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

by Dianne Sylvan

  “Typical,” Miranda said with a sigh, then added, almost to herself, “Humans should never know we exist.”

  “No, they shouldn’t. Thankfully most Signets agree—even the ones who view them as cattle. Hurting them like this, killing them…it’s inexcusable, not to mention unsustainable. Our two worlds are only meant to intersect for a moment in the night, then diverge as Nature intended.”

  “So what do we do with her?”

  Mentally, he ran through a list of possible contacts. “I know someone at Cannon Creek Psychiatric who might be able to help. We can keep her here for a night or two and I’ll make some calls. At least for now she should be safe…although let’s have Mo move her to a private room with an actual bed until we can find a more long-term place for her.”

  Unsatisfied, but knowing they had few other options until they knew more, Miranda nodded. “I guess there’s a chance one of the VLF will know more about these people.”

  They left Kennedy in Mo’s hands and the VLF in Faith’s for the time being and headed back home for the night. By the time Harlan pulled the car into the Haven driveway he’d found a bed for the girl in a private mental hospital and had a team of Elite assigned to get her there in the next few hours.

  “Why does it feel like we’ve been in town all night instead of just for a couple of hours?” Miranda asked as she flopped down on the sofa with her guitar. “Funny how spending the night sword fighting is less draining than all the other stuff we do.”

  David set about shucking his coat and returning to less civilized attire. “Well, you did just hack someone’s brain. How are you feeling?”

  She thought about it. “Pretty close to normal, actually. Once I got past her shields I didn’t have to go in that deep—I really expected to have to dig, but I forgot that most teenagers don’t really have the experience to get around a gift like mine. So much of her head was full of programming, but it all had the same…flavor?...so it was easy enough to tell which thoughts and emotions were the real deal.”

  He smiled. “Not to mention your skills and strength are increasing exponentially. Maybe a teenager can’t block you, but most adults couldn’t either. Watching you grow has been a genuine pleasure.”

  The Queen shrugged, but looked pleased. “It’s weird, sometimes, remembering how much I used to hate it, and how crazy it drove me. At the time I couldn’t imagine being able to control it much less enjoy it.”

  Pulling the t-shirt he’d had on earlier over his head, he sat down next to her and leaned over for a kiss. “Never doubt that you were born for this, my Queen,” he told her. “Imagine what you’ll be able to do in a decade.”

  “Scary thought.”

  Before he could reply, an alarm went off at his wrist, and hers; not two seconds later he heard Faith’s tense, urgent voice. “Star-One, Star-Two, we have a—shit, what’s the code for a human attacking a vampire? Do we even have a code for that?”

  “Beta-Nine,” Miranda said immediately. “What’s going on?”

  “The team arrived to move the girl, and she attacked them. I’m sorry, Sire, I thought we got all her weapons bagged and sent off as instructed, but she must have hidden one. Elite-40 is badly injured, but Mo says he’ll be fine—we were lucky they were already at the Hausmann. Massive blood loss—”

  “What about the girl?” David demanded.

  A pause. “I’m sorry, Sire. They couldn’t calm her down, and she…she’s dead.”

  David shut his eyes tightly for a moment, and when he opened them, Miranda’s were bright. They held each other’s gazes. “I want to know how that happened, Second.”

  “I wasn’t there, but the report I’m getting says she was screaming about being the Chosen One and her mission, and she came within a hair’s breadth of killing Elite-40; they had to pry her off him, and in the struggle her neck was broken. They knew they were tasked with protecting her, Sire, I honestly don’t believe they would have harmed her unless it was necessary.”

  He let out a slow breath. No need to force-silver his eyes right now…though he couldn’t say for sure who he was angry at. “Have a full report with statements from the entire team and Mo on my server by dawn. And have Mo do a forensic workup on the girl then have him transfer the body to Brack—anonymous delivery, the usual, and make sure we get copies of any autopsy findings from APD.”

  “Yes, Sire. I can have the team report to you directly at end-of-shift if you want a formal incident debriefing.”

