Burnt Offerings
Chapter 41

41
The house was still smoking when we got there. Thin greyish wisps of smoke rose from the blackened beams like miniature ghosts. Some trick of the fire had left the high cupola on top of the building intact. The lower stories were gutted and blackened, but the cupola rose like a white beacon above the wreck. It looked like a black-toothed giant had taken a great bite out of the house.
The fire truck took up most of the narrow street. There was a spread of water seeping along the street like a shallow lake. Firefighters waded through the water, rolling up miles of hose over their shoulders. A uniformed police officer stopped us well back from the action.
I eased down my window and flashed my ID. It was a little plastic clip-on card and looked official, but it wasn't a badge. Sometimes the uniforms would let me through, and sometimes they had to go ask permission. Brewster's Law was going around Washington and would give vamp executioners what amounted to federal marshal status. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. It takes a hell of a lot more to make a cop than just a badge, but for me personally I'd love to have had a badge to flash.
"Anna Blake, Larry Kirkland, to see Sergeant Storr."
The officer frowned at the ID. "I'll have to clear this with someone."
I sighed. "Fine, we'll wait here."
The uniform went off in search of Dolph, and we waited.
"You used to argue with them," Larry said.
I shrugged. "They're just doing their job."
"Since when has that stopped you from bitching?"
I looked at him. He was smiling, which saved him from the scathing comeback I had ready. Besides, it was nice to see him smiling about anything right now. "So I'm mellowing--a little. So what?"
The smile widened to a grin, a shit-eating grin, my uncle would have called it. It was like the next thing out of his mouth was almost too funny to say. I was betting I wouldn't think it was funny at all.
"Is it being in love with Jean-Claude that's mellowed you or the regular sex?"
I smiled sweetly. "Speaking of regular sex, how is Detective Tammy?"
He blushed first. I was happy.
The uniform was walking down the wet street towards us with Detective Tammy Reynolds in tow. Oh, life was good.
"Well, if it isn't your little sugarplum now," I said.
Larry saw her then. The red flush brightened to something the color of raw flame, redder than his hair. His blue eyes were a little bulgy with the effort to breathe. The soot had been wiped away, which saved his face from looking like a reddish bruise. "You won't say anything, will you, Anita? Tammy doesn't like to be teased."
"Who does?" I said.
"I'm sorry," he said, speaking very fast before they could get to us. "I apologize. It will never happen again. Please do not embarrass me in front of Tammy."
"Would I do that to you?"
"In a hot second," he said. "Please don't."
They were almost at the car. "Don't pull my leg and I won't pull yours," I whispered.
"Deal," he said.
I eased down the window, smiling. "Detective Reynolds, how good to see you."
Reynolds frowned because I was seldom glad to see her. She was a witch and the first police detective ever with preternatural abilities beyond psychic gifts. But she was young, bright, shiny, and tried just a little too hard to be my friend. She was just sooo fascinated with the fact that I raised the dead. She wanted to know all about it. I'd never had a witch make me feel like such a damned freak. Most witches were nice understanding souls. Perhaps it was the fact that Reynolds was a Christian witch, a member of the Followers of the Way. A sect going back to the Gnostics, who embraced almost all magical ability. They were all but wiped out during the Inquisition due to the fact that their beliefs don't allow them to hide their light under a bushel, but they survived. Fanatics have a way of doing that.
Reynolds was tall, slender, with straight brown hair falling around her shoulders, and eyes that I would have said were hazel but she called green. Greyish-green with a large circle of pale brown around the pupil. Cats have green eyes. Most people don't. She'd tried to be my friend, and when I wouldn't tell her about raising the dead, she'd turned to Larry. He'd been reluctant at first for the same reasons I was, but she hadn't offered me sex. It pushed Larry over the edge and into her arms.
I'd have complained about his choice of sweeties if I'd any moral high ground to stand on. It wasn't the witch part that bothered me or the cop. It was the religious-fanatic part. But when you share the sheets with the walking dead, you don't get a lot of room to bitch.
I smiled sweetly at her.
Reynold's frown deepened. I'd never been this happy to see her before. "Good to see you, too, Anita." Her greeting was cautious, but seemed sincere. Always willing to turn the other cheek. A good little Christian.
I was beginning to wonder if I was still a good Christian. I didn't doubt God. I doubted me. Having premarital sex with a vampire had shaken my faith in a lot of things.
She bent her five foot ten frame to peer in the window past me at Larry. "Hi, Larry." Her smile was genuine, too. Her eyes sparkled with it. I could feel the waves of lust, if not love, going from her to him like a warm, embarrassing current.
The blush had left Larry's face milk-pale with the sprinkling of freckles like brown ink spots. He turned large blue eyes to her, and I didn't like the way he looked at her. I wasn't sure it was just lust on Larry's part. Maybe it wasn't for Reynolds, either, but I didn't worry about her feelings the way I did Larry's.
