Shadow’s Fall

by Dianne Sylvan

  “He will,” David replied shortly. “Have him brought to Interrogation A. Did you recover the gun?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Get it to APD—have them run prints and ballistics and check for registration. It’s probably illegal, but we might catch a break.”

  “Shouldn’t we send it to Novotny?” Miranda asked.

  “Hunter Development doesn’t have much on firearms,” the Prime said. “The human authorities will be able to get us faster information.”

  “We’ve got quite a backlog in Ballistics,” Maguire spoke up. “It could take days.”

  “Don’t worry, Detective. I cheat.”

  Miranda sagged back on the stretcher, finally giving up on consciousness. “I want to go home,” she sighed as exhaustion washed up over her and she closed her eyes. “Can we go home now?”

  Mo’s voice was kind. “Of course, my Lady. I will let the driver know we are ready—we are set to rendezvous in town so the press will not see you leave Austin in an ambulance and try to follow. A car is waiting for us there.”

  “Thank you, Mo.”

  The last thing she heard before she passed out was Jonathan speaking into his phone, the tone of his voice one Miranda had never heard before. “Deven … call me back. We need to talk. Now.”

  As soon as Cora heard that something had happened to Miranda, she excused herself from the tediousness of the Queens’ gathering and headed straight for the chamber where the Council had convened. They were in recess, the guard had said, and no one would notice if she was there.

  Cora was both disappointed and relieved that she heard virtually nothing important during the party; she stuck to the outer edges of the group, making a little small talk here and there, but as she had predicted, few of the Queens were at all interested in her, and those who were didn’t seem all that happy to be there either. Queen Larimer, in fact, excused herself after half an hour of obligatory circulating; she did give Cora a fairly warm smile as she left, which was encouraging. But Cora was far too frightened of Mameha to approach her, and India’s Queen was surrounded by admirers—understandable, as she was stunningly beautiful and everyone seemed to want to know her.

  Still, since she didn’t know what Deven was looking for, Cora made her way around the room, sipping champagne and exchanging polite greetings, most of the time following the Prime’s advice to pretend she didn’t speak much English.

  She was happy to leave … although she would have preferred a less dire reason.

  Even though it was certain Hart would be in that room, she didn’t care; she had to know what was going on, and that Miranda was all right. The rumor had spread among the Queens like wildfire even though none of them would admit who had first heard the news, and no one seemed to know anything concrete. Worse, they didn’t seem all that interested in Miranda’s fate except as a source of idle gossip.

  Vràna at her side, Cora entered the Council chamber to a scene of quiet anxiety. A few Primes were seated at the giant table, but most were milling around talking among themselves. She did not see Prime David, but her senses zeroed in on Jacob immediately, and she was with him in seconds.

  “She’s all right,” Jacob said without asking why she was there. “Someone shot her while she was performing. They caught him—it was a vampire.”

  “Shot her? With what?”

  Jacob looked a bit bewildered. “With a gun. Regular old human-killing bullets.”

  “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “I suspect they were trying to make it impossible for her to ever perform again … to kill her without killing her.”

  Cora felt anger stirring in her chest. “It must have been Hart, my Lord. No one else could hate her so much.”

  “We don’t have any proof yet,” Jacob reminded her. “David can’t accuse him without some sort of evidence.”

  Even as Jacob spoke, however, Cora saw one of the doors into the room fly open, and David Solomon walked in, cold fury written in every line of his body. Without speaking or acknowledging anyone in the room, he strode up to where Prime Hart was standing with several other Signets … and punched Hart in the face.

  A gasp went up. Cora felt her mouth drop open, and she looked over to see an expression of utter—and probably very rare—shock on Prime Deven’s face.

  Hart, knocked backward by the hit, was pulled upright by his associates, and for a wonder, he, too, looked astonished by David’s actions. “What in hell has gotten into you, boy?” Hart demanded.

