Page 218 of Sinful Like Us

“I have Toodles!” Maximoff yells from the landing, a tuxedo cat tight in his arms. That cat—he never lets Maximoff hold him, except for right now. Toodles isn’t fidgeting. “Luna, you ready?”

“Yeah.” HerThrasherssweatshirt consumes her gangly frame.

I zip up the carrier while Jane hangs up. Fire truck sirens blare in the distance.

We’re missing four cats.

We have no time to search a house that’s going down fast.

Jane is near tears, but she pushes through the grief and fear. “We need to leave now.” She stands with the carrier.

“Where’s Farrow?” Maximoff asks.

“Cover your nose.” I hand Jane a shirt from the floor. Luna already buries her nose in her sweatshirt.

“Thatcher, where’s Farrow?!” Maximoff screams.

“Downstairs. He’s fi—”

Maximoff is already running down the steps.

I walk out in front of Luna and Jane in case the fire has swarmed the stairs. Farrow is already at the bottom, grasping the furry necks of two calico cats. One in each hand. “The door is clear!”

Two cats missing.

Maximoff sees Farrow is okay. Farrow assesses his fiancé, and we all work together to leave. I press against the brick wall, making the girls pass me, and I come up in the rear, my hand on Jane’s hip.

Maximoff draws his sister closer, protecting Luna while Farrow leads them through the fast-burning, tiny living room.

One clear path.

That’s all we have.

We cough, and through the thick, bright haze of smoke and fire—I stay vigilant and see a black cat in theunlitfireplace. On the mantel, flames eat away and consume family photographs.

I reroute.

Jane feels my hand leave her side. “No—wait,Thatcher!”

“Don’t stop!” I yell.Don’t wait for me.

Maximoff pulls her forward.

I barrel through fire, heat licking my chest, and I don’t think. I just collect a scared Lady Macbeth, and I exit behind the four of them.

We’re on the street. At a safe distance while the old Philly townhouse burns and burns. Flames lick the second-floor windows.

Our room.

I cough out a lungful of smoke, and Jane tears Lady Macbeth out of my arms. More so I can catch my breath without a cat clawing me to death.

“Thatcher?”

I nod to her that I’m fine, and I sweep her—she’s alive, safe, breathing.And I sweep the chaotic perimeter. Fire trucks aren’t here yet. Neighbors pool out onto the street. Paparazzi shout, spilling out of their cars. They toss water bottles to us, ask if we’re okay, and take pictures and videos.

Banks.

I search for my brother, but he’s already jogging up to me. “SFO is good. Everyone is out.” He glances between me and Jane. “The cats?”