Circle of Death (30 page)

“But I don’t
know
who I am anymore.” There was more than a hint of despair in her voice. “Everything’s been twisted around. The past I remember has turned out to be nothing more than a lie, and it’s killing people. It killed Helen …”

She broke off, a sob catching in her throat. He turned her around, and she buried her face against his chest. Tears tracked silently down his skin, their touch warm. He brushed a kiss over the top of her head and just held her. Nothing he said would make any difference right now. Too much had happened in too brief a period, and she just needed time to sort it all out.

Though time was the one commodity they didn’t have a lot of.

As if to confirm the thought, his phone rang. Kirby jumped, her fingers clenching against his side. He brushed another kiss across her head, then released her and walked across to the pile of their clothes. He picked up his still damp coat, dug into a pocket and dragged out his phone.

“We got problems,” Camille said immediately.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes. More problems was the last thing they needed. “What?”

“Russell’s been attacked. They grabbed Trina and left him for dead.”

But obviously not
dead dead
, he thought with relief, or Camille’s tone would not be so calm. “How badly is he hurt?”

Camille snorted. “That fool witch obviously doesn’t know much about vampires. Even Hollywood knows
a stake through the heart is one of the better ways to incapacitate—”

“Camille—”

She sighed. “She shot him through the heart. Didn’t even use a silver bullet. Then she roped him in front of the window. Maybe she just intended to let him fry.”

“From what I’ve seen, that’s more her style. She seems to like her victims to suffer.” And thanks to that desire, Russell was still alive. It would have been a different story had she aimed for his head. “Where is he now?”

“Still at the motel. The manager heard the ruckus and called the cops, and by the time Russ had it sorted out, it was daylight.”

Kirby stood beside him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and shifted the phone so that she could hear. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ve done a reading from some hair I snipped off Trina. She’s being held at some warehouse down near the docks.”

Surprise rippled through him. “She’s not dead yet?” Why? Particularly when every other time the witch had killed, she’d done so as quickly—and painfully—as possible.

“No, she’s not dead yet, but I’ve got a feeling we’ll have to move fast or she will be. I’ll head over and pick up Russell, and we’ll meet you around the back of the warehouse. You got a pen?”

He grabbed one and quickly wrote down the address. “What about Kirby?” he added, glancing down at her.

“She can’t come with you. It’s too dangerous. We’ll just have to chance leaving her there.”

“No, we can’t—”

“We have no choice, Doyle. We must catch the witch, and this is our best shot. But if something goes wrong, we can’t risk Kirby being close.”

But dare they risk leaving her alone? He certainly couldn’t.

She placed a hand on his stomach, her touch so warm against the ice suddenly encasing his gut.

“I’ll be okay,” she said, voice soft. “I can protect myself, and I still have Camille’s beads. If the very worst happens and the witch turns up, I can use them to shield my appearance while I make a run for it.”

“No. I’m not leaving you alone.” Especially now that Russell had been attacked. If the witch could find him so easily, she might know where they were, as well.

“I heard what she said, shifter, and she’s making perfectly good sense,” Camille said.

Only if you didn’t love the person in question. But he did, and there was no way on this Earth he was going to leave her here alone. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving her unprotected.”

“But I’m not unprotected.” She raised up on her toes and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “I have both my abilities and Helen’s.”

“
If
the spell worked. We don’t know that it did.”

“I trust Helen, and we have no reason to believe that it didn’t work.”

“Kirby—”

“No. We both know this might be your only shot to stop this woman, and you can’t risk that by worrying over my safety. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

He sighed. She was making perfectly good sense,
and he knew it. The only way she was ever going to be totally safe was by them finding and killing the witch. He just wished there were a way they could do that without leaving her unguarded.

“Okay, okay, I give in.” He glanced at his watch, then asked her, “How long will it take me to get to the docks from here?”

She shrugged. “Maybe an hour, maybe more, depending on the traffic.”

