"Not with that shield, they won't. It'll warp your appearance long enough to fool whoever's following us."
She glanced down at the beads clenched in her hands. Odd that something so incongruous could do magic powerful enough to change a person's appearance, if only for a few minutes. "When am I going to do this?"
"I'm going to run the next red light, and do a quick left. I remember seeing a small café on my way to the police station. Walk down to there, get yourself a coffee and a seat, and don't move for a good ten minutes. By then, I should be well clear."
Camille had slowed the van as she was talking, but the minute the lights ahead changed to red, she flattened the accelerator. The scream of the tires mingled with abuse from scattering pedestrians as Camille sped through the light and into the next street.
"I ain't stopping long," Camille muttered. "So grab your bag and get ready to jump, girl."
She undid her seat belt, the beads and her bag gripped in one hand and the other braced against the dash. The van slid to a stop. She wrenched open the door and clambered out, barely having time to slam the door shut before the old woman was off again, burning rubber as she disappeared up the street.
Had to have been a race car driver sometime in her life, Kirby thought, and headed for the café. She'd barely made it inside when a white sedan thundered past.
"Teenagers," a woman in the shop muttered. "Should ban them from getting cars with big engines, they should."
She wondered what the woman would say if she knew one of those teenagers was at least sixty. After ordering a coffee, she sat down at a table near the back of the café and got out her phone, dialing directory assistance. Within a couple of minutes she had the number of the nearest car rental agency. She rang them, got their address and made arrangements to hire a car.
An hour later she cruised down the Calder Freeway, heading toward Gisborne. According to Camille's map, Doyle was being held on a farm sitting on the outskirts of the small township, close to the Macedon Ranges foothills.
Which didn't exactly make sense. If the woman was powerful enough to transport someone Doyle's size so damn far, why was she bothering to kill the circle? Surely her powers were greater than all of theirs combined. And why leave Doyle alive? It was odd, especially seeing her actions up until now suggested she had no qualms about killing.
She drove through Gisborne then slowed, looking for the right road. She turned right, and the asphalt gave way to dirt and dust. If there were any guards on this farm, they'd see her coming a mile away. She bit her lip and slowed, watching the numbers on the roadside letter boxes. They slowly climbed, as did the road. The gums huddled closer, casting deep shadows through which the occasional beam of sunlight danced.
Eventually she found thirty-eight and pulled off the road, squeezing the small Honda behind the wattles that framed the driveway with a haze of yellow. After locking the car, she made her way toward the gate.
It was chained and padlocked. She climbed over it and walked up the deeply rutted driveway. Cicadas sung around her, their noise almost piercing.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and glanced skyward. Trees sighed in the breeze, but despite this, it suddenly felt a hundred times hotter up here near the mountains than it had in the city. She wished she had a drink. Her throat felt so dry it was aching.
A house appeared through the trees up ahead. It was long and ramshackle in style, and looked somewhat forlorn. She slowed, wondering if anyone was home. Wondering if there were guards—or dogs.
Nothing moved. The curtains were drawn across the windows, and no clothes fluttered on the washing line. She walked on carefully. No dogs barked or came out of the shadows at her.
Where was Doyle? Surely he couldn't be in the house. It didn't look strong enough to contain a gnat, let alone a fairly ingenious thief. But if he wasn't in the house, where was he?
Doyle?she queried tentatively.
Warmth rushed through her mind, its force so strong it knocked her several steps backward.
Kirby? What in hell are you doing here?There was both relief and anger in his mind voice. He obviously didn't want her here—or at least, didn't want her in the line of danger.
And that annoyed the hell out of her. I'll turn around and damn well leave, if you prefer.
No!He hesitated, and his sigh shimmered though her, a breeze so cool when compared to the heat of his mind's touch. No. I'm sorry. Its just that this tank has been spelled. It might be safer to call Camille in.
Camille's busy, so you're stuck with me. Now, where are you?
In an unused water tank of some kind. There's apparently a big rock sitting on it, if that's any help.
Her gaze swept the small clearing. No tanks this side of the house, or anywhere near what she could see of the big old shed behind the house. He had to be on the other side, then.
Have you heard anything moving about?
No. The only sounds I've heard are noisy bugs and the occasional bird. That doesn't mean there isn't something here, though. Our murderous friend is not one to leave things to chance.
An understatement if ever there was one. She approached the house cautiously, trying to hear beyond the high-pitched call of the cicadas. A chill crept across her skin, and for an instant, her vision blurred.
The world seemed to spin briefly, and she had to thrust a hand against the side of the house to remain upright. The dizziness eased, but her throat felt as rough as sandpaper, and no amount of swallowing seemed to help. She swiped at the sweat dripping down her forehead, and wondered if she was coming down with something.
You okay?Concern shimmered down the link between them.
She nodded, then remembered he couldn't see her. I'm just a little lightheaded. Lack of food, probably. I'll be there in a sec.
Just be careful. The cicadas have gone quiet.
She looked around. The sudden hush felt almost threatening. Another chill chased across her skin, and this time it was more fear than anything else . I'm okay. I can protect myself, you know.But she wondered who she was trying to convince—him or herself.
She pushed away from the wall and headed past the front of the house. Three tanks came into sight, one close to the house, and two others near the shed. The one furthermost from the house had a large rock perched on one end.
Found you, she said as the turned the corner, only to come nose to stomach with the second biggest dead guy she'd ever seen.
Chapter Twelve
Her scream froze somewhere in her throat, and for instant, all she could do was stand there and stare up at him. He was monstrous. Not as big as the zombie that had attacked Doyle, but damn close.
Fear shot through her—not hers. Doyle's. Kirby, run!
His mental shout unlocked her limbs. But before she could react, the zombie threw a punch, his fist smashing into her jaw. It lifted her off the ground and knocked her back several feet. She hit the ground hard, and her breath whooshed out, leaving her gasping. Blinking back tears, battling to breathe, she looked up to see the zombie launch at her.
She yelped and rolled away. The zombie hit where she'd been only seconds before, and the ground literally shook. It screamed in frustration and lashed out again, fingers clawing the air inches from her face. She scrambled further away and called to the fire. It burned through her body, flashing jaggedly across her fingertips before she launched it toward the zombie.
Pain surged through her mind, and again her vision blurred. Suddenly there were two zombies burning up in front of her. Two pairs of fire smothered hands reaching for her.