Keri Arthur: Circle Of Fire

He stared at her, then shook his head. "How many times do I have to repeat myself before you believe in me?"

His voice held an edge of desperation that made her wince. Yet last night she'd been too busy trying to convince herself he was nothing more than a vivid dream to really listen to anything he said. "You mentioned some town—Sherbrook, wasn't it?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if battling to remain calm. "Sherbrook is the name of the inn. The place is Taurin Bay."

An odd sense of foreboding ran through her. Evan had attended a school camp in Taurin Bay not so long ago. Jayne had gone along as cook and chief pot-washer. "That force you said was driving you to me—was it male or female?"

"Male." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

Evan—something told her it was Evan. Maddie licked her lips and wondered if she should call her sister—or was she just worrying over nothing again?

"Maddie, what's wrong?"

She stared at him blankly for a moment. "My sister has a thirteen year old son called Evan. Both of them were in Taurin Bay last month."

"Damn!" Jon ran a hand through his hair, then abruptly walked forward, stopping only when his knees touched the side of her bed.

He was close, so close. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, felt the whisper of his breath wash across her skin. Could smell him, a faint scent of cologne mixed with hints of earth and sweat. But he wasn't real, damn it!

"In the last eight months, sixteen teenagers have been taken from their homes and haven't been seen alive again. In each case, no locks or windows were disturbed. And each time, the teenager was taken on the next full moon after their families returned from Taurin Bay."

Her heart leapt. She raised a hand to her throat and tried to remain calm. "Evan is safe at home. This is ridiculous."

"Someone is drawing me here, Madeline. Someone who knows he's in danger. You're the connection between us. Tonight is a full moon. Go call your sister."

She scrambled off the bed and ran to the bedroom door. Then she hesitated, looking back at Jon. He hadn't moved, but his body had faded, losing its shape to the darkness. Only his blue eyes were still bright.

"Go call her," he said. "Then come to me. Save me."

Maddie turned away from his plea, though she knew he wouldn't be there when she returned. She ran down the hall to the phone in the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. Somehow, the darkness seemed too intense to face alone.

Fingers trembling, she picked up the phone and dialed Jayne's number. It seemed to ring forever.

Maddie bit her lip, hoping nothing had happened, hoping that Evan was in bed and safe.

"Hello?" a croaky, half-asleep voice said eventually.

"Jayne, it's me," she said without preamble. "Is Evan there? Is he all right?"

There was a slight pause, and Maddie could hear the rustle of blankets as her sister shifted around in her bed. "Of course he is. Why?"

Because I'm a fool, because a ghost told me he may be in danger."Humor your little sister and just go check, will you?"

Jayne sighed. "Maddie, have you been drinking again?"

Maddie closed her eyes. Whenever Jayne thought she had a problem, she always asked the same question—even though it had been six years and ten days since Maddie had last had a drink. Not since the fire that had taken her husband's life, she thought with a shiver. The experts had never found an explanation for that fire, though they had theories aplenty. Maddie knew the truth, but she wasn't about to tell anyone—not even her sister.

She cleared her throat. "No. I had a dream, and I want to reassure myself he's all right."

"For God's sake, it's after two." Annoyance ran through Jayne's voice, but at least she was still listening.

At least she hadn't yet slammed the phone down.

"I'm well aware of the time. It will only take a minute to check on Evan. Please."

"I guess I damn well better," her sister muttered. "Or you'll be calling all night again."

Maddie heard Steve, Jayne's husband, murmur something about weird sisters, then the squeak of springs as Jayne got out of bed. Maddie grimaced, hoping she was just being weird. Hoping Jon wasn't right.

She stared out the kitchen window as she waited, watching the snow flurries dance across her yard. Then she heard the sound of returning footsteps, and felt her stomach knot. Please let Evan be safe.

"Evan's sound asleep in bed, Maddie." Jayne's voice was a mix of exasperation and annoyance. "And by the sound of it, so should you be."

This time Jayne did hang up on her, but Maddie didn't mind. Jon had been wrong. Evan was okay. She replaced the receiver then thrust a shaking hand through her hair as she sagged back against the wall in relief. Maybe Jayne was right. Maybe all she needed was a good night's sleep—something that had eluded her ever since her world had disappeared into flames.

She closed her eyes, fighting the memories, fighting the sudden need to wash the pain into oblivion with a drink. That chapter of her life was over. She would not return, even through memories. And if Jon did come back, she'd tell him to go find someone else to tell his weird story to. She wasn't interested—not if the cost was to make her sister think she was stranger than ever.

His only chance of survival was a woman afraid of life. Jon shook his head at the irony of it and leaned wearily against the cold stone wall of the well. He'd seen the fear in the amber flame of her eyes, in the tremble in her hands as she ran her fingers through her chestnut-colored hair. She was afraid to move from the safety of her home.

And he would die if she didn't.

He smiled grimly and stared up at the pale stars twinkling in the dark bracket of sky far above him.

How he wished he could fly, simply wing his way up out of the well to freedom. But he couldn't even climb with his arm like this. He glanced down, noting his flesh had swollen around the handkerchief he'd tied across his forearm.

Someone had shot him, but not with a gun, as Madeline had presumed. Someone in Taurin Bay knew what he was. They'd used arrows made of white ash, a weapon deadly to those with magic in their souls.

He'd broken off most of the shaft, but a section was still embedded in his flesh, and probably the only reason he hadn't yet bled to death.

Oddly enough, he felt no pain. Not now, anyway. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the numbness beginning to infuse his body. Or maybe he was as thick-skinned as many of his friends believed.

He grimaced and closed his eyes. He'd thought about dying many times in his life, but he never thought it would come like this—lying helpless and alone in the cold, cold night.

And yet, in some ways, it was oddly fitting. He'd spent most of his adult life alone, so why not die the same way?

He wouldn't have cared much, either, if he'd had the chance to see his family one more time and explain why he'd avoided them so much over the last ten years.

An owl hooted softly in the distance. He listened carefully, then heard the soft snap of wings, the small cry of a field mouse. If the owls were out looking for a meal, it meant there was no one about to disturb their hunting. And therefore, no one about hunting him. Trapped down this damn well, he'd be easy pickings. A day had passed since he'd been shot. By all rights, he should be safe, but he'd learned over the years never to relax his guard.

Had learned the hard way that should be safe never meant it was.

He toed the water lapping the edges of the small ledge. The water had been his salvation in more ways than one—it had broken his fall and, no doubt, saved his life. And it was drinkable, which meant he wasn't in any danger of dehydration. But it might yet kill him, too. His abilities gave him some protection against the cold, but he knew he was starting to push his limits. His plunge into the water had soaked every bit of his clothing, and now he was so cold it hurt to move.