Of Shadow Born

by Dianne Sylvan

In the squalid depths of the city, he was no one; no name, no memory, no purpose except to stay alive. This much he knew: He had to feed. Neither he nor she could keep their promises until he was strong enough to survive what was coming.

  The first was a homeless man. He was old, mentally ill; it was a miracle he’d survived another winter, even one so mild as Austin’s. His blood tasted like loss. Like a family long gone, like service in war, like being left out in the cold. But it was blood, and the man died peacefully, to be found by police the next day. They wouldn’t look hard for a cause.

  The power of the man’s death wasn’t enough. It burned out quickly. There had to be more.

  One by one, he took them from the streets, choosing easy targets that, by coincidence, were those least likely to arouse suspicion. Each one helped, but by the time another day had passed, he thirsted for more. His body was still so weak that it took days, and days, to even leave the block.

  There was someone he had to find. Someone who would help. Someone who had to be a part of this . . . was already a part of this. She would take him in, she would know what to do, and then she could be . . . what she was meant to be.

  That knowledge drove him, step by stumbling step, a block turning into half a mile, a mile turning into half the city, until he found the warehouse . . . just in time for his few precious scraps of energy to exhaust themselves.

  “This is your choice,” the goddess said to him. “You can go through this portal, and move on from this world . . . or you can go back, and serve me.”

  “If I do this,” he replied, “You give me your word that Miranda and I will not be parted again.”

  She looked amused, perhaps at the idea of a mere Prime—and a dead one at that—demanding anything from her. But she nodded. “David . . . in order to take up your work, you will have to be changed. You won’t be what you were ever again; you will be something far greater, and far more frightening. And I will not force Miranda to stay at your side if she is unwilling to be joined to what you become—it will be her choice, to be bound to you again, or to go her own way.”

  He nodded. “I agree. She has to have a choice.”

  “If she chooses to stay with you, I give you my word you will never die apart.”

  He was aware of how carefully her words were chosen, but at the moment it was promise enough for him. “Good.”

  “You understand what I have told you—what you must do.”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “You understand the consequences of your return—that traveling backward along a soul’s path through life can cause untold damage to the soul.”

  “I understand.”

  “Knowing all of that, is it your will to enter into my service, David Solomon?”

  Their eyes held for a long moment.

  “It is my will,” he said softly.

  Still holding her gaze, he knelt before her.

  She lifted her wrist, and two puncture wounds appeared in the flesh; as the dark blood began to flow, she held it out to him.

  He drank.

  * * *

  Miranda came to in a rush, flailing all around, to the consternation of the servants who were puttering around her bed.

  “Ah, reinita,” Esther said with a smile. “Just relax where you are; I have called Mo.”

  “I’m fine,” the Queen insisted, sitting up . . . then fell back into the pillows, dizzy. “Okay, I’m not.”

  She tried to straighten out the convoluted tangle of her thoughts. What had happened? She remembered Stella nearly dying, but after that, something very weird had happened in her head, and she’d passed out. Was it from the Circle? Maybe she’d been wrong when she thought the barrier was down; she’d been running on adrenaline, after all.

  Still, the uneasy, almost sick feeling in her stomach remained.

  Across the room she heard her phone ring. Curious, Miranda held out her hand and reached with her mind. The phone rose up out of the pile of clothes on the floor and floated to her hand. One of the remaining servants saw it, squeaked, and jumped back.

  Miranda closed her eyes and held the phone to her ear. “What now? Another dead Prime? Space monkeys attacking?”

  Deven ignored her weak attempt at humor. His voice was tense. “What happened?”

  “I have no idea. Something went wrong with the Witches’ ritual—Stella almost died and I think she’s in some kind of coma. Then I passed out.”

  “Have you heard from David?”

  She frowned. “No . . . have you?”

  “No. I just felt this sick dizzy thing happening, but I couldn’t figure out who it was coming from. Cora called not twenty seconds later—she felt it, too.”

  “I’ll call him,” Miranda said. “Then I’ll have him call you.”

  She pulled up David’s number and waited . . . and waited.

  Voice mail.

  Feeling the first twinges of panic, she tried again.

  Voice mail.

  She held up her com. “Star-one.”

  “Right here.”

  Miranda looked up at the doorway, where David was standing, soaked to the skin and looking like nine kinds of hell.

  She jumped out of bed and went to him. “What happened to you? Are you all right?”

  He was trembling, his skin clammy and cold. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, let’s get you warmed up . . . I’ll run a nice hot bath. You look exhausted.”

  She got him into the bathroom and sat him down on the closed toilet lid while she got the water running.

  Her com chimed. “Go ahead,” she said.

  “My Lady, this is Mo; I wanted to give you an update on your human friend’s condition.”

  “Yes, please do.”

  “She is stable for now. I have run a few preliminary tests, and while all her bodily functions are human normal, her brain seems to be . . . switched off, is the phrase. She is breathing on her own, without any trouble, but we cannot rouse her.”

  “Can Lark tell you anything about what happened?”

