A Fall of Silver (The Redemption Series)

by Amy Corwin

  “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m just a confused, old man.”

  Kethan grinned and squeezed the priest’s sloping shoulder. “No, never that. You’ve got good instincts, the best.”

  “Then I ask you, if Martyn Sutton needs to prove his power, think of what a coup it would be if he killed Quicksilver? Wouldn’t he try to eliminate their greatest enemy?”

  A cold presentiment shivered down his back like rain, but he refused to give in to doubt. She’s all right. She’ll be back soon. Should he wait here for her return or try to find her?

  Where would he even start looking?

  “Sutton resisted the urge to kill her before to prove his honor. That gesture bodes well. She’ll be fine.”

  Joe glanced around. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we try to find our Miss Quicksilver?”

  “I was just about to go after her.” He frowned, mind racing. “I can start at the orphanage….”

  “You shouldn’t have let her go, not after you gave your word.” Joe shook his head.

  “I didn’t. She slipped out before I realized it.” He opened the front door and stared out into the rain.

  “You’re out of practice, my friend, to let a young woman slip through your fingers.” The priest said. “Her absence may make matters much more complicated.”

  “We’re scaring ourselves with speculation. I’ll find her, don’t worry.”

  “How? Where will you start? You don’t know where she is. Perhaps we should wait and pray she’ll come back, safe.”

  “I’m not as good as you at waiting or praying.”

  Joe turned him toward the kitchen. “Then you’re blessed to have me here to help you with those two tasks.”

  Needing to do something but aware that acting rashly would only make matters worse, Kethan made coffee. He poured beans into the coffee grinder for three-quarters mellow decaffeinated Kona and one-quarter high-test Arabica to give it enough oomph to do him some good while preventing the shakes. The activity gave him a few minutes to structure a plan of action. He was offering Joe the first cup of coffee when the front door slammed open.

  Kethan jerked around, spilling a stream of hot liquid across his hand and counter. He swore, grabbed a kitchen towel to wrap around his hand, and moved into the hallway. A gale of rain and dead leaves swirled through the open front door and like some elemental storm goddess, Quicksilver appeared framed in darkness. Her vivid red dress, pearl-white skin, and pale hair glowing against the howling black storm ripping through the door around her, blowing her hair around her face. Lightning exploded, flashing down the dark street before a cannon boom of thunder rattled the windows.

  The sharp smell of ozone and wet pavement filled the air, underscored by the earthy scent of the brown leaves littering the hallway. Another burst of wind rattled the leaves and they scuttled along the floor and clicked together in the corner like so many skeletons.

  “Is Father Donatello here?” She pushed wet hair away from her face before glancing over her shoulder at the darkness behind her. “His car is out front.”

  “Yes, he’s here. Where have you been?” The sight of her, body outlined in wet, crimson material made Kethan’s body tighten despite his anger. Although he tried to stay focused on her face, every gleaming, damp curve showing through the thin fabric of her dress called to him.

  A woman’s body, sculpted in claret and pearls…with no underwear. His breathing roughened. Had she found someone tonight?

  He thrust his hands into his pockets, wanting to grab her and take her upstairs to drain the carnal energy surging within his veins.

  She shrugged and for a moment, he lost the taut thread of their conversation.

  “Well?” she asked. When he remained silent, trying to decide what to say, she threw her wet hair over her shoulder. “I’m going upstairs to change.”

  “Do you want coffee?” he called as she climbed the stairs. Then he clamped his mouth shut. Of all the inane things to say…. Her short, wet skirt clung to her bottom, slapping the backs of her thighs with each step. He couldn’t drag his gaze away.

  “Coffee? Are you nuts?” She stopped and hung over the railing, dripping down on him, the droplets stinging his skin like slivers of ice. “Like I need the caffeine? Fix me a drink.” She smiled, her eyes flashing. “An Old Fashioned. You know how to do that, don’t you? Mix up an Old Fashioned?”

  “I can manage.” His voice rasped in his dry throat.

  She was crazy. Crackling, intense energy filled her searing blue eyes, and she radiated heat and edgy, luscious lust. The air around her snapped.

