Kai asked, “Has anyone thought to invite Deven?”
David shot him an unreadable look. “What, you didn’t?”
Nico took a deep breath. David had told him that Kai and Deven had struck up some kind of relationship—not a romantic or sexual one, the Prime had been very clear on that—but something more akin to a counselor and client. Nico hadn’t had time to ask Kai for details, but despite the stab of jealousy that was inevitable upon finding out his Prime had taken up with his brother even just as friends, Nico knew that if Kai had decided to help, that meant the Bard had decided Deven was not beyond hope, and not only could be healed, but should be. That was such a radical departure from how Kai had felt about Deven only days ago that Nico was dying of curiosity to find out more, but it would have to wait, perhaps until they got home tonight and things quieted down.
Kai’s attitude toward David had also changed pretty significantly; instead of a sarcastic retort, the Bard said only, “I did not think it was my place.”
And even more surprisingly, David replied, “Perhaps I should have. I assumed I knew what the answer would be—do you think I’m wrong?”
Kai shook his head. “I think he might have appreciated the invitation, but I do not think he would have accepted it. Not yet.”
The Prime nodded, then made a sweeping gesture toward the door. “Shall we, then?”
Nico, a bit dazed watching his brother and lover suddenly getting along, turned to Stella. She chuckled at the look on his face and kissed his cheek as they left the suite.
“One big happy family,” she whispered.
He held back a snort, took her hand, and followed the others to the car.
*****
Every time she played in Austin Miranda found herself thinking back. From the night she had been attacked leaving that dive downtown, to her performance at the Austin Live Music Festival that culminated in a gunshot, to the night Marja Ovaska had first attacked her disguised as a reporter, her beloved city had taken and given in equal measure.
Here she was again, on a stage she’d walked out onto a dozen times—the Paramount, a cozy venue on South Congress with a mere 320 seats, an historic theater that had hosted vaudeville, movie premieres, and all sorts of performances. She’d had two fundraisers for the Porphyria Foundation there. Stepping into the dressing rooms felt like coming home.
It was a fitting end to the tour—after playing in venues scattered around the country, most with at least three times the capacity, and spending most of a month feeling utterly disconnected from her own life, she was back at the Paramount, with her family in attendance, and the moment she slung her guitar around her shoulder she couldn’t stop grinning.
She could feel David close by, up in the box with the others; and she could feel them too, Nico’s verdant energy growing stronger at last, Kai’s attention riveted to her presence on the stage, Stella and her starlit magic so reassuring despite her youth.
And now, if she were to reach beyond them into the Circle, she would find all eight places filled.
She still didn’t know how to feel about that. It was amazing, on one hand; on the other, it felt…portentous. Her precognitive sense had kicked into overdrive the minute Olivia’s Signet began to flash, and since that moment she’d had a low level of anxiety that at first she couldn’t explain.
She had figured it out on the trip home. With the Circle completed, their respite was over. They needed to prepare, to be ready for Morningstar’s next move—one that would surely come soon. However he and Olivia worked out their newfound Pairhood, Avi joining them was a stone dropped into the relatively calm pool of life at the Haven—dreadful as much of the last two years had been, at least it was a known quantity. Soon they’d have to do the summoning ritual Nico had found, and enter into Persephone’s service as a group. What then?
She was getting ahead of herself, of course. It could wait at least until tomorrow. Right now she had work to do.
It was easy to hold the audience in the palm of her empathy. They were already happy to be there; she just wanted them to have a phenomenal time, a night to remember. All she had to do was wrap her attention around the room as a whole, take gentle hold of the positive emotions, and breathe into them as if blowing up a balloon. Amazing that once something like this had drained her for days, and that her gift had nearly killed her. That Miranda seemed so far away now, like a character in a book she had left on a shelf so long the pages were yellowed.
She was Queen now. Powerful, skilled both on stage and in battle. She was one of the strongest of her kind. And her family was as well—each had her own gifts, something to contribute. They were all the stuff of legends…some more than others, now that there were Elves in the mix. Witches, warriors, strategists, geniuses: her Circle, and its allies, stood strong. New connections were blossoming everywhere, and there were even signs of hope for Deven. Once they were united, how could they help but win the war?
Miranda had to smile at herself. The audience affected her as much as she did it, when she allowed it. Tonight, that’s what she wanted more than anything. Joy, triumph. Certainty. Right now it was hers to grasp.
The crowd’s roaring farewell rang in her ears as she walked off stage, and again as she returned for her encore. She returned to her piano for the last two songs, giving them two of her favorite covers: “Bloodletting” by Concrete Blonde and Sarah McLachlan’s “Possession.”
“The night is my companion
And solitude my guide
Would I spend forever here
And not be satisfied…”
By the time she got back to her dressing room, she was so high off the audience’s radiant energy that when someone knocked on the door it didn’t occur to her to wonder who it was—that’s why she had bodyguards, after all, to make sure only approved individuals got within twenty feet of her.
“Come in!”
The mirrors were all covered, as per protocol, but she sat before them anyway intending to pull her hair back and take off her stage clothes, put on something more sane, and then wash the makeup off her face and neck.
