The jarring ring of a cell phone jerked her back to earth. His phone. Ari stiffened and broke the kiss, resting her forehead against his chest. Desire still shimmered around them.
“I will ignore it,” he murmured.
It rang again, and the mood was broken. Still, she didn’t move.
“Andreas…” she said into his shirt. What the hell was she doing? Wasn’t there enough going on? Why had she started this? Oh yeah, she knew why. But more to the point, what did they do now?
On the third ring, Andreas glanced at the readout and frowned. “Marcus.” He breathed the word against her hair. “He would not call unless it was important.”
“You need to answer it,” she said, stepping back this time, reluctant yet knowing the decision for tonight had already been made.
He punched a key, listened a moment, his gaze never leaving Ari’s face. “On my way.”
Disconnecting, he reached out a hand, and his fingers touched her cheek. “Sorry.” He gave a short, rueful laugh as he turned away, tucking in his shirt. “You do not know how sorry I am, but I have to go.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she demanded, keeping pace with him as he headed toward the door. Whatever was going on, it was serious. “I’m coming with you.”
“Then, hurry. The club is on fire.”
Chapter Fifteen
Black smoke billowed from the front windows and doors. Andreas and Ari stood frozen, taking in the jarring contrast with the pristine whiteness of the rest of Club Dintero. The worst of the fire was out, but heavily clad firemen still clung to hoses aimed into the interior. A thick haze hovered over the sizable crowd of guests and curious bystanders drawn by the trucks and sirens. People choked and hacked from the dense smoke, and Ari wondered why they didn’t leave.
She rubbed at the prickly feeling on her neck and looked around. A brooding sense hovered over the fire scene, as if something malevolent was watching. As she scanned the area, she noticed a group of a dozen or more young vampires huddled off to one side. Most were in jeans and t-shirts or leather and didn’t look like club patrons. They weren’t staff. Ari didn’t like the angry energy they produced. It wasn’t the same malevolence she’d noticed earlier, but in light of Andreas’s comments about the mood in the vamp community, the youthful group could be real trouble.
She was about to point them out to Andreas, when he spotted Marcus. “Is everyone out?” Andreas asked.
The young maitre’d nodded. “Yes. Sure glad you got here. I think the only ones seriously hurt were two humans.” Marcus nodded toward a green and white rescue van. “Paramedics are treating them now. They were standing in the entry when a bottle or something on fire came through the front windows.”
Ari saw a seventy-something couple seated on the open back of the van. A paramedic swabbed the woman’s arm with cotton, and the man held an ice pack against the left side of his face. If that was the worst of the injuries, the club patrons had been very lucky.
Andreas surveyed the ordered chaos surrounding his building. He telegraphed uncertainty, a rare state for him, clearly torn between his duty to the victims and taking charge of employees and damage control.
Ari nudged his arm. She could help Andreas and still be in a position to keep an eye on the youthful vampire gang. “I’ll stay out here and talk to the victims. You deal with the rest of this mess.”
His instant smile made her glad she’d offered. It might just make holding the victims’ hands bearable. She started toward the rescue van.
Charlie and Henrietta Stillman barely noticed when Ari joined them. Henrietta was upset and making her feelings known.
“I can’t believe this. I finally talk him into going out for a romantic evening, and what happens? Someone throws a Molotov cocktail at us! What kind of a place is this? Is this a gangster hangout? Or was this a terrorist attack?” Mrs. Stillman shuddered; frustrated tears glistened, ready to spill over at any moment.
Ari arrived in time to hear the woman’s complaints and interrupted to introduce herself. “I’m so sorry this happened. Is there anything I can do? The club owner wants to do whatever he can to make it right.”
“Make it right?” the woman wailed. “My poor arm is burnt to a crisp, and look at Charlie’s face. He’s all cut up and burned. He’ll be scarred for life.”
“Now, Mrs. Stillman,” the female paramedic working on her arm said, “I told you, you and your husband will be fine. The burns may blister, but if you keep the creams on and are careful of infection, you should both heal without scarring. None of his cuts even need stitching. It looks worse than it is. In a few weeks you won’t be able to see where either of you were injured.”
“A few weeks!” the woman shrieked. “His face is going to look like that for weeks? Charlie, did you hear that? You’re going to ruin Charlene’s wedding.” With that pronouncement, apparently realizing the enormity of this insult to her orderly world, Henrietta’s tears started to flow.
