Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

"What the fuc—?" Paul catches himself. He shoots a precautionary look in the rearview toward Diana, but I doubt he can see her on the floor. His hands white-knuckle the steering wheel as his body writhes with adrenalin. He glances warily at me as if going through a mental checklist while trying to understand it all. "Are you hurt?"

I shake my head as I realize how fast the car travels down the inner-city street. I brace myself on the dashboard. Paul notices, but it doesn't deter him. I feel shaky and numb. My stomach churns and knots at the same time. I don't know if I'm going to pass out or throw up.

A strange, acrid taste lingers in my mouth, the flavor of smoke and ash.

Fire.

My mind can hardly process the word. I should be dead or at least in a hospital burn unit.

I rub my arm, wondering at the blue light I saw, but then realize it was probably reflected from the gas fire. Natural gas in stoves burns blue. That has to be it. The simplest solution is usually the answer.

Still, there is a nagging thought in the back of my brain warning me that this might be magic. Not that I'm magical. I've been alive long enough to know that's not happening.

"Natural gas burns blue," I whisper, cementing the answer in my mind before my thoughts carry me down a magical conspiracy rabbit hole. I mean, honestly? If the supernatural wanted to kill me, there were much easier ways for them to go about it than a gas leak. Plus, I saw her light a cigarette.

"Di, hon, it's all right, baby," Paul tries to soothe the whimpering girl behind us.

I need to think of someone beyond myself. Diana is just a kid, and she's terrified. Paul is confused and trying to be brave. They're in this situation because of me.

I push out of the passenger seat and crawl into the back, which causes Paul to ease off the gas pedal. As I peer out of the back window, I'm unable to see the flames. It doesn't matter. They're still blazing vividly in my mind. I can almost feel the scorching heat on my skin, not to mention the cloying smell that haunts every breath.

I reach for Diana, pulling her off the floor and into my arms. As I hold her close, a wave of uncertainty washes over me. My actions aren't altruistic. I need a hug as much as she does.

The girl clings to me, shaking. I don't know what to say to make any of this better. I don't even know what to think.

Fire.

That word keeps churning in my thoughts.

What are the odds that I'm in two fires so close together? Two random events? Intentional?

A new fear creeps in. Authorities think I started the first one. What if they think I'm to blame for this one, too? There were cameras. People saw me there.

But why would I want to hurt that woman? Why would I want to hurt anyone?

No, the cameras would prove I'm innocent. I didn't do anything.

None of this makes sense. I want to close my eyes and wake up from this nightmare.

Paul slows the car and pulls aside. Firetrucks zip past, sirens blaring.

"We should go to a hospital," Paul says.

"We're not hurt," I tell him. "We'll end up sitting in the waiting room for four hours around sick people."

Post Covid, I find myself wanting to avoid such places at all costs. I think a lot of New Yorkers feel the same way. We all remember what it was like during the pandemic. I touch my necklace and can't help but think of my grandfather.

"We need to call someone," he insists.

"They know." I turn in my seat to look behind us. The fire trucks' lights flicker long after the vehicles disappear from sight.

"We should go to the police. Tell them everything we know," he says.

"No." The panicked word comes out more harshly than I intend. "I mean. We didn't do anything. We don't know anything."

I can't talk to the police right now. What if they detain me?

"But…" He struggles with my logic.

I can't blame him, even if he doesn't know my selfish reasons for making the argument. The right thing would be to go to the police and tell them we're witnesses.

I'm not going to do the right thing. Not now.

Besides, I'm not sure it matters. I don't know anything. The arson investigators will figure out it was a gas leak without my help.

I admire the goodness in him, even as it works against me. Leaning forward, I gently stroke his arm. The contact strikes me as more intimate than it should be. "It'll be fine. I'll have the family lawyers reach out on our behalf. Right now, you have to think about Diana. You don't want to expose her to a police station. We'll be stuck there all night, and she's already freaked out."