  He murmured a brief prayer that the storm had cut short whatever plans she’d had and that she’d returned to him without doing anything…regretable.

  “Was that Miss Quicksilver?” Joe asked as he moved down the hallway, carefully holding his nearly full cup of coffee. He stepped into the living room and peered around as if he expected to find her seated demurely on the sofa.

  “Yes. Go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring the coffee. She, ah, went to change.” He glanced at the staircase. He could hear soft noises from upstairs as she padded around her room, removing her wet clothes....

  A surge of deep desire—unwarranted and unwanted—sent him striding to the haven of his ordinary, unexciting kitchen. For a moment, he stared into the stainless steel sink, forgetting what he had come here for, forgetting everything except Quicksilver’s pale face gleaming with rain.

  Then he shook himself and fumbled with the pot of coffee, nearly burning himself again. As he ran cold water over his hand, he remembered Quicksilver’s request for a drink. He mixed her an Old Fashioned, added a maraschino cherry and even stuck a thick, juicy slice of orange onto the rim, although it took him five tries and two nicked fingers before he managed it. After placing it on a wooden tray, he poured two fresh mugs of coffee and added them to the tray and walked to the living room, feeling like a butler returning to the scene of his crime, exhilarated and yet uneasy.

  Wearing an expression as unrevealing as the worn cover of a closed bible, Joe accepted his mug without commenting on the fact that he had to put his previous cup of coffee down on the table to do it. Kethan took a seat next to him and in companionable silence they took a few tentative sips before Quicksilver joined them.

  She strolled in, shockingly normal with her damp hair in a ponytail, a blue turtleneck, and a pair of slim denim jeans. Her face, washed clean of makeup, looked vulnerable and young with pale pink lips and vividly blue eyes. The clean, fresh scent of soap clung to her skin and hair, filling the room as she breezed past him and threw herself into his armchair.

  Too aware of her, Kethan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. For once, she looked approachable, inviting. Then she grinned at him, winked, and picked up her glass. Like some grubby teenager fishing through a banana split for the best bits, she picked out the cherry with her fingers and ate it before taking a long swallow of the amber liquid.

  “So what’re you boys up to tonight? Ghost stories? ‘It was a dark and windy night....’ Or is it prayers by candlelight?” she asked.

  Father Donatello laughed, but his brows remained pinched with anxiety. “Nothing so dramatic. Just catching up on church gossip. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin and that sort of thing.” Joe placed his hands on his knees before slowly standing. As his joints popped and cracked into compliance, he shook his head and gave a slight, wry smile. He gently placed his nearly full cup of coffee on the table next to his first cup. “However it is getting late, and I’m tired.”

  “Oh, well if you can’t stay, drive safely, Father Donatello.” She drew her legs up to curl into the corner of the big, overstuffed chair. The drink brought a rich flush to her pale cheeks and her eyes brightened, framed by dark, still-damp lashes. “I’d like to go to bed myself—I didn’t realize it was so late.” Her eyes flicked a glance toward Kethan, a sharp, piercing glint of mischief in their silvery depths.

  Joe laughed and shook his head, clicking his to
ngue. “You two should get some rest, although I don’t suppose you’ll listen to my advice.”

  “Joe, I—” Kethan said before he was cut off.

  “I’ll call you with the details tomorrow morning, Kethan,” Joe interrupted smoothly.

  As Kethan entered the hallway ahead of Joe, the front door shook with the reverberating sound of a fist hammering it. He exchanged glances with the priest. Then he caught Quicksilver’s puzzled and oddly nervous glance. Her gaze danced away, blinking.

  What did you do? he thought.

  When Kethan opened the door, the knob flew out of his hand with the force of the wind. The door slammed against the doorstop with a resounding crack. Outside, the storm ripped through the street, throwing debris over manicured lawns and the black surface of the road. Wind howled and tore into the house, whipping down the hallway and scattering the mail left on the side table over the floor. Even as they watched, the gale increased violently, tearing limbs from the surrounding trees and beating them against the roof. Leaves and more debris flashed by.

