He had seen Eladra’s journals; they always had purple silk covers. This one was dark brown leather. “Was that Xara’s?”
“No, my Lord…” She handed it to him, and he realized it was older…much older. The pages were yellowed with time, the binding brittle; it reminded him strongly of the vellum Psalm David had shown him, though as he opened it, instead of brilliantly-colored illumination it was filled with even, careful script punctuated with diagrams, sketches, and a few illustrations.
Ashera turned to a page near the back and indicated the text with her finger.
He looked down. The date written about 2/3 down the page was July 24, 1204.
The journal’s owner had written in archaic French, which he could translate pretty easily, though the writing was faded and took a minute to puzzle out.
They were watching him expectantly, so he took the hint and read it aloud.
“I have received a vision,” the author wrote. “Bleak and full of sorrow it was…I saw the end of all we know, a time of great tribulation. Ancient evil shall devour our world…but in the face of our extinction, the Shadow shall rise.”
He turned the page, and froze.
In the middle of the page, the author had written out a name.
He stared at it.
“Keep reading,” Ashera said softly.
He cleared his throat and did as she said - she was right, the only way to understand what he was looking at was to keep going. “Um…from the blood of those She fashioned with Her own hands…shall come a new Circle, and within it, Her own true children, known forever after as Thirdborn. They shall stand for our people, and fall for our people, and in doing so return our Lady’s true power to the world…a new world, blessed in Her blood…a new Order shall rise, regaining its sacred purpose and place within the Shadow World…guided, and guarded, by the Sword of Elysium, whose Earthly name was given to me in this vision, set down here, by my hand, so those in the coming age will know him.”
His eyes moved down to where the priestess had recorded the name in precise letters…with an additional title he didn’t recognize at first until his brain helpfully translated it from old Elvish.
DEVEN BURKE
ILE’LYREN
Deven Burke…The Ghostlight.
He lifted his eyes to meet Ashera’s.
“So you see,” she said, “It is not a matter of Xara’s choice, or even Eladra’s. In the time before you were born, you were known to the Goddess….and we have been waiting for you.”
Chapter Six
“Next.”
The line of Elite stretched around the training hall’s entire perimeter; only a quarter of its members were here, as David was taking things in phases. As soon as he was done with his Elite he’d be moving on to other territories. The whole thing was probably going to take months.
Deven sat at his feet, ostensibly helping but really just grateful to dump his frustrations on someone without an agenda in the matter. To David, Persephone was a general more than a deity; She had brought him back from the dead, true, but despite all he’d seen apparently he still didn’t harbor any spiritual inclinations.
Thank God.
Dev passed him another chip from the foam-lined case where dozens of them were nestled, each only half a centimeter long and barely a millimeter thick. David popped the chip into the injector, and when the Elite in front of him knelt and bent his head, the Prime quickly pulled the trigger, implanting it in the vampire’s skin just behind his ear. The tiny wound healed over almost instantly, and David ran the calibration routine from his tablet.
They were both wearing black latex gloves, which struck Deven as funny given they were operating on vampires, but David was concerned about finger oils getting on the chips. The Prime was even using voice commands on the computer to keep from having to touch the screen.
The whole process took less than a minute, except for the handful of cases where something went wrong; a few of the chips were duds, and on others the routine failed for one reason or another. Those Elite were gathered off to one side, where Mo waited to make a quick incision, pop the failed chip out, and send him or her on their way. They would be called back later once David debugged whatever needed debugging.
“Well that must ruffle at least a few feathers,” David noted between injections. “A Cloister full of qualified priesthood, mostly women, and they pick a man who never even finished training to be their great white savior…oh, and who also killed most of their leaders a few years back. They can’t all just accept it as Word of God, can they?”
“I’m sure they don’t. The Acolytes do—they were close to Xara, and some to Eladra. They know what really goes into it. Just like how the average vampire on the street doesn’t really understand what Signets do because they’ve never actually seen a Signet.”
“Next.”
It was amusing, or it would have been on another night, to see how some of the Elite reacted to being within hypodermic distance of their leaders. They’d all seen David and Deven, and all of them would have spoken to David in person at least once during their training, but they rarely spent enough time for the awe to wear off. Even an “ordinary” Signet bearer was a creature of legend, so what must they think of this tableau: Deven cross-legged on the floor, occasionally leaning sideways against David’s leg, and David pausing now and again to change gloves, taking a moment to run fingers through Dev’s hair before pulling on a new glove.
If their expressions were anything to go by, they were surprised. It was hardly a secret that the Tetrad all slept together, but again, it was more of an idea than a fact to most people. Not to mention David tended toward strict professionalism in front of his employees; lately, though, his moods had been a little capricious, and everyone seemed glad he was in a friendly one tonight.
