Текст книги "The First Prophet"

Автор книги: Kay Hooper

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Where she had not physically been.

“Sarah? What is it?” Brodie asked.

“Cobwebs,” she murmured. She looked at him and the others, saw their puzzlement, and said slowly, “I think I have another plan.”

Cait slipped out of the house through the patio door and felt rather than heard Brodie glide up beside her. “My turn to stand watch,” she said in a low voice. “It’s nearly three.” She paused, looking up at him as her eyes adjusted to the dark, then said, “But I don’t know why we’re doing this. You said nobody’s been watching Leigh.”

“As far as we know, that’s true.” His voice was as low as hers. “But they’ve been on Sarah ever since she left Richmond, so it’s at least possible they know she’s here. And I wouldn’t put it past Duran to make his move tonight while we’re trying to get rested and ready for tomorrow. So stay alert, Cait. Keep your gun handy, and don’t hesitate to raise the alarm if you even suspect something is wrong. If there’s one thing they hate, it’s attention, but it’s something we can deal with; explaining a few gunshots to the police is a small price to pay for caution, and it’s a hell of a lot better than having another psychic taken from under our noses.”

Cait nodded. “Don’t worry, I know the drill.”

“I know you do.” Still, he sounded restless, and unease was reflected in his next words when he said, “I think I’ll take one more walk around the area, just to be sure—”

“Go to bed, Brodie.” She stared up at his shadowy face and wished she had the nerve to suggest she join him there. “You haven’t slept more than two or three hours a night since we got on to Sarah, and you’ll need to be rested when we go after Tucker tomorrow. I can handle this.”

He hesitated a moment longer, but finally nodded. “Yeah, I’m beat.”

The admission surprised Cait, but she had the sense not to say so. “See you in the morning.”

“Right.”

When she was alone outside, Cait automatically adjusted the pistol stuck inside her belt at the small of her back and started to walk the perimeter—Leigh’s front and back yard. There was no moon, but there were numerous streetlights in the neighborhood, and they lent the area enough light for her to see fairly well.

Either there were no dogs nearby or else they were no more disturbed by Cait’s almost silent movements than they had been Brodie’s, because no barking greeted her as she made her cautious way around the property. In fact, she heard no sounds at all, other than the usual peaceful night sounds.

She didn’t think too much, just did what she’d been taught to do. Move slowly and quietly, watch everything, and stay alert. But as time passed, inevitably, she grew a little bored and found her mind wandering even as she completed yet another walk around the house.

Which was why she nearly jumped out of her skin when a man stepped out of the tall shrubs in front of her not two feet from Leigh’s front walkway.

“Shit!”

He chuckled. “Sorry—I thought you saw me coming. You’re Cait, right?”

Her hand on the pistol’s grip relaxed. “Yeah. And you’re—Nick? Tim? I knew Brodie called in reinforcements, but we weren’t expecting you until morning.”

“Traffic was light.” He stepped closer, his smile a slash of white in the darkness.

There was absolutely no indication that anything was wrong, but in her head, suddenly, Cait heard Brodie’s implacable words.

Never trust anybody who comes to you in the dark.

She tried to pull her gun, but it never even cleared her belt.

Sarah woke suddenly, her heart pounding. She had no idea what was wrong, but something was, something was terribly wrong: There had been a scream in her mind. She threw back the covers and got out of bed, not bothering to find her shoes or put anything on over the white sleep shirt. And she didn’t turn on the light.

She wasn’t trying to be quiet, so it wasn’t surprising that she woke Brodie hurrying past his door; she heard a sleepy curse from inside the room but still didn’t pause, and she was at the bottom of the stairs by the time he reached the top of them.

“What the– Sarah?”

“Something’s wrong,” she flung back over her shoulder, struggling with the front door’s lock.

“Don’t go out there! Goddammit, Sarah—!”

She could have told him that whatever danger there had been was past, but Sarah didn’t waste the effort or the breath. Instead, she got the door unlocked and flung open before he could reach her and rushed out of the house with no clear idea of where she was going.

She tripped over something that lay in the shadows of shrubs near the house and went down hard, bruising her knees. But she barely felt that pain, because her hands were in something warm and sticky, and a wave of terrible revulsion swept over her.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“Sarah?” He was coming through the door toward her.

