Chapter Eight
Exhausted, Wren prowled through Cassidy’s house, picking through the relics of another person’s life. The fight, flight, and frantic search for some trace of her Knight had wiped her out. A soft leather couch in the living room called her name, but her whirling mind refused to let her rest.
At the center of her mental vortex lay Dev. Where is he? Is he alive? As she tried to fill in the blanks, she roamed from room to room and banished the early morning shadows with the flick of a switch. After her first circuit, every light in the house shone bright, but one.
Wren refused to believe Dev was lost to her. She half expected him to walk through the front door at any minute. But that was silly. He had no idea where Cassidy lived, and would most likely head for the Cradle or the condo.
She called home earlier and got the machine. She wanted to call one of the other Knights to help, but without the scrying mirror locked inside the condo, contacting anyone in the Cradle so far underground would be impossible.
I told her to make the mirrors portable. But did Cyndralla listen? No. Made dumb magic cards instead.
Wren stood over the sleeping loose end in the bedroom. Cassidy Sinclair lay curled on her side with a pillow clutched to her chest. Petite snores punctuated her deep breathing and a thin line of drool connected her split lip to the pillow.
Wrong place at the wrong time, lady. I should have made you leave. What do I do with you now?
Wren didn’t understand why Cassidy made the decision to stay. If it were her, she would have kicked the carjacker’s ass and gone out for ice cream. Yet this chick chose to stick it out, even proved helpful and somewhat comforting during the crazy search along the south shore of Tampa Bay. She could have left at any time, but she hung close. Why?
Cassidy rolled over.
Wren shook her head, sighed, and resumed her restless journey through the house. Stalking down the short hallway, she ignored the closed door on her left this time. During her first trip, she’d opened every door and gone through all the closets and drawers, except for this room. It seemed different. The moment she’d stepped in she felt out of place, an intruder into the realm of the sacred. A quick glance at the thick layer of dust coating everything—stuffed animals, Barbie’s Dream House, pink and frilly bed sheets—and the way each and every item was arranged just so told her that the room hadn’t been used in quite some time. A red satin pillow lay across the top of the bed with “Amy” stitched in clumsy pink lettering.
Arranged across the child-sized desk, a large collection of photographs of all shapes and sizes captured the life of a dazzling child with startling blue eyes, chubby pink cheeks and an unruly mop of blond hair from infancy to maybe, five or six. In front of the pictures lay a lock of curly hair tied with a pink ribbon preserved in a little baggie.
That one visit was enough. Wren had turned off the light, closed the door, and never ventured back.
The hallway opened into the living room and that tempting couch. The first hint of morning outlined the panels in the closed vertical blinds as she navigated the furniture and stopped before a group of shelves she’d ignored all night. Trophies, medals, and newspaper articles covered every square inch of the central bookcase’s four shelves.
Cassidy Sinclair, first place, fifty-meter free style. Cassidy Sinclair, first place, one hundred-meter backstroke. Cassidy Sinclair, first place, two hundred meter free-style. First place. First place. Champion. First place. Yeah, yeah. I get it.
She picked up a worn newspaper clipping.
Let me guess. It’s about Cassidy Sinclair. The article started out, “Cassidy Sinclair sets new record …” Yep.
Wren continued to read.
Whoa, that’s crazy. I’ve held my breath for maybe thirty seconds, but six minutes?
“What are you doing?”
“Waah,” Wren jumped, dropped the article and reached for her knife, but came up empty. “What did you do that for?”
Cassidy yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Do what?” Her innocent, sleepy voice defused the situation.
“Never mind.”
“Want some coffee?” Not waiting for a reply, Cassidy padded across the lush carpet to the kitchen, grabbed the carafe, and filled it to the line. “So, what’s the plan?”
Wren climbed onto one of the old-fashioned bar stools that lined the kitchen counter and dropped her head into her hands.
“I need to check the north shore.” Wren said.
