Shadowflame

by Dianne Sylvan

  “I talked to Deven,” Miranda said, falling into step beside David.

  The Prime gave her a once-over. “I don’t see any blood, so I assume it went well?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  They walked together along the main street of the Shadow District downtown, while all around them the usual hubbub of a Saturday night in the city flashed and bumped and laughed from the open doors of bars and clubs. The vampires of Austin were out in droves tonight, and though most avoided the Pair’s gaze and simply bowed as they passed by, a few made eye contact and called greetings.

  David paused here and there to visit with club owners or other businesspeople in the area and in some cases introduced her to people she hadn’t had the chance to meet; even those who looked at her with some suspicion were friendly to her face, and she tried to be as gracious as possible to lure them into thinking her harmless. She preferred the element of surprise.

  Clearly some of them had heard about Hart and kept their distance from her or spoke very vaguely about their business dealings, in case she should deem them immoral or illegal on a whim. Miranda found that hilarious but held her tongue.

  Between visits she told David more about her conversation with the Prime. “I still can’t say I like him . . . but I understand him a little better now. I just wish he weren’t so fatalistic—especially about God.”

  David looked at her and said curiously, “I didn’t realize you were religious.”

  “I’m not, really. I never really felt called to that kind of thing except for some experiments in college. But Deven is different. He needs that belief. If he could find it again, he might be able to finally heal—he’s spent seven centuries as a miserable bastard because he lost his faith.”

  The Prime nodded. “I agree with you. But I don’t think it’s totally lost; I just think he’s been unable to reconcile what he’s seen with what he wants to believe about God. He’s been alive a very long time, beloved. His perspective is broad, yes, but it’s also deeply flawed.”

  “What did he mean when he said I had two hundred years?”

  “The longest a Prime has held a Signet was three hundred twenty years—one hundred without a Queen, two hundred twenty with her.”

  “So the truth is, even though we’re immortal because we’re vampires, we’ll still die because we’re Signet bearers.”

  “Eventually, yes. An ordinary vampire could stay out of sight, live quietly. We can’t do that. We’ll always be in the public eye, always a target for someone who wants to take our place.” David just shrugged and offered a smile. “But I have every intention of living at least that long, my darling. I hope that’s all right with you. I’m determined to see the future of society no matter how it turns out.”

  “Why? What could be so great that you’d wait three centuries to see it?”

  He looked over at her again, the uncharacteristically youthful earnestness on his face so adorable that she started to giggle. When he replied it was as if the answer should have been perfectly obvious. “Are you kidding? Vampires in space!”

  Miranda’s giggles redoubled, and she had to stop and kiss him. “I love you, you big geek.”

  After the events of the past week David had suggested it was a good time for the two of them to take a walk, making their presence known to the Shadow World, to remind everyone who was in charge. They had arranged to meet Deven and Jonathan at the Black Door, a popular hunting ground and dance club, to end the evening; the Pair would be on their way back to California the next night, their state visit officially concluded and considered a success from a diplomatic standpoint.

  Personally, though, it didn’t seem anything had concluded successfully. So far David and Deven hadn’t had any sort of serious talk about their relationship, and Miranda still wanted to punch Deven in the face. She didn’t feel at all satisfied with how things had gone, but there was no help for it; a Pair couldn’t be away from home for long without chaos breaking out in their territory.

  But, she reasoned, it wasn’t like they were getting any older. At least now David had admitted there were things to resolve instead of pretending it was all fine and dandy between him and Deven. That was a start.

  “I love this city,” David was saying, looking up at the buildings that rose on either side of them. “Its energy, its people . . . I don’t even mind the blistering summers. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished here.”

  “You should be,” she replied. “After what I’ve learned about the other Primes and what life is like in their territories—for humans and vampires alike—I can see what an amazing leader you are.”

  He smiled and put his arm around her as they walked. “And just think . . . soon the world will speak of you the same way, and our legacy together will be one of peace through strength. They’ll see our tenure as the moment when the Shadow World began to evolve past its primitive history and become something greater.”

  “Hopefully my legacy will include a string of platinum albums,” Miranda laughed. “If I can ever get this one finished.” She grew serious for a minute and said, “You know . . . I’ve learned a lot the last three months, but I think the most important thing so far is how lucky I am.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. “You and I both.”

  Miranda had never been into dance clubs—she preferred the sort of place where there was live music and less techno—but she was quite fond of the Black Door. At first it had bothered her knowing what the place was for. The term “hunting ground” wasn’t a euphemism; humans came to dance and drink, and vampires came to feed. Everything about the club drew mortals in: There was no cover charge, and drinks were deliberately priced below the Sixth Street average; the place was clean and spacious and had a huge dance floor surrounded by a second level of tables and booths. It had two bars, one above and one below, and the music was slightly quieter on the second level. It was one of the most popular clubs in Austin, found purely through word of mouth—no advertising, no website.

