Miranda stuck out her tongue, and Faith saw a bright red cut. “How did you do that?”
She reached into her pocket and withdrew a familiar knife—carved into the shape of a bird of prey with an ebony handle and a folding blade serrated along its lower half. Miranda flicked her wrist and the blade snapped out, shining and lethal.
“There was blood on it,” she explained. “I licked it.”
Faith stared at her. “Jesus.”
“I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I saw the blood, and I just . . . needed it.”
“And how did you feel after that?”
“Aside from the fact that my tongue was bleeding? Wonderful, for a minute. Then I got freaked out and took a Xanax.”
“Can’t say I blame you. Look, Miranda, I know you feel like hell now, but as long as you eat and rest you should be much better tomorrow. You’ll probably feel better than you have in your life.”
“Does turning into a vampire suck like this?”
“Oh, it’s much worse. But if it’s done right you’re not aware of most of it. Right now the problem isn’t that so much as whose blood you drank—for one thing, the stronger your sire, the faster and more intense the change. For another, the two of you already had a connection, so this deepened it, and now you’re going through withdrawal.”
“God, how pathetic,” Miranda muttered. “I’m pining. I’m actually pining.”
“It could be worse. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to be turned by someone who loves us. Imagine if your sire forced you, then abandoned you, without even telling you the rules you had to live by.”
Miranda’s eyes widened in sympathetic horror. “Is that what happened to you?”
“No. That’s what happened to David.”
“God.” Miranda took a long drink from the half-empty water bottle at her elbow. “Did you love your sire?”
“No. I paid her. I loved the boy I changed for . . . but as it turned out, he didn’t love me, at least not for very long.” Faith sighed. “Remember how I said love wasn’t a good reason to become a vampire? I spoke from experience.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. And in the end, I was grateful. All of that misery brought me here, to the life I feel I was meant to lead. I just hope it’s easier for you.” She gave Miranda a long, searching look. “Are you sure . . .”
“Yes,” Miranda said, and despite the weariness in her voice there was also determination. “I never expected it to be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is.” She took another bite of her burrito, then set the plate down, looking a little nauseated. “I know that if I do this, I’ll be where I belong . . . and everything I’ve been through will have some meaning.”
“Well, you’re going to need to make some arrangements—once you two decide when exactly you’re coming back, you’ll need to clear your schedule for a couple of weeks. You may have to stop performing—”
“No,” Miranda cut her off. “Music is the only thing that’s gotten me through all these years. My career’s just getting started. I’m not giving it up.”
Faith smiled at her. “You will need to take some time off, though. Even once the change is complete you’ll need time to adjust. So you might want to start talking to your manager about it now—invent some kind of surgery, maybe.”
“Good idea. Everyone dealt with my vanishing once. I don’t want to do that to them again.” Miranda looked thoughtful, and faintly dismayed. “I’m going to have to figure out what to tell Kat.”
“What cat?”
Miranda laughed. “Not a cat. Kat. She’s a friend of mine. I’m sure Lindsay has reported my going out with her a lot.”
“Oh, right—the woman with the dreadlocks. Yes, we know about her. And about the boy.”
“You mean Drew? I’m not so sure he’ll be coming around anymore. He probably won’t want to anyway. I think David scared the piss out of him.”
“I’m shocked,” Faith said wryly. “What did he do?”
“Threatened to kill him.”
“Of course,” Faith said. “How romantic. So, tell me more about this whole thing—what happened? After all that ‘I have to stay away for her own good’ bullshit, how did you two end up snacking on each other?”
Miranda got that dreamy look back in her eyes and pulled her knees up to her chin. “How much detail do you want?”
“Everything—just do me a favor and stay away from words like throbbing and turgid.”
She snorted. “Fine, but I will say this: Remember what you said about Hades being spectacular in bed?”
“Yes.”
“Well . . .” She turned bright pink. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Sunday evening Miranda woke all at once, with no eye-rubbing transition to wakefulness, and stared blinking at her bedroom ceiling for a full minute before she realized she could see in the dark.
The room was never a hundred percent black despite the heavy curtains—and layer of cardboard—she’d hung over the two windows; a little light always came in through the edges of the door. Still, she had never abandoned her nocturnal habits from the Haven, so she wanted it good and dark in her room during the day to let her sleep; usually the first thing she did once the sun was down was to snap on the bedside lamp so she didn’t have to blunder around and knock her shins on things.
This time, she opened her eyes to find that it was unusually bright, yet she knew nothing had changed while she slept. The light level in the room was the same as always . . . but she could see. Everything was blue and lavender and gray, but perfectly distinct.
She sat up and looked around, fascinated. She could read the spines of books across the room. She could read the print on the electric bill she’d tossed carelessly on her desk.
Her mouth went dry with momentary fear. Was this normal? Had she . . .
She got out of bed and walked, without stubbing her toe once, into the bathroom, where she didn’t have to turn on the light to see herself in the mirror.
