Saving Brie

        It took four minutes for her to hear about Aunt Molly’s hearing aid failure, cousin Leo’s stroke, and three scandals involving a throuple, a divorce, and a widow. Olive smiled, the forced kind that fooled strangers and screamed insincerity at people who knew you, and she bobbed her head in faux interest. Hand in hand with her boyfriend of four months, her knuckles took on a shade just darker than ivory. Cas didn’t flinch, and she gave him credit for it. Once, he squeezed her narrow fingers, but gave up at convincing her to ease up on the death grip through non-verbal cues.

              A girl, no older than six, ran up to them. It forced Cas to release her hand, and he scooped up the little girl in his arms. It made his shoulders flex under the dress shirt he’d picked up at the thrift store, and while he held the girl, she found herself alone in a sea of strangers. Happiness rolled off them like a perfume, overbearing and too fragrant. Boisterous laughter and drunken slurs danced in the air, and she was positive that was Uncle Barry’s hand on Heidi’s ass.

              No one offered her a drink, but Olive didn’t want one.

              The girl’s giggle drew her attention, and she found herself in a place where the world did not feel so foreign and all she needed to focus on was a smiling girl’s face. She had a dimple.

              “Hi Olive, I’m Brie! Like cheese! Everyone likes cheese!”

              The girl reached out and played with a strand of Olive’s dark hair, twisting it around her tiny finger. How could she not smile at the embodiment of innocence? A small and impressionable person, destined for greatness if her family didn’t knock her off her path, destroying her dreams, and…

              “It’s nice to meet you, Brie. Save me a dance, okay?”

              She skittered off for another hug the moment her feet touched the ground, this time from a man older with a crooked posture and jovial smile. Cas wrapped an arm around her, his full mouth pressed near her ear.

              “It won’t be so bad, Liv. I promise. And maybe, after everyone’s all drunk and distracted, you and me… we sneak off…”

It sounded wonderful. A romance novel’s obvious trajectory. The two young lovers would abscond to the dark corner, rip off their clothing and writhe within the shadows. Only, in her version, someone would—inevitably—walk in. She ran her fingers down his cheek.

              “Great first impressions, huh? Your new girlfriend necking in the corner while your family gets drunk on happiness. Why did you want me at this reunion?”

              For a moment, he paused. His arm dropped back to his side before he wrapped a hand around her chin, forcing it higher with the light pressure of his thumb. A shiver ran down her spine, and she could feel the goose bumps rising on her bare shoulder. She’d worn his favorite dress, the purple, strapless one.

              “Because—Olive Grace Levine, you are my woman, and I want you here,” Cas said.

              Each word drew him closer, their mouths nearly touching and his breath gentle across her lips. They parted without sound, her dark eyes vanishing behind a slow blink. It sent lush eyelashes aflutter across the rise of her cheeks. In that instant, it was only her and Cas, alone in the big and scary world. Ready to brave the challenges and find a place in the Big Apple.

              She lifted to her toes, one hand skimming along the firm line of his chest until it wrapped loosely around his forearm. It flexed, and she continued the caress upward, toward his shoulder. He’d once told her that Lacrosse made him tight, toned. She wasn’t sure she was going to avoid dragging him off into the darkness, maybe to a closet.

              Then someone screamed.

              She recognized the sound of Aunt Molly’s shrill voice, now high and frightened. The scent of charred fabric overwhelmed the small ballroom, scorched wires woven through the smell. Smoke billowed. A table overturned when the family panicked. Wide-eyed, across the room, Olive and Cas watched as every set of curtains fell prey to starved fire, devouring them as if doused with gasoline. Their sexual tension, the temptation to run away and grope and groan, vanished, and she feared they waited a moment too long.

              What were the protocols? She raced to the wall and pulled down on the fire alarm. Nothing happened. No flashing lights, no sprinklers. She could see them, waiting above their heads to fulfill their duties. Waiting to save them. The draperies continued to flare, consumed by licking flames in a race no one should win. They followed the ceiling, as it was ready to play the part in a depraved scene of destruction, in a planned scenario of death.

              “Casimir!”

