Free Falling Ashes by Kate Bloomfield

rectangular window, throwing my weight against the bulky bag. It squeezed through and rolled down the sloping roof, finally getting caught in the gutter, and teetering on the edge.
    Bang. Bang. Bang.
    The knocking was getting louder, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they forced their way in. I had only a few precious minutes in which to vanish.
    ‘Mrs. Greenwood, can you give me a leg up?’ I asked, glancing over my shoulder, only to find that the doorway was empty. Mrs. Greenwood had been standing there only moments before.
    Cursing under my breath, I turned back to the window, contemplating how I would tackle the obstacle. Placing my hands on the ledge, I attempted to hoist myself up using my bare feet as leverage against the moist tiles. I slipped, smacking my chin on the windowsill, tasting blood.
    Spitting the blood out of my mouth and splattering it against the stark white wall, I tried again. Supporting my weight on my forearms, I managed to propel myself upwards using the balls of my feet against the wall. I was slightly out of breath due to the pressure on my ribs, but I’d made it halfway out.
    That was when I heard heavy footsteps thundering up the spiral staircase; at least four pairs of boots pounding through the shop. Mrs. Greenwood had caved and let the guards in.
    Panic-stricken, I shimmied my way through the window, getting stuck at the hips. Luckily, the silk nightdress meant sliding through was relatively easier, or it would have been at least, if someone hadn’t grabbed me by the ankle.  To make matters worse, my nightdress was hitched far too high to be considered decent. But that didn’t matter right now. I clung to the roof tiles and kicked my legs wildly, hoping to dislodge myself from the man’s grip. His fingers were like a vice around my ankle. There was only one thing to do, and chances were I would feel bad about it later, for it would damage the Greenwood’s property along with the man who was trying to drag me into the house.
    I set myself alight. I was a fireball; my skin crawling with hot, angry flames. The fire licked the windowsill, the white paint burning and peeling within seconds. The man relinquished the grip on my ankle immediately, accompanied by a howl of pain.
    With one last heave, I managed to slide through the window and topple down the sloping roof, catching myself before I hit the gutter, the nightdress still on fire.
    Staring over my shoulder, I watched as the guard tried to squeeze through the opening, but he was far too wide. His shoulders would not fit through. Cursing loudly, he yelled over his shoulder to the accompanying guards.
    ‘Back up, lads! She’s on the roof!’
    This was no time to dawdle. Snatching up my bag and flinging it over my shoulder, I stood precariously on the edge of the slanted roof. Below me was a two-story drop into a dark alleyway; I would surely break my legs if I were to jump. However, the row of joined shops and apartments along this main street meant I could run along multiple roofs. There must be a way down somewhere.
    There was no time to lose. I ran, my bare feet slapping against the tiles, and my nightdress smoking copiously. I lost my footing more than once, stumbling and tripping as I pelted along the rooftops. I could hear a commotion behind me. Chancing a look over my shoulder, I saw a much thinner man squeezing through the Greenwood’s bathroom window, cursing as he rolled down the tiles. He was not followed by his companions, which led me to believe that they had taken an alternate path. They could be anywhere. If one of them could jump, fly, or increase their size, I would be in a lot of trouble. My only hope was to make it to Hawthorne before they caught me.
    I heard shouts in the street below, and I peered over the edge of the roof to see three men racing along the adjacent street.
    ‘There she is!’ one of the men bellowed. ‘I see her! On top of the blacksmith’s shop!’
    Lingering was a bad idea.