Faith shrugged. “You have to pick them, my Lady. I’ve done my part.”
“All right . . . let’s see.” She took Faith’s clipboard and pen and crossed off the timid man. “Four is scared of me. Six is so tall and gangly he’d stand out in a crowd. Three looks bored. Two more? Hmm . . .”
She walked back over to the line and did another slow circuit of the guards, this time extending her empathic energy toward them, not intruding but just testing the waters for anomalies.
Two was too ambitious. He was more interested in impressing his superiors and moving up through the ranks than protecting her. That didn’t bode well; if the situation was dire he might make some stupid hero move to show off. She crossed him off.
She stepped back and addressed the guards. “Raise your hand if you like Nickelback.”
The guards exchanged glances, and reluctantly the blond pixie raised her hand.
Miranda crossed her off the list.
“Numbers two, four, six, three, and nine, you may go. One, five, seven, and eight, please remain for your briefing. Thank you all.”
The four who remained were consummate professionals and kept their happiness to a brightening of the eyes and a relieved sigh. The others departed with varying degrees of grumbling or head shaking. That was all right; if they really were worthy of the post, they’d have another chance. There was always a need for the true Elite and the truly loyal.
Miranda handed Faith back her clipboard and addressed the guards. “Welcome to my service,” she said. “As you know, I am in need of bodyguards to accompany me into the city for regular performances, meetings, and other appointments. If we’re all very lucky, your job will be extremely boring. I’d like you each to introduce yourselves briefly—Elite designation, name, and favorite musical genre or artist.”
As each one spoke she shook his or her hand, taking a moment to do an extra psychic sweep of each.
“Elite Seventy-two, Aaron Sawyer, jazz.”
“Elite Twenty-six, Jake Verona, Johnny Cash.”
“Elite Forty-four, Minh-Li Tsai, trip-hop.”
“Elite Sixteen, Lalita Madhavi, anything with a violin.”
Satisfied, Miranda nodded to them. “Again, welcome. I’ll leave you to Faith for the rest of your briefing. I look forward to working with all of you.”
With that she looked over at Faith, who bowed; the four guards echoed her motion, and Miranda nodded again, then walked away with a sigh.
Bodyguards. She still didn’t like the idea . . . but there really wasn’t much choice, at least not right now while she was so new to the Signet. David couldn’t be with her every minute of every day, and though her combat skills were already excellent—and improving continuously as she kept training—she still wasn’t as quick on the draw as the Elite could be. The extra eyes looking for threats would be invaluable the more she got out in public; most humans would have no idea what she was, but any vampire who wanted her dead would have a great many opportunities to come at her while she was onstage or in a crowd.
She left the Elite training building and headed toward the left; in her mind she could sense a low-burning spot of energy that she recognized as David, over near the pasture where the horses were kept. She could find him anywhere with a thought, and call him to her side almost instantly, but still, even someone as strong as David couldn’t be everywhere at once. If she wanted her own life beyond the Haven and beyond their marriage, she had to get used to the idea of bodyguards.
She didn’t have to like it.
“I know this is hard for you to accept,” Faith had noted mildly before bringing out the candidates, “but there are some things your Prime and I know that you don’t. Diplomacy, for example . . . and security for another. You have to trust us, Miranda. Not everything is going to be instinctual for you.”
Sighing again, Miranda left the path and angled toward the long white fence beyond which stood a single structure, the stable.
Inside the building smelled of hay and alfalfa and horse, though it was as scrupulously clean as everything else at the Haven. All but two of the stalls were usually empty; David’s two prized four-legged friends were housed at opposite ends of the stable. Miranda passed by Isis, the female, but didn’t go any closer.
Isis pointedly ignored her.
The Haven had staff to work in the stable, seeing to the night-to-night care of the horses and keeping the place clean, but David preferred to manage them himself as much as possible and always took care of them after a ride. The two horses deferred to him readily but mostly seemed to think Miranda was beneath their notice or, at least, viewed her the way she imagined a lion would view a hamster: harmless, possibly delicious.
