Chapter 6
Standing in the back entrance to the kitchen’s doorframe, I stared at the note and read it aloud again, “ Playing with fire will get you burned . . . Oh, great.”
After glancing up and down the alleyway, I stepped back inside and closed the glass-paneled door.
“Well, that’s also evidence.” Mary read over my shoulder, and the energy in the room suddenly became chaotic.
“Not just evidence. It’s a threat.” I shuddered. The smell of smoke raised my defenses, and a deadly chill hit my spine. “We don’t have the fireplace going upstairs today, do we?”
Smoke wasn’t unusual in the bakery, but this smelled nothing like burned food.
“No.” Mary’s eyes widened as the odor increased. “Something’s burning.”
“It’s a fire. We need to get everyone out of here!” I looked to Wickham, who nodded and ran toward the bakery’s storefront. When I opened the door, plumes of smoke spilled into the kitchen, making us cough, so I slammed it shut.
“Call the fire department,” someone shouted.
“Mary, call for help and make sure Mom and Dad are okay. I’m not sure if the fire is inside the house or in the alley.
” I grabbed the industrial-sized fire extinguisher the building code required us to have and searched for the source of the smoke.
Wickham used the storefront entrance to help clear people from the building and away from the alley.
As they poured out of the restaurant side of the bakery, the smoke alarms finally sounded.
I probably shouldn’t have sent Mary off alone, but I still didn’t see an actual fire, and someone had to help our parents.
Once more, I opened the kitchen door to the alley.
The smoke thickened, making my eyes water, so I slammed the door shut to protect the house from smoke.
Outside, flames had licked the brick wall, but how? The basement.
I dashed across the kitchen toward the basement, which we’d outfitted for brewing potions and really good ginger ale.
A heavy stream of smoke poured out when I opened the door.
Going down might’ve been stupid . . . but with the fire extinguisher in hand, I may have a chance to save the building.
I’d taken two cautious steps into the basement when a hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.
“No, Lydia,” Wickham said.
“I’ll hold my breath. Fifteen seconds, tops,” I said. “I’ve got to at least try.”
“Fine, but I’m coming. We’ve got to be fast. If we can’t put it out immediately, we leave.”
I aimed the fire extinguisher in front of myself, hoping to find the flames. As Wickham and I took another step, the door swung shut behind us.
Forgetting to hold my breath, I screamed. Wickham tried the door, but someone had locked it.
“I can break it down, but it would damage it.” Wickham stood ready. With his vampiric strength, it would’ve been easy for him.
“No. We have windows in the basement.” I coughed, not wanting to damage or fill the house with smoke. “This way.”
We ran down the stairs, and I finally caught sight of the flames. The heavy velvet curtain on one of the basement windows was ablaze. I aimed the extinguisher at them. Wickham steadied me by wrapping his arms around mine as we put the fire out.
Choking and coughing, I ran to raise the window, which was already cracked open, but the latch scorched my hand. “It’s hot.”
“Sorry to do this, but we’ve got to get you out of here.
” Wickham picked up the fire extinguisher and used the back to smash the glass.
Thankfully, smoke rises, and it poured out through the broken window.
As we ducked to the ground, we sucked in fresh winter air, still coughing.
We must’ve caught the fire very rapidly, or our protective enchantment worked, because the brick walls around the window were undamaged.
I pulled myself close to Wickham. “Don’t be mad. I gotta go find out who did this.”
“What?” he coughed.
I stood, used a rag to fully open the window without hurting myself, and then climbed out. The killer had to be in the area.
In the back alley, someone was climbing the fence connected to Main Street.
“Stop!” I screamed, running toward them.
The individual was unidentifiable due to a ski mask, dark jacket, and the distance between us.
“Seriously, Lydia.” Wickham grabbed my shoulder mid-stride, pulling me to a stop for the second time that evening. “Stop trying to do everything alone. We can do this together.”
“Someone ran off that way.” I wriggled my shoulder away from him and slid my hand into his. “You can help me, but don’t stop me.”
Wickham released an exasperated sigh, and we ran down the alley together. But by the time we reached the wooden fence, whoever I’d been chasing had vanished. The area where the fire went out the window was, fortunately, undamaged, aside from the broken glass.
