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  “Jonah!” he said, with a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Kenzie’s out. We’re taking all the evacuees who don’t need hospital treatment to the Steel Wool Building. He’s over there.”

  “Is he . . . ?”

  Gabriel hesitated. “You know that everything’s harder on Kenzie than on anyone else. Help us get the rest of the students out. Then you’d better go sit with him.”

  “What can I do?” Emma asked over Jonah’s shoulder, startling him. He didn’t realize she’d caught up.

  Gabriel looked her over. “Since you don’t know this building, head over to Steel Wool and see if the healers need any help.”

  “Which one’s Steel Wool?” she asked.

  “Follow the stretchers,” Gabriel said. “Natalie and Ramon are over there. They’ll tell you what to do.”

  As Emma turned away, Jonah touched her shoulder.

  “Here,” he said. “If Kenzie doesn’t have his music, give him this.” He dropped his phone along with a set of earbuds into her hand. “Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Their eyes met briefly, and then she was gone.

  “Casualties?” Jonah asked, swiveling back toward Gabriel. “Two, that we know of,” Gabriel said. “Lucile Benning was the RN on duty. And Liberty Jones is dead. She must have been caught in the explosion. We found her in the street.

  We’re not sure how she came to be there.”

  “She liked to go out and smoke on the side porch at night,”

  Jonah said. Liberty was fourteen, and always had something snarky to say. Therefore, she and Kenzie got along famously.

  Her death would hit him hard.

  “Do we know what happened?” Jonah asked.

  “No,” Gabriel said, too quickly. “We’ll have to wait for the results of the investigation.” He turned away from Jonah and walked back into the building.

  But Jonah knew Gabriel too well. Slowly turning, he scanned the brick wall of the building that faced the alley.

  Scrawled in white paint across the brick was the legend good Labrat = Dead Labrat. And Save The Children—Kill A Labrat. And Pedophiles. zombies. Labrat . . . with the first two words crossed out. Also the nonspecific Get Out of Town. Some of the tagging was signed The Exterminators. For the next hour, Jonah boomeranged from Safe Harbor to Steel Wool, escorting the students who could walk, carry ing some, propelling wheelchairs and equipment over the rough pavement. The plan was to house Safe Harbor residents in Steel Wool temporarily until repairs could be made. It wasn’t ideal. Steel Wool was a dormitory that had emptied out as the student population dwindled. Unlike Safe Harbor, it wasn’t tailored to meet the needs of physically challenged residents.

  While he worked, Jonah kept his eyes and ears open. Especially to the conversations between Gabriel and police and fire officials.

  “I understand protocol, Stan,” he heard Gabriel say to the fire officer in charge, “but trust me when I tell you that we can best meet the needs of these children right here. They are emotionally fragile, and an unfamiliar environment might be enough to cause a massive decompensation. Nobody wants that. Anyone who’s medically stable should stay here.”

  The police detective in charge of the crime scene kicked a bit of rubble away. “We’re treating it as arson—some kind of explosive device. Has there been any friction with the neighbors? Any trouble prior to now?”

  “No,” Gabriel said, “I don’t know of any town-gown troubles. Our school is small, and for the most part, our students keep to themselves. About the only place they interact with the locals is through our community music programs and the volunteers who provide services. Most are too young to go to the clubs in the district.” He shook his head. “I’m guessing it was a hate crime . . . people fear and hate what they don’t understand. Or possibly someone with a grudge against me. And no, I don’t know who that would be.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” the detective said.

  No, you won’t, Jonah thought. Not unless you’re open to a magical explanation. “Thanks for being here, Paul,” Gabriel said. “I know you’ll want to interview some more students. Let’s work together to make that as quick and painless as possible.”

  Paul put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry this had to happen, Gabriel. These kids have enough on their plate as it is.”

  “Ah, Jonah, there you are,” Gabriel said, noticing Jonah’s approach. “Paul, I’d like you to meet Jonah Kinlock, my assistant. Jonah, this is Paul Whipple from homicide.”

  Jonah acknowledged the introduction with a curt nod. “I’m just curious, Detective,” he said. “How will you go about investigating this incident?”