Every now and then Dev recognized one of the California Elite and greeted them personally. Most of his old warriors were still in the West, running out of the satellite garrisons under David’s management, but some had relocated here, and there were always a few Elite from the outer territories traveling from place to place. Night to night, things had stayed as they had been before in the areas David had taken over; the same Elite were still in charge, the same power structure remained, just with its commander-in-chief in a different time zone.
After the first of the year David planned to start making the rounds, having in-depth meetings with the lieutenants and Court members, getting to know them better; he wanted to reassure everyone as much as to reassert his authority. Deven imagined he’d be going along as well, to add his presence and make absolutely sure the whole world knew his sword was with the South.
Just thinking about it was exhausting. He couldn’t say in all honesty he missed being in charge of the West. He’d never had David’s ambition—he was good at leadership, but ruling wasn’t his first love; he’d always preferred smaller organizations, more hands-on work, like training warriors, or…
He forcefully cut that thought off before he could finish it.
“How did you leave things?” David asked, part of his attention on the tablet screen as a progress bar turned from red to green and a readout of numbers appeared.
“I told them that for now Ashera would be in charge. I didn’t commit to anything else. I took the Star with me, just to pacify them that I was thinking about it.”
“But you’re not?”
“Of course not! What do I care about prophecies? I care about reality, and the reality is I can’t lead these people.”
“You mean you won’t.”
Deven glared at him. “Fine. I won’t. Whatever. I changed the subject and told them a little about my idea for the resettlement.”
David smiled slightly at the aggravation in his tone but didn’t comment on it. “The architect says she has some preliminary drawings for us—for the lower level, that is. I told her about the cliffside structure and she said she’d put something together for that before our
meeting using the old Haven plans, and we can go from there.”
“Good.”
After another couple of injections David gave him a sideways look and said, “Just as a reminder, if it weren’t for prophecies, you wouldn’t have Nico.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying.”
Deven frowned up at him, and David chuckled, stripped off his glove, kissed a finger, and pressed the finger to Deven’s nose. Rolling his eyes, Dev bit him.
David yelped and laughed, and the Elite standing in front of him looked openly astonished.
“Sorry, Elite-309, I can glower at you if you’d prefer,” the Prime said.
She blushed. “As you will it, Sire.”
Another laugh. “Good answer. On your knees.”
“You are in an oddly good mood tonight,” Deven pointed out. “Any particular reason?”
“Well,” David said, “At the moment I’m playing with my toys, the system is working remarkably well so far, I got word that the Elite in Chicago finally cleared out that nest of Blood Kings, the Morningstar attack in Kenya last night failed miserably, and this morning I had sex with three of the hottest, most amazing people I’ve known in 350 years of life.”
“When you put it that way it sounds fabulous,” Deven said, smiling.
“Damn right.” He nodded to the woman in front of him, and she rose, bowed, and left, still faintly pink.
Deven continued to study him over the rest of the hour, thinking about the looks David had been getting from Miranda and Nico lately. They all agreed David was…different…since the territories had started falling into his lap, and they all wanted to think it was just stress.
But Miranda had told him privately what David had said about having a plan to run the whole planet, and while such an idea was perfectly in keeping with the David Solomon Deven knew, the fact that David was worried about himself gave Dev pause. David had always been reasonably self-aware, especially for a man, and given how often he’d been thrown for an emotional loop since meeting Miranda, he was even more watchful of himself than before. Was there, then, anything to worry about, or was David just internalizing the world’s madness?
Either possibility could lead to some unpleasant places.
“You’re staring at me,” David said mildly, startling Dev out of his thoughts. “There are only five more—surely you can keep your hands off me that long.”
“Oh come now,” Deven replied, “What was it you used to say when I caught you watching me sleep? You like looking at beautiful things? Well…ditto.”
Another chuckle. “Next!”
Deven had tried to reassure Miranda—there were three of them now to keep David balanced and to call him out if he acted like an ass; the important thing was to keep him talking, to make sure he was telling at least one of them what was going on in his mind. Bottling was a good idea for beverages, not so much for people. Both were apt to explode from internal pressure.
Which, of course, was part of why Dev had come here tonight; one of his favorite things about David was his ability to listen almost entirely without judgment and offer advice the same way. Of all the people walking the Earth David had known him the longest, and vice versa. If anyone would understand where he was coming from in all this, it was the Prime.
It was therefore all the more annoying when David said, “You know…that night at the Cloister, when all those Acolytes were kneeling to you, and then later when you were blessing all those poor dead girls…I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on your face before.”
“What look?”
“It’s hard to describe. On the one hand you were scared out of your wits, which is another rarity, but on the other…Nico saw it too, maybe he can describe it better. But there was a rightness to it. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a puzzle to me, and I’ve put together piece after piece. One of the few I had never found fell into place seeing that, and I realized it wasn’t just any piece, but a corner that changed the entire picture. Something about you suddenly made more sense.”
“Well you’re not making much.”
David raised an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that. Maybe I lack the language for it, but you know exactly what I mean.”
