and stood atop it. "All right, Hellscream," she said. "Just put the stake down, all right?"

Abbey tossed Heath aside, climbing up the ladder, but he grabbed at her. "Shhh. Stop! Stop!" He hung off of her, clinging to her back with his legs, grasping at her hands as she continued to climb.

"Get in the car," Hellscream said, and Frankie looked down, giving them a brief wave. She walked away.

Abbey climbed faster, fingers twining around the metal grate.

"Abbey," he said, hissing, "stop! If we go up there, he'll kill her. He'll probably kill us. Come down."

She stopped, staring, the streetlight sparkling off her skin. She sighed, looking down, and withdrew down the ladder, reluctant.

"Hey," he said, trying not to notice the angry tears in her eyes as she stood, sulking. "We can't help them if we're dead. We have to go back, get friends, come back in force."

She snarled, slamming her fist into the tunnel wall. Ice expanded outward from the impact in a white-blue sheet, crackling. "I am force! I will break them!"

He nodded, stepping close. "I know. I know you are. But please listen to me. We need, like, an army to win this."

She hung her head, avoiding his eyes, arms crossed over her chest. Then, to his surprise and chagrin, she burst into tears.

"Aw, Abbey, don't cry. Come on."

He startled back as ice exploded from her palms, coating the tunnel floor and walls, glistening across the ceiling. She stomped one foot, creating a chasm that spread halfway up the tunnel wall, and turned to punch the wall at her back. Rock and ice crumbled around her fist, scattering across the floor. He saw blood on her knuckles when she drew her hand back. She turned, erecting a series of pillars under the street, twice as thick around as Heath's body.

"Abbey," he said, his breath a cloud of steam. He took hesitant steps towards her, afraid he might slip and fall.

Her tears had frozen on her face, jagged stalactites hanging from her jaw. She ignored him, busy filling the empty space between the pillars with thick, opaque walls of ice. The rusted ladder shrieked as she swept ice across it, warping as it froze. The room became illuminated, light glittering off the walls, refracted through four feet of solid ice.

He took a deep breath, seizing her wrists, and used her solidity to pull himself in front of her. She refused to look at him, liquid tears still trickling from her eyes, creating a ridge of frost along her lower eyelid. He closed his eyes and focused inward, drawing up as much heat as he could. At first there was nothing - just the chill sensation of his hands on her wrists, the slight muscular twitch in her forearms each time she swept another foot of ice across the room - and then he faced his own anger at Van Hellscream, at the normies in general, at the shitty day he'd had in their hands. All the humiliation and the fear those officers had stirred up in him, threatening her. The vivid memory of finding her, triumphant, in the midst of rescuing herself yet still pleased to see him.

His senses brought him back to the moment, keenly aware of his hands on her wrists and the proximity of their bodies. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as his neck and hair flamed up, and he opened his eyes.

She glanced at him, breathing heavily, her expression guarded, her body tense.

He exhaled steam, realizing they were encased in an icy hollow of her making.

"In mountain home," she said, her eyes brilliant, "yeti do not abandon friends captured on journey. Is not honorable."

"Sure," he said, nodding, at a complete loss for words. It wasn't a lack of things to say; he had a million things he wanted to say - none of which he could put into words, none of which he felt she was ready to hear. Finally he settled on one statement. "We'll come back, I promise."

He put his hands on her face, and the frozen trails of her tears melted under his palms, rivulets of water running down his arms. He brushed the frost from her eyes with one thumb. She held his hand to her cheek, and he gave up on words. The gap had become too wide for words now. He leaned into her, feeling her sharp intake of breath just before their lips met. A flicker of doubt rose in his mind, but then she pressed back, the edge of one fang nipping at his upper lip, and he knew it had been the right choice.

She straightened, pressing him against the wall of ice at his back, her hands caressing his neck and shoulders, the tip of her tongue teasing at him. He heard and felt the ice around them liquefy by levels, slowly soaking his clothes, but he ignored the ominous cracking sounds, too enveloped in enjoying the contrast between his body and hers. He slipped down the melting wall, losing his footing. She grabbed for his jacket, laughing, and pulled him to his feet.

"When?"

"Right now?" he said, and his flames licked at the ceiling, raining ice water down on them both. The flames hissed and spat.

"No," she said, smirking, "not that. When will we come back?"

"Tonight. As soon as we can gather enough people to come back with us. As soon as possible."

She nodded, straightening the front of his jacket. "Then we must go."

"Oh. Yeah." He stood, clearing his throat, and moved towards the shield of ice coating the tunnel exit. "What about.."

"There will be time for that later. Also, if you tell anyone I cried, will give you cold shoulder for rest of school year."

"Your secret's safe with me, Abbmeister," he said, and pressed his palms against the ice wall, leaning in until they began to hiss and steam.

"Yes? Here is one more. Think maybe I like you, Heath Burns. You are good at knowing when girl needs kiss. Do not let it go to your head."