Met by Midnight: Shadow World Stories and Scenes, Vol. 1 (The Shadow World)

by Dianne Sylvan

  Miranda drew her sword.

  She made her way slowly through the building, which was really only two rooms, toward the front where she could hear Faith delivering another ultimatum. She peered around the doorframe carefully.

  Varken was behind the front door, crouched down with a girl of perhaps eight clutched back to his chest, his hand over her mouth. A young woman that was probably the child’s mother was on the floor, unconscious, blood oozing from two holes in her neck. She was still breathing.

  The little girl’s wide, frightened eyes darted toward Miranda. Miranda projected calm to her, helping her to understand that everything was going to be all right.

  Miranda held the girl’s eyes and showed her teeth, making a soundless chomping gesture with her mouth. The girl’s eyes got even wider…but she understood.

  “I’m not coming out until I see a car waiting!” Varken yelled through the door. “I want transport and a plane out of Texas or the kid dies next! Give me—”

  His words trailed off into a curse as the little girl bit down on his hand as hard as she could.

  Varken all but threw the child into the wall, and she crawled as far from him as she could, sobbing. He started to go after her.

  Miranda stepped out into the room.

  He froze.

  She stared at him hard, letting him see some of her power, and she didn’t have to influence him. He shrank back.

  “I am your Queen,” she said, each word outlined in ice. “You will kneel.”

  With nowhere to go, knowing it was over, Varken obeyed her, shaking.

  Miranda spoke to the little girl. “Sweetie, I want you to go into the back room and put your hands over your ears, okay?”

  As soon as she was gone, Miranda stood over her prey, and without another word swung her sword, neatly bisecting his head from his shoulders. She moved out of the way just in time not to get showered in blood.

  Faith was just about to throw herself into the door when it opened.

  “Done,” the Queen said. “Get an ambulance here for the humans.”

  “Already on its way,” Faith said just as the sound of sirens cut through the night’s festivities.

  Miranda strode back into the room, stepping over Varken’s head as she crossed to the doorway. She found the little girl balled up in the corner, hands on her ears, just as she’d been told.

  The Queen picked her up gingerly and took a moment to soothe her, making her feel sleepy, as if this had all been a long, terrible dream. “It’s okay now,” she said. “Let’s get you and your Mommy to the doctor.”

  The little girl fixed her big eyes on Miranda. “Are you the police?” she asked, hiccupping around her tears.

  Miranda smiled. “No, sweetie…I’m the Big Bad Wolf.”

  (Originally written for a fairy-tale/folktale blog challenge.)

  In Memoriam

  Very little has changed in that dark alley, even in a year. The Dumpster is still in the same place. It still stinks of mildew and garbage and the faint stale smell of cigarettes. In the heat of high Summer the stench is as overwhelming as she remembers it…though that night it was raining, and tonight the sky is clear.

  She stands at the alley’s mouth for a long time, just looking, deciding.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” David asks her, moving in close, his presence at her back protective and soothing. “You don’t have to.”

  “I need to,” she replies softly. “Just…I need a minute.”

  “Would you like me to leave you alone?”

  “No,” she says quickly—more quickly than she intended—and grabs his hand. “Go with me…please.”

  He meets her eyes. She still hasn’t gotten used to that…the way her breathing slows down when they match gazes, the way touching his skin brings her such peace. It’s the energy between them finding balance, but more than that, it’s her way of reassuring herself that he’s still there, and will be, forever.

  He hadn’t wanted to come here tonight, but would not object to whatever she needed to heal; they’ve been together only a handful of months, and in that time she’s worked hard to let go of her fear, and of her rage...rage that had saved her life in this very spot…where she had killed four men.

  Steeling herself, she steps forward, releasing his hand so she can stand on her own. She walks slowly into the alley, all the way to the back, and can hear David following at a respectful distance.

