Time to hunt the hunter.

Chapter Six

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."