Circle Of Death

Chapter Thirteen

Doyle had barely climbed into the car when Kirby sped off. He cursed, thrusting a hand against the dash to stop 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, shapechanger."

"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've 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 the street directory and guided her 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 manareis . 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 skin. 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 a 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. The wind stirred, tossing his hair and murmuring through the two large gums in the front yard. He sniffed the air, but could smell nothing beyond the warmth of freshly baked bread.

He glanced at his watch. If Kirby'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 door bell. 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 than the yard.

He leaned a shoulder against the fence and waited. Minutes slipped by, and the thump of music suddenly 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 of 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 a little?" he said, waving the knife before him, as if it were a stick and the manarei nothing more than a playful dog.

The creature leapt. He waited until the last moment and slashed at the manarei's snarling, snapping jaws before diving away. He hit the ground and rolled quickly to his feet, spinning to face the monster.

It wiped a claw across reptilian lips, smearing black blood across its leathery cheeks. "I will gut you with that little stick." The manarei's voice was thick, its words barely understandable. "Then I will consume what little brains you have."

"Try it," he muttered, watching its tail rather than its eyes. When a manarei attacked, its spring came from its powerful hind legs. Usually, the tail was the first indicator of an impending attack.

Its tail lashed, and a split second later, the manarei launched itself. He held his ground again, cutting the knife across the creature's eyes before ducking under its claws and rolling away.

The manarei snarled in frustration. It hit the ground and sprang again, almost catlike in its agility. He scrambled to his feet, slashing desperately with the knife, then ducked away and spun, kicking the creature in the gut. It caught his foot and tossed him forward. He sailed through the air and hit the ground nose first, sliding through the weeds and skinning half his face.

The air screamed again. He rolled away and called to his alternate shape. In panther form, he leapt onto the reptile's back and bit deep into its neck. Blood gushed, thick and hot, its taste like acid in his mouth.

The manarei screamed and reached back, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him off. He slashed with his claws, tearing into the creature's face, and it tossed him away as if he were nothing more than a lightweight ball. He hit ground feet first, felt the tremor of the earth through his pads and looked up to see the manarei pounding toward him. He twisted around, saw the closeness of the trees and leapt for the nearest branch, scrambling up into the deep, dark recess of the pine.

The creature snarled and pounded the trunk in frustration. The whole tree shivered. He dug his claws into the branch, holding on for grim death. Manareis weren't the best climbers, and right now, this tree was all that stood between him and certain death.

Where the hell was Camille?

Another tremor ran through the old tree, stronger than before. The manarei was thrusting its weight against the trunk, trying to bring it down. Doyle looked up. The top of the tree was beginning to rock ever so gently.

He shifted shape again and wrapped his legs around the branch, holding on for dear life. The tree began to sigh, pine needles rustling, as if stirred by the gentlest of breezes. The branch he was sitting on vibrated to the tune of the manarei's pounding, jarring his spine. Not even a tree as old as this pine had the strength to withstand the might of an enraged manarei for long.

He reached to his left, plucking pinecones from the nearest branches and began bombarding the creature. It did little more than seriously annoy it, but right then, that's exactly what he wanted. An enraged creature was more likely to stay put and not remember the woman it was sent here to kill. As long as he stayed out of its way, everything should be okay.

The manarei howled its frustration, then sunk its claws into the trunk and began to climb.

He dropped the remainder of the cones, and scrambled to his feet. "You're not supposed to be able to climb, you bastard!"

The creature merely grinned, revealing long rows of gleaming teeth, and continued to climb. Doyle shifted shape once more and worked his way further up into the tree. But he was running out of room—and tree—fast. The branch beneath him snapped, and suddenly he was falling. Branches caught at his fur, tearing deep. He twisted, slashing wildly with his claws, trying to regain some purchase but catching only pine needles. Heard the guttural laugh of the manarei and the fetid warmth of its breath wash over him. Felt the air vibrate as the killing stroke closed in.

He twisted desperately, throwing himself to the right, away from the creature—away from the tree.

Heard a sharp sound, felt something sting past his ear and the warm rush of blood, then he was hurtling uncontrolled toward the ground.

