"I've done a reading from some hair I snipped off Trina. She's being held at some warehouse down near the docks."
Surprise rippled through him. "She's not dead yet?" Why? Particularly when every other time the witch had killed, she'd done so as quickly—and painfully—as possible.
"No, she's not dead yet, but I've got a feeling we'll have to move fast or she will be. I'll head over and pick up Russell, and we'll meet you around the back of the warehouse. You got a pen?"
He grabbed one and quickly wrote down the address. "What about Kirby?" he added, glancing down at her.
"She can't come with you. It's too dangerous. We'll just have to chance leaving her there."
"No, we can't—" "We have no choice, Doyle. We must catch the witch, and this is our best shot. But if something goes wrong, we can't risk Kirby being close."
But dare they risk leaving her alone? He certainly couldn't.
She placed a hand on his stomach, her touch so warm against the ice suddenly encasing his gut.
"I'll be okay," she said, voice soft. "I can protect myself, and I still have Camille's beads. If the very worst happens and the witch turns up, I can use them to shield my appearance while I make a run for it."
"No. I'm not leaving you alone." Especially now that Russell had been attacked. If the witch could find him so easily, she might know where they were, as well.
"I heard what she said, shifter, and she's making perfectly good sense."
Only if you didn't love the person in question. But he did, and there was no way on this earth he was going to leave her here alone. "I don't care. I'm not leaving her unprotected."
"But I'm not unprotected." She raised up on her toes and brushed a kiss across his cheek. "I have both my abilities and Helen's."
" Ifthe spell worked. We don't know that it did."
"I trust Helen, and we have no reason to believe that it didn't work."
"Kirby—" "No. We both know this might be your only shot to stop this woman, and you can't risk that by worrying over my safety. I'll be okay. I promise."
He sighed. She was making perfectly good sense, and he knew it. The only way she was ever going to be totally safe was by them finding and killing the witch. He just wished there was a way they could do that without leaving her unguarded.
"Okay, okay, I give in." He glanced at his watch, then asked her, "how long will it take me to get to the docks from here?"
She shrugged. "Maybe an hour, maybe more, depending on the traffic."
"Let's just hope our witch hangs around that long," Camille muttered. "See you there in an hour, Doyle."
He hung up, then brushed his fingers across her cheek, tucking her hair back behind her ears. "I don't want to do this."
Her smile was tremulous. "And you think I want to be left alone? Knowing that that witch might be out there, just waiting to send her beasties after me the minute you leave?"
"Then why—" "Because it may be the only chance we get, and you have to take it."
She reached up and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss, all the while wishing he had the time to do more. Lord, she'd barely even touched him, yet he was aching with the need to make love to her again.
"Just make sure you come back to me," she murmured, her breath warm against his lips.
"Always." He pulled back a little, staring into her smoke-colored eyes—something he hoped to be doing for the rest of his life. "Just promise me you won't go anywhere unless that witch turns up."
"I promise."
He kissed her again, briefly, urgently, then grabbed his clothes and quickly dressed. "Call me if anything happens," he said, and scrawled down his phone number.
She nodded and accepted the scrap of paper with a look of trepidation on her face. "I'll see you when you get back, then."
"Count on it." He kissed her a final time, then before he could change his mind and give in to the desire to stay with her, he grabbed the car keys and headed out the door.
Kirby crossed her arms and watched him leave, an uneasy chill running down her spine. It wasn't so much that she feared being left alone, but more that she feared something would go wrong. That this was the opportunity the witch had been waiting for. Goose bumps chased their way across her arms. She shivered and quickly dressed before heading down the stairs to make coffee.
The silence seemed to close in on her, and the natural creaking of the old house made every nerve ending jump. She wandered around aimlessly, looking for something to do. In one of the bedrooms she found a stack of romance books, and after sorting through them, she settled down to read.
The hours ticked slowly by. Outside, the wind called. She frowned, put aside her book and walked to the window. Beyond the curtains, the light was bright, almost harsh, but the day itself looked warm. The breeze stirred the trees, rustling through leaves and tugging at the brightly colored daisies in the garden beds below. She frowned and closed her eyes. Beneath the whispered song of the wind came the soft but clear call of her name.
She bit her lip and wondered if she was imagining things—wondered if all the events of the last few days had tipped her over the edge and into insanity. The call came again, more urgently this time. Definitely not imagination. She dropped the curtains back into place and headed outside.
The afternoon sun was as hot as it was bright, but it failed to chase the chill from her skin. She walked down the slight slope of grass and sat under the gums. The leaves stirred, stronger than before, and through their murmuring she heard her name. The voice was soft, warm, and oh-so-familiar. Vanilla drifted on the breeze, entwined with the slightest hint of lime. Helen's favorite scents.
Pain welled. Kirby closed her eyes and somehow found her voice. "What did your spell do to me?"
The leaves stirred and answered. "Nothing more than return what was rightfully yours."
"What do you mean?" She stared up into the gum's dark canopy, wondering if Helen's spirit danced with the wind among the leaves.
"It is as we always suspected, dear one. We were not just friends, but two parts of the whole."
"Twins." It came out harshly, her throat too constricted by sudden tears.
"As first born, the powers were yours by right. And you must use them now to stop that woman's murderous ways."
Alone? How the hell was she supposed to stop a woman who was now half demon? "Doyle's gone after her."
"No. The witch sets a trap. It is your task, your fate, to stop her."
Fear ripped through her, and she scrambled upright. "Doyle? Is he—?"
"You have no time to worry about him now, sister. The witch has the fourth point. You must save her."
"But—" She hesitated, battling the tide of fear. "I can't fight her alone. I need help."
"You need nothing more than courage. Remember, you are the one that combines and controls. She cannot hurt you with what is yours to command."
What in hell was that supposed to mean? If the whispering leaves knew, they didn't say. "I don't want to do this."
"You must. We started this, albeit unknowingly, so long ago, and we have run from our responsibilities for too long. But revenge has overtaken us, and now you must see this finished. For the sake of us all."
She closed her eyes. She didn't want this responsibility. Didn't know if she had the courage to face this woman alone.
"You must, sister. Or the cat will die."
It felt like someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed it tight. For a minute, she couldn't even breathe.
"What do you mean?" she somehow ground out.
"In protecting you, he will draw the witch's ire and die. I have seen it whispered on the wind."
The wind didn't whisper unchangeable truths, only possibilities. How often had Helen told her that? Yet, it was a possibility she dare not risk. She drew in a deep breath. In one sense, Helen was right. If they hadn't sidetracked fate so long ago, then none of these murders would have happened. They certainly couldn't change that now, but they could stop a madwoman's quest for power and send a demon back to hell.