Shadow’s Fall

by Dianne Sylvan

  Stella nodded and gave him a wan smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

  Maguire looked up at David plaintively. “You can make her forget, right?”

  Again, Stella spoke. “No, Dad … they can’t. Mind control stuff doesn’t work on me … I’m psychic like they are. And I’m a Witch.”

  Maguire shut his eyes tight and turned his face away. “Stella, we’ll talk about that later …”

  “I’m afraid she’s right,” David said. “She’s obviously shielded and trained to her gifts; not to mention she’s very strong. We can deal with her friend’s memories because she’s unconscious and not nearly as powerful. There’s no way a typical compulsion like ours could overcome Stella’s barriers. Luckily … I know someone who’s not typical.”

  “No!” Stella exclaimed, the effort clearly making her dizzy. “You can’t do that to me. You can’t screw with my mind like that—I want to remember. And I want to know … I want to know about Miranda.”

  David raised an eyebrow. “What about Miranda?”

  “She’s one of you. I know she is. I know she is …” Stella’s strength was failing her; she had been through a lot and was drugged for both pain and anxiety. It was possible she would forget most of this on her own because of the trauma.

  David started to say something, but before he could, a soft presence moved up beside him, and with a flash of red hair, Miranda was standing over the bed, peering down at the young human who had whispered her name.

  Stella’s eyes went huge, and her hands clenched the sheets. David knew she was seeing … and Seeing … more than just her musical idol, although that would have been enough excitement for anyone.

  “You must be Stella,” Miranda said gently. “I’m told you asked for me.”

  Stella burst into tears.

  Miranda Grey was sitting by Stella’s bed, holding her hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Miranda Grey, a vampire.

  She’d cleared everyone else out of the room, and they all obeyed without question, even Stella’s father, who reluctantly shuffled out to the waiting room for a moment.

  Miranda’s hand was warm against Stella’s, not cold like a corpse’s. Her eyes, the same gold-flecked green as in the few pictures Stella had seen, were kind, but there was something alien in them as well that Stella doubted any of her fans had ever been close enough to see.

  She was every bit as beautiful in person, up close, both smaller in stature and more massive in energy than any normal woman would be. She listened as Stella told her how she had come to be at Nepenthe with full attention, concern and anger in her eyes when Stella got to the part where the other vampires attacked them.

  “I’m sorry that happened,” Miranda said. Her speaking voice without a microphone was so soft, but Stella had a feeling it could be imperious and hard when it needed to be. “We work very hard to make sure people are safe here—this kind of thing is pretty rare.”

  “Are there … are there a lot of you?”

  A smile. “More than you would expect. The South is heavily populated because of the weather … we like the heat.”

  “Because … you’re dead.”

  “No, Stella. I’m alive. Just different. My kind live in a world that touches yours, but they aren’t meant to intersect; we take what we need to survive and try not to destroy anything … or most of us do. I’m a little different in that I chose to have a presence in the Day World, even if I can never walk there.”

  “And this thing you have, this psychic gift? What is it? I’ve never Seen anything like it.”

  Miranda looked surprised. “You can see it?”

  “It’s my gift. Sight. I See things about people—that’s how I Saw your aura change when you got shot.” Stella took a breath; she was tired, but she couldn’t stand the thought of missing a moment of this conversation. “I’m sorry you got shot, by the way … I bet it hurt. I hope they caught the guy.”

  “I’ve had worse,” Miranda replied with a smile. “And yes, he’s been … held accountable.”

  Stella might have done some dumb shit tonight, but she wasn’t dumb enough to follow up on that sentence. “But I watched videos of you performing, and I could See you doing something, but I didn’t know what.”

  A slow nod. “I’m an empath,” Miranda said. “I have been since I was human. I can sense and manipulate emotion.”

  “Is that how you could get past my shields and wipe my memories?” Stella asked uncertainly.

  “Yes. Empathy as strong as mine is difficult to protect against because it’s so rare. I get in through a different door than the others.”