  It feels exactly like walking up to her mother’s new grave. After a month of wrangling with her father’s lawyers, she’d gotten permission to have Marilyn Grey moved from a near-anonymous spot at the State Cemetery to a plot in a private memorial park beneath a canopy of live oak trees and a nearby willow. She has been there many times this summer, as she gets used to her strange new life, and spent time on the little stone bench by the grave telling her mother her story.

  “I made it, Mama. I survived. I wish I could have helped you make it too…but I thought you’d want to know I…I chose to live…sort of.”

  Here, though, there is no birdsong, no rustling of leaves in the late summer breeze. There is only the stink of humanity’s trash reminding her of the night she, too, was used up and thrown away like trash, only to come back to herself raging with a fire that would consume and transform the entire Shadow World.

  She sighs, reaches the spot she remembers specifically. Here, she stood; and here, she said, “No.” And all around her they fell, screaming, emotion so dark and overwhelming they couldn’t fight it, and one by one, their hearts gave out…one, two, three, four.

  Tears are falling from her eyes, but not for the men she killed. Their deaths have lost her no sleep. She cries for the girl who died here, her thighs streaked with blood, her throat raw from screaming, beaten and degraded in every way they could think of in half an hour behind a bodega…the girl who died here…every last inch of her humanity torn away with her clothes, until all that was left was the hate-black, scarlet-raw, howling will to survive.

  For that girl, mind full of penetrating voices, body used and torn, heart trampled beneath the twin boot-heels of insanity and rape; for that girl, who had played for cash outside a bookstore, and dreamed of fame, and missed her mother; for that girl who had to die so that she could be born again to stand, take up her sword, and one day become Queen…Miranda weeps softly as she kneels over the grimy concrete and lays down the bouquet of white roses tied with a black velvet ribbon.

  She knows, then, that she’ll come back here next year, on this night, and the year after that…but one year, she won’t need to, and after that she’ll forget to, and when that happens, perhaps it will be well and truly over.

  For now, she folds herself into her husband’s arms, and together they stand over the only memorial that exists to Miranda Grey, human girl, and if there are still tears in her eyes, there are tears in his also.

  She looks up. “Are you all right?”

  He smiles slightly, looking sheepish to have been caught having an emotion. “I think back to this night so often,” he says. “I think…if I had gotten here sooner.”

  She returns the smile gently and kisses his lips. “I love you for that,” she says, “But it wasn’t your fault. The only people to blame are the men who did this, and they’ve met their justice.”

  Taking a deep breath, which is only slightly shaky, she carefully turns her back on the scene and walks back toward the street, taking his arm as she goes. “Here lies Miranda Grey,” she murmurs, the sight of the roses still in her mind. “Daughter, sister, college dropout, up and coming musician, certifiable nutcase…”

  David squeezes her hand as he says, “May she rest in peace.”

  Miranda smiles, this time with a blooming flame of joy. “She is,” she says, and lays one hand on her own chest, the other on his. “Right here.” Her smile becomes a grin, and she kisses him and says, “Now let’s go get some ice cream.”

  He bows, offers his arm again, and leads the way.

 
The Lion and the Mouse

  You could say I’ve got poor judgment. You could also say the Titanic got into a little fender-bender.

  People make themselves such easy targets, it’s like hanging a piñata full of 40s in front of an AA meeting—I just can’t resist grabbing the stick and swinging. These days it takes no effort at all. Everyone walks around town staring down at their cell phones; even when you bump into them, they just mutter “Sorry, man,” without even looking up. I could make off with their pants and they wouldn’t notice the cool breeze until they got to the car.

  Still, it takes a special kind of idiot to try and rob a vampire.

  In my defense at the time I just thought he was your average d-bag 1-Percenter.

  The best part is I was on my way to a new job that night. It was only my second week and things were going really well. I was going to make my caseworker proud; she’d see I really was a responsible kid. Sort of. Sometimes.

  But then there was that guy—the one in the long black coat.