She was still in the mirror. That was something.
David had said her senses would fluctuate. Was this how vampires saw? Everything was sharp and clear, and it was almost as if some things were more than three-dimensional.
Once she got over the newness of it and relaxed into the difference, she found she liked it. It was certainly going to come in handy reading music in dimly lit clubs.
She stripped off her pajamas—Mickey was getting pretty rank—and turned on the shower, and again found she was mesmerized, this time by the water raining down from the showerhead. If she concentrated, she could see individual droplets and watch the path each one took down the drain.
Shaking herself out of it, she got into the shower, but when she went to lather up her mesh bath sponge, the smell of her lavender body wash was so intense she nearly threw up. She capped the bottle and rummaged around in the miscellaneous half-used toiletries that cluttered her shower shelf, coming up with a travel-sized container of organic unscented soap that Kat had left when she spent the night back in January.
It still had a smell, but it was tolerable. She soaped herself up and, after considering her shampoo selection, used the same stuff for her hair.
Drowsy from the heat and steam, she wrapped herself in her bathrobe and wandered into the kitchen.
On the street outside a car alarm suddenly went off, and she shrieked and dove back into the hallway, hands clamped over her ears. Pain ricocheted off the inside of her skull.
She stared blindly into the fridge for a while. Nothing was remotely appetizing. She’d asked Faith to throw the pizza in the Dumpster when she left, and though there was technically plenty of food, she didn’t want any of it. The thought of eating made her stomach churn.
She settled for some saltine crackers and a bottle of Vitamin Water.
Her phone rang; she jumped again but this time didn’t panic. The ring wasn’t nearly as loud as the car outside had been. Her phone was where she’d left it on the table.<
br />
She saw who it was, and her heart leapt.
“Hi,” she said.
“How are you?” David asked.
“Better. But I can see in the dark.”
A pause. “You can?”
“Yeah. Everything’s blue. Is that normal?”
She heard him take a deep breath. “Not exactly. I think it’s another sign that we overdid it.”
“If you say so. I think it’s kind of neat, actually. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”
He laughed. “You are a rare woman.”
“I’m something, all right.” She sat on the couch, the sound of his voice making her toes curl, and said, “I wish you were here.”
“So do I.”
“When will you be?”
A sigh. “I can’t get away until Friday—perhaps I could come by after your show.”
“I’d like that.” Almost an entire week; she’d stand it somehow. “How are you feeling?”
The humor returned. “Apparently I’m giddy. The Elite are finding me rather obnoxious.”
“You, giddy?”
“Relatively speaking, I’m sure.”
She heard something beep, and he said, “Damn. I have to go—I’m in the middle of recalibrating part of the network, and I had a minute while it was running. I just wanted to check on you. And hear your voice.”
“I’m glad you called.”
“I’ll talk to you soon—perhaps even later tonight if you’re awake. I love you.”
She knew she was grinning like a fool, and she didn’t care. “I love you, too.”
They hung up. Miranda was thankful that the withdrawal seemed to have faded; she didn’t feel like crying this time.
In fact, overall, she felt fantastic. The weakness had left her body, and she wanted to get up and do something, preferably something that involved a lot of running. She didn’t have another scheduled session with Sophie until Tuesday, and she had gigs on Wednesday on through the end of the week, leaving her at loose ends at least for the night. She was pretty sure Kat would want to get together tomorrow.
She should go out and get something to eat. Perhaps being at a restaurant, with the smells of food around her, would stimulate her appetite; part of her resistance to eating was the idea of cooking. She could go to Kerbey and have all the pancakes she wanted.
Mind made up, she got dressed and pulled on her jacket. When she looked at herself in the mirror again, she had to smile. Her color had returned, mostly, and she looked awake. There was knowing in her eyes. She looked like a woman with a secret.
Outside, Austin was fairly quiet; there was little traffic, pedestrian or vehicular, and she was glad. As it was, the noise and fuss were a bit too much at first, but she stayed calm and kept breathing. The streetlights hurt her eyes—how did the Elite run around town without sunglasses on?
A fingernail moon hung in the sky, and she could taste the change of seasons in the air: wildflowers blooming, trees leafing out, everything had a scent that registered to her both all at once and individually.
It wasn’t until she was on the bus that things started unraveling. There were only a few other passengers, and she took a seat in the very back a few rows away from a middle-aged woman in a shabby coat. As she passed, she could smell each person strongly; several had pretty intense body odor problems, and the only one who wasn’t repellent was the woman herself, who smelled like old age and rose petals.
Old age had a smell? Miranda concentrated, and sniffed the air again. Sure enough, the woman smelled like a grandmother, and it was familiar enough—slightly musty, a little sweet. The scent had layers that her mind picked out one by one.
