Shadow Rising (The Shadow World Book 7)

by Dianne Sylvan

  “And look what happens! It’s like when they locked my mom up in the mental hospital to keep her from ‘hurting anyone.’ It was just to spare themselves shame, is all.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if—”

  “Shhhh!” Inaliel said firmly. “Song!”

  By the time the last reprise of the main title theme faded, Inaliel had slumped back against him, her empty cup and spoon long since moved off to the bedside table along with the two empty ice cream pints and their spoons. The baby was sound asleep, one hand curled in his shirt and the other touching a strand of the Queen’s hair.

  Miranda nursed the bottle of Scotch for a while but eventually lapsed into a kind of exhausted silence, and he lay there listening to her breathe as the film ended.

  He could feel the wetness through his shirt but didn’t comment on it. If she wanted to talk she would.

  The screen had been off for about twenty minutes, the fire’s light taking the place of its bluish glow, when she said softly, “I’ll be okay.”

  He leaned his cheek on her head. “I know you will.”

  A moment later Inaliel shifted and murmured something unintelligible but faintly distressed, and her hand tightened on Dev’s shirt; she started making fretful noises, and he got a strange mental image of her looking for someone in an empty house…a bad dream, he realized, that he could somehow read.

  Inaliel whimpered in her sleep. Deven was about to change positions and try to soothe her, but Miranda’s hand touched the baby’s head, and with a sigh, the Queen began to sing very softly:

  “Just close your eyes

  The sun is going down

  You’ll be all right

  No one can hurt you now

  Come morning light

  You and I’ll be safe and sound…”

  The baby sighed too, and settled back down, her other hand patting Miranda’s shoulder unconsciously.

  “Did Kai teach you the lullaby about the moon and stars?” Deven asked softly.

  Miranda took a deep breath, her eyes glittering with lingering tears. “I don’t think so.”

  “Take it,” he told her, and felt her touching his mind. He let the song float up to his conscious thoughts, and felt her reading it, absorbing it with a combination of telepathy and empathy that had made learning Elvish so easy. By the time she’d gotten the gist, the tears were falling from her eyes, for Kai and for herself, for everything that seemed to be dying without real assurance it would rise again.

  She began to hum the lullaby, and Inaliel stirred again, a smile of recognition touching her fair face.

  “Eth Luna amasti embra es argena estell…”

  This time, when Miranda started singing, he joined her, just barely loud enough to be heard, offering a harmony. She gave him a look of surprise, but kept singing, both of their voices gentle in the darkness, lulling the baby, and eventually themselves, to sleep.

  *****

  The first lie he told himself was, This is an act of mercy.

  “Well, Sire, I have to say…my work with you is never boring.”

  He nodded vaguely at the doctor, then peered into the cell at the woman sagging in the back corner. She stared blankly straight ahead, expression slack. The readout projected on the window claimed her vitals were normal and stable—even her brain activity appeared to function at a regular rate. But something was clearly not right in her head.

  “Let her see me,” he told Novotny.

  The doctor reached over and flipped a switch, turning off the one-way glass.

  The effect was as dramatic as it was immediate. The woman, now clad in hospital scrubs instead of her formerly-elegant bloodstained cocktail dress, made an eerie noise like a jaguar shrieking and threw herself forward at the glass. She clawed at the window so hard her fingernails split and bled, but it didn’t stop her. Her face became a caricature of humanity, a mask of mindless rage that stretched her generous mouth out to clownlike proportions.

  Novotny turned the window back on, blacking it out in both directions. The sound of the woman’s body thumping against the glass gradually halted.

  “One of the others does the same for humans,” Novotny said. “The other is programmed to come after vampires like this one.”

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  The doctor made a doubtful noise. “Medically two of them are fine aside from superficial wounds. Mentally…well, that I couldn’t say. That’s where the Queen and your Healer and Elf are going to have their work cut out for them, assuming they can do anything.”

