“I would never do that.”
“I know. That’s a big reason I’m staying. I just had to hear the truth from you—I had to know you’d tell me the truth.”
Miranda regarded her quietly for a while before saying, “Your father knows I’m guilty, doesn’t he—he just knows he can’t win.”
“Yeah.” Stella leaned against the doorframe; normally she would have come in and flopped into one of the music room chairs, but her emotional aura was more troubled than she was letting on in her words, and Miranda didn’t comment on it. She’d need time to process it even if she thought she already had. Some people never could deal with the reality of what Miranda was…like Kat.
Miranda looked down and pretended to fiddle with the piano lid to hide the way her eyes started burning. She tried not to think about Kat, had stopped having her watched once it was clear the human was not a target of any kind. She had to let her friend go, had to let everything in her life that was human go, eventually.
Even if Stella was genuinely okay with what Miranda did, their friendship had an expiration date, and the longer Stella was involved with the Shadow World the sooner that date could come. Detective Maguire probably understood that and wanted to warn his daughter away in whatever way he could.
And worse yet…Miranda’s always-helpful precog gift was buzzing in the back of her mind, telling her that soon Stella’s loyalty would be tested by more than dead drug dealers and rapists…that along with the storms outside something was building in this house.
“What did David do, exactly, to fix the case?” Stella asked. “I mean I assume it was him, since Dad said the DNA wasn’t a match and that seems like David’s area.”
Miranda finally summoned a smile. “I can’t tell you that.”
“You think I’d blab to my dad?”
“I would, if I were you. But what I meant was I don’t really know how to explain it to you. I could just say the samples were switched, but that doesn’t cover it. Ask David—he might tell you. Or he might just fire off a bunch of science-y technobabble.”
Stella actually grinned at that. “Yeah I guess he would. And he’d think he was explaining it perfectly.”
“Then he’d look at you like you were an idiot when you told him he was babbling, yes. It’s one of his more infuriating qualities.”
“Can I ask you something about you guys—all of you, I mean? Are there a lot of vampire computer geniuses?”
Miranda slid off the bench and picked up her coat, slinging it over her shoulders as she left the music room. Stella fell into step beside her without hesitation.
“No,” Miranda began, heading toward the study where the ice cream stash lived. “Vampires are actually kind of hostile toward progress. You should have seen when all the Signets were here for the Council Summit—a bunch of sexist, racist, privileged assholes, with a few glowing exceptions. Jacob and Deven have always been David’s allies, so he shared his tech with them, and also with a few others, like Prime Tanaka of Japan. The rest are basically old men sitting on the front porch waving rifles, yelling ‘you danged kids get off my lawn!’”
Stella laughed, starting to lose some of her seriousness, which was Miranda’s goal. For now, the less Stella thought about the fact that she was surrounded by killers, the better. “Best mental image ever.”
“Then there was Prime Hart—that’s the jackass Olivia replaced. I almost wish you could have met him so you could know the worst of what’s possible for vampires of our caliber.”
“I think I’ll pass on getting to know the worst. He’s the one that kept Cora as a slave, right?”
“Her and dozens of others over the years. Imagine how many amazing women and how much potential he killed with his tiny little dick and his massive ego.”
“How do you know he had a tiny dick?”
“Well, for a long time I had no proof. I just figured a guy with masculinity issues like that, terrified of gays and women, had to have been compensating for something. But Cora confirmed it—blushed so hard I thought her face might explode, but she did, once she had something to compare it to. And Deven said something about the way he walked it was almost 100% sure he had, as Dev put it, a ‘third pinkie.’”
Stella was laughing hard enough to lose her breath now, and Miranda understood why when the Witch said, “So…since David’s openly bi and doesn’t give a shit what anyone says about his masculinity…can I assume…”
Miranda grinned wickedly, holding open the study door. “You may,” she replied. “And the boys have been vague about it, but if he’s to be believed, Deven has nothing to be ashamed of either.”
“I didn’t need to know that!” Stella giggled. “How can I look at either of them in the face if I’m thinking about how they walk compared to the size of their…artillery?”
“You know what they say,” Miranda replied. “It’s not the size of the army, it’s the fury of its onslaught. Hart let other people do his fighting for him. Both of my boys can take down a dozen Elite in five minutes. That’s some fury.”
They were both giggling madly as Miranda shut the door behind them.
*****
MIRANDA GREY CLEARED OF SUSPICION IN AUSTIN MURDER
All charges against singer Miranda Grey have been dropped, representatives of Austin Police Department reported on Friday. Forensic DNA testing determined Grey could not have been the attacker in the murder of Austin resident Annalise Vitera.
Following the announcement, the reclusive singer released a statement to the media, saying, “I would like to thank the Detectives involved in this case for their professionalism and commitment to the truth. They are a credit to the Department and I wish them good luck in finding the killer and bringing him or her to justice. I hope we can all put this behind us and get back to work.”
