Felicity, who’d been Mariel’s best friend and coconspirator.
“You killed her, not me!” Trina intoned shrilly into the silence.
You killed … The words seemed to echo through the silence. Guilt washed through Kirby—guilt that was both old and new—and yet surely she couldn’t bear the entire burden herself. She may have been the one who called the power into being, but she was still only one of five. She opened her eyes, staring at Trina’s fear-stricken face. Saw the haunted look in her gray eyes, the edge of madness lurking close.
They’d all been terrified that night. They’d raised a power that shook the very world around them, and because of that, a child had died and many more had been injured.
She’d coped by wiping out the memory of that place and pushing the pain, the guilt and the images of destruction so far back into the recesses of her mind that even now, when it mattered most, she still couldn’t remember everything that had happened. And she’d retreated, not so much mentally as physically, afraid of taking a chance lest she hurt anyone else.
Helen, who’d also been a part of that circle, had reacted completely the opposite. She became a wild child, afraid of nothing, willing to push the limits in all that she did.
Trina, it seemed, had spent her years seeking someone else to take the burden of her guilt, and if the look in her eyes was anything to go by, she hadn’t been all that successful. She wondered how intimately Trina knew the local psychiatric wards. She had a feeling the answer might be very.
“It was an accident,” she murmured softly, firmly. They hadn’t meant to kill anyone but the caretaker, and had failed even in that. But they did stop him and, in the end, maybe that was the one fact they all had to cling to.
“How many lives did we save that night, Trina? I can remember you saying that you’d rather kill yourself than have that man touch you again. How many of the others felt like that, do you think?” Helen had, which was what had moved Kirby into action in the first place.
“We killed—you killed,” Trina whispered hoarsely. “That power … it ate me, you know. Swept through me like I wasn’t even there, like I wasn’t even real. It was horrible … horrible. And it was you who did that to me. You and her.”
The madness was brighter in her gaze. Her eyes were wide, staring, as if she was seeing the past rather than the present. Maybe Kirby’s sudden reappearance, combined with the manarei’s attack, had snapped whatever tenuous hold Trina had on sanity.
Camille swept into the room and moved toward Trina. “Now, don’t go making a fuss,” she said, her normally edgy tones gentle, almost calming. “I just got that arm of yours all neatly fixed.”
“Who are you?” Trina thrust away from Camille’s hand, sliding down to the far end of the table. For the first time, she seemed to take in her surroundings. Her face went white, and her fear became something Kirby could almost smell. “Why am I here? Who are you people?”
“Trina, calm down,” Kirby said.
Trina made a violent chopping motion with her hand. “You calm down! Better yet, you go to hell. I want to know what’s going on!”
“Need some help?” Russell said, his large frame filling the doorway.
Camille sighed. “Afraid so. Calm her down. Better yet, put her to sleep.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Trina cried. She teetered on the edge of the table, watching Russell with wide, frightened eyes.
Russell didn’t move, just narrowed his gaze slightly. Trina gasped, then her gaze went blank, and she slumped to the table. Camille caught her before she could hit her head, and she made sure her injured arm wasn’t taking the weight of her body.
Kirby glanced uneasily at Russell. “You did that? How?”
“Mind control. It’s an ability most vamps have, in varying degrees of strength. I merely calmed her fears and put her into a trance. She’ll remain that way now, until I suggest otherwise.”
She eyed him warily. “You did promise to keep out of my mind, you know.”
He grinned. It was oddly boyish and very charming. “And I always keep my word. Especially when that someone is a friend of someone I care about.”
“Good,” she muttered and rubbed her eyes, wondering again at the sanity of trusting a vampire. “Where is Doyle, by the way?”
“Gone shopping,” Camille said, voice sharp enough to nail wood to a wall. “That headache still bad?”
She nodded, though in truth, it had ebbed a little. Camille muttered something under her breath, then walked across the room to the urn and filled a mug with hot water. Into this, she tipped what looked like dried-up leaves.
“Drink this tea. It’ll ease the immediate effects of the headache. I’ll make up some more that you can take with you.”
Kirby accepted the offered cup and sniffed it warily. It smelled faintly of lemongrass and lime, but there were other scents mingled among those two that she knew but couldn’t name. Helen had used them sometimes in the past.
Camille sat opposite her. “Did Trina say anything? Did she remember anything that might help us?”
Kirby sipped the tea, finding the taste wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. “Not really. But she did shake loose some of my memories. It can’t be the real Felicity Barnes who’s working for the government. Felicity died that night we formed the circle.”