The Prime entered the stable leading Osiris; the Prime was sweaty and dusty and so was the horse, though Osiris clopped along with his head high and proud, his tack jingling. They had no doubt taken the long course around the Haven’s extensive grounds, which had its own system of programmable lights.
Miranda didn’t like horses. They were big and dangerous and strange. But she had to admit that David looked astonishingly hot next to one, and even more so on the stallion’s back. She’d watched him ride a few times from the safety of the fence and then dragged her Prime into an empty stall to put him through his paces.
David knew she was there, but he smiled when he saw her. “Fair warning,” he said. “I stink.”
“I know. I can smell you both from here.”
The smile became a grin. “Didn’t bother you last time.”
She grinned back. “It’s not my fault—it’s all the leather and sweat. The boots alone are worth a good shag.”
He brought the massive beast to a halt and set to removing his tack, a lengthy ritual she’d sat through before; there was a lot involved in the care and feeding of a horse, and Osiris stood placidly and let himself be pampered. The grooming process involved several kinds of combs and brushes, a rag, a hoof examination, feeling along the legs—as far as pets went, cats were so much easier.
“You don’t have to stand quite so far away,” David told her. “He’s about as fierce as a puppy.”
Miranda stayed where she was. “A thousand-pound puppy that could kick my brains in.”
“Osiris,” the Prime said to the horse, “are you going to kick the Queen’s brains in?”
To Miranda’s surprise, the horse snorted and shook his head, his feathery mane flying to either side. He looked for all the world like he understood every word.
David rubbed Osiris down with sure strokes. Miranda had learned that grooming his horses, along with debugging code and taking apart complex circuitry, was like yoga for the Prime.
She climbed up onto a rail and let her feet swing, trying not to bother him while he was so immersed in what he was doing; instead she took the time to admire how he moved, how his hands followed Osiris’s muscles to check for injuries or other problems, how he murmured to the animal as if they shared a secret. She could almost understand the attraction some women had to horses, watching them like this.
“You shouldn’t be uncomfortable around powerful beings,” David said. “You’re a powerful being, too, remember?” He led Osiris into his stall.
“It’s not just that,” Miranda replied. “They look at me all sideways like they’re trying to decide whether to eat me.”
“That’s because their eyes are on the sides of their head, not the front,” he explained. “They have a nearly three-hundred-sixty-degree range of vision. They need to be able to see all around them in the wild, both to keep tabs on herdmates and to watch for predators. That’s how they look at everything—don’t take it personally.”
She hadn’t really thought much about it. “Oh. Makes sense, I guess.”
He gestured for her to come closer, and after a moment’s hesitation she came to stand next to David, ready to jump back out of the stall, examining the enormous nostril that was entirely too close to her face. The horse’s ear flicked toward her, but he made no sign
of agitation and turned his attention to the hay hanging in the back of the stall.
“It’s safe,” David said gently. “I promise.”
Tentatively, sure that Osiris was going to turn and bite her hand off, she reached out and lightly touched the side of his neck, her heart pounding in her throat.
Osiris suffered the touch without comment and didn’t so much as bat an eye when she tried again, this time laying her hand on his neck and gingerly stroking the hair and the powerful muscle beneath.
“Isis and Osiris are Friesians,” David told her, no doubt to distract her from the huge wall of animal she was touching. “They’re very showy and proud, but usually pretty docile. Osiris’s dam—his mother—was a handful, though.”
“How many generations have you owned?” she asked, running her hand along the horse’s side, amazed at how solid and strong he was.
“Three, counting him. I had his mother and grandfather.”
“What about Isis?”
He smiled. “She was a bribe. The Prime of Eastern Europe was trying to get on my good side. It worked.”
