Embers Read Online Free PDF Page A

the walls, like a candle behind an ice cube.

    Something was there. She could hear it breathing. She smelled something burning, could taste carbon and ozone in the air. She inhaled the warmth deep in her lungs, and it seemed that breath filled up the cold void, the bottomless black hole that devoured the spirits she touched.

    For the first time, that hole in her chest was full. Warm.

    The thing in the cave bellowed with a roar that shook ice fragments from the ceiling and cracked the ice underfoot. Anya clamped her hands over her ears to block the terrible howl that sounded like the end of the world. . .

    . . . and the howl dissipated into the ringing of a phone.

    Anya rolled over, disentangling herself from Sparky’s webbed foot in her mouth, and snatched the phone on her nightstand.

    “Hello.”

    “Lieutenant Kalinczyk? It’s Captain Marsh.”

    Anya stared blearily at her clock. It was still an hour before she had to get up. It was not a good thing for Marsh to be calling her at home.

    “What’s up?”

    “We’ve got another burn site for you to look at. We’re cooling it down now.”

    “How bad is it?” She cradled the phone on her shoulder, scrabbled for a pen. Sparky snagged the phone cord and gnawed on it. Anya shoved him away and he retreated under the covers, sulking. The Gloworm blinked under the covers like a neon sign in the red light district.

    Marsh paused. “One of our guys got hurt. Beam fell on him.”

    “Who is it?” Her heart thumped under her ribs. It might be someone she knew.

    “It was Neuman from Ladder Company Eight. He’s at the burn unit at Detroit Receiving Hospital now.”

    Anya blew out her breath. It was no one she knew personally. But now that the fire had taken blood, blood from the Department, all resources would be brought to bear on the offender. “Got any firebugs in custody?”

    “We’re holding a security guard for you to question.”

    Anya scribbled down the address. The address was a warehouse a few blocks from the river, south of Vernor Avenue. The area was industrial, likely to be deserted in the early hours of the morning—a perfect target.

    She hung up and flipped the covers back.

    “Sparky. Up.”

    Sparky yawned, plodded up her arm, and dangled around her neck like a sloth before he shrank and melted into her collar.

    Anya pulled on a pair of black dress pants and a black turtleneck. As an arson investigator, she was rarely required to wear a uniform, but there was no point in owning dry-clean-only clothes or clothes that showed stains in her profession. Her closet had dwindled to a sea of black, brown, and gray pants, sweaters, and jackets. It suited her well; she disliked being the center of attention.

    Anya tied up her long hair in a knot at the nape of her neck, then checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She swiped on a bit of copper-colored lipstick—the only concession to a professional appearance she had time for—snatched her coat, and bolted out the door into the cold gray dawn, dreading what she might find at the scene.

    The damage had been worse than she’d thought.

    The entire block had been cordoned off with police tape. Wending her green 1972 Dodge Dart through the clotted fire trucks, police cars, and utility company vehicles to the scene was like attempting to find parking for a tank at a theme park on a summer weekend. The street was wet from leaking fire hoses and the smell of chemical foam and char was sharp in the air.

    Under the pink light of dawn, Anya rounded the corner to the target building. It had formerly been a warehouse, probably constructed just after the turn of the century, blackened brick pierced with sixteen-pane windows. Decades of ever-widening roads had encroached upon the property; the facade sat nearly on the sidewalk, the front door only steps from the street. Anya noted that there should have been four high stories, but the top two had collapsed in. The mass of blackened cinders that had