  The Prime of the South was very calm, but rage hung from him like a cloak in a low wind; his eyes were pure silver, fixed on Hart with loathing. “You have committed an act of war against my Queen,” he said, quietly, but absolutely heard by every ear. “Consider the gauntlet thrown.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hart returned, his own ire rising. “I’ve done nothing to your woman.”

  “I know it was you,” David hissed. “As soon as I’ve gone a few rounds with your trigger-happy minion, I’ll prove it to the entire Council.”

  “You can’t prove anything.” Now a hint of a sneer had entered Hart’s voice, and he made a point of regaining his calm. “I don’t know why you have this paranoid delusion that I’m out to get you, David. What have I ever done to you?”

  Cora was sure, for a moment, that David was going to kill Hart then and there. Hart either didn’t notice or was deliberately ignoring it to make himself look like the saner party.

  “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re surprised something like this happened,” Hart went on. “Your Queen has been playing a dangerous game with the entire Shadow World. She’s risked all our safety for her own selfish gain. Eventually something was going to go wrong—you should be glad it’s over with and she can return to your side where she belongs instead of putting herself in jeopardy with these silly artistic notions of hers. She might have been killed for real.”

  David stared at him, then smiled slowly … but it was a venomous smile, one that Cora had to resist shrinking back from. “So this is your revenge for Cora,” he said. “We took something from you, and you want to take something from Miranda. Well, James, you’ll be happy to know, since you’re so concerned for her welfare, that Miranda’s wounds were not that grave, and she’ll be able to return to the stage after her recovery.”

  “Ridiculous,” Hart said. “Humans rarely recover from a shot to the head.”

  Something in David’s demeanor changed completely; the anger seemed to drain out of him, and he looked over at Deven, who was watching the whole thing with obvious amusement. “Well, you know how it is, James,” David said, smiling again. “Celebrities have better medical coverage than the average human.”

  With that, the Prime turned back to the assembly and said, “I apologize for my behavior, honored Primes. I would like to request, given the circumstances, that we adjourn for the night and resume our business tomorrow after sunset. We can all relax and watch the tournament finals.”

  The Asian Prime whom Cora recognized as Tanaka, the meeting leader, cleared his throat and approached the table, where he had left a wooden gavel at his seat. “Adjourned until sunset tomorrow,” he said.

  David shot another look at Hart and said, even more quietly this time, “This isn’t over.”

  Hart smiled. “Of course it isn’t.”

  Hart turned and walked out of the room, still smiling; as he passed where Cora and Jacob were standing, he looked at her, but she very deliberately avoided eye contact, squeezing Jacob’s hand hard enough that she shook.

  Jacob let out a breath he’d been holding and exchanged a glance with Cora, and together they went over to David. “I think you need a drink, old friend,” Jacob said, putting a hand on David’s shoulder. “It’ll be an hour or so before Miranda’s home and your Elite bring your suspect in; why don’t we have a bit of a drink before we head down to the tournament?”

  Deven echoed Jacob’s motion on David�
�s other shoulder. “Come on, darling,” he said soothingly. “Let’s get away from this nonsense for a moment before your head explodes.”

  Slowly—almost so slowly Cora was afraid he would bolt after Hart—David relaxed, looking from one Prime to the other before nodding silently and letting them lead him out of the Council chamber.

  By the time the car pulled up to the Haven and Jonathan helped her out, Miranda was healed, but she was still so tired she could barely think.

  “I think fifteen thousand might have been too many,” she said wearily, leaning on the Consort as they took a side hall toward the Signet wing.

  “You weren’t using empathy on them, though, were you?”

  “No … but I had to stay shielded through all of that, and it was a lot harder than I expected. Have you ever sung for an hour in front of that many people and then taken two bullets in the chest?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  He helped her into the room, out of her bloody clothes, and into the shower. “You look awful,” Jonathan said. “You wash, I’ll find you something to put on.”

