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He broke it down. Three minutes per house. That seemed really unlikely, even if each house didn’t have an alarm system. He tried to remember which houses had the little stickers in their windows, but he was coming up with nothing. Alarm systems or not, two houses on the court had dogs. Dogs would have sounded their own type of alarm.
Unless the dogs had been taken care of ahead of time? He remembered his neighbors standing outside, screaming for their dog. Had the animal succumbed to the fire—or had someone else gotten to him first?
Ignoring alarm systems and dogs, this still seemed like a big job. This would have taken planning.
Maybe that’s what you sensed in the woods every night.
It hadn’t just been Chris. It couldn’t have been—last night had proven that. Michael had been ready for an attack on his family. He’d sat outside, ready to wake them if he sensed true danger, so they could fight or run.
He hadn’t been ready for an attack on the whole neighborhood.
Guilt, quick and sudden, slammed into Michael. Maybe he should have been ready. Calla had set fires at a school carnival last month, just to get the attention of the Guides. She wanted a war. Her carnival fire hadn’t started one, and Michael wasn’t willing to do anything to draw more attention to his family. Had she given up on patience and turned to killing more people?
He needed more information. He wondered if the fire marshal would give him any. He fished the card out of his pocket and started to dial.
No. That was stupid. The fire marshal thought he was a suspect. He wasn’t going to say, “Hey, sure, Mike, take a look at my files while you’re at it. Want to walk through the crime scene?”
Michael ran a hand down his face. God, he needed some sleep.
His cell phone chimed.
Is this Michael Merrick?
He stared at it for a long moment. He didn’t recognize the number, but the area code wasn’t from Maryland or D.C. Sometimes landscaping customers would send him a text, but those had never been from an out-of-state cell.
Another bubble of text appeared.
We should meet to talk about last night. Free for dinner?
Wait. Was this the fire marshal? Was this Calla? Michael didn’t move.
Another bubble.
It’s in your best interest. I’m not sure I could limit a fire to five apartments.
Michael was on his feet in a heartbeat, letting the blanket fall. He sent power into the ground, seeking information. He needed to wake his brothers. They needed to move. They needed to move now.
The phone vibrated again.
Good idea. Run. One truck is definitely a more convenient target.
Michael couldn’t catch his breath. He searched the trees for movement, for anything out of the ordinary.
Nothing. The air was still and cold. The earth warned him of nothing.
Another message.
Relax. I’m not your enemy. But I could be.
Michael slid his fingers across the phone.
Who is this?
No message appeared, but instead, a photo.
Michael, sitting on the back porch of the Merrick house. Last night, before the fire.
Then another photo, taken from a distance.
