Trapped

cans of lighter fluid and squirted them at me as if I was her personal barbecue.
    Druid’s Log, July 15: Dark elves are not only quick and efficient killers but creative and pyrotechnically inclined ones .
    During my younger days, some people occasionally got ideas about burning me at the stake—there was a time when tattoos meant you had made a » compack widda debbil « —but I never stuck around long enough for them to try it. I had witnessed a few burnings though. It was usually not a witch at all but some poor person who’d committed no other crime than being born gay or with a third nipple or a birthmark of some kind—and the screams were terrible, unlike any other pain I’ve heard. This is truth: » Burning alive « is a wholly inadequate phrase to communicate the agony involved in the process. It’s every nerve in your skin screaming about the apocalypse, and there’s no way you can block that out and find a happy place. This wasn’t hellfire or magical in any way; it was simple chemistry, and, as such, my cold iron amulet afforded me no protection.
    I rolled onto my right side to smother the flames along my tattoos. I couldn’t let my skin melt there or I’d be unable to use magic. I activated my healing charm to start repairing and replacing cells already caving in like Styrofoam; my face and torso were on fire, not my legs. I spat out the words to unbind my shirt even as the elf with lighter fluid poured on more fuel. The whooshing sound a grill makes when the flames are goaded isn’t so pleasant when your rib cage is serving as the grill.
    I lost my ability to track what was happening. I knew there were four other elves and they would probably finish me, but I couldn’t think of anything but putting out the fire. And maybe getting my next breath. The fire on my face was sucking away all available oxygen, and I was gasping for relief.
    I wondered if this could be it—surviving nearly 2,100 years, only to be torched by bloody dark elves in a sporting goods store. Nerves screamed despite my efforts to block them, and my left side was entirely aflame; still, I pushed myself up and let the remainder of my shirt fall away. Some of the flames fell with it—but that Svartálf with the lighter fluid kept spraying me down to keep everything alight. A growling noise I’d been hearing for a while was coming from my own throat.
    Five closely spaced pops sounded in my ears, and the elves dropped—well, four of them did. The last one managed to go smoky before Granuaile could take him out, but the standard knife he’d been holding clattered to the floor.
    » Drop and roll, sensei! We have a few seconds. « She ran toward me with a semiautomatic in one hand and her staff in the other. The shattering glass I’d heard earlier had to be my apprentice securing the firearm. Dark elves littered the ground; she’d pulled off a fantastic ambush. I rolled around on the industrial carpet and discovered it wasn’t very smothery. It worked to some extent, but I couldn’t put out my face and hair, and it hurt so badly I couldn’t think what to do about it. Probably because my brain was rather concerned with cerebral hypoxia at the moment. Granuaile fired a couple more times, presumably at the elf she’d missed, and then flannel began to rain from the sky. That smothered the flames admirably, and I realized that Granuaile must have disrobed mannequins to help me put out the fire on my head. I would never scoff at flannel again. Able to suck in a glorious breath or two, I took advantage and tried to return my nervous system to manual control rather than the autopilot of instinct.
    » Did we get them all? « I gave a muffled shout through a red-and-black shirt.
    » I don’t know, still scanning, « Granuaile replied. » I did get that one I missed earlier when he became solid. «
    With the flames extinguished, I could mute the pain enough to think somewhat clearly. » We need to go, « I said, tearing the shirt from my head. It felt as if some skin probably came off with it. » Tar stains. Security footage of nonhumans. You know what’s going to happen to the building. «
    Granuaile’s eyes widened. » Oh! We need to go. « The distant wail of sirens emphasized the necessity.
    » Indeed, « I said. » Help me up. « I extended my right hand and she grabbed it, hauling me to my feet.
    » Oh, gods, Atticus, your face … « The horror of her expression informed me that I wasn’t handsome anymore.
    » If it