“Screw what’s best,” she said. “Promise me I’ll see you again.”
She stared into his eyes, willing him to understand, and he said softly, “I promise.”
Miranda nodded, satisfied, and reached down, unhooking the clasp of her com and placing it in his hand. “I guess I don’t need this now.”
“You have my phone and e-mail, if you need anything. And this is for you . . .” He fished something from his pocket: a Visa card.
“I don’t need money,” she tried to say, but he interrupted.
“Take it. I’m the reason your life is being uprooted again. I couldn’t keep you safe here. Let me do what I can for you, Miranda. Please.”
She lowered her eyes, accepting. “You’ve already done so much for me,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She laughed a little. “Liar.”
He smiled faintly in return. One of his hands came up, fingertips brushing the line of her jaw, and for once she let herself really feel the ache that arose at the touch.
There was a knock, and Faith said, “Sire, we’re ready to go.”
“Have Samuel take Miss Grey’s things down to the car,” David told the Second. “She’ll be there in a moment.”
“I’ll be waiting outside,” Faith replied.
Miranda picked up her purse and her guitar; Samuel spirited away everything else, leaving her to gather the strength to walk out of the little bedroom and not come back.
David was still standing beside the chest, his hand resting on the book, when she said, “Good-bye, Lord Prime.”
She barely heard his answer. “Good-bye.”
Miranda shut the door behind her and followed Faith down the hall, giving the servants and Elite she passed a small wave and what she hoped was a brave smile. Any of them might be in collusion with the enemy, but only the Prime and Second knew where she was going; all the others would know was that she was gone.
The rain had slackened enough that she didn’t make a mad dash for Faith’s car. She had to grin—the Second drove a sporty red Honda hybrid with California plates. Samuel was stowing the last of her handful of bags in the trunk. Miranda thrust her guitar and purse into the backseat, then opened the passenger door; Faith was already in the driver’s seat with the engine running.
Miranda turned back to look up at the Haven one last time, half-expecting to see David’s silhouette in the bedroom window, but the room was dark.
She started to get into the car, but then the Haven doors opened. The Prime emerged, pushing past the door guard’s surprised expression, and hurried down the stone steps to the driveway.
Miranda gasped as David came to her, drawing her to him, his heartbeat thundering against her chest; his hands wrapped around her waist and the back of her neck, and before either of them could summon a denial, he covered her mouth with his.
She barely had time to return the kiss before he broke away, releasing her and stepping back, his hand lingering on the side of her face for just a second before he turned around and walked away.
Miranda didn’t call after him. She sank into the seat of the car, tears running down her face. Samuel shut the door for her.
Faith offered her an encouraging smile and pulled away from the Haven, taking the long road back to Austin in the rain.
PART TWO
The River Styx
Ten
October was hell.
For a week Miranda remained cloistered in her room at the Driskill, sitting in the darkness with cable TV and room service. She didn’t even go down to the world-renowned Driskill Café for dinner, despite the fact that everything was paid for. She stammered her order into the phone and waited with her eyes averted for room service to come and go.
The minute the waiter or the maid or anyone came into the room, she curled up in a chair in the corner and focused so hard on her shielding that inevitably she got a splitting headache as soon as they were gone. She split her last bottle of Vicodin into half pills and doled them out only when the pain was unbearable. She was terrified of losing her protections; there was no one to help her now.
There was no one to help her. No one asked after her welfare. No one came to visit her. She was alone.
She tried to keep herself company with her guitar, but once again, the music had left her. So she watched movies, she nursed her bruises, she slept, and she waited for news.
Finally, six days into her stay at the hotel, a messenger came to her room to let her know that her apartment was ready and a car would be there in the morning to take her to her new home. She sat up all that night, her bags already packed and by the door, and come dawn she bolted down to the lobby without stopping, avoiding the elevator just in case she got stuck on it and had to speak to someone.
As she rushed outside to the car, the sunlight blinded her and she dropped her purse. A middle-aged man passing by on the street stopped to help her. She muttered her thanks.
“You okay, darlin’?” he asked, putting a fatherly hand on her shoulder.
The touch made her cry out and leap back. Hands in the dark . . . laughter . . .
She dove into the car and trembled like a leaf the entire way to the apartment complex.
It was a high-class place in South Austin, right off the bus route up Lamar that would take her to all her old haunts; she stopped at the office long enough to pick up the keys and sign the lease, then let herself in, barely acknowledging the friendly driver who carried her bags for her.
Once inside she shut and locked the door, and there she stayed for most of the month.
At first she told herself she was busy unpacking. All her possessions from the old place had been boxed and transported for her, labeled in neat black letters as to what room its contents had originated from; they’d put her furniture in a logical arrangement, but she didn’t like it and spent several hours moving things around until it felt right.
The apartment was gorgeous and way out of her normal price range. It had two bedrooms, a huge bath, and an open floor plan that flowed from kitchen to living room. The living room boasted half a dozen windows and a patio. Molding crowned the walls, and the doorways were arched. The carpet was plush, the walls a creamy color that went with everything, the appliances top-of-the-line stainless steel.
