Fire Within

  Andreas nodded, and Ari stifled an urge to kick the nearest wall. Such a hunt would be bloody for both sides. If the vampires attacked the humans, they’d be hunted in return.

  “Are the Pure Bloods behind this?”

  “No, the leaders of that group are out of circulation, but there are many who share their sentiments.”

  “What do you mean by out of circulation?” she asked, momentarily diverted.

  “Nothing important.”

  “Are they dead? Or going to die?”

  They locked eyes.

  “No.”

  Maybe Rita was right when she said they’d been sent out of town. Ari was relieved. The gang members might be crude and nasty, but she couldn’t condone their murder. Whatever else happened to them was out of her hands, and they probably deserved it. Ari shrugged. Maybe she should trust Andreas’s judgment.

  “Should I be worried, or can Daron control the vampires?” she asked instead.

  Andreas’s expression flickered at her blunt question. “No reason for concern yet, but it may become necessary for Daron’s court to provide a greater presence on the streets. I could be pulled away at any moment. Lucien is informing the Magic Council of the unrest. I think you and Lt. Foster will hear from your employers.”

  “Just what we need, something else to think about.” Sarcasm was one way of letting off steam. Ari felt a growing tension, unease, a hint of foreboding. She flexed her stiff shoulders. Too many complications, and she was running out of steam. She opened the fridge and peered inside, looking for a quick energy boost. It was pretty much empty, except for soda and apples. “Tomorrow could be a very long day,” she said over her shoulder. “At least none of your vamps will be hunting during daylight. It’ll give me time to research, maybe figure something out. How about taking a break? Do you drink soda?”

  Andreas didn’t respond, and when the silence began to grow, Ari peeked around the fridge door. One of her complications was leaning casually against the kitchen wall, watching her every move. Her pulse picked up tempo. She thought about the bottle of Chianti in her cupboard and about the fierce inner dialogue she’d had the day of its purchase. An argument that seemed to be over now. She closed the fridge and rested a hip against the kitchen counter. “Why aren’t you singing at the club tonight?”

  “Our business was more important.” His slow smile said he was no longer referring to murders and demons.

  “Was it? Well, now that you’re here, what would you like to do? Watch a little TV? Have a drink? Or,” she returned his smile, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, “something more satisfying?”

  His pupils flickered as he absorbed the open invitation.

  Ari was glad she’d surprised him. “I have a bottle of Chianti.”

  “Were you anticipating company?” He still didn’t move, but his magic reached out to touch hers, and Ari’s body tightened in anticipation.

  “Maybe.”

  “Perhaps the Chianti can wait.” Andreas straightened from the wall and glided forward, his arms slipping around her waist. She met his lips halfway. Soft and firm, gentle, demanding, insistent. Her senses flared at the touch of his hair brushing her forehead, the smell of his cologne. His hands made possessive circles on her back, pulling her in. Deepening the kiss, Andreas drew her closer until she could feel every hard line of his body. She tugged at his shirttail, slipping her fingers between the smooth silk and the hard, cool muscles of his chest.

  The jarring ring of a cell phone jerked her back to earth. His phone. Ari stiffened and broke the kiss, resting her forehead against his chest. Desire still shimmered around them.

  “I will ignore it,” he murmured.

  It rang again, and the mood was broken. Still, she didn’t move.

  “Andreas…” she said into his shirt. What the hell was she doing? Wasn’t there enough going on? Why had she started this? Oh yeah, she knew why. But more to the point, what did they do now?

  On the third ring, Andreas glanced at the readout and frowned. “Marcus.” He breathed the word against her hair. “He would not call unless it was important.”

  “You need to answer it,” she said, stepping back this time, reluctant yet knowing the decision for tonight had already been made.

  He punched a key, listened a moment, his gaze never leaving Ari’s face. “On my way.”