“I know, but the place will be crawling with cops and reporters and pretty much every other agency imaginable. Hell, I should probably be there.” After spooning in ground coffee, Cassidy flipped the switch and leaned across the counter on her elbows.
Wren palmed her eyes. “Sugar. I need sugar.”
“Sorry, I don’t really have anything.”
Wren trudged to the pantry and pulled out a package of donuts that had fallen behind the boxes of pasta.
“How did you …?” Cassidy’s brow lowered.
An unexpected wave of guilt splashed across Wren’s ego. Appetite lost, she tossed the donuts onto the counter. “I, uh, I’ve been through your house.” Saying it aloud made it worse, made her feel like a steaming pile of crap. It hadn’t occurred to her, aside from entering the little girl’s room, that her actions were inappropriate in any way. New places could be dangerous and she needed to get the lay of the land. At least, that’s what she told herself as she pawed through drawer after drawer.
“I see,” Cassidy said.
The coffee maker coughed and wheezed. Cassidy plunked down mugs and fixings, and poured the coffee in silence. Wren upended the sugar container over her cup and watched a waterfall of crystals disappear beneath the dark surface until it threatened to overflow.
“Seriously?” Cassidy shook her head and cupped her mug in both hands.
Wren opened the drawer and self-consciously grabbed a spoon. She didn’t want to do anything to remind Cassidy of her invasion, but she needed the spoon.
“What are they saying on TV?” Cassidy asked.
“What do you mean?”
“This is big news for Tampa. It’s probably on every channel. Didn’t you check?”
Stupid girl. Wrapped up in her own little world of misery and planning, she hadn’t thought of checking the news.
Cassidy pulled her into the living room and turned on the television. “Let’s see what they say.”
“Tragedy at Club Mastodon. Details when we return.”
They sat on the edge of the dark leather sofa. Wren jiggled her left foot and cracked her knuckles while the commercials wasted her time.
“Information is still coming in about the tragic fire and murders at a local hot spot last night.” A news anchor read from the teleprompter.
The word “murders” didn’t sit well with Wren. Her stomach juggled the sugar-sludge coffee.
“Over eighty people were killed at Club Mastodon last night when a man, whom police have not yet identified, set the club on fire, killed five people and the manager inside, then opened fire on other patrons waiting in the parking lot. In the hope of identifying the man, the police have asked us to show the following video. But I warn you, the footage contains disturbing images.”
O O O
Cassidy held her breath as a black and white security video played out. A bald, naked, well-built man stabbed a number of club patrons before turning on the club manager. The camera never found his face, but she knew it was Dev. Had to be.
He’s a killer and I helped him escape.
She stared unseeing at the television as the reporter went on to say that the killer headed south on I-275 over the Sunshine Skyway. On his way, he killed another six people as he plowed into and over them during a freak onset of fog.
“But … Dev was attacked.” The color drained from Wren’s face. “Those people were already dead.”
Cassidy felt sick and used. “Get out.” She had enough. Her gift must have been wrong. “Leave before I call the police.” Cassidy grabbed the phone.
“Ms. Sinclair.” Wren’s voice was calm and quiet as she stood up. “Please, wait. We didn’t do it. You saw what happened on the bridge.”
Cassidy dialed nine. “That was your boyfriend in the video.” She pressed one.
“Boyfriend? You think he’s my boyfriend?” Wren blushed and an uncomfortable giggle bubbled out.
Cassidy imagined many things that could have happened at that moment, but a murderer’s accomplice giggling in her living room like an awkward ninja schoolgirl wasn’t one of them. She could see Wren pulling a gun from somewhere under her dress, or lunging across the room. Not … that.
“God, I wish.” Deflated, Wren flopped onto the sofa. “He doesn’t see me that way.” The acknowledgement seemed to banish any lingering hints of her badass attitude. Legs out straight, heels ground into the carpet, she rubbed her palms along her thighs and shook her head.