He twisted again, somehow managing to get feet-first before he hit the ground, but the impact shuddered through him. For an instant, it felt as if every bone in his body had shattered.

He shifted shape and collapsed onto his back, eyes closed and dragging in air. Death had come far too close, and for the first time ever, it had truly scared him.

Maybe because for the first time in his life it actually mattered whether he lived or died—because this time, he had something to lose beyond his life.

"About time you got here," he muttered, when he could.

"I've told you before not to tease them," Camille said, voice sharp. "It's your own damn fault it got so close in the first place."

He opened his eyes. She was standing close by his side, a gun clenched firmly in two hands and aimed toward the tree.

"Did you kill it?"

She gave him a scathing look. "Of course I killed it. I can shoot a damn sight better than you, boy. Now get off your butt. There should be another one of them suckers around here somewhere."

He rose slowly. Every muscle protested, making him feel a hundred years old. "Did you bring me a weapon?"

She pulled a gun from the waistband of her leather pants and handed it to him. "You've got two shots, I've got one. That's it, so make them count."

"I will." He checked the gun then swiped away the blood running down his neck. Camille's shot had nicked his ear, but it could have been far worse had she not risked the shot and the manarei had gotten hold of him. "You'd better get inside that house and grab Trina. I'll keep watch—" He stopped. Magic burned across his skin, the same sharp, foul sensation as before.

Inside the house, someone began screaming.

Kirby was halfway down the driveway when her vision blurred. Suddenly she was inside the house rather than outside. In the rear of the house, in a room warmed by the summer sun, a manarei was creeping towards its unknowing victim. Fear clutched her heart and squeezed tight, and for several seconds she couldn't even breathe.

Then she was running up the steps, fingers alive with energy that she launched at the front door. It crashed open, but the sound got lost in the high-pitched screaming coming from the rear of the house—screaming that abruptly died. The glass surrounding the door shattered, sending deadly-looking slivers slicing through the air. She raised her hands to protect her face and ran through the entrance.

"Trina!" she screamed. The only reply was a whimper of fear—a sound she felt like echoing.

She pounded down the hall, her footsteps echoing on the wooden floors. Saw Trina on the kitchen floor, scrambling backwards, one arm bloodied and dangling uselessly.

Saw the manarei , claws gleaming a bloody red in the morning light streaming in through the kitchen windows.

"Hey, reptile," she shouted, sliding to a stop just inside the doorway. Its head snaked around, eyes narrowing when it saw her. She didn't give it time to think or react but raised her hands and unleashed the fire. "Eat this!"

Lightning netted the creature, surrounding it in a web of blue-white light and thrusting it back against the wall, away from Trina.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air. The creature howled, fighting the energy that held him captive.

Pain shivered through her, adding fuel to her already agitated stomach. She'd never tried to hold the energy in a net before, had always used it as a weapon of attack rather than containment. But the energy itself couldn't kill a manarei . She'd learned that the hard way. Using it as a net was her only option, and it was tougher than she'd ever imagined it could be.

Sweat beaded her forehead, and the madmen in her head were beginning their pounding with renewed vigor. She wouldn't be able to hold the net for long, that was for sure.

She ran to Trina's side. Her face was pale, skin clammy, gray eyes more than a little vague as they met Kirby's.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice shrill, almost childlike.

"A friend from the past," Kirby said. A friend you may not want to remember . "Can you get up?"

Trina nodded, but her movements were weak, and she seemed unable to find any purchase on the floor tiles. Swearing softly, Kirby tucked her arms under the woman's shoulders and hauled her upright. Trina whimpered and went limp. Grunting under the sudden impact of her weight, Kirby gritted her teeth and struggled to keep them both upright.

The manarei's snarl made her look up. The net was flickering, its power fading. She reached desperately for more energy and for several seconds the net flared brightly. Then the pain in her head kicked in full strength, and the net continued to fade. There was nothing more she could do to hold it.

The manarei wrenched an arm free, its claws slashing the air, a chilling indicator of what it intended once it was free.

Fear surged, threatening to stifle her. She had a minute, maybe less, to get out of here. The energy was fading fast, trickling away from her control as quickly as time. She began dragging Trina from the room.

