Kinnard and Dunleavy one and the same? As much as Nikki didn't want to believe it, it did make sense. It would explain why Dunleavy was nowhere to be seen, and why Kinnard had been able to cross the pentagrams unaffected. It had been his magic rather than that of his so-called master's.

"I should have cindered the little maggot when I had hold of him earlier,” she muttered. Instead, all she'd succeeded in doing was warning him that she had some abilities that weren't under the control of his magic. No doubt he'd now try to counter that.

She rubbed her arms. Michael caught her hand and pulled her back into his embrace. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the slow but steady beat of his heart. She wished her own would follow suit. In many ways, this was her first official assignment for the Circle—something she'd been wanting for months now. And yet here she was, so damn scared it felt like her heart was going to gallop out of her chest.

"That's natural,” Michael said softly, “if only because it is your first mission."

She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. That's not the reason I'm scared.

No?

No. I'm afraid of losing you. Which was ironic considering she'd joined the Circle to ensure she didn't lose him.

He kissed her forehead. That won't ever happen.

But it already had. Just for a few days, she'd had no idea where he was or what was happening to him. She didn't want to ever repeat that feeling—yet she knew it would undoubtedly happen, because that was the nature of their work. As he'd tried to warn her before she'd joined the Circle.

You can't guarantee that, she countered. No one can.

No. But I guarantee nothing short of death will ever keep me from your side.

She smiled and rested her cheek against his chest again. So the dead man vows.

The dead man doesn't make many vows, and he keeps the few he does make.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?

His smile swam through the link, filling her mind with sunshine. Not in recent history, no.

Then consider it mentioned.

I don't suppose you'd consider mentioning your name?

Amusement bubbled through her. I would, but simply mentioning it brings on an attack from the runes on your back. I think you have to remember in your own time. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd totally forgotten her. The strength of the emotions tumbling down the link were evidence enough of that.

Speaking of runes, it might be wise to try washing them away again. I have a suspicion Dunleavy might make an attempt at getting to you through me—through the runes.

She pulled back again. “Now?"

"The sooner the better. He might be working on a spell as we speak."

She nodded and led the way to the bathroom. While she filled the basin with hot water, he stripped off his shirt. When the basin was full, she grabbed the soap and water, and began working away at the black marks all over his back.

"What are we going to do about Dunleavy?"

"We hunt him down and destroy him. At least now we know exactly what we're hunting."

Energy was beginning to touch the air again, and his back muscles twitched and jumped. Welts were flickering into existence across his skin, then just as quickly disappearing, as if the power touching the air lashed his skin. He didn't say anything, but she attacked the runes with greater vigor. How much time she had left very much depended on his resistance to the runes’ force.

"What about destroying the other pentagrams?” she asked. “At least then, Camille and the others who wait outside will be able to get in and help us."

"Kinnard warned that if we destroyed any more pentagrams, he'd destroy everyone left in this town."

"He's going to do that anyway,” she bit back. “You really don't think he's simply going to walk away after all this, do you?"

"Dunleavy has never walked away without causing as much havoc and death as he could muster."

She hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “Did Christine get caught in one of Dunleavy's death and destruction binges?"

She caught his grimace in the mirror. “No. Christine paid the price for my stupidity."

"What happened?"

"We were living in Chicago at the time—"

"You and Christine?” she interrupted, surprised. “In the same house?"

"No, not in the same house.” His gaze met hers in the mirror, dark eyes filled with a heat that made her toes curl. “I have only lived with two women in all my years as a vampire. And I have truly loved only one."

She sighed softly. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was the fact that she'd never tire of hearing him say things like that.

He smiled. “We lived in the same district and had been lovers for years. When her husband died, she used his legacy to open a small milliner store. Over the years, her business, and her fame, grew."

She didn't bother commenting on the fact he'd basically admitted he and Christine had been lovers while her husband was still alive. Given the utter loneliness she'd sensed in him when she first met him, she could hardly take him to task for grabbing happiness where he found it. Besides, it had all happened long ago, and the people involved were long dead. “So how did Dunleavy get involved with her?"

"He didn't. I caught him trying to kidnap a woman and beat him up. My mistake was not killing him."

"Why on earth didn't you?"

He shrugged. “At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't realize he was anything more than a blood thirsty vampire intent on a kill."

