Chapter 33
WE CAME around from the backyard and saw Fred and Harry fighting the bonfire that had been Ceren’s home, our home, but now seemed only a cinderblock-lined pit of smoldering wreckage. Everything felt wobbly around me, the heat and stinking flames and frustrated fury filling my head with cotton and smoke.
I heaved the flamethrower to the back of the police cruiser, not bothering to strap it in place, and swung the driver’s door open.
Eric said “What you doing?”
“Mall,” I said. “Alice. Ceren.”
“Not like that,” he said.
“What d’ya want, me to change clothes?” I waved a hand at the inferno. “Maybe a f*****g shower? I gotta go!” My head felt like something beat at the temples, from the inside.
“Pop the trunk,” Eric said.
“What the hell!” I plopped myself into the driver’s seat
