Maybe the vision with the falling glass wasn’t going to come true.
She glanced back to Rhiannon just as Weathergirl plunged toward the dining room table.
Where the sword’s big white box lay in the center.
No! Drew saw it all. The sword would change everything. She didn’t think. She just lunged for the table. She was closer. Rhiannon ran up to the foot, but Drew came in from the side. Rhiannon realized her danger. She scrabbled through chairs, trying to get to the box. Drew didn’t take any chances. She launched herself across the table. Both she and the box skidded onto the floor. Drew scrambled to her knees and fumbled with the catch. Rhiannon was screeching something. Drew started to cough. She flipped up the lid. It lay there, gleaming, just as though it hadn’t been buried for who knew how long. She grabbed the hilt.
“You can’t wield it,” Rhiannon screamed. “You don’t have the power.”
Drew hauled on the sword. It was incredibly heavy. She stood. The point dragged on the ground. “Well, I’m not giving it to you.” Rhiannon was right, of course. A stupid little power like having visions that told her almost nothing and she couldn’t control didn’t mean she could master a Talisman Sword. But it was still a sword. She edged around the head of the table.
“You can’t even lift it,” Rhiannon sneered.
Drew gritted her teeth and hefted the point off the ground. She had to run Rhiannon through right now. If Rhiannon got the sword.… Drew flashed on her vision of glass crashing down in blue light. What could do that? Rhiannon could, with the sword.
Drew’s sword wavered as she tried to hold it up in some kind of thrusting position. “Too late,” Rhiannon singsonged. She stepped back, out from under the glass ceiling and out of range. “Let’s see how you like a little change in the weather.”
Behind her, Michael had dispatched his foe and now began to creep up on Rhiannon from behind. The fighting was petering out around the room. Everyone watched Rhiannon as she held her hands above her head, laughing. The smoke seemed to gather into a cloud and whirl around her. Everybody knew what that meant. The first lighting strike hit the burning television. The second struck about three feet in front of Michael, who stopped stock-still.
Drew wanted to cry. She’d lost the opportunity to affect anything. All she could do was either watch as the people she loved were killed by weather or give the sword to Rhiannon with the same result. Maybe it was Rhiannon’s lightning that would break the glass. Wind began to whirl around Rhiannon. It fed the flames, which leaped up. Men were pushed back against the walls. Michael and her brothers and father struggled to keep upright, but they were blown back into a corner. She could hardly see them for the smoke, in spite of the sporadic glare of lightning that banished the ever-present blue light at intervals.
Funny, Drew didn’t feel the wind at all. She looked down at the sword, blinking slowly.
It was all she had left. She adjusted her grip on the hilt. She wasn’t strong enough. But all she could do was try. What else was there? She looked over to Michael and her family. She saw her father’s mouth move. “Do it,” he seemed to be saying. That was actually funny. He had never expected anything much of her. But he sure expected something now. Michael held his arm up to shield himself from the wind. His eyes locked with hers.
He smiled.
Tears started to Drew’s eyes. There was so much in that smile. Confidence in her, a softness that might even be.…
Drew dropped her eyes to the sword once more, determined. Look out, Weathergirl. She concentrated with all her might on lifting the sword up, pointing it at Rhiannon. It was up, but it wavered, its weight sapping her strength. She pushed at it with her mind, willing it to strike.
Nothing.
The sword dropped to the floor. Just what she expected.
“Don’t worry, honey.” It was her mother’s voice in her head. She flashed on the last time she’d talked with her mother, on the terrace before dinner. “You can’t force it,” she’d said. “Sometimes you just have to let things happen.”
Wait. Wasn’t that just how she’d had her last vision? When she had quit trying, it came.
Okay. She grabbed the hilt of the sword more securely and took a deep breath. A lamp sped by in the rush of wind and smoke, followed by books and a cellphone. The place was turning into a tornado. A flash of lightning revealed her family and Michael, huddled against the wind and debris. Just like Wizard of Oz. She started to laugh. Only everything’s blue.
