by Keri Arthur
Trina, it seemed, had spent her years seeking someone else to take the burden of her guilt, and if the look in her eyes was anything to go by, she hadn’t been all that successful. She wondered how intimately Trina knew the local psychiatric wards. She had a feeling the answer might be very.
“It was an accident,” she murmured softly, firmly. They hadn’t meant to kill anyone but the caretaker, and had failed even in that. But they did stop him and, in the end, maybe that was the one fact they all had to cling to.
“How many lives did we save that night, Trina? I can remember you saying that you’d rather kill yourself than have that man touch you again. How many of the others felt like that, do you think?” Helen had, which was what had moved Kirby into action in the first place.
“We killed—you killed,” Trina whispered hoarsely. “That power … it ate me, you know. Swept through me like I wasn’t even there, like I wasn’t even real. It was horrible … horrible. And it was you who did that to me. You and her.”
The madness was brighter in her gaze. Her eyes were wide, staring, as if she was seeing the past rather than the present. Maybe Kirby’s sudden reappearance, combined with the manarei’s attack, had snapped whatever tenuous hold Trina had on sanity.
Camille swept into the room and moved toward Trina. “Now, don’t go making a fuss,” she said, her normally edgy tones gentle, almost calming. “I just got that arm of yours all neatly fixed.”
“Who are you?” Trina thrust away from Camille’s hand, sliding down to the far end of the table. For the first time, she seemed to take in her surroundings. Her face went white, and her fear became something Kirby could almost smell. “Why am I here? Who are you people?”
“Trina, calm down,” Kirby said.
Trina made a violent chopping motion with her hand. “You calm down! Better yet, you go to hell. I want to know what’s going on!”
“Need some help?” Russell said, his large frame filling the doorway.
Camille sighed. “Afraid so. Calm her down. Better yet, put her to sleep.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Trina cried. She teetered on the edge of the table, watching Russell with wide, frightened eyes.
Russell didn’t move, just narrowed his gaze slightly. Trina gasped, then her gaze went blank, and she slumped to the table. Camille caught her before she could hit her head, and she made sure her injured arm wasn’t taking the weight of her body.
Kirby glanced uneasily at Russell. “You did that? How?”
“Mind control. It’s an ability most vamps have, in varying degrees of strength. I merely calmed her fears and put her into a trance. She’ll remain that way now, until I suggest otherwise.”
She eyed him warily. “You did promise to keep out of my mind, you know.”
He grinned. It was oddly boyish and very charming. “And I always keep my word. Especially when that someone is a friend of someone I care about.”
“Good,” she muttered and rubbed her eyes, wondering again at the sanity of trusting a vampire. “Where is Doyle, by the way?”
“Gone shopping,” Camille said, voice sharp enough to nail wood to a wall. “That headache still bad?”
She nodded, though in truth, it had ebbed a little. Camille muttered something under her breath, then walked across the room to the urn and filled a mug with hot water. Into this, she tipped what looked like dried-up leaves.
“Drink this tea. It’ll ease the immediate effects of the headache. I’ll make up some more that you can take with you.”
Kirby accepted the offered cup and sniffed it warily. It smelled faintly of lemongrass and lime, but there were other scents mingled among those two that she knew but couldn’t name. Helen had used them sometimes in the past.
Camille sat opposite her. “Did Trina say anything? Did she remember anything that might help us?”
Kirby sipped the tea, finding the taste wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. “Not really. But she did shake loose some of my memories. It can’t be the real Felicity Barnes who’s working for the government. Felicity died that night we formed the circle.”
Camille raised an eyebrow. “So you can remember that now?”
She nodded. “Part of it. I have no idea who Marline is. She certainly wasn’t one of the five. There was a Mariel, though.”
“Marline and Mariel are awfully similar names,” Russell commented. “Maybe when you did the reading you just got the spelling wrong.”
“Possible,” Camille muttered. “Quite possible. Anything else?”
Kirby took another sip of tea, considering all the bits and pieces that had floated through the fog in the last day or so. “Mariel was a witch. She could make dead things come to life.”
“What?”
She nodded. “Both Helen and I saw her do it on several occasions. She used to kill bugs, then bring them back to life.” And make the dead things chase them. She shuddered, remembering again the horror of it all. But in many respects, if it weren’t for those bugs, neither she nor Helen would have discovered the full potential of their abilities. “It wasn’t a trick, either.”
Camille and Russell shared a glance. “At least that explains the zombies,” Russell said.
“Yeah, but it’s an ability that usually runs in families and has to be taught. These kids were all orphans.”
“Helen and I figured out how to use our abilities,” she said. “Why couldn’t Mariel?”
“She could have taught herself to raise small things like bugs easily enough. There’s not much skill needed for that. But raising anything larger requires finesse. It can sometimes take half a lifetime to refine the skills needed to raise something as large as a human.”
“I hear a but in all that,” she said, when Camille hesitated.