“Let’s just hope our witch hangs around that long,” Camille muttered. “See you there in an hour, Doyle.”

He hung up, then brushed his fingers across Kirby’s cheek, tucking her hair back behind her ears. “I don’t want to do this.”

Her smile was tremulous. “And you think I want to be left alone? Knowing that witch might be out there, just waiting to send her beasties after me the minute you leave?”

“Then why—”

“Because it may be the only chance we get, and you have to take it.”

She reached up and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss, all the while wishing he had the time to do more. Lord, she’d barely even touched him, yet he was aching with the need to make love to her again.

“Just make sure you come back to me,” she murmured, her breath warm against his lips.

“Always.” He pulled back a little, staring into her smoke-colored eyes—something he hoped to be doing for the rest of his life. “Just promise me you won’t go anywhere unless that witch turns up.”

“I promise.”

He kissed her again, briefly, urgently, then grabbed his clothes and quickly dressed. “Call me if anything happens,” he said, and scrawled down his phone number.

She nodded and accepted the scrap of paper with a look of trepidation on her face. “I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

“Count on it.” He kissed her a final time, then before he could change his mind and give in to the desire to stay with her, he grabbed the car keys and headed out the door.

Kirby crossed her arms and watched him leave, an uneasy chill running down her spine. It wasn’t so much that she feared being left alone, but more that she feared something
would
go wrong. That this was the opportunity the witch had been waiting for. Goose bumps chased their way across her arms. She shivered and quickly dressed before heading down the stairs to make coffee.

The silence seemed to close in on her, and the natural creaking of the old house made every nerve ending jump. She wandered around aimlessly, looking for something to do. In one of the bedrooms she found a stack of romance novels, and after sorting through them, she settled down to read.

The hours ticked slowly by. Outside, the wind called. She frowned, put aside her book and walked to the window. Beyond the curtains, the light was bright, almost harsh, but the day itself looked warm. The breeze stirred the trees, rustling through leaves and tugging at the brightly colored daisies in the garden beds below. She frowned and closed her eyes. Beneath
the whispered song of the wind came the soft but clear call of her name.

She bit her lip and wondered if she was imagining things—wondered if all the events of the last few days had tipped her over the edge and into insanity. The call came again, more urgently this time. Definitely
not
imagination. She dropped the curtains back into place and headed outside.

The afternoon sun was as hot as it was bright, but it failed to chase the chill from her skin. She walked down the slight slope of grass and sat under the gums. The leaves stirred, stronger than before, and through their murmuring she heard her name. The voice was soft, warm, and oh so familiar. Vanilla drifted on the breeze, entwined with the slightest hint of lime. Helen’s favorite scents.

Pain welled. Kirby closed her eyes and somehow found her voice. “What did your spell do to me?”

The leaves stirred and answered. “Nothing more than return what was rightfully yours.”

“What do you mean?” She stared up into the gum tree’s dark canopy, wondering if Helen’s spirit danced with the wind among the leaves.

“There is a reason we always felt drawn to one another. We were not just friends, dear one, but sisters. Twins.”

“Twins.” It came out harshly, her throat too constricted by sudden tears. “But how do you know this? How can you be sure?”

“The wind told me, long ago.”

“So why didn’t you tell
me
? Damn it, I had the right—”

“But you never showed
any
desire to uncover the past
and the reason we were abandoned as babes,” Helen interrupted. “And how many times have you said you have no desire to meet the people who could abandon you to such misery?”

“Yes, but parents are far different from a
sister—
from a twin.”

“We found each other in the end, and that is all that matters. And deep down, you knew. You felt our connection as keenly as I did.”

Yes, she had. From the moment she and Helen had met in that facility, it had felt as though she’d found the other part of herself. Which she had, because they were twins. She took a deep, quivering breath. “Did you ever find out anything about our parents?”

“No. Not even the wind could tell me that. But it was my search for answers that brought us to this point, Kirby.”

“I have my own powers, Helen. I never wanted yours.”