I know it's manipulative, even as I say it.

"She's terrified, Paul," I insist. My hand stays on the solid muscle of his bicep even as I tell myself to let go.

The manipulation works. He reluctantly nods. I expect to feel relief, but I don't. Instead, I feel self-centered and mean.

Unwillingly, I force myself to loosen my grip on him and let go, even though every part of me longs for the contact. There is no denying I feel a sexual pull toward him. I have been attracted to him since I saw him wildly searching for his daughter after the funeral.

I want to feel safe in his arms. I want him to hold me. And I hate that I can't act on my desires.

There are several rules I live by when it comes to dating. Don't date the undead, no matter how sexily mesmerizing the vampire's power can be. Don't date my parents' friends or their heirs. I won't make that mistake again. And don't date single dads. There are some complications I know it's best to avoid. They're the type of commitment I can't handle. What do I know about being a mom figure? I never plan on having kids.

Planned. Not plan.

"It's up to you now, Tamara… You will be expected to carry on the legacy by marrying a person of great magic. I'll have to find the right spells, of course, but I'm sure we can have you pregnant with an heir within a year."

The words play like a bad song stuck in my head. If Uncle Mortimer has his way, I'll immediately begin replenishing the family stables with the next generation. Try as I might, I can't keep images of cult-like rituals out of my head. Ole Morty said he'd work magic to ensure I conceive a supernatural baby. Nothing kills sexual desire like the idea of ancient dudes watching as I…

I physically gag and have to cover my mouth.

Goodbye, sex drive.

"…since at twenty-eight and mortal, you don't have much time left, Tamara…"

The SUV swerves a little in the road before righting itself, jerking me back to our current problems.

This mess is my fault. I might not have started the fire, but I should never have accepted a ride from Paul. I knew if they stayed around me, my chaotic life would spill over onto them. I didn't expect it to happen so soon.

Diana's grip remains tight. I meet Paul's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Why didn't you leave?"

"I did." His brow is furrowed, and his lips are tight. "She jumped out of the car and ran after you. Thankfully, I wasn't going fast."

It's sweet, I guess.

I know there is something I should say to Diana, but I have no clue what it is. She's five. What do I know about five-year-olds? I don't even know why this one likes me so much.

I guess it all comes back to being broken. She senses it in me, like I sense it in her.

I want to protect her. I'm not sure from what. Maybe from me.

No one else will give me the answers I need right now, so I have to force myself to think logically about our situation.

What if this fire wasn't an accident? What if both fires were intentional? I again think of the cameras. Someone was watching. They would have seen me come up the stairs and into the apartment. I hardly think my bitchy hostess was a target—unless she owed a drug dealer money or gave one of her tricks an STD.

Okay. That's mean. It's wrong to call her bitchy now that she's probably dead.

It's like I can't stop being a horrible person. Thank goodness no one here can read my thoughts.

I saw vampiric symbols in the neighborhood. Is someone after me because of my family? The Devines weren't exactly benevolent and loved—more like feared and powerful. I want to call Conrad about it, but I can't talk freely in front of them. I tell myself he's at home. He's safer there than anywhere else.

Diana doesn't look like she will let go of me anytime soon. She almost died. I can't blame her.

A sinking feeling overwhelms me. What if they saw Diana on the security feed? What if they know I'm with them? What if they were watching outside? And saw his car? And his license plate? And what if that puts this family in danger?

Who the hell is they?

Is there even a they?

What is the answer here?

"We have a guest bed," Paul says. I know where he's going with this. He's too nice. Kindness is an attractive quality in a man, and my dirty mind is all too willing to suggest ideas about what to do with that guest bed. I can't take him up on the offer.

They can't go home. Not until I know what the threat is.

The sun is setting. I can't see it behind the tall buildings, but I can tell by how the light falls. Night is a dangerous time to be an unprotected human. My heart still pounds from our brush with death.

