Circle of Death

  He helped her over to the car and opened the door. The lightning still danced across her fingers, stronger now than it had been before. He wondered what her magic was, and why she hadn’t used it against the manarei.

  Another scream cut across the night, closer than before. Doyle slammed the door shut and hurried around to the driver’s side. The wind whipped around him, bringing with it the scent of death. Their death, if they didn’t get out of here.

  He started the engine, switched on the lights and threw the car into gear. The wheels spun on the wet road for several seconds before the car lurched forward.

  “You know, you neatly avoided answering my question before.”

  She was leaning against the door, as far away from him as she could possibly get. Her arms were crossed, hands hidden, but he sensed this was less a defensive gesture and more an effort to keep warm. She must have been out in the rain for some time, because she looked soaked.

  He leaned forward and switched the heater to full blast. “And what question would that be?”

  She made an exasperated sound. “Why are you here?” she repeated. “And how do you know my name?”

  The lights changed to red up ahead. Doyle braked and glanced at the rearview mirror. Though he couldn’t see anything, he knew the manarei was out there. Its grief was so strong the night reeked with it.

  “I’m here because an old witch told me to be.”

  “And I suppose this old witch just happened to tell you my name, as well?” Her voice was sharp with disbelief.

  “Actually, yes, she did.” He shifted gears and edged forward, wishing the lights would hurry up and change again.

  “I see.”

  The tone of her voice told him she didn’t. She stared out the window for several seconds. Tension rode her slender frame. Ready to run, Doyle thought, and he knew that if she did, she’d die.

  “Look,” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm and nonthreatening as possible, “I’m a private investigator. I’m working on a case that bears striking similarities to what happened to your friend tonight, and I came to investigate. That’s all, nothing more.”

  Though this was a lie. In truth, he’d been sent out in advance of the murders, but he knew she would never believe that.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Then why did you stop back there? Why come down Grice Street at all if you were going to my place?”

  He shrugged. “I got lost.” The lights finally went green. He pressed the accelerator and sped off.

  She studied him for several long seconds. “You’re a liar, Doyle Fitzgerald.”

  He glanced at her. Her green eyes were flecked with silver and gleamed brightly in the darkness. So pretty, and yet so full of anguish and mistrust. “I’m not lying about the reason I’m here.”

  “Maybe.” She looked away. “And maybe you’d better just stop and let me—” She hesitated, and gasped.

  The shadows moved ahead, and the streetlights gleamed off the metal garbage can hurtling toward them. Doyle braked hard, and the car slewed sideways. The can hit the hood of the car, then bounced into the windshield, sending a web of cracks racing through the glass before rolling off into the rain-swept darkness.

  Through the cracks, Doyle could see the manarei, eyes gleaming yellow fire as it raced toward them. He cursed and threw the gears into reverse. The tires spun, then gripped, and the car lurched backward.

  But not nearly fast enough.

  “Look out!” Kirby screamed a second before something heavy again hit the hood.

  Glass shattered, flying everywhere. Kirby screamed again, a sound lost to the manarei’s howl. It reached through the large hole it had created in the windshield, claws slashing wildly. Doyle braked, but the sudden stop failed to dislodge the creature. He thrust the car into neutral, then threw a punch, connecting with the creature’s jaw. The force of the blow jarred his whole arm but had little effect on the manarei. He might as well have been hitting concrete.

  He grabbed the tire iron he always kept under car seats for emergencies like this and smashed it into the creature’s mouth. The manarei recoiled, shaking its head, splattering Doyle and Kirby with blood. Then it snarled and lashed at him again. He thrust back in the seat as far as he could, but the claws raked his side, tearing past his coat and into skin. He cursed and hit it again.

  Blue fire leapt through the night. Kirby, her hands ablaze, touched the creature’s arm. The lightning leaped from her fingers and shot across the manarei’s body, encasing it in light. The smell of burnt flesh rent the air, and the creature howled again—this time a sound full of pain rather than anguish. Doyle grabbed his gun and scrambled out.