  What the humans didn’t know was that there was a separate entrance for vampires. A limited number were allowed in at a time, and security kept a close eye both on them and on humans leaving the club. A vampire who made any trouble was permanently barred from entry. If a human displayed any sign of injury beyond the usual fatigue and confusion of being bitten, he or she was immediately given a cab to a nearby clinic, which, of course, was also run by the Signet. Great care was taken to ensure that the mortal patrons had no reason to complain and every reason to tell their friends about the awesome place where they’d danced the night away.

  It seemed so . . . manipulative and wrong, like a factory farm, and Miranda had refused to have any part of it until David had persuaded her to go one night and she had seen firsthand how it was all managed. In any other territory things might be very different, but this was the South. The Prime would not allow his human charges to be molested. Vampires needed to feed, and the Shadow World had to remain a secret. Austin had a dense vampire population, and somehow all those vampires had to be fed discreetly; if they were unsatisfied for long, they began to get angry at the authority that kept them from killing, and that was how gangs and rebellions were born.

  They walked to the front of the human line; David used the front entrance so that everyone inside would know the Signet was in attendance. The doorman took one look at them, bowed, and unclipped the velvet rope to let them in.

  The bass began to pound its way into her body as they crossed the threshold and walked down the short hallway that led into the club. She shot David a grin, and he kissed her hand one last time before releasing her. Miranda squared off her shoulders, drew her power around her like a cloak, bolstered her shields, and strode into the club with her Signet out where every vampire would see it and know her for their Queen.

  The Black Door was packed. Only months ago the sheer weight of all those minds rubbing against hers would have sent Miranda to the ground screaming, but she was no longer human and no l
onger afraid. She nodded to the security staff as they passed; sometimes those who didn’t make the Elite but still scored high in the tryouts were offered jobs at Signet-owned establishments, and a few made their way to the Haven after proving themselves here. She recognized a few faces.

  Not far inside, Lali fell into step behind her, along with Aaron, one of the other two bodyguards. Miranda had offered Lali bereavement leave after Jake was declared dead, but Lali wouldn’t have it. Jake, she had said, was devoted to his job, and she was going to honor that devotion by doing her own. Miranda had hugged her, thanked her, and let Faith put her back on the rotation. They were going to have to assign another guard so that they’d have even pairs; Faith said she would go back over the candidates who hadn’t been picked and submit her recommendation by Monday.

  As a matter of fact, Faith was here tonight; Miranda let her gaze meander from one end of the Door’s vast space to the other, and she caught sight of Faith not far away, sipping a martini and talking with another Elite. Faith looked devastatingly gorgeous: For once she was out of uniform, in a short green dress with her hair out of its braids and pulled up on top of her head. Miranda wished, sometimes, that she could pull off the glamorous look Faith did without any apparent effort.

  Then, of course, there was Deven.

  Miranda wasn’t looking for him, but she happened to glance over at her Prime and noticed he was staring off at something. She knew without asking what that something was and followed his gaze to the dance floor.

  Sure enough, the Prime of the West was in the center of the crowd, surrounded by both men and women who seemed unable to take their eyes off him. He was currently pressed up against a petite blond woman . . . and a striking dark-haired boy of perhaps twenty. Deven was back to his usual wardrobe, this time a black jacket over a dark gray shirt, his Signet visible amid the rest of his jewelry, the allure around him as intense as it had been that night in the alley.

  The look on David’s face was unmistakable, and it filled Miranda’s heart with shards of ice: hunger. In that moment he wanted more than anything in the world to be at Deven’s side, or better yet, pinning him to the wall with deep, hard kisses.

  “I’m going to get someone to drink,” she said, not giving David time to protest as she tore herself from his side and made her way to the bar. She intended to get one of the mixed drinks that the Black Door specialized in—the kind with blood in it—but when she saw Jonathan at the bar, she decided she was more interested in getting blind drunk than anything else at the moment.

  “My Lady,” Jonathan said, raising his beer in salute. “Shiner?”

  “I think I need something a little stronger,” she replied, motioning to the bartender, who set aside the row of drinks he was making and came for her order instantly. She asked for a shot of Patrón.

  Jonathan frowned. “Tequila,” he said. “That doesn’t bode well. What’s wrong?”

  She gestured out at the dance floor. “Something about my husband dancing with someone else makes me want to rip that someone’s little pixie head off. Sorry, Jonathan. I guess I’m just not as evolved as you.”

  “Actually, he’s not,” Jonathan said, looking out at the floor. “He’s looking for you.”

  Miranda turned to see that Deven was still by himself, though now one of the sexy mortals in his bevy of admirers had two tiny holes in his neck that were swiftly closing; meanwhile, David was standing next to Faith, but his deep blue eyes were scanning the crowd, and when his eyes met Miranda’s, he broke out into a smile.

  Her heart climbed back up from where it had sunk into her feet, and she smiled back, knocked back her shot, and left the empty glass on the bar.

  Jonathan was chuckling to himself and shook his head. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Miranda. Especially when it’s totally unfounded.”

  Bristling, Miranda walked away without answering, but if he’d been a telepath her reply would have been crystal clear: Blindness isn’t particularly attractive either.

