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Cole paced back and forth in front of the long bank of windows, his agitation having driven the children from the gathering room long since. The last student out had shut off the television, but the room was littered with interrupted games and art projects. No doubt someone was watching around a corner in case he left, taking his negative energy with him.
Stopping in a thin shaft of late spring sunlight, he stared at the garden outside the window without really seeing it. "I should never have let her go alone."
"She isn't alone."
Cole whipped around to find Imogen standing in the archway, a sympathetic half-smile on her lips.
"She has Sasha with her, and Boros."
Cole snorted. "Fat lot of good Boros will do her, if he won't fight at her side. And Sasha is good in a fight, but against a demon?" He shook his head. "I have a bad feeling about this."
Imogen straightened away from the door frame and came into the room, pausing here and there to tidy things. He noticed she didn't put any of the games away, just gathered empty glasses and plumped cushions. "Do you get those feelings a lot?" she asked.
"No, I'm not prone to them, but they are always accurate, so I tend to listen when they show up." He turned back to the window, focusing his attention on the swaying of the trees. He was supposed to be on watch, so he'd better be doing his job.
Ryleigh ran into the room, auburn curls flying, alarm written large across her features. "Imps," she cried breathlessly. "In the back. They're breaking—"
The sharp crash of glass shattering interrupted her. A child's scream echoed down from the dormitory, sending Cole running for the stairs. "I'll get the kids who are upstairs," he yelled as he went. "You two gather whoever is downstairs and meet me in the garage."
"Kitchen," Imogen called, already moving in that direction.
"Classrooms," Ryleigh replied. She paused in the doorway. "Be careful. I love you."
Imogen turned briefly. "You too, my love."
The two separated, each determined to reach their charges before the imps did.
Imogen ran through the empty dining room. The tables were set for lunch, but the students hadn't come in yet. Sunlight streamed in through the floor to ceiling windows along the south wall, brightening the room. The food hadn't been brought out yet, but the serving table on the west wall in front of the kitchen held plates and silver sets, as well as chafing dishes to keep the food warm.
On the north wall, a display of student artwork occupied two long, narrow tables. Framed paintings from the older students hung on the walls above them, while a variety of clay pots and statues were proudly arranged on the tables themselves — all part of the school's desire to give students a well-rounded education that included the arts as well as academic subjects.
The scent of baking bread drifted through the air, but the space was unnaturally quiet, the usual banging of pans and clatter of cutlery absent. Normally, staff would be hustling about, laying out drinks and condiments, laughing and joking as they completed the work.
Imogen cast her gaze over the room, looking for a weapon. The dining room was built for eating, not fighting, and the pickings were slim. Her eyes rested on a statue of Artemis in the art collection. A bare two-feet tall, the figure was slender and athletic, the drape of the goddess' clothing surprisingly realistic. Imogen recognized Georgina's work in the slope of the white-glazed shoulders and the precision with which she'd molded the face.
Startled, she recognized her own features in the statue's countenance. Georgina had used her as a model without Imogen even being aware of it.
She slid a protective hand over her abdomen, taking care to make no noise as she inched toward the swinging doors that led into the kitchen area. There were knives on the serving table. She'd get one of those.
"Leave him alone!" The command came at top volume, and Imogen recognized Georgina's voice. "He's not but a lad and no use to you. Leave him be!"
A bong reverberated through the air, followed by a high-pitched squeal.
"Oh goddess," Imogen breathed. "She's belted someone with the kettle."
The doors flew open as pandemonium broke out in the kitchen. As the doors swung back, Imogen saw pans and crockery flying. An imp tumbled into the dining room, arse over cranium. He landed on his feet and stood swaying for a moment, his eyes bleary and unfocused.
He clambered to his feet, rubbing head and posterior both. Finally, he looked up and caught sight of Imogen. A grin split his round face.
"Hey, boys! I found her!"
Four imps rushed into the room, each sporting a bruise or a cut. The five fanned out in a half circle, and Imogen backed up to keep them from surrounding her. She bumped against the art table, pressing her hands to its white top to steady herself. Her fingers brushed against something slender and heavy, and she wrapped them around it, keeping her hands out of sight.
The imps took a step together, lessening the distance between them and their prey. Georgina and Nate pushed through the swinging doors.
"Here! Leave her alone, ya bunch of ballbegs! Can't ya see she's got a babe coming?" Nate hollered.
"All's fair, lad," the lead imp snarled. "Mistress says bring her, we bring her, babe or no."
"We'll see about that." Georgina hefted a cast iron frying pan.
The first imp rubbed his head, eyeing the girl resentfully. "There'll be none of that, mind," it said. "Or it's dead you'll be. Here and now."
I have to get the children out of here, Imogen thought. Imps weren't all that formidable as opponents, but they were utterly without scruples. Killing a child would mean nothing to them if it meant staying in their mistress' good graces.
"Georgina, Nate, out the back now," Imogen said. "Find Ryleigh and tell her about our guests."