  Disconnecting, he reached out a hand, and his fingers touched her cheek. “Sorry.” He gave a short, rueful laugh as he turned away, tucking in his shirt. “You do not know how sorry I am, but I have to go.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” she demanded, keeping pace with him as he headed toward the door. Whatever was going on, it was serious. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Then, hurry. The club is on fire.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Black smoke billowed from the front windows and doors. Andreas and Ari stood frozen, taking in the jarring contrast with the pristine whiteness of the rest of Club Dintero. The worst of the fire was out, but heavily clad firemen still clung to hoses aimed into the interior. A thick haze hovered over the sizable crowd of guests and curious bystanders drawn by the trucks and sirens. People choked and hacked from the dense smoke, and Ari wondered why they didn’t leave.

  She rubbed at the prickly feeling on her neck and looked around. A brooding sense hovered over the fire scene, as if something malevolent was watching. As she scanned the area, she noticed a group of a dozen or more young vampires huddled off to one side. Most were in jeans and t-shirts or leather and didn’t look like club patrons. They weren’t staff. Ari didn’t like the angry energy they produced. It wasn’t the same malevolence she’d noticed earlier, but in light of Andreas’s comments about the mood in the vamp community, the youthful group could be real trouble.

  She was about to point them out to Andreas, when he spotted Marcus. “Is everyone out?” Andreas asked.

  The young maitre’d nodded. “Yes. Sure glad you got here. I think the only ones seriously hurt were two humans.” Marcus nodded toward a green and white rescue van. “Paramedics are treating them now. They were standing in the entry when a bottle or something on fire came through the front windows.”

  Ari saw a seventy-something couple seated on the open back of the van. A paramedic swabbed the woman’s arm with cotton, and the man held an ice pack against the left side of his face. If that was the worst of the injuries, the club patrons had been very lucky.

  Andreas surveyed the ordered chaos surrounding his building. He telegraphed uncertainty, a rare state for him, clearly torn between his duty to the victims and taking charge of employees and damage control.

  Ari nudged his arm. She could help Andreas and still be in a position to keep an eye on the youthful vampire gang. “I’ll stay out here and talk to the victims. You deal with the rest of this mess.”

  His instant smile made her glad she’d offered. It might just make holding the victims’ hands bearable. She started toward the rescue van.

  Charlie and Henrietta Stillman barely noticed when Ari joined them. Henrietta was upset and making her feelings known.

  “I can’t believe this. I finally talk him into going out for a romantic evening, and what happens? Someone throws a Molotov cocktail at us! What kind of a place is this? Is this a gangster hangout? Or was this a terrorist attack?” Mrs. Stillman shuddered; frustrated tears glistened, ready to spill over at any moment.

  Ari arrived in time to hear the woman’s complaints and interrupted to introduce herself. “I’m so sorry this happened. Is there anything I can do? The club owner wants to do whatever he can to make it right.”

  “Make it right?” the woman wailed. “My poor arm is burnt to a crisp, and look at Charlie’s face. He’s all cut up and burned. He’ll be scarred for life.”

  “Now, Mrs. Stillman,” the female paramedic working on her arm said, “I told you, you and your husband will be fine. The burns may blister, but if you keep the creams on and are careful of infection, you should both heal without sc
arring. None of his cuts even need stitching. It looks worse than it is. In a few weeks you won’t be able to see where either of you were injured.”

  “A few weeks!” the woman shrieked. “His face is going to look like that for weeks? Charlie, did you hear that? You’re going to ruin Charlene’s wedding.” With that pronouncement, apparently realizing the enormity of this insult to her orderly world, Henrietta’s tears started to flow.

  Ari exchanged a helpless look with the paramedics. How could she stop the flood? At best, she was a resource counselor, not a damn shrink. And unlike a couple of her sister witches, she had no ability for healing others, except for potions, and the law didn’t allow her to use those on humans. She tried patting the lady’s shoulder but Mrs. Stillman continued to shake with sobs. Ari didn’t seem to be making much headway. She flashed the paramedic an apologetic look and took the coward’s route. She left.

