Of Shadow Born

by Dianne Sylvan

  But then again . . . right now, it wasn’t about serving anybody. Right now it was about Miranda and David, and their future together. She didn’t have to fight a war right now. She just had to decide what she wanted.

  She could run away. Be free of all this Signet crap. Live as an ordinary vampire somewhere.

  The thought made her smile in spite of herself. Ordinary? And what would she do with her eternity, play open mic nights at coffee shops? After living as Queen, having that responsibility and authority around her neck, how on earth could she ever be satisfied with less?

  When she thought of all she would have to give up, the idea of running seemed ludicrous. She had been happier here than ever in her human life, and even with all the pain, she knew it was where she belonged. But the thought of staying was almost as crazy—neither she nor David had any real idea what his transformation really involved, or what they would both be like when it was done. She thought of his eyes, black and cold, and a shiver ran through her.

  She remembered those terrible weeks while David was gone, and how much she would have given just to have him back. How she knew she could go on without him, but the prospect of living alone was like a long nightmare she couldn’t wake from. But now, against all odds and by an actual miracle, he was home, and they had finally found a way to restore their bond. Could that be worth whatever price they had to pay?

  Fear or love; it all came down to fear or love.

  Miranda pulled her hand back and eyed the raven critically for a moment. “Well played,” she told it wryly.

  The bird made a half-squawk that sounded suspiciously like laughter and bounced back onto the ground, stretching out its wings and giving her one last look before it launched itself into the air. Its wings beat against the night as it rose and winged off toward the forest. Between one blink and the next, it had vanished completely.

  She rested her head on her knees for a moment. Something black lay in the grass, and she picked it up: a feather.

  With a sigh, she laid her head back down and stayed beneath the tree’s sheltering arms until nearly dawn.

  * * *

  “You’re going to owe me a fortune in jet fuel,” Deven said, taking the steps to the Haven’s front doors, where David was waiting.

  “Put it on my tab,” David replied mildly. “And don’t act like the minute I called you, you weren’t already packed and ready to come out here.”

  They smiled at each other. “Where’s Miranda?” Deven asked.

  David’s smile faded. “I don’t know. She’s been avoiding me—she needed time to think. I don’t know where she’s been disappearing to . . . I can’t feel where she goes anymore.”

  They headed down the hall to the Elite wing, where Mo’s clinic was located. David had waited to call California, loath to drag Deven back to Texas again, but they had run out of ideas. They’d even brought in a human doctor, but she had been as mystified as Mo. David didn’t know if Deven could help, but it was worth a shot.

  The rarely used hospital room was cool and dimly lit, the beeps and whirs of life support equipment the only real noise. David couldn’t remember the last time it had been needed other than for Miranda’s video blog after she’d been shot; vampires tended to either heal right away or die, but Mo had wanted it just in case. There were a handful of scenarios David could think of where they would need life support for a vampire, but Mo was more concerned with the ones they couldn’t think of.

  A comatose Witch was one of them.

  Stella looked small and young in the bed. Her bright red hair stood out vividly against the white sheets. Her hands, with their careful manicure in alternating black, white, and red, were curled at her sides. The aura of power, and wisdom beyond her age, was nowhere to be found now. She was just a girl who needed help, a nerd-Goth-punk Sleeping Beauty.

  Deven circled around to the other side of the bed and stared down at her, seeing—or Seeing, David mentally corrected himself—more than just flesh.

  It had never really occurred to David to ask Deven exactly how his healing talent worked. Even when he’d first learned about it seven decades ago, he had assumed incorrectly that it was just a matter of pushing power into a body, but it seemed to be far more complicated than he’d realized. Stella had learned more about that part of Deven in an hour than David had in decades. David’s stubborn denial of the mystical had kept him from knowing something important about his lover, and now, years and years later, he regretted it.

  After several minutes, Deven lifted his eyes to David. David felt his heart sink. “I don’t think I can help her,” Deven said. “Her body is fine—it’s her energy that’s been overrun. Whatever went through her basically fried all her circuits. There’s a high probability she’ll come back on her own, but it will take time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Weeks. Or longer. Honestly, seeing the damage it’s a miracle she didn’t just die right then and there. If it weren’t this severe, I might be able to give her energy to replenish her, but right now, it would be like bailing out the Titanic with a thimble. I’m not a mind or energy healer.”

  David placed his hands on the bed rail, defeated. “She had to have known this would happen.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Persephone wouldn’t have just burned her out without giving her a choice in the matter. That’s not how she operates.”

  Deven knew; David had told him two days ago. So far no one else did, although David assumed Jonathan would by now. Typically one didn’t tell a Prime something without expecting his Consort to hear about it. He wasn’t really sure what to call Deven’s reaction, but it definitely wasn’t surprise.

  “Can you be sure of that?” Deven asked. “Stella is human, after all. She’s not as strong as a vampire, even with all her power.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Deven didn’t say what he was obviously thinking: that David had no way to know, and that he was assuming Per-sephone cared about them, had their best interests at heart, or viewed them as anything but disposable spear carriers for her war.

