Into the Flames

by Multi-Author

  “Oh, but we both know it’s a foregone conclusion.” The murderer gathered the papers on the desk and tapped them on its gleaming cherry surface, elegant fingers carefully aligning the edges.

  It had become brutally obvious the moment he’d entered the room, Paul would not survive this night. He threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin, accepting his fate with dignity. “I’ve already sent a copy of all of that to my lawyer.” He waved at the papers on the desk. “He knows. He knows and understands everything. None of this will stop when I’m dead.” Paul was pleased he could push the lie steadily past the panic clogging his throat. He’d been planning for months to do just that, send copies of his research to someone who would protect them, but time and distractions had kept him from the task.

  “Please, don’t insult my intelligence. You forget how well I know all your idiosyncrasies and we both know you’re well…” the vampire shrugged and tossed the neat stack of papers into the fire, “… a tad disorganized.”

  “Nooo …” Paul lunged at the fireplace, but the hungry flames devoured everything he’d lived for over the last three decades. He wasn’t able to salvage even a small scrap of paper. “You don’t know what you’ve done. People are depending on that research. Depending on me to save them!”

  “No one that matters. There isn’t a true vampire walking this earth who believes in what you’re doing.” The smile was reptilian, as if Satan himself had taken possession of this wayward soul. “And we both understand what is to come is inevitable. Preordained, if you will—”

  “You won’t get away with this.” Paul was repeating himself, but terror had stripped him of any coherent thought.

  “But I already have.” Several small objects flew from long fingers. Blue flames erupted on Paul’s desk. A ball of fire jumped to the leather chair next to the hearth. Another flew to the Aubusson rug he and his wife had bought on their honeymoon fifty years ago.

  “Stop!”

  “What you began, I will finish tonight.”

  Paul grabbed the decorative throw on the back of the couch, intent on pounding the growing flames into submission.

  Another burst of evil laughter split the air as the crystal vase on the mantel exploded in the growing heat of the fire. “That’s right, old man. Try to stop it.”

  Paul brought the blanket down hard on the fire spreading like a sickness across the floor. But the hungry blaze would not be denied. It rapidly consumed the jacquard drapes and licked at the ceiling. The black smoke choking the air filled his nose and burned his lungs. He needed to get out. Abandoning the blanket, he turned to run.

  He saw the murderous demon raise the small ottoman only seconds before it crashed down on his world.

  * * *

  “Oh, screw you, Burkett.” Reese Colton threw his cards down as the man across the table collected the two paper IOU’s along with a pile of money. Testosterone and laughter filled the fire station kitchen. “You all suck!” Reese drained the bottle of water at his elbow.

  His best friend leaned back in the wooden chair and flicked the scrap of paper with his finger. “Oh, you’ll pay up on this one, buddy.” Josh Burkett flashed his familiar shit-eating grin. Only braces and modern dentistry had altered its appearance in the two centuries Reese had known him. “Not only do I have it in writing,” the chair banged down hard on the linoleum floor as Josh leaned over the marred table, shooting Reese a smug look of satisfaction, “I’ve got witnesses.” His outstretched arm indicated the four other firefighters sitting around the table.

  Reese had never welshed on a bet, especially if it was more along the lines of a dare or involved a woman—this one was both. Wagering an official date with the owner of the firefighter’s local watering hole against Josh’s month of station cleaning duties seemed like a sure thing, especially when the man’s cards had been nothing but crap all night. Now that he’d lost the bet, Reese was having his doubts. He’d been flirting his way around the woman for months—had even managed a friendly kiss or two—but he’d sidestepped anything deeper. A complicated relationship just wouldn’t work around all the shit going on his life at the moment.

  And a relationship with Alexandra Flanagan would be nothing but trouble.

  But with Josh pathetically lusting after some co-ed at the moment, his friend had goaded Reese into the bet. “You haven’t had anything better than two pair all night, Burkett.” Reese gathered the cards off the table and put them back in the box. “With a full boat, it was a pretty safe bet I’d be pocketing that paper and you’d have your head stuck in the station toilets for the next month.” His hand shot out, attempting to snatch the IOU from Josh.

