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.
'To an abandoned building in Port Melbourne. She will perform the ceremony tonight, when she has more strength. You have to stop her.'
Kirby closed her eyes. Have to and would stop her were two very different things. 'The address?'
It was the wind itself that answered, burning the address into her thoughts. Another tremor ran through her. The spell had worked after all.
'Call the storms, and they too will answer.' Helen's words were barely audible. The dance of the leaves was dying, as was the wind. 'Take care, sister…'
'Good-bye,' she whispered and felt the quick kiss of wind on her cheeks before the day went still.
Swallowing heavily, she climbed to her feet. The chill seemed to have settled deep in her bones. She rubbed her arms, knowing it came more from fear—and from the knowledge that she might not survive this encounter with the witch. Despite Helen's words, she was under no illusions. The witch was far stronger than she ever would be.
But she had no choice. If she contacted Doyle and told him what she was about to do, he'd either tell her to stay put or accompany her. And if the wind's whispers were right, he'd die. Or maybe his friends would. Either way, she couldn't take that risk. If anyone else had to die, then let it be her. This was her fault, after all. Helen was right. It was time to stop running from the past and start making things right, no matter what the consequences.
Sighing softly, she headed back to the house to collect her things and call a taxi. And while she was waiting, she'd write a note of apology to the man she feared she'd never see again.
The man she might just love.
Doyle ducked past the filth-ridden window and moved to the back door. It was padlocked, but the screws holding the latch in place were loose and rusty. Nothing a good kick couldn't dislodge. He leaned back against the wall and glanced at his watch. Ten seconds to go.
There was no movement inside the warehouse, no smell of life. But the feel of magic lay heavy in the air— as did the smell of death. Zombies, and God knew what else, waited inside.
He glanced at his watch again. Time, he thought. From the front of the warehouse came the sound of squealing tires, then a loud bang and the sound of metal grinding. Camille, reversing the van right though the
