by Keri Arthur
He stepped forward, but Kirby grabbed his arm. “She’ll kill you,” she murmured.
Images streamed from her mind to his—a figure cowled in black, wearing a death mask. Long, thin hands from which flames sprung, surrounding the old man. Fire burning through the air, through the old man. His screams clashing with the howl of the inferno before dying abruptly.
The searing touch of magic flashed again, and the figure was gone, leaving only a burning wreck that had once been a man.
“Not a man,” Kirby murmured. “A monster.”
Doyle turned away from the door. The old man was dead, but the flames still burned. If the alarms in the building were still working, they would no doubt go off soon. They had to be out of here before the fire department arrived.
He caught Kirby’s hand and squeezed her fingers gently. There were tears in her eyes, and he could feel the pain in her thoughts. As much as she’d hated the caretaker, as much as she might have wished him dead, she hadn’t wanted him to die in such a manner. She was a gentle spirit, despite everything she’d faced as a child.
“We have to go,” he said, tugging her forward when all he really wanted to do was take her into his arms again.
“Where to now?” she asked, making no attempt to remove her fingers from his as they quickly made their way toward the main exit.
“Breakfast for me, and hot coffee, at the very least, for you.” Though her fingers were warm against his, he could feel the trembling running through them. Whether it was a reaction to what she’d learned, the old man’s death, or something else entirely, he wasn’t sure.
“No,” she said, a smile touching her lips as her bright gaze flashed to his. “I meant what’s our next plan of attack? Do we try to find the next name on that list of yours?”
He hesitated at the gate, checking to make sure there was no one around, then motioned her through. “There’s nothing else we can do.” Even though they hadn’t exactly been successful in getting to these people before the killer did.
“We have to stop her before she gets to the third victim,” she said.
“We will.” He touched her back lightly and guided her across the road. “The caretaker spoke of the five of you forming a circle and surrounding him with magic. Any idea what he was talking about?”
She shook her head, her thoughts troubled. “It’s like there’s this big brick wall in my mind. I can’t remember anything …” She hesitated, taking a shaky breath. “Helen told me that I was the one that binds. She said the killer seeks to control the power of the elements—the circle of five.”
A chill ran through him. Helen was dead. She couldn’t possibly have told Kirby anything. Was the killer playing games? “Helen said this? When?”
His voice was sharper than he’d intended, and she bit her lip, her face pale. “In the park, when you were in Rachel’s house. It wasn’t Helen, just her spirit. She’s one with the wind now.”
Her voice faded, but images skated from her mind to his, fractured reflections of what had happened, and what Helen had said. He relaxed a little. No wraith in league with evil could be that convincing. “She didn’t explain what this circle was? Or why the killer is after the four of you?”
“She said there was five of us,” she corrected, rubbing her arms. “The killer is one of the five.”
“What?” He stopped, pulling her around to face him. “Are you sure about that?” God, that meant that if Camille’s list was correct, they’d had the name of the killer all along. Only Felicity Barnes’s name wasn’t on it, so where did she fit in?
Her face was troubled, her green eyes silvered with tears. “Helen was sure.”
And because it was Helen, she believed it. While he’d never been one to trust the word of ghosts, he did trust Kirby’s judgment. “Did Helen say anything else?”
She hesitated. “She said that I had to find the fourth point and save her. Then I had to stop the fifth.”
“You won’t be stopping anyone. You’ll be tucked away somewhere nice and safe.”
Her gaze searched his for a second. “I’m the only one who can stop her. Helen told me that.”
“Well, Helen’s wrong. Camille’s a damn powerful witch, and Russ and I aren’t a bad backup team. We’ve handled a lot worse than this, believe me.”
She didn’t. He could sense the doubt in her mind, the fear. Despite everything, despite what she was feeling—albeit unwillingly—she still didn’t trust him. Or rather, didn’t trust his ability to keep her safe.
Perhaps, given her past, that was understandable, but it was also damned annoying. “What more do I have to do to prove myself to you?” he added, his voice holding an edge.
She turned away, but not before he saw the sheen of tears on her cheeks. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry—”
She held up a hand. “Forget it. Let’s just go get that coffee.”
Her voice was flat. Emotionless. The total opposite to her thoughts, which careened chaotically from wanting to trust to desperately needing to run from him and everything she was feeling.
He wasn’t the only one who’d been hit by the emotional club, but it appeared he was the only one who really understood it. He had to give her time to get used to him, to get used to what she was feeling, or she’d run for sure. And now that he’d found her, he didn’t want to lose her.
They headed down the street and eventually found a small coffee shop that was just opening. He guided her inside, chose a table in the back close to the rear exit and ordered them both breakfast and coffee.
She did little more than pick at her toast, but at least she was trying. He was hungrier than he’d thought, and he wolfed down his eggs and bacon. Settling back in the chair, he picked up his coffee and watched her over the rim of his cup.
