"We have?” She stared at the knob and saw the slight shimmer. Then she remembered where she'd seen something similar and groaned. “Not a damn devil spawn."

"Afraid so."

"Why would he risk calling forth a wraith as dangerous as that to protect a door in an old church?"

"I suspect we'll have the answer to that once we get the door open.” He released her hand, and squatted in front of the door, studying the knob. “The magic binding the spawn isn't recent. It's been here for quite a while."

"How can you tell something like that?"

Amusement played around his lips as he glanced up at her. “I've been hanging around old witches for more years than I care to remember. You pick up on these things.” He rose and headed for the stack of pews sitting in the corner. “I'm afraid there's only one way to spring the trap."

"Is there only one devil spawn bound to that door?"

"Probably."

"So where's the other one?” Devil spawn came as a pair. If Dunleavy had called one, he would have gotten two.

"Who knows. It could be in the room beyond this door. It could be protecting Dunleavy, or it could be anywhere.” He grabbed the top pew and hauled it down.

"That's a cheery thought,” she muttered, stepping away from the door. With a grunt of effort, Michael hefted the big old wooden pew and tossed it at the door. It hit with a crash that was almost deafening. The door buckled and splintered under the force of the impact. As the pew fell, the wood hit the handle. For a second, nothing happened. Then a scream bit across the silence, a wail so high pitched it was almost inaudible. Goose bumps fled across her flesh, and she rubbed her arms, stepping back again. She knew what was coming, and she didn't want to be anywhere near the pew when it arrived.

Steam began to pour from the metal, steam that glittered like diamonds in the thin strands of sunlight streaming in from the nearby window. It boiled, convulsed, and somehow found form. Found life. Became a flimsy, white-sheeted creature with rows of wickedly sharp teeth and soulless eyes. Her mouth went dry. She'd gotten too close to one of these things in Jackson Hole and still bore the scars on her calf.

The creature wrapped its flimsy gowns along the length of the pew and screamed again. There was a sharp retort, a bright flash, and then the devil spawn—and the pew—were gone. Dunleavy had obviously ordered the creature to destroy whatever touched the handle—which was exceedingly lucky for them. Water was the only thing that could stop or deter the spawns, and there wasn't much of that to be found here in the church.

"One down, one to go,” she muttered, rubbing her arms again. “Do you think the spell will reset itself?"

"Spawns are usually only set the one task. They aren't the brightest of creatures.” He looked at her.

“You can't sense anything else in the room beyond this door?" She shook her head. “But that doesn't mean anything. I didn't sense the first spawn until we got closer to it, either."

"True."

He reached for the door handle. She watched, her heart in mouth, as his fingers wrapped around it. Nothing happened. The door creaked open to reveal a very small, and very empty room. Well, empty except for dust.

He stepped inside, and she followed, crowding close to his back and peering over his shoulder.

“Nothing's here."

"Something's here,” he countered.

"What?"

"I don't know.” His voice held an edge of frustration. “The damn runes on my back are interfering." She grunted and moved past him. Under normal circumstances, she'd be the one feeling the evil. But the circle around this town had snatched that ability away, along with her kinetic skills. While some of those skills somehow seemed to have leached to Michael, surely if she got close enough to whatever was hiding in this room, she'd feel it. After all, she'd sensed who—what—was with her in the Circle's test room, and according to Camille, that shouldn't have been possible. She reached out, skimming her fingers in front of, but not actually touching, the walls. After she'd done two walls, she was beginning to think this was a fool's errand. Then energy lightly caressed her fingers.

"Here,” she said, leaning closer. “There's something here." The wall was badly plastered, the paint cracked and peeling and covered in dust. It looked solid, as if it hadn't been touched in ages. Only the slight shimmer in the air—a shimmer that was similar and yet different to the sort of energy that the devil spawn gave off—gave away the fact that something other than dust was here.

Michael's shoulder brushed hers as he leaned beside her. “I can't see anything."

"Maybe that's because the magic is telling you not to."

"Possibly.” He straightened. “I'll fetch another pew, and we'll see what happens." She stepped back. “I doubt it's another spawn. Doesn't feel the same."

"It could be some other type of wraith. Or demon. Dunleavy's a sorcerer, so he has a supermarket of evil to choose from."

"Now there's a comforting thought,” she said, rubbing her arms again. He came back in carrying a two-seat pew. “Stand back."

She did. He lifted the pew and tossed it end first at the wall. It hit with a crack that sounded like half the wall had shattered under the impact. The shimmer in the air grew brighter, and the pew kept on going—disappearing right through the wall.

"What the hell...?” She scooted over. The wall looked solid, unmarked. So where the hell did the pew go? “What happened?"

"Either the magic consumed it, or the magic is hiding something. Like another door. Try one of your knives."

She flicked the damaged blade down into her palm and cautiously eased it into the shimmer. Wisps of lightning crawled away from the knife, revealing what lay underneath the spell. Another door. Or the pieces of one. The pew had split the old door in half and both sections were flopping limply towards the deeper darkness haunting the space beyond.

She met Michael's gaze. “Why would Dunleavy be hiding this door?"

"I suspect we'll find the answer by investigating what lay beyond the door.” He raised a hand, tentatively touching the shimmery air. Flickers of light crawled away from his flesh. “It's a concealing spell, nothing more."

"The front door was padlocked, and no one's been in here for ages.” She hesitated, remembering the dust dancing through the sunlight.

"Dunleavy could easily have gotten the key,” Michael replied, obviously following her thoughts. “He has control of the rangers, remember. And since he had a devil spawn protecting the door to this room, there has to be something worth guarding down there."

"So we're going in?"

"We are. But me first."

