Keri Arthur - Circle Of Death

"Russell?" His question came out little more than a harsh croak.

The bandaged face nodded. Doyle looked to his left and saw the bright sunshine peeping past the black plastic covering the van's back windows. He realized then that Russell was wearing the bandages for protection. It was the only way he could have possibly ventured out into the sunlight without burning up.

"Keep still a while," Russell said. "Camille's fixing your leg."

Russell lifted the cup, dribbling more moisture into his mouth. He swished it around then swallowed. The fire in his throat began to ease. He looked down, but couldn't see anything beyond Camille's back.

Couldn't feel anything beyond an odd sort of numbness in his right leg.

Fear stirred his gut. "What's wrong with my leg?"

"A large chunk of metal has speared your thigh. It missed bone, but that's about all it missed," Russell said. "Camille's plastered the area with a numbing salve and has cut off what she could, but basically, that's all we can do beyond getting you to a hospital. If we try to take it out here, you'll bleed to death."

At least that explained the numbness in his leg. He drank a few more drops of water and rolled his neck, trying to ease the ache. It felt as if someone had played baseball with his entire body.

Russ sat back on his heels. "Why in hell did you detour for that damn knife? It almost cost you your life."

Anger edged his words.

Doyle glanced down and realized he was still clenching the silver blade. He released it, flexing his fingers to ease the cramps. "It's silver, and the only one I have with me."

"So? Steal another. It wasn't worth almost losing your life over."

"Russ, silver is the one thing immune to magic. We may yet need it." Especially if the witch went after Kirby. He went still, and in that moment knew beyond doubt that she was in trouble and needed help.

"Kirby," he said urgently, struggling to rise. "We have to get back to her."

Camille swore at him, and Russell held him down. "Don't move, damn it."

"You don't understand—" "No, you don't understand," Russell said vehemently. "Unless we get that leg tightly bandaged, you're in serious danger of bleeding to death. How is that going to help Kirby?"

He relaxed a little and closed his eyes. Tension rode him, as sharp as the fear stirring his gut. "Okay. But once that leg is bandaged, we go get her."

Russell glanced at Camille. "I don't think—" "I don't care what you think, my friend. She's in danger, and it's far more important we save her than get me to a hospital."

"As much as I hate to say it," Camille said into the tense silence, "he's right. We can't let the witch get her hands on her."

She shifted slightly, revealing the massive blob of bandages on his leg. What was left of his jeans below the wound was soaked in blood. No wonder he felt lightheaded. "How come the van survived the explosion?"

"Jumped in and drove it off, didn't I?" Camille said. "It runs a might faster than these old bones, let me tell you that. Besides, it was Russell's only hope. The sunshine would have killed him." She rose and lurched toward the driver's seat. "Now, where's this farm you two were staying at?"

"Gisborne," he said. "It's out along the Calder Freeway."

"Wherever that is. Russell, grab the street map and give me some directions."

The van started. Doyle closed his eyes, letting the movements of the old van lull him into a semi-sleep.

Pain drifted through him, but its feel was distant. No doubt Camille had put something in the water to take away the aches.

The noise of city traffic gave way to the hum of freeway travel. Not far now, he thought wearily, and hoped Kirby was okay. Hoped he was worrying over nothing.

Awareness tingled across his senses, and a wave of tension and fear rushed though his mind. Not his—Kirby's. He sat up abruptly. She was somewhere close. He scooted down to back windows and tore away the plastic.

"What's wrong?" Russell said, voice sharp with concern.

"She's here." They were still on the freeway. There were no cars immediately behind them, but across the other side, a yellow cab sped by. "Turn the van around," he added, urgently.

Camille didn't argue. Tires squealed, then they were bouncing through the dividing strip of grass. "What car?" she said, once they were on the other side.

"The cab. Hurry." He leaned back against the side of the van and closed his eyes, wondering if she were a prisoner to evil or merely breaking another promise.

The traffic closed in around them again. Camille swore, and the blast of the van's horn was almost lost in the squeal of tires. "Idiot," she yelled out the window.

Doyle edged forward and peered out the windshield. Not a cab in sight.

"It turned left two streets down," Russell said, glancing at him. "But from there, it's anyone's guess. How good is this connection between you and Kirby?"

"Good enough to find her, I think." I hope .

Camille turned left then slowed. The street stretched before them, devoid of traffic of any kind. "Where to now?"

He frowned, reaching for the link. Though her thoughts were still distant, her fear surrounded him, so sharp it became his own. He flexed his fingers, trying to control the growing knot of anxiety in his gut.

"Take the next right."

Camille swung into the street. Down the far end, a yellow cab cruised out of a side street and drove toward them. Kirby wasn't in it. He knew that without looking.

"You want me to stop in front of that sucker and ask where he dropped her?"

He hesitated. Could they afford to waste the time? Could they afford not to? "Do it," he said.

The van slewed sideways, blocking the road. The cab stopped and the driver rolled down the window as Camille hustled over. Three minutes later she was back. "Rodger Street," she said. "Outside some sort of packing factory. He didn't have a specific number."

"Was she alone?" Some part of him hoped she wasn't. Hoped that she was being forced into this action.

He just didn't want to believe she was breaking another promise.

Camille nodded. "Whatever she's doing, she's apparently doing it willingly."

"Damn." Why? What could have gone so wrong in the few hours he'd left her alone that she was now willing to risk her life going up against the witch?

Camille patted his hand, then reversed out of the cab's way before continuing up the street. They quickly found Rodger Street and slowed to a crawl.

"There's the packing factory," Camille said, pointing to the right.

He knew without looking that she wasn't there. "Keep going."

They continued to cruise down the street. "Heartbeats, coming from that abandoned building up ahead," Russell said. "There are at least three that I can hear."

"Human or otherwise?" Doyle asked. Not that it really mattered beyond knowing what he was up against.

Russell hesitated. "Hard to say."

Camille pulled into the driveway and stopped. "Gates are padlocked," she said. "If I drive through them, they're going to know we're here."

"She didn't enter via the gates." He spotted the brief flutter of material on the fence several feet away from the gate and thrust open the van's side doors, clambering out.

"Damn it, shifter, get back in here. Let us deal with this. You can't go wandering around with that leg of yours."

He ignored her and hobbled over to the fence. Pain rose, a promise of the agony he would no doubt be in once the pain killers wore off. He plucked the thin scrap from the wire and sniffed it quickly. Basil, geranium and pine—the oils she'd soaked in last night. He clenched his fingers around the material, his gaze searching the structure. She wasn't in the building itself, but underneath—in the parking garage.

"Damn it, Doyle—" The rest of Camille's word were lost to the buzz of magic as he shifted shape. Even in panther form, his leg was useless. It didn't matter. As a cat, he had three other legs and could move faster than any human.