I always thought smoke would be heavy, but it’s as light as air and tastes like ash, burning my throat. It isn’t too dense, but the burn of it makes it hard to see. A cry for help cuts through me like a sharp flame.
“In the…?” Glenquartz starts to move toward the stairs, and this time I’m the one to put a halting hand on his arm. I pull him toward the sitting room. The fire has spread along the upholstery, up the curtains, curling the wallpaper into ash. The whole ceiling is black with soot and shifts with a denser collection of smoke.
The auras shine with fear. I feel it stronger than the fire. It’s so sharp, it’s like a dagger in my throat. I can barely breathe. In the room are two men, their auras tangled with each other. One man is obviously immobile, legs emaciated and weak but strong arms, a cushioned chair toppled. The other man doesn’t want to move even though he could. I crouch and put my face in front of his.
“I need you to lead us out of here,” I tell him.
Dazed, the man focuses on me, his eyes filled with tears.
I grab his shoulder. “Can you do that?”
If he says no, he’s getting a cast-iron pot to his head and Glenquartz can drag him to safety. The man nods and staggers to his feet, coughing in the smoke, and goes toward the door. I put an arm around the immobilized man’s back and motion for Glenquartz to help. He takes the other side, and together we lift him. He’s lighter than I expected.
A creak and crackle rip through the ceiling, and it’s all I can do to keep my grip on the man in my arms. I adjust my grip, and my arm touches the man’s neck. As soon as our skin touches, his thoughts blaze through me.
Out of the house, out of the house—run!
The man’s fear overtakes me, and I double our pace, nearly carrying him by myself. The other man is at the end of the hall, holding the door anxiously.
Run—run!
A heavy splinter of wood from above, a creaking groan, and part of the ceiling collapses. The man at the door staggers outside just as fire blazes in our path.
Glenquartz looks helplessly at me, and I spin to assess the rest of the house. The stairs are engulfed, there are no other doors, and the only window is behind the flaming wreckage of the upper floor. But the flames blocking our path flicker in the air currents, and every few seconds, they almost clear up. We can run. We can make it.
“We have to move fast!” I shout to Glenquartz.
He hesitates, and so does the man in our arms, but we don’t have time for fear. I stare at the fire again. I tell myself they can’t see it. I imagine the hall without fire and smoke—a startlingly normal scene with clean paint and the light of a mirrored lantern. I check Glenquartz and the man in our arms, and their eyes shine with sudden clarity as they stare at the corridor ahead.
Don’t see the flames. Don’t even feel the heat. I imagine a cool breeze against their skin. The sensation of water.
I turn my own gaze to the corridor, and a burst of flames rages before us with a gust of hot air that nearly singes the man’s feet. But I cling to the image of the safe, clean corridor. They can’t see the fire anymore, but I can.
No time for fear. I urge us forward, taking nearly all of the man’s weight in my arms.
Six steps to the door, and adrenaline surges through me. Fire blazes to my left, and I feel a searing pain on my arm as I stumble against the burning railing of the stairs.
Four steps, and my lungs are made from smoke, my vision blurring with burning tears.
Two steps, and the house around us groans and cracks. The fire rages.
Then we’re out. Gasps of fresh air as I finally let go of the illusion. Together, Glenquartz and I stagger to the edge of the road, and relief overtakes me. The three of us collapse there, and all I want is to be in the arms of the other man, to hold him close and—I let go of the man we’ve been carrying and the sensation disappears. The other man rushes to us, and the two of them hold each other, each crying in relief. I hear murmurs of “thank you, thank you,” but I’m already moving away from them and toward the next fire.
Three glowing auras inside the house, terrified and bright.
Esther rushes past me, a flurry of color and determination, trailing two guards. She’s pointing to the same house, ordering the guards forward. “There! Up on the second floor!”
I start after them, and I see Marcher running down the street. He runs after two Nameless clad in black, and I can’t see enough of his face to tell whether he is scared or not.
I return my attention to the house. The door is already engulfed in flames, and there’s a large window farther along that’s shattered. I sense Glenquartz at my side and we join Esther’s squad of guards—five of us now. Of the three auras, one is so radiant and sharp, I know it belongs to a child.
As we move forward, another window shatters. Somewhere, the entire house cracks and groans, and the roof shifts—barely at first, but then all at once. There’s a heavy, rending crash as the house folds inward and collapses. I head toward the building, but Glenquartz stops me.
The emptiness.
All three auras. Gone. Extinguished.
I almost feel their names on the tip of my tongue, but all I can do is scream at the burning rubble. Then I’m on the ground, elbows on my knees, throat aching from the smoke.
The world around me burns, and I am an ember at its core, white hot and slowly disintegrating. I am raw heat and pain.
Two other houses collapse, but I’m far enough away that I can’t sense if anyone is in them. There are other fires in other houses. There are other auras all around me. People are gathered in the streets, carrying pails of water, gawking at the destruction, comforting and carrying each other.
I get up and help. I move with them, numb, doing what I can, carrying water. Glenquartz is never too far away. I’m glad to have him nearby, a familiar aura. At the same time, his pain and fear are like poison to me. The whole world is poison, filled with auras of ash and fear and heartbreak.
Glenquartz checks on me at some point. He’s saying something about an injury, and I barely remember falling against the burning railing as we escaped the house. All I want is to take a quiet path to the palace or an even quieter path to Devil’s alley. But there is work to be done. I finally find my voice past the hoarse burn in my throat.
“Clear the two houses at the end of the street,” I order. “There’s two people upstairs in the first house, then one in the back.” Glenquartz is hesitant to leave me, but he does. I return to the line of people transporting water for the fires. I know the water is heavy, but my arms are numb.
Still—always—there is work to be done.
I’m not sure how long we are out here, breathing smoke-heated air, but I’m certain that those windows were shattered inward. The fires were not accidental. They were started when someone threw something through the windows.