  “Oh, hell no! You’re not backing out of this one.” Josh’s superior reflexes were as quick as Reese’s, keeping it from his grasp. Josh tucked the paper safely in the shirt pocket of his uniform. “This is our golden ticket to a front row seat of pure entertainment.”

  Timmons leaned in conspiratorially. “I’d be happy to cover that bet for you, Colton. I’m just afraid one night with me and that sexy Irish barmaid would find you just couldn’t measure up.”

  “A woman would choose a life of celibacy over a night with you, Timmons.” McLeod laughed as he cleared away the empty nacho plates, wing dishes and the drinking glasses, depositing them all in the industrial sink.

  Friendship, boredom, and the late hour made the whole situation humorous—at least to the other men in the room.

  “I’m thinking this date needs to happen in the next—”

  The shrill ring of the alarm speared through the firehouse, cutting Josh off mid-sentence. Conditioning and quick reflexes pressed the men into action. Chairs scraped across the floor and boots pounded through the adjoining day room.

  “Attention South Kenton fire.” The dispatcher’s disembodied voice filled the newly charged atmosphere. “Repeat. Attention South Kenton fire. Structure fire, East Brooker Road. Witnesses report potential occupants …”

  Six men slid down the brass pole, donning their bravery with their bunker gear.

  * * *

  Glenn Karr set the fancy glass on the bar in front of the blonde, wondering when life had gotten so complicated.

  Thirty years ago he’d bought O’Malley’s Tavern and catered to the everyday Joe of South Kenton. Hard working men who drank their liquor straight up or from a tap, ate their food deep fried and full of calories and watched their sports on grainy televisions. It wasn’t until recently the younger crowd had been clamoring for mixed drinks with silly names and a menu that now included gluten-free pizza dough and organic salads. And despite the fact they all carried their lives in those foolish iPhones, his new clientele had insisted he hook up Wi-Fi and HDTV.

  Life over the centuries had certainly become more complicated.

  “That man of yours picking you up?” he asked the woman.

  “Josh? No, unfortunately he’s working at the fire station tonight. Why’d you ask?”

  He nodded at the third pomegranate martini Hope Grayson had ordered. An hour hadn’t passed since she’d slipped in the door and dropped herself on his stool. A regular on the arm of one of the local firefighters, Hope wasn’t normally alone at the tavern. With recent events, Glenn wasn’t pleased she’d shown up without an escort. From the look of her disheveled hair and the sweat pants hanging low on her hips, he suspected she wasn’t too happy about the situation either.

  “Yeah, well I’m not driving home if that’s what you’re worried about.” She dragged her long nail around the rim of the glass. “I was bored and walked over from my apartment.” She craned her neck to look around the bar. “I was kind of hoping to talk to your partner in crime and maybe bum a ride home with—”

  “Evening, Glenn.” Ronan Nason sauntered into the tavern. His Armani suit jacket, pressed khakis and Italian boots were several steps above the local clientele. “Is it too late for a man to get a drink in this fine establishment?”

  Six months of living on
the west coast and the man’s heavy brogue hadn’t softened any more than his pretentious attitude. “We close in an hour. Just like every Thursday night.”

  “Well then I’ll have a glass of your finest Merlot.” Ronan leaned against the bar, leaving only a stool between him and the blonde, who was doing her damnedest to pretend he didn’t exist. “Evening, Hope.” Ronan touched the brim of a hat he wasn’t wearing.

  Glenn wasn’t sure the details of their rift, but suspected it had something to do with inside information Hope had gotten from her boyfriend about the newcomer. Whatever. He’d been standing behind the bar long enough to know that anything he said would sound like he was taking one side or the other, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “I’m surprised to see you here tonight, Hope.” Ronan sipped casually from the wine Glenn set in front of him. “I would’ve thought that station of yours would have you out chasing hot leads for the late news.”

