Chapters (24)
- Cover
- Dedication
- sparks
- The Firewatcher
- day one
- day two
- The Great Fire of London, 1666
- day three
- Chicago, 1871
- day four
- San Francisco, 1906
- day five
- The Library at Alexandria, circa 48 BC
- day six
- The Church of the Company of Jesus, Santiago, Chile, 1863
- day seven
- The Second Great Fire of London, 1940
- embers
- Acknowledgments
- Keep reading for an exciting excerpt from the next novel by Russ Thomas, Nighthawking.
- The First Nighthawker
- One
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Edna doesn’t reply, and Lily realizes she is physically exhausted. It must have taken every last ounce of strength she had to get up the stairs and carry the footstool back down. It makes Lily wonder how she knew. She must have, of course. How had Lily given herself away? Perhaps it was earlier when Edna asked what she had been doing upstairs. Is she really so easy to read? Or is there some part of that conversation she can’t remember? Lily wants to cry. To be unable to trust your own memory; it is so terribly unfair. But she refuses to ask. She will remember!
Lily turns away and moves into the kitchen to start on dinner. In this way the conversation ends, since Edna will not shout between rooms and has no energy left for pursuit. Lily wonders why she’s never thought of this before. It’s the perfect escape strategy.
This won’t be the end of it, of course. Edna will raise the subject again at bedtime, but far from dreading the argument, Lily finds herself ready for it. She has made her decision. This time she will not quietly acquiesce. She has done far too much of that in her life already. She knows Edna only wants to protect her, but it is becoming increasingly obvious to both of them that she won’t be able to for very much longer. It’s Lily’s turn to do the protecting now, and to do that she needs to find out what happened—what she did—to make someone attempt to blackmail her. She is determined to piece it together, whether Edna likes it or not.
—
When Tyler gets to the pub, Oscar is waiting outside. He’s sitting in a silver BMW convertible, the top down, the black flames of his tattoo wrapped round the headrest of the passenger seat. “Get in,” he says.
Tyler folds his arms across his chest. “Come inside, Oscar. We need to talk.”
“We will. It’s just . . .” The cocky Oscar is gone again, replaced by the vulnerable one. “Please? I want to show you something.”
Tyler hesitates for a moment and then climbs into the car.