As if the laugh freed her power, she felt it surge up inside her. A vision flashed over the chaos around her. She saw herself, holding the sword high just where she was standing now, a triumphant look on her face. There was a corona of power glowing around her. Almost as soon as the vision became clear, it faded and the storm inside the penthouse was back.
She could do this. She would do it. Michael thought she could do this, and so did her father. Now so did she.
So she relaxed. Her lungs gasped at breath and air filled them. Along with something else Not painful. Not bad. Full, alive. That’s how she felt. The air around her began to glow. The sword rose of its own accord. Rhiannon was in for it now. Drew expected a flash of power from the sword, like the one that had destroyed their yacht. But … nothing. The sword kept rising. As it passed Rhiannon, the wind abruptly died. Lightning flashes sputtered out. Only the angry flapping of the fire and the acrid tang of smoke remained. Dimly, Drew saw Rhiannon standing, startled, with her arms raised. She looked a little silly. Behind her, figures stood among the rubble and the flames. Some bore looks of awe. She could make out Michael.
The sword continued rising.
Then it struck her. There was another way her vision could come true. She looked up through the glass at the twenty-foot blue globe, shining out across the lake.
Did Drew herself break the glass? It wouldn’t change anything. Rhiannon was under the protective ceiling. Only Drew would be killed by the falling glass, as she’d known she would be in her vision.
The sword rose. Drew felt like she was just hanging on to it, not controlling it.
But wait. Rhiannon didn’t want attention. She was practically phobic about it. And what was about to happen would bring down every fire fighter and police officer in the city. Was that enough? She looked down at Rhiannon, who had begun to realize what was going to happen, too.
“Get the damned sword,” she shouted to her men.
But they seemed mesmerized by the sight of the sword rising. It was beginning to glow. Its light bathed Drew in glittering iridescence.
As the sword pointed straight up, Rhiannon’s men lunged forward. Michael and her brothers got between her and the thugs. But her father just stared at her, nodding in satisfaction.
As she looked up again, she embraced what was about to happen. Maybe the sword knew more than she did. Maybe this was meant to be, and the others would be saved. She’d done her part. She’d called the power. And now she’d pay the price.
A channel of light shot from the tip of the sword into the night sky. The glass of the ceiling shattered first, cascading down around the sword. The huge blue globe shattered next and the channel of light shone far up into the night. The cascading glass, first clear then blue, showered down around Drew. But not a single shard touched her. It was if she stood inside a cone of protection. She looked around her, exhilarated, feeling bigger than life itself. Flames were everywhere now, crisscrossing the penthouse. Didn’t matter. Where was Michael? There.
She smiled.
Then the sword shut off as though it had a switch. It came crashing to the ground, and with it, all Drew’s force of life evaporated. She rolled her head, unable to keep it upright. And then she was falling into darkness.
*****
Michael saw Drew collapse behind a wall of fire. The whole place was about to be engulfed. He surged forward just as the gas stove blew up and everyone fell back. It took a moment for him to re-claim his senses. The crackle of the flames sounded far away. As he started
to get up, sirens wafted up from below, faintly.
“Get the sword,” Rhiannon shouted. Several men headed toward the stairwell.
“Go for the sword,” Michael yelled to Kemble, coughing. “I’ll get Drew.”
Rhiannon gave up on her men, and lunged for the sword herself. The smoke was bad. The kitchen was essentially gone. Flames created a curtain between Michael and Drew. He turned around, looking for alternatives. Kemble was about to be trapped by converging flames.
“Forget the sword,” Brian yelled and grabbed his son. “Get to the stairs.” He looked to Michael. There was no pleading in his eyes.
Michael gave him a brief salute and dropped to his hands and knees. He was the only one who was in a position to get to Drew. He kept low to the floor, breathing shallowly, and just tried to find a way forward. The place was like a maze with walls of fire. He’d never find Drew at this rate. But he’d die trying. He edged forward. His knees and palms burned. He didn’t care.
