A Fall of Silver (The Redemption Series)

by Amy Corwin

  Was she already in bed? Somehow, he didn’t think so, the house felt too empty to him, almost hostile. Where could she have gone? His mind balked at the thought that she may have returned to the stone house on Oak Street where her parents stayed.

  He couldn’t imagine what she must have felt when she found them there. Their presence must have reopened the raw wounds they’d carved on her soul when they abandoned her.

  How could any parents, even the most callous, do that to their only child? He couldn’t conceive of the cold reasoning that had gone into the decision to leave their child with her grandmother so they could pursue their careers or their subsequent plan to make a weapon out of their young daughter.

  The wind picked up, whipping through his hair with sharp, icy fingers as he stood in front of the door. His eyes ached each time he blinked. Somehow, he felt reluctant to go inside. He didn’t want to know if she were gone.

  All he wanted to do was lie next to her and drape an arm over her waist, feel her soft warmth against him.

  Hesitating, he glanced across the street at the church. Should he attend early Mass? He might have the opportunity to speak to the Cardinal again. He took a step in that direction. The stone edifice hunched in the gloom, silent with disapproval.

  A sharp presentiment made him glance away from the building. He had the inexplicable feeling that the Church had already turned its back on him, and that he had failed. His shoulders slumped. He longed for a large bottle of Irish whiskey, a warm fire, and Quicksilver’s head on his shoulder.

  Oblivion from care, surcease from sorrow.

  He hadn’t realized how much he cared about the negotiations, how much he’d invested in their success and the possibility of providing opportunities to others who, like himself, may have realized too late the emptiness of their long, shadow life and wanted another chance.

  Mercy was never wasted.

  Not that he could guarantee another chance for anyone, however. The possibility of redemption had to remain a secret, so the vampires couldn’t even know it existed. A vampire could not act with the necessary selflessness if he knew that in so doing, he could shed his immortality like a too-small husk and become human again.

  But Kethan could provide fertile, safe ground, for the possibility.

  Possibility. A chance to experience love, true, human love.

  His mouth grew dry as the image of Quicksilver’s face rose to remind him of everything he most desired and missed about being human: the possibility to make love once more to a woman who challenged and excited him as no one had done for a long time.

  Opening the door to his house, he stepped inside, praying he was wrong. Maybe she was upstairs, flushed and drowsy with sleep.

  “Quicksilver?” Silence greeted him. “Quicksilver!”

  Nothing, except….

  A light tread sounded on the stairs.

  He glanced up. His heart thudded faster at a glimpse of pale hair. “Quicksilver?”

  “She’s not here.” A woman’s voice drifted down the stairs.

  “Who—”

  “You don’t know us, but we’re Allison’s parents, Sylvia and Hector Bankes.” The slender woman came into view, followed by the darker shape of her husband.

  “How did you get in here? Where’s Quicksilver?”

  “In church, I should imagine. She left a few minutes ago.”

  “Church?”

  She slipped closer to his left side while her husband edged toward the right. Kethan backed up a step, tension bleeding away the remains of his energy.

  “She headed that way,” Mr. Bankes said, “so we decided to wait here, for you.”

  “I appreciate that, but isn’t it getting late? It’s almost dawn.”

  Mrs. Bankes laughed, a light, lilting sound like the splash of water in a mountain stream. “There’s always time for friends, isn’t there? And we’d like to be your friends for the sake of our daughter, Allison.”

  A blur of movement to his right was the only warning.

  Kethan spun.

  Bankes angled to attack from behind. A low growl pulsed in his throat. He grabbed Kethan’s shoulder just as he turned.

  Dipping and spinning on the balls of his feet, Kethan slid low. His sudden, falling weight destabilized the vampire. At the last minute, Kethan gripped Bankes’s neck. Using the vampire’s momentum, Kethan slammed him into Mrs. Bankes as she tried to come at him from the other side.

  “Stop!” Kethan’s fingers dug into Bankes’s neck.

  The vampire writhed in his grip, but Kethan hung on.