"I thought you killed blood thirsty vampires?"

"Nowadays, yes."

She raised her eyebrows. Did those words mean that Weylin's spell had faded to a point where Michael no longer thought he was living in the past?

"Back then,” he continued, his words confirming her thoughts, “I had more of a ‘live and let live’ attitude. At least until Christine was killed."

So Christine had been the first step on his road to becoming a key member in the foundation of the Circle. Patrick had obviously been the last. “How did Dunleavy know you were involved with her?"

He grimaced. “Christine's success made her very welcome at many society gatherings. I was her regular escort. Neither of us were exactly hard to track down."

"How did she die?"

"Dunleavy shot her. She bled to death in my arms."

"I'm sorry.” She brushed a kiss across his wet shoulders. “But at least being shot was a quicker death than what Dunleavy could have offered."

"That's the problem. He did do worse. He raised her from the dead and turned her against me."

And he'd been forced to kill her all over again. “Dunleavy deserved the death you gave him."

"Yes, he did. But here we are, and once again, others are paying for something I did."

"If there's one thing I've learned in my time with you, it's that the mentality and actions of psychos is not that of normal human beings. What's happening here is not your fault, just as what happened to Christine was not your fault."

"If I'd killed him—"

"You don't have clairvoyance. You can't see the future. Hindsight is wonderful, but at the time, you thought you were doing the right thing."

He smiled and turned around, drawing her into his arms and kissing her soundly. “Thank you,” he said, pulling away from the kiss and gazing down at her.

She raised an eyebrow. “For what?"

"For listening. For understanding. I have carried the guilt of Christine's death for a long time."

"Just as you carried the guilt of Patrick's death?"

The warmth in his face died a little. She saw the struggle in his eyes, felt, via the link, his instinctive need to shut her out battle with the desire to finally acknowledge, and therefore release, some of the pain of his past.

He pulled her close again, wrapping his arms tightly around her, as if drawing strength from her closeness. Which was ridiculous. If any man was an island, it was this vampire.

"I should have been in San Francisco to meet Patrick, but tracking down Dunleavy took time, and I was in Hartwood longer than I expected."

"So he landed in San Francisco and met Jasper."

"No, Jasper's twin. From what I could gather, the two became lovers."

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought a vampire couldn't survive on another vampire's blood?"

"They can't, but that doesn't stop them from having sex."

Well, no, she thought, feeling dumb for even asking such a question. “How long were they lovers?"

"Not long. There were only a few days between Patrick's arrival in the golden city and mine. He'd only been dead a few hours when I found him."

"So how did you know it was Jasper's brother who killed him?"

"Because Jasper and his brother were little more than fledglings, and neither were exactly careful about the clues they left behind with their victims."

Yet Jasper had been canny enough to survive the fledgling stage, and clever enough, after Patrick's death, to taunt Michael with the death of more friends down through the years. “So why did your brother take up with someone like that?"

Michael shrugged. “He was a knight at heart. He liked trying to save people."

Yet even the gentlest of knights could not save someone with hearts as black as Jasper's and his brother's. “Even if you'd arrived on time, you don't know that Patrick wouldn't have met the same death. One thing I learned from my years on the streets was the fact that fate cannot often be sidestepped."

"I know that. Accepting it is a different matter."

"Patrick made his own choices. You can't be held accountable for that."

"No.” He took a breath, kissed her forehead and turned around.

She continued scrubbing his back. The black lines were fading, but the buzz of energy was just as strong, and the welts rippled across his skin in a red wave.

"So,” she said, suspecting she'd better keep him talking, keep him distracted from the magic striking him. “How are we going to kill Kinnard—Dunleavy—when he can protect himself with magic?"

"I don't know. Magic is not my field of expertise.” His gaze met hers in the mirror. “And as much as I want you to leave, I have to say that this is one case where I think I need help."

"Well, you've got mine, whether you want it or not. Even if Dunleavy wasn't threatening to kill all and sundry, I wouldn't leave you here to fight him alone."

His amusement ran through the link. I seem to remember hearing words to that effect before.

Once or twice, she replied with a grin. Aloud, she added, “Dunleavy warned us against destroying any more pentagrams. What if he meant just the ones he's using to feed energy to the circle protecting this town? What if we destroyed the one he intends to use for the sacrifice?"

