The thought stalled. What about Monica? Did she really want to leave the teenager to face fate alone?
Yes.
No.
She took another deep breath and pushed upright. At sixteen, Monica had barely begun to live. She had so much yet to learn, so much more of the world to see.
Ten years before, Nikki had left another teenager to his fate. He'd been a hell of a lot more capable of taking care of himself than Monica ever would be, and still he had died. This time around, she was not letting fate get the upper hand.
She eased off her jacket and studied the wound on her forearm. While the three gashes bled profusely, the creature's talons obviously hadn't severed anything vital. She could still move her fingers, even if it did hurt like hell. Digging a handkerchief out of her pocket, she wrapped it around the wound. Hopefully it would stem the flow of blood long enough to find Monica and get out of this house. Putting her jacket back on, she walked across to retrieve her flashlight, only to discover it no longer worked. She gave it a quick shake and heard a slight tinkle coming from the globe area. It must have smashed when she'd dropped it.
"That's just great,” she muttered, thrusting it back in her pocket. Now she'd have to cross the threshold of utter darkness with only instinct to guide her.
Instinct that had proven somewhat unreliable in the past.
The hallway was quiet. Her gaze was drawn to the darkness at the far end of the hall. Monica had to be down there somewhere. But so was the presence that tasted so evil. She took a deep, calming breath, then walked back to the T-intersection. A tingle of awareness ran across the back of her neck as she neared the stairs. She hesitated, studied the shadows that hid the staircase. The stranger had entered the house. Michael Kelly, Nikki thought. His name is Michael Kelly. Nikki rubbed the back of her neck. Why could she read this stranger's mind? And why had he entered the house? Was he here to help her, or did he have something more sinister in mind?
No answers came from the darkness, and the spark of awareness flickered and died. Nikki frowned but continued on. The rapid beat of her heart seemed abnormally loud in the strange silence. Her senses warned of another door, even though she couldn't see it. She ran her fingers along the wall and touched a door frame, then the cold metal of a doorknob. Stopping, she listened to the silence. Evil was near, maybe even in the room beyond this door. She clenched the doorknob so tightly her knuckles practically glowed, and wondered why in hell she was doing this. The answer was easy enough to find. Monica reminded her of Tommy, the teenager she'd left to die so long ago. To appease his ghost, to appease the guilt in her heart, she'd follow Monica through the flames of hell if that's what it took to save her soul—simply because she'd been unable to save Tommy's. Swallowing, she opened the door. Laughter greeted her, laughter that was young and sweet, and yet somehow cold.
Monica.
The teenager stepped out of the shadows, her smile easy to see despite the shadows that hid her face.
"If you wish to talk to me,” she said, her voice melodious, yet holding a touch of menace. “First you must follow me."
She turned and walked into another room. Instinct told Nikki not to follow—told her to run as far and as fast as she could. Told her Monica wasn't worth dying for.
Told her if she ran, Monica would die in her place. That was a weight she just couldn't bear. Taking a deep breath, Nikki followed the teenager.