Chapter Three:

Chapter Three:

The figure leapt forward, merely a shadowed face in the darkness, and his hands came down upon her shoulders. She instinctively threw them off, shoving him away and a surprised cry broke from her lips. How had he gotten in? As he staggered backward she lunged from the bed, coming to her feet on the opposite side of the bed.

"What is it with you people?" she demanded angrily. She should've felt a bit embarrassed, standing before a stranger in her shorts and cotton tee shirt but she was raging and barely paid attention to her appearance. It wasn't as if she were about to ask the stranger on a date. "Are you here for the reward money, too?"

The stranger came into the light of the moon and she didn't recognize him. Of course she didn't, what had she been expecting? She snarled cattily at him, feeling herself tense up instinctively when her nostrils caught a whiff of that strange smell again, the horrid odor in her room. She looked behind herself quickly, even spinning in confusion. What was that?

The intruder laughed.

She looked back at him, a cold shiver running down her spine. She was not liking this in the least. There was a strange feeling hovering over her, almost like a premonition. Something was wrong, her mind was screaming and maybe if her thoughts would shut up for a second she would see where that smell was coming from...

And she suddenly saw it. The small, plastic case in the corner of her room, behind the stranger. And her bedroom, it was wet, the rug was soaked, her bare feet causing a strange fluid to rise from the carpet. The dresser gleamed from moisture, drops of the fluid shining on her mirror, her lamp.

On the amber bottle of brandy.

Everything was wet. With gasoline.

Her mind came to a screeching halt and all that made it past her lips was, "Oh, sh-"

The intruder grinned at her, teeth flashing and he held something in his hand. Even as she watched him, she knew. She knew. And she couldn't think, she could just react as she watched something spark to a flame in his hand. Her mind was still shrieking, incoherent sentences that all came to a mumble as she stared at him. She just watched him, wide-eyed. He was a vampire, another one. But not a newborn. This one was older.

Her breath lodged in her throat and she made a rattling sound. He was holding a match. In his hand, he held a match and the gasoline was all around. It was all around, she thought wildly. The presence of the flame in the room soaked with gasoline should have set the room ablaze in a fireball, shouldn't it have? But nothing was happening yet, nothing. Her wise eyes remained fixed on the dazzling fire, the dancing flame in his hands.

The glow suddenly flew, brilliant orange light streaking through the air.

"No!"

The scream tore from her throat, scraping painfully, the force of her emotions building up and releasing with it. It in itself hurt. She only made it a step before the room exploded in flames.

Chime felt the sudden heat. It just suddenly roared to life in the small room and she fell away as it raced around her, encircling her, the flames eating up everything in seconds. A flash of movement alerted her to the window and the vampire was there, his form balanced on the windowsill momentarily before he was gone. She took a step blindly, not knowing what to do. The floor was on fire and she leapt to the bed covers, looking around quickly. She had to go. But her home, her chimes…

The bed was catching fire, the wooden posts devoured by hungry flames. She whirled, looking toward the door but the fire was a wall, barring her from escaping that way. It streaked toward the ceiling, licking at the smooth white paint.

There had to be a way. There had to be-

Something burned her, a spark perhaps and her tee shirt was on fire. She patted it down frantically, cursing. She tried to think as she reacted but it was hard to think. There was smoke now, a lot of it and it choked her, stung her eyes causing tears to fall. She felt them, the tears, rolling down her face and for a moment she was in awe. They gushed. The drops ran from her eyes unceasingly and they were warm on her fire-reddened skin. The flames seemed to dance before her blurry vision, swaying as if to some horrible music.

She had to stop it. Before everything went up, she had to stop it. Her candles. Her wind chimes. All her wind chimes.

The bottle of brandy on her dresser exploded.

She looked at it, blinking at the mess of alcohol that fed the fire, the glass shimmering on the wooden surface of the dresser. And she suddenly knew. It was over. All of it. It had been over for such a long time, since she could remember. She just hadn't wanted to give in because she had hoped like a fool that she could right everything, force everything back the way it had been.

She looked toward the window again, in what felt like a deceptively slow movement. The curtains had been eaten up and now the rectangular exit was helping her, allowing the smoke to stream out and bringing in clear air. But it wasn't enough. She had to move. The time for thought and the good it had done her, was over. Now it was time to act.

