The Helford Trials (Helford #3)

Chapter Twelve

More than two months ago, on that night, it had felt like the world was burning. When I thought of it, it was like I could still feel that fire settling against my skin, the smoke burning my chest; if only there was some way that I could think of that last night without feeling like I was suffocating on the memory of it. If only there was some way to forget what happened that night at all. But I could remember it clear as day:

The windows shattered on the building opposite, as if the flames were fingers that had broken through, grasping desperately for open air. The smoke was billowing hard from the building, and even I was recoiling, stumbling back from the blow, not having expected such a strong impact from a block away—or maybe I hadn't expected anything to actually happen, always used to Caitie's tricks. It didn't feel real, for that one moment suspended in silence. And then, Valerie was screaming.

"No!" she screamed, her throat raw. Her voice, anguished, echoed on the streets in the wake of the explosion, like a bitter taste. She thrashed against Meade's restraints, but he didn't allow for any space as if he was just running on autopilot—he was standing still, staring at the pillar of smoke of Caitie's last stand, his face ashen.

I didn't understand. I stared at the building for a long moment, knowing all of the elements—I remembered the time Caitie dragged me from a burning building all too well, remember fighting consciousness as it felt like the flames were closing in on me. I knew from experience that people who witness something traumatic have a hard time comprehending what had happened, but something sickly horrible in my stomach knew exactly what had happened. All I could think of was the way Caitie had smiled at me, blood on her teeth and on her hands but she still looked so beautiful, so much like the fighter I knew she was, and then I turned away. And now, it was minutes later, and we were here.

Meade was the first one to snap out of it, shrinking back from the flames like he had been burned. He tugged harder on Valerie, still staring at the building with tears rolling down her face, her lip bleeding, but he looked like a good wind could come by and just bowl him over.

"Come on," he said, and his voice gave away some of his composure. Meade had seen some terrible things, had lived through loss, but this was staggering even for him. He looked like he was going to be sick. "Valerie, you need to stop screaming—there might be more, we have to go, we have to run."

But Valerie didn't seem to hear him. She was trying to use her other hand to pry Meade's fingers from her wrist, her breathing harsh and quick.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, dragging Meade forward a half step with one mighty tug. "Caitie! No, come on, it can't end like this, it can't be the end!"

"Valerie," Meade said again and, this time, his voice was like granite, weathered by the elements but still too strong to be shattered. He grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around, shaking her a little as he shouted, "She's gone, Valerie. They're both gone. And we will be too if we stay here."

"I can't let her die," Valerie whimpered, shaking like a leaf. I just stood, staring, watching it happen, too numb to feel even my own skin. "I can't be the one that killed her, Meade, you have to let me go!"

"Valerie!" Meade screamed, gripping her a little tighter, his face tight. "Can't you see it's already too late?"

Valerie, chest heaving, stared for a moment before crumbling forward, slamming into Meade's chest less because she was seeking the comfort and more because he was simply standing in her way of the ground. His arms came up around her and held her there, hard, as she hyperventilated, muttering hysterical nonsense that all meant the same thing, that all brought us to the same realization. I turned my eyes away from them, feeling like I was intruding in a moment I didn't belong in, and turned back to the smoke, my stomach rolling with nausea.