Shadow’s Fall

by Dianne Sylvan

  She stumbled backward out of the door, catching herself so she didn’t slam it; she left it just as it was and, ignoring the inquisitive eyebrows of the guards, turned and walked away as fast as she could without running.

  She reached the garage, where her car was waiting; she’d already intended to go into town for a drink later. There was no one else out, and she sagged back against the side of the car for a moment, shaking.

  Fool, fool, stupid weak girl, get yourself together …

  No one had ever touched her like that, with such complete devotion. She’d had plenty of lovers, but had she ever been loved—the way Miranda was loved? Did Miranda have any idea how lucky she was?

  Damn it, Faith!

  She couldn’t go back in there right now, that was certain. Talking to them would have to wait … she was going to need some vodka before she could even think about looking either of them in the face.

  That was all right. They could be at it half the night anyway, and a few hours weren’t going to make that much difference. She’d go to one of the bars the off-duty Elite favored, relax a little, and when she got back she’d meet with them. Maybe she could even find some nice vampire lad to work out her frustrations on.

  It had worked with Jeremy … for a little while.

  She threw herself behind the wheel and backed out of the garage, eager to put as many miles between herself and the Haven as she could for a few hours.

  “Oh my God, that was so fucking lame,” Lark groaned. “Please don’t ever make me do that again.”

  Stella grabbed Lark’s arm and steered her away from the building. “Come on, let’s just get out of here.”

  Lark, who was a little on the tipsy side—the side of tipsy that was more like wasted—loomed over Stella and said in her worst Dracula impression, “I am a creature of the niiiiiight, and I will make you my eternal briiiiiiide.”

  Stella couldn’t help it—she shushed Lark and hauled her away from the bouncers, but she was already giggling.

  For some reason she got a mental flash of what she would look like to her dad. She and Lark were both decked out in black leather—corsets, skirts, boots, with fishnet stockings and their faces painted perfectly Goth white-and-black with bloodred lips. Stella liked the look, actually; the corset pushed her boobs up front and center, and since they were the primary upside to being plus-sized, she liked occasionally taking the twins out for a ride, as Lark would put it. She’d gotten a lot of ogling in the club.

  She didn’t think Detective Maguire would be as keen on the costume.

  “You look freaking hot,” Lark remarked fuzzily as they staggered down the street. “You’re rockin’ those beasts tonight.”

  “Beasts or breasts?”

  “Yeah, those. Let’s try another one!”

  Stella laughed. Thank God she’d stayed mostly sober; otherwise, they’d be totally lost. Neither of them had ever been to this part of town, which was mostly fetish clubs and smoky bars with black windows. The place they’d just been was full of exactly the kind of stereotypical fake-fang emo poets she’d hoped they could bypass to find something at least a little real.

  “Okay,” Stella said, pulling Lark off the sidewalk into an alley—still in the solid glow of a streetlight; she was no idiot—to check the hastily scribbled map she’d made based on the one useful conversation so far tonight. A skinny boy she was pretty sure was a heroin addict had given her the basic layout of the three or four blocks that made up the “Shadow District.” She’d tried not to snort at the cheesy name.

  “If we keep going down this street, we’ll hit a big dance club called the Black Door,” Stella said. “If we turn right, there’s a bar called Anodyne, but it’s really exclusive. Across the street is another one, Nepenthe, and it’s supposed to be easier to get into. Just a bar, no dance floor. So do you feel like dancing or drinking or both?”

  Lark checked her lipstick in her purse mirror. “Well, if you want info, someplace quieter’s probably better. I couldn’t hear shit in that last place.”

  “True. Let’s check out Nepenthe, then if it sucks, we can at least go dance at the Black Door—that dude Jonas said they have killer margaritas.”

  Lark gave a thumbs-up.

  They headed east, down a street that was slightly darker and less populated than Third; it was a weeknight, but in the summer the clubs tended to be crowded all week, and several were having ladies’ nights and other specials.

