Shadow Rising (The Shadow World Book 7)

by Dianne Sylvan

  Not much longer. In an hour the eyes looking up at his would be ones he knew. Oh, how he had missed the days they both wore skin!

  On the altar lay also the Signet his soldiers had brought him, charged with the power of a dead Pair—one still lived, in body, but her mind and life were in truth far fled. The spell he had crafted took the power of a Bondbreaking and fixed that power into the remaining stone, where it could be tapped…but only for a while, and only for one use. He’d had to waste one already, and it galled him.

  This time he was ready. This time he knew how to make sure it worked. A few refinements on the ritual, and that dead Pair would rise again, in a way, their mutated power going to those who deserved it.

  One by one…two by two…we will rise…and THEY…they will all…fall…down.

  Part Two

  The Raven’s Son

  Chapter Twelve

  “We all come from the Goddess

  And to Her we shall return

  Like a drop of rain

  Flowing to the ocean…”

  Nico’s voice echoed quietly in the room that seemed so much bigger now, so much less alive. He had already taken down the wards over the doors and windows, and the energy of the suite had started to fade from the minute it was no longer magically sealed.

  He had woken in the middle of the day unable to lay still, and when even the slow pull of Deven’s slumber hadn’t helped him rest, he slipped carefully out of bed and made his way here.

  He’d found Pywacket sitting in Stella’s favorite chair, eyes hopeful when the door opened.

  Nico had lifted the cat into his lap and curled up in the chair for a while, trying to help the cat understand that his human wasn’t coming back.

  “Don’t worry,” he told Py. “We’ll keep you safe and in kibble and neck scratches for the rest of your life. I’ll miss her too…but we can hold on to each other.”

  Pywacket looked up into his eyes, searching, and finally went to sleep on his lap, while he stared around the room, trying to accept the truth himself.

  After a while of crying into Py’s furry neck, Nico got up and tried to get his thoughts in order. No one had declared Stella’s room his job, but he couldn’t bear the thought of the housekeeping staff or strangers being the ones to decide what became of all the Witch’s belongings. At the very least he wanted to take care of the things on her altar.

  Maguire had come and gone, taking with him a few remembrances and, of course, Stella’s body, to whatever fate his particular brand of human deemed appropriate. Nico knew Stella would want to be given back to the Earth, but most humans favored being pumped full of chemicals and locked in a box underground for reasons Nico couldn’t quite grasp. Still, it would matter less to Stella what became of her flesh and more whether her father could find peace with her death.

  Nico sighed. He’d been standing in the middle of the room for several minutes, turning in a circle—counterclockwise, he noticed, Stella’s laughing voice in his mind asking if he was trying to banish her wardrobe.

  He smiled a little. He would miss her so much—and the way she made him laugh, even in his darkest nights. She had been so much more alive than most of the immortals he’d known; perhaps it was knowing that her light was a fleeting one, meant to burn brightly for a little while rather than cast a dim glow for centuries. For all their talk of light few Elves were half so bright as their Stella.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” he heard, and turned toward the doorway to greet the Queen. There was no denying she gave off plenty of her own light…even though just now it was darkened by sadness, seeing what he saw, mourning as he mourned.

  Nico shook his head. “You either?”

  She shook her head back. “I thought you might want a hand.”

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “Few of my people are solitary, so when they die—are killed, more like, since we do not die of age or illness—their possessions already have a home. Unless we have a trade or art that requires a lot of tools we tend not to have many belongings anyway.”

  “You lived alone,” Miranda said, coming into the room, looking up at the doorframe as she did, acknowledging that the wards were gone.

  He smiled. “I never thought the world would be troubled overmuch by my passing.”

  “Oh, Nico.” She put her arms around him, and he leaned on her strength. “I hope you know better than that now.”

  “I do.”

  “Good.” She kissed his forehead—standing on tiptoe to do so—and sighed. “Let’s get to work—we’ll feel better if we’re not just standing here upset.”