She grinned. “I must be psychic. I just knew you were going to say that." He chuckled softly, brushed a kiss across her lips, then stepped through the shimmery air. “There's steps,” he said after a moment. “Only two or three of them, by the look of it." She stepped through the shimmer. Energy crawled across her skin, stinging like ants before fading away. The darkness crowding the room beyond the doorway gave way as her vampirelike night sight came on-line. There were shapes in the darkness below them, but she couldn't quite make out what they were.

“Looks as if there's a bit of a drop to the ground."

"Maybe.” He shifted, putting one foot on the first step, testing it before he put his full weight on it. He did the same with the next one. “They seem fairly secure."

He stepped onto the next one, but it was one step too many. With a splintering crack, the old wooden step gave way, and he dropped like stone into the darkness.

Chapter Thirteen

Michael hit the ground with enough force to jar just about every bone in his body. For a second, he lay on his back and listened to the silence.

Other than the odd scuttling beetle, there didn't seem to be anything down here with him.

"Michael?” Nikki appeared above him, her body backlit by the sunlight in the room behind her, making her blonde hair appear a more natural brown.

He blinked. Nikki ?

Emotion flooded the link, wrapping him so tightly in joy and love that for a moment he couldn't even breathe. Not that he actually needed to.

You remembered!

Finally. He grimaced. I'm sorry it took me so long . Better late than never. You hurt?

No. He pushed to his feet and looked around. The room was small and square, the walls bare rock. Old wooden shelves lined the wall near what was the stairs. They were filled with an assortment of old cans, bottles, and other whatnots.

On the opposite side of the room, what looked like another storage area had been carved into the rock itself, and in this sat a long wooden box. Unlike the shelving, the box looked brand new. He looked up at Nikki. It's not much of a jump. You want to come down or not?

How will I get back up?

I'll boost you.

Then I'll come down.

She knelt on the second step and climbed over the edge, hanging by her fingertips for several seconds before she let go. He steadied her as she hit the ground, keeping her upright. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. It was a kiss he was more than ready to return. Welcome back, she thought when they finally parted.

He smiled. I'm not sure all my memories have returned, but at least now I can call you something more than woman.

Thank God. She turned around, scanning the room in the same careful manner he had. What's that? She pointed towards the box. Flames leapt across her fingers as she did so, throwing warm light across the darkness.

I don't know yet. It seems to be lined inside, because I can't see past the wood. He walked over to the alcove. The box was about six feet long, made of rough-hewn planks, and was hinged and locked at the top.

You know, she said, a touch of uncertainty running through her mind voice. That looks an awful lot like a coffin.

The graveyard is on the outskirts of town. They wouldn't be burying the dead in the church cellar. Yet he had to agree with her—it did look an awful lot like a coffin. He grabbed the old padlock and felt energy run across his fingertips. Some kind of magic protected whatever was inside the box.

Stand back, he warned. Just in case .

She stepped back. He tightened his grip and pulled back as hard as he could, wrenching the lock away from the box.

No magic, she said, relief evident. In the heat of her flames, her eyes appeared to glow a rich, warm gold.

There's magic inside. He undid the clasp and carefully lifted the lid. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but it really wasn't a body.

Ohmigod, she said, peering past him. It's Weylin.

Emmett, not Weylin, he said grimly, recognizing the small differences. The fatter cheeks, the scar near the eye. The sour, almost petulant, look to his mouth.

Her eyes widened. But Emmett's been dead for close to a hundred years! He can't possibly be this well preserved!

He can, and is, with the aid of magic. He skimmed his hand across the top of the box. Power crawled across his skin, stinging like bees.

But—She hesitated, the horror in her amber eyes stronger. Why?

The soul needs a proper house. In this case, it's original body. She swallowed convulsively. How could Weylin have maintained the spell all these years?

It would take regular sacrifices. He glanced at the floor. In the light of the fire dancing across her fingers, it appeared to be nothing more than dirt, but when he switched to vampire vision, the stains of old blood leapt to life.

There was no sign of a pentagram, but then, it would be easy enough to draw one in the dirt. But maybe he didn't need one. The old legends about vampires not being able to enter holy ground had some basis in truth—because some evil couldn't enter. The devil spawn was here only because it had been summoned by someone within the confines of the church. For the most part, evil tended to avoid churches.

Are you sure Weylin intends to use the sacrifice site in the Standard Mine to perform his ceremony later tonight?

She nodded. That's where Emmett died. That's were he must be brought back to life. Or so Seline told me . Her gaze rested on his. Why?

Because he's been doing sacrifices here for many years. I was just wondering if he'd risk moving his brother's bod—

He cut the words off as an odd sort of hissing filled the silence. His gut clenched, and he knew without looking what that hissing would be. Grabbing Nikki's arm, he ignored the flame that jumped from her flesh to his, but didn't burn. He yanked her behind him as he slowly turned around. Yellow-tinged smoke billowed into existence in the corner of the small room, curling through the darkness with unnatural heaviness.

The second devil spawn. He should have known it would be down here somewhere. He pressed his hand against Nikki's stomach, keeping her behind him but forcing her backwards. What do we do?

Her fear crowded his mind, becoming his own. Though in his case, it was fear more for her than himself. Get out.

It'll come after us the minute we make any sudden movement, and we don't have anything to protect ourselves here.

Nothing stops a spawn. Not until it hits something to consume. Water can repel it, and water can also contain it.

Her voice was so matter-of-fact he glanced over his shoulder at her. How do you know?

She grimaced . Um ... I didn't tell you about my encounter with the second spawn in Jackson Hole, did I?

No. Though it does explain the burn scars on your calf. The ones you kept waving away as not being important.

Hey, I obviously lived, so it didn't matter. There was a slight thud as her back hit the shelf, and tin rattled. Is there anything big enough on these shelves to satisfy the hunger of the spawn?