"Yes. When we get near his office, I want you to bust open his door. There'll be some sort of sensor in the frame—take that out, too."

She raised an eyebrow. “And maybe take out a computer or two as well? Give him something extra to worry about?"

He squeezed her shoulders. “The more worried he is, the better it is for us." They were nearing Cordell's office. She looked up. Four cameras were trained on his door. The guy was definitely a nut case. Why would anyone in their right mind think they needed four cameras and an alarmed door? His office wasn't Fort Knox, for Christ's sake.

She shook her head and reached for kinetic energy. Glancing at the first camera, she ripped it sideways. Plaster flew in a cloud, raining down on a couple coming the other way. The woman screamed and jumped backwards, her eyes wide as she stared up at the ceiling. Nikki quickly repeated the process, until all four cameras swung limply from their wiring.

Now the door, Michael said.

She glanced at it sideways and pushed hard. The door flew off its hinges and smashed into two computers at the far end of the office. Sparks and glass flew everywhere. There was wiring running along one edge of the door frame. She ripped it free, tossing the strands back into the room with the door. Men in blue suits came running from all directions. Power surged, burning her skin and spreading like a wave through the corridor. The other couple were grabbed by security, but no one came near them. It was as if they didn't exist.

She glanced at Michael. Maybe they didn't.

They walked on. There was a different woman manning the health center desk, but like the guards in the corridor, she gave no indication that she even saw them. They hurried past her. It was only when they were nearing the treatment rooms that the wash of energy slipped away. Only to be replaced by the burning sensation of evil.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Her stomach tied itself into knots. She stopped, looking around. The corridor was quiet—still. The lighting had been dimmed in this section of the health center, and shadows haunted the far corners. But nothing lurked within them, waiting to attack. Whatever it was she sensed, it was coming from the treatment room. From the door itself.

The door Michael was reaching out to open.

"No!” She thrust him away kinetically. He hit the wall opposite with a grunt, then slid to an ungainly heap to the floor. She ran to help him.

"I gather you have a good reason for doing that,” he said, rubbing a hip as he climbed to his feet. “But next time, try to give me a little more warning."

"Sorry. Something's wrong with the door handle.” It was stupid, really, being so afraid of something as inane as a door handle, but she couldn't help it.

"Wrong how?” He stopped a foot or so away from the door and studied it intently.

"It's evil.” She stopped beside him. This close, she could see the slight shimmer surrounding the doorknob.

She half expected him to laugh, but he didn't. “Magic,” he murmured. “But what sort?"

"I don't know, and I don't care to find out. I think we'd be better off using the other entrance." He squatted on his heels. “If they're using magic to guard this door, then the other will also have security. Go fetch me that chair, will you?"

He pointed vaguely down the corridor. She did as he asked. “What are you going to do?” She put the chair next to him.

"This.” He rose and nudged the chair with his foot, pushing it toward the handle. The back of the chair hit the doorknob. For an instant, nothing happened. Then something screamed, a high pitched wail that chased goose bumps across her flesh. Nothing living made a sound like that. Steam began to pour from the metal, convulsing, condensing as it found form—found life. It became a flimsy, white-sheeted creature with rows of wickedly sharp teeth and soulless eyes. Michael held her elbow, his grip tight enough to bruise—tight enough to hold her still and keep her from running. She licked dry lips. Energy tingled at her fingertips, but she didn't release her weapon. She wasn't even sure if kinetic energy would affect something that was little more than smoke. The creature wrapped its flimsy gowns around the chair and screamed again. There was a sharp retort, like the backfire of a car, then the smoke and the chair were gone.

"What the hell was that?” Her throat was so tight with fear that her question came out hoarse. "Devil spawn. They're a form of wraith. That one had obviously been set to destroy whatever touched the handle."

She shivered and rubbed her arms. “So if you'd touched that doorknob, you would now be wherever that chair is."

