“Sarya!” Adan’s voice cut through her screaming and the roar of the flames. A pair of strong arms caught her up and carried her through the wall of fire and upstairs, where he set her down on a bench. He crouched in front of her. “What in the Hells of Torment happened in there?”
Once she was free of the flames, Sarya’s screams had died away, but she was still shaking badly. She looked at her hands, her dress, her half-undone braid hanging over her shoulder, expecting to see them burned away. They were completely untouched, with no sign of burning at all. She glanced towards the stairwell; smoke should have been pouring up from the basement, but there was none. “There was a fire –”
“No, there wasn’t,” Adan said.
“There was. The book – fire came out of the book when I opened it – I could feel it burning me –” Her teeth started chattering in spite of the day’s heat.
“There was no fire, Sarya. Everything’s all right.”