  They started with the closet; Stella’s wardrobe had been rather eclectic and showed a good deal of contempt for the czars of human fashion, but there were a few pieces of outerwear that made Miranda’s eyes light up…and a set of cartoon cat pajamas that made her eyes glisten for a moment.

  “I’m keeping these,” she said with a sniffle, depositing them in the “keep” pile they’d started, next to which was a box for items to donate to a local women’s shelter. “She loaned them to me once…after finding me half-dead in the street.”

  At his quizzical look she related the story of her stay with the Witch, dwelling on the entertaining parts, few as they were. They spent the next couple of hours trading anecdotes about Stella, laughing at the memories, sometimes pausing to wipe away tears as they filled boxes.

  “She was the first human I ever met,” Nico said, chuckling at the memory of running into the Witch that morning outside, and of how fascinating he found her from moment one.

  “You lucked out,” Miranda told him. “You got to start with one of the best.”

  Nico wrapped items from the altar in the cloth draped over it as well as in a couple of t-shirts he couldn’t bear to part with.

  “I never saw her wear those,” Miranda observed.

  “She only wore them to bed,” he replied, and her chuckle made him blush a little.

  The sun was well set by the time they decided to finish up for the night. Nico took a moment to gather up Pywacket’s accoutrements to take to the suite that he and Deven now shared.

  The cat gave him another searching look before jumping up on his shoulder.

  “You can come back here if you need to while we’re still working on it,” he told the cat. “But you need to be with those who will care for you, not haunting a room alone. There’s a big fireplace and a lot of pillows for you to shred if you so choose.”

  They reached the suite and settled Py in, leaving his litter box in the bathroom under the vanity counter and making sure he had food and water in his dishes. The cat walked around the room for a while, sniffing, before seeming to sigh and resign himself to the situation; he hopped up on Dev’s chair by the fire and set to licking himself with determination.

  Miranda was about to say something—probably that she had somewhere to be now that it was night—but there was a knock at the door.

  “There you are,” Deven said, giving Nico a warm smile. Yet again, Nico nearly started at the change in his appearance. Miranda, he noticed, did something of a double-take.

  Dev noticed too, and smiled. “It’s only been two days,” he said. “It’s all right if you’re not used to me yet. I’m not either.”

  “But you can’t really see you,” Miranda pointed out.

  “Trust me,” he replied, “the inside is a strange picture too right now. But Nico, if you have a moment, there’s something I’d like to show you…you too, my Lady, if you’re free.”

  Miranda and Nico exchanged a look, and she shrugged. “I’m headed into town with David in a couple of hours, but I’m good for now. Lead the way.”

  He led them out of the Signet wing of the Haven, past the guest suites where he devoutly hoped the two visiting Pairs were still asleep—they’d been getting occasional echoes of pain and confusion from both suites, but nothing alarming, and nothing to suggest the Pairs weren’t coping with the transitio
n. David had dropped in on Olivia and Avi yesterday just long enough to ascertain that they were all right, didn’t need anything, and would send up a flare, whatever that meant, if something went wrong. David had said that Olivia looked like “death warmed over,” which Nico took to mean “terrible,” but he’d also said she was adamant that they could handle it.

  Deven veered left at the Elite wing and headed for one of the indoor training areas—there were a few inside the main building but the big training gallery and the main sparring suites had to be reached by either daring the frigid air or the underground emergency tunnels. Fortunately they stayed in the building, and Dev halted at one of the smaller rooms where Nico was pretty sure one-on-one combat lessons were held.

  “I had intended to wait until after the first of the year,” Deven said as he ushered them inside, “But, well…I didn’t.”

  Nico and Miranda both drew up short when they saw what awaited them inside.

  Puppies.

  There were four long-limbed, long-haired, floppy-eared young dogs rolling around on the floor, nipping at each other’s feet, a squirmy mass of gigantic paws and tongues.

