Circle of Death (29 page)

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Nothing.” She plucked a folded piece of paper
from the box. “I guess I was just expecting something more than a note.”

If Helen had gifted Kirby with her powers, then she certainly
had
left more than just a note. “Open it.”

She hesitated, then bit her lip and did so. Her voice was little more than a whisper when she finally spoke. “It’s a spell. She’s left me—”

“All that she was,” he finished for her.

She nodded, blinking back tears as she met his gaze. “Why do that? Why the
hell
didn’t she just keep her powers and save herself?”

“Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she knew there was no escaping her fate, and this was her way of stopping the witch from getting her powers.” He glanced at the time. They would have to get moving if they were going to be ready by midnight.

“She could have run from her fate. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d done it.”

“Her name was given to the
manarei
,” he reminded her gently. “Not yours. She couldn’t have outrun her fate, not without endangering your life as well.”

She didn’t reply, but he could feel her pain and her anger so fiercely it might as well have been his own. And while he ached to comfort her, they simply didn’t have the time. “Kirby,” he added, “we need to get ready.”

She took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath, then nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

He handed her a small dagger, then took the note from her. “Cut a circle around those items we have on the ground and make it large enough for you to sit comfortably in.”

As she did so, he read the note. As he’d feared, Helen’s instructions were quite specific on one point—no
one could be in the protective circle with her when she invoked the spell.

It worried him. He had no doubt this spell was dangerous, which was why he was taking as many precautions as he could. But the best way of protecting her was to be with her, helping with the spell, sharing his energy with her and watching for dangers. With that option gone, he was left with little more to do than prowl around the outside of the circle and hope like hell nothing went wrong.

She finished the dirt circle and glanced up. “What now?”

“Pour the water along the line you’ve just drawn, but make sure you don’t step out of the circle.” Once she’d finished that, he added, “And do the same with the salt.”

She nodded and walked around again. The wind caught at her nightdress, twisting it around her bare legs. Even though the moon was lost to the clouds and provided very little light, the outline of her body was visible through the sheer material. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. While he understood the need for her to be wearing something special, something clean and new, for the spell, he wished it had been anything else but the nightie. She looked too vulnerable. Too desirable. It could attract the wrong sort of attention just as easily as the right.

Overhead, thunder rumbled, an ominous sound in the night’s silence. He glanced at his watch. Helen’s note said to be ready by midnight. It was three minutes to.

“Done.”

He met her gaze, saw the fear lurking in the depths
of her eyes. Wished again that he could hold her. Comfort her. “Good. Now sit in the middle and take several deep, calming breaths.”

She did, crossing her legs, her arms resting on her knees, palms up, as if meditating.

“Now, I want you to raise your body energy by tightening your muscles. Start at your toes, and work your way up. Imagine the energy as a purple mist … Squeeze it up through your body until it reaches your hands.”

He hesitated, waiting. Saw her slowly tense, felt the thrum of magic beginning to pulse through the air. Midnight was a minute away. They didn’t have much time. “Now, without moving, send that energy out through your fingers and in a clockwise circle around you. Imagine yourself encased in an orb of purple fire. Feel the power of it pulsing through you and out into the night.”

The air shimmered, crackling with energy. Overhead, thunder ripped. Lightning forked across the skies, briefly turning night into day and electrifying the air around them.

“Now, repeat the spell exactly as Helen wrote it.”

She began murmuring. Light flared across the night again, faster, closer than before. He frowned, looking skyward. He didn’t like the feel of this.

Lightning split the night and crashed to the ground. Energy rippled through the earth, tingling through his boots and up his legs. Not energy from the fast-approaching storm, but from Kirby, from the spell she was murmuring. He clenched his fists and prowled around the circle, needing to move, to do something to ease the fear sitting like a weight in his gut.

Thunder rumbled again, a deep, dangerous sound. The wind became sharper, stronger, tugging at his coat, thrusting like ice against his skin. Kirby sat in a sea of calm, the circle untouched by the rising wind. But the sense of power was building, flaring across the night, reaching for the storm-held skies.