“Drew,” he choked. Maybe she could hear him. If she called, he could find her. The room had become some foreign place that didn’t look anything like it had a few minutes ago. Was he even going the right way? He’d made so many turns to escape the flames.
She’s over here.
He heard the voice so clearly. He hadn’t heard her since before the island.
By the dining table.
Where the hell was the dining table? He was coughing badly now.
Left. Go left.
Okay. Whatever you say, Alice, he thought. He pushed left, though he was quite certain the dining table was straight ahead. He had to go around a finger of flame pushing out to the fresh air of the part of the room now open to the sky. If they didn’t get out of here in minutes, they’d not get out at all. Maybe it was too late already.
He wouldn’t think that. He turned back around the finger of flame. And there she was, lying in a heap. The flames had just started eating at a corner of her dress. He scrambled forward and beat at them. Then he took her limp form in his arms. “Drew, Drew, baby, are you okay?” No answer. He felt frantically for a pulse in her neck with his thumb.
The throb of her blood was about the best thing he’d ever felt.
He looked up and saw flames licking up maybe ten or twelve feet into the night sky behind him. In front of him was the maze, its passage walls slowly converging on each other. How the hell was he going to get her out of here?
A single word, kitchen, echoed faintly in his mind.
She might be a hallucination. She only came to him in extremis. She might be a ghost. He didn’t care, as long as she was right. He popped up long enough to see what might be a dark area beyond the wall of flame. Coughing, he gathered Drew in his arms. He wound her hair around his left hand to keep it from hanging and clutched her to his chest, face into his shoulder. Then he just got up and ran for the dark place as fast as he could go, right through the wall of flame. He felt the pain dimly. Then he was into the blackened shell of the kitchen. The explosion seemed to have pushed out the flames. And there was a sink.
He turned on the faucet. Water. Thank you, Alice. It was one of those big, pullout faucet heads. He laid Drew on the counter and jerked it out. He sprayed Drew and himself as well as he could. Then he picked her back up and took a deep breath. There was a lot of flame between here and the stairwell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kemble guided Michael and Drew over to a paramedic rig. Michael felt dazed. “Need some oxygen,” Kemble said, in that authoritative voice he got from his father.
Brian had been waiting at the stairwell for them. Strange that he’d had such faith Michael would get her out. He’d sent the two brothers down the stairs. Michael wasn’t shocked to learn they’d been waiting one floor down to force “Senior,” as Tris called him, out before the stairs grew impassable.
Any of Rhiannon’s men who’d been conscious made it out and scattered. The stairs were crowded with residents as the little Tremaine pod of survivors descended. Rhiannon had disappeared. And they didn’t have the sword.
Fire equipment was still rolling up to the scene. Hoses snaked everywhere. Men in full fire gear ran into the building even as frightened people stumbled out. Michael looked up. Several of the top floors were now fully engulfed. He hoped everyone got out.
Brian was over giving orders to several fire captains. He’d said he was an off-duty commander of the 56th fire brigade to give them some authority if anyone tried to question them.
Michael looked down at Drew, nestled against his chest. She stirred in his arms. She’d be okay. Brina would see to that. That was what was important. His burns hurt some. But he’d never felt so right.
“I’ll take care of them,” a big young man in navy blue with patches all over his shirt said, holding up an oxygen mask hooked to a big tank. “Sit her right down here.”
Michael lowered Drew gently to sit on the wide bumper of the paramedic truck. He sat beside her to support her with his arm, as the medic fastened an oxygen mask over her head.
“Breathe deep,” the medic ordered her. He produced another mask. “Can you hold this up to your face?” he asked Michael.
“I’m fine.” Michael waved him away.
“You’re not fine.” Tris came up to stand beside Kemble. “Do as you’re told for once.”