"I'm not leaving you!" Georgina and Nate said in unison.
Georgina turned to the boy. "Someone has to get Miss Ryleigh. You're faster than I am and better at—"
"You ain't going nowhere, neither of you!" the lead imp snarled. "Brack, Trex, grab 'em!"
"Run," Imogen shouted. Swinging the object in her hand like a club, she slammed it into the closest imp's head with a resounding crack. The statue was hard as rock, and the imp collapsed as Imogen swung again, this time at the leader.
The three-foot-six imp ducked, letting the statue skim past the top of his head. Eyes wide, he stuck two skinny fingers between his lips and piped a shrill note into the air. "Ya didn't think we was alone, did ya?" He grinned maliciously as two more imps ran in.
"Is that all you've got?" Imogen taunted. "I think you are in for a big surprise."
"Naw," the imp said. "I got one for you, though."
Three more imps entered through the kitchen, catching Georgina between them and the first group. Nate was nowhere to be seen.
This was bad. One on one, imps weren't much of a threat, but ten to two was poor odds. Luckily, they only had to hold the enemy off until help arrived. She and Georgina could do that. She hoped.
"Now might be a good time, Georgina," Imogen said.
A feral grin tilted the girl's lips and she set the skillet on the table. "Keep them off me for two minutes?"
That was a fast shift, even for a leopard, but spotted fur was already sprouting along the girl's neck and hands. Imogen nodded. With a cry, she hefted the statue over her head and charged the nearest imp.
"Hey!" he hollered, scrambling to get out of her way. The others watched as she chased him, but didn't follow or intervene.
Perhaps they hadn't expected a frontal assault from a pregnant female. Fools.
Imogen reached out an arm and caught one of them a smack in the ear as she passed. The creature howled, doubling over and clutching the injured part.
"Don't let her shift," the leader yelled.
"How will you stop me?" The question ended in a snarl and the leader screamed, turning to run as a streak of gold and black velvet bounded after him. The leopard pounced, catching the imp between her massive paws. The imps took off, four of them running straight for Imogen.
Three bounded after Georgina, tackling the leopard shifter to the ground, fists pummeling as she slashed at them, sending first one, then another stumbling backward, bleeding.
The leader lunged at her, grabbing the big cat’s throat in his gnarled hands.
"Georgie!" Billy burst into the room, tears streaking his cheeks, his red curls floating around his head in a glowing halo. "Get off her!"
He raised his hands, incandescence glowing around his fingers, spreading along his arms and down his body until he was encased in fire, a living, breathing flame. The lead imp took one look and jumped off Georgina. “Hold her,” he yelled at his men and they scurried toward the recovering leopard.
“I said, leave off!” Billy pulled back a fist.
"Billy, no!" Imogen yelled, but it was already too late. The boy thrust out a hand, shooting a stream of fire at Georgina's attackers. The flames landed, and the imps screamed, running as the stench of burning flesh filled the air.
He was only ten — a baby in elemental terms — too young to be in full control once the fire took over.
The floor he stood on smoldered, caught. Two of the burning imps rolled into the drapes and flames shot upward. Smoke filled the air.
"Georgina, get out," Imogen cried. "Help Ryleigh evacuate the building." With a glance at Billy, the leopard obeyed, taking a swipe that sent the last fleeing imp flying as she ran out the back.
Imogen ran toward Billy, stopping a few feet away. "Billy," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "Pull it in. You have to. The imps are gone. We're safe."
"I can't. It's too late." Fiery tears coursed down his cheeks. "I just wanted to keep you and Georgie safe, but I killed them."
Imogen glanced at the two lumps of burning flesh against the south wall. She sincerely hoped they were dead. "You did the right thing, Billy. They were trying to kill Georgina. You protected her. There was no choice."
He turned burning eyes on her, his body reforming slowly in the midst of a column of fire. "Are you sure?" The column shrank into him, bit by bit.
She wanted to pull him to her and comfort him with a hug, but flames still danced around his fingers, and his hair remained a halo of fire. "I'm sure," she said, willing her voice to a steadiness she didn't feel.
Billy cooled, his appearance settling back into that of a regular, red-headed boy. She reached out and took his hand, finding it fever-hot, but not burning. Glancing around the room, she knew Trócaire House might be doomed. The dining room and kitchen were alight – beyond the help of a single fire extinguisher, even if they could reach the one in the kitchen. The other rooms would catch if the firemen didn't arrive soon.
"Come on," she said. "We need to get out of here."
They hurried into the foyer.
A loud thump resounded, and Billy toppled to the floor, the lead imp standing over him, bony fists clenched. "That's for frying my mates," he said.
"Billy!" Dropping to his side, Imogen gently turned the unconscious boy onto his back. She checked his pulse and found it strong. "You bastard!" She lunged at the imp and he backpedaled.
"Now," he yelped.
Four of his minions tackled her, throwing ropes around her as she struggled. Trussing her tightly, they lifted her and trotted out the front door, leaving Billy where he lay.