I look up, trying to see the sky. A dark shadow flies past. Most people would assume it was a large bird and ignore it. But I know what's out there and what it's capable of. I don't think I've been this scared in a long time. Probably not since I was a kid when I watched Anthony practicing defensive magic and realized I didn't have any.

"Kansas," I blurt out.

"What?" He adjusts the mirror as if that will help him see me better.

"You said you wanted to go to Kansas." I try to loosen Diana's grip on my waist. I see her stuffed dog on the floor and grab it. I hand the toy to her. She pulls it into the hug but doesn't let go.

"I said I was considering it, but now I don't know…" He sounds doubtful.

Experience tells me that if I were to explain that their lives might be in danger by some unknown supernatural force—oh, yeah, and by the way supernatural things exist—they're not likely to believe me.

"Don't you want to get out of the city? What's stopping us? It doesn't have to be Kansas if you don't want to go there. Let's just drive. Anywhere. Road trip." I try not to sound as desperate as I feel. No one will think to look for me in Kansas. And, by the time we get there, Conrad and the lawyers should have some answers for me. I can hop on a plane and come back to the city.

Paul slows the car as we enter traffic.

"I want to get out of the city." Diana's muffled voice is barely audible.

Paul rubs his brow. His gaze meets mine. He looks worried and desperate. I know he's trying to figure out the best course of action. He already confessed he is unsure what to do for Diana in her grief.

I wish I had answers for him, but I'm not a mom. I am, however, terrified for all of us.

"Please," I mouth.

I see his eyes dip as he thinks about his choices. The weight of this day is on all of us. It's a palpable force pressing down and making the air thick. Funerals then nearly dying in a fire. How can we not think about mortality?

How can we not want to run?

The car stops moving, and his head drops forward. "We don't have anything packed."

"We'll buy supplies on the road," I insist.

He runs his hand through his hair, and I see the fingers gripping together as if to pull it from his scalp. A horn honks behind us, prompting him to resume driving.

As if coming to a decision, he says, "We can stop at home and pack. It'll be better to leave in the morning anyway."

"It's still early." I touch his arm and feel his muscles stiffen beneath my fingers. "Please, Paul, just keep driving. I can't breathe here."

Diana lifts her head. "Yeah, Paul. I can't breathe. Keep driving."

"This is crazy," he mutters to himself. "What am I doing?"

"Dad," Diana insists. "Keep driving."

This copying is getting out of hand but damned if it doesn't work.

"Okay." He tosses his hands as if giving up. "Fine. Road trip."

I sit back but don't feel relief from getting my way. I can tell myself I did it to protect them, but I know the truth. I manipulated a man's concern for his daughter because I'm scared.

Fuck, I'm a selfish asshole.

With the decision made, Paul seems to relax into his role as driver. I've noticed that about most men. They want a defined purpose, a logical blueprint to fix whatever situation they're in. Or maybe he craves the mindlessness of his task, to drive into the distance without having to think.

The truth is, I can assume all I want about him. I can try to read his expressions, but I don't know him, no matter what kind of kinship I feel at this moment. I remind myself that I am a visitor to their world—an interloper dragging trouble behind me.

Interloper. That's a good word.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. Fear won't let me sleep, but I feel the exhaustion from the day in my bones. I can hardly concentrate on one thing, so I let my mind drift.

I'm glad not to be alone.

Traffic is a good thing. There is safety in numbers, and with so many people around, an attack is less likely.

Why would someone want to hurt me? I'm not special.

My mother would hate that I'm wearing these shoes with this dress.

My father would hate that I'm entangled in legal drama.

Poor Anthony. He seemed to have everything—the golden boy of the Devine family—but he'd lived a life of secrets and lies.

Conrad will be worried about me. No, he has my phone number. He'll call when he has something. He probably doesn't know about the apartment fire yet.

"You should be in a seatbelt." Paul's voice causes me to open my eyes.

