“You were in the middle of something,” he cracked.
I was about to answer when I saw a small glint of light at my feet. Graham had edged over toward the fireplace, reached into the fire, and pulled out a long, flaming fork. In a flash, he was on his feet, seemingly fully recovered, a glowing three-pronged spear leveled at Gavin’s heart.
“Sorry to interrupt the love story,” Graham said with a sigh. “But I believe I have a Satan Trident with Gavin’s name on it.”
He hurled his body toward Gavin, and the fight was back on. And it was now decidedly in Graham’s favor.
Gavin jumped, deflecting the trident away from his chest, but it sliced his shoulder. The blow caused his wings to seize up, and he fell to the ground, his face contorted in pain. I realized that with his own immortal weapon, Graham could very well kill Gavin right in front of me. I had to do something. I had to go for the sword.
Gavin curled into a ball on the floor. Graham stood over him, ready to deliver another blow, when suddenly Gavin’s legs uncoiled against Graham’s chest, sending the demon flying backward, directly toward me. Graham crashed into the stone mantel to my left. The fireplace started to crumble from the impact.
I bolted through the dust and falling mortar toward the opened display box and freed the sword.
“Gavin!” I hollered. “Catch!”
I threw it in the air, and in one swift motion, Gavin leapt up, caught it, and sliced it at Graham. Graham returned the volley with his trident. They dueled, ferociously stabbing and swiping at each other. Sparks flew as the metal armaments connected, filling the air with sharp clangs.
With the fireplace destroyed, the fire jumped from its hearth and onto the thick floor rug. Soon, flames engulfed the entire room.
“Run, Maren, run!” Gavin yelled between thrusts. “Get out of here, now!”
A thick, noxious smoke filled the room, swallowing Gavin and Graham. My eyes burned so badly, I wondered if they might start to boil in their sockets. My throat seized up suddenly, making it impossible to breathe.
I didn’t want to leave, but my body’s need for air overrode all conscious thought. I fumbled for the wall. I would slide my fingertips along the solid surface until I found a doorway. When I hit a solid plane, I picked a direction and ran. I hoped I’d guessed the right way.
If not, I was going to die.
I burst out of the dining room, choking for air. As I sprinted down the hall, the heat from the spreading fire licked at my calves. The clanking of the sword and the trident followed me, and the entire building shook with every supernatural collision.
I might have needed to leave Gavin—for now—but I was not leaving without my grandmother. I raced out the front door, down the driveway, and back toward the car, calling her name, but couldn’t find her anywhere. Graham had lied; he’d never let her go. I looked back at the great house. She must still be somewhere inside.
Shards of glass showered over the side yard as a couple of windows exploded. The fire was moving from the east wing toward the rest of the massive house. If I was going back in to get her, I needed to find her quickly. But how?
I walked up the drive, studying the house from the outside. Was there a clue somewhere? Could I find anything different or out of place?
I scanned the windows for a sign. I followed the pattern of ivy climbing the walls. Nothing. I looked at the sloping sections of roof. And then I saw it. One of the more than twenty chimney stacks did not look like the others. While most were blackened by soot at the top from years of use, the one on the far end of the house—thankfully, the farthest from the fire—was not. It was clean.
What does it mean? I willed my brain to work faster, to find an answer somehow. My body was shaking from adrenaline, and my mind raced. You wouldn’t have a single chimney cleaned and leave the rest dirty. A lack of soot must mean that chimney never had a fire in it. Why would someone build a large brick fireplace, then? A vision popped into my head of a huge tunnel connecting the three floors—a secret passageway to hidden rooms! It was the perfect way to conceal something or someone; no one would ever notice extra rooms tucked in this giant mansion. The fireplace must be the only way in and out of them.
I ran along the wing while counting windows, then back to the front door. Smoke swirled around its edges. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and ducked inside.
I sprinted down the main hallway to the right—away from the ballrooms and dining rooms, toward what I hoped were the living quarters. Eight doors down, I crossed the hall and entered a room without any windows. An elaborately carved canopy bed loomed across from a large open fireplace. The hearth was spotless, no evidence of soot or ash. I stepped inside and looked up the chimney. All I saw was darkness.
As I ran my palms around the interior, the house shook from another supernatural collision. Small pieces of mortar fell onto my face. I needed to hurry.
About a foot above my head, concealed in the shadows of the flue, I discovered a single wooden beam jutting out about a foot from the back of the wall. I reached up on my tiptoes and felt the bottom of another beam slightly higher and to the right. Could it be some kind of ladder or crude staircase? I pushed at the bricks around me, hoping lower steps might magically appear to assist me. Nothing budged. I knew I was at the right place; I could feel it. I just had to get myself up.
I stood sideways against the wall, set my palms on the first plank, and jumped, trying to hoist my body onto it. I missed. My hip slammed into the bricks and I scraped to the floor.
I cursed at the ground. “How about a little help?” I called out to no one in particular. There was no answer. I realized ancestral memories might show me things, but they wouldn’t do things for me. I was on my own.
I looked around the room for something to drag into the fireplace to stand on, but decided against it; once I was up, it would give me away. I needed every second I could get if I was going to find my grandmother before Graham found me.
I rubbed my hands together to psyche myself up. I had to try to climb up even if it meant possibly bashing my face in. I wrapped my wrists around the higher post, did an awkward, painful pull-up, and swung my legs sideways. It worked. Once I caught my ankle on the bottom beam I was able to use that leverage to shift my weight and squirm up until I was standing on the narrow beam. I looked above. As I hoped, there were more posts anchored to the wall, spiraling up in front of me.