“That’s because there is a second option. It involves invoking the spirit of the dead and drawing them into your body—making them a part of your world, and you a part of theirs.”
A chill ran through her, and her hands began to shake. She set the tea down and clasped her fingers under the table. It didn’t stop the growing feeling of dread, however. “Felicity Barnes, the girl who died in the quake that hit the night we raised the circle? She was Mariel’s best friend. Mariel swore she’d get her back, no matter what it took or how long it took.”
Camille cursed. “Did you ever see her do it?”
“No. We were all separated for a few months after the quake, shifted to various other homes or into foster care. Helen and I only remained together because we ran away.”
“Damn.” Camille looked at Russell. “Try doing a search for Mariel Thomas and see what you come up with. I’ve got a feeling she and Felicity Barnes might now be one and the same.”
Russell nodded and moved back into the other room. Kirby stared at Camille incredulously. “Meaning Felicity’s spirit might be living in Mariel?”
Camille nodded. “If she’s only recently performed the summoning, it would certainly explain the sudden need for revenge.”
“But …” Her voice faded. She swallowed some tea to ease the dryness in her throat and tried again. “How is something like that possible? Felicity died eighteen years ago! Don’t try to tell me her spirit has been hanging about all that time waiting to be resurrected.”
“It depends. Some spirits move on and get reborn. Some remain on this Earth, compelled to right some wrong. And a very few are swept into a void some might call hell, destined to remain there for eternity unless recalled by the forces of darkness.” Camille hesitated, her blue eyes sympathetic. “Where do you think the legends of demons come from? They are merely twisted souls who have been in that void for a very long time.”
Kirby rubbed her head. She was having a very hard time taking all this in. Witches she could cope with. After all, Helen had been one. Vampires and shapeshifters she could learn to handle. But a void containing dead spirits who became demons was going a little too far beyond comprehension. “I don’t think I can handle all this right now.”
“You might have no choice,” Camille said, her voice still sympathetic and yet holding a hint of steel.
“You have to know what you’re facing in case the rest of us fail.”
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about them failing. Didn’t want to think about Doyle dying while trying to protect her. She’d sworn eighteen years ago to never be the cause of another death. If it came down to a choice between his life and hers, there would be no contest.
She sipped her tea, but all it was doing now was agitating her stomach. She put it back on the table half-finished. “Why would anyone in their right mind raise the spirit of a person who’d been dead for eighteen years?”
“She may not have been in her right mind, and if Felicity’s spirit is in her, she sure as hell won’t be now.”
She stared at Camille for a second, a chill chasing down her spine. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s pretty obvious that this woman is not just after the power of the circle. She wants you all to suffer, as Felicity must have suffered when she was crushed all those years ago. All you have to do is look at the way she killed Helen and the way she attempted to kill Trina. And remember, Felicity’s spirit has had eighteen years in hell to plot its revenge.”
“Oh great, so I have two nuts after me rather than one. They’re just neatly packaged together.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Kirby rubbed her arms. “What about Rachel?”
Camille frowned. “What about her?”
“Well, a manarei wasn’t sent after her, was it? So why not?”
Camille hesitated, then half shrugged. “It is possible she’s more violent with those she holds responsible for her death. Helen and you were the ones who formed the circle, and it was Trina’s power that killed Felicity.”
Awareness flowed through her. Doyle had entered the other room. She turned and watched him approach.
His gaze met hers, and relief flicked through his thoughts. He’d been worried about leaving her, she realized then, even if she was with his friends. The thought made her heart do an odd little dance.
“Who’s neatly packaged together?” he asked, stopping in the doorway.
Camille rose with a grunt. “Kirby can fill you in. Grab some names and addresses off Russell and keep looking for this Marline or Mariel Thomas. But I want you somewhere safe before sunset, understood?”
He nodded and motioned toward Trina. “What about her?”
“Russell’s best suited to look after her. At least he can keep her controlled and quiet. I want you to keep in regular contact, understand?”
“Understood.”
Camille’s sharp gaze momentarily pinned Kirby. “I’ll go get those herbs. Just make yourself a tea before you go to bed. It should take care of any lingering aftereffects.”
Doyle moved to one side as Camille pushed past. “You feeling any better?” he asked.
Kirby shrugged. “I honestly don’t think that’s going to be possible until this whole mess is finished. Why does Camille want us tucked away before sunset?”
“A dark witch’s powers tend to be greater after sunset.”
She frowned, confused. “But she attacked you yesterday and Trina today. Both times were during the day.”
“Yeah, and it’s a sign of her strength, because she’ll definitely get stronger at night.” He walked around the table and held out a hand. “Come on, let’s get moving.”
She hesitated, not trusting the sudden hint of mischievousness in his expression. He wiggled his fingers impatiently. Knowing he was up to something, but not entirely sure what, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet, then pulled her close, amusement and desire darkening his eyes.
“Won’t dare to steal kisses with my friends around, huh?” he murmured, his breath washing across her cheeks and setting her whole body alive. “Never tempt a thief with a statement like that.”