  Nearly blending into the Stygian shadows, two dark figures stood on his stoop. The chill air surrounding them seemed untouched by the raging storm, as if they were the dead eye of a hurricane.

  “Where is she?” one of them asked in a low voice.

  “Hello, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Cage. Quicksilver is here with me,” Kethan answered the two vampires, tension making his voice harsh. Had she lied? Broken her word so soon?

  He didn’t glance at her, but a deep core of certainty within him responded, “No.”

  “You broke your word,” Clement Taylor said, his features blurred with shadows. His blue eyes glinted oddly with flashes of feral red when he stared into the hallway.

  “No.” Kethan said.

  “Her motorcycle’s warm. She were out, mate, alone.”

  “Briefly.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of blue, the deep blue of Quicksilver’s sweater. His pulse kicked up a notch. Stay where you are, Quicksilver….

  The vampires were edgy and ready to attack. If she antagonized them, violence would erupt with his house as the focal point. He had to reduce the hostility and be the voice of calm reason even if he felt anything except calm.

  “What’s wrong?” Quicksilver asked.

  Turning in her direction, Kethan gave a slight shake of his head.

  Taylor shoved his shoulder against the door, his claw-like hands clenching the edge of the door and the doorframe. He called past Kethan, “You killed Juliana, you bitch, and she were mine! A new fledgling with no more notion of protecting herself than a fresh-hatched sparrow!”

  Quicksilver moved closer, halting at Kethan’s shoulder, and placing a cold hand on his forearm. “No, I didn’t. It’s true, I was out, but I only rode around at random. That’s all.”

  “You were seen near Renardos!” A slight lisp slurred the sibilant letters. Anthony Cage’s eyes flared hot crimson.

  “I rode around the block a few times. I never stopped, and I never got off my motorcycle.” When she gazed up at Kethan, the anger in her blue eyes couldn’t hide the quiet plea for belief shimmering in their depths.

  “Juliana went to Renardos tonight.” Taylor’s head jutted toward them, his face suffused with blood, the muscles in his thick neck bulging. “She died there in that filthy alley behind the club.”

  “I didn’t do it!” Quicksilver’s fingers dug into Kethan’s muscles, her grip tight with panic despite the defiant tilt of her chin.

  “Did anyone see what happened?” He covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze.

  “The doorman knows her.” Taylor gestured at her. “He saw her, there. Outside.”

  “Then he saw me ride by. I never stopped. Kethan, you’ve got to believe me, I never went inside.” Her voice rose, tense with desperation as her eyes flickered over his face.

  “You didn’t have to. Juliana never made it inside either,” Taylor ground out.

  “Someone else killed her, not me!”

  Framed by the doorway, the two vampires grew eerily quiet. Behind them, the wind howled in the blackness like a dying animal, emphasizing their unnatural stillness. Although the men never turned their heads toward one another, Kethan could feel the rush of their thoughts, whispering between the pair.

  “Give us a show of good faith,” Cage lisped. “Just as we proved ours.”

  “We’re not going to sacrifice Quicksilver to make you feel better. She had nothing to do with this. Look elsewhere for the man responsible.”

  The vampires took a step closer to the door, crowding the opening. Kethan didn’t move. The air around him thickened as they exerted pressure to force him to look at them and stare into their eyes.

  Let us in! We’ll protect you from her…. Their whispers filled his head, seeking to convince him to make the wise decision, the right decision. Trust us and you’ll live! Betray us and die.

  Kethan clenched his fists, the blunt nails biting into the palms. Slowly, he forced his mind to clear, using the simple prayers he had learned years earlier to focus on what truly mattered. He needed to find the truth and diffuse the rapidly deteriorating situation.

  Martyn Sutton must be in serious trouble if needed to eliminate Quicksilver to consolidate his position, and it wouldn’t be beyond belief that Martyn had spotted her riding through his territory. He may have seized the unexpected opportunity to further his own purposes by killing the fledgling vampire. Once he destroyed her, it would be simple to convince his already unsettled clan to believe that Quicksilver had killed Juliana.

