Description: ALSO BY KERI ARTHUR SIGNET SELECT CHAPTER 1 In the still darkness of this dream, Death was hunting. Her scent filled the air, as heavy as the fog was thick. I had no sense of where I was. There were no identifiable buildings here, no street signs, nothing that could provide a clue. Not even people. Just me, the foggy darkness, and the huntress who stalked this place somewhere up ahead. The night eddied around me but brought with it no sounds. Unease swept through me. In the hundreds of years I''d been dreaming of death, there''d never been one like this--one in which there was absolutely nothing that would enable me to pin down a time or location. And while I may have very recently sworn to stop interfering with fate and just let death take its natural path, I''d made that same vow dozens of times over the centuries, and it had never resulted in a dream like this. The night continued to slide past me, gelatinous and uneasy. The sensation of Death was growing stronger, but I could neither see nor sense what form she was wearing. And I had no idea why. Usually when my prophetic dreams hit, I was not only given a clear image of the time and location, but I was also shown how that death would occur. But here, there was no such clarity. Some sorcerers and witches had the ability to hide their presence from either dreamers or astral travelers, but I was a spirit rather than a being born of flesh--even if I wore human form most of the time--and I could generally sense such magic being employed. But there was nothing here beyond the thick night and that steadily growing certainty of wrongness. It was almost as though my inner dreamer was having trouble pinning down the source of this death--and that in itself suggested whatever lay behind it was something I had never come across before. It was a scary thought, given the many years and many lives I''d had. Gradually, a sound that reminded me somewhat of the click of nails against stone began to echo through the fog. Loud at first, it grew ever softer, as if the source was moving away. And yet Death was nearer, not more distant. I frowned, confused, but I had little choice other than to keep moving. I knew from past episodes that the dream would not release me from its grip until the very end. It was an end I could stop if I chose to, but only if I was shown enough details. The soft sound of nails continued to grow fainter, until it was barely audible again. But every intake of breath was filled with the foul presence of evil, and if I could have stopped, I would have. But the dream drew me on. Ever on. Something flickered through the darkness ahead. It was little more than a deeper patch of night, but I had no doubt it was the giver of death. I drew closer. The shape of the creature was fluid and oddly disconnected; it seemed to be made of embers rather than mere shadows, and it flowed from one form to another with ease. Sometimes it looked like a cat, at other times like a large bat that made the night eddy and flow around it with every sweep of its wings. Gradually, though, it settled into the form of a monstrous black dog. A black dog whose paws were on backward. And even though I was close enough to see it now, the noise of its stained yellow nails hitting the surface under its paws was still oddly distant. It was as if there was a weird disconnect between reality and sound in this place; it made me wonder whether there was some form of magic at work even though I had no sense of it. I followed in its wake, and gradually the darkness gave way to forms and shapes. A dark street stretched ahead of us, silent and empty. The road surface was slick with rain, though I was immune to its touch. The creature ahead was not, and the scent of wet fur soon filled my nostrils. There were no cars parked in this street and no footpath. Butting up against the two old bluestone drains that lined either side of the road were varied fences--some were brick, some were wood, and some were little more than metal roller doors. Many were almost hidden by the old roses that scrambled over them, and tall trees--their tops lost to the darkness and the rain--towered above us. The creature stopped and looked around. Its eyes were large, bloodred, and filled with hunger. It raised its long snout and sniffed the air, as if searching for a scent. Finally, it snarled, revealing canines that were needle fine and razor sharp. Then it leapt over the nearest fence and disappeared. The dream quickly followed, giving me little chance to do anything more than glimpse the graffiti that littered the old redbrick fence. The yard beyond was small and strewn with rubbish. A clothesline that was little more than several strands of wire strung between two wooden T-pieces dominated the right-hand side of the yard, and to the left was a large lemon tree laden with fruit. As the creature moved up the concrete steps to the tiny house''s back door, its shape became fluid again. With little effort, it slid underneath the gap between the door and the floor. The dream forced me to do the same. The air inside the house was thick with the scent of garlic and meat, and it was so hot, the fires within my soul burned to life, as if eager to draw in the richness of it. The creature slunk through the house; its movements were cautious, wary, but its hunger was now so strong it filled the heated air and made my stomach turn. This death would not be a good one . . . Not that any of them ever were. As I drifted in its wake, I studied our surroundings, trying to find something--anything--that would clue me in as to where we were. The kitchen was small and neat, although a pot on the stove was beginning to smoke. If it wasn''t turned off soon, a fire was likely. But I doubted that was the reason I was here. I might be a phoenix, with fire mine to control, but this dream was about the strange creature and its intentions rather than about a house blaze. A newspaper lay on the edge of the kitchen counter, and the date leapt out at me. August 25--today''s date. But was the dream showing me a real-time event--something no other dream had ever done--or was it once again showing me the future, even if only a few hours from now? I had no idea, because I could see no clocks in this place. Even the one on the oven was out of focus. We moved into a small hall. A stand holding several coats lay sideways on the floor--an indication, perhaps, that someone had left in a hurry. On the small table nearby were several unopened letters. Mr. James Hamberly , one of them read. Forty-two Highett Street, Richmond. I finally had a location. Now I just had to see the death and decide whether I should interfere. Most of the time, it was better not to--I''d learned that the hard way--but even so, there were some deaths I just couldn''t walk away from, no matter the risk to my personal safety. Which was the reason why in this lifetime my back had become a mass of scars after I''d saved a child from a burning car, and why my heart had gotten all bruised and hurting again after I''d saved my ex''s grumpy ass. The creature paused and lifted its nose, then looked over its shoulder, its eyes bloody fire in the darkness. I wondered if it had some sense of my presence, but it made no move to flee and, after a few more seconds, it turned and went through the door on the left. Inside was a dead man. Shock hit me, its force so fierce and cold it briefly calmed the heat in the air and the fires in my soul. Why was the dream showing someone who was already dead? It wasn''t even a particularly fresh death, because Death herself was nowhere to be seen. So why was I here? No answers came, but then, they rarely did. I watched as the creature slunk to the bed, its backward paws making no sound on the wooden floorboards. As it neared its prey, it seemed to grow, until it was almost the height of a tall human. It sniffed the covered form, then raised a paw and pulled the blankets back, revealing the man''s flaccid form to the night and the heat. The creature sniffed him from head to toe, and the scent of anticipation filled the air. My stomach roiled and the heat grew, but I had no flames in this dream state and no way to stop what was about to happen. The creature''s tongue flicked out and, almost lovingly, it licked the man''s rotund belly. I shivered again, despite the growing heat, guessing what was coming and not wanting to see it. But it wasn''t as if I had a choice. Again the creature''s tongue flickered out, this time centering on the area above the liver. It was almost as if it was marking its spot for penetration. It was. With very little fanfare, the creature bared its teeth and pierced the exact spot it had marked. The cuts were small and precise, and it made no move to enlarge the wound. It didn''t need to. It was syphoning the man''s liver through its teeth . . . The dream finally dissolved, but the heat did not. I thrust up into a sitting position, suddenly aware that the flames in my soul not only danced across my skin but also across the sheets and blankets. It was a sensation that was thick and warm and luscious, but it was also very dangerous, considering my bedroom had no special protection against the heat that was mine by nature. But even as I started to draw it back into my body, the door opened and Rory burst in, his red hair burning in the light of my fire. He was a phoenix like me, but he was also my life mate--the spirit to which I was bound forever, and the being who meant everything to me, because neither of us could be reborn without the other''s help. And yet, while I loved him, I wa

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