  “Please … don’t do it. I don’t want to forget this.”

  Miranda sighed. “It’s for your own good, Stella. People can’t know what I really am. A lot of lives depend on our secrecy.”

  “I promise I won’t tell anyone! I swear.”

  There was sympathy, and affection, in the singer’s eyes. “I believe you.” She gently let go of Stella’s hand and straightened out the sheets, then laid her palm on Stella’s cheek. “Rest now, Stella … would you like me to sing to you?”

  Stella’s heart was about to burst again, but this time with the sudden upwelling of joy after what had to have been one of the worst nights of her life. “Yes … I’d love that. Thank you so much.”

  Miranda leaned down and kissed her forehead, then sat back down and said, “Close your eyes.”

  Stella obeyed, and as Miranda’s voice wove its honeyed way through the clinic’s cold air, it wrapped its shadowy tendrils around Stella’s mind and coaxed her toward a darkness that was made up of sleep and healing, not fear, a place where she could wrap herself in the song and dream … and forget:

  I have no fear of heights,

  No fear of the deep blue sea …

  Fifteen

  Like most of its cousins, the Haven of Eastern Europe stood just at the edge of the city proper, where the comings and goings of its denizens would be less noticeable. They could in fact bypass Prague entirely to reach it from the airport, but Jacob had business in town, so as their driver guided the car along the streets, Cora watched Prague Castle glide by lit up like a cathedral in the night, and seeing it gave her a sense of homecoming she had never felt anywhere else.

  She was coming to know the city little by little. She stayed home most of the time, as she was even more sensitive to the cold than most vampires, a consequence of years spent shivering in slow starvation. But as she gained in strength over the months, she grew braver, and as Jacob had pointed out, it was unlikely anyone would bother her with Vràna trotting alongside her.

  “Feeling better, my love?” the Prime asked as the car pulled to a stop outside their broker’s office.

  Cora nodded. “I really hate flying.”

  He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Luckily it should be quite some time before we have to do it again. That’s the nice thing about Europe—to get anywhere in David’s territory he has to fly, but we can tour the entire East via train.” He looked her over. “You still look a little green. We’ll be home soon, and you can have a long rest in a warm bed. I won’t be long.”

  Jacob straightened out the blanket she’d had wrapped around her, which had gotten a bit tangled as she dozed, then ducked out of the car quickly so as not to let out too much heat. It was cool at night here year-round; she didn’t long for the hundred-plus-degree summers of Texas, but she had enjoyed the May nights. There had even been a late snowfall here yesterday.

  Vràna grunted in her sleep and pawed at the air. “Chasing rabbits again?” Cora asked, scratching the Nighthound’s head with a smile. It was quite remarkable that in spite of the dog’s size she could fold herself into a very narrow space in the car, though she did tend to jam her bony knees into Jacob fairly often.

  Cora leaned back and watched the night go by out the car window for a while, feeling herself relax; the last few days had been far too much excitement for her taste. S
he had to smile at herself. There had been a time she had worried that she wouldn’t be warrior enough for her Signet, but it turned out a warrior was not what Jacob needed, and she was quite satisfied with the comparatively boring life she had. Perhaps Miranda was a more memorable Queen and had a more interesting life, but given the toll it seemed to take on everyone around her, fame and fortune weren’t as blissful as people were led to believe.

  “I do not know how she does it,” Cora murmured, partly to the dog, partly to herself. “How any of them do. I rather like not having so many mortal enemies.”

  Oh, she was sure that if Hart had the opportunity, he would gleefully kill Cora, but at least for now she had escaped the madness of his true wrath. Across the ocean and living quietly behind stone walls, Cora wasn’t much of a target.

  What was it, she wondered, that had made Hart fixate on Miranda so strongly? Was her outspoken nature, and her Prime’s attachment to mortals, really that much of a threat? Yes, things were changing in the Council, but surely Hart had nothing to fear from a few Primes following the South’s example. It had to be something else, something personal. Cora was neither an empath nor a strategist, but she knew Hart’s capricious temper. He held grudges—cherished them—but he didn’t jeopardize his own power in their pursuit. He genuinely fancied himself a true nobleman above getting his hands dirty. His behavior in this whole matter was … far too coarse, too petty.

