Circle Of Death

Chapter Ten

Magic burned across his skin. It had the same foul flavor as the trap he'd sensed in the other building and the magic he'd felt at Rachel Grant's. She was getting rid of the evidence, he thought, as the caretaker's screaming reached fever pitch.

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, 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 cruel manner. 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.

"We can try, though we haven't exactly been too successful in getting to these people before the murderer."

"We have to stop her before she gets to the third point," she said.

He lightly touched her back and guided her across the road. "She's killed three women, not two."

"Helen was a mistake." She hesitated. Her pain shimmered through him, tear bright. "She thought Helen was me, because of her gray eyes."

"Maybe." It certainly backed up Camille's theory that Helen Smith should not have died. "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, 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 really 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 killing the five of you?"

"Four 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, 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 judgement. "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, 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 just opening. He guided her inside, chose a table in the back shadows 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 wolfed down his eggs and bacon. Settling back in the chair, he picked up his coffee and watched her over the rim.

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 was 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, I'm likely to 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, Trina Jones or Vicki Campbell mean anything to you?"

She frowned. "No. Why?"

"Because they're all on Camille's list of possible victims. If your ghost is right, then one of them is the killer."

Her frown deepened. "But there are three names. If two are already dead and I'm the third, there should be only two."

"Camille did the reading right after the first killing. Maybe the killer wasn't sure of the names of her other victims until later. Maybe what Camille picked up was a list of the killer's possibles."

"But why would the killer put her own name on the list?"

"Maybe she was adopted and had her name changed, and she wasn't exactly sure which of the five she actually was."

"That's pushing it, don't you think?" 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."

"The first victim had also begun looking for relatives." Maybe their killer worked for the government department responsible for adoptions. Why else would they all be killed after they'd begun inquiries, and not before? "Had you?"

She shook her head, grimacing slightly. "Too afraid to."

If she hadn't have been, she might now be dead, right alongside Helen. He reached out and clasped her hand. "Sometimes it's better not to know."

She wrenched her hand from his. "Have you got parents? Family?"

"Yes."

"Then how the hell could you know that? You've never known what it's like to be alone, knowing there was 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 things 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 yeah, he'd had friends and the occasional lover to fill the void, but it just wasn't the same.

And she'd spent her entire life with that feeling. "At least you had Helen," 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 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. One of those five is usually the binding element. We think it might be strength, but as no one's encountered an elemental circle before now, we can't be sure."

"Sounds like a pentagram."

"It ain't. A pentagram is 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."

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 those three names on your list might be the killer, Camille."

"If the list is right, Kirby certainly wasn't on it."

"It's the only real lead we have right now. We have no other choice but to trust it."

Camille grunted. "True. I'll take Trina Jones. You two can take Vicki Campbell and Marline Thomas. If none of us is successful, Russ can continue the search tonight."

"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. 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 its best not to go back to that car. If she saw you in Rachel Grant's house, she's had the 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, Shapechanger. 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."

"Why?"

"She said something about a gift. Only," she hesitated, "there was a gift on my dresser last night, when I went upstairs to get some clothes. I didn't unwrap it. I just shoved it into my bag."

He frowned. "Why would Helen be leaving you a gift?"

"My birthday is tomorrow." Her voice broke slightly, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

The waiter chose that moment to come along. Doyle quickly paid him, waiting until he was out of earshot again before asking, "Why would she have left a present on your dresser two days before your birthday?"

She bit her lip. "She talked to the wind and read our futures. She might have known she wasn't going to be around."

Her voice broke again. He placed a hand over hers. "If Helen had left you that present, then why would she be sending you back to find another?"

"But who else—" She hesitated again, gaze widening. "The killer did, didn't she? That's how she kept sending those things after us."

He nodded. It had to be a beacon of some kind. They'd been found too easily every time. "So we leave it right where it is, and before you take anything else from your house, you let me check it."

"Because you can sense magic?"

He nodded again and stood "Ready to go?"

"No." She grimaced and rose. "But I guess the sooner I get this over with, the better."

They left the restaurant and caught a cab to her house. Kirby climbed out, but stopped near the front gate. "I can't do this." She was staring at the front door, her face pale. "I can't go in there."

He clasped her fingers and squeezed them gently, then turned to study the house. Police tape barred the front door, and 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 like 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 tape across the door did mean they couldn't go in that way. And the birches lining the front fence were too far away from the windows to provide climbing assistance. Not that it would be wise to do so in daylight. "Does the garage provide access to the back section 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 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."

