Free Circle of Fire by S. M. Hall

disenchanted with British society.’
    His eyebrows arched; he looked slightly amused. ‘Perhaps not all young Muslims,’ he said.
    She gulped, studied a poster on the wall, her mouthdry, her nerves dancing. He stepped closer. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the newspapers.’
    The way he was looking at her made her nervous.
    â€˜Are you Muslim?’ he asked.
    A shiver of panic ran through her. She forced herself to concentrate, to remember her story; she had to hide her identity until she knew for certain whose side he was on.
    â€˜I was adopted by an English family,’ she told him, ‘a Christian family, but my birth family was Muslim.’
    â€˜So, is that the real reason you’re here?’ he asked.
    Again those searching eyes. She caught her breath and swallowed. Her voice came out in a low croak.
    â€˜I . . . I had. . .’ She coughed to clear her throat, then tried again. ‘I had a row with my parents, my . . . my adopted parents, they . . . er . . . they don’t understand me needing to find out about my background, to trace my roots.’
    He nodded slowly, processing the information, then he relaxed. ‘Allah is calling you,’ he said. ‘Praise be His name. You have left your family to find the truth.’ He gestured to the back of the shop. ‘Come with me.’

Chapter Ten
    Maya watched nervously as Khaled went over to the shop door, locked it and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Then she followed him out of the shop into a dark stairwell.
    â€˜Wait,’ he said.
    She stood hovering near the door, uncertain what he intended, not knowing if she could trust him. He darted forward and flicked on a light. A bare bulb illuminated a small kitchen. The work surfaces and paintwork were old and chipped but it was spotlessly clean. On a scrubbed table gleamed several sharp-bladed knives.
    â€˜Come on in,’ he said.
    Checking for exits, Maya stepped into the room. There was a back door, but as far as she could tell itled into a small enclosed yard. The only way out was the way she’d come in. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should escape while it was still possible.
    â€˜Sit down,’ he said.
    She gave one last backward glance into the bookshop, then slowly moved towards him. He pulled out a chair. She hesitated, her eyes catching the glint of knife blades splayed across the table – a small, lethal-looking dagger, a long bread knife, a heavy meat cleaver.
    A gentle smile played around Khaled’s lips as he stood resting his hands on the back of her chair. ‘Put your bag down. Make yourself at home.’
    Obediently Maya dropped her bag and sat down, aware that his hands were only a few centimeters from her shoulders. She tensed, and gritted her teeth as he leaned over her. Her eyes half-closed; she was almost greedy for his touch, imagined his fingers snaking round her throat. Would she fight, or would she just give in? Why the hell hadn’t she thought to get Mum’s gun, taken it from the safe in the house?
    She licked her lips and swallowed, her eyes darted to the table. Almost within reach was thehandle of a small, pointed knife, if she edged forward she could grab it and strike. Her hand twitched as Khaled’s weight rocked the chair, she sensed the warmth of him, smelt a hint of lemony cologne or aftershave. Silence buzzed, seconds ticked by and Maya’s heart went into overdrive. Why was he so still? What was he planning?
    Eventually she could stand it no longer. Screwing up her courage, she tilted back her head and dared to look up at him. His skin was a smooth, hazelnut brown curving over fine cheekbones, a curl of dark silky hair fell over one ear. He appeared to be deep in thought.
    When he caught her looking up at him, he blinked. From under his long, dark lashes his eyes hooked onto hers. Maya held her breath, and then suddenly he was gone.
    â€˜Would you like a cup of