Circle Of Fire

Chapter One

Madeline Smith didn't believe in ghosts. Not until the night Jon Barnett walked into her life, anyway.

Maddie drew her legs up to her chest and held them close. Maybe walked was the wrong word to use—his method of movement seemed more like floating.

Outside her bedroom, the branches of an old elm scraped back and forth across the tin roofing. The wind howled through the night, an eerie cry that matched her mood of anticipation and fear. Snow scurried past the windows, silvery drops that glittered briefly in the light.

It felt oddly fitting to be sitting on her bed, waiting for the arrival of a ghost while an early winter storm raged outside.

Only he insisted he wasn't a ghost at all.

She tugged the blankets over her knees and wondered if she should stoke the fire with a little more wood. Maybe the heat would keep him away. Or maybe he'd gotten tired of his game and simply forgotten about her. Though she believed the desperation in his eyes was real enough, she just didn't believe he was real.

Perhaps he was just a figment of her imagination—a last, desperate escape from the loneliness of her life.

The clock on the mantle began to chime quietly. She turned to look at the time. One-thirty. Maybe he had forgotten about her…

"Madeline."

She closed her eyes, uncertain whether fear or the unexpected pleasure of hearing the low velvet tones of his voice one more time caused the sudden leap of her heart.

"Madeline," he repeated. This time a hint of urgency touched the warmth of his voice.

He stood in the shadows to the left of her window. Despite the storm that raged outside, he wore only a short-sleeved black shirt and dark jeans—the same clothes he'd worn when he had first appeared last night.

Tonight there was something different about him, though.

Tonight he looked afraid.

But he wasn't real, damn it! How could a ghost feel fear?

"Madeline, you must help me."

She closed her heart to the desperate plea in his voice. What he was asking her to do was impossible.

"I can't." She avoided his gaze and fiddled with the fraying edge of the blanket. "I don't know you—I don't even believe you exist. How can you expect me to leave everything I have here on the whim of a ghost?"

"You must!" The sudden sharpness of his voice made her look up. "All I'm asking is for you to travel across the state, not to another country. Why are you so afraid to move from your retreat?"

Maddie stared at him. He seemed to understand altogether too much about her. No one else had seen her fear—not even her sister, who was as close to her as Maddie ever allowed anyone to get these days.

"There's nothing wrong with being cautious," she said after a moment.

He studied her, amusement flickering briefly in the diamond-bright depths of his blue eyes. "I never said there was. But life has to be lived. You cannot hide forever."

She ignored the sliver of alarm in her heart, ignored the whispers that demanded she ask how he knew so much about her, and raised an eyebrow. "And what does a ghost know about such things?"

He sighed, running a hand through his overly long hair. In the light of the fire, slivers of gold seemed to flow through his fingers. "I'm no ghost, Madeline. But I will be, if you don't help me soon."

Alarm danced through her heart. "What do you mean?"

He walked across to the fire and held out his hands, as if to capture the warmth of the flames. Hair dusted his arms, golden strands that gleamed in the firelight. His fingers were long and smooth and tanned. Lord, he seemed real—and yet, if she looked closely enough, she could see the glow of the fire through his body.

"I mean that I'm stuck down this damn well, and I can't get out. I will die, Madeline, unless you help me."

Maddie closed her eyes and tried to stifle the rising spiral of fear. Not for her safety, because she sensed this was one ghost who would cause her no harm. It was just fear of… what? She didn't know, but there was something about this apparition that made her very wary.

Perhaps she should play along with him. Surely he'd eventually tire of his game and leave her alone. Or perhaps she was just going mad—as most of her so-called friends had insisted she would.

Yet those same friends had never understood what she was, or what she was capable of doing. Nor had they ever tried to help her.

"Why can't someone else rescue you? You must have friends—why don't you go haunt them?"

"Believe me, I would if I could."

His tone was dry and left no doubt he would rather be anywhere else than with her. Bad news when even a damn ghost doesn't want to be with you. "So why aren't you?"

He frowned. "I don't know. Some force keeps driving me towards you. I have no choice in the matter, Madeline. You're all I have."

And you refuse to help me.The unspoken rebuke was in his eyes when he glanced at her. Maddie bit her lip and looked away, watching the snow continue its dance past her window. Maybe she was going mad. She was beginning to feel sorry for a ghost.

"Why would you be able to reach a complete stranger and not anyone of real use to you?"