She wanted to warn him, to say something, but the only sound Sarah heard escape her throat was a kind of moan.

Then the flashlight in Brodie’s hand came on, spearing stark white light through the darkness. The light fell on her shaking hands, held out in front of her, and she stared numbly at the blood dripping.

She heard a sound come from Brodie, saw the light jerk away from her hands…and fall on Cait’s white face and staring eyes.

And the gaping wound that opened her throat almost to her spine.

The sun was well up when Brodie came into the kitchen, where Sarah and Leigh sat in silence with coffee cups before them. He poured himself a cup, his hands steady, but his voice was stony when he said, “Nick isn’t here yet.”

“What about Murphy?” Leigh’s voice was calm.

He nodded. “Gathering some supplies. We should be ready to move in another couple of hours.”

Sarah looked at him incredulously. She could still feel Cait’s blood on her hands despite a hot shower and lots of soap, yet this man who had been her partner stood there talking as if nothing had happened. Before she could say anything, however, Leigh spoke gently.

“We’ll grieve later, Sarah. Cait would understand.”

“Would she? I’m not so sure I do. You both act as if nothing happened. What about—what about her body?”

Brodie’s jaw tightened. “We’ve cleaned up the walkway so there’s no visible evidence anything happened. Tim’s taking her back to New York. It’s where she’s from. I’ll talk to her brother after this is finished, though he probably knows already. And…simple enough to arrange to have the body found so it’ll look like one more victim of senseless violence.”

Sarah moved slightly, not realizing how clearly her feelings showed on her face until Brodie spoke again, harshly this time.

“There’s nothing else we can do. We can’t afford to call in the police, Sarah. We don’t have any answers they’d believe, and no time to even try convincing them.”

“But…just to dump her somewhere…How can you?”

He drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Listen to me. We don’t have a choice. Bodies require explanations. Serious explanations to serious people in authority. And people in authority frown on murder. They look for likely suspects—and they don’t believe in ghostly conspiracies involving psychics and shadowy merciless bad guys. So who do you think they’d suspect?”

“Not us,” Sarah objected. “Surely—”

“Of course us. We found one of Leigh’s kitchen knives out there. The murder weapon. With her prints on it—or mine, or yours. Sarah, the other side doesn’t generally leave bodies lying around just to show they can.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they always have a reason, a purpose. Cait was meant to be a murder victim, and we were meant to be suspects.”

It was Leigh who said slowly, “But, why? They have a baited trap waiting for Sarah. Why this…diversion?”

“I don’t know why.” Brodie, his face still gray and older than his years, stared at his coffee with a frown. “It’s a stupid, senseless waste of a life. A young life. I never should have taken her on as my partner, never. She was too young, too reckless.”

“Brodie, it isn’t your fault,” Leigh said quietly.

He shot her a look but, instead of arguing, said, “The only thing I can think of is that they’re trying to delay us and figured a murder would do it. If Sarah hadn’t awakened knowing something was wrong, the first person to…see Cait would have been that neighbor of yours across the street, Leigh. The one who goes to work so early. When he came out his front door, he would have seen your front walk clearly. And seen her body.”

“And raised the alarm,” Leigh agreed.

Brodie nodded. “Even at best, we’d have been kept tied up with the cops all day. At worst, one or more of us would have ended up in jail.”

Sarah shook her head a little, trying to make her mind work as logically as these two seemed able to. “I just don’t understand why they would want to delay us.”

“Neither do I,” Brodie said. “Stalling for time. But why?” He looked sharply at Sarah. “What’s going on with Mackenzie?”

By now, Sarah didn’t even have to close her eyes and concentrate. All she had to do was pay attention.

“He’s…” She stared at Brodie. “The drug’s wearing off. He’s beginning to come out of it.”

“Then,” Brodie said grimly, “we’re out of time.”

SIXTEEN

Astrid kept her eyes closed, concentrating intensely, her nimble mind feeling its way. Varden watched her, every bit as intent and glancing more than once at his watch.

“Faster is better,” he said finally, impatient.

She opened her eyes with a sigh and stared at him. “Not in this. Look, do you want me to do this, or not? Because if you do, peace and quiet will help me do it.”

There was little Varden could do but accept that, but he made a mental note to teach this one a lesson or two in obedience in the near future. “All right. Just do it.”

