Nikki walked. Numbly. Aimlessly.

Dusk crowded the sky and fingers of fog drifted in around her, precursors to the thick, white blanket beginning to roll off the bay. People bustled past her, so full of energy and life they made her feel old. Lights blazed through the streets, lending a warmth to the oncoming night.

Not that she'd ever feel warm again. It felt as if someone had ripped out her heart and left an empty block of ice in its place. She felt dead—not just her heart but her mind as well. And she wished, for perhaps the thousandth time since she'd woken, that she could just take back the words and leave things as they'd been.

But she couldn't. She'd said what she'd said and, in the process, had probably destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to her. But better death by her own words than a slow and painful one over the next few years. They couldn't have kept going as they were. Couldn't have.

She pushed away the doubts that crowded her mind. She couldn't allow doubts, or she just might break down and cry. She blinked back the tears that crowded her eyes anyway, then rubbed her arms. The night was getting colder, the fog thicker. She looked around, wondering for the first time where she was. She didn't recognize any of the buildings. But then, what she knew of San Francisco came from watching the various TV shows set here over the years.

In the distance a light twinkled, catching her eye. She frowned at it for several seconds and it gradually became a cross. A church, she thought. Though she'd never entered a church in her life, there was something about that cross that seemed to draw her.

She walked towards it. Wet fingers of mist played across her skin, and the darkness seemed to close in. The noisy rush of traffic began to fade away until all that remained in the night was the rasp of her breathing, and the steady, glowing light of that cross. A light that was oddly visible, no matter what turn she took or what building rose in front of her.

A chill raced across her skin. Magic swirled through the night, so strong she could almost taste it. She licked dry lips but kept on walking. She could sense no evil in the magic that danced around her, but that didn't mean there wasn't any. Sparks danced across her fingers, lighting the night like tiny fireflies.

She rounded another corner. A cathedral loomed in front of her—large, Gothic, and beautiful. The cross was as dark as the church itself, but the sense of magic still stung the air.

Her steps slowed, then stopped. She listened to the night, watching the fog drift through the trees. Waiting, but for what she didn't know.

A sound invaded the odd silence. A soft tapping, like that of wood against concrete. She frowned, then jumped as her phone rang. Heart pounding somewhere in her throat, she dug the phone out of her pocket.

"Yes?"

The tapping stopped. The night seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting.

"Jeez, Nikki, where the hell are you?” Jake said. “We've been worried sick here."

"If Michael was worried sick, he would have come looking for me.” And he would have undoubtedly found her, too. Even though she still had her end of the link shut down tight, there was still something between them that would always allow one to find the other.

"He said you needed the space. That make any sense to you?"

She snorted despite the cold ache in her heart. Part of her had hoped he'd come after her. “He's probably hoping I'll come to my senses."

Jake paused. “What do you mean?"

"It means I'm leaving him. Once we finish this job, it's over between us. He won't compromise in any way, and I'm sick of being second best."

Jake blew out his breath, the sound almost a sigh over the phone. “Nikki, at least think about it a while longer. It's nearly Christmas, for God's sake."

"Won't be the first Christmas I've spent alone."

And it certainly wouldn't be the last. She had an eternity of them to look forward to. No sharing kisses under the mistletoe. No drinking eggnog and stealing a look at the presents under the tree on Christmas Eve. She bit her lip and blinked away the sting in her eyes.

"Nikki, you and Michael were made for each other. I'm sure this could all be sorted out if you just sit down and talk."

She closed her eyes, holding on to her determination by the slenderest of margins. “We have talked. And talked."

"This is stupid and you know it."

"Ask Mary how stupid I'm being. I bet she'd understand exactly why I'm doing this.” After all, she'd been second best to Jake's true passion—his job—for the last thirty years. Something Nikki had only just begun to see and understand in the last couple of days.

Jake swore softly. “Look, Michael has to go meet Farmer soon. He wants us to keep out of the hotel and to keep moving around."

"I'm out of the hotel and moving around."

"Together, Nikki. Not separately."

Anger flicked through her. He was still ordering. Still not trusting her to be able to look after herself. She studied the night for a moment and knew there was something here, something instinct suggested she needed to see.

