Page 111 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

He looks down his crooked nose at me and yanks away. “Don’t touch me.”

I reel back at the hatred in his gaze.

The man passes along the water bucket in his hands, ignoring me. I turn to the next person in line, only to see an equally hateful look in the woman’s eyes.

Shit.

It looks like Ferria and I aren’t the only ones who realized there’s something odd going on with the flames. And my interactions with the Fae make me an easy target to blame.

“Help!”

I abandon the well and run in the direction of the cry. I find myself at the back of the last house on the street behind Rolf’s home.

There!

On the third floor. A small hand waves out of the window.

A child… A child is in that building. And the fire spreading across its roof is minutes from swallowing it whole.

I don’t hesitate.

I run to the back door and yank it open. The living room is dark, but light from the flames on the street peeks through the curtains covering the tiny window, casting the worn furniture in dim shadows.

The layout of these homes is all the same. I turn left. The rickety stairs groan under my boots. I press my palms against the splintered walls, coughing as hot, ashy air flows into my lungs the higher I climb. Sweat drips down my back.

Magic coats my skin like a protective cloak, offsetting the worst of the dizzying heat, but the flames are too hot. Too strong. Fueled by something unnatural. Something…powerful.

I need to find the child and get out of here.

I climb up to the second landing, duck, and creep through the narrow hall on the top floor.

“Hello?” My voice strains. “Where are you!?”

“Help!” a weak cry replies.

I trip over the uneven floorboards before reaching a closed door. My palm hovers, then presses to the knob. It’s not hot, but the thing won’t budge. I twist harder, then slam my shoulder against it with a grunt. The wood barely moves beneath the force.

A weak cough travels through the door. “Help me, please.”

Come on!

My magic flares, then pulses in my arms. I give the door another shove, and the wood cracks against the interior wall. I stumble inside. My eyes lock on a young boy, six, I’d say. His foot is trapped in a jagged hole in the floorboard near the window that faces the street.

How in the Gods did that happen?

“I’m here.” I hurry forward. “It’s okay. I’ll help you.”

Smoke billows in through the open door. Fire begins to creep over the ceiling, crawling its way closer to the window.

“I’m stuck.” The boy coughs.

Tear streaks mar his terrified face.

“I know. Just hold on.” I reach out.

“My stomach hurts,” he says.

I brush the sweaty hair from his face, and my magic flows over his body for a split second before immediately racing back into my veins with something like a hiss.