Met by Midnight: Shadow World Stories and Scenes, Vol. 1 (The Shadow World)

by Dianne Sylvan

  It doesn’t matter. I will not think about it. What use is there in brooding on that hollow place I’ve felt in my chest since the day I put the Signet around my neck? What good would it do to take the box out of the cabinet, open it, stare at the darkened stone, and ache?

  “Harlan, I’m ready,” I say into my com with another sigh.

  “Three minutes, Sire.”

  I’m waiting outside in the sweltering August night when the Town Car pulls up. The woman who runs the house was deeply concerned that I left so early, but I assured her rather hollowly that no, I was not dissatisfied with my experience, and yes, I would be back.

  I’m not sure if I will be or not.

  Lies, lies, lies.

  I sink into the seat, comforted by the door shutting and blocking out the sight of the place.

  “Everything all right, Sire?” Harlan asks. “You’re usually far more cheerful when you’ve conducted business at the Dahlia.”

  So many people caring so much about my well-being. I snort quietly. “Don’t worry. I’m just in a mood.”

  “I understand, Sire. Straight back to the Haven or do you need another stop?”

  I start to tell him just to drive home, but I open the mini freezer and realize it’s empty. “Damn it,” I mutter. Then, louder, “Stop at the nearest corner store, grocery, whatever.”

  “There’s one right up the street next to Mel’s Bar & Grill.”

  “Fine.”

  Harlan pulls the car up to the curb. “Would you like me to go in, Sire?”

  I almost, almost let him, but on impulse say, “No, I’ll go. I don’t know what flavor I want. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I’m out of the car before I hear his reply, and pause for a second to look up at the market’s battered, half-lit sign: Get-N-Go Mart, it proclaims, or rather with the letters that still work, G-N-O-M-A-T.

  Something bumps into my back, and I jerk around in time to see a guitar case; the woman carrying it disappears into the store without noticing she hit me.

  Typical Austin.

  I bite down on another sigh. Time to Get-N-Go, and in half an hour I can be home, alone, where I belong.

  Out of habit I straighten my coat, making sure the collar’s buttoned up so my Signet won’t get me stared at for a change, and follow the human into the store.

  The Mission

  For a vampire to consider something “eerie,” it had to be pretty damned eerie.

  Sophie stared out her back door at the silent, rain-slicked streets of Austin, sure she’d heard…no, it was nothing. Just a dog or a raccoon rooting through trash.

  Her heart was hammering as she shut the door and bolted it, her hands almost shaking.

  It was nothing. Just a stray.

  Nobody was out tonight, human or otherwise; the entire city was under a blanket of fear, the scent of blood edging every drop of rain. The last few months of warfare had been nothing compared to this.

  How long had it been? Three nights, now? Three nights since she’d seen the fire on TV and her brain had suddenly frozen in the kind of dread that should be reserved for dumb blondes in horror movies who ran through the woods in high heels.

  Three nights she’d been waiting for a knock at the door.

  She made her way back into the studio, through the room’s broad expanse to the hallway that led to her bedroom. A stairway to one side led to the shielded cells she’d had created when she moved here…just in case. She wasn’t sure, when all this started, what exactly she’d be dealing with, and she hadn’t gotten where she was without covering her ass in case of psychic meltdown.

  There probably wouldn’t even be a knock. She’d probably just hear a noise behind her, turn, and…that would be it. She wouldn’t hear her head hit the floor, or smell her own blood spilling out over her torso. She would just end, the way everything had ended.

  She hadn’t slept since she’d heard, but she had been drinking…a lot. She’d never been much of a drinker until now. Being wasted was the only way to keep the panic at bay…as she waited…and waited.

  Would Marja know by now, wherever she was? Once it was all over would she get a phone call or a visit the way soldiers’ wives once had when their men were shot down over Germany? Or would she be left waiting, the way Sophie was waiting now, never knowing for sure, knowing only that they’d come so close…so close to freedom…but then Sophie had failed.

  I failed.

  He’s going to kill me.

  She poured herself a rather enormous shot of tequila and knocked it back, nearly choking as it scorched its way down her throat. She was going to have to keep at it until the bottle was gone if she wanted to get good and drunk; their metabolism was a blessing in many respects but sucked balls when a good hard bender was called for.

  She supposed she could try to run. It was possible to disappear. She had, after all, learned from the best.

  But she knew better. There was no escaping the consequences of the first mission she had ever left incomplete. She had run hundreds in her career and never missed an objective. She had charged up the ranks faster than anyone in Shadow history. This one should have been easy, and up until now, she’d actually enjoyed it. It took advantage of her talents, after all, and though it had required a lot of careful setup with Faith, it had hardly been the most difficult assignment she’d ever undertaken. All she had to do was put herself on the Second’s radar and then wait for the request. That much had been foreseen, and had unfolded exactly as planned.