  Nepenthe on first glance didn’t look like the sort of place her dad would ever, ever let her go into, which meant it was the first sort of place she would have run to a few years ago. It looked safe enough, but kind of … deliberately seedy, made to cater to the crowd that wanted to be able to say they’d been to “that kind of place.” Stella looked over at the front of Anodyne, which looked like a fairly upscale, typical bar, and sure enough, a couple came out dressed to the nines and the valet brought their Lexus around.

  They probably couldn’t afford to get into Anodyne anyway. Stella sighed.

  The bouncer stopped them. “ID?”

  They both held up their cards, and he scrutinized them, then the girls themselves. Stella wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for, but after a second he nodded and unclipped the velvet rope to let them in.

  “No cover?” she asked.

  “Not for you ladies,” he said with a wink.

  “Nice,” Stella muttered. “Nice and skeevy.”

  A blast of air-conditioning hit them as they entered the bar, which was as dark and forbidding as the last place had been cheap and cheesy. The bar itself was sparsely populated, but there were booths lining the walls that seemed to have a lot going on in them.

  Instantly, Stella’s senses went into overdrive, and fear clenched her stomach in a tight fist. Oh shit. Not safe. Not safe.

  “We need to go,” she said softly to Lark … who was already headed toward the bar.

  “Oh come on, Stellybean. One drink.”

  Stella looked around the room, feeling as if dozens of eyes were on her, but when she turned her gaze on the figures in the booths, no one was looking at them. There were bats fluttering madly around in her chest, but she couldn’t put her finger on why; no one in particular was giving off a threatening vibe, and while it was dark, it wasn’t any worse than any other bar she’d ever been in. There was just something …

  … dark …

  Oh Jesus.

  Lark had ordered a gin and tonic and had gotten Stella a Diet Coke with rum, but Stella barely sipped at the drink as she looked around, eyes wide.

  She could feel them … watching her … and they were hungry.

  “Lark,” Stella whispered. “They’re here.”

  But when she looked over at her friend, Lark was gone.

  Stella grabbed the bartender. “Did you see where my friend went?” she asked, trying not to sound as borderline hysterical as she felt. “She was just here!”

  He shrugged. “Maybe to the bathroom? It’s in the back.”

  Stella dug out her cell phone and called Lark’s number, but it went straight to voice mail.

  Okay, Stella. Take a deep breath. Check the bathroom.

  She slid off her stool and walked toward the door the bartender had indicated … and as she walked, she could feel eyes on her again, gazes moving over her body, greedy, wanting, and not in that sleazy frat-boy way … This was primal, a need so deep it made her shake from her very bones.

  More than anything in the world, she wanted to run, but she heard Gandalf’s words in her head: “Don’t run from dark things, Stella. If you run, they chase after you.” What had she been thinking? God, what difference did it make what Miranda Grey was, if finding out meant Lark getting herself killed? Whatever was going on in this place it was bad, really bad, and they had to get out of here.

  She started to open the door, only to have Lark blunder out into her with a drunken laugh.

  “Shit!” Lark said. “Sorry, Stell. You know me—when I drink, I piss l
ike a racehorse.”

  Stella’s heart about burst with relief, and she threw her arms around her friend. “It’s okay, let’s just go,” she said. “We need to go.”

  But the thought of walking back through the bar, past all those eyes …

  “This way,” Stella said, pulling Lark toward the side door marked EXIT with glowing red letters. “Let’s get outside, and I’ll call us a cab.”

  The night air wasn’t as cold as inside the bar, but it was free air, and Stella gulped it in gratefully even with the smell of garbage from the nearby Dumpster.

  “This might be the stupidest damn thing we’ve ever done,” Stella said.

  Lark snorted loudly. “Stupider than the time we got fucked up on absinthe and went Christmas caroling on Halloween?”

  “Much stupider,” Stella replied. “At least we got candy that time.”

  “Can I help you ladies?”