  Miranda actually squealed like a little girl before remembering herself and reassuming her Queenly dignity.

  Even so, she was no match for the dignity of the older dog sitting nearby—a full-grown adult, near as Nico could tell, as regal as Vràna but even larger, with calm, intelligent eyes.

  There was also a woman, though she was the last thing to register.

  “Queen Miranda of the Southern United States and my Consort Nicolanai Araceith, I would like to introduce Madame Camille Lucerne, one of the oldest and most renowned breeders and trainers of Nighthounds in the entire Shadow World.”

  The woman, who had flawless coal-dark skin and the bearing of a Queen herself, bowed to them. “A great honor as always to stand in the presence of Signets.”

  “I contacted Madame Lucerne to see if she would have any upcoming litters to look at, and as luck would have it, she has these beauties without buyers.”

  “No buyers?” Miranda asked. “I thought Nighthounds were on waiting lists years long.”

  “They were,” Lucerne said, raising an eyebrow. “But half of my clientele have been murdered in the last year.”

  The Queen blinked at her. “Jesus.”

  Lucerne, amused, added, “Do not worry, my Lady, my business still thrives. Signets have always been my best customers, but there are plenty of vampires out there with a newfound paranoia. I’ve had offers pouring in, but this litter was already spoken for.”

  “Nighthounds are usually bought and paid for before they’re born,” Deven explained to Nico. “A trainer as skilled as Madame Lucerne will tailor the pup’s training program to the particular needs of her future owner. Once they hit six months they’re ready to go home, assuming they bond properly with their owners.”

  “Bond?” Miranda asked.

  “Nothing as showy as a Signet bond,” Lucerne said. “My instincts are usually impeccable when it comes to matching a Hound with a vampire, but sometimes things go awry.”

  “But if these have all been spoken for, how could any of them bond with me?” Nico asked.

  “They may not,” Lucerne replied. “But since these little ones have nowhere to go, I thought it best to at least try a meeting.”

  “Wait, what will happen to the ones you can’t sell?” Miranda asked warily.

  Lucerne saw the look on her face and smiled broadly. “Even abandoned, a Signet-trained Hound is a priceless creature. They will all find homes. But as my lord Deven is one of my oldest customers, I jumped at the chance to give him first pick.”

  Nico watched the puppies tumble, wondering how trained they could be at such a tender age; he had no idea whatsoever how to train a dog, but Deven clearly did, so he could probably help. Still…they were adorable, but…

  “Shall we begin?” Lucerne asked. At Dev’s nod she stepped out in front of the dogs and merely held her hand out, palm down, at her side.

  The puppies instantly froze and, as if she’d flipped a switch, snapped to attention, forming a line next to the adult Hound.

  “Nighthounds are the distant cousins of human-bred dogs called Scottish Deerhounds and Irish Wolfhounds. They are larger than either, which is saying something, and smarter than any breed in the world.” As she spoke, Lucerne rotated her hand, and the puppies all stood, their attention riveted to the woman. “They can keep pace with a horse, jump fifteen feet, and survive injuries that would kill most other canines. They also outlive other breeds, an average of 35 years. The oldest I have ever encountered was 43 when she died. For centuries the Nighthounds have been our protectors, our companions, and our steadfast friends.”

  Nico found himself enchanted with the pups; their intelligence was clear and keen, even so young, and they were eager to please their leader. He watched each in turn as Lucerne showed off some of their training.

  “Now, these pups have all the skills they need for a basic companion Hound,” Lucerne said. “They also have more specialized learning based on who had ordered them. The two females in particular I think might interest you—in the middle, there. Both were meant for Signets in similar Havens to your own, situated in a rural environment but spending a good deal of time in an urban setting.”

  Lucerne met Deven’s gaze and added, “Two, there, was purchased by Prime Tanaka for his Queen. She never got to meet her.”

  “They don’t have names?” Miranda asked.

