Marissa Day

by The Seduction of Miranda Prosper

  Miranda drew the power into herself as she might draw a deep breath. She stretched through Darius toward the presence that was Corwin in her mind. She stretched until she felt a sick, burning pain rise up in her, and she knew she was in danger of breaking in two, but she still couldn’t touch him.

  Enough, enough, said Darius. We’ll have to get closer.

  No! cried Corwin. It’s too dangerous!

  But again, Darius ignored him.

  “Miranda.” He said her name aloud, and it was strange to hear his voice with her ears rather than her mind. “We are going to have to ghostwalk.”

  “What is that?”

  “We are going to quite literally walk through walls. It is not an easy thing ...”

  “I should think not.” She gave him a small smile and saw an answering spark of approval in his eyes.

  “This is how we found you that first night. It was more difficult then because we had no Catalyst to bring us power, and we were both weak. Your part in this is to keep the channel open and steady, and remain focused on Corwin. The stream of power will link us and him, and I will be able to follow it from here to where he is. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t really, but she also knew there was no time for questions. “I am ready.”

  Darius wrapped her arm around his, as if they were to take an afternoon stroll together. Miranda vaguely wondered what would happen if Mother came up to check on her, or if Louise did. But it hardly mattered. Corwin was in danger and she would not let him, let them, down.

  Find him, Miranda.

  Power swirled and shimmered in her veins. Miranda drew it in through her skin, through her breath, and she poured it forth into Darius. In her mind, she saw Corwin lying bound and in pain. She felt his presence in body and emotion. She knew precisely where he lay, but not what lay between.

  Then she felt Darius lay his will against the stream of her power. His intent mingled and merged with the stream. It was equal parts command, plea and prayer to the whole of the universe.

  Before Miranda’s eyes, the walls of her bedchamber turned to soft mist. She could see the garden, the street, the next house, and through that to the next, and the next.

  All the way to Corwin.

  Now.

  Darius began to walk, holding her so tightly Miranda had no choice but to walk with him.

  Seventeen

  It was like dreaming. It was like flying. There was a roaring in Miranda’s ears that blotted out all other sounds. People were shadows; objects were fleeting as thoughts. The only real things in the whole world were Corwin, Darius and the stream of magic that stretched like a lifeline, from her and through her, tying them all together. It was current and guide, at once pulling them forward and showing them the way to Corwin. Corwin alone and furious at needing rescue. Corwin praying they were not too late. Wanting them both, and wishing he’d been able to turn them away.

  Miranda’s skin was cold but her spirit burned hot. She was terrified and she was elated. She forced both emotions away so she could concentrate on drawing down the power, and on Corwin.

  Darius moved beside her, his concentration making a stone channel to shape the flow of her power. She felt his arm, felt his mind. Her sense of distance was gone. She had no anchor, no reference point. All things were equidistant, even though she was aware that they moved.

  Here!

  The word jolted through her, and Miranda slammed her mind and being closed against the power. Pain tore through her and she toppled against a solid, plaster wall. Miranda reeled backward, her slippers skidding on splintered floorboards.

  They were back in the normal world, solid, heavy and graceless. Beside her, Darius was bent nearly double with his arm thrown across his stomach like a man with a severe cramp. She tried to move toward him but her body seemed so foreign to her she staggered and sprawled full length onto the floor.

  Beside Corwin.

  Corwin, who stared up at them both, his face apoplectic as he strained to force words out around the cloth that gagged him.

  Miranda reached out one trembling hand, pulled the sodden cloth free and tossed it aside.

  “You idiots!” roared Corwin. His chains rattled as he squirmed and shifted closer to her. “Miranda! Can you speak?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m all right,” she said, although she was far from sure. She panted, swallowed, and panted again. She ached and felt weak as a kitten. It was worse than the aftermath of the influenza.

  “Darius, you fool! I told you ...” But Corwin broke off as Darius lifted his head and stared at him with fever-bright eyes.