Astrid closed her eyes again, and for a good five minutes there was utter silence. Then she frowned, her head tilting to one side in a considering pose. A moment later she opened her eyes and looked at Varden. “I don’t think you want me to do this. He—”

“Of course I want you to do it. Do you know how to follow orders, Astrid?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then do it. Just do it.”

Astrid opened her mouth for further protest, then closed it. A faint smile curved her mouth, and her eyes glittered briefly. “Okay. You want it, you’ve got it.”

“That’s better,” Varden said, satisfied.

Astrid closed her eyes again.

The drug they used made his head pound. That was Tucker’s first clear realization. His head pounded, and his mouth was dry, and as sensation slowly returned to his body, he ached all over. And he was cold.

As before, it took him several minutes—he thought—to get his eyes to open. And, as before, all he saw was a lot of dark. But I’m not blind. It’s just fucking dark in here.

He was sure of that. He wanted to be sure of that.

But there was one difference between this time and last. He wasn’t absolutely positive, but he thought he was no longer being watched. Those eyes that had followed him into nightmares were gone now. There was no sense of anyone nearby sharing this darkness with him.

Or was that just another thing he wanted to be sure of?

No. No, he was alone here. His jailer had apparently left him alone, for some reason he couldn’t fathom or simply because he’d not been expected to recover from the drug so quickly.

He wanted to try moving and test that theory but forced himself to remain still because he had the dim idea that it had been some involuntary movement last time that had caused his jailer to jab him with a needle and knock him back out for God knows how long.

How long?

He didn’t really have a sense of time passing, but a hollow, queasy feeling told him he hadn’t eaten in at least twenty-four hours, so there was that. He was so damned stiff, he doubted he’d moved or been moved for at least that long. But was it longer?

Sarah…

Even as her name rose in his mind, he remembered that just before he had blacked out, he’d felt a whisper of her touch in his mind. Just a whisper, unfamiliar yet certainly her and real, not his imagination. For a brief moment, Sarah had been with him.

Could he reach her? He didn’t have the faintest idea how to do it, but he’d urged Sarah to try too often not to demand the same thing of himself now. If he just concentrated…

Shhhh.

He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until they opened suddenly and he peered warily into the darkness surrounding him. And even then, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t actually heard her until she spoke in his mind again.

Shhhh. Don’t let them touch you. Whatever happens, don’t let any of them touch you.

Sarah?

Do I sound so different this way?

It’s…I’m not used to hearing you this way.

No. It’s…strange. Her thought was almost apologetic.

Not strange. Just different.

We’ll argue about it later. She seemed amused, he thought, but something else as well. Tired. And shocked, deeply shocked, because of something that had happened…

No. Don’t go there.

But what’s happened?

Never mind. Time enough to talk about that when we get you out of there.

We?

You were right; we aren’t alone in this. I’ve found some…comrades. We’re going to get you out.

Out of where? Where the hell am I?

In the cellar of a deserted church. Listen to me. Can you pick a lock? Open a locked door?

Cautiously, he flexed fingers that felt stiff, numb, and wondered whether he could. But he answered with confidence. I learned how to pick locks to research a book.

I thought you might have. Again, he felt a flicker of amusement in Sarah, but whether it was because of his stated confidence or the actual uncertainty she surely must have felt in him, he didn’t know.

I don’t have anything to use for a tool, he admitted. And I was being watched.

But not now.

No.

All right. We have to get you out of there, and soon. If this is going to work, you can’t be where they think you are. I want you to get out of that room as soon as possible. When you get the door open, turn immediately to the right and move a dozen paces. There’s a door on the left. A storage room. Go in there, close the door behind you and wait.

But—

Tucker, it’s too dark for you to help us in any way except to put yourself out of their reach. That’s vitally important. If any of them touches you now, they’ll kill you. And me.

That was enough of a threat to gain his obedience. All right. But I may not be able to find a tool in here to pick the lock—

You’ll find one. Close by. Don’t waste any time, Tucker.

If this doesn’t work—

It will.

But I want you to know—

Shhhh. I’m going to leave you now. Try not to reach out to me; it distracts me and I need to concentrate.

He felt her easing away, and it took all his willpower not to try to follow her. Instead, he concentrated on flexing his fingers again, trying to ease the stiffness and cold numbness. To be ready.

“It’s very simple,” Duran said patiently.

