by Keri Arthur
He sighed. “I’m not made of stone, Kirby. I’ve made no secret of my desire for you, and right now, you’re not making it any easier for me to keep my distance.”
Her blushed deepened. “Sorry,” she muttered and retreated. God, what had she been thinking? She’d only been with two men in her life, and both times it had been an uncomfortable experience. She’d certainly never been relaxed enough with either of them to parade around semi-naked. Yet here she was, draped in nothing but a blanket, padding about in the presence of a man she barely knew.
Maybe she’d lost some brain cells somewhere in the last twenty-four hours.
She found the bathroom. By the time she’d cleaned up and dressed, the smell of toast was drifting through the air, making her stomach rumble.
She headed back out and sat on one of the stools near the kitchen counter, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Smells good.”
“Thank God for canned food and freezers,” he said, sliding a plate of baked beans and toast across to her. “Remind me to leave some money behind for our unknowing hosts when we leave.”
She raised an eyebrow. “A considerate thief?”
He smiled. “Always.” He motioned with his fork to her plate. “Eat. You need to regain your strength.”
She ate, discovering she was hungrier than she’d thought. He offered her a second helping, and she demolished that as well, feeling a whole lot better for it.
“Thank you,” she said as he replaced her empty plate with a cup of coffee. “Now, answers, if you don’t mind.”
He sipped his coffee for a moment, leaning back against the sink and regarding her steadily over the rim of his mug. There was a touch of accusation in his gaze, and heat crept across her cheeks, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the wounds on your back?” he asked.
She frowned for a second, then remembered the manarei attacking her as she’d tried to flee over the fence. “To be honest, I forgot. It was my leg that hurt, not my back.”
“The wounds got infected and could have killed you. Next time, mention it.”
A shiver ran through her. She hoped there never would be a next time. “What’s that got to do with the reason we’re still here? Shouldn’t we go before Felicity gets back?”
“She left me here to die, so I don’t think she’ll be back for a while. It’s too obvious.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So we’re here because it’s safe?”
“No, we’re here because you collapsed with a high fever, and I had no other choice but to stay here.”
And he’d been worried about her, really worried. The thought warmed her. Maybe he wasn’t just attracted in a physical sense …
“It’s way beyond physical, and I’ve already told you that.”
He had? When? She stared at him, more than a little troubled by his words. How could any emotion be real after little more than twenty-four hours? “Doyle, we barely know each other.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t have to know to care.”
Care, not love. She looked away for a moment, inexplicably hurt by his choice of words. “Your boss told me I should ask about your father and grandfather.”
“The old witch should mind her own business.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?” She sipped her coffee and regarded him steadily over the rim of the mug.
He sighed again. “My father asked my mother to marry him after knowing her for precisely ten minutes. My grandfather waited a whole hour before he did the same with my grandmother.”
She grinned. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “Of course, in my mother’s case, she thought my father was crazy, and at one stage she asked her brother the policeman to threaten him. But in the end she came around.”
“And your grandmother?”
“Shoved my grandfather in the car and headed for Las Vegas as fast as her old Ford would go.”
Her grin widened. “So this sort of insanity runs in your family, huh?”
“Apparently so.” He considered her for a moment, then said, “Do you remember what happened last night?”
She blinked and wondered why he had suddenly changed the subject. It was almost as if he didn’t want to talk about his family, but why? “No. What happened last night? I thought you said I had a fever.”
“You did, but it broke around midnight. At three, you were up and talking to the wind.”
A sense of dread ran through her. She wasn’t a storm witch, and the wind had never talked to her before, so why would it be doing so now?
“Can you remember any of it?”
“No.” She hesitated. Images ran through her mind, fractured remnants of dreams that had assailed her during the night. The wind had not featured in any of them, but Helen had.
She frowned. “I dreamt about Helen. Dreamt that I was dancing with her in the wildness of a storm. She talked to me.”
Even though it sounded crazy, he appeared to take her dreams seriously. “Can you remember what she said?”
She sorted through the memories, trying to catch fragments of conversations. “She was trying to warn me about something—or someone. I’m not sure. And she said I had to open the present and perform the spell tonight, at midnight.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. All she said was that I must complete the circle.” Kirby frowned. The coldness was back in the pit of her stomach, and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t eaten so much. “Why would she be asking me to perform a spell? I’ve never had anything to do with magic, even when she was performing it.”
He hesitated. “Camille went to the morgue and checked out Helen’s body. Her magic was gone, but unlike our killer’s other victim, it had not been ripped from her but rather spelled away. Maybe Helen’s final gift to you is her magic.”
“No.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t—accept such a gift. “Surely something like that is impossible.” Yet life, time and again, had shown her nothing in this world was impossible.
Then the realization hit, and horror rushed through her. Oh God, no! Helen had died because of her. Had died because she’d spelled her abilities away and had nothing to protect herself against the manarei.
