Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
We can’t put out this fire. I spot a gray cat cowering beneath the rocking chair, tail on fire. Sweat drips off me as I run and snatch up Licorice, putting out the flames with my hand. Fur singed.
Donnelly shields his nose and races towards the staircase like he’s going to find someone.
I yell back at him, “Wake Akara, Quinn, Banks, and Tony! Get them outside!” Licorice claws up my chest, and I pull the frightened cat down.
Donnelly coughs, stops, and reroutes back into security’s townhouse.
Farrow runs down the stairs. “Fuck,” he curses at the sight and winces. Cringes.
The heat is un-fucking-bearable. My eyes sear from smoke, lungs burning. “Less than two minutes before it’s upstairs!” I yell. If the fire barricades Jane, Maximoff, and Luna, we’ll need to exit a window. I point to the front door, the better exit.
The clock is set. Less than two minutes.
Farrow nods and eagle-eyes something on my six. “Go.”
I trust him. I don’t wait to look at what he sees. I leave Farrow and sprint back upstairs. Back to the people we’d give our lives to protect.
Jane is already on the phone with the fire department and corralling Ophelia into a cat carrier. Her eyes widen when she sees Licorice’s singed tail.
“He’s fine.” I shove him in with Ophelia.
“I have Toodles!” Maximoff yells from the landing, a tuxedo cat tight in his arms. That cat—he never lets Maximoff hold him, except for right now. Toodles isn’t fidgeting. “Luna, you ready?”
“Yeah.” Her Thrashers sweatshirt consumes her gangly frame.
I zip up the carrier while Jane hangs up. Fire truck sirens blare in the distance.
We’re missing four cats.
We have no time to search a house that’s going down fast.
Jane is near tears, but she pushes through the grief and fear. “We need to leave now.” She stands with the carrier.
“Where’s Farrow?” Maximoff asks.
“Cover your nose.” I hand Jane a shirt from the floor. Luna already buries her nose in her sweatshirt.
“Thatcher, where’s Farrow?!” Maximoff screams.
“Downstairs. He’s fi—”
Maximoff is already running down the steps.
I walk out in front of Luna and Jane in case the fire has swarmed the stairs. Farrow is already at the bottom, grasping the furry necks of two calico cats. One in each hand. “The door is clear!”
Two cats missing.
Maximoff sees Farrow is okay. Farrow assesses his fiancé, and we all work together to leave. I press against the brick wall, making the girls pass me, and I come up in the rear, my hand on Jane’s hip.
Maximoff draws his sister closer, protecting Luna while Farrow leads them through the fast-burning, tiny living room.
One clear path.
That’s all we have.
We cough, and through the thick, bright haze of smoke and fire—I stay vigilant and see a black cat in the unlit fireplace. On the mantel, flames eat away and consume family photographs.
I reroute.
Jane feels my hand leave her side. “No—wait, Thatcher!”
“Don’t stop!” I yell. Don’t wait for me.
Maximoff pulls her forward.
I barrel through fire, heat licking my chest, and I don’t think. I just collect a scared Lady Macbeth, and I exit behind the four of them.
We’re on the street. At a safe distance while the old Philly townhouse burns and burns. Flames lick the second-floor windows.
Our room.
I cough out a lungful of smoke, and Jane tears Lady Macbeth out of my arms. More so I can catch my breath without a cat clawing me to death.
“Thatcher?”
I nod to her that I’m fine, and I sweep her—she’s alive, safe, breathing. And I sweep the chaotic perimeter. Fire trucks aren’t here yet. Neighbors pool out onto the street. Paparazzi shout, spilling out of their cars. They toss water bottles to us, ask if we’re okay, and take pictures and videos.
Banks.
I search for my brother, but he’s already jogging up to me. “SFO is good. Everyone is out.” He glances between me and Jane. “The cats?”
Jane looks up at me, and agony finally reaches her—she breaks down, tears pouring out. Face contorting. I hold her against my body. My stomach is in knots—I fucking failed. All I can do is comfort her.
“How many?” Banks asks me.
“We didn’t find LJ.”
“What?” Tony hears that last part, walking closer. “You left the kitten?” He combs back his hair, eyeing the opened front door.
He wouldn’t.
I look back at the end of the street. For one second, and when I turn, Tony is running towards the engulfed townhouse. To save a cat that’s probably already dead.
To prove something.
That he’s worth more than me.
“TONY!” I growl out. “STOP!”
He doesn’t stop.
“What the fuck is he doing?!” Quinn shouts.
“Saving a kitten,” Banks says, his voice tight like he’s caging breath. Probably hoping Tony will retreat at the foot of the door.
Farrow jogs closer. “Luna has LJ.”
“What?” Jane chokes out, unburying herself from my chest.
Tony. I yell at the top of my lungs, “SHE HAS THE CAT!”