  “That is for their masters to decide,” Lucerne replied. “In some cases, the potential owner meets them as soon as a few days after birth, and gives them a name then. As I said, Mameha didn’t have a chance to name little Two.”

  Nico knelt in front of the pups. “How will I know if one wants to bond to me?”

  Deven was smiling. “Well, for a normal vampire I’d say just see who can’t resist you, but given your particular talents…ground yourself a little, and then hold out your hand the way Lucerne did. Then in your mind, invite them to come meet you.”

  Nico glanced at Lucerne, who nodded slightly and made a small gesture that apparently meant “at ease.” The pups visibly relaxed, tongues lolling out. All four were looking at Nico now, since he was on their level.

  He did as Deven had said and dropped his attention into his center, taking a few deep breaths. He closed his eyes and imagined he could speak Dog.

  “Simplify,” Deven said, crouching down next to him. “They’re young, remember. Use feelings more than words.”

  Nico nodded and tried to frame a thought that conveyed the same as a dog tilting his head to one side. Friend?

  He held out his hand, eyes closed.

  A moment later, something furry bumped up against his palm.

  Nico opened his eyes, grinning into the pair of blue eyes inches from his own. The puppy stared into his eyes for a second, then let out an excited yap and practically bounced up and down.

  Then, she tackled him.

  Nico fell back into Deven and into a fit of laughter, suddenly covered with wriggling Nighthound—even at a few months old she was taller than he sitting down.

  Lucerne cleared her throat, and the puppy slurped her tongue across Nico’s face then jumped back and sat primly, still giving him a canine grin.

  Nico saw the medallion on her collar: A two.

  “Normally I’d recommend several training sessions with myself, you, and the pup,” Lucerne said, “But Prime Deven can show you everything you need to know without my being stuck here in Texas.”

  “They’re in good hands,” Deven said. “Your reputation is secure.”

  A laugh. “I have no doubt,” she said. Lucerne made a clicking sound, and the three other puppies bounded over to her and sat while she attached leashes to each of their collars.

  The older dog, who had barely moved the entire time, got smoothly to her feet, clearly not needing something as pedestrian as a l
eash. She was even larger than Nico had thought—she would dwarf Vràna, and would have even given Osiris a run for his money.

  Nico was vaguely aware that Lucerne and her pack left, but he was too busy letting the Nighthound—his Nighthound—sniff him all over and pin him to the ground. He couldn’t seem to stop laughing at her, particularly at how her back end and front end were apparently operated by two different brains.

  He looked up to see Deven and Miranda both watching him. Both looked a mixture of grateful, elated, and taken aback at his behavior.

  “What?” he asked.

  Miranda shook her head. She was smiling, but did he see the faintest mist in her eyes? “I’ve never seen you laugh so much,” she said. “It’s amazing.”

  Deven’s expression held so much affection Nico felt himself turning pink. He returned his attention to the dog, who had paused in her licking and snuffling while he spoke to the others, but went back to it with gusto when she had his attention again.

  Experimentally, he imagined he could tap on her mind, and thought, That’s enough.

  She grew still, sat.

  Deven raised an eyebrow. “You might not need my help after all.”

  Nico leaned his forehead against the Hound’s. She let out a little rowf and licked his nose.

  “What do you think you’ll call her?” Miranda asked. “You don’t have to figure it out right this second, but, any ideas?”

  “I know exactly what to call her,” Nico said. “Her name is Astela.”

  Miranda smiled. “Elvish for starlight…so, Stella.”

  Nico slid his arms around the pup. “Damn right,” he said, sighing. Then he murmured to Astela, “I hope you like cats.”

  *****

  Hours later and miles away, Miranda stood peering into the mirrored room where one of the possessed humans from the shooting still lived.

  She frowned. “This is the last one?”

  Novotny cleared his throat and glanced down at his clipboard, an odd, almost dissembling maneuver that made her eyebrow quirk. “Yes, my Lady. We had to euthanize one, and there was the one that attacked the Prime…”