  “Let me review the report first.”

  “As you will it.”

  Silence followed and hung on for a while. Miranda slowly set her guitar aside, wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve.

  He shifted on the sofa so he could stretch his legs out along the cushions and pull Miranda up against him, their arms winding around each other, her head nestled on his shoulder. Her fingers wrapped around the collar of his shirt, just for something to hold onto.

  Neither of them spoke, but he knew they were both thinking the same thing:

  We tried.

  We failed.

  Determination tried to take over in his mind. He’d deal with the VLF as soon as Faith could bring in any of their members to interrogate; and Novotny would have an initial report on the girl’s weapons within 24 hours with more detail to follow within five to seven days. They could identify the kind of tool marks on that stake, the source of the wood, and…

  Over Miranda’s shoulder he caught sight of his purple toenails.

  They were the exact sort of color a seventeen-year-old girl should be painting her nails. Purple glitter…prom dates…college applications…not hand-to-hand combat and wooden stakes. He imagined her as she might have been before fate had turned her bright young heart to shadow: texting with her best friend, jockeying against her siblings for bathroom time, making plans. She might have already had a girlfriend or boyfriend or both. Kennedy probably wasn’t even her real name…was there anyone still waiting for her to come home?

  “We need to find out who she really was,” he said quietly.

  Miranda nodded. “We will.”

  He left the purple polish on until it had flaked and faded and only a few stray spots of glitter remained.

  Mileage Report/Vehicular Maintenance Request

  Driver’s Elite Designation/Name: 5/H. Ellison

  Date Range Covered: January 14—20, 20—

  Vehicle Description: Cadillac Escalade #1

  Vehicle Plate: HAVEN-1

  --------------------

  Date: January 14, 20—

  Time of Departure: 21:20

  Pickup Location: Haven (garage)

  Destination: ATX, Sector 17.4.2

  Beginning mileage: 22,449

  Notes: Standard pickup/ notified of impending roundup/execution of VLF. Anticipate bloodstains/misc. mayhem, followed by standard hunt/return to Haven.

  Time of Return: 02:27

  Ending mileage: 22,501

  Notes: Ref. to Maintenance Staff—Bloodstains, passenger-side rear seat. Execution of gang leadership (3 individuals), blood transfer from coat; standard enzyme treatment should suffice. In addition, replace backup clothing *1 in trunk; swap out ice cream in rear freezer, as *1 “would rather suck a wombat than eat more Cherry Garcia this month,” replace w/Chunky Monkey.

  --------------------

  Date: January 15, 20—

  Time of Departure: 21:50

  Pickup Location: Haven (front)

  Destination: ATX, Sector 13.2.3

  Beginning mileage: 22,501

  Notes: Standard pickup/hunt dropoff, notice of Haven assist w/APD op. Loins girded.

  Time of Return: 04:15

  Ending mileage: 22,557

  Notes: Ref. to Mechanical Staff—Flat rear right tire, spare installed for interim. Cause: 22-caliber bullet. Shooter was human drug dealer, took exception to raid on crack house (assist to APD, adjacent to homicide investigation; contact Det. Mike Maguire for additional details as needed). Ref. to Maintenance—Addi
tional bloodstains, standard enzyme treatment. New selection of frozen treats enthusiastically approved.

  --------------------

  Date: January 16, 20—

  Time of Departure: 21:45

  Pickup Location: Haven (garage)

  Destination: ATX, Sector 8.8.4 (*1, Hunter Dev.) and Sector 12.2.2 (*2, Bat Cave studio)

  Beginning Mileage: 22,557

  Notes: Standard pickup/meeting dropoff, to be followed by standard hunt.

  Time of Return: 04:00

  Ending Mileage: 22,604

  Notes: None.

  --------------------

  Date: January 18, 20—

  Time of Departure: 22:00

  Pickup Location: Haven (front)

  Destination: ATX, Shadow Dist. Sector 2

  Beginning Mileage: 22,604

  Notes: Social outing, nothing noteworthy anticipated. Likelihood of something noteworthy: High.