  The wind whipped at his coat, and the rain stung his skin. He braced himself against the door and raised the gun. The manarei twisted around violently, trying to free itself from the web of energy that somehow pinned it to the hood of the car. Its skin was smoldering, and one large chunk near its chest had peeled away and was flapping in the wind. Kirby’s power, whatever it was, would have killed anything human.

  The creature looked around, eyes gleaming malevolently. Then it lunged forward, straight at Kirby. The web stretched with the creature’s movement, the tendrils of power becoming thinner and thinner until, ultimately, they snapped. Doyle squeezed the trigger. The sounds of the shots were muted, lost quickly in the howl of the wind. Blood and bone sprayed through the night, and the creature dropped to the road. It didn’t move.

  Neither did he, not for several seconds. Manarei, like snakes, had been known to keep moving, to keep reacting, even after death. It was usually better to leave them completely alone, but right now he couldn’t afford to do that, just in case the creature wasn’t dead. He walked to the front of the car, gun held at the ready. He had only two bullets left. If the manarei was still alive after having two bullets plugged into it, then two more probably weren’t going to make a huge difference.

  The creature lay on the road, a huddled mass of leathery skin that wasn’t going anywhere. One bullet had torn into its brain, the other into its heart. The creature’s whole body was bubbling, steaming, disintegrating. Soon there would be nothing left but a stain that the lashing rain would quickly wash away.

  A gasp made him look up. Kirby had climbed out of the car and was looking wide-eyed at the creature. She covered her mouth with shaking fingers, and her face was white—too white.

  He raced around the car and caught her slumping body a second before she cracked her head against the road. He picked her up and placed her back in the car. She was lighter than he’d expected—beneath the bulkiness of her coat, she was obviously little more than skin and bone.

  He fastened her seat belt, then slammed the door shut and went back to look at the manarei. It was now little more than a bubbling, pulpy mass. One of the great side effects of silver bullets, he thought grimly. They made the cleanup a whole lot easier.

  He climbed into the car and started it up again. The rain was driving in through the hole in the windshield, its touch icy. Despite this, he could feel warmth trickling down his side. He’d have to tend to his wounds—and Kirby’s—as soon as possible. Manarei were filthy creatures, and infection was an all-too-real possibility.

  He drove off, then dug into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. After glancing in the rearview mirror to check for cops, he quickly dialed Russell’s number.

  It didn’t ring for long. “About time you checked in, bro,” Russell said. “What’s happening?”

  “We’ve two dead manarei and one unconscious but alive victim.”

  “You okay? I know from experience what nasty bastards those manarei can be.”

  “It clawed me, but it’s nothing serious. Kirby’s got a pretty nasty leg wound. Camille had better take a look at it.”

  Russ cleared his throat slightly. “That might be a bit of a problem.”

  Doyle glanced in the rearview mirror again. The red and blue lights of an emergency vehicle cut through the darkness, but he relaxed when he saw it w
as just an ambulance. Right now, the last thing he wanted was to be pulled over by the police.

  “Why will it be a problem?” he said, slowing for another set of traffic lights. “What’s happened to Camille?”

  “Nothing. But she’s done another reading using Kirby’s hair. Someone’s using magic to track her, and until Camille figures out how and why, she doesn’t want you to bring her back to the office.”

  “So I hole up somewhere and wait?”

  “That’s the general plan, yes. But remember, she’s being tracked, so you can’t afford to relax.”

  “I gather from that you’re not coming over to share guard duties.”

  “Nope. This pretty lady is all yours. Camille wants me to check out both Helen’s and Kirby’s background, then head on over to the government facility that looked after her adoption.”

  “I doubt whether you’ll find any clues now.” Doyle accelerated slowly as the lights changed to green. Between the rain and the spiderweb of cracks covering what remained of the windshield, it was difficult to see anything. He’d have to stop somewhere soon—if only because his body was beginning to go numb with cold.

