"Christ Almighty! Somebody do something.” MacEwan's voice rose harshly above the noise surrounding the old church. “Grab a blanket or something."
The priest ran to obey. But they were far too late. Monica burst into flames. Nikki closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more. The pain in her head eased, but there was no way to stop Monica's screams from penetrating every nerve, sickening her soul.
She'd been wrong about one thing. No matter what she'd done, the teenager hadn't deserved a death as horrid as this.
The screams faded into silence. The priest returned with a blanket and a police officer threw it over Monica's body. Yet the fire burned unabated, the flames so fierce they took the blanket with them. A line of dark smoke climbed skyward.
Soon there was nothing left but ashes. Laughter ran through her mind, a distant, taunting evil that crowed at his victory.
Had she been nothing more than Jasper's tool all along? She bit her lip and hugged herself fiercely, hoping, praying it wasn't so. If he could make her do this, he could make her do anything. Even betray Michael.
She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. There was nothing she could do now about Monica, nothing anyone could do, other than mourn a life lost so young.
"I've heard of things like this happening.” MacEwan's voice was harsh, full of the pain he would never show. “Never thought I'd see it, though."
She rose and walked over to where he stood. The priest began to murmur over the burned soil and a few scraps of blanket, all that remained of Monica's pyre.
"How in hell am I going to explain it downtown?"
She glanced at him, wondering if he expected an answer. His face showed no sign of emotion, yet she knew the appearance was a lie. MacEwan—the tough, no-nonsense cop—hated losing a kid, no matter how bad that kid had gone. Despite all his years on the streets, he still believed they could be saved, given half a chance.
"You can't.” She shoved her hands into her pockets to ward off the chill of the freshening wind. “No one would believe you if you tried."
He lit a cigarette and sucked on it almost greedily. “You knew this would happen, didn't you?” he said, after a moment.
She didn't reply, not trusting him for an instant. Fair cop or not, he was just as likely to march her downtown and interrogate her all night if she admitted too much. Yet her silence was answer enough.
"So,” he continued, exhaling a long plume of smoke. “What was she?" She gave him another uncertain look. How much had he guessed? “What do you mean?" He gave an exasperated snort. “No games, or I might be inclined to get nasty. Normal people do not explode into flame when the sun touches them. Certainly it's not a problem Monica Trevgard has suffered before."