  “I can take it from here,” she began, but he shook his head, chin set stubbornly.

  “I’ll stay until David gets here. I’m sure he’ll want to fuss over you himself. I just don’t want to risk you passing out again and knocking your head on something. Broken necks are a bitch to heal.”

  She caught his arm as he started to leave the bathroom, gave him a tired smile, and said, “Thanks.”

  “I’d say ‘anytime,’ but this had better not happen again.”

  “I second that.”

  Jonathan was right—she was so worn out that she had to lean sideways on the shower wall several times as the steam and heat overwhelmed her. It felt like it took her forever to clean up and climb out into her bathrobe.

  She was glad that David had taken his computer out of the bathroom; he was working on rigging a spare tablet to run the camera-mirror so she could use it when she wanted to. Right now she was sure she looked dreadful. For their kind, looking tired basically meant looking dead. The albino zombie raccoon look didn’t really suit her.

  When she returned to the bedroom, she saw that Jonathan was gone and David had arrived. The Prime was sitting on the couch before the fire, her guitar in his lap, carefully cleaning the blood off.

  “You look really hot holding that,” she said. “You should learn to play.”

  David looked up at her, and there were so many warring emotions in his eyes: relief, anger, love, fear.

  “I’m going to kill him,” he said.

  She nodded. “I know.” She made her way over to the bed and sat down, reaching for the yoga pants and tank that Jonathan had thoughtfully left for her there. “Shouldn’t you be down at the tournament?”

  “The final round doesn’t start for another hour. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be us versus California.”

  “Do you need me to be there? I want to watch it, but …”

  “Don’t worry, beloved. You’ve had a hell of a night already; no one will expect you to attend. Faith will certainly understand.”

  “Still …” She pulled the shirt over her head, noticing she was still stiff; the bullets had missed her organs but had gone deep into her pectoral muscles, and even after the wounds were gone, she could feel their ghosts remaining. Stakes did the same thing, she remembered; injuries that involved a penetrating object took longer to fully disappear and left more damage than, say, a cut from a blade. “That bastard is making me miss the sight of my Elite kicking Deven’s Elite’s ass. That alone is a capital offense.” Miranda stretched her arms out, first above her head and then behind her back, trying to work out the kinks. “Do we have any evidence yet that Hart was behind it?”

  “He must have been—”

  “I agree with you … but we have to connect this Monroe with Hart, or it could just be some lone nut after me. God knows that’s happened before, and a lot of people got hurt. A lot more will get hurt if we go after Hart without support. You’re the one who told me that.”

  “Fuck the Council,” David said. “I’ve had enough of their bullshit. What can they do? Gossip him to death?”

  Miranda chuckled. “You sound like me, baby. I thought you were the diplomat here.”

  “I was until they hurt you.”

  She sighed. “I love you, too.”

  He set the guitar aside and came to her; she held up her comb, and with a smile he took it and settled behind her on the bed to draw it gingerly through her wet hair.

  “We can’t throw our forces into a full-out war just because Hart had me shot,” she said after a while. “I want him dead, too, but we have to be careful.”

  “I know.” David leaned forward and breathed in the scent of her hair, arms moving around her. She relaxed in the embrace, feeling the sweet relief of contact soothe the frazzled edges of her nerves. “Let’s see what I can get from our shooter, and then we’ll consider the next step. For now … just rest, beloved. Rest and be safe.”

  She turned her face into his shoulder, and he held on to her and stretched out on the bed so they were curled up face-to-face. And finally, after everything that had happened that night and all the fear and pain and chaos, she let go enough to cry.

  Six

  An unexpected but massive early summer storm broke over the Haven just as the Elite tournament finals were getting underway. David was glad he’d had a triple backup system installed both for the servers and the electrical generators; the whole complex was on solar power, but he had other means in case of emergencies.

