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But was this her real image, or was she merely showing him what he expected to see? If she was powerful enough to control two manarei and bring the King Kong of all zombies to life, then surely the blood magic could not have sucked her this dry. Not yet. Because the face he was seeing now was close to death and would not have the strength to conjure a rabbit, let alone control two of the most dangerous creatures ever to walk this earth.
If he got closer, he might be able to see through her veil, see her real features. He tensed, getting ready to spring to his feet.
She laughed. “Don’t even think about it, shifter. This lid will be slammed in your face if you so much as twitch in my direction.”
He didn’t relax, just watched her through slightly narrowed eyes. “Where am I?”
“Way, way out in the country on a farm owned by friends. They’ve gone overseas and won’t be back for months. By then, you’ll be well and truly dead.”
Not if he had any say about it. He still had his phone. He could feel it, digging into his side. “We will stop you, you know.”
She snorted softly. For an instant, the veil fluttered, revealing cold blue eyes and a wisp of light brown hair.
“I doubt it,” she said, amusement heavy in her voice. “All you’ve done so far is chase your tail. You don’t know who or what you’re even looking for.”
“No,” he agreed. “Unlike you, we don’t work for the government and haven’t had access to their computers and records.”
She might have been a damn powerful practitioner of the black arts, but her acting skills were nonexistent, because she twitched, telling him his guess was right. All they had to do now was find out if either Trina or Marline worked for the department that looked after kids, and they had their killer.
“Too bad you’re locked in this water tank and can’t tell anyone, huh, shapeshifter?”
He wasn’t locked in yet. There was still a chance … if he was fast enough. He reached for his alternate shape, getting ready to change and spring. “Anyone egotistical enough to stand around and mock potential victims will make a mistake, sooner or later.”
He shifted shape and sprang toward her in one smooth motion. She yelped and pushed back, and the lid arced downward. He caught the rim of the tank with his claws, scrambling desperately to get up. The lid crashed down on his head, stunning him, but he managed to hang on, his back claws scraping against the concrete as he tried to find purchase. She stepped forward, hands raised, fire burning across her fingertips. He snarled and slashed at her desperately, catching hair and cutting skin. She screamed, and fire leapt toward him. He dropped into the darkness, shifting shape as he fell. Crouching, he stared up at the hatch. It glowed white-hot, and for an instant, the air shimmered with heat. The fire would have killed him had it caught him.
The metal soon cooled, and darkness returned. Something heavy hit the hatch, and the metal, weakened by the fire, bowed slightly.
“Don’t hope for escape, shifter. The hatch is locked, and there’s a rather large rock sitting on top, ready and waiting to crush you should you have anything in those pockets of yours that might cut through metal. There’s also a spell set to kill whoever tries to shift this rock in any way.” She hesitated. “I hope you die a slow and ugly death, shifter. Goodbye.”
Footsteps moved away. He waited until he heard the distant roar of an engine, then got out his phone and dialed Camille.
“I was getting worried about you, Doyle. Been more than an hour, you know.”
“I know. Listen, we got caught by a spell over at Kirby’s. I’m trapped in a water tank out in the country somewhere, and Kirby’s alone at her place. You want to go get her, then come rescue me?”
“How the hell did you, of all people, get caught by a spell?”
“Stupidity.” The last place he’d expected a spell to be set was in a handbag, though now that he’d had time to think about it, it did make sense. Kirby would have had to come back for her purse sooner or later. “It was just lucky I breached the spell and not Kirby.” Because if it had caught her, she might be dead, not just trapped.
Camille sniffed. “I’ll do a locating spell, then go get Kirby. Do you think she’ll still be at her house?”
“God knows.” He might be able to read her thoughts, but he didn’t understand her well enough just yet to guess what she’d do when she discovered he was gone.
“I’d better do a locator on her as well, then.”
“Just make sure you get to her first,” he said. “Felicity Barnes, or whatever her real name is, will have guessed she was at the house with me. She’s probably on her way there right now.”
“Be patient, shifter. We’ll get to you both.”
Patience was one thing he usually had plenty of, except w
hen it came to someone he cared about being in danger. He hit the wall in frustration, then began prowling the confines of his concrete cage.
KIRBY RUBBED HER EYES WEARILY. IT FELT AS IF THERE were a madman running loose in her head with a jackhammer, and the pain was so bad that she was in serious danger of throwing up all over the police station’s worn gray carpet. What she needed was darkness, painkillers and coffee, and not necessarily in that order. But what she needed most of all was to get out of this place and find Doyle. She had a niggling sensation that he was in some sort of danger, and she had to get out of here and find him before real trouble hit. Yet getting out was the one thing that didn’t look likely to happen anytime soon.
For the last three hours she’d been stuck in this box they had the cheek to call an interview room, answering endless questions about the events of the last twenty-four hours. It was obvious from the detectives’ expressions and their repeated questions that they didn’t believe her—that they knew she was lying. But what other choice did she really have? She couldn’t tell them the truth. They wouldn’t believe that any more than they believed her now.
She rubbed her eyes again, then looked up as the door opened. One of the two brown-suited detectives that had been questioning her came in and sat back down. He slid a coffee across the desk, then leaned back in the chair, regarding her quizzically.