  She was still brooding when Jacob returned. “Oh dear,” he said. “You have that look.”

  Cora blinked. “Look, my Lord?”

  “The sort of look Vràna gets when she’s on the scent of a particularly fat and tasty rabbit … or perhaps the look of a Queen on the verge of knowing too much.”

  She chuckled. “Perish the thought.”

  He waited, and finally she said, “I was thinking about Hart, my Lord … his obsession with the Southern United States is unlike him.”

  Jacob looked surprised for a moment but nodded. “And you suspect there’s a larger game afoot.”

  “I cannot imagine what it could be. What would he have to gain by destroying them? There is no territory to annex, no riches to steal. He is possessed of a foolish pride, true, but the risks he is taking are extreme.”

  “I agree,” Jacob said, knocking for the driver to resume the trip home. “My experience with Hart in the political arena is that he’d rather work behind the scenes and make life miserable for them than try to go after Miranda’s career publicly. The leak to the media last year—that’s Hart. Having her shot was pushing it. Making a play in Council seemed like an impulsive last-ditch effort. David’s not going to go to war over something like this, so Hart’s going to have to let the matter drop … but like you, I keep thinking there’s something else he’s trying to accomplish, or that his actions were a smokescreen for something else.”

  Cora sighed. “Jonathan told me he thinks something is coming … that Miranda becoming Queen was like a stone falling into a still pond, and that things are going to change for all of us. I have a feeling he is right.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure we’re safe for now,” Jacob assured her, brushing hair from her eyes. “Things have been peaceful here for centuries.”

  “I just wish I knew …” Cora trailed off as Vràna’s head jerked upward, the Hound’s teeth suddenly bared with a low growl.

  Jacob started visibly. “Good Lord, Vràna, you have more dreams than any two-legged person I’ve ever—what is it?”

  Cora’s stomach had lurched, and she felt cold all over, then hot, then cold again. Her heart clawed up into her throat. Something … something was not right …

  “Jan, stop the car,” Jacob said. “Cora—”

  An image flashed in Cora’s mind: a small metal disk, the smell of exhaust, a beep … fire …

  “Out,” she gasped. “Get out of the car!”

  Without asking a single question, Jacob seized Cora’s arm with one hand and Vràna’s collar with the other.

  Cora felt the world spinning out of her view, and before she could even take a breath to cry out, her face slammed into a snowbank.

  The cold jolted her out of the reflexive nausea that accompanied a Mist; she’d done it only a few times and usually with far more preparation. Jacob had tandem-Misted with her before, but he’d never brought the dog along.

  As she lifted her head, she heard a roar and felt the air vibrate with blistering heat. She was grabbed again, hauled sideways underneath her Prime, who held her down until the blast was over. Cora screamed into his shoulder, feeling something impact with his back. She heard Vràna barking in panic from near her head.

  Moments later the shaking stopped, and the smell of burning flesh assaulted her nose. Cora whimpered, clinging to Jacob, terrified for a second that he was dead, but he made a pained noise and shifted off her, allowing a large furry shadow to insert itself between them and start licking Cora fiercely on the face.

  “Enough, Vràna,” she croaked. “I’m fine.”

  She could count on one hand the times in the last three years she had heard her Prime curse, and this was one of them.

  Cora forced herself out of the fetal position and tried to understand what she was seeing, but her mind had frozen—until she saw the blood.

  Nausea gripped her. She might have passed out, but Jacob’s voice intruded: “Cora, I need your help.”

  Cora admonished herself sternly in a mental voice that she noticed sounded much like Miranda: Get ahold of yourself, Queen.

  “Yes,” she said. “Hold still.”

