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"I'm a vampire, remember?"
"Oh, yeah." Thresholds and all that. "Oh well."
I hit the door hard, in the sweet spot just above the lock, and it sprung open. Quinn raised his eyebrows. "That's a neat little trick."
"Courtesy of an apartment where the locks never work and the landlord refuses to replace them. It's the same sort of lock." I opened the salt and one of the bottles and held them at the ready. And felt stupid doing it.
I mean, water and salt had never been on my must-grab list when it came to weapons. When it came to unconventional weapons, give me a wooden spiked heel any day.
I took a long look at the shadow-bound hallway, then glanced at Quinn. "What am I looking for?"
"A cellar or room below ground level."
"Why below ground level?"
"Earth acts as a barrier to those sensitive to magic."
"The same way as it acts as a barrier to infrared?"
He nodded. "The door will probably be locked. Make sure it hasn't got any symbols carved or drawn onto it before you touch it."
"Symbols are bad?"
"They could be very bad." He touched my cheek, his fingers so warm against my skin. "Be careful in there."
"I will." I leaned forward and kissed him - just a brush of lips, a promise of heat, but even so, it had my hormones dancing with glee. I pulled back before the temptation to taste him more fully became too much, and stepped over the threshold.
The silence of the house descended like a blanket, and there was something almost surreal about it. It wasn't just the silence of a house without people. It was too watchful, too tense, for that.
Goose bumps ran across my skin. I gripped the salt box a little tighter and opened the telepathic link between us.
Heat swirled through my mind, desire as thick as anything I was feeling. My, my, my, I said, with a mental grin. The vampire hungers for more than just blood, I think.
I'm standing three feet away from a bitch in heat. His mental tones were dry. Is it any wonder I'm feeling a little horny myself?
Well, the bitch did offer a little relief.
Not when we're working.
I sighed dramatically. You are such an old man.
I prefer to call it cautious. And you and I can sometimes get loud.
Yeah, but isn't it fun?
Not when we're breaking into a suspect's house, it's not.
I smiled, and took several steps into the hall. A clock ticked silently in the room to my right, and still the air was cold. Almost abnormally so. Amusement fled, and I licked my lips. I suppose the kitchen is the most likely place for a cellar door?
Generally.
I hadn't noticed one when I'd been here earlier, but then, I'd been more worried about getting some sustenance into my body before I passed out with fatigue. I padded down the hallway, my footsteps echoing lightly across the silence, every sense alert for the slightest twitch or abnormality. Nothing had changed, nothing had moved, since I was last there. Dust still layered the phone table, bills still covered the corkboard near the kitchen door, and plates bearing the remains of chocolate cake still littered the sink.
The only thing that was different was the atmosphere. The odd feeling that I was not alone in the house, despite the fact I couldn't scent or see anyone.
I stopped near the kitchen table and had a look around. There was a half-glass door to my left, through which I could see the backyard. Beyond that, the only other doorway was the pantry.
Open it.
