Circle of Fire (Damask Circle 1)

He hesitated, so she quickly said, “If you want my help, you at least owe me the truth.”

“Fair enough.” He turned his back to the fire but kept his hands behind him, as if still trying to warm them. “Whatever this force is, it brings with it a sense of danger. And it’s connected with you somehow.”

He seemed to say an awful lot without actually saying anything, Maddie noted. Maybe her ghost had been a politician in a former life.

“That made everything so much clearer,” she said dryly.

He shot her a look that was half amusement, half frustration. “Someone close to you is in danger and, somehow, they’re drawing me to you.”

Besides her sister Jayne, the only other person who qualified was Jayne’s son, Evan. And if he did have that sort of power, it would be a recent development, meaning it was highly unlikely he’d have the sort of control Jon was suggesting. No, she thought grimly, there was only one uncontrolled misfit left in their small family unit.

“So how did you end up in the well?”

“Someone shot me when I was out exploring.” He shrugged. “I must have fallen in.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow. From what she could see of him, there was remarkably little evidence of a bullet wo

und. “Then you are dead.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “I was hit in the arm. The fall could have killed me, but I was … lucky.”

The arm closer to her was a suntanned brown, well muscled and remarkably free of wounds. His hands were still firmly clasped together, which surely wouldn’t be possible if the other arm had a bullet wound. Maybe it was her ghost who was mad, not she.

“Why can’t I see any sort of wound, then?”

“Because I’m here astrally.”

“That doesn’t really explain why you’re standing there with no wound.” Or why she could see him. From the little she knew of astral travel, she shouldn’t have been able to do that, let alone interact with him.

“You’re not seeing the wound because I don’t want you to.”

Which was probably a good thing, given that she did want to get some sleep tonight. “Why don’t you just shout for help?”

“As I explained before, I can’t take the risk. Someone is out to get me. If they think I’m still alive, they’ll just find me and finish the job.”

A chill ran through her. “It could have been an accident.”

“No.”

She closed her eyes at the soft certainty in his voice. “Then if I come to help you, my life could be in danger.”

“How would they know you’re there to help me? You’d just be another tourist passing by.”

The sudden weariness in his voice made her look at him. His form had faded slightly, merging with the night. Something was wrong, something more than the fact that he’d been shot. And she sensed that he wouldn’t tell her what. “Who do you mean by they?”

“I’m not exactly sure. But someone in this town knew why I was here, and they moved pretty swiftly to get rid of me.”

“Then tell me again what town you’re in, and why you’re there.” If he was going to continue haunting her, she should at least try to understand a little more about him. And last night she’d been too busy trying to convince herself that he was nothing more than a vivid dream to really listen to anything he said.

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

His voice held an edge of desperation that made her wince. “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 only a month 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?”