Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home (Broken Heart #4)

Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home (Broken Heart #4) Page 19

We didn't die.

Somehow, we were okay. At least I thought we were. My eyes were still squeezed shut. My heart thudded erratically. The arm I had wrapped so tightly around the boys quivered.

"Pretty," said Michael. I knew it was him because he was the brave one. Sheesh. If a three-year-old had the courage to look up, so could I. I pried open my eyes. Whoa. We were cocooned in a bubble of undulating energy.

The fire burned everything around us. The furniture became pyres; the carpet a sacrifice to the blaze. Only the walls with their peculiar silver sheen were immune.

Michael sat on his dad's chest, his wide gaze taking in the destruction. Stephen was glued to my lap. He ducked his head against my shoulder, crying softly.

"Ssshhh," I said. "It's okay, honey."

The red dragon's fire meshed with mine; every scorching blow strengthened the shield. I knew this because I heard the song. My fire was stronger than the dragon's.

Its song was fading, and even though I couldn't see past the black smoke, I knew it was being driven away. Frustration echoed in its fire. I hoped that meant rescue was imminent. I hugged the boys. Then I laid a hand on Ralph's cool brow. "Ralph," I whispered. To my shock, his eyes opened.

"What's going on?" He sat up suddenly and gathered a sniffling Stephen and Michael into his arms. His gaze widened as he glanced around. "Everything's on fire."

"Don't look at me," I said, my voice shaking with relief. "I soooo didn't do this."

The fire's harmony gave way to cacophony.

Whoomp!

Every last flame and wisp of smoke was sucked away, like a giant invisible Hoover had been turned on. My shield disappeared instantly. Apparently it wasn't immune to the vacuum. I could still feel the heated aftermath of the conflagration.

The closed door, which had somehow escaped the destruction, burst open. Damian and his brothers stood there, all holding fire extinguishers.

I threw up my hands and wailed, "Noooooo."

Too late. All three nozzles discharged.

When they were done blasting us, the four of us were covered in a mountain of white.

"Did you really have to keep doing that?" I asked Damian. At least I think it was Damian. It was difficult to tell which brother was which.

"A precaution." I could swear he was trying not to laugh. "We weren't sure you could control your dragonfire."

"How did you get the other flames out?"

"The magic of our resident Wiccans," said Damian. "We drove off the dragon and they worked their spells."

Wiccans. I remembered Patrick talking about them cleansing his house. This town really did have every kind of paranormal being imaginable.

"Are you okay, Libby?" asked Ralph. He hugged his sons closely, and I wrapped my arms around all of them.

"Completely freaked out, thanks. What about you?"

He kissed me. And suddenly everything was all right, even with wiggling three-year-olds protesting the squishing and lycanthrope triplets witnessing our smooch. When Ralph pulled back, he was grinning. Sunlight dappled his messed-up hair and slanted across his face. Wait a minute. Sunlight?

He looked up, blinking at the hole above us. "I haven't seen the sun in months."

"Why aren't you a pile of ash?" I asked.

"His dragon magic," said Damian. We both looked at him and he shrugged. "We've been taking a crash course in dragonology from Ash. C'mon, Lia and her dragon aren't gone for good."

"Synd wasn't with her?" asked Ralph.

"No. He's been a little busy in Tulsa setting fires, targeting the businesses and homes of paranormal beings. Ash barely escaped the blaze at her hotel."

I remembered the CNN report about the rash of supposed arson fires; the most recent one had been at the Crowne Plaza Hotel. I frowned. "How does he know which ones aren't human?"

"We don't know," said Damian. "Just like we don't know why he's torching their places. Of course, it's obvious why he wants to kill Ash."

"Because everyone does?" I asked sweetly.

Ralph laughed, and I was glad he did. There wasn't much cause for humor. The house was in shambles. The living room was smoldering embers, same as Ralph's bedroom. It had to be difficult to see the destruction of the home where he'd spent his childhood, not to mention where he'd brought his bride and raised their sons. I felt my heart break for them.

The boys' bedroom survived, and I was grateful for that. Despite Damian's insistence that we vacate, I barreled past him and his brothers.

"They need toys," I demanded. Dutifully, Damian took a book bag from the closet and scooped up playthings.

"Get the frog and the giraffe," I said. I could only hope Stephen would accept one of the stuffed animals in lieu of his fried teddy.

One of the other brothers picked up the tiny dresser full of the twins' clothes. "Let's go," he said. Two brothers went ahead of us. Damian followed us, carrying the bag crammed full of toys. Ralph, who'd only been wearing pajama bottoms, held Michael tightly. Stephen clung to me, wailing his unhappiness about the "stinky bubbles."

Michael thought the white foam was the greatest thing since chocolate pudding, evidenced by his attempts to stuff it into his mouth. Ralph stalled that maneuver and did the best he could to swipe the crap from his son.