              Olive’s voice barely carried, catching in her cough. Acrid black crafted a haze. Choking. Suffocating. Cas grabbed her from behind, and it was the first time she’d seen his eyes gleam with gold. Fear leapt into her throat, words impossible. His hand, fingers elongated into claws she’d never seen before, wove through her dark mane. Their eyes met, and she couldn’t look away. He growled, a sound that vibrated through every part of her body.

              The signs clicked. She’d been so stupid. So blind. He took a trip out of town each month. Cas’ agitation and temper turned unstable near the full moon. She’d once caught a text message before he turned the phone away: you’re sure she’ll make it? It made sense finally; the stories were about other people, and none of it mattered.

              “Save Brie,” he said, his natural baritone lost in the gravelly demand.

              The command held precedence over everything else, and all she could think about was saving the girl who introduced herself as a kind of cheese.

              “Brie!”

              Olive shoved Cas to the left; he was in her way. The smoke blanketed him, swallowed his broad body, and she barely registered that his shirt had ripped, exposing bulging muscles too big for the thrift store cotton shirt.

              She couldn’t find Brie until the kid launched at her, tears on her cheeks and hair catching on her lower lip. Olive scooped Brie into her arms, her head cradled against her shoulder. Every breath burned, and she dodged bodies on the way to the door. It didn’t move. Not an inch. What the hell was going on?

              Someone stepped in front of her, blocking a pale body with black eyes and fangs. Only after she’d seen it. Distant sirens throbbed somewhere too far off to help. Blood spattered across her cheek, and she kept Brie’s face buried in her neck. The smoke made it harder to breathe every second she stood within it. The room swayed, dimmed. Olive stumbled to her knee, but Cas’ voice reverberated in her head.

Save Brie.

              Her choice was reckless, but the more dangerous path was to stay in the room. Olive forced herself to her feet and kept moving, dragging a tablecloth and a pitcher of water off the table. It held none of the finesse a magician showed. She doused the cloth with the pitcher; it wrapped fully around both their bodies.

              It was foolish, but she sought the nearest window and hoped she had enough momentum to make it through the flaming drapes. Glass shattered, slicing across her cheek and raining down into her hair. Brie screamed, but all Olive could do was hold her tighter when they rolled onto the ground. She didn’t glance back; she couldn’t.

              The sounds of carnage filled the air. Snarls and growls, smoke and blood abundant and foul. She ditched the fiery tablecloth, held the child tight, and ran. She ran away from the sirens, lungs straining with each breath. Brie whimpered, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around Olive’s body. They both struggled, but they couldn’t stop. They could never stop.

              The apartment was more than fourteen blocks away. Clothing marred with soot, blood smeared down her cheek, and Brie’s dress had ripped somewhere along the way. The bus driver barely glanced at them, and she cradled the girl close to her. Brie sobbed, and she combed her fingers through her thick  curls. Olive wasn’t a mother, but she knew what she’d want from one. Neither could slow their pulse, and she could feel Brie’s in a gallop beside hers. She could break down later. Later, once Brie was safe.

              No one talked to them. The glances were enough. Olive tried to wipe away the blood, but it only made it worse. Still, no one said anything. Just another night in New York City.

              Save Brie.

              The drudgery of her apartment was on the fourth floor, and the elevator always had police tape in an X over the doors. Out of Order, it said. Every stair made her legs shake. Every breath hurt, and she imagined Brie’s inhalations were just as agonizing. She’d lost her bag in the fire, but she knew how to wriggle the doorknob just so to make the lock disengage.

              Only once they were inside, did Olive set the girl down. Brie sank to the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees and face buried in the crook it created.

              Olive could barely hear the child’s words.

              “I want my daddy,” Brie said.

              Olive startled. Eyes, gleaming gold, locked on her from across the room. Cas’ shirt hung in tatters from his torso and fangs dripped with saliva mixed with blood. She did not look away. She couldn’t. Olive remained still, not daring to move.

She stared at a monster.

              “Daddy?”

              Brie’s voice trembled, and the disheveled girl ran around Olive and flung herself into Casimir’s arms.