"I don't know."

But the look he gave her was keen, as if he did know but didn't believe she'd understand.

"If you want my help, you at least owe it to me to be honest."

"Fair enough." He turned his back to the fire, but kept his hands behind him, as if still trying to warm them. "Whatever this force is, it brings with it a sense of danger. And it's connected with you somehow."

He seemed to say an awful lot without actually saying anything, Maddie noted. Maybe her ghost had been a politician in a former life.

"That made everything so much clearer," she said dryly.

He shot her a look that was half amusement, half frustration. "Someone close to you is in danger, and somehow, they're drawing me to you."

Besides her sister, the only other person who qualified as being close was Jayne's son, Evan. Neither of them had the sort of power Jon was talking about. No, she thought grimly, there was only one misfit left in their small family unit.

"So how did you end up in the well?"

"Someone shot me when I was out exploring." He shrugged. "I must have fallen into it."

Maddie raised an eyebrow. From what she could see of him, there was remarkably little evidence of a bullet wound. "Then you are dead."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "I was hit in the arm. The fall could have killed me, but I was… lucky."

The arm closest to her was a suntanned brown, well-muscled and remarkably free of wounds. His hands were still firmly clasped together, which surely wouldn't be possible if the other arm had a hole blown in it. Maybe it was her ghost who was mad, not she.

"Why don't you just shout for help?"

"As I explained before, I can't take the risk. Someone is out to get me. If they think I'm still alive, they'll just find me and finish the job."

A chill ran through her. "It could have been an accident."

"No."

She closed her eyes at the soft certainty in his voice. "If I come to help you, my life could be in danger."

"How would they know you're there to help me? You'd just be another tourist passing by."

The sudden weariness in his voice made her look at him. His form had faded slightly, merging with the night. Something was wrong, something more than the fact he'd been shot. And she sensed he wouldn't tell her what. "Who do you mean by they?"

"I'm not exactly sure. But someone in this town knew why I was here, and they moved pretty swiftly to get rid of me."

"Then tell me what town you're in, and why you're there." If he was going to continue haunting her, she should at least try to understand a little more about him.

He stared at her, then shook his head. "How many times do I have to repeat myself before you believe in me?"

His voice held an edge of desperation that made her wince. Yet last night she'd been too busy trying to convince herself he was nothing more than a vivid dream to really listen to anything he said. "You mentioned some town—Sherbrook, wasn't it?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if battling to remain calm. "Sherbrook is the name of the inn. The place is Taurin Bay."

An odd sense of foreboding ran through her. Evan had attended a school camp in Taurin Bay not so long ago. Jayne had gone along as cook and chief pot-washer. "That force you said was driving you to me—was it male or female?"

"Male." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

Evan—something told her it was Evan. Maddie licked her lips and wondered if she should call her sister—or was she just worrying over nothing again?

"Maddie, what's wrong?"

She stared at him blankly for a moment. "My sister has a thirteen year old son called Evan. Both of them were in Taurin Bay last month."

"Damn!" Jon ran a hand through his hair, then abruptly walked forward, stopping only when his knees touched the side of her bed.

He was close, so close. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, felt the whisper of his breath wash across her skin. Could smell him, a faint scent of cologne mixed with hints of earth and sweat. But he wasn't real, damn it!

"In the last eight months, sixteen teenagers have been taken from their homes and haven't been seen alive again. In each case, no locks or windows were disturbed. And each time, the teenager was taken on the next full moon after their families returned from Taurin Bay."

Her heart leapt. She raised a hand to her throat and tried to remain calm. "Evan is safe at home. This is ridiculous."

"Someone is drawing me here, Madeline. Someone who knows he's in danger. You're the connection between us. Tonight is a full moon. Go call your sister."

She scrambled off the bed and ran to the bedroom door. Then she hesitated, looking back at Jon. He hadn't moved, but his body had faded, losing its shape to the darkness. Only his blue eyes were still bright.

"Go call her," he said. "Then come to me. Save me."

Maddie turned away from his plea, though she knew he wouldn't be there when she returned. She ran down the hall to the phone in the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. Somehow, the darkness seemed too intense to face alone.

Fingers trembling, she picked up the phone and dialed Jayne's number. It seemed to ring forever.

Maddie bit her lip, hoping nothing had happened, hoping that Evan was in bed and safe.

"Hello?" a croaky, half-asleep voice said eventually.