His mouth captured hers. She meant to protest, meant to push him away, but the moment his lips touched hers all resistance seemed to melt away. All she could think about, all she wanted, was him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer still. Her breasts were pressed hard against his chest, and she could feel his strengthening desire. He deepened the kiss and, for one moment, it felt as if he were delving deep into the very heart of her. Her pulse raced and her whole body was on fire, every nerve ending gloriously alive and aching with the need for his touch. For him.
Then he pulled away, his breathing harsh, eyes filled with such heat she felt it clear through to her toes. “It hasn’t faded, Kirby,” he said softly.
“No.” Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Nor will it, you know.”
“I know.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Shall we go?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Got the fast deflation model, have we?”
He grinned and brushed the hair from her eyes, his fingers trailing heat across her skin. “No. But I have got a coat. Wonderful inventions, coats. They hide many secrets.”
“No doubt half of them stolen,” she said dryly.
He grinned and didn’t deny it. “I might even let you investigate one day, if you play your cards right.”
“I wait with breathless anticipation.”
His gaze found hers as he led her from the room. “So do I,” he murmured. “So do I.”
Heat crept through her cheeks. She pulled her gaze from his and knew, with absolute certainty, that if she survived the night without making love to him, it would be nothing short of a miracle.
THEY SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY CHECKING OUT THE addresses of the various Marline and Mariel Thomases, only to come up empty every time. They were all either too young or too old. No one matched the image of the child in her mind.
Not that that meant anything, Kirby thought sourly. She closed her eyes, leaning back in the car seat. Trina had looked nothing like her memories, either, so why Kirby was so certain she would recognize the witch was a puzzle.
Doyle climbed into the car and shoved several plastic bags onto the backseat.
“You’ve got enough food in those bags to feed an army,” she said with amusement. “You planning to settle in for the long haul?”
“No, because it wouldn’t be safe. I am, however, starved.”
“Does that mean you’re planning to cook?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”
“Sort of.” Helen was the expert in that field. Kirby had only ever dabbled, and most of the time with disastrous effects. Which was why she’d been relegated to cooking only two nights out of seven.
“ ‘Sort of’ will ruin my soufflé.”
“You’re kidding … aren’t you?”
He grinned and started the engine. “I certainly am. I can’t stand soufflé.”
She rolled her eyes. “So what are we having?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“You can be very irritating, you know that?”
He flashed her another grin that sent her heart into cartwheels. “Thank you. It’s a skill I work hard at.”
He pulled out into the traffic. She studied his profile, her artist instincts stirred by the sheer perfection of it. She’d paint him one day, though no doubt from memory. Pain twinged through her. She bit her lip and wondered again why he seemed so attracted to her. Was it just the danger pulling them close, or was there something more? He had the looks, and no doubt the money, to pick and choose as he pleased. Surely an unwanted brown mouse from Nowhereville, Australia, didn’t have a hope of holding his interest for long.
And that was what was holding her back, she realized. As much as she wanted to make love to him, she was afraid that once she did, she’d want more. Want the whole nine yards. And she just couldn’t believe he’d ever be content to stay with someone like her. Damaged goods, Helen had once called them both. Thieves didn’t take damaged goods—they only went after the very best.
“I am going after the very b
est,” he murmured.
She briefly closed her eyes. If only I could believe you.
But that was the trouble. She couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t trust that he meant anything he said. She’d learned the hard way that the world was filled with thieves—some, like Doyle, stole artifacts, jewelry and no doubt the occasional heart. Others, like the caretaker, stole innocence.
“Don’t you dare put me in the same category as that animal,” he said, voice cold and flat. “We’re nothing alike.”
“I know, and that’s not what I meant.” She hesitated, not really certain just where those thoughts had been headed, other than the fact that if Doyle stole her heart and then walked away, she’d never recover. Not without Helen around to pick up the pieces.
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and risked a quick glance at him. His face was as stony as his thoughts. She’d annoyed him.
Hurt him.
And that was something she had never meant to do. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’s just … I just need time.” Time to know you. Time to know me. In two brief days, her life had irrevocably changed, and even the memories of her past had proven to be false. How could she possibly believe her feelings in such a situation? How could he? “You can’t just walk into my life and expect me to be swept away on a tide of emotion. It’s not that easy.”
“It is that easy—if you trust me.”
But that’s the whole problem. I can’t trust. She’d picked up most of the pieces and had continued on with her life, but her ability to trust people—and especially men—had never fully recovered. Somewhere deep inside her there was still a scared little girl hiding under the covers and listening to the sounds of trust being shattered.
She rubbed her forehead. Her headache was beginning to come back. “I really don’t want to discuss all this right now.”
He glanced at her, frustration evident in the blue of his eyes. “We have to discuss it sometime.”
“Yes. But not now.” Not until she knew whether she actually had a future to discuss.
They drove on in silence. The night shadows were creeping across the sky by the time they returned to the farmhouse.
