Sanctuary of Roses by Colleen Gleason Page A

safety. Instead, he paused at what once was the
door of the house, wrapped the wet cloth more tightly over his
head, and pulled up a piece of it to cover his face.
    He kicked out at the sagging door of the
house, shoving it into an interior that was dim. Smoke did not
billow out, which bespoke of the fact that mayhap the fire had not
progressed as far as he’d feared. Gavin stepped inside gingerly,
watching for fallen timbers and other pitfalls.
    The house was little more than a hut, and it
did not take much effort to scan the room with his gaze, even in
the dimness of the interior. At first, he saw naught but the flames
that licked the ceiling, kissing the walls and dropping an
occasional tuft of fire onto the floor. Then, back in a corner, he
saw a large, unfamiliar shape.
    Stepping over a fallen beam, he skirted the
edge of the building to avoid the fire in the center, and
approached the lump. It was a piece of the wall, and had folded
inward, collapsing onto a pallet, leaving an opening just next to
the blaze outside.
    With a grunt of triumph, Gavin stepped over
a collapsed stool and, continuing to hold the cloth over his face,
used one hand to push the wall up. It sagged, bowing in the center,
but held together so that he lifted it up enough to see the two
people it had covered. Though he could not tell if they yet lived,
he dropped the cloth from his face to push the wall away, and it
fell outside of the hut, landing against the next house that
burned. The smoke suddenly speared into his nose and mouth, and
Gavin found himself needing to duck near the floor. Fighting the
cough that welled inside his lungs, he replaced the cloth over his
nose and reached to grab the woman’s arm with his free hand.
    He grasped her wrist, half lifting her off
the floor, and slipped his arm around under both of her arms, then
began to push his way toward the opening where the wall had
collapsed. He was just reaching it when he realized the fire next
door was too close for him to make it out safely, and he was forced
to turn.
    By now, the smoke was burning his eyes so
that they were hardly tearing any longer and he could see little
but blurred shapes. It was hot, and sweat made him and his grip
slippery and clumsy. He took several steps toward the door before
stumbling and nearly falling to his knees.
    Nay, Father, do not take me now!
    The thought came from nowhere, but came with
a galvanizing strength, and Gavin felt a burst of energy beat back
the fatigue he’d been feeling. He took two more steps toward the
door, and was just about to reach for the edge of the opening when
a loud crash filled the air. A sudden wave of smoke and flame
buffeted toward him, and the last thing he saw was the roof
tumbling toward him.

Eight

    Fantin de Belgrume awoke with a smile on his
face.
    At last, his destiny was clear. He felt
light and free and very sated, only part of which was due to the
warm body that slumbered next to him.
    The only disappointment, the only thing that
kept him from being completely serene was the knowledge that Gavin
Mal Verne still lived. The mere thought of the man caused Fantin’s
insides to roil with anger and hatred—but the added knowledge that
the evil man had Fantin’s own innocent daughter in his possession
served to make him near mad with the bloodred fury that seemed to
rear in him more oft as of late.
    An obsession…mayhap Rufus spoke aright. In
the dawning light of day, abovestairs and away from the beckoning
power of his laboratory, Fantin could admit that his venom toward
Mal Verne was perchance more of a distraction than it should
be.
    Did he indeed allow his need to annihilate
Mal Verne sway him from his holy work? Aye, it could be true.
    Yet, he could not allow the man to keep him
from his purpose, and Mal Verne, should he have the chance, would
destroy Fantin’s life and any opportunity to finish his work. ’Twas
self-preservation, Fantin acknowledged as he trailed a finger along
the sweeping curve of