Dies the Fire Read Online Free

though Corvallis wasn’t swarming with them the way Eugene was—and they’d all given a good hand to the first two tunes.
    She’d been on a roll, hitting the songs the way they were meant. And if this power-out hadn’t happened, she’d have made a decent night’s take for doing the thing she liked best in all the world. There were already a scattering of bills in the open guitar case at her feet for gravy.
    More candles came out, and people put them in the wrought-iron holders along the scrubbed brick walls—ornamental usually, but perfectly functional, hand-made by Dennis’s elder brother John, who was a blacksmith, and even more of a leftover hippie than Dennis was. In a few minutes, the tavern was lit brightly enough that you could have read, if you didn’t mind eyestrain.
    The waxy scent of the candles cut through the usual patchouli-and-cooking odors of the Toad; the stoves were all gas, so food kept coming out. Juniper shrugged and grinned to herself.
    â€œWell, you don’t have to see all that well to listen,” she called out. “It’s the same with music as with drink: Sé leigheas na póite ól aris. The cure is more of the same!”
    That got a laugh; she switched to her fiddle and gave them a Kevin Burke tune in six-eight time, one of the ones that had enchanted her with this music back in her early days. The jig set feet tapping and the craic flowing; when she’d finished she got out her seven-string and swung into her own version of “Gypsy Rover.” The audience started joining in the choruses, which was always a good sign.
    Maybe being in a mild emergency together gave them more fellow-feeling. Some people were leaving, though . . . and then most of them came back, looking baffled and frustrated.
    â€œHey, my car won’t start!” one said, just as she’d finished her set. “There’s a couple of cars stopped in the road, too.”
    Off in the distance came an enormous whump sound not quite like anything she’d ever heard. Half a second later the ground shook, like a mild compressed earthquake, or standing next to someone when they dropped an anvil. A shiver went through her heart, like the snapping of a thread.
    â€œWhat the hell was that ?” someone shouted.
    â€œLooks like a big fire just started downtown, but there aren’t any sirens!”
    The hubbub started again, people milling around; then two young men in fleece vests came in. They were helping along an older guy; he had an arm over each shoulder, and his face was streaming with blood.
    â€œWhoa! ” she said, jumping down from the dais. “Hey there! Let me through—I know some first aid.”
    By the time she got there Dennis had the kit out and the two students had the injured man sitting down in one of the use-polished wooden chairs. One of the waitresses brought a bowl of water and a towel, and she used it to mop away the blood.
    It looked worse than it was; head wounds always bled badly, and this was a simple pressure-cut over the forehead, heading a ways back up into the scalp. The man was awake enough to wince and try to pull away as she dabbed disinfectant ointment on the cut and did what she could with bandages. Dennis put a candle in her hand; she held it in front of one of the man’s eyes, and then the other.
    Maybe the left is a little less responsive than the right, she thought.
    The man blinked, but he seemed to be at least minimally aware of where he was. “Thanks,” he said, his voice slurred. “I was driving fine, and then there was this flash and my car stopped . Well, the engine did, and then I hit a street-lamp—”
    â€œI think this guy needs to get to a hospital,” she said. “He might have a concussion, and he probably ought to have a couple of stitches.”
    Dennis looked sad at the best of times; he was a decade and change older than her, in his late forties, and going