“I am afraid so. Lesela of course knew better—her Prophet’s talent gave her insight far beyond just appearances. She knew the good you had done, and the pain you were in, but your mother…she lived so long among humans, their fear and prejudice never fully left her. And you know well the kind of judgment the Elves have heaped upon Nicolanai—she had those feelings as well, having seen firsthand the devastation vampires caused our people. But the truth is, she was never truly happy—though she made great strides once she met her beloved and even more when the little one was born. It made her rethink a lot of things, I believe. But if you had met her, I am afraid the reunion would not have been reconciliatory.”
Now he did laugh, though it was a hollow and humorless sound. “Perfect.”
“I think you would have enjoyed knowing your grandmother, however. She certainly wanted to know you.”
“So much for that,” he muttered, turning away from the crib, not sure whether to keep laughing until he wept or just weep. “But at least I don’t have to spend the next few months or however long wasting my hope on Elendala.”
Kalea shrugged fluidly. She really did remind him uncannily of both her sons—they all had the same gestures, the same head tilt. It was oddly comforting.
“I don’t suppose you know what happened to my father,” he forced himself to ask.
She took another breath. “If I recall correctly he died long before the Burning began—some sort of accident on the farm. She was alone for a long time before the Inquisition came. I think that made things worse.”
“But how did he know what she was? And for how long? He knew her name.”
“That I could not say.”
They were both silent now, staring at Inaliel, who was back to gnawing on her bear. She was a quiet little thing, but obviously happy; every now and then she would break into a wide toothless grin and her little ears would wiggle.
“What’s going to happen to her?” he asked.
“As her only blood relative, you would be entitled to take her in—or, as would be my recommendation, to choose a foster home for her. There will be plenty of offers, I daresay, given all the losses we have suffered.”
“Can you help me? I don’t know your people—you can tell me where she would fit best.”
“Of course,” she replied, sounding pleased that he’d asked. “I am happy to continue watching over her while we look—it gives me something to concern myself with besides our situation and…Kai.”
He looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”
He could practically hear the frown in her voice, and the lack of condemnation made him look back up at her. “You must not continue to blame yourself. My sons both made their own choices—prophecy or no, they took the paths they each felt drawn toward. No one forced this Prophet to start this war, or murder your Consort, or any other act of evil that has led us here. And as for Nico…well…he has suffered more than I can bear to think of, but when I see him watching you, and smiling at you, I believe that pain might truly be worth it in the end. He was never happy either…content, yes, but what good is contentment to a heart with so much more to give?”
He smiled at her tiredly. “I think I’d rather you hated me.”
“I am sure you would rather everyone hated you. Pity, then, that no one does.”
“I will bring Kai home,” he said. “I can’t promise he’ll be the same, or even alive—you and I both know what we’re facing. But I won’t abandon him to whatever fate the Prophet has planned. I give you my word.”
Kalea regarded him gravely for a moment before nodding. “I believe you.”
Taking a deep breath, he looked over at the crib one more time and tried to change the subject. “Does she ever make any noise?”
The Elf chuckled. “Our guard outside asked something similar—am I to assume human children are very noisy? Ours, less so, though she does cry at times, and laughs with equal fervor. She speaks quite a few words—they usually start with the names of their guardians, or demands like ‘up!’ but she understands a good deal more than that already.”
“It sounds like Elflings are smarter than human babies.”
“I know little of the latter, but I think the circumstances are different for each. There is so much telepathy and empathy among our people that we are able to intuit communication from a very young age—just as Nico can learn and teach languages telepathically in some cases. It also makes verbal communication less important in the early years. Often our little ones are nearly silent for most of the first year and then one day start speaking in full sentences.”
“Does that mean she knows what’s happened to her mother?”
“That I do not know. She has asked for her, and cried for her, but accepts the comfort I offer without hesitation. I will try to explain it to her in simple terms as time goes on.”
“What words do Elflings use for their kin? I’m sure she’s not outright saying Mother or Father.”
“Usually something like Metha and Adde,” Kalea replied, abbreviating the Elvish methere and addeneth. “And instead of Sister or Brother, they often—”
“Veli!”
They both started and looked at the baby.
She was grinning. “Veli,” she repeated very clearly, gesturing emphatically at Deven with her bear.
Kalea’s eyebrows shot up nearly high enough to disappear into her hairline.
The Elvish word for sister was venithi; for brother, velinith.
Inaliel nodded—actually nodded—to herself. She seemed inordinately pleased with herself for coming up with the word, and even more pleased at the looks on their faces.
Elf and Prime looked at each other.
“I imagine you’ll want to run off now,” Kalea said kindly.
Deven nodded, and disappeared.
*****
“She changes everything she touches
and everything she touches changes…”
Stella paused just inside the door to Revelry, listening to the merry jingle of the doorbell, letting the smell of years’ worth of incense and herbs settle around her like a blanket against the Winter’s night. The stereo system greeted her with a chorus of chanting that was mostly on-key, a recording she remembered from countless Wicca 101 classes and Pagan Student Alliance meetings.