  Stella yelped and spun toward the voice; she hadn’t heard anyone come up behind them, but a young man was standing at the top of the concrete steps to the bar’s back door, watching them with mixed amusement and curiosity. He was dressed all in black, big surprise, and had dark hair and pale skin … with no makeup, she realized.

  “Um, no,” Stella said. “We were just leaving. Thanks, though.”

  “Oh, come now,” came another voice from the mouth of the alley. “It’s so early.”

  Stella’s heart was in her throat; there were two more people, one man and one woman, approaching them, and she saw it in their eyes as she had felt it in the bar: hunger.

  The young man on the steps said to the others, “Remember the rules.”

  “Fuck the rules,” the woman said. “And fuck your Signet for good measure. We’ll do what we want here, and nobody’s going to stop us.”

  The young man frowned. “We’ll see about that.”

  He disappeared back into the bar. “Wait!” Stella said. “Wait, help—somebody help—”

  “Shhhh,” the other man said, drawing closer and closer. Stella backed up until she hit the wall of the bar. “There’s no need to be scared, pretty girl. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  Stella craned her neck sideways to see Lark in a similar position with the woman, who was smiling cruelly—and as Stella stared, the woman’s teeth …

  Stella had often wondered what she would do in a life-or-death situation; would she freeze or fight or what? She’d taken self-defense classes for women at her father’s behest, but when it came down to that moment, what would she do?

  Apparently she would freak the fuck out.

  Stella screamed and tried to wrench away from the man, but he had her in his grasp; she struggled as hard as she could, and when she heard Lark cry out in pain, Stella’s fear seemed to erupt from her body, and she flung herself forward at the man, clawing at his eyes the way she’d learned in class. The man jumped back to avoid her nails, and she bolted, blindly running toward the light at the end of the alley where surely someone, anyone, could help.

  Rough hands seized her arms and dragged her backward. She screamed again and flailed, fighting, but the man was so much stronger than her, her efforts were more pathetic than anything else. He hauled her back into the alley and threw her hard against the wall.

  “Please,” she sobbed, “Please don’t hurt me—please don’t hurt my friend—”

  A hand grabbed her chin and jerked it back. “You two bitches were asking for it, walking into this place. The only reason humans come here is they want to be food, little girl. Lucky you—you get your wish.”

  She tried to get out another scream, but it was too late; she felt a piercing, burning agony in her throat, and the pain was so intense she couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t fight anymore.

  I’m going to die. I’m going to die here like this— Will they call Dad to the scene? Will he identify my body? Oh please Goddess someone please help—

  “Step away from the human!”

  A snarl, and the mouth on her neck pulled away to let out a feline hiss. Distantly Stella heard his companion drop something heavy on the ground and take off running; she could also hear other feet pounding after her.

  “Make me,” the man said.

  Stella’s vision was blurred, her consciousness wavering, but she saw someone … no, two someones … three … standing in the streetlight, wearing some kind of uniforms … holding … swords? Were those swords? “You’re surrounded,” one of them said. “You are under arrest for public feeding with intent to kill—release the human and your punishment will be lighter.”

  “How ’bout I just break her little neck?” he asked.

  “How about you piss yourself and die?” another voice, this one female, came from directly behind the man. Stella felt a hard impact in the man’s body, and he screamed, the sound making thunder rip through Stella’s head. The man fell away from her, tumbling to the ground, and she saw a cylinder of wood jutting out of his back.

  Stella’s knees gave out, and she started to fall, but the woman reached out and steadied her. Stella tried to focus on her; she was Asian, not in uniform like the others but no less imposing.

  She held on to Stella with one hand and lifted her other arm to her mouth and said into her wristwatch, “Dispatch, I need an ambulance at these coordinates, transport to the Hausmann for two humans, emergency code Alpha Six, authorization Star-three.”

  “On its way, Star-three.”

  Stella fought to squeeze the woman’s arm to get her attention, but she was too weak. “Please,” she gasped. “Is my friend okay?”

