Keri Arthur - Circle Of Death

Once again, the circle of five had become one.

Power surged, crackling sharply across the silence, a rich, throaty roar that made the storms pale in comparison. The earth shuddered in response, and the sharp sound of concrete shattering filled the air.

Kirby!

Doyle's shout seemed a million miles away. Energy burned, became a song only she could see and control. Her whole being danced to its tune, aching for its caress.

Kirby! Listen to me.

She frowned, but the music of energy beckoned and his voice seemed to fade. She smiled, in her mind's eye seeing the witches' stones tumble and leap like frogs in the pond that the car park had become.

You must control it, or you'll kill us all.

The desperation in his voice reached past her euphoria. Memories shuddered through her. She couldn't kill—not again.

Not innocent bystanders, anyway.

She took a deep breath, then focused the force of five on Mariel herself.

Pain exploded—pain so deep it tore through every fiber of her being. She screamed, a sound echoed by both Mariel and Trina. Then the whole world seemed to tear itself apart, and she knew no more.

"Are you sure you won't come back with us?"

Doyle shook his head. "I have to find her, Russ. I can't leave until I at least talk to her."

Three weeks had passed since that fateful fight in the parking garage that had killed the witch and damn near killed him as well. Three weeks in which he hadn't seen or heard from Kirby.

She'd checked out of the hospital the day after they'd both been admitted, and had simply disappeared.

Worry and fear had been his constant companions from that moment on. What if she was still lost in the dance of energy she'd raised? What if the energy that had blown apart the witch had somehow backwashed and taken her spirit and her mind, as well?

What if she was running from him , from the emotions she feared to face?

The wind stirred, running heated fingers through his hair. He squinted up at the clear blue skies. Though dawn had barely passed, the promise of another hot day was already evident. A good day for hunting, if nothing else.

"You'd better get inside," he said, returning his gaze to Russell's bandaged face. "Before the sun hits full strength and you start burning."

Russell nodded and held out a bandaged hand. "Good luck, my friend."

"Thanks. I think I'm going to need it." He glanced past the vampire as Camille appeared in the doorway of the Circle's private jet. She looked around quickly, then clattered down the steps and bustled toward them. "Looks like you're about to get the hurry up," he added.

Russell groaned. "It's going to be a long trip home if the old witch is going to start nagging now."

"If you don't watch that smart mouth of yours, vampire, you'll well and truly hear me nag." Camille stopped and glared up at Russell. "Now, get that bandaged butt of yours into the plane. We've got to get going."

"The butt isn't bandaged. Only the face and hands."

"Seems to be no difference from where I'm standing," she muttered. "Now, move it."

Doyle choked back his laugh as Camille turned the full force of her glare at him. "As for you, shifter, be careful. There's no telling what her state of mind is going to be."

"I know." But he couldn't leave without trying to find her. Without knowing, one way or another, whether she wanted to be a part of his life.

Camille pulled a brush and a scrap of paper from her pocket and slapped both into his hands. "I did a finding spell for you. The address where you'll find her is written on that paper."

He clenched his fingers around both. "Thanks."

Camille studied him for a moment, her expression troubled. "What are you going to do if she says no?"

He shrugged. It was a question that had preyed upon his thoughts more than a few times. And the truth was, he simply didn't know. He loved her, would always love her, no matter what. And while he was certain she returned his feelings, he wasn't sure she had the strength to follow her heart and trust what she felt.

And if he stayed here, tried to make her a part of his life, as his father had with his mother, she'd only slip further from his grasp—of that he was certain.

"I'll see you in week," Camille said. "One way or another, this will all be sorted out by then."

Hopefully for the better, he thought bleakly. He kissed Camille's leathery cheek and watched her power back toward the stairs. She waved from the top, then ducked inside. Doyle thrust his hands in his pockets and turned away. Time to go find a cab and search out the woman who could yet shatter his heart.

Kirby plucked the dead flower heads from the small rose bush, then sat back on her heels. The silvery-purple blush on the remaining flowers seemed to glow in the bright morning light, as if lit by an inner fire.

Helen had been cremated, as she'd wished. This rose and the small name plate underneath it were all the indication that anyone of any importance lay buried here under the turf. It didn't seem right, somehow.

Surely Helen deserved more.

The wind stirred, briefly kissing her cheeks. She closed her eyes, reaching for that faint caress.

"Remember sister, all that lies under the rose are the ashes of my body." Helen's voice was distant, as gentle as the breeze itself. "I am one with the wind now and forever within your reach."

Tears stung her eyes. Because of Helen's sacrifice, she would never be alone, no matter what happened between her and Doyle. And yet, given the option, she'd rather have a flesh and blood sister standing beside her any day.

"I'm finally happy, Kirby, and I'm not alone. Other storm witches glide the breezes with me." Fingers of wind playfully tugged at her hair. "Don't be compelled to stay where my ashes lie. They matter not in the scheme of things. It is time you looked after yourself."

As Helen's words swirled around her, Kirby felt the last vestiges of guilt leave. She'd done all she could—not just for Helen, but for Trina. Helen's insurance money would pay for the care Trina needed, and the doctors were hopeful that, with time, she'd return to normal. Or as normal as any of them could ever be, given what they'd been through.

Helen was right. There was nothing to be gained by staying here, mourning someone whose spirit had not died. It was time for her to move on, to put the half-forgotten memories of the past behind her forever and start looking toward the future.

A future that depended greatly on the reaction of the thief who'd snuck past her defenses and stolen her heart She rose and turned—only to freeze in surprise. Doyle stood twenty feet away, his arms crossed and stance casual.

Joy surged, fierce and hard, and for an instant, all she wanted to do was run into his arms and shower him with kisses. But the eyes she loved so much were wary, and the link that had allowed them to read each other's thoughts and emotions was still, as devoid of life as his expression. Fear stirred in her stomach. What if sometime in the last three weeks, he'd changed his mind?

She licked her lips. "How are you feeling?" It was an inane thing to say, but the words she wanted to say lay lodged somewhere in her throat, frozen by the caution in his eyes.

"Better now knowing that you are whole and sane."

She winced at the soft rebuke in his voice, but knew it was well deserved. She should have at least visited him in the hospital. Yet, it was the time away that had finally convinced her that what she felt was real and not just a side product of the danger she'd found herself in.

"I'm sorry. It's just that with the police and Trina and…" Her voice faded. It sounded like she was putting him behind everyone else on her list of priorities, and that was far from the truth. He'd been in her thoughts every hour of every day, and she'd rung the hospital so often she was on first name terms with all the nurses.