The shadows in her room were filled with demons, insubstantial creatures that mocked and threatened from the safety of the gathering darkness. Nikki swallowed and slowly reached under her pillow. Her fingers touched the blade of the old silver knife she'd left hidden there, and cold fire leaped across her skin. The demons fled the shadows, and the room became her own again.

Shifting slightly, she turned on the bedside lamp. Pale light filled the room, but did little to ease the fear sitting like a rock in the pit of her stomach. If Jasper could haunt her dreams and send images to taunt her, could he do more? Could he somehow control her?

She raised the knife still clenched in her hand. Light reflected brightly off its tarnished surface. It was part of an old setting she'd found in a second hand shop some time ago. She had no idea how much silver the knife actually contained, and no idea if it would be of any use against Jasper. Yet it had felt oddly comforting to have it under her pillow last night. She studied the shadows still crowding the far corners. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that holding it had somehow made the demons disappear. Just as it had forced Jasper's whisperings from her mind.

Shivering, she rose and padded barefoot across the dusty floorboards to open the curtains. The fading afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, chasing away the shadows and the lingering remnants of her dreams.

If the gathering clouds were anything to go by, the night was going to be a bitch. The wind stirred the nearby oak, scraping branches against the windowpane and chasing shadows across the footpath below. People wearing heavy coats hustled by, intent on getting home before the threatening rain hit.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill. If Jasper was a vampire, as Michael insisted, how was he able to send her images during the day? Weren't vampires little more than corpses during the sunlit hours?

Maybe a quick trip to the library was in order. Her knowledge of vampires amounted to little more than what she'd seen on the movie screen. Which was pretty much all crap, if Michael were to be believed.

Goose bumps chased themselves up her arms, due more to the chill in the air than the fear sitting like a lump in her stomach. She turned and grabbed her robe. What she needed right now was coffee to warm her up.

She headed for the kitchen, turning on the lights as she went. To hell with the power bill tonight. She made a coffee, then leaned against the bench, idly watching her eccentric old neighbors jog past. The light outside had almost faded. She'd have to get moving or she'd be late for work—again.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled a warning. Smiling, she reached for the phone. “Evening Jake."

"I wish you wouldn't do that. It's very annoying."

Background noise told her he was calling from his car. She frowned and glanced at her watch. It was nearing six o'clock, so he had to be on his way home. What was so important that it couldn't wait until he got there?

"Hey, it's one of the reasons you employ me, isn't it?"

"Yes. And it's still annoying."

The tone of his voice told her it had not been one of his better days. “What's the matter?” she said lightly. “Mary threaten to divorce you again?"

"Worse. Monica Trevgard just walked out of the morgue."

Nikki closed her eyes and tried to control a sudden burst of panic. Now that the impossible had happened, what in hell was she going to do?

"Did you hear me Nikki? I said..."

"I heard.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. They had to stop Monica, obviously. But where would a newly turned vampire go?

Home.

Michael's thought cut through her mind, knife-edged with anger. Though he had every right to be, she was suddenly glad his thoughts held a hint of distance. Monica was loose because she'd refused to believe. Yet even knowing the truth, could she have stood by and let him sever the teenager's head? She shivered and thrust the image from her mind.

Why home? She asked in confusion.

Because she must ... As she must kill soon.

A chill ran through her soul. It was no secret that Monica hated her father. Trevgard was in danger.

"Still with me, Nik?"

Jake's voice made her start. She clenched her fingers against the phone. “Yes. And we have big problems."

"Nothing compared to the coroner's, I'd say."

"Wrong.” She rubbed her eyes again, hoping the niggling ache behind her left eye didn't mean yesterday's headache was returning. “Where are you at the moment?"

"Corner of Jackson and Pacific."

"Then you'd better swing around to my place and pick me up. We have to get to Trevgard's. I'll explain why when you get here."

Nikki, no!

She ignored Michael and hung up the phone. She finished her coffee in several gulps that burned her throat, then walked back into the bedroom to get dressed.

Damn it, woman, wait for me. You have no idea...