There was yet another line of severe thunderstorms charging over the Hill Country that night, but for the moment, there was a lull—a tense, almost creepy silence beneath a flat black sky. A tropical storm in the Pacific had strewn bands of storms across the Southwest and the rain would keep coming for another night or two.
The gardens around the Haven were saturated with days of rainfall, and anywhere one stepped off the path threatened to turn into a morass of mud, but Deven had no interest in wandering in the woods; he had been sitting on a bench for over an hour, knees pulled up, first reading the news report on his phone and then just staring at one of the night-blooming gardens where a few stalwart flowers had thus far resisted drowning.
It was as he’d told Stella several nights ago: the police had no hope whatsoever of standing up to the combined forces of wealth, privilege, and genius. It had been a kindness on David’s part to put an end to the situation as quickly as he had—he could have let things drag out, wasting taxpayer money and time until he could make a far more dramatic gesture once the case went to court. Of course, that would require them to figure out how the hell to even try a case against someone who couldn’t go outside during daylight. At least now, as Miranda said, they could all get back to their lives.
Whatever that meant.
The police had wasted little time: Stella had seen her father Wednesday night, and Friday afternoon APD officially dropped the charges. Miranda’s statement had come just before sunset and was already all over the news.
He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. His skin felt like it was on too tight—he’d been trying to ignore the healing energy again. He didn’t want to go into town tonight. He just wanted peace and quiet. He’d already spent most of Wednesday—before he confronted Nico about his feeding habits in such spectacularly unsuccessful fashion—slipping from clinic to clinic and looking for humans he could heal without causing a stir. He’d been to the Heart Hospital this week, and to a private children’s cancer hospital, but then shifted his attention to the poorer sections of town where the ailments weren’t as dire but their consequences could be. If the sole breadwinner of a household was too ill to w
ork, the children couldn’t eat. Older kids would end up whoring or selling drugs, or both. Having done both himself at a similar age Deven couldn’t help but Mist past security and take care of the problem.
He smiled at himself sadly. Sentimental fool.
Jonathan would have been pleased. He had always thought Deven should use his power the way he was using it now; not on such a scale, and not at the risk of pain, but just as a way to do something good both for himself and other people. It might help him learn not to hate the gift. Vampires couldn’t benefit from healing talent to the extent that humans could; it was a waste, the Consort said, to hold it back from those who needed it.
“You don’t understand—it’s not a gift, Jonathan. It’s what got me tortured, imprisoned, cast out. You don’t know what any of that feels like.”
“It was seven centuries ago, Dev. Don’t you think it’s time you made use of what God gave you?”
“God doesn’t give. He doesn’t heal. God only kills. We were all made in His image, remember?”
He couldn’t recall the reply. It was an argument they’d had a number of times before Jonathan had finally dropped it. Now, if he’d had a chance, Deven would have apologized to him…for that, for everything, a thousand times.
What he’d told Nico was true. More nights than not he still woke up screaming, and no wardrobe change or arsenal would take away the horror of feeling Jonathan trapped under the Haven, under the wreckage of their life together, crushed by it, only the light of a cell phone for comfort in those last moments. He dreamed of falling asleep in Jonathan’s endlessly safe embrace and woke clawing in the dark trying to save him…or Nico…or Miranda…just like in the nightmares, not one of them had come away from loving Deven unscathed.
He wished desperately that he hadn’t burned the last of his heroin. If he wanted more he’d have to go into Austin, and if he did that he’d just end up at the hospital again.
The thought of drugs, however, gave him an idea that might provide something of a distraction: Needles. He’d begun to miss the spike through his tongue lately, the familiar tap-tap of the metal against the back of his teeth. While he was at it he could put a ring back through one eyebrow, perhaps two.
He took a deep breath, let it go slowly, and got to his feet, thankful to have something to focus on. He couldn’t let emotion creep back up over him and drag him into the black water of despair like before. He owed it to the others to keep it together, or at least together enough to function.
He only made it a few steps before he felt something very strange in the air.
It felt like lightning building in the sky, but the clouds overhead weren’t to that point yet—centuries of reading the weather had taught him that they had another forty-five minutes before the storm arrived in earnest, and about thirty before cloud-to-ground lightning became a real threat. But there was electricity in the air…he felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and turned in a circle, one hand on Ghostlight’s hilt while he tried to pinpoint the source.
There…
A few yards away, something weird was happening to a patch of the darkness. It became almost watery, shimmering, an incongruously perfect oval forming and blocking out the view behind it.
Deven’s heartbeat stepped up. He had seen this before that terrible morning on the roof in Austin when Nico had teleported himself from the Haven covered in blood. Nico used the same power to augment his Misting ability, but when he did it there was no disturbance in the air like this, which meant it could only be—
He smiled and waited. It was about time. Perhaps—
A tiny shaft of light pierced the center of the portal, widening, becoming blinding. There was a blast of warmth, the scent of trees and wind…
…Deven stared.
The figure that emerged from the portal was tall, proud, dressed in long robes. Distinctly pointed ears poked up through waist-length dark hair. With the light silhouetting the Elf it could easily have been Kai.