"Would it achieve anything?"

"Well, it might delay the ceremony for a while.” And even a few minutes could make a difference between finding and not finding Dunleavy.

"He'll have it protected."

"Then we take the protection out, too."

Michael nodded. “And then begin the hunt for Dunleavy himself."

It was a plan. Not much of a plan, but better than nothing.

He twisted around, grabbed the cloth from her hands and tossed it into the sink. “Let's get moving."

She didn't argue, just turned around and walked into the bedroom to grab her coat. The day was rapidly cooling, and the mines would probably feel like an ice chest tonight. She checked their hostage, happy to see he was breathing easier, then walked into the main room.

Michael was at the sink, washing the blood from her knife. He flipped it and handed it to her hilt first.

"The pentagram he'll be using in the ceremony will no doubt be protected by a larger circle of stone than the ones he has around his sacrifice pentagrams,” she said, slipping the knife back into its sheath, “I doubt whether my knives will be strong enough to move large rocks."

He nodded and bent, searching through the cupboards underneath the sink. “You do realize he can perform the ceremony without the benefit of a pentagram. All it really does is protect him and his victim from attacks from unwanted spiritual sources."

"But he's trying to raise his brother's spirit. If he tries it without the pentagram, he risks bringing something far worse into being."

"There is nothing worse that Emmett Dunleavy,” Michael said grimly. “You ready?"

She wanted to say no, if only because she had no desire to scramble around mine shafts again. But she didn't have any choice. So she nodded and headed for the door.

The day had definitely gotten colder. The thick gray clouds crowding the sky were now accompanied by a fierce wind that held the bite of winter. She shivered and hastily buttoned her coat.

He pressed a hand into her back, guiding her towards the mine entrance near other ranger's house, but they'd barely taken three steps when a scream ripped through the air.

She stopped, her heart in her mouth and a chill racing across her skin as she stared towards the town. It had been a sound of sheer terror, and one she'd heard before—yesterday, when the mutilated body had been discovered in the whorehouse.

She swallowed, though it didn't ease the sudden dryness in her throat, and glanced up at Michael. His expression was grim, but he didn't say anything, just grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run.

The screaming went on and on. But as they entered Main Street, it stopped. In many ways, the ensuing silence was far worse.

Michael glanced at her. “It's The Hollis Hotel."

It would be. That's where the women who'd been living in the whorehouse had been sent. They climbed the steps and walked through the double, half-glass doors. The interior of the hotel was small, dark and smoky. Men sat in the shadows, visible only through the sudden glow coming from the tips of their cigars as they sucked deep. Others leaned against the small bar, nursing drinks that looked as unsavory as the men themselves. The air was thick with the scent of unwashed flesh, beer and urine, the three combining to make a stomach-churning stench. None of the men seemed inclined to investigate the screams, nor did they seem to think the sudden silence or Michael's and Nikki's entrance worthy of notice.

Michael pulled her past the bar. Her gaze collided with the barman's as he dried a glass with a tea towel as grubby as the floor, and she noted the curious blankness in his eyes. On one level his mind was obviously working—he was cleaning the glass, pouring beers when they were needed. But she doubted he'd be capable of anything more than that. Dunleavy obviously hadn't allowed it.

They climbed a rickety set of stairs. At the end of the short hall sat a woman. She was hugging her knees close to her chest and resting her face on her knees, her dark hair spilling like a curtain around her exposed legs. Though she was no longer screaming, her whole body shook. Shock, or fear, or a combination of both.

"Get a blanket,” Michael said, releasing her hand.

She opened the nearest door, but the room wasn't empty. A man and a woman were on the bed, having sex. Nikki averted her gaze, grabbed one of the blankets that had been thrown onto the floor, and hastily exited. If the squeak of the bedsprings was anything to go by, the man didn't even miss a beat.

Michael was kneeling beside the distressed woman. Nikki stopped beside him and eased the blanket around the woman's trembling body. She didn't react. Didn't speak.

"Traumatized.” He glanced up at her, his expression neutral. Only his voice hinted at the fury she could feel inside him as he added, “She walked into the middle of it."

"It's amazing she's still alive."