  “Bringing someone back from the dead is unnatural,” David said. “It violates the order of the universe. Yet she gave me the choice to return.”

  Deven’s eyes narrowed. “Serve whatever master you like,” he said. “Just leave us out of it.”

  “But—”

  “No, David. Did you really think you could tell me this wild story, offer no proof whatsoever that it wasn’t a near-death hallucination, and expect me to fall to my knees worshipping this thing? Are you some kind of Persephone evangelist now? Because it may have escaped your notice, but I serve no god. My days of blind faith ended in the dungeons of the Inquisition. And what about Jacob and Cora? Have you forgotten they’re devout Christians? Are they supposed to abandon a lifetime of belief and just follow you and your savior?”

  It had been a long, long time since David had seen Deven so outwardly angry, at least not without someone’s head literally rolling.

  “That’s not what she wants,” David said, but the words, though true, sounded like pathetic denial even to his own ears.

  Deven made a disgusted noise. “Would you just take me to the other girl?”

  With a wordless nod, David led him out of the hospital room and across the hall to one of a handful of empty Elite barracks. He hadn’t wanted to move Lark too far away from Mo’s immediate vicinity, at least not until they were sure she was going to be all right.

  Lark was sitting up on her bed, hands clasped in her lap, staring off into space. It was exactly the same position she’d been in three nights ago after the Elite brought her here and changed her into a hospital gown. When Miranda had found the girls, Lark had been alert and responsive, but the longer Stella stayed under and the more hopeless it seemed, the more Lark faded away.

  He hung back near the door and watched Deven kneel in front of the girl, peering into her eyes, one hand resting lightly against her cheek. Again, he stayed still f
or several minutes.

  Deven glanced back at David, and this time his expression was far less grave. “This one, I can help,” he said. “It looks like she tried to reach in and pull Stella out of whatever was happening, but the energy tripped a breaker in Lark’s head. As her last stores of energy were depleted she wound down like a clock, but it doesn’t look like there’s any real damage.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I can give her a pulse of energy, and that should bring her out of it. She just needs the equivalent of a good slap. I think a lot of the problem is emotional, though, and that’s not my area.”

  David nodded. “I’ll ask Miranda if she can help. Next time I see Miranda . . .”

  With a sigh, Deven said, “David . . . darling, you dropped a ridiculously huge bomb on her with all of this. We only just got you back and now everything is changing again—that’s too much for anyone, even a Queen, to just accept without a little meltdown.”

  “There you go again,” David remarked, “being sensible.”

  “One of us has to be, if you’ve lost your damn mind,” Deven muttered. He returned his attention to Lark and closed his eyes.

  Moments later, the girl shuddered. Her eyes lost their glazed-over look, and she blinked, staring down into Deven’s face.

  Comprehension and memory came on her at the same time, and she burst into tears.

  * * *

  Once Deven had left, claiming he had things to deal with back home but, in all likelihood, simply unwilling to deal with David and his delusions any further, David had two conference calls with various members of the Council, a patrol leaders’ meeting, and a glitch in one of the sensor sectors to contend with before he could really sit down and think.

  He understood why Miranda had made herself scarce; the Haven felt unusually confining. He wanted the open sky overhead and free air to breathe.

  It was the first time he’d been to the stables since his return, and the minute Osiris heard him coming, the horse started making whickering noises, tossing his head, and stamping his hooves impatiently, excited as a puppy.

  “Hey there, boy,” David said, stroking the Friesian’s nose. “I missed you, too.”

  He looked over at Isis’s stall, but the mare was pointedly ignoring him.

  “That’s all right,” he called over to her. “I’m still glad to see you.”

  She snorted and went back to her oats.

  He took his time saddling Osiris, letting the familiar motions calm his racing thoughts. Even without this new insanity, he had plenty to deal with. The Council was in an uproar over Kelley’s death; everyone knew, though no one would say in so many words, that Hayes was behind it. Word about Hayes’s true identity was still need-to-know, but even those who didn’t know the true extent of what had been done to him knew about his daughter now. Deven and Jacob had made sure of it, and while David was gone, they had gotten unofficial promises from nearly every Signet to extradite Jeremy Hayes if he was found.

  McMannis and Hart had both essentially barricaded themselves in their Havens. Right now the only thing that was public was that Hart had held Amelia prisoner to force Jeremy to work for him, but without Jeremy himself to make further accusations, it would be hard to prove that Hart himself had been involved in David’s death. To really take Hart down they needed Jeremy’s testimony, or some other undeniable proof. David intended to be sure they got it . . . whatever it took.

  Everyone wanted to know how Hayes had killed David, and how David had come back, but he didn’t want them to know the specifics just yet. The story they were perpetuating at the moment was that David had only been mostly dead, but had recovered and returned home as soon as he was able. He knew not everyone was buying it, but nobody had objected yet.