  Ari scooted into the space on the far side of Charlie Stillman, watched the deft fingers of the male EMT dab ointment on Charlie’s face, and waited for a break in their conversation. The moment the young man finished his care instructions, Charlie turned to his wife.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Hettie, get a hold of yourself. These folks are going to think you’re a ninny.” In spite of this tough talk, Charlie took his wife’s good hand and squeezed it. “There, there, sugar. That’s better,” he added as she showed signs of calming. Her rapid breathing slowed, and then the tears stopped.

  When she was down to sniffles, Charlie turned toward Ari. “You’ll have to excuse her, Miss. She’s had quite a shock.”

  “I understand. You’ve both been through a bad experience. The club owner, Andreas De Luca, wanted me to assure you that your medical bills will be covered.” She knew Andreas would approve of that. “When the club reopens, he’d like you to accept a champagne dinner for two, on the house. It’s the least we can do.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Charlie said. His wrinkled face managed a half-smile. “You thank him for us. See there, Hettie, everything will be all right.”

  “If you say so, Charlie.”

  Ari hoped she didn’t look as astonished as she felt. Under Charlie’s experienced touch, the watering pot had been transformed. Ari breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you tell me what happened?” she ventured, hoping the question wouldn’t set the wife off again.

  “I don’t rightly know,” he said. “We had just arrived when something came flying through the window.”

  “The tiffany panel. It came through that lovely tiffany panel next to the door,” his wife corrected.

  “Yes, dear,” Charlie agreed. “Whatever it was, it was on fire. Window pieces struck my face, scorching hot. And Hettie’s sleeve caught on fire. Somebody pulled us behind the front desk. There was smoke everywhere, and I had trouble breathing.” He patted his wife’s hand. “That nice young man over there took us outside.” He pointed toward Marcus, who was standing with Andreas and two firefighters. “He stayed with us, too. Until the fire trucks and paramedics came.”

  “Who said it was a Molotov cocktail?”

  “That’s what Hettie heard,” he said, and his wife bobbed her head.

  “That fireman over there.” She pointed with her good hand to one of the men standing with Andreas. “Heard him say so.”

  Ari gave them an agreeable nod. A logical conclusion, if you didn’t know about the demon. She could smell the ozone, a by-product of magical fire. The fireman wouldn’t know what that meant. Under the circumstances, a Molotov cocktail was a better story than the truth.

  “We’re ready to go,” the paramedic reported to Ari. “These folks should be seen by the ER docs, and we’re ready to transport.”

  “Good. I’ll let you get on your way.” She turned back to the Stillmans. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Anyone you want me to call?”

  “Thank you, but no,” Charlie said. “Already called my son. He’ll meet us at St. Mary’s Hospital. We’ll be fine.” The painkillers had kicked in and Charlie’s face had lost the stress creases. “You tell Mr. De Luca, we’ll be back for that dinner.”

  “Any time, sir. The guest reservations will be at the front desk whenever you can make it. If you call ahead, we’ll save you the best table.”

  Ari heaved a sigh of relief as the rescue van drove away. Playing nursemaid was not her best role, but the Stillmans were getting the care they needed, and with any luck, the club wouldn’t be sued.

  She checked once more on the vamp gang, discovered most of them had left, and made her way over to Marcus. The smoke was down to wisps, and the firefighters were starting to put their equipment away. Andreas had disappeared.

  “He’s inside,” Marcus said immediately. “The fire was contained around the front door and the host station. The club was packed, but everyone got out.”

  “Close call. We were lucky.”

  “Yeah. It could have burned to the ground.” Marcus shuffled his feet. “I should have been better prepared for something like this.”

  Ari flushed. Her bad temper was coming back to haunt her. “You’re not to blame for this. You did a great job in getting everyone to safety. And club security’s not your problem.” She tugged on his arm until he looked at her. “Not tonight and not the day of the shooting. I’m sorry, Marcus. I should have apologized sooner. I was wrong to say those things to you. I was upset, and, oh hell, sometimes I can be a bitch.”

  Marcus ducked his head to hide a swift grin.

  “Believe me,” she continued, “if I’m right about who did this, there isn’t anything you could have done.”

  “What do you mean? Do you know who did it?”