Without all that serious end of the world shit stressing her out, she looks like a kid.
With a start, Wren snapped her gaze up to Cassidy. The hint of vulnerability vanished behind a shield of determination. “Please, don’t finish that call.”
Oh Hell, she’s just a kid with a crush and doesn’t want anyone to know.
Cassidy lowered the phone, but didn’t hang up. She wasn’t ready to do that and only one digit remained between rescue and the unknown.
Wren stared at the floor. Cassidy stared at Wren.
Quiet minutes slipped by.
“Wren.” Frustration made Cassidy’s voice sound hard, so she cleared her throat and started again.
“Wren?” This time her tone softened. “Did you and Dev kill those people?” It was a silly question. How could she believe the answer? Of course, the killer would say, “No.”
Wren paused for a moment, head down, hands resting on her knees.
Cassidy got the impression she was thinking about how to say whatever it was she was going to say.
“Cassidy Sinclair.” Wren stood, tone and expression serious. “We didn’t kill anybody. You have nothing but my words and actions to convince you of the truth. Yes, we borrowed your car, but you may have that back once we find Dev. And yes, I searched your house, but only to ensure there was nothing lurking about.” Wren clasped her hands in front of her chest and bowed at the waist. “I apologize for the invasion of your privacy.”
“Give me your hand.” Cassidy held hers out and waited.
Wren tilted her head and raised one eyebrow, but crossed the room and placed her hand in Cassidy’s.
“Repeat what you said,” Cassidy said.
Through her gift, Cassidy felt the girl’s sincerity, embarrassment, and concern as Wren reaffirmed her statement.
Cassidy hung up the phone.
“Let’s find him.” She could really use that swim to calm her nerves, but it would have to wait.
Cassidy zipped the blinds, pulled open the door, and stepped out into the chilly September air. Beyond the pool and grass, her back yard opened onto a choppy Tampa Bay glimmering in the early morning sunshine. The gray slate tiles beneath her bare feet were cold, freezing cold. She shivered, arms covered in goose bumps, and hopped back in the house.
What the …?
A layer of ice coated the entire patio floor and extended out to the surrounding grass. The privacy fence prevented her from seeing the neighbors’ property, but she imagined their yards to be frozen as well.
“Um, Wren, check this out.”
Wren took a quick look and shouted, “He’s here!”
“What?”
“Let me out.” Wren bolted through the doorway and charged across the ice-rimed tile. Arms whirling, feet sliding in different directions, she half ran, half fell into the wrought iron patio table. She glanced back to Cassidy as if to say, “Are you coming?” before venturing further into the yard.
Cassidy stepped into a pair of flip-flops, grabbed a jacket for herself and one for Wren, and eased onto the ice.
Ice? In September?
In Florida, winter didn’t bother to appear until late January. And when it did, it only hung around for a couple of weeks. After frosting a few lawns and sending the blue-hairs into a tizzy, it traveled north to colder climes.
Cassidy knocked several icicles from the swoop of the ladder leading down into the in-ground pool. So much for that swim. Frozen solid, her favorite place in the world had been transformed into a skating rink.
Wren had already disappeared down the back slope of the yard towards the water and hollered for her to hurry up.
Within three steps, Cassidy’s toes were numb. Thank goodness she brought a jacket.
Wren bobbed up and down on her toes in a circle of charred grass. Cassidy tossed her the other jacket and bent to inspect the area. Still warm. Steam rose from the burned grass. It looked like someone had started a fire, but there were no ashes or wood or remnants of anything else that might have burned.
Through chattering teeth, Cassidy asked, “What do you think?” Her breath misted in the cold.
Wren looked to the water. “I think Dev came ashore, rested here then dragged himself …” She pointed to a trail of brown grass that led away from the circle, around to the side of the house, “There.” She took off.
