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His fingers slipped across leather, then cloth, but oddly could find no purchase. The darkness had closed in, and he realized he couldn't see. He blinked, switching to his infrared vampire vision. Farmer was a red haze who laughed insanely several feet in front of him.
He dove forward, knocking the younger vampire down, dragging them both to the ground. Farmer hit hard, his head smacking against the rough tiles. Curses flew from his lips, singing through the night. Michael ignored them, wrapped his arm around the younger vampire's neck and twisted hard. Realized in that instant he didn't have the strength required to complete the act. Anger rushed through him—anger and fear. Not for himself. For Nikki.
As the bees grew more frenzied and the night began to blur into nothingness, he knew he had to do something, anything, to at least maim Farmer and give her a chance. He moved his grip from the fiend's neck to his elbow and snapped it back as hard as he could. There was an unmistakable pop of bone and sinew, and relief swept through him. It was something. Not much, but something. Farmer's howl filled the night, a dog baying at the moon neither of them could see. The buzzing got louder and louder, all but consuming his mind. Farmer's face loomed into focus, his expression contemptuous as his fingers brushed the chain at Michael's neck. Realizing what he intended, Michael reached up, trying to stop him from wrenching the cross free. But his strength had slithered away. The smell of burning flesh briefly stung the air, followed by a sharp curse. Then the warmth of the cross was gone. A second later, it hit the floor with a gentle ting. The night blurred, and he found himself on the floor, his body shuddering with blows he couldn't even feel. He scraped his hand across the tiles, trying to find the cross. Tried to reach for Nikki, to warn her not to come after him, but that only made the bees react in fury. After a while, he stopped trying to do either.
Yet it seemed an extraordinarily long time before the night became a smudge of blackness and consciousness receded.
* * * *
"They will not hurt you.” The old woman's melodious voice was far from reassuring. Nikki flexed her hands, battling the urge to use the energy that danced across her fingertips. Would energy even hurt ghosts? Somehow she doubted it.
The ethereal faces that surrounded her were none she knew. Yet she felt their sorrow, their pain and anger, as if it were her own. It stabbed deep inside, settled like a weight in her stomach. She tore her gaze away from them and looked back up the hill. The old woman was just as flimsy as the ghosts around her, but for some reason, she held color while these others did not.
"What's going on here?"
Her voice jarred uneasily against the strange hush surrounding them. The ghosts stirred, the delicate gowns that were their bodies dissipating then gathering close again.
"That is what I am here to explain.” The old woman motioned her forward with a quick wave of her cane. “Come. Sit in front of me on the grass, and we shall talk." Nikki's hesitation was only brief. She had a feeling choice was something she'd left behind when she'd followed this woman through the oddly thick fog that had surrounded the church. She walked up the hill and sat down cross-legged in front of the old woman. The grass wasn't really grass, but a smoky echo that felt oddly warm. “What's going on?” she repeated softly.
"Consequences."
"Consequences?"
The old woman nodded, the black holes that were her eyes seeming to bore right through Nikki's soul. She shivered, but resisted the temptation to rub her arms.
"Consequences of actions taken,” the old one continued. “Sometimes they are not apparent right away. Sometimes they must wait before they can be revealed."
This old woman and Michael had one thing in common—neither of them could speak plain English.
“What do you mean?"
"You were dead,” the woman said. “Your soul had consigned itself to the light, had it not?" Fear pulsed through her. Nikki closed her eyes, remembering the light. Remembering the feeling of joy and peace as she bathed in its warmth. Oh Lord Michael, what have you done ... ?
"Yes,” she somehow managed to croak.
"He pulled you back. He gave you part of his energy, made you as eternal as the night and himself." She nodded. Fear had become a fist squeezing her heart tight. She could barely even breathe.
"But he could not fully undo what had already been decided." Her breath stuttered to a halt for several seconds. She stared at the old woman, not sure what she meant. Not sure she even wanted to know. The silence seemed to stretch until it sawed at her nerves. The ghosts around them stirred, restless slithers of fog that brushed warmth across her icy skin. They were waiting for her to speak, she realized. She licked dry lips and somehow found her voice,
“What do you mean?"
"He gave you new life. But a small portion of you will always remain on this plane. That cannot be undone. Death is a part of you as much as he is now."
Oh God ... “Meaning?"
"Meaning you can walk this plane almost as easily as you walk the other. Meaning you can call forth those whose untimely deaths forced them to remain rather than move on." She stared at the woman for several seconds, mulling over the implications. Wondering if this was real. Maybe she was tucked safely in bed, with Michael's arms wrapped around her. Maybe—hopefully—this was nothing more than some strange nightmare.
"This is real, young woman. As we are real."
"You're a ghost. As are those who surround us."
"That doesn't make us any less real."
No, she supposed it didn't. And considering what she'd seen over the past four months, ghosts were way down on the list when it came to ghoulies to be wary of.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. It didn't do much to ease the grip of fear squeezing her heart tight.
"So you're saying I can now see ghosts?” Just like the movie. Great.
