A Tale of 3 Witches by Barbra Annino, Christiana Miller
Authors: Barbra Annino, Christiana Miller
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barrel. I lost my footing, scrambling for anything to sustain a landing. My arm caught the edge of the brass foot rail as I went down -- the searing pain instant and vicious.
Then I saw him.
My recently adopted Great Dane was wedged between the keg that toppled me, and another, set close to the bar. We hadn't had a chance to hook them up before the fire erupted.
"Thor! Come!" The desperation in my voice shook me to the core.
His rear end was wiggling while the kegs blocked him like linebackers. I couldn't figure out what was holding him there. My eyes flashed to the front entrance of the bar. The flames hadn't reached it yet, but I was certain we had minutes, maybe only seconds to escape.
Sirens screamed not far off.
I flopped on my belly and skidded quickly to Thor, ignoring the burn. I managed to get my head around the first keg. The dog's eyes met mine, pleading with me not to leave him there. Not to let him die as waves of heat threatened his long, tan tail.
The foot rest was ornamental and one of the decorative loops had reached out and snagged Thor's dog tag.
"Hang on, buddy." I heard another whistling sound and looked up. A second beam had caught a spark.
Thor whimpered.
My fingers crawled around the keg to grab the tag, but my arm wasn't long enough.
Thor yanked his head back, the muscles in his huge neck bulging as if they would burst right through his fur. The tag bent beneath his force, but he didn't have enough leverage to move his head or I was sure that collar would have broken apart. It wouldn't have been the first one that couldn't contain Thor.
I sure hoped it wouldn't be the last.
With one good arm, I shoved at the first keg, hoping for enough room to free him.
It wouldn't budge.
The sirens screeched closer.
Or was that Thor, wailing?
The bottle opener! It was in my back pocket and it might get me just enough length to lift that stupid tag over the brass.
Just as an ugly orange flame crept closer to Thor, I heard a familiar voice.
"Stacy!" Leo yelled and a bottle burst.
Then another.
I kicked my foot. "Down here! Help me get Thor!"
Leo covered me with a tarp and yanked me back by my ankles as Thor howled like a wolf beneath a full moon.
"Get out!" Leo yelled and grabbed his utility knife. To cut the nylon collar, I guessed. There was no time for that.
I grabbed the gun from his holster and fired three shots into the far keg. Beer shot up, then showered down on the bar, my dog and the floor. It was enough liquid to set the flames at bay.
Leo shoved the first keg out of the way and cut the collar off Thor. The three of us sprinted from the Black Opal, spilling onto the street where a crowd had already gathered.
Leo grabbed his gun from my hand and guided me through the red, white, and blue lights -- a rare sight in the tiny tourist town where we lived. Firefighters zigzagged across Main Street, hosing down the nineteenth century building as volunteers ran around asking how they could help.
It was late afternoon in February, but I wasn't cold. We headed to Leo's police cruiser and I leaned against it, coughing out a sigh as he handed me a towel to wipe my face.
We stood there for a moment in silence and I felt a lecture coming.
"Are you crazy?" he finally asked.
I looked at him, pointedly. "Don't call me crazy. You know that drives me nuts."
Leo set his incredibly sexy, always-stubbly jaw line.
"You could have been killed," he said in a low voice.
"But I wasn't, so let it go." I was too pumped with adrenaline to let my guard down. Had I stopped and thought about what might have happened . . . I shivered at the possibilities.
Leo ran his fingers through his thick black hair and sighed. He pulled me into him and rubbed my shoulders. I flinched as my arm met his leather jacket and he stood back to examine it. He snapped his fingers and an EMT promptly said, "Sure, chief," and shoved an oxygen mask in my face.
Leo is my boyfriend and chief of police of Amethyst, Illinois, where the
Then I saw him.
My recently adopted Great Dane was wedged between the keg that toppled me, and another, set close to the bar. We hadn't had a chance to hook them up before the fire erupted.
"Thor! Come!" The desperation in my voice shook me to the core.
His rear end was wiggling while the kegs blocked him like linebackers. I couldn't figure out what was holding him there. My eyes flashed to the front entrance of the bar. The flames hadn't reached it yet, but I was certain we had minutes, maybe only seconds to escape.
Sirens screamed not far off.
I flopped on my belly and skidded quickly to Thor, ignoring the burn. I managed to get my head around the first keg. The dog's eyes met mine, pleading with me not to leave him there. Not to let him die as waves of heat threatened his long, tan tail.
The foot rest was ornamental and one of the decorative loops had reached out and snagged Thor's dog tag.
"Hang on, buddy." I heard another whistling sound and looked up. A second beam had caught a spark.
Thor whimpered.
My fingers crawled around the keg to grab the tag, but my arm wasn't long enough.
Thor yanked his head back, the muscles in his huge neck bulging as if they would burst right through his fur. The tag bent beneath his force, but he didn't have enough leverage to move his head or I was sure that collar would have broken apart. It wouldn't have been the first one that couldn't contain Thor.
I sure hoped it wouldn't be the last.
With one good arm, I shoved at the first keg, hoping for enough room to free him.
It wouldn't budge.
The sirens screeched closer.
Or was that Thor, wailing?
The bottle opener! It was in my back pocket and it might get me just enough length to lift that stupid tag over the brass.
Just as an ugly orange flame crept closer to Thor, I heard a familiar voice.
"Stacy!" Leo yelled and a bottle burst.
Then another.
I kicked my foot. "Down here! Help me get Thor!"
Leo covered me with a tarp and yanked me back by my ankles as Thor howled like a wolf beneath a full moon.
"Get out!" Leo yelled and grabbed his utility knife. To cut the nylon collar, I guessed. There was no time for that.
I grabbed the gun from his holster and fired three shots into the far keg. Beer shot up, then showered down on the bar, my dog and the floor. It was enough liquid to set the flames at bay.
Leo shoved the first keg out of the way and cut the collar off Thor. The three of us sprinted from the Black Opal, spilling onto the street where a crowd had already gathered.
Leo grabbed his gun from my hand and guided me through the red, white, and blue lights -- a rare sight in the tiny tourist town where we lived. Firefighters zigzagged across Main Street, hosing down the nineteenth century building as volunteers ran around asking how they could help.
It was late afternoon in February, but I wasn't cold. We headed to Leo's police cruiser and I leaned against it, coughing out a sigh as he handed me a towel to wipe my face.
We stood there for a moment in silence and I felt a lecture coming.
"Are you crazy?" he finally asked.
I looked at him, pointedly. "Don't call me crazy. You know that drives me nuts."
Leo set his incredibly sexy, always-stubbly jaw line.
"You could have been killed," he said in a low voice.
"But I wasn't, so let it go." I was too pumped with adrenaline to let my guard down. Had I stopped and thought about what might have happened . . . I shivered at the possibilities.
Leo ran his fingers through his thick black hair and sighed. He pulled me into him and rubbed my shoulders. I flinched as my arm met his leather jacket and he stood back to examine it. He snapped his fingers and an EMT promptly said, "Sure, chief," and shoved an oxygen mask in my face.
Leo is my boyfriend and chief of police of Amethyst, Illinois, where the
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