Heat crept across her cheeks. She brushed the hair out of her eyes, then met his gaze. “Stop it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Stop what?”
“Looking at me that way … like I’m some sort of luscious bun you can’t wait to devour.”
He grinned. “Well, you’re certainly the tastiest morsel I’ve tried in a long, long time.”
“Yeah, like I believe that.”
He shrugged. Nothing he said right now would make her believe otherwise. She was looking for excuses to keep him at a distance. He put his coffee back on the table, then crossed his arms and leaned forward. “Do the names Marline Thomas or Trina Jones mean anything to you?”
She frowned. “No. Why?”
“Because they’re the other two women on Camille’s list of possible victims. If your ghost is right, then one of them is the killer.”
Her frown deepened. “But the caretaker said it was a Felicity Barnes who asked him about our records, so where does she fit in?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. And it was damned frustrating.
She sipped at her coffee for a moment. “Helen told me that she’d tried to find out who her parents were, and that’s why we were involved.”
“It could be.” Maybe their killer worked for the government department responsible for adoptions. Why else would Helen have been killed after she’d begun her inquiries, and not before? “Had you?”
She shook her head, grimacing slightly. “I’ve never wanted to.”
If she had, she might now be dead, right alongside Helen. He reached out and clasped her hand. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “I guess it stems from anger. I mean, they abandoned me. They left me on the doorstep of a hospital and walked away. Why would I ever want to find people who could do that to a baby?”
“They might have had good reasons—”
“To leave me on the steps? To not even give me a birth certificate?” She wrenched her hands from his. “Do you know what it’s like to always be alone, knowing there is no one—no one—you could really turn to when …”
She broke off, but her unfinished sentence whispered through him, sharp with pain and memories. When the bad t
hings happened. She was right, of course. He could never know what it had been like for her, but he could imagine. For the last ten years he’d been alone, away from his family, and it had certainly provided an insight. And while he’d had friends and the occasional lover to fill the void, it just wasn’t the same.
And she’d spent nearly her entire life with that feeling. “At least you had Helen once you reached that facility,” he murmured lamely.
She looked down at the table. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
He watched her a minute longer, then resignedly got out his cell phone and dialed Camille. He quickly filled her in on what had happened at the facility as well as what the ghostly Helen had told Kirby.
“I was afraid of this,” Camille muttered. “That circle being carved into the doors has to represent an elemental circle.”
“Which is?” He pulled the phone away from his ear so Kirby could hear. The old witch had a loud voice, and it would carry across the table easily enough.
“It was thought for a long time to be little more than a myth, but we’ve been doing some research and our findings are saying otherwise.” She sniffed. “An elemental circle is the combination of five elements—fire, water, earth and air. The fifth element is strength, but it’s more commonly known as the binding element. The binder is the most important element of all, because without one, the others cannot unite.”
“It sounds like a pentagram.”
“It isn’t. A pentagram is just used to perform magic or to protect. An elemental circle is a force.”
“Why would one of the five be killing the others, if they need each other to work this circle?”
“She’s not just killing them, she’s sucking their abilities from them. Maybe she tasted the power once and now hungers for it all. But, this time, she wants all the elements under her control.” Camille’s voice was grim. “But that could only happen if either she is the binding element, or she consumes the binding element.”
His gaze met Kirby’s. The caretaker had said they’d formed the circle to attack him. That’s when it had started, all those years ago. But why wait until now to attack? It didn’t make any sense. “One of the two remaining names might be the killer, Camille.”
“Maybe,” Camille growled. “And maybe not. I’ll take Trina Jones. You two try to find Marline Thomas. Russ can search for the mysterious Felicity Barnes.”
“You got addresses?” He pulled a pen from his pocket and grabbed a table napkin, quickly jotting them down as Camille read them out. There were close to fifteen possible locations. They weren’t going to get through them all today.
“Kirby wants to head home and grab some money and clothes, then we’ll head off.”
“Don’t go back to your car. Leave whatever is in her bag right where it is. Safer that way for you both.”
He frowned. “Someone will report it as abandoned.”
“So? You didn’t actually rent it, did you?”
He glanced at Kirby. She’d raised an eyebrow, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Well, no.” And he’d worn gloves when driving, so they wouldn’t find his prints. But they’d find Kirby’s. And they’d find her backpack.
“Believe an old witch when she says it’s best not to go back to that car. If our murderer saw you in Rachel Grant’s house, she’s had time to set a trap. Kirby’s probably got a car. Use that.”
He hadn’t thought of that. He raised an eyebrow in query, and she nodded.
“Keep in contact, shapeshifter. Hourly reports.”
“Will do.” He disconnected and tucked the phone away. Kirby picked up the list, studying it. “The third address is actually not far away from my place.”
“Then we’ll head to your place and continue on from there.” He motioned the waiter for the bill. “Tell me, why are you so desperate to go back to your place? It’s not just for money, is it?”
She bit her lip and looked away. “Helen told me to go. She said it was urgent.”
