Waltz into Fire (The Sentinals Book 1)

by L. J. Garland

  He grunted. “No problem, Fallon. Just letting you know I got your back.”

  They reached the second floor where dense smoke rolled along the high hallway ceiling, and a layer of heat pressed down, causing them to crouch. She paused, her breath sounding too loud to her ears beneath her facemask. A skitter of unease pricked her skin, and she moved to Stan’s side. Angling her light, she revealed four doors.

  “Cap said the fire originated in apartment 2D, so let’s start with 2A till they get D cooled off,” Stan said.

  “Okay.”

  They shuffled down the hall to the door labeled 2A. Fallon tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. Entering, she and Stan cleared the rooms and ensured no one had been left behind. The same routine transpired for 2B—easy entry, no one in danger.

  “Fallon, Stan,” the captain’s voice came through the headset. “This one’s getting hot fast, 1D is now fully involved. Stringer and McKnight have cleared the first floor. What do you have left?”

  “2C and 2D,” Fallon answered.

  “Clear 2C and get out of there, 2D is too far gone.”

  “Copy that, Captain.” She twisted to face Stan. “Okay, partner, let’s get this done.”

  When they approached apartment 2C, Fallon angled her flashlight toward the entry and stopped short, her heart stuttering. The letters REDS had been burned into the door.

  “Damn firebugs,” Stan muttered. “Bet when this is done, turns out a bunch of punk teens are responsible. Looks like they signed their work.” He gestured toward the door. “Stupid-ass little pricks.”

  “Yeah,” Fallon gritted out.

  She stared, an icy sense of recognition washing over her. The same letters had been sprawled on the door to little David’s hiding place. With urgency building within her, she tried the knob and found it locked.

  “We need the Halligan,” she said, worried there might be another child trapped inside the apartment.

  Stan lifted his and thrust the wedged end of the stainless steel bar between the door and the frame. Adding to the effort, Fallon pulled out her flat-head axe and pounded on the adze end of the Halligan to force the pry-point deeper into the crack. A bit of twisting along with some good, old-fashioned muscle, and Stan leveraged the door open.

  When no blowback occurred, they rushed into the apartment. Fallon scanned the smoke-filled area and spotted a body lying on the living room floor. “Stan,” she called and scrambled to the body. “Over here.”

  Kneeling, Fallon realized the person sprawled on the carpet was a woman with long hair, but she had no time to assess her for injury. Flames were breaking through the wall that divided the apartments.

  Stan grasped the victim’s hand, drew her up, and lifted her over his shoulder. “I got her.” Hunching over against the extreme heat, he moved for the door. “Follow me out.”

  “I just need to check the other rooms.”

  “Damn it, Fallon, I need to get this woman out if there is going to be any saving her.”

  He paused in the doorway, twisting back toward her, but she waved him off.

  “Go. I’ll be right behind you.” Without waiting for his response, she strode toward the narrow hallway and what she assumed were the bedroom and bathroom doors.

  “Damn it,” Stan growled over the headset. “Get your ass out of there.”

  “Thirty seconds,” she said. She opened the first door, scanned the empty bathroom, and closed the door behind her before moving to the next. Entering the bedroom, she glanced around and, finding nothing, nodded in relief. So it was just the one woman this time.

  But as she turned back to the hallway, she spotted a small shadow dashing around the corner and into the living room. The faint sound of a child’s whimper met Fallon’s ears.

  Anxious, she called out, “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

  She scuffled down the hallway, catching another glimpse of the child-sized form in the dining room near the wall adjacent to apartment 2D. The scorching heat along with the eighty pounds of gear she wore impeded her every step. Where had the kid gone? She scanned the area, and when at last the little boy stepped into view, Fallon sighed. But even with sweat beads dripping into her eyes while she struggled to see through her smoke-hazed visor, she could tell something wasn’t right.

  The boy showed no signs of trouble from the heat or smoke. He didn’t appear disoriented or anxious. He wasn’t even sweating.