  She might be young and new to her Signet, but she was well aware that she was one of the strongest empaths among her kind, and she knew quite well there was nothing unfounded about her jealousy, becoming or otherwise. But it seemed that a certain amount of denial was just a part of the Pair’s relationship, and she wasn’t going to disillusion Jonathan. She liked him too much. If he was content to go on pretending it really didn’t bother him, well, so be it.

  But she was still glad the Pair were getting the hell out of her territory.

  When she came into view David held out his hands, and she took them, stepping up to him and then turning, slightly, to draw him out onto the floor. One of his hands slid down her back to her waist and the other up to her chin, and she put her lips up to his, claiming his mouth fiercely enough to banish, she hoped, all thought of anything . . . or anyone . . . else. She pulled him with her into the song that pounded all around them, her fingernails scratching lightly through his shirt, her teeth tugging gently on his lower lip.

  Miranda remembered once, in a philosophy class, hearing about Plato’s theory that humans once had had four arms, two heads, and four legs, but they had been split in half by the gods, and spent the rest of their lives seeking that sundered half with whom they fit so perfectly. At the time it had been a fanciful sort of story, ancient philosophy as written by Disney.

  She believed it now.

  She was exactly tall enough to rest her head on his shoulder, his arms reaching just right around her middle, hip locking into hip as if they had grown that way from the dark soil of some overgrown, night-blooming garden. She’d danced with him a dozen times and not once had there ever been any awkward bumping; he grabbed her hand and spun her away, then back, and she was laughing at the ridiculousness of such a ballroom move in the middle of a floor crowded with youngsters, but when she came back to him she fit just where she had been, and the electrical charge of that contact nearly tore a gasp from her throat.

  One hand circling her waist, he tilted her back, and she bent almost double, her hair sweeping the floor. There were, of course, people watching; if anyone in this room knew vampires existed, they knew these two, and knew that the connection between them was stronger than the forces that held atoms together and kept the moon spinning around the earth.

  She wanted desperately to drag him into a corner of the room and wrap herself around him, but as the song came to an end and his mouth found hers again, she barely had time to immerse herself in the delirium of the kiss before a familiar, and unwelcome, sound broke into the moment.

  “Damn it,” David hissed, pulling his lips away to look down at his phone.

  His gaze jerked up to her. “It’s Kat.”

  “Answer it!” Miranda felt cold dread falling as a stone into her belly.

  As David said “Star-one,” another noise shrilled out, this one a network alarm.

  “Faith!” Miranda all but yelled into her com. “I need you!”

  “Here,” the Second said, appearing beside her almost instantly. “What’s happening?”

  “Coordinates,” Miranda said to David, who was trying to call Kat back and getting no answer. He switched the screen to his view of the network sensor grid and drew a line with his finger over the screen, spinning the diagram around to match their location.

  “Not far from here,” David said. “Faith, get a team to East Seventh and Comal immediately.”

  Faith didn’t even bother replying; she simply darted away, already issuing orders into her com, her stiletto heels hitting the floor with as much purpose as her usual combat boots. Meanwhile, Miranda had her phone out and was trying to get Kat, but it kept going right to voice mail.

  Fear rose in her throat. “Kat . . . Kat . . . David, something’s wrong, we have to find her . . .”

  David pulled her off the dance floor, over to a clear space by the bar where Jonathan and Deven were drinking. Both Prime and Consort looked startled at David’s grim expression and her rapidly spiraling panic.

&nb
sp; David was still staring down at his phone. “Her signal dropped off here, but her call came half a block away, so we can assume she’s being taken north—”

  “There’s no time for your dicking around,” Deven snapped, and for once Miranda wanted to hug him. “You. Me. Mist. Now.”

  David looked up, shocked, but nodded.

  About two seconds later, the Primes had vanished into thin air.

  Miranda was still on the verge of a breakdown. “I have to get there . . . I can’t run that fast. The car won’t be here in time. Jonathan, what do I do? Kat’s in trouble, she might be dying, oh, God—”

  “You haven’t learned to Mist?” Jonathan asked, amazed. “Well, then, we’ll start right now. Grab my arm and hold tight—there’s no time for finesse, so as soon as we land be prepared to skin your knees and vomit.”

  She didn’t care about the consequences. All she could think of was getting to Kat. She seized Jonathan’s proffered arm and felt a sickening lurch . . .

  . . . and the club spun away into darkness.

  Nine

  True to Jonathan’s word, the second Miranda landed, her knees hit the concrete hard enough that she felt one of her kneecaps fracture, and she pitched forward and threw up all over the median grass.

  Then she forced herself to her feet, fighting the waves of vertigo that kept battering her from all sides as well as the pain in her knee, and tried to make sense of the scene before her.

  The first thing she saw was blood, and it nearly made her sick again, because she knew whose it was.

  “Kat!” she cried, pushing herself forward from the street into the alley. “Where is she? Kat!”

  Footsteps thundered up to Miranda’s side, and Faith grabbed her arm and steadied her. “Miranda, listen to me—you can’t help her now. Just stand back and everything will be fine.”