Circle of Death by Keri Arthur Page B

flickered in his eyes, and he dropped his hand, though her skin continued to tingle with the warmth of his touch.
    “Get in the car and lock the doors. And remember what I said.”
    “At the first sniff of danger, drive off and meet you at the zoo,” she said, climbing into the car.
    He slammed the door shut, then tapped the window. She smiled slightly and hit the lock button. He gave her the thumbs-up, then walked away, quickly disappearing into the drizzle.
    She leaned back and watched the misty rain eddy around her. Minutes dragged by. The silence suddenly seemed so heavy it was a weight pressing down on her, making it difficult to breathe. She shifted slightly in the seat. In the park opposite, the mist’s dance quickened, as if someone—or something—had stirred it. The trees seemed to loom in and out of focus, and the feeling of being watched returned tenfold.
    Lightning danced across her clenched fingers, sending jagged flashes of brightness through the night. She scanned the park, looking for some sense—some hint—of what the mist was hiding.
    There was no suggestion of evil or danger. Nothing more than a sense of expectation—and warmth. She frowned. It was almost as if the mist wanted her to go over there.
    She glanced toward the terraces. Doyle had told her to stay in the car, and it made perfectly good sense to do so. She could very easily walk into a trap, despitethe fact that she could feel nothing dark or dangerous about the presence that waited.
    Yet she wasn’t going to get any answers sitting around waiting for Doyle to do all the work. She grabbed the keys and climbed out of the car.
    Damp fingers of mist crept across the back of her neck, and she shivered. She flipped up her jacket’s collar, then shoved her hands into the pockets and walked across the street. She stopped at the edge of the park, listening to the silence, studying the looming gum trees. Waiting, but for what she wasn’t entirely certain.
    A warning instinct stirred. Something approached. She clenched her fists and felt the lightning dance warmth across her skin.
    Ten feet in front of her, the mist stirred, gently at first but gradually becoming more frantic. The wind had died and nothing moved in the predawn darkness, yet the mist continued to condense. Gradually, the tiny droplets of water found shape, found form. Found life.
    Became Helen.

T HE ALLEY BEHIND THE ROW HOUSES LAY WRAPPED in shadows. Doyle walked in the middle of the lane to avoid the trash cans and scattered rubbish, his gaze searching the houses for any sign of life. As a thief, he’d loved this type of setup—houses with a small, private alley behind them. It was like shopping at a supermarket. All you had to do was walk along until you found the ripest fruit to pick.
    When he reached number twenty-eight, he peered over the back fence, studying the yard intently. There was no movement and, more important, no dog smell. The last thing he needed right now was some too-alert mutt giving him away.
    He climbed the fence. At the back door, he splayed his fingers across the lock, feeling for any hint of magic. Unlike the front door, this one was not triggered with a spell. Yet the feel of magic was still in the air—distant fireflies that lightly burned his skin. Someone inside the house was conjuring, though what, he wasn’t entirely sure.
    He frowned and stepped back, studying the house. All the windows on the lower floor were boarded up. The top floors were clear, but there was no easy wayof getting up there. The drain spouts didn’t look as if they’d support his weight, and he didn’t have his climbing gear or ropes with him. Nor was there a handy tree close by.
    He turned his attention to the houses on either side. The one on the left had a balcony decorated with graceful arches of wrought iron. Perfect for climbing. He could get to the roof with little problem, then make his way across to the front of this terrace. From there, it should be easy enough