"Not really.” His fingers went to the woman's neck, catching the silver chain and pulling it around to the side, revealing a large silver cross. “Dunleavy had already been weakened by silver, so he probably wouldn't have wanted to risk getting close to it just yet."

"Which reminds me.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out the small chain and cross she'd given him long ago. “You'd better put this back on."

He opened his hand, and she placed the cross into his palm. His skin didn't react to it—he'd been wearing the cross for some time now and had developed a certain amount of immunity to silver because of it. He put it on, then caught her hand and kissed her fingers. “I thought it had been lost when Dunleavy snatched me."

"You're remembering?"

"Bits and pieces.” His gaze went back to the woman, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Energy caressed the link. Obviously, her latest attack on the runes on his back had finally yielded some decent results.

"Dunleavy was in slug form when she walked in. There were two others in the room—one a man, unmoving, frozen, and the other a woman. Dunleavy was suckling the sole of the woman's feet, while part of him used her sexually, and the rest tore her apart.

Nikki closed her eyes, but it didn't stop the horror that crawled through her mind. Her stomach churned, and bile rose. She swallowed, thrusting away the violent images and fighting to remain calm.

Even so, her hands were shaking as she knelt down beside him. The woman didn't even react when Michael's fingers moved from her neck to her forehead. “Dunleavy made her stand there and watch as he finished his bloody task,” he said softly. “Then he made her watch as he shifted to his true form and drank every drop of life from the man."

"Why do that, then let her go?"

"Dunleavy feeds on emotion as much as blood. Forcing her to watch him tear apart the woman then drain the man gave him a triple hit of fear."

"So why let her go?"

"He was probably too bloated to kill her. Besides, as I said, there was the silver."

She very much suspected Dunleavy had left this woman alive because he had other plans for her. “Can you help her? Or at least block her memories?"

He blew out a breath. “I don't know. Dunleavy's control runs deep, and my telepathy is just coming back."

He raised his other hand. Touching the fingers of both hands to either side of the woman's temples, he closed his eyes. Silence fell, broken only by the woman's rapid, gasping breath. But the link was far from quiet. It burned with power. Burned with the force of his words, as he battled to gain mastery over the woman's mind.

After a while, he dropped his hands. “I've done what I can. I cannot erase the lock Dunleavy's magic has on her self perception, but I've erased her immediate memories."

"What did you replace them with?"

As if in answer, the woman looked up. Her face was tear streaked, eyes huge and fear-filled. But her body no longer shook with such intensity, and the sense of deep shock was already retreating from the blue of her eyes.

"Did you get that goddamn snake?"

"Yes,” Michael said softly. “We did. But I'm afraid you won't be able to use the room again for a while, as we created a bit of a mess."

She shuddered. “Don't you be worrying about that—I ain't ever going back into that room. That thing was a monster. It might have kin living in the walls."

In the walls, in the ceiling, and in the floor, Nikki thought, sharing a glance with Michael. Dunleavy has access to them all, thanks to his slug shape. How the hell were they ever going to track him down?

Michael rose, caught the woman's hand, and helped her rise. “You should go downstairs and get yourself a drink.” He pressed some cash into her hand, and power caressed the link again. “Take the night off, and take a long bath. I think you deserve some pampering."

"You know,” she said, her fingers clenching around the cash. “I think you're right."

She pushed past them and walked unsteadily down the hall. Michael's gaze met Nikki's. “She's from Arizona. A preacher's daughter."

"Shit."

"I can think of several stronger words that would be more appropriate,” he muttered, and something dark and dangerous glittered in his eyes. “But it's really no surprise. Emmett had a penchant for corrupting the virtuous. Looks like his brother is much the same."

Her gaze went past him, settling on the door. “Do we need to go in there?"

"No. Dunleavy is long gone, and we've already seen the destruction his feeding frenzy produces."

She let out a relieved breath. A smile tugged his lips, and he caught her arm, pulling her into his embrace. For a moment, he did nothing more than hold her, and she was more than glad to simply stand there, allowing the warmth and strength of his touch chase the chills from her flesh.

After a short while, he kissed her forehead. Then he slid his hand down her back and guided her down the hall.

The stairs creaked with each step, a sound eerily loud in the strange hush that filled the bar. The barkeep still polished his glass, and the woman they'd met upstairs was leaning over the bar, grabbing the key tagged bathroom.