  The roar of the rain made the crowd noise even harder to hear through inside the training room where the two combat circles were awaiting their last teams of contestants. It had come down to the South and the West, to no one’s surprise, and first there would be the group competitions, then the Seconds themselves squaring off for the final fight of the night. Depending on how the teams scored, that last one-on-one might make the difference between the trophy going to Sacramento or, for the first time in a century, staying in Austin.

  David took his seat on the top row of bleachers, where he had a perfect vantage point to keep an eye on the entire room. The two Elite teams were lined up along the far wall, waiting to be announced; the bleachers were full of Pairs and other Elite from the losing teams … including Hart’s.

  He could see the white-blond head of Jeremy Hayes on the front row, and he could see that Hayes was watching Faith.

  Anger dug tiny claws into David’s chest. Hayes must have known that Hart was going to attack Miranda at the concert. A Second would always know the details of any complicated plan being conducted by his own Elite. Whatever sort of flirtation he and Faith had struck up would be done with now. Faith would see to that.

  Or so he thought.

  To his surprise, Faith felt Hayes’s eyes on her, met them, then gave him a tentative nod. Hayes returned the nod as well as a partial smile.

  The tiny claws of anger became talons, and David crossed his arms, wishing there were something handy he could break.

  Across the room, one of the glass doors of the trophy case swung open suddenly, hit the back wall, and shattered.

  David felt a pang of guilt as the servants scrambled to clean up the mess.

  “That was careless.”

  He turned his head and frowned. “What are you doing up, beloved?”

  Miranda settled onto the seat beside him, shrugging. She still looked so tired. He had hoped she would sleep the rest of the night and all the next day, until Sunday when the last Council affairs would be dealt with and hopefully Maguire would have come through with some evidence about the shooter and David would have had a chance to question Monroe himself, whatever that entailed. He didn’t want her to worry about it; he’d get the evidence they needed to call Hart out, and she wouldn’t have to deal with him.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. She’d dressed following what he’d put on before he left their suite ear
lier: black pants and a shirt, dressy but not formal. All in black, she was a creature of blood and darkness that, even with the tiredness in her eyes, looked ready to leap into combat … though she might prefer a nap.

  He kissed her. “I love you,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here, even though you shouldn’t be.”

  “I’m not going to let this stop me from doing my job. I’m here to support our Elite.”

  Miranda’s eyes wandered throughout the room, and he sensed her doing a light sweep of her empathy, looking for anything they needed to know about; when she reached Faith, she hesitated, looking from Faith over to Hayes and back again.

  “I bet she regrets going to bed with him now,” David muttered.

  Miranda gave him a sharp look. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t judge her like that. It’s not as if you’ve never had an ill-advised affair. Besides, Jeremy himself hasn’t done anything, either to me or to her. Would you really fault him for not revealing Hart’s plan to the Second of his enemy?”

  “Don’t talk like Deven,” David said. “It’s really confusing.”

  “I’m just saying … Faith deserves our trust and our care. She’s probably feeling pretty embarrassed right now, and we shouldn’t make that worse for her. She stood by you when you—”

  “I know,” David said, nodding. “I know, beloved. You’re right. She’s never been anything but a true friend to me, and I’m acting as if she broke some rule—which she didn’t. She just deserves better, even for a fling, than some thug of Hart’s.”

  “That’s for her to decide. And for us to stay the hell out of. As her boss, you have no right to pry into her private life, and as her friend, you should know better than to think she can’t handle herself.”

  He smiled at her. “Again, you shame me with your level head. Aren’t you supposed to be young and hot-tempered and charge into situations full steam?”

  She smiled back. “I’m older than I look, beloved.”

  He watched her for a moment, weighing the truth of her words. She seemed to have aged far more than three years in these last three; physically she was the same, but emotionally, she had worn down a lot faster than he expected. He had seen it even as soon as Marja Ovaska’s defeat. The aftermath of David’s betrayal, and of losing so many friends, had taken their toll on the Queen.