  “Of the three remaining shooters…which is most likely to respond to treatment?”

  A knowing look crossed Novotny’s face, but he considered the data before him and said, “The human-programmed one is a lost cause. These other two have normal brain function but his is essentially a flatline. Assuming it’s possible to break the spell over them, that one won’t have much left to come back to. I’m not sure what the difference is.”

  “So we have two under one spell and one under another.”

  “I’d say it’s likely. The data on both of the vampire-programmed victims is nearly identical.”

  He stared in at the woman for a moment longer. “Then we don’t really need this one, do we.”

  Novotny took a deep breath. “If you’ll excuse me, Sire, I need to check on those test results.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The doctor left the room, pausing to hit another button on the display, which unlocked the cell door. He didn’t look back, but a moment later the cameras on the cell clicked off as well.

  David eased the cell door open, eyes on the woman. She heard the movement, saw him, and started to fling herself forward again, but he caught her and pinned her back against the wall firmly, though not roughly. There was no sense in hurting her now.

  He stood in front of her for a long moment, holding her consciousness as still as he could; her energy was battering against his, but it was like a mouse trying to beat down a lion. Steely claws had her in their grasp and there was no escape.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” he told her softly. “You won’t understand this, but your family believes you died in the shooting. We’re working on getting them a body, but don’t worry. They won’t see you like this. They won’t know you killed two people trying to get to us.”

  She was a beautiful woman, this would-be vampire slayer—she’d also been a good shot, and nearly hit him with one of the cursed bullets before he got her on the ground. All four shooters had been legally armed, but whatever ammo they usually carried had been replaced with the same kind of rounds that had nearly made Miranda disembowel herself. The effect on humans was no different from any other bullet; their poisonous qualities manifested only on contact with vampire blood.

  He’d already tried interrogating the fourth shooter, the other one programmed to fire on the crowd. What was Morningstar trying to achieve with this attack? Why there, why then? They couldn’t possibly have believed they would kill Miranda, or him; it had to be something else. He also didn’t think they seriously cared about Miranda’s career, unless the Prophet had some sadistic interest in making her suffer emotionally. It seemed rather petty, given what was at stake here.

  “Your name is Andrea Lofton,” he told her as he gently tilted her head to the side. “You come from a wealthy Texas cattle family. You weren’t married and had no children, but you were devoted to a number of causes and gave millions to charity. However you got mixed up in this…maybe Morningstar got to you before and convinced you to join up, or maybe they just chose you because you’d have a gun and you never knew what hit you…they took away who you are to fight a war that they’re too cowardly to fight for themselves. But the truth remains, regardless: your name is Andrea Lofton.”

  Even as he spoke the hunger was rising, hell-black and soft, undeniable. It was never far away now, not since the New Moon when he had felt it reaching for him and realized he could take the b
urden away from those he loved.

  He hadn’t expected it to come back so quickly. He didn’t understand why it had. But it was there, and it beckoned so sweetly, so softly, like a lover’s voice in the dark. He began to fixate on that feeling…the taste of death, that final release like no other. The harder he pushed it away the more it overcame his defenses, drained away rational thought.

  That was not acceptable. There was too much hanging in the balance to lose even a moment’s strength to hunger. Especially not when the solution was so simple: Just kill. There were plenty of humans whose deaths would be of far greater use than their lives. A few mortals for the sake of all of them was logical. It was simple math.

  Keeping it secret was less logical. Surely if the math was that simple he needn’t hide it. But Miranda didn’t need to know yet…one death a month was already breaking her heart, though she stood up and did what had to be done with a strength beyond anything even she knew herself capable of.

  He was no Weaver, but if the last couple of years had taught him anything it was that a Signet bond was not as infallible as they’d all believed. He had seen how Deven pulled himself back from Nico, and how he’d blocked off the energy and still survived. From that it was easy enough to figure out how to hide one small thing…just a tiny bit of truth they didn’t want to know anyway…from the Tetrad without any of them the wiser. They could feel an instability, he knew, but so far they’d attributed it to stress and responsibility. In a way they were right.

