Nikki scrambled out of her way and reached for another kinetic lance. But the girl stopped, eyes suddenly distant. It was almost as if she was listening to someone. Jasper, Nikki thought with a shiver. A hint of petulance ran across Monica's face. It was an odd reminder that this was still a sixteen-year-old girl, whatever else she might have become. With another snarl of rage, Monica turned and threw herself at Jake. They went down in a heavy tangle of arms and legs.
Nikki hit the teenager with another kinetic lance, forcing her down the stairs, away from Jake. Monica snarled, then winked out of existence.
Alarm ran through Nikki. She spun, leaping for the stake she'd dropped near the wall. She hit the carpet and rolled, gathering the stake and slashing upwards in one fluid movement. Her blow met with emerging flesh.
The wood speared Monica's abdomen. Her face twisted in agony, and she melted again from sight. The bloody stake fell free to the floor. Nikki grabbed it, then turned and ran to Jake.
"I'm all right,” he muttered. “She slashed my arm open, that's all. Let's get the hell out of here." She grabbed his good arm and helped him up. The air around them burned with fury. Monica was still nearby, watching their retreat.
But she didn't attack. It was an ominous sign that Jasper had something else in mind for them.
Chapter Seven
Nikki leaned against the front of Jake's car, lightly massaging her temples. Her headache was back with a vengeance, thanks to the long hours of questioning. And still the police didn't believe her. It was evident from the look in their eyes, the tone in their voices. They just couldn't accept a sixteen-year-old girl would be capable of such destruction.
And she hadn't even hit them with the vampire theory yet.
She eased her weight from one leg to the other and studied the brightly-lit mansion. Though Monica couldn't be seen, her pain and fury lingered. She was somewhere nearby, watching and waiting. For what, Nikki wasn't sure.
Trevgard himself could not be missed. He strode from room to room like a general marshaling his troops, taking his anger out on anyone who got in his way. Both she and Jake had withstood a good ten minutes of his tirade before the police had decided to rescue them with official questions. Her headache had probably started around that time.
A wiry figure appeared in the doorway, looking around for several seconds before moving briskly in her direction. Nikki groaned. Just what she needed—another round of questioning with Detective Col MacEwan. They'd known each other a long time—he'd arrested her several times during her early years on the streets. He was the strongest denouncer of her psychic talents, and yet, oddly enough, probably the closest thing she had to a friend on the force.
Which didn't mean they actually liked each other.
"I gave the hospital a call.” He came to an abrupt halt several feet away from her, his calm tone belying the anger she could see in his brown eyes. “Jake's arm has been stitched, and they've let him go home." She nodded her thanks and crossed her arms. MacEwan hadn't ventured outside just to say that. There would be more.
"I don't believe a word of the crap you and Jake spouted in there,” he continued. “But I've no evidence to dispute it, either, so for the moment, you're free to go."