  Thrusting his hand into his pocket, Kethan pulled out a heavy silver cross. He held it up as Mrs. Bankes recovered and eyed him, circling warily.

  “That won’t help you,” she whispered as her husband struggled, trying to break Kethan’s grip.

  Kethan had the height and longer arms and barely the strength to hold Bankes. “No.” He pressed a flat button on the side of the cross. A long, thin blade flicked out, glittering silver. “You may lack the faith, but this should remind you.” He thrust Bankes away. “I’ve no quarrel with you. If you want to live, get out!”

  “We must talk.”

  “Give me an incentive.”

  “You’re attracted to Allison. Don’t bother denying it; it’s in your eyes,” Mrs. Bankes said, a knowing smile curving her mouth. “If you want her to be safe, you’ll listen.”

  His pulse jumped, but he shrugged and leaned against the wall, protecting his back. “You’re here; she’s not. That means you don’t have her. She’s safe already.”

  “Perhaps,” Bankes said through thinned lips.

  “You don’t have her, and you don’t know where she is, and it’s close to dawn. That’s good enough for me.” He pulled the door open. “If you want to talk, then come to the negotiations.”

  Bankes laughed. “What negotiations?”

  “For the last time, get out. If you want to talk, call me. I’ll provide instructions so you can attend the negotiations.”

  “Haven’t you spoken to your Church? There are no negotiations—at least not officially. It seems we’ve taken the high ground, not you.” The two vampires exchanged glances, sly smiles curving their lips.

  Knocked off balance, Kethan recovered enough to reply smoothly, “I disagree. The negotiations concern Sutton’s clan and you. Whether the Church wishes to participate or withdraw is a separate issue.”

  “What incentive could we possibly have to negotiate with the Lost Colonists? Only the Catholic Church interests us, not the sixteenth century weaklings lead by that fool, Martyn Sutton.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Despite what you think, the Church may not be uninterested.” He played a poor hand, but it was all he had. “Father Donatello may have something to say about it.”

  “My, my, you are behind the times.”

  “Then enlighten me,” Kethan said.

  “I tried.” The tips of Bankes’s canines dimpled his lower lip in a slow smile. “You refuse to understand.”

  “We’re wasting time. We’ll talk at the negotiations.”

  “As you wish,” Mrs. Bankes said.

  The sky was already turning pale blue when the couple stepped outside. As if it had been waiting there all along, a dark SUV idled at the curb. The pair got inside, not bothering to glance back at Kethan. He waited at the front door, watching. His back itched as he wondered if they’d left any other surprises for him inside.

  He closed and locked the door.

  Frankly, he was too tired to care.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When Quicksilver returned to Kethan’s townhouse the next morning, he gave her no opportunity to rest. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his car, insisting on driving her to a doctor, a specialist he claimed could perform miracles.

  A doctor would have to work magic if he wanted to save her. In her heart, she knew it was too late. There was nothing left to save, and after her parent’s visit, she wasn’t sure she cared.


  After the requisite poking and prodding, the doctor shook his head over her slender file. “I’m sorry,” he said, just as she expected. “The implant is in a delicate position. It cradles C1—the cervical vertebrae. Surgery would be dangerous. Any slip could damage the C1 cervical nerve that emerges above C1. If I try to remove it, Ms. Bankes could end up paralyzed. Or worse.”

  Kethan’s grip on her shoulder tightened. “Can it be neutralized?”

  “Neutralized?”

  “It contains explosives.”

  “I’m not a hazardous materials expert. I wouldn’t have any idea where to start.” The doctor’s eyes flicked toward the door. He looked like he’d like nothing better than to leave, at a run. “I—I’m sorry, but in my professional opinion, any surgical procedure could cause irreparable damage.”

  “Well, it wasn’t an expert who put it in there,” Quicksilver said dryly.