The woman was tired and had sore feet, but she was in good health. Miranda stared at her hard, her eyes fixing on the pale wrinkled skin, and on the faint blue tracings of veins in her neck. She listened . . . she could hear the woman’s heart beating . . . air rushing in and out of her lungs . . . the quiet click of her bones against each other as she flexed her arthritic fingers . . . the vein throbbed, and Miranda felt the roof of her mouth start to itch, then burn.
She was hungry. Her stomach growled loudly, startling her, and also startling the object of her obsession, who looked up at her angrily when she realized she was being stared at.
“Sorry,” Miranda muttered. She couldn’t breathe. She yanked the stop cord, and as soon as the bus pulled over she practically bolted down the steps and back into the cool night air.
She grabbed a lamppost and leaned on it heavily, panting.
A man walked by, and her head snapped up at the smell of him. Cancer. In his prostate. He would taste wrong. Gamy.
The couple across the street—the woman was pregnant. Twins. The man was fucking her sister. She could smell sex on him, and the woman he had been inside was related to his wife but not her. She was smiling, talking animatedly about . . . cribs. Their conversation was as loud as it would be two feet away.
Car exhaust. Garbage. Horns honking. A baby crying. Cigarette smoke. Music from a bar three blocks away.
Miranda tried to shield again, but this time it couldn’t help; what she was feeling wasn’t psychic, it was physical. Her hearing and sense of smell had quadrupled at least, and there was no way to block that out except to find someplace silent and safe.
She looked around, trying to get her bearings. She was less than half a mile from home and there was no way in hell she was getting back on a bus. She’d just have to walk, and deal with it.
This was what it was like . . . this was what she had to look forward to. How long would it take her to get used to the overload? Was it just affecting her like this because she was still human and her body and mind were too weak to handle it?
She had to handle it. She wasn’t going to change her mind. It was going to be hard, but she would deal. There was too much at stake to be defeated by these first baby steps.
Steeling herself and straightening her spine, she began the walk home.
“You know,” Deven said, “my Consort is rather put out with you.”
David leaned back in his seat, watching the night landscape out the car window. They would be back at the Haven in ten minutes or less. “Is he, now,” he said into the phone.
The tone of Deven’s voice suggested that Jonathan had been making an issue of his dire predictions for some time now. “He remains convinced that you’re going to get this Miranda killed.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” David replied. “I’m going to bring her across.”
The Prime on the other end of the line sighed resignedly. “I’ll spare you reminders of what a huge responsibility that is, and how badly it went the last time.”
“This is different. She’s sure, and I’m sure. In fact, she won’t take no for an answer. Besides, weren’t you in favor of this last time we spoke?”
“I’m not against the idea by any means—just cautious. It isn’t something to undertake lightly. Not to mention this woman is still fairly young, and you can be as dense as osmium sometimes. Love tends to blind us to practicalities.”
“Was that a scientific reference? Sire, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I thought perhaps if I spoke your language you might actually listen once in a while.”
David smiled. “I always listen. Then I do what I want. You know that.”
“It is one of your more infuriating qualities. But I worry about you, David.” There was a surprising earnestness in Deven’s voice—he was almost always serious, but usually with a sharp, dry wit that was notably missing now. “I want your rule to last at least as long as mine—I’ve seen too many friends die, and you . . . I’ve always thought of you as if you were my own.”
“I practically am.”
“Exactly. So bring your love over to the shadows, but be careful, both with her and with your own heart. I helped put you back together once, and I’d prefer not to have to do it again. Are you listening?”
“I am, Sire. And I’ll be car
eful. Believe me, I want to do this right.”
“Call if you need help.”
“I will.”
David replayed the conversation in his head the rest of the drive home, wondering how seriously he should take it. Jonathan’s vision hadn’t changed, but it also hadn’t recurred; and now that he knew what he and Miranda were facing together, he didn’t find it nearly as alarming. Yes, she would die; and the next night she would awaken. The fire had already happened when the insurgent base burned. He had found Miranda’s note in the book.
He thought back to his brief call to Miranda and felt renewed well-being at the memory of her voice. He would see her in a few days, and he was contemplating telling her that they should aim for the full moon to bring her back to the Haven. That would give her a week to settle her affairs for the time being. He was sure she’d want to be back onstage as soon as possible, but it would be two weeks, minimum, before he was comfortable with her going out into the city, even with bodyguards. Ideally he’d like to keep her close for a month to be sure she was strong enough. This was not something to take chances with.
Most vampires were born on a cruel whim or out of some romantic idiocy involving “eternal love,” which tended not to last past the first decade. Real partnerships most often arose between vampires that were unrelated—that first blush of infatuation between sire and offspring was an ephemeral thing. Older vampires, especially Primes, almost never brought over a human for any reason; their power meant that their progeny had the potential to take Signets themselves, and they were usually loath to sire their own competition.
Harlan pulled the car up to the curb, and the Prime disembarked, looking, for a moment, up at the Haven, his home . . . her home. Even with her gone, the place had been stamped with her presence. Faith and several of the other guards of his wing had reported that, more than once, they’d been sure they saw her out of the corner of an eye.
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