He thrust his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the silver knife hidden there. If all hell broke loose, it might be his only hope of protecting her. Silver was immune to magic—and it was the one weapon that could slice through the circle’s protection.

Light leapt upward, following the trail of energy. The skies answered its call. Rain lashed downward, needle sharp and drenching. Water plastered his hair and ran like a river down his back. He ignored it, watching her, waiting.

Thunder rumbled again, long and hard. Lightning clapped, and the air shook at its fury. Energy streaked across the night and splintered into two—one jagged finger leaping back up into the fury of the clouds, the other arcing downward, toward the ground. Toward her.
No!
He stepped forward, but before he could do anything more, the fork of lighting crashed into the circle, through Kirby, and exploded into the earth.

The force of the blast lifted him off his feet and thrust him back. He hit the ground with a grunt of pain, for an instant seeing nothing but a shroud of darkness. He coughed, barely able to breathe, fear clenching his gut tight. What if he’d been wrong? What if this spell hadn’t come from Helen, but from the witch who was trying to kill her?

I can’t lose her now.
He thrust to his feet, then
stopped, stunned. She wasn’t even hurt. She was still sitting in the circle, but her arms were spread wide, as if greeting the electricity that played around her—through her. Another bolt arced down from the skies, splitting as it neared her outstretched hands, running across her fingers, her skin, until her whole body seemed to glow with the storm’s heat.

The air screamed around him. Rain lashed him, lashed her, shredding her nightdress and pounding against her pale skin. Red welts rose, then just as quickly faded, but she didn’t seem to notice—didn’t even flinch. Her gaze was still skyward, as if entranced by the fiery light that danced through her. He tried to touch her mind, wanting to be sure she was okay. The wall of power that met him pushed him off his feet and nearly blew his senses.

He struggled up again. The thunder rumbled—a muted sound that quickly faded. A heartbeat later, the rain and wind also died, and the sudden silence felt almost eerie. Kirby was still sitting cross-legged in the circle, but she was slumped forward, as if all her energy had been sapped by the force of the storm.

He walked toward her. Energy tingled across his skin, a warning that the protection of the circle was still in place. He stopped at the perimeter, not wanting to enter unless it was absolutely necessary. He could hurt her if he did.

“Kirby?”

She stirred and rubbed her arms, groaned softly, then looked up. Her eyes were no longer entirely green, but ringed by a smoky silver band, as if the lightning had branded her. “God, everything is aching.”

He wasn’t surprised. After being hit by so much lightning, it was a wonder she was even alive. He clenched
his fingers, wanting to touch her, hold her, make sure she was really okay. She
looked
okay—beyond her eyes, she looked amazingly untouched. But he still had to be sure.

“You have to close the circle. Imagine that orb again. Feel it, then draw its power back through your fingertips and down into your body. Relax with it.”

She took a deep breath and resumed her meditation position. After a few minutes, the tingling sensation of power died. She opened her eyes. “Now the broom?”

He nodded. She grabbed the broom lying on the ground behind her, then pushed upright, her movements unsteady. He flexed his fingers, watching impatiently as she slowly brushed at the salt that defined the confines of the circle. It was a symbolic gesture more than a necessary one, a way of grounding her spirit back to the Earth after the spell’s force. When the last of the salt had been swept away, he entered the circle, taking off his coat and quickly wrapping it around her. She huddled into it, body trembling and lips blue with cold.

“Let’s get you back inside.” He picked her up, holding her close as he raced back into the house. “I think you’d better take a shower and warm up.”

“No.” She touched his cheek, her fingers like ice against his skin. “Just lie with me, hold me.”

Her voice was distant, frail. Worry snaked through him. He took her upstairs, peeling away the remains of the nightdress before tucking her under the blankets. He stripped off his own clothes and climbed in beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

“So cold,” she murmured, nestling against him.