  And now that he knew what Morningstar was really about, they were even more of a mystery—they were supposed to hate vampires, but they’d sent vampires to attack Miranda twice now, and Cora once. Why would they employ what they hated, and what exactly did they want with a Signet? If all they wanted was to kill vampires, surely Ovaska would have killed both Miranda and Deven three years ago when she had them captive. There had to be something else.

  He leaned his forehead on Osiris’s shoulder for a moment, frustrated and weary. Osiris responded by whuffling his hair, and David laughed.

  “All right, let’s go,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “We’ll both feel better after a good run.”

  He and Osiris both knew the trails around the Haven property by heart, of course, so he barely had to hold the reins; he leaned into the Friesian’s neck and let him take to the wind.

  An hour later, back in the stall grooming the horse, he did feel better, but still, as he brushed Osiris down and gingerly combed a few burs from his tail, David couldn’t shake the pervasive sorrow that he had been carrying since his memory had returned.

  Life had been so good, for a while. Oh, he’d known better than to think it would last forever—that simply wasn’t possible for Pairs. Eventually everything fell apart; entropy was the nature of the universe. But for a brief three-year period he had felt invincible. As long as his Queen was standing with him, all those decades of loneliness, the pain of leaving California, everything felt worth it.

  But now . . .

  “Hey.”

  Startled, he looked up from the hoof he was examining. “Hey.”

  Miranda stood at the stall door, as usual keeping her distance from Osiris. She was dressed as if she’d been in the city.

  “I had a meeting with Cynthia,” she explained before he could ask. “Picking a venue for my big comeback.”

  He straightened. “You look tired,” he said.

  “I guess.”

  “You haven’t been sleeping.”

  She looked at the ground. “I had a lot to think about.” She raised her eyes to him and added, “I wasn’t angry at you, I just . . . needed some space.”

  “I know. I’m glad you had it.” He returned to his work, running his hands along the horse’s legs, looking him over carefully; it had been a while since Osiris had been ridden, and David wanted to be absolutely sure everything was sound. The grooms had been taking excellent care of him, though, as usual.

  He was aware that Miranda was watching him, but he didn’t comment. He went about the old routine as he always had, waiting for her to speak.

  Finally she said, “Lark went home tonight.”

  “Did she? Good.”

  “Maguire wants to come see Stella. He thinks she should be in a regular hospital. I think once he sees her he’ll change his mind. People who don’t understand what’s really wrong with her would only make things worse.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  “We need to talk.”

  The words made his heart tumble down even further, somewhere around his feet. He felt like he already knew what she was going to say . . . and it was the death knell for what little hope he’d still had. “Okay. Here?”

  “No . . . why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll talk in the suite?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  He finished up the last few tasks and paused to touch his forehead to the horse’s, seeking comfort wherever he could find it. Osiris seemed, as always, to understand, and again stuck his big nose in David’s hair, having learned over the years that his warm breath was comforting to his master. Finally there was no more putting it off; David left the stable and made his way back to the Haven.

  Miranda was already in their suite, showered, and in her off-time uniform of black cotton pants and a tank top. He had to smile at that; even the most powerful vampires in the world were always creatures of habit. She had her yoga pants and tanks, he had his old worn jeans and T-shirts. They both tended to go barefoot around the Haven except when on duty, which had led to some sideways looks at emergency meetings when the Pair showed up without shoes on to confer with Tanaka on the other side of the world.

  She was sitting cross-legged on th
e bed, holding something in her hand and staring at it: a black feather.

  “Be right with you,” he said, bypassing the bed for the bathroom.

  He stood under the blast of near-scalding water for as long as he could, but there was only so long he could stall; he had to face this and move forward. In a few minutes he’d know for sure if he was facing it alone.

  She was still sitting where she’d been, and he joined her there as soon as he was dressed again.

  Miranda smiled. “Thank you for not getting horse funk on the bed.”

  He smiled back. “You’ve trained me well, my Lady.”

  She stretched out on the bed, saying, “Lie down with me.”

  He did as she asked, and she moved closer, pressing herself against him with a sigh, her head on his shoulder and one hand around his upper arm. David held on to her tightly, trying to memorize every last sensation: her scent, the weight of her head, her bare foot curved around his ankle. To have known such grace, even for a little while . . . he had been blessed.

  The minute stretched out into several before she asked, “Why did you come back?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were done,” she said. “You could have gone on, not had to deal with this world anymore. I know how tired you always were . . . you could have gone to rest. Instead you came back, knowing the risks, knowing it would hurt . . . why? Was it a sense of duty, to fight Persephone’s war?”

  “No,” he replied. “That was a condition of my return, not the reason. As far as I was concerned, she could find another vampire to be her Second. All I cared about, the only reason I agreed to any of it, was to get home to you.” He sighed into her hair and said softly into her ear, “I love you so much, Miranda. Nothing could keep me away from you, no fate could stop me from finding you. And no god could win my allegiance if you weren’t by my side.”

  He didn’t look at her face, but he could hear the tears in her voice. “I know,” she said. “I just needed to hear you say it, just to remind me why I’m doing this.”

  “Doing this . . .”