  “We’ll interview witnesses,” Whipple said. “We’ll look for people who have grudges against faculty or students. We’ll compare it with similar crimes in the area, see if there’s a pattern. And, of course, forensics and the arson squad will go over the property with a fine-tooth comb, collecting evidence.” He paused. “Why do you ask? Is there something you think we’re overlooking?”

  “Jonah’s younger brother lives at Safe Harbor,” Gabriel put in, before Jonah could open his mouth. “Naturally, he’s concerned. I think we’re about done here, Jonah. Why don’t you go see about Kenzie.”

  Jonah knew when he was being dismissed. But he wasn’t leaving without putting a word in. “Is Detective Whipple aware of the possible connection to the Carter Road Lift Bridge incident?”

  “Don’t you think that’s kind of a long shot, Jonah?” Gabriel said, with a warning look.

  “We’re interested in everything, even long shots,”

  Whipple said. “What do you mean?”

  “Some parents of the Trinity Montessori children have suggested that students from the Anchorage might have been connected to the kidnapping,” Jonah said. “Because, you know, we’re close by. Some have had ugly things to say about us . . . that we shouldn’t be here.” He shrugged. “I know it sounds far-fetched, but I thought you should know about it.” Whipple scribbled some notes. “I may be able to get this information from the team investigating the kidnapping, but is there a contact person at the school that you know of ?”

  “What do you think?” Jonah asked Gabriel, pretending not to notice his headmaster’s scowl. “Mercedes Foster? She’s been the liaison between the parents and the police, right?” Gabriel nodded grudgingly. “She would be a good choice,” he said. “Though it’s hard to believe that people in Trinity would come all the way over here to menace our students. Or would know how to go about putting together an explosive device.”

  “Trinity may be a small town, but it’s extremely diverse,”

  Jonah said. “You might be surprised.” He met Gabriel’s eyes, a look that said, If you want a rubber stamp, Gabriel, look somewhere else. “Now, if we’re done here, I’ll go see about Kenzie.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Fire

  The scene at the Steel Wool Factory was one of wellcontrolled chaos, with a desk set up in the reception area, staffed by three caregivers, including Natalie.

  Emma stopped at the desk. “I came over to help, but I have something Jonah sent over for Kenzie.” She held up the phone, the earbuds dangling.

  A harried Natalie pointed over her shoulder. “Kenzie’s still in intake, room four. See if you can calm him down. If you finish there, come back here and we’ll tell you what to do.”

  I don’t know how to calm people down, Emma thought. I’m more likely to get people stirred up. How likely was Jonah’s brother, Kenzie, to respond to a stranger?

  But she’d come to help, so she had to try.

  The video screens next to each room had been reprogrammed to display numbers 1 through 4, along with the name of the patient inside. Light flared from the doorway of room 4, as if somebody had a strobe light going. She peeked around the doorframe.

  The room was nearly empty, except for a thick pallet on the floor. A boy huddled on the mattress, wearing a thick robe made of what looked like terry cloth and wrapped in multipl
e blankets. A pile of additional blankets lay on the floor next to him. The blankets must have been flame-resistant . . . because the boy was on fire.

  Emma stared, fascinated. Flames flickered over his skin, giving him an oddly blurred appearance. The fire was nearly transparent save for occasional flare-ups, but she could feel the heat from where she stood. Sparks arced away from the boy, leaving scorch marks on the mattered wooden floor.

  How was it even possible that he was still alive? An aide wearing scrubs stood ten feet away from him, as close as she dared come. She held a bottle of dark brown liquid and a medication spoon. “Kenzie,” she coaxed, “you’ll feel better if you can just get this down.”

  He didn’t respond. He trembled uncontrollably, his teeth chattering as if from cold when it seemed like he should have been overheated.

  Emma edged into the room. She could see the resemblance between Jonah and his brother. Kenzie shared Jonah’s beautiful blue eyes and fine features, though his hair was a deep reddish brown while Jonah’s was almost black. He appeared thinner than Jonah, though it was hard to tell, muffled up as he was, and his complexion had the pallor of the chronically ill. And yet there was an ethereal beauty about him, like a watercolor compared to Jonah’s rich pigments.

