Circle of Fire (3 page)

And yet, in some ways, it was oddly fitting. He’d spent most of his adult life alone, so why not die the same way?

He wouldn’t have cared much, either, if only he’d had the chance to see his family one more time and explain why he’d avoided them so much over the last ten years.

An owl hooted softly in the distance. He listened carefully, then heard the soft snap of wings, the small cry of a field mouse. If the owls were out looking for a meal, it meant there was no one about to disturb their hunting. And therefore, no one hunting
him
. Trapped down this damn well, he’d be easy pickings. A day had passed since he’d been shot. By all rights, he should be safe from attackers, but he’d learned over the years never to relax his guard.

He toed the water lapping the edges of the small
ledge. The water had been his salvation in more ways than one. It had broken his fall and, no doubt, saved his life. And it was drinkable, which meant he wasn’t in any danger of dehydration. But it might yet kill him, too. His abilities gave him some protection against the cold, but he knew he was starting to push his limits. His plunge into the water had soaked every bit of his clothing, and now he was so cold it hurt to move.

If Madeline did find the courage to come to his rescue, she might discover nothing more than a five-foot-ten-inch icicle.

Madeline—what was he going to do about her? How could he convince her that she was sane and that he really needed her help? What had happened in her life that made her so afraid?

A wave of dizziness hit him, and there was nothing he could do except ride out the feeling. He probably had enough strength left to contact her one more time. If he couldn’t convince her to help him, he’d just have to hope that someone in the Circle realized he was in trouble and came to his rescue.

Because if someone didn’t, more kids would die.

T
HE SNOW HAD TURNED TO RAIN, WHICH FELL IN A SOAKING
mist. Rivers of water were beginning to run past the house, scouring tiny trenches along the freshly graded driveway. The tops of the cedars, claret ashes, and silver birches that crowded the fence line were lost to the mist, and though dawn should have come and gone, night still seemed to hold court.

Maddie raised the coffee mug she held between
both hands and took a sip. The wind was bitter, but the wide old verandah protected her from the worst of the storm, and her threadbare coat kept her warm enough. She couldn’t face going indoors just yet. As much as she’d tried to go back to sleep, she couldn’t. The old house suddenly felt too big, too full of ghosts …

Except for one.

She sighed and leaned back against a verandah post. She couldn’t shake Jon from her thoughts. Couldn’t shake the desperation she’d glimpsed in his eyes.

What if he really
was
in need of her help?

She sipped her coffee and stared out across the snow-flung wilderness of her yard. In a last-ditch effort to salvage her life, she’d moved to Oregon to be a little closer to her sister and nephew, and had bought this house and its untamed three acres six years ago. It had become her haven, the one place she felt truly safe. Or it had until a ghost had started invading her nights.

Still, she had no real wish to be anywhere else. The flowers she raised in the barn she’d converted to a greenhouse made small luxuries possible, and she had enough money invested to see her through the hard times. Even Jayne had given up her efforts to get Maddie back into what she called “mainstream” life.

Maddie chewed on her lip. The question she had to face was clear. Could she simply stand by and let Jon die?

If
she believed him, the answer was no. But that was the crux of the matter. Part of her was afraid to believe, and part of her was afraid not to. She took
another sip of coffee and shivered as the wind ran icy fingers across the back of her neck.

Then she stiffened. Something told her she was no longer alone. Slowly, she turned.

Jon stood several feet away, his face as pale as the snow behind him, blue eyes still bright despite the shadows beneath them. He looked like death, and the thought chilled her soul.

“What can I do to make you believe me?” he asked softly.

There was a hoarseness to his voice that had not been evident a few hours before, an edge of weariness and pain that tore at her need to stay safe.

“Maybe it’s not a case of me believing you. Maybe it’s just a case of knowing I
can’t
help you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked away, appearing to study the silvery drops dripping steadily from a hole in the gutter. “Then you have killed me as surely as those who shot me,” he whispered after a moment.

“No!” She closed her eyes. How could she ever survive the weight of another death, whether or not it was her fault? “Isn’t there someone I could contact, maybe a friend in a better position to help?”

“My companions live in Washington, D.C., and my time is running out.” He looked at her. “You’re my only chance, Madeline. Please.”

Something in his eyes made her want to reach out and touch him. She clenched her fingers around her coffee cup and turned away, knowing she had to react with her mind—not with her emotions, and definitely not with her heart. They had only led her to tragedy in the past.

“Why won’t they suspect me?”

“You are … ordinary.”

Ordinary
. She almost laughed at the bitter irony of it. How often had she heard that in the past? No one suspected the truth, not even her own sister.

“Madeline, I don’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She turned to face him. “I can’t change what I am. Nor can I deny that I’m afraid. But I just can’t run off wildly without some proof.”

He sighed. “I’m in no position to prove anything.”

Mist drifted around him, darkening his hair where it touched. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel the heat of his body, to hold him close and caress away the lines of pain from his face.
Maybe I am insane. I want to touch this ghost in ways I never touched my husband
. Shaking her head, she stepped away from him.

Something flickered in his blue eyes, and a slight grimace twisted his generous mouth. It was almost as if he’d sensed the reason for her fear.
But that’s ridiculous—he’s a ghost—an astral traveler—not a mind reader
. The sharp ring of the telephone interrupted the heavy silence. Maddie glanced at her watch and frowned. It was barely seven. Who would be calling at this hour? She headed inside to answer it, then hesitated, meeting Jon’s steady gaze.

“We won’t meet again,” he murmured. He reached out, as if to touch her cheek, then let his hand fall. “For that, I’m sorry. Stay safe, Madeline.”