  “Fallon,” he said in a voice much too coarse and wretched for a small child.

  Fire pricked the wall behind him and trailed a thin line into the living room.

  The boy stepped toward her, gazing at her with bright-blue eyes and a beatific smile on his angelic face. Fallon stumbled back.

  “Let’s play,” the boy growled.

  Before she could react, the kid’s grin widened, stretching in an unnatural fashion to reveal a terrifying amount of needle-shaped teeth. A loud, hollow laugh erupted from his unearthly maw. She cringed at the sound and a sudden, sharp pain in her head. She trembled beneath the attack, the beam of her flashlight sweeping across the room in wild strokes. Each pass of light revealed the kid’s body warping and twisting while some horror shoved beneath his skin, laboring to break free. The blond-haired little cherub erupted into a hulking man-beast, his size seeming to engulf the dining area. Crouching beneath the smoke blanketing the ceiling, he revealed a bald, tattooed head that possessed a terrifying collage of long, sharp teeth and soulless eyes.

  “Oh, shit,” she breathed as she steadied her light.

  A second tiny flame pushed through the adjoining wall, adding additional illumination to the apartment.

  Run…. came a crackly voice in her ears.

  Another thin line of fire sliced along the wall, twining across the first, and streaked toward the front door. Fallon gulped, realizing the blaze was trying to show her the way out. Not needing to be told twice, she pivoted to face the exit.

  “Not so fast, my sweet morsel,” the beast snarled.

  Before she could take a step, the wall behind the foul creature exploded. Wood, glass, and fire blew in Fallon’s direction, knocking her off her feet and hurtling her against the living room wall. She cried out with the impact, the air tank strapped to her back crunching her ribs.

  On all fours, the man-beast scuttled across the floor and twitched his fingers in her direction. From the hole behind him, a ball of fire burst in her direction, and she threw her hand out in front of herself in a vain attempt to block the impending inferno. In an instant, the flames receded. Fallon kept her palm facing the holocaust until the last of the flare receded through the large hole and back into the adjacent apartment.

  “Soon, Fallon,” the beast promised with guttural glee, “you will be mine.”

  Closing his eyes, he dissolved into a black swirl of ash, and with a deafening boom, the mass crashed through the back wall of the apartment and disappeared into the night. With the abrupt addition of oxygen, fire leapt through the hole again, seeming to devour the cool air.

  “Fallon!” Stan yelled over the headset.

  “Here,” she moaned.

  “What the hell happened in there?”

  “Windows blew out,” she said.

  She stared at the huge chunk missing from the wall. The ceiling creaked, snapped. She tried to roll to her knees, but something in her back popped, stealing her breath. She winced, the pain radiating around her side to her sternum.

  “Get your ass out here. Now,” he demanded.

  “Can’t.” She panted for air. “Broke ribs.”

  “Shit,” he said. “Hang tight. We’re coming.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed she hadn’t punctured a lung. But, damn, it sure felt like she might have.

  Remember me….

  Fear leapt into her chest, and she dashed the flashlight beam around the smoldering apartment, searching for the source of the voice, terrified it might be the man-beast returning.

  Remember me…. the crackly voice whispere
d in her ears.

  “I do,” she stammered. “I will.”

  The two fire lines danced across the ceiling, illuminating the area above her. With a huge portion of the wall blown out at the back of the apartment, the thick clouds of smoke had dissipated, allowing her a clear view of the symbol burned into the sheetrock overhead.

  A triangle inscribed in a circle with an H and the number three intertwined in the center.

  “Almost there, Fallon,” Stan called over the headset. “Don’t move.”

  “Yeah,” she said, her gaze locked on the ceiling.

  Danger…. the fire murmured.

