A BLIND RUSH OF FEAR
1904—St. Louis
In the driver’s seat beside Harte, North urged the horses on as they raced toward the burning brewery, but the tired team barely picked up any speed. Or at least that was how it felt to Harte, who watched the flames grow in ferocity as they approached.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, at least half the brewery’s warehouse—where the kegs of prepared ale and lager were stored—was completely in flames. The main building, with the offices and bunk rooms, wasn’t burning, but Harte wouldn’t feel better until he saw Esta for himself, safe and whole.
At the thought of losing Esta, it wasn’t only Harte who felt the blind rush of fear. The demon inside of him, Seshat, was also afraid. He could feel her pawing and clawing at him, urging him on with a desperation that let him know exactly how important Esta was to both of them.
He jumped from the moving wagon as North slowed and ran toward Ruth, who was standing in a small clutch of people with her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes.
“What happened?” North gasped.
The flickering light of the flames only served to highlight the furious expression on Ruth’s face. “We’ve been accused of aiding criminals,” Ruth said, her voice jagged with anger. Her eyes darted to a line of men in dark coats with familiar armbands. The Guard.
“Criminals?” Harte asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ruth told him. “They’ve drummed up some false charge, and now they’re making their point because we dared to help the children.”
“The Guard started the fire?” Harte asked.
“Not that there’ll be any proof of it,” Ruth told him. “They have people who can start fires without touching a match, same as us. They’ve just chosen the other side.”
“Where’s Esta?” Harte asked, looking around the group that had gathered and not finding her.
“She’s with Maggie and a couple of the others,” Ruth said. “They’re getting the children out the back, so the Guard doesn’t notice.”
“I’ll help,” Harte said, and took off toward the building.
“They won’t let you through,” Ruth called, but Harte wasn’t listening. All he could think about was finding Esta and making sure that she was safe.
He had just reached the line of Guardsmen when an explosion erupted, and windows on one side of the main building shattered as flames burst from them. Harte picked up his pace, but Ruth had been right. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps before the Guards were on him, roughly wrestling him back.
“No one crosses,” the tallest of them said. His mouth hitched up. “For safety reasons.”
“There could be people in there,” Harte said, lunging toward them again in an attempt to get past, but there were five of them, and it was easy enough for them to push him back.
There was dark smoke pouring from the doors of the main building, where the large vats of lager were fermenting. Flames had already started eating the roof, but in front of them, a line of Guards was preventing anyone from doing anything to stop the fire.
A moment later, North was at his side.
“Maggie’s in there,” North told him, and Harte heard his own fear echoed in North’s voice.
“Ruth said there was a back entrance?” The fire hadn’t reached the end of the building that housed the living quarters, but the smoke would be a problem. “Maybe they’re already out.”
“There is a back entrance, but there’s also a dozen babies to get out of there.” North looked at the burning warehouse, where the flames had grown to consume even more of the building. “If that fire starts to spread—”
“Is there a way around back?” Harte asked.
North gave him a tense nod. “But if we go now, we might draw their attention. They’d have Maggie and the kids.”
“So we split up,” Harte told him. “I’ll distract them, and you go around back.”
North’s brows drew together, and Harte knew North was considering how much to trust him.
“Go on,” Harte said. “You can hate me later.”
He didn’t wait for North’s agreement but went charging into the line of Guards, pulling at his affinity as he went. He had time to land one punch before the others were on him, but one punch was enough—fist to face—to change the Guardsman’s intent. The Guardsman turned on his brothers and attacked. In the confusion, Harte managed to get his hands on two of the others, and in moments, they were fighting each other instead of him. He took the opportunity the confusion offered and slipped past, running as fast as he could toward the now-burning main building.
The front doors were open, and Harte could already feel the heat coming from inside the building, but he didn’t stop to think about that. All he could think was that without Esta, he was lost. But what that meant—whether it was him or the power that spurred him on—he didn’t bother to analyze too closely.
The fire seemed contained to the east side of the building. If he hurried, he could make sure Esta and the kids got out the back. He darted inside, pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose to ward off the smoke that already hung heavy in the air. The main brewing chamber was a mess. The heat from the flames had already caused one of the giant vats of beer to explode, and Harte didn’t want to be around if another one blew. He took the steps up to the offices quickly, breathing only sporadically, to avoid the smoke. The bunk rooms were empty, so he moved on to the nursery, calling Esta’s name and not caring who heard him.
When he got to the nursery, the room was—thankfully—empty. They must have gotten out. Which meant that he had to get himself out.
Harte was halfway down the hall when another explosion hit, throwing him from his feet and knocking him into the wall. He staggered to his knees, steadying himself as he heard a crackling and another explosion. And then the ceiling broke open above him.