Monica knew she was being followed. Tonight, she didn't just wander. Tonight she was the bait to catch the watcher.
The bitter breeze stirred, seeming to blow right through her soul. Nikki swore softly and ran a hand through her hair. It was nights like this, when she was caught between common sense and past promises, that she really hated being psychic. Had it not been for the gifts warning that death would claim Monika's soul if she weren't protected tonight, Nikki would have run a mile away from here. But she couldn't stand the weight of another death on her conscience and had no real choice but to follow.
They neared the far edge of the park. Streetlights glimmered, forlorn wisps of brightness barely visible through the trees and the fog. Nikki's unease increased. Monica wasn't heading for the street or the lights, but rather toward the old mansion on the far edge of the park. The place had a reputation for being haunted, and though she didn't particularly believe in ghosts, the one night she'd spent there as a kid had sent her running from the place. Ghosts may not exist, but evil sure as hell did. The mansion was steeped in it.
Monica squeezed through a small gap in the fence and cast another quick look over her shoulder. There was no doubt about it—the kid definitely wanted to be followed. Nikki stopped and watched her walk up the steps to the back door. Common sense told her not to follow. Psychic sense told her danger waited inside. She clenched her fists. She could do this. Had to do this.
She stepped forward, then froze. No sound had disturbed the dark silence. Even the breeze had faded, and the fog sat still and heavy on the ground. Yet something had moved behind her. Something not quite human.
Throat dry, Nikki turned. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a hint of movement—a hand, emerging from darkness, reaching out to touch her...
Yelping in fright, she jumped back and lashed out with kinetic energy. Something heavy hit a nearby oak, accompanied by a grunt of pain. She stared at the tree. Despite the sound, there was nothing or nobody at its base.
Something had to be there. It didn't make any sense—bodies just didn't disappear like that. She swallowed and ran trembling fingers through her hair. Disembodied hands couldn't emerge from the darkness, either.
Had it just been her imagination, finally reacting to the overwhelming sensation of being followed? No. Something had been there. Was still there, even if she couldn't see it. Not that that made a whole lot of sense. She turned and studied the dark house. Trouble waited inside that place. But so did Monica.
She climbed through the fence and ran across the shadowed yard. Edging up the steps, she slipped a small flashlight from her pocket and shone the light through the open doorway. The entrance hall was small, laden with dust and cobwebs that shimmered like ice in the beam of light. Faded crimson and gold wallpaper hung in eerie strips from the walls, rustling lightly in the breeze that drifted past her legs. The house really hadn't changed much in the ten years since she'd last been there. Motes of dust danced across the light, stirred to life in the wake of Monica's passing. She directed the beam towards the stairs. Monica appeared to have gone upwards. Up to where the evil lived. Gripping the flashlight tightly, Nikki walked through the dust towards the stairs. The air smelled of decay and unwashed bodies. Obviously, it was still a haunt for those forced to scratch a living off the streets. It was odd, though, that there was no one here now—no one but Monica and whoever it was she'd come here for.
A floorboard creaked beneath Nikki's weight, the sound as loud as thunder in the silence. She winced and hesitated. After several heartbeats, someone moved on the floor above. It wasn't Monica. The footfalls were too heavy.
Reaching into her pocket, she turned on her mobile. If things started to go bad, she'd call for help. Trevgard might not like the publicity a call to the cops would raise, but if it meant the difference between life or death— her life or death—he could go to hell.
The staircase loomed out of the shadows. Nikki shone the light upwards. Something growled; a low sound almost lost against the thunder of her heart. She hesitated, staring up into the darkness. It had sounded like some sort of animal. But what animal made such an odd, rasping noise?
One hand on the banister, the other clutching the flashlight so tightly her knuckles began to ache, she continued on. The growl cut across the silence again.
It was definitely no animal.