  “There’ll be records, if nothing else. And I had a damn fine teacher when it comes to picking locks.”

  Doyle grinned. “Last time you tried, you set off every damn alarm in the place.”

  Russ snorted. “And whose fault was that? You were the one who was supposed to kill the alarms, not me.”

  “Blame Seline. It’s her fault I’m not getting any practice these days.” His skills as a thief were not what they’d been when she’d invited him to join the Circle some twelve years before, and she’d basically kept him on the straight-and-narrow ever since.

  Not that he was altogether unhappy about that—though in many ways, life as a thief had been a hell of a lot less complicated than life in the Circle. And it had certainly been a hell of a lot safer.

  “I’ll give a call once we hole up somewhere.”

  “Do that,” Russ said and hung up.

  Doyle shoved the phone back into his pocket and glanced at Kirby. Her eyes were still closed and she was slumped against the door, but the tension riding her shoulders told him she wasn’t unconscious.

  “You want to go through your pack and see if there’s anything in there that shouldn’t be?”

  Her eyes opened a sliver. “Like what?”

  “One of my partners thinks you’re being tracked by magic, so you need to go through your things.” He glanced at her when she didn’t react. “Now.”

  She studied him for a moment longer, then twisted around to grab her pack. She pulled out an odd assortment of clothes as well as, of all things, a small but cheerfully wrapped box.

  “Is it your birthday?”

  “Not yet.” She shoved the present between her knees, then upended the pack. “There’s nothing else in here.”

  Which didn’t mean the tracker wasn’t there, just that it was well hidden. He’d have to search himself—but later, when she was asleep.

  “Know anywhere decent we can stay?” he asked.

  She raised an eyebrow. “What’s this ‘we’ business?”

  “Like it or not, I’m all that currently stands between you and those manarei.” Which was something of a lie—manarei rarely traveled in packs. They were far from sociable creatures, and he actually doubted that whoever was behind this could control more than two. But that only meant something far worse might be on her trail.

  “What about the police?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Were you not under police protection when the first manarei attacked?”

  “Yeah, but what makes you think you’re going to fare any better?”

  “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  “Just why you’re here is another point I’d like to discuss.”

  She was persistent; he had to give her that. “Later, perhaps, when we’re out of this rain and you’ve had that leg tended to.”

  She regarded him silently. He could see from her thoughts that distrust was a habit, and he wondered what had happened in her life that now made her suspect the motives of everyone around her.

  “Don’t suppose you can suggest a good motel around here somewhere?”

  She looked away. “No, I don’t think I can.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure whether she was talking about trusting him or knowing of a motel. “Then let’s travel along this road and see what we find, okay?”

  She didn’t answer, but the lightning was beginning to flicker across her fingers again. “Kirby,” he said gently, “I’m not going to hurt you. I have no intention of doing anything more than tending to your wound and guarding you from future attacks.”

  “I only have your word on that.”

  If her tone of voice was anything to go by, his word wasn’t worth a dime.

  “Then believe this. Whatever or whoever sent those manarei after you is going to be pretty pissed at their deaths. And they will come after you again.”

  She shivered and rubbed her arms. “I know.” She glanced at him, eyes rich with suspicion. “And that’s why I can’t trust you. This whole thing may just be a ruse to gain my trust.”

  Killing two manarei was a hell of a dangerous way to gain her trust. Doyle shook his head in disbelief. “Look, you’ve got a pretty potent weapon at your disposal. I’ve seen it in action, and I know it can kill. You think I want to risk that?”

  She bit her lip. Droplets of water ran down her face, shimmering silver in the warm wash of the streetlights. They looked like tears. Maybe they were.

  “You make one wrong move, and I will use it,” she said after a moment.

  “Fair enough.” He spotted an illuminated sign ahead and slowed the car. “This motel okay?”