What’s this got to do with Dev? The wicked cold air bit Cassidy’s cheeks, but at least the warmth of the path kept her toes from freezing. I’m such a wimp. Wren’s barefoot and barely covered in that skimpy dress and she doesn’t even look cold.
Pulling her jacket tight, Cassidy jogged after the girl who had already disappeared around the side of the house. She caught up to Wren, who looked down at a figure on the ground, and stopped dead.
No way.
Wren hovered, wrung her hands, bit her lower lip.
The closer Cassidy got to the body, the hotter it seemed. By the time she got close enough to recognize his face, sweat beaded on her forehead. She took off the jacket.
“Is he …?”
“Yes,” Wren bit back a sob, “but not by much.”
How did he get here?
Dev lay face down in a circle of blackened earth, the grass having already burned away. Yet outside his hot zone, the frost reached out in all directions.
In Cassidy’s expert opinion, he was broken—legs shattered and bent at unnatural angles, one arm dislocated, skin a sickly pale white except for the extensive purple and black bruises that generously coated his back and chest. There could be massive internal injuries. His shallow breathing whistled in and out like a punctured bellows.
She wanted to touch him, probe his torso to feel for other injuries, but his skin was too hot. Heat shimmered and rose off his body in waves, making it impossible to get close. She’d never seen anything like it.
Wren couldn’t get close either, but continued to circle.
“He needs a fire.” Wren said.
Cassidy’s stomach knotted. “Are you crazy? He’s burning up. We need to cool him down, not add more heat. I’ll get the hose.”
Wren didn’t listen and mumbled. “We need to move him.”
“Move him?” Cassidy sputtered. “That could kill him.”
Lost in her own thoughts, Wren continued. “Get him away from here and onto the patio. We’ll build the fire there.”
“No way. I’ll call an ambulance. They’ll have the right equipment to stabilize and move him safely.” The heat made her eyes water so she took a step back. Her skin felt tight, like she’d spent too long in the sun, and thought of the pool again. Oh wait, it’s frozen solid. Sweet.
“Are you crazy? We can’t call anyone,” Wren said.
“But they can help.”
“We don’t have time.” Wren spun Cassidy toward the neighbor’s house. “Look.” She pointed to the frost climbing up the privacy fence a few feet away. “He is sucking the heat out of the ground and the air to stay alive. If he stays in this spot much longer, it’ll spread to the neighbor’s yard.”
Cassidy scowled at Wren. “He’s doing what now?” Sucking the heat … what kind of voodoo is she selling? She hadn’t noticed the frost on the fence before and, as she watched, it climbed another inch.
“Trust me. Please,” Wren said.
There she goes with that whole “please” thing again. Something had to be done, but this seemed … reckless.
Wren stepped closer. “We need to move him now. If we don’t, in a little while the neighbors will wonder why their pipes are frozen and their backyard is covered in frost, like yours. They’ll make some calls and, before you know it, we’ll have lots of company.”
“Fine.” Cassidy met Wren’s stare. “Kill him if you want to.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s tough like that.” She reached down to grab what looked to be an uninjured arm, but yanked her hand away before she made contact and blew on her fingers.
“Too hot.” Wren stepped back. “I can’t touch him. We need something to push or pull him.”
Cassidy could tell he was too heavy and awkward to push through the grass, but since she didn’t have anything better to offer, kept her silence.
What can we use? Cassidy looked around for a solution. She spied the hose connected to the spigot.
“No hose?” Cassidy asked.
“No hose.”
If we can’t cool him down, how do we move him hot. How do you handle something hot? Gloves? No.
Wren paced. The frost rose. Dev roasted.
“I’ve got an idea.” Cassidy raced to the house, taking it slow on the frost, and ran into the kitchen. She grabbed the Hello Kitty oven mitts from the drawer next to the oven. But there were only two and both she and Wren needed to work together.
She rifled through the remaining drawers and scoured the pantry, before settling on a pair of clean dish towels. Tools in hand, she ran back to Wren.
I hope this works.