  The doctor gave her a tight half-smile. “No. No one could claim the initial surgery was done by an expert. Unfortunately, any subsequent operation will have to be performed by one, someone willing to risk his hands and his staff. Removing it could easily set it off, if it actually contains an explosive.” He shook his head. “If it’s not causing any health issues, you’d be wiser to leave it where it is.”

  “Who’s the senior surgeon?” Kethan asked, his voice harsh. “I’ve heard you complain often enough that it’s not you.”

  The doctor stiffened. “I’m a senior surgeon—”

  “But you’re not in charge of the department.” Kethan rubbed the side of his jaw and flicked a frustrated glance at Quicksilver. She shrugged.

  She didn’t expect miracles.

  “That would be Dr. Fletcher,” the doctor admitted.

  “Then we’ll consult him. The device must be removed.” He leaned forward. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is critical. We’ve been friends for a long time, you know I respect your skills. But we can’t just give up and go home.”

  The doctor nodded, although his brown eyes darkened with annoyance. He might be friends with Kethan, but that clearly didn’t mean he appreciated having his professional opinion ignored.

  Quicksilver plucked at the stupid, bare-assed hospital gown she wore and kicked her bare feet. The paper of the examining table crinkled under her thighs. “Maybe it’s just as well. I don’t mind.”

  “I mind.” Kethan turned to her, his eyes flaring with cold, blue light. “You can’t live knowing the press of a button could kill you. We don’t even know if some other, random remote control could set it off. It’s brutal.”

  “I’ve lived a brutal life. This isn’t so bad.” A head thrown through the bathroom window, now that’s bad.

  “Not so bad!” He raked his hand through his hair, striding back and forth in the small room. “It’s Russian roulette. We have no idea what the frequency is for the transmitter. It could be anything. Someone using a garage door opener or a TV remote could set it off. A cell phone—”

  “Or you could be run over by a car. So what? I never intended to live forever.”

  “I don’t expect to live forever either, but I want to live now. And I want you to live. I—”

  She held up her hand, too tired to argue, afraid he’d confess that he’d worked with a female vampire to lay a trap for her at her apartment. “Please, don’t say anything. I’m not expecting roses and confessions of love.”

  “You should.” He shook her as if he could force her to see his perspective. “You should expect love and happiness. You deserve both.”

  “I’m nothing—just a tool to be used and thrown away. By my parents, by everyone I’ve ever met.” She was strong, too strong to need false hope and promises.

  “You’re wrong. Your grandmother—”

  “Don’t! Don’t talk about her—” Her voice broke, raw and hoarse with emotion. A sob choked her as her self-control crumbled beneath a flood of intense loneliness. She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, embarrassed by Kethan’s and the doctor’s curious gazes.

  Both men must have seen many such scenes over the years, tearful goodbyes, dying professions of love. She straightened. She could take it. She just needed time to adjust. Time to move on.

  “Your grandmother loved you. And I…. Don’t you care? About us?” His voice grew hoarse.

  “You’re a fool.” She meant to make him angry, but her voice came out all soft. Squishy. Ask him about the head.

  “Perhaps. All lovers are fools.”

  “Oh, shut up!” She sobbed, her body shaking. “I can’t think anymore. I don’t want to think or feel anything.”

  “Perhaps a sedative,” the doctor suggested, staring at both of them with a faint air of disgust tightening his mouth.

  If he were Kethan’s friend, it was a distinctly cool friendship. He didn’t seem at all happy about Kethan’s declaration of love.

  Or maybe it proved he did care because he did not approve of her.

  “No,” Kethan said, “but I’d appreciate an appointment with Dr. Fletcher.”

  “His schedule is very busy.”

  “Too busy to see a woman who may drop dead just walking down the corridor? Do you realize you have rooms stuffed with patients clicking away at their remote controls? Any one of them could trigger her death. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

  The doctor flushed. “I’ll see what I can do, Kethan, but I’m not promising anything.”

  After the doctor left, Quicksilver slipped into the corner and drew the curtain across the alcove to dress. When she pushed the curtain back, Kethan put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, comforted by the solid bulk of his body. His cheek smelled of some spicy aftershave that somehow made her think of cinnamon and yeast. And Gran.

