Shadow Rising (The Shadow World Book 7)

by Dianne Sylvan

  “Let’s stick with present tense,” she said. “Sound good?”

  “Yes. I would prefer that.” He cleared his throat and returned to the subject. “From a strictly practical standpoint it is certainly easier to deal with short. I never realized how much effort went into just keeping it out of the way, and how nice it is not to have your lovers roll over on it every night.”

  “Elven Kama Sutra, Volume 1: Ow, You’re On My Hair.” Miranda laughed, and so did he. “There’ve been times I wanted to hack mine off the way my mom did. It’d save me a fortune in hair care products.”

  “Don’t you dare,” he said, smiling. “Imagine Miranda Grey without her trademark red curls.”

  “I know. My publicist’s head would explode. Can’t have that.”

  They took a long, slow route around the downtown area, talking about nothing really, and after a while she started to feel less edgy. A quick detour to a nearby park, a couple of joggers, and dinner was dealt with.

  She gave Nico an approving smile as he gently nudged the human woman he’d fed on back toward the flow of pedestrian traffic.

  “It’s gotten easier,” he told the Queen as they watched both of their mortals disappear back into whatever lives they had made for themselves. “Just knowing I don’t have to kill them helps a lot. I wish I knew what to expect from the next New Moon.”

  “Well, it’s a week until the Solstice…I’m guessing after that we’ll know.”

  Their errand over, they could go home, but Miranda wasn’t quite ready to yet. “Coffee?”

  “A beverage made of roasted, ground beans from a tropical—”

  “I meant do you want some, you dork!” she laughed, the sound ringing off the mostly-deserted street. People were spending as little time outside as they had to, though there were always a few crazies out running in the frost.

  Nico laughed back at her and bowed. “Lead the way.”

  She liked this, talking and joking with him; she had worried that outside the Tetrad they wouldn’t have anything to talk about, and their relationship would depend on sex or need one of the boys as an intermediary. She should have trusted the wisdom of the Signets or Persephone or whatever was driving all of this—even with their manipulation and magic, she knew that if for some reason Nico hadn’t fit perfectly into their circuit, he wouldn’t be here.

  Not that she minded the sex, of course.

  She knew Nico wasn’t eavesdropping on her thoughts, but he picked up the general theme without realizing it. “So if you had it to do over, would you have gone to bed with Kai?”

  Miranda looked at him in surprise. “Of course you knew about that,” she said, shaking her head. “You and he would have talked about it.”

  “You do not have to answer if it’s uncomfortable. I am merely curious.”

  They walked into Slim Shaky’s, the blast of the heater almost taking her breath away, and put the conversation on hold for a minute until they’d ordered.

  Settled into a table with a mocha and a scone, and he with a chai, she said, “You know…I don’t think I would have. At least not yet. If he hadn’t been captured, and the Tetrad had still happened…maybe, if we get him back, someday we’ll go there. But I’m so glad we got it out in the open regardless.”

  He seemed to be deciding something, and at length said, “Kai is very fond of you. Perhaps more than he would admit. I hope that you have a chance to revisit the idea—in your own time, of course.”

  She bit her lip and stared into her cup. “I miss him,” she said. “Every time I sit down at the piano I want to play one of the pieces we were working on together, but when I try, I just…I can’t keep from crying. I don’t want to mourn him. I feel like if I do, I’m giving up on him, and I’m not ready to do that. Not yet.”

  “Nor am I.”

  “Would he be upset that you and I…” She crooked her eyebrow at him, and he smiled.

  “It might interest you to know,” he said with studied nonchalance, blowing on his chai, “that it would not be the first time he and I were both involved with the same person.”

  “Seriously? At the same time?”

  “Indeed. These were all casual affairs, mind you, nothing romantic. If…when…he returns, we will have a lot to discuss, he and I…and you and he, and I. Even if your friendship remains platonic we should talk things over to lessen any chance of hurt feelings.”