  Time of Return: 04:45

  Ending Mileage: 22,660

  Notes: Ref. to Maintenance—Preternatural grace of *2 rendered null and void by 8 margaritas. Tequila bottle upended on seat. *2 apologizes profusely and wishes to buy Maintenance staff new cars and/or puppies as penance. Most likely drunk-talk, disregard unless cars/puppies appear in garage (as with iPod incident of 2011).

  --------------------

  Date: January 19, 20—

  Time of Departure: 21:15

  Pickup Location: ATX, SD Sector 1 (Hausmann)

  Destination: Back to Haven

  Beginning Mileage: 22,660

  Notes: Nonstandard *1 pickup in town due to unplanned long-distance Mist. Reason unknown. Suspect either VLF reprisals, sensor failure in District sector, or unexpected lack of Jack Daniels.

  Time of Return: 01:10

  Ending Mileage: 22,720

  Notes: Returned *1 to Haven, second departure for *2 to meet w/management, scheduled last-minute (Sector 8.3.1). Fuel/time wastage of poorly coordinated travel plans registered with *1, followed by banter re: inherent frustrations of being a superhero’s Black driver w/comparisons to current television shows. Phone call to *1 cut off due to attack from remaining VLF membership; skirmish btw *2 and VLF too loud for conversation; presence @ skirmish requested.

  Ref. to Mechanical Staff—post-skirmish—check front axle for damage from hit-and-drag. Ref. to Maintenance—Wash and wax, special attention to undercarriage and passenger side rear door (smears/possible paint damage from impact w/severed head). Interior detail: bloodstain, driver’s backrest; post-mayhem soil and ground-in dirt front and back floorboards. Also replace *2 backup clothing in trunk; resharpen both hilted stakes from backup weapons cache. Replace depleted emergency vodka.

  --------------------

  Date: January 20, 20—

  Night off; refer to report by Elite-63 (C. Warner) for end-of-week mileage and notes.

  Cue the Rain

  Miranda was giggling like a madwoman—even as the floor was flying up at her face. Just as she expected, however, her partner caught her and dragged her back up to her feet.

  “God, you’re hopeless,” Deven said with mock—well, she assumed mock—exasperation. “How can you be so graceful in battle and in bed and be such a terrible dancer?”

  She laughed again and kissed his nose. “Aww, you really think I’m graceful in bed?”

  A world-weary sigh. “Hopeless.”

  “I told you I’m awful at this. During the Council Ball I had to count steps the whole time David and I were waltzing—remember that, babe?”

  David didn’t look up from his monitor, but said, “You and those heels nearly took off half my foot.”

  “I coasted by on the skills of my dance partner,” she said with a nod. “He made up for my clumsiness and somehow made me look awesome. The twirly dress didn’t hurt. I just suck at it. I don’t get why, either. But I did warn you.”

  “You also said you’d practiced the mambo from Dirty Dancing in your bedroom a thousand times. I thought perhaps some of it might have stuck with you.”

  “That one’s hard! It took Baby an entire musical montage to learn and she still couldn’t do the lift until the end of the movie.”

  Now Dev smiled and said to David, “Do you remember the year I had to teach you how to waltz for the Council Ball in New York? You were pretty dreadful at first too.”

  The Prime finally looked up at them. “I caught on quickly enough once I got serious and stopped trying to shag you mid-dance.”

  “You mean once I threatened to cut you off for a month if you embarrassed our Signet in public with that Pinocchio got-no-strings nonsense you were doing.”

  Miranda held back another giggle…barely…at the mental image, and flopped down on the sofa with a deliberate lack of grace that made Deven wince. “But you never got to dance together,” she said. “Not at the Ball. Didn’t that bother you?”

  “Of course it did,” David said. “I had a miserable time, in fact, because I had to waste all that work dancing with Larimer’s Second, who was so drunk I had to prop her up the whole time. I was more than a little angry that I couldn’t be out there with my lover—if for no other reason than he was a spectacular partner.”

