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And in the center of the ring was a pale, lifeless body. Wayren. Her long blond hair lay spread over her torso and on the ground, and her face was turned toward Victoria. Her eyes were closed, and she was not moving. Rearing back onto her knees, Victoria glanced behind her and could see nothing but faint shapes moving amid the blasting smoke. The blaze reached the ceiling, and when she looked up, she saw more shapes flitting and skittering through the tips of the flames like large bats or birds. The shapes were amorphous, yet more solid than the smoke and fog that continued to envelop her. The fire was too tall for her to try to jump over, or come down from the ceiling, even if she were able to get high enough amid those ugly black shadows. The only way to get to Wayren was through the blaze. Victoria pulled to her feet, unsheathing her sword. The wind continued to batter, tearing her hair from its braid and sending long locks flying into her face, and around her shoulders and torso. It flicked into the blue flames, caught, and sparked, sending Victoria stumbling back, struggling to stuff her loose hair down inside her shirt. The last thing she needed was for it to catch fire. When she’d subdued her curls as much as possible in the ferocious vortex, she stepped forward again and swung the sword, slicing it through the evil blaze to see if it would allow the metal to pass. As it swished through, cutting into the flames, something stunned the metal blade, and it vibrated in her hands. The trembling was so strong that she felt it all the way up her arms and into her torso. She swung again, and again the vibration caught hold, and this time a hot sizzle followed it, slamming into her body. Victoria stumbled back and stared at the flames, breathing heavily, wondering briefly if Max and Sebastian had followed her into the room, or if something had stopped them. She looked at Wayren again. The woman hadn’t moved, but Victoria didn’t think she was dead. If she’d been killed, why protect the body with this prison of fire? There’d be no need. She had to be alive and able to be saved. But how? How? In frustration, Victoria swiped her blade again, and this time, it was even harder to drive it through the fire. The wind nearly knocked her off her feet, and it blared in her ears, drowning out everything, even the crackle of flame. Her hair swirled again, coming loose from the collar of her shirt. The strength of the flames was increasing, incensed by her attempts to battle it. She had to make a choice. She had to get to Wayren, even if it meant going through the fire. And then she remembered that deep pocket of her trousers in which she carried a bottle of holy water. Pulling it out, she removed the cork and, still huddled near the floor, splashed a bit of the water up and into the flames. They hissed and leapt back, turning sunny yellow and cowering for the briefest of moments… then roaring back with a vengeance, angrier and louder and hotter. That was it. Victoria gathered herself up, holding the sword in front of her, and backed up several steps. She bumped into someone behind her, and his hands grabbed at her. She heard her name carried away on the wind, though it was shouted into her ear. “Wayren!” she yelled back, trying to make him-it was Sebastian-understand. She lifted up the bottle of water and shoved it into his face so he could see it, then turned away, knowing that the blaze was growing stronger with every moment of delay. Tearing away from him, she dashed through the thick, churning smoke and hurricane-force wind, splashing the entire contents of the bottle just as she leapt into the flames. The yellow lull allowed her to clear the flames and tumble onto the ground near Wayren, and the force of her jump sent her lurching into the woman’s legs. But the flames remained in their circle around them, and it was eerily quiet within the enclosure. Victoria scrambled over next to Wayren’s face and touched her cheek. It was warm, and she moved her hand along the woman’s neck to feel for a pulse. She felt nothing. Nothing . No.
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