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He touched her elbow, lightly guiding her toward the only door visible. It opened before they got there, revealing a broad-shouldered, brown-haired man she would have classed the “all-American boy” type except for his eyes. They were a warm, rich brown, at once inviting and yet somehow chilling. This was a man who knew death more intimately than most.
“Russell, Kirby,” Doyle said by way of introduction.
Her hand got lost in the big man’s grip. She tried to ignore the little voice reminding her that this man was a vampire, a drinker of blood.
“Only animal blood,” Russell said, his voice as rich as his eyes and oddly soothing.
“Oh great,” she muttered. “Another one who can read my thoughts. Just what I need right now.”
Russell grinned. “I promise not to play about in your mind.”
She snorted. “Yeah, well, I guess if I’m trusting the word of a thief, I might as well trust the word of a vampire.”
Russell threw a grin over the top of her head. “I’ve got the feeling she’s not exactly sure of you yet, my friend,”
Doyle snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Though his words were aimed at his friend, his gaze found hers. For the first time, she saw that he was annoyed by her refusal to trust him completely. Even hurt by it. She looked away, troubled by the thought, and brushed past the big vampire. The office beyond was a mess—desks littered with paperwork and files, bins overflowing with takeout containers, bookcase lined with empty beer cans and stained coffee cups.
“You’ve been in Australia how long?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she glanced around.
“A week,” Russell said, bolting the door shut after them. “Give or take a day.”
She shook her head in amazement. They’d made this much mess in a week? “Another week and this place won’t be livable.”
Russell shrugged. “Another week and hopefully we’ll be out of here.”
His words reminded her of just how little time she had with Doyle. She bit her lip, blinking rapidly. Yet she refused to think about what such a reaction might mean. If she did, she’d have to admit what she felt, and she was far from ready for that.
Doyle touched her back, guiding her toward another doorway. “The boss in the interview room, Russ?”
“Yeah, tending to Trina.”
Doyle opened the second door and ushered her through. This room was shadowed, the only light provided by several flickering candles. But it was cleaner than the first and smelled of lime and lemongrass rather than old burgers. Trina was lying unmoving on the large table that dominated the center of the room. Maybe she’d passed out.
Camille was standing next to Trina, bandaging her arm. “That headache still bad?” she said, without looking up.
“Yeah.” Kirby walked around the other side of the table. Trina’s skin was almost translucent, her gray eyes closed. Even so, she looked nothing like the child Kirby had seen briefly in her vision. Her hair was blond, her face was rounder, and there was a bump near the bridge of her nose, suggesting she’d broken it at some point. They could have passed each other on the street and never known it. “She going to be all right?”
Camille nodded. “She lost some blood, but I’ve given her some herbs to help with that. She’s lucky, because the manarei’s claws didn’t hit anything vital.”
“What are you going to do with her now?”
“Keep her safe from the murdering witch, obviously.” Camille finished bandaging, then stood upright, pressing her hands against her back and stretching. Bones cracked in the silence. “Kirby, you stay here and watch the girl, and I’ll go find you some herbs for that headache. Doyle, you come with me. I need to talk to you.”
The old woman whirled and departed. Kirby raised her eyebrows. “Is she always like that?”
“Abrupt and full of energy, you mean?” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes again. “No. You’ve hit her on a mellow day. Usually, she’s much, much worse.” He hesitated. “Just call if you need anything. I’ll be in the next room.”
She nodded and watched him walk away. He left the door slightly ajar, and she wondered why he seemed so reluctant to leave her alone. Surely the witch wouldn’t get them here, in a room eight stories up, with no windows and only one exit. A chill ran through her. But anyone who could use magic to control and transport the manarei probably wasn’t going to be daunted by a lack of entry points.
She pulled a chair close to the table and sat down. Trina was beginning to stir, her eyes moving under her closed lids and her hands twitching. Dreaming … or remembering? Kirby crossed her arms and waited. Time ticked slowly by. The candles flickered and danced, casting warm shadows across the walls. In her mind’s eye, they became ghostly figures dancing to some unknown beat, heralding in darkness and death. Her death, if she wasn’t very careful.
She rubbed a hand across her eyes, trying to shake the growing sense of dread. It was just tiredness, just imagination, nothing more.
“You,” a voice said into the silence.
She started and opened her eyes. Trina was staring at her, eyes wide and filled with fear.
