Here.

The fire sounded desperate and excited, like it wanted to please him it just wasn’t sure how.

God, he couldn’t think with these wailing smoke detectors.

Here!

He gave an aggravated sigh and started throwing open cabinets.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

The fire started another imaginary wick and ran to the back wall of the kitchen again.

The refrigerator? The door was hanging half off the seal would have melted in this kind of heat. Gabriel yanked it anyway.

Nothing.

The cabinets under the sink.

Nothing.

The dishwasher, maybe?

Nothing.

The oven. Would someone climb in an oven?

He checked. No. Not in this house, anyway.

Another imaginary wick. Fire caught at the pantry door.

The open pantry. Why would the door be open? From the flames, it looked like the shelves started three feet above the ground. The pantry wasn’t that deep; even with the smoke, he’d be able to see someone under the shelving.

And they wouldn’t be alive anyway.

But when he stepped closer, the fire blazed around him, dancing excitedly.

Gabriel stuck out a hand. He felt the frame of the pantry, the inner walls, spongy and fragile from the damage.

And on the back wall, his hand found a handle.

Without thinking, he pulled. The wall seemed to swing forward on a hinge. He couldn’t figure it out. A hidden trash can?

He stuck a hand into the opening. Metal sides, some kind of vertical tunnel.

You idiot. A laundry chute.

The upstairs was completely consumed by fire. This level wasn’t much better. Would someone go down a laundry chute?

He could never fit. It would have to be someone tiny.

He thought of that anguished scream from the front lawn.

A child.

Holy shit. He needed to get back to the basement.

The stairs were on fire now, almost giving way beneath his weight. The basement was still a pit of blackness; he had no idea how he’d find a small kid. Based on the location of the kitchen, he slid away from the stairs, on hands and knees again.

He found the dead cat again.

Thank god he hadn’t eaten dinner.

But here was a door, the knob cool. He threw it wide.

More darkness. He’d kill for a light.

And just like that, fire swept down the stairs, slithering around his feet and into the opening, gorging on the fresh oxygen. A laundry room. Fire raced up the bare insulation that lined the walls, tearing into a rack of shirts hanging by the iron-ing board.

Raging toward a pile of sheets and towels.

He almost couldn’t make out the crumpled figure on top of them.

He dashed through the flames and grabbed hold of what felt like an arm, yanking the body into his arms. Someone small, fragile, all slim legs and knobby joints. Long hair a girl. He felt satin, like a nightgown. She weighed nothing and hung limply against his chest.

Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell. It was too hot to tell.

Fire grabbed the nightgown. He crushed it in his fist. More leapt from the wall to make another attempt.

He had to get her out.

But he had to get low, under the smoke. He clutched her to his chest with one arm and crawled with the other. Once he got out of the laundry room, the fire followed him. Flaming ash began to fall from the ceiling, sparking in his hair and on her face.

If the ceiling fell in, they were done for.

The smoke detectors fell silent.

Gabriel hesitated. He could hear himself breathing. He couldn’t hear her.

Then a crash shook the house and sent beams slamming into the floor.

The second level had fallen into the first.

And now it was going to fall into the basement.

He ran. Shoulder first, sliding his feet along the floor as fast as he could. He hit walls. Beams. Something cracked against his helmet, but he kept going.

He could feel flames coming through the floor, looking for him. The sound of wood giving way was deafening. Sparks and ash rained down.

He wasn’t going to make it. He was going to fail. Again.

Then a hand closed over his wrist and pulled, hard.

Gabriel followed what else could he do?

He burst into fresh air that felt arctic on his cheeks. That hand kept pulling, dragging him.

He stumbled and almost fell, but he caught himself before he dropped the girl.

He felt grass under his feet and slowed.

Someone was jerking the girl out of his arms. “Is she breathing?”

Hunter.

Had Hunter gone into . . . into that to drag him the rest of the way out of the darkness?

“Gabriel! Damn it, was she breathing inside?”

Hunter had her on the ground, his cheek over the girl’s mouth.

“No,” said Gabriel. “No, she wasn’t breathing.”

Hunter wasn’t even listening. He’d put his mouth over the girl’s and was now blowing into hers.

“Call the medics!” he yelled between breaths.

Gabriel ran around the side of the house and waved his arms.

“One got out the back! We need a medic over here!”

He’d never seen people move so fast. EMTs and firemen were just there, swarming the girl, treating her. Gabriel lost track of Hunter.

He needed to lose track of himself before someone figured out he wasn’t a real fireman.

Someone caught his sleeves and turned him.

A woman, her face tear streaked through lines of soot, her clothes damp and filthy. She wasn’t a fireman or an EMT.

But she was hugging him, her arms around his neck before he knew what she was doing, her slim hands full of a surprising amount of strength.

“Thank you,” she sobbed into his jacket. “Oh my god, they said they couldn’t get to her Thank you. ”

He didn’t know how to respond.

But then the girl was coughing, then crying, then huge rack-ing sobs and cries for her mommy.

The woman let him go.

Gabriel stepped out of the crowd and walked off into the night.

