Circle of Stones by Catherine Fisher Page A

emptiness of the sky, arms wide, screaming?
    She stopped beside a tall mirror, seeing her own face.
    And there behind her, on a shelf.
The photograph
. For a moment she couldn’t move. The shock was too great. The startled gaze of the little girl caught in the flash met her like a challenge.
    Then she turned and snatched the book up.
    It was called
Bizarre Mysteries and Strange Deaths.
    She glanced around. No one was near; the stairs were empty.
    The book was thick, a paperback. The photograph was in black and white, so that the little girl looked unnaturally pale, her hand in the policewoman’s grip white as a ghost’s.
    Sulis touched it. Her fingers—those same fingers—lingered on the face, closed tight on the spine. She wanted to steal the book, cram it into her bag, so that no one else would see it. Her back was cold with sweat because the book felt like a grenade, a trembling explosive that might detonate and destroy her life. Carefully, she turned it over.
    A fascinating account of recent real-life unsolved cases, including
 . . . Her eyes flew down the list until she came to . . .
The Flying Girl, the mysterious case of Caitlin Morgan and M
 . . .
    â€œI didn’t know you were into that crap,” Josh said, running down the stairs.
    She dropped the book. It crashed to the floor and he bent and picked it up.
    Her heart thudded like a drum.
    Josh turned the book over. He looked at the photograph.
    She felt as if all the sound in the shop had faded, all the people had dwindled to shadows, all the universe focused down to his gaze on the hated image.
    He would recognize her.
    The Perfect City would fracture like a cracked mirror.
    He said, “Grisly stuff. Murders!”
    â€œI knocked it off the shelf. By accident. I was just picking it up.” She licked dry lips, knowing she was talking too much. “I didn’t want to read it or anything. Yuck! Are you kidding!”
    â€œMmm.” His eyes were fixed on the little girl’s face.
    Desperate, she said, “Did you get what you wanted?” There was a plastic bag under his arm.
    â€œYes, thanks.” Slowly he propped
Bizarre Mysteries
back on the shelf and said, “There’s a coffee place upstairs. We can sit in the window and look down at the street. If you like.”
    â€œFine.”
    Anything. Anywhere but here. She ran up the stairs and into the cafe, pulling out her purse, her heart still thudding in her chest, her ears ringing as if a silent bomb had exploded right beside her. Had he recognized her? He couldn’t have. Could he?
    They both had hot chocolate, and Josh insisted on extra sugar in his, which she said was disgusting, and then they sat at a round, ring-stained table and looked down at the slanted umbrellas and cars. Sulis sipped the hot drink; it scalded her tongue.
    Josh’s phone burbled. He took it out, read the message, and switched it off. Then he said, “Better?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell, it’s quiet up here. No one but us.”
    She glanced at the girl reading a magazine behind the counter. “So?”
    â€œSo tell me.”
    Cold, she stared. He shrugged, impatient. “Come on, Sulis, what do you think you’re hiding? You were white as a sheet down there and you ran up here like scared cat. And at work you’re always . . .”
    â€œWhat?” She was angry now.
    He rubbed the tabletop with a grubby finger. “Watchful. I’ve seen you. Always checking people out. As if there’s someone you don’t want to meet.”
    â€œRight,” she said, acid. “And who’s that, then? My ex-boyfriend? The school bully?”
    â€œI think it’s that weirdo.”
    She looked up. “Weirdo?” It came out as a whisper.
    Josh shrugged and turned his cup in the saucer. He didn’t look at her. “I saw you dive into that shop the other day. I suppose I thought it was me you