  The woman looked over. “She’s breathing. One of my Elite is seeing to her until the medics arrive. Don’t worry, Miss … you’re going to be okay. Help is coming.”

  As the world began to go gray and sound became distant and watery, Stella murmured, “Miranda …” and fell forward onto her rescuer, who caught her with strong arms and eased her to the ground.

  “What the hell is going on in my city?” David demanded, slamming the car door. “Three attacks in as many days, out in full view of the entire Shadow World?”

  Faith walked beside the Prime up the steps to the Hausmann. “Sire, it actually gets worse.”

  He paused. “I hate it when you say that.”

  “One of the victims … it’s Detective Maguire’s daughter, Stella.”

  David let out the breath he’d been holding. “Christ. Has he been notified?”

  “He’s already here. The Hausmann contacts APD after every vampire-human incident just to keep open a line of communication, and they gave her ID—Maguire was here in ten minutes. He’s, well, a little upset.”

  “Well, no shit, Second,” David said.

  The Prime steeled himself for what would no doubt be waiting for them inside the clinic. The receptionist bowed as he passed, headed right into the treatment area, where two of the beds were curtained off. At the foot of one, in a plastic chair, sat the detective, looking pale and anxious … and angry.

  “What the hell is going on here, Solomon?” Maguire all but thundered, on his feet the second he saw David. “I thought your job in this city was to keep things like this from happening! I swear to God, if—”

  “Sit. Down.”

  David fixed his eyes on the detective’s and spoke very calmly; Maguire went white as a sheet and dropped back into the chair without another word.

  “Now, tell me what happened,” David instructed.

  Maguire swallowed hard and coughed.

  “Jackie,” David said, catching the head nurse as she walked by, “would you have a coffee brought in for the detective?”

  “Yes, Sire, right away,” Jackie said with her infectious grin. “I just put on a fresh pot before we got the call.”

  He returned his gaze to Maguire. “Go on.”

  “I don’t know exactly,” the detective stammered. “I got a call on an Alpha Six outside Nepenthe. I don’t know what the hell they were doing there. But the bar manager said there were two vamps out
side threatening a couple of girls, acting like they didn’t intend to obey the laws. He didn’t like the look of them so he hit the emergency patrol call button in the bar.”

  “And the girls?”

  “Both will be just fine,” Jackie said as she returned, handing Maguire a cup. The detective’s hands were shaking, but he drank it anyway, and it seemed the bitterness helped him focus on the nurse’s words. “The taller girl, Renee Sutton, lost a good deal of blood, but we got to her just in time—she’s having a transfusion right now. Stella fared better; I don’t think her attacker had as much time with her. She’s bruised and scratched, so I think she put up a hell of a fight.”

  Maguire’s eyes were full of tears. “That’s my girl,” he said.

  “And the assailants?”

  Faith stepped up. “I killed the one who attacked Stella, and the patrol unit took out the other. They’re finishing up at the scene now, but as far as we can tell, there’s no connection between these and the Alpha Seven the other day; the only commonality is that both occurred in the District. We could easily be dealing with vampires who came to town for the music festival looking to free-feed, or Signet groupies here for the Council meeting.”

  David didn’t say it, but he knew Faith was thinking the same thing he was: This was not random, not groupies. There was something in the air, an unease and electricity he remembered from when the Blackthorn had terrorized Austin.

  He put his hand on the detective’s shoulder. “She’s going to be just fine,” he said, echoing Jackie’s words. “And we’ll wipe her memory so she won’t even have nightmares—it’ll be like it never happened.”

  “No … you won’t …” came a harsh whisper.

  David pulled back the curtain from the bed to reveal a lovely red-haired girl of perhaps twenty-two, freckled like her father, her hazel eyes dull from painkillers but focused on him with almost alarming clarity.

  He felt the power in her as soon as he laid eyes on her. Oh, bloody hell.

  “Stella,” Maguire said, pushing himself past David to grab his daughter’s hand. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? They said you’re going to be okay.”