  “It would seem she tried to stop whatever was happening and got caught in the goings-on, which did not damage her but put her in shock. If we can get her talking, I will ask for details. For now, both are as comfortable as we could make them.”

  “Thank you, Mo.”

  “Are you or our Lord Prime in need of my services?”

  Miranda looked over at David, who was trying to undress, his hands shaking so hard he could barely manage his buttons. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she said.

  She went to her Prime. “Let me take care of it.” She gently moved his hands away so she could unbutton him herself. They were silent as she eased the shirt from his shoulders, then knelt, unbuckled his boots and pulled them off; she removed The Oncoming Storm from his belt before unbuckling it, too, setting the weapon carefully aside. By the time she got the rest off, he was staring into space, unseeing.

  “David,” she said, poking him in the ribs. “Bathtub.”

  He nodded vaguely and climbed into the tub. Miranda stripped herself much more quickly and joined him, sighing at the perfect temperature of the water.

  David was leaning back against the side of the tub, eyes closed. He looked so tired, and so careworn, almost as badly as he’d looked when he first came home.

  “What happened?” she asked. “You can tell me.”

  He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw at least part of the answer; they had the same weariness she had seen in the eyes of nearly every Signet, especially the Consorts: knowing too much.

  “The ritual worked, didn’t it?” she said.

  David nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Whatever Stella learned, she transferred directly to you?”

  “That’s the best guess I could come up with.”

  “So what did you find out?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Come here,” he said softly.

  Miranda smiled and moved across the tub into his arms. For
a while they just held on to each other, grateful to hear each other breathing, to feel each other’s heart beating. She did her best to soothe him with her empathy, since she couldn’t work through their connection anymore. Together with the heat of the water and the peace of the room, it worked, and he began to relax.

  Still holding her, he said, “I remember everything now.”

  She swallowed hard. “And?”

  “I saw Faith after we died.”

  Miranda’s eyes filled with tears. “In the afterlife?”

  “It wasn’t really the afterlife—more like a meeting place, or maybe a holding area. She left from there to go . . . wherever.”

  “Was she okay?”

  “Yes. She was ready to go. She hugged me and told me she loved me, and then she was gone.”

  Sniffling, Miranda wiped at her eyes, and asked, “Then what happened?”

  “Then I met Persephone.”

  Miranda pulled back and looked him in the face; no, he wasn’t joking. “Persephone?”

  “Yes. The Awakening was a success. She thanked us for freeing her. But there’s more, Miranda, and . . . I’m afraid of what you’ll say when I tell you.”

  “Try me.”

  “I told her I didn’t want to go without you—that it wasn’t right for you to be alone when we were meant to die together. She said that she could send me back, give me another chance . . . but there would be a high price for violating the natural order that way.”

  He lifted a hand and plucked a stray curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear before cupping her chin in his hand and kissing her. Then he took a deep breath and went on.

  “A long time ago there were three races: humans, Elves, and vampires. The first vampires were monsters—they had no reason, no conscience. They destroyed everything in their path and before long had upset the balance among the races, so Persephone had to destroy them. She created a second version, an upgrade, and buried the Firstborn deep in the earth. The Secondborn were the first Signets. From them, all other vampires were made, to help keep the human population from spreading. But as time went on, the Secondborn grew more and more power hungry and wanted autonomy; they pushed the idea of service to the goddess off on the zealots and revered only money and power.

  “Meanwhile, humans had multiplied faster than anyone expected, and their religions grew stronger, strong enough to suffer no competition. They turned on the Elves and hunted them to extinction until all that was left were humans and vampires. Meanwhile, all the old gods were being forgotten or forcibly usurped. A particular group of humans dedicated themselves to wiping out Persephone and her followers. We know their modern incarnation as Morningstar.”

  Miranda just stared at him, trying to take in as much of the story as she could before asking the thousand questions building up in her mind. “Morningstar . . .”

  “They managed to banish Persephone herself—you can’t destroy a god, but you can create a barrier that keeps her from reaching into the manifest world. But the Secondborn banded together one last time and, combining their powers into one, destroyed Morningstar completely. Wiped them from the earth. After that, the Secondborn split—their titanic egos and power-lust got in the way of cooperation, and from there, the Council was created, mostly to keep a check on each other’s territories. Centuries passed.”

  Miranda nodded, guessing the next part. “Then along comes this group of Signets who have a connection like the old Secondborn did.”

  “Exactly. The barrier was growing thinner. With a new threat rising—the return of Morningstar—Persephone knew the time had come when her children could free her from her exile and she could bring her chosen back together to fight. So she inspired the High Priestess of Elysium to begin preparations for the Awakening, if they could verify that this group was the one they’d been waiting for. Turns out, we are.”

  “All six of us,” Miranda murmured.

  “No,” he told her, shaking his head. “We’re not a complete circle yet. That’s part of the problem. We’ll all continue to share power, and our abilities will cross from one to the other, but it will be hard to control until we have four Pairs who can stabilize the circle. Only then will we come into our full power.”

