Cage took point, motioning Fen to one side of the common room area and Nik to the other. He disappeared into the kitchen. Nik would follow as long as Cage made good decisions. He trusted his own training a hell of a lot more than the vampire’s.
The smoke didn’t just make seeing difficult; it distorted everything, resizing objects like a fun-house mirror. Everything was smaller or larger than his logical mind could accept. A chair-back loomed like a mountain he needed to circumvent. One table became three. A rug could be a rug, or its dark shadow could be mean a disastrous drop off a collapsed floor into the crawl space below—or one of those basement spaces where the vampires spent the daylight hours.
Nik crouched low where the air was clearer and ran his fingertips along the wall, trying to block out the images that came to him unbidden. Mostly, he saw faces—the men and women who’d built the house, some of whom he recognized. Mirren, pressing against a wall to test its strength. The guy Rob, the one who’d been killed, wielding a hammer. Aidan, painting. A sawmill, probably where the lumber had been cut. Nothing traumatic, thank God.
The toe of his boot hit something hard, and he crashed to his hands and knees, taking down a stool along the way. Hell, as long as the floor was nearby, he might as well crawl.
He edged along the wall, reaching out blindly in the choking gray smoke to grasp at anything whose thickness made it look solid. Lots of furniture. No little girls, though, and no dogs.
When he reached the end of the room, he rose to a crouch again and saw Cage pointing Fen toward the back hallway. They’d come up empty, too.
Nik’s eyes watered so heavily that the image of Cage standing upright seemed to shift, going in and out of focus. One sharp Cage; two fuzzy Cages. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and rubbed his eyes, nodding when Cage pointed him toward the second bedroom along the hallway.
Halfway there, Fen emerged from the last bedroom. “I think I heard the dog somewhere back here,” he shouted. “What’s his name?”
Cage hesitated, looking unsure, and jumped out of the way as a bit of the ceiling fell, pushing Nik clear.
Thank God for the colonel and his anal-retentive mission notes. “The dog’s name is Barnabas,” Nik shouted. He struggled to see through the smoke. They had to find the girl, and fast.
“Barnabas, like the vampire in Dark Shadows? Brilliant.” Fen’s face broke into a lopsided grin for a split second before he turned and bellowed, “Barnabas, you sonofabitch—where are you? C’mere, you cursed hellhound!”
They paused to listen, but all Nik could hear was crackling wood and the whoosh of flames. Fires bellowed like angry beasts.
A dark smudge had appeared on the hallway ceiling above them when the drywall fell. Cage pointed at it, but then cocked his head and listened a moment. “I heard him, too! Middle bedroom on the right.”
Fen was closest. He crouched and disappeared through the doorway. Damn it, he was only three feet ahead of them, but Nik groped blindly as he reached where he thought the door should be.
“Watch it!”
Nik turned in the direction where he thought Cage stood, but his outstretched hands clutched nothing but smoke. Then the room spun; no, it was him. Spinning. Falling amid a rain of singed Sheetrock that sparked on his shirt in hot pinpricks.
His cheek slammed into the smooth wood of the floor, and he had just enough time to think it was oddly cool against his skin before a splinter pierced his cheek and something heavy fell on him, knocking out what little breath he had left.
Things went black for an instant. Maybe several instants. Maybe he was dead, because he seemed to be moving independently of his arms and legs.
Something hard cracked his head and jarred him out of his stupor. “Sorry, mate. Door facing.” The voice came from above him, and finally he realized Cage Reynolds was hauling him out of the burning house in a classic fireman’s carry. Yeah, he might trust the man from now on.
“Down.” His voice came out somewhere between rooster and chain-smoker, but Cage got the message, setting him down as soon as they’d cleared the front door. He kept a firm grasp on Nik’s arm, though, and hauled him down the stairs at what the colonel might call triple-time.
But he could breathe now. Nice thing, breathing. To hell with dignity; Nik gasped in big lungfuls of cool night air. Out here, it might smell like smoke, but it inhaled like oxygen.
“You’re all right, mate? Gotta go and check on Fen.” Cage leaned over him, soot smudged across both cheeks and part of his shirt missing.
“Yeah.” Nik coughed up half a lung. “M’okay. Go.”
The pressure on his arm disappeared, and the world tumbled again. He landed face-first—again. This time it was on wet, cold mud, though, which felt pretty damned good. He thought he might just lie in the mud puddle for a few seconds. Then he’d be ready to help.