“It was Helen’s choice—Helen’s decision,” Doyle said. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”
His thoughts wrapped around her, offering sympathy and strength. She thrust them away angrily. “I could have been there. I could have stopped her.”
“If you had been there, you’d be dead as well,” he said, his voice sharp. “All you can do now is make sure Helen’s sacrifice doesn’t go to waste.”
She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. He was right. She knew that deep down. But right now, she just wasn’t ready to accept any of it, particularly the gift her best friend had died to give her.
“I don’t want to do this,” she muttered.
“You have no real choice now.”
“Maybe.” She looked away from the understanding in his eyes. She wasn’t ready to accept that yet, either. “What now?”
“Right now, we’re going to join the hunt for the remaining members of this elemental circle of yours.”
His tone was still a little sharp. Maybe he’d heard her thoughts. “Camille didn’t have any luck uncovering the whereabouts of the two women or tracking down Felicity Barnes, then?”
He shook his head. “I was talking to her earlier this morning. They’ve eliminated several past addresses for both women, and have a couple to go.”
“And Felicity Barnes?”
As she said the name, an image ran through her mind—a skinny girl in jeans and a red sweater, brown hair tied back in pigtails, blue eyes ablaze as she chased her and Helen through the trees.
Not Felicity, but her best friend, Mariel, who liked to tear the wings off bugs. Mariel, who could make dead things come to life. She was their killer—of that Kirby was suddenly certain. The only trou
ble was, there was no Mariel on Camille’s list.
“Camille’s list obviously isn’t entirely accurate,” Doyle commented. “The fact that you’re not on it proves that. And Mariel could easily have assumed another identity.”
She nodded and rose. “Then let’s get going.” Because she had a feeling time was running out—for them, and for the next victim.
He didn’t move. The window behind him threw his features into shadows, but his eyes gleamed blue fire. There was concern in his gaze and in his thoughts. “Are you really feeling okay? You were so sick yesterday, maybe you shouldn’t push it today. It might be better—”
“Don’t even suggest it,” she interrupted. “I’m not staying here alone while you gallivant about looking for the next victim. Helen said I had to find her, and find her I will.”
“Damn it, will you just listen to common sense for a change? I’m sure Helen never meant for you to run yourself into the ground.”
“Helen died to keep me safe,” she retorted. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did anything less.”
“You are the most annoying, aggravating, pigheaded woman I have ever met.” His voice was so low, his words were little more than a soft growl.
She smiled sweetly at him. “And you love me for it.”
He shot her a look that could have meant anything and pushed away from the counter. “We’ll come back here tonight. I still think it’s the safest place to be right now. And if you have to perform that spell tonight, then there’s less likelihood of us being disturbed here.”
She followed him out of the house, not wanting to think about the spell right now. “You have the new list of addresses?”
He locked the door and handed her the list and car keys. “I’ll open the gate. You bring out the car.”
She did. While he relocked the gate, she pulled the list out of her pocket and studied it.
Seven addresses—three for Marline Thomas, four for Trina Jones. Which of the two was the girl she had to save? It could take all day to check these damn addresses, and the feeling that they had to get to the fourth member of the elemental circle was growing more urgent.
The writing blurred briefly, the addresses merging into one. She blinked several times, wondering what was going on, then thrust back against the seat as one address seemed to leap off the page at her. Suddenly she wasn’t staring at a piece of paper, but at a single-story, red-brick house. In the distance, a clock chimed, ten times. Confusion ran through her. It wasn’t even nine yet … was she seeing the future? Or merely hallucinating? The vision blurred again, shifting closer.
In the shadows that loomed close to the house, a manarei crept. From the house came a soft humming—a sound that echoed through the fog, opening a window to the past. Trina, she thought, remembering the taste of her terror, the shaking of her hand, as the younger Trina had clasped her fingers and completed the circle. Remembering the force that had thrummed between them, through the other girls, to her, filling her until she was one with the elements, a being of energy, not flesh.
Trina, who had trusted her only at Helen’s urging, was about to be torn apart by a creature sent from hell.
Unless they got there first.
DOYLE HAD BARELY CLIMBED INTO THE CAR WHEN Kirby sped off. He cursed, thrusting a hand against the dashboard to stop from being smashed against it, then grabbed his seat belt.
Her hands were clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white. She drove too fast around a corner, and the car slewed on the gravel road, forcing him to grab the dash again to keep from being flung against her. There was fear in her thoughts, in her expression. What the hell had happened in the few minutes they’d been apart?
“Kirby, ease up a little and tell me what’s wrong.” He touched her knee. Her gaze jumped to his, eyes wide and filled with horror.
“I can’t ease up. We don’t have much time.” She hesitated, barely even braking as she swung onto the main road. “I had a vision. Trina Jones, who lives in Port Melbourne, will be attacked by a manarei at precisely ten o’clock this morning unless we get to her first.”
He didn’t doubt her, just grabbed his cell phone and dialed Camille.
