The Perfect Arrangement (The Not So Saintly Sisters #4) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,49

removed a handkerchief from his pocket and covered the metal lever that opened the door.

It was locked.

Unmindful of his own safety, he stepped back and kicked at the door. “Lillian!”

With a third kick, the door flew open and Christian could just barely make out the interior.

She could not be inside. No person could remain inside and live.

White, orange, yellow, and blue flames snaked across the floor, up the walls and licked at the ceiling.

Christian had no choice but to look for her. He couldn’t go on without her. At the same time, he was haunted by the words he’d promised his sister less than one hour ago.

“I won’t die.”

“Lillian!” Christian shouted and brushed at a spark that had landed on his jacket. He would not die. He could not. He would do everything in his power to find her though.

He would find her.

He could not die for her. He’d promised…

“Christian!” a voice sounded—so distant that at first, he thought he’d imagined it. He covered his mouth with the handkerchief. “I’m here! Christian! I’m here!”

He raised his hand to cover his eyes and ducked into the furnace.

The smoke was blinding. How could everything appear black when flames burned all around? “Lillian!” he shouted. Her voice had not been an apparition. “Where are you, love? “Lillian!”

“Up here!”

Christian did not give himself a chance to think as he quickly headed up the stairway. Everything on the upper level seemed hotter, more horrifying, more dangerous, and that was where Lillian’s voice had come from. She must be trapped… or injured.

He rushed forward, not considering that the flames dropping behind him might cut off their means of escape. He’d promised Bernadette he would live, and damn it, he would. But so would Lillian. If he could have faith one way, then he might as well be able to have faith in the other.

“Christian!”

“Lillian!” He followed her voice around the corner and startled when he nearly tripped over a massive suit of armor that had fallen over.

“Down here.” Although closer, her voice sounded weaker. The armor had toppled onto her, somehow.

Christian stepped across the fractured suit to where she lay on her back. Her hair and face were covered in soot, her eyes barely visible.

“Where is your mother?” He needed to know in case Lillian lost consciousness.

“She is across the street with one of the neighbors. She sent for me. My father’s writings. She was frantic. I needed to save them for her.” Her gaze flicked behind her and he could barely make out a spilled collection of papers that had burned, likely from the heat alone. “My gown caught on the sword. When I pulled at it, it fell over. It’s heavy, Christian and so very hot.” A large cracking sound punctuated her pain, and then a beam fell across the feet of the armor.

Christian reached into the shoulders of the suit and went to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. What the devil? It was attached to a heavy iron stand which was lodged beneath the fallen beam.

Unable to detach it and impatient to free Lillian, he moved to her opposite side and, crouching, tried again with the same disappointing result.

“It’s no use! Go! Bernadette needs you! Please, Christian.” She had turned her head. Her eyes were pinched shut, and tears streamed down her face.

The gleaming metal of the sword caught his eye. Ignoring her pleas, Christian determined what he would do to save them both, but he needed her help.

Dropping to his knees, he leaned over her, placed his hands on both sides of her face, and forced her to look at him.

“Lilian! Look at me.” She opened her eyes at his command. “I love you, and I’m not leaving without you. You and I are going to escape together, and we are both going to live.” He flicked his gaze to the armor laying on top of her. “The thing is, sweetheart, I’m going to need your help. Do you understand?”

She nodded, his words having calmed her somehow. “How?”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled grimly, aware of the flames growing hotter behind him and in front of him, but he managed to withdraw the sword from its sheath. Thank God.

“I’m going to wedge this under the suit and lift. Push up, and as soon as it loosens, pull yourself free. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded again.

“On three.” He created a fulcrum with one of the armor’s gloves and then lodged the sword beneath the torso. The metal burned his hand and