  “Nothing worth reporting.” Hope flashed him a sardonic smile and batted her lashes. “My boss is still hoping the university chemistry department will announce their newest endowment isn’t really being wasted on pig research.”

  Glenn bent and shuffled glasses, biting back a smile. The huge sum of money that had been gifted to the university had actually been funneled into the chemistry department from Ronan’s employer. It was more important to the residents of South Kenton than humans realized. The fluff news piece Hope had done a few days ago had been carefully scripted by Professor Paul Morgan, head of the chemistry department, to look like another useless analysis of swine disease.

  Since Ronan had known the true impetus behind the grant money, it had galled him to do the interview. But his bosses had insisted. Undercover as a grad student working in the chemistry department, Ronan had been the one traipsing through the pig muck at Glenn’s farm with a cameraman, while Glenn’s business partner, Associate Professor Alexandra Flanagan had been interviewed in the comfort of her office at the university.

  “That pig research may just save your life,” Ronan shot back.

  “As a vegetarian, I suspect that research will simply waste needed university funds and will be as useless as the pigs themselves.” Hope set down her glass with a bang, and covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes pulling a white-saucer moment. “Aww jees, Glenn, I’m sorry about that. I know your pigs are important to you. I didn’t mean—”

  “No offense taken.”

  “But your farm and the pigs and I—”

  Glenn pulled the towel off his shoulder and wiped up the drink that had spilled over the edge of Hope’s glass. “Don’t you worry. Takes a lot to insult me.”

  “No doubt Glenn’s very adept at dealing with rude drunks.” Ronan swirled the wine in his glass, inhaling its aroma before sipping from the glass and savoring the dark liquid.

  Hope spoke through gritted teeth. “Ronan, I really have no desire to go a round or two with you tonight. I just came in for a quiet drink and some face time with Alex.”

  “Someone call my name?”

  Glenn watched the co-owner of O’Malley’s sneak in from the kitchen as if she could hide her arrival from him. Though Alexandra Flanagan hadn’t told him specifically where she was headed when she’d dropped her apron under the bar and gathered her purse, she’d said she wouldn’t be long. Three hours was longer than it took to run a typical Thursday night girly errand. Whatever the hell that might be.

  “Evening, Alex. You working the kitchen tonight?” Ronan asked.

  “Yeah, something like that.” Alex smiled apologetically at Glenn.

  Their short order cook, Chris Dillon, had left unexpectedly an hour before Alex, leaving him to finish the evening by himself. Not that it was a problem for Glenn, but their behavior was just a little suspect. Alex was battling some personal crap she wouldn’t share with him and she certainly didn’t need Chris’s demons adding to her fight.

  Of course, from all appearances, it seemed as though Chris had a thing for Hope who only had eyes for one particular fireman. And the way Ronan’s eyes followed Alex’s every move led Glenn to believe the vampire’s nightly visits had nothing to do with the wine they served. Who the hell knew what Alex wanted in the romance department.

  Damn Peyton Place if you asked him.

  “Chris have the night off?” Hope asked.

  “He went home sick,” Alex replied, slipping her apron over her head. “Can I get anyone anything?”

  Ronan finished his wine in one swallow. “How about another glass of your finest.” He leaned forward and winked. “Nothing like a local California wine and a beautiful lassie to end a perfect evening,”

  “You’re usual?” The smile Alex flashed as she uncorked the bottle of Merlot, lit up her Irish pixie features.

  Glenn didn’t miss the way Ronan wrapped his fingers around Alex’s as he was taking the glass. Though the two vampires worked together at the university and were decades older than their twenty-something appearance—infancy in the grand scheme of immortality—Glenn wished the guy would just back off from both women.

  To keep himself from grabbing the vampire by the scruff of the neck and escorting him out of the tavern, Glenn busied himself sorting and boxing the empties behind the bar. The tribunal wouldn’t think much of him mistreating the answer to his very desperate plea. Ronan was in town at Glenn’s invitation. The vampire had arrived in South Kenton six months ago with the lush winds of spring and would be here only as long as it took to discover the reason behind the recent rash of murders. Once they brought the rogue vampire to justice, Ronan would move on to the next place where vampires threatened either humans or their own species.

