Sizzle and Burn (The Arcane Society #3)(75)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Zack followed swiftly.

She reached the ground and scurried back.

“This way.” Zack stumbled a little when he stepped off the ladder. He put one hand to his side where the crimson stain was growing.

Together they half limped, half staggered toward the shelter of the small shed that had originally been built to hold firewood. Vella had used it to store garden tools. Raine gritted her teeth against the pain in her ankle, aware that Zack had to be in agony. If he could keep going, so could she.

When they reached the back of the shed they stopped. Raine could see flames and black smoke surging up into the damp sky. The fire was roaring now, a huge tyrannosaurus rex come to life and busily devouring everything in sight.

“Sit down,” Raine ordered. “Before you fall down.”

Zack obeyed reluctantly, unclipping his phone while he sank onto the cold ground. He leaned forward slightly, watching the burning house, gun in hand, while he talked to the 911 operator.

Raine reached inside his jacket and unfastened his blood-drenched shirt. His right side was a gory mess. It was difficult to tell exactly where the wound was. Using her fingers, she tracked a steady, welling stream of blood back to its source. When she found the raw edges of the wound that had ripped open his flesh she felt him suck in his breath.

She jerked off the long scarf she wore and wrapped it snugly around his rib cage. By the time she finished they were both covered in blood.

The house was fully engulfed now. The speed of the fire was terrifying. If it hadn’t been for the phobic fear that had led Vella to install emergency fire ladders in the upstairs rooms—

No, Raine thought. Don’t go there. Thank you, Aunt Vella.

“Spicer must have left,” she whispered.

Zack shook his head once, never taking his attention off the house. “Don’t think so. He can’t leave. He has to be sure.”

“He’s crazy.”

“Oh, yeah.”

A few seconds later she heard Spicer’s voice again.

“Die, witch. Die like she died.”

“He just noticed the rope ladder,” Zack said quietly. “He’s going to come unglued now.”

Spicer’s high, keening scream of rage rose above the thunder of the fire.

“You can’t escape!” Spicer shouted. “You have to burn. It’s the only way.”

“He’s just noticed the shed,” Zack said. “He’s coming this way.”

She could hear sirens in the distance now. Spicer seemed oblivious, however.

“The demon always wins!” he yelled. “The demon is more powerful than you, witch.”

Zack rose slowly, back pressed to the wall of the shed.

“Put the gun down, Spicer,” he called. “The cops are on the way. It’s over.”

Spicer’s response was a flurry of shots followed by an abrupt pause. She didn’t know much about guns but she knew enough to realize that they occasionally needed to be reloaded.

Zack leaned around the edge of the shed and fired once.

Doug Spicer was still alive when Wayne Langdon and a deputy pulled into the drive. A fire truck followed by an aide car appeared next.

Raine didn’t wait for the medics to do triage. She limped toward them, waving her arms to get their attention.

“Take care of him first,” she said, pointing to Zack. She put every ounce of authority she possessed into the command. “He’s the good guy.”

Fifty-seven

Two hours later she sat in the reception area of the Shelbyville Community Hospital. Wayne Langdon was with her.

She was still waiting for Zack. He had been in the emergency room for what seemed an eternity. A doctor had appeared briefly to assure her that the wound looked a lot worse than it was. He explained that the bullet had passed cleanly through skin and tissue, not striking any vital organs on the way.

“A lot of stitches and some antibiotics and he’ll be fine. Mr. Jones will end up with an interesting scar but no permanent damage.”

Easy for him to say, she thought. She would remember the moment that Zack took a bullet for her for the rest of her life. The terrible fear that had flashed through her when she knew he’d been hit would haunt her nightmares, just as the voices did.

Someone had re-taped her ankle and provided her with a pair of crutches.

“Got a full confession out of Spicer before they took him into surgery,” Langdon said. “Hard to shut him up, to tell you the truth. Kept babbling about how he had to burn the witches.”

“Uh-huh.” Raine fiddled with her crutches, trying to get the hang of using them.

Langdon grimaced. “I appreciate that you’re not saying I told you so.”

“Hard to resist, though.”

“I’ll bet.” Langdon whistled softly. “Got to say, Spicer’s confession couldn’t have come at a better time, and that’s a fact.”

“Why is that?” Raine asked, glancing at her watch.

“The case against Burton Rosser was starting to unravel pretty fast. Turns out he’s got an ironclad alibi for at least one of the Bonfire murders. He was doing time for burglary when the first girl was killed.”

“I assume Spicer was the one who set him up?” she asked.

“Yeah. Evidently you scared the, uh, crap out of him after you discovered the girl still alive in your aunt’s basement.” Langdon cleared his throat. “Got the feeling that something about you made him real nervous.”

“I have that effect on people sometimes. It’s a gift.”

Langdon looked as if he didn’t know how to take that. He turned a little red and then acted as if she hadn’t said anything. He cleared his throat again and hurried on with his story.

“Spicer figured the best way to protect himself from becoming a suspect was to give us a solid perp. He left the belt in Burton Rosser’s house. Then he copied the photos of the victims off his own computer onto a flash storage device and loaded them onto Rosser’s computer. We found the same photos on Spicer’s computer a few minutes ago.”

“How did he know that Rosser would make a likely-looking suspect?”

“Spicer deliberately picked someone who was even newer in town than himself. Rosser also looked good because he was a loner and there were rumors that he’d done jail time.”

Her phone rang. She reached into her purse and glanced at the incoming number. Blocked.

“Hello,” she said warily.

“Is this Raine Tallentyre?”

A man’s voice, or maybe the voice of a really irritable bear. It was hard to tell.