Circle of Fire (Damask Circle 1)

And maybe it was all in her imagination. Maybe she was finally going mad, as one of her many foster parents had insisted she would. They’d been devout Catholics and had believed magic to be the devil’s work. And while she couldn’t actually raise magic—not in the same manner Helen had been able to—she could bend the energy of the air and the earth to her will. Which sounded more dangerous than it was, because in reality she could do little more than create a net that had the power to bind one thing to another. Still, it was quite amazing that she’d lasted in that particular place for three months.

But as she stared at Dicks, she knew it was neither imagination nor madness. Something odd was happening in the room. The feel of magic was in the air.

“I’ll just go have my shower, then,” she said, closing the door.

There were no locks on the door. She bit her bottom lip and looked quickly around. There was a towel rack on the wall next to the door. Better than nothing, she supposed. She grabbed a sweater out of her pack and roped it between the handle and the towel rack, knotting the arms as tightly as she could. It wouldn’t hold for more than the time it took to scream, but for some reason, she felt a little safer.

She stripped off her jacket and thrust a hand through her wet hair. What she needed was a drink. If nothing else, it would calm her nerves and perhaps help her forget, if only for a few hours—another bad habit of hers, according to Helen.

But to get a drink, she’d have to leave the bathroom, and instinct warned her that might not be a good move right now. Over the years, she’d learned to trust that inner voice—and in doing so, she had saved both her and Helen’s lives more than once.

She wished it had spoken up earlier tonight and saved Helen for her.

Tears stung her eyes. She wiped them away with the heel of her hand and noticed the steam was beginning to fog the room. She frowned and flicked the fan switch up and down a couple of times. It didn’t seem to help.

In the other room, the doorbell rang. Constable Ryan’s pizzas had obviously arrived. Her stomach turned, and she wondered how he could eat, especially after what he’d seen at her house. Maybe a

lead-lined gut was a prerequisite for a cop. She walked across to open the window.

Kirby, get out. Leave, while you still can.

The voice sounded so close, the warmth of the speaker’s breath seemed to brush past her ear. Her heart leaped to the vicinity of her throat, and she spun, fists clenched against the sudden rush of electricity across her fingertips. But there was no one in the room with her.

Now she was hearing things, on top of imagining them. Great. Just great. She took a deep breath, then reached up and opened the window.

As she did, the screaming began.