Sirens approached the café.
“I thought we'd be safer if we gathered everyone together, but it’s feeling more dangerous than ever. Together, we’re all easy targets,” Wickham said as we turned and walked back to the bakery.
“I can’t believe someone attacked my home, my family’s home.” I shuddered. “They need to leave my family out of whatever this is. Ugh . . . I’m so frustrated that we still don’t have any clue as to why this is happening.”
“I agree. We’re not making any progress, and people are being threatened.
We should get out of Austen Heights for a while—to let this simmer down.
I don’t want to add fuel to the fire by searching for them if it puts us and your family in danger.
Everyone in the band ought to get out of town for a bit too.
” Wickham turned toward the distant horizon, and something new flashed through his eyes. His aura rippled with burnt umber.
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
“An old friend of my parents, Brig Ingersol from England, owns the Sky Powder Lodge. They studied hospitality together in school. We can hang out there for a while to let the police deal with this.” Wickham stopped walking and looked into my eyes.
“Do you think it will help your family if we leave?”
“The two of us? Together?” I stopped and stared at him, wondering if he realized what he was asking me.
“If that’s okay with you,” he responded way too casually.
I didn’t have to think long. It wasn’t like I was going to pass up the opportunity to spend more time with Wickham, even if it didn’t completely make sense.
“Sure, why not? I don’t have any classes right now, and my family can handle the bakery.
I’ll just need to shower and pack an overnight bag as long as my clothes don’t all smell like smoke. ”
Fortunately, with the basement door having been sealed shut, the rest of the house took no more smoke damage than if we'd burnt a batch of cookies.
But it still took forever to give the police our statements, board up the basement windows, and help my parents calm down enough to go back to bed.
By midnight, everything was calm enough for me to pack a bag and meet Wickham downstairs.
“I didn’t tell my parents I’m heading out. But I told Kitty. And I asked her to try to find a spell to identify the owner of the wig.” In the dark foyer, I looked up at the wooden staircase, suddenly hesitant. “I’ll call my mom first thing in the morning.”
“You sure you’re good to go?” Wickham asked, helping me with my overnight bag.
“Yes, let’s do this.” At first, as we took off down the interstate in Wickham’s black Jeep, listening to his recent album, my adrenaline spiked.
It was romantic, running off into the night with him.
I felt like I was fleeing all of my problems and probably making a delightful mistake.
But as I watched the stars in the inky black sky follow us on our journey, my eyelids grew heavy, and I dozed off.
By four in the morning, we’d pulled into a charming tiny village of snow-covered log bungalows.
Sky Powder Lodge and Resort. I was a cozy collection of log cabins in a shallow valley, surrounded by mountain peaks.
The place had to be at least fifty years old.
Fortunately, considering the early hour, someone still sat at the front desk when we checked in.
“Hi. Is Brig around tonight? I called earlier. He’s expecting us,” Wickham asked. His aura was tired, dimmer than it had been earlier in the evening. Understandable.
In the dimly lit lodge, an older woman with a nametag that read Ginny straightened her reading glasses and clicked away on her keyboard.
“I’ll tell him you’re here, but I suspect he’s asleep.
Maybe chat with him in the morning. You’re Wickham, right?
We’ve got a nice cottage suite—two queen-sized beds, hot tub, fireplace—set up for you. ”
An older man with a long white beard and a sunny-yellow aura walked around one of the log walls. He gave Wickham a warm embrace. “George! Look at that. You made it. I was worried you’d be caught in the storm.”
Brig’s accent was similar to Wickham’s, which almost made them seem related. “Brig, good to see you. Thanks for taking us. This is Lydia Bennet.”
He didn’t say anything like my friend or my girlfriend, so, like myself, Brig probably wondered what Wickham was thinking.
All the same, Brig greeted me warmly. “Welcome, Lydia. We’ve got a nice little cottage set up for the two of you.”
When we finally made it to our cottage, bunk, cabin .
. . whatever it was, I was so exhausted that I dropped my bags, brushed my teeth, and climbed right into bed.
I don’t usually snore unless I’m super sleep deprived, but I suspect I did that night.
Oddly, things like that never embarrassed me.
Instead, they made me laugh. No use taking oneself too seriously.