Walking off the court, Scott slapped his back.
“It’s over,” he said. “We’re on fire today, so let Tyson and Landry bring it on!”
Tyson and Landry, a pair of eighteen-year-olds from Hermosa Beach, California, were the dominant junior team in the world. A year ago, they’d ranked eleventh in the world overall, which would have been good enough to represent virtually every other country in the Olympic Games. They’d been playing together since they were twelve years old and hadn’t lost so much as a game in two years. Scott and Will had met them only once before in last year’s semifinal of the same tournament, and they’d walked off the court with their tails between their legs. They hadn’t even made a game of it.
But today was a different story: They won the first game by three points; Tyson and Landry won the next game by exactly the same margin; and in the final game, they found themselves tied at seven.
Will had been outside in the sun for nine hours. Despite the liters of water and Gatorade he’d consumed, the sun and heat should have worn him down at least a little, and maybe it had. But he didn’t feel it. Not now. Not when he realized they actually had a chance to win the whole thing.
They had the serve—always a disadvantage in beach volleyball, since points were scored with every volley and the team returning the serve had the chance to set and spike the ball—but Scott sent a knuckleball serve over the net that forced Tyson out of position. Tyson was able to reach the ball in time, but he sent it flying in the wrong direction. Landry charged and somehow got his hand on the ball, but that only made matters worse; it soared into the crowd, and Will knew it would be at least another minute until the ball was back in play. When that happened, he and Scott would be leading by a point.
As usual, he turned first toward Ronnie and saw her wave at him; then, facing the other set of bleachers, he smiled and nodded at his family. Beyond them on the pier, he could see the crowd packed in the area closest to the courts, but it was clear just a little farther away. He wondered about that until he saw a fireball arc through the air.
The score was tied at twelve when it happened.
The ball had soared into the crowd again, this time because of Scott, and as Will returned to his spot on the court, he found himself gazing up at the pier, because he knew Marcus was there.
The fact that Marcus was so close made him tense with the same anger he’d felt the night before.
He knew he should let it go, just as Megan had advised him. He knew he shouldn’t have troubled her with the whole story last night; it was her wedding, after all, and his parents had booked a suite at the historic Wilmingtonian Hotel for her and Daniel. But she’d insisted, and he’d unburdened himself. Though she didn’t criticize his decision, he knew she’d been disappointed that he’d remained silent about Scott’s crime. She’d been unequivocally supportive this morning nonetheless, and as he waited for the referee to blow his whistle, he knew he was playing as much for his sister as for himself.
On the pier, he caught sight of fireballs dancing in the air; the crowd had cleared near the railing, and he could just make out Teddy and Lance break-dancing as usual. What surprised him was the sight of Blaze juggling the fireballs with Marcus. She would catch one, then send it flying back toward Marcus. To Will’s eye, the fireballs were moving back and forth faster than usual. Blaze was retreating slowly, probably trying to slow things down, until her back finally hit the railing of the pier.
The jolt probably made her lose concentration, even as the fireballs continued to fly her way, because she misjudged the trajectory of one of them and ended up catching it against her shirt. With another fireball following quickly, she reached for that one while pinning the former to her body. Within seconds, the front of her shirt became a sheet of fire, fueled by excess lighter fluid.
Panicking, she tried to bat out the flames, obviously forgetting that she still held the fireball…
A moment later, her hands were on fire as well, and her screams drowned out all other noise in the stadium. The crowd surrounding the fire show must have been in shock, because no one made a move toward her. Even from a distance, Will could see the flames consuming her like a cyclone.
Instinctively, he sprinted off the court, racing through the sand toward the pier. Feeling his feet slip, he lifted his knees to increase his speed, Blaze’s screams splitting the air.
He barreled through the crowd, zigzagging from one opening to the next and quickly reaching the steps; he took them three at a time, grabbing hold of one of the pilings so he wouldn’t slow down, then whipped around as soon as he’d reached the pier.