  There was a large piece of black metal sticking out of Jacob’s back just out of his reach; it wasn’t very deep in, and nowhere near his heart. Relieved, she gripped it with both hands and pulled.

  “Mother of Christ.” Jacob shook himself and asked, “Are you hurt? I didn’t feel anything hit you.”

  “No,” she said. “What … what did I see? Metal and fire? I do not—”

  “A bomb,” Jacob replied, pulling his phone out of his coat pocket.

  Cora turned her head toward the source of the heat and stench, the still-smoldering hulk of their car. She could hear sirens in the distance as she stared at the scene, unbelieving. Jacob put his arm around her and pulled her close while he called the Haven, the police, and a variety of other people. She wasn’t really listening.

  Cora jumped a mile as her pocket began to vibrate; the last thing she’d been expecting was a phone call. Hands numb from shock and cold, she dug it out and answered it with chattering teeth while trying to focus enough to raise her body temperature from the inside.

  “What the hell just happened?” came a familiar voice. “Are you all right?”

  “I think someone just tried to kill us,” she said. “Did you have a vision?”

  Jonathan let out his breath audibly. “Not exactly—I woke up from a dead sleep with my hand already on the phone to call you. What happened?”

  Jacob gestured to her, and Cora hit the button to switch the phone to speaker mode. “The car blew up,” he said a bit tersely. “Are you sure you weren’t aware of it in advance?”

  “Good God, Jacob, if I’d seen something like that, I would have warned you,” Jonathan replied. “Deven and I both sat bolt upright at the same time—we felt something happening.”

  “I don’t suppose you felt who did it,” Jacob said. He was, as usual, keeping his head, though Cora had the urge to dig a hole in the snow and hide, or possibly throw up.

  “What can you tell us?” Another voice joined in: Deven.

  Jacob eyed the scene. “It looks like it originated near the front seat,” he said, frowning. “The back is still mostly intact. That’s a bit odd.”

  “Why?” Cora asked.

  Jacob got to his feet. “We were in the back. So is the gas tank. I’m going to have a closer look—the fire’s mostly out, and the police will be here in a few minutes.” Cora grabbed his arm to stop him, but he gave her a smile. “I’ll be fine. I just want to see what I can
before the authorities arrive and disturb the scene.”

  “I’m coming with you, then.” She struggled up in the snow until he took her arm and helped her get her balance. Vràna kept close as they picked their way past bits of the car’s chassis and motor-type things, the stinking remains of a tire … an arm.

  “Jan,” Cora said softly. “Poor Jan.”

  Jacob’s phone rang shrilly. This time they both jumped. “Janousek. Prosím,” he said, then smiled wryly. “Ah, David. Lovely to hear from you.” He glanced over at Cora, who was still holding her phone up where the West could hear. “No, we’re all right … a bomb, as far as I can tell. We’ve got Elite en route as well as inspectors … yes, if you wish. Let me call you back.”

  The approaching fire trucks and police cars were drowning out conversation, so Cora said, “We have to go now, Jonathan—we will call you later with more information.”

  “As long as you’re all right,” the Consort said.

  “We are. Don’t worry.”

  “Right. Of course not. People try to blow up my friends every day.” Jonathan sounded uncharacteristically morose as he hung up, and she felt a pang of worry for him as well.

  Cora joined Jacob nearer the wreck, where he was staring into the driver’s seat. She was reluctant to see what might remain of Jan—and despite the obviousness of the answer, she asked, “Is he dead?”

  Jacob sighed. “Spectacularly. We’ll have to notify his family.” He was taking pictures with his phone. “For David,” he said to her.

  “Did he have a ‘feeling’ about the bomb, too?” she asked.

  “He said Miranda woke up in a fit and demanded he call immediately.”

  Cora bit her lip and, suddenly aware of how tired she was, sank down on the low stone wall that ran alongside the road. “Jonathan said he and Deven both knew something was wrong at the same time.”

  Jacob joined her, taking her hand. “Four Signets having the same premonition … Is it strange that I find that more worrisome than the fact that we were just blown up?”