  Angst shot through her, and she struggled to roll to her side only to have pain spear her right lung. She wasn’t going anywhere. She glared at the ceiling, unable to do anything about the worry and fear writhing inside her. She’d seen that symbol before…tattooed on Zane’s biceps.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zane got to the Engine House ahead of Fallon, so he stepped in next to Johnny and started flipping burgers even though his mind was miles away from anything to do with cooking. He kept going back to the scene at Fallon’s house. To the child that had appeared in her kitchen, flickering into existence like some old, out-of-sync movie reel and flashing a terrifying amount of needlelike teeth. Then the kid—no, demon—had threatened Fallon’s life.

  The whole thing had been so unexpected and had happened so fast he hadn’t been able to react. The demon’s words had scared the hell out of him. And as he’d raced across town to the fire, he’d prayed she would still be alive when he got there.

  He’d arrived to pulsating police lights, a dense crowd of gawkers, and orchestrated chaos. Managing to spot Macky, he’d been allowed past the police line. When the radio transmission announced Fallon had been trapped inside the building, his whole world had plunged into darkness until, at last, she hobbled outside, aided by a burly firefighter. He could tell she’d been hurt, but, as usual, she’d been stubborn and not allowed herself to be looked at. He’d only had a minute to tell her he’d meet her at the restaurant before she was back helping the rest of the crew clean up after the fire.

  Zane flipped a burger on the grill, anger and distress wreaking havoc on his nerves. Just what kind of danger had he brought to her? His resolve to end their relationship had been strong—he’d planned to leave, to avoid her for the little time he had left. But now he didn’t know if that was the best thing to do or not. It was his fault she’d been threatened. There had to be some way to keep her safe for the next twelve days.

  He gritted his teeth against all the “if onlys” running through his head. If only he’d never met Mia. If only he hadn’t let his dick make choices his brain knew were wrong. If only he’d met Fallon six months ago. Everything would’ve been different.

  He paused, staring at the sizzling burgers on the grill, the truth slamming through him. She was the one. He knew it deep in his soul. Beautiful, sexy, smart, a spirit stronger than any he’d known.

  He smacked the spatula against the steel grate. This wasn’t right, not the way his life was supposed to go. Mia had fucked him over royally, and by the time he’d realized the extent of what she’d done, his fate had been sealed. The witch had vanished, leaving him alone to deal with her evil deeds. And he’d accepted the consequences, resolving to spend the rest of his time giving back to those in need. Oh, he’d been angry and cursed his bad fortune, but once he realized he couldn’t change his fate, he hadn’t wasted time wishing for something different.

  Until he’d met Fallon.

  He wanted a life with her. Wanted the whole package of commitment and family. A dog. Hell, with Fallon, he even wanted the white picket fence.

  Damn Mia!

  “Hey, they want that burger medium, not well done.”

  “Sorry, Johnny.” He snatched the patty off the grill and settled it onto the waiting bun. “I’ll be right back. I forgot something in my Jeep.”

  Hearing the fry cook’s grunt, Zane tossed the spatula on the counter and hit the door at a dead run. His lungs squeezed together, and his throat burned. Sweat poured off him. Air…he needed air. Reaching the alley, he bent over and placed his hands on his knees. Taking long, deep breaths, he tried to get his heart rate under control.

  “What ifs” and “if onlys” got him nowhere. His destiny was set, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change it. What he could do was keep Fallon safe, and, apparently, his walking away wouldn’t accomplish that. So, before his time was up, he needed her to understand how much she meant to him. Selfish? Maybe, but he didn’t want to leave her without letting her know.

  Panic attack abating, he straightened. As he stood in the shadows, the sound of a vehicle pulling in the drive reached his ears. Fallon. He peered around the corner of the building.

  She slipped out of the dual cab and slammed the door, but didn’t head toward the restaurant. Instead, she rounded the truck then stopped, easing her back against the passenger door and dropping her head to the doorframe.

  She stayed that way for a long moment, and Zane edged from the corner of the restaurant, the need to touch her, to make her understand how much she meant to him, roaring through him. But she brought her hands up to her face and brushed away what looked like tears. He paused. Was she hurting, or was it something more than physical pain?

  Either way, his internal drive to protect her demanded he go to her. Throwing his shoulders back, Zane strode to where she’d parked. Not wanting to embarrass her, he decided to pretend he’d just found her.