It's my responsibility, she reminded him, quickly strapping her spare set of knives onto her wrists.

Don't go alone. Wait for me.

No.

She collected her coat off the chair, then grabbed her keys and a small flashlight. At the front door, she hesitated, then turned and moved back into the bedroom. Rummaging quickly through her jewelry box, she found the small silver chain and cross Tommy had given her so long ago. Bitter memories rose, but she shoved them away and clipped the chain around her neck. She had no idea if a cross would offer any protection against vampires, but, like the knife earlier, she felt safer with its coldness pressed against her skin.

Jake's sleek silver Mercedes pulled up as she stepped outside.

"What in hell is going on?” he growled once she'd settled into the front seat. “Why is it so important for us to get to Trevgard's?"

She grimaced. How did you sanely approach the subject of vampires? “I left out a few details about Monica when we talked last night."

"Like what?” The look he cast her simmered with annoyance.

She hesitated, then shrugged. Perhaps a direct approach was best. “Did the police happen to mention the manner of Monica's death when they interviewed Trevgard?"

"No."

"It was blood loss."

He gave her a quick, surprised look. “The creep cut her up?"

"No. Her body was hardly marked, in fact."

"Nikki—"

There was no avoiding the subject. “She only had two marks on her body. A small cut on her wrist that was days old and almost healed."

"And?” he prompted, when she hesitated.

"Two small puncture marks on her neck.” She glanced across and met his brief, puzzled look. She must have given Michael the same sort of look.

"Am I supposed to read something significant into that statement?"

"Think, Jake. Blood loss ... Puncture marks?"

"Jeez..."

The car swerved violently as he jerked around in surprise. Swearing under his breath, Jake battled to get the vehicle under control then pulled over to the side of the road.

"Now,” he said, applying the hand brake before twisting around to face her. “Are you trying to tell me Monica was killed by a vampire?"

"Yes."

"A vampire?” He stared at her. “You really believe Monica was killed by a vampire?"

"Yes. I saw the body, Jake. Apart from the puncture marks, the only other wound was days old and almost healed. Yet there was no blood, in or out of the body."

He snorted. “Your psychic senses are now telling you how much blood someone has in their body? Give me a break, Nik."

She smiled grimly. “If you don't believe me, why not call your friend at the morgue?"

He reached for the phone. She stared out the window, watching the traffic roll past. They really had to move if they wanted to save Trevgard from his daughter's anger.

"They never had a chance to perform an autopsy,” Jake said, as he hung up the phone.

"I'm afraid that's not the end of it."

"There's more?"

She nodded. “The walking dead."

"As in, zombies?"

Though his voice was flat, she could see the disbelief in his eyes. “As in. I think there are at least two running around."

"Have you been smoking funny weed or something?"

"You know I haven't smoked in years, Jake. Nor have I gone insane."

He shook his head. “Psychic abilities I can believe in. Maybe even ghosts and extraterrestrials. But vampires? Zombies? No way, Nik."

How could she possibly convince him? He had to be ready for what they might face at Trevgard's tonight. And yet, if she hadn't seen Monica's lifeless body last night, she'd probably have a hard time believing it herself.

"You've trusted my intuition before, Jake. Please, just trust me one more time."

He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “But Dracula's only a piece of fiction. And zombies ... well, I know some Polynesian Islanders will swear to their existence, but this is Lyndhurst."

"So how do you explain the lack of blood in Monica's body?"

"There's no evidence to back up your story, Nik. And how in hell would I know anyway? But it wasn't a vampire. It just wasn't."

"There's no other reasonable explanation."

"A vampire is not what I'd term reasonable. Hell, for all we know, we've got some nut loose who enjoys draining blood from his victims."

Which was an apt enough description of Monica's lover. “So how do you explain Monica walking out of the morgue tonight?"

"I can't.” His expression was determined as it met hers. “But it wasn't caused by vampirism."

Nothing she could say would convince him otherwise. He had to see it for himself. “Okay, but we still have to get to Trevgard's."

"Why?"

