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"Bill.” Farmer motioned to the bottle of wine that sat on the table, the movement almost feminine.
“Drink?"
Michael shook his head and ordered a bourbon from a passing waiter. Farmer poured himself a glass then raised it, sniffing the aroma. His behavior was so at odds with his appearance, Michael was hard-pressed to hold back his smile.
"How long have you been in the city?” He reached out psychically, carefully testing the other vampire's defenses. They were locked down tight, as he'd expected. He had no doubt he could breach them but was reluctant to do so here. There were too many innocents Farmer could use as weapons. And despite what he'd said to Nikki, he didn't simply walk in and kill. Not in crowded situations like this, especially when the target was ready and watchful for tricks.
Farmer leaned back in his chair and idly sipped his wine. “Two months. I like this place. Might settle here for a while."
"You living in the Castro area?"
He was careful to keep his voice neutral, and though Farmer's gaze narrowed slightly, Michael could sense no anger. Which again was odd, given the young vampire's history of retaliation when the suggestion of being gay was raised.
"No. But I might, if I decide to stay here."
Michael nodded. “And you were the maker of the fledglings down in the sewer?"
"Yes.” Farmer paused. “Why did you kill them?"
Michael snorted. “You have no need for a harem in a city this size. You start killing too many people, and the cops will begin to notice. We survive by being unnoticed." Farmer's sudden smile was derisive. “We survive by being stronger and faster. The cops are no threat to the likes of you and me."
"Don't ever underestimate humans. They'll do the unexpected every time.” Like walk out the door rather than settle for part-time happiness.
"I disagree. From what I've seen, humans are all predictable.” Farmer took another sip of his drink.
“Take that witch I'm chasing. I can tell you now, she'll do whatever she can to rescue her loved ones." Michael's gut clenched. He was suddenly glad Nikki was out wandering the night. Farmer's minions—if he had any left—would not be able to track her down. Even Farmer himself might have trouble, despite the odd connection he seemed to have with her.
"I think we all tend to do that, human or not.” His palm began to tingle, and he scratched it idly. “Have you managed to track her down yet?"
"No. But I won't have to. She'll come to me."
Michael didn't like the confidence in the younger vampire's voice or the smirk beginning to twitch his thin lips. He raised his eyebrow. “You sound extremely confident of that."
"That's because I am. I have someone she loves."
The itching was getting stronger, creeping up his arm. Michael frowned and looked down. His hand was red, as if burned. For a moment, his vision blurred. He blinked, but as he looked up, the room spun around him. The glove, he thought. There'd been something on the glove. He thrust upwards and hit the smirking younger vampire with every ounce of psychic strength he had. Farmer's eyes went wide with fear an instant before Michael surged into his mind and took control. He forced the younger vampire to rise and walk out the door, then he threw some money on the table and followed. He didn't have much time left. There was an odd buzzing beginning to run though his mind, and the room seemed to be drifting in and out of focus. He had to take care of Farmer before whatever it was that had been on that glove took full effect.>It wasn't enough. Not yet.
Without a word, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. They made love through the rest of the afternoon, speaking with actions not words, until their bodies could take no more and they fell asleep. It was only when he woke and saw he was alone in the bed that he realized she had, in her own way, just said good-bye.
Chapter Thirteen
Nikki walked. Numbly. Aimlessly.
Dusk crowded the sky and fingers of fog drifted in around her, precursors to the thick, white blanket beginning to roll off the bay. People bustled past her, so full of energy and life they made her feel old. Lights blazed through the streets, lending a warmth to the oncoming night. Not that she'd ever feel warm again. It felt as if someone had ripped out her heart and left an empty block of ice in its place. She felt dead—not just her heart but her mind as well. And she wished, for perhaps the thousandth time since she'd woken, that she could just take back the words and leave things as they'd been.
But she couldn't. She'd said what she'd said and, in the process, had probably destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to her. But better death by her own words than a slow and painful one over the next few years. They couldn't have kept going as they were. Couldn't have. She pushed away the doubts that crowded her mind. She couldn't allow doubts, or she just might break down and cry. She blinked back the tears that crowded her eyes anyway, then rubbed her arms. The night was getting colder, the fog thicker. She looked around, wondering for the first time where she was. She didn't recognize any of the buildings. But then, what she knew of San Francisco came from watching the various TV shows set here over the years.
In the distance a light twinkled, catching her eye. She frowned at it for several seconds and it gradually became a cross. A church, she thought. Though she'd never entered a church in her life, there was something about that cross that seemed to draw her.
She walked towards it. Wet fingers of mist played across her skin, and the darkness seemed to close in. The noisy rush of traffic began to fade away until all that remained in the night was the rasp of her breathing, and the steady, glowing light of that cross. A light that was oddly visible, no matter what turn she took or what building rose in front of her.
A chill raced across her skin. Magic swirled through the night, so strong she could almost taste it. She licked dry lips but kept on walking. She could sense no evil in the magic that danced around her, but that didn't mean there wasn't any. Sparks danced across her fingers, lighting the night like tiny fireflies. She rounded another corner. A cathedral loomed in front of her—large, Gothic, and beautiful. The cross was as dark as the church itself, but the sense of magic still stung the air. Her steps slowed, then stopped. She listened to the night, watching the fog drift through the trees. Waiting, but for what she didn't know.
A sound invaded the odd silence. A soft tapping, like that of wood against concrete. She frowned, then jumped as her phone rang. Heart pounding somewhere in her throat, she dug the phone out of her pocket.
"Yes?"
The tapping stopped. The night seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting.