  “Hey, pretty lady,” he said, his love for her both warming his heart and tightening his chest. “You finally made it.”

  She glanced at him, shifted away from the truck, and smiled. “Hey, yourself. Looks busy in there, and the guys aren’t even here yet.”

  “It is. You should be proud of this place.” With care, he gathered her in his arms, savoring her warm softness and the faint scent of peaches. “You showered already. You smell good enough to eat.”

  That earned him a laugh and a swat on his back. He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers. Sliding her hands over his chest, she wrapped her arms around his neck but winced with the movement, so he ended the kiss before he lost control.

  “Where are you hurt?”

  Stepping from his embrace, she set her hand on her hip. “My side is a little sore. I tweaked a rib, but it’s nothing a little ibuprofen won’t cure.” Grabbing his hand, she gestured toward the Engine House. “I’d better get in there before Johnny walks out on me.”

  He snorted. “Johnny would never leave you. He loves you. But you’re right. He is swamped.”

  She tugged him back when he moved toward the door. Her expression sobered, and she said, “Thank you for being here.”

  Guilt stabbed him because of the danger he’d brought to her, but he still spoke from his heart. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Her brows furrowed. “We need to talk. Later.”

  Shit, that didn’t sound good. “Is it about what happened at your house after dinner before you got the fire call? Did I push too far?”

  “No. God, no. I was right there with you, loving every touch.” She glanced down then lifted her gaze to his. “There are just some things I need to tell you before we can move forward.”

  “I hope you know there is nothing you can say that would make me walk away from you.” He squeezed her hand. “I like you, Fallon. A lot.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Four hours later, the last of the customers and staff had cleared out. Johnny had escorted Darla toward the door, the woman lighting up with a brilliant smile as she accepted his invitation for coffee at the local donut shop. Fallon had grinned, her heart warming to see them together at last, and locked the door behind them.

  She paused with her hand on the knob, realizing she and Zane were alone in the restaurant. A knot the size of the giant peach formed in her stomach. She’d avoided the kitchen all evening, dividing her time betw
een the register and hostess duties.

  With the pain in her ribs and the immense guilt that shrouded her, she hadn’t wanted to face him. He’d said there was nothing she could say that would keep him from her, but she knew differently. Never in a million years could he imagine what she had to tell him. Lord, who could?

  But, the situation was so clear to her now. She’d seen the symbol on the ceiling in that apartment. It had been the same as the tattoo Zane had on his biceps. And the fire had traced a line around it, whispered danger in her ear—which meant one thing. Zane was now in jeopardy because of her. Because of this damned gift, she’d exposed everyone she loved to an evil she didn’t begin to understand.

  Love.

  She clutched the doorknob, the thought batting about in her mind before soaring through her, taking her breath with tentative elation. Yes, she did love Zane. She’d never fallen so hard or so fast, and even though they’d known each other a handful of days, he was everything she wanted—strong, honest, hardworking, and he saved lives.

  Now, probably because of her feelings for him, he was in danger. Whatever the hell had attacked her in the burning apartment had also targeted Zane. That symbol in the fire had been a clear warning.

  She needed to come clean, to tell him the truth of who she was and how that had affected him. She grimaced, attempting to order her thoughts. What would she say to him? Hey, Zane, just wanted to tell you I’ve got special powers I just found out about, and, oh, by the way, there’s some evil demon boy who wants to kill you. Yeah, that’d go over well.

  “Hey, you seem a million miles away,” Zane said from behind her. “You okay?”

  Spooked by her thoughts and his voice, Fallon whipped around to face him, causing her side to spasm and pain to jolt across her ribs. “Shit, you scared me.”

  He frowned and laid his hand on her waist. “You’re hurt worse than you’re saying. Come in the kitchen where I can see better.”

  He guided her from the dining area, shutting off the remaining lights behind them. In the kitchen, he maneuvered her to the preparation table and helped her sit on the pristine, stainless steel top.