Nikki wasn't sure whether to throw something at Michael's back or run after him. Damn it, every inch of her thrummed with desire, a desire that was obviously shared, and yet he was walking away. She took a deep breath and released it slowly, but it did little to ease the ache. Seline had warned her this would happen—not so much the frustration, but Michael refusing her help. Apparently, he'd done much the same one hundred years ago. Which meant she was following the chain of events rather than breaking them.
But, damn it, she hadn't really expected him to refuse to help her. She had expected the love they shared to transcend the spell and make wanting her seem as natural as night following day. Yet he was resisting even that. Obviously, the spell that held him was strong, and she was going to have to work a lot harder to get him to accept her in any way.
She sighed and buttoned her shirt. Now what? Part of her wanted to follow Michael, but she sensed this would only anger him and make him even more reluctant to help her. Somehow, she had to prove she could be useful to him. Hard to do when the shield around this town had put a dampener on most of her psychic gifts.
Or had it?
Frowning, she glanced at the nearby pitchfork and reached for her kinetic energy. There was zip in the way of a response, and the fork stubbornly remained where it was. Yet, some of her gifts were working. She'd been able to sense that Kinnard wasn't human, had known where Michael was without looking. Maybe the shield around this town resembled the magic that had been in the Circle's testing room—and if that were the case, it meant she at least had her flames for protection. She hoped so, because the only weapons she'd dared to sneak in were two sets of knives—one set strapped to her wrists, the other currently strapped to her thighs. She hadn't dared risk anything else, just in case her packs had been searched. But as good as she was with her knives, she really didn't want to depend on them. Nor did she want to depend on the maneuvers she'd learned in self-defense. She had a feeling Weylin Dunleavy would be able to counter either of them easily enough. She tucked the ends of her shirt back into her skirt and walked to the rear door. Dusk was settling in across the sky, painting the clouds a vibrant red. No rain tomorrow, at least. She let her gaze slide across the houses that remained in the small back street, but she couldn't sense life in any of them. That didn't mean there wasn't life, just that there was no no-longer-human life, such as vampires. Given Kinnard's earlier warning, there could be shapeshifters and God only knew what else in the half dozen, sad-looking buildings dotting the street, and she wouldn't sense those until she got closer to them. Michael wasn't anywhere close, but that didn't surprise her. He was here for one reason—to reenact past events. She was here to disrupt them and stop Weylin—if she could. She thrust that thought away. Of course she'd stop him. She had a damn wedding half-planned, and she had every intention of finally going out to buy her wedding dress. Her gaze roamed beyond the buildings. The night crept shadowy fingers across the hills, and nothing seemed to be moving.
Where would Dunleavy sacrifice the two rangers?
Seline had told her that the sacrifices on the night of the new moon would be performed in a side shaft in the main mine, but Nikki doubted Dunleavy would risk using that site for these minor sacrifices, if only because some ritual sites needed purifying before reuse, and he wouldn't want to be doing that every night.
So, where else?
In its prime, Hartwell had had close to one hundred and fifty working mines. She'd never be able to search all of them, but then, many of them would undoubtedly be sealed up. This place was a State Park, and neither the rangers nor the local authorities would want people wandering at will into unsafe or unsound mines.
Which meant that, maybe, all she had to do was look for signs of recent use around the mine entrances. But where to start?
She bit her lip for a moment, then swung left. Dust stirred under her boots, swirling through the air. She sneezed.
"Bless you," a cold voice said to her right.
Nikki jumped and swung around, but she resisted the impulse to flick a knife into her palm simply because she recognized the voice.
"You spying, Kinnard?" She eyed the old man warily as he walked from the shadows of a small lane alongside the barn.
"Of course." He hawked and spat. Nikki quickly shifted her boot to avoid the blob, and suspected he did it purely to piss her off. Kinnard grinned. "The emotion of sexual awareness is almost as drink-worthy as anger. You and that vampire of yours fairly set the air alight."