"She hates her father, Jake. Trevgard was probably the only person in town who didn't know it. I've got a real bad feeling that it's payback time tonight."

"Trevgard's got guards all over the place,” Jake muttered, but threw the car into gear and sped off.

She sighed in relief. He might not believe her, but at least he still trusted her instincts. She just had to hope they didn't arrive too late.

"I don't suppose you brought your gun?” Jake said, after a moment.

She shook her head. “You know I won't use it. It's locked up at home. Besides, bullets don't kill vampires."

"Might if you blow their freaking’ heads off,” he said, voice grim. “So, where's the boyfriend tonight?"

"Michael's not my boyfriend.” And never likely to be. He held far too many secrets, was too much of a loner. And far, far too much like Tommy.

"If chemistry's anything to go by, he will be. Where is he?"

She shrugged. “I don't know."

He wasn't far, though. Somewhere, somehow, he was tracking her, furious because she'd refused to wait.

"Odd that he only turns up at night.” Jake gave her a sardonic look. “He's not a vampire, too, by any chance?"

"Not likely.” Yet the darkness in his soul haunted her, and she couldn't help shivering.

It took them ten minutes to get to Trevgard's. Jake turned into the driveway then stopped. Nikki bit her lip and studied the dark gates before them.

"No lights,” Jake commented, peering through the windshield.

"No guard.” She stared at the gatehouse, as dark as the night itself. “I've got a very bad feeling about this."

She wished Jake would just turn around and drive away, before it was too late. But it was her fault Monica was loose. If she had allowed Michael his way last night ... the thought stalled. No, she'd had no option last night, just as she had none now. Jake couldn't go in alone, and the police had no idea what they were up against. Even if she told them, they'd never believe her.

"I guess we'd better check it out,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Gloves on. We don't want the police finding our prints if things have gone bad in there."

She dug her spare pair out of the glove compartment. Slipping them on, she slowly climbed out of the car. The gentle purr of the engine had little impact on the blanket of silence holding the night captive. Jake slipped his gun from its holster and held it by his side. She followed, energy crackling around her fingertips, ready to use.

Jake tapped lightly on the glass front of the guard's box. “Anybody home?"

No one answered. The wind whistled lightly through the darkness, rattling the branches in the nearby trees. Where the heck was the guard? Had he answered a distress call from Trevgard, and if he had, why weren't the lights on ahead?

Jake nudged her then pointed to the left. She nodded and edged carefully around the small building, every sense alert to the slightest movement. But there was no sign of life, no sign of activity. She found the door. Locked.

After a few seconds, Jake joined her.

"The gate's locked."

"So's this door. Shall we break in?"

"It's either the door or the gates.” He shrugged and met her gaze. “I'm beginning to agree with your very bad feeling. I don't think we can wait for the cops."

She nodded and sent a bolt of kinetic energy at the door. It crashed back on its hinges.

"Handy little trick,” Jake said. “But it would be nice if you could learn to make a little less noise."

"Sorry. It's just nerves.” She shrugged and waved him through first. After all, he had the gun.

He stepped through almost tentatively. “I can't see anyone. Let's find some lights and see what's going on."

She lurched forward and grabbed his arm. “Don't. Car lights Monica might ignore if they go no further than the drive. These lights are a different matter."

Yet if Monica really were a vampire, wouldn't she sense their presence anyway? Just how close to reality did the movies come? She released his arm. “I have a flashlight."

Though it was little more than palm size, it provided enough light to see why no one made a fuss about them breaking in. The guard was here, all right, but dead.

Nikki handed Jake the light and shoved her hands in her pockets to hide their sudden shaking.

"If this is Monica's handiwork, she's one angry teenager,” he said, kneeling next to the body.

He pointed the light towards the guard's neck—or what remained of it. She swallowed and turned away.

"There's not enough blood,” Jake muttered. “With a wound this bad, there should be more blood."

Sweat broke out across her brow. “Monica's a vampire, remember."

"Or completely over the edge.” He rose, face ashen. “We'd better move if we want to stop her. She can't be too far ahead of us."

