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By the time he got to the top, the base of the stairs was engulfed. No going back down that way. It was brutally hot. He peered down the corridor after Lily. Flames crawled along the sprinkle of gasoline that Zoe must have laid down, licking hungrily at one side of the corridor wall. Fiery light lit the clouds of smoke into an eerie orange haze.
He spotted her at the end, a tiny figure, doubled over, hand to her mouth. She rounded the L-turn without looking back, and disappeared.
Not waiting for him. Not expecting help from anyone.
Aw, fuck. What else did he have to do? He bent down, pulled in all the oxygen he could without choking, and charged after her.
* * *
Lily crawledwith her face to the ground, and stopped at the room that she devoutly hoped was the one where she’d found those babies. She couldn’t leave those little kids in those cribs while the house burned around them. Not if it killed her. Probably it would. She couldn’t carry both babies, or go back the way she came. The flames were rising. She had no air to breathe. She wasn’t Tinkerbell. No wings. No fairy dust.
She leaned against the door, eyes tearing in the smoky air, fumbling with the bunch of keys. Zoe hadn’t splashed her gasoline this far down, but the flames were advancing fast, even without accelerant.
Key after key. A figure burst through the haze. After one heart-stopping moment, she recognized Bruno. The graceful lines of his body, stretched out in a run, straight towards her.
Good. Another pair of arms. She’d squeeze every last drop of usefulness out of them. So, then. He was still a righteous, heroic dude, even if he had mistaken her for a rotten-hearted, back-stabbing whore.
He sagged against the wall, sliding down and coughing. “What the fuck are you doing, Lily?” he demanded.
“I didn’t invite you, so I don’t owe you a goddamn explanation.” She shoved another key into the lock. He watched, glancing towards the leaping flame. “How’d you get your hands on those keys?” he asked.
“How about you shut up and let me concentrate?”
He watched three more failed attempts before opening his trap again. “Um. Lily. Want me to do that for you?”
“One more word, and I’ll rip out your throat and leave you to die.”
“Ah.” Bruno flopped onto the ground. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Right.”
She continued grimly plugging the keys in, with the sinking sensation that she’d missed the right one, whenclick—it gave, turned. They practically fell inside. Bruno slammed the door behind them. They lay there, gasping the relatively untainted air. The room was dim, only a long slit of cobalt blue dusk sky showing between the drapes.
Bruno cleared his throat, with a rasping gurgle. “So? What the hell?” he demanded, irrepressible. “What is this place?”
She ran through the bathroom. Bruno hurried after her. She threw open the drapes so that he could see the cribs in the dim light.
He stopped short. “Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Oh, no.”
Lily struggled with the window latch while Bruno leaned over one crib, prodding under a plump chin. “Are they even alive?” he asked.
“They were breathing when I came through before, and it’s not too smoky in here yet. But they’ve been drugged. I don’t know with what.”
“Son of a bitch.” Bruno sounded as scared as she felt.
Now what?He didn’t say the words, but they were loud in the air as the smoke crept in under the door, fogging up the room.
Lily redoubled her efforts with the ancient brass window latch. Then Bruno was behind her, his big arms circling her, his warm hands closing around hers. She couldn’t let herself like this feeling, not one bit. For a thousand reasons, imminent death by fire being on the top of the list. The latch creaked, and opened. She elbowed him away, hard, and shoved the window open. She hung out of it, gulping cold, sweet air into her lungs. They stared out, assessing prospects for survival.
It didn’t look good. No terraces, no balconies, no low lying roofs or awnings from the first floor. Not even a ledge to creep along. Not a tree or a bush to break their fall. Just a sheer, thirty-foot drop, down to the rose garden. Hard mosaic tile, and spiky pruned thornbushes.
Bruno cursed, and yanked his head in. Lily turned, to find him looking around the room. More smoke crept under the door. A hazy cloud drifted in through the communicating door, too. She went to the door to the corridor, laid her hand against it. “It’s hot,” she said.
“No shit,” Bruno said. “So’s the floor.” He leaped up, grabbed two handfuls of the curtains, hung on them…
Rrrrrip, the fabric gave under his weight, ripping into tatters.
Undaunted, he groped around for the curtain cord. “The velvet’s rotten,” he said. “But I think this cord is silk. It still feels strong. There might be six yards of it or more.” He gathered armfuls of the tattered fabric into his arms, rolling them around his forearms, and leaped.
This time, the arms that held the curtain rod snapped under his weight, and the rod, rings and curtains tumbled down onto their heads, along with a choking cloud of dust.
