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."