  Home. Suddenly, she wanted to live, wanted to be whole again, but hope was so painful. It meant she had something more to lose.

  She turned her face into his shoulder and held on. They waited in the sterile room, huddled together, the air cold and smelling of disinfectant and alcohol rubs. The scents never failed to make her muscles tighten with queasiness.

  “You’re in luck.” The doctor returned with a tall, slender nurse who looked like he’d yanked her off of a Paris runway and thrust her into an incongruous set of blue scrubs. “Dr. Fletcher has time now. He’s scheduled for surgery in twenty minutes. You’ll have to hurry. I’ve explained the situation.”

  Kethan and Quicksilver followed the nurse, taking the elevator to the top floor where Dr. Fletcher had a small office in the west corner of the hospital. His wide windows, opened despite the chilly breeze, looked out over the leafless trees dotting a deserted park.

  As they approached his desk, he rose, holding out his hand. He looked young, cheerful, and slightly pudgy, giving him a geeky attractiveness. His gray eyes flicked over Kethan and then lingered on Quicksilver in a dispassionate, assessing way.

  “Interesting case,” he said, nodding to the nurse as she closed the door. “An experiment, perhaps? Government?”

  “No. Private. Drug cartel in Central America thought it might keep Ms. Bankes off their backs.” Kethan made up a story while Quicksilver tried not to gape at his lies.

  She clasped her hands and tried to imagine she was…where? Where was safe, anymore?

  Kethan’s warm kitchen.

  “Creative solution.” He stood and strode to a large monitor mounted behind his desk. Using a wireless keyboard and mouse, he flicked through several ghostly, digital images. “You could be paralyzed,” he said conversationally, as if commenting on the prospect of snow before Thanksgiving.

  “What are her chances?”

  “Hard to say until I go in. Difficult. The explosive, is it plastique?”

  “We have no idea.” Kethan glanced at her.

  She shrugged. How the heck would she know? She wasn’t even aware she had the implant.

  “When could you come in for surgery?”

  “Today. We’re here today.”

  The surge
on laughed. “I’m booked today. I’m truly sorry, but there are tests she’ll have to have. Blood work, chest X-rays, a CAT. I usually keep my calendar free on Thursdays. This case interests me. Tell Angela, the nurse who brought you here, to schedule the appropriate tests. Today. I’ll have a look at this implant tomorrow morning. Six.”

  “Six in the morning?” Quicksilver asked, her voice shaking. “So soon?”

  “You’ve got all day to complete the tests. And frankly, I don’t know how long the thing has been in the back of your neck, but it’s unlikely to improve with age.”

  “But…paralyzed?”

  His eyes studied hers with surprising compassion. “Are you willing to risk it?”

  “Yes, she is,” Kethan replied quickly, as if eager to settle matters.

  Easy for him to say.

  “Ms. Bankes?” the doctor prompted, ignoring Kethan.

  “Yes. I suppose so. Yes.” She swallowed.

  “Good. Well, you’ve got those tests to complete, and I have surgery.”

  She left feeling as if she’d fallen into a frothing river that swept her along regardless of her efforts to grab bushes and trees along the banks.

  The rest of the day passed in the hurry-up-and-wait of sitting rooms and hospital red tape. Various harassed caregivers did their best to take samples of her bodily fluids and push her in front of X-ray machines. They prodded and poked and generally, impersonally, got her primed for surgery.

  In the silence and safety of one of the sterile waiting rooms, Quicksilver stared at the floor and asked, “You knew her, didn’t you? The head.”

  When he didn’t answer immediately, she risked a glance at him. He looked scared. Scared?

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “How? When?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “My parents caught her.”

  “Your parents?” He studied her, his eyes filling with warmth. “I see. They told you I knew her?”

  She nodded, the muscles in her throat too constricted to allow speech.

  “Do you honestly think I planned to betray you? To her?”

  She shrugged, still unable to speak. Maybe she’d never be able to speak again.