Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

She glanced back to the dark cellar. At least the priest would be out of the way if he went to call the police. And maybe it would be better if the cops were the ones to drag Monica into the sunlight and death. As long as they arrived well before sunset, there shouldn't be any sort of danger. With Monica out of the way, the only nightmare left would be Jasper. Foreboding pulsed across her skin. “Call them, then. Tell them Monica Trevgard is trapped in this basement. I'll stay here to ensure she doesn't escape."

His gaze widened at the mention of Monica's name, then he nodded and moved back up the stairs. Nikki watched his retreat. Did he know Monica? Maybe she should warn him what might happen ... She shook her head and leaned against a wall. Priest or not, he wouldn't believe her. The minutes ticked by, and the silence grew heavier. She glanced at her watch. Perhaps the priest had decided to call the loony bin first, just to ensure she wasn't an escaped nutcase. She cast her senses into the basement, checking that Monica was still there. The wash of evil was answer enough.

A few minutes later she heard the sirens. Yet she couldn't escape the notion that something was wrong, that she was doing something she shouldn't. But they had to get rid of Monica, for everyone's safety. Didn't they?

Footsteps pounded down the hall. She rubbed her arms, wishing they'd hurry. MacEwan clomped down the steps and stopped beside her. “This better not be one of your tricks." His breath washed over her, and she screwed up her nose. Too bad garlic didn't effect vampires. “It's not. She's all yours."

She offered him her flashlight, but he shook his head and produced one of his own. “Jenkins, make sure she stays put. You other two, follow me."

The three men stepped into the basement. The darkness closed around them; only the bobbing light gave away their position. She clenched her fists, half-expecting Monica to wake and try to escape. But no sound broke the silence except for the occasional footstep.

Minutes later, Jenkins’ two-way buzzed.

"Call the paramedics in, Jenkins.” MacEwan's voice sounded annoyed, even over the two-way. “And get them to bring down a stretcher. The girl isn't looking so good."

"And Miss James?"

"Tell her to stay put, or her ass is mine."

The young officer glanced at her. Nikki smiled sourly. “Message received. My ass ain't moving." He grinned slightly then headed back up the stairs. Nikki shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting uneasily in the darkness. She wanted to go into the cellar and see Monica for herself, but knew MacEwan had meant what he said.

Though with Jasper still on the loose, maybe jail was the safest place to be. Jenkins returned a few minutes later, but Nikki felt no safer with his large presence next to her. She glanced at her watch. If MacEwan didn't move Monica soon, he might well find himself trying to control a very angry, and very awake, vampire.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. Two paramedics pounded past them and disappeared into the darkness. More minutes ticked by.

Finally, MacEwan reappeared. The two paramedics carried Monica on the stretcher just behind him, with the two police officers following them.

She let the five men pass then followed them up the stairs. The teenager looked more dead than alive. She was limp, boneless, her skin pallid and unhealthy looking. Nikki frowned. Something didn't feel right...

She crossed her arms. However Monica might look, she was still a monster. Like the fiend she called a lover, Monica enjoyed the terror she inflicted on her victims. It had been all too obvious in her eyes when she'd attacked both her and Jake.

But evil's mistress was about to meet her deserving end.

MacEwan glanced over his shoulder. “I don't want you disappearing anywhere. I'd like a word with you first."

She nodded. She had no intention of leaving, anyway. Not until she was certain of Monica's fate. She followed the men down the hall, then stopped as the first paramedic stepped outside. Beams of sunlight touched Monica's still form, washing her skin with warmth. Just for an instant she looked like the Monica of old—a carefree, innocent teenager. Nikki bit her lip and half reached out to stop them. Then she dropped her hand to her side and watched the two men carry her fully into daylight. Monica screamed—a high, tortured sound that ricocheted through Nikki's mind. This is wrong. I'm wrong. Oh Christ ... She took a step forward. Fire leaped through her brain, stopping her. She doubled over, gasping in pain, eyes watering as she struggled to see Monica. The teenager kicked and twisted against the straps holding her captive. She screamed and cursed and called for her father, over and over and over. The two paramedics swore and struggled to keep hold of the stretcher as the convulsing became more violent. There was a tearing sound, then suddenly she was free and on the ground. Her eyes flew open, revealing a sea of red where there should have been white. Tendrils of smoke began to rise from her flesh. She hissed, a low inhuman sound, and began to crawl towards the doorway and the safety of the church interior.

In Monica's unnatural gaze, Nikki saw past the layers of agony to the child deep within—a lost and lonely child, desperate for hope and love. Me , she thought , if it hadn't been for Jake and MacEwan. She stepped forward to help Monica, but the fire in her brain intensified. Gasping, Nikki dropped to her knees. There was nothing she could do—nothing but watch Monica die. Tears ran down her cheeks when she met the teenager's gaze. Deep in the blue depths of her eyes, Nikki saw the sudden flash of understanding—and hate.

"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?"