  Before you know it, these Kinlock boys will have you writing poetry, Emma thought.

  The aide noticed Emma, frozen in the doorway. “Don’t come in!” she cried. “He’s extremely reactive right now. He doesn’t need any more stimulation.” Her voice carried the impatient edge that came with fear.

  “I have something for him. His brother sent it over.” She held up the phone.

  “Jonah sent it?” The aide’s expression softened and she crossed to where Emma stood. “He’s so thoughtful,” she said.

  “I just wish—” She shook her head. “I just don’t see a happy ending to this.”

  “I’m Emma Greenwood,” Emma said, extending her hand to the woman. “What’s your name?”

  “Martha Witcraft,” the aide said. She seemed eager to talk. “I work at the dispensary. Teaching yoga. His regular nurse got called away to Metro to consult with the staff in the emergency department.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m out of my league. I haven’t worked with Kenzie before, so I don’t know a lot. According to the consult, Kenzie’s seizures are strongly tied to his emotional states. The explosion was close to his suite . . . in fact, it woke him up. I think it’s brought back memories of Thorn Hill. Sort of like posttraumatic stress disorder. I think they thought . . . well, you know . . . meditation is helpful for people with PTSD. That’s why I’m here, but it’s not working out too well. The regular healers are too busy with the other casualties.”

  “What’s that medicine you’re trying to give him?”

  “I don’t know what it’s called,” she said. “It suppresses magic. They use it to dampen down his seizures. I’m supposed to give him a tablespoon. But I’ve got no clue how to get it into him when I can’t get near him.” It was obvious she was trying to help, but she was scared to death.

  Emma studied the situation. It’d be no good trying to put the earbuds on him either. They were the standard variety, and they would just melt when they came into contact with his body. Yanking the earbuds out of the phone, she turned it to maximum volume. Still not very loud.

  “If it’s all right with you, Martha, I’ll see if I can get close enough with this so he can hear it,” Emma said.

  Martha nodded. Clearly, it was more than all right with Martha.

  Taking a deep breath, Emma walked toward Kenzie, holding the phone out in front of her. She inched in, as close as she dared, but the tinny, thin-sounding music had no effect. “Kenzie,” she said softly. “I’m Emma. Jonah sent me over. He’ll be here soon.”

  Kenzie’s eyes fixed on her, but the flaming seizure continued.

  “He sent you some music, if we can find a way to get it to you,” Emma said. “Listen.” She held out the phone again.

  Kenzie shook his head. At least he was responding to her.

  Emma backed away until she reached Martha.

  “Would you have a speaker dock for phone or MP3 player around here somewhere?” she asked. “Something with big speakers?”

  Martha frowned. “I don’t usually work in this building, so I don’t know. I could try to find one.” She looked eager to go somewhere far away from burning boys.

  “If you can’t find one . . . do you know Natalie Diaz?”

  “Of course,” Martha said. “But I know she’s tied up with triage at the moment.”

  “Ask her to call Rudy Severino and tell him I need a sound system for Jonah’s phone. That it’s for Kenzie.” She stuck out her hand. “Leave me the brown stuff. Maybe I’ll figure out something.” Martha looked troubled. “I shouldn’t leave you alone with him,” she said, looking sideways at Kenzie.

  “It’s an emergency, right?” Emma said.

  “I guess so.” Martha handed her the bottle and spoon. “Just be careful, okay?” She disappeared.

  “Martha went to get us some more amps,” Emma said to Kenzie. “Now, what are we going to do while she’s gone?”

  For a little while, she sat and talked while Kenzie burned. When she could stand it no longer, she examined the spoon. It was constructed like a kind of syringe that shot medicine into a person’s mouth. She just needed to get it close enough to Kenzie’s. She looked around the room for clues. Her eyes lit on the pile of extra blankets next to Kenzie, kindling an idea.

  Carefully, she drew up brown stuff to the one-tablespoon measure and set the spoon aside.