"I have to do something first,” she said. “Take a phone with you, and I'll call you when I'm finished."

"Nikki—"

"And if they use real silverware in that fancy hotel of yours,” she cut in, “I'd grab a couple of knives. Just to be on the safe side."

She hit the “end” button then turned off the phone and shoved it back into her pocket. The soft tapping resumed almost immediately.

The night grew colder, its touch almost icy. A breeze swirled around her, tangling her hair and chasing chills down her back. Yet ten feet away, the fog stirred sluggishly through the still limbs of a tree.

An old woman became visible, tapping a cane against the sidewalk in front of her with every step. She was small and gnarled, with clothes that were as gray as the fog and just as flimsy.

The taste of magic increased, tingling across her skin. Sparks skittered across her fingers, sending flickers of red and gold dancing through the damp darkness.

"You'll not be needing that weapon against the likes of me."

The old woman's voice was melodious, soft and yet somehow powerful. She stopped and, though a bare five feet separated them, Nikki couldn't see her eyes. It was almost as if she didn't have any—and yet, if that were the case, how could she know about the energy dancing across Nikki's fingers? Surely it wasn't caressing the night that strongly.

"Why have you called me here?” Nikki had no doubt the magic she sensed was coming from this woman. And she had no intention of dropping her guard, no matter how safe her instincts were suggesting that would be.

The old woman smiled, revealing stained teeth and black gaps. “I am not the one who summoned you. I have merely been chosen to escort and explain. Come along, young woman."

She turned, tapping towards the church. Nikki's hesitation was brief. She had no idea who was crazier—the old woman, or her for following—but it didn't matter. The scent of magic was so strong it practically crawled across her skin, and it was obvious something was about to happen. Oddly enough, she felt no fear. No sense of approaching doom. Maybe her instincts had finally given up and gone away, as she'd once wished.

The old woman didn't enter the church but walked around the left side of it. Nikki followed her. The fog seemed thicker here, slapping her with wet fingers and dribbling moisture down her skin. The silence was so thick she could almost taste it, and her skin tingled as if she was walking through a wall of energy.

"Come, come,” the old woman said, almost impatiently. Her form was lost to the fog. It was almost as if she'd become a part of it.

The tingling increased, crawling like electricity across her skin. The fog was dense and cold. It felt like ice, and every step became an effort. It was almost as if she were moving through a force of some kind.

But as quickly as it had appeared, the sensation was gone. She stumbled forward several steps but quickly regained her balance and looked around for the old woman. The thickness of the fog eased but it still swirled sluggishly, touching her with fingers that now seemed oddly warm. She spied the stranger on the top of a small hill just in front of her and made her way towards her. The fog parted, as if it were stepping aside. Nikki stopped suddenly, her stomach plummeting as she realized the fog was stepping aside.

Only it wasn't fog.

It was ghosts.

Music thumped from the interior of the café. Michael stopped under the awning, eyeing the building in distaste. He'd never been a fan of rock music—in any of its configurations. Though he'd certainly heard a lot of it since Nikki had come to live with him.

Nikki ... God, what was he going to do with her?

He was only certain of one thing—he loved her, and he'd be damned if he was going to let her walk away from him when this case was over. Jake was right. There had to be a common ground somewhere. Had to be some compromise that would make them both happy. All they had to do was find it.

And find it they would—even if he had to tie her to the bed to keep her in his life and talking to him.

He took a deep breath and tried to push all thoughts of her aside as he entered the noise-laden building. His senses tingled with awareness—the fiend was inside, waiting.

"Table for Farmer,” he said, as a waiter walked up to greet him.

The young man smiled. “Sure. This way."

Michael's gaze swept across the room and met the blue eyes of his foe. Farmer was everything he'd imagined—short, stocky, and balding. His face was hard, and tattoos covered what little skin there was to be seen. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a sleeveless jean jacket over that. Michael had no doubt his club's colors would adorn the back of the jacket—everything about this man said biker. Except, perhaps, his eyes. They were the eyes of a man lost in the wonder of his own little world.

