Free Into the Flame by Christina Dodd Page B

still men, women, beasts who have given themselves totally to the devil. And there are men, women, and beasts who are completely God’s creatures. But most people are struggling to do the right thing, and succeeding or failing. You and I and our kids . . . we fit into that group. And maybe whoever it was last night—maybe he fits into the group, too. Wanting to do evil, but not easy with his decision, or evil and struggling toward a change.’’ Zorana turned her head to Konstantine. ‘‘He was one of us.’’

    ‘‘Yes. You’re right. The old rules don’t count anymore. The whole world is changing. The time is approaching when we fight the devil’s own. And we need to plan our attack.’’

    ‘‘We don’t know when or where the battle will take place.’’

    ‘‘We don’t wait for them to make that decision.’’ Konstantine sounded stronger than he had for months. ‘‘We decide where—’’

    ‘‘Here?’’

    ‘‘Definitely here. And when. We must plan our strategy, and the first thing we have to do . . . is talk to our known enemies.’’

    ‘‘Enemies,’’ Aleksandr said cheerfully.

    ‘‘Yes, my boy.’’ Again Konstantine caressed Aleksandr’s head. ‘‘We have enemies.’’

    Zorana didn’t even have to think. ‘‘I know exactly who to start with.’’

    Chapter Eight

    Zorana watched as her sons, the Wilder demons, walked toward the van, their arms swinging confidently, their grins flashing. At the last second, they all made a dash toward the driver’s seat. Adrik won by the simple strategy of slamming open the back door and leaping over the seats.

    Stupid kids. They hadn’t changed a bit.

    As Jasha and Rurik stood outside and stared in disgust, Adrik said, ‘‘Just like old times.’’

    ‘‘Yeah, you’re the same pain in the ass you always were,’’ Jasha said.

    ‘‘Shotgun,’’ Rurik called.

    Zorana walked up behind them. ‘‘I’ll ride shotgun.’’ Taking advantage of their horror, she hopped into the front beside Adrik. ‘‘You boys get in the back.’’ When none of them moved, she mocked, ‘‘You didn’t think I would let you go by yourselves, did you?’’

    Jasha, always her responsible son, said, ‘‘Mama, I don’t know if this is a good idea. This probably won’t be pretty.’’

    ‘‘I don’t care about pretty. I want to know .’’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rurik nod.

    ‘‘It’s your right, Mama.’’ Adrik turned the key. ‘‘You guys getting in, or are you going to chase us all the way to Miss Joyce’s?’’

    As the two climbed in, Adrik asked, ‘‘Has anybody ever suspected Miss Joyce before?’’

    ‘‘Not one bit,’’ Jasha answered. ‘‘But we should have. She’s always been around, watching us, poking her nose into our business.’’

    ‘‘In all fairness, she pokes her nose into everyone’s business.’’ Rurik tapped his mother’s shoulder. ‘‘Better buckle yourself in, Mama. Adrik drives like a maniac.’’

    Zorana buckled her seat belt. ‘‘What’s new? You all always did that.’’

    ‘‘Adrik’s practiced,’’ Rurik said.

    Miss Joyce lived in a little house built in the twenties, suitable for a schoolteacher with no family: one bedroom, one bath, a living room, a tiny kitchen, and a minuscule lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. The place was not far from the edge of town, yet isolated by a stretch of meadow, and the people of the town respected Miss Joyce’s privacy.

    Zorana pulled open the screen door and knocked. Privacy. Yes. Miss Joyce would want privacy to hide the truth about herself from her students, her neighbors . . . from the rest of humanity. For she was a monster. A monster.

    The silence was profound. The winter sun shone in the bright blue sky, casting sharp shadows but shedding no warmth.

    Zorana waited for an uncomfortably long time, then glanced back at her sons, lined up against the van parked on the side of the road.

    Jasha looked