Ari exchanged a helpless look with the paramedics. How could she stop the flood? At best, she was a resource counselor, not a damn shrink. And unlike a couple of her sister witches, she had no ability for healing others, except for potions, and the law didn’t allow her to use those on humans. She tried patting the lady’s shoulder but Mrs. Stillman continued to shake with sobs. Ari didn’t seem to be making much headway. She flashed the paramedic an apologetic look and took the coward’s route. She left.
Ari scooted into the space on the far side of Charlie Stillman, watched the deft fingers of the male EMT dab ointment on Charlie’s face, and waited for a break in their conversation. The moment the young man finished his care instructions, Charlie turned to his wife.
“For Heaven’s sake, Hettie, get a hold of yourself. These folks are going to think you’re a ninny.” In spite of this tough talk, Charlie took his wife’s good hand and squeezed it. “There, there, sugar. That’s better,” he added as she showed signs of calming. Her rapid breathing slowed, and then the tears stopped.
When she was down to sniffles, Charlie turned toward Ari. “You’ll have to excuse her, Miss. She’s had quite a shock.”
“I understand. You’ve both been through a bad experience. The club owner, Andreas De Luca, wanted me to assure you that your medical bills will be covered.” She knew Andreas would approve of that. “When the club reopens, he’d like you to accept a champagne dinner for two, on the house. It’s the least we can do.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Charlie said. His wrinkled face managed a half-smile. “You thank him for us. See there, Hettie, everything will be all right.”
“If you say so, Charlie.”
Ari hoped she didn’t look as astonished as she felt. Under Charlie’s experienced touch, the watering pot had been transformed. Ari breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you tell me what happened?” she ventured, hoping the question wouldn’t set the wife off again.
“I don’t rightly know,” he said. “We had just arrived when something came flying through the window.”
“The tiffany panel. It came through that lovely tiffany panel next to the door,” his wife corrected.
“Yes, dear,” Charlie agreed. “Whatever it was, it was on fire. Window pieces struck my face, scorching hot. And Hettie’s sleeve caught on fire. Somebody pulled us behind the front desk. There was smoke everywhere, and I had trouble breathing.” He patted his wife’s hand. “That nice young man over there took us outside.” He pointed toward Marcus, who was standing with Andreas and two firefighters. “He stayed with us, too. Until the fire trucks and paramedics came.”
“Who said it was a Molotov cocktail?”
“That’s what Hettie heard,” he said, and his wife bobbed her head.
“That fireman over there.” She pointed with her good hand to one of the men standing with Andreas. “Heard him say so.”
Ari gave them an agreeable nod. A logical conclusion, if you didn’t know about the demon. She could smell the ozone, a by-product of magical fire. The fireman wouldn’t know what that meant. Under the circumstances, a Molotov cocktail was a better story than the truth.
“We’re ready to go,” the paramedic reported to Ari. “These folks should be seen by the ER docs, and we’re ready to transport.”
“Good. I’ll let you get on your way.” She turned back to the Stillmans. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Anyone you want me to call?”
“Thank you, but no,” Charlie said. “Already called my son. He’ll meet us at St. Mary’s Hospital. We’ll be fine.” The painkillers had kicked in and Charlie’s face had lost the stress creases. “You tell Mr. De Luca, we’ll be back for that dinner.”
“Any time, sir. The guest reservations will be at the front desk whenever you can make it. If you call ahead, we’ll save you the best table.”
Ari heaved a sigh of relief as the rescue van drove away. Playing nursemaid was not her best role, but the Stillmans were getting the care they needed, and with any luck, the club wouldn’t be sued.
She checked once more on the vamp gang, discovered most of them had left, and made her way over to Marcus. The smoke was down to wisps, and the firefighters were starting to put their equipment away. Andreas had disappeared.
“He’s inside,” Marcus said immediately. “The fire was contained around the front door and the host station. The club was packed, but everyone got out.”
“Close call. We were lucky.”
“Yeah. It could have burned to the ground.” Marcus shuffled his feet. “I should have been better prepared for something like this.”
Ari flushed. Her bad temper was coming back to haunt her. “You’re not to blame for this. You did a great job in getting everyone to safety. And club security’s not your problem.” She tugged on his arm until he looked at her. “Not tonight and not the day of the shooting. I’m sorry, Marcus. I should have apologized sooner. I was wrong to say those things to you. I was upset, and, oh hell, sometimes I can be a bitch.”
