Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2)

Don’t, he added, mind-voice more forceful this time.

She nodded. He opened the door and ushered Camille inside. Sighing, Kirby leaned back against the wall. The chill of the bricks pressed into her back, easing the fire a little. Her gaze skated across the nearby buildings and settled on the perimeter fence. Bottle-brush and flowering gums lined it, the bright red and gold of their flowers flashing like fire in the fog. For an instant, a memory surfaced—Helen and her, weaving through the trunks of the trees, running in fear. She closed her eyes, trying to remember just what—or whom—they’d run from. But the memory slipped back to the recesses of her mind. She swore and opened her eyes.

Her gaze drifted across the buildings, coming to rest on the third of the five that sat opposite. Like the one beside it, it had been partially destroyed by fire and the elements, and vandals had covered it with graffiti. But the building was theirs—that was where they’d stayed.

She pushed away from the wall. She would see anyone approaching this door from over there, and she could use the shadows crowding the entrance porch to hide in if anyone did walk by. Besides, she had a very bad feeling she needed to remember what had happened in this place.

She headed for the third dorm. If she remembered right, the doors were half glass. Maybe she could peer in and jog a few more memories loose.

She was close to the main entrance when she noticed the doors were actually open, and she stopped abruptly. Inside, someone whistled tunelessly, and memories beckoned.

She knew that tune. Had heard it often when she was a little girl stuck here in the darkness.

Clenching her fingers, she walked past the ramps and up the steps, heading inside.

DOYLE STOPPED. MOTES OF DUST DANCED SLUGGISHLY in the light filtering in from the skylight above them, but it did little to lift the shadows that filled the corridor. Boxes and broken bits of furniture lined the walls, and the whole place smelled of age and decay. No one had been through here in a very long time. No one human, anyway.

“Can you smell him?” Camille whispered softly.

He nodded. “Three doors down.”

“Magic?”

“Two doors down.” Its echo was so sharp his skin burned with it. “It’s got the same feel as the magic that was being performed on Rachel Grant.”

Which had to mean there was something here to find; otherwise, why bother setting a spell in this wasteland?

Camille grunted and pushed past. She stopped near the door, studying it for several seconds. Magic stirred, but this time it felt clean, sunshine compared to rain. Camille, battling the spell with one of her own. After several seconds, she gave a satisfied sigh.

“Looped it,” she said, “so we can get past without triggering it. And it’ll still feel set to the caster.”

“Good.” He hurried to the third door. The scuffing had stopped. No one moved inside, no one breathed. And the only person he could smell was Russell.

Warily, he stepped inside. The room was another wasteland of decay and boxes. Dust-caked windows lined the far wall, filtering brightness into the room—brightness that could kill his friend. Russell was lying in one corner, half in the shadows, half out, his hands and feet tied by wire and tape covering his mouth. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his skin looked red, as if sunburned.

Doyle swore. “Camille, get your van and bring it around the back. The gate is open.”

She hurried off. He took off his coat and flung it over his friend, protecting his uncovered skin from the sun’s rays. Then, tucking his hands under Russell’s shoulders, he dragged him back into the safety of the shadow-filled corridor.

He ripped the tape off Russell’s mouth. As he began unwinding the wire from the vampire’s hands, expletives fell thick and fast into the gloom.

“Tell us what you’re really feeling,” Doyle said, amused.

“When we catch the bitch,” Russell muttered, “she’s going to get a taste of her own medicine.”

Doyle flipped the wire into the rubbish behind him, then shifted to undo the wire around Russell’s feet. “Meaning she’s a vamp?”

“No,” Russell snapped, rubbing his head. “Meaning I’m going to hit the witch over the head and kick her in the gut and groin a few times, just like she did to me.”

“Tsk. That’s no way to treat a lady.”

“This is no lady we’re dealing with, believe me.”

He rose and offered Russell a hand up. “It’s unlike you to let anyone sneak up on you. What happened?”

“A goddamn spell. I was looking through the files in some boxes, and suddenly I couldn’t move. Then she appeared from nowhere and clubbed me.”

Doyle raised an eyebrow. “Which suggests she didn’t know you were a vampire. Otherwise, she might have staked you.”