Child of Fire by Harry Connolly Page B

the waitress said. “Anytime you want, you come back and have another burger. On me.”
    The cook turned on her. “What about my window?”
    She told him that’s what insurance was for, and the cook grumbled that all the different kinds of insurance in this town were going to put him in the gutter.
    I edged away from them and stepped up to Annalise. I could feel the ghost knife on her somewhere. Good. I didn’t want it to fall into just anyone’s hands, and I didn’t want to stick around here any longer.
    She held out her hand. “Keys,” she said. “You’re not driving my van until you wash your hands.”
    I hesitated, hoping she would offer me the ghost knife. She didn’t. I could feel that it was nearby, probably right in her pocket. I wondered how long she was going to keep it, because I sure couldn’t take it from her. I dug the keys from my pocket and gave them to her.
    There was a change in the noise behind me. I turned back toward the crime scene.
    New people had arrived, and Emmett Dubois was speaking with them. They were four men: one was very tall, very lean, and somewhere in his late fifties; beside him was a younger man, also tall, also lean, with a thick head of dark hair. Another was a short man with a shaved head, and the last was a fat man with long, graying hair. Dubois’s body language had altered. He didn’t look imposing. I only caught a glimpse of them before they moved out of view behind a parked van.
    Then I felt a twinge under my right collarbone. There was no wave of force this time, but I knew what that twinge meant. Another kid had caught fire somewhere.
    One of the men talking to Emmett Dubois fell to theground and flailed around. My view was partly blocked by the wheels and fender of the van, but I could see he was having a seizure. It was the tall young one with the dark hair.
    Dubois bent down to him. “Medic!” he shouted, his voice worried.
    “Let’s go,” Annalise said.
    “Look,” I told her. “At the same time that I felt the—”
    “I know. Let’s move.”
    She dragged me toward the van and drove away from the scene. I glanced back and saw the little reporter trying to climb back into the Dart. The officer was blocking his way.
    “Well?” Annalise said as we pulled into the street. There was very little traffic. Men walked down the street, guns in their hands. They didn’t look like citizens protecting their own. They swaggered and looked bored.
    I told Annalise what I’d learned from Harlan. I mentioned that he had a black mark on the floor of his home, too. Annalise asked a lot of questions I couldn’t answer, like where he lived and how old his kids had been. She didn’t like that I hadn’t gotten those answers, and his punctured lung wasn’t a good enough excuse.
    I knew she was just riding me, so I let it pass. I was too tired to be angry anyway.
    I said: “Sorry I didn’t get killed.”
    “There’s always next time,” she said.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Annalise drove around until we found a motel. She had to circle the block twice before she turned down the right street, but we got there eventually.
    It was a small place, one story, just a parking lot ringed by rooms, all their doors facing inward.
    My shirt was speckled with blood and my jacket had greasy black smears down the back. Annalise made me wait in the van while she rented our rooms. While I sat, I saw that one of the rooms had a black streak on the front walk. It came from under the door, turned forty-five degrees to cross the pavement, and disappeared at the muddy lot.
    That was interesting. Going that direction, the worms had to travel farther before they could tunnel into the earth than if they’d gone straight—at least ten feet farther. Were they being drawn toward something in the west? Maybe it was the Pacific.
    Annalise emerged with the room keys. Thankfully, I didn’t have the room with the black streak. “Clean up,” she said. “We’re getting an early start tomorrow.”
    She went