  The reprieve the others had had before Nico’s first New Moon had been short, but in it he’d seen the future of the Tetrad, and that path led to madness for the Weaver and despair for the Queen. Deven would claim he was fine, but he no longer believed that…not now that he had seen who Dev truly was. The elder Prime had used the Red Shadow as a shield, shoving as many deaths as he could between himself and his real identity. He would insist over and over that he was a killer, not a Healer, not fit to bear the Moriastelethia.

  David was not fooled.

  They were not killers. They shouldn’t have to be. But they needed the power…he needed the power. If they were going to win, if they had a future together at all, it would be at the cost of human life. That much he had already accepted.

  Perhaps it was not what Persephone intended. Perhaps, come Solstice night, She would expose his sins to all of the Circle, and they would know the monster they had created behind dark blue eyes that, just now, were fixed, hypnotized, on the possessed woman’s throbbing jugular.

  “Let her,” he murmured, feeling the delicious slide of his teeth, breathing in the human’s scent. “I am not ashamed.”

  He tore into Andrea Lofton’s throat and, with a groan that was half relief, half pleasure, took her life into his own.

  Chapter Nine

  Just before the next midnight, a limousine pulled up along the Haven’s circular driveway. A smaller, black van followed it, and its doors opened first, dispersing a half-dozen uniformed guardsmen who stood along the walk from the limo to the broad stone steps leading up to the Haven’s doors.

  Miranda peered between the curtains and watched one of the guards open the limo door.

  First to emerge, as she expected, was the enormous furry head of a black dog.

  Vràna jumped nimbly from the car and shook herself. She seemed to have gotten even bigger since the last time Miranda had seen her. Just like always, she wore no leash, but came to attention and waited.

  Jacob climbed out next, and he of course had not changed at all. Still bearded, long-haired, with his soft brown eyes full of kindness even as they carried that nobility and, she was well aware, the fierceness of a warrior when needed. Miranda knew a lot more about his past now, and while she’d never doubted his strength or the wisdom of the Signet that had chosen him, now, she understood his wide-reaching reputation as a fair man, an honorable one, but not one to be underestimated.

  The Elite bowed to him, and he gave the nod, then turned back to the car and bowed again, offering his hand to the car’s remaining occupant.

  A slender arm clad in a black velvet glove reached out, fingers lacing in Jacob’s.

  The woman that emerged from the limo was not the one Miranda was expecting…though perhaps she should have been.

  It was still recognizable as Cora, but even the last time they’d met, the newer Queen had been a bit tentative, avoiding eye contact most of the time, still recovering from the scars of her years of torment at Hart’s hands. She had not known her own power then, either as a pyrokinetic or as a Queen, and while she had been beautiful and regal in her way, much of her identity was still yet to step out into the night.

  Cora straightened, nodding to the guards, and offering Jacob a smile. Her spine was straight, shoulders back; Miranda hadn’t realized how tall she was, but she easily topped Jacob—or that might have been the heels.

  Miranda had never seen Cora’s hair in anything but a fairly ordinary long sweep of dark brown, but now it was in shining layers that framed her face perfectly, allowing her large dark eyes to take center stage. She was impeccably made up and dressed, complete with a very vampire-like long black coat that had a vaguely Victorian style about it. Her Signet shone at the base of her long neck, and now she wore it the way they all did, like she had been born to it.

  Most amazingly of all, just around the edges of her elbow-length gloves, Miranda caught sight of the shapes of flames—not drawn of fire, but in ink, as if they were licking up her arms.

  Tattoos.

  Miranda heard a quiet whistle to her left, and finally noticed Deven standing next to her, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well now,” he murmured. “Look who’s awake.”

  Cora took Jacob’s arm and the Pair, flanked by their guards and the Nighthound, took the steps to the front doors.