But everyone else was gone.

Nikki stopped on the bottom step and said, “This can't be good."

"No.” His hands touched her shoulders, gently propelling her to one side. He walked past her to the bar. “Where did everyone go?"

The barkeep shrugged disinterestedly.

"When did they leave?"

Again a disinterested shrug. Energy caressed the air, and Michael glanced at her. “They left the minute we'd disappeared up the stairs."

"Meaning Dunleavy was somewhere close?"

"If he was, I couldn't see him."

"But if he was underground, you wouldn't, would you?"

"No.” He pushed away from the bar and walked across to the doors, carefully looking right, then left. “No sign of anyone in the immediate vicinity."

"There had to be at least ten men in this room,” she said, walking across the room and stopping beside him. The street was empty, except for the odd tumbleweed being blown along by the wind. “Ten men can't walk out of this place and then completely disappear."

"In this town, they might be able to. Remember, the ground is probably riddled with mine shafts."

"Yeah, but not all of them would be useable. And surely the rangers would have closed all the ones around the town. This place is a tourist attraction, remember, and they wouldn't want to risk lawsuits by having someone fall down an unused shaft."

"I doubt even the rangers would know the location of all the shafts. Hartwood had hundreds of operable mines in its heyday, and many of them were one man operations that didn't consider themselves accountable to anyone when it came to permits and plans."

"So where does that leave us?"

"Well, there's one thing in our favor—ten men are going to throw off a mass of body heat that won't be missed. We'll check the town, and if they aren't here, they have to be in the mines. Wait here."

He opened the door and walked out, his gaze scanning the area before he looked over his shoulder. “It's safe."

She joined him as he walked down the steps. “You think Dunleavy plans to sacrifice them all? One big bang before the ceremony that brings his brother back to life?"

His expression was grim when it met hers. “No. I think he plans an attack. On us. The aim being to kill me and capture you."

Wasn't that just what she needed to hear. “Dunleavy would surely know that ten humans wouldn't be much of a match for the two of us. I mean, those men aren't going to fight like they really mean it."

"We can't say that for sure. And he has at least one more shifter at his beck and call.” They reached the cross street. He hesitated, looking right and left, then tugged her left, heading down Green Street towards Fuller. “It does mean, however, that if we want to try to destroy that pentagram, we'd better do it before he realizes what we're up to."

"But that's only giving him time to plot his attack. Shouldn't we be trying to find those men and somehow short circuit his hold on them?"

"Unless my psi abilities kick into full gear, I haven't the strength to counter his magic's hold on their minds. As for tracking down the men, that could be exactly what he wants us to do."

"I very much suspect we'll be playing into his hands, no matter what we do,” she muttered, looking up as a bell chimed. Ahead, an old wooden church stood on the street corner. Though much of the redwood had faded with age, the building itself was in remarkable condition, especially considering the rundown condition of the surrounding buildings. The bell chimed again and she glanced up. The wind was hitting the bell tower with some force, and the old bell was swaying back and forth, as if it were being rung by some invisible hand. “That church almost looks as if it could still be in use."

He shrugged. “Maybe the rangers have someone come in to do services for them."

She chewed on her lip for a moment, studying the old building and wondering if the bell ringing was just a coincidence, Dunleavy playing tricks, or a hint from forces beyond the grave. Forces she'd never actually believed in until Michael came along and altered her perception about what was and wasn't real. “Have you been inside?"

"Had no reason to. Why?"

"Well, if it's being used, there might be something useful inside. Like a cross or holy water?"

"The only cross that would be of any use would be one made of silver, and I doubt they'd risk displaying such a valuable item in that old church."

"But we might find holy water. And if we sprinkled the water around the outside of the pentagram, wouldn't it stop Dunleavy from entering the circle?"

"It'll probably have the same effect as silver—burn him, but not stop him."

"That's better than nothing, isn't it?"

"Anything that weakens him is good."

He tugged her towards the old church. They climbed the steps and discovered the entrance had thick wire mesh padlocked across it.

"Stand back,” he ordered.

She obeyed. He gripped one side of the mesh, yanking back on it hard. His muscles rippled under his jacket as the locks gave way and the wire pulled free from the wall. He pushed the wire out of the way, opened the door and ushered her inside.