  I followed him down Congress for quite a while; we happened to be headed in the same direction, so if anything went wrong I could just say it was a coincidence. I wasn’t really going to do anything. I’d never be stupid enough to risk jail just for a wallet.

  Like I said. Special kind of idiot.

  I could tell the guy was seriously rich just from the back. Just from the drape of the leather and the way it was cut I was willing to bet it set him back five grand. No obvious designer, but it was an absolutely perfect fit, and you don’t get that off the rack.

  Pickpockets know these things. We try to go with the best odds; sure, anyone could have a fat wad of cash, but when it comes to risk versus reward it’s best to stick with the obvious. Plus, people with a shit ton of money tend to take for granted that there’s more, so they’re not as careful.

  We approached a stoplight, and I got a little closer—not moving in yet, but getting a better look at the setup of the coat and which side to aim for. Aha—left-handed, so I needed to move around to that side. He was talking on his phone: iPhone, but I couldn’t tell if it was a 6 or not. In fact, it was a little weird-looking, the silhouette a bit more streamlined than usual.

  “I’m on my way there now,” the man was saying. “Are you out of rehearsal yet? You could meet me…yes, I’m still in a bad mood. The damn thing just isn’t working.”

  Quick evaluation: Wedding ring, so probably talking to his wife, who was likely a musician of some kind. Everyone’s a musician in Austin.

  Then I sidled around to get a glance at the front, and blinked, confused by the total incongruity of the thing around his neck. Everything else from the coat to his precise, accentless diction said “to the manor born,” but this big ruby and silver amulet he was wearing said “I double-fist black eyeliner and wear fake fangs to get chicks.”

  To make matters weirder…I could have sworn the thing was glowing.

  “All right then, beloved. I’ll see you there—we can have a quick dinner and then meet the Good Doctor.”

  Just as I expected, when he hung up he slid the phone into the left-hand pocket of his coat. The light turned green, and the knot of pedestrians moved into the crosswalk, Coat Guy striding purposefully without even a hint of a slouch.

  At the next light he turned right, and the crowd thinned out to maybe five people. Next light was the time—now that we were off the main thoroughfare he’d probably be reaching his destination soon, and besides, I didn’t have time to follow him if he turned off. I was pushing it as it was—I didn’t want to be late.

  I’m quick. Seriously, the only reason I got caught last time was that the lady I was stealing from happened to look to the right as I was getting my hand in her purse. It was just bad luck. Two more seconds and I’d have been in and out, gone.

  Turns out there’s something out there way quicker than a pickpocket.

  I got close enough behind the guy to smell leather, and got ready to bump into him as soon as he stopped walking. The light turned red—

  —and suddenly my back slammed into the wall of the nearest building, and I was lifted off the ground and held up by a single hand wrapped around my throat.

  I choked, struggling, and stared helplessly into dark blue eyes that, as I watched, lost their color and became silver ice. When he spoke the street light caught something even more unbelievable…his canine teeth seemed…no, it had to be a trick of the light. It had to be.

  “Foolish boy,” he snarled. “Don’t you think I knew you were following me all the way down Congress? You won’t be so bold with that hand when I break all your fingers.”

  I smacked his hand desperately, trying to speak—oxygen was becoming a serious issue, and spots began to appear before my eyes. I realized there was a real possibility he was going to kill me.

  “David,” came a woman’s voice, “Is that really necessary?”

  His grip immediately loosened, and he dropped me unceremoniously; my knees gave out when I hit the ground, and I fell against the wall, coughing and gasping. Still, he loomed over me, menace written in every line of his body—and my eyes caught, just for a second, the edge of what could only be a sword hilt under his coat.

  A fucking sword.

  “Please,” I panted. “Don’t kill me.”

  “He’s not going to kill you,” the woman replied, apparently as much for the guy’s benefit as mine. She walked closer so I could see her, and again my brain went around in a little circle—I recognized her. I couldn’t be 100% sure, but I could swear it was that singer, Miranda Grey. I’m not a fan but everyone in Austin’s seen her in the Chronicle at least once. Her songs are on every radio station. “Although I think a call to Detective Maguire might be in order.”

