"My birthday is tomorrow." Her voice broke slightly, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.
The waiter chose that moment to come along. Doyle quickly paid him, waiting until he was out of earshot again before asking, "Why would she have left a present on your dresser two days before your birthday?"
She bit her lip. "She talked to the wind and read our futures. She might have known she wasn't going to be around."
Her voice broke again. He placed a hand over hers. "If Helen had left you that present, then why would she be sending you back to find another?"
"But who else—" She hesitated again, gaze widening. "The killer did, didn't she? That's how she kept sending those things after us."
He nodded. It had to be a beacon of some kind. They'd been found too easily every time. "So we leave it right where it is, and before you take anything else from your house, you let me check it."
"Because you can sense magic?"
He nodded again and stood "Ready to go?"
"No." She grimaced and rose. "But I guess the sooner I get this over with, the better."
They left the restaurant and caught a cab to her house. Kirby climbed out, but stopped near the front gate. "I can't do this." She was staring at the front door, her face pale. "I can't go in there."
He clasped her fingers and squeezed them gently, then turned to study the house. Police tape barred the front door, and he had no doubt they would be back later in the day to search the scene yet again, hunting for the smallest of clues. But like Camille said, they were looking in all the wrong places. There was nothing in any procedural manual that would ever prepare them for something like magic—or the manarei .
The tape across the door did mean they couldn't go in that way. And the birches lining the front fence were too far away from the windows to provide climbing assistance. Not that it would be wise to do so in daylight. "Does the garage provide access to the back section of the house?"
She nodded. "But there were bits of Ross all over the kitchen. I can't…" Tears glimmered again, and she bit her lip.
He wondered why she was so determined not to show any emotion, to hold it all inside. Had some nut in her past enforced the impression it was better that way?
"Close your eyes, then. I'll lead you through."
She glanced at him and nodded. "I guess I can manage that."
The garage door wasn't locked. Obviously, security wasn't a major worry to either of them, though he had a suspicion Kirby might be a little more cautious from now on. He closed the door behind them, then followed her through to the backyard. Birches lined the boundaries here as well, casting dappled shadows across the tiny patch of grass. Azaleas brightened the corners of the yard, providing cheerful splashes of yellow, red and orange through the shade.
"Pretty," he said, meaning it.
"Thanks." She plucked a key from under the mat and glanced at him, a smile touching her lips. "Don't tell me that's a dumb place to keep a key, because I already know it is."
"Wasn't going to mention it." Besides, for most professional thieves, door locks were the least of their problems. It was things like pressure pads, heat and motion sensors and all the other varieties of alarms they had these days that provided the worry. "But you could at least try somewhere more original."
"Like what? The potted plant?"
"Actually, if you have to leave out a key, then sticking it to the back of something like a leaf is a damn fine hiding place. Most amateurs don't think of that."
"And most professionals don't bother?"
"Something like that." He took the key from her and opened the door. "Ready?"
She nodded. He caught her hand and opened the door, leading her into the kitchen. It was like he'd walked into a slaughterhouse. Seeing the pictures was one thing, seeing the reality another. Granted, there were no body parts lying about, but blood was still splashed everywhere, and the outlines of where they'd found the different pieces of humanity littered the floor.
No wonder she had been so fearful to confront this all again. While he was no stranger to the various faces of death, even he found this sickening. He quickly guided her through and up the stairs.
"You can open your eyes now," he said once they were out of sight of the mess below.
She did so, taking a deep breath in the process. "Thank you."
He nodded and touched her cheek, lightly thumbing away a tear. "Any idea where Helen might have hidden this present?"
"In her room, I'd presume." She stepped away from his touch and entered the room to the right of the stairs.
It was a moody blue-and-gray color scheme—odd colors for a woman, but fitting for a storm witch. He glanced across the corridor to the other room. Yellows, reds and creams. The colors of summer and the sun. Kirby's room. He resisted the temptation to go and look. Instead, he watched as she opened the wardrobe.
"She usually kept things she wanted hidden in with all her shoes," she said, getting down on her knees.
"Wait, don't touch anything." He knelt down beside her and swept his hand through the shadows, searching for any indication of magic. "Clear," he said, sitting back on his heels.
She leaned forward, pulling out various boxes and shoes, but in the end found nothing. She sat back, her shoulder brushing his arm as she contemplated the wardrobe.
"What about the storage space up top?" he said, pointing to the shelf above the hanging space.
She wrinkled her nose, and for an instant looked so damn cute he just wanted to kiss her. A desire she must have sensed, because she edged away slightly.
"Helen was short, like me. She usually settled for lower hiding spots."
"We can't stay here long," he reminded her softly. "The cops could be here any minute."
"I know." She took a deep breath, then climbed to her feet. "You check up there. I'll check her drawers."
"Deal." He rose and began pulling everything out of the top of the wardrobe. There was nothing there that even remotely resembled a present. He shoved it all back and headed over to the bed. Kneeling down, he looked under it. There, in the darkness, a silver wrapped present sat waiting.
"Found it," he said, reaching out. Magic tingled across his skin, but its touch was warm, muted.
Nonthreatening.
He held it out to her, but she didn't take it, just regarded it warily. "Are you sure it's from Helen? Maybe it's another gift from our murderous friend."
"There's nothing evil to the feel of this present. I wouldn't let you touch it, otherwise."
"Oh." She swallowed heavily, a bright light in her eyes. "You hold it for me. I have to get some clothes and stuff."
He followed her out of the room but waited in the hallway, sensing she wasn't comfortable about having him in her room.
When she came back out, she was wearing a long black coat similar to his and holding an overnight bag.
He took it from her and checked to make sure there was nothing resembling anything magical in it, then dropped the present inside. "That all?"
She hesitated. "I need my wallet. I can't keep letting you pay for everything."
"And you can't exactly run if you haven't got cash or credit cards, can you?"
She didn't deny his accusation. He sighed. "Where did you leave it?"
"It's in my handbag, which I dropped near the front door when I came in last night."
"I'll go get it. You wait here."
He dropped the bag next to her and headed down the stairs. Her handbag was where she'd said, zipper open and the outside covered in white dust. He squatted, carefully nudging the zip open with a finger—and felt the sting of magic burn through him.
He yanked his hand away and quickly upended the bag. The contents fell out, littering the carpet. Wind stirred, raising the hairs along the back of his neck. Something was coming. Something bad.