"Jayne, it's me," she said without preamble. "Is Evan there? Is he all right?"

There was a slight pause, and Maddie could hear the rustle of blankets as her sister shifted around in her bed. "Of course he is. Why?"

Because I'm a fool, because a ghost told me he may be in danger."Humor your little sister and just go check, will you?"

Jayne sighed. "Maddie, have you been drinking again?"

Maddie closed her eyes. Whenever Jayne thought she had a problem, she always asked the same question—even though it had been six years and ten days since Maddie had last had a drink. Not since the fire that had taken her husband's life, she thought with a shiver. The experts had never found an explanation for that fire, though they had theories aplenty. Maddie knew the truth, but she wasn't about to tell anyone—not even her sister.

She cleared her throat. "No. I had a dream, and I want to reassure myself he's all right."

"For God's sake, it's after two." Annoyance ran through Jayne's voice, but at least she was still listening.

At least she hadn't yet slammed the phone down.

"I'm well aware of the time. It will only take a minute to check on Evan. Please."

"I guess I damn well better," her sister muttered. "Or you'll be calling all night again."

Maddie heard Steve, Jayne's husband, murmur something about weird sisters, then the squeak of springs as Jayne got out of bed. Maddie grimaced, hoping she was just being weird. Hoping Jon wasn't right.

She stared out the kitchen window as she waited, watching the snow flurries dance across her yard. Then she heard the sound of returning footsteps, and felt her stomach knot. Please let Evan be safe.

"Evan's sound asleep in bed, Maddie." Jayne's voice was a mix of exasperation and annoyance. "And by the sound of it, so should you be."

This time Jayne did hang up on her, but Maddie didn't mind. Jon had been wrong. Evan was okay. She replaced the receiver then thrust a shaking hand through her hair as she sagged back against the wall in relief. Maybe Jayne was right. Maybe all she needed was a good night's sleep—something that had eluded her ever since her world had disappeared into flames.

She closed her eyes, fighting the memories, fighting the sudden need to wash the pain into oblivion with a drink. That chapter of her life was over. She would not return, even through memories. And if Jon did come back, she'd tell him to go find someone else to tell his weird story to. She wasn't interested—not if the cost was to make her sister think she was stranger than ever.

His only chance of survival was a woman afraid of life. Jon shook his head at the irony of it and leaned wearily against the cold stone wall of the well. He'd seen the fear in the amber flame of her eyes, in the tremble in her hands as she ran her fingers through her chestnut-colored hair. She was afraid to move from the safety of her home.

And he would die if she didn't.

He smiled grimly and stared up at the pale stars twinkling in the dark bracket of sky far above him.

How he wished he could fly, simply wing his way up out of the well to freedom. But he couldn't even climb with his arm like this. He glanced down, noting his flesh had swollen around the handkerchief he'd tied across his forearm.

Someone had shot him, but not with a gun, as Madeline had presumed. Someone in Taurin Bay knew what he was. They'd used arrows made of white ash, a weapon deadly to those with magic in their souls.

He'd broken off most of the shaft, but a section was still embedded in his flesh, and probably the only reason he hadn't yet bled to death.

Oddly enough, he felt no pain. Not now, anyway. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the numbness beginning to infuse his body. Or maybe he was as thick-skinned as many of his friends believed.

He grimaced and closed his eyes. He'd thought about dying many times in his life, but he never thought it would come like this—lying helpless and alone in the cold, cold night.

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 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 about 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, but he'd learned over the years never to relax his guard.

Had learned the hard way that should be safe never meant it was.

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 icicle.

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

A wave of dizziness hit him. 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.

The 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 for the moment. She couldn't face going indoors just yet. The old house was too big, too full of ghosts…

Except for one.

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

What if he wasn't a ghost, but alive and in dire 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 bought this house and its untamed three acres six years ago. It had become her haven, the one place she felt truly safe. 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 simple. Could she simply stand by and let Jon die?

Ifshe believed he was real, then the answer was no. That was the crux of the matter. Part of her was afraid to believe, part of her 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, 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 sister.

"Madeline, I don't mean—" "It doesn't matter," she said, turning to face him. "I can't change what I am. Nor can I deny I'm afraid.

But I just can't run off wildly without some proof."

He sighed. "I'm in no position to prove anything to anyone."

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, 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 ringing her 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 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 back door open, she snatched the receiver from the hook and struggled to get her boots off. "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."