Elfhome

22: HELPLESS

Gunfire woke Oilcan. He tumbled out of bed, once again disoriented by the pattern of light and shadows in his bedroom. Where was he? Oh, yes, Sacred Heart. Was it gunfire he actually heard?

The thunder of a machine gun answered his question. It sounded far too close for comfort. Thorne Scratch was dressing hurriedly in the darkness.

“Where’s that coming from?” He didn’t bother fumbling for his discarded clothes. He pulled fresh out of his dresser.

“Ginger Wine’s,” Thorne Scratch growled.

There was a sudden draconic roar and the flare of crimson-tainted brilliance. Thorne had her vest armor on; the light gleamed off the slick black of the scales.

“Thank gods,” Thorne Scratch breathed out.

“What was that?”

“Fire Clan esva.” She tugged on her pants. “I need to go. Take the children to the safe room and lock yourself in.”

He stepped into his tennis shoes without bothering with socks.

Thorne Scratch was pulling on boots as he went out his door. The kids were spilling into the hallway, all in nightgowns, whimpering in distress. There was another roar. Through the hallway window, he saw a crest of flame rise up out of buildings down the street, temporarily lighting the night to day. The kids cried out and ran to him. He was suddenly trapped by a dozen arms clinging tightly to him.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! Prince True Flame and the Wyverns are fighting the oni. We’ll be fine.”

“Get to the safe room!” Thorne snapped from his bedroom. “Go!”

He started them moving, shuffling forward like a giant amoeba of fear. It wasn’t until Thorne swept past them like a dark shadow that the kids let go of him enough to cling to each other in more manageable groups.

Thorne Scratch unlocked the front door and then stood waiting for him to catch up to her.

“Go to the safe room.” He pushed the kids toward the hallway.

Thorne caught him by the front of his T-shirt and kissed him hard. “I hate leaving you here with nothing to protect you,” she whispered.

“You’re the one running toward the fight,” he said. “I’ll be tucked behind several feet of stone.”

Thorne Scratch gave him one last long stare as if it was going to be the last time she’d see him alive. “Lock this behind me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And then she was gone.

Locking the door was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

He hurried back to the small windowless safe room. He did a head count — five kids looking scared to hell — before shutting the heavy door and sliding the bars into place. Even through the thick walls, he could hear the muffled gunfire. And then there was a loud explosion of such force that he could feel the earth underneath him shift. An explosion like that would kill a sekasha regardless of their protective shield — and Thorne Scratch didn’t have a domana protecting her.

Oh, Thorne, he thought. Be safe.

Hours passed. The night had gone silent.

Windwolf and Prince True Flame had most likely won, but he didn’t know how to find out short of leaving the kids alone or waiting for Thorne.

And Thorne still hadn’t returned.

He hadn’t felt so helpless since hiding in the pantry, watching his father keen over his mother’s body.