Page 10 of Girl Anonymous

Dante Arundel stood framed, shoulders hunched, flexing his fists. “You! The stupidest damned—” He glared at Maarja as if she’d somehow been responsible for the crisis.

“Dear boy, she wouldn’t leave.”

Maarja waited tensely for Mrs. Arundel to explain why.

Right now, he didn’t care. Reaching down, he lifted his mother, placed her over his shoulder, and commanded Maarja, “Follow!”

As if she was so witless she’d stay on this floor if he didn’t tell her to escape.

He also said, “Shut the door behind you!” and “Don’t collapse now, I can’t carry you both.”

As if she would leave the door open to allow the fire to use the stairwell as a chimney. As if she was weak enough to—

She staggered, grabbed the handrail, and stopped to regain her balance.

All right. She might be suffering from delayed shock. But she wouldn’t collapse! As if she’d allow Dante Arundel the satisfaction.

Dante took the corner for the next flight of stairs, and below, she could hear his deep voice murmur to his mother and Mrs. Arundel’s lighter tones murmur back.

They sounded so normal.

Later, Maarja told herself how normal they sounded.

Maarja started down again. She might not have eyebrows, but by God she’d saved Mrs. Arundel’s life today!

Anyway, who needed eyebrows? Or eyelashes? Or—she shook her head and watched as singed bits of hair floated past—bangs?

Just like before.

She staggered again, her knees buckling. She gripped the handrail tighter, and paused to let the wave of grief and horror pass. It had been so long she thought she’d forgotten. She told herself she’d forgotten, because why dwell on it? When would something like an explosion reoccur in her life?

Never. Never.She put her hand to her aching heart.She should have told Saint Rees he had to replace her on any job concerning the Arundels. But who could have imagined this?

She continued down and around the corner, then down and around the corner, then down and around the corner—all those landings, and she never caught a glimpse of Dante and Mrs. Arundel. Her isolation began to feel like a haunting. Had she died up there in the flames?

She got to the ground floor, slammed through the door intothe foyer, saw smoke billowing down the curved staircase, heard a series of explosions above.

The front door stood open.

Thank God. Dante and Mrs. Arundel had left the building.

Maarja spent one second with her hand on the stitch in her side.

One second too long. Another explosion rocked the old and revered mansion.

She ran onto the raised porch.

Behind the ornate iron fence that encircled the property, people milled in the street, gawking and exclaiming. Everywhere she saw phones raised to film the event, as if this tragedy was nothing more than a drama for their entertainment.

Two people in particular, a man and a woman, stood at different angles and filmed, their eyes narrowed and their expressions intent. Whenever someone got in their way, they moved enough to produce an uninterrupted eyewitness account.

Reporters, she thought in dismay.How did they get here so soon?

Police shouted, moving them back behind a line. Sirens shrieked as fire engines worked their way through San Francisco’s ever-congested traffic.

A woman screamed. Stopped and screamed again.

Maarja looked for the source.

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