“Like you would,” Michael retorted. Tris was scraped up some from the fight and covered with soot.
“You need care,” the medic said. “You … uh … might be in shock.” He handed Michael the mask again. “Can you hold it? I don’t want to scrape up your … uh … cheek.”
Oh. Michael looked down at his hands. Blistered. Yeah. The crawl. The borrowed slacks were burnt through at the knees, revealing the mess beneath. And now that the medic mentioned it his cheek did hurt some. Kemble and Tris were looking a little blurry. He took the mask gingerly and breathed in. Yeah. That helped.
“We need to get them to a hospital, sir,” the medic said to Kemble, who frowned.
Kemble was right. They couldn’t spend all night in a hospital. Not with the sword loose, and maybe Rhiannon.
Brian strode up. “I’ll take them,” he said. “It’s my fault they were here tonight. Besides, you boys have got this handled.” He nodded to a red car screaming up. “And you’ve got your own commander on scene now.” He winked at the medic. “Too many cooks spoil the soup.”
“Yes, sir,” the medic said, chuckling. “Take the oxygen tank, sir, and I’ll get you transportation.”
“That would be kind, son,” Brian said to the medic.
Tris was staring up. “How do we go back for the sword now?”
“We don’t,” Brian said briefly. “Time to regroup.”
Kemble reached around to his back for his iPad. Not there. He looked up at the inferno too. “Must have jarred loose in the fight. Should have known.” Michael had a feeling Kemble felt naked without some kind of computer at hand.
It took a few minutes before a fire captain’s car was procured. Brian herded them all in as he confirmed the nearest hospital. By the time they drove off, the medic was busy taking care of the flood of other residents.
The few blocks to the Palmer House were a blur for Michael. Pain was setting in now. But Drew was all right. She was still coughing a little. They passed the oxygen mask around between them. Brian waved it away because he was driving and Michael gave his turn to Drew.
How close he’d come to losing her tonight! It didn’t bear thinking about. But that was all he could think about. That and how good it felt to have her tucked under his arm where he could protect her. He felt the same sexual pull toward her he’d felt in the shack back in the Keys. What a jerk. She was half-dead and so was he. He needed to concentrate on protecting her. Could anyone protect her now that Rhiannon knew what she was?
“She all right?” Brian asked over his shoulder from the driver’s seat.
“I think so,” Michael said. “She seems to be more alert.” He looked down at Drew, wh
o blinked up at him with gray eyes red-rimmed from the smoke. He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt. Like he’d kiss her in front of her father and brothers. Like she’d want him to kiss her at all.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “for risking your life to get me out of there.”
Michael shook his head dismissively. “Anybody would have done that.”
“When we get out of here, you’re going to make her a happy woman, mister. A happy married woman,” Brian threatened. He was apparently turning his relief at Drew’s survival into anger at Michael and plans to secure her future. Michael didn’t know what to say. Brian didn’t seem to care whether his daughter wanted to be married to a drunken man who was still in love with his dead wife.
“Daddy, stop,” Drew said from his shoulder, in a voice that was smaller than he was used to hearing from her. “This is something you can’t control, so leave it be.”
“Well, I’m just thinking of you,” Brian said gruffly as he pulled up in front of the entrance at the Palmer House. Groups of guests and passersby were huddled, chattering in excitement about the fire that cast a glow over the night sky. Brian gave the valet a hundred bucks to drive the fire captain’s car back to the fire scene in an hour or so. The valet looked like he’d been offered season Cubs’ tickets. They plodded through the ornate lobby with its gilded baroque ceiling and chandeliers that dripped glittering crystal, drawing stares as they went. Probably because of Drew’s dress, which was a little odd. Brian picked up a house phone and called Brina to get the room number. “Yes, we’re all okay,” he heard Brian say. Michael guided Drew into the elevator, and supported her with an arm around her waist. When she laid her head against his shoulder, the rightness of that seemed like a revelation.
He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) Page 29