The boy looked at him, amazed. “Simple? My head’s gonna hurt for a week—”

“There will be…rewards if you’re successful.”

“And all you want me to do is take it from her, the way I gave her the cobwebs?”

“Exactly.”

The boy sighed, and made himself comfortable. “All right. I’ll try.”

Softly, Duran said, “Rewards for success, Jeremy. Punishment for failure.”

Jeremy looked at him and briefly chewed his bottom lip, then shifted a bit on the couch. “All right, all right.”

Duran didn’t say anything further. He just waited. And watched.

It seemed to Tucker that he had waited an awfully long time, flexing his fingers and blowing on them, before much feeling returned to them. He put his hand down, finally, touching the stone floor as he prepared to try to push himself up. And his fingers were still so chilled that he nearly missed it.

Even when he managed to pick it up, it took him several minutes to convince himself that the thin, flexible lockpick was real.

Sarah opened her eyes and drew a deep breath.

“Well?” Brodie asked.

Her right hand was clenched shut in her lap. Sarah held it out palm up and slowly uncurled the fingers. It was empty. Not ten minutes before, it had held a small tool designed to pick a lock.

“Son of a bitch,” Brodie said quietly.

Sarah slowed the Jeep as she neared the old church. It was very old, constructed of stone and timbers that had weathered brutal Atlantic storms for probably a hundred years or more. Yet the cross atop the steeple was still straight, even if most of the windows were gone and vegetation had encroached on the building.

It looked deserted, an appearance Sarah knew was deceptive. There were no other buildings close by, though piles of stones here and there indicated where there might have been other structures once, and a forest of tall trees reared on one side of the property so that the church stood facing the woods with its back to the sea.

Isolated by miles from the nearest habitation, it was a perfect spot for clandestine activities; a bomb could go off here and the widely scattered neighbors in the surrounding countryside would probably not even notice.

It looked bleak. And lonely. And with every sense Sarah could lay claim to, it reeked of decay.

Shadows.

She could feel them all around the place, feel their attention, their eyes on her. Feel them like the certain knowledge of something twisted and dark hiding among the rocks. And terror crawled over her flesh like the cold touch of a dead hand.

She actually stopped the Jeep and sat there for several minutes gripping the wheel. Trying to breathe evenly, to get control of her fear. Being here physically felt radically different from being here in spirit had felt, the threat to her more direct and far more deadly.

All her instincts were urging her to run, to get away. If it had been anybody but Tucker inside, she thought she would have.

Sarah drew a deep breath and, steadily, sent the Jeep forward once again. No matter what, she couldn’t allow any of them to touch her. Or Tucker. Even Brodie conceded that if they could get Tucker out of there and escape themselves, the other side would back off at least for the moment, but if Duran even guessed what Sarah was capable of, she and Tucker were dead.

The raw memory of Cait’s blood staining her hands was proof enough of an enemy that wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

She guided the Jeep to a level place near the church where a parking area might once have been and cut the engine. She got out, trying not to look too conscious of being watched. Not that it really mattered. They had to assume she knew it was a trap, particularly since she had been bluntly invited to come after Tucker. If they were as good as Brodie said they were, they would be looking past her even now, searching for the others they had to assume would be following.

It was a classical tactical move, Brodie had told her. She went in, seemingly alone, and when the enemy closed in behind her to seal the entrance of the trap, her backup would close in behind them—catching them in their own snare.

Of course, they would expect the tactic. So they were going to get it.

Sarah opened the hatch to get out the kerosene lamp she’d brought with her, then brushed her cold hands down her thighs one at a time, took a deep breath, and concentrated on enclosing her mind with the strongest walls she could build. Then she walked steadily into the church.

There was nothing easy about picking a door lock in pitch darkness, even with a lockpick. In fact, it was difficult as hell, especially with chilled, nearly numb fingers. Tucker had the feeling it was taking him too damned long to do it, but he gritted his teeth and kept working on it.

He was conscious of Sarah on the edge of his awareness, a spot of warmth he wanted to pull around him like a blanket, but kept his attention fiercely on what he was trying to do. He had no clear idea what Sarah had been through since he had left their bed at the hotel, but that brief glimpse into her mind told him that it had been rough for her, and he wasn’t about to add to her burdens.