She looked up, and smiled. “Detective Maguire! This is a surprise.”
The minute she saw his face, and his expression truly registered, her euphoria burst like a soap bubble in a cactus garden.
Maguire was not a man who smiled easily, which was a shame, since Stella had inherited his bright grin and lively eyes. Investigating murders took its toll on even the most upbeat person. Just now, though, he looked genuinely upset, as well as a little embarrassed, and she had no idea how to interpret it.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Did something happen?”
Maguire cleared his throat and started to speak, but another man stepped up in front of him and flashed a badge. “I’m Detective Myers with the Austin Police Department. Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with us.”
She frowned and looked at Maguire. “Explain.”
Her tone was not one to ignore, and to give them credit, they heeded it. “We need to take you in for questioning,” Maguire said. “Technically I’m not the lead here—conflict of interest and all.”
“What interest? What’s going on?”
Detective Myers shot Maguire a venomous look, then asked, “Mrs. Solomon, where were you on the night of April 24 of this year?”
“I have no idea,” she replied truthfully. “I’d have to look at my calendar—may I?”
At Myers’s nod, she pulled out her phone and brought up April. Not much had gone on; she’d had a charity performance in Houston on the 16th, but that was about it. The 24th…
Her heart froze in her chest. Whether it was precog or plain old fear, she went cold, and she knew she had paled. She carefully stowed her phone back in her coat.
The 24th had been a New Moon.
“I was at home,” she replied steadily. “About 50 people saw me.”
“Were you home all night?”
She sighed. “No, I don’t think so. I think I came into town that night.”
“What brought you to town?”
“A Cadillac.” Realizing now wasn’t the time for a joke, she added, “I don’t remember…you might have to ask my husband. He never forgets anything.”
“So you’re saying you don’t have an alibi.”
She met Maguire’s eyes, even though he hadn’t spoken and was trying to avoid looking at her. “An alibi for what?”
She heard the metallic click-and-snap and saw a flash of steel—but it wasn’t a sword being drawn from its sheath.
It was handcuffs.
“Miranda Solomon, you are under arrest for the murder of Annalise Vitera. You have the right to remain silent—”
“I waive that right,” she snarled as he approached her with the cuffs. “Lay a hand on me and you’ll regret it.”
“Miranda—” Maguire gave her a look of entreaty. It occurred to her that if she really were a murder suspect, his relationship with her people would throw his whole career into jeopardy.
She could end this with one swipe of a blade, but that would end her life as a musician irrevocably; besides, she wanted to know what was going on, and how the APD had come to believe she had killed someone.
Especially since she absolutely had.
Shadowflame was still in her sheath among Miranda’s things, so the detective didn’t see the sword and demand it be handed over. She did however have two knives and a small stake for close-up combat, and removed them from her coat and handed them to Maguire without explanation.
“I’ll go without a fight,” she said firmly. “But you’re not cuffing me.”
A surprising number of uniformed officers were waiting outside the dressing room. They formed a tight circle around her and escorted her from the building, through the gathered post-show crowd of fans. She heard cameras snapping and questions firing at her rapidly from reporters.
She could imagine the headlines now: Miranda Grey Arrested for Murder.
Better still she could imagine the follow-up: Miranda Grey’s Husband Goes Completely Batshit and Kills Entire Police Department.
The police shepherded her into a waiting patrol car—its lights were flashing and everything—and shut the door, letting her look out at her fans who milled around in confusion, some angry and some clearly worried at the sight of their idol being snatched up and driven away, and with her the happiness she’d worked to give them…and herself.
Chapter Eight
Maguire took custody of her once they arrived at the station so that Myers could do something paperwork-related; he and several of the officers led her toward a doorway where she could hear a lot of crowd noise—Holding. They were going to put her in a cell.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked.
Again that pained look. “It’s just for half an hour or so—none of the interview rooms are open right now, and we have to wait for your lawyer to get here since you asked for one.”
“And David,” she noted.
Maguire swallowed. “Yeah. Hopefully he’ll understand I’m just doing my job and not have me strangled and tossed in a shallow grave.”
She leaned a little closer as the right hand guard moved forward to run his badge over the scanner and open the door to Holding. “What the hell is going on, Detective? Why do you guys think I killed someone? I know you—you’re a good cop and an honest man. You must have compelling evidence to do this.”
Maguire looked at her. “I’m afraid we do.”
The heavy metal door slid out of the way, and the Detective and the other cops led her in, down a long hall with cells on either side.
For the first few steps there was a good deal of hooting and yelling, some whistling, various appreciative epithets for her various body parts. The emotions of several dozen men and a couple of women, most who had committed various sorts of crime and many of those violent, shoved up against her mind, and she nearly stumbled.
Anger seized her—an anger born as much from alienation as anything else. She didn’t belong here among these mortals. They looked at her and saw a weak little woman in a black coat. She could feel it…that oily black energy that tried to glom onto her like tar. These were the people who fell at her feet dead every month. Some of them would recognize her as a celebrity, but she was still an object to them, a pair of killer breasts and thighs wrapped snugly in vinyl. She’d been treated that way once…the misogyny inherent to human society was a part of her own, yes, but at least among her own people she was something more than a collection of parts. The Shadow World knew her. Even Hart in all his insanity had known not to underestimate her.