Which was odd, because Farmer had certainly seemed sane enough when he'd talked to him earlier.

The younger vampire rose as he approached the table. “You would be the man I spoke to last night,” he said, offering his hand.

He was wearing fingerless leather gloves, the leather oddly damp against his palm as they shook hands. Farmer was as strong as the muscles bulging against the restriction of his jacket suggested.

"Michael.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Bill.” Farmer motioned to the bottle of wine that sat on the table, the movement almost feminine. “Drink?"

Michael shook his head and ordered a bourbon from a passing waiter. Farmer poured himself a glass then raised it, sniffing the aroma. His behavior was so at odds with his appearance, Michael was hard-pressed to hold back his smile.

"How long have you been in the city?” He reached out psychically, carefully testing the other vampire's defenses. They were locked down tight, as he'd expected. He had no doubt he could breach them but was reluctant to do so here. There were too many innocents Farmer could use as weapons. And despite what he'd said to Nikki, he didn't simply walk in and kill. Not in crowded situations like this, especially when the target was ready and watchful for tricks.

Farmer leaned back in his chair and idly sipped his wine. “Two months. I like this place. Might settle here for a while."

"You living in the Castro area?"

He was careful to keep his voice neutral, and though Farmer's gaze narrowed slightly, Michael could sense no anger. Which again was odd, given the young vampire's history of retaliation when the suggestion of being gay was raised.

"No. But I might, if I decide to stay here."

Michael nodded. “And you were the maker of the fledglings down in the sewer?"

"Yes.” Farmer paused. “Why did you kill them?"

Michael snorted. “You have no need for a harem in a city this size. You start killing too many people, and the cops will begin to notice. We survive by being unnoticed."

Farmer's sudden smile was derisive. “We survive by being stronger and faster. The cops are no threat to the likes of you and me."

"Don't ever underestimate humans. They'll do the unexpected every time.” Like walk out the door rather than settle for part-time happiness.

"I disagree. From what I've seen, humans are all predictable.” Farmer took another sip of his drink. “Take that witch I'm chasing. I can tell you now, she'll do whatever she can to rescue her loved ones."

Michael's gut clenched. He was suddenly glad Nikki was out wandering the night. Farmer's minions—if he had any left—would not be able to track her down. Even Farmer himself might have trouble, despite the odd connection he seemed to have with her.

"I think we all tend to do that, human or not.” His palm began to tingle, and he scratched it idly. “Have you managed to track her down yet?"

"No. But I won't have to. She'll come to me."

Michael didn't like the confidence in the younger vampire's voice or the smirk beginning to twitch his thin lips. He raised his eyebrow. “You sound extremely confident of that."

"That's because I am. I have someone she loves."

The itching was getting stronger, creeping up his arm. Michael frowned and looked down. His hand was red, as if burned. For a moment, his vision blurred. He blinked, but as he looked up, the room spun around him. The glove, he thought. There'd been something on the glove.

He thrust upwards and hit the smirking younger vampire with every ounce of psychic strength he had. Farmer's eyes went wide with fear an instant before Michael surged into his mind and took control. He forced the younger vampire to rise and walk out the door, then he threw some money on the table and followed. He didn't have much time left. There was an odd buzzing beginning to run though his mind, and the room seemed to be drifting in and out of focus. He had to take care of Farmer before whatever it was that had been on that glove took full effect.

They walked out onto the street then down towards the Aquatic Park. The buzzing in his head was getting stronger, until it felt like there were hundreds of bees swarming through his mind. He gritted his teeth, battling to keep control as he marched Farmer in front of him. All the while he searched the buildings around them, looking for some place that was empty. Looking for some place were he could quickly and safely destroy Farmer without the risk of involving others.

But every step pushed the drug further into his system.

Every breath became harder.

And though he was a vampire and didn't really need to breathe, his body still seemed to crave air. He blinked sweat away from his eyes and forced Farmer to the right. His gaze swept the buildings on both sides of the street until he found one that showed no life—a restaurant in the process of being renovated, by the look of it. He hurried them both toward it.

He thrust psychic energy at the door. It flew inwards, shattering as it hit the floor. People around them stopped and briefly stared, but none saw them enter. He had enough strength left to ensure that.