Miranda, quite done with her experiments, moved back out of the stall, crossing her arms, grateful to put distance between them again. David gave her a look that held more than a little pride; he knew how much she hated being afraid of anything. The first month she had refused to even go in the stable. He was hoping one day she’d want to try riding, and though she’d snorted openly at the suggestion, it wasn’t as if they would run out of time for her to overcome her fears.
“I’ve still got a while here,” David said, taking a metal thing—a hoof pick, she remembered—from the wall and gingerly lifting up Osiris’s front left foot. “Why don’t you go on inside and I’ll finish up, shower, and join you?”
She nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll be in the music room.”
Another smile. “You’re kidding.”
Miranda stuck her tongue out at him. “I have songs to finish,” she said. “I’m in the studio in a few days.”
“By the way, how did the bodyguard roundup go?” he asked as he inspected the hoof in his hand for rocks and, she guessed, small mammals.
“Fine. I guess we’ll see tomorrow. After the latest Magnificent Bastard gets here, I’ve got a show.”
“Right.” David’s voice and expression altered very slightly, and she frowned, catching the subtle hardening of his tone.
“What’s wrong? Are you still worried about Hart?”
“I want to know what he’s up to, but there have been no rumors or intelligence suggesting why he’s coming here. The only thing I can think of is that he wants Kentucky back—there’s a full Council in three years and we have to rebid for it, but there’s zero chance I’ll be outvoted. I’ve got representatives from Louisville ready to testify that they want my continued leadership, and Hart can barely hold his own territory without constant threat of revolt. So, yes, I’m suspicious. Not even Dev has any idea, and if anyone would know, he would.”
Miranda had been hearing about Deven for months now, and she was both anxious to meet him and on the verge of rolling her eyes every time she heard his name. According to both David and Faith, Prime Deven knew all, saw all, and had never lost a fight; he was old and smart and powerful and apparently shot unicorns out of his ass. “Don’t worry,” she told David. “We can handle him, can’t we? He’ll be on our turf, after all. You have the right to toss him out if he misbehaves.”
“Not if,” David said. “When. And it’s not that simple. Hart has allies in the Council who aren’t known for their fair-mindedness. They’re a minority, yes, but they can still make life very unpleasant for us if they want to. It’s in our best interest to maintain good relations on the surface.”
Now she did roll her eyes. “If you say so. Personally I don’t see the point in playing nice. You’re David Solomon. Everyone’s scared shitless of you.”
David shook his head. “Not everyone.”
“Well, they should be.” Miranda moved just close enough to kiss him on the cheek—he did smell rather horsey, after all—and said, “I’ll see you after you’ve showered, Lord Prime. Have fun giving your pony a pedicure.”
The Prime chuckled and swatted her lightly on the ass as she walked away.
Faith met her on the steps to the house. “I’ve got Lalita and Jake scheduled for tomorrow night, if that’s all right with you.”
“Any particular reason you matched them that way?”
“I ran them through some scenarios in various pairs, and they seemed to work well together, as do Aaron and Minh. Also Lali and Jake have run patrols on the same team, so they’re comfortable with each other. I have them as your primary guards for now, but we can change that if you find you prefer Aaron and Minh.”
Faith walked beside her down the hall; as they passed, the guards at each station bowed, and Miranda gave them an acknowledging nod. “I’m in for the night,” Miranda told the Second. “The Prime will be soon, too—I’m sure he’ll want you to check in before you log off.”
Faith nodded, then slowed down. “My Lady . . .”
“Yes?” Miranda turned to her.
“I know what you’re going to say to this, but . . . I just feel like I need to say it.”
Miranda sighed. Here we go again. “Go on.”
“I’m just wondering if it’s safe for you to continue playing in public.” At Miranda’s expression, Faith added, “Someone tried to kill you, Miranda. I’m not being paranoid. And having a Prime like Hart in town . . . well, it tends to bring out the crazies. I’m perfectly willing to give you as big or small a security detail as you and the Prime think is best, but I just . . . I just want you to think. Think about how many lives depend on you.”