  Darting forward, Emma grabbed a fistful of blankets, then retreated to her starting point. Wrapping one blanket around herself, she draped another over her head, fashioning a kind of hood. She took a third blanket and wrapped it around her neck like a muffler, pulling it over the lower half of her face up to her eyes. She’d fashioned a kind of flameresistant toga. More like one of those burkas, she guessed. Draping the remaining blanket over her arm, she scooped up the spoon and approached Kenzie again.

  He seemed to know what she was up to, because he wrapped his blankets more closely around himself, burrowing in, adding another layer between Emma and the white-hot flames. When she got close, she turned away, swathed the spoon in the spare blanket with the tip poking out, gritted her teeth, and lunged toward Kenzie. On her second try, she managed to push the spoon between his lips and pressed the plunger all the way.

  By now, it felt like the skin on her face was cracking and she could smell her own hair burning, despite the hood. She leaped backward, landing on her butt a few yards away. Then scooted backward like a crab.

  For a moment, she worried she’d drowned Jonah’s little brother. He coughed and sputtered, tears leaking from his eyes.

  “Emma?”

  Emma twisted around and saw Rudy Severino in the doorway, his arms loaded with equipment and power cords. He stared, nonplussed, at Emma, down on her back in her fire blanket getup. “Natalie said you needed a sound system?”

  It took a few minutes to get everything in place. During that time, Kenzie’s flames dwindled and finally died. He slumped over, apparently exhausted, his blue-veined hands still writhing in his lap.

  Finally, Rudy hit the go button and Jonah’s voice filled the air, layered with Emma’s guitar and Rudy’s kick-ass keyboards, Natalie’s percussion the heartbeat of it all.

  Kenzie smiled, tilting his head back and practically purring, like a cat that’s found its spot in the sun. Rudy sat down on one side of Kenzie and motioned Emma to the other.

  “I’m Emma Greenwood,” Emma said, sitting next to him. “I’m new at the Anchorage.”

  “McKenzie Kinlock,” Kenzie said gravely. “I’m sorry I was ablaze when you arrived. Thank you for putting me out.” He paused. “That just seems wrong, somehow.”

  “That’s Emma you hear playing lead guitar on these tracks,” Rudy said, as if eager to bring Kenzie’s attention back to the music. “Is it?�
�� Kenzie said, taking a second, closer look at Emma. “She’s sitting in for Mose on lead guitar . . . temporarily, at least,” Rudy said. “We recorded this at our last practice.

  What do you think, Little Kinlock?”

  “I think I’m going to catch on fire again if you call me Little Kinlock,” Kenzie said menacingly.

  “No, really . . . what do you think of the tracks? Did we do justice to your songs or what?”

  “Stop fishing for compliments, Severino,” Kenzie said, rolling his eyes. “You know this is staggeringly fabulous.” He looked at Emma. “I love how you improvised on the melody line. You’re not afraid of getting in Jonah’s way, but you leave room for the voice.”

  “He’d better worry about getting in Emma’s way,” Rudy said. “She’ll run right over him.”

  “So you’re a triple threat,” Kenzie said, grinning at Emma. “Beautiful, tough, and talented.”

  “And you’re talented, tough, and full of bullshit.”

  Kenzie laughed hard at that.

  It feels good to hear him laugh, Emma thought. She tried not to think about what Martha had said. I just don’t see a happy ending to this.

  “Do you play?” she asked him. “Are you a musician? I mean.”

  “Only vicariously,” Kenzie said. “I write the songs, and hope they don’t mess them up. I can play compositions electronically—on a synthesizer—if I have time to build them. But I can’t hit my targets often enough to play on a standard instrument.”

  Emma frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

  “You’re seeing me at my very best, because I’m pretty much wrung out right now,” Kenzie said. “Usually I’m hyperkinetic . . . way too frisky for strings or keyboards.” He flailed his arms around to demonstrate just as Jonah walked in, looking weary and pissed. He shed that face immediately when he saw his brother.

  “Kenzie, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: humans are not made to fly.”

  Kenzie dropped his arms to his sides. “It’s just like you to walk in when all the drama is over.”