The garage door wasn't locked. Obviously, security wasn't a major worry to either of them, though he had a suspicion Kirby might be a little more cautious from now on. He closed the door behind them, then followed her through to the backyard. Birches lined the boundaries here as well, 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.

"Pretty," he said, meaning it.

"Thanks." She plucked a key from under the mat and glanced at him, a smile touching her lips. "Don't tell me that's a dumb place to keep a key, because I already know it is."

"Wasn't going to mention it." Besides, for most professional thieves, door locks were the least of their problems. It was things like pressure pads, heat and motion sensors and all the other varieties of alarms they had these days that provided the worry. "But you could at least try somewhere more original."

"Like what? The potted plant?"

"Actually, if you have to leave out a key, then sticking it to the back of something like a leaf is a damn fine hiding place. Most amateurs don't think of that."

"And most professionals don't bother?"

"Something like that." He took the key from her and opened the door. "Ready?"

She nodded. He caught her hand and opened the door, leading her into the kitchen. It was like he'd walked into a slaughterhouse. Seeing the pictures was one thing, seeing the reality another. Granted, there were no body parts lying about, but blood was still splashed everywhere, and the outlines of where they'd found the different pieces of humanity littered the floor.

No wonder she had been so fearful to confront this all again. While he was no stranger to the various faces of death, even he found this sickening. He quickly guided her through and up the stairs.

"You can open your eyes now," he said once they were out of sight of the mess below.

She did so, taking a deep breath in the process. "Thank you."

He nodded and touched her cheek, lightly thumbing away a tear. "Any idea where Helen might have hidden this present?"

"In her room, I'd presume." She stepped away from his touch and entered the room to the right of the stairs.

It was a moody blue-and-gray color scheme—odd colors for a woman, but fitting for a storm witch. He glanced across the corridor to the other room. Yellows, reds and creams. The colors of summer and the sun. Kirby's room. He resisted the temptation to go and look. Instead, he watched as she opened the wardrobe.

"She usually kept things she wanted hidden in with all her shoes," she said, getting down on her knees.

"Wait, don't touch anything." He knelt down beside her and swept his hand through the shadows, searching for any indication of magic. "Clear," he said, sitting back on his heels.

She leaned forward, pulling out various boxes and shoes, but in the end found nothing. She sat back, her shoulder brushing his arm as she contemplated the wardrobe.

"What about the storage space up top?" he said, pointing to the shelf above the hanging space.

She wrinkled her nose, and for an instant looked so damn cute he just wanted to kiss her. A desire she must have sensed, because she edged away slightly.

"Helen was short, like me. She usually settled for lower hiding spots."

"We can't stay here long," he reminded her softly. "The cops could be here any minute."

"I know." She took a deep breath, then climbed to her feet. "You check up there. I'll check her drawers."

"Deal." He rose and began pulling everything out of the top of the wardrobe. There was nothing there that even remotely resembled a present. He shoved it all back and headed over to the bed. Kneeling down, he looked under it. There, in the darkness, a silver wrapped present sat waiting.

"Found it," he said, reaching out. Magic tingled across his skin, but its touch was warm, muted.

Nonthreatening.

He held it out to her, but she didn't take it, just regarded it warily. "Are you sure it's from Helen? Maybe it's another gift from our murderous friend."

"There's nothing evil to the feel of this present. I wouldn't let you touch it, otherwise."

"Oh." She swallowed heavily, a bright light in her eyes. "You hold it for me. I have to get some clothes and stuff."

He followed her out of the room but waited in the hallway, sensing she wasn't comfortable about having him in her room.

When she came back out, she was wearing a long black coat similar to his and holding an overnight bag.

He took it from her and checked to make sure there was nothing resembling anything magical in it, then dropped the present inside. "That all?"

She hesitated. "I need my wallet. I can't keep letting you pay for everything."

"And you can't exactly run if you haven't got cash or credit cards, can you?"

She didn't deny his accusation. He sighed. "Where did you leave it?"

"It's in my handbag, which I dropped near the front door when I came in last night."

"I'll go get it. You wait here."

He dropped the bag next to her and headed down the stairs. Her handbag was where she'd said, zipper open and the outside covered in white dust. He squatted, carefully nudging the zip open with a finger—and felt the sting of magic burn through him.

He yanked his hand away and quickly upended the bag. The contents fell out, littering the carpet. Wind stirred, raising the hairs along the back of his neck. Something was coming. Something bad.

He grabbed her car keys then rose. The air shimmered and flexed, half forming the shape of a hand. The wind keened into the silence, battering at him, as if trying to force him away.

Watching the energy-forming hand, he stepped back.

And fell into darkness.