“Stella! Babe! I never thought you’d set foot in here again!”
She grinned as Lark bounded out from behind the counter and all but tackled her with a hug. The handful of other customers looked up from the bookshelves and racks for a moment, didn’t recognize the newcomer, and went back to shopping.
She did feel like a stranger. She hadn’t been to the store in months—Miranda’s people could order any Witchy things Stella needed and refused to let her pay for anything herself, so she hadn’t really had reason to visit. Lark had said people asked about her once she stopped appearing at the store, but the people here tonight were unfamiliar—a new set of regulars, maybe, in the grand cyclical turn of retail patronage.
Behind her the door jingled again, and Nico stepped into the store, tall and dark and gorgeous as always…him, they noticed. Every eye in the place was suddenly on the Elf who had appeared in their midst like a swan dropped into a lake full of geese.
Lark grinned conspiratorially. “Look at you,” she said, hugging Nico fiercely. “Out in public and everything.”
Nico smiled and shrugged. “There are half a dozen guards with us…and I’m a bit more confident these days.”
An even bigger grin. “Getting laid left right and sideways will do that to you.”
Nico blushed, and Stella got the giggles—all the more so because of how awed people were just looking at him. They had no idea what he really was, or what it meant, but these were Witches, after all, and even the most head-blind ordinary human would feel something Very Very Different about the Elf…even if they couldn’t see his ears, or his Signet.
Lark looked around and said, “Okay guys, back to your herbs. The hottie’s oh s
o very taken.” She squeezed them each around the middle with one arm and asked, “What brings you to our non-filthy-rich neck of the woods?”
“There’s actually something I need,” Stella told her. “We need to do a communication spell, and we have a Speaking Stone like the one I told you about before. But it works best if you’re looking for a blood relative, and we’re not, so we need something to boost the signal.”
“Something like French white dittany,” Lark said, nodding.
“I knew the shop carries it and that it’s from a good supplier—I’d rather not wait for shipping from some random place.”
Lark headed behind the register to the cabinet where the rare and expensive items—dangerous herbs, handmade grimoires, and the like—were kept with the special orders and anything else Foxglove didn’t want the public touching. “Do you need the herb or a tincture?”
Stella glanced at Nico, who shook his head. “This is your territory, Mistresses Witch. We use herbs for medicinal purposes on occasion but our magic isn’t nearly as elemental.”
“So why not just Weave yourself a spell?” Lark asked. “Seems easier.”
“The way the Stones are set up it’s much easier to play with the ingredients than to…how would you put it, Nico?” Stella asked.
“Hack the operating system,” he replied as if Elves talked about programming all the time.
Stella had to bite back another giggle. “Right. The first thing to try is to add something to the blood we use to activate it. If that doesn’t work we move on to fiddling with the spell itself.”
“Sounds like a good strategy. Well, if you’re working with blood as your primary ingredient, I’d recommend adding tincture to it rather than whole herb, unless you want to make your own tincture…but that would take a lot longer.”
Stella agreed, and she watched while Lark measured out a small vial’s worth of the alcohol-based infusion; the stuff smelled dreadful, but thankfully they didn’t have to take it internally like people usually did with tinctures. If they added a few drops to Miranda’s blood and charged it with extra energy, it could overcome the fact that they had no idea who they were trying to contact.
She glanced over at Nico, who had drifted toward the shelves to examine some of the books, but noticed he had an odd, preoccupied look on his face. “Everything okay?” she asked.
The Elf frowned. “I’m not sure. Something seems off.”
Her heart skipped. “Off, like precognitively off?”
Nico made an indefinite motion with his head. “I don’t know.” He tapped on his com and said, “Elite-32, what’s your status?”
“Situation quiet, my Lord. No signs of movement out front or in the alley. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Just stay alert, please, just in case.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
Shaking his head again, he said, “Star-One.”
“Yes, my darling?”
David’s tone wasn’t particularly intimate—he sounded a bit distracted, in fact—but something about the com line always added an extra layer of sexy to his already libido-shaking voice, and at the term of endearment, Nico turned a little pink at the ears. “Can you check the grid for this block?” he asked. “I have a weird feeling.”
Any hint of distraction vanished. “Checking it now.” A few seconds lapsed, and he said, “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary—all the vampire signatures are accounted for, and there are seven humans in the building - Stella and six others. Not much traffic outside. Let me widen the scope a bit, hang on…”
Outside the store, Stella heard tires squealing. “Does the grid track cars?”
The Prime heard her, and replied quickly, “No, but there are four humans coming in fast—Nico, don’t—get down!”
Stella felt her entire body freeze to the spot, panic overtaking her before she could even move, but vampire reflexes weren’t screwing around. She felt hands gripping her upper arms, and she was flung hard to the side, dragged downward behind a body. All around her the quiet shop erupted into screams and the sounds of shattering glass as bullets blew out the entire front of the store and punched holes in everything they could reach.