He shoved through the crowd, unable to see Blaze until he reached the clearing. By then, a man was squatting beside her writhing, screaming figure; there was no sign of Marcus or Teddy or Lance…
Will stopped short at the sight of Blaze’s shirt, melted into her raw, blistered skin. She was sobbing and screaming incoherently now, yet no one around her seemed to have the slightest idea what to do next.
Will knew he had to do something. An ambulance would take at least fifteen minutes to get across the bridge and over to the beach, even without the massive crowd. When Blaze cried out in agony once more, he bent over and scooped her gently into his arms. His truck was close by; he’d been one of the first to arrive in the morning, and he began carrying her in that direction. Stunned at what they’d just witnessed, no one tried to stop him.
Blaze was fading in and out of consciousness, and he moved as fast as he could, careful not to jolt her unnecessarily. Ronnie came bounding up the steps as he was carrying Blaze past; he had no idea how she’d been able to get down from the bleachers and reach him so fast, but he was relieved to see her.
“The keys are on the back tire!” he shouted. “We need to stretch her out on the backseat—and when we’re driving, call the emergency room and tell them we’re on our way so they can be expect us!”
Ronnie raced ahead to the truck and was able to get the door open before Will arrived. It wasn’t easy to maneuver Blaze into the seat, but they managed it, and then Will jumped behind the wheel. Peeling out, he floored it for the hospital, already certain he was going to violate a few dozen traffic laws along the way.
The emergency room at the hospital was packed. Will was seated near the door, staring out into the darkening evening. Ronnie sat beside him. His parents, along with Megan and Daniel, had shown up briefly but had left hours earlier.
In the past four hours, Will had told the story multiple times to countless different people, including Blaze’s mom, who was in the back with Blaze now. When she’d rushed into the waiting room, Will had clearly seen the raw fear written on her face before one of the nurses had led her away.
Aside from learning that she’d been rushed into surgery, Will hadn’t heard anything yet. The night stretched out ahead of them, but he couldn’t imagine leaving. His memories kept taking him back to how she’d looked when they sat beside each other in third grade and then forward to the image of the ravaged creature he’d carried in his arms earlier that day. She was a stranger now, but she’d been a friend once, and that was enough for him.
He wondered if the police would come back. They’d arrived with his parents, and he’d told them what he knew, but they’d been more interested in why he’d brought Blaze to the hospital instead of allowing the paramedics to do so. Will had been truthful—he hadn’t remembered they were on-site, and he could see she needed to get to the hospital immediately—and thankfully, they’d understood that. He thought he’d even seen Officer Johnson nod slightly, and Will had the sense that in the same situation, Officer Johnson would have done the same thing.
Every time the door beyond the nurses’ station opened, Will searched for one of the nurses who’d been there to receive Blaze. In the car, Ronnie had somehow been able to get through to the hospital, and a trauma team was waiting; within a minute, Blaze was on a gurney and being led away. It was almost ten minutes before either he or Ronnie could think of anything to say to each other. Instead they sat motionless, holding hands, trembling at the memory of Blaze screaming in the truck.
The hospital door opened again, and Will recognized Blaze’s mom as she walked toward them.
Both Will and Ronnie stood. When she was close, Will could see the tension lines around her mouth.
“One of the nurses told me you were still out here. I wanted to come down to thank you for what you did.”
Her voice cracked, and Will swallowed, realizing his throat had gone dry.
“Is she going to be okay?” he managed to croak out.
“I don’t know yet. She’s still in surgery.” Blaze’s mom focused on Ronnie. “I’m Margaret Conway. I don’t know if Galadriel ever mentioned me.”
“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Conway.” Ronnie gently reached out to touch her arm.
The woman sniffed, trying and failing to stay composed. “I am, too,” she began. Her voice became more ragged as she went on. “I told her a hundred times to stay away from Marcus, but she just wouldn’t listen, and now my little girl—”
She broke off, unable to contain her sobs. Will watched, paralyzed, as Ronnie stepped forward to hold her, both of them crying in each other’s arms.
