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He lifted a hand toward the circle. Energy buzzed, the sound a high pitched scream of fury. Nikki raised her eyebrows. That reaction was far stronger than the one that had greeted her. Maybe Dunleavy had expected Michael to get this far.
"No,” he said, “I'm afraid I don't."
"Well, I'm not leaving her there,” she said flatly. “And I don't care what trap Dunleavy has set, I'm going to spring it."
"Wait—"
She didn't. She slashed the knife toward the stone, backing the blow with as much force as she could muster. The air screamed, and energy lit the darkness, blue flashes of light that crawled across the blade and up her hand, burning deep. She bit her lip, ignoring the sensation, keeping her eyes on the rock. An invisible force pushed at the blade, momentarily resisting her blow. Then the knife hit the stone, and the force of it reverberated up her arm, jarring her spine.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was a blinding flash, the boom of an explosion, and a wall of heated air slapped across her face and threw her backwards. She hit the ground with a grunt and flung her hands over her head, trying to protect her face. Shards of stone bit through the air, tearing at her clothes, her skin. Then the weight of another hit her, protecting her from the worst of the energy borne rocks.
After a while, silence returned. Except the silence wasn't really silent, but filled with a dripping far stronger than before. Surely the woman couldn't have had that much blood left, Nikki thought, wanting to look, but at the same time not wanting to. If the force of that explosion had blown her off her feet and back a good ten feet, what had it done to the poor woman hanging above?dded. “By then, I'd had reasonable control of my blood lust, and I had left Elizabeth. Patrick had caught sight of me a few years earlier, and he told me he knew what I was. He made me promise to be by his deathbed, because the man who had turned him was dead, and he didn't want to hurt or kill anyone while in the fledgling stage."
She raised her eyebrows. Was he implying Patrick was gay? Was that why he'd been headed for San Francisco? Was the city so liberal in its thinking way back then? She didn't know, but even if it wasn't, it surely wouldn't have bothered a vampire all that much.
"So who turned him?"
"I don't know. He never told me."
"But it was a man?"
He looked at her again, answering what she hadn't asked rather than what she had. “Patrick's bisexual. He's the reason the Kelly line still lives on in Ireland."
"Then you never had kids?"
"No.” He raised an eyebrow. “A fact I suspect you already knew." She grinned. “Just confirming these things while you're under the influence."
"Of what?"
"A spell that has apparently frayed your natural reticence when in comes to speaking about your past."
"Woman, you speak in riddles."
"Yeah, makes a nice change, doesn't it?"
He shook his head. “Enough of this ridiculousness. Wait here while I check to see what waits below." She didn't argue, just watched him disappear down the hole. “It's not a very wide tunnel,” he said, after a few minutes.
"Rats don't need wide tunnels,” she commented, squatting down. The sunlight filtering into the tunnel barely lifted the gloom, and Michael was little more than a shadow. “Is it safe enough?"
"It appears so."
"Then move aside, because I'm coming in."
She hung her legs over the edge and eased herself down. Hands grabbed her hips, catching her weight and lowering her the rest of the way. It was further down than she'd first thought. He didn't release her immediately, his gaze burning into hers. “You will do what I tell you to down here, won't you?"
"Always."
He gave her the sort of look that said he didn't believe her. Grinning, she rose up on her toes, gave him a quick kiss and said, “After you."
For a moment, he did nothing more than simply look at her. Even though the sunlight filtering in from above barely lit the shadows, she could see the questions in his eyes. See the doubts. It didn't really matter whether those doubts were of the situation or of her. The mere fact he doubted was a start. And while there was no response in the link between them, he'd said her name while making love. Somewhere deep inside him, the spell was beginning to fade. All she had to do was keep pushing. Keep doing and saying things that were echoes of times past. Keep trying to wash the runes from his back.
"This tunnel probably runs down to the town,” he said, his soft tone echoing around them, mingling with the insistent buzz of energy. “If Dunleavy can't move far, he might need to be near his food source." "But the ceremony he'll perform to bring his brother back to life will be done in the Standard mine. If he can't move far, he won't be far from there."
"I doubt—"
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually have doubts, or is it the spell on your back making you think that way?"
"I do feel a pressure to go down rather than up the tunnel.” He hesitated. “So, up it is." He caught her hand, his fingers warm and strong against hers as he tugged her forward. The darkness surrounding them quickly faded as her eyes adjusted. It was like she was looking at a negative—the air was black, everything else various shades of gray. And while this allowed her to see in darkness almost as well as Michael, she wasn't about to let go of his hand. The last time she'd been in a tunnel like this, the damn thing had collapsed on her, and she'd almost died. And while sharing his life force now meant she couldn't really die, she wasn't about to go through a repeat of the pain. She pushed the memories away and peered past Michael. The walls of the tunnel were rough-hewn, the roof supported by aging beams of wood that were darkened by moisture and time. From a distance up ahead came a soft but steady dripping, and while the ground beneath them was dry, the air was stale and damp.