So he had to get his ass out of this room before somebody came back here to check on him, and he had to make damned sure none of those bastards got their hands on him.

Simple enough.

But the reality made the odds against those simple goals rather high. He was still fighting his way out of the drug-induced haze, for one thing, so concentrating or even thinking clearly was a problem. He was also stiff from lying immobile for such a long time, and strength was only slowly returning to his muscles.

Dexterity was also a problem; he dropped the lockpick twice and had to feel around on the cold stone floor for it. It occurred to him that if he lost the thing he’d really be up a creek, so he tried to be more careful.

He didn’t realize what a strain the physical and mental effort was until the door finally opened and he had to hang on to the knob and just breathe for a few minutes.

It was as dark outside the room as in, though he could faintly discern a glow maybe two shades lighter than the darkness way down the corridor that stretched out straight ahead. The temptation to move toward the light was strong, but Tucker remembered his instructions and, after he’d closed and relocked the door behind him, turned right and plunged into more darkness instead.

He found the storage room on the left just where Sarah had said it would be, and for the first time wondered how on earth she knew that. Of course, she seemed to know a hell of a lot about many things, more with every day that passed, but he still wondered.

Life with Sarah was going to be very interesting.

He slipped into the room, his senses flaring out in an attempt to get some idea of what was in here with him, and closed the door softly behind him only when he was reasonably sure he was alone. From the door, he began moving very slowly along the wall clockwise. It was distinctly unsettling to be feeling his way around in pitch darkness, but it was better than just standing or sitting and waiting with no idea of what was around him.

He found out quickly enough that most of what was around him was boxes and trunks, and numerous piles of rotting furniture and apparently scrap wood.

The furniture was easy enough to identify by touch, and it cost him only one splinter and a bruise on his shin. It was much harder to make himself reach into trunks and boxes when he couldn’t see what he was about to touch, but he steeled himself and did it.

He had no intention of making things harder for Sarah, but he was also not used to feeling helpless—and he’d been helpless too long. If he could find anything that might help him get himself and Sarah out of here in one piece, then he intended to find it.

Most of the stuff in the boxes and trunks was unidentifiable; a couple of sharp, metallic edges made him glad his tetanus boosters were up to date, and he once encountered some squishy stuff he didn’t even want to think about, but mostly it seemed to be household objects and the like that might once have been packed away down here as charity contributions no one had been able to use.

Tucker agreed that most of the stuff was useless, to him anyway, and he was feeling very frustrated when he pried open a smaller box, earning himself another splinter and a jab from an undoubtedly rusty nail, and this time found bottles. Several of them.

It took him only a moment or two to realize what he’d found, and when he did, he knew he had two-thirds of a dandy weapon. If he could only find the other, necessary, third.

“My kingdom for a match,” he muttered.

“I think I can oblige,” said a voice out of the darkness.

The inside of the church was dim and dusty and very quiet. Sarah paused only a moment among the few remaining pews, then made her way to the back where she knew the stairs would be. She found them easily enough, the door waiting open for her, and again it took more courage than she thought she had to make herself walk down into that black maw.

She paused only long enough to light the kerosene lamp. It had been chosen with care, because it would give off plenty of soft light all around her rather than a beam of brilliance as a flashlight would. Even so, it threw as much shadow as light as she went down the narrow stairway, and those shadows made her skin crawl once more.

Shadows. You’re here. Close. But she thought there was only one or two of them beneath the church, which surprised her for only a moment. Of course I can’t get out of the trap. So two—one to grab me, and one to guard Tucker. And all the rest guarding the door.

The smells of musty age closed around her, damp and moldy and dank, and she found herself breathing through her mouth rather than her nose. It got colder with every step she took, and despite her warm sweater and jeans, she was chilled before she reached the bottom. At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself in the large, square room that was the original cellar of the church, her lamp showing her what she had felt her way through before. Numerous doorways and halls opened off this central room, some of them cut into the rock the building sat upon while others tunneled through earth.

Sarah made her way immediately across the central room to the narrow table holding all the pillar candles. Without so much as a glance toward any of the rooms or corridors around her, she set her lamp on the table, reached into her pocket for matches, and began lighting the cobwebbed candles.

She was nearly done when a gust of air from somewhere nearby caused the flames to waver wildly, then blew half the candles out. She dropped the match, and it sputtered out on the stone floor.