  “Shut it, Corwin,” Darius said through gritted teeth. “We’re rescuing you. You can call us any name you like afterward.”

  Darius dropped heavily onto his knees and crawled across to Corwin. “Give me your hands, you ungrateful sod.”

  “Takes one to know one,” muttered Corwin as he rolled onto his side.

  “What are you going to do?” Miranda pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

  Darius pulled from his coat pocket a delicate loop of copper that looked startlingly like a hairpin. After a couple of tries, he was able to stick the ends into the keyhole of the manacles that bound Corwin’s wrists.

  “There are some substances like this iron that cannot ever be made to yield to magic,” said Corwin. “Therefore, it behooves us all to become good with some more basic tools. Like lockpicks.”

  Metal scraped softly against metal, and Darius’s mouth shaped silent curses. Miranda held her breath. At last, there came a soft snick. He hauled the iron cuffs away from Corwin’s wrists and tossed them aside with a look of disgust on his face. Then he set to work on the chains at Corwin’s ankles.

  “Thank you.” Corwin sat up. His wrists were swollen and bleeding, and now Miranda could see his face was not just filthy, but pale. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” he said as he saw her look of concern. “Iron also interrupts the natural flow of magic in a Sorcerer’s body. It is most unhealthy.”

  The second set of manacles snicked open. Darius yanked them off and sat back on his heels, breathing hard. A sheen of perspiration stood out on his forehead, but his color had returned.

  Blood stained Corwin’s ruined stockings, and as he leaned forward to try to chafe his ankles, he trembled.

  “Can I help?” asked Miranda. Corwin shook his head, but Darius made a face.

  Miranda set her jaw and without asking permission seized Corwin’s wrist and, shaky as she felt, opened the channel for the magic again.

  It was like kissing him, pressing her passion against him before he was ready. But she felt him yield, accept, respond. He opened to her insistence, and she felt the power, the essence, begin to flow once more. It was an effort, for she was so tired, but she could feel the relief in him, feel his health return, and that was all she needed to find her own strength again.

  “Enough now, Miranda,” murmured Darius.

  This time she was able to close the channel slowly. When she came fully back to herself, she felt as if she had just run a great distance, but no worse. Her sight was clear; she could breathe. In front of her, Corwin’s color had returned and the skin around his wrists was whole.

  “Thank you, Miranda,” Corwin whispered. Then he looked to Darius. Miranda’s heart swelled to see the love burning in the eyes of the two men as they regarded each other. “Thank you, Darius.”

  Darius nodded once. “Let’s get out of here.” He crossed to the door. “More iron.” He produced the picklock again.

  “Who did this to you?” Miranda asked Corwin as Darius set to work. But Corwin shook his head.

  “Never saw the ba—... man,” he said ruefully. “Our opponents are very clever. This whole time they’ve been using non-magical means against us. Basic tricks, basic locks, basic violence.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “Makes us look like fools, because we’re busy looking for grand sorceries and Fae magics, not footpads.”

  Darius straightened up and tucked th
e picklock away. He pulled on the handle and the door opened with a long, loud groan. He winced. “Well, if anyone else is in this house, they know we’re here now.”

  Corwin grabbed Miranda’s hand. “Straight out the first door we find, then no stopping. For anything.”

  Before she had a chance to answer, Corwin dragged her out the door into the dingy corridor and started down the narrow stairs, with Darius following close behind them.

  It was a servants’ stair, she realized, steep, cramped and poorly kept. The advantage was it ought to take them all the way down to the cellar floor of whatever house this was, to its kitchens and back doors. Corwin led them at speed, making no allowances for the awkwardness of her dainty slippers or skirts. Miranda gritted her teeth, gathered her skirts up to her knees and concentrated on staying upright.

  They reached the first landing and turned the corner.

  Someone screamed.

  The sound reverberated through the door to the main house, a woman’s scream of pain and fear. Miranda’s head jerked up and she immediately dodged toward the door. But Corwin held her in a grip of iron.