He glanced at her. “I wouldn't be anywhere. I'd be dead, consumed by the spawn. How does the door feel now?"

She looked at it. There was no sense of evil. Still ... She thrust the pent-up energy toward the door, opening it. No alarm sounded. No sharp-teethed bits of smoke flew out to greet them. The room was dark and still. She could sense nothing more than muskiness. Even so, she shivered. She had a feeling Cordell wouldn't stop at just the door. There would be other traps waiting for them in the darkness of the caverns.

"It's safe,” she murmured, trying to ignore the churning in her stomach. Michael tugged her into the room and closed the door. Furniture gleamed at her, ice bright in the darkness.

"What about the next door?” he said.

She glanced at the wall. “Safe. Maybe Cordell didn't expect anyone to get past that wraith."

"Maybe.” There was doubt in his voice. “It takes a lot of power to dominate a spawn like that—and they usually work in pairs."

"So there's another one lurking around somewhere?"

He nodded, his face a mask of concentration as he probed the wall with his fingers. After a few seconds, he punched a hole into the plaster and pulled out some wiring. “Want to hunt around for scissors or something?"

She moved across to the drawers. Three were empty, but the fourth was a treasure chest—not only scissors, but several sharp knives, as well. She handed one knife to Michael, then grabbed the other. It was shiny and pointed, the sort of knife doctors used in surgery. It wasn't anywhere near as balanced as her throwing knives but it was better than nothing. She hunted around until she found some sticky tape, and attached the knife to her jeans. If she just shoved it in her pocket, the knife might well cut through everything—her jeans and her skin.

Michael sliced the wires then opened the door into the caverns. No alarm sounded—but it hadn't the first time, either. He offered her the second knife, and she taped it to her other leg. And felt just a little safer for it.

Once more, they entered the cavern and climbed down the stairs. The door slid shut behind them, and the darkness became complete.

Where to first? She shifted from one foot to the other, not wanting to stand here any longer than necessary. At least if they were moving they were harder targets to hit. Though why she thought they would be targets merely standing here, she couldn't say. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the sense of chilled expectation in the dank air. Power shimmered around her again. Michael, searching the darkness, trying to find some sign of life in this blanket of night.

We'll try the left tunnel this time. There's a faint heartbeat coming from that direction. She bit her lip, gaze searching the blackness. Human or otherwise?

Human. He led the way forward again. It's too steady to be a vampire. Can you sense any vampires?

He squeezed her hand lightly . Not yet. And I don't think it's vampires we'll have to worry about. Oh great. She tried to ignore the goose bumps crawling across her skin. So how do you kill a demon spawn?

It's usually better to stay out of their way.

Cordell may not make that possible. Her sarcasm bit through the link but was swallowed swiftly by the warmth of his smile.

I guess not. Spawn are difficult to kill. They are creations of magic and fire, and as such are immune to both.

Well, considering neither of us have fire or magic at our disposal, it doesn't really matter, does it?

No. Water repels them. Silver can kill them. And we don't have those, either. Which is why I suggested we try to stay out of their way.

Let's just hope Cordell lets us.

Yes.

They continued on through the darkness. The air became almost dead, as if this section of the caverns wasn't used much. In the distance she could hear the gentle splash of water, a peaceful sound that somehow increased her edginess.

How much farther?

Not far.

The air stirred, whisking heat across her skin. She jumped sideways and bit down on her yelp. Fire leapt across her fingertips, lightning bright in the darkness.

Tension flowed through the link. Nikki, what's wrong?

Something touched me.

She stared into the darkness, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. Yet something had trailed across her skin—her cheek still burned with the heat of its touch.

I don't see anything.

Neither did she. But that didn't mean there wasn't something there. He tugged her forward again. She licked dry lips, gaze sweeping the darkness.

In the distance, light flared and became an incandescent jewel that gleamed brightly in the darkness. Michael, a flame imp is here with us. Did it intend to help or hinder them? Had the flame imp meant to burn her, or was it merely catching her attention?

