“There you are. Good morning.”
She was lying on the floor. Dr. Arthur Mentis knelt beside her, his brown trench coat spread around him, his smile wry. The cavalry, finally. Now she could relax.
He put an arm around her shoulders and helped her sit up. The headache shifted and pounded in another direction. She had to hold her head. On the bright side, members of the Baxter Gang were all writhing around on the floor, groaning, while the police picked them up and dragged them away.
“Sorry about the headache,” he said. “It’ll go away in a couple of hours.”
“That’s okay,” she said softly, to not jostle herself. “I think I used to be better at this hostage thing.”
“Are you joking? That ransom video was a riot. Even Warren laughed.”
She raised her brow, disbelieving.
“Will you be all right for the next few minutes?” he said.
“Yeah.”
He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze and left her propped against the wall while he helped with cleanup. As the police collected and removed the gang members, Mentis looked each of them in the eyes, reading their minds, learning what he could from them. They wouldn’t even know what was happening.
The wall around the door was scorched, streaked black with soot, and the door itself had disappeared. Spark must have had to blast it open. The room smelled toasted with that particular flavor Celia had always associated with Spark’s flames: baking chocolate. Celia was surprised to find the scent comforting.
Her mother entered the room a moment later.
Suzanne West—Spark—was beautiful, marvelously svelte in her form-fitted skin suit, black with flame-colored accents. Her red hair swept thick and luxurious down her back. She moved with energy and purpose.
She paused, looked around, and found Celia. “Celia!”
This was just like old times, nearly. Suzanne crouched beside her, gripped Celia’s shoulders, and pursed her face like she might cry.
Celia sighed and put her arms around her mother. Suzanne hugged back tightly. “Hi, Mom.”
“Oh Celia, are you all right?”
“Headache. But yeah. Did you guys find my bag? I had notes from work in it.”
“I don’t know. We’ll look. I was so worried—did they hurt you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She tried to stand, but the headache made her vision splotchy. The floor was nice and stable.
“Don’t try to move; paramedics are on the way.”
“I don’t need paramedics. I just want to go home.”
Suzanne sighed with frustration. “I really wish you’d come live at the plaza. It’s so much safer—”
Celia shook her head. “No way. Uh-uh.”
“This sort of thing wouldn’t happen—”
“Mom, they picked me off the bus on the way home from work. I can’t not leave home.”
“What were you doing riding the bus?”
“I don’t have a car.”
“Celia, if you need a car we can—”
Headache or no, she wasn’t sitting still to listen to this. Bracing against the wall, she got her feet under her and managed to push herself up. Suzanne reached for her, but Celia shrugged her away. “I’m fine.”