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Bristal’s face twists like she’s trying to hold something back but can’t. “That’s what she said—sorry!”

Mom snorts, and Dad covers his mouth but can’t hide his laughter. Rage spikes, and I’m at a loss for words, anger clogging my throat and murder on my mind.

“What the hell?” Mom says, but she’s not looking at any of us; she’s staring out the front window, where a spire of fire is rising on the front lawn. It’s joined by two others, igniting in quick succession and moving closer to the house.

“Everyone outside, now!” Dad yells.

The bay window shatters, and a brick sails into the living room. I scream and hit the floor, but Mom is up in a moment, running through the house and yelling for Steven.

“Rebecca! No!” Dad yells, sprinting after her.

I look up to see Bristal, unfazed, staring out what remains of the window.

“I see him!” she yells, one foot up on the ledge as she hurls herself through the glaring hole, knocking the rest of the glass loose from the frame.

“Bristal!” I scream, but she’s gone, and a heavy plume of smoke sails in through the window, choking me. I crawl on all fours back through the kitchen, where Dad finds me, grabs me by the shoulders and forces me outside. Mom is right behind us. Steven wide-eyed and ears flat, has his arms around her neck, holding on for dear life. The three of us spill out into the driveway as Dad yells into his phone, “Five-five-five Lincoln Street; yeah it’s me, Debbie. We need the fire department. Looks like four, maybe five isolated fires on the front lawn.”

“Six,” Mom says, her mouth a grim line as she surveys the tall pyres. “What the hell are they?”

“Where’s Bristal?” Dad demands, spinning on me.

“She went out the window,” I tell him. “She said she saw somebody, and she just took off. I couldn’t stop her.” I cough as a breeze blows a thick, noxious cloud in our direction.

“Smells like an accelerant,” Dad says.

“Bristal!” I yell into the darkness, but my voice is covered by sirens from the fire station, two blocks over. “Bristal!”

“It’s okay, baby,” Mom says, cuddling Steven to her chest. “I don’t think the house is going to catch,” she says, eyeing the fires on the lawn, which are fading.

“No,” Dad agrees. “But don’t go back inside just yet. The whole first floor is probably full of smoke. You don’t want to breathe this in.”

“Bristal!” I scream again, and she emerges from the smoke, one hand curled to her chest.

“Jesus Christ!” Mom says as the fire trucks come down the drive, a police cruiser joining them, flashers on. The flickering blue and red lights illuminate the side of Bristal’s face; there’s a long cut along one cheek, and the eye above it is swollen shut.

“He got away,” Bristal says, clearly disappointed. “I got some licks in, but he was bigger than me.”

“Did you get a look at his face? Any idea who it was?” Dad asks, but Bristal only shakes her head.

“Sorry, no.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to apologize about a damn thing,” Mom says, transferring Steven to hang over one shoulder as she takes Bristal by the chin, turning her face in the dying light of the fires. “You should see a medic.”

“Nah, it’s just a black eye. I’ve had worse,” Bristal says, but I point to the leg of her jeans, where there’s a slice in the denim, and a growing stain of blood around it.

“You cut yourself on the way out,” I say, and she looks down at her leg.

“Oh . . . shit . . . ,” she says, her voice fading out. “Guess I didn’t see that. Sure didn’t feel it.”

“Sit down, right now,” I say firmly, and grab Bristal just before she falls. Mom opens the car door and deposits Steven on the passenger seat as I ease Bristal to the ground. His furry face pops up in the window as he continues to monitor the situation.

“Sorry,” Bristal says again, her eyes a little unfocused. “Sorry.”

“Mom’s right, you don’t have to apologize,” I say, looking her over for any other injuries. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking—get that fucker!” Bristal says with a weak smile.

“Mom!” I yell as she goes around the side of the car. “Check with Dad, make sure there’s an ambulance on the way. And . . . what the hell are you even doing?”