The interior shadows wrapped around them. Michael stumbled as he came through the door, his feet suddenly blocks of ice that refused to obey his commands. His psychic hold slipped, and Farmer swung around, lashing out with a booted foot. Michael avoided the blow, but only just. His reactions were slow. Far too slow. It felt like he was moving through glue while Farmer danced around him on high speed.

He tried to reach out and recapture his hold on Farmer's mind, but the bees were buzzing so loudly he could barely even think let alone control his psychic abilities. Farmer danced in close, fist swinging. Michael ducked again then lashed out with his fist, connecting with flesh with a satisfying thump. He stumbled forward, reaching for the younger vampire, trying to get a grip on his neck. He needed to break it. Needed to kill.

His fingers slipped across leather, then cloth, but oddly could find no purchase. The darkness had closed in, and he realized he couldn't see. He blinked, switching to his infrared vampire vision. Farmer was a red haze who laughed insanely several feet in front of him.

He dove forward, knocking the younger vampire down, dragging them both to the ground. Farmer hit hard, his head smacking against the rough tiles. Curses flew from his lips, singing through the night. Michael ignored them, wrapped his arm around the younger vampire's neck and twisted hard.

Realized in that instant he didn't have the strength required to complete the act. Anger rushed through him—anger and fear. Not for himself. For Nikki.

As the bees grew more frenzied and the night began to blur into nothingness, he knew he had to do something, anything, to at least maim Farmer and give her a chance.

He moved his grip from the fiend's neck to his elbow and snapped it back as hard as he could. There was an unmistakable pop of bone and sinew, and relief swept through him. It was something. Not much, but something. Farmer's howl filled the night, a dog baying at the moon neither of them could see.

The buzzing got louder and louder, all but consuming his mind. Farmer's face loomed into focus, his expression contemptuous as his fingers brushed the chain at Michael's neck. Realizing what he intended, Michael reached up, trying to stop him from wrenching the cross free. But his strength had slithered away. The smell of burning flesh briefly stung the air, followed by a sharp curse. Then the warmth of the cross was gone. A second later, it hit the floor with a gentle ting.

The night blurred, and he found himself on the floor, his body shuddering with blows he couldn't even feel. He scraped his hand across the tiles, trying to find the cross. Tried to reach for Nikki, to warn her not to come after him, but that only made the bees react in fury. After a while, he stopped trying to do either.

Yet it seemed an extraordinarily long time before the night became a smudge of blackness and consciousness receded.

"They will not hurt you.” The old woman's melodious voice was far from reassuring. Nikki flexed her hands, battling the urge to use the energy that danced across her fingertips. Would energy even hurt ghosts? Somehow she doubted it.

The ethereal faces that surrounded her were none she knew. Yet she felt their sorrow, their pain and anger, as if it were her own. It stabbed deep inside, settled like a weight in her stomach.

She tore her gaze away from them and looked back up the hill. The old woman was just as flimsy as the ghosts around her, but for some reason, she held color while these others did not.

"What's going on here?"

Her voice jarred uneasily against the strange hush surrounding them. The ghosts stirred, the delicate gowns that were their bodies dissipating then gathering close again.

"That is what I am here to explain.” The old woman motioned her forward with a quick wave of her cane. “Come. Sit in front of me on the grass, and we shall talk."

Nikki's hesitation was only brief. She had a feeling choice was something she'd left behind when she'd followed this woman through the oddly thick fog that had surrounded the church.

She walked up the hill and sat down cross-legged in front of the old woman. The grass wasn't really grass, but a smoky echo that felt oddly warm. “What's going on?” she repeated softly.

"Consequences."

"Consequences?"

The old woman nodded, the black holes that were her eyes seeming to bore right through Nikki's soul. She shivered, but resisted the temptation to rub her arms.

"Consequences of actions taken,” the old one continued. “Sometimes they are not apparent right away. Sometimes they must wait before they can be revealed."

This old woman and Michael had one thing in common—neither of them could speak plain English. “What do you mean?"

"You were dead,” the woman said. “Your soul had consigned itself to the light, had it not?"