  “No kidding.” She tasted her beverage, found it a shade too bitter, and dumped sugar into it.

  Nico said, “I had no idea how prevalent sugar cravings were in this realm until I met all of you. By the time Deven’s drink is sweet enough for him the spoon stands up in it.”

  “I know, right? I thought David had the worst sweet tooth in the Shadow World until I saw Dev drink coffee. Apparently he’ll do unspeakable things for a peanut butter milkshake.”

  A speculative grin. “Perhaps I should bring him one home tonight.”

  Miranda broke her scone in half and offered him a chunk; he took it, eyes sparkling in the coffee shop’s amber lamplight. Slim’s was a strange Austin hybrid—it had retro lamps and salvaged tables from several different decades and modes of décor, played music from the 80s as well as industrial that sounded to her like a blown vehicle transmission, and hosted art of a dozen different styles from artists all over town. As a 24/7 place it attracted equal numbers of students, writers, and the occasional vampire. She’d even heard her own music over its sound system.

  “I have a weird question,” she said without really thinking.

  He peered at her over his half of the scone. “I, in all likelihood, have a weird answer.”

  “Have you ever seen anything…I mean, in the Web…the other night, I was looking at it while I was falling asleep, and I saw something…under it.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Under it?”

  She struggled for words, a little irritated at herself for bringing it up when she had no idea what she was even talking about. “You said that the entire Web is made of the same energy, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But our part, the threads that connect the four of us and make us Thirdborn…those threads are darker.”

  “Persephone’s touch upon them makes them appear so.”

  “But what if they don’t just look different—what if they are different? What if we’re made of something else now?”

  He frowned. “There is nothing else. All matter, all life, is one.”

  She was definitely screwing it up. “What if it isn’t? Or what if…what if there’s more to what’s there than what we can see?”

  A long blink. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Okay. How about this. Elves have been Weaving the same way for centuries. Witches use that same energy even though they don’t usually See the Web like you do. But what you were taught is the particular vision of the Elves—Theia’s children. What if there’s a level of the Web that you couldn’t see before but could now that Persephone is returning? Like, when She was locked away, that vision was lost to us, but now…”

  She trailed off, hoping against hope that he got what she meant.

  He continued to frown, but thoughtfully, considering her words. “You have seen this?”

  “I think I did. It was there underneath the Web I’d already seen, and it felt like…like it’s the thing feeding our bond. Like it’s all the same basic reality, but what we’ve been given has a different flavor, or something, not just on the outside.”

  Suddenly his eyes went wide. “The Codex,” he said. “I have seen several references that I thought they were merely poetic, but may have been intended more literally. Some of the passages I can read refer to something called the Thiamoriarana…”

  “The Dark Web,” she said. “Or Shadow Web? I don’t know enough about Old Elvish to get the subtleties.”

  “I think ‘dark’ would be closest,” he replied. “As with the Moriastelethia…the word th
at refers directly to a shadow is numbara, and moria itself is darkness as a physical reality, but when thia is added in any sense, that darkness becomes the ultimate source of darkness, the power of Persephone Herself. She is the Moria Thia, and all numbarai—all shadows—arise from Her. So Thiamoriarana would be a Web belonging to that darkness—Persephone’s Web, the Dark Web.”

  “I think it’ll be less of a headache if we go with Dark Web.”

  “Agreed.” Nico set down the scone and sipped his chai. She noticed, without meaning to, that when lost in thought his brow furrowed just as Kai’s did, and it was just as attractive. “I will have to look more deeply at the Web later tonight once we are home,” he said. “I don’t think I could concentrate in this environment, at least not enough to explore something I’ve never seen.”

  Miranda sighed, relieved that he didn’t think she was insane, or at least was willing to consider she might not be.

  “But if you are right…” A spark entered his eyes—she recognized it as the same gleam David got when he figured out the answer to a coding problem. She imagined she had something similar when she got an idea for a song. “Ever since Morningstar…did what they did to me…I have had trouble Weaving. At first it was because I was in such a traumatized state, and so raw. Then the Tetrad was formed and I became Thirdborn, and the problem continued, but I assumed it was all because of the anger.”