She hated it.
There was too much light. She could no longer sleep with light coming into the bedroom, so she had to hang what curtains she had over the two small windows in there, leaving the living room exposed except for the wood blinds, which she kept shut all the time. She could never get the temperature right—she was used to cool air and warm fires balancing each other. Her new apartment didn’t have a fireplace.
She even missed her dark, cheap little one-bedroom from Before. She missed the crack in the wall.
She worked her way from one box to another, trying to remember where she had acquired many of the things she owned and what they were for. The kitchen especially confounded her. Had she ever really used a toaster? Why did she have so many wineglasses and so few plates?
Whoever had moved her stuff had thoughtfully stocked both fridge and pantry with the same kinds of food she’d eaten at the Haven. Everything was bright and shiny and new. It should have pleased her, but it only made her sad.
There was too much noise in the city. All day and night there were cars, sirens, people walking by outside talking and laughing. People slammed doors, and apparently her upstairs neighbors were into indoor bowling.
Every time there was a sudden sound she nearly jumped out of her skin. For three weeks she was constantly afraid . . . her nightmares returned with a vengeance, so while it rained torrents outside, she cried torrents in her bed.
One evening at the end of the third week of October, she decided to try walking down to the corner store for a Coke. She’d been living off Chinese delivery and pizza for more than a week, having stretched her groceries as far as she could to the point of eating crackers with butter for di
nner, but she couldn’t bear the thought of a supermarket yet. Best to start small. She could walk two blocks to the Shell station and get a soda and maybe some chips.
She poked her nose out her front door for the first time since she’d moved in. It had been pointless trying to change her sleeping habits, so it was just after sunset and the air was rapidly cooling down. Somewhere in the time she’d lost hiding under her bed, fall had begun.
Miranda bolstered her shields, then did it again after she closed the door behind her. Every time someone walked past her she strengthened them even more, but not so much as an iota of external energy reached her.
You know what you’re doing, remember? You can do this. Just keep walking. Don’t panic. Breathe in, breathe out. You know how to do it.
If anyone noticed her unkempt appearance, they paid it no mind. She hadn’t brushed her hair since waking, and though she wasn’t as pitifully thin as she’d been Before, there were huge dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t slept through the day since she’d come back to Austin.
She needn’t have worried. Out here, in a metropolitan area of 1.6 million people living out their lives and wrapped up in their own mortal concerns, she was nobody again, invisible.
It was so strange being able to see her reflection. She’d stared at herself for long minutes in the hotel, and again in her new bathroom, trying to make sense out of her features. Was this really who she was? Were those her green eyes? She had a scar on her forehead just below her hairline from that night. She’d had no idea until she saw it in the mirror.
She made it to the store and bought a twelve-pack of Coke and an armload of junk food. She handed her Visa to the clerk and signed the receipt without speaking, though she was pretty sure he was trying to flirt with her. She didn’t know how to react to that.
On the walk back she took a moment to notice the weather; there had been a break in the rain, and the air was clear and crisp, a few stars peeking out of the darkening blue of the sky. What day was it? Friday? No, Thursday.
Once home, she expected to have to fight off a panic attack, but she felt remarkably calm taking the chips and candy out of her bag and stowing the soda in the fridge.
“Well now,” she said to herself. “That wasn’t so bad.” She popped the top on a Coke and took a bag of Doritos to the couch to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
The next night she took out the trash. When she got back, she turned on her computer and checked her e-mail. Once again, Kat had written trying to find her; after thinking about it for a minute, Miranda wrote back.
TO: Kat ([email protected])
FROM: Miranda Grey ([email protected])
SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: MIA?
Hey Kat,
I’m back in town. I moved to a new place. Want to come over for pizza tomorrow? Let me know.
~M
Five minutes later she had a reply. It was only two words long: HELL YES!
“Rehab,” Kat said around a mouthful of cheese. “I had a feeling it had to be something like that.”
Miranda picked a black olive off her slice and dropped it in the box lid; Kat immediately scooped it up and stuck it on her own. “Yeah.”
“You were looking like a junkie when I last saw you. Thank God you’ve gained some weight back—you’ll be hot shit again if you keep it up, although the Doritos and Pizza Hut Diet might not be the way to go.”
Miranda took another bite and said, “I know. I’ve just been kind of a shut-in since I got back. I’m going to the grocery store for some real food in a day or two. It’s hard to adjust to the real world after . . . all of that.”
“But you’re feeling better, right?”
“Yes,” she said hastily, trying to believe it herself. “Much better. I’m going to be okay, Kat, I really am. It just . . . things got bad. Really bad. So it’s going to take some time.”
Kat nodded, tucking a stray dread behind her ear with her non-pizza-laden hand. “I’ve seen it a lot with my kids in the program. Sometimes they have to totally hit bottom before they realize there’s a way back up.” She reached over and squeezed Miranda’s arm, looking worried when Miranda flinched. “Just promise that if I can help, you’ll ask. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She wanted to tell Kat the truth. She wanted to tell someone.