I realize Diana's grip has loosened. Her eyes are closed. For a second, I think she's copying me, but they stay closed.

I'm not sure what to do. "She's sleeping."

"That's probably for the best." He turns a corner.

I don't pay attention to where he's going, just as long as we keep moving.

"Thank you for being here for her." His eyes try to meet mine, but I purposefully avoid them. "I don't know what I would have done if I lost her."

His gratitude makes my guilt worse. I hear the pain in his voice. It wasn't there before. I wonder if he'd been trying to stay strong in front of his daughter.

"It's nothing," I dismiss. "We're all just trying to make it through this fucked up day."

"I keep a blanket in the back."

I slide Diana off my lap onto the seat and turn around to find the blanket. It's next to a first aid kit, bottles of water, and a toolbox. The man is prepared.

A tiny shiver of apprehension works over me, and I look out the back window. The tinting on the car behind us is too dark to see into. I don't know if I'm being paranoid or if it's some kind of self-preservation sixth sense kicking in.

"Find it?" Paul asks.

"Yeah, yeah, got it." I take the blanket and try to ignore my nervousness. A couple of worn paperbacks fall from within the folds. I leave them.

I recline one of the seats and do my best to maneuver the girl without waking her. She frets a little but doesn't open her eyes. I buckle her in and cover her with the blanket. When she's secured, I crawl back into the front seat.

Paul glances at me a few times before reaching over to pat my shoulder briefly. "You got a little…"

I look at my dress to find the material singed. It's odd, but my skin is unharmed. "I'm fine."

"You're lucky." Paul glances back at Diana before saying, "You want to tell me what happened back there?"

"Diana showed up. I smelled gas. The woman I was with lit a cigarette and," I shrug, helpless to explain it better, "boom."

"Did she do it on purpose?"

"I don't think she noticed the smell. She…" How can I say it diplomatically? "She seemed like she'd lived a rough life."

"Who was she?"

"I never got a name."

"Then why were you visiting her?"

I contemplate how to answer that honestly. I don't want to lie. "It's a family matter."

I can see that he wants me to explain more, but I can't. If I say supernatural, he'll kick me out of the car before I can even get the word out. Two seconds into meeting him, anyone can see that Diana is his world, and he'll protect her at all costs.

I admire that about him.

It also means I must be cautious if I want to stay with them until I can assure myself they're safe.

I look into the side mirror and see the car with tinted windows driving beside us. I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

I tell myself I'm paranoid and that I'm making up threats in my head because I don't want to be alone. I hope that's true.

"I'm sorry she followed me," I say.

"It's not your fault she jumped out of the car." He sighs, and I see him struggling with his thoughts. "She's…I guess you'd say she's attached to you. It could be because you lost your mom, too, and she recognizes something kindred in you. I know I'm asking a lot. You don't know us, and you don't owe us anything, but?—"

"Hey." I touch his arm. I can't seem to help myself. I feel his warmth beneath my fingers, and I don't want to let go. "Maybe… I don't know. This might sound all new-age-y or whatever, but possibly we were meant to find each other today. Maybe, right now, we're all broken, and we're just three people trying to get through this moment the best way we can. And I don't know about you, but I can't be in this city right now. So, let's just drive. And be safe. And be gone. And be…"

I don't even know if I'm making sense.

"Be anywhere but here," he finishes for me with a nod as if I've made the most logical proposal in the world. "Any other time, I would say this is insane. But I get it. I feel the need to reset and regroup, too. If I'm honest with myself, I don't want to go home yet."

I imagine that's what someone innocent of any wrongdoing would say in this situation.

My touch has lingered too long, and I force my hand to drop to my lap. Even now, I can feel my fingers tingle where they made contact with him. It's a physical awareness so profound and startling that I know I'm in trouble. It radiates deep into my stomach. I'm becoming more attracted to Paul by the second.

There are thousands of reasons why that is a bad idea. And I can't think of a single good one.