“No …” Maddie watched him fade until there was nothing left but the warmth of his voice in her thoughts.

She closed her eyes and fought the rise of tears.
Damn it, why should she cry for a ghost when she hadn’t even cried for her husband? She bit her lip and watched the mist swirl around the spot where he’d stood. Maybe because Jon had shown her more warmth in the few hours she’d known him than Brian had ever shown in the six years they were married?

The insistent ringing broke through her thoughts. She took a deep breath, then ran down the length of the verandah to the back door, fleeing her thoughts as much as running for the phone.

Slamming the door open, she snatched the receiver from the hook. “Hello?”

“Maddie?”

She froze. It was Jayne … 
Oh lord, let Evan be safe
. Yet the note in her sister’s voice told her something was terribly wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s Evan,” Jayne sobbed. “He’s disappeared, Maddie. Just gone … without a trace.”

“I
NEED YOUR HELP
. Y
OU CAN SEE THINGS
 … Y
OU SAW
something last night … I need to know …” Jayne’s voice faded into silence.

Maddie closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. After all the years of denials, after all the years of fear, Jayne was not only acknowledging her abilities but also asking for help. It was a miracle Maddie had never thought she’d see, and one that left her oddly frightened.

If Jayne knew, maybe Steve did, too.

And maybe he knew about Brian. She took a deep breath. No, Steve was a cop. If he suspected anything, he would have reported it.

Her thoughts stuttered to a sudden halt. She’d asked Jon for some form of proof; perhaps this was it. Evan had disappeared, just as he’d predicted.

So Jon was real. And dying.

She clenched her fingers against the phone and tried to remain calm. “What do you expect me to do that Steve can’t?”

“Steve’s restricted by the law, though he’s looking … but you’re the only one who can … who can help Evan. Only you.”

There was an odd certainty in Jayne’s voice that made Maddie frown. Maybe she wasn’t the only gifted member in the family, after all. “Jayne, my gifts are decidedly unreliable and … well, dangerous.” Which had to be the biggest understatement she’d ever made. “I’m willing to try, but Steve’s a detective. Surely he—”

“No! Maddie, you must look for him. Please, promise me.”

The desperation in her sister’s voice reminded Maddie of Jon. “Okay. But I’ll need to see his room, first.” She hesitated, then added, “Does Steve know you’re asking me to do this?”

Jayne’s silence was answer enough. Maddie closed her eyes. She’d taken to visiting Jayne and Evan when Steve wasn’t home. He’d never bothered to mask his opinion of her, and lately that opinion had been openly hostile.

“Maddie, please …”

She sighed. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Thank you,” Jayne whispered, and hung up.

Maddie gulped down the remains of her coffee, then turned and ran toward her bedroom. Grabbing an old canvas carryall from under a pile of sweaters, she threw in everything she thought she might need for the next week. Maybe Jayne was right. Maybe her hated abilities were the only way to find Evan quickly. Even so, she couldn’t do it alone.

Once she’d seen Jayne, she was going down to Taurin Bay to find the man who wasn’t a ghost.

*   *   *

M
ADDIE CLIMBED OUT OF THE TRUCK AND STUDIED
J
AYNE
’
S
large, two-story home. It was barely eight in the morning, but the winter light was so dim it might as well have been early evening. And though the house was lit up like a Christmas tree, the silence that draped it was so heavy she could almost touch it. Maddie counted the windows along the top floor until she found Evan’s room. From the outside, at least, it showed no sign of forced entry.

She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked up the newly shoveled driveway, trying to ignore the insidious whisper in her mind that was telling her she should have stayed home, should have stayed safe.

Jayne opened the front door. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her face looked much older without its usual coating of makeup. Maddie stepped up onto the porch, then stopped, unsure of what to do next. Jayne was usually the one in control, the one who believed any sign of emotion should be kept out of the public gaze. Even as children, it had always been Maddie who had lost her temper, Maddie who had cried, never Jayne.

“We should have taken your dream seriously,” Jayne said, her gaze not quite meeting Maddie’s. “But we didn’t listen. Oh God, we just didn’t believe …”

Maddie hesitated, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her sister. Jayne stiffened for just a moment, then collapsed against her, sobbing softly.

“I’ll find him,” Maddie promised. “Somehow, I’ll find him.”

Jayne sniffed and pulled away. “He hasn’t left a note or anything. He’s simply vanished.”

Vanished
, just as Jon had warned. Maddie shivered. Something told her that if she was to have any hope of finding Evan, she had to find Jon first.

“I need to see his room, Jayne.”

“Okay …” Jayne hesitated, then stepped away from the door. “But hurry. Steve will be back at any moment.”

He’d be furious to find her in the house—and would take his anger out on Jayne. Not physically, but emotionally. From what Maddie had observed, that was, in some ways, tougher to handle.

How had the two of them managed to marry men so like their father?

She clomped up the stairs, stripping off her coat as she approached Evan’s room. The house was unusually warm—odd, given Steve’s conviction that it was better to put on a sweater than turn up the heat. If Evan
was
like her—if he could light fires with just a thought—then this heat could very well be a residue of his fear. But if that was the case, then he’d been knocked unconscious before his talent could fully rise to protect him—although
she’d
always considered it a curse rather than a talent.

But how had his abductors gotten into—and even out of—the house?

Nothing had changed in her nephew’s room from the last time she’d seen it, three weeks before. Posters of rock bands and scantily clad women still vied for space on the walls. His clothes were strewn all over the floor, and the football she’d given him for his last birthday still held pride of place on his overcrowded bookshelves.