If she could make it to the window and dive out, she could use her black power. Use it to cushion herself on her way down-

Flames licked at her side and the rest of her clothes were suddenly on fire. She screamed in fear, wanting to roll but the bed was on fire as well. She was stepping on flames as she bounced about the mattress. The flames had made her floor a living pool of fiery hell. She was getting burned, her skin cooking as she tried to pat it down. Burns broke over her body, charred skin bleeding. And it hurt like a bitch. She cried, reaching for the bottom of her shirt to pull it off but she couldn't find it. She couldn't find it. She patted again, stomping the fires of her bed with burned feet. She wasn't going to make it. She was going to stay on her bed and burn.

And he wasn't there to save her this time.

The mere thought made her want to crumble into a ball and die in the flames. She turned her senses off from the pain, pulled away from her body and looked at herself from outside.

That poor girl...who was that? Why wasn't anyone helping her? She felt pity for her, watched as she continued to slap at herself to put out the flames that ate at her skin. She wanted to call out to her. It was ok, it would all be over in a moment. She could stop now, she didn't have to be afraid...

Endymion...

And she was suddenly moving, her body a blur. It was pure instinct and she watched herself thoughtfully, watched as her slim figure dashed from the bed blindly and flung herself toward the window. Why was she doing that, trying to save herself? The flames reached for her, her bare skin blackened from smoke and soot. She hoisted herself onto the windowsill, balanced perfectly on the scorched balls of her feet. And then she fell out.

She was airborne, like a pretty angel with clipped wings.

And she was herself again, suddenly aware. She heard the wind chimes, knew they were being eaten. The bottle of brandy was gone. Cool night air kissed her flame-licked skin and blew through her hair, lifting up the threads of gold in a gleaming halo. She felt weightless and free, most of her body numb. She would almost say it was a wonderful experience. But she was falling and it clicked in the back of her mind. Wind rushed up as if to push her back toward the window but she continued to sail downward, the pretty angel falling to earth.

It wasn't earth she landed on. It was a car hood.

Her body crashed, and the windows and windshield burst under her weight, the sound deafening. Whatever had been alive seconds before was now numb of feeling and she somehow knew that this was not good. But it was all she could think. Almost like a child she repeated the phrase to herself with a sing-song melody.

This is not good. This is not good. This is not good. This is not good.

She couldn't move herself and she didn't want to. She didn't want to feel what her body was going through. It had been kind enough to shut itself down on her so that she couldn't feel it. She didn't want to argue with herself.

But her body was moving of its own accord. Gravity pulled at her and she rolled down the car feeling like a sack of potatoes. She fell off the side of the car, slumping into a pile beside it on the lonely road. Her eyes came open again as she settled on her back and she saw the flames reaching out her windows, saw her wind chimes melting, the soft melody warped and ugly.

Tears rolled freely down her face but she wasn't aware of them. Why did things always die? Why did everything become ugly, sound distorted?

Her head dropped to the side heavily and she swallowed, fine strands of golden hair floating down upon her charred cheeks like kisses. She couldn't see very well anymore, things were going black. She was going to sleep. And maybe she would see Rayne, maybe he would be there as she dreamt.

But something came into view through her thick, spiky lashes. Boots. And a pair of legs moving in those boots. Long, shapely legs clad in jeans.

She raised her eyes slowly, the tears blurring everything. She saw dim shapes and she blinked once to clear her vision.

"Maya..."

Her voice came out as a faint whisper before the familiar face faded into darkness.

Blaise Harman stared at the unconscious woman at her feet, lips parted in disbelief. She raised her head to look up at the window, at the flames reaching out toward the dark sky. The entire house was burning and there would be no one to help it live on. The house was surrounded by trees on its sides, no one would see the flames and no one would be there to hear its painful death moan. She looked down at the woman once more, at the smooth, pale skin that was smoky with soot and at the charred slender body. A sound came from behind her and she glanced over her shoulder.

Thea Harman was inching up, eyes wide. She was pale and stunned and her eyes didn't seem to be able to leave the form of the unconscious woman. "It's her..." she whispered dumbly, pointing with a shaky finger. "The dragon."

Blaise went down on her knees beside the dragon, leaning over her. "Go get Ash." She said slowly. Then in a stronger tone, "Get Ash! Tell him to bring the pick-up. And for Goddess's sake, hurry!"

"What about you?" Thea burst out.

Blaise was staring at the woman. "I'll stay here." She answered faintly. She reached down slowly, reluctantly, to touch the woman's smooth face, her fingers leaving clear smudges upon the porcelain skin. "Hurry, Thea."

"Is she alright?" Thea asked anxiously.

Blaise shook her head. "She's dying."