As Will drove the streets of Wrightsville Beach, everything stood out in glittering focus. He was driving fast but knew he could drive even faster. In a split-second glance, he was able to notice details that ordinarily would have escaped him: the soft, misty halo around the streetlamps, an overturned garbage can in the alley beside the Burger King, the small dent near the license plate of a cream-colored Nissan Sentra.
Beside him, Ronnie was watching him anxiously but hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t asked where they were going, but she didn’t have to. As soon as Blaze’s mom had left the waiting room, Will had stood without a word and stalked furiously back to the truck. Ronnie had followed and climbed into the passenger seat.
Up ahead, the traffic light turned yellow, but instead of slowing the car, Will floored it. The engine revved and the truck shot forward, toward Bower’s Point.
He knew the quickest route and navigated the turns easily; leaving the business district, the truck roared past quiet oceanfront homes. The pier was next, and then Ronnie’s house; he didn’t so much as slow down. Instead, he pushed the truck to the limits of safety.
Next to him, Ronnie was holding on to the handgrip as he made the final turn into a gravel parking lot almost hidden by the trees. The truck skidded to a halt on the gravel as Ronnie finally found the nerve to speak.
“Please don’t do this.”
Will heard her and knew what she wanted, but he hopped out of the truck anyway. Bower’s Point wasn’t far. Accessed only by the beach, it lay just around the corner, a couple of hundred meters past the lifeguard stand.
Will broke into a jog. He knew Marcus would be here; he felt it. He began to run flat out, images flashing through his mind: the fire at the church, the night at the carnival, the way he’d grabbed Ronnie by the arms… and Blaze, going up in flames.
Marcus hadn’t tried to help her. He’d run away when she needed him, when she could have died.
Will didn’t care what might happen to him. He didn’t care what might happen to Scott. He was beyond that now. This time, Marcus had gone too far. As he rounded the corner, he spotted them in the distance, seated on pieces of driftwood around a small campfire.
Fire. Fireballs. Blaze…
He sped up, steeling himself for what was coming next. He drew close enough to make out the empty beer bottles scattered around the fire, but he knew that the darkness prevented them from seeing him.
Marcus was raising a bottle of beer to his lips as Will lowered his shoulder and slammed into him from the back, just below his neck. He felt Marcus’s back whiplash under the impact, the only sound a painful gasp as Will drove him forward into the sand.
Will knew he had to move quickly, in order to reach Teddy before he or his brother could react. The sight of Marcus suddenly being driven to the ground seemed to paralyze them, though, and after Will drove a knee into Marcus’s back, he lunged toward Teddy, his legs moving like pistons, driving him back over the driftwood. Will landed on top of Teddy, but instead of using his fists, he reared back and slammed his forehead down onto Teddy’s nose.
He felt it crunch as it was flattened under the impact. Will rose quickly, ignoring the sight of Teddy rolling on the ground, hands to his face and blood spurting between his fingers, his screams partially muffled by the sound of him gagging.
Lance was already on the move and charging as Will took one large step back, keeping his distance. Lance was almost on him and going low when Will suddenly drove his knee upward, feeling as it connected with Lance’s face. Lance’s head whipped back and he was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Two down, one to go.
By then, Marcus was staggering to his feet. He grabbed a piece of driftwood and backed away as Will moved forward. But the last thing Will wanted was for Marcus to be able to position his feet before swinging. Will charged. Marcus swung the wood, but the strike was weak and Will batted it aside before smashing into Marcus’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, locking them and lifting, using the momentum to drive Marcus back. It was a picture-perfect football tackle, and Marcus was slammed onto his back.
Will brought his full weight down on top of Marcus, and as he’d done with Teddy, he head-butted Marcus as hard as he could.
He felt the same crunching of bone, but this time he didn’t stop there. Instead, he smashed Marcus with his fist. He hit him again and again, giving in to the rage, unleashing his fury at the impotence he’d felt ever since the fire. He hit Marcus in the ear, then hit his ear again. Marcus’s screams only enraged him further. He swung again, this time aiming for the nose he’d already broken—when suddenly he felt someone seize his arm.