clues they left behind with their victims.'
Yet Jasper had been canny enough to survive the fledgling stage, and clever enough, after Patrick's death, to taunt Michael with the death of more friends down through the years. 'So why did your brother take up with someone like that?'
Michael shrugged. 'He was a knight at heart. He liked trying to save people.'
Yet even the gentlest of knights could not save someone with hearts as black as Jasper's and his brother's. 'Even if you'd arrived on time, you don't know that Patrick wouldn't have met the same death.
One thing I learned from my years on the streets was the fact that fate cannot often be sidestepped.'
'I know that. Accepting it is a different matter.'
'Patrick made his own choices. You can't be held accountable for that.'
'No.' He took a breath, kissed her forehead and turned around.
She continued scrubbing his back. The black lines were fading, but the buzz of energy was just as strong, and the welts rippled across his skin in a red wave.
'So,' she said, suspecting she'd better keep him talking, keep him distracted from the magic striking him.
'How are we going to kill Kinnard—Dunleavy—when he can protect himself with magic?'
'I don't know. Magic is not my field of expertise.' His gaze met hers in the mirror. 'And as much as I want you to leave, I have to say that this is one case where I think I need help.'
'Well, you've got mine, whether you want it or not. Even if Dunleavy wasn't threatening to kill all and sundry, I wouldn't leave you here to fight him alone.'
His amusement ran through the link. I seem to remember hearing words to that effect before.
'Would it achieve anything?'
'Well, it might delay the ceremony for a while.' And even a few minutes could make a difference between finding and not finding Dunleavy.
'He'll have it protected.'
'Then we take the protection out, too.'
Michael nodded. 'And then begin the hunt for Dunleavy himself.'
It was a plan. Not much of a plan, but better than nothing.
He twisted around, grabbed the cloth from her hands and tossed it into the sink. 'Let's get moving.'
She didn't argue, just turned around and walked into the bedroom to grab her coat. The day was rapidly cooling, and the mines would probably feel like an ice chest tonight. She checked their hostage, happy to see he was breathing easier, then walked into the main room.
Michael was at the sink, washing the blood from her knife. He flipped it and handed it to her hilt first.
'The pentagram he'll be using in the ceremony will no doubt be protected by a larger circle of stone than the ones he has around his sacrifice pentagrams,' she said, slipping the knife back into its sheath, 'I doubt whether my knives will be strong enough to move large rocks.'
He nodded and bent, searching through the cupboards underneath the sink. 'You do realize he can perform the ceremony without the benefit of a pentagram. All it really does is protect him and his victim from attacks from unwanted spiritual sources.'
'But he's trying to raise his brother's spirit. If he tries it without the pentagram, he risks bringing something far worse into being.'
'There is nothing worse that Emmett Dunleavy,' Michael said grimly. 'You ready?'
She wanted to say no, if only because she had no desire to scramble around mine shafts again. But she didn't have any choice. So she nodded and headed for the door.
The day had definitely gotten colder. The thick gray clouds crowding the sky were now accompanied by a fierce wind that held the bite of winter. She shivered and hastily buttoned her coat.
He pressed a hand into her back, guiding her towards the mine entrance near other ranger's house, but they'd barely taken three steps when a scream ripped through the air.
She stopped, her heart in her mouth and a chill racing across her skin as she stared towards the town. It had been a sound of sheer terror, and one she'd heard before—yesterday, when the mutilated body had been discovered in the whorehouse.
She swallowed, though it didn't ease the sudden dryness in her throat, and glanced up at Michael. His expression was grim, but he didn't say anything, just grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run.
The screaming went on and on. But as they entered Main Street, it stopped. In many ways, the ensuing silence was far worse.
Michael glanced at her. 'It's The Hollis Hotel.'
It would be. That's where the women who'd been living in the whorehouse had been sent. They climbed the steps and walked through the double, half-glass doors. The interior of the hotel was small, dark and smoky. Men sat in the shadows, visible only through the sudden glow coming from the tips of their cigars as they sucked deep. Others leaned against the small bar, nursing drinks that looked as unsavory as the men themselves. The air was thick with the scent of unwashed flesh, beer and urine, the three combining to make a stomach-churning stench. None of the men seemed inclined to investigate the screams, nor did they seem to think the sudden silence or Michael's and Nikki's entrance worthy of notice.
Michael pulled her past the bar. Her gaze collided with the barman's as he dried a glass with a tea towel as grubby as the floor, and she noted the curious blankness in his eyes. On one level his mind was obviously working—he was cleaning the glass, pouring beers when they were needed. But she doubted he'd be capable of anything more than that. Dunleavy obviously hadn't allowed it.
They climbed a rickety set of stairs. At the end of the short hall sat a woman. She was hugging her knees close to her chest and resting her face on her knees, her dark hair spilling like a curtain around her exposed legs. Though she was no longer screaming, her whole body shook. Shock, or fear, or a combination of both.
'Get a blanket,' Michael said, releasing her hand.
She opened the nearest door, but the room wasn't empty. A man and a woman were on the bed, having sex. Nikki averted her gaze, grabbed one of the blankets that had been thrown onto the floor, and hastily exited. If the squeak of the bedsprings was anything to go by, the man didn't even miss a beat.
Michael was kneeling beside the distressed woman. Nikki stopped beside him and eased the blanket around the woman's trembling body. She didn't react. Didn't speak.
'Traumatized.' He glanced up at her, his expression neutral. Only his voice hinted at the fury she could feel inside him as he added, 'She walked into the middle of it.'
'It's amazing she's still alive.'
'Not really.' His fingers went to the woman's neck, catching the silver chain and pulling it around to the side, revealing a large silver cross. 'Dunleavy had already been weakened by silver, so he probably wouldn't have wanted to risk getting close to it just yet.'
'Which reminds me.' She dug into her pocket and pulled out the small chain and cross she'd given him long ago. 'You'd better put this back on.'
He opened his hand, and she placed the cross into his palm. His skin didn't react to it—he'd been wearing the cross for some time now and had developed a certain amount of immunity to silver because of it. He put it on, then caught her hand and kissed her fingers. 'I thought it had been lost when Dunleavy snatched me.'
'You're remembering?'
'Bits and pieces.' His gaze went back to the woman, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Energy caressed the link. Obviously, her latest attack on the runes on his back had finally yielded some decent results.
'Dunleavy was in slug form when she walked in. There were two others in the room—one a man, unmoving, frozen, and the other a woman. Dunleavy was suckling the sole of the woman's feet, while part of him used her sexually, and the rest tore her apart.
Nikki closed her eyes, but it didn't stop the horror that crawled through her mind. Her stomach churned, and bile rose. She swallowed, thrusting away the violent images and fighting to remain calm.
Even so, her hands were shaking as she knelt down beside him. The woman didn't even react when