  “So who is the other Pair?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What does any of this have to do with what’s going on with you?”

  “I’m getting to that. The price for my return to you was that I accept leadership of the circle and pledge myself to her service—not as a worshipper, but more as a Second in Command. In doing so, I would have to be . . . changed . . . into something stronger than even a Prime. Something that’s never been seen in the world before . . . I would become, in other words, Thirdborn.”

  “And for you to do that, we can’t have a bond,” Miranda said, tears welling up again. “So you got to come back to me, but you can never be back with me, not like you were.”

  “No, beloved . . . that’s not it at all. I refused to force you to change. I wouldn’t make you do it against your will just because you had to be bound to me. So we agreed the bond would stay broken until you made your choice, and then, if you underwent the change yourself, it would return.”

  Silence. Miranda sagged back against the side of the tub, taking in everything he’d said, not sure she really understood any of it—no, she understood it, but she couldn’t accept it. Not this quickly.

  She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t look up; she was afraid that if she did, she would burst into tears and not be able to stop. “I think I . . .” she tried, but she didn’t know what to say, so the words trailed off into the silence, hanging between them.

  “You don’t have to decide now,” David said. He, too, sounded overwhelmed by his words, as if he’d realized their enormity only after saying them aloud. “There’s time . . . and, beloved, if you decide not to . . . we can still be happy together. Now that we know what really happened, maybe it won’t be so bad.”

  She shook her head, unable to answer, trying to deny the entirety of the last ten minutes. Miranda turned away and pushed herself up out of the water, having to move slowly and carefully not to slip on the tile in her rush to get away, far away. She grabbed a towel and left the bathroom. David didn’t call after her—he knew her well enough to know she would need a little time and space to work it out for herself, and that it had nothing to do with him.

  She had no idea where to go, but she couldn’t stay there. She needed to be away, somewhere she could breathe. It felt, all of a sudden, like the Haven’s walls were closing in.

  She threw on the first clothes she grabbed and ran from the suite, ignoring the questioning looks of the guards. She threw open one of the Haven’s side doors, bolted into the garden, and didn’t stop running until she had reached the edge of the woods. It wasn’t nearly far enough, but it would have to do for now.

  Too much. It was too much. She didn’t want any of this.

  Stella . . . poor Stella, who had given herself so they would know the truth and had fallen just like Faith . . . and for what? So that some moldy old deity could demand they change themselves for her? So they could be her slaves and give up even more than she had already taken? David had already died once because of Persephone. They had both suffered more than any Signet bearer was ever meant to suffer. And now, what, they had to sign up for more? What kind of deity would do that to her children? Why did it have to be them? They’d done enough!

  She sat down bonelessly beneath a tree, curled up in a ball, unable to keep the tears from falling. “I hate you,” she whispered. “You should have stayed locked away.”

  There was movement off to one side—rustling in the treetop, something small and nonthreatening. A bird, most likely. The noise made her lift her head to see if it was an owl.

  To her surprise, it wasn’t a bird that should be out at night. A large, jet black raven perched in the tree, its shining black eyes fixed on the vampire Queen who wept below.

 
The oddity of it brought her out of her fit for a moment. Odder still, the bird jumped off the branch and landed on the ground in a rush of wings, not five feet from her.

  They stared at each other. There was something familiar, she realized, about its eyes.

  “You’re watching me,” she said. She wasn’t talking to the bird.

  The raven tilted its head to one side and came closer, not even the slightest bit afraid, but she supposed it wasn’t a normal bird, so she shouldn’t expect it to act like one.

  “I don’t want to work for you,” she said, holding on to her anger just enough not to shout. “I just want our life back. We were happy before all of this. Neither of us wants to be all-powerful or fight a war for someone who won’t even show her face.”

  To her amazement, the raven hopped even closer, and next thing she knew, it was standing on her knee.

  “Planning to peck me to death?” she asked. The raven puffed up its feathers at her almost playfully.

  “All right, fine,” she muttered, and reached up to pet it.

  The raven’s feathers were surprisingly soft, and it was solidly built—she hadn’t realized how big they were up close, but this one was easily a match for a hawk. She’d always thought birds were a little creepy; mammals were much easier to relate to. Still, it seemed this guy was enjoying having his head scratched; he made little clucking noises of approval.

  As she petted the raven, a thought came to her: Perhaps Persephone couldn’t talk to them directly yet. David had said something about a barrier; maybe the Awakening only made communication possible, not automatic. So far the only person who had seen her was David, and he’d been dead. It wasn’t as if gods made a habit of dropping in on people—that had been the way of things in ancient Greece, maybe, but here and now, things were different. It might be that they had to go to her, not the other way around. Asking for a burning bush at this point might be pushing it.

  “I’d feel a lot better about this whole mess if I could . . .” She wasn’t sure how to articulate what she wanted. If she could meet this goddess, talk to her, get some sense of what it all meant, it might not be so horrible. She didn’t want to serve someone whose motives she couldn’t identify.