  “Ignore it,” he ordered, and pulled her down the stairs behind him.

  “But ...”

  “He’s right,” said Darius. “Even if it’s not a trick, it’s a trap.”

  But the scream came again, and again, piercing straight to Miranda’s heart. She tried to believe Darius and Corwin, but how could they be sure? She couldn’t leave a woman, a girl maybe, behind in such pain.

  They reached the next landing. “Stop!” screamed the unseen woman. “Oh, God, please! Stop! Help me! Someone, help me!”

  Miranda couldn’t stand it. She wrenched free of Corwin’s grip and darted through the door.

  She found herself in a long, richly decorated hall.

  “Help me, please!”

  Miranda snatched up her skirts and ran. Behind her, she heard Darius and Corwin calling her name. She ignored them both and darted through the open door at her right hand.

  It was a bedroom, but the furnishings had all been covered with white dust cloths. On a bed that had been stripped of its curtains lay a woman. She was stark naked, her arms spread and tied to the posts with rags. She screamed when she saw Miranda.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right! We’re here to help,” Miranda cried as she darted forward. “Corwin! Darius!”

  “Miranda, no!”

  But Miranda’s hand was already on the nearest knot. The woman gave one more heart-wrenching shriek, and vanished.

  All the bindings went suddenly slack., Miranda stared stupidly at the empty mattress. Corwin’s hands seized her shoulders and hauled her backward, just as a strange, shifting shadow fell across her. Miranda lifted her gaze up to the hollow, evil eyes of a monster floating in midair.

  It was like a woman made out of unraveling strands of yarn. Sharp teeth filled its slavering mouth and its fingers curled into talons.

  Miranda had no time to make out more details, because the creature opened its dripping mouth and dove, howling, down at them. Corwin threw himself sideways, dragging Miranda with him so she landed on the floor with him on top of her. Lightning flashed and the creature screamed. Corwin rolled aside, enabling Miranda to shove herself into a sitting position. Darius stood in the doorway, hands upraised, sweat pouring down his face. The creature was back by the curtained windows now, hissing madly. A horrible burning scent choked Miranda and she saw that some of the trailing, ghostly strands that composed the monster’s body were burnt black.

  “Quick, Miranda!” cried Corwin, hauling her to her feet.

  The creature screamed and lunged, this time straight for Miranda. Corwin swung her toward Darius and Darius caught her other hand. The creature missed, caromed off the wall, shrieked its outrage and wheeled in midair to face them.

  Miranda grasped both Corwin’s and Darius’s hands and focused outward, seeking the sense of magic. It was faint, and far below, but she found it. She drew it in, opening herself as wide as she could to the magic and to the men whose hands she held.

  Now! Corwin and Darius’s voices rang in her mind.

  The men threw up their free hands and a massive bolt of blue-edged white whipped through the room. It engulfed the creature, burning so bright Miranda had to squeeze her eyes shut. Still she saw red flame beneath her eyelids.

  The monster screamed, but the horrendous shriek was cut off as abruptly as if someone had thrown a switch. The silence was deafening.

  Beside her, Darius and Corwin both panted hard. Miranda blinked and slowly her eyes focused.

  They were alone in an empty room. The dust covers were not even disturbed. The only evidence of the entire incident was the strips of rag tied to the bedposts, the men struggling to draw breath beside her, and the weakness in her own knees. Miranda desperately wanted to sink down onto the edge of the bed but the idea of touching the place where that ... monster had rested repulsed her.

  Darius gave voice to her feeling. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Without another word, they fled down the hall, and back onto the servants’ stair. They clambered down it, not bothering with stealth until they reached the cellar. A quick glance about showed them the tradesman’s entrance. Darius worked the latch and held the door while Corwin pushed Miranda through. The street was dark and empty, but they didn’t stop. All holding hands, they hurried down the cobbled street until they came to an alley that Corwin must have judged safe, because he drew them both into the shadows. There they all huddled together, trying to catch their breaths.