“You don’t actually think I should take the Star, do you?”
“I think you should do what you feel called to do. For now, at least I don’t think that means leading the Cloister—we’ve got enough going on. But just like with your little sister, I think you should have a role, even if for now it’s a step removed from full involvement. Let Ashera lead, let Kalea find a foster, but be a part of both. You don’t have to ditch your life here and start a new one—you can be who you are and this too. Define what that means for yourself.”
David smiled at his thoughtful expression and added, “Look around you, my darling—nothing about us is what it was supposed to be. We’re making it up as we go along. There’s never been a Tetrad, never been a Prime who claimed another Prime’s territory, never been an Elven Consort…we have the dubious privilege of being something new. So be a gay-plus-one polyamorous vampire assassin murder pimp priest big brother. Although you might want to find a better word for it—that’s a lot to print on a business card.”
Deven laughed and snapped the empty case shut; they both discarded their gloves, and David pulled up a graph of the overall results of their efforts, nodding to himself before closing the program. Dev had barely noticed the line dwindling, but the training room was now empty except for Mo, who was placing the defective chips in a separate box.
David stood, stretched, and offered him a hand up, taking the opportunity to pull him close for a kiss. “Allow me, if you will, to distract you from your worries for an hour or two.”
Deven regarded him critically for a moment, looking him up and down as if weighing his merits the way he had the first night they’d met. “It will be a sacrifice, but…I suppose I can allow that.”
David bowed gallantly. “I am at your disposal, my Lord.”
Dev raised an eyebrow and gave him a sly smile. “You’re going to regret saying that.”
He smiled in return, straightened, and slid an arm around Deven’s waist. “You always say that…but I never have.”
*****
Miranda missed the early days of her life in the Shadow World when she could go into the city by herself without the clench of worry about who might be lurking out there waiting for her. Even a year ago she’d been more comfortable walking the streets—some naïve, arrogant part of her hadn’t truly believed Morningstar was a threat to her as an individual, even though Primes were dropping like flies all over the world and one of her best friends had been murdered in the one place he should have been safe.
She sat in the car for a few minutes, gathering her courage, staring out the Escalade’s windows at the human passers-by.
A hand closed on her wrist. “Shall we?”
She looked over at Nico, and it was clear he was struggling as well. That wouldn’t do—he’d asked to come with her so she could reassure him, not the other way around.
It wasn’t as if they would be alone, anyway. There was always a team of Elite wherever she went. After years of arguing with David over how many and how close, they’d arrived at a reasonable compromise: her guards kept her in their sights but stayed out of her sight.
“I’d be happy to escort you, my Lady,” Harlan said. “Just say the word and I’ll put this thing in park.”
She smiled. “That’s okay, Harlan. I just have the jitters after the other night.”
“Honestly, my Lady, at this point if I were you I’d be wearing a Kevlar onesie and a chain mail scarf.”
Miranda had to laugh at the mental image, and so did Nico. “Come on,” she told the Elf. “Let’s be brave together.”
It was another frigid night, though there hadn’t been another snowfall; the first had turned to ice and rendered Austin extremely hazardous for se
venty-two hours, so she hadn’t had to make excuses to stay in after she’d recovered from the gunshot. Now, though, she was sick of bagged blood and had serious cabin fever.
She got out of the car and straightened her various outerwear, making doubly sure she could reach Shadowflame without impediment. She peered into every shadow around the car, senses on alert, straining to feel anything dangerous, anything even a touch out of the ordinary.
After a minute Nico said quietly, “We can go back, if you want.”
She looked at him and tried for a smile. She wanted to put on her Queen face and be the support he needed, but even if they hadn’t had a Signet bond she knew was telling him otherwise, being dishonest to someone so compassionate felt impossible.
“I used to be bulletproof,” she said.
He smiled. “I know.” He took her hand and tucked it in his arm, started walking. She fell into step with him, thinking they must be a striking pair. He tended to be stared at anyway, both because of his flashing beauty and, well, because of the ears.
“Have you decided about your hair?” she asked, wanting to think about anything but the way her stomach was churning. There were times she almost felt like the bullet was still in her, like a phantom limb. It reminded her of how Deven sometimes rubbed his hands together as if they were still broken, though it had been well over seven centuries.
Nico’s eyes lifted up to his hairline. “I don’t know…it was so long for so long, and going among the refugees without it I feel like even more of an outsider. But at the same time…I am an outsider. As Deven said, I am not like the others anymore and I must learn to accept that. I was never one of the Elves who spent hours braiding and arranging my hair, so at least I do not miss that.”
Miranda grinned, thinking of Kai’s elaborate braids with their beads and bells. “Another thing I guess your brother got that you didn’t.”
Nico chuckled. “Yes…Kai was…is…the peacock of the family.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Neither of them knew how to talk about Kai, and neither wanted to talk about why.
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