She hit the ground with a cry, everything lurching into slow motion and back out again; she felt repeated impacts against her, but not into her body, and sound was muffled by the coat that surrounded her protectively against flying glass.
Though she was too panicked to focus her Sight, she could still sense a massive wall of energy erupting from all around her—she had no idea what it was, but it blew outward from the building on a tide of blood-red, black-edged rage. She shrank back from it, but it wasn’t aimed at her—it struck its target so hard it felt like the ground beneath her shook, though it was probably just the Web, vibrating and shifting to accommodate the intense wave of magic.
Then she lost hold on the world, and everything went silent.
*****
The next few hours were a blur of noise and madness: sirens and screams gave way to the purposeful chatter of nurses and surgeons and the beep-beep of machinery; the sense-assaulting combination of incense and herbs and blood turned into the stink of hospital food and antiseptic.
Miranda arrived in time to help lift Nico off of Stella’s unconscious body. He was covered in blood, his back punctured with a dozen bullets that were already starting to push their way out, and cried out in pain every time he moved…but the Witch beneath him was unharmed.
She was the only human who made it out alive.
Miranda held her tightly as the Witch fought to get free then screamed, sobbed, and threatened to find Morningstar and kill them all bare-handed. Stella’s eyes were fixed in anguish on the ER bay where the hospital staff fought for over an hour to save Lark.
Finally, when all was calm, the elder Witch lay covered in a sheet, her blood in smears and puddles all over the operating room floor. She had been protected partially by the cash register, but bullets had entered her chest, and by the time paramedics arrived Miranda knew it was too late.
None of the other shop patrons survived long enough to reach the ER.
Six dead. Gang violence, according to the police.
Maguire arrived and took charge of his daughter, holding her while she wept.
Miranda knew he wanted an explanation…but he also knew, as did they all, that none was necessary. Whatever role Stella had in the fight against Morningstar, Morningstar knew more about it than they did, and at some point they’d decided she must be eliminated. If the target had been Nico they wouldn’t have used bullets. They must have been watching any place Stella was known to visit.
Freed of her friend’s grief-stricken embrace, Miranda wandered into the nearby bay where Deven had Nico facedown on a gurney, pushing the healing through. The Elf had passed out, presumably from the pain, but one look at Deven’s face and she began to doubt that assessment.
“Is he okay?” she asked quietly.
Dev looked up at her. To her surprise, he was pale and shaky, and when he lifted his hands from Nico’s back he nearly stumbled backwards. She grabbed the Prime by his arms and pushed him into a chair.
At her incredulous look Deven said, “He’s fine. A couple of the bullets hit organs, but they’re all out now. He’ll be weak until he gets blood. One of the Elite is fetching some.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“It wasn’t the bullets that were the problem. I don’t know what he did, but right after I felt him shot, I felt…I don’t know what. He did some kind of magic after he grabbed Stella, and it drained us both—I tried to block him pulling from the two of you, but I’m surprised you didn’t feel it. Something huge and angry and…really, really violent.”
Miranda looked at the unconscious Elf. No, she hadn’t felt anything beyond the blind panic of knowing one of them was hurt. “Violent?”
Before Deven could answer, David poked his head in the curtain. “Is he awake?”
“Not yet.” De
v leaned over and touched Nico’s head, gently stroking his hair as he looked back up at David. “Did you bring in the shooters for interrogation?”
“Well I would love to have,” David said, shaking his head, “but first I’d have to scrape them off the car windows.”
“What do you mean?” Miranda asked.
“I mean that before the Elite could even take a step toward the car, every human inside it exploded.”
“Exploded,” Deven repeated.
David mimed an explosion with his hands and made a “poof!” noise. “People-jam all over the inside of the car. Quite possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He held up his phone. “Want to see?”
“No!” Miranda waved him away, but her eyes fell on the Elf. “Are we assuming Nico did that? He just…blew them up? Surely he knew we’d want to catch them alive?”
“This wasn’t an intent to apprehend,” Deven told her. “It was pure, mindless rage. Bloodlust and revenge. Right before he passed out, he asked if we caught them—I don’t think he realizes what he did.”
“Jesus,” Miranda muttered. She looked at David. “We were afraid something like this might happen.”
He nodded. “After what Morningstar did to him, the way he snapped, there’s no way that just suddenly got better. That kind of trauma doesn’t up and vanish.”
The Queen leaned against the edge of the gurney, hands on her forehead, thinking of an alley full of dead humans and her husband’s black, black eyes. What’s happening to us? “There has to be a way to help him.”
Suddenly the curtain was jerked aside, and Detective Maguire demanded, “What’s the—” He saw Nico and froze, sheepish…but gestured with his head out into the hallway.
David and Miranda followed him. The Detective was practically pacing, face red. “Do you mind telling me what happened tonight? Why my daughter’s best friend is dead and she’s been attacked again? You assured me she’d be safe—”
“I assured you she’d be as safe as she can be,” David snapped.
Maguire paled and backed up a step—Miranda knew he’d never get used to the eye thing.
Shadow Rising (The Shadow World Book 7) Page 7