Sisters' Fate
Page 68

The girl jumps—and plummets toward the ground. She screams. I reach up with my magic, cradling her, slowing her descent until she seems to float rather than fall. She hovers above the ground for a second, then touches down gently.
“You’re a real witch!” Her blue eyes are round; her face is full of wonder.
“I am,” I admit.
“That was fun!” She looks up at the dark-haired boy, still framed in the window above Elena. “Come on, Jamie! Don’t be a scaredy-cat!”
“What’s your name, honey?” Rilla asks.
“Mary Fowler.” The girl grins.
Rilla raises her voice. “Mary Fowler is the bravest girl in the whole orphanage! Who wants to come down next?”
Rory and Sachi come charging up next to me. “The fire is out over by the train depot. The tracks served as a natural fire break,” she announces. “What’s happening here? Why haven’t the children been evacuated?”
I explain what Brother Coulter did.
“That bastard. I’d like to get my hands on him,” Rory seethes, and this time Sachi doesn’t chide her for her language. To our left, children are trickling out the front door. Some of them clutch blankets or rag dolls in their hands, and when they see the nightmarish sky and the flames licking at the building next door, they begin to cry. Bekah stands at the door and directs them farther down the street.
Meanwhile, Jamie jumps and is guided down by Elena. He looks a bit pale, but he raises his arms and cheers when he lands. “Come on, lads!” he shouts as other faces fill the windows.
“Girls are braver than boys!” Mary hollers, and another little girl positions herself above me.
“My friends Sachi and Rory are here to help, too. Four children at a time, please,” Rilla instructs as Sachi and Rory wave. “Let’s see who gets out first: boys or girls!”
Children line up at the windows to jump, one after the other. Sachi and I catch all thirty-seven girls before Rory and Elena catch the thirty-seventh of forty boys. Some of the girls cheer, while the defeated boys bluster, but most seem to recognize the gravity of the situation once they’re on the ground. These were wards full of the oldest children in the orphanage, anywhere from eight to fourteen, and some beg to be allowed to go back inside to fetch younger siblings and friends.
Bekah grabs a wriggling boy determined to save Susie, his four-year-old sister. He hits and kicks at Bekah until a fireman picks him up and sets him down in the street. Rilla tries to direct the children to a tavern that has promised to feed and shelter them for the time being, but some flat-out refuse to go until they see their friends come out. There’s a great reunion when Susie finally emerges, one of a handful of children led by Sister Edith.
Daisy and her friend Alexa run out, each carrying a squirming baby. “The roof is catching on the other side. We don’t have much time,” Daisy informs us breathlessly. She thrusts one baby at Rilla while Alexa hands hers to one of the older orphans waiting in the street. “We’ve got the third and fourth floors clear—they were the four- to seven-year-olds—but there are still babies and toddlers on the second floor. We need to form a brigade and pass them out.”
That’s it. I can’t carry babies with a broken arm and I’m not going to just stand here. “I’m going up to the roof to help Tess,” I announce, hurrying into the building, squeezing past a snaking line of firemen, Brothers, and witches passing cherubic babes from arm to arm. Most of the Brothers have shed their black cloaks in the hot, close quarters, and without them, they look like—well, like regular men instead of the villains of my nightmares. They are helping, their shirtsleeves rolled up, sooty faces streaked with sweat, indistinguishable from the firemen except for their rings of office and their upper-class speech.
I run to the far stairwell, which is beginning to fill with smoke. I pound up the steps and pause on the third-floor landing, trying to draw a proper lungful. I cough and keep going. On the fifth floor, a ladder leads up to the roof. I crawl up it with a sense of déjà vu. Truth be told, I am none too eager to stand on another rooftop tonight.
“Tess?” She stands near the edge of the roof, staring out over the city. The wind has died down to nothing. The air feels perilously still, the way it sometimes does before a storm. The muscles of Tess’s neck and arms are taut as she fights the wind. The far side of the roof is smoldering, fire licking at the drain spouts. Finn and a few other men—Brothers? fire brigaders?—are trying to beat it out. Water from a relocated fire engine arcs onto the roof, forming a great puddle in the center, but it’s not enough.
Tess is trembling, every ounce of her energy focused on battling the fire, but she’s losing ground. She opens her eyes when she hears my boots next to her. “Let me help,” I say, slipping my hand into hers.
She takes my remaining magic—and with it, most of my strength. It suddenly requires an inordinate amount of effort to remain standing. My eyes sting and tear, and the sound of my own wheezing breath reminds me horribly of Maura’s last moments. I look down as a wagon clatters up and several firemen leap out, running to gather children into the back. They need more time.
Cinders fall all around us. One falls on Tess’s shoulder and I let go her hand for a moment to slap at the smoking spot before her cloak can ignite. She barely reacts. The wagon clatters away down the street below us, full of older children and firemen holding babies, and then comes barreling back a few minutes later. Bekah and Daisy lift toddlers into the wagon. Rory stumbles out the front door, leading Sachi by the hand. My vision is tunneling again; my legs are shaking with the effort to stay upright.
Tess thwacks me on the back of the head. “Your hair!” she shrieks, beating out a spark.
“Don’t worry about me! Focus,” I insist as the wind surges around us.
Finn rushes across the roof. The other firemen have already gone. “Everyone’s out. Let’s go, ladies.” The bump on the back of my head hurts something fierce, and spots dance before my eyes. I try to draw in a deep breath, but everything tastes of ash and my throat burns. It’s so hot up here. Finn unties a wet handkerchief from around the lower half of his face—it makes him look rather like a highwayman from one of Maura’s novels—and ties it gently around mine. It makes breathing easier, but I flinch when he touches the back of my head. “You’ve got a hell of a goose egg back there. Can you make it down the ladder?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Tess steps onto the ledge. “Elena! Can you catch us?”
“You’ve got to be mad,” I mumble. But a gust of wind sends the flames closer toward the ladder, and Elena is waiting below us.
I jump.
It is terrifying. Not like flying at all—like dropping, like that horrid half-asleep sensation of falling. I shriek as the street rises up below me at an alarming rate. My boots touch down gently enough, but my knees buckle. I am not half as brave as ten-year-old Mary Fowler.
Rilla wraps a steadying arm around my waist as Elena helps Tess and then Finn to the ground. “We’ve got to get you to the infirmary. You look ready to collapse.”
“I’ll take her.” Finn scoops me up in his arms, and I yelp as pain surges through my broken arm. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll try to be careful.”