She retreated out the door, studying the still darkness. Jake pressed one of the buttons in front of the guard's chair, and the huge gates silently opened. Hell, making them welcome.

And if the guard was any indication, the mansion had indeed become hell for its occupants.

They climbed back into the Mercedes and drove on without the headlights. The night closed in around them, oppressive and still.

Through the trees, yellow light winked, starlike, from one window on the upper floor. The rest of the mansion was dark.

"Trevgard's butler has his quarters at the far end,” she commented. “Should we check that first?"

"After what she did to the guard, I'd say yes. She's obviously not being selective tonight.” He stopped the car and gave her a grim look. “I'm calling the cops, too."

"Good.” After discovering the guard, they had no real choice. She climbed out. Nothing moved. The night was still, and the air held the promise of rain. Her psychic senses could find no trace of life, not even in the butler's section. If Trevgard was here, he no longer lived.

"He's not here,” a soft voice behind her said. “And two servant's lie dead inside that house."

Nikki jumped violently and swung around. Michael stood two feet away, arms crossed as he stared at her.

"Why didn't you wait, as I asked?” His voice was flat, devoid of the anger she could feel in his thoughts and all the more frightening because of it.

"This is my fault, and my problem to deal with.” She watched him uneasily. The darkness shifted in his eyes, becoming stronger. Just how different was he from the man he chased?

Jake approached, and Nikki was suddenly glad he was there. Though she doubted he'd be much protection should Michael attack.

"Michael,” he said, surprise edging his voice. “Glad you could join us."

He stopped next to her, close enough for their shoulders to rub. Nikki wondered if he could sense her uncertainty about Michael.

"I got here as soon as I could. But not soon enough, I fear."

Jake barely glanced at the house. “It would be nice to know if Monica's inside or not."

Michael's face was expressionless. “She's not here at the moment. I would sense her."

Jake raised an eyebrow. “How?"

"Nikki's not the only one with psychic abilities."

"Really? And do these said abilities make you move faster than a car? Because you certainly didn't arrive in one."

"No, I didn't.” Michael's voice held an edge of annoyance. “Nor do I fly. We waste time, here. Monica's killing spree has only just begun. We have to stop her."

Nikki pushed the hair out of her eyes. “To stop her we have to find her. Unless you have some means of tracking her, I have to get inside that house and grab something of hers."

"I can trace her, to a certain extent.” Michael hesitated, then frowned. “If you enter the house, she'll know. It's home ground, the place she lived most of her life. She's still connected to it."

"Another one who believes in vampires,” Jake muttered.

Nikki ignored him. “Is it true a vampire can't cross a threshold uninvited?"

Michael nodded. “Yes, but the rule doesn't work when it's your own threshold."

"Oh."

She glanced uneasily at the mansion. Monica had to be stopped before she could kill again. If she wasn't here, they had to find her. Which meant she had to go in and steal something still holding the teenager's psyche. She doubted Trevgard would actually lend them another bracelet.

She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and glanced at Jake. “Let's get this over with."

They walked to the far end of the house. Jake climbed the steps and approached the side door cautiously. Something flickered through her mind, a specter of darkness, of death. She studied the brightly-lit windows above them.

The servants haven't been dead long.

Surprised, she looked at Michael. How can you tell something like that?

I can smell the blood.

His eyes were icy pools that somehow intensified, washing darkness through her mind. Dizzy, she reached out, catching his arm. A shock of electricity ran through her fingers, and a haze filled her vision. Suddenly, their minds merged, for an instant becoming one. She could see the bodies in the room above, feel the cooling heat of their flesh, could almost taste the sweet dark pools of blood—her stomach rose. She blanched, shuddering.

Michael shattered the contact between them. She staggered away from him, one hand held to her throat. Dear God, what sort of talent was that?

"Don't ever do that again, Nikki.” His voice was gentle, but there was both surprise and anger in his expression. “It's far too dangerous for you."

He didn't explain how it had happened or why it was dangerous, and she didn't dare ask. Something told her she might not like the answers.

"The door's locked,” Jake said into the silence.

