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Her stomach rolled, and energy surged through her body, the sheer force of it making every muscle shake. “Burn in hell,” she muttered and thrust her hand in his face. But what came out was a mix of kinetic energy and fire. It ripped the vampire from her body and flung him across the room like a flaming comet. He hit the far wall with a splat and slipped to the floor, the high-pitched sound of his screams stinging the night as he rolled in a futile attempt to put out the inferno consuming him.
For several heartbeats she could only stare. Despite her words, she hadn't intended to burn him. While she felt no sympathy for the vampire, fear caught her heart and squeezed it tight. This was only one more piece of evidence that suggested she was changing faster—and in more ways—than she'd feared. But now was not the time to dwell on such fears. She thrust to her feet then reached for the nearby wall, leaning against it heavily as the darkness swam around her. She felt drained, weak, her legs shaking and barely supporting her weight.
The back of her neck prickled in warning. She looked up, saw the slight blur of movement across the darkness. Knew another vampire was coming at her.
She reached again for kinetic energy. Pain slithered through her body and arrowed into her brain, became hot lances of fire that had her blinking back tears. She'd barely used her abilities, and yet she was close to reaching her limits. The flames, whatever they were, obviously took a lot more strength than kinetic energy.
The unseen vampire screamed, and the wind of his approach stroked cold air across her skin. She raised her hand, energy dancing like weakened fireflies across her fingers and pain booming through her brain. But suddenly Michael was in front of her, flowing into being from the inky gloom. He grabbed the vampire with one hand, then twisted him around and snapped his neck in one smooth, vicious movement. He tossed the body to one side and turned, gently touching her cheek. Are you okay?
She nodded, a little chilled by his ruthless efficiency. Go help the cops. He flowed back into the darkness. She took a deep breath, then pushed away from the wall and retrieved her flashlight. Clenching her fingers around the bagged necklace, she continued. The frantic pulsing led her past an entrance that had been smashed into being through bricks and into a smaller room. There, on a soiled, sorry-looking mattress, she found Anne.
She lay on the mattress, curled up in a fetal position, her skin marred by bruises and bloody nips. Her eyes were closed, and even when Nikki knelt beside her, they didn't open. She touched a hand to Anne's shoulder. Her skin felt like ice. “Anne?" The older woman didn't respond. Nikki felt for a pulse, which was rapid, unsteady. It was the rhythm she could feel in the necklace. She gently lifted the older woman's eyelids—her pupils were huge. She'd been drugged, undoubtedly to stop her running.
"Miss James?"
The sharp voice bit through the darkness, and she jumped. “In here." The FBI agent with the blue eyes appeared in the doorway. The beam of his flashlight hit her square in the eyes, and she threw up her hand to cut the glare.
"Sorry,” he said, moving the light to one side. “You found her?" She nodded. “She's been drugged and assaulted. You'd better get the paramedics down here quickly." He stopped by her side, his expression grim as he stripped off his coat and placed it carefully over Anne. It wouldn't have offered much in the way of warmth, but at least it offered a little more dignity.
"They've already been called. We've got one man dead out there and another with half his neck ripped apart.” He hesitated. “What were those things?"
"What did they look like?” she hedged, wary of telling him the truth.
"Well, they certainly fit the image of every damn vampire I've seen on the silver screen. But vampires just can't exist."
"Why can't they? Vlad the Impaler was certainly real." He stared at her for a second. “Yeah, but he was a sicko human."
"So were those men, once."
He continued to stare at her. It was hard to read his expression, hard to know his thoughts. After what he has seen, he believes, Michael said softly. He just doesn't want to. The heat of his unseen presence pressed warmth into her back. She resisted the urge to lean back against him and offered the agent the bagged necklace. “You want to take care of this from now on? I don't think Harris trusted me with it all that much."
"Yeah, I noticed that myself.” His slight grin suggested he was relieved to be moving on to safer subjects. He looked past her as several more officers walked into the smaller room. “Davidson, those paramedics here yet?"
"On the way down now."
"You want to direct them here the minute they arrive? And keep an eye out in case any more of those ... men ... decide to attack."
"Will do."
The officer moved away, and the big man's gaze came back to her. “That's some talent you have there. We would never have been able to find Mrs. Harris so quickly ourselves." She rubbed her arms. “I just hope we're fast enough to save her."
"So do I.” He hesitated. “Would you like an escort back to the hotel?"
"Just back to the sewer cover will be fine.” The vampires wouldn't attack her once she was out in the sunshine. Which was some place she desperately needed to be, just to warm the ice beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.
The agent nodded and called to another of his men. “You're not intending to leave San Francisco for the next few days, are you? We may need to talk to you a bit more."
"I'm staying at the Diamond Grand."
He smiled. “Yes, I know. We did a thorough check on you when Mr. Harris requested your help." She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why?"
He shrugged. “Wouldn't be the first time a supposed psychic has worked a kidnapping scam." "Do you really think anyone human could have done what was done to those first two women?" He studied her for a moment, gaze calculating. “And how do you know what was done to them?"
"The same way I knew where to find Anne and Dale. It's not a very pleasant gift to have, you know. I'd much rather do without knowing the gruesome details.” She hesitated. “I have something else for you, too. The name of a possible suspect."
"Who?” He grabbed a notebook and pen out of his pocket.
"Billie Farmer. Apparently he was taunted in high school by a gang of twelve women." He raised his eyebrows. “And I suppose the four victims so far were a part of that gang?"