  Sophie sank down on the foot of the bed, head in her hands, torn as she couldn’t remember being in years. She had tried to remain detached, but that girl had somehow managed to wiggle her way in with her grand destiny and her stubborn green eyes that reminded Sophie so much of herself when she was young and thought the world made sense. Sophie had been an idealist once too. It was like training herself, in many ways, and damn it, she’d started to care.

  It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

  There was nothing she could do but pass the time until her execution. Running her hands back through her hair, she pushed herself to her feet and went back into the studio, thinking she might as well run a few drills. At least if she gave her body something to do she might not explode from the anxiety.

  As she pushed the lever on the studio lights to raise them up from pure darkness, she held back a scream and flattened herself against the wall, groping sideways for a weapon out of pure brute instinct that would do her no good whatsoever.

  He was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, waiting for her.

  “3.17 Scarlet,” he said quietly, the lilt of his voice just reaching her. “There you are.”

  Sophie’s nails scratched the wall behind her, her entire being wanting to claw its way through the concrete blocks and bury herself in rubble, but she knew there was no choice, no way out.

  She forced herself away from the wall and crossed the room to kneel before him.

  “My Lord Alpha,” she managed, keeping her voice steady. “I am honored.”

  “I was in the area,” he replied wryly, staring down at her through his cold, pale eyes.

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What would Marja do without her? Would she go back into active service, or take what was left of the deal and vanish forever? Or was she going to face the same fate…had she already? She might have been dead for three days.

  She waited to hear the silvery scrape of a sword being drawn, but it didn’t come.

  Finally, after a full minute of silence, she looked up.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  At first she had no idea what to say, but she got it together enough to ask, “Aren’t you here to kill me?”

  A frown. “Did you kill Miranda Grey?”

  “No!”

  “Did you in any way contribute to her death?”

  “No, my Lord. I swear.”

  “Then why would I kill you?”

  She stared at him, unbelieving. “I fai
led my mission,” she said. “I couldn’t reach the final objective.”

  Now he half-smiled and reached out to touch her head, the gesture one she remembered from her own training: gentle, even paternal, conveying measured approval and even something like affection. Something about him had always reminded her of a priest, and tonight he was wearing a coat that emphasized that quality, buttoned up to his neck. “You haven’t failed,” he told her. “You aren’t finished yet.”

  Sophie couldn’t help but give him a skeptical look. “Um….my Lord, unless you can arrange a séance, there’s really no way I can complete this mission to your terms.”

  The smile broadened just a hair. “That won’t be necessary. I know it’s been a while, Scarlet, but you do remember how becoming a vampire works?”

  “You…you die with immortal blood in your veins,” Sophie replied, understanding dawning. “So…you don’t think she’s really dead.”

  “I have it on good authority that Miranda Grey is very much alive. All you have to do is wait and she will come to you.”

  Relief washed over Sophie’s body in sweet waves, and she nearly collapsed onto the floor, suddenly weak from it. “Then…you’re not going to execute me.”

  “That would be counterproductive.” The Alpha lifted his eyes to her wall of weapons, his gaze roaming over the various blades she had collected over the years, including the one she’d been training Miranda on before the fire. He touched one of the swords, his eyes taking on that slight otherwordly tinge that had always frightened her a little, though she didn’t really know what it meant…it wasn’t an affectation used simply to intimidate people. Perhaps it was his age, or his power, but something about him was simply…eerie.

  Whatever he was thinking, she couldn’t guess, but after a moment he said almost to himself, “Tonight I had to lie by omission to someone I love…to offer solace when, with a few words, I could have given hope. But in order for things to happen as they should, I couldn’t interfere any more than I already have. I think now I understand why prescience is such a burden.”

  He gestured for her to rise, then gave her a look that she could have sworn was full of pity. She knew better than to speak out of turn; she also knew better than to think her questions would be answered. There were things the Alpha knew, and how he knew them was way above her pay grade.

  After a moment his gaze moved back to her, once again completely unreadable. “Don’t worry, Scarlet. You still have work to do.”

  Sophie knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop the words: “Is…is Marja…I mean, Scarlet…alive?”

  “She completed her mission to my satisfaction and is now officially retired from the Shadow. Upon completion of your assignment you will hear from her.”

  She nodded. “Thank you, my Lord.”

  Again, that look, and for a second his voice hardened. “Don’t thank me. Do your job, Scarlet. Make sure Miranda Grey becomes Queen of the South and everything will turn out fine for all of us.”

  Sophie bowed her head. “I will, my Lord. I owe you my life, everything. You gave me purpose when I had nothing left, and you’ve offered me freedom I didn’t think I would ever want. I swear on my life I won’t fail you.”

  She heard him say softly, “I know.”

  When she looked up he was gone.

  The Space Between

  “Miranda.”

  I heard the voice as if from the bottom of a well, and it took me a minute to respond.

  “Miranda.”

  Finally I blinked and looked up.

  Faith, concerned, was peering into my face.

  I noticed for the first time how beautiful she was—her eyes were a kind of liquid golden brown, and held both intelligence and fierceness. Her hair was still in its braids though strands had been pulled free during the battle and hung sweaty and limp in her face. Her uniform was torn, but she still radiated strength and calm to a degree I’d never really appreciated before tonight.