She'd almost reached the hall when the manarei broke free of its bonds. Red-hot knives of agony tore through her brain, and she gasped, dropping to her knees. Tears filled her eyes, but it was the pain in her head that blurred her vision. She couldn't see. Didn't need to. The air seemed to scream with the manarei's closeness.

She called desperately to the fire, but the knives dug deeper, burning white-hot through her entire body.

She gasped, doubling over, pain pounding through her head and body. She couldn't move, couldn't even defend herself, let alone Trina.

She closed her eyes. Doyle's image swam before her, his blue eyes rich with warmth and caring—something she would not now have the chance to explore. And for that, I'm sorry…

A door slammed open to her right, and two quick shots filled the silence. Flesh slapped against the flooring, hitting hard enough to vibrate the old boards.

For several heartbeats, nothing moved. Not her, not the manarei and not whoever it was who'd come through the door.

"Kirby, are you hurt?" Doyle said into the silence.

Relief swept through her, so intense it snatched her voice away. He was okay, and so was she.

"Damn it, answer me. Are you hurt?

His voice was sharp with anger and concern, but right then, she'd never heard a sweeter sound. She shook her head, but even that small movement sent the madmen in her head into overdrive.

"I held the creature in an energy net," she ground out. "Something I've never tried before. It hurt like hell." Was still hurting like hell.

"Camille? Need your help in here."

Boot heels echoed across the floorboards. He knelt beside her, something she felt rather than saw. Her vision was still blurry, and the pounding ache in her head was so bad she felt like throwing up.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he chided softly. Warmth brushed across her cheek as he thumbed away a tear.

"I thought I told you to call for help if you ran into a manarei ?"

His smile shimmered through her. He touched her hand, fingers twining around hers. "Touché. Are you able to move? We really have to get out of this house in case the neighbors have called the cops."

She nodded carefully. The last thing she needed right now was another three hour session with the disbelieving detective. "What about Trina?"

"We take her with us," Camille said from the doorway. "I'll just splint that arm first."

"Don't suppose you've got anything in your magic box to cure a psi-blinding headache?" Doyle asked.

Psi-blinding headache? There was a technical term for this sort of pain?

"Not on me, no." Camille said, her sharp voice close. "I have something back at the office, if you want to follow us."

"Is that safe with the murderer still on the loose?" Doubt echoed through his soft tones.

"Got no other choice. We can't exactly take either of them to the hospital right now, can we?"

"No."

"Then just make sure neither of us is tailed."

Trina's weight was lifted from her, then she was picked up and cradled close to Doyle's chest. This time she didn't fight. This time, she simply enjoyed the warmth of his arms around her, the tight sense of security that ached through her heart.

He carried her out of the kitchen. She blinked against the sudden brightness, her eyes watering again.

She swiped a hand across her eyes, but her vision was still blurred. His face was little more than a wash of skin and dark hair. But she didn't need to see him when his arms were wrapped so tightly around her, and his scent—a rich mix of muskiness, pine and masculinity—tingled across her senses and warmed her deep inside.

"Have I ever mentioned the fact you smell nice?" She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the rapid pounding of his heart. It was a rhythm matched by her own.

His laugh rumbled through her. "No, I don't believe you have. And this is a rather strange time to mention it."

"Hey, I might not get the chance to say it later."

His arms tightened briefly. "You'll have as much time as you want. I'll make sure of it."

She closed her eyes, not ready to confront the emotion so evident behind his words and in his thoughts.

Nothing had ever come easy to her, so why should something as elusive as love? Especially now, when her whole world seemed to be tearing apart.

If he was following her thoughts, he didn't say anything, just opened the car door and placed her carefully inside. She kept her eyes closed. The darkness seemed to ease the pounding in her head a little.

He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. She listened to the rumble of traffic passing by, and drifted off into a semi-sleep, only to jerk awake when the sound of the engine ceased. Blinking, she looked at the clock on the dash. Only twenty minutes had passed. It had seemed like hours.

