her teeth on edge.
She rounded a corner and stopped. A fire burned within a circle of stone, but its flames were an unnatural purple and green and cast sick shadows across the darkness. A tripod had been set up over it, and from this hung a steaming kettle. To the right of this was a black stone table. On it lay Trina. Even from where she stood, she could see the rise and fall of the other woman's chest. Relief swept through her. At least she wasn't too late to stop this madness.
A woman swept in from the darkness. She had sharp features, short brown hair, and a lanky, almost boyish body. Mariel. She hadn't changed all that much since Kirby had last seen her. She'd gained some height, but other than that, she could still have been the child that had haunted the worst of her dreams for so many years. She flexed her fingers, needing to move, to hide. But the minute she did either, the witch would spot her. All she could do was remain still and hope fate was on her side for a change.
It wasn't.
Mariel bent over the fire, grasping the kettle with a gloved hand. Then she hesitated and looked up.
Kirby met her gaze and saw only madness.
'Well, well, well, this is a nice surprise,' Mariel murmured. Her voice, unlike her gaze, was warm and pleasant, her tone that of a friend rather than a foe. 'Please, do come down. I've just made a cup of coffee, if you'd like to share it with me.'
'Thanks, but I'm comfortable right where I am.' She flexed her fingers, trying to ease the tension knotting her muscles. The energy that danced across her fingers shot fiery sparks across the darkness.
If Mariel noticed, she gave no indication. 'Maybe so, but I prefer you to come closer—and you will do so, or the tramp on the table shall suffer the consequences.'
She raised a hand, and a knife appeared from nowhere, hovering above Trina's stomach. Kirby took a deep breath. Any sort of choice had disappeared. If she didn't do what Mariel wanted, if she tried to retreat or attack, it would be Trina who suffered, not her. She stepped into the circle of light provided by the fire, and stopped.
'One wrong move, and that knife will taste blood,' Mariel said, then bent and poured some water in her mug. 'You sure you don't want a cup?'
She nodded, fingers clenched by her sides. Thunder rumbled, closer, sharper, than before.
'Must be a storm brewing,' Mariel commented, holding the mug in two hands, as if warming them. 'But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?'
Kirby shook her head, watching her cautiously. It felt as if she'd stepped into the Twilight Zone. The last thing she'd expected to be doing right now was standing here having a semi-normal conversation with the fiend who'd murdered her friend— her sister.
Mariel considered her for a second. The firelight cast shadows of green and purple across her features, making her face look gaunt, almost skeletal. She seemed in no great hurry to do anything more than talk, and that in itself was worrying.
'How did you find me?' Mariel asked, eventually.
'Does it matter?' Kirby glanced across at the black stone table. The knife still hovered above Trina's midriff, rotating rapidly, as if it were a drill barely held in check. Attack Mariel, and the knife would drop.
Attack the knife, and Mariel would use the moment to attack her . She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wanting— needing—to move, to do something to end this impasse. Every second she delayed bought them a second closer to night and the witch gaining full strength. Yet right now, she had no other option than to play this Mariel's way.
'I guess it doesn't matter.' Mariel sipped her coffee, watching her steadily, gray eyes a mix of hate and madness.
It was the hate Kirby couldn't understand. What had they ever done to Mariel to deserve such depth of feeling? Yes, they'd killed her best friend, but that had been an accident, and Mariel herself had been a contributing power… her thoughts stuttered to a stop. If Camille was right, it wasn't just Mariel who stood before her now, but Felicity—or at least, Felicity's spirit. A spirit that may well have been dragged from the depths of hell. 'Tell me, when did you raise Felicity's spirit? And why?'
Mariel raised an eyebrow. 'You are well informed, aren't you?'
She shrugged. 'Sometimes it pays to know what you're up against.'
Mariel nodded serenely. 'Yes, I guess it does.' She sipped her coffee again, then tilted her head, her gaze narrowing a little.
The sense of danger leapt tenfold, squeezing her throat so tightly she could barely breathe. Yet Mariel hadn't moved, hadn't done anything beyond change her expression. I'm out of my league, Kirby thought, and flexed her hands, her fingers aching with the energy that burned across them. The sparks danced in jagged lines across the darkness, clashing with the dirty light of the fire. Mariel glanced down briefly, a slight smile touching her lips.
'The power of air,' she said. 'I'm keen to see how well it stands up to fire and water.'
Kirby wasn't. The only thing she was keen to do was get the hell out of here. But that wasn't an option—not yet, and not without Trina. 'You didn't answer my question.'
'Didn't I? How remiss of me.'
Her smile was cold, cruel. It whispered of death, of a darkness so deep Kirby felt the chill of it clear through to her soul.
'Do you know how hard it is to find information about raising the dead? It took me five years to find anything decent on the subject. Five years is a long time in hell, you know.'
Her hands clenched around the cup, shattering it. Shards of china clattered over the concrete, a brittle sound that sawed against Kirby's nerves. 'Then you were sixteen when you raised her—why wait until now to go after us?'
'You really don't know anything about magic, do you?' Mariel snorted and shook her hand. Blood splayed across the concrete and into the flames. They hissed and recoiled. 'It takes time to learn the craft, time to gain strength and knowledge. And time to find what the government had scattered.'
So, it was true. In trying to track down their origins, Helen and the other girls had led a killer to their door. Kirby rubbed her arms, showering herself with sparks that tingled across her skin but did little to ease the chill from her bones.
'Why? Answer me that. It can't be all about revenge.' Surely no one, no matter how mad, would go through all this for something as simple as revenge.
'I thought you would know the answer to that.' Mariel hesitated and shook her head, as if in disbelief.
'You raised the power. You, more than any of us, felt the full extent of it. How could you not want to feel all that again?'
Kirby stared at her. Was that what this was all about—the need to control? The need to be the most dominant force? Mariel had never been entirely sane. Anyone who raised dead bugs for the sheer fun of terrorizing other children could never be described as sane. But that night, when they'd joined hands and raised a force that had shaken the very foundations of the world around them, they'd obviously destroyed what little rationality she'd had. For one brief moment, Mariel had had a glimpse of the absolute power she'd craved—only it wasn't hers to control. Would never be hers to control.
Unless she destroyed the circle and sucked its powers into her own being.
'You'll never get away with it,' Kirby said softly. Her voice sounded uncertain, even to her own ears.
'I'll stop you.'
Mariel smiled gently. 'How, when I already have three of the five powers? And I have the final two here, awaiting my gift of darkness.'
Tension ran through her. Her fists were clenched so tight her nails were cutting into her palms. 'Gift of hell, more likely.'
'Well, yes, if you're going to get technical about it.' Mariel sniffed and waved a hand.
Kirby tensed, certain that the witch had done something. Certain that trouble was now headed her way.
'I must say,' Mariel continued serenely, 'that you've caught me on the hop. I was expecting to have to pry you away from the hands of that damn shifter.' She hesitated, smiling again. It was a picture of maliciousness itself. 'I set a trap for him, you know. Just how well do you think a shifter can survive a bomb?'