Most of all she wanted to talk to Faith, and she wanted to see David. She wanted to go back to her cozy little bedroom and watch the seasons change from a second-story window overlooking the hills. Her windows here overlooked the parking lot.
“So you said in your last e-mail you were staying with friends,” Kat mentioned. “Does that mean you met somebody at the clinic?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Someone special?”
Miranda threw a pillow at her, and Kat laughed. “Oh, come on,” the blonde said. “Plenty of people hook up in rehab. What else is there to do if you don’t smoke? Besides,” Kat added, “you’re blushing. That must mean I’m right.”
Miranda shook her head. “No, it’s not . . . I mean . . . there was somebody . . . well, maybe. But it wasn’t like that. We were just friends, or . . . well, more than that, but . . . I don’t know.” She took a swig of her beer, trying to find words, but how on earth could she explain any of it without saying too much? “Let’s just say I met someone, and he helped me get better. But nothing was ever going to happen.”
“Why not?”
She smiled ruefully, ripping the corner of the label off her Corona bottle. “We’re from two very different worlds.”
Kat’s smile turned mischievous, and for a moment she looked a lot like Faith. “If you’re not going for it, then, I know somebody you should meet. He’s a music teacher—dark hair, blue eyes, smoking-hot ass.”
“No, thanks. I don’t think I’m up for that kind of thing right now. It’s too soon.”
“Why? You went in to get off drugs, not porn.”
Miranda shuddered inwardly at the thought of some man, smoking-hot ass or not, touching her, trying to get his hands in her pants. She thought about being naked with someone, spreading her legs, having someone invade her body, fingers pushing into her, the sound of a zipper . . . suddenly cold, she groped for a throw blanket that wasn’t there.
“What’s wrong?” Kat was asking. “Mira . . . that look on your face just now . . . is there something you’re not telling me about all of this?”
God, is there ever . . .
She hated lying, even when there was no other way. “Before I went in, something . . . the night you came to see me play, I was walking home, and . . .”
Kat’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes filled with tears as the pieces came together. “Oh, fuck, honey . . . fuck, I’m so sorry . . .”
She pushed herself off the floor and put her arms around Miranda, who didn’t shrink away from the hug, but couldn’t quite return it.
“It’s okay,” Miranda reassured her. She could feel the guilt radiating from Kat’s whole body. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame anybody but the people who did it, okay? I’m all right.”
“But why didn’t you call me? Why did you just disappear like that? I could have done something—we could have gone to the police. You should still go to the police. It’s not too late.”
“Yes, it is. Please, Kat . . . let’s just not talk about it anymore.”
“But—”
“Please.” Miranda silently willed her not to press; she even risked leaning on Kat a tiny bit with her energy, just to change the subject. The less Kat knew, the better; there was always a chance that even here Miranda wasn’t safe, and she wasn’t going to risk Kat, too.
She squeezed Kat around the middle, finally returning her hug, saying, “It’s okay. It’s . . . it’s all over with now.”
There were not enough redheads in Austin to make him forget her.
There were not enough redheads in Houston, either, or New Orleans, or Oklahoma City. There weren’t enough in all of Georgia.
In early O
ctober he essentially went on tour, visiting the major cities of his territory, greeting new Elite, upgrading various systems, and making his presence known. Most other Primes didn’t bother with that kind of hands-on involvement, but he had learned from the best as well as the worst. Pretending there was only one city in the South allowed gangs to build up strength in other places, and Auren had barely kept up with the onslaught even at his peak.
It was the same everywhere. Arrive, meet, confer; hunt, fuck, leave.
There was no relish in any of it.
On the other hand, being home was no better.
He had closed and locked the door of the mistress suite and not set foot inside it since; he’d done the same to the music room. He’d entered the latter long enough to turn out a light Miranda had left on, and her presence was still palpable, her scent lingering in the air strongly enough to drive him to the bottom of a bottle of Jack. The next night he’d gone into the city and torn into the first auburn-haired woman he could find, drinking her so deeply he nearly killed her.
He wanted to call. He didn’t call.
Forget her. Forget her and move on.
Forgetting was one thing vampires simply couldn’t do. They had extraordinary memories that made their life spans seem interminable; he supposed it was an apt punishment for cheating death.
After the man who attacked Miranda—Elite 70, who had been working for him for three years and had an impeccable service record—was disposed of, his blood-drained corpse dumped in the Shadow District to wait for the sun, the attacks in Austin came to an abrupt halt.
David didn’t trust the tenuous peace. Perhaps being thwarted in their attempt on the human had made them wary, or perhaps they were planning something even bigger. Either way, he concentrated on the citywide sensor network he was creating and kept the doubled patrols active until further notice. He wasn’t about to get sloppy like Arrabicci and Auren had.
Queen of Shadows Page 19