  She frowned at the idea that he could dismiss it so easily. “Some of it probably is, though.”

  “Oh, of course.” He looked surprised at her tone, and she was instantly relieved by his next words. “Deven is absolutely right—my anger must be dealt with. What I mean is that a Weaver with my experience should be better equipped to at least channel that energy into something useful, but time and again I have found it much harder than I expected. The night at the Cloister is the first time I have been successful, and even then, it was more by brute force than the intricacies of the art I spent my life learning.”

  Now she nodded, understanding. “But if the Dark Web is a real thing, and we can tap into it, part of the problem might have been that you were trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.”

  “Something like that. The idea is intriguing—if nothing else it gives me an avenue to explore. Thank you, Miranda.”

  She shrugged, chuckled. “Always glad to provide half a scone and an awkward metaphor.”

  “It isn’t awkward,” he pointed out. “If you’re right, it’s symbolically perfect. The Web the Elves know is Theia’s Web, and it is only half of the totality of the universe. Light and dark in balance…it makes sense, and moreover, it feels right.”

  Miranda nodded. “I think so too.”

  As they finished their coffee and left the shop to wait by the street light for Harlan, she was still thinking about it, and how much less frightening it was to consider working with something that was, more or less, made for them. The magic of the Elves, and even of Witches like Stella, had always seemed so untouchable; even as strong as she was, she’d felt like she was somehow unworthy of it. But something that came from Persephone…she could reach that. She could touch it without feeling like she was breaking some kind of natural law.

  Of course it was possible she’d imagined the whole thing.

  That thought, however, rang false to her heart. Between what Nico had seen in the Codex and the gut feeling that she had Seen something real, she found herself willing to suspend disbelief, and just flat out hope it was true. If it was…if they could use it…imagine how much more powerful they would be, using the right tool for the job instead of trying to force light into a place where light didn’t belong.

  Morningstar wouldn’t stand a chance.

  *****

  “God damn it!”

  Deven looked up, surprised. “Did you just—”

  Nico nearly threw the Codex on the ground in a fit of temper, but at the last moment managed to rein himself in. “It’s not there. It’s not there!”

  Dev, sitting on the floor wrapped in a blanket near the fire, slurping the milkshake Nico had brought him and intermittently inking over the penciled lines of a possible tattoo design, regarded him calmly. “Fireplace, please.”

  Nico glanced over at the hearth, and Dev felt him pushing the excess energy that crackled around him into the fire, which leaped up to twice its height. The heat was blistering for a moment, but died down fairly quickly, and better yet, it wasn’t the furniture.

  “Good.” Deven nodded approvingly. He’d just thought of it that evening, and lucky he had—whatever it was Nico was trying to do was obviously not working.

  Nico had arrived home from his night out with the Queen excited about something he didn’t want to talk about, and Deven hadn’t pressed him. Deven had been in an abnormally relaxed mood after his own evening taking out his frustrations on the enthusiastically willing body of their collective Prime; by the time he got back to his own suite he’d actually been humming, which seemed to alarm his door guard. The night got even better when Nico presented him with a milkshake and kissed him madly breathless before planting himself in his usual fireside chair to meditate, or whatever Weaving thing he was doing. Dev could get a closer look if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to intrude.

  Yet. It had been well over an hour and so far all Nico had done was raise the temperature of the room up to nearly Sub-Saharan.

  “It has to be there,” Nico muttered. He was sounding more and more agitated by the minute. “She saw it. I have to be able to. It’s in the damn book…it must be there.”

  After a pause, Deven asked, “Can I help?”

  Nico put his head in his hands, pulling his hair in frustration. “No. It’s me. I’m getting upset and getting in my own way.” Growling, he pushed himself up out of the chair.

