The Forest of Sleepers (Nowhere Book 2)

t w e n t y - s e v e n : f i r e

Evelyn was crumpled on the ground, her nightgown tangled around her feet.

Wyatt lunged for her just as part of the roof gave way.

A cacophony of sparks flew around him as he scooped Evelyn into his arms, tucked his head down, and bolted out of the bedroom.

His mind was swimming and for a moment, he couldn't get his bearings. He couldn't breathe.

He clutched Evelyn tighter, fighting against the bile rising in his throat. He took a step forward. Then another.

He had to make it, he had to--

He stumbled to a knee as a lick of flame caught his arm. Instinctively, he batted it away with his other hand, feeling the sting of the fire immediately.

He tried to cough but didn't have enough oxygen to do so.

For a moment, as he sat in his burning house with his unconscious mother in his arms, he thought this would be the end.

It wasn't so terrifying as it was disappointing.

Of all things. Of all ways. This was how it happened?

He thought of the tomb in the cathedral. Here lies your King.

Some King he had made.

Just as spots were beginning to cloud Wyatt's vision, Evelyn groaned softly.

She was alive.

The realization was slow in coming, but once the information processed, Wyatt mustered what little strength he had left and got back on his feet.

The house shifted, nearly knocking Wyatt over again, but he managed to keep his footing as he made his way to the stairs.

The smoke was too thick to see through, so Wyatt took each step on a token of faith, hoping that he wouldn't stumble or the stairway wouldn't give.

He made it to the dining room, then to the doorway where he fell to his knees.

Hands appeared out of nowhere, taking Evelyn away from him and helping him to his feet.

Cold air hit him, filling his lungs with its sweet scent.

He coughed and wheezed, but the more he breathed, the clearer his mind became. He coughed and hacked until his chest ached.

He opened his eyes to see that the firefighters had managed to hook up the hose and were now able to spray down the flames more efficiently than the buckets had.

There were people in his front yard that he'd never seen before, covered in soot on his behalf. The moment was surreal; touching, even. There were women and children, some of whom were bystanders, but some who were still handing buckets to the men on the ladders.

Wyatt didn't have time to allow it all to sink in before he was crushed in a hug.

"Oh, Wyatt!" Ophelia wept.

Marigold and Birdie were right behind, and they ushered him away from the blazing house.

Marigold told him to sit down on the grass. A man rushed by with another hose in tow.

Wyatt sank down onto the cool ground, laying down and looking up at the smoke-filled sky, each inhale followed by a cough. Only then did he realize that his arm was burning. He looked at his left forearm, where blisters were beginning to form across his skin from where it had caught fire.

It was a numb feeling, like he was looking at someone else's arm instead of his own.

As Marigold helped Rose put ointment on a bandage and Ophelia rattled on about how frightened she'd been, Birdie knelt down, taking Wyatt's face in her hands, turning his head gently to meet her gaze.