  She shrugged. “Do you really care anyway?”

  “I guess not.” He stopped at the motel’s office and opened the car door. Then he hesitated and glanced at her. “Wait for me. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She shrugged. It could have meant anything. He frowned. “Promise?”

  She snorted. “Bit old for that sort of foolishness, aren’t you?”

  He raised an eyebrow and stared at her. After a moment, she looked away, muttering, “Yeah, I promise.”

  He nodded, then headed inside. The motel’s manager gave him a room, some advice on where to get the windshield replaced, a bottle of antiseptic and several bandages, both of which he cheerfully added to the bill.

  By the time Doyle got back to the car, she was gone.

  KIRBY LEANED AGAINST A LAMPPOST AND BATTLED TO catch her breath. The night around her spun drunkenly, and she wrapped an arm around the pole. She’d pushed too hard tonight, and now she was beginning to pay for it. But the night wasn’t over yet. She had to get out of this rain. Had to find somewhere safe.

  She remembered Doyle’s warning and shivered. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was nowhere left for her that was safe. Maybe she’d run as far as she could, and now fate was going to force her to make a stand. If only Helen were here … She bit her lip.

  No amount of wishing could ever bring Helen back, so she’d better get used to life alone. Tilting her head back, she let the rain wash the heat from her eyes until her face felt as numb with cold as the rest of her. Then, resolutely, she pushed away from the pole and continued on.

  In the distance, a bell dinged—a cheerful sound that seemed at odds with the stormy night. A brightly lit tram swayed along its tracks, rattling toward her. She dug into her pockets, then realized she’d dropped her purse beside the box of chicken in the doorway at home. She grimaced. She’d have to go back. Without cash or credit, she wasn’t going to get very far.

  She splashed on through the night, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Doyle had probably discovered her absence by now, and she had no doubt that he’d come looking for her. It had been no accident that he’d found her on Grice Street, no matter what he said. And she wasn’t inclined to trust someone so conveniently placed
in a position to help her. Especially when that someone used a gun so well.

  An image of the creature’s bubbling, dissolving flesh flashed through her mind, and her stomach turned. Why had that happened? Why would a mere bullet make skin and bones liquefy like that? She thrust the thought from her mind. Right now, the why behind the melting wasn’t so important. Getting out of this rain and tending to her aching leg were. Maybe then she could start concentrating on finding answers. Find out why Helen had been murdered.

  She hurried down a side street. The wind slapped against her, thrusting cold fingers of air past her sodden clothing, chilling her flesh. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and wished she’d grabbed her long woolen coat when she’d had the chance. It might not have provided any more protection from the rain, but it was a hell of a lot warmer than the padded nylon raincoat she currently had on.

  A car rounded the corner ahead, its headlights cutting through the darkness. She hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t Doyle. She ducked into a driveway and hid behind a car. A dog barked furiously, and inside the house, someone yelled at the mutt to shut up.

  She waited, aching with cold and the need to get moving. The lights drew close. She bit her lip and watched the car cruise slowly past. It wasn’t Doyle’s car or Doyle, but whoever it was, they were obviously looking for someone. Maybe even for her. Why else would they be going so slowly?

  And that, she thought grimly, was surely paranoid thinking. Why wouldn’t the driver be going slowly when the wind was driving the rain so hard that visibility was down to practically nothing?

  She rose and moved back to the footpath. The car had parked up near the top of the street. Its lights were out, and the driver was nowhere to be seen. See? Kirby told herself. He’d been going slowly because he lives here. Nothing to worry about.

  Yet the creeping sense of danger increased. She hurried down the street, away from the car. The sooner she got home, the better.

  She crossed the railroad tracks and headed toward her street. Something scraped behind her. She spun, fists clenched and her heart in her mouth, but there was nothing there. She scanned the night, her stomach churning. Something was there, even if she couldn’t see it. Its presence crawled through her, dangerous, evil.