"Detective Reynolds," he said. Was it my imagination or was his voice just a touch deeper? Nah.
"Larry." That one word was full of too much warmth.
"Where do you want us to park?" I asked.
She blinked hazel eyes at me, as if for a second she'd forgotten I was there. "Anywhere back here."
"Great."
She stepped back and let me park, but her eyes lingered on Larry. Maybe it was more than lust. Damn.
We parked. Larry undid his seat belt carefully, grimacing. I'd gotten the door for him at the gas station.
"You want me to get the door?"
He turned stiffly towards the door, trying to keep his upper body immobile. He stopped with his hand on the handle. His breath came in little gasps. "Yes, please."
Me, I'd have gotten the door myself, just from pure stubbornness. Larry really was the wiser of the two of us.
I held the door for him and offered him a hand. I pulled, he pushed with his legs, and we got him standing. He started to hunch from the pain, but that bent his back, which made the pain worse. He ended standing as straight as he could, leaning against the Jeep, trying to get his breath back. Pain will leave you breathless.
Reynolds was suddenly beside us. "What's wrong?"
"You tell her. I'll go talk to Dolph."
"Sure," Larry said, voice strained. He needed to be in bed, knocked out on painkillers. Maybe he wasn't that much smarter than me.
It wasn't hard to spot Dolph. Pete McKinnon was standing with them. It was like walking towards two small mountains.
Dolph's dark suit looked freshly pressed, white shirt crisp, tie knotted against the collar. He couldn't have been out in the heat long. Even Dolph sweats.
"Anita," he said.
"Dolph."
"Ms. Blake, nice to see you again," Pete McKinnon said.
I smiled. "Good to know someone's happy to see me."
If Dolph got the dig, he ignored it. "Everyone's waiting for you."
"Dolph always was a man of few words," Pete said.
I grinned at him. "Good to know it's nothing personal."
Dolph frowned at us. "If you two are through, we've got work to do."
Pete and I grinned at each other and followed Dolph across the wet street. I was happy to be back in my Nikes. I could walk as good as any of the men, in the right shoes.
A tall, thin fireman with a grey mustache watched me stride across the street. He was still wearing helmet and coat in the July heat. Four others had stripped down to T-shirts with just the rubbery-looking pants on. Someone had sprayed them down with a water. They looked like an ad for a beefcake wet T-shirt contest. They were drinking Gatorade and water like their lives depended on it.
"Did a Gatorade truck just roll by or is this some arcane post-fire ritual?" I asked.
Pete answered, "It's damned hot in a fire with full gear on. You dehydrate. Water to rehydrate and Gatorade for the electrolytes so you don't pass out from the heat."
"Ah," I said.
The fireman who'd been rolling up the hose came over to us. A delicate triangle of face peered out from under the helmet. Clear grey eyes met my gaze. There was a lift to the chin, a way that she held herself that was a challenge. I recognized the symptoms. I had my own mountain-sized chip on my shoulder. I felt like apologizing for assuming she was a man, but didn't. It would have been insulting.
Pete introduced me to the tall man. "This is Captain Fulton. He's Incident Commander on this site."
I offered my hand while he was still thinking about it. His hand was large, big-knuckled. He shook hands like he was afraid to squeeze too hard, and dropped contact as soon as he could. I bet that he was just pleased as punch to have a female fireperson on his unit.
He introduced the fireperson in question. "Corporal Tucker." She offered her hand.
She had a nice firm handshake and eye contact so sincere it was aggressive.
I smiled. "Nice not to be the only woman on the scene for a change."
That brought a very small smile to her face. She gave the barest of nods and stepped back, letting her captain take over.
"How much do you know about a fire scene, Miss Blake?"
"It's Ms. Blake, and not much."
He frowned at the correction. I felt Dolph shift beside me, unhappy with me. His face wouldn't show it, but I could almost feel him willing me not to be a pain in the butt. Who, me?
Corporal Tucker was staring at me, eyes wide, face very still as if she was trying not to laugh.
One of the other firemen joined us. His damp T-shirt clung to a stomach that had required far too many sit-ups, but I enjoyed the view anyway. He was tall, broad-shouldered, blond, and looked like he should have been carrying a surfboard or visiting Barbie in her Malibu dream house. There was a smear of soot on his smiling face, and his eyes were red-rimmed.
He offered his hand without being introduced. "I'm Wren." No rank, just his name. Confident.
He held my hand just a little longer than necessary. It wasn't obnoxious, just interested.
I dropped my eyes. Not out of shyness, but because some men mistake direct eye contact as a come-on. I had about as much beefcake on my plate as I could handle without adding amorous firemen.
Captain Fulton frowned at Wren. "Do you have any questions, Ms. Blake?" He emphasized the Ms. so it sounded like three z's at the end.
"You've got a basement full of vampires that you need to rescue without exposing them to sunlight or getting any of your people eaten, right?"
He stared at me for a second or two. "That's the gist of it."