I cleaned off Stephen's face, which didn't do much good since the kid kept pressing it against my froth-covered shoulder.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Compound," said Damian. "It's the safest place."

His brothers led us to a black Hummer parked a few feet away. Its massive engine was running. The passenger-side window dropped down, and I saw a blue-haired woman in the driver's side.

"C'mon," she yelled. "We don't have a lot of time."

One of the triplets opened the door and Ralph slid in with Michael. I handed him Stephen and put my hand on the door.

I heard music. Not just music, but the gravelly voice of Kurt Cobain singing about where bad folks go when they die. I recognized the song blasting around us: Nirvana's "Lake of Fire." I didn't have to look up to know the dragons were swooping down.

"C'mon!" yelled the driver. "Move your asses!"

My gaze met Ralph's. He reached for me, but there was no time. I would never forgive myself if something happened to Ralph or those sweet little boys.

I slammed the door shut and the Hummer's wheels spun in the snow as it took off. The triplets ran for cover, but I had nowhere to go.

Twin blasts of fire knocked me off my feet. I landed on my back, skidding across the snow. Above me, I could see the red and blue dragons circling.

Bastards.

"Oh my God!" screamed a very familiar voice. "Liberty!"

My mother and father ran across the yard toward me, completely ignoring the fact that they could be fried at any second. My heart slammed against my chest as I got up. My inner dragon roared. There was no controlling it. Maybe it was that Sybina recognized her enemies, or that I was tired of getting blown up and knocked down.

The strains of The Doors' "Light My Fire" rumbled from my core. Flames erupted along my hands, down my arms and legs.

Mom and Dad skidded to a stop about a foot away.

"Get down!" I shouted.

Dad didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Mom's arm and chucked her into the snow, then lay on top of her. I marched across the yard. I had no idea what to do about protecting my family. But my dragon did.

Fire swirled around me, glittering orange and red. I felt the magic in these flames. Sybina's soul was there, too. She refused to be taken. To be destroyed.

My fire song changed to Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water." I recognized the familiar guitar chords, but there were no words. Just the driving beat of the music.

Listening to my dragon, I lifted my arms and a big column of flames shot upward. The dragons parted and the fire blasted into the night sky, dissipating into mere wisps of black smoke. Son of a bitch. I'd missed them. Both of them. So much for the paranormal power of friggin' dragonfire. I lifted my arms to gather the fire again, but it wouldn't . . . well, gather. No amount of mental cajoling helped, either. If I had known that I'd only get one chance to use my mojo, I might've aimed better. Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, much less the leathery flank of a dragon. The red dragon broke pattern and blew fire at a circle of women who looked like Desperate Housewives without the Botox treatments and Prada accessories.

I realized they were the Wiccans. Not one flinched. But why would they? Whatever spells they cast vanquished the dragon's fire instantly.

Synd circled lazily above me. Why should he worry about when to fry me? It was obvious he had more power than I did, and probably far better aim.

My fire song grew more and more faint.

"Liberty!" called Dad.

I didn't have the energy to turn around. I felt so drained. What was going on? I fell to my knees and, though it took a lot of effort, I managed to look up.

I could see my orange-red energy flowing toward Synd's dragon form. His song rose in a crescendo, so loud it made my ears ring. I felt clammy, light-headed. I was tethered to the blue dragon. He was somehow sucking the life right out of me.

"Dad," I said, my voice quivering. "Do you have a lighter?"

I didn't know why the red dragon was bothering with the Wiccans, when I was obviously the prime target. Maybe it needed toys to play with while Synd killed me. Because I felt very much like I was dying.

Mom and Dad low-crawled toward me. When they reached me, Mom draped her arms around my shoulders. "How can we help?"

You gotta love my parents. They were the ultimate in going with the flow. My throat clogged. I felt my blood thickening. All the warmth in my body was being siphoned away.

"Need. Fire."

Dad flicked a lighter near my fingertips. His hand shook as his gaze met mine. It was obvious he couldn't set his little girl on fire. He looked scared, and that scared me. Dad was never afraid.

"Light. Me."

"Are you sure, honey?"

"Elmore, give me that!" My mother yanked the lighter out of his hand and stuck it under my arm. The tiny flame offered a pianississimo note, so soft I could barely hear it. But it was there. I listened hard and welcomed its song.

"C'mon, Sybina," I whispered. "Don't let your brother win. Don't let us die."

My arm ignited. My mother dragged my father backward, away from me. The fire song surged through me as the flames rejoined my dragon soul. The rope of magic between me and Synd lengthened, getting thinner and thinner. His obnoxious music - Sheesh, what was that crap? M?tley Cr��e on an elevator with ten seconds to live? - started to fade.

Synd bellowed and dove toward me.