"Dawn's an hour off yet. I'll be stronger by then."
"But not strong enough. Damn it, Michael, you're always berating me for acting foolishly. What do you call wanting to confront Farmer when your energy levels are so low you couldn't even kill three fledglings?"
He frowned. “What happened to the fledglings?"
"I killed the remaining two. And wasn't it you who told me fledglings were more dangerous than older vamps?"
His expression was as dark as she'd ever seen it. Except perhaps that one time in the warehouse when she'd forbidden him to decapitate Monica Trevgard to stop her becoming a vampire. He might have been right then, but he wasn't now. And he knew it, even if he hadn't yet admitted it.
"If you come with us, Farmer will sense you and disappear back into the sewers. And it'll be a whole lot more dangerous for us to try to corner him there."
"So where is he meeting you?"
"In a park. He offered me a choice—Mary's life or yours. But by then, he'd already killed Mary, and I knew it."
"Farmer knows I've escaped."
"But he doesn't know I know. He'll be there."
"And he'll try to destroy you both."
"Undoubtedly. But we won't be alone. We'll have the dead to help us." He hesitated. “What are you talking about?"
"I'm reliably informed by a blind old ghost that when you pulled me back from death, one small part of me was left behind. That part allows me to walk death's plane—to see ghosts, and bring them into being."
He frowned. “I've never heard of anything like that happening before."
"How many times have you made a thrall before?"
He didn't answer. Didn't need to.
"That same old woman tells me that in giving me part of your life force, you connected our energies together. So, when I'm walking that plane, I suck energy from you. And when you're seriously hurt, you suck energy from me."
"So that's how—"
"You kept going,” she finished. “You were siphoning my energy."
"Did you feel it?"
No, she hadn't—beyond that brief time when everything had swirled. “Did you? I was walking death's plane when you were in that restaurant with Farmer. It's probably why he was able to get the better of you."
He shook his head. “He was wearing a glove with some sort of narcotic on it. It transferred when we shook hands, but I didn't realize it until it was far too late." Relief swam through her. At least she wasn't wholly responsible for him getting so badly beaten. “My point is, the minute I bring the ghosts into being, I'm going to start sucking your energy. You probably won't be able to stand, let alone walk."
He studied her for several seconds, then crossed his arms. “You asked me a couple of days ago to compromise. I'll offer one now. You and Jake go to that meeting. I'll remain in the limo—far enough away to stop Farmer sensing me, but close enough to help should things go wrong. Fair enough?" She nodded. It was certainly more than she'd expected—and offered her hope for the future.
"Now that that's finally settled,” Jake said. “Let's go get the bastard."
Chapter Seventeen
Nikki flexed her fingers and tried to ignore the chill creeping down her spine. It was one thing telling Michael she and Jake were capable of taking care of Farmer, quite another to try to do it. Jake stood beside her, his breathing a harsh rasp, his gaze never still. Not that he'd ever see Farmer approaching—not unless the vampire wished it. The slight bulge in his left sleeve gave away the presence of the charm he now wore. Nikki had taken it off, not only because Farmer needed to know she was here, but because she had a feeling Jake would need its protection far more than she. Farmer wasn't averse to taking over minds, and the last thing she wanted was to have to knock Jake unconscious to stop him from attacking her. While she had no real idea whether the charm would actually help, surely if it had stopped Farmer entering her mind, it would stop him entering Jake's. She checked to make sure the silver knives were still in place. Michael had helped her make a couple of wrist sheathes, so the blades would slip easily into her hands. They were nowhere near balanced enough and certainly wouldn't throw very well, but they were only meant as a last defense. The gun in Jake's jacket pocket would hopefully do the job—if they could distract Farmer enough to get a clear shot of his head.
The predawn air held an almost icy chill. Beyond the park, the city was beginning to stir, but the sounds were muted, as if heard through a thick pane of glass. A strange hush seemed to dominate the natural amphitheater, as if even the redwoods and eucalyptus lining the meadow held their breath in expectation. Fragile slithers of mist moved among their leaves. Ghosts, waiting for their chance of revenge. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly six. Dawn wasn't that far off—surely Farmer would need to be well underground before the sun warmed the fog from the sky.
"He anywhere close yet?” Jake murmured, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
"Not yet."
"Wish he'd hurry."