  Deven, however, shrugged. His words were light, but she could feel the centuries of hurt beneath them. “I was used to it by then.”

  She looked from one Prime to the other. “Okay, then, let me see it.”

  “See what?” Deven asked.

  “You two. Your waltz. If you’re both so good at it, prove it.” She grabbed her phone and queued up a different song, sending it to the suite’s speaker system.

  David started to protest—probably that he was in the middle of something—but an odd look crossed his face, and after a moment, he nodded and pushed his computer back. “All right.”

  Dev, understanding that he wasn’t going to get out of it, sighed again. “Fine, but no lifts.”

  “In here? We’d break the ceiling fan with your hard head.”

  The two Primes approached each other a little reluctantly, it seemed—Miranda wasn’t sure what to make of it, but then, she hadn’t known them back when they were a couple; there was baggage attached to almost every moment of their relationship that she doubted she’d ever completely untangle.

  Dev put a hand up on David’s shoulder. “Oh, I get to lead?” David asked. “You’re too kind.”

  “You’re welcome,” Deven said. “Now shut up.”

  They linked hands, and David’s free hand slid around Dev’s back, again reminding Miranda how much smaller she and Deven were than him. She never felt that much of a size difference—he was hardly a lumbering giant, only 6’2”– but whenever he put a hand anywhere on Deven it was startlingly obvious. Nico was taller than both of them but never seemed to tower over anyone, least of all his Prime.

  They stared at each other for a moment, and Miranda felt something shift. She didn’t know what to call it, but she knew what it was: in the breath before they both stepped into the song, she felt their energy snap into sync, and without either giving any sort of signal, David spun Deven out away from him, then back in again, and swept them both into the music as if not a second had passed since they’d last practiced.

  Headlights and taillights they all look the same

  We come and we go, need something to chase

  Hard to remember what we left behind

  But your hand in mine

  Is hard to erase…

  She’d watched them fight, that horrible morning on the roof in Austin, and as mind-blowingly powerful as that was, this was so much more than that: it was perfect concert, the two picking up each other’s intentions and movements with the same effortlessness they all used in battle. The power-dance, part technique and part psychic gift, took on a whole new layer of meaning when there were no weapons involved.

  Easily navigating around the furniture and the pile of clothes she’d dropped on the floor by the foot of the bed, the Primes never looked away from each other�
�s eyes, even when David repeated the turn—and another, and a third all in a row. Miranda would have been on her ass before she’d gotten around in one circle, but Deven spun around both in place and in an orbit around David, head turning a split second after the rest of him so his eyes never fully left his partner’s.

  She didn’t know much about waltzes but she knew this wasn’t strictly traditional—in fact she was almost certain they were making it up as they went along, going off each other’s cues rather than some routine or stuffy ballroom rules. Even with a few inches of space between them, it was almost painfully intimate; she could practically feel the muscles beneath David’s palm and the heat caught between their joined hands, the slight pressure of fingers all they needed to indicate a turn or change of direction.

  Halfway through the song, without a word, they switched leads—this time David spun out, and then in again, managing to look like an utter badass with his free hand pressed into the small of his back like some European nobleman in jeans; she imagined that a woman in that position would be holding her dress up off the floor.

  She watched, eyes wide, heart pounding, feeling with new appreciation how whenever any of the Tetrad worked in concert—whether it was in a fight, in bed, or apparently on the dance floor—their energies seemed to Weave patterns around them that, given the right attention, could reshape reality itself.

  The city was on fire for us

  We would have died for us

  Up in flames

  Cue the rain

  In my heart little sparks

  Everywhere that you are

  Up in flames

  Cue the rain

  They switched back again for the last chorus of the song, but this time instead of a spin, David caught Dev by the waist and dipped him while they both turned together. By the time they were facing Miranda again Dev was upright and, on the last beat, stepped back from his partner, and Prime bowed to Prime with a slightly breathless smile.