She turned away from Michael and gave another mental push. The door opened gently, and Jake raised a surprised eyebrow.

She shrugged in reply and climbed the steps. Warm air rushed past her legs as she stopped in front of the open door. Light filtered down the stairs at the far end of the hall, but the rest of the house was a no-man's-land of uneasy shadows.

Jake turned on the flashlight and swung the beam left to right, searching the darkness.

"Nothing.” His voice was hushed, as if he too sensed death waiting. “I guess we'd better check upstairs."

She fought the sudden rise of her stomach. Death waited upstairs, and she really didn't want to face it again. “After you."

"I cannot go inside,” Michael said quietly. “While you two can give a plausible enough excuse for being here, I can't. I'll wait here and watch for Monica."

Jake motioned her to hurry. She hesitated, glancing back at Michael. “And if she eludes you?"

"I'll warn you,” he replied. “And I want you out fast. Remember, she'll be quicker than a rattlesnake and twice as deadly."

"Thanks. I really needed to know that."

He shrugged. His eyes were as frightening as the house. “Go. Just take care."

After a second's hesitation, she stepped through the doorway and followed Jake. They climbed the stairs. At the top, death waited.

"Shit,” Jake said, and stopped in the doorway of the first room.

Though warned by the images she'd shared with Michael, her stomach still turned. The bodies were a twisted mass of flesh that no longer resembled anything human. Blood lay everywhere. If it hadn't been for the bits of humanity scattered about, it would have been easy to think some kid had gone wild with a can of red paint.

"Monica obviously had more than one score to settle.” Jake took several steps into the room. “And for a vampire, she's damn messy."

Nikki gave him a sharp glance. His ironic half smile told her he was only trying to make a tough situation somewhat easier. Told her he still refused to believe Monica was a vampire. He picked his way through the smashed furniture and knelt next to what was left of the butler. Why, she had no idea. Certainly there was no hope of life in what was left of him.

Grab some of the wood.

She frowned. Why in the hell would I do that?

It's wood, Nikki. Michael's mental tone was brusque. Deadly to vampires in any form.

She picked up the smashed leg of a chair. A little too thick perhaps, but nicely jagged at one end ... She blanched and almost dropped it. Where the hell had that thought come from?

Keep it. You have no other way to protect yourself should Monica attack.

I can run.

She is the wind.

She clutched the leg tightly. Jake rose from examination of the old man's body, his face pale.

"Well, if she used a knife to create this mess, there's certainly no immediate evidence of it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The police are going to love this."

"We have to stop her, Jake, not the cops.” She motioned towards the two bodies. “They won't understand what they're dealing with."

"Nikki, we're not even sure what we're dealing with."

She shrugged. If the sight of these bodies didn't convince him, nothing would.

"We still have to find something holding Monica's vibes."

"We'd better be out of this house before the cops and Trevgard get here,” Jake muttered sourly. “Or there will be hell to pay."

"Especially when he discovers his precious little daughter has become a vicious killer."

"There's no direct evidence that it's Monica, Nik. Remember that.” He motioned her out the door. “If I recall rightly, the bedrooms are situated at the other end of the house."

She followed him back down the stairs, glad to be free of the room and the nauseous smell of death.

Monica's on the prowl, Michael's warned softly. She's heading toward the house.

Can you stop her?

Only if you want me to sacrifice Trevgard. He's cruising up the driveway.

Hell. Nikki massaged her temples. This was all they needed. Look after Trevgard. We'll grab what we need and get out of here.

Hurry Nikki. You haven't much time.

Jake touched her arm, and she started.

"You all right?"

She licked her lips and nodded. “Monica's heading our way."

He didn't question her certainty, which was just as well. How could she possibly explain her connection to Michael, when in all the time Jake had known her, she'd never been able to do more than read a fleeting word or emotion?

"If the kid comes near us, I'll blow her head off,” Jake warned, drawing his handgun.

"The police will just love that.” And there was every possibility that Jake would never even see her. Not if what Michael said about her speed was true.

"To hell with the police. The girl's a nut."