Sunlight glittered through the stained glass windows, sending sprays of red and gold across the harsh white walls and washing warm rays of sunshine through the gloom. Dust motes danced in the light, but she wasn't sure if it was an indicator that someone had recently walked through here, or whether it was merely an aftereffect of the wind whistling past her ankles. The faded polish on the floorboards wasn't dusty enough to hold footprints and offered her no clues.

She stepped inside. Pews were stacked up against the walls, and down at the far end stood a raised dais and table. To one side of that was a door. The air itself was cold, colder than it was outside, but the faint smell of lavender teased her nostrils. She walked towards the dais, her footsteps echoing loudly. She half expected a priest to come running out, telling her to hush. The church had that sort of feel—like it was occupied and waiting. Yet the thickness of the dust suggested the opposite was true.

"This church hasn't been used for some time,” she commented. Though she spoke softly, her words seemed to resonate harshly in the silence. “I doubt we'd find any holy water or anything else of use in here."

"Probably not."

The edge in his voice made her glance over her shoulder. “What?"

He'd only taken a few steps into the church, though she knew the old legend about vampires being unable to cross holy ground was untrue. “There's something here."

She stopped, her heart leaping to the vicinity of her throat. “What?"

"I don't know. It just feels ... wrong."

Usually, she was the one getting the sensation of wrongness. “How wrong?"

"Evil wrong, as you would say."

"Odd that you're feeling it rather than me.” Though it did still feel like something was waiting.

She rubbed her arms and studied the small door to the right of the dais. Whatever the sensation was—whether it was good, evil, or something else entirely—it was coming from that direction. “There's no one in that room?” she asked, nodding towards the door.

He shook his head and fully entered the church, his steps echoing as harshly as hers. The air seemed to become colder. Tenser.

"But something is near."

He caught her hand, and she gripped on tight, drawing strength from his warmth, his calm. Together, they moved forward.

"It's the door,” she said, as they drew close. “It's coming from the door."

He nodded. “We've faced something like this before."

"We have?” She stared at the knob and saw the slight shimmer. Then she remembered where she'd seen something similar and groaned. “Not a damn devil spawn."

"Afraid so."

"Why would he risk calling forth a wraith as dangerous as that to protect a door in an old church?"

"I suspect we'll have the answer to that once we get the door open.” He released her hand, and squatted in front of the door, studying the knob. “The magic binding the spawn isn't recent. It's been here for quite a while."

"How can you tell something like that?"

Amusement played around his lips as he glanced up at her. “I've been hanging around old witches for more years than I care to remember. You pick up on these things.” He rose and headed for the stack of pews sitting in the corner. “I'm afraid there's only one way to spring the trap."

"Is there only one devil spawn bound to that door?"

"Probably."

"So where's the other one?” Devil spawn came as a pair. If Dunleavy had called one, he would have gotten two.

"Who knows. It could be in the room beyond this door. It could be protecting Dunleavy, or it could be anywhere.” He grabbed the top pew and hauled it down.

"That's a cheery thought,” she muttered, stepping away from the door.

With a grunt of effort, Michael hefted the big old wooden pew and tossed it at the door. It hit with a crash that was almost deafening. The door buckled and splintered under the force of the impact. As the pew fell, the wood hit the handle. For a second, nothing happened. Then a scream bit across the silence, a wail so high pitched it was almost inaudible. Goose bumps fled across her flesh, and she rubbed her arms, stepping back again. She knew what was coming, and she didn't want to be anywhere near the pew when it arrived.

Steam began to pour from the metal, steam that glittered like diamonds in the thin strands of sunlight streaming in from the nearby window. It boiled, convulsed, and somehow found form. Found life. Became a flimsy, white-sheeted creature with rows of wickedly sharp teeth and soulless eyes.

Her mouth went dry. She'd gotten too close to one of these things in Jackson Hole and still bore the scars on her calf.

The creature wrapped its flimsy gowns along the length of the pew and screamed again. There was a sharp retort, a bright flash, and then the devil spawn—and the pew—were gone. Dunleavy had obviously ordered the creature to destroy whatever touched the handle—which was exceedingly lucky for them. Water was the only thing that could stop or deter the spawns, and there wasn't much of that to be found here in the church.

