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“I don’t think we’ll find much on the—”
A strident siren cut off the rest of Illie’s sentence. A muffled explosion rumbled in the distance, then the floor began to shake. Slowly at first, but with increasing intensity.
“Quake,” Illie said, calmly studying the ceiling as if searching for any sign of collapse.
Gabriel did likewise. Spider-like lines began to splinter across the concrete. Too quickly, he thought, and frowned. “I don’t think so.”
Another explosion vibrated the air around them. The siren cut off abruptly and the ensuing silence was almost eerie.
“I think we’d better get out of here, Stern.”
Gabriel didn’t reply. Wind stirred his hair, as if some unseen force was moving toward them. The back of his neck burned. Something was very, very wrong.
He lunged forward, grabbed Illie by the scruff of the neck and thrust him toward the nearest cabinet.
“Get in there, close the door and do not come out until I say it’s safe!”
“Have you gone mad?”
“The cabinets are fireproof.” The concrete bucked underneath him and Gabriel stumbled several steps backward before he regained his balance.
“Holy shit.” Illie’s mutter was etched with fear. “The back wall is melting.”
Gabriel glanced over his shoulder. Rivulets of concrete rushed toward them. A good third of the wall had melted, revealing a maelstrom of fire.
“Shut the door, damn you!”
Another explosion ripped through the air, followed quickly by a sharp crack. He glanced up and saw the cracks on the ceiling widening and joining.
Chunks of ceiling began to rain down as Gabriel dove for the nearest cabinet, hoping like hell it would hold against the approaching firestorm.
THREE
THE LOCKER SHUDDERED AS THE force of the storm hit. The walls began to burn, becoming too hot, too quickly. The air seethed with heat, and every intake of breath burned Gabriel’s throat and lungs.
He hunched in the middle of the locker and prayed that the thing would hold up long enough to ride out the storm. Sweat skated across his body, drying as fast as it appeared in the soul-sucking heat. He shifted his arm and licked several droplets before they could evaporate. It might not be much, but his mouth felt drier than the Sahara, and he knew he had to keep some moisture in his body or he wouldn’t survive.
His wristcom vibrated. It might have rung, too, only he couldn’t hear it against the whirlwind of fury battering the cabinet. He didn’t answer it. Couldn’t. He didn’t dare move, lest he touch the sides of the locker. They glowed with heat, and one touch could be deadly.
Two heartbeats later, the noise began to bleed away. Silence reigned for several more heartbeats, and then a hissing began—softly at first, but then gaining in momentum. Water began to seep into the locker.
The sprinklers. Some of them must still be active, despite half the ceiling coming down. He waited several more minutes, then cautiously touched the door. Hot, but not unbearable.
He turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge. He shoved harder. A crack of light appeared along one edge. Through it, he could see chunks of concrete, scattered about like some giant’s abandoned toys.
He shifted around until he could get his feet against the door, then pushed with all his might. The door buckled under the force he applied, but eventually the slabs of concrete moved enough that he could climb out.
Water misted the air, quickly soaking through his clothes. He lifted his face and closed his eyes, allowing the moisture to cool his skin.
Then he remembered his new partner. He quickly picked his way across the rubble to the locker that held Illie. The door moved slightly and relief swept through him. At least he hadn’t managed to kill yet another partner—though a tiny, callous part of his soul suggested that if death came in threes, then Illie’s might have freed him to partner with Sam.
But it was not the way he wanted to break the curse on his partners.
“Hang on,” he said. “There are several concrete blocks piled up against the door.”
He threw them to one side and forced open the locker.
Illie scrambled out, his face red and his suit stained black with sweat. “Now that was an experience I don’t care to relive!”