CHAPTER 12

Hunter was waiting in the woods. Far back, but still within sight of the house. When Gabriel caught up, Hunter didn’t say anything, just turned and fell into step beside him.

Thank god, because Gabriel didn’t know what to say, either.

He yanked the fireman’s helmet off his head, dragging a hand through his damp hair. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, and only part of it was from the smoke and the exertion.

A pair of headlights cut through the woods, catching the reflective stripes on the coat. Gabriel swore and shrugged out of it, rolling it up inside out to carry under his arm.

But the headlights continued on. No one saw them.

“I can stash those in the jeep,” said Hunter.

His voice sounded raw. Gabriel stopped at the tree line and looked at him, holding out the helmet and then the coat. Hunter had soot across one cheek, and his hair was every bit as damp as Gabriel’s.

He took the stuff, but then he didn’t move.

Gabriel wondered if he also looked this . . . stricken. What was the right thing to say? Thanks? That was terrible? That was awesome? They’d just pulled a girl out of a blazing house.

Could he really just climb in his car and drive home?

Hunter cleared his throat. “So.”

“Yeah.”

Hunter shifted the rolled up coat under one arm, hunching his shoulders. “Want to come over and play Xbox?”

Gabriel stared at him for a minute, wondering if he was serious.

Then he realized he didn’t care.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Hunter lived in an old farmhouse set back from the road, practically in the middle of nowhere. The windows were dark when they pulled up, and stayed that way despite two sets of tires crunching along the gravel driveway. Only an old gas lamp at the end of the front walk threw any light into the yard, revealing a split-board fence stretching back into the darkness.

A dog burst through the doorway when Hunter turned the key, the large German shepherd practically knocking his master down.

Hunter laughed softly and rubbed his dog behind the ears.

“Casper’s pissed I left him home.”

Gabriel picked up on his hushed tone. It seemed early, but the dark house spoke volumes. “Your mom asleep?”

Hunter lost the smile. “Probably.” He gave the dog one last scratch along his neck, then sent Casper out into the yard. “My grandparents definitely are. Come on.”

Gabriel scrubbed his hands and face in the kitchen sink, grateful for the coat and helmet that had kept him a lot cleaner than the last time he’d ventured into a fire. His jeans were sooty from the knees down, but they’d wash. He smacked his shoes against the porch to get out the worst of the soot, then followed Hunter.

The gaming system was in the basement, hooked up to a newish flat screen that looked completely out of place among the wood-paneled walls, the mustard-yellow carpet, and wooden mallards accenting the end tables. Even the sofa was plaid, a red and orange number that had seen better days.

But Hunter’s bedroom was down here, too, and from what Gabriel could see, it was huge.

“Do you really have a refrigerator and a microwave in your room?” he said, peering through the doorway.

Hunter was sliding a disk into the Xbox. “It wasn’t always my bedroom. But yeah.” He glanced up. “My grandparents only come down here to do laundry. It’s like having my own apartment.”

No mention of his mother, making Gabriel wonder about Hunter’s tone in the driveway, when he’d said probably. Even now, he wasn’t bragging. He sounded self-deprecating.

Then he said, “Grab a soda if you want.”

Gabriel did.

And then they were killing pixelated zombies.

It was surreal, sitting here doing something completely mun-dane, when they’d been pulling a body out of a burning house an hour ago.

Especially since Hunter had put a gun in his face last week.

When the game changed landscapes, Gabriel watched him, thinking of the moment in the hallway when Hunter had broken Nick’s hold. “Just how much control do you have?”

A shrug. “Not enough. I couldn’t have gone into that fire alone.”

Gabriel untied the translucent white stone from his wrist and set it on the coffee table. He suspected he wouldn’t have been as effective alone, either. Their powers had a way of improving when combined. “Thanks,” he said. “For dragging me out.”

“Sure.”

“And thanks for . . . whatever you did back at the house.”

Hunter shrugged. “I didn’t really do anything. I just had to block his focus.” He took the stone, twisting the twine between his fingers while they waited for the game to load.

It made Gabriel think of Becca, who used to wear Hunter’s rocks strung along her wrist. “You’re not screwing with my little brother, are you?”

Raised eyebrows. “With Chris?”

“What are you really doing with Becca?”

Hunter shrugged and looked back at the twine, letting the rock untwist itself. “Nothing. She asked for my help. I’m giving it.”

“This help wouldn’t be the na**d kind, would it?”

A smirk. “No. Just talking.” Hunter lost the smile. “I’m not messing with Chris. Or Becca. I wouldn’t. After . . . you know.”

Gabriel nodded. Then the screen loaded, and they were slaughtering zombies again.

“You know,” said Hunter, not looking away from the apoca-lypse on the screen, “I could tie that rock into the coat.”

“For what?”

“For next time.”

Gabriel didn’t look at him, just took another swig of his soda, keeping his eyes on the screen so Hunter wouldn’t kick his ass at Xbox.

But he kept thinking about those words. Next time.

There couldn’t be a next time. This time had been all about sheer luck. Luck and power. So much power Gabriel could feel it sparking under his skin, even now.