Circle Of Death

His frown deepened, and he rolled forward some more. She retreated. She couldn't help it. Her memories had too strong a grip, and it felt like her fear was going to stifle her.

'You were one of the kids who lived here?' His free hand clenched briefly.

Get out,instinct said. Run .

She nodded. If he got any closer she'd throw up all over him, all over his overalls and shiny brown shoes.

Shoes he'd always kept on when he'd lain on top of Helen.Fighting horror, she retreated another step.

I'm here behind you, in the shadows,Doyle said, his mind-voice filled with such anger it burned through her like a flame. I won't let him hurt you. Question him if you want to.

I don't want to remember this. The man is a monster.

Yes, he is. But he may also hold some answers. I think you need those answers, and not just to solve Helen's death.

She bit her lip and crossed her arms. The chill in her body was so bad she was beginning to shiver. But he was right. The past, and this man, had to be faced if she wanted to find answers.

'You've got green eyes,' the man in the wheelchair said suddenly. 'Fey eyes, like a cat's. I've seen them before. Seen you.' He hesitated. 'You're one of them , aren't you?'

Fear mingled with the anger in his dead brown eyes. She frowned, wondering why. 'One of who? What are you talking about?'

'One of them bitches that did this to me.' He slapped a hand against the wheelchair, and rolled a little closer.

His scent surrounded her—cigar smoke and whisky. The same smell that had haunted her nights, all those years ago. Her stomach rolled. 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

He snorted. 'You and those other four. You did this to me. You broke my back, made me dead from the waist down.'

Dead from the waist down was nearly punishment enough, she thought, and rubbed her arms. 'Me and what four? I have no idea—' 'Them witches with the gray eyes. You formed a circle and smashed me like I was nothing more than one of your stupid dolls. All of you bitches deserve what's coming to you.'

He hawked and spat at her. The globule barely missed her toes. She stepped back again, watching him closely, another chill racing through her spine. 'Did you kill them? Are you responsible?'

Maliciousness mixed with the fear in his brown eyes. He wasn't responsible, she realized, but he knew who was. 'How could five eleven-year-olds possibly throw a man your size around?'

'Magic,' he whispered. 'It surrounded me, a shield of energy I couldn't see. But I could feel it. Oh God, could I feel it…' His voice drifted off, and for a moment the terror of that night showed in his eyes.

She felt no sympathy for him. One night hardly made up for the many nights of hell this fiend had given Helen and the others. 'So you killed them? And tore their bodies apart afterwards?'

He snorted. 'I didn't kill anyone. Look at me. I'm a goddamn cripple. I don't pose a threat to an ant these days.'

'Yet you know who is behind these murders, don't you?'

'What if I do, girlie? What are you going to do? Beat the information out of me?' He grinned maliciously, revealing yellow-stained teeth. 'Might like that, you know. Don't get touched by many females nowadays.'

' Shemight not beat the information out of you,' Doyle said, his voice flat and yet somehow ferocious.

He moved out of the shadows and stopped beside her. 'But I'd love to take a crack at you, let me assure you.'

Doyle twined his fingers around hers. The warmth of his touch flushed through her, and while it didn't completely erase the chill, it somehow made her feel infinitely safer.

The old man's face went pale. 'Who are you?' he whispered hoarsely. 'What right have you to threaten me like that?'

'What right did you have to molest eleven-year-olds? I should wring your scrawny neck just for that.'

She touched his arm with her free hand, trying to calm him. It felt like she was touching a tightly coiled spring. It wouldn't take too much to provoke an attack, of that she was sure. Just as she was sure he would tear this man apart if he provided the slightest excuse—because of what he'd done to the others.

Because of the hurt he'd inflicted on her.

No one had ever cared for her that much. No one.

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back, then said, 'Tell me what you know, or you can tell the damn police.'

The old man's glance darted between the two of them. 'I don't know much,' he muttered.

'Tell us what you do know,' Doyle said. His voice was little more than a scratch of sound—almost, but not quite, the growl of a big cat.

She studied him for a minute, wondering if perhaps he was going to become the panther right here in this room. She wasn't sure if she was ready to see that—wasn't sure if she'd ever be ready to see that.

He glanced at her, blue eyes narrowed. Give me credit for a little control. I am not a beast who takes the shape of a man, you know.

Sorry. It's just your voice…

I only mean to scare him—for now, at least.

'Got a visit last week,' the old man said into the silence. 'Said she used to stay here in this cabin. She wasn't one of my—' He hesitated, his gaze flicking from her to Doyle. 'She said she wanted revenge on the witches, just like me.'

'What are you talking about? We never—' She bit back the rest of her words. If she couldn't remember attacking the caretaker, how could she say they'd never attacked anyone else?

'Do you know this woman's name?'

He hesitated. 'Felicity Barnes.'

'And you recognized her?' she asked, surprised. After all, they'd all been barely eleven when they were here with this man. Surely they'd changed in the years since.

'No. But I checked the files afterwards, and she was here.' He sniffed. 'She offered me money.'

His sly look inferred they should be doing the same. Doyle's fingers twitched against hers. He might be controlling his beast, but she had a feeling it was a close-run race right now.

'I'm offering you life,' he ground out. 'Give me a description of this woman.'

The old man's hand twitched, and the wheelchair jerked backward slightly. 'Petite little thing, she was.

Brown hair, gray eyes, boyish figure. Nothing remarkable.'

Heat flashed in his eyes. Felicity Barnes's boyish figure had excited him, Kirby realized, feeling sick again. God, if they had indeed been responsible for putting him in the wheelchair all those years ago, why hadn't they just finished him? Why had did they let this monster live?

Doyle's thoughts touched hers again, offering comfort, offering warmth. She took a deep breath, and tried to keep calm. 'What did she want you to do?'

'Nothing. She just wanted to look at the files, that's all.'

'Our files are still here?' she asked, surprised. Surely they should be tucked away somewhere safer.

The caretaker snorted. 'This was a government run facility.'

And it had been a safe environment. Until he'd come. Until Mariel had come. She blinked. Who in the hell was Mariel?

'Do you know which files she wanted?' Doyle asked.

'The witch's files, what else?'

'Why?'

'Photos. Last known address, stuff like that. This place was closed down not long after them bitches attacked me, and all the kids here scattered. Makes tracking them down a little hard.'

But track them down she had. And not only killed them, but ripped their remains to shreds. Her stomach twisted, and bile rose in her throat . I'm going to be sick…

She wrenched her hand from Doyle's and raced outside, barely making it to the garden to the left of the