Heroes Are My Weakness(111)

As she surveyed the scene, she noticed a strange light in the sky. It seemed to be coming from the northeast, near the area around the cottage. The light began flickering like a campfire. But this was no campfire. It was a real fire.

The first thing she thought of was the cottage. After everything they’d gone through, it had been hit by lightning. There’d be no new school. No summer rental money. It had all been for nothing.

She scrambled back on the boat to get her keys. Moments later, she was running down the dock toward the fish house where she’d parked her car. The rain would have turned the road into a quagmire, and she didn’t know how far she could get in her Kia, only that she had to try.

Lights had come on in more houses. She spotted the Rose pickup truck backing away from the house, Barbara in the passenger seat. Booker must be driving. The truck wouldn’t have any trouble navigating the road, and she ran toward it.

She slapped the side panel before they could get away, and the truck stopped. Barbara spotted her through the window, opened the door, and moved over so Annie could get in. She didn’t ask for an explanation, so Annie knew they’d seen the fire, too. Rain rolled off Annie’s jacket. “It’s the cottage,” she said. “I know it.”

“It can’t be,” Barbara said. “Not after everything. It just can’t be.”

“Calm down, both of you,” Booker ordered, turning out onto the road. “There’s a lot of woods over there, and the cottage sits low. More likely some of the trees were hit.”

Annie prayed he was right, but in her heart, she didn’t believe it.

The truck had lost its shocks long ago and wires gaped from a hole in the dashboard, but it navigated the mud better than Annie’s car ever could. The farther they traveled, the brighter the orange glow grew in the sky. The town had only one fire truck, an old pumper truck that Barbara told her wasn’t running. Booker swung into the lane that led to the cottage. The landscape opened up, and they could see that it wasn’t the cottage on fire. It was Harp House.

Annie’s first thought was of Theo, then of Jaycie and Livia. Dear God, let them be safe.

Barbara grabbed the dashboard. A shower of sparks exploded into the sky. They jolted up the drive. Booker parked the truck well back from the fire. Annie threw herself out and began to run.

The fire was ravenous, devouring the wooden shingles in snarling gulps, its hot claws greedy for more. The piles of newspapers and magazines stored in the attic had been the perfect tinder, and the roof was nearly gone, the skeleton of a chimney already visible. Annie saw Jaycie huddled near the top of the drive, Livia at her side. She raced toward them.

“It happened so fast,” Jaycie exclaimed. “It was like an explosion hit the house. I couldn’t open the door. Something fell and blocked it.”

“Where’s Theo?” Annie cried.

“He broke a window to get us out.”

“Where is he now?”

“He—he ran back into the house. I yelled. Told him not to go.”

Annie’s stomach pitched. There was nothing inside important enough for him to risk his life. Unless Hannibal was there. Theo would never abandon anything that was in his care, not even a cat.

Annie started toward the house, but Jaycie grabbed the sleeve of her foul weather jacket and held on tight. “You’re not going in there!”

Jaycie was right. The house was too big, and she had no idea where he’d gone. She had to wait. Pray.

Jaycie picked up Livia. Annie was dimly aware of more trucks arriving, and of Booker telling someone there was no saving the house.

“I want Theo,” Livia wailed.

Annie heard the shrill whinny of a terrified horse. She’d forgotten about Dancer. But as she turned toward the stable, she saw Booker and Darren McKinley already going inside.

“They’ll get him,” Barbara said, rushing up next to her.

“Theo’s in the house,” Jaycie told her.

Barbara curled her hand over her mouth.

The air was hot and full of smoke. Another beam fell, sending up a meteor of sparks. Annie watched numbly from the drive, her fear growing by the second, a filmstrip playing in her head of Thornfield Hall burning. Of Jane Eyre coming back to find a blind Edward Rochester.

Blind would be good. Annie could deal with blind. But not dead. Never dead.

Something brushed against her ankles. She looked down and saw Hannibal. She snatched up the cat, her fear escalating. Even now, Theo could be dodging the flames searching for him, not knowing the cat was already safe.

Booker and Darren struggled to get Dancer out of the stable. They’d wrapped something around his head to mask his eyes, but the panicked horse smelled the smoke and fought them.

Another piece of roof caved in. Any moment now, the house could collapse. Annie waited. Prayed. Held the cat so tight it howled in protest and wiggled out of her arms. She should have told Theo she loved him. Told him and damned the consequences. Life was too precious. Love was too precious. Now he would never know how well he’d been loved—not with smothering demands or insane threats, but enough to be set free.

A figure emerged from the house. Hunched. Amorphous. She raced forward. It was Theo carrying something in each hand and gasping for air. A window exploded behind him. She reached his side, tried to support him. Whatever he was carrying struck her in the legs. She tried to take it away from him, but he wouldn’t let go.