Miranda made a face. “Faith, nobody but David depends on me. If we die, there will always be another Prime.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think you get how important you are to all of us. What do you think it was like in this territory before Auren was deposed? Vampires killed at will, and no one even tried to stop them. Hunters were starting to flood the major cities of the South, and the entire Shadow World was almost exposed. Right now the Council majority sides with David that no-kill laws are the safest thing for all of us, but Hart is one of the ones who disagrees. What if he’s got some hotshot vampire friend willing to start a war for your Signet?”
Miranda crossed her arms and faced the Second. “What do you want me to do, Faith? Give up everything that matters to me? I can’t do that. I can’t live forever—and moreover, I can’t be the person David needs as his partner—if I can’t be who I am. I’ll take guards, I’ll have Harlan drive me, I’ll do what I can to put your minds at ease. But I can’t give this up. Music is . . . it’s who I am, Faith.”
Miranda hated the note of pleading in her voice, but it had the desired effect, as Faith looked stricken by the intensity of her tone, and her whole demeanor changed from “second in command making battle plans” to “worried friend.” Miranda tried hard not to take advantage of Faith’s friendship, but it was hard sometimes to know where to draw the line between Faith-her-friend and Faith-her-Second, especially given how much older and wiser Faith was.
“We’re all on your side, Miranda. But we have to be realistic. You’re a vampire now, and not just any vampire. You are Queen. You’ll never be like the others. Ever.”
Miranda stopped outside the music room door. She nodded to Faith—not in agreement, but in acknowledgment that she had been listening to her Second’s concerns and wouldn’t automatically dismiss them. “I hear you, Faith.”
“Thank you, my Lady. That’s all I ask.” Faith was clearly not satisfied with the conversation, but she said only, “I’m logging off for the night, then, after a quick check-in with the Prime. Send out if you need me after that.”
“Thank you, Faith. Dismissed.”
Miranda slid inside the music room and shut and locked the door behind her, standing for a moment with her back against the door, eyes closed, t
rying to breathe.
When she opened her eyes, she smiled with relief.
The room was her refuge, more important to her than any other place in the Haven. Here she could lay down her responsibilities—which she was already having trouble carrying—and just be Miranda for a while.
From the moment she’d first set foot inside the room, she had known it was hers. She was meant to be there. Her hands were meant to touch the keys of the magnificent instrument that took up a third of the space: her Bösendorfer Imperial Grand, a gleaming black empress holding court over the room. There was also space devoted to her other instrument of choice, the Martin guitar she had bought after her old one was destroyed. It had its own stand and its own area for her to practice in.
Miranda took off her coat and hung it and her bag on the rack by the door. She approached the piano, as always, as if walking into a church.
Then she laid her hands on the piano’s lid, exposed the keys, and sat down, leaning her head sideways on the keys for a moment, closing her eyes.
With her eyes shut she felt along the keys with one hand and gently touched a few, the barest hint of a melody almost too quiet to be heard. She hummed with the notes, letting her energy sync with the piano’s; it wasn’t alive by any stretch, but it sort of reminded her of the Signets in the way it responded to her. The stones’ light flared or dimmed to match the bearer’s emotional state, and it felt like the piano’s strength rose up to meet her own, or lay down beneath her sorrows. She couldn’t believe she had ever lived without it.
On the far wall hung a portrait of the woman who had bought the Bösendorfer and set aside this room for it: the seventh Queen of the South, Elizabeth Jensen, who had been murdered, with her Prime, by Auren in 1914. Bess, as she’d been known, was the first African-American Queen in the South, and had been a slave in her human life. She was known all over the territory as a wildly intelligent woman who spent her immortality becoming as educated as she could, studying music, medicine, history, art, and several languages. And though like most Queens she’d taken a backseat in Signet politics and had been the subject of scorn and derision from several other Pairs, she had been a noble woman, greatly respected by many.
Shadowflame Page 4