  Dev watched him, fascinated; he’d never seen Nico quite this agitated before. The Elf looked around the room for a second before grabbing his coat.

  “I need a walk,” Nico said, thrusting his arms into the coat’s sleeves.

  “Promise you won’t burn down the forest,” Deven said.

  Letting out an impatient breath, Nico managed a smile. “I promise. I’ll be back in a bit, I just need…”

  “No explanation required,” Dev told him, waving him out. “Do what you need to do.”

  Nico swept out, taking most of the excess heat with him, and Deven realized how crispy the air had gotten in the room—he could suddenly breathe much more easily.

  What on Earth had gotten the Elf in such a twist? At least he was aware of the issue—his own emotional turmoil—and paying attention to it rather than simply acting on his anger. An upside to being several centuries old, Deven supposed, and having spent that time meditating and working magic instead of killing people and suppressing emotion.

  Unfortunately now the room was cold. The relatively thin blanket he’d plucked from the chair was wholly inadequate for the task, especially on the heels of an entire large milkshake. Deven got up, stretching; there should be a couple of extras in the trunk at the foot of the bed. He remembered stowing some in there last Spring to keep Esther from packing them away for the summer. He tended to take a chill easily, and if one lacked an Elf or a two-legged furnace like David to keep one warm, extra quilts were a must.

  There were two identical trunks, and without thinking he unlatched the one on the right, but as soon as the lid was open, it hit him like a ton of bricks: a wave of scent, registering just as he remembered the blankets were in the other one. The right-hand trunk was…

  He wanted to just slam the lid shut and pretend not to notice, but it was too late; his eyes had already fallen on its contents, and it felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He had to fight to stay on his feet.

  Leather, old books, a faint wisp of cigar smoke, whiskey, cologne. An odd assortment of items lived in the trunk, some charred around the edges, some broken but mended or at least held together in a box or bag.

 
; And crammed into a corner, the source of the scent, a pile of cashmere in one of the ugliest shades of brown he’d ever seen.

  Swallowing hard, he reached down and lifted it out of the trunk, letting it unfold. It didn’t look like much—a gigantic but mostly nondescript cardigan, ugly as homemade sin but incredibly warm and comfortable. He’d stolen it a hundred times to wrap around himself on cold nights just like this one, and been discovered, with a chuckle, wearing it under the covers until its owner climbed in bed and replaced it with his arms.

  Oh…oh, love…

  He braced himself for the stabbing, consuming agony of loss, but perhaps enough time had finally passed that what he felt instead was sweetness, something so close to the way those arms had felt, that safety.

  It hurt…God, it hurt so much. But at least now he didn’t want to die from it. He could hold onto it and onto its memories without drowning.

  Wiping his eyes, Deven wrapped the sweater around himself and sat back down in front of the fire, letting the tears run how they liked. He thought of the cinder-block memorial on the cliff in California, and the fountain he had designed to replace it once the new buildings went up.

  “I hope you like it,” he murmured, closing his eyes and resting his head on his knees, the too-long arms of the sweater covering his hands. “It’s not very big, but nothing could ever be grand enough to…I think you’ll like it.”

  He wept quietly into the sleeves for a while before finding his voice again. “I miss you…wherever you are I hope you can see what’s going on. You’d think it was hilarious. And you’d be mad that you can’t join in. I wish you could. I wish you could tell me what to do with some of it. And I wish you could see…don’t tell anyone, but…aside from the parts that are scaring me to death…I think I might be happy. I know it won’t last, but…there it is. I wouldn’t say that out loud, but you deserve to hear it. I know that’s what you wanted. But it would be so much better if you were here too. I wish…”

  He lowered his head back to his knees with a sniffle, then reached up to the chair to yank a pillow down with him. Curling up in a ball on the floor, pillow under his head and the world’s ugliest sweater wrapped nearly twice around him, he closed his eyes and inhaled that scent, the one that had made the world stop running madly out from under him so many times, and exhaled softly, “Wherever you are…remember that I love you.”