Miranda felt her teeth press into her lip. She allowed just the barest edge of her true identity to seep out from behind her shields, touching each human she passed. One by one they fell silent and shrank from the bars. They wouldn’t know why, they would not even be able to articulate it, but they would spend days jumping at noises after dark and feeling watched. The weaker among them would have dreams about black wings and dark water.
She smiled thinly and, just for fun, met one of their gazes and held it so long the man started sweating. When she looked away she could hear him panting and falling back onto the bench in his cell. She wondered what color her eyes were right then.
Maguire steered her into an empty cell and moved back so the bars could shut. The lock engaged, and Maguire gave her a parting look of mixed emotions—if he’d seen the evidence, whatever it was, had it changed how he felt about her? Or did he maintain her innocence no matter what?
She’d find out soon enough, she supposed. For now all she could do was sit and wait for the cavalry to arrive.
*****
“Miss Maguire, if you’ll all come with me,” the uniformed woman said, holding the stage door open. “I’ve been instructed to escort you back to the car.”
“But what happened?” Stella asked. “I heard the police took Miranda away — why would they do that?”
“I honestly don’t know, ma’am. I just have my orders.”
Stella gave Nico a helpless look. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Then we should do as the Pair have requested, and return home,” Nico told her, squeezing her hand. “I am sure an explanation is forthcoming.”
Kai, who emerged last from the venue, was smiling wryly as he said, “Besides, do you honestly think human authority could bring the two of them to harm? Inconvenience, perhaps. Consternation, undoubtedly. But genuine harm—I should like to see them try.”
Stella couldn’t help but think about Deven, wherever he was right now, and remember seeing him unconscious after his Consort was crushed by a building. That explosion had killed dozens of people and destroyed lives…it had led to Nico, one of the most powerful beings she’d ever met, suicidally depressed while Deven took massive doses of heroin in a desperate attempt not to feel.
Humans had done that.
A chill of foreboding ran through her. She didn’t have precog like Miranda did, but she wished she could knock on some wood.
Downtown Austin was practically boiling over with people that night. Nico’s hand in hers tightened every few minutes as he fought down panic over the crowds and the noise. It had been the chaos as much as the darkness that had freaked him out so badly back when David had tried to get him to hunt; this was one of only three times she could think of that he’d been in town since. They should have had the Pair and their bodyguards with them—they were all supposed to depart at the same time, and both vehicles had been parked together. Miranda would have had no trouble parting the sea of humans without even saying a word. Anyone who got too close to Nico would get the patented David Solomon Death Glare. And Stella would feel infinitely safer—funny, that she would worry way less in the care of vampire warriors than her own species.
The woman who’d taken charge of them had a backup guard, so at least they weren’t totally on their own. After
a few minutes they finally broke through the crowd and angled off toward 11th. She remembered they’d parked there not far from the fortress-like Travis County Courthouse. Ironic considering where Miranda was now.
“Are we going all the way to the garage?” she asked their guard. “Usually Chris comes and meets us.”
“He is,” the guard replied absently. “Just up the block here.”
Stella stopped walking so abruptly that Nico ran into her back, but luckily Kai’s arm shot out and caught his brother, steadying them both.
The guard gave her a look of impatience with a touch of condescension. “What’s the problem?”
Stella looked her over head to foot — no anomalies, but… “You’re a lieutenant,” she said warily. “A lieutenant on public guard duty…which means you should know Chris is a woman. So either you’re a jerk playing pronoun roulette, or you’re an impostor. Which is it?”
The woman rolled her eyes and reached up to her ear. “Now,” she said.
Stella heard several tiny somethings whistling through the air, and felt one impact with the side of her neck. She slapped it like a mosquito, and her hand came away with a small wooden dart with a needle. The wood had been marked with symbols only a few millimeters tall, and even from her hand the dart smelled like…
“Magic,” she said hoarsely as the world began to swim around her. “Run—call—”
She heard the others sinking to the ground, but stayed on her feet desperately, dragging words out of her body as fast as she could and speaking into her com: “Star-One, Star-Two, this is Stella Maguire—we’ve been attacked, I think it’s Morningstar, we’ve been drugged and…”
She caught movement on a sort of time delay—she felt the fist hit her face before she saw it.
After that, darkness.
*****
Miranda Grey had a reputation, in the media, for being rather weird. Most of it was blamed on her “illness” and the rest usually chalked up to the strangeness of celebrities.
Her husband, on the other hand, was hardly ever seen, and a wide variety of rumors circulated about why—the most popular was that he was the leader of a drug cartel, or possibly the Mafia, and stayed out of the public eye to avoid being targeted by rivals. That one had always given Miranda the giggles: Watch out for that ex-British ice cream addicted nerd Mafia. He made a fortune on the black market in World of Warcraft and will leave your avatar to swim with the fishes.
Shadowstorm (The Shadow World Book 6) Page 16