  Even standing so close to Corwin and Darius with their warmth seeping into her skin, Miranda trembled like a leaf in the wind and couldn’t seem to stop.

  Corwin laid his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and willed herself to stand straighter. “And you?” she asked them both.

  Darius ran one shaking hand through his hair. “That was ... unpleasant.”

  “What was it?” she asked.

  Corwin glanced up the street and grimaced. “Offhand I’d guess it was a wraith. A particularly nasty, though not particularly intelligent, Fae. It does, however, have an unfortunate taste for human flesh.”

  “That was a fairy?” gasped Miranda.

  “It was a wraith,” said Corwin firmly. “The Fae have many races and many forms. Some are beautiful beyond description. Some are ...” Corwin gestured toward the alley mouth. “Less so. In many ways it is the beautiful ones who are more dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  Darius raked his fingers through his hair. “If you see a monster, you will run, or fight. If you see something beautiful, you will go closer.”

  “Oh.” Miranda closed her eyes and swallowed. As you will if you hear a scream and are fool enough not to listen to your friends.

  “You did magnificently back there, Miranda,” said Corwin.

  Darius nodded in agreement. “Throwing a killing attack takes a great deal from a Sorcerer. I would not have been able to do it a second time on my own. Your power enabled us to throw the second bolt.”

  “I could have gotten you killed,” Miranda whispered. “If not for me ...”

  “You were tricked, Miranda,” said Corwin quietly. “As we all have been by these enemies. Darius first, then me, now you. That is not what’s important.” He laid his hand on her arm and looked steadily into her eyes. “You kept your head and your nerve. You used your instinct swiftly and surely. This is no small thing, Miranda.” He smiled and kissed her hand. “We both owe you our lives.”

  For a moment she was certain he was exaggerating, but she glanced toward Darius, who nodded in solemn confirmation. It was almost too much to take in, and so she decided she would not think about it just now.

  “Somehow I did not imagine victory would leave me feeling ... ill.”

  “It is not uncommon after a battle. The body’s reaction to suppressing the fear in order to fight. Come, we need to get under cover someplace safe.�
� He glanced up and down the street, checking to see if all was clear.

  A fresh panic surged through Miranda. “I need to get home. My mother ...”

  “No,” said Corwin flatly. “You need to rest and recover. We all do. I’m not sending you back to your mother’s tender mercies in your current condition.”

  “But ...”

  “But nothing, Miranda Prosper. We’re going to my house.”

  Eighteen

  Corwin’s large, graceful residence stood on a quiet street in Kensington, not too far from Miranda’s own. It seemed terribly strange that this man with all his secrets could have been living less than a mile from her, and she had known nothing of it. It made her wonder what was happening in the other great houses of the London environs, and how many secrets the city held.

  The servants were obviously used to their master’s abrupt comings and goings because the butler met them in the foyer, utterly unruffled by the disheveled Miranda being propelled through the door between him and Darius.

  “Jacobs. We need food for three, hot and plenty.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the aging man with a bow. “I’ll get Cook started at once.”

  “We’ll also need a room for the lady, and hot water for all of us as soon as possible.”

  “At once, sir.”

  “We’ll be in the library.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Corwin and Darius marched Miranda up the sweeping stairway. Her feet made no noise on the soft carpets that covered the stairs and the dark-paneled hallway. Corwin opened a door on the left and led them inside.

  As Miranda saw the room to which she had been led, she stood astonished, forgetting her pique at being so brusquely handled. Corwin’s library was like nothing she had ever seen. It was a perfectly round room stretching two stories high. A wooden stairway spiraled up from its center to the second level where a catwalk with an elaborately carved wooden railing circled overhead. The walls were lined entirely with shelves, and the shelves were lined entirely with books. A cheerful fire burned in the deep hearth behind a brass screen. The whole place was furnished with overstuffed sofas and comfortable chairs with convenient tables set between them.