“Two phone calls in a matter of hours. This is something of a record, shapeshifter.”
“We’ve got a problem, Camille. In just over an hour, Trina Jones of Port Melbourne will meet death at the hands of a manarei.”
“Goddamn it—how do you know this?”
“Kirby saw it.”
“You believe her?”
How could he not believe her? “Yes. I left my gun in my car, too, so bring some weapons with you.”
“I will, though I think we have only a couple of silvers left.”
“Then we’ll have to make every shot count, won’t we?” He glanced at Kirby. “How long will it take us to get there?”
She chewed her lip briefly. “Maybe an hour, depending on the traffic.”
“It’ll probably take me about the same, given I have to find the damn place,” Camille said. “I’ll meet you out front.”
They made the trip in silence. Once they neared Port Melbourne, he grabbed his phone, brought up Google Maps, and guided Kirby through the maze of side streets until they reached Trina’s. She stopped the car several houses up and looked at the clock in the dash.
“We’ve got five minutes. Camille doesn’t appear to be here yet.”
“No.” He studied the small, red-brick house. Several large trees dominated the front yard, surrounding the house with shadows and providing perfect cover for the manarei. He glanced at her. “You stay here. I’ll go scout.”
“You can’t confront a manarei without any weapons. Wait for your boss.”
“We haven’t got the time, and I’m not going to confront anything. I’m not that stupid.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
She reached to undo her seat belt, but he placed a hand on hers, preventing her. He was so close to her that her breath washed warmth across his mouth. All he had to do was lean forward a little, and her lips would be his to claim.
“No.” He watched the sexual awareness grow in her amazing eyes. Could feel it in the link between them, but it was a heat muted by caution. She wasn’t ready yet to fully trust him, and it was more than a little worrying. Just because his father and grandfather had happy endings didn’t mean he would. “You’re on their hit list as well, remember, so you will stay right here. If I smell a manarei, I’ll retreat.”
She stared at him for several seconds, her expression troubled. “Be careful.” She hesitated, then touched his face, briefly caressing his cheek. “Please.”
Heat shivered through him. He forced a grin. “Being careful is the motto us thieves live by. I won’t be long.” Lord, it would be so easy to pull her close, to taste her lips once again. Easy, but the wrong thing to do right at this moment. He pulled away. “Please stay here.”
She didn’t reply, and her thoughts told him she wasn’t happy. He didn’t care about that. Her staying safe and alive was far more important.
He climbed out of the car and motioned her to lock the door. At the first sign of trouble, you get out of here, okay?
At the first sign of trouble, I’ll come running. I’m not leaving you to face one of those things alone, so just forget it.
Damn it, he didn’t have the time to stand here and argue, and the tone of her thoughts told him it was an argument he wasn’t likely to win, anyway. Short of tying her to the car, there wasn’t much else he could do.
I’ll call if I need help. Just don’t get out of the car before then, okay?
Okay.
Though her reluctance to agree was evident in her mind-voice, he had no real choice but to trust she’d do as he asked.
He headed toward Trina’s house. The wind stirred, tossing his hair and murmuring through the two large gum trees in the front yard. He sniffed the air, but he could smell nothing beyond the warmth of freshly baked bread. He glanced at his watch. If Kir
by’s vision was accurate, the manarei had three minutes to get here.
He hesitated in the shadows filling the driveway. Someone inside the house was vacuuming, but it was a noise muted by the pounding thump of music. It would be useless ringing the front doorbell. Maybe he should check around the back.
He walked down to the gates and whistled softly. No dog came bounding up to greet him, so he went through. The music was louder back here, the beat so heavy it seemed to thump through his body. The yard was a sea of knee-high grass and weeds. Pines huddled along the rear boundary, throwing vast shadows across the rest of the yard. A perfect place for evil to hide, though as yet, he could smell nothing but dampness and mildew.
He ducked past the windows and moved to the far end of the house. Like the backyard, the narrow gap separating the two houses was a mass of weeds and shadows. As hiding places for evil went, it was even better.
He leaned a shoulder against the fence and waited. Minutes slipped by, and the thump of music abruptly died. Through the sudden silence came the sound of humming—an old disco tune he vaguely remembered but couldn’t name.
Down the road, bells began to chime the hour. He glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. Why wasn’t Camille here? The last thing he needed right now was to face a manarei weaponless …
The foul touch of magic burned across his skin. Halfway down the side of the house, the air began to shimmer and sparkle, until it became a shower of golden lights. Through this, a shadow formed—became a manarei, eyes gleaming like freshly drawn blood in the shadowed half-light.
He reached into his boot and withdrew a small knife. It would be as useless as a toothpick against the creature, but right then, it was all he had. The manarei stepped free of the sparkle, and the shimmering air died away. It sniffed for several seconds, then it snaked its head around, glaring at him and hissing in anger.
“Care to play?” he said, waving the knife before him, as if it were a stick and the manarei nothing more than a playful dog.