  Ari glanced at the area where the young vampires had been. Two of them were still watching and listening. “Not out here. Ask Andreas later. Let’s worry about the club first.”

  Marcus frowned, shrugged, and took off toward a group of staff members. Ari went in search of Andreas. She wasn’t sure how much they could do tonight, except start the planning, but she was willing to do her share.

  She found him in the main dining room, staring at the charred walls and soaked floors of the entry. Pieces of shattered glass littered the floor; the once beautiful cherry wood sat blistered and buckled; torn drapes, laden with water hung forlornly, and soot covered everything in sight. The pungent stench stung her nose.

  She picked her way to Andreas’s side, the floor squishing where she walked, and slipped her hand in his.

  “Your Lt. Foster called,” he said. “He is working on another case but will be here in the morning. He wants to talk with the fire investigators first. The cleanup has to wait until everyone else is finished.”

  “And after that?”

  He looked at the entry again, his jaw line hardening. “We rebuild, reopen, and find the devil’s spawn that did this.”

  * * *

  When Ari arrived home from the club, it was near dawn. It had taken hours to obtain all the names, double check that patrons and staff were safe, and secure the premises from possible vandals. She collected the morning paper from in front of her door and dropped it on the kitchen counter. Her nose was stuffy, smarting from the heavy smoke. Bed would have to wait a few more minutes. She stripped and stepped into the shower. Even her insides must be covered in smoke and soot. After ten minutes of soaping and scrubbing, she gave up. She could still smell the acrid residue of the fire.

  Cuddling in a large bath towel, she searched for and found clean sleep clothes and was climbing into bed when her phone started its insistent clamor. She glanced at the bedside clock. 5:37 a.m. Another day ruined before she even got to bed.

  “Get your paper,” Ryan’s voice demanded. “I’ll wait.”

  “Just tell me. Is this about the fire?” she asked, rubbing her gritty eyes with a free hand. She was in no mood to listen to Ryan bitch.

  “‘Killer Stalks Vamps!’” he sputtered. “I particularly liked this line: ‘A bystander described the recent attacks as a cowardly series of hate
crimes.’ What’s The Clarion trying to do? Start a riot?”

  When he mentioned The Clarion, she realized he must be reading from the morning news. “Why don’t you call them and ask? Instead of keeping me from my bed?” Ari padded across the room, tripped over a discarded shoe, and grabbed the paper from the kitchen counter.

  “It’s the headline! Don’t you get it?”

  She opened the paper, and the horrifying words jumped out at her. “Oh yeah, I get it,” she said, her heart sinking. “This is harsh. But how is bitching at me going to help?”

  “Maybe it won’t, but I could strangle that sonofabitch Eddie West.” Ryan was furious. “He's been a pain from the beginning of this case, but this is the last straw. It’s bad enough we have some asshole demon running around killing people and starting fires. Now the press. This is deliberately inflammatory!”

  “Okay, calm down. I’ll call Eddie and see what’s going on. Maybe I can at least prevent more articles like this. He doesn’t understand how bad things are. I learned last night that many of the younger vamps have demanded that Prince Daron approve a hunt for the killer.”

  “A hunt? Dammit. Why didn’t you call me? You thought I didn’t need to know?” He uttered a few more choice words, and Ari let him vent. She had to agree that the case was going to hell in a hurry, and The Clarion article only made things worse.

  “I would have told you right away, but it was late, and then there was the fire. Besides, Prince Daron has them under control, at least for now.” She was annoyed she had to defend herself. “Give me a break, Ryan. I haven’t been to bed yet. But since I’m still up, I’ll call Eddie now.”

  “I want to know what he says, so call me afterwards. I’m at the fire scene now. You’re not the only one who’s short on sleep.”

  She hung up before the conversation deteriorated further and rummaged in the fridge for a diet cola. She downed it in one long swig. The throat burn actually felt good. At least it got her going again. She had Eddie’s private number on speed dial and figured he deserved to be up. When he answered on the first ring, she realized someone had gotten to him first. She was sorry to have been deprived of the pleasure.