“I know.” It felt like he was hugging ice rather than a flesh-and-blood woman. He pulled the thick comforter over them both, then ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to get some heat into her. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Cold.” A tremor ran through her, through the link between them. But her thoughts, like her voice, were still distant, still weak. “My hair hurts.”

No surprise there. Given the force of the energy that had flowed through her, it was a wonder she hadn’t been burned to a crisp. “Would you like some coffee? Something to warm you up?”

“No. Just hold me.”

He did, long into the night. It was close to dawn by the time the ice melted from her skin, and she began to retain some heat and regain her color. He didn’t relax, just held her close, listening to her breathe and fighting the growing need to close his eyes and catch some sleep himself.

Dawn came and went. Light crept past the curtains, slithering heat and warmth into the room. Birds chirped noisily, cows mooed and, somewhere in the distance, a tractor spluttered and chugged. Finally, she stirred, though it was more a soft sigh of pleasure than any real sense of movement. The quick thrust of heat through the link told him she was not only awake, but aroused.

He ran his hand up the warm length of her body and gently teased a nipple to life. Amusement ran through her thoughts, warm and lazy. But she didn’t stir and didn’t open her eyes. Making him do all the work, he thought with a smile.

He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her ear, all the while continuing to stroke her breasts. Her breathing
became sharper, and the link between them grew hazy with need—his as well as hers. He pressed himself against her, thrusting gently against the round perfection of her bottom. She sighed again and reached back, touching him. Her caress ran heat through his body and almost shattered his control. He groaned and ran his fingers down her stomach to the mound of her hair. She shifted slightly, opening her legs to his touch. Lord, she felt wonderful—warm and wet and oh so ready for him. He stroked her gently, teasingly, bringing her close to the edge of a climax before pulling away.

“Tease,” she murmured, her breathing hot and hard.

He smiled and continued his gentle exploration of her body. Got lost in the wonder and warmth of it, until the ache in him was a fire that burned through the link, wrapping them in passion and love.

Love that was returned, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

He ran his hand down to her hip and cupped her again, caressing her, gently at first, then more urgently as her breathing grew sharp and wildfire ran through the link, threatening to explode. As the shudders began to overtake her, he shifted, thrusting himself inside her. She groaned, a soft sound of pleasure he echoed. Her heat encased him, her muscles contracting against him as her climax grew. She touched his hip, holding him close, her movements as urgent as his. He thrust hard and fast, wanting, needing to come with her. Then the wildfire exploded, and her climax sent him spiraling beyond control and into bliss.

For several minutes he could do nothing more than simply lie there, wrapped in the warmth of her body, too contented, too spent, to move.
A man could get
used to this
, he thought, and fervently hoped she’d give him the chance to do just that. While he had no doubts about his feelings—or hers—he still wasn’t sure whether she’d step past her fears and look toward the future.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, after a while.

“Wonderful,” she said, and turned to face him.

Her eyes were still ringed by the ethereal silver-gray of a storm witch.

“What?” she asked, the warmth fleeing her expression and replaced by fear.

“Nothing,” he said, as calmly as he could. “It’s just your eyes. They’ve changed color.”

She scrambled out of the bed and ran to the mirror. For several seconds she simply stood and stared, her fists clenched and every muscle taut. Then she reached out, touching her reflection, as if not quite believing it was she. “How is that possible?” she whispered. “How could my eyes change like that?”

“I would say it has something to do with the spell and the powers involved.” He hesitated. “Other than your eyes, do you feel any different?”

She shook her head, and outlined her reflection’s eyes with her fingers. “I look like Helen.”

“I’ve seen photos of the two of you, and you’ve always looked like her.” The silver edge in her eyes only made it more noticeable.

“But … it’s not me. I look in the mirror, and I see Helen. I don’t see me anymore.”

He rose and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She was trembling, but whether it was from fear or cold he wasn’t sure. “What I see is what I have always seen—a beautiful, courageous woman with
amazing eyes. Whether those eyes are green or gray or a bit of both doesn’t really matter. It’s only a surface alteration. It doesn’t alter who you are inside.”