  “How does she do that?” Miranda murmured. “I’d kill to look that elegant without even trying.”

  Deven chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Miranda, where do you think she learned it from?”

  Miranda moved back from the window and returned to the entrance where David was waiting for her; she slid her arm into his just as the double doors began to open. Deven took up position behind the official Pair of the South, joining Nico, and together the Tetrad stood in the doorway to greet their first set of honored guests.

  Cora smiled warmly at Miranda as the visiting Pair bowed, and they bowed back.

  “Welcome once again to our Haven, Lord Prime, Lady Queen,” David said. “It is an honor and a privilege, as always, to open our home to you.”

  “As we are honored and privileged to receive your welcome,” Jacob replied formally. That bit done with, he laughed and held out a hand, grasping David’s, while Cora stepped away enough to hug Miranda tightly.

  “You look fantastic,” Miranda said. “I barely recognized you.”

  Cora grinned. “I barely recognize myself, some nights—and yet I absolutely do.” She offered the same hug to Deven, and another to Nico; this was the first time she and the Elf had met in person.

  “You are even lovelier in reality than you are in the Web,” Nico told the Queen. “It’s an honor.”

  Cora looked from Consort to Prime, one eyebrow quirking as she took in the obvious differences between Deven now and Deven…before. “It is a great pleasure to at last meet the one who brought our Deven back to us.”

  “I was hardly the only one,” Nico said, but he was smiling, as was Deven, who took his hand and kissed it.

  Once everyone had greeted each other, including Deven dropping to accept a full body embrace—which was nearly a tackle—from Vràna, they walked the Pair to their guest suite.

  “Things are a bit crowded around here these days,” David told them. “There are hot and cold running Elves down that hallway—” He gestured as they passed—”and the Cloister’s inhabitants down the other. But we have managed to keep the visiting dignitary suites open. You’ll remember this one, I imagine.
”

  It was in fact the same set of rooms the Pair had been installed in for the Council summit, which was also the same one where Jacob had stayed during the Magnificent Bastard Parade those fateful days when he had met Cora. It seemed decades ago, now, though not even a full ten years had passed.

  That was before they’d defeated Marja Ovaska…back when she still hated Deven…before Kat had left, before Faith had died, before David had died…before they had become Thirdborn…while Jonathan was still alive, before the wedding…

  Miranda wondered, shaking herself out of the reverie, if Deven and Nico would ever do something similar—follow some Elvish marriage custom, perhaps. Dev still wore his wedding ring, and she couldn’t really imagine them getting married in the traditional human sense as he and Jonathan had. That was something that had belonged to Dev and Jonathan, one of those things Nico would never want to infringe upon…but surely Elves had their own way of sanctifying a commitment like theirs.

  There was a light nudge on her mind, and she started. She’d been zoning out while conversation went on around her, and Dev had noticed. Thankfully no one else seemed to have.

  “When are we expecting our seventh and eighth?” Jacob asked as Cora directed their Elite to deposit the Pair’s luggage on the bed.

  “Tomorrow just after sunset,” was David’s answer.

  Jacob looked like he wanted to ask another question, and Miranda had her suspicions what it might be, but the usual protocol was to leave the Pair to get settled and then all meet up for drinks in an hour or so, so he refrained from further inquiries for the moment. The Tetrad left the Pair to it and headed to the study.

  “Have you spoken to Olivia?” Miranda asked, sitting down next to David on one of the big leather couches. A servant brought a tray of glasses—dinner—and soon they were all four nursing some of the extra-large batch of donated blood brought in for the weekend.

  David sighed. “Not in a few days.”

  “Are you still worried?”

  “Yes and no.” He already had his phone out, she saw with irritation. It was impossible to have a conversation with him these days that involved any eye contact. If she hadn’t known how busy he was she would have sworn he was avoiding them all on a disturbingly regular basis. But as usual, nothing felt amiss in the bond, just preoccupied.