  The move placed Kethan in a weak position, potentially weak enough to force him to hand her over. And much as he hated to admit it, Quicksilver’s actions had sparked this situation.

  Studying her tense face, with its pale cheeks and wide eyes, he couldn’t believe she had killed a vampire, not without a weapon. There were no marks on her fragile skin, not even a bruise, nothing to indicate involvement in the violent death of a vampire.

  “Look at her. Do you see evidence of a fight? Or do you think Juliana wouldn’t have struggled? Have you considered that she may have tried to feed on the wrong human? Juliana may have been the one who broke the agreement, not Quicksilver.”

  Again, the vampires remained silent, their faces cold with heavy menace. Finally, Taylor said, “Poncy, mincing words. Our Juliana’s dead.” He pointed to Quicksilver. “And she’s to pay.”

  “Kethan, I swear! I told you the truth.” She turned to him, her desperate eyes scanning his face.

  “No need to fear us, sweetheart. It’ll be quick—nearly painless.” Cage’s light, amused tone did nothing to reduce the menace behind his words.

  Kethan’s skin prickled. God help him if he were wrong. “No. She’s not going with you. She’s innocent,” he said. “Tell Martyn we’ll discover who did this, and then we’ll bring the culprit to him.”

  “We already know,” Taylor said.

  “You know nothing. She was unarmed. I kept her weapons here, and she couldn’t kill Juliana, or any vampire, without a weapon.”

  Cage and Taylor exchanged quick, flickering glances.

  “How did she die?” Quicksilver asked, pressing closer to Kethan.

  “She were beheaded.” Cage answered reluctantly.

  “You see?” One of her hands gripped the back of his shirt as if reassuring herself of his presence and support. “Like Kethan said, I didn’t have my whips. How could I behead anyone without them? With my bare hands?”

  Kethan stepped in front of her, wary that her logic might not impress the two vampires as much as she thought. He held up his hand, palm toward Cage. “I swear Quicksilver won’t go out of this house again unaccompanied by me. You have my word.”

  “Martyn wants this finished. Tonight,” Taylor repeated.

  “I understand, but you have your answer—the only answer you’re going to get tonight. So unless you want to argue ‘til dawn, you’ll go back and tell Martyn we weren’t involved. Look elsewhere fo
r your slayer; and we’ll investigate, as well. No one else will die, vampire or human. Do you understand?”

  Without agreeing, the vampires stared at him for one tense moment. Then they were gone, melting into the shadows. As soon as they disappeared, the wind rushed over the stoop as if filling the void they left and a swirl of dead leaves and rain wrapped around Kethan’s legs.

  Shaking a huge, brown oak leaf off his shoe, Kethan closed the door. When he turned around, his gaze skipped from Quicksilver to Joe.

  “You should stay, Father,” he said. “They may decide any human will do to compensate for Juliana.”

  “And yet you asked them to trust you.” Joe shook his head, hands clasped behind his back. “If you wish for trust, you must show trust.” He walked toward the door.

  “Wait!” Quicksilver stepped in front of him. “Where are you going?”

  Joe gazed at her, his eyes sad. “I’m going home.”

  “Didn’t you hear what Kethan said?”

  “Yes.” He smiled gently. “If they feel they need blood, let them take mine and spare that of an innocent human.”

  “You can’t be serious. There’s trust and then there’s stupidity.” She glanced from Kethan to the priest. “Let me go, then. If they want a human, they can deal with me. I mean, they can’t hurt me if you give me back my whips. I’ll kill them, all of them. Then this’ll be over. No more humans need to die.”

  Kethan grabbed her arms and jerked her around. She looked so young, so desperate, and beneath it all, terrified. Trembling, she blinked rapidly as her brash, aggressive façade splintered under his scrutiny. Realization crossed her face. Regardless of her feelings, she was just as enmeshed in the politics of their negotiations as he was.

  “You have to understand,” Kethan said. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to prevent. You kill Taylor and Cage. Martyn responds by killing two humans, and the cycle continues. This must end.”