Doyle frowned. “Why?”
“She said I had to find her gift, that the gift I had wasn’t the one she’d left.” She hesitated. “Which made me wonder if perhaps that gift contained the tracker you were searching for.”
“It might.” He hadn’t felt any magic emanating from it, but then, the woman behind all this was obviously very adept at magic and could easily have shielded a tracking spell from casual examination. “Is there anyone else likely to have left you a gift?”
She shook her head, a smile touching her lips. “No boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He wasn’t, but it was still nice to have it confirmed. “Did you open the present in your pack at all?”
“I haven’t had the chance.”
“Probably just as well, given it might contain more than just a tracker.” He’d have to contact Camille and get her to check it out. If that present did contain some form of magic, it would need to be diffused. She might also be able to use it to trace the magic back to its source. “Why did Helen leave you a gift?”
“My birthday is tomorrow.” Her voice broke slightly, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. “Hers would have been, too. She was always talking to the wind and reading our futures. She must have known—”
Her voice broke again. He placed a hand over hers.
“Did Helen say why you needed to find her present so urgently?”
“She said I needed to say the words and complete the circle.” Kirby grimaced. “It doesn’t really make much sense.”
It did if there was some sort of spell involved. He stood. “Ready to go?”
“No.” She grimaced and rose. “And won’t it still be a crime scene?”
“More than likely, but we should be able to get around that.”
Her face went pale. “You’re not going to hurt anyone, are you?”
“Of course not.” Irritation edged his voice. “I’m a reformed thief, not a killer.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Her voice faded and she bit her lip, looking contrite and confused and so damn cute all he wanted to do was hug her.
Instead, he took her hand and led her outside. They caught a cab but stopped at the top of her street, far enough away that any cops who might be watching the place wouldn’t immediately recognize Kirby. She climbed out as he paid the cabbie, but didn’t move when he joined her on the sidewalk.
“There’s a cop car out front.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and was filled with horror. Not because of the cops, he suspected, but because of the memories evoked after she looked at the house they guarded. “I suppose they’re looking for me.”
“More than likely. And it’s only been a couple of days since the murder. They probably haven’t finished their investigation yet.” He clasped her fingers and squeezed them gently, then turned to study the house. Aside from the officers in the car, police tape barred the front door, which was closed. Which probably meant that there weren’t any other officers on site at the moment—although he had no doubt they would be back later in the day to search the scene yet again, hunting for the smallest of clues. But as Camille said, they were looking in all the wrong places. There was nothing in any procedural manual that would ever prepare them for something like magic—or the manarei.
The cops out front did mean they couldn’t go in that way, even if he did take them out temporarily. “Does the garage provide access to the back of the house?”
She nodded. “But there were bits of Ross all over the kitchen. I can’t …” Tears glimmered again, and she bit her lip.
He wondered why she was so determined not to show any emotion, to hold it all inside. Had some nut in her past enforced the impression that it was better that way?
“Close your eyes, then. I’ll lead you through.”
She glanced at him and nodded. “I guess I can manage that.”
“Good. Wait here while I go deal with the officers.” He hesitated. “What’s the name of the local newspaper?”
“The Moonee Valle
y Leader. Why?”
“I need a cover story.”
“Oh. Be careful.”
He smiled, raised her hand and kissed her fingers. “Always.”
A pretty blush crept across her cheeks. He resisted the impulse to kiss her more thoroughly, then pulled his phone out as he made his way down the street. He sent Camille a quick text, giving her a rundown on the present and asking her to check it out; then he plucked one of her ready-to-go potions from an inner pocket and held it loosely in his free hand. Once he was near the car, he hit the phone’s record button. The passenger’s-side window was halfway down.
The cop raised an eyebrow as Doyle stopped beside the car. “May I help you?”
“Officer, Mike Jones from the Moonee Valley Leader,” Doyle said, and held his phone closer to the half-open window. “I was just wondering if you could give us an update on the events here. Are you any closer to discovering the murderer?”
The officer grimaced. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t comment.”
“I’ve talked to the neighbors, and several said it looked like the bodies were torn apart.” He crushed the charm as he spoke, and felt a tingle against his palm as the magic activated. “Is that true?”
“Again, I’m sorry, but if you want more information, you’re going to have—”
The rest of the sentence was cut off as Doyle threw the crushed remnants of the charm into the car. Blue smoke immediately began to fill the cabin, and Doyle stepped back as a few tendrils curled out through the half-open window. The last thing he needed was to be caught in the spell’s immobilizing net. Neither cop stood much of a chance—the spell was designed to work fast and it would hold them for about ten minutes. He hoped that would be long enough to get Kirby in and out of her house.
He went back to collect her, then led her into her backyard via the unlocked garage door. Birches lined the boundaries, casting dappled shadows across the tiny patch of grass. Azaleas brightened the corners of the yard, providing cheerful splashes of yellow, red and orange through the shade.