“Perhaps not, but they are now where they should have been from the very start.”

Kirby frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that we are not just twins, but the much rarer semi-identical twins,” Helen said. “One egg, two sperm. It means the abilities that should have been yours were split between us. You were and are the binder, but you should have been a whole lot more.”

Kirby’s frown deepened. “Meaning I should also have been a storm witch?”

“And air elemental. But those two came to me, in a somewhat diluted form. I was never a very powerful witch, nor could I control air as I should have. That is because some remnants remained in you.”

“But I never—”

“Because you never wanted to. You had your one weapon—a weapon that was born from all the elements that once resided in you—and you had no desire to learn or use anything else. But you must use them now, Kirby. You must stop that woman’s murderous ways.”

Alone? How the hell was she supposed to stop a woman who was now half demon? “Doyle’s gone after her.”

“No. The witch has set a trap. It is your task, your fate, to stop her.”

Fear ripped through her, and she scrambled upright. “Doyle? Is he—?”

“You have no time to worry about him now, sister. The witch has the fourth point. You must save her.”

“But—” She hesitated, battling the tide of fear. “I can’t fight her alone. I need help.”

“You need nothing more than courage. Remember, you are the one that combines and controls. She cannot hurt you with what is yours to command.”

What in hell was that supposed to mean? If the whispering leaves knew, they didn’t say. “I don’t want to do this.”

“You must. We started this, albeit unknowingly, so long ago, and we have run from our responsibilities for too long. But revenge has overtaken us, and now you must see this finished. For the sake of us all.”

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want this responsibility. Didn’t know if she had the courage to face this woman alone.

“You must, sister. Or the cat will die.”

It felt like someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed
it tight. For a minute, she couldn’t even breathe. “What do you mean?” she somehow ground out.

“In protecting you, he will draw the witch’s ire and die. I have heard it whispered on the wind.”

The wind didn’t whisper unchangeable truths, only possibilities. How often had Helen told her that? Yet it was a possibility she dare not risk. She drew in a deep breath. In one sense, Helen was right. If they hadn’t sidetracked fate so long ago, then none of these murders would have happened. They certainly couldn’t change that now, but they could stop a madwoman’s quest for power and send a demon back to hell.

Maybe.
She shivered and rubbed her arms. “Where do I go?”

“To an abandoned building in Port Melbourne. She will perform the ceremony tonight, when she has more strength. You have to stop her.”

Kirby closed her eyes.
Have to
and
would
stop her were two very different things. “The address?”

It was the wind itself that answered, burning the address into her thoughts. Another tremor ran through her. The spell had worked after all.

“Call the storms, and they, too, will answer.” Helen’s words were barely audible. The dance of the leaves was dying, as was the wind. “Take care, sister …”

“Goodbye,” she whispered, and felt the quick kiss of wind on her cheeks before the day went still.

Swallowing heavily, she climbed to her feet. The chill seemed to have settled deep in her bones. She rubbed her arms, knowing it came more from fear than the wind—and from the knowledge that she might not survive this encounter with the witch. Despite Helen’s words, she
was under no illusions. The witch was far stronger than she ever would be.

But she had no choice. If she contacted Doyle and told him what she was about to do, he’d either tell her to stay put or accompany her. And if the wind’s whispers were right, he’d die. Or maybe his friends would. Either way, she couldn’t take that risk. If anyone else had to die, then let it be her. This was her fault, after all. Helen was right. It was time to stop running from the past and start making things right, no matter what the consequences.

Sighing softly, she headed back to the house to collect her things and call a taxi. And while she was waiting, she’d write a note of apology to the man she feared she’d never see again.

The man she might just love.

D
OYLE DUCKED PAST THE FILTH
-
RIDDEN WINDOW AND
moved to the back door. It was padlocked, but the screws holding the latch in place were loose and rusty. Nothing a good kick couldn’t dislodge. He leaned back against the wall and glanced at his watch. Ten seconds to go.