  Alex on the other hand, was family. Nearly a decade after he’d settled in this Northern California mountain town forty years ago, she’d found her way to him, a stray in need of saving. Glenn had made it his personal mission, nearly a century ago, to help new vampires keep their existence secret from the mortal world of humans. His reputation had spread and now, countless numbers of young vamps came to him. Drawn by word of mouth, they sought explanations, training and—if possible—redemption.

  Every single one of those Glenn had saved over the years hummed softly in the background of his consciousness, permanently connected to the very heart of his being. Some, like Alex, were closer to the surface. Until recently, her internal monologue was as much a part of him as his own thoughts. Tired of his presence in her head, she’d somehow managed to block him. Glenn shouldn’t miss her quiet whispers, but after thirty years of listening to her dreams and fears, the silence was deafening.

  Like so many of his protégés, Alex had lost her mortal family. Her parents believed she’d died the night of the vampire attack thirty years ago. But Glenn’s blood and tender care had brought her from the brink of death into the world of immortality. It had taken nearly three years for her to swim out of the sorrow of losing her former life. Glenn had broken his own codes, allowing her to live with him until she’d become secure in her new life. By then, she was working with him and they’d slipped into a comfortable life running the tavern. In the decade that followed, Alex had received her PhD in chemistry, taken the job at the university and somewhere along the road, crawled under his skin and burrowed her way into his heart. He loved her like a daughter.

  But there was just something a little off about the way she’d been acting recently. Both she and Chris. As many hours as the three of them worked together, Glenn tried to stay out of their personal lives. He’d been working to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping along the edges of conscience and avoided mentioning their odd behavior to either of them. He was beginning to think that may have been a poor decision on his part.

  Alex stacked glasses in the dish bin beneath the bar while Glenn absently polished its surface, wishing she trusted him enough to share what was really going on.

  “I’m surprised to see you here tonight, Hope. What’s up?” Alex stifled a yawn.

  “Boredom. Th
ere’re only so many re-runs a girl can watch before being driven insane.”

  “Twasn’t a long drive,” Ronan muttered.

  Hope ignored the comment or, more likely, her human ears didn’t hear the insult.

  “Josh is working tonight and I’ve got tomorrow off.,” Hope said. “I get to cover the Harvest Hoe Down on Saturday.” She saluted with her glass. “Yay, me” Hope took a long pull of her drink. “Anyway, I walked over and thought I’d hang while you closed down the bar. I’m hoping to catch a ride home.”

  “Tonight?” Alex pressed a hand to her stomach.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t expect you to have plans. My bad.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that.” Alex pasted on an overly cheerful smile and swallowed hard.

  Without the ability to hear her thoughts, Glenn didn’t know if it was guilt or sickness clogging her throat. But now that he looked closely, Alex didn’t look well. He wondered if the disappearing acts over the last couple of months had anything to do with the recent weight loss she refused to discuss.

  “Of course I can take you home.” Alex grabbed the overflowing bucket of dishes. “I just need to get these done.”

  Hope picked up her drink and jumped off the stool. “Why don’t I join you? It suddenly got downright cold sitting here.” She aimed her last comment at Ronan.

  “And unexpectedly crowded,” Ronan responded, sipping thoughtfully at his wine.

  Alex rolled her eyes, but made no comment at their antagonistic banter. “I’d love your help, Hope.” Alex stifled another yawn into her shoulder as she started past Glenn.

  “If you weren’t feeling well, you didn’t need to come back,” he said so only she could hear. “It wasn’t like I couldn’t handle the raucous crowd alone.” He shot a look over his shoulder at Ronan and the other two customers sitting at the bar nursing their drinks.

  “I know you could. But I felt bad leaving right after Chris.” Alex’s hair bounced around her chin as she tried to add enthusiasm to her voice. “It’s just that I needed to run an important errand that couldn’t wait.”