Where?

Ahead. Can't you see the pearl of light?

His frown slid down the link. No, I can't .

Ginger had warned her this would happen. She'd said that even Cordell couldn't see them—he could only feel their power. It's about twenty feet in front of us . Its light glowed a gentle gold across the cavern walls, whisking brightness from wall to wall, gleaming brightly off the thin strand of wire stretched taut across the path. She stopped and yanked Michael backwards. Trip wire . She pulled her flashlight from her pocket and shined the beam on the wire.

How in the hell did you see that? I couldn't, and I was using my vampire vision. He squatted, intently studying the wire, then the cracked cavern walls on either side. The flame imp showed me.

So they're on our side?

She glanced at the pearl. It was hovering near a slight curve in the tunnel, its shade a green-tinged blue—colors that hinted at sadness. But why were the flame imps sad? Had another of their number died?

Cordell's killing them. We're their only hope.

He nodded absently, then reached over the wire and gently pressed his fingers against the ground on the other side. Something clicked. For a second, nothing happened, then there was a sigh of air and stakes stabbed in from either side of the wall. Michael fell backwards, barely avoiding having his arm skewered.

"Cordell's playing with us.” He rose and dusted off his jeans. Though there was a touch of amusement in his voice, anger stirred through the link. “Those stakes were never meant to kill us." They certainly looked deadly enough. She frowned at him. “What makes you think that?" "Two things.” He began snapping the stakes, creating a hole for them to walk through. “First off, the wire is attached to nothing more than rock. It was meant as a warning not a trigger. Second, the delay between pressing the real trigger and the stakes stabbing in was enough that we would have been safely past."

She rubbed her eyes. “But that doesn't make sense. Why would he do something like that? Why play games?"

"I don't know.” He captured her hand again, his fingers so warm compared to hers. “Let's continue." They stepped past the broken stakes and the pressure plate and continued down the tunnel. The flame imp kept its distance, hovering a good twenty feet away. Muted light fanned across the walls, enough to see but not clearly. She kept the flashlight's beam trained on the ground, just in case Cordell had more trip wires waiting.

The sound of water splashing became clearer. It seemed quite strong—a stream more than just water dripping off damp rocks. The cold was increasing, reaching icy fingers through her skin to chill her bones. She shivered, wishing she'd worn something warmer than a cotton sweater. They rounded the curve in the tunnel. Ahead was a heavily padlocked wooden door. The flame imp hovered above it, but its color was still dark, and it was difficult to see. Rodeman? She asked.

Behind the door. He stopped, eyeing it with a frown. This is too easy. Maybe Cordell is simply overconfident. Even as she spoke the words, she knew they weren't true. Cordell wasn't a fool. Angry and somewhat demented, yes, but no fool. There would be traps waiting here somewhere.

Maybe. Wait here.

He released her hand. She bit her lip and fought the instinctive urge to reach for him again, to tell him not to leave her. Instead, she clenched her fingers and felt the tingle of energy flow across her skin. Tension rode his shoulders as he tested each step. But he reached the door without incident, and she sighed in relief.

Rodeman's inside. Drugged, by the feel of it. He skimmed his fingers across the door frame. Anyone, or anything, else?

Not that I can see. You?

Nothing. And it didn't feel right. It had been far too easy to get this far. There had to be some sort of trap here somewhere. Had to be.

She again rubbed her arms. The chill air had settled deep inside, and her bones were beginning to ache. Michael finished his inspection then reached for the door handle. Turning it quickly, he thrust his shoulder against the wood, shattering the lock and pushing the door open. Kinetic ability was somewhat superfluous when you had the strength of a vampire, she thought. He squatted on his heels, studying the ground.

She moved up behind him. The cell wasn't dark. A lone candle sat in one corner. In the wash of its flickering light she could see the end of a metal-framed bed and a foot encased in a shiny leather shoe. A rope was looped around his ankle and tied to the bed.