"Thought you said there was no direct evidence that she's the culprit?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I did. That doesn't mean I believe she's innocent."

If what she had heard about the teenager on the streets of late were to be believed, Monica hadn't been innocent for a very long time.

The flashlight beam was faint, barely penetrating the shadows. She turned on the lights as they went through each room, knowing the time to worry about discovery had passed. Trevgard would know something was wrong; the guard and the open gates were the giveaway there. And Monica would sense them regardless. At least the light banished the shadows, made the house appear less threatening.

They made their way quickly through the house and up another flight of stairs. Nikki entered the first bedroom. It had to be Monica's—she couldn't imagine Trevgard surrounded by flowery wallpaper.

Monica's coming fast. Whatever you want to do, do it now.

Trevgard? She held out her hand, palm down, and walked past the dressing table, trying to find a response from the jewelry scattered there.

Out of action but safe. She's in the house, Nikki. Move.

She couldn't. Not till she found something to track Monica with.

You won't need it if you don't get out of there!

She ignored him. Her palm tingled when she walked past the bed. Kneeling, she looked underneath. Something glinted in the darkness. Reaching out, she grabbed the locket from its bed of dust. Then she rose and glanced across at Jake.

"I've got what we need, but Monica's in the house."

"Then let's go.” He raised his gun and led the way back into the hall.

She's near the stairs—coming up. Nikki, get out. Get out now.

How? She practically screamed the question. The stairs were the only way out.

The windows—smash a Goddamn window, just—watch out! She's...

She cut Michael from her mind and spun. A slender figure materialized behind her. Their gazes met, and Nikki stepped back. Monica's face was bloody, her mouth a thin line of rage. But her eyes were the most frightening. The bright blue depths had lost all hint of humanity.

Jake cursed and fired the gun. Faster than the wind, faster than any bullet, Monica winked out of existence.

Only to reappear behind Jake.

"Look out!” Nikki screamed, and blasted him with kinetic energy, thrusting him out of Monica's way.

The gun fired as he fell, the bullet smashing a mirror down the far end of the hall.

The teenager shrieked and lashed out at Nikki. The blow smashed her sideways. She hit the wall hard, her breath leaving in one gigantic whoosh. Blinking back tears, she shook her head and struggled into a sitting position.

Monica leaped at her. Cursing loudly, Nikki hit out with the chair leg. The teenager twisted away from the blow and threw up her arms to protect her face. The jagged edges tore into her arm. Screaming in fury, Monica leaped again. Her weight hit like a ton of bricks, pinning Nikki to the spot. Razor sharp teeth gleamed brightly in the darkness; her breath was fetid, full of death. Gagging, Nikki grabbed the teenager's arms, desperately holding the twisting, snarling girl away from her neck. Energy burned through her body. The bolt hit Monica and flung her away. As agile as a cat, she landed on her feet and surged forward again.

Nikki scrambled out of her way and reached for another kinetic lance. But the girl stopped, eyes suddenly distant. It was almost as if she was listening to someone.

Jasper, Nikki thought with a shiver. A hint of petulance ran across Monica's face. It was an odd reminder that this was still a sixteen-year-old girl, whatever else she might have become.

With another snarl of rage, Monica turned and threw herself at Jake. They went down in a heavy tangle of arms and legs.

Nikki hit the teenager with another kinetic lance, forcing her down the stairs, away from Jake. Monica snarled, then winked out of existence.

Alarm ran through Nikki. She spun, leaping for the stake she'd dropped near the wall. She hit the carpet and rolled, gathering the stake and slashing upwards in one fluid movement. Her blow met with emerging flesh.

The wood speared Monica's abdomen. Her face twisted in agony, and she melted again from sight. The bloody stake fell free to the floor. Nikki grabbed it, then turned and ran to Jake.

"I'm all right,” he muttered. “She slashed my arm open, that's all. Let's get the hell out of here."

She grabbed his good arm and helped him up. The air around them burned with fury. Monica was still nearby, watching their retreat.

But she didn't attack. It was an ominous sign that Jasper had something else in mind for them.