Darker Angels - By Daniel Abraham Page 0,84

go from the sense of power and freedom and safety of Legba's ward-breaking dance to this. I caught a glimpse of Aubrey near one clump of people, his arm raised to shield his eyes. He didn't react as I came near, not even to breathe.

I turned back toward the fire.

"Okay," I said, my voice no louder than a conversation between friends. "Thanks. I'm clear now."

A breath later, the world turned back on. The roar of the fire, the distant sirens, the assaulting smell of burning wood and spent explosives. I felt a tug at the back of my mind, like a kid yanking on her mother's sleeve, and I knew that Legba- the Legba that had lived in Amelie Glapion-was gone. Aubrey shifted to the side, squinting into the fire.

"Hey," I said.

He yelped, whirled, and then scooped me up in a bear hug that made me yelp right back.

"Ribs! Watch the ribs!"

"Right," he said. "Sorry. But you're out. You got out. Daria, she collapsed. I mean, I think she's okay now, but I had to carry her out. I saw you going after Amelie, and then I didn't see you go past, so I thought you were still... I thought..."

"Guess that was kind of dangerous," I said. I felt disconnected. Like the world was still at one remove, and I was still moving through the crossroads. "I didn't really think about it."

"What about Amelie?"

"She didn't make it," I said. "She's gone."

Aubrey didn't answer. At the far end of the street, a fire truck arrived, its lights flashing and its siren clearing the path of onlookers. Another police cruiser was behind it, then two, then five and an ambulance. The city of New Orleans had arrived at the crisis. They were on it. I crossed my arms and watched, unable to offer anything but moral support. Slowly, like I was waking from a dream, human concerns started to occur to me.

"Chogyi Jake," I said. "He was..."

"He's down there with the others."

I looked where he pointed. Down the block, a small cluster of people had set up a kind of ad-hoc relief station. Two people lay on the sidewalk, three others standing or squatting beside them. Chogyi Jake was sitting on the curb, someone's jacket wrapping his hips. Daria Glapion stood beside him looking back at us. Even from half a block down, the fire reflected in her eyes.

"Come on," I said.

The police, reinforced by the newly arrived squad cars, pushed the crowd further back and the firefighters rushed in. Chogyi Jake looked up at me and smiled wearily.

"Not the evening we had in mind," he said.

"No joke," I said and sat down beside the girl.

Daria didn't turn toward me. Her eyes were fixed on the pyre, tears flowing down her stark, impassive cheeks. I sat with her in silence for a minute. The firefighters pulled a long hose that looked like canvas up to the fire. With shouts and hand signals, the water started, spraying out into the flames. The smoke thickened.

"I'm sorry," I said.

The little girl nodded.

"I would have saved her if I could," I said. "But your grandmother was already gone when I got to her."

"I know," Daria said.

The matter-of-fact tone of voice together with the pain in her eyes, the bravery of her composure, was heartbreaking. I wanted to put my arm around the girl, to scoop her up and hold her and let her cry, but her dignity seemed to forbid it. Here was a child not even in high school. She had seen her city assaulted, had lost her mother, her brother, now her grandmother, and all she had left in the world was a sister who...

A sister.

"Where's Sabine?" I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "Who's got Sabine?"

"I couldn't find her," Aubrey said, shaking his head. "She was already gone."

Chogyi Jake and Daria turned to me in silence.

"Well, fuck," I said.

"SHE MAY be with Mfume. Or Inond茅, wherever he is," Aubrey said. "We don't know for certain that Karen got her."

I'd rented us a room in the same hotel we'd stayed at when we had first come to New Orleans. Chogyi Jake was in the bathroom, showering off the last of the voodoo markings from his skin. Daria was sitting on the crisp, white linen sheets looking out the open French doors to the patio and the darkened courtyard beyond it. Aubrey couldn't stop moving, pacing, rapping his knuckles on the walls and tables as he passed them, and I was sitting in a

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