The warm sunshine had given way to shadows. Around them, slabs of gray concrete stood like silent sentinels in an empty, filth-ridden world. A place where demons roamed, and the dull puddles of brightness provided by the lights dotted haphazardly across the roof did little to provide an air of safety.

For an instant, fear surged. Where the hell are we? She blinked again, and their surroundings became just a car park. Yet she had an odd feeling that what she had seen she would see again. Sometime in the near future, fate and she would meet in such a car park.

Doyle's hand closed over hers. "You feeling any better?"

She carefully shook her head. "I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"That can happen when you overextend your psychic strength," he commented. "You want to be carried again?"

"I'm not an invalid. I can walk." Besides, if she risked another five minutes in his arms she might not want to leave.

"I wouldn't mind," he said softly.

She didn't answer, just got out of the car. Helen would have called it cowardice. She called it caution.

She wasn't going to commit to anything she wasn't certain about, and right now that included Doyle.

The air smelled stale and was perfumed with the rich scent of rubbish and urine. Beer bottles decorated the far corners, scattered about like abandoned toys. "Nice section of town to have an office," she muttered, rubbing her arms against the chill in the air.

He shrugged and cupped her elbow, gently guiding her toward the elevator. "Most of the building has been converted to a shelter for the homeless. Our offices are on the top floor, and the rent pays for a lot of the meals."

She raised an eyebrow as he punched the button for the eighth floor. "So this Damask Circle of yours actually has offices here in Melbourne?"

"We have offices everywhere. Evil doesn't stick to a single country, you know."

"I guess it doesn't." Though it was something she'd never been forced to think about before now. "So, are we going to stay here rather than going back to the farmhouse tonight?" Disappointment twinged through her at the thought.

He leaned a shoulder against the wall and regarded her thoughtfully. The left side of his face was grazed, and blood had formed dried-up rivulets down his neck. But if he was in any sort of pain, she couldn't feel or see it. Maybe shapeshifters had a high tolerance to such things.

"Would you rather stay here?"

There was so little emotion in his words and expression, one would have thought he was asking the time of day. But she knew it was the very last thing he wanted. She also knew that he'd do it for her if she asked. It was a thought that was oddly warming.

She raised an eyebrow. "And how would you steal your kisses if we stayed with your friends?"

"I didn't exactly steal them the last two times." His voice was dry, and amusement glittered in his bright eyes. "Besides, there'll be plenty of time to worry about that once I have you safe."

His dark hair was falling in unruly waves across his forehead, and a smile teased the corners of his full lips. Too sexy for her own good, she thought, and pulled her gaze from his.

Did she want to stay here? Part of her said yes. Part of her said no. The only thing she was certain of was the fact that whatever was happening between them—whether it was merely a passing fancy or something more permanent—it wasn't going to be stopped by the presence of others. And in many respects, staying with his friends was the coward's way out.

Under any other circumstance, she might have grabbed at the chance not to be alone with him. As Helen had noted many a time, cowardice was her middle name. But it just wasn't a good move, tactically, for them all to be in the same place. At least if there were two groups, the murdering witch after her and Trina would have to expend a lot more time and energy to find them. And in doing so, she'd hopefully give them the chance to find and stop her.

"It's safer if we remain apart," she said eventually.

His smile crinkled the corners of his bright eyes again. "Admit it, you like being with me, don't you?"

Heat crept through her cheeks. "I will admit to nothing more than feeling safe with you."

"Well, that's a damn good start." He pushed upright as the elevator stopped and the door opened.

"After you." He motioned her forward with a gracious sweep of his hand.

As they traveled upward, she wondered why her words seemed to please him so much. They certainly hadn't committed her in any shape or form. Frowning, she walked out of the lift. The corridor beyond was a bright, sterile white. Blinking at the light's harshness, she hesitated and rubbed a hand across her eyes. The brightness had invigorated the madmen in her head again.

He touched her elbow, lightly guiding her toward the only door visible. It opened before they got there, revealing a broad-shouldered, brown-haired man she would have classed the 'all American boy' type except for his eyes. They were a warm, rich brown, at once inviting and yet somehow chilling. This was a man who knew death more intimately than most.

"Russell, Kirby," Doyle said by way of introduction.