  At the word “detective” I groaned. “No…please. Come on, don’t turn me in—I’ll go to jail for sure this time. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Like, to anybody ever. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Finally the man relented and took a step back. His eyes went back to blue again, and the hard knot of fear in my stomach unclenched just a little. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Um…Mouse. Everybody calls me Mouse. Seriously, if you let me go I’ll repay you.”

  “In stolen wallets?” He asked. There was a hint of humor in the words. He snapped out of his anger so quickly my brain got whiplash.

  “No, but…I…um…” I had absolutely no idea what to offer. Most of my marketable skills—thievery, hacking, breaking and entering—were likely to get me choked again. Mandy, my caseworker, had decided the best thing to do was capitalize on what I knew, let me use my powers for good instead of evil, so she’d hooked me up with an entry-level position at a research firm in the security systems development department. So far I’d done really well; even the director had come down to meet me after I submitted a solution to one of their network issues.

  The woman smiled at my gibbering and took her husband by the arm. “Come on, baby. Let’s get going. I’m sure he won’t do anything like this again. Will you, Mouse?”

  I shook my head. “Hell no.”

  The man gave me one more look, this one the sort of thing a mouse like me would get from a lion. “If I catch you stealing again I won’t bother with jail,” he said. “I’ll find a much more creative way to ensure you can’t pick another pocket.”

  “I promise. Hand to God.”

  The two of them exchanged a look of faint amusement—faintly condescending amusement. Then, they walked away, and I had to drop down on my ass for a minute and convince myself not to pee my pants.

  *****

  “You were kind of a jerk to that poor kid,” the Queen of the Southern United States said to her Prime in the elevator an hour later. “350 years is a bit old for a temper tantrum.”

  “He caught me at the wrong moment,” David said. “If we don’t figure out why the sensor network keeps crashing in Sector 7, the whole city’s at risk, especially if one of the gangs finds out there’s a hole in security.”<
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  “Which was not the fault of some skinny pickpocket,” Miranda pointed out.

  “We should have turned him in. The kid was a professional. Our letting him go means dozens of humans will be victimized.”

  They got off the elevator on the main R&D floor of Hunter Development, where the director, Dr. Novotny, was waiting. “Sire, my Lady,” he said. “Welcome back.”

  “Tell me you have good news,” David told him.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. You said something about needing fresh eyes on the problem, so I thought, what better opportunity to test our new hires down on the 3rd floor.”

  “The hackers,” David clarified to Miranda. “The Security Systems Development department isn’t very old—we created it after I built the first sensor network to track vampires in Austin. Most of its personnel are young, too.”

  Novotny nodded. “A few days ago one of them came up with a rather inspired solution for a similar issue one of our other clients, the Texas Diamond Exchange, was having. I sent your problem down there too, and about an hour ago, damned if this 19-year-old community outreach kid didn’t send me exactly what we needed.”

  “Community outreach?” Miranda asked. “You mean the at-risk kids Maguire’s friend asked you to find jobs for. Not to sound judgmental, but is it a good idea to hire aspiring criminals to work in security?”

  “Criminals are ideal for security,” David said with a smile. “They know how to get in and out of any system. We’re careful what information they get, nonetheless; I’m sure Novotny used a mock-up of the system and not the real thing…right?”

  “Of course, Sire,” Novotny said, sounding offended at the thought he would be dumb enough to hand out the secrets of their network.

  “Let’s see it, then.”

  Miranda followed them over to a monitor where Novotny brought up a screen full of code; she sat on the edge of a worktable, knowing she wouldn’t be much help. She had absolutely no interest in programming, but it still impressed her when her husband, or anyone really, could stare at a monitor like that covered in what looked like utter nonsense and read it as easily as she read music.