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"Her wrist for starters."
He pointed to Monica's wrist; a two-inch cut marred her skin. But the pale color of the scar indicated the wound was at least a week old. She couldn't see how it was related to Monica's death. “And?"
"Now look at her neck."
She squatted by his side. Two small puncture wounds spoiled the white skin. Dried blood ran a dark trail from the wounds and disappeared behind Monica's pale blonde hair. She froze.
Michael had commented earlier that Monica had died from blood loss, yet there was very little blood near the body and no other obvious sign of injury apart from the wrist and these two wounds. Wounds that looked an awful lot like bite marks. But not from an animal. Not from anything she knew. She closed her eyes, unable to voice the fear in her mind.
"From a vampire,” Michael finished for her.
A fear as ancient as time itself rose, threatening to overwhelm her. She took a deep breath and tried to control the turmoil running panicked circles in her mind. It couldn't be true. Vampires didn't exist, damn it! They were a product of fiction and imagination, not reality.
"Just as psychic powers don't exist?” Michael said, voice gentle. She glanced at him sharply. There was an odd expression on his face, as if her reaction was important in some way. “That isn't the same thing!"
"Why? Many people believe psychic powers to be in the same reality as vampires. Does not believing in them make them any less real?"
"No. But vampires?"
"Look at her neck, Nikki. Remember the man she was with, remember his evil." She didn't need to remember. All she had to do was close her eyes and his image was there. “Being evil doesn't necessarily make him a vampire."
"No. Drinking blood to survive does that."
She shuddered. Monica looked so young, so peaceful. So very dead. But if what Michael said was true, she would soon become a vampire. All it had taken was one little bite.
"Being the victim of a vampire doesn't mean you become one,” he commented softly.
"It does in the movies.” She rested back on her heels and rubbed her arms, wondering why the room had suddenly become so cold.
"In real life, one becomes a vampire by sharing the vampire's blood through a special ceremony.”
Michael shrugged. “And only with consent on both sides."
"Are you saying Monica wanted to become a vampire?"
"To some, the lure of eternal life is powerful."
"Not powerful enough, thank you very much.” Yet she remembered Jasper's mocking assessment of the rich, and wondered. “Besides, we can't be sure Monica went through this ceremony."
"No. But that cut on her wrist looks ominous."
She studied the half-healed wound. How could you tell an attempted suicide from an incision made during a special ceremony?
"You can't.” Michael's voice was grim. “And that is why we must make sure she is dead." She understood the intent behind his words well enough, even if he didn't come straight out and say it.
“Why?"
"If she shared blood, she merely rests, waiting while her body undergoes the transformation."
"And have the movies got the methods of killing a vampire wrong, as well?" He hesitated fractionally, then shook his head. “No. A stake through the heart will usually kill, as will the midday sun. Decapitation is the best method, though."
She raised an eyebrow. “And this is what you intend for Monica?" His gaze searched her face. She wondered why. If he read her mind so easily, surely he could taste her anger.
"It is for the best,” he said after a moment.
Once again he wasn't telling her everything. “Best for whom? You, or Monica? What right have you to declare such a judgment on her?"
"I am a hunter of evil, Nikki. I track it and kill it, and in the process make the night a safer place for people like you to walk."