  “You need to rest,” she said slowly, enunciating carefully. “There’s nothing else you can do here.”

  I wanted to speak but suddenly I couldn’t. I was too tired. There was too much going on around me, too many conflicting emotions and sensations. My head hurt, my skin crawled with filth, and my stomach…

  I frowned slightly, trying to figure out what I was feeling. My stomach ached dully and my upper jaw was tingling, my palate tight, mouth dry…and while my skin itched from dried blood and sweat, I felt itchy on the inside too.

  “Hungry,” I said softly. “I’m hungry.”

  “Well, no shit,” Faith replied with a wry smile. “You’ve had kind of a busy night. I think you burned off more energy than Austin Light and Power. I’ll have Esther bring you some blood—but you have to go clean up and lie down.”

  Blood.

  She’ll bring me blood.

  Oh God.

  I had been running on adrenaline since I had woken in Kat’s bathroom. I’d had a few moments of clarity, but they had been swiftly swept up in purpose and fury. Now in the aftermath with the clang of swords and the screams of the dying fading from my mind I was starting to finally process single bits of data here and there…and reality, my entire universe, was pivoting.

  My knees gave out.

  I saw Faith start to dive toward me, but someone’s hands had already closed around my arms, and I felt myself lifted back to my feet and held closely against something hard.

  “Sire, for Christ’s sake, take her to bed,” Faith all but snapped. “She’s had enough.”

  “I quite agree,” his voice rumbled against my back as well as in my ear. The sound made something in me unclench, and I nearly fell again. “You can manage things from here, can’t you, Second?”

  “Of course I can. Now go.”

  Faith made a shooing motion. I smiled.

  “Can you walk?” David asked gently.

  I wasn’t sure if I could, but I was determined to try. I didn’t want the Elite’s formative memories of me as their Queen to involve me being carried up the Great Hall stairs like Scarlett O’Hara. I was going to walk out of here with my head held high, and…

  …actually I had to settle for hobbling slowly and not toppling over. Still, I walked.

  Neither of us really spoke until we got to the suite. There were already new guards in place when we arrived though I didn’t recognize either. They bowed to me as I passed.

  I remembered belatedly that Ariana had trashed the room in her search for the Signet; Esther was there tidying up, but the door of the cabinet was still broken and there were still things strewn about. Esther looked up at me and smiled broadly when I walked in.

  She set down the stack of books in her hands and came over to me, clucking her tongue and murmuring in Spanish as she looked me over. “I’ll get you some dinner,” she said. “Then you’ll have a bath, yes, Reinita?”

  I felt tears sting my eyes at the endearment. She’d called me that before I left. “Thank you, Esther,” I whispered.

  She kissed my cheek. “Welcome home,” she said, and bustled out of the suite, closing the door behind her.

  I heard David sigh. He was examining the cabinet and the ruins of some kind of electrical something-or-other. He quickly gathered up the last few items that Esther hadn’t reached, and stacked them in the cabinet. “I can fix this tomorrow,” he said mostly to himself. For just a moment he looked as worn out as I was.

  I stood in the middle of the room, silent, as he went over to his desk and removed his phone, wallet, and weapons. I didn’t remember him taking my sword—Sophie’s sword, I thought with a squeeze of grief that I wasn’t ready to deal with yet—but it was there, and he took both, hung his in its usual place, and put mine on the fireplace mantel.

  I couldn’t seem to put a thought together. Too much had happened in too little time.

  I lowered my eyes to the rug and caught sight of a book David and Esther had both missed; it lay open on the floor with a scrap of paper marking the page. I
bent and picked it up.

  CLAUDIO

  Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were

  but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as

  you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for

  you and dote upon the exchange.

  BEATRICE

  Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth

  with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.

  The scrap of newsprint trembled in my hands as I turned it over and saw my own face, along with the title RISING STARS OF AUSTIN.

  The book fell out of my grasp and hit the floor loudly, startling David, who looked over at me, his expression changing from preoccupied to worried. I didn’t understand why until I realized I was crying.

  He was at my side immediately, arms moving around me, and I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed.

  He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t say anything at all; he just held me, and I clung to him unsure whether I was crying from relief, or fear, or joy, or all at once.

  “Come on,” he said softly once I’d calmed a little. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

  I followed him into the bathroom, grateful to have something to do, and started stripping off my ripped, blood-soaked clothes while he got the bath water running.

  Soon the room was full of almond-scented steam and the raw emptiness in my chest was turning warm and drowsy.

  He lit a couple of candle sconces on the walls, ignoring the light switch. I could see just fine even without the tiny flames but their glow was comforting.

  David took my hand and guided me into the tub as if I were an invalid. It occurred to me, as I sank into the blessedly hot water, that this was only the second time he’d ever seen me naked, and in every other relationship I’d ever had there had been a bit of awkwardness the first few times—darting under the sheets, making sure the lights were off first, that sort of thing.