There was just one problem.
The light faded, and he realized three things: One, the Elf’s hair was not black, but a shining dark brown; two, where Deven was expecting deep violet eyes, these were paler, almost lavender; and three…this was a woman.
She was beautiful, but in a different way than the twins; her beauty was ethereal, every inch the creature from a distant world, spun delicately out of sunlight and stars. There was no shadow behind her eyes as they had. Even in the first few seconds it was obvious she was a very different sort of Elf.
She stared at him. He stared at her.
When she spoke it was in Elvish, and while her face had an indefinable familiarity, her voice was so familiar he couldn’t breathe. There was a gentle sadness in her words. “You look so like your mother.”
It took him a moment to find his voice. “You.”
She bowed, just as both Nico and Kai always did. “Leselena Ithidaria,” she said. “Do you know who I am?”
“I do.”
She took a step closer, lifting a hand, but he moved back away from her reflexively.
“Long have I wished to see you again,” she told him. “To ask your forgiveness. If I had known you lived—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he cut her off. “Why are you here now? Did Kai send you to help Nico?”
Her expression took on a level of urgency that immediately worried him. “What has happened to Nico? And where is Kai? I had assumed he would be meeting me at the portal.”
“He’s not here,” Deven replied. “He went back to Avilon, I assume to find you, a week ago.”
She paled a shade. “No…he never returned to Avilon. The Speaking Stone called to me, brought me a message from him days ago saying he needed my help, but he did not mention coming home to fetch me. When I heard nothing further I began to worry.”
“But…then…where is he?”
Lesela shook her head. “I do not know.”
They stared at each other again, realization and horror both dawning, and he held her eyes as he lifted his wrist and said, “Star-One.”
Chapter Fourteen
An important part of staying in the Shadow World ruling class was making a sufficiently intimidating first impression. David Solomon was a master of the art…most of the time.
It just so happened that at the moment Deven opened the office door, David was leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed over a Keep Austin Weird shirt he’d stolen from Miranda, reading glasses propped up on his head while he juggled a handful of miniature Nutter Butters with his mind.
Periodically he’d open his mouth and let one of the cookies fall in, while another floated out of the package and took its place overhead.
Thanks to centuries of practice he didn’t drop them all when the door opened—instead they froze in midair as he sat up and started to say something about how it was considered polite to knock.
Deven stepped into the office, beckoning to someone behind him, and said wryly, “Allow me to introduce David Solomon, Prime of the Southern United States, Thirdborn child of Persephone…and his snacks.”
David frowned, returned the remaining cookies to the package, and said, “Fine control is the same with telekinesis as swordplay—it takes constant practice. But you said you needed to tell me something—”
The sentence died on his lips as the figure behind Deven entered the room.
David’s first thought was that she looked just like her grandson.
Deven hadn’t mentioned a newcomer—he’d told David to stay where he was, that there was a problem he’d rather talk about in person. But how many Elves could there be who’d show up on his doorstep?
The resemblance really was uncanny. She had the same proud bearing, a spine that seemed made of steel; her eyes were that same pale lavender, and they had the same natural hair color, though Deven had gone back to black a few days ago. Seeing her, everything about Deven’s appearance and demeanor made
perfect sense—all he lacked were the ears.
“Leselena Ithidaria, Prophet and Healer of Avilon,” Deven said. Lesela bowed.
David rose and echoed her motion. “Welcome to the Haven of the South,” he said in Elvish, surprising her. “May I assume you’re here to help us with our Nicolanai situation?”
She looked over at Deven. “I do not know much about the situation…but there is another that may be more urgent.”
He lifted his chin inquisitively, but it was Deven who answered. “Kai is missing, David. He sent a message to Lesela a week ago that he needed her to come, but he never reached home.”
“He went missing a week ago?” David all but exclaimed in astonishment. “And you’re just now doing anything about it?”
Lesela’s ears turned pink, and her expression guilty. “There was nothing I could do to come faster. Nico’s power casts all other Weavers into the shade; it takes six of them days to build a portal he could create himself in hours. I tried using the Speaking Stone to contact either twin.”
“Nico has the Speaking Stone,” Deven said quietly. “God knows where it is now.”
“Please,” Lesela said. “Tell me what is going on with Nico. The things I have imagined must be far worse.”
“I doubt that,” David replied. “Why don’t we escort Lesela to a guest suite and talk there.”
“Where’s Miranda?” Deven asked. “We need her here too.”
“In town. She and her management held a press conference after the official exoneration announcement. She should be back in an hour, maybe two.”
He led them out of the office and down the hall, grinning slightly at the way the guards stared at their newest arrival. They’d gotten used to Nico, especially once he was a vampire; Kai was stared at with equal fascination, but he’d been coming and going for months and had mostly been accepted as part of the family. But here was another Elf, this one female and an example of what they “normally” looked like, gliding down the hallway in a floor-length robe looking, David was sure they noticed, an awful lot like the Prime of the West.
Shadowstorm (The Shadow World Book 6) Page 26
