Circle of Fire (Damask Circle 1)

“This is ridiculous,” Steve growled. The fear in his eyes was almost as bright as the fear in his son’s.

“Be quiet or leave.” Mack moved to stand halfway between the two of them, as if he feared some sort of confrontation. “Go ahead, Jon.”

Jon kept his gaze on the teenager. After a moment, Evan nodded and held his hand out. Jon placed the ring in the middle of Evan’s palm, and the boy closed his fingers around it. Nothing happened for several heartbeats, then smoke began to curl through his fingers.

Evan yelped in surprise and would have thrown the ring away if Jon hadn’t clamped his hand around the teenager’s.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s only smoke. It won’t hurt you.”

Evan licked his lips and nodded. It was a gesture so reminiscent of Maddie that Jon’s gut twisted painfully. Time was running out.

The smoke twisted and turned and finally found shape. Eleanor’s malevolent gaze swept across the four of them. Steve and Mack made surprised noises, but Jon kept his eyes on the wraith—just in case it tried anything.

“I’ve kept my end of the bargain, Eleanor.”

She smiled. It might well have been a cat snarling. “So you have, shapeshifter. And just in time. Your poor, dear girlfriend was turning a little blue.”

It felt as if someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed tight. “The deal’s off if she’s dead.” His voice sounded amazingly detached considering he was barely resisting the urge to smash the wraith’s face in. Not that it would have done him any good. The wraith was as insubstantial as a ghost.

“Oh, she’s not dead. Not yet.” The wraith eyed him in amusement. “Come to the old cave up on Maxus Peak and see for yourself. Just be here by sunset with the boy or she’ll pay, shapeshifter.”

“We’ll be there.”

He watched the wraith dissipate, then uncurled Evan’s fingers from around the ring and took it back. Though he didn’t think it was possible for Eleanor to transport the kid away from them using the ring, he wasn’t about to take any chances.

Evan stared at him, fear in his eyes. “You’re not going to make me go with you, are you?”

Jon smiled. “No.” Not when Maddie had worked so hard to free him. “But I do need a lock of your hair.”

“This witchcraft business is getting a little out of hand,” Steve muttered uneasily. “I really think you had both better leave.”

Jon kept his focus on the teenager. In some ways, the son was much wiser than the father. “Eleanor has placed her mark on you, so I have to convince her I have you with me. If I tie a lock of hair around the ring, she might be fooled long enough for me to rescue Maddie.”

“Enough—” Steve lurched to his feet.

Mack stepped forward and placed a calming hand on the big man’s arm. “If you want to save both your son and your sister-in-law, go get the scissors, Steve.”

Steve hesitated, then glanced down at his son and nodded. But Jon could tell by the flashes of red that ran through his aura that it wasn’t for Maddie’s sake that he complied. If Evan hadn’t been involved, Steve would have let his sister-in-law rot in hell before he helped her.

Jon wondered how the fool was going to cope with a son who had inherited the same clairvoyant abilities that he hated—and feared—in Maddie.

He stood up and walked across to the window, but it looked south, not north. He couldn’t see the mountain that held the witch and Maddie.

“Don’t think you’re going up there alone,” Mack stated quietly.

Jon closed his eyes. He just wanted it all over with, one way or another. But Mack was right. He couldn’t go up there alone. Not if he wanted Maddie to walk free.

“Fine,” he said remotely, watching the wind whip the branches of the old pine. “It’s not a good day for flight, anyway.” But it sure as hell was a good day to kill.

* * *

THE LITTLE MAN WAS BACK IN HER HEAD, POUNDING AWAY on his infernal drums. Maddie shook her head, but that only made the pounding increase. Sweat broke out across her forehead and bile rose up the back of her throat. She swallowed heavily, but the metallic taste in her mouth made her stomach turn. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the rolling sensation to go away.

After a while she became aware of a breeze running chill fingers past her legs. She shivered, suddenly realizing her whole body felt cold—so cold her bones ached with it. Could she warm herself up with her flames? Was something like that possible? She had no idea—her flames had always been the result of fear rather than desire. So why weren’t they present now? She was terrified, but there was no sign of them. No heat in her soul. It felt oddly weird.

She opened her eyes. The light of a nearby torch flickered off the red-brown walls, making the shadows beyond the flame appear more threatening. Somewhere beyond that, lost in the darkness, came the steady drip of water. Beyond that again was the distant howl of the wind.

She shifted slightly, and pain lanced through her brain. Tears stung her eyes. She brushed them away with the heel of her hand, then stared at the huge metal bars about ten feet away. They rose from the rock floor to the ceili