"One down, one to go,” she muttered, rubbing her arms again. “Do you think the spell will reset itself?"

"Spawns are usually only set the one task. They aren't the brightest of creatures.” He looked at her. “You can't sense anything else in the room beyond this door?"

She shook her head. “But that doesn't mean anything. I didn't sense the first spawn until we got closer to it, either."

"True."

He reached for the door handle. She watched, her heart in mouth, as his fingers wrapped around it. Nothing happened. The door creaked open to reveal a very small, and very empty room. Well, empty except for dust.

He stepped inside, and she followed, crowding close to his back and peering over his shoulder. “Nothing's here."

"Something's here,” he countered.

"What?"

"I don't know.” His voice held an edge of frustration. “The damn runes on my back are interfering."

She grunted and moved past him. Under normal circumstances, she'd be the one feeling the evil. But the circle around this town had snatched that ability away, along with her kinetic skills. While some of those skills somehow seemed to have leached to Michael, surely if she got close enough to whatever was hiding in this room, she'd feel it. After all, she'd sensed who—what—was with her in the Circle's test room, and according to Camille, that shouldn't have been possible.

She reached out, skimming her fingers in front of, but not actually touching, the walls. After she'd done two walls, she was beginning to think this was a fool's errand. Then energy lightly caressed her fingers.

"Here,” she said, leaning closer. “There's something here."

The wall was badly plastered, the paint cracked and peeling and covered in dust. It looked solid, as if it hadn't been touched in ages. Only the slight shimmer in the air—a shimmer that was similar and yet different to the sort of energy that the devil spawn gave off—gave away the fact that something other than dust was here.

Michael's shoulder brushed hers as he leaned beside her. “I can't see anything."

"Maybe that's because the magic is telling you not to."

"Possibly.” He straightened. “I'll fetch another pew, and we'll see what happens."

She stepped back. “I doubt it's another spawn. Doesn't feel the same."

"It could be some other type of wraith. Or demon. Dunleavy's a sorcerer, so he has a supermarket of evil to choose from."

"Now there's a comforting thought,” she said, rubbing her arms again.

He came back in carrying a two-seat pew. “Stand back."

She did. He lifted the pew and tossed it end first at the wall. It hit with a crack that sounded like half the wall had shattered under the impact. The shimmer in the air grew brighter, and the pew kept on going—disappearing right through the wall.

"What the hell...?” She scooted over. The wall looked solid, unmarked. So where the hell did the pew go? “What happened?"

"Either the magic consumed it, or the magic is hiding something. Like another door. Try one of your knives."

She flicked the damaged blade down into her palm and cautiously eased it into the shimmer. Wisps of lightning crawled away from the knife, revealing what lay underneath the spell. Another door. Or the pieces of one. The pew had split the old door in half and both sections were flopping limply towards the deeper darkness haunting the space beyond.

She met Michael's gaze. “Why would Dunleavy be hiding this door?"

"I suspect we'll find the answer by investigating what lay beyond the door.” He raised a hand, tentatively touching the shimmery air. Flickers of light crawled away from his flesh. “It's a concealing spell, nothing more."

"The front door was padlocked, and no one's been in here for ages.” She hesitated, remembering the dust dancing through the sunlight.

"Dunleavy could easily have gotten the key,” Michael replied, obviously following her thoughts. “He has control of the rangers, remember. And since he had a devil spawn protecting the door to this room, there has to be something worth guarding down there."

"So we're going in?"

"We are. But me first."

She grinned. “I must be psychic. I just knew you were going to say that."

He chuckled softly, brushed a kiss across her lips, then stepped through the shimmery air. “There's steps,” he said after a moment. “Only two or three of them, by the look of it."

She stepped through the shimmer. Energy crawled across her skin, stinging like ants before fading away. The darkness crowding the room beyond the doorway gave way as her vampirelike night sight came on-line. There were shapes in the darkness below them, but she couldn't quite make out what they were. “Looks as if there's a bit of a drop to the ground."

"Maybe.” He shifted, putting one foot on the first step, testing it before he put his full weight on it. He did the same with the next one. “They seem fairly secure."

He stepped onto the next one, but it was one step too many. With a splintering crack, the old wooden step gave way, and he dropped like stone into the darkness.