"Why can't you just leave them in the basement until full dark?" I asked.
"The floor could cave in at any minute," he said.
"Which would expose them to sunlight and kill them," I said.
He nodded.
"Dolph said one vamp was covered with blankets, and rushed to the hospital. Is that why you think the others may not be in their coffins?"
He blinked. "There's also a vampire on the stairs leading down. It's..." His gaze fell, then came up suddenly to grab mine, angry. "I've seen burn victims but nothing quite like this."
"Are you sure it's a vampire?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because vamps exposed to sunlight or fire usually burn completely down to ash and a few bone fragments."
"We doused it with water," Wren said. "Thought it was a person at first."
"What changed your mind?"
It was his turn to look away. "It moved. It was like third-degree burns down to cartilage and muscle, bone, and it held out its hand to us." His face looked pale, haunted. "No person could have done that. We kept coating it with water, thinking maybe we could save it, but it stopped moving."
"So you assumed it was dead?" I asked.
All three of them exchanged glances. Captain Fulton said, "You mean it might not be dead?"
I shrugged. "Never underestimate a vamp's ability to survive, Captain."
"We've got to go back in there and get it to a hospital," Wren said. He turned as if he'd walk back into the house. Fulton caught his arm.
"Can you tell if the vampire is alive or dead?" Fulton asked.
"I think so."
"You think?"
"I've never heard of a vamp surviving fire. So yeah, I thinkI can tell if it's alive. If I said otherwise, I'd be lying. I try not to do that when it's important."
He nodded twice, briskly, as if he'd made up his mind about me. "The arsonist threw accelerant all over the floor that we're going to be walking on top of, and once we're down in the basement that same floor will be above us."
"So?"
"That floor is not going to hold, Ms. Blake. I'm going to make this a strictly voluntary job for my people."
I looked up into his serious face. "How likely is the floor to fall and how soon?"
"No way of knowing. Frankly, I'm surprised it hasn't caved in by now."
"It's a halfway house for the Church of Eternal Life. If it's like the last basement I saw at a Lifer's place, the ceiling is concrete reinforced with steel beams."
"That would explain why it hasn't fallen in," Fulton said.
"So we're safe, right?" I asked.
Fulton looked at me and shook his head. "The heat could have weakened the concrete, or even weakened the tensile strength of the steel beams."
"So it could still fall down," I said.
He nodded. "With us in it."
Great. "Let's do it."
Fulton grabbed my arm and gripped it too tight. I stared at him, but he didn't flinch and he didn't let me go. "Do you understand that we could be buried alive down there or crushed to death, or even drowned if there's enough water?"
"Let go of me, Captain Fulton." My voice was quiet, steady, not angry. Point for me.
Fulton released me and stepped back. His eyes looked a little wild. He was spooked. "I just want you to understand what could happen."
"She understands," Dolph said.
I had an idea. "Captain Fulton, how do you feel about sending your people in to a potential deathtrap to save a bunch of vampires?"
Something passed through his dark eyes. "The law says they're people. You don't leave people hurt or trapped."
"But," I prompted.
"But my men are worth more to me than a bunch of corpses."
"Not long ago I'd have brought the marshmallows and wieners for the roast," I said.
"What changed your mind?" Fulton asked.
"Kept meeting too many human beings that were as monstrous as the monsters. Maybe not as scary, but just as evil."
"Police work will ruin your view of your fellow man," Detective Tammy said. She and Larry had joined us at last. It had taken Larry a long time to cross those yards. He was far too hurt to insist on going inside the house. Good.
"I'll go in because it's my job, but I don't have to like it," Fulton said.
"Fine, but if we do have a cave-in, we better get dug out before nightfall, because without the vamp chaperone we'll be facing a basement full of new vamps that may not have perfect control over their hunger."
His eyes widened, showing too much white. I would have bet money that Fulton had had a close encounter of the fanged kind once upon a time. There were no scars on his neck, but that didn't prove anything. Vamps didn't always go for the neck, no matter what the movies say. Blood flows near the surface in lots of places.
I touched his arm lightly. Tension sang down his muscles like a string pulled too tight. "Who'd you lose?"
"What?" He seemed to be having trouble focusing on me.
"Who did the vampires take away from you?"
He stared at me, dark eyes focusing on me. Whatever horrible image was floating behind his eyes retreated. His face was almost normal when he said, "Wife, daughter."
I waited for him to say more, but the silence gathered round us in a still, deep pool made up of all the horror in those two whispered words. Wife, daughter. Both lost. No--taken.
"And now you have to go into the dark and save some bloodsuckers and risk yourself and your people. That really sucks."
He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. I watched him gain control of himself, watched him build his defenses back piece by piece. "I wanted to let it burn when I found out what was inside."
"But you didn't," I said. "You did your job."
"But the job's not done," he said softly.
"Life's a bitch," I said.
"And then you die," Larry finished for me.
I turned and frowned at him, but it was hard to argue. Today, he was right.