Her hand got lost in the big man's grip. She tried to ignore the little voice reminding her that this man was a vampire, a drinker of blood.

"Only animal blood," Russell said, voice as rich as his eyes and oddly soothing.

"Oh great," she muttered. "Another one who can read my thoughts. Just what I need right now."

Russell grinned. "I promise not to play about in your mind."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, I guess if I'm trusting the word of a thief, I might as well trust the word of a vampire."

Russell threw a grin over the top of her head. "I've got the feeling she's not exactly sure of you yet, my friend," Doyle snorted. "Ain't that the truth."

Though his words were aimed at his friend, his gaze found hers. For the first time she saw that he was annoyed by her refusal to trust him completely. Even hurt by it. She looked away, troubled by the thought, and brushed past the big vampire. The office beyond was a mess—desks littered with paperwork and files, bins overflowing with takeaway containers, bookcase lined with empty beer cans and stained coffee cups.

"You've been in Australia how long?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she glanced around.

"A week," Russell said, bolting the door shut after them. "Give or take a day."

She shook her head in amazement. They'd made this much mess in a week? "Another week here and this place won't be livable."

Russell shrugged. "Another week and hopefully we'll all be out of here."

His words reminded her of just how little time she had with Doyle. She bit her lip, blinking rapidly. Yet she refused to think about what such a reaction might mean. If she did, she'd have to admit what she felt, and she was far from ready for that.

Doyle touched her back, guiding her toward another doorway. "The boss in the interview room, Russ?"

"Yeah, tending to Trina."

Doyle opened the second door and ushered her through. This room was shadowed, the only light provided by several flickering candles. But it was cleaner than the first and smelled of lime and lemongrass rather than old burgers. Trina was lying unmoving on the large table that dominated the center of the room. Maybe she'd passed out.

Camille was standing next to Trina, bandaging her arm. "That headache still bad?" she said, without looking up.

"Yeah." Kirby walked around the other side of the table. Trina's skin was almost translucent, her gray eyes closed. Even so, she looked nothing like the child Kirby had seen briefly in her vision. Her hair was blonde, and both the shape of her eyes and nose had been altered. Plastic surgery, obviously. They could have passed each other on the street and never known each other. "She going to be all right?"

Camille nodded. "Lost some blood, but I've given her some herbs to help with that. She's lucky, because the manarei's claws didn't hit anything vital."

"What are you going to do with her now?"

"Keep her safe from the murdering witch, obviously." Camille finished bandaging then stood upright, pressing her hands against her back and stretching. Bones cracked into the silence. "Kirby, you stay here and watch the girl, and I'll go find you some herbs for that headache. Doyle, you come with me. I need to talk to you."

The old woman whirled and departed. Kirby raised her eyebrows. "She always like that?"

"Abrupt and full of energy, you mean?" A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes again. "No. You've hit her on a mellow day. Usually, she's much, much worse." He hesitated. "Just call if you need anything. I'll be in the next room."

She nodded and watched him walk away. He left the door slightly ajar, and she wondered why he seemed so reluctant to leave her alone. Surely the witch wouldn't get them here, in a room eight stories up, with no windows and only one exit. A chill ran through her. Anyone who could use magic to control and transport the manarei probably wasn't going to be daunted by lack of entry points.

She pulled a chair close to the table and sat down. Trina was beginning to stir, her eyes moving under her closed lids, and hands twitching. Dreaming… or remembering?

She crossed her arms and waited. Time ticked slowly by. The candles flickered and danced, casting warm shadows across the walls. In her mind's eye, they became ghostly figures dancing to some unknown beat, heralding in darkness and death. Her death, if she wasn't very careful.

She rubbed a hand across her eyes, trying to shake the growing sense of dread. It was just tiredness, just imagination, nothing more.

"You," a voice said into the silence.

She started and opened her eyes. Trina was staring at her, eyes wide and filled with fear.

"You're okay," she said, forcing a calmness into her voice that she certainly didn't feel. "You're with friends."

She might never have even spoken, for all the notice Trina seemed to take.

"I know you," Trina said, voice low but edged with hysteria. "You… you killed Felicity Barnes!"