“Waauur.”

Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin, and stared incredulously at the large black cat that had leaped onto the far end of the table and sat watching her with a slowly lashing tail.

“Pendragon?” Surely, it couldn’t be…

“Waauur.”

Despite her amazement, she didn’t have much doubt that this was the cat she had left behind in Richmond. He was just too distinctive looking, those eyes too blue and collar too individual for her to be mistaken. What she couldn’t begin to imagine was what he was doing here. And how he’d traveled so far.

Another brief gust of air made the candles waver again. Pendragon hissed softly, then leaped from the table and vanished into the shadows near the stairs. Before Sarah could do more than stare after him, a voice spoke mockingly no more than three feet away from her.

“Don’t like the dark, I see.”

She turned quickly and for an instant thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, because all she saw was a huge, hideous shadow looming toward her. But when she blinked, it was only a man.

A very average man. Average height and weight, average brown hair, and average blue eyes. Wearing a very average business suit.

Somehow, that made it worse.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Not Duran.”

That surprised him. “No. I’m Varden.”

“So this was your game.” She wasn’t really thinking about what she was saying, just talking to stall for time.

“It was.”

“Bucking for a promotion?”

He smiled thinly. “If so, you’ll help me get it, Sarah.”

“Pass. Where’s Tucker?”

“Safe. I just sent one of my men to…watch him. We’ll let him go, of course, as soon as you leave with me.”

She smiled. “Sure you will.”

Varden shrugged carelessly. “He’s of no interest to us.”

“But I am. Want to tell me why?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I know it’s because I’m psychic. I don’t know how you mean to use that.”

“Come with me and find out.”

Sarah stared at him almost curiously. “It’d be a feather in your cap if I did, wouldn’t it? Why is a willing psychic better for you?”

His mouth tightened. “We’re wasting time. It’s over, Sarah. It’s time to go.”

Even though she had been expecting it, Sarah jumped just as he did when, high above their heads in the rotting building, the old church bells began a jangling, discordant song, accompanied by the sharp reports of gunfire.

“Your backup, I presume,” Varden drawled, his face calm even as his hand dived inside his jacket and produced a businesslike black automatic. “We were expecting them, Sarah.”

“You’re a very good shot,” Leigh said, looking admiringly toward the church and its swaying bells.

Murphy swore and aimed a shot at one of the broken windows, where a head had momentarily appeared. “I’d rather hit some of them instead of the damned bells. Just one, at least. Come on, Leigh—”

“No bodies, Murphy. We can’t afford them.”

“We can’t afford to leave our own here, either,” Murphy snapped. “Dammit, Leigh, will you get down? One lucky shot and—”

Leigh obeyed, ducking for a moment behind the pile of old lumber they were using for cover. When there was a lull in the gunfire coming from the church, she got off a few shots of her own. She hardly knew one end of a gun from the other, but the illusion of an army was needed, so periodically she aimed her pistol at the largest expanse of wood she could find on the church and fired.

“You’re a menace,” Murphy noted as what was left of a stained-glass window shattered under one of Leigh’s bullets.

Leigh winced. “Now, if that isn’t bad luck, I don’t know what is.”

“We make our own luck,” Murphy told her flatly.

“Um. Maybe so, but I think I’ll circle around and check on Nick. There’s less glass on his side. And I’ve got to take care of step two.”

“I wish you’d let me handle that,” Murphy said.

“You’re a much better shot than I am. You and Nick are needed for this.”

“Will you, for Christ’s sake, be careful?”

“You bet.”

“We were expecting them, Sarah.”

“Were you? Damn.”

His eyes narrowed at her mild tone. “What have you done?”

“Read my mind.” She knew that taunting him was a bad idea, but she couldn’t help herself. She had been getting angry for a long time, and Cait’s senseless death the night before had turned anger into rage.

He cocked the pistol and leveled it at her. “We’re going upstairs, Sarah. Now.”

The bells jangled above them, along with gunshots and, now, a crackling, whispery sound.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Varden! Get out of there!” The voice came echoing down the stairs, urgent and more than a little panicked. “They’re burning the place!”

Sarah had counted on a moment of surprise, and she got one as Varden’s gaze lifted instinctively toward the burning church above them. She moved instantly, leaping away from him and the light and toward the protection of a jumble of wooden crates.