Fear pulsed through her. Nikki closed her eyes, remembering the light. Remembering the feeling of joy and peace as she bathed in its warmth. Oh Lord Michael, what have you done ... ?

"Yes,” she somehow managed to croak.

"He pulled you back. He gave you part of his energy, made you as eternal as the night and himself."

She nodded. Fear had become a fist squeezing her heart tight. She could barely even breathe.

"But he could not fully undo what had already been decided."

Her breath stuttered to a halt for several seconds. She stared at the old woman, not sure what she meant. Not sure she even wanted to know. The silence seemed to stretch until it sawed at her nerves. The ghosts around them stirred, restless slithers of fog that brushed warmth across her icy skin.

They were waiting for her to speak, she realized. She licked dry lips and somehow found her voice, “What do you mean?"

"He gave you new life. But a small portion of you will always remain on this plane. That cannot be undone. Death is a part of you as much as he is now."

Oh God ... “Meaning?"

"Meaning you can walk this plane almost as easily as you walk the other. Meaning you can call forth those whose untimely deaths forced them to remain rather than move on."

She stared at the woman for several seconds, mulling over the implications. Wondering if this was real. Maybe she was tucked safely in bed, with Michael's arms wrapped around her. Maybe—hopefully—this was nothing more than some strange nightmare.

"This is real, young woman. As we are real."

"You're a ghost. As are those who surround us."

"That doesn't make us any less real."

No, she supposed it didn't. And considering what she'd seen over the past four months, ghosts were way down on the list when it came to ghoulies to be wary of.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. It didn't do much to ease the grip of fear squeezing her heart tight.

"So you're saying I can now see ghosts?” Just like the movie. Great.

"Yes.” The melodious voice was soft. Sympathetic.

"And you're saying I can talk to these ghosts if I choose to?"

"I'm saying you can call them and bring them into being. Give them the power to react with your world."

She wasn't sure she understood what that meant. And right now, she really didn't want to know. “It's been eleven months since Michael brought me back from the dead. Why have you come to me now and not before?"

"On this plane, time is meaningless. A breath can take a second or a century. It matters not."

"That's not much of an answer,” she grumbled.

The old woman's toothless smile flashed. “No. But until now, the results of his actions had not begun to appear."

She remembered the whispers she'd heard down in the sewers. The nebula cloud that had briefly appeared before the vampires attacked. Ghosts? Or the imaginings of a fearful mind? Despite what the old woman was saying, she wasn't entirely sure she could believe it was the whispers of the dead she'd heard.

"So how am I supposed to empower these ghosts of yours?"

"Reach out psychically. They will connect with you and draw on your strength to gain substance."

"That sounds dangerous."

The old woman's smile was wry. “So is taking a walk across the park these days."

True. But muggers she could cope with. She wasn't so sure she could handle nebula bits of mist sucking at her energy to gain form. It reminded her too much of vampires.

The old woman climbed to her feet. “I must take you back,” she said. “You cannot remain long on this plane. Remember that in the future when you roam this world."

Nikki frowned as she rose. “What do you mean?"

"I mean your soul was never destined to stay on this plane. You were meant for the light. The longer you remain here, the more it sucks your strength. The more it sucks his strength."

She stared at the old woman as the implications of her words sank in. “What? How is that possible?"

"Your energies are linked. He is your strength, and you are his. You are two halves of a whole and function as such."

Oh god ... Michael was meeting with Farmer. And she was here. Sucking his strength when he needed it most. “You have to get me back. Quickly."

The old woman nodded and walked down the hill. The ghosts parted, an unearthly wave that made no sound and yet whose whispering filled her mind.

Then their presence gave way to the damp touch of real fog. The tingling hit her, burning across her skin, through her mind. Then she was stumbling forward, landing on her hands and knees, her fingers sliding against grass that was real and wet rather than ghostly.

She looked around quickly but couldn't see the old woman. But Nikki had a feeling she would be there, on the other side, if and when she chose to go back.

She thrust upwards, but at that moment, pain hit her, so thick and fast it snatched her breath and drove her face-first back to the ground.

Not hers.

Michael's.