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 in trouble,” 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.”
“My butt isn’t bandaged. Only my 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. “My finding spell finally pinned her down 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 that he simply didn’t know. He loved her, and he 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.
“I’ll see you in a 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 still shatter his heart.
KIRBY PLUCKED THE DEAD FLOWER HEADS FROM THE small rosebush, 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’s body had been released to the funeral parlor five days ago—the same day she’d checked herself out of the hospital—and while the police investigations were still ongoing, she knew they’d never get their answers. Mariel was dead—blown apart by the very forces she’d tried to control.
They were forces that would not—at least in Kirby’s lifetime—be joined again. She’d felt both the earth and fire powers slip from her grasp as she’d fallen unconscious. She had no idea where they went or what would happen to them. Perhaps they waited in the ether. Perhaps sometime in the future, two children would be born with the ability to raise fire or shake the earth. She hoped those children would not be forced to kill, as she and Helen and the other girls in the circle had.
Kirby closed her eyes. She’d killed once again, but this time she didn’t really regret it. Mariel had deserved